Ember and the Ice Dragons

by Heather Fawcett

  “Of course not, you stupid boy,” Prince Cronus said with an awful calm. “I planned for them to kill you, or at least ensure you weren’t returned to me in one piece. Your grandmother is already inclined to listen to the Scientists who argue we’ve judged dragons too harshly, and this isn’t going to help. What sort of vicious beast kidnaps a child and then releases him without a scratch?” He gave Gideon a long, appraising look. “You are determined to be an inconvenience to me. You take after your mother in that way.”

  Gideon was still as stone. Ember wondered how much of his father’s true character he had guessed at before the hunt, and if he had simply refused to believe it. As much as she despised Gideon, she felt a wrench of sympathy.

  Prince Cronus turned to Lord Norfell. “How many in the harbor recognized him?”

  “Oh, few enough,” Lord Norfell said. “As for those who did . . . their silence can be easily bought.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nisha demanded. She showed no nervousness whatsoever in Prince Cronus’s presence, tearing her elbow out of the servant’s grip. “You will release us at once. We didn’t consent to be brought here. I don’t care if you are a prince—you can’t just hold people captive against their will!”

  Prince Cronus didn’t even glance at her. “Who are the others?”

  “No one, Your Highness,” Lord Norfell said. “Scientists’ children.”

  “Then why are you bothering me with them?” the prince snapped. “Toss them overboard.”

  “No!” Ember screamed. One of the men grabbed her roughly. The other two gripped Nisha and Moss and dragged them toward the railing. The gray sea was laced with ice and snow—even brief exposure would be deadly.

  Gideon’s eyes were glassy. Briefly, as if drawn by some instinct, his gaze swung to Ember’s.

  “Do something,” she mouthed, her eyes pleading. The men had hauled Nisha and Moss over to the railing. They were having more difficulty with Moss, who, watching Nisha being lifted into the air, was now snarling and struggling like a wildcat. Gideon was the only one not being restrained. But his expression was wild with panic, almost uncomprehending.

  A horrible, inhuman snarl cut through the air. To Ember’s astonishment, it had come from Moss—the man holding him almost dropped him. Nisha, punching and kicking fiercely, was halfway over the railing. Moss slammed his elbow into the man behind him, then turned to the one holding Nisha. Then—

  He changed.

  It happened faster than a blink. Moss’s outline dissolved, and in his place crouched a small ice dragon, its eyes glowing, its scales like starlight.

  Ember’s heart stopped.

  The dragon breathed a cloud of ice at the man restraining Nisha, and he stumbled backward, gasping and shaking, with icicles in his hair. Then it was over—the cloud lifted, and Moss reappeared, collapsing onto the deck.

  Total silence.

  “Well, well,” Prince Cronus said, astonishment displacing some of the arrogance in his expression. “We have more than one beast in our midst, it seems.”

  Ember couldn’t comprehend it. She could barely even breathe. She stared at Moss, who was staring at nothing, his face white with shock. It was clear that what had just happened was as incomprehensible to him as it was to them.

  Prince Cronus turned to Lord Norfell. “I thought you were proficient in detecting spells, Norfell. Yet you told me that you had discovered only one dragon child.”

  “I don’t understand this, Your Highness.” Lord Norfell’s eyes traveled over Moss. “The boy is not under a spell. I can sense no trace of magic on him whatsoever.”

  “How do you explain it, then?”

  “I . . . I cannot, Your Highness.” Lord Norfell bowed his head. “Please allow me time to . . . examine the creature.”

  “The girl too.” Prince Cronus gestured, and his servant hauled Nisha away from the railing. “She may be hiding a secret of her own.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” Lord Norfell gazed at Nisha. His eyes held a terrible fascination. “Of course.”

  “This one, though.” Prince Cronus gestured to Ember without looking at her. “You are certain the spell concealing her true form can be broken in the way you have described?”

  “Completely, Your Highness.” And Lord Norfell unslung his bow and lifted an arrow to it. “Allow me.”

  Everything stopped. Ember saw the knife in the darkness, now an arrow, tipped in dragonbone. She was going to die.

  “Wait,” a voice said.

  Gideon strode forward. Relief blossomed in Ember’s heart. His steps were jerky, but his expression, as he turned to Ember, was cold.

  “Let me,” he said. Ember’s relief turned to ash.

  “You?” Prince Cronus’s brow furrowed.

  “This beast has been nothing but trouble since I met her,” Gideon spat. “She tried to sabotage the hunt. I hate the sight of her.”

  Amusement flitted across Prince Cronus’s face, along with a glimmer of pride. Ember didn’t think for one second that he was proud of Gideon—more likely, he was pleased that his men could see that he’d raised a son as cold-blooded as himself.

  Prince Cronus shrugged and motioned for Lord Norfell to hand over the bow and quiver. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t do the honors, Gideon. You have a successful kill under your belt—why not make it a pair?”

  Gideon faced her, the bow clutched in his hands. Ember’s mouth opened and closed. They’re going to kill you too, she wanted to say. Gideon wasn’t supposed to be alive—he would surely only remain so until Prince Cronus and Lord Norfell devised a way to make it look as if the dragons had killed him. But she was frozen in place, unable to speak. In her pocket, Montgomery gave an odd jerk, like a heartbeat.

  She met Gideon’s tawny eyes, and saw in them a hint of despair. That was the moment Ember was certain she was doomed. Even the prince’s kind streak, buried under arrogance and malice, was resigned to killing her. She gazed at him pleadingly, but a hard mask settled over his face.

  Gideon lifted the bow, and Ember’s breath froze. His hands shook, but his jaw was set as he drew back the arrow and fired—

  On Lord Norfell.

  The man screamed, sagging onto the deck, his hands gripping his leg. In a rapid, practiced motion, Gideon drew another arrow from the quiver and trained the bow on the three servants, who wore identical expressions of shock. At the same time, he shouldered Ember toward the stairs and shouted, “Run!”

  Ember ran, her legs like jellyfish, her heart a stampeding horse. Past Prince Cronus, who leaped for her—too slowly. Montgomery rattled around in her pocket, as if it too wanted to escape.

  A mad idea struck her. She had no time to ponder whether it would work—a shot rang out, and she spread her wings and soared down the stairs. The bullet ricocheted off the railing.

  “I’m sorry about Puff,” Ember said through panting breaths as she hit the floor. “But if you just do this one thing for me, Montgomery, I swear that I will have you gilded and fixed onto a door of oak and stained glass and all sorts of marvelous things—”

  She ran for the first door she saw. It was ajar, revealing a cabin that she guessed belonged to the captain, given its size. Without bothering to check if anyone was inside, Ember slammed it shut, then wrenched the doorknob off. Someone said, “Hoy there!” from the other side of the door, but Ember was already twisting Montgomery into place, her quick fingers working faster than she had thought she was capable of, though her hands were shaking and slick with sweat.

  The man yanked on the doorknob from the other side, but Ember sent a flame licking through the crack between door and floor, and he sprang back with a yelp. Heavy boots thundered down the stairs after her, and men were yelling. Another shot rang out, which went wide. Would it work? Would the room be empty now? She had no idea. She could only hope.

  She turned the doorknob.

  Instantly, the sailor’s pounding was replaced by a heavy sort of silence. A watchful, waiting silence—

>   “Step away from the door,” Prince Cronus said.

  Slowly Ember turned, her hand still gripping the doorknob. Prince Cronus stood at the bottom of the stairs, pointing an arrow at her chest. A servant stood behind him, also with his gun aimed.

  “Thought you’d make a break for it, did you?” he sneered. “Leaving your friends captive, while saving your own skin? I can’t say I’m surprised. There is no honor among beasts.”

  Ember said nothing. She felt as if the door was breathing at her back, in and out.

  Prince Cronus flicked the bow, a bored gesture. “Come here.”

  Ember stepped forward, holding tight to Montgomery, allowing the door to swing open.

  Cronus’s smile faltered. “What . . .”

  Heat spilled into the ship, heat that rolled over Ember like a gentle wave. Prince Cronus raised his arm over his face, cursing. Then came a powerful whoosh, and the sound of chains snapping and wood exploding into flame—

  A fire dragon thrust its head into the ship and let out a heartrending scream.

  Ember barely had time to leap out of the way as the dragon crashed through the door, sending scraps of wood flying. Prince Cronus yelled, firing his arrow wildly, but before he could draw again, the dragon opened its mouth and blasted the entire hall with flame.

  Prince Cronus and the servant leaped behind the staircase just in time, but everything around them was burning. The dragon sniffed the air, its nostrils catching the cold breeze. It screamed again, then stampeded up the stairs, splitting half the steps in the process. Another dragon followed closely behind, and then a third. The staircase collapsed, and the fourth dragon had to fly itself out, shattering the edge of the deck in the process.

  The last dragon was smaller than the others. Ugly welts covered its back, and there was an iron ring around one of its feet, from which dangled a bit of chain. It glanced over its shoulder and spied Ember crouched on the floor. It gave a start, trilling low in its throat, and Ember felt a thrill as she realized that it recognized her—it remembered her! More shots and screams rang out on deck, and the young dragon leaped into the air, past the broken staircase and out into the night.

  Ember wrenched Montgomery off the door. Then she spread her wings and followed the dragons. Fire roared and smoke hung thick in the air.

  The deck of the ship was a wasteland. Scorch marks were everywhere, the railing was broken in multiple places, and the flags were burning. Ember leaped aside as one fluttered toward her like a falling star.

  “Ember!” Nisha cried. Ember gasped with relief. There, crouched by the mast, were Nisha, Moss, and Gideon. She rushed toward them.

  “What happened?” Nisha cried, grabbing her arms. “We thought you were done for, and then we heard the dragons, and then they burst out onto the deck, and then they screamed at us, and then Moss turned into a dragon again and screamed right back at them, and then they grabbed the prince’s servants and tossed them into the sea, and then they flew away, and I just can’t—”

  “We have to go,” Ember said. “Now.” As if to underscore the word, the ship gave an agonized groan and listed to its side.

  To her surprise, Gideon seemed to have the coolest head. “You lower one of the rowboats, then fly down to join us.”

  Ember nodded, and they ran for the boat. The three of them leaped inside, and Ember began to lower it. The ship gave another groan, but Ember ignored it. A few more feet. A few more—

  A reassuring splash from below. Ember released the ropes and sprang onto the rail.

  A hand closed around her ankle. Slowly Ember turned and met the eyes of Lord Norfell.

  He lay in a half sprawl, staring up at her. He must have crawled across the deck—a dark trail followed him. His skin was the color of flour.

  “Help me,” he wheezed.

  Ember froze. The ship creaked, listing deeper. A breeze sighed over the deck, and flames erupted through the broken stairwell, licking at the wood planks.

  “Ember?” called Nisha’s voice from the darkness below. Oars slapped against the water.

  “Please,” Lord Norfell said. He squinted, as if he was having difficulty focusing.

  Ember’s hand went to her mother’s heartscale. It would have been so easy to shake free of Lord Norfell’s grip, to leap into the sky and leave him to his fate. She thought of how alone she had felt as that dagger swung toward her.

  Only she hadn’t truly been alone. She had her father, and Nisha and Moss. Lord Norfell had no one. How could he, being what he was?

  The deck groaned. At any moment, the ship would tip onto its side and sink. Lord Norfell slid back onto the deck. There was no mischief in his eyes now, no sly amusement. Only pain and an animal sort of fear.

  Afterward, Ember would be unable to explain why she did it. She could only say that she had seen something stir in Lord Norfell’s gaze, something that had stopped her from turning away. She grasped at his collar and dragged him over the railing, which was not an easy task. Tucking her arms under his, she launched herself into the darkness, sinking rapidly even as she flapped her wings as hard as she could.

  Fortunately, the rowboat hadn’t gone far. Ember and Lord Norfell landed in the prow with a thud.

  “Ember, what . . .” Nisha’s voice trailed off as she beheld Lord Norfell’s unconscious form. “What did you bring him for?”

  Ember only shook her head wearily. She sagged onto a seat beside Gideon, who, unsurprisingly, was minding the tiller, leaving the hard rowing to Nisha and Moss.

  “Are you all right?” the prince asked a little warily.

  Ember wasn’t sure how to answer. She was having difficulty comprehending what had just happened. “Possibly. You?”

  “Possibly.” Gideon looked away. His eyes were red, and his green coat was slightly charred. He pointed up into the sky. “Look.”

  Ember started. The clouds were lit by bursts of red and orange. At first she thought it was the aurora, but no—it was the fire dragons, wheeling through the air as they tasted sky and freedom at last. After a few moments, one of them gave a cry, and they flew north, farther and farther, until the light they breathed shrank to the size of stars.

  Twenty-Three

  All the Colors in the Rainbow

  Contrary to popular belief, fire dragons were not lizards, nor were they cold-blooded. Despite their reptilian appearance, their speed, stealth, and biology made them more likely members of the Aves (bird) family.

  —TAKAGI’S COMPENDIUM OF EXOTIC CREATURES

  Ember stirred. She was warm and cozy, and had no desire to open her eyes. Outside her window, all was quiet—it must be a holiday at Chesterfield. She rolled over, intending to go back to sleep until her father called her.

  A fluffy paw batted at her face. “Eat!”

  Ember groaned. As if encouraged, Puff settled onto her chest and snuffled against Ember’s chin with her cold, wet nose. “Now!”

  “You cheeky devil,” came a familiar voice. “Can’t you let her sleep, after all she’s been through?”

  Ember’s eyes flew open, and she beheld her room at the Firefly.

  “Good morning!” Aunt Myra said. She sat in a chair beside Ember’s bed, her heeled boots propped on the edge, reading a book. “Sorry about that—you wouldn’t know it, but this little monster has had two breakfasts already. I thought it might keep her quiet, but now I suspect she sees me as an easy mark.”

  Puff jumped onto Myra’s lap. “Now!”

  “You’d think Lionel would have warned me that you had a talking cat,” Aunt Myra said with a sigh. “Gave me a start when I carried you in here. Let me tell you, the last thing you want to encounter at night is a creature under the bed wailing death threats at you.”

  “Sorry,” Ember said, grimacing. She couldn’t remember Aunt Myra carrying her back to her room. The last memories she had were of helping Moss and Nisha row to shore, though her vision swam and her body ached with weariness, then of the boat crunching against the rocky beach. The harbor had been in ch
aos, the sky still lit by the flames of Prince Cronus’s sinking ship. She had spotted her aunt in the distance on the beach, and then she seemed to remember falling, and green arms reaching out to grab her. She felt a surge of panic.

  “Are the others—”

  “They’re fine,” Aunt Myra said, settling back in her chair. Puff seated herself antagonistically on Myra’s open book and began to wash her paw. “Nisha and Moss are still asleep. I offered Prince Gideon a room here, but he just stormed off to the castle with his steward.”

  Ember shook her head. “What happened to Prince Cronus?”

  Aunt Myra looked grim. “His ship foundered. There were no survivors—apart from Lord Norfell. He’s being treated by one of the sailors’ doctors down at Port Gloaming. You’ll be happy to know most sailors’ doctors view painkillers as an unnecessary indulgence.”

  Ember bit her lip. “Would you have saved him?”

  “No,” Myra said calmly. “After what he did to my niece? Nisha told me what happened. I would have left him to rot at the bottom of the sea. But I don’t question your decision, Ember. It was yours to make.”

  Ember couldn’t meet her aunt’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Myra looked surprised. “For what?”

  “For what? For joining the hunt! For sneaking away, for not telling you—”

  “Oh, Ember.” Aunt Myra let out a long breath. “I’m the one who should apologize. We didn’t have the easiest of introductions, did we? I’m disappointed that you would risk your life like that—but I feel I’m to blame. I gave you very little reason to trust me.”

  “I’m still sorry.”

  “Well,” her aunt said gruffly. She didn’t seem to know what to say after this, so Ember asked, “What about the hunt?”

  “Gideon’s called it off. He sent a search party this morning to track down the hunters—they’re still out there, you know, looking for him. As for what will happen in the future, that’s anyone’s guess. Gideon is the Prince of Antarctica now, and that decision rests with him.”

  Ember’s stomach churned as she remembered the dead dragons. By now, it would be too late to find their heartscales and return them to the dragon king. “Did Nisha also tell you about the heartscales?”