by Katie Cross
Isadora made a mental note of the time. La Torra seemed to purr like a clock. She listened for more, but found nothing. Even that, by Maximillion’s standards, meant something.
With a tentative step, she slipped out of the lavanda and headed to the right.
Maximillion’s voice echoed through her mind as she navigated toward the dining room. If you want to help Lucey, you’ll find the answer in the details.
The other servants were her best chance of hearing something. From what she could tell, the staff congregated in the dining room throughout the day to talk or complain or make fun of the East Guards. Heated gossip flew around at breakfast—today had been no exception. One of Cecelia’s maids had been reportedly sneaking off with an East Guard—although no one could figure out who.
Fiona and Lorenzo sat at the table. Outside, the storm churned the ocean into a fury that sounded even louder here. Thrumming rain lashed the windowpanes. Lorenzo’s gaze darted to the window, the table, and back to the window again. He clutched a cup of wine in his white-knuckled hand while Fiona chattered, nonplussed. Outside, her small boat rocked on the waves, seeming no worse for wear in spite of the gale threatening to tip it over.
Isadora stood in the doorway. The clank of dishes and jovial singing drifted from the kitchen, as usual. The sharp tones of Ernesto’s voice were distinguishable over all the others—at least he wasn’t only irritable with her.
“Isadora?”
Fiona’s questioning voice broke through her thoughts. She stared at her in silent question—or was it astonishment? Isadora averted her gaze.
“I finished all the laundry. I came to see if I could be of assistance some other way.”
Lorenzo’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s very kind of you.”
“I enjoy work.”
Fiona said nothing, but took a sip of tea. “No. The lavanda maid remains where she is. Return.”
Disappointment curled in her stomach. It would have been a lovely opportunity to explore more of the castle. Not to mention battle her boredom of that room. The only witch with any real chance to explore the castle was Fiona. Even Lorenzo couldn’t go onto Cecelia’s floor. The maids that worked for her were rarely seen; Cecelia didn’t let them leave.
Lorenzo reached over and pulled a chair away from the table. “Sit and have some wine with us. We’re just discussing how we’ll celebrate this time when the Defenders go out on a raid.”
Isadora complied but left a seat between them. “Celebrate?”
“We always throw a little party when they leave.” Lorenzo grinned. “There is no one to stop us when Cecelia takes them out. It has been several weeks now since their last raid, so we are all ready for them to go for a bit.”
Chagrin flooded her when Fiona turned the conversation. Fiona and Lorenzo resumed their mild chatter—quick and low, forcing Isadora to strain to hear plans about brioche rolls, white wine, and cooked eel. She glanced at the wine they proffered with a sigh, then sniffed it. Less potent than she’d smelled on Pearl’s breath on occasion. Thus far, she’d only had water.
She pressed the wine to her lips and sipped. A dark, yeasty flavor flooded her mouth. Not entirely unpleasant, but—
Something slammed into her chest, sending her reeling back. Her chair tipped over, crashing onto the floor.
Isadora gasped.
Her powers whipped into a frenzy.
The feeling of someone grabbing her by her ankles and swinging her around overcame her. She pressed her lips together, attempting to control her response. The disorienting whirl deepened. Several moments passed while the magic ran rampant in her veins, careening through her, demanding escape. It wasn’t until she heard the utter silence that she realized Lorenzo and Fiona were hovering over her.
“Are you all right?” Lorenzo asked.
Burning with magic—and embarrassment—Isadora scrambled off the chair. “F-fine. Just … I’m fine.”
“Our wine is good,” Fiona said with dry amusement. “But not that good.”
Concern filled Lorenzo’s gaze. He slipped into the common language. “It seemed as if you were hit. Are you sure—”
“Fine. I’m fine. Just a … slight headache.”
“No sick days for the lavanda unless the apothecary says so,” Fiona said, then frowned. “But I think we have a headache powder if you need it.”
“The laundry is all done,” Lorenzo said to Fiona, allowing the words to trail away. Isadora opened her mouth to say she didn’t need the day off when the magic tugged on her. Darkness crowded the edges of her vision, threatening to take her into the paths right there. Her nostrils flared as she warred with it.
I will not return.
“Are you certain you’re all right?” Lorenzo sounded distant, as if through a long tunnel. “You seem—”
No! Isadora cried in her head, trying to imagine the powers under her control. The dining room faded again, transposed with leaves. A tree.
Darkness.
No!
She stomped her left heel into her right foot, then jumped with a yelp. The grip of the magic retreated. Tears smarted in her eyes. The wine must have lowered her defenses, and the magic had come stampeding out. She could barely control it.
“Goodness!” Fiona cried. “Are you mad?”
Isadora shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. The powers released their hold on her, white hot in her head and whipping around like the frenzied storm outside. She grabbed them, tucking them into her mental closet.
“What’s going on?” barked another voice. Ernesto peered out from the kitchen, saw Isadora, rolled his eyes, and retreated.
Peace, she commanded.
“I-I’m fine,” she said. “Just tired.”
“But your foot!” Lorenzo cried. “Why would you—”
“I … I thought I felt a mouse.”
A voice called from the hall outside, startling Isadora into silence. “Fiona!”
Lorenzo jumped. Fiona whirled around, eyes wide. Isadora’s blood turned cold. She knew that voice.
Cecelia.
Chapter Fifteen
The rustle of an expensive dress entered the dining room. Isadora gulped, eyes trained on the table. Her prickling fear caused the magic to flare again. Lorenzo and Fiona stared at the doorway, both seeming annoyed.
I am safe, she said to the magic. I don’t need you. I am safe.
Still, the magic bloomed, whizzing through her. She stamped it down. Like a witch dying of thirst, it reached out again. As if it would escape from her very bones and jump to Cecelia. A longing to be in the paths followed. How badly she wanted to enter the magic again!
“Fiona!” Cecelia called again. “Where has Giorgia gone?”
Fiona slipped to the doorway—she never rushed anywhere. “I’m not sure, milady. I haven’t seen her today.”
Isadora clenched her hands, knuckles white, and forced her mind elsewhere. Who was Giorgia? A maid, no doubt. What kind of maid would risk Cecelia’s wrath?
“She was missing this morning,” Cecelia continued. “Did you see her when you delivered breakfast?”
“I brought breakfast early and didn’t see any of the maids.”
“I don’t appreciate hunting for those that work for me. Call an East Guard. Have them search for her.”
“Right away.”
“Once she’s found, send her to my office. I shall be preparing for tonight’s raid. She couldn’t have gone far.”
Tonight’s raid.
Isadora kept her gaze fixated on Cecelia’s shoes, which shone in the muted candlelight. Low light from nearby torches made the diamond bracelet around her left wrist sparkle. She wore a dress made of linea, a rare and expensive material that responded to the environment, cooling the person who wore it or, alternately, warming them if needed. Layers of it flowed around her waist, hovering just above the floor in lacy perfection.
The burn of Cecelia’s penetrating gaze hit Isadora. “Who are you?”
Isadora lifted her
head. Cecelia’s eyes were stunningly cold—like flecks of ice. Not a hint of warmth. No smile lines. No cheeky sarcasm. Nothing but cold, hard determination. Fear doused the magic, withering it away inside her. The Ilese words nearly abandoned her.
“My name is Isadora.” She dropped her eyes again. “I am the new lavanda maid.”
“You’re not Eastern.”
“No.”
“I’ve seen you before.”
“In the halls, milady?”
“You address me as The Great One.”
Isadora suppressed the urge to apologize and simply nodded.
“No,” Cecelia continued. “I haven’t seen you yet in the halls. Somewhere else.”
A pregnant pause grew between them. Isadora’s heart raced, thudding in her chest. Would Cecelia have seen her that distant day in the Central Network when an entire mob of hungry witches had swarmed her carriage? No. Impossible.
Cecelia’s eyes narrowed.
“No matter. Just remember to be careful with my silks.”
Her feet tapped the stone floor as she walked away. Isadora waited until she was well out of the room to look up. Both Fiona and Lorenzo had relaxed. Several seconds passed before Fiona said, “You’d do well to heed her warning.”
With that, she left the room.
“An easy encounter with Cecelia,” Lorenzo said. “Consider yourself a lucky girl.”
Isadora remained alone in the dining room with the wind whipping outside for several minutes. Her mind spun, remembering the young Watcher. She frowned when the magic settled in a pulsing headache at the back of her scalp.
She turned toward the lavanda. Her racing blood slowed. Too close. Would Maximillion contact her? There was no way for him to know about the raid—or for her to tell him without magic. She sighed. He’d have to worry about that.
In the meantime, she’d take care of her powers.
Tonight.
Despite Luteis’s and Elis’s warm bodies filling the cave, cooler air swept through it from a hole somewhere in the back.
Jesse built up a fire, tending it with unusual attention. She suspected it wasn’t as much about the warmth as it was about doing something familiar. A few scratches marred his face and hands. He’d been quieter than usual since the attack that morning, when he and Elis had helped protect some of the Western Network witches. The entire camp felt somber. Last count, five witches, three hatchlings, and six adult dragons had been killed.
If more of this was in their future, the desert dragons would have to mount an unbelievable defense against the mountain dragons. A force they had no real hope of marshalling without the intelligence and communication that the desert dragons should have had. Yet another way goddesses had been failing their dragons for years.
Perhaps Deasylva wasn’t alone in that.
Colorful blue and lavender flames licked high into the air from Jesse’s fire. Jesse and Elis had scrounged the shore and the craggy rocks for driftwood, finding some hidden in a smaller cave. Sanna studied the flames, falling deep into thought. Desert dragons. Goddesses at war. Mountain dragons.
Was the world really so big?
She longed to return to Letum Wood, where things were still all-encompassing, but smaller. She felt a pang for Daid and wondered how Isadora could handle so many new things all the time. Didn’t she ever long for home?
Luteis leaned over, nudging her with his snout. You are deep in thought.
Yes, she responded internally to keep from bothering Jesse. If this was Selsay’s wrath, I’m worried about the rest of the Dragonmasters.
I as well.
Jesse glanced up in wordless question. Before they could utter another word, someone appeared at the door. Tashi stood there, expression pointedly blank.
“Yushi has come,” she said. “I will bear you to him.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sanna could never have imagined something so vast.
The ocean stretched across the entire horizon, seeming to fall at the edge into a wild unknown. The horizon blurred into a watery sunrise that washed the sky in rose and butter yellow. In the far south, the sky and ocean met under a dark, churning mass of clouds. A storm had gathered so far away Sanna couldn’t see anything but occasional flashes of lightning.
Waves licked the beach with foamy kisses, then retreated with a sigh. Sanna stood just shy of the water. Something about staying out of reach settled the rankled feeling in her chest. The vast expanse of the ocean didn’t feel trustworthy. Luteis shuffled somewhere behind her—away from the water, but not by much.
What do you think I’m supposed to do here? she asked him.
Although I cannot make out any plan on Tashi’s part, I would imagine we wait for Yushi, Luteis said.
Tashi kept an eye on the skyline and said nothing. Another witch stood next to her. Aki. The High Dragonmaster of the desert dragons, who had only briefly introduced himself by bowing his head, lifting a hand to his chin, and touching the tips of his fingers to it before pulling them away. He was a sprawling man with dark shoulders like mountains and arms as thick as boulders. He had glacial blue eyes, as if patterns of frost had been etched into windows. The sand dusted his stubbled cheeks, making his face appear gritty.
She could taste the sand between her teeth as she scanned the cliffs. Where was this Yushi?
A hissing sound came from the water.
Sanna whirled around to find a dragon rising out of the ocean in elegant lines, scales shimmering. Pieces of seaweed clung to a robust, lithe body as thick as a tree trunk. He had no wings, no legs, just a long tail with a transparent emerald webbing that ran all the way up his spine. Fangs stuck out from his upper lip, and he stared at her with black eyes. Thanks to his serpentine face, with a wider snout and thicker neck that grew into a stocky body, she could see hints of the other dragon races within him. A gleam of indifference lingered in his studious gaze.
“Your greatness.” Tashi bowed at the neck. “It’s my honor to present the High Dragonmaster of—”
Sanna stepped forward, cutting her off.
“I’m Sanna.”
He closed his eyes, then opened them again on her. “Greetings, daughter of the forest. I am the leader of the sea dragons. You may call me Yushi.”
He spoke from deep in his throat with a slithering, husky voice. The foamy sea rushed up around him. Sanna stepped back from the surging water. She had to tilt her head to meet his glittering, intelligent gaze. She’d expected something, but a sea dragon wasn’t it.
Certainly not one that spoke outside of her mind.
For a long moment, they stared at each other. Water dripped down his scales from the top of his neck and back to the ocean, getting lost in the waves.
“Your Greatness,” Aki said, positioning himself in front of her. “She is new to our ways and—”
“She has made no insult,” Yushi said. “Go.”
Aki’s mouth opened, then closed. He nodded once. “As you wish.”
Aki and Tashi bowed, then retreated. Only Luteis and Sanna remained. Once the others faded from sight, Yushi turned back to Sanna.
“You will not dismiss your dragon?”
“Never.”
“Admirable.” Yushi’s eyes narrowed. “You do not care for the traditions of your allies? They would never conduct business alongside their dragons.”
“I don’t know anything about the Western Network, and we have no agreement as allies.”
“Are all dragons not allies?” he asked.
There was too much levity in his tone for Sanna to think the question genuine. A thousand retorts slipped through her mind, but she gave none of them. Yushi hissed a little. Was it a laugh?
“You fake ignorance but see much,” he said. “I know your game, Sanna of Gregor.”
“There is no game.”
“There is always a game.”
“Such as leading witches to practically worship a dragon that isn’t even one of their own dragon race?”
Yushi’s lip
s curled in a coy smile. “You believe they worship me?”
“I believe they’re terrified of you.”
“It is not the same.”
She thought of Talis and Drago and silently disagreed. Luteis snarled under his breath and stepped closer until he towered over Sanna. Yushi straightened but barely met Luteis’s shoulder. However, his long body seemed to coil forever into the water. There was no telling just how big—or powerful—Yushi was.
I do not like this dragon, Luteis hissed.
Me either, she said. But maybe we can get some more information.
“How do you know I don’t belong to the Western Network witches?” Yushi asked. “Is it so strange that the Western dragons would ally themselves with a far more powerful race?”
“You aren’t the god of the Western dragons.”
“You who knew nothing of the gods and goddesses?”
Sanna’s nostrils flared. Aki or Tashi must have already spoken to him. “I’m no fool just because I don’t leave my forest.”
“So you say.”
His body slid over the wet sand with ease, closing the distance between them but not leaving the water entirely. Sanna held her ground by sheer willpower.
“You are correct,” Yushi continued. “My goddess Prana is not responsible for the vagabond dragons of the West. They have been abandoned and will not be adopted. Indeed, they cannot be. Such is the legacy of the lost gods. Prana welcomes you, however. Not only to the ocean, but to understanding.”
A wave crashed up from behind him, splashing in a spray of foam. Sanna stepped out of reach of the water again.
“What understanding are you talking about?” she asked.
“Of who you are. How could you understand your power as High Dragonmaster without meeting the other dragons and High Dragonmasters?”
He’s playing at something, Sanna said to Luteis. What is it?
Yushi’s gaze slipped to Luteis. A moment of silence followed before Luteis replied to her.
I cannot tell.
Yushi peered at her again. “You’re reticent. You hold your thoughts close, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Wise in certain circumstances, but I must encourage you to see the benefits of hearing out Prana. She is the oldest and most powerful of the goddesses.” His tongue flickered out. “And the one most suited to helping you with your little … problem.”
