Dragon Cursed

Chapter 1

Boots strike the cobblestone in the alleyway, as sharp to my ears as a dagger being pulled across a whetstone.

I press my shoulder into the corner of the building and peer down the narrow squeeze that leads to the alcove where I’m frozen, holding my breath.

This is going to be one of two people, and I just hope it’s—

My eyes catch on the flap of a dragon-blood red cloak, and I suck back into the shadows, praying he didn’t see.

Dragon-burned hells. I knew he was following.

I strain my ears as the footsteps disappear. But then they return, slower, more purposeful. The crunch of gravel in the tight passage between buildings has me sucking in a breath. There’s nowhere to run.

Pulling myself as tight to the wall as I can, I shut my eyes and lock my muscles into complete stillness, but the footsteps draw ever closer. And as I feel the cool wisp of shadow fall across my face, I know:

I’m so incredibly, impossibly screwed.

Opening my eyes, I expect to see Lucan’s towering form. Instead, I’m met with a familiar emerald gaze set against freckled cheeks above the biggest grin.

“Surprise,” Saipha whispers.

“Oh, thank Valor.” I yank her closer to me, pulling her from view right as the other footsteps cross the alleyway. Again.

We wait to speak until he’s gone.

“Sorry I’m late. I think you know why,” Saipha whispers.

“Because the hound the vicar sends after me was sniffing around your ankles?” I say dryly. “He see you?”

“Pffft,” she scoffs. “He’s not good enough to see me if I don’t want him to.

” But I notice how Saipha doesn’t lower her hood.

It’s the same sandy gray as the stone all of Vinguard is constructed from.

Like me, she’s dressed to blend in. Her eyes drift to the heavy wooden door over my left shoulder. “Isola, is that what I think it is?”

“Yep.” My turn to grin. “I found it.”

A way in. Or, more accurately, a way up.

“How do you keep finding these?” She’s shocked but absolutely delighted. I can tell by the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot, trying not to bounce up and down like she did when we were kids and I agreed to play her favorite game: Mercy Knight and dragon.

I was always the dragon.

“I’m stuck under the Grand Chapel of Mercy more days than not,” I say. “The library is full of ancient maps of Vinguard.” And those maps show where all the old watchtowers are—towers that have long since been mortared together into a massive wall that now rings Vinguard.

“But those without the gilding can’t access the library,” she says reflexively.

Then immediately blanches as I lock eyes with her.

I wave a hand in front of my two golden irises, the only matching set in Vinguard.

Saipha folds her arms, glancing away, mumbling, “Point taken. I still didn’t think the vicar would let you into the library, since you’re not a full citizen yet. ”

“He doesn’t. Not on my own, at least. But I do it anyway.” As if to underscore my point, I push on the door we’re also very much not allowed to enter.

The wood is ancient, hollowed by insects and hundreds of years of weathering. It splits apart at the heavy iron bars that help give it structure, crumbling with a heavy clang that feels more ominous than the bells on the wall.

We both freeze.

My chest squeezes, heart skipping a beat.

Saipha slowly leans back, glancing down the shadow-crossed gap between the buildings back to the alleyway.

“Any sign of him?” I whisper.

She shakes her head. Without another word, we step inside quickly, having had the same thought at the same time: Let’s not stand at the scene of the crime.

There’s a tiny room—a landing, really, at the base of a spiral stair. The air is stale and thick with age. But the small hairs at my temples catch on the slightest of winds. With the door open, there’s a cross-breeze. That means there’s an opening somewhere above.

Saipha taps my shoulder and holds out a lantern.

I resist the urge to tease her about stealing her father’s lantern—property of a Mercy Knight—and press my thumb into the lower corner where two lines emerge from behind a plate.

Etherlight flows from the soles of my feet, up through my body, and into the pads of my fingers.

As the lantern flares to life, a faint golden glow illuminates the ancient stair that’s quickly swallowed by the darkness above.

Saipha pushes past me, taking the lead, as she always does. Just like a Mercy Knight would.

As soon as she’s two steps ahead, I rub my palm on my thigh and stop suppressing a shiver.

It rips through me with a wave of hot nausea that’s gone as quickly as it came.

It’s getting worse. Gritting my teeth, I shake my head and start up before she notices me falling behind.

But I can’t stop myself from massaging the scar on my chest, where it feels like my heart is trying to beat through bone and skin.

“So how’d you manage to get out of training today? I’d think the vicar would be having you run every drill one more time before the Tribunal,” Saipha says once we’re about one floor up and it’s clear we haven’t been followed. “Don’t tell me you tried to barter with Lucan again?”

“Of course not. He can go suck a dragon talon.” I more than learned my lesson with that. Just thinking of that day has my hands balling into fists. But I force myself to relax. It doesn’t matter now. At least that’s the lie I tell myself. “I said I was sick.”

“And Vicar Darius bought that?”

“Clearly not completely, since he sent Lucan after me. But Callon is at work. As is Marie. And I’m sure Father is still locked in his workshop.” As he has been for weeks. “So it’s not like anyone is home to rat me out.”

“How’s your father handling you leaving tomorrow?”

“Fine.” I shrug. “Seemed a bit emotional earlier when I brought up going to Mum’s tonight.”

“I can’t imagine master artificer, architect of dragon-slaying weapons, the man who knows how to draw Etherlight, Kassin Thaz being ‘a bit emotional.’”

“My father would be flattered you’ve paid such attention to his accolades.” I’m not sure if it’s the mention of Etherlight that has my scar itching…or the mention of dragon-slaying weapons. Will one of those soon be pointed at me?

I change the subject before Saipha picks up on my dark thoughts. Or asks about Mum. “What about your parents?”

“Mom’s been fine, overall. Though I’m convinced she’s trying to fatten me up. I’ve been getting an extra portion every night.” Saipha pauses on a landing, catching her breath and glancing down another dark passage. Without consultation, she continues heading up. “Dad’s a weepy mess.”

Laughter distracts me from the itching. “The Marius Celest? The man with five confirmed kills under his crossbow? Weepy?”

“Now who’s keeping track of the accolades?” Saipha grins over her shoulder. I roll my eyes. “And you know, Dad’s all soft inside. He’s scary for dragons, not people.”

And for dragon cursed, I stop myself from saying.

But any Mercy Knight would kill a dragon cursed on sight.

Will it be him? I stare at Saipha’s back, stomach churning, throat so tight I can barely draw labored breaths.

The question that’s kept me up every night for weeks returns.

The one that’s usually gone with the dawn, but today, I can’t seem to banish it. Not when there’s so little time left.

Will it be you who kills me, Saipha?

“Pause.” Saipha holds out a hand and passes the lantern back to me. “Listen.”

There’s a soft whooshing sound coming from above. “Too irregular to be dragon wings,” I whisper.

“We’d hear the bells if it was a dragon. Snuff the light.”

I do.

The worn stone steps ahead are outlined in a cold light. Faint but undeniable. I can barely see the look of excitement Saipha shoots me in the near-total darkness. But I know it’s there, because I return it.

She begins taking the steps two at a time, and I follow.

Heart pounding. Hoping, hoping this is what I think it is.

I can get what I need, then get to Mum’s.

Tonight’s the night I’ll ask the question I’ve been wanting to for months yet have been too afraid to voice.

Too afraid for years to even let myself think about. And then—

“Talon and fang, Isola!” Saipha calls to me right as I round the bend, harsh light nearly blinding me after our dark ascent.

I skid to a stop, Saipha’s arm like an iron bar bracing me, keeping me from careening off the ledge and tumbling down the sheer wall to my death. Wind batters my face, carrying a putrid yet sweet zing of the scourge that’s slowly ending our world.

I’ve found what I came here for.