Page 47

47

CHARLIE

“Y es!” I shouted, spinning away from window to rampage through the room in elation—and knocking a chair over in the process. My celebration didn’t stop until I saw the guards in the doorway, watching me with frowns and drawn swords.

“There’s a new Irska in town, my friends!” I shouted. They merely looked at me impassively. “One day the three of us will sip whiskey together and laugh about this!” I called as they left, slamming the door behind them.

In the silence, more sober thoughts returned to me. Essa had lived, and I felt like a pile of bricks had been lifted off my heart. But I was still sentenced to death. And Othura…

I ran back to the window, pressing my face against the glass. I had to look down at an infuriatingly difficult angle to see what was happening, and I wished with all my being that I were down there, that I could sweep Essa into a hug. Far below, I watched as she approached Othura and knelt before her, pressing her face to the dragon’s and wrapping her arms around her.

I’d pulled away from Parthar during the challenge, not wanting my heightened emotions to worry him, but I reached out again now. I could feel Othura’s pain through him, somehow. The emotion that came through wasn’t translatable into words; it was more like the low wail of a baby.

“She’ll be okay,” I soothed Parthar. Then I realized perhaps he might know Othura’s status better than I. “…won’t she?”

The little dragon’s only response was a sorrowful sigh.

And so, I tried again to reach out to Essa through the dragons. She hadn’t been open to communication during the challenge and I hadn’t pressed her. I might not be able to reach her now, either, especially if Othura was gone. But I reached out anyway.

Essa?

For a moment, there nothing, no response, and the elation I’d felt moments before began to ebb.

Then I felt her. Like so many of my exchanges with Parthar, no words passed between us. But I felt the glow of her pride from her victory. I felt her bone-melting weariness. I felt her concern for Othura, and her deep relief at discovering Othura was still breathing. Most of all, I felt her love, warm and bright as a summer sunrise, its scope so vast and so strong that it enveloped Othura and me and pulled us both in close. In every relationship I’d had before, even with my parents, there had been a sense of stoic reservation, of holding back. But when connecting through dragons, none of those layers of hesitation were there. I felt what she felt. Never had I felt so close to another being, so complete, so loved.

Through Essa I felt—rather than saw—Othura stir and raise her head. She was injured and groggy, but with each second her wits and wellbeing returned, and she sat up to great cheers from the watching crowd. Parthar gave an enthusiastic coo.

I realized I’d fallen to my knees and I reached up to find tears on my cheeks.

I rose and pressed my forehead to the window once more, looking down. Othura stood. She followed a step behind Essa, who went and knelt before her mother the queen.

Now she will become Irska. And someday, Queen. And I will still die. I thought. But at least I’ve lived long enough to see this.