Page 106 of Foundling

The assailant staggered back, a dagger clattering to the cobblestones in a noisy clang.

In a strange moment that lasted far longer than those before or after, Leita turned to face the person who’d driven that dagger into her back.

She hardly recognized Ondra’s face, contorted with a rage so acute, it twisted her features. Pure malice radiated from her, and for half a moment, Leita wondered if Ondra had been spelled. She looked mad enough, but cold clarity glittered in her eyes.

Leita mouthed Ondra’s name, although no sound came forth. Why?

Shock wrapped around Leita in a numbing blanket. She clapped her hand and magic over her side, feeling where dark red blood gushed from the deep puncture.

Ondra glanced at the dagger but decided it was too far. “Fuck!” she spat and shoved herself upright. In a blur she ran toward the coral archway.

“To the Queen!”

“Stop her!”

The triad moved in tandem, two swinging for Ondra, but the woman was swifter. She ducked beneath their blows, rolling past them and regaining her feet in one fluid movement. Her magic and the final guard’s magic clashed in a hail of sparks, but then Leita’s view was blocked.

The two guards surrounded her, shoving people back and creating space around Leita they could defend.

“Secure the Queen!”

“Raise the alarm, call Captain Marcades,” one guard demanded. Two merchants hurried to the other side of the yard and disappeared.

A hand gripped her elbow, offering support. Voices echoed around her, asking if she was all right, but all Leita could hear was the other guard yelling, “After her! Stop her! Assassin!”

Assassin. The word rang in her mind as blood seeped between her fingers.

Ondra was an assassin.

The world around her spun, green sparks flittering across her vision.

“I’m all right,” she managed to tell her upset guards through clumsy lips. But even as she said it, she stumbled to the side.

Ephemeral hands helped her gently to the ground, and Leita sat on the cobblestones panting. Her magic quickly got to work, stoppering the blood and knitting what’d been sliced, but pain began to bleed through.

Assassin. Ondra.

Her mind couldn’t comprehend.

Voices and bodies swarmed her, but Leita hardly noticed. The pain grew, and tears welled to sting her eyes. The weight round her shoulders bore down like a steel cuirass to protect her, but all it did was make her breaths come shallow and panicked.

The courtyard spun faster, and although she didn’t mean to, she clutched at the bond she and Attalus shared. The comforting golden glow of it inside her offered a lifeline, a touch of his confidence seeping into her.

Azore, it hurts…

She didn’t imagine the horrid shriek that rent the morning sky. The bodies around her recoiled, hands clapping over ears. It wasn’t a roar but a high-pitched wail of utter outrage. The cry shook the very foundations of the city, the cobblestones beneath Leita trembling.

The air in the courtyard shifted, first heating and then the pressure growing. A mighty gale threw everyone’s hair back when a great red dragon slammed into the yard. Bits of cobblestone went flying, and a vicious dragon face parted the plume of dust to roar his rage.

The merchants and craftspeople gasped and shrieked, backing away as the dragon stalked forward.

“Attalus,” she called, reaching out her hand.

He came closer, his head thrashing back and forth in warning. His slitted pupils were but slivers, the gold of his irises almost molten. Red flames glowed behind his fangs, his throat rumbling with a terrible promise.

Her guards stood their ground, which only seemed to anger him more. He spat sparks at them, tail lashing behind him, and his growl grew into a roar.

“Attalus!” she called louder. “Attalus, I’m all right.”