Rise of the Dragon Moon

by Gabrielle K. Byrne

  The old woman’s laughter only grew louder as Toli sputtered at her, reaching up to twist the end of her braid. Rasca was almost out of the room when she paused to look back at them. “It’s a pity they killed him. Your father was something special, Princess—you’ll get no argument from me there, but no one fights a dragon and lives to tell of it.”

  Spar did, Toli wanted to say. Spar lived. She bit her tongue. Yes, argued a soft voice in her head, but what kind of a life does Spar have, really? The hunt master had never been the same. Her disfigurement was a constant source of pain. There were times, too, when her mood turned dark—slippery and black as the deepest ice. On those days, Spar was more likely to break a person in half than have a conversation.

  A tingle of cold foreboding lifted the hair along the back of Toli’s neck. It was her job to defend her sister and the rest of her people. She began to pace. She had no intention of starting a fight with dragons. She simply had to be able to finish one, if the chance came.

  The fact was, if she had to choose between defying their heritage—the stories of the Queendom—and protecting her family and her people, she knew what she would choose. If the dragons attacked again—Spar would say when they attacked—she wouldn’t hesitate. She had to be ready.

  She spun to stomp past the throne in the other direction. Everyone knew Petal didn’t have a fierce bone in her body, and thanks to Toli, they had both lost a parent. Protection was the least of what she owed her sister, and she owed her father justice.

  Toli shook off her doubts and turned to pace the other way again. Her mother understood the danger. She might be worried for Toli’s safety, but she couldn’t keep her from doing her part to protect them all. She couldn’t keep her from the chance to learn from Spar, at least.

  Petal slipped her smaller hand into Toli’s as she passed, forcing her to lurch to a stop. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that she’d forgotten her little sister was there too, watching as she took her anxieties out on the floorboards of the Great Hall. Around them, people came and went, preparing for the evening by bringing water and baskets of ice root through to the larder, or stacking peat bricks along the sidewall.

  Petal’s fingers wrapped tight around Toli’s. A year had passed since their father’s death. Petal had been only eight at the time, and Toli, just eleven—too young to affect the outcome. Or so they’d been told, but Toli knew better. Her father would still be alive if it weren’t for her.

  Petal’s face was pale as the ice, her eyes wide. “What did Rasca mean about you wanting to fight dragons?”

  “She’s just talking.” Toli smiled.

  Her sister narrowed her eyes, but let it go. “The dragons will be awake again soon.”

  Toli didn’t answer. When the dragons woke, just as they did every year, the queen and a chosen few would take a portion of their food—what her people called the tithe—from Gall and give it to the dragons as a tribute. The dragons would gorge on whatever they could find on the open ice, and for months everyone in Gall would take cover and pray to the Daughter Moon to keep them safe.

  Once the dragons flew south, everyone would breathe a little freer, at least for a few months, until they returned again to molt, preparing to hibernate all over again. What would it be like to travel as they did, skimming the world? Where did they go?

  Toli twisted her hands and pulled her attention back to her sister.

  “What if they do attack us again?” Petal’s voice dropped as her eyes met Toli’s.

  Toli gripped the smooth curve of her bow, her knuckles whitening. “The dragons will be hungry when they wake up … and irritable, as always, but the herds have recovered. The hunting is better this year, Petal. The dragons won’t be starving like last year. They’ll take the tithe, hunt the deep ice, and fly south. They won’t need to attack again. And if they do, I swear you’ll always have me to protect you.”

  They were hungry every year though, and everyone knew it. Why had they attacked? The truth was simple: It didn’t matter why. Maybe it was just because they could. Maybe it was because all that mattered to them was killing and eating. Spar told her that despite what the story of the Telling said, there was nothing in the dragons but predator.

  Her sister gave her half a smile, but Toli thought she saw fear flicker in her eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it had come.

  Petal grabbed her hand again, tugging her toward the kitchen. “You should eat something. Have you eaten? You have to take care of yourself, Toli.”

  Toli shook her off and frowned. “Never mind that. The queen should be here by now. Where is she?”

  As if she had just been waiting for her to ask, their mother strode past them like a rush of wind, climbing the dais and lowering herself onto the throne. She wore bison hide and leatherleaf with dragon scale of gold and green. Her hair, long and dark like Petal’s, was twisted into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Toli’s stomach dropped, and her gaze fell with it. She studied her feet, fighting the urge to launch into her defense.

  Toli twisted the end of her braid. Her mother’s face was like a storm, but one glance wasn’t enough to know if the queen was pale with anger—or just disappointment. Toli didn’t want to know. The first was bad. The second, worse. She swallowed and lifted her chin.

  Her mother’s eyes shone, but her emotions, unreadable as the ice, would only be revealed in a slow melt. Her words might quench deep thirst or frost bone, but there was no telling which until she spoke them.

  Toli was grateful that only a few people came to and went from the Hall at that hour. Nonetheless, Spar had taken one look at the queen’s face and ushered those few out—all but Rasca, who no one told what to do. At least they would have a few minutes of privacy.

  Wix appeared out of the storage room behind Rasca and assessed the situation between one step and the next. He caught Toli’s eye and ducked behind a stack of peat. Spar either didn’t notice or decided to let it go. Given her mother’s expression, it was probably the latter.

  Spar’s movements were fluid as she shifted around a pillar and marched toward the queen. “A word, my queen?”

  The queen frowned. “What is it, Sigrid? You know I’m here to speak with my daughter.”

  Spar shifted her weight, her eyes on the floor. “The dragons—”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re up to something.”

  Toli moved closer, away from Petal, unable to look away. Toli’s attention sharpened as she realized what was wrong. Her mentor seemed nervous.

  The queen let her breath out with a whoosh. “Not this again. What proof do you have?”

  Spar lifted her face to the queen, and her expression was so raw Toli took a step back and bumped into her sister. Petal had moved forward with Toli as if they were tethered together by some invisible cord.

  Spar stood taller. “I saw one flying this morning, from a distance.”

  “Is that all? An early riser?”

  Spar paused before she gave a stiff nod. “They’ve already taken so much—the blood of our hunters, the blood of your companion.” Spar held up her scorched palm, the skin tight and shining in the lamplight. “We cannot trust them, my queen. Not ever. This is the proof.”

  Toli couldn’t tear her eyes away. Helplessness rooted her to the floor as she watched her mentor plead. Petal’s expression was carefully blank.

  She had to do something. Her throat tightened as she forced herself to approach the throne. “Spar’s right,” she said. “The dragons can’t be trusted. We should prepare for them to attack again.”

  The skin around her mother’s eyes pinched, and Toli fought a stab of guilt. Her mother looked tired. “Listen,” the queen said. “Both of you. We’ve lived with the dragons for hundreds of years, perhaps even thousands. In all of that time—”

  “They’ve taken people off the ice before,” Spar growled.

  The queen tapped a finger on the arm of her throne. “Our law tells us to stay under cover, under the bluff or in
the trees when the dragons wake, and again when they return to molt. It’s true that on occasion, some have died—if they were foolish enough to venture out in defiance of law and good sense. It’s a terrible—”

  “We cower here like prey. Is it any wonder they treat us that way?”

  “In all those many years, hunt master, they’ve openly attacked the Queendom only once.”

  “That we know of,” Spar ground out.

  The queen’s mouth hardened. “Very well. Once, that we know of. We know why they did it.”

  Petal nodded. “They were starving. The herds were sick, and—”

  Toli’s hands began to shake. “We were starving too! And we still gave them the tithe. They killed Father! And look what they did to Spar! How can you just accept—”

  The queen’s voice could have frozen burning coals. “Enough, Anatolia.” She rose and moved to take Spar’s hand, ignoring the huntress’s wince as she examined her palm. “The burns still pain you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Always,” Spar hissed, her voice dropping. “And I hear her—the Dragon-Mother. I hear her, whispering in my head.”

  “What does she mean?” Petal whispered in Toli’s ear.

  Toli shook her head, leaning into the press of Petal’s shoulder against her own.

  The queen studied the huntress for long moments before she let go of Spar’s hand. “I’ll speak to the healer. Perhaps Petal can help gather the herbs she’ll need for a soothing balm.”

  Petal darted forward. “Yes! I can do that! I know exactly where—”

  But Spar had already spun away, storming out through the small door at the back of the Hall without another word.

  The queen pinned Toli with her bright-blue gaze and returned to sit on the throne. “Now. I have some things to say to you, Daughter.”

  Toli froze. Words flew through her head, but none of them connected to thought, and none were able to reach her mouth. She nodded.

  “There’s more to ruling a Queendom than hunting, Anatolia. It’s time for you to learn that.”

  Words stuck in Toli’s throat like snow flower burrs. Her father’s warm smile flashed in her mind, and the way his eyes would sparkle as the early morning ice crunched under his feet.

  She shifted her feet. “I’m not ready.”

  Her mother’s lip curled. “Nonetheless, you must learn. Being the heir is a responsibility.”

  Toli’s voice tightened. “Father told me I would make a great hunter one day.” She crossed her arms. “He really did say that. That I would be a great hunter and protect the Queendom—like him.”

  The queen scowled. “I don’t doubt he said it, Anatolia—he saw himself in you. Hunting is important, but there are many ways to protect Gall. As heir to this Queendom, you will learn to excel at all of these tasks. You must learn how supplies are stocked, tracked, and parceled out. You must learn about the tanners, and the carvers—about the weavers and the ice fishers.”

  Toli glared at her boots. How could she explain to her mother that wanting to walk her father’s path wasn’t just about glory and adventure on the ice? Didn’t she understand that it was about preparing for the worst—about somehow denying the dragons something? Protecting what they had left was as close as she could get to revenge. Her father deserved that much justice, at least.

  A lump rose in her throat. She would never see his kind brown eyes again. She tried to answer, her voice a whisper. “But Father said—”

  The queen sighed, her face softening. “Whatever your father might have said, Anatolia, you’re not a child anymore.” She waved Toli up the dais’s two shallow steps to stand close, her voice dropping as she reached out to grasp both her daughter’s hands with her calloused fingers. “Your father was proud of you and he loved you. He wanted great things for you.” She let go, tipping Toli’s chin so their eyes met. “But he would not disagree with me on this. As my eldest daughter, you must learn what it is to be Gall’s queen.”

  Toli’s thoughts spun as she tried to find words to change her mother’s mind. She knew there were none. She wanted to scream in her mother’s face, but instead, her cold fingers wiped the tears from her eyes.

  The queen peered into Toli’s face like she was looking for cracks. “You could come with me for the Tithing. You could do the Telling, even judge the carving when the dragons return to molt—there are many things you could do.”

  Toli hadn’t known that despair was so much heavier than anger. It was as though her body weighed three times more than it had a moment before. She shook her head. Of all the things her mother could have asked of her, the Tithing was the one thing she couldn’t do. She couldn’t celebrate the dragons, couldn’t offer them a portion of the Queendom’s food. That had been her father’s job that day, and they had killed him. She didn’t care what the stories said. The dragons didn’t deserve the tithe, and the Telling only glorified them.

  There was, of course, no way to tell her mother that, no way to explain that even the thought of offering a gift to the dragons made her stomach sour—not when it was the sacred duty of their family.

  Instead, she crossed her arms. “No. I wouldn’t be any good at it.”

  Behind her, Petal’s breath caught.

  Her mother’s gaze iced over. “Wouldn’t be any good—psh. You’re a Strongarm, and heir to the throne. You’ve heard the Telling since you were a babe in arms. You could tell the story in your sleep, and the Tithing—”

  The blood drained from Toli’s face. “I can’t give the tithe.”

  The corners of the queen’s mouth pinched into a frown. “This insistence you have—this determination to defy your path—it must stop, Anatolia. The ice cannot bend. It can only break.”

  “The ice never forgets! I can’t give the dragons the tithe. I won’t.”

  Her mother’s face grew hard. “You won’t. I see.” Her gaze traveled the back wall of the Great Hall. “Pendar!”

  Toli spun, falling back to step down from the dais. Her cheeks warmed. While they had been talking, the hunters had filed in, lining the wall at the back of the hall. Wix had come out from his hiding spot to join them. He gave her a nod, but his expression was grim.

  Pendar moved to her side, one hand tugging at his beard. “Queen Una.”

  The queen lowered herself in her throne, signaling to a fire-keeper that it was time to build up the hearth fires. “Father Moon is rising. The lights will begin and the dragons will wake. We must be ready. Is the tithe prepared?”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “A whole bison?”

  “Yes—a large bull. It has been placed in the butchering shed to thaw.”

  “Good. Since my daughter refuses to join us for the Tithing, you’ll assist me. Choose three more from your team to help. The last hunt is complete. Tonight we’ll complete the Telling, and when Father Moon crests the Mountain, perhaps the day after tomorrow we will take the tithe out on the ice. We will be more cautious this year. Once we reach the Tithing ground, I will blow the horn and return to the Queendom. You will remain there, at a safe distance, until they come to take it.”

  Pendar nodded. “Yes, Queen Una.”

  “And, Toli.”

  Toli lifted her eyes from the stonetree boards of the floor. “Yes, Mother,” she whispered.

  “Now that the last hunt is over, the time has come for you to rise and do your duty as my heir. You will recite the Telling this year! Do I make myself clear? Hunting may be part of what you do as heir to this Queendom, but it will not be the whole. The way you’re acting, I’m beginning to think—”

  Toli fought to keep her voice from breaking. She couldn’t just let this happen. “Once the dragons go south, Spar will start her trainings in the pavilion. You can’t keep me from that!”

  She swallowed the words as her mother slowly rose to stand, gripping the throne’s dragon-carved neck with one hand.

  “I can do as I see fit, Daughter, and I advise you to remember it.”

  Toli’s heart thu
nked low in her chest, sinking like a prisoner as she struggled to keep breathing.

  Petal moved forward a step. “Why now?”

  “You’re interrupting, Petal,” the queen snapped, but her face turned away from Toli.

  Petal reached out to give Toli’s arm a quick squeeze, then let go.

  The queen paced. “It’s time. That’s all. There are ways to serve Gall other than hunting. I’m tired of repeating myself, Anatolia.” Her face eased, and her voice fell. “You remind me of her. Have I told you that? You remind me of my sister, your aunt Rel.”

  Toli shifted her weight. Her mother rarely spoke of Aunt Rel, but every now and again, she could glean something about her mother’s younger sister besides the fact that she’d died before Toli was born.

  “You would have liked her. She wanted to be a hunter too.” Her mother’s gaze frosted over as she turned back to Toli. “She went out one day to scout the herd and never came back.”

  “I know, but I’m not—”

  “I wish I could give you what you want, but I wish a lot of things. I wish my sister had never left. I wish things were easier for all of us. I wish your father wasn’t dead.” She straightened. “But the past is like the ice. It will never bend.”

  “Father wouldn’t have made me do this,” Toli ground out. “He would have understood.”

  Pain flashed in her mother’s eyes, and Toli cringed. Fear crept through her veins like an animal trying to hide in any dark corner it could find. If her mother knew what she’d done—how she’d cost her father his life—what would she say? She would stop pretending Toli was fit to be heir, but she’d also never forgive her. Their relationship would crack, and the fissure would never seal. Toli forced down her guilt. Her mother’s love was too steep a price.

  The queen trailed her hand along the back of the throne, her expression thoughtful, as if she could stroke the scales of the Dragon-Mother. Her face was cold again. “Tonight at the evening gathering, you will give the Telling. I’ll complete the Tithing myself when the time comes. After that, you’ll stay by my side and learn from me. We’ll organize food collection in the forest. We’ll delegate the ice, water, and peat crews within the wall. You’ll help judge the carving and weigh in on any issues or claims of injustice among the people—”