Page 31 of The Lost Prince
And the archives were one of those spots with a perfect view of the dragon. Though, it was sometimes unnerving having nothing but glass between hundreds of years of documents and a fire-breathing lizard.
Said reptile in question was back, from wherever he’d gone. He plopped down on a stone parapet just across from our window, glaring directly at me.
“Wow … mean looking thing,” M commented, licking his lips nervously.
Was it just me, or did that dragon’s face contort a bit when M said that. It was as if he could hear us and he didn’t like what he’d heard?
“Let’s just go,” I proposed, not liking the glare the dragon was leveling my way. I seemed to run into it more than most people, but this was the first time I sensed pure antagonism from it.
“Hold on. I never get to see the thing. Wicked beast.”
M pressed himself flat against the glass, squishing his face to get as close to the dragon as possible.
The dragon’s muscles rippled, golden scales flashing as it stretched and jumped on top of the archive roof. The building shook slightly, then went still.
I tried to quell my irritation as M showed no signs of budging.
“M, I don’t think—”
“Ah!”
We both jump back as the dragon stuck his head down over the window to peer in at us, only inches of glass separating us. This close, every detail of his body lay bare before us. Golden scales glinted and flashed into the waning sun of late afternoon. Bright white fangs tapered to a deadly sliver, and tufted ears twitched and continuously turned this way and that, even though his attention was clearly on us.
And those eyes.
Gold with a slitted, black pupil that stared at me in direct challenge.
I couldn’t help but lean against the glass like M, my palms flat as if I could reach out and touch a scale if I tried hard enough.
My skin itched as I thought of my first ritual. Small golden lines appeared across the skin on my hands and in between my fingers. M was too enthralled with the dragon to notice how I glowed.
Would my magick work if the dragon attacked? Only normal glass separated us; not dragonsbane like the dome was made of. It seemed extremely perilous and risky. I’d have to ask Vession why we didn’t protect the archives with more dragonsbane.
The ritual I’d done (in theory) would give me some protection from heat and fire. It would take me many more stages to become completely resistant, of course, but it seemed practical to work on this set first when you lived in a kingdom haunted by a dragon.
Especially a dragon that didn’t seem to like me.
The dragon’s eyes narrowed, and it growled, smoke and glowing embers tumbling from its nostrils.
“M. We need to back away. Come on.”
I was curious how my ritual would hold up, but even I was stupid enough to think it would keep me alive after taking a full shot of dragon fire to the face.
“Just a little longer. I—”
It happened in slow motion, yet had to have taken only a few seconds. The dragon reared its head back a few inches, and I immediately knew what would happen next. I grabbed M and dove to the side of the window, throwing myself on top of him.
The glass shattered as agonizing heat flooded the archives. I screamed in both pain and fear, praying to whatever gods existed that the glass stopped the flames and none of the books or manuscripts got damaged.
My flesh would heal, the books would not.
My skin blistered and cracked, white-hot pain lancing through my body and tensing every muscle in my body. I tried to relax into the pain and accept it, even as M writhed and screamed under me.
And then it was quiet.
So, so quiet.
The only sounds were M’s sobs under me and my own ragged breathing. I couldn’t move. Everythinghurt. The sound of paper burning jolted me into action more than the danger of being around for a second blast.
