The officer draws his sword and presses it to my throat in one smooth motion. “That's quite enough.”
I steady myself under the threatening weight of his gaze and the uncomfortable pressure of his blade. Swallowing hard, I say, “I don’t have anything else to say, then.”
“How regrettable for you.” He increases the pressure of his weapon, stopping just short of drawing blood. He looks like he’s weighing his options. His body is alarmingly still, impossibly steady, and again I’m reminded of a trap prepared to snap straight through my bones.
But as the seconds tick by, my fear gives way to something more like…grief.
Grief, because I’m not thinking about my own execution, about whatever torturous death I might suffer at the hands of the Mouren army or its king. I’m thinking about the Burn, about all the people I’ll be letting down if I die.
People I already let down once, during the days leading up to Emberfall.
I close my eyes, trying to focus, to think of some way out of this.
Then I hear a strange clicking sound. Something that sounds like claws scraping against stone?—
Because that’s exactly what it is.
Blinking my eyes open, I see it: The dragon I failed to slay last night is slinking up the steps, baring its fangs at any soldier who makes even the slightest move toward it.
Time seems to still as it approaches.
In daylight, the dragon's scales reveal their true colors—not all of them are black. Some are a deep, shimmering teal that shifts with each breath. Its wings are tucked close now, folded against its slender body in a way it couldn't manage before. I can see their structure more clearly: hard ridgespaired with thin membrane, edged with soft feathers. A similar mix of armor and delicacy runs the length of its spine, from the base of its neck to the tip of its long tail, where thick plating gradually softens into downy, feathered fronds.
More wounds than I can quickly count mark its body—some scarred over, others still weeping and breaking open with each movement—but even damaged, it's undeniably beautiful in this light. Golden eyes survey the scene with unmistakable intelligence, and I'm not prepared for how expressive that gaze is when the creature swivels its narrow head toward me, a low thrum vibrating in its throat.
The sword against my skin relaxes somewhat as the beast comes closer; my interrogator seems thoroughly distracted by its sudden appearance. Or maybe it’s what I suspected last night: the dragon is doing somethingto control the emotions of the humans around it.
But it isn’t going to hypnotizeme.
Not this time.
As more and more attention shifts to the dragon, Briar and I exchange a quick glance—the only coordination we need.
In the next breath, she’s dropped the object she took from her sleeve and stomped it with her foot. A violent explosion of smoke overtakes her and her captors. Sounds of a scuffle follow, punctuated by occasional yelps of pain.
The Mouren officer takes a step toward the smoky chaos, only to hesitate, his expression furious and torn.
I hold my breath until Briar rolls clear of the mess she made, one of her knives reclaimed and glinting in her hand.
I run toward her, hauling her to her feet.
We race for the horses. Arrows rain down all around us.Orders are being shouted, the soldiers trying to organize and cut off our escape routes. I struggle briefly with the ties holding Garnet, but finally manage to free her and clamber onto her back. I’m not even entirely in the saddle, hardly balanced at all, before I kick her into a reckless gallop.
We don’t make it far.
As we reach the street, another volley of arrows showers us. One of them strikes Garnet’s left hindquarter. She rears, throwing me to the ground.
I land in a relatively soft mound of dirt, but my leg twists awkwardly as I hit. Pain rips through my right knee and hip.
That’s going to leave a nasty bruise.
As I struggle to get back to my feet, the sound of fluttering wings catches my attention. Twisting around, I see the dragon careening toward me, clearly struggling to fly. It crashes into the ground, tumbling to a stop at my feet. Blood flings in all directions as it stands and shakes the dust from itself.
Our gazes meet. My heart pounds, each beat sending a ripple of heat through me, a building fire that floods and disorients my senses.
I fight to stay focused. Garnet is nowhere in sight. Briar—who was some distance ahead of me—has turned around and is trying to settle her own horse, horror written all over her face as she watches the soldiers closing in on me. My knee is throbbing; I’m not going to be fast enough to outrun anyone.
I frantically wave Briar onward, even though I know she won’t listen.
