Dragon's Fire

by Gwynn White

  Meka’s lungs didn’t seem able to suck in air the way they used to.

  “I know it’s hard for you. So much to experience in such a short time, especially as all my other visits were more structured and normal. But this is important.” Tao gave him a reassuring smile. “Please, son, mask your ghastly expression. Do you want Vasily reaching for the sick bag?”

  Tao’s gentle joking did nothing to calm Meka. Eyes frozen with terror, his contorted face remained unchanged.

  Voice sharper, Tao commanded, “Meka, do not let them read your raw emotion. It gives them too much power. Only show as much emotion as you can defend, and believe me, you cannot begin to defend this much exposure.”

  This Meka understood. Tao was talking about fighting. Before the bees, Grigor had always taken advantage of his weakness. Up until a growth spurt before his sixteenth birthday, Meka had always been the smaller twin, a fact Grigor had ruthlessly exploited. That was why Meka always went for his twin’s solar plexus, the one place Grigor always neglected to defend.

  He turned to the window, pushing his face against the glass. He heard his ragged breathing and wondered how he could still hear Vasily’s laughter over the pounding of his own heart. But despite everything, he forced his eyes to focus on the shrinking landscape below him. By sheer will, he morphed his face into a calm but interested expression.

  “That’s better.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Tao interrupted. “Think your questions, Meka.”

  How can I hear you in my head?

  Tao’s eyes twinkled. “Easy, but as I said to you once before, if I told you I would have to kill you?”

  A fresh horror convulsed Meka’s roiling stomach. Is Grigor right? Are you dead?

  “Yes”

  Meka held his head, fighting back vomit.

  Tao placed a gentle hand on Meka’s shoulder. “There is so much for you to learn now, but you have to open your mind to concepts and thoughts so alien to your understanding that, if you choose to fight them, you could indeed go insane.”

  Meka tried to think nothing as he absorbed that, but thinking nothing was impossible. He looked up at Tao for guidance.

  “I cannot interfere in your life, Meka. I cannot tell you what to do. But I can guide you. If you are wise, you will listen. If you are foolish, you won’t, and then I will have to leave you. Choose wisely, my son.”

  W-where do I begin to understand?

  “Tatiana was right. Stefan Zarot’s home is the best and safest place for you to be. And Axel is the best person to answer your questions.”

  Why can’t you tell me?

  Tao sighed. “Some things are better heard from the living. Now, Meka, think about a parallel line.”

  Huh?

  “Parallel lines go on in infinity, never touching, but always in each other’s shadows. That is Chenaya. You are about to step into a new parallel—or rather the other parallel. It is the lie that lurks behind the truth you think you know. You will meet it head on in Zakar, and that’s good because it will help you believe what Axel will tell you.”

  You’re relying a lot on this bloke.

  “No, I’m relying on you. Now, Vasily is watching you, waiting for your reaction. What are you going to show him?”

  Meka had no clue what to show Vasily, any more than he understood why dead people talked, walked, and passed through solid steel, or why a world existed in a parallel to all he knew. If it weren’t so sick, it would be funny.

  Funny.

  Tao was right. That was the key. He would humor them all until he understood. But more than anything, he’d be damned if he gave Vasily the pleasure of laughing at his ignorance again. The very fact that Lukan and men like Vasily had hidden an entire world away from him, and everyone else in Chenaya, gave him even more reason to despise them all. Once he understood, he would be in a position to change it. But first it was humor—with dignity. No matter what Vasily exposed him to, he would just suck it up like he had known it all his life.

  He faked a smile at Vasily. “It would seem I have much to learn, Count Vasily. I’m anxious to see everything you can show me about this new Chenaya, and I promise, you won’t shock me again.”

  “That sounds like a challenge, Your Highness.” Vasily’s piggy eyes gleamed.

  “It is. Let’s see who wins.”

  Chapter 47

  Meka grinned, tossing his brand new informa into the air. He caught it and held it up to the light streaming in from the airship window. Exactly like a black stone smoothed by eons in a river, no one looking at it would guess it held the world in its tiny ice-crystal heart. He ran his fingers across it, caressing it like a . . . he tried to think of the word. He had never caressed a fish before. What would one touch with such loving reverence? A lover?

  Perhaps.

  Tao, sitting opposite him, smiled. “I would hope so, seeing as you sold your soul to Vasily for it.”

  Meka’s grin widened. After weeks with Tao in his head, he was used to his father’s comments. With the light bent around his father, none of the airship crew would see him. He brought the informa to his lips and kissed it. It was worth the torture living a lie. Worth every moment of it.

  Vasily had taken Meka at his word, throwing him into the deep end of science and technology with no apparent logic nor concern for his health or safety. At first, Meka had struggled to mask his shock, his confusion, and most of all his anger as each new technological marvel assailed his senses. The first week had been the worst, and Meka had no qualms labeling it the cruelest, most horrific experience in his life. And that included the slaughter of the guardsmen.

  Each night that first week, he got into bed jangling, unable to sleep, unable to breathe under the shroud of choking smog, belched from countless factories that days before he hadn’t known existed. Due to a shortage of ice crystal and an abundance of coal, Felix and Vasily’s heavy engineering factories, where they churned out locomotives, freight cars, iron-side sea-faring ships, dragon-shaped airships, and endless lines of rifles for the war in Treven, were still steam driven.

  It was only in their pristine, temperature-and-atmosphere-controlled laboratories that ice-crystal-powered electricity was used; there, and in the quiet, cool communications compounds, where the men who programmed the informa network lived and worked.

  At times, Meka had thought his brain would explode with a combination of noise and information overload. It was only in the programmers’ compounds that he felt any sense of peace. During all of it, Tao had been his sanity; his father’s gentle, calming encouragement kept the lid on Meka’s fury. He grew to love Tao even more during that hideous first week.

  Life in Zakar had gotten a little better after that. And then he’d won the bet with Vasily—the informa in his hand bore testament to that.

  Meka sighed, flicking his thumb across the reader. No matter how much Gould shocked him—who wouldn’t be shocked by little children doing twelve hour shifts in factories?—he wished life had been different. He would have given more than his soul to be one of those men who lived in Gould, making the magic inside the informas happen.

  But it wasn’t to be. Beyond turning his informa on and off, and pulling up the light, Meka knew precious little of how it worked. He hoped to rectify that in Treven.

  “As you saw in Gould, programmers are not hard to find. You were called to another path.”

  Meka rolled his informa in his fingers. Wish I knew what that path was. How do I go back to the palace and pretend none of what I’ve seen exists? Not even I can act that well.

  “You’d be surprised. Who knew you had it in you to fool Vasily so completely? You have the man eating out of your hand.” Tao smiled with pride. “Although, that said, one of the first things I noticed about you was your ability to manipulate. A genetic gift from your Uncle Felix, I think.”

  Meka wasn’t sure how he felt about receiving and accepting gifts—genetic or otherwise—from his Uncle Felix.

  At least I can share all t
his with Grigor. Meka’s breath quickened with longing for his brother. One of the first things Tao had told him was that Grigor was safe, and that Meka was not to worry about writing impossible-to-post letters. It didn’t mean Meka missed his twin any less.

  Tao’s silence made him look up. I can tell Grigor, can’t I?

  “Of course you can.”

  But the hesitation in Tao’s voice straightened Meka in his chair. What do you know that you aren’t telling me?

  A self-deprecating smile from Tao. “That’s the problem, Meks. I don’t know what I don’t know.”

  Frustration heated Meka’s skin. There was so much Tao did know but wouldn’t tell him and, conversely, so much that he didn’t know but would have told Meka if he could. Meka snorted at that convoluted thought. In the end, it didn’t matter; his father would never let him down.

  Tao gripped his hand and spoke with fervor. “In a few days, we will be in Maegkin. I trust Axel and Stefan explicitly. They won’t let you down, either. But I think you’re going to have to work hard to convince them you are still on Nicholas’s side.”

  Meka bristled. Of course I’m on his side. Why would anyone doubt that?

  Tao extracted the informa from Meka’s hand and held it up. Meka smiled; anyone walking through this part of the airship would see a stone floating in midair. Tao flicked it on and pulled up the light. “Speak to it, Meka. Tell it bring up the newsfeed on Prince Meka’s Zakar visit.”

  So he did. A crackle of static buzzed from the stone, quickly settling into voices. Never having heard a newsfeed before, it took him a moment to figure out that he was eavesdropping on a conversation about himself.

  He recognized a voice—Vasily.

  “—sorry to say goodbye to Prince Meka today, Stefan. Do let me know if you also find him such engaging company.”

  “It is unlike you to wax lyrical about the youth, Boris,” Zarot said.

  “Indeed, but he’s not a typical youth. I was so impressed by his loyalty to the emperor and the Dragon that I rewarded him with his own informa. A mark 9.4, fresh off the production line. He will need lessons on how it works. Perhaps you can supply those.”

  “That was some reward, given that the 9.4s have yet to be issued to the High Council. I had no idea the boy was so staunch.”

  “You have been listening to the feeds?”

  “I know you’ve reported to Felix that the boy impressed you. But enough to give him our latest technology?”

  “Truly, Stefan,” Vasily wheezed, “I would give Prince Meka the throne.” He coughed. “Once our dear emperor passes, of course. Dragon’s blessings upon him.”

  Meka groaned and flicked his thumb across the informa. The speaking stopped. “What do I do to fix this?”

  His father smiled at him. “As someone once said to me, tell the truth. It will win hearts.”

  * * *

  Meka’s stomach knotted as the landing pad in Maegkin rushed up to meet his airship. Moments before crashing, the airship juddered, hovering a few feet above the ground next to a steel hangar.

  And Count Zarot. Impassive face, ramrod-straight back, the count again impressed Meka with his resemblance to a block of granite.

  Under his breath, Meka muttered, “This was it. The moment of truth.”

  Tao’s unseen hand dropped onto his shoulder. It was comforting. Still, Meka rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers before moving to the hatch a crew member had opened. Face set in a rictus of a smile, he headed down the ramp toward Zarot.

  The count didn’t smile back. He bowed, looking even stiffer than he had at Grigor’s inauguration. It had to be thanks to Vasily’s praise.

  Meka swallowed hard. “I’m pleased to be here, Count Zarot.”

  “A prince of the realm will always be welcome in Maegkin, Your Highness.” Zarot turned to a steam carriage chugging next to the hangar. He stood aside as Meka—and Tao, whom he wouldn’t have seen—clambered aboard. Once seated opposite Meka, Zarot said, “My home is at the military H.Q. The building was once King Chad of Treven’s palace. I’m sure you’ll find it comfortable.”

  “I have simple tastes.”

  With a lurch, the steam carriage pulled away from the hangar. In silence broken only by the roar of the engine, the airfield fell behind them. Meka knew from the map that Maegkin was less than a five-minute drive away along a twisting mountain road.

  To make conversation, he said, “Count Vasily mentioned there have been recent attacks on the palace by alliance rebels.”

  Zarot waved his hand dismissively. “Attacks are commonplace. But rest assured, you will be safe. Security has been dramatically increased in light of the emperor’s upcoming visit.”

  Acid gushed into Meka’s stomach. “The emperor is visiting?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  Meka shrugged. “News to me.”

  “He’s coming for an inspection. The first since coming to the throne. It will coincide with the solstice.”

  Nothing about a visit from Lukan boded well. To cover up his concern, he looked out the window. The mountain pass had given way to a checkpoint in the road. It bustled with military vehicles and personnel armed with rifles. But most ominous of all was the black, red, and gold Dragon icon that leered down at the vehicle.

  The carriage stopped and a guardsman marched to the window. A crisp salute when he saw his commanding officer. Meka wondered if the man would recognize him. It seemed unlikely, given that Meka was barely known in the palace in Cian, let alone the far reaches of the empire.

  Zarot fixed the soldier with dark eyes. “Sergeant, acknowledge your prince.”

  The guardsman’s dull eyes widened as he took in Meka. Perhaps it was the diamond next to his eye that the man recognized, but he dropped into a low bow. Almost as if programmed, every other soldier at the gate followed suit.

  After a moment of deference, Zarot called, “Open the gate.”

  The men jumped to obey, and the steam carriage swept into a wide avenue, lined with trees. Military personnel strode the pavement, hung with red, black, and gold Dragon flags. The buildings, perhaps once elegant, given the lines of their architecture, were painted drab military green. Many had military vehicles parked outside. Canals of sparkling water, tripping next to the road, did little to lift Meka’s spirits. Maegkin was an ugly place.

  Zarot surprised Meka by speaking. “It was once beautiful. When I first came here, the buildings were white and the streets were lined with ice-crystal statues of the Trevenite dead. No one but our troops occupies it now.”

  Meka pulled a face, saddened. “I would love to have seen it. Then.” He paused, intensely aware of Zarot’s veiled scrutiny. “Why did they make statutes of their dead?”

  “Respect. And it’s their religion.”

  Meka’s eyebrows rose. To Tao, he said, You should have died here.

  Tao grinned at him. “I’m getting more than enough satisfaction watching my old friend Stefan squirm. He really doesn’t know what to make of you.”

  Meka grunted inwardly. Squirm? That brick wall? He’s barely moved a muscle since we left the airfield. Then a thought struck. Can you read his mind?

  “No, sadly. But I know Stefan well. See that clenching of his fist? He’s concerned because he wants something from you. He’s not sure if you’re going to give it to him.”

  Should I be worried?

  “No. Just wise.”

  The carriage arrived at another checkpoint, this time ugly steel gates in a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. It was guarded by yet another Dragon and a half a dozen armed guardsmen. A gracious white building loomed behind them. It had to be the palace.

  Without waiting for the troops, Zarot clicked a switch, pulled from his pocket, and the gates glided open. The carriage passed through an archway into a courtyard in the front of the main building. It stopped at an elaborate set of six-foot-high wooden doors, framed with a mosaic of colored ice crystal.

  “Ice crystal sure is beautiful,” Meka said to Z
arot as he hopped out of the carriage.

  “But useless when blown, like on the walls.” Meka again had the distinct impression that Zarot was scrutinizing him, although the count’s face showed no sign of increased interest.

  Meka chose his words carefully. “How can something so beautiful be useless?”

  “A polished answer, Your Highness, if you will excuse the pun.” Zarot nodded to a sentry.

  The guardsmen jumped into action and opened the palace doors.

  Zarot waved Meka into a vast entrance hall, decorated with tasteful antique furniture, an ideal room for greeting visitors to the palace. Six-foot-high doors, one in each wall, stood closed, hiding their secrets. Zarot strode across to the door in the far wall.

  As he opened it, Meka couldn’t resist saying, “The Trevenites liked tall doors.”

  “They’re tall people.” Zarot started down a short passageway. It too gave way to another set of giant doors. Zarot threw them open, revealing a cheerful sitting room, spread with books, a board game on a table, a discarded jacket across the back of an overstuffed chair, and a clutter of toys on the floor.

  Meka instantly felt at home—until he saw the row of people watching him. A woman with a mass of dark hair, two teenage boys about his age, and a pretty little girl with ringlets in her hair bowed to him. They looked nothing like the pampered, artificial high-born at the palace in Cian.

  The little girl broke ranks, racing over to fling herself at Zarot. “Papa! You’re home.”

  Zarot scooped her up in his arms and kissed her. “What did I tell you about waiting until after I had introduced you to Prince Meka?”

  The girl turned earnest eyes on Meka. Tentatively, she held put her hand. “I’m Ivana, and I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Meka grinned as he shook her hand. “And I’m Meka, and I’m pleased to meet you, too. Your cousin, Natalia, gave me a message for you.” Meka glanced at the two boys, standing rigid next to their mother. Hopefully, they would soon be his friends. He pulled out the letter and handed it to the eldest one. “I think this says that she wanted to be here, too, and that she knows we’ll all get along.”