Riding a Dragon
The wind lashes at us as we soar, icy and sharp against my skin, but I
barely feel it. I’ve led us straight through the mystical veil toward
Avalon.
The shadowed castle rises through the fog ahead, looming like a halfremembered dream.
Talan slumps in front of me. I cling to him tightly, trying to keep him
upright. He’s slipping in and out of consciousness. His head rests back
against my shoulder.
“Can I help you find a book?” he mumbles in English, his voice soft.
He’s echoing phrases from my old life, which makes my heart splinter. I
am in his head, always.
His blood has soaked through his clothes. It’s warm against my hands,
and the fear inside me is sharp and wild, thorns that scrape inside my skull.
Up ahead, Avalon takes shape in the mist, and my heart races.
Last time I flew Tarasque, she knew exactly where to go. She carried
me right back to her home in the Lost Palace, where she belonged. But now,
we’re heading for Avalon, and I have no idea how to tell her that. The truth
is, I don’t know what I’m doing at all.
“Talan,” I say, my voice cracking, “can you guide her down to Avalon?”
Nothing.
His body is slack, the tension fading from his muscles, and I know with
sickening certainty that if I don’t get him help soon, he’ll die.
Tarasque veers suddenly, arcing away from the city, and I grit my teeth
in frustration, my hands shaking.
“Talan!” I’m screaming his name into the wind, my throat raw. “Please
wake up, for me. I love you.”
Still nothing.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until the world blurs. Talan’s body
trembles against mine, and my mind is chaos—wild, brambly, panicstricken.
The roaring wind fades to a hush, as if the sky is waiting for Talan to
speak again.
The Secret Weapon
“Raphael,” I say weakly. “There’s a secret—”
One of the goons hits me, a sudden punch into my stomach, and my
breath whooshes out. I feel like I’m suffocating.
I glance up. Raphael unsheathes his sword, his eyes lit with silver, but
Wrythe already has a dagger pressed to my throat. The knife edges into my
skin.
“Step any closer, and she dies,” he tells Raphael.
“This is over, Wrythe,” Raphael says evenly. “Let her go.”
Wrythe pauses for a few seconds. “I am merely doing my job,
protecting my people from a dangerous traitor.”
“Nia is an Avalon Steel Knight. She’s done more for our cause than any
of you—”
“Enough!” Wrythe raises his voice, his knife digging into my throat.
“You want to do this here? Very well. Let’s talk about your precious Avalon
Steel Knight. Where’s Tarquin?”
“Right here.” He steps up beside me and shoots me a disdainful look.
Wrythe eases the knife from my throat but presses it against my back,
just next to my spine. “You’ll have your chance to talk here, mongrel,” he
hisses in my ear, “but if you attempt to interrupt me before I have my say, I
will ram my knife through your ribs so fast, you won’t get a single syllable
out.”
Hatred roils through my veins. I’ll wait for my chance, and then I’ll tell
Raphael and the rest everything. I’ll risk a stabbing to get the truth out.
And then Tarquin turns and reaches his arm back to bring another
woman forward, and my heart sinks.
Mom.
She looks put together, for once. Her hair is dyed blonde, her makeup is
perfect. Someone’s been looking after her.
I have no idea what she’s doing here, but I know it’s not good.
“Let her go,” I blurt. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”
A Brother's Reunion with his sister
“Your brother will be here soon.” I gesture at a wooden table and chairs
in the center of the room. “Please, sit down.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll remain standing,” she says, leaning against the
wall. She’s casual, but I note how she eyes the door, her body alert. She
doesn’t trust me. She thinks this might be a trap. Of course she does. I
couldn’t expect her to fully trust me.
“Whatever you prefer.” I shrug, sitting back down.
The door swings open, and Raphael steps in, dressed in a gray cloak, his
dark hair wet with rain. It’s grown back a little from the rough job they did
on it in the dungeons.
My throat tightens when I see him, and sadness sings in my chest.
There’s the man who chose Avalon Tower over me.
But he’s not looking at me, of course. He’s looking at the sister he’s
missed and longed to see since he was a little boy.
Ysolde stares at him, frozen, then darts forward and grabs him in a
desperate hug, her body racked with sobs.
I wait patiently. Time is short, but I have to give them at least a few
minutes after all those years. How would it feel to be reunited with a sibling
that you grew up with, that you spent so many years missing? I imagine for
a moment having a brother or sister.
Raphael’s eyes are closed as he hugs Ysolde. She’s stopped sobbing and
leans her head against his chest, tears running down her cheek. Finally, they
break apart.
“What happened to you all these years?” Ysolde asks him.
“I will tell you everything,” Raphael says, his voice cracking slightly.
“Later, when we’re alone. Nia probably doesn’t have much time.” He
glances at me, his eyebrows knit together.
Ysolde sits in a chair next to me. “So, her name is Nia? She told me that
you’re a wanted man here. I mean, more than a regular demi-Fey.”
Raphael sits, too, and scrubs a hand over
Raphael
I flip through his thoughts, searching deeper. The prisoner. Does he
know anything about a beautiful, silver-eyed demi-Fey?
The prisoner has been here for some time. Captured in the war with the
humans, but they didn’t put him with the rest of the rabble. He’s too
valuable, for some reason. Doesn’t seem particularly valuable to Cadoc.
Just another half-breed mongrel…
My heart skips a beat. Raphael.
I invade Cadoc’s every thought, sifting through ideas, memories,
everything he knows. I’m ravaging the inside of his skull, grasping the
threads, then pulling the strings to bend him to my will.
Now, Cadoc wonders if the prisoner is literally valuable.
Maybe he’s rich. In fact, he’s probably rich, or they’d leave him with the
rest, right? If Cadoc will just do this tiny thing, just unlock the door, the
prisoner might reward him handsomely. Yes. That’s what he should do.
Odelia will fall back in love with him, and his father will get his job back in
the stables. Cadoc absolutely shouldn’t question this drunk lady more
because she’s a distraction from what’s really important. She’s just a tiny
woman, a drunken musician, not worthy of his notice.
When I withdraw from his mind, he stares at me, dazed. Then, without a
word, he pulls a skeleton key from his belt and opens a door into yet
another torchlit stairwell.
I follow him down a flight of stairs, the air growing staler, like wet earth
and mushrooms.
My heart is pounding as he leads me to another wooden door. He slides
a second key into a rusty lock, turns it twice, and pushes the door open.
I can hardly breathe.
“You,” he says into the darkness. “Get up.”
I step inside, trying to see in the dark.
In the corner of a grimy stone cell sits a shirtless man. For a second, I
almost don’t recognize him. Dirt smears his body, and
What Happened?
He takes a seat in a high-back leather chair and folds his arms. “Why
don’t you report in detail how you helped the fugitives reach us?” He still
sounds like he doesn’t believe me. After all, what could garbage like me
possibly know?
I sigh, growing flustered. “I was having birthday cake at a restaurant. I
ordered lavender, but they brought blackberry—”
“I mean report the relevant details.”
“Fine.”
He lifts a finger. “Hang on, you were celebrating your birthday by
yourself?”
I glare at him. That’s right, I’m a giant loser on top of everything else.
“I’m on vacation by myself, yes. Not that it’s any of your business—”
“From what I remember, you spend a lot of time on holidays,” he
murmurs.
“Do you want me to report or not?” I say sharply.
I suppose I don’t need to tell him that my days of having luxury
vacations are over, that I spent five years eating store-brand cereal to save
up the fare. And tempting as it is, I will not tell him that he ruined five years
of careful planning by kidnapping me. “If you must know, Raphael, I saw
the demi-Fey through a restaurant window. By the time I realized who they
were, someone was watching us, and I was guilty by association. There
were Fey soldiers marching around. The fugitives looked terrified, and I
hate when people are scared.” My mind flickers with a memory of Mother
screaming that bugs were crawling on her skin. I clear my throat. “So I
pretended to be a tour guide and that they were my group. And I led them to
the docks.”
“And that was it? You just jumped in and brought them to me?”
“It wasn’t that easy,” I snap. “A member of the group panicked and ran.
Vena was separated from us, and the Fey soldiers slit her throat. That’s why
I didn’t want you to leave the others behind. They’re executing people in
To be continued
He scrapes his bracelets together angrily, letting his wrists spit sparks. None of them catch or burst into flame. Spark after spark, each one cold and weak compared to mine. Useless. Futile. I follow him down a spiraling stair to a balcony. If it has a lovely view, I don’t know. I don’t have the capacity to see much farther than Cal. Everything inside me quivers.
Hope and fear battle through me in equal measure. I see it in Cal too, flashing behind his eyes. A storm rages in the bronze, two kinds of fire.
“You promised,” I whisper, trying to tear him apart without moving a muscle.
Cal paces wildly before putting his back to the rails of the balcony. His mouth flops open and closed, searching for something to say. For any explanation. He’s not Maven. He’s not a liar, I have to remind myself. He doesn’t want to do this to you. But will that stop him?
“I didn’t think—what logical person could want me to be king after what I’ve done? Tell me if you truly thought anyone would let me near a throne,” he says. “I’ve killed Silvers, Mare, my own people.” He buries his face in his blazing hands, scrubbing them over his features. Like he wants to pull himself inside out.
“You killed Reds too. I thought you said there was no difference.”
“Difference not division.”
I snarl. “You make a wonderful speech about equality but let that Samos bastard sit there and claim a kingdom just like the one we want to end. Don’t lie and say you didn’t know about his terms, his new crown. . . .” My voice trails away before I can speak the rest aloud. And make it real.
“You know I had no idea.”
“Not one?” I raise an eyebrow. “Not a whisper from your grandmother. Not even a dream of this?”
He swallows hard, unable to deny his deepest desires. So he doesn’t even try. “There’s nothing we can
