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The color drains from Auberon’s face.

At that, he turns and makes a strange gesture with his sword, and Ifeelit as he does, space tearing apart, rending a hole in reality. This is how he does it. This is how Auberon opens portals.

“Stop him,” I shout.

But Auberon is already stepping into the portal, disappearing from sight.

The nobles shout, their voices echoing. Some claim the king has abdicated. Others are certain he has left to gather his own forces. One of the lords grabs another by the throat and slams him against the wall. Chaos has erupted in the Council of Nobles.

“I doubt your father is truly abdicating,” I tell Talan.

“He would never abdicate,” Talan says. “He would gather his army to arrest us, but…” He trails off, then meets my gaze. “No, he’s going to kill the commoners.”

I frown. “How, exactly? His forces are still marching back from the portals, and the palace guards aren’t enough to handle six thousand…” The words die on my lips as I realize what’s going on in Talan’s mind.

His jaw flexes. “My father still has a dragon nearby.”

The world tilts. “He’s going to burn them all.”

CHAPTER 59

Irace up the stairs of the tallest tower in Castle Perillos—Morgan Tower, which overlooks the courtyard. I jump two steps at a time, my lungs burning, wheezing. My boots echo off the curving stairwell walls.

At last, I reach the top of the tower and step out onto the turret and into a downpour of icy rain that slashes at my skin. Thunder rumbles across the kingdom, and lightning cracks the sky.

A few Fey are already up here, their faces taut, staring out at the kingdom in shock.

I follow their gaze, my chest clenching.

In the churning storm clouds, two dragons clash like ancient gods resurrected, spewing fire that sears the sky in fiery lashes.

Talan rides Tarasque, who breathes red-hot flames toward Auberon. The king sits astride a golden dragon named Vellar, a ferocious, gilded beast.

I grip the stone parapet, fear sliding bony fingers around my heart. I know Talan is a better rider, but Tarasque is injured, and she’s a tiny thing next to the hulking mass of Vellar.

Tarasque swoops higher, trying to get above Vellar. As a smaller female dragon, she’s nimble. She should be able to easilymanage that. But her injured wing folds with each beat, and her path is clumsy, slow.

Vellar rises quickly, a bolt of gold against the gray. He cuts off Tarasque with ease, then snaps at her wounded wing, missing by the width of a moth wing.

I gasp, and the other Fey cry out into the wind. So close.Tooclose.

If that wing goes, Talan falls. He dies.

Terror burns through my thoughts like wildfire. Somewhere deep inside, I feel Nimuë stir, an ache in my soul. Her son is trying to kill her grandson.

In the stormy clouds, Talan keeps trying to block Vellar. He can’t get a good angle to attack that wing. Even watching from a distance, I can see what a superior rider Talan is. He’s managing complex and misleading maneuvers, using the wind to his advantage, always keeping Tarasque one step ahead. But whenever he tries to gain the upper hand, he takes a risk.

All Auberon needs is one small win.

And maybe not even that.

Even I can see from here that Tarasque is tiring herself out. Unlike Vellar, she isn’t in good shape. Apart from the injury, she’s been flying all over the kingdom, racing in and out of portals. She’s hardly rested, and Talan won’t manage to keep this going much longer. That’s why he keeps trying to rise above Vellar, to get a good angle for attack. Now, he does it again, shifting with the wind, gaining speed, darting up into the clouds.

Tarasque moves with such breathtaking speed that it’s a miracle Talan can even stay on. Hope burns in my chest as they rise above.

But Vellar swerves and breathes a terrifying wall of fire directly at Talan. Panic jolts through me, and I cry out as flames seem to envelop Talan and his dragon.

She emerges from the other side, roaring with fury. Lightning cracks, flashing off Talan’s armor. He’s still there, still riding Tarasque.