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And while tapping into my power represents my best chance at saving us both, there’s no guarantee it will work.

But still I have to try.

Stuffing my lungs with air, I shut everything out. The noise. My emotions. My rage, my fear, my thoughts. I empty my head until my mind becomes a blank canvas.

With a steadying breath, I reach inside myself. Like calling on my fire magic, but deeper than that. I imagine gossamer cords shooting out of my mind and latching onto the dragons.

And I don’t let go.

My mind brushes against the dragons’ minds in an almost tangible way. With everything I’ve got, I focus on the fragile connection.

An onslaught of emotions causes me to physically stagger. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate harder. I’ve only done this a few times, and I’m not familiar enough with the process to do it with ease.

I picture myself gathering the emotions, the raw energy, and shoving it aside. Then I project every ounce of calm that I can muster, feeding it through the tentative bond. Not too much too fast. Slowly. Gently.

The twin infernos stop, and I release a shaky breath.

Both dragons take one last look at me, eyes unblinking as my understanding dawns.

I truly am a dragoncaller.

And then I’m falling. The world spins around me in flashes of colors and lights and sounds. As I hit the dirt, I swear I hear a familiar voice shouting my name.

Before my mind can decipher this new development, oblivion drags me under.

Chapter Four

A sharp screech pierces the silence, wrenching me from a deep slumber devoid of dreams. My eyes flit open, and I blink back the grogginess.

Memories flit through my mind.

The guards. Walking through the tunnels. The arena. Hundreds of people. King Jasper. Dragons. My sister.

And then…nothing.

How did I get in my chamber? Is Leesa all right? Surely, after I passed out, the king allowed her to leave the arena. At that point the dragons were subdued. I could feel their calm…I don’t know how, but?—

The door creaks open.

Someone is coming in.

Alarm spurs me into action. I stumble out of bed, the hem of the gown I don’t remember putting on brushing against my bare calves. Not my preferred attire for fending off an attack, but I’ll worry about that later.

Every muscle coils tight as I grab the short sword Sterling left me from the nightstand and prepare to defend myself.

Surely the king hasn’t summoned me for round two.

The door swings wider, admitting a stern-faced woman of regal bearing. A spotless half-apron covers her fine clothing.

I blow out a relieved breath. “Hello.”

The tall, elegant woman sports raven-black hair that’s pinned to flaunt silver streaks many women her age work to conceal. I immediately like that about her. Instead of introducing herself, her gaze zeroes in on my right hand.

She raises a haughty eyebrow and speaks with a voice as crisp as a winter apple. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to carry on my conversations without immediate threat of disembowelment.”

Shit. I forgot all about the sword in my hand. “Sorry. My bad.”

Without another word, I drop the weapon on the rug and push the hilt away with my foot as a show of good faith. It’s still close enough that I can swoop it up and defend myself if necessary.