Page 116 of Edge of the Wild

Careful to keep her tone something like meek, she said, “In the absence of my father and brother, I strive to look after the family lands. I can’t do that in a corset and skirts.”

“Insolent.” He dragged the word out with seeming relish, his gaze returning to her face, at last. He straightened, expression going flat. “My master wants you.”

A hard chill rippled down her back. She said, “Why?”

He said, “Drakes talk to dragons.”

A hand touched hers, and a moment later, the ropes around her wrists fell away. Before she could try to bring her stiff arms around, the captain gripped the front of her leather jerkin and hauled her to her feet.

“No!” Mal shouted. “Leave her alone!”

Her gaze cut toward him, even as the Sel captain shook her.Mal, please stop, please.

“Look at me,” the captain snapped. When she did, he said, “He’s not important, no?” His white lips twitched, and dread filled her stomach.

“No, he–”

Swift movement snared her attention: an armored, helmeted soldier stepped out of the shadows and moved around Mal to stand in front of him. He carried one of the Sels’ trademark staffs, its end tipped with two feet of gleaming, wicked steel, that faintly curved spear-head that marked a group of marching soldiers so that they gleamed and flashed like a river flowing beneath the sun. “Mal,no!”

The soldier lowered the staff, and ran him through.

Malcolm’s eyes were locked on hers as the spearhead punched through leather armor as if it were butter, and found his heart. His mouth fell open; his face went slack. She saw the spark of shock, of pain – and saw it wink out.

She saw the life go out of him.

She opened her mouth to scream–

And her vision went red.

A great, hot flash of it exploded in her mind. Wiped everything else away. She couldn’t see Malcolm’s slumping body, nor the captain, nor the rest of the men around her. She couldn’t hear her own screaming. Was no longer aware of her own body.

There was only the red. A deep, glistening shade of ruby, like the gem that Connor had given her. Heat surged through her – warming, reassuring. A sense that she was safe.

There was someone there. Some presence. Indefinable, amorphous, but friendly, she knew, instinctually. She heard a low, deep, purring, a glad sort of rumble.

Recognition.

Surprise – but gladness.

A few hummed notes like a song.

A thought pierced the veil of crimson – not her own.You. It’s you. Hello, sister.

As quickly as it had come, the red fell away, like a dropped stage curtain. She gasped, and blinked, and the clearing around the bonfire was full of screaming.

She blinked, and staggered a step back – because the captain no longer had hold of her. The captain was on his knees in the dirt, clutching what had once been his face, but was now a blackened ruin; his hair was singed and smoking. She smelled roasting meat, and had to swallow down her gorge.

The soldier who’d stabbed Malcolm –Mal, no, no, gods, please, I can’t, please don’t– lay flat-out on his back, hands and face similarly burned, no part of him moving.

Soldiers were running, shouting in Selesee, panicked; someone barked orders, and the bonfire glinted off spearpoints.

Someone was saying her name. Connor. “For the love of the gods, Drake, fuckingdo something!”

She turned her head to regard him, struggling to comprehend, and saw that he’d gone pale with fright, his eyes rolling wildly. Do what? she wondered.

Something moved in the shadows behind him. Something slid, sinuous as smoke, between his stake and the one on the far side of it, gliding into the firelight.

Amelia stared.

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