“Better knowing the sniveling fucker is about to die. Preferably a horrible death.”
“You really have a way with words.” Astrid’s gaze goes to the temple, still warded so they’re not able to get inside without the king. They’d be melted from the inside out if they tried. “I can’t decide what I’d prefer,” Astrid says. “Being the one of us who’s murdered so I know death is coming, or being the one completely ignorant of the fact I’m about to die.”
“It’s a no-brainer, Little Witch. I’d rather know and at least have some control over it.” Skylar gives her a sidelong glance. “I’ll take facing the dragons any day over waiting around to see if I’ll keel over dead.” No sneering, scowling, or scoffing, just the shit nickname. An improvement.
Astrid’s been thinking a lot about Isla Draka, and not just what happens if Skylar ends up bonded to a dragon. She has to survive the island first, and Astrid can help there, in a small way anyway.
“I have something for you.” Astrid pulls a vial from her belt and holds it out to Skylar. “It’s a healing solution. For when you go to Draka.”
Skylar makes no move to take it, but Axel holds a palm up, face expressionless, as he says, “She won’t be taking anything you give her, Witch.”
He says “witch” like a curse, and she can’t tell whether his cool disdain is for all witches or reserved especially for her. Skylar snatches the potion from Astrid, eyes on Axel as she does so.
“Shewill decide for herself whatshewill and won’t do.”
Astrid can barely suppress her grin—thank you, Axel.
“You cannot trust her. You can never trust a witch.”
“Actually, oh bodyguard of mine, she’s the only person I can trust. Not to kill or maim me anyway.”
Axel looks ready to argue but stops, distracted. “They’re here,” he says, and Astrid and Skylar swivel their heads in unison.
The man is hooded and bound, stumbling toward the temple, surrounded by a retinue of Dreki and the black-cloaked Primes who follow the queen everywhere. The queen walks behind them with the king and Zryan.
Zryan’s looking beautiful as sin in his usual gray leathers. Strands of black hair fall into his eyes, the ends slightly damp and curling around his ears, like he just stepped out of the shower. Astrid’s mind begins to wander to places that are wholly inappropriate in most scenarios, let alone one when a man is about to be put to death. She rolls out her shoulders, as if that might help. It doesn’t. She looks at Zryan again, masochist she is, and he’s looking right back.
He doesn’t smile at her, just rakes his eyes up and down her body; and, though she’s in her usual blue tunic and pants, he makes her feel like she’s wearing something altogether more revealing. He averts his gaze, finding Axel instead, giving him a terse nod before approaching him. He’s silent as he waits for his parents to pass—leading the way into the temple—followed by the hooded man and the guards, then her mum with Bjorn. Jessa, Quincy, and Bastet wait nearby, watching Astrid and the strange group she finds herself in.
Zryan leans into Axel. “You went out last night. Not one of your brightest ideas.”
“It worked, didn’t it,” Axel grumbles.
Zryan slowly turns to look at him, face as thunderous as his dragon. Though it’s nothing compared to the look that Skylar gives him.
“You used me asbait?” Skylar’s voice is deathly quiet, and if Astrid were on the receiving end of that tone, she’d be making herself scarce.
“I did what I had to,” Axel replies evenly, barely looking at Skylar.
Goddess, he could have gotten her killed. Gotten them both killed. For a moment, Astrid wonders if Skylar is going to explode—her nostrils flare as she stares at Axel, hands flexing at her sides. But she takes a deep breath. Visibly calming herself. Then says to none of them in particular, “Are we going in or are we just going to stand here like lemons?”
She strides off and Astrid trails her, not wanting to be left with Axel, Zryan, and the dense awkwardness that’s descended betweenthem. The temple is an eyesore, in Astrid’s opinion, with its bright red stone walls and colonnade, and the gold-gilded frieze and cornice. Crossing the threshold, the first thing that draws her attention is the dragon egg, where it sits up on a plinth, the flames from the torches reflected in the shell’s bronze and red scales. Her pulse ratchets up and Skylar turns her head sharply. Stars, can Skylar hear it? Is this something to do with her Blooded power? The witches still don’t know what it is—nor do the Vatrans, from what the witches can gather.
The assassin is kneeling in front of the egg, as though it’s judge, jury, and executioner. This must be where it’s permanently housed. On a platform, the king and queen stand to one side of the dragon egg, Astrid’s mother on its other side, all facing the accused. Astrid and Skylar stand in front of the pews nearest the platform, Astrid beginning to dread what’s to come, when an arm brushes up against her, grounding her. Expecting Jessa, she leans in, then halts. Because it’s a very big, muscular arm that definitely does not belong to Jessa.
She jerks away, looking up at the person who belongs to the arm. Zryan. He winks at her and her heart starts racing again, threatening to rip out of her chest and leap right at him. Skylar glances at Astrid, like she knows what Astrid’s going through, then rolls her eyes at Zryan before focusing on the hooded man trembling on the dais.
“Dimples,” Zryan says quietly. Tension rolls off him. “It seems I won’t have to make any more midnight calls to your room. You must be so disappointed.”
Stars above, he’s insufferable. “Did you find out who hired him?” She tries to act casual, but he’s so close, and her skin feels too tight.This is an execution, she reminds herself.
“No. We didn’t”—Zryan gives the assassin a once-over—“despite our best efforts.”
She suppresses a shudder but reminds herself not to feel sorry for the man who tried to kill her, who almost killed Bastet.
“Did you get anything useful out of him?” She doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick to Axel next to him.
“Sadly not.”
