“Oh, shit—” Hastily, Coco tried to recoat the ropes, but the sharp scent of magic already punctured the air. The feather touched the forest floor. Alarmed now, I pulled sharply on Nicholina’s wrists, but she smashed her head into my nose, flinging herself backward on top of me. We both crashed to the ground as the feather began to—to change.

“A mouse in a trap,” she hissed. “Who are the mice now?”

The delicate black filaments multiplied, slowly at first, gaining momentum. Melting together into a misshapen lump of clay. From that clay, another bird formed, identical to the one perched in the tree. The latter cawed again, and from the former, a second feather fell. Another bird rose. Three now. All identical. Nicholina cackled.

But the birds hadn’t finished yet. Within the span of five heartbeats, five more had formed. They multiplied faster. Ten now. Twenty. Fifty.

“Stop it.” I crushed her hands in mine—those hands that should’ve been rendered numb, useless—but she twisted away as the birds rose above us in a horrifying black mass. Scores now. Perhaps hundreds. “Reverse the pattern. Do it now.”

“Too late.” Laughing in delight, she bounced on her toes. “Look, huntsman. It’s a murder of crows. They shall peck, peck, peck all your flesh, flesh, flesh.” The plague above us built like a tidal wave preparing to break. “Did you hear me, huntsman? Crows. Murderous ones. Tell me, which shall they eat first: Your eyes or your tongue?”

Then the wave broke.

The birds swooped as one, arrowing toward us with alarming speed. Though I threw up my hands against the onslaught, frantically searching for a pattern, they attacked with single-minded focus. Talons slashed my face, my fingers. Beaks tore into my knuckle. Others drew blood from my ear. Coco tackled Nicholina to the ground, and the two scrabbled in the snow as the crows descended on the others, pecking skin, pulling hair.

Angry caws muffled Célie’s panicked shrieks, Beau’s vicious curses, Nicholina’s outraged cries. I craned my neck to see her writhe as Coco recoated her ropes with blood. The crows didn’t stop, however. My own blood streaked down my forearms, my neck, but I kept my head bowed, searching. Gold rose in a tangled web.

There.

I yanked the pattern with all my might, and a powerful gust of wind blasted the birds backward. I braced as it blasted me too. A necessary sacrifice. I needed space to breathe. To think.

I secured neither. More birds darted to replace the others, shrieking indignantly.

It was no good. There were too many of them. Too many patterns. Seizing Nicholina, I charged toward the cliffs with talons on my neck. Coco sprinted behind with Beau, and Thierry swooped Célie up in his arms to follow.

“Reid!” I didn’t slow at my brother’s incredulous shout. “What are we doing?”

No. I maintained my focus, searched blindly for the right cord. If we hoped to survive with our eyes and tongues, we’d have to jump. My vision pitched at the thought. Madame Labelle had once said a witch could fly with the right pattern. Deveraux had said a cardinal couldn’t if it didn’t believe.

Well. We were about to test their theories.

If you’re listening, Deveraux, please, please, help us—

I didn’t get the chance to finish the prayer.

A deafening roar shook the cliffside, the trees, and an amethyst wing parted the clouds of smoke overhead. An enormous amethyst wing. Membranous. Razor-tipped. Fire sprayed in a wide arch, silhouetting the great, hulking shape of a serpentine body. A scaled leg appeared. A barbed tail.

An entire dragon followed.

The Dragon and Her Maiden

Reid

I could only stare as it dove toward us.

It roared again, and from its great mouth, more fire spilled forth. The heat of it nearly blistered my skin. Finally regaining my senses, I dropped to the ground, covering Lou’s body as the crows overhead shrieked in agony. Their burning corpses fell around us like macabre rain—those that fell at all. The dragon incinerated most midair. It snapped vicious jaws around others, devouring them whole.

The others had tumbled with me, covering their heads as if their arms might shield them from the dragon’s flames. Except Thierry. He too had fallen, but he didn’t cower, instead gazing at the dragon with an unfathomable expression. I could’ve sworn it looked like—like relief. But that couldn’t be right. We’d leapt from the pot into the fire. Literally.

Even with magic, with knives—even if I’d still wielded my Balisarda—we couldn’t hope to defend ourselves against a dragon. We had to flee. Now. While we still had a chance. We just needed a diversion. Quickly, I pulled at the golden web of patterns. Something loud. Something big. Something to slow the beast as we sprinted for the cliff. Could I fell a tree? A forest of trees? Yes. A cage of wood for—

For a fire-breathing dragon.

I closed my eyes. Fuck.

But I was out of time. It’d have to do. Bracing myself for the consequences, I gathered the golden cords in my hand. Before I could pull, however, the dragon snorted, and fresh smoke engulfed us. I glanced up. Spotted a miniature flame through the haze. My eyes narrowed as I looked closer, harder. It wasn’t flame at all, but hair. Red hair. A person.

Seraphine smiled down at me from the dragon’s back.

The earth shook as it landed with another roar, tossing its great head. Between one blink and the next, its horns unraveled into lavender curls, and its tail rippled into black satin. Reptilian eyes blinked to brown. Amethyst scales smoothed to skin.

“Thierry.” Voice low and hoarse, Zenna caught Seraphine in her arms, transformation complete, before placing her swiftly on her feet. They both hurried toward their fellow troupe member. I gaped at them. We all did. Even Nicholina.

Zenna. Seraphine. He reached them just as Seraphine extended her arms, and he lifted her from the ground to spin her in a circle. You’re here.

“So are you.” Zenna didn’t look pleased. “Imagine our surprise when Claud sensed you at last—in northern Belterra, of all places. Not the tunnels we’d been searching for weeks.” She seized one of his hands. “We’ve been worried sick, Thierry. Care to tell us where you’ve been? Where is Toulouse?”

Thierry’s face fell.

I pushed myself to my feet, pulling Nicholina up with me. “You—you’re—”

“A dragon, yes.” Zenna heaved a long-suffering sigh, and smoke curled from her nostrils. After inspecting Thierry one last time, she casually wiped the blood from her lips. She’d painted them gold today. They matched the blooms embroidered on her gown. “Bonjour, Mort Rouge. Shall we all digest together? Go ahead. Take a moment.”