“Steady,” she said, but this one did not listen. Its muscles rippled with agitation. The pendant around her neck burned. She stepped back.
“Aurora—” Finnegan said.
The dragon screamed.
“Aurora!”
Fingernails scraped against her throat. Aurora twisted around in shock as Lucas grabbed the dragon pendant and tugged.
“What—” The chain snapped. Lucas threw it through the air.
Aurora snatched for it, seconds behind its fall. It hit the ground with a rattle, and she landed moments later, grasping it out of the dust.
The dragon roared again. Its scream shook the walls of the cavern, making the ground roll like water. It snapped its head up, eyes still fixed on Finnegan. Its tail crashed against stone.
“Finnegan, look out!” Aurora yelled, all magic forgotten. Finnegan dove to the ground, as a gust of fire burst across the wall where he had stood. The whole cavern blazed.
“Finnegan!” She leaped forward and grabbed his arm. He winced, and his skin was too hot under hers, hot and red and scorched by fire.
Water flew through the air, and the dragon flinched. Lucas stood before it, an empty water skin in his left hand. He scrambled through his pack for another.
Aurora couldn’t find her magic, couldn’t gather a thread, couldn’t even think about what was happening or what she should do. She clutched Finnegan’s hand and pulled him up the slope, away from the thrashing creature. Lucas stared at the dragon, his face pale.
“Run!” she said. She pushed Finnegan to Lucas’s side. “Get him out of here.”
Lucas didn’t need to be told twice. With a strength Aurora wouldn’t have believed the old man possessed, he hauled Finnegan upward and began to run toward the cave entrance.
“Aurora,” Finnegan said, half mumble, half shout, but she turned her back to him, facing the dragon again. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, her heart stuttering and racing, but the dragon had been fascinated by her before, had been calm and tame, and all she could think to do was to pull its attention on her again. She had lost her focus, and now Finnegan was burned, and Finnegan could die, they all could die, unless she regained control.
“Stop!” she shouted. “Stop. I won’t hurt you!”
The dragon continued to roar, continued to writhe, but it did not snap its jaws, and it did not breathe fire again.
She had to control it. Calm it, and they’d all be safe. But she didn’t know how. It would not listen to her, and she couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything except stare at the dragon, forcing herself to breathe.
It was too much, all too much, her fear for Finnegan, the dragon staring her down, her own failure, all rushing together and making it impossible to think, impossible to grab a single idea, a single feeling, to pull it into magic.
She took one step backward, her foot shaking beneath her. Then another step, and another, never taking her eyes off the dragon, certain that any moment she would fall, any moment she would crumple away.
The dragon shifted backward, its wings squeezing together above its head.
Aurora ran. She ran faster than she had ever imagined she could, feet springing off the ground, racing to where Finnegan and Lucas stumbled ahead. She ran, and behind her, the dragon began to fly, its tail crashing against the walls, its wings propelling it upward with one big sweep. Aurora barreled into Finnegan and Lucas, using her momentum to flatten them to the ground as the dragon rushed above them, its jaws unleashing fire into the open sky.
They all lay still. Aurora’s heart felt like it was trying to force its way out of her mouth. She sat up, the pendant still clenched in her fist, and stared down at Finnegan in the dark. She could see nothing, now that the dragon was gone, but she couldn’t find the strength to summon a light. Panic was rising and rising within her, that Finnegan was hurt, Finnegan was burned, she had failed them all.
“Aurora,” Finnegan said. “Aurora, are you all right?” His voice was laced with pain.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m fine. Finnegan, we need to get you out of here. We need to move, we need to go, we need to—”
“Panicking, little dragon?” Finnegan coughed. “Now’s not really the time.”
“Can you stand?” she said.
“I think so.”
She and Lucas hauled him to his feet and staggered toward the mouth of the cave. Finnegan leaned heavily on Aurora, his hand clutching her shoulder. The light ahead seemed impossibly far away.
When they emerged from the cave, the sudden brightness of the sun made Aurora’s eyes sting. She forced herself to keep looking forward, to not even glance at Finnegan, until they had scrambled onto the outer slope, collapsing behind a pile of rocks to breathe.
Then she looked. One side of Finnegan, the side she had been supporting, looked fine. Dusty and scraped from their climb and their fall, but healthy enough. But the right side of his face was blackened, and the burns ran down his arm, his shirt melted and molded to his stomach.
“Finnegan—”
Lucas lay Finnegan on the ground, sheltered by the rocks. He ran his fingers around the edge of the burn. “Get the cream,” Lucas said. “In my pack.”
Aurora untied the flap of his bag and rummaged inside. Her hands shook. “This will cure him?”
“No,” Lucas said. He snatched the jar from her as soon as she pulled it out and scooped the cream into his palm. Finnegan hissed in pain as Lucas rubbed it onto his burns. “But it’ll help. We have to get him back to Vanhelm. Now.”
“It’s almost two days’ walk from here!”
“We might be able to do it in a day,” Lucas said. “If we go directly there. Leave the river behind. But it won’t be as safe, without the water. If a dragon finds us—”
“I don’t care,” Aurora said. “We don’t have a choice.”
Nothing lived where dragon fire touched. That was what they said, that was what the waste screamed to her as she slid down the mountain toward it.
The sun scorched the skin on the back of Aurora’s neck, but they stumbled on, step after step after step, ignoring the screams of the dragons, ignoring everything except one foot, and then the other, through burned villages, through the bleak emptiness, through looming shadows and the whisper of the wind. And slowly, Vanhelm took form in the distance, a collection of faint buildings, stretching to the sky.
TWENTY-THREE
IT WAS DARK BEFORE FINNEGAN SPOKE AGAIN. “STOP,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I need to rest. For a minute.” They sank to the ground, backs pressed against a half-melted wall.
“How far are we from Vanhelm?” Aurora asked.
“We should reach it about midday,” Lucas said.
Midday. The sun had barely set. They could not drag Finnegan along for another sixteen hours or more. He couldn’t keep walking, his skin black and burning. They would never make it back to the palace.
But they did not have a choice. They had to succeed.
“Are you hurt, Aurora?” Finnegan asked.
Every inch of her hurt, but she shook her head, forcing herself to smile. “I’m fine,” she said. “Perfectly healthy. I’m just worried about you.”
“You’re holding your hand strangely.”
The dragon pendant sat in the center of her fist. It had worn grooves into her skin.
“My necklace,” she said. “I forgot.” She had forgotten everything in the panic. She looked up at Lucas, moving so suddenly that the muscles in her neck snapped. “You broke it,” she said. “You threw it on the ground.”
“I did,” he said. “That dragon was getting out of control. I thought it was going to kill you.”
“So you broke my necklace?”
“It has dragon’s blood in it,” he said. “I thought if I threw it aside, the dragon would follow, and we could get away.”
She stared at the pendant. The silver chain had snapped, the two threads hanging uselessly from her palm. She did not believe him. His words sounded reasonable
, but something about the shake in his voice, the way he spoke a little too quickly, suggested he was lying. Whatever his reasoning, it had not been to protect her.
“I’m going to need a new chain,” she said. “When we get back.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Finnegan laughed, but it came out as more of a groan. “I’ll get you a new one,” he said. “You deserve it after today’s rousing success.”
“Now who’s a bad liar?”
“Still you, Aurora. That’s still you.” Finnegan wrenched himself to his feet, wincing in pain. “Better get going,” he said. “Don’t want to miss lunch when we arrive.”
The sky was vast and dark, lit by a few stars and the slightest sliver of the moon, but Aurora could see the outline of Vanhelm, growing with every step as they approached.
She did not dare create a light.
“If only you had water magic,” Finnegan said. “Might help around now.”
She forced herself to smile. “I could have put out that dragon,” she said. But his words lingered, and she tried to imagine what water magic would involve. Calmness, tranquility, a sense of utter control. Everything she was supposed to be.
They reached Oldtown a few hours before noon. Aurora’s feet shook underneath her as they picked their way through the rubble. The boat was still tucked safely away, and Aurora and Lucas carried it to the river together. Aurora was certain that her strength would fail at any moment, that she would crash to her knees and never move again, but her resolve held. They placed Finnegan in the boat and began to sail to the city.
She tried not to look at his wounds, tried not to think about how long it had been since he received them, how even his attempts to laugh and joke had worn away now. She stared at the city instead, at the skyline that had stolen her breath the first time she saw it.
The boat crashed against the dock, and Aurora sprang out, already shouting, waving her arms with the last energy she had. “The prince,” she said. “The prince has been burned. You have to help him!” People appeared from everywhere after that, as though they had been waiting for her cry. They took up the yell as well, until royal guards came running.
They hurried him away, and she was left standing on the pavement, dusty and exhausted, staring at the space where he had been.
A crowd pressed around the palace.
Yes, the prince. I heard he’s injured. I heard he’s dead. I heard it was dragons.
Aurora pushed through and limped up the steps. The guard on the left opened the door without a word to her.
“Finnegan,” she said, her throat burning. “Is he—”
“He is inside,” the guard said. He did not elaborate. He did not even look at her.
She stumbled through the door. Maids and guards were running through the entrance hall, shouts echoing from the maze of rooms to her left.
She grabbed a maid by the arm, a little more forcefully than she meant to, swaying on her feet. “Where’s Finnegan?” she said. “You have to take me to him.”
“He’s in his rooms,” the maid said. “This way, my lady.” She led her up the stairs and along the upper corridor. Aurora’s feet had moved past pain and into numbness. She felt like she was floating above the ground.
Two guards stood outside Finnegan’s door.
“No one can enter without the queen’s permission,” one said.
Aurora would not be stopped by guards now. “I have to see Finnegan,” she said. “I have to see if he’s all right.”
“Not without the queen’s permission.”
“Then where’s the queen?” she said. “Take me to her. I have to see him. I have to—”
“I’m here.” Orla walked out of Finnegan’s rooms. Her face was white, her hair half-tumbled around her face, her lips worried red.
Aurora wanted to move closer to her, to push through the door, but her feet would no longer cooperate. “Finnegan,” she said again. “Will he be okay? Will he—”
“I don’t know. It is unlikely.”
Aurora swayed. She put a hand against the wall to steady herself. “What do you mean?” she said. “Is he going to die?”
“He was burned by a dragon, Aurora. Do you think he is going to be fine? No one who is burned by a dragon fully recovers.”
“But—”
“But what? You thought you were both immortal? You thought that running off into the waste would be safe?”
Not exactly. She had known it was risky, but Finnegan had always seemed so confident, so present, that the idea of him being in true danger seemed impossible. It could only be a romantic kind of danger, the sort that sent her heart racing, that gave them thrilling stories but ultimately left them unscathed.
“I cannot believe the foolishness of you both. How could you have been so senseless?”
“I’m sorry,” Aurora said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—” She could not get the words out. She did not know what she could say.
“Sorry means nothing, unless you can help. I assume your magic is no use for this, or you would have already healed him.”
“No,” Aurora said. Her voice shook. “I don’t know how to help him.”
“Then get out of my sight.”
Aurora did not move. “Will you let me know?” she said. “If he—if there’s any change?”
Orla stared at her. “I will send someone,” she said eventually.
“Thank you.” Aurora did not want to leave, but she could not stand in the corridor forever, staring at a locked door. She turned to walk away and then paused. “He thought he was doing the right thing,” she said. “He thought he was helping Vanhelm.”
“Then he was more of an idiot than I had believed,” Orla said. “Go.”
Aurora’s footsteps were too loud as she walked away.
She could sneak into Finnegan’s rooms through the library door. Bribe any guards that stood there and see him that way. She stopped, almost ready to turn for the stairs, but what would be the point? She could not help him. As Finnegan had said, her magic was all fire. She didn’t know how to heal.
But Celestine did.
Celestine would know what to do. She had saved lives before, hadn’t she? She would have a cure.
Aurora pushed her way into her rooms and fell back against the door. She needed a solution, a way to help Finnegan without invoking the witch. But it had taken her weeks to master fire. She did not even know if she had any other powers beyond burning and light. And Finnegan could not wait. Finnegan was dying now.
He had trusted her, he had trusted her magic, and she could do nothing for him.
Was this the madness that had driven others to Celestine, over a hundred years ago? The thought that at least Celestine could help. At least she could do something.
No one made a deal with Celestine and won. Aurora was living proof of that. And Aurora already knew what Celestine’s price would be. An alliance. Aurora, working by her side.
But at least Finnegan would live. He was the only person who had ever really seen her, strengths and anger and all, and liked her for it. He made her feel more like herself. Like she fit. And if he died, people would say it was his own fault, that he had died from his selfishness and recklessness. They wouldn’t recognize his genuine desire to help.
Aurora stumbled over her swollen feet. Celestine was weak, crazed by a century of dwindling magic. If Aurora could strike a careful deal, if she could outsmart her, take what she needed and then run, as she’d run before . . .
She could offer Celestine one favor, one more taste of her magic, something small and specific. And she could get more from the arrangement than Finnegan’s life. If she spoke to Celestine, appeared to bargain with her, the witch might let slip something she could use. Celestine would think that Aurora was weak, but Aurora would be listening, Aurora would be strong.
And what should she care, if she did help Celestine? The people of Alyssinia hated her. They despised her. All of her allies were gone, or dying, and her kingdom was bur
ning, and they called her a traitor. Called her a whore.
Why should she sacrifice one of the few good things in her life, for their sake? They would not do the same for her.
She could not allow Finnegan to die. Celestine was the only answer she had.
And she knew she was close.
The library was deserted. Aurora yanked the curtains closed, blocking out the glare of the afternoon sun and the bustle of the street. Then she summoned flames, casting light and shadow across the cavernous room.
“Celestine,” she said. The heavy curtains swallowed all sound. “Celestine!” she said again, louder this time. “I know you can hear me. I want to make a deal with you.”
Nothing happened. Self-consciousness prickled the back of Aurora’s neck. But Celestine wanted her to ask for help. She would be watching. She would not ignore her.
“Celestine!”
“You’ve been practicing.” Aurora spun around. Celestine stood behind her, her fingers dancing around one of Aurora’s lights. She looked stronger than the last time Aurora had seen her, a little taller, her blond hair thicker. It curled around her heart-shaped face, and her red-lipped smile was like a wound. “Impressive. But you’d have learned more with me.” She raised her hand, and Aurora’s lights died. “Poor girl. I did warn you, my dear. I said you would regret turning from me. But you would not believe me, and now we are here.” She stepped closer and traced her fingers along Aurora’s neck. “Finnegan is going to die if magic does not intervene. You know he will.”
“What do I need to do?”
“You know that is not how deals work, my dear. Tell me your desires, tell me precisely what you wish, and then we shall see.”
“Save him,” Aurora said. “Cure him of his burns, make it as though he had not been burned at all. Please.”
Celestine tilted her head. “And in return? What will you offer me?”
“Another taste of my magic,” Aurora said. “Like the one you had before.”
Celestine laughed. The sound was sweet and sharp. “Come, Aurora. You think your prince’s life is worth as little as that?”
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