by Katie Cross
“No.”
Your daid has served honorably and rests in the halls of Halla. This life is not all you have, daughter of the forest. You are meant for more.
The long sentence appeared in chunks, forcing Sanna to wait. She drank in each letter. Her heart thrilled, then slowed. Deasylva was only as real as the words on the trunk—but even the small hope that Daid still lived somewhere rang deep in Sanna’s chest. No matter how difficult it had been to trust Deasylva, Sanna desperately wanted it to be true.
As if on reflex, she reached out to touch the tree again.
“The mountain dragons are coming,” Sanna said. “I expect them any minute now.”
Yes.
“Do we … can … how can you—”
The words faded quickly this time, replaced by a bright response—the brightest so far. I trust you, Sanna of Gregor.
Sanna scowled. “What does that mean?”
You are the High Dragonmaster. I trust you with my dragons.
“I have no idea what I’m doing! If I’m the only leader you have, we’re all dead! Besides, the dragons don’t listen to me. Their voices aren’t in my head anymore. Daid was supposed to be the High Dragonmaster.”
I trust you.
“Then you’re a fool!” Sanna muttered. “I don’t know how to lead! I won’t be like Talis. I can’t. I can’t be a tyrant.”
Was your daid a tyrant?
“No.”
Luteis?
Sanna’s brow puckered. “No.”
Leadership is not tyranny.
“Then what is it?”
A long pause followed, so long Sanna thought Deasylva had left. If leadership wasn’t taking charge and telling others what to do, what could it possibly be? What did Daid and Luteis have to do with it?
It’s trust.
Sanna’s heart seemed to slow. Talis didn’t have trust. Neither did Selsay, who didn’t trust witches. All the leaders she feared becoming lacked the very thing she lacked of her supposed leader.
Four shimmering words appeared in the trunk, one interminable letter at a time.
Do you trust me?
Sanna’s nostrils flared. She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. Deasylva had saved her life several times. From drowning shortly after she met Luteis. From a pack of forest lions. Through the forest, she’d provided the falla melons to help when the acid stung Sanna’s face. Perhaps more. But she hadn’t saved Daid, or Finn, or prevented the massacre. How could she trust a goddess?
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
You will when the time comes. Just as you will know who you are, and how that can save you. You are a powerful being, Sanna, daughter of the forest. It is time you learned for yourself.
“Learned what?”
Who you are.
The last word, so faint she almost couldn’t see it, barely touched the surface of the trunk. The gentle breeze stirred one more time, then disappeared. Sanna stepped back. Deasylva had retreated; she would say no more. Sanna’s mind spun. Deasylva trusted her. Deasylva, the unreliable goddess.
Or was she?
Sanna let her hand drop from the trunk. “I’ll try,” she whispered.
Luteis waited behind her, eyes glowing.
Are you ready? he asked.
Sanna set her jaw.
“I am.”
No matter what happens—
She reached out, touching his snout. “We’ll be together.”
He nudged her with a gentle motion, nearly sending her to the ground. Sanna grinned, then climbed on his back.
“Let’s go, Luteis. My chance to avenge Daid may be falling into our laps.”
Sanna glanced up at a silent canopy. The distant screech of something rang through her mind, not witch and not dragon.
The trees.
The mountain dragons are here, Sanna said to Luteis so he could tell Elis. Elis would tell Jesse, who would inform his brothers who waited in the trees with Greata.
Sanna turned and waved her left arm once. Elliot made the same movement from across the way, then tucked himself back into his hiding spot. The sign would ripple from one witch to the next until everyone knew. Sanna leaned farther back against the tree, into the grooves of the trunk, and waited.
The branches above them began to sway. She gripped her knife tighter.
Are you ready? she asked Luteis.
I have been for many days.
The mountain dragons wouldn’t be able to see them from their current flight path. Nor was it likely they’d just appear—Isadora had once said something about using transportation to appear only where you’d been before. No doubt the mountain dragons had never been to this specific spot in Letum Wood, but they’d be able to smell the forest dragons. No, they’d descend.
Sanna waited on a branch closer to the ground. Elliot, Jesse, Babs, and Trey were concealed in the roots, crevices, and branches of several trees on the forest floor, where they couldn’t fall onto the hidden spikes.
Sanna’s nostrils flared as she braced her legs, crouching. Letum Wood lay still. After an hour or two of rushing around and preparing, waiting at their designated spots felt interminable. The hatchlings and the older children would pop out during the battle to throw the rocks and then hide again. The rest of them would be exposed. Most of the fighting would likely happen on the ground since the adults couldn’t fly.
Sanna swallowed hard.
The sound of a conk broke the silence. A mountain dragon fell, limp, from the branches. It crashed into the ground, eyes closed. Sanna glanced up.
A rock from a hatchling, Luteis murmured.
Rosy? she asked.
Yes.
The inability to speak directly with the dragons had become more than inconvenient—she wondered if Luteis had tired of relaying messages. She didn’t know how to bring that ability back.
More branches rustled, drawing her attention back. The sound of something, like a low roar, descended. Then, all at once, like falling rain, small mountain dragons filled the forest. They screeched, thrashing, spittle dripping from their teeth.
Vines flew from the trees, entangling them. Boulders dropped from above. None of the witches would venture out until the hatchlings had finished throwing their stones.
Tell the dragons to hold their secundum, Sanna said to Luteis. Until we must have it. They shouldn’t tire themselves.
The mountain dragons flew in circles, some slamming into trees, others appearing perfectly lucid as they sniffed the air, eyes searching here and there. They couldn’t see the forest dragons yet, because the forest protected them in that uncanny way it had.
Sanna settled in, grim-faced.
As some mountain dragons fell, more arrived. Rocks descended from the heights, pelting them in the head, wings, body. Several screamed and fell. Hidden forest dragons snapped for them. Injured mountain dragons began to pool on the ground.
Melons! Sanna commanded Luteis.
“Now!” she shouted to the witches.
Elliot, Babs, and the older children released the ropes that held their rocks aloft. Melons dropped from the canopy with light whistles, landing with a thud thud thud on the ground. Explosions of rotten fruit burst over the injured mountain dragons and burned those flying overhead. One melon landed on the head of a younger mountain dragon, knocking it unconscious. He crashed into another dragon, taking them both down.
The invading dragons screamed, turning away from the sizzling rinds and acidic flesh.
“Second wave!” Sanna shouted. She climbed away from the tree, scrambling for Luteis’s tail from where he hid behind the trunk.
It is a start, he said, watching the chaos. But I can hear the rest. They are coming. These are the weakest. They are almost all mad. An easy sacrifice, no doubt, meant to weaken us.
How many, do you think?
I cannot number them.
Tell the hatchlings to release the next baskets but leave a few behind.
Luteis complied. More melons and rocks fell
. While the mountain dragons screamed, a thud roared overhead. More dragons streaked through the branches—these larger and more lucid. The smaller mountain dragons impaled themselves on the spears. Sanna pulled a cloth over her mouth and nose as the air thickened with acid. Her face burned.
The fall of melons began to slow.
They are almost out of rocks as well, Luteis said.
Then let’s go.
Luteis sprang from the branch where they waited, hidden in the shadows. Screeching mountain dragons flew with greater strength now, uninhibited. Sanna stood on his back, knife in hand.
Tell the dragons to make themselves known. Preserve their secundum and strength where they can, but fight for their lives.
This would be a far simpler plan if you told them yourself, Luteis muttered, dodging the sharp wings of a half-crazed mountain dragon.
I agree. Then, with a gulp, added, I’m sure Deasylva will give me the power to talk to them again soon.
He cast her a startled glance, but said nothing.
Fire shot out of the forest in random tongues of flame. Unsuspecting mountain dragons, some of them teeming on top of the pile of their own dead, whirled around. Several caught on fire. Luteis soared through the chaos, blowing fire and smoke ahead of him. Four mountain dragons attempted to drop onto his back, but he darted away. Sanna slashed at them. Blood from their scored wings dripped onto Luteis’s scales.
Where is Pemba? she asked.
Luteis dodged a larger mountain dragon just as it tore a branch off a tree and dropped it to the forest floor. While skimming away, Luteis grabbed another with his talons, tearing its wings.
I have not seen him.
“Pemba!” she shouted. She ducked when a mountain dragon—eyes half wild—attempted to slash at her from above. A rock fell, pelting the wing. The crack of a bone followed. The dragon fell.
Light burst from the forest floor. Sanna spun around just as Elliot darted away from the makeshift shelter. Not far from him, Babs threw buckets of water at any dragon that approached. Flames engulfed the shelter, sending mountain dragons reeling back.
Elis slipped into the forest, out of sight except for the whack of his tail as it slammed a mountain dragon into a tree. Several mountain dragons reared away from Cara’s flames, plumes of acid halfway out of their mouths. The acid caught fire, engulfing them in a fireball that sent them reeling back. Cara dodged when more mountain dragons fell toward her.
Luteis’s wings pumped as he climbed higher, snatching mountain dragons out of the air as they flew. Still, they poured down with wild intensity, appearing out of thin air or descending from the canopy. Sanna hacked at anything she could reach, nearly retching from the acid and the pain in her face. Chaos unfurled around them.
Luteis, she said, coughing. The metallic taste of blood rose in the back of her throat. The acid is overpowering. I can’t … breathe in this.
A moment, Luteis said. He landed on a branch not far away. His tail flickered around, sapphire, sparkling drops of blue covering the end.
Drink.
Your blood?
A taste is all that’s needed. It is the only way to heal you.
Had there been any time to think it over, Sanna would have recoiled, possibly vomited. Instead, she slid her hand along an open wound along the edge of his tail, then sucked the blood free. A horrible taste exploded in her mouth—like iron and loam and the worst mold all combined—but the pain in her chest abated. Luteis had already whipped around to assess the battlefield from his bird’s-eye view.
The battle teemed below. Cara screamed as five mountain dragons advanced on Marelis, whom she fought next to. Despite the attempts of the hatchlings to pluck out mountain-dragon eyes with their talons, Marelis collapsed beneath the weight of the invaders. Sanna watched in horror as the mountain dragons surrounded him, teeth gnashing. She slid off Luteis’s back.
There is no sense to this, Luteis said. We are simply fighting for our lives. We will never win if we don’t fight together.
Go to Marelis.
Luteis darted toward him, roaring. Alis collapsed on the branch next to Sanna, gasping for air.
“Alis!” Sanna cried. She dodged the edge of a mountain-dragon wing and put her hand to Alis’s chest. A gash three inches deep cut through her glimmering scales. Thick, sapphire blood flowed out. Her eyes, dimming, met Sanna’s.
“Alis, no!”
Her chest bucked, then stilled.
“Alis!”
Alis’s body went limp, head slackening against the branch. Heat built up in Sanna again, tripling through her chest, arms, all the way to her fingertips. It made her tremble as it grew hot, hot, hot in her chest.
Mountain dragons darted past her, headed for the carnage on the forest floor.
Forest dragon. Mountain dragon. Adult. Hatchling. The mountain dragons were destroying and eating all of them. Their madness had reached a bloodlust frenzy—it seemed all they craved was more death.
Sanna stood up, knees trembling. Luteis fought amongst the forest dragons, his secundum the only thing keeping him, Cara, and Junis alive now. Marelis lay on the ground, eyes shut.
Was this the end?
Had her ancestors felt this way during the massacre?
Sanna clenched her fist, which burned as hot as dragon fire. The heat flooded her body again. It rushed through her, oddly buoying. A scream filtered through the chaos, winding all the way to her ears. Sanna glanced down just as Elliot ran, slid through the blood-drenched dirt, and grabbed an oddly still Babs in his arms.
“Amo!” he screamed.
Sanna opened her fist, looked at her burning hand. Deasylva’s words slipped back through her mind.
You will know when the time comes, Deasylva had said, who you are.
A thousand things whirled through Sanna’s mind. Daid. Finn. Isadora. The Western Network dragons. Selsay. Pemba. Prana. Life in the trees when Anguis was still very much alive. The unfolding chaos here was what happened when there was no leader. Talis’s regime happened when there was too much leader.
Which meant there was a middle ground.
Maybe she didn’t ask for this, but neither had Elliot or Babs or even the mountain dragons. It didn’t matter if it was thrust upon her or someone else, the Dragonmasters needed a leader. If she truly loved the dragons, she would be what they needed.
Not what she needed.
“I am Sanna of the Forest,” she whispered. The heat grew in her chest. She looked at the canopy. “I am the High Dragonmaster.”
Luteis flailed below, buried beneath a pile of mountain dragons, attempting unsuccessfully to throw them off. His secundum had begun to waver. Cara was no longer visible. Only mountain dragons.
Endless mountain dragons.
The heat grew in Sanna’s body until she couldn’t control it anymore. Her frame shook. Her heart would be consumed if she let it.
She released the heat.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Isadora returned out of the paths, the wind whipped her hair with angry lashes across her eyes. Two Defenders stood in front of her, scowling. Her cheek prickled with pain—they’d struck her, no doubt.
“Go for a lark, did you?” Maximillion hissed, his bottom lip split in half and oozing blood.
“I can get us out of this,” she whispered.
“You’ve been hit in the head too many times.”
“Do as I say.”
“Silencio!” one Defender screamed, slamming a fist into Maximillion’s stomach. Maximillion doubled over, wheezing. Isadora forced her surge of rage to calm as he gasped for breath. Lucey still hadn’t stirred. Had she lost her mind in Carcere? Was she a shade away from death already?
Was she faking?
With Lucey, one could never tell.
Torches and candles illuminated La Torra under the darkening sky. The brightest concentration of light came from the courtyard, where the sound of amassing Defenders rang out. The Defenders had no swords or physical weapons—not even their w
hips—but Isadora felt the sheer terror and exhilaration of their situation all the same. Then Cecelia appeared from a set of stairs in the floor, slowly, elegantly, in her usual coiffed perfection.
The magic whipped up inside Isadora.
Cecelia strode through heavy silence, right up to Isadora. Maximillion gave a wet-sounding cough.
“So,” Cecelia said, “you are finally mine.”
The layers of haughty elegance bled away, fading into a picture of a little girl. Isadora swallowed hard, confused by the strange dichotomy. Was Cecelia a terrified girl or a horrible monster?
Or both?
“You set this up to bring me here, didn’t you?” Isadora asked.
Cecelia’s gaze registered surprise.
“This wasn’t about Maximillion. You captured Lucey. Went to Maximillion’s office. Allowed me to work here in the lavanda. That day in your room—you were in my head, testing me.”
“In a way, yes. All of my raids are designed to find more Watchers.”
“But you weren’t looking for any Watcher.”
Cecelia swallowed. “No.”
“How long have you been searching for me?” Isadora asked.
“Long enough.”
“I’m not your match, am I? I’m matched to someone else.”
The edges of Cecelia’s lips twitched. She tilted her head back. “Fortunately for you, you’re not.”
“What”—Maximillion spat, attempting to hit Cecelia with his spittle but failing—“in the good gods are you talking about?”
“Matches,” Cecelia said, gazing at him. “Or don’t you know? No, of course you don’t. The truth has been hidden from Watchers for centuries now. Only the Defenders really know how it works.”
Maximillion’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Next to him, the wind stirred Lucey’s hair. Her head bounced slightly, as if twitching.
Cecelia turned back to Isadora.
“It’s part of the magic,” she said. “Every magic has a counter-magic. For every powerful Watcher, there is an equally powerful Defender.”
“Matches,” Isadora whispered. “Connection. The magic forms a connection between the two matching witches, doesn’t it?”
Cecelia sneered. “Unfortunately. Some would say that the match augments the power, although it also allows a weakness. Rumor has it that your match may join your paths. See what you see. May betray you. Murder you. Use your own power against you, even. It is the legacy of Watchers everywhere.” Her eyes flickered with pain. “Betrayal.”