Page 115 of Foundling

A white streak on his right caught the corner of his eye. Leita rushed onto a nearby balcony, catching herself on the balustrade. She thrust out her arm as though to pluck him from the air.

He shook his head. It must be done. His sentiment thrummed down their bond.

Attalus turned to climb higher.

“You can’t! Attalus—!”

A heavy band fell across Attalus’s back, forcing him down toward the ground. He fought its hold, doddering like some old seabird, wings flapping so hard the trees in the courtyard bent.

Another force caught him across his nape, pressing on him like a great hand.

He thrashed midair, struggling to be free, but the more he fought, the more magic Leita used.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she hovered above the balcony, her wings buzzing so fast they were a purple blur behind her. Elbows locked and fingers splayed, she compelled him to the ground and kept him there.

Lashed by invisible bonds, Attalus could only watch while Leita turned skyward herself.

NO!

Attalus renewed his fight, refusing to let her face the danger he’d wrought.

The magic held as firm as she did. All he could do was shriek and roar, impotent and useless.

It was Leita who shot warning balls of fire into the air. It was Leita who projected her voice for all to hear, warning the dragons to fly back to the Droplets and never return. And it was Leita who sent them horns over tails south again by way of a southerly gale.

A swell of applause rose from the other side of the palace wall, the people’s relief potent. They called her name and cried their thanks, elated to think the dragons vanquished.

Attalus knew better.

Araxos hadn’t become anax by giving up at the first challenge. Whatever his game, this was only the beginning. All Leita had done was shake the hornet’s nest.

She landed near his head, her gaze shuttered.

“I had to,” she said as the magic binding him dissipated, “I won’t lose you, Attalus.”

Even in sleep, he hadn’t forgiven her. Leita lay on her side, staring at the expanse of her azai’s back. He hadn’t said a word to her since…

Without needing to look, she knew he wore a frown even in slumber, their bond drawn taut.

Slowly and silently, Leita wiggled across the bed to nuzzle between his wings. She kissed the mass of scaled muscle there, the warmth of him soothing.

This was why she’d done what she had. Leita would rather have an angry but alive Attalus. She didn’t doubt his courage or strength, but against five other dragons? And too high up for her wings? Grounding him was the simplest option.

She’d tried to explain that to him, but her protests had fallen on unhearing ears. His pride was pricked.

Lingering for a moment longer, Leita eventually rolled across the bed and out of it, needing to move. It’d be hours before he was awake and they could renew their…debate. She grew tired just thinking about it.

His robes lay cast across the cushioned bench at the foot of their bed, and she selected one of the inner silky pieces to wrap around herself. It smelled of him, and she took comfort sliding her arms through the sleeves.

She left on silent feet, closing the door behind her. The guards on the other side bowed their heads.

“Are you well, my Queen?” asked one.

“Yes. Stay here and guard Attalus.”

“One of us must come with you. Captain’s orders.”

“Fine.”