Page 7 of Fire to the Stars

“Yet you don’t know the dragon’s human identity.”

I clench the stolen dagger. The razor-sharp edge kisses my wrist. “No.”

“It was close enough to scar you.”

“I know which direction it went. I’ve been tracking it.”

“You?”

“Don’t look down on me. I’m not fluent in the Old Tongue, but I studied enough to understand your rules of dragon hunting. I can assist with a hunt.”

His brow furrows. Of course he’s skeptical. But I need himto believe me. I need him to think my information is worth pursuing.

Someone rattles the door’s lock. The tinderfox—Lucy, was it?—startles awake on the pillow beside mine. Abel hobbles to his still-bound feet. When he does, the door opens, and the bristled end of a broom forces him to hop back.

“Good morning, madame.” He sighs.

My clothes and satchel hang from the innkeeper’s arm. She gives me a grandmotherly smile that I return. I’m not one to refuse good favor.

“Feeling better?” She shoves Abel’s belongings toward the pillows. Lucy’s gold fur flashes and unleashes a burst of warmth as she skitters up against the headboard.

I accept my clothes, careful to keep the dagger hidden. “Yes, madame. Sorry for the trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” She cuts Abel’s bonds with a kitchen knife, then jabs her broom at him. “You’ve done your part, slayer. Get out.”

“My name is Abel.”

“The Estellio name earns no favor in my inn.Out.”

“Wait, madame,” I say. “I want him to stay.”

Without moving her broom away from Abel’s face, she turns to me. “Is he threatening you? I’ll summon the Gendarmerie.”

“No,”I insist. “Thank you. I’ll get dressed and we’ll be on our way.”

“I’ll warm the basin for you,” she says, and enters the washroom. The scrape of flint and awhooshof flame on kindling tells me she’s already heating the water.

Abel makes an offering gesture. “You might as well use it. In the meantime, let me see your tracking records. I’ll decidewhether your dragon is a better lead than the one that attacked this town.”

Good thing I’ve been documenting my travels. I doubt my scribbles will meet his usual requirements for viable tracking records, but combined with my witness account, I’m sure it’s more information than he’s currently working with. After all, he’s desperate enough to let himself get tied up for my hint of a job offer.

“I’ll show you, but I have one condition,” I say.

“I’m listening.”

I tighten my shaky grip on the blanket at my chest, feigning Traumatized Survivor. This is the final push. The last lie to ensure I remain at his side. “I want to watch the dragon die. I’m coming with you.”

Abel scratches his stubbled jaw. It’s an unusual request. Slayers typically show a client the dragon’s head or hide as proof of death. He needs more incentive—something more valuable than a pretty face to look at.

Aha! His worn camping supplies. One standard bounty could pay for six months of a comfortable lifestyle—well beyond my budget—but the government would never pay a slayer in advance.Funding.That’s my way in.

I whisper so the innkeeper can’t hear me. “I’ll pay for everything. The best resources money can buy. Lodging, supplies, transportation. Anything you need, I’ll find a way. You may not like how I make my living, but compared to a dragon—”

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll hunt your dragon.”

I hum, skeptical. “That easily?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”