Ari pulled one hand from the dagger and reached for her other. She sliced at the Dragon’s wrist, cutting deep, but the blade was the duller of the two and it stuck in his hardened bones, turning into a spigot for golden blood to pour onto her knees.
The Dragon didn’t move. He held her in place and stared through her attacks and her snarls. The black slit of his yellow eyes roved over her face.
Was this a ploy by the Riders to find out what she looked like?
Ari pushed off the ground with her feet, rotating in place. The Dragon was strong and could hold the sharp point of her dagger off its mark even with all her weight above it. But it took two hands for him to do so, which meant when Ari twisted, she was able to bring her feet down, hard, onto his unprotected face.
He finally let her go and she flipped backward, landing on the balls of her feet, a dagger in each hand. The Dragon stood, contemplating the wound on his arm. It was as though he’d never been cut by anything other than unrefined steel. His broken nose was already resetting itself and would be healed well in advance of the gash in his wrist.
She had a choice. On one shoulder, there was a very sensible little version of herself reminding her that this was not her prey or her job. She’d done what she came into the land of Dragon dogs to do. She should leave and collect her handsome pay. In short, she should stick to the plan.
On the other shoulder was a different tiny version of herself. This version was screaming bloody murder. Cut out his heart! It demanded over and over. It cried for her to do what she was made to do: slay Dragons.
It wasn’t hard to pick which one to listen to. Ari darted forward. First stepping with her right foot, she drew his attention in one direction before jumping onto her left and bringing her right heel across his face.
The Dragon half-dodged, reaching out his foot to hook behind the heel of Ari’s supporting leg. She bent backwards, releasing the duller of her two daggers to tumble with one unarmed hand.
“I don’t want to fight you.” The Dragon held up his palms as though any gesture of his could be nonthreatening. Despite his words, his claws were out—wicked sharp and extending past the end of his fingers in points.
“So don’t, and let me cut out your heart.” Ari set in for another string of attacks. The Dragon dodged about half of them.
“Fenthri—” He side-stepped, narrowly missing a dagger point in his throat. “Listen to me!”
“Not a chance!” she almost sang, pushing him against the wall. His head hit hard and he was dazed a moment. “I have a very strong ‘no negotiating with the enemy’ policy.”
Ari rotated her grip on the knife to an icepick hold and pulled back. His eyes regained clarity as she once more attempted to plunge the dagger into his chest. He grabbed her wrist again, but still didn’t attack. His claws had retracted.
The magical zing of a Dragon Rider flying overhead piqued both their attentions. Fenthri and Dragon alike looked up as the Rider slowed not far from where they’d been brawling.
“I can give you something better than my heart.” The Dragon’s voice had taken on a thrumming intensity that burned with a fire Ari hadn’t heard there previously. But if her feverish attacks hadn’t inspired the change…what had?
“Something better than the satisfaction of killing a Dragon and the reward of a fresh heart?” She hummed. “I doubt it.”
“I’ll give you a boon.”
Ari paused, considering this. She’d heard of boons before, but oh, they were rare. A Dragon rarely lowered himself to the point of giving a boon, and especially not to a Fenthri. Dragons saw the Fenthri as the servant, not the other way around. A boon would make him hers.
“Any one wish of me.” The Dragon’s eyes kept darting skyward. “You can demand anything of me as the terms of the boon.”
“For letting you keep your heart?”
“For taking me to the Alchemists’ Guild.”
It really didn’t matter to Ari what she had to do for the boon. A wish. There were so many things she could wish for. So many old wrongs she could right with the unquestioned help of a Dragon and his magic. It could be a chance for redemption—for vengeance.
Or, at the very least, she could always wish for him to cut out his own heart and give it to her. Then she’d get the satisfaction of watching him do it.
“Fine, Dragon.” The agreement was an ugly smear of magic across her tongue as the boon was formed. It tasted of disgust peppered with loathing. “You have your deal.”
2. Cvareh
“We’re not going in there, are we?” Cvareh made a scene of squinting into the dark manhole. He could actually see perfectly fine.
The woman shot him a dull look and pointed into the hole. “Go.”
“It smells rancid.” He scrunched his nose. He’d known he’d need a Fenthri’s knowledge of Loom to escape the King’s Riders, but he’d hoped for something or someone a little more…elegant.
“So don’t breathe.”