Crap.
That’s probably not something I should be blabbing about.
She gasps. “Your familiar?” Her teal eyes glitter. “Then that means…oh, you are no ordinary human, are you, missy?”
“Not according to the people that locked me in a dungeon less than forty-eight hours ago.”
I loose a sigh as I pull apart a piece of bread, holding it out to Zadyn. I don’t know the last time he ate, but I’m sure he must be hungry as I am. He nibbles it gently, licking my fingertips with his little pink tongue. He really is adorable like this.
Igrid scoots closer to me on the bench. “We’re alone now. No nosy ears. Let’s have your story, then.” She lays a gentle hand on mine and eyes me expectantly.
I assess her, wondering how much would be okay to reveal. I could really use someone to hash this out with, and something is telling me that she can be trusted.
I lay it out for her, sparing no detail. Zadyn doesn’t try to stop me. Maybe he understands that I need to process this with someone else, someone not directly attached to the situation.
Igrid’s jaw is slack by the time I get to the end.
“Good gods, you’re the last Blackblood witch.” She leans back, her whisper reverent. “That explains the scent.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing, but they’re treating me like a prisoner until I can prove it.”
“It would be a very good thing! Blackblood witches were once considered the highest of royalty. They were fierce warriors and the High Queens of this world before they became extinct. Well,almostextinct,” she corrects herself. “Haven’t you ever heard the prophecy?”
Her eyes widen in realization as she tilts her pretty head.
“Of course you haven’t—you only just got here! Many hundreds of years ago, the High Seer foretold that one last Blackblood witch would come to claim the last remaining dragon on Solterre. I guess that’s you.” She regards me fondly, her cerulean eyes twinkling.
“Igrid—” I angle myself to face her head-on, tucking one leg beneath me. “Even if it is true and I am a Blackblood, I’m not a warrior, I’m not a High Queen, and I don’t have any magic. I’m perfectly ordinary. I’d be the last person you’d want to be your Dragon Rider.”
“It’s not entirely up to you, you know.” She sits straddling the bench to face me fully. “The magic chooses. And so will the dragon, of course. If you are worthy, she will bond you.”
“And if I’m not?” I counter.
“You’ll save us all a lot of trouble and die.”
A cold voice murmurs from the doorway. Beneath the gentle arch, Jack is leaning casually, arms crossed over his broad chest. I stare at him, barely even registering his words. Zadyn’s tail brushes my ankle, and I break the intense eye contact.
“Captain.” Igrid rises and curtsies. I do not.
I can feel his eyes burning into me from across the room as I study the grooves of the table and count the seconds.
“May I be of assistance?” she asks.
“Thank you, Igrid, but no. I’m simply here to make sure the witch behaves.” He gives me a smug little smirk, crossing one ankle over the other.
“Have I given you reason to believe I won’t?” I mutter under my breath. He somehow hears it.
“I’m not one to leave things to chance,” he retorts.
“How boring.”
I feel Igrid’s shock as she snaps her head down to me. I dare to lift my eyes to Jack’s, holding my breath for the nasty comeback. Instead, he gives a dark chuckle and saunters over to the table, sliding onto the bench across from me.
I fight the urge to fidget.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt.” He gestures for Igrid to sit and continue. “Where were we? Oh, that’s right. The history of witches. As if you don’t already know.”
“I don’t,” I object. “Do you think I reallychoseto be here?”
