I turn to see a group of white-caped soldiers charging across the courtyard toward us, the front four peeling apart to reveal a Runi; his eyes milky, skin pale and eerily smooth, some sort of diadem latched to his brow.
He flicks back his hood, revealing sleek white hair and a trio of beads dangling from his ear.
A Tri-Councilor.
I shudder from the inside out. Like something within me just released a sawing snarl.
His lips move. Wind churns, gathering snow off the ground. The toiling vortex whirls toward me—
“Glei ooh ah lah nei voilash shunth!”I hiss, and Clode blasts in their direction, obliterating the churn.
My gusty slap assaults them. Tosses them backward like white sheets ripping off a line, caught in a hurl of wind.
But not the Tri-Councilor, standing strong against the might. His robe flails in the violent gale, spittle bursting past his teeth as he sings with blustering force, trying to wrestle Clode into ripping control from my lips.
I feel the tug, I’ll give him that—the words a swallowed rope being lurched free with a fisted pull. Something I’ve never experienced before. I’ve always been the onepulling,and often with a bit too muchoomph.
Nothing quite like watching someone’s lung herniate past their lips to make you realize Clode absolutely has favorites, like hand-delivering me a gory bouquet. Lovely when you’re on the receiving end. Butnow—
The fact that I’m feeling the tug suggests I might’ve met a formidable opponent. Could be a fun training exercise, were the timing notliterallythe worst.
I put more effort in, asking Clode to prove exactly how strong we are. With apretty pleasetacked on the end.
The timbre of her song lilts, like she’s smiling. Ever thankful for my manners; a secret weapon tucked in my back pocket.
She shoves again.
His feet slide back across the stone, pale eyes widening. Innately, I know that he’sseeingme. Seeing that I’m not one of them, butfemale.
That I wear no diadem.
“Clode. Lui lah moá liriní shooth,”I ask, akin to turning a blade poised at my chest, ripping the weapon free, molding it into a fist that punches past the Tri-Councilor’s teeth and plugs his mouth, making it impossible for him to sing anymore.“Lui lah veirie te ah. Healah!”
His face turns purple as his eyes threaten to pop from his head, the tips of my fingers itching with my rabid desire to call for more. Push further.
End him—
The heavythumpof dragon wings snaps me from my trance, militant commands and shouts brought straight to my ears.
A gusty gift. Clode’s foreboding alarm that I’m running out of time.
That I need togo.
I snarl, begging her to keep plugging the Tri-Councilor’s mouth before I turn and run, leaping over gleaming puddles of ore, through the gaping hole in the wall. Passing into a tight alleyway beyond, I note the others not far ahead, glancing back to make sure nobody’s following.
A scatter of converging Moltenmaws dot the pallid sky with color and flaming wrath, no longer appearing to defend the Citadel’s walls. Butlookingfor something.
Probably us.
I break into a sprint, easily catching Pyrok, Roan, and Kaan as dragons tear through the clouds, pounding the air into wild winds that slap us from all angles, snatching more of my hair from its bind.
Three times, we’re forced to duck out of sight to avoid being spotted, finally dipping down a less conspicuous alleyway—the city surprisingly desolate, aside from the flocked hunt taking place overhead. Not even a fluttering parchment lark to dodge on our awkward clamber through the labyrinth of stone.
We’re in sight of the distillery’s chimneys when Roan’s feet falter, almostleading him to drop Kaan. I jolt forward, about to take his half of the load, but the bluster of beating wings has me stilling.
Turning.
The same red Moltenmaw we saw earlier soars above the alleyway, so close it could stuff its head down between the walls and etch a deeper ditch with its honed beak. Except its beak isopen, chest blown, orange flames churning in the back of its cavernous throat.
