It won’t work.

I punch through the closing circle—it stutters.

A blade strikes my wrist from the other side. A blow from Lancelot, meant to break bones—

It barely pierces my scales.

I withdraw. Pull root from my chest to counter Merlin’s spinning prison, moving my flames in a rush in the opposite direction until the two dissipate against each other.

Merlin stands across from me, panting, hands outstretched and eyes wide with horror. “Demon!”

Lancelot adjusts his grip on his injured shoulder. “Monster.”

“No,” I say in return. “My name is Bree.”

“Bree.” Lancelot blinks, shakes his head. “Bree?”

“Yes!” I shout. “Bree!”

Before they ready another attack, I remember Sel’s chain scythe. With a thought, my mage flame spreads to the ground, forming chains one link at a time. The heavy ball weight in one hand, the curved blade in the other.

I pull it up and overhead as Sel did, and laugh at the sensation of my own root power in my hands, deadly at my command, because I made it so.

“Surround her!” Lancelot shouts. Merlin yells something to me that I cannot hear. More accusations, more lies, more condemnations.

I ignore him, and spin my chain faster.

After what looks like a frustrated growl, Merlin drops down to punch the ground with a flaming blue fist. His aether ripples out around me, but instead of a cyclone to close me in, the aether solidifies itself into six animal constructs.

The silver hounds form a circle, snapping and yowling behind me, beside me, in front of me.

Behind them, Merlin and Lancelot back away. Merlin sends his constructs in to fight in his place.

“Coward,” I whisper. “Sending creatures as fodder.”

Merlin and Lancelot exchange heated words that I cannot hear above the whirl of my weapon and the cries of the hounds. They seem to be fighting with one another now, likely over how to best defeat me.

No matter. I won’t give them time to plan a counterattack.

The sorcerer’s hounds are gone—sliced into shining bits and pieces—in fewer than three rotations.

This takes Lancelot and Merlin by surprise. I grin. Good. I lengthen my chain so the blade whizzes just by them, and take a step closer.

“Stop!” they shout. “Bree!”

Another step.

As one, they begin to retreat when a thunderclap overhead shakes the earth, and the sky flashes bright with lightning.

The dreamworld, fighting back again.

Lightning strikes at their feet, sending them flying in opposite directions.

Before either of them can lift a blade or raise a hound or use any of their aether against me, I let the chain scythe melt back to flames on either side of me. Then I feed the flames with root, pushing even more fuel toward them, imagining them into the shape I want.

Into the wings I want.

Massive. Claw-tipped. Powerful.

With one mighty flap, I am in the air.