“Nobility,” Elara answered around a yawn. “The last one built before the war, and the one that now acts as the queen’s personal transport.”
Drakes—the giant flying metal war machines made from a textured material called scalestone—were semisentient; they were built by summoners channeling astrals to mold the scalestone into the size and shape of dragons. Iryan magic could affect any metal as easily as it affected the world around it, but scalestone was impervious to dragonfire, and it amplified Iryan magic until it could rival the war beasts in power. That made it San Irie’s greatest resource, especially since it couldonlybe found in San Irie.
Years of experimentation had revealed that using astrals to build the drakes left a faint trace of their lives behind in the particles of the metal. Those traces made it impossible to predict what the resulting drake would look for in a pilot, and three pilots were needed just to get it off the ground. But no one made the leap from regular soldier to Sky Battalion pilot without there being an open drake to fly.
Thankfully, Queen Aveline had decided to have a fifth one built leading up to the San Irie International Peace Summit, a drake she had named Valor. Political vultures from empires across the continent of Nova—Étolia, Joya del Mar, and, of course, Langley—would be arriving in the Iryan capital of Port Sol in just a few days. The queen wanted to establish San Irie as an independent island nation on an international scale. Toforcethe countries of the closest continent to negotiate with San Irie as an equal, not as a temporarily freed Langlish colony. Though the announcement of the Summit had proven controversial, even with her own parents, Elara had barely registered the enemies who would soon be on their shores.
No pilots had been chosen for Valor yet. Recruitment was tomorrow. And Elara was old enough to enlist. Her dream had been rekindled. Better still, it was actually in reach.
So what if she hadn’t gotten around to telling her family? She wasready.
She didn’t have to be the Childe Empyrean to do something incredible.
As soon as she sucked the first piece of her freeze pop into her mouth, a ball of light swirled into view.
An astral call.
Elara squinted into the light, cool pineapple juice melting onher tongue as the astral resolved itself into her grandfather Winston. Her father’s father looked exactly like his son, except his goatee was fully gray while her father’s was grayingand his head was shaved whereas her father had grown locs halfway down his back.
A message for you,said Pa Winston, flickering at the edges.
Elara already felt as if she could sleep for at least three hours, but if she didn’t give her ancestor permission to share her body, then she wouldn’t get the message. And if she ignored her father’s message, then she’d be in for it when she got home.
She sighed.Yes, okay.
Pa Winston settled inside of her, his presence like a thick blanket around her soul. It would have been soothing if it wasn’t so unforgivably hot today. But she breathed around the flare of heat and opened her eyes, allowing him to feel the breeze, to smell the earthy scent of grass and dirt, to hear the quiet conversation her friends were having. To feel alive again.
In return, he spoke in a voice identical to her father’s:Elara, you and Reeve need to come home as soon as possible. Dinner is ready… and Queen Aveline needs to speak to you.
As soon as the message was delivered, Pa Winston faded away. Elara sagged against Reeve’s side, her eyelids like weights. She had never gotten formal magical training after learning the basics at school; everything she could do was self-taught, especially without a local temple where she might have found a teacher. Impressive displays of summoning, like the ability to channel multiple astrals back-to-back without passing out, were few and far between outside the major cities. Most of the particularly gifted summoners joined the Iryan army.
Just as her aunts had. Just as Elara was going to.
“My father wants us at my house,” she yawned into Reeve’s shoulder. “Apparently, the queen wants to talk to us.”
“She wants to talk tous?” Reeve asked. “Youandme? Is he sure?”
“More likely he just wants us both there to present a united front for Faron. But there’s dinner.”
Reeve picked up his book, brushing grass off the cover. He lowered his voice when he spoke, but that didn’t stop his words from piercing Elara’s heart. “Are you going to tell them over dinner?”
Elara tried to imagine it. Her mother always went out of her way to cook as much food as possible when the queen came to visit. She conjured an image of market-fresh lobster, bright red on a bed of green vegetables and shining with a thin coat of butter, next to bright yellow pieces of chewy curry goat. They would all sit down to eat, and Elara would make sure to clear at least one plate before she brought up her plan to leave in the morning to enlist at the nearest base in Highfort.
Instantly, the fantasy cracked apart. Her mother would scream the same way she’d screamed when she’d gotten those condolence letters, one for each aunt, that now sat in her drawer at home gathering dust. Her father would go cold, his expression like the gray-purple clouds that gathered before a thunderstorm. And Faron… Faron hadn’t even gone to war without Elara at her side. She’d be hurt. Furious.
Betrayed.
Elara’s throat closed up. “Maybe I should save the announcement for if I even get in?”
“If?” said Wayne. “You’re the best of all of us, Elara. If they don’t take you, the rest of us won’t even be considered.”
“Youtaughtmehow to combat summon without burning out,” said Aisha. “And I’m still not as good as you.”
“I’m not going to inflate your ego,” said Cherry, lifting her head long enough to stretch. “But I agree with them.”
Reeve arched his eyebrows in a silent signal that he was well aware Elara was just making up excuses. But she knew her family well enough to know that they would take this dream from her before it even had a chance to blossom into anything real. They had already lost too much and too many to the military. Vittoria. Mahalet. Gabourey. Even Elara and Faron had only brought half of themselves back from the battlefield.
She’d spent five years rebuilding the trust her parents had in her. Five years of waking in the middle of the night to find one or both of them looking in to make sure she was still safe in her bed. Five years of being the responsible to Faron’s reckless. Five years of ensuring that her parents looked at her with pride instead of fear.
