When She Reigns

by Jodi Meadows

  She pressed her lips into a line. “We have magic that removes salt from water.”

  “If you have magic that can make this noorestone stable, then I will heal the dragons with it. But right now, it would be toxic to them. It would kill them even more quickly.”

  “You’re saying this stone is like salt water.”

  “Yes.” I let the mask of Hopebearer drop. Let her see the truth in my eyes. “Dragons hoard noorestones in their dens. In my home sanctuary, the smaller species play around the ancient ruins that have still-lit noorestones embedded within the walls and spires. That’s why we brought the noorestones for Crystal and LaLa—because dragons need them. They help dragons heal and, I think, live longer lives.”

  She nodded.

  “But this one”—I motioned toward the giant crystal—“is damaging. Even leaving it here overnight, when these dragons are so weak, might have hastened their illness.”

  Her pale eyes narrowed as she weighed my words for truth. “I can have it removed immediately, but what do you need to heal the dragons? If you don’t do it today, they’ll die.”

  “I am aware of that.” I placed my palm against one of the dragons’ flanks—the Drakontos maior—and again felt how unnaturally cool the scales were. How rough and dull. “Have the other noorestones brought here. The regular ones.”

  “Will it be enough?”

  “I can’t say.” I dropped my hand back to my side. “When I healed the dragons in Anahera, we were in first-century ruins. The noorestones there had been lit for more than two thousand years, because they were still connected to the gods. They were stronger than anything I’d ever felt, and by the time the dragons were healed, all two thousand and thirteen of them were dark. Dead.”

  Empress Apolla turned to the dragons and touched the maior, as I had. I fought the urge to bat her away; it would help nothing.

  “This day is not going how I thought it would,” she said at last.

  I couldn’t disagree. “If you know anything about me, you know I care about these dragons. All dragons. I would do anything for them. You know I’d rather these children of my gods live here—live here—than die in the Great Abandonment.”

  It was true.

  If the dragons survived this illness.

  If they stood a chance of surviving the Great Abandonment, even from afar.

  Empress Apolla sucked in a sharp breath. “Every noorestone aboard every island ship will be here within the hour.”

  “And then I will do everything in my power to save these dragons.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  TRUE TO APOLLA’S WORD, THE GIANT NOORESTONE was removed immediately.

  After one terse conversation with her guard, a team of fifty men and women arrived and maneuvered the house-sized crystal onto a wheeled platform, reinforced with strength and agility sigils, and rolled it out of the park.

  “Where are they taking it?” I asked, watching as the noorestone went down the road.

  “To a facility for study.” Apolla motioned me toward the keepers’ building. “Perhaps one day we’ll be able to understand its instability and fix it, and it can do some good in the world.”

  I sighed, and when she looked at me, we both knew what I was going to say.

  “Certainly we can work out an agreement.” She motioned for me to enter the building first as a guard opened the door. “We do seem to be considering lots of agreements today. What’s one more?”

  The interior of the building was much cooler than outside, boasting a moderately sized common room with a heavy wooden table, and several closed doors that might have led to individual quarters. If there were medical facilities for the dragons, I couldn’t guess where they would go.

  “Noorestones that size are extremely valuable to us.” I took a seat at the table; Alusha would have been scandalized, but I didn’t care about protocol anymore. “They are our sole means of traveling outside the Fallen Isles. They’re incredibly rare. The fact that so many are here in one place—that’s something I’ve never seen before.”

  Empress Apolla lowered herself into the seat across from me, adjusting her gown as she did. Somehow, even in these rugged surroundings, she managed to look regal. “I see. Would you be interested in some sort of trade, perhaps? Something equally rare and valuable?”

  The bones of the first dragon.

  I would give her all the noorestones for the dragon bones.

  But I couldn’t say that. Not without consulting with the others. The noorestones weren’t mine to give.

  “I think my people would be open to a trade,” I said slowly. “But let’s save that discussion for another day.”

  Let her think I wasn’t in a rush for the bones.

  I was in a rush, though. Idris, Harta, and Bopha had already risen. There were only seven days until the eclipse, and we still had to sail there. Even taking a skimmer den would require three days. That didn’t leave us much time to barter.

  “One thing I do wonder,” I mused aloud, “is how Paorah’s ships reached the mainland so quickly. They possessed only one noorestone each—except for the one you said had three. Usually, they do boast three, and it would still take them nearly two decans to get here.”

  Apolla was nodding. “I was curious about this as well. It seems there was a substance used to torture prisoners in a place called the Pit.”

  My heart tumbled over itself with knowing. With disgust. All I could think of was Aaru in the interrogation room, the chair with straps to hold him down, and the basins with noorestones against his bare feet.

  His screaming.

  His silence.

  Darkness. Terror. Voicelessness.

  He hadn’t even known who I was then—not my full name or title—and he had no idea why he was being tortured.

  Apolla, if she noticed my distress, didn’t comment. “It’s a combination of dragon root, dragon blood, and several other minor ingredients that, when it contacts noorestones, changes the way the inner fire is expelled. I’m told that when applied correctly, this substance will transfer the energy into another object—like a person—or it can push a ship faster across the sea.” She frowned to herself. “They say they were unsure whether it would work. Some believed it had just as much of a chance to explode the ship as it did to speed the journey.”

  “That’s why Paorah didn’t come himself,” I murmured. “He couldn’t face the empire, and he couldn’t even face the chance of dying on his own ship.”

  He could have killed everyone he’d intended to save.

  “I’m sure he told everyone that the goddess of destruction would protect them.” Apolla shook her head, disgusted. “Do you think he will follow them? Should we expect another attack?”

  “The ten with single noorestones are the entirety of the Red Fleet,” I said. “What is the name of the eleventh ship?”

  “The Star-Touched, I believe.”

  “It’s likely he has the Great Mace—a Khulani ship. He may follow, but if I’ve learned anything about him, it’s that I shouldn’t try to guess what he’s going to do.”

  She offered a faint smile. “Shall I have refreshments brought in?”

  Apparently, Paorah wasn’t the only one who liked being unpredictable. I nodded, and a short time later, her personal servants arrived from the palace, bearing trays of fruit tarts and sweet drinks. We kept the remainder of our conversation to small, trivial things, though it hardly eased the tension. It was only a matter of time before everything fell apart.

  Things I knew for sure:

  I was no politician.

  I really didn’t want to be.

  Apolla was born for this.

  From the small window, we watched workers bring cart after glittering cart of regular noorestones to the park. The crystals were dumped right onto the scorched grass, in the depression carved by the giant noorestone. The gentle, safe hum of these noorestones surrounded my thoughts, cushioning me from the crush of anxiety that threatened every time I wondered if I reall
y could heal these dragons. We were so far from home, and if this didn’t work . . . nothing would.

  Three hundred noorestones.

  Five hundred.

  Seven hundred.

  As the noorestones piled up in a ring around the dragons, I imagined holds going dark, and cabins lit only by ambient light through the portholes. Hundreds upon hundreds of people confined to darkness aboard the ships they’d hoped would carry them to safety.

  Apolla must have caught my look, because as the last cart was wheeled away, she said, “I know it’s not the same, but I’ve ordered mages to carve light sigils into the walls of the ships. It’s difficult to say how long trials and treaties will take.”

  “Thank you.” It was an unexpected kindness.

  Of course, it was also possible it was an excuse for her mages to board the ships and carve listening sigils—or something even less desirable.

  We finished the last of our treats and went outside, where the hot glare of the afternoon sun had eased with the first edges of the coming storm. The air was cooler, and a few early droplets of rain pinged off the guards’ armor and darkened the white silk of Apolla’s dress, but if she was annoyed about being out in the rain, she didn’t show it.

  “These don’t hurt to look at,” the empress said as we approached the ring of noorestones, and the small path left as an opening for us. Raindrops bounced and dripped off the faceted edges of the crystals, shining beautifully. “Why?”

  “The stability.” I picked up one of the crystals as we passed, letting my thumb slide across the smooth, damp facets. “I’m going to try my best,” I said. “I’ll give the dragons every bit of energy these noorestones have, but I can’t promise they’ll be completely healed. You need a proper sanctuary.”

  She nodded. “I’ve spoken to Ilina and Viktor extensively, and plans are being drawn up today.”

  “Good.” I closed my eyes and touched the first noorestone to one of the ignituses. “You may want to step back. I don’t know how they’ll react when they wake.”

  I didn’t open my eyes, but I felt her move away—through the space in the noorestone ring and to the safety of the line of her guards. Metal creaked and fabric caught air: the palace servants had opened up a small tent for Apolla to stand beneath.

  That was probably a good idea. Already rain dropped faster and faster, running down dragon scales and dotting my face, where they sizzled and steamed off my skin.

  I squeezed the small noorestone in my hand, then drew upon its energy.

  The fire of Noore flowed through me, smooth like silk or oil, and this time, it felt right. Power rushed in, filling up the cracks and soothing the raw places where the giant noorestone had scraped, but I pushed it away before the wounds could finish healing; the dragons needed everything.

  The light of two thousand five hundred and thirty-three noorestones bent toward me, droplets of radiance sliding up to my heart like beads of water on silk threads. The crystals themselves dimmed, but the whole arc above the dragons must have been blindingly bright as I slowly let the power slip into an ignitus.

  It was like pouring water into sand.

  Noorestone fire fell in and vanished, and nothing happened with the dragon. He just lay there, unmoving, his flame-red scales dulled to a dusty ember.

  Cautiously, I opened the stream of fire a little wider. The dragons were so sick, so close to death. Maybe they just needed more pressure.

  But still, the fire drained into them and went nowhere. Did nothing.

  Doubt crept into me. What if I was too late? What if they were too far gone?

  Thunder sounded above, rumbling through the sky as though inviting the dragons to come enjoy the storm. But they didn’t—couldn’t—move.

  I had to keep trying. Warily, I slipped around to the next dragon, the mimikus, to let the power slide directly into her. “Wake up.” My voice was hoarse, thick with hope and fear. “It’s time to wake up and fly.”

  But the same thing happened as before: nothing. Noorestone fire went in and in and in, hot blue-white beads of energy that could save this dragon’s life—that should save her life—but her heart merely continued its weak flutter.

  This wasn’t going to work.

  The giant noorestone had done too much harm. They’d already been sick. Dying. Drifting toward whatever waited for dragons. The giant noorestone, with its dark harmony and stuttering inner fire, had been too much.

  The empress, in her urgency to have the dragons healed, had only hastened their deaths.

  Or maybe it was my fault, because I hadn’t awakened in time to tell her that the giant noorestones wouldn’t work.

  My heart broke a thousand times as I pressed more fire into the mimikus. “Please,” I whispered under the rain and thunder. “Please move. Breathe. Fly. Something.”

  But she was as still as death.

  With terror filling up my veins, I moved to the rex and urged noorestone fire to flood through this dragon, to pour through her hollow bones, to make her membrane-thin wings glow like she’d flown in front of the sun. A lit-within silhouette.

  The Drakontos rex didn’t move. Hardly breathed.

  The maximus was next, and there I felt it: the first noorestone went dark.

  It was hard to say how long I’d been working, but I’d opened myself to every single one of the noorestones, and over two thousand strings of light arced toward me, power spiraling in soft, bright waves. And now, the first noorestone, the smallest noorestone, was dead without having saved a dragon—without having even stirred one child of the gods from this deathlike sleep.

  A sob wrenched out of me as I opened myself wide and pushed the fire into the dragons with renewed desperation.

  Please, Darina. Please, Damyan. If you care for your children at all.

  But the gods were so far away, in a different part of the ocean. If they could hear me, they weren’t listening.

  I was on my own, and the only chance these dragons had of surviving the day. The hour.

  Faster, I drew on the noorestones and let the fire flood into the dragons like there was no limit. More crystals winked dark, but no one else would be able to tell—not with the blue-white light stretching from the noorestones to me to the dragons. I pushed the fire of Noore into the titanus, urging him to awaken, to heal, to live.

  And then it happened.

  Just as the first sheet of rain slammed down on the park—

  Just as lightning sliced open the sky—

  Just as thunder wrenched the ground underneath us—

  In the walls of darkness that surrounded the titanus’s mind, a star flickered to life. Under the force of so much energy, the walls began to strain and crack, and light flooded in.

  I sobbed in open relief, and with both hands pressed hard against the dragon’s throat, I could feel his pulse quicken under my fingers. Strength surged in as his heart began to beat a steady rhythm, and warmth glowed across the chipped scales.

  The healing fire spread from the titanus into the other dragons, through the connection they shared. The same way they’d fallen ill, they were now coming back to life.

  Slowly, they began to take deeper, more even breaths. They shifted their bodies around, off one another, as even the ragged, damaged scales glimmered like starlight as noorestone fire rushed through. Water slid down the groaning dragons, making them soft and sharp at once as they gathered themselves.

  A wing fluttered.

  Spark glands tingled.

  Seven heads untangled from the mound and gazed around the park, their eyes gold and green and noorestone blue. They were confused and lost, but awake for the first time in decans.

  Behind me, someone gasped. Another person cried out. A servant, perhaps, or a keeper, because I couldn’t imagine the empress or her guards expressing their emotion so openly.

  The rex lowered her eyes to me, blinking as though seeing something strange. But I didn’t know this dragon. She didn’t know me.

  Except . . .

&
nbsp; Wings. Mine.

  They were great, plasmic wings that stretched around me—and around the dragons as well. They were blue-white, like noorestone light, and crackling with energy. They were foreign and familiar at once, like a dream that felt like memory.

  The last dragon.

  Thunder rolled across the sky. The ground trembled. One at a time, the other dragons looked at me.

  One thousand noorestones had darkened by now, but power still poured into them, giving more and more life.

  Tails lashed, knocking noorestones out of the way, and talons dug into the dark, muddying ground. The whole park smelled like smoke as they tested their spark glands and let out small breaths of fire.

  “Should she move away now?” someone asked, and at once, I remembered the crowd gathered near the keepers’ building, and rain drumming on the tent, and eyes locked onto the beautiful draconic wings extending from my back.

  “I don’t think we need to worry about her.” That was Apolla, her voice confident in spite of the seven—eight, maybe—dragons before her.

  Another three hundred noorestones went dark.

  The dragons rolled their bodies in long, serpentine movements, like cats stretching. The mimikus’s scales shifted to black—same as the scorched ground beneath him—and the ignituses shimmered with ghosts of fire around their brilliant red bodies.

  They were beautiful. Majestic. Powerful.

  They were alive.

  Fire roared through me, into the dragons, and as lightning flared and thunder pealed above us, the titanus lowered his head directly in front of me.

  Then the maior, the rex, the maximus, the mimikus, and the pair of ignitsuses.

  All of them pressed their chins to the ground at my feet, their forelegs carefully bent, and wings stretched in neat arcs.

  “Are they—”

  “They’re bowing to her,” someone whispered.

  Four hundred noorestones darkened as the dragons held their positions before me.

  “How can they do that?”

  “Look at her.”

  “Why does she have wings?”