“Kirion?” I reached down, my fingers hovering over his tense spine.
He snapped at the air, retreating as the drake had, as if something invisible was pushing into the room, pressing against the glass, testing the boundaries of the house. The Manor gave a deep groan and the fire in the hearth flared green.
After I’ve eaten some of Mrs. Crane’s amazing omelette, armed with a handful of dried jerky and a stubborn refusal to be intimidated by masonry, I marched toward the East Wing. Kirion skittered at my heels, his claws clicking a chaotic rhythm on the flagstones. The further we went, the colder the air became, leaching the warmth of the kitchen from my skin until I was shivering in my linen blouse.
The corridor ended in a set of massive, iron-bound double doors that smelled faintly of sawdust and wild animal musk. The Sanctuary.
I reached for the iron ring handle. The shadows to the left of the doorframe solidified. A sound like grinding stones filled the corridor, raising the hair on my arms. I snatched my hand back as a shape poured itself out of the gloom. Yes, the sentinel. This sentinel was a serpent, easily fifteen feet long, its scales glowing with the luster of polished obsidian. It didn’t slither so much as flow, a river of black stone coiling itself across the threshold until the door was barred. It raised its massive head, until its eyes were level with my own. A forked tongue, flickering like a black flame, tasted the air inches from my face.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I took a hesitant step forward, waiting for it to strike. The serpent hissed and rose higher.
“The House doesn’t want me here on my own, just like Fenrik warned,” I muttered in frustration. First the labyrinth, then the mirror, now this.
But at my feet, Kirion didn’t cower. The wyrmling let out a soft, questioning chirp. He moved past my boot and pressed his flank against the sentinel’s massive coils, head-butting the obsidian scales with affectionate familiarity. The sentinel didn’t strike him. It merely shifted its gaze to the wyrmling, before snapping those golden eyes back to me.
“The House has a mind of its own, miss,” a voice said from the shadows behind me.
I spun around, hand going to my chest. Mrs. Crane stepped out from behind a tapestry depicting a dragon hunt, her hands clasped over her apron. She looked at the giant serpent like a mother finding a muddy dog on the carpet.
“Always has,” she continued, her gaze drifting to the barred door. “But lately... it’s been agitated. As if it’s trying to warn us of something.”
She paused meaningfully, her blue eyes sharp on my face. The silence stretched.
“The sentinels used to protect us from outside threats,” she said, her voice dropping to a murmur that barely carried over the serpent’s low hiss. “Now they seem just as concerned about what’s already inside these walls.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the draft swept down my spine.Inside.Did she mean me? Was I the threat the manor was closing ranks against?
Mrs. Crane didn’t elaborate. She brushed past me, her skirts rustling, and stopped in front of the beast. She murmured something under her breath that sounded a lot like a scolding. The serpent let out a long, defiant breath and uncoiled, clearing just enough space for a person to squeeze through. But it held its position, its golden eyes fixed on me as I stepped forward.
I slipped through the gap, careful not to let my arm brush against those scales, and pushed the heavy door open. The air that hit me was a mix of humidity and life.
The Sanctuary was by no means a stable; it was a masterpiece of architecture. The ceiling soared three stories high, enchantedto mimic the sky outside, though currently, it swirled with an artificial dusk. The space was divided into terraced habitats rather than cages. To my left, a pit of heated, black sand radiated warmth, perfect for the sun-loving Basilisks of the southern deserts. To my right, a miniature waterfall cascaded down a rock face into a crystal-clear pool, the air around it smelling of wet slate and moss. There were scratching posts made of petrified weirwood trees, nesting boxes lined with self-fluffing cloud-silk, and floating platforms of slate hovering gently in the air for creatures that preferred to sleep off the ground. It was magnificent. It was a place designed by someone who loved the beasts. And it was unnervingly quiet. I stepped fully inside, the door groaning shut behind me.
I moved toward the nearest habitat, the dry sand pit, where a Sun-Scaled Drake should have been basking. Instead, the creature paced the perimeter, its gold scales dull as tarnished brass. It snapped at the air, fighting the same invisible phantoms I had seen in the kitchen window. I dropped my satchel onto a workbench. Despite Fenrik’s warnings, despite the house throwing up walls to stop me, I couldn’t leave them like this. This was more than a curse; I was beginning to suspect the sickness spreading through the bonds was turning their own magic against them.
Kirion huddled against my calf, letting out a low whine as he watched the drake. I rested a hand on his head, grounding us both.
“I know,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. “We’re going to fix it.”
I stepped toward the enclosure, my heart steadying into the rhythm of work. The house might have its secrets, but healing broken beasts, that was the one language I spoke fluently.
ten
Lysa
Ahigh-pitched keening dragged me from sleep and threw me into panic. Kirion was a blur of violence against the side of the bed. In the moonlight, he looked like a creature unmaking itself. His small body convulsed, his spine arching so hard I swore I heard vertebrae popping.
“Kirion!” I called.
Foam bubbled at his jaws, thick sludge that dripped onto the floor and hissed, eating right through the varnish. The air in the room was suffocating. He thrashed now, his claws gouging deep furrows into the oak, his eyes rolled back so far only the whites showed, veined with glowing crimson.
I dropped to my knees, and it felt like standing before an open furnace door, searing the skin of my face, but I reached for him anyway.
“I’ve got you,” I said, though he couldn’t hear me over his own choking. “I’m here.”
My hands hovered for a split second, the heat was intense enough to blister, but I shoved my fear down and clamped my hands onto his shoulders. Pain hissed against my palms. His scales were burning hot. I clamped my teeth together to stifle a cry, my fingers digging into the burning muscle, anchoring him to me.
Then the door crashed open rattling the windowpanes in their frames.
