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34

CHARLIE

I followed Essa down a series of streets and alleyways to the barracks. The battle was already over, the droning of plane engines fading into the night. Dragons and their riders were returning from battle, some injured and snarling with pain, others merely lying down in exhaustion, still others stalking around the space, growling with lingering anger. I watched Essa spin a circle, her eyes wide and searching for Othura. When she didn’t find her, she said, “Come on,” and we started running again.

As we passed through the courtyard, I could hear the riders shouting updates to the command crew on the ground.

“They left.”

“They were attacking the hatchery.”

“We drove them back.”

For now, I thought. Quite likely this was only a probing attack designed to see what sort of defensive response they would receive—to determine whether their target was vulnerable. A target I’d suggested in the last message I’d given Kortoi …

Guilt pulsed through me at the sight of the wounded dragons and the flaming buildings we passed. But that was foolish. Yes, I’d acted friendly with these people. But I was not their friend. In the right circumstance, they would kill me and everyone I love—just as I would kill them. I must not forget the game I was playing. This was war. To lose meant death.

Yet as we hurried toward the hatchery, I couldn’t deny feeling relieved to find it still standing. Several small craters pocked the ground leading up to it and in numerous places the stone of the structure itself had been blasted clean of lichen and accumulated dirt. But the ziggurat still stood. Several dragons were upon its rooftop, some sniffing at the stone as if inspecting the structure. Others stood like prairie dog sentries, watching the skies in case the enemy planes returned. Several more flew above, circling like colossal, protective buzzards.

As we neared, a gray dragon bounded down the slope of the temple rooftop and leaped down, coming toward us.

“Othura!” Essa called and the two ran together, Othura wrapping her long neck part way around the princess in a sort of embrace.

“You’re hurt,” Essa said, pulling back to inspect her dragon.

Othura’s wing was crooked at an odd angle. As she turned, I saw a gout of dark liquid running down the beast’s shoulder and side.

A hollow, aching feeling opened up in my chest. The generals had read my intelligence report and attacked. Now, Othura was hurt. Essa had only the barest chance of beating Laynine on a healthy dragon. Now she was truly doomed—and it was my fault.

The sound of hoofbeats rose behind us and I turned to see a rider on a gray horse coming our way with a sword in his hand. Ollie.

“Blast it, Essa!” he shouted, reining in and dismounting. “I’m meant to protect you. How can I if you disappear on me?”

“Sorry, Ollie,” she said. “Kit and I were…” she trailed off.

Ollie glanced at me then at her again and his expression softened.

“Well. I hope it was worth the heart attack you gave me. I was in the ballroom searching for you when I heard the horn. Then the explosions started. I rushed to the barracks, and when you weren’t there…” he shook his head.

“Braimar attacked her,” I said.

Ollie’s face twisted into a frown of disbelief, but when he looked to Essa, she nodded.

“Why?” Ollie demanded.

“He wanted to despoil me, to make me unfit to be queen,” Essa said. “He’s gone mad.”

Ollie’s face grew red. The sword in his fist trembled. “That goat-prick. Make me your champion. Let me challenge him. I’ll?—”

“He’s already challenged Mr. Rowley,” Essa said. “Swords.”

“Kit…?” Ollie looked me up and down. “Can you fight?”

“With a sword?” I grimaced. “There’s a first time for everything.”

“Braimar is not a great opponent to practice on,” Essa warned. “He has been the sword champion of the Skrathan these past four years.”

“I’ll teach you,” Ollie gave a decisive nod.

“But we have other concerns now,” Essa said, her arm around Othura’s neck. “The enemy’s aces have never made it so close to Charcain. And they’ve never hit the hatchery before.”

“How did they get past the patrols?” Ollie wondered aloud.

Perhaps because they knew the patrol routes and timing… which I had observed and taken notes on while confined to my room.

“From what I saw riding through the barracks, an unusually large number of dragons were wounded in the attack,” Ollie said. “And how did they know to target the hatchery?”

“Someone has been feeding them information,” Essa concluded. The coldness in her tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“A spy,” Ollie nodded grimly—echoing Braimar’s words.

Essa looked at me. Surely she wouldn’t believe that lunatic Braimar’s accusations about me, even if they were true…

I opened my mouth to speak, then stopped. I had no idea what to say. Essa’s eyes met mine. For a second, they brimmed with all the feeling we’d shared in that room above the ball. Then, I watched the feeling disappear, like a door slamming shut.

“I’ll take Othura to the infirmary. Ollie, you will take Mr. Rowley back to his rooms,” she said, her voice cold as steel. “See that guards are posted there—to keep him safe from Braimar and his friends. Then bring your horse and meet me at the north gate. Bring food for a day’s ride. We’ll learn the truth about this attack.”

Ollie looked ashen. “You don’t mean to…?”

She gave him a fierce look. “You have your orders,” she said. “Now go.”

“Essa,” I started, but she was already mounting Othura.

Instead of flying, the wounded dragon folded her wings and took off a gallop, moving far faster than any horse could ever run.

There was nothing left for me to do but to follow Ollie back to my prison cell.