The Dragon (Creasan #2)

Merek was carefully packing away weapons when Isolde entered the room that next day. His back was to her, and she paused in the doorway to watch him.

Isolde had had feelings for Merek for awhile, but she’d managed to stamp them down deep enough to ignore them…for the most part. But since his confession to her in the cave, it was like Isolde had developed different eyes. She found herself perfectly content watching him work, tracking the tensing and relaxing of the muscles in his back, studying the profile of his face, noticing the expert way he handled the weapons. Her heart calmed at the sight, like his mere presence set her at ease.

But then he glanced over his shoulder, his brown eyes hitting hers with the impact of a sprinting horse, and her heart started pumping double time. Her cheeks heated up instantly; she felt like she’d just been caught snooping, which in effect she had been. Her voice was very small when she said, “Hi.”

“Hi…” But his eyes didn’t crinkle at the corners like they usually did, nor did they leave hers as he waited for her to speak.

She cleared her throat and stepped into the room. This was the weapons room, which was pretty obvious based on the various swords and axes on the walls. Swords of differing sizes lined the wall across from Isolde, and axes and maces crisscrossed the wall behind her. Makeshift punching bags hung from the ceiling to the right and Merek stood at a table filled with weapons to the left. It was in this room that Merek held his training lessons. It was here Isolde had met him.

“Getting ready for the trip?” she asked and then immediately cringed. Of course he was. Clearly he was. What an idiotic thing to ask.

The right corner of his mouth tipped up just the slightest, which made Isolde blush harder. She knew he was making fun of her. But he just said, “Mhm.”

She came further into the room, stopping at the edge of his table. “Do you…need any help?”

“Shouldn’t you be gathering your supplies too?”

Great point, Merek, yes, she should. Isolde fidgeted with the weapon closest to her on the table—a bow that was missing its arrows. “I just…I wanted to talk to you. If you have a second.”

“Um…” Merek looked down at the pile of weapons in front of him, and Isolde thought he was going to tell her to leave. He would have a perfectly logical excuse—he was busy after all. They all were. But she really did not want to leave him yet. Then he said, “I suppose I could spare a few seconds.”

She was relieved, but a new nervous energy spread through her. She stopped fidgeting with the bow, meeting his eyes, and said, “Janshai is going to come with us.”

Merek nodded. “Thea told me.”

“Oh.” Isolde watched him very closely, but his face gave nothing away. There wasn’t even a mischievous gleam in his eyes. She cleared her throat awkwardly again. “I just, um, I thought you should know.”

“Thanks. Let him know if he wants to get in any last minute training, my door is open.”

Isolde’s brows rose in surprise. “Oh, I…Thank you. Yeah, I’ll let him know.”

He gave her a quick smile and turned back to the weapons.

The healer blinked several times as she watched him. Merek was pretending she was no longer standing there and Isolde felt her stomach sink. That feeling was probably the reason she didn’t turn around and walk away like she should have and instead said, “Merek, can we talk?”

“I thought we just did.” He didn’t even glance at her. He held up two different crossbows, examining them as if they were a very complicated mathematical equation instead of nearly identical weapons.

“You know what I mean.”

No response, except to lower one of the crossbows back to the table and pack the other one away.

She tried again, “I don’t want it to be awkward—“

Merek chuckled humorlessly. “I think that ship has sailed.”

Isolde huffed. “Merek, can’t we pretend like nothing happened? Especially if Janshai is coming.”

“Nothing did happen, Isolde. I’m just doing what Thea asked me to. Like usual.”

He was right. Isolde was the one that was behaving unusual. But it was the air around him that made it seem…wrong. The way he had called her “Isolde” instead of “Izzy”. She hated this tension. She wanted everything to go back to the way it had been. And his uncaring demeanor was just frustrating. If he was so unconcerned, then why was she bothering? “The least you could do is look at me when I talk to you,” she muttered, “since this is your…” She trailed off before she could say it.

But that did get his attention. He turned to her, putting all the weapons down and crossing his arms over his chest. “Since this is my fault?” he finished for her. “Very mature.”

“Is Merek Iskender lecturing me on maturity right now?”

He took a beat to stop himself from answering that statement the way Isolde knew he wanted to. “I’m aware what I said was…inappropriate,” he said slowly. “And I am sorry. So I’m keeping my distance. Trying to prevent any awkwardness, just like you said. But that only works if you go away.”

Isolde threw up her hands. “Fine. I don’t know why I even tried.” She turned and headed for the doors. She knew she shouldn’t have come. What did she think would happen? Of course they couldn’t go back to normal. The best thing to do was stay away from—

“Yes, you do,” Merek mumbled under his breath.

Isolde stopped in her tracks, spinning on her heel. “What was that?”

He shook his head, tying the bag full of weapons shut and hooking it over his shoulder. “Nothing.” He brushed past her on his way to the door.

She grabbed his arm and yanked him to a stop. “No, you said something. What was it?”

He gave her a fake smile. “Distance, Isolde.” He looked pointedly where her hand still rested on his large forearm.

She jerked her hand away with a roll of her eyes. “Weren’t you the one just going on about maturity? Getting the last word isn’t very mature, now, is it?”

“I said,” he ground out, leaning forward, close enough that they were sharing the same air, “‘yes, you do.’”

Isolde’s breathing hitched at their close proximity and her cheeks flushed again. “I do what?”

He sighed in annoyance. When he next spoke, his voice was deep and rumbling. “We are going to be sharing the very close quarters of a ship in two days. I will do nothing to anger or disrespect your fiancé.”

“Neither will I.”

Merek stared at her, his eyes searing. Then he reached up and brushed his knuckles along her cheeks, which she knew were still blushing. Isolde froze, blinking quickly. She couldn’t help but notice how close his lips were to hers and she held her breath as he lowered his hand. “If that’s the case,” he whispered, “then do us both a favor, and stay away.” He met her eyes again.

And she suddenly understood the harshness and the rudeness. They were for her sake. Merek would never try to steal her from Janshai. If she had chose him, Merek would honor that. He would leave her and Janshai to be happy.

Her mouth hung slightly open as he straightened and left the room without glancing back at her. Isolde cursed his retreating back. Because his consideration for her and her fiancé had done nothing to lessen her feelings for him.

If anything, she wanted him more.

Thea followed Queen Ana down the dock to where an enormous wooden ship sat. It flew the Creasan flag of Malum being slain by the first Lance. Thea didn’t know much about ships but she knew Maerwynn and Janshai did—which was the real reason she had approved Isolde’s request to bring her fiancé along.

Thea asked, “How many people will we need to sail this?”

“We should be able to make do with the amount we have,” Ana answered. “The prince and his Guard know how to sail, and you have your people. Anyone who does not know can be taught.”

Thea nodded as she stared up at the ship. It looked sturdy and official. Thea believed they could survive Leitham Sea on it. Though under different circumstances, she would have barred the queen from coming, she was grateful for her if only for the ship she provided. If they’d had to build or steal one, they’d have no guarantee of making it through.

“It should only take a week to sail,” Thea said. Then they’d be in Qamizeh, a land until recently Thea had thought was nearly a myth. A southern country. Where it was always warm instead of painfully cold. Thea felt the stirrings of excitement in her but they quickly dimmed, the numbness inside of her stamping down any rising emotions before they could truly take root.

After her cry last night, she’d woken up feeling more empty than when she’d started. More drained. Her mother had questioned her, but Thea still hadn’t been able to say her father’s name, especially when Maerwynn had looked at her with such intense worry in her eyes. So instead she’d told her she’d just been so exhausted. Maerwynn obviously didn’t believe her, but she hadn’t pushed the issue.

And now Thea felt like a hole had been carved in her chest, one that no one could see. Perhaps if she ignored it, it would disappear, and she could go back to being the leader that she was.

“Thea?” Ana said, her voice thin and hesitant.

With furrowed brows, Thea faced the queen.

“This is going to sound…” She shook her head and clasped her hands in front of her. She looked Thea straight in the eye. “Fendrel cannot become king.”

Thea stilled. “Why?”

“I wish I had the time to tell you everything about Favian,” she said, her nose twitching as if she’d smelled a terrible odor. “If you knew the horrible things he’d done, witnessed what I have, endured what I have…”

Thea gazed at her with sympathy. There was a certain blankness in the queen that looked similar to someone who was in shock, unable to understand or cope with things happening around them. While Thea could relate to that and even feel sorry for it, she still responded, “With all due respect, Queen Anastas, those deeds, as awful as they might have been, were Favian’s doing. That does not explain—“

“The prince might have convinced you that his different from his brother,” she interrupted, “but he is not. Everything he knows, he learned from Favian. They are the same. And I will not allow another Favian to rule this land. That is why it must be your hand that vanquishes Malum.”

Thea laughed at that. Firstly, the prince hadn’t managed to fool Thea in the slightest. And secondly… “I do not want to rule Creasan.”

“You are the leader of The Source,” replied Ana, as if that explained it all.

“The Source’s only goal has always been to dethrone Favian. But we do not want to rule.”

“And that is precisely why it should be you.” Ana grabbed Thea’s hands and looked her square in the eye. “I know everything there is to know about court life. I know every person, every adviser, every noble, every governor. If you are worried about fitting in—“

“I have never worried about fitting in,” she interjected.

Ana nodded as if she expected as much. “You have the mind for politics, Thea. As leader of any group, you must, and you have led the most successful rebellion Creasan has ever seen! You have the strength for combat, so the people will respect you as a warrior. And I know the people. Together, we can save Creasan. We would do much more good than Fendrel would ever do.”

Thea listened to the queen, really listened. She knew what Ana was referring to in regard to the Lance clan. The seemingly inherent desire to possess as much power as physically possible. She’d seen it in Fendrel’s eyes when he’d admitted to it. But even so… “I do not wish to compete with Fendrel over a prize I do not want,” Thea said.

Ana let go of her hands roughly. “Is this the same woman who was brought into my home and, in front of the country’s most powerful people, spit in the king’s face? The woman who taunted him while knowing she would hang? The one who goaded the prince while in the midst of a battle to the death?” She shook her head in disappointment. “How could that woman not want to compete?”

Thea sighed. That had been her, but now the thought of doing all that just made her tired. “I apologize, Your Majesty, but I—“

“No,” Ana said sadly, waving her away, “it is I who ought to apologize. This is what happens when one buys into rumors. I, more than anyone, should have known.”

Thea was smart enough to know when she was being provoked, but she still couldn’t seem to stop herself from asking, “What rumors?”

“The ones that called you fearless and ruthless. The ones that told of a legendary fighter who backs down to no one.”

“Queen Anastas, I’m not backing down.”

“Of course not.” Ana gave her a tired smile as she gazed back up at the large vessel bobbing in the water. “You are just going to risk you and your friends’ lives in order to help a Lance sit on the throne when you know it could be you who sits there.”

There it was. That spark inside that fueled her actions, that drove her to climb the most perilous mountain in Creasan. The hours that it had been gone seemed to have stretched on for millennia. She welcomed its burn like a long lost friend. “This is why you are coming with us, isn’t it?” Thea asked. “It has nothing to do with needing to get away from the palace. You just don’t want Fendrel to win.”

Ana knew she had her. She faced her again, squaring her shoulders and setting her chin. “There is little I can do in battle to prevent him from achieving his aims but I will do anything you ask of me when the time comes.”

“Anything?” Thea repeated.

“I have nothing left here,” Ana responded. Though her voice didn’t waver, Thea could hear the pain in it. “There is nothing you could ask of me that I would not be willing to give if it would ensure another Lance was never crowned King of Creasan.”

“It would be complicated,” Thea said. “We will have to work together all the way until the end.” But her mind was already whirling with possible schemes and strategies. She would have to befriend Fendrel to make sure he did not expect her aims to have changed. After all, she had admitted—in front of Aestus—that she did not wish to kill Malum. As long as Fendrel believed that to remain true, she would be able to do what Ana asked. Thea continued, “And it will require your faith in me, which I know will not be easily gained.”

Ana waved that away. “If you are referring to our first meeting, I have already forgiven you and moved past it. I know what you are capable of, and I put my trust in you. All I ask is, when you are King of Creasan, you will allow me to live freely in the palace. No more Guard surveillance, no more rules and restrictions. The palace will be as much my home as yours.”

Thea only needed to think about it for a moment before she nodded and held out her hand. “You have a deal,” she said.

Ana smiled widely, relief pouring off of her, and she shook Thea’s hand.

That next morning, Carac stood with the rest of the group in the meeting room, trying to digest what Thea had said. He was sure everyone was staring at her with blank faces, but it was Carac who was the first to speak up. “But I thought you told Aestus you wanted Fendrel to have it.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she answered.

More silence descended. Again, Carac was the one to voice the group’s thoughts. “But that is not what The Source is about.”

“Do you think I would make a bad king?”

“No,” Carac answered immediately. If anyone could handle the responsibilities of being king, it was Thea Wyvern. “It’s just…you’ve never wanted this before.”

Carac heard her sigh and then she said, “If you all think it’s a bad idea, I will let Fendrel have it. Let’s take a vote. All those against?”

Carac heard a rustling of clothes and leaned over to Peronell. “Who was that?” he whispered.

“Maerwynn,” he answered. Which Carac should have expected. Peronell added, “And me.”

Carac flinched in surprise. “What? Why—“

“All those in favor?”

Carac put up his hand and heard several others raise theirs. But he was more curious what reason Perry could have for voting against Thea.

“Five against two. Majority wins. But those who were against, feel free to back Fendrel,” she said. “You have every right.”

Carac could practically hear Peronell roll his eyes. “We are not going to support the prince, Thea,” he said. “I just thought that since he is the prince, it made more sense for him to take over for his brother.”

“I hear you, Perry,” she said earnestly. “I happen to think the woman who has proven herself a leader is better suited, but that’s just my opinion.”

Peronell chuckled and Carac cracked a smile.

“Thea Wyvern, future King of Creasan,” Merek said, “and current Queen of Wit.”

The whole group laughed at that, including Thea. It was a welcome reprieve from the tension of preparation they had all been under since they’d returned.

“Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” she said. Her chair squeaked against the floor as she stood. “I know it goes without saying, but I am so thankful you lot are coming with me. I could have never found Aestus without you and I would hate to sail Leitham Sea without my friends beside me.”

“Of course, mate,” said Merek, and his chair squeaked too as he stood. “Let’s go kick some Malum arse.”

The group chuckled and cheered. Peronell held Carac’s hand and gave it a squeeze. They were really going to fight Malum, the symbol of evil throughout Creasan. He couldn’t believe it, and, just as the others chattered in excited voices, he felt his own eagerness rise. The Source, previously thought to be criminals, was going to kill Malum.

“Rest up,” Thea said, her voice easily cutting through conversation. “We leave tomorrow.”

Althalos rested his forehead against the bars of his cell, his eyes closing with exhausted aggravation as the man at the end of the aisle yammered on.

“The serpent was vicious,” he muttered in a rush, like he needed to get the words out. “But he was no match for the hawk. The hawk swooped and killed like the lion—no, not the lion, the lion is evil.”

Althalos groaned and hit his forehead against the bars. “What are you talking about?” he whined.

“Do not interrupt me,” the man barked.

But Althalos was too bored and too annoyed to care. “For the love of Aestus, please stop.” He felt like he was going to explode if the madman uttered one more word of nonsense. He had asked him several times for a name but the madman alternated between periods of intense silence and non-stop mumbling. Most of his words were unintelligible, but the words Althalos could hear didn’t make an ounce of sense.

The madman gasped suddenly and Althalos heard the man’s chains rattle. It sounded as if he had jerked back in surprise. He whispered, “They’ll take us both.”

Althalos’ blood ran cold. He lifted his head from the bars and stared into the darkness where Rowan’s torch had painted shadows near the madman’s cell. He never knew when to take a word of the man’s seriously, but this was the first time the little prince had been included in his ranting. “Who will?” Althalos whispered back.

“They’ll kill us.” The chains rattled and Althalos could just glimpse the man’s feet as he scrambled backward, deeper into his cell. “We mustn’t say a word.”

“About what?” Althalos glanced back toward the entrance of the dungeon, though he already knew no one was there. Was it the dark or the urgency in the man’s voice that frightened Althalos?

The man moaned loudly, like he was in pain, and there was more shuffling. Althalos couldn’t see him, but the man had curled into a ball, clutching at his head. “Stop,” he whimpered. “It hurts so much. I can’t tell you—I won’t—“ His words cut off with short panicked breaths.

“Sir?” Althalos pressed his face to the bars. “Sir, it’s all right. No one is hurting you.”

“They already have,” he answered in that same tone. “They took her from me. They took them both from me.”

It was the first clue Althalos had gotten towards the man’s identity. It filled him with excitement. “Who? Who was taken from you?”

There was a pause. Then the man drew a deep, wet breath, and Althalos knew he’d been crying. He asked, “Who have they taken from you, Young Highness?”

He paused. Althalos hadn’t had many friends in the palace. All he’d had was Sybbyl, but even now he knew she was no real friend. He’d done his best not to think about what his father had done to Ulric, but with the madman’s question came the reminder. The only true friend Althalos had ever had, and he was dead. Murdered in a truly horrifying way. And of course, there was his mother—That made him swallow hard and he answered quickly, “My Guard and my mother.”

Even more than Ulric, he’d tried not to think of his mother. He wondered if Father had harmed her too. Was she even still alive? Even the thought filled with such a foreign feeling of helplessness and loss, he did not know how he would handle it if it were true. Perhaps he could ask Rowan when he next visited if she was all right.

But in his heart Althalos knew she must be dead. Otherwise, she’d have freed him by now.

“I lost my mother, too,” the man replied. “I was ripped away from her. And my father and whole family. Because of him.” He spat that word with so much contempt, it made Althalos blink.

“By him you mean my father, don’t you?” the prince asked.

“He smiled as he did it,” he continued. “Just grinned like some deranged pelican.”

Althalos frowned. Pelican?

“He thought he could fly with the rest of his flock. But the lion will strike. The lion must strike.”

He was gone again. Althalos slumped back against the wall as the man devolved into nonsense. It struck Althalos then, how long the rest of his life would feel in this place. His father had said it was a mercy but it felt more like torment. The years stretched out impossibly long in front of him and tears pricked his eyes. He was going to be stuck down here forever.

The night before they were to leave, Fendrel laid in his bed, staring wide eyed at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep, though he knew he should. They had a long journey ahead of them. And yet, his mind couldn’t seem to quiet.

When he’d joined The Source to find Aestus, he’d had compassionate reasons—he’d done it for the betterment of the kingdom, for the sake of his brother’s sanity, for the safety of Althalos and Ana. He’d seen what his brother’s rule was doing to his people and any human being could see that someone capable of such brutality could not be allowed in power.

But now, as Fendrel laid in the dark with not even the moon’s light filtering through his curtained windows, he thought of Favian’s body in the courtyard. How it had steamed. How it had curled up under the blast of fire. How his flesh had melted and then blackened—

Fendrel squeezed his eyes tightly shut and turned on his side, crushing his face against his pillow.

It had been Favian’s own fault, the prince tried to reason with himself. Fendrel had tried to steer him in the right direction, had tried to help in any way he could. Why hadn’t Favian just listened to his brother? Why had he strayed so far that even Aestus thought he had to be gotten rid of?

And Fendrel hadn’t asked for Aestus to kill his brother. No one had asked that of the dragon. He’d done it on his own. There was no way the prince could have prepared for it.

Yet words Thea had spoken when she’d imprisoned him came back to him. Allow me to be very clear, she’d said of the king. What has to be done is kill him. Could you kill your own brother?

It appeared he was too much of a coward for that. Surely that would’ve been kinder, or at the very least more respectful. He could have explained himself, made Favian see why it had to be done. And Fendrel could have made it a merciful death, with a sleeping draught or some such thing.

Instead, Fendrel’s actions had resulted in Favian being burned alive. He shuddered and clutched his blankets tighter.

When Father had pushed Fendrel aside, always sending him away and hardly even speaking to him, it had been Favian that cared for him. Showed him court life. Allowed him to sit in on political meetings, to see the inner workings of the kingdom. It had been Favian who had read to him before he slept, and it had been Favian that had given him the command of the army.

For so much of Fendrel’s life, Favian had been the only one who had mattered.

And now, Fendrel was scheming to take the crown off his still steaming body. The prince drew his knees to his chest as a tear plopped to his pillow. He wondered if Favian would curse him for crying over the death Fendrel had helped orchestrate.

But it was all irrelevant now, Fendrel assured himself. He would kill Malum and save the people of Qamizeh. He would become king and spend his every moment trying to make Creasan an enjoyable and fair place to live. He would do what he could to make The Source happy, to make his servants happy, to make everyone happy. He would live his life in penance for the death of his brother. And then it would have been worth it.

He prayed it would have been worth it.

That next morning, Rowan closed the door to the dungeon with a heavy sigh. He had gone down there with the intention of telling the young prince that his father was dead. He deserved to know such a thing. Yet, when he’d looked into the little bloke’s face, he couldn’t bring the words out of his mouth.

What good would that really do anyway? Althalos was too young to be exposed to such a horrifying death like the one King Favian had suffered. It was better for him to live in ignorant bliss.

Or perhaps bliss wasn’t exactly the word. The little boy’s face was becoming filthier every day, Rowan could see it. And the madman at the end of the dungeon was doing nothing for the prince’s nerves.

The keys to Althalos’ cell had been on Favian’s person when he’d gone up in smoke, but if he wanted to, Rowan was sure he could find a locksmith in Vuterra that would be able to crack the lock on the prince’s cell.

Yet Rowan had seen the way Aestus had treated Prince Fendrel. He had hardly paid him any attention, and when he had, the dragon had appeared aggressive. Of course, Rowan hadn’t been able to catch any words from Aestus, but he figured Favian’s burning was a good enough indication that Lances were no longer safe in Creasan. At the very least, being one was a risk. And since Fendrel couldn’t rule, the next heir would be Althalos. The little prince and Creasan’s future were much safer if he stayed in that dungeon, without a dragon or Guard knowing of his existence.

“Rowan?”

The old man whirled around to find Fendrel coming down the hall. He wore a wide smile and held his arms wide as he approached. Rowan felt his own lips turn up in a massive grin, and the emotions that bubbled up inside of him held him frozen in stunned surprise. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the young lad until he’d seen him just feet in front of him.

“Rowan,” Fendrel exclaimed again and wrapped the old man in a hug.

Rowan laughed and slapped him on the back. “About time, boy! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“I could never.” Fendrel pulled back. “What are you doing in the palace? Stables getting to be too much for you without someone to do your work for you?”

Rowan chuckled. “Watch yourself, boy. I ain’t retiring until I’m ready to be put in the ground.”

Fendrel smiled. Then his eyes fell to something in Rowan’s hand, and his brows came together. “What’s that?”

His followed Fendrel’s gaze to the empty tray he was still holding. The one he used to delivered meals to Althalos. Rowan fixed his face to one of mild annoyance, the one expression Fendrel knew to trust. “Nothing for you to worry about, boy. And ain’t you supposed to be getting on a ship today?”

Fendrel nodded, forgetting about the tray instantly. Because honestly, what was there to be concerned about a tray anyway? “I am,” the prince answered, “which is why I’m glad I found you. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

Rowan’s heart warmed. Bloody hell, the lad was practically his son. In a few more moments, Rowan would be crying. He cleared his throat. “Well, you be careful out there, boy. We already lost one Lance. We don’t need to be losing another.”

The prince nodded but there was an immediate change in his demeanor. He didn’t soften, like Rowan expected. Sadness did not bleed into his face. Instead, a hardness crept in, sharpening the edges of his jaw and dimming the blue of his eyes. Rowan blinked at the change. “I will,” Fendrel answered emotionlessly.

Rowan studied his face and put an arm on his shoulder. “You all right, boy? After what happened—“

“I’m fine. I’m doing what we talked about.” He smiled shortly. “I’m going to be king.”

“Uh-huh.” Rowan didn’t like the new look in his eyes. They’d always been calm and controlled, but now a storm raged inside of them. And any sailor knew, storms were dangerous. “Just…remember how your brother lost himself. Lose yourself, lose the crown. Keep that in mind.”

Fendrel nodded, but he gave no indication that he’d actually heard it. Rowan looked at him with concern as he gave him another hug.

Obviously, whatever journey Fendrel and the others had come back from had been a trying one, but something about Fendrel seemed to be completely different. He wondered what exactly it was that had caused it.

Thea climbed aboard the ship with Isolde, Janshai, and Ana. The others were grabbing last minute supplies and would join them shortly.

The sea breeze brushed at Thea’s cheeks and she took a moment to savor it before the real work started. It wasn’t like the horrible, aggressive wind that ate at her skin at The Forbidden Mountain; it was gentle and caressing. It filled her lungs with renewed breath and brought life to her face. Maerwynn had tied Thea’s hair into one of her perfectly intricate braids, but the little wisps that had escaped tickled her skin.

This was the first time Thea had ever sailed, and she was secretly glad her mother was coming with her. If the idea of a mythical southern country wasn’t foreboding enough, her first voyage being on the often storm-struck Leitham Sea was.

Ana’s ship named Rán was as large aboard as it appeared from the dock. The top deck expanded widely around Thea. Ropes were piled neatly to the side, alongside barrels and boxes. To her left, a set of stairs led to the wooden steering wheel. A beam stretched to the sky with a crow’s nest at the top. The Creasan sails wavered welcomingly in the breeze.

If Thea was being honest, it was all a bit overwhelming. How was she supposed to captain a ship when she’d never been on one in her life? What reason did anyone have for listening to a single thing she said?

“It comes with canons,” Ana said, gesturing to where the weapons sat on either side of the vessel. “And there are more on the lower decks. If we should need them.”

Thea nodded. That was certainly good to know. She wondered if she looked confident at that moment. Was the queen buying it? Because Thea had no idea how to use a canon. Though, she reasoned with herself, how hard could it be? It was a weapon like any other, and if there was one thing Thea was good at, it was using weapons.

Thea heard the flap of wings above her and turned to see Aestus coming toward them, his figure a black silhouette against the white clouds.

Maerwynn, Merek, Carac, and Peronell climbed aboard behind her with packs on their backs. All their eyes were fixed on Aestus in the sky.

The dragon landed in the water beside them, the water splashing up around him. He was easily able to see over the banister of the ship, and he took in the group.

Fendrel and Brom climbed on board just as Aestus asked, Do you have everything you need?

“I believe so,” Thea answered.

Creasan thanks you for your patriotism and your bravery. Travel safely. I shall visit the shore frequently and listen for news of you.

Another thing Thea had heard of the Leitham Sea but had not been sure was true. It is said that the Leitham Sea holds the stories of its voyagers within its waters, and those who knew how to listen can hear their tales. Thea should not have been surprised that Aestus could do such a thing, yet it struck her all the same.

“We hope to bring you pride,” Fendrel responded.

Good luck, warriors, Aestus said, already beginning to flap his wings. They did not even have time to bid him farewell before he was airborne and heading back to the palace.

“Right then,” Thea said, turning to her crew of nine. “I suppose that’s our cue.”

Maerwynn turned to the queen. “Maps?”

“Right this way.” Ana led Maerwynn toward the back of the ship.

Brom approached Thea. She felt an immediate security spread through her. Brom was one of those people that—no matter how he might be feeling internally—appeared as solid as a rock. His assured presence put Thea at ease. Though it had only been three days, she had missed his sturdy company. “I know how to sail,” he said. “I can help.”

“Perfect. Janshai?”

Janshai was beside Thea in an instant.

“You have a new helper. Brom, meet Janshai Torgar, one of the best sea navigators The Source has got—besides my mother, of course. Janshai, this is Brom Izgis, Creasan’s mightiest Guard.”

Both men grinned at the dramatic introductions.

“Would you help me lift anchor?” Janshai asked Brom.

“Of course.” And then they were off.

Ana was back. Thea glanced behind her to see Maerwynn busy behind the wheel. A map was splayed out in front of her and she was studying it, though Thea knew she already had the entire layout memorized. But Rán would not be getting lost on her account.

“I’m going to need someone up in the crow’s nest,” Ana said.

“I can do that,” Merek volunteered.

“No,” Thea said. “I’ll need you down here.”

Peronell stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

Thea nodded, and Ana gestured for him to follow her.

Then Thea looked out at the sea, at the horizon that seemed to beckon her to it. The clouds were thick but calm. The water waved but didn’t rock. It was time. “All right, everyone,” she said, feeling the embers of her fire beginning to catch. “Let’s go slay a dragon.”