Page 38 of Fae Exile

That part was new. Another sign of the queen’s influence, I guessed.

For every bit the feethles were sharp, the pygmy ogres were dull. Even so, with the racket the feethles were making, it wouldn’t take long for the ogres to realize something was amiss. Then we’d be trapped with enemies bookending us on both sides, with a beast of some sort that was capable of bringing down the entire palace adding risk of unquantifiable measure.

If we were lucky, we had a couple of minutes before the lumbering brutes figured out the obvious clues. If we weren’t, we had seconds. Even among the ogres, some of them were brighter than others, if not by much.

Standing between me and the feethles, Hiroshi, Ryder, and West had pressed their backs to the walls of the stairway to at least secure that one point of attack. Their blades were out and aimed at the feethles, our greater enemy for now.

Since the ogres were still going on with their disturbingyum-yum-yummyact, I whispered to the changelings, “We don’t want to hurt you.”

“Speak for yourself,” West amended quietly. “If they so much as twitch, I’m gonna murder every last one of them.”

Feethles had helped hunt down Ramana for the queen. If not for them, my sister might have lasted longer. But I doubted she’d be alive today.

The feethles only snarled, their thin lips vibrating, exposing blackened gums and yellowed teeth. They entirely lacked the beauty of their wild brethren. Darkness had consumed them, robbing them of their innate, internal harmony.

Very well, then.

“Hiro…” I uttered under my breath, in case the feethles should understand what I meant. Though we’d tried to keep our individual skills secret, thanks to the queen and her efforts to dismantle our every advantage since she first summoned us to live at court, they were widely known. “…start right, three up. Ry, don’t. Back Hiro up. West, with me. I’ll do first left, then turn.”

Ever so slightly, West edged closer to me.

It wasn’t exactly a subtle code, but it would help. My brothers were as skilled as I was with a blade and also in strategy. Still, moving forward as one unit always made our efforts smoother.

The pair of feethles closest to us growled ferociously, then leapt at Hiroshi and Ryder. I caught the stare of the one on the left in front.

You will lay limp and not attack.

In mid-air, the creature retracted its legs, pulling them in tightly against its body. Ryder stepped out of its way, slicing at the one next to it, and it landed with a loud smack across several steps, where it then lay unmoving.

Ryder pulled his sword free of the other feethle, and the animal, still snarling, fell across the limp one.

By then, Hiroshi had turned the one on the right, the largest of them all, into a fluffy white bunny, who took one glance at what it could see of its new form and bounded back up the stairs.

Several feethles scented the air and followed in frenzied pursuit, smacking into some of the others to get at the bunny.

Instead of attempting an illusion to confuse the feethles, which would alert the queen, Ryder sliced and stabbed while Hiroshi created two more bunny rabbits, to similar effect.

Meanwhile, the pygmy ogres’yum-yumfest had silenced, and the beast, whatever it was, had begun rumbling.

West and I hurried to round the final bend?—

I halted suddenly, and he piled up behind me, peering over my shoulder to gape at the same sight that had me transfixed.

Five pygmy ogres turned to face us, also gawping, as if they couldn’t comprehend how we might have ended up here, a sight as unexpected as what stood behind them, wrapped in massive, heavy chains.

“Well,” West said, “I guess now we know. That’s definitely a fucking dragon.”

There was no denying it. The beast wasmagnificent.

Beyond Saffron, I’d never seen another live one, and the dragonling had been beaten and battered by his time as the queen’s prisoner, his will broken.

This dragon, too, had been punished. Weeping lacerations and angry red welts crisscrossed its body. Gashes across its legs were wide enough for the raw flesh to hang open. The creature’s wings were shredded, and a smattering of bloodied teeth the size of my hand lay scattered among what appeared to be the parts of other deceased dragons, the lustrous nature of their scales faded. Large, clawed feet, eyeless heads, barbed tails, tattered wings, and other odd bits decomposed around the pit that was vast enough that I couldn’t distinguish its edges, concealed by deep shadows.

Despite all that, the live dragon retained its dignity, its strength. Its spirit was far from broken. I could tell by the way it regarded me with shiny, dark eyes, taking care to determine whether we were friends or foes. Or perhaps none of that deliberation was taking place and it was simply a matter of the creature preserving its energy to attack all of us at once to best effect.

“Queenie don’t want you here,” one of the pygmy ogres said, while another vapidly added, “Queenie, queenie, queenie!”

“We’ll eat you up,” contributed a third as his thick, meaty hand clutched the handle of a long whip. It was made of leather studded with wicked, metal barbs. Chunks of flesh, shiny scales of varied hues, and blood clung to its length.

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