“This is not the moment to be a rebel princess,” he murmured so only I could hear. The wildweaver chuckled.
“It's actually funny you think you have a chance against me,” The wildweaver said.
Around us, I kept hearing screams and roars; the fight continued, while this wildweaver only wanted to examine me.
“What is the point of all this death? Call this off.” I demanded. “Take my deal. We can live without fighting.”
“You’re just a child with a foolish imagination,” the wildweaver snarled, shadows coiling from his hands like living smoke. “I’ve fought this war longer than you can even comprehend. We will never stop. This ends only with justice.”
His eyes burned as he leaned forward in the saddle.
“You know nothing of what we’ve endured. Nothing of blood spilled in your family’s name. You are as blind as every queen and king of Rionis before you.”
The shadows crept closer, licking at the edges of the bridge.
Lorik was speaking, short and urgent instructions but the words blurred together. My heart slammed against my ribs, panic choking the air from my lungs. Terror took over.
Fire exploded from my hands.
The blast surged toward the dragon, wild and uncontrolled. My breathing was too fast, my thoughts fractured, my magic fractured with them. The flames twisted and split, obeying fear instead of command.
Then the bridge ignited.
“Enough!” Lorik shouted.
A wall of shadow snapped into place in front of us, dense and absolute, shielding us from the worst of the fire.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he roared at me, fury breaking through his control. “You’re going to get us all killed!”
Above us, the red dragon beat its massive wings, lifting into the air and hurling the flames back toward us in a violent surge. I froze, unable to pull the fire away, unable to stop it.
“You may be Dragontail,” the wildweaver called down from the sky, his voice cutting through the chaos. “You may be special to my master.”
His gaze locked onto mine.
“But all I see is a reckless child.”
Shadows flared around him as he turned the dragon away.
“We will meet again, Thea Solenhart.”
The dragons were already a streak of crimson and smoke on the horizon, vanishing toward the Wastelands as they’d only come to remind us they could.
Lorik stood in front of me, shoulders squared, jaw locked so tight I could see the muscle ticking. His magic clung to him in faint shadows, thin now, strained.
I swallowed. “I know I—”
“No.” His voice cut like steel. “Don’t dress it up. You lost control.”
Heat rose in my throat, equal parts shame, and fury. “I froze.”
“And because you froze,” he snapped, stepping closer, “you set the bridge on fire. You could’ve died there from your own flames or from the fall when that bridge collapsed. If I hadn’t been there, you would be dead. And that dragon would’ve simply flown off and left you.”
My palms burned even though the fire was gone. “I didn’t ask to be dragged into this.”
“You weren’t dragged,” Lorik said, low and lethal. “You ran into it. To prove a point. To prove you’re worthy of Dragontail. To play rebel princess in your own head.” His eyes sharpened. “Stop chasing recognition. Get better. Learn to fight. Learn to control yourself.”
He read me as if I were nothing but an open book. He didn’t care that I was royal. He didn’t soften the truth. He carved it out.