Page 62

"No!" Silas sobs. "No, please, I'll remember, I'll remember! Have mercy!"

Elara looks at him a moment longer.

Then she looks at me. "Let him go, Kaelen."

I don't want to. Every part of me wants to keep him there. Wants to make him hurt as much as he made her hurt, all those years. But she's asked me.

So I prepare to let him go.

But first, I lean down close. Close enough that he can see my eyes. See the gold burning in them. See the scales rippling along my jaw.

"If you ever lay a hand on her again," I tell him, very quietly, "nobody will ever find what's left of you."

He whimpers.

I step back.

He scrambles up out of the snow, clutching his wrist to his chest, and runs. Slipping. Stumbling. He crashes through the gate and drags himself up onto his horse one handed, sobbing the whole time. The village men are already mounting up. Nobody looks back.

In moments, they're gone. Galloping through the snowy forest as fast as their exhausted horses will carry them, until the darkness swallows them up.

I stand there watching the place they disappeared. I'm still burning. Still furious that he dared to touch her. My hands are still shaking.

Then Rhydian strolls up beside me, brushing snow off his sleeves.

"You know," he says casually, "it's a long way down the mountain. Very dark. Very dangerous." He sighs. "Somebody really ought to make sure those poor villagers get home safely."

Zarek looks at the horse prints. He looks at Rhydian. And then, slowly, he smiles.

It's a rare thing, Zarek's smile. And this one is downright wicked.

"I agree," he says. "It would be irresponsible of us not to keep an eye on them."

All at once, I understand. And now, finally, I feel like laughing.

Elara looks between the three of us. Her eyes narrow. "What are you planning?"

Nobody answers her. We just walk across the garden together, the three of us. Through the gate. Out past the iron fence, past the edge of the magic, into the deep snow beyond, where it's cold and dark and wild.

I stop. I look back at her.

She's standing in the middle of the garden among the winter roses, wrapped in her cloak, her hair blowing in the wind. Starlight on her face.

I want to see it. I want to see her face when she sees me. All of me.

So I let go.

My dragon roars up out of me like fire up a chimney. My body stretches. Grows. Bones lengthen and crack and reshape. My skin splits into scales, deep crimson, hard as iron. Horns curve up out of my skull, black and sharp. Claws tear out of my fingers and dig deep into the frozen earth, cutting through stone. Wings burst from my back and unfurl, huge and leathery, so wide they block out half the stars.

Beside me, Zarek is changing too. Jet black and gleaming, silver streaks running through his scales like lightning, silver horns sweeping back from his head.

And Rhydian. Brilliant gold, shining even in the dark, his great copper wings spreading wide.

I turn my head and look at her. She's frozen. Standing perfectly still in the garden, her mouth hanging open, her eyes enormous. Then her gaze goes to the mantel inside the open door. To the three little carved dragons sitting in a row.

Black and silver. Gold and copper. Crimson and black.

She looks back at us. And I watch her understand.