Inferno: the thrilling final novel in the Talon saga from New York Times bestselling author Julie Kagawa

“Sebastian,” he greeted as I settled into the chair. “You’ve come from the infirmary, yes? How is St. Anthony?”

“The same, sir,” I replied. Tristan St. Anthony still lay in a coma, unmoving and unresponsive, much as he had the past two days. The fact that he was still alive at all was either a testament to his hardheadedness or his extremely good luck, for many of his severely wounded brothers had not survived that first night.

“Stubborn bastard. He would have to make things difficult. The medic is going to give me an earful about moving him, I’m sure.” Martin half smiled, then shook his head with a sigh. “We’re leaving, Sebastian,” he went on, sobering as he looked at me. “We’re too exposed here. Our numbers have been depleted, our defenses broken, and Talon still knows where we are. If they attack again, there is no way any of us will survive another round.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. I’d suspected as much. Martin was right to leave, to gather the remaining soldiers and retreat to fight another day. We couldn’t stand against Talon, not like this. I didn’t like the idea of abandoning the base to the enemy, but I knew we had little choice. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere Talon won’t find us.” Martin sighed. “The Order has several locations throughout the country, emergency safe houses that are meant to be used as a last resort. We’ve never had need of them, until now. I plan to fall back to one of them, regroup and see about contacting the rest of the Order. If anyone in St. George survived, they’ll be doing the same.”

“Do you think there could be other survivors?”

“God, I hope so,” Martin said. “We can’t be the only ones left. There have to be others—even a handful is better than none. Talon couldn’t have destroyed every single soul in St. George. What about your dragons?” he asked. “What will they be doing?”

“Riley is planning to leave, as well, sir.” For the past two days, the rogue leader and the other dragons had been staying in the empty officers’ quarters at the far end of the compound. There were too few St. George soldiers left alive to even think about harassing them, but the dragons stayed deliberately isolated from the rest of the base. Dragons being allowed on St. George soil was still an alien concept to most of the soldiers, and neither Martin nor Riley wanted to take any chances. Soldiers were not allowed to venture to the “dragon’s side” of the compound, and the rogue leader had forbidden any contact with the rest of the base. Riley himself stayed as far away from the soldiers as possible, his inherent distrust of St. George and the desire to protect his underground making him reluctant to interact with humans, even Martin. Only Ember went between the two sides without fear, acting as a liaison between dragons and St. George, relaying messages and updates to them both. There had been hard eyes and wary glances whenever she walked across the yard or into a room, but so far there had been no real problems with having a dragon stroll freely through Order territory.

Of course, the remaining soldiers having seen the red dragon lead a counterattack against the horde that would have otherwise destroyed the base didn’t hurt. Perceptions were changing. Slowly. Many of the soldiers’ attitudes had downgraded from openly hostile to merely suspicious. No one but Martin had spoken to Ember or the rest of the dragons since they’d arrived, but no one had openly threatened or mocked them, either. It was the best I could hope for.

Sadly, there were a few whose hatred had not waned, who despised the dragons and thought the Order should shoot them, and me, in the head while they had the chance. Thankfully, Martin’s authority over the Western Chapterhouse was absolute, and he was respected enough to be obeyed, even in the face of what would be considered extreme blasphemy. It didn’t stop the men from talking, but it did prevent an all-out rebellion.

Martin rubbed his forehead. “Go to your dragons, then,” he stated. “Talk to them. Find out what they intend to do. I wish I could promise them protection if they came with us, but you know the Order as well as I do. The soldiers here are one thing, but if we meet other survivors, I’m uncertain I can convince them to listen to me, regardless of what happened.”

“Which is why we’ll be leaving before we start getting shot at.”

We turned. Ember and Riley stood in the doorframe, gazing at us. The rogue leader had a grim, almost defiant expression as he faced Martin. Ember gave him a brief, annoyed look before slipping around to stand beside me.

“What Riley means to say,” Ember broke in as Martin’s eyes narrowed, “is that our people are nearly healed, and we should probably find a safe place for them before Talon comes after us again. If you are going to try to bring the Order together, it’s not a good idea for us to stay around, at least not initially. I don’t think they’ll be as...understanding as you have been, Lieutenant.”

Riley smirked. “I thought that’s what I said.”

We ignored him. “That’s what I suspected,” Martin replied, nodding. “Understandable, of course, given the circumstances. When do you intend to leave?”

“Tonight,” Ember replied. “In a few hours actually. Jade and the others are well enough to travel, so we’ll be leaving after sunset and driving through the night. You won’t have to worry about us anymore.”

Martin pondered this, then looked at me. “And you, Sebastian?” he asked, as I’d known he would. “Will you be going with them?”

His voice wasn’t angry or accusing, but my stomach tightened all the same. I could hear the hidden meaning behind his words. You are a soldier of St. George. This is your home, with the people who raised you. You belong here, with your brothers. You belong with us.

I hesitated only a moment, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“There is no way I can convince you to leave with us?” Martin continued, and before I could say anything, he added, “We could really use your help, Sebastian, especially now. Your knowledge and expertise on the enemy is what kept us alive that night. Well, that, and the arrival of your dragons.” One corner of his mouth quirked, very slightly, but just as quickly, he sobered. “I’d like to have you with us, Sebastian. I can’t order you to come, of course, but St. George—what’s left of it, anyway—could use all the help it can get.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I answered firmly. “But I don’t intend to join the Order again.” I’d chosen my side, and St. George was no longer home. Though a small part of me wished I could go with him, if only to be a voice for the dragons, to continue the call for change, I knew beyond a doubt where my loyalties lay.

“I see.” He sighed again, but nodded. “Well, take care, Sebastian. I don’t know what the Order will do after this, if there is an Order around to do anything. But...” His eyes shifted to Ember. “I do know that things are going to change. For better or worse, I’m not certain yet.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a burner phone, then handed it to me over the surface. “Take this,” he said as I reached for it. “It has one number on it. Use it if you need to contact me for any reason. Somehow, I have the feeling our paths will cross again.”

Before I could answer, there was a knock, and Martin’s gaze rose to the door. “Yes?”

“Sir!” A soldier stepped into the room, pausing to give Ember, Riley and me a wary look, before turning to Martin. “Lieutenant,” he continued, “the guards intercepted a man outside the gate. He won’t say who he is or where he came from. All we could get out of him was that he has a message...” His gaze shifted to Riley and Ember. “For the dragons.”

Riley (#u9917cbca-01fa-5b5e-a60d-27ff0027e5a1)

Well, this day had gotten weird.

A man was sitting quietly at the table in the conference room, flanked by soldiers of St. George. He was lean and bony, wearing a simple shirt and dark pants, and his skin was tanned and leathery. His hands were folded in front of him, his dark gaze staying fixed on the wooden surface until the four of us—myself, St. George, Ember and the Order lieutenant, Martin—approached and stood at the table’s edge, facing him.

“I am Lieutenant Martin,” the officer began in clear, official tones. “Current commander of the Western Chapterhouse of St. George. Who are you? What is it you want here?”

At his voice, the man finally raised his head, his expression calm. But his gaze wasn’t for the lieutenant, but for the red hatchling standing beside St. George.

“Ember Hill,” he said in a soft but perfectly audible voice. His dark gaze slid to me. “Ex-Agent Cobalt. My master sends his greetings.”

Ember tensed, as did St. George. The two guards did, as well, hands straying toward their weapons. The man at the table, however, remained as serene as ever. I stepped forward, feeling Cobalt rise, responding to a potential threat. “And who would that be?” I growled.

“Forgive me, ex-Agent.” The man bowed his head. “But my master would rather not discuss business with the soldiers of St. George within earshot.” His gaze flicked briefly to Martin and the soldier. “This message, and the terms that come with it, are for you and Miss Hill alone. Sebastian may stay, if he likes,” he went on, and I stiffened. That he knew the soldier’s name, as well...who was this human? And who was this mysterious master who knew us all? “But the rest of St. George must leave. My master was quite insistent that this was for your ears alone.”

“I don’t think so,” Martin said. “You’re in Order territory, sitting in a St. George chapterhouse. Anything you want to tell the dragons, you can inform us of, as well.”

“Come now, Lieutenant,” the man went on in a reasonable voice. “Surely you can see I am not a threat. I am no dragon, no soldier. I am not armed. Your soldiers have already determined that I am wearing no wires or transmitters. Two dragons and a former soldier of St. George should have no trouble with a frail old man.” His thin lips twitched. “But feel free to shackle me to the table, if you are that worried.”

“Who are you?” I growled. Frail old man, my ass. He obviously knew far too much to be harmless. “How the hell do you know who we are, or that we’d be here, for that matter?”

“I will tell you,” the stranger said, and refolded his hands to the table. “Once St. George is out of the room.”

I looked at Martin. He stood for a moment, rigid and silent, his jaw set, before he nodded once and jerked his head at the soldiers flanking the man. They gave him worried looks but immediately turned and walked out. Martin watched the stranger a moment more, dark eyes appraising, before he turned to Sebastian.

“We’ll be just outside. Call if you need us.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied.

The officer gave the figure at the table one last glance and walked out of the room. The door closed behind him, and we were alone with the stranger.

The man didn’t move. “All right,” I said, stepping forward. “You got your wish. St. George is gone. So start talking, human. You obviously know who we are, what we are and probably why we’re here. There’s only one possible group I can think of with that kind of information.”

“I am not from Talon,” the man said. “Let us get that suspicion out of the way right now. You have no reason to fear me. I represent a single individual, not an organization. Though Talon is part of the reason I have come. My master has sent me here with a message. He wishes to meet you, ex-Agent Cobalt. You and Miss Hill. There are things he wishes to discuss.”

“Uh-huh. And we’re supposed to drop everything and go meet with this mysterious individual right now, am I correct? Sorry, but I’m going to need a little more than that. Especially since we don’t even know this person’s name, or yours, for that matter.”

“My name is not important,” said the stranger. “I am simply his voice. His name, however, you might have heard before, ex-Agent Cobalt. My master calls himself Ouroboros.”

Ouroboros?

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I felt Ember and St. George watching me, and suspected I looked as stunned as I felt. “That’s not possible,” I stated. “Ouroboros is...”

“A legend?” the old man answered with the hint of a smile. “A myth?”

“Dead,” I said flatly. “The dragon known as Ouroboros is supposedly dead. After he went rogue, no one has seen him—”

“In over three hundred years,” the stranger finished. “Yes, that is what Talon would have you believe. However, Ouroboros is very much alive, ex-Agent Cobalt. And he sent me here to find you and the daughter of the Elder Wyrm.” His gaze shifted to Ember, who straightened quickly. “He has something to discuss with you. In person.”