Ember and the Ice Dragons

by Heather Fawcett

  Prince Gideon looked suspicious, but at least he didn’t snap at her. He gave a grudging nod and turned back to the dog.

  “I never thanked you for rescuing me,” Ember said. “That was rude. So: thank you.”

  It wasn’t easy to say it, but her father had always impressed upon her the importance of showing gratitude. The prince might be horrible, but he also may have saved her life.

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  “I know,” Ember said, more saltily than she had intended. The prince actually smiled. She remembered that he had smiled once before when she had spoken bluntly to him. She guessed that a prince wouldn’t get much honesty from people—maybe it was a novelty for him.

  “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t actually believe you had anything to do with the cannons,” Prince Gideon said. “It was silly of me to accuse you before.”

  “That’s . . . all right,” Ember said, surprised.

  “You’re not capable of organizing something like that,” the prince said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Thanks.”

  He laughed—a little dismissively, but it wasn’t an unfriendly sound. Ember settled on the snow, not too close to him. One of the dogs approached her, and she patted it.

  The prince pushed his hood back, watching her. “I raised these dogs myself.”

  “Oh,” Ember said. Was Prince Gideon actually making conversation? “They’re very handsome.”

  “Dogs are important out here,” he said. “A good dog can save your life in a place like this. A disobedient one can doom it. I spend most of my time with them. When I’m not in my library.”

  Ember remembered that the prince had read Takagi’s Compendium and that the sailor had said he was a bookworm. She frowned. Somehow it seemed like an insult to books.

  “I often survey my lands by dogsled,” the prince continued. “I went all the way down to the pole with this one.”

  Ember stared. “You’ve been to the pole?”

  “Yes. It was colder then than it is now, too. Every few years we get a warm winter like this. Something about ocean currents.”

  Ember didn’t see how the weather could be described as warm. As a fire dragon, she could put up with the cold, but she still felt it. The hunters shivered almost constantly. How could the prince have endured that sort of journey? “You went by yourself?”

  Prince Gideon shrugged. “I have to know this place, don’t I? I’m going to rule it one day. Perhaps very soon—my father hates it here. He’s spoken of passing the territory directly to me and retiring to England for good.”

  Ember thought this over. “And you don’t? Hate it, I mean?”

  “It’s my home. I was born here.” He looked at the mountains, over which the green aurora rose and fell like musical notes. An unexpectedly peaceful look passed over his face. “It’s mine.”

  Ember thought of what Aunt Myra had said about the prince’s father, and of the lonely castle she had seen from the ship. She had felt an odd sense of kinship with the prince then—he was someone who was just as alone as her. Now she wondered if, in fact, he was more alone than she had ever been.

  “Of course, it won’t be home for long if my grandmother decides to abandon it,” the prince went on.

  “Abandon it?” It took Ember a moment to realize what he meant. “You mean the queen wants to leave Antarctica?”

  “It costs a lot to defend a place like this,” the prince said. “My grandmother’s advisers all think it was a mistake to take Antarctica from the Germans. It isn’t exactly a profitable part of the empire. But if we can get this hunt up and running, it can be. That’s why it’s so important. I’ll do anything to keep this place.”

  “Because it’s your home,” Ember murmured.

  Prince Gideon blinked, as if he’d almost forgotten she was there. He began to tell her the story of his trip to the pole. Ember listened quietly, though much of it seemed far-fetched. She doubted, for example, that he had repaired a broken ski on his sled by weaving dog hair together. Despite his arrogant tone, he kept sneaking glances at her as he spoke, as if to judge her reaction. Ember wondered how long it had been since he had spoken to someone his own age. Or to anyone who wasn’t a servant.

  The prince’s fingers were gentle as he examined the dogs’ paws for injuries. Ember didn’t think she had ever met someone like Prince Gideon. She knew there were people who had a hidden meanness inside them, lurking under layers of kindness—Professor Riggles at Chesterfield was like that. He was chipper and sunny with everyone, but she had once seen him react with a sudden, startling fury when one of the servants spilled his wine. Prince Gideon was the opposite. He seemed to have a kind streak buried under a lot of nastiness.

  Finally one of the men came to ask the prince about something, and he rose, brushing the snow from his knees.

  Ember went back to her tent. Moss had pitched it near the bluff, a little apart from the other hunters’. Nisha stood back, watching Moss work. She smiled at Ember.

  “He’s cute,” Nisha said.

  It took Ember a moment to realize who Nisha meant. “Gideon?”

  “Haven’t you noticed?” Nisha sighed. “Too bad he’s so awful.”

  Ember hadn’t particularly considered whether Prince Gideon was good-looking or not. Now that she did, though, it seemed obvious that he was, and for some reason, this annoyed her. She wanted to change the subject.

  “Is he cuter than Moss?” she said in an innocent voice. She had noticed how Nisha blushed whenever Moss stood close to her—it was difficult not to notice.

  Nisha made a sharp sound, gesturing dramatically at the tent where Moss was arranging their belongings. Her flaming cheeks were answer enough.

  “I think the prince likes you,” she said. “I was listening.”

  Ember’s jaw dropped. “I don’t—of course he doesn’t! How did you come up with that? All he did was brag.”

  “That’s what boys do when they like you,” Nisha said.

  “Well, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Nisha nodded. “Do you like him? I mean, you can still think he’s awful either way.”

  Ember, her cheeks now flaming to match Nisha’s, had had enough of this. She said quietly, “We need to change the plan. I didn’t have a chance to damage the hunters’ weapons on the ship, which means that if those dragons appear, they’re doomed.”

  Nisha thought about it. “If we could sneak into their tents while they’re sleeping—”

  “It’s too risky. If anyone sees us, the prince will know we were behind the cannons, and then there goes any hope of sabotaging the hunt.”

  She and Nisha batted ideas around, each more unlikely than the last. Moss joined them after securing the tent. He was for putting something into the hunters’ food—he had brought along herbs with a variety of unpleasant side effects—but Ember couldn’t see how they could do it without being detected.

  Nisha fiddled with the ring on her finger. It was studded with a small sapphire, which sparkled in the firelight. The sapphire made Ember think of Aunt Myra. She froze.

  “What?” Nisha said, as a slow smile spread over Ember’s face. Ember motioned Moss closer, and told them her plan in a hushed voice. It was a straightforward one:

  Theft.

  As it happened, the hunters weren’t overly careful with their belongings. Whenever one of them left something unattended—a book, a pair of spectacles, even a spoon—Ember, Moss, or Nisha would take it, and either drop it from the bluff into the sea or bury it under a rock.

  They waited until darkness had fallen again—which it did after only three or four hours of daylight, the sun barely scraping the horizon—and then set to work. Unfortunately, most of the things they were able to steal were small, but Ember hoped they might at least succeed in causing confusion.

  After pocketing Lady Valle’s bracelet (she had left it on a rock), Ember paused outside Lord Norfell’s tent. The man had wandered off somewhere with Lady Tennenbau
m, and most of the others were still clustered around the fire. She remembered the vow she had made on her first day in Antarctica, and a grin spread over her face. Feeling every inch a hardened spy, she tucked the bracelet into a corner of his tent, then kept walking, pretending to admire the view.

  Ember doubted that she would be able to sleep as she settled into her blankets that night. The sky stayed clear, though the wind had picked up, brushing over the treated leather of the tent like hands that might at any moment decide to strike. The scouts had reported that a storm was massing to the south, though it might well change direction.

  “I can’t stop thinking about the sled,” Nisha whispered. The girl was curled on her side between Ember and Moss, facing her. “Those burrs . . . who would have done that?”

  “I know.” Ember didn’t like being reminded of the accident. It made her afraid, but in a strange way. Afraid that they were missing something important, something that lurked close but just out of her range of sight, like a poisonous jellyfish. “Maybe it wasn’t meant for me. Maybe someone was trying to hurt Lord Norfell, or one of the other hunters, to cut the competition.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Nisha said.

  Ember didn’t answer. She didn’t know what she believed.

  “I think we should talk to the servants,” Nisha said. “I bet one of them saw something.”

  Ember nodded slowly. “It’s worth a try.”

  Nisha was quiet for a while. “Are you afraid?”

  “Yes,” Ember said, wishing she didn’t have to admit to it. To her surprise, Nisha smiled.

  “That’s what I like about you,” she said. “You always tell the truth.”

  She squeezed Ember’s hand. Ember tried to draw her hand back, but Nisha had already fallen asleep, still holding on to her. After a moment, she closed her eyes too, their fingers woven together.

  The next morning Ember awoke disoriented. Where was she? Was that Puff at her feet, digging her claws into her skin?

  Ember opened her eyes and remembered. She was not at Chesterfield, with Puff asleep against her legs and the sounds of the university drifting in through the window. She was in Antarctica, surrounded by miles of snow and glacier and icebound sea. It was still dark, of course, and she wondered what time it was. The hunters were awake—she could hear them talking in raised voices.

  “Psst,” she said, nudging Nisha. The other girl muttered irritably and pulled her blankets over her head.

  Ember gasped. Her feet, poking out of her blankets, had turned an unhealthy white. It took a few minutes to rub the feeling back into them.

  She shivered. She was more protected from the cold than most, but it was clear that even she would have to be careful. The Antarctic winter was vicious; so vicious, it seemed, that it could best even a fire dragon.

  Ember shook Moss awake. He alone did not seem to be shivering, and smiled when he woke, as if he had spent the night in a luxurious mansion. They pulled on their outer layers and stepped outside.

  The hunters were clustered around the fire, which threw dancing shadows over the ground. Lord Norfell stood on one side, Lady Valle on the other. The larger group of hunters, Ember noticed, stood on Lady Valle’s side. Prince Gideon was nowhere in sight.

  Lady Valle seemed to be gesturing with something that sparkled in the light. Ember smothered a smile. She knew what this was about.

  “—then where were you last night, Norfell?” Lady Valle was demanding as Ember and Moss approached. “If you’re so innocent in all this, surely you can answer that simple question.”

  Lord Norfell cast a sidelong glance at Lady Tennenbaum, who was flushing. “I, ah . . .”

  “If the man refuses to provide evidence of his whereabouts, I say we search him.” The Marquis de Montvert examined Lord Norfell with distaste. “He may be concealing more stolen items about his person.”

  “What need have I to steal from you, good sirs?” Lord Norfell burst out. He gave a short bow to Lady Valle, managing to convey slyness even in his distress. “And ladies, of course. I have enough jewels.”

  “A rogue may have other motivations than money,” growled Mr. Black, a tall Irishman who wore several curved daggers at his belt. He scratched irritably at his neck. “My notebook, after all, was also found in your tent, along with Lady Valle’s bracelet.”

  Ember glanced at Moss in surprise. He grinned and whispered, “That was Nisha.”

  “Clearly, there is treachery afoot,” Lord Norfell said. “Someone wishes to rouse suspicion—”

  “Speaking of treachery,” Mr. Black said, “did anyone happen to see Lord Norfell lurking belowdecks before the cannons were tampered with? As he seemed to find that incident so amusing.”

  Sir Abraham huffed. “This is getting out of hand. I don’t think it’s fair to leap to that, Black.”

  “Why not?” Lady Valle demanded viciously. “If he’s capable of theft and bald-faced lies, why not sabotage?”

  The hunters continued to argue, their voices increasingly loud. They were all distracted; no one was paying attention to the tents. Even the prince’s attendants were standing about, watching the commotion. Ember, seeing her opportunity, motioned for Moss to stay where he was. What she was going to do demanded absolute stealth.

  Ember ghosted through the shadows, grateful that the moon had set. She reached the largest tent, which stood apart from the others, a flag waving from the pole. Prince Gideon’s coat of arms.

  Ember listened for breathing, but there was none. She slipped inside.

  She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, which they did quickly. Prince Gideon’s tent was painfully neat, the corners of his blankets so expertly tucked they could have been measured with a ruler. Ember would have expected a prince to bring a lot of fine furs and other luxuries, even to a place like this, but he hadn’t—she could have been standing in a servant’s tent. The only extraneous items were the books scattered across a low table. Most were dog-eared, with frayed covers. She saw several books on science, but there were also novels and a penny dreadful or two.

  Ember wasn’t here to examine the prince’s library. She shoved her curiosity aside and quickly found what she was looking for.

  The bow was heavy, surely far too large to suit Prince Gideon comfortably, and newly polished. She summoned fire in her palm, trapping it beneath her skin, where it glowed like coals. She didn’t want to break the bow outright—she wanted the damage to go undetected. After giving it a moment’s thought, she ran her hand over the wood of the bow, listening to it creak and groan as it dried.

  She looked about the tent for the prince’s sword, but he must have taken it with him. She found two smaller bows, and repeated the process. Then she crept out of the tent.

  “What are you doing?”

  Ember whirled. There behind her, looking larger under the bulk of his wolf-skin cloak, was Prince Gideon, standing with one of the scouts.

  “I asked you a question,” he said, stepping closer. His face was pale with anger. “You were inside my tent. Why?”

  A direct question. Ember quaked under the fury in his gaze. The truth rose up in her throat, and she shoved it down.

  “Why do you not speak?” Gideon snatched at her hand, clearly intending to see if she was holding something. His eyes narrowed in surprise as he felt how warm it was.

  Ember yanked her hand back. “I—”

  But at that moment, one of the scouts let out a shrill, echoing cry:

  “Dragons!”

  Ember looked up. She could see nothing, hear nothing. Then there was a great whoosh, and for a moment, the stars disappeared.

  A dragon soared past, a mere ripple of glimmering scales. It looked down at them, and Ember gasped—the dragon’s eyes glowed like the fire dragons’, but the light was colder. Closer to moonlight than fire.

  More dragons joined the first. They wheeled in the sky above, calling to each other—their voices sounded like enormous birds of prey. They had clearly been on their way t
o their hunting grounds, and now, finding them occupied, they were uncertain what to do.

  Flee, Ember urged silently. Flee, now.

  Bows twanged as the hunters took aim. One of the dragons gave a piercing cry and fluttered unevenly toward the ground. Several of the dragons fled, while others lingered, crying out. Prince Gideon strode past her, gripping his bow.

  “Hold your fire!” he shouted to the hunters. “I’m to have the first shot, you idiots!”

  The hunters listened to him—surprisingly few of them had fired in the first place. Ember didn’t understand it, but as she and Gideon approached the fire, she realized something was wrong.

  Many of the hunters were not even holding their bows. Lady Valle and Mr. Black were scratching at their hands and necks, swearing. Mr. Heep was hopping up and down on one foot, trying to tear off his boot. The marquis clawed at himself, his jacket half off. Several of the seconds seemed to be affected too. Sir Abraham and Lady Tennenbaum stared at the rest as if certain someone would announce it was all a prank.

  Ember rounded on Moss, standing at the edge of the firelight. He seemed to be suppressing laughter. “Moss?”

  “I wasn’t sure it would work,” he said. “It’s freckled ivy—I know we talked about putting it in their boots, but I thought I’d try sprinkling some on their tent flaps after they went to bed. They would have touched it this morning when they got up. It takes a few minutes to have an effect.” He gestured with his chin. “I made sure to put extra on his tent.”

  Ember looked. Lord Norfell was on the ground, rolling back and forth over the rocks like a dog over a dead fish. “Ooh, ah!” he gasped as he furiously scratched at himself. “Ooh, ah!”

  “What is going on?” Prince Gideon shouted.

  “Your Highness!” one of the scouts called, dashing into the firelight. “There’s a dragon down—it can’t fly!”

  Prince Gideon rounded on the others. “Everyone who hasn’t completely lost their minds, follow me!” He took off at a gallop, giving a shrill whistle. Two of his dogs fell into step behind him, as did Sir Abraham, Lady Tennenbaum, and three of the seconds.

  Her heart in her throat, Ember raced after them, as did Moss. The other dragons had fled, the sky now empty of everything but stars and a distant line of clouds.