Page 31

Something buzzes in my mind. You fight well for a girl.

I look up, startled to hear the dragon’s voice inside my thoughts.

Impossible.

Not impossible. Serpents and dragons are cousins—didn’t you know?

I do know, but this connection still surprises me. So does his voice. It’s not as rough as I expected, considering the way he fights, but it’s not smooth, either. It’s deep and gruff. And smug.

Get out of my head, I demand.

The more you resist, the more you’ll get hurt.

I bristle at his words. We’ll see.

With that, his touch on my mind is gone.

Our fight resumes, except the dragon doesn’t waste time circling me anymore. My strength surprised him; he expected to simply throw me off, pin me down, and nick my skin with a pointed nail. He didn’t expect me to hold my own against him.

I’ll count that as a victory.

We run at each other. Me, a dozen steps. Him, only three.

Every time I attack, he dances two beats ahead, evading my blow and delivering one of his own.

He’s been a silent opponent, unlike me with my cries and grunts. But when I start slashing at his wings, and nearly slice off a webbed edge, he lets out an angry, earth-shattering roar.

He knocks the scythe out of my hand and flings me to the other side of the marketplace. This time I land on my stomach, no merchant’s cart to punctuate my fall. Blood gushes into my mouth, and I feel my teeth with my tongue. Half a tooth is broken off. I swallow it, blood and all.

The crowd kicks me back into the arena. “Finish her, dragon! Trample the snake girl!”

I won’t give him the chance. My fists fly, powered by anger and the need for vengeance. But the dragon is no filthy-mouthed village boy. Fighting him is like fighting a crocodile and a tiger all at once. Against his strength, I can hold my own—as long as I am careful. But I am no match for his speed or his wings.

He blocks me with his claws, but when I don’t stop, he pivots, and the chain tied to his ankle bites into my calf, sending me reeling back.

I wedge one foot against a broken wagon wheel as I regain my balance. It’s only by luck that he hasn’t drawn blood from me. Those talons on his feet are sharp as knives, and the hooked spikes on his elbows look just as deadly.

The next attack catches me by surprise from behind. A wing slams me, knocking me to the ground, while the dragon’s arm comes smashing down to finish me off.

I roll, barely scraping away. I’m a patchwork of welts and bruises, and the wounds I incurred while fighting against the mob earlier are catching up with me.

Unless I find a way to get past his defenses, this duel is as good as over.

Gathering my courage, I charge. This time, instead of attacking me, the dragon leaps up. The rush of air from his wings sends me reeling onto my heels.

Then it dawns on me: the dragon is trying to escape. Meguh’s servants shout at one another, their sandals digging into the dirt, faces scrunching red as they pull on the dragon’s chain to keep him grounded.

His wings spread open, wider than they were before. It’s the first time I’ve had a clear view of his back, seen the welts ribboning down his spine, the chipped scales and thick, gruesome scars on the flesh between his wings.

Pity rushes unexpectedly to my chest, but it’s short-lived. If he escapes, then Meguh will find some other excuse for Vanna to be his. I cannot let that happen.

I join Meguh’s servants, grabbing the dragon’s chain and wrenching him down. The dragon fights. His wings beat faster. But with my added strength, the servants are able to pluck him from the sky and pull him back to earth.

The dragon lands with a thud. He sends me a baleful look.

Only cowards run, I taunt. Fight.

Slowly, reluctantly, the dragon pulls himself up. Seeing the fight—the spark of ferocity—flee from his eyes, something in me changes.