Chapter 28 Skylar
She is a dragon heir with no dragon.
She is an Exhauster.
She is screwed.
“Skylar?” Axel’s voice is quiet—almost careful.
She can’t bring herself to look at him, as the carriage comes to a stop inside the castle gates.
They’ve not spoken since he carried her to the boat.
Carried her, like some sort of invalid. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking, or whether he’s using his power to keep her calm so they can lock her up the moment she steps foot inside the stone fortress.
You are not Blooded, Skylar.
A warning, from her mother—because she knew she would be condemned for being what she is.
And her mother must have sensed it in her, something dark, lurking under her skin.
Her mother was an Exhauster, too. Skylar saw her once, pulling the last trace of life from a cut flower, watched from the doorway as it shriveled and died.
Her mother stared at it with an expression of such sadness that Skylar ran back to her room, knowing she’d seen something she shouldn’t.
Her mother never used her power again, to Skylar’s knowledge, but she’d always assumed that was why they lived the way they did, always wary of who might come after them.
Did the king know what her mother was when he slept with her? She feels sure he can’t have. Otherwise she’d have been killed long before Skylar was born—or else locked in chains, like the executioner.
When she doesn’t say anything, Axel leans around her to open the carriage door. She stares out at the castle grounds. She doesn’t want to get out. She doesn’t want to be locked up, until she has to duel. But where else can she go?
Then she feels it, that sizzle of electricity—and Zryan appears out of nowhere. He looks between Skylar and Axel. Axel gives Skylar a gentle nudge, forcing her out.
“A Dreki told me you were back,” Zryan says carefully. “But he didn’t say…”
Skylar can’t bear to have this conversation.
Instead she looks at the sun, wonders whether its fire would be hot enough to burn away her darkness.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Axel give a slow shake of his head, then pull Zryan to the side.
She hears the word, murmured between them: “Exhauster.” She turns her back on them.
They can’t kill her for this—not yet, not if the wording of the Covenant forbids it.
But they will force her to use it, like they force the executioner.
And then, maybe, they’ll use it as an excuse to kill her, once the duel is done. If that wasn’t their plan already.
She walks farther from the carriage. There is no sign of the king and queen, but there is someone else walking across the grounds, a little black cat at her heels, one of her guards a few steps behind.
Astrid runs her gaze up Skylar’s body as she approaches—an obvious assessment.
Did she feel what Skylar felt, on the island?
And her healing potions wouldn’t have helped her, would they?
She would have been forced to bear the pain with Skylar, unable to do anything about it.
She wonders, too, for the first time, how she looks.
From the way Astrid is considering her, she’d guess not good.
Her hair is matted from salt water and sweat, she has cuts over every inch of her from the shards of ice, bruises from where she’s fallen—and she’s pretty sure she has multiple burns from where she didn’t quite outrun the lava.
Skylar raises her eyebrows as Astrid finishes her inspection. “Come to gloat?” After all, this is Astrid’s best-case scenario, isn’t it? Her alive but with no dragon.
Astrid exchanges a brief look with her cat—one that makes Skylar question whether Astrid already knew about Skylar’s lack of dragon. Then Astrid’s blue gaze flicks to Skylar’s. “I came to check if you are okay.” The words are quiet—and sincere.
Skylar closes her eyes against them. “I’m okay,” she says. She’s not. She’s not even close.
“What happened to you there?” Astrid murmurs. “I felt like you might be done for a couple of times.”
Skylar opens her eyes, and doesn’t miss the look Bastet gives Astrid. News to him, then? “Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime over cocktails.” Astrid’s lips quirk up at the corners. Skylar likes that about her, she realizes. That she has a sense of humor.
“Well, until then—good job, for surviving.”
Skylar makes a scathing sound. “I don’t think congratulations are in order, Little Witch. But thanks all the same.” She glances over her shoulder. Axel and Zryan are still talking in the distance. Skylar tries to ignore the roll in her stomach.
“You didn’t die,” Astrid says firmly. “That’s something.”
Skylar considers Astrid for a moment. She hadn’t thought until now what it would be like for her, waiting to see if Skylar survived.
It adds credence to her idea that the royals didn’t even want her to survive—two for the price of one, isn’t it?
She doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead she shakes her head.
“I told you—I have things to do before I die.”
“Things to do, huh?”
Skylar shrugs, then hisses with the pain. “I can’t die until I save my friend.” She says it without really thinking.
Bastet turns his narrowed eyes on her. She narrows her eyes right back at him, and he bares his teeth. She bares hers back. Astrid snorts at the two of them. “Well, I can’t die until I save my queendom, so…”
“Way to one-up me,” Skylar mutters.
Astrid’s lips twitch. And Skylar can’t help it. She laughs. It is a stupid reaction, probably born out of adrenaline, chaos, and total insanity, but she is laughing—and Astrid is laughing, too. And the two of them are doubling over and it hurts so fucking much but Skylar can’t stop.
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE JOKE.
For some reason, that makes both of them laugh even harder, louder, and more hysterically, and Skylar isn’t sure if either of them know what exactly is funny.
There’s a sound to their left, like a twig snapping, and both of them straighten. They look to where it came from, but no one is there. They exhale on the same breath.
“Your friend…” Astrid lowers her voice. Low enough, Skylar guesses, that her guard, standing a few feet back, can’t hear her. “I’m guessing that has something to do with what you were looking for the other night.”
Skylar hesitates. But Astrid has every reason to hate these people as much as she does, doesn’t she? “Not exactly difficult guesswork, but, yes. He was taken for the army they’re building. Presumably to attack you if you win the duel.”
Astrid nods, fingers tapping against her thigh. “I took it from your room by the way. I’m going to put it back where it belongs.”
’Course she bloody is. “Thought you needed the king’s blood to get in? Or was that just a ruse to get in some quality bonding time?”
Astrid’s lips twitch. “Lucky for me, you left something behind.”
Right. The whole stabbing-herself-with-her-pin demonstration.
“I see,” Skylar says. “Must be handy, not being stopped by locks.” Astrid grins, and Skylar snorts a half laugh.
“Whatever. I got what I needed from it, anyway.” Or, more to the point, she didn’t find anything further.
Hasn’t been able to figure out what that word means. Champion.
“What about you?” Skylar asks.
She’s expecting to have to explain what she’s asking—whether Astrid has found what she needs on the Heart—but Astrid must be on the same wavelength, because she shakes her head. “Still looking.”
Astrid’s body tenses an instant before Skylar feels the zap of Zryan’s electricity. Skylar can’t help it—she tenses, too. Is this it? Is Zryan going to be the one to pass judgment?
But Zryan only glances between them. “What are you two talking about?” His tone is on the suspicious side.
His gaze settles on Astrid, who meets it, though Skylar doesn’t miss the slight blush creeping into her cheeks. “Oh, you know, just catching up on the castle gossip.”
“Mmm,” Skylar agrees, conjuring up the nonchalance she knows how to wear like skin. “Wondering who is taking who to the Masked Ball.”
“Yeah, is it the kind of thing where you need a date?” Astrid’s eyes flick briefly to Zryan, like she can’t help herself, before looking determinedly away.
Skylar smirks. “I’ll be your date, Little Witch. Imagine the stir that would cause.” It actually might be worth it, just to piss everyone off.
“Somehow, I doubt I’d keep up with you,” Astrid says dryly.
“Ah, come on, it’ll be fun. We could get matching outfits.”
“Maybe matching hats,” Astrid muses.
“We can’t have matching hair because I’d look terrible with navy hair.”
“Right,” Zryan says, looking between them again as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Then he turns to Astrid. “I’m sorry, Princess, but my sister is needed in the king’s office.”
Skylar’s heart gives a horrible lurch, but she does her best to keep her face impassive. She doesn’t miss, though, what Zryan called her. Sister. Saying that out loud, to Astrid—is that a good sign? Given he knows now what she is?
Astrid, however, is frowning. “Does she really need to speak to him now?” She lifts a hand, seeming to be about to gesture at the general state of Skylar, then drops it again.
Skylar frowns, too, trying to work out Astrid’s game plan.
But she doesn’t have one, does she? For some reason, she doesn’t want Skylar to have to face this—even if it’s not clear what exactly she’ll be facing.
Axel has caught up with them now. Skylar can feel his gaze, burning the side of her face—but she still can’t bring herself to look at him. He saw her, out there. And despite that, he helped her. He carried her.
“If there was any way to postpone this,” Zryan says, looking first at Astrid, then at Skylar, “I would.”