Chapter Forty-Seven Abel
Diu shall ensure the realm survives. It is our duty to ensure the realm thrives.
—The First Slayer
Chapter Forty-Seven
Abel
Lucy runs closer to my heel. I slide behind the cover of a fallen pine and load a fresh bolt into my crossbow.
Claire’s dragon roar splits the mountain air.
We burned dozens of owls last night. Far more than I anticipated. Not all of them. My eyes hurt from aiming in the dark. My vision blurs from lack of sleep. Fatigue already shakes my movements, but now that Claire has turned, the natural terror of a hunt shudders through me.
Through the needled branches, I search the dragon for a glimpse of Claire Belgard. My Claire. The woman I love. Tail lashing, teeth gnashing, gold eyes wild and angry. The embodiment of Diu’s fury, like every other dragon I’ve slain. Only scraps of clothing remain tangled around her talons.
I’m here to protect her, not kill her. But I need a prayer anyway. Something to anchor me to my purpose so I don’t lose focus.
“Noctu, be free. Diu, guide the way. Return Claire’s fire to the stars.” My modified prayer comes out rushed. “Only her fire. Please.”
An Immortal emerges from behind a nearby pine trunk, spear in hand. He raises it over his shoulder, waiting for the last curl of steam to mark the end of Claire’s transformation. Panic spikes my heartbeat, but my hunter’s eye takes over. That stance exposes his rib cage.
I fire a shot. The bolt strikes clean between two ribs. He drops the spear and coughs blood. Yes. I hit the lung.
Second rule of dragon hunting: Establish limits and keep the target within them.
Before he can fall, I drag him back by the cloak, then shove him against the tree. With a shout, I drive his spear through his chest. The spear head lodges in the soft bark, pinning him solidly against it.
A horse races toward me, then halts, spraying snow. Lyle fumbles with his reins as he disentangles them from a loop of rope, which I use to bind my victim to the trunk.
“Your girl is a force of nature.” He grins, but his eyes are wide with panic.
“You have no idea.” I withdraw my bolt and the spear. “Have you seen any silverwolves?”
As if in answer, silverwolves bark across the clearing. They race for Claire, but she whips them away with her tail. The sheer force makes me wince. The other silverwolves cower, hesitant to follow the next wave of orders.
“Attaquez le dragon!” my victim screams. Attack the dragon!
I pull off his mask and stuff his mouth with the hem of his cloak. At the same time, Marshal Payen gallops past and fires her musket at someone behind us. A second Immortal flies backward into the snow with a hole in his chest.
“Watch your backs!” she warns, then tosses Lyle another loop of rope.
He leaps off his horse and binds the wrists of Payen’s victim.
Another gendarme slows to a trot just long enough to take the end of that rope, then drag the Immortal away from the fray, a streak of blood in his wake.
Dragon fire blasts through the trees, where they stood mere seconds ago.
The heat singes my skin and spooks Lyle’s horse so badly that he nearly falls in his attempt to mount from the ground.
“Why isn’t Claire entering the cave?” Marshal Payen shouts.
“Too many distractions!” I yell back.
Her whistle draws attention from the gendarmes. “Get them away from her!” she orders, then gallops off.
Fourth rule of dragon hunting: Movement equals survival.
I lift my crossbow and hiss at the pain that throbs in my shoulder. Lyle halts.
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“Then stay alive,” Lyle says. He gallops away.
I’m not fine. But if I don’t fight, Claire could die.
She roars at her surroundings, sending a shiver up my spine.
She spews another stream of flames into the trees.
The needles above us go up in flames, raining us with embers.
I duck behind a new trunk, calling Lucy to my side.
The man I tied to the tree screams as he’s roasted alive—but his ropes will burn, and I know he won’t die in human form.
I squint through the smoke. Ten yards to my left, two more Immortals go up in flames—and so does a gendarme.
To my right, an Immortal slashes a gendarme’s arm off with his sickle.
The limb lands in the snow alongside a musket.
When the smoke clears, flames lick their way up snow-laden tree branches. Burning flesh turns the air rancid, but my muscles relish the heat. Pain means I’m alive. Pain means I can help. Pain means I must
keep
moving.
Ninth rule of dragon hunting: The best camouflage is chaos.
Nothing’s more chaotic than the dragon herself.
I dart from my hiding place and close in at Claire’s flank. She rears her head and inhales for another burst of dragon’s breath. I fire a bolt at a sword-brandishing Immortal beside her. It punctures his thigh. He stumbles but doesn’t stop. He thrusts the sword into Claire’s rib cage.
“No!” I shout.
Claire bucks and screeches. Gods, she sounds just like Micah. Thankfully, the sword shakes loose, the puncture shallow. But it still affected Micah’s mind when he changed back. Seeing the sheer amount of blood, learning what happened to him—
She won’t remember. She won’t remember. She won’t remember.
I leap over her sweeping tail, draw my own sword, and drive it into the fallen Immortal’s chest. With a bellow, I push it to the hilt until the blade is lodged deep in the ground. I leave him there. His allies won’t help him. Next to a raging dragon, they have bigger priorities.
With my good arm, I gather his abandoned sword.
As if on cue, Claire’s dilated pupil locks onto me.
She flicks her wing and strikes me flat in the chest. The impact knocks me into a tree, snapping my head back.
Madame Afi’s trademark padded lining in Micah’s skull takes most of the impact, but air bursts from my lungs.
“Abel, catch!” Marshal Payen throws a dragon-scale shield at my feet, but I can’t move. I can’t inhale. Claire knocked the wind out of me.
And she’s turned around, both eyes narrowed on me.
An orange glow rises at the back of her throat. Time rushes forward—
“Lucy!” I gasp.
True to her training, Lucy dashes in front of me. Her teeth gnash frantically at the incoming flames. Tinderfox versus dragon. Her own touch of Diu’s domain absorbs the initial rush and buys me the split second I need to drag the shield in front of me.
“Away!” I command before her coat fully turns gold. I need to preserve her capacity to eat more. But the fire comes too fast. She’s nearly full by the time she abandons the stream of flames. Just then, Claire stomps forward, narrowly missing crushing her.
Another breath of fire. Heat singes my eyebrows as I brace the shield firmly against the ground and duck behind it.
The blast hits hard—so hard, it feels like a punch to my injured shoulder.
I shout in pain. Damn it. In my haste, I slipped my dominant arm through the shield’s leather straps instead of the one that can afford to take the hit.
The flames keep coming. They slip past the shield and glance off my dragon-scale uniform. Sweat slides down my skin beneath my clothing. Finally, the stream of fire vanishes—with me on the brink of blacking out from the heat and pain.
I can’t take much more.
I roll aside, but Lucy is there. “Away!” I rasp, my boots slipping in the slush. Claire lunges. Her fangs snap through the empty space we just occupied, but a silverwolf bites her haunches. She whirls around and lunges for the closer target. It scuttles away, fur changing from white to stone gray.
Third rule of dragon hunting: Anticipate the target’s patterns and counter accordingly.
Claire is too distracted to follow the instincts Diu gave her. She’ll never enter the cave at this rate. I need to change the pattern.
First rule of dragon hunting: Consider the bait.
“Over here!” I shout, banging my sword against my shield.
She whirls on me and roars, spittle flying so close I can feel it, but I have her attention. I can lead her inside. I turn to run. “Follow—”
Crack.
A blow to the back of Micah’s skull throws me face-first into the snow. Lucy skids to a stop, next to the bolt that struck me. She whines with warning at the heavy stomps that come up behind me.
“Inside!” I command Lucy. She obeys, thankfully. I pray she finds a safe place to hide among the stalagmites.
I glance left. The Immortal with the crossbow reaches into his quiver for another bolt, no gendarme to protect me in sight. Another Immortal with a sickle waits at his side, content to act as his guard. A third one tosses fresh equipment to the one I left to burn against the tree.
He shouts into the forest, “Gardez la caverne!” Guard the cavern.
They’re starting to free each other. We’re losing. In moments this will end.
The Immortal with the crossbow switches aim to Claire.
I push to my feet. One option left—which is beyond risky. It is reckless and impatient, but I don’t have time to consider alternatives. The only way to throw off that crossbow’s aim is if Claire switches targets—to me.
“Here!” I shout.
She lunges, maw open. I sidestep into range and shove my shield between her razor-sharp teeth. As they snap shut, thick wood splinters puncture her tongue and gums.
Crack. Mercifully, the crossbow wielder’s next bolt misses a kill shot to the heart between her ribs.
It strikes the fleshy stretch of her wing instead.
The strategist in me celebrates the stroke of luck—repositioning her body saved both of us.
At the same time, she’s spitting shield fragments and dripping blood from both wounds. She’s human, she’s a beast—
Her anguished shriek cuts through every muscle fiber I have. Instinct compels me to end her pain somehow, some way, but it’s not her. Not yet. It rips my insides to turn away.