Page 6 of Feralheart

They were going to hold a Scorching? A knot formed low in my throat.

“The race is why we’re hunting,” Lady Chambers snapped. “Wild dragons are getting bolder. Prince Fenian needs⁠—”

“Prince Fenian does not need more dead dragons,” he said in a biting tone. “One more living wild one won’t change a thing.”

There was something unguarded about the way his throat moved when he spoke, that pale strip of skin between his collar and his jaw. It was the only part of him that didn’t remind me of a weapon.

The prince climbed onto Aristus’s spine and settled in the saddle, using a burst of magic to scatter the flies that had gathered to feast on the blood.

“Mount up,” he said. “We can scout the western ridge. The wild one was wounded. Even if someone treated it, it may not have gotten far.”

They left the way they’d come, dragon wings beating hard enough to blast leaves and sticks my way. Their bloodseekers keened as they flew west, the sound of their passage fading into the distance.

I stayed hidden in the thicket, counting to a hundred, then a hundred more. When I finally moved, I stumbled on numb legs. My hands had gone blue with cold. Neither mattered if I was late returning to work.

I quickly washed off the mud and hurried toward the boundary marker, my limbs quivering.

What I’d done started to sink in. I’d risked theft to get those herbs, and I’d used them on a wild dragon I’d never see again.

The climb back to the fortress felt twice as long as the walk down. I checked my hands, arms, and clothing compulsively. Most of the dragon blood was gone, but there were stains I couldn’t explain if someone looked too closely. A scratch on my forearm from the thorns could be dismissed. The smears on my knees could’ve come from falling on the rain-soaked ground.

My story built itself, and I practiced it with each step.

The fortress rose from the mountain’s first peak like a crown of stone and dragon-bone. I slipped around the outer perimeter and into the dragon aerie entrance, keeping my head down. As I hurried down the hallway of the cool, sand-scented building, the shuffle of dragon feet echoed from inside their stalls on the right.

“Eradin.”

I came to a halt, squinting.

Overseer Nuant stood farther down the corridor. Broad and balding, his type of cruelty came from having enough power to make everyone around him miserable.

“What took you so long?” he asked. “I sent you for herbs in the royal garden half an hour ago.”

“The moonvetch was sparse. It needs replanting.” I lifted the cluster of leaves I’d stuffed into my pocket on my way back.

His eyes moved over me, taking in the mud. The scratch on my arm. The wet hair plastered to my skull from dunking my face in the water.

“You look like you went swimming,” he said.

“I slipped and fell into the stream.” He strode closer and leaned in, his nostrils flaring. “Why do you smell like wild dragon smoke?”

My heart leaped into my throat. “Do I?”

“Where have you been?”

I forced myself to meet his eyes. Servants who stared at the ground looked guilty.

“I passed the far forge on my way back.” My voice came out steady. How, I didn’t know. “The…um…wind shifted.”

He studied me, each second stretching until I thought my tendons would snap.

His hand landed on my shoulder, and he squeezed hard enough to grind my bones together before letting go.

“Heartsbrim needs tending,” he said. “Lady Severine’s been complaining that the dragon’s scales aren’t bright enough.” His tone made it clear what he thought of her complaint, but he’d delivered it anyway. It was his job to pass down the elite’s demands and our job to make sure they were met. “Take care of it.”

I dipped my head. “I will.”

He walked back the way he’d come.