by Katie Cross
Something wasn’t right.
The girl’s eyes darted higher, then back. Isadora followed her gaze. This cell had a higher ceiling than the others. The shadows behind the girl were darker—deeper. As if there was more space back there. Isadora straightened, lifted the waning torch higher. The stone wall appeared freshly chipped where the metal door met the stone—as if someone had recently put this door here. Hastily, too. Slash lines cut through the grime to the base of the stone.
“Maximillion,” she murmured, gesturing to it. He frowned. Isadora took one step forward. More light fell on the girl’s anemic face and stretched into the darkness behind her, as if there were a boxed-in alcove or forgotten staircase.
Isadora froze. In the darkness lurked a figure.
“Max—”
“Maximillion,” a cold voice said. “I really shouldn’t be surprised to see you, of all witches, here.”
His spine stiffened. “Cecelia,” he said, pushing Isadora behind him. “As expected.”
Cecelia shuffled out of the darkness. Isadora stepped to the side, placing herself closer to the girl, who flinched when Cecelia’s velvet, blood-red cloak brushed her arm. Despite the filth on the floor, Cecelia advanced with her unusual energy, like an elegant bull plowing into an arena.
Even in an enclosed space, she was larger than life. Jewels glimmered from her neck, ears, and wrists. Bracelets so heavy they surely weighed her arms down. A simple bun, bedecked with diamond-studded pins, pulled her hair away from her face.
“Am I expected?” she asked.
Isadora inched to the side. The Watcher girl tucked her head into her arms with a hiccuping sob. There were only two or three paces between the girl and Cecelia. Images of the last Watcher in Cecelia’s power spun through Isadora’s head. She wouldn’t stand by again.
“Stealing into Carcere was easy enough,” Maximillion said. “Getting back out wouldn’t be so simple. I assumed you had something to do with it.”
Cecelia’s gaze flickered to Isadora, then back to him. “I shouldn’t have let her live.”
“Not if you wanted to be subtle.”
“I don’t need to be subtle. How long have you been the Advocate?”
“I simply work for them.”
“Them, eh? Won’t even assign a gender? You’re a stunning liar, Maximillion. I’ll give you that much. Do you sleep easier at night pretending that the organization isn’t yours?”
His cold eyes pierced hers. “I may be many things, but don’t insult my honor. I am no liar.”
Amusement lingered in her tone. “Indeed? Then who is the Advocate?”
“Someone who wishes to remain nameless, of course.”
Isadora inched to the side, through a layer of dried human refuse, moldy straw, and the tattered remnants of what must have once been clothing. Cecelia ignored her. With a low murmur, Isadora crouched next to the girl. She’d tucked herself into a tight ball against the wall. When Isadora touched her arm, she shrank away with a cry.
“It’s all right,” Isadora murmured. “It’s just me.”
The girl peered at her, eyes wide.
“Of course you are the Advocate,” Cecelia continued. “No witch can be so cold, ruthless, and powerful without some sort of purpose. Too bad you’re a manipulative wretch who toys with fate at the same time. Exactly how powerful are you, Max? Tell me—how many paths do you see? How far into the future can you gaze?”
He gritted his teeth. “I accept your compliments.”
“I’m not here to play games.”
“I beg to disagree. Isn’t this whole set-up a game?”
“Fair,” she said. “You’re right. It’s more elaborate than normal for me—visiting the Central Network, setting up an execution date for one of your heathens, and allowing your little girl here to work in my castle. But yes, it was all a ruse. I knew your Watcher from the beginning.”
“As I knew you would.”
“Then why send her?”
He spread his arms. “Why not?”
“Arrogant, aren’t you?”
“There’s a pot and a kettle in this situation.”
“Indeed.”
“I’m quite flattered, Cecelia. All of this to draw me in?”
“Who said I did this for you?”
Isadora’s head whipped around. Maximillion didn’t take his eyes off Cecelia, but his fists tightened.
“Give me my witch back,” he said. “Set these Watchers free. I’ll spare your life only on those terms.”
Cecelia chuckled. “You’re brilliantly funny, Maximillion. Stupid, but at least good for a laugh. Surrender to me, and I’ll let you live long enough to talk to your idiotic High Priest before I have you burned at the stake. He should know what kind of scum he works with.”
“Never.”
“Very well. Death with no explanation it is.”
A shout from down the hall filled the space. East Guards.
Isadora grabbed the girl and pulled her to her feet. Cecelia’s gaze flickered to them as Isadora hauled the girl out of the cell.
“Where’s my witch?”
Isadora put an arm around the girl’s shoulder and helped her limp into the hall. The girl let out a cry. Her knobby knees and toothpick-thin ankles couldn’t bear much weight for long. Heat radiated from her body. Fever, no doubt. Sores riddled the bottom of her feet, putrid from infection and coated in a greenish film.
“You’re doing beautifully,” Isadora murmured in her ear. “Keep going.”
The rattle of East Guard armor rang out from the main hallway, approaching fast. Freed of their cells, the Watchers scrambled to find makeshift weapons, but there were none. Their frantic voices grew louder. One Watcher collapsed. Another cried out, ducking back into her cell. Isadora handed the girl off to another Watcher before rushing back to Maximillion.
“Lucey, my witch, never was here, was she?” Maximillion asked Cecelia.
“She was, but she isn’t now.”
“With you?”
Cecelia shook her head without an ounce of emotion. “No. I’ll never tell you. You think you know so many secrets? You think you know so much about how this world works? Child’s play. You haven’t even scratched the surface of what Watcher and Defender magic can do.”
“Do enlighten me.”
A pained, dark smile lingered in her eyes, then quickly disappeared. “You’re not the only one with someone to answer to.”
“I have no doubt. Dante, right?”
“Tell me about your Advocate first.”
He smiled. “We can play this game forever.”
“Your Lucey is on her way to her early death. But because I do love a good tragedy, I’ll delay her burning at the stake so you can burn together. Fitting, even if she doesn’t have your evil powers.”
“Halt!” East Guards shouted. “Insurrection!”
“Uprising!”
“The prisoners are free!”
“You’re going to die.” Cecelia’s voice rose. Her eyes widened. “The Defenders will win, as we always do. Fate always wins, no matter how much you Watchers try to play with it. You cannot manipulate inevitability forever.”
Two burly bodies surged out of the darkness behind Cecelia, rushing into the cell. “Max!” Isadora called.
She flung the torch to him. He caught it with a snarl, holding it between himself and Cecelia. The two East Guards paused. Bright, fresh torches caused the prisoners to cry out and shield their eyes. The East Guards surged in, mowing the Watchers down.
Maximillion turned back to Cecelia.
“If I’m going down, you’re going with me.”
He tossed the torch onto the ground at Cecelia’s feet. The floor caught flame. Fire burst to life with a crackle.
“Good luck, Maximillion,” Cecelia called over the roar of fire. The fire slid off her dress—as if it repelled flame. As if she somehow used magic in the depths of Carcere.
Two Defenders behind Cecelia ran at Maximillion. He ducked, swinging
an arm into the stomach of one and absorbing a blow to his back from the other. Isadora grabbed the keys between her knuckles and ran, jamming them into the neck of a Defender. He screamed. East Guards flooded the hall now, shackling Watchers in the chaos. Cecelia frantically studied the Watchers as she backed away.
“Find him!” she called above the chaos. “Find that miserable cretin and kill him before he escapes Carcere!”
Isadora didn’t have long to wonder who Cecelia meant. She ducked an East Guard, then lunged for Cecelia. Cecelia stepped away from her hand before Isadora could get a grip on her skirt. Cecelia disappeared.
Isadora reached for Maximillion, who struggled to push the other Defender off his chest. “Max!”
“Run!”
Something slammed into the back of her head. She dropped to her knees with a cry.
Darkness consumed her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The mountain dragons dove.
Despite Luteis’s arrow-straight body, his wings in, his neck sharp, with Sanna burrowed into his spine, the mountain dragons gained on them. Wind whipped past her face. She swallowed hard, her knees tight around his neck.
I know where we can be safe, Luteis said.
I trust you.
A pile of rocks loomed before them with frightening intensity. They wouldn’t be able to pull up in time at this rate. Still, he pressed on. Closer.
Closer.
Sanna sucked in a sharp breath as Luteis pulled out of the dive. The thud of the closest mountain dragons slamming into the rocks, killing themselves instantly, followed. She grimaced and glanced back. Heat rose in her throat. An entire horde still pursued them, the dragons pulling out of the dive just in time. They seemed to flood the air.
Keep going!
Luteis plunged into the forest at the bottom of the mountain. The mountain dragons screeched, attempting to get away. Trees swayed, pulling aside their branches to make way for Luteis, who navigated the thick boughs and small spaces with practiced dexterity.
Hold on, he said.
They tore through a short thicket and smashed into the ground. Sanna rolled off, slammed her shoulder into a rock, and collided with a tree trunk. She gasped to collect her breath. With a groan, she turned onto her side.
Luteis shoved off the ground, leaving a small crater where he’d landed. He whipped around with a snarl. His tail soared over her head, covering her. The mountain dragons that made it into the forest immediately disappeared, screeching. The trees waved back and forth, smacking into those unlucky enough to get tangled in the branches.
Sanna sucked in a sharp breath when all the mountain dragons finally disappeared. Luteis, crouched, eventually relaxed, then turned to look at her.
“Are we safe here?” she whispered.
Deasylva’s dominion reigns everywhere trees live, he said. They will avoid the forest unless absolutely forced.
“That didn’t answer my question,” she mumbled, pushing herself back to her feet, thinking of Finn and Daid. Her side ached, bruised from the landing. Luteis’s wings folded into his back. Several scratches ran along their length, racing with bright-blue blood.
The forest was sparse, its trees covered with thin needles, oozing sap, and willowy tendrils. She’d never seen such branches. Old needles littered the desolate ground. The trees here were taller than Luteis, but only barely. It seemed young here, but perhaps most forests were this … short.
You are well?
“So to speak. Thanks for the catch.”
He turned his gaze back to the almost-naked canopy. Beyond them, mountain dragons screeched, flapping overhead. Sanna glanced around, brushing dirt off her palms. Light filtered into the forest, shining all the way to the ground in dappled puddles. She’d never seen so much before.
“We need to get back,” she said, eyeing him. “I’ve definitely angered Selsay. Pemba may already be on his way back to Letum Wood. Can you fly?”
We walk through here, he said. We must stay in the safety of the trees, then take flight when full light comes and we are closer to the border.
Sanna sighed.
“We better start running, then. I have my doubts Selsay will wait to unleash her wrath.”
Let us hope.
Wind rushed through Sanna’s hair as they cut through the early morning light, far above the forest. The safety of Letum Wood unfurled beneath them in shadowy clusters. The crisp scent of her ancient trees settled Sanna’s prickly nerves. Luteis, weary now, though he wouldn’t admit it, stayed close to the canopy.
So bleak and barren and desolate up there, Sanna said, too tired—perhaps afraid—to speak aloud. And there were so many mountain dragons. How can we fight a force so strong?
We must. I flew farther to the north to get rid of them and saw more dragons in the distance. Bigger ones.
Think they’re different?
Perhaps stronger. Maybe not so inclined to madness?
Is it madness? Or … something else?
I think she’s protecting the larger dragons. Perhaps these smaller ones are more expendable in a war. If she truly wants to fight Prana—for whatever reason—she’ll need as many dragons as possible.
Sanna paused, thinking back to Yushi, to her discomfort at the edge of the water. Selsay seemed certain, perhaps a bit desperate, when she spoke of Prana. Did they have bigger things to fear? Yushi had spoken of Selsay’s arrogance. Her desire for power.
Who spoke the truth?
Would staying safe from Selsay only put them in the path of a greater enemy? Sanna shook those thoughts aside for later. Selsay would gladly kill the race of forest dragons to suit her own purposes. They had to stop that first. As to Prana, they’d have to figure that out later.
Their madness, Luteis said, cannot just be from inbreeding.
What else would cause it?
Did you observe that they have no High Dragonmaster?
Sanna snorted. Selsay made her disdain for witches abundantly clear.
Precisely.
What are you trying to say?
Their madness may also stem from being too close to their goddess. From lacking the use of magic. Didn’t Talis begin to go mad? Did you not see it in his eyes?
Sanna paused in thought. It seemed possible. If Selsay had been without a Dragonmaster for hundreds of years, perhaps it could drive the magic into stranger effects. But they knew so little of the magic to confirm such a thing …
Or hunger, she said. How could they possibly eat enough up there?
Selsay has disrupted the order of things by not having a High Dragonmaster. Perhaps this is the result.
She frowned, rolling the idea through her mind still. Selsay didn’t trust witches, which meant she may have purposefully removed the High Dragonmaster and never replaced them. If a High Dragonmaster were part of the natural order of things … that would explain that something was different. But madness?
It would explain Deasylva’s distance, he said.
Bringing Deasylva into the conversation made Sanna squirm. Her reluctant goddess couldn’t possibly be helping them by allowing so many unwarranted murders, so much pain.
Either way, Sanna said, the mountain dragons can transport, which is something we can’t do.
Something that works against us in many, many ways.
They seem to hate the forest.
But not enough for it to deter them entirely.
A thousand questions whirled through Sanna’s mind. Had Deasylva known about this? What good could come from a war between goddesses? Selsay spoke about life continuing in Antebellum only if Prana were defeated, but what did that mean?
Either way, it seemed at least one dragon race would be decimated. The forest dragons or the mountain dragons, all because of the goddesses’ strange ways. If the dragons and goddesses were so inextricably linked, what would happen, then?
I think she’ll come soon, Sanna said. Tonight, even. Time isn’t on her side, I’m willing to bet.
Luteis twisted his head
back to glance briefly at her. Our dragons aren’t ready.
They don’t have a choice.
He soared over a tall tree, taking them past a section of forest consumed by strickenine moss. Perhaps not.
We’ll talk to Elliot as soon as we get back and initiate the plan.
I shall confer with Elis and the dragons from Finn’s camp. They may have insights we have not yet explored. Have you considered that you know the most of all of us? You will have to lead this battle.
The thought had occurred to her, and it made acid rise in the back of her throat. She was no leader. No Talis. It could not fall to her to take them to an assured defeat, for how could they—witches who couldn’t do magic and dragons who couldn’t fly—possibly win against such a force?
I know, she said.
Sanna let out a long breath that turned into a yawn. She lay against Luteis’s back, tucking her arms against her chest to keep the cool wind from chilling her. Then she closed her eyes and fell into a troubled, restless sleep.
Elliot stared at her, his skin pale as death.
Next to him, Jesse rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the ground. Elis hovered not far away, his attention mostly on Luteis, who would speak to the dragons.
“Tonight,” she repeated. “I’m confident they’ll attack.”
“We knew it would be difficult,” Elliot said. “But this sounds nigh unto impossible.”
Sanna couldn’t disagree.
“Not only does Selsay have obvious pride issues—which we surely offended by escaping—but her dragons are insane. Maybe starving. They’re attacking each other, even. She needs the forest-dragon blood now before she mounts an attack against Prana. Regardless of who is the greater foe, Selsay is the immediate one.”
“But she hasn’t found us yet,” Babs said, chiming in from the back of the room. “Maybe she doesn’t know where we are.”
Babs paced, taking long strides as she wrung her thick, reddened hands together. Mam sat on a rock, hands folded in her lap, gaze fixed on a cluster of purple mushrooms. Her entire body had paled and remained rigidly, oddly still, as if she weren’t even breathing.