Page 48 of Forged Flight

My stomach drops.

I look at Micah, and he’s staring at me with the same horrified realization dawning across his face.

None of this is a coincidence.

Someone planted those mushrooms on Mount Embercrest with one goal in mind—to wipe out every last dragon.

Chapter Thirteen: Lucan

The town square is far too crowded.

I keep my gaze low as Micah and I navigate the cobblestone streets, weaving through a dense mass of villagers. Festival wreaths hang from the lampposts, full of yellow and red leaves. Near the fountain, a musician strums his lyre and sings a hymn honoring the harvest goddess, his melodic voice carrying faintly over the busy chatter.

My gaze drifts to the heavy leather pack slung over my shoulder, concealing a very small, very illegal dragon.

Maple shifts against the lining, and I go rigid.

Micah glances at me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

The bag rustles again, more insistently this time.

Micah chews on his lip, visibly suppressing a grin. “She’s restless.”

“I’m well aware.”

A muffled, smoky huff emanates from the satchel.

I tighten my hold on the leather strap. “Hush, little one. You have to stay out of sight.”

Maple offers a disgruntled little trill in response.

We press forward through the market, trying our best to remain inconspicuous. The last thing we need is for the entire village to discover we’re hiding a fugitive baby dragon.

By some miracle, we make it across the square without incident.

The moment we turn down the narrow street toward my forge, I breathe easier.

My forge comes into view at the end of the road, its familiar stone walls and blackened chimney rising above the neighboring buildings. I push open the heavy wooden door and usher Micah inside before following him. The familiar scent of charcoal and metal surrounds us.

I lock the door behind us before turning toward Micah.

“Come on.”

He offers a quick nod, and we climb the stairs to my living quarters.

Once inside my apartment, I set the backpack carefully on the floor.

Maple immediately begins squirming.

“Easy,” I mutter.

I crouch and undo the buckles before opening the flap.

While I untie her leash, Maple cautiously climbs out into the room. Her tiny talons click against the hardwood as she scans her new surroundings. Her golden eyes are blown wide, shimmering with curiosity.

Micah lets out a soft chuckle as Maple waddles across the floor, snout pressed to the wood. She pauses to investigate a table leg, sniffs the frayed edge of my rug, and circles one of the chairs.