Page 71

Smiles That Crooked Smile

T he trees fall around us. Slow. Monstrous. They sway, groan, and crash into one another. Like explosions from the sky, branches and stones rain down, and trunks slam into the earth like crashing pillars.

“Run!” I shout. But I don’t need to.

Svadi is already sprinting flat out. Ears pinned back, paws pounding, eyes wide and bulging like a frog’s.

A high, guttural roar cuts through the trees like a blade. Not Svadi, but a sound I’ve only heard a few times in my life and never forgotten. And now the wingbeats. Deep. Rhythmic. Heavy. This one must be massive. Truly massive.

The path ahead is disappearing. The sky above us churns with falling limbs, crashing canopies, and treetops slamming into each other.

Chaos everywhere. Black silhouettes tearing through the pale, beige haze like thunder made visible. I can only guess what’s above the trees.

“Svadi!” I drive my heels into his sides. “Move!”

“Stop shouting!”

I jump, caught off guard by his reply. But he obeys, showing yet another level of speed.

I lean forward, bending my elbows and knees to make myself as light as possible.

The shadows fall, closing in with flashes like lightning. One crashes down behind us, making us jolt. Another falls in front of us, over us.

It scrapes my arm but lands just behind Svadi, bouncing and rolling toward us. Svadi is sweating, and his coat is sticky and damp.

His heartbeat races beneath me, out of control. Just like mine.

We break free. The trees continue to crash down behind us with a deafening roar, but we’ve made it out onto a massive mountain plateau, five times the size of the Circle Valley. The breathtaking view stretches across Gorgoroth.

Below us, the jungle unfolds in every direction, all the way to the horizon, an endless sea of avocado and basil green, its surface rippling softly in the breeze.

The mist has lifted. I can see the swaying treetops, the curling vines, and monkeys leaping from branch to branch, laughing.

A single yellow flag has been raised at the plateau’s center.

It’s as tall as I am, fluttering in the breeze. It’s torn. Only half remains; the rest is tatty and uneven, ruined.

Bloodstained.

Two elves lie unconscious next to it. In the distance, five more figures move as if trying to make their way along the cliff’s edge.

I grab a firm hold of Svadi’s neck, both hands buried in his black fur. Then, swinging one leg over his back, I slide down his slick, damp coat.

I don’t let go until my feet nearly brush the ground, and then I jump, landing with bent knees and my hands against the cold, hard stone, which is untouched by the sun. I leave Svadi behind and run toward the finish line, the flag, and the fallen elves.

“Hello?!”

My heart is hammering, my pulse shrill in my ears.

My body is scratched, bruised, and crusted with mud, seaweed, moss, and blood. But I don’t care. I must reach them. I must help.

“Iszaelda.”

I drop beside her. It’s Merediath—leader of the Resistance.

She can’t die. She can’t. She’s meant to become the next Scourgeness to lead after Akares falls.

“Merediath! How badly are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, the gems in her hair trembling. Her hand moves through her long, milky white hair, the back of it stained as red as cranberries.

A jagged wound cuts across her stomach, soaking her seafoam-white dress in crimson.

“Semhergemjni will lead,” she whispers, “Take you… onward.”

“No. Not Kathraanis, she?—”

“Here.”

“What?”

“Your necklace. Weg eanild. As promised.”

She digs into her pocket and pulls something out. Places a pendant in my hand. Cold and solid. Heavier than I remember.

I fasten it around my neck at once. The stone is cool against my chest, but my eyes stay on Merediath. I can’t look away from her blind eyes, fixed skyward.

“But how will?—”

“Run!”

I spin toward the tree line. Kathraanis sprints toward us; she’s the one shouting. Kathraanis… and Netharu’el.

Netharu’el.

I rise on trembling legs and rush toward them. Run. Run. Run.

My feet drum against the bare stone. Breaths are ragged. I’m getting closer. Closer. Almost there. I catch Netharu’el’s eyes.

Warmth floods through me. Safety.

He’s here.

“The other way!” Kathraanis barks. “Run!”

I don’t listen. I race past her. Three steps. Two. One. And then I’m in Netharu’el’s arms.

He catches me. Holds me. Wraps around me. I bury my face in his hair and breathe him in. He smells like forest mist, fresh and cool.

His arms are steady. His embrace, rough and grounding.

“Are you all right?” I whisper against his neck.

My hands press against his lead-black shirt, fingers brushing the sharp lines of his shoulder blades.

I breathe him in more deeply. Skin, earth, and the scent of satsel leaves.

“Of course. It takes more than this to harm me, my dear. And you? Are you hurt?”

“No, I?—”

“Hurry!” Kathraanis calls again, standing at the edge of the cliff.

Does she want us to climb down?

Netharu’el shifts as if to move forward, but I grab his arm.

He turns, those deep eyes settling on mine.

“I don’t trust her,” I say. “It could be a trap.”

He laughs, his mouth twisting into a crooked smile. “You don’t trust Kathraanis?”

“I think she’s working for ’Ksnaka.”

“For Akares?”

I nod.

“That’s a serious accusation. Why do you think that?”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.”

“Netharu’el! Iszaelda! What’re you doing?”

I move to run, but this time, Netharu’el holds me back, one hand at the nape of my neck, the other gripping my wrist.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

“You made it out. Truly impressive.”

His voice is quiet, but his eyes have changed. No longer light, no longer carefree. He looks at me steadily, as if this might be the last time.

“I told you I’d win,” I say, trying to breathe through the heat rising in my chest. “Unlike you, I keep my promises.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He lets go of my wrist, but his hand stays at my neck.

“What do you think I mean?” I snap. “You promised to return before the final trials, didn’t you?”

“I did. And I came back. On time.”

“We were supposed to have one last training.”

“I returned in the middle of the night, my dear.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” I whisper.

“It was urgent. Don’t you think I?—”

“What were you even doing?”

His jaw tightens. “That, I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Some things are classified. I’m not at liberty to say.”

“If that’s how you want it.” I pull away, and his hand falls to his side.

“I was going to tell you something… but now I’m not sure I want to.”

“What things?”

“Forget it. Not when you?—”

The dragon bursts from the forest in a swirl of falling leaves.

White, zinc-white, with delicate, iron-black spines running from her head to the tip of her tail.

Four long, slender horns sweep gracefully back from her skull, angled in line with her body.

Her skin is rough, knotted, and ancient.

Her wings are magnificent, unfurling like great sails over the clearing.

They beat the air in slow, measured strokes.

Purposeful. Enigmatic. Each movement stirs the wind until the breeze becomes a storm.

I stare.

I can’t look away. Not from her. Not from the majestic creature above me. She’s enchanting, beautiful and deadly. A thunderous roar shatters the air, echoing in every direction.

She launches herself to the ground, her tail whipping behind her, its spines as long as swords. I throw myself flat, face pressed to the earth.

The tip of her tail skims the back of my head, rough scales brushing my hair like a warning.

Netharu’el does the same, diving low and then rising. He stares at the creature, unwavering.

The dragon claws at the ground, tossing her head. The earth trembles beneath me, shuddering with every movement. I cling to the ground, barely breathing. Maybe if I stay still enough, she won’t see me.

“Sem ba.”

I glance up. Netharu’el is moving toward the beast, one hand outstretched. He’s whispering in Arzakean, his voice low and steady.

His gaze is locked with hers. She throws her head again and steps back, hissing. Teeth bared. Gums peeled back. Wings beating, slow and steady, even though she isn’t airborne.

“What in the fires are you doing, uvani’eth?!” I shout, no longer caring if I’m seen. “Come back!”

Netharu’el steps between the dragon’s flailing foreclaws, placing himself in the space between them like some dragon tamer. A god. Or a mad elf.

I watch him in stunned silence, blond hair whipping across my face, the unsteady ground vibrating beneath me. I lower myself, pressing all my weight into my hands to stay grounded.

The dragon begins to settle. Bit by bit, her movements soften. Her wings drift like flower petals caught in the wind. Her claws slow, then come to a complete stop.

Kathraanis has joined the others, the elves who had tried to descend the cliff earlier. They stand motionless in the distance, watching.

Just like me. All of us frozen. Paralyzed. Trapped mid-breath.

One of them is Fax. Another is Ibwa, his master. The rest I don’t recognize.

The dragon stretches her head forward and rests her forehead against Netharu’el’s open palm.

Sesta.

He strokes his fingers slowly along her spine, caressing and comforting her. His lips move, whispering, chanting, and murmuring words I can’t hear. His eyes stay wide, fixed on her deep, sea-blue eyes.

How?

I open my awareness and reach for the dragon’s mind. It’s there. I can feel it. Strong. Grounded and intensely controlled.

But something blocks me. Not a wall.

Not like the last time I touched a dragon’s mind. Not even a barrier.

This is different.

It feels like… her mind is already bound to someone.

Maybe to Netharu’el, given how he seems to have calmed her.

Could he have the same ability I do? Was it he who soothed the dragon in Gorgoroth?

The ground has stopped trembling, so I rise and take a few careful steps forward.

Netharu’el saved us.

Kathraanis lets out a triumphant cheer, and the elves with her echo it.

More emerge from the forest, finally daring to step into the open.

They climb from tree limbs, slip out from hollow trunks, and drift through the thinning mist. One by one, they move toward the plateau.

There are at least twenty, maybe more. And they keep coming.

What are they doing? The danger isn’t over.

The dragon is still here… isn’t she?

Netharu’el turns. He lowers his hand from the dragon’s massive snout, its head ten times the size of his own body.

His lips curl into that crooked smile. The one that’s infuriatingly sexy, the one that makes my knees weak and my arms turn weightless. My stomach flutters as if filled with tiny birds. But he’s not smiling at me.

He’s smiling at Kathraanis.

The dragon arches her neck, pulling her head back in a smooth, serpentine motion. She twists, coiling like a ribbon.

Then she bares her teeth, gleaming fangs razor-sharp, catching the first beams of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

She opens her jaws.

And releases a blast.