Page 49 of Fire to the Stars

“He’s not me! Do you want your son to die?”

“Where is this greed coming from?” my father snapped. “He has a duty to the slayer industry!”

“Madame Afi offered to apprentice him!”

My mother’s gaze narrowed. My father’s nostrils flared like a dragon’s.

Before this moment, I was the perfect, obedient Estellio son. With six solo slayings and two assists under my belt a year out of official training, I was one kill tally behind Hanna. To be frank, Iwantedthe city bells to toll in the dragon-alert pattern so I’d have a chance to boost my tally. But the night before, when I told Micah about Madame Afi’s offer, he’d hugged me fiercely. Gods, I nearlycriedat how easy it was to return the hug, and how many I’d missed out on.

Now Micah clung to the banister with two desperate hands, still wearing his nightshirt, and watched us argue overhislife.

Outside, the twin suns broke the dawn. The edges touched and flared. Micah’s grip on the banister weakened. Face flushed, his glassy eyes fell half lidded and feverish.

“I don’t feel good,” he mumbled.

It happened in heartbeats.

The eyes changed first. Pupils round, then slitted, from one blink to the next. Then the talons burst from his shaking fingertips. Then the pain. Gods, hisscreams. Steam poured from his blistering skin. His spine bulged and tore through the back of his shirt, head snapping down as if bowing to unspoken orders.

Mouth elongated, fangs gnashed, skull expanded. He shook his head like a disoriented hunting hound. Crimson scales flooded from his wounds and overtook his human skin. Elbowsjutted wide, expanding into membraned wings flared for flight. A whiplike tail lashed out of nowhere and swept the banister aside, reminiscent of my father when he smashed through his empty liquor bottles at the first notion of Micah’s disobedience. In his final dragon form, my little brother had grown to twice the size of a horse—muscular, lethal, and indistinguishable from the rest of Diu’s greedy spawn.

The transformation completed with a burst of hot air. Splintered wood hit the walls. The front windows blew out. Micah curled his talons over the broken landing and roared at us. The few pieces of furniture we hadn’t brought to the fire cellar exploded under the force of his first fiery breath. It swept right to left, as if to wipe us out at once.

My parents dodged first. They lunged at him, weapons drawn. My mother shot a bolt at his wing, pinning it against a faded square on the wall above the staircase where a family portrait had hung. Micah’s roar became a screech. My father grasped a horn and hauled himself onto Micah’s neck. Micah reared back. My father somersaulted down his spine and slashed his left flank, hard and deep, with his long sword. Micah slipped on the steps. His weight dragged him down. The pinned wing forced his body to twist and expose his soft underbelly. My father lifted his sword, angled for the gut, but Micah’s wing ripped free. Steam rose from the wound in his flank, the beginnings of Diu’s healing power.

My mother’s eyes barely flickered. My father merely snarled.

Do you want your son to die?

“Abel!” my mother shouted, loading a fresh bolt into her crossbow. “Aim for its eyes!”

It?

I stared at her. Her order was garbled in my ears.

Another blast of fire swept through the foyer. I ducked and dodged left. The familiarity of the movement compelled me to throw the moondagger—with aim so sloppy, I couldn’t tell if I’d missed intentionally. It grazed Micah’s eye instead of sinking into it for a kill shot to the brain.

Micah had been standingright therejust moments prior.

Dragon or human?

I can’t see the difference.

I crouched dumbly in the corner as Micah roared in pain. Hands shaking. Eyes unblinking. Searching for a sliver of recognition in my little brother’s gold eyes. I shouted for Duc, my tinderfox, praying he would eat the flames that tore my family’s home apart and buy me time, precious seconds, a fraction of a moment that might convince me that I was hallucinating. That maybe I was still asleep in my bed under the cold light of a full moon, sweating through a nightmare. Instead, when Duc came yipping into the foyer, Micah tumbled down the stairs, wing half torn. The heavy dragon tail knocked our father down with him.

In one sickening crunch, Micah crushed my father and my tinderfox.

He whipped his head toward my mother next. Those blade-sharp fangs punctured her midsection and scattered her organs across the floor.

That confirmed it.

Micah wasn’t doing this.

Micah would never harm a soul.

The way I saw it, this dragon wasn’t my brother. Micah wasnota greedy heretic for preferring crafts over weapons. He wasan innocent child who would apprentice with Madame Afi and undoubtedly excel. This dragon was a separate, evil entity—and I had to gouge it out.

“Get out,” I snarled at the entity. “Get out of my brother!”