Page 29 of Feralheart

Lady Severine swept past with Heartsbrim, the ruby dragon’s scales winking in the light. She kissed the dragon’s muzzle for the nobles, cooing about loyalty and trust. Heartsbrim’s eyes had dulled to brittle slate, so unlike the wild dragon’s sharp, intelligent gaze. This was the difference between a creature that had choice and one that had forgotten it could question anything.

A dragon moaned, and a handler twisted a harness tight enough to pinch the scales. The creature’s throat worked, and its tail twitched.

I glared but turned away before anyone could see how much I hated watching things like this happen.

Prince Fenian stood apart from the other riders, his arms linked across his chest, watching everything. Aristus lay on the sand not far behind him, unharnessed. Fenian’s spine tightened, and he strode over to speak in a low tone to the handler, who flushed and loosened his hold on the harness. The prince strode back to stand beside Aristus, who lowered his head for jaw rubs.

Aristus scented the air and turned his head toward where I stood among the other servants. His nostrils flared. His pupils widened.

My heart lurched. The scale. He could smell it or sense it—whatever dragons did when they detected wild magic. I pressed my hand against my pocket, trying to smother the warmth bleeding through the fabric.

This was what I’d been afraid of. If Aristus could sense it, so could others.

Fenian’s gaze followed his dragon’s and reached me, holding too long. His lips thinned. But he looked away, his face settling back into bored neutrality.

When the demonstration ended, nobles began filing toward the lushest part of the fortress. They’d bathe, rest, then dress for the upcoming dinner and ball.

I helped clean up and was finally dismissed for the day. I hurried away from the fortress, taking the path with the others toward Shaleside.

A bonewailer’s keen echoed from another ridge, and I paused, everyone else shuffling past me.

The priestesses said the wail kept wildness at bay. I’d learned it kept people home, their heads down, and their curtains closed after dark.

My jaw clicked shut. Another hunt?

I slid my hand into my pocket and brushed my fingers across the wild dragon’s scale.

Hunger spiked through my mind, and I sensed the dragon hadn’t eaten properly since being injured. The hunger was followed by a need to be somewhere safe, a place surrounded by stone and water.

Turning away from the path, though the others were gone, I pulled the scale from my pocket. In the dying light, it gleamed the color of storm clouds. Of the wild dragon’s hide.

The pull was stronger now. Not a whisper anymore. A shout.

Come. Now.

My fingers closed around it.

Fourteen days until the herbs ran out. Then I’d be back in the forest, stealing what I couldn’t afford, risking a noose for a handful of leaves.

Or I could go where the stone held its breath and discover what it wanted me to see.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ERADIN

The evening the trumpets echoed through the village square started soft.

Father sat at the table with his mending kit, working on a belt that had given up twice already. He’d re-stitch it next week. The week after that. Holding things together past when they should break. That was what we did. The belt. The cottage. Ourselves.

It was the only thing we knew how to do.

Tolross lay on his pallet, sketching dragons. His charcoal moved in quick strokes, capturing wings and flames with skill.

“This one’s going to eat the sun,” he said, holding up the page to show me his progress.

“That’s ambitious.”

“Better than eating stew for the fifth day running.”