Page 7

7

ESSA

“W hy did he call me necromancer?” the enemy poet asked as I poured a drink for each of us from the bottle of wine in his room.

When I turned back, he arched an eyebrow.

“You know, Ollie did the same thing,” he said, taking the cup from me. “You Maethalians may have a drinking problem.”

I just narrowed my eyes and took a sip. “ Necromancer means a sorcerer who can raise the dead.”

He dabbed his bloody neck with a handkerchief. “Strange, I don’t remember having that power.”

“It’s not just about spirits. The coal and the fuel, the—” I searched for the foreign word.

“Petrol?” he said.

I nodded. “It all comes from dead things. You burn it. Use its energy to power your machines.”

“Yes…”

“It was spoken by our oracles long ago that great evil will come from it,” I said. “The seas will boil. The skies will rage—that sort of thing. It’s forbidden. That which lives must be allowed to live. That which is dead must remain dead. It’s one of the most famous Earth Mother prophecies.”

“I see…” He gestured to the chairs by the fireplace, but I remained standing.

Regardless, he went and sat, slouching in his chair and watching me as he took another sip of the wine.

“So that’s why you hate us? That’s why we’re at war? Our technology violates your spiritual beliefs?”

I sighed. “Like a typical Admite, you have reduced a complex thing to idiocy. The prophecy is part of it. You’ve also desecrated the sacred Isle of Dorhane in your quest for your… petrol. You’ve murdered dragons and their riders. You’ve sunk trading ships, wiped out villages. The list of atrocities goes back one-hundred years.”

“Funny,” he said. “I could list just as many atrocities committed by your side. In fact, it would take more than both hands for me to count the number of close personal friends who are now in pine boxes because of you and your dragon riders.”

I threw back the rest of my drink and banged the cup down on the counter.

“And yet you are alive now because I saved you back at Kayumal.”

His fingers went to the cut at his neck, which was still bleeding. “A favor I never asked for.”

“Well don’t worry,” I shot back. “Next time someone is about to slit your throat, I’ll let them.”

“Don’t worry about me, Princess. I can handle myself.”

“Good,” I said.

“Good,” he said.

I found my teeth were bared. My face felt hot with anger—and the fact that I’d let this foreigner get a rise out of me only made it worse. I shook my head.

“You’re just what I would have expected from an Admite—a fool.”

“And you’re just what I would have expected from a Maethalian. A—” he hesitated, then said: “Esteemed princess.”

“Good catch,” I mocked.

He grinned and downed the last of his wine. “You seem to enjoy kicking men in the back of the leg. Tell me, do you know any other moves?”

“Keep it up,” I snarled, “and find out.”

I wanted to take the bottle and smash it over his smug, foreign head. Instead I turned and stormed toward the door.

“Sorry about your sister,” he called after me.

I paused and half turned to him, anger boiling in my veins. “Do you always have to have the last word?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer, just gazed at his wine glass. I gave a huff of exasperation and went to leave. Just before the door clapped shut I heard him shout: “Yes.”

Rohree was pacing in the hall where I’d bade her wait. When she saw me storm out of the room, her eyes went wide.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Bind up his neck. Or cut it the rest of the way off, if you prefer. I couldn’t care less,” I snapped, and breezed off down the hall.

* * *

Half an hour later, I lay against Othura’s flank, staring up at the stars. After leaving the stranger in his room I’d called Othura with my mind and she’d met me in the palace courtyard. Together, we’d flown to one of our favorite places, a grove ringed with standing stones that sat on a lonely hilltop about a half mile southeast of the castle. Now, we lay together, warm despite the chill night, gazing up at the scattered glints of light above. Thoughts shot between us like shooting stars, but when we were together like this, our minds open to one another, it was hard to tell whose thoughts were whose.

I felt it when you met him. The beating of your heart.

My heart is always beating.

You know what I mean, Dear Heart. It beat faster.

Your heart would beat faster too if you came face-to-face with an enemy.

I don’t know. The heart of a dragon is slow to excite. The heart of a human girl, however…

A human woman , thank you very much. And if my heart beat faster, it was excitement at the thought of killing him. He’s insufferable.

Her response didn’t come in words, but I could tell she was scoffing.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You saw what happened tonight. Someone will kill him before long if he stays here. He’s as dead as I am.

Unless…

Unless what?

Unless he had the protection of a Skrathan.

What, you mean me?

Didn’t your mother ask you to escort him during his time here?

She did. All the more reason not to do it.

Everyone is right some of the time, Dear Heart. Even the queen. You did save his life today. According to the old code, that makes you responsible for him, at least until ? —

Until he saves my life. I know the old code. It’s called old for a reason. No one follows such traditions anymore.

The Skrathan do. Dragons do. Your mother does.

Ugh you’re tiresome!

I gave Othura a playful whack on her side. The blow would have felt lighter than a kiss on her tough hide, and my attempt at defiance only drew a warm laugh out of her. I sat up and turned so I could see her face. Her dark gray body lay stretched out in the grass, the ends of her forked tail flopping in the air like the lazily wagging tail of a dog. Her orange eyes met mine, her expression quizzical and amused.

Do you truly think I should be this stranger’s protector? I’d have thought you would have me spending every moment training for the challenge.

Othura chuffed. Training that much would only leave you exhausted. And besides, in spending time with this enemy, you might learn something that will be useful once you’ve won the challenge and become Irska.

Irska. Head dragon rider. The one responsible for leading the Skrathan into battle. Could I fill that role, even if by some miracle I won the challenge against Laynine? Although I’d participated in years of training and overcome many difficulties, I’d only just been promoted to the top one hundred riders and I’d participated in a just a few actual battles. Even in those, I’d been on patrol duty or held in reserve. The stories other riders told of facing the enemy aces with their terrible flying machines and deadly machine guns were just that for me—stories—whereas Laynine had flown into battle nearly a hundred times. She was better. More experienced.

And—I glanced down at my missing arm— Laynine was whole…

Anyone but a fool would see how hopeless it was, me trying to defeat her.

I could run, like Auntie said. But where would I go? And who would I be if I left my whole life and identity behind?

I sighed and leaned back against Othura again, petting her hard, pebbly scales.

You’re the only one who thinks I can actually win, you know.

Who thinks we can win, she corrected, then her head swung toward me on her long neck and she nuzzled me with her snout. Maybe I am the only one who believes, she said. But I’m usually right.

She winked one huge, fiery eye. I laughed, hugging her big head and stroking her snout the way she liked.

But suppose you’re right. Othura went on, serious now. Imagine we’re not going to win. Wouldn’t you like to have some fun in the time we have left?

Fun… with that irritating foreigner?

And yet, Othura was my bonded dragon. I couldn’t lie to her any more than I could lie to myself. There was something about that poet Kit that intrigued me. I thought about the scandal it would cause, the queen’s doomed daughter parading through the city with a handsome enemy on her arm.

How much trouble could a girl get into with five weeks left to live? There was only one way to find out.