Chapter 18 #2
Gareth is unsympathetic. “You confronted the king and ran your mouth at him without restraint. Did you not think there would be ramifications?” He gestures toward the advisors as they settle themselves in a lower viewing box.
“I hope you're prepared to prove yourself to them.
Because I'm sure they'll be taking detailed notes for His Majesty.”
I lift my chin, ignoring the spectators, trying not to let my nerves show. “What am I expected to prove today?”
He considers for a moment. “You have magic on your mind. So perhaps a trial regarding that.”
“…I thought you said I was getting ahead of myself, worrying about Blight's magic?”
“I did say that. Because her true magic is buried much deeper than you could possibly reach right now.
But, early on, most divines show weaker magic of all different shades.
If nothing else, she's certainly capable of the sort of powers you've seen lesser dragons exhibit: fire-breathing, enhanced strength, minor influence over the elements. That sort of thing. I wonder if you can coax any of it out of her?”
I glance at Blight, and I swear she looks like she might laugh in response.
As if to say, I dare you to try.
I get the impression she doesn't think we're even when it comes to the insults we've exchanged—and that she's going to make me pay for it now, as part of our wonderful bonding experience.
“It seems like she's not feeling very cooperative today,” I warn Gareth.
“How unfortunate for you,” he says, again sounding entirely unsympathetic.
As he begins to set up targets and obstacles across the arena floor, I swallow my pride and step closer to Blight. I have no doubt that she heard—and understood—the entire conversation Gareth and I just shared, so my request is simple, to the point: “Please?”
She stares at me for a long moment.
Then she yawns, turns in a circle, curls up on her platform, and closes her eyes.
Gareth lets out a gruff laugh. “Impressive as always.”
I can hear the king's advisors whispering, their quills already scratching notes.
“Shall I add some desperation to the equation?” Gareth offers, lifting his practice sword.
Blight opens one eye and angles her head toward us.
I think of her warning from just a few minutes ago, her feelings of wariness and panic—not to mention the fear she felt for me the other night, when those rebels were circling the palace.
She can pretend she isn't interested in helping me, but I know better.
So we’ll just see how this goes.
I pick up the training sword Gareth tosses at my feet and settle into a fighting stance.
“I'll stop attacking you once you manage to destroy even one of these with any sort of element,” Gareth says, gesturing to the targets he's set up.
“I won't be picky. Let your dragon help you channel the wind, or conjure fire, or summon even a flicker of static—whatever she gives you, you must accept it, and guide it together.” He adjusts his grip on the sword.
“The longer it takes, the harder I plan to hit.”
I nod, glancing at Blight to make sure she's hearing all of this. She gives a single, deliberate swish of her tail, then goes back to feigning disinterest.
The trial begins with a circling dance. Gareth moves in slowly, testing my defenses.
I dodge his first swing, then a second, while still keeping close to the nearest erected target—a wooden post with a scrap of blue cloth tied around it.
It looks destructible enough; it shouldn’t be hard to magic it into oblivion. At least in theory.
I try to lower my guard and feel for some sort of power, any sort of power, that might be building around Blight. A hint of heat, a spark of energy, the tiniest breath of magic…
Nothing.
Again, it seems like she’s shielding parts of herself; even the usual, basic feeling of power that radiates from her is missing. I half-expect to glance over and see she’s somehow flown away, or maybe turned to stone just to spite me.
Gareth's next few strikes fall faster, harder.
I block them, but the impact reverberates up my arms, numbing them a bit. My parries grow increasingly sloppy; I misjudge one and nearly end up taking the point of his sword to my good eye.
I hear Blight shift on her platform. She settles quickly, and no magic stirs…but it still gives me an idea.
I dance closer to Gareth, ducking and weaving with deliberate, controlled feints—and then I purposely let him land several blows on my arms and shoulders, each one hard enough to hurt.
Each strike makes the frill around Blight's neck rise incrementally higher. Both of her eyes are open now, tracking our movements with increasing intensity.
“Magic would be incredibly nice to have right now,” I mutter under my breath, blocking one hit, then another.
It would, wouldn't it? her voice slides into my mind, cool and pointed.
I grit my teeth and focus again on the wooden post. I try to imagine it catching fire, or the air around it swirling into a gust that rips the blue cloth off.
Still nothing.
Only minutes have passed, yet Gareth is already moving with increased speed, striking more viciously than he ever has before—today or otherwise. His movements are sharper, his breathing heavier, like he's just barely controlling himself.
Soon, I'm no longer occasionally letting him hit me; I'm simply not moving fast enough to avoid his sword. It comes down against my body again and again as I whirl between defense and desperate attempts to grab hold of the shaky bond between me and that accursed dragon.
The advisors above whisper and point.
Gareth's sword cracks against my clavicle, and I gasp, stumbling backward. The pain is sharp enough to make my vision blur.
Blight lifts her head fully.
Her claws extend, flexing against the metal platform.
I don't focus on her. Not out of stubbornness this time, but because I can't afford to take my eye off Gareth as he charges forward, sword raised high.
I catch his swing with my own upward sweep, but he doesn't back off when I parry.
Instead, he locks his blade against mine, digs in his heels, and shoves until I'm down on one knee doing everything I can to keep him from breaking through my guard completely.
His expression is cold, his voice low and almost menacing as he says, “You are playing a dangerous game here, Arowyn Vhale. The king may have listened to you last night, but that doesn’t mean it was a wise decision to confront him—to invite more eyes to watch your every move with this dragon.
I was trying to protect you from his gaze. ”
“I don’t feel very protected at the moment,” I growl as my strength starts to give out, my arms threatening to crumple.
The menacing gleam doesn’t entirely fade from his gaze—though he relaxes some of the pressure, as if he’s considering a truce.
Too late.
In the next instant, I feel Blight’s panic surge through me again, followed by a wave of protective fury.
The air shimmers, heating rapidly around us, and Gareth's sword catches fire, the wooden practice blade crackling with a bright orange glow before exploding into flames that nearly incinerate his face.
He throws it down, kicking sand over it and stomping it out with his boot before glancing over his shoulder at the dragon.
She rises to her full height, a soft hiss escaping her throat.
A warning.
The advisors above have gone completely silent.
I heave for breath, setting my sword aside and placing my palms against the sand, trying to steady myself.
“…It doesn't count if you don't channel it yourself,” Gareth says, his voice quiet and carefully neutral as he slowly looks back to me. “Now, on your feet. Go clean yourself up. And let's hope the king's advisors don't report anything too damning about what they've just witnessed.”
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving his charred practice sword smoking in the sand.
I watch him go, confused and unsettled.
That was strange, I think, and Blight shuffles restlessly in her chains, as if she can hear my thoughts as clearly as my voice.
Be wary, she warns me again. Something about him is not right.