Lucem laughed at his own joke, but Vale cringed. He couldn't help but glance at Tash. She crouched at his side, her cheeks red, and stared down at the floor.
When finally the firelight outside faded, they all stepped out of the cave and onto the dark hills. Meliora, a tall woman, her halo of dragonfire crackling above her head. Elory, dark and small and quick, her eyes shining. Tash, still staring down at her feet in shame, her hair hiding her face. Lucem, the legendary hero of Requiem, revealed to be only a young man with a ready smile and eyes that hid old pain.
And me, Vale thought. With nothing but pain inside me. Pain for what the seraphim did to me. Pain for what I saw Tash do.
Perhaps pain was all they knew, all Vir Requis could ever know. In the old tales, Requiem suffered tragedy after tragedy. Every generation brought war, genocide, slavery, nearly extinguishing that light. Every generation the columns of Requiem fell, only for heroes to build them anew.
Why do we keep fighting? Vale thought. Why do we linger on, struggling to maintain our torch of dragonfire, when darkness so often falls? When we suffer so much?
He looked at his sisters, at Lucem, at Tash . . . and he thought he knew.
Because between the dark nights the day still shines. Joy can still bloom through suffering like flowers between cobblestones. Perhaps Requiem will never know peace. Perhaps our kingdom will never enjoy an era of prosperity and grandeur. But with every death, new life shines. With every fall, we rise anew. We suffer, but we also love. We hurt, but we also feel joy. For those little flickers, like starlight in darkest night, I will always fight. If not for a Requiem of eternal peace, I will fight for a Requiem of blood and starlight. If that is our fate, that is better than endless darkness where no stars shine.
"What do we do now?" Elory whispered. "Our boat is gone. How will we sneak back into Tofet with the Keeper's Key and the Chest of Plenty? Do we swim? Do we scale the wall like Lucem once did?"
Vale smiled thinly at her. "We don't need to swim or climb, my sister." He stared up at the dark sky. "Dawn is still an hour away. We fly."
ELORY
The five dragons flew through the night, silent, their fire hidden inside closed jaws, shadows high above the landscape of ruin.
At first flying had felt strange to Elory; she had wobbled in the air, no more graceful than a toddler first learning to walk. Yet this night she would have to fly with the grace of the bellators, the legendary and ancient knights of Requiem.
The others flew at her side. Tash, a golden dragon. Lucem, red. Meliora, silvery, her feathers gone. Vale, blue and burly. She knew their colors, yet Elory could barely see them in the darkness, only the faintest hints of them. No moon shone in the sky, and the only light came from below.
A path of fire stretched across the land, semicircular, several miles long. The wall of Tofet. Upon its parapets the seraphim guards stood, halos bright, torches brighter. A wall of fire, of holy light, of death to any who dared approach it. Across the river, a few miles away, Elory could see the bright lights of Shayeen shining upon towers and temples. The City of Kings, home to seraphim masters, was bright as day, even now. Yet that was not her destination, and Elory hoped she would never enter that hive of light and gold and splendor again.
She looked down. Now her destination lay there below—in the vast stretch of darkness. From up here, higher than eagles, Tofet was but a black pool across the land. Barely any lights shone, only the moving flickers of seraphim patrolling the streets, holding torches. No towers rose here, no temples, no warm homes with firelight in the windows. A place of darkness, of chains, of death.
A place we will liberate, Elory swore. I swear to you, my people, you will be free. You will fly with me in the sky of Saraph and in the sky of Requiem.
Firelight flashed below.
Elory stared down and hissed.
"Chariots!" she whispered.
Three of them were rising from below, crossing the river, soaring skyward. Three perhaps the dragons could handle, but a battle would raise the others, and soon a thousand chariots would light the sky. No. This was not the time for war, but the time for silence, for shadows.
The other dragons saw and nodded. They flew higher, fanning out—so high the air grew thin and cold, barely letting Elory breathe. Her head spun. She glided, flapping her wings only when she began to dip.
The chariots streamed below them.
Please don't let them see us. Don't let the firelight illuminate our bellies.
She flew eastward, Meliora at her side. The other dragons flew westward.
The chariots below charged onward, flying across the walls of Tofet and into the wilderness.
Elory let out a shaky breath of relief, and the dragons glided downward, back to where the air was thicker. She took several deep breaths, calming the spinning of her head and the thrashing of her heart.
She glanced at her fellow dragons, then down below. A dark patch sprawled in the south—the fields of bricklaying. A darker patch spread beside it—the pit of bitumen. Near them, lit by only a few scattered torches, spread the city of huts, a small place—far smaller than Shayeen across the river—where over half a million slaves lived.
That is where we land, Elory thought. In the heart of suffering. From darkness will rise fire.
She began to spiral down, wings wide, jaws clenched shut to hide her fire. Only the faintest glow filled her nostrils; Elory still thought it strange to be able to see her nostrils, but she had a good view of them in dragon form. The other dragons spiraled down around her, their scales giving the slightest of chinks.
"Hush!" Elory whispered. "You're chinking, Lucem."
The red dragon grimaced at her side, stiffened his body, and wobbled down beside her.
They glided lower. Soon Elory could make out individual huts in the darkness. They seemed so small from up here, as if they were toys, as if she could reach down and pluck them up.
Firelight flared below.
Another chariot of fire—just one—rose from the walls and soared.
Elory cursed silently. The chariot was heading toward them, casting its light.
She swerved sideways, silent. Lucem flew with her. The other dragons scattered to other directions. They were too low already to soar and hide in darkness. Elory's heart beat madly against her ribs.
Did he see us?
She stared down and saw the chariot still rising. Four firehorses tugged it, wings casting out sparks. A single seraph stood in the chariot, lit by the firelight.
He saw her. Their eyes connected.
The seraph's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to shout.
Elory snarled and charged.
She streamed through the air. She reached the chariot in a second. The seraph began to cry out, and his voice died within her jaws. She snapped those jaws shut, severing his head. Hot, sticky blood spurted, filling her mouth with its coppery taste. Her heart beat madly. She spat the head out.
The firehorses reared in the sky, and Elory released her magic.
She landed in the chariot in human form, blood still in her mouth. The headless corpse lay at her feet. She grabbed the reins.
The firehorses calmed.
Elory gave the reins a gentle tug, nudging the beasts to glide through the sky, pulling the flaming chariot behind them.
Finally Elory could breathe, could think. She trembled, and sweat drenched her.
What have I done? Oh stars, I killed a man, I bit off his head.
She stared around, fearing that somebody had noticed. But no other chariots of fire flew. The other dragons glided around her, staring with wide eyes, and Elory directed her chariot down. She landed on a patch of bare earth outside the hut city. The other dragons glided down farther away from the light, vanishing between the huts.
Her knees trembled. Her pulse pounded in her one ear, and sweat drenched her. Elory couldn't think. Her mind was a storm, her body felt on fire, she was going to faint, she—
Calm yourself, Elory, spoke a
voice in her head. Right now you must remain calm.
Refusing to think, to fear, just operating on cold logic, she climbed out of the chariot. Glancing around, she resumed dragon form. She dug a hole with her claws, tugged the headless seraph out from the chariot, and buried the corpse. She sniffed, looked around, found the head a few meters away and buried it too.
She return to human form. Leaving the chariot and firehorses on the field, she headed between the huts, vanishing into the shadows.
Please, stars of Requiem, don't let any other seraphim see us, don't let them know, don't let them suspect—not until we're safe.
A shadow approached between the huts, and Elory's heart leaped into a gallop, and she nearly shifted and lashed her claws. But it was Lucem, slinking forward, back in human form. She rushed toward him, and he wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.
Other shadows approached. Meliora, a hood dousing her halo. Vale, tall and grim. Tash, tiptoeing forward, glancing around nervously.
"We made it," Meliora whispered.
Lucem rolled his eyes. "Once again, Mel, the sky is up."
Firelight fell onto the road. The Vir Requis hurried behind a hut. A seraph walked down the dirt road, holding a torch. Hiding behind the clay wall, Elory held her breath and squeezed Lucem's hand. When finally the light faded and the guard had walked by, the Vir Requis released their breath.
"Come," Elory whispered. "I know the way."
They walked between the huts, avoiding the larger dirt roads, slinking hut to hut. Vale carried the Chest of Plenty under his arm. Elory carried the Keeper's Key, while Tash carried a humbler iron key—the one she had used to unlock Elory's shackles back in the pleasure pit long ago.
Another chariot of fire streamed above. The Vir Requis froze and hid again, pressing themselves against a hut's wall. When the firelight passed them, they walked onward.
Finally Elory saw it ahead. It looked like any other hut, but she knew this was the place.
Home.
Her eyes dampened. After all Elory had seen in the world—the great ziggurat of gold and ivory, the open wilderness of forests and hills, underground caverns of ancient days, a mountaintop palace full of magic—this hut seemed so small, so sad. So many bad memories filled this place. So many times Elory had lain in this hut, shivering from the wounds of the whip, her father stitching and healing her. So many times her mother had embraced her in this hut, soothing her tears, applying balms to her wounds, and singing to her old songs of Requiem. For eighteen years Elory had lived here, and seeing it now nearly broke her heart.
Home. A home of pain, of death, of fear, of love. The only home I've ever known.
Meliora looked at her, smiled sadly, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Vale stood at her other side and placed an arm around her.
The three siblings—the three Aeternums, heirs to a dynasty, hurt, broken, fighting for their nation—walked forward together.
They entered the hut.
He knelt inside in prayer. Her father, tall and gaunt, bald and bearded. He looked up, and his eyes widened, and Elory's eyes flooded with tears, and her body shook with sobs. She raced forward, fell to her knees before him, and nearly crushed his thin frame in her embrace.
"Father," she whispered, sobbing against him. "Father."
He wept too, holding her close. "Elory, Elory. You're alive. I knew you were alive. You're alive. Oh stars, you're alive."
Vale joined them, and even the gruff young slave shed tears, squeezing them close, shaking. Meliora knelt too, wrapped her arms around them, and held them silently.
"I'm here, Father." Elory smiled and blinked away her tears. "I'll never leave you again. I promise."
Lucem and Tash stood at the doorway, glancing around nervously. Elory rose to her feet and approached them. She took their hands in hers, ushering them into the hut. Her heart trembled at their touch. Tash—her closest friend. Lucem—the first man she had ever loved. They were her family too, just as much as her father and siblings. All of Requiem was her family.
"Father, you remember Tash, and this is Lucem."
The young man bowed. "Yes, the famous Lucem himself! I heard I'm something of a legend around these parts. But not like you. I'm honored to meet you, King Aeternum. At least, the descendant of King Aeternum, hopefully to be our real king soon. Not here. Bit too crowded here. In Requiem, I mean. If we get there. Um . . ." He glanced at Meliora. "Mel said there would be taters."
Elory rolled her eyes.
Jaren looked down at the Chest of Plenty which Vale had placed on the floor, then up at his son, then at Meliora and Elory.
"Did you . . .," the old priest whispered. "Did you find them? The chest and key?"
Elory reached into her pocket and pulled out the Keeper's Key. She stepped forward and brought the key to her father's collar.
The collar opened.
Elory removed it from around Jaren's neck and tossed it to the floor.
"We found them, Father." She stared into his eyes, and her rage seared her tears dry. "We found them, and now, Father . . . now we fight."
TASH
She kept glancing at Vale, trying to meet his eyes, hoping he'd forgive her, but he hated her, he hated her still, and Tash hated herself.
I would have turned back, she thought, kneeling in the hut. I just had to take another step toward my freedom, to hesitate, to feel the guilt, to turn back toward Vale and curse my stupidity. She hung her head low. But you had to see me, Vale. You had to call out, to try to stop me when I would have stopped on my own. I would have. I have to believe that I would have. And I'm so sorry.
She raised her head, trying to meet his eyes again. But Vale stood across the hut, pointedly looking away from her, talking instead to Lucem.
Tash's shoulders stooped.
I'm going to show you, Vale. I'm going to make amends for what I've done. I'm going to show you that I love Requiem, that I'll fight for her, that I'm sorry for my betrayal.
Elory approached and sat beside her. "Are you all right, Tash?"
Tash looked at the girl, and fresh guilt filled her. Back in the pleasure pit, perhaps she had treated Elory too harshly, commanding her as if she, Tash, were a seraph herself rather than a slave. The girl was kind, meek, truly believed in Requiem's cause.
Another one I mistreated, Tash thought. Another one I must prove my worth to.
Suddenly Tash hated who she was. Hated herself. A pleasurer who, while the others toiled in the dust, had serviced seraphim with kisses and caresses. A slave who had looked down on other slaves as if she were superior. A traitor who had almost ruined Requiem, who had almost fled with the Chest of Plenty.
I don't belong here with these noble, kind people, she thought, looking at the others. I'm not like them. I'm not good and brave and strong like they are.
"Tash, are you all right?" Elory whispered.
Tash nodded. "Yes, and I'm ready. Let's try this."
She took a deep breath, opened the Chest of Plenty, and placed the Keeper's Key inside.
The others all gathered around her. Meliora, Lucem, Jaren, Vale; they all stared. Tash gulped and opened the chest.
Hundreds of crimson keys, engraved with golden runes, spilled out.
"It works!" Tash whispered.
Lucem whistled. "Now all we need is a mug of beer, and we're set for life."
Instead of beer, Tash grabbed her collar, which she had opened outside the city but kept with her. She placed the iron around her neck, took a deep breath, and snapped it shut. Next she lifted one of the duplicated keys. For a second she hesitated, worried that the duplicate would fail, that the chest had copied the key but not the magic inside it. Yet when she brought the replicated Keeper's Key to her collar, the runes glowed, and the collar opened anew.
Hurriedly, Tash reached into her pocket, and she pulled out her second key—a smaller, humbler key. A key she had used long ago on the shackles around Elory's ankles. She placed this key into the chest too, duplicating
it a thousand times. Keys to open chains.
The pile of keys—some crimson and gold, others simple iron—piled up in the hut.
"Dragons," Tash whispered. "Thousands of dragons. Thousands of warriors of Requiem."
Elory grabbed Tash's hand and squeezed it. "Let's make more."
JAREN
He labored in the dirt under the blinding sun, but this day, hope filled Jaren.
The whips hit his back, but he thought of Requiem.
His joints ached, his skin burned, his head swam with weakness, and he thought of dragons rising.
His body was almost broken, his life almost spent, and thousands languished around him in chains, the overseers taking their lives day by day. But Jaren clung to his life.
Because his children were back. Because there was hope.
That night, as always, he limped back to the huts—breath rattling, back torn open, spine nearly cracked with the agony. That night, as always, instead of sleeping, Jaren stood outside his hut. As always, the children of Requiem came before him—the wounded, the dying. Mothers too thin to produce milk, their babes starving. Elders beaten, whipped, kicked, their limbs broken, begging for healing or a blessing before death. Young men and women in the prime of their youth, yet frail as the elders, coughing, shivering, bleeding. They all came before Jaren Aeternum as they did every night.
He was descended of kings, but here in Tofet, he was a priest, he was a healer.
The first of his people approached, limping—a young girl, no older than twelve or thirteen, her arm crushed. Her father walked with her, face pale, eyes damp.
"Please, Papa Jaren." Sweat glistened on the girl's brow. "It hurts so bad."
Jaren prayed, calling upon the stars to heal her wound, to ease her pain. She cried out as he set the bone, then shivered, whispering her thanks.
Before they stepped aside, Jaren held the father's arm. He passed a sack into his hand.
"Keys," Jaren whispered. "Keys to remove your collars. Keys to remove the chains around your ankles."
Crown of Dragonfire Page 24