Of Embers

by Amily Cabelaris

  “That’s enough,” Asher shouts, stepping between them. “Our holds are destroyed because Esterden sided with the bandits. Without the dragons, Lockmire could have survived that battle. None of it was Evelyn’s fault.”

  “Bah.” Hargis sweeps a hand down and turns away. “You just like to tell yourself that because you’ve always been in love with her.”

  Asher and Evelyn exchange an uncomfortable glance.

  Finally, Evelyn says, “You’re letting Tarreth be destroyed then? And doing nothing to help?”

  Hargis takes a seat at the table in front of his map. “There are far nobler ways to die than at your command. Either of you.”

  Asher spins on his heel and leaves without responding.

  “Asher,” Evelyn says, charging up the stairs after him. “Asher, wait.”

  He doesn’t stop. He charges through the door past two uncertain guards. “Self-righteous pig,” he hisses. He whirls around once they’re outside. “Don’t listen to a word of that.”

  “Is that true? Is all of this because of me?” Evelyn thinks of all the pain and death she’s seen in the past months. “Is all of this my fault?”

  “I don’t know why everyone needs someone to blame,” Asher says quietly. “No. Of course not. Hargis is an angry man, still resentful. And he isn’t heaping fault on you. He’s heaping it on me.”

  “If you had turned me back around to the castle that first day—” Evelyn drops her head, “—none of this would have happened.”

  “Who knows?” He takes her shoulders. “Evelyn, listen to me. None of this is because of you. Esterden joined with the bandits and destroyed us. That was a motion that none of us expected. We had the willpower and the morale. But things got disarrayed, and that was the perfect time for them to strike. It was bad luck.”

  Evelyn jerks from his grasp. “Nothing happens by accident.”

  “Fine. Do you want to cry about the chance that this might be your fault, or do you want to fix it?”

  Evelyn furrows her brows and looks up at him. “I want to fix it.”

  “All right then. Now, we have limited men and time. If Ralik won’t help us, gathering more dragons is our only chance. On to Prynveil.”

  “Excuse me,” says one guard nearby. “We are willing to follow you, sir.”

  Asher glances from him to the group of men behind him. Not all guards. Some farmers, mine workers, fathers. A woman approaches that Evelyn recognizes.

  “Millicent,” she says. “I didn’t even know you were from Ralik.”

  “I moved here a little while ago. And I want to join up.”

  “You want to fight? Are you certain?”

  Millicent smiles. “I can’t fight much, but I’ll try to heal our men as best I can.”

  Evelyn lays a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be an asset to us.”

  “Well then,” Asher says, “those who want to join, follow me out to the dragon.”

  Evelyn is shocked at the number who follow, equal to if not larger than Vestar’s contribution. The dragon is full when they lift off the ground. They fly over Lockmire toward the meadow. Caius drops there to call up more dragons to follow behind, close enough to hear his commands.

  Their final stop is Prynveil. There’s already a crowd outside its blackened walls, watching the dragons circle the skies above. Asher and Evelyn climb off their dragon for the last time.

  “I am General Asher Xerxes of Lockmire,” Asher calls to the crowd. “We come to rally troops to fight for Tarreth. Who will join us?”

  Evelyn gazes at the silent crowd. Dirty faces, hopeless eyes. Children gripping hands of the elderly—their parents likely dead—or standing alone. Bare feet on the cold stone. Shivering, their homes destroyed. This once bustling, beautiful city now turned to a bandit-ruled hole of torture.

  “Where are your bandit leaders?” Evelyn calls out.

  They look at one another. One man says, “Gone. Left yesterday. We’ve been trying to get back on our feet.”

  Evelyn frowns. “There is no chance of that if Tarreth is overrun by the bandits as well. We need every able person to assist. Everyone who can hold a sword, a bow, who can perform magic, heal, even just encourage. All are useful.”

  Her words echo across the crowd and dissolve in the air. Still, people eye each other. Some step forward, but not many. Evelyn sighs. She spots a burnt toy clutched in a little girl’s hand, and frowns at it.

  “Can I see that?” she asks the girl.

  The girl hesitantly lifts the charred hunk of cloth to her. Evelyn turns it over in her hands. It once resembled a rabbit, but one ear and both arms have burnt off. Feathers poke out of the fabric, but much of the stuffing is gone. Evelyn kneels in front of the girl again.

  “Who made this for you?” she asks.

  The girl stares at her with enormous dark eyes glazed with tears. “Papa.”

  Evelyn glances up at the old woman who holds her hand. “Where is your papa?”

  The grip on the girl’s hand tightens. The old woman stares down with pain in her eyes. “He died in Lockmire,” she answers for the girl.

  Evelyn looks back at the rabbit. Presses the grey fabric with her thumb. She rises, lifting it into the air for all to see.

  “The bandits have taken enough, and it’s time to put an end to their destruction,” she calls out. “I would give my life twice over for Lockmire’s restoration and peace within the holds. Wouldn’t you? What greater cause is there than to lay down your life for your friends?”

  They exchange glances in silence. Someone in the crowd asks, “Aren’t you the girl they raised from the dead?”

  Evelyn blinks uncertainly, lowering the toy rabbit.

  Asher steps forward. “She is.”

  Whispers ripple through the group. Evelyn hands the toy back to the girl. The awed stares and comments make her feel strange.

  “I don’t know why Herus decided I must live,” Evelyn says, “but I suppose I was not through with this life. I had more to do. I was given the chance to fix my mistakes. To see those I loved again.” She glances back at Caius, leaning against his dragon. “To make my life worth my death.”

  “I’ll go,” someone says.

  All at once, groups break from the crowd to gather at the dragons. They pour out of Prynveil like water from a jug. Every disgraced and destroyed human being. Everyone damaged by bandit greed and recklessness. Old fishermen. Hardy wives. Dock workers. Common labourers. Fighters. At that moment, Evelyn realizes there is no stronger fighter than the one with a strong reason to fight.

  They climb aboard the dragons, dozens, hundreds. They just keep arriving. Caius instructs them to hold on tightly, lean in to the animal, and not look down. They lift into the air, much gentler than any dragon ride Evelyn has experienced, probably because of the soft commands Caius gives the beasts. Screams of terror mingle with joy as they ascend into the clouds. An army of angry, terrified soldiers, ready to defend. Evelyn shouts along with the rest, heart racing with pride at their courage, especially in the face of probable death.

  But that’s never stopped her before.

  Chapter 35

  Inferno

  Ilvara tries not to breathe. She crouches next to a boulder, bloody dagger in hand. Andrew is next to her. The slice on his arm is still bleeding. She peers around the boulder at the two remaining bandits, armed with clubs, searching for them.

  Stupid traitors. Nearly all their guards were disguised bandits. They sprang to attack as soon as Tarreth was in sight. As soon as the dragons flew overhead and Ilvara knew they were being trapped.

  Andrew taps her shoulder. Indicates to the nearby tree and tosses a stick. The bandits leap for it at once, backs turned to them. Andrew stabs one through while Ilvara takes the other. The bandit rips out of her grasp and hits her hard across the shoulder, throwing her off him. Pain explodes across her shoulder and chest. The club swings around and strikes the side of Andrew’s head. He falls. Ilvara screams.

  In a moment, her dagger
is buried in the bandit’s neck. He scratches her hands and arms with his fingernails until he crumples to the ground. Ilvara rips out the dagger. With a steadying breath, she rushes to Andrew’s side.

  His eyes are shut, his temple bleeding. She traces her fingers down from the wound to his throat, praying to feel a pulse. But her hands are shaking. Perhaps that’s why she can’t feel one.

  “Gods, Andrew, you can’t die like this,” Ilvara hisses. She sniffs back a sob. “Wake up. Please wake up.”

  She jostles his shoulders. Pats his cheek. Clenches her fist when his eyes don’t open. She screams in his face, infuriated. Overwhelmed. Balling up his shirt in her hand, she sobs against his chest.

  “This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.”

  “Ilvara…”

  She stiffens and looks at his face. His eyes are opening.

  “Andrew,” she cries. She collapses on him, strangling him in an embrace. “Tristus’ sword, don’t do that to me.”

  “Agh, my head…”

  “Yes, that bandit hit you hard. Can you stand?”

  “I don’t know. Where are my feet?”

  Ilvara laughs through another sob and pulls him up so he can sit. “Right on the bottom of your legs where you left them.”

  He blinks rapidly and rubs a spot on the side of his head. “That’s going to leave quite the bump.” He grasps her arm. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. He may have bruised my shoulder, but I think I’ll live.”

  He glances down. “And the baby?”

  “Probably a little dizzy from all the excitement. But it will be fine, I think.”

  Andrew lets out his breath. “Good.”

  Ilvara turns her eyes to the sky. “They’re just hovering above the city. Why aren’t they attacking right away?”

  “They like to appear threatening, I suppose,” says Andrew with a bitter edge to his voice. “They must have discovered our plan.”

  Ilvara bites her lip. “Perhaps they wanted to cross us since the beginning.”

  “If they did, they hid their intentions well.”

  “We should have known when Sylvia and Goldie never returned.”

  “I trusted them. They’ve served me well for years.”

  Ilvara stares up at the dragons, circling each other like fish in a pond. “So, what do we do now?”

  “I don’t know. Going into Tarreth now would be going to our deaths, but trying to get back to Esterden would be difficult, too. What if they have men looking for us?”

  Ilvara looks to the tops of the trees, where the orange of the sunset glows through the leftover clouds from the rain earlier. Evelyn and Caius hid in the forest for weeks before they came back to Lockmire. At this point, staying hidden is their only chance.

  “I suppose we become forest nymphs,” Ilvara says.

  A smile flickers across Andrew’s face. “Are you certain?”

  “It’s the only chance we have.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says with a chuckle. “I’ve only ever lived in a palace.”

  Ilvara grins. “Then this will be very interesting.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Priscilla clenches her hands next to her bed. She wants to pray, but no words come. Her thoughts are a jumble in her head. It doesn’t help that Kreston still hasn’t left. Even now, she can hear him downstairs, chatting with Doran and Gabriel. But she can’t face him alone. She can’t risk something happening. She would lose Asher forever.

  Asher. She hasn’t seen him since Solisdie. But she’s received a letter from his mother asking to meet today. Hopefully, she knows something that Priscilla doesn’t.

  A gentle knock interrupts her. She quickly swipes under her eyes and rises. “Come in.”

  Kreston appears. “There’s someone here for you, Priscilla.”

  “All right. I’ll come down.”

  A woman peeks out from behind him. “Lady Naveen?”

  “Lady Xerxes. Do you want to speak downstairs?”

  “No.” She shuts the door on Kreston’s eager face. “I’m not concerned with propriety today. And please, call me Mabel.” She drops her voice. “Also, I think that man just wants to overhear.”

  “He does.” Priscilla gestures to the chair at the end of the bed. “Please.”

  Mabel takes the seat. “Thank you. Has the day been well?”

  Priscilla thinks on it. It’s been her second full day in her room. She tidied again, organized her books, finished up some letter-writing, had a nap. And it’s only a few hours past noon.

  “My day has been fine,” Priscilla says. “And yours?”

  “It was good. I’m sorry if I’m disturbing your privacy.”

  “Don’t concern yourself.”

  A beat of silence, then, “It’s about Asher.”

  Priscilla nods. “I assumed. Did he speak with you?”

  “Briefly. He came home Solisdie quite maddened by something. I’ve never seen him so dishevelled. He packed his bag and left.”

  “Left? Left where?”

  The woman’s eyes fill with tears. “Esterden.”

  Priscilla stares. “He…”

  Mabel smacks the back of one hand into her other palm. “He went on about how he must fulfill his duty for once in his life. He keeps thinking that Lockmire’s loss was because of him. He keeps seeing himself as this incompetent general. This was supposed to be his great plunge to victory.”

  “So he just left?”

  “What happened? I know something happened to make him so reckless. I must know. Please tell me.”

  “I…” Priscilla sinks onto her bed. “I don’t really know what happened. He found a pendant of mine. He thinks I’m… He thinks… Oh it doesn’t matter. Why would that make him leave?”

  Mabel sits next to her on the bed. “Dear, I’ve only ever known my son to love his work. He dreamed of becoming Captain of the Guard all his life. When he received the General’s position in Lockmire, he was so honoured, but he still saw it as only a stepping stone. He was always looking ahead, being careful, making decisions based on logic.

  “Then he went to Lockmire. He had these feelings for a girl there and made some very silly decisions. But he told me earlier this week that all of that was gone now. That he hardly thought of Evelyn in that way anymore. I knew why without him telling me. I knew it from the moment he started attending this Sanctuary weekly.”

  “He cares very deeply for Alesia,” Priscilla says, knotting her hands together. “He loves spending time with her.”

  “I know. He’s brought her to meet me, even. But that isn’t all.”

  Priscilla shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

  Mabel smiles, but her eyes are creased with sadness. “I think you do.”

  There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence before Priscilla stands again. “Why did you come here?”

  “I wanted to know if you denied your feelings as much as Asher is denying his. And you are. That’s why he’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry he left,” Priscilla says. “I didn’t tell him to go.”

  The door flies open. Anna rushes toward Priscilla. “There are dragons above Tarreth. We must get underground.”

  Priscilla blinks in shock as Anna tugs her from the room. “What?”

  “Dragons were spotted circling Tarreth. They’re going to attack any moment. We must—”

  A fireball explodes through the window, throwing the three women into the door, igniting the room. Mabel screams. Anna screams. Priscilla rises weakly, her head spinning, very sore on one side. She grabs both women by the arm and hauls them out of the room. Downstairs, everyone is rushing about, yelling orders to get into the cellar. Now. Get inside.

  “Alesia,” Priscilla mumbles. Now someone else is pulling her. Dragging her almost.

  “Where is she?” someone cries out.

  Priscilla tries to think but it hurts. Did I hit my head? She went somewhere. Come to think of it, Priscilla hasn’t seen her
all day. Where is she?

  “Alesia?” she shouts above the clamour. “Alesia!” Her voice rips through the crowd. Faces turn, but none of them are hers. Father, please…

  She fights the arms that drag her across the main room. “Does anyone know where Alesia went? Where is she? Where is she?” She screams until her voice hurts. Her hands shake with fear. “Alesia!”

  Gabriel and Doran are barring the front door shut. Kreston is there by the cellar, shepherding people inside. A crash of wood and two grunts of pain catch Priscilla’s attention. There’s a dark figure in the main doorway. Priscilla sees the shine of his sword for just a moment before it is buried in Gabriel’s chest.

  Anna screams his name. The room erupts in chaos. Priscilla drags Anna and Mabel away from the stairs, out toward the back of the Sanctuary. Her mind is clear of any thoughts. They must only get away.

  The bandit screams a foul name at them. Priscilla hears someone else being sliced down, then another. She bursts out into the graveyard. Something on the wall makes her stomach drop. A massive black lizard with wings three times the width of the Sanctuary itself. It meets her eyes with a tilt of its head, growling once at her. The sound is guttural and hoarse, festering with hatred. Priscilla freezes in place.

  Someone shakes her arm. She turns around. Three bandits slash through the Sanctuary, tearing apart anyone who stands in their way. One has Kreston by the throat. He’s pointing out the door, toward Priscilla, saying something very frantically that Priscilla can’t hear.

  The bandit pulls him close, whispers something in his face, then drives his sword into Kreston’s stomach. Priscilla backs away when the bandit looks at her. But then she faces the dragon again. It snarls and spits a fireball next to her.

  She cannot move. Mabel is gone. Anna is gone. Somewhere out of sight. She’s alone. But she’s not alone. The Sanctuary is still a mess of terrified, screaming ministers. And yet, the bandit is looking right at her.

  She wants to run. She must run. But in one direction is a monster with hatred in his eyes, and in the other, a dragon.