Page 129 of Foundling

“How dare the anax abuse my border?” Leita shouted back in decent savraka.

“You are the Queen?” the dragon asked.

She held back her snort, raising her hand when Marcades and the other fae grumbled at the slight.

“Who are you?” she asked, her patience wearing thin. If this was common behavior for the Savrakae court, no wonder Attalus didn’t miss it.

“Erastus Princeps, brother and archon of Araxos Anax.”

“Why am I talking to you and not the anax?”

Her warriors were too disciplined to snicker at her cheap insult, but it made Leita feel better to watch Erastus Princeps’s expression sour.

“I speak for my brother in his time of need,” Erastus declared, gesturing at his panting anax. “Our little brother did this to him, poisoned the king and stole his mind. Attalus must pay for his crimes.”

“I thought your charge against him was attempting to poison the anax, not that he’d succeeded.”

“Some got through, as you can see. Attalus fled like the coward he is rather than facing the charges against him.”

“Attalus is my azai, my fated mate. I won’t give him up. Name your price and I’ll meet it. Just let him be.”

“He is Savrakae before he’s your mate, Fae Queen—his life is forfeit to his anax. Produce him and the faelands will be spared.”

“I’ve grown tired of your threats, Erastus Princeps,” Leita said. Swaggering about making demands might work in the Droplets, but from where she stood, on the other side of the border, these lizards looked no better than preening peacocks.

“Not a threat, a promise.” Smacking his hand on his golden breastplate, Erastus cried, “Hand over Attalus the traitor, let justice be done! Only then will the king’s sanity return!”

“Ho, ho,” the dragons cried, smacking their own armor and chests in a mighty thunder. Their war cry shook the ground beneath Thalia’s hooves.

They’ve all gone mad, Leita shuddered.

A horrid shriek pierced her ears, and Araxos threw himself forward, a volley of flame loosed upon the border. The magical wall hissed and sizzled—and all the fae watched in horror as great globs of clear, melted magic oozed off the border.

“Nothing can withstand dragonfire, not even magic!” Erastus proclaimed. “Give us Attalus, or Araxos Anax will destroy your border in almighty flame and deliver justice himself!”

Pulling her legs up to get her feet under her, Leita leapt from Thalia’s back, flying up to the growing hole in the border. Marcades called after her, but there was nothing his arrows and shields could do. With the faelands at her back, Leita threw magic at the border, shoring up its strength.

The wall of magic shivered, pained by the onslaught. Heat radiated across its face, scalding Leita’s cheeks on the other side.

“Enough!” she shouted. “You’ll run out of flame before I do of magic. This display is pointless.”

“The anax will have his justice!”

Fuck, maybe she should be arguing with the king—he might be more reasonable than his brother, even in his madness.

The border rippled in purples and reds, the hole Araxos burned dripping spent magic. Stalactites of magic and enchantments gathered like wax on a mantelpiece before dropping to the ground in globs that hissed and smoked.

Leita hovered midair, facing down the torrent of flames. She looked into its center, undeterred. With the faelands beside her, she could face this—even the horrible pressure in her chest was set on denying Araxos Anax.

Just beyond the flame and smoke, she saw movement from the corner of her eye. The Savrakae shuffled about, making way and closing ranks, wings and tails confusing what they did.

“Give it here,” she heard Erastus call, not to her.

Araxos’s flame expanded, the fire belching from his throat an inferno that threatened to set the whole meadow ablaze.

The border creaked and whined under the assault, and Leita went cold feeling cracks begin to radiate out from the burning hole. She stuffed magic in the gaps and fissures, snuffing every little spark that tried to get through.

Watch out! Thalia cried.