Page 133 of Foundling

He loosed a great volley of flame, buying himself a few moments. The smoke offered cover while he shifted, his limbs lengthening and scales stretching. Attalus flipped in a backwards arc and plummeted toward the sea.

Shrieks of rage echoed behind him as Attalus leveled out just above the water. I’m coming, agae, he sent down their bond.

If Chrysanthe and her forces wanted to bring him to Araxos themselves, they’d need to catch him first.

32

While military minds might say this had all gone to shit, Leita thought otherwise. Yes, the border was melting behind her; yes, a spelled chain was wound round her left arm, wing, and waist; and yes, she faced down an army of Savrakae with a crazed king at their head ostensibly by herself.

But what Erastus Princeps didn’t seem to appreciate was that Leita had long survived without an army, the faelands’ magic, and indeed much of her own power. She hadn’t lived in the wilderness for centuries, fighting off bandits and bears, on the brute strength of her magic alone.

Without the pressure of the Queendom pushing on her, Leita could breathe. Inasmuch as the chain allowed.

Really, she’d call this a tactical pivot.

She’d a dagger at her side and a dirk on her thigh; without the chains, she’d have her magic, too. She could work with that.

Using her free arm, Leita got to her knees and then her feet, staring down Erastus on the other end of the chain. Her smile at him would’ve made Attalus proud, all teeth and challenge, making the dragon prince falter.

Leita hadn’t much formal training in combat, but she knew how to fight. Early lessons in the palace with Lilibet. Her human brother teaching her to punch and scrabble. Thalia’s advice on kicking and stabbing and fighting to win. How to swipe from the bears and badgers, how to tire an enemy from the fox, and how to be patient from the wolf.

And where to aim on a Savrakae from her dragon mate.

Leita stomped on the chain, winding it round her right ankle, and swept her leg. Erastus pitched forward, the warriors behind him having let go once she landed on their side of the border. The dragon sputtered, his fiery glare promising retribution for the humiliation.

Erastus began pulling the chain, hand over hand, reeling her closer. Rather than fight, Leita ran at him full speed. Hands full of the chain, he couldn’t fend off her strike, grunting when her foot met the center of his chest. They both went down, Leita landing with full force on his sternum before flipping off.

The prince coughed, momentarily stunned, and Leita grabbed up the other end of the chain.

The manacles used on her before could only be removed by the one who’d put them on—she had to hope that wasn’t the case here.

Dragons roared and grabbed for her, but in the close quarters, none could get enough room to wield their flame or tails effectively. Those at the back either jumped off the edge or were pushed, those at the front trying to clear space to catch Leita.

But she was too quick. Their shifted paws weren’t as dexterous as hands, and Leita dodged and rolled, collecting the chain before sprinting back toward the crumbling border.

Marcades stood just on the other side, beating the border with his fists and Thalia kicking at it beside him.

With her free hand, Leita swung the loose end of the chain round and round, gaining momentum until it was enough to swing round the great horns of the anax. It made only two loops, but she wouldn’t have another chance. Taking hold of the chain, she yanked with all her might, jerking Araxos’s head to the side.

His stream of fire ceased, leaving behind a plume of billowing smoke. An outraged roar replaced it, his long head turning to fix her with a malignant glare.

She stared into the eyes of the largest, most powerful dragon and saw only a haze of rage. Whatever afflicted Araxos Anax, it’d utterly clouded his mind.

He howled, the horrible noise shaking the air, and lunged for her.

Leita leapt to the side, yanking the chain as she went. His head bent as he hit the ground, driving his right horns deep into the earth.

“To the Queen!”

Through the gaping hole in the border left by Araxos’s dragonfire leapt Thalia, followed by Marcades and other mounted guards. The dread-mounts screamed a battle cry, horns lowering for a devastating charge.

“Form up!”

“Protect the anax!”

Mouths glowed with flame, but not quickly enough. Unicorns crashed into the disorganized dragons, pushing them further back toward the cliff.

Thalia, Marcades, and his dread-mount wheeled about, charging for Araxos. Despite Leita’s hold on the chain, the anax swung his head, fending off their attack. Their backs turned, his mouth sparked with flame.