His green eyes are burning hot, like her insides. He has a beautiful face. She’s never truly let herself appreciate that before. Sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, wide inviting mouth. She wonders, for the first time, what that bottom lip would taste like. As if sensing her thoughts, his gaze drops to her own mouth, and when he looks back up, his pupils are blacker.
His fingers tighten briefly on her shoulders, then he lets go, takes a step back. This is the man who hated her, she tells herself. The man hunting rebels, serving the royals. She can’t let herself forget that. Shewon’tlet herself forget it.
“I got you something,” Axel says, his voice a little gruff. “For the Masked Ball tomorrow.”
She scowls. “Right. The ball.” But it’s a relief, to think about something else other than what just happened.
He raises his eyebrows. “Not looking forward to it?”
“Not in the outfit I’ve been given, no.”
The only reason she’s consenting to go at all is because it seems like the perfect opportunity to find out more about the conscripts. To see if someone knows what it means, that word.Champion. After all, there will be plenty of nobles there, she’ll be in a mask—and people’s tongues will be loose with drink.
“Well, maybe I can help with that.” Axel reaches into his pocket and produces a mask. Fiery bronze and gold, with small wings out to each side. Dragon wings. It is living flame, like Kaida’s egg. The fire theme isn’t exactly new, given what the king had made for her, but this… this is something else. She takes it, tracing one finger along the tiny scales.
“Thank you.” Her voice is a whisper, and it’s not quite steady.
“Don’t thank me. Instead, remember why you are worthy of a fire dragon. Remember the fire within you.” He steps toward her once more, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him. And though she hates herself for it, something in her jumps, from the way he holds her gaze. “Because once you own that part of you, Skylar, there is nobody who can stand in your way.”
33Astrid
There’s a knock at the door.
Astrid closes her grimoire and drops her pen on the desk, wiping her inky hands on her leggings. The door creaks open and Jessa walks in, Quincy slinking in beside her, the giant fox giving Astrid something akin to puppy-dog eyes.
Jessa comes to stand behind Astrid. She watches Astrid in the mirror, taking in the mottled skin, the red-rimmed eyes.
“I’m not going to ask how you’re feeling. What Skylar did to Zryan, and your… reaction. Well.” She bites her cheek, says nothing more.
Well, indeed. Astrid hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. The way Skylar’s power took hold of Zryan’s life force and clawed it from him haunted her dreams last night. How can Astrid even combat it in a duel? Skylar wasn’t touching her brother as she sucked the life from him. And though Astrid’s casting has improved a thousand times over, she has no Gift, is nowhere near as powerful as Zryan—who barely survived.
“Seeing as how you didn’t ask, I won’t tell you I’m scared shitless and have been crying for the past hour.” The intrusive thoughts have been relentless today, battering at her brain, reminding her she isuseless, useless, useless. She can’t take any more of her tonic, unless she wants to make herself sick.
Jessa squeezes onto the chair next to her and slides her arms around Astrid’s waist. Bastet mews from somewhere on the bed.
“That’s perfectly understandable. I’m here for the tears.”
“Don’t.” Astrid leans into her. “You’ll set me off again.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” She hesitates. “I’m also here if you want to talk to me about a certain prince.”
Astrid closes her eyes. Though she appreciates the offer, she really doesn’t want to talk about him because she’s afraid of what she might say. Afraid of what she’ll admit to. Seeing Zryan on the floor like that, gasping,dying, had hit her like a trebuchet. She hadn’t meant to scream, to throw herself between the siblings like that. It had been something primal driving her, his pain so abhorrent she’d had to stop it. She shakes the image from her mind.
“I’m all done with the tears, I promise.”
“Good to get them all out now,” Jessa says, and Astrid is relieved she doesn’t push the Zryan point.
BETTER HERE THAN AT THE BALL, Quincy adds.
Goddess, she’s not in the mood for a party, but she’d rather keep busy than sit in her room, imagining the grotesque way she’s going to die at Skylar’s hands.
“I thought I was going to survive it. The duel,” she murmurs. “I truly believed I was going to win, even if I hadn’t come to terms with what I’d have to do to achieve that.” Because winning meant killing, and Astrid doesn’t know how she could bring herself to kill Skylar. She looks over her shoulder at her familiar. For him, she would try. Though now, with Skylar’s power, the whole thing is moot. Astrid wouldn’t be able to kill her even if she didn’t find the thought so repulsive. “I’m sorry, Bastet. For how things have turned out.”
DO NOT BE SORRY, ASTRID.WE ARE ALL DESTINED TO DIE, he says so solemnly, Astrid almost laughs. WE WILL SIMPLY SAIL SOONER THAN MOST.
“Don’t do that, do you hear me?” Jessa grabs Astrid’s face. “I’ve said it before: this isn’t over until it’s fucking over, and this kind of attitude is what will get you killed.” She points at Bastet. “Will get youbothkilled, not some Vatran street performer with a Hel-damned power she can’t control. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself—no one likes a pity party.”
Astrid knows Jessa’s just trying to make her feel better. None of them in that training room—Jessa included—had ever seen anything like Skylar’s power: she could tell by their faces.
