Then, a voice inside her mind. A voice that feels like shadow and darkness and something else entirely. Something oddly familiar.
Just one word.
Run.
The darkness lifts, and although she wants to run, she can’t—because she can see Astrid now. And there is someone coming up behind her.
46Astrid
An arm wraps around her, yanking her back. She screams, but it’s cut off as a hand smothers her mouth. She’s pulled behind the wagon, away from the lights now illuminating the warehouse. Kicking and writhing, blood roaring in her ears, she draws in as much air as she can, readying to fight, then stops. Because she knows that scent.
“It’s me, it’s me, calm down.”
And she knows that voice. “Shit, Zryan, you scared the living Hel out of me! What are you doing here?”
“I—” Whatever he’s going to say is cut off by a shout behind them. Zryan releases her and they both spin, Astrid drawing a claw from her cuff.
“Oi!” A city guard is rushing at them, his gleaming spear currently aimed right for Zryan’s stomach. Astrid’s blade is already in flight and it slams into his shoulder. He yells, but Zryan shuts him up with a fist to his jaw and he drops, unconscious.
“Thanks, Dimples.” He doesn’t sound thankful; he sounds royally pissed.
“You’re welc—”
“Get away from her!” Skylar barrels around the corner of the wagon, pin raised like a wand, but Astrid intercepts her.
“It’s Zryan.”
“What!” She looks at the prince, not that she can really see his face—they’ve all got their hoods up. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she hisses.
“I could ask you the same, Sister, but we don’t have time for that. We need to get out of here.” Zryan peers around the side of the wagon.
“And you brought Mjolnir? Way to be subtle,” Skylar says.
“That wasn’t Mjolnir,” he says tightly.
“What? There’s adragonhere?” Astrid looks between the siblings. She couldn’t see anything, not with those dense shadows, but she’d felt something.
“A lunar,” Zryan confirms. “Must have ventured from the island.”
Skylar scoffs and murmurs something like “bullshit.” She creeps to the other end of the wagon.
“Someone’s switching the lights off,” Skylar whispers.
“About time,” Zryan says.
Astrid turns to him. “Friends of yours?”
“A friend,” he says. “Doing it so we can escape. Another minute and we’ll have the cover of darkness again.”
“We don’t have a minute,” Skylar says. “Dreki incoming.”
Astrid presses back against the carriage. They can’t be found. This is her one and only chance to track these wagons, and if the guards discover they’ve been compromised, then she’s screwed.
Think, Astrid, think.
She takes a deep breath and Zryan’s scent fills her nose. And she feels it. Her magic rising in response. She reaches out with her Gift, finding that thread between them—like she did with Skylar the day Jessa died.
“Skylar, take Zryan’s hand.” The dragon heir hesitates. “Now, Skylar, do it.”
