CHAPTER NINE Maren

We had done it. We had freed a dragon!

My excitement dimmed only as I watched the dragon kit chirping in frustration as she ran after the dragon, her wings flapping. Would she try to fly away from me one day? I had to admit that this was a possibility, especially as she grew older. And that frightened me so much more than I could say. In the short time we’d known each other, she’d twined her way irrevocably around my heart. I couldn’t pretend that we would be together for always. But I wasn’t ready to let go of her yet.

I called for her before turning my attention to the fallen Talon, who lay on the side of the road, cradling her bleeding arm. She scrambled away from me as I approached, her expression terrified.

“Wait—” I said, but she got to her feet and ran.

My hand strayed to my belt, to the knife that hung there. If we let her get away, everyone in the empire would know exactly where we were, and what we had done. I took a step to follow her, but stopped as Kaia’s hand fell heavy on my arm. “Don’t,” she said. “Look at what she left.”

There on the ground was the dragon’s saddle. Tied to it was an oilskin, so large, its contents would have overflowed the pot my father used to make family stew.

I frowned and went to inspect it. The stopper came out easily, and I sniffed tentatively.

Lavender and mirth wood oil. But there was something off about its scent. It reminded me of my own crude attempts at creating the oils. I doubted Neve had had anything to do with manufacturing this oil. But who else in the empire knew anything about the making of the oils? And why did they need so much of it?

The answer suddenly came to me. Naava. The Talon must have been sent to subdue her. And if there was one Talon, there would soon be more. If they found Naava they would try to capture her again, to subject her to another hundred years of servitude.

Everything I had done would be a waste.

My jaw clenched. I wasn’t certain I could stop that from happening, but at the very least, I could ensure they would not be able to use this oil for their schemes. “Keep the dragon kit back,” I said to Kaia. I drew my knife and cut through the oilskin, stepping back as the oil seeped out and sank into the earth, useless. Then I cast my vision skyward. I had to hope that Naava had reached Ilvera and found a safe place to recuperate. Don’t come back, I thought.

There was a flap of wings above us, and Kaia and I looked up to see that the freed dragon had returned. We watched as he passed overhead, flying toward Gedarin and the village that we could see in the far distance. The dragon swooped low and sent forth a billow of flame, engulfing the fields.

The dry, sunburned grass lit quickly, and my breath caught in my chest. A dragon on the loose was one thing, but an enraged beast bent on destruction at all costs?

Kaia and I sprinted toward the village without speaking, the kit running ahead of us.

Soon we could smell the smoke and hear the panicked cries of people fleeing from the flames. This was a farming village. These people were equipped to deal with deer or rabbits getting into their fields, not a rogue dragon of the realm. They would have no idea how to counter such force—or even that it was acceptable to do so.

In all honesty, I wasn’t sure what to do either. We slowed to a halt once we got near. The heat was blistering, the earth cracking under our feet, and the flames were higher than our heads, painting a hopeless picture against the darkening sky. Kaia squeezed my hand. “I’m going to help the villagers,” she shouted over the noise, pointing to the house closest to us.

I nodded and looked down at the dragon kit. Any paralysis she had suffered when first dealing with the dragon seemed to have dissipated. She snorted and let out a piercing whistle that cut through the air without effort. The dragon, who had landed on the other side of the field, looked up. He was bellowing flame in every direction, but the kit had gotten his attention.

“You! Over here!” I waved my arms, trying to draw him in our direction. There was a river nearby—we had crossed it this morning. If we could lure the dragon there, that would be a safer environment in which to confront him.

The dragon hesitated, then came our way, cutting through the flames. In his wake ran villagers, flinging buckets of water at the growing fire. At least they had a trench dug between the fields and their houses—but all of their fields were going to be trampled or burned.

I hope you know what you’re doing, I told myself as I sprinted toward the river.

I could feel heat against my neck, an all too familiar sensation for me these days. The dragon was gaining on us. I scrambled down the riverbank, skidding to a halt. Then I turned to face the dragon.

“Stop!” I shouted, throwing up a hand—as though that would deter him in the least.

Miracle of miracles, the dragon slowed. But that might have had more to do with the river than me.

I had only seconds to calm him. I planted my feet in the riverbed and reached for one of the oldest songs I knew—a Verran lullaby about climbing a mountain. My mother had sung it to me when I was growing up. My voice was hoarse from smoke and overuse, but I sang anyway. Listen Listen to me.

The dragon stared at me from across the river. The dragon kit climbed up my legs and settled on my shoulder, staring back. Still, I sang.

He wasn’t flaming anymore, which I took to be a good sign, but I didn’t dare stop the song. When we had first freed the dragon from the Talon’s influence, I had connected with his mind without meaning to. All I had done was sing—and touch him.

Did I dare leave the river? The dragon could annihilate me with one well-placed blast of fire or swipe of his claws. And he did seem wary of me, his eyes narrowed. We were at an impasse, and I could not continue singing forever.

The kit was a comforting presence on my shoulder as I kept my eyes locked on the dragon’s. I reached the end of the lullaby, and as I circled back to the beginning, I heard the kit join in with me, matching my pitch.

I took one slow step toward the dragon. The river stones shifted below my feet, and I staggered, then paused. I waited, still singing. The dragon watched me, his wings spread menacingly. Then I moved again, until I was out of the river and climbing the bank, each step bringing me closer to the dragon.

When I was finally close enough to touch him, I hesitated—then I raised my hand.

No. The word was cracked and hoarse and angry.

I froze. Had the dragon spoken?

Hello? I cast out the question like a net into the sea between us.

His reply was instant. Do not. Touch. Me.

A chill swept through me. The only other dragon who had spoken directly to me was Naava. To be honest, I hadn’t been sure that the other dragons could speak with humans at all. I had to be very careful. I wanted to converse with the dragon, but it was difficult to do so while I was singing. And if I wasn’t singing, I wasn’t sure that he would remain peaceful.

I won’t, I said, lowering my hand. I only want to talk to you Will you speak with me?

The dragon did not answer, but after a moment he folded his wings and backed up a few paces, giving me more room on the riverbank. I took this to be tacit agreement. So I braced myself and stopped singing. The dragon kit leaped to the ground, taking a protective stance in front of me. The older dragon snorted, as if amused.

What are you? the dragon asked, surprising me. Humans do not sing in dragon tongue, but you do. And you travel with a dragon who has not been— The dragon made a sound that I did not understand. At the confusion on my face, he rephrased. Your dragon is not bound to a human. Your dragon is free.

“I am human,” I said, speaking aloud. “But our bond is not forced by the oils. I’m from Ilvera. I was… given a gift.” A very incomplete answer, but it seemed simpler than trying to explain everything that had happened to me since Naava had slipped into my consciousness and I had left Ilvera.

And what have you done to me? I do not feel the— He made the same indecipherable sound, something I now took by context to signify the bond forged by mirth wood oil between the dragons and Talons.

“We tried to break it,” I replied. “Did it work? Are you free from the Talon’s control?”

The dragon huffed, and I realized too late that, though it was important to know, I might have phrased the question more tactfully.

It must be true, he said slowly. The Talon would never allow me to burn a human village without her direction. As if remembering that he had until quite recently been doing exactly that, smoke began to rise from his nostrils once more.

“Please don’t do that,” I said quickly. “I realize that I cannot control your actions. But these are innocent people. They did not have a hand in your captivity.”

One could argue about whether this statement was absolutely true, but these people did not deserve to have their lives go up in smoke for the crime of being born in an empire that treated dragons this way.

Then what shall I do? the dragon said. There was something strange and plaintive about a large beast, so fearsome and powerful, at a loss for what to do next. But I understood. His actions had been dictated by Talons his entire life. Though he had gained his autonomy, he did not know what to do with it. He needed guidance.

“I traveled here with another dragon,” I said. “Naava. She is very old, and very powerful. From before your time, I should think.”

Naava. The dragon’s voice was hushed, reverent. The mother. We still sing of her.

“Yes. She has returned to the mountain above the place where you were hatched. Ilvera. Do you know the way?”

He looked down upon me haughtily. I was flying these lands before you were born. Of course I know the way.

“If you go to her, she will welcome you.” We had never spoken explicitly of such things, but I was sure Naava would help any dragon who found her.

The dragon kit chirped in agreement. Apparently having decided that this new dragon was to be trusted, she trotted forward and sniffed at his claws. The dragon looked down at the kit, his expression bemused.

“She likes you,” I said.

I never spent much time with hatchlings, the dragon replied. He whistled to the kit, who sang a little tune back to him.

Suddenly I wished this dragon would stay by our side. He was more than a match for any threat we might encounter on the road. Naava had admonished me for assuming that I could use the dragons to my own end. But what if one chose freely to travel with us?

“If I may,” I said. The dragon looked back at me, and I bit my lip before continuing. “My quest is to free the dragons of Ilvera, as we have done for you. But it is a dangerous path, and we could use assistance. We would welcome your company.”

He paused before answering. A worthy quest, but I tire of humans. I will go to Ilvera.

I tried not to feel too disappointed by his refusal. “I understand. If that’s the case, you had better get going.” Once the fire was contained, Kaia would come looking for me—and the villagers wouldn’t be far behind. I didn’t know what would happen if the dragon were still here when they came. “But before you leave—what name may I know you by?”

The dragon nodded. I am Glivven. And you?

“Maren ben Gao Vilna. Of Ilvera.”

And your dragon?

The kit looked up at us.

“She hasn’t told me her name yet,” I said, feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

Glivven leaned down, putting his head at the same level as the kit’s. He sang to her softly, and the kit responded in kind. Then he looked back up to me. She will, when she’s ready.

He shooed the kit gently away with his nose, and then spread his vast wings. I will see you again, Maren ben Gao Vilna, daughter of Ilvera.

I raised my hand as he launched into the air, circled twice, then turned to the south. Soon he was a blotch on the surface of the sky, shrinking quickly. Part of me still wished he had chosen to stay with us, but as I watched him fly toward Ilvera, an unexpected burst of elation swelled in my chest. Naava had told me to prove myself, that if I did so, I would have her help. And in this moment, I was certain that this was what she had meant.

I turned back toward the village, whistling to the dragon kit. But as we climbed the riverbank, my legs began to shake. Suddenly there was a roaring in my ears, and I stumbled as I crested the top of the riverbank—and fell.