FLIGHT Page 2

  We go?

  “We go.”

  Luteis sprang off the ground, wings spread. With some difficulty, he navigated the long stretch of canopy overhead, dodging branches as wide as several houses, chattering tree gnomes that threw moss, and vines draped in complicated tapestries. By the time they burst out the top of the expansive, emerald world, his lungs heaved with exertion. Once airborne, his wings sliced through the sky without hesitation, calming his breath. Sanna closed her eyes, relishing the wind on her face. The ample forest flowed beneath her.

  The delicious feeling of wind rippling through her hair—even if bitterly cold—roused Sanna from her spiraling thoughts. Luteis’s sweltering body undulated below her with every beat of his wings, heating her chilly legs. Ancient Dragonmaster magic protected her from falling off. It happened automatically. She couldn’t control that magic, nor would she want to. Her nose wrinkled at the thought of magic, which she quickly dismissed.

  Dawn lingered on the horizon—a mere sliver of light. The tangy air pressed into her cheeks, stinging like the kiss of nettles.

  It seems it shall be cold today.

  “Says the giant lizard with fire in his belly.”

  Witches are inherently weak. We have discussed this. Again, if you would just—

  “I know, I know. Magic, and all that.”

  She snorted, amused despite herself, and lay on his scales. Witches didn’t need magic, and just because the forest goddess Deasylva forced her to be the High Dragonmaster for one day didn’t mean she was that now. Nor, did it seem, that the magic wanted her to be. Heat pulsed through Luteis’s scales, warming her skin, her muscles, even the bones in her arm. He dipped, soaring away at a surprising speed. When a little chill skimmed her back, Sanna turned around, pressed her spine to his scales, and watched the burning clouds overhead.

  You are quiet today, he said.

  “Thinking.”

  Would you want to think out loud?

  Sanna hesitated. Luteis was in her head, but he didn’t hear anything except what thoughts she directed to him. Even then, she mostly spoke out loud because it was easier to keep track of what she’d said. When she spoke with her mind, sometimes it jumbled amidst her thoughts and confused both of them. She wondered if dragons had more organized minds than witches, because Luteis never tangled his communication.

  “Do you want me to think out loud?”

  I would prefer it if we planned a time of day for us to communicate about your thoughts, but I have learned that spontaneous communication is also enjoyable.

  Sanna rolled her eyes. Their daily flights helped Luteis keep the edge off his energy, but not his obsession with planning. Since the death of the previous dragon sire, Talis, there had been little to plan. Both of them had devoted almost all their time to helping her daid right the Dragonmasters. Frightened dragons. Livid mams. Traumatized hatchlings. What felt like an eternal trek of arguments between Elliot, Finn, and Daid filled her mind.

  Daid had bonded with the new dragon sire, Rubeis, but had only flown with him once, two months before.

  “My legs were made to be on the ground,” he’d said after the flight, then not uttered another word about it. Rubeis had disappeared for four days.

  She frowned.

  “Where’s Deasylva?” she asked.

  The question bubbled out of her before she knew it was there. Luteis drew in a deep breath, his chest billowing beneath him before he began a steep climb toward a stray cloud. This would be his last climb for the day, before settling back in at camp and pretending that all the dragons didn’t fear him. They’d spend the final chunk of morning soaring close to the forest, near the treetops, hunting as they went.

  Sanna couldn’t be sure, but based on how far north and west they’d flown, they had at least an hour flight back. It would tire him enough to stay settled, though she knew he longed for a solid eight-hour flight again.

  Deasylva has retreated.

  “Where?”

  I have not been told.

  “Why did she leave?”

  To maintain her strength.

  “For what?”

  She did not say.

  Sanna’s frown deepened. How convenient that the goddess of the forest could retreat as needed. Deasylva’s warning rang through Sanna’s mind. War, she had said. Sanna shivered. War with whom? She thought of the belua.

  Or with what?

  Is her absence what’s bothering you?

  “No. Not really. I just … I tried to talk to her a few days ago, but she didn’t respond.”

  Your questions about the dragons, perhaps?

  “Yes.”

  We should check the ruins again. She often responds faster when I speak with her there.

  “Maybe.”

  I perceive that something else is bothering you?

  Sanna hesitated, wondering if Luteis could even understand. Finally deciding that telling him would be better than not, she said, “Isadora has been gone for a long time.”

  Her cheeks burned, but she pushed down the embarrassment. Likely, Luteis already knew she missed her sister. His sprawling, thick wings beat the air with a gentle, even cadence. For several seconds, he said nothing.

  Sanna let herself breathe. Saying that hadn’t been easy.

  You mourn this?

  “I think so.”

  Is she ill?

  “No, but she’s … different.”

  Why?

  His voice betrayed no judgment, but she felt an annoyed prickle at the back of her neck all the same. “I don’t know. It’s just … it’s almost like … like … she doesn’t want …”

  Yes?

  “She doesn’t want us.”

  How so?

  “She’s distant when she’s home, which is less and less. She’s always lost in thought or studying the paths—whatever that means. It’s like …”

  Your sister has a magic that I am not familiar with.

  “So she says.”

  Has she not told you?

  Sanna hedged. “Well … I think I just don’t get it. What in Halla does it mean to see the future, anyway? How can you pinpoint that? We haven’t really been able to just … talk the way we used to.”

  Is this your fear?

  “That we don’t talk?”

  Yes.

  Sanna rolled the question around in her mind. “No. I think … my fear is that she’s different. She’s not the sister I’ve always known.”

  You are different as well.

  “Not that much!”

  Are the old ways good enough for you?

  Something hot welled up in Sanna. She hurled it away before she learned what it meant. “No, I suppose not.”

  Then change is inevitable.

  “You’re wiser than you sound, you know.”

  Dragons are surprising creatures.

  They fell into silence while Sanna chewed on those thoughts. It wasn’t just about Isadora being different—Sanna knew she was as well. At least a little.

  After what happened with Talis nearly destroying the brood, refusing to make things right, and then dying at Daid’s hand in a fire that wiped out all of Anguis, it would be impossible not to be changed. But Isadora was so different that there seemed no way to come back. The other families were even more uneasy around Isa than they were with Sanna. Isadora didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

  Even Mam seemed on edge around her; although, Mam had taken Talis’s death harder than anyone.

  Luteis dipped his left wing down, the tip of his right wing skimming the foggy underbelly of a cloud. The cool breeze whipped past her face, inundating her with ice crystals and mist. She closed her eyes, enjoying the bracing cold. It roused her from her frustration with her sister. From deeper thoughts of freedom, loneliness, and witches who wouldn’t listen.

  Your meeting with Finn occurred last night.

  She scowled.

  I take it by your silence that it didn’t go as you had planned? I understand that frustration.


  “No.”

  He is free to choose as he wishes. If he chooses to live apart and isolate his dragons and family, that is his decision.

  “I know. I just don’t like it. The families haven’t separated in …”

  Her voice trailed away. Thanks to Talis, she didn’t know how long it had been. He’d wiped out their history to create his own tyrannical society, making choices for the entire brood and eliminating their agency.

  Why don’t you like it?

  A hint of something laced his voice. She sensed a trap but didn’t know what it was. Sanna fidgeted. So much for a relaxing flight in the clouds.

  “Let’s talk about something else.”

  You always want to talk about something else when the subject of your being High Dragonmaster is broached.

  “No one said anything about that!”

  I was just about to, and I believe you know that.

  “Let’s just go home.”

  As you wish. But heed my warning: you will have to face up to the truth soon. You lead these dragons, whether you like it or not. The sooner you embrace that, the sooner the magic will be available to you.

  “It’s not just me who doesn’t like the idea of a High Dragonmaster,” she muttered. “It’s the dragons. They weren’t too happy about it, remember? Besides, we don’t need one more leader to guide us astray. Not to mention that the magic is dangerous and fickle.”

  Luteis said nothing, just dropped closer to the ground. Not even the thrill of flight or the gentle burn of his heat on the back of her legs could comfort her today.

  Hold on.

  He dove. Sanna lay down, tucking her arms and legs close to his body. When they stood next to each other, Luteis loomed at least six times taller than her. She couldn’t wrap her arms around any part of his massive body, but the magic of their merging kept her close to him, and safe.

  Branches whipped past them. She buried her face closer to the scales of his neck. A shriek, a roar, and a puff of fire followed. Luteis alighted on the ground, a massive forest lion in his teeth. The animal struggled. He pressed his talons farther into it, and the beast stopped moving. Sanna slid off his back.

  “Take your time,” she said with a yawn. “I’m going to nap. By the way, when are we going to—”

  A piercing noise rent the air, startling Sanna. She whipped around. Luteis peered to the left. His nostrils flared. Beneath her, his back expanded as he held his breath. He gently dropped the forest lion.

  Step down.

  “Why?”

  There is a witch—several I think. I don’t recognize their scent.

  “Witches?”

  He rolled his neck to the left, eyes tapered. Slight movement snapped Sanna’s attention to the right.

  There. Luteis nodded to the left. He darted through the trees with agile movements despite his rolling muscles. Sanna followed, ducking to avoid branches. He veered to the left, winding around a sprawling oak. She glanced behind them. There had been something on the right as well.

  I still smell them.

  They paused, listening.

  Luteis slipped between two house-sized trees. Sanna stood, peering through the bracken and fallen wood, back toward the other movement she’d seen. Witches by themselves, in this part of the forest, were unheard of. Trees, undergrowth, old vines, and logs congregated so thickly here. Luteis stopped, blocked by several fallen logs.

  Straight ahead. The scent is strong.

  The vague crack of a stick followed.

  Sanna’s head jerked up. She stole through a drape of ivy, toward a sliver of motion on the other side. The cluttered undergrowth seemed to embrace her as she ventured forward, able to move more easily than Luteis. Behind her, Luteis dug his talons into the bark of a tree and started to climb, his wide body hidden by the massive trunk.

  The close growth gave way to a small, open space between trees. Movement to the left caught Sanna’s eye. She turned and saw streaming blonde hair, slender shoulders, and dark brown skin dart behind a tree. Sanna took off after the woman, her sandals digging into the loamy earth for traction.

  “Stop!”

  The woman darted back through the trees, heading toward Luteis. A bow dangled from her back, but she had no quiver. Luteis snarled, slinking back down the tree. Branches waved in the canopy behind him.

  And also—

  Thwack.

  Sanna ducked. An arrow slammed into a tree off to the right, not far beyond them. Luteis growled, shooting fire. Boughs rustled. A shadow disappeared into the underbrush near the arrow. Sanna ran to inspect the bolt. Charcoal-colored feathers stuck out from the shaft, which was as thick as her wrist. Runes, glowing a bright silver, glimmered around the shaft. They faded as something from the inside leaked out, spilling down the tree in rivulets.

  Silver-filled arrow, Luteis hissed. Poachers!

  That dreaded word sent a cold chill through Sanna.

  She ran, hurtling through the forest toward the witch, shoving aside branches and leaping over waist-high tree roots. Luteis slipped along behind her with a growl, but Sanna worked through the underbrush and smaller saplings faster than he could. The witch darted through the trees with surprising speed. Ahead of her, something else seemed to be running.

  Two of them, Luteis said. I cannot see the one ahead of us. They are invisible, perhaps? No, they appear to … to blend in. The scent is strange. I do not recognize it.

  “Hey!” Sanna screamed. “Stop!”

  The flap of the woman’s cloak seemed to mock Sanna as she gained ground, sprinting almost out of sight. A flash of a bright-blue tattoo on her neck caught Sanna’s eye. Was that a dragon tattoo? Sanna pressed harder, her chest burning for want of air. Behind her, Luteis roared. Heat rushed past her in a long wave, stirring her hair. The ground trembled underneath his steps.

  The woman slipped behind a tree just before Sanna caught up. Sanna skidded to a stop in the rich dirt to find an empty forest. The spot where the witch had disappeared was empty. Sanna panted, glancing around. Nothing.

  No one.

  Not even a footprint in the muddy soil.

  Chapter Two

  Seconds after Lucey disappeared, a crack rang through the air.

  The carriage lurched to a stop. Horses whinnied. The driver muttered under his breath. When he moved from the top of the box, it shifted. Isadora’s stomach reeled with the gentle sway. Outside, a strange, insidious fog crawled from the marsh, toward their stopped carriage.

  Isadora drew in a deep breath and murmured the right incantation.

  A vague shimmer filled the air next to Alessio, and a second version of him appeared. Lucey often used ancient, complicated spells to prevent the Defenders from knowing when normal magic was in use. Older magic, because it was unfamiliar, was more difficult to detect, even for the most sensitive witch. Likely, the Defenders would anticipate her using something from the Declan magic, but Isadora doubted they’d expect such a simple deception spell.

  The real Alessio’s eyes widened as he studied the mirror image of himself. Isadora held up a hand.

  “Do not touch,” she whispered.

  He nodded once. Isadora cast a second deception spell, duplicating herself. “Now,” she murmured. “Remember—be very quiet. Keep the invisibility incantation active.”

  Alessio swallowed hard and nodded. After a nervous murmur, his body disappeared.

  Step one, she thought, fading into her own invisibility incantation. She rapped once on the top of the carriage with a knobby knuckle. “What seems to be the issue?” she called, infusing a purposeful croak into her voice. The shuffle of the driver’s footsteps sounded outside right before the door swung open. Isadora paused for a moment to allow Alessio to leave ahead of her. Meanwhile, the two deception spells remained sitting in the carriage, strangely unmoving. After one last glance at the eerie representations, she slipped outside.

  The driver’s eyes darted around. “Just a few minutes,” he said into the carriage with near perfect Ilese, as if th
ey were waylaid on accident. “We broke an axle. Not sure I can fix it.”

  He shut the door before the lack of movement from the deception spells gave them away.

  She couldn’t see Alessio, but felt him near as they moved away from the carriage. The horses pranced, tossing their manes, no doubt unnerved by the strange fog rolling off the marsh. A mat of stars sparkled overhead, mute in the distant sky. The cold drove into Isadora’s fingers with foreboding promise, intensified by the cool rush of her invisibility incantation.

  Palude Marsh lay on the other side of the trees, hidden in shadows and blunted moonlight. She reached out, blindly, until her fingertips grazed fabric, and she clasped Alessio’s elbow. She tugged him toward the marsh, along a barren patch of ground that wouldn’t betray their steps in the still night. They both stumbled in the strangeness of walking without seeing their own feet.

  The night pressed on them as they slipped into the thin, brittle trees. No sign of Lucey. Always, Lucey said. Always change what you do. Make no decisions until you have to. Surprise yourself, if you can.

  Isadora saw a more open area of trail and resisted the urge to move toward it. Instead, she plunged them closer to the swampy waters. No doubt Lucey was working through the marsh now, attempting to find and distract the waiting Defenders—who would be well hidden themselves—to give Alessio and Isadora a head start once the Defenders attacked the carriage.

  The sound of the driver shouting broke the air.

  Isadora whipped around just in time to see the driver disappear with a transportation spell moments before a witch, dressed in a black cape and mahogany shirt, attempted to grab him. The carriage lurched. Several witches shouted, surrounding the carriage. A chill raced down her back when she recognized the Ilese word for halt over the shriek of the horses.

  Step two.

  She shoved Alessio ahead of her, toward the brackish waters.

  “Go.”

  They darted into the marsh, invisibility spells at work. Another shout. Isadora glanced over her shoulder as the horse and carriage tore away, flames licking the wooden box. Two Defenders sprinted toward the marsh—no doubt they’d already figured out the game. No matter. They had the advantage now.