I’ve missed you, my beautiful beast. My thoughts caress Astarot, searching for the remnants of his injury.
Healed, he tells me, gratitude for Fhord wrapping around his thoughts to share hints of all that’s happened. Fhord saved him, stitching up his wound but also sharing magic to help him heal. Astarot was ready to fly when Fhord got back only because Fhord had drained nearly all his magic to help the dragon.
When he returned, Fhord killed the guards who held Astarot. And then they went together to Revalle to retrieve the most annoying troll my dragon had ever encountered.
I can’t hold back the laugh as I see Toffer through my dragon’s eyes, his fascination with the beasts so strong he’s never left Astarot’s side. Question after question after question—worse than a hatchling trying to understand a world they just entered—has plagued Astarot as he traveled north with an enthusiastic Toffer.
Still, in a ridiculously short period of time—and as much as my dragon hates to admit it—he’s come to care for the troll who’s been the most important part of my life for the last decade. The warmth blossoms even more, filling me with a love so complete, I can’t believe I ever survived without it.
Control. Astarot tells me he needs my help to escape—and that I can help him, even with the manacle. He explains that the Dróttning has no idea I’m bound to a dragon. If she knew, she’d have done more to subdue my magic. Because when elves and dragons find each other, their abilities grow exponentially with the strength of their bond. They can access each other’s power if their bodies are close enough, as ours are now.
Strong. Astarot says he and I already have a link that rivals any between a human and a dragon. When he’s close enough for me to draw from his deep reservoir, I have magic that can overcome even the manacle.
My limbs tingle with the knowledge that I can access magic, even wearing this collar. Spreading out my thoughts, I find the closest guard and spear into his mind. He’s oblivious to the angry dragon he’ll face if I can’t get out of here. I sift through his memories as quickly as I can, using the same technique I always do. The commander he hates and fears the most will get me free.
This one’s a woman, which really pisses off the guard. Everything she does reminds him why he prefers little girls, who won’t talk back to him. They do whatever he wants. And they know he’s in charge. He hates uppity bitches, who think they have the right to tellhimwhat to do.
I can’t hold back the smile that erupts when I understand the kind of man this guard is. It’s always nice to destroy the life of someone who deserves it. He deserves it.
As quickly as I can, I shuffle through his memories of her, letting them create a complete picture of who she is, from her surprisingly high voice to her odd mannerisms when she speaks—twists of the lips that sometimes are at odds with the words coming out—and the haughty stride as she walks the halls. When I’ve gathered enough to create a memory, I do, dropping it into his thoughts.
The guard turns, afraid, as he realizes he hasn’t yet transferred the prisoners.Fuck.She’ll have me whipped again if I don’t get them down to the Dróttning’s caves. It’s already been too long. She’ll be pissed when I get there.
Sucking my mind back in, I erect my shield and slump down against the wall. When his baton slaps against the door, I jump in surprise. Just like I do every other time.
“Stand, both of you. Time to go.”
“It’s not time yet,” Joralf pleads, his voice shivering with fear. “I haven’t healed yet. They never take me until I’m whole again.”
“Well, they changed their fucking minds, I guess,” the guard spits back. “Just hurry the fuck up. I need to get you down there.”
A loud click echoes down the hall and Joralf’s door squeals open, followed by footsteps coming toward me.
“Please,” I whisper when they’re both standing in front of me. “Leave me here. I don’t want to go down there again.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want, elf,” he snarls. “Just get up and get moving.”
I drag myself from the floor, desperation and fear in every movement. As I force my legs to move forward, he unlocks my door and swings it wide. “Hands,” he commands when I join him in the corridor. But then his eyebrows slam into his hairline, and he spins his head to glance back at Joralf, who isn’t wearing cuffs.
The command already is screwing up his responses, and the memory I created will conflict with reality too soon. He can’t come with us. So I spin, one foot landing on his chin and the other in the center of his chest as I kick him toward the cell. He’s dazed enough to control if we move quickly.
“Help me.” I’m whispering, although I’m not sure why. If anyone can hear me, we’re already lost.
Joralf’s focus is better than mine. He’s on top of the guard as soon as I ask, pulling his arms around his back as he gestures for the cuffs the guard had been about to place on me. He’s starting to struggle—my kick not enough to knock him out—so Joralf and I have to fight to get them on his wrists.
We do, holding the guard splayed on his stomach as we snap them on. He’s spewing out curses and threats now but it doesn’t matter. I yank the keys from his belt and we’re out the door, swinging it closed with aclangthat echoes through the cavern.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The voice that floats toward us sends a chill down my spine.
She’s not supposed to be here.
She’s never been down here before.
But it could only be her. She knows, and she’s here to stop us.
Turning, my stomach drops, terror sending my heart racing and the blood crashing through my veins. The walls close in around me as my hopes of escape disappear. The Dróttning, surrounded by a half dozen guards, is staring at us with a wide grin and cruel eyes. She lifts a hand and crooks a finger, calling me to her.
We are so fucked.
