The dark hole into which Aisha had marched was no longer dark. A golden glow raced halfway down the ramp, blinding in its sudden beauty, as if Valor were lit from the inside out. And it disappeared slowly, like the lingering details of a dream in the light of morning.
“There we go,” Sergeant Owens said, impressed. “I honestly didn’t think we’d find a pilot this early in the week.”
Aisha stumbled out of the drake a moment later. Owens hurried to help her, but she waved him away. The glow lived within her now, making her look different. Stronger. She reached the end of the ramp and ran her fingers over the line of it, a fond expression on her face. Valor seemed to sparkle in response.
Two spots left open.
Unlikely that Valor would choose another pilot from Deadegg.
Unlikely but not impossible.
Elara hoped her smile held steady as Aisha walked past her. She wasn’t sure that she was properly in control of her body anymore.Two spotswas flashing behind her eyelids every time she blinked.
And then she was called.
Her blood rushed in her ears.
Her feet clanked on the ramp.
The darkness swallowed her whole.
Elara’s eyes adjusted quickly. She was in the large inner room, surrounded by the metal that made up the drake’s flank. It looked exactly like the one in Nobility, but this one was so large that it made her feel insignificant.
The door to the flank cockpit was open, beckoning her closer. She stepped inside, trying to keep her breathing steady. There was a cushioned chair in front of a flat panel with a dark screen. There were no buttons, no levers, nothing but a double-strap seat belt looping over the chair and a neck pillow built into the headrest. This was technological advancement beyond anything she’d ever seen in Deadegg, where mule-drawn carts rolled in place of stagecoaches and electrical lighting had yet to be installed in half the homes. But she refused to let that make her feel inadequate. This was where she belonged.
Elara sat down. She placed her hands on the panel.
Nothing happened.
Her palms flattened on the screen. She searched for the drake’s heartbeat, even though it was made of scalestone and residual magic and had no heart to speak of.Valor? Valor, I’m here. Please choose me. I’m choosing you, so choose me back.
And nothing happened.
Elara was about to try channeling an astral through the machinery when Sergeant Owens appeared in the doorway.
“It’s been a minute,” he said. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your—”
“No, wait.” The words burst out of Elara before she had even made the decision to speak, high-pitched and childish. “Just. Just let me try summoning. I didn’t get to—”
“You don’t need to do that for Valor to indicate you’re a pilot—”
“But I didn’t even—”
“Cadet Vincent.” Irie help her, his voice was so gentle that it washumiliating. As if he had seen the core of her and found her weak. “There are plenty of other roles in the military. If serving your country is what you truly came here to do, don’t let this discourage you.”
A dream. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.
Elara stared down at the still-dark panel, wishing with every blink that she would wake up at home in Deadegg. “Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER FIVE
FARON
PORTSOL WAS BEAUTIFUL WHEN IT WASN’T ON FIRE.THOUGHFARONhad visited a handful of times since, she couldn’t separate the capital from the destruction that still played behind her eyes.
During the ember days of the San Irie Revolution, Commander Gavriel Warwick and his family—his wife, Mireya, and his son, Reeve—had occupied Pearl Bay Palace on behalf of the Langlish Empire. The commander’s dragon, Irontooth, had spent his time sitting on the rooftop of the stone manor house, spewing fire into the sky in smug satisfaction. But Port Sol had only been the most valuable jewel in Warwick’s shrinking crown. One by one, the other Iryan cities had been reclaimed by Aveline’s growing power and loyal army. One by one, Faron had channeled the magic of the gods to turn the tide of battles that seemed unwinnable.
Even choking under the violence of Langlish occupation, the islanders had secretly added drakes to their army to launch the revolution, hiding deep in the impenetrable Argent Mountains at the center of San Irie. But for the plan to march on Port Sol—to end this war once and for all—they’d had only four resources, if you could even call them that: a twelve-year-old girl with a directline to the gods, her thirteen-year-old sister with beginner’s summoning magic, an army led by a newly turned seventeen-year-old queen without a throne, and Nobility.
