by Finley Aaron
“I thought you said dragons were fiercely territorial? They don’t play well with others.”
“Your father and your betrothed have decided to rise above all that for the sake of their people. They are neither ancient nor barbaric. But he is a valiant fighter, this groom of yours. Wise. Kind. He has a spectacular dragon-hoard of gold and jewels, including jewelry that would look very nice on you. He’s a generous man who wants only to make you happy.”
“And for me to bear his dragon babies.”
“To my understanding, laying an egg is far less painful than giving birth.” Ram shrugs. “Not that I’ve tried either. He’s a fine man, Ilsa. I wouldn’t deliver you to anyone less.”
Those words are too much for me—the tenderness behind them, the affection even. I hand Ram the duck carcass I wasn’t eating anyway, and step away from him.
I see a flicker of movement beyond the rocks.
Ion.
He’s watching.
Waiting.
But Ram steps after me and places a hand on my shoulder. “Your father only wants you to be happy. He hoped you’d find the betrothal romantic. Arranged marriages are an old tradition.”
“It’s barbaric.”
“According to that tradition, girls were given a choice.”
“I haven’t been given a choice.”
“I’ll give you a choice.” Ram bends down so that he’s looking me straight in the eye.
“What choice?” I can hardly get the words out. What choice is there, really? I’m supposed to bear dragon babies.
Ram makes a pained face and shakes his head. “Your father isn’t going to like this,” he whispers.
“What?”
“I don’t want you to be unhappy. I can’t stand the thought—okay, okay.” Ram seems to be making up his mind, convincing himself of something even as he speaks.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble with my dad.”
“I’d rather face your father’s anger than know I had any part in making you miserable. Here it is, then. This is the best I can do. If you’ll travel with me to your village, to your wedding—”
“Wait, when is the wedding?”
“The plan was to have the wedding as soon as you return to the village.”
“But when do I meet my betrothed?”
“At the ceremony.”
“What?” I take a step back, look about frantically, spot Ion among the bushes.
He looks ready to leap out to my rescue.
I wave him back in a moment while Ram has his eyes closed. Ram appears to be thinking, or trying to find words.
I know how much he doesn’t like using words. He’s so much better with swords.
“I will be there,” Ram continues, meeting my eyes again.
“At the ceremony?”
“Near the front. Your father will escort you to your betrothed. If he does not meet your approval, if you sincerely feel you cannot marry him, come to me.”
“Come to you?”
“I’ll be there, close at hand. Take my hand and we’ll go.”
“Go?”
“Fly away together. Run away together.”
“You’d run away with me?”
Ram looks at me with a look I can’t describe, a look that’s more than affection, more than desire. A look that says he’d face my father’s wrath for me, fly away from home for me, that I’m all he’s ever wanted, anyway.
I told you he was better with non-verbal communication.
I’m relieved, so relieved I can hardly stand up. And I’m happy. Crazy happy. Happier than I would have thought I could be, and I wrap my arms around him gleefully.
“Ilsa, no,” Ram cautions me, taking a step back. His expression is this weird combination of fear and guilt? Can that be right?
It’s only a quick glimpse. For one disoriented second I think he’s still being prudent, keeping me at arms’ length until he’s delivered me properly to my betrothed, but then I see his hands fly over his shoulders to his swords, and this time he’s shouting.
“Ilsa, no!”
I spin and reach for my sword just as the yagi fly at us in full force, their screaming wails reverberating palpably through the air. Ram’s back presses to mine as we fly into action, fighting as though we were born to fight like this, back-to-back, as a team.
But even as the first yagi heads roll, Ion leaps toward me.
“Come!” he shouts, reaching for my hand.
“No! I’m not going with you!”
Doesn’t he see? I don’t need Ion or Eudora. Ram worked it out. We have a plan—an escape plan. Something better than an escape plan. Ram offered to run away with me. I don’t care what the dragon king looks like. I’m going to run away with Ram and we’re going to be blissfully happy. So there.
The wall of yagi parts as Ion approaches me. Ram is surrounded—fighting, fighting hard. But even as I try to keep my back close to his, the yagi slash at me with their talons and rapier horns. They’re vastly creepier in daylight, if you can imagine it. Buggy eyes that stare, blank yet evil. Hands that are not so much hands as taloned insectoid claws. Spiny legs that look like they belong on beetles, not on men.
And worst of all, they’re pulling me away from Ram.
“Ilsa, come to me.” Ion reaches for me with one hand, almost like a gentleman offering to help a lady down from a pesky perch. It’s as though he’s offering to help me step unscathed through the yagi. But if he has the power to protect me from the yagi, why isn’t he using it?
He’s using the yagi to drive me to him, to drive me away from Ram.
“Stay away from her, Ion. She isn’t yours.”
“She isn’t yours, either, Ram,” Ion sneers.
“I’m not anybody’s!” I shout over them, felling a couple more yagi, almost for effect, and kicking their headless bodies Ion’s direction.
He dances over them with surprising grace and reaches for my hand.
“Stay away from her,” Ram bars the way with his sword, still fighting yagi with the blade in his other hand.
But Ion has drawn his sword, as well, and blocks Ram’s blade.
“Sorry, Ram,” Ion laughs. “Ilsa and I made a deal.”
“A deal?” Ram beheads a yagi and kicks it back into two others, toppling them like dominoes, though they stagger back to their feet again.
He glances at me, and blast it all, I look guilty. I know I do. If it wasn’t enough for me to feel the guilt burning on my face, I see clearly in Ram’s expression as he recognizes it and realizes Ion’s words were true.
No, no, no! He can’t believe the worst of me. He can’t.
“It wasn’t a deal,” I protest, slashing fiercely at the yagi, wishing they’d just back off already. But they’re not going to back off until Ion tells them to, are they?
Bloody buggers.
“A plan, then,” Ion sounds disgustingly casual and aloof. “Kind of like your plan, Ram. A plan to run away together. But we made our plan first.” As he speaks, Ion slashes Ram’s blade away (which he wouldn’t have been able to do if the yagi hadn’t been hounding Ram, but I’ve already figured out Ion doesn’t fight fair).
In the same motion he swings the sword round at me, flicks my right-hand sword away (how does he do that? I hate that!) and grabs my arm, morphing into a dragon as he pulls away, toward the sky.
I am not going with him. I’m not! I slash at his arm with the blade in my left hand. He’s growing so fast, I don’t hit his body or even his arm so much as the forearm of his dragon arm, which is armored with scales not quite fully tough. If I’d struck a split-second later, when he was fully dragon, his armor would have repelled my blade. But since he’s not quite fully changed yet, my sword pierces his nascent armor. Red blood wells through the cut.
His hold on me loosens and I pull my arm free, throwing myself back, away, far from him, stumbling over fallen yagi.
I scramble for a gap in the struggling mass, the only open air that’s not solid rock or seething
yagi.
“Ilsa!” Ram is surrounded by yagi, fighting his way free, when I realize why there’s an opening among the mercenaries.
I’ve leapt toward the cliff.
And now I’m falling, falling, with nothing to grab hold of and only sharp rocks among the waves below to break my fall.
Chapter Nineteen
The rocks are thickly-clustered and sharp, with not nearly enough space between them for me to land safely in the water anywhere, even if I could maneuver myself to land in such a gap, which I can’t.
There isn’t nearly time.
I’m falling far too quickly.
I can feel the sea spray on my face and arms when talons grasp me, pulling me out over the open water and then slowly up, fighting the still air with every beat of his wings.
For a moment I’m not sure who’s got me—Ion or Ram—but then I hear a dragon scream and see Ion flying off the cliff after us.
And for all my relief at not crashing to my death, I realize we’re doomed still. Ram was exhausted before he fought the yagi and changed again. Now he’s trying to haul my sorry butt over the Black Sea, and Ion will be upon us in a moment. Ion will destroy him.
I can’t let that happen.
But what can I do? If I could change into a dragon maybe I could be a help to Ram, for once, instead of being a burden. But I can only change into a dragon if I want to be one, and besides, Ram’s already changed, so I can’t change with him and I don’t know how.
Something huge and tragic wells up inside me. I came so close to running away with Ram, to being with the man I love.
With the dragon I love.
The thought twists up from my heart to my head even as I feel the heat of the flames Ion’s shooting.
I love a dragon.
Because I love Ram.
And Ram is a dragon.
So then, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m jolly well certain if I don’t do something immediately, Ion is going to kill Ram (they say necessity is the mother of invention), I try.
I mean, I try really, really hard.
Never mind that Ram isn’t holding my hands to help me.
Never mind that I don’t know what to do, or how to make the switch, and that it never worked before.
I am not going to let Ion kill Ram.
My fingers had at least changed that one time before, so I start from there, building on that feeling, visualizing the whole thing with a kind of desperate urgency that’s stronger than just wanting to be a dragon. I have to be one.
Something weird happens, then. Ram was sagging in the air, beating his wings frantically trying to haul me over the sea, but then it’s like I’ve broken free of his grasp, or outgrown him, or something.
And I open my eyes to see—I am a dragon.
A purple one.
Sweet.
I whip through the sky, swirling up over Ram, into Ion’s face, intending to blast him with shooting fire.
And I scream at him instead.
Fire is apparently tricky.
But he looks seriously disoriented, so I take advantage of my position and claw at his face like I once saw a couple of bona fide princesses do to each other at Saint Evangeline’s, when they got into a row over who’s manicure was better.
That incident ended with both of them breaking nails.
This one results in me scratching some serious claw marks across the tender scales around Ion’s face. Turns out my dragon nails are vastly more wicked than any princess manicure ever could be.
I feel a flicker of triumph before Ion recovers from his shock and shoots fire at me.
Blast it, that’s hot. Remembering Ram’s story about fireproof wings, I wrap mine around myself, which blocks the fire, but it turns out in this position I don’t fly nearly so well.
Or, you know, at all.
I flap my wings again. Ion and Ram have sailed on ahead of me. Ion looks intent on attacking Ram, which worries me, because I know Ram was already zonked before he did several things which are sure to only tire him out further. So Ion could really hurt him this time.
Just like he really tried to hurt me.
I was foolish to listen to Ion as long as I did. I realize that now. In my defense, I didn’t know who to trust, and everything was strange and new, and Ion was saying the things I most wanted to hear.
But now he’s shooting fire at Ram, who’s sagging in the air, knackered, too knackered to put up much of a fight.
I shoot toward them, flying as fast as I can. You might think I wouldn’t know how to fly, having never done it, but it turns out the flying motion is the same thing as the butterfly stroke that slices steaks and beheads yagi.
Ram is bloody brilliant, and I love him.
The only difference between flying and beheading yagi (besides the obvious decapitation, of course) is that the move is done with my wings and not my arms. This is a tricky distinction, because dragons have both wings and arms. They share the same bone structure, the wings sprouting out of the scapula, while the arms stay where they always were (I figured this out while I was riding on Ram’s back with lots of time to study his shoulders).
So to be honest, though I’ve got the flying maneuver down mostly, I’m not accustomed to having wings and arms, and I’ve never had the chance to practice using them independently, and now is not the time for that. All I care about is flying as fast as I can to catch up with Ion and Ram, and hopefully help Ram get away from Ion before Ram gets seriously hurt or killed.
Which means, as you may have guessed, that along with flapping my wings and flying through the air, I’m waving my arms a bit madly, because they move with my wings and I don’t know how to do one without the other.
Fortunately there aren’t many boats out on this corner of the Black Sea at this hour. I see one boat below, but I’m not paying it any attention. If the people on board have spotted us, they’re probably wondering about the three dragons flying through the air overhead, and why the purple one is waving her arms frantically. Maybe they’re even waving back.
But I don’t have time to look.
I’ve almost caught up to Ram and Ion and now I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do. I still have my swords strapped on (bloody brilliant of Ram to devise holsters that stay on when we change), but in order to get close enough to Ion to use them, I’d have to be within range of his shooting flames, his talons, and his swords.
Maybe I can shoot fire.
It can’t be that tricky. Ram can do it in human form or dragon form. You’d think it would be a more introductory-level trick than changing shape, but no one’s mentioned to me how it’s done.
I come at them screaming. Technically I’m trying to shoot flames, but it’s still not working. But the screams alone are pretty terrifying, coming, as they do, from the panicked part of my soul that’s afraid Ram could die before I ever get to tell him how I feel about him.
Ion seems distinctly freaked out, maybe because he never really expected me to figure out how to turn into a dragon, or maybe because I’m so out of control furious that he’s afraid I might actually hurt him even worse than I already have, which I am completely prepared to do.
And also maybe because he knows I’ve figured out he was lying to me, or at least feeding me whatever line he thought I wanted to hear, just so I’d go along with him—but now that I’ve seen through him there’s no way I’ll ever listen to him again.
So Ion kind of does this spin in the air, rolling around toward me instead of hounding Ram. And for lack of a better plan, I pull my swords from my hips and fly into him at full speed, screaming and flailing my arms (yes, I still haven’t figured out how to keep my arms still while beating my wings) and generally trying to do as much damage as I possibly can so he’ll leave Ram well enough alone.
For a few moments, it’s bloody thrashing chaos. Ion claws at me with his talons, but I rip into him with mine, and I’m slashing like mad with both my swords, which mostly get deflected by the armor of his scale
s. Some parts of my body sting like maybe I’m getting hurt, but at this point I don’t right well care. I’ve noticed he keeps trying to use the horns that grow out of the top of his head—we all seem to sprout these two horns when we change. They look extra sharp and it really hurt when one grazed me, so I try to avoid them.
Then Ion erupts with fire shooting from his mouth, and I shift to block the fire with one wing, while making sure to get between Ram and Ion again, because I don’t want Ram getting hurt any more than he already has.
But Ion beats his wings and jets past me, shooting his fire past the shield of my wing, toward Ram, who whips around, snarling, rocketing upward with his wings curled inward, protecting himself even as he rises up into Ion’s face, shooting fire back at him.
The flames meet in the air, so hot I can feel them billowing around me even as I wrap my wings around myself, spin, arch forward, and sail around in a wide circle, hoping to attack Ion while he’s distracted with Ram.
I soar over his head and whip my tail down at him as I fly past.
The move sends him reeling, stunned, toward the sea.
Then I swoop around toward Ram, scared of what I might find. But as I approach him, he’s still gliding, sagging a bit from exhaustion, but still aloft. The glow in his eyes says everything his words never could—that he’s proud of me for figuring out how to be a dragon, and working with him to fight against Ion, and all that.
I gave him a look back, one that I hope says I couldn’t have done it without his help, and that I’d change into anything, if I could, for him.
Ram glances behind him, and I look, too, but Ion is gone.
Where did he go? Into the sea? Land is far, far behind us (we were flying so fast, and it took me longer to catch up to them than it did to tell about it). Could he have gotten back to land so quickly? I don’t know.
Before I can worry more about Ion’s whereabouts, Ram droops in the sky until his toes graze the water, and now I’m more worried about what’s going to happen to Ram than I am about what became of Ion. I don’t know how Ram could possibly make it back to shore in any direction, never mind that the closest bank is the one behind us, a sharp cliff straight up with hordes of yagi at the top.