by Jodi Meadows
Steam surged upward, then more and more as the other seven dragons flew after me, spitting fire into the sea.
The black ships did not slow their approach.
I turned and passed between them again, blowing fire as hot as I could manage. The others came after me, and within moments we’d created a wall of steam and boiling ocean, but still the black ships didn’t slow.
Again, I turned and spit fire, hitting the same stretch of ocean as before. My heart sped as I watched the ships draw near the steam pouring upward. I didn’t want them to get hurt—that was why I’d given them time to stop—but if they were going to sail straight into the steam . . .
Maybe they didn’t care about crew lives. Maybe their mages would protect them. I didn’t understand enough about imperial magic to know what they were capable of.
But finally, as I went back for a fourth pass between the fleets, the black ships began to slow. By the time I came around again, all the other big dragons flying in my wake, the imperial fleet had fully stopped.
Time was less meaningful to dragons, but we could grow bored—even of breathing fire. But the storm waned and the rain thinned, and still I directed the others back again and again, blocking the way of the imperial fleet with our flames. And every time I looked toward the Fallen Isles fleet, they were farther away, although it wouldn’t take much for the black ships to catch up. So we burned and burned, and finally, some communication must have been sent to the imperial ships, because they adjusted their sails and changed course—heading back to the mainland.
My dragons and I stayed for a while longer, circling until the island ships had fully vanished in the distance. Only when it seemed clear the empress wasn’t going to come after us did I peel away, flying westward.
Light from the setting sun gleamed across the water, beautiful and bright. I let myself fall into the joy of flying again, wings pumping as we caught up to the Fallen Isles fleet. A cheer rose from below, people celebrating the freed dragons and, perhaps, me. My flight with the first dragon.
LaLa and Crystal chittered and let go of the first dragon at the same time, catching the great gust of wind after me. Then, together, they dove toward the ship—toward Ilina, who waited for them with open arms. Another wave of celebration greeted them, but through our connection, I knew they only cared about seeing Ilina and Hristo again, and the full bellies they’d have after receiving whatever treats she’d stashed away for them.
I flew.
My wings. My roar. My sky. My life.
I flew as the sun lowered and the sky purpled, and finally I came back to myself. Still connected, still flying, but ready to settle and change into my clothes—not Apolla’s gift.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to land, or if I even could, but the dragon part of me knew what to do. I found the Star-Touched and set myself down, careful of the sails and lines and delicate people. I was immense, but I made myself as small as possible.
And that was all.
The burning wings vanished. The fire in my throat went out. And I was just a girl clutching the damp bones of the biggest dragon that ever lived.
I thought I’d feel weak, my human muscles trembling after the strain of clinging to the first dragon for hours. I thought I’d want nothing more than to sink into the nearest hammock and sleep for a decan. But instead, I felt strong. I felt good. I felt hopeful.
The imperial gown tore as I climbed down, but I didn’t care. I landed on the deck with a thump, and then my friends were rushing toward me with questions and exclamations and more questions, and then Aaru wrapped his arms around me and squeezed.
“You did it.” His words were soft against my cheek as he kissed me. “You made it.”
I hugged him back, feeling the thump of my heart echo his. “Thank you for trusting me.”
He pulled back and cupped my cheek, so gentle. “I always have.”
I lifted my face and touched my lips to his. Softly, quickly, because everyone else was coming toward us, but enough that he understood I intended to kiss him more thoroughly later.
“Good work, Fancy.” Gerel looked up at the circling dragons, almost wistfully. Chenda took her hand.
“I can’t believe . . .” Zara glanced at the first dragon and shook her head. “Mother will be so furious.”
“I know.” It was a risk, but I hugged my sister, fully expecting her to pull away. Instead, she tensed, like a cat not sure whether she should run. “I’m sorry about all of this,” I murmured. She hadn’t asked to come along, and she was right that she’d been in more danger than ever. But she’d been helpful, and mostly, I was glad she was here. With me.
At last, she relaxed into my embrace—“It’s not your fault,” she whispered—and then pulled away.
I wanted to say something else, tell her how much I really cared, but we weren’t that close, and with the eclipse just days away, I didn’t think we would ever be. I wished I’d made more of an effort earlier—taken the time to understand her and get to know her. But if one of the last things I had as a human was a sister who sort of liked me . . . that was all right.
Ilina and Hristo had the raptuses cradled in their arms as they came forward. “That was incredible,” Ilina said. “And I have a lot of questions.”
“I’ll try to answer them. But first we need to go. I don’t think Apolla’s ships will come after us, but I still want to get away from here as fast as possible.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t move that quickly.” Ilina motioned downward, to the middle of the ship where the giant noorestone was housed. “The empress told the truth when she said she had the noorestone stuff removed. Without it, we won’t get very far very quickly. And we certainly won’t make it home before the eclipse.”
“I can push the noorestones,” I said. “Like I did with the Chance Encounter.”
“All of them?” Chenda lifted an eyebrow. “The giant noorestones?”
Hristo frowned. “I don’t like it. Not after what happened in the dragon park.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Already, the sun settled beneath the horizon, and the stars began to peek out. The sister moons rose in the east—two halves, one gold and one silver.
“So when we get to the Fallen Isles,” Ilina said, “where do we go?”
I lifted my hand for LaLa, and she flapped toward me with a happy squawk. “We go to the birthplace of the first dragon. The island of life and death and life again: Anahera.”
PART SIX
THE DARKEST DAY
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
DAMYAN ROSE NEXT.
Through my connection with dragons, I drowned in grief for hours, screaming and sobbing in my cabin until it was over. For all of us, it was a waking nightmare. Even when the quake passed, everyone dragged themselves through their work and cried, because we were too late for yet another island.
I pushed the giant noorestones harder, bringing us closer to our shattered and rising home.
Four times a day, I urged the stones to move the ships faster and faster. We had to time it perfectly, keeping all the ships clear of one another as we flew across the endless swells of the ocean. A collision at these speeds would mean death.
If I could have pushed the noorestones all day, I would have. But touching them, all of them together, was more awful than I’d anticipated. It felt like a slow poison to my dragon soul, sapping my strength.
The sixth morning, I could hardly pull myself out of bed. Every muscle in my body hurt, and the idea of connecting with the giant noorestones again made my stomach tie into a thousand knots. Plus, I’d been having nightmares. In them, we’d already reached the Fallen Isles, but no one realized because the islands were gone; the Great Abandonment had finished before our return.
They weren’t dragon dreams. They were real nightmares, made out of fear and anxiety and overwhelming grief. Still, they haunted me as I shook myself into wakefulness.
Aaru, who’d been sitting on the bed beside me, pressed the back of
his hand to my forehead. “You have a fever.”
“It’s just the dragon soul.” My voice was scratchy, but that was because I wasn’t sleeping well enough. “I can look at the sun, and water steams off my skin after baths. I’m different from what I used to be.” I forced a smile, but it hurt. Everything hurt. Especially the knowledge that soon, I’d become a dragon for the rest of time, the new link between the gods and the people, and I’d never have another quiet moment with Aaru again.
This might be the last one I ever got.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have a fever.” He caressed my cheek and chin, so gentle in the way he touched me. “We’re almost home. If you can’t push the noorestones again—”
“I can.” I struggled to sit up, pretending not to notice the way he helped me balance. “If we’re almost there, they should only need me a couple more times. And then . . .”
“And then?”
Then I took the first dragon to her birthplace and begged the gods for mercy. Begged them to stay. Promised that humans would take better care of dragons if I were one, too.
It is sacrifice that enables change.
It was what I’d been born for.
“Mira?” Aaru tilted my chin up. In the flickering sigil light, his features were soft and concerned. “And then what?”
“I’ll know when we get there.” I watched him, waiting to see if he believed me, hoping my heartbeat didn’t give me away. He’d already lost so many people; surely I could protect him for a while longer.
Aaru cupped my cheek and kissed me, and I couldn’t tell whether he believed me or not.
But he was kissing me, so I kissed him back, letting myself get lost in the careful way his lips touched mine, and the gentle way his fingertips traced over my face. It felt as though he was memorizing the texture of my skin, the line of my jaw, and the swell of my cheek; it felt as though he was committing me to his heart.
Maybe he did understand that if everything went according to plan, these could be our final hours together.
Aaru let out a small, desperate moan as our kiss deepened, igniting a fire of longing inside me. I pulled closer until I sat on him, facing him. Our chests pressed tight together; our leg muscles clenched against each other. He leaned back a little, braced with one arm, and held me to him with the other. His palm was flat against my spine, smoothing lower until he found the curve of my bottom. He hesitated there, but only a moment. Then he was caressing down my thigh, exploring the shape of my body like he’d never get another chance.
I understood. I needed to touch him, needed to fit everything I felt for him into this small space of time. “I love you,” I whispered, hoarse. “I’ve always loved you.”
“Mira.” He kissed my neck, my collarbone. “I want to—”
Footsteps sounded outside the small cabin, and Aaru froze, listening.
After a moment, his body softened against mine, easing away with a resigned sigh. “It’s Hristo.”
“Pretend like we’re not here.” My heart still pounded with whatever he’d been about to say before. What did he want?
Smiling a little, Aaru drew back and tucked a strand of hair away from my face. “Will you let me up?”
“If I say no, can we stay like this forever?”
He brushed his fingertips across my lips, and then the knock sounded on the door.
I sighed and twisted off him, grimacing at the pain in my muscles. For a moment, I’d forgotten how much I hurt.
Aaru picked himself up and answered the door.
“The captains are ready,” Hristo said.
Biting off a groan, I bent over to lace up my boots, then heaved myself up, muscles pinching and stabbing with every motion.
Both boys watched me, but when they offered help, I waved them away. I wasn’t above leaning on them, but if I arrived on the main deck looking like I felt . . .
No. I needed to appear strong, because whether I liked it or not, the Fallen Isles fleet followed my command.
We stopped by the mess long enough to get a drink of water and a bite of the rations Apolla had stowed on the ship prior to my breakout. The idea of food made my stomach flip uncomfortably, but I forced it down anyway. If I wanted to convince everyone of my wellness, I had to be seen eating; last night, Ilina had told me she’d overheard people talking about how I’d lost weight even in these last few days.
Dawn gleamed over the main deck as the three of us climbed up. Water dipped and swelled all around, and the other ten ships followed in our wake. Above, seven dragons flew in formation. They could have reached the islands already, but they’d stayed behind to escort us, even though we were supposed to be the ones protecting them. I imagined they were exhausted, flying for days like this. Two of the ships had managed to clear spaces large enough for even the titanus to land and sleep, but it wasn’t much of a break, especially with the giant noorestones all around. But like me, they took what they could get.
The first dragon, of course, had not moved from her place on the Star-Touched, and as we drew closer to the Fallen Isles, I could feel her power growing. One night, I’d thought I’d seen the bones glowing like noorestones, but no one else had commented on it.
“Are you ready?” Gerel asked as I reached the bow.
Wind tugged at my hair, and the scent of salt tickled my nose. Water stretched all around, brilliant and blue and serene. And not too far away, islands were being ripped up from their roots and people were dying.
“I’m ready to go home.” My voice didn’t sound quite as strong as I wanted, but only my friends were here to witness my weakness.
“All right,” she said gently.
I gripped the rail and closed my eyes, opening my awareness to the dark harmony of eleven unstable noorestones. Their energy skittered through me, sharp and ugly, straining to escape its crystal cages. Then I grabbed the noorestones and pushed.
Those awful, flickering sparks of Noore’s own fire flared hot, and the ships lurched forward, jerking over the water without grace. The movement made me feel sick, but I urged the ships onward, trying to ignore the seep of poison.
It was easy to lose track of time with noorestones. With the regular ones, I usually was surprised by how much time had passed, because using them was so easy, so natural. With these stones, however, minutes seemed endless, and I forced myself to count out the seconds to keep myself from asking over and over if an hour had passed.
An hour had not passed.
Three hundred seconds.
Five hundred.
A thousand.
I bit off a scream and kept counting.
At two thousand four hundred and forty-two seconds, someone gripped my arm. “Stop!”
I didn’t ask questions. I let go of the noorestones as quickly as I’d have dropped a venomous slug, and the ships all jolted back to their normal speeds.
I doubled over, the rail catching my stomach, and heaved up the breakfast I’d forced down earlier.
Hands touched my back and shoulders as I spit out the rancid taste and caught my breath. Every muscle in my body trembled, but as the crew started to shout, I pushed myself up just enough to see what happened.
Evidence of the Great Abandonment spread out before the ship: bodies on boats, driftwood, and floating wreckage.
Some were dead, their corpses bloated and sunburned. Others clung to their small rafts, waving as we approached, begging for help. And still others were harder to tell; they might have been unconscious, or they might have slipped away moments before.
All the ships lowered lifeboats, and crewmen spent hours pulling the living aboard. As far as the dead, we couldn’t take bodies onto these ships, not with space so tight, so they lashed the wreckage and rafts together and pushed them away from our small fleet.
When we were sure the wind wouldn’t blow smoke back at us, I followed my threads to the seven big dragons and asked them to burn it.
It was better than letting them float out here forever.
The
Star-Touched was silent, save the rush of fire in the distance. It seemed like we ought to have said something meaningful, a eulogy of some kind, but I couldn’t make myself speak as the flames consumed the pyre. The grief was too much.
And the horror.
Because new nightmares loomed on the western horizon:
The now-familiar shape of Idris hunched over, waiting for the other gods to join him.
A muscular figure, standing straight up, mace lifted, and dripping with immense chains meant to bind him to the seabed.
A man, tall and graceful, reaching for something—someone—still in the water. Waiting for her to rise.
A woman, round with late pregnancy, cradling her belly in her arms.
A slice of ink blacking out the sky. Indistinct but terrifying.
Only two gods were left in the ocean.
One day until the eclipse.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
BY LATE AFTERNOON, WE’D FISHED DOZENS MORE people out of the ocean.
They were sick and sunburned, eyes crusted over with salt. Some clutched small personal items—jewelry or bags or dolls—but most had nothing at all, beyond the ragged clothes they wore. A few didn’t even have clothes; they’d given them to the children, to shield them from the unforgiving sun.
The infirmaries grew crowded with survivors, and soon all the cabins were taken over and made into sickrooms where people lay in the cool darkness, sipping coconut water as they clung to life.
Three died in there, and we consoled ourselves by saying at least they’d gone surrounded by friendly faces, not on the open ocean, alone but for the dead.
We burned their bodies, and those of the countless others we’d been too late to save, and no one talked about the gods looming taller and taller as we came within sight of Anahera’s red cliffs and the brightly lit city of Flamecrest. We just looked at them, felt the weight of the shadows falling over us, and wondered if it was too late for prayer.
Give me peace. Give me grace. Give me enough love in my heart.