He pauses. “It does look like soldiers coming out from the gates.”
I turn to look at him over my shoulder. “Do you think King Carrick is there instead of Orea? That he’s sending those soldiers down to Lydia?”
“Seems bold when they can clearly see a dragon in the fucking sky.”
“Believe me, Carrick is arrogant enough to do it,” I reply. “Let’s get a closer look so we know what we’re dealing with.”
Slade’s dragon changes trajectory, devouring the distance with every beat of its wings. We follow the road that leads up the steep path to the plateau, right up to the palace gate.
My attention is locked on the gathering of soldiers I can see just outside, but I frown when I realize something is off about them, though I can’t put my finger on what.
Magic crackles through the air suddenly, and a second later, something shoots up, aiming toward us like a razor-sharp bolt of glass.
“They’re attacking!” I cry.
We bank to the left, and the sharp arrow zips by. I feel a low growl come out of the dragon, the noise traveling all the way up its body and echoing my own anger.
But when I look up, I see the threat wasn’t done.
The sharp bolt is arcing back down, aiming for us again. Before it can strike us, I lift my hand, and a stretch of gold releases in a wave.
The liquid metal wraps around the weapon, and I feel the tug of power, feel whoever is controlling this projectile trying to fight against me.
It doesn’t work.
My magic turns the bolt solid gold, giving me full control, and I send it falling to the ground.
My ribbons twist around my torso while I palm more gold, ready in case another one of those magical arrows tries to hit us again.
Anger radiates from the dragon and it flies down lower, a roar building in its throat, ready to rot them all through.
We’re so close to the palace now that I can see all the different colors feeding in from the windows. I can see the decorative gate in front of it, see the soldiers gathered…
And then it clicks. Why something looked off.
It’s because these soldiers aren’t Stone Swords.
I jerk my head over my shoulder just as the dragon opens its mouth and starts roaring out power to strike the soldiers below.
“Slade! Those aren’t Stone Swords! Those are—”
Snap.
The sound is so awful it makes me physically recoil.
The main bone of the dragon’s wing breaks, and we start to fall. Its spewed rot chokes off, its roar turning into a scream. Behind me, Slade jolts and goes stiff.
“Hold on!” he shouts, though his voice sounds strained.
His hands lash out clumsily, and he wraps his arms around me and the spike I cling to, trying to keep me stable.
I reach out on either side of the plummeting dragon, forcing out gold as fast as I can. “Come on, come on,” I say, teeth gritted, fear pumping through my veins as wind blows and the ground rushes up.
It’s not enough, not for how big this dragon is. But the gold I manage to pour out comes together in a viscid wave. It stretches up, bracing against the ground, just barely solidified enough to catch us and break the worst of our fall.
We crash into it, and my head knocks against the dragon’s spike as the liquid metal splashes around us on impact.
The dragon roars out in pain from its wing, and Slade picks me up and leaps off the back of the beast. He sets me down on the ground and then puts his arm in front of me protectively as a growl tears from his throat.
