She feels a fizzle of electricity, then Zryan is behind her, her neck in his hands. Like he’s going to snap it. For one moment, she thinks he’ll do it. Kill her, right here on the cliff—and with her the witch, too.
“You’re done,” he murmurs. “Point proven.” He releases her head, but her blood is hot, curdling in her veins, and she lunges for him. But he’s no longer there, so instead she lunges straight off the cliff, and into midair.
She hears muttered oaths, feels the rope tighten around her waist, yanking her painfully up. She swings. Hears the sickening crack of her head against stone. Then, nothing.
She wakes to the sound of low voices. Her head feels heavy, but she’s lying on something soft.
“A total shit show.” It’s Axel’s voice. She stays still, assessing. She’s not in any pain—she can feel no evidence that she smashed her headinto a cliff at speed. They probably have a Curer, don’t they? No having to pay for people pretending to be Curers and charging through the teeth for the pleasure of their hands on you in here.
“We’ve still got time.” This from Zryan, though it’s unconvincing.
“She might be able to take the witch without a dragon. She’s not that bad in a fight.” It’s said grudgingly. “Alright, she wouldn’t stand a chance against someone like you, but the witch doesn’t seem all that tough—a cat familiar? Come on.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Zryan says, slowly. “The witch is… surprising.”
“Surprising, hey?” The tone is lighter than she’s used to, almost teasing.
“Oh, fuck off.” But it’s said without heat. There’s a beat of quiet and then, “Don’t give me that look.”
“As long as you don’t forget what she is,” Axel says, his voice steel now. “Or what they’ve done.”
“I’ll never forget that,” Zryan says quietly. A breath blown out. “Look, you know as well as I do that the only way our heir is walking out of that duel alive is with a dragon.”
“Hmm. And witch aside, we’re dealing with someone who has no training, no discipline, fuck-all power from what we can gather, and who seems Vaar bent on getting in her own way.”
“Yeah, about that… Maybe you ought to tone it down a little?”
A cough. “Tone what down?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“She’s being uncooperative,” Axel says gruffly.
“Well, what did you expect?”
“I’d expect her to have a bit more self-preservation. And it would be nice if she had some respect for the future of our country. For its people.” Skylar feels herself stiffen, does her best to keep lying still. Who is he to talk about the masses as if he cares for them?
“It should have been you,” Axel continues quietly. This, perhaps, is the crux of it. The reason he hates her so much.
“Yes, well.” Zryan’s voice is weary. There’s a hesitation. Then, “I’m sorry she gave her life for someone who’s never going to rule.”
“Enough. There’s no need to rehash that. Besides, it wasn’t justwhatyou are that she cared about. You know that.”
“I do.” There’s a beat of quiet as Skylar wonders what they’re talking about—just whichshegave her life.
“I’m going to get something to eat,” Axel says. “You coming?”
“I’ll stay here for a bit. Check she’s okay. She is my sister, after all.” Sister. The word sounds odd, coming from him.
Axel mutters something that Skylar can’t quite hear. There is the sound of a door opening and closing. Quiet. And then, “So, how much of that did you hear?”
She opens her eyes and blinks up at Zryan. No point in pretending if he already knows.
“I saw you move about two minutes ago,” he clarifies. “You’re not a very good actress.”
“Well, add that to the many things I am apparently bad at.”
She sits up. She’s in some kind of Curing ward, with a line of beds, white walls, and bars on the windows. Like they don’t want the sick to escape.
