Page 62 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

She sprinted into the arena. Chest burning, Britt slid to a stop behind the first wyvern she found.

The keys jangled in her pocket when she ripped one out, prayed Denerfen would find her, and began the painstaking search for the right one.

Minutes later, a shadow whooshed over her.

The wyvern stretched its wings out, sunning itself.

Two moments after, a Keeper trooped by, muttering.

The sound of buzzing flies and rotting meat followed.

“Stupid wyverns,” he barked. “Rotten meat. Ridiculous, messy?—”

A shout from the other Keepers halted this one. He stopped near the wyvern’s wings, close enough she could study the top of his boots. The wings hid Britt from sight, in addition to her venom invisibility.

Carefully, she pressed a key into the lock.

Not a fit.

“Oy!” the Keeper shouted. “What’s wrong over there?”

“Sigurd!” came a distant cry. “He’s . . . out.”

“What do you mean out ?”

“He’s on the ground! Bloody temple, bruise, everything. Someone hit him.”

“Who?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

Heavy breathing occupied the next several seconds. Britt tried another key. Not a fit. She bit back the urge to shriek in frustration as her blood cooled another degree.

“Well,” the Keeper called. “Is he dead?”

“No.”

“Waking up?”

“No.”

“Then . . . leave him.”

A pause, then, “Someone hit him!”

“Who?”

Another pause. Britt tried her third key.

Click .

“We don’t know!” another Keeper shouted. “We’ve been feeding wyverns.”

“The lazy mongrel should have been working,” the Keeper snapped to himself. “Probably hit himself to get out of work. That’s what he did.” He began to walk again. “Lazy bastid.”

Britt cranked the key to the side. The lock gave way with an audible screech. The wyvern’s wing remained in place, but the body shifted as it swung its powerful neck around to regard her. She slipped the lock off the leg, tossed the key aside, and raced to the next wyvern.

Denerfen returned for five keys before Britt had opened three locks. As she flipped open the fourth lock, shoved the remaining keys into her pocket, and pressed to her feet, Denerfen returned for a sixth.

A tepid chill flowed through her, but she willed the venom to greater longevity. You must work, she chanted. Don’t release yet.

Whether time felt eternal because she feared being caught, or if the venom worked longer than usual, she wasn’t sure. The agony of withdrawal built all the same.

A key lay near the next wyvern’s lock. She grabbed it, shoved it, twisted, and set it free. Five down. Thirteen to go. The wyverns kept wary eyes on the Keepers, who congregated over the injured one. As before, they gesticulated and shouted, but didn’t do much. She’d inadvertently helped herself.

Her teeth chattered as she hurried to the next. Another withdrawal sign. Denerfen hadn’t placed this key, so she removed the bundle of remaining keys from her pocket. The first attempt slid in with a sweet click.

“Blessed mermaids,” she muttered. “A stroke of luck.”

The wyvern shifted its back leg, shoving her to the ground. She dropped onto her spine with a painful lurch, not expecting the powerful violence. Before she could protest, two dusty pairs of boots marched past. Not Keepers.

Soldiers.

“Idiot Keepers,” one of them declared.

“They reported an injury,” said the other, “we have to see about it. It’s better than scrubbing decks, anyway, and duty out here is so dull.”

The first sighed.

Britt’s heart raced. Soldiers! This topped the list of lubbers-she’d-rather-not, thank you. Once they passed out of sight, the wyvern removed its leg. Wryly, she said, “Thanks. Could have been softer, but thanks.”

The next handful of locks went quickly, thanks to Denerfen matching them ahead.

As the painful, prickling fever swept through her, her fingers fumbled.

Her entire body shook, and she struggled to keep her eyes focused.

When her head swam as if she’d dropped into a fishbowl upside down, Britt put a hand against a wyvern’s flank to stabilize.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

The wyvern jerked out of her touch. Britt stumbled. Blinking through the growing, dark tunnel, she drew several breaths, twisted the key, and heard the pop of it releasing.

“Five left,” she breathed.

The wyvern regarded her with something like curiosity as she crawled to the next one. An argument broke out between the Keepers and the soldiers. Bless Denerfen, he’d already matched this key, too. As she shoved the key into the lock, a wave of exhaustion ballooned over her.

So.

Tired.

The dark depths of venom withdrawal swept her with a rush of bitter cold. She weakly twisted the next key. It wouldn’t budge, and she couldn’t summon the strength to twist.

“Den. I-I can’t . . .”

Denerfen jumped onto her hand. The shock of his body, the jab of her palm into the key, startled her. With a surge of surprise, she twisted it. It gave way, popping open.

Through her feverish haze, she registered three wyverns that had cluttered close.

Why? They hadn’t been that way before. But, they weren’t that close.

They were . . . far? Denerfen flapped in front of her, butting his head against the bridge of her nose.

It sent a painful shock all the way to her toes, drawing her from the sticky haze. She winced.

“Keys,” she mumbled.

Prickles consumed her limbs. She’d forgotten how much the withdrawal hurt. Everything ached. Her body. Her skin. Her muscles. She wanted to sleep. She wanted more venom, or to escape. This wasn’t?—

A firm slap to her face brought her out of it.

Cheek tingling, she stared eye-to-eye with a wyvern.

Britt blinked.

Wait.

Had the bastid wyvern hit her with his tail? The lance-like pain stinging her cheeks felt like a whip. Her fingers probed the stinging skin. She stared at the ground. This isn’t where she was supposed to be. There were rocks instead of dirt.

How had she gotten here? Moments ago she’d been . . . she twisted around, looking at the wyvern she felt vaguely certain she’d just set free . . . but over there .

They moved her.

Why?

A jab in her hand brought her awareness down. Her teeth chattered so hard she could barely see.

A key.

Understanding dawned.

She shoved the key into the lock in front of her, twisted. It fit. Tears clouded her eyes. Thank the sea turtles for small miracles. Denerfen rubbed his head into the space below her ears. As she slid the lock free, she realized she could see her feet.

Britt forced herself to crawl, but all went to black. The wyverns must have done the work for her, because she woke up somewhere else. Through her frozen haze, she turned a key, blacked out, and woke up in front of a different beast with Denerfen staring at her. A key dangled from his mouth.

Understanding her job, but lacking the energy, she managed to get the key inside after five attempts. Eventually, it twisted.

“How many?” she rasped.

Denerfen bleated three times.

Britt passed out.

When she came to again, laying in front of another wyvern, the ice had retreated from her lower body to swirl around her chest. Everything was visible below her waist. Soon, it would leech out of her arms, her head. Was that good?

Bad?

She couldn’t remember.

A shout from far away rang through her mind.

Denerfen dug his claws into her shoulder, urging her.

Half lucid, Britt shoved the key into the lock.

Wyverns bellowed. A thunderous stamping of feet shook the ground.

The vibrations made it impossible to push the key into the lock. It resisted, rusted from exposure.

Denerfen screamed.

Another shout.

No, many shouts. Soldiers, were they? Why would soldiers be here? Britt spun the key in the lock, amazed at the weird way she began to appear again. Equally shocking was her ability to drudge up the energy to turn the key when she felt so blasted weak.

A wyvern grabbed her with his tail, dragging her by the arm. She bounced over the ground, teeth slamming, while Denerfen flew above her, spitting angry hisses. As the venom evaporated from her blood, the gelid haze of withdrawal began to clear. She understood two things.

One: the situation in the wyvern arena must have escalated, because an unusual number of voices shouted, weapons clanked.

Two: the wyverns were not happy.

They stamped, shouted, and snorted. A wall of wyverns formed off to the side, but she registered this only dimly as a wyvern yanked her in front of him. She rattled across the ground despite Denerfen’s rampant protests and angry pestering.

No wonder she felt so awful. They caromed her like a rag doll, forcing her to their purposes.

The shadowy prickles in her brain began to fade.

Full power over her legs restored, and her arms appeared to be on the mend.

Her mental faculties would clear last, with the expiration of her crippling exhaustion.

“They’re going to escape!” someone shouted nearby. “Get those wyverns under control.”

A wyvern hissed, nudging her with a tail, but Britt didn’t see a key. Stupidly, she reached into her pocket. Two remained. She chose the smallest.

No fit.

An explosion shattered rocks nearby, and a wyvern tumbled to the dirt with a pained sound. Others flocked to him. A second flare ruptured more rocks. Arcane, was it? Were these soldiers complete idiots? They couldn’t destroy the Wyvern Kings with arcane!

Wyverns recoiled. Others shrieked. Her haze continued to clear.

Blessed mermaids.

She had to move . Understanding fully descended again. Britt fumbled for the next key, dropping it once. Denerfen swooped up the other one and took off to deliver it to the next wyvern. The final wyvern.

Would it be too late?

She shoved the key into the lock, blinking hard through the work of forcing her brain to think. She wrenched it to the side. Another explosion, close enough that debris landed in her hair.

Oh.

They shot at her .

Not the wyverns.

As the lock clicked open, something hard slammed into her from behind. She flew forward, somersaulting across the dirt-strewn ground. Shadows passed over her head. Reeling from the force of her head hitting a rock, she blinked stupidly at the sky.

A wyvern hovered above her, gnashing its teeth.

How many teeth did they have?

The last of the withdrawal completed, clearing her confusion, but not the headache. Her entire, stark situation lay fully present. Panic spurred her to faster action when a soldier came into view through the settling dust. He pointed and shouted.

“There!” he called. “There’s the woman!”

Britt scrambled for the final key. It had fallen out of her hands. Frantic, she crawled through choking dust, headed for a silver, glinting thing. The soldier barreled toward her, arms bent, head bowed as he charged. Her fingers closed on something metallic.

A swoop of tiny, unexpected wings and the scree of a dragul whipped into the soldier’s face.

Denerfen clawed at his eyes. The soldier threw his hands up, flailing.

The remaining wyvern squawked and struggled against his bonds.

Another wyvern advanced on the soldier. His cry cut short with a grotesque crunch of bones.

“Denerfen!” she screamed.

Her dragul winged around, heading for her. She sprinted for the final wyvern. Other soldiers appeared from the lessening cloud of dust. A percussive boom sent her sprawling, chin scraped.

Blood oozed from her nose as she pushed off the ground, skidded to a stop at the final wyvern, shoved the key inside, and demanded, “Get on my shoulder!” to Denerfen. He obeyed, burrowing under her hair, tail wrapped around her neck.

The key slid in, spun, clicked.

The final wyvern roared so loud the air vibrated.

Britt tossed her hands over her ears and ducked.

Soldiers in pursuit halted. The wyvern that took her to the Westlands spread his wings as his terrible roar dwindled.

Britt didn’t have a chance to run as the wyvern lifted into the air, snatched her from the ground with his claw, and took to the sky.

A majestic cloud of wyverns followed, rising from captivity and into the shimmering heat.