Prize of Night by Bailey Cunningham

Author:Bailey Cunningham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-04-21T16:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

MILES

1

Ingrid didn’t expect to find herself in the dragon’s lair. She was barefoot and had to walk carefully to avoid stepping on anything precious. She picked her way among the gilded harps and chalices, trying to be soft, like a real burglar. Her foot snagged on an embroidered pennant, but she managed to extricate herself. Smoke curled from the worm, asleep on his pile of treasure. In fact, the worm was made of smoke, and his rippling form stretched from one end of the barrow to the other. Ingrid crept near. Gemstones glittered within the transparent body. She’d forgotten her sword and feared that the dragon might be sleeping on top of it. She squinted but couldn’t make out anything for certain within the dim light. It was her fault. Leaving a sword behind was one thing, but you should never invite dragons into your life. The smoke parted slightly, and she saw a glimpse of the blade. All she had to do was reach in and snatch it back. The hoard itself seemed to be waiting for this. The harps watched her in hushed amazement. The dragon slept on.

She waited for the smoke to part again.

Don’t bother. It was her foster mother’s voice. You’ll only botch the job. Go make some more coffee. That’s what you’re good for.

Ingrid hesitated. The hoard sighed, or maybe it was the dragon. They were inseparable. For the first time, she noticed that Paul was perched on a collection of gleaming breastplates. He was six years old and wearing stegosaurus pajamas. His knees were drawn up to his chest. He saw her and put a finger to his lips.

“Get down from there,” she whispered. “Safety first. Always. Don’t you remember?”

Now he was trying on the armor. He fumbled with the clasps, and she wanted to show him the right way, but the dragon was turning again. This was her last chance.

She could see the chipped hilt of her gladius. Her hand darted forth, grasping it. Triumph made her smile. But then the smoke closed over her arm. It was impossibly cold. Ingrid shivered violently as the dragon regarded her with countless winking eyes.

Too slow.

It opened its jaws, and for a moment, she saw through the smoke. She saw the monster’s heart, a summer berry ripe with blood. Her eyes widened.

“I know you.”

Then it rushed in, and the weight of the hoard was on top of her, the gold crushing her as the dragon unfolded, unfolded.

Ingrid woke to find Neil’s nose pressed an inch away from her own. He was lying on her stomach, and one of his small hands kneaded her forehead, like it was a dough. When she opened her eyes, a brilliant smile spread across his face.

“Mummy! You have waked up, and next to your son!”

She shifted position. “You’re actually on top of me, bubs.”

He rolled onto his side. “I have brought you something.”

Ingrid stroked his hair. “Precious. What is it?”

Neil handed her a painted rock, closed in his left fist. It was yellow and green.

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