Yes, she would break it. She would crack a hole in the egg, and she would defeat whatever dared to crawl out of it. And, once she did, Elara would be free, and Faron would sleep for days. Maybe even at her own house, for the first time in months.
She was so close now.
A deep breath and she was reaching for the gods, for Obie in particular. She couldn’t handle Irie’s wrath nor Mala’s pity. Not right now. Not today. When Obie appeared before her with his hood drawn and his eyes hidden, she shoved any indication of her plans as far down as she could. His soul merged with hers, flooding her body with the power of night and shadows, and, for once, the sudden feeling of being infinite made her laugh instead of overwhelming her. This close,so close, nothing could drag her down.
As soon as her vision cleared, she fed their magic into the shadow of the egg, lifting it from the pavement. With a wave of herhand, it separated into a thousand midnight daggers, all pointed at the shell.
Empyrean, said Obie.What are you doing?
She clenched her fist in answer. The daggers struck the egg from all sides, burying themselves so deeply that she heard the shell splinter to pieces even before the first crack began to show. The egg cleaved in two, the massive sides of its thick shell falling apart and tipping dangerously toward the stone barrier that protected the town.
Empyrean.
Faron breathed hard as she tried to hold on to Obie’s defiant soul. Magma bubbled up from the center of the egg now, gushing but never falling, painting the pieces of the shell in bubbling red goop. She heard laughter, deep yet musical and very familiar.
A pearl-white dragon she had never seen before pulled itself free of the magma that continued to steam from the egg and rose up to stand in the sun. Behind it, the last of the eggshell crumbled, falling to the ground as a pile of ash. The earth made a gurgling sound like a drain, and then the magma and the heat faded, leaving nothing but the dragon. It was twice the size the egg had been, its eyes spring green, its teeth like swords the size of her arm.
A giant beast faced her down, malice radiating off it in waves almost powerful enough to touch.
The First Dragon.
Screaming. Everyone was screaming. Faron’s body jerked left and right as people shoved past her to get away from the monster she had unleashed. Their screams. Their cries. Their confusion. Their despair. Each one struck her like a stone as the dragon roared so loudly that the ground shook beneath her.
Faron, Obie whispered inside her head.What have you done?
Faron lifted her hands.Calm down, she told the First Dragon. Asserting her will. Grazing the edges of a soul far larger and more ancient than any she had touched before.
And then, impossibly, the soul reached back. Trapping her. Claiming her.
The dragon spread its endless wings and rose into the air.
And, with another roar, it flew directly toward her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ELARA
WITHSIGNEY’S TRAINING ALLOWING HER TO TALK ALOUD ANDacross the bond at the same time, they were able to cobble together a plan without alerting the guards who never took their eyes off them. Elara had barely looked at her room all day, and she didn’t study it now. Instead, she studied the clock on the wall as it ticked closer and closer to midnight. If they succeeded, she could reach San Irie after dawn. If they failed…
She looked at her Justice figurine, waiting innocently on the side table, and she prayed.Irie, please. Please help me save my island. Please help us get free of this place. You heard us once, and now I beg you to hear me. San Irie cannot handle another war. We need you. I need you.
No one answered. Midnight arrived. Elara inhaled deeply—and an explosion rocked the manor, toppling her off the side of the bed. Zephyra had managed to fly directly into the house, causing one of the building’s wings to collapse. At least, Elarahopedshe’d managed her part of the plan.
She scrambled to find her bags even though her ears were ringing. Outside, footsteps pounded, and orders were shouted. But just as she grabbed the handle, her door swung open. Soldiers swarmedin, so many that she was forced back against the far wall, trapped between them and the side table that now dug into her hip.
“The prisoners have been secured,” said one into his dragon relic, a claw ring that swirled with magic, probably allowing him to report to his commander.
Elara had been stripped of her dragon relics, but she had been practicing for half her life to become a soldier. Her fist shot out, punching the closest one in the throat, and she yanked his sword free as he stumbled back. She only had one blade in contrast to the wall of them before her, but she had to get to Zephyra before the soldiers outside captured her in their nets.
She reached out a free hand to grab her figurine, switched on its flames, and threw it like a bomb.
Justice shattered, sending flaming metal everywhere. Although their uniforms were clearly fireproof, the shards cut deep enough to distract the soldiers. Elara began to fight her way through using the element of surprise more than any skill. They were army trained with their weapons, and she was not. The minute they were out of range of those sharp pieces of drake figurine, they would overwhelm her in a second.
Signey appeared in the doorway, a ball of flame conjured between her hands. She said something that Elara couldn’t hear over the din of battle and threw the fire in an arc that jumped from sword to sword, making them too hot to hold. Elara saw the soldiers closest to her sliding on what she assumed were fireproof gloves and swung her sword at them. She wasn’t aiming to kill. She didn’t necessarily want to kill. But the blood that spilled across the floor screamedfatal.
She knew all too well how much blood a human could lose and still survive.
It was much less than this.
