Faron scowled as the queen knocked on the door and spoke to the Queenshield who opened it to attend to her. A soldier crossed to the bed, channeling the power of an astral into the chains. They snapped open and slithered down the mattress like garden snakes, curling up in a pile at the foot of the bed. Signey sat up, her back against the brass headboard. From that position, she could see everyone in the room.
“Commander Warwick,” said the queen with barely enough diplomacy to keep the words from slicing. “Before anything else, please explain why a feral dragon was loose outside the Summit when all your dragons were supposed to be stationed at San Mala.”
The commander traced the bed frame absently. Scalestone shackles were still attached to it, found by his curious fingers. “What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room. This is a matter of national security for the Langlish Empire, and I would hate for it to be wielded as a weapon against us when we have come to you in peace.”
“One of your dragons tried to ‘peacefully’ burn down our Victory Garden,” said Faron. Elara squeezed her hand lightly and she settled, tucking her head against Elara’s shoulder.
“Shortly after the insurrection—or, rather, your revolution—our dragons began to act strangely. Feral.” As he spoke, the commander’s fingers danced over the shackles, back and forth, back and forth. “One dragon set fire to a small fishing village off the Emerald Highlands. Another attacked a professor at Hearthstone, who was then forced to retire. Yet another left the capital of Beacon under the cover of night and attacked a military base. We had our leading dracologists study this phenomenon, and they coined the term ‘the Fury.’”
“You needed a researcher to tell you that dragons are feral?” Faron said. “Any Iryan could have told you that.”
“They’re not, normally,” said Signey, her tone icy. “The bond between dragons and Riders is meant to, in part, temper the dragon’s natural aggressive instincts with the human’s empathy and logic. Once a bond is formed, a dragon should be no more or less feral than their Riders are.”
“Indeed. But, instead, the Fury seems to drive the dragon into a state of rage that infects their Riders, as well. At first, it will last a few minutes. Then, a few hours. Then…” The commander finally lifted his restless hands, his jaw tightening. “Then it becomes permanent for both dragon and Riders.”
Faron sat up so suddenly that she nearly collided with Elara’s skull. “Wait, so what happened to Elara in the courtyard—?”
“Was merely the first step in a downward cycle.”
Elara’s pulse raced, and her throat felt as if it had sealed itself up. She still barely remembered what had happened in the garden. The idea that it was just the start of something worse was more than she could deal with right now. Faron’s hand in hers was the only thing that kept her from drowning in her own panic.
“So how do we stop it?” Faron asked. “Have your dracologists found a cure?”
“If they had, I assure you that this incident would never have happened. Whatever you did in that garden was the first time we’veeverseen an episode end without having to harm either the dragon or its Riders. So why don’tyoutell us what you did so we can replicate it?”
Faron’s hand trembled. “I… I don’t…”
Commander Warwick approached them both, his hands in hispockets. In his midnight-black suit and tie, he looked like a living shadow. But his face was open. Genuine. If, of course, this man was ever truly genuine.
“Empyrean, it appears as though you’re our only hope. I come to you on behalf of my country and my people. Please—help save us from the Fury.” Something in his eyes hardened. “Or I’m sorry to say that your sister will be its next victim.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FARON
FARON LIED TO THE LEADER OF THELANGLISHEMPIRE WITHOUTblinking.
“I don’t know how to help you,” she said. “I don’t knowwhatI did. I just saw my sister in danger, and… and the gods did the rest. I don’t know if I can do it again, and I certainly can’t tell you what happened.”
His expression didn’t change, but Faron had spent a lifetime hiding her own tells. If she could lie to the High Santi at a temple without an uptick in her heart rate, she could lie to Commander Gavriel Warwick. Besides, it wasn’t entirely untrue. She had no idea what had happened out there, or how she’d done what she had done, or who owned the voice that had coached her through it. And until she had the answer to those questions, the commander didn’t need to know she was asking them.
Besides, Iryan summoning was inaccessible to Novans, their astrals invisible to those without Iryan blood and their gods unseen to anyone but her. As far as she knew, every empire had unlocked their own form of magic, worshipped their own gods, and guarded their own cultural secrets. But even when people likeWarwick scorned Iryan magic or scoffed at Iryan gods, they still coveted their lands and their powers. They hated that Iryans had something they didn’t.
The gods did the restwas tantamount to telling the commander that he would never, could never, understand the cure he sought, and she took petty pleasure in that.
“So what happens now?” Elara asked into the taut silence. “Is there any way to—to reject this bond?”
“A bond, once formed, can’t be broken,” said Signey Soto, still sitting straight-backed in the bed across the room as if her spine were a steel rod. “It lasts until death.”
“I don’t want to cast blame here,” the commander said in the tone of one who was eager to cast blame, “but it’s possible that the incident was caused, in part, by your newness to the bond. Signey is one of the best Firstriders in the Dragon Legion, and she’s managed to keep Zephyra’s moods tempered by herself all this time. Miss Vincent, you’ll need to receive the same level of training and control, or you’ll continue to be overwhelmed by your dragon. And that will only accelerate the Fury for all three of you.”
“Spoken like someone who already has a plan, so why won’t you just tell us what it is, Father?”
Another taut silence ignited as father and son met each other’s gaze for the first time since the commander had entered the room. Reeve’s expression was one of mild curiosity, but there was a coldness in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide. The commander studied him the way one would a rat seconds before trapping it. It was another riveting performance of hostility, but Faron had no patience for it.
“Whatareyou suggesting, Commander?” she asked, drawing his attention back to her.
“I’m suggesting that Miss Vincent would be best served by the instructors at Hearthstone Academy in Langley—”
