“We’ll figure it out.”
“There’s more.” Despair clutched at me, tightening my throat. “She needs to lead the dragons into battle. Tan Vey must know that, too.”
For the first time, Forest looked truly worried. “We’ll figure it out,” he said again.
But it was clear his hope had faltered, same as mine.
I cupped my hand over my eyes and looked up at the hold. From here, its girth and height were impressive, though it had the appearance of being old and abandoned, tucked into the hillock like a relic from another era. As I looked, I saw movement on a high balcony and a glint of metal in the light of the rising sun.
“There.” I pointed, forgetting that Forest’s eyes were closed. “Soldiers.”
Forest sat up, swinging his feet off my lap. “The high king must not have expected the enemy to know where he was. Even if he brought a hundred soldiers, it won’t be enough to fight off this attack.”
“There must be provisions inside, though,” I said. “If they lay siege—”
“This will be no siege,” Forest said. “They’re going to storm the hold and bring it down.”
I gazed across the field at the mammoth catapults that stood in a long row, a few of them not quite complete. Then I noticed a pavilion off to one side, its canopy festooned with black and red banners. Beneath it stood several men who looked important—commanders? Generals?
One of them stepped from beneath the pavilion and faced the catapults, arms crossed, a mass of braided hair hanging down his back. He gestured sharply to the other men, speaking words I couldn’t hear. The others bowed and made their way toward the catapults. He watched them for a few moments before returning to the pavilion.
My chest tightened. “Tan Vey,” I whispered.
“Where?”
“There. Beneath the pavilion.”
We watched him, words silenced in our throats. Here was the man who had single-handedly united the nomads and initiated the invasion. He knew our history, he knew of the dragons, and he had come to claim what he thought was his for the taking.
“Not on my watch,” I said.
I reached into the pouch at my waist and pulled out Sedge’s oil bottle. Please work. I pulled the stopper out and tipped the bottle into my palm, tapping it repeatedly in the hope that even the smallest drop might come out.
There it was. A smudge of oil on my palm—hardly anything, but enough to feel when I ran my fingertip through it.
I took my oily palm and rubbed it into my neck, over the warmth of my pulsing veins and in the hollow where my shoulder blades met.
Please work. Please.
But only silence met me. The oil wasn’t working.
I replaced the stopper and shoved the useless bottle into the pouch. “The catacombs must be accessible from inside the hold,” I said. “I have to find a way in.”
“Those soldiers on the balcony aren’t going to know that you’re not an enemy soldier,” Forest said.
He was right. Once more, I gazed along the weatherworn stone surface of the hold. But there was nary a window, nor any hint that anything lay hidden behind that ancient wall.
No visible way in.
A long note sounded from a deep horn, followed by answering notes from other horns. Whatever signal this was, I knew it meant I didn’t have much time.
Then Nuaga’s words, which hadn’t made sense before, returned to me: Climb, Rain. In the back, where no one can see.
“We need to climb the knoll,” I said.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I frowned. “Can you make it?”
“Yes. Let’s go.”
We picked our way over the rocks that made up the foot of the knoll. The sound of rushing water tickled my ears, and as Forest and I climbed over a ridge to mount the next level of the knoll, I saw why—the rocks and earth ended suddenly in a drop-off so severe that it made my head swim. Below, a raging waterfall threw a fine mist into the morning air.
“Great God,” Forest muttered.
I shrugged, acting more confident than I felt. “A good natural defense. Are you sure you’re up for the climb?”
He nodded, and we pressed on.
The gentle rise of ground quickly gave way to a steep, treacherous climb that made it obvious why the hold had been built here. Grateful for the strength in my arms due to Jasper’s relentless training, I pulled myself up over rocky outcrops and navigated steeper areas without slipping. We were about halfway up when Nuaga’s bellows echoed from the plain. I stopped, listening. There was something frantic in her tone. A warning.
“What is it?” Forest called from somewhere behind me.
“I don’t know.”
I turned to look at him, dismay creeping through me when I saw how far he’d fallen behind. Nuaga’s cries became more insistent as I continued to climb. Were the nomads torturing her? Or was she trying to tell me I’d gone the wrong way?
“Midget!”
I froze, the familiarity of Sedge’s voice piercing me. Then I turned and saw him not far below where Forest stood clinging to a sharp ridge of earth and rock. Forest reached over his shoulder for his dagger, pain spreading across his face like a storm.
Nuaga’s last cry was still fading when I saw what it was she surely had been trying to warn me about. Scrambling up the rocky incline with an agility that defied belief were two nomad soldiers, their hair in tied-back, thick coils, their teeth clamped onto the hilts of long daggers. One headed toward Sedge, the other toward Forest.
Sedge was unarmed. Forest was wounded. For one agonizing second, I stood, torn.
“Midget!” Sedge was scrambling now, trying to outclimb the nomad that was quickly gaining on him. “I have what you need! I can hear her!”
I started back down the knoll, rocks sliding beneath my boots. Forest had found better footing and was holding his dagger in a defensive position, his eyes on the nomad coming toward him.
“Forest!” I called.
“I’ve got this. Go.”
I unsheathed my own dagger and clamped it in my teeth as I made my way down the slope toward Sedge. The nomad was closing in fast as Sedge backed his way up the slope. I slid to his side moments before the enemy soldier was close enough to strike.
“Climb!” I yelled.
The nomad lunged at me, nimble and deadly, a growl in his throat rising to a guttural cry as he struck. I was ready with my own blade and diverted his strike, enjoying the advantage of higher ground.
But he was quick, and he soon swung again, his footing more secure, his attack stronger. I blocked him a second time, then shifted my stance and gave a Great Cry, moving fluidly into the third stance of Neshu. In three swift moves, I disarmed him and knocked him to his knees. He yelled and pulled a second, thinner blade from inside his boot, but I was faster.
I had found my anger.
My hatred.
I kicked the blade from his hand and plunged my dagger into the hollow of his neck. The vivid red of the blood that spurted and gushed and sprayed my hand made me stagger. Made white spots flash across my vision.
Made me sway as I pulled the blade from his neck.
“Dragon’s blood, get up here!” Sedge’s words were frantic.
I looked up to see him scrambling up the knoll toward its pinnacle. Forest yelled, and the clash of metal brought me fully awake again. The nomad had engaged him on a particularly steep part of the slope, though Forest had the upper ground.
Then my heart grew dark as I saw two more nomads climbing toward him.
No.
Nuaga’s words seared my heart: Perhaps he will be your downfall when your time comes.
No. No. No.
This couldn’t be my sacrifice.
Not Forest.
Dear Great God, no.
There was no time to fight for him. No chance to save him.
I had to choose the dragons over Forest.
With a heaving sob, I picked up the dead man’s dagger, turned once again tow
ard the top of the slope—toward Sedge, toward Nuaga—and started to climb.
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I reached the summit and Sedge pulled me the rest of the way up. The moment his hands grabbed mine, I felt a surge of familiar warmth and the brush of words against the silent reaches of my mind.
Nuaga.
I turned, trying to find Forest, but I saw only more dark shapes climbing the knoll. How had so many of them spotted us?
Sedge grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. His expression was grim. Determined.
“All night,” he breathed. “All night, I ran in my dreams to the top of this knoll. And all I could understand was five words—‘T’Gonnen,’ ‘High King’s Hold,’ and ‘Rain.’ And the vision, over and over, of having my flesh burned with dragonbreath.”
“Nuaga’s mark.”
“I could never do that. I don’t have that kind of courage.”
Like a man possessed, he tore off his breastplate and shirt, tossing them to the ground. For only a second, an expression like revulsion crossed his face. Then he wrapped his arms around me and pressed me to his chest.
My first instinct was to scream. But the heavy scent of the oil, and the slipperiness of it against my cheek, brought me to my senses. Desperate for Nuaga’s help, I willed my arms around Sedge and pressed myself into his body.
Rain!
My heart did an ecstatic leap. Nuaga! Show me where to go!
Sedge cried out as if in pain. “Your words are in my head!”
I shushed him.
Climb the rest of the hill and veer to your left, along a narrow outcropping too small for a dragon’s claws. Follow it until you reach a slope that leads to a flat area concealed from view. The entrance to the catacombs will be under your feet.
“The sacrifice…”
Is complete.
Her words pierced my soul. I thought of Forest fighting alone on the hillside against three enemy soldiers, and how I had left him to die so that others would live. My heart threatened to shatter within me, and I remembered words from the Lament that hadn’t struck me before: She who knows the pain of parting knows its power.
T’Gonnen’s sacrifice wasn’t merely his own life—it was forever parting from his beloved mate. He had chosen Ylanda over Nuaga.
I dug my nails into Sedge’s back. “You’re in chains. Can you not free yourself?”
I cannot.
“Is there no hope?”
You are a she-king in your own right, Rain L’nahn.
Her words rang in my breast—words she had spoken to me before. And I knew what was to be.
We were dragon-sisters, Nuaga and I.
I would lead the dragons into battle in her stead.
“I’m coming,” I said.
I extricated myself from Sedge and faced the highest point of the rounded peak, where the hefty stone wall of the hold seemed to grow from the very earth. I picked up the dagger I had dropped and handed it to Sedge.
“Watch my back,” I said.
He nodded and took the dagger. I climbed the hill, my breaths coming in short gasps, my body strangely numb. Sedge was a few steps behind me struggling into his breastplate as we walked, his breathing loud in my ears. The outcropping was obscured by tangled brush, and I almost missed it. I followed it to the left, its length never-ending, its width so narrow that my boots felt too big. When I reached the slope, I was engulfed by the fear that I had come to the wrong place.
“There’s a doorway here somewhere,” I said. “In the ground.”
“There,” Sedge said, gesturing toward a tangle of half-dead vines that stretched across the expanse of earth as though they’d climbed there.
I fell to my knees and began to pull at the vines. Sedge knelt beside me, slashing the curling stems with his dagger so that I could pull them up more easily, faster. Every second felt like a day as we worked at the vines, but soon our efforts were rewarded. Beneath the remaining bits of stick and leaf, a slab of marble lay fitted into the earth.
A door.
Sounds of horns and shouting from the army below increased, carried on the wind. Was it the noise of attack? Between the wind and the pounding of my heart, I couldn’t be sure. I only knew I needed to open that door.
The surface was smooth, untouched by the ravages of time and weather. On one side, two great brass hinges were affixed, so I dug my fingers beneath the opposite side and lifted.
It opened easily. Of course it did. There was no need for a lock or other barrier—who in their right mind would willingly walk into the catacombs where mighty dragons slept?
“As soon as I’m inside, close the door,” I said.
I lowered myself through the trapdoor. Cut into the inner wall of the stone were deep slats—a steep ladder that would not in any way be easy to climb down. Darkness closed around me as I fitted one foot, then the other, into slat after slat, hand under hand, foot after foot.
At first, the stone was cold beneath my fingers. But after a minute or two, the air and the stone and everything around me was wrapped in a warmth that felt as though it had a life of its own.
The warmth of dragons.
The darkness was so complete that I could see nothing—not my hands in front of me, not the passage above me through which I’d already climbed. Looking down wasn’t an option; the only way I could keep my nerve was not to think about the distance beneath me.
Only step after step. Hand under hand.
The air became thicker, infused with the stillness of a dream and the buzz of vibrant, powerful life. The dark became less so with each step, until finally the tunnel was lit with a faint, almost-not-there, orangey-red glow. Enough to see by, but barely.
Then, suddenly, my foot couldn’t find another slot. After a few panic-filled moments, I braced myself and let go. The fall was short, and I landed on my feet in a chamber so large it felt like a world in itself. Around me, the faintly orange darkness swirled like living mist.
Same as the dream.
Creeping forward, I stepped into a large, oval depression, where tendrils of the swirling mist wrapped around my ankles and caressed my legs. The sensation was warm and familiar, like a hint of something I knew. My boots sank softly in shallow muck that, when I stood still, seemed to breathe.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the ruddy light, I could see a large archway that opened into a chamber beyond. I walked through it into what seemed to be a sort of honeycomb, branching out in three directions like a maze, with walls low enough for me to see over. Within each enclosure lay a dark, hulking shape, the orangey-red light emanating weakly from each one and the dark tendrils swirling, swirling around them.
I stared at the hulking masses sleeping before me. The salvation of Ylanda. The promised army.
All along, I’d worried I wouldn’t be able to wake them. That I would somehow stand mute and powerless in their presence, unable to do anything. But as I stood there, the thickness of their power curled into me with every breath, a familiar feeling that I recognized from every dream, every conversation, with Nuaga.
I’d been forever marked by her—a clanmate of the dragons. They would know me, because the mate of T’Gonnen had left her mark on me. Fear faded like a dying storm.
A deep, bone-jarring thud echoed through the catacombs. I tensed, thinking at first that it was the dragons and wondering if I might be trampled to death. A second thud rang out, and a wave of dread tore through me.
It was the sound of boulders slamming into the hold. The enemy had unleashed its catapults.
I had to wake the dragons now.
I moved toward the closest one. It was at least a third bigger than Nuaga, its scales a deep red, the mane around its face long and majestic. A male dragon.
Another thud reverberated through the catacombs. And another. Tiny stones and debris rained from the ceiling. I stepped toward the dragon and placed my hand, fingers splayed, on his neck.
Everything inside me went utterly still. Like a blanket of snow over the heat of su
mmer.
Another thud rocked the catacombs. I stared at the dragon’s eye, willing it to open, and terrified of what it would look like when it did.
The thudding increased, and so did the swirling vapor, rolling into a frenzy around the dragons, around me.
I took a great breath. “S’danta lo ylanda.”
The dragon’s eye opened.
I met its gaze, willing myself to keep my hand where it was and not to shrink. He blinked once, twice. Then, slowly, he lifted his head and turned it directly toward me. I stepped backward. The swirling mist rose higher, thinner.
Dragon-waker.
His words knifed into my brain with palpable presence, and I winced at their force. Then I raised my chin, confident.
“Yes.”
Across the catacombs, in competition with the thudding of the stones from the catapults, the dragons stirred. Great heads rose on sleek necks, and hundreds of eyes caught the light of the mist as it dissipated.
The dragon I had laid my hand on still stared at me. He arched his neck so that his face was directly before mine. This time, when he spoke, it wasn’t inside my head.
“Show me the mark of Nuaga,” he said.
I removed my breastplate and laid it beside me, then turned around and lifted my shirt. When I felt he had gazed long enough at my ruined back, I let the shirt fall and turned to face him.
“The hold is under attack. The nomads seek to kill the high king and claim the dragons.”
His face brightened into what looked very much like a smile. “But we are awake now.”
All at once, the words of the dragons coursed through my head and through the catacombs as they called to one another, relaying the message and preparing to move forth.
But how? I felt suddenly vulnerable, unable to withstand a dragon stampede. I retrieved my breastplate and pulled it on, the power of T’Gonnen pulsing through me, rising with every breath.
Then I grabbed the red dragon’s mane and pulled myself onto his neck—an immense neck, harder to navigate than Nuaga’s. With all the strength still in me, I swung up and mounted, holding fast.
“Where is the mighty Nuaga?” the dragon asked.
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