Page 294 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Nayimathun opened one eye, and Tané knew that she had seen her. The dragon waited for her to creep nearer before she lashed her tail. In the precious moments the Red Damsels were distracted, Tané moved like a shadow toward them. She caught sight of dark eyes beneath a hood—eyes as dark as her own—and for the strangest moment, she felt as if the sun was on her face.

The feeling died as soon as she got close. She attacked with every drop of her strength. The first swing of her wheel nicked skin, but a blade snapped up to deflect the second, jarring her arm to the shoulder. The force of the collision rang through her teeth. As the hunters circled her, cloaks spinning around them, she fended them off with a wheel in each hand. They were quick as two fish eluding the hook, but it was clear that they had never encountered bladed wheels. Tané gave herself over to the fight.

The fleeting calm soon fled from her. As she swerved away from their swords, she had the chilling realization that she had never been in a fight to the death. The Western pirates had been easy—brutal, but undisciplined. She had scrapped with other apprentices as a child, trained with them when she was older, but her knowledge of battle was little practice and no end of theory. These mages had been locked in a war for most of their lives, and they moved like partners in a dance. A warrior forged in the schoolroom, alone and wounded, would be no match for them. She should never have confronted them in the open.

Thirst and exhaustion made her slow. With every step, their swords flashed closer to her skin, while her wheels were nowhere near theirs.

Her steps grew drunken. Her arms ached. She hissed as a blade sliced her shoulder, then her jaw. Two more scars for her collection. The next blow set fire to her waist. Blood soaked into her tunic. When the Red Damsels attacked together, she only just lifted the wheels in time to parry.

She was going to lose this fight.

A feint caught her off-guard. Metal bit open her thigh. One knee gave way, and she dropped the wheels.

That was when Nayimathun reared her head. With a roar, she clamped one of the mages between her teeth and hurled her across the clearing.

The other woman turned so quickly that Tané almost missed it. Her palms were full of flame.

Nayimathun flinched from the light. As the woman walked toward her, she recoiled, snapping. Tané aimed true and plunged her knife through red brocade, between two struts of rib. When the woman fell, Tané stepped around her and went to her dragon.

Once it would have shamed her that Nayimathun had seen her kill. It was against the way—but her life had been in danger. Both of their lives. Now she had killed for Nayimathun, and Nayimathun had killed for her. After all they had survived already, she had no regrets.

“Tané.” Nayimathun lowered her head. “The arrow.”

Even looking at it made Tané feel queasy. As gently as she could, she reached up and eased the arrow from the yielding flesh. It took enough force to make her arms shake.

Nayimathun shuddered as it came free. Blood dribbled down her snout. Tané placed a hand on her jaw.

“Can you fly?”

“Not while this heals,” Nayimathun panted. “They were from the Priory. Follow the others. Find the fruit.”

“No,” Tané said at once, chest tight. “No. I willnotleave you again.”

“Do as I say.” The dragon bared her teeth. They were tipped with blood. “I will fly again, but I will not be able to reach Inys yet. Find another way. Save this Lady Nurtha. Carry the message to Queen Sabran.”

“And leave you here alone?”

“I will follow the river to the sea and heal. When I can fly again, I will find you.”

Days after their reunion, and now they had to part again. “How will I reach Inys without you?” Tané said thickly.

“You will make a path,” Nayimathun said, gentler. “Water always does.” She gave Tané a soft nudge. “We will see each other again soon.”

Tané shivered. She clung to her dragon for as long as she dared, face pressed into her scales.

“Go, Nayimathun. Go now,” she whispered, and made for the trees.

The other Red Damsels had gone north. Tané kept low as she chased their footprints. There was no time to make a torch, but her eyes were used to the darkness now.

Even when she lost the trail, she knew where the women had gone. She was following a feeling. It was as if her quarry had left warmth in their wake, a warmth that called to her very blood.

It ended in another clearing. She paused for breath, holding her damp side. There was nothing here. Just trees, countless trees.

Her eyelids grew heavy. She swayed on her feet. Now a woman in white was standing before her, and the sun was shining from her fingers.

That was the last that she remembered of the forest.

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