Chapter 45 Skylar
Skylar sits on the cliff, looking out at Isla Draka, a warm breeze tugging her hair.
She should, in theory, be training right now—but she’s decided she will do no more of that before the duel.
She wanted to get out of the Measuring yesterday, but the king said that if she didn’t attend, he would decide which outfit she wore into the cage.
She only has five more days to get through. Five days until the Mourning Feast. Then the duel. Then it’ll be done.
Kaida plays in the grass nearby, occasionally getting close enough to the cliff edge to make Skylar wince—even though she can just about fly properly now. A fast learner, according to Mjolnir.
Thank Arach for Mjolnir. If it wasn’t for him, Kaida would have to fight in the duel—and as much as she likes to think Bastet wouldn’t hurt her, in a life-or-death situation, she knows better than that.
She still hasn’t quite got her head around her connection with Mjolnir.
She rode him, yes. He’s going to fight in the duel for her, yes.
But he’s still Zryan’s dragon—and sharing a dragon should not be possible.
It has vaguely crossed her mind that she should probably speak to Zryan about it—but that feels pointless. Everything is pointless without Cam.
Kaida bounds up to her, the sharp point of her tail thumping on the ground.
Still sad?
No, I’m okay, Little One.
Kaida cocks her head. Still sad, she declares. I will bring you a presence.
Bastet taught her the word “present” recently, and Skylar feels a hint of wariness as Kaida bounds toward the nearest line of trees, wondering what a baby dragon deems a good present.
She hears the footsteps first, the soft crunch of boots on dried grass. Then a lightly floral scent on the air—one Skylar recognizes.
She doesn’t bother to look up as Astrid sits down next to her. She’s barely spoken to Astrid, either—though she hasn’t forgotten what she did for her yesterday, changing her outfit to black, one small act of defiance from the two of them.
“What’s up, Little Witch?”
“I need your help.” Well, point to her for the lack of preamble, Skylar supposes.
“Is that so?” She can’t work up the interest she might once have had.
“I’ve figured out how we can find out where they’re taking the Champions.” Which means, Skylar knows, that she’ll be able to find the Heart.
In any other situation, she might be impressed. “I don’t care about that anymore.”
“Well, I do. And maybe you should, too. It’s your people they’re taking there.”
“They’re not my people,” Skylar says, bitterness coating her words. “I don’t care about any of them. I’ve only ever cared about one person, and he’s gone.”
She moves her knees to her chest, hugs her arms around them. Gone. Every time she thinks it, it’s another crushing blow to her heart. Will that ever ease? she wonders. Because she doesn’t think she can live like this.
“I’m sorry about Cam,” Astrid murmurs—and Skylar can hear she means it.
“But I lost a friend, too, because of what’s going on here.
So if you won’t do it for them, do it for me.
Because I’m going to die in five days’ time—and I need to figure this out before I do.
” She takes a deep breath. “I think there’s something wrong with it. The Heart.”
Skylar raises her eyebrows. “Is that so? And how, exactly, did you come to this conclusion?”
Astrid pushes a hand through her hair. “Various things.”
Skylar rests her chin on her knees. She thinks of the rising price of Vitalas, and of what she’s seen in some corners of Vatra, how the land itself seems to be dying.
“People are dying, Skylar,” Astrid says quietly, almost like she can hear her thoughts. “And I’m fully aware I’ll be one of them soon. But just because I have to die, that doesn’t mean my queendom has to.”
Skylar sighs. “You know, you make it difficult to argue with you sometimes.”
“Is that a yes?”
Skylar hesitates. What she said to Astrid is true: If she couldn’t save Cam, why should she try to save anyone else? But she supposes it doesn’t just have to be about saving people, does it? Maybe it can be about destroying others, too.
“Fine. I’ll help.” She notices the way Astrid’s posture relaxes just a little—and wonders who Astrid would’ve asked, if she said no. “What do you need me to do?”
“I can’t believe you’ve got me doing this,” Astrid hisses. One of her hands nearly slips on the outer castle wall—which she and Skylar are currently descending in the dark.
“You didn’t want to get caught. This is the best way.” And it’s not like Astrid didn’t know this was part of the plan—it took them a couple of late-night planning sessions to work it all out.
“Yes, well, maybe we should have thought of a way to break out that didn’t involve me falling to my death three days before scheduled.”
“Don’t look down” is Skylar’s only answer.
Astrid mutters something under her breath that Skylar chooses not to hear.
In reality, it’s been surprisingly easy to get out of the castle so far—a few sleeping potions (Astrid vetoed Skylar’s suggestion to drain the life out of all the Dreki standing guard), the deactivation of a ward or two, and now—climbing down said castle wall.
Skylar supposes no one seriously thinks anyone will try to break out.
She wonders if it might be a bit trickier to break back in—but that can be dealt with later.
Apparently, Astrid has figured out that in order to find the Heart, all they need to do is to stick some kind of witchy tracker on a carriage headed in that direction and job done.
“We’re nearly at the bottom, right?” Astrid asks.
Skylar glances down at the mound of earth below them—still another twenty yards or so. “Sure.”
“Okay, good. Well, when we get there, I think—” But Astrid stops on a sharp intake of breath as she slips. And falls.
Skylar acts without thinking, throwing out the energy inside her. And like her magic is able to sense her thoughts, it doesn’t explode in a destructive way this time. It shapes to her will, so that she catches Astrid midair, right before she hits the ground.
Skylar has a moment of shock just as Astrid swears loudly. She takes that to mean Astrid is okay.
“Thanks,” Astrid says as Skylar reaches the bottom of the wall, her magic releasing its grip.
Skylar waves a dismissive hand in the air. “We’re quite the team.” The irony of that is not lost on her. “So, where now?”
“The warrens,” Astrid says. Skylar frowns—she’s not exactly clued up on Stone City geography. “According to the map you brought me, they’re right at the edge of the city.”
“I’ll leave that to you. I’m no good with maps.” She thinks briefly of the island, of the path she strayed off, and the secret the dragons were guarding in that cave. She wonders if she’ll ever find out what it was. She wonders if she cares.
Astrid leads the way, the smell of spice welcoming them as they move through the city center. They pass unnoticed, thanks to Astrid’s Masking Mist. It feels good, to be lost in the bustle of people around them—a memory of what it was like to be anonymous.
The warrens are in a desolate part of the city, near the outer walls, where the scents of cinnamon and cardamom are replaced by something rotten.
It’s darker here, the telltale lack of Vitalas denoting it as a poorer area.
Though there is one group of buildings that are lit up like a beacon. Big and soulless stone.
Astrid nods toward them. “According to the map, this is it.”
Skylar can feel it. Energy, thrumming from the place. Lots and lots of energy. Something in her tightens as they creep closer, a large, open doorway showing part of one of those Arach-forsaken carriages.
And there’s only one thing that can be causing all this energy.
There are Blooded down there, inside those carriages. Because this is the holding area the soldier talked about at the ball, isn’t it? The place the conscripts are brought to be divided up.
She knew this would be the case. She and Astrid went over various scenarios while planning, to see if they might be able to rescue some of them.
But they are just two people. So they might not be able to save them now—but maybe, if they can find out where the Heart is, in the long run, they can save so many more. That was Astrid’s reasoning, at least.
But she thinks of Cam, trapped in one of these carriages. Brought here to this soulless place, before being carted off to his death.
“Skylar?” Astrid murmurs. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
Astrid drops her voice still further. “There are too many guards, Skylar. If we try anything—”
“Relax, Little Witch. I’m not about to be all heroic—that’s your thing, not mine.” But she wasn’t quite prepared for it, this onslaught of emotion after days of numbness.
Astrid hesitates, then nods. “Let’s be quick.” She hands Skylar a bunch of circular, flat metal objects.
“So I just… stick these on?”
“Exactly. Somewhere they can’t see, obviously.”
“Right. Can’t we just stick them all to one of them?”
“We don’t know which is heading where—we’ve got to make sure we target one that is going to the Heart.”
They move closer. Around them, the streets are deserted. “There are guards in there,” Skylar says slowly, indicating the moving shapes between the carriages.
“We knew there probably would be,” Astrid whispers back.
Skylar blows out a breath. “Okay, then.”
Skylar taps into her magic as they slip inside, making her steps lighter, heightening her hearing so that she can keep tabs on where the guards are.
She and Astrid split up, Skylar heading left.
She sticks the first tracker on the nearest carriage, deliberately not looking inside.
She feels nauseous. There are Blooded in there, hidden from view by a black curtain pulled across the glass window, like the guards don’t want to see the faces of the people they are sending to their doom.
Cam was in one of these. Before he died.
Why? Why did they kill him? Because surely that’s what happened. Is there some kind of training regime, some kind of test they have to get through? Or did he fight back, refuse to serve the king? She doubts they’d hesitate to kill people for that.
She swallows the emotion that wants to well up inside as she moves on to the next carriage.
She can see the outlines of people inside, though there is limited movement. Why aren’t they moving more? Why aren’t they making any noise? She wonders if they’re drugged. Probably.
Cam. Cam was drugged.
Her hand slips on her third tracker, and it clatters to the stone floor.
“What was that?” a guard nearby demands. Shit.
“They can’t get out—don’t worry,” another says, voice breezy. “The doors are warded.”
Skylar bends to pick the tracker up. She can see a pair of shoes underneath the nearest carriage.
“I think I should check,” the first voice says. “Some of these are grade threes.”
“Suit yourself.”
Footsteps. Coming toward her. She slaps the tracker on the underside of the carriage, edging backward.
Shadows flicker through the warrens again, like a warning pulse.
“Did you see that?” hisses one of the guards.
“Yeah—Vitalas running low, maybe?”
Another tracker, another carriage. Just one more left.
She moves to the right—as a guard steps out in front of her.
“We’ve got a loose one!”
Shit, so much for her epic sneaking-around skills. She shoves the tracker behind her back, her gaze flicking around. She’s not too far from the exit—if she uses her magic, she’ll easily outrun him.
“Get the Discerner. Which carriage is she supposed to be in?”
Another pulse of shadow fills the warrens. Where the fuck is Astrid?
The guard is moving toward her. She’ll have to take him. But she doesn’t want the king knowing what they’re up to—and if she kills someone using her power, they’ll know she’s been here, won’t they?
There is a scuffling noise, somewhere nearby. Then, “We’ve got another one!”
Astrid. Fear floods her—an emotion she didn’t think she still had, because what was there to be scared of after losing Cam? For a second, she freezes.
Then there are gasps. The guard closest to her points outside the warrens, his face turning pale.
Skylar can’t help turning to look. An enormous shadow looms over the street outside. An enormous, moving shadow. A shadow with wings.
Skylar cranes her neck, but it’s no use. Darkness envelops her, so complete it blocks out every single sense—and from the panicked sounds around her, she’s not the only one. Her pulse spikes, a metal tang coats her tongue as she bites her lip to stop from screaming.
The darkness is tangible, like water, making her movements slow, clumsy. She knows she needs to move, to find Astrid, get out of here—but she doesn’t know which way to turn. Through the blackness, she thinks she can hear the sound of hitched breathing, something that might be a sob.
Then, a voice inside her mind. A voice that feels like shadow and darkness and something else entirely. Something oddly familiar.
Just one word.
Run.
The darkness lifts, and although she wants to run, she can’t—because she can see Astrid now. And there is someone coming up behind her.