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I’ve been in the Fey court long enough now to understand that his bow is designed to offend.

His eyes shine with metallic red. “King Auberon told us you would not be joining us. He had no idea where to find you, I’m afraid. We’ve all been wondering.”

“Well, I’m here.” Talan’s voice is laced with steel. “So, you can stop wondering. I will take charge.”

Niolf’s lips flatten, his jaw flexing. “We’re supposed to receive the command in a few hours. Then we’ll set off to burn the south of England.” He throws a pointed look at Tarasque, his eyes like lava.

“I suppose you can join us, but your dragon looks half dead. You’ll slow us down. Might be better for you to stay here.”

I can feel Talan’s anger rippling from his body, and the air chills around him. Frost spreads over the dewy grass.

“The plans have changed, and we have new orders,” Talan says, his voice cutting like a blade. “You and the entire dragon host must fly to Kerdraig. Stay there for the foreseeable future.”

Niolf’s red eyes flash. “The northern dragon fortress? But that’s a two-day flight.”

Talan raises an eyebrow. “Then you’d better get going.”

“What about the attack on England?”

“We’re holding off for now.”

Niolf’s eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer. “Your father warned me about this. If you think I’m going to fly away and take the dragons out of his reach, you’re sorely mistaken.” He whirls to his dragon. “Morennor!”

Talan moves so quickly. A blur of shadow, the twist of a neck, a sharp crack, and Niolf’s enormous body crumples to the frosty grass, his armor clashing.

Talan stares down at him. “See? You didn’t need to use your magic.”

Around us, the dragons start to roar, trembling the ground beneath us. A few raise their heads, scorching the air with flames.

Morennor, Niolf’s black dragon, is the most terrifying of all. With a bone-trembling roar, he lurches forward, slamming down on the ground just a few yards away from Talan. He opens his jaw widely, his hot breath rushing over us. He rears back his head and scorches the sky above us with fire.

My blood roars in my ears.

Tarasque takes a step forward and roars back at Morennor, spreading her wings threateningly. I have no doubt that she is willing to attack Morennor to protect Talan, but I don’t like her chances in a fight.

Talan moves closer to Morennor and reaches out his hand. “Stand down, Morennor,” he coos. Another step closer. He speaks to Morennor in the dragon language, and Morennor lowers his head.

Seconds stretch by, and all the dragon riders in the field stare at Talan.

Talan takes another step, his movements slow and calm. Morennor inches back, then lets out a soft rumble of acquiescence.

Behind me, Tarasque settles back down, and I let out a long breath.

With the dragons calmed, Talan turns, scanning the dragon riders. “Palenor!” he calls out.

A young man dismounts his dragon and crosses the field to Talan. After witnessing Niolf‘s death, he is visibly nervous. He bows low. “Yes, Your Highness?” he stammers.

“I’m appointing you as the new commander. You are to take the dragon host to the northern dragon lands of Kerdraig.” He casts a quick glance back at Niolf’s corpse. “Niolf didn’t respond to my order very well. I trust you will make a better decision.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I lean closer to Talan, touching his arm. “A word?”

He puts his hand on the small of my back, guiding me away.

“Palenor seems like he’s willing to do whatever you command, don’t you think? What if we kept the host of dragons on our side instead of sending them out of the battle?”

I think of Nivene and her own task, unease growing in my gut. Wewillneed the dragons’ strength.