Chapter 46 Astrid
An arm wraps around her, yanking her back.
She screams, but it’s cut off as a hand smothers her mouth.
She’s pulled behind the wagon, away from the lights now illuminating the warehouse.
Kicking and writhing, blood roaring in her ears, she draws in as much air as she can, readying to fight, then stops. Because she knows that scent.
“It’s me, it’s me, calm down.”
And she knows that voice. “Shit, Zryan, you scared the living Hel out of me! What are you doing here?”
“I—” Whatever he’s going to say is cut off by a shout behind them. Zryan releases her and they both spin, Astrid drawing a claw from her cuff.
“Oi!” A city guard is rushing at them, his gleaming spear currently aimed right for Zryan’s stomach. Astrid’s blade is already in flight and it slams into his shoulder. He yells, but Zryan shuts him up with a fist to his jaw and he drops, unconscious.
“Thanks, Dimples.” He doesn’t sound thankful; he sounds royally pissed.
“You’re welc—”
“Get away from her!” Skylar barrels around the corner of the wagon, pin raised like a wand, but Astrid intercepts her.
“It’s Zryan.”
“What!” She looks at the prince, not that she can really see his face—they’ve all got their hoods up. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she hisses.
“I could ask you the same, Sister, but we don’t have time for that. We need to get out of here.” Zryan peers around the side of the wagon.
“And you brought Mjolnir? Way to be subtle,” Skylar says.
“That wasn’t Mjolnir,” he says tightly.
“What? There’s a dragon here?” Astrid looks between the siblings. She couldn’t see anything, not with those dense shadows, but she’d felt something.
“A lunar,” Zryan confirms. “Must have ventured from the island.”
Skylar scoffs and murmurs something like “bullshit.” She creeps to the other end of the wagon.
“Someone’s switching the lights off,” Skylar whispers.
“About time,” Zryan says.
Astrid turns to him. “Friends of yours?”
“A friend,” he says. “Doing it so we can escape. Another minute and we’ll have the cover of darkness again.”
“We don’t have a minute,” Skylar says. “Dreki incoming.”
Astrid presses back against the carriage. They can’t be found. This is her one and only chance to track these wagons, and if the guards discover they’ve been compromised, then she’s screwed.
Think, Astrid, think.
She takes a deep breath and Zryan’s scent fills her nose. And she feels it. Her magic rising in response. She reaches out with her Gift, finding that thread between them—like she did with Skylar the day Jessa died.
“Skylar, take Zryan’s hand.” The dragon heir hesitates. “Now, Skylar, do it.”
Skylar pushes her pin back in her hair and runs to Zryan, who takes his sister’s hand, frowning. Astrid takes his other, ignoring the fizz of electricity that jumps between their palms. “Teleport us to Skylar’s room.”
His fingers flex on hers. “You know I can’t take anyone but you, and even if I could, I can’t Teleport that far.”
“Trust me.” She squeezes his hand and delves into her Gift, seeking that thread once more—that essence of petrichor and salt in the air—and she pushes, pouring her Gift into Zryan. He inhales sharply as it hits him.
“They’re here!” The Dreki rounds the wagon, but they’re already gone.
Skylar is still screaming when they appear back in her room. Bastet rises, but Astrid gives him a quick nod of reassurance. Skylar falls to her knees and Kaida bounds over, forked tongue licking her chin. She throws her hood back, breathing heavily.
“That is the most awful thing I have ever experienced. And I’ve juggled knives blade-first on a tightrope.”
“You’re actually a little unhinged, aren’t you?” Astrid takes off her own hood.
“A little?” Skylar smirks at her. “How the Vaar did we even do that? I thought Zryan could only Teleport himself.”
ASTRID IS AN AMPLIFIER. EXCEPTIONALLY POWERFUL, AS I AM EXCEPTIONALLY POWERFUL WHEN I AM IN MY PANTHER FORM.
Astrid rolls her eyes at Bastet. “Aside from the immodesty, it’s true. I Amplified you that day. The day of the ball.” She doesn’t want to say when Jessa died, not out loud.
Skylar purses her lips. “I wondered about that.”
The doors to Skylar’s balcony slam shut. Zryan’s hood is down and Astrid can see his face now—he is absolutely furious. “Sorry to break up whatever the fuck this is, but what were you doing down at the warrens?” He’s so mad he’s practically growling.
Astrid’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you swear at us, Zryan de Veras.”
“Did you just… full-name me?”
Astrid marches over to him, getting right in his face. Well, chest. “You bet I did. You can’t speak to me and Skylar that way, especially when you were also in the warrens. What were you doing there?”
“Yes, brother dearest, I’d like to hear this, too.” Skylar has a sly grin on her face, evidently amused by Astrid telling him off.
“I was there trying to save the Blooded packed into those carriages like animals, Astrid Nachstern, but I had to leave them to save a pair of princesses who apparently were in way over their heads, and were about to be captured by my father’s damn guards.”
Astrid steps back, bumping into Skylar, who steadies her.
“You were there to rescue those people,” Astrid whispers. “You—you’re one of them.” He’s not just helping the rebels escape or turning a blind eye to their rescue missions. He’s working with them. “You’re a rebel.”
Skylar’s grip on Astrid’s arm tightens. “Zryan?” Skylar prompts him, because he’s not reacting. He slips his hands into his pockets, regarding them both, then, slowly, he nods.
“Fuck. Fucking Vaar.” Skylar has summed it up pretty well for the both of them.
Zryan is a rebel. Astrid shakes her head, not quite believing it while at the same time knowing it makes complete sense. It was obvious, even—the sneaking out at night, Mikhael’s rescue. Still. “This is… a bit of a shock.”
Skylar snorts and Zryan’s lips twitch, trying not to smile at what is undoubtedly a massive understatement, but what else is she meant to say?
“You’re working against your own father.” Skylar paces up to him, while Astrid sits on the edge of Skylar’s bed. “And Axel, you’re working against Axel. He’s— Wait, is he part of this?” It makes Astrid wince, the hopeful edge in her voice.
Zryan hesitates. “He doesn’t know. He and I don’t see eye to eye on conscription, so I do what I can…” He trails off, watching Skylar, who has stalked away from him to the balcony doors, looking out at the night sky.
“Skylar—”
“I’m tired.” Skylar cuts across Astrid. She keeps her back to them both. “Zryan, can you take Astrid back to her room? You can’t be seen leaving here together, not after what happened tonight.”
The dismissal stings, but Astrid understands.
Rising to her feet, she approaches Skylar, placing a hand on her shoulder, then reaches out with her magic—finding that thread of shadow and ash—and rather than pour her Gift through it, she sends a burst of warmth, hoping Skylar will feel it like an embrace.
The dragon heir shivers, tips her chin to Astrid’s hand, and looks away again.
With one last squeeze, she lets go of Skylar and walks to Zryan, taking his proffered hand. He surveys his sister for a few more seconds, then Teleports.
Once again, Astrid experiences the sensation of being compressed, but it’s not as bad as it usually is.
As if she’s getting used to it. Her ears pop as they appear on her balcony, and Zryan, rather than Teleport straight out again, guides her into the room, hand still holding hers.
When they’re inside, she snatches her hand from his and stalks across the room before facing him again.
Anger bubbles up inside her, acrid and disorienting.
“What is it—what’s wrong?” Zryan asks, shutting the balcony doors and leaning against them, eyeing her warily.
“You’re a rebel,” she says. And she should have suspected this, after what he confessed in the forest. But this?
He’s betraying his own family, his closest friend, breaking his own laws, to save these people.
Her gaze rakes over him. He is a rebel and the prince of Vatra.
He is the prince of Vatra. So why doesn’t he stand up to his father?
Why work in the shadows and save only a few when he could save so many more?
“You could stop this conscription if you’re so against it, so why the secrecy? If anyone can do something, it’s you.”
He pushes off the doors, as if to go to her, but seems to think better of it. “Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
“Then try harder. Or are you too afraid of your father? People are being stolen away from their families and never heard from again, Zryan. Skylar’s best friend is dead. Dead because of your family. Surely you can do something?”
He looks as though she’s slapped him. “It’s not as easy as that—it’s not as easy since…
” She knows what he means. Not as easy now that he won’t be king.
He takes a breath. “It is not about being afraid, it is about being smart and thinking about the bigger picture. I don’t plan to keep raiding the vans and smuggling Blooded out of here, I know it’s not the long-term solution to this.
” He scrubs at his jaw. “I am doing my best.”
Ice settles inside of her as she thinks of her own people, dying and starving and drowning. He could challenge his father about this damn Blight, but he hasn’t. Hasn’t even asked her about it, when he went to the Flatlands to tell her mother about Jessa. He must have seen what they’re facing.