by Jodi Meadows
Not anymore.
“I know you’re lying.” My whole body shook with rage. “I know it. We’re not finished.”
I left before they could say anything else.
TWO DAYS LATER, I returned to the council house with an apology.
Morning light streamed gold through the windows as I stood before my government once more, but instead of arguing their claims, I offered deception.
Of understanding.
Of asking forgiveness.
Of accepting their lies.
Twenty-seven councilors listened to my words, and because I was the Hopebearer and I’d always done as they asked before, they believed me now.
Or so I’d thought.
I TOOK A copy of the shipping order to High Priest Valko in the Temple of Damyan and Darina.
The temple had always been a strange mix of safety and expectation, with its soaring arches, elaborate friezes, and delicate limestone columns. Embedded noorestones gleamed from around the windows, and from silver chandeliers, and from the base of the immense statues of Darina and Damyan at the front of the room.
The Lovers’ sandstone embrace would draw the eye even without the mirror-focused noorestone light to highlight the exquisite details. Sheer clothing rippled across skin, strands of tightly curled hair played in the wind, and even eyelashes fanned against full cheeks. This statue, carved by one of the First Masters, was one of our island’s greatest treasures.
“Mira.” High Priest Valko met me in the center aisle.
“Can we speak in your office?” I glanced over my shoulder, toward the daylight pouring through the thrown-open doors. No one had followed me—they had no reason to doubt my apology was anything but sincere—but this was not the sort of thing I could discuss in front of the dozen people who’d come here to pray or enjoy the art.
“Of course.” The high priest motioned for me to join him, but we made it only three steps before Luminary Guards strode into the temple, with Elbena leading the way.
With one look, I could tell she knew that I’d meant to share the shipping order with High Priest Valko. That I’d meant to destroy the Luminary Council by pitting the gods’ voice against them. That I’d meant to tell the world that the Luminary Council didn’t care that our dragons were being shipped to the Algotti Empire.
She knew my apology had been a lie.
“Don’t make a scene, Mira. Just come with me.”
And until the Luminary Guards deposited me in a holding cell, I hadn’t even realized that was the moment of my arrest.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“WHO IS SENDING THE DRAGONS?” ALTAN ASKED.
“I’m not sure.” It was the truth, and I prayed he could hear it in my trembling voice. Guilt worked its way through me. I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have been braver. Stronger. But I was a coward who didn’t want to be alone for a few days.
Altan blew out a long breath. “You saw shipping orders.”
I nodded. “I saw shipping orders.”
“And the Luminary Council was so upset that they sent you—their precious Mira Minkoba—here. To the Pit. The most notorious prison in the Fallen Isles.” He cocked his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t they just lie to you about the shipping orders? A girl like you would have believed them.”
“They tried,” I whispered.
“What then?” An amused turn of his mouth suggested he thought I was a fool.
He wasn’t wrong.
Altan’s smile grew wider. “Tell me everything the shipping orders said.”
“I can’t.”
“You didn’t just happen upon shipping orders and not bother to read them carefully. Someone who’s been given special permission to train a Drakontos raptus at the Crescent Prominence sanctuary would have read that a hundred times.”
“I don’t remember what it said.”
Altan planted one hand on the side of my bed and leaned, blocking the light of the noorestone next to me. He was huge. Overbearing. His dark eyes drilled into mine, searching for the truth. “You might think I can’t tell when you’re lying, but I can tell when anyone is lying. And you’re not very good at it to begin with.”
My breath turned shallow, frantic, desperate. “I don’t remember.”
His smirk fell and he leaned farther toward me, keeping his voice low but razor sharp. “Do not play the fool with me, or there will be very real consequences.”
Numbness pushed through me. Gone was his joking manner, and the gleam in his eyes like we shared a secret. This was real. As real as the minutes before he took me inside the empty cellblock and locked me away.
The danger was far from over.
“I need a map,” I said as a dull throb began in my temples.
He sent for one immediately. Several minutes later, two trainees arrived with an enormous map of the Fallen Isles framed in mahogany. They propped it up on the end of my bed, barely giving me time to move my feet out of the way.
“Tell me what I want to know,” Altan said when they were gone.
I tried not to glance at the waiting tray of food, but the hunger was overpowering.
“Where are the dragons?” Altan deepened his voice. “You can eat after we’re done.”
My stomach knotted. As much as I wanted to eat, and to not be put in a dark cell somewhere isolated, this was wrong. I knew it.
But I scooted toward the map and pressed my mouth into a line.
The six—or seven, depending how you thought of Damyan and Darina—islands were drawn in faded black ink on the age-darkened paper. It was soft, like cloth, and bordered with tiny drawings of dragons of every kind. Drakontos rex, Drakontos titanus . . . I wanted to look at them all, but Altan cleared his throat.
“Today.”
“I’m thinking.” The words hissed out of me. “It’s been a long time since I saw the shipping order.” Twenty-eight days, to be exact.
“Think faster. The longer you take, the more danger we’re in.” He angled toward me and peered at the map, as though he could divine the locations from the ink.
Connections snapped in my mind.
Altan was a believer. Altan was on a quest.
“The more danger we’re in . . .” I tilted my shoulders, adjusted my tone, and made myself look as encouraging as possible. “You mean, from the gods abandoning us?” It was a risk, questioning him. Altan was unpredictable: this might pacify him, or swing him farther into anger.
“I took an oath to Khulan and all the other Fallen Gods that I would protect the Isles from every threat. Including the Great Abandonment.”
The Great Abandonment was one of the few shared stories in every holy book. The Book of Love described it as the end of our relationship with the Fallen Gods, while The Book of Warriors said it was the beginning of our war against them. Other books described it in different ways, but one threat remained the same: the gods would leave us if we didn’t care for the dragons.
I touched the lines of the map, the islands shaped like gods. Darina and Damyan, so close their toes and chests touched. Khulan, his mace raised in warning. Idris, far from the others and stumped over in contemplation. “Some people think it’s a myth.”
He let out a low rumble. “It’s no myth. The Great Abandonment is a very real threat. Khulan’s holy texts tell what the unbinding would be like: earthquakes, violent storms, unrest among the people. Does that sound familiar?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Our survival depends on dragons living here, entreating the gods on our behalf.”
“I think it’s true, too. If we lose the dragons, we lose the gods.”
“And our very homes will unbind themselves from the sea and abandon us, because we could not take care of their children.” He turned and studied me, more thoughtful now. “I’m glad you believe it.”
“Even those who don’t should understand that we are the caretakers of these islands and the creatures on them. Including—and maybe especially—the dragons.”
“Tell me wher
e the dragons are right now. Khulani warriors will rescue the dragons and slaughter those who’d take them from their rightful place. I swear it.”
That stilled me.
We both wanted the dragons returned to the islands.
I didn’t know how I felt about the warriors slaughtering everyone—besides negatively—but I did like the idea of keeping the dragons from being taken to the Algotti Empire. That was why I’d confronted the Luminary Council, wasn’t it?
“Well?” Altan’s voice came at a low growl.
I turned to my numbers, counting the days and decans since the sanctuary dragons had been taken, and I’d seen the shipping orders, and the number of days it took to sail from Khulan to the various points that were listed on the shipping orders.
“Mira.” Altan’s mouth thinned into a line.
If I told Altan where he could find the dragons, the warriors could go rescue them.
But then the warriors would have the dragons.
But the Algotti Empire wouldn’t.
Wanting the same thing as Altan didn’t make him my ally.
I couldn’t trust Altan.
But if I didn’t, I’d go back in the dark. And then what? What about the dragons?
I took one long breath in, and pushed one long breath out. And pointed. “Here,” I whispered. “They’ll be at Crestshade from Zabel the twentieth to the twenty-ninth, and then they’ll be moved again. There.” I pointed to Thornfell. “They’ll reach it on the first day of the Hallowed Restoration and stay there for a decan. That is where they’ll begin the voyage across the sea.”
“And they’ll be unreachable.”
I looked sharply at him.
“By our ships,” he explained. “I can think of perhaps two vessels capable of crossing the open sea. The rest were built for moving between the islands. They’re smaller and faster, but they wouldn’t make it even halfway to the mainland. Not without the crew starving to death.”
“Do you have access to the ships that could cross?”
He shook his head. “The Khulani vessel is on patrol around the islands. The other belongs to the Daminan and Anaheran governments.”
The Star-Touched was a magnificent vessel. I’d seen her from my window a few times: she had seven masts, with every sail colored to represent a different island, and she required three of the largest noorestones in existence to power her. She patrolled the eastern reaches of the Isles, and was the first line of defense against an attack from the Algotti Empire.
“There’s a small chance we could commandeer the ship transporting the dragons and turn it back toward the islands, but if we reached them more than halfway to the mainland, we’d risk some of the dragons starving. Not to mention the human casualties.”
That thought was sobering. “How long does it take to reach the mainland?”
“From Thornfell, it takes seventeen days.”
Fourteen immense creatures, meant to soar in the sky—not be chained down in a cargo hold. Fourteen huge predators, meant to hunt their prey and eat it whole, not be fed whatever livestock the crew shoved in. If the crew fed the dragons at all.
It was a massive undertaking, provisioning for the crew, the livestock, the dragons, and potential emergencies. All to steal dragons from Crescent Prominence and take them to our enemies. But why?
“You’re angry,” Altan observed. “Good. You should be.”
I wasn’t angry. I was furious. At the smugglers. At the Luminary Council. At Altan.
At myself.
“What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why it’s taking so long to leave the Fallen Isles. Why move the dragons around for decans before sending them away?”
“To weaken them.” That had been one of my first questions, too, but Ilina had provided a theory. “Most dragons don’t eat every day.”
“I know that.” A note of annoyance colored Altan’s tone.
I flinched away, but he didn’t make any threatening moves.
“Go on,” he said.
“Unless they’re unusually active, big dragons usually eat once or twice a decan, and snack between. But they can go two decans and stay healthy, as long as they conserve energy.”
“So they’re starving the dragons to weaken them.” Altan sounded disgusted. “To make them more complacent on the journey.”
I bowed my head, too easily imagining the starving dragons just waiting for food.
I knew the pain of hunger because Altan had nearly killed me.
Hate was a strong word—an emotion I’d never truly felt before. But now, I thought I understood it. A fire ran through me, different from the fire of panic.
Hate burned hotter. It seared my veins, up my chest and throat and face, and made a faint red glow surround the object of my ire. I indulged in a moment of imagining I was a dragon and I was setting him aflame.
The effect vanished as he stepped away from my bed and strode toward the door. “I assume you know to keep this talk a secret.”
“Wait,” I called, heart thundering in my chest. “Why do you care so much? Is it just because of the Warriors’ Oath?”
“It isn’t just an oath, Fancy.” He softened for an instant. “I thought of everyone here, you would understand. You were taken from your sanctuary. Mine was taken from me.”
With that, he opened the door and left.
Rushing filled my head so loudly that I could hardly hear. Everything felt weak. From my legs to my lungs. I was so stupid.
Horribly.
Ridiculously.
Stupid.
Altan was so interested in what I knew about dragons because he was a Drakon Warrior. Or he wanted to be.
According to the Mira Treaty, the Drakon Warriors should have disbanded, and the dragons all been sent to a local sanctuary where they could grow even more ancient in peace. There’d been rumors that the Drakon Warriors had remained, although it was said they were simply an elite division, not actually dragon riders anymore.
But his sanctuary had been taken from him. That seemed like . . . there had been dragons here. In the Pit. Recently. Khulan’s warriors had ignored the Mira Treaty.
Then, whoever was behind the exportation of dragons—the Luminary Council, or someone else?—had come and taken the dragons from the Pit.
Even worse, it meant that the removal of dragons from the Crescent Prominence sanctuary wasn’t an isolated event. This was so much bigger than I’d realized if the Drakon Warriors’ dragons were victims as well.
The burden of this knowledge shouldn’t have fallen to me. Who was I but a pretty face and mouthpiece for the Luminary Council? They should have been the ones to fix this. Protecting Damina was the reason they’d been elected and appointed.
And that was the question Altan hadn’t asked: why—instead of finding who was responsible for smuggling the dragons, and then making every effort to prevent the Algotti Empire from obtaining the power to destroy the Fallen Isles—had the Luminary Council instead tossed me in the Pit?
I’d told Altan what he’d wanted to know, and I hated myself for that. But at least . . . at least I’d only told him part of it.
The rest concerned a weapon: the most dangerous weapon the Fallen Isles had ever seen. Maybe the most dangerous Noore had ever seen. And no one—especially not Drakon Warriors like Altan—could be trusted with that kind of power.
I would never tell.
Not even to save my own life.
BEFORE
Seven Months Ago
I MADE A MISTAKE.
I’d made lots of mistakes in my life, yes, but this one was different. It happened in the sanctuary. And we almost died.
SWEET JASMINE PERFUMED the foothills of the Skyfell Mountains as Ilina, Hristo, and I made our way up the path toward Siff’s lair. She was the final visit for today, and all the hiking showed in our heavy steps and sweat-dampened clothes. Even LaLa and Crystal seemed tired, though they’d been riding on our shoulders for the last hour, and now Crystal had one of Ilina’s braids hangin
g from her jaws like she was about to bite it off.
“I dare you,” Hristo told Crystal.
Ilina glanced over her shoulder, gently tugging the braid from her dragon’s teeth. “Don’t encourage her bad behavior. She’s rotten enough.”
“I thought you looked good with short hair,” I teased.
“Short hair. Not singed hair.” Ilina paused while Crystal flapped and readjusted herself, but I blazed ahead.
That was my mistake.
Heavy foliage sheltered a clearing in front of Siff’s lair, a tangle of passionflower and ferns, and immense trees that reached for the blue sky. While Ilina and Hristo lagged behind, still joking about dragonish haircuts, I rounded a wall of buttress roots and tripped.
Five things happened at once:
1. LaLa abandoned my shoulder.
2. My knees slammed into something broken and wet: a partially eaten lamb.
3. Ilina shouted, “Watch out!” and scrambled for her calm-whistle.
4. Hristo grabbed for me, but I’d fallen too quickly.
5. From across the clearing, Siff barreled toward us. Fire poured from her jaws.
She was incredible: a Drakontos ignitus, with wicked facial horns, a large wingspan, and—at least in adults—the ability to cause the very air to burn.
Ilina brought the calm-whistle to her lips, and a sweet tone played over the chaos, but it was too late. Already, the air shimmered as Siff’s scales heated, and her great wings fanned, becoming red-gold.
Safety instructions flittered through my head, but instead of playing dead or hiding behind Hristo, I reached for the raging dragon and . . . she stopped.
The noise. The heat. The wild look in her golden eyes. One moment, Siff was ready to kill me for falling into her leftovers. The next, she was tugging the lamb carcass out from under me, not minding that Hristo was pulling me to my feet. Relief flooded me so thoroughly I could barely stand.
Ilina’s whistle must have worked after all.
“Mira, what did you do?” Ilina whispered as Siff disappeared into her cave, dragging the lamb.