Page 117 of Feralheart

She landed with a heavy thud beside me, her talons spraying sand outward in a wave. Her leg was healing well, showing darker scales, slightly raised from where the trap had bitten deep.

Recognition flickered across a few elite faces. They’d hunted recently and knew someone had helped a wild dragon escape.

Aristus’s body locked, his eyes fixed on Selira.

The crowd erupted. Shock, horror, and fascination bled together until the noise became a physical thing pressing down on the arena. Officials scrambled for rulebooks. Handlers struggled with panicking dragons.

The noble section exploded with shouting.

“Illegal.”

“Wild dragon!”

“She brought a beast to a sacred trial.”

The queen rose in her viewing box, her face composed, but her eyes calculating the response faster than the betting boards.

Someone threw food from the stands.

Selira’s head snapped around, and her wings flared. Flame shot up from between her clenched jaws, and her growl vibrated through the ground beneath my feet. Her talons raked the sand, gouging lines.

Fury lanced through the bond, so hot I gasped. Not words but feeling.

How dare they? My human. My choice. Mineminemine.

Her talons gouged deeper into the sand. Her muscles bunched as she gathered herself to do something horrendous.

The other dragons flared their wings, and some tried to take flight to leave the arena. Handlers shouted and clung to reins, trying to subdue them. Riders backed away to avoid being trampled.

Reece looked concerned but gave me a nod.

Kerrel’s face had paled so much, I worried he was going to pass out.

Lyndie caught my eye. For once, the smile she gave me looked real. She touched two fingers to her heart, then extended them toward me.

My mother used to make that gesture to friends. I’m with you, it meant.

I didn’t know where Lyndie had learned it. But I touched my own heart and sent it her way.

Whatever secrets she carried, we were facing the same fire.

Betting slips flew through the crowd as the odds of me surviving the race, or the next few minutes, were recalculated.

Officials scribbled notes, documenting everything.

The head official stepped out into the arena and strode toward the center, carrying a scroll so old the edges had browned.

The crowd quieted, leaning forward.

He stopped ten feet in front of Selira, a bold move, in my opinion. He gaped up at her, his face going ruddy. “Eradin Carver. Is this your registered mount?”

“Yes.” I said it loud enough to carry.

“Name?”

“Selira, as written.”

“Do you have documentation that you’ll be riding this dragon in the Scorching?”