“We’re under attack.”
“What?”
“I’m taking care of it,” I whisper quickly, which isn’t completely a lie, because I’m at least going to try. “Wake everyone on the floor below us.”
“But the attackers…?”
“They landed on the roof. That’s why you need to go down.”
“Alright,” she whispers. Malkin slides out of bed, already wearing a long dressing gown. She reaches for one of her clothing chests.
“There’s no time to pack,” I warn. “Keep them quiet and get everyone headed towards the Governor’s fishing boat.Don’twait for me. And put out the lantern before you’re outside so they don’t see you.” I shove it into her hand.
The Governor’s ship is the biggest vessel we have. It should be able to hold nearly everyone, though it’ll be tight quarters.
Malkin nods, her lips pressed tight. I head to the next room on our floor and wake Trisven, another exile with a sensible head, even if she’s never liked me. I tell her to get everyone on this floor awake, quietly, and to head down to the boat with Malkin.
The dragon roars, a sound that makes the stones vibrate. If anyone was still asleep, they won’t be now. Vrisekan, another exile, pops his head out of his room, wide-eyed. I point him at Trisven and keep moving.
At the end of the hall, I hesitate, heart pounding. The stairs coil up, toward the Governor’s rooms and the dragon, and down, toward the sea where the others will be heading. My body remembers what it’s like to face a dragon. It shames me that I want to go down, and hide, and avoid being burned again. The small voiceyelling that I shouldescortthe other exiles to safety is driven by entirely selfish purposes: I want to run.
But if I don’t buy them time, they won’t escape. My metal hand clenches on my swordhilt.
The enchantment barrier is down, so whether his dragon could follow the Witch King through it or got in some other way, the dragon may be able to track him now.
“Is it your dragon?” I ask. The Witch King is silent. “Answer me.”
“Yes.” His voice is strained.
“Does it know where you are?”
“Yes,” he whispers.
“And if you move, it will know?”
“...Yes.”
I let my eyes fall shut for a moment. Above me there are unfamiliar voices, their words muffled. So the dragon did have riders, and they entered the castle from above. If I take him up, I’m leading him towards his rescuers. But if I send him down, he’ll lead the dragon straight towards Malkin.
“Follow.”
I take the stairs up two steps at a time, trusting that he’s behind me.
Above us, there’s a choked scream. It sounds like the Governor’s voice. I grit my teeth, bare sword still in hand, and run faster. It’s brighter upstairs. The red glow of torchlight spills down the stairs, lighting our way like a beacon.
I reach the fourth floor, where the Governor’s rooms are. Nearly the top of the castle; only the Observatory is above us.
There’s a hallway with a door on either side and a window at the end. And in the hall itself? Four witches.
A young man holds a bloody sword in one hand and a torch in the other, a rat on his shoulder. His eyes harden when he sees me. Behind him are three more fighters, all wearing the leather armor the witches favor. Two of those have bows. The door to the Governor’s room is open, like they just came from there. Two birdsflutter overhead. A woman with daggers has a thin snake wound about her throat.
These witches aren’t powerful enough to have dragons for familiars, like their king is. I wonder if they still had to sacrifice innocents to bind these smaller creatures to their will.
One of the archers, a woman with a grim look on her face, draws her bow and shoots an arrow. She’s dangerously fast. I throw my sword up and twist to the side in a block, but I’m not sure I’ll make it.
With a curse, the Witch King surges in front of me and knocks me down, away from the arrow. Gods, but he’s fast. I’m so startled I nearly run him through with the sword. Instead I tuck, roll, and jump back up to my feet. He stumbles upright, the arrow jutting from his right arm.
“Roiven!” the man with the sword shouts.
