Ember examined him. His expression was as disagreeable as always. But his eyes were red-rimmed, as if from crying. “The dragons didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“They didn’t do anything to me,” he said. “They—they fed me. It was stewed seal, and it was repulsive, but it was food. They took me for walks around their . . . city. No one hurt me. No one made me do anything. They kept using the word ‘gesta,’ which I assume means guest, in their primitive language.”
Ember bit her lip to keep from snapping at him. Her gaze drifted to his neck. “They took the heartscale, though.”
“Yes.” He stared into the fire, his voice low with anger.
“Surely you don’t blame them?” Ember said. “You killed one of them. They’re not just going to let you parade about with a trophy around your neck.”
Gideon was silent. Ember waited, watching his face, which swirled with emotion that she couldn’t read.
“My father told me to wear it,” he said. His voice was so quiet even Ember had to strain to hear. “He told me that if I killed a dragon, I should wear the heartscale at all times. He didn’t tell me why—I just assumed he was worried that one of the hunters would steal it. He made me promise I’d do it, so I did.”
“I don’t . . .” Ember stopped. What he was saying sank in, and Ember’s jaw dropped in horror.
“You think—you think your father wanted the dragons to harm you?” she asked.
“I think the heartscale made me a target,” the prince said. His hand clenched into a fist, then relaxed. “And I think he knew that.”
Ember couldn’t comprehend it. It was impossible that any father would do such a thing—wasn’t it? “But why?”
“He’s been angry with my grandmother.” The prince’s voice was distant and flat, lacking the usual arrogance. “He’s tried to convince her to let him turn the entire continent into a hunting ground, so that he could bring in as many hunters as he likes and get a cut of all the winterglass they collect. But she keeps saying no, we have to listen to the Scientists, and the Scientists want to stop hunting altogether. He goes on and on about it. About all the money he’s losing every day because his mother is too softhearted to see reason.” Gideon slid to the floor. He folded his legs and stared into the fire. “I’ve suspected this since they took me. I just . . . kept trying to convince myself I was wrong.”
“It makes sense,” Nisha said. She wore the same abstracted look she did when mulling over a complex trigonometry equation. “Your father thought that if you were killed, or badly hurt, Queen Victoria would be so angry that she’d listen to him. It’s a logical plan. Horrible,” she added quickly, as Ember stared at her. “But logical.”
“Yes,” the prince murmured. “If I had been killed by a dragon, Queen Victoria would have let my father destroy them all. She loves me. Sometimes it seems like she cares more about me than she does about my father. We’ve always gotten along.”
Ember thought that Queen Victoria must be rather unpleasant, if this was true, but she kept it to herself.
“He can’t have known the dragons would kidnap you, though,” Moss said.
“No.” Gideon gazed at the fire without seeming to see it. “I don’t know why they did that. When they snatched me away from the camp, I was certain they were just taking me to a private spot to eat me. But . . .”
Despite her aching stomach, Ember felt a stab of sympathy as she imagined the terror Gideon must have felt. Nisha, though, didn’t look inclined to feel sorry for him.
“But you haven’t been eaten,” she said bluntly. “And, well, if your father did that, he’s clearly more horrible than you—which is saying something. But I still don’t see why you won’t let us rescue you.”
The prince didn’t reply. He just kept staring into the fire.
Nisha turned to Ember. “What do you think?” she said. “I say we take him with us whether he wants to go or not. I liked your idea about his forehead.”
Ember let out her breath. “Why won’t you come with us?”
“He doesn’t have any reason to,” Moss said quietly.
Gideon looked at him. Ember wondered if it was the first time he had ever acknowledged Moss’s existence.
“You don’t have a home to go back to,” Moss said. “I know how that feels.”
“You know nothing about me,” Gideon said, his voice low. “None of you do.”
Ember and Moss exchanged helpless looks. Ember was just thinking about how much less enjoyable it would be to threaten this quiet, morose version of the prince when there came the sound of huge talons clicking against ice.
Niwa freonda! purred a voice from the corridor. New friends! You are welcome indeed.
Nisha let out a shriek, and Moss stumbled backward. An ice dragon poured into the room, its every step as smooth as the pulse of water in a stream. Ember didn’t even need to guess—she knew this was the dragon king, just by looking at him. It wasn’t only that his scales gleamed like lamplit silver, or that his horns curled from his head like enormous sabers, or that he was the fattest dragon Ember had ever seen. It was that he commanded attention in a way no other dragon had—even his shadow seemed larger, darker, than those of the other dragons. Ember stood her ground, her heart thundering.
So you are the lovely children who solved my riddles. King Zaffre let out an enormous sigh. Thank you. You have no idea how they have tormented me all these years. Like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Have you ever spent months wrestling with a particularly troublesome riddle?
Ember’s traitorous knees were acting up again. “I . . . I can’t say that I have.”
Ah, but I forget, the king said. Humans don’t trade in riddles, do they?
“No,” Ember said. “We use money. Gold. Coins.”
Of course, of course. Useless things. Such a strange system.
“You don’t seem to enjoy your riddles much,” Ember pointed out.
The king stared at her. They are challenging, it’s true, he said. But the feeling when you solve one—ah! There is nothing that rivals it.
Ember swallowed. “I . . . I’m glad we could help.”
Yes, the dragon king purred. I hope Rose Gold wasn’t too unpleasant. He can be terribly thoughtless in receiving visitors—he is so preoccupied with his accounts. And it has been a long time since our kind has had dealings with humans—I’m afraid that we don’t quite know what to do with you.
“Er, that’s all right,” she said. She found this last statement a bit ominous but chose not to dwell on it.
What can I do for you, children? he said.
“Well, actually, we’re here because of him,” Ember said, motioning to Gideon. He hadn’t stirred from the floor when the dragon entered, or even started—as if he was used to the dragon king’s presence. “Unfortunately.”
Ah, yes. The dragon king examined the prince. This one is very unpleasant.
“We know,” Ember said. She braced herself. “We—we came to retrieve him. To take him home.”
Oh, the king said. All right. Would you like some supper before you go?
Ember blinked. And blinked again.
“What?” she said finally.
Supper. I’m afraid all we have is seal blubber—unless, of course, your taste runs to lichen, though your friend here didn’t seem to care for it. But, if I may tempt you, this has been an exceptionally good year for coastal rock lichens—”
“No, I mean, you’d let us take him?” Ember said. “Just like that?”
Of course. He is not a prisoner.
“Er . . . you did kidnap him, though,” Ember said.
The king inclined his head. A fair point. But we had no intention of holding him for long. We kidnapped him to help him.
“How?” Ember couldn’t get past her disbelief. “And why? He killed a dragon in cold blood.”
We do not punish children for their crimes, the king said. We hoped to teach him how he had erred by showing him that we are not his enemies, and by treating him kindly.
This is how we deal with our own children when they take the wrong path.
Ember sneaked a glance at the prince, who had gone back to gazing sullenly into the fire. “I’m not sure it worked.”
Perhaps not, the dragon said. But we had another motive: the heartscale he wore. It was imperative for us to retrieve it before more evil was unleashed.
“What is he saying?” Nisha said. She had come to Ember’s side, nearly hopping up and down with impatience. Ember translated for the others, leaving out her comments about the prince. “What do you mean by ‘evil’?” she asked the dragon.
The Hungry Ones, of course. He paused. Do your people not know of this?
Ember shook her head. Then she started. “Wait. I remember my aunt saying that the grimlings—the Hungry Ones—tend to appear in places where dragons had been killed.”
Sometimes. King Zaffre’s glowing eyes swirled. The Hungry Ones are a result of a terrible crime—but that crime is not killing a dragon. It is removing the heartscale from the dragon’s kin. You see, the heartscale holds a dragon’s spirit—a spirit that can remain there for many years before passing on to the Farthest Skies. If the heartscale stays with the dragon’s kin, the spirit sleeps quietly. But if it does not, if it is removed by a stranger, that spirit becomes angry. It latches on to the place where it was killed and becomes a wicked ghost, forgetting everything but its fury. It is a terrible fate from which there is no returning. This is why the theft of a heartscale is seen as the most grievous of all crimes.
Ember’s head spun. She was filled with a sickening horror at the thought of what the prince had done. “Then that poor dragon . . .”
Fortunately, we arrived before any damage was done, King Zaffre said. The dragon who kidnapped your prince was his victim’s kin. The dragon’s spirit had not yet become corrupted. But it was close. Another hour, and we might have lost her.
Ember’s hand went to the heartscale around her neck. “Is all this true for fire dragons, too?”
I do not know, the king said. Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps something else is unleashed from the theft of a fire dragon’s heartscale. He peered at the one Ember wore. Where did you get that?
“It was my mother’s,” she said, her mouth dry. “My father—my human father—found it shortly after she was killed. He kept it for me until I was old enough to have it.”
By the natural laws that govern our kind, then, your mother’s spirit was safe, the king said. She will have known her heartscale was intended for you. Spirits are wise. Had your father kept it for his own selfish reasons, it would have been different. Or perhaps not—perhaps, as I said, there is a different law governing the spirits of your kind.
Ember let out a shaky breath. She translated what the king had said for Nisha and Moss, who both looked very grave.
“I’m sure she’s all right,” Nisha said softly. “After all, she guided us here, didn’t she? She helped us.”
Ember swallowed. Turning back to the king, she said, “I’m sorry for what the prince did.”
As am I, the dragon said. It is a terrible crime to allow children to commit evil deeds. Were he a dragon, his kin would be harshly punished.
Ember looked at Gideon and decided not to translate this. “Then—then we have your permission to take him home?”
Of course, King Zaffre said. Though my heart pains me to think that he may commit such a crime again. I hope that he has learned.
Ember nodded, though she had her doubts on that front. Was it possible for someone like the prince to learn from his mistakes? She wasn’t certain he was even capable of admitting he had made any—when Ember had translated what the dragon king had said about heartscales, he had shown little reaction, apart from a tightening of his jaw.
“We didn’t actually come for the prince,” Ember said. “I mean, we didn’t only come for him. We came to help you—his people will be angry that he was kidnapped. They may bring more hunters here in revenge.”
I see, the dragon king said. We are ready to defend ourselves.
Ember thought of the weaponry Prince Cronus had at his disposal—not only men and bows, but ships and cannons that could find the dragons wherever they fed and render the entire coast unsafe. She thought of how easily the hunters had shot down the dragon that the prince had killed. And she thought of the captive fire dragons, wounded and chained and broken, mere trophies to be awarded to the highest bidder. She couldn’t let the ice dragons share their fate.
“You don’t understand,” Ember said. “Prince Cronus is powerful. You’re all in danger from him—you must be more careful about avoiding humans. And perhaps if you used magic—”
The dragon king let out a hiss. We have nothing to do with magic.
Ember frowned. “What do you mean? Aquamarine said that you could do magic, but you chose not to. If the lives of your people were at stake, I don’t understand why—”
Choice is a powerful thing, fire child, the king said. We choose not to do a great many things that go against nature. Magic is one of them. Magic twists the world, forces it into shapes it was not meant to hold. Only evil can come of such a violation of the natural order.
Ember couldn’t hide her shock. “But . . . but that’s ridiculous. It’s true that magic can be used for evil, but it can also be used for good. My father is a Stormancer, and he would never—”
We have no dealings with Stormancers. The king’s voice, once so warm and pleasant, now held a chill. We do not speak of them. It is against our code.
Ember was frustrated. “But—”
A tremendous boom erupted in the distance, followed by three shorter, sharper booms. Ember’s hands flew to her ears. The sound was so loud it shook the room and sent an icicle crashing to the floor. Nisha fell against the prince, who reached out to steady her.
“What is that?” Ember yelled, for the booms, after a short pause, were continuing. They formed a pattern, something that reminded her of Morse code, but it had a more musical quality. Another icicle shattered against the floor, so close that it showered her in ice shards.
The dragon king cocked his head as the booms continued. After a moment, he closed his glowing eyes.
The terrible sound finally stopped, though its echoes lingered, chasing each other through the glacier. Ember warily lowered her hands.
The dragon king opened his eyes. There was a heaviness to him that had not been there before, as if he carried a weight on his back. One of our scouts has returned. She brings dark news. Ships filled with hunters who came to our shores, and a terrible slaughter. So many innocents . . .
“No,” Ember breathed. “Where? How many dragons were killed?”
But King Zaffre was already turning. I must go, children. You may stay here, if you like, until I return. Or you may ask Aquamarine to return you to your Scientists. I am sorry to cut our meeting short.
“Wait!” Ember cried. Unthinkingly, she seized hold of the dragon king’s enormous tail as he slipped out the door. The king froze and slowly turned to look at her over his shoulder.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” Ember said. She released the tail, wondering if she’d just violated another part of the dragons’ code. “But you have to take us with you. This is all because Prince Gideon was taken—it must be. If we can show them that he’s all right, maybe they’ll call off this attack.”
Even as she said it, she felt a stab of doubt. If Gideon was right, and Prince Cronus had expected that his son would be injured or worse by the ice dragons, would seeing him alive convince him to call off whatever attack he had organized? Yet she had to try.
She gripped her mother’s heartscale. The dragon king’s gaze slid from her to the heartscale, and he seemed to ponder.
Very well, he said. But I must warn you: I fly fast.
Twenty-One
The Killing Grounds
Fire dragons had no common language, and possessed a limited array of calls compared to most animal species. This inability to communicate effectively with their own kind i
s likely indicative of a primitive level of intelligence. . . .
—TAKAGI’S COMPENDIUM OF EXOTIC CREATURES
“Stop, stop!” Ember cried. “I see someone down there!”
The dragon king didn’t seem to hear her. They had soared over the continent like a storm, glaciers and mountains and snowfields whipping past in an impossible kaleidoscope. As they moved north, the sky brightened and the stars dimmed, until finally the sun peeked over the horizon, and Ember almost gasped with relief. True to his word, King Zaffre was much faster than Aquamarine, who had traveled at a snail’s pace in comparison.
But he was also unpleasantly erratic—he often rode the air currents, which eddied and dropped without warning, and Ember’s stomach soon felt as if it had been twisted inside out, then put through a wringer for good measure. Gideon had been sick at least twice. He rode across from her, dangling from the dragon’s left front foot, his hood drawn miserably over his face. They had almost reached the coast now—Ember could make out a shimmer of blue in the distance. She wondered where exactly they were—the terrain was unfamiliar.
Ember poked at the dragon king’s claws, which held tight to the back of her jacket. Finally, he looked down. As he did, the air current they were riding subsided, sending them tumbling through the sky. Ember screamed, and the figure she had spotted looked up, her bright blue hood falling back.
Ember gasped. “That’s my aunt! Please, take us down!”
King Zaffre tilted his spiky ear toward her, and she repeated her request. After rumbling something in his throat that Ember couldn’t hear, he folded his wings and dived.
It was the most terrifying thing Ember had ever experienced in her life. After free-falling for what felt like an eternity, the dragon king spread his wings to circle sharply out of the dive. The snow beneath them exploded, sending a white cloud into the air. The dragon king wheeled around the small figure of Aunt Myra, who seemed to be yelling something, gradually slowing until he was able to deposit the four of them on the ground. Ember slid and stumbled and rolled, finally coming to rest on her back, her wings tangled around her.
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