Page 16 of A City of Flames

“A dragon?” His tone sounds more surprised than questioning. “I suspect that is why you must despise them. Am I correct to assume so?”

Of course, that is it. I’d grown up seeing them as a threat to our land. “Wouldn’t you?”

Something sneaks up on his expression when I ask him of this... something harsh though it leaves too quick for me to decipher. “Hate can drive you to extremes, Miss Ambrose.”

“Only if you let it,” I say, studying his face like I want to solve what had long gone from his features as I add, “Deputy.”

He takes a long look at my eyes while keeping his hand against the pommel of his sword. Seeing there’s nothing left to mention, I spin and go back into my throwing stance, launching the blade. Once again, it lands above the center but as I reach for another knife, Lorcan, not having moved from his position behind me, says, “Your aims are good, but you seem to use your strength more than skill.”

What an observant venator.

“Like these daggers can do much harm to an immortal,” I murmur with a frown as I suddenly think of the Golden Thief. Even though I’d stolen steel powder to protect myself in the past so I could repel any shifter possibly lurking around, I now knew the Golden Thief was immune to that. The last thing I want is to be bitten by a shifter.

shifters may look like us mortals. They can even go as far as hiding their scent from other animals. But everyone knows their bite can turn you into such dreadful dragons unless, of course, your body rejects it—which is almost always. I’d only ever heard the rumors from Miss Kiligra on how most bites killed you in horrific ways. As if your insides were ripping to shreds, and every part of you would cough up blood until there was nothing left to expel.

“Dragons may be immortal,” Lorcan says, making me stray from my thoughts as I look over my shoulder at him. “But they aren’t invincible.”

I know that... despite immortality, a steel weapon to the heart, fatal wounds or decapitation usually do the trick.

“But if you want to weaken a dragon,” Lorcan continues. “Be it a fledgling or an adult, then you aim here.” He points to his eyes before dragging that scarred finger to his abdomen. “And here. However, when young, their scales aren’t developed. It’s easier to pierce their skin that way.”

“What if it’s a shifter in human form?” The question comes out before I can even stop myself.

“Then...” A waft of cedar hits me as he takes one step to my side and reaches his hand over mine. “You keep your movement fluid.” His gaze sets on the target, never letting go of me as he raises my arm with the blade and aims it. I’m not sure how to feel or react, my instincts usually tell me to punch or kick any man who’d approach me this way, but I can’t do that to a second in command.

Lorcan side glances at me, and the corner of his lip twitches, making me narrow my eyes. Now I might just kick him, venator or not. I do not care.

“Only add force when you need to,” he says, soft, in contrast to what he was telling me to do.

For a moment, we stay like that, staring at each other until his name is called out over the fields. He steps away from me, running a hand through his hair. The wisps tapering below his ears burn bright like fire hearths. “Keep practicing. You already have more potential than most in here.” From his hair, his hand comes down to his jaw, rubbing it as he walks backward. “And remember... we protect those who do not bear the flame.”

The venator’s motto.

My brows lift at that as it takes a second for him to turn his sturdy back on me.

Every dragon carries the power of fire that no other mortal can. Be it an Umbrati who thrives with its shadows of the night or a Merati capable of creating illusions to lure their victims. I’d learned this through Idris’s books. Perhaps I’d have known more if I hadn’t stopped going to the village school after my parents perished.

“What did you do to have the Deputy smiling so much?” Freya runs up to me, bow in one hand and a quiver on her back, carrying all the arrows. I’d seen her earlier hitting every target with ease. It is obviously her forte.

I shrug. “He must have had a good breakfast.”

Trying not so much as to glance in his direction, I look toward the target, repeating what he told me as I throw the dagger. It lands straight in the middle, startling me.

Freya laughs incredulously, handing me another blade like it’s nothing. “Lorcan rarely smiles. In fact, I don’t remember ever seeing him do it, and I’ve known him since I was eight and him just fourteen years of age.”

She’s known him for years? I eye her suspiciously. “Can’t be worse than general Erion.”

Freya’s body solidifies like water turning to ice. “Yeah... I—I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

Pinching my brows together, I angle my head down at her.

“He—” She mutters ‘Solaris’ in-between. “He’s... my father.”

My blade loosens in my palm, and from the look I must have on my face Freya adds with a wince, “general Erion Demori.”

Well, that explains the resemblance I’m only just realizing now, but the shock still reigns over me. “I—why didn’t you tell me?” I hadn’t expected her to last night, but perhaps I’d have kept quiet—no, that is an outright lie, I’d still have said something to the general.

Freya’s hands pick at the bow to the point I think she’ll break it in half from trepidation. “I’m sorry, Nara, it’s the reason many never room with me. They despise my father! And I was so excited to meet someone new—”

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