Page 116 of The Dragon and the Dove

A creature that would make even the Strix of Urnica tremble.

A dragon spun from his darkest nightmare.

With a flick of his finger, the dragon took flight. It stirred the wind, or perhaps the wind stirred in fear, rushing from the clearing in a bracing gust. It rippled over Ransom, tossing his hair about his face.

A laugh erupted out of him, mad and wild and full of triumph, as he watched his dragon soar, its black wings crisp against the pillowy clouds.

More, urged the voice.

He should set it loose, see how far it would fly … A dragon with death on its wings, sweeping fast and low over the Verne, sowing terror and mayhem and—

Stop.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, stilling the rapids of his magic. Far above, the dragon faltered, its wings fraying as his shadows peeled away.

More, growled the old voice. You can do so much more.

‘Not yet.’ The sound of his own refusal grounded him. ‘No.’

Nausea roiled. He was at odds with himself.

Let it fly.

Let it kill.

He stumbled, coming down hard on his knees. Bunching his fists in the dirt, he tore his dragon out of the sky. It fell in ribbons, the trees shuddering at each caress. Leaves crumbled to nothing, bark peeling off in long curling strips.

It was almost impossible spooling back all that raw power. Like pulling up an anchor chain with his bare hands. His power keened as he muffled it, and an ache bloomed at the base of his skull.

Leaves crunched to his left, and a figure darted between the trees.

Ransom dragged himself to his feet. ‘Who’s there?’

The figure crouched behind a narrow trunk.

He stalked towards it. ‘Speak or die.’

‘It’s only me, Mr Hale!’ cried a familiar voice. Hands raised, and trembling from head to foot, Fabian leaped out from behind the tree, looking every bit the frightened rabbit. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just watching.’

‘You were spying.’

He shrugged, as if to say, So?

This fucking kid.

Fabian said, ‘The squirrels are dead.’

‘What?’

‘See? There.’ He pointed to a dead squirrel several feet away. And then another, beside Ransom’s left boot. ‘Did you mean to do that?’

Did it matter?

‘No,’ he said, frowning at the dead creature. ‘I was just…’

‘Making a dragon.’ The boy’s teeth winked. ‘The Strix are going to shit themselves.’

‘You shouldn’t be out here, Fabian.’