The dragon’s intent had been to merely enter the castle and gain access to the royal family. Anora was pleased and astonished beyond measure to discover that the young woman, whose body she’d stolen because it suited her purpose, was actually to be betrothed to Prince Marcus. This opened up all sorts of possibilities. If dragons had held human beliefs, Anora would have said that this was a sign that God himself smiled on her. As it was, she seized the fortunate coincidence and made the most of it.

Dinner that night was a glum affair. The food was not very good, nor was there very much, for Cook was rationing what she served them. There was no music. The musicians had been sent away. The king was not present. He had gone to inspect the city’s fortifications and supervise the evacuation of the populace. The few who were present at the table did not linger over the mutton stew, and the meal ended quickly. After dinner, Anora played at draughts with the Prince until she was able to plead fatigue and take her leave of them for the night. She carried Marcus’s soul off in her work basket.

When the church bells in the city rang twice, Anora wrapped herself in a cloak of illusion, and stole out of her room. She glided down the stairs, through silent, deserted halls, out into the courtyard. From there, wrapped in the night, she made her way to the castle wall, where stood the cannons.

Soldiers were at their posts, manning the towers, keeping watch, walking their rounds. Every man was watchful and alert, for each had heard the fate of New Bramfells. Anora listened to them talk in tense, low voices as she stole past them, unseen and unsuspected.

The moon was waning from the full, yet still shed enough bright white light for Anora to see almost as clearly as by day. She welcomed the light. Her dragon eyes could see living beings in the dark—humans glowed a warm red in her vision. But the cannons had no life. They squatted black and ugly and repulsive in the moonlight.

Six grotesque monsters, with misshapen arms that they used to haul themselves around, and trundling legs. Anora regarded them with loathing. She hated them, hated the smell of the iron that reminded her of blood, hated the stink of sulfur and saltpeter, hated the all-pervasive stench of humans that bound iron and death together.