"Go, Dorcha," Landon commands.
The wyvern staggers upright, injured wing trailing. She takes off unsteadily and vanishes into the smoke.
Landon looks at me. "Why let us go?"
The sound of wings grows louder. The three riders are almost here. Dorcha's escape must have given us away. I grab the edge of a fallen market tarp. It's huge, meant to cover entire stalls. "Get under this. Now."
"What—"
"Now!"
I throw the tarp over him and pull Coral close. There's barely room for all of us in the tight space. My shoulder presses against his.
"Shh," I breathe.
Landon stares at me in the dim light filtering through the canvas, questions in his eyes.
The Night Herons pass overhead, searching. In the smoke and shadow and chaos, they miss the tarp-covered lumps that could be rubble. One rider circles back, suspicious. He's descending, coming lower for a better look.
"Damn it," Landon curses. "It's Ronan."
I don't care who that is. I need to keep my wyvern safe.
"Stay hidden with Coral," I hiss at the fae commander. "Don't make me regret this."
"What are you going to do?" he whispers.
I slip out from under the tarp and run.
"There! Silver hair!" The rider spots me. "The Queen!"
The riders see me and forget about Landon entirely. They have a better prize now.
Coral bounds out from under the tarp to follow me. I wanted her safe where the riders wouldn't find her. But she's here, vulnerable and exposed. We need to move. I keep running, leading them away from Landon.
I weave through skeletal remains of market stalls. Coral traces my exact path, trusting me completely. But we're not fast enough. The riders are gaining. I turn to face my pursuers.
There are more than three now. They're converging on my position from multiple directions. Two of them have landed, approaching on foot with weapons drawn. Their wyverns circle above, ready to breathe fire if I try to escape.
"Coral, run!" I shout at her. But my brave, stupid wyvern steps forward instead. She plants herself in front of me and spreads her useless wings. She's so young and not even fully grown. Against two adult wyverns and armed fae riders, she doesn't stand a chance. But she spreads her wings and roars her defiance.
The first arrow takes her in the shoulder. Coral snarls from the pain. The second arrow hits her wing, punching through the membrane. She staggers but doesn't fall, still trying to protect me.
More riders land in a semicircle around us, cutting off escape. Their wyverns are larger than Coral, battle-scarred and vicious. One of them snaps at her. She flinches but holds her ground.
"The Queen herself," one rider says in accented Elven tongue. "Eirik will reward us well for this."
"Take her alive," another says. "But the wyvern is worthless. Kill it."
"No!" I step forward, putting myself between them and Coral. "You want me? Fine. But let her go."
They laugh.
"You're in no position to bargain, Your Highness." The first rider draws his sword. "But I'll make it quick for the beast. More mercy than you showed our kin."
Arrows fly toward us. The Night Herons loose volley after volley. I grab a broken shield from the ground and hold it up. The arrows punch through the wood, one grazing my arm. But I keep the shield up and Coral behind me.
A rider calls out something in the fae tongue. The others answer with laughter, cold and merciless.
