Page 8

8

ESSA

“I ’ve decided to accept your task and escort the necromancer poet during his visit,” I announced.

Mother stood holding the edge of her stone scrying bowl, gazing into the dark water. She flinched at the sound of my voice and glanced up at me. It was late. Mother was clad in a nightgown with her hair falling about her shoulders and we stood in one of her private chambers near the throne room, with only Hoatan and a pair of her personal guards present. Sounds of revelry could still be heard drifting up from the dining hall below, where the courtiers lingered over their post-funeral feast.

“How kind of you to decide to follow your queen’s command,” Mother said.

For a moment my mind reeled, trying to think of something to say that might please her. She had just lost her favorite daughter, of course. She had every right to be bitter. But I was her daughter, too.

“I unseated Thaxan in the melee the other day,” I said. I hated what I heard in my voice, the echo of a little girl seeking her mother’s approval.

“And did someone unseat you?” she asked.

I sighed. “Yes. Still, I was sorry you didn’t come to witness the competition.”

“The challenge will begin soon,” Mother said, gazing into the black water again. “I will have plenty of opportunity to see your exploits.”

“Good,” I said. “It has been some time since you’ve attended any of our trainings. I think it would do the riders some good to see you. For morale. The war wears on their spirits.”

Mother did not look up from her dark pool. “I did not ask for your advice, Essaphine.”

“No,” I agreed. “Paemalla’s advice you might have asked for, but not mine.”

“Cease your moping,” she muttered, leaning closer to the dark, still water. “It’s unbecoming of a princess.”

Biting my lip with frustration, I thought of turning and walking out of the room, but something drew me the other way. Closer to Mother. My eyes searched the basin in front of her, but I saw only her reflection in the dark water.

“What do you see in that water all day?” I asked.

“Many things,” she whispered.

For an experienced sorceress like mother, scrying could yield all sorts of visions. Over the years she’d foreseen plagues in far-flung villages, witnessed raids happening in our fishing towns, and identified criminals. According to legend, if you looked long and deeply enough, you could even see other realms, both demonic and divine. It was both the danger and the reward of scrying. It was a great advantage for our kingdom’s military to have a queen whose scrying power was so strong, but it also posed a personal risk. Throughout history, some had gone mad from scrying’s allure. Whenever I saw Mother like this, lost in her visions, it made me worried for her.

“What are you looking for?” I asked. “Paemalla’s ghost?”

At this mother did look at me, fiercely.

“She will be in the Westerlands, where heroes go,” she snapped.

“Not in this world of stone and shadow.”

A hero… cruel Paemalla?

I wanted to argue. To pick at Mother. But I could see pain as well as fury in her eyes. As much as Paemalla had tormented me, she was Mother’s daughter. Her favorite. And the pain of her loss was real. I should cease needling Mother when she was in such a raw state. So I nodded, relenting. “Of course. She was a hero. I’ll leave you to your scrying.” I addressed Hoatan, now. “Is there anything in particular you’d like the poet?—”

“Reporter,” Hoatan corrected. “They write down important events like our bards do, but with far less artistry.”

“Reporter…” I corrected myself. “Anything you’d like me to show him while he’s here? And anything you want me to conceal? Obviously, we don’t want him to witness any of the secrets of the dragons, or?—”

“Show him everything,” Mother said, still staring into the pool.

I frowned, certain I must have heard her wrong. There was no way they’d want me to reveal our secrets to our enemies, surely.

“Everything?” I repeated.

Hoatan came forward, linking arms with me and leading me back toward the door.

“Yes,” he said. “Show him everything. Withhold nothing. That’s part of the plan. You see, only when our URA adversaries understand our full power will they see that their attempts to defeat us are futile. By living as one of us, this reporter will come to see how wrong and perverse the ways of his own people are. The truth is, Maethalia is the greatest and brightest kingdom the world has ever known. Show him the beauty of our land. The magic of our people. Let him witness our power and fall in love with us.”

I nodded slowly, beginning to see the wisdom of Hoatan’s plan. After all, who could experience the majesty of a hundred dragons in flight and not be moved to wonder? I shouldn’t have been surprised. There was wisdom in all Hoatan’s plans— which, I supposed, was why he was Mother’s chief advisor.

“Very well. I’ll show him everything and withhold nothing,” I said.

“Good girl,” Hoatan agreed, patting my hand.

I turned back to mother, thinking she might walk down with me as I made my official challenge for the position of Irska. But she still stared into the scrying bowl’s black depths, and the words to invite her died in my throat. What was the point? She wouldn’t hear me anyway.

I left the room and, with a smile, Hoatan slammed the door behind me.

* * *

Wind whipped across the green in front of the hatchery. Gray whisps of cloud scudded past above, dimming the moon then revealing it again, casting the world by turns in darkness then in light. Othura and I stood side-by-side before the challenge basin. It was similar to mother’s scrying bowl, I now realized—a shallow, hammered copper basin ancient beyond reckoning and filled with dark dragon blood. I took my mark from the small pouch on my belt and held it between my finger and my thumb. Each rider had a mark like this with their name on one side in old elvish and an image of their dragon on the other. If two riders cast their mark into the pool together, it meant they were challenging one another to a duel and they would then have to fight to the death. But if just one rider put their mark in, it meant they were challenging to become Irska, and an elaborate two-month long competition to choose a new leader would begin.

I squeezed the coin in my hand, gazing at the still, thick dragon’s blood. There’s still time to change my mind , I thought. As if I truly had a choice…

I felt Othura, then. No words were spoken, but she made her presence known, like a mental hug. Slowly, I reached out, holding the coin over the basin.

Someone is coming, Othura said, an instant before a voice said, “Wait.”

I turned to find Braimar striding toward me. My ex-boyfriend. The last person I wished to see tonight—or any night. He was dangerously handsome, tall with long hair, perfect cheekbones and hypnotic eyes that always seemed to be searching mine. But I knew him to well to be charmed by him anymore.

Don’t you think you should talk to me, Essa, before doing something so rash?

He spoke to me telepathically through our dragons—a mode of communication far more intimate than I liked to share with him.

“Speak to me aloud, please,” I said.

He brushed long green hair from his face with one hand.

“Alright,” he said, speaking the word with exaggerated slowness just to irk me. He held up his own token. “Let me challenge Laynine on your behalf.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because then in the final battle it will be her and me. I can win. And then I can hand the title over to you.”

My eyes narrowed. “And what makes you think I need a champion?”

I could almost feel him trying not to look at my missing arm. Focusing on my eyes. He sauntered nearer. Too near. He loomed over me, his body almost against mine.

I never said you need one. But perhaps you want one?

“I told you, get out of my mind,” I snapped.

He smiled. “As you wish.”

I had intended this to be a private moment between me and Othura. But of course Braimar had to turn up and ruin it. She seemed just as irritated about it as I was, because her tail had snaked over until its forked end rested near Braimar’s feet. A flick of that tail could have broken his ankle—or his balls—and we both knew it. He shuffled backward a step.

“The challenge is my duty and my decision,” I said.

“Perhaps,” Braimar said. And before I could react, his hand jerked, tossing his mark at the challenge basin. I felt my heart stop, my eyes go wide. The world seemed to dilate and slow as I watched the coin flipping toward the basin. If Braimar made the challenge and defeated Laynine, he could become Irska. Not only would I be humiliated and lose my honor, I’d be under Braimar’s control. And I knew from experience how bad that could be. The mark spun through the air, toward the basin… I reached up to grab it, but it was too high, arcing over my head.

“No!” I gasped.

There came a whoosh and a sound like a whip cracking as Othura’s tail came around and slapped the coin away. She let forth a low growl as the mark glinted, flying off into the night. Without further hesitation, I turned and dropped my own mark into the basin. Immediately, the water glowed a deep red and began steaming and boiling.

It was done. All the dragons would feel the magick and know a challenge had begun. I felt a tremendous relief, as if a suit of heavy armor had been stripped from me.

I turned back find Braimar watching me quizzically, his head tilted. He didn’t appear angry, exactly. But there was something else in his eyes I found even more frightening.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

Othura growled, crouching right next to me. But Braimar didn’t look at her. His eyes met mine and lingered, as if he could lick me with them. Then he turned and stalked off into the night.