92

The beast grows bigger and bigger until it’s filling your field of view. Is it going to land? Surely it can’t. Not here in the arena, which—despite being open to the sky—still feels somehow like a building, like a protected space.

But it does land, feet hitting the stands like a thunderclap, shaking the floor beneath you and splintering the seats unfortunate enough to be nearby.

“We won’t pay for that, you know!” Tarquin shouts, and maybe it’s pure bravado, but even so, his defiance makes you feel a little better. A little stronger.

Its huge head dives toward you. As you leap to dodge out of its way, rolling across the floor, you hear Ashur call, “How are they controlling it?”

“Blood magic—what else?” Dorian replies.

Of course. It’s always blood magic. You really wish the Venatori had a little more imagination. How come nobody ever does wine magic? Or peaceful-night-at-home magic? Or cute-fluffy-nug magic?

“Find the mage who’s controlling it!” Dorian shouts.

Theoretically, that makes sense—but in practice, you’re not keen on looking away from the mouth full of sharp teeth and fire breath that’s looming over you right now.

• To focus on fighting the dragon, turn to page 93.
• To prioritize finding the controller, turn to page 94.