It fuckinglandsin between her and the Porter, people scattering like ants next to it. It’s several feet from her, but even from here its huff of breath is strong enough to push her to the ground, her wrist snapping back as she thrusts out a hand to catch herself.
She’s on her feet again in moments, but the dragon is still blocking her path. Shit. Shit, it ishuge—she can’t be any taller than its ankle. She stares at the lethal claws, which are as long as her, then, slowly, lifts her head, trying not to tremble. Maybe it’s like horses. Maybe they know when you’re afraid—so she just has to pretend not to be.
The dragon seems to be observing her, waiting for something. She remembers how easily the other one tore a man in two, and she feels herself shake, despite her best efforts. She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to show her back—and besides, she’d never run fast enough.
This is what the witch will have to face, she thinks dimly. No wonder she bolted. She lifts her gaze higher, above the dragon’s barbed head to where Prince Zryan sits, watching the whole thing play out. She can barely see him in between the wings, his face a tiny dot. Her palms are clammy, the pin slick and slippery in her hand. But she doesn’t care. Because something ugly and bitter is rising within her, masking her fear.
Are you mad, Lar Lar? You cannot take on a dragon.
But right then, she doesn’t want to take on the dragon. She wants to take on the prince, who is trying to stop her helping the Porter, the prince who is part of the family responsible for ripping people from their homes. Her blood pounds, lighting up her system, and pressure builds at her temples. But as she moves, the dragon’s head swivels. And those reptilian eyes, ringed with violet, bore into her.
It’s impossible to take another step. Clouds darken the sky again,though she does not dare drop the dragon’s gaze. Her blood hums in her veins even as she tries to take calming breaths.
Do not panic, Skylar!
The dragon blinks at her—once, twice. Those eyes are far too intelligent as he cocks his enormous head, considering. Deciding whether to kill her.
Skylar takes another breath, watches as it mists in front of her. The air, cooling around her. There is the sound of ice, shattering to the ground. And the thunder dragon roars.
He runs, launching himself into the air, and Skylar ducks, hands covering her head, gripping her pin tightly, for all the good it will do. She feels static run across her back, along with a rumble from within the dragon’s throat, one that reverberates through her.
When she lifts her head, her entire body is shaking and the Porter is nowhere to be seen. The space around her is totally empty, every single person scattered to the corners of the square. Maybe he got away. Maybe the guards got distracted, like she did.
The street is quiet for a moment in its emptiness. The ice dragon circles closer, gearing up to land. Skylar runs, leaving the witches to deal with the king and his son and their lethal fucking pets.
When she comes to a stop, right on the outskirts of the city, all she’s left with is cold sweats, a headache so intense she thinks she might pass out—and a desire never to be that close to a dragon again.
7Astrid
“Drink this.”
Jessa pours a drop of a calming solution into a glass of water and hands it to Astrid, who’s shaking so violently she spills it.
She doesn’t want to die like that. Doesn’t want her body desecrated by a dragon.
The door opens as Gwen enters the cabin, the sound of keening sobs following her. Her mum’s Gift allows her to trap people in their own worst nightmares—it’s not real, of course; the victim just believes it is—and the people on the embankment will be dealing with the aftershock for hours. She makes straight for Astrid, embracing her so tightly she feels like a child again. Finally, Astrid succumbs to her tears. They’re savage and loud, and she’s embarrassed by the retching sound of them, but she can’t stop. She gulps and chokes on twenty-four years’ worth of fear. And while she cries for the unknown future of Arturea, cries at the thought of her people suffering more than they already have, she’s crying for herself most of all. She’s selfish and weak, she’suseless, and right now she despises herself. Is this how her uncle reacted? His aunt before that?
“We can’t stay in here.” Gwen pulls away. “They’ll be expecting us once they’ve dismounted those, those…abominations.” Her mum shakes her head. “I should’ve known they’d pull something like this. It’s all just a game to them.”
Astrid wants to challenge her mother because, really, it is a game, isn’t it? And they’ve come here six weeks before to participate. So she and Zryan can be wheeled out together as some sort of curiosity.
“We need to clean up,” Jessa says, practical as ever. They’re all coated in dust.
“And your tunic is torn, Astrid. You need to change,” Gwen says. Astrid didn’t even notice. “Come, let’s get you sorted.” Her mum slings an arm around Astrid’s waist and guides her down the corridor. In that instant, she appreciates, more than ever, her mum’s steady presence, Jessa’s ability to remain unruffled. Because Astrid’s very sense of self is eroding, the fabric of her reality unspooling. She thought she accepted her fate. Accepted the fact she was going to die. Turns out, she never accepted anything of the sort.
When they reach Astrid’s room, Jessa opens the door—and Astrid realizes with horror she forgot to lock it. Gwen enters but comes to an abrupt halt.
Because there, on the bed, is a tiny black cat. Hissing with abandon.
“Astrid,” Jessa says after a beat, “why is there a very angry cat in your room?”
Gwen’s arms go slack. She turns to stare at Astrid.
And Astrid finds she doesn’t care. Right now, she doesn’t care what either of them thinks. She strides over and snatches him up from the bed, clinging to him. He butts his head against her chin, purring so loudly it rumbles through Astrid, calming her more than the solution Jessa gave her ever could.
“Mum, Jess. Meet Bastet.” She takes a heaving breath. “My familiar.”
Gwen and Jessa say nothing. The rhythm of the lapping water soothes Astrid as she waits. Waits to see what the reaction might be.
