Page 89 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
My feet kick uselessly at nothing.
My fingers claw at his hand, all in vain.
He does not need to hold my throat. His Air weave beneath my feet cushions me well enough to keep me aloft. It is all an excuse to touch me again.
Hedaresto touch me again, after I told him not to.
Malice’s emerald eyes burn in the darkness as he lowers his gaze to my neck, stroking his thumb against my skin. “A throat like this should never be left bare,” he murmurs, his breath caressing my face with each word. “I will have Grime and Ghoul bring you some jewelry in the morning,selira feyra.”
I recoil from his touch. His words.
Anger flares through me hot and bright.
I would rather fall to my death than spend one more moment in this creature’s company. I would rather be impaled upon the thorns below than be further manhandled byhim.
Malice tightens his fingers around my throat like a living collar, refusing to let me go. His smile mocks me. His eyes dance, as if he delights in my rising fury.
“Only Bene may call meselira feyra,” I whisper, carefully enunciating each syllable. “Andyou, Malice the false king”—I snarl his name to ensure he knows how much hedisgustsme—“will never touch me again.”
The moment that final word tumbles from my lips, something snaps into place between us—a something that resounds through my soul, that vibrates the very air, that flickers through Malice’s gaze in a flash of silver and gold.
His eyes widen, surprise visible there for the briefest moment.
But then that moment passes.
His grip on my throat loosens. His Air weave beneath my feet dissolves.
“Aurelia!” Velda screams as I tumble backward into the night.
Falling.
No!My fingers grasp at nothing. The wind whips past. Above me, Malice shifts and roars, the sound threatening to rend the sky. But he makes no move to catch me.
Only Velda flies after me, desperately trying to weave more Air to slow my fall. But it is not enough. Her light flickers, dimming by the moment. She no longer has the strength to weave.
She cannot help me now.
No one can.
“No!” I scream aloud, my eyes squeezing shut. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to fail.
Please, no.
Air snaps taut around me, stopping me midair. My head whips back. My eyes fly open. I shudder, barely daring to breathe as I look down and see the wicked points of the thorns waiting just beneath me.
I hover mere inches from a most gruesome death.
A panicked laugh escapes me, my body shaking. I suck in deep of the night air, my chest heaving. I’m alive.
Malice must have saved me. He must have waited until the last moment to frighten me.
But as I look up at the great dragon hovering above the tower, as I feel the anger roiling off of him in hot waves even from that distance, I know it was not him who saved me. He would have let me break against the thorns.
I stare in wonder at the purple threads glittering close at hand, waiting for me to wield them further.Air. I’m weaving Air.
Disbelief courses through me as the truth slams home.
Isaved me.
