Chapter 35

Kit

No one stops me as I sprint toward the door Salazar just fled through, everyone being too busy either fighting or fleeing.

What are you doing? Tavias demands in my mind. He and Cyril are still trying to magic-patch the rift, while Quinton guards the unconscious Hauck. But it's a lost cause. Three dragons cannot hold the line indefinitely, not without help. And most of Salazar's people—including what remains of Geoffrey's pack—are running for safety.

My power is spent, I send back to Tavias. I'm going to find cover until I can rejoin the fight.

Tell me where in the rutting hell you are actually going, Tavias snarls into my mind.

I really need to learn to lie better.

You'll know if it works. The irony of running from my pack isn't lost on me as I slingshot around the throne to stay on Salazar's heels. If we live through this, you can take me over your knee again.

I can feel him huffing through the bond, but know he is too busy to stop me just now. Another dozen steps and I'm at the door.

A familiar scream cuts through the air and I turn to find Bianca backed against the wall, a piranha snapping its teeth inches from her leg. No weapons, no immortality to keep her alive. It's a fitting end for her. One monster slain by another.

So I don't know what has me reaching for the precious dregs of magic I have left and launching a small spark of flame into the piranha's side. My fire can't kill the creature—I don't have the power for that—but it's enough to distract it for a few moments. The piranha rears back in fury and I use the reprieve to throw Bianca out the open door before rushing through myself.

I slam the door closed and gasp for breath.

"You," she snarls at me. Good to see that all her delightful personality has come through the ordeal unharmed.

"If that's your way of saying ‘thank you', I'll take it." Pushing off the wall, I leave her behind and take off at a run. The first exit I come to spills me outside the east wing of the palace. Not as close to the front as I was hoping to end up, but at least I have my bearings now. Keeping the palace at my side I rush toward the main courtyard where the crowd of onlookers watched us enter. The crowd that I'm betting is still there.

It is.

But so is Salazar.

Standing tall at the top of the stairs ascending toward the palace doors, Salazar raises his arms to get the attention of the crowd gathered below. He is tall and regal and dignified. Completely put together. Even his gaudy tunic is perfectly intact. And his face… It's somehow grave and serene at the same time. It's perfect. Like the rest of him.

And me? I'm a panting, bloody mess still wearing the same clothes I'd trudged into the sea with. Bits of piranha that landed on me during the melee still cling to my shirt. Not to mention that I smell like a sewer.

"My people," Salazar tells the now settled crowd. "I have news. Less than an hour ago, princes Cyril, Tavias and their pack entered the royal palace to bring us devastating news of King Ettienne's death, and to deliver the late king's final decree. In his last minutes of life, our beloved ruler issued his final order, passing the Massa'eve crown to his brother. To me. The princes are understandably disappointed and have requested that we honor their privacy as they process their father's decision and grieve his loss."

"You are a lying coward," I bellow, rushing toward Salazar as I send the pitiful remains of my power at him. It's just enough spark to land on the hem of his fine coat and set the embroidery on fire. "Ettienne passed the crown to Cyril. And the princes aren't grieving, they are fighting off the blight monsters you've let loose in the palace."

Two guards step into my path, halting me at the edge of the steps. The stench of piranha on me makes them recoil in disgust, buying me the momentary pause I need to refill my lungs and address the people directly.

"I am Kitterny, the dragon dame and mate to the royal dragon pack," I shout. "The royal pack that is currently fighting to keep you safe, while this coward pours lies into your ears." I point at Salazar, who is growling as he pats out the flame on his jacket. "He has opened a rift into the blight. My pack is there, holding the line—but we are losing. We need help. Your help. We need your magic and your swords to stand beside ours."

The guard beside me backhands me across the face. He is huge and the force of his blow knocks me off my feet. I don't fight it. Instead, I let the momentum carry me down the steps. Closer to the people whose choice will mean everything.

"The throne of Massa'eve is no one's to take," I shout toward the crowd of confused, unreadable faces. "It is yours to give. You, the people of Massa'eve, must decide who to believe. What proof to demand. Which ruler you wish to follow." I swallow the blood dripping from my nose into my throat.

"Imposter!" Salazar bellows, pointing at me. "Traitorous whore! Our real dame is resting in her chambers. Guards, arrest this raving lunatic at once."

Five guardsmen break toward me. I've seconds left. Maybe less.

"Go check for yourselves," I plead to the courtyard, where people are now looking in confusion between Salazar and me. They are also pulling out handkerchiefs to hold against their noses to ward off my stench. "Go into the throne room for stars' sake. See the truth. The future of Massa'eve is in your hands. Your choices. The only power a king has is the power his people give him. Use that power. Make your choice. And for stars' sake, defend it."

The guards reach me, shoving me to my knees.

"Wait," a female voice from the crowd calls over the rising murmurs. "What if there truly are blight monsters in the palace? We should look for ourselves. Let us into the palace!"

"Yes, where are the royal princes?" another voice picks up. "What do they say?"

"If that's an imposter, show us the real dame, Salazar."

"Let us through!"

"Let us in!"

"Enough of this madness," Salazar yells. There is a flash of light and a humongous black dragon takes the place of the false king's face. The dragon's neck shifts in a serpentine pattern and stretches toward me, its head half the size of my body. Stars he is big. And fast.

The guards holding me scatter.

The dragon's nostrils flare as it inhales and sends a torrent of flame straight at me.

It happens just as it did in the citadel. I shift without thought, throwing my wings out wide in a makeshift barrier between Salazar's flames and the people crowding the courtyard behind me. The heat scorches my scales and lungs, and I scream—but stand.

Get out of there, Tavias screams at me through our bond. Fly wildcat. Fly as fast as you can.

I shove off the ground. Not to run away, but to circle around Salazar's other side and draw his wrath away from the crowd he'd nearly incinerated in his quest to end me. I may not be much, but I'm not letting any innocents die today. Not so long as I can fly.

Salazar's black dragon dives for me, its jaws open wide and aimed at my neck.

I swerve upwards toward the graying sky, my smaller wings beating twice as quickly as Salazar must.

He matches my pace and I see him preparing to belch flame again. I know the fire won't kill me, but it will hurt, and its brightness will blind me for precious seconds.

I twist. The flame sears my back. Before I can recover, the black dragon whips its tail at my side. A sharp pain flares along my ribs and my ears ring. My depleted magic struggles to rise as I roar my fury to the sky.

Thunder answers, the dark clouds around us cracking into a sudden torrential downpour. Rain pelts my scales, the droplets turning to steam wherever they hit the still-warm patches of dragon hide.

Salazar dives at me from above, his claws outstretched.

I veer to the left, dodging his attack, and climb.

Salazar rushes me again. I twist away, but not fast enough. Claws cut through my flank, drawing hot blood against the cool rain. The pain is sharp. Deep. But it means I'm still alive. Still in the fight.

The storm thickens, the wind shoving at my wings and veering me into a spin. I lose track of the earth and sky. Of Salazar. Shapes race before me. Clouds. Dragon. Palace. Ground. Sky. I can barely make them out in the downpour.

Salazar's black dragon disappears completely into the gray veil of rain before reappearing suddenly at my right side, startlingly close. His claws swipe through the air where I was just a heartbeat ago, nearly catching my wing. His roar of frustration vibrates through my bones.

I narrow all my focus on the darkest, angriest of the thunder clouds and fly toward it with all my might. Up, up, up. Faster. Harder.

Salazar follows on my tail, his enraged growl promising death.

My wings burn from the effort but I don't dare slow. Don't dare take my eyes off the cloud I've chosen. The tiny shreds of magic I've replenished pull together for a single desperate charge. I will have one chance.

Three wing beats left. The cloud envelops my head. Two. I'm in the middle of it, its energy crackling around me. Now.

Clearing the storm cloud, I unleash my magic into its dark mass. A charge races through it, a luminous vein spider-webbing across its surface. Shadows and highlights flash, silhouetting Salazar's dragon just beneath. Then the lightning forks and bolts straight down.

My breath stills as fingers of that blinding, deadly current streak down toward Salazar.

And miss.

The world stops. Or maybe that's my heart, the shock of devastation stripping me of my bearings.

Beating his massive wings, Salazar rushes toward me through the storm. His claws are out and my luck is gone. I try to dodge his attack, but his talons pierce straight through my wings, shredding the membranes. The muscles. I feel it at once, the moment when I can no longer hold myself in the sky. When the only thing still keeping me in the air is the black dragon's punishing grip.

With my remaining strength, I coil in on my own body, clamp my jaws around Salazar's neck and hold on. My life has only heartbeats left, but I can still leave Massa'eve with one gift—a world without Salazar in it. Maybe that's the role the prophecy always intended for me to play. I'm no longer a hunter. No longer prey. I'm just a dragon-size ballast of dead weight pulling Salazar down, down, down to the earth.

We drop fast. Salazar alternates trying to shake me off and desperately beating his wings to slow the descent. Be he can do neither. My mating bond, which I've been too busy to listen to, now vibrates with unmitigated terror. My mates don't know what's happening to me, but they know it's bad. Very bad. And they are afraid. My mates who are never afraid of anything are terrified. For me.

Gathering everything I have left, from my lifeforce to my soul, I turn it into love that I send back to them. I want, need, for them to be left with that. My love for them. My pride in them. My demand that they fight and win and live. That they be happy.

The ground races up to meet Salazar and me. The world blinks in spots of color as the storm sings. Or maybe it's death singing. Whatever it is, it is loud and rhythmic and it's… chanting?

My queen.

My queen.

My queen.

The voices are all different, and they seem to sound inside my head.

I blink through the haze to see that the shifting spots of color aren't at all phantoms of failing vision, but dragons. A whole riot of them, all racing to surround Salazar and me. Half a dozen of them break off to descend on Salazar, their claws and teeth shredding him to bits. The others all extend their wings beneath my belly, taking my weight as they carryus carefully down to the courtyard.

There is a jolt as we land, my body transforming back into fae form. I crumple. Strong arms catch me before I reach the ground, Quinton's panicked gaze gripping me as tightly as his hands. Over his shoulder, I see Cyril and Tavias—the latter supporting Hauck—hurrying toward me as well.

"She's alive," Quinton calls back to them, his voice breaking. He gentlly lowers me to my feet, his healing magic pouring into me just as the rest of the pack reaches me and the chanting sound I'd heard in the air ripples through the courtyard.

My queen.

My queen.

My queen.

The calls continue, each in a new voice as dragons drop to a knee in recognition. My mind is spinning too quickly to make sense of it, my clothes sticky with blood as I grip Quinton's arm in a vice hold. "The rift," I rasp through my aching throat. If we are about to be overrun with spinecrawlers?—

"-two dozen people rushed in to help a few minutes ago," Cyril says between panting breaths as he reaches out to brush hair from my face. He is scanning every inch of me desperately. "It's enough to hold the line until it closes. Bloody stars, nymph, what were you thinking going against Salazar alone?"

I exhale in relief. My body is one giant pain and I want nothing more than to just bury myself in Quinton's shoulder. But it's not time for that yet. "Salazar?" I ask. "Where is he?"

"Over there," Quinton says before Cyril can object. He jerks his head toward the base of the palace steps. "What's left of him."

"I want to see."

Instead of arguing, Quinton adjusts his hold on my waist. Cyril sighs, but comes up to help me from the other side as they carefully walk me toward a bloodied heap on the ground. The small crowd gathered there parts for us, some dropping to one knee when they see me.

I brace myself, then look down to where Salazar bleeds on the marble steps. His legs are bent at unnatural angles and more than a few of his entrails are on the wrong side of his belly. It's a wonder his chest still rises.

As if sensing my arrival, Salazar opens his eyes. Our gazes lock for a moment and he laughs. It's a horrible wet sound. "You think you won?" he rasps, his chest shuddering as his laughter turns to choking coughs. "You are dead… you all are. Or will wish to be."

I know he is lying. Taunting me. That's his way. But it works, anyway. "What are you talking about?" I ask.

A smile starts to spread across his face but freezes half way through as the last bit of life drops away from the false king.

Shit. Of course. The bastard probably planned it that way, just so he could haunt us even from the grave.

"Wildcat." Tavias and Hauck reach us and I throw my arms around them, assuring myself that both are alive. And here. I close my eyes, resting my forehead just below Tavias's chin and breathing in his scent.

"Not to interrupt the celebration, but maybe you should let everyone up sometime today?" a familiar female voice asks.

I force myself to look over, finding Bianca standing a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest. Beyond her, at least a third of the courtyard is still kneeling. Bianca rolls her eyes. "Apparently turning into an iridescent lizard is all it takes to get the males to drop to their knees around here."

I cringe and look pleadingly toward Cyril.

"They are kneeling for you, not me, nymph."

"A lot of help you are," I mutter, before shifting my attention to the kneeling crowd. I've no notion of what to do with them, so I opt for the direct approach. "Can everyone please get up? And maybe pretend I'm not here for a bit?"

Cyril snorts softly.

Bianca rolls her eyes, which are somehow still lined perfectly with coal. "Really, that's all you have? Pathetic." She twists toward the confused looking crowd. The dragons are rising slowly, and everyone looks as unsure of what to do next as I feel. Bianca raises her voice. "Listen up, people. Your queen requires a healer, a bath, and a bedchamber prepared for her and her mates. She'll address everyone once she's rested."

"I will?" I ask, clarifying dubiously, watching as the courtyard crowd starts moving about with a renewed purpose.

"Obviously," Bianca says. "You've been elected queen. What did you expect?"

To die. I'd been expecting to die. Pushing that thought away for now I frown at Bianca. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugs. "I like being on the winning side. Even if that means siding with the likes of you."

Good to know some things never change. My brows narrow, something tickling my memory. A female voice shouting support from the crowd. Opening the door for other voices to join in. Bianca starts walking away but I grab her arm before she makes it out of reach. "Earlier, when I tried to get the crowd's attention, did you- "

She huffs. "Obviously. Men, males, they are all the same. Get them cued in a direction, and they all stampede."

Cyril raises a brow and Bianca walks off again.

"Thank you," I call after her softly.

"Don't," she says over her shoulder. "I didn't do it for you. I just like being alive."