“And where was it?” he whispered, staring at the snowdrifts. They were mounting up around me, heaving and rumbling as though alive. One grew tall and stretched itself into a slender dragon’s head. The drift stretched wide into a pair of wings. The dragon shook flakes of snow from its white scales. When it turned and looked at my father, he murmured something and patted its nose as though he and the dragon had already met. The dragon breathed warm vapor into the frigid air.
“Mostly it’s inside me—here.” I sat up to show my father what I meant. My mittened hands went to the curved bones of my ribs. They were warm through the skin, through my jacket, through the chunky knit of the mittens. “But when she needs to fly, I have to let her out. There’s not enough room for her wings otherwise.”
A pair of shining wings rested on the snow behind me.
“You left your own wings behind,” my father said gravely.
The dragon wormed her way out of the snowdrift. Her silver-and-black eyes blinked as she pulled free, rose into the air, and disappeared over the apple tree, becoming more insubstantial with every flap of her wings. Mine were already fading on the snow behind me.
“The dragon won’t take me with her. And she never stays around for very long,” I said with a sigh. “Why is that, Daddy?”
“Maybe she has somewhere else to be.”
I considered this possibility. “Like when you and Mommy go to school?” It was perplexing to think of parents going to school. All the children on the block thought so, even though most of their parents spent all day at school, too.
“Just like that.” My father was still sitting in the snow, his arms wrapped around his knees. He smiled. “I love the witch in you, Diana.”
“She scares Mommy.”
“Nah.” My father shook his head. “Mommy is just scared of change.”
“I tried to keep the dragon a secret, but I think she knows anyway,” I said glumly.
“Mommies usually do,” my father said. He looked down at the snow. My wings were entirely gone now. “But she knows when you want hot chocolate, too. If we go inside, my guess is she’ll have it ready.” My father got to his feet and held out his hand.
I slipped mine, still wearing crimson mittens, into his warm grip.
“Will you always be here to hold my hand when it gets dark?” I asked. Night was falling, and I was suddenly afraid of the shadows. Monsters lurked in the gloom, strange creatures who watched me as I played.
“Nope,” my father said with a shake of his head. My lip trembled. That wasn’t the answer I wanted. “You’ ll have to be brave enough for both of us one day. But don’t worry.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’ ll always have your dragon.”
A drop of blood fell from the pierced skin around my eye to the ground by my feet. Even though I was blindfolded, I could see its leisurely movement and the way it landed with a wet splat. A black shoot emerged from the spot.
Hooves thundered toward me. Someone gave a high, keening cry that conjured up images of ancient battles. The sound made the firedrake even more restless. I couldn’t let them reach me. The results could be deadly.
Instead of trying to see the threads that led to Kit and Louisa, I focused on the ones wrapped in the fibers that bound my wrists and ankles. I was starting to make progress loosening them when something sharp and heavy splintered against my ribs. The impact knocked the breath from my body.
“A hit!” Kit cried. “The witch is mine!”
“A glancing blow,” Louisa corrected. “You must seat the lance in her body to claim her as your prize. You agreed to the rules and must abide by them.”
Sadly, I didn’t know the rules—neither of jousting nor of magic, either. Goody Alsop had made that plain before we left for Prague. All you have now is a wayward firedrake, a glaem that is near to blinding, and a tendency to ask questions that have mischievous answers, she’d said. I’d been neglecting my weaving in favor of court intrigue and stopped pursuing my magic to hunt for Ashmole 782. Perhaps if I’d stayed in London, I would have known how to get myself out of this mess. Instead I was bound to a thick log like a witch about to be set alight.
Think. Stay alive.
“We must try again,” Louisa said. Her words faded as she wheeled her horse around and rode away.
“Don’t do this, Kit,” I said. “Think what it will do to Matthew. If you want me gone, I’ll go. I promise.”
“Your promises are nothing, witch. You will cross your fingers and find a way to wriggle out of your assurances. I can see the glaem about you even now as you try to work your magic against me.”