Excerpt

Leaves whipped past Sanna Spence's face.

She hurtled through the forest, clinging to a thick vine. The bright, lush canopy of Letum Wood flew past her and pulled strands of strawberry-blonde hair from her braid. Flames flickered ahead of her near the forest floor.

Sanna grinned. Right where she expected them.

A childhood of swinging through the trees had given her an instinct for gauging how long she could hold on, and this vine's arc would end on a sprawling branch twice as thick as she was tall.

Again—just as expected.

Sanna unwound her foot from the vine, transferring all her weight to her hands, and braced herself. Seconds later, she landed on the mossy branch without falling off the other side—which had happened often enough in the past.

For a moment, she stood on the branch, gazing down at the intermittent bursts of fire below. Witches weren't supposed to cross the dragons' border without a trained Servant unless absolutely necessary. She'd promised Daid years ago to obey the rule after she'd nearly dropped onto old Helis, a grumpy gray dragon who blew fire in defiance of the rule.

Then again, she wasn't exactly on dragon territory. In it, sure. If she never set foot on the ground, she'd never break her promise.

Because they didn't own the trees.

A high-pitched shriek echoed from nearby, followed by another snort of flame.

"Don't fight over me," she called, looping the vine around a smaller branch to use later. She used natural handholds in the trunk to work her way farther down. This tree, like most trees in this part of Letum Wood, was wide enough to fit at least two houses inside the trunk with room to spare.

The bright spurts of fire calmed. Two young dragon heads popped around either side of a younger tree—its span as thick as only one house. Hints of color glimmered in the dragon hatchlings' ebony scales. Sanna stopped and crouched when she reached two tangled branches. The youngest hatchling, Rosy, spread her wings and bent all four legs, readying herself to fly toward Sanna.

Sanna threw out a hand. "No! Rosy, you know the rules."

Rosy paused, then relaxed her wings with a little huff. A flying dragon was a dead dragon. Rosy knew that but constantly tested the rules.

"Jump," Sanna said. "You can make it."

Rosy snorted smoke. At ten years old, hatchlings could only breathe about thirty seconds of fire in a day. Rosy always used hers up by mid-morning. She was the smaller of the two, but feisty, with rose-pink threads twisting through her black scales. Rosy hopped across the space between the trees, snapping her baby teeth, which spanned the length of a hand, at Sanna's bag. Sanna didn't have to dodge—Rosy never actually bit her.

Sanna held up a finger.

"Ah, ah. You have to ask nicely."

Rosy's older brother, Junis, sidled up next to his sister. At twelve years old, Junis was still considered a hatchling, though both of them already loomed over Sanna. Rosy roared, exhaling another flash of smoke, then nudged Sanna with the end of her snout.

"Good enough."

Sanna yanked a toad from her bag and tossed it to the right. Rosy flailed to the side to catch it, slipped on a pillow of moss, and slid off the branch. With a quick movement, Sanna grabbed Rosy's foreleg and yanked her back. The scales sizzled against Sanna's palm until she released her.

"Sorry." She shook her hand out. "That was my fault."

Junis purred, ears lowered as he gently pressed his nose into Sanna's leg. Slivers of charcoal gray wound through his ebony scales. She set a dead toad at his feet.

"Always so polite, Junis. Thank you."

Bones crunched as the dragons chewed, squelching blood through their teeth. A low, barking sound came from below. They peered over the branch. Cara, their mother, and Viridis, a lithe dragon with emerald in his black scales, circled each other. Viridis was the sneakiest dragon that Daid fed. She'd only glimpsed him a few times in the last two years.

"Ah," Sanna murmured. "Viridis wants a hatchling."

The timing made sense. Dragons never mated for life—just for a hatchling—and the end of summer rapidly approached. A tug on Sanna's shoulder drew her gaze away. Rosy had Sanna's lion-skin bag in her teeth in a not-so-stealthy attempt to steal the final toad.

Sanna wrenched it back. "Hey! This toad's for your mam."

Rosy purred, lowered her head, and inched closer. Sanna grabbed another vine and slid down to the last branch before Rosy could take it.

When she landed, Cara's and Viridis's heads were level with her perch. Viridis loomed more than four times taller than Sanna, his body hot as hellfire. Hints of emerald cascaded down his regal neck like fog. Two thick horns stuck out from the top of his head—bigger than the horns of any other male in the brood. The air shimmered against the dragons' heat. Sanna pressed a hand to her heart and bowed her head.

"Avay, Viridis. Cara."

Cara released a warm breath. Viridis slipped away with a growl, his slitted eyes like yellow moons. A forked tongue flickered between his black lips just before he snapped in her direction and disappeared.

She relaxed. Only forest dragons could move with such strange stealth despite their massive bodies. And only forest dragons hated witches with such a passion.

Well … some of them.