IV

  Sitting in a tavern other than Dusk Den made me feel more like a stranger than ever before.

  The tavern was on one of the city's most remote and unsavory streets. The ceiling was low, the tables and chairs scattered, and the air reeked of alcohol and sweat.

  I was here because the winner of a simple arm-wrestling match would receive a great prize: an opal dragon egg. It was small and nowhere near hatching. The dragon that would emerge would be aggressive and no taller than five times the height of an elf, but it was the only chance I’d had in the last six days. There were only twenty-four hours left until the auction.

  “So far, no one has ever been able to defeat Scythe!” the tavern jester—a scrawny elf—shouted from atop the table he had climbed onto.

  A noise that was half cheering, half booing rose from the crowd as fists and drinks flew into the air. This jerk, who called himself Scythe, had won the last five rounds by breaking everyone’s wrists with a nasty crack. There were no rules in this tournament. Still, sitting on that chair for so long was starting to get boring.

  “Who will be Scythe’s new rival?” The jester began jumping from table to table, knocking over drinks. “Really? No one?”

  No one stepped forward; they were afraid. If I beat Scythe, I would be sufficiently intimidating, and I could claim the prize with a single victory. I pushed through the crowd and stepped forward.

  “I see a brave one!” The jester pointed at me, and a murmur rippled through the crowd.

  As Scythe’s black eyes scanned me mockingly, I took my place opposite him. When the jester leaned toward me, his long orange hair swept across my face. “Your name?”

  “Asterin,” I said. I was too impatient to invent a nickname.

  As the jester straightened and addressed the crowd, Scythe and I locked eyes. He grinned, revealing yellow, crooked teeth.

  He placed his elbow on the table, and it shook. “Don’t expect me to be gentle with you just because you’re a girl.”

  His wrist was thick and far more muscular than mine. But to scare someone like him, it would be enough to hurt him just a little. I set my elbow on the table, and our hands locked together.

  He started fast. The jester had barely finished counting down from three when he tried to twist my wrist with all his might. So that was how he’d broken all those bones—he had no technique, only brute force. It was time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

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  When I squeezed his hand as if snapping his joints together, his bones cracked with a sickening sound. His fingers twisted and bent as he let out a scream of pain and shock. I grimaced; I hadn’t expected his bones to break as easily as chalk. Schyte cursed and tried to pull his hand away, but with one final motion, I slammed the back of it onto the table.

  There was a brief silence—just long enough for the crowd to comprehend what had happened. Then the tavern erupted with shouts.

  Scythe’s face turned bright red, his eyes brimming with tears. He looked angry, but even more afraid. He tensed as if about to attack me, then shoved people aside and stormed out of the tavern.

  “Let’s see who will face Asterin, the one who ended Scythe’s streak!” the jester shouted. His call was met with a timid murmur. Some were afraid to face me; others had already lost interest. Just as I’d thought—a single victory, and the egg was mine.

  “Is there no one?” The silence persisted. The elves began to disperse around the tavern. “Then the prize goes to—”

  Me, I thought.

  “Wait a second.” The familiar voice from within the crowd made my hair stand on end. I turned toward its owner at lightning speed. Flame-red hair. Calithra. She was here with the other two men. Blood rushed to my head. What were they doing here? Had they followed me? No—this had to be a coincidence.

  “We heard you have a dragon egg as a reward,” Cain said, his words ending in an unsettling hiss.

  “You’ve come to the right place!” the jester shouted, his tone shifting to announce worthy competitors, drawing attention back to us. I clenched my fist so tightly my knuckles ached. I was the winner. The jester had been about to announce it—he just hadn’t finished.

  As I trembled with rage, Calithra had already taken her place. A shiver ran down my spine; I didn’t want to compete with her. My vision sharpened with an instinctive urge: steal the egg.

  Would they come after me? Was I really faster?

  My breathing steadied. I sat opposite Calithra. This was my chance to study my rival, and I wouldn’t waste it.

  As Calithra rested her elbow on the table, a smile spread across her thin lips. “Let it be a fair game, fellow Varrendalian.”

  I went rigid. She knew me. But how well? Was her presence truly a coincidence?

  The jester counted down from three.

  I clenched my teeth against Calithra’s immense strength. Our hands remained locked as they had at the start, yet even holding the position demanded everything I had. I hissed in frustration. The smirk on her face never wavered, and my struggle only fed the fury rising inside me.

  Calithra was toying with me. Giving up was not an option—but the moment she sensed my hesitation, she made her move. The back of my hand struck the table so hard it splintered the wood.

  I was utterly bewildered. The warm blood running from my hand to my elbow felt unreal, and with it, my plan to steal the egg slipped from my mind.

  I watched Calithra lift the egg and cradle it against her chest. Cain and Droven leaned toward it. Fury building inside me, I stood so abruptly my chair toppled.

  “You!” I called after her. “What are you going to do with that egg?”

  Before the three of them left the tavern, she glanced at me over her shoulder.

  “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find out soon.”