A shiver ran down her spine. It wasn’t so much a threat but a promise.
“Take a deep breath,” she commanded the boy.
A quick kick to the dragon’s side, and the three of them dived into the murky water. The last thing Wren heard as they disappeared under the surface was Arrik calling for the guards.
The boy tightened his grip around Wren’s waist so hard it hurt. He was clearly terrified for his life and unsure whether he truly could hold his breath for as long as was needed to survive. Please let us make it.
Wren realized half a minute later that she herself had not taken perhaps as big of a breath as she should have before diving into the freezing water, though there was little she could do about that now. No, all she could do was cling to the dragon just as the boy was clinging to her and hope to still be alive when the dragon finally chose to resurface.
Hopefully far away from the palace.
The dragon hurtled through the water at frightening speeds. He might even be as fast as Aurora had been. She could sense it more clearly now that she’d touched him, instinct telling her that she was right. There was some comfort to Wren that the dragon was male whereas Aurora had been female—to ride a female dragon after what happened to her felt wrong, somehow.
Wren was growing light-headed. She didn’t want to imagine how the boy behind her was faring. But his grip on her waist hadn’t loosened all the way yet, so Wren had no choice but to assume he was still at least semi-conscious.
Just as her lungs began to burn for air, the dragon abruptly changed course and jolted upright, swimming straight as an arrow until Wren could see traces of moonlight upon the surface of the sea.
And not a moment too soon.
She gripped the boy’s arm with her left hand to stop him from slipping off.
And then, a moment later, the dragon broke through the surface, and Wren heaved in as much air as her lungs could carry. She took in some water, too, the salt of it stinging her throat and making her sputter and spit as the dragon snaked along to a small, wooden pier. When he got there, Wren tumbled off his back and onto the pier, taking the boy with her. She extricated his arms from her waist and turned to check on him, relieved to see he was breathing.
“Open your eyes,” she whispered to him, not knowing who might be around to hear them. “We’re alive and breathing.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he coughed, but then he struggled into a sitting position, and Wren knew he would be all right.
She rolled onto her knees and faced the dragon, holding her hand out to his snout before whistling a thank you. “You are a true treasure trove,” she told him, meaning every word. For what was treasure if not freedom and life? The dragon had granted both back to Wren—and her unlikely companion.
With this, the dragon slipped beneath the surface of the sea, his scales glowing faintly before he disappeared from sight entirely. Wren watched him go while her skin turned clammy, then wiped a hand across her brow when she realized she was sweating. How…? she wondered, before taking note of just how hot the Verlantian evening’s air was. Locked up underground in the dungeon, the air had been frigid; Wren had completely forgotten that it was, in fact, the height of summer.
Wren adjusted the gold clasps of her now ruined emerald dress. Against all likelihood, she hadn’t lost the crown. It was now knotted in her long hair.
Time to work out where they were.
Scanning the darkness, Wren spied a cluster of houses a little way past the pier. Another pier lay in front of her on the water, also with houses at its end, then another and another.
A trading port?
“Wow, that dragon got us all the way to the international market,” the boy murmured, clearly impressed. He touched a hand to Wren’s shoulder. “I know of a place we can hide and recover.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You know a place? How?”
The boy could only laugh. “I was not captured in Verlanti because I am mad, Wren.”
It was the first time he’d said her name. The first time he’d acknowledged his own so-called madness. Wren was wary as much as she was intrigued.
“Who are you?” she asked, but the boy merely grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“Later,” he said. “For now, we must be quiet.”
The pair of them tiptoed down the pier and past the houses, through the market and the first alleyway they came across. The boy led Wren beneath stone bridges and through narrow corridors with practiced ease, which only served to fuel her suspicion that she had completely underestimated him.
“Where are we going?” Wren whispered after another ten minutes of twisting and wandering through the midnight streets of Verlanti. Luckily, anyone around ignored them.
“Here,” was all he said, before leading her through a large wooden door which opened silently on its hinges.
Inside, the building was so dark Wren could not even see her hand in front of her face, but then one lantern after another lit up all around her—revealing that she and the boy were surrounded. A dozen masked people, all wielding swords or spears or daggers, formed a tight circle around them, and Wren’s heart sank.
This is not happening. I did not escape the Verlanti Palace and all of its barbaric people just to die like this.
“Leif? Leif, is that you?”
“Aye,” the boy said, grinning. “So please don’t skewer me. Or my companion.”
The person who had spoken—a woman—took off her mask to peer at Wren.
She froze, not believing her eyes as she stared at the woman. It was her mother. It can’t be. “You died,” Wren rasped.
The woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “I am not your mother.”
“Then are you a spirit here to torment me for my failure?” Wren whispered, not taking her gaze off the apparition
Sympathy filled the woman’s expression. “My dear, I am your aunt, Vienne. I’m so glad Leif was able to get you out.”
Aunt?
“She got me out,” the boy who was called Leif replied. He sounded pleased about it. Proud. “On the back of a dragon, no less. It was bloody terrifying.”
Wren was beyond confused about what was going on. She focused on the woman who’d removed her mask. Vienne was petite and the same age as Wren’s own mother, with lines on her face that suggested she’d seen more than her fair share of hardships.
“What have I been brought into?” Wren asked, her voice slow and soft and steady—unlike her throbbing, nervous heart.
Her aunt smiled and opened her arms wide. “Welcome to the Kingdom of Myths, Dragon Princess. We’d sincerely hoped to run into you.”
Wren frowned. “The Kingdom of—”
“Myths,” Leif finished for her, squeezing her hand before letting go of it. “It’s an order designed to balance out the world. And damn if it’s out of balance right now.”
“We seek to take out and replace those who are corrupt,” Vienne added, when it was clear Wren was no wiser about what the Kingdom of Myths did.
And then it clicked.
“Like…taking out the High King of Verlanti?”
Vienne’s smile became a feral grin. All around her, the masked faces of the people grew wild. “Of course. Why else would we be here? And so, the only question I have for you, Princess, is this: won’t you join us?”
Wren hesitated. Running back to Lorne had never been a good solution to her situation—not when Verlanti had taken the country over. But dispatching King Soren…
That would free the Dragon Isles for good.
Verlanti and its king will pay for what they’ve done.
“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked.
“You don’t, but if it helps, I have a letter for you from your mother,” her aunt said softly, pulling a sealed letter from the pocket of her skirt.
Wren straightened. What the devil “How?”
“She knew what decisions your father was making for the Lorne, and she’d supported them. Anneke knew that they were dangerous and reached out. She always had a feeling for misfortune.”
“I don’t know you,” Wren pointed out. “Why would she reach out to you?”