by Liz Flanagan
Aaaark! Iggie’s greeting was the sweetest sound in the whole world. He almost knocked her over, rubbing his head against hers, nudging at her, wriggling every inch of his frame in greeting.
She ran her hands over his scales, over his neck and back and too-thin ribs. “Are you all right? Oh, Ig. You have to eat. You have to live.”
Aaark, aaark, aarrrk, he told her.
“I’ve so much to tell you. But now, be still.” She pulled the lockpicks from her waistband and patted her way down his flank, letting him know what she intended. Keeping her emotions in check, she knelt to release the evil chain from his hind leg. She carefully placed the metal picks in the lock and felt for the mechanism of the padlock. With a crisp metallic snap, it sprang open, and the chain pooled harmlessly on the floor.
Iggie was free! The shackle left a terrible wound, but at least he was free.
“Can you walk?” she asked him, backing away, wiping his blood on her clothes.
Iggie threw back his head and trumpeted his pain. He limped forward and almost fell.
Milla threw herself at him, trying to support his vast weight. “What have they done to you?” She cursed herself for not reaching him sooner. What did anything else matter, next to him?
Then a voice spoke from behind her.
Isak!” Milla spun around, keeping one hand on Iggie behind her.
For a long moment, they stared at each other.
Isak threw himself forward.
Milla braced, unsure of what he would do.
Then he was hugging her. “Oh, Milla! You’re alive. I didn’t know. When Serina was killed, I thought … No one told me anything.”
Milla held him tightly, her legs suddenly wobbly with relief.
He pulled back, searching her face. “Tarya? Vigo? Tell me my sister is all right!” he demanded.
“She’s fine.” By the stove’s dim light, Milla could see how stained and torn Isak’s clothes were now. There was a crack across one side of his new glasses, but his face was different. Alive again.
“She’s better than fine,” she corrected herself. “She’s on a mission. You’ll see. We’ve come to take back the island.”
“Good.” Isak was vehement. “Milla, I’m so sorry. I was wrong about Duke Olvar.”
Milla froze. For the first time she thought of Belara. Her glance jumped to the back of the dragonhall, where Isak’s bunk stood empty, its yellow curtain hanging, torn.
“What has he done? Where is she?” she asked.
Tears filled Isak’s eyes, but he looked grimly determined, speaking fast now. “Remember you told us about the mad duke of Arcosi? The one who killed his cousin?”
“Rufus?” Milla said, bewildered.
“The duke found his journal,” Isak said. “He showed it to me.” He was struggling to find the words. “Terrifying … the ramblings of someone … murderous … awful. I can’t even …”
Milla recalled the last part of Kara’s story. She shivered. “What did it say?”
“Something’s happened to Duke Olvar since you saw him. Maybe reading that journal made it worse. The eggs are late: they haven’t hatched yet. He’s become … strange.” Isak ran a hand through his greasy hair, making it stand on end. “He won’t sleep. Won’t eat. Won’t see sense.”
“Tell me, Isak. What did he do to Belara?” Milla urged.
“Duke Olvar found instructions in Rufus’s journal. Poisons. For people.” Isak hesitated. “And for dragons.”
Milla’s hand flew to her mouth. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. She leaned on her dragon, making him stagger back.
“He poisoned Belara.” Isak’s voice came in broken gasps. “In her water. And when she moved off the eggs to drink …”
“She’s not—?” Milla couldn’t say the word.
“Dead? No.” He shook his head, a bitter note in his voice now. “Not yet. He needs her too much, don’t forget. The poison wore off after half a day. She’s in the palace, in the hall. In chains.” Isak met her eyes, looking ashamed. “And, Milla, Olvar did it to Iggie, too. Dosing him to sleep—it’s the only way they could have chained him.”
Iggie, poisoned? That explained the terrible blankness she’d felt in prison. When she reached for him, for their bond, and there was nothing.
She spun around and laid her head on her dragon’s broad, scaly chest, her arms reaching up around his neck. “Oh, Iggie. I’m so sorry.” Tears came fast now, turning to steam as he kindled lightly, whiffling smoky breath over Milla’s hair. “I was in prison. I couldn’t get to you. And then Kara needed me. But oh, I should never have left. I’m so sorry.” On and on, she murmured, telling her dragon everything, till she felt his forgiveness wash over her and make everything all right.
Finally, she turned and faced Isak again. “How dare he?” she asked.
Her mood had shifted. Now she felt her anger rising like hot lava. “Come on, Iggie, let’s get you safe.” She wanted to get on Iggie’s back and ride him away from here. She started checking him over, assessing the damage.
He fixed her with his strong green glare, lowering his head and opening his wings. They unfolded, with a rustle, still proud, still perfect. He flapped twice, scattering sawdust in a pale cloud, making Milla sneeze.
“I see,” she said. “You can’t walk, but you can fly!”
Iggie growled, sending sparks into the air.
“Then let’s go.”
“Please, Milla.” Isak’s voice stopped her. “You have to help me. I need my dragon back. You don’t know what it’s been like, these past months.”
She felt some of the old defensiveness return. But she bit her lip and waited.
“I can’t go near Belara. I can’t even help her,” Isak was saying. “The eggs should have hatched by now. If they don’t hatch, the duke will blame Belara. If they do hatch, he won’t need her anymore.”
“The duke wouldn’t hurt a dragon …” Milla said slowly, but her fingers were sticky with Iggie’s blood, and she knew it wasn’t true.
“We’ve got to get Belara out. With your help, we can do it. The duke still thinks I’m loyal. Please, Milla. Will you help me?”
Milla rested her head for a moment on Iggie’s chest, asking him to understand why they weren’t fleeing from here this moment.
“All right,” she said finally. “And there’s something else you should know. The duke’s not the only one who has learned past secrets. Kara’s dead. Before she died, she told me something important.”
Listening to each other, thinking fast, Milla and Isak made a new plan.
Isak left first. When Milla crept out of the dragonhall’s secret door, it was fully light and there was no escaping the horror of battle.
She watched, staying hidden.
This was her doing. She’d broken her promise to Serina: she’d shared the knowledge of the shadow gate.
The green-clad Sartolan soldiers poured through the shadow gate in single file and ran silently through the gardens, unchallenged. All the duke’s men were massed around the main gates, expecting an attack from below.
There was a whoomph of huge wingbeats from the opposite direction.
Milla looked up as Heral soared overhead, kindling.
Tarya shrieked, “Fire!”
Heral opened his mouth and spat a blaze of fire, right at the gates. They burst into flame. Then he flew up, circling.
The fire devoured the wooden gates. Milla could feel the heat from here.
The duke’s men fled from the stone watchtowers, back into the palace grounds.
Tarya was waiting for them.
The rising sun glinted off her helmet and breastplate, and Heral’s bloodred scales. She let her arrows fly faster than ever, her arm reaching and nocking the next almost before the first had hit its target. Tarya fought with a light Sartolan bow and white-fletched arrows, spare quivers strapped to Heral’s shoulders. Her aim was deadly, backed by his blasts of flame.
Vigo came next, on Petra, fresh from fighting in the lower city
. Together, he, Tarya, and the dragons were unstoppable, working in deadly symmetry. They cut through the duke’s forces, leaving a trail of ash and black-clad bodies so that Carlo’s army found their way clear.
Then came the surge of foot soldiers attacking from inside and outside the gates at once. The noise swelled and broke like waves. The scent of blood, the screaming and grunting, made Milla think of slaughter time, only these were people.
She bent, retching.
“Join us! Leave Olvar and fight for the allies, Arcosi-Sartolan combined!” Tarya yelled, tossing down green armbands for any who were ready to switch sides.
Tarya would expect Milla to take Iggie to safety and wait for the all clear. But Milla had given Isak her word. She would take her dragon into danger, to rescue his.
She stole forward, beckoning Iggie to follow. “Ready, Ig? Can you fly?” She slipped onto his back, feeling how much muscle he’d lost these past days.
She held her breath while he gathered his weight and sprang from his powerful haunches, flapping hard to gain height.
“Brave Iggie.” She urged him onward. “That’s it.”
They flew over the battle, drawing attention.
“Down!” she screamed, ducking low to avoid a black arrow.
They banked hard left. Her stomach lurched again, but she gripped tight, feeling Iggie battle a sudden gust of wind. “Come on, my Iggie,” she coaxed him, sensing how weak he was. “You’re Cato’s son. You can do this. Almost there!”
He caught an updraft and glided toward the palace, with its stonework like the arching ribs of a giant dragon, its four towers standing tall and proud.
“Land!” she told Iggie, pointing to the courtyard with the black dragon mosaic.
He touched down clumsily, bellowing in pain.
Milla winced, at his pain and hers. She rolled from his back, asking, “Can you walk with me?” She kept one eye on the main doors, expecting an attack, but none came.
Iggie flinched and folded his wings. He limped toward her, head bowed, snorting smoke through his nostrils at each step.
“I know, I know,” she soothed. “But you heard the new plan. We’re going to rescue Belara.” She reached up and pressed her forehead to his, trying to pass all her love and strength through her skin and his scales.
Iggie growled softly.
She went to the huge double doors and pushed. They swung open. The vast hallway with its elegant staircase was dark and deserted. The servants must have fled, as Isak had guessed.
“Come on, Ig, this way.” She hated to see her dragon’s awkward shuffling gait as he obeyed her.
She blinked hard, adjusting to the dimness.
Isak was already there.
Ready? he mouthed, darting to her.
They stood together on the threshold of the palace. Milla held Isak’s glance, praying she was right to trust him, praying they would succeed.
She nodded. “Quickly, take my hand.”
Isak took it.
They each put their free hand on Iggie.
“Now focus hard on our plan,” Milla whispered. “Everything we discussed. Send your thoughts to Belara—we are close enough. I’ll tell Iggie, and he’ll let Heral and Petra know. All four dragons should be enough to stop them.”
“Are you sure?” Isak’s face was grimly determined, half in darkness.
“It’s what Kara said: The dragons knew. They always do. And Petra and Heral came to greet me on Sartola. We’re all connected. We can use that.”
She closed her eyes and reached out for Iggie. Although she’d only just begun to name this link, now she realized it had been there since before he hatched. An invisible silken thread that bound them for life. She passed all her love and courage and all the details of their plan from her mind to his, trusting he would do the rest and summon Heral and Petra to help them.
Iggie made an impatient noise, scratching his claws.
Milla opened her eyes and knew that her dragon understood. “Let’s do this. Hide here till we call for you?”
Iggie whined in the back of his throat, but he folded his wings tight, crawled across the hallway, and curled up in the shadows under the great staircase.
Isak nodded and beckoned Milla forward.
Milla took a deep breath, ignoring the sudden tremor in her legs, and followed him.
“I’ve got Milla!” Isak shouted, pushing open the door to the great hall. “She thought to steal her dragon, but I’ve got her, Your Grace.” His voice was harsh and loud in her ear.
He forced them forward into the great hall.
This was where everything had begun for Milla and Iggie. Would it also be where it ended?
Just as before, a huge fire burned in the hearth. Morning light streamed through the tall windows. A crimson rug covered the floor. A massive four-poster bed had been placed in the center of the room where the table had once been. Hung with thick black velvet curtains, it made the perfect nest for Belara and her eggs.
“Ah, Milla,” a voice spoke from inside the room. “We were wondering when you would join us.” Duke Olvar strode forward, away from the nest.
As soon as he looked at her, Milla felt her courage peel away and shrivel up. She felt like an impostor. She might be the descendant of Karys Stormrider. She might have inherited a fortune in gold. But when Duke Olvar looked down his nose at her, she felt very small indeed. Just like that frightened child hiding in an orange tree, unable to move.
Suddenly, her arms were twisted behind her back. Isak pushed her forward, and her injured ribs burned in agony.
“Let go!” she hissed. Black dots danced before her eyes, and she struggled not to pass out. She felt him remove her dagger and throw it down. She thought of Iggie, hiding just outside and sent him a wave of reassurance. She prayed he would understand everything she’d told him: that this was a disguise, that Isak was still their friend.
“I’ve got this. Focus on the nest, Your Grace.” Isak released the pressure slightly. “Give it up …” he muttered in her ear, forcing her into the center of the room.
He sounded so convincing, she wondered if this was a new trap.
Just then, Richal Finn strode into the room, pulled his helmet off, and saluted the duke. “Your Grace, I bring news.”
Isak had told her Finn was the duke’s man. Always had been. She pushed away the shock and anger, resisting the urge to turn over old memories to spot his treachery.
“Finn?” Milla asked, pretending she didn’t know he was a traitor. “What are you doing here?”
He ignored her. “Your Grace, you must hear this. Your forces are overwhelmed,” Finn said. “We need to leave, now.”
“Don’t be a fool!” Olvar snapped. “We’re not giving up now, after everything. We must wait for the eggs to hatch.”
“Your Grace, the situation has changed: your son and the Sartolans will be here very soon.”
“The timing couldn’t be worse,” Duke Olvar said. “We don’t need the distraction, not on hatching day.” His pale blue eyes were red-rimmed, and his hair was a greasy mess, flat against his scalp.
His voice had a strained quality to it that made Milla feel even more afraid. How many nights had he gone without sleep?
“The hatchlings should have emerged by now. The moon was full last night. Maybe our calculations were wrong, Isak?” Olvar paced by the nest-bed.
“No, no, they can’t be, Your Grace,” Isak said. “We’ve been through this. We double-checked.”
“I’ve heard them tapping! They will hatch, any moment.” Duke Olvar looked at the velvet drapes, as if saying it would make it happen. “This is our time. And I will not run. We must wait.”
“But for how long, Your Grace?” Finn asked. “They’ll be here soon. Then the new dragons will belong to your enemies. You’ve waited so long. These eggs are yours—do you want to lose them now?”
Milla saw these words hit home.
“Of course not!” Olvar said. “But what choice do we have? I will n
ot leave them.”
“We could take the eggs with us, Your Grace. Keep them warm.”
“It could work, if we also bring spring water …” Olvar seized on these words like a drowning man. “We will need a hostage.” He nodded at Milla. “So we can demand safe passage—for us and the eggs.”
Finn drew his sword in response.
“They won’t give you safe passage!” Milla said. And Iggie would never let them leave. Just a little longer, she thought hard in his direction.
“Keep quiet!” Isak said. But he released her arms, keeping only the lightest pressure on them. “Ready?” he whispered in her ear.
This was it. Milla tensed every muscle, waiting. They had to judge the moment perfectly.
Finn cried, “Time is running out, Your Grace.”
“You deal with the dragon,” Olvar ordered. “I’ll take the eggs.”
“I’ll do it,” Finn replied. “I will distract it. Your Grace can use the bag!”
Milla spotted it: the beautiful silk egg carrier that once held Iggie’s egg and the other three, hanging on a chair near the fire.
“Listen to me, Finn.” Olvar headed for the bag. “You will have to kill the mother. Leave the girl till it’s done.”
“Kill the dragon?” Finn paused, closing in on Belara’s nest with his sword lifted, looking horrified. But he only said, “Yes, Your Grace.”
Olvar picked up the bag and started walking toward the nest.
“Now!” Isak hissed.
Now! Milla sent the thought to Iggie.
Isak sprang forward and tripped the duke. Olvar went sprawling on the floor, holding the bag.
Milla grabbed a chair and flung it at Richal Finn, aiming for his sword arm.
He stumbled, but didn’t fall.
Just then, Iggie burst through the door and swiped at Finn, flooring him with his powerful tail.
Finn struggled, swearing and spitting, still gripping his sword, though he couldn’t escape Iggie’s bulk pinning him down.
Milla pounced. She pulled out her lockpicks and brought them down on Finn’s sword hand. The thin metal skewers bit into the skin, disarming him.
She grabbed Finn’s sword, heavy and unfamiliar, and scrambled to her feet.