TO WELCOME THEIR CAPTIVE, IYA HAD TIGHTENED THE SECURITY measures around the Hestan Archipelago—and particularly around Hearthstone Academy. The raid of the Beacon Dragon Preserve had turned up four dragon eggs, which the Warwicks had hidden deep within the fortress where they could incubate in peace. Faron had thought the plan was simply to steal them so new Riders could not be bonded, swelling the enemy army and thwarting their plans, but that didn’t explain the incubation.
Her mental note to investigate that, however, took a back seat to the presence of Jesper Soto.
Jesper had been imprisoned in the boathouse, where anyone could track his movements. Marius Lynwood volunteered to guard the prisoner before anyone else could, which made Faron immediately concerned. Lynwood would have gone to school with Jesper, and the sharp glint in his eyes said as much about their relationship as his eagerness to play jailer did. The only reason Faron didn’t protest was that she would love to wipe the stone floor with Lynwood if she had to. Or even if she didn’t have to.
The stone trail that led to the boathouse was on the other side of a thicket of trees. Docks stretched around it, jutting out into the bay, where Ignatz floated on his back in the water. His cerulean scales were stark against the gray of the filthy water. Taking up most of the dirt shore was Goldeye, whose fiery coloring screamed a warning to anyone who dared come too close. Even as he lay flat on the ground, his back spikes reached the second floor of the two-story boathouse, making it near impossible for anyone but his Riders to jump down from one of the windows. And whether or not both dragons were present, the narrow windows of Hearthstone overlooked this stretch of land, which left nowhere to hide between the boathouse and the trees.
Goldeye lifted his head as Faron approached. Today, she had opted for riding leathers instead of a dress, just in case she needed to fight her way out. She also had her Rosetree stone in her pocket, to keep her whereabouts as secret from Iya as possible. The dragon stared her down as if he could tell she was up to no good, and she stared right back. “Go on. Try something.”
He snorted, a curl of smoke jumping from one nostril. But she could feel his amber eyes on her as she marched inside.
The first floor was nothing but docks and boats and water, and was massive enough for a dragon to swim right in if they wanted to. But the second floor looked almost like a home: vaulted ceilings, inlaid glass doors, and a balcony. The doors were locked, the balcony inaccessible. Nichol Thompson stood with his back to it, his arms folded over his chest.
On the floor in front of him, Lynwood and Jesper were trading blows.
“Hey!” Faron shouted, running over. “Hey, stop that!”
Lynwood managed to get Jesper pinned, with his hands around the other boy’s throat. The skin around Lynwood’s eye was turning an ugly shade of purple. There was blood on his teeth as he snarled, “You think you’re so much better than everyone.”
“I think you’re a weak little shit,” Jesper rasped out, hands clawing at Lynwood’s shoulders, “grasping at relevance and failing.”
Faron yanked Lynwood by his stupid short hair. The distraction was enough for Jesper to fling Lynwood off him. Arms grabbed Faron from behind, and Thompson cursed into her ear as she struggled.
“Don’t interfere,” he hissed. “They need to work this out.”
“I’ll work your head off your shoulders if you don’t—”
Jesper smashed Lynwood’s head against the wood floor hard enough to leave cracks. The other boy went limp. Panting, Jesper fell back into a sitting position. There was a bruise on his copper-brown cheek, more were forming around his neck, and blood was drying beneath his nose. Thompson released her to check on his cousin, so Faron crawled over to Jesper.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “I’d heal you, but I don’t know how.”
His dark brown eyes met hers. “I don’t want to be healed. I want to go home. But I don’t suppose you’re going to do anything about that, are you?”
Faron flinched.
“No one’s going to do anything about that,” said Thompson, his arms around a dazed Lynwood. Such a blow would have been enough to kill a normal person, but Riders were resilient. Thompson didn’t even look concerned that Lynwood might have a concussion. “Iya wants you here, so here you are.”
Jesper muttered a sentence in Lindan that translated to something anatomically implausible. Two red spots appeared high on Thompson’s cheeks, as though he’d understood. But all he did was help Lynwood back onto his feet.
“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again,” Lynwood said, dragging a hand over his mouth and smearing blood over the bottom half of his face, “your worthless family never deserved their dragons or their standing. If any of you survive the Gray Saint’s wrath, I’ll personally make sure you never ride again.”
“Can I get a different guard?” Jesper asked. “I am so tired of listening to you.”
Lynwood sprang forward, only to be stopped by Thompson. “It’s done. You fought. He won. Now, it’s done.”
Faron shifted between Jesper and Lynwood, expecting Lynwood to ignore his cousin and start a second fight anyway. To her surprise, his shoulders dropped, and he turned away. Jesper said nothing, but there was a calculation to the way that he watched Thompson.
Thompson’s blush deepened before he dragged his gaze to Faron. “What are you doing here, Vincent?”
Iya wanted eyes on the prisoner was her prepared lie. He’s listening right now, so watch how you talk to me was her flavorful addition to cow them into behaving. But before she could say either line, the deity himself appeared at the top of the stairs with a leather satchel thrown over one shoulder and an amused smile on his face.
“I see you’ve learned to guard your thoughts from me,” he said as he passed the satchel to Thompson. “Thankfully, you’re still predictable.”
“It goes on and off,” Faron replied, taking another step toward Jesper. But at least that was good. If he had tried and failed to enter her mind, he was unlikely to try again for now. “If someone had trained me like they said they would, you’d know exactly what I was and wasn’t capable of.”
“Quite so. Let’s begin with a test.” Iya nodded his head toward the boy still sitting cross-legged on the floor. “I’ll need you to hold him down so I can draw his blood.”
“What?” asked Faron.
“What?” asked Jesper.
“Shouldn’t you have Thompson and Lynwood do that instead? I’m almost half his size. How am I supposed to—?”
Iya’s grin widened as he watched her realize what he actually wanted to test: her power to command living souls. He wanted her to command Jesper to be still, to intimidate him with the knowledge that he could lose control of his own body at any time. He wanted to make sure that Jesper hated her as much as his sister did.
And, like his sister, he would be right to.
“Come now, Faron,” Iya cooed as Thompson handed him what looked like a syringe with a silver dragon wrapped around the barrel. “I’d rather not murder my descendant for this, and I won’t have to as long as he doesn’t fight.”
Faron turned to Jesper. He had scrambled to his feet and was standing with his back against one of the walls, eyeing Thompson and Lynwood, who stood in front of the balcony exit, and Faron and Iya, who blocked the way to the stairs. He would definitely fight. He would fight right to his death.
“Do this,” Iya continued, “and we can begin your training. My power will be your power. You will finally know the depth of all I can do, all we can do. And if, then, you still wish to stop me, we will face each other as equals.”
Faron didn’t move. “Why do you need his blood?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’m not going to help you.”
Iya shrugged. “If I don’t fill this syringe, I’ll just have to kill him to get it all. It’s up to you.”
Faron cursed, not simply because of the threat but because she could feel from his end of the bond that Jesper’s life didn’t matter to him. Yes, Jesper was watching her as one would an ambushing predator. But she didn’t want him dead—and Iya would kill him, even if it ruined his plans, just to make a point to her. There was one other Soto, after all, and it would only be worse for Faron if Jesper died on her watch. Right?
“Okay,” she said aloud, refusing to take her gaze off Jesper. Hoping he could read the apology in her eyes. “The more you fight, the more this will hurt.”
Her soul slipped free of her body and soared toward his. Like his sister’s, it was glittering, bright, a human soul enhanced by its connection to a dragon. And, like his sister, he immediately fought back. A stream of curses erupted from his throat in Langlish and Lindan, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. Blood gushed from his nose, and veins stuck out in his neck as he tossed his head from side to side in an attempt to stay in control.
But unlike his sister, he was not a locked safe of emotions. She could feel it. She could see it. Jesper Soto was as passionate in his happiness as he had been in his anger. He was open, friendly, a boy with a charming smile and a warm hug. He had no defense against her. Against this.
His eyes glazed over. He slid down the wall until his long legs were stretched out before him and he sat staring at nothing. Faron was breathing hard, but she pressed the words stay still until your blood is drawn against his soul and withdrew before she passed out. The temptation to leave another command was too great, and she didn’t think Jesper would appreciate being made to do anything else he didn’t choose to do.
“Amazing,” Iya said warmly. “Simply amazing.”
Before she could see if it was truly Iya who had spoken—or if that was Gael again, surfacing in awe of her—he pushed past her to kneel by Jesper’s side. The boy did not react when his shirt cuff was unbuttoned, his sleeve rolled up, and a rubber tourniquet applied to his arm. He did not react when the needle of the syringe was buried into his vein or when the barrel filled with crimson blood. He did not react when Iya withdrew the syringe, leaving Thompson to bandage the small puncture wound in his arm.
Only once everything was packed back into the satchel did Jesper Soto jolt back to life with a gasp.
“What the hell,” he breathed, “was that?”
“Heal him,” said Iya, heading for the door. “We should treat our guests with the proper respect, and that means”—he paused to shoot Lynwood a dark look over one shoulder—“no brutality. If that happens again, I’ll replace you as his guards. Understood?”
“Yes, my saint,” Thompson and Lynwood chorused, neither meeting his eyes.
Faron still stood there, shriveling under the disgust on Jesper’s face. She toyed with the buttons on her vest, but she didn’t break the held gaze. She owed him that much.
Slowly, she approached. She drew a handkerchief from her pocket and bent over him. “Here. For your nose.”
“From the moment I met her, I could see that Elara has nothing but faith in you,” Jesper said without taking it. Faron’s heart leaped, only to plummet at his next words. “So far you’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
Her eyes stung. She had no idea whether to hope that Elara still believed in her or to hope that Elara hated her as everyone else did. Surely, she had heard about Beacon by now. Surely, she’d spoken to Signey Soto. She didn’t want Elara to be hated for the crime of believing in her sister—but she didn’t want Elara to hate her, either.
She shook off those thoughts and placed the handkerchief on Jesper’s lap. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s so much easier to apologize than to do the right thing.” His voice was cold, colder than the Langlish Solstice season. “Isn’t it?”
Faron scurried to Iya’s side. He placed a hand on her lower back and ushered her in front of him as they descended the stairs. “Your lessons,” he said, “will begin tomorrow. Dress for a fight.”
“I’ll fight in anything,” Faron replied, proud of her voice for remaining even.
Though she knew the gods weren’t listening, she sent a prayer up to Irie anyway. Please let Jesper find the stone in the handkerchief. Please let him know what to do with it.
Please let him survive.