Page 147 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

Then the world exploded.

There was a crack, as loud as thunder, as the back wall of the tavern shattered. Bricks and mortar gave way with a scream of old wood and dust.

Katama.

Remy’s massive Catalan dragon roared, neck coiled, jaws open wide as his throat lit with fire.

“NO!” Remy shouted, blood trailing from his lips, one hand outstretched. “Katama, stand down!”

But it was too late.

Flame erupted from the dragon’s throat, a brilliant stream of molten gold, slicing through the tavern wall and igniting everything it touched. The wooden beams caught immediately, fire racing along the ceiling like a living thing.

Patrons screamed and scattered, knocking over chairs and tables in a blind panic. Someone leaped through the open window. Another stumbled into a wall and vanished in a swirl of smoke.

The inferno devoured the far end of the room, climbing and consuming.

Lomard crumpled beside the crumbling hearth, chest rising once, then going still.

Remy stumbled back, one hand clutching his bleeding shoulder, the other trying to wave people clear as more of the tavern collapsed beneath the weight of Katama’s fury. Ash rained from above, and the floor trembled beneath our boots.

The Crooked Claw was coming down.

And we had seconds to escape it.

Chapter

Thirty-Four

Remy grabbed my hand through the thick haze of smoke, his grip firm despite the blood still dripping from his shoulder. “Come on!” he barked, dragging me with him.

We sprinted through the chaos, lungs burning, the flaming tavern collapsing behind us in a roar of fire and splintered wood. Katama gave a final furious screech before he launched into the sky, massive wings kicking up a cyclone of ash and smoke as he vanished into the clouds above.

The streets were pure chaos.

People screamed and scattered, fleeing from the blaze. Some carried children, others dragged carts or bags of belongings, though most just ran. The choking smoke poured through the alleyways like a monster devouring the village, curling black and thick around every corner.

Vendors abandoned their stalls. Horses bucked and pulled free of reins. A woman shouted something about a curse.

And still, we ran.

My legs burned as we pushed forward, dodging a fleeing drunk, vaulting over an overturned produce cart. Remy never let go of my hand.

There were droplets in the air now—soft at first. Cooling. Cleansing. A slow, steady drizzle that began to fall as we neared the outer gate to the castle courtyard.

Rain.

I almost sighed with relief.

The moment our boots hit the stone courtyard, a gust of wind blew the ash from my eyes and the heavens opened, a full, firm downpour.

I tilted my face up, letting the rain wash the soot and blood from my skin.

Then we were met by steel.

A guard stepped forward from beneath the gate arch, flanked by two others, their cloaks soaked but their stances rigid. His eyes scanned us, Remy’s blood-soaked tunic, my dirt-streaked skin, the smell of smoke clinging to us like a second skin.

“The king,” he said without preamble, “wishes to see you both.”