Legends of the Sky

by Liz Flanagan

  Instead, she started giggling, laughing uncontrollably into the blades of damp grass.

  Iggie breathed warm dragon breath on the back of her neck, whiffling gently in concern.

  “I’m fine. I’m …” She hiccupped, then she wobbled up and threw herself at him. “Thank you! Wonderful dragon.”

  Milla’s legs were trembling violently and her vision swam. “Our secret?” she asked him. Flying was wonderful. Flying was what she was for. She and Iggie, together.

  Iggie rumbled back at her, and they stood there in a long hug.

  Only now did she remember her fight with the twins last night. It didn’t seem to matter quite as much anymore. Milla thought she could bear anything, if only she and Iggie could keep flying together.

  What if I mess up?” Tarya mumbled into Heral’s scaly neck. The large red dragon gleamed crimson in the warm spring sunshine that poured through the open double doors of the dragonhall.

  “You won’t,” Milla said. “We’ve practiced a dozen times. Get off me, Iggie.” She gently batted her dragon’s head away. “Look this way? Last pin, I promise. I want to get it in your hair, not Heral’s neck.” She tried to keep the tension out of her voice, but if they didn’t hurry, Tarya would be late for her own betrothal blessing.

  “I keep saying it wrong,” Tarya said. “I’ll disgrace Vigo. Everyone will see me.”

  “So what if they see you? You look amazing, if I do say so myself.” Milla had never known Tarya this nervous before. “Done! Now, stand up, let’s see you?”

  She’d piled the front sections of Tarya’s thick fair hair up high, plaited the sides with waxflowers, and let the back hang loose. Tarya wore a traditional Norlander gown. It was cream, not red, but Milla had added red flowers embroidered down the front of the bodice as her gift to her friend. She’d included a tiny red dragon, too, low down where no one would see it.

  “Perfect!”

  Tarya only frowned, looking anxious.

  “Listen: today, it’s all just for show. You and Vigo know how you feel about each other, don’t you?”

  Tarya nodded, listening.

  “So all this, the betrothal ceremony and the holiday, it’s for the city. To give people something good to celebrate.”

  “What do you mean?” Tarya’s blue eyes were wide and bright.

  “You know it’s not been an easy time for most people. They are just glad of a day’s rest. That’s all,” Milla said. The rioting in Arcosi had simmered all winter, between the storms. “Look at the pair of you: Norlander and Sartolan together: you’re the perfect symbol of peace and unity. Now, if everyone could just copy you, we’d be fine.” She kept her tone light. She didn’t say the dragons’ lives might depend on it if the words of the poem were true.

  “I know. I’ve heard what you said about how Norlanders treat everyone else, and I’m doing my best to speak out when I notice it. So far, it’s only making the duke and Isak angry.”

  “They’re not angry with you,” Milla said. “They love you. And you’re probably the only person they could hear it from.”

  Certainly, Isak wouldn’t hear it from Milla. He’d barely spoken to her since their fight, and she was too hurt to keep trying. “When you and Vigo are in charge, things will be different, but I’m not sure my friends can wait that long.”

  Tarya pressed her hands on her stomach, as if the thought of being duchess one day made it churn.

  “Will they accept me?” she whispered. “What if I’m not pretty enough?” Her tone grew sarcastic now. “Not graceful enough, like a good Norlander maiden?” Then, in a rush of real feeling, “What if they realize I’d rather be holding a sword than a needle?”

  “And that’s why Vigo loves you! You’re brave and bold and brilliant.” She was touched that Tarya confessed her fears. She hadn’t realized she worried about the small things, too. “Be yourself, and they’ll love you like I do. I promise.”

  Now Heral turned and put his huge red head over Tarya’s shoulder, whiffling softly.

  “And like he does.”

  Tarya smiled at her dragon. “I’m sorry you’re not coming, my Heral.”

  Milla turned to Iggie then and leaned against his neck, yawning. They’d woken up far too early so they could squeeze in their secret flight over the sea before everyone else got up. Milla didn’t know when she was going to tell the others. She hoped they wouldn’t be jealous that Iggie was the first dragon who had tried to fly beyond the confines of the palace. All she knew was that flying was good for Iggie and good for her, and she would fight anyone who tried to make her stop.

  Tarya patted Heral’s scaly nose. “I know, it’s tough being left behind. Every time my father went to sea, I hated it. But we won’t be so long, I promise. You will stay here with Finn; I’ll be back later.”

  Heral growled softly, Mraaa …

  Right on cue, Nestan and Richal Finn appeared in the doorway.

  “Dad!” Tarya ran and threw herself into Nestan’s arms so hard that he dropped his best silver-topped walking cane.

  “Look at you!” Nestan’s smile was wide and wobbly at the edges. “Beautiful! If your mother could see you now.” He held his daughter close.

  “Mind that hair. It took me hours!” Milla mock-scolded Nestan, smiling at them both.

  “And, Milla: thank you, you’ve done her proud.” Nestan came over and hugged her, too.

  She felt him freeze as he spotted the dragons behind her.

  “Oh, my stars. How big?”

  Nestan hadn’t seen them for a month. He released Milla and stood his ground as all four dragons came to greet him eagerly, not realizing how intimidating they were these days. All except Belara stood way taller than him now.

  “H-h-hello there. Oh, how you’ve grown. Is it still all right to touch them?” Nestan asked nervously.

  “Don’t be silly, Dad! It’s just Heral. You know him.” But Tarya pushed Heral back, telling him, “Give my father some space! You’re bigger than his horse and you’re scaring him.”

  Iggie was also acting strangely, blowing smoke toward the men, with a muffled mraaa.

  “Iggie, behave. You don’t need to warn us about these two,” Milla ordered her dragon. She put herself between him and the men, dismissing the shiver of unease that made goose bumps appear on her bare arms. “It’s Nestan! It’s Finn. You know him perfectly well: we’ve been practicing for this.”

  “We’ll be fine, Milla. Don’t you worry,” Finn reassured her.

  Iggie just didn’t want to be left alone, she decided. He always knew when she was going somewhere without him.

  “Come here.” She looked up at her dragon, feasting her eyes on his perfection. His scales in the sunlight were dazzling jewels. Filling her vision, he took her breath away.

  “Hey,” she whispered, to console him, pressing her forehead against Iggie’s nose, reaching up to pull each ear. She let the flood of love wash over her, as it did each time she was near him. “I will be back before you know it, promise.” She checked that no one could hear her. “And we’ll fly again at dawn, all right?”

  His eyes were large spheres of green fire, wise and ancient. He blinked, his lower eyelid moving up over his bright iris, slashed with a thin black pupil. Iggie growled to her, and she felt the heat building in his chest.

  “Goodbye, Ig. I need to rush. There’s a city waiting.”

  But Iggie reached out very deliberately and took hold of her skirts in his teeth. It was a fine silk dress, given to her by Serina. The delicate turquoise fabric made a slight ripping noise at the waist.

  “Hey! Stop it. You can’t do that … Iggie!” She prodded at his mouth with her fingers.

  Iggie held on.

  She tried lifting his lips, revealing those huge teeth, white as seashells, sharp as razors. She tapped on his closed teeth with her fingernail. “Hey, open up. Let go.”

  “Milla, we need to leave!” Tarya called over. “The horses are ready.”

  “All right!” Milla squeake
d. “You go, I’ll catch you …” She watched them ride away, with a growing sense of panic. If she wasn’t at the ceremony, it would look like an insult to her friends and their families.

  “Milla?” Richal Finn had taken position in the doorway. “Aren’t you leaving, too?”

  “I’m trying,” she panted, “but Iggie doesn’t want me to.” Should she listen to him? What if Iggie knew something she didn’t? But she had a duty to Tarya and Vigo today, and she needed to go. “Please, Ig!” she begged.

  Finally, he released her, with a low grumble of discontent, closing his eyes and settling onto the floor with a whoosh of hot air.

  “Good luck, Finn!” she called as she hurried from the dragonhall without a backward glance. “Guard them well.”

  Milla had to hurry if she was going to arrive before Tarya and Nestan on their horses. She took the steepest shortcuts she knew, knowing they’d have to take the long wide road on horseback, finally emerging near the harbor. Cursing, she elbowed her way through the crowds, toward the waterside shrine. All the citizens of Arcosi were packed tightly in the narrow streets like pickled sardines. She felt ready to scream with frustration, slowed by her long skirts that shivered in the light breeze.

  “Hey, what’s the rush? No one’s in a hurry today, girl,” someone yelled over the noise of the city bells as she barged past.

  She paused for a moment to catch her breath and spotted Rosa and Thom just ahead. They were laughing together, and she felt a sudden pang of loss. She missed them terribly. But here was proof: they were fine without her. She changed direction so she wouldn’t have to speak to them. If she was forbidden from mentioning Iggie, what else did she have to say?

  Milla joined the small group gathered in the waterside shrine, feeling self-conscious as people stared at the latecomer. Shaded by a carved marble dome, it was cool and airy among the slender white pillars, with a backdrop of blue sea on three sides. A long causeway linked it to the island, lined with armed guards: the duke’s soldiers alternated with a special honor guard of Sartolans brought by Vigo’s uncle Carlo.

  “Hello, Milla, is everything all right?” Serina spun around from her place next to Vigo and the duke.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Milla said breathlessly. “She’ll be here. Any moment now, promise!”

  She slipped in next to Josi, and they each put an arm around the other’s waist, without having to speak.

  Isak was on Josi’s other side, but he didn’t greet her. Months now, and the chill distance between them still hurt afresh each day.

  A tall man next to Serina glanced around, curious. He noticed Milla’s leaping fish necklace and smiled at her.

  Milla guessed he was Vigo’s uncle Carlo, Serina’s royal brother visiting from Sartola, so she made him a bow.

  Carlo, the king of Sartola, looked like an older, broader version of Vigo himself, with twinkly eyes, bright copper in the sunshine. And that handsome young man must be Luca, his son.

  Vigo stood at the front. Milla could see him shifting restlessly from foot to foot. A short distance away, Duke Olvar faced straight ahead, unmoving.

  Time slowed to a crawl.

  The air grew hotter.

  Everyone gazed back along the causeway.

  Milla’s stomach was as knotted as a tangled fishing line. “Where is she?”

  Josi squeezed Milla. “She’ll be all right.”

  “She’ll be late,” Isak muttered. “My sister’s always late. He might as well get used to it.”

  “Well, it’s not my fault,” Milla shot back. “She should be here by now.”

  “I didn’t say it was your fault,” Isak said stiffly.

  This was how it was now, between them. What did he see when he stared back at her: Someone ungrateful? Someone lesser? Someone not of Norlander descent? Milla searched his profile for the answer and found none.

  The crowds crammed along the shoreline in both directions erupted into loud cheering.

  “Here she comes!” Milla cried. She jumped on the spot, pointing and grabbing Josi’s sleeve. “Look!”

  Tarya and Nestan rode along the causeway toward them.

  “Heral should be here, though! And Petra. I can’t believe they had to miss this,” Milla hissed to Josi.

  The sunlight turned Tarya’s hair to spun gold, long curls dancing loose in the wind, and her eyes were vivid blue, like the sea. Her face lit up with happiness when she caught sight of Vigo waiting for her.

  Milla hoped she’d find someone, one day, who made her smile like that.

  Tarya slid down from her mare.

  Vigo slipped through the ranks of guests waiting in the shrine and went out into the sunlight to meet her. With a wide smile on his face, he looked quite different from that young man Milla had met at the ball last year. Now she knew him well; she saw his kindness, quick intelligence, and his awkwardness with new people. He’d never been arrogant: just shy. He and Tarya were well matched. Their opposites balanced, Milla thought, her heart overflowing with joy for her friends.

  Tarya and Vigo started walking along the causeway toward the shrine, waving at the crowd. Everyone clapped and cheered.

  When the screams began, there was so much noise that it took a moment for people to realize.

  Milla sprang forward and grabbed Tarya’s arm. “Wait! Listen!” She pulled her under the roof of the shrine, searching for the source of the danger.

  People were screaming in terror.

  In packed streets, people scrambled away from the shore.

  Milla’s heart leapt into her mouth as a large, familiar shape passed overhead, blocking out the sun. “No. Not now. Not here. No, no, no.”

  She stared, craning her neck. It circled and the sun was in her eyes. Who was it? Which one?

  The dragon soared and she saw him clearly, light glinting on bloodred scales and streaming through the fine webbing of his scarlet wings.

  It was Heral, come for Tarya.

  How had he gotten out? Where was Iggie? Was he in danger? Questions filled Milla’s mind and for a moment she was paralyzed.

  The duke’s army knew about the dragons. The visiting Sartolan honor guard did not, and to them, a dragon was an enemy. Milla watched in horror as they aimed at Heral and fired a hail of arrows over the sea.

  “Stop!” Tarya cried.

  “No!” Vigo leapt forward, arms waving a cease-fire.

  It was too late. One arrow buried itself in Heral’s side. He screamed. A plume of fire shot from his open mouth.

  Tarya sped toward the Sartolan guards, yelling. An arrow missed her head by an inch.

  “No, Tarya!” Vigo and Nestan bellowed together, throwing themselves after her.

  Milla came back to life and followed them.

  Heral turned sharply, banking east. He flew back, faster, lower, and let out another jet of fire.

  Now the archers screamed, arms raised in feeble defense. Milla saw bows burning, arrows torched to ash midair. A man leapt into the sea, ablaze.

  “Hold!” Tarya cried out to her dragon.

  There was complete confusion. The city streets were emptying. People were caught in the crush. On the shrine, people dove for cover. Some fell in the sea, others ran along the causeway.

  “Come on!” Milla cried to Vigo. “We’ve got to stop them.”

  They climbed up on the stone-and-flint wall of the causeway, putting themselves in the line of fire as Heral circled lower, searching for Tarya.

  “Do not shoot on the dragon,” Vigo shouted in Sartolan, his loud voice carrying clearly over the commotion. “Cease your fire! I command it!”

  Duke Olvar echoed these words in Norlandish.

  No one wanted to shoot the duke’s son on his betrothal day. The archers lowered their bows. Soldiers froze, swords in hand.

  Tarya moved fast. She kicked off her shoes. Hitching up her long skirts, she began to climb up the white carved pillar nearest her, using its spiraling design as a ladder. She reached the domed roof of the shrine and clambered up.
Tarya rose slowly to her feet and lifted both arms, beckoning to Heral.

  The screams stopped. Everyone who had not already fled now stopped to watch, mouths agape.

  Heral landed clumsily on the roof of the shrine, wings outstretched for balance. He roared his pain and confusion, sending dark smoke and a flurry of sparks skyward.

  Tarya opened her arms and stepped toward him.

  Behind Milla, everyone gasped. A Norlander woman in a gray silk gown fainted, crumpling to the floor of the shrine.

  Tarya embraced Heral.

  Milla saw her lips move, soothing her dragon.

  Heral bowed his head to Tarya and squawked more gently, letting himself be calmed. She patted his neck and leaned forward to whisper in his ears.

  Traveling her hands steadily lower, Tarya pulled the arrow cleanly from his flank: a shallow wound, but a bloody one. Heral roared again, but he didn’t lash out. Tarya ripped a stretch of fabric from the bottom of her blood-soaked dress and tied it around Heral’s flank. Then she bent forward and slid one leg across Heral’s back.

  “She’s not … ?” Vigo’s voice died in his throat.

  “Yes, she is!” Milla said. It was a stroke of brilliance from Tarya—how else to get her injured dragon past the panicking crowds?

  The dragon gathered himself and with a great leap, Heral jumped down from the roof, over the sea. It looked for a moment as if they’d hit the deep water beyond the shrine. Heral’s wings flapped wildly. Then, at the last possible moment, his flight changed. The wingbeats slowed and grew deeper, and he swooped upward with strong powerful strokes, heading out to sea.

  “She’s done it!” Milla whooped.

  She watched them fly in a long curving arc, turning slowly and heading back to the palace of the four winds that topped the island city.

  Tarya crouched low over her dragon’s back, her pale dress in stark contrast to his deep-red flank. Her hair fluttered out behind them. Then they disappeared over the hill, out of sight.

  For a moment, there was a stunned silence.

  Milla held her breath and waited for the reaction. Did this mean she and Iggie could fly openly now, too? Kara said dragons belonged in the city. Well, the city certainly knew about the dragons now. The secret was out. Everything was going to be different.