Page 134 of Foundling

“No!”

She threw herself backwards, heaving with all her might—when arms wrapped around her and knocked the chain away. Erastus snarled in her ear, the crook of his elbow cinching round her throat.

Leita scrabbled and scratched at him, sensing his desire to pop her head clean off. Her elbow was her weapon, jabbing at Erastus’s side as he squeezed.

“Yield,” he growled, hot breath at her ear.

She struggled harder.

When her hand went to her belt, Erastus intercepted her as planned. She grabbed the back of his hand, clamping it down on the weighted diamond dangling from the end of the chain. Using their hands together, Leita swung the chain, loosening it by one wind.

“Fucking fae cunt!”

“Incoming!”

“Shit—!”

A percussion of displaced air sent everyone near Araxos tumbling backwards. The flame meant for Thalia and Marcades caught on the grass uselessly, his mouth clamped shut by a red-scaled paw.

Attalus slammed into his brother, their impact sending them skidding through the dirt.

Erastus lurched to the left, trying to avoid getting caught up in the tangle of thrashing tails and snapping jaws. He brought Leita with him, and she threw herself to the ground, rolling away—and leaving the chain behind.

Her magic and strength rushed back in a dizzying surge, her head suddenly light with the restoration as she stood. A manic laugh in her throat, Leita turned to face a glowering Erastus.

“What now, lizard?” she taunted.

His gold lips peeled back in a sneer, and the shift began to ripple over him.

Leita didn’t give him the satisfaction—or time. Her magic slammed into his flank, sending the dragon prince toppling to the side. Taking dagger and dirk in hand, she caught the chain by the links with a blade and tossed both high. They sailed through the air on her magic’s wing, embedding into the ground beside the downed dragon.

Erastus rolled to his knees, but it was too late. Leita swung the chain over him again and again, across his back and wings, over his nape and between his legs. Catching her dirk by the blade, she tossed it too, sinking it into the last link of the chain.

Pinned beneath his own weapon, Erastus thrashed, unable to break free or shift.

Planting her boot on his head, Leita forced his face into the dirt. “Think before you fuck with me again, lizard.”

The princeling raged impotently, coughing up smoke when he meant to immolate her.

Hopefully that would hold.

She turned to take stock of the rest of the battle.

Her guards with their dread-mounts outnumbered the dragons, but with more room to maneuver, the Savrakae were beating back the horns and spears with flame and claw. If they weren’t careful, the whole meadow would burn.

Nearby, in their own melee, Attalus and Araxos fought. Watching two shifted Savrakae fight was harrowing, and she nearly couldn’t look knowing one of them was her azai. Vicious claws and teeth scraped over scales as the two scrabbled like battling snakes, twisting round each other to gain the upper hand.

How Attalus had come to be there was a mystery for later.

Her instinct was to run and aid him. A shifted Araxos was far larger, but Leita stopped a moment and made herself observe. Although smaller, Attalus was faster, and he fought with a ferociousness that made her blood sing.

She’d known he could fight, had listened intently as he told her of his time with his mother and brother confined to Highhome with nothing to do but spar. Hearing and seeing were different experiences, however.

Her dragon was, in a word, brilliant. Tenacious and effective, his every strike was precise. He didn’t waste energy or effort, leaping away when Araxos regained his feet only to get in close again and deliver another targeted blow.

For now, at least, he didn’t need Leita’s help. She…had to trust he could handle himself.

Fuck, she’d been wrong about so much.