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“That’s enough bruises on her face,” the High Priest says when the Brethren Guard lifts his hand again, but without much urgency in his voice.
My heart thumps painfully in my chest. Why can’t there be too many bruises on my face? Who am I supposed to marry now?
The High Priest catches the gleam of fear in my eyes and gives me a gloating smile. “That’s right. The Shadow King can’t wait to meet you, girl. When he does, I hope he rips the living flesh from your ungrateful bones.”
That story is true as well? The Shadow King is real?
“What has this Shadow King promised you in return for a beaten and half-starved girl? You think you’ll be saved from the dragons if you give me to him?” I wrench myself back and forth in the soldier’s grip. “Let me go and find my family, you bastards.Let me go.”
As usual, my struggling and screaming do nothing but exhaust me, and I’m dragged outside and into the fresh air. It’s nighttime, and there are a dozen Brethren Guard on horses holding flaming torches.
My wrists are tied in front of me as I’m put up onto a horse led by one of the guards and told to hold on to the saddle.
In the distance to the north, there’s a red glow on the horizon that must be the flames of battle. The dragons and their riders are still fighting for Maledin. For some reason, the sight gladdens my heart.
“The Proxen Road is still passable. We’ll take her that way,” I hear one Brethren Guard say to another.
Proxen is far to the south, away from the capital, Lenhale, and the worst of the fighting. There’s wasteland and mountains to the south, mountains that are said to be more treacherous than the Bodan Mountains to the north. And little else. Few people, fewer settlements. No kings that I’ve heard of.
The Brethren Guard set off at a trot and then a gallop, and my horse goes with them. I hold on to the saddle for dear life, wondering who or what the Brethren have promised me to.
We ride for hours, alternately galloping and walking. The screams of dragons fade away, and when I glance behind us, I can no longer see the red glow on the horizon, something that makes me ache with desolation. I don’t know why. It’s not like the dragons are going to take me to my family.
There are fewer and fewer trees and signs of habitation the longer we ride. The flat, dusty road is edged with scrub, and wind cuts across the plains. I shiver on the back of my mount because I’m dressed only in the shirt and breeches that I stole from the invader’s camp, and my torn-up feet are bare. I’m so cold and in such pain that I think longingly of those moments I spent in the invader’s arms, wrapped in his warm cloak with my cheek pillowed against his furred collar. I felt safe and protected for the first time since I was taken from my village over a year ago.
I close my eyes and shake my head. Don’t think about him. Just because he held me close and had a voice like velvet and thunder doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. With that sword and dragon, he’s more dangerous than the High Priest and all the Brethren Guard put together.
I try to think on the bright side as I cling to the saddle of the galloping horse with my hands and thighs. If I am to be married, it sounds as if my bridegroom is at least living this time. Only living men care if their brides have bruised faces, and if I’m alive, I can look for a way to escape.
The drumming of the horses’ hooves on the road drowns out every sound except for the rushing of wind in my ears, but the nape of my neck begins to prickle. I have the sensation that something is closing in on us. Something big. Enormous in fact, and a moment later I hear a muted beating that I’ve heard once before. I look up at the sky but all is inky blackness and stars.
Or is it? As I watch, a patch of stars winks out and then reappears as if something has passed in front of them. The soldier on the horse next to mine notices what I’m staring at. Our gazes lock for a moment, and his expression turns fearful.
The beating grows louder. The soldier’s fear turns into panic, and he shouts, “Dragons incoming!”
Overhead and just in front of us, a light appears in the sky that resembles a furnace trapped within a scaly membrane, which makes absolutely no sense because why would a furnace be in the sky? Then I realize what I’m looking at.
The underside of a dragon’s throat.
A dragon that’s preparing to breathe fire.
The red glow rises up the dragon’s neck, and suddenly the creature is lit up as liquid fire streams from its open jaws. The night is painted red and gold as the fire hits the ground and erupts into a wall of flames. There are more dragons in the sky. Four, five, six circling over us. The fire-breathing dragon banks and circles around us, blistering rage still spilling from its jaws and setting the ground afire. A very large dragon.
A very largeblackdragon with burning red eyes.
The horses scream and rear. I can’t hold on to my mount, and I go tumbling from the saddle and land in a heap on the road. There are hooves stamping all around me, and I roll into a ball and cover my head. I need to get back on one of the horses and take my chances in all the chaos to run.
But when I finally sit up and look around, I find there’s no escape. We’re enveloped in a ring of fire, and the flames are six feet high and scorching hot. They light up the darkness almost as bright as daylight.
The Brethren Guard and I watch with open mouths as the enormous black dragon finishes its revolution and lands within the circle, its wings beating the flames into a frantic dance. I’m not wearing a veil this time, and I can see every detail of the fearsome creature. It’s glistening, supple black body. The burning red eyes. The pointed spines that decorate its sleek head. Once all four of its clawed feet are on the ground, it opens its jaws and roars at the soldiers, a guttural, deafening sound that causes ripples in the air around its sharp teeth.
A man is sitting atop the dragon, perched just in front of its wings. He wears gleaming plate armor, and the wind snatches at his long black hair and red-lined cloak. He swings his leg over the saddle and slides down the dragon’s flank to the ground.
As he straightens up, he glares around the circle with burning red eyes. No one moves. No one makes a sound. He’s hunting among us for something.
For someone.
I’m hidden among the nervously dancing horses, peering at the soldier through their legs. A guard draws an arrow in his bow and aims it at the man’s chest, and I have the strangest urge to shout a warning.
