Page 117 of Edge of the Wild

It was a head – a head attached to a neck – as high off the ground as a horse would have been. But it wasn’t a horse’s head at all.

Dragon, she thought, wildly. Its long, wedge-shaped skull, its tapered nose, its horns, the little spines that traveled down its muscular, serpentine neck. Its nostrils flared – she could hear it inhaling – and its head turned toward her, its red-gold eyes gleaming with a light all their own. The flat, gleaming scales were black edged with red in the firelight.

It stared at her, and she felt a press at the back of her mind. That same sense of recognition.Hello. Sister.

The panic that had threatened upon sight of the creature faded, immediately. She only felt warm.

She let out a deep breath, and thought,hello.

Its half-moon nostrils flared, and she thought that was a kind of communication. Then it tipped its head and regarded Connor – who had closed his eyes and was praying fervently under his breath.

“No,” Amelia said, and the dragon’s gaze came back to her. “Not him. Not my men.”

It blinked, a slow closing of scaled lids, and turned its head as a trio of Sel soldiers rushed, spears at the ready. The nostrils flared again, a frill of leathery skin opened just behind its head, a collar of black tipped with red. She heard the working of its great lungs, the rush of air inside its chest, and when it opened its mouth, fire jetted out, so bright she had to turn away. When she looked back, the soldiers were writhing on the ground, screaming.

The dragon regarded her again, as if to say,what next?

Help me, she thought.

The drake gave a quick toss of his head and a soft snort that reminded her of Shadow. Then it walked forward into the clearing – on four strong legs tipped with black claws longer than her hand. It was much larger than she’d thought: bigger than any horse she’d ever seen. Its black wings were folded neatly at its sides, and its tail was long and tapered, tipped with a wicked sike like a spade tip.

A rush of movement to her right drew her attention to a second dragon, a red-tinted black wraith that glided into the clearing, pausing a second to spare her a glance that, despite its reptile face, she thought looked almost friendly, if such a thing were possible.

Farther around the ring, she saw another, and another. They were large as elephants, but moved gracefully and quickly as wolves.

More soldiers rushed forward, staffs at the ready – and were set ablaze.

Fire-drakes, she thought, with a hysterical, half-unhinged inner laugh. These were fire-drakes, and she hadspokento one. In a fashion. Connor hadn’t been lying.

Speaking of which…

“Drake!” he hissed.

“Right.” She gave herself a mental shake. “Right. Coming.”

The captain had finally keeled over, no longer moving. He wore a long, thin knife in a gold sheath at his belt, its hilt carved and gem-encrusted. A ceremonial blade, but plenty sharp, she saw, when she drew it, and turned to cut Connor’s bonds.

The outlaw king was all but hyperventilating. “It responded to you. Holy gods, it really responded to you, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Well, whatever happened.” He scrambled to his feet, wincing as he rubbed at his chafed wrists and rolled his stiff shoulders. Firelight danced over his face, and he looked calmer now, less blindly panicked. “We need to take advantage of distraction and slip away while we can.” He crossed to another smoking, dying soldier and drew his knife. “You cut your men free and I’ll get mine.” When she didn’t move right away, he said, “Amelia, go!”

“Right.” She felt sluggish. Heavy. Far too calm. The red threatened at the edges of her vision again, and she blinked it away.

It was the oddest feeling: here they were in an enemy camp, surrounded by Sels, but she wasn’t worried about them. Felt none of Connor’s urgency. She tried to dredge some up, though.Focus. And saw about cutting her men free.

“My lady,” Thomas said in a small, broken voice, andoh,oh no.

Mal.

She paused, one hand on the knife, the other on the sturdy rope that bound Thomas’s wrists together behind the stake. Her insides tumbled: pulse lurching, stomach rolling. Sweat prickled at her temples, and beneath her clothes. Panic, finally. Pain. Grief. She was grateful she couldn’t see Thomas’s face, in the moment; his shattered voice was painful enough.

“My lady,” he said again, and began to weep.

She cut the rope, stood, and moved to the next stake. To Malcolm.

He might have been asleep, the way his head had fallen forward on his chest, his hair shielding his face. But Malcolm had always had such spark; there was a constant energy about him, even when he was sleeping; a warmth, and a magnetism, and always an irrepressible smile, just for her. She could feel the absence of all that now. A cold void that had opened up where the wild, vibrant heart had once beaten so strongly.

---