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ESSA

M y thoughts raced as I sped toward the barracks. How could this be happening? And why did it have to happen now?

A series of booming sounds rattled the ground beneath my feet, and I looked up to find smoke rising from the direction of the hatchery.

Othura? I reached out for her with my mind.

Under attack, she shot back. I could feel her adrenaline, her fury, and I ran faster. At the palace’s central square, I faced a conundrum. Continue to the barracks, where riders were supposed to gather when the horn sounded, or hurry directly to the hatchery, where flashes of light and fire now illuminated the sky. I looked down at myself and cursed at the absurdity of my outfit. A ball gown! Who invented such things? I might as well be wearing a circus tent. With a snarl, I reached down and tore the puffy skirt away. That was better. At least I could run properly. But the lace and taffeta would be of no protection in battle, and I was unarmed. I should go back to the barracks and change into my flight armor. And yet, the urgency of Othura’s fear and rage drew me toward her. I plunged into a narrow alleyway between the palace tanner and the armory, running so hard I felt lightheaded, so hard I was barely looking ahead of me, so hard I turned a corner and ran right into?—

Braimar.

He caught me by the arm and held me, as if inspecting me.

“What are you doing?” I said. “We’re supposed to be at muster.”

“And yet, you’re running away from barracks,” he pointed out.

“I’m running to the hatchery to find Othura. Come on. We’re missing the battle.”

I tried to shrug out of his grasp, but he held onto me, his hand squeezing painfully into my upper arm.

“You forget, my dragon is wounded. I can’t fly. But I can still be useful.”

“Yes. By letting go of me,” I said, trying to squirm out of his grasp again—and failing. I silently cursed myself for going to the dance unarmed.

“The nobles have been very concerned about your behavior, Essa. I’ve been very concerned. You should have exiled yourself when I gave you the chance.”

From the shadows behind him, two more riders emerged—a pair of brutes I recognized as Braimar’s friends.

“What I do is none of your business,” I snarled.

“On the contrary. The behavior of a princess is the business of everyone in the kingdom, Essa. If you won’t step aside willingly, there are only two ways. Either we kill you, or we render you unfit for the queenhood. You’re lucky. I’m choosing the merciful way.”

More explosions boomed in the distance, rattling the world. Shadows veiled Braimar’s face, but the light of the explosions illuminated his eyes and I saw the depth of madness in them.

“Braimar,” I whispered. “You’re not yourself. I don’t know if it’s because your dragon was injured or…”

He shook his head. “It’s not that, Essa. I’ve been scrying with my uncle. I’ve seen the future...”

With a sudden, violent motion he shoved me down. I fell on my back, skinning an elbow on the cobblestone.

“Hold her down,” Braimar snarled and his friends fell on me, pinning me to the ground.

Braimar’s hand was unbuckling his belt as he strode toward me, an inhuman grin on his face. And I understood what he meant my rendering me unfit for queenhood. A queen was supposed to be pure…

The burning hunger in his eyes confirmed my fear. “I always wanted to do this,” he said.

Just as he knelt, I rocked back on my shoulders and kicked. My heel caught him in the lips, causing him to stumble back. When his hand came away from his mouth, blood drizzled down his chin. It glistened as he laughed.

“Oh Essa. I would take a thousand blows for the chance to come inside you.”

Then he was on me again. I fought, but his friends fell on me, twisting my arms painfully. I screamed, but my voice was lost in another volley of explosions.

Othura! I cried out.

Her voice, when it came to me, was weak and distracted.

I can’t get to you. Fight, Essa!

I did, rocking back and forth violently and kicking with both legs. But Braimar’s friends only twisted my shoulders harder, pinning me down. Braimar got past my feet and knelt between my legs, staring down at me with those insane, fiery eyes.

“Give in, Essa,” he snarled through a bloody mouth. “Enjoy it.”

“I don’t think she will,” a voice said.

The heads of my three attackers snapped up to see a man step out of the shadows, brandishing a small metal object. It took me a moment to recognize what he was holding; I’d never seen a URA gun up close before. And then my attention moved from the weapon to the man’s face.

“Kit,” his name came out a sob.

Braimar tilted his head, his bloody mouth contorting into a grin.

“Ah, here he is. The enemy in our midst. Are you here to make some more notes to give to my uncle? You know that’s what he’s doing, don’t you, Essa? He’s no reporter. He’s a spy.”

“He has more honor than you’ll ever dream of having,” I snarled—hoping it was true.

Kit’s thumb pulled the gun’s hammer back until it clicked.

“Let her up,” he said.

Braimar laughed. “Please. You’re a scribe and a petty spy. You’re no killer.”

“Find out,” Kit said.

There was such ice in those two words that they sent a chill through me. Othura’s intuition pulsed in my mind. He is a killer . He’s a killer many times over.

“Maybe I’ll start with your friends,” he said, turning the weapon on one of the men holding me, who let go and scrambled to his feet. As soon as my hand was free I brought it to the other man’s face, raking his eyes with my fingernails. One finger hooked in his eye socket for a moment before he screeched and rolled away from me.

I kicked off of Braimar’s chest and rolled backward, staggering to my feet.

Braimar looked from his friend cowering against the wall with his hands up to his other friend who now lay face down on the stone, cradling his bloody face.

Then he stood, dusting his hands off on his tunic.

“Very well. I’ll let Essa go—for now. But I challenge you to a duel. Three days hence. In the palace square. With swords. Noon. All of you are witnesses to this challenge.” He sneered. “Unless you want to take the coward’s way out and shoot me with that necromancer weapon of yours.”

“Kit—” I started to shake my head.

Kit’s jaw was clenched, his eyes like burnished steel, the hand holding the weapon untrembling.

“I’ll fight you,” he said. “With pleasure.”

“Kit, you can’t—” I started, but Braimar clapped his hands.

“Very well. Until then…” Smiling a bloody smile, he turned and strode away into the darkness. His friend cowering against the wall hesitated for a beat then hurried after him, glaring daggers at us as he went. The third they left behind, face-down in the gutter, holding his face and crying.