Ember and the Ice Dragons

by Heather Fawcett

  She landed on the shore where it jutted out into the sea, forming the edge of the headland that guarded the harbor. The sea lapped against ice and snow with a sort of slurping sound. A honk floated out of the darkness.

  One of the penguins tottered up to her. Ember recognized it as the one who had stolen the flagstone; its chest feathers had a distinct ruffle. The penguin seemed pleased to see her—it rubbed its beak on her boot.

  “You!” Ember said. She had forgotten all about the penguin—she hoped it had dropped the flagstone into the sea where the Scientists would never find it. “You almost got me into trouble, you know.” She scratched its head, which always worked with Puff, though she had no idea if penguins liked it. The bird eyed her sideways.

  A larger penguin waddled up. It seemed about to muscle in to claim its share of attention. The first penguin chittered angrily. It drew back its wing, and—

  Zap!

  It was a sound that had no business coming from a penguin. Ember leaped back in alarm as the larger penguin went sailing through the air, struck by the unnatural force of the first penguin’s slap. With a surprised squawk, the penguin lowered its wing, which sparked and hummed with a strange light.

  No. With lightning.

  “Oh no,” Ember whispered.

  The second penguin stood up, shaking snow off its back. It seemed unharmed, though little bolts of electricity skittered through its feathers. Another penguin standing nearby gave a squawk and fell over, as if shocked.

  “Oh no,” Ember said again. Her thoughts flashed back to the flagstone, which had looked perfectly ordinary, identical to all the others that lined Chesterfield’s winding paths. She had taken it from her father’s office—she had just assumed he had found a broken one somewhere, and decided to use it as a paperweight! But he must have charged it with magic, perhaps intending to use it for a spell he had never gotten around to casting. And now the penguins, either by breaking the flagstone or pecking at it, had absorbed that magic.

  The first penguin rubbed its beak against her boot again. Ember couldn’t imagine any scenario in which Mac or the other Scientists would find this amusing, nor one where she would escape blame. After all, who but Lionel St. George’s daughter would do something like this?

  The penguins waddled off calmly, as if lightning bolts were their traditional way of resolving disputes. It will wear off, Ember thought with an edge of hysteria. Please let it wear off.

  In the meantime, there was nothing she could do except hope the Scientists didn’t notice that their research subjects had been electrified.

  Someone shouted in the distance. The sound was echoed by raucous laughter, and then a gunshot. Lord Norfell. Lord Norfell, who would surely be one of the first hunters to bid on the captive fire dragons. Ember felt a dark sort of anticipation—she had thought she’d missed her chance to make herself his enemy. Moving silently through the dark, she followed the sounds to where the ground leveled off at the base of a mountain.

  There at least twenty men were gathered, their breath rising through the frosty air like clouds of white smoke. Lord Norfell was mounted on a sled attached to a team of dogs. Two others had their own dogsleds aligned with his, while a small group affixed a target to a post driven into the snow. Several figures watched from a hill overlooking the field, including two Scientists Ember recognized. And there was another, smaller figure—Moss. The boy had a satchel slung over his back, as if he was just getting back from somewhere. He watched the men below with a frown.

  Ember’s first instinct was to flee—but then a small voice whispered about her vow, and she crept closer, heart thundering.

  Another boy stood a short distance from the men, his arms crossed, scanning the landscape restlessly. He blinked when his gaze met hers. He was nobody Ember had seen before, and was oddly dressed in a long green coat that resembled a cape at the bottom, and had golden stars on the epaulets. His boots were tall and shiny, and in addition to the bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he wore a sword at his belt.

  The boy strode toward her, his cape billowing. His tawny eyes were large and deep set, reminding Ember of an owl peering out of a thicket. His tangle of hair was golden brown, curling around his ears, almost the same shade as his skin. For some reason, Ember felt herself blushing.

  “Excuse me. Who gave you permission to be here?” the boy asked Ember, in a voice that managed to be both polite and rude at the same time.

  Ember frowned. “Who gave you permission?” Her tone was rather less polite than his.

  He looked surprised, then he smiled. “You’re joking. I like that. Most people don’t joke around me.”

  Ember gazed back at him blankly. In her pocket, the doorknob gave a rattle. Ember’s hand flew to it. She had discovered it by her door that morning, despite having left it in her suitcase, and this had alarmed her so much that she had resolved to carry it with her wherever she went. She couldn’t risk losing her door to Chesterfield.

  “Is that Takagi’s Compendium?” the boy said. He was staring at Ember’s other pocket—the book was sticking out of it. She was currently memorizing the entry on lantern fish.

  Ember hadn’t thought there were any other children who had read Takagi’s Compendium. “Yes.”

  “Takagi’s all right,” the boy said. “She’s not as thorough as Littlewood, though.”

  “Littlewood?” Ember snorted. “His sketches are terrible. You can’t tell a griffin from a rhinoceros.”

  The boy laughed. “That’s true enough.” He gave Ember an appraising look, which she returned. “I don’t meet many people who know much about zoology,” he said, echoing Ember’s own thought. He motioned to the men. “They’re about to start practicing for the hunt. You can watch with me.” And he extended his arm to Ember.

  Ember stared at it, confusion warring with alarm. At that moment, the doorknob gave an unmistakable lurch. The boy’s gaze sharpened on Ember’s other pocket.

  “Is that magic?” A note of excitement entered his voice. “Let me see it.”

  Ember disliked being ordered about, even when she was in a good mood. “No.”

  The word came out more bluntly than she had intended. The boy’s eyes darkened. The doorknob went still, as if it too was taken aback; then it began to rattle again. Ember’s heart thudded as she realized that the boy must be Prince Gideon—it explained why she hadn’t seen him at the station, as well as his thoughtless bossiness. Also, she suspected that the doorknob was the sort to get excited in the presence of royalty.

  “I am the crown prince of these lands,” the boy said, drawing himself up to his full height. Ember found herself wondering why she had initially perceived his face as kind. His mouth was pinched, as if habitually held in an irritated frown, and in his eyes was a gleam of cruelty. “Let me see it, I said.”

  “No,” Ember repeated. Her lurking anger snapped its jaws. “Your Highness.”

  Prince Gideon’s face was as pinched as a mole’s. “Who are you? Who are your parents?”

  Ember was feeling calmer with each passing minute. She was relieved by his unpleasantness—she had no idea how to respond to a kind prince, but a cruel one was straightforward. “I’m Ember. Myra St. George is my aunt.”

  “St. George?” The prince’s voice was scornful. “That explains it. Did you come here to spy on us?”

  Ember was baffled. What reason could she have to spy on Prince Gideon?

  Realization dawned on the prince’s face. “You don’t know, do you? About the hunt.”

  Ember gazed at him blankly.

  “I suppose that isn’t surprising,” the prince said. “It’s not open to commoners, you see. We keep it quiet. My father’s trying to convince the queen to expand it, but she keeps listening to the Scientists—they say that if we allow too many hunters to come here, ice dragons will go extinct.”

  Ember felt as if she’d plunged into the icy sea. “You’re—you’re hunting dragons.”

  “An annual hunt with a select group of men
is all my grandmother will allow,” the prince said. “For now. We set sail for the dragons’ hunting grounds the day after tomorrow. The third annual Winterglass Hunt.”

  “Winterglass?”

  The prince raised his hand. For a moment, Ember thought he was offering it to her again, but then he removed his thick glove, and a ring flashed. It was inlaid with a cluster of stones the color of starlight on water, a swirl of silver and shadow and winter sky. Ember gasped. She had never seen anything like it.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” The prince replaced his glove. “You can tell your aunt that this will be a record year. And that there’s nothing she can do about it. My grandmother has already said that the hunt can go on as scheduled. Clearly she wasn’t that impressed by your aunt’s letters. Nor was the Senate.”

  “Her letters?” Ember’s thoughts whirled. Aunt Myra had written to Queen Victoria?

  “I’m participating this year,” the prince said in a lofty voice. “My father gave me permission.”

  “You?” Prince Gideon looked no older than her—and his father would allow him to take part in a dragon hunt?

  The prince regarded her coolly. Then he fixed an arrow to his bow and turned toward the target the men had erected. It was quite a distance away, and there were several people still clustered about it. This did not seem to bother Prince Gideon one bit. He loosed the arrow, and a man jumped as it whistled past his ear. It struck the target dead center.

  He turned to Ember, smiling. She gave him a glare so venomous he took a step back. If she had burst into flames then and there, turning Prince Gideon into a royal pile of ash, she wouldn’t have been sorry. She couldn’t believe it. Even here, at the bottom of the world, dragons weren’t safe.

  “The Scientists are right,” she said, her voice shaking. “Ice dragons will go extinct if you allow hunting here.”

  “You share your aunt’s views, do you?” Prince Gideon said. “What is wrong with you people? A dragon would rip you apart at the first opportunity. They’re vicious beasts. They’ve killed Scientists, you know, Scientists just like your aunt—or don’t you care about that?” He slung the bow over his shoulder. “I hope they do go extinct—and I hope that I’m the reason for it. I want to be the person who kills the last dragon in the world.”

  He stormed away. Ember didn’t move, didn’t breathe. She just stood there, her hands balled into fists. But then her anger dropped away, and hot tears slid down her cheeks. How many ice dragons lived in Antarctica? How long would it be before they too were gone, and all that was left of dragons was a memory, a story in a book?

  One of the hunters strode past. He did a double take when he saw her. “Girl, what do you think you’re doing? This is no place for children.”

  “Sir Abraham?” one of the other men called, and the hunter waved him off. He had a deeply lined face and the most dignified mustache Ember had ever seen. It was immensely thick and droopy, as if it bore the weight of the world.

  “Are you taking part in the Winterglass Hunt?” the man said, in the same way you would ask, “Are you currently purple?”

  “The practice field is restricted to participants only,” he went on. “Move along, now. It’s not safe for children.”

  Ember felt as if something was surfacing from deep inside her. “What did you say?”

  “I said, it’s dangerous here.” Sir Abraham frowned. “Are you from the research station? Can’t those flighty Scientists keep an eye on their—”

  “No.” Ember’s heart pounded. “What did you say before that?”

  The man looked exasperated. “I asked if you were taking part in the Winterglass Hunt. Only hunters are permitted here, so I suggest you move along.”

  Ember looked at Lord Norfell, easily visible with his flame-colored hair, laughing with the other men. Prince Gideon, standing nearby, glowered at her—he was her sworn enemy now too. She thought of all the dragons that would die because of them, of all the dragons who had died—not just because of this hunt, but others like it.

  Sir Abraham gave her a strange look. “Are you all right, child? Are you sick?”

  “No,” Ember said. “Sir Abraham, is there an age limit for the Winterglass Hunt?”

  “There was.” He was still eyeing her strangely. “Until His Royal Highness decided he wanted to compete.” He tilted his head in Prince Gideon’s direction, a look of disapproval on his face. “Now Prince Cronus has decreed that anyone as young as twelve can take part.”

  “Are there any other requirements?” Ember pressed. “Does it cost money to enter?”

  “No. Prince Cronus takes a cut of all the winterglass we collect. As long as a man’s of noble blood, he can take part. Of course, only the most dedicated hunters would come to a place like this. . . .”

  “Noble blood,” Ember murmured. “Thank you, Sir Abraham.” She darted away, leaving the man staring after her.

  Once out of sight, she broke into a run and leaped into the air. Her anger hadn’t left, but it had changed into something else, like water shaping itself into ice, sharp and jagged. The remnants of the aurora hung in the violet sky, green bars that billowed like a lion’s mane.

  She couldn’t help the fire dragons, or undo what had happened to the others. But perhaps here, unexpectedly, she could do something else. Perhaps she could save another dragon’s life, or more than one. The stars shone brighter the higher she flew, as if they were mirrors reflecting her excitement back at her.

  She was going to join the Winterglass Hunt. And she was going to sabotage it.

  Seven

  Thieves and Grimlings

  Fire dragons lived alone or in pairs; however, in inhospitable environments, such as the Kalahari Desert, they were known to form small clans, banding together to defend themselves against threats and rivals. . . .

  —TAKAGI’S COMPENDIUM OF EXOTIC CREATURES

  Ember could tell something was wrong as soon as she saw the Firefly.

  Before sunrise, the research station looked like its nickname. It crouched in the shadows like a many-legged insect, lit from within, its golden glow spilling across the ice. Usually it looked peaceful—now it thrummed with activity. Scientists darted to and fro behind the glass, while others clustered by the door wearing headlamps and snowshoes, as if they were about to set off on a long trek. One of them was Mac, who let out a low whistle as Ember trudged up.

  “Well, well!” he said. “There’s the lass. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Ember never knew what adults meant by this. “Nothing?” she tried.

  “Nothing!” Mac shook his head. “Nothing, she says. After causing such a commotion, is that the best you can do?”

  Ember, who had never in her life been the cause of a commotion that didn’t involve things being set on fire, merely stared at him. Mac took her by the arm. “Och! Come on, you. Your aunt’s in a black humor about all this.”

  “All what?” Ember asked, but Mac just said, “Och!” again and shook his head despairingly.

  Ember was annoyed. Her giddy excitement was still with her, and she wanted to go somewhere to work out a proper plan. She didn’t have a moment to lose—the hunt began in two days.

  Ember followed Mac to the common room, which, to her surprise, was deserted—apart from her aunt, who stood pacing by the fire, her boots managing to thud even against the thick carpet. She was wearing her most hideous gray suit, the long skirt making a sort of huffing sound as she moved, like an old man clearing his throat.

  She spun around when Mac entered. When she saw Ember, her lower lip trembled, and then she seemed to steel herself. She placed her hands on her hips, and for some reason the gesture caused Mac to scurry from the room. “Where,” she began in an ominous voice, “have you been?”

  “Down in the field with the hunters,” Ember said. She knew Aunt Myra was going to lecture her again, and her answer came out sullen.

  “The hunters?” Aunt Myra said. “You went to watch them? Why on earth would you do that? What
were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous they are?”

  Ember’s mouth fell open. She wasn’t used to having questions hurled at her like sharp stones. Which one was she supposed to answer first?

  Her aunt stamped her boot, causing the neat pyre of logs in the fire to collapse in a shower of sparks. “I specifically stated that you were not to leave the station unsupervised, not even for a moment, and this morning Mac tells me that you’ve been sneaking out every chance you get. Now I learn that you missed school to watch the hunters?”

  “Nisha and Moss said—” Ember began.

  “Nisha and Moss are allowed to play outside,” her aunt snapped. “You are not.”

  This was so clearly unfair that Ember was momentarily struck dumb. Aunt Myra paced before the fire, appearing to wrestle with her temper. When she spoke again, her voice was carefully steady. “Apparently, from now on, we will need to monitor you. We have no nursemaids here, of course, but the scientists’ assistants can perform the duty on rotation.”

  Ember drew in her breath. She was to be watched? Like an infant that might at any moment put something dangerous in her mouth? She was twelve years old!

  “That’s not fair,” she said hotly. “I only want—”

  “What you want is nowhere near as important as your safety,” Aunt Myra interjected. “If you continue to disobey my instructions, I will have to write to your father.”

  Ember stared. Aunt Myra was going to write to her father and tell him—what? That Ember was behaving like a spoiled child? Didn’t she understand that none of this was what Ember truly wanted? Her pulse beat in her ears. She had never felt so angry in her life.

  “I don’t care if you do,” she declared. “While you’re at it, tell him that you keep me locked inside all day, and that you won’t even talk to me about your research—or anything else that matters!”