Page 130 of The Mirror of Beasts

The dragon spewed flames as Caitriona ran alongside the wall of tapestries. As fire struck the ice encasing them, it evaporated into hissing steam that choked the chamber and stole Caitriona from sight.

The dragon’s fiery breath died again as it hacked and choked, its spine curling up as it clawed at the floor.

I hadn’t noticed Nash crouched in the crosshatch of the hall’s rafters until he jumped down from them, landing on the dragon’s back with a grunt. He slid down the smooth scales, grabbing one of its spiked shoulders at the very last minute to haul himself back up.

My scream was drowned out by the beast’s as Nash used the dagger in his left hand to gouge the nearest eye. In his other hand was a rusted sword that he swung like a bat against the dragon’s open jaws, sending fangs flying in every direction.

One came close to impaling Neve as she ran toward the fight.

“Now, Caitriona!” Nash shouted, struggling to keep his grip on the dragon’s neck as it tried to flick him off with its wings.

Caitriona launched herself toward them, running at full tilt, even as she reached down to rip a long black fang out of a smashed table. The dragon lowered its head, its remaining fangs bared, but Caitriona was already sliding across the floor beneath it, slicing the dragon open from gullet to gizzard with its own tooth.

The beast gagged and raged, lurching forward, vomiting weak flames.

Of course, I thought.

Sword and spell had no effect; the only thing that could harm a dragon was another dragon’s tooth or claw.

It collapsed heavily on the floor, the flames flickering out in its eyes. And as the great body relaxed, surrendering to death, a foul, steaming mass of entrails fell to the ground, followed by the vile contents of its stomach.

Bones, helmets, rocks, breastplates, statue heads, and silver pitchers spilled out in a sickening gush. I dared to take a step forward, only to have my path cut off as the last of it released: a cannonball, a crown, and a serving tray.

Nash spat on the dragon, sliding down its rough hide.

“Are you a complete idiot?” I asked him seriously. “Or did your brain not come back with the rest of you?”

“What?” Nash said, yanking his dagger out of the dragon’s eye. He stepped over its lolled tongue with a look of disgust. “This old beastie ate its fair share of folks over the centuries, it got what it deserved. Worthy assist, Caitriona. Magnificent.”

The praise stoked an ugly, jealous part of me, but it faded as Caitriona nodded in acknowledgment, looking deeply satisfied. Perhaps that was all she’d needed to release the anger building up in her.

Neve rushed toward her, gripping Caitriona by the arms. “That was both incredible and incredibly stupid, but mostly incredible.”

It was hard to tell if there was a flush on Caitriona’s cheeks, or if, like her hair, they’d been dyed pink by the spray of bloody viscera.

“I …,” Caitriona began, her tongue turning to stone as Neve took her face between her hands, inspecting that, too. “I’m fine.”

“You,” Nash said to Emrys. “If Your Royal Highness is done watching us do the hard work, perhaps you’d be so good as to look for something useful in that mess.”

“Great, sure,” Emrys said, looking a bit pale as he assessed the revolting offerings splayed in front of us. “Thanks for stitching me up, by the way.”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t do it for you,” Nash said, and at a warning look from me, added, “I’ll not have that attitude from you right now, Tamsin Lark. I left you behind for a very good reason—I told you the beast was no mere story!”

I remembered my anger all at once, at being left behind, at nearly losing our lives before I got the answers I needed.

“Yeah, clearly you needed no help here,” I said. “You could have done this job all on your own.”

He gazed back at me, his jaw sawing back and forth.

“My job is to protect you, you peevish little imp,” he said. “You don’t have to like me, but you have to listen—”

“Oh, give me a break.” Another thought occurred to me as I interrupted him. “And how did you even know the beast was still alive?”

Nash matched my glower with one of his own, then turned to Emrys, pointing at the dragon. “Go on, make it snappy, princeling. We still have to search for the blasted sword.”

Emrys went about his task like a man headed to the gallows. I gagged at the metallic reek of blood and intestines as I went to help him, lifting my shirt over my mouth and nose. It seemed like the creature had eaten its share of the medieval world’s trash.

“Oho,” Nash said, reaching into its open chest cavity. Elbow-deep, he felt around before using his dagger to cut something away—what looked to my turning stomach like a piece of muscle. “I’ve got a treasure for you lot.”

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