CHAPTER EIGHT

ELARA

ELARA TRIED TO BE DISCREET ABOUT WATCHING THE COMMANDER, but it was hard to be discreet when she wanted to punch him in the head. Reeve was on his second glass of rum, and he was looking everywhere but at the father who was ignoring him. He’d recounted their brief interaction, as well as Faron’s “pedestrian” insults, but he was hurting. Elara could tell he was hurting. It was hard, she imagined, longing for his father’s forgiveness while hating everything his father continued to stand for.

But all Reeve said was, “He’s not my father anymore. And he never will be again, because I don’t think he’ll ever change.”

“It’s okay that you still love him, you know,” Elara reminded him. “No one expects you to just extinguish years of familial affection.”

“He’s killed so many people, destroyed so many cultures. He was going to end the war by burning every inch of San Irie to the ground.” Reeve wiped a hand over his face. He left a trail of grease by his temple from the plantain she’d convinced him to eat. “How can I love someone like that? How could anyone?”

“It’s complicated,” Elara said, taking a cloth napkin and reaching up to wipe it away. “That’s all I’m saying. It’s a complicated situation for you, and I don’t judge you for—”

“Look,” Reeve interrupted in an obvious attempt to move on, “I think that’s one of the Hearthstone students.”

She followed his line of sight toward the windows. A girl stood with her back to the room, though from her side profile she looked to be around Elara’s age. Her skin was a shade of bronze darker than any Langlish woman Elara had ever seen, and her ink-black hair was styled into fluffy waves. She was dressed in a candy apple–red gown that did nothing to hide the lines of her athletic body, and her lips were painted the same color as her dress.

In short, she was beautiful.

And Langlish.

Elara dragged her eyes away. “Is she the only one here?”

“The only one I’ve seen so far, but not the only one he brought.” Reeve’s eyes met hers, dark and wry. “According to the rumors, there are two more.”

“Shouldn’t it be four of them, altogether? I thought Riders came in pairs.”

“She doesn’t have a co-Rider yet.”

“Hmm.”

Reeve set down his glass, a grin spreading across his face. “You think she’s pretty.”

“I’m just going to go and be diplomatic. Do you want to come?”

“Ah, no. I don’t think that would be… No. No, I’ll just go and watch Faron’s demonstration.”

Reeve left before Elara could apologize for the misstep. She considered going after him, but he would have hated that. She could apologize later.

The girl turned as Elara approached, revealing a face as beautiful up close as it had been from across the room, all high cheekbones and glossy skin. Elara expected to see her eyes widen or her lips part in surprise at being sought out by an Iryan, but no emotion flickered across that perfect face.

“Welcome to San Irie,” Elara said in greeting. “I’m Elara Vincent, the sister of the Childe Empyrean.”

“Signey Soto,” the girl said in flawless, if formal, patois. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Elara made her smile as bright as her voice. “I’m just doing a circle of the room. Getting to know people.”

“Your circle looked more like a straight line to me.” Signey tilted her head, and a hint of a smile crossed her face. It was a nice smile, but not a kind one. “You’re not a very good liar, are you, Elara Vincent?”

Elara had no defense against that. Especially not when Signey Soto was looking at her as if she were an annoyance.

“I understand why she’s here,” she drawled, tilting her head in the direction of Faron and the lights that made up her demonstration. “I even understand why he’s here, as much as I wish he weren’t.” Signey’s head shifted a different way, in the direction that Reeve had gone. Expertly sculpted eyebrows inched toward Signey’s widow’s peak. “But why are you here? I doubt the Empyrean needs company in the royal palace.”

“I’m just here for decoration,” Elara said.

Signey laughed, and she looked as surprised about it as Elara did.

“That’s your humor?” said Elara, delighted. People so rarely laughed at her bad jokes. “Your standards must be low.”

“I’m laughing at how bad that statement was.”

“You think I’m funny!”

“You’re something, all right.”

The smile that Signey’s laughter had left behind softened her face. Before, she had looked distant, perhaps even a little feral. Now she looked open. Attainable. Elara shook that last word out of her mind before it could take root, swiftly moving on to the reason she had come over in the first place.

“So, you’re a Rider, right? Where are the others?”

Signey seemed to weigh the potential consequences of releasing that information and then shrugged. “They decided to remain in San Mala, that little strip of land your queen has repurposed into a place for our dragons to roost. I’m taking diplomacy classes at Hearthstone, though, so getting to attend this Summit is the entire reason I came.”

“I know what San Mala is. They do teach us about our own country here,” said Elara. “What I didn’t know was that Hearthstone Academy had diplomacy classes. I thought Riders were in it for the flying part.” And the destruction of other cultures part, she didn’t add.

“I do love flying, but being a Rider comes with certain responsibilities and expectations. Some people are in it to be soldiers, but those of us who have a choice…” Signey sighed. “There are many ways to help people.”

“I can understand that better than you think. I actually just enlisted in San Irie’s Sky Battalion because I thought it was the best way to help people, but now I wonder if… if maybe I did it for the wrong reasons.”

Signey’s smile was tinged with bitterness. “If you have to wonder, the answer is obvious.”

The words cut through Elara’s very soul. The reasons to become a soldier always seemed good enough at the time. Her aunts had taught her that. But she’d been enlisted for only a day and she couldn’t stop doubting herself. On the other hand, Riders like Signey were chosen by their beasts before they were ever forced into the Dragon Legion. Elara knew that much from Reeve. But Signey stood before her now, claiming that, when given a choice, she was pursuing diplomacy. Elara had lost her passion for the Sky Battalion the moment that Valor hadn’t chosen her, but she did still want to help people, even if she didn’t know how.

She just knew now that she had chosen the wrong way.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I…” Elara realized that Signey’s eyes now caught on something over her shoulder. She turned to see that they were getting looks, not just from dignitaries but from a handful of the Iryan servants carrying trays around the room.

Elara imagined what they saw: the sister of the Childe Empyrean, laughing with a Langlish dragon Rider. Even though it was meant to be a peace summit, not many people wanted peace—unless peace meant being left alone.

Her own smile faded. “Well… I just wanted to say hi. Welcome you to the Summit. Um.”

The way Signey was watching her now—as if she were a trap—made their brief connection feel like a dream that Elara had been having. She cleared her throat and awkwardly wandered off before she could do any more damage to Faron’s reputation.

Or San Irie’s.

Elara was contemplating a second plate of roasted breadfruit when the wind breathed her name.

“Elara…”

She looked around, but no one appeared to be paying her any attention. Faron was at the queen’s side, surrounded by a crescent moon of Queenshield and a small pack of dignitaries. That had left all three tables of refreshments clear for Elara to put together a plate for her sister, who would want it once she was free of the demonstration. But now Elara set down the plate next to her own empty one, her skin tingling with awareness. The nearby curtains fluttered in the breeze, and the low rasp of her name seemed to ride those same currents, settling in her abdomen.

“Elara…”

She knew that voice. She’d heard it before, only a few hours ago.

“Elara… Elara…”

It felt as if she were the one being summoned. Was this how astrals felt when they were called?

A tugging sensation urged her forward, like a hook around her heart. But it wasn’t unpleasant. Instead, she felt buoyed by a purpose she had yet to define, drifting through the banquet hall on light feet. For once, the fact that no one ever looked at her worked to her advantage. No one stopped her as she slipped out. Even the Queenshield on either side of the double doors gave her nothing more than a nod of acknowledgment. She wasn’t needed in here.

But someone needed her out there. She just had to figure out where there was.

Her body carried her to the eastern courtyard, lit by the flickering glow of the windows that gazed upon it from above. Like the other sides of the palace, it was home to bushes and palm trees, to flowers and cacti; unlike the other sides of the palace, it was also home to the main part of the Victory Garden. Beyond the garden was a cliffstone wall, and beyond that wall was the open ocean, held back by a private beach only the queen could access. Elara followed her calling into the trees, pushing branches and broad, flat leaves out of her way until she emerged into a clearing.

She bit back a scream.

Perched in the center of the clearing was a dragon.

The dragon was at least fifteen feet tall and as broad as a building even with her wings folded against her spiked back. She was a forest-green color that blended in with the plants. Her eyes were golden, bisected by catlike black pupils. Her snout curved up toward the sky over sharp ivory teeth the size of Elara’s forearm. Scales in a lighter spring green lined the dragon’s stomach.

Currently, her neck was bent toward the ground, her triangular head parallel to the grass. And standing in front of her was a girl.

No, not just any girl. It was Signey Soto.

Her hand rested on the snout of the monster as if this dragon were her pet. It probably was, but that didn’t change the fact that the queen had decreed that all dragons were to remain on San Mala while the Summit was taking place to avoid the exact level of panic that pulsed through Elara’s body now. Whether Signey had called her dragon here, or she had flown over on her own, they were spitting in the face of Aveline’s rule—and it was only a matter of time before someone saw them from the windows.

Aveline would be a laughingstock. She’d have to launch a show of force, to prove that ignoring her words had consequences. It would be an international nightmare.

Elara had to handle this quietly.

She stepped back, but a twig snapped beneath her feet. Both Signey and the dragon turned to face her as one, a puff of smoke escaping the dragon’s nostrils. Elara froze there, her heart pounding in her ears. Maybe if she held perfectly still, the dragon wouldn’t be able to see her. Or maybe she had to play dead? Her mind had emptied of everything Reeve had ever told her, everything she had ever learned on the battlefield, everything she had ever read in a book.

“Go back inside,” Signey said in a waspish tone. “This doesn’t concern you.”

It took Elara a moment to realize that she understood her, even though the shape of her lips didn’t match the words that Elara was hearing. She wasn’t speaking patois anymore, but Elara still understood her, and she had no idea how that was even possible. Elara had been taught some Langlish in school growing up, but Aunt Mahalet had refused to let her practice at home. Her grades had suffered, her chance at fluency slipping away, until one day Elara had thrown a rare fit.

“Why do you want me to fail school, Auntie?” she’d whined. “Don’t you want me to learn?”

Mahalet had kneeled down until she and Elara were at eye level, as solemn as a temple ceremony.

“Being forced to learn the language of your oppressors is an oppression of the mind. They rewrite your history when you’re too young to know what you’re giving away, and before you know it, it’s too late to reclaim what you’ve lost,” she had said. “Patois is your island’s tongue, Elara. It’s your heritage. It is the true expression of your heart. Don’t give it away.”

Elara now knew a few Langlish phrases, thanks to Reeve, but she wasn’t conversational, let alone fluent. Faron had failed the class entirely. And, after the war, Langlish had been removed from their curriculum.

But Signey was speaking it now. And Elara understood her perfectly.

“Hello?” Signey jolted her back to the matter at hand, to the darkened garden dappled by silver moonlight and the war beast in the center of it. “I said that you can go back inside. Everything is under control here.”

“Under control?” Elara found her voice to ask in patois. “Why isn’t this dragon in San Mala with the other two?”

“An excellent question. One I came out here to get an answer to. I’d be able to get one more easily without you squawking at me.”

Heat rushed to Elara’s cheeks. Squawking? She’d been perfectly calm, considering the circumstances. No other Iryan would be so calm this close to a dragon. The last time she’d seen one up close, it had been trying to murder her sister.

But Signey didn’t seem interested in any retort she could cobble together. She’d already turned back to the dragon and was running her hand up and down her snout and speaking to her gently. “I know you’ve been restless all day. I’ve felt it. But you can’t just show up here like this. You have to go back before someone else sees you, or worse, before—”

“I cannot return there yet,” said a voice. That voice. “Not until I have my Wingleader.”

The dragon lifted her head to stare directly at Elara, and, though her mouth hadn’t moved, Elara knew without question that the voice echoing in her head—now, inside, and in the city center—had come from the dragon. And she knew without question that she shouldn’t have been able to understand her at all, no matter what language the beast was speaking.

What was happening to her?

What was happening?

“She’s here,” the dragon said. “It’s her.”

“Her?” Signey asked as though Elara were a disease she’d just been diagnosed with. Her downturned red-painted lips looked like an open wound. “But she’s Iryan.”

“These borders you’ve erected between your countries don’t matter to the bond. It’s her. At long last.”

Something about the dragon’s eyes made the tugging sensation in Elara’s stomach erupt back into being. Before she knew it, she was stepping forward, any fear she felt at the sight of a creature so otherworldly and enormous dissolving on the wind. Though the dragon’s face didn’t support expressions the way Elara traditionally understood them, her eyes seemed to be sparkling with happiness. Her joy was contagious.

Elara reached a hand toward her snout, but her wrist was snatched out of the air.

“What are you doing?” Signey snapped. “You can’t just touch another person’s dragon.”

This is my dragon, Elara almost snapped back, but the thought paralyzed her. She couldn’t have a dragon. She didn’t even want a dragon. She had only wanted to answer this call, and, if it was leading her to a dragon, then she wanted to be set free. Signey’s fingers were tight but warm against her skin, distracting her enough to gather her thoughts.

What had she been about to do?

“Signey,” said the dragon. “You know what must be done.”

“There must be some mistake.” Now Signey sounded frustrated, her grip on Elara loosening. “This isn’t what… She’s Iryan. We can’t have an Iryan Rider!”

“Rider? I’m not a Rider. I don’t want this,” Elara said. Now she was squawking, her voice several octaves higher than usual, her words shaking on their way out, in time with her racing heart. “I don’t—I don’t. What’s going on? I don’t want this, either! Whatever ‘this’ is, I don’t want it!”

Zephyra sighed, another column of smoke winding out of her nostrils into the open air. Fear lanced through Elara, not at the sight but at the name that had appeared in her mind as if it had always been there. She knew with startling certainty that the dragon’s name was Zephyra, but how could she? What was happening to her? “Come.”

Elara went. Against every urge in her body, she went, her feet moving with none of the hesitancies or doubts that always screamed within her mind. This time, Signey didn’t stop her as she reached out to press her palm against Zephyra’s scaly hide.

Fire raced through her body, fierce and blistering. A scream cut through the silence of the night, and it wasn’t until Elara’s jaw began to ache that she realized it was coming from her. She had assumed that joining the Sky Battalion would mean that she would one day die by dragonfire, but she hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. Or like this.

This was excruciating.

“Breathe!” Signey shouted. “Reach out to her! Assert your control!”

Control over what? Elara wanted to ask, but her mouth was no longer her own.

Images flashed before her eyes, memories that didn’t belong to her. She saw endless fields of flames and lava, mountains belching smoke into an ashy sky. She saw a dark-haired older woman who looked remarkably like Signey, pressing a young Signey’s hand against the scaled egg of a dragon. She saw herself hurtling through the clouds, the sky little more than a blanket for her to roll in and gravity a suggestion that she could ignore. She felt rage. She felt ecstasy. She felt despair. She felt a keen desire to prove herself.

She felt everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere.

She felt shattered and whole.

Her knees hit the ground, pain radiating through her legs and dragging her mind above the onslaught. Assert your control. Reach out to her.

Breathe.

She inhaled the scent of brimstone and ash.

Her chest caught fire.

“No.” Signey’s voice suddenly ricocheted through the garden, drenched in dismay. “Saints, not now. Please, not right now—”

Elara gasped out a breath, tipped her head back, and roared.