Chapter 6 Skylar
This. This is what Cam wanted to see. This destruction, this chaos. She wonders if he had any idea just what a dragon would look like up close.
The thunder dragon has released his hold on the city, but Skylar is still rooted to the spot, the echo of its magic pulsing through her bloodstream.
People have broken out of line, running in various directions.
There are screams, mixed with cheers, as the witches retreat inside the boat.
And too fucking right. Only it’s not all of them retreating.
She can’t help watching as the white-haired queen steps toward the edge of the dock, the bear—because, yes, that is a fuck-off massive bear—on all fours beside her.
There are people running at the boat, throwing stones, taking advantage of the army leaving their posts.
They are jeering, an oddly proud noise, like it’s the crowds’ prowess and not two enormous dragons that is causing the retreat.
Even through the chaos, Skylar can see the queen’s expression, the hard lines of her face, the flash in her hazel eyes. Power.
The people throwing rocks shriek, like crows fighting over rancid meat.
The stones fall to the ground as they collapse on their knees.
“No, no, no!” Skylar stares transfixed as the stone throwers plead.
Their voices tumble over one another. “Not again.” “It wasn’t me.
” “I told you no.” One man, curled into a ball on the ground with his arms wrapped around himself, simply sobs.
What in Vaar’s name is she doing to them?
She’s seen powers at work before, but she’s never seen anything like this.
Then the blue dragon lurches toward the docks, and when it lands, a crack splits the ground.
Its head swivels from side to side as the crowd scatters.
But not fast enough. The dragon picks up a man in its jaws, shaking him, then throwing the body aside, the torso falling away from the legs, blood and intestines leaking onto the clay earth.
Skylar feels numb. Bad idea. It was such a bad idea to come here. She didn’t think the dragons would attack—not in front of everyone.
She finally moves, fighting her way through the crowds.
She stumbles over her own feet as a man nearby drops something—a leather pouch, grubby ribbon tying it closed.
The man stumbles to a stop, cries out as someone runs over it.
And before the bag can get trodden further into the clay ground, he holds out a hand.
The pouch disappears, reappearing in his outstretched hand.
A Porter. Using his power, out in the open.
A Dreki whips his head toward the man. The action is so quick, it’s like he’s somehow scented the power.
Maybe he has. Maybe he’s a Discerner. She’s heard of them: Blooded who can sense other Blooded when they’re nearby.
Dread settles in her stomach and she backs away a few paces, stumbling into someone behind her, who gives her a hard shove.
The Dreki marches toward the Porter. It’s obvious he’s one of the king’s elite guard, not just from the uniform of finest leather but from the brand burned into his upper arm.
A dragon, wreathed in fire. She remembers that brand.
She can hear the voice of the Dreki, just like this one, who cornered her in an alley fifteen years ago.
Nowhere left to run, girl.
A boom-roar fills the sky and she hears the dragon’s name, like a whisper on the wind. Mjolnir.
Run, Skylar urges the Porter. The Dreki nods to an ordinary city guard, and together they close in on the man, who might be able to move a purse a few feet but—from the panic in his eyes as his gaze darts one way, then the other—is clearly nowhere near powerful enough to jump through space himself.
Only a Prime could do that. And Skylar sees Cam’s face now instead, imagines his terror as guards closed in on him—his power useless in a fight.
Is that what happened to him while she was home sleeping with Izzo?
Without thinking, she’s running—not to safety but toward the Porter.
Her pin is in her hand and she’s wishing she’d swiped one of the daggers from earlier as the Dreki looks at her, his expression cold.
The city guard has the man in a choke hold, ignoring his pleading.
But she’s ready. She will not let them take this man like they took Cam.
She will not let them kill him, like they killed her mother.
There’s a swish of a tail whipping through air, light glinting off silver scales. She dodges, narrowly avoiding getting hit, her breath catching at the back of her throat as the silver dragon lands.
It fucking lands in between her and the Porter, people scattering like ants next to it. It’s several feet from her, but even from here its huff of breath is strong enough to push her to the ground, her wrist snapping back as she thrusts out a hand to catch herself.
She’s on her feet again in moments, but the dragon is still blocking her path.
Shit. Shit, it is huge—she can’t be any taller than its ankle.
She stares at the lethal claws, which are as long as her, then, slowly, lifts her head, trying not to tremble.
Maybe it’s like horses. Maybe they know when you’re afraid—so she just has to pretend not to be.
The dragon seems to be observing her, waiting for something. She remembers how easily the other one tore a man in two, and she feels herself shake, despite her best efforts. She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to show her back—and besides, she’d never run fast enough.
This is what the witch will have to face, she thinks dimly.
No wonder she bolted. She lifts her gaze higher, above the dragon’s barbed head to where Prince Zryan sits, watching the whole thing play out.
She can barely see him in between the wings, his face a tiny dot.
Her palms are clammy, the pin slick and slippery in her hand.
But she doesn’t care. Because something ugly and bitter is rising within her, masking her fear.
Are you mad, Lar Lar? You cannot take on a dragon.
But right then, she doesn’t want to take on the dragon.
She wants to take on the prince, who is trying to stop her helping the Porter, the prince who is part of the family responsible for ripping people from their homes.
Her blood pounds, lighting up her system, and pressure builds at her temples.
But as she moves, the dragon’s head swivels.
And those reptilian eyes, ringed with violet, bore into her.
It’s impossible to take another step. Clouds darken the sky again, though she does not dare drop the dragon’s gaze. Her blood hums in her veins even as she tries to take calming breaths.
Do not panic, Skylar!
The dragon blinks at her—once, twice. Those eyes are far too intelligent as he cocks his enormous head, considering. Deciding whether to kill her.
Skylar takes another breath, watches as it mists in front of her. The air, cooling around her. There is the sound of ice, shattering to the ground. And the thunder dragon roars.
He runs, launching himself into the air, and Skylar ducks, hands covering her head, gripping her pin tightly, for all the good it will do. She feels static run across her back, along with a rumble from within the dragon’s throat, one that reverberates through her.
When she lifts her head, her entire body is shaking and the Porter is nowhere to be seen. The space around her is totally empty, every single person scattered to the corners of the square. Maybe he got away. Maybe the guards got distracted, like she did.
The street is quiet for a moment in its emptiness. The ice dragon circles closer, gearing up to land. Skylar runs, leaving the witches to deal with the king and his son and their lethal fucking pets.
When she comes to a stop, right on the outskirts of the city, all she’s left with is cold sweats, a headache so intense she thinks she might pass out—and a desire never to be that close to a dragon again.