The dragon bared its fangs in what might have been a smile. The sight made her shiver all the way down to her bones.
What other reason would there be to chain a monster?
She swallowed hard, whispering, “To stop it from doing monstrous things…”
His quiet, dark chuckle carried in the cave.
By no means could anyone mistake him for anything but evil, but Alora ignored the warning in her heart.
Because she would rather gamble with a wicked god than bow to Calveron.
She lifted her chin. “If I release you, do you swear to do no harm to me or my people?”
The dragon lowered onto his forepaws, as though the thought of razing a small kingdom bored him.You have my vow. I will enact no violence upon you or the citizens of Argyle.
A wave of silvery magic rippled through the cavern, brushing over her skin like an unseen brand. Alora flinched, shivering as something invisible carved his words into her being.
“What was that?” she whispered.
A god’s promise.
The storm of anxiety in her chest eased, albeit a little. If she knew anything of the gods, it was that they rarely gave their word.
Her legs steadied as she stepped closer. “How do I release you?”
I need but a drop of blood given willingly…His voice lingered on the pause, eyes burning brighter.Then our contract will be sealed, and your soul will be mine.
Alora’s heart thundered behind her ribs, her body growing cold. This was it, what she came for. To give up something as essential as her soul was terrifying. But so was living with her life bound to someone else’s will.
Zinnia’s rule surfaced in her mind.
Never spill your blood…
But Argyle hung now in the balance, and she was the only one who could help them now.
Alora drew in a steadying breath. Her fingers brushed her pocket, and she pulled out the crimson spindle. It glimmered faintly in the moonlight.
The sound of her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she lifted the crystal needle. The old scar on her fingertip tingled, hot and raw, as if she had pressed it against iron. Something screamed in warning. She quickly dropped the spindle back into her pocket and removed her lark hairpin instead.
Inhaling a breath, Alora quickly pricked her finger.
The instant it pierced her flesh, the cavern shuddered. The shadows shrieked like a thousand voices torn open at once, a chorus of rage that clawed at her ears. A wind roared through the cave, an icy void pressing into her, sharp and suffocating. The stone beneath her vibrated, a low groan like the mountain itself had stirred.
Alora staggered back, clutching her hand. A raw, searing ache spread from her fingertip and through her being as thoughher own body rebelled against her. As though something lost inside her had surfaced.
Across the cavern, Rune’s eyes flamed with alarm, the shadows at his claws rippling restlessly, recoiling behind him. For a heartbeat he stared her, unnervingly still, gaze narrowing in suspicion.
A low rumble rolled from his chest.What magic lies in your veins?
The sharp unease in his voice made Alora’s pulse thrash in her throat. Her skin was clammy, her body shaky as though she had broken something inside of her. She pressed her finger tight against her thumb, trying to stop the trembling.
“That wasn’t my doing,” Alora whispered.
The mountain groaned with another dim quake. Rune said nothing more as he observed her and the gleaming spindle in her hand.
Why was he so confused? It was his trinket, after all.
Bracing herself, Alora stepped toward the chains. She pinched her fingertip, a scarlet bead welling forth. Together they watched the drop of her blood fall against the steel.
