“Keep them down there! No, get themoutof here.”
Wreylith roared again. Syla gripped a bedpost with one hand while she clutched her scalpel with the other. It wasn’t an adequate weapon, but she knew how to use it better than real ones.
Fel eyed her, as if he might consider tossing her into the closet with Abrya. But then the clangs of swords and a cry of pain came from the hallway outside. The fighting had reached them.
Fel and Oyenar braced themselves inside the doorway while the guards fired crossbows and wielded swords in the hallway.
Glass shattered, and something flew through the window, a sphere that bounced across the floor and almost hit Syla in the foot. An explosive?
She sprang across the bed, hoping it could provide cover. Fel whirled, eyes wide, and snatched up the explosive. He threw it back out the window. At the same time, a gout of fire streamed down from the rooftop. It caught the explosive as well as whoever the dragon had been aiming at in the courtyard below, and a great boom shook the floor and rattled paintings on the walls. The windows shattered and broke, hurling glass into the room, pieces skidding all the way to the closet. Lady Abrya let out an exclamation of dismay.
Your enemy approaches,Wreylith warned.
I guessed that from the explosives. Thank you.
A cheeky archer is firing at me. Two of them!
Scraping noises came from the roof above. Dragon talons? There weren’t windows facing the other side of the palace, but a scream erupted from the courtyard in that direction, and Syla imagined an archer going up in flames.
In the hallway, clatters and bangs sounded, and the guards in front of the doorway surged out of view to meet the threat. Oyenar stepped out to assist his men.
Syla pushed herself to her feet, expecting Lesva and her riders to come from that direction. She looked at her puny scalpel and wished she had some of her aunt’s booby traps to throw. Anything that might prove effective against the rider captain.
Lesva didn’t charge in from the hallway. Silent as death, the black-clad rider sprang in through one of the broken windows. If she hadn’t landed on shattered glass that crunched softly, Syla might not have noticed, though as soon as she swung her head to look, she sensed the power of the woman. Silver braids bouncing on her shoulders, Lesva spotted Syla and ran straight toward her.
“Fel!” Syla cried as she threw one of her vials.
It arched accurately toward Lesva’s face, but she batted it away with her sword. The vial shattered in the air, but if any of the astringent droplets struck her skin, they didn’t disturb her.
Fel sprang at Lesva from the side, trying to keep her from reaching Syla. In an inhuman feat of strength, Lesva leaped high, her head brushing the coffered ceiling as she pulled her knees up to her chest. Fel almost lost his balance as he passed under her instead of colliding with her, but he caught himself and spun, swinging his mace at her.
Almost casually, Lesva deflected it with her sword as she landed. Not hesitating, she continued toward Syla.
Syla threw another vial, this time aiming for the corner of one of the bed posts. It clipped the edge and shattered, a few droplets flying toward Lesva’s eyes as she approached. She closed them in time, but the liquid struck her cheeks and lips.
It wouldn’t deter the great warrior, and Syla considered running into the closet and slamming the door shut. But that also wouldn’t impede this foe. Worse, it would alert Lesva to Abrya’s location. Instead, against her survival instincts, Syla lunged forward and grabbed Lesva’s arm.
Fel tried to knock Lesva’s sword away and grip her from behind, but she deflected his mace while locking her gaze on Syla, her lip curling with anger and loathing.
Though Syla hadn’t been able to best her the last time they’d battled with magic, she willed her power into the captain, hoping Lesva was more distracted this time. If the rider let her guard down, Fel would brain her. Too bad Oyenar and his guards were engaged in the hallway and couldn’t help.
With startling ease, Syla’s power flowed into Lesva. She sensed the woman bringing her own magic to bear, trying to form a shield to block Syla, as she had before. But something had changed. The moon-mark on Syla’s hand flared, but the dragon tattoo on her other hand also activated. It tingled with power, so much that it almost hurt as it also sent magic through Syla and into her foe. The dragon power twined and mingled with that from Syla’s gods-gift, and Lesva gasped in surprise as she struggled to deflect it all.
She lifted her sword toward Syla, but Fel growled and swung his mace toward her head. Once again, she had to deflect his attack. Meanwhile, Syla sent a tendril of power to Lesva’s trachea to cut off her air supply and another to her heart in case she had the strength to stop its beats, to end the threat forever.
Fire and smoke come from the ships in your fleet,Wreylith said.
I’m busy right now,Syla replied, sensing Lesva was far from defeated.
Her blue eyes burning with fury and determination, Lesva roared as she summoned more power and strength. She ripped her arm from Syla’s grip and kicked her in the stomach, knocking her back into the nightstand.
As Syla lost her connection, her ability to harm Lesva evaporated. For a moment, Lesva spun and focused fully on Fel. Her blade blurred as she slipped it past his mace, stabbing him in the shoulder, then kicking him and sending him tumbling back.
He hit the floor, rolled, and came to his feet, his mace still in his hand, though he couldn’t bring it up fully, not with the puncture in his shoulder. Lesva crouched to spring after him, but Syla ran forward, intending to grab her—totouchher—again.
A shadow fell over the windows, startling them all. Red scales flashed.
Wreylith’s head was too large to fit through a window, but that didn’t keep her from lowering her horns and ramming into the exterior of the building. Her great head came throughtwowindows—and knocked out the wall between them.
