You duel, or you die.
Or in Astrid’s case, she duels and she dies anyway.
Her mum looks like Astrid’s smacked her. “So—what, you’ve just given up?”
“You know I haven’t; I’m just being realistic. Even if I could battle cast, there’s no spell that can down a dragon. Witches stronger than me have lost this duel, and no witch has beaten a dragon heir in nearly four hundred years.” Astrid would know: she’s studied every one of the duels, hoping to learn something that would help her defeat the prince.
“Casting may not be much use against one of those beasts, but the prince is just a man,” her mum retorts.
Astrid laughs humorlessly. “Just a man? He’s lauded as the greatest warrior Vatra has ever seen. He’s bonded to the most powerful Elemental dragon since records began. And he’s a Prime, Mum, you said so yourself.” Of course her opponent would be a Prime—the rarest and most powerful of the Blooded in Vatra. And while witches are definitely more magically powerful than any grade one or two Blooded, given the variety of magic they wield, a grade three or a Prime Blooded is a different story. Make it a Prime with a dragon, well, then you’ve likely got a dead witch. She takes a steadying breath. “He is not ‘just a man.’?”
“I am well aware of his accolades, Astrid, but your attitude—”
“I haven’t given up,” Astrid interrupts. Even to her own ears the words sound like a lie. “And it’s not like I’ve got a choice in the matter anyway.” No, her distant ancestor made sure of that when he signed the Covenant, an eternally binding magical contract that means the firstborn heirs of his line—herline—have to duel the Vatran heirs to the death.
“You may have no choice but to fight, but you can choose how you approach this.” Her mum grasps Astrid’s face between her hands. “Don’t be reckless now, don’t make it easy for them.”
The queen’s eyes burn with conviction, and Astrid can’t argue with her on that. The Vatran royals have been trying to kill Astrid her entire life, all to stop her even getting to the duel. Because if she dies before she duels, then Vatra automatically retains control of the Heart.
“And yet, here we are, sailing for Vatra, right into the dragons’ nest, where it will be much easier for them to kill me.”
A growl issues from Bjorn, a warning to Astrid to watch her tone.
“We’ve had this conversation.” Her mum’s patience is wearing thin. “We have to go, so you may be blood bound—for your own protection.”
A chill kisses along her spine at the thought of linking her mortality to the prince’s—when they are bound by blood, if one dies, so does the other—but it’s a custom upheld since the second duel many moons ago, and the benefit will be no more assassination attempts. At least not by the Vatrans anyway, not if they don’t want to kill their own prince in the process.
“We wouldn’t need the Blood Binding if we weren’t forced to turn up weeks in advance.”
“Really, and the man who tried to kill you yesterday was what, chopped liver?”
Okay, her mother has a point. She wonders again why they sent an assassin now when it would take a miracle for her to beat the prince. And she really does need to beat the prince, not so much for herself but for Arturea. Because this duel is different from all the others that have preceded it. This one will determine the survival of her entire queendom.
“The Blood Binding is fine, it’s everything else. The parade, the Masked Ball, theMeasuring? Where people placebetson us? Goddess, it’s so humiliating. I don’t understand why they”—she carefully avoids saying “you”—“put us through all that before we have to fight.”
Her mother sighs, but it’s sad rather than exasperated.
“I know. I know you don’t want to do this, but it’s also an opportunity. I need you to trust me that I wouldn’t put you through all the pomp and ceremony if it wasn’t worth it, okay?” Her mum rubsAstrid’s upper arms, and all the fight leaves her. She pulls out of the queen’s grip and takes a long sip of her tincture, draining the vial. The mixture helps manage her mood, helps her stay balanced and safe. Well, within reason. She wonders if there’s a tincture that protects the drinker from murderous dragon princes. Probably not.
Her mother watches as she puts the tonic away. They don’t talk much about Astrid’s “condition,” as her mother puts it. Gwen’s mother, Gram, had been the same—manic one moment, melancholic the next—and Astrid thinks her mum found that tough growing up. Though she’s never admitted as much to Astrid.
“Do not let hopelessness prevail, my miracle girl.” Astrid almost scoffs. Her mother has always called her that, but she feels like the opposite. A cursed girl. “There’s hope yet, I promise you. I’ve missed you,” she adds, stroking Astrid’s hair.
“I missed you, too.”
There’s a knock at the door and Jessa strides in, Quincy in tow.
“Thought you could do with some sustenance.” She places a pot of fresh mint tea—Astrid’s favorite—and some honey biscuits on the table, as well as some caribou tongue for the fox and the bear. She shoots Astrid a look, which she takes for an apology, but she’s not mad at Jessa.
“You know I hate to ask…” Her mum trails off, pouring a steaming cup of tea. Astrid sighs inwardly. She thought she’d get out of facing this question. Her mother has been haranguing her aboutfinding her familiarsince she came of age at thirteen, seeming to forget that the witch doesn’t find the familiar, the familiar finds the witch. “Don’t look at me like that—I just worry for you. You know you’re well beyond the age of the tethering now.”
“As you’ve reminded me on countless occasions.” The tethering is the bond that forges a familiar’s soul to its witch’s—and her mum’s trepidation at Astrid’s lack of a familiar, her worry that Astrid might be witchkin—and thus never tether a familiar—is better than facing her mum’s reaction if she knew about the familiar Astridistethered to.
“Have you felt nothing? The right Gift could make all the difference.” If she manifested a Gift like Jessa’s, or her mum’s, yes, it could make all the difference. A witch’s and a familiar’s Gift emerges at thesame time, and, more often than not, a few months post the tethering. But while Astrid might have a familiar, her Gift has made no sign of showing. So she’s not lying when she says, “Sadly, no such luck.”
“Well, until you do,” Jessa cuts in, snapping a biscuit in half and taking a bite, “we’re going to be working on your battle casting, more specifically, on defense under pressure. After what happened yesterday, I’d say you’re in dire need of it.”
“Thanks so much, Jess.”
