21. A Dragon’s Fury
A Dragon’s Fury
I tore out of bed before I could think, racing to the window and throwing back the curtains.
My eyes flew to the far wall of the garden, which was low enough that I could see the outer battlements.
On a normal night, the fortifications surrounding Kjarra would be lit up like a Jól tree, with torches placed evenly along the crenellations to ward against the terrors of the night.
But as I looked, my breath stilled in my chest when I saw almost the entirety of the southern wall steeped in darkness. Not a single torch shone. Another scream echoed through the frigid night air. The Shadow rippled, tension radiating off her in icy shocks.
“Your Majesty!” The door from the corridor flew open, slamming against the wall. I whirled around to see Trygg wreathed in flickering torchlight.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ve just heard in the hall. Thane Reijason has taken a squad of Hersir to the Southern Gate,” he said, walking further into the room. “There are reports of myrkva in the lower wards.”
“What!” Panic tore through my chest like a white-hot poker. Never in the history of Kjarra had the myrkva broken through the outer defenses. Never.
Asvoria, the Shadow rumbled, we must get out there. Though her tension had not dissipated, a serene calm brewed beneath the surface. She was taut, like a bowstring pulled back with ultimate precision, ready for the arrow to find its mark.
I stepped away from the window, aiming for the wardrobe across the room.
The door to the antechamber opened and Corbyn stepped through, shirtless and hair a complete mess.
Warmth flooded my face at seeing the chiseled planes of his chest and stomach.
I could still feel the way his weight had settled on me in the dream.
Biting the inside of my cheek to maintain my focus, I willed the thoughts from my mind.
“Trygg’s told me,” Corbyn muttered, rubbing at his face to shake away the sleep. “What are your orders, my lady?”
My eyes flew between the pair of them, heartbeat thrumming wildly in my ears. Trygg seemed reserved, calm determination settling on his face. But the darkthread grew tighter in my chest all the same. Only, it was my fear threatening to snap now.
I drew in a deep breath. The Shadow was right—there was no other option.
“We have to get out there,” I said, echoing her words. “Tonight, I do not ask you to protect only me, Talons. I ask you to protect my people and my city.”
Although protecting the entire city from myrkva was not technically within the scope of their duties, I needed their help. There was no denying it. An unprecedented event called for unorthodox solutions.
I would beg if I had to.
Corbyn spoke first, the muscles in his shoulders tightening. “Anything, my lady.”
My stomach lurched, the wispy edges of my dream still feathering against my mind. There was no time to dwell on it now—people were likely dying out there. I pushed the damnable thoughts away.
“Of course,” Trygg replied as well, his deep voice more gravelly than usual. I couldn’t imagine he was scared, but something was clearly bothering him.
“Trygg, I want you to focus on the wall and outer rim. Keep any more from entering the city.”
He nodded sharply. “Right.”
“Corbyn, sweep the streets. Do your best to keep them contained to the lower wards.” He nodded as well and turned back to the antechamber.
“And what about you?” Trygg asked, the question pulling Corbyn to a halt.
I clenched my jaw tightly, drawing on the Shadow’s resolve. “I’ll meet up with Lenn and the others at the Southern Gate.” My answer earned hesitant looks from them both. Whatever was happening with my power, I had to do something. Consequences be damned.
“I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” Trygg said with radiating surety.
“Thank you.” It was addressed to them both.
I pulled open the wardrobe and retrieved a pair of fur-lined breeches and a winter tunic. A nightgown was not practical attire for the task that lay ahead of us. I held the items in my arms and turned back to the two dragons. “I’ll see you out there. Stay on your guard.”
Trygg nodded and swept out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him. Corbyn lingered only a moment, eyes smoldering with an emotion I didn’t dare to name.
“You do the same,” he said. And then he, too, was gone.
I yanked my nightgown quickly down over my shoulders, allowing it to pool on the floor. What can this mean? I asked frantically, pulling on the clothes I’d chosen. The torches never fail. Never. There’s no ? —
Keep your wits about you, Asvoria, the Shadow barked, snapping out like a flag in the wind. And remember the High Priestess’s warning.
I hastened across the room, retrieving my cloak from the chair and fastening the brooch at my neck. Its heavy weight settled comfortably on my shoulders, quieting my mind.
I do, I said.
But which one of the Jarlum would extinguish the flames that kept us safe, and why? What could possibly be worth allowing innocent people to die?
The streets of the lower wards were in utter chaos.
Fires had broken out all over the city, lending the sky an eerie, orange glow.
I kept my eyes forward, watching for any obstacles in our way.
Four Hersir warriors flanked me as I navigated the panicked crowds, but they couldn’t stop me from being jostled and pushed about by people running for their lives.
A horse cart rumbled past us, absent of any beast to pull it and sprouting flames.
People jumped out of the way to avoid being crushed, screaming as they did so.
Further down, fire blasted out the upper windows of a bakery and shadows skittered over the thatched roof.
My unfocused eyes jumped from one horror to the next.
Hot air rushed over us, and I glanced up long enough to catch a glimpse of Corbyn streaking overhead, the lighter, rose-colored scales of his underbelly flashing brightly.
He kept low to the buildings, as I’d instructed, eyes trained on the streets below.
As my gaze tracked him, he loosed a jet of flame down into the southeastern corner of the city.
An unholy screeching filled the air as his flames descended to the earth.
Myrkva.
We must meet up with the others at the Southern Gate, the Shadow growled. Thane Reijason will surely still be there.
I silently acknowledged her, laboring against my breathing and the tightening of the darkthread to push through the frantic crowds.
We were trapped in a mass of people flooding the Southern Market square in a desperate attempt to escape the onslaught.
If we could break free of their stampede, it would be a straight shot to the gate.
A mother—sobbing as she clutched a baby to her breast and dragged another child behind her—rammed into my shoulder, knocking me off kilter.
I floundered for a moment before a hand steadied me and pushed me upright.
One of the Hersir, Johanna, appeared at my side, asking if I was alright.
I didn’t stop to answer, hoping my continued push forward would speak for me.
After what seemed an eternity lost to the mire of the terrified crowd, we finally broke free of them, stumbling onto the wide avenue that led directly to the Southern Gate.
The earth rumbled beneath us, throwing off my balance.
The Hersir around me stumbled as well, trying to keep themselves upright as a vein of tiny cracks opened under our feet, a tell-tale sign that earthdrivers were at work nearby.
I followed the line of cracks with my eyes.
And had to remind myself to breathe when I caught sight of the bailey.
“We have to keep moving, Your Majesty,” Johanna cried, gripping my shoulder.
I forced my feet to move toward the structure of rock and roaring flames that rose up at the end of the avenue, a hastily erected blockade to replace the one that had been lost. Where the Southern Gate once stood was a ruin of splintered, smoking wood and twisted iron.
The acrid stench of scorched metal filled the air.
Something had blown it apart, reducing it to rubble and scattering burning debris all around. I didn’t have time right now to think about what could have done it. There were more pressing matters at hand.
Like the twisting, writhing mass of myrkva just beyond the ruined gate, held back by the stone and fire barricade. And by the dragonfire raining down on them. Trygg swooped low overhead, the draft from his wings rippling their shadowy forms.
A pillar of stone shot out of the ground to join the others in front of the gaping wound in the wall.
As we drew closer, I recognized Freya Vilke standing at the forefront, her trembling arms raised high above her head and her fingers glowing with a fluttering, green light.
A flametender at her right swept his arm up like a punch, throwing an arc of fire into the shadowy horde of myrkva . My stomach dropped.
Lukas.
Steady, the Shadow said, rumbling softly.
Of course he would be here, helping like always. He wouldn’t have any reason not to. His mother was leading the attempt to guard our city from the nightmares beyond. Why wouldn’t he join in?
The rationalization did nothing to calm my nerves. I tore my eyes away, finding Lenn directing a small group of people. Their green tunics marked them as belonging to Clan ?asgrin, as were most of the others gathered nearby. I skidded to a halt to catch my breath.
“You all will join Lord Osmund in the southwestern quarter,” Lenn shouted, pointing off to his left.
“Put out the fires and evacuate anyone remaining. Go!” The group of what I assumed were watershapers hastened off to do as Lenn commanded.
When they were clear of the bailey, Lenn turned toward me, eyes furious. “What are you doing here?”
I blinked at him in surprise. “I’m here to help!”