Her anger rose like heat from a stove.
Had he left because she made sure he took his potion regularly so he wouldn’t die? Had he abandoned her, after swearing he loved her, because she cared enough to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to be flying? She didn’t nag, just handed him a cup of tea with wyvern bone powder in it and gently reminded him that getting thrown around in the paddocks wasn’t good for him. She had given up everything for him. Her dreams of retribution, her quest to find her sister, all of it.
Valenna opened her eyes and gasped.
Vines crawled over the walls, their thorns piercing the flowered wallpaper, and a deformed hawthorn tree snarled the curtains in its branches.A nettle stung her ankle, and she jumped with a yelp.
All day, her magic had been little more than a knot of plasma behind her breastbone. Now it had gone wild.
She crossed the room to the vanity, emptied a pitcher of water into the washbasin, and splashed her face.
She’d been so close to finding her sister two years ago. But when Evander had his fall, she couldn’t bring herself to leave him, not when he needed her. And she liked looking after him; it awoke a tenderness she thought had been seared out of her in the firesof battle. It was lovely to discover that her hands, calloused from gripping a sword, could also touch a forehead and sense a fever.
After all that, both Evander and Silvanlight were dead ends, and she felt stranded. Disappointment suffocated her. Valenna wished she could cry, but she’d long ago forgotten how. Instead, she took three shuddering breaths and willed the trees to wither away. The room groaned, the trees protesting like petulant children as they dissolved into a fine sawdust on the floor.
Valenna sank into a little chair by the vanity and inspected her ankle. The nettle had left behind an angry, swollen welt. She sucked in her breath, but as she leaned down to wipe the burn, a croak like a raven call crackled through the window. The hair on Valenna’s arms stood on end, and she slowly straightened, glancing in the vanity mirror.
A massive crow stared at her through the window. It was as big as a double-rider fighter dragon, and covered in smooth, glistening feathers. Valenna spun around, but by the time she turned, it was gone.
She stared at the empty window, wondering if she’d imagined it. Outside, music and laughter filtered through the trees as the festival commenced. Valenna crossed the room and snapped the window shut, then closed the curtains. Her skin was cold, her pulse pounding in her ears. Shaking herself, she took a deep breath and steadied her nerves.
There was no time for eerie birds and mysterious hauntings. She needed to put on her dress and go torment the man who broke her heart.
Chapter eight
Evander
The dragon’s tooth snagged on his vest, and Evander hissed through his teeth at his mistake. He wasn't himself today—distracted by a pair of pretty, dark almond eyes and waves of black hair. They were going to get him gutted if he wasn’t careful.
“Hurry,” Samara grunted. She and the five remaining Cobblepine trainees were straining to hold the dragon’s mouth open as Evander crawled inside.
“Patience,” Evander said, wedging his body between two of the dragon’s teeth and wriggling across its tongue, toward the infected molar at the back of its jaw.
He didn’t trust the Cobblepine trainees, but with all the other underkeepers already at the festival, he suspected Samara and her friends were eager enough to get out of mucking duty to jump at the opportunity to help. Now, with half his body in and half his body out of a dreadnought’s mouth, he realized this was a foolish idea.
Five trainees remained after Lysander’s departure: Samara, the leader; Ignatius, the big one; Elspeth, the quiet one; Rosemary, the sarcastic one; and Giles, the little one. Sometimes, Evander struggled to remember their names, so he recalled their personalities instead. This did not help hisrapport.
Sweat beading on his brow, Evander clamped the pliers around the molar, inserted a small, sharp knife under the gum, and began to pry.
Blood dripped down his arms, and the dragon shook its head lethargically. With no concentration of drowserjaw sap strong enough to subdue a dragon this size, the huge creature was only partially drugged.
“Five kibs I can hold it longer than you,” Elspeth said to Ignatius.
Ignatius let out a bark of laughter. “If either of us lets go, we’ll all go home.”
Giles squeaked in terror.
“Oh, hush, Giles,” Rosemary said through her teeth. “If he gets eaten, we’ll just run down to the festival and no one will know it was our fault.”
“Rosemary,” Samara cried. “What is wrong with you?”
“That was a joke,” Ignatius called into the dragon’s mouth.
The dragon’s muscles flexed inches from Evander’s head, and then the top jaw dropped. Evander yelled, yanking out the tooth in his alarm. The sudden pain shocked the dragon, and she bellowed, the force of her breath blowing him out of her mouth and halfway across the paddock. He landed in an undignified heap in the dirt, covered in blood and saliva.
“Is he dead?” Giles wailed. “We murdered our trainer! We’ll all be sent home!”
Ignatius pounced on Evander and dragged him to his feet, but Evander pulled away from him, trying to tuck in his gory shirt.
