Page 85 of Ensnared

“If you let me ride over with you, I promise I’ll keep quiet and not make a peep.”

“I’m not sure Axel would want you to ride into the middle of the gathering with swords that can penetrate the scales of the blessed.”

Apparently they’ll work on any of them, not just the electro dragons. That’s good to know. . . “But it’s not like I could do any damage with all those blessed there.”

Gordon looks like he’s about to throw up. I don’t think he does well dealing with difficult decisions. He’s more of a follow-my-orders kind of dragon.

“Axel won’t blame you,” I say, “even if he’s annoyed that I’m there. I’ll tell him that I made you do it.”

He cocks his head sideways. “As if you could make me do anything.”

“Maybe not, but Axel knows how annoying I can be. He’ll understand, and he just may need my help.”

Finally, Gordon nods.

“I’ll just run grab the swords.”

I race toward the master bedroom closet, a bit nervous they won’t still be there since Gideon’s been using the room, but when I open the door, they’re still embedded in the massive stone. I pause for a moment, struck by the strangeness of it. Why would dragons need swords when only the lowest caste—earth dragons—are even able to shift?

Swords that apparently no one can even remove.

Except for me.

I feel stupidly special as I grip both hilts. Sadly, no light shows up and no choirs sing when I pull on them. Actually, they don’t even slide out. That’s a little concerning, since they came loose right away last time. I release my grip on the left one, put both hands on the hilt of the sword on the right, and tug. This time, it slides slowly free. I’m panting when I finally set it down. I have to repeat the whole thing—tugging, shifting, and yanking—with the second sword as well.

I don’t have a scabbard, so I’m stuck using shirts from the closet, which really don’t look like Gideon or Axel’s style, so they probably came from this house’s prior owner. My makeshift sword sling isn’t great, and I really hope the blades won’t slice it to ribbons as we move. I have no idea how I’m supposed to ride Gordon while carrying them in wrapped shirts, tied to my back with the shirt sleeves.

Once I get outside, the snake dragon takes one look at me and starts laughing. A dragon’s laughter isn’t a natural sound—it’s like a hissing bark.

“Listen, it’s not like I have the tools I need to make a scabbard, alright? Since I’m trying to help your friend, you’d think?—”

Then there’s that awful sound, and Gordon shifts again. But this time when he coalesces into his human form, his ruddy face even redder than usual thanks to the laughing, he’s holding something in his hand. “Try this instead.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a baldric,” he says. “Or rather, it’s two baldrics. You can adjust them. I doubt Axel would thank me if you got sliced to ribbons on the way.”

It takes me a minute, and it’s a little embarrassing, but I finally get the sword holders all strapped on and slide the wickedly long blades into place. “How did you make that?”

He shrugs. “It’s easy to craft clothing or boots when we shift.”

“How about a saddle?” I think about his slippery smooth back. “Could you shift so that there’s something for me to hold onto?”

He’s laughing as he changes into his snake-dragon shape, but I notice that he listened. There’s a dark brown saddle thing secured tightly around his midsection.

“Gordon, you’re brilliant, and I love you.”

He ducks his head then, almost as if he’s embarrassed, but he’s very still as I climb on and grab the straps of his shiny saddle.

“Thanks for this. The ride and the saddle.”

I promised Gideon that I’d get as far away as possible, and I’m breaking that promise, but if Axel has any thoughts of not asking Azar to spare Ocharta’s life, I mean to be there to remind him. And failing that, I’ll beg Azar to spare her myself. I’m not losing anyone else if I can help it.

Although, if all goes well, everything I do in the next ninety minutes will be pointless. I really hope that two hours from now, we’re all dead from a nuclear bomb.

You know your life’s messed up when you’re hoping that soon you’ll be dead.

18