Ember and the Ice Dragons

by Heather Fawcett

  She groaned and did not get up. “I think I left my stomach up there.”

  “The prince certainly did,” Nisha said, tossing a glower over her shoulder. “Again.” She stood above Ember, brushing snow from her coat, clearly having recovered more quickly from the terrifying dive.

  “Ember!” Aunt Myra was at her side in an instant, and her ruddy face and yellow curls were so comforting and familiar that Ember almost wanted to cry. “What on earth—I have never in my life—is that Prince Gideon?—You stay right where you are!”

  This last statement was directed at the dragon king, who had alighted with sparrowlike delicacy on a boulder. Aunt Myra whipped a telescope out of her jacket and brandished it between them like a club. “Don’t move! You keep away from her!”

  “It’s all right,” Ember said. She forced herself to sit up, though her stomach lurched. “He’s helping us.”

  Aunt Myra didn’t lower the telescope. Her gaze darted from Ember to the enormous dragon snuffling at his wings, blowing off the ice that had accumulated as they flew. “He’s what?”

  Ember did her best to explain, but queasiness made her stumble—her stomach still hadn’t made its way to the ground. Nisha picked up the story, recounting the hunt and the journey to the dragons’ city in breathless, harrowing terms. Moss murmured a comment every now and then. The prince sat in silence, his face turned away from them. His brown-gold hair was even more disheveled from the flight—it stuck out in every possible direction, like a blackberry bush.

  “Wait a moment,” Aunt Myra said, holding up her hand. She had asked only one or two questions, processing Nisha’s tale with surprising quickness. Ember braced herself. She knew that Aunt Myra would rage at her for sneaking off and joining the hunt, and punish her in some way, perhaps by locking her in her room or ordering her to clean the chimneys. (Ember had never been punished for anything, and had formed her perception of what it involved from fairy tales.) Ember tried frantically to think of some sort of defense against the onslaught, but could come up with nothing—she had disobeyed both her aunt and her father. What defense would Aunt Myra accept?

  Aunt Myra said, “You’re saying that Prince Cronus has a fleet of ships anchored offshore? I don’t understand—he wouldn’t have had time to organize an attack of that size since Prince Gideon was abducted.”

  Ember was dumbfounded. “Aren’t you angry with me?”

  “It doesn’t seem as if there’s much time for that,” Aunt Myra said, her voice grim. “Besides, I suspect your father will be plenty angry enough for both of us.” Then she did something unexpected—she wrapped Ember in a hug. “Don’t you do that ever again,” she said in a quavering voice.

  “I–I won’t,” Ember said, though there was little chance she’d be joining another dragon hunt any time soon. She felt as if she’d been turned upside down again, as she had during the descent with King Zaffre.

  “What are you doing way out here?” Nisha said.

  “It isn’t way out. We’re only a few miles from the Firefly,” Aunt Myra said. Ember started—the king had been flying even faster than she’d thought. “I was just heading back from the Consternation Hills. The other Scientists are still there.” She motioned to the dogsled in the distance—Ember hadn’t noticed it, in the tumult of their arrival. The dogs were crouched low, their gazes trained on the dragon, who calmly ignored them all as he attended to his wings.

  Ember pictured the Firefly, its windows glowing cozily against the darkness, the Scientists settled in their armchairs, arguing with each other or pacing about the library. She felt a stab of yearning that surprised her. Had she actually started to see the station as home?

  Children, the dragon king purred. We must go.

  Ember nodded. To her aunt, she said, “We have to find Prince Cronus and show him that Gideon is safe. Right now, he has an excuse to slaughter as many dragons as he likes, and Queen Victoria isn’t going to mind. We have to take that excuse away from him.”

  Her aunt nodded slowly. “Your best bet is to land close to the harbor and let the prince travel the rest of the way on foot. One of the sailors there can send word to his father’s ship. I’ll come with you.”

  Ember turned to the dragon king. “Can you carry all of us?”

  No, he said. It is stretching my limits to take you four children.

  Aunt Myra’s brow furrowed. “My word! It almost sounds like he’s speaking English! Do you suppose he would allow me to document—”

  “I’m sure we can ask later,” Ember said quickly. “Right now, we have to go.”

  “Yes, quite. Well, that ‘no’ was clear enough, even with His Highness’s strange accent. I will meet you at the harbor.” She whistled to the dogs.

  Ember was relieved—and somewhat astonished—that Aunt Myra had agreed with her plan so quickly. But then, she remembered, Aunt Myra had always been like that, thundering about the station, flitting from this project to that project, giving decisive orders. It seemed to be how she was made. “Thank you,” Ember said quietly.

  Aunt Myra gave her a slight smile. “You can thank me once we’re back at the Firefly, going over all this with a mug of tea.” She glanced at the dragon. “Or perhaps something a bit stronger.”

  King Zaffre lifted them into the air again. They soared along the coast, then swung slightly south as the dragon followed whatever instinct guided him. They slowed, and the wind’s roar quieted.

  They are close, King Zaffre said, banking. They—ah!

  Ember looked down. At first, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. When she did, her stomach lurched, and she felt a ringing in her ears.

  Below them was a field of death.

  Dragons, possibly as many as two dozen, lay motionless on the snow. Their scales had been removed, and they barely looked like dragons anymore, as if something inside them had been taken when the hunters had stolen their magnificent armor. Ember closed her eyes, but still she saw them, as if the gruesome scene had been burned into her eyelids.

  This is not a sight for children. The dragon king’s voice was low, and Ember sensed a grief behind it that was beyond her ability to understand. He wheeled, gaining speed as he did. A few moments more brought them to a cluster of low hills, and here the dragon king landed. His glowing eyes had dimmed, his elegant neck bent, as if he had gained a hundred years in a single moment.

  The humans’ harbor is a mile that way, he said. You must go. Take your prince.

  Ember couldn’t speak. Finally she managed to choke out, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s so horrible,” Nisha said. She brushed away tears.

  Their heartscales have been stolen, the dragon king said. It is very bad. Not only for us, but for any humans nearby.

  “What if we get them back?” Ember said. Her anger and sorrow were crystallizing into red-hot determination. They had to do something. They had to make this better.

  I’m afraid that it is likely too late, the dragon king said. I must go. I must advise my people to stay close to the City of Spires, and to send word to other cities that the coast is no longer safe.

  “But—but can’t you do something?” Nisha burst out. “How about freezing Prince Cronus or his men?”

  We do not like to kill, human child, the dragon king said. A note of disapproval entered his voice. Unless it is unavoidable. It goes against our code. Killing is the business of your kind. Even if I were to lead an attack against those ships that lurk out in the sea, it would not end well for us. Dragons have never been a match for humans—it is why we left our northern home. His gaze moved to the heartscale Ember wore, and he added, sadness deepening his voice, It is a lesson you know well, fire child.

  With that, he spread his huge wings and lifted off into the sky.

  Ember turned to Gideon. “Your father has his own ship, doesn’t he? I’ll bet you know what it looks like.” Deliberately, she folded her arms. “You’ll take us to it.”

  Something like panic crossed the prince’s face, quickly c
oncealed under a disdainful expression. “Suppose I don’t want to.”

  “Suppose you want your teeth rearranged,” Nisha said. “Don’t you feel sorry about what your men did to those dragons?”

  Briefly, Gideon looked as if he was about to be sick again. “They’re not my men. And why should I care if a few beasts are slaughtered?”

  Nisha made a disgusted sound. Moss said, “There’s no use talking to him.” Gideon pulled his hood up and turned away, no doubt to resume his sulking.

  Ember would surely have punched him, or followed through on her threat to his forehead, if she hadn’t seen a glimmer of tears in his eyes when they landed. Had it just been the wind stirred by the dragon’s descent? Ember didn’t know, but some instinct pushed her to swallow her fury at the prince, and instead say to Nisha and Moss in a casual voice, “You’re right—there’s no use talking to him.”

  Nisha opened her mouth to argue, but Ember fixed her with a “trust me” stare. “We’ll just have to figure something else out,” Ember went on. “Come on.” She set off, Nisha and Moss falling into step behind her. “I wouldn’t want to linger here, anyway. With all those stolen heartscales, there’s sure to be a horde of hungry grimlings circling these hills any minute.”

  Ember smothered a dark smile as, after a few heartbeats, the prince’s boots began crunching through the snow behind them.

  Twenty-Two

  Fire and Ice

  Upon tropical islands, fire dragons were abundant, especially in areas of heavy rainfall and flowering vegetation, with glades open to the sun, and where a variety of small animals offered easy prey.

  —TAKAGI’S COMPENDIUM OF EXOTIC CREATURES

  The harbor was a hive of activity.

  Sailors rushed up and down the dock, their heavy boots thudding, dragging wagons loaded with supplies from the warehouses that lined the bay. Gas lanterns suspended from wooden poles shone at odd intervals, for the light was already fading, the sun sinking into another long twilight. Anchored in the bay were a dozen submarines and demiships, mighty and bristling with cannons, the wind playing through their flags. Ember, squinting, saw several empire flags, but she could not make out any with Cronus’s coat of arms. Dozens of small boats rowed across the waves, either heavily loaded and making for one of the ships, or empty and returning for additional supplies. There was no sign of Aunt Myra anywhere.

  “What should we do?” Moss said.

  “Let’s steal a kiteship!” Nisha exclaimed, a gleam in her eyes that Ember was beginning to associate with trouble.

  “I think we should figure out where we’re going first,” Ember said. She turned to Gideon, who was leaning against the warehouse with an insouciance that Ember doubted was genuine, particularly after being sick so many times. “Well? Is your father’s ship here? Do you see any of his men?”

  The prince only glared at her.

  “You can hardly expect him to be excited about seeing his father again.” It was Moss, his voice quiet. “He did try to have him killed.”

  “Look at it this way,” Nisha said to the prince. “The sooner we return you to your father, the sooner you can go back to ordering people around and strutting about like a ninny. You’d like that.”

  Ember sighed. She said to Moss, under her breath, “We could just wait until somebody notices him.”

  Indeed, Gideon’s golden hair and expensive clothes were already attracting attention from the grubby sailors passing by. One did a comical double take, then rushed off in the opposite direction.

  “What about the heartscales?” Moss said. “We need to give them back to the dragons.”

  Ember nodded slowly. Her left wing gave an odd sort of twitch, but she ignored it. “If they’re anywhere, they’ll be on Prince Cronus’s ship.”

  “Or in the palace,” Moss said.

  “We might have a better chance of getting into the palace than we do of getting onto the prince’s ship,” Ember said.

  “Less, I’d wager,” said a darkly amused voice behind them.

  Ember’s left wing was twitching frantically now. She turned and met the eyes of the tall, red-haired man gazing down at them.

  “Less,” Lord Norfell repeated, “because I’m about to escort you to His Highness’s ship. He will be ever so pleased to see that his son is alive and well.”

  Ember felt the ground sway beneath her. She saw Lord Norfell crouched beside her back at camp, his dagger slashing through the darkness. . . .

  Lord Norfell laughed, a laugh that held no malice, but an almost childlike delight. “You’ve proven yourself far more challenging quarry than most, Miss St. George. You almost escaped me. Well done.” It was a genuine compliment, and it filled Ember with sick dread.

  “You!” The prince surged forward. “You kept at me about wearing that heartscale. Did you know something would happen to me if I did? Answer me.”

  Ember fell back a step before that imperious glare, but Lord Norfell only spread his graceful hands. “Your Highness, I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean. I am your humble servant.”

  “If you’re his servant, who are those men with you?” Nisha said. Her hand was on Ember’s arm, having pushed her slightly behind her.

  Ember, who had been focusing only on Lord Norfell, realized that three men stood at his side. They were all well dressed, but too lightly, shivering in their London wools.

  “Prince Cronus’s men, of course,” Lord Norfell said smoothly. “He’s been keeping a lookout for your return, Miss St. George. The rest of the hunt thought that you and your friends had been kidnapped along with the prince. But you are a slippery creature, as I conveyed to His Highness. How very interesting that you were able to secure the prince’s release. I look forward to hearing your account.”

  Ember thought back to her sighting of Prince Cronus in the harbor, how it had seemed Lord Norfell had his ear. “You’re—you’re working with him, aren’t you?”

  Lord Norfell seemed amused by this. “Working with? He’s the queen’s son. I owe him my loyalty. I am, perhaps, more motivated in my service than most. Prince Cronus seeks to expand the Winterglass Hunt. I will do what it takes to aid him in that highly entertaining endeavor. He knows this, and will reward me accordingly, as any generous ruler would.”

  Ember felt sick. “Where are the other hunters?”

  “Oh, they set off on a rescue attempt after the prince was abducted,” Lord Norfell said. “I expect they’re still out there in the wilderness, chasing ghosts. I volunteered to return to Port Gloaming to send the news about his son’s abduction to Prince Cronus—who, as luck would have it, had already sent for a significant number of ships. Sometimes fortune smiles on us, does it not?”

  Lord Norfell nodded at the men standing behind him. “Mustn’t tarry, gentlemen. Prince Cronus will wish to be reunited with his son as soon as possible. And of course, he’s very eager to meet the rest of you.” His gaze lingered on Ember.

  “Wait,” Gideon said suddenly. He shot Ember a look she couldn’t interpret. “She remains here. Send her back to the Scientists. I . . . I don’t want that creature anywhere near me.”

  Ember’s knees went wobbly with relief. The thought of going anywhere with Lord Norfell made her feel as if the darkness of the port was closing in on her.

  Lord Norfell cocked an eyebrow at the prince. “I’m afraid I must disappoint you, Your Highness. For your father has expressed great interest in meeting Miss St. George. Happily, I doubt that you shall have to tolerate her for long.” He snapped his fingers at Cronus’s servants, and they hustled the four of them onto the dock and into a small rowboat. One of the men casually removed a pistol from his coat and held it at his side, watching them.

  Ember trembled as the boat was rowed out into the bay. It had to take a slow, roundabout route to avoid all the ice. Moss sat beside her, white. Nisha was on the other side, still clutching Ember’s arm. Her gaze darted from Lord Norfell to the man with the gun to the towering ships they passed, and Ember knew she was tr
ying to work out an equation that she could solve, something that would get them out of their predicament. Gideon sat across from them. Ember could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t look up. She was frozen, unable to think, let alone move. Again and again, she saw Lord Norfell’s dagger slashing toward her.

  At one point, as the boat rocked to and fro, Ember’s pocket gave a jerk. It was Montgomery—the doorknob must have woken up. Tears welled in Ember’s eyes as she thought of her father’s cozy office. Would she ever see it, or him, again? She placed her hand over the doorknob, and it stilled.

  A massive ship loomed into view, hidden from the harbor by an iceberg. It flew Prince Cronus’s flag, as well as Queen Victoria’s. The rowboat was hoisted up the side, then Lord Norfell clambered out and disappeared. Prince Cronus’s servants remained, their hands resting casually on the pistols at their belts. A few moments passed, and then the rowboat was lifted the remaining distance, and Ember, Nisha, Moss, and Gideon were hustled onto the deck of the ship.

  The deck was deserted. Ember blinked in astonishment. The flags flapping in the wind seemed overloud. Then she heard a muffled splash, and a shout. A rowboat, crowded with men, pushed off from the ship and headed toward the shore.

  Someone had ordered most of the crew to leave.

  Ember’s heart thudded. Lord Norfell reappeared, ascending the stairs from belowdecks. Beside him was a golden-haired man in a fur cloak pinned with an enormous fireglass brooch.

  “Oh, good,” Prince Cronus said. His gaze settled on Ember, bringing with it a sense of cold and emptiness. “You found it.”

  All the breath left Ember’s body. Lord Norfell bowed. “My lord.”

  “Well, Gideon,” Prince Cronus went on, his posh voice dry with distaste. “You’ve succeeded in impressing me at last. Unfortunately, it’s in the most vexing way possible.”

  Gideon had gone so pale at the sight of his father that Ember wondered if he would faint. He said in a trembling voice, “You—you planned it, didn’t you? You wanted the dragons to take me.”