Somewhere out there, hidden in the darkness, was Isobelle. Gwen could have cursed the dragon for coming back around before she got the details of Isobelle’s plan, but Isobelle was so much smarter and cleverer than anyone in Darkhaven Castle knew, and Gwen would not deny her her right to fight. Even though Gwen’s body was icy cold with the knowledge that, should the dragon get past her, Isobelle could be its next target.

Her mind tried to throw out reassurances. Mounted on Achilles, she could move much faster out in the open than she could in the mines. The spear had a much greater reach than her sword. The dragon was wounded, and surely slower and clumsier now.

But as the massive head swung toward her, weaving back and forth low enough to part the long grasses in huge, whispering furrows, Gwen knew the truth, deep in her heart. Even wounded, the dragon was far more dangerous than a single girl on horseback.

She shifted her weight, and Achilles, utterly responsive in his heightened state, broke into a trot, and then a run, gathering speed. The dragon let out a sullen roar, sparks flying up against the stars, and began clawing its way across the ground toward Gwen. The joints of the elongated front legs thrust upward, ungainly but undeniably powerful, the sheer size of the creature allowing it to eat up the distance between them in a few ground-shaking stomps.

The dragon lifted its head with a snarl, preparing to make a lunge for Gwen, and she leaned hard as she tugged at Achilles’s reins—the horse veered to the right in a perfect arc as the dragon’s jaws slammed home on empty air.

Gwen lifted the spear and felt a stab of pain shoot through her bad shoulder, the one the guards had worsened with their blows as they dragged her from the tournament grounds. She banished that pain, locking it away in some remote corner of her mind, and focused on leveling the spear and tucking it under her arm.

But before she could get the tip of the heavy weapon lowered toward a viable target—the neck, if it lifted its head again, or the eye if she could manage it—the dragon threw one of its arms out, forcing Achilles to leap over an outflung wing tip and land, snorting and staggering.

Together, they wheeled around. Gwen saw a massive black shape swinging at her through the darkness and threw herself flat against Achilles’s neck. The dragon’s tail whistled over her, so close she felt her hair billow in the disturbance of air that followed. Achilles was already lining himself up for another pass, and Gwen let him, focusing this time on the spear’s tip rather than directing her horse.