Page 46

46

ESSA

I was a child again. Breathless. Helpless. Falling.

Last time, I’d been saved by jaws and teeth, a rescue I often felt was worse than death itself would have been. But that wouldn’t be my fate today. Othura was too high. Too far away. Too tangled with Tryce to break away.

I became aware of my body. Arms pinwheeling. Legs pumping in empty air. Wind ripping upward, pulling my helmet from my head, yanking at my cloak, whipping my hair across my face like a banner.

Wind.

A dragon’s breath without fire wasn’t much good, that’s how the thinking went. But a little wind and a little luck could make a difference. It could make all the difference. And so I summoned Othura, summoned the wind.

Breathe.

I glimpsed her above, making an arrow of her body, shooting down at me as fast as she could—still too slow.

Her breathing wind would only push me down faster, make my death quicker.

But with the dragon stone…

Breathe. I told her. I’ll use it.

Just a little. That’s all I needed. A nudge, a change of course.

The ground was speeding up too fast. There was no more time to think, no time to explain.

But Othura listened. Breath issued from her mouth so fast it quickly became a whirlwind, shooting down to me and snagging me in a hot embrace that whipped me around like a rag.

Tame it. Use it.

In my dizziness and panic I didn’t know if the words came from me or from Othura—or from both of us, maybe. I focused on the stone hanging around my neck, urging it to activate. Instantly, I felt its heat against my chest.

A thought—a jerk of my head—and the whirlwind bucked, hurling me sideways, toward the palace wall. I saw one of the lower spires rushing toward me.

Slow me down!

The wind obeyed. It wouldn’t have amounted to much more than a stiff breeze, maybe, but I felt it pushing upward against my feet, slowing my descent just enough. With the crook of my bad arm I caught the flagpole atop the tower’s conical roof and spun down it, my speed decreasing as I went, until my boots thudded against the slate of the roof.

Shouts of amazement came from below. Somehow in the midst of it all I heard a voice shouting:

“She used her power! The final phase begins. Now, Laynine!”

I thought I heard the voice aloud—but perhaps it was in my mind. Either way, I knew who it belonged to. It was auntie, my durrah, urging her daughter on. Urging her to kill me.

Somehow, that realization hurt more than any heartbreak or any injury I’d felt so far. Laynine was her daughter. Of course, in her heart of hearts, Auntie Dreya wanted her to win; it was foolish of me to imagine otherwise. Still, it was a bitter confirmation: I’d always felt alone—and I was alone.

Perhaps Kit cared for me. Perhaps my friends loved me. Certainly Othura held me as dear as her own heart. But in that moment, none of it mattered. I would let myself die, or I would fight to live. Either way, I would do it for me , not for the sake of anyone else. Not for Mother, or Auntie, or even for Maethalia. I would fight for myself. Because I deserved to live. I deserved it as much as Laynine. As much as anyone.

And so as my heartbeat slowed to a more normal pace, the death-terror drained from my mind, I saw everything around me with clear eyes. Othura dropping toward me. Tryce behind her, talons extended like a hawk diving for a sparrow. And behind him, a dark and growing cloud of water vapor. We’d used our wind power. Now, Tryce was summoning his lightning. The last phase of the duel had begun…

Othura! Watch out! I called.

She rolled onto her back and looked up at the much larger akmerius bearing down on her—just as lighting began to crackle in the clouds surrounding him. His claws swooped toward Othura, just a dozen feet away now, in trajectory that would have allowed him to strike her, then slam her down into me.

But at that moment, Othura released the wind. It was greater than any breath I’d seen come out of her before, a savage tornado so concentrated it hit only Tryce’s left wing. The wing twisted, sending Tryce plummeting sideways.

As he fell, he swiped at me with his tail. The blow smashed into the roof of the tower, taking half of it out and sending a hail of sharp slate across the rooftop. Pieces pelted me as I tried to protect my face.

Then Othura was there, sailing past. I leapt onto her back just as the tower roof I’d been on a second before collapsed.

You’re brilliant. I gave her neck a grateful squeeze.

But something was wrong. We were dropping again.

We tilted and I caught a glimpse of Tryce below us, his jaws clamped onto Othura’s tail, dragging us downward.

The four of us—dragons and riders—landed heavily in the courtyard, sending up a cloud of dust and leaving the crowd to scream and scatter. I stumbled to my feet, groggy, and felt it instantly—the telltale tingle of my hair standing on end.

Othura! Cover!

We dove together beneath the now-abandoned bleachers just as lightning cracked down all around us, a half dozen bolts lighting the world up a blinding blue-white.

When my vision came back, the bleachers all around us were burning. Smoke began to roil off the flames, obscuring everything.

Out of the haze, I heard Laynine’s voice.

“You put up a good fight, cousin. Worthy of a saga song. No one can say you dishonored your royal name. But don’t you think it’s time to end this now? Before the lightning causes any more damage?”

Peering through the stands, I caught sight of her coming toward us through the haze, a black shadow in the miasma.

Instead of answering, I drew my knife and crept to my right, along the bleachers.

“Stop paying games.” she called.

She turned a circle, looking for me in the drifting smoke, then shouted into my mind. Come out and fight!

Tell me, I shot back. What were you doing in the Prelate’s keep?

What? Her response dripped with annoyance. But my dragon intuition detected something else, too. Defensiveness.

Perhaps I will submit to you, I said. But not without knowing you’re loyal to the crown and the Skrathan.

Do you think dealing with the Prelate is treachery? she mocked. Don’t be a fool, cousin. Kortoi controls trade. He controls the Lacunae. His strength is the only thing keeping the Admites and bay and keeping the nobles from open rebellion. Without Kortoi, there is no crown.

So she was working with Kortoi…

And what of the crates beneath the city, cousin?

I felt her hesitation—her guilt. What crates?

But she was only pretending not to know. I could feel it with as much certainty as I could feel the flagstones beneath my feet. Something terrible was in those crates. Kortoi had brought them here. And whatever was happening, Laynine was in on it… There was no way I could let her get the crown.

She stalked nearer. And behind her, Tryce loomed, massive and menacing.

I could still spare you, cousin, Laynine said, her tone more civil . You could be my right hand. The way my mother has been to your mother. You could live…

Don’t trust her, Othura warned.

There came a creaking sound to my left, where Othura was hiding. I saw the first flaming brace fall then watched, as if in slow motion, as all bleachers there buckled and fell, revealing Othura.

Before I could move, before I could speak, Tryce opened his terrible mouth. Lightning flowed into it from the clouds around him and cracked forth—a dozen bolts at once—all hitting Othura.

No!

I didn’t know whether I screamed aloud or in my mind as I surged toward her, leaping and clambering over burning wreckage. Embers filled the air, drifting like unmoored stars amid the smoke and soot. The crowd’s cheers had dwindled to nothing and a dense silence hung about us, thicker than the smoke. As I picked my way forward, I stepped around a chunk of flaming wreckage caught sight of Othura again. She lay sprawled out on the ground, her hide steaming, her mouth slack and her orange eyes shut. My heart constricted in my chest. Tryce loomed over her, mouth open, gathering lightning for a final blast. And closer, her back to me, Laynine stood, her drawn sword in her hand, watching. She didn’t see me yet.

As silently as I could I ran toward her, knife in hand.

But her dragon senses alerted her. At the last second, she turned, swiping my knife away with a slash of her sword. My momentum carried me into her and our bodies crashed together. Her free hand grabbed my wrist, but her sword arm was pinned across her body between us. We stumbled together toward a jagged, burning piece of timber from the bleachers. I saw the white of Laynine’s teeth as she snarled, trying to guide me into it. My legs wavered under me, exhausted from clamping onto Othura. But at the last second, I managed to hook my bad arm around Laynine’s body. As we both fell, I turned her—and the chunk of timber plunged into her gut with a sickening thud.

I fell to the ground, my breath coming in ragged bursts.

A sudden blast of cold wind fluttered my cloak. It raked over everything, trembling the flames, stirring the ashes, blowing away the smoke, and revealing the crowd. When they saw Laynine, they gave a collective gasp.

I looked at her, too. My cousin. My rival. A person who had been in my life since before I could remember. We’d never been close, but she’d always been there, a presence as constant as the sky, as inevitable as winter.

Her eyes rolled, glassy and wide with terror, searching then settling on my face. Her mouth glistened with blood as it worked, trying to speak.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted, crawling to her.

With effort, she forced her eyes to focus. Gods, they seemed to look right through me.

“No. I’m sorry,” she panted. She took my hand and squeezed. “Beware. Beware the?—”

Then breath seemed to rush out of her. She shuddered once, then again, then her head hung limp. Her fingers slipped out of my grasp. I knelt there, staring at her, my eyes and mouth both wide.

Then the earth shook with booming footsteps and a shadow fell over me. Tryce was there, his snarling mouth crackling with lightning, a low growl rumbling from his heaving chest. His glare flicked from Laynine to me. Then, the pupils in his orange eyes constricted as the connection between him and his rider was severed. He reeled once, stumbled, then fell, his massive head booming into the cobblestones before me.

The wind gusted again, a cold, stiff breeze that caused the fires all around to flicker and dim. I felt the dragon stone hot against my chest and realized I was the one causing the wind. So I made it blow harder, the breeze swelling into a gale that snuffed out the fires and made the whole palace shiver.

Then there came a new sound. Clapping. Whistling. Shouts.

I looked over like a person waking from a dream and saw the crowd—the entire city—was cheering for me.

The challenge was over. I had won.