Spark the Fire

by Melissa McShane

  “I’m not, but tell that to the hundreds of Gonjirian young women who would love to bear a royal child. It’s hard enough finding someone who cares for me as Rokshan and not as the prince. Now I’ll always wonder if a girl is suppressing her revulsion—”

  “Stop talking like that,” Lamprophyre said hotly. “If that really is something that worries you, you can bring any female who seems interested to me, and I’ll listen to her thoughts. And if she is that shallow, I’ll scare her off. You shouldn’t have to endure that kind of cruelty.”

  Rokshan laughed again. This time it was a cheerful, amused sound. “I have such a friend in you,” he said. “You’re the nicest and most honorable person I know.”

  Lamprophyre blushed lilac. “Well, you’re kind and loyal, and that makes me feel better about Harshod’s death. Though I feel I won’t ever be the same again.”

  “You did what you had to do. We both did. You sacrificed your innocence, and I sacrificed my dubious good looks.”

  “I think your sacrifice was bigger.”

  “I don’t know. Will you be in trouble for letting Abhimot go? Even if he was under orders, Hyaloclast might still consider him a villain.”

  A chill passed through Lamprophyre. “Maybe. Let’s worry about stopping the dragons, and then I’ll deal with Hyaloclast.” Rokshan was right; Hyaloclast had given her instructions, and even though Harshod had been the ultimate villain, she might be upset that Lamprophyre had had their enemy in her hands and not killed Abhimot. That wasn’t something Lamprophyre could dwell on, not while so much else was at stake.

  They flew on into the growing gloom, the sun setting like a molten orange to the left, the black clouds rolling toward them on the right. Even if the moon hadn’t been near dark, it would have given them no benefit that night, not with the skies blackened as they were. The warm, moist air clung to Lamprophyre’s wings like a thin caul, slowing her progress. She slipped from updraft to updraft, desperately trying to increase her speed. She tried not to think about the Army crawling like ants back toward the border, of dragons winging easily overhead and unleashing gouts of fire or trails of black acid on the helpless soldiers. And then those soldiers, defending themselves, would turn the pyrite artifacts on the dragons, and it would be a catastrophe.

  “Can you see anything?” she asked.

  “We’re too high,” Rokshan replied. “Can you fly lower?”

  “I can, but it will slow me down.”

  “Better that than overshooting the mark. If the dragons have already engaged the Army, we don’t want to fly past them.”

  Lamprophyre nodded and dropped. She knew Rokshan was worried by the way he didn’t shout with excitement the way he usually did when she pulled that maneuver.

  They soared low across the ground, twelve or fourteen dragonlengths high. The sun had nearly dipped below the horizon when Lamprophyre saw movement, deliberate and large, and smelled masses of pyrite like a forest of orange trees. “It’s the Army,” she said with relief. “And there aren’t any dragons around.”

  “Can you reach the flight’s caves before we lose the light?” Rokshan asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll try.” She rose higher, aiming herself at the distant speck that was Mother Stone. At worst, she could fly mostly blind and trust to her instincts for where her mountain home was.

  Twenty beats later, more movement caught her eye, blocking Mother Stone from view. In the dimness, it looked like birds grouped loosely together the way no birds ever flew. “Stones,” Lamprophyre swore. “They’re on the way.”

  “We still have time,” Rokshan said. “We’ll catch them well before they reach the Army.”

  Lamprophyre nodded. She didn’t point out that the dragons might not stop even if Lamprophyre and Rokshan reached them first. No sense borrowing trouble, as Rokshan was fond of saying.

  They sped toward the dragons until the oncoming flight was a scattering of bright blotches against the charcoal sky. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and a streak of lightning shot across the clouds. A few raindrops spattered Lamprophyre’s wings, cool and refreshing after the muggy heat of the day. The storm would be a comfort for a few beats, and then it would drench her skin and the membranes of her wings and make flying very difficult as well as dangerous. She pushed herself harder, willing the storm to hold off for a hundred beats, fifty beats, even a dozen.

  Then lightning ripped through the sky again, much closer, and the rain poured down like a river in full flood. “Hold on!” Lamprophyre shouted, and sped up, water slapping her wings like sharp fingers of stone. She slipped from one gust of wind to another, angling her body to take advantage of the crosswinds and closing her nictitating membranes to keep from flying fully blind. If she hadn’t been tense and exhausted with anxiety, she would have thrilled at the sensation of flying with the storm.

  The dragons were close enough now to be identifiable as individuals despite the blurs her second eyelids made them. Lamprophyre flapped her wings to slow herself, then hovered in place, not something she could keep up indefinitely in this wind. “Hyaloclast!” she shouted. “Please stop! It’s a mistake!”

  The wind battered her words and carried them away, hopefully to Hyaloclast’s ears. She could barely make out the dragon queen, whose black scales blended with the storm. Her red membranes were the only bright thing about her, and they continued to advance without slowing. “Please, Hyaloclast,” Lamprophyre shouted again. “Give me just a dozen beats to explain!”

  Hyaloclast’s bulk loomed up before Lamprophyre. The great dragon slowed and signaled to the others to wait. “You’ve discovered our enemy as I instructed?” she shouted over the storm. “Because that’s the only reason I can think of for you to be here. Though why you still bear this human on your back like you’re some kind of beast, I have no idea.”

  “It’s a mistake,” Lamprophyre babbled, “a terrible mistake. The ones who stole the egg and made the wand are from Fanishkor—they wanted to start a war—”

  “I have no interest in human politics.” Hyaloclast’s wings stirred up gusts of wind that made Lamprophyre struggle to maintain her position. “Soldiers from Gonjiri have entered our territory, breaking our agreement. We will destroy them, and then we will destroy their king.”

  “You have to listen!” Lamprophyre screamed. She wiped rain out of her face, a futile gesture, and said, “We need to land. Please, let me explain. Then, if you don’t agree, you can do whatever you like to the humans.”

  Rokshan made a pained noise. Hyaloclast sneered. “I don’t need your permission, Lamprophyre,” she said, and dropped toward the distant ground. Lamprophyre followed, with the rest of the flight behind. She hoped Rokshan wasn’t getting drowned by the downpour, but she had no attention to spare for him.

  Hyaloclast landed and settled herself on the soaked ground, arching her wings to give her some shelter. Lamprophyre crouched to let Rokshan hop down, then curved her wing protectively over him. Hyaloclast eyed this, but said nothing. One by one, the other dragons settled themselves around Hyaloclast and Lamprophyre. No one spoke. It took Lamprophyre a few beats to realize this was because they were all waiting for her.

  She cleared her throat. “Hyaloclast, you sent me to be an ambassador to the humans,” she said. She listened for Hyaloclast’s thoughts, looking for guidance—the dragon queen might not want her secret instructions exposed—but Hyaloclast was completely unruffled, a surprise given her antagonistic attitude. Lamprophyre set this mystery aside to be unraveled later. “You wanted me to find out who stole Opal’s egg. I did. It was a Fanishkorite male named Harshod, and he was acting under orders from someone in his government. Fanishkor, not Gonjiri.”

  “I told you human politics are irrelevant to us,” Hyaloclast said.

  “That’s not true. You wanted vengeance on the one who stole the egg, not on innocent humans, so you must care about not attacking the wrong person. And the point of the egg theft was human politics. Fanishkor wanted to use us, Hyaloclast. They i
ntended us to attack Gonjiri and weaken it so they could attack afterward and conquer them easily. We were meant to be their tools.”

  As she’d hoped, this set the dragons to hissing and growling, their angry thoughts filling Lamprophyre’s mind. Hyaloclast sat up. “They dared,” she hissed. “We will turn their cities to ash.”

  “I’m not finished,” Lamprophyre said. “Part of the plan was to make Gonjiri believe dragons wanted their royal family dead. Our enemy, Harshod, attacked Rokshan in a way that made it seem I’d done it. And the king, seeking vengeance, sent his Army to attack the dragons.”

  Hyaloclast looked at Rokshan, who alone among the assembled people wasn’t getting steadily wetter. “You are Rokshan,” she said. “You realize I could kill you as proxy for your foolish father and no one would stop me.”

  “But you won’t,” Rokshan said, regarding her fearlessly, “because you’re honorable, and I think you know both Gonjiri and you are pawns in someone else’s game.”

  “Dragons are not pawns, young prince,” Hyaloclast said. “So, Lamprophyre, you expect me not to defend our territory against human aggression?”

  “Once King Ekanath found out the truth, he ordered the Army to turn around and return to Tanajital—the human city. This was all a mistake. You won’t destroy people over a mistake, will you?”

  “A mistake made by someone who fears us,” Hyaloclast said. “Someone who is likely to go on making ‘mistakes’ of this nature. I’m inclined to make an example of this human Army to prevent it happening again.”

  Lamprophyre glanced at Rokshan, who nodded. She didn’t need to hear his thoughts. “That would be a mistake of a different kind,” she said. “The humans have weapons that can hurt or maybe even kill a dragon.”

  “Impossible.”

  The thoughts around Lamprophyre became tangled with confusion, and she blocked them out. “It’s true. They make a blast of force. The small ones—it’s like being punched by a powerful fist. But the Army has enormous ones that can tear a human or a dragon apart, they tell me. We can destroy their Army, but they will kill or injure many of us.”

  “They tell you? So you haven’t seen them work.”

  “Not the big ones. But the small ones are powerful enough I have a good idea about the power of the big ones.”

  “So the humans brought dragon-killing weapons,” Hyaloclast said. “They planned to attack us. And you expect me not to see that as an act of war?”

  “They were frightened,” Rokshan said. “People do foolish things when they’re frightened. They’re trying to fix their mistake.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Hyaloclast said.

  “It’s not,” Lamprophyre said. “Nobody’s attacked anyone else yet. It doesn’t have to come to bloodshed. Please, Hyaloclast.”

  Hyaloclast sat up and regarded her closely. With the rain running down her head and neck and dripping off her wings, she should have looked bedraggled, but she looked every inch a queen.

  In desperation, Lamprophyre said, “Look. What is it you want? What do dragons want? Because the humans would like a real alliance. They have so many things we might benefit from, if we can overcome these first misunderstandings.”

  Hyaloclast said nothing. Lamprophyre stared her down, her heart beating so fast it felt like time was speeding up. Finally, Hyaloclast said, “Why do you care?”

  Confused at what felt like a change of subject, Lamprophyre said, “What?”

  “Why,” Hyaloclast said, enunciating carefully, “do you care, Lamprophyre?”

  Lamprophyre looked at Rokshan again. “Because humans are like us, and not like us,” she said, “and I think we can make each other stronger. Because we’re both people, and as rational beings we have more in common with each other than we do with any other creatures. Because it sounds like we were the answer to their religion’s prophecy, and I want to know why that is. And because I’ve made human friends as dear to me as my own clutch. If that’s possible—if humans and dragons can build those kinds of bonds—then I think we should.”

  Hyaloclast fell silent again. Lamprophyre wondered if, like that day in the heights when Rokshan had faced the dragon queen down, she once more needed a plan to take herself and Rokshan to safety. Then Hyaloclast said, “Will the humans destroy their dragon-killing weapons to show good will?”

  “They aren’t just for killing dragons. Those weapons are our surety against Fanishkor,” Rokshan said, “so I don’t think so. But we would never turn weapons of any kind against our allies.”

  Hyaloclast looked down at Rokshan. “You are asking for a tremendous display of trust on our part.”

  “As are we,” Rokshan countered. “Dragons are capable of breathing fire and spitting acid regardless of whether or not we’re allies. We wouldn’t ask you to cripple yourselves for our peace of mind. We have to trust each other.”

  “Fairly said,” Hyaloclast said. She glanced up at the sky. The pelting rain had diminished somewhat, and Lamprophyre no longer felt as if she were standing under a waterfall.

  “So Gonjiri is not our enemy,” Hyaloclast said. “It is Fanishkor that ordered the theft of the egg? We will turn our wrath upon them, and the world will see what happens when dragons are attacked.”

  Lamprophyre felt sick. “It was someone in the government who ordered it. We don’t know any more than that. It might not have been the king, but it doesn’t matter. The Fanishkorite people weren’t responsible, and they shouldn’t have to suffer for their leaders’ mistakes.”

  “They support their rulers, and in so doing support their actions,” Hyaloclast said.

  “They couldn’t!” Lamprophyre exclaimed. “Humans aren’t like dragons. Dragons all know each other—they all know you personally, Hyaloclast. Most humans never even see their king, and they don’t have a choice in being ruled by him. If dragons destroy Fanishkorite cities, we’ll be killing innocent people. And that doesn’t show the world anything except that dragons are cruel and vindictive.”

  Hyaloclast’s eye ridges shifted, narrowing her eyes. “You speak to me of justice?”

  “If not me,” Lamprophyre said, “then who? You sent me to discover the truth. I did. And the human male responsible for taking Opal’s egg is dead. Fanishkor knows why he died and they’ll never try anything like that again. Let that be enough.”

  Hyaloclast’s eyes narrowed further. “Dead?”

  Lamprophyre’s heart sank. “I killed him. He attacked me.”

  “So you killed him in self-defense?”

  Hyaloclast’s tone of voice was derisive, as if self-defense was the stupidest reason ever for taking a life. Lamprophyre lifted her chin and regarded the dragon queen unflinchingly. “No,” she said. “I could have saved his life, maybe. But he hurt too many people, and he would have gone on hurting people—I’m sure dragons are not the only ones he’s tried to kill, and who knows how many humans are dead because of him. So I chose to let him die. It was the right choice, but I still wish it hadn’t been me who made it. And if that makes me weak, then I’m weak.”

  Hyaloclast returned her regard, stare for stare. “There’s nothing weak about abhorring violence,” she said. “Weakness is in letting that abhorrence allow evil to go unpunished. You made the right choice. And I respect that.” She shook out her wings, sending a tremendous spray into the air. “We will not attack Fanishkorite cities,” she declared, her voice carrying to the farthest reaches of the flight. “But if the opportunity arises, we will avenge ourselves on whoever that man’s superiors are.”

  Lamprophyre felt uncomfortable at this, but it was likely the best she was going to get out of Hyaloclast.

  “Can you prove the human Army has retreated?” the dragon queen continued.

  “They may have camped due to the storm and nightfall,” Rokshan said, “but I give you my word as commander that they will cross the border by no later than noon tomorrow.”

  “I should ask for more surety than that,” Hyaloclast said, “but I’m inclined to
take Lamprophyre’s assessment of your character to heart. Very well.” She flapped her wings again. “In three days, I will arrive at your human city to discuss the future with your king. Alliances aside, I have no desire for humans to encroach on our mountains. It is a holy thing,” she told Rokshan, who nodded.

  “Lamprophyre,” Hyaloclast continued, “a word with you. Alone.” She pushed off with her powerful legs and rose into the sky, scattering the last falling raindrops. Lamprophyre followed her. The cool, wet air wrapped around her, slowing her flight nearly as much as her reluctance to hear whatever Hyaloclast had to say did.

  They rose a handful of dragonlengths into the sky, far enough to be out of earshot of the flight, before Hyaloclast slowed and hovered. “You have an interesting way of obeying my orders,” she said. “I’m certain making friends with humans was not something I told you to do.”

  “No, but you didn’t tell me not to,” Lamprophyre dared, “and I didn’t make agreements with the humans, even though they might have benefited us.”

  Hyaloclast’s expression didn’t change. “You think you understand our needs better than I do?”

  “I understand humans better than you do, which makes sense, don’t you think? Some of them I wouldn’t dare treat with, because they’re deceptive and I don’t think that way. But some of them are honorable, and we could gain by making agreements with them. You have no idea how valuable our stone is, Hyaloclast. And they have cows. You really need to taste cow. And there’s glass, and even artifacts—”

  “Understood,” Hyaloclast said with a cutting-off gesture. “All right. Make your agreements. But make them with care. And don’t be so enthusiastic. People take advantage of that.”

  “I understand.”

  They looked at each other in silence for a few beats, until Hyaloclast said, “You know I expected you to fail.”

  “I know.”

  “But not for the reasons you believe.”

  Surprised, Lamprophyre said, “I—what do you think I believe?”

  Hyaloclast sighed. “You think I’m hard and unfeeling and that I don’t respect you.”