Tarragon glanced toward the commotion, the ‘bird’, then sighed. “No use running from a dragon.”

  “No,” Evanne agreed. “I want to talk to this one.”

  “You don’t…” The once-fairy gripped Requiem’s hilt. “That’s not how dragons work.”

  “Maybe this one doesn’t know that.” Evanne squared her shoulders, then snapped her fingers. “Hitch?”

  The spectre appeared. “There’s a dragon. You should run. I’m already dead, but you’re not.”

  “I’ve been dead before,” Evanne breezed. “Can you find the Holomancer? I need him to get me a thing.” She described the tool from Tarragon’s workbench.

  “That’s not going to kill a dragon.”

  “I don’t want to kill the dragon. I want to talk to it.” She shooed him. “Be about it.” He sank through the decking. Tarragon drew her sword, so Evanne put a hand on her arm. “No, love.”

  “But—”

  “The sword isn’t going to help. Trust me.” The dragon coasted closer, then banked, doing a slow, lazy fly-by of Dancing in the Storm. It was massive, so large it seemed impossible for it to fly. Last time Evanne saw it, nature’s fury clouded the night. She hadn’t appreciated the scale of the thing. The beast roared, lightning arcing to discharge against the ship’s hull. Dancing in the Storm trembled, but perhaps in ecstasy. Evanne knew it loved the storm’s kiss.

  Tarragon eyed her sword. “It would make me feel better to hold it.” Then she slipped it into its sheath. “Don’t cock this up.”

  “Got it.” Evanne spoke with a confidence dredged out of pure Trickery. Her guts were water, her legs weak, her courage lost on the wind, but damned if she was going to show that to Tarragon.

  A trapdoor in the deck banged wide, and the Holomancer climbed through it. He carried a wrapped bundle. He paused as he saw the dragon, then hurried over. He didn’t act his apparent age, moving like a much younger man. “You could have asked for a scattergun, but you wanted this?”

  She took the bundle. “Trust me.”

  He laughed. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

  The dragon straightened up, then cruised in to land. When it hit the deck, the SLAM went right through Evanne’s soles and into her spine. She forced a lopsided smile and sauntered to the dragon. “Hello, beastie.”

  The dragon pulled its head back on that long, sinuous neck and eyed her. //YOU DON’T SEEM TO BE WORRIED ABOUT THE DRAGON ON YOUR DECK.//

  Evanne buffed her nails, then examined them. “That’s because I’m an all-powerful sorcerer.”

  The dragon chuffed a laugh. //OR YOU’RE CLINICALLY INSANE.//

  “My companions and I⁠—”

  //WHAT COMPANIONS?// The dragon’s breath was dry, the smell of ozone hanging on the air.

  Evanne glanced about. Tarragon stood in her shadow, but the Holomancer had taken a generous forty steps back or so, holding with Uncle Heser and the Raven. He gave an encouraging nod. “We’re right behind you, kid.”

  “They know I don’t need help.” She fished out a Trick, one she’d learned from a braggart before he got knocked unconscious. It wasn’t him going down she wanted, but how he stood in the face of five others without a care in the world. “I’m Evanne the Half-Made. Dead, but risen. I hold counsel with the lost and command an army of invisible tigers.”

  //I SEE ONE INVISIBLE TIGER.// The dragon pointed with his nose to the port railing. //SHE’S RIGHT THERE.//

  “Shit.” Pakhet’s voice drifted on the wind. “The literature wasn’t clear on how well they see.”

  The dragon lowered his head closer to the deck. //LITERATURE?//

  “There’s a library you won’t fit inside. Don’t worry about it. It’s just a collection of ignorable facts. They used them to make Manifests.”

  //I SHOULD HAVE A MANIFEST.// The dragon shorted, and Evanne tasted more ozone. //I AM MAGNIFICENT ENOUGH TO DESERVE ONE.//

  Tarragon leaned close to Evanne. “Love? What are we doing here?”

  “Right.” Evanne straightened. “Dragon, how do you feel about a job?”

  The dragon offered a toothy smile. //HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT LUNCH?//

  “About that.” Evanne shook her head. “There’ll be no eating of people, or⁠—”

  The dragon snatched her from the deck with a massive, clawed hand. It raised her to eye height, or perhaps mouth height, considering the conversation. Evanne was no expert at dragon expressions but this one looked pissed. //WHO ARE YOU TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO, INSECT?//

  Evanne wriggled her hands while trying not to piss herself. “I thought we covered that. I’m an all-powerful sorcerer.”

  “Evanne!” Tarragon drew her blade and charged the dragon.

  The dragon flicked its other giant, clawed hand and Tarragon pinged across the deck. She landed on her back, and Requiem tumbled through the air, then embedded itself point-first in the decking. Lightning crackled from where it hit.

  “I wish you hadn’t done that,” Evanne said.

  //AND YET YOU ARE POWERLESS. I COULD SIMPLY OPEN WIDE AND⁠—//

  “Nah,” Evanne finally wriggled her hand enough to get it into the cloth wrapped bundle and touched the thingamabob.

  Her world turned to light and fire. Energy coursed through her fingers. She arched in the dragon’s grip, feeling rivulets of power run through her flesh, bones, Three’s mercy even her teeth. Evanne made no noise, her body locked rigid.

  The dragon also made no noise, because the energy passed through Evanne and into the dragon. Blue scales glimmered, and its maw filled with the crackle of power. The dragon’s eyes blazed, and it overbalanced, slamming into the deck.

  Evanne’s heart stopped, then started. She gasped, dragging herself free of the dragon’s slackened grip. She stagger-stood, spat bile, coughed, then sneezed, stalked to the dragon’s head laying on the deck, and said, “Learn some fucken respect.”

  The dragon groaned, a low, sad grumble.

  Tarragon hobbled to her side. She held her left arm to her chest like a bird with a wounded wing. “Is it dead?”

  “I hope not.” Evanne nudged the dragon’s nose with her boot. “Dragon! Attend.”

  //IS THIS WHAT HANGOVERS FEEL LIKE?//

  “Stop moping,” Evanne said. “Only people get over hangovers.”

  //THEY PROBABLY DESERVE THEM.//

  Evanne crouched beside the massive muzzle. “Are you ready to have a civilised conversation?”

  //IF IT MEANS YOU TALK AT ME WHILE I LIE HERE IN PAIN, MY BODY IS READY.//

  Evanne dusted herself off, stood, and smiled. “Dragon, we face a great evil. We could use your help. I figure you owe us, what with us bringing you to life after Dancing in the Storm fell all those years before.”

  //I … DREAMED. OF A CITY MADE OF LIGHT THAT SOARED LIKE I DO.//

  “That’s the ship you’re on.” Evanne put a cautious hand on the dragon’s muzzle, giving him a pat. “You were made as a, uh, promise. Dragons were beacons of hope for all. I would have that hope restored.”

  //YOU SOUND LIKE SOMEONE I MET YESTERDAY.// The dragon opened a lazy eye. //SHE HAD EYES A SIMILAR COLOUR TO YOURS, BUT LIGHTER.//

  Evanne felt her heart, already on notice, skip a beat. “Say what?”

  //SHE WORE NO ARMOUR, BUT SHE WALKED LIKE SHE WAS ENCASED IN STEEL. HER ARM WAS METAL ENOUGH FOR THE SHIELD SHE LACKED. THERE WAS A CAT. AND SOLDIERS, WHO WERE USELESS.//

  Evanne leaned in. “Was her hair platinum? About so high?” She stabbed her hand at Mama’s head height. “What was her name?”

  //VERTILINE.//

  Evanne fell to her knees. “You must tell me where she is.”

  //THIS WOMAN IS IMPORTANT TO YOU?// The dragon wheezed, tried to rise, then flopped back. //SHE IS IMPORTANT TO ME, TOO. SHE GAVE ME MY NAME.//

  Evanne felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Meri. He had none of the fop about him, eyes stone, shoulders broad. “I see you, Myryntir the Protector. You have been given a name and a calling. You must answer.”

  //HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?// The dragon gazed at Meri. //I’M NOT WEARING A SIGN.//

  “It is written on the heavens. All dragon names are.” Meri sighed. “Come, dragon. We have much to discuss. Armies, portents, and the evil we can stop together. But mostly, where you last saw Tilly.” He glanced at Evanne. “We won’t make you. We’re civilised people who⁠—”

  “Hold on.” Evanne brandished the thingamabob. “He’s going to tell me where Mama is.”

  Meri took it from her, so fast she didn’t have time to blink, then tossed it over the side. Evanne gaped. He ignored her, facing the dragon. “All we can ever do is what feels right. Does it feel right to persecute the weak? Or does it feel better defending them?”

  Myryntir breathed in and out, a giant bellows. The dragon rose, got his feet under him, and shook like a dog. //ARE YOU SAYING I NEED THERAPY?//

  “I’m saying it’s your great honour and privilege to speak for those who can’t. To stand between them and harm. To⁠—”

  //PLEASE STOP.// The dragon gazed at Evanne. //YOU’RE NO SORCERER. BUT YOU’RE A PROTECTOR TOO, AREN’T YOU? PUTTING YOUR FEEBLE BODY BETWEEN ME AND YOURS.// He chuffed. //I WILL FLY WITH YOU. FOR A LITTLE WHILE, ANYWAY.// It stamped toward the Raven and Heser, who didn’t look happy about it.

  Evanne swallowed the lump in her throat. I’m afraid to speak. I’m afraid this is a Trick. “Dragon. Where is my mother?”

  //INTRODUCE ME TO YOUR FRIENDS. ONCE WE’RE SURE NONE OF THEM WILL ELECTROCUTE ME, I’LL SHOW YOU.//

  Chapter Eight

  Sight of Day waited for Sands Apart by an old stone mound that served as a marker for human folly. He thought it had once been a lookout tower, or perhaps a bastion for one of their mighty weapons, roaring hellfire at the sky. He turned his golden gaze on the surrounding area, imagining what it was like eight hundred years ago. Grassland, perhaps, studded with people going about their very important business, protected by this weapon and the hands that used it.

  The forest took no time at all to reclaim land, once humans stopped interfering. Now it was gently wooded, with birdsong bouncing between the boughs. The air smelled sweet, a hint of pollen carried on the gentle breeze, and sunlight dappled appealing patterns against the rock.

  He pressed a hand against the stone. There was very little left. It was slough-shouldered, smooth, as if something had turned a great heat upon it. About fifteen hundred degrees were needed to turn iron into the runny clay he’d made his sword from, but many minerals needed higher heats. The ancients were not known to dick about, and he suspected this wasn’t ‘stone’ in the regular sense. His mind wandered to what would turn the foundations of the ancients’ world to slurry. Was it the hot fangs of an Artifice?

  No. This was dragonfire.

  He glanced to the sky, then sighed. Nothing larger than a blackbird soared nearby.

  I miss Ormeon.

  No, that wasn’t quite it, but he couldn’t put his finger on the right answer. Sure, he missed the dragon. She was a wonder, and a good friend. Together, their little band had saved the world, but at a terrible, terrible price. One so great, none should have to pay it. Sight of Day imagined no birdsong rang in the skies of the demon realms. He mulled while waiting for Sands Apart. She hadn’t said she’d meet him here, but he had a feeling. The humans made their slow, ponderous way north, and it gave the two Feybrind plenty of time to reflect on the choices that brought them here.

  Love. Family. Duty. Forgiveness. Belonging. All were suitable words, but one kept nagging him.

  Guilt.

  A twig snapped and he was grateful for the courtesy. He stood, brushed imaginary dirt from his impeccably clean pants, and turned. Sands Apart stood near a tree, her lovely ochre gaze meeting his. {Why are you here?}

  {Waiting for you.} Sight of Day offered a half-smile, the best his kind could manage.

  {How did you know I would try escaping again?}

  He ignored the question, because she wasn’t escaping any more than he was her gaoler. It made her feel better to think she was an unwilling captive. {Wasn’t the dragon wonderful?}

  She seemed taken aback. {He was terrifying.}

  {Yes.} He turned back to the forest, then patted the hunched rock at his side. A few heartbeats later she joined him, holding a respectful distance. {Being terrified can be wonderful.}

  {Spoken like one with the gifts of the golden-eyed.} She touched below her ochre eyes, the self-mockery evident in the harshness of her hand movement. {Always better, always able.}

  He felt surprise. Sight of Day turned the feeling over, looking for the underbelly of the argument. {I see your intent. You think I’m better, and thus know no fear. That I can face a dragon, dare the odds, and escape while others perish.}

  Sands Apart seemed taken aback. {I wouldn’t have put it that way.}

  {Little sister, you are too used to speaking with humans in their slow ways, fitting between their lumbering movements, and slotting the skein of your mind to how they think.} He tapped his skull, two fingers, gently, careful to offer no mockery. {If you think I am better than you, you must also think yourself better than them.}

  She looked sideways at him. {We are the People.}

  {We are a People, but so are they.} He gave a gentle shrug. {Now imagine you’re a slow-witted feeble human, and an ochre-eyed wonder walks among you.}

  {Ochre is the lesser.} She looked away for a moment, before turning her attention back to his hands.

  {That’s not true, but even if it were, they wouldn’t know that. You are a wonder, a marvel they cannot ken. They are children gazing up and you toss your disdain in their faces.} He sighed. {It is no wonder they drive a hard bargain at the markets.}

  Sands Apart’s eyes widened then crinkled at the joke. {Why are you so patient with them?}

  {Because they share our world, just as the birds do, or the worms under our feet. All hold a place in the tapestry of creation. None of us are better or worse. We have a part to play. Did you know the world was saved by one of their kind? She had hair like fire, a lustre to it I’ve not seen matched by any of the People’s coats. She was as slow as the rest of them but her heart was pure. She moved like a perfect-footed bison but had the strength of conviction. The Daughter of the Three threw her life into the pyre burning between two worlds to save us all. Golden-eyed or ochre, she didn’t care. I think you would have liked her.}

  Sands Apart looked away for a time, and they sat listening to birdsong. {I thought there was a dragon.}

  {I think you would have liked her, too.} He rubbed his face. {I learned a lot from the Daughter of the Three. She was there when I killed my son and mourned with me as if the loss was hers. She bled for the People, fought beside us, but also the ones we thought monsters. The Vhemin she met as equals, their ruddy, rude nature met as challenge for greatness, rather than spite. Not one person did she try to make like her.} He wished the People could cry. He could use it about now. {She was very young, by their standards or ours, yet I thought her my teacher.}

  {It is peaceful here.}

  He nodded. {It is peaceful everywhere, if only we give it a chance.}

  {Why were you waiting for me?}

  He sighed again. {Because you need someone to wait for you.}

  {I don’t need your pity.} Her hands tossed the words at him as if they were wasps.

  {Perhaps I need yours.} Sight of Day touched his chest, just above his heart. {I came out here for you, but also for myself. I miss my friend the dragon. I miss my friend the human. I miss the other human, too, although he was annoying sometimes. There is another dragon in the skies now, and we feel fear. And if we feel it, what do you think the humans feel?}

  {They carry their gods’ Light.}

  {A few do. Most do not.} He let her think for a while.

  She rewarded him with slow, cautious hand movements. {You want us to help them?}

  He thought about that. {I don’t know. I would like them to not feel guilty, when everything ends as it must.}

  She seemed to turn that over, a potter with her clay. He didn’t mind her taking the time she needed. Even for the very quick People, some things took as long as they must. There was birdsong and a gentle breeze while he waited. {I will not teach them how to fight.}

  {Would it be enough to not cast your hate upon them? Maybe start small, build up.} Sight of Day gave another half-smile, but it felt easier on the lips.

  She looked down, then, {I can do that. For you.}

  Chapter Nine

  In hindsight, Morgan should have seen it coming. But no, she’d been woo’d like a doe-eyed girl by the exuberance Evanne showed at every turn. How they could work together or give the magnificent ship of the ancients to the peasants. Then things turned for the worse when the dragon landed on deck. One mythical creature too many, added atop the pile of an invisible tiger the size of a Clydesdale, a fairy turned woman, a magic sword, and a man who fell from the heavens and came back to life.

  Or, the other man returned from the demon realm.

  It was a lot. As ruler of the realm, she was finding it hard. As just one person aboard this ship of fools, she was simply along for the ride, whisked up in the currents, Big Events dragging her downstream to destiny. But she was queen, so that wouldn’t do. Queens made destiny. Queens were supposed to be in charge, mindful of all. Ready. Ahead of things.

  So, when someone hit her on the back of the head with a cudgel, she shouldn’t have been surprised. There should have been guardsmen about, or at least Heser, but the Cheg was elsewhere. He was no doubt helping with the forge or erecting structures for habitation above decks, because he was strong. Her weak magic was not the kind to send sparks among her assailants, and so she hit the decking betwixt the showers and the dining hall in a billow of red silk and astonishment.

  Morgan didn’t recognise her assailants. They looked like any other peasants. Clothes better by far, courtesy of the stocked wardrobes they’d found aboard. Cheeks now filling out on a steady diet of ship’s fare. But peasants nonetheless, teeth missing from a life of hardship, hair hacked not cut, neck beards all. They dragged her below. No one but the posse saw. They’d run a good game, keeping the regular Hollyhead and Wandermere folks from seeing. She could imagine the story now. Our great ruler has deserted us. We must fend for ourselves, aboard this wonder of the lost world. Woe is us, etcetera.