CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ELARA

ONCE ELARA WAS CLEARED TO LEAVE THE INFIRMARY, SHE TOOK a shower and changed into a new set of riding leathers. The reprieve from being around a crowd gave her the chance to cry again, just once more, for all she’d lost and all she’d failed to do. For her sister’s dimming light and the absence of Reeve’s calming presence. For a world that was a casualty of the power plays between people with too much authority and not enough sense. And for the child she had been, who had believed in right and wrong, in good and evil, in heroes and villains, and been launched into a war where the only real difference between the good guys and the bad guys was what side of the battlefield they were standing on.

Then, as always, she pulled herself together for the people who needed her.

Signey led her to the chamber where the Conclave typically met, though today they were not in session. When Signey opened the door, Elara was blinded by the lavishness of the spacious room: mahogany walls and gilded decorations, stained-glass windows and long benches. The ceiling was gold with frescoes of dragons, electric lights illuminated the cavernous space, and a small crowd of people waited inside, staring at her with the same surprise that she felt.

“Elara, meet the Night Saints,” said Signey once the door had closed behind them. Then she leaned closer to whisper, “I didn’t name them.”

Torrey sat on one of the black-cushioned benches. Across from her, on the right side of the room, two boys who Elara faintly remembered from Hearthstone Academy sat in quiet conversation. On another bench was Rupert Lewis, Professor Smithers’s husband. Elara tried not to show how puzzled she felt, but she must have failed, because Signey smiled with obvious amusement. She nodded at Torrey, who skipped over with her usual flurry of energy.

“We didn’t want to tell you before, because you—like Barret and Professor Smithers—needed plausible deniability,” Torrey said, laying a hand on Elara’s back to steer her to the center of the room. “But the Night Saints are sort of a covert-operations team. It was all Signey’s idea.”

Signey shrugged modestly. “After the attack on Beacon, I wanted to take a more active role in stopping Iya. All I did was find a disparate bunch of people who felt the same.”

“Even before we formed the Night Saints, Giles and Arran took Rosetree Manor down to studs and distributed parts of it to the free cities so they could cloak themselves from Lightbringer,” Torrey explained. Elara assumed Giles and Arran were the two boys, who had finished their conversation and were now watching her with the same curiosity she felt. “Now, with Signey’s help, we’re leaving packages of dragon relics with instructions for use across all the empires.”

“Especially Étolia,” Signey added. “If they can only rely on someone like Tournesola Orianne to protect them, they’re in deep trouble.”

“We’re hoping to send more aid to Joya del Mar, too,” Torrey finished. “Apparently, Iya’s forces set the countryside aflame this morning. No one was hurt, but much of their farmland is blighted.”

Elara knew they were waiting for a response from her, positive or negative, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Signey had done all this. While they had been awkwardly hovering around each other, unsure how to let each other back in, Elara had taken command of the research and strategy, while Signey had formed a guerilla group to bring direct aid to those who needed it most. Even apart, their minds had been one—working, in their own ways, to make a tangible difference.

Let the most powerful people in the world argue their way to the end of the world. The true power to save everyone was right in that room.

Elara had never felt so inspired.

“Damon told us about your conversation in Ciel,” Mr. Lewis said of his husband. His dark brown hair had grown out since she’d last seen him, and he was sporting a beard that looked as if it had a mind of its own. Silver was threaded through it now, but his moss-green eyes were as warm as she remembered. “‘In the light of day or the dead of night, they hold the line.’ Sound familiar?”

Elara’s eyebrows lifted. “He was talking about the Night Saints.”

“He was talking around the Night Saints,” Mr. Lewis corrected, a twinkle in his eyes. “Technically, as acting ambassador of the Langlish Empire, he doesn’t know that we exist.”

Elara loved the fondness with which Mr. Lewis and Professor Smithers discussed each other. After living through one war, she’d stopped thinking too far into the future, but, in that moment, she thought she might want something similar: someone to grow old with. Maybe that could be her and Signey one day. If, of course, they survived this war.

She cleared her throat before she could stumble too far down that path. “This is incredible. How do I get involved?”

“Just by knowing our identities, you’re involved,” said Signey, smiling so widely that the rare dimple appeared in her cheek. “As far as my father knows, I’m delivering security instructions to the remaining Riders. But we’re here to discuss options for our next mission and—”

Her voice faltered. Her eyes skidded over to Torrey. There was a solemn expression on her face that Elara still wasn’t accustomed to. Despite Torrey’s love for black clothing and sharp jewelry, she was one of the most upbeat people Elara had ever met. But ever since Jesper had been kidnapped, it had become more and more common for her to look as if she were at a funeral.

“It’s all right,” Torrey finally said. “We’ve all agreed to allow Signey to break our bonds. Starting with myself and Azeal.”

“Oh,” Elara said.

“I still think it’s too soon,” said one of the two unfamiliar boys. He was red-haired and brown-eyed, with freckles that seemed to line his stout body. His riding leathers had green accents, marking him as a sage Rider. He wiggled his fingers in greeting when Elara looked at him. “Giles Crawford. It’s a pleasure to meet you, even though you obliterated my combat scores at Hearthstone.” His gaze turned back to Torrey. “You’re handling your Rider’s kidnapping suspiciously well, and now you want to give up your dragon?”

“I’ve been ready for this every time we spoke about it,” Torrey said without looking at anyone. “Iya could be forcing Jesper to spy on us through the dragon bond. He could kill Jesper, killing me in the process. Even now, I…” Her hand came up to press against her chest, right over her heart. “I can’t feel him at all. If he’s hurt or happy, if he’s alive or dead, if we’re even still bonded at all. There’s n-nothing.” Torrey cleared her throat. “I can’t live like this. We can’t live like this.”

Signey’s eyes were damp. Elara swayed closer, and Signey immediately turned to wrap her arms around Elara’s waist. Her body trembled as Elara held her, tears dripping against Elara’s neck. “We’ve talked about it. A lot,” Signey whispered so that only Elara could hear. “I worried… I don’t want Jesper to feel like we’ve abandoned him. But if he were here, I know he would make the same choice. That’s what… That’s what makes this so hard.” She sniffled. “What if I’m wrong? What if we’re wrong? What if I hurt them, hurt him, and leave him defenseless out there? What if—”

“Hey. Hey.” Elara turned them around so that her back was to the still-arguing Night Saints. It was the closest she could get to hiding Signey from the world at that moment. “Remember our fight?”

Signey laughed wetly. “How could I forget?”

“I told you I trusted that whatever Faron was doing or not doing, it was for good reason. The same is true of her. And of Jesper.” Elara ran her fingers through Signey’s curls, pushing them behind her ear so that she could press a kiss to her hairline. “We have every reason to try this. And if it turns out to be the wrong move, Jesper will understand why we had to do it. He knows you. He loves you. He trusts you. You have to trust yourself.”

Signey lifted her head, silver tears still glistening on her brown cheeks. “When did you get so wise? You were always smart, but now you’re… You’re so different.”

“I just finally found myself, I think. And, honestly, it’s about time,” Elara said, pressing another kiss to Signey’s forehead. “Now, let’s do this.”

Signey’s smile was weak, but it reached her glittering eyes. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Before they reached a consensus on when they would all meet again, they went to the garden. Torrey stood in the crescent of Azeal’s body, saying her goodbyes, while Elara waited with a nervous Signey. It was one thing to attempt a new skill in front of a small crowd, but it was another thing when there was this much on the line. If Signey did this wrong, Torrey could end up in the hospital alongside Professor Rowland and Hanne Gifford. Even if she did this right, it would go against everything she had ever believed in.

“I think it will be okay, though,” Signey said more to herself than to Elara. “We all received the same training at Hearthstone. Jesper and Torrey don’t need a soul bond with a dragon to defend themselves.” She paused. “Right?”

“Is this the part where I remind you that when we were kept at Rosetree Manor, when we couldn’t communicate with Zephyra even though she was right outside, you killed a bunch of full-grown men with your bare hands?”

Signey’s lips twitched into a smile. “It wasn’t with my bare hands. But I see your point.”

Late afternoon was turning to early evening. The sun was just above the tree line, bleeding red-orange over the foliage. Fluffy clouds limped across the indigo sky, and there was a sharp chill that made Elara wish she’d thrown a coat on over her riding leathers as everyone else had. Even near Solstice, San Irie never got cold enough for her to need even a sweater. Langley, by contrast, seemed to hurtle toward the season by turning itself into the inside of a freezer, except without the frost.

Snow was coming, though, a nearing threat of ice and rime. Elara had never seen snow before, not in real life. She hoped not to be on the continent long enough to see it.

Elara shivered again, and a blanket fell over her. She looked up to see Signey settling her coat over Elara’s shoulders. It was fur-lined and black, with the texture of dragon scales. “Dragonhide,” Signey confirmed. “It’ll keep you warm. I forgot you can’t handle a little breeze.”

“This is ‘a little breeze’?” Elara complained. “I can’t feel my nose.”

Around her, the Langlish began to chuckle at her misfortune. They all looked fine, but they were all wearing coats similar to Signey’s. Without hers, Signey looked as relaxed as if she were lying on a beach, even though the latest surge of wind pierced the tips of Elara’s ears like a frigid knife.

“Are you ready?” Signey called to Torrey. “My girlfriend is about to freeze to death.”

“For Irie’s sake—” But Elara was grinning. Girlfriend. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy to hear the word girlfriend.

“Her little nose is cold.”

Elara pinched Signey in the side, an action that was completely ineffectual considering she was wearing padded leathers. “I hate you.”

Signey winked at her before standing at attention. Her dimple was slow to disappear. Elara supposed she couldn’t complain if her girlfriend was ejecting some levity into a serious situation for herself, even if it was at Elara’s expense. Still, she burrowed deeper into the warmth of the coat as another gust of cold wind cut through the garden.

Torrey was facing them, a hand in the pocket of her riding leathers. It was time.

“Before he loses the ability to communicate with us, Azeal has something to say to everyone,” Torrey said, her voice just loud enough to carry across the open space. Behind her, the dragon was a tense line of red. Even though, as a carmine, Azeal was the largest and most dangerous of all the dragon breeds, in that moment he carried himself as though he were… small. His sadness and resignation thickened the air. “He says that… that losing Zephyra, his sister, was the worst pain he’s ever felt in his life. Not because her connection to the den was severed, but because her soul was shattered. The Zephyra he faced in the Emerald Highlands was not the dragon he knows and loves; she was a creature of destruction, a version of herself that would horrify her if she still knew reason. It’s devastating. It’s also terrifying.”

Torrey closed her eyes, as though she were feeling the wave of grief that Azeal had described. She might well have been; after all, Zephyra had been den for her, too.

“He says that, ‘Up until now, we have feared little more than to lose our humans,’” Torrey continued. “‘Even with our strength and magic, our humans are fragile. Their lives are short. And yet they fill those short lives with so much love, passion, and indescribable strength. They lend us their rationality, their empathy, and their great capacity for emotion, and in exchange, we learn what it is to truly live. But now Lightbringer has given us something worse to fear: losing ourselves. Without that reason, that empathy, that emotion, we are little more than predators, and humans little more than prey. Life becomes not about living, but only about surviving. We deserve more than that. And if there is even a small chance that severing our bond will allow us that, I would make this choice again and again. I love you.’”

Torrey’s free hand was on Azeal’s hide. She pressed her forehead where her fingers had just been, whispering something too low for Elara to hear. The carmine curled more tightly around her, as if he wanted to protect her from the world. Elara’s eyes stung. She remembered well the love and loyalty she felt from Zephyra long before she had wanted to accept the bond, but she had lived her whole life without being connected to a dragon. Her severed bond had allowed her to reconnect with her Iryan summoning magic. It had been bittersweet.

Now her friends were experiencing the pain of losing their version of Iryan summoning magic, and her heart broke for them. The emptiness where her magic had been… she had felt that every day at Hearthstone.

“Saints, I hope this works,” she heard Signey whisper. Then she raised her voice. “Torrey, can you come over here? I don’t want you near Azeal just in case… anything goes wrong.”

Elara felt eyes on them and turned. Not only were the rest of the Night Saints present, but so were Barret Soto, Professor Smithers, and several Langlish politicians, who watched through the windows and from doorways. If she could feel it, Signey could feel it. The pressure she had to be under…

But not a drop of discomfort showed on Signey’s face. She bowed her head, took a deep breath, and then looked up as she straightened her shoulders. One hand reached out to Azeal, her fingers slightly bent.

Nothing happened.

Signey closed her fist, so tightly that her knuckles blanched.

A bird chirped overhead.

Signey’s jaw was clenched as she opened and closed her fist a few more times.

Someone cleared their throat, but nothing else happened.

Elara could hear her own heartbeat. The situation reminded her of her first time summoning—and how different that had been from her first time summoning the gods. Reaching across realms to signal them, containing all that volatile power, channeling it into magic large and small without exhausting herself… it had felt both intuitive and complicated. The same skill, but done a different way.

She moved closer to Signey. “Close your eyes. Envision the bond as a tangible thing: a rope you can cut or a faucet you can turn off. The magic is in your blood, but it’s your soul that has to do the work.”

Signey nodded slightly before doing as she was told. Her hand fell to her side. She took another deep breath, relaxing her jaw, her shoulders, her arm. A glow, the deep red of an ember, appeared in the center of her chest before spreading throughout her body, as if she had fire in her veins. Glowing lines crisscrossed her hands, forming a matrix of subcutaneous fire. Signey flexed her fingers and then made another fist.

Light erupted, a single blinding flash that forced Elara’s eyes shut. Something hit the ground. Azeal howled—but not in pain. Torrey called Signey’s name, and that was Elara’s cue to look.

Signey was lying in the grass, unconscious. She was no longer glowing. Instead, she was pale and breathing shallowly. Barret was already at her side, with Torrey standing over them. Even Azeal had approached, and he was nudging Signey’s body with his snout. He seemed no closer to eating her than he had been minutes ago.

“Is it—?” Elara asked, glancing at him for signs of feral behavior.

“Yeah,” said Torrey, as Barret hoisted his daughter into his arms and stood up. “The bond is broken. We can’t hear each other anymore.”

People seemed to be frozen in place, as though the sight of an unbonded dragon was an impossibility. Or maybe Torrey was the impossible one, a Rider without a bond who was still close with her dragon.

Then again, it could have been both of those things. After all, the last two bonds broken had resulted in those involved losing a crucial part of themselves.

“I guess you were right.” Torrey’s concern for her friend creased the skin on her forehead, but still she found a smile for Elara. “The magic really is in our blood.”

Elara brushed a stray lock of Signey’s curls away from her clammy forehead.

“What’s that face for?” Torrey asked.

Elara stepped back, gaze shifting to Azeal once more. “Nothing. I just think I have an idea.”