I let my magic rise to the surface of my skin, the telltale iridescence lighting up the corral. “Get. Out.”
They scurry past, but not after the runecaster gives me a sullen glare, his nervous gaze flicking to the radiance of my arms. “The king will hear about this.”
“By now there’s probably a line.”
The azdaha’s slitted golden gaze meets mine as I approach on silent feet, a warning hiss winding to the rafters. I keep my emotions calm and my intentions clear. I’m not afraid. I only feel a gut-wrenching pity for its suffering and its continued captivity. Tentatively, I open my senses, reaching my magic out for the brief connection I’d found before in the arena.
My lessons with Aran have made me more confident in wielding my power like an extension of myself. In much the same way I’d connected with the king, I delve into the azdaha’s aura. But I’m not prepared when my magic links us, rage and pain slamming me in a blast, followed by so much despair that my knees nearly buckle. It’s ten times worse than our last encounter—how much torture has this poor thing endured since then?
Andwhy?
It keens again in a mournful whine, and I eye the jadu collar with distaste, knowing exactly what it’s for. The azdaha is ancient with powerful, though clearly inhibited, magic. It’s close to death—Roshan had spoken true—its withering magic evident from the dearth of akasha I can sense. It’s weak, too, almost as if its life force is being leached from some fatal wound. But there’s no physical injury that I can see, and apart from some scrapes, its limbs and tail are intact.
Filmy citrine eyes warily track my every step as if all it has known from anyone here has been hatred and pain.
“Calm,” I whisper. “I won’t hurt you.”
Steam curls from its nostrils as I get closer and I take in other details. Its green scales are dull, ostensibly a mark of declining health, tarnished by burn marks and older, badly healed lacerations up its body. Twin horns spear from the top of its crown, leading to a dual row of lethal spines down its neck and over its broad back. A curled tail twitches, the deadly barb at the end enervated and still.
Even though it appears weak, I know not to underestimate the azdaha. There are two ways to approach this kind of predator: submission or dominance. Considering the ills it might have suffered at the hands of my people, I choose the former, even though my simurgh bristles at the too-close threat. I swallow. The creature didn’t hurt me before in the arena... it won’t now.
I’m hoping, anyway, even though I know that pain can make monsters of the best of us. Gathering my magic just in case—which won’t save me from being bitten in half—I focus on keeping my thoughts serene and my energy nonthreatening.
When I’m standing in striking distance of the azdaha’s sharp teeth and taloned forelimbs, I reach a palm out and keep my eyes to the ground. My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest, and my runes distill over my skin in a collage of light, but other than that, there’s no wild protective surge in my chest from my simurgh indicating mortal peril.
Easy, Sura... wait for it to come to you.
I hinge closer, and after a few breathless moments, a scaly, warm snout bumps the heart of my palm. Akasha hums between us, boosted by the skin-to-skin connection. Guided by instinct to offer it some of my strength, I push my magic to flow into its body. The glow on my forearms is nearly blinding, and the azdaha rumbles softly, a thick tongue protruding to lick the center of my palm as if in gratitude. The rune there—the star symbol that maps my heart, head, life, and fate—ignites, and I gasp as silvery luminescence flickers around us.
My simurgh croons in welcome, offering its strength.
By the stars above, even weakened, the reserve of power within this beast is astounding, and I wonder why it hasn’t made its escape before now. It could collapse this entire building. The palace even. But then I remember that the azdaha’s magic is constrained by the jadu collar and the bracers on its hind legs. Could I remove them?
Tentatively, I reach a thread of magic toward the collar, only to recoil at the punishing sting of the sigil-inscribed metal. The runes, now burning a molten red, are powerful. I recognize a few of them, including the ones for restriction and binding. For control and inhibition. For punishment and pain...
Gasping, I peer closer, but the others are not familiar to me.
Who are you, youngling?
The deep-voiced rumble that sounds low-pitched and distinctly male echoes in my head, and I blink, eyes flying upward from the glowing runes to the only other living entity in the room. That slitted, cloudy golden gaze is focused on me, and when the question—the ratherlucidquestion—comes again, there is no doubt in my mind of its owner.
“Suraya Saab,” I whisper in wonder. My fingers graze over the sharp-edged scales of its snout, and to my surprise, the azdaha leans into them as if finding comfort in my touch. Those long teeth are still visible, and I rest my hand far enough away to keep from slipping and unintentionally slicing myself open. “Do you have a name?”
Razulek Grayheart.A puff of steam warms my skin.But what are you then, Suraya Saab? To wield so much akasha in a realm starved of it?
“They call me the... Starkeeper.”
It—he—exhales a gust of warm air as a scorching awareness flashes in his eyes. And then I freeze. Stars, have I taken a risk by revealing who I am? Was Roshan right about the danger after all, and I simply too stubborn to see it? Could this azdaha be one of Fero’s beasts?
Bile bubbles into my throat. My simurgh would have warned me of peril, but still, questions swarm like a hive of disturbed bees in my brain.
“Whom do you serve?” I ask back, hiding my creeping fear with bravado.
The Night King.
I sigh with relief, glad it’s not Fero, but worried nonetheless. Is he talking about the nightmare king? “Do you mean the one who rules Everlea?” I ask.
Yes.
