I raise my brows.
“Savior’s fee,” she says with a shrug, just as the second man moves to help his fallen companion. The fallen one leaps upright as well, and we square up with them, suspended in that peculiar stillness that settles just before violence.
I strike first.
Sesca’s power continues to hum through me, making my movements impossibly quick and fearless. Between that and Briar’s usual terrifying efficiency, we make quick work of both men.
“Get them into the palace!” I hear Kestrel yelling somewhere behind us, still trying to establish some sort of order among the guests and guards. Glancing over my shoulder, I notice Reave is no longer at her side. My pulse skips a few beats, wondering where he's gone, if he's safe, if there's worse mayhem happening somewhere else.
My eyes fall upon a dead body close to Kestrel—a girl no older than fifteen, her dark hair fanned around her, a serene smile still on her lips. A grim reminder of how quickly things went from sparkling celebration to…this.
I jerk my head in the direction of the princess. “Go help Kestrel,” I tell Briar. “People are panicking; they need your big mouth telling them what to do.”
She hesitates. “What about you?”
“I'm going to keep as many as I can away from you so you can focus on guiding more people to safety.”
“Owyn—”
“I'll be fine.” I hold up my arm, twisting it so she can see the iridescent blue scales that have now spread from my wrist halfway to my elbow.
Her lips part at the sight, her gaze flicking between thescales and my dragon eye. “You just keep getting weirder and weirder,” she says with a crooked little grin.
“Go,” I urge.
“Be careful,” she orders in response before finally sprinting away.
I turn and begin to methodically drive back every enemy that attempts to get anywhere near her and Kestrel. After I drop the first two challengers with supernatural speed and grace, others begin to think twice about approaching me. Most stop completely when they look at my face—at my scarred, once-blind eye, and the golden, serpentine shine it has now taken on.
I'm used to people recoiling from the sight of that eye, but the way these people hesitate feels different. I don't sense disgust. Or pity.
I don't feel repulsive.
I feelpowerful.
Sesca soars closer, as if feeding off my waking confidence, dipping in and out of the clouds.
Keep your distance, I think, and I'm certain she hears it, because she gives an annoyed, echoing hiss before shooting higher once more. She wants to land and fully intertwine herself with my power. To unleash her own fury on these violent intruders. I feel fire building in the air, too—a tempting gift that I could potentially draw down and channel through my own veins, if only I dared. I know it would be enough to annihilate every threat still standing.
I just don't trust myself to channel it safely.
Not after what happened in the arena the other day.
Keep your distance, I think again.I can handle this with just a sword. No magic. It's safer that way.
A rush of her indignant heat courses through me. Butanother surge of her strength soon follows, along with a burst of focus that makes the world around me become even sharper, even more luminous.
Those enhanced senses suddenly seem determined to lead me in a specific direction—straight toward a blond-haired man wearing a cloak of deep emerald, who moves with calm, deadly authority amongst the carnage. His hand is resting on the hilt of a broadsword, but he doesn’t draw it out, even as several skirmishes dance dangerously close to him.
I can't seem to look away from him; it's as though Sesca is watching everything unfolding from above, and she's determined thatthisis the target I need to zero in on, whether I want to or not. So I'm painstakingly aware of his every measured step, of every shift of his assessing gaze, of the way every one of the palace intruders seems to fight with more conviction whenever he passes by them.
“Lord Faron!” I hear someone shout as they rush over to him. They exchange a few words, and then Faron starts in the direction of the palace.
I cut him off.
He meets the swing of my sword by quickly unsheathing his own, then follows it up with a rapid backswing. I duck the attack, landing in a graceful crouch. As I straighten, he looks as though he's going to turn away and keep moving—as if he doesn't think I'm worth the effort of dealing with.
Until he notices my eye.
