Chapter 2

“No!” Hard hands and snarled words jerked Morgan back before he was more than a foot deep. Morgan stumbled into his brother, turning and giving him a wounded look as he rubbed the spot where Brevaer had grabbed onto him. His brother raised one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with his pantomime.

“I wasn’t going to get close to it, Brev!” Morgan protested. “I just want to see what it is!”

“It’s trouble, that’s what it is,” Brevaer snapped, crossing his strongly muscled arms. Honestly, Morgan wasn’t kidding when he let on that it hurt to be tossed around by his brother—Brevaer was the strongest person in the clan. “Nothing that isn’t a volcano should be erupting in flames like that. You think I’m going to let an untrained, untested child like yourself out into the water to investigate it? Think again.”

“I’m twenty; I’m not a child,” Morgan muttered. The most experienced warriors in the clan streamed past them and leapt into the water, their two-legged forms swiftly giving way to the long, slender shapes of their sea-dragon selves. Morgan yearned to follow them—at a safe distance, of course. He wasn’t a fool, no matter what his brother said. Maybe he could …

“Garen!” Brevaer called out to the young man who’d just reached the beach, and Morgan’s hopes sank like a stone. Garen had a wild crush on Morgan’s older brother and would sooner cut his arm off than disappoint him. It was terribly inconvenient to have a friend who was so biased toward boring responsibility.

Garen jogged over, doing a decent job of keeping his expression neutral despite the way his dusky cheeks were pinking up from sheer reaction to being close to Brevaer. Shameless. How Brevaer hadn’t noticed and done something about it yet was beyond Morgan. “Yes, Brevaer?” Garen asked.

“Can I trust you to keep Morgan on land while the rest of us investigate the explosion?”

The corners of Garen’s mouth turned down. Ah, that wasn’t the question he’d been hoping to be asked. Probably he’d wanted something like, “I need someone I can depend on by my side as I swim into what might be a fatal battle. May I count on you to protect me, tooth and claw?” And then Garen would say, “Of course, Brevaer. You honor me,” as he tried not to faint from sheer joy, and then Morgan would have to wash his eyes out with saltwater as his brother swept his best friend into a passionate kiss, and—

“Garen stays here!” a sharp voice called out. Garen’s shoulders crumpled a bit more as his mother arrived, her expression thunderous as she looked at Brevaer. “Don’t you dare ask him to go out into that mess. You aren’t clan chieftain, and I won’t—”

“I wasn’t asking him anywhere,” Brevaer replied coldly. Morgan’s heart ached for his friend as Garen cast his gaze down onto the sand, all hopes utterly dashed. “I want him to keep Morgan back as well.”

“Of course, he will. What good could Morgan do out there?”

Well, great. Now Morgan felt like shit as well. Their families were just the best.

Brevaer rolled his eyes and turned away, following the others into the water. He transformed into his dragon self, all shining black scales with glittering green edges and a long green mane, and quickly overtook the rest of the clan as they swam out into the open waters.

Morgan sighed, then glanced at his friend, who was enduring a pointed lecture from his mother about the importance of “—keeping yourself safe at all costs! You are next in line to lead this clan after your father, and I won’t have you risking yourself on pointless expeditions into danger!”

“How could I ever lead a clan if I’m unwilling to do the work of a warrior?” Garen demanded.

“Look where being a warrior got your father!” Rozyne said, her voice breaking. “You stay here, do you understand me?” She left before getting confirmation from either of them, furiously wiping at the tears streaming down her face as she went. Probably off to check on her husband—not that he ever moved much these days. Sariel had irrevocably changed the day their clan was attacked, lost in his own mind after losing so many of their people, including Garen’s older siblings and Morgan’s own parents.

Morgan reached out and grabbed his friend’s hand, determined to cheer him up even though both of them were smarting right now. “Good thing you’re here to keep me out of trouble!”

Garen didn’t try to grip back. “Don’t, Morgan,” he said quietly. “Just don’t.”

“Don’t what? Rely on you to keep me out of trouble? That’s our entire relationship, though. What will I do if you take away the central pillar of our friendship?”

“Probably find someone better than me to replace it with.”

Morgan’s heart went from aching for his friend to bleeding. “No,” he said, leaning his head against Garen’s shoulder. They were almost the same height, but Garen was just tall enough that Morgan could still make this work without putting a crick in his neck. “There’s no one better than you.”

Garen scoffed. “Are you joking? Everyone is better than me! I’m a trained warrior who’s prevented from doing the duties of a warrior by my own mother. I’m the chief’s only living son, but the chief is a madman who should have been replaced years ago and only hasn’t been out of pity. I’m a fool who’s in love with someone who will never see me as more than a minder for his younger brother, and at least you are never looked down upon for choosing not to train. Everyone knows you’re an artist at heart. It would be cruel to try and make you into a fighter.”

“Tell that to Brevaer; he’s constantly bothering me to train,” Morgan said lightly.

“Only because he wants you to be safe.”

Morgan cuddled a little closer. “That’s what your mother wants for you too. To keep you safe.”

“But that’s not what I want,” Garen whispered.

“Soon you’ll come of age.” They were both already considered adults, but coming of age took several more years of maturation and personal decision-making. Their people, the Agnarra, had traditionally had many trades and professions for coming-of-age youths to choose from. Too many of them had been lost during the war, and necessity had made many who would rather have been artisans or lorekeepers or innovators into warriors and farmers. Morgan himself had no master he could approach to teach him about the art his fingers constantly itched to make. He could only look at the work that had been done before and imitate it until he managed to teach himself. Their people had lost so much … and might lose even more.

“We’ll both come of age,” he continued. He and Garen had been born only two moons apart, after all. “And then your mother won’t be able to stop you from truly dedicating yourself to being a warrior. You’ll get your chance to be just as impressively stupid as all the rest of them.”

Garen finally twined his fingers in between Morgan’s. A tiny smile that most people wouldn’t even have noticed appeared at the very corners of his mouth, and Morgan relaxed a bit with the knowledge he’d made his friend happy or at least amused him. “Thanks.”

“Just don’t leave me behind completely when my brother finally notices you,” Morgan went on, slyly hip checking Garen and laughing when he saw the blush reappear. “After all, I was your friend first, and …” He stopped, distracted by something rolling in on the waves. Was someone returning already? No, this didn’t move like a living thing.

He took a step toward the water, almost falling when Garen tugged him back. “What?” Morgan demanded.

“I told your brother I wouldn’t let you leave the beach,” Garen replied determinedly.

“I’m not going to swim anywhere, I just—look.” Morgan pointed toward the water. “What’s that?”

Garen narrowed his eyes. “I’ll find out.” He let go of Morgan’s hand and launched himself into the waves, quickly swimming out to the object in his two-legged form.

Traitor! Oh, Morgan was going to give Garen a piece of his mind and then some when he got back here. So he could disobey his mother even when he knew she would beat him blue if she saw him out there, but Morgan couldn’t go ten feet out into the surf because Garen didn’t want to upset Brevaer, who wasn’t even here right now, and … and …

Garen hauled the object up onto the beach, and Morgan’s blood went cold. It was a chunk of wood but not just wood. This wood had been cut and shaped and was nailed together to create what almost looked like a jagged-edged shield. It wasn’t a shield, though. It stank of pitch and fire and was blackened on one side.

No, this was no shield. This was part of a ship.

The humans had found them.