FLIGHT

by Katie Cross

  Maximillion’s world was filled with witches she didn’t know. A ballroom. A fine dinner. Glasses of wine. She stared at a wisp of him sitting at a desk—not his, and not one she recognized—and peered over his shoulder, unable to make out the words on the paper.

  One branch of his possibilities intersected with another distant branch of hers, leading to strange roads. An ocean. A creaky cottage in the trees lined with porcelain cups. Fire in the distance. Isadora doubled back, checked the closest wisps that had already changed.

  Finding nothing, she closed the magic.

  “Well?”

  Maximillion’s cutting voice welcomed her out of the magic with a jerk. She opened her eyes and sat up. He paced with sharp, jerking movements, his heels striking the floor with definitive thuds.

  “Your life is quite complicated,” she said. A weak feeling flooded her body, and a yawn threatened to overtake her. She glanced at the clock on the wall, which ticked the evening steadily away. “The good gods. I’ve been gone for two hours!”

  “And nothing to show for it.” Maximillion stopped pacing. “Did you see Lucey?”

  “No. I tried to see her amongst our paths.”

  “Nothing?”

  She shook her head. He swore under his breath, jaw tight with tension. No doubt his frustration was twofold—they couldn’t find Lucey with such a haphazard approach, and he had no idea why her powers weren’t like anyone else’s.

  He stopped pacing to loom over her, fire in his eyes. Tiny threads from his intricate, velvet vest waved in the air. “Lucey’s life—and the life of all the Watchers in the East—may rest on your ability to do this.”

  “No pressure,” she mumbled.

  “There’s a prodigious amount of pressure. I’m applying it for a reason.”

  Isadora folded her arms across her chest, maintaining her calm resolve by sheer willpower. He tried to rattle her all the time, just to test her temper. She’d learned an impressive amount of control from him.

  “I cannot change what I don’t know.”

  He muttered something under his breath and returned to his desk. Isadora pulled in a deep breath, forcing herself to maintain her patience. Behind Maximillion’s cagey pacing and cutting responses was hidden fear. He worried for Lucey, though she doubted he’d ever admit it.

  “We must monitor Cecelia,” Isadora said.

  He glared at her. “Don’t insult me. It’s already been done.”

  “Then there is nothing to do but to send the Advocacy in after Lucey.”

  His expression hardened, but his eyes gleamed with a terrible light. “So it would seem.” He spun and faced the window, dismissing her with a single wave of his hand.

  Before she could go, a quick rap on the door broke the tension. Maximillion glanced up, murmuring under his breath. The light sped back around the edge of the door. Maximillion whipped around.

  “Yes?” he called.

  A soft, lyrical voice said, “Max?”

  Maximillion rolled his eyes but issued no correction. He straightened his vest, cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair, and said in a clear voice, “Come in, Your Highness.”

  The door slid open. The High Priest, Charles Dauphin, stumbled inside. He tripped over a crack in the doorway and caught himself on a sculpture of a half-nude witch. Isadora reached out, snatching the sculpture before it plummeted to its certain demise.

  The High Priest’s pale skin clashed beautifully with his carroty hair and abundant freckles. He had a rounded face with pouty lips and a quick smile.

  Maximillion forced an even edge into his tone. “What may I do for you?”

  “Just stopping by to ask about—oh! Merry meet.”

  Charles jumped when he saw Isadora standing there. A wide grin stretched across his long, surprised face. His curls spiraled all over the place as he extended an arm. Isadora accepted, shaking it.

  A shot of nerves jolted through her. She’d met many witches before, but never the Highest Witch. By all accounts, he wielded more power than anyone in the Central Network—although most would argue that Maximillion truly ran the Network.

  “Merry meet.” She curtsied.

  “Oh, none of that. We’re not formal all the time.” Charles’s smile widened. “Exhausting stuff. What’s your name?”

  “Isadora.”

  A broad back and a crisp, white shirt broke their arms apart. Maximillion stood between them, forcing Isadora to step back or be crushed.

  “She’s a pupil of mine.” Without turning around, he said, “You may go, Miss Spence.”

  Isadora stilled her rage. Pushing Maximillion wouldn’t be wise when he was under so much pressure. Then again, the temptation was all-too-strong. She sidestepped him with a bright smile.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. I’m sorry for the mess you’ve inherited.”

  Charles beamed. “A lovely girl. Thank you.”

  Maximillion gritted his teeth.

  Isadora deepened her reverential tone. “I have full faith in your ability to serve the Network and prevent war,” she murmured, smiling. “I know you’ll save us.”

  The giddiness in Charles’s bright eyes faded slightly. His smile became wooden. “Er, yes. Right. Of course. Greta was a strong-willed witch, you know. But we’ll come ‘round, no doubt, with witches like Maximillion at my side.”

  Charles clapped Maximillion on the shoulder. Maximillion’s nostrils flared. “Please respect my boundaries, Your Highness,” he murmured.

  Charles withdrew his hand. “Right! Sorry, Max. Forgot you don’t like to be touched.”

  “Maximillion, if you please.”

  “So, Isadora,” Charles said, turning his full attention to her. “How is it being one of Max’s pupils?”

  “Enlightening.”

  Charles smiled. “Yes. He’s that, if anything.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you from the area? I don’t recognize you, and I never forget a pretty—”

  “That’s enough of that.” Maximillion shoved her into the hall. “Keep trying. Return in the morning.”

  The door slammed behind her. Isadora stared at it for a full minute before gathering her wits and transporting away, her thoughts spiraling around Lucey, Cecelia, and the awful prison stronghold, Carcere.

  Chapter Seven

  Sanna, Luteis, Daid, and Rubeis soared above Letum Wood together.

  Rubeis’s elegant, glittering wings stretched out like flapping war banners, glinting ruby in the moonlight. Luteis flew at a leisurely pace next to him. A gentle wind tugged at Sanna’s clothes as they cut through the cold air.

  Daid held on to Rubeis with both hands, his knees clinging tightly to Rubeis’s neck. His pale face had a sheen of sweat, and his eyes darted to the ground every other second.

  “Daid, you all right?”

  “Fine,” he snapped. Sanna stifled a grin.

  He came, Luteis said. That means a great deal.

  I’m extremely proud of him.

  Considering Talis’ abuse of your father’s trust, your Daid is a courageous witch to try this.

  The respect in Luteis’s tone surprised her, but she agreed. Talis’s rule had been strict; there were lasting beliefs she knew Daid would never discuss. Things that would prevent him from truly trusting dragons—and prevent the dragons from trusting him. Still, the fact that he’d climbed on Rubeis tonight to test flight a second time meant something in him stirred.

  “Is Mam afraid of the dragons now?” Sanna asked, leaning back on her palms. Her legs hung lazily over Luteis’s shoulders, barely a third of the way down his neck. At her back, the first ridge of his spine shot up, providing natural support.

  She’d be a fool not to be, Luteis said.

  “She’s afraid of many things. The unknown.” Daid’s brow furrowed. “The memories that Talis’s betrayal stirred up for her.”

  “Of her daid?”

  Daid pressed his lips together and nodded once. Mam had rarely spoken about her life before coming to Anguis t
o handfast Daid—after meeting him in her village during one of his yearly resupplying visits. When Mam did mention her childhood, her voice choked, but not with tears.

  It was more like hidden rage.

  “Does she blame me for what happened?” Sanna asked. “If I hadn’t chosen Luteis, none of this would have come out.”

  He paused for half a breath, just long enough to tell her that Mam did, in some way, blame her. Despite the fact that Daid had delivered the fatal blow to Talis, the blame rested on Sanna, who had stirred up trouble to begin with. She’d suspected that Mam agreed with the other Dragonmasters, but the blow stung all the same.

  All the more reason not to lead, she said to Luteis. To disappoint and rule as a tyrant? I can’t.

  “It’s not your fault,” Daid said, preventing Luteis’s response. Daid’s nostrils flared as he looked down, gulped, and said, “She blames Talis. The truth flies in the face of everything we once thought we knew. It’s hard to trust anything now, much less ourselves. It will take her a lot more time to understand this. I only ask you to give her the extra space. She’ll find her way. Eventually.”

  “Yes, Daid.”

  He turned his face to the wind and clung to Rubeis.

  She sank into her thoughts for a moment. The families seemed to walk around in a sort of daze now. Mam, who had clung to Drago—Talis’s false god—with such dedication, had taken it harder than anyone else. Her mind, already delicate, seemed crushed under the blow at first.

  You have had more time to understand and mourn this, Luteis said. Your daid has lived more years than you under Talis.

  Sanna stroked his neck in response.

  The fuzzy night sky stretched in front of them like a dark carpet. Only the moon shed any light that Sanna could see—the indistinct stars blurred into a thick canvas. The beat of dragon wings was the only sound. Sanna let it be. How much of Daid’s uncertainty stemmed from the same doubt they all felt inside themselves?

  Luteis’s head snapped to the left. His nostrils flared. Rubeis followed suit.

  A pack of forest lions, he said. And … something more.

  Rubeis’s chest rolled with an assenting grunt.

  Without another word, they banked left, tilting their bodies until they pivoted ninety degrees, then dropped lower into the cloud cover. Sanna’s broiling thoughts fell silent while the dragons cut into the canopy.

  Rubeis struck a few boughs with his wings, slicing leaves off in chunks, as he descended. Luteis alighted on a wide branch forty paces from the ground without making a single sound. He tucked his wings into his sides and lifted his nose.

  The smell is … strange.

  A hint of uncertainty lingered in Luteis’s tone. Rubeis, despite being leader of the dragons, still knew so little of hunting. He hung back, not far from Luteis, waiting for him to act first.

  Sanna sniffed the air. She smelled nothing.

  It’s animal, Luteis said, but … new. I may have smelled it before. Perhaps with the poacher the other night?

  Is the poacher with it?

  I cannot tell. Perhaps I am paranoid.

  Rubeis rolled to the right while Luteis forked left. Sanna grabbed her knife. Hints of a troll had been lurking in the shadows for weeks now. The gigantic, hideous creatures were more dangerous than beluas, but not so prolific. Most lived in the North and came down only during times of famine. She and Luteis slipped between the trees. Letum Wood wasn’t so dense in this area. But the upper canopy proliferated as a separate world, with branches the thickness of dragons. The dizzying height of it loomed so far above them, it was seemingly eternal.

  Are you ready? Luteis asked. I shall hunt first, investigate second. Cara is needing more food.

  “Always ready.”

  Only a few minutes followed before the shriek of a forest lion sounded from just above. Sanna dodged a branch that fell as a lion sped away, yowling when Luteis threw fire. Brief flashes of mottled yellow and strands of shaggy fur darted through grooves in the bark. Luteis wrapped his neck around a tree and snapped, stopping one lion mid-bellow. He released it. The lion whirled head over foot toward the ground. Another lion attempted to skitter away, but Luteis smacked it in the middle of the spine with his tail. The lion shrieked, and its back legs went limp. Sanna winced when it fell, head smacking on a branch twenty paces down. The lion fell silent, giving way to a distant thud.

  “Mori,” she muttered, “you’re violent when you hunt.”

  Hungry. There’s a difference.

  A thud and a scream sounded just behind her.

  Sanna leapt to her feet and whirled around. A forest lion stood on Luteis’s back, talons slipping on the scales. Luteis shifted to the left with a growl. The lion compensated by leaning to the right. Sanna tensed, gripping her knife.

  “Here kitty, kitty,” she sang under her breath. “We could always use one more lion.”

  The lion hesitated, growled, and leapt. Sanna ducked, then stood just as she felt the velvety underside of its belly passing over her. The lion’s stomach slammed into her shoulder, knocking her off her feet. She rolled onto her back, swung her arms up, and jammed her knife into the soft flesh under his jaw. It tore through the skin, cracked into the skull, and silenced the lion. Blood stained her hands as she wrenched the knife free and kicked the mangy cat off Luteis’s back. The dead lion plummeted to the ground, a spray of blood trailing in its wake.

  Well done.

  Sanna wiped the blood off on her shirt. “That’s disgusting.”

  You aren’t injured?

  “No. I think I’m getting used to it. Remember when—”

  Another bellow came from the south, only this time it wasn’t a lion. Sanna’s blood turned cold. “What was that?”

  Rubeis.

  “Daid!”

  Luteis plummeted to the ground, wings folded against his body. He used his feet to push off branches and the closest tree trunk, sinking his talons into the wood to control their descent. Not twenty seconds later, they landed on the forest floor.

  Sanna’s heart stopped.

  Rubeis lay on the ground, jaw snapping at something above him. A shadow. Rubeis attempted to stand but couldn’t move. The lumpy, broad shadow disappeared. Rubeis struggled to his feet and crouched over Daid, who lay on his back. Heat flooded her body in torrents, sweeping through her.

  Sanna slid off Luteis’s back. “Daid!”

  She sprinted to his side, heart in her throat. Blood bubbled up from his forehead. Three slashes across his chest cut through his shirt, tearing into his ribs. Lines of crimson seeped up from underneath. He blinked slowly, eyes like glass. His chest made a strange, sucking sound.

  “Daid?”

  “S-sanna.”

  Blood tinged his teeth as she grabbed his shirt, hauling him into her lap.

  “Rubeis! Your blood! Give it to me, quickly.”

  Daid choked, coughing. Rubeis, back leg hanging at an awkward angle, attempted to stagger his injured leg closer to Daid. Luteis reached out, using his neck to stabilize Rubeis’s weakened body. Sapphire blood poured from a wound in Rubeis’s neck. The scales had been torn free. Rivers of blue flowed from it, scorching the ground.

  “Daid, don’t you dare—”

  “Your mam—”

  “Rubeis will give you his blood. It will heal you. It’s going to be—”

  Daid’s eyes fluttered open and closed. Sanna tore Daid’s shirt open as Rubeis approached, eyes pained. He panted. Steam billowed from his nostrils, turning the air sticky.

  The deep gashes in Daid’s chest revealed slices of bone. Blood flowed out, so thick and rich it appeared nearly black. Daid’s chest arrested for a long pause. His face turned pale. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Sanna reached up, touching his face, her fingers on fire. Something hot swelled in her chest.

  “Daid?”

  With a grunt, Luteis moved Rubeis’s front body until blood dribbled onto Daid’s chest and sizzled.

  “Mam—”

  “Stop,
Daid!”

  Luteis’s voice rang through her mind, filled with strength, authority, and something else. He may not make it. Not even with dragon blood. We heal. We cannot always save. Give him what comfort you can. I am here to catch you when you fall.

  Daid stared at her, eyes half gone, sinking into a different place, as if he crossed the shadowy veil into a different world. Sanna choked back a sob and grabbed Daid’s hand. Tears burned hot in her throat, but she swallowed them back.

  “Daid, I’ll take care of Mam. Sh-she’ll be fine.”

  Even as she spoke, Rubeis dropped his precious blood onto Daid’s chest. His breathing eased, losing the wet rattle that hung in the back of his throat. Sanna held her breath. The moments passed like years. Rubeis tottered, then fell. He slammed into the ground behind them, sending a tremor through the trees.

  “No!” Sanna screamed. “Break your merging. Break it!”

  Rubeis’s eyes rolled back in his head. Daid’s breathing evened out, but the life did not return to his eyes. He stared at her, his pale face drawn. When he reached a hand toward her face, the fingers trembled. Sapphire stained the portions of his shirt not already claimed by blood. His hand, weak and bloody, rose, as if to touch her. She clasped it in hers.

  “Daid?”

  “Amo, Sanna,” he whispered.

  “Daid, please!”

  His shoulders slackened. The tension released out of his neck. His head leaned back, turning slightly to the side. The rattling ceased. Sanna stared in horror at the blood seeping out of his chest, onto her hands. Her legs.

  “No,” she whispered. “Daid, no. Babs!” she cried, straightening. “We have to get him to Babs! She can fix him. Where’s Lucey?”

  Sanna—

  “I won’t give up!” she snapped. A sob wrenched from her throat. “I won’t. Daid … I won’t—”

  Sanna of the Forest, Luteis murmured. He nudged her gently with his snout. My heart mourns for you.

  Sanna doubled over Daid with a wail.

  Sanna moved as if through water.

  The world around her seemed to chatter, moving so fast it bent into eerie whirls. She heard witches talking to her. She answered their questions. Embraced Mam, who collapsed, pale-faced, and frighteningly still. Elliot spoke to her about the dragons. Finn about honoring Daid as a Servant. Someone washed the blood off her hands.