Then Bellamy realizes the dragon fight overhead is the least of his worries. The ground blazes beneath his feet, alerting him to the incoming earth magic.
Bellamy barely dodges the hole opening in the place he stood an instant before. He can’t see his opponent until he follows the next blaze of magic to the orange dragon emerging from its lair, and the mage on its back.
Three more mages emerge from the door beside it.
Bellamy gasps, head spinning and sides aching. He can’t find anywhere to hide. Sarka is occupied overhead. His only hope is to fight his way out. Desperate, he reaches out with Sandry magic—
And the plants respond.
Vines and trees burst from the crater floor, punching through rock in showers of debris. Bellamy is too dizzy for any finesse, but the same scalestone destroying his concentration amplifies his raw power. He shoves all the magic he can towards the clustered opponents, while he staggers blurry eyed towards the nearest door.
Except he doesn’t move.
Bellamy’s body doesn’t respond the way it should. Horror snaps his concentration, and he loses his grip on the plants. Loses his ability to do anything more than blink and breathe as blood magic burns into his veins.
Deep red magic glows inside Bellamy. Everywhere. His vision clouds, and his knees hit the ground with distant pain as the chaos falls silent.
?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Rakos
Rakos comes to his senses as two men throw him to the ground. His shoulder and head hit marble, and he bites back a groan of pain. Tests his teeth with his tongue—he’s kept all those, at least. Rakos’s whole body aches with remnants of blood magic, and his own magic doesn’t answer his call. The tight band around his throat must be a null-collar.
His wrists and ankles are bound too, but his captors haven’t gagged him. Rakos spits blood on the dark marble. The iron taste lingers on his teeth as he jeers, “So, how many of you did it take to get me in here?”
Boots click, and leather rustles.
“Gag him,” Irenka says.
Rakos probably should have expected that.
Three soldiers work together to obey. Rakos nearly takes their fingers off, just to make himself feel better. Not that it will do him any good. He’s unsuccessful, and they shove a thick leather bit into his mouth and drag him up to his knees. Rakos doesn’t recognize any of the soldiers. By their uniforms, they’re under Count Bernek’s command. This echoing marble hall is the count’s audience chamber, which means Rakos is in Castle Bernek.
Half-upright, Rakos gets a better look at the room. Sure enough, Count Bernek sits in his imposing iron chair at the head of the chamber. Rakos can tell that the whining, sycophantic count isn’t in charge right now. That would be Irenka, who stands at the count’s side. Her uniform is laughably pristine, her glee barely contained.
“Wing-Captain Rakos Tem.” Irenka projects her voice as if she’s on dragonback. “So kind of you to join us.”
Rakos doesn’t believe her words are for his benefit. She’s talking to the other riders and soldiers gathered in the hall.
Not many riders, Rakos is pleased to note. He makes eye contact with each of them—Kamil, who he thought was a friend. Zilata, who never seemed to care about anything. Are they in on the conspiracy, or are they just the audience?
Because one thing is clear as Irenka strides towards him, one hand on her hip. This is a performance. She wants admirers. She wants witnesses.
“You’ve caused a lot of trouble for Draskora recently,” Irenka says. “Deserting was bad enough. Stealing scalestone was bad enough. But destroying the bloodmasque? Invading the dragonroost?” She stalks closer. “What are you playing, treason bingo?”
Irenka hasn’t mentioned Bell yet. Maybe Bell got away.
Rakos glares silently as Irenka continues her promenade around Bernek’s audience chamber. Her boots click. If she had feathers, she would be fanning her tail.
“Count Bernek,” Irenka says.
“Yes, Wing-Captain?” Bernek answers eagerly. He leans forward in his chair, fiddling with his fresh-dyed red hair. Nearly the same red as Irenka’s, like he’s sucking up to her.
Pathetic.Rakos would laugh if he weren’t gagged. The man doesn’t even realize how Irenka is using him. Though perhaps Rakos isn’t in a position to judge, considering how she fooled him at the bloodmasque.
Why didn’t she just capture him there, though?
