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The heat sears my skin, my hair, even my eyes.

I grab McColl and cover her body with mine. I do my best to shield us with my magic, but I don’t think I am very successful. My magic has now grown beyond my capabilities. From the way McColl is glowing beneath me, I would say that she is the one holding the spell more than I am. I only pray that it is enough.

The fae guards who are not engulfed in flames scatter, their cries mixing with the roar of the dragon as it circles above us. The bridge is consumed in flames, the wood crackling and splintering under the intense heat. The forest behind us is burning, too, despite everything being wet from the relentless rain.

Everywhere is fire and smoke and ash.

I can hear the panicked whinnies of our horses in the distance, their fear palpable even over the roar of the inferno.

McColl coughs, her hand reaching out for mine in the swirling smoke and ash. The air is thick with acrid smoke, making it difficult to see or breathe. We need to move, to find a way out of this fiery nightmare.

“Come on,” I cough out, pulling her up to her feet. “We need to get—” I gasp when I see it.

“He’s gone,” McColl whispers, her gaze tracking mine.

There is a hole in the blackened earth where the conjurer used to be. His magic was no match for a dragon. There are more blackened mounds where other fae guards have fallen. The few left are running as fast as their legs will carry them. There is no chance to celebrate our good fortune. We need to get out of here before we are burned to a crisp as well.

“We need to go,” I say.

The dragon swoops back down directly above us, its fiery breath illuminating the carnage around us. I pull McColl toward the cover of a nearby copse of trees. Her gaze is on the great beast. The heat is intense, burning my skin and making it difficult to breathe. We stumble forward, our eyes stinging as we try to find a path out of the blazing inferno.

McColl’s magic flickers around us, creating a shimmering barrier that offers some protection from the flames.

My own power runs through my veins, but I am not proficient at actually wielding it. I could end up doing more harm than good, so I don’t even try to use it.

The dragon roars, landing beside us, its claws digging into the ground. There is a rider on its back.

I stop, holding fast to McColl, who is forced to stop, too.

She tugs at my hand. “What are you doing?” she shrieks. “We need to run. To get away.”

“Orion?” I yell. “Is that you?” I narrow my eyes. It’s hard to see through all the smoke and ash, but I’m sure I recognize him.

More so, now that I am really looking. I think I recognize his dragon, too. Her scales are black like tar, with sprinkles of gold along her horns and ridges. I can’t remember her name. Not for the life of me, but I’m sure it’s her.

“Hello, old friend,” his voice booms through the crackles of the fire.

McColl screams, and for a moment, I think it’s because of her fear of the dragon. I turn and realize that it isn’t that at all. Ice fills my veins as I see a fae holding McColl with a blade to her throat.

“Drop the knife,” I tell the fae guard.

“No,” he shouts. One side of his face is burned and blistered. The other is smeared with grime and soot. “Fix me, witch, or so help me, I will slit your throat,” the fae screams. It’s the one who attacked her.

“Fine. I’ll do as you ask, but I need to turn around,” she says. “I need to chant a spell. I can’t…um…I can’t do that with a knife at my throat.” A drop of blood tracks down her throat from where the blade is pressed against her skin.

“No. Do it now! I know you can. Fix me, and I’ll let you go.” I can tell from the look in his eye that it isn’t going to happen. He’s going to kill her as soon as she casts the spell.

The dragon screeches, and the bastard whimpers, lifting the blade as he raises his gaze to where the dragon is crouched.

As soon as he gives her the gap, McColl acts quickly. She elbows the fae while lifting a magic shield and ducking out from under him. The fae swipes at her, sparks flying when the blade hits the shield.

McColl throws a bolt at him, and he falls onto his back. He’s groaning and writhing, clutching a wound on his belly.

“You’re dead,” he shouts. “You’re dead, bitch!”

I pick up a nearby discarded sword and, with one sweep, I remove his head from his shoulders. The fae screams profanities until his head rolls.

“No,you’redead! What a waste of air,” I mutter.