The air seems to tighten and freeze around us, clinging like frost to my skin, making every breath hurt. I hear the chilling cry of distant dragons—abrupt, shrill cries that quickly draw closer, as though they sensed that sudden power from Reave and immediately twisted in mid-air to answer it.
“But we’re willing to exchange her for the safe release of our own,” Faron says calmly.
Reave doesn’t reply. The moment stretches into a tense, volatile silence. It’s like watching sparks hover above dry tinder, just waiting for one to ignite.
Kestrel looks as though she’s considering attempting to break free and single-handedly snap the necks of every man touching her. She’s already covered in blood, but otherwiseappears perfectly fine. Perfectly capable of slaughter. I suspect it’s not her own blood staining her, and I wonder how many she killed before they managed to capture her.
“Don’t make me turn violent,” says Faron, flashing a little smile that makes me think he wouldn’t mind turning violent at all.
Reave glares at him for a moment longer before giving a nearly imperceptible nod. Keeping one eye on the men holding his sister, he beckons one of his guards closer. They speak briefly, rapidly, in the language of Mouren. The guard bows deeply and hurries away.
“We’re in agreement, then?” Faron asks.
“He’ll be safely escorted to you momentarily.”
“Excellent.” Faron’s smile brightens. “And here I was told the King of Mouren didn’t know how to compromise.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” Reave replies.
Another uneasy silence settles. No one speaks. There are sounds of ongoing skirmishes in the distance, but they feel far removed from this standoff. No one pays them any mind. Faron paces along the line of his fellow intruders, his hands casually clasped behind his back, while Reave stands perfectly still in front of me.
The warmth and strength is fading from my muscles; I haven’t seen or heard Sesca for several minutes.
Where did you go?I think.
No reply—though I hear more of Mouren’s dragons swarming closer, their low, rumbling calls and the occasional gust from their beating wings making a few of our opponents cast wary looks upward.
Did those dragons frighten Sesca away?
I’m still scanning the skies, trying to remain calm, whenthe sound of footsteps and the rattle of chains catches my attention. Twisting around, I see two guards marching toward us with a man secured between them.
I gasp.
Commander Gareth.
His face is bruised, pale, and completely expressionless as he walks forward. One foot after the other, looking at no one. He’s shoved into the empty space between the standoff.
Kestrel is dragged to the same area.
I hold my breath as the handlers step away, allowing their prisoners to carry on alone toward their respective sides.
Kestrel moves much more quickly than Gareth. The instant she’s safely behind a line of Mouren soldiers, Reave lifts a hand. He holds up two fingers and makes a quick, subtle slicing motion.
Gareth is mere steps from his own line of safety when two arrows fly from somewhere above us, striking him on either side of his neck. Blood spurts and silence overtakes the entire yard as he manages one last step. The next turns into a wild, stumbling pitch forward.
There’s more stunned silence after his face hits the ground, as he gives a few violent twitches and then goes completely still.
One, two, three, four heartbeats of silence, and then finally movement from the Dralsk side—weapons being drawn, a shout going up, boots shifting forward in response.
They stop at the sound of dragons roaring closer. Several of the beasts swoop down and land atop the nearby walls, claws scraping and wings flaring.
The same gold-masked force that accompanied Reave the night we first met is suddenly here as well, sweeping silently out of the shadows and forming a line on either side of him.The cold magic Reave possesses seems amplified by their presence, thickening the air around us into an impenetrable wall.
The Dralsk forces are not just outnumbered, they’re grossly overpowered. And, judging by their expressions, they realize it. Most of them are backing away.
Only Lord Faron takes a step toward Gareth’s fallen body. He only makes it part way before he stops, lifting his eyes to the King of Mouren. “You bastard. You?—”
“I agreed to his release,” Reave says, evenly. “I never said he’d make it safely out of my kingdom.”
