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I didn’t expect her to admit it. Through clenched teeth, I seethe at her, “Obviously it was a trick, but how do you know that?”
There’s another confused silence, and then Odanna’s anguished expression drains away until her face is blank. I say her name several times, but she doesn’t seem to hear me.
Finally, she blinks, and her gaze refocuses on me. “I know you, don’t I?”
Esmeral is so surprised by this strange question that her jaws snap shut.
I frown at Odanna. “Of course you know me. We’ve known each other for weeks. I’m Isavelle.”
“But I…” Odanna’s eyes widen and her hand flies to her mouth. She backs away, shaking her head. “Oh, no. No, no,no. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. You must run.Fly. Get on your dragon and go. I didn’t mean to do it. He’ll never forgive me. None of them will ever forgive me.” Odanna begins to sob brokenly. She’s a split second from turning to flee.
“Who are you talking about? The Shadow King? Whoishe?”
I get to my feet, but Odanna turns around and runs out of the village. I’m about to follow her when a raven caws overhead and swoops at me. Not to attack, but to get my attention.
Now what? I call out, “Mistress Hawthorne?”
There’s the sound of running feet, but they’re moving far too fast to belong to Biddy Hawthorne.
Esmeral shrieks in anger and alarm, baring her teeth, as Brethren Guard burst into the square on all sides. Two dozen of them. Then three dozen. Then too many to count.
There’s a pitchfork lying in the weeds in front of a cottage. I grab hold of it and brandish the pointy end at my enemies. I have to keep turning because they’re all around me. Is this Odanna’s fault as well? Why did she have to betray me when I thought she was a friend?
“Since when did she have a dragon?” someone calls.
“Never mind the dragon. She’s only small. Get the girl.”
Esmeral screams in outrage, and I can feel that she’s going to make them mind very much about the small but murderous dragon. Heat blazes from her scales, and she opens her jaws and lets loose a thin but vicious stream of dragonfire at three Brethren Guard. In a second, they’re engulfed in flames, and they scream and fall to the ground.
Esmeral lowers her body so I can climb onto her back. Still holding on to the pitchfork, I scramble up onto her and feel Esmeral’s body bunch beneath mine and her wings unfurl.
There are figures in strangely decorated robes behind the Brethren Guard, and they’re chanting in low voices. We’re about to leap into the sky when greenish lightning forms over Esmeral’s wings and she shrieks in pain.
I yell across the square, “Leave her alone. How dare you hurt my dragon?”
While I’m distracted, two Brethren Guard grab hold of one of my ankles and pull me off Esmeral, and I land on the cobbles with a painful thud. When I open my eyes, I see the soldiers closing in around me. I’m still holding the pitchfork, and I slam it across the jaw of a man who’s reaching down to grab me.
When I get to my feet, I’m surrounded by soldiers, and Esmeral has her eyes scrunched closed as she trembles beneath the green lightning flickering over her wings. She seems to be trapped in a prison of magical pain.
“No,” I moan in horror, watching my dragon trying to fight the magic off.
“Get her,” shouts one of the Brethren Guard.
Hands reach for me, and I brandish the pitchfork. Before I can swing, a raven shrieks and dives at a soldier, scratching at his eyes with its talons. The man reels back. Another raven attacks the soldiers, and then another and another, until the air around me is filled with black feathers, sharp little talons shining with blood, and screaming.
I push through the yelling, cringing Brethren Guard, desperate to get to the mages who are hurting Esmeral. They seem to be in some kind of trance as they chant a spell.
“Leave my dragonalone,” I shout, swinging the pitchfork at the nearest mage’s head. It connects with a satisfying clunk, and the mage’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls to his knees.
The chanting stops, and the spell breaks.
Behind me, Esmeral shrieks in defiance, and a moment later, there’s a rush of dragonfire followed by screaming and running Brethren Guard. Before I can swing at the mages again, they vanish into thin air.
I lower the pitchfork and turn around. Esmeral shoots a last burst of dragonfire at the fleeing men, screams, and then straightens her neck with her crest thrust proudly toward the sky.
With a clack-clack of her walking stick on the cobbles, Mistress Hawthorne shuffles into view, a raven perched on her shoulder.
“That’s how you fight, girl, and don’t you forget it,” Mistress Hawthorne says with a sharp, approving nod. Then she gazes sadly around at all the bodies on spikes. “Why did you come here? You can do nothing for these poor souls, and you nearly got yourself taken again.”
