Better than you enjoy kissing me?

“I have not kissed her since I met you.” Suddenly it was the Master of the Domain speaking, his tone hard, his eyes harder.

Misery and thrill collided in her. Had he declared that he’d given up other girls for her? Or was she being a complete fool?

“Now will you concentrate on the task at hand?” he went on impatiently.

She took a deep breath and counted to five. “Let’s fight some dragons.”

The colossus cockatrices, maddened by the scent of intruders, streamed their fire.

Iolanthe and the prince each called for a shield. Hers held. She summoned more shields, marching toward the cockatrices. They were chained to the castle gate and could neither come at her nor give chase. As soon as she moved past their fire range, she’d be safe.

The castle gate beckoned. She started running. Cockatrices had poor eyesight. With their fire blocked, they’d try to assault her with claws and tails, but not being predators, they’d be clumsy at it.

The ground shook as the colossus cockatrices thrashed and stomped, but she dashed past them. From somewhere behind, the prince shouted at her to be careful. She sprinted across the wide courtyard and up the steps. But she did not stop there, as he’d requested. Instead, she pushed open the huge, thickly reinforced doors of the castle and stepped into the great hall.

The interior of the castle was gloomy. A few guttering torches threw out faint circles of light, leaving large swaths of the great hall darkened and forbidding.

Could shadows move against shadows? She squinted, her fingers tightening on the prince’s spare wand. Behind her came a soft sound like drapes fluttering before an open window.

Before she could spin around, something heavy and spiked slammed into the side of her skull, one particularly sharp spur burying itself deep into her temple. Her face contorted. Her muscles convulsed. Her scream lodged in her throat.

She fell with a resounding thud. A black, reptilian creature landed beside her, folding its wings with barely a swish. A sharp claw reached out and slashed her throat.

But she was already dead.

Titus shouted the first three words of the exit password before he realized that she had been the one to take them into the Crucible. For him to take her out now, he must be in physical contact.

He threw a battery of spells at the wyvern, driving it off her body. A second wyvern swooped down. He dove toward her, grabbing her hand just as the creature’s spiked tail crashed toward him.

They were back in his room. Her eyes flew open, but they were the eyes of the possessed. She shook, the kind of frenetic convulsion that would cause her to stop breathing before he could get to the laboratory and find a proper remedy.

He slapped their hands on the Crucible and prayed frantically.

Iolanthe stared dumbly at the dark, star-sprinkled sky with its two moons. Who was she? Where was she?

Of their own accord, her hands clutched her throat. She was—she’d been—

Terror rose in her, a dark, drowning tide. She screamed.

And was instantly thrown into the coldest water she’d ever known, the shock of it like knives upon her skin. She gasped, her erstwhile horror forgotten. So cold, the burn of ice frozen to her body.

Someone yanked her out of the water and held her tight. She began to shiver. Her teeth chattered. She would never be warm again.

He rubbed his hand along her back, the friction needle points of heat. “Sorry, I had to do that. You were going into convulsions.”

“What—what happened?”

His kneaded her arm. “You died in the Crucible. There are two wyverns in the great hall—I tried to warn you, but you did not hear me. I am sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

The fault was not his; she’d been an idiot who’d turned the topic to Sleeping Beauty and wouldn’t let go. “Where am I now?” she asked, still trembling.

“Next to Ice Lake.”

“Isn’t that where the kraken lives?”

“Yes. We have to go soon. It would already have felt the—”

The lake sloshed behind her.

“And they lived happily ever after!” they shouted together.

The last thing she saw was an enormous, mottled tentacle, splashing toward her.

Her heart was still pounding.

She took her hand off the Crucible. “It’s a dangerous book.”

“You do not know the half of it,” said the prince. “At least you seem better now.”

She felt more or less normal. “So if I survive the convulsions, dying in the Crucible has no other effect?”

“What do you think about wyverns?”

The moment he said the word, her hands shook. She braced them against the edge of the desk, but the shaking only transferred to her arms.

“That is the effect of dying in the Crucible. I have never gone back to Black Bastion. The mere thought of Helgira still makes me”—he took a deep breath—“well, incoherent, to say the least.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I’m going back in.”

“What?”

“I can’t be afraid of wyverns. I can’t go into hysteria in front of the Commander’s Palace.”

“At least wait until tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to be less afraid tomorrow.” She touched his hand. “Will you come and help me?”

I can’t be weak when the time comes. I can’t let you fall.

“Of course.” He sighed. “Of course I will help you.”

She stood with her hand on the ominously heavy doors of the great hall, the prince by her side. Behind them the colossal cockatrices bellowed impotently. Inside awaited the wyverns that had slaughtered her only minutes ago.

He laid his hand over hers. “They would have already smelled us. Wyverns are fast and crafty. They do not need to wait between breaths of fire. And as you already know, the ones in there are not chained.”

She nodded.

“We go in on the count of three.”

She nodded again, scarcely able to breathe.

“One, two, three.”

He blasted open the doors. She shot a starburst of flames that illuminated every corner of the great hall, depriving the wyverns of shadows in which to hide.

They fought back to back. She paid only remote attention to what he did, her mind bent on controlling the dragons’ fire. The wyverns spewed without cease, but their fires were less hot. The corporeal shield in which the prince had encased her further reduced the heat.

It still hurt. But the sensation was more like the abrasion of rough stones than the stab of red-hot knives. She welcomed the pain—if she hurt, then she was still alive.

At last she managed to direct one wyvern’s flame to attack the other. The scorched wyvern screeched and returned the favor. As the dragons became bogged down in their own feud, the prince grabbed her hand. They ran up the grand staircase, throwing shields behind their shoulders, and pushed shut the blessedly fortified doors that led to the gallery.

She panted with her hands on her knees. It was not an unqualified victory, but at least she’d no longer be irrationally terrified of wyverns—only rationally afraid.

“Are there any more dangers in the castle?”

“No, that is it.” He reached for her. “Now we can go back.”

She backed away. “Since I’m already here, I might as well take a look at Sleeping Beauty.”

Even the elation of victory could not quite dispel the acidness of jealousy.

“No!”

For a boy who had so much self-control, he was practically shouting.

“Why not?”

Did he flush? It was hard to tell. They were both hot from the heat of the battle. “My castle, my rules,” he declared flatly.

She flattened her lips. “Fine.”

Tension drained from his shoulders. She exploited his moment of inattention and ran, throwing up a wall of fire behind her.

“Stop!”

He swore. She dashed halfway down the long portrait gallery and up the next flight of stairs, three marble steps at a time.