This was what it meant to be responsible for lives. Not the ceremonial duties of a princess, but real leadership, where your failures have names and faces. Fara was killed because I hadn’t been vigilant enough.
“We should bury her.” Kerralyn rose to her feet, wavering before Jaxon latched onto her arm.
“With what, our bare hands?” Maddox snarled. He peered into the dense jungle around us, his knuckles white where he gripped his stick. “Whatever did this is probably still out there. Watching.”
Something could be hunting us, tracking our every move, waiting for us to drop our guard. I spun, scanning the shadows, but found nothing but green darkness.
In the distance, a beast howled, a mournful,hungrysound.
Jaxon spun his leather bracelet around and around on his wrist, his teeth clacking together.
“It’s still near,” he groaned. “I can feel it.”
“We don’t have time to bury her.” Bryson’s attention remained on the jungle. “We need to move. Now.”
“Then we’ll cover her. Give her some dignity.”Kerralyn broke leafy branches off a nearby shrub and began laying them carefully over Fara’s torn body. Jaxon helped, though he kept his eyes diverted.
A bellowing cry sliced through the jungle. Another call. Another.
A pack of them.
Hunting.
We stilled, branches still in our hands, and the jungle joined in, going ominously silent.
Taunting.
Bryson backed up, tripping over Fara’s half-covered body. He hit the ground and flung himself onto his feet, panic flashing across his face. His stoic composure cracked, revealing the terrified man underneath.
A growl rumbled through the trees. Too close. Crashes rang out as something moved through the undergrowth, closing the distance between us with terrifying speed.
It was coming.
It was big.
It had already killed once today and could be eager to do so again.
“Run,” Bryson hissed.
We scattered into the jungle, leaving Fara’s body behind.
15
TREW
The village of Myrelle had been home to two-hundred-and-twenty-seven souls yesterday. Today, nothing was left of the village but smoldering ruins and husks of what used to be happy people.
Lakast’s wings beat steadily beneath me as we circled the ruins. My dragon’s scales rippled like liquid gold in the morning light, his enormous form casting shadows over the devastation below. Smoke still curled from collapsed homes, their wooden frames jutting from the earth like broken ribcages.
I saw no movement. No survivors pawing through the wreckage to find something—anything—they could salvage. Only silence and the stench of death riding the wind.
I pressed my knees against Lakast’s sides, and he banked toward the clearing at the village’s edge. Twenty-five of my best soldiers followed me on their own mounts, dragons of every size and color darkening the sky. We landed in a bright meadow nearby, where wildflowers bloomed, their heady scent mixing in with the pall of death. Lakast folded in his wings and lowered his great body to the grass, breathing out a heavy sigh I felt all the way to my bones.
The moment my boots hit earth, I drew the sword from the sheath on my back. Around me, my soldiers did the same, steel singing as blades cleared leather, long daggers appearing in other hands as everyone spread out, scanning the immediate area for threats. After a Skathe attack, you remained armed, or you died.
Nasty creatures; they’d suck us all dry if they could.
“Send the troops to search. Tell them to remain in groups,” I told Kira the moment she dismounted and hurried over to my side, her death adder coiling around her throat. “Search every structure, every cellar, every hiding place. If you find survivors, bring them to me. If any Skathe remain in the area, destroy them.”
