7
The flight to the rebels' hideout takes longer than I hoped, since we have to travel with the clouds and remain unseen. At one point we're forced to descend and wend our way slowly through a dark forest, whose limbs drag at my wings and scrape my scales, setting my teeth on edge. Then another cloud bank moves in, and we're able to take to the sky again.
In the darkness just before dawn, we arrive at a wide waterfall—a sheet of froth and foam plunging off a cliff and crashing into a pool that Meridian claims is bottomless. There's a narrow path leading to the waterfall—leading behind it, according to the rogue.
"Let me go first, along the path, and prepare the others for your arrival," he says. "If two dragons come blasting through the waterfall into our hideout, my friends are liable to perish from terror."
I'm reluctant to let him go, especially since he's still carrying our treasure. What if he disappears into some narrow tunnel where we can't follow? What if we're left stranded here, without the help he promised ?
"Do you think we can trust him?" I ask Hinarax over the rushing thunder of the waterfall.
"As a rule, I think he's about as trustworthy as the Mordvorren," replies Hinarax. "But for this particular purpose—yes, we can trust him. He and I talked on the way. He truly hates the King of Vohrain. Hates all kings, in fact. Any sort of authority, really. He likes being able to take what he wants, whenever he wants it."
"Isn't that what human kings do? Perhaps he hates them because he would like to be them."
"I hadn't thought of it that way." Hinarax lifts a fore-claw to scratch behind his jaw spikes. "Being human is far more complicated than I expected. And more interesting, too. What do you think a palace looks like, inside?"
"Dainty and gilded, full of breakable things, no doubt. No place for dragons. There will be many objects we don't recognize or understand, but the best thing to do is ignore them, show no surprise or curiosity, and remain focused on our task."
"No curiosity at all?" Hinarax's long tongue traces his jaws.
"Maybe a little curiosity. But only to Meridian, and you must ask him your questions quietly , do you understand?"
"Of course." His enthusiasm quivers through his whole frame, and I can't help chuckling. The impulse is a small relief from the constant tension in my body, the ache in my heart.
A second later, Meridian reappears, leaning on his staff and beckoning to us.
"Time to meet some rebels." I spread my wings and mount into the sky, doing a few loops before streaking toward the waterfall. Behind the glittering spray, I can dimly discern the shape and height of the cave entrance.
I've flown through waterfalls before. It can be a dangerous thing for dragons, since the thundering weight of the water can bear us down. Hesitation can result in a dragon floundering at the base of the falls, pinned by the crashing flow. The trick is to build up speed, enter the falls at a slightly higher point than you wish to exit, and zip through as swiftly as possible.
I dart through so fast that I only feel the hammering water for a moment. Human voices shriek faintly at my arrival, but I ignore them until Hinarax is safely inside, flaring his wet wings.
We stand in the mouth of a cavern, a craggy chamber lit by lanterns on chains. We'll have to be careful not to dislodge those lanterns as we move about in dragon form. Other immediate hazards are the wooden crates, makeshift tables, and bedrolls strewn along the edges of the cave. Thankfully there's plenty of open space in the cavern's center, so we can move deeper inside without wrecking our new allies' belongings.
At the fringes of the space, humans are gathered, alone or in small clusters. I count over forty of them, and I suspect more are lurking in deeper chambers of the cave network.
As Hinarax and I pace slowly forward, Meridian moves out in front of us, gesturing expansively. "Here they are! The great dragons Kyreagan and Hinarax!"
"I thought you were telling tales again, Meri." The young woman who speaks is perched atop a large barrel, spinning knives in both hands. She has thick, tightly curled brown hair tied back with a string. A few straggling locks frame an attractive, tawny face with a sullen expression. Her dark eyes are hooded, and she seems utterly unimpressed by us.
A big olive-skinned man steps forward, his face grim beneath a bushy black beard. "And why should we welcome these killers?"
"I never said you have to welcome them, Odrash," says Meridian. "They are temporary allies whose goals are currently aligned with ours. That's all. We're not talking of friendship or eternal loyalty here—this is strictly a bargain of the moment, to serve a mutual end."
"Who's to say they won't burn us all in our beds?" This speaker is a woman as well, much older than the knife-spinning one. She is tall, gaunt, and leathery, with prominent cheekbones and eyes that look as haunted as my heart feels. One of her hands is curled tight, gnarled with scars. She holds it up. "Dragons did this to me. And you expect us to shelter them?"
Guilt drags its claws through my heart. I've never had to see the long-term results of dragon-fire, the lasting damage done to survivors like Meridian and this woman.
"We were wrong to ally with Vohrain." My deep tones reverberate through the cavern. "I could explain why we did it. I could tell you that we were on the verge of starvation and needed the hunting grounds Vohrain could provide. But nothing can excuse the carnage we wrought. I neither deserve your respect nor demand your forgiveness. I only ask to scheme alongside you for the overthrow of the Vohrainian king, whose lust for conquest has already cost so many lives among your people and mine. Let us help you drive Vohrain from your nation. Let me kill Rahzien for you. I swear the only lives I take while I'm here will be Vohrainian."
It's a good speech—diplomatic, disarming, and spoken straight from my heart. If Varex were here, he'd lower his head as a sign of his approval and respect.
Meridian pipes up, "This is the dragon who carried off the Crown Princess. He's madly in love with her now."
Of course the rogue had to ruin my speech with such talk. My spines bristle and I suppress a growl.
"Princess Serylla." The gaunt woman nods, her expression softening. "The Queen was a bitch, but the Princess is decent enough. A sweet girl. Spineless, but sweet."
"The only good royal," concedes Odrash.
"What will you do with the Princess once you have her?" asks the knife-spinning girl. "Will you take her back to your island?"
"I seek to set her free," I reply. "She may go anywhere she wishes, and do anything she likes. "
"So you do love her, then." The girl nods. "Good enough for me."
"Good enough for now ," corrects Odrash. "Meridian, do you plan to explain exactly how these two are going to kill the King? Two dragons could do a lot of damage to the palace, but they'd be brought down by Vohrainian guns before they ever got near Rahzien."
"Ah, that's the best part." Meridian rubs his hands together. "And you must all keep it a strict secret, understand? These dragons can transform into humans."
A disbelieving silence drops over the rebels.
"I could show you, briefly," offers Hinarax. "But I'll have to revert to my dragon self right away. There's a limit on how long we can remain in each form."
"We can explain the details later," Meridian says, with a wink. "Go on and show us, handsome. I won't say no to seeing that body again."
Hinarax bows his long neck until his snout nearly touches the cave floor—and then, with a burst of purple light, he transforms into his human shape.
The rebels gasp. The knife-wielding girl drops one of her blades and leans forward, her eyes bright with interest.
Hinarax turns in a slow circle, grinning, then switches to dragon form again.
An explosion of excited chatter breaks out among the humans. When Meridian finally manages to calm them down, he explains the plan, then immediately begins issuing orders, like the leader he claims not to be. "Inja, if you and Annu could go into the storage chamber and look for the loot we got when we pulled the Shrifshaw job—fine clothing in the Southern style, shoes with upturned toes, that sort of thing."
Next he turns toward the knife-spinning girl. "Aeris, you should be one of the bodyguards, since you're not from this region—along with Odrash and Kehanal, I think. There's less chance of you three being recognized by anyone in the Capital. We'll have to find you some uniforms. Ask Anzuli—he hails from the border villages and he has visited the South. He'll know what the royal guards of Zairos wear. And Norril, you worked in the palace until the conquest, didn't you? Perhaps you can educate our little acting troupe regarding some of the palace routines and manners."
A blond man steps forward. "I was one of Princess Serylla's bodyguards," he says, holding my gaze. "I could not have served a kinder soul."
"Yes." I can barely grit out the word. "She is kind."
"She does not deserve whatever Rahzien is doing to her."
The room quiets at Norril's words. He says nothing more, but when the conversation resumes among the rebels, it carries a stronger undercurrent of urgency, of purpose. With that single sentence, Norril stoked the entire group to more fervent action on behalf of the Princess.
And I could not be more grateful.
Unfortunately, we cannot soak up a few hours of knowledge and then head for the capital. According to Meridian and Norril, it will take more than a single day to teach two dragons to pull off this ruse. Which makes sense, but the delay infuriates me nonetheless. Serylla needs me.
"I could fly to the palace right now and challenge Rahzien," I tell them. "He has to speak to me—we're allies, or we were until he stole what is mine. I'll demand that he return her. I'll offer treasure—"
"He has all the treasures of his own kingdom and whatever remains in Elekstan's coffers," says Meridian. "You have a nice selection of gold and silver, I'll admit, but I'm not sure it would be enough to tempt him."
"We have more," Hinarax says.
Fuck him and his honesty. I swivel my neck around and deliver a glare that makes him shrink .
"How much more?" Avarice lights Meridian's eyes.
"Enough."
But Norril shakes his head. "The Princess represents much more to him than money. She's the symbol he needs. The people are angry that their loved ones died in a losing war. They hate Rahzien more bitterly than they hated their former queen. Which means Rahzien won't give up the Princess, not for any sum. Though he might kill her to spite you, or to teach the people a lesson. In the short time he has ruled here, he's proven himself to be merciless and unpredictable."
Norril doesn't elaborate, and I don't ask. I feel as if I might gnaw my own leg off or scorch this entire cavern if I can't do something useful immediately. I've never encountered a situation such as this, where I yearned so deeply for a prize I could not obtain through force or fire. I want to soar from this cave like a thunderous storm and tear the palace down, layer by layer, room by room, until I find Serylla. But in doing so I would harm the servants and staff—people Serylla cares about. And I've sworn not to kill any more citizens of Elekstan.
"We get precious few reports from within the city," Meridian says. "But we've heard no rumor of the Princess being spotted anywhere in the Capital."
"She could still be in the palace, but sequestered out of sight," says Norril. "Or he could be keeping her somewhere else. Somewhere no one would think to look."
Despair weighs my heart as I remember how long I searched for Serylla back on Ouroskelle, after she escaped the enclosure. Humans are small. They can hide in so many places where a dragon cannot venture.
Reluctantly I give up the idea of bribery and return my focus to Meridian's plan. Mad as it seems, I fear it's our only option. With a respectful bow of my head, I settle my scaly bulk down onto the cave floor. "Teach us what we need to know. "
"Happily," says Meridian, and for the next several hours he and Norril talk.
And talk.
And talk.
I try to grasp all the facts they're sharing, but everything is so unfamiliar that the topics get jumbled up in my mind—modes of address tangled with dinner courses, maps of the Southern Kingdoms merged with hasty sketches of the palace's layout. Norril is the type to forge ahead with blunt, stark explanations, while Meridian tries to fill in the gaps, defining and describing things Hinarax and I don't know.
At last, weary from the overabundance of new information, we snatch a few hours of sleep, then rouse again and switch to human form, whereupon several of the rebels descend upon us with layers of human clothing, from tight undergarments and leggings to tunics, shirts, and vests. Hinarax and I each have to try on a few different outfits until the humans agree on which ones work best.
"We have enough to pack a small trunk for you," says a woman named Kyteia, as she pins a sort of blanket to my left shoulder and drapes it artfully. "But we should have an explanation for why you don't have more luggage. I'm sure Meri will think of something. Now the boots."
"No boots," I protest.
"Oh, but you must have boots, tall ones with turned-up toes. They're the latest fashion."
"Perhaps the Southern Kingdoms haven't heard of boots," I offer helpfully.
"I'm quite sure they have. Now lift your foot."
Kyteia's gray hair marks her as an elder among humans, and I've been taught to defer to the wisdom of elders, so I grudgingly obey. She covers my feet in something called socks , which make the boots a bit less uncomfortable. Still, my feet feel crushed and imprisoned, and I don't like it .
"Try to look a bit less like you're being tortured," says Kyteia pleasantly. "You're doing very well, Hinarax."
He smiles at her, despite being fully encased in suffocating layers of leather and satin, including a puffy thing called a doublet.
"Now then, Kyreagan," says Kyteia, a note of stern encouragement in her tone. "Try walking, would you?"
I walk stiffly forward, trying to shake the fold of heavy cloth off my left arm. "What is the purpose of this blanket on my back?"
"It's a cloak, dear. This one is mostly ornamental, styled after the Southern fashion. The effect is usually rather dashing, but with you…" Her voice trails off and she grimaces as I stalk past her. "Relax your gait. You look as if you have fence-posts for legs."
"Hey now," says Meridian as he passes by, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Some of my best friends have wooden legs."
"And I'll wager they walk with more grace than his dragon Highness here," says Kyteia. "Perhaps you could try a bit of a swagger, love?"
I stare at her. "Swagger?"
"Care to demonstrate, Meri?"
Meridian flourishes his walking stick and saunters for several steps. His limp is still noticeable, but there's a flair to his gait nonetheless, an undeniable ease with every part of himself.
"It's all in here ." He spins on his heel and taps his chest. "In the soul. Feel the swagger, and then let it out. Confidence, gentlemen. You're already a prince, Kyreagan, so that's not much of a stretch. But you must imagine that you've been raised in luxury—what humans call luxury, which means a wealth of shiny, beautiful things around you, all the most exquisite comforts, and lots of people to boss around. You have several brothers ahead of you, so you'll never touch the throne. Your role is traveling to various kingdoms on diplomatic errands for your father, enjoying the best that each nation has to offer. Maybe one day you'll resent your lack of power, but for now, you're enjoying yourself. And you—" He gestures to Hinarax. "You're the trusted servant of the Prince, his esquire, a highly regarded official. Your duties are many, but you handle them skillfully, and you're pleased to be traveling at the Prince's expense. You're both young, good-looking, ready to be amused."
"Amused?" I quirk an eyebrow at him. "Elekstan is still volatile. The war has barely ended. Isn't it strange for a foreign prince to show up expecting to be entertained?"
"Perhaps," admits Meridian. "But since Rahzien's conquest is so new, he's eager for any acknowledgement from nearby nations. A visit from Zairos' royal family supports his claim to Elekstan. He'll welcome you and do his best to provide suitable entertainment. Tell him you'll stay for—how long do you think, Norril?"
"A week," Norril replies. "Long enough, but not too lengthy an imposition. That will give you time to inquire about the Princess. All the royal guards either fled or died within a few days of the conquest, so I can't direct you to any of my former friends for help, but I can give you the names and descriptions of a few servants to seek out, those with an ear to the ground and an eye for trouble. If the Princess is in the palace, they'll be able to tell you where."
"Enough strategizing for now," Kyteia urges. "The Prince must practice walking with pride and confidence."
I try to feel the swagger in my chest and stalk boldly across the cave, lifting my feet high with each step. Somehow the cloak wraps around my boot heel and I stumble, stagger, and manage to right myself with a few muttered fucks .
Kyteia cocks her head and purses her lips, deepening the wrinkles around her mouth. "Would it help if you thought of the cloak as a big floppy wing?"
I raise an eyebrow. "No. That would not help at all. "
"Right… well perhaps a shorter cloak, then." She unpins it and withdraws to a nearby table. "I'll see what I can do about hemming it."
"Keep practicing the stride and the swagger," Meridian advises. "And while you're doing that, Anzuli will tell you a brief history of Zairos, and then Norril will go over the forms of address again. Won't that be fun?"
"Riveting," I respond.
"Yes, well… I'm off to mastermind dastardly plots against the occupying forces." Meridian gives me one of his lopsided grins. "Can't let operations grind to a halt just because you two beasties are here. I learned a long time ago not to put all my eggs in one basket, you see. And I have a particularly complex and important basket that's been in progress since the Vohrainians took the northern villages, and it needs tending."
He saunters away, and I cross the uneven floor of the cavern again, trying to imitate his gait, trying not to let his comment about eggs derail my thoughts from the task at hand. But I can't help picturing two beautiful eggs in a nest—one purple, one blue. My offspring.
For their sake, I will perform any role, endure any ridicule, swallow all the knowledge I can.
A searing certainty thrums through my chest, and I stride forward, flush with purpose, barely feeling the boots for once.
Meridian glances back over his shoulder. Then he turns around, watching me, and he smiles wider. His one blue eye sparkles with approval. "Now that , my friend, was the walk of a prince."