“I could have handled it. I can handle it.”
“You never leave the barracks. Not since . . .”
“Since I pretty much killed our mother? Yeah, I noticed.”
“Vee, you didn’t kill her. It wasn’t your fault.”
It’s not my fault that I couldn’t save our mother from a dragon, but it is my fault that I don’t have magic, because I don’t want it badly enough? “Yeah, right.”
“I mean it. There was nothing you could have done, except get yourself killed, too. You have to stop beating yourself up about it, because it’s not healthy, living like this. Never leaving the barracks. But if this is the only place you feel safe, then I didn’t want you thinking dragons were going to show up at any moment and murder us all in our beds.”
“Then why are you telling me now?”
“Because if you know just how dangerous that criminal is, then maybe you can picture what it would be like if he got out. If he was after you, and the only thing separating you from certain death was your magic, then maybe you could do it. I thought if the danger felt real, then maybe the magic would, too.”
“The danger felt real when Mother died. When that dragon transformed out of nowhere and ripped her to shreds. I couldn’t do anything then. What makes you think I can do it now?”
“That was a long time ago. And it doesn’t matter what happened in the past. We have to keep trying. There’s not always going to be someone around to protect you. The only way you’re ever really going to feel safe is if you can rely on yourself.”
She says it like she thinks I don’t already know that. “Fine. Let’s try this again.” I heave myself up from the bench, stretching my arms and yawning.
“Close your eyes,” Celeste says as I approach the dais. “Imagine that Amelrik’s escaped. That he’s hunting you through these halls, invading the one place you thought was safe. He’s stronger and faster than you, and his senses are sharper. And he’s got magic. He’s going to transform into the monster he really is. One swipe of his claw could gut you. One fiery breath could roast you alive.”A shiver runs down my spine. I try to stay focused on the scenario Celeste is laying out for me, but instead of imagining what it would feel like to be sliced open, I can’t help replaying Amelrik’s words from earlier.
I don’t care about you. Maybe Lothar can fake interest in a stinking paladin for a night, but he’s always been the better actor.
And, of course, my favorite: I’ve always had a soft spot for virgins.
I remember the smirk on his face as he said that, and rage boils inside me. Amelrik doesn’t know the first thing about me. Well, except for the virgin thing, but that’s not any of his business. I didn’t ask him to save me, if that’s even what he did, and I certainly don’t owe him anything.
I’m tired of needing people to save me. Whether it’s Celeste or Torrin, or now even a freaking dragon. I’m tired of them all thinking I’m helpless.
You would have married him if I hadn’t been there.
My hands clench around the dragon ring. I grit my teeth so hard I feel like they’re going to break. I squeeze the iron collar like it’s Amelrik’s scrawny neck.
There’s a flash of red. A spark that arcs between my hands, then fizzles out and disappears. I wouldn’t even be sure I really saw it—maybe thinking about Amelrik made me just that pissed that I was actually seeing red—but a hint of sulfur lingers in the air.
Magic.
I drop the ring and jump back, as if it bit me. It lands on the dais with a clatter, looking like an ordinary piece of iron. Not enchanted. But . . .
“I felt it.” I gulp in air like I don’t remember how to breathe. Every nerve in my body is alive and on fire and not sure how to feel.
It was just a spark, but it was magic. Real magic.
Celeste’s mouth is hanging open. Despite all her pep talks, she obviously can’t believe it. Then she shrieks with joy and grabs me in a hug.
“I did it,” I say, hardly able to believe it myself. I’m not a dud. All the St. George genes didn’t pass me by. And if I did it once, maybe I can do it again.
And maybe I won’t have to get married in two weeks.
6
YOU’RE NO PALADIN
The next evening, I march down to the dungeon and straight to Amelrik’s cell. I yawn, still tired from staying up until almost sunrise, even though I slept until late afternoon. A fact that got me a stern talking-to from Father, since apparently I was supposed to have lunch with Lord Varrens.
I told him me missing my hot lunch date was probably for the best, since I didn’t think I could sit so close to my future husband without ripping his clothes off right then and there. And think how scandalous that would be. Then Father turned an ugly shade of purply-red and started shouting at me to go to my room.
I wanted to tell him about my success last night, even if it was just a spark. But just a spark isn’t a spell. It doesn’t automatically make me paladin material, and, anyway, it only happened once. No matter how many times I pictured Amelrik’s stupid face telling me how he saved my life, I couldn’t re-create my success.
Which is why I’m here in the dungeon, getting fresh material. That, and there’s something thrilling about defying my sister’s orders not to talk to him again.
Celeste would kill me if she knew where I was. But she left at the crack of dawn with a group of paladins to go hunt down Lothar. She’s miles away by now. And even if they catch him right away and come home early . . . Well, she’ll be too tired from staying up all night and too happy about hanging his head on the wall to be mad at me. At least, not too mad. And Amelrik might be dangerous, but he’s collared and behind bars. What’s he going to do to me?
“You really are one to talk,” I say, recalling my conversation with him, my voice echoing off the dungeon walls. “You’re surprised I’m alive? You barely survived that encounter with Lothar. And you got captured by paladins. Great job on that. I’ve been thinking, and I’m pretty sure the reason you didn’t transform is because you’re a coward. In human form, you could blend into the crowd. As a dragon, you would have been an easy target, for Lothar and for us.”
I pause, but there’s no response.
“Did you hear me? I said you’re a coward. At least Lothar tried to fight—all you did was run.”
Still nothing. I stand in front of Amelrik’s cell, not getting too close, but unable to see much inside except shadows. Is there even anyone in there?
And then I’m thinking about the scenario Celeste was concocting last night. About Amelrik getting free and roaming the halls, coming after me . . .
Maybe coming down here was stupider than I thought. I glance at his cell door, making sure it’s closed and locked. Every little sound has me on edge, even just my shoe scuffing against the stone floor, and for a moment I convince myself that he’s somehow gotten free and is right behind me, all claws and teeth, ready to grab me from the shadows and rip me apart.
I clench my fists and get ahold of myself. Even if he did somehow escape, he’d still have the dragon ring on. And if he wanted me dead, he could have let Lothar kill me the other night. I refuse to let my imagination get the better of me, and I move closer to the cell door.
A hand snatches at the bars from the other side, scaring me half to death. I scream and jump back, ready to run. And then I notice the hand is covered in blood.
Amelrik groans as he slowly pulls himself to his feet. He has a black eye and a bloody lip, but it looks like those are the least of his injuries.
“Virgin,” he whispers, and there’s a catch in his throat, like he’s so relieved to see someone, even me, that he might cry.
“It’s Virginia,” I mutter, glancing away.
“You’re here to torture me with words now, is that it?”
“I-I shouldn’t have—I have to go.”
“No, stay.” The word comes out desperate, urgent.
The skin around the dragon ring has turned an even deeper red, almost purple, while the ring itself glows like an ember. Every breath has him wincing, though he tries to hide it, and I wonder what other injuries he must have, hidden from my view. His pain makes me uncomfortable, and part of me wants to run and not have to be here, and part of me wishes there was something I could do to help him.
Guilt snakes through my chest. Both for feeling any sympathy for him—he’s a dragon, after all, and a wanted criminal—and for coming down here to antagonize him.“It’s okay,” he says, his voice strained. “You don’t have to look at me.”
My guilt flares up another notch, and I force myself to meet his gaze. “I know what you did, to get in here. To deserve this.”
A short burst of laughter escapes him, then quickly turns into a cough that leaves blood flecked across his lips. “And don’t all dragons ‘deserve’ this in your eyes?”
“You’re responsible for the deaths of hundreds of paladins.” And even if the dragon ring blocks him from using his magic, he’ll still heal faster than a normal person would. His suffering won’t make up for what he’s done—not that it ever could.
“Am I up to the hundreds now? I’ve lost count.”
“That’s it. I’m leaving.” I turn to go.