Bell tenses, and the ferret climbs from its pouch to wind around his neck. “His Royal Highness?”
“Those drasgard were Prince Vana’s people.”
“Oh. That’s not good.” Bell strokes the ferret’s head. “We should go if we’re going. Will you help me get to the beach?”
Rakos takes a deep breath and peels himself away from the tree’s support. “Try to keep up.”
As they walk through the damp undergrowth, beneath storm-whipped trees, Rakos’s spinning head settles into a new plan. He’ll drop off Bell, resupply from these poorly disguised smugglers, then head north.
Ten years of service in the dragon corps, protecting his crown and country at risk of his own skin. More importantly, at risk ofSarka’sskin. If the prince and whatever bullshit political faction want to throw that all away?
Fine. Rakos has been tired of this bullshit for years. If he’s not welcome, he’ll leave.
But not without Sarka. No matter what, he’s getting his dragon back.
?
CHAPTER THREE
Bellamy
Bellamy rubs the back of his neck, trying to massage out the building tension. It works about as well as it ever does, which is not at all. At least he’s used to headaches. All his other current pains are new, and Bellamy isn’t a fan. Cold water seeps through his coat and tunic. Bruises from Kaspar’s fist pull the muscles of his stomach and waist with every step.
His throat still hurts from Rakos’s iron grasp.
But as more forest separates him from the dungeon, Bellamy contemplates more immediate threats—Gregoire is going to throw a fit.
There’s no hope Bellamy will be able to convince Gregoire to keep this a secret, either. Mother barely convinced Claude to let Bellamy spend a year on Tavoc in the first place. If Claude finds out Bellamy was abducted by Draskorans, even temporarily and accidentally, she’s unlikely to ever let Bellamy out of her sight again.
Hopefully Gregoire won’t hassle Rakos much. Rakos is grumpy and grabby, bordering on disrespectful. Nobody has ever manhandled Bellamy like that before. But without him, Bellamy never would have escaped.
At least, not without revealing his Sandry magic.
Rain lashes the canopy above the forest’s muted gloom. Bellamy sneaks glances at Rakos as they press onwards. He only caught a glimpse of the man in the dim light of the storage room, and that was brighter than the storm-shadowed forest. Fellrian features, broad nose, sword-straight brows. A scattering of freckles across his cheeks. Most eye-catching of all, the blue-green hair falling past his shoulders. Bellamy can only imagine how bright it must be in daylight.
Now, the man moves with dangerous grace. He’s just a few inches taller than Bellamy, but twice as broad. Bellamy felt his strength when Rakos shoved him against the cell wall.
Again with the manhandling.
Rakos is scary. Intimidating. But there’s something reassuring about having someone so intimidating and competent onhisside.
Even if that competence probably killed two people.
Bellamy hugs Bastard closer. His stomach turns at the memory of Kaspar’s spraying blood. The jerk of his body against Bellamy as the blade hit his throat. The way the redheaded mage crumpled across the hall, remnants of iridescence vanishing from her twitching fingers.
Bellamy has never seen true violence before today. He was only fourteen during the Long Summer War. As if Claude would let him serve in the army, even if he’d been of age.
Don’t think about that.Water drips from his hair down his neck. Strain spirals upwards from his ankles and sharpens in his throat.Bury it for now. You’re weak enough already.
Bastard blinks from his grasp and reappears on his shoulder. Bellamy reaches out into the trees despite his exhaustion, trying to sense how close they are to the beach. With relief, he learns they’re very close. The canopy above breaks for occasional patches of gray sky, not as dark as earlier. The storm is fading faster than Bellamy expected.
Just then, Rakos halts. “I hear the ocean.”
“Great,” Bellamy says. “Um, I should probably go first. My friend Gregoire is a little jumpy, he might…”
Light flashes through the thinning tree line. And again. A wavering illumination unlike fire or lightning. Bellamy’s heart leaps to his throat.
“Your friend might what?” Rakos prompts. He can’t see the magic ahead.
