Page 45

45

ESSA

“T he winner of this challenge will be the one still breathing. The winner will be Irska. The winner will lead all the mighty dragons of Maethalia. The winner will be heir to the Dragon’s Eye crown,” my mother called in a clear, flat voice, speaking in the old Elven tongue loud enough for everyone assembled to hear. “May the Earth Mother grant you wisdom. May the Sky Father grant you bravery. May the Fifty-Two grant you luck. And may the Lords of the Void grant you the peace to accept your fate. Now, challengers—fly!”

Othura crouched, ready to take flight, and next to us, Tryce, with Laynine on his back, did the same.

“Hold!” Lord Natath shouted, stepping forward. “On behalf of the council of nobles, I contest the princess’s flying apparatus. She’s using machines.”

I glanced down at the clip on my arm and the lance Kit and Clua had created for me.

The look Mother gave Natath was venomous. “The noble council has no jurisdiction over the inner-workings of the Skrathan, Lord Natath.”

“But we do,” Natath said, brandishing a scroll. “Per the second Accord of Davit, the Noble Council shall act as judge in matters pertaining to the royalty where a majority of the nobles deem the Monarch is unable to render unbiased judgement for any of a number of reasons, including but not limited to?—”

“Absurd,” Hoatan began. “The Accord of Davit is?—"

“Are you questioning my ability to preside over the Challenge of Irska—” Mother demanded. “Something my ancestors have done without disruption for twenty generations? And think well on your answer, Natath, because I call such a challenge to my power treason.”

He took a step forward and the swords of all mother’s guards rang from their sheaths. The noble knights, in turn, drew their weapons.

And into the midst of the two parties a single metal implement landed. My hand clip. All eyes settled on me.

“So much fuss over a little piece of metal,” I said. “I don’t need it.”

“Essaphine,” Mother said, her voice low. “Pick it up. You’ll fall.”

I’d wondered what she truly thought of the aid Kit was giving me. Now I had my answer, and it filled me with warmth and relief. It gave me hope more goodness might lay hidden within her cold, royal exterior.

I turned to face the assembled nobles. “Isn’t everyone here convinced I’ll die either way?” I shouted. No one answered. In fact, I’d never in my life heard a such a multitude of people stay so silent.

I’m watching. I love you.

I recognized the voice in my mind. It was coming through Othura, and for an instant I was confused. Then I understood. Kit had bonded a dragon—and he was communicating with me the Skrathan way.

I was keenly aware of his lies and omissions, as aware of them as I was of the lance in my hand. And yet, in that moment of heightened emotion, I had an almost preternatural awareness of him—of both of us—as a pair of insects trapped in the same spider web, each tugging at the strings that held us, traying to crawl to one another. And the truth was, despite everything, I was glad to hear his voice. As alone as I’d felt a moment before, I felt suddenly the opposite feeling. Belonging. Desire. Purpose.

I love you, too. I said in this mind.

Somehow we’ll be together when this is over. And I’ll explain everything, he said.

Yes, I told him. I fly for you.

Mother was watching me with those gray eyes of hers that seemed to perceive so much. Whatever she saw in me satisfied her, and she gave a small nod.

“Very well. The machine is removed. Therefore, the nobles, I assume, will withdraw their objection.”

Lord Natath bowed in agreement, and his knights sheathed their swords and stepped back—a crisis averted.

“So be it, then,” Mother said. “Challengers—fly!”

Othura’s wing was hurting her. I knew because I could feel it, the faintest ache in my own left shoulder, but she launched from the ground now as if pain were nothing. There was no time now for pain, or love, or anything else.

The final challenge had begun.

* * *

The beginning of the challenge final was always the same, a tradition dating back thousands of years meant as a salute to the monarch and the assembly. Both dragons spiraled upward together until we were past the uppermost turret of the palace, then we broke apart, winging in opposite directions. It was a spectacle for those on the ground, and their applause and cheers rose, faint on the wind as we flew away from Laynine and Tryce, then banked around for our first lance pass.

I could feel Kit in my mind—not his words, for he knew better than to distract me—but his nervousness. I could feel Mother too, a presence more aloof but equally probing. I clapped my mind shut just as I’d closed the wind visor on my helmet, locking their thoughts out. But there was another presence there. Laynine.

I’m sorry to do this to you, cousin, she said.

And I’m sorry for what I must do to you, I thought back.

What a world we live in, where young people are forced to destroy each other, she lamented.

But I could ill afford to be distracted by her philosophies. I blocked her out, just as I’d done with Kit and Mother, and Othura winged toward her and Tryce, picking up speed. The lance Kit and Clua made me felt good, light in my hand and firm under the crook of my arm. But I was keenly aware of my missing clip. It meant however tightly I clenched my legs, any hit from Laynine’s lance could easily send me tumbling out of my saddle—to my death.

Closer we came. My eyes locked on Laynine’s chest. Closer. Closer...

And there was her lance point, veering for my face. At the last instant, Othura brought up her wing, deflecting the lance, I felt it jostle me, but then we were past, and I was still in my saddle.

Heart thundering in my ears, I looked down at my left shoulder to see the armor there scraped from Laynine’s lance tip. Three inches lower and to the right, I’d have been finished. And my lance hadn’t come close to hitting Laynine.

Nice wing block, I told Othura.

Of course, she said. Take her head off next time.

A challenge started off with three lance passes. I’d survived the first…

The second came before I was ready for it.

We turned and Laynine and Tryce were already there—she must have pulled him into a tight turn just after our first clash. Already her lance was streaking toward my chest. I had no time to defend myself or aim my lance. All I could do was throw myself backward in the saddle until my back rested against Othura’s spine and watch Laynine’s weapon rip through the air above me—where my body had been an instant before.

I sat up with a groan, my back and stomach muscles protesting the sudden, unnatural movement.

Of all the dishonorable… Othura snarled, looking over her shoulder as she winged ahead, putting some distance between us and Laynine.

There are no rules in challenges, I reminded her. Just traditions.

Still… Othura huffed.

Let’s make her regret it, I thought, and lifted myself in the saddle, an unspoken way of urging Othura to climb higher.

Excellent idea, she said, understanding my intent. Up we climbed, ranging outside the castle walls, moving toward the mountains.

Running already? Laynine asked in my mind, mockery in her voice.

Come and get me, I shot back.

But at that moment, I felt Othura falter. Probably someone who didn’t ride her every day wouldn’t have felt it—but I knew the rhythms of her wings as well as the beating of my own heart. And they were off.

Your hurt wing ? —

It’s nothing. Concentrate on the fight.

Climbing would normally have been good strategy. Larger dragons had to expend more energy to gain altitude than smaller dragons did. By making Tryce climb we could tire him out—then wheel and come down them from above with the double advantage of height and greater speed. But Othura’s injury changed that calculus. I didn’t want to wear her out with a steep climb if she was in pain. Instead, I brought her around.

Tryce was there, following closer than expected, only perhaps five dragon lengths back and gaining. Laynine crouched in her saddle, taut and ready, her lance trained on my chest. I matched her posture, leaning forward, squeezing Othura with my knees and locking the lance under the crook of my arm.

Four lengths, three lengths…

Even this high, the roar of the crowd rose like the rush of the sea.

Othura snapped her wings once more and pinned them back, making herself like a javelin. It was the most aggressive jousting posture, giving us the advantage of surprising speed—but it also meant I wouldn’t have the benefit of her wings to deflect Laynine’s lance this time. It was kill or be killed.

Two lengths…

One…

At the concussion of the hit, the world blurred and spun. My body reverberated with pain like a struck bell. I didn’t know what was happening. I might have been falling from the sky, or diving into a lake, or dreaming in my own bed. With effort I came back to myself, sucked a ragged breath, refocused my eyes, and found I was still in the saddle, the splintered haft of the lance still gripped in my trembling hand.

Othura was banking and I looked up and back. Laynine was there, banking and holding a broken lance of her own—like a mirror image of me.

We’d broken lances on each other. And even without my clip, I’d managed to keep my seat. I looked down at my aching chest and saw the front of my armor had a distinct check-shaped mark on it. It wasn’t pierced, but the bruise underneath would probably be a record-breaker, if I lived to examine it.

Well done, Dear Heart, Orthura said. Now the entwining.

We’d survived the first phase of the challenge and it was on to the next. If the joust was like boxing, the entwining was more like a wrestling match. Rider and dragon would come in close and meet in a clash of muscle and claw and tooth while their riders did what damage they could with their sword or other short-range weapon of choice. This was another moment my clip would have come in handy. But I’d trained plenty holding on with only my knees. I’d just have to do it again now.

I would have to win the challenge here and end it—because the third phase, the one where the dragons used their powers—was one we couldn’t survive.

I drew my sword and stood up my stirrups, snarling into the wind.

In Tryce swept, buffeting us with air from his massive wings. The force of his body slamming into us probably could have knocked Othura out, but she veered away at the last second, causing the bulk of Tryce’s body to miss us, and managed to bite onto the webbing of one of his wings with her teeth.

Yes! I cheered.

This was textbook technique for a smaller dragon fighting a large one, something my auntie called grab and grind . Get in close, cling to a larger dragon, and you could negate many of the advantages of their longer limbs, heavier bodies, and stronger jaws.

Tryce flapped awkwardly with his free wing as he tried to keep the one in Othura’s jaws still so it wouldn’t tear. The problem: one wing wasn’t enough to keep two dragons aloft. We fell, my stomach seeming to rise into my throat as we plummeted through the clouds. Screams rose from the onlookers below.

Othura clamped onto Tryce’s belly with her back claws and slashed with her front ones, but trying to pierce Tryce’s tough skin was like clawing through a stone wall.

The sun went black as Tryce brought his foreclaw up and swooped toward me, hitting both me and Othura. Before he could rip me off her back, Othura released her grip. We dropped off Tryce and the dragons flew apart. But Othura had twined her tail with his. She used it now to swing us around to his back.

Suddenly, Laynine and I were helmet to helmet. Our swords flashed furiously, the blades clashing.

Teach her some respect! I called to Othura. She knew what I meant and spun, bringing her wing around and slapping Laynine so hard she reeled in the saddle— though somehow she kept hold of her sword.

Now that both dragons had use of their wings again we were locked together in a spiraling ascent. As I turned Othura again to get in sword range of Laynine, Tryce managed to get a good grip with their locked tails and tugged Othura downward, yanking me out of range.

I cursed as Othura disentangled herself and we wheeled, both dragons circling one another. The sight of Laynine drew a curse out of me. She might have been stunned by Othura’s wing slap a moment before, but she was steady in the saddle now, and I knew I might not get her off balance like that again.

We were descending back toward the courtyard now. As we circled, the sound of the crowd came back to me, the entire city in an uproar over the show we were giving them. I imagined I could hear Kit’s voice among them. But if he was trying to talk to me directly in my mind, I couldn’t tell—I had to keep all communication with everyone except Othura blocked out until this was over. Any distraction could be the end of me.

We’d made it this far. Further than anyone had ever imagined… But time was running out. Two more passes, then Tryce would unleash his lightning on us and it would be over.

We continued to circle, giving our dragons a moment to recover and eyeing one another, watching for openings to attack.

Hit them with an invert, I said.

It was one of the moves I’d worked on with Kit. Charge the enemy dragon, flip over and fly under them while Othura raked upward, slashing their underbelly with her claws. We’d practiced and I had it mastered—when I was using the clip.

Othura huffed dismissively. No.

It will be the last thing they expect.

For good reason. Without the clip you’ll fall.

I can hang on.

And if you can’t?

I took a slow breath. Then I fall.

Othura growled beneath me, showing exactly what she thought of my plan. It was a risk. The invert was never a move we practiced before Kit came to town, before I had a clip, when I was terrified to go upside down. In truth, I was still terrified. But…

Do you have any better ideas? I demanded.

Othura’s growl grew sharper. You’re an idiot.

But you love me.

Against my better judgement… she admitted. Fine. Here we go.

With a suddenness that jerked me in the saddle she veered toward Tryce, jaws wide as if she were going to bite at Laynine. As Tryce raised his head to defend her, we dropped under him and rolled.

I felt myself go weightless for an instant as we flipped and I tried with all my strength to clench with my legs and stay in the saddle. There came the familiar, grating sound of claw on scale and I felt a spatter of blood—Othura’s strike was working. But my legs were slipping. I had no choice but to drop my sword and grab the saddle horn, watching the blade spin into oblivion below me as I held on with all my strength with my one hand. But something was wrong. We’d jerked to a halt, and I looked up to see Tryce had caught us with one of his rear talons. We were stuck—upside down. Tryce’s claws dug into Othura’s haunch near her tail, squeezing until I saw blood. I felt Othura’s pain, and she gave a roar of pain.

I had to help her. But my legs, my hand, everything was slipping. And the jostling as the two dragons clawed at one another only made it worse.

Use wind! I told Othura.

No powers… until after… the third pass, she replied, her thoughts broken as she grappled with her pain.

Cursed dragons and their ethics…

I had to help her. But how? I was hanging on for my life.

Tryce’s other claw swung down, raking Othura’s face.

Whip your tail over to me, I told Othura.

I’m… a bit… busy… she snarled.

Just do it!

Her tail came, flopping over my shoulder like a snake.

I twined my handless arm with it.

Now take me up to Laynine.

What are you ? —?

Now!

I released my legs’ grip on the saddle just as Othura’s tail whipped me upward and dropped me on Tryce’s back—just behind Laynine.

She spun her head around, startled to find me there, and I clamped my maimed arm around her neck, my dagger point to her throat.

“Tell Tryce to let Othura go.”

“You miss the point of the game, cousin. It’s a fight to the death,” she said. And with amazing speed, she reached up and grabbed my wrist, wrenching my arm sideways. Pain shot through my shoulder, causing me to cry out, and the dagger tumbled from my grip. Then, the world seemed to drop out from under me. Tryce was rolling—and I fell.