Nora’s mouth was wide open, but she wasn’t breathing. How could she breathe, watching that huge, moving shadow and hearing the rattle of its chains?
“Cage!” the guard screamed.
The sound somehow jolted life back into Nora’s lungs, and she gasped as the guard cried out again.
“Cage, get out here!” The woman kept screaming until the warehouse’s small door opened with a creak.
Someone emerged, holding a lantern. He stood in front of the beast, his light reflecting off shiny scales and horrifyingly large, faceted eyes.
“He’s the dragon speaker,” Krey said in a bare whisper.
Seconds passed, then a minute, or two, or maybe ten.
With a jangle of chains, the dragon returned to its prison, swallowed up by the darkness of the bay. The man turned to the guard. “Come on.”
“You sure, Cage?” she asked in a tremulous voice.
“We have an agreement with him.” Cage’s voice was clear in the still, winter air. “He’s not gonna hurt you; he just likes messing with you. I keep telling you; ignore him, and he’ll ignore you.”
“That’s what my mom always said about the rats in our house, and then I’d wake up to them gnawing on my toes.”
Cage laughed, but the guard didn’t join in as she followed him inside.
“What next?” Ovrun asked.
Krey responded, but Nora couldn’t tell what he said, because another sound distracted her.
Well, not a sound, not exactly. It was a voice, smooth and treacherous as flowing lava, born of the earth and fire. A voice that, in its depth and otherworldliness, reminded Nora of something, though she couldn’t pinpoint what. A voice carried not on the air but on waves of thought, penetrating her mind.
Who are you?
Every muscle in Nora’s body stiffened, including her tongue.
ANSWER ME.
The voice held the same authoritarian tone Nora’s father sometimes spoke with, but it was exponentially more demanding.
“Nora?” Ovrun’s whisper intruded into Nora’s reverie.
“Shh.”
“But—” Krey began.
“Shh!” she insisted. Krey and Ovrun both sighed, but they stopped talking.
I saw you in the street, human, the voice said. Who are you?
The second she’d heard the sound (was it even considered hearing when it didn’t involve the ears?), Nora had known it was the dragon. Who else could speak directly to her mind? And something about the voice seemed almost familiar, though she’d certainly never heard it before.
She focused her mind on the dark beast and did her best to send a thought in his direction. My name is Nora.
That is not what I asked.
The reply caused Nora to jump. She’d forgotten she was holding Krey’s hand until he squeezed hers tighter.
“What’s wrong?” Krey asked, but she ignored him.
I asked who you are.
I’m the princess of Cellerin.
NOT WHAT I ASKED.
Nora took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of her mind. She sent him one more response. I’m a friend.
Whose friend? the smooth, terrifying voice asked.
The two young men I’m with. One of them wants to save the girl he loves. We think she’s in that building. She’s a slave.
Silence fell for several seconds, and then the dragon’s voice returned, lower still. Many slaves dwell here.
Can you help us free her? Nora asked.
He didn’t respond.
Please answer me!
The silence lingered, broken finally by Ovrun whispering, “Nora?”
“Wait!” Again, she reached out to the dragon. Who are you?
After a pause, his voice reached her. I, too, am a slave. Return tomorrow, Nora-human. We will speak again.
Wait—it was hard to get here. Can we talk more tonight? Please?
The dragon was silent. This time, it didn’t matter what Nora said. The conversation was over.
Realization flooded her, from her fingertips to her earlobes. Her skin thrilled with it.
She was a dragon speaker.
It was a gift she’d dreamed of having. She supposed most Anyarian children had that fantasy. A massive surge of gratitude brought tears to her eyes, and she covered her mouth with her free hand to keep her cries from escaping. But there was no hiding her emotion; her breaths were out of control, and her body shook with the rhythm of her quiet sobs.
“Nora!” Krey’s voice, quietly urgent, broke through. “What is it?”
She couldn’t tame her breaths, couldn’t talk.
“Back to the fence!” Ovrun whispered.
They all scampered back.
Nora’s crying gradually subsided. At last, she was ready to speak, though her whispered words didn’t feel real.
“I just had a conversation with a dragon.”
26
One in ten thousand people survived The Day.
Who was left? Thousands upon thousands of childless parents and orphaned children. Perhaps there was an exception somewhere, one child who survived alongside their parent. Statistically, it’s unlikely.
Adults took children in, stitching together new families with threads of grief, trauma, and desperation. Even now, I can tell whether someone was born before or after The Day. Orphans of the apocalypse grew up too quickly. The evidence remains in their eyes.
-The First Generation: A Memoir by Liri Abrios
Krey sat up, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and stared into the darkness of the warehouse. He needed rest, especially after all that flying, but his mind wouldn’t allow him to sleep.
Nora could speak to dragons.
The first time he’d seen the huge, gray-and-gold creature, Krey was scared to death. Getting shot at by trogs afterward hadn’t helped his mindset. It wasn’t until later, after he’d rested, that he’d allowed himself to think about the complications the dragon presented.
How was he supposed to save Zeisha if her captors could sic a dragon on him? Like taking down a bunch of militia leaders wasn’t enough . . . now they had to deal with a fire-breathing creature the size of a small house?
Going to the warehouse last night had been a long shot; he hadn’t thought they’d learn much. He certainly hadn’t expected Nora to strike up a casual conversation with the dragon.
This changes everything. If they could get that creature on their side, they might actually have a chance to save Zeisha.
Warm hope took root in Krey’s chest. For the first time in weeks, he let himself imagine what it would be like to reunite with Zeisha. He could almost feel her soft curls in his fingers, her full lips on his, her—
He brought the reverie to a halt and dropped the blanket from his shoulders, letting the cold air calm his passions. There are two other people in this room with you, Krey. Not the ideal time to get all worked up. He tried to shift his thoughts back to the dragon, but Zeisha’s eyes and curves anchored themselves in his imagination, like she was begging him from afar to think about her.
Krey wasn’t sure whether to be resentful or grateful when Ovrun interrupted his reverie. “You awake too?”
“Yeah,” Krey murmured. “Can’t sleep, thinking about the dragon.” Among other things.
“Crazy, right?” Ovrun yawned. “You nervous about taking Nora back there?”
“A little.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking. Some of the other royal guards would join up with us if I asked. You’d be surprised how many—”
“No.”
“Krey, they’re guards. They’re not part of the monarchy.”
“Yes, they are. They work for the king.”
“I worked for the king. You trust me.”
“Only because you’ve shown me that you’re willing to stand against him. If you hadn’t done that, we might be friends, but there’s no way I’d trust you.”
“Is that why you trust Nora? Because she broke the rules?”
/> Krey released a short laugh, then reminded himself to keep his voice low. “Who said I trust her?”
After a long pause, Ovrun said, “I don’t love the monarchy either, but it’s different with you. It’s like you really hate them.”
Krey gritted his teeth and swallowed. “You could say that.”
“Why?”
Breathe. In, out, repeat. Every time Krey thought about this, his system went straight into rage mode. He wanted to throttle Ovrun or risk his life doing crazy stunts in the air. Breathe.
“Come on, man,” Ovrun said. “You can’t keep holding this stuff in.”
Maybe Ovrun was right. It was exhausting, hanging onto the awful truth. These days, Ovrun was the closest friend he had—who better to share with?
“Okay.” Krey let out his breath. “This goes no further than the two of us, right?”
At the same time that Ovrun said, “Of course,” Nora’s voice filled the room.
“Wait!”
Krey jumped. “You’re awake?”
“Well, I was trying to sleep, but with you two chatting it up like it’s the middle of the day—and then I didn’t mean to listen, not exactly, but I heard you, and . . . I didn’t want you to say anything you didn’t want me to hear. I mean, I did want you to, but . . . I’d feel bad if I kept listening.”
“I get what you mean, man,” Ovrun said. “She’s totally untrustworthy.”
Krey didn’t laugh. “Nora, I trust you as a friend. Just not as a royal.”
“Why?”
Her voice held a vulnerability Krey wasn’t prepared for. Was she in tears?
“If you’re gonna hate part of me, at least you could tell me why,” she said.
Yeah, definitely tears. Oh, by the orange sky above, he couldn’t handle this. Couldn’t he just hang onto his reasons and continue the nice little friendship he and Nora were building? She was more than her royal title; he knew that. In fact, he’d been doing a pretty good job forgetting she was a princess. Most of the time, anyway.
“You know, I can’t help that I’m a princess,” she murmured.
Krey flinched.
Her voice sounded stronger now. “Whatever it is you’ve got against me or my family, I’m sick of you carrying it around like some portable wall between us. Doesn’t it get heavy, Krey?”
The question hit him deep inside. Yeah. It does get heavy. “Okay,” he blurted.
“Okay?” Nora and Ovrun asked in unison.
“I’ll tell you,” Krey said. “I’ll tell you both.”
“Let me light the lantern,” Ovrun said.
As Ovrun groped around for matches, Krey tried to calm the ferocious ire blazing in his chest. When he heard the match strike and soft light illuminated their space, he turned to Nora. He wanted to direct his words straight to her, but there was too much compassion shining in her eyes. He blinked and focused on the cold coals in their firepit.
“It’s not a long story,” he faltered. “I don’t know why I’ve never told you.” Fantastic, start with a lie. You had plenty of reasons for keeping this secret. He drew in a deep breath and started fresh.
“Fourteen years ago, there was a bad bout of orange plague.” He glanced up just long enough to see Ovrun and Nora nodding. They’d all been young, but nobody forgot orange plague epidemics. The disease got its name from the crusty sores that afflicted plague sufferers for months. Half of all untreated cases progressed to internal bleeding. Half of those people died.
“Well,” he continued, “The plague hit Tirra early. We think a trader spread it around a pub. Twenty people got sick in the first week. My mom came down with it a month later. As soon as she saw the first sore, she sent me to my aunts’ house. But my dad stayed to care for her. He got sick too.”
Krey’s tongue felt like dry, rough rope. He swallowed and pushed forward. “My mom started coughing blood about six weeks after she got sick. Dad got bad a couple of weeks later. He died first, and she was gone the next day. I think she was holding on for him.”
He stopped. Not because he wanted to, but because his throat was too tight to push more words through. He blinked rapidly and took a few big gulps from his water bottle.
“The antibiotic . . . it didn’t work?” Nora asked. “For either of them?”
Krey forced himself to meet her confused, sympathetic gaze. It was a fair question. The medication used to treat orange plague was a simple one, manufactured using an Anyarian fungus that grew near Cellerin City. Nora had every reason to believe Krey’s parents would’ve been given the medicine they needed.
His parents had every reason to expect that too.
When Krey could speak again, he did so in a low voice. “We didn’t get any antibiotic in Tirra. Not for almost a year.”
“What? Why? I remember my mother giving it to me every night to prevent me from getting sick.”
“Me too,” Ovrun said.
Their words stoked Krey’s rage. “Because the king hoarded the medicine!” he shouted. “Because your father”—he leaned forward and pointed at Nora, barely noticing when she drew back—“was so concerned about the plague spreading through his precious capital that he refused to send out any antibiotic until everyone in Cellerin City had been dosed, whether they were sick or not!”
Nora released a high, disbelieving sound, then stammered, “Oh no—he wouldn’t—oh no!”
Krey leapt to his feet. “Oh yes, Your Highness, he most certainly would. He sent couriers all over the country. Told us as soon as he had medicine, he’d send it. But my Aunt Evie has friends with money and power, and they told her the truth. Cellerin City is five times the size of any other city in our kingdom. The king said a plague there would devastate our society. Who cares if he was destroying families in towns like ours, as long as everyone near the throne was safe!”
He realized his glass water bottle was still in his hand, the liquid inside sloshing with as much violence as his emotions. He drew it back and threw it hard across the room. It smashed into the floor, shattering.
It wasn’t enough. A strong compulsion flooded over him, to run to the wall and punch it with all his might. He settled for a roaring scream, the type that stung his throat and would make him hoarse.
Even that didn’t tame his fury. So Krey ran out of the building. Rocks, sticks, and ancient shards of polymus poked through his socks, and he relished the pain. It matched what had taken over his heart.
The eastern sky was slowly brightening, giving Krey just enough light to navigate by. After he’d been running through the deserted city for ten minutes, his anger morphed into tears. Uncontrolled, heaving sobs forced him to halt. He fell to his knees in the middle of the dusty street. The cold ground pressed against his knees, and he covered his face with his hands and let the tears fall.
Why did he tell that story? Stupid. Pointless. Humiliating. He couldn’t go back and face them, his friends who’d asked a simple question and gotten little-boy screams in return.
His sobbing slowed after an eternity. A caynin’s cry rang through the air. It sounded close. Still Krey sat, not caring that he had no way to protect himself. Let it attack me. The fury of grief is a powerful thing.
He didn’t feel very powerful, though, not with bruises and small cuts on his feet. Not with eyes swollen to twice their size and a throat sore from screaming.
Footsteps approached, and Krey leapt to his feet and spun to face his attacker. It was Ovrun, his bow strapped to his back, his hands held high in a calming gesture.
“Just me,” Ovrun said. “We were concerned about you.”
Krey folded his arms. He almost said, I’m leaving. I’ll find Zeisha myself. He was rational enough, however, to remember that only Nora could talk to the dragon. Did he want to spend more time with two people who knew how weak he really was? No way. But he’d do it for Zeisha.
Ovrun reached him and put an arm on his shoulder. He spoke just five words—“No wonder you’re pissed, man.”
That was enough to bring
Krey’s tears back.
After Nora cleaned up the broken glass, she walked slowly around the warehouse. She didn’t want to be crying when Ovrun and Krey returned, but she couldn’t stop.
It was her father’s fault that Krey’s parents had died. Had her dad thought his decision was best for the nation? Of course he had.
That didn’t change the fact that families were torn apart when thousands of people took medicine they didn’t need. When she took medicine she didn’t need.
If she were Krey, she’d hate the monarchy too. A little part of her hated it now.
And she’d be the one making these life-changing decisions when she became queen?
“Why?” she sobbed. “Why does everyone else get a choice about what they do with their lives, and I have to rule a country, whether I want to or not?” Nora had always known that being a royal was more than parades, a pretty headdress, and fancy clothes, but Krey’s story had driven home the reality of it like never before.
She forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. She couldn’t fix Krey’s painful past. But she could be there for him now. If he’d let her.
By the time she heard two sets of footsteps, she’d stopped crying. She knew what she needed to say. Then Krey appeared in the doorway with dirty socks and pants and his eyes pinned to the ground, and her tears returned. She’d just have to talk through them.
Nora took the lantern and approached Krey. Ovrun saw her, gave her a smile and a nod, and walked past them both.
As soon as Nora got close, Krey started talking. “I shouldn’t have told you all that. I know it’s not—”
“Wait, Krey, please.” She wanted to reach out and hold his hand or touch his face, but she wasn’t sure how he’d take that. Instead, she put the lantern down and stood in front of him, giving him plenty of space.
“What my father did to your family was wrong. I know there’s nothing I can do to make it right, but I do want to tell you something.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her sobs begged to return, but she refused to let them. “Krey, your king failed you. As his daughter, I’m sorry. I know an apology doesn’t fix anything. But it’s real, and it’s deep. I’m crying for you, because you lost people you never should’ve lost. I don’t expect you to ever talk to me again. I won’t even be mad if you don’t. But I want you to know that I’ll still help you save Zeisha. And when I’m queen, I’ll do anything in my power, anything at all, to make sure what happened to you never happens again. That’s my pledge, Krey West.”
The Frost Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 1) Page 22
