My heart lurches. “You think it’s enough to escape?”
Her gaze falters, the briefest waver in her face before resolve hardens it again. “It has to be. I can’t just sit here waiting for them to hurt you again.”
I push myself up slowly, ignoring the dizziness that swirls around me. “We have to have a concrete plan.”
She nods, her eyes far away, as if she’s already summoning ideas.
“Nadya—there’s more. There’s a seer, and she’s working with the tsar. They’re preparing some kind of ritual to take my magic. Rip it out of me. Can it even be done like that?”
Nadya’s brow furrows. “Stealing magic like that…it shouldn’t be possible. But there’s so much about magic I have yet to learn. It would take a very powerful sorceress.”
“I think she must be powerful. It would make sense that a seer like that would be working with the tsar.” I swallow hard, and this time, the metallic taste has subsided. “There might be more to this than we thought, though.”
“What do you mean?”
I shift to face her fully and tell her about the cavern, about the massive shape I saw beneath stone and ice. The eyes glowing in the darkness. “At first, I didn’t know what it was. Something buried. Something alive. But then I remembered the old stories—about the sleeping dragons.”
Her breath catches. “The sun dragon and the moon dragon? Gods. Celeste, if that’s true…”
“I think the tsar means to wake it. That has to be his ultimate weapon. He doesn’t just want to rule the world; he wants everyone in Terre Ferique to fear him. And with a dragon—”
“He could do that,” Nadya whispers, horrified. She leans closer, gripping my arm. “But I remember reading about dragons, and they need someone magical to bond with, someone they’ll choose. They don’t just…obey.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “So you’re saying he can’t control it. Not without someone like me.”
Her silence is answer enough.
My stomach knots. “Does he know? Does the seer know? Or Torbin? Is that why they want my magic so badly—because they think they can bend a dragon to their will if they steal my magic?”
Nadya shakes her head, fear and fire mingling in her gaze. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re desperate enough to try, even if it kills you. But if they succeed… Celeste, imagine what the tsar could do with a dragon bound to him.”
I can imagine it all too well—and the thought threatens to unravel me.
ChApter
Fifty-Five
The air smells of frost andiron, so cold, it burns the inside of my nose when I breathe. I sit on the edge of the bed, the chipped porcelain cup cradled in my hands, steam curling from the dark liquid within. The translation tea is bitter on my tongue, but it warms me, warding off the chill that forever saturates this cursed keep. My mind keeps circling the night that Torbin bit me.
When I had told Nadya what the tsar and seer had planned, she insisted we try something—anything—before they came for me. Her hands trembled as she traced symbols into the air above my chest, her voice low and steady despite the uncertainty in her eyes.“It’s a protection spell,”she said.“I don’t know if it will work. I’ve never done one before. But maybe…maybe it will make a barrier. Keep the seer from stealing your magic.”
I agreed, because what else was there to do? We had no way of knowing if it worked, no visible sign, no spark or shimmer of light. Just the quiet of her magic settling over me like a second skin. Exhaustion claimed us soon after, and we drifted into uneasy sleep side by side.
In the morning, rough hands tore me from Nadya’s room. My heart lurched, certain they were dragging me to the tsar himself, to theritual we both feared. But instead, they shoved me into my own chambers and locked the door.
Days have passed since then. I’ve not been allowed to leave. Staja would bring trays of food and tea, but otherwise, I had no contact with the outside. No summons, no explanations. Only silence. I tried time and again to call out to Dante telepathically, but the sensation of him hearing me never came. I feel utterly alone. The walls are starting to feel like a tomb, and my thoughts rattle endlessly inside it.
Only Staja’s whispered visit offered me a clue. “The tsar is planning something,” she murmured, eyes darting nervously toward the guards. “But no one knows what. It’s being kept very secret.”
That was enough. Enough for me to imagine the worst. Enough for me to picture dark circles of salt and blood, words of binding, power torn from my veins whether Nadya’s spell held or not.
And now I wait. I set aside the tea and walk to the window, pressing my palms against the cold glass and wracking my brain for some way to break free before it’s too late.
“Dante, please, hear me. Find me.”
Beyond the barred window, dusk settles heavy and low, casting the snow-blanketed landscape in bruised hues of violet and grey. Nothing here feels alive, just frostbitten stone and the skeletal remains of trees, their branches clawing at the sky like brittle fingers begging for mercy.
The muffled clatter of wheels grinding over ice and gravel breaks the silence. Hooves crunching frost. Voices carried thin on the wind, low and somber. I stand on my tiptoes and strain to see where the noise is coming from. When I peer between the bars, I spot them.
