Page 131 of Wings of Destruction

“I need to speak to Headmistress Harbi before I do anything,” I insist. “For once, can you please trust me?”

I have no concrete reason for what I’m about to do, nothing I can give Astrid to soothe her or convince her. I’m pulling on our history and our friendship for this one.

Astrid trails us along the hallways toward the main office. “This is a terrible idea. I’ll say it once, so you understand me. It’s going to cost you more than you’re aware.”

Morgan’s screams take on a keen wail at that.

Head ringing, eardrums about to be blown out, I finally set her down in a wooden chair beside the door.

“Astrid, you have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Yes, I do, because I know you,” Astrid clarifies. Her hard gaze bores holes in my skin. “At least I’ve given you a warning. I’m not going to stick around and watch you damn us. Our efforts are wasted if you fail.”

Astrid doesn’t need pomp and circumstance to cut a dramatic exit. She manages it with an eyebrow raise and without warning, she simply stops walking.

Morgan rises from the chair in the same beat, like I’ll be too distracted with Astrid to notice her. I clamp my hand down on her shoulder. “Stay.”

The word hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us wants to acknowledge.

“I’m not your pet,” she snarls, but there’s something breathless in her voice.

“No. You’re something far more dangerous.”

Morgan’s fury bubbles over like the heated core of the earth pushing through a crust of dirt.

“On second thought—” I use my free hand to unloop the leather thigh holsters I always wear when riding.

In the next beat, I wrap them around her wrists and bind her to the chair with precise knots. Her ankles follow until all four limbs are strapped to wood. The chair itself is ornate and intricate, the arms curling in like the clenched claws of a phoenix.

It won’t last for long but the straps should hold her and give me a second to speak to the headmistress. If they’re strong enough to keep me latched to the saddle on the back of a rolling dragon…

I glance up at Morgan’s glittering eyes.

Knowing her, she’ll break the chair and make a run for it. She’ll find a way to escape. The straps might work for a dragon but I can’t put anything past her.

“Stay,” I repeat.

Partly to anger her. Partly to drive home the need to do what I want.

Morgan has choice words for me, her curses echoing down the hall.

I straighten and adjust the hem of my leathers into a more comfortable position. You have to put on a show. You have to show them the best of you. It’s one of the most important parts of the performance.

If I look rattled, Harbi will see right through me, and it won’t matter what I say.

“Then I am going to make little tiny slices across your skin and drip citrus juice—” Morgan is telling me in gleefully gory detail.

I knock on the door, waiting for a beat, and after much too long I get my answer.

“Come in!”

This whole situation should not put me on edge the way it does. I’ve faced down tougher opponents than an angry girl and a headmistress who is a warrior in her own right. Intelligent and brutal.

You need those qualities to deal with the students at DragonSpear.

Inside, arched glass doors and a row of spotless windows look out on a huge balcony, the space large enough for her own dragon to land. The doors are open and propped by two brass statues of grinning cats.

A live edge wooden desk dominates the wall to the left with no chairs other than hers, to discourage long visits and meetings. Anyone brave enough to face her down will do it standing.