Lucan pauses a few steps ahead, and our eyes meet. The image of the dragon in my mind is replaced by him, reassuring and steady. He extends a hand, and I fully return to the present. “You can do this, Isola.”
Our fingers wrap together, firm and unyielding. For a second, I believe him, and that’s all it takes for me to begin ascending. Almost running. I don’t let the fear win. My heart is hammering to the point of bursting by the time we make it back into the central atrium.
We stop a moment and catch our breath. I expected utter chaos, but there’s nothing. The central atrium is alarmingly empty. The bells still toll, singing their frantic, ominous hymn across Vinguard, and we warily ascend the stairs to the residence hall.
The moment our feet hit the fourth-floor landing, a flash of light fills the window at the end of the hall, followed almost instantly by a deafeningboom. Etherlight strikes me, and I wince. But it’s not quite as uncomfortable as I remember the last cannon shot. It feels like too-hot bathwater. Prickling my skin.Painful, slightly, but in an almost refreshing kind of way.
“Cannons?” Lucan runs to the thin window at the end of the hall, peering out. His lack of self-preservation is both astounding and alarming.
“There must be more than one, if they’re using cannons already.” Which means I’m not wasting time. I burst into the room to find Saipha already on her feet. Without a word, I throw a small roll to her, and she tears into it like her life depends on it. I’ll give her the honeycomb later. She needs more solid food first. And I want her to be able to savor it.
“Your success is delicious,” she barely manages to say between bites. Lucan walks in the room and closes the door behind him, then shoves the lockbox back against it. He flips the lid open. I quickly unpack and store our score.
Saipha has barely finished when the copper boxes throughout the monastery sizzle to life.
“All supplicants are to report to the central atrium.” Direct, to the point, and leaving no room for questioning.
“I wonder if they’ll move us into the basement.” Saipha still sways a little, but there’s a satisfied smile on her face that I haven’t seen in ages.
“I hope so,” I say as I start out the door. Lucan catches my eyes. We share a look that suggests neither of us are particularly convinced that will be the case.
The three of us join the flow of the other supplicants down the stairs. It only takes a few minutes for everyone to gather, staring at one another uncertainly.
Inquisitors emerge from the staircase that I vaguely remember taking with Saipha on our night out together; it’s the one that leads to the basement. A sigh of relief escapes me. We’ll be safe down there…so long as they don’t use this opportunity to put all of us under the effects of the green dragon vapor. I’d like to think the inquisitors have other things to worry about, but given howthey’ve acted so far, I’m not optimistic.
“Please follow us.” It’s the prelate. My stomach knots, acid eating through tissue, burning muscle. I don’t trust her…not for a second.
My fears are proved well-founded when she leads us up, rather than down.
“What’s going on?” someone asks, voice pitched high.
“Is there a fortified room this way?” another supplicant asks an inquisitor standing off to the side, clearly thinking along the same lines that I am:“Up” during a dragon attack is never a good decision.
“No questions,” the prelate snaps, her voice echoing around all of us, the words tightening like nooses on our necks.
They funnel us like livestock. Every step up feels like a funeral march. More cannon fire rattles the upper windows. Flashes of light mingle with the darkness.
We’re nearly on the fourth floor when the roar of a dragon seems to shake the very foundations of Vinguard itself. Some of the supplicants let out screams. I falter, grabbing the wall for support. My other hand goes to my chest, and I take a shuddering breath.
My thoughts waver, turned to liquid; I can’t hold on to them. Trees aren’t real. The scourge is actually my blood. Punch Saipha in the nose. Laughter threatens to bubble up, as though that’s the funniest idea I’ve had in ages.Talk like a dragon: Roar, roar roar. Hiss. I snort.
“Isola.” His hand is firm on my shoulder, jostling me.
I shake my head and catch a hiss in my throat. What was that?Purple dragon madness.Exposure to one’s roar can cause delirium. It’s the only explanation. But purple dragons are extremely rare.
Given how everyone else seems to be emerging from a daze, it must have been.
The inquisitors don’t even give us a second to catch our breath. The prelate begins marching again. Up and up…
The supplicants at the front of the line begin to shout objections at the prelate. They curse at her, beg and barter, because they see now where she’s leading us. She ignores them all and throws open the door to the rooftop where I was interrogated far too recently.
Icy wind billows down into the stairwell. Someone screams as though it’s a dagger stabbing them. Another weeps. “You can’t do this to us!” Mikel shouts.
“Out!” the prelate barks, ignoring all the protests.
“You’re going to kill us!” Daisy yells over the wind.
“You can’t force us to stand out there with dragons in the air.” Cindel forces all her misplaced authority into her words to try and seem calm.
