Chapter 18 Skylar
Skylar climbs. The muscles in her arms burn and her hands are clammy against the side of the red cliff.
Below her, waves crash against rocks, spray rising up to catch her back.
She’s breathing hard, but it’s strangely comforting, channeling her energy into something productive and repetitive, perhaps because it helps quiet the crackling within her, the way juggling daggers did.
She doesn’t even care about the sheer drop below her.
Yes, she’s got the rope around her waist as a safety net, but more than that, she is used to being up high. She’s used to not looking down.
The only thing that’s making her slower than she thinks she could be is the pounding headache she woke up with. It must be the result of some training injury or other, though she can’t remember Axel trying to crack her skull open over the last few days.
She is nearly at the top of the cliff when she hears voices. She steadies herself and tunes into her senses to listen.
“Someone tried to kill her last night.” It’s Zryan’s voice, a low muttering.
“What?” Axel’s voice is sharp. “Where?”
“In her room.”
“In her room? What exactly were you doing in—?”
“That’s not important. The point is—”
Skylar heaves herself over the edge of the cliff, and both men look down at her. Axel’s hands are loosely clasping the rope—she wonders if he would have definitely caught her, if she’d slipped.
“So, she’s nailed the wall,” Zryan says.
“Looks like,” Axel agrees mildly.
Skylar pushes herself to her feet. “Careful, all these compliments are going to go straight to my head.”
“She’s got good balance and natural strength,” Axel says. “I think she’ll be okay, getting onto the island.” He’s told her there’s a cliff she’ll have to climb to make it onto Isla Draka itself—with no outside help.
“Well, that’s something.” Zryan pulls a hand through his black hair. He looks tired today—just whose room was he in last night? “We can’t be having another Zeb incident.” He and Axel exchange a meaningful look at this.
“Someone tried to kill who last night?” Skylar presses.
They exchange another glance. She grits her teeth.
Zryan looks back at her, head cocked. “Maybe she’s a Sensor,” he says to Axel. Axel snorts—she has no idea why. Does he look down on Sensors?
Skylar waits.
“Astrid,” Zryan says, a touch of reluctance to his tone. “Someone tried to kill Astrid.”
Cold floods through her. “Which means someone tried to kill me, too.” Neither of them contradict her.
This could explain the headache she woke up with. Maybe it wasn’t because someone tried to smash in her skull but Astrid’s. That’s how the Blood Binding is supposed to work, right?
There is a sinking feeling in her stomach that she tries to breathe through. Time. She was supposed to have time, to figure out what happened to Cam. She hasn’t been able to do anything, not since her failed attempt to break into the king’s office. They’ve kept her too busy with training, and now…
It’ll be okay, Lar Lar. We’ll always be okay, remember?
“Who was behind it?” she asks.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Zryan says.
“Rebel involvement?” Axel asks. He’s been watching her this whole time, like he’s trying to figure out how she’s taking it. Now he turns his attention to the prince.
“Why would the rebels try to kill us—what’s the point?
” Though as she says it, she wonders. If someone wanted to take down the royals, wouldn’t killing the heirs be a good place to start?
And yet—she already knows for a fact there’s someone else who would want her dead.
Someone who has wanted her dead since she was born.
She folds her arms. “I’m supposed to believe, am I, that this was an outside attempt?”
Axel frowns. “What do you mean?” But she sees realization dawning.
“You can’t think—” Zryan says slowly, but Skylar interrupts him.
“Your father has made his opinion of me very clear. And if me and the witch are gone, that leaves the way clear for you to rule, doesn’t it?
” She narrows her eyes, daring him to argue.
Of course, he’s probably in on it. As is Axel.
She feels heat build in her veins—that she is trapped here, surrounded by people who want her dead.
Zryan shakes his head. “It can’t be my father.” My. Not our.
“He’s right,” Axel says firmly. “It’s written in the Covenant. No ruler—or their family—can willfully slay their own heir.”
Skylar scoffs. “Just because it’s written—”
“It’s not only written,” Zryan says. “It is bound by blood and magic. There is no way the king could have you killed—not now the Covenant recognizes you as heir. He would be forfeiting the Heart.”
She doesn’t have an immediate answer to that, so she keeps her mouth shut. They could be lying to her—no way to be sure, is there?
“One good thing came of it at least,” Zryan says. “The fox—it’s not her familiar.”
Skylar’s heart lurches—something like hope there.
Axel raises his eyebrows. “Is that so? So what is?”
Zryan seems to hesitate for a beat too long. “A cat.”
A cat. Skylar wants to laugh. A cat! She knew she’d seen something at the Blood Binding.
“This is brilliant,” she says, and she is actually smiling. “So now all I need to do is kill the cat, right?”
“Wrong,” Axel says, and she frowns at him. “A witch doesn’t die if their familiar does. Only the reverse is true.”
Skylar wrinkles her nose at that. Although, to be fair, does she really want to kill a cat?
“At least I don’t have to face the fox, though,” she says, thinking of those teeth.
“Yes, well, don’t get cocky,” Zryan says. Axel coughs at that. “She may not have a strong familiar, but she has a way with potions, and she can cast. You, on the other hand, have an attitude and some fancy tricks with knives.”
She bares her teeth at him.
“If one of those potions hits you, you’re dead,” he states flatly.
“Great. So all I’m hearing is that I’m witch carrion. Which is fantastically helpful.”
“You need to train.”
“What does it look like I’m doing—having a picnic?”
“Do you need me in discussions anywhere?” Axel asks Zryan, talking over her.
“No,” Zryan says. “You’re doing what’s needed right now. I just wanted to fill you in. We should all be on our guard—I can send a couple of Dreki to watch your backs.”
“No, thanks,” Skylar pipes up. They both ignore her.
Zryan turns to leave. She lets out an incredulous laugh.
“That’s it—seriously? Someone tried to kill the witch, but go ahead, carry on climbing?
” She shakes her head. “If the witch is going to be so hard to beat—even without a fox who can tear my throat out—then shouldn’t I be learning how to fight her? ”
“Axel will switch tactics with your training once you come back from the island,” Zryan says over his shoulder. “First, survive that. We’ll figure out where we stand when you return.”
“And you?” she bites out. “You just going to keep spewing instructions from the sidelines?”
He turns toward her, and she swears it’s so he can quite literally look down at her. “I’m going to wait, until a fight between us means I won’t break you.”
“Oh, come on.” She makes her voice a taunt.
“The best way to learn how to fight an heir is to practice, right? And you were an heir up until, what, a few days ago?” She smiles in a way she knows people hate.
“Let’s see if I can take you.” She knows dimly that it might be a bad idea to push him, but she feels that throbbing behind her temples, urging her on.
“No,” Axel says firmly. “There’s no way you are ready for—”
But Zryan holds up a hand. “She wants a shot at the big leagues. So let’s give it to her.”
He’s fast. Too fucking fast. A punch comes out toward her face and she ducks—only to feel his foot colliding into her legs. She falls to the ground.
“Move before he can touch you,” Axel demands.
She jumps up, spins. And she tries, honestly she does. She dodges one attack, then the next. And ends up flat on her back with a kick to the stomach. Right at the edge of the cliff.
So this is what an heir is, she thinks dimly, even as she forces herself up again.
She is so totally screwed.
She swipes a trickle of blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I told you,” Zryan says, with almost a hint of sympathy, “you’re not—” But she’s fast, too.
Fast enough to snatch her dagger, to stab, just about grazing the side of his arm as he blocks.
She spins out of his reach, throws the dagger at his shoulder.
But he Teleports out of the way—and it very nearly hits Axel instead, who dodges, swearing loudly.
She feels a fizzle of electricity, then Zryan is behind her, her neck in his hands. Like he’s going to snap it. For one moment, she thinks he’ll do it. Kill her, right here on the cliff—and with her the witch, too.
“You’re done,” he murmurs. “Point proven.” He releases her head, but her blood is hot, curdling in her veins, and she lunges for him. But he’s no longer there, so instead she lunges straight off the cliff, and into midair.
She hears muttered oaths, feels the rope tighten around her waist, yanking her painfully up. She swings. Hears the sickening crack of her head against stone. Then, nothing.
She wakes to the sound of low voices. Her head feels heavy, but she’s lying on something soft.
“A total shit show.” It’s Axel’s voice. She stays still, assessing.
She’s not in any pain—she can feel no evidence that she smashed her head into a cliff at speed.
They probably have a Curer, don’t they? No having to pay for people pretending to be Curers and charging through the teeth for the pleasure of their hands on you in here.
“We’ve still got time.” This from Zryan, though it’s unconvincing.
“She might be able to take the witch without a dragon. She’s not that bad in a fight.” It’s said grudgingly. “Alright, she wouldn’t stand a chance against someone like you, but the witch doesn’t seem all that tough—a cat familiar? Come on.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Zryan says, slowly. “The witch is… surprising.”
“Surprising, hey?” The tone is lighter than she’s used to, almost teasing.
“Oh, fuck off.” But it’s said without heat. There’s a beat of quiet and then, “Don’t give me that look.”
“As long as you don’t forget what she is,” Axel says, his voice steel now. “Or what they’ve done.”
“I’ll never forget that,” Zryan says quietly. A breath blown out. “Look, you know as well as I do that the only way our heir is walking out of that duel alive is with a dragon.”
“Hmm. And witch aside, we’re dealing with someone who has no training, no discipline, fuck-all power from what we can gather, and who seems Vaar bent on getting in her own way.”
“Yeah, about that… Maybe you ought to tone it down a little?”
A cough. “Tone what down?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“She’s being uncooperative,” Axel says gruffly.
“Well, what did you expect?”
“I’d expect her to have a bit more self-preservation. And it would be nice if she had some respect for the future of our country. For its people.” Skylar feels herself stiffen, does her best to keep lying still. Who is he to talk about the masses as if he cares for them?
“It should have been you,” Axel continues quietly. This, perhaps, is the crux of it. The reason he hates her so much.
“Yes, well.” Zryan’s voice is weary. There’s a hesitation. Then, “I’m sorry she gave her life for someone who’s never going to rule.”
“Enough. There’s no need to rehash that. Besides, it wasn’t just what you are that she cared about. You know that.”
“I do.” There’s a beat of quiet as Skylar wonders what they’re talking about—just which she gave her life.
“I’m going to get something to eat,” Axel says. “You coming?”
“I’ll stay here for a bit. Check she’s okay. She is my sister, after all.” Sister. The word sounds odd, coming from him.
Axel mutters something that Skylar can’t quite hear. There is the sound of a door opening and closing. Quiet. And then, “So, how much of that did you hear?”
She opens her eyes and blinks up at Zryan. No point in pretending if he already knows.
“I saw you move about two minutes ago,” he clarifies. “You’re not a very good actress.”
“Well, add that to the many things I am apparently bad at.”
She sits up. She’s in some kind of Curing ward, with a line of beds, white walls, and bars on the windows. Like they don’t want the sick to escape.
Zryan sweeps a gaze across her body, assessing in a way that feels distinctly warrior-like. “Are you still hurt?”
“I don’t think so,” she says, flexing a few muscles in her body to be sure.
“Good. That means we can get on with the next lesson of the day.” He produces a small scroll.
“A get-well card? You shouldn’t have.”
“It’s a map,” he says, dropping it on her lap.
She frowns as she unrolls it, no idea what she’s looking at. There are lines that denote rivers, what looks like the symbol for mountains clustered in the middle, and a forest on one side. But there are no buildings—this can’t be a map of Vatra or the Stone City.
And she realizes. “This is the island.”
“Correct,” Zryan says. “There’s a path you have to follow during your trial—toward Draka herself.”
“Isn’t the whole island Draka?”
“Named after the volcano at its center.”
“Right.” And great—she not only has to face dragons, now she has to face a volcano, too.
“Bet it was easy for you, wasn’t it? Just Teleported straight from here to the volcano, right?”
“A, I can’t actually Teleport straight onto the island from the castle unless I want to wipe myself out; and B, the whole exercise is so the dragons can assess you, which means there’s little point in skipping to the end of the path.”
Skylar wrinkles her nose. “I’m not exactly a Wayfinder. What happens if I get lost?”
Zryan gives her a very direct look. “Humans are only allowed on the island with the express permission of the dragons—and you have to follow this one specific path. Along the way, the dragons will use their magic to test your courage, your resilience, your power. But if you choose to ignore their rules, they won’t hesitate to kill you. ”
“Right. You could have just said, ‘Stick to the path, Skylar.’ ”
She swears she sees the edge of a smile, gone so quickly she’s not sure if she imagined it. Then Zryan points at the map. “The route runs along the river. Find it, and show me.”