A glance shows nobody else in sight. Bellamy lodges a foot in the shelf-step to boost himself up. One foot on the half-wall, he clings to the edge of the roof and grabs for his blinkmink—
Who doesn’t even bother teleporting. Bastard simply slithers backwards, two feet out of reach, to continue reclining on the roof.
“Come on, you have to be tired now.”
Bellamy scrambles the rest of the way up the wagon, bumping his knee and scraping a palm on the way. But he makes it. He crouches on the rounded roof, pleased with himself, until Bastard chirps and vanishes to thenextwagon over.
“Okay, I should have expected that.” Bellamy sits in the middle of the roof to sulk. “Fine, you win.” He’ll have to go fetch treats to lure her away from the other wagons, or just wait until Rakos comes back. She likes Rakos a lot.
Leaning back on his hands, Bellamy gazes across the landscape. The river town sits in a valley below the main road, a well-fortified town of concentric walls. The skies above are mottled gray with impending rain or snow. No flares of violet Dire magic this time, just the bite of an ordinary Draskoran autumn.
A mountain range smudges silver along the northern horizon. Every so often, dragons wheel across the sky. Always from a great distance, but the sight fills Bellamy with nerves every time. Rakos is from Parsk. That’s near the dragonroost. Has Rakos seen dragons up close before?
Well, Bellamy doesn’t know if Rakos is from Parsk. That’s just where his sister is. Bellamy doesn’t actually know much about Rakos at all.
Better this way. They can have fun, help each other out, then go their separate ways.
Easy. Casual.
Bellamy lies back on the roof. He isn’t tired yet, but he may as well catch some rest while the caravan is stopped. He hopes to stay up late tonight.
A gentle weight lands on his chest. Bellamy rolls his eyes and pets Bastard’s neck. Leaning into the touch, she curls up with her chin resting on Bellamy’s clavicle.
“Hate you,” Bellamy mutters fondly, closing his eyes.
He savors the successful blinkmink capture—he’ll count it as a success at least—until the cold creeps through the wyrmskin coat. Better get up before he really falls asleep up here, and probably falls off the wagon when it starts up again.
But before he sits up, two pairs of footsteps crunch along the road. Magic flickers just beyond the edge of the wagon roof, and Bellamy recognizes the low voice of one of the caravan mages. The woman with earth magic.
“—going to be at the bloodmasque.”
“Does he intend to join the challenge?” the other mage asks. A man with water magic, responsible for keeping the animals watered.
“No. Just sucking up to the winner, I expect.” She snorts. “He’s playing around in Silaise these days. Going by the name Cyril now.”
Bellamy’s attention pricks at the mention of Silaise. Eyes stinging with a wave of homesickness, he remains quiet and listens.
“Enterprising,” the man says. “There’s less competition over there if you’re subtle enough. Did you hear some Silaisan noble’s come over to play at the bloodmasque too?”
“Really? Who?”
“No idea. Maybe they—never mind. The caravan-master is back.”
The conversation breaks as the mages hurry away down the line. Bellamy breathes lightly until louder voices sound far away, then carefully transfers sleepy Bastard to her fur pouch. He sits up just enough to peek over the edge of the roof, then clambers down with no more elegance than he climbed up with.
Bellamy had no interest in attending this bloodmasque before. It sounds grotesque. But if someone from Silaise is there—
Depending onwhofrom Silaise is there—
Maybe Bellamy can expedite his escape from Draskora. It would mean leaving Rakos early instead of helping him find his sister, but it’s the middle of Marsen now. Over a month since he went missing. His family must be worried sick.
If there’s a chance to get home sooner, Bellamy has to take it.
?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rakos
