“HAS THE WOOD KING sent dinner to my door?” the dragon rumbled. “How thoughtful.”
Despite stepping into the sunlight, Claw continued to sniff, following his snout. He trod directly between Hawthorne and Emeline, separating them.
Emeline stepped slowly backwards. Away from those lethal paws. As pebbles crunched beneath her boot, Claw’s head swung to stare at her. Emeline froze. The dragon cocked his head, listening. As if he couldn’t trust his filmy eyes.
Because he’s blind, she realized.
The scales of his belly rasped on the rock as Claw drew himself up on all fours. Gray lips drew away from blackened gums and yellowed teeth in the mockery of a smile.
“There you are.” The dragon crept towards her. “My, you smell familiar. What are you?”
Panic sparked in her blood. Emeline was running out of ledge to stand on. Only a few more feet and she’d be at—no, over—the edge.
“It’s true,” Hawthorne called from the other side, drawing the dragon’s attention to himself. Emeline held herself still, not breathing as she glanced to the boy standing tall and calm as an oak. “The Wood King sent us—not to be eaten, mind you. We’ve come for the Song Mage’s music.”
Displeasure rippled through Emeline’s mind, as if the dragon had growled right into her head. Claw whirled on Hawthorne and the dazzling sunlight glinted off his silver-gray scales.
“Song Mage?” He spit the words, stalking towards Hawthorne. “More like Curse-Bringer. Good riddance to him! If I weren’t bound by my mistress to guard his music, I would burn it to ash.”
Curse-Bringer?
What did that mean?
“Nevertheless,” said Hawthorne, catching Emeline’s gaze. “We’re here to collect it.” He silently motioned for her to go back up. To climb the cliff and get to safety.
But as Emeline stepped towards the rocky wall, the dragon heard. Remembering the first thing that caught his attention, Claw swiftly turned his head towards her.
Emeline fell still.
“What is it? That thing over there.”
Black smoke plumed from his snout.
“Nothing to concern yourself with,” said Hawthorne, mouthing the word Go! to Emeline. “Now let me pass so I can do as my king bids me.”
“Why should I care what the mad king bids?” Claw clearly had no intention of letting Hawthorne pass. “And if it’s nothing to concern myself with, why did you bring it?”
They were at an impasse. Hawthorne was trying to distract Claw from Emeline, so she could escape. But Hawthorne clearly had a plan for fetching the music. It should therefore be Emeline who distracted the dragon while he put his plan into action.
She gripped the rough rope around her waist. Several feet of slack lay on the ground.
“I’m the one who needs the music,” Emeline said, ensnaring Claw’s full attention with her voice. “That’s why he brought me.”
Hawthorne shot Emeline a look that said, Are you simple? I told you to climb.
“You?” Claw purred, abandoning Hawthorne entirely. “For what purpose?”
The aerie’s entrance grew less and less guarded the nearer Claw came. Since the dragon couldn’t see her, Emeline held Hawthorne’s furious gaze and pointed to the opening.
I’ll handle this. You go.
“I have a deal with the king.” She tiptoed towards the rocky wall. If she climbed far enough outwards, past the ledge, she might be able to distract Claw while staying out of striking distance. “If I please him with my singing, he’ll set my grandfather free.”
“How curious.”
When she glanced back, Hawthorne had disappeared inside the cave.
Claw crept closer, his sharp nails clicking on the rock with every prowling step.
Emeline needed to get out of striking distance. Fast. But she also needed to keep Claw’s attention away from the aerie.
“My companion believes the king will be less inclined to kill me if I sing the Song Mage’s songs.” Running her hands over the sun-warmed rock, Emeline found sturdy crevices with her fingers. “Is that true, do you think?”
The smell of smoke wrapped around her as Claw drew nearer.
“The king is mad. Never make a deal with a madman.”
Well, it was too late for that.
Pulling herself up, she shuffled outwards, away from the ledge. After her near fall, her feet carefully tested each and every foothold. By the time Claw reached the edge, Emeline was ten feet out, hanging off the cliff face.
Not seeing where the ledge ended, Claw stepped onto air. Stumbling, he quickly drew back, spreading his feathered wings for balance.
“Where are you, creature?” Hissing, he turned back in Hawthorne’s direction.
If Claw sensed the tithe collector’s absence, he would certainly look for him in the aerie. Hawthorne would be cornered.
Thinking of Hawthorne’s warning, she blurted out: “What if you and I made a deal?”
Now that she’d given her location away, Claw swung back.
“I don’t make deals with my dinner.” But his tufted ears perked upwards, as if intrigued.
Emeline peered around Claw, towards the dark maw of the aerie. Hawthorne hadn’t reemerged. She needed to buy him more time.
Keep talking.
“Let’s pretend that you do. What would you want in exchange for the Song Mage’s music?”
The dragon narrowed his eyes. “I’m not giving you the music.”
Leaning back on his haunches, the dragon sat like a cat, staring in her direction.
“What if I could prove myself worthy? Of the music, I mean.”
Claw’s attention was slipping. Bored with his uncatchable prey, his body twitched towards the aerie. She needed to get this conversation back on track before she lost him entirely.
A ridiculous idea struck. It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“I could sing for you.”
Claw cocked his head like a crow. His scaly tail lashed, scraping back and forth across the rocky ledge, as if he was thinking—about her proposition, or about how to prepare her for supper. Difficult to say which.
“You won’t be disappointed,” she said, stalling for time. Where the hell was Hawthorne? “I promise. Music is the only thing I’m good at.”
Claw peered over his shoulder, towards the cave entrance.
Man, he had the attention span of a toddler.
“How about this: If you don’t detest my singing, you let me borrow the music. Just until I learn the songs.”
“And if I do detest it?”
“Then you can eat my companion.”
“The one currently rooting through my cave like a little thief?”
Emeline blanched, remembering what Hawthorne said about Claw: he could see the past, present, and future—but sometimes got them jumbled.
Those gray lips curved in a hungry smile. “He can search all he likes. He won’t find what he’s looking for.”
Emeline froze, her fingers clutching rock. “Why not?”
“I think,” said Claw, “I will indulge you. Let us play this game. Sing me a song. If I like it, I won’t eat you. If I dislike it, I will eat you both.”
Emeline swallowed hard. “And the sheet music?”
“I’ve just offered you your life. Don’t get greedy.”
There was still no sign of Hawthorne. How deep did that cavern go? Would he keep searching until he found the music? If Claw spoke the truth, he’d be searching for ages. Emeline couldn’t keep Claw distracted forever.
She had to warn Hawthorne. But there was no way to do that, trapped as she was on this cliff wall, with a dragon between them.
“Well, creature? What will it be?”
She couldn’t sing from out here, desperately clinging to the side of a cliff.
“I need your word,” she said, thinking of Hawthorne’s warning. “That you won’t hurt me before I finish.”
“You have it.”
Breathing in deep, Emeline shuffled back to the ledge. She moved slowly, to buy Hawthorne more time. Shale crumbled beneath her feet, scattering softly down the cliff face.
“My patience is wearing thin,” growled Claw. “Hurry up before I change my mind.”
When her feet landed on solid rock again, the dragon rose from where it sat up on all fours, nostrils flaring as he followed her scent. He stood over her, the way an ocean liner towers over a rowboat. He was so impossibly huge, he blocked out the sun. Emeline shivered in his shadow.
“Begin,” he growled. “Now.”
Emeline’s fingers itched for her ukulele. She curled them into her palm. She’d have to make do without.
Letting habit guide her, she shuffled through invisible set lists in her mind, searching for the right song.
The air felt charged suddenly, like the moment she got up onstage, before her fingers started to strum and her voice started to sing, pulse humming, stomach clenching. Wondering what kind of crowd it would be, and if she could woo them. Everything resting on her and her voice.
Taking a deep breath, Emeline closed her eyes and began to sing.
She chose Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” It was a cover she used at almost every gig. Not only was it a crowd-pleaser; it was one of Pa’s favorites. He used to sing it to her when he put her to bed as a child. Like a lullaby. And perhaps, deep down, that was why she chose it: because of the memory it contained.
Songs, for Emeline, were like time capsules. They always had been. For her, every song contained a moment from her past trapped inside.
This song—“Hallelujah”—made the cliffside and the rocky ledge and the forest disappear. This song smelled like the scent of laundry detergent on her pillows. It sounded like Pa’s deep voice, singing off-key as he sat at the edge of her bed, rubbing slow, comforting circles into her back as he tried to lull her to sleep.
She often played this song during gigs to keep the loneliness at bay. She played it because it took her to a place where she still had her grandfather … and he still had her.
Claw yawned as she sang the first verse, then folded in on himself, curling up beside her. His scales and feathers rippled as his body softened.
As the second verse flowed out of her, Claw’s eyelids drooped. His serpentine tail whooshed softly across the rock, lazy and slow.
When Emeline reached the bridge, still trapped in the memory of Pa singing her to sleep, Claw’s jowls went slack, gray lips resting on the ground, as if he was utterly at his leisure.
Emeline sang on.
Only when she reached the end, voice trailing into silence, did the memory release her from its hold. Emeline clung, grasping at it, not yet ready to let go. But the song was over, the memory gone. And as it left, something else left with it. She felt it pour out of her, leaving her empty.
She shook off the feeling as Claw’s snores rumbled through the rock beneath her. Emeline looked down to find the dragon’s eyes closed, his chest steadily rising and falling, and his gray tongue lolling out of his half-open mouth.
She’d sung him to sleep.
A laugh bubbled up at the absurdity of it. She quickly swallowed it down. They weren’t out of this yet. Emeline’s fingers pulled at the rope looped around her waist. Hawthorne’s knots were tight and secure, but she figured them out. When the rope unraveled, she stepped out of it—slowly, lightly, so as not to wake the sleeping dragon.
But as she stepped into the aerie, an odd heaviness sank into her bones, dragging her down. As if the song had taken a toll on her.
Don’t be silly.
She was obviously exhausted from the climb down.
Emeline paused at the entrance, trying to shake off the feeling, then continued into the cavern. Cold, damp air kissed her skin. When she whispered Hawthorne’s name, he didn’t respond.
Emeline strode onwards until her boot kicked something in the darkness. She tripped, nearly fell, then crouched to look.
A sea of yellowed human bones lay scattered at her feet.
She abruptly stood, swallowing down the sick feeling pushing up from her stomach.
Find Hawthorne, she told herself. And get out of here.
But the deeper in she went, the darker it grew. Not wanting to wake the sleeping dragon outside, Emeline called Hawthorne’s name as loudly as she dared. Had he fallen down some crevice? Was he dead?
Suddenly, a torch flame appeared in the distance, farther up the cavern. The orange smudge of it bobbed in the dark, growing larger as it drew near.
“What are you doing?” he called out. “You’re—”
“Claw’s asleep,” she whispered back. “We have to go. The sheet music isn’t here.”
As he came closer, she saw twin flames reflected in his eyes. The light of the torch limned his face with black shadows. “How—”
“No time.” She grabbed his arm, tugging him back towards the entrance. “Claw knew you were in here. He said you wouldn’t find the music.”
Hawthorne lowered his voice to a whisper. “And where is he now?”
In answer, something moved in the darkness, rasping against the stone floor. Goose bumps rushed across her skin as a cold awareness set in. Hawthorne stepped in front of Emeline, shielding her as he raised the blazing torch, its glow radiating outwards.
When silver scales flashed in the dark, Emeline felt the sudden heat of a massive body. And then: Claw stepped into the light, snarling as he loomed over them.
Hawthorne pressed Emeline back just as Claw lashed out. One massive paw hit Hawthorne square in the chest, sending him sprawling. He grunted as his shoulders hit the floor.
The dragon pounced, pinning him beneath sharp claws. As Claw’s jaws slid open, gobs of drool dripped from his teeth.
The torch rolled away from Hawthorne’s hand, guttering.
“No!” Emeline snatched up the torch and the flame flared anew. “We had a deal!”
“Indeed,” Claw rumbled. “You sang me a song I did not detest. So I will let you walk away with the sheet music.” The dragon stared at the boy pinned beneath his paw. “You. Not him.”
Suddenly, Claw’s body shivered, then clenched. A liquid noise surged from his stomach as he heaved. Drool bubbled along his lips.
He looked like a cat that was about to vomit.
Up it came, like some kind of giant hairball: a dark brown satchel coated in glistening saliva. It landed with a sticky thud at Emeline’s feet.
“Take it and go.”
She picked up the satchel, trying not to gag. It smelled sour, like stomach acid, and stuck to her hands like tree sap. She untied the slippery twine and pushed back the leather flap. Milky sheets of vellum lay within. Across their translucent surfaces, elegant black notes tumbled from bar to bar, untouched by saliva.
The Song Mage’s sheet music.
Claw turned back to his prey, increasing the pressure of his paw. Emeline glanced from the music to Hawthorne, who arched his throat, straining against the dragon pushing down on his chest.
Claw was going to crush him to death.
“I need him,” she burst out. “To get me back to the palace.”
“Is there not an ember mare waiting atop this cliff? Take it and return to the palace yourself.” Claw flexed his sharp nails and dark red blood bloomed across Hawthorne’s shoulder. “Trust me, singer. You don’t need this one.”
That might be true. But Emeline couldn’t abandon him.
Hoisting the satchel over her shoulder, she came to Hawthorne’s side. Gripping the torch tight in her hand, she thrust the flame into the paw keeping him pinned, searing the dragon’s scaly flesh.
Claw hissed and withdrew, limping backwards.
“Horrible creature!”
Hawthorne drew in a staggered breath as Emeline fell to her knees beside him. He sat up, wincing, while she held the torch aloft, illuminating the dragon in the shadows.
Claw’s murky eyes narrowed in the light of her flame. Getting to his feet, Hawthorne drew the blade at his back. Its steel edge burned red in the light of the torch.
“You will let us pass.”
“And if I don’t?”
Hawthorne gritted his teeth, betraying the pain he was in. “Then you and I will slay each other here, and Emeline will leave with the music.”
Claw hissed, glancing between them, as if thinking through his options. Finally, the dragon drew back.
“Go, then. You will not live long, Tithe Collector. I’ve seen it: my mistress’s curse will swallow the King’s City and everything in it.”
The words chilled Emeline.
Hawthorne didn’t sheathe his sword. Just held out his hand for Emeline to take. As her cool fingers slid through his warm ones, Hawthorne kept himself between her and the dragon while Claw watched and waited.
Halfway to the cave entrance, that growled voice no longer echoed on the rock walls but glided through Emeline’s mind. Like water over stone.
And you, singer.
She paused at the entrance, glancing behind her before stepping into the sunlight. A low growl rumbled through the cavern, and from the darkness, the dragon hissed into her mind:
Beware of this one. He betrays you in the end!