PROLOGUE - RHAENA
Princess Rhaena tightened her grip on Dreamfyre’s reins as the wind tore through her hair, the familiar roar of wings behind her and the steady, glittering shine of Quicksilver just ahead. Aegon flew with confidence, too much confidence, she feared, for someone who had just claimed his dragon, but his presence steadied her. Below them, thousands marched, armored and armed, their banners like fluttering ribbons over an endless tide of men. She could barely make out the standards, but she knew them: House Piper, Farman, Blackwood, Mallister, Mooton. So many faces she’d seen at Pinkmaiden, laughing and dancing. Now they were marching to kill and be killed.
Her heart clenched. Every beat of Dreamfyre’s wings was another second closer to her uncle, to Maegor.
She cast her eyes to the hill ahead where the Kingslanders had entrenched themselves, shining specks of steel on the ridge. The terrain was against them, but they had dragons, two dragons, and dragons could end a war in a heartbeat. That’s what they said. That’s what her grandfather had shown to all of Westeros.
Rhaella and Aerea. Her girls. Both clinging to their wetnurse in Pinkmaiden. Were they even old enough to remember her face if she died today? Would Alyssa raise them with stories, or would Maegor have them hunted down too, root and stem?
I cannot die today, Rhaena thought. None of us can.
She looked back. The army below shifted like ants on the march, and somewhere among them: Mel. Melony Piper, with her laughter, her stubborn heart, her quick sword. Rhaena’s throat caught. She hadn’t told her anything: hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t said what she should have. But Mel had known. She always seemed to know.
Her eyes turned skyward to Aegon.
Rhaena watched Aegon fly ahead of her, his silver she-dragon Quicksilver slicing through the sky with ease, wings flashing like mirrors in the sun. He was closing in on the hill where the Kingslanders had made their stand; rows of pikes, shields, and trenches dotting the slope like stubborn weeds. He moved with purpose, his posture set, already calculating. He always had a plan, even when he didn’t actually know what it was yet. That was Aegon: her brother, her husband, her partner in this impossible war.
He was nothing like their father.
King Aenys had been a good man. A gentle, singing, well-meaning man. But a weak king. Rhaena had spent most of her life trying not to think too hard on that truth, but up here in the sky, with war beneath her and death ahead, she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. He had let the Faith Militant rise unchecked. Let the High Septon spit on their bloodline. Let the realm crack open, and when he finally died from the stress of it all, Maegor had flown in to fill the gap, all black fire and blood-soaked justice.
And now here they were. Two dragons, two heirs, flying to destroy the shadow their father had let fester.
Rhaena grit her teeth.
She had resented Aegon once, maybe still did in the quiet parts of her heart. For being born a man. For taking the spot she might have had. For being the one she was given to; bound to in marriage, when she had wanted no husband at all. But she couldn’t say he’d been a bad one. He had never tried to break her, or cage her, or even change her. And now, today, he was flying straight into the jaws of death for the realm, for their family, and she was following him.
Would he be a good king? That remained to be seen. But he had the spine for it. She could admit that much.
A terrible roar split the sky.
Rhaena’s eyes snapped south.
A shadow as vast as a storm cloud was racing toward them: Balerion. Maegor had come.
The Black Dread moved like a mountain with wings, each beat sending ripples across the air. Fire coiled in his throat already, his great black eyes fixed on Aegon like a hawk sighting prey. And upon his back, armored and grim, sat Maegor; her uncle, their enemy, the monster who had haunted their childhood and claimed the throne with blood and steel. The so-called king looked almost small on Balerion, but that was only because the Conqueror’s dragon was simply that big.
It looked the end of all things.
Unless she ended him first.
Rhaena tightened her legs around Dreamfyre’s flanks and lowered her body into the saddle. “Aderī!” she whispered.
The sky belonged to the dragons.
Aegon turned back, just for a moment, his silver hair streaming behind him like a banner in the wind. From Quicksilver’s back, he gave a single nod: sharp, sure, and solemn. It was time.
Rhaena returned it with a barely perceptible gesture, her throat tightening. Their plan was simple. Desperate. Probably mad.
Aegon would draw Balerion in from below, using Quicksilver’s speed to dance around Maegor’s attacks; get him focused, get him chasing. And when the moment came, Rhaena would strike from above, diving hard and fast, Dreamfyre’s claws and flame not aimed at the Black Dread but at the man strapped to his back. Kill the rider, Aegon had said. And the beast becomes just a beast again.
Rhaena wasn’t sure she believed that. She wasn’t sure they’d survive long enough to find out.
But they had no better option.
“Vēzot!”
Obeying Rhaena’s command, Dreamfyre rose sharply, catching a current of air and soaring higher above the battlefield. Rhaena’s eyes stayed on Balerion, a black blot rushing toward Aegon and Quicksilver like the hand of death itself. The two dragons weren’t just mismatched in size: Balerion was a fortress, a force of nature. Quicksilver was a quarter his size, maybe less. But Aegon was brave. He knew his dragon. He could outfly him. Maybe.
Rhaena ascended past the clouds, the sun blinding for a heartbeat before Dreamfyre twisted in the air, turning into position. From here, the world looked small: far below, the armies had barely begun to clash, the banners now dots, the screams not yet reaching her ears.
Stay focused, she told herself, fingers tightening on the reins.
She watched Aegon swoop low beneath Balerion’s belly, a silver streak against a mass of shadow. Balerion roared and banked sharply, fire spilling from his jaws, but Quicksilver danced away just in time, flames chasing him like the tongue of a serpent. Aegon had his attention.
Now, Rhaena thought, and kicked Dreamfyre into a dive.
The wind howled in her ears as they dropped, air screaming past them. Her eyes locked on Maegor, who was leaning into Balerion’s motion, his black armor reflecting nothing, like a man carved from ash. He hadn’t seen her yet. He was focused entirely on Aegon, just as they’d hoped.
Dreamfyre shrieked.
Maegor looked up.
Rhaena screamed too, not in fear, but in rage. Everything boiled up inside her: her daughters’ faces, her mother’s tears, the burning Sept, the endless executions, her life turned to ashes. This is for all of us, she thought, and she leaned forward, aiming straight for her uncle.
“Dracarys!”
Dreamfyre’s claws extended, flame curling at her jaws, wings pulled tight as they dove upon the Black Dread.
Balerion turned hard to the right, surprisingly fast for something his size, and Dreamfyre collided with the Black Dread’s flank, claws scraping uselessly across iron-scaled hide. The impact sent Rhaena and her dragon reeling. For a heartbeat, there was no sky, no ground: only chaos and cold air rushing around her as Dreamfyre spiraled out of control, wings flailing.
Rhaena gritted her teeth and pulled hard on the reins, screaming, “ Dohaerās! Dohaerās!” Dreamfyre shrieked back, fighting through the pain, and at last leveled out. The world came into focus again, and just as it did, it was torn apart.
The sky behind her roared with shrieks so loud she could feel them in her bones. She wheeled Dreamfyre around, and what she saw made her blood turn to ice.
Balerion had dropped from above, a monstrous shadow crashing down on Quicksilver, his claws sinking into her body. Rhaena saw her brother, her husband, twist in the saddle, trying, but there was no time. Balerion’s jaws opened wide and ripped into Quicksilver’s wing, tearing it clean from her body like parchment.
The silver dragon tumbled from the sky, fire sputtering from her throat in agony. Rhaena didn’t breathe. She couldn’t. She watched helplessly as Aegon, still clinging to the saddle, vanished into the trees below with a sound like the end of the world: a thunderous, sickening crack as dragon and rider hit the ground.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. Not yet.
There wasn’t time.
Rhaena turned her eyes upward and met Maegor’s gaze.
He hovered above her, black-armored and still, astride the winged nightmare that had just killed her husband. Balerion beat the air with steady, lazy strokes, like a predator waiting for its prey to twitch. Smoke curled from his nostrils. Maegor said nothing. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said everything: One left. One girl. One dragon.
Rhaena’s hands were shaking.
But she gripped the reins tighter.
There was no Aegon now. No plan. No one left to come save her. But she still had Dreamfyre beneath her. She still had the sky.
And she still had her fury.
Rhaena raised her head, looking straight at her uncle. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and hoarse, but certain.
“Let this be an end to it. Naejot!”
And then she surged upward, toward him. Toward vengeance. Toward the end.
Rhaena clung to Dreamfyre’s saddle as they climbed, her fingers aching from the strain, her face stinging from the heat of the fire that had nearly ended her. The smoke curled around her, choking, and the scent of her own burnt hair filled her nose, but she forced it down, forced everything down. Grief. Pain. Doubt. There was only fire now. Fire and blood and one last chance.
She was trying the same maneuver as before; climb above him, dive fast, strike true. It had failed once, but it had also nearly worked. And she had no other options. No Aegon. No army. Just a prayer whispered into the void and the breath of the Seven on her lips, hoping against hope they had not abandoned her too.
“Mother, guide my hand. Warrior, give me strength. Father, judge him now.”
Below her, Balerion and Maegor were rising to meet her again: slow, inexorable, a shadow swallowing the earth. But Dreamfyre was faster. Her wings beat strong, her long, lean body cutting through the sky like a knife. Rhaena leaned forward, angling their approach just so, ready to pass close overhead and strike at Maegor from above again.
They closed in.
Rhaena gritted her teeth, the wind screaming in her ears.
But Maegor moved again.
Just like before, he yanked Balerion into a sudden turn with terrifying precision, and as he veered aside, the Black Dread opened his jaws and released a monstrous plume of fire.
It was like flying into the heart of the sun.
Dreamfyre screamed in agony as the flames licked across her flank, and Rhaena’s world went red. She twisted, nearly blinded by the heat, and turned Dreamfyre hard to the left, fleeing the inferno. Her hair smoldered at the edges, the back of her neck burned raw. The heat had melted parts of her cloak. Her arm trembled.
But she was still alive.
Barely.
She wheeled Dreamfyre back into the sky, breath coming fast and ragged, readying for another pass; only to see him coming.
Balerion.
Coming straight for her.
Not veering. Not baiting. Not climbing.
Charging.
She had been too slow to turn.
The full bulk of him was barreling toward her through the sky, a wall of black death with wings. She could see Maegor’s face clearly now, lips twisted in grim purpose, his hands steady on the reins.
No more circling. No more dancing.
He’s going to crush us, Rhaena realized.
But she didn’t turn away.
Instead, she pulled Dreamfyre’s wings in tight and aimed downward: not to flee, but to use her momentum. The sky screamed around her as she dove once more, this time not above or below Maegor, but straight toward him.
If Rhaena was going to die, she would take him with her.
The sky vanished in a blast of force and fury as Dreamfyre and Balerion collided.
The impact knocked the breath from Rhaena’s lungs. The sound, sickening, deafening, rang in her ears like a great bell tolling the hour of her death. She felt herself lurch in the saddle, her harness digging hard into her ribs, and for one terrifying moment, the world turned upside down.
Then her dragon screamed.
The Black Dread’s teeth snapped inches from Dreamfyre’s neck, his fetid breath thick as smoke, but Dreamfyre clawed and tore and latched her jaws onto the cords of Balerion’s throat. They were falling, wings tangled, a knot of scale and fury tumbling from the heavens. Rhaena clung tight, wind battering her, eyes burning.
She looked across the gap between the dragons and saw him.
Maegor.
He was closer than ever now. His black armor gleamed like obsidian, his face locked in a grimace of pure, undiluted hatred. He held fast to Balerion’s reins with one hand and drew Blackfyre with the other, as if he could somehow reach her across the gap and strike her from her saddle.
Rhaena bared her teeth, blood in her mouth, her voice hoarse with fury. “Come on then, uncle!” she screamed. “Let’s both die!”
His expression didn’t waver. Balerion twisted beneath him, the fire in his throat rumbling like a forge.
Rhaena laughed; mad, breathless, triumphant. “King for a year, with no heirs! Let Visenya see what her son’s become!” She raised her voice. “She’d be so proud!”
But the moment shattered.
There was a crack, loud and final: a sound that wasn’t flame or steel, but bone.
Balerion’s jaws clamped down on Dreamfyre’s leg, the sheer power of it forcing the smaller dragon to scream in agony. Rhaena felt the jolt ripple through the saddle, through the reins, through her spine. Dreamfyre thrashed in panic, her wings faltering, her grip on Balerion loosening.
Rhaena’s triumph turned to horror. The clouds spun wildly around her. She could feel Dreamfyre’s pain: deep, animal, staggering.
“Daor!” she whispered. “No, no, no-”
She gritted her teeth, blinking through tears she didn’t remember forming, and reached forward, laying her hand on the warm, bloodied scales of Dreamfyre’s neck.
Balerion’s wings thundered as he began to rise, climbing with terrible strength even as his massive jaws remained locked around Dreamfyre’s limb. Rhaena could feel the tearing, the jerking of her dragon’s body as Balerion bit down again; not to kill, not yet, but to maim, to break her piece by piece. Her leg, her wing, her body.
Dreamfyre’s scream was no longer furious. It was agony. Raw, primal, helpless. She was not listening to Rhaena anymore.
Rhaena gripped the saddle so tightly her knuckles bled, heart pounding, mind screaming. She reached for her sword, but what could she do? Leap across to Balerion? Strike Maegor from the sky? The distance was too great, and she would fall before she got near him. She was powerless. She had never felt powerless in the sky before.
Her eyes locked on Maegor.
He was watching her now; not with rage or hatred, but with something worse: satisfaction. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into the faintest, cruelest of smiles.
Rhaena’s breath caught.
It was the first time she had ever seen him smile.
Then, without warning, Maegor shouted something she could not hear, but Balerion obeyed.
The Black Dread’s jaws opened, and Dreamfyre was released.
Just like that: Rhaena and her dragon began to fall.
There was no grace to it, no gliding, no control. Dreamfyre’s ravaged wing flailed uselessly, the other struggling to catch the air, but it was too little, too late. The leg hung limp and bloody, dragging her balance off. The wind whipped past them as the sky above grew smaller and the green-brown world below rushed upward.
Rhaena tried not to scream. She bit it down. Bit her tongue bloody.
Dreamfyre shrieked again, and the sound cracked something inside her.
Rhaena pressed her cheek to Dreamfyre’s neck. The heat of her blood soaked into Rhaena’s skin.
She wasn’t crying.
Not yet.
Not until it was done.
The wind tore the words from her mouth as she plummeted, but Rhaena screamed them anyway; rage pouring from her like fire.
“Damn you, Maegor!” she roared, voice cracking. “By the Old Gods and the New, may you never know peace while you wear that crown! May your blood poison the throne, may your heirs drown in blood, may war cling to you like rot until it consumes you, choking on the screams of every soul you’ve burned!”
She didn’t care if he heard her. She didn’t care if the wind caught it, if the gods caught it, or if it was only Dreamfyre who heard her final curse. She meant it. With every torn shred of flesh, every beat of her dragon’s failing wings, every corner of her soul.
Let the heavens write it in flame.
The world below raced upward: trees, rocks, fields, blurring into one fast-approaching wall of earth. She could smell Dreamfyre’s blood, feel the last spasms of her failing heart beneath the saddle.
Will I see Aegon again? she wondered. Her brother. Her husband. His laughter, the weight of his hand on hers during quiet evenings. Or Father? Was he waiting for her in the Seven Heavens? Or had the gods cast him down to the Seven Hells for his weakness? For his blood?
Grandmother Rhaenys. Grandfather Aegon. Were they proud of her now? Or were they screaming for her to flee, to live, to fly just one more time?
Or was it all for nothing? Were the septons right? Would she fall into the burning abyss and never climb out?
She didn’t know.
And as the ground rose to meet her, fast, final, forgiving, she didn’t have time to ask again.
Rhaena Targaryen hit the earth.
She felt no impact.
She felt nothing.