Legends of the Sky

by Liz Flanagan

  “One night, Rufus laced their evening meal with poison: just enough to send Karys and her cousin Silvano into a deep sleep. They awoke in the dragonhall to find themselves in chains.”

  “Why?” Milla gasped in horror. She reached for the mug of steaming liquid in front of her and took a sip. It tasted sweet and strong, like raisins and honey and cloves.

  “Rufus wanted to bond with another dragon. He tried with Aelia, thinking it might be easier with a female, like Juna.”

  “But you said Aelia was Silvano’s dragon?” Milla asked in sudden fear.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I thought the bond was for life?” She put her mug down, feeling sick.

  “It is,” Kara said, looking grim.

  “I don’t understand,” Milla murmured, afraid that she did.

  “Rufus murdered his cousin Silvano so he could try to bond with his dragon. And Karys witnessed it all, unable to move.”

  “No … In the dragonhall? Where I live now?” She couldn’t believe that warm, safe haven had seen such horrors. She lifted Iggie close with both hands, needing to feel the warm pulse under his throat, his aliveness.

  Just then, there was a pounding on the main kitchen door, and Lanys’s voice, calling, “Josi? Where are you?”

  Iggie stood tall, barking his danger call: Mraaa! Mraa!

  “Shhhh!” Milla hushed him. “Be quiet now.”

  Josi jumped up, startled. “That’s Lanys, back from market already. Stay in here while I see her. She mustn’t find Kara.” She left the room.

  Milla took a few moments to settle Iggie, showing him they weren’t in danger.

  Kara seemed exhausted by the story. She lay down again on the pallet bed, pulling the blanket up to her neck.

  “Milla?” she asked. Her voice was so soft, Milla had to kneel by her head to catch it all. “All the dragon-bonded need to know what happened. Learn from these mistakes; don’t repeat them. When they’ve grown up, don’t hide the dragons away. Their lives depend on it. When we lost the dragons, we lost ourselves and our home.”

  Mraa! Iggie said, one last time.

  A few moments later, Josi was back, sounding agitated. “You better leave now, Milla. Here, let me retie your scarf.” She bustled her to her feet, tying the fabric while Milla held Iggie safely in position. “Have you heard the news from the lower town?” Josi asked softly so only Milla could hear.

  “No, what?” Milla’s thoughts raced straight to Rosa and Thom.

  “Explosion in the marketplace last night. Firepowder. Some Norlander stalls destroyed.”

  “What?” Milla gasped. “Is Rosa all right? And Thom?” Milla wanted to run down and find her friends right now. “I need to go …”

  “No, don’t even think about it,” Josi told her sternly. “Back to the palace. Get that dragon home safe. I’ll check on your friends. I’ll let you know.”

  “Take a note to them, from me?”

  Then they were hurrying, whispering farewells, hiding Iggie, hiding Kara, and bundling Milla back into the bright daylight.

  The streets of Arcosi didn’t look so golden now. The sun had gone in, and there were new shadows everywhere as Milla rushed back to the palace with her dragon. The puzzling words from the old fragment of parchment echoed in her mind, in time with her hurrying footsteps:

  The dragons will return one last time

  When the trade winds blow from the east.

  Walls must fall, peace must reign.

  Or the nest be forever lost.

  Daughter of the storm, three times reborn

  Who bears the sign of the sea.

  When four seasons wane, for this bright dawn,

  She will be given the key.

  But she was no closer to understanding what they meant.

  Milla walked toward the dragonhall, mulling over Kara’s story, trying to banish the image of Silvano’s murder within its walls. Just as she reached the door, she heard voices inside. Duke Olvar and Isak were talking, as Isak settled Belara to sleep on the dragonperch.

  Milla didn’t want to face Olvar’s scrutiny, not with the horror of Kara’s words still fresh in her mind. From old habit, she flattened herself against the outer wall of the dragonhall and listened.

  “The translation you showed me is interesting,” the duke was saying to Isak. “About maturity and the egg cycle. Not as long as you might think before the first brood is possible.”

  “A brood?” Isak interrupted, sounding surprised. “You mean, when they lay eggs? Of course I hadn’t thought of that for Belara. Not yet. Bel, do you hear that? You will be a mother one day.”

  “She will. And not long either …” The duke had most definitely thought of that. “And it must be right here, near the spring water of Arcosi—that’s why this island is the only place in the world that can raise dragons. Did you know that?”

  Something clicked into place, like the pins of a lock. This was why Duke Olvar was being so generous. It was why he could bear to see the dragons every day and know none of them chose him. He was placing all his hopes on the next generation. If he controlled the island, he controlled its spring water, and therefore he controlled any future dragons, too.

  Milla shivered hard and fled into the grounds, taking a corner so fast that she almost collided with Duchess Serina coming the opposite way.

  “Are you all right, Milla?” Serina spoke Norlandish with a faint Sartolan accent. Her long crimson gown brushed the paved path as she walked. She wore a lily tucked behind her ear, and her knot of black hair was so neat and gleaming that Milla felt instantly disheveled.

  “Fine, thank you, Your Grace!” She glanced down to check that Iggie was fully concealed, aware of the heat in her cheeks. “I, er, I like to walk … To clear my head.”

  Serina reached out and took Milla’s free hand. Hers was very soft. She switched to speaking Sartolan. “I know you’ve got Iggie in there. I know you went out today.”

  Milla squeaked in alarm, “I was just …” She cast around for explanations, but for once, her well of stories seemed to have run dry.

  “Shh, don’t worry, you won’t hear a lecture from me.” Her brown eyes told Milla she could trust her. “The duke’s another matter: step lightly around him. He has good intentions, but he can be quick to judge.” In her lilting voice, it didn’t even sound like criticism, just stating what she knew.

  So how do you bear it? Milla wanted to ask, intrigued by this sudden frankness.

  “But now, let me show you something.” Serina linked arms with Milla. “This way. It might interest a girl like you.”

  Milla swatted away the questions that buzzed around her mind. She was due back in the dragonhall: the others would be waiting. But this was an honor—you didn’t say no to a duchess. Something in Serina’s calm manner was mesmerizing, and Milla let herself be gently tugged away.

  The duchess led Milla to a walled garden at the far northern edge of the palace grounds. Inside, the air was warmer, protected from the winds. Insects still flitted from leaf to leaf, and a blackbird was singing somewhere.

  “Over here.” She walked to the farthest corner, away from the palace.

  Milla followed Serina, still half expecting a scolding.

  Serina ran her hands along the outer wall, pulling aside the draping ivy like curtains to reveal a small wooden door with an iron handle. The duchess unlatched it and pushed it open, just enough so Milla could make out the steep stone steps that clung to the wall on the other side and twisted down, out of sight.

  “Where does it go?” Milla kept her voice a whisper, even though they were alone out here.

  “I think they call it the shadow strip in Norlandish. Is that right? From there, you can go down into the city. So I’ve named this the shadow gate. It suits me well that people avoid the area. As I see it, the shadows are our friends: they offer concealment and protection, don’t they?”

  It was like a secret passage to freedom. She could get home to the Yellow House without an
yone knowing. Milla stared at the duchess. It was as if she’d read her mind and given her what she needed most.

  “Milla, you must be careful. Only a few know of this door, and I mean to keep it that way.”

  “Why are you showing me?” Milla said, and then quickly, “I mean, thank you!” She added this fact to her hoard of knowledge about the island. “You can trust me with it. I’ll keep your secret.”

  “I know you will,” Serina told her. “When I’m needed with my healers in the lower town—births, deaths, sudden sickness—I need to move fast. I can’t wait for permission, or for guards to open gates.”

  “So the duke … ?”

  “He doesn’t know,” Serina said, serious now. “There’s something you should understand about him if you’re to have a smooth time as our guest.”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Olvar needs to feel in control. Once in his life, he suffered a great shock, so terrible he never really recovered. Have you heard this story?” she asked.

  Milla shook her head.

  “Well, maybe that’s how he likes it now. But I’ll tell you so you understand. He was never meant to be duke, you know.”

  “So who was?” Milla stood very still, aware of leaves rustling and the scent of lavender on the breeze.

  “Ragnar, his older brother and his hero. Ragnar fitted the image of the perfect Norlander. He was brave, handsome, and he lived for the sea, just like their parents. That was how they died, in the end, all three together, and more besides. Lost on the voyage back from visiting the homelands.”

  “I never knew. How old was Olvar?”

  “He was fourteen then.”

  Milla tried to picture the duke as a young boy who’d just lost everything. Maybe he wasn’t so different from her after all.

  “His father’s advisers ruled with him till he was older,” Serina said. “When my father attacked this island, Olvar led its defense.” She paused. “Afterward, we were married as part of the peace treaty. Arcosi and Sartola have been peaceful neighbors ever since.”

  “That attack, is that why he hates us?” Milla blurted out. “All of us who aren’t Norlander.”

  “He doesn’t hate us.” Serina smiled at Milla’s raised eyebrows. “He promised his father he would protect the Norlander people. That instinct is so deep-rooted, he didn’t notice when protecting his people became something else entirely.” Her gaze shifted away from Milla then, and she seemed lost in thought.

  “But what about all his soldiers?” Milla persisted. “If it’s all so peaceful and protective, why does he keep them?”

  Serina shrugged one elegant shoulder. “As I said, he likes to be in control. He likes things predictable. Orderly. And the army gives work to half the island, doesn’t it? Who clears the storm drains? Rebuilds the walls?”

  That was true enough. Milla frowned, unsatisfied.

  “I’m not saying I agree! I like to bypass the guards, as you see. And now you can, too.”

  Then Serina gave her a quick, light hug, taking care not to press against the sleeping Iggie.

  “I know it’s not easy for you, adjusting to life here, when you belong in the city.” The duchess’s eyes glowed warm amber in the sunshine. “I know how it feels to be an outsider in this palace, but believe me, it gets easier.”

  Milla began to see why Serina was such a good healer. “Thank you.”

  “I noticed you’ve lost a necklace,” she said next, surprising her.

  “How?” Milla stared. But her fingers jumped to the empty spot at her neck, where a little circle of her skin was paler than the rest, answering her own question.

  “So I wonder if you’d like this one?” Serina brought out a silver chain from her pocket. It had a delicate pendant of a leaping fish dangling from it and it matched the one the duchess wore.

  “The symbol of Sartola,” she told her. “It won’t be as special as your old one, but it’s yours, if you’d like it?”

  “It’s lovely,” Milla stuttered, “b-b-but shouldn’t you give that to Tarya, not me?”

  “I gave Tarya another gift. This was my daughter’s. Well, it would have been.” Serina paused, then went on. “I imagine if my daughter had lived, she might’ve looked a little bit like you.”

  Silence spread between them, silken and soft and sad, broken only by the birdsong.

  Milla turned around at Serina’s gesture and lifted her hair. “Th-thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Isabella lived only six short weeks.” Serina’s voice sounded husky and soft with emotion, as she fastened the clasp. “But she would be about your age now.”

  Milla had no words for that, so she hugged Serina tightly instead.

  “Thank you, my dear.” Serina whisked a tear away from her eyes with a quick flick of her long fingers. “Now, let’s go back before anyone notices. If you’re ever challenged, you can say I asked you to gather herbs. These ones are good for the dragons, I believe.” She leaned down, plucked a few sprigs of sage and rosemary, and passed them to Milla.

  The scent clung to Milla’s fingers for the rest of the day.

  So? What did Kara say?” Tarya demanded as soon as they were alone. She was buzzing with unspent energy, her hair a wild halo around her face. Heral clung to her shoulders, tense and alert, his spiny red tail whipping from side to side.

  “Wait! Let me get the door closed.” Vigo slid the large dragonhall door into place and came to join them on the low seats near the stove, with Petra at his heels.

  Milla noticed Vigo’s caution and it unsettled her.

  “She wasn’t well. We only spoke a little.” Milla tried to recall Kara’s exact words. “But one thing is clear: the dragons don’t belong here in the palace.” She untied her cloak and scarf and let Iggie loose on the sawdust. He stretched and rolled on his back, then pounced at Belara playfully.

  “Oh, really?” Isak said. He was copying the duke’s drawling intonation. “How very convenient for her. I suppose they belong exactly where she is?”

  “No!” Milla felt instantly defensive of Kara. “She said they should be in the city, with the people, not trapped in the palace.”

  “They’re not exactly trapped,” Tarya said. “Or only as much as we all are.” She spoke those words with feeling. Her left heel was drumming anxiously on the floor.

  “She’s bound to say that, isn’t she? If they’re in here and she’s out there.” Isak sounded scornful, draping his fingers for Belara to paw at. “Can you imagine the riot if we took the dragons down to the marketplace? They’d be crushed. Aren’t we taking good care of them?” He tugged at Belara’s gold ears now, and she closed her eyes in bliss.

  “I thought you wanted to know how to care for the dragons? How not to repeat old mistakes? Their lives depend on it,” she said, her heart sinking. How was she going to get them to listen to her?

  “We do want to know,” Vigo said. “We’ve been reading all day in search of this kind of information. Go on, Milla.”

  “Look, this is the person who spent her whole life guarding the eggs. Her friend Josiah was killed for them. We need to listen to Kara.”

  “We will listen, if it makes sense,” Isak said. “But you have to admit the dragons are safest here. Duke Olvar said they have to be here, something about the water?”

  “But they almost died out last time, living here!” Milla hated the way he was looking at her. “When they’re grown, they belong in the city: that’s what she said. And there are wells of spring water all over the island.” She had never felt at home in the palace, and now she knew: she wasn’t supposed to! Nor was Iggie.

  “Come on, then, Milla, tell us,” Tarya said, serious now. “We’re listening.”

  So Milla repeated Kara’s story. When she got to the part about Rufus killing Silvano, she called Iggie to her using the five-note tune and kept her hands moving across his scales as she spoke.

  In the silence that followed, Milla noticed Vigo had slumped forward, his head resting on his arms, while Petra
nuzzled at his chest, trying to reach his face.

  “Oh, Vigo, I’m sorry.” Milla had not considered how the story would sound to someone of Sartolan heritage.

  “It’s all right,” Vigo said, sitting up very slowly. His eyes looked bloodshot, washed green like sea glass. “I mean, it’s not, but I’ve heard this before. I know it happened.” He shrugged, as if this didn’t hurt. “Every Sartolan schoolchild hears it: how the dragonriders of Arcosi destroyed our city in the great burning war. And afterward, they vanished from the face of the earth, like a mysterious punishment. My great-grandfather died in that war—that’s why my grandad attacked Arcosi, you know, as revenge.”

  “But your dad stopped that one,” Tarya said.

  “Yeah, and my mom had to marry him after the war.”

  Milla watched Vigo’s face, realizing now this was the stuff of his life, not just a history book. He had the opposite problem to hers—he knew exactly where he came from. She went over and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Look, we’re all tired, let’s leave it for today.”

  Milla moved to the perch and lifted Iggie onto it with difficulty: he was almost too big for her to hold now. “Here, Iggie. Time to sleep, my dear. I’ll be over there.” He squirmed and wriggled under her fingers.

  Aark! He twisted from her grasp.

  “Ig! I know.” She patted his back and slowly, slowly, pulled her hands away. “It’s been a busy day. But you need to sleep. Really. And so do I.” She wanted to be alone and run through Kara’s story again in her mind. “Look, I’ll just be here, all right? Night!” She turned her back and started heading for her bunk.

  “Argh!” Iggie landed very suddenly on her left shoulder, claws digging into her flesh. “Ow! What did you do that for?” She lifted him off, cradling him and asking, “Did you just jump all that way?”

  Iggie was very pleased with himself, wriggling with pride and batting her face with his nose. Aark! Aark! She could feel excitement flowing off him in waves.

  The others were all staring in shock.