For Plato, the mind was a chariot. For Descartes, it was a mechanical clock. For Freud, it was a steam engine. Today, the most common analogue for the mind is the computer. Although it’s true that our brains are not literally digital computers, built on silicon circuits and binary logic, the modern metaphor of the mind as a computer is by far the most powerful and comprehensive one we’ve ever had.
No one could have imagined how events unfolded last Sunday. It was like drinking warm water every day, so habitual that you never questioned the nature of the liquid. There was no need to cautiously stick out your tongue to test the temperature. Who would ever suspect that the routines of an orderly life might quietly conceal an invisible poison? One day, scalding white steam curled from your cup. But still, no one noticed. The water slid past your lips, waves of searing heat engulfing the soft flesh of your mouth. Before you could react, the pain had scorched every inch of its tender surface. It was too late to spit it out. Your entire respiratory tract was ablaze. Everything was on fire.
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They won but he is injured
“Diametric powers! Twisted. Wrong.” Thrust. “And they gave you an
Avalon. Steel. Torc. An abomination.”
Each of his words is punctuated by a vicious swing that pushes me
further back against the wall.
I parry a thrust, but he twists, sharp and sudden. My sword tears from
my grip and clatters to the stone.
I’m at the edge of the turret now, and terror deafens my thoughts.
Talan is moving toward me, carving his way through another knight,
and I can feel his terror and panic for me.
Slowly, Wrythe raises his sword until the blade kisses my throat. My
focus snaps back to him, my heart stuttering. I lean away, nearly toppling
over the edge of the parapet. Fear courses through my nerve endings.
Then Talan’s sword bursts through Wrythe’s chest from behind, ripping
through his heart, and Talan stands above him like a god of vengeance.
Wrythe gasps, his mouth slack. Blood spills down his chin as his wide,
pale eyes lock onto mine and fade.
Talan drags his sword from Wrythe’s back, and the Seneschal crumples
to the ground like a discarded rag doll. Lips curled, Talan stares down at
him.
I throw myself at Talan, and he pulls me close, crushing me against his
chest. He’s holding me like I’m a magical talisman, something sacred to
keep the nightmares away.
“You’re okay,” he breathes into my hair. “You’re okay.” It sounds like
he’s trying to convince himself.
But then he sucks in a sharp breath. His body tenses, and his hand goes
to his stomach. He winces, and I realize he’s bleeding.
The world tilts beneath me. “How deep is it?” My words are sharp,
panicked. When I look closer, I see how bad it looks, a slash right thorough
his abdomen.
“Iron,” he grunts. “Iron poisoning.”
A Dragon ride
“We’re winning, but I have to leave Brocéliande again for a few days.”
He studies me for a long moment. “Before I go, do you want to join me for
a ride?”
My heart sinks at the phrase we’re winning. “Okay. I’ll get Clover. I
think she’s in the stable now, right?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Yes, but I didn’t mean a ride on a horse.”
I press my hand to my chest. “Oh. Is this really how the legendary
seducer proposes sex?”
His slow, sly smile sends heat prickling down my spine. “I do love that
that’s where your mind went, but I meant on Tarasque. Do you want to ride
with me on a dragon?”
“On the dragon?” Is he out of his mind? “But only dragon riders are
allowed to ride. Also, I’d fall off.”
“I’m the best dragon rider who’s ever lived, and I will keep you on. I
know how you like to cling to me, anyway. You won’t slip.”
My heart pounds with the allure of doing something dangerous,
something that I absolutely should not be doing. And yet…when will I ever
get the chance to ride a dragon again? Probably never. “Let’s do it.”
His eyebrow rises in what I’ve learned is admiration. “Good. Meet me
on the other side of the Lost Palace. I can only get her out that way.”
My pulse races as I step outside into the biting air and wind my way
down the path around the old palace. Icicles drip from gargoyles and stone
carvings of human heads with tusks and owls with their wings spread out.
Snowy yew branches arch over me.
As I walk, I hear the creak and groan of doors opening. I follow the path
around the palace and see Tarasque lumbering through the doors and into
the garden. Talan is in front of her, completely at ease with his beast. He
radiates quiet confidence and power that makes my breath catch. “Let’s go,
Tarasque.”
The enormous dragon slithers forward, and I can feel the
Territorial are we
I straighten and hurry to catch up with Talan, passing the fountain with
ravens spewing water from their stone beaks, coils of steam rising into the
cold air. In the rookery, soft cooing breaks the silence of the night. I find
Talan leading two horses from the stables, a delicate white mare and an
enormous black stallion.
I reach for the reins of the stallion. “I assume this one’s for me?”
The horse rears back his head.
Talan flashes me a faint smile. “Absolutely not. Clover, the white mare,
is yours. No one rides Maponos but me. I can be a little possessive
sometimes.”
“Fine.” I take Clover’s reins and run my hand down her neck to reassure
her. Sidling up to her left side, I hook my foot into the stirrup and swing my
leg over her back, settling into the saddle. I lean forward, stroking her mane
with my fingers, and whisper in Clover’s ear, “We’ll be good friends, you
and I.”
A Killer
All this time, he’s made sure to stay between me and the door, blocking
my escape. But now, it doesn’t matter because I finally hear what I’ve been
waiting for since I let out that scream: footsteps pounding through the hall,
over the flagstones. Distant still, but I can feel the vibrations. And through
the walls, I hear Raphael’s muffled voice calling my name.
The intruder doesn’t even turn around. Does he not hear Raphael? But
then I hear him whispering again. And the mist rises around the door.
He lets out his eerie laugh as I stare in horror, realizing what’s about to
happen.
Raphael will barge through that door, straight into the mist. It will kill
him in seconds.
I let my fury course through me and summon my magic to disable the
mist, except this time, the mage is ready for it. Before I can snuff out the
power of the mist, he slices at me, forcing me to jump back, breaking my
focus. The mist rises all around the door, shimmering in its unearthly colors.
“Nia!” Raphael cries, closer now.
I gather my powers, and the mage lunges again. I dodge, his blade
whispering inches away from my throat, my concentration disrupted.
“Nia, I’m coming!” Raphael calls outside the door.
I tug at my power for the third time. The mage strikes once more. This
time, I ignore his attack, flinging my magic at the mist.
The hum stops, the veil mist flickering.
The mage’s scimitar sinks into my stomach, and searing agony spreads
through my body as the blade plunges in. I try to scream, but I can’t. I make
a strangled sound as the mage rips his scimitar from my gut. The door
bursts open, and Raphael charges in.
Blinded with pain, I fall to my knees. The mage whirls, and my thoughts
become hazy, drowned by the horror of my lacerated stomach. I try to speak
and taste blood on my lips.
Raphael
