Page 92 of Heart of Shadows

“We can do this.” Brand’s reassuring voice boomed over them all, as if to allay her fears.

“I say the same to you, Harper,” Aedon called amidst the sound of clashing blades. “Fighting, just like you’ve practised?—”

“But better,” Erika chimed in. Harper could hear the smile behind her gritted teeth at the joy of the fight. Somehow, it sparked defiance in Harper too, a flicker of light against the crushing darkness of fear. If she thought about it, she would lose all nerve, so she didn’t think. She threw herself forward, Ragnar at her side, as the soldiers descended on them.

Ragnar tore at their cloaks, nimbly running between and around them and tangling them in the folds. Somehow, her feet found the right positions, and she realised that Brand’s training, limited as it was, made sense. She was still clumsy, and her short, light blade could not match the strength, reach, and power of the soldiers before her, but somehow, she dodged one soldier’s attack and sliced his hand. Ragnar grabbed the man’s hand in his vice-like grip and pulled him to the floor so Harper could smash the man’s helm with the pommel of her sword. He went limp—out cold.

“You should have killed him,” Ragnar growled.

“I can’t!” It wasn’t in her nature—but she could at least incapacitate them. That didn’t cross her moral line.

There was no time to argue, for the next of the guards charged. Harper and Ragnar took him out together. Harper slashed at his cloak, then grabbed it as it flew past her, yanking hard so the man stumbled off balance. Ragnar leapt onto his back and dragged his dagger across the man’s throat. He gurgled and fell as Ragnar leapt off him and advanced on the remaining guards with his axe raised, who surrounded them warily.

Harper backed up to the portcullis, a scream tearing out of her unbidden at the horror of it. An arm shot through the gate, grabbing her by the neck and pulling her back hard. Her air supply cut off instantly and she choked on nothing. A second arm grasped her around the waist, trapping her sword arm at her side.

Harper struggled, but the tightening grip was like a vice around her slender neck, and she could not move an inch. Stars danced in her vision as he slowly strangled her, the world around her beginning to fade.

Ragnar turned and froze. The anguish in his eyes was clear, and it cut her to the core. Harper knew they had lost. It was over. They would both die.

69

DIMITRI

Dimitri stood and watched. His only hope had been if Aedon rescued the young woman and took the temptation to chase the Dragonheart, too. It was easier not to think of Harper by name. He had succeeded in planting the seed with the thief, it seemed. It was not beyond Aedon’s nature. Anything so daring would light the fire in him, if for no other reason than the sheer bravado and thrill of it. Harper would be gone—that felt like a bitter and hollow victory—and he had successfully goaded Aedon into doing his dirty work for him.

Dimitri could not care less if they left with one Dragonheart, a hundred, or none. As long as he also obtained one under cover of their theft. Then there would be nothing stopping him from raising Saradon and breaking the wheel once and for all. Unbeknownst to Aedon, he had also held back the wards, lending his strength to the elf. As much as he would have liked to see Aedon devoured by the protective magic, Dimitri’s success depended on theirs. It was nothing else. Just self-preservation. He refused to admit to himself that he did not want Harper to be collateral damage. That thought was too dangerous.

In the chaos, it was easy to slip between the folds of the world remaining hidden. He flitted between them, tripping a guard here, blinding one there, just for the fun of it. He paused by Aedon and the tall Aerian. Their cloak pockets and bags hanging from their waists were stuffed to the brim with Dragonhearts. He found the biggest and spirited it to the in-between place with him. It was risky. He ought to have left, but he stayed, lingering just a while to watch the fight.

The dragon magic roared through Aedon, bathing all in fire, burning up wards, as well as air. Interesting. The dragon’s bond of strength had not entirely forsaken the elf. Dimitri had no idea that could be the case when a rider’s dragon died. It was a new reason to be wary of Aedon.

His attention sheared from Aedon as he saw Harper falter—saw a scar-faced soldier wrench her against the bars of the portcullis. Before any conscious thought materialised, his magic had already surrounded the man, choking the breath from him just as scar-face tried to strangle her. Dimitrius wrought savage pleasure in the crushing hold his power had upon the man’s throat.

Around them, Dimitri felt the wards crumbling under the weight of magical assault and dragonfire. He was not yet free, and if he lingered, even for a moment too long—for her—all would be lost. She was no helpless maiden. The memory of her sweeping that blade to his own throat, a vicious fire in her gaze, was enough to make him grin. No. The huntress did not need his help. She could save herself. With that thought, Dimitri vanished.

70

HARPER

Harper focused on Ragnar. His presence was her anchor, all that kept her from falling apart and being dashed in the wind. She was going to give them hell. If she was going to die, if they both were, there was no reason not to go down fighting. Her fingers scrabbled inside her cloak, desperately seeking the dagger.

With a roar, Ragnar faced the Kingsguard, who rushed toward him. Harper plunged the dagger into the arm around her throat. All of the screaming and cursing around them were drowned out by a blaze of light and heat as flames erupted from Aedon, bathing the Kingsguard before him. The hands around Harper vanished. She collapsed to the floor and slumped against the portcullis, gasping for breath, utterly spent.

Aedon’s fire grew. Slowly turning her head, she could see how he glowed from the inside out. He’s beautiful… and deadly, Harper thought. Each breath hurt, as though her throat had been squeezed permanently shut and would not open, and the heat in the air around her burnt her mouth. Stars still danced before her eyes, and her fingers were limp around the handle of the dagger.

I need to get up, she thought, but it was impossible, and Aedon was so captivating to watch. It was almost as if he was moving in slow motion. He turned, and an arcing jet of white-yellow-orange-red fire gushed from him. The cloaks of the Kingsguard caught fire. The red of the fabric deepened the colours of the flames. The plumes of their helmets flamed, too, like columns of flickering light shooting for the rocky ceiling.

Men ripped their cloaks and helms off, desperately trying to stamp out the fire, but as Aedon continued, they ran. Inferno after inferno he sent at them, advancing a step at a time, until they fled into the dark vaults. The portcullis rumbled to life at Harper’s back. As it rose, she tumbled backwards, crashing upon the floor. Aedon rushed to her side, Ragnar and the others arriving soon after.

“Harper, can you hear me?”

She could not tell who the voice belonged to. She found the strength to raise a hand that did not feel like hers. Another grasped it, almost too hot to touch.

“Harper!” Aedon’s piercing voice cut through her daze. He knelt beside her and helped her into a sitting position. She slumped against his chest. “Thank goodness you’re alive.” She heard them speak around her as though from a great distance. Her lips parted and closed, but no sound emerged.

“What in the blazes was that?” Brand spluttered.

“Er, can we discuss this another time?” asked Aedon. Brand narrowed his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “Fine. Long story short, I repurposed the power of the wards into fire magic. It’s not a big deal.”

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