Chapter 25 #2
A sharp pain struck her deep as something slid between her ribs. She cried out in surprise, not sure what had hit her.
The faces around her went ashen and slack.
Something beside her moved, and Leita threw out her hand, magic welling up to defend her.
The assailant staggered back, a dagger clattering to the cobblestones in a noisy clang.
In a strange moment that lasted far longer than those before or after, Leita turned to face the person who’d driven that dagger into her back.
She hardly recognized Ondra’s face, contorted with a rage so acute, it twisted her features. Pure malice radiated from her, and for half a moment, Leita wondered if Ondra had been spelled. She looked mad enough, but cold clarity glittered in her eyes.
Leita mouthed Ondra’s name, although no sound came forth. Why?
Shock wrapped around Leita in a numbing blanket. She clapped her hand and magic over her side, feeling where dark red blood gushed from the deep puncture.
Ondra glanced at the dagger but decided it was too far. “Fuck!” she spat and shoved herself upright. In a blur she ran toward the coral archway.
“To the Queen!”
“Stop her!”
The triad moved in tandem, two swinging for Ondra, but the woman was swifter. She ducked beneath their blows, rolling past them and regaining her feet in one fluid movement. Her magic and the final guard’s magic clashed in a hail of sparks, but then Leita’s view was blocked.
The two guards surrounded her, shoving people back and creating space around Leita they could defend.
“Secure the Queen!”
“Raise the alarm, call Captain Marcades,” one guard demanded. Two merchants hurried to the other side of the yard and disappeared.
A hand gripped her elbow, offering support. Voices echoed around her, asking if she was all right, but all Leita could hear was the other guard yelling, “After her! Stop her! Assassin!”
Assassin. The word rang in her mind as blood seeped between her fingers.
Ondra was an assassin.
The world around her spun, green sparks flittering across her vision.
“I’m all right,” she managed to tell her upset guards through clumsy lips. But even as she said it, she stumbled to the side.
Ephemeral hands helped her gently to the ground, and Leita sat on the cobblestones panting. Her magic quickly got to work, stoppering the blood and knitting what’d been sliced, but pain began to bleed through.
Assassin. Ondra.
Her mind couldn’t comprehend.
Voices and bodies swarmed her, but Leita hardly noticed. The pain grew, and tears welled to sting her eyes. The weight round her shoulders bore down like a steel cuirass to protect her, but all it did was make her breaths come shallow and panicked.
The courtyard spun faster, and although she didn’t mean to, she clutched at the bond she and Attalus shared. The comforting golden glow of it inside her offered a lifeline, a touch of his confidence seeping into her.
Azore, it hurts…
She didn’t imagine the horrid shriek that rent the morning sky. The bodies around her recoiled, hands clapping over ears. It wasn’t a roar but a high-pitched wail of utter outrage. The cry shook the very foundations of the city, the cobblestones beneath Leita trembling.
The air in the courtyard shifted, first heating and then the pressure growing. A mighty gale threw everyone’s hair back when a great red dragon slammed into the yard. Bits of cobblestone went flying, and a vicious dragon face parted the plume of dust to roar his rage.
The merchants and craftspeople gasped and shrieked, backing away as the dragon stalked forward.
“Attalus,” she called, reaching out her hand.
He came closer, his head thrashing back and forth in warning. His slitted pupils were but slivers, the gold of his irises almost molten. Red flames glowed behind his fangs, his throat rumbling with a terrible promise.
Her guards stood their ground, which only seemed to anger him more. He spat sparks at them, tail lashing behind him, and his growl grew into a roar.
“Attalus!” she called louder. “Attalus, I’m all right.”
At least, she thought so. Her hand was so soaked in blood, she couldn’t tell if her side had closed yet.
His focus honed on her, and his giant head gently hovered before her. A sad trill vibrated in his long throat, and Leita slumped against his snout. His hot breath cascaded across her face and shoulders, ruffling her hair.
“It was Ondra,” she whispered. “How could she do this? Why…?”
Tears slid down her cheeks to sizzle and evaporate on his scales.
With Attalus there and bearing her weight, Leita managed to calm herself.
More magic flooded inside her, numbing the pain as her innards and tissues knitted themselves together.
She itched more than hurt—why is healing always itchy—and so when she leaned back at the sound of a great clatter across the yard, her head was clearer.
Marcades came barreling through the archway, a small army behind him.
“My Queen!” he cried, hurrying toward her.
Attalus growled a warning, red flame glowing in his mouth.
Marcades slowed but didn’t stop, his soldiers fanning about the square to secure it.
“It’s all right, Attalus,” Leita soothed, “it’s not his fault.”
A torrent of hot air slapped Marcades as Attalus snorted, making his thoughts known.
With Marcades and Attalus beside her, Leita determined to stand, but her dragon licked her from sternum to chin before fixing her with a hard look. Stay here, he said, before he turned and threw himself into the sky.
“Wait!” she called after him, but Attalus beat the air and gained height. He didn’t heed her command to stay, spiraling higher over the city before cutting east.
Then he was gone, and Leita shivered.
Marcades knelt before her, shoulders slumped and expression crestfallen. “My Queen, I…”
“It’s not your fault, captain.” Leita took the hand he offered, and together they carefully stood. Leita let him and another guard look at her side after she gingerly peeled her hand away.
“The skin has closed already,” the guard marveled.
“I’m all right. Just…shaken.”
Marcades nodded. “Anyone would be. We had no notion that Ondra would…” The captain grimaced, looking away as his frustration grew. “She’s a Meringor, she was trusted.”
“Could she have been put up to it?”
The idea didn’t seem to encourage Marcades. “Let’s hope the guards find her before your azai. If he does, there might not be—”
The air heated and pressure grew. Wind buffeted them on all sides as Attalus dropped from the sky onto the adjacent building. From his mouth dangled—
“Attalus, no!”
He released a limp, bleeding Ondra onto the ruined cobblestones, the woman bouncing in a wet smack. Ondra groaned but didn’t get up.
Attalus sneered, throat rumbling. His lips and fangs parted, dragonfire licking his tongue.
“We need her alive!” Marcades cried.
Her dragon bared his fangs, and down their bond Leita felt just how livid he was to be denied his kill. Ondra’s life was forfeit. Justice called for blood and flame.
When his predator’s eyes fell on Leita, she shook her head. Don’t, she implored.
Attalus’s lip drew back, his displeasure clear, but the flames retreated. Lifting his head, Attalus roared across the city, warning every creature from here to the River Lune that a dragon’s mate had been harmed—and that there would be no mercy.