Marcus nodded. She shut the door, and because he did not trust any other to guard them, he took it upon himself to remain outside the chapel door. He sat down on a stone bench and that was a mistake. The moment he stopped moving, pain and fatigue overwhelmed him. His shoulder throbbed, his head buzzed. The floor tilted beneath his feet, the walls slid sideways. Marcus leaned back against the wall to wait for the dizziness to pass.

He’d been going on adrenaline alone, and that was suddenly all used up.

The chapel was located inside the palace proper, sheltered from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Even though tumult raged beyond, the thick walls dampened most of the sound. He could hear faintly the ongoing struggle and the chanting of the sisters as they gathered in their circle.

And he also heard voices shouting in terror, “Dragons!” and he heard a blast and boom of fiery breath.

The pain and weakness were so great, he did not think he had the strength to move off the bench. His gaze lifted to a stained-glass window above him, to the myriad colors shifting in his wavering vision. “I faced the dragon before. I can do it again.”

He left the little room and entered the mind of the dragon.

Maristara was furious. Her fury burned inside her like the brimstone rumbling in her belly. She was furious and she was afraid, and she was using her fury to try to squelch her fear. The dragon had always been a bully, and like most bullies, she was a coward. Her longtime companion in this adventure, Grald, was dead, and though she had despised him and distrusted him, she had relied on his brutal strength and low cunning more than she had cared to admit.

And now Anora was dead, too. Maristara had outwardly disdained the powerful dragon. Inwardly she stood in awe of her. Anora was dead, slain by the wretched humans—a fate she had predicted would come upon them all.

Maristara was left to fight this battle on her own. She had to finish what they had begun. She had to. She had no choice.

Maristara’s hold on Dragonkeep was tenuous, at best. Grald’s despotic rule had caused many of the citizens to question his authority. The people hated and distrusted the mad monks. Few had dared do anything about it, but then came the lethal blast that had destroyed so much and killed so many. Shortly after that, the Abbey collapsed mysteriously, Grald vanished, and an army of strange warriors that no one had known existed marched through their streets.