Page 20 of Dragons' Future

I'm not sure what happens next exactly, but one moment I'm a hair's breadth away from stabbing the king of Massa’eve—and the next the dagger is on the ground, my wrist is burning in pain, and Ettienne is holding me up by the scuff of my shirt. Like a giant handling an errant cat.

Ettienne’s face is an echo of Cyril’s, but colder and more calculating. "Stay put, little lizard. Your life is more valuable than all of theirs.”

Red spots of fury dance in my vision at that. My desire to tear Ettienne’s throat out with my teeth is so palpable I can taste it. My lips pull back in snarl. I make no effort to hide my thoughts from the king—and he makes no effort to even pretend to care.

With me still dangling in his hold, Ettienne turns to Autumn. She’s still not acknowledged me, nor watched a moment of the trial. All her concentration is on the ancient looking pages.

“If there is anything her highness wishes to share with us, now would be a good time,” Ettienne says to her.

Autumn keeps reading, her fingers hovering over the text and sending sparks of magic into the air.

“Lady Autumn.” Ettienne snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Your Highness.”

“I don’t have anything yet,” she says in frustration. She turns to Ettienne, her eyes widening when they land on me. “Kitterny. Hello.” She gestures with her chin to Ettienne’s iron hold. “Is that necessary?”

“She isn’t behaving,” Ettienne says.

“I need to get down there,” I snap. “Let me go.”

Ettienne sighs and pulls a coin from his pocket. He tosses it toward the arena below, as if casting a piece into a wishing pond. The coin arcs over the spectators’ heads and plummets down—only to land atop an invisible shield a few dozen feet above the sand.

“It isn’t just the sound that’s being blocked, the whole arena is shielded,” Autumn tells me before going back to her book. “The lack of sound is likely a side effect. So I wouldn’t bother trying to scurry down there.”

Shit. I stop struggling against Ettienne’s hold. “The rutting priests really don’t want anyone interfering, do they?”

“Apparently not,” Ettienne agrees. He releases me, but not before giving me a warning look, like one would a troublesome child. Then we both turn to the melee below.

Quinton has managed to get close to the attackers and is a blur of death with his swords. Tavias wields his magic with all the fury of a lightning storm, but his power is waning. Flashes of light reflect in the mirrors, but each is less potent than the one before. Hauck pants and Cyril is shaking with the effort to stave off the worst of the magical assaults.

“They are holding a defensive line around Lee and can’t break formation,” I say. “They cannot keep it forever.”

“No, they cannot.” Ettienne agrees. "Which is why we need to get you out of here, little lizard. You are the dragons’ future. There won’t be a better time?—"

A sword sliced through Hauck’s thigh and I jerk as phantom agony shoots through the bond. My vision narrows, my thoughts stop, my heart gallops. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. There has to be something I can do.

"Try to take me away and I will kill you,” I snarl at Ettienne, the magic that is there but out of my reach taunting me from the inside. “Not today, but one day. That much I vow."

“Yes, in another one of your well thought-out plans, I’m certain.” He halts my reply with an upraised hand. “If you insist on staying, could you possibly do me the favor of not dying, at least in the next quarter hour or so?”

“Uh—”

“We cannot wait much longer.” Ettienne turns to Autumn, dismissing me for the moment. “I believe it’s time for my solution. It may be less subtle than yours, but it is more expedient.”

Autumn presses her lips together, her gaze shifting from her book to the arena. She curses. “Expedience it is.”

“Who do I kill?” Ettienne inquires.

Autumn points to six hooded priests standing in the shadows around the stands. Their hands move about as if playing cat's cradle. “Those are the anchors. Take them out and the shield will fall. It will be messy, but?—”

“Expedient.” Ettienne summons one of his guards and issues curt, quiet orders that I can’t make out. After the guard jogs away, the king tells Autumn, “Once we begin, you are to remain where you are.”

Autumn adjusts her dress, which I now see is made for ease of movement as well as decoration. “Did I somehow give you the impression of being under your command?”

“You did not,” Ettienne assures her. “But my royal guards, who are very much under my command, just received orders to shoot you in the leg if you try to leave the bleachers.”

Autumn’s eyes flash and I scent the sudden acrid surge of her anger. She knows Ettienne isn’t jesting. “How diplomatic of you.”

“Yes, well, I'd rather deal with a demarche from the Slate throne, then whatever armies your brother will send should he discover you dead.” Ettienne turns to me. “The sad trio who fancy themselves your guards are correct about one thing—you are the dragon queen. And in case you’ve not worked this out already, if you get yourself killed, I doubt your mates will survive the week. I will put an end to this massacre. Do not make it all for naught by proving yourself too stupid to live. Do you understand me?”

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