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“He’s okay,” I mutter, my heart slamming in my chest. “He’s okay. He’s okay.”

Vellar rises again, soaring higher. This time, as Tarasque turns to face him, she loses the advantage of her position.

“Look!” someone calls, pointing to the fortress walls.

There, across the open field skirting the edge of Corbinelle, a throng of revolutionaries moves like a tide, a wave of Fey armed to the teeth.

I can’t see who leads them, but I’m sure it’s Nivene.

This was part of Avalon Tower’s plan, to sow chaos and undermine Auberon’s rule. While Nivene was stationed here, she and Meriadec were building the resistance, giving them confidence that they could win against a king. Now, the commoners of Brocéliende have grown into a furious army, and they’re going to storm Perillos.

Nivene once told me the Scorched Earth Revolt happened soon after the French Revolution. It ultimately failed because Auberon had dragons.

But a mob is a dangerous thing. The French revolutionaries didn’t stop once they’d toppled the monarchy. They kept killing, severing heads until the guillotine turned on its own and cut them down, too.

Even if Talan survives this battle with his father, he’ll be the first to die at the hands of a starving, furious anti-monarchy mob. They have no idea he’s trying to save them right now, and for all they know, he’s worse than his father.

The wind and rain howl more furiously, lightning flashing on the horizon. Riding on top of the dragons, it must be almost impossible to see, the world tumbling around them, smoke and fire intermingling with the hostile weather.

I almost wish Talan would use the ferocity of the storm to escape. Fly away to regroup, maybe catch up with the host of dragons he sent to the north. But the second he leaves, Auberon will incinerate the subjects marching toward the kingdom. Talan won’t let it happen. He won’t let his father light them up like torches.

My mind roars. Maybe this was never about winning. Maybe he’s just trying to buy the resistance time, to hold the skies long enough for the army below to breach the castle.

Vellar is getting more aggressive. Auberon smells blood in the water. He knows his enemy is growing weaker. Vellar swoops at Tarasque with renewed fury, snapping and clawing at her, breathing clouds of fire. My fingers clench, grabbing the stone surface of the parapet as I watch the two dragons try to rip each other to shreds.

And then Vellar disappears. Auberon is gone.

The Fey on the parapet gasp in shock. Tarasque and Talan circle the air, but the fight is over. Has he fled?

But just as I start to release my grip on the stone parapet, I see where Auberon went.

It’s strange what your mind does when faced with horror. All the noise, the shouts of the Fey, the shrieking of the wind, the roar of the dragons, fades to silence. There’s nothing in the world but Talan—and Auberon surging down from above.

Auberon opened a portal and flew Vellar through it, reappearing just above Talan.

He swoops, hidden by the clouds, the smoke, the lashing rain, and Talan and Tarasque can’t see him coming from behind and above them. Here, from afar, I can see exactly what’s happening, but Talan doesn’t know this is the end.

Panicked, I fumble for our connection and scream into his mind.Behind you!

But his mind is too hectic to hear my warning.

With the Power of the Three, I strengthen my magical connection, narrowing it to a pinpoint focus. Their energy surges in me, and my violet telepathy powers unfurl. My magic rushes from my body, through the air, higher and higher toward Talan.

Tendrils of my violet power slide into his mind.

Nia? What…?

Behind and above you!I let him see what I’ve seen, picturing it as vividly as possible.

I feel his sharp realization, the pang of alarm. He knows that he must swoop aside, to dodge Vellar’s rush.

But he doesn’t. He just keeps flying straight and slow.

Talan, you have to?—

Trust me, my lovely wife. His soothing thoughts brush mine, and then he cuts me off.

I gasp. I was only in his mind for a second.