Page 29 of Wings of Destruction

I react in time to grab her wrists before she takes a swing at me, her bones fragile and delicate between my fingers, then wrench her arms above her head a second time.

Hard enough to bruise.

Hard enough to force her to shut up.

Yes, I’m the monster, but I’m not half as bad as the others. My chest aches, and my breathing is shallow. Mozi prowls in the back of my head watching the proceedings through my eyes, his confusion palpable without words.

“Do you want to be my prize? The singular war prize taken from Fallkirk today?” I’m in no position for a prize, only punishment. “Do you want to be my personal prize? To make up for what your rebellion cost the kingdom?”

The lewd comments do the trick.

“What it cost the kingdom?” Tears clog her voice and add a glossy sheen to her eyes. “How dare you.”

Trapped in the middle of this less than stellar situation, it’s impossible to show respect at her reaction. Her fight is a thing of beauty and she’d do well on the back of any dragon, this fiery ember of a human. Slight she may be, but she reacts with a depth of volatility that sends cold surprise cascading along my vertebrae.

I tighten my hold on her and widen my legs, bearing down and adjusting my balance before she gets the upper hand.

Again.

I’ve already given too much.

“It’s better when they put up a fight,” Tristan crows. “Don’t you think so, lads?”

The soldiers react with roars of delight, exactly the way my cousin expects them to, but their focus is on me and not the children.

The redhead breathes heavily, her chest rising and falling and the frantic motion bringing her closer against my chest. Despite the layers separating us, the rapid pace of her heartbeat ripples through me, and my own thankless organ struggles to match it.

My head goes light.

“I hate you.”

She uses my grip on her wrists to her advantage. With her arms secure, she lifts her lower half off the ground and tries to donkey kick me. I step closer and cut off the movement before she has a chance to actually hurt me.

“You are going to get what you deserve,” she yells.

This is no hysterical woman. This is a creature forged by loss and grief. I know the feeling.

A piece of paper flutters down from her vest, the crisp white edges a contrast to the muddy colored granite. It flickers out of sight, a fallen bird made of paper, and I glance away to mark its spiraling trajectory.

“Hm. Look at this.” I gesture to the paper. “Want to tell me what we’ve got?”

Tristan does nothing without intention. His movements are cocky and mind numbingly vain as he bends for the paper. Plucking it from the floor, he holds it in front of his face, prying the edges apart.

He leers at the redhead before casting the expression across the rest of the subdued group. “What do we have here?”

Nimble fingers pry open the edges of the paper, the black script and the flourished signature at the bottom instantly recognizable.

“Oh, dragon dung.” My under the breath curse has my captive stilling.

Even though I don’t face them, I know the others are more than likely glancing at each other in confusion.

Tristan roars with laughter. “An acceptance letter,” he tells the others. “To DragonSpear Academy. It seems our captive is quite the intrepid mind, isn’t she?”

The rest of the soldiers laugh dutifully along with the observation and I’m the only one silent. The only one tense and waiting for something to give when the world feels as though it’s tilted on its axis.

I’ve seen the redhead fight. She has to be skilled and strong in order to get into the Academy, not simply intelligent. The criteria for acceptance are stringent and only the best of the best make it to graduation.

The rest are culled like blighted plants from a crop.