“That whole trial business is nonsense,” Aldric says mildly. “Ask anyone. The poor sods they find are shipped off to the camps, no trial needed.”
Skylar stares at him. How can he just be sitting there, saying this? She and Cam have been with him the longest, after he lost two of his previous crew—one retired, one, if Skylar is right about it, killed for trying to leave.
Well, there’s your clue, Lar Lar.
Donotcall me Lar Lar.An echo of a real conversation now, one in her tent, where she sat on her bed, arms folded tightly. What were they? About twelve?
“Why are they even conscripting?” Skylar asks. “If they are so sure that their prick of a dragon rider is going to win the duel, what’s thepointof building an army?” Because isn’t that the whole reason the duel even exists—to stop Vatra and Arturea going to war over the Heart?
“You know, I’ve been wondering that, too.” He’s unconcerned, though. Mild curiosity, nothing more.
“Fine.” She turns to leave the tent. Outside, she hears Amara’s annoying girlish laugh. “If you’re doing nothing, then I will.”
Because Cam might not be gone. He might have run into trouble yesterday after the performance. Guards were crawling the streets, and she’s heard rumors of what they can do. And she knows firsthand, doesn’t she, that the Dreki, the king’s elite royal guards, are much worse.
Skylar makes to storm out, but Aldric is on his feet and in front of her quicker than you can say dragon stones. His illusion shifts in front of her, making him look bigger, more imposing.
“You’d be stupid to head out there alone,” he says bluntly. “You don’t know this city, it’ll burn you alive.”
“Good thing fire dragons are extinct then, isn’t it?”
“You’re not going.”
She gives him a slow, humorless grin. “I’d like to see you stop me.” She slides the pin out of her hair for emphasis, tapping it against her palm. The only thing she has of her mother’s—and it’s come in handymore than once. A weapon she always has on her, and one people are never prepared for.
Aldric’s eyes flicker to it. “Don’t forget who took you in. You owe me, Sugarplum.”
She remembers well enough. He found her when she was only ten years old: the night her mother was murdered by the Dreki. Hunted down to the far corners of Vatra, because of what she was. She remembers her mother shoving the pin into her hands, telling her to run. Remembers turning back once, to see one of the Dreki slice a blade across her mother’s throat.
She shuts her brain down—she’s taught herself to avoid thinking of that night. Fifteen years ago, and she’s told no one what really happened, not even Cam.
“Yeah,” she says. “You took me in. And I’ve more than paid you back.” She reaches around him, taking one of the coins out of the pouch on his desk. Both for emphasis and because it might come in handy for a bribe.
Aldric doesn’t try to stop her—maybe he knows he can’t. He was all for her training with Torin when she’d insisted, but now she wonders if he regrets it. They all know basic self-defense, in case they’re caught stealing and things get ugly. But Skylar went one step further—and made Torin teach her how to really fight—with her hands, weapons, anything. Because she does not want to be murdered the way her mother was.
Aldric folds his arms. “If you walk out this tent, don’t expect to come back to camp tonight.”
Skylar snorts. She might need him for safety, but he needs her just as much—she’s the star performer. Without her he only has a thief, a bodyguard, and half an act. No way he isn’t going to let her come back.
She strides right on past him. “Screw you.”
If he won’t help, fine. She’ll find Cam herself—and burn the whole Arach-damned city if she has to.
3Astrid
Astrid takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. She’s managed to steer clear of her mother so far, locking herself in her cabin last night and missing breakfast this morning, but she can’t keep avoiding her while they’re stuck on the same canal boat together. Better to suck it up and get on with it.
“Enter,” her mum calls.
Astrid opens the door, bracing herself. The queen is sitting by a magically burning fire, its deep pink flames casting her moon-white hair in a rose light. Her mum’s familiar is sprawled by her feet, taking up most of the cabin. The huge golden bear raises his head in acknowledgment before flopping back down, closing his eyes. It’s a good sign if Bjorn is this relaxed—it means her mum can’t be that angry.
“Jessa told me what happened,” her mum says by way of greeting. She folds away the letter she’s reading, angling it so Astrid can’t see what’s written on it. This is typical of her mother; more protective than secretive. It would annoy Astrid if she wasn’t used to it. “You snuck out and almost got yourself killed.” Her mother looks up. “In the name of Nyx, Astrid, how could you be so stupid? Soselfish?”
Nice to see you, too, she thinks. Her mum stands and walks toward her, her tall, athletic frame wrapped tightly in furs, despite the heat in the room—Astrid can tell she’s lost weight these last few weeks she’s been away. Stress, no doubt, as well as the amount of magic she’s having to expend to help the people of Arturea. The braided platinum arm ring gifted to her by Astrid’s father on their wedding day is looser around her wrist. Astrid rubs at the cuffs around her own wrists. They were a present from her father, too.
“If you won’t respect the protections we put in place to ensure your safety, then at least respect them for the sake of Arturea and the people here who are relying on you.” Gwen’s voice has become solemn. Astrid knows this is not her mother but her queen addressing her now. “How did he even get his hands on you, with all your training? Why didn’t you cast? In the name of the Goddess, Astrid, if you were almost murdered by some Bloodless assassin, how do you expect to survive the prince?”
“I don’t,” Astrid says simply.
