Phantom doesn’t answer. My ancestors are powerful practitioners of magic, but they aren’t warriors. In fact,my great-grandfather, Henry Harcourt, was a photographer, well-known for his pacifism. When Henry went on safari to shoot animals, it was with his camera. The only things that came home with him were photographs. He was a spiritualist and obsessed with the occult, but he was no killer. Phantom will fight for me. They will protect me. But they can’t advise me on military strategy.
But I am the dragon.
I am the first generation with dragon blood in my veins. A dragon has sharp teeth and claws for a reason. They know how to kill. My magic may be powered by the past, but I am forging my own future. And today, I have to trust myself. My gut tells me something is off.
My intuition proves accurate when the battle for the Borderlands comes into view. The elves are here. Thousands of soldiers with sunlight weapons are lined up at the border with Willowgulch, and our forces are losing. A hard lump forms in my throat when I see piles of ash that I know were once vampires. Cassius? No. He is there, fighting side by side with the Rivertoads, covered in blood.
Where should we start, my darling? Phantom asks me.
There. I point to the place where a line of elves behind the battling throng raises their arrows.We cut them off. Cut their forces in half. Take out their archers and distract the others to give our forces a foothold.Are you strong enough?
Never stronger, they say as their chest fills with fire. We swoop down. I concentrate my magic and intention, focus, take aim, and then release our fire. Heat singes my cheeks as the stream incinerates the entire line of archers as if they were ants under a magnifying glass. The other soldiers scatter, some running right into enemy hands.Vampires rush them and tear out their throats. A Rivertoad squadron cheers as they lop off pale heads and use their shadows to stab the elves through their hearts.
Phantom gains elevation and banks hard, turning for another pass.You’re tired, I say to them.We should find a place to rest.
We have one more in us, darling. Shall we go again?
One more, then,I say. Quickly, I scan the battlefield. The elves have a section of carts near the back. It’s hard to see what they’re filled with from this height, but they might be cages for prisoners or supplies of weapons. Yes, I see the glow of something inside. Sunlight.There. The cages. We take those out.
The dragon rumbles with laughter.Brilliant. Hold on tight. We’re going in hot.
Their chest fills again with lethal fire, and we swoop down to release it. The elves who aren’t caught in the blast scatter, wide-eyed and screaming. We power through their supplies. Carts of weapons go up in flames. Cages incinerate. We drive toward an odd-looking contraption. A weapon of some kind. What is that?
Phantom’s fire reaches our target just as a bowling-ball-sized star flies into their side. I have only a millisecond to register that we’ve been hit. Less time to feel myself fall. I fall through fire and smoke and bones.
Everything becomes nothing.
37
The Monster in Me
Eloise
Iwake in all too familiar chains, bound to an all too familiar arch, in an all too familiar room. I’ve been hanging a long time by the look of my wrists and the low burn of the candles in the candelabra. I reach out for Phantom and sense my power a long, long way away. The Darklands. My stomach drops when I realize what this means.
My dragon, my anchor, is dead.
“At last. She wakes.” Adril Entrydal steps into the room, his heavy footsteps thumping on the stone floor. When he comes into view, he is dressed entirely in silver velvet, a crown atop his head, smooth gold with pointed sections as if the molten metal were dripped into shape. “You should know we killed your dragon, and my troops are even now slaughtering your meager rebellion.” He presses one finger into the underside of my chin and lifts my head. “I’d tell you that I was going to torture you formilitary secrets, but what would be the point? I don’t need them, and I’ve never liked playing pretend. I am going to torture you for the fun of it, Eloise Hymir. I am going to break you.” He leans forward until his thin red lips and pale blue eyes are too close to my face. I hold my breath to keep from breathing the same air as him. “I am going to make you my pet. And when I own this world, you will lap milk from my boots and thank me for it.”
As before, I don’t react. I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me panic, although inside, my heart is pounding in my chest, a wild animal thrashing the bars of its cage. My blood is ice.
He scoffs and backs away, strides to the back of the room, those stupid boots clapping the floor as he goes, making me aware of every place he walks in the room. I hear chains, the rattle of bamboo rods. What will he choose? What will he torture me with?
I squeeze my eyes closed, instinctively seeking the safety of the darkness, but my mind won’t quiet. Memories of the last time I was in this rack come back to me with jagged, painful clarity. For now, I’m fully dressed in the black uniform of the resistance. Last time, he unzipped my dress so that he could watch my skin break under the force of his blows. I wonder if he’ll cut the shirt off me this time. I wonder if my blood will splatter the walls again along with that silver coat of his. I wonder?—
I open my eyes and remember Nathanial stepping into the room from Paragon, remember him feeding me his blood, blood that runs through my veins.
Remember thatIam the dragon.
Phantom isn’tdead; they are simply waiting for me to pull them back from the underworld into whatever pile ofbones I choose. I have nothing to grieve. Not yet. Slowly, I remember who I am.
I am Eloise Hymir, Queen of Stygarde.
My heart is made of darkness.
Entrydal will never own me.
No one can cage a shadow.
