The island. They’re sending Skylar to the island. There’s no way she can survive it.
“When?” Astrid asks, and everyone turns to her.
“We’ve canceled the parade,” the king says. “Our heir will go to Isla Draka instead.”
The parade is a week and a half away. They’re sending Skylar to the island with only three weeks’ training. Stars above, Astrid is going to die, after all. Though, surely they wouldn’t send Skylar to the island unless they felt she had a chance of surviving it? And Mjolnir did protect her. But then, if she does survive, she’ll return with a dragon; and in that case, Astrid is dead anyway.
She glances at Skylar, who is determinedly keeping her eyes fixed on her plate. The table has gone quiet, waiting to see what will happen next, if the witch queen will erupt as she looks liable to do. Astrid needs to say something, avert a potential international incident, because her mother seems to be considering murdering the king.
“Good,” Astrid bites out. Her voice doesn’t shake like she expected it to. “I hated the idea of a parade anyway.”
The king looks speechless for once; her mum, too. Astrid glances at Skylar: her mouth is set in a flat line.
“Yeah, I fucking hate parades, too.”
Astrid can’t help herself. She bursts out laughing, and a coupleof the nobles do, too, the baroness of Brithan throwing an appreciative smile Skylar’s way and, more shockingly, extending it to Astrid. Astrid tentatively smiles back. Skylar just glares. It makes Astrid want to laugh more.
“Enough, that’s enough.” The king slams his palms down on the table and Astrid’s body stiffens of its own accord. No, not of its own accord. It’s the king, using his Blooded power—on every single person at the table. It lasts a second at most, but Astrid reels from the shock of it, the violation. She hadn’t realized how powerful the king is. Her mother shifts, looking like she’s about to stand and challenge the king for his impertinence, but Astrid shakes her head. Unbelievably, her mum heeds her.
The guests fall quiet, joy sloughing from their faces. All of them, that is, except Zryan, who is twisting the stem of his wineglass, a small smile playing around his lips, as if his father’s anger amuses him.
Chatter soon resumes, more subdued now, though she and Skylar sit in silence. Astrid feels another pang of sympathy for Skylar. She’s the one who has to face the dragons, not Astrid. Which means Astrid has a week and a half to convince Skylar to trust her, to break into the king’s office with her, and to find what she needs before Skylar goes to Isla Draka. Because after that it could be too late.
They might both very well be dead.
20Skylar
Skylar is drowning. Her chest burns as water floods her, her insides tear.
Then, abruptly, it stops. She rolls over onto her side, coughing hard enough that she tastes blood. Her clothes and hair are soaking, and she blinks the water out of her eyes.
Axel’s shadow looms over her, his head blocking the harsh light of the sun. “Get up.”
“I’m peachy, thanks for checking.” Her voice is raspy as she sits up. Axel’s mouth is a thin line, and she can’t help wondering if he let the queen’s Water Wielder really go for it this time, in an attempt to prove something.
She pushes to her feet, her muscles shaky.
“You’re not trying,” Axel says. “That’s the third time you’ve let the water overwhelm you.”
She glares at him. “Yes, because getting drowned is just how I wanted to spend my morning.” The Primes who make up the queen’s menagerie—on loan again, apparently—are watching her, creepy in their unity. She wants to ask how many times it took Zryan to get through this fucked-up obstacle course. Not many, presumably, if he went to the island at sixteen. She needs to get it done. Then maybe she’ll be allowed some space, to find something on Cam. “Trust me when I say that I am trying, okay?”
“Then try harder.”
Skylar grits her teeth, but manages to bite back a retort as the menagerie line up at their “stations.” She can hear the lap of waves beneath them, can smell the salt and sulfur. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. Calm. She needs to find calm.
Her eyes fly open. Screw it. She’s never been very good at calm.
She sprints, trying not to give them any warning. It’s the Physick first, strong enough to knock her out with one punch. She dodges her, fast. She’s barely past when she has to spin out of the way of a flash of flame, her skin crackling with heat. The Flame Thrower smirks at her—fucking pyromaniac. She flicks a dagger at him, feels a rush of satisfaction as it lodges in his arm even as a jet of fire sears hers.
The Water Wielder steps up next. But Skylar has had enough of drowning. She goes on the offensive, snatching another dagger from her belt and shoving it in the woman’s throat—there’s bound to be a Curer nearby. She pulls the dagger free and the Wielder’s eyes go wide, reaching a hand to press to where blood is now gushing from an artery.
Skylar can vaguely hear Axel barking an instruction, but she doesn’t wait to see if she’s right about the Curer. Teach her to enjoy drowning someone, won’t it? No time, anyway—because there is a fuck-off massive cat, with the mane of a lion and stripes of a tiger, now prowling toward her.
Skylar raises her hands slowly. “Easy there, kitty cat.”
The cat growls. Skylar catches sight of very long, very sharp teeth—but Simone’s yellow eyes glitter in what might be amusement. The only one of the lot of them who might not be a complete wanker—probably because unlike the rest of them, she doesn’t belong to the queen.
Simone moves into a crouch, and Skylar doesn’t think, she just goes for it. She runs, then pushes off the ground, jumping as high as she can, tucking her knees in so that there are no edges for a claw to find. She feels the rush, a brief, glorious freedom.
