by M. A. Larson
A shadow crossed the cave mouth as the sun traveled behind a cloud. Evie shivered, but more from something ominous in her sister’s words than the cold.
“What do you mean you could ‘feel Father’? Where is he?” She glanced deeper into the cave and saw nothing but stone and moss and rippling water. “Where’s Mother?”
Her sister’s obsidian eyes, ringed by heavy folds of tan flesh and scales, wilted. Something’s happened, thought Evie. Even if her sister couldn’t find the words, her eyes spoke volumes.
“Where are they?” She stood up on her perch.
“I’m sorry, Sister,” said the dragon. “I’m sorry.”
Evie’s knees began to flutter.
“Father’s . . . dead.”
“What?” said Evie, her voice breaking at the end.
“He was killed by the Sisters. Months ago. Mother refuses to believe it. She still goes away for weeks on end searching for him, but . . . he’s gone.”
Evie leapt from her perch and bounded across the stones to the cave mouth. The sun reemerged and lit up the mountainside with colors so vibrant they hurt her eyes. Her sister stepped out next to her.
“I don’t understand,” said Evie. “How could witches . . . do that? He’s the strongest dragon I’ve ever known. He must be out there . . . somewhere . . .”
“It was that storm. Mother said it was the worst she’d ever seen. Flooded out most of the cave. We couldn’t find you anywhere.”
Evie collapsed in a small patch of weeds. Her sister’s words cut straight to her core. Despair crashed over her like ocean waves. He was looking for me.
“We kept watch, Mother and I, hoping he’d bring you back, but . . . he never did.” Her tail swept across the gravel and rested along Evie’s thigh. “Our friends beyond the mountain heard from others who had heard from others that it was a lightning strike got him. And as he lay injured, Calivigne’s witches closed in.”
Evie’s scarred fingers wrapped around her dragon scale. This is all I have of him now. A shimmer of light pulsed through the fading black stain of her father’s blood. She wiped the tears away, but more kept coming. Her heart had been broken clean in half. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She stared deep into the forest, silently listening to its sounds as the minutes clicked by. Intermittent whistles of birdsong. The distant hum of a waterfall. Leaves rustled by the breeze. Everything was just the same as it had always been, yet entirely and irrevocably different.
“I hate witches,” she spat. Her tears had already started to transform from pure grief into contempt. “I’ve never hated anything in my life, but I hate them.”
“They say our kind are leaving the lands of the north because of witches. Imagine it, the Dragonlands without dragons. It’s only a matter of time until they’re here, in our woods.”
“I’ll die before I see that happen,” said Evie.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much to be done. They have the numbers and the will.”
“The place I’ve been, they train us to fight them.”
“What, fight witches? That’s brilliant! I thought there was something different about you. You look bigger, somehow. Stronger.”
“I’m not,” said Evie, hanging her head. “You need courage to fight a witch. The only time I ever had any was back in that cottage, and even then it was only because of this.” She lifted the scale.
“Bah, you’ve got plenty of courage. Remember when you fought off that hawk to get her egg?”
“That hawk nearly killed me!”
“Yes, but she didn’t, did she? Come, we’ve got to take you back.”
“I can’t go back. I don’t belong there, either.”
“Our father was the most courageous dragon the sun has ever seen, you said it yourself. If it’s courage you need, then take him with you. In here.” She rested a claw against Evie’s chest. “He’ll help you find your courage.”
Evie filled her lungs with the air of newborn winter, then slowly let it out again. “Sometimes I feel like there’s too much dragon in me to ever be a princess. But then there’s too much princess in me to really be a dragon. I don’t know what I am.”
“The witches must pay for what they’ve done,” said her sister.
The faint ember of those words glowed inside Evie. Images of her father—her dear, sweet father who taught her to see the world in all its horror and beauty, to strive for the good and fight back against the bad—flashed through her mind.
The witches must pay.
Now thoughts of the witch with no eyelids crept in, one of Calivigne’s Council of Sisters. The ember inside her ignited, burning with cold rage.
The witches must pay.
Her anger piled on top of itself like sticks on a fire until it consumed her from the inside with pure dragon fury.
“I am the daughter of dragons, and no witch will ever frighten me again.”
They set off that very afternoon. Evie’s sister, by virtue of the dragon’s innate sense of navigation and orientation, found her way back to the Dortchen Wild, to the spot where she had charred the forest to scare off the witches. After that, it was only a matter of covering huge, swooping arcs of the forest until the lights of Pennyroyal’s towers appeared above the canopy. By the time they set down at the edge of the great clearing, night had fallen.
Evie peered out from the trees, her sister next to her. Crickets sounded from the grassland beyond the wall, but not from the enchanted forest behind them. The Academy shimmered atop its hill, torchlight glowing from windows. To Evie, it really was beautiful, a light of goodness in a world of dark. She saw it and knew that her sister had been right to bring her back.
“Do you really think this will work?” she said. “We were warned about leaving the grounds.”
“What other choice do we have? Besides, after what that girl said to you, no one could fault you for running off. And it’s just your bad luck there was a vicious man-eating dragon waiting to snatch you up. If we can get you inside, they’ll keep you.”
Evie studied the dim flicker of the towers. Her heart was thumping. She longed to be back inside, but something about this plan frightened her. She put a hand on her sister’s foot. “The instant they lift the barrier, you’ve got to go. All right? Promise me.”
The dragon’s face softened. She touched a talon to Evie’s cheek. “A witch fighter. He would have been so proud.”
Her wings sprayed out into the pines, and with a mighty flap she lifted into the air. Evie’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to call her sister back, to stop this whole foolish plan, but it was too late. A tree crackled, then crashed to the ground as the dragon lifted free of the forest canopy.
Then, in a violent spray of noise and fire, she swooped down from the clouds. A shower of glowing liquid streamed from her throat, leaving trails of burning pines and grass. She roared with the primeval ferocity of the fires at the heart of the world. Up on the hill, two horn blasts bellowed and torches began to move about. Her sister’s plan was already working.
Evie nearly fell to the ground as the dragon rammed her body into the invisible wall of fairies’ magic. Dots of orange light poured down the hill like a meteor shower. It wasn’t just staff, it was the cadets, as well. Apparently, no one wanted to miss the rare sight of a rampaging dragon. This changes nothing, Evie told herself. Get through the wall, that’s all that matters.
“Get those girls back!” came a voice. Evie recognized it as the harsh snarl of Corporal Liverwort. “Boys as well! Get away from that wall!”
And now Evie could see faces in the bright flash of her sister’s fiery jets. There stood Remington with the other knight cadets, shielding his eyes. Members of staff shouted indistinguishable things as they tried to formulate a plan. Her heart thumped like a war drum. It was her turn now.
Then she saw something that made the blood rush
from her head. Staff pushed cadets aside to allow an intimidating fleet of horsemen through. Their bodies were covered head to toe in glassy black armor, as were their horses. In the glint of firelight, they looked like something from another world, like riders made of ice. Each of them carried a steel-tipped lance, with other weaponry strapped to their mounts’ tack.
“Dragonslayers . . .” she said. These were men who had long ago graduated from the Academy. They had gone out into the world as the elite dragon-killing force for the kingdoms in which they served, then returned to teach the next generation their secrets. Only the steel at their hips knew how many dragons this squadron had put to ground. Evie looked up at her sister, diving in for another assault on the wall, and realized she had no idea what waited beyond it.
Evie broke from the trees and raced for the wall. “Help!” she shouted. “Help me!”
Her screams were drowned out by another roar from her sister. The dragonslayers hadn’t yet moved, perhaps waiting for word from Princess Beatrice, or in a case as extreme as this, the Queen herself. Evie’s feet couldn’t match her panic and she stumbled forward, her face plowing through the hard dirt.
“There’s someone out there!” Even through the screaming pain in her chin, Evie recognized the voice of the Fairy Drillsergeant. “Get up, Cadet! MOVE!”
Evie staggered to her feet. She scrambled ahead, wiping a smear of blood from her face. The fall had cluttered her head and she was having trouble focusing, but she knew one thing for certain. The barrier has been lifted and I must get through.
The dragon soared low across the clearing. Cadets screamed, convinced she was about to be taken in the creature’s jaws. Staff shouted urgent orders. And her eyes caught Forbes’s just as his mouth broke open with the word “ATTACK!” In the confusion, he took the lance off a distracted knight and mounted his horse, then broke from the crowd.
“Forbes, no!” shouted Remington. He knocked a young knight instructor aside and swung atop his black charger, following Forbes over the wall.
Run, Evie. Run faster and you can stop this.
“DRAGONSLAYERS, AHEAD! STOP THOSE BOYS!” came the panicked voice of the Headmistress.
The dragon swept into the air and unleashed another terrible roar. She hadn’t seen either of the boys come over the wall, and was oblivious to the fleet of dragonslayers now doing the same. Suddenly, the field was full of very dangerous moving parts.
Evie ran as fast as she could toward the wall, but rough clumps of ground kept tripping her up. She fell onto her shoulder, then rolled to the side to see the horror unfolding before her.
Forbes charged at the huge, falling shadow of the dragon as she plunged in for another run of flame and thunder. Behind him, and closing fast, galloped the dragonslayers, their armor shimmering in the burning trees of the Dortchen Wild.
“SISTER!” screamed Evie. “SIS—”
Something ripped her from the ground. Pain fired through her ribs and she heard the sounds of tearing fabric and clomping hooves. Remington had grabbed her by the dress and hauled her onto his charger in one frantic pass.
“Hold on!” he shouted.
But Evie had lost all strength. She bounced limply on the horse, caged by Remington’s arms, as they raced back to the wall. Another violent roar flattened the grass as the dragon swooped wide of the men waiting below. Her tail slapped into Forbes, launching him and his horse to the trees.
The metal tip of a dragonslayer’s lance flashed upward, and a monstrous screech blasted across the clearing. Evie saw her sister’s body recoil and knew she had been pierced.
“NO!”
And then she could hear nothing. Not the screams of the cadets as Remington’s horse raced under the magical barrier. Not the roar of flame at the charred forest edge. Not the shrieks of her sister as she lurched off the ground and wobbled in the air, just beyond the reach of the dragonslayers.
Maggie, Demetra, Anisette, and Basil led the group that raced to help Evie from Remington’s horse, but they were quickly pushed aside by staff. Hazelbranch and Wertzheim broke through next, lowering her limp body to the grass. They checked her for injury and covered her torn dress with burlap blankets. She didn’t hear their questions. Her eyes were focused on her dear sister as she tried to flap her wings to escape, dropping in sickening jags back to the ground.
“Are you hurt?”
“What happened?”
“Clear some space! Give her air!”
“Your hand! What’s happened to your hand? The dragon’s scalded her!”
The wounded dragon desperately flapped her wings, finally building enough lift to clear the treetops. With erratic dips and bobs through the air, she disappeared into the low silver clouds.
“I’m sorry . . .” said Evie. “I’m so sorry . . .” The words were meant for her sister, but the staff heard them differently.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Cadet,” said Hazelbranch. “You haven’t done a thing wrong—”
“What’s happened here?” demanded Beatrice, shoving through the crowd with annoyance.
“She’s in shock,” said Hazelbranch, dragging Evie to her feet. “We’ve got to get her to the Infirmary.”
“Everyone, back to your barracks!” shouted Beatrice. “Get the water butts down here and put out those fires! You, clear this hillside!”
As Hazelbranch and Wertzheim helped Evie stagger up the carriage ruts toward campus, she caught a glimpse of her friends up ahead. They were trying to break free from the herd to come to her, but the staff wouldn’t let them through.
“You’re all right, Eves!” shouted Maggie, and then they were shoved ahead with the rest of the cadets.
Evie’s mind had gone flat and empty. It was all she could do to bring breath into her lungs.
Amidst the chaos on that hill, she glanced over and saw something entirely unexpected. Something so surprising she couldn’t even comprehend its meaning. There, walking up the hill in the great migration of cadets, was Malora. Her eyes met Evie’s, and in them was compassion. True, real, human compassion. It only lasted a moment, but in that compassion Evie saw that Malora understood. She understood the trauma of Evie’s plight, and that she had been the one who had caused it. After that momentary connection, where Malora had allowed her vulnerability to shine through, Evie looked up to the black dome of clouds just as they began to drop white flakes of snow.
EVIE STAGGERED through swirling snow, her dress a punch of blue against the gray. Winds howled, throwing icy waves of powder through the air. She saw something in the snow ahead, a splash of black on the ground. It shimmered like the silvery snowflakes drifting all around her.
Dragon’s blood.
She looked to her left, then her right, but the flurries washed past so swiftly it was impossible to judge direction. Something had crept up behind her—she could feel it there—and she turned to find her sister. The swampy green of her scales looked almost black in the whiteout. A horrendous gash in her side was washed with blood.
“Find Saudade . . . find yourself . . .” she growled.
“Is that where Father is?”
“That’s where you are.”
A gust of wind howled, blasting the dragon to snow. Evie turned back and the blood was gone as well. She stood alone in the frozen heart of winter.
Then, so faint they could have been the shadows of snowdrifts, figures began to appear. Dozens of them, lurching forth from the white. They came from all directions, swaying like ghost ships in frozen seas. Witches.
There, beyond their slow, ragged advance, one towered above all others, her face obscured in the shadows of a thick black cloak—
Evie startled awake. She was asleep in her chair in the Infirmary waiting for another round of treatment. She wiped a bit of spittle from her chin and sat up. Though it had only been a nightmare, the image of Calivigne’s grim silhouette linge
red.
“Good, you’re awake,” said Princess Wertzheim. “Just in time for this.” She set a small vial of red liquid on the table and made some notes on her parchment. Evie picked up the potion, rolling the smooth glass between her fingers, then set it down with a clink.
“I’d rather just get back to my company, if that’s all right.”
“And you shall. Once you’ve had your treatment.” Wertzheim sat behind the table and busied herself with her notes.
Evie scowled at the tiny stoppered vial. In the weeks since she had awoken here after the assault on the wall, she had returned to the Infirmary each day for treatment. And each day when she stepped through the doors, the awful memory of her sister’s screams washed into her mind like seawater into a tidal pool.
“It’s not brewed for its flavor. Go on.”
Still, Evie didn’t move. She stared into the depths of that liquid and could think of nothing but her sister and her father and her red hatred of the enemy.
Wertzheim lowered her parchment. “Drink the potion, Cadet.”
“No. I don’t care about some make-believe past. I don’t care about potions or memories or any of it. All I want is to fight witches.”
“Cadet Eleven—”
“I’ve been drinking these bloody things for months and I’ve had one memory.” She jabbed a finger in the air. “One. About a bloody pie—”
“Watch your words, Cadet,” said Wertzheim, her demeanor hardening. “You will treat every member of staff with respect, and that includes me, or I shall be forced to send you home—”
“Then do it!” spat Evie, shooting to her feet. Why am I acting this way? she thought. She had nothing but affection for the Academy’s nurses, but a reckless part of her had been unleashed and she didn’t know how to control it. “I’m not drinking that bloody potion—”
An arm snaked Evie’s waist, pulling her back from the table.
“Forgive her, Princess, she’s under duress,” said Forbes. “Loads and loads of duress.”
