FLIGHT Read online

  Finn watched her movement with beady eyes. Despite every attempt to hide his fatigue, the signs showed on his face. Baggy skin. Bloodshot eyes. He grimaced and reached for his leg stump every few minutes—Sanna wondered if he even realized what he was doing anymore.

  “My decision remains firm,” he said. “I’m leaving.”

  “You can’t just leave,” Elliot mumbled, rolling his eyes. “We have to stay together. We’ll only weaken ourselves if we split up.” Elliot stood near the fire. His baggy clothes hung off his shoulders—once meaty and strong, now lean and gaunt—and were tucked into his pants, which were tied with a rope. He held a fist to his lips as he stared into the distance. Jesse lingered on the other side of the room with a perpetual frown.

  “The dragons will throw a fit,” Sanna said. “Not that …”

  Not that it really matters, she finished silently. Weren’t the dragons always having fits these days?

  No. Not all of them.

  Elliot sent her an assessing look, then glanced away again.

  Finn scowled and waved his hand. “You know as well as I do that this isn’t going to work,” he said, twirling a finger around at their new home. “Our dragons don’t know how to be wild. How can you teach a one-hundred-year-old dragon to sneak through the forest after a boar? We’ve been trying all winter. All of us are almost dead, dragons included.” He hesitated for half a second, long enough for another shot of annoyance to pulse through Sanna’s body. He continued without apology but in a lower mumble, “We have to create a new Anguis.”

  Elliot opened his mouth, then hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. In that pause, the entire world shifted.

  Did Elliot agree with Finn?

  Finn will be the downfall of us all, Luteis growled. You must put a stop to this, lest the race of forest dragons fall extinct from his stupidity.

  “Finn, you just want to bring back a system that didn’t work,” Sanna said, dragging a hand down her face. “Dragons aren’t meant to stay in one area. They’re meant to prowl the forest and …”

  “Be slaves to a supposed goddess?” Finn barked. “Right.”

  Stinging animosity rang in his tone. For that, Sanna could hardly fault him. She recalled all the nights she’d spent scrawling her prayers to Talis’s false god Drago in her prayer book. Falsehoods, all of them. Had Deasylva been any more receptive than Drago? Not really. She’d allowed awful things to happen. She just hadn’t been as restrictive as Talis. Playing in the world of goddess left Sanna feeling burned.

  A swelling silence filled the air.

  “Besides,” Finn muttered, “if our dragons were hungry before, they’re positively starving now. Our only option is bringing back the old ways, when we all worked together.” He sent her a dark glare. “Before some of us decided not to hunt for the dragons.”

  “They can do it themselves!”

  “They can’t!”

  He pounded his fist on a makeshift table—really a massive flake of bark she’d found on the forest floor. The table cracked all the way down the middle.

  Elliot growled. “Calm yourself, Finn. Getting angry won’t help anything.”

  “I’m not angry,” he barked. “I’m hungry! So are the dragons. This one”—he jabbed a finger at Sanna—“has done us no favors by killing Talis and burning Anguis to the ground.”

  Sanna bit the inside of her cheek until she drew blood. Another pause, and Sanna realized they were all waiting for Daid to jump in with his usual wisdom.

  Elliot blinked and shook his head. “It wasn’t like that, Finn. Rian killed Talis, not Sanna.”

  “She started the revolution, didn’t she? And now that Rian’s gone, who is our leader now?” Finn threw his hands in the air. “The dragons follow no one! Certainly not our supposed High Dragonmaster, whatever that means.”

  Elliot glanced at Sanna, but she ignored it.

  “We’ll have to figure that out,” Sanna said. “It’s why we’re here.”

  “Then we need a leader.” Finn raised his arm. “I volunteer.”

  “No,” Sanna said.

  Elliot echoed her. “No.”

  “Never,” Jesse muttered.

  Finn sneered. “I’ll do a better job than any of you.”

  “You will not,” Sanna said.

  “Not a good idea,” Elliot said at the same time.

  Finn scowled. “Then we remain at an impasse,” he snapped at Elliot. “Your son can’t vote. He isn’t the head of a Servant house.”

  “Sanna?” Elliot asked quietly, turning to her. “One can’t deny that Deasylva made you High Dragonmaster the night you defeated Talis. What of it now? What can you tell us about High Dragonmasters or the magic?”

  Her irritation gave way to uncertainty. Like Elliot, she had no certain knowledge. Her goddess hadn’t given her that advantage, either. Memories of Talis whispered back through her mind. Oppression. Power. Pain. What was leadership if not that?

  “I can’t tell you anything else,” she murmured, flashes of fiery rage broiling in her mind. “Maybe I was the High Dragonmaster then, but I’m not the leader anymore. I can’t even hear the dragons. I don’t … I don’t even know what it means to be High Dragonmaster.”

  “Is that something that just goes away?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know more than anyone about the dragons,” Jesse said. “How to fly them, and how to merge. It makes sense that you would lead.”

  Sanna shifted on her feet. Lead now? Her chest ached at the thought. Waking up in the morning was difficult enough. “I’m eighteen years old. Nothing about that makes sense. Elliot, what about you?”

  Elliot’s cheeks flared. He still hadn’t chosen a dragon—though Sanna suspected he had Melaris in his sights. Unlike Daid, Elliot had put off attempting to merge and fly, no doubt out of fear. Sanna turned away, thinking all the damage Talis’s regime was still causing. Maybe Finn was right. Could one hundred and fifty years of beliefs be erased?

  “… I don’t know,” Elliot finally whispered. “I just …”

  “Without Rian or Talis here, I won’t stay.” Finn stood. “There’s no food here. We’ll have better luck moving north.”

  “You’re a fool,” Sanna snapped. “We can’t go north. Signs of mountain trolls have been popping up everywhere. You’re just putting yourselves in greater danger.”

  “It’s a choice I’ve been forced into.” Finn lifted his chin. “You think I like it? You think I enjoy that Talis lied to all of us? That Drago isn’t real? We’re all going to starve if we don’t find another place and resume life as it was before! Unless that one agrees to constantly hunt for them.”

  He gestured outside to Luteis. He cannot leave without meeting greater dangers, Luteis replied. He will only sentence his family and the dragons that go with him to almost-certain death. He may want to ignore the greater problems at hand, but he only dooms himself.

  I know.

  “We’ll figure something out,” Sanna said to Finn.

  “We won’t.” Finn gestured between Sanna and himself, teeth bared. “I’m taking my family and my dragons. We’re leaving. We’ll establish our own Anguis, thank you very much, and avoid the certain death about to fall on all of you.”

  Sanna turned away, throat burning with all the unsaid words. A deep fatigue washed through her, robbing her of her fire. Finn didn’t matter anymore—and maybe on some level, he was right. Their functional system had been wrenched away. Perhaps going back was the only way forward for these dragons. They could teach the hatchlings the new ways, but let the rest live out their lives as they chose.

  All that really mattered now was finding whoever—whatever—killed Daid.

  “Finn,” Elliot said quietly. “I am concerned you don’t understand the gravity of what you’re suggesting.”

  “That I go against Rian’s precious daughter?”

  “That you want to break up the Ser—Dragonmasters. We’re far stronger together than apart. If you leave,
that doubles the chance that danger could fall on the dragons. Not to mention all the work required of you and your boys to feed your dragons alone.”

  “We feed them alone now.”

  “It will be far worse with no back-up. As much as you’re loath to admit it, Luteis has hunted for your dragons this winter.”

  Finn stared at him for a long, hard moment. Sanna’s breath caught. If Finn did leave, the poachers would go after him. The dragons he took with him would die.

  “Come, Elliot,” Finn said in a harsh whisper. “Could things really get any worse than they are now?”

  Something filled Elliot’s eyes. Something like wrath and fear and desperation in a bundle of black.

  Do something, Luteis hissed. Or we perish.

  Sanna blurted out her next words without a moment of forethought. “I think it was a poacher.”

  Lines creased Elliot’s forehead. His eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “That killed Daid and Rubeis. It’s the only thing that makes any sense, really. Luteis and I saw her before, but there was something else there too. She shot an arrow filled with silver at us, but missed. The same sort of unexplained … something was also there when Daid died.”

  With halting breaths, she relayed the incident. Elliot’s expression darkened.

  “You have no proof it was a poacher. A monster killed him,” Finn said without inflection or a hint of concern. “Based on your initial recounting, no single witch could have done it.”

  “Something else was there. Both times. We couldn’t see it clearly, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a poacher.”

  “Magic, perhaps. An animal. Do you really think a witch could fillet Rubeis open? No. Your father’s death was tragic.” A pained expression flashed across Finn’s face. He pressed on, nostrils flared. “But not at the hands of a poacher.”

  Sanna hesitated. She didn’t have any firm proof. In truth, a poacher wasn’t likely. At least, not one working alone. The shadow had been nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the forest and had disappeared—almost as if it could do magic. She knew so little about magic. But it seemed even less likely that creatures could do it.

  So, what was it?

  “No,” she finally admitted. “I don’t think a witch could have done that damage to Rubeis. But Luteis will agree that it wasn’t just any creature. He’s lived in wild Letum Wood all of his life. He’s never seen or heard anything like it, and he’s seen just about everything.”

  Before she could pose her own argument, Elliot drew in a deep breath and said, “Until we have more definitive proof, there’s no reason to alarm the rest of the brood or the witches.”

  “If there are poachers, you’ll lose, Finn. You can’t fight them alone.”

  “You mistake me,” Finn said quietly. Resignation, perhaps exhaustion, leaked through his voice. He ran a hand through his ragged hair, face pale. “I feel that aligning with Sanna and her supposed goddess is far more dangerous than recreating the safety we had under Talis’s reign. The choice is mine to make. You cannot stop me. The dragons have no leader anymore, Elliot. Their only loyalties lie with the old ways. Those that wish to go with me, I shall gladly take.”

  She’s not my goddess, Sanna wanted to mutter, but she bit her lip.

  Can you stop this? Luteis said.

  How?

  Luteis fell silent. Finn leaving wouldn’t directly affect him, outside of the possible extinction of his race. He’d been a pariah since the day he dropped into Anguis and was tolerated now only out of fear and necessity.

  Sanna tried to untangle her viscous thoughts. She longed to think of nothing. To lie back in her trees. To sleep through the nightmares, the fits of rage and burning tears and pangs of loneliness for her sister. Or Daid. For something solid that couldn’t be taken away.

  No. She couldn’t think of nothing now.

  She had a killer to catch.

  Elliot stared at Finn, rendered speechless. “No,” he finally said. “I cannot stop you. That is the power of choice you received in Talis’s death. If you choose to leave and create your own village, that is your decision. You must make it. But your dragons also get a choice of whether they want to stay and learn how to fly, or run away with their tails tucked between their legs and possibly get themselves killed.”

  Finn hesitated, then shrugged with one shoulder.

  “Fine. But they’ll choose me. I know they will.”

  He ducked out of the structure, his wooden leg thump thumping on the ground. Sanna sank into a chair with a weary sigh. She wanted to duck back under Luteis’s wing and sleep for days.

  “We have to call the dragons now,” Elliot said. “Finn can’t be left alone with any of them. You know he’ll lie to them. Try to convince them that he’s right.”

  I gather them as we speak, Luteis said.

  “Yes,” Sanna murmured to Elliot, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “I know.”

  Elliot put a hand on her shoulder. “C’mon,” he said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  At first, Sanna couldn’t see the dragons along the perimeter, but she felt them staring at her back.

  She stood between two massive oaks with Luteis at her side. Finn, Elliot, Jesse, and a few of Finn’s oldest sons stood near. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Daid would be furious. Livid that Finn would turn his back and leave.

  Hurt that she didn’t try harder to stop him.

  Elliot turned to her. A sense of helplessness lingered in his gaze. He lifted a hand, motioning to her. She frowned. Luteis, though not trusted by the brood, was the closest thing to a dragon leader they had. By extension, that meant she should do the explaining.

  “Finn wants to leave and recreate the old ways of Anguis,” she called. She paused, uncertain of how to proceed, but a glance from Elliot and the feel of Luteis looming next to her gave her courage. “We are not a dictatorship. If any witch or dragon desires to split the brood into factions and go with him, that is their right. But consider yourselves warned! There are poachers out there.”

  “Debatable,” Finn called, arms folded across his chest. “We’ve seen no proof except for a single arrow that anyone could have found and used to kill Rian and Rubeis.”

  “That’s absurd!” she snapped.

  Finn glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “You found one,” he said quietly.

  His rebuttal silenced her. With a shudder, she relived the moment Daid shoved the silver-filled arrow into Talis’s chest.

  “Breaking up the brood will weaken us, undoubtedly. We are stronger together. But the choice is yours. It should have always been,” she continued, though she wasn’t entirely sure of that. All the dragons were so ragged and untrusting, even she wondered if she’d done them any favors by setting them free.

  “Whoever will stay with me, Luteis, Jesse, Elis, and Elliot, please stand behind us. Those who want to go with Finn, please stand behind him.”

  An interminable amount of time seemed to pass while she waited for the shadows to shift out of the forest. The last time she’d seen them sweeping toward her in that way was at her Selectis, which felt like a lifetime ago. Four dragons fanned behind Finn.

  “Food!” Finn called, one arm raised. “I promise you a new forest, just as remote as this one, teeming with wildlife. There will be enough to eat. And I promise you safety, away from witches.”

  “You can’t promise that,” Sanna cried.

  Finn ignored her.

  “Life is not the same out in wild Letum Wood as it is here,” she said, snarling. “There are dangers you cannot comprehend. There are creatures and magic that not even Luteis has seen. Trolls have come down from the northern mountains!”

  He snorted. “Nothing that a whole brood of dragons couldn’t defeat, I’m certain.”

  “You who claim they cannot hunt for themselves?”

  Finn ignored her. Three more shuffled to his side. Seven now.

  Cara came out of the trees, moving behind Sanna and Luteis. Her hatchlin
gs followed. Sanna growled as more dragons walked over to Finn, but Luteis wrapped his tail around her waist, holding her back.

  Your rage will not help. They’re frightened.

  I can’t promise them anything. Neither can Finn, she said. He’s lying to them!

  Then they must learn that the hard way. Like you, they can make whatever choice they desire.

  I thought you were just as angry about this as me!

  Deasylva has spoken to me.

  What did she say?

  That choice must be honored.

  Why she hasn’t spoken to me?

  He paused, allowing her a moment, before he said, Perhaps you have not listened.

  Sanna frowned, watching shadows shift through the forest as dragons moved around. We’ll lose everyone.

  Not everyone.

  The dragons, like a river, funneled into channels. Most streamed to Finn. Three shuffled behind Elliot, then four. Only Elis, Luteis, Cara, and her hatchlings remained anywhere near Sanna. By the time the dragons settled—six adults and three hatchlings with Elliot, three adults and two hatchlings with Sanna, and fifteen adults and one hatchling with Finn—Sanna braced herself for Finn’s inevitable gloating. But something like sorrow filled his face instead. It disappeared as quickly as it came. He spun, turning to face her, his expression as solid as rock.

  “The brood has spoken. I am the new leader.”

  Sanna clenched her hands into fists. Only Luteis, Elis, Cara, and the hatchlings remained on her side.

  Her heart stung.

  Elliot reached out, briefly touching a dragon before the heat burned him. The dragon sidestepped with a grunt. Elliot’s hand fell to his side.

  “So be it,” Sanna said to Finn. “Take your dragons. I shall hold you responsible for the end of the dragon race, should the worst happen.”

  He hesitated.

  “We’ll welcome you, if you ever want to join us.”

  With that, he turned around and walked away, an army of dragons in his wake. Sanna watched them go, heart beating a raw, visceral rhythm.

  No, she thought, finding comfort in the rage. I don’t need dragons to avenge Daid.