Raz’zor breaks through the fog, soaring up until he’s flying beside us, the sight of my horde-kin kicking up a euphoria deep in my chest. He’s like moonlight taken form, his huge, gleaming ivory-scaled body tinted blue from the countless Noi runes marked on his sides, a small purple rune emblazoned on the base of his neck. His powerful muscles beat broad, pale wings in a rhythmic whoosh as I marvel at our sudden reunion.

Death to Vogel, Raz’zor sends into my mind as red and purple fire sparks through my lines, and a heady relief sweeps through me. I move toward him, right up to the skiff’s edge.

Raz’zor, I send out to him. Are you the dragon the Vu Trin sent out to search for me?

A lash of angry fire. To scent and to capture. But they do not know that you have my fealty.

Another wave of relief breaks over this blessed stroke of improbable luck.

They got the runic band off you, I marvel, the throat-band that kept him small as a lamb now absent.

Or’myr Syll’vir, friend to Dragonkin, broke my bonds, he sounds out in my mind, and I’m stunned to hear his mention of my cousin. My fire has been fully unleashed as well, and strengthened with his purple flame. And now I will fight with you and together we will render the Gardnerians’ flesh to ash and consume their bones.

“Elloren,” Yvan says, his hand coming to the small of my back. “Do you have a mind connection with this dragon?”

“I do,” I reply, meeting his questioning gaze. “We’re a horde.”

An incredulous laugh bursts from Jules and I turn toward him. “You never cease to be full of surprises,” he notes, his bespectacled gaze studying me with lively amusement.

“How ever did you manage to secure a Vish’nile dragon’s fealty?” Kam Vin demands, clearly thrown. “That can take years.”

I spare her a glance. “I think we skipped a few formalities because of some serious time constraints—” I break off, distracted by the reddened fire magic that’s now combining with my own to whip through my lines along with Yvan’s golden flame.

Yvan’s fire intensifies, lashing through me and around Raz’zor’s streaming fire. All the combined Wyvernfire sparks saffron and purple in my vision, and I can feel Yvan gauging Raz’zor’s strength in it.

Raz’zor raises his head, sniffs the air, and narrows his slitted, red-burning eye at Yvan.

Dragonkin, he thinks to me, his eye pinned on Yvan. Your bonded mate. He is powerful. His crimson eye pivots to me, and I can feel the shiver of discord in his power. He wants you, Witchling. Yet you are bound to another.