I will fight with all I have in me to end Mhoryga’s reign.
The promise I made to Philippa comes back to me, a phantom voice whispering in the chill wind. I meant it when I spoke it. When I stood there, holding her hands, urging her to help me. But is such a promise worth anything? I’m perfectly aware how impossible it is for someone like me to fight the Dragon Queen. She is like a force of nature embodied, while I? I may be a dragon;I’ve accepted that much. But I’m still just…me. Rosie Harpwood. Apothecary’s apprentice. Defender of gremlers and other small, fluffy creatures. I am no match for a daughter of hell.
I swear to you, I won’t run away from my destiny.
Brave words. Words fit for a true heroine of legend.
How could I ever hope to live up to them?
I concentrate on the horizon. It may be only my imagination, but I think I can see the edge of the forest. If only Rhyo can make it that far! And soon. The hellfire heat radiating from his body is so intense, it makes me sick, dizzy. Only the protection of Valtar’s cloak and arms makes it remotely bearable.
I lean back into the man, trying very hard not to notice the burnt-cedar scent of him, which tickles my nose. He is so warm to the touch—how did I not sense long ago that he carries hellfire inside him? He must have kept that part of his soul deeply suppressed. That, or I was simply too smitten to be reasonable. Which is, if I’m honest, much more likely.
And now that he’s helped me make my daring escape…what happens next? It was he, not I, who commanded the dragon boy to fly, he who picked our course. Frowning, I try to reach into Rhyo’s head, to see if I can get a sense of what compels him. But there I feel only an urgent need to fly, fly,fly. Not exactly useful.
I close my eyes. I’m too tired to think clearly anymore. My heat-seared mind idly sheaves through various stray thoughts, landing at last on Philippa. Did she betray me in the end, or did she keep quiet, giving me what chance she could? I hope the latter. I hope she really was my friend, my ally. And I hope she’ll marry Prince Warrick and live a long, happy life as his queen in Anfalen.
Not that there’s much chance of that if Mhoryga makes it to this continent and razes it with hellfire.
It feels like years later when at last light streaks the sky with the promise of coming day. Just as the sun begins to crest the horizon behind us, the dragon boy begins to falter. Ripples of pure exhaustion flow from him through our mind link, and he begins to sink lower and lower. But I can see the edge of the forest now. We’re so close.
“Come on, Rhyo!” I urge, speaking the words out loud, even though the wind catches and whips them away. But the urgency in my spirit communicates through our mental link, and he surges in response, putting on a final burst of speed. We rise a little farther once more, and I see clear rolling country before us. We can make it! We can reach it! And what will happen when we do? Will there be a party of dracori and dragon spawn waiting for us? Have I escaped one set of captors only to exchange them for other, worser foes?
There’s no time to change course now. We soar out over an open field, and Rhyo immediately begins to lose altitude. “Brace yourself!” Valtar cries, holding me close even as the ground suddenly seems to rise to meet us. The dragon boy makes some effort to pull up, his wings flapping wildly.
Then we hit and tumble head over heels. I’m aware of flailing limbs then pain bursting in my right shoulder and hip. Sky and land seem to switch places with each other, back and forth, and somehow, my nose is still filled with that scent of burnt cedar.
When I come to a stop, Valtar is underneath me, his arms wrapped around me. I gasp for breath and turn to my right just in time to see a great burst of green hellfire where the dragon lies some ten feet away from us. The heat ripples over me, searing hot, but Valtar rolls me to one side, using his body as a shield. We lie like that for I don’t know how long, my back pressed to his chest,my body quaking beyond control. It’s all I can do just to remember how to breathe.
Then at last, with a great gasping sob, I cover my face in both hands and weep.
Knees drawn tomy chest, arms wrapped around them, chin propped, I watch the burning green flame which still rises like a bonfire from the nearby field.
Valtar carried me away from the crash site, and we’ve been sitting here for more than an hour, waiting for the fire to die down enough to safely approach Rhyo. Valtar himself has stalked a few yards away, all silent and brooding. He now stands with his back against a lone oak tree, one knee bent, arms crossed over his chest. He makes for quite an ominous picture, with his black hair falling over his forehead and his eyes hooded with secrets.
I shudder and turn away from him, focusing on the leaping flames once more. “Do you think he’s all right?” I call after a little while. It’s the first I’ve bothered speaking since we landed. There didn’t seem much point until now.
I feel rather than see him look my way. He’s silent for a little while, then: “What does your connection tell you?”
It’s a simple question, but I wince at the reminder. The reminder that I am what I am. Still, he’s got a point. I close my eyes and tentatively stretch my awareness along that thread between me and the boy. Sure enough, I find him at the other end of it. Alive. Absolutely worn out, every part of his body and spirit wrung dry. But alive. Sleeping, I think. A sleep without dreams.
What will happen when he wakes? Will I then have both a fire-breathing monster and an assassin to contend with?
I press my face into the tops of my knees, squeezing my legsas hard as I can. Oh, blighted hells but I’m exhausted! I want to sleep, but the effort it would take just to lie down feels insurmountable. Rolling my head to one side, I look at Valtar again from underneath a curtain of limp hair. Now that I see him by light of the rising sun, he looks rather the worse for wear himself. His face is bruised, his clothing ragged. And are those scorch marks across his chest?
“You look as though you’ve been having quite a merry time,” I say, sitting up a little straighter once more and shaking the hair out of my eyes.
Valtar looks my way. One eyebrow twitches. Then he lifts his gaze to the sky, streaked with dawn-lit clouds. “We need to find shelter. There’s a storm rolling in.”
“What about the boy?” I ask, jutting my chin in the direction of the fire.
“We’ll leave him for the time being,” Valtar says. “He’s not going anywhere. If there are any locals hereabouts, they won’t be foolish enough to approach an actively smoldering dragon.” When I continue to hesitate, he adds, “We won’t abandon him. But it won’t do him any good for you to get soaked through.”
“No,” I agree, and narrow my eyes at him. “It won’t domemuch good if you take me away to a nice quiet place to slit my throat either, now will it?”
His eyes flare with some expression I cannot quite name. Then he drops his gaze quickly, staring hard at the ground.
“Are you an assassin, Valtar?” I continue relentlessly. “You might as well tell me the truth. I’ve already guessed as much.”
