CHAPTER FIVE

ELARA

BEACON—THE CAPITAL OF LANGLEY—WAS A GORGEOUS CITY WHEN Elara wasn’t there against her will.

Elara could never get over how massive Nova was, how Langley was just one small part of an enormous area of land that just kept going and going. Without a drake, it was still only a two-day trip around the entire island of San Irie by cart. Nova was a continent, a landmass that Elara had never seen in person before she’d left home to attend Hearthstone; from above she felt even smaller in the face of the jagged peaks at the border of Langley and Étolia, the turquoise ribbon of the Tenebris River to the far east of Beacon, and the rolling green fields that eventually formed the Emerald Highlands.

Unlike San Irie, Langley did not wear the scars of war. Their landmarks were not newly rebuilt. Their farmland still bore fruit; their trees were in vibrant shades of red and gold as Harvest turned to Solstice. Even as they flew toward the National Hall of Honor, passing over the clogged Beacon streets and through air tinted gray and mud brown from factory smoke, no one seemed afraid. No one paused to look upward unless it was to wave. These people had nothing to fear from dragons, didn’t awaken from nightmares of fire and death. Did they even know there was a war going on?

She couldn’t imagine the blissful ignorance these people were living in. She’d never had that luxury.

Each of her previous trips to the National Hall had been to study under and spy on Commander Gavriel Warwick. The last time she’d been there, she had torn a hole in the building to race back to San Irie with Aveline and her drake, Nobility, in tow. Langley’s Dragon Legion had splintered that day, between the Riders who declared their intention to protect San Irie from their own empire and the Riders who had decided to stand aside. Things had changed so much since then, and not just because the wall had been repaired.

Zephyra landed in the back garden of the National Hall, where a brown-eyed carmine already waited in the verdant space more than large enough to accommodate them. As soon as Signey had helped Elara safely out of the saddle, Zephyra threw herself at Azeal with a roar like laughter. The two dragons went rolling farther into the garden, wrestling playfully as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Azeal was Jesper Soto and Torrey Kelley’s deep red dragon, and, as with Jesper and Signey, he was older than Zephyra—if only by a few days. But Zephyra held her own in the scrap, managing to pin him several times. Elara watched them with a tightness in her chest, wondering if she would ever see her own sister again.

“Elara? Are you coming?”

Signey was already ascending the stairs of the castle-like building. Elara rushed to join her, taking note of the differences since the last time she had walked these halls. The bodies of the unconscious soldiers she’d left behind had been cleared from the hallways, replaced by black-and-gold carpeting that matched the Langlish flag and, perhaps most crucially, wouldn’t show bloodstains. She still heard voices behind every door—the legislative branch known as the Conclave, the Judiciary, and the dracologist general’s research department—but they were quieter than usual, as though the crowds packed into the rooms had thinned.

When they met Barret Zayas Soto in the commander’s former office, Elara wasn’t surprised to see the fresh exhaustion etched onto his face. He was, after all, taking command of a splintered nation. Even so, Barret looked better physically, his eyes clear and his cheeks slowly filling out. When she had first met him, he looked like some forgotten thing: overgrown facial hair, wan skin, gaunt build, and buried so deep within his own mind that even Signey had trouble pulling him out. One week away from the Mausoleum, one week of sunshine and regular meals and basic respect, had brought him back to life. She was struck by how much Signey and Jesper resembled him, their big brown eyes, their deep brown skin, their round jaws and crooked smiles.

As Signey swept into his arms, giving him the same warm affection that she’d given Zephyra, their resemblance became even more obvious. They hugged as if it would be the last time. Of course, considering Signey’s father had spent the last five years in Langley’s most secure prison on falsified treason charges, Elara supposed they would hug like that for a while.

“It’s good to see you again, Miss Vincent,” said Barret, one hand on Signey’s shoulder even after they parted from their hug. He spoke patois for Elara’s benefit, with a stronger Langlish accent than Signey’s. There were shadows in his expression, a haunting that would never be lifted, but he smiled. He could still smile, and, as long as that was true, the Warwicks had not beaten him down. “Iya has wasted very little time.”

Her stomach twisted at the understatement. Iya had been free for fewer than ten days, and in that time, he had killed her friends, burned down the capital, settled in Hearthstone with her sister as a hostage, and threatened every dragon that still drew breath. “So you’ve already heard.”

“My son filled me in.” Barret had been born a Zayas, taking the Soto name after marriage due to its political weight as a Langlish dragon-riding dynasty. Before his arrest, he had been a military dracologist, not a Rider, so he wouldn’t have heard Iya’s declaration directly. “The Conclave will be meeting about it in the afternoon, but initial reports are… not good.”

“Are people actually considering joining Iya?” Elara asked.

“Not in as many words. But let’s just say that, of all the proposed solutions to Iya’s ultimatum, sending away the dragons is not among them.”

Elara glanced at Signey, but Signey wasn’t looking at her. The den knew what the gods had asked Elara to do, because she didn’t dare keep that from them after what they’d done for San Irie. But they had yet to sit and talk about what that would mean. Despite the fact only a handful of Riders existed, dragons were the foundation of Langlish culture, a key part of their military, and a symbol of their national pride. It was far easier to do the right thing when they didn’t have to lose everything in the process.

That even Elara doubted this was the right thing made it harder.

“Anyway,” said Barret into the silence that followed, “nothing substantial is going to get done ahead of that meeting, so we may as well take a break.”

“Father,” Signey said with a roll of her eyes, “you’re the interim commander of the empire. You can’t just take a break.”

The hand on Signey’s shoulder reached up to ruffle her curls. She cursed and twisted away, which made Barret’s smile widen. “I would argue that that is exactly why I need a break. Besides, Olivea can handle anything crucial that arises in my absence.”

“Hyland?” There was a sudden distaste in Signey’s tone. “That’s even worse.”

“Who’s Olivea Hyland?” Elara asked, pulling the Sotos’ attention back to her.

“The current leader of the Conclave,” Barret said at the same time that Signey snapped, “A snake in the sand.”

Barret clapped his hands together. “Let’s discuss this over brunch. You two go ahead. I’ll fly with your brother and Torrey.”

Signey didn’t pause to see if Elara was following before storming out of the room. Elara’s lips parted to call out to her, but nothing came except a puff of air too much like a sigh. She hadn’t felt this out of sync with Signey since before they were bonded, when she’d just been a Langlish girl across a banquet hall, as inscrutable as she was gorgeous.

“Miss Vincent?”

She realized that she was still standing there, staring after Signey like a lost puppy, and shook her head. “Sorry. Sorry, I—yes. We’ll meet you at brunch.”

Barret Soto said something else, but Elara fled before she could hear it, her cheeks burning.

Within the city proper, there was a tearoom that the Sotos had always favored. That was all Signey said to Elara on the short flight there, which did little to prepare her for how beautiful it was.

The tearoom sat on a historic square filled with multicolored eateries, cobblestone roads too narrow for a horse to comfortably trot through, and black iron streetlamps with electric bulbs rather than gas. Elara could smell the flowers in the beds beneath the tearoom windows, adding fragrant brightness to an already-gorgeous street. It was the nicest Langlish area that Elara had ever been in.

Torrey threw her arms around Elara as soon as their eyes met. She had cut her wheat-blond hair into a shoulder-length bob but still wore all black: a loose black button-down tucked into her riding leathers, black boots, black lipstick, and black kohl ringing her blue eyes. Her ear cuff was shaped like a silver dragon scale, and she wore an imitation dragon tooth on a black string around her neck—too small to be from a real dragon, but it had been combined with some piece of a dragon. Elara could feel the magic of it from here.

“Welcome back!” Torrey chirped in patois. “Missed you, Vincent.”

“Even though I’m not in the den anymore?” Elara asked with a rush of affection.

“You’ll always be in the den, bonded or not,” said Jesper, Signey’s older brother and Torrey’s Firstrider. He and Torrey were nineteen to Elara and Signey’s eighteen, but neither acted superior for it. His patois, she noticed, was just as good as theirs. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Jesper had gained an inch in height since Elara had last seen him, but he had the same puppylike smile on his round, tan face, the same beauty mark on his jawline, and the same curly tuft of dark brown hair as his sister. He wore a white collared shirt and crimson vest, completing the outfit with a black trilby that matched his slacks. Elara lifted an eyebrow at the vest. At Hearthstone, their uniforms included shirts the color of their dragon breeds. That Jesper was choosing to wear the red of his carmine dragon, Azeal, was adorable.

Torrey looped her arm through Jesper’s. “Shall we? I’m famished.”

They sat at a window table, Elara next to Signey and Torrey and across from Jesper and Barret. Barret ordered black tea, to which he added two sugar cubes and a splash of milk.

“Now that we’re not in the National Hall, I’d like to say… this country is a fucking mess.” He sighed into his cup. “I almost miss my cell.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” Jesper rolled his eyes. “You’ve been incredibly capable as a leader, considering you were a dracologist before this.”

“I’ve had the Hylands to help me. Their political aspirations may have been stymied by the Warwicks, but they still have all the knowledge.”

“Just none of the popular support,” said Torrey. “The Hylands and the Lynwoods are snakes, but at least the Lynwoods are just brutes. The Hylands are the brains. If Olivea Hyland honored the results of the election and didn’t try to steal power from you after the Warwicks fled, there’s a reason for it. Be careful around her.”

“Torrey wanted to work in intelligence, like her parents,” Signey whispered. “Her family, the Kelleys, are always the first to know about domestic or international unrest.”

“Nosy busybodies, the lot of us,” Torrey added without bothering to whisper. But there was a twinkle in her eye. “It’s up to you whether that makes me very good or very bad at keeping secrets.”

Even with this explanation, Elara could only vaguely follow the conversation. During her time at Hearthstone, Elara had met members of two of the four dragon-riding dynasties: Signey and Jesper Soto, and Marius Lynwood. And before she’d left Deadegg, she’d been best friends with Reeve Warwick, the first of his lineage without a dragon. But though she had heard of Arran Hyland, a Hearthstone student who had fought for San Irie, they had never formally met, and she knew nothing about the Hylands as a whole.

“This is too heavy a conversation for such a joyful reunion,” Jesper said as a server began to lay out their food. “How have you been, Elara? I see my sister’s neck has some new marks.”

Signey slapped a hand over her skin, her cheeks darkening. “Stop talking.”

“There’s nothing there,” Torrey reassured her. “He’s just taking you for a ride.”

Barret sipped his tea. “I thought I sensed something between you two at the Mausoleum.…”

The look that Signey gave her brother was murderous. Elara didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or drown herself in her teacup. The latter seemed preferable, given that she and Signey hadn’t so much as held hands since the Battle for Port Sol. Instead, she tucked into her eggs on toast, the only food that seemed safe on a menu full of pickled haddock and odd puddings and jams she’d never heard of. But even the eggs were bland and flavorless on her tongue, as if Langley had yet to discover spices. Or salt.

After the meal, they took a walk around the neighborhood, Barret in front to speak Langlish with Torrey, and Jesper strolling alone with his hands in his pockets. Behind him, Elara and Signey were side by side in a silence too thick to be comfortable. Several conversation starters clamored for attention, but none of them made it out of Elara’s head.

Then Signey grabbed her hand, and Elara’s heart leaped into her throat. Her touch was so gentle, her calluses brushing over Elara’s skin lightly enough to make her shiver. Signey tugged Elara down a narrow side street, apparently unaware of the riot she had caused in Elara’s chest. “We’ll catch up with them later,” she whispered, “but I want to show you something first.”

Elara threw a concerned look over her shoulder, wondering if she should say something so the den didn’t worry, but she wouldn’t have interrupted this moment for anything. They emerged onto another block lined with colorful storefronts. More flower beds and more cobblestones ribboned between the gray sidewalks and around a fountain with a massive dragon statue in the center that shot water into the air to pool in the basin. Two men walked hand in hand into a bookstore, and a person bent down to feed a stray dog that had warily come closer.

“We used to live in Beacon,” Signey explained as they came to a stop in front of the fountain. She’d dropped Elara’s hand, but at least she hadn’t done it as if Elara’s skin were made of poison. “Whenever I was on summer holiday from Hearthstone, I’d always find my way to this square.”

“To swim in the fountain?” Elara asked.

“Ha ha.” Signey gestured toward the statue. “I just liked this monument. It’s called the Regis Draconis. All four of the dragon breeds—carmine, medallion, ultramarine, and sage—are working together to create that waterspout. Which dragon you see depends on which direction you approach the fountain from. And if you look around the basin of the fountain, it lists every Rider who has ever lived.”

Elara squinted enough to see that Signey was right. The basin, which had just seemed textured to her at a glance, was actually covered in names carved into the otherwise-smooth stone. She searched, but she couldn’t see Signey’s, Jesper’s, or Torrey’s names on this side of the fountain.

“It’s supposed to be a reminder of the legacy we’re a part of. The might and majesty of Langley and the dragons we’ve been blessed with. As you can imagine, it’s largely used to drum up patriotic fervor.” Signey rolled her eyes. “But for me, it was more of a reminder that we serve the people, not the country. This bond and the gifts that the dragons gave us aren’t blessings that we need to conquer other countries to share—no, they really did teach that at Hearthstone at one point,” Signey added at Elara’s shocked expression. “This bond, these gifts, the dragons… We should be using them to protect and uplift our people. To give them something to believe in again.”

Her tone turned shy. “Anyway. That’s why I always loved coming here. It reminded me to believe. Even after we lost Mum and Celyn. Even after Jesper found his co-Rider before I did. Even after Dad went to the Mausoleum. I found peace here. And I know that dragons haven’t exactly brought San Irie peace, but… I hoped that maybe you would find something here, too.”

Elara stepped closer to the fountain. She didn’t feel the same kind of peace that Signey described—not from this monument, anyway. Because the truth was that she had already found something here, in Langley, and that was the girl behind her. When she had first been forced to travel to Langley, Elara had thought only of returning home. Instead, Signey and Zephyra had become a home. Her reminder that, even in this enemy country, there were still people who were good, who did the right thing even when it was hard.

She had found her peace in Signey’s support during her incendio, in their conversations to and from Beacon, in their teamwork to escape their captivity at the Warwicks’ ancestral estate, Rosetree Manor. She had found something to believe in through the bond, through Zephyra’s steadfast advice and Signey’s wry humor. She had found hope for a better world in Signey, who loved her country without wanting to destroy others—even if that sometimes meant standing against it.

Elara turned to face her now. Signey’s gaze shifted from the fountain to Elara, and the sun shone through the clouds, illuminating her warm brown eyes from umber to dark honey.

“Why are you sharing this with me?” Elara whispered.

“Well,” Signey whispered back, “you were forced to live in my head for months. Now I want to invite you in.”

“Then why have you been acting so weird and distant?”

The words fell between them like a broken bottle, an accident with the potential to cut them both. Signey’s eyes were wide, and Elara was overcome with a desperation to snatch the words back. This was the first time in a long time that Signey had let her in, and of course she had to ruin it with her inability to keep her mouth shut.

But then Signey swallowed, and Elara knew in that moment that it hadn’t all been in her head. Signey really had been putting distance between them. Her chest hurt.

“Did I do something wrong?” Elara asked hoarsely. “I know there’s a lot going on, but I thought—Was I wrong? About us?”

“I’ve… I’ve never…” Signey straightened her shoulders and met Elara’s eyes head-on, a soldier ready for battle. “I’ve never done this before. When I kissed you, it was my first time kissing anyone. And I thought—well, I thought one or both of us might die.”

Silence tumbled down on them.

“I like you,” Signey finally said. “I do. I wouldn’t lie about something like that. I just have no idea what I’m doing, so I guess I’ve been too focused on what I do know how to do.”

“Okay.” Elara didn’t know which part of that to tackle first. She didn’t want this distance between them, but she also didn’t want to push. “I don’t want to be a distraction.”

Signey’s hands clenched into fists at her side. “I don’t think there’s anything about you that I don’t find distracting. Even with the war, with our bond severed, and my ancestor threatening all the rest, you’re all I can think about.”

She said it as if it were painful. As if it destroyed her. Signey had never handled vulnerability well. Her walls came down in fits and starts, every honest word costing her more than Elara could imagine. The stronger she felt about something, the harder it was for her to speak. Elara knew that this should make her happy, but instead the distance between them now felt insurmountable.

“We don’t have to do anything or be anything right now. Like you said, there’s the war to think about.” Her heart was so loud that it was almost all she could hear. “I like you. You like me. That’s enough for now. All I’m asking is for you to stop shutting me out. We don’t have to be together to win this, but we do need to work together.”

“Elara—”

“There you are.” Jesper emerged from the side street, a knowing smile on his face. “I should’ve known you’d bring her here. We have to take Father back to the Hall, but he’s inviting us all to sit in on the Conclave meeting. Are you done having it on?”

A red-faced Signey turned on her brother to point out that there were children present. Any raw emotion was now shuttered behind that wall. Elara used the temporary reprieve to pull herself together, pushing down her disappointment. She’d once asked Faron to keep Signey alive long enough for them to go on a date. That date seemed uncertain now, and understanding the reasoning didn’t make it hurt any less.

At least she knew what was going on and could act accordingly. She clung to that as she painted a smile on her face and followed the bickering Soto siblings back to their dragons. There was a war going on, a long stretch of uncertainty more important than her love life. This was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Absolutely nothing.