by Jodi Meadows
“We were dispatched after reports of an immense tremor centering here—on an island you call Idris.”
As though the name of his home summoned him, I sensed a stillness behind me. Aaru. He slipped soundlessly into the infirmary and paused at my side. Close enough to hear the man’s heart over the creak of wood and whisper of waves on the ship, perhaps, because he touched my hand. ::His heartbeat is irregular. His lungs rattle. He is not well.::
Cold shivered through me. Time was running out if I wanted answers.
I tapped my thanks and focused on the spy again. “Why do you care about an earthquake on Idris?”
“Our empress was concerned that the troubles of the Fallen Isles might affect the Algotti Empire. So many tremors. So many storms. She feared for her people, as any ruler would.”
“I see.” Disappointment festered in me. He intended to lie, to pretend as though the empire hadn’t threatened annihilation unless we surrendered. “Tell me, Seven, what does your empress want with the Fallen Isles?” Better to get a sense of his game now, and know how to manipulate him later.
“Cooperation.” He tilted his head just slightly and amended, “To begin with, she wants cooperation.”
“And?”
“And what?” He leaned forward as Kursha moved around to inspect one of the burns on his back.
“What of our dragons?” As if he didn’t know. I’d seen him in the Hartan sanctuary. Had he been inspecting the dragons? Confirming their number and species? Either way, he and I both knew the dragons were going to the empire. Payment for not destroying us. “Why do you want them?”
“We do not want your dragons.” He—Seven—coughed into the crook of his elbow, staining his sleeve with blood.
“What about our noorestones?”
He shook his head. “We have our own resources.”
I scowled.
“You’re unsatisfied with my answer,” he observed.
“Of course,” I said. “When my friends said you were willing to share information with me, I’d hoped you would be honest.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Hopebearer, though I came here only to investigate the disasters, I found far greater problems for your people. A civil war grows on the horizon, and like it or not, you will be caught in the center of it.”
On the main deck, boots thumped hard against the wood. Muffled shouts leaked between the slats, but I couldn’t understand what was said.
Aaru touched my hand and stepped away, through the door again. I watched him go for only a moment, then turned back to Seven. “What do you mean, a civil war?”
“I mean”—he coughed—“without some sort of guidance, your islands will tear one another apart.”
“I suppose you think the empire’s guidance will help us resolve our differences.”
Seven closed his eyes, letting out a short, frustrated breath. “I can understand why you believe that, but I assure you—”
A crash came from above and everyone paused. Looked up. A sharp thump sounded right overhead, followed by the quick beats of someone running.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Kursha frowned at the ceiling.
“It doesn’t,” I agreed. But Aaru had gone to investigate. I had to trust that if there was something truly wrong, he’d come back to tell me.
“May I speak freely?” Seven asked.
I nodded.
“We have known about your Mira Treaty since its inception. The opposition from within the Fallen Isles has been clear for some time, as I’m sure you know.” He lifted an eyebrow at me, as though he needed to remind me of the kidnapping attempt, or Hurrok, or the other unnumbered events Hristo had spoken of—people taking their dislike of the treaty out on me. “The empire has ignored that. It’s not our problem. But as storms and tremors became more frequent, as they became stronger, we in the empire did, at last, become worried.
“So my partners and I were dispatched, and soon we discovered attempts to dismantle the Mira Treaty piece by piece. Hartans being sent away from Bopha, though they had lived and worked on the Isle of Shadow their whole lives. Dragons being held in the Heart of the Great Warrior, even though the Drakon Warriors were meant to have disbanded. Civil unrest on Idris. The Hopebearer vanishing from her home on Darina.”
“You knew about all of that?” I whispered.
“Of course.” He bowed his head. “I would be a poor spy if I had been ignorant of any one of those issues.”
“What then?” I asked.
“Then it was decided that we would divide our efforts, and later assemble a complete account of the fragmentation of the Fallen Isles. I began by tracking dragon movement from sanctuaries.” He looked up at me. “I didn’t recognize you in the First Harta Dragon Sanctuary. Not until later.” His eyes shifted to the scar. “No one, as far as I knew at that point, was aware of the change in your appearance.”
I braced myself for the crushing embarrassment that came any time someone mentioned the scar, but it didn’t come. Not this time. “You chose not to help me free those dragons.”
“What could I have done?” He cocked his head. “What would you have had me do, exactly? Attack the keepers?”
“Maybe.”
“My purpose is to watch, Hopebearer, not interfere. I am not yours to command.”
“Is meeting with me not considered interference?”
“You are getting ahead of me.” Though his words were sharp, they did not cut; he offered a pale smile—at least until new thuds sounded from overhead. Then his expression melted into a faint twist of concern.
I was concerned, too, but if I was needed, someone would come to get me. “All right,” I said. “You didn’t want to interfere. And later, you were at the Lexara Theater. What were you doing there?”
He nodded. “I knew the Hopebearer was scheduled to speak that evening, so I returned to the city to see her. You. But the Mira on stage was a false Hopebearer. The speech she was beginning was the speech you refused to give on Bopha. That was very brave, by the way.”
He knew about that too?
There were nine spies, but it seemed as though there must be nine hundred. How else could they have so much information? How could everyone at that speech have been so clueless about the presence of an imperial spy?
“But then,” Seven went on, “just as the false Hopebearer was ready to taint your name forever, I saw you.”
Save the clamor on the main deck, the infirmary was quiet—an anxiously held breath.
The spy coughed again into the crook of his arm, then accepted another sip of water from Gerel. His breath came shallow and rattling. “I saw the fall, the noorestones, the exodus. And I saw how the impostor reacted to you, the real Hopebearer, coming toward her. She was terrified.”
A shiver curled around my heart. Tirta should have been terrified.
“I followed as she and her minder started to escape the theater. I intended to track them and learn more about why she would impersonate you, but another party intervened and both were taken.”
“Taken?”
He nodded. “A team of warriors accosted them. Though I pursued them for a few hours, they managed to elude me.” At the memory, a long frown creased his face. “The lead warrior was good. Fearsome. New burns covered half his face, but he behaved as though they didn’t bother him at all.”
Chills rippled down my spine as I met Gerel’s eyes and saw my fear reflected there. Seven had seen Altan abduct Tirta. I was sure of it.
“Do you know where they went?”
Seven shook his head. “Unfortunately not. After I lost them, I went in search of you. The real Mira, I hoped. Seeing you in both the sanctuary and the theater convinced me that you were important enough to find, but you had already left your inn. And, I had assumed, the island.”
“Then you returned to your ship,” I provided, “and my friends found you.”
“Lucky me.” He glanced up at Gerel, then doubled over, coughing and coughing. Blood spattered
on the floor as both Gerel and Kursha held him steady.
“You should go,” Kursha said when the coughing eased. “Let him rest before he answers more questions.”
“No,” he gasped. “I need to finish now.”
Darkness loomed behind his words: he knew he wasn’t going to live beyond this conversation. Aaru had heard his shuddering pulse, the liquid in his lungs . . . the early echoes of his death.
“It’s a bad idea,” Kursha said.
“I’m aware. Your concern is appreciated.” He smiled weakly as she got back to work, but before he could continue his story, wood crashed above and a man screamed.
Something was very wrong up there.
I looked at Gerel. “Should one of us check—”
Aaru rushed back into the infirmary and shut the door. His notebook hung out of his pocket, as though he’d needed to write to someone, and his chest heaved with breath.
“What’s happening?”
For a moment, I thought he might say that it was nothing, just a few crewmen settling a dispute. Anyone else would have tried to soothe me, tell me to go back to what I’d been doing, but this was Aaru and that was not his way.
::Somehow the Falcon caught up. Shrouded noorestones so no one saw. We have been boarded.::
“Seven gods,” I whispered. “Are the others—”
::Safe,:: he said. ::Hidden in our cabin. Chenda made shadows.::
“What can we do?”
::Finish this.:: Aaru nodded at the spy.
How could I focus on this when our ship had been boarded? This was a cargo ship, not outfitted for battle. The crew shouldn’t have to fight for us. That had never been part of the agreement. Maybe I could call Hush. Maybe she—but I couldn’t ask her to become a weapon for me. I was supposed to be protecting her. And if she used fire, she could hurt one of our own people.
“What is it?” Gerel gripped my arm. “What did he say?”
Before I was finished repeating Aaru’s words, Gerel was halfway to the door.
“Where are you going?” I took a step after her.
“To fight. No one else can.” She shoved past Aaru and was out the door before anyone could stop her.
A moment later, new screams came from above: Gerel throwing herself into battle against the warriors who’d boarded our ship.
“I should go too,” I said, but I didn’t move. Seven was waiting, his head full of answers and his heart nearly out of beats.
“What could you do?” Kursha asked.
I didn’t know. Something with noorestones. Push the crystals’ inner fire into the warriors until they fainted from the heat.
Seven bent over and coughed again. “My time is short, Hopebearer. Allow me to prepare you for what’s coming.”
“And what is coming?” I spun to face him, adrenaline thrumming into my head. I wouldn’t panic. I couldn’t. But numbers began ticking in the back of my head: screams, clashes of metal, and the thumps of bodies hitting the deck. “What do you know?”
The spy’s expression was neutral; if he was afraid of the warriors above, he didn’t show it.
“There’s a Drakon Warrior called Altan.” His words came wet with blood and exhaustion. “I believe you know him.”
“Yes.”
“He’s one of the people we’ve been looking for, but while we’ve intercepted his messages, we haven’t been able to get to him. We couldn’t get into the Heart of the Great Warrior while he was in there, and now that he’s left, we haven’t been able to find him.”
Then he didn’t know the burned warrior he’d encountered in Harta was the very person he’d sought.
“What do you want with him?”
“He claims that your Mira Treaty sells the Fallen Isles to the Algotti Empire.”
“Do you deny it?”
“You think you have all the answers, but truth is my life’s work.” A breath of a laugh escaped him. “I’m telling you what I know: the empire did not purchase the Fallen Isles through your treaty.”
Lies.
“Then why are you here? Why are you taking our dragons? Our noorestones?”
Seven closed his eyes, sagging toward his bed; he wouldn’t make it much longer. “As I said, I came to observe. And now I’m here to warn you: the Algotti Empire did not conquer your islands with a treaty; that victory went to one of your own.”
One of our own? One of the Fallen Isles?
No. He was still lying. He had to be. “That’s not possible,” I whispered.
It was too horrible to be true. None of the islands would do that to the others, no matter how we fought and bickered among ourselves. We were quarreling siblings, but in the end, we always put our own first.
But that was wrong. Other islands had occupied Harta for hundreds of years. Was it really a stretch to think someone might have decided that wasn’t enough, and sought to conquer all the others?
“Who?” The cacophony of nearby battle almost smothered my question. “Who would do this?”
“Who do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t have time for mysteries,” I said. “And neither do you.”
“Who might see this world as beyond saving?” Pity filled his eyes, as though he could possibly understand how much it hurt me to suspect one of our own islands. “Who might see a cleansing fire as the only path to redemption?”
My heart dropped into my stomach. My feet. Down through the sea. If he was right, then we were heading straight for the island responsible for the plight of the dragons, the lie of the Mira Treaty, and the coming calamity of the Great Abandonment. “Anahera would never. The Fallen Isles are not beyond saving.”
A sad, blood-dotted smile pulled at Seven’s mouth. “Perhaps, but you and I both know there are people who will use their gods as excuses to hurt and oppress those they wish to conquer.”
“Do you have proof?”
“All my documentation was lost when my ship burned.”
“Convenient.”
“Not for me.”
Not for me, either.
“Hopebearer—” A cough burst out of him. “Know this: the Infinity was no accident.”
“What?” Someone had meant to destroy the Infinity? For what purpose?
“A test. It was a test of destructive poten—” Another cough rushed out, and another. He was too weak now to cover his mouth, so blood dripped onto the floor as he took a shuddering breath. “Where are we heading?”
“Anahera.” The goddess’s name tasted like ashes in my mouth. I’d thought I could not feel any more betrayed by the people of the Fallen Isles, but if Seven was right, the leaders of Anahera were behind everything.
But what if he was lying?
“Good.” Seven gasped for air as he listed toward his pillow; Kursha, still frowning, helped make him comfortable. “Nine is in Flamecrest.” He didn’t open his eyes. “Nine will help you.”
Aaru shifted closer to me. ::Fighting has moved down here.::
My heart kicked faster. I had to help. I had to do something with all the noorestones aboard this ship—but not until I knew how to find the other spy—and more answers.
“Where in Flamecrest?” I asked.
Seven groaned, but if he tried to respond, I couldn’t hear it. Because at that moment, the door crashed open and I whipped around, letting my mind touch all five noorestones in the infirmary. They blazed to life, bathing the room in bright, blue-white light.
But I was too late. Too slow. Four warriors had rushed in, one with healing burns all down the left side of his face. That warrior had Aaru, a knife to his throat.
It was Altan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
DREAD PLUNGED THROUGH MY STOMACH AT THE sight of steel gleaming over the soft skin of Aaru’s throat—bright against brown. A thousand different dark images crashed through my mind—how Altan would kill Aaru. Fast. Slow. Smiling. Apathetic. It was too easy to imagine him in any of those scenarios, because Altan was the cruelest monster I knew.
Three o
ther warriors stood in formation around Altan, their weapons drawn. But they didn’t advance. They didn’t attack.
Not yet.
“Let him go.” The words wrenched out of me. All I could see was the blade and the fear that flashed in Aaru’s eyes. It was so hard to believe that just a few hours ago, we’d been tangled up in each other’s arms. And now I might lose him—not to his decision to go home, but to the very man we’d been trying to escape.
We should have run farther. Faster.
“I will release him,” Altan said. “Once you listen to what I have to say.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Do you have a choice?” Though it must have hurt the burned side of his face terribly, he let loose one of his slow, terrifying smiles. The kind that showed teeth all the way back to the points. A reminder that Altan was a predator, and he could smell terror. He could taste weakness on the air.
Which meant I had to be strong. Bold. If I let him see how much he rattled me, Aaru would surely die.
Five noorestones. Seven people. Four beds. I collected my thoughts, even as my eyes kept drifting toward Aaru. The knife. The pale breath between life and death.
“I know what you did in the Pit,” Altan said. “After you escaped, I went back to see the destruction. Truly, it was incredible: twisted metal, mounds of ash. I’d never seen anything like it, at least until I caught up to you in that tunnel.” He turned his face slightly, giving me a better view of the black and red burns that bloomed over his golden-brown skin; LaLa had done that—my brave little dragon flower. “It’s impressive, Fancy. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
I pushed strength into my voice. “If you know what I can do, then you’ve taken a big risk coming here.”
“Have I?” Again, that smile. Like a knife, it pared away my bold words and left me hollow with dread.
Everything inside me screamed to use the noorestones. They were my greatest advantage. My strength. My power. But Altan had set the perfect trap.
1.If I shoved noorestone fire into Altan, it could flood into Aaru. Altan had tortured Aaru like that, back in the Pit, and that was the moment Aaru had stopped using his voice. I couldn’t risk hurting him like that again.
