ELARA’S LAST VISIT TO HIGHFORT HAD BEEN A SECRET, NERVE-RACKING trip where she’d sloshed around inside a donkey-drawn cart along with the rest of the drake-pilot hopefuls. Now, riding into the military base in a horse-drawn carriage, protected from the heat and from prying eyes by a sheer curtain over the side window, she was able to ignore the pit in her stomach. The drake Valor was no longer on display in the center of the fort, newly commissioned and waiting to find her pilots. Valor had been destroyed by Lightbringer.
In another life, she might have been one of Valor’s pilots, protecting San Irie from one of the three cockpits in every drake. In this one, it felt as if the ghosts of Wayne Pryor and Aisha Harlow were in this carriage with her, castigating her again for not saving them. She wondered what Desmond Pryor would say if he knew this had been her ultimate destination, if he would think she was spitting on his son’s memory.
So much for ignoring that pit.
Aveline had assured her that she would be interested in the research going on at the Highfort base and had asked Elara to check on the defense strategies for the island while she was there. It was busywork, but it was the kind of busywork Elara enjoyed. That said, given how her trips to Deadegg and Papillon had gone, she was almost terrified to be here, terrified that some new problem would present itself. She needed the world to pause for a moment so that she could strategize. She needed her churning emotions to calm long enough for her to decide what to do.
Elara didn’t fully relax until the carriage came to a stop in front of the guest manor. While the soldiers who were present slept in barracks, there was a three-floor residence outfitted for officers and royal guests. It was painted sea blue near the base, then transitioned to off-white, like clouds before a storm, and the top floors had balconies that overlooked the rest of Highfort. There wasn’t much to see, as the city only consisted of the land cleared to make room for the base, but Elara imagined that watching a drake take off from one of those balconies must have been quite a sight.
Then her disembarking Queenshield called a greeting, and Elara looked up to see Cherry McKay standing on the guest manor’s wraparound porch.
Her flat twists were dyed the same burgundy shade that Aisha’s hair once was. Her brown eyes sparkled with familiar mischief. The freckle on her throat winked from above the low collar of her uniform. It was almost like seeing a ghost, considering the last time Elara had seen her ex-girlfriend had been when they were rejected drake pilots sent as cadets to keep order in Port Sol. Now Cherry wore the pristine green uniform of a military medical summoner.
“If it isn’t our runaway cadet,” she drawled, coming to a stop in front of Elara. “I see you found a way to leave that mark.”
“Cherry,” she breathed. “What are you—?”
“I requested the honor of greeting you. We’re long overdue for a chat, Maiden Empyrean.”
The Queenshield curved around them, carrying Elara’s bag into the manor. Cherry didn’t even glance their way—she must have been accustomed to soldiers running around her. Her plump lips twisted farther downward the longer it took Elara to find something to say. She wanted to start with an apology. She wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to throw her arms around Cherry and never let go. It all felt inappropriate and trivial.
She’d been back to Deadegg twice, and not once had she thought of Cherry McKay.
“How have you—” Elara managed. Licked her lips. Tried again. “How have you been?”
“You mean since you abandoned me in the capital or since your sister killed our friends?” Cherry asked, as blunt as ever. Elara winced, but it wasn’t as if she could argue. “I’ve been okay. It turns out that I absolutely hated being a foot soldier, so I requested a transfer to the medical department.” She gestured at her new uniform. “The change of pace was better for my nerves.”
Once the Queenshield had retreated to the manor, the silence between them felt thick with words unsaid. The way Cherry watched her didn’t feel expectant, but it made Elara’s skin prickle anyway. “Did you… ever actually want to enlist?”
“I think so.” Cherry sounded thoughtful, as if she had given the question real weight even though her answer had come fast. It wasn’t the first time she had considered it, clearly. “But it’s easy to want to enlist in the military in peacetime. When the battle broke out in the capital, when we lost Wayne and Aisha, I realized that I didn’t want to kill people. For any reason. I want to help them. Heal them. You know?”
“I do.” Elara had once thought the same thing, months ago. It was Signey who had told her there are many ways to help people and in so doing changed the way Elara had thought of choices. Thinking of Signey after their argument hurt, and Elara dragged her mind back to the situation at hand. “Listen, I’m really sorry—”
“I know, Elara. I know you, remember? I understand that you were in the middle of something—and kind of still are.” Cherry’s eyes were now like flint, cold and hard. “It’s just awful that I had to find out about Wayne and Aisha from someone other than you. That I had to attend their funerals alone. That I had to mourn them without so much as a fire call from you. That’s all.”
“I—”
“Come on,” Cherry said, turning her back on Elara and the conversation. She’d been that way all their lives; once she’d said what she needed to say, she shut up tighter than a clam. Pushing her only pushed her away. “I want to show you what I’ve been working on.”
Elara glanced mournfully at the manor and the bed within before she followed. As they walked, she caught Cherry up on the last few days of disasters and revelations. Cherry had already read about the Beacon attack in the papers, but she was surprised about the rally (“I don’t read much local news. We’re at war right now, you know?”). It was an odd thing, to see her ex-girlfriend so confident and commanding in a military setting. Cherry McKay had once been too easily distracted to ever win a spar with Elara, and now she worked out of a lab in Highfort’s medical building.
The lab looked near identical to the ones Elara had toured in the National Hall, during those weekends she and Signey had been forced to go to the Langley capital to study under Commander Warwick. It was smaller, but it was the same sterile white. The room was scented like antiseptic and herbs, with tables packed with tools that were largely foreign to Elara. A door off to the side, according to Cherry, led to a small bedchamber, where she could rest if she was working overnight on something. Otherwise, she slept in the dorms with the rest of the soldiers.
From there, she went immediately to a table at the other end of the room. Elara lingered over everything, trying to take it all in. It was a huge change, but it was a welcome one. Cherry, a tactless but hardworking girl from Deadegg, had managed to achieve great things without needing the gods or a drake to give her life value. Elara felt as if she were still waiting for her accomplishments to feel like enough, while Cherry moved through the lab with such easy, enviable assurance.
“Hurry up!” Cherry called. “I don’t have all day.”
Elara rolled her eyes and joined her at the table. It was laden with several vials filled with red fluid, vials she knew contained blood even before Cherry confirmed it. Still, she was surprised when Cherry explained that it was the blood of people from various countries: Langley, Étolia, and Joya del Mar, Kaere, Marién, and San Irie.
“Different countries have different magic systems,” Cherry continued, her face bright with excitement. “And despite the natural overlap between people, the magic they can access varies. We’ve been trying to study why. Is the Étolian royal family the only set of people to possess magic because it’s in their blood, or is it because they slaughter any magic wielder who refuses to marry in? Can Iryans one day gain the power to see one another’s astrals rather than just their own? And if an Iryan can become a Rider to a Langlish dragon, is it purely a matter of the soul, or is there something in their body that gave them a predilection toward Langlish magic? We have more questions than answers right now, but our sample size is growing every day.”
Elara’s eyes narrowed at the vials. She had that sensation again, as if there were something her mind was trying to put together. When it didn’t come to her, she turned back to Cherry. “You’re about to ask me for my blood, aren’t you?”
“Consider it your apology.”
“I’m remembering again why we broke up.”
Cherry beamed. “Get up on the table, please.”
Elara let Cherry fill a vial, bandage the small puncture wound on her arm, and then smugly hand her a peppermint to eat. Cherry withdrew an orange lollipop for herself.
“I’ve been in contact with the Sotos and the Smithers-Lewises,” she said, the lollipop stick waggling like a cigarette. “I know all about your quest into Iya’s past, and it’s fascinating information, but we have science. Our legacies are built on the shoulders of our ancestors, and in our blood runs their blood. Literally.” She tapped one of the vials until Elara noticed that the small label on the side read SIGNEY SOTO. “If the past is our present in more ways than one, then we should explore every avenue—especially biological ones.”
Elara gasped. “The power of blood.”
“That”—Cherry blinked—“is not how I expected you to react.”
“I spoke to the gods yesterday,” she said, her words tumbling together in her excitement. “They said something along the lines of the power of blood being stronger than the power of the gods. What if that has to do with all of this?”
Cherry blinked again. “How?”
Elara picked up the vial that held Signey’s blood, turning it over to trace her girlfriend’s name. “This all comes down to bloodlines, in the end. Gael Soto was chosen as the first Empyrean and became the first Rider. Because of his line, Signey and Jesper became Riders. Faron was chosen as the second Empyrean, and now she’s bonded with Iya. Because of our bloodline, I was able to bond with Signey and I became the third Empyrean. The power of blood.”
“Hm. Well… I don’t have a sample of your sister’s blood, but hopefully I can run some tests with yours.” Cherry murmured to herself. “I may need backups of Signey’s, as well. If she’s the last Soto left—”
“Jesper’s not dead, Cherry.”
“Well, he’s not here, is he?” she said breezily. Then she leaned back against the table with a somber expression. “About Reeve.”
Elara’s heart clenched. She had been too stressed to think about Reeve lately, and she hadn’t realized what a relief that was until her grief came rushing back. He would love this lab. He would love asking Cherry questions about her work. He would love being a research assistant, just to have something to do.
He would have the advice Elara needed to keep from giving in to the doubts that screamed in her mind.
“I assume you’d tell me if you’d heard anything about getting Iya out of his body…?” Cherry trailed off as Elara shook her head. The sadness in her eyes was a reflection of Elara’s own. It felt like years since it had been the five of them—Cherry, Elara, Wayne, Aisha, and Reeve—sitting in an abandoned field and talking about their dreams for the future. Now only three remained, and one was impossible to reach.
“I should get to work on this,” Cherry finally said, running a hand over her twists. “It was nice to see you, Elara.”
“You, too,” Elara said. And then, “I’m sorry.”
Cherry smiled a brittle smile. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”