Bethesda stared at him like she couldn’t believe what he’d just said, but it was his sister who took the suggestion worst of all. “Never!” she snarled. “I willneverlet her slide again. You have no idea what she’s done!”
“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’m not asking for your mercy or forgiveness, Chelsie. I’m asking you to compromise.”
“You’re letting her get away with murder!” she roared, jerking against his Fang’s magic with a fury that gave him an instant splitting headache.
“I know,” Julius said, gripping down tighter than ever. “But the killing has to stop somewhere, which means someone is going to get away unpunished. I can’t tell you how bad I wish it wasn’t her. You’re not the only one Bethesda’s stepped on. But no matter how much she deserves it, I can’t let you kill her, and you know it. But Icangive you something I think you want even more: freedom.”
Chelsie didn’t deny it, but she didn’t look convinced, either. “She’ll never let me go.”
“She’ll have no choice,” Julius said, turning back to Bethesda. “Because she’s going to swear a blood oath of her own never to tell your secret to anyone. In return, you’ll swear not to kill her.”
“So we’ll both lose,” Chelsie growled. “And her crimes go unpunished forever.”
“Technically yes,” Julius said. “But I’d say you’re the clear winner here. You get to go free and live your life without worrying about Mother holding something over your head, but if she wants to keep any of her power, she’ll have to remain here in the private hell that I’m sure this Council will be for her. That definitely sounds like you’re getting the better end of the deal.”
Bethesda clearly didn’t like that logic, but since Julius was the only reason she was alive at the moment, she wisely (and surprisingly) kept her mouth shut, watching Chelsie, who seemed to be fighting herself. She must have wanted to kill Bethesda even more than Julius realized, because it took her forever to decide. But then, finally, the pressure on his Fang eased as Chelsie clamped down on her bloodlust and stepped back, glaring at her mother with a look that was now more disgust than hate.
“Swear it,” she growled. “Swear you will never tell anyone why we left China. Swear on your blood and your clan that you will take my secret to your grave, and I’ll promise not to be the one who puts you in it.”
Bethesda lifted her chin. “An oath for an oath,” she demanded. “Swear on your blood not to kill me, and I’ll keep your foolish little secret to myself.”
Chelsie ground her teeth, but in the end, she nodded, reaching up with a sharpened nail to slice open her hand. Once the blood started welling, she paused, glaring at her mother. “You first.”
“Mistrustful little snake,” Bethesda said, reaching up to wipe a smear of blood from one of the small cuts on her bruised neck before pressing the bloody fingers to her lips. “I swear on my blood and my fire, on my power and my life, if you honor your oaths, I will keep your secret to my grave.”
Julius frowned. He’d never heard that particular oath before, but it must have been a powerful one. Even sealed, he could feel his mother’s magic rising like flames around them, burning the words of her promise into the two dragonesses’ flesh as Chelsie pressed her own bloody hand to her mouth.
“I swear on my blood and my fire,” she growled. “On my power and my life, if you honor your oaths, I will abandon all attempts to kill you, now or in the future.”
Chelsie’s magic joined Bethesda’s as she spoke, the two flames spinning together in a maelstrom as sharp as dragon teeth. Then, as suddenly as it had risen, the magic was gone, sinking into the two dragonesses’ skin as the blood vanished from their hands.
“And that’s that,” Bethesda said, reaching up to rub her injured neck. “I—”
She never got to finish. As soon as the magic sank in, Chelsie hauled back and punched her in the face. It happened so quickly, Julius didn’t even have time to grab his sword. When he finally did get his hand around it, though, there was no need, because his sister didn’t try to attack again. She just stood there staring down at Bethesda, who was lying on the ground, swearing up a storm while clutching her dislocated jaw. Then, without a word, Chelsie turned and walked away.
Every step was faster than the last. By the time she reached the balcony where she’d dropped her sword, she was practically sprinting, running right past her abandoned Fang as she bolted through the balcony door and did a swan dive out into the open air. For a terrifying second, her body vanished over the edge, and then an enormous dragon burst into view, its matte-black-dyed feathers rippling in the afternoon sunlight as Chelsie flew silently and swiftly toward the horizon, her huge wings pushing her faster and faster until she was out of sight.
“I suppose that’s her way of saying ‘I quit,’” Ian said, walking over to offer his hand to the injured Bethesda, who smacked it away. “So what now?”
“What do you mean ‘what now?’” their mother spat, wrenching her jaw back into place with a sickening crack before marching back to the Council table and slamming herself down in her chair. “Chelsie’s not the only one who wants to go flying. You two idiots still owe me a vote.”
Given how she’d behaved through all of this, Julius didn’t want to give her anything. But a deal was a deal, and so, with a final look at the empty blue horizon, he went back to the table as well, taking his seat across from Ian as Bethesda grabbed a sheet of paper and began writing down the Council edict that would finally authorize Amelia to break the seal Estella had made her put on their mother and give the Heartstriker her dragon back.
***
“And there she goes,” Bob said from the edge of Amelia’s balcony, shielding his eyes against the sun as he watched the black speck of a dragon vanish out of sight.
“Good for her,” Amelia wheezed from her couch by her magical circle. “Though I suppose this means Julius didn’t take your advice.”
“I knew he wouldn’t,” the seer said, walking back inside to join her. “It was hopeless from the start. His mind was already set.”
Amelia nodded, but she didn’t open her eyes. She just lay there like a frail old woman, her hands clutching the cut-glass tumbler containing the last of her really good scotch. “Why do it, then?” she whispered. “You seriously harmed his trust in you.”
“I did worse than that,” Bob said, reaching down to help her raise the tumbler to her colorless lips. “But it had to be done. If this is going to work, I needed a tool even I couldn’t break, and you can’t know if someone won’t cave unless you push them.”
“Still seems too risky to me,” Amelia said, taking a tiny sip. “What if he never trusts you again?”
“He shouldn’t,” Bob growled, taking the glass away. “I’m out of time, Amelia. From here out, there’s no more room for error. Everything has to work exactly the first time.”
