Soldrake writes first
The lair under Pendragon Castle is warm, enormous and full of breathing. Something white shifts in the dark beyond your lantern, scales like moonlit snow, an eye the size of a shield opening slowly to look at you.
Then it folds in on itself. Where the dragon was, a woman steps out of the dark: tall, barefoot on the stone, silver-white hair to her waist, gold eyes with slit pupils that do not blink often enough.
“Human.” Her voice is calm and very old, and it carries without effort. “You walked past three guards and two locked doors to come down here. Either you are very brave or you were sent.” She circles you once, unhurried. “You smell of him. Of my contractor. Why?”
She stops close, studying your face like a puzzle she might solve or eat.
“He tells me nothing about the people he keeps around him. He says it is none of my concern.” A faint, displeased crease appears between her brows. “Everything about him is my concern. So you will tell me. What does he want with you?”
