by Wesley King
But once again, she was wrong.
“No,” Helvath said at last. “The Flames do not concern themselves with the trials of lower creatures. It is your war, and Vero should never have gotten herself involved. We will take care of ourselves, Reiter. The Egg will be safe here, I promise you that. Now both of you go, before you test my patience further still. For this gift you have safe passage and nothing more. Go fight your little war.”
Dree slumped, defeated. They couldn’t rely on the Flames, and the Egg was gone.
They were truly on their own.
“Fair enough,” she said quietly.
She walked out with Lourdvang and climbed onto his back.
“We did the right thing,” he said softly.
“I know,” she said. “But it certainly doesn’t feel like it.”
He stepped off the ledge, catching a wind current and sailing into the air. “Now what?”
“Now we think of a new plan. And fast.”
Chapter
17
Marcus finished wiring the holding chamber for the Egg and stood back, admiring their creation. He had created three extra power conduits to allow for the massive energy expelled by the Egg, and it looked like it would work—though it was hard to calculate the exact metrics of an ancient magical relic. The hybrid was now ready to go—once Dree welded the last leg on, they could put it through some tests.
“Looks pretty good!” Jack said, standing behind Marcus with his arms folded over his chest.
They had been disturbed a few hours earlier by yet another drone attack—once again, the mountain had shaken and rock had come loose, sending them running for shelter, but thankfully no one had been hurt. Marcus suspected the drones were testing the mountain for weaknesses or trying to draw the fighters out. It had lasted only for ten or twenty minutes—just enough to get everyone nervous.
“We’ll just have to hope it’s enough,” Marcus replied, glancing at his uncle.
Jack looked exhausted—his eyes were bloodshot and he hadn’t washed in a week—but there was definite satisfaction on his face when he looked at the hybrid. They had worked almost nonstop for the entire week, sleeping just a few hours a night, but they had created something that might just help to win the war. If the Egg performed like they hoped, even the drones would have trouble keeping up with Teen Hybrid. Marcus envisioned himself riding into battle, fast as lightning.
“I still think I should be going with you guys.”
“You’re not a fighter,” Marcus reminded him.
“And you are?”
Marcus laughed. “No. Not really. But I am a Dragon Rider. That counts for something.”
“Yes, it does. I always wondered about that Xbox you burned to a heap of plastic.”
“Bet you’re regretting adopting a freak, huh?”
Jack turned to him, smiling. “Never. I adopted the best kid I know. And now he’s turning into one of the best men I know. Your father has made many mistakes, Marcus, but you are not one of them.”
“Thanks,” Marcus said, feeling his cheeks burning. “And he made the right call leaving me with you.”
Suddenly, they heard footsteps. Marcus turned, relieved to have an interruption, and saw Dree and Lourdvang enter the cavern. Dree looked a bit sheepish, and Lourdvang kept his eyes on the hybrid, examining its progress.
“Where were you?” Marcus demanded, looking between them.
Dree didn’t meet his eyes. “I had to do something.”
“We were attacked again a few hours ago, and we couldn’t find you. We were worried sick.”
“We saw the damage,” Dree replied. “The skies were clear when we got back, though.”
Marcus folded his arms across his chest. “Back from where?”
“Nowhere—” Dree started, trying to push past him.
“Dree.”
She met his eyes coolly. “I brought the Egg back to Helvath.”
Even though Marcus had feared the worst, he was still shocked by Dree’s admission. He instantly felt his temper rising. They were supposed to be a team, and she hadn’t even consulted him.
“How could you do that?” Marcus yelled.
“We had to! Humans were never meant to have that kind of dragon magic, Marcus. We—”
“We almost died getting that Egg!” Marcus cut in, fuming. “Do you remember? My father is sitting in a prison cell right now because of that Egg. And you gave it away without even telling me? You had no right!”
“No right?” Dree snapped. Her eyes started to flash orange and crimson. “I had every right!”
“Dree,” Lourdvang said, trying to calm her.
“No,” Dree said, waving him away. “I don’t have to listen to you lecture me, Marcus. You’ve been in Dracone for, what, a few weeks? And you think you know everything? Like you’re some sort of expert on my home? What do you know about this world? What do you know about dragon magic and its real power?”
“I know that we needed that Egg to beat Francis.”
Dree narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think I want to beat him? He destroyed my home. He killed my neighbors and friends. He broke my father’s spine. Mine. You might have been born here, but you are not from here. You don’t know our history. You’ve barely experienced our way of life. You don’t belong here, Marcus. I told you that back on Earth—where your father is waiting for you. The man who did all this, by the way. Your father brought the drones to this world and started this whole war. So why don’t you stop helping, Marcus, and just go back home? We don’t need you.”
The venom in her words caused Marcus to step back, and Dree immediately softened.
“I’m sorry . . . I didn’t . . . I mean, you’re not . . . I’m just frustrated—”
“At least I know where you stand,” Marcus said, before storming out of the cavern. If she didn’t want his help, that was fine. He didn’t need her either. He had been working alone since he was a little kid.
He would take care of this war himself.
Marcus made his way quickly through the mountains, holding the collar of his jacket to his chin to block out the cold. He had descended Forost under cover of darkness, his eyes always peeled for drones. But the night skies were clear, twinkling only with the pale light of the stars, and Marcus made it to the relative safety of the valley undetected. He had been walking through the woods for hours now. His feet ached with every step on the soil, but he had to get to the city.
Marcus knew he could never get the Egg now. Not from Helvath. The old dragon would have it guarded day and night, and no human or dragon would get near Arncrag again without being detected.
But he could do the next best thing and get his hands on Rochin’s weapon. George must have created the launcher while working for Francis—it was too advanced to be Draconian technology. While the launcher would be much weaker without the Egg, it could still be used to blow through the palace wall, or at least take down some drones. It alone wouldn’t win the war, but at least it would give Marcus some sort of advantage.
And most important, he wanted to get the weapon out of Francis’s hands.
Maybe when Marcus had taken down the palace walls himself, Dree would realize that Marcus cared about Dracone just as much as she did.
He felt heat coursing through him at the thought of their fight. How could Dree have dismissed Marcus like that after everything they had been through? After everything he had done? They had fought side by side. They were friends. At least, Marcus thought they were friends.
But maybe he was wrong. His veins ran with the same blood as his father—the blood of a murderer. Dree had said herself that she couldn’t forgive Marcus’s father. Maybe she hadn’t forgiven Marcus for that connection either. On Earth, Marcus was always known as the son of a traitor—maybe he was a fool to think it would be any different in Dracone.
His eyes were suddenly thick with tears, and he roughly wiped them on his sleeve. It didn’t matter now. Only stopping Francis mattered. And getting Rochin’s weapon was a start.
Of course, the whole plan was pretty close to madness. Even in his stubborn mind-set, Marcus knew that. He had no idea where Rochin had gone, other than that he was likely hiding somewhere in the city. He might have already returned the weapon, but Marcus was hoping that his guilt and fear over not getting the Egg had him worried about returning to Francis. Maybe he was waiting for another shot.
Marcus was banking on that possibility.
Soon the lights of the city appeared before him, and he made his way across the meadow toward the outskirts. Even the butterflies had abandoned the tall grass now, and it looked ghostly and barren in the light of the moon. He walked among the ruins, lit only by the campfires of the survivors still living in the shattered remainders of their homes. His heart felt heavy at the reminder of the death and destruction.
He thought back to Dree’s words. His father had been the cause of all this. It made Marcus feel ill. Could a good person truly create this much evil?
He picked up a doll—half-burned and thick with ash. It crumbled away in his hand.
Marcus was so much like George. They had the same interests, the same skills. They even looked the same. If George was capable of fostering such destruction, was Marcus capable of doing the same thing?
As Marcus wandered into the city proper, he saw the taller buildings at the center, still untouched by war. They were gleaming and clean, looking down on the destruction around them. Marcus felt his anger rising, so he kept moving. He passed brick houses and quaint shops, all still standing, and saw people milling about, either up early or out late. A bustling tavern stood at the end of the street, and a mob of drunk men stood in front of it. Marcus hurried past them, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.
It didn’t work.
“Hey!” a voice rang out.
Marcus turned and saw an armed soldier step out from the crowd, wobbling and clearly drunk. He was wearing the gleaming black fire-resistant armor of the Protectorate, and he had his right hand on his spear.
He started for Marcus, recognition in his watery eyes. “Stop!”
Marcus ignored him and kept walking, but the man grabbed his arm and spun him around.
“The glasses,” he said softly. “I remember you from the palace. You’re a rebel!”
He went for his spear, and Marcus pushed him away, trying to wriggle free from his grasp. He got his arm loose and turned to run, but the soldier grabbed him again and wrestled him to the ground.
“Let me go!” Marcus shouted, writhing like a fish on a line.
“You’re going to the Prime Minister,” the soldier said, his breath rank with beer. “Alive or dead . . . it doesn’t matter to me, boy! Someone go grab another Protectorate patrol! Tell them I’ve caught a rebel!”
Marcus felt his heat rising as the man pinned his arms, trying to keep him down.
“I’m warning you . . . let me go!” Marcus said, his whole body shaking now.
The soldier laughed. “Or what?”
Marcus closed his eyes. He was still afraid of what he was capable of, but he couldn’t allow himself to be captured. Not now. The fire raced through him, as if a dam had come crashing down, and the soldier suddenly screamed. He let go of Marcus and backed away, trying to slap out the fire that had caught on his sleeves.
“What did you do?” he said, slurring his words. “Someone get help! Hurry!”
“I told you to leave me alone!” Marcus shouted, all of the anger and frustration of the last few weeks bubbling to the surface at once. This time, he felt power. Intoxicating, burning power.
Without thinking, he turned and stretched his right arm out. A sizzling fireball erupted from his hand, orange and yellow and about the size of a basketball. It whizzed past the ducking soldier’s head and hit the tavern full on, exploding like a comet. Fire spread over the building in waves, and the crowd of drinkers screamed and took off running. The patrons inside followed suit, streaming out of the tavern.
The soldier took another look at Marcus, his face white, and then he ran off.
Marcus watched them all go, their screams echoing behind them. The tavern was fully ablaze now, lighting up the night. Marcus looked down at his hands. What had he done? What was he becoming?
He remembered the story of Dareon. Were all Furies evil? Was he?
Was he even worse than his father?
All at once, the fire inside Marcus died down, but the tavern was still consumed by flames. Marcus was about to go try to help put out the fire when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He turned and found Abelard looking at him, his expression grim.
“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”
Chapter
18
Dree sat alone in the cavern, perched on the hybrid’s wing. Her stomach felt like it was alive, roiling and turning and refusing to let her get back to work. Lourdvang had left to keep the skies clear for her father, who had gone after Marcus alone. Abelard had told her to sit tight and cool off, and somehow she had actually agreed.
Now Marcus and her father were in danger. Guilt gnawed at Dree.
She remembered the look on Marcus’s face when she told him to go home and that he didn’t belong in Dracone. How could she have said that to him? Her stomach churned at the thought of it. She knew that she had struck deep—both with that comment and the one about his father. She knew how embarrassed he was about his father’s creation of the drones, and how Marcus felt like he was responsible too. It was a terrible thing to say to him. She knew as well as anyone how it felt to be ashamed of a father.
But even that had changed. Abelard was no longer a shadow on a chair. He had become what Dree had always hoped he would—the Rider, the hero, the leader. She had dreamed of him returning to his calling since she was a little girl. And now that he had . . . was she truly happy about it? It was great that he was leading the army. For all of Dree’s efforts, she didn’t want to be responsible for the Resistance too. They needed someone older, someone with more experience. Abelard was perfect for the job.
But as the Resistance leader, he was also putting himself in danger. She had just gotten him back, and now he was flying into battle. A selfish part of her wasn’t ready for that either.
Now that he had finally become the man she knew he could be, she realized she wanted her dad more than she wanted a hero after all. She didn’t want to lose him again.
And she didn’t want to lose Marcus either.
She wondered if some of her anger was just fear. Maybe it was why she had tried to leave Marcus back on Earth, after she had retrieved the Egg. She didn’t want to give him the choice, because she was afraid he would choose to leave. It had been that way her whole life—people choosing to leave her. Her mother had ignored her for years after the fire. Her father had drifted away soon after. Rochin had left the family for something he thought was better, and Wilhelm had sent her into the streets. Almost everyone she knew had chosen to leave her at some point. And more than once, she had wondered if she was the cause—if she drove people away, and if, one day, Lourdvang and Abi might leave her too.
“Dree?” a voice said.
She looked up and saw Nathaniel walk into the cavern, his sword dangling at his waist. His face was grim as always, and he didn’t look happy. She knew it was about the Egg. He had come for a fight.
“What?” she said.
He stopped in front of her, folding his arms. “You should have consulted us.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “And what would you have said?”
“That we need the Egg.”
She met his eyes. “That’s the problem. Everybody wanted the Egg to win, and I get it. Its power could have given us an edge. But the Egg was never really ours to
use. It belongs to the Flames. It belongs with them in Arncrag. And we don’t have the right to just take it for ourselves. Besides, the Egg’s power is beyond human comprehension, and that makes it is too dangerous for us to weaponize.”
“But we would have been careful! We only would have used it on Francis—”
“You want blood, Nathaniel. That’s all you want.”
“And you don’t?” he asked.
“I want justice. But I also want peace.”
“So do I,” he said defensively.
“Are you sure?”
Nathaniel scowled and turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets. For the first time, he actually looked his age. “I want to be a Rider, Dree. Like you. And yes, I want vengeance on Francis.”
“And you think that will help you what . . . be a better Rider? Become a man?”
He turned back to her. “It’s so easy to be noble when you have no one to avenge. When your whole family is still right here with you.”
Dree was taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“Your parents are alive. Your siblings. My father died when I was an infant. My mother raised me alone among dragons. She taught me how to be a Rider, how to be true and just and noble. And do you know what she got for that?”
Dree didn’t answer.
“Death,” he said coolly. “Her dragon was murdered, and so was she. She was betrayed. And so you will excuse me if I don’t have mercy for her killers. If I don’t think everyone in this world is worth saving. If the Riders are going to rise again, they must be severe as well as just. If my mother had been a little more suspicious, if the Riders had attacked first and destroyed Francis and George, they would be alive.”
Dree suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Nathaniel. She could hear the anger and hurt in his voice.
She slid off the hybrid, facing him. “And what would your mother tell you, if she was here?”
