I freeze in place. Nightshade is Lincoln’s horse? My mouth starts talking on its own. “Hi, there.”
Lincoln rises to his feet. “Oh, hello.” He stands straight and alert, his black body armor open at the neck. Candlelight casts shadows on his full mouth and scooped-out cheeks.
“I’m here for Nightshade.”
The horse leans her blue-gray head toward Lincoln. “She knows. We’ve been saying goodbye.”
“Is she your horse?”
“One of them. The House of Striga breeds them; I raised her from a foal. Every Striga horse is enchanted, but Night takes it to a new level.”
I smile. “I know, she keeps me on her back without a saddle. I don’t even have to ask, she takes me where I need to go. Or she’s waiting for me when I get there. I think she does magic.” Night turns to me, her black marble-eyes blinking in a way that says ‘no kidding.’
Lincoln runs his fingers down her mane. “The House of Striga specializes in witchcraft. Nightshade casts spells for everything you described. She also has the power to make small things appear and disappear. Oh, and she loves to send fireballs at enemies during battle.” The horse whinnies; Lincoln grins. “We’ve gotten out of some close scrapes that way.”
“Look, I never would’ve asked for her if I knew–”
“It was a fair request. You fought well today.” He rubs Nightshade’s neck in long strokes. “My mother comes from the House of Gurith. It’s a lesser house, but one of the few that allow women warriors. She’s wanted a female tournament champion for years. You’ve made her very happy.” He sighs. “Besides, Nightshade chose you, didn’t she?”
“Yes. At the Ryder stables.”
“I rode her there to meet the minister. Normally, she comes back on her own.” Night tosses her head and snorts. “I don’t take it personally, girl.”
Reaching into his pocket, Lincoln pulls out a few small biscuits. Nightshade eats them from his outstretched hand. I watch him closely, my forehead knit in confusion. Is this the same guy who insulted quasis and yelled at me in the Ryder library?
Lincoln gently strokes Night’s forehead. “I’ve never seen anyone fight the way you did today. Your eyes turned red.”
“That’s my demon side. All quasis have a power with one of the seven deadly sins. Mine’s wrath.”
“Have you any battle training?”
“Nope. I started fighting death matches in the Arena when I was twelve. I sorta learned on my feet.”
A low moan sounds from the stall behind Lincoln.
I take a step forward. “What’s in there?”
“The Shadow Dragon. He was too sick to haul back to the Menagerie.” Lincoln opens the white jar, sniffs the contents, and winces. “This may smell bad, little man, but it’ll help.” He crouches down.
I step closer. The dragon’s black scales look chalky white. His fiery red eyes are now dimmed. My tail strokes along his back, his slowing heartbeat thrums through me like it was my own. The connection between us can mean only one thing. “This isn’t a Shadow Dragon. He’s Furor.” Although they can take the form of a dragon, Furor are part human too. It’s against inter-realm law to fight them in the Arena, let alone a tournament like this one.
Lincoln scoops more ointment onto his fingers, rubs it into the beast’s flank. “How do you know? It’s never changed into human form.”
I turn to him and arch my brows. “One guess.” My tail waves at him over my shoulder.
He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” He leans back onto his heels. “Why do you think he hasn’t changed form?”
“I think he’s too frightened.” I pick up the back leg, look at the talons. “His first talons haven’t come in yet. He can’t be five years old.” The creature in the stall shoots me a sleepy look. “Poor little thing.”
“I’ll send a message to the Furor ambassador tonight.” He pats the dragon’s back with long strokes. “Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes. By now, a Shadow Dragon would have tried to spear us with its tail. That’s how they consume your soul.” I smile. “Or try to.”
He grins back. My knees go a bit wobbly. “You know a lot about demons.”
“Arena fighters like me see all the matches they want. Last month, I saw a horde of Cellula.”
“Really? I haven’t seen that breed in years.” He closes the ointment jar and sets it aside. “So that’s how you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“How to save Earl of Acca from the Limus. He’s a pompous blowhard, but he is one of our most important Earls.” He looks at me intently. His wheat-brown and slate-blue eyes shimmer. “Thanks again for saving his life.”
I shift my weight from foot to foot. It feels weird to do anything but yell at this guy. “You’re, uh, welcome.” I turn my attention to the wounded creature. “Poor little guy.”
Lincoln grits his teeth. “Shadow Dragons are rare, the Master of Creatures wanted something to dazzle the crowd. But any creature this young, it’s not–” The dragon flinches, Lincoln pats his side. “Calm down, boy.”