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Viktor sat down in the chair on the dais, spreading his legs, a smile curving on his face. “So you can hear it as well, can you, Nephew? Fascinating. The beast in you is discerning.”

Pendragon turned towards me, licking the blood off her lips. “Hear what? What beast? Blake, what is he talking about?” But her eyes were afraid. Did part of her already know?

I didn’t answer, could only stare at the bite mark on Cade’s hand where he clenched her wrists. “He’s been bitten. He’s infected.”

Cade paled, but his grip tightened on Pendragon’s wrists as she struggled. “What’s he talking about, Lord Drakharrow? It’s just a bite.”

Viktor chuckled. “Hold her tight, Cade. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

But around me, a buzz was spreading through the Bloodguard crowd. The others knew—they knew what a bite meant. Cade must have been bitten early on, then kept in the hall for this one purpose. I stared at Pendragon in horror, fully aware that the high-blood holding her could turn in a moment, attacking her as she was held in his arms. Would she merely be wounded, or would she be infected like a highblood? I thought of the blood I had poured into her earlier that evening. Had it made her more susceptible?

“Let her go,” I snarled at Viktor. “This is between us. Get her out of here.”

The old monster smiled. “Come, now, Blake. You know me better than that. I’m curious about something, though. Have you told your little blightborn whore yet? Have you told her how you carry more than guilt in those veins?”

Pendragon thrashed in Cade’s grip. “Blake, what’s he talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said, my lie turning to ash in my mouth. “Shut the fuck up, Uncle.”

Viktor laughed. “There’s a dragon lurking behind those red pu-pils of his. One that can taste this corruption before it even manifests.”

“There is no dragon,” I snarled. “I ended him. He’s gone.”

“Did you, now?” Viktor’s red eyes glittered back at me. “How interesting. Especially as my Bloodguards tell me that a pile of red ash is all that remains of Vorago in the Dragon Court. Yet here you stand before me, your eyes burning like twin coals.”

My throat tightened.

“Blake,” Pendragon breathed. She twisted in Cade’s hold, searching my face for the truth. “What did you do?”

CHAPTER 30

BLAKE

A Few Hours Earlier

As soon as Pendragon’s breathing had steadied and the guilt inside me had tapered to a tolerable ache, I bolted from the room. The Dark Art of Eternal Bonds was tucked under my arm, the spell I needed still bookmarked with Rodriguez’s note. I jogged through the corridors, taking turn after turn, until finally I reached the cloistered borders of the courtyard. I hadn’t been in the Dragon Court since the night we’d almost lost Florence, the night my brother and Catherine Mortis had woken a sleeping stone dragon and flown away on the corrupted beast’s back, taking Lunaya Orphos with him. The night I’d learned that Kage Tanaka was a fucking wolf.

Now, only two stone dragons stood where once there had been four. Alabryss, the Silvrayne of House Mortis rested in one corner. The white dragon’s smooth face bore a tranquil expression that belied all the chaos the courtyard had recently seen. Off to the other side sat Vorago, a monolith of crimson sandstone, his throat lifted as if to rain down fire that would never come. He was an Inferni, fastest of the four breeds and the most unpredictable—like the dragon that lurked within me. Didn’t they say it took one to know one?

A cold wind cut through the colonnades. I ignored it, crossing the court until I’d reached Vorago’s side.

You die tonight, I whispered to the dragon within me. This ends here.

I flipped Rodriguez’s book open to the page I’d read a hundred times. The Spell of Twin Hearts stared up at me. One page held the incantation, the other contained two sigils.

My wrist had already begun to heal from where I’d fed Pendragon. I ripped the flesh open again, letting my blood flow. Dipping my fingers in the crimson, I copied the first sigil from the book carefully, tracing the curves onto Vorago’s rough sandstone chest. Blood sizzled as the sigil formed, lines igniting with power. I stepped back, then placed the book on the ground at my feet. Ripping my shirt open, I traced a second sigil on my own chest.

Next came the incantation. Picking the book back up, I read aloud, enunciating each word slowly and clearly. “In the furnace of one soul, bind name for name, flame for flame …” I began. “Vorago, Inferni of House Drakharrow, flame of the skies, whose wings eclipse the sun itself, I summon thee.”

There were some parts I had to improvise, including the dragon’s address. But at least I knew now how damn finicky dragons were when it came to being properly praised. The wind began to pick up speed, whipping my shirt around me and sending the pages of the book flapping.

“Let my will be heard. Let my blood be felt. If you would break your bindings and be free once more of stone, listen and heed me.” Finally, I reached the end of the stanza. A response had to be given before I could go any further.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wind died out. The Dragon Court was deathly silent, as though the entire castle around me were holding its breath.

The flagstones at my feet began to crack. Clenching the book, I jumped back, then sank to my knees as the stones shook harder, the book falling from my hands, forgotten, as a voice as old as the center of the world poured into me. I clapped my hands to my ears, closing my eyes, and trying not to scream.

Who calls to me through this coil of pain? roared the voice.