Dragon Child

by Elana A. Mugdan

  Keriya was glad it was so dark, because she was certain her cheeks had turned a flaming shade of red. She stammered a half-hearted protestation, but stopped when Max clambered onto the narrow marble railing of the balcony’s balustrade.

  “Come on.” He offered her his hand. She took it and joined him on the balustrade. It was true that heights didn’t bother her, but she and Max were teetering on the edge of a precipice that led down, down, down into the never-ending night. Wind battered her, making her sway dangerously. Her stomach swooped and her heart thudded against her ribcage—and not just because Max snaked an arm around her, holding her close.

  He braced himself with one hand on the flimsy wire, and said to Keriya, “Sit here, above the harness.”

  Keriya stood on tiptoe and turned, easing herself into the space between Max and the silver line. She leaned against his chest and, since there was nothing else for her to hold onto, put her arms around his neck. Her heart doubled its pace.

  Max gripped the line and leapt off the balcony. Keriya’s breath and stomach abandoned her as she plummeted into the lightless abyss. The air stung her wide eyes as she hurtled through the night. The ground and the city became visible as they dropped through the clouds, and her body relaxed as she admired the view. Golden lights fanned beneath them, twinkling like constellations.

  Just as she was beginning to enjoy herself, Max yelled, “Brace yourself,” over the howl of the wind.

  She tightened her grasp around his neck as a forest of stone towers resolved from the gloom. They’d descended far enough to pass through the buildings. Structures zoomed by, too fast for Keriya to register, and she wondered how they were going to stop without killing themselves.

  Then they began to slow. Air resistance pressed against her body, and she assumed Max must be wielding. She craned her neck around to discover they were fast approaching a large wooden building with peaked gables. She tensed, readying herself for impact, but by the time they reached the ledge on the outside of its tallest tower, they’d slowed almost to a standstill.

  Max touched down on the ledge and Keriya slid away from him, stumbling when her feet hit the ground.

  “There now,” said Max, disentangling himself from the harness. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “Hm? Oh—no, not bad.” A hesitant smile trembled on her lips. “Actually kind of fun.”

  Max wrenched on the wire, tugging a grappling hook loose from the wall behind them. Its sharp points retracted, turning the hook into a spear. Max released it, and coil and spear retracted the way they’d come, zipping toward the palace in the clouds.

  They entered the tower, and Keriya was enfolded at once by warmth and the scent of earth and animals. She and Max padded down a flight of stairs that opened into a corridor lined with stalls. Large creatures rested in the compartments. At first glance they looked like horses, but they were surely something more interesting than that. They were larger than regular horses, with tiny ears and no manes. Their build was lighter too, graceful and sinuous. When Keriya peeked into one of the stalls she saw their hooves were cloven, like the unicorn’s had been, and their tails were thin and rope-like.

  “Arions,” Max whispered. “Wind horses. Fastest land animals in the empire. This one is mine,” he added, pointing to a lone animal that stood in the aisle outside its stall. It was silhouetted by the faint light streaming through the crack in the barn doors. A bridle hugged the contours of its elegant face and a leather saddle was already on its back. It whickered softly in greeting.

  “I called ahead to a friend,” said Max, reaching for the arion. “He readied Alphir for us.”

  He grasped the reins and patted Alphir’s neck. The animal turned a sharp eye on Keriya. His pale hide gleamed like silken cobwebs and his gaze held a disconcerting intelligence.

  “Hi, Alphir,” she said, since she figured that was the polite thing to do.

  Max led Alphir to a mounting block. “This saddle seats two. It won’t be comfortable, but Alphir is the swiftest steed in the royal stables. He’ll get us to the Temariyan Gorge in a matter of days.”

  Max mounted and Keriya arranged herself awkwardly behind him. Her dress wasn’t made for riding, and the worn and fraying hem scrunched around her knees as she strapped her legs into the harnesses on either side of the saddle. Max slipped his own feet into silver stirrups and clucked softly to Alphir, who plodded forward.

  The prince raised a hand and wielded to lift the latch on the stable doors. They slid open softly, revealing a large paddock surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. Beyond the bars, several soldiers stood on watch duty.

  “Oh no,” said Keriya, her innards plunging as if she’d jumped off another cloud-bound castle.

  “No need to worry about them,” said Max, a hint of amusement in his voice. He wielded once more and the gate of the fence creaked open. The guards jumped at the disturbance. As soon as they saw Keriya and Max astride Alphir, they began shouting.

  “Uh, Max, I think they’ve spotted us.”

  “You’ll want to hold onto me again,” said Max, and there was a definite ring of mirth in his tone now. Keriya had barely put her hands on his shoulders when he whistled sharply to Alphir. The arion reared on his hind legs, pawing at the air. Keriya lurched backward and would have been thrown from the saddle had it not been for the straps holding her in place.

  Alphir let loose a cry that reverberated in Keriya’s chest and echoed off the nearby buildings. He sprang forward, causing Keriya’s neck to snap back as he galloped through the gate, leaving the soldiers far behind.

  “Faster, boy!” Max cried, and the arion sped up. Alphir leaned into a turn and careened around a corner, using his tail to counterbalance, artfully dodging a carriage that was trundling along the road.

  The arion swerved around every obstacle in his path, leading them to the edge of Vendale in minutes. They raced along the riverbank before hurtling over the white stone bridge arcing between the twin cities. Venaeton unfolded before them in a blur, and then they were free, in the vast, open plains of the Erastate.

  Keriya released a long breath and loosened her grip on Max’s shoulders. The Oldmoon was peeking through the clouds, scattering bands of blue light across the land. Alphir’s stride was smooth and tireless as he forged south along the road. The leagues melted beneath his cloven hooves.

  Hang on, Thorion, she thought. I’m on my way.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “The only way to measure if a man is worthy of power is to ask him if he thinks he is. If he says yes, you can be sure he is not.”

  ~ Keirwyn Moothvaler, Second Age

  The last three months had been the worst Seba had ever endured. The blisters on her feet had long since turned to knobbly calluses. Dirt had taken up permanent residence under her fingernails. The cold had sunk into her bones, giving her tremors. She’d lost a stone’s worth of weight and she had the horrible suspicion that she’d caught worms somewhere along the way, because her stomach was in a state of perpetual upset. Her hair, once lustrous and silky, was now listless and frayed.

  She’d been disrespected and mistreated by everyone she had met. The worst of all had been that horrible werelion. He’d been rude and crass—and no sooner had he laid eyes on her than he’d known her for what she was.

  House Ishira had a proud history, but it also had a dark secret. To keep producing strong wielders, the Ishiras had begun inter-marrying with nereids—sea creatures that commoners referred to as ‘mermaids.’ Seba’s father had been born of a union between a nereid and a human, and unsurprisingly both he and Seba were immensely powerful . . . but that power came with a price.

  King Wavewalker had come down with land sickness three years ago. It didn’t affect all half-nereids, but when it did strike, it was deadly. He ruled knowing his days were numbered. That was why he’d been so adamant in securing Seba’s marriage and future, why he’d f
orbidden her from leaving home.

  Guilt pressed on Seba, making it hard to breathe. Not only had she abandoned her duty to House Ishira, she had abandoned her father. He only had a few years left, if that . . . and what of her own fate? Uhs had called her galancrelas: watercreature. He’d said there was no hope for her.

  Did that mean she had land sickness, too?

  Seba covered her face with shaking hands. She’d been glad to come to the Erastatian palace. She had longed for the luxury of running water, a soft bed and hot meals, but everything had gone wrong. Now she was stuck here, Windscoure’s political prisoner.

  Despite Max’s assurances that he wouldn’t hurt her, she knew the Erastatian king was a loose cannon—she’d grown up hearing her father complain about everything from the way he ruled his kingdom to the way he took his tea. She was the only viable heir to the Coral Throne, and her family would capitulate to any demands Windscoure made in order to ensure her safety.

  As Seba lay on her fluffy feather mattress, warm from her bath, she pondered the poor choices that had led her to this point. Whatever happened next between the Galantasa and the Erastate was her fault.

  “No,” she growled, scowling at the canopy of her bed. “It’s not my fault. It all comes back to that miserable peasant!”

  If Keriya Soulstar had been a better guardian, Thorion would never have been infected with darksalm. If she’d had a shred of intelligence, she would have done her duty to the empire and gone to Noryk. If only she’d never existed at all! Then Max wouldn’t . . .

  Seba shook her head. Thinking about Max and Keriya made her blood boil. She was sure nothing had happened between them, but they’d clearly wanted something to happen, which was just as bad.

  I’ve put an end to it. She’d made Max swear not to go near Keriya. Not that the girl would be staying in the palace long—word was sure to spread that the Dragon Speaker was here. Empress Aldelphia would send a summons for her, and she’d be carted to Noryk like the criminal she was.

  Seba didn’t bother to think too much about what that might mean for Thorion, or the world at large.

  She had dinner delivered to her chambers that night. She ate in bed—a horrible habit, something her father would have scolded her for—and fell asleep early despite the hubbub in the halls. The next morning, frenzied shouting roused her. She threw on a bathrobe and limped to her door to see what the fuss was about.

  As she reached for the gilded knob, someone knocked. She jumped—she was now prone to frights at the smallest things—then opened it to reveal a brown face and livid red eyes.

  “Gohrbryn Tanthflame,” Seba breathed, horror-struck.

  “Princess Sebaris.” He offered her a shallow bow.

  “You’re . . .” Working for Necrovar? A traitor to the empire? A murderer of innocent Galantrians? She couldn’t say any of those things aloud. “. . . here. Why?”

  “I am conducting an inquiry, and I beg a few moments of Your Grace’s time.”

  Seba clenched her jaw as fury boiled inside her. This was the man who’d sacked Irongarde and destroyed the Galantrian Village. How dare he stand before her, he who had slaughtered her people? How dare he show his face in public?

  “Two nights past, the Dragon Speaker escaped from the palace,” Tanthflame explained. “She abducted the prince—”

  “What?” Seba gasped.

  “Do you have any information that might lead us to her location?”

  The floor swayed, and Seba steadied herself against the door with a shaking hand. Max and Keriya were gone. And she had been forgotten, abandoned in a violent political tempest.

  “Princess?” Tanthflame’s voice reached her from worlds away.

  “I don’t know anything.” Seba’s lie was thin and forced. She knew not to let slip the plans to bring Thorion to the Valaani Temple. The only person she trusted less—and hated more—than Keriya Soulstar was Tanthflame himself.

  “Out of curiosity, Your Grace, did you at any point see the Dragon Speaker with a peculiar-looking weapon after you were taken hostage from Irongarde?”

  “No, she never carried any weapons.” Tanthflame opened his mouth, probably to probe her with more questions, but Seba wasn’t having it. “I’m not well. Leave my rooms at once.”

  To her surprise, the Imperials withdrew without a fuss. Seba closed the door behind them, drowning in her thoughts. It felt like the walls were closing in on her. She knew Max hadn’t been abducted—he had gone willingly with that witch.

  “What do I do?” she moaned, though she already knew the answer. She had made her decision a long time ago. She had committed to her quest the moment she’d left her home.

  Steeling herself with resolve, Seba wrenched the door open again. Tanthflame and his goons were halfway down the hall. She hastened in the opposite direction.

  Though she was a prisoner, she was also royalty. She was welcome anywhere in the palace—it was leaving that was forbidden. Still, she took it upon herself to hide whenever anyone approached, skulking in empty alcoves to avoid servants and soldiers alike. Thus, by the time she reached the throne room corridor, Tanthflame had beaten her there and was already speaking with the king.

  Seba darted into an adjacent hallway, but from the pause in their conversation, she could Windscoure and Tanthflame had spotted her. Both men were dangerous, but if she had to choose between the two, she would prefer the king.

  “Your Highness,” she said in a ringing voice, stepping into view. She was painfully aware that she did not cut a striking figure in her bathrobe. “I have urgent matters I wish to discuss with you.” Her gaze flickered toward Tanthflame before she fixed it firmly on Windscoure’s lined face. “Alone.”

  “Princess,” said Windscoure, “Commander-General Tanthflame has journeyed all the way from the Fironem to—”

  “That’s quite alright, Sire,” Tanthflame said with a smile that didn’t touch his fiery eyes. “I’ll proceed with the investigation, though I doubt we’ll find anything we don’t already know.”

  “Do what you think is best,” said the king. His demeanor was harsh, and Seba could practically feel the tension crackling between the men. “We will continue our discussion later.”

  “If not tonight, Your Highness, we will surely have time tomorrow.”

  “Ah; you’re planning a prolonged stay in Vendale?”

  Seba knew a power-play when she saw one. Tanthflame had tried to invite himself into the palace, but the king had shut him down. Her esteem of Windscoure rose slightly.

  “Not prolonged, no. I must return to Fyrxav to oversee an important project. After the unforgivable actions my countrymen took in the north, I’ve had to bring in Imperial soldiers to stabilize the Fironem.”

  “It’s a shame the kingdom has deteriorated so far,” Windscoure agreed. “Regardless of the Dragon Speaker’s escape, I assure you my plans for the southern border remain the same.”

  If Seba hadn’t known better, she would have sworn there was a note of apology in the king’s voice—and a hint of fear.

  “I’d expect nothing less,” was the oily reply. “It is a pity the rheenar was able to escape such a well-fortified castle, but this unfortunate incident will soon be rectified. After all, you cannot cheat the Shadow.”

  The lines on Windscoure’s proud brow deepened and his blue eyes clouded. There was definitely something going on between the two of them, but Seba couldn’t begin to guess what.

  Tanthflame turned to Seba. “I’m pleased to see you’re feeling better, Your Grace.” He offered her a nod—which she did not return—before motioning to his men. The Imperials snapped to attention and boiled out of the hall in a great swarm.

  Seba studied the king for a moment. Given his sour interchange with Tanthflame, he must know or suspect the truth of the commander-general’s treachery . . . though if that were so, why had he let the wretched man i
nto his palace?

  That topic was too dangerous for her to broach, so she settled on the safer of her queries. “Your Highness, I’ve heard some disturbing news about Max.”

  “He left the palace, yes,” Windscoure said nonchalantly. “With the Dragon Speaker.”

  Seba scowled. She felt the king ought to be more concerned about Max’s welfare. Then again, he hadn’t seen what she had seen. He didn’t know that one day, Keriya Soulstar would kill his only surviving son.

  Unless I stop her, Seba corrected herself.

  “Sire,” she said, “this situation is worse than you realize. That witch is dangerous.”

  “On that, we agree,” the king replied in dark tones.

  “I assume you summoned Tanthflame to track Soulstar, but . . .” She took a breath. Time to test the waters. “I’m not sure he can be trusted.”

  Windscoure stared down his nose at her. Seba’s insides squirmed. Had she overplayed her hand?

  “Walk with me,” he said, motioning for his personal guard to fall back as he strode away. Seba had no choice but to follow. A softening in her ears and a sudden surge of silence told her that he was wielding an air spell to block noise from traveling, thus keeping their conversation private.

  “Sire, I’m sorry if that was out of line.” The eerie absence of outside noise made her voice sound abnormally loud. “I spoke out of concern for Max, because I know what Tanthflame is capable of. The crimes he’s trying to pin on Thorion were crimes he himself committed.”

  The king had no outward reaction to her statement—which meant he knew what Tanthflame had done, or he didn’t care—so she barreled on recklessly: “If Tanthflame goes after Keriya, I shudder to think what he might do to Max.”

  “You’ve become a perceptive young lady,” said the king. “You’ll make a fine ruler one day.”

  Seba was thrown by the unexpected compliment and Windscoure’s continued indifference to his son’s fate. “I—thank you, Sire. You flatter me, but I won’t rule. I am merely to be a queen.” Wanting to redirect his attention to what was important, she added, “Max’s queen.”