Soren took a shaky breath. She hadn’t dreamt of Sora’s memories since she had been injured, and seeing another now was unsettling. Below, the ground was covered in Aren’s vast army. The fight was well underway as they held the border against Mise, ready to push it back and end this war. Just above her, a shadow passed over. She turned, looking up to see an enormous, black Vemon dragon forging ahead, leading them to destruction and death. Her hands grew white-knuckled against the saddle, and she tried to ball up the rage stewing inside her. From all she knew, the masked rider was responsible for this war as much as King Johannas. Aren was a reigning power, butMòr Maslachwas the blade that wielded that control.
Thessa pushed ahead, soaring past the masked rider atop his dragon. It roared, the sound resonating to Soren’s core, but she didn’t look back, not until she felt a sharp sting at her ear.
A dagger whizzed past her, just nicking her ear, and she whirled. The masked rider was kneeling atop his saddle, pointing up at where the thick cloud cover hid the sky. She followed the trajectory of his gloved hand.
Something was up there.
Mise had no dragons or even wyverns any longer, so it had to be more rebels. Except that when the first wyvern emerged from the darkening clouds, its rider carried Meesling’s flag and wore a crown.
Soren’s stomach sank. Could the rider be Prince Kellmere? His younger brother was barely out of childhood, and his father was rumored to be too old and injured to ride. Perhaps the prince had defected from the marriage agreement with Aren on his own.
In the end, it didn’t matter. Soren was going to have to kill him, and if she didn’t,Mòr Maslachsurely would.
Thessa roared, a battle cry, as the prince’s small legion of wyverns descended from the clouds. Rain started to fall, and Soren froze as the icy droplets hit her face. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t kill them so brutally and efficiently as the king wanted.
The masked rider took the lead when she did not, his dragon shrieking shrilly. She was not born a monster, but perhaps she was not strong enough to stop them from making her one. Because in the end, survival won out, and she cried, “Forward, Thessa!”
Tears streamed down her face with the rain as she reached for the prison inside her. The darkness shook the bars greedily, ready and always waiting. Thessa roared, letting loose a stream of white fire that swallowed up three wyverns and their riders in one fell swoop. To her left, the masked riderstoodatop his saddle, throwing daggers as his dragon let loose red-hot flames, roaring as it did.
Your magic, Thessa ordered.It’s time, Soren.
She opened her palms, and shadows melted into the darkened sky as she released a wave of Death. Wyverns screeched in agony, their riders falling limp off their backs to the battleground beneath them.
Prince Kellmere was bellowing something to the riders left in his fleet, and they changed course, diving for the ground. Thessa dove after them,Mòr Maslachand his dragon hot at their heels. They pulled up just before the muddy ground swallowed them whole, but Prince Kellmere and his riders were slidingofftheir wyverns and joining the battle by foot.
He’s giving the wyverns a chance to live. He sees defeat as clearly as you can see victory.
Clarity sliced through the ice surrounding her. The prince had been foolish to think he could take on two Vemon dragons,double the size of most of their wyverns, but he wasgood.He had been brave when no one else from his kingdom would be.
He was going to die today, but he didn’t deserve dragonfire. She could give him nothing but a painless sleep.
Let me dismount.
Thessa snarled, her roar cutting through the screams around them.Do not be a fool. You are not trained with a blade.
Let me, or I’ll jump off now. Follow the other Vemon dragon and its rider.
Rearing her neck, Thessa roared again but flew low enough that Soren could roll off her back like they had practiced. She landed hard, the force of it rushing painfully up her legs and back. A sword swung down, and she cried out, moving just in time and shooting to her feet.
All around her, there was Death.
Through the sheets of rain, she saw blades run straight through flesh, saw blood and insides making puddles with the water, heard men screaming for their mothers. In the chaos, she found Prince Kellmere fighting three Arenean soldiers at once, blood running down his forehead, a harsh cry escaping his lips.
She ran towards him and made it halfway there, her magic felling soldiers as they rushed at her. But she was untrained in this body, and even the magic began to tire her. She screamed and doubled over as someone swiped a blade against her upper thigh. On her knees, in the mud and bloody water, she wondered if she deserved to go like this, a nameless face in the thick of the war she had begun.
She knew that now—remembered Kronos’ taunts as magic had ravaged her body, moments before her death.
“I will chain him and his world. Know, my beloved betrothed, that as you die, this punishment on mortals will outlast your end.”
This was a resource war, begun by the loss of magic that started a famine in Aren nearly three decades ago. For love, forhim,she had cursed this world, and now, she would die as no one, just as she deserved.
Instead, blood rained down on her as her attacker's head flew from her body and landed with a squelching thud. Breathing heavily, Soren turned her head to see the masked rider towering over her, holding a curved sword dripping with gore. He held out a gloved hand, slick with rain and blood, and she shoved it away. But as she struggled to her feet, swallowing a scream of pain, the rider caught her arm before she could fall.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” she hissed, shoving him off.
He said nothing, but as she looked at him, a strange feeling pulsed inside her. She had a strange hunch that, like before in the tent with Vane, ether was rising in her. Ignoring it, she limped towards Prince Kellmere, a dagger held in her hand.
“Prince!” she screamed over the thunder booming overhead.
