Page 17 of Fire to the Stars

I lower Lucy to the ground and slip the pack from my shoulders, drawing a slew of moondaggers, a crossbow, and a quiver of moonmetal-tipped bolts to throw over my back.

“Wait here,” I order. “If you see a dragon,run.”

“A dragon can’t have caused this,” she insists. “Not today. Not even at thishour. The suns are setting.”

“It’s possible. I proved it firsthand.”

Worry gleams like the fire in her eyes. “Proved what, exactly?”

I clench my eyes shut. Breathe deep. Then set the dragon-skull helmet over my head. My eyes open to the view from behind Micah’s open maw.

Claire’s hands are full, so I force my pack into her lap. “Keep this safe.”

She stares at it, as if she can’t believe I’d entrust it to a thief, but secures the pack before it can slip. “You’re not going into that flaming mess alone. Especially not if you think there’s a dragon involved.”

“I won’t be alone. The du Fay family protects this city.”

She squints at the castle. Her concern bleeds into me. On second glance, the tower looks blown out from theinside. Did a du Fay turn? Did they take a dragon captive for experimentation? But the du Fays are one of the oldest slayer families, and sticklers for the rules. They’d never disobey the Slayers Guild, let alone repeat my mistake.

I shake my head. Thehowcan come later. I’m not leaving this to chance. Lyle and his mother aren’t fighters; they’re craftsmen, which means they’re in danger. And if Ravinfort is this far damaged, the du Fays need backup.

Claire tugs my mare’s lead, regaining her attention. “Give me the crossbow. I can support you.”

“No. Take the horses and stay out of the way. I can’t save the Metekus if I’m protecting you.” I stuff the daggers into my belt and load the crossbow. “Lucy, come!”

I sprint down the road and into town, crossbow raised and ready. Lucy bounds at my side. Flames roar and buildings crack. Sweat builds beneath my uniform. Untethered taxi boats clattertogether at the river docks, pinned against the cobblestone shoreline. My ears strain for a dragon’s roar, wingbeats, claws on stone,something.

There’s nothing to track.

A glimpse of green fabric pulls my attention right, near the riverside docks. There’s just enough firelight to reveal a clergyman of unclear rank, facedown with his throat sliced open. Did a slayer throw a dagger at the dragon and miss?

I race farther into town. Ravinfort’s archive building waits for me in the main square. Window glass litters the street, the building’s roof caved in. A felled wall reveals a man in a slayer uniform lying half crushed beneath a pile of broken bricks and shattered roof tiles. The face is too blistered to recognize. A near-perfect-circle burn mark scars the floor.

A blast radius?

Too smoky to make assumptions. The ashy remains of books and documents smolder on the floor. This is just one archive of many, but some records may not have been copied and distributed to the other branches yet.Gods.If I’d submitted my journal to this location just hours earlier, it might’ve been burned before duplicates were made.

I beckon for Lucy and head for the Meteku family’s shop instead. Lyle must be alive. And his mother. Madame Afi would smack a dragon bare-handed before she’d let her son die. Besides, slayer outfitters are trained to evacuate at a moment’s notice. They’re too rare to risk. Of all people, they know how to keep safe.

“Lyle!” I call. “Madame Afi!”

Their shop is so damaged, I almost run past theMeteku Metalworkssign. The door hangs off a splintered frame.Eyes stinging with smoke, I hold my breath and squint into the ember-made shadows. The glass cases are sparse with moonmetal weapons no better than mine. Madame Afi’s half of the shop is completely empty. None of her famous dragon-scale uniforms are on display. Not a single roll of hide or a sewing needle in sight. Did they pack up merchandise before they evacuated? They shouldn’t have. Standard safety procedure dictates they leave everything behind.

“Is anyone here?” I try again. “Answer me!”

The attic floor caves in. The remains of Lyle’s mattress and bed frame crash down. I abandon my search and race through the square instead. More smoke, more bodies. Some dismembered, others slashed clean through throats and stomachs. I scan the burning trees. They release so much ash into the air, they nearly wipe out the dying sunslight. Another turret of the du Fay castle crumbles.

No dragon. No dragon. No dragon.

Unless it killed everyone. Unless it flew away to another town to find new victims.

Seventh rule of dragon hunting: A dragon’s flight equals loss oflife.

But Ravinfort is one of the best-protected cities in Florent, complete with moonmetal spear launchers and multiple resident slayers. Plus the du Fays have the highest collective slaying record. How did a hunt go this badly under their watch? It’s like they ignored the rules entirely.

A feminine figure dashes from the alley behind the Church of the War-Torn Gods. She leaps over the twisted remains of the steeple, then expertly sidesteps a mess of blue and red stainedglass. Glancing behind her, moonmetal sword raised, the girl hides behind one of the church’s massive wooden doors. The plain tunic and trousers don’t camouflage my ten-year rival from trainee camp. She’s the du Fay who left me in second place in every class.

“Hanna!” I run to her assistance. “What happened? Where’s the dragon?”