“I'll stop attacking you once you manage to destroy evenoneof these with any sort of element,” Gareth says, gesturing to the targets he's set up. “I won't be picky. Let your dragon help you channel the wind, or conjure fire, or summon even a flicker of static—whatever she gives you, you must accept it, and guide it together.” He adjusts his grip on the sword. “The longer it takes, the harder I plan to hit.”
I nod, glancing at Blight to make sure she's hearing all of this. She gives a single, deliberate swish of her tail, then goes back to feigning disinterest.
The trial begins with a circling dance. Gareth moves in slowly, testing my defenses. I dodge his first swing, then a second, while still keeping close to the nearest erected target—a wooden post with a scrap of blue cloth tied around it. It looks destructible enough; it shouldn’t be hard to magic it into oblivion. At least in theory.
I try to lower my guard and feel for some sort of power,anysort of power, that might be building around Blight. A hint of heat, a spark of energy, the tiniest breath of magic…
Nothing.
Again, it seems like she’s shielding parts of herself; even the usual, basic feeling of power that radiates from her is missing. I half-expect to glance over and see she’s somehow flown away, or maybe turned to stone just to spite me.
Gareth's next few strikes fall faster, harder.
I block them, but the impact reverberates up my arms, numbing them a bit. My parries grow increasingly sloppy; I misjudge one and nearly end up taking the point of his sword to my good eye.
I hear Blight shift on her platform. She settles quickly, and no magic stirs…but it still gives me an idea.
I dance closer to Gareth, ducking and weaving with deliberate, controlled feints—and then I purposely let him land several blows on my arms and shoulders, each one hard enough to hurt.
Each strike makes the frill around Blight's neck rise incrementally higher. Both of her eyes are open now, tracking our movements with increasing intensity.
“Magic would beincrediblynice to have right now,” I mutter under my breath, blocking one hit, then another.
It would, wouldn't it?her voice slides into my mind, cool and pointed.
I grit my teeth and focus again on the wooden post. I try to imagine it catching fire, or the air around it swirling into a gust that rips the blue cloth off.
Still nothing.
Only minutes have passed, yet Gareth is already moving with increased speed, striking more viciously than he ever has before—today or otherwise. His movements are sharper, his breathing heavier, like he's just barely controlling himself.
Soon, I'm no longer occasionallylettinghim hit me; I'm simply not moving fast enough to avoid his sword. It comes down against my body again and again as I whirl between defense and desperate attempts to grab hold of the shaky bond between me and that accursed dragon.
The advisors above whisper and point.
Gareth's sword cracks against my clavicle, and I gasp,stumbling backward. The pain is sharp enough to make my vision blur.
Blight lifts her head fully.
Her claws extend, flexing against the metal platform.
I don't focus on her. Not out of stubbornness this time, but because I can't afford to take my eye off Gareth as he charges forward, sword raised high. I catch his swing with my own upward sweep, but he doesn't back off when I parry. Instead, he locks his blade against mine, digs in his heels, and shoves until I'm down on one knee doing everything I can to keep him from breaking through my guard completely.
His expression is cold, his voice low and almost menacing as he says, “You are playing a dangerous game here, Arowyn Vhale. The king may have listened to you last night, but that doesn’t mean it was a wise decision to confront him—to invite more eyes to watch your every move with this dragon. I was trying toprotect youfrom his gaze.”
“I don’t feel veryprotectedat the moment,” I growl as my strength starts to give out, my arms threatening to crumple.
The menacing gleam doesn’t entirely fade from his gaze—though he relaxes some of the pressure, as if he’s considering a truce.
Too late.
In the next instant, I feel Blight’s panic surge through me again, followed by a wave of protective fury. The air shimmers, heating rapidly around us, and Gareth's sword catches fire, the wooden practice blade crackling with a bright orange glow before exploding into flames that nearly incinerate his face.
He throws it down, kicking sand over it and stomping it out with his boot before glancing over his shoulder at the dragon.
She rises to her full height, a soft hiss escaping her throat.
A warning.
