When she finally returned to her room to sleep, her dreams were full of fire.
Aurora awoke to the taste of ashes. She blinked at the sunlight streaming across the wall. Her legs ached. Then she remembered. The blood on her tongue. The gristle between her teeth. The red on Celestine’s lips, as the witch laughed and laughed and called her my dear.
She had killed a dragon. She had given Celestine a dragon heart.
Aurora scrambled out of bed and grabbed a basin. She threw up, her muscles screaming, eyes stinging. Then she sat back on her heels. Acid burned her throat.
Her right hand was charred black.
She flexed her fingers. They did not hurt, but they were the color of the ruined cities in the waste. The nightgown she wore suggested that she had at least changed before collapsing, but everything after her kiss with Finnegan was a blur, irrelevant to her too-tired brain. Finnegan’s burns had healed under her fingers, and that had been enough.
Celestine had kept her promise, at least. Finnegan would live.
She dressed quickly, pulling on a blue cotton dress, and then attempted to untangle the knots in her hair. The sun was high in the sky—at least a day must have passed since she collapsed. An entire day. She should have been planning, should have been figuring out what to do. Instead, she had slept.
Someone knocked on the door. The handle turned before she had time to answer, and Finnegan stepped into the room.
“Aurora,” he said. “I thought I heard someone moving. You slept for a long time.” His black hair was still mussed with sleep, but the burns had completely faded, the skin as smooth as it had ever been, except for a single red scar that ran along his jawline.
“You have a scar,” she said.
“Don’t you think it makes me look dashing?”
She crossed the space between them and pressed her fingertips to his skin. Warmth pulsed from it, like fire pulsing from a dragon. It was not a burn scar. It was like a cut.
She had marked him. The scar followed the line of his jaw, where she had touched him after their kiss.
“Upset about the loss of my perfect face?”
“No,” she said. “No, of course not.” But she could not take her eyes from the scar.
“No comment about how my face was never perfect?” he said. “No attempt to reassure me that the scar isn’t that bad? I’m almost disappointed.”
She did not reply.
“So,” he said. “What did you do?”
She looked away. “Magic,” she whispered. “I found a spell.”
“Seems strange,” he said, “that you were unable to help me for the entire walk back to the city, and then could heal me with one kiss within the walls of the palace.”
“I panicked,” Aurora said. “The dragon, your injuries . . . I couldn’t focus. Once I got back, I found a book to help. I’m sorry it took so long, but it was all I could do.”
“A book?” Finnegan said. He rested a hand on her wrist. “Which one?”
“I don’t remember.” She pulled away. “A book in the library.”
“You’re going to have to learn to lie, or learn to stop lying. Either would do.” He watched her steadily, and the scar seemed to glare in accusation.
“I had to help you,” she said. She tugged at her hair. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“I’m flattered you value my life so much,” Finnegan said. “What did you do?”
“I can’t tell you. I can’t.”
“I’ve heard that Lucas is missing. You both disappeared, they said, but only you came back. Does that have anything to do with it?”
She could not lie to him. But the truth felt illicit, like she was confessing to murder. “Yes,” she said. “And no. He won’t be coming back.”
“Aurora,” Finnegan said. “What did you do?” He rested his hands on her shoulders, and looked all over her face, as though the answer might be written there. “Did you go back to the mountains? Did you find something?” He glanced down, and then paused. “Aurora, your hand,” he said. “What happened to your hand?”
“A dragon,” she said. She pulled it away. “Why does it matter?”
“Because it matters. How could a dragon—did it burn you? I won’t care, Aurora. I won’t blame you, even if you burned all of Petrichor to do it. You know how I think.”
She did. That was why she could not tell him. She needed to work through her feelings for herself, without Finnegan there to tell her how to feel. To dismiss it like it was nothing.
Burn them all, little dragon.
“I saved you,” she said. “That’s all there is to say.”
“I’ll find out eventually,” he said. “You know I will.”
“Then eventually, we’ll talk about it.”
He laughed. “All right, Aurora,” he said. “I’m grateful, whatever you did. Thank you.”
On impulse, she darted forward and kissed him. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said. Celestine had not broken her word, at least. One kiss, and he was exactly as he had been before. Or almost exactly.
“I’m glad to be okay.”
She leaned in to kiss him again.
A scream rattled through the air. Aurora spun to face the window.
Fire raced across the sky.
Dragons.
TWENTY-SEVEN
AURORA AND FINNEGAN RAN OUT OF THE PALACE, through the courtyard and onto the street. Flames seared the paving stones. The dragon had gone, but Aurora could feel its heat, drumming a few streets away.
Another shadow fell over them, and Aurora and Finnegan leapt back. A crowd surged down the street, some people ducking into buildings for protection, others struggling to escape into the open. And among the screams, among the panic, voices boomed: “Repent. Repent!”
There were four of of them. She could sense it, although she did not know how she knew. Four dragons had crossed the water.
A cannonball rushed past. It slammed into the building behind them, scattering fragments across the street. Giant crossbows and catapults were firing from the roofs. But no weapon could kill a dragon. Perhaps cannons would deter them, but they could not end this.
Lucas had told her not to interfere with the dragons. He had died trying to stop her. And now they were attacking the city.
“I have to stop them.” She stepped forward. Finnegan grabbed her arm, tugging her back.
“They’ll kill you.”
“No,” she said. “They won’t. I’m the only one who stands a chance against them.”
Finnegan looked around, his face pale. He nodded. “What do you need to do?”
The sky burned red above them. “Take me to the tallest building in the city.”
They hurtled down the street, weaving past scorched stones and huddles of people. Even the cobblestones glowed hot beneath their feet.
“Prince Finnegan!” one person yelled. “What should we do?”
“Find water,” Finnegan said. “Get to the docks.”
“But they crossed the water. They crossed—”
“They flew over it,” Finnegan said, barely slowing down. “They didn’t fly in it. And water is still the best weapon against fire I ever heard of.”
Another shadow flew across their path, another wave of scorching heat. The dragon spat fire, setting a nearby building alight. It landed on the roof, amid the flames. One huge green eye settled on Aurora, and she stumbled to a halt.
“Aurora—”
A cannonball crashed into the building, a few feet below the dragon’s claws. The dragon screeched and took off, neck snapping from side to side, looking for the source of the onslaught.
“The tallest building,” Aurora said. “Now.”
They swerved onto another road, narrower than the first. A few people were huddled against the wall, as though the shadows would protect them. One woman was clutching her knee and sobbing. Her whole lower leg was black.
“Can you—” Finnegan began, but Aurora shook her head. Whatever magic Celestine had gi
ven her, she was sure it was gone. It could only save one.
One building towered ahead. It was half-built, the outside held up with metal supports and a staircase that wove around and around, up and up. A sign hung over the entrance, declaring it dangerous. Aurora skidded to the stairs and tore the sign aside.
The stairs shook as she climbed. She gripped the barrier to hold herself steady, the clank of her feet mixing with the screams of the dragons, the screams of the people, the smoke that filled the air. Finnegan ran one step behind her.
A dragon whipped past, its tail smashing into the side of the building. The tower swayed, and Aurora crashed to her knees, the metal digging into her skin. Finnegan slammed forward as well, his hands landing on her back. Then he grabbed her by the upper arm, half using her to regain his feet, half pulling her up as well.
The dragon screeched. Water crashed into its side, making its scales hiss. Several rooftops away, a line of soldiers reloaded their catapults with barrels. The dragon lunged for the soldiers, teeth bared, but a barrel struck it in the chest with a sickening crunch, and the explosion of water sent the dragon reeling backward, its jaw slamming into its tail. Aurora flinched.
The dragon struggled to regain its balance, but another barrel sent it sprawling into a nearby building. It bounced off the roof and gave its wings a determined furl, but it was smaller than other dragons Aurora had seen, and it couldn’t right itself. Its struggling sent it more off-balance, and it flew sideways, past more roofs, its skin fizzing, before it was struck again, and it plummeted like a stone.
The moment it hit the river, a chill ran through Aurora, like she had been plunged in ice. She gasped, clutching the railing to keep herself upright. Water flew up and surged down the streets. Even high in the air, it splashed Aurora’s skin.
“One down,” Finnegan said.
“That one was small,” Aurora said. “It won’t be enough.” And if throwing water at dragons was enough to kill them, Vanhelm would have done it long ago.
The top of the building was an uneven expanse of metal, wood, and stone, some parts solid, others covered by planks that wobbled underfoot. Aurora grabbed the railing and looked out, the wind blowing her hair over her eyes. Far below, to the west, the river sizzled, waves crashing outward, as the dragon continued to struggle and cry. A second beast was perched on top of a building farther inland, its head hanging below its feet, snarling and burning the street. The third and fourth were circling, swerving in the sky as though anticipating an attack.
As Aurora stared at them, the world stilled. The screams faded away, until all she knew was the heat, the creatures that burned before her. She could feel them, deep in her chest where the magic burned, as though their anger was part of her, and she was part of them.
She could feel all of it. The rage, the hunger, the desire that drove the creatures forward, a desire for something indistinct, unnamed, unattainable. A desire that just was. A pounding beside her heart, tiny and irregular and strong, and she could almost taste the sliver of muscle on her lips again. Power and fury and fire.
The dragons paused. Their heads snapped in her direction.
“Stop,” she said, her voice quiet and steady. “Stop. Go home.”
The dragons did not move. Did not attack, did not retreat. And Aurora felt curiosity grow inside her, tugging at her ribs. Curiosity at this girl who was a dragon and yet was not, a girl with the same fire, the same blood, with the heart they had lost, or something like it. They listened to her, but Aurora knew her control was tentative, incomplete. They listened because they wanted to listen.
One of them snapped its jaws, and its eyes were black like scorched flesh. Its tongue flicked around its teeth. “No!” Aurora screamed. Fire crackled around her feet. “No. Go home.”
She did not move, did not flinch. She stared at them, Finnegan close to her shoulder, the air burning around her.
“Go,” she shouted. “Or I’ll tear out your heart too.”
The creatures still watched her. Then the one on the building took off, ripping part of the roof with it. It circled once, twice, dodging the barrels and stones with ease.
Something caught Aurora’s eye. A flash of blond hair, familiar and terrible. She whipped her head around, knowing in her gut that she would see Celestine, that the witch would smile, and curtsy, and mock her. But when she turned, there was no one there, nothing except a small scorch mark on the stone, forming the now-familiar shape of a dragon.
A dragon swooped and paused above them, rising and falling several feet with each beat of its wings. Aurora stared at it. It stared back. Then, with a final snap of its jaws, it spun and took off east over the water. The others followed, screams tearing through the air.
Aurora watched them leave, until they were nothing more than specks against the morning sky.
“You did it,” Finnegan said.
She collapsed to her knees, all the strength rushing away. Her hands shook. “No,” she said. “It wasn’t just me. There was something . . .”
Celestine, she thought. She had been here. She had interfered, unleashed the dragons and then reined them in once her point had been made. The fire, this attack . . . it had meant nothing. A laughing attempt to show them what she was capable of, now that Aurora had helped her. Now the dragon blood pumped through Celestine’s veins as well.
She had lied about her intentions. She had lied about everything.
“Aurora,” Finnegan said. “What did you do? How did you help me?”
“I made a deal,” she said. She forced herself to keep looking at him, to face what she had done. “I had to.”
“What sort of deal?”
“With Celestine. She told me that she’d give me the magic to save you, if I returned to the waste and fetched her a dragon’s heart.”
“And you did it.” It wasn’t a question.
“I got her the heart. And it killed the dragon, the dragon died, like . . . like it couldn’t contain its own fire any more, like it burned from the inside out. And when Celestine took the heart, she—she ate it. Like she was absorbing its magic.” And she told me things, Aurora thought. She told me what I was meant to be. “And then she gave me the magic to save you. With a kiss, because she’s cruel, and—and mad. She’s insane, Finnegan, absolutely insane, and I don’t know what she plans to do, but I helped her anyway, and now—”
He cut her off with a kiss. Lips burning into hers, frantic, pulling her so close that she could barely breathe. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and for a moment it was like they were out in the waste again, locked away from the rest of the world, the rest of her worries. Pressure grew in her chest, and the dragon pendant burned against her throat, the need so strong that she thought it would consume her.
“If she comes to you again,” he said, his face a breath away from hers, “you should burn her into nothing.”
“She’s stronger than me,” Aurora said. “She’ll always be stronger than me.”
“Not always,” Finnegan said. “Not forever.”
“She has the dragons.”
“Weren’t you paying attention?” he asked. “So do you.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
A SMALL CROWD GATHERED ON THE BANK WHERE THE dragon had crashed. Soldiers had pulled it out of the river with chains, and it now lay sprawled across the ground, its wings beating with all the energy of a dying fly.
“Stay back,” one of the soldiers said, as they approached. “It’s still dangerous.”
Aurora ignored him. She moved closer, her hand reaching out to touch the tip of the dragon’s wing. It was cold and clammy.
“It’s in pain,” she said.
“Good,” the soldier said. “But it’ll recover if it dries off.”
Finnegan moved closer, carefully avoiding the dragon’s head. “What do you plan to do with it?” he asked.
“We haven’t yet reached a decision on that, Your Highness,” the soldier said. “We thought to chain it underwater, but we’l
l need your mother’s approval, and it could take time to—”
“No.” Aurora released the dragon’s wing and turned to face him. “You can’t do that.” She could feel the dragon’s pain, like the memory of a wound that had never quite healed. They couldn’t chain it under the river, to suffer and smolder until the dragons faded from the world again. A dragon without fire, without anything. There had to be another way.
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” the soldier said.
“I am the one who stopped them,” she said, in a low, clear voice. It barely felt like a lie. “So you will listen to me.”
“You stopped them, did you?” Orla strode toward them. Her face was lined with exhaustion, but her expression was sharp, alert. “We must speak alone.” Orla turned to the soldier. “Keep the crowds away from it,” she said, “and keep water on hand. I’ll return to tell you my decision.”
“No disrespect, Your Majesty,” another soldier said, “but we should kill it now. Before it has a chance to recover.”
She shook her head as she turned away, already dismissing the conversation. “You cannot kill a dragon.”
“You can try.”
“No,” she said. “You cannot. Do your job, and listen to me.” She flicked her hand in Aurora and Finnegan’s direction, silently commanding them to follow her. Then she strode away.
Aurora ran her hand along the edge of the dragon’s wing, feeling the delicate webbing, the power beneath it. Already, the scales were beginning to warm.
Stay still, she thought, brushing the words into the dragon’s skin. I’ll come back.
“You took a dragon’s heart.”
Orla leaned on her desk. Her long black braid had fallen over her shoulder, and her face was covered with soot. The weight of the attack, and of Aurora’s explanation, seemed to press her farther toward the ground, hunching her entire body. She spoke as though she could not believe what Aurora had told her.
“Yes.”
“With magic?”
“Yes.”
“And now fifty people are dead,” Orla said. “Fifty, so far. I’m sure there’ll be many more, once we finish searching damaged buildings, once more people succumb to their injuries.” She glanced at Finnegan, standing a few paces behind Aurora. Erin sat straight-backed in the corner, her red hair flowing to her elbows. “I hope my son uses his life well. It was bought at quite a cost.”
Kingdom of Ashes Page 20
