Contents

     Title Page

     Prologue

     Chapter 1

     Chapter 2

     Chapter 3

     Chapter 4

     Chapter 5

     Chapter 6

     Chapter 7

     Chapter 8

     Chapter 9

     Chapter 10

     Chapter 11

     Chapter 12

     Chapter 13

     Chapter 14

     Chapter 15

     Chapter 16

     Chapter 17

     Chapter 18

     Chapter 19

     Epilogue

     Extras

     Sneak Peek!

     Chapter 1

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     No Good Dragon Goes Unpunished

     (Heartstrikers 3)

     By Rachel Aaron

      

     When Julius overthrew his mother and took control of his clan, he thought he was doing right by everyone. But sharing power isn’t part of any proper dragon’s vocabulary, and with one seat still open on the new ruling Council, all of Heartstriker is ready to do whatever it takes to get their claws on it, including killing the Nice Dragon who got them into this mess in the first place.

     To keep his clan together and his skin intact, Julius is going to have to find a way to make his bloodthirsty siblings play fair. But there’s more going on in Heartstriker Mountain than politics. Every family has its secrets, but the skeletons in Bethesda’s closet are dragon sized, and with Algonquin’s war looming over them all, breaking his clan wide open might just be the only hope Julius has of saving it.

     Prologue

     Nanjing, Ming Dynasty China, 1469

     Chelsie, youngest daughter of Bethesda the Heartstriker, knelt prostrate on the black marble floor. Beside her, her mother, adorned in Aztec gold from head to toe, knelt even lower, pressing her crowned forehead against the cold stone as she wept tragic, beautiful tears that somehow left the dark paint around her eyes perfectly intact. It was a stellar performance, and it should have held all of Chelsie’s attention. Bethesda never put that much effort into tears unless she really wanted something. Now, though, Chelsie barely spared her a glance, because for once her mother was not the most dangerous thing in the room.

     “Whore of the Heartstrikers.”

     The angry voice was dry as old paper, and Chelsie lifted her red-rimmed eyes to the massive golden throne shaped like a coiled dragon that dominated the marble hall’s northern end. In the middle of the coils, where the dragon’s head should have been, was a second throne of pure white jade with a god-like man sitting on top of it. His entire body from head to feet, including his face, was veiled in golden silk, not that it changed anything. Even with the heavy cloth, Chelsie could feel his angry eyes on her like teeth. But despite his obvious fury, the god-like man’s was not the voice that had spoken. That belonged to the ancient dragoness sitting beside him on the slightly smaller, but still incredibly ornate, black jade throne that had been built into the coils of the golden dragon’s tail, glaring down at the bowing Heartstrikers in absolute disgust.

     “You must have a death wish, harlot,” the old dragoness spat, her face—which already looked like wrinkled rice paper—crumpling even tighter in her rage. “Coming here yourself after what your wretched, shameless daughter has done. But then, you always were as deranged as your father, the Quetzalcoatl. Perhaps you are proud to have produced a dragoness whose morals are even more degraded than your own?”

     “That is why I have come to you, Empress Mother,” Bethesda said tearfully, raising her head so that the gold-shrouded man on the white-jade throne could see the full effect of her beautiful weeping. “My youngest daughter is as stupid as she is ambitious. I sent her to your empire to form a simple alliance, but she had plans of her own, and now her bungled power grab has caused great pain for both of our clans. I have no excuse for her failures. I can only throw myself on your legendary mercy and beg the boon of your forgiveness.”

     “Mercy is the privilege of the powerful,” the Empress Mother agreed, resting her long, lacquered nails on the gold-swathed arm of the man beside her. “But my son is no mere dragon. He is the Qilin, the Golden Emperor, Dragon of the Middle Kingdom, Living Embodiment of All Good Fortune, and Head of All Clans. He can easily afford to be merciful, even to ones such as you, but what have you done to deserve it?” Her cold, reptilian-red eyes flicked to Chelsie. “This is no mere insult. Your daughter has dirtied our family name, leaving us open to rank gossip and ridicule. These injuries are not so easily mended, even for ones as great as ourselves.”

     “And I am prepared to make amends,” Bethesda said immediately. “I have wealth, gold—”

     “We have plenty of that,” the Empress Mother scoffed, rapping her knuckles on the golden dragon that surrounded her and her son. “We are the dragons of China! All the fabled cities of gold in your pathetic jungle put together wouldn’t merit a blink of my son’s eye. But this is not an injury that can be mended with gold.”

     She pointed at Chelsie, who shuddered. “We welcomed your daughter as our guest, showed her great hospitality, and she repaid us with deceit and treachery. She sought to make us look as foolish as you in the eyes of our subjects. It is our good standing, our pride she struck, not our coffers, and if you wish to make amends for that, Heartstriker, then you must pay in kind.”

     Bethesda’s green eyes grew wary. “What do you mean?”

     A cruel smile crept across the Empress Mother’s wrinkled face. “Even among dragons, you are infamous for your arrogance. The stories of you that reach our court are so wild I dismissed them at first, but one look at your gaudy display today shows that was a mistake. You are clearly every bit as prideful, feckless, and self-absorbed as the rumors say, and so that shall be your price.” She pointed at her feet. “Beg,” she commanded. “Get down on the floor and plead for your daughter’s life. Show us that even the Heartstriker can be humble before her betters, and perhaps we shall show mercy.”

      By the time she finished, Bethesda had gone still as the stone beneath them, and Chelsie’s tiny flicker of hope began to die. She’d never do it. There was no way Bethesda the Heartstriker would beg for—

     Chelsie’s racing thoughts slammed to a halt as her mother dropped her head to the floor, pressing her golden crown flat against the stone with her jeweled hands outstretched on either side in a show of full submission. “Please,” she said, the word shaking with the effort it had clearly taken her to force it out. “Please, Golden Emperor, spare my stupid daughter.”

     The Empress Mother laughed in delight. “Excellent!” She cackled, settling back on her throne to enjoy the show. “Now, say you’re a whore.”

     Bethesda’s fingers dug gouges into the marble floor, and Chelsie held her breath, bracing for the explosion…that never came. Somehow, impossibly, Bethesda held herself together, glaring hatefully up at the old dragoness as she growled through clenched teeth.

     “I am a whore.”

     “Louder,” the Empress Mother commanded, waving her hand toward the unseen dragons Chelsie could smell waiting outside in the courtyard. “I want the whole court to hear you confirm what everyone already knows.”

     Smoke began to curl from Bethesda’s lips, but again, somehow, she forced the words out.

     “I. Am. A. Whore.”

     “And a desperate one at that,” the Empress Mother agreed, turning to her son, who had yet to say a word. “You see now, my Emperor? It’s just as I told you. Bethesda the Broodmare is the worst kind of trash. Even before she killed her father, she was famous for shamelessly seducing bigger, better dragons to add more soldiers to her infant army. She’s barely five hundred years old, and already she’s laid five clutches. Five! The last of which hatched just last year.”

     Her beady red eyes snapped back to Chelsie. “With such a mother, how can we expect the child to be different? Bethesda claims it was her daughter’s idea, but it is obvious to me that this whole mess was yet another of the Broodmare’s plots. I wouldn’t let her breed her filth into one of our clans, so she sent her daughter to worm her way in by deceit instead. And why not? The Broodmare and her children are cut from the same cloth. The lot of them are nothing but hungry, grasping scavengers who’ll take power any way they can snatch it. They are incapable of speaking the truth and unworthy of your presence. I advise you to kill them both now before they poison our ears with more treachery.”

     Bethesda shot to her feet. “You lying—”

     The Empress Mother waved her hand, and dragon magic stronger and older than anything Chelsie had ever felt crashed down on top of them, forcing the Heartstriker back to her knees. “Worms do not stand in the presence of dragons,” she snarled, baring her yellowed teeth. “A creature such as you does not deserve the gift of the Golden Emperor’s condescension, much less his mercy! The best you can hope for is a swift—”

     The dragon beside her lifted his hand, and the Empress Mother’s rant cut off mid-breath.

     “Is it true?”

     His voice was as lovely as the golden throne he sat on. So rich and inviting, it drained the anger from the air. Even Bethesda relaxed when he spoke, but Chelsie could only lower her head. It was impossible to see through the golden shroud he wore to hide the glory of his face from the undeserving, but now as before, Chelsie could feel his eyes through the heavy fabric, boring into her like knives as he repeated the question.

     “Is it true, Chelsie?”

     The sound of that voice saying her name was almost too much to take. Everyone in the room was looking at her now, including Bethesda, who seemed to be holding her breath. She was wondering if there was any way she could sink straight into the stone when the Golden Emperor snapped, “Look at me.”

     Slowly, painfully, Chelsie forced her head up to see that the Golden Emperor had taken off his veil, making everything a thousand times worse. She would much rather face the distant god with his unreadable mask of silk than be forced to look at that heartbreakingly familiar face, his beautiful eyes—not red like his mother’s, but golden. The rich, pure, buttery, glittering gold that dragons cherished above all other treasures—beseeching her as he rose from his throne.

     “Tell me it’s a lie,” he said, his lovely voice growing desperate. “Tell me she’s wrong, Chelsie, and I’ll believe you.”

     She dropped her eyes, hands curling into fists on the stone floor as she fought the temptation to yell that both of their mothers were wrong. That it was all a lie and she’d never meant to betray him. Never meant for any of this to happen. It would have been so easy, too, because it was the truth. And yet…

     “Don’t you dare,” Bethesda hissed in their own language. “If he finds out the real reason you tried to run, an ocean won’t be far enough to save us. His anger will destroy everything.”

     Including him.

     Chelsie doubted her mother had considered that last part, but for her, it was the final twist of the knife. She’d tried so hard to fix her mistake, to make things right, but she’d only made everything worse. Even the last-ditch call for her mother’s help hadn’t changed a thing. If she told the truth now, all it would do was destroy everything even faster.

     With that, Chelsie knew her fate was sealed. Her only hope was to keep her greatest mistake a secret forever, but she couldn’t do that while the Emperor was looking at her. She needed to get away. Far, far away, where he could never find her. Never know. Keeping him in the dark was the only chance she had left of righting the massive wrong she’d done them both, and so Chelsie committed to her path, raising her head to look the Emperor straight in his beautiful, golden eyes as she prepared to tell the biggest lie of her life.

     “Everything your mother says is true,” she said solemnly. “I was doing nothing at the bottom of my own clan, so Bethesda sent me to China to make myself useful by manipulating my way into your household. The original plan was only to gain a foothold for our family on this continent, but once I arrived at your court, I saw my own road to power. So, like any properly ambitious dragon, I abandoned my mother’s more modest plans and grabbed as high as I could reach. Too high, it turned out, but I have no regrets. Even though I got caught in the end, I still got farther than anyone expected.” Her look turned cruel. “All the way to you.”

     By the time she finished, the Golden Emperor was staring at her like she’d stabbed him. “And this is the truth?” he said at last. “Are you certain this is what you mean to say, Chelsie?”

     “What else could I be?” she asked callously, giving him her own version of her mother’s famous smile. “I am Bethesda’s daughter, and Heartstrikers always go for the heart.”

     The false words hung like foul smoke in the air, and then the throne room began shake. Cracks appeared in the black marble beneath Chelsie, and porcelain vases tumbled from their stands along the wall, each one hitting the ground at the exact worst angle that would smash them completely beyond repair. Even the jade thrones were beginning to crack, and the Empress Mother lurched sideways, grabbing her son’s sleeve so hard, her claw-like lacquered nails tore straight through the golden silk.

     “Remember yourself!” she hissed, her reptilian eyes gleaming with something very close to fear. “You are the Golden Emperor, the Qilin! You are good fortune made flesh! She is nothing but a scavenger. A lying, conniving, power-grasping harlot by her own admission.” She turned on the two Heartstrikers. “I will kill them myself! Once they are crushed, you will see how little the schemes of worms mean to powers like us!”

     “No,” the Emperor said, clenching his fists. The earthquake died down moments later, though it had yet to stop completely when he turned back to Chelsie one last time, staring down at her with a hateful glare that was so out of place on his handsome face, he looked like another dragon entirely.

     “You,” he said coldly. “Leave my lands and never return. If I ever hear that you or any of your wretched family have set foot in my kingdom again, I will take my mother’s advice and crush you myself.”

     “Of course,” Bethesda said immediately. “Thank you, Golden Emperor. Your mercy is truly—”

     “Don’t thank me,” he said sharply. “Just leave.”

     The command was still echoing through the wrecked throne room when the Emperor turned on his heel and walked out, vanishing through one of the hidden doors behind his enormous throne. His mother followed a second later, pausing just long enough to give Bethesda a final, disgusted look before she hobbled after her illustrious son, leaving the Heartstrikers alone in the still-trembling throne room.

     The moment the Empress Mother was out of sight, Bethesda shot to her feet. “This is all your fault!” she roared at her daughter. “I did everything Brohomir told me. I crossed the ocean. I begged. I humiliated myself for you, and for what? Your foolishness just lost us this entire continent forever!”

     “I know,” Chelsie whispered, lowering her head. “I’m sorry. I—”

     Bethesda grabbed a handful of her daughter’s waist-length black hair, yanking Chelsie up until her feet were dangling off the ground. “I don’t care about sorry!” she snarled. “You cost me more than China today. You cost me my pride. You cost me what I swore I would never give, and you’re going to pay for it.” Her green eyes narrowed as she bared her sharpening teeth. “Every day, for the rest of your life, you will pay.”

     Point made, Bethesda dropped her youngest daughter on the ground like so much trash and walked away, her golden sandals clicking musically across the cracked floor. Chelsie was still lying where she’d landed in shock when a hand landed on her shoulder.

     “Get up,” Brohomir said softly. “We have to go.”

     Chelsie blinked in surprise. She hadn’t even realized her brother was here until he spoke. For a desperate moment, she almost interpreted that as a good sign before she remembered even a seer couldn’t save her now.

     “Why should I?” she whispered, pressing her face into the mercifully cold stone. “You heard her. I’m going to pay for this forever.” And forever was a very long time for a dragon. “I think I’d rather die.”

     “If that was actually true, you wouldn’t have put us through all this,” her brother said gently. “But like it or not, you lived, and now we have to move on.”

     Easy for him to say. “You saw this would happen,” she growled, tilting her head to give the seer a hateful look. “Why did you let me come here in the first place if you knew it would end like this?”

     “Because, believe it or not, this was the happy ending,” Brohomir said with a sad smile, reaching down to brush her long, tangled black hair out of her face.

     “You still could have warned me.”

     He shrugged. “Would it have made a difference? You already knew exactly how bad things could get when you embarked on this foolishness. If that couldn’t stop you, what hope did I have?”

     The rightness of his words hit Chelsie like a punch, and she slumped back down on the stone, defeated. “I know,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. “I know I was stupid. So, so stupid.”

     “You were,” Brohomir agreed. “But there’s no point in dwelling on it. What’s lost is lost forever. All we can do now is move forward, and you should be glad you have that much. There were a thousand ways you died today. I bent over backwards to steer us down the one path where you didn’t. You might not thank me for that in a few minutes when you see what Mother has planned for you, but trust me when I say this was the best of bad options. Now.” He reached down to help her up. “Let’s go home, before any more of the ceiling falls on our heads.”

     His hand hovered just above her own, but Chelsie couldn’t bring herself to take it. She knew he was right, that the only choice left was to accept what had happened and find a way to live with it, and with herself. But when she tried to imagine her future, all Chelsie could see was her mother’s boot coming down on her throat over and over again forever, and…and she just couldn’t. She couldn’t move forward. Not if that was all she had left to look forward to.

     “You see all our futures, right?” she whispered, looking up at him. “Tell me it gets better.”

     The seer didn’t answer. He just sighed in that way of his, as though he’d already gone through this a thousand times before. To be fair, maybe he had, but Chelsie refused to give up.

     “Please,” she begged, reaching out to grab his hand with both of hers. “You always tell us never to ask about the future, but I need to know it won’t be this way forever. I don’t care if it’s a one-in-a-million chance that won’t come for a century, just tell me a way out exists. Give me hope that I won’t actually be paying for this stupid, foolish mistake for the rest of my life. Please, Brohomir!”

     She was crying by the end. Big, ugly, hopeless tears running down her cheeks as she clung to her brother’s hand. Again, though, the seer said nothing. He just leaned down and picked her up off the ground, carrying her out of the throne room to the palanquin waiting outside, where Bethesda was already writing out the details of the blood oath Chelsie now knew for certain she would never, ever escape.

     Chapter 1

      

     Heartstriker Mountain, New Mexico, USA, 2096

     The desert was full of dragons.

     It had been just over ten hours since Algonquin, Spirit of the Great Lakes, had broadcast her intention to wipe dragons off the face of the Earth, and the Heartstriker stronghold in the New Mexico badlands was seething like a kicked-over anthill. Dragons had been arriving all night, clogging the mountain’s tiny airstrip and two-lane highway with their limos, motorcades, private jets, and the requisite human entourages all of that luxury implied. A few even arrived under their own power, their giant feathered wings casting huge shadows in the bright desert moonlight as they flew in from all over the world. No matter how they arrived, though, all of them wore the same grim, cautious scowl, their green eyes constantly sizing up the competition as they crowded into their ancestral home.

     Even for Julius, who’d grown up in the mountain, it was more dragons than he’d seen in his life. Bethesda liked to keep her true strength a mystery, so there was no official number for just how many Heartstrikers there were, but Julius had always assumed the true count was somewhere near one hundred for the simple reason that keeping more than a hundred dragons in line at any one time was impossible. But it seemed he’d underestimated his mother, because his dragon count had passed a hundred an hour ago, and the arrivals hadn’t slowed down a bit. At this point, he couldn’t even guess what the final tally would be, but staring out the window at the never-ending parade of monsters, Julius was certain of one thing: this was more dragons than anyone should ever have to deal with.

     “I can’t do this.”

     “Nonsense,” Marci said. “You’ll do fine. You just need to get away from the window and stop freaking yourself out.”

     Julius didn’t think that was going to help. Looking out the window might not be good for his blood pressure, but if he turned around, the only other thing to look at was Marci lying propped up in her hospital bed, fixing the spellwork on her damaged bracelets while Ghost slept on her lap.

     That was not a sight that made him feel better. Despite being patched up by one of Katya’s sisters (Julius had already forgotten which. Other than Svena and Katya, the terrifying blondes all looked the same to him), Marci had still had a whole chest full of broken ribs thanks to being thrown into a wall by Estella. Fortunately, Heartstriker Mountain was equipped with a state-of-the-art mortal infirmary to handle the inevitable injuries that cropped up when hordes of human groupies spent too much time around dragons, and they’d treated Marci very well. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone referred to the place as “the vet,” Julius would have had no complaints. Other than Marci being injured in the first place, of course.

     “You’re doing it again,” she said, rolling her eyes. “For the last time, Julius, I’m fine. Ysolde the Frostcaller already handled all the actually dangerous stuff. The doctor just said I was pretty much healed. They’re releasing me today, for crying out loud.”

     “I know, I know,” Julius said, plopping down on the foot of the bed. “It’s just…I hate that you got hurt. You shouldn’t have to suffer for my mistakes.”

     “What mistake?” she cried. “Dude, we won! Things might have been a little hairy at the end, but who cares? We did it! Estella’s gone, the Three Sisters are dead, and you’re legit friends with the new head of their clan. And let’s not forget that you also took over your clan, which means Bethesda no longer has the authority to ruin your life. That’s a victory by any definition. You even got a fancy sword for your trouble.”

     “But I didn’t,” he said frantically, placing a hand on the Fang that dangled awkwardly from his hip. Justin had dug up a sheath and belt for him to use, but having the blade covered did nothing to hide just how ridiculous he looked wearing a Fang of the Heartstriker. “The only reason I was able to pull it at all was because I had a seer super-weapon forcing the universe to keep me alive. I didn’t do any of it on my own!”

     “Maybe not initially,” Marci said. “But the chain Dragon Sees the Beginning gave you is long gone, and you can still use the sword, right?”

     “Yes,” Julius admitted. “But—”

     “But nothing,” she said, grinning wide. “Justin won’t shut up about how Fangs choose their wielders. Assuming your brother’s not full of it—and I realize that’s a big assumption—but if he’s right, then the fact that that sword will even let you touch it means that it must at least tolerate you on your own merits.”

     “That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement,” Julius muttered, nervously eyeing the window where he could see yet another massive feathered Heartstriker coming in for a landing. “But even if you’re right and the Fang is legitimately mine, I still can’t do this. I couldn’t even handle one of my mother’s parties! How am I supposed to help run an entire clan?”

     “Hey, the Council was your idea.”

     “But I never thought I’d be on it!” he cried, running his hands through his already rumpled black hair. “I just wanted to make a system where we weren’t ruled by Bethesda’s whims. I didn’t think they’d put me on top of the stupid thing!”

     Marci sighed. “Julius…”

     “I’m completely unqualified to run a clan,” he went on, getting up from the bed so he could pace. “I’m supposed to have the first meeting with my mother in half an hour, and I have no idea what I’m going to say. Zip. Zero. I don’t even know—”

     “Julius.”

     He stopped short to see Marci glaring at him. “Quit panicking and listen,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. “I agree. You are completely unqualified to run a clan. But what you’re not understanding is that that doesn’t matter. You’ve been completely unqualified to do everything we’ve been through, and yet you’ve always pulled it off. Maybe it didn’t always go smoothly, but we made it in the end because you refused to accept anything except what was right. So if you just keep doing that and avoid becoming one of the selfish, power-hungry dragons that got us into this mess in the first place, I’m pretty sure everything’s going to work out just fine.”

     Julius didn’t believe that for a second. He’d taken history classes. He knew that incompetent leaders could be far worse than the tyrants they replaced. But it was hard to keep arguing when Marci was holding his hand.

     “I’m going to mess everything up,” he muttered, sinking back down on the bed beside her.

     “Maybe,” she agreed. “But whatever happens, it’s not like you can do worse than Bethesda sacrificing her youngest son in a play to scam her way into a mating flight. The bar is already on the floor here. Nowhere to go but up.”

     Julius was opening his mouth to explain the difference between minimal competence and not being an absolute disaster when Marci leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder.

     And just like that, everything else became unimportant.

     Between her hair and his shirt, she wasn’t actually touching him, but she was far closer than anyone normally got to a dragon. Close enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin and smell the tang of her magic, which was more than enough to set his heart pounding.

     Of all the ways his life had been turned upside down in the last twenty-four hours, this was the one change Julius had zero qualms about. He wasn’t sure what he and Marci were, exactly. They’d had no time to discuss it since he’d kissed her in the field before fighting Vann Jeger, and he wasn’t about to corner her with the defining-the-relationship talk now while she was stuck in a hospital bed. But the fact that she didn’t move away when he put his arm around her shoulder struck him as a very good sign.

     If the whole thing hadn’t felt so new and delicate, he would have tried to kiss her again. But even with all the other seismic changes in his life, that felt like a bridge too far, so Julius told himself to just enjoy it. Thankfully, Marci didn’t seem particularly inclined to move, either. For several beautiful minutes, they sat there in silence, staring out the little window at the endless parade of planes and dragons, until Julius’s phone went off in his pocket.

     “That’s my death knell,” he said bitterly, silencing the alarm. “I have to go meet with Mother about the Council.”

     “Good luck,” Marci said, moving back to her nest of pillows and sleeping ghost cat. “Because given how mad your mom looked last night, you’re going to need it.”

     He shuddered at the memory. “Do you know when they’re letting you out of here?”

     “The doctor said noon,” she said, poking her bandaged ribs through the hospital gown. “But it might be sooner. Like I said, I’m pretty much healed up. They do need you to come sign me out, though. Apparently, I was listed as your human when I came in, and that means I can’t just walk off on my own.”

     The implications of that sentence were enough to make Julius wince. But as much as he hated the draconic habit of treating people like pets, he couldn’t deny he was a little relieved. Even for someone like Marci, Heartstriker Mountain was no place for a lone mortal, and that was on a normal day. Now, with the mountain packed to the rafters with nervous dragons, Julius was hard pressed to think of anywhere more dangerous.

     “I’ll come back down to get you,” he promised. “But until then…” He trailed off with a smile as he reached into his pocket to pull out a brand-new, top-of-the-line Augmented Reality phone. “I got you a present.”

     Marci’s eyes lit up as she snatched the shiny new toy out of his hand. “When did you get this?”

     “From the concierge desk,” he said, grinning. “Being part of a giant and wealthy dragon clan does occasionally have its advantages.” He reached down to press his fingers against the phone’s mana contacts, and the augmented interface appeared instantly in the air around them, the neon icons floating like well-designed fireflies in the Augmented Reality bubble only those touching the phone could see. “Everything should be set up to let you transfer over all your old bank accounts and mail and so forth. I’ve already put my number into your contacts. Just message me when you need a pick-up, and I’ll come running.”

     “You really have to stop giving me phones,” she said, blushing. “But are you sure you don’t mind? I know you’re going to be crazy busy today, and—”

     “I’m never too busy for you,” he said quickly. “You’re…”

     She glanced up innocently. “I’m what?”

     The most important thing in the mountain to me.

     That was what he wanted to say, anyway. But even after their moment earlier, blurting out his feelings now felt premature. With all they’d been through, it was easy to forget that he and Marci had only known each other for a little over a month. Kissing her before Vann Jeger was one thing, but without the looming threat of imminent death, he couldn’t think of a way to tell her how much she meant to him that wouldn’t make him sound like an overly attached weirdo. Marci was still waiting for an answer, though, so Julius settled for the truth, albeit a toned-down version.

     “You’re my partner,” he said quickly. “I’m not going to leave you at the mercy of Mortal Services. I’ll be here whenever you need me, and”—here went nothing—“I was also hoping we could have dinner tonight. Just the two of us.”

     The words came out in a rush, but considering how long he’d been prepping to ask Marci out, Julius was pleased with his delivery. Marci, however, looked inexplicably disappointed.

     “What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly panicked. “Is dinner bad for you?”

     “No, no, dinner’s great,” Marci said. “It’s just…” Her cheeks turned pink as her eyes went back to the feathered dragons hovering in the sky outside. “I was kind of hoping you could take me flying.”

     Julius’s heart skipped multiple beats. “Flying?”

     “Only if you can,” she said quickly, face getting redder by the second. “I don’t know anything about the physics of it, but I’ve always dreamed of flying on a dragon. If you don’t want to, though, that’s totally cool.”

     Not want to have Marci clinging to his back, shrieking in delight as he flew her over the desert at sunset? Julius couldn’t even imagine it. “I will absolutely take you flying.”

     His reward was instantaneous. “Really?” Marci cried, her whole face lighting up before she sprang out of bed, nearly tackling him in a full-body hug. “You are the best dragon ever!”

     When she said it like that, Julius could almost believe it. He was about to wrap his arms around her as well when someone knocked on the door. When Julius looked over his shoulder, Bob was standing in the hallway on the other side of the infirmary room’s observation window, making exaggerated hand motions at the spot on his wrist where his watch would be if he’d been wearing one.

     Julius’s stomach sank. “I think that’s my cue,” he muttered, turning back to Marci. “You’ll call me?”

     “I will,” she promised, looking him in the eyes. “And remember, Julius. You fought a dragon-slaying fjord spirit, went to another plane of existence, foiled an ancient seer, and saved your clan from utter destruction, and that was just what happened yesterday. You can totally handle a meeting with your mother. Don’t let her tell you otherwise.”

     Julius dropped his eyes, face burning. He couldn’t tell her how much it meant to hear someone say that, but he was determined to try. “Thank you,” he said. “Really, Marci. Thank you.”

     “You’re welcome,” she replied, giving him a shove. “Now get out of here. Your brother’s scaring the nurses, and I’m worried it’ll delay my discharge.”

     She wasn’t kidding. Bob’s gestures had been getting more and more extreme as they’d talked, eventually reaching the point where the human nurses in the hall had started actively backing away. Clearly, Bob’s presence was not good for the efficient running of the clinic, so Julius gave Marci a final smile and stepped outside to greet his brother.

     ***

     “Well,” Bob said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as Julius closed the door. “That looked promising.”

     “What are you doing here?” Julius asked, ignoring the heat that remark brought to his face. “And why are you dressed like that?”

     Every time Julius saw Bob, the seer looked as if he’d gotten dressed by falling backwards into his closet and wearing whatever he landed on. That was still the case this morning, only Bob seemed to have stumbled into a much fancier closet. Rather than his usual odd shirts and paint-stained jeans, he was wearing a dizzying combination of black tuxedo pants, a peacock-blue silk trench coat, a snake-skin vest, and a burgundy velvet top hat complete with multiple white ostrich plumes. Even his pigeon had a pink lace rosette tied to the top of her head like a little hat, and the combined effect was enough to make Julius—who was still wearing the long-sleeved black T-shirt and jeans Bob had left for him after he’d changed back from his dragon last night—feel like the odd one out.

     “Should I be dressed up, too?”

     “Probably,” Bob said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and steering him down the hall. “But there’s no time for that now. This is your big morning, Julius the Nice Dragon! You don’t want to be late to the inaugural meeting of the brand-new first-ever Heartstriker Council.”

     Julius grimaced. “About that. I—”

     “This is the chance we’ve been waiting for,” Bob said over him, his green eyes sparkling. “At long last, the future is wide open. Estella, my greatest obstacle, is dead, and even if her replacement were born tomorrow, it would be fifty years before she mastered the World of Seercraft enough to comprehend my plans.” He grinned in delight. “For the first time in my life, the entire board is mine. Do you know what that’s like?!”

     “No,” Julius admitted. “But aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? There’s still the Black Reach to worry about.”

     Bob clicked his tongue. “Firstly, if you can’t see the irony inherent in telling a seer he’s ‘getting ahead of himself,’ I’m officially disowning you as my brother. Secondly, I don’t bother worrying about the Black Reach because I can’t do anything about him. His plots function on a completely different level than mine. Now that you know what he is, I shouldn’t have to explain why.”

     Julius nodded. He’d already figured out the Black Reach was really Dragon Sees Eternity, twin brother to Dragon Sees the Beginning and an immortal construct dedicated to preserving the future of all dragonkind. He was also, at least according to Bob, the one who was ultimately responsible for the death of all seers. That struck Julius as the sort of thing you should keep track of, but Bob had already moved on.

     “I’ll deal with the Black Reach in time,” he said, hurrying them both out of the infirmary and into the crowded hallway that connected the side building where the mortals were housed to the main spire of Heartstriker Mountain. “Right now, we have a wide-open playing field, which means it’s time to think BIG.”

     “Last night wasn’t big enough?” Julius asked, struggling to keep up with his much taller brother’s strides.

     “Overthrowing Bethesda and changing the entire Heartstriker clan structure was just set-up,” the seer said flippantly. “Once I’ve got my dragons in a row, it’ll be time for the real show.”

     Julius nodded. “Which is?”

     “Nice try,” Bob said, wagging his finger. “But you’re in the big leagues now, kiddo. That means no more freebies.”

     “Come on.” Julius groaned as they crossed the marble lobby toward the golden elevator that would take them all the way up to Bethesda’s throne room at the mountain’s peak. “It’s easy for you to be relaxed. You already know how everything’s going to turn out! But all this uncertainty is hell on the rest of us. After everything we’ve been through, can’t you trust me enough to give me a hint?”

     “Trust is irrelevant when you can see the future,” Bob said, turning on his heel to stare down at his littlest brother. “But if it makes you feel better, it’s because I trust you that I can’t tell you what’s coming.” He smiled wide. “You are the best, most sophisticated tool I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. You are the crowbar I’ve picked to pry apart the universe, Julius Heartstriker. If you think I’m going to jeopardize that so you can feel less anxious, you’re crazier than I am.”

     “But you’re not crazy,” Julius said, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared right back up at the seer. “Are you?”

     Bob’s confident smile didn’t budge, but something in his face sharpened. It wasn’t even a movement, more like a shift of perspective that threw his usual carefree smile into a new, unsettling light.

     “There’s a certain madness inherent in all seers,” he said quietly. “It’s impossible to see as much as we see, to know what we know, and not have it change your perspective. Eventually, you stop seeing the individuals at all. It’s all just percentages and likelihoods, moves on the board, and when you’re always playing twenty moves ahead, you can’t help but look insane to everyone who’s still trapped in the present.”

     He sighed and reached up to adjust his pigeon’s hat. “It’s a lonely life, sometimes, but a very exciting one full of possibility. And speaking of possibility.” He dug into his jacket pockets, pulling out several crumpled sticky notes, a mismatched set of silverware, and one of those lace-wrapped packets of birdseed people threw at weddings before finally producing a densely folded piece of parchment. “You’re going to need this.”

      “What is it?” Julius asked, taking the paper, which had been folded over so many times it was practically a solid cube.

     “The new clan charter I had everyone sign last night. The magically binding document that lays out the redistribution of Bethesda’s powers to the Council and thus determines the future of our entire clan.”

     Julius nearly dropped it. “And you’ve been carrying it around balled up in your pocket?”

     “Next to my heart,” Bob said sweetly, laying a gentle hand on his chest. “That’s my only copy, so be careful. I’m only entrusting it to you because you’re going to need it. This morning marks the first official meeting of the Heartstriker Council, and you can bet your newly unsealed tail feathers that Mother’s going to try every trick in the book to undermine the process. Your only hope of stopping her is to know exactly what the new rules are and force her to follow them. Otherwise, we might as well just give up now and hand her the clan back.”

     That was a defeat Julius didn’t even want to think about. “I’ll try my best,” he promised, carefully tucking the folded square of paper into his own pocket. “But why are you saying all of this to me? Aren’t you going to be there, too?”

     “Why would I go?” Bob said with a shrug. “I’m not on the Council.”

     Julius recoiled in horror. “You can’t make me do this alone!”

     “But you must be alone,” the seer said firmly. “You were the one who wanted it this way, Julius. You refused to kill Mother and take power properly. You were the one who wanted a Council and the one who put himself into one of the three seats—”

     “Only because no one else would do it!”

     “—and now you have to follow through,” Bob said over him. “You got everything you wanted. Bethesda was overthrown with zero Heartstriker deaths, and the whole clan has been turned down a new, hopefully less abusive path. But just because you swept the board doesn’t mean you’ve gotten out of the responsibility of actually making it all work.” He dropped his voice to a menacing whisper. “It’s time to put your money where your mouth is, Julius. No good dragon goes unpunished.”

     He said that as though he were handing down a death sentence, but before Julius could think of a proper way to respond, the golden elevator they’d been waiting on finally arrived.

     “No time for regret now,” Bob said, his face going back to its usual goofy smile as he pushed the elevator’s slowly rolling door all the way open and shoved his little brother inside. “But it won’t be so bad. You’ve already got two seats of the three-seat Council locked down. Once you fill the final vacancy, the Council will be complete, and the three of you will be the Heartstriker, magically and legally. That’s power, Julius! I know you’re a miserable excuse for a dragon, but even you should be able to enjoy that. Especially since Mother’s the one who’s sealed this time. Also, you’ve got your lovely sword now.” He nodded at the sheathed Fang strapped to Julius’s hip. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

     That was easy for Bob to say. He’d had his Fang since who knew when. Julius didn’t even fully understand how his worked yet, not that any weapon could make him feel better about confronting the mother he’d lived his entire life in mortal terror of on the morning after he’d gotten her dethroned. But it was way too late to back out now. Bob had already mashed the button for the throne room, blocking the other dragons who tried to get on with his body as he waved Julius good-bye.

     “Good luck!” he called as the doors closed. “And remember my sage advice!”

     “What advice?” Julius said, grabbing the elevator door only to snatch his hand back again when he remembered that his mother didn’t bother with safety features that kept closing elevators from taking off fingers. “You didn’t tell me anything!”

     The seer smirked at him through the last crack of the closing doors. “Be yourself.”

     Julius was getting mighty sick of that line, but it was too late to ask his brother for more. The mirrored golden doors had already shut, and the elevator had started to roll, whisking Julius up through the mountain at terrifying speed toward the peak, where Bethesda waited in her lair.

     Or what was left of it, anyway.

     With all the craziness that had happened last night, Julius hadn’t had much time to think about what the aftermath of the battle in the throne room would mean for the actual, physical throne room. In the sober light of morning, though, the damage was staggering. The grand stone hallway lined with the heads of Bethesda’s enemies where the elevator let out wasn’t too bad, but the great gold-painted wooden doors at the end had been turned into splinters from the blast Bob had created when he’d broken Amelia’s ward, and it only got worse from there.

     In the huge cavern of the Heartstriker’s throne room itself, massive structural cracks ran down the walls and into the floor. The enormous golden mosaic depicting Bethesda in all her feathered glory had been obliterated entirely when Conrad had thrown Justin into it, and the balcony was blackened on all sides where Estella’s white fire had touched it. In the center of the room, his grandfather’s giant skull, which had been proudly suspended from the gilded ceiling, was now lying haphazardly on its side, and his mother’s ornately carved throne was a pile of gilded rubble.

     Since he’d been here when it happened, none of the damage was actually surprising, but seeing the trappings of his family’s power lying broken on the ground hit Julius harder than he’d expected. He was still staring at it when the door that led to his mother’s private apartments—the one that had been hidden behind the giant throne, but was now just a door in the wall—opened to reveal a cross and surprisingly dusty-looking Frieda.

     Julius flinched. He supposed being greeted by his mother’s secretary was better than being jumped by Bethesda herself, but not by much. Like most Heartstrikers, he’d always been leery of Fs. Unlike the rest of her children, whom she’d expected to leave the mountain and make a name for themselves as soon as was physically possible, Bethesda had always kept her sixth clutch close. They were the ones trusted with the unglamorous but vital jobs that kept the Heartstriker clan running. The Fs were her accountants, security staff, and managers for the army of human servants that kept Bethesda’s mountain fortress from falling apart. They even raised her children. Julius’s own clutch had been brought up by a pair of F sisters—Francis and Fiona—with Bethesda visiting only when she felt the need to inspire the proper levels of fear.

     There were all sorts of rumors about why F-clutch had been singled out for this special treatment. The most popular one was that F-clutch’s father had jilted Bethesda, and she’d punished his children with menial labor as a result. Another theory was that since F-clutch had been born so soon after E—less than a year, in fact, a speed that was unheard of among dragons, even one as famously fertile as Bethesda—they’d all come out magically stunted, forcing Bethesda to keep them close lest they become a liability.

     Knowing his mother, both of these explanations seemed likely to Julius. But however the Fs had come to be servants in their own mountain, none of them had ever seemed particularly happy about it. This went double for Frieda, who, as the eldest female F, had the honor/curse of being Bethesda’s personal aide, a job that would break anyone.

     She seemed to be feeling the full brunt of it this morning, too. In addition to the dust that covered her usually impeccable suit dress, her normally sleek black hair was escaping from its tight bun in long, frazzled wisps. Even standing up straight with the doorframe for support, her whole body looked wilted, her green eyes ringed with dark circles as she sourly looked Julius over.

     “You’re late.”

     Julius was not late. Thanks to Bob, he was actually precisely on time for the eight a.m. meeting. Now didn’t seem like a good time to argue, though, so he let it slide, flashing his sister his most polite smile. “May I come in?”

     Frieda stepped to the side, holding the door wide to accommodate Julius’s sword as he stepped into his mother’s receiving room, which looked very different than it had when Bob had sent him in here to change clothes last night. Then, it had been an impressive showcase of gaudy golden furniture, endangered animal skins, tables too ornate to actually hold things, and other trophies of Bethesda’s expensive and questionable taste. Now, it was an even bigger mess than the throne room.

     Every piece of furniture—the silk couches, the gilt mirrors, even the wrought-iron fireplace grate—had been smashed beyond recognition. The damask-papered walls were shredded, and the Persian rug had been burned almost beyond recognition. The corner nearest him was actually still smoking, and Julius quickly scooted away, joining Frieda on the only remaining clear stretch of floor.

     “What happened?”

     Frieda looked at him as if he were stupid. “Mother.”

     Julius winced. Before last night, he never would have believed Bethesda would do something like this to her property. Other people’s stuff, sure, but never her own. Apparently, she was taking her reduced power even worse than he’d anticipated.

     “It’s been this way all night,” Frieda continued, kneeling down to resume sweeping up the shattered remains of what had been a crystal brandy decanter with matching tumblers. “She’s very upset.”

     Her dirty look made it clear she blamed Julius for that, but while his heart went out to his sister, he refused to apologize for Bethesda’s temper tantrum. “Where is she?”

     “In the lounge,” she said, tossing the broken glass into the bucket beside her. “Down the hall, first door on the left. Try not to make her any angrier. We’re running out of furniture.”

     There was no way he could promise that, so Julius just thanked his sister and walked through the door she’d indicated, carefully stepping over the rest of the broken glass as he made his way deeper into the Heartstriker’s lair.

     He didn’t have to go far. Despite being the private quarters of the (former) head of the largest dragon clan in the world, Bethesda’s apartments were still situated at the peak of a thorn-like mountain. That didn’t leave much space for extra rooms once you accounted for her egg-laying chamber and private gold vault. Julius had actually been hoping he’d get to see that last one. He was still a dragon, after all, and the piles of gold Bethesda famously liked to lounge on were the stuff of legend. Unfortunately for his curiosity, his mother was exactly where Frieda had said she’d be: sprawled on a leather fainting couch in a smoky, red-velvet-covered room that, though ripped in places, was still mostly intact.

     This was an improvement over the hurricane-level destruction of the entry room. After looking around, though, Julius couldn’t help but wish she’d wrecked this room as well. Maybe if she’d beaten the velvet couches and copious nude paintings a bit more, he’d have been able to ignore the fact that he was basically standing in what could only be described as his mother’s boudoir. It didn’t help that the silk dressing gown she was wearing fit the scene perfectly, falling off her shoulders in a way that didn’t quite leave her naked, but still revealed way more of his mother than Julius would ever be comfortable seeing. Which, knowing Bethesda, was precisely why she’d worn it.

     “Well, well, well,” she growled, her green eyes glowing in the low light. “My illustrious co-ruler arrives at last.”

     Julius sighed. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but he’d hoped his mother’s natural lust for power would encourage her to at least try working within the new system, if only to figure out how to game it. Clearly, even that was too optimistic. Bethesda didn’t look ready to do anything except eat him alive. She was also, he realized suddenly, not alone.

     “You know David, of course,” she said, waving her hand at the dragon sitting in the enormous armchair in the corner. “Senator of New Mexico.”

     “Of course,” Julius said. Other than Bethesda, David—a five-term senator and the first dragon ever to be elected to public office in the United States—was the most famous Heartstriker, at least among mortals. He played the part perfectly, too. Where most dragons did everything they could to emphasize their position at the top of the food chain, David did the opposite. His smile was trustworthy rather than predatory, and his dark hair had been dyed strategically gray at the temples to make him look less eternally young. Like all dragons, he was still ridiculously handsome, but in an approachable way, the kind of man you’d trust to look after your house, or your country. But unlike the rest of the voting population, Julius was also a dragon. Good as the ruse was, he could spot the hunter’s gleam in David’s bright-green eyes as he stood up to offer Julius his hand.

     “I’m happy to meet you at last,” he said warmly, giving Julius a crushing handshake. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

     “I’m sure you have,” Julius said, glancing at his mother, who bared her teeth. “But, um, this is supposed to be a Council meeting, so—”

     “Why do you think he’s here?” Bethesda snapped, giving Julius the look she saved for her especially stupid children. “He’s going to be our third seat.”

     Julius jerked in surprise. “What?”

     “I was honored to be asked,” David said, his deep voice smooth as silk. “And delighted to accept. I’m happy to do whatever I can to aid our clan in these troubled times.”

     “Spoken like a true politician,” Bethesda said proudly. “But you can drop the act, dear. It’s only Julius.”

     David flashed their mother a smile that almost, but didn’t quite, reach his eyes. Julius, however, was putting a stop to this right now.

     “I’m happy you’re not fighting the Council anymore,” he said to his mother, pulling out the folded-up charter Bob had just given him. “But you can’t just make David part of the Council. It clearly says right here that the third seat must to be elected by a majority vote of the—”

     “But that’s ridiculous,” Bethesda scoffed. “I’m still sealed, and I don’t get unsealed until this stupid Council is complete. David is more than qualified. He’s also the highest-ranking Heartstriker without a Fang other than Amelia, and his popularity with the upper alphabet clutches gives him loads of internal support.” She flashed her son a proud smile. “He was actually my second suspect for potential coups after Amelia, but you and Bob beat him to the punch.”

     David chuckled. “You should thank them for that, Mother. I was planning to kill you in your sleep.”

     “I almost wish you had,” Bethesda said. “At least you would have managed a proper draconic overthrow instead of this mess.”

     They both had a good laugh over that, and Julius, who already felt sick to his stomach, decided to just move on. “It doesn’t matter how good he is or how much support he’s got,” he said firmly. “There still has to be a vote.”

     “And there will be,” Bethesda said. “Or haven’t you noticed the Heartstriker migration?” She gestured at the boudoir’s tiny window, where the shadows of dragon wings flickered almost constantly in the morning light. “I called everyone in last night. By noon, the whole clan should be assembled. Once I’ve got everyone together, I’ll explain what happened, tell everyone how to vote, and this Council nonsense will be resolved.” She grinned. “I’ll have my wings back by sunset. Assuming the bag of hot air I call daughter can actually undo the seal she put on me.”

     That was a far more sensible plan than Julius had expected from his mother, but there was still one problem. “You can’t just tell everyone about the open Council seat and then have the vote immediately,” he said. “What if someone wants to run against David?”

     Bethesda shrugged. “Not my problem.”

     “Yes, your problem,” Julius snapped. “The entire point of this Council is to let Heartstrikers choose who we want to lead us. That can’t happen if you’re just appointing people.”

     “Oh, Julius,” Bethesda drawled. “You say that like I should care. But this is your dream, not mine. The only reason I’m playing along at all is because I’d rather have a little power than none. If you wanted all these lofty ideals, you should have been here fighting for them, not gallivanting around with your little mortal girlfriend. But no. You were off playing while I was running my clan.”

     “I wasn’t here because we had a meeting this morning,” he growled, trying his best to stay calm. “And you shouldn’t have been doing anything with our clan to begin with. Not without informing me first.”

     “Like you know anything about what it means to be the Heartstriker,” his mother scoffed. “I bet you don’t even know how many dragons we have.”

     He couldn’t answer that, and Bethesda smiled cruelly. “Thought so.”

     Julius clenched his fists. Ten minutes into their first meeting, and things were already spinning out of his control. But it was always this way. Even now that they were technically equals, talking to his mother still made him feel like a hunted animal. But while Julius wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk out, he didn’t have the luxury of running this time. This Council was the culmination of everything he’d fought for. It was the chance at a better future he’d made everyone suffer to create, especially Marci, and Julius would keep his mother from riding roughshod over it if it was the very last thing he did. He was about to tell her as much when David cleared his throat.

     “Though she’s wrong in her motives, Mother does have a point,” he said in a politic voice. “I would love nothing more than to give all of Heartstriker a chance to properly consider their options, but we simply don’t have the time. By her contract of surrender, Bethesda’s power as the Heartstriker is now divided evenly among the three Council members. Unfortunately, this means that, until that final seat is filled and the Heartstriker Council is complete, we can’t make any clan decisions. That’s a dangerous liability on a good day, but with Algonquin’s declaration of war last night, it could be a catastrophic one.”

     David leaned forward in his chair, looking at Julius with an earnestness that was almost sincere. “As the dragons of the Americas, the Heartstriker clan is Algonquin’s closest target. We are also, thanks to you, in complete disarray. That’s a deadly combination, Julius. Now more than ever, we can not afford to appear weak or indecisive. We must fill the final seat as soon as possible, before Algonquin realizes just how wounded we are.”

     He finished with a winning smile, and for a treacherous second, Julius was almost swayed. The only thing that saved him was the fact that he’d been hiding from dragons like David his whole life, which meant he’d seen this game enough to know when it was being played on him. “I see,” he said. “So it’s just convenient that, since you’re the only one who knows there will be elections, you just happen to be the only one prepared to win them.”

     “Any good statesman protects to his advantage,” David said with a shrug. “But just because it benefits me doesn’t mean a quick election isn’t also what’s best for the clan. With my connections in the American government, our newly formed Council will be a strong wall against Algonquin’s inevitable encroachment. Honestly, I really don’t see how we could do better, unless you have another Heartstriker in mind?”

     “I don’t,” Julius admitted. “Honestly, you probably would be very good for the job, but that’s not the point. This is supposed to be a fair election, and that implies having more than one candidate. I understand that Algonquin is a serious threat, but I didn’t do this so dragons like you could crowbar your way into power.”

     “Then perhaps you don’t understand just how serious a threat Algonquin is,” David said, his voice growing cold. “Mother?”

     Bethesda snapped her fingers, and Chelsie stepped out of the shadows, making Julius jump.

     In hindsight, he supposed he should have expected it. Chelsie was never far when Bethesda was involved, and she never entered a room normally. But while the clan enforcer’s presence should have been a given, the bloody bandages covering her left arm and torso were not.

     “What happened?” he cried, looking her up and down. “You weren’t hurt last night!”

     “Of course not,” Bethesda said. “She was fighting you, and all you do is run. These are from the job I sent her on this morning.”

     “And why was she on a job?” Julius demanded. Last he’d heard, Chelsie had been sleeping off the effects of Estella’s chains.

     “Because I sent her on one,” Bethesda said, flashing him a smile so sweet, it made his stomach curdle. “Really, Julius, I’d think you’d be happy. Thanks to my quick thinking, Chelsie was able to get a look around inside the DFZ before Algonquin’s defenses went up.”

     “You sent her to the DFZ?” he said, unable to believe his ears. “But she just got out from under the chains.” He squinted at the bandages again. “Are those bullet wounds?”

     “Anti-dragon rounds,” Chelsie said, nodding. “Algonquin was prepared.”

     By this point, Julius was so angry he didn’t know what to do with it all. His mother, on the other hand, looked smugger than ever. “Just because you coerced me into this Council nonsense doesn’t mean you get everything,” she said, reaching up to pet Chelsie’s short-cropped black hair. “The clan might be yours, but Chelsie is mine. My shade, my spy, mine to do with as I please, always and forever.”

     Chelsie dropped her eyes as she said this, staring at the floor. Julius did as well, but for a completely different reason. How could he have been so stupid? He’d assumed they’d taken everything from Bethesda when they’d removed her as clan head, but he’d completely forgotten about Chelsie. Given how no one seemed to want to talk about why Bethesda’s control over Chelsie was special, the oversight might have been excusable until you remembered that Chelsie herself had said she couldn’t take the Fang’s seat on the Council because she’d just be giving their mother another vote. He should have realized the truth then and made Bob rewrite the contract to remove Bethesda’s control from Chelsie as well, but he hadn’t even thought about it. Stupid.

     Before he could think of how to even start making this right, though, his sister shook her head. “Your face always was transparent,” she said grimly, meeting his eyes at last. “I know what you’re thinking, Julius, but it doesn’t matter. My duty to Bethesda is a private matter. It’s not something you can sign away with a contract.”

     He shook his head. “But—”

     “Let it go,” she growled. “Now do you want to hear what’s going on inside the DFZ or not?”

     Julius didn’t know what else to say, so he shut his mouth and nodded. Once Bethesda had nodded as well, Chelsie began her report.

     “Algonquin’s got her city locked up tight. Her mages were out all night putting up wards on the borders while her anti-dragon task force did sweeps inside the city itself.”

     The way she said that made Julius’s blood run cold. “How bad was it?”

     “Bad,” Chelsie said. “Let’s just say it’s a really good thing that you and Ian were already gone when it hit. She knew right where we were—safe houses, strongholds, emergency bunkers, everything—and with so many units, she was able to hit multiple clans simultaneously. By the time the warning got out, her teams were everywhere. No one escaped.”

     Julius began to sweat. “But what about the dragons who weren’t causing problems? You know, the ones who were just living their lives in—”

     “No one,” Chelsie repeated coldly. “There were four Heartstrikers in the DFZ last night: Iris, Gia, Henry, and Jessica. All four were dead before I reached them.”

     That last name sent Julius slumping against the door behind him. He’d never particularly liked Jessica, and he didn’t know the others at all, but the thought that four of his siblings were just…dead. It didn’t seem possible. It was barely a month since Jessica had let him stay at her apartment the first night Bethesda had kicked him out to the DFZ. How could she just be gone?

     “All things considered, four isn’t bad,” Bethesda said pragmatically, dismissing her daughter with a wave of her hand. “It could have been much worse.”

     “But it’s not just dragons she’s hitting,” David pointed out as Chelsie vanished as silently as she’d appeared. “Algonquin’s teams also seized our human assets, our employees, spies, and so forth. The official word is that she’s merely detaining them for questioning, but the day is still young.”

     “How can she get away with that?” Julius asked. “DFZ might be Algonquin’s playground, but there’s more to the world than Detroit.”

     “There you are correct,” David said. “Arresting humans who’ve broken her laws is one thing, but all the Heartstrikers she killed last night were American citizens in addition to being dragons. Algonquin knew that, but she put their heads on spikes in front of her tower anyway. Critical mistake. America has gone to war over less. I’ve already talked with the president about it, and we’re going to lodge a formal complaint along with the resumption of strict sanctions starting this afternoon. It won’t stop her, but the loss of trade should slow her down until we can get our clan back on its feet. Provided, of course, that Julius allows us to do so.”

     “He shouldn’t be allowing us to do anything,” Bethesda said, glaring down at Julius with a look designed to make him feel one inch tall. “The only reason he’s on this Council at all is because none of the other Fangs could be bothered. If this Council of his survives one year, I’ll be amazed.”

     The malice in her voice was enough to make Julius flinch, but for once, that was as far as it went. His mother was still terrifying, still cruel and conniving, but he was no longer the same dragon he’d been. He might never be able to face his mother without flinching, but that didn’t change the weight of the sword on his hip or the bulk of the paper contract he still clutched in his hand. The one she’d signed on her knees when he’d spared her life, giving him the power to say what he was going to say next.

     “There will be a vote,” he said, amazed that his voice didn’t shake. “Algonquin will always be a threat. We have a much better chance of standing up to her if we do it together, but we can’t do that if Bethesda keeps trying to wiggle out of her agreements.”

     His mother’s eyes flashed with anger, and Julius put a proactive hand on his sword. “David is right. We need to get our clan up and running again as soon as possible. That said, a surprise election where the only candidate is your chosen successor is not acceptable. So, since this is supposed to be a Council, I suggest we compromise and have the vote tonight. It’s still too fast, but at least this way everyone will have a chance to actually get to the mountain and learn what’s going on before we spring this on them. That way, if one of them wants to run, they’ll have a few hours to prepare, giving us a chance at a fair election.”

     “Or an epic mess,” Bethesda snarled. “You have no idea the can of snakes you’re opening here, but I suppose a good compromise should leave no one happy.” She sighed. “Fine. I don’t see how a few hours will make a difference, but if it will shut you up, we’ll have the vote tonight at six.”

     He’d been thinking eight, but Julius was ready to take what he could get. They’d only been at this for fifteen minutes, and he was already exhausted.

     To be fair, part of that was natural. Between everything that had happened last night and visiting Marci this morning, he hadn’t actually gotten a chance to sleep last night. Or the night before. Now that he thought about it, actually, he hadn’t slept since Marci had left with Amelia after they’d failed to break the Sword of Damocles. Given how much of that he’d spent fighting, fleeing, and being otherwise terrified for his life, Julius was amazed he was still conscious. But while he definitely felt run down, he wasn’t nearly as bad as he should have been. Apparently, being unsealed had done a lot more for him than he’d first realized. Now he just had to escape this room before his mother sapped what little energy he had left.

     “Six it is, then,” he said tiredly, opening the door. “See you then.”

     No one spoke as he left. The moment the door closed behind him, though, the plotting began fast and furious. A proper dragon would have stayed to listen, but Julius wasn’t a proper dragon, and he didn’t particularly want to hang around in a hallway, eavesdropping while his mother and his brother discussed how to undermine everything he’d worked for. He just wanted to go to bed, so he turned away, striding out of his mother’s lair as fast as he could without actually running. But his plan to get downstairs as fast as dragonly possible hit a bump when he opened the door to the throne room just in time to see Katya entering from the other side.

     Unlike everything else today, this was a pleasant surprise. The last he’d heard, the new head of the Daughters of the Three Sisters had taken her clan out to hunt for Svena, who had yet to return from her mating flight. Not that anyone expected her to. Given what Estella had done—brainwashing her and sending her on a mating flight with Ian as part of an elaborate scheme to kill Bethesda and destroy the Heartstriker clan—Julius wouldn’t have been surprised if Svena never set foot on this mountain again. But clearly he wasn’t giving the White Witch enough credit, because moments after Katya entered, Svena swept in behind her looking no worse for wear. Even more surprising, Ian was right beside her, walking arm in arm with the dragoness with the smuggest smile Julius had ever seen.

     Okay, the smug part wasn’t surprising at all, but the fact that Ian was still alive was. He would have put money on Svena eating the younger dragon for breakfast the moment Estella’s chain broke. But Ian and Svena had always had an odd sort of relationship, and whatever miracle had returned his brother to the mountain alive, Julius was glad of it, especially since both of them looked so uncharacteristically happy.

     The other remaining Daughters of the Three Sisters were coming in as well now, but as Julius lifted his hand to greet them, something froze him in his tracks. It was so sudden, Julius couldn’t even say what was wrong until Ian looked straight at him. Even then, it took him several seconds to pin down what his danger instinct was freaking out about. When he saw it, though, he didn’t know how he’d noticed anything else.

     Ian’s eyes were no longer green.

     Chapter 2

     And that was how, five minutes later, Julius found himself standing beside his mother in the ruined throne room for his second-ever meeting as part of the Heartstriker Council.

     At least Bethesda looked the part this time. Julius wasn’t sure how, but somewhere between his leaving and Ian’s arrival, she’d changed into a flowing emerald silk gown with an elaborate golden headpiece and a full face of flawlessly contoured makeup. The transformation was miraculous considering she’d been in the Bethesda equivalent of pajamas when he’d last seen her. But perfect as she now looked, even the Heartstriker herself couldn’t compete with Svena.

     Julius had always thought the White Witch of the Three Sisters was beautiful in a cold, terrifying way. All dragons were lovely to look at, of course, but Svena had always had that something extra that set her apart. Even under Estella’s chains, she’d had the self-possession of a true monster: confident in her power and utterly unafraid. This morning, though, everything about her seemed to have been multiplied by a power of ten.

     Unlike Bethesda, she was not dressed for an audience. Quite the opposite. With her bare feet, windswept hair, and simple white shift dress of conjured, unmelting snow, Svena looked as if she’d flown straight here from the desert. Not that that seemed to matter. Julius couldn’t put his finger on what had changed, but this morning, he was convinced Svena could have been wearing a potato sack and still looked like a conquering queen.

     It was victory, he decided at last. Standing in front of her sisters with Ian at her side, Svena didn’t look like a dragon who’d barely survived her seer’s treachery. She looked like a soldier who’d fought and won, and she wore that triumph like a crown, smiling viciously at Bethesda, who—in her green silk—was starting to look like a sour grape by comparison.

     Both dragonesses were staring at each other as though bloodshed was more of a when than an if, leaving the rest of their respective parties—Julius, David, and Conrad (who’d appeared from nowhere the moment there was a chance of violence) on one side of the room, Katya, Ian, and the other Daughters of the Three Sisters on the other—standing like spectators at the world’s most elegant cage match. Julius was already reaching for his Fang to head off the inevitable attack when Bethesda broke the silence with a cold, sharp command.

     “Ian. Get over here.”

     Ian brushed his hair away from his new dark-brown eyes with a slow smile.

     “No.”

     Bethesda went perfectly still, and Julius’s stomach began to clench. The other Heartstrikers were already stepping back to a safe distance when Svena burst into laughter.

     “Poor little Broodmare,” she cackled. “My sisters told me the whole story. It seems you’re only a third the dragon you used to be.” She pursed her lips in false concern. “What will the other clans say, I wonder?”

     “Save your wondering for yourself,” Bethesda snarled back. “I see you wasted no time taking your clan back, or what’s left of it. Did Katya the Backstabber roll over for you, or did you have to fight her for the scraps your dead mothers left behind?”

     Katya hissed, and Julius shot his mother a dirty look, which she ignored. For her part, Svena didn’t even give Bethesda the satisfaction of looking insulted. She actually seemed pleased by the outburst as she turned to wrap her arm around Ian’s shoulders.

     “Low blows do you no favors, Heartstriker,” she said, shaking her head. “But I expected nothing less from you. Your ambitions have always been as shallow and gaudy as your taste. But I enjoy watching you try to keep up, so I don’t mind telling you that my littlest sister did, in fact, offer me the rule of our clan this morning. And I turned her down.”

     Bethesda blinked. “What?”

     It hardly seemed possible, but Svena’s grin got even wider. “Some of us have higher goals than merely ruling over our dead parents’ shadows, Princess of the Quetzalcoatl. For thousands of years, my mothers were the greatest dragons left alive in this world. As of last night, though, they’re dead. All that drama and buildup, and they went down in a single shot in front of the entire world. But that just goes to show that the legacy of past power is as false and rotten as those who cling to it, and that real power, the true right to rule, is something you must seize with your own fangs. Not ones you steal from your poor betrayed father.”

     She finished with a pointed look at the sword on Julius’s hip, but Bethesda was staring at Svena in insulted disbelief. “How stupid do you think I am?” she snapped. “You’ve coveted your mothers’ magic since you were born! Did you actually think I’d believe you when you claim you’ve given up on it now?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you really here, White Witch? Too scared of Algonquin to go into the DFZ and take back the magic from your mothers’ corpses?”

     That was a low blow, and several of the white dragons bared their teeth in reply, but Svena just waved the insult away. “My mothers had just woken up from a thousand-year sleep. Whatever magic they had left was trivial, and probably already stolen by Algonquin. But even if their life’s fires were in front of me for the taking, I wouldn’t bother. I am not content to be merely the daughter of great dragons, ruling over the memory of power. Let the dead be dead. I am alive, and for the first time ever, my future is wholly my own.” She lifted her chin proudly. “I am my own queen now, Bethesda, so I’ve done what any true dragon would do in my position. I’ve started my own clan.”

     “And dragged my son into it,” Bethesda growled, glaring at Ian, who was still standing at Svena’s side, cockier than ever. “Why you conniving, dragon-stealing—”

     “You can’t steal what isn’t owned, Bethesda,” Ian said, cutting her off. “Svena isn’t the only one with ambition. She didn’t take me. I went to her.”

     Their mother’s face turned scarlet. “Why?” she growled. “Of all my children, why would you betray me?”

     Ian shrugged. “Why does a dragon do anything? Power. You have given me several opportunities, but Heartstriker’s the biggest clan in the world. Even with your favor, I knew it would take centuries to claw my way up the ranks. So I started looking for other options, and once I showed Svena how useful I could be, she was happy to give me a spot at the top of her new clan.”

     “New clan?” Bethesda scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. Two dragons does not make a clan. You don’t even have territory.”

     “I’ve claimed my mothers’ lands,” Svena said coldly. “And their daughters. Katya and the others have all abandoned the dead flame of our mothers. They follow me now.”

     Bethesda opened her mouth again, but Svena didn’t give her the chance.

     “You forget yourself, Heartstriker,” she growled. “My sisters and I are older than you or your children. With the exception of your obnoxious Planeswalker, we have more magic between us than all the dragons in this mountain combined. That makes us a very powerful clan.” She looped her arm through Ian’s. “Face it. Your son traded up. Especially since my clan will be getting bigger very soon.”

     She placed a hand pointedly on her stomach as she finished, and Bethesda’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Ian, you didn’t.”

     “I most certainly did,” Ian replied, placing his arm possessively around Svena’s waist. “Our mating flight might have started as a ploy, but a real dragon always figures out how to turn failures to his advantage. Svena and I had actually talked about doing this days before Estella returned. When Svena was taken, I knew the Northern Star couldn’t keep up whatever she was using to control her forever, so I played along and waited for my chance. When Svena was herself again, I explained what had happened. Once she understood the situation, she was more than happy to accelerate our plans.”

     “I bet she was,” Bethesda grumbled, though she didn’t look as angry over this as Julius had expected. She actually looked grudgingly proud, but then, Ian had always been her favorite precisely because he did things like this. That said, Julius was sure his mother had never dreamed he’d do it against her.

     “Congratulations on your perfectly orchestrated betrayal,” she said bitterly. “But before you get too comfortable, remember that half of those eggs are still mine. The contract Estella and I signed—”

     “Was applicable to the Daughters of the Three Sisters,” Svena said. “Alas, the mating flight took place after I decided to strike out on my own and take Ian with me.” She smirked. “You should have seen how fast he threw you over. You really should treat your children better, Heartstriker.” She rubbed her flat stomach again. “I’m just glad our whelps will never have to know you as a grandmother.”

     By this point, Bethesda looked like she was about to burst a vein. If she hadn’t still been sealed in her human form, Julius was certain she would have been breathing puffs of smoke, and he decided he’d better step in before she did something they’d all regret.

     “Mother,” he said quietly. “It’s not—”

     “Shut up!” Bethesda roared. “Do you know how long I schemed for that mating flight?” She stabbed her finger at Svena. “I don’t care what technicalities you trot out. Those are my eggs, and I will have them! Your only say in the matter, White Witch, is whether or not you’ll be alive when I’m done.”

     “Bold words, Broodmare,” Svena said, the words coming out in puffs of frost as the temperature in the room began to drop. “But you’re in no position to threaten me. Your clan is in turmoil, your dragon is sealed, and your territory surrounds the DFZ on all sides. That makes you the obvious first target for Algonquin’s little war, and huge as your child army is, even you can’t fight on two fronts at once. You would do far better to mind the children you already have. It would be a very stupid move indeed to risk the dragons you’ve got chasing after eggs you’ll never touch.”

     That sounded like good advice to Julius, but if Bethesda knew how to put sense before pride, their family history would have been very different. She’d already opened her mouth to shout down Svena and most likely plunge their clans into war in the process when Julius decided enough was enough.

     “Stop.”

     The quiet word landed like a hammer, and his mother froze. Her eyes, the only part she could still move, flicked to Julius’s hand, which was wrapped in a fist around the hilt of his Fang. But while Julius knew better than to let it show on his face, he was jumping for joy on the inside that the sword had actually worked like he’d wanted. All he’d had to do was think about stopping his mother, and the sword’s magic had leaped up to meet him, freezing Bethesda’s blood-lust and locking her in place. It was still there, too, the echo of his dead grandfather’s will hanging sharp and alien in his mind, but Julius didn’t have time to worry about that. Already, Svena and Ian were both looking at him in surprise, and Julius knew that if there was ever a time to show the world that Heartstriker had changed, it was now.

     “Our grudge against the Daughters of the Three Sisters died with Estella,” he said, fighting to keep his voice from shaking as he stood tall beside his frozen mother. “Also, since Svena was not in control of her actions when she signed, the mating flight contract was invalid from the beginning, which means those eggs belong to their parents.” He shifted his eyes to Ian, who was trying and failing to hide his shock. “On behalf of our clan, I formally renounce any claim to your children, and I sincerely congratulate the both of you on a successful mating flight and the formation of your new clan.”

     He meant that, too. Svena and Ian were both terrifying dragons, but under all the posturing, they really did seem to work well together as allies. That was a love story for the ages by dragon standards, and Katya certainly looked happy to not be clan head anymore. But while Julius stood behind every word he’d just said, he could feel his mother pushing on his Fang’s hold with all her might. He was about to add another hand to his sword to keep her in check until the others left when Ian suddenly stepped forward.

     “Well, well, Julius,” he said in a pleased voice. “It seems the rumors are true and Mother is no longer the absolute ruler of Heartstriker. But while I’m proud to see you’ve grown some fangs at last, I don’t believe you have full authority to make these decisions any more than she does.” He paused, letting that sink in, and then, “What about a compromise?”

     Bethesda and Julius stopped struggling. “What?” they said in unison.

     “A compromise,” Ian repeated with a smirk. “I’m given to understand it’s your favorite thing.”

     “Julius’s favorite thing,” Bethesda hissed, finally breaking free of Julius’s Fang’s control as her burning desire to murder them all faded to a far more manageable shocked indignation. “Don’t tell me he’s rubbed off on you, Ian.”

     “Don’t be insulting,” Ian said. “I’m not interested in lofty ideals or the preservation of empires. The only thing I care about is securing the best outcome for myself, my mate, and the children who will become the foundation of our future power.”

     Julius arched an eyebrow. “And compromise fits into that how?”

     Ian smiled and motioned toward the door to Bethesda’s apartments. “Step in there, and I’ll tell you.”

     Their mother looked instantly suspicious, and for once, Julius agreed. “Why?”

     “Because this is a delicate negotiation between clans,” Ian said with a pointed look at David, who was still watching from a safe distance. “It’s not for common ears.”

     David’s posture turned instantly hostile. Bethesda, however, looked amused. “All right, traitor,” she said. “You want to bargain? I’ll hear you out. If only for the amusement factor.”

     “We’ll hear you out,” Julius said pointedly, releasing the death grip on his sword.

     Bethesda rolled her eyes, but she didn’t say anything else as the three of them walked away from the two clans locked in a standoff and into Bethesda’s rooms.

     ***

     The moment the door closed, Bethesda dropped all pretense. “What do you want?” she snapped, glaring at Ian like the smaller dragon was five seconds away from being her breakfast.

     “What I’ve always wanted,” Ian replied coolly. “Power. I know Heartstriker is now ruled by a Council. I also know there’s an empty seat. I want you to give it to me.”

     “What?” Bethesda roared. “You turn traitor, join the enemy when I needed you most, and now you want me to take you back?”

     For once, Julius didn’t actually think his mother’s reaction was unjustified. “It does seem disingenuous. You just joined a new clan a few hours ago. There’s no way Svena would be okay with you jumping ship right back.”

     “Nonsense,” Ian said with a grin. “Who do you think helped me come up with the idea? Svena’s perfectly content with this, because I’m not planning to leave her clan. My aim is to be at the top of both.”

     Julius had no words. Even Bethesda was temporarily speechless. He knew Ian was arrogant and ambitious, but this was just crazy.

     “Impossible!” their mother cried at last. “Welcome a double agent into the top of my clan? I might as well let Svena in, too, since you’re just going to report all our dealings right back to your little snow queen.”

     Ian looked disappointed. “Really, Bethesda, is that the limit of your imagination?” He pointed at Julius. “I’ve been running human businesses since I was younger than him. I’m president of three companies and on the board for seven more. That’s how humans do business: the best people rise to the top of any ladder they touch. It doesn’t matter if you’re running one company or fifty so long as the work gets done well. Why should clan structure be any different?”

     “Because we’re not humans,” Bethesda growled. “And we don’t share. You know what they say about dogs with two masters.”

     “I do,” Ian replied coldly. “But I am no dog, and if you would stop being stubborn for five seconds, you’d see that this arrangement benefits us all.”

     Bethesda scoffed at that, but Julius was curious. “How?” he asked. “I mean, it’s obvious how you would benefit from rejoining Heartstriker, but what’s in it for us?”

     “What a remarkably un-Julius-like question,” Ian said approvingly. “And the answer is plenty. Algonquin has declared war against our species. Svena and I agree that her strike against her mothers was most likely a target of opportunity, but as the closest clan to the DFZ and the one suffering from the most internal turmoil, Heartstriker is the obvious next choice for attack.” His brown eyes locked on Bethesda. “You know this, which is why you’ve called in the entire clan, but all your dragons put together can’t stop a magical weapon powerful enough to take down the Three Sisters.”

     Bethesda scoffed. “And you’re saying Svena can?”

     “Yes,” Ian said without missing a beat. “Because Svena is the greatest living dragon mage, and a surprise attack only works once.”

     “Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Svena’s decent, but Amelia—”

     “Has zero stake in your continued survival,” Ian said pointedly. “I already heard she refused any part in the new clan structure. I wouldn’t be surprised if she scuttled back to the planes any day now. Is that really the power you want protecting you?”

     That shut their mother up good. Even Julius had to admit his oldest sister was not the most responsible of dragons, and she had seemed remarkably uninterested in the clan’s future outside of escaping her own position as Bethesda’s heir. She certainly wasn’t going to put anything on the line to keep her mother safe, a fact Bethesda seemed to understand all too well. “So you’re saying if I let you back in, Svena will protect me, my mountain, and my children from Algonquin?”

     “If I’m on the Council,” Ian said, crossing his arms. “We’re talking about magic on a global scale. She’s not going to waste that kind of power on a clan where I’m just another dragon.”

     “Then we have a problem,” Julius said with a sigh. “I’m not sure what Katya’s told you, but Mother and I can’t just put someone on the Council. The seat is decided by a clan vote. If you want the position, you’re going to have to win it.”

     “Fine,” Ian said instantly. “Winning is what I do.”

     Julius would have rolled his eyes at that if it’d come from anyone else, but Ian wasn’t bragging. He was stating a fact, and the longer Julius thought about that, the more he liked it. “You think you could beat David?”

     “In a clan vote?” Ian nodded. “Absolutely.”

     Bethesda scoffed. “Really?”

     “Yes,” he said, glaring at her. “David has always enjoyed strong support among the upper alphabet, but like most older Heartstrikers, he’s ignored the younger clutches completely. That makes sense when you consider the difference a few hundred years can make for an individual dragon’s power, but a vote is different. The older dragons might be exponentially larger and stronger, but thanks to centuries of attrition, there’s a lot more Heartstrikers at the bottom of the pyramid than the top.”

     “True,” Bethesda said. “But you’re an I. Your own siblings and the Js might be desperate enough to follow you, but no H or higher would ever rally behind a dragon who was lower ranked than themselves.”

     That struck Julius as depressingly accurate, but Ian looked more stubborn than ever. “Then I will convince them otherwise,” he said, lifting his chin confidently. “But I didn’t come back here to rejoin the crowd. If I have to win a vote, then I’ll win a vote, but I will be on that Council, and when I am, I will show you how to properly rule a clan.”

     Bethesda was growling by the time he finished, and honestly, Julius was on the verge himself, though not for the same reasons. He didn’t like Ian’s conqueror’s attitude any more now than he had when he’d first met him in the DFZ all those weeks ago. But while he didn’t actually see how Ian was going to pull it off, letting him run would give David a real opponent, which was what he’d been fighting his mother for all morning.

     “I have no problem letting you try for the seat,” he said slowly. “But if you’re actually going to do this, it has to be a fair race, and that can’t happen if Svena’s offer of protection is contingent on your winning. We can’t have you threatening dragons with death by Algonquin if they don’t vote for you. Letting you back into the clan without punishment is already a huge boon, so here’s my proposal. You get Svena to protect us before the election and for a year afterward, even if you don’t win. Do that, and we’ll let you run. Otherwise, no deal.”

     Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Svena is pregnant,” he said stiffly. “That puts great demands on her magic already. It will be hard to convince her to expend what’s left protecting a clan she doesn’t have a stake in.”

     “So convince her,” Julius said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be good at? And you did say you were here to compromise. That implies not getting everything you want.”

     For a moment, Ian looked taken aback, and then he shook his head. “Power suits you surprisingly well, Julius Heartstriker,” he said with a sigh. “Fine. You have your compromise. Let me run in this election as a Heartstriker without giving up my place in Svena’s clan, and I’ll convince her to help protect your mountain—which I suppose I should call our mountain—for one year starting today, regardless of the vote’s outcome. Is that fair?”

     Julius started to say it was more than fair, but before he could get the words out, his mother stepped right in front of him.

     “I might not run this clan anymore,” she growled. “But neither does he. Julius might be willing to roll over for the White Witch’s protection, but I absolutely refuse to consider another half-grown whelp for this farce of a Council. Especially one who doesn’t even look like a Heartstriker!”

     She glared right into Ian’s now dark-brown eyes as she said this, leaving no question what clan feature she was referring to, and Julius gritted his teeth in frustration. “What does it matter?” he demanded. “Everyone knows Ian’s a Heartstriker. We’re on the edge of a real alliance with what’s left of the Daughters of the Three Sisters, who, I’ll remind you, are still a very powerful dragon clan specializing in magic, the exact area where Heartstriker is weakest. Honestly, eye color seems to be the least important factor here.”

     Bethesda sneered. “Spoken like a dragon who knows nothing.”

     “Then enlighten him,” Ian said coldly. “Tell him how, with the exception of the As, nine clutches from nine different fathers all miraculously ended up with your eyes. I figured it out ages ago, but Julius has never had a suitably treacherous mind. If he’s going to be on the Council, though, he needs to know these things. So tell him, Mother. Tell him what you did.”

     Bethesda set her jaw stubbornly. When it was clear she wasn’t going to say another word, Ian turned to his brother. “It’s how she knows when we’re lying.”

     “Oh, wonderful,” their mother groaned. “Just tell him everything, why don’t you?”

     “How does that work?” Julius asked at the same time.

     “Better than you would think,” Ian said. “Bethesda’s no mage, but she’s always been very good at manipulating her clutches, especially while the whelps are still in their eggs and can’t fight back.”

     Julius turned back to his mother in horror. “You put a spell on us before we’d even hatched?”

     “What better time to do it?” Bethesda said defensively. “I have a lot of children. I didn’t have time to learn all of your tells, so I took out some insurance to make things easier on myself. Plus, the green looked so attractive. Really added to the whole Heartstriker mystique.”

     She finished with a smile, but Julius was still appalled. “That’s how you always knew,” he whispered. “It was the eyes this whole time.” His hands clenched into fists. “I was never a bad liar at all, was I?”

     “Oh no, you’re dreadful,” Bethesda said quickly. “Ian, on the other hand, is a marvelous little liar, which is why he isn’t coming back without his eyes. If I must be stuck on this farce of a Council, I refuse to do it with someone I can’t trust.”

     The sheer hypocrisy of that statement left Julius speechless, but not for long. “All the more reason to let him run. We need someone who isn’t in your pocket. I say we take the compromise.”

     “Too bad,” Bethesda said with a flip of her long black hair. “Because I say we don’t, and until we get our third member, that puts us at an impasse.” She pursed her lips at Ian. “Bad luck, dear. Looks like you don’t win today.”

     “Good thing I haven’t played all my cards yet, then,” Ian replied, lifting his chin. “You know Svena is pregnant.”

     Bethesda rolled her eyes. “It’s the only reason we’re talking.”

     “But what you don’t know is that the male half of those eggs are mine,” Ian continued sharply. “I’d intended to raise them independently since Svena’s sisters have odd ideas about male dragons. If I returned to Heartstriker, though, that would give me another option.”

     By the time he finished, Bethesda was paying absolute attention. “And?”

     Ian flashed her a superior look. “Give me what I ask. Accept me as a Heartstriker again, and I’ll bring any male children back to the clan with me. You’ll get your Three Sisters blood at last, Bethesda, so what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

     “Done,” Bethesda said instantly, turning to Julius. “He’s in.”

     “You can’t just trade dragons like that!” Julius cried. “They’re children, not playing cards!”

     “Oh please, they don’t care,” his mother said. “They’re not even born. And I’m sure they’d much rather be Heartstrikers than whatever it is Svena’s calling herself these days.”

     “And they would still be my sons,” Ian added with a smile. “Trust me, their childhood would be nothing like yours.”

     Julius still wasn’t convinced. Claiming you’d be a better parent than Bethesda was like saying cement was lighter than lead—technically true, but still not actually saying very much. Then again, at least Ian cared about his eggs, and they were his children. They were going to grow up in a clan one way or another, so why not Heartstriker? Wasn’t that why he’d done all of this in the first place? To change their clan into something better where dragons wouldn’t have to suffer like he had?

     “Okay,” he said with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m in. But how are we going to do it? Even if we’re in agreement, the Council’s not complete, which means we can’t actually make decisions.” That was the whole reason for rushing the vote, but Bethesda just shrugged.

     “We don’t have to make a decision,” she said. “Technically, no one leaves Heartstriker unless they get kicked out by myself, Chelsie, or Conrad.”

     Julius blinked. “You let Chelsie and Conrad kick dragons out?”

     “Of course,” Bethesda said, looking innocently offended. “How can I be a loving mother if I don’t have someone to be my villain? Though now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever actually exiled anyone. Letting a dragon with a vendetta against you live is only asking for trouble. If a Heartstriker has messed up that badly, it’s far easier to just let Chelsie kill them and be done with it. After all, it’s not as though I don’t have enough of you to go round.”

     She smiled cruelly at Julius, who refused to acknowledge it. “But that’s neither here nor there,” she went on. “What matters is that Ian was never officially kicked out in the first place, which means we don’t have to officially let him back in. All we have to do is agree, which we already have. And he still has to win, of course, though really, dear.” She turned back to Ian. “You do know you have zero chance of beating David, right? He’s already got half the dragons he needs to win in debt to him, and you haven’t even gotten started. Even with your arrogance, you have to know it’s a lost cause.”

     “We’ll see about that,” Ian said cryptically, opening the door. “After you.”

     “In a moment,” Bethesda said. “Julius and I have something to discuss.”

     That was news to Julius. Ian looked surprised as well, but he knew better than to question. He simply flashed Julius his confident you’ll tell me later smile and walked out to rejoin Svena and her sisters.

     The moment the door closed behind him, Bethesda turned on her youngest son. “Before you let this momentary agreement go to your head, let’s set the record straight. I hate you. I hate how you think, I hate this Council, and the very idea of holding a vote to determine who else gets to share my power that I spent my entire life building makes me want to vomit. But against all odds and despite my best efforts, it seems that my clan will, in fact, be voting tonight, and that means we need to talk.”

     “About what?” Julius asked, because he thought she’d already been perfectly clear.

     “How you’re going to avoid embarrassing me,” she replied, looking him up and down. “Honestly, Julius, do you think there’s even the ghost of a chance that you can get up in front of our entire family tonight and not humiliate yourself? Have you ever spoken in front of a crowd before? Do you know anything about our clan businesses or power structure? Can you even name twenty Heartstrikers who aren’t Js?”

     Julius couldn’t do any of that, and he began to sweat. “I—”

     “Of course you can’t,” Bethesda snapped. “Because before Brohomir started puffing you up, all you cared about was hiding. You don’t know a thing about the world you’ve had the gall to raise yourself to, which is why you are all but guaranteed to go down in flames tonight. Normally, I’d call that grade-A entertainment, but since you’ve forced yourself into my power, your failures now reflect on both of us, and I absolutely refuse to be made a fool of in front of my own children.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If this vote is actually going to happen, I demand you accept some help.”

     Julius stared at her in disbelief. He hadn’t even realized his mother understood the word “help” in this context. But before he could tell her he’d actually love some assistance, Bethesda reached out and yanked on the velvet bellpull in the corner, one of the few pieces in the entry room that hadn’t been destroyed. The signal made no sound Julius could hear, but a second later, a new dragon stepped out of the hallway that led into the rest of Bethesda’s rooms with a deep bow.

     Even before he entered the room, Julius knew the newcomer was an F. First, he smelled exactly like Frieda, which was to say like the mountain itself, but the bow was the real giveaway. No other Heartstriker would ever bow, not even to Bethesda. But while guessing the clutch was easy, Julius was ashamed to admit he had no idea which F he was looking at.

     Oddly, his first impression was that the new dragon was extraordinarily tall. Almost as tall as Bob, which was remarkable even for the Heartstrikers, who tended to take after their mother’s Amazonian stature. Also like the seer, he was very slender, though this could have been an illusion caused by his suit, which was so unrelentingly black it made it difficult to see where his body actually was. Add in the neatly trimmed jet-black hair and somber expression, and he looked as though he were on his way to a funeral. Given that four Heartstrikers had just died, Julius was worried that was actually true when his mother put her hand on the new dragon’s shoulder.

     “This is Fredrick,” she said, turning the dragon around to face Julius. “Starting now, he’ll be your aide.”

     “My what?”

     “Your aide,” Bethesda repeated, enunciating each syllable like you would for someone who was both hard of hearing and stupid. “Your personal assistant and, in your case, teacher. He used to be my tailor, but saving myself from abject humiliation is more important to me than straight hems right now, so I’m lending him to you. Don’t squander the opportunity.”

     Julius nodded, keeping his face carefully neutral. Having a teacher should have been a marvelous opportunity since, insults aside, his mother was right. He did desperately need to know more about the clan he was suddenly in charge of, and if his instructor had been anyone but an F, Julius would have been delighted. It wasn’t that he mistrusted this dragon specifically—Julius wouldn’t trust any dragon he’d just met—but the Fs were the clutch that never left his mother’s side. Julius might not know why that was exactly, but he didn’t think it was coincidence that Bethesda had chosen one to be his mentor. If any Heartstriker could be said to be loyal, it would be the Fs, which meant that by lending Fredrick to Julius, Bethesda hadn’t given her son an aide. She’d given herself a spy.

     “You know, ‘thank you’ is the appropriate response when someone does you a favor,” Bethesda said, giving him a winning smile. “Let’s hear it.”

     “Thank you,” Julius muttered. “But—”

     “Good,” she snapped. “Now you may go. And when I see you tonight, I expect you to be able to conduct yourself as a proper example of the power and prestige your position demands. Fredrick knows what’s needed. Just do as he says, don’t be Julius-y, and everything should shake out with minimal damage, which is the best we can hope for at this point. Now go, and send David in on your way out.”

     Julius did not appreciate being dismissed like a servant, but he liked the idea of another argument even less, so he just left, striding through the door without a look back. When he reached the throne room, though, it was empty. Svena and her sisters were gone, as were Ian and David. The only dragon left was Conrad, who was leaning against the cracked wall beside their mother’s door like a guardian statue.

     “Um,” Julius said, unsure who else to ask. “Do you know where David—”

     “Downstairs,” Conrad replied, his deep voice calm as always as he looked Julius over. “He and Ian had words, and now they’re both off to the races.”

     Julius was relieved to hear it had been words and not blows, which was what usually happened when two ruthless, ambitious, proper dragons both wanted the same thing. In fact, for all its frustrations, this whole morning had been remarkably bloodless, and now that he was finally away from his mother, that made Julius feel…not hopeful, exactly, but better than he had. It was obvious they still had a long way to go, but resolving differences through votes rather than violence was the entire reason he’d wanted a Council in the first place. He was wondering if it would be premature to call that a win when Conrad pushed off the wall.

     “I’ll tell her David’s gone,” he said, placing a hand on the enormous Fang at his side. “I needed to coordinate with her anyway about all the dragons coming in, and you look like you’ve got your own problems.”

     He nodded over his younger brother’s shoulder, and Julius cringed. In the excitement of escaping his mother, he’d completely forgotten about her final “gift.” Sure enough, when he turned around, the F was right behind him, standing at attention with his hands clasped behind his back.

     “Fight well,” Conrad said, walking into Bethesda’s rooms.

     That was not a farewell that made Julius feel better, but Conrad was already gone, leaving him alone with the strange, stern dragon.

     “I’m ready to begin whenever you are, Great Julius,” Fredrick said respectfully. “Great Bethesda has closed her door, but there’s a dressing room down the hall we can use.”

     By the time he finished, Julius was seriously creeped out. He’d never had a dragon act this deferential to him before. Then again, though, he’d never been important before. Frieda acted like this toward Bethesda all the time, which, now that he thought about it, struck him as terrifyingly unnatural. He was proof that not all dragons were aggressive, but this kind of subservience was just wrong. What had Bethesda done to F-clutch to make them act this way? He was still wondering about it when he realized Fredrick was waiting for an answer.

     “T-Thank you,” he stammered belatedly. “But, I think I’m good. Um, you can go.”

     “With all respect, Great Julius, I cannot go,” the dragon replied in a clipped, dry voice. “The Great Bethesda has ordered me to instruct you in the workings of the clan so that you are not an embarrassment to her. She also asked that I make sure that you are properly dressed.”

     From the look in his eyes, it was clear Fredrick thought that last part was going to be the real challenge, but Julius wasn’t interested. “Well, I’m technically equal to Bethesda now, and I say it’s fine,” he said, doing his best to sound authoritative. “And please don’t call me ‘Great Julius.’ It’s ridiculous.”

     “It is the proper title with respect to your position.” the dragon said, arching a narrow eyebrow. “Do you not want to learn?”

     “It’s not that,” he said with a sigh. “It’s just that I…” don’t want to learn about the clan from Bethesda’s spy. “I’m busy,” he said instead. “Would it be possible to just get a run-down of the stuff she wants me to know instead? Maybe a list of all the Heartstrikers and their important details? That way I could learn what I need while I do other things, and you could get on with your day. I’m sure you have lots of your own work waiting.”

     Fredrick pulled himself even taller. “Until I receive orders to the contrary, you are my work, Great Julius. You overthrew Bethesda the Heartstriker. That makes you the most important member of this clan, as well as its most obvious target. I cannot allow such a critical dragon to remain ignorant and vulnerable.”

     Julius stared at him in bafflement. That was not the response he’d expected, and it raised a lot of questions he didn’t feel equal to sorting through right now. He was tired of dragon drama and caring about clans. He was just tired in general. All he wanted to do was go back downstairs to Marci, who should be getting out soon.

     “Allow me to dress you properly, at least,” Fredrick said, his clipped voice tinged with the slightest hint of desperation. “This vote is a critical moment for our clan. Fang or no, if you show up looking like that”—he gestured at Julius’s plain cotton shirt and jeans—“no one will respect you. If they do not respect you, they will not listen, and if they will not listen, none of your plans will work.” He shook his head. “I cannot permit the most pivotal event in Heartstriker history since the Great Bethesda killed her father to collapse into chaos simply because you are too young and too impatient to dress appropriately. Sir.”

      The obviously appended sir came out with a growl, making Julius step back in surprise. Either Fredrick was a very good actor, or he really, actually cared about the vote. Given his clutch’s closeness to Bethesda, the first was far more likely, but Julius latched on to the second possibility all the same, because it gave him hope. Before this moment, no one else seemed to care about the vote save for how they could use it to their own benefit. But if there was even the chance Fredrick actually wanted to change the clan, too, that made him an automatic ally in Julius’s mind. Not a trusted one, but still someone who deserved a chance.

     “Okay,” Julius said, taking a deep breath. “What did you have in mind?”

     The F flashed him a tight-lipped smile and motioned for Julius to follow him down one of the small halls that branched off the throne room. Not having spent much time at all in this part of the mountain due to his previous position as a failure, Julius had no idea where they were going until Fredrick opened a small, unassuming door hidden behind one of Bethesda’s tapestries to reveal a well-appointed dressing room complete with a couch, wall-to-wall mirrors, and a bathroom larger than Julius’s old bedroom.

     “What’s this?”

     “A complimentary suite for visiting dragons,” Fredrick said proudly. “Bethesda has found that her own prestige goes up when her visitors look their best.” He walked into the bathroom, which was covered in wall-to-wall gold and cerulean-glazed ceramic tiles. “I thought we’d start with a bath. I don’t wish to offend, sir, but you reek of human, and that is not wise. It projects weakness.”

     Julius couldn’t help laughing at that. “You haven’t heard much about me, have you?”

     “I’ve heard enough,” Fredrick replied as he started the bath. “Undress, please. We have much to do, and you said you were in a hurry.”

     “I did…” he agreed hesitantly. “But, um, I can bathe myself.”

     “But I’ll do it better and faster,” Fredrick said. “I can also cut your hair at the same time, which you cannot. Now.” His eyes narrowed. “In.”

     After Fredrick’s unnatural subservience in the throne room, hearing the typically draconic bossiness was almost a relief. Julius still didn’t like being ordered, or being naked around a strange dragon, but he was tired of fighting, so he just went along, hopping into the tub to let himself be scrubbed and trimmed and brushed until his skin turned red.

     And in the pocket of his jeans, forgotten on the floor of the dressing room, his phone began to vibrate.

     ***

     Marci slumped on the barstool, trying to find a position that wouldn’t aggravate her still-bruised ribs as she called Julius. Again. And got no answer. Again. After the third failure, she slammed her phone down on the marble bar in frustration, raising a snicker from the group of perfectly hard-bodied men and women sitting at the table behind her.

     The sound made her shoulders tighten. When Julius had failed to answer her first call half an hour ago, the dragon in charge of the Heartstrikers’ human infirmary—Fernando or Frank or something starting with F—had told Marci she could wait for her dragon in the lounge. At the time, she’d jumped all over the idea. She’d waited her entire life for a chance to explore an honest-to-god dragon mountain, and anything that got her out of the infirmary was A-OK in her book. Once she’d actually arrived, though, it hadn’t taken more than five minutes for her to realize that something was off.

     It wasn’t that the lounge wasn’t nice. It was lovely. A chic, modern space that looked more like a hotel than part of a dragon compound with its vaulted ceiling, tasteful earth tones, and giant windows overlooking the surrounding New Mexico desert. But for all the corporate class of architecture, the people inside were anything but. To start, none of them looked a day over twenty-two, and they all looked like models with their perfect hair and washboard stomachs that were constantly on display since no one here seemed to believe in wearing a shirt.

     It was a huge change from the relatively normal human staff she’d met in the medical area, but the real kicker had been when a group of the beautiful people had come up to her at the bar, and the very first question out of their mouths was “Who’s your dragon?”

     Not “Hello” or “Welcome to the mountain” or “Why is there a ghost cat sleeping in your arms?” Just “Who’s your dragon?” followed by instant disgust when she’d said Julius’s name. The moment the J at the start of his name had left her lips, she’d ceased to exist except as a target for the snickering gossip, and that was the moment when Marci had finally realized the truth. Despite its lovely views, comfy couches, and complimentary full bar, the “lounge” wasn’t a lounge at all. It was a holding pen for all the groupies whose dragons were otherwise engaged.

     “It’s human daycare,” she grumbled, shoving away the watery vodka cocktail the bartender had sullenly dropped in front of her. “They put me in freaking human daycare.”

     Why are you complaining? Ghost asked, cracking a glowing eye from where he was sleeping on the barstool beside her. I thought you enjoyed being a dragon’s human.

     “I like being with Julius,” she corrected, glaring over her shoulder at the giggling cluster of perfectly groomed co-eds. “All they care about is how important their dragon makes them.” They didn’t even seem to mind that they’d been dropped off here like pets while their dragons attended to more important business. “I bet they don’t even know where their dragons are.”

     Do you know where yours is?

     Marci grimaced. “Fair point,” she said, dropping her phone back into her bag with a sigh.

     To be honest, she was a little ticked that Julius hadn’t come to get her like he’d promised, but she wasn’t about to blame him for it. He’d just become one of the most important dragons in his clan literally overnight. That was a change that was bound to cause some upset, though at least the girls who’d snubbed her for being with a J would soon be laughing out of the other side of their mouths.

     It might not have been mature, but that was still was a very comforting thought, and Marci wasn’t above giving the groupies a superior look before putting them out of her mind and turning back to her spirit, who was now fully awake for the first time since she’d been injured.

     “So,” she said, leaning her elbows on the bar. “Now that you’re awake, we have a lot to go over.”

      I’m not awake because I want to be, he said with an irritable flick of his tail. I only woke up because you were upset, and that turned out to be about the stupid dragon. He yawned. I’m going back to sleep.

     “No, you’re not,” Marci said firmly. “We still have to talk about what happened with Vann Jeger.”

     What’s to talk about? We won.

     “Using an army of ghosts,” she reminded him. “Call me crazy, but I think that’s the kind of thing we should discuss. Like, for example…” She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to an excited whisper. “How did you do it? I know you’re the Spirit of the Forgotten Dead, but how does that work? Is anyone who dies and is forgotten part of your magical domain? And if so, what does that say about death? Do we all stay around as ghosts or—”

     You do know that “talking” implies you give me a chance to answer, right?

     “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I’m just so excited. You’re a whole new frontier of magic. Can you blame me for wanting to know?”

     No, Ghost said, staring through her with his glowing eyes. It’s part of why I chose you. But I’m afraid I don’t have many answers.

     “What?” she cried too loudly, drawing startled looks from the beautiful people around her. “Why not?” she asked, dropping her voice again. “I gave you magic, we bought your name. You said you’d know!”

     I do know. I know my name, The Empty Wind, and my purpose, to aid and champion those who have been forgotten. Considering how little I knew when I woke, that’s a lot, but it’s still not everything.

     He rose to his feet and stepped forward, walking across the bar until they were nose to freezing nose. I know I was right to choose you, he said solemnly. Just as I know that neither of us was born to be alone. We are both human magic, and humans are meant to be together. Beyond that, though, I have no idea. It’s just like that time in the alley. I know there’s something I need to do, somewhere I must take you, but I don’t know what or where or why. He flattened his ears. It’s frustrating.

     “You’re telling me,” Marci said, reaching out to scratch his head. “But we’ll figure it out.”

     How?

     She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I didn’t craft a whole new binding spell for us after Vann Jeger just for kicks.” She smiled and wrapped a firm mental hand around the thick cord of magic tying them together. “This new connection binds me to you as much as it does you to me. That means I’ve got as much skin in this game as you do now, so you can believe it when I say we’re going to figure this out. We might have started this partnership by accident, but we’re going to finish as a team.”

     I know, the spirit said proudly. I’ve never doubted that you would not rest until you’d pried every secret from its hiding place.

     “Who wouldn’t?” Marci asked, her voice humming with anticipation. “You’re our chance! I was doing some research while you were asleep, and I couldn’t find a single thing about Mortal Spirits. At least not in the modern references. So far as I can tell, you break every rule we know about spirits, and that is so exciting I can’t even put it in words.” She reached out to pick him up. “We’re going to change the world, Ghost! I’ll help you, you help me, and together we’ll help everyone rediscover what we forgot about magic during the drought. We’ve already learned more in one fight than I could have hoped for, and this is just the beginning! We’re so close to the truth I can taste it, so you just tell me whatever you need, and I’m there.”

     The spirit’s eyes flashed. Whatever I need?

     “Within reason,” Marci amended quickly. “No unlimited access to Julius’s magic or anything like that.”

     Ghost glowered. Spoilsport.

     Marci was unmoved. “I’m on to your greedy ways, mister. And I know that I can end up being your human just as fast as you became my spirit, so don’t even try.”

     It wouldn’t be that bad, you know, Ghost said, but he didn’t argue the point. He looked more tired than anything else, settling back down on the bar’s surface with a yawn. Though I could use some more magic. It’s too thin here. I can’t stay awake.

     That wasn’t actually an unreasonable request. Compared to the molasses that was magic in the DFZ, the ambient power out here in the desert felt like thin gruel. Marci had actually forgotten how hard it was to pull magic out of the air normally until she’d tried to recharge some of her bracelets this morning while she was lying around waiting on her discharge. It had taken her almost half an hour to collect enough power for one shot of her microwave spell, a process that had been instant in the DFZ. Clearly, she’d gotten spoiled. Ghost, on the other hand, had been born in the DFZ and, until Marci had taken him here, never left it. At least so far as she knew. Poor little guy must be starving.

     “Here,” she said, shoving the reserve magic she’d managed to scrape together down their connection. “That’s all I’ve got. I’ll ask Julius about securing more when I see him again.” If she saw him again. “Is it enough?”

     For now, Ghost replied with a yawn. Going to sleep. Need to conserve. He curled into a ball. Wake me if anything happens. Dragons can’t be trusted.

     “Funny,” Marci said. “They say the same thing about you.” She patted the top of his transparent head. “Go to sleep, kitten. I’ll wake you when I’ve got more food.”

     Ghost didn’t even give her an evil look for the kitten comment. He just fell asleep, his white body fading into the marble bar-top until it was gone entirely.

     As always, that was a little unnerving. Not being a shaman, Marci had never studied spirits in depth, though from the reading she’d done after she got Ghost, she was reasonably sure that no one—or, at least, no human—knew where spirits went when they vanished. But while she couldn’t see Ghost, their connection was still strong and stable in her mind. That was as good as she was going to get for now, so Marci settled back on her barstool to enjoy her complimentary bottom-shelf booze and suck more magic out of the air to feed Ghost when he woke up. She was wondering if anyone here would stop her if she drew a circle on the lounge’s floor to speed things up when someone shouted her name from across the room.

     “Marci!”

     The shriek nearly made her fall off the barstool. She’d barely gotten back on again when Amelia slammed into her. “Here you are!” the dragon cried, picking Marci up in a hug that nearly cracked her ribs a second time. “I’ve been looking everywhere!”

     “Nice to see you, too, Amelia,” Marci gasped. “Can you—”

     “Oh, right, sorry,” Amelia said, letting her go. “I always forget how squishy you mortals are. But what are you doing here?” She looked distastefully at the beautiful people, all of whom were now staring at them in awestruck amazement. “This is the lowest grade of human storage. Eye-candy only. Not that I object to decorative mortals, but it’s no place for a mage. What’s Julius thinking, letting you rot in here?”

     “I don’t think he knows,” Marci said, trying not to look as smug as that comment made her feel. “He was supposed to pick me up thirty minutes ago, but he’s not answering his phone, so they stuck me in here.”

     Amelia looked appalled. “He stood you up?!”

     “No, no!” Marci said, raising her hands. “That’s not—”

     “That little bastard,” Amelia growled, clenching her fists. “A treasure like you should be jealously guarded, not taken for granted. I’ll wring his scrawny neck!”

     “Please don’t,” Marci begged. “Really, I’m fine. He’s just super busy, and it’s not like I had anywhere special to be. Thanks for boosting my ego, though.”

     “You’re welcome,” Amelia said, her anger vanishing so fast, Marci was now certain it had all been for show. “So are you ready for me to bust you out of here?”

     “God, yes,” Marci said, grabbing her bag. “If I have to listen to another perfect ten brag about she belongs to an H, I’m going to set something on fire.”

     “I would pay to see that,” the dragoness said. “But funny as it would be to watch you torch Bethesda’s human fish tank, I think we’d better go. The drinks here are an insult to alcohol.”

     She made a retching face at Marci’s half-empty glass and put out her hand. The moment her fingers extended, the air in front of them peeled open, creating a perfect doorway in the empty space beside the bar.

     “Come on, baby,” Amelia said, stepping through the portal. “Let’s move up in the world.”

     Marci couldn’t follow her fast enough. She tossed down a tip for the bartender and jumped after Amelia. But when she glanced back for a final check to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, something was already in her seat.

     It happened so quickly, it took Marci’s brain several seconds to recognize the big black shape on the barstool was a bird. A very large bird with jet-black feathers, a black beak, and glossy black eyes that were looking at Marci with obvious intelligence. If it wasn’t for the size, she’d have sworn it was a raven. Or possibly a crow, she’d never been able to tell the two apart. Either way, the bird perched on her stool was too big to be either. It was closer to the size of a medium dog, which only made the situation odder since the bartender—who’d swooped in to collect his tip the moment Marci left—didn’t seem to notice the bird at all. The bird didn’t seem to notice him, either. It was staring through the portal at Marci, turning its head to look at her with each of its beady eyes before the doorway twisted itself shut.

     “Marci?”

     She jerked her head up to see Amelia staring at her in concern. “You okay?”

     “I’m fine,” Marci said, running her hand through her short hair. “It’s just… did you see a bird just now?”

     “A bird?” Amelia shook her head. “No way. Most animals won’t come near the mountain. Too many predators.” She frowned. “What kind of bird was it?”

     “A big one,” Marci said. “And it was looking at me.”

     She knew how stupid that sounded the moment it was out of her mouth, but Amelia just nodded as though seeing giant birds appearing from nowhere made total sense. “I was wondering when the scavengers would start showing up.”

     That didn’t make Marci feel better. “What does that mean?”

     “Nothing you need to worry about at present,” Amelia said, glancing around at the huge, empty stone room she’d portaled them to. “Right now, we’ve got places to be.”

     “Where are we going?” Marci asked, hurrying after her.

     Amelia grinned over her shoulder. “With me? Where do you think? We’re going to a party!”

     That didn’t make a lot of sense considering they were in a dark, empty room, but before Marci could ask her to explain, Amelia pulled back a curtain Marci hadn’t seen in the dark, filling the room with blinding morning sunlight and the unmistakable scent of snow.

     ***

     At the same time, several miles away, a tall, dark-skinned woman with an ageless face was waiting impatiently on the balcony of a tiny desert motel on the edge of Heartstriker territory. She was scanning the bright morning sky, counting under her breath as her oddly precise gray eyes followed the distant shapes of dragons, when a large black bird swooped down to land on the shoulder of her plain but perfectly tailored suit jacket.

     “About time,” she growled, turning to face him. “Bethesda’s whole clan must be in there by now. Did you find out what she’s up to?”

     “Oh yes,” Raven said, flapping his wings. “But this is much better.”

     The woman looked skeptical. “Better than discovering why the Dragon Queen of the Americas and the White Witch of the Three Sisters have decided to stop trying to kill each other and team up?”

     “That one’s obvious,” he said, hopping off her shoulder to perch on the balcony’s metal railing. “Even dragons can put aside their differences in the face of outside threats. But this is new! What we’ve been looking for. Not even Myron knows.”

     “What don’t I know?” a man’s voice called from inside the hotel room.

     “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” the woman said as a handsome man in his mid-fifties wearing enough wards on his clothing to make even magic-deaf people uncomfortable stepped out to join her. “Raven says he’s found something big, Undersecretary.”

     The mage arched his eyebrows. “Bigger than the world’s biggest dragon clan panicking like a kicked-over anthill?”

     “For certain,” the bird said. “But I’m not playing with you.” He tilted his head to fix his beady eye on the woman. “My riddle’s for Emily.”

     “It’s not much of a riddle, then,” she said, crossing her muscular arms over her chest. “There are only two things that could possibly get you this excited right now, and since you’ve already said it’s not the one we came to investigate, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you’ve found our Mortal Spirit.”

     The mage beside her did a double take while the raven began to chitter happily. “See? See?” he said, hopping back up onto her shoulder. “That’s why I stay with you. You’re always so much cleverer than anyone gives you credit for.”

     “Thank you for the non-compliment,” she said, glaring up at the dark mountain that rose from the desert like a thorn. “Do the dragons know?”

     “I don’t think so,” Raven said. “The Planeswalker might, but she won’t say anything. She and I have an understanding.” He gave her a sly wink. “We used to date, you know.”

     “That’s what you said about the Dragon of the Sahara,” Myron said bitterly. “And we all know how that turned out.”

     The raven began to sulk. “That wasn’t my fault. She has a terrible memory.”

     “And you have a flexible relationship with the truth,” Emily replied. “But I think I believe you this time. At least about the Mortal Spirit.”

     She looked at the mountain again, her too-sharp gaze focusing in a way no merely human eye should have been able to. “If the Mortal Spirit’s here, it must already be attached to a human, and if there’s a human in Heartstriker Mountain, they’ll have an owner.”

     “Right again!” Raven cawed. “You win the prize!”

     “If you’ve got time to joke, you’ve got time to work. Get back in there and find out which human we’re looking for and which dragon they belong to.”

     Raven turned up his beak. “What’s the magic word?”

     Emily gritted her teeth. “Please.”

     “Much better,” he said, looking her in the eyes. I’m doing you the favors here, little darling, not the other way around. Don’t forget that.

     “I never do,” she said. “But you’re not doing favors for me. This is for all mankind, remember?”

     “So relentlessly driven,” the spirit said, shaking his head. “But that’s why I love you.” He gave her another wink before fluttering into the air. “I’m off to snoop. You kids have fun.”

     Emily sighed, watching him go. When he was just a speck on the horizon, she turned and walked back into the hotel room to prepare for what was sure to be a very bumpy ride.

     Chapter 3

      

     Marci recoiled at the sudden blast of sunlight, turning her head back toward the shadowy chamber—which she could now see was a stone cave. “Where are we?”

     “My room,” Amelia said, glancing over her shoulder at the giant, empty cavern behind them. “I don’t exactly spend much time at home, so I never bothered decorating. Or installing lights. But as the oldest, I was entitled to my own balcony, and you’d better believe I made Mother cough it up.” She turned back to the sunlight with a grin, fishing a pair of cat-eye sunglasses out of the V-neck of her red tank top. “Well worth the effort, wouldn’t you agree?”

     It was. Once Marci’s eyes adjusted to the blinding light, she could see that Amelia’s balcony was identical to the one that jutted off the Heartstriker throne room one floor up. Even with heavy curtains covering the actual entrance, the half-moon jut of flat stone extending from the mountain’s side was still big enough for a full-sized dragon to land on comfortably, and the view of the feathered dragons flying over the sun-drenched desert below was absolutely spectacular. For Marci, though, the real treat was the banquet table that had been set up at the balcony’s center, its white-clothed expanse laden with enough food and alcohol to feed a small army.

     Just looking at the beautifully arranged platters of French pastries and sandwiches protected from the sun by giant, invitingly shady umbrellas was enough to make Marci’s mouth water. She’d technically had breakfast already, but even at Heartstriker Mountain’s mortal clinic, hospital food was hospital food. It certainly didn’t hold a candle to the five-star-hotel-worthy spread in front of her. She was about to ask Amelia if it was all for them when she realized she and Amelia weren’t the only ones out here.

     Beside the shaded banquet table, lounging on a folding beach chair with a frosty cocktail dangling from her fingers, was another dragon. She was wearing a white sun hat and huge movie-star-incognito-style sunglasses that covered half her face, not that it mattered. The ice-blond hair fluttering in the breeze gave her away instantly, as did the disdainful set of her porcelain lips when she turned to see who had joined her.

     “Really, Planeswalker,” Svena said, her voice disgusted. “This is the ‘important human’ you left me to fetch? Julius’s hireling?”

     The icy words stole all the warmth from the sunshine, and Marci instinctively darted behind Amelia for cover. “What’s she doing here?”

     “I know, right?” Amelia said, laughing. “The entitled snake just showed up and demanded a drink. Didn’t even apologize for her sister crashing a plane into my face.”

     “Why should I apologize for things I was forced to do without my knowledge?” Svena asked, pausing to finish her drink. “Rest assured, Heartstriker. Had I been in command of myself, you would have had much worse to deal with than mere aircraft.”

     “Oh, please,” Amelia said, grabbing her own lounge chair from the stack by the door. “I think we all saw who the bigger dragon was that day.”

     “You were quite the bloated hippo,” Svena replied as Amelia shook her chair out and plopped down beside her, waiting for the precise moment the other dragon got comfortable before holding out her empty glass. “Refill me.”

     Amelia sighed and got back up, grabbing a pitcher of very alcoholic-smelling lemonade from the banquet table. She was pouring the contents into Svena’s cup when Marci finally found her voice again.

     “Wait,” she said, looking from dragon to dragon. “You guys are just hanging out? I thought you were, like, mortal enemies or something.”

     “We are,” Svena said as she carefully accepted her now very full glass. “But just because I dream of the day when the Planeswalker’s feathered head is mounted on my wall doesn’t mean we can’t be civil.”

     “Relax, Marci,” Amelia said, pouring herself a drink as well before grabbing a chair for Marci. “It’s like I told you on the beach, what was it, three days ago?” She shook her head in amazement. “I can’t believe it’s only been that long. Anyway, like I said, Svena and I have always been good enemies. Sure, we’ve fought hundreds of times and our clans have been at war since before I was born, but it’s not exactly easy to find someone who can carry their half of a discussion about high-level dragon magic.” She grinned at Svena. “Sometimes, you just have to suck it up and deal with a lot of snobby snow-queen drama if you want to have a decent conversation.”

     “And catching Amelia sober enough to actually have a conversation is so rare, I’ve learned to jump on the chance whenever I find it,” Svena added, giving the Planeswalker a cutting look as Amelia downed her entire cup of spiked lemonade in one swig.

     “What can I say?” Amelia said as she poured herself another. “Being at home makes me drink.”

     “Everything makes you drink,” Svena said in disgust. “Look at you. It’s not even midmorning, and you’re already going strong.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I should attack right now on principle.”

     Amelia shook her head. “Nice bluff, but I’m not buying. Even you’re not self-important enough to challenge a superior opponent while you’re preggers.”

     “You’re pregnant?” Marci cried, staring at Svena, who did not look pregnant at all. “But I thought the whole mating flight thing was just a ploy.”

     “It was,” Svena admitted. “But what kind of dragon would I be if I couldn’t turn my sister’s plots to my own advantage? And Ian was quite persistent. I’ve never been so delightfully pursued.”

     She finished with a suggestive purr that left nothing to the imagination, causing Amelia to choke on her drink. “Could you not?” she said, wiping her mouth. “That’s my little brother you’re talking about.”

     “Like you care,” Svena said with a snort. “You didn’t even know which one Ian was until I pointed him out. But I suppose I can’t blame you. If my mothers had littered like yours, I wouldn’t have time to learn all my siblings, either.”

     “Starting the Broodmare jokes early, I see,” Amelia said with a roll of her eyes. “Really, Svena, you’re not even trying. But—serious talk for a moment here—why did you go through with it? I mean, this is Ian-with-an-I we’re talking about. He’s not exactly the catch of the clan.”

     Svena smiled innocently. “Would you believe I was swept away in the moment?”

     “Not for a second,” Amelia said. “As much as I hate to contribute to your already over-inflated ego, we both know you could have any dragon in the world. Why settle for an I?”

     “I did not settle,” Svena said fiercely. “And before you even suggest it, I didn’t do it for Estella, either.” She looked down at her drink. “I’ve become surprisingly…fond of Ian over our time together. He has all the famous Heartstriker charm and ambition with none of your family’s other annoying habits. There was also the matter of timing. It’s not every night one of the three dragon seers dies. The moment I woke up from Estella’s control and felt her loss, I knew I would never get a chance like this again, and Ian was right there.” She shrugged. “The choice was obvious.”

     “I forgot this was happening just after Estella died,” Amelia said, a grin spreading over her face. “You clever snowflake.”

     Svena preened at the praise. Marci, however, was completely lost. “What does your sister’s death have to do with a mating flight?”

     The White Witch pursed her lips, clearly trying to decide if a chance to brag about her brilliance was worth replying to a mortal. But her pride in her schemes must have won over her haughtiness, because a few seconds later, she answered.

     “I saw a unique opportunity,” she said, turning in her chair so she could face Marci properly. “There are always three, and only three, dragon seers alive in the world at any given time. Whenever one dies, another is born as soon as possible to preserve the balance. When I felt my sister turn to ash, I knew her replacement would be born in the very next dragon clutch, so I decided then and there to make sure the next clutch of eggs born into this world was mine.”

     “In other words, she bred herself a seer,” Amelia said, raising her glass to her rival. “Gotta hand it to you, princess, those are some eyes on the prize. So when are you laying? Tomorrow?”

     Svena scoffed. “Who do you think I am, Bethesda? I’m a dragon, not an egg factory. Especially since there’s no reason to rush.” She reached down to press a white hand against her flat stomach. “My information network is very good, which is why I can say with absolute certainty that I am the only expecting dragoness in the world right now. Even if your mother ran out and got herself knocked up this morning—which, for the record, wouldn’t surprise me at all—I would still have plenty of time for a proper incubation. Especially since I’m only having five.”

     “You can control that?” Marci asked, finally sinking into the chair Amelia had brought her.

     “Of course,” Svena said, pushing her oversized sunglasses down her nose so she could glare at Marci properly. “We’re not like you monkeys, breeding however biology demands. Just as we can control our fire, a proper dragoness maintains a firm hand on her pregnancy to ensure the best possible outcome. For me, that’s five. An unusual number, to be sure, but despite the Heartstriker’s mantra of quantity over quality, dragons born to smaller clutches are much more magically potent.” She shrugged. “It’s simple mathematics. Even I only have so much fire to give, and fewer mouths to feed makes for stronger offspring.”

     “Only at the beginning,” said Amelia, who’d given up even the pretense of having a cup to refill in favor of drinking straight from the pitcher. “After a century or so, the advantage evens out.”

     “I’ll take a century’s head start over having to deal with a litter of substandard children any day,” Svena said crisply. “And unlike your ridiculous mother, I have magic to lose.” She turned back to Marci. “The egg-laying process is not without its risks. It takes a phenomenal amount of fire to spark a new dragon’s life, more than even a fantastically powerful dragon such as myself can produce in a decade. That’s why, with the exception of freaks like Bethesda, whose power is egg laying, most sensible dragons clutch only once, maybe twice in their entire lives. More than that, and you risk taking so much out of yourself that you’ll never fully recover.”

     “What do you mean ‘never recover’?” Marci asked. “Do you lose that magic permanently?”

     “It’s more like losing potential,” Amelia explained. “Old dragons have big fires inside us. We produce a lot of magic, but no one’s infinite, and like she said, eggs take a lot. Even an old hag like Svena who’s been hoarding her power for centuries can’t take that big a hit without flinching.”

     “It’s most definitely not a pleasant experience,” Svena said, giving Amelia a dirty look. “I’m less than twelve hours in, and I’m already certain I never want to do this again. That’s why I’m doing everything I can to give my children the best advantage. If I must suffer, I want to make sure I’m getting the best possible return on my investment.”

     Marci had never considered motherhood from that cold, pragmatic point of view. To be honest, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Amelia, on the other hand, looked absolutely delighted.

     “Well, I for one can’t wait to be an auntie to your little white puffballs,” she said with drunken glee. “I’ll take them on field trips to the outer planes and teach them how not to be stuck-up ice divas. It’ll be Magic School Bus: Awesome Edition!”

     “As though I’d let you near them,” Svena said with a sniff. “Between the return of magic and my own well-groomed power, this clutch has the potential to be the most powerful dragons born since my own mothers stopped. Add to that the fact that one of my daughters will be the next seer, and I’m breeding the foundation of a new dynasty the likes of which this world has never seen.” She grinned wide, her blue eyes flashing in anticipation. “A proper clan, run by dragons who understand what it takes to win. I will teach my children to love and fear me, and when your overgrown family inevitably crumbles under its own weight or whatever ridiculousness that tiny J is planning, Ian will make sure that we are in position to take over the failing Heartstriker empire as well.” Her grin turned smug. “We’ll see how your attitude improves when I am your clan head, Planeswalker.”

     “I wouldn’t make too many grand plans just yet,” Amelia cautioned. “Remember, Ian still has to actually win his seat on the Council. He’s running against David. That’s hardly a shoo-in.”

     “Doesn’t matter,” Svena said. “One of the very first things that attracted me to Ian was his talent for seizing power wherever he finds it. Take last night, for example. All I had to do was loosen Bethesda’s hold on him, and he took off running.” She sighed delightedly. “He’s so ambitious.”

     “Please don’t sigh like a teenager about my little brother,” Amelia said with a grimace. “But while we’re on the topic, I’ve been meaning to ask: how did you break Bethesda’s green eyes? Because I’ve been working on it forever.”

     “Really?” Svena said innocently. “How surprising. I found it quite easy. But then, even the most complicated curses are simple for those of us who actually take the time to learn finesse. I imagine unraveling such a delicate puzzle would be nearly impossible for a sloppy, brute-force mage such as yourself.”

     Amelia heaved an enormous sigh. “Okay, okay, I admit it. You are slightly better at technical spells than I am. But that’s only because I’ve been out doing something with my life instead of sitting around practicing insanely complicated magic in the basement of my mothers’ glacier. In this one very specific case, you are superior, so please, Great Svena, enlighten me. How’d you do it?”

     Svena lounged back in her chair, tapping her lips with one perfectly filed nail as she thought Amelia’s request over. “Mmmmm…no.”

     “No?” Amelia cried. “Don’t you want to brag?”

     “I don’t have to,” Svena said. “You already admitted I was superior.”

     Amelia cursed under her breath. “Fine, let’s just cut to the chase. What do I have to pay to get you to tell me what you did?”

     The white dragon shook her head. “Nothing.”

     “Nothing?” Amelia repeated incredulously. “So you’re saying there is nothing I own, nothing from a lifetime’s worth of planar acquisitions, that could convince you to share this one simple secret. Nothing at all of mine that you want?”

     “That is exactly what I’m saying,” Svena said settling more comfortably into her chair with an absurdly self-satisfied smile. “We have been enemies for a very long time now, Amelia the Planeswalker, and I can think of absolutely nothing—no treasure, no power, no lands or favors—that would give me more delight than possessing something you want and not giving it to you.”

     By the time she finished, Amelia was growling low in her chest. “See, this is why we’re not actually friends.”

     Svena shrugged. “A loss, I’m sure. But I’m still not telling.”

     “What if I begged?”

     Now she just looked insulted. “Begging requires pride to have meaning, and we both know you have none of that.”

     Amelia scoffed. “I have no pride?”

     “None,” Svena said solemnly, shaking her head. “I know you, Amelia. You’re a horrible braggart with a completely unfounded sky-high opinion of herself. But for all your pretense at ego, when push comes to shove, you’ve always been a practical, conniving, manipulative little snake who’d happily crawl through the mud on her belly if that’s what was needed to achieve her goals. Honestly, it’s your only redeeming quality, but knowing that you’d beg for anything completely sucks the joy out of making you do it now.”

     Amelia sighed, blowing out a long line of black smoke. “So you’re not going to tell me?”

     Svena shook her head. “But I’ve always enjoyed seeing you desperate, so feel free to keep asking.”

     “Like I’d give you the satisfaction,” Amelia snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know how you did it. Now that you’ve proven it can be done, I’ll just figure the rest out myself.”

     “Good luck with that,” Svena said, glancing up at the sun. “Not to cut this delightful conversation short, but I need to get going. Ian said they’re holding the vote this evening, and I’d like to be well rested when he steps up to claim his place at the top of your clan.” She glanced at Marci. “Can we eat the human now?”

     Marci’s blood ran cold before Amelia cut in. “This one’s not for eating.”

     Svena looked disappointed. “Well, how soon can you get me one that is? I’m eating for six, you know.”

     “Wait,” Marci said. “You guys are actually going to eat a human?”

     “Not me,” Amelia said. “I don’t touch the stuff. But Svena’s old-fashioned, and humans are the traditional food for the beginning of dragon pregnancies. Kind of like cake at a baby shower.”

     “Only so much more delicious,” Svena said, licking her lips. “I haven’t eaten a proper human since before the Industrial Revolution. They all taste like car exhaust these days.” She turned back to Amelia excitedly. “I know your mother has a secret stash. Can she get me a clean one? Free-range organic?”

     “We’ll discuss this later,” Amelia said, glancing at Marci, who was starting to back away. “This is the other human I was telling you about. The mage.”

     Svena’s eyes widened in recognition. “This one?” she said, sitting straight up. “Really? This is the human you chose?” When Amelia nodded, the white dragon scoffed. “You can’t be serious. She looks like she’s eight.”

     “I’m twenty-five!” Marci cried.

     “She doesn’t even belong to you,” Svena said over her. “How can you even consider doing this with a mortal you don’t own?”

     “Because that’s the point,” Amelia said. “Marci belongs to herself, and that’s why this is going to work.”

     Svena’s lip curled in disgust. “I see your family’s youngest idiot has been hard at work,” she said bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Between you and Katya, I’ll never hear a word of sense spoken about humans again.”

     “Nonsense,” Amelia said. “Eating humans is a horrible waste, and you know it. You’re just being selfish.”

     “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Svena grumbled, glancing at Marci. “But for all your usual skill at managing mortals, you seem to have dropped the ball on this one. She looks absolutely baffled. Have you even told her what you’re planning to do?”

     “I was just getting to that,” Amelia said defensively before turning to Marci. “I have a favor to ask you.”

     “Okaaaaaay,” Marci said nervously, glancing from dragon to dragon. “What kind of favor?”

     “Nothing huge,” Amelia assured her. “I just need you to take care of something of mine for a while. You know, keep it safe while I’m out.”

     That didn’t sound so bad. “What am I keeping safe?”

     “Me,” Amelia said, laying a hand on her chest.

     Marci arched an eyebrow. “Come again?”

     “I’ve been living the Planeswalking party-girl life for a while now,” Amelia explained. “And honestly, it’s getting a bit old. Now that things are heating up on this plane again and Mother’s no longer actively trying to assassinate me, I’ve been thinking it’s time to settle down. Get a real job, that sort of thing. Unfortunately, when you’re as hot a commodity as I am, staying in one place for too long can get a little dicey, which is where you come in.”

     “Me?” Marci said, still confused. “How could I protect you? You’re a giant, crazy-powerful dragon.”

     “And you are very perceptive,” Amelia said, preening. “But that’s exactly why I need you. In the short time I’ve known you, you’ve proven yourself to be a responsible mortal who can stand up to pressure and handle enormous amounts of magic without going insane or burning yourself out. That is very rare, and it’s why I would like to ask you if you’d be willing to hold some of my magic for a bit. Not on a permanent basis or anything. I’d only need you to keep it safe for me until I get a good grip on the situation in this plane.”

     Now Marci was really intrigued. “Hold your magic? How would that work? Do you want me to drain you like I did Chelsie?”

     “Not quite,” Amelia said. “As I’m sure you already picked up from Svena’s TMI pregnancy talk, dragons aren’t like humans. We can’t just suck in magic from the air like you can. All our power is generated internally by our fire.”

     The way she said that made Marci start. “Wait, you mean literal fire? As in the stuff you breathe out of your mouth?” Because until this point, she’d always thought the whole fire thing was just a metaphor for the dragon brand of magic.

     “Breathing fire is part of it,” Amelia said, nodding. “But a dragon’s relationship with fire is more than just heat. You see…” She held up her hand, and a bright-orange flame sparked to life above her palm.

     “All dragons have a fire burning inside them. This flame is more than just the source of the fire we breathe. It’s also what generates all of our internal magic, which, for the record, is why dragons were able to keep functioning during the magical drought that completely knocked out the spirits. We had our own power supply.”

     Marci nodded. She’d known that much for a while, but Amelia’s explanation reminded her of a question she’d been meaning to ask. “If that’s true, then why were there no dragons flying around during the thousand years when magic was gone?”

     “Because being in our true forms is very difficult when there’s no other magic helping to hold us up,” Svena explained. “It’s like being a fish with no water. We could still transform, but doing so caused us to instantly start suffocating, magically speaking. To avoid this, really powerful dragons like my mothers were forced into hibernation, but most of us were able to make do simply by remaining in human form. A shape that, being so small and crude, was far more sustainable.”

     “And safer,” Amelia agreed. “No one shoots a ballista at a pretty lady.”

     “You only say that because you’ve never experienced the true joy of raiding,” Svena said with a nostalgic smile. “Nothing makes you feel your own power better than seeing mortals fleeing in terror before you.”

     “Spoken like a true monster,” Amelia said. “But back to the subject at hand.” She pointed at the fire that was still burning merrily on her palm. “A dragon’s fire is the source of everything. Kindling it the first time takes an enormous amount of power, which is why laying eggs is so brutal, but once you’ve got a spark, you’re set. So long as the dragon eats, avoids over-extending their magic, and otherwise takes care of themselves, their fire will get bigger and brighter every year forever. We might not be immortal immortal like spirits, who’ll just rise again over and over no matter how many times you punch them down, but we’re pretty close. As you saw with Estella last night, if our fire ever does go out entirely, we turn to ash and die. But so long as even one ember remains, we can live through just about anything, and that’s where you come in.”

     “How does that work?” Marci asked, because so far, all this fire stuff sounded like dragon internal medicine. Definitely not the sort of thing she could help with.

     “It’s simple,” Svena said, tilting her head toward Amelia. “She wants you to hold some of her life’s fire for her.”

     Marci’s eyes shot wide. “Can I do that?”

     “You should be able to,” Amelia said. “Given humanity’s unique ability to move and hold vast amounts of magic, I theorize—”

     Svena scoffed. “You theorize?”

     “Fine,” Amelia said with a long-suffering sigh. “Svena has theorized that, despite originating in a completely different plane of existence, when it comes to human manipulation, our fire is no different from any other type of magic. Something you’ve actually proved repeatedly by tapping dragons to fuel your spells.”

     Marci nodded. She’d pulled magic out of both Julius and Chelsie, and while doing so had always felt like plugging straight into the sun, it was still just magic at the end of the day.

     “We’ve known this for a while,” Svena picked up. “But I’ve taken it one step further. Human magic is all about moving power around, but dragon magic is entirely based on self-control. It’s all about how well we manipulate and use the power produced by our own fire, or even how we control the flames itself. Any dragon can breathe fire, but a truly skilled dragon mage can divide her life’s fire into multiple tongues. Perhaps even move those flames around without letting any of them go out.”

     Marci bit her lip. “That sounds kind of risky.”

     “Of course it’s risky,” Amelia said. “It’s dragon magic! We’re always playing with fire. But the bigger the danger, the greater the payout, and when it comes to dividing life fire, the potential reward is huge. Usually, if your fire goes out, it’s game over. But if you’ve divided that fire into two flames, and one goes kaput, there’s a good chance you could reignite yourself from the other.”

     “You mean bring yourself back from the dead?” Marci asked.

     “That’s not entirely accurate,” Svena cut in. “For all the allegories, dragon fire isn’t actually fire. If I divide my flame in two, I don’t suddenly have two of me. It’s still only half a fire, which means only half the magic, and with no body to act as fuel, there’s no guarantee the split fire wouldn’t just sputter out and die.”

     “Unless you’ve put it somewhere safe,” Amelia said, beaming at Marci. “With someone responsible who’s going to take care of it. That way, even if you did tragically die, you’d still have a backup. Part of you would still be alive, and like I said, so long as one ember survives, a tenacious dragon will always find a way to cling to life.”

     Svena still didn’t look convinced, but Marci was finally starting to understand. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want me to hold half of your life’s fire so you can reignite yourself if you die?”

     “Pretty much,” Amelia said, turning to grin at Svena. “I told you she was a smart cookie!”

     “Too bad the same can’t be said for you,” Svena growled, rising from her chair. “This is madness, Amelia. Everything I’ve told you about this is still just theory. We don’t yet know for certain if a life’s fire even can be safely split, because no one’s been willing to take the risk to actually test it. Even if it did work, and the mortal could use your fire to bring you back to life, you’d still be left with only half a fire as translated through a human.”

     “Better than losing it all,” Amelia pointed out. “We’re talking about potentially bringing me back from the dead, here. I’m willing to take a hit for that.”

     “Whoa, wait a second,” Marci said, putting up her hands. “Are you planning on dying?”

     “Of course I’m not planning on dying,” Amelia said. “But only an idiot doesn’t have a worst-case contingency lined up.”

     That made sense to Marci, but there was one thing she still didn’t understand. “Why me?” she asked, looking at Amelia. “I get what you’re trying to do here, but I’m hardly an expert in dragon magic. I’m not even your human.”

     “Actually, given what you’ve been through over the last few weeks, I’d say you have more experience with dragon magic than most human mages could ever hope to acquire,” Amelia said. “But that’s just bonus. I picked you for this job for the same reason I tried to recruit you on the beach: I like you. Other dragons look down on humans because you’re short lived and have no power of your own. They see your ability to pull and move magic around as mooching at best, parasitic at worst, but what they don’t get is how strong that makes you. Dragons might look scary, but our power is limited by age and upbringing and even how much magic our mothers deigned to invest in us at birth. But your magic, human magic, is limited only by how much power you can handle. For some mages, that’s not much, but you?” She smirked. “I’ve fed you magic, Marci. I know how big a pot you can handle, and that’s what I want for my fire. I also like that you’ve already demonstrated your ability to keep Ghost healthy and in line. If you can hold a spirit like him, keeping my fire should be a cake-walk. That’s my bet, anyway, but I’ve gambled on you before and won. I have no problem putting my magic where my mouth is again.”

     “I do,” Svena said, glowering. “This isn’t funny anymore, Amelia. You’re seriously talking about trusting part of your immortal life to a mortal. The plan is doomed by definition.”

     “I was never trying to be funny,” Amelia argued. “It’s not like she’s going to die tomorrow! And I already said this was a temporary thing. The moment I’m certain I don’t need the insurance anymore, I’ll take it back.”

     “How long is temporary?” Marci asked. “And what would happen to me during all of this? You just compared me keeping your fire to my bond with Ghost. That’s a pretty big commitment.”

     “It is,” Amelia admitted. “But you’ll actually be getting the sweet end of this deal. You see, even after I put part of my life’s fire in you, it’s still going to be generating magic, which means you’ll basically be walking around with a magical generator inside your chest. It’ll be like have your very own mini-dragon on tap whenever you need.”

     That was enough to make even Ghost wake up, but Marci was still having a hard time wrapping her head around what Amelia was saying. Mostly because it was way too good to be true. “What’s the catch?”

     The dragoness shook her head. “There is no catch. I’m asking you to do me a favor, remember? And while obviously I can’t let you use all my magic and suck my life fire down to nothing, anything it generates up to that point is yours to use as you see fit. Think of it as me paying rent for taking up space in your body. The only drawback is that you’ll probably smell a bit like a dragon, but we smell pretty awesome, so that’s actually a plus when you think about it.”

     Marci bit her lip. It still sounded too good to be true, but the prospect of having her own private, reliable source of high-quality dragon magic that didn’t require vamping off Julius was worth taking a pretty big risk for. “Would it make me a target of your enemies?”

     “Now that I’m no longer Bethesda’s heir, my biggest enemy is sitting right here,” Amelia said, nodding at Svena. “So I suppose you’d have to ask her. Really, though, we both know she’s not going to do—or say—anything about it.”

     “What makes you so confident?” Svena asked coldly.

     “Because you’re too busy cooking eggs right now to challenge me,” Amelia said confidently. “And since there’s no way you’d tell anyone else what’s going on lest they exploit my weakness before you get the chance, I’d say my secret’s safe.”

     The White Witch didn’t dignify that with a response, and Amelia turned back to Marci. “See? No problem. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

     “You seem pretty eager to do this,” Marci said nervously. “Is there something else I should know? Are we about to be attacked or something?”

     “So suspicious!” Amelia said with a laugh. “That’s healthy, though, and it’s exactly the sort of behavior I want in someone who’s going to be keeping my flame. But since this is a matter of trust, I’m going to level with you.”

     She leaned forward on her chair, her face going serious as she lowered herself down until she was eye to eye with the much shorter mortal.

     “I need to get this settled,” she said quietly. “Now that I don’t have to worry about Bethesda trying to off me in my sleep, a lot of power plays I’ve kept on the back burner for centuries are finally coming into position, and I have you and Julius to thank for that. But confident as I am in my schemes, I’m not stupid or cocky enough to try anything this big without taking out a little insurance, and you’re the best I’ve got. If you say no, my only other option is to stash part of my life fire inside some other kind of holding vessel, and we all know how things end for dragons who keep their souls inside gems.” She shuddered at the thought. “I’d much rather trust it to a friend.”

     Against her better judgment, that made Marci smile. She knew better than to trust Amelia blindly, but other than Julius, she was the only dragon Marci felt she could truly call her friend. She was also showing Marci a great deal of faith by even explaining this, which was not to be taken lightly. If there was anything she’d learned over the last few days, it was that trust was the rarest and greatest currency among dragons. If Amelia was trusting her to take care of her fire, Marci wanted to honor that.

     And get free magic, Ghost added.

     Marci rolled her eyes. Trust a cat to wake up for food.

     Actually, I woke up a while ago, the spirit whispered in her mind. I’m not letting you face two dragons alone. But this is a good deal. The magic at this mountain is thin and unreliable. If a dragon attacked us, I’m not sure you could pull in enough to defend yourself, and I can barely stay awake. If we had Amelia’s fire, though, we could take on anything.

     And he would have a guaranteed food supply.

     Who wouldn’t want to eat? The magic here is barely worth the name.

     He had a point there. “Okay,” she said, biting her lip so she wouldn’t look too eager. “I’m in.”

     “Just like that?” Amelia asked, clearly surprised. “Not that I’m complaining, but I’m asking for a pretty huge favor here. I thought your whole philosophy was that when you’ve got someone over a barrel, you shake?”

     “It is,” Marci said. “But I’m already coming out of this pretty sweet, and I try not to rip off my friends too badly.”

     Amelia laughed out loud at that, banishing the fire from her hand before holding it out to Marci. “Ready to make history, then?”

     “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Marci said nervously as they shook on it. “How’s this going to work, exactly?”

     “I’m not sure, to be honest,” Amelia said, looking over her shoulder. “Svena’s the one who will actually be splitting my flame. She’s the detailed, technical expert. I just do the flashy stuff.”

     “At least you admit it,” Svena sniffed, turning up her nose. Marci, however, was starting to feel decidedly less good about this whole idea.

     “Are you sure she’s the best choice?” she whispered, looking sideways at the white dragon. “She’s not exactly…you know…”

     “Trustworthy?” Amelia finished with a laugh. “Absolutely not. But this whole idea stemmed off of her theory, and there’s no way she’ll pass up a chance to actually try it out without risking her own fire. Besides, I don’t really have a choice. Now that the Three Sisters have bitten the dust, Svena and I are the only dragons left who can handle magic this complicated, and it’s not like I can perform surgery on myself.”

     “You’d be unqualified to perform it on anyone,” Svena said haughtily. “You might be unmatched when it comes to brute force, Planeswalker, but this is my area of expertise, not yours. I saw the absolute mess of a seal you put on your mother.”

     “That wasn’t my fault!” Amelia cried. “Estella had me chained!”

     “But it was still your skill,” Svena argued. “Or lack thereof.” She stepped forward to stand between Amelia and Marci, motioning for them to get up as well. Amelia did so at once, popping off her chair like a cork. Marci rose more slowly, keeping her guard up, and the white dragoness sighed.

     “Relax,” she ordered. “Unlike the drunken red terror, I have dignity. I would never stoop to attacking an opponent who couldn’t fight back.” Her face broke into the most excited smile Marci had ever seen on the normally stoic dragoness. “Especially not when I can use her as a guinea pig instead.”

     “Then let’s hope your actions live up to your bragging,” Amelia said, grabbing two full handles of vodka off the banquet table. “Just give me a second to get ready.”

     Before Marci could ask what she meant, Amelia had ripped the cap off the first bottle with her teeth and downed it in three swallows. She did the same to the second, making both Marci and Svena wince.

     “What are you doing?” Marci asked when she stopped for breath at last.

     “Liquid courage,” Amelia wheezed, wiping her mouth. “My soul’s about to get split in two. You don’t expect me to go through that sober, do you?”

     “You haven’t gone through anything sober in your life,” Svena growled, smacking the third handle of liquor off the table before Amelia could reach for it. “I can’t do this if you’re too drunk to help. Now go stand by the mortal.”

     To Marci’s amazement, Amelia obeyed, walking over to stand beside Marci. “Wheneber’r ready,” she slurred.

     The jumbled words were barely out of her mouth when Svena struck. One moment, they were standing face to face on the sunny balcony. The next, Svena’s hand was inside Amelia’s chest. Gruesome as it looked, though, there was no blood. Amelia’s tank top didn’t even look damaged despite Svena’s arm passing right through the seam of its V-neck. But while the rest of her didn’t seem to mind the invasion, Amelia’s face told another story.

     “Ow,” she said through clenched teeth.

     “You asked for this,” Svena reminded her, scowling in concentration. “Now. Don’t move.”

     The command landed like a thousand-ton press as Svena’s hand began to dig around inside Amelia’s chest.

     “OW,” Amelia said again.

     Svena didn’t comment this time. She just kept digging, closing her eyes in concentration as beads of sweat began to drip down her pale face. “Almost there,” she whispered. “Almost…got it!”

     Amelia made a choking sound, and then her pained gasp turned into a roar as Svena ripped her hand free, bringing a ball of fire out with it.

     Now it was Marci’s turn to gasp. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d expected the dragon’s life fire to be small, like the little flame Amelia had demonstrated on her palm, but the fire roaring in Svena’s hand was a white-hot inferno the size of a small car. It was still coming, too, spiraling out of Amelia’s chest toward Svena’s fingers like a sun being sucked into a black hole. It was so huge, Svena was actually forced to take several steps back to make room, raising the enormous, spinning orb of fire high above her head until, at last, the line of flame connecting it to Amelia snapped, and the dragon collapsed.

     “Amelia!” Marci cried.

     “Don’t touch her!” Svena roared, her blond hair flying in the burning wind that was rolling off the fire in her hands. “Her magic is unstable. We need to finish this quickly.”

     “It looks like you’re finishing her!” Marci yelled, pointing at the massive specter of fire hanging over their heads. “You said you were only taking half!”

     “This is half,” Svena said, her voice straining as she fought to keep the flames under control. “When will you understand? Amelia is powerful. I wouldn’t bother with her if she wasn’t.”

     Marci stared at the roaring fire with new respect. She’d never seen so much pure, concentrated magic in her life. Not even when she’d pulled off Vann Jeger. “And that’s supposed to go into me?”

     Rather than answering, Svena shoved the fire down on Marci’s head. She barely got a chance to brace before it landed, closing her eyes as she hoped against hope that this was going to be one of those “burns without pain” kind of magical experiences.

     No dice. It hurt exactly as much as it looked like it was going to. Like an actual giant ball of fire was consuming her from head to foot.

     “Draw it in!”

     Marci could barely make out Svena’s shout through the pain. It was hard to focus on anything when you were on fire other than not being on fire. Fortunately for Marci, while she was overwhelmed by mortal fear, Ghost was already dead, and he didn’t have a body to burn.

     Ignore it, he ordered, gripping Marci’s mind in an icy grasp that banished the burning. Take the magic. Quickly, before it really does consume us.

     Marci didn’t have to be told twice. Now that Ghost’s grave-like chill was protecting her from the pain, she could finally feel the white-hot thrumming of Amelia’s magic under the literal burn of the fire, and she reached for it desperately, grabbing the flames as she began to yank down handful after handful of the purest, strongest, most concentrated magic she’d ever touched.

     If drawing off Julius had felt like plugging into the sun, this was like becoming a star herself. Amelia’s magic roared into her so fast and strong, she couldn’t hope to control it. All she could do was pull it in, winding the wild power up like a wire until the fire around her finally began to die down. It still wasn’t enough, though, so she forced the fire smaller still, folding and compressing the magic she’d already wound up into a tiny, white-hot mass, cursing herself the entire time for not thinking to draw a circle before this started.

     You don’t need a circle, Ghost said, his deep voice as loud and clear as real sound in her head. A circle is just a tool. A construct to help you visualize what you’re trying to do. Chalk can’t actually hold in magic. It was always you. But don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’ll help you. You can hold it, and together we will be stronger than they could ever imagine.

     Marci scowled. He was doing it again, talking like a villain, but it was too late to doubt now. The magic was already in her, and if she didn’t get it stable, it was going to blow them both apart. So, with no way back, Marci did as her spirit said, closing her eyes and focusing inward on the wadded-up mass of pure dragon magic pulsing in her chest.

     Handling this much power without a circle felt like driving a race car at full speed with no mirrors or brakes. It was terrifying, but every time Marci felt she was about to fly out of control, Ghost nudged her back into place. She still wasn’t quite sure how it happened. Every decision took up the whole of her attention, leaving nothing to spare for how the final construction would fit together, but somehow, it worked. They kept it together, pressing and folding Amelia’s blazing furnace of magic inch by inch, smaller and smaller, denser and denser, until, at last, it was nothing but a flame in Marci’s own chest, dancing and flickering behind the wall of internal wards she’d just built freehand inside her own magic.

     When she opened her eyes again, she was lying in Svena’s lounge chair. The white dragoness herself was nowhere to be seen, and the sun, which had been nearly overhead when they’d started, was now touching the horizon. She was still staring at it in confusion when a shadow fell over her face.

     “You’re awake!” Amelia said, handing Marci a glass of water. “Thank goodness. You had me worried there.”

     “I had me worried,” Marci croaked, reaching out to take the glass and bring it thirstily to her lips. “You might want to give me a little more warning next—pah!” She spit out the water, which wasn’t water at all. “What is this?”

     “A cure-all of my own concoction,” Amelia said proudly. “It’s a tincture made of herbs from multiple planes dissolved in a fifty-fifty mix of whiskey and cherry liqueur.”

     “Ugh,” Marci said, wiping her tongue on the back of her hand. “Tastes more like a poison-all than a cure-all.”

     “The foul taste is part of the curing,” Amelia assured her. “Finish the whole thing, and I guarantee you won’t care about whatever it was you took it for anymore.”

     She offered the glass again, but Marci pushed it away. “I’ll take my chances,” she muttered, lying back on the chair to stare at the sinking sun. “How long was I out?”

     “Not sure,” Amelia said, sitting back down herself. “I just woke up not too long ago myself, but going by the sun, I’d say it’s around five in the afternoon.”

     Amelia had picked Marci up right before lunch, so that meant—“Svena left us lying out here for five hours?”

     Amelia laughed out loud. “What do you think she is? Nice? At least she put our bodies in chairs. And she moved us under the umbrellas. That was thoughtful.”

     Maybe by dragon standards. “Well, I’d say her bedside manner definitely needs work.”

     “You can’t argue with the results.” Amelia closed her eyes. “I can feel my fire inside you. It’s weirder than I thought it would be.”

     Marci closed her eyes, too. Sure enough, Amelia’s fire was burning in her chest, warm and strong. It was so inviting, she couldn’t resist drawing off just a bit. She’d only meant to take a taste, but the moment her mental touch brushed the flames, power flooded into her, lighting up her bracelets like Christmas. Ghost perked up as well, his longing hitting her like a hunger pang.

     “Here you go,” Marci said, releasing the magic down the connection she shared with her spirit. “But not too much.”

     But we have so much, the spirit said as he gobbled it up. Just think what we could do with this, Marci. How powerful we could become.

     “You sound like a comic-book villain,” she told him, locking the magic firmly back in place. “Haven’t you ever heard that with great power comes great responsibility?”

     The cold rush in her mind told her what Ghost thought of that, and Amelia chuckled beside her. “Spirit getting grabby, is he?”

     “He thinks your fire is his own personal feeding trough,” Marci said, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, though. I’m wise to his ways. I’ll keep your magic safe.”

     “I know you will,” Amelia said, her voice so serious, Marci almost didn’t recognize it. “I’m betting it all on you,” she whispered, staring at Marci with glittering, almost feverish eyes. “You’re my winning ticket. You’re going to be the first Merlin, I just know it. We just have to get you there.”

     “What are you talking about?” Marci asked. “What’s a Merlin?”

     “You’ll see soon enough,” she said, pushing up out of her chair. “For now, though, that was way rougher than I’d thought it’d be, and I need a drink. You want one?”

     “Depends,” Marci said. “Does it have those horrid herbs in it?”

     “Nope,” Amelia said, rattling around on the table, which someone had apparently cleared off and reset while Marci was out. All the sandwich trays and brunch dishes were gone, replaced by a fresh selection of salads, steak, seafood, desserts, and a bar that would have served an entire wedding, which Amelia was currently digging through for a glass.

     “Here,” she said, plunking two ice cubes into a glass before pouring Marci a perfectly normal-looking splash of brandy. “I snitched this from Bethesda’s private stash. If drinking a shot worth more than most houses can’t make you feel better, nothing can.”

     Marci was on the verge of saying no, but she must have absorbed more of Amelia than just fire, because she ended up nodding instead, accepting the terrifyingly expensive drink with trembling fingers. When she finally got the courage to take a sip, though, she discovered Amelia was right. It did make her feel better. Good enough to ask the dragon for another one, which Amelia was delighted to provide.

     And high overhead, unseen in the long evening shadows, a raven flapped off the peak of the mountain and flew away into the sunset.

     Chapter 4

      

     Julius had never felt more ridiculous in his life.

     Fredrick hadn’t been messing around when he’d said he was going to get Julius ready to face the clan. He’d brushed and scrubbed and scraped and cleaned and trimmed the younger dragon with ruthless efficiency. Before Julius even knew what was happening, he’d had his hair cut, his face shaved, his teeth whitened, and his eyebrows trimmed, and those were just the procedures he’d agreed to. If Fredrick had had his way, he would have been spray tanned and airbrushed, too.

     But the line had to be drawn somewhere, and Julius put his foot down at having his skin painted. Even without the painting, though, a good hour and a half had still passed before he realized it, and by the time it occurred to him that Marci really should have called by now, it was far too late.

     “Oh no,” he muttered, grabbing his phone, whose screen was a wall of missed calls. “No, no, no. She’s going to hate me.”

     “She who?” Fredrick asked as he put the final touches on Julius’s hair. “Your mortal?”

     Julius didn’t bother to correct him. He was already calling the discharge desk at the infirmary. When the nurse picked up, she calmly informed Julius that Marci had been released to the lounge ninety minutes ago.

     His stomach dropped like an anvil. Forget hating, Marci was going to kill him. The lounge was the lowest level of human storage in Heartstriker Mountain. If she wasn’t already furious at him for standing her up, an hour in that place would put her on the war path, and rightfully so. He’d neglected and forgotten her, treated her like…like he was a stereotypical dragon. That was unforgivable. He had to make it right, and he was searching the Heartstriker listings for the number to the lounge to do just that when Fredrick cleared his throat.

     “I can’t help noticing you are upset over the state of your mortal.”

     “You could say that,” Julius muttered, scowling down at the ever-expanding Gordian knot that was the official Heartstriker Mountain directory. “Do you know who’s in charge of the mortal lounge?”

     “I do,” Fredrick said. “Would you like me to call on your behalf?”

     Julius’s head shot up. “You’d do that?”

     The dragon looked insulted. “I am here to assist you as your aide, sir. I do whatever you need me to do.”

     That was a very different stance than Fredrick had taken when he’d been grooming his supposed boss within an inch of his life, but Julius was more than willing to overlook any double standards if it meant rescuing Marci. “Yes, please!” he cried. “Get her out of there!”

     Fredrick pulled a sleek black phone out of his pocket and tapped the air above it. A few seconds later, his razor-sharp dark brows furrowed. “I’m very sorry, sir,” he said. “I can’t secure her release. Your mortal left the lounge an hour ago with the Planeswalker.”

      He said this like he was announcing a death sentence, but Julius had already slumped back into his chair in relief. “She’s with Amelia? That’s fantastic.” And a way better outcome than any of the doomsday scenarios he’d been envisioning. He’d still have to make it up to her for letting them put her in the lounge at all, but at least now she’d be entertained and safe. Marci and Amelia could talk magic for hours, and no one would bother her if she was with the Planeswalker. But while he was feeling miles better about the entire situation, Fredrick looked horribly confused.

     “I don’t understand,” he said. “You’re happy the Planeswalker stole your human?”

     “You’ve got the wrong idea,” Julius said, shaking his head. “Marci can’t be stolen because she doesn’t belong to me. She’s her own person, a fact Amelia knows better than anyone. She and Marci are friends.”

     At the word “friends,” Fredrick’s look of confusion turned to one of horror. “And you believe that?”

     “Yes, I do,” Julius said firmly. “I trust her. I trust both of them.”

     It was true, too. Marci had more than proven herself on that score, and even his sister had shown she could be reliable, at least when it came to this. He checked his phone one last time, just in case. Sure enough, Marci’s calls stopped an hour ago, which would have been right around when Amelia showed up. She hadn’t responded to any of his frantic apologies either, which he hoped was a sign that she was having too good a time grilling his sister for magical secrets to mind that he still hadn’t shown up. Either way, Marci was unquestionably safer (and probably happier) with Amelia than she would have been stuck in here with him. So, with a final quick message to let her know that he was staying here until the vote was done, Julius let it go and turned his attention back to his own problems.

     “I think my hair’s had as much styling product as it can take,” he said, pushing himself up off the ornate ottoman Fredrick had been using as a barber’s chair. “Is there anything else you want to groom, or can we move on to the educational part of this? ‘Cause if I’m going to memorize ten clutches’ worth of Heartstrikers, I should probably get started.”

     “There’s no hope of that now, I’m afraid,” Fredrick said, checking the time. “I thought we’d have an hour to go over things, but getting you to the minimum standard of presentability took far longer than I anticipated. We need to hurry and get you dressed if you’re going to make it to the vote on time.”

     Julius stared at him, uncomprehending. “But,” he said at last, “it’s only two o’clock. The vote’s not until six. How is it going to take me four hours to get dressed?”

     “Actually, I’m worried four hours is overly optimistic,” Fredrick said as he walked across the mirrored dressing room. “But we’ll make it work somehow.” He opened the door to the hall as he finished, sticking his head around the corner. “Bring it in.”

     The order was barely out before a work crew of humans led by yet another F—one who, again, Julius couldn’t name but recognized vaguely as the dragon who managed his mother’s treasury—wheeled in a wooden crate the size of a wardrobe. They set the huge box down on its end where Fredrick indicated, and then the crowbars came out, cracking the crate’s nailed-down lid to reveal an authentic suit of Mayan armor complete with fur cape, jaguar-skin breastplate, and enormous, intricately engraved golden cuffs for the wrists, upper arms, ankles, and neck.

     Startling as all that was, though, the real surprise was the slightly smaller crate they wheeled in next. This box was opened personally by the overseeing F, his long fingers prying the wooden boards open to reveal an enormous golden headdress decorated with gigantic rainbow-colored feathers. Feathers that had very obviously come from a dragon, and not one Julius had smelled before.

     “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, eyes wide as the dragon carefully removed the circle of plumage from its protective silk padding. “Whose feathers are those?”

     “They belonged to the Heartstriker,” the new F replied, giving Julius a cutting look. “The original one.” He lifted the crown delicately with both hands and turned it around so Julius could see. “This headdress is a treasure of our family. It was originally meant to be worn by our grandfather and contains the only remaining plumage of the Quetzalcoatl left in existence.”

     That was as impressive as it was macabre, but Julius was having none of it. “I am not wearing that,” he said firmly. “Carrying his tooth is bad enough, but I am not putting on a dead dragon’s feathers.”

     “You will wear them,” Fredrick said coldly. “The Great Quetzalcoatl is the original root of all Heartstriker power, and his crown is proof of our legitimacy as his lineage. Bethesda does not need to wear it because her right to rule is unquestioned. You, however, are an unknown dragon trying to claim authority in a clan where name alone is enough to determine rank. It doesn’t matter how good your ideas are. No one in that room will listen to you if you don’t have power. That’s what this headdress represents: your power and legitimacy as a grandson of the Quetzalcoatl.”

     That was a pretty good argument, but Julius was still cringing. “How does this even exist? The Quetzalcoatl’s been dead for nine hundred years. How are his feathers not ash?”

     “For the same reason you’re still wielding his Fang,” Fredrick said, nodding at the sword on Julius’s hip. “Mother was careful. After she defeated her father, she locked down the lingering magic left from his extinguished fire. Rather than permitting his power to escape and his form to fall to ash, she trapped it, preserving parts of his body, and magic left in them, for later use.”

     Now Julius really thought he was going to be sick. “She preserved him? Like dragon jerky?”

     “Of course,” Fredrick said with a scathing look. “Bethesda is greedy and clever, and even in death, the magic of a dragon as great as the Quetzalcoatl isn’t something you throw away.”

     “Bethesda’s been using up her father’s magic slowly over centuries,” the new F from the treasury added. “How else do you think she managed to scrape together enough power to lay eight clutches during the magical drought? She’s not that good.”

     “But the magic itself is still the Quetzalcoatl’s,” Fredrick said. “Mother can use it since he’s no longer alive to tell her no, but certain parts, like the Fangs, still follow the echo of his will.” He smiled tightly. “In her greed, you could say Bethesda created the closest thing our kind has to a ghost.”

     That was probably the most horrible thing Julius had ever heard about his mother, which was saying something. “And she wants me to do it, too?” he asked, pointing at the headdress. “She wants me to wear that?”

     The two Fs exchanged a look. “Actually,” Fredrick said slowly. “Mother doesn’t know. Franz and I decided—”

     “Franz?” Julius said, head whipping around to the treasury dragon, who nodded. “Wait, the two of you decided I should wear this? Not Bethesda?”

     Fredrick’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Bethesda wants you to fail,” he said crisply. “Why would she share the power she’s hoarded from her father with the dragon who defeated her? But we at the bottom of the clan are…optimistic about a possible change in power. That’s why our clutch has agreed to do everything we can to ensure that your efforts are not undermined.”

     By the time he finished, Julius was staring at the Fs like he’d never seen them before. “You want to help me?”

     He hadn’t meant for the question to sound quite so skeptical, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. Other than the few allies he’d won through blood and Bob, whose end goal was still completely unfathomable, no one in this mountain wanted to help him. He especially couldn’t imagine receiving it from the clutch who was so famously under Bethesda’s thumb. The more he thought about that, though, the more he started to wonder if he’d been reading this whole situation incorrectly, especially given the look of pure rage painted across Fredrick’s normally stoic face.

     “Let me put this in a way you can understand,” the F growled. “From the moment we hatched, my entire clutch was assigned to be Bethesda’s personal servants. For the last six hundred years, we have been forbidden to transform out of our human shapes or leave the boundaries of Heartstriker Mountain.”

     Julius stared at him wide eyed. “How?” he asked. “How could Bethesda keep an entire clutch locked up like that?”

     “The same way she did for you,” Fredrick said, unbuttoning his stiff coat. He unbuttoned his white shirt next, pulling the fabric aside to show Julius the old glimmer of dragon magic crisscrossing his chest. A very familiar glimmer.

     “She sealed you?” Julius cried, staring at his brothers. “All of you? For six hundred years?”

     “Now you understand why we would support a change,” Fredrick said as he re-buttoned his coat. “But our seal is different than yours. You were merely trapped beneath her magic. Our seal was affixed before we were even born, and it doesn’t just stop us from changing shape or leaving the mountain. It binds us to Bethesda’s rules, making it impossible for any of us to refuse a request from her or any dragon currently in her favor. We are also absolutely forbidden from attacking any of our siblings, even if they attack us first. We are only one year younger than the Es, and yet we are treated worse than Js, and Mother has never told us why. This is simply our life.”

     “We’ve learned to survive as best we could,” Franz added grimly. “With our heads down. Our only hope was that eventually someone would do to Bethesda what she did to her father and set us free. Now, thanks to you, it’s happened at last.”

     “This would all have been much simpler if you’d killed her, of course,” Fredrick growled. “But we’ll take what we can get. We don’t know what you plan to do with this clan, Great Julius, but whatever it is, it can’t be worse than our life under Bethesda. So long as you change anything, anything at all, you can trust that our clutch is highly motivated to aid you.”

     Both Fs were staring at him expectantly by the time Fredrick finished, but Julius didn’t know what to say. The only thing he knew for sure was that—if Fredrick was telling even a fraction of the truth—then his initial assessment of F-clutch was entirely wrong. They weren’t Bethesda’s spies or lackeys, they were her slaves. They’d been trapped here for centuries against their will, living in conditions even worse than his had been, and the longer he thought about that, the angrier Julius got.

     “I’m so sorry,” he said at last. “I didn’t know.”

     “Not many do,” Fredrick said with a shrug. “It’s not a secret, it’s just that most dragons don’t care about anyone’s situation but their own.”

     “I’m still sorry,” Julius said, because he was every bit as guilty of that as the rest of his siblings. He’d been raised by Fs, but he’d never bothered to look past his own misery to wonder why such obviously capable, centuries-old dragonesses were tending Bethesda’s children like paid nannies instead of running their own empires like every other upper-alphabet dragon in the clan. But while he couldn’t change his selfish ignorance in the past, Julius was determined to make things right now.

     “I’m going to fix this clan,” he said, looking Fredrick straight in his green eyes. “I didn’t know how badly Bethesda was treating you, but I’m not surprised at all.” His mother used everyone, manipulated them all, but that ended today. This was exactly the sort of horrible abuse of power he’d created the Council to stop, and if wearing his grandfather’s armor would help to achieve that, then Julius was going to suck it up and wear it, because Fredrick was right. Dragons everywhere were suckers for trappings of power, especially golden ones. A little J was not impressive, even one who’d overthrown Bethesda. But that same J draped in the Quetzalcoatl’s own feathers? That would make any dragon pay attention, at least for a little bit. The rest would be up to Julius, but given how terrifying it was going to be standing in front of the dragons he’d spent his life up to this point hiding from, he was ready to take whatever help he could get. Even the creepy dead kind.

     “I’m in,” he said firmly, pulling himself straight. “Put them on.”

     “Excellent choice, sir,” Fredrick said, his face splitting into a hungry grin as he took the crown from Franz. “Brace yourself. This might feel a little odd.”

     Julius nodded and closed his eyes, pulling his whole body tight as the F set the headdress on top of his head, and the weight of a dragon with it.

     ***

     Now he really looked ridiculous.

     Once again, Fredrick had been right. Four hours was a push to get Julius into a full suit of incredibly complex armor that hadn’t been worn in centuries. Not only did every golden piece have to be remolded to fit Julius’s body—which was apparently much scrawnier than his grandfather’s had been—but Julius had to keep taking breaks to adjust the enormous weight of the feathers on top of his head.

     It seemed impossible that something as light and airy as feathers could feel so heavy. The five foot long plumes looked like nothing floating behind him, but the moment he put them on, the weight was enough to buckle his knees. Even after he’d figured out how to balance it, the crown was still incredibly uncomfortable. The brilliant rainbow-colored feathers had edges as sharp as knives, and even though the dragon who’d grown them was long gone, they still twitched and rustled like living things. That plus the deathly, ashen smell that surrounded it was enough to make Julius want to tear the headdress off every time they stuck it on his head. The only reason he didn’t was because he was going to eventually have to wear this in front of a crowd, and he’d much rather learn to bear it here in private than freak out in front of his entire family.

     But even Julius’s constant breaks and the literal reforging of multiple golden pieces were no match for Fredrick’s efficiency. In the end, they were done with ten minutes to spare. The F had just left to go check on Bethesda’s progress when the door to the dressing room banged open, and a tall, familiar, and very well-armed dragon strode into the room only to freeze in his tracks.

     “Wow,” Justin said, his jaw hanging open. “Dude, you look good.”

     This was so different from their usual interactions, it took Julius several seconds to actually reply. “Thank you,” he said at last. “I—”

     “No, I mean you look good,” his brother said, stalking in a circle around Julius. “Like an actual, legit dragon.” He breathed in deep. “You don’t even smell like a loser anymore! Who worked that miracle?”

     “Fredrick,” Julius said, reminding himself to take the compliment as it was meant rather than as his brother had mangled it. “This is all his work. I just stood here.”

     Justin’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Fredrick? You’ve got an F now, too? I’ve been trying to convince Mother to give me one forever!” He scowled. “Maybe I should have taken the Council job.”

     “No, you’re definitely better off where you are,” Julius said, repressing a shudder at the thought of his bull of a brother raging through the china shop that had been this morning’s negotiations. “And I didn’t ‘get’ an F. He’s just helping me.”

     “Right,” Justin said, rolling his eyes. “Just like Whatshername’s not actually your mortal.”

     There were more wrong-headed ideas to unpack in that statement than Julius could handle in the few minutes they had left, so he banked the comment for later and changed the subject. “You look nice, too,” he said, looking his brother up and down.

     Like him, Justin was dressed like a warrior, but a far more practical, modern version. Though his armor was clearly modeled after Julius’s ancient costume, it was made of black tactical Kevlar and ballistic-grade steel plating rather than gold and feathers. His short, black hair was slicked back behind a military-grade Augmented Reality headset, and his back was completely taken up by his enormous Fang of the Heartstriker, which he wore with the wrapped hilt belted prominently high over his shoulder for easy access.

     Together, the combination was somewhere between high tech mercenary and fantasy swordsman, which explained why Justin looked so happy wearing it. But while Julius appreciated the visit, he wasn’t actually sure why Justin was back here with him.

     “I thought we were meeting in the throne room?”

     “Everyone else is meeting in the throne room,” Justin said haughtily. “Which is why I’m here. As your knight, it’s my job to escort you.”

     Julius blinked. “My what?”

     “Your knight,” his brother repeated. “You know, your bodyguard, like Conrad is for mother. I’ve wanted the job forever, but I thought I’d have to wait until Conrad died to get it, and fat chance of that happening. Now, though, we’ve got two clan heads!” He grinned wide. “Problem solved.”

     “Not to rain on your parade, but I’m not a clan head,” Julius reminded him. “I’m on the Council, and only for five years. I don’t need a knight.”

     “Of course you need a knight,” Justin said. “Have you been downstairs recently? Every Heartstriker in the world is crammed into this mountain like sardines, and they’re all in a bad mood. You couldn’t even run a pest-control business in the DFZ without getting in mortal danger every other week. Do you really expect me to believe you can handle all those dragons by yourself?” He snorted. “You wouldn’t last ten seconds.”

     That was true enough, but, “I don’t need a bodyguard,” Julius said again. “I’ve got this, remember?” He dropped his hand to his own Fang of the Heartstriker, which Fredrick had tied prominently to his waist. “It’ll freeze anyone in the family the moment they even think of hurting me or anyone else.”

     “Only if you’re touching it,” his brother snapped. “And it doesn’t do squat against threats that aren’t Heartstrikers.” He shook his head. “Face it, you’re about to become important. That’s just another word for target, so unless you’re willing to keep a death grip on your sword twenty-four/seven, you need backup, and that means me.” He grinned. “Face it, little brother. I’m doing this for your own good.”

     More like his own ego. But while Julius was sure Justin had come up with this knight idea purely so that he had a reason to stand around looking scary and important like his idol, Conrad, he also couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit touched. Selfish or not, Justin’s offer of protection was a huge display of support, and as Julius was beginning to understand, those were never to be taken lightly. He still didn’t think a knight was necessary—he didn’t fully understand his Fang’s abilities yet, though stopping Bethesda from attacking Svena this morning had done a lot for his confidence—but knowing Justin had his back was comforting in a way that had nothing to do with actual physical security, and he found himself grinning right back.

     “Thanks, Justin.”

     His brother nodded. “I’ll add it to your tab. We needed to start a new one anyway since I blew all your old debts on the DFZ business.”

     “Well, fingers crossed you won’t have to do anything,” Julius said. “I—”

     “What do you mean won’t have to do anything?” Justin cried. “I’m praying for someone to try and kill you so I can kick his butt in front of the whole clan. The stories about me toe-to-toeing it with Conrad in the throne room are a good start, but everyone knows he was under Estella’s control at the time. A public duel is exactly what I need to shore up my reputation after that sword confiscating nonsense last week.”

     “No one’s going to try to kill me,” Julius said firmly. “Intimidate, sure, but not kill. The whole point of this new election system is to make it so no one has to kill anyone else for power anymore. All they’d gain by killing me is that one of you would have to take my seat as a Fang, and no self-respecting, power-hungry dragon is going to bother with murder just for that.”

     “Except for the part where most self-respecting, power-hungry dragons don’t consider murder a bother,” Justin growled. “You’re trying to change things. For those who like things the way Bethesda had them, that makes you a nuisance, and nuisances get swatted.”

     That was truer than Julius wanted to admit, but he refused to take back what he’d said. Firstly, until the Council was actually complete, Bethesda’s “No one kills Heartstrikers except for Chelsie and myself” rule was still in effect. Good thing, too. Half the clan would have been dead by now if they hadn’t been more afraid of Chelsie than they’d hated each other. But even though it wasn’t yet operational, Julius already believed the new Council would make all of that irrelevant. Why risk Chelsie’s wrath by killing your sibling when you could simply vote your way into power? Or, if you couldn’t win yourself, use your vote to bind the allegiance of the dragon who could? He harbored no illusions about a fair election—they were still dragons, after all—but at least the vote selling and blatant cronyism would remove the pressure to actually kill the competition, which meant no one would have to die anymore.

     Given the violence that normally went on inside his clan, Julius was ready to call that a win. Before any of these peaceable-dragon-kingdom daydreams could happen, though, they had to make this first vote work. He was about to suggest to Justin they head out to do just that when the door burst open and their mother exploded into the room.

     Julius and Justin stepped back in unison. Bethesda the Heartstriker always knew how to make an entrance, but she’d out-done herself today. Like Julius, she was dressed in the traditional Mesoamerican garb of the original Heartstriker’s court, but where Julius was wearing an authentic antique, Bethesda was dressed like a golden goddess. Literally.

     Every inch of her body—from the ridges of her ears to the tips of her toes to the fringe of her eyelashes—was covered in gold. Gold jewelry, gold leaf, gold paste, gold powder on her skin, gold everything. Her torso was crisscrossed with so many golden cords and chains, Julius wasn’t actually sure if she was wearing a dress or if it was gold all the way down. Even her face was coated in the stuff, making her hard green eyes glitter like the emeralds they were so often compared to. She was even wearing a feathered headdress that matched Julius’s, though the indigo plumes in hers were from her own tail.

     She’d clearly been on the verge of hissing something at them when she’d entered, probably to rebuke Julius for being late. Whatever it was, though, it died on her lips, because the moment she saw her youngest child, Bethesda the Heartstriker stopped cold.

     For nearly a minute, no one said a word. They all just stood there: Justin waiting, Julius shifting nervously, and Bethesda standing there with her mouth open like she’d never seen a dragon before. “Where did you get that?” she said at last, her green eyes locked on the rainbow feathers that spilled down behind Julius like a waterfall.

     For a heartbeat, Julius considered lying and saying it had all been his idea before he remembered he couldn’t. Now that he knew the truth about the green eyes, lying to Bethesda was a waste of everyone’s time. He didn’t want to lie and hide what he was doing, anyway, and he was beyond sick of tiptoeing around his mother’s temper. So, he didn’t. He just looked her in the face and told her the truth.

     “Fredrick found it for me,” he said, reaching up to touch the shorter feathers falling over his shoulders. “He said it would be appropriate given my new status, and after seeing what you’re wearing, I agree. We could hardly stand up as equals if you’re dressed like a golden statue and I’m wearing a normal old suit.”

     “Fredrick found it, did he?” Bethesda bared her teeth. “He’ll pay for that.”

     “No, he won’t,” Julius growled back, folding his arms over his gold-and-jaguar-pelt-covered chest. “You don’t get to punish us any more, Mother. After this vote, your rule is over.”

     “We’ll see about that,” Bethesda growled. But while that sounded like the end of it, she didn’t stop staring at him. Normally, Julius would have said she was just trying to make him squirm, but that didn’t feel right this time, mostly because she didn’t seem to be actually looking at him. It was more like she was looking through him, and from the way her lip was trembling, she didn’t like what she saw one bit.

     “What is it?” he asked when he’d had all the staring he could take.

     “Nothing,” his mother said, blinking rapidly. “It’s just a…a shock to see you looking so draconic for once. You always dress so terribly, I never noticed the resemblance until now.”

     Julius frowned. “Resemblance to what?”

     Bethesda turned away. “My father.”

     There was no way he’d heard that right. “I look like the Quetzalcoatl?”

     “Don’t take it as a compliment,” she snapped. “He never was much to look at in his human form. And before you let any of this go to your head, remember how he ended.”

     She snapped her teeth, making Julius wince. Still, he couldn’t help looking at their reflections in the dressing room mirrors. Nothing had actually changed since Fredrick had left ten minutes ago, but Julius no longer thought he looked ridiculous. Quite the opposite. Standing there beside his mother and brother with his Fang on his hip and his grandfather’s magic hanging over him like a shroud, he looked like a dragon. He was still staring in wonder when his mother swept out of the room.

     “Enough preening,” she growled. “I refuse to participate in this idiocy a moment longer than I must, so if you don’t want the final stage of your mutiny to start without you, get moving. You’re the last one. The others are already waiting.”

     Julius wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but everything became clear when he followed her into the hallway to see Bob and Chelsie waiting for them. The seer was still wearing his ridiculous tux from this morning, though his pigeon was conspicuously absent. Chelsie, on the other hand, looked exactly like she always did: terrifying in her black combat suit with her Fang displayed prominently on her hip.

     “Don’t you look dashing!” Bob cried, looking Julius over. “I almost thought you were someone else.”

     He winked at their mother, who snarled at him, and Julius decided he’d better keep things moving before someone got blood all over his bloodless revolution. “Is everyone here?”

     “Yes,” Chelsie said, glancing down the hall at the very recently repaired doors to the still-empty throne room. “With the exception of the six of us and Amelia, who’s refused to come out of her room, every living Heartstriker is waiting in the hall, and has been for the past ten minutes.”

     “Well, at least something’s going right,” Bethesda said, shaking her head to make sure the feathers of her headdress were falling smoothly down her back before turning to Julius with a superior sneer. “Ready to see how it’s done?”

     Before Julius could answer, his mother marched ahead down the hall and into the empty throne room, which now looked very different from the last time Julius had seen it. It wasn’t back to normal—the cracks in the floor and walls had yet to be repaired—but the Quetzalcoatl’s skull was back on its chains, hanging from the ceiling, and all the rubble, including Bethesda’s broken throne, had been cleared away to leave the cave as one enormous, open space save for a wooden platform that had been set up in front of the balcony. By the time he’d taken it all in, Bethesda had already hopped up on the stage, taking the very best spot at the center. The moment she was in position, she nodded to the F standing discreetly by the entrance, who obeyed at once, throwing open the newly rebuilt throne room doors with a crack.

     The moment the seal broke, the smell of dragons hit Julius like a hammer. The hall of heads running up to the Heartstriker throne room was enormous, but the massive crowd of dragons still managed to take up every speck of available space, spilling through the doors into the broken stone chamber like a silent, angry tide.

     Before this moment, Julius had never seen his entire family together in one place. Going by the size of the crowd that was rapidly filling the room, though, he was beginning to realize that he’d never seen even half of them, and every green eye in the place seemed to be locked on him.

     For a shy dragon who’d spent his entire life avoiding attention, it was a scene out of his nightmares. He’d known this was coming, of course, but after everything else he’d been through, he’d assumed he could handle it. Apparently, he’d assumed wrong. Even confronting Vann Jeger paled in comparison to being the focus of so many dragons’ attention. If he hadn’t been physically held upright by his ridiculous golden armor, Julius would have crumbled on the spot. He still wasn’t certain he wasn’t going to faint when Justin jabbed him in the small of his back.

     “Go,” his brother hissed.

     Julius cast him a terrified look. “I—”

     His brother didn’t give him a chance to finish. He just grabbed Julius’s shoulder and shoved him forward, marching him down the far wall across the crowded throne room to the stage before physically lifting him onto it. By the time Julius was in control of his own actions again, he was standing directly behind his mother, staring down at a sea of Heartstrikers who were watching them both like predators.

     By this point, Julius’s fight-or-flight instinct was in full effect. For the first time he could remember, though, maybe the first time ever, his choice was fight. It certainly wasn’t the smartest decision—now that he was unsealed, he could clearly see just how much bigger and more magical every other dragon in the room was compared to him—but after everything he’d put up with to get to this point, running simply wasn’t an option. He was still terrified, but now that Justin’s shove had gotten him past the initial shock, the fear didn’t feel as overwhelming as it once had. Maybe it was because he’d risked so much more than his life for this, or maybe he’d simply grown accustomed to mortal terror, but as Julius stood up straight at his mother’s side, a new sensation fought its way to the forefront: anticipation.

     This was it, he realized breathlessly. This was what he’d fought for. After this vote, the Council would be complete, and the Heartstriker clan would be changed forever. For the better. The bright future that had seemed like a pipe dream three days ago was actually about to happen, and all he had to do was keep it together. So that was what he did. He kept it together, forcing himself to be calm, to stand straight and proud beside Bethesda as she began to address the clan that was no longer hers.

     “I know there have been rumors,” she said, her voice ringing out to the far corners of the room. “Let me put them to rest. Last night, we killed Estella the Northern Star, ending our war with the Daughters of the Three Sisters.”

     She paused to let that sink in. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “I was also overthrown by the dragon standing beside me.”

     A startled murmur rose from the crowd before Bethesda silenced it with a deadly glare. “I do not deny what happened,” she continued crisply. “But, as you can see, I am still very much alive and in power. So before the rest of you get any revolutionary ideas, remember that I am and shall always be the Heartstriker. Even when I lose, I always come out on top. This is the core value of our clan, and I expect each of you to follow my good example should you ever find yourself in a similar situation.”

     Julius fought the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to Bethesda to turn her own coup d’état into something to brag about. But his mother wasn’t done yet.

     “That said,” Bethesda went on, “while I retained the important aspects of my power, there have been certain…adjustments I was obliged to accept for the good of the clan. The ignorant among you might be tempted to call these concessions, but any dragon worth the name understands that the ability to adjust one’s strategy in the face of defeat is the true measure of cunning. That is what survivors do—we adapt and flourish—and we will all need to hone our survival skills if we’re going to make it through whatever my youngest son has planned.”

     Before Julius had time to process that, his mother’s arm shot back, grabbing him by the shoulder.

     “This is Julius,” she said. “For years, I considered him my greatest failure. But despite his obvious flaws, which are too numerous to name here, he managed to pull the final Fang from the Quetzalcoatl’s skull which, since I was already weakened from fighting Estella, allowed him to force me into surrender.” Bethesda lifted her head high. “This is where many dragons would have died with their pride, but I was not so foolish. I’ve worked too hard and sacrificed too much building this clan up to abandon it to the inevitable disaster that would come from Julius’s rule. So, to save us all, I proposed a compromise, which Julius will now explain.”

     She stepped aside, leaving Julius gaping. Part of him couldn’t believe his mother had just taken credit for his idea and then left him holding the bag, though the rest of him didn’t know why anything she did surprised him anymore. Either way, the entire room was now watching him expectantly, and so, with a deep breath, Julius opened his mouth…

     And realized he had no idea what to say. He’d been planning to write all of this down, but with all the insanity today, he hadn’t had time. Given how impatiently the crowd was looking at him, he didn’t have time to figure it out now, either. One of the dragons in the front row—a huge, thuggish-looking male Julius didn’t recognize—already looked like he was ready to cut to the chase and attack, and he was hardly alone. Clearly, Julius was going to have to make his case hard and fast if he was going to make it at all, so with that, he put all hopes of eloquence out of his mind and just got to the point.

     “For all of its history, Heartstriker has been ruled by the whims of a single dragon,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly both to make sure everyone could hear and to give himself time to think. “As of last night, though, that is no longer the case. To save her life, Bethesda the Heartstriker has surrendered all of her powers as clan head to a Council consisting of herself and two other dragons—one from the Fangs, and one from among the rest of the clan—each chosen by a vote to serve for a period of five years. As you can see,” he put a hand on his sword, “I have already been elected to represent the Fangs of the Heartstriker. The final seat will be decided tonight by popular vote.”

     His words echoed in the silent chamber, and then the quiet became a roar as every dragon in the room began to talk all at once.

     “Who gets to run?” someone shouted from the back.

     “Any dragon without a Fang is eligible,” Julius said, raising his voice over the din. “David and Ian have already put themselves forward as candidates, but anyone else among you can—”

     “Anyone else?”

     “What about F-clutch?”

     “Of course F-clutch can run,” Julius said, angry that this was even a question. “Anyone means anyone. The Fangs have their own seat, but the other is open to all Heartstrikers in the—”

     “Is this some kind of joke?”

     The question rumbled through the room as the big dragon in the front, the one who’d glared at Julius earlier, lifted his chin. “Do you really think we’re this stupid?” he demanded, looking Julius up and down with a disgusted sneer. “Do you actually expect us to believe that you—a scrawny little J—overthrew Bethesda the Heartstriker?”

     Julius wasn’t sure how to answer that. His first thought was to get someone to vouch for him. Bob would have been perfect since he was the one who’d drawn up the contract that had set all of this in motion to begin with, but when Julius looked over his shoulder, the seer was sitting on the floor, staring out the open balcony at the desert sunset with his back to the rest of the room.

     “Well?” Gregory demanded. “Got any proof?”

     “The fact that I’m even standing up here is proof,” Julius said at last, trying not to look as rattled as he felt. “I—”

     “You’re nothing,” the dragon spat. “Even if you did somehow overthrow Bethesda, that doesn’t mean anything.” He lifted his chin. “We don’t take orders from whelps.”

     There was murmur of agreement all across the room, and Julius clenched his fists. “I’m not giving you orders,” he said. “The whole point of this is to give us all more freedom. Aren’t you tired of living in a clan where the rules are whatever Bethesda was feeling that day? With this Council, we can make our own rules. Logical, sensible ones that are fairly enforced. We’re not in a dictatorship anymore. Everyone gets a voice and a share in the power, so—”

     The thuggish dragon laughed, a hard, mirthless sound. “Sharing power? What do you think we are, humans?” He grinned wide. “How’s this for sharing power?”

      He lifted his huge boot to step up on the stage, but before he’d made it an inch off the ground, Justin was there, his Fang already out as he stepped directly into the other dragon’s way.

     “Back off,” he growled.

     “Or what?” the other dragon growled back. “You’ll punish me?” He sneered up at Julius. “I thought we were sharing.”

     Justin rumbled deep in his chest and raised his sword before Julius grabbed his arm. “It’s okay,” he said, locking eyes with the new dragon, who was intimidatingly huge. “He has a right to speak.”

     “Of course I can speak,” the dragon said, spreading his arms. “Who’s going to stop me? Obviously not you.”

     Before Julius could reply, the dragon turned around to face the crowd himself. “Listen up!” he shouted. “My name is Gregory Heartstriker. I run our guerrilla operations down in the Amazon, and I’ve put down more encroachments on our territory in the last year than this Julius has ever seen in his life. Like the rest of you, I understand that the right to rule is won by blood, not because of some technicality based on a weapon left by our dead grandfather.” He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder at Julius. “Look at this whelp! He can’t even stand on the stage without stealing another dragon’s feathers.”

     “I didn’t steal them,” Julius said, shaking with frustration. “I’m wearing them because I am as much a Heartstriker as any of you, and if you’d stop beating your chest for five seconds, you’d realize that we’ve already tried all that stuff you’re talking about. We’ve been fighting each other over the right to rule since the beginning, and all it’s gotten us is death and mistrust!” He grabbed a handful of the Quetzalcoatl’s feathers. “These are all that’s left of a dragon bigger than any of us! A dragon who would still be here helping us if his daughter hadn’t killed him for her own power.”

     “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bethesda said blithely.

     “It was a bad thing,” Julius growled back. “Have you ever stopped to think about how much stronger we might be if we’d worked together to build instead of constantly tearing each other down trying to steal it?”

     “No,” Gregory said, his voice pitying. “Because power belongs to the strong.”

     “Which strong?” Julius said back. “The physically strongest? The smartest? The most guileful?” He threw out his arms. “Look around. We’re the biggest dragon clan in the world! We have all kinds of strengths. Why should we limit ourselves to just one when we can work together and be strong on all fronts?”

     “Because that’s not how dragons work,” Gregory snapped, all the humor fading from his face. “I don’t know where you got your ideas, whelp, but dragons aren’t mortals. Our power can’t be given or shared around. It can only be taken, and I for one refuse to bow to any dragon, Council or otherwise, until they make me.”

     “Sounds good to me,” Justin snarled, lifting his sword. “Prepare to bow.”

     “No!” Julius said, grabbing his own blade. The moment he touched the handle, both of the lumbering dragons froze, along with several others in the crowd he hadn’t even noticed pulling weapons. The force of keeping so many dragons in check made the sharp magic of the Fang stab painfully into his hand, but Julius refused to let go. He hadn’t spared his mother’s life to resort to violence now.

     “This is exactly what we’re trying to change,” he said slowly, looking out at the crowd, who seemed uniformly shocked. “All our lives, we’ve been taught that might makes right. That dragons are conquerors and power is something you have grab with your talons like we’re still hunting prey, and it’s such a waste. How can we conquer anything when we’re spending all our time and resources fighting among ourselves like a bunch of hot-headed animals?” He shook his head. “We can’t. It’s a stupid idea. It’s also completely wrong. There’s more to being a dragon than just taking, and this is proof.”

     He drew his Fang, holding the curved, bone-white blade up for everyone to see. “This is the Diplomat’s Fang, the sixth and final Fang of the Quetzalcoatl. For years it lay useless in his skull because no one could pull it. Now that I have, I understand why it took so long. No Heartstriker could pull this Fang because you were all thinking like him.” He pointed at Gregory. “Or like her.” He pointed at Bethesda. “But that’s not the only road to power. This sword has the ability to freeze violent dragons who think with their fangs instead of their heads. It doesn’t do this so I can then walk up and defeat them at my leisure, even though I could, but so that I have a chance to make them listen. That’s why I was able to pull it when no one else could, because I was the only one who’d rejected the same old broken record of might makes right, and thus the only one who could use this weapon as it was intended.”

     He turned to Gregory, who was still staring at him with a look of pure hatred on his frozen face. “If what you say is true, then the fact that I can freeze you like this any time I want means I’m stronger and should therefore rule. But you can’t accept that, can you? So you have a choice: you can either stick to your guns and bow, or you can open your mind and accept that maybe there are other ways of being strong. Other ways to win, ones that don’t require cutting off our own feet in the process. The humans figured this out ages ago. Why can’t we?”

     By the time he finished, Gregory was looking more murderous than ever. But Julius had a point to make, and so he let him go anyway, turning to face the crowd, which was far more important than the chest thumping of one dragon.

     “This is our chance to stop repeating the past,” he said, raising his voice so everyone could hear. “We’re already the biggest clan in the world. Now we have the opportunity to be the best as well. We’ve spent so long treating each other like enemies, and it’s left us too vulnerable and fractured to face our real enemies. That’s how Estella was almost able to destroy our clan, and it’s how Algonquin’s going to finish the job unless we find a better way. An elected Council is just the first step down that road. It gives us all a chance to stop wasting our time fighting each other and start fighting together. For the first time in our lives, we have a choice to do something other than what Bethesda wants. I say we use it to try something new, something different from the same old violence that’s held us back for so many centuries, and I’d very much like it if you joined me.” He looked back down at Gregory. “All of you.”

     He hadn’t even finished when his brother looked away. “What you describe doesn’t even sound like a dragon,” he growled. “I see now how you beat Bethesda. That little Fang of yours is quite the parlor trick. But you can’t keep it up. Forcing dragons to stop and listen doesn’t mean we have to agree with your tripe.”

     He turned as he finished, walking toward the door as the crowd parted before him.

     “Where are you going?” Bethesda snarled. “I don’t care if you attack Julius, but I did not give you permission to leave.”

     “Too bad,” Gregory said as he kept walking. “You lost your power, which means you don’t get to give permission anymore.” He looked around at the crowd of Heartstrikers. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I remember what it means to be a dragon. I have no problem with Bethesda being overthrown by someone who actually earned it, but I’d rather get drowned by Algonquin than sit around taking orders from some beta whelp who lucked his way into an unbeatable sword and is using it to share power instead of taking it for himself. Assuming such a creature could even be called a dragon.”

     A handful of dragons laughed at that, and Julius clenched his fists. “What gives you the right to say who’s a dragon and who isn’t?”

     “I do,” Gregory growled back, stopping at the doors. “Make whatever claims you want, it won’t hide the truth. You’re a weakling and a failure coasting by on the power of a dragon who died centuries ago. You didn’t earn any of this, you don’t deserve it, and you can’t keep it.” His lips curled in a sneer. “You’ll be dead before sunset tomorrow.” He turned around, waving over his shoulder as he walked out of the throne room. “Go ahead and hold your vote if you want, but I’m out. This is all a waste of time.”

     “Stop!” Julius called, but it was too late. Gregory was already walking toward the elevator, and he wasn’t alone. Several other dragons were following him, sneering at Julius on the stage as they strolled out, which, for some reason, was making Bethesda steam. “How dare they ignore our authority!” she snarled. “Conrad! Teach them some manners!”

     The big dragon sighed and stepped forward, but Julius stepped in front of him. “No.”

     Bethesda’s eyes widened. “You don’t get to tell me no!”

     “Actually, on this he does,” Bob said, speaking up for the first time since this had started. “In matters of the clan, you and Julius are technically even, and until you get the tie-breaking vote, I’m afraid it’s going to stay that way.”

     “Then call the stupid vote,” Bethesda snapped. “If they want to walk, fine. We don’t need them.”

     “No,” Julius said again, making his mother throw up her hands.

     “Is that your answer to everything?”

     The word no was on the tip of his tongue before he decided not to push it. “We do need them,” he said instead. “The whole point of this Council was to represent the will of the entire clan. If the only ones who get to vote are the ones who agree with us, that doesn’t count.”

     “Then we’ll make them come back,” she said.

     “Coercion doesn’t work either,” Julius said, dropping his voice to a whisper as he did a quick estimated head count of the remaining crowd. “This is a delicate situation. It looks like Gregory just walked out with almost a quarter of our clan. If they decide to fight, we could have a civil war on our hands.”

     “And whose fault would that be?” his mother growled. “You’re the one letting them walk.”

     “Yes,” Julius said firmly. “But we’re trying to sell a Council based on fairness and rule of law here, and we can’t do that if we’re forcing people to participate in the electoral process at gunpoint. This is just a hiccup. All we have to do is wait a few days, just until they see we’re here to stay and—”

     “A few days?” Bethesda hissed. “I’m not waiting days to be unsealed!”

     “Better than plunging the whole clan into civil war!” Julius hissed back. “This could all go south in a moment, and you know it, so stop being selfish and look at the bigger picture. Strategic magic like Algonquin used to take down the Three Sisters isn’t the sort of thing you can rapid-fire. Whatever she did, it’s probably going to be a while before she can do it again. Plus, we’ve already got Svena’s promise to protect us. We have no excuse not to do this right. All we have to do is be patient. Gregory’s whole argument is that I won’t live long enough to make this work, so when I don’t die, everyone will see that he’s wrong and the Council’s here to stay. Once that happens, his followers will leave him, we’ll have our vote, and this whole mess will wrap up peaceably.”

     “Your not dying is a pretty big assumption,” Bethesda said. “Personally, I thought Gregory was giving you too much credit when he said you’d make it to sundown tomorrow. My money’s on you getting knifed tonight.”

     Julius had thought he was past the point of being shocked by anything his mother said, but the casual malice in that statement was more than he’d been prepared for. “I’m not going to die,” he bit out at last. “And if you want to be unsealed sometime this decade, you might as well accept that and work with me. Because I’m not going away.”

     His mother’s gold-dusted lips compressed into a thin, angry line, and it was all Julius could do not to grin. Turning that threat back around on her had felt way better than he liked to admit, but he didn’t have time to enjoy it. Now that Gregory and his sympathizers had walked out without repercussions, the remaining Heartstrikers were starting to get antsy.

     “Julius,” Chelsie whispered.

     “I know,” he whispered back. This was a critical moment. If he didn’t want this whole thing to fall apart, he had to say something. Before he could open his mouth, though, Bethesda beat him to it.

     “Two days,” she growled softly. “I’ll give you two days, counting this one. After that, we’re voting. I don’t care if only three dragons show up, I am getting my wings back.”

     She glared at him until Julius nodded, and then Bethesda turned back to the crowd. “It seems that someone’s a sore loser,” she said flippantly, rolling her eyes to show just how little she cared about Gregory’s antics. “But while I believe idiots who turn their backs on their clan shouldn’t get a say in how it’s run, Julius has decreed that we can’t hold the vote without all of you present. Unfortunately, since there are only two of us, that puts our nascent Council at a standstill. Until you lot vote in our third member, we can’t complete the Council, which means we can’t make the sort of sweeping, clan-wide decision I used to make every day to keep us safe. So”—her eyes flicked between Ian and David, who were standing on opposite sides of the throne room at the center of their respective factions—“if you don’t all want to die to Algonquin, I suggest you talk some sense into those foolish enough to follow Gregory’s example. This meeting will reconvene on the morning of the day after tomorrow, when we should have enough dragons to actually do something. Until then, I’m extremely disappointed in you all.”

      She turned away with a flounce, stepping off the makeshift stage and striding back to her rooms before Julius could recover enough to interject. Not that he would have had anything to say. By his own argument, there was nothing to do but wait, and while he didn’t care for the way she’d phrased it, Bethesda’s maneuver to get the rest of the clan to put pressure on Gregory to come back to the fold was actually pretty brilliant. David and Ian especially had huge personal stakes in making sure this vote went ahead as planned. The only challenge now was to keep that pressure from turning into violence, but Julius wasn’t too worried. Ian and David were both smooth operators. They could handle a thug like Gregory. In the meanwhile, Julius would work on his own issues, starting with a certain seer.

     “You know,” he said, turning to Bob, who’d flopped down to sit on the edge of the makeshift stage. “I really could have used your help up there.”

     “Really?” Bob said. “Because I thought you did perfectly well. It’s not as though my endorsement would have done you any favors, anyway. Most Heartstrikers think I’m crazy.”

     That was true. Julius had certainly had his doubts about the seer in the beginning. Even so. “You still could have backed me up.”

     “And risked showing my hand?” Bob scoffed. “Julius, Julius, Julius. You might be setting up a new game with this Council, but that doesn’t mean the old rules don’t apply. If I support you, then everyone will know I’m backing you. At best, they’ll think you’re as crazy as I am. At worst, they’ll assume you’re my puppet. Neither of those outcomes works in our favor. In fact, we should stop talking immediately. You never know who might be watching.”

     Glancing at the crowd, the answer seemed to be several dragons, but when Julius turned back to his brother to say he didn’t care, the seer was already gone. He was looking all around to see where he’d vanished to when Justin grabbed his arm.

     “Justin,” Julius said, wincing at his brother’s angry look. “What—”

     “You froze me,” the dragon said, his voice murderous.

     “I know,” Julius said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. It was the only way to keep the situation from coming to blows.”

     “You say that like it’s bad,” Justin snapped. “But blows are the only way to get through to dragons like him. What do you think he’s going to do when I have to stop him from killing you next time, huh? Apologize and see the error of his ways?”

     “It’s always a possibility,” Julius said, but the words rang hollow even to him. “Look, this isn’t about beating Gregory. I don’t care if he hates me, I just want to show everyone he’s wrong. You can’t change a mind that doesn’t want to change, but you can shift groups by showing them the truth, and the truth is dragons aren’t born to be violent, selfish, arrogant manipulators. That’s what we were raised to be, but we can change. We don’t have to be self-destructive monsters. I’m walking proof of that, as are Katya and Amelia and you.”

     Justin looked terminally insulted. “Are you calling me nice?”

     “I would never,” Julius assured him, putting up his hands. “But if you really were a cold, ruthless, calculating dragon, you never would have gone through so much trouble for me all those times.”

     His brother hunched his shoulders defensively. “Don’t get any weird ideas. I only saved you all those times to get you in my debt.”

     A debt from a dragon as lowly as Julius didn’t account for a tenth of the effort Justin had put in to help him when they were kids or more recently in the DFZ. But Justin’s ego was a fragile snowflake, so Julius let it slide. “It’s still true for the others I named,” he said. “And if those inarguably powerful dragons aren’t what Gregory says, that proves he’s not just wrong. He’s utterly wrong. All we have to do is stay alive, and reality will make our point for us.”

     Justin arched an eyebrow. “You seem pretty confident.”

     “What, that dragons aren’t all monsters?” Julius smiled tiredly. “Of course I’m confident. I’ve bet my life on it multiple times now, and I’ve always come through. Not to mention I just had the whole thing independently confirmed by an ancient dragon construct from another plane. Hard to get more proof than that.”

     Now Justin just looked confused. “You’re going to have to tell me what happened inside that portal,” he said, shaking his head. “How about during dinner? I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry enough to eat a football team.”

     “You go ahead and eat without me,” Julius said quickly. “I don’t have time. I’m seven hours late to pick up Marci.”

     “I can’t go without you,” Justin said, appalled. “What part of bodyguard don’t you understand? You don’t leave my sight. Besides, if she’s waited this long, what’s another hour?” He grabbed Julius’s arm. “We’ll eat first then grab your mortal.”

     “Justin, no!” Julius cried, yanking his arm back. “I’ve abandoned her all day!”

     “So?” Justin said. “She’s a human, not a dog.”

     “I know, but…” He trailed off, defeated. There was simply no way to explain this to Justin without also explaining how he felt about Marci, which Julius absolutely wasn’t about to do. Especially since he hadn’t even explained it to her yet. “I just have to get her first, okay?”

     Justin stared at him for a moment, and then he rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he growled. “Mortal first, then food. But I get to—”

     He stopped short, whirling around. For a moment, Julius couldn’t understand why, and then he felt the prickle on the back of his neck a split second before Chelsie stepped out of the evening shadows beside him, and directly behind Justin.

     The knight swore loudly, whirling around to face their sister, who was standing exactly opposite of where he’d turned to find her. “Really?”

     “Didn’t mean to bruise your ego,” Chelsie said, holding out a folded piece of paper. “I actually just came to give you this.”

     Justin snatched the paper out of her hand with a sour look that faded quickly as he read. “This is a challenge!”

     “One of several,” Chelsie said, looking annoyed. “It seems that everyone’s taking today’s chaos as an opportunity to move up in the world, and since your Fang is the only one that can be won through combat, there’s a waiting list of dragons as long as my arm who want to duel you for it. I told them you were busy guarding Julius, but—”

     “Oh, Julius doesn’t mind if I go fight,” Justin said instantly. “Do you, Julius?”

     “No,” Julius said, glancing at Chelsie in confusion. “But what about bodyguarding?”

     Justin’s face fell instantly, making him look like a kicked puppy. It was painful to see, but before Julius could tell his brother that it was fine and he’d just keep a hold on his Fang, Chelsie beat him to the punch.

     “I’ll keep Julius safe tonight.”

     Justin’s face split into a huge smile. “I take back everything I said about you,” he said as he jogged out of the throne room. “I owe you one, Chelsie!”

     “You owe me hundreds,” Chelsie muttered, turning to Julius, who couldn’t believe that had just happened.

     “Are you really okay with this?” he asked. “Not that I mind your company, but don’t you have other things to do?”

     She arched an eyebrow at him. “Do you not want me to stick around and keep you alive?”

     “No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s just that you’re the clan enforcer. You’re supposed to be looking out for the entire clan. Having you following just me seems a little…odd.”

     Chelsie sighed. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I’ve had that list of challenges for weeks. I only gave it to Justin now because he lives for that kind of thing, and it was the only way I could get him away from you tonight.”

     Julius went very still. “Why would you want to get him away from me?”

     “Because he’s a terrible bodyguard,” Chelsie said matter-of-factly. “He’s perfectly strong, but he’s also easily distracted, overconfident, gullible, and he pays no attention to his surroundings. That’s not a winning combination, and even if it’s not my job, I’d still like to see you alive tomorrow.”

     “I appreciate that,” Julius said wholeheartedly. “But I really don’t think it’s going to be as bad as you and Justin seem to think. Yeah, Gregory’s mad, but I’ve been at the bottom of the clan for years. I’m used to bigger dragons trying to kill me.”

     “I’m sure,” Chelsie said dryly. “But I don’t think you’re taking into account the difference in scale.”

     When it was obvious Julius had no idea what she meant by that, Chelsie darted her eyes at the crowd of Heartstrikers that was still lingering near them in the throne room. Sure enough, when Julius turned to look, it became clear that the dragons weren’t just loitering. They were watching him. Several actually eased daggers, garrote wires, and various other weapons back into their sleeves and coats as he watched. By the time he turned back to his sister, he was sweating bullets.

     “I see what you mean,” he said quietly, wiping the back of his golden gauntlet across his face. “But I just showed them my Fang stops all violence. Every dragon likes to posture, but surely no one’s going to actually try something. They’re just trying to make me nervous.”

     “Don’t underestimate the destructive potential of power-hungry dragons in large numbers,” his sister said. “Your Fang is a powerful deterrent, but I never met a dragon who saw a deterrent and just gave up. You might no longer be an easy target, but you’ve still put yourself at the top of the clan. That’s a dangerous place for anyone to be, or do you think Bethesda keeps Conrad with her at all times for the pleasure of his company?”

     Julius sighed. She made a good point.

     “Mark my words,” his sister went on. “Someone’s going to try something, probably soon, and I intend to be there to make sure they fail. I’m just glad I had those challenges lying around to distract Justin. I was thinking of guarding you along with him, but I can only take your brother in small doses.”

     “That’s most people for Justin,” Julius said, giving her a weak smile. “Thank you, Chelsie. I’ll try my best not to be a sitting duck.”

     He put out his hand to shake on it, but she just grabbed his palm and steered it right back to the hilt of his sword. “Keep that there,” she ordered. “It might not be the guaranteed protection you think it is, but your Fang is still the best defense you’ve got. I don’t care if you’re in the shower, you keep a hold on that sword at all times. Understood?”

     Julius nodded.

     “Good,” Chelsie said, returning her hand to her own sword hilt. “Now, where are we going to pick up Marci?”

     That was a very good question. “Do you know where Amelia is?”

     She gave him a haughty look. “Who do you think I am?” she said, turning on her heel. “Just try to keep up.”

     Chelsie was off before she finished, forcing Julius to run after her as she strode out of the throne room, opening a wide path through the remaining clumps of watching, whispering Heartstrikers as she made her way toward the elevators.

     Chapter 5

     “Watch your step.”

     Julius nodded silently, peering nervously into the dark as he followed Chelsie out of the elevator into what appeared to be a pitch-black stone hallway. He was fumbling in the ridiculous jaguar-fur breastplate to find where Fredrick had stashed his phone when warm light blossomed all around them, bouncing off the rough-hewn stone walls from the fire that was now burning merrily on Chelsie’s fingers.

     “Nice trick.”

     His sister shrugged. “No trick to it,” she said, resting her other, not-burning hand on the hilt of her Fang. “You just have to learn to master your fire.”

     She shot him a look that made it clear what she thought of him for not learning to control his better, and Julius decided it was time to change the subject.

     “Where are we?” he asked, looking up and down the dark hall, which looked more like an actual cave than any of the other passageways in Heartstriker Mountain. Even stranger, though, was the fact that Julius didn’t recognize it. He’d thought he’d seen every public hallway in this mountain, but he’d never seen this place. “I thought we were going to Amelia’s?”

     “We are,” she said. “Though I’m not surprised you’ve never been here. This is the part of the mountain shared by Bob and Amelia, otherwise known as the crazy floor. No one comes here if they don’t have to.” She shook her head and got moving, walking at a brisk pace down the hall to the left. “This way. The other direction goes to Bob’s room, and trust me, you don’t want to go there.”

     He was curious why she’d say that, but now didn’t seem like the time, so Julius just hurried after her, struggling to keep up with his sister’s long strides in his stiff ceremonial armor. He’d just found his pace when Chelsie stopped in her tracks.

     “What?” he asked, hand falling to his own sword in alarm.

     Rather than answer, Chelsie just lifted her burning hand, letting her dancing fire sparkle on the overlapping strands of nearly invisible magic that covered the hall in front of them like an orb weaver’s web.

     “What is that?”

     “Wards,” Chelsie said coldly. “And traps.” She crouched down to shine her firelight on the glittering net of silk-fine magic closest to them. “Amelia doesn’t mess around. These are normally invisible, but I’ve learned a thing or two about dodging Amelia’s magic over the years, and I’ve found that naked dragon fire reflects off her spellwork better than anything else. Just stick with me, do what I do, and you should be fine.”

     “Is it really that bad?” he asked, staring at the filled hallway. “I mean, I’m no expert, but even I can see there’s hundreds of spells in here. Surely that’s overkill.”

     Chelsie shrugged. “Amelia’s lived with Bethesda trying to kill her for most of her life. I’d say she’s not being careful enough.” She turned sideways, stepping high over the webbed magic. “See? I can step right through. Then again, it’s not like she’s here much. This stuff is mostly just to keep out nosy siblings. The security on her island is another matter altogether.”

     If this was Amelia’s version of light security, Julius didn’t even want to think about what it looked like when she got serious. Even so, it took him and Chelsie almost twenty minutes of slow-motion acrobatics to work their way past all the wards. By the time they made it to the heavy wooden door at the end, Julius was cursing himself for not taking the time to change into something more practical, but he was in too deep to do anything about it now. Chelsie was already picking the lock on the door, her fire flaring for a moment as she cracked the magical seal as well before shoving the heavy door open to reveal an enormous, dark, and (so far as Julius could tell) completely empty cave.

     “Um, are you sure she’s here?” He glanced down at the centuries-old carpet of dust on the cave’s stone floor. “It looks a little…unused.”

     “Trust me,” Chelsie said, striding into the room. “She’s here.”

     The words were barely out of her mouth when a peal of laughter echoed through the emptiness. Shaking her head, Chelsie motioned for Julius to follow as she strode across the dusty floor—without, to Julius’s amazement, leaving a footprint—to what appeared to be an enormous, dusty wall hanging. He was wondering if she was about to reveal a secret door when she yanked the cloth aside, and he saw that the truth was far simpler. The hanging wasn’t a cover for a secret entry. It was a perfectly normal curtain hanging over the entrance to a balcony just as large as the one in Bethesda’s throne room covered in the remains of what must have been a truly epic party. He was gawking at the entire frat house’s worth of empty liquor bottles strewn across the stone floor when a wailing cry split the night.

     “Juliusssssssssssss!”

     Something soft and warm crashed into him a second later, and he looked down in surprise to see Marci wrapped around his chest.

     A very drunk Marci.

     “I’m s’happy you’re alive!” she said, burying her head in the coarse jaguar fur covering his chest. The unfamiliar armor must have thrown her even through the haze of alcohol, though, because she backed off as fast as she’d rushed in, her dilated eyes going wide. “Oh my God, you look amazing!”

     It was all Julius could do not to grin like an idiot at that. “Thanks,” he said, face heating. “I—”

     “Like, super hot,” Marci continued, still gawking at him. “Is this your dragon uniform or something? Cause whoa.” She turned to call over her shoulder. “Doesn’t he look good?!”

     “Quite,” Amelia agreed, leaning over to look around her lounge chair and almost sliding off it in the process. “You clean up real nice, baby-J.”

     “I know, right?!” Marci said, practically bouncing with excitement.

     By this point, Julius was blushing so hard he was legitimately afraid he’d melt through the balcony floor and plummet to his death. But while everyone else was staring at him, Chelsie was looking at Marci. “Why does she smell like you?” she demanded, turning her glare on her eldest sister. “What did you do to her, Amelia?”

     “Nothing she didn’t agree to,” Amelia said innocently. “Come on, Chelsie. We’re not all up to no good.”

     Chelsie clearly didn’t buy that for a second, but Julius still had no idea what they were talking about. When Marci snuggled closer into him, though, he realized she did smell different. Not anything alarming or bad, but under the overpowering smell of alcohol, Marci’s usual combination of magic and chalk and the sweet tang that was her own unique smell was tinted with something new. A sharp, draconic scent that that smelled distinctly of Amelia.

     “What the—”

     “Relax,” Amelia said, wobbling to her feet. “It’s nothing sinister. Marci and I just made a deal. Didn’t we, Marci?”

     “Yep,” Marci hiccupped.

     A lump began to form in Julius’s stomach. “What kind of deal?”

     His eldest sister smiled. “A necessary one.”

     “Necessary for whom?” Chelsie growled. “And did you make this deal before or after you got her sloshed?”

     Amelia rolled her eyes. “Before, obviously. Give me some credit, here! I take good care of my mortals, and it’s not as though I could have done anything untoward with her cat on the prowl. This is all on the up and up, I swear. Just ask her.”

     Chelsie glanced at Marci, who would have been sliding down Julius’s chest if he hadn’t been holding her up. “I don’t think she’s in a position to give a reliable answer.”

     “She’s doing great,” Amelia said dismissively. “And you could be, too. I broke out the good stuff.” She held up her half-empty fifth in salute. “Lighten up, Chelsie! Have a drink!”

     “Drinks are gooooood,” Marci agreed, oozing halfway down Julius’s body before he could pull her up again.

     “I think you’ve had enough,” he said gently.

     “Past enough,” Chelsie agreed, scowling at Amelia. “Stop being a bad influence.”

     “But those are the best kind!” Amelia cried. “You should stop being such a dragon-in-the-mud. What was I supposed to do? Endure being at home sober?”

     “You could try being responsible,” Chelsie suggested. “Our entire clan is in uproar, and you’re partying. I’d say you’re as bad as Bob, but at least he showed up for the vote.”

     “I’ll have you know I’m being very responsible,” Amelia said, glaring down her nose. Or, rather, she would have been glaring down her nose if she hadn’t been listing so badly Chelsie was forced to catch her before she fell.

     “This is for all of us,” she slurred as Chelsie helped her back to her seat. “I had to do it. This is the only future we’ve got left.”

     “If our future depends on you being drunk, I think we’re covered,” Chelsie said bitterly as she pushed Amelia firmly down into the chair. “Now stay there, and try not to fall off the balcony.”

     She let go of her sister gingerly. When it looked like Amelia wasn’t going to try standing again, she turned back to Julius, who was still clutching Marci. “Can you carry her?”

     He nodded and crouched down. It was much harder than it should have been with the armor restricting his movements and Marci herself being floppy as an overcooked noodle, but eventually he managed to get one arm under her knees and one under her back. He was attempting to gently pick her up when she finally realized what was going on. After that, Marci nearly knocked him backwards in her rush to jump into his arms.

     “Best. Night. Ever!” she cried, hugging him around the neck so tightly Julius could barely breathe. “Let’s go flying!”

     Julius’s poor heart—which was already racing at breakneck speeds thanks to Marci being wrapped around him like an octopus—skipped several beats. But while parts of him strongly agreed that a night flight with Marci was, in fact, the best idea ever, the rational, responsible part of Julius knew that flying with a drunken passenger wouldn’t end well for anyone. A few seconds later, though, it became a non-issue, because Marci had already gone limp in his grasp, her body falling still and soft against his as her drunken energy finally gave way to exhaustion.

     Even if it was just a drunken pass-out, Marci falling asleep in his arms was still too adorable to stand, and it took Julius several seconds to stop smiling down at her like an idiot long enough to glance back at Chelsie, who was tapping her foot.

     “If you’re done.”

     When Julius nodded, she turned back to Amelia, who was sucking the last drops out of her bottle. “I’ll send one of the Fs up to check on you later. Don’t give them a hard time. I’m on Julius duty, and I don’t have time to babysit both of you.” She looked over her shoulder at Julius. “Where are you staying tonight, anyway?”

     He’d been hoping she knew. “My room, I guess,” he said, adjusting Marci in his arms. “I don’t know where else I can go. The mountain’s full.”

     Chelsie winced and glanced down at her sister. “Are you functional enough to deactivate your wards to let us out? I’d rather not have to wrestle a passed-out human through your minefield of a hallway.”

     “I’ll do ya one better,” Amelia said, lifting a wobbly hand. “Where’d’ya live?”

     It took Julius several seconds to realize that slurred question was directed at him. “Overflow sub-hall four.”

     Amelia looked horrified. “Overflow? Isn’t that where the failures live?”

     “What do you think I was?” Julius said with a shrug. “And it wasn’t that bad. Sure, it’s a bit far away, but at least I didn’t have to deal with my siblings there.” No dragon who cared enough to bully him would deign to set foot in overflow housing.

     “Whatever tickles your feathers,” Amelia said, extending her fingers. “One doorway to the Heartstriker slums coming up.”

     The magic was rising before she finished, and Julius realized too late what was about to happen. “Wait!” he cried. “Should you be doing that in your state?”

     “Please,” Amelia scoffed as the air began to warp. “They day I’m too drunk to make a portal is the day I swear off drinking. So, never basically.”

     That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but it was too late now. Amelia’s portal was already opening, the doorway through worlds bending and shifting before popping into place, creating a perfect oval-shaped hole in the air beside the savaged buffet table. On the other side, Julius could see the familiar beige walls and narrow doorways of his own part of the mountain, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

     “Thank you,” he said nervously, darting through the portal before it collapsed.

     “Don’t encourage her,” Chelsie growled, stepping through after him.

     “You’re welcome,” Amelia said at the same time, ignoring her sister. “And have fun!”

     The innuendo in her voice left no doubt what kind of fun she meant, and Julius felt himself going bright red all over again. Fortunately, the portal closed before Amelia could see, leaving him and Chelsie standing alone in the narrow, utilitarian hallway of the Heartstriker overflow tunnels.

     “I think she has a problem,” he said quietly.

     “Amelia has a lot of problems,” Chelsie replied. “It’s a good thing dragon livers are as immortal as the rest of us, or she’d have pickled hers centuries ago. But Amelia’s high-functioning alcoholism is a battle for another day. We’ve got more immediate problems.”

     She wasn’t kidding.

     The Heartstriker overflow sub-floors were a series of hallways that branched off the main mountain’s underground floors like ant tunnels, burrowing wherever there was room into the surrounding desert. Bethesda had had them built decades ago to house the seasonal human laborers that came in every year to work the mandatory Heartstriker holidays like egg laying and her birthday celebration. Under normal circumstances, dragons wouldn’t be caught dead down here in the endless, utilitarian tunnels lined with bleak, windowless rooms, which was exactly why Julius had chosen them for his home when he’d lived in the mountain. But these were hardly normal circumstances, and the moment the portal closed behind them, the smell of unknown dragons hit Julius like a punch.

     “Here too?” he asked, looking up and down the drab hall. All of the doors were closed, so he couldn’t actually tell which rooms were occupied, but his nose told him that several dragons had moved in since he’d left, which was just insane. “Couldn’t they find room anywhere else?!”

     “If they could have, they would have,” Chelsie said, keeping her hand on her sword. “But Heartstriker Mountain was never designed to hold the whole clan at once, and this is the overflow area.”

     That it was, but it didn’t make Julius feel any less invaded. “I just hope no one’s squatting in my room,” he grumbled, shifting Marci in his arms. “I’m at the end, by the way.”

     “I know where you live,” Chelsie said casually, darting ahead to take the lead.

     That was slightly creepy, but Julius was too annoyed to care. He just wanted to get away from the constant crowd of dragons and have five minutes to himself where he could feel safe, or at least not actively under siege. But as he rounded the sharp corner that led to the tiny closet of a bedroom that had been his home since he’d turned fifteen, Julius realized he’d forgotten a very important detail about what had happened the last time he’d been home.

     “Wow,” Chelsie said, arching her eyebrows at the blackened ring on the wall around where Julius’s door should have been. “I thought you were exaggerating when you said Bethesda blasted her way into your room to get you.”

     “No, she came in hot,” Julius said, staring at the wreckage in despair. “But why is it still like this? It’s been over a month.”

     “It’s not like you were here to put in a repair ticket,” she said, stepping over the charred pile of ash that had once been his door. “And overflow floors are at the bottom of housekeeping’s priorities. Frankly, I’m amazed they cleaned it out.”

     Julius’s eyes went wide. “Cleaned it?” He stuck his head through the door. “Son of a—!”

     His bedroom was completely empty. Everything he’d cared about—his gaming rig and desk, his posters, his books, his signed replica of Frostmourn—was gone. Even his bed was missing, leaving only his bare mattress lying on the stone floor like a sad, shucked oyster.

     “Well,” he said at last. “At least this solves the mystery of whether or not Bob was joking when he said he sold my stuff.”

     Chelsie shot him an uncharacteristically sympathetic look. When he tried to actually step into his empty room, though, her arm flew out to catch him. “Let me go first.”

     He didn’t see why. The room was obviously empty, but that didn’t stop Chelsie from entering like she was easing into a too-hot bath. She drew her sword at the same time, swinging it around in the empty space in long slashes. Julius was about to ask her what she was doing when the air shimmered and the fiery scent of dragon magic burned his nose, making him step back in alarm.

     “What was that?”

     “What I was afraid of,” Chelsie said, shaking her sword like the bone-white blade was covered in invisible goo. “A curse. Couple of them, actually. Nothing truly nasty, but definitely enough to keep you out of any votes for the next week or so.”

     Julius couldn’t believe it. “Someone cursed my empty room?”

     “Multiple someones, looks like,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him. “But how is this a surprise? Did you think I was the only one who knew where you lived?”

     “I didn’t think anyone was paying that much attention!” he cried. “We only left the throne room ten minutes ago!”

     “Clearly, it was enough time for someone,” Chelsie said, wiping her sword on her armored pants before returning it to its sheath. “But I’m impressed they were this quick on their claws. Your Fang freezes anyone with active thoughts of violence, but it doesn’t do anything about a curse laid down before you arrive. That’s pretty smart. You’re lucky the Heartstriker clan is universally terrible at magic, or this could have been a lot worse.”

      Julius didn’t even want to think about it. He’d only been part of the ruling Heartstriker Council publicly for thirty minutes, and already his siblings were finding ways to get around his supposedly unbeatable defense. “Do you think there will be more?”

     “Of course there’ll be more,” she said. “You just upset a thousand years of status quo. Naturally, folks are going to be upset. Now do you see why I insisted on coming with you tonight?”

     He did. “Thank you, Chelsie,” he said, lowering his head humbly. “Um, is it safe to come in?”

     She nodded, and Julius stepped inside, gagging at the acrid smell of foiled magic that was still burning in the air as he carried Marci over to the mattress.

     “Do you need help?”

     Julius was about to say no when he realized that, thanks to his armor, he couldn’t bend down. “Yes, actually,” he said, shifting Marci to show his sister the hidden ties that kept the hide breastplate tight as a leather wall against his ribs. “Can you get me out of this?”

     It took a bit of contortion, but with Chelsie’s assistance, Julius managed to wiggle out of the Quetzalcoatl’s armor without waking Marci. Losing the headpiece especially was a relief. The moment Chelsie pulled it off his head, the enormous deadweight of their grandfather’s magic vanished with it, leaving Julius feeling light as a feather. He didn’t even care that he was standing in front of his sister and Marci in nothing but his undershirt and boxers. He was just happy to feel like himself again.

     “Thank you,” he said, rolling his shoulders with a relieved sigh.

     She shrugged and turned around, placing the ancient armor in his empty closet with the feathered headdress balanced carefully on top. “I’ll message Franz to come pick it up and take it back to the treasury. Even if we’re here with it, the Quetzalcoatl’s armor isn’t the sort of thing you should leave lying around.”

     Julius nodded gratefully. He was about to thank her a third time when Marci stirred in his arms, and Julius looked down just in time to see her eyes blink open in confusion.

     “Where are we?”

     “My room,” he said apologetically. “Or what’s left of it.”

     He fully expected her to be disappointed. After the grandeur of the rest of Heartstriker Mountain, his room looked like a utility closet, not to mention he was basically in his underwear. It was hard to get more pathetic than that, but Marci didn’t look put out at all. Quite the opposite. Her eyes were wide and sparkling, looking up at him in amazement. “You brought me to your room?”

     “I know it’s not much,” he said quickly, kneeling to set her down on the mattress, the only place to sit that wasn’t the floor. “But it’s the only place I could think of. The mountain’s packed.” He grabbed his phone off the floor beside him. “I’ll call housekeeping and see what I can scare up. Maybe they’ve got some spare furniture or—”

     Marci lurched forward. It happened so quickly, Julius didn’t actually realize what was happening until she’d locked her arms around his shoulders and pulled herself up his body. The sudden motion knocked the phone out of his hands, along with all thoughts of furniture and housekeeping and the fact that she still smelled faintly like Amelia and…everything, actually. The moment Marci had pressed her body against his now-unarmored, undershirt-clad chest, Julius’s entire universe shrank to the feel of her warmth on his body and the gentle tickle of her breath against his ear.

     “You know,” she said softly. “We don’t have to go flying tonight.”

     “We don’t?” he replied breathlessly, voice cracking.

     She shook her head, brushing her short hair softly against his cheek. “I was really looking forward to it, but there’s always tomorrow, and I can think of something else I’d rather do tonight.”

     “What?” he asked stupidly, his mind turned to mush by how close she was.

      Marci’s answer to that was to lean in even closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Let’s just say there’s more than one way to ride a dragon.”

     The moment she said that, Julius was absolutely certain he was going to spontaneously combust. There was simply no way he could be this terminally embarrassed, frantically excited, and deliriously happy all at the same time and survive. Marci had already pulled back a fraction, looking up at him through her lashes as she waited for him to reply, but Julius couldn’t get his lungs to work for breathing, much less give her an answer to that. Mercifully, though, none appeared to be needed. Once it was clear he was past the point of coherent thought or speech, Marci made the decision for him, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she yanked him down for a kiss.

     It was around this point that Julius’s brain gave up entirely. After a horrible, stressful, nonstop day, the overwhelming excitement and joy of finally getting what he’d wanted for so long was simply too much. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t even process it, so he just stopped trying. It was so much easier to just give in and let his body do whatever it wanted, which was apparently to grab Marci and kiss her back.

     This was clearly the right choice. The moment he gave in, the crippling doubt and self-aware awkwardness evaporated, and everything began to feel beautifully, perfectly right. There were no more dragons, no more danger, just Marci’s warm body against his own as he squeezed her tighter, sighing in delight when her warm hands slid up to tangle in his hair. Even the air he breathed was full of her: a heady mix of casting chalk, magic, and the wonderfully familiar smell of Marci herself, which smelled more like home to him now than even the familiar scent of his room. She was everything good in the world to him: his precious friend, his steadfast ally, his brilliant mage, and she was here with him. Here by his side of her own volition, just as she’d always been, and he loved her for it.

     In hindsight, the realization was painfully obvious, but it still hit Julius like a punch to the gut. He loved her. Not just as a friend or an ally or even in the dizzying rush of possibilities all this kissing could lead to, but in every way. He loved Marci in every meaning of the word—had done so for a very long time if he was honest—and that sudden, all-encompassing truth was the most terrifying and wonderful thing Julius ever felt. It was also the only thing big and important enough to cut through his haze of excitement long enough to make him remember two critical details about their current situation: Marci was still drunk as a skunk, and Chelsie was still in the room.

     For the second time in as many minutes, Julius was sure he was about to spontaneously combust. This time, though, it was not a happy feeling, and he jerked away from Marci at once, leaving her blinking in confusion.

     “What?”

     The hurt and rejection in that single-syllable question cut him deeper than any knife, and he rushed to explain himself before she got any further down the wrong idea. “We can’t do this,” he said quietly. “I want to. I really, really want to, but we can’t right now. You’re too drunk to know what you’re doing, and that’s not how this”—he motioned at the two of them—“should be.”

     He stopped there, hoping against hope that that would be enough and he wouldn’t have to make this even more awkward by explaining the situation in detail. He needn’t have worried, though. Even falling over drunk, Marci had always been quick on the uptake. He could actually see her wheels turning as she sorted through his logic, and then she slumped forward, pressing her face into his chest.

     “I’m going to be embarrassed about this tomorrow, aren’t I?”

     “I hope not,” Julius said, kissing the top of her head. “I won’t be.”

     She laughed softly. “You really are t’nicest dragon.”

     Her slurring voice made him all the more certain that he’d made the right decision, but while she didn’t sound upset, she didn’t say anything else. Julius was starting to worry he actually had hurt her feelings and she was just keeping quiet about it, when he felt a soft snore vibrate up through his chest.

     A goofy smile spread across his face. He didn’t care how many times it happened—and he fervently hoped it would happen many more times in the future—he would never get used to the wondrous feeling of Marci sleeping on him. It was the ultimate sign of trust, and the fact that she did it so easily stirred up more emotions than Julius knew how to deal with. He was still trying to work through them when he realized he should probably say something to his sister.

     Given Chelsie’s habit of disappearing whenever his back was turned, Julius was strongly hoping that would be the case now. No such luck. When he looked over his shoulder, Chelsie was right where she’d been when he’d last seen her, leaning on the wall beside his closet with her eyes firmly fixed on her phone.

     “I hope you didn’t stop on my account,” she said without looking up.

     “Not entirely,” Julius admitted, praying that his face wasn’t actually as red as it felt. “So, um, what do we do now?”

     “Whatever you want,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll just be here. Don’t let me keep you up.”

     He gaped at her. “You’re just going to stand there while I sleep?”

     “Yes,” Chelsie said, raising her head at last to give him a withering look. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear before, but I’m here to keep you from getting murdered in your sleep. I can’t very well do that from out in the hall, can I? Not that it would matter since your room doesn’t have a door, but if this is where you’re staying, I’m staying, too.” She looked down at her phone again. “Just lie down and relax. No one will come near you so long as I’m around, and you’ll forget I’m here in a moment.”

     Julius was pretty sure that was never going to happen. “Chelsie, I can’t sleep while you’re staring at me.” And now that she’d reminded him of the door situation, he didn’t think he could have slept here even if she wasn’t. He supposed he could call housekeeping to come put a curtain over it, or at least bring him another mattress, but even if they fixed everything, there was no way the three of them would ever fit comfortably into his coffin of a room.

     “This is ridiculous,” he muttered at last.

     “Agreed,” Chelsie said. “But it’s not as though we have a lot of options. Like I said, the mountain was never meant to hold every Heartstriker at once, and with the remaining Daughters of the Three Sisters taking up half the guest rooms, things are even tighter. I’m frankly surprised someone wasn’t squatting in your room already, blown-off door or no. Then again, maybe there was a dragon in here before the curse team chased it out.” She shrugged. “Silver lining to everything, I suppose.”

     Julius sighed. Part of him wanted to ask if they could just go upstairs to the suites reserved for Bethesda’s higher-ranked children and kick someone out. He was on the Heartstriker Council, and it was about time his new position did something good for him instead of just making his life harder. But no matter how appealing the idea of a room with a door and an actual bed sounded, the idea of taking a bed from one of his siblings felt too rude for Julius to seriously consider. Plus, whoever they kicked out would undoubtedly take the whole affair very personally, and if there was anything Julius didn’t need right now, it was another enemy. He was about to say screw it and tell Chelsie he’d just stay up, too, when his sister shoved her phone into the zippered pocket of her combat suit.

     “Okay,” she growled, pushing off the wall. “This is officially too stupid. Let’s go.”

     He frowned. “Go where?”

     She shot him a withering look. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually enjoy standing around staring at dragons all night. I definitely don’t like the idea of spending eight hours guarding you in a barren room with no vestige of proper security. Not if there’s a better option.”

     “There’s a better option?” Because that was news to Julius.

     “Yes,” Chelsie said irritably, marching to the door. “Franz and his team are already on their way down to get your armor, so stop being a parrot, grab your human, and let’s get out of here.”

     Julius didn’t wait to be asked twice. He picked up Marci at once, pausing only to tuck his sheathed sword—which he no longer had pants or a belt to attach to—under his arm. When he was sure he had everything, he scrambled after his sister into the hall, which was not nearly as empty as before.

     They hadn’t been making much noise, but Julius knew from experience exactly how well sound traveled down here. Sure enough, while there were still no dragons to be seen, several doors that had been shut when they’d arrived were now cracked open. Chelsie snarled at one as they passed, and many of them slammed shut, but not all. After that, Chelsie didn’t bother with threats. She just picked up the pace, forcing Julius to jog to keep up as she swept all the way down the narrow hall, into the main mountain compound, and past the elevators before finally opening the door to the enormous spiraling Central Service Stair that ran like a spine down the center of Heartstriker Mountain.

      Here, at last, they were actually alone again. The spiral stairwell was huge, open, and brightly lit, with a giant empty space in the middle big enough for a good-sized dragon to fly down if he kept himself tucked in. It was also the most direct way up and down the mountain, provided you didn’t mind climbing thousands of stairs. But while most dragons didn’t bat an eye at a little exercise, they wouldn’t be caught dead on a stair meant for servants, which meant that despite its convenience, the Central Service Stair was almost always empty. When he’d lived here, Julius had taken advantage of that all the time, using the stairs constantly to avoid his siblings, but he’d never seen Chelsie on them.

     “Never seen” was apparently the operative phrase, because Chelsie knew these stairs like the back of her hand, rushing down the floors without even bothering to count the unmarked doors as she flew by. She went so fast, Julius didn’t even have the breath to ask questions until they reached the very bottom, where the service stair met the mountain’s roots. It was only here that Chelsie finally slowed down, opening the heavy, metal door to the mountain’s lowest floor with a shove of her shoulder.

     “So,” Julius said as she led them into a stone hallway that looked more like an accidental gap in the bedrock than somewhere dragons were actually supposed to walk. “Where are we going?”

     “Somewhere safe,” Chelsie replied, picking up the pace again as she strode down the narrow crack of a hallway. “Or safe as it gets in this mountain.”

     “You mean like a vault?”

     She shook her head. “The vaults are the first place anyone would think to look. That’s why I’m taking you somewhere they won’t think of, or at least won’t have the guts to check.”

     “Where’s that?” Julius asked, getting more nervous by the step.

     “My room.”

     He stopped in his tracks. Like any Heartstriker with ears, Julius had heard rumors about Chelsie’s room. Some were obviously false, like the story about how she lived in a secret torture dungeon where she punished Heartstrikers who broke the rules. Others—like the one claiming she slept inside Bethesda’s secret armory, or that she didn’t live in the mountain at all—were slightly more believable. Whatever the truth actually was, though, there were enough stories to make even Julius, who ignored gossip as a rule, excessively curious as he followed his sister down the crack in the mountain’s roots until, at last, they reached what looked like a dead end.

     “It goes without saying that you will never speak of what you’re about to see,” Chelsie said, turning to face him. “Enforcing Bethesda’s will earns me a lot of enemies, plenty of whom would give their left wing to know where I sleep.”

     “Of course I won’t tell anyone,” Julius said quickly. “I—”

     “I also expect you to keep any nosy questions to yourself,” she went on, her green eyes narrowing menacingly. “This is my private life. If you can’t respect that, you can sleep in the hall.”

     “I’ll absolutely respect your privacy,” he said, slightly insulted. “Who do you think I am?”

     “You,” Chelsie growled, glaring like she was trying to burn a hole right through him. “I know exactly how meddlesome you can be, Julius Heartstriker. You’ve kept my secrets so far, which is the only reason I’m trusting you with this one, but the moment you start trying to be nice, I will kick you out so fast your head will spin. Understood?”

     Julius nodded, but even though his sister looked one step away from murdering him where he stood, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. She was trying her best to be scary, but the idea that Chelsie—who trusted no one—trusted him enough to bring him into her private life made Julius feel unexpectedly warm and fuzzy inside.

     “I won’t say a word,” he promised solemnly. “And I’ll make sure Marci doesn’t either. It’s the least we can do since we both owe you our lives.”

     An odd look passed over Chelsie’s face. “You don’t owe me anything,” she said stiffly. “Everything I’ve done has been for me as much as you. I don’t like seeing whelps put through the wringers you’ve been through. And anyway, I don’t do debts.”

     “You don’t?”

     The question popped out of him before Julius could think better of it. The moment he asked, though, he realized he’d never seen or heard Chelsie demand a debt from anyone. Not even from Justin. Considering how many dragons she must threaten every day, that struck him as extraordinary. She could have easily gotten the entire clan under her talon at this point, so why hadn’t she?

     “I know what you’re thinking,” she grumbled, looking away. “And you’re right. I could have every Heartstriker on the hook to me, some multiple times over. I don’t, though, because I’ve been on that hook myself. I know what it’s like to owe your life to someone who lords it over you, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

     “That’s how I feel, too!” Julius cried. “I—”

     “I know,” she growled, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the hall’s dead end. “Congratulations, we share a weakness. No need to celebrate it. Now stand back.”

     Julius did as he was told, shuffling a few steps back as his sister placed her hand on the seemingly blank stone wall in front of them. The moment her fingers brushed the rock, the hallway filled with the bite of her magic. It was just a small snap, but when she let her arm drop, the wall was no longer a wall. It was a door. A huge, round, foot-thick metal door of the type you’d find on a bank vault.

     “Nice,” Julius said appreciatively.

     “Don’t let this trick you into feeling safe,” Chelsie warned, punching a long series of numbers into the multiple electronic locks. “No door is impregnable. Thinking otherwise is how you get caught with your pants down.”

     That was a very paranoid way to live your life, but he supposed Chelsie had good reason for it. He was certainly happy she took security so seriously right now, especially when the door proved to be even thicker than he’d originally guessed as it rolled open, revealing not a secret torture dungeon or even a secure bunker, but a long hallway lined with doors that looked so much like his own, Julius was wondering if he was hallucinating.

     “What…”

     He hadn’t even finished the word when a dragon stuck his head out of the nearest door, looking at Chelsie with guarded green eyes.

     “It’s okay, Felix,” she said quickly, reaching back to grab Julius and drag him inside. “He’s with me.”

     The dragon, Felix, nodded cautiously and stepped back through his door, which, now that he was inside the vault, Julius could see was labeled with his name. All the doors had names, actually, and every one of them started with an F.

     “F-clutch lives with you?”

     “More like I live with them,” Chelsie said. “And what did I just say about questions?”

     “I know, but…why do they live down here? Is someone trying to kill them, too?”

     Chelsie sighed, clearly debating whether or not to come down on him. In the end, though, it must have been easier to explain than to pummel, because while she had every right to snap his nose off for it, she just shook her head and answered the question instead.

     “Not that I should have to explain this to you, but it’s dangerous living at the bottom of the ladder,” she said as she heaved the vault door shut. “Bethesda has forbidden the Fs from fighting the other clutches even if they’re the ones being attacked, and too many dragons see that as an excuse to take whatever they want.”

     Fredrick had said something similar. “I see,” he said, smiling at her. “So you let them live with you. To protect them.”

     “Don’t say it like I’m some kind of idiot nice dragon,” Chelsie snapped. “It’s a matter of practicality. It was too much work protecting the Fs when they lived up top where anyone could find them, so I moved their clutch down here with me, and you are never to say a word about it.”

     “I won’t,” he promised, smiling as they passed Fredrick’s door. Not that he would ever tell her, but he thought it was incredibly kind of Chelsie to watch over the Fs, especially after what Fredrick had told him about how their clutch was treated. His sister could be as prickly as she was terrifying, but no matter how she tried to hide it, Julius knew Chelsie had a good heart. He was feeling smug about being one of the only dragons in the mountain who got to see that when she stopped in front of a door at the hall’s end.

     Unlike the F’s doors, which had been perfectly normal, modern construction, the door in front of Chelsie was clearly very old. It was made of heavy oak planks held together with cast-iron nails and cross beams, and it positively reeked of magic. There was no nameplate, but none was needed. One sniff of the magic that saturated the ancient wood made it obvious which dragon lived here, as did the glare on Chelsie’s face when she turned to stare him down.

     “Once again,” she said, producing a heavy iron key from somewhere up her sleeve. “Not a word. I am doing you a huge favor, and I don’t want to hear any commentary. Just go in and go to sleep, and we won’t have any problems.”

     She stopped there, waiting. When Julius finally nodded, Chelsie turned and unlocked the door, snaking a hand inside to turn on the lights. “Make yourself at home.”

     Julius’s eyes went wide. In his experience, living spaces in his mother’s mountain came in two types. There were the giant caves, which were meant to be comfortable for dragons, and there were the apartments, which were meant for the comfort of dragons in human forms. Some apartments, like Bethesda’s, had spaces for both. Chelsie’s rooms, on the other hand, looked like a bomb shelter mixed with a badger hole.

     The front room was long, low, and bare, with a ceiling barely higher than Julius’s head. The floor was smooth poured concrete with a drain in the middle, and the whole place was harshly lit with small, high-efficiency string light LEDs that had been hung like Christmas lights from hooks on the ceiling. One corner was entirely taken up by a metal wardrobe containing multiple suits of Chelsie’s usual black body armor, while the other housed a massive (and very well used) first aid station complete with an automated surgery table and a glass-door fridge containing multiple bags of blood for transfusion with Chelsie’s name clearly marked on the labels. He was wondering why she needed her own blood supply when the mountain’s medical bay kept a full stock of Heartstriker blood on hand at all times when his sister walked across the room to the narrow, tunnel-like hallway that branched off the end like a root.

     “You can put your mage back here.”

     Julius tore his eyes off the medical bay and hurried after her, ducking down the tunnel only to immediately turn again into a small, seemingly natural cave containing several bookcases packed full of dog-eared paperbacks and a long, surprisingly comfortable-looking couch, which Chelsie was currently piling blankets on from the battered trunk that served as the coffee table.

     “I know it’s not much,” she said defensively. “But I don’t exactly have a lot of company.”

     “This is fine,” Julius assured her, setting Marci, who was probably drunk enough to sleep anywhere, gently down on the couch cushions. “Thank you.”

     His sister nodded and tossed him a pillow, which he slid under Marci’s head. “You’ll be in here,” she said, walking back into the hall, which Julius now realized continued down even deeper underground. “It’s a bit cold, but unless you want to curl up on the floor beside Marci, it’s what I’ve got.”

     Julius was about to say that whatever it was, it would be fine with him, when he saw something that stopped him cold.

     Now that he was paying attention to things other than where he was going to put Marci, Julius saw that the round, tunnel-like hall had several other rooms branching off of it. Some—like the tiny bathroom he could see at the end—had obvious uses. Others—like the room at the end of the hall where Chelsie was currently digging around—he had no idea about. But the bedroom directly across from the library where he’d put Marci down must have belonged to Chelsie herself, and the door was wide open.

     Just noticing that made Julius feel guilty. He had no right invading the privacy of a dragon who clearly valued it very highly, but he was too curious to look away. Despite everything they’d been through together, he still knew so little about his sister, and he couldn’t resist taking a closer peek.

     Quickly, before she finished whatever she was doing at the end of the hall, Julius stepped forward and stuck his head inside her room. Not surprisingly given the rest of her living space, it was tiny. What little space there was was mostly taken up by a mattress on the floor, covered in a plastic sheet. He was wondering why Chelsie needed a plastic-covered mattress when he spotted the nightstand stuffed full of medical supplies as well as the rust-brown bloodstain on the floor in front of it. It wasn’t fresh, but the edges of the stain were fuzzy and overlapping, like blood had been spilled here and cleaned up so many times, it had become part of the rock itself.

     A discovery like that would have terrified Julius anywhere else. Here, though, it just made him sad. When he’d seen Chelsie bleeding this morning, he’d assumed it was a crisis. Now, looking at the plastic mattress and the bandages and sutures she kept within easy reach of her bed, he understood, and that made him sadder and angrier than anything else he’d seen tonight.

     How many times? How many times had his sister patched herself up and gone to bed bleeding? How much of Chelsie’s blood had it taken to make the stain on the floor a permanent part of the mountain? He couldn’t begin to guess, but just thinking about the number made his hands ball into fists. There was so much to be mad at here—the fact that Chelsie was forced to live like this, that she was a tool, that his mother had ever thought any of this was okay—Julius couldn’t say which was worse. One thing, however, was absolutely certain: this had to change. He didn’t care what it took or how much it cost, he was going to figure out how Bethesda was controlling Chelsie, and he was going to break it. Because this kind of thing could not be allowed to continue. Not in his clan.

     With that, a new, surprisingly draconic possessiveness came over Julius. Up until this moment, loyalty to one’s clan had always been a requirement, part of his duty as a Heartstriker. But though he’d accepted that he’d most likely be a Heartstriker until he died, Julius had never loved his clan. He still didn’t, but for the first time ever, he was thinking of the mountain and its dragons as his. His to protect, his to fix. All his life, he and Chelsie had both been trapped in the same system. Now, though, he had a chance to change things. For the first time since he’d signed the contract that had formed the Council, his new position didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like an opportunity, a chance to finally make the wrong things right. But as he turned to leave Chelsie’s room with a thousand silent promises to himself not to mess this up, he spotted something he hadn’t noticed on his first look through.

     When he’d first glanced at Chelsie’s room, the only things he’d seen were the mattress, the medical supplies, and the blood stain. Now, though, he saw there was one more decoration. It was a painting. A Chinese watercolor scroll the length of his arm hanging from the back of Chelsie’s half-open door.

     Art History was one of the few undergrad degrees Julius hadn’t gotten around to getting, but despite knowing nothing about Oriental art, he understood immediately that this was the work of a master. Even in the low light from the hall, the delicate colors seemed to glow with their own natural light. The style was abstract, but the subject—a nude young woman with green eyes and long black hair lying in a rumpled bed—was still immediate and real. Looking at her, Julius felt as if he could reach through the paper and touch her lovely face, which was turned up toward the viewer with a beautiful, warm smile that was clearly meant for the artist alone.

     Out of all the wonders of the painting, that smile was what threw Julius most. The painter had captured the softness of the expression as perfectly as he had everything else, but it was such an unfamiliar sight on that face, Julius didn’t actually recognize the dragoness in the picture until the real version was standing directly in front of him.

     “What part of ‘don’t invade my privacy’ do you not understand?” Chelsie snarled, jerking him out of her room before slamming her door shut.

     The furious words were sharp as her claws, but Julius was too amazed to be properly afraid. “That was you,” he said, staring at his sister in wonder. “I’ve never seen you smile before.”

     He realized how awful that sounded the moment he said it. Before he could apologize, though, Chelsie cut him off. “It was a long time ago,” she growled. “Leave it be.”

     He nodded, though he couldn’t help adding, “It’s beautiful.”

     “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Chelsie grumbled, turning to walk back down the hall. “There’s something not right about your baby brother admiring your nude painting.”

     “That’s not what I meant,” Julius said, blushing furiously. “It’s just…I didn’t know you could look like that.”

     “Digging yourself deeper,” she warned.

     Julius cursed under his breath. None of this was coming out as he’d meant. “Well, you have to like it, too,” he said, hurrying after her. “It’s the only decoration you have.”

     “Actually, I don’t like it,” Chelsie said. “I think I look like an idiot.”

     Julius wasn’t buying that for a second. “Then why did you hang it on your door?”

     “To remind myself not to be an idiot again.”

     The old anger in those words should have been a warning visible from space, but Julius was too excited to care. He’d never had such a clear look into Chelsie’s past before, and the fact that he’d gotten it from a Chinese painting—presumably the same China Bob had told him to ask about when he’d needed to wake Chelsie up after Estella chained her—only made him more curious.

     “Who painted it?”

     Chelsie’s answer was a long, pointed silence before she turned and pointed at the room she’d been digging around in earlier. “You sleep here.”

     “But—”

     She growled deep in her throat, and Julius froze. His curiosity was still burning like a fire, but that angry growl was enough to remind Julius just how much bigger Chelsie was than himself, and how rude he was being to his host. With that, he lowered his head at once. When it was clear he wasn’t going to push any more, Chelsie dropped her aggressive stance, though her body remained tense as she walked past him to the bedroll she’d set up on the floor of the final room of her cramped suite, which Julius now saw was another library.

     Other than the painting, the only things Chelsie seemed to collect that weren’t directly related to her job were books. The front room where Marci was sleeping had held mostly paperbacks, but the back room was filled with huge, leather-bound manuscripts, the kind monks used to go blind illuminating. Unlike the paperbacks, which had been stuffed into shelves, the leather-bound books were protected behind glass to prevent them from deteriorating. Julius was about to try and win back some points with his sister by complimenting her collection when he realized books weren’t the only things behind the glass.

     In the center of the room’s farthest shelf, resting on a velvet pillow in its own special box under a glowing heat lamp, was an oblong object with a dark, shiny surface that glistened like a beetle’s shell. At roughly the size of a bike tire, it was larger than the books surrounding it, though still remarkably small for what it appeared to be. Even so, Julius didn’t doubt for a second that it was real. He might never have seen one personally before this moment, but every dragon knew an egg when he saw one. At this point, the only thing Julius wasn’t sure of was why his sister had a dragon’s egg displayed on her bookshelf like a trophy.

     Chelsie heaved a long sigh. “I can see it in your eyes,” she muttered, rubbing her hands tiredly over her face. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

     Julius shook his head. After his flub with the painting, the last thing he wanted was to keep pushing, but this was too big to ignore. Before he could think of how to phrase his questions, though, Chelsie beat him to the punch.

     “It’s a dud,” she said, stepping over the bedroll to open the egg’s glass case. “Sometimes, if she’s very young, a dragoness will lay an egg that doesn’t hatch. The whelp inside is still technically viable, but for whatever reason, the spark of its life’s fire simply didn’t catch. Without its own magic, it can’t break the shell and be born, so it just stays an egg, relying on magic from its mother or somewhere else to keep it alive.”

     “And is that what you’re doing?” Julius asked quietly. “Keeping it alive?”

     “More or less,” she said, reaching in to gently pet the egg’s glossy surface with her gloved hand. “Supporting eggs takes a lot of power. Bethesda said it was foolish to keep investing that in an egg that would almost certainly never hatch. She told me to throw it away, but I kept it instead. It was a stupid thing to do. If Mother ever finds out I disobeyed, she’ll have my head, but I just thought it was a waste. Eggs are precious. Each one represents a huge investment of dragon magic from both parents. And there’s still a tiny chance this one will hatch someday, so I keep feeding it magic. Just in case.”

     She let go of the egg with a sigh and closed the case, looking almost embarrassed when she turned to face Julius again. “At this point, it’s more habit than anything else. If it hasn’t hatched yet, the chances of it ever doing so are effectively zero. But I’ve been feeding any magic I can spare into it for centuries, so…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Seems like a waste to give up now.”

     She said this like it was no big deal, but Julius felt as though he’d just seen his sister’s true face for the first time. Not the terrifying dragon all Heartstriker feared, or even the smiling, carefree girl from the painting, but the real Chelsie. The one who never put her siblings into debt because she knew how much it could hurt. The one who couldn’t stand hurting whelps and who’d protected a helpless egg for centuries against her own best interest simply because she couldn’t bear to see it thrown away. The sister who’d protected him over and over again, and never asked for anything in return.

     “Ugh,” she groaned. “I swear, Julius, if you don’t stop looking at me with that insipid expression this instant, I’m throwing you back to the wolves upstairs.”

     He wasn’t brave enough to call that bluff, but it didn’t stop him from smiling. “Thank you, Chelsie,” he said, letting his feelings fill his voice so she would know he was telling the truth. “For everything.”

     “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, turning away, though not before he caught her cheeks flushing ever so slightly red. “Save it for someone who cares.” She nudged his bedroll with her foot. “I know it’s only eight thirty, but you should go to sleep. You’ve been up for two days straight, and it’s obviously making you delirious. I’m going to try and catch some rest while I can, too. Whatever happens, though, do not come in my room. I’m a light sleeper, and I don’t react well to interruptions.”

     Looking at the way she gripped her sword, Julius believed her. “I won’t bother you,” he promised. “But Chelsie…”

     He paused, waiting for her to look back over her shoulder. When she finally did, he looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m going to get you out of this,” he said solemnly. “Whatever Bethesda’s using to control you, I swear I’ll find it, and I’ll break it.”

     For a moment, something behind Chelsie’s eyes flashed only to die again just as quickly as she turned away again. “You can’t,” she said calmly. “Nothing can free me, Julius. Where do you think I learned to hate debts?”

     He clenched his fists. “But that doesn’t mean—”

     She walked out before he could finish, striding down the hall without looking back. When he heard her bedroom door slam, Julius sank down to the bedroll she’d prepared. Tired as he was, though, he couldn’t sleep. There was too much banging around in his head, too many plots and plans and other very un-Julius things going on for him to possibly settle down. After spending so long as a pawn, having to think like a player was exhausting, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop. So instead, he lay there in the dark, staring at his unknown, unhatched sibling as the schemes and plans whirled in his head.

     But no storm can rage forever. After what felt like hours of going in circles, the heaving sea of Julius’s mind finally grew still enough for sleep to find him, and he passed out, curled in a ball beneath the oddly tiny egg sitting quiet and still in its case.

     Chapter 6

      

     What felt like barely ten minutes later, a hand landed on Julius’s shoulder.

     “Sir?”

     He rolled over with a grunt, dragging the blanket Chelsie had loaned him over his head. He didn’t even know who was talking, but unless the mountain was on fire, he didn’t care. He’d finally gotten to sleep, and he was determined to—

     The hand on his shoulder yanked up, taking Julius up with it. For a terrifying moment, he was actually lifted off the ground, and then the hand vanished, leaving him sitting upright in the bedroll, blinking in the sudden glare of the overhead light, which the tall dragon standing over him had just switched on.

     “Good morning, sir,” Fredrick said. “I trust you slept well.”

     “I was sleeping well,” Julius grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

     “Eight a.m.”

     Julius rubbed his hands over his face with a groan. He wasn’t sure when he’d actually gone to bed, but eight in the morning was definitely too early to get out of it. He was sliding back down into the warm blanket when Fredrick yanked it off him completely.

     “Hey!”

     Fredrick ignored his desperate cry, folding Chelsie’s blanket neatly over one arm instead while handing Julius a small duffel with the other. “I took the liberty of procuring you clean clothes.”

     With a final, mournful look at his confiscated blanket, Julius gave up, holding up his hand for the clothes with a resigned sigh. “How did you even get in here?” he asked as he unzipped the bag. “I thought Chelsie’s room was a secret vault.”

     “It is,” Fredrick said. “But Chelsie had to leave a few hours ago, so she let me in specifically to assist you. She has always been our protector. All of F-clutch owes her their lives, me especially. She knows none of us would ever betray that trust by digging into her secrets, though it seems she doesn’t feel quite the same way about you yet.”

     Given how nosy he’d been last night, Julius couldn’t blame her. “Why did she have to leave?”

     “I believe there was an incident between two Es.”

     Julius pulled his undershirt over his head. “What kind of incident?”

     “I’m not sure,” Fredrick said, taking the old shirt from him before handing him a clean one. “But it must have been quite violent for Chelsie to get involved. She generally doesn’t care about scuffles, but killing or maiming a Heartstriker is strictly forbidden for anyone save for Bethesda or her Shade. Or, at least, it is until the Council changes the rules.”

     “‘Don’t kill your siblings’ is not a rule I’m planning on changing,” Julius said grimly. Still, he hated the idea of Chelsie, who’d been just as tired as he was, having to get up out of her warm bed to go police two dragons who couldn’t go one night without trying to murder each other. “Does this kind of thing happen often?”

     “I’m not sure,” the dragon said. “Chelsie doesn’t talk about her work, but I don’t think it’s quite this bad normally. There’s a reason Bethesda hasn’t gathered all of her children together in one place for centuries. Dragon egos need room, and with all of Heartstriker crammed into the same mountain, tempers are running short. There’s also the chaos factor. With the clan in turmoil, there are those who see the opportunity to try and get away with schemes they wouldn’t risk otherwise.” He shrugged. “It’s a perfect storm, really, and it’s only going to get worse. I imagine we’ll be seeing a great many more incidents like this as the day goes on.”

     And Chelsie will have to deal with them, Julius finished silently, standing up and making his way to the tiny bathroom to wash his face. On the one hand, he was happy that someone as responsible as Chelsie was in charge of stopping the violence. On the other, though, it was impossible to ignore how grossly unfair her situation was. Given what he knew of his sister both in general and from last night, he was positive she hadn’t volunteered to be the clan enforcer, despite how good she was at it. Even if she had asked for the job, it was way too much to ask of any one dragon to police all of Heartstriker by herself. The whole thing was a mess, yet another reason to set her free and get a new system in place as soon as the Council was up and running. And speaking of.

     “Why did you wake me up?” he asked, shaking the water off his face. “Because I doubt it was to talk about Chelsie.”

     “We have a situation,” Fredrick said, handing him a towel. “A special envoy from the United Nations arrived early this morning and requested an audience with the Heartstriker. Normally, we’d just tell them to make an appointment like everyone else, but one of the visitors is the undersecretary of magic, and considering the current situation with Algonquin, Frieda and I concluded it would be unwise to put him off.”

     “Probably a smart decision,” Julius agreed, drying his face. “But why come get me? I’m not the Heartstriker, I suck at magic, and I don’t know anything about our relations with the UN.”

     “Technically, as part of the Council, you are one third of the Heartstriker,” Fredrick reminded him. “And the Great Bethesda doesn’t rise before noon.”

     Julius stared at him. “So you woke me up on my second day as a Council member to go to a meeting I know nothing about just so Mother could sleep in?”

     “Yes,” Fredrick said without missing a beat. “The Great Bethesda is…difficult in the mornings. And your inexperience actually works in our favor. Heartstriker relations with the UN have been strained since the incident with the last envoy. A fresh face might be just what we need to defuse any lingering tension.”

     His stomach sank. “What happened to the last envoy?”

     “There was a disagreement over terms, and the Great Bethesda was already in a bad mood, so, well…she ate him.”

     “She ate the envoy from the UN?”

     Fredrick nodded. “He arrived early, too.”

     “I don’t believe this,” Julius muttered, running his fingers through his tangled hair before Fredrick smacked them away, stepping in with a comb instead.

     “I’m sure you will do just fine, sir,” he said as he began ruthlessly combing Julius’s hair. “You have a reputation for being good with humans, and until the Council vote is concluded, the clan can’t make any formal alliances anyway, so you won’t even have to cut a deal. Just find out what the undersecretary wants and delay him.”

     That was easy for Fredrick to say. He wasn’t the one going to a formal meeting with the human who set the international magical policy for most of the world. Julius didn’t know how to begin to talk to someone like that. He wasn’t even certain which famous mage was undersecretary at the moment, but he knew who would know.

     “Hang on,” he said as Fredrick finished his hair. “I’m going to call in some backup.”

     Fredrick stared after him in confusion, but when he saw Julius moving down the hall toward the room where Marci was sleeping, his green eyes went wide. “Stop!” he hissed, lurching forward to grab Julius’s arm. “You can’t bring your human to an official clan function!”

     “Why not?” Julius asked. “They’re human, too.” And unlike him, Marci might actually have a clue as to what was going on.

     Fredrick pulled himself up to his full height, which had his head brushing Chelsie’s low ceiling. “It’s not proper. You are the Heartstriker. She is—”

     “My partner,” Julius said pointedly. “And my trusted ally who probably knows a lot more about this than I do.” He kept walking. “Relax, it’ll be fine.”

     Fredrick looked the opposite of relaxed, but he didn’t say anything else as Julius turned the corner to the library where he could smell Marci sleeping. She was right where he’d left her, too, splayed out on Chelsie’s old couch. But when he smiled and stepped over to gently touch her shoulder, his fingers hit something freezing cold.

     Stop.

     Julius froze, shaking his head to clear the icy word from his mind. When he looked again, Ghost was sitting protectively on Marci’s shoulder, his glowing eyes bright and disapproving.

     She is mortal, the spirit said, the words scraping through Julius’s mind like little cat claws. Mortals need sleep. Do not wake her.

     “I don’t think she’d agree in this case,” Julius said quietly. “She’d never forgive me if I went to meet the undersecretary of magic without—”

     Do not wake her.

     The order hit Julius with surprising force and an even more curiously familiar bite. It almost felt like dragon magic, but the freezing burn was pure Ghost. It was the same grave-like cold he’d felt in the wind that had risen around Vann Jeger, and now as then, it chilled him to the bone.

     She is mine, the spirit said, lashing his tail. I protect what is mine. She needs rest and recovery, not more of your problems. He turned up his nose. Go away, dragon.

     Julius gritted his teeth. He really didn’t want to do this without Marci, but he didn’t want to push Ghost, either, especially since the spirit was probably right. Between the fight in the throne room, getting hurt, and an afternoon spent drinking with Amelia, Marci probably wasn’t up for an early-morning diplomatic meeting with anyone. Heck, Julius was barely up for it himself, and he was a dragon. Marci, on the other hand, was mortal. Painfully so at the moment, too, with the deep circles under her closed eyes. She’d never been a particularly sound sleeper, but Julius was standing right next to her, and she hadn’t even stirred, which was enough to make him back off with a sigh.

     “Okay,” he whispered, pulling out his phone. “I’ll let her sleep. Just let me send her a message so she knows what—”

     No phone, the spirit hissed, glaring harder than ever. Hers is in her pocket. The buzzing will wake her. He bared his little cat fangs in disgust. Nasty, always buzzing thing.

     Julius understood where Ghost was coming from, but there was no way he was leaving Marci alone in a strange place without at least telling her where he’d be. He was about to say screw it and text her anyway when he spotted a small, neat pile of scrap paper on the bookshelf right next to an ancient cup of ballpoint pens.

     “Here,” he said, grabbing a paper off the top. “I’m going to write her a note telling her where I am and that she’s welcome to join me any time. When she wakes up, will you make sure she gets it?”

     Ghost’s answer to that was a slow blink of his glowing eyes, which Julius decided to take as a yes. He still took care to make sure he wrote out exactly what had just happened before placing the paper prominently in the center of the battered blanket-trunk-turned-coffee-table. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, putting up his hands as he backed out of the room. “Don’t forget to tell her.”

     Again, the spirit didn’t answer, but his glowing eyes stayed locked on Julius the whole way down the hall as he returned to Fredrick. “Change of plans,” he said, grabbing the blindingly white Oxford shirt the dragon held out. “We’re going alone.”

     “Excellent choice, sir,” the dragon replied, smiling as he held up the rest of the stupidly-expensive looking suit. “Shall I help you dress?”

     “I think I got it,” Julius said awkwardly, taking the offered suit and hurrying back into the room where he’d slept to finish getting ready.

     The moment his back was turned, Ghost whacked the note with his paw, sending the little scrap of paper wafting under the couch before resuming his watchful perch on Marci.

     ***

     Ten minutes later, Julius and Fredrick were halfway up the mountain, stepping out of the service stairs (which was apparently how the Fs went everywhere) into the elegant atrium of Heartstriker Mountain’s diplomatic floor.

     For Julius, at least, this was a new experience. As the world’s largest dragon clan, the Heartstrikers were always hosting some important dignitary or another. Since he hadn’t been part of the decision-making core of his family before yesterday, though, Julius had never actually set foot in the part of the mountain Bethesda kept set aside for human guests who needed to be impressed but weren’t actually important enough for the throne room.

     Like every other part of the mountain designed with humans in mind, the diplomatic floor was beautiful in an expensive, corporate-chic kind of way with oversized, marble-tiled halls, multiple potted plants, and artistically arranged glass lighting installations hanging from the high ceiling at regular intervals. It was also uncharacteristically empty of dragons, save for one notable exception.

     “There you are.”

     The angry growl made Julius jump right before Justin, who must have been waiting directly outside the stairwell door, pounced on him. Literally.

     “What part of bodyguard do you not understand?” he snarled, grabbing his brother and yanking him up by his lapels. “I’ve been looking for you for hours! I only knew you’d be here because your pet F had the decency to call me.”

     “You’re welcome,” Fredrick said stiffly, giving Justin a sour look, which the other dragon ignored.

     “I didn’t know you were waiting on me,” Julius said apologetically. “I thought you were fighting a duel.”

     “Not all night. There were only four of them, and the idiots didn’t even put on a good show. The whole thing took me an hour, tops. I called Chelsie right after to let her know I was good to take over again, but she didn’t answer, and you were nowhere to be found. I looked all over the mountain! I couldn’t even smell you, and you know how good my nose is.” His eyes narrowed. “Where were you, anyway?”

     Julius almost said “With Chelsie” before he remembered his promise to keep his sister’s lair a secret. “Safe,” he said instead. “And, up until fifteen minutes ago, asleep. But you’ve found me now, so—”

     “Yeah,” Justin snapped. “Walking around alone. Do you even comprehend the danger you’re in? I went by your room an hour ago on the off chance you’d gotten desperate enough to sleep there, and I found this.”

     He held out what looked like a large brick of cream cheese with several wires poking out of it. “What’s that?” Julius asked.

     “Plastic explosives,” his brother said. “Cheap but effective. Someone rigged them to a pressure plate under your mattress so they’d go off the moment you sat down, which would have been a good way to get around your Fang if whoever put it there hadn’t forgotten that I can smell C4 a mile away.”

     That was very good to know, because to Julius’s nose, the white block in his brother’s hands didn’t smell like anything at all. Even so. “Someone actually put live explosives in my room?” he cried, horrified. “What is wrong with this family?”

     “At least they were taking you seriously,” Justin said, casually tossing the brick of explosives in his hand. “There’s enough here to blow a hole in a good-sized tank. That’s a lot more than anyone would normally bother packing for a J who wasn’t me.”

     “Don’t say that like it’s a compliment,” Julius snapped, feeling weirdly insulted. It was one thing to know your family was trying to kill you, but explosives under his bed just felt like dirty pool, even for dragons.

     “No point getting your feathers in a ruff now,” Justin said, tossing the disarmed plastic explosive in the trash can beside them. “This is just the warm-up. Gregory and his goons have been out spreading rumors about you all night. Every time I turn around, he’s got someone new cornered.”

     That wasn’t good. “What’s he been saying?”

     “More of the same,” Justin said with a shrug. “That you’re not a real dragon and you’re only in power thanks to Bob. All of which is true, of course, but he has no right to be badmouthing you over it.”

     “How do you figure that?” Julius asked, because he thought that was actually a valid criticism.

     “Because he wasn’t there,” his brother growled. “I was. I saw that the whole thing was a seer plot from the get-go, but just because Bob set ’em up doesn’t change the fact that you knocked them down. I saw you stay ahead of Chelsie that night in the throne room, just like I saw you pull the Fang out of Grandfather’s skull and spare Mother’s life when you could have killed her. Gregory doesn’t have jack next to that. He’s just some punk who came in at the last second and is trying to get power for himself by acting like a big shot.” He cracked his knuckles. “I hope he does try to kill you today. I can’t wait to see the smug look go flying off his stupid face when I punch him off the mountain.”

     He finished with a bloodthirsty grin, but Julius still couldn’t help feeling touched. “Do you really mean that?”

     “Absolutely,” his brother said. “I’m going to punt him into Texas.”

     “No, no,” Julius said quickly. “I meant the other stuff. Do you really think I deserve to be at the head of Heartstriker?”

     Justin gave him a funny look. “Of course. I wouldn’t have signed the contract booting Mother out of power if I’d felt otherwise.”

     “But…you were her favorite,” Julius said, happy to finally have a chance to ask the question he’d been wondering about since his brother had joined them the night of the coup. “I don’t doubt your loyalty, I just want to know why.”

     “It was her decision to make me her favorite,” his brother said with a shrug. “Frankly, I didn’t care one way or the other. I want what I’ve always wanted: to be the champion of the biggest, best clan in the world. When Bethesda was the Heartstriker, that meant working for her. But then she said some things that made me realize she wasn’t the all-powerful clan head I thought she was, and after you beat her, the choice only got easier.” He smiled at Julius. “Unlike Mother, you’ve always been there when I needed you. That’s what a clan needs: someone who will fight for all of us, not just themselves. You do that, so I fight for you.”

     “And it doesn’t hurt that you got a promotion in the bargain,” Fredrick pointed out.

     “What kind of dragon would I be if I accepted a deal that had nothing in it for me?” Justin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But for real, Gregory can go flame himself. I saw you beat Bethesda. That makes you clan head by every measure that counts, and it’s my duty and pleasure as your knight to turn anyone who says otherwise into dragon hash.”

     Like most of Justin’s compliments, that was as terrifying as it was sincere, but after twenty-four years as his brother, Julius had learned to roll with it. “Thank you, Justin.”

     “Yeah, well, you can show your appreciation by not going off alone again,” Justin grumbled. “I’ve got a lot riding on you. Conrad’s already told me he doesn’t think I’m ready for this job. If you get yourself offed on my watch, I’ll never live it down.” He grimaced and stepped aside, finally letting Julius and Fredrick out of the stairwell door. “So what are we doing?”

     “Meeting with the UN,” Julius said, glancing down the empty hall. “I don’t suppose you know where they are?”

     “If you mean the humans, they’re in the third room from the left, hanging out with Katya.”

     Julius blinked in surprise. “Katya? I didn’t even know she was still here.”

     Justin nodded. “I thought they were here to meet with her, actually. But if you want to crash, I’m down.”

     “We’re not crashing,” Julius said quickly. “I’m just surprised. But she’s our ally, too.” And as former head of the Daughters of the Three Sisters, at least for the few hours they’d existed before Svena had renamed them, she certainly had good reason to want to meet with the UN as well. “I think this might actually work out in our favor. Lead on.”

     Justin nodded and started down the hall, leading Julius and Fredrick to the door he’d mentioned, which opened into an elegant but surprisingly small room that looked as if it was mostly used for making people wait.

     As promised, Katya was already there, standing beside the floor-to-ceiling window with one—Julius wasn’t sure which—of her sisters. She brightened the moment she saw them, flashing Julius a warm, sincere smile that was still a shock to see on a dragon’s face. “Julius,” she said. “Excellent. We were waiting for you.”

     “Sorry for the delay,” Julius said, glancing nervously at the two humans in the center of the room, who, despite the multiple leather chairs and couches, were standing as well.

     When he’d heard he’d be meeting the undersecretary of magic, Julius hadn’t known what to expect, but the man who turned to greet him most definitely wasn’t it. Up until this point, every magical human Julius had met had looked the part: the mages at Lark’s party, Ross and his crazy alligator-themed everything, even Marci with her wild colors and giant, spellworked plastic bracelets. This man, on the other hand, looked like a banker. An extremely conservative one, with his somber suit, dark-gray gloves, and polished leather shoes. He also looked old. Remarkably so for a mage. Like most dragons, Julius was terrible at guessing human ages, but going by the gray in his neatly trimmed beard, he put the man in his fifties, which, given that magic had only been back for sixty years, made him a first-generation mage.

     Even Julius, who knew embarrassingly little about human magic, knew that was impressive. Unlike Marci’s generation, who’d grown up with magical schooling all the way to the university level, first-generation mages had had to figure out everything on their own. They also had a very low survival rate since all the magical practices that were now banned as too dangerous had gotten that way from first-gen mage accidents. These two factors combined meant you almost never saw a mage over forty in a position of power, but despite his dull clothes, this man radiated power like heat. Everything about him—from the way he stood perfectly at ease despite being one of only two mortals in a room full of magical predators, to the measuring look in his gray eyes as he examined Julius from head to toe—projected the sort of absolute confidence Julius normally saw only in other dragons. But while all of that was definitely noteworthy, what really threw Julius for a loop was the woman standing at his side.

     Julius had never seen two humans who looked more opposite. Where the mage was old, graying, and pale, the woman standing next to him was stocky, dark-skinned, and seemingly ageless. She also dressed in a somber, expensive suit, but unlike the banker mage beside her, the woman wore hers like armor, an illusion that was only enhanced by the obvious outline of muscles beneath her tailored sleeves. Even her hair, which was thick and jet black, had been braided away from her face in narrow, military-precise rows, while her dark eyes dug into Julius like claws, assessing and weighing his prowess and threat as efficiently as any dragon. Neither human looked or smelled the least bit afraid, and Julius had to quickly remind himself that he was the apex predator here as he stepped forward to greet his guests.

     “Welcome to Heartstriker Mountain,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Julius Heartstriker.”

     The woman’s sharp gray eyes grew sharper. “Julius Heartstriker?”

     As always, the emphasis on the J at the start of his name made Julius sweat, but Justin was already on it. “One of the three members of the new Heartstriker Ruling Council,” he said sternly, standing beside Julius like an attack dog. “Usurper of Bethesda.”

     That got the humans’ attention. “We’d heard there’d been a coup, but we didn’t know the details,” the woman murmured, looking Julius over with a new eye. “I suppose that makes you the dragon to talk to, then?”

     Before Julius could explain it wasn’t quite that simple, she grabbed his still offered hand in a crushing grip. “I’d hoped to talk to Bethesda herself, but if you can make decisions, that’s good enough. I’m General Emily Jackson, head of the United Nations Magical Disaster Response Force. I’m sure you already know my associate.”

     She glanced at the mage, who did not offer Julius either of his gloved hands as he introduced himself. “Sir Myron Rollins,” he said in a genteel voice that sounded straight out of a BBC period drama. “Royal sorcerer of Great Britain, chair of Tectonic Magic at Cambridge University, Master of Labyrinths, and undersecretary of magic for the United Nations.”

     That was quite the list of titles, but Julius had grown up surrounded by dragons who collected epitaphs like baseball cards, and he knew from experience that anyone who greeted you with their full list was someone with a dangerously high opinion of themselves. This, in turn, gave him a much lower opinion of the mage. He was far more interested to find out the seemingly young-looking woman beside him was actually a general. Given her bodybuilder’s physique and aggressive stance, he’d assumed she was a bodyguard. Clearly, however, she was no such thing, which meant they had two high-ranking UN officials and zero staff in the room, a fact that made Julius more nervous than anything else yet. He might not know much about human politics, but anything that got multiple bigwigs to visit you unannounced, in person, and without their entourages was probably very serious business.

     “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he lied, turning to Katya, the only one in the room he was actually happy to see. “What did I miss?”

     “Nothing much,” she replied, eyeing the humans. “I hope you don’t mind my butting into your meeting, Heartstriker, but when I heard the Phoenix was in the mountain, I couldn’t go before I’d seen her for myself.”

     He blinked in confusion. “Phoenix?”

     “Didn’t you know?” Katya said, eyeing the general coldly. “General Jackson is quite famous. She’s the head of the UN’s anti-dragon unit, among other things.”

     That explained a lot. “So why are you called the Phoenix?” he asked, turning back to the general.

     The human started to answer, but Katya beat her to it. “Because no matter how many times you kill her, she always comes back,” the dragoness snarled, baring her teeth in an uncharacteristic show of aggression. “You were the one who killed Illiria, Dragon of the Dalmatian Coast.”

     “My team did take down a dragon with that name,” General Jackson replied without blinking an eye. “She was terrorizing towns all over the Eastern Mediterranean and demanding tribute. That sort of behavior might have flown a thousand years ago, but these days, we call it extortion. Illiria was warned multiple times, and when she refused to correct her behavior, we had no choice but to take action.”

     “No choice,” Katya repeated, turning to Julius. “Illiria was a dear friend of mine. Old fashioned, perhaps, but very loyal. She hid me from Estella several times. I was most upset to hear of her death.”

     “I’m sorry to hear that,” the general said, not sounding sorry at all. “But even dragons are not above the law. My organization does not discriminate amongst threats. Our mandate is to protect the basic human right to a peaceful existence without being threatened or, in this particular case, burned alive by a rogue dragon. If you have an issue with that, you may file a formal complaint with the UN general council.” Her lips curled into an odd smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

     Katya stiffened, and Julius decided he’d better cut in before the whole “burned alive” thing happened again. “You didn’t come to Heartstriker Mountain to kill any of us, I hope?”

     “No,” the general assured him. “Quite the opposite. Our mission today is one of peace and, hopefully, successful alliance against our mutual enemy.”

     Julius could think of only one enemy big enough for that broad a categorization. “You mean Algonquin.”

     The general nodded. “As I said, we do not discriminate between threats. My division was created to protect human populations from any supernatural threat, and as the only spirit to ever destroy and then take over an entire city, Algonquin has been on our radar for a long time. Until recently, though, the situation was deemed stable, but now that she’s executed the three most powerful living dragons and declared war on the species, things are different.”

     “I’m surprised you care,” Katya said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Last I heard, you were the human assigned to take down my mothers when they rose. Not that I would have stopped you, of course, but for you to claim their deaths are what spurred you to action smacks of insincerity. You’re just a human. Wouldn’t your life be easier if spirits and dragons took each other out?”

     “It would,” the general said. “But it’s not that simple.” She turned back to Julius. “When elephants fight, the grass gets trampled. As the clan controlling all of the territory surrounding Algonquin’s land, the Heartstrikers are her obvious next target. If the two of you were to go to war, all of North America would be in danger of being dragged into the conflict. As someone whose job is specifically to defend the common people from magical threats, that’s not an outcome I can tolerate.”

     “And so you’ve come to make an alliance with us against her,” Julius said. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

     The general smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”

     That actually made a great deal of sense, but there was something about all of this that didn’t sit right. “So why the rush?” he asked. “I’m new to this, but I’m pretty sure generals and undersecretaries don’t rush off to make treaties in person at eight thirty in the morning unless it’s an emergency.”

     “Then we clearly have different definitions of the term,” Sir Myron said, speaking up for the first time. “Because I would count Algonquin’s simultaneous slaughter of the three most magical dragons in the world using a previously unknown magical weapon of mass destruction as quite an emergency. But you are correct, Heartstriker. There is another reason we came here in person, and I’m guessing it’s why she”—he nodded at Katya—“is here as well.”

     Katya stiffened, and the mage smiled, pulling off his glove to reveal an entire handful of thick, steel rings engraved with intricate, maze-like patterns that positively reeked of magic. “I am not like other human mages,” he said, spreading his fingers. “Being self-taught, I have none of the usual limitations of spellwork or circles. I have learned to feel and use magic according to its natural shape, and the shape of your magic, Katya of the Three Sisters, is missing a very large piece.”

     “Of course it is,” she said angrily. “Our mothers are dead.”

     “But that’s not the reason,” Sir Myron replied, wiggling his fingers in a way that sent a ripple of magic through the room. “Unlike you, we still have access to the DFZ. Enough to know that, while the heads of the Three Sisters were placed around Algonquin’s tower—along with the heads of every other dragon unlucky enough to be in the DFZ two nights ago—all the bodies are yet to be accounted for.”

     Julius gaped in horror. He hadn’t even thought of Algonquin’s head display as anything but a macabre show of her power, but the moment the mage drew his attention to the incongruities, the pieces fell into place. If she’d just killed those dragons as he’d assumed, they would all be ash like Estella. But if their heads were still around, that meant their corpses must be, too, along with all the leftover magic contained inside. It was just like the Quetzalcoatl’s feathers! Algonquin must have killed them in a way that preserved their physical bodies and magic, and as someone who, until very recently, had made his living hunting down magical animals in the DFZ and selling the parts to mages for use as reagents to fuel their circles, Julius had a pretty good idea as to why.

     “She’s using them,” he said, eyes going wide. “She’s not just killing dragons. She’s junking their bodies for magical power!”

     “I wouldn’t have put it quite that way,” Myron said with a distasteful frown. “But yes, that’s our assumption. Having not seen the evidence ourselves, we have no proof, but—”

     “You need no proof,” Katya growled, turning to Julius. “You’re right.”

     Julius began to sweat. “So you’re saying that Algonquin, the spirit who just declared war on all of us, is using the bodies of the Three Sisters, who were the three most magical dragons alive, as a battery?”

     “Not herself,” Myron said. “Algonquin’s a spirit. She has plenty of her own power, but she can’t move magic. That power belongs to humanity alone.”

     “Which is why it’s no coincidence that Algonquin also controls the largest standing army of mages in the world,” the general finished. “I’m not a mage myself, but I’m pretty sure that many mages working together would be more than enough to strip the Three Sisters of all their remaining power.”

     A week ago, Julius would have said it was impossible. The Three Sisters were dragon legends. No human, not even an army of them, could possibly handle that much magic. But that was before he’d seen Marci draw a quarter-mile-wide circle to drain Vann Jeger. A feat that, though it hadn’t exactly gone as planned, had definitely changed his perception of how much magic a human mage could handle. Now, he found the idea of an army of mages converting what was left of the Three Sisters into magic over the course of a few days very believable, especially since Katya was already nodding her head.

     “It’s worse than you think,” she said. “Svena—”

     She was cut off as her sister barked something sharp in Russian, prompting Katya to roll her eyes. “What’s the point?” she asked over her shoulder. “They already know. We might as well try to fix things.” She turned back to Julius. “As I was saying, Svena was the first to figure it out. She’d always dreamed of forming her own clan, but Algonquin’s attack forced her to accelerate her plans. Due to the unique way we were born, all of our magic was intimately connected to our mothers. We could feel her draining them, and Svena theorized that if we stayed linked together as part of their clan, there was a chance Algonquin would figure out how to drain us as well.”

     “So she cut the tie first,” Julius said, nodding. “But Algonquin still has the Three Sisters. Even dead, how much magic could she get?”

     Katya’s already pale face turned white. “A lot,” she said quietly, glancing at the UN team, who were listening patiently. “I came here hoping to find out what they knew about it. Now that we’ve severed the connection to our mothers, we can’t feel how much of their magic Algonquin has stolen. For all we know, she’s already salvaged enough to completely replenish what she used up shooting them down in the first place.”

     A cold dread began to creep up Julius’s spine. “So you’re saying her whatever-it-was, the weapon that blasted the Three Sisters out of the sky, could already be up and running again?”

     “I wouldn’t go so far as that,” Sir Myron said. “But you’re not far off.”

     Julius began to shake. Just yesterday, he’d argued they had plenty of time before Algonquin’s weapon recharged, enough to do things properly. Now, he had no idea. Considering they were up against the combined magic of the Three Sisters, he didn’t even know if Svena would be able to actually protect them as she’d promised. He was still frantically sorting through it all in his head when the general stepped forward.

      “This threat is why we’re here,” she said, angling herself so that she faced all the dragons head on. “You’ve been honest with us, so we’ll be honest with you. Algonquin has indeed been using her fallen enemies as magical batteries. We aren’t sure what she’s planning on doing with all that power, but given that she’s already declared war on your kind, I’d say a full-scale attack isn’t outside the realm of possibility. As I’ve already explained, open conflict between the Heartstrikers and Algonquin would threaten all of North America, which makes it our concern as well. To that end, we are here to propose an alliance between the UN and the Heartstriker dragon clan. And yours as well, if you’d like,” she said, nodding to Katya. “It’s my hope that by sharing resources and information about our common enemy, we can come up with a way to avoid conflict completely and spare us all a great deal of pain.”

     That struck Julius as uncommonly reasonable. But as much as he wanted to say that of course Heartstriker would work with the humans to stop Algonquin, there was just one problem. “I’d like to help,” he said sadly. “But Heartstriker can’t make an alliance at the moment. As my brother said when we came in, Bethesda has been overthrown, and we’ve decided to put an elected council in her place.”

     For the first time since he’d met her, a look of real surprise and excitement crossed the general’s face. “Really?” she said. “A democratically elected council leading a dragon clan? That’s fantastic news!”

     “Thank you,” Julius, unexpectedly flattered. Not that it was surprising that an officer of the United Nations would be a fan of democratization, but that was still the most genuinely enthusiastic response he’d ever gotten for his Council idea. Not that the general’s opinion would matter to his siblings, of course, but it still felt good to know that at least someone didn’t think he was crazy.

     “Unfortunately,” he went on, “this new arrangement means we’re not in a position to help you directly until our final Council member is elected.”

     The general nodded. “And when will that be?”

     “I’m not sure,” Julius admitted. “But while we can’t do anything formally just yet, I see no reason why we can’t go ahead and share information while we wait. In fact.” He turned and clapped a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “My brother here is the only dragon who’s ever been inside Algonquin’s Reclamation Land and lived.”

     “Don’t tell them that!” Justin roared.

     “Why not?” Julius asked. “What are you worried they’re going to do? Beat Algonquin so we don’t have to?” He turned back to the UN team, who were now both staring at Justin like wolves after a piece of meat. “I also have the mage who defeated Algonquin’s dragon hunter, so—”

     The undersecretary jumped like he’d been struck. “Wait,” he said, staring at Julius. “Your mage defeated Vann Jeger? Lord of the Black Narrows, spirit of the Geirangerfjord?” When Julius nodded, he added, “Your human mage?”

     Julius nodded again. Proudly, this time. “Marci’s definitely human, but she doesn’t belong to me. She’s my partner, and I couldn’t have done any of this without her.”

     Justin huffed at that comment, and Julius ignored him. He would have done so in any case, but right now he was busy watching the UN team exchange a series of significant looks he couldn’t decipher.

     “This Marci,” the general said at last. “Is she a young woman? Short black hair? Has bracelets covered in Thaumaturgical spellwork from the Socratic school?”

     “Yes,” Julius said, suddenly uneasy. “Have you met her?”

     “No,” Sir Myron said, a smile spreading over his face. “But we’d very much like to.” He pulled out his phone. “Do you know when exactly she killed Vann Jeger? Would it have been the night before Algonquin shot the Three Sisters? Say early evening, your time?”

     “Yes,” Julius said again, getting more suspicious by the second. “Why?”

     “It’s not every day someone kills a spirit of that size,” the mage replied, typing down a series of rapid notes. “I’m just impressed.”

     He finished with a pleasant smile, but Julius was more on guard than ever. He’d lived among dragons long enough to know a lie when he heard one, and he didn’t like the undersecretary’s sudden interest one bit. Unfortunately, he’d already offered Marci’s help. Revoking it now could poison his nascent peace deal, which Julius wasn’t willing to do. Especially since, other than lies just now, the humans from the UN had been absolutely truthful. Whatever else they were hiding, when it came to Algonquin at least, they were definitely on the same side. Also, no matter what suspicions he harbored, Julius was certain Marci would kill him if he ruined her chance to talk to a mage as obviously famous as Sir Myron Rollins.

     “Okay,” he said at last. “I have to talk to her first, but if she agrees, we’ll set up a time for you to meet.”

     “Fantastic,” General Jackson said, producing a card from her pocket. “Here’s my personal information. Any time day or night, we’re here.”

     Her eagerness only made Julius more certain there was something fishy going on, but before he could think of a way to probe further, the general turned to Katya. “And what about your clan?” she asked. “Will you help us against Algonquin?”

     “That depends,” Katya said coldly, looking her up and down. “Are you leading the task force?”

     The general nodded. “I am.”

     This made Katya scowl, but in the end, she shook her head. “Immortality is too long to hold grudges,” she said with a resigned sigh. “If you were good enough to take down my friend, you must be good for something. I only hope it’s enough to stand up to Algonquin.” She looked at Julius. “My clan has allied with his. I will speak to my clan head, but I have a feeling the White Witch will follow the Heartstriker’s lead. If their Council decides to throw in with you against Algonquin, we will most likely do the same.” Her smile turned bloodthirsty. “We have a score to settle with the Lady of the Lakes.”

     “We all do,” the general said with unexpected bitterness. When Katya raised her eyebrows, she explained. “I was born in Detroit.”

     That sounded like as good a reason as any to hate Algonquin. “Well,” Julius said. “Unless you’ve got anything else, I think we’re done here.”

     “I’m finished,” Katya said, smiling at him. “Thank you for letting me piggyback on your negotiations, Julius.”

     “Thank you for coming,” he said, completely earnest. Even when her anger had made things tense, having Katya in here with him had made the whole situation much less scary.

     “We’ll be on our way, then,” the general said, standing up. “Please be sure to tell your mage that we highly anticipate her call.”

     “I will,” Julius said, wishing he didn’t have to.

     The general smiled one more time and walked out. Sir Myron followed right on her heels, sliding his gloves back onto his hands as he went and muting the strange magic of his rings. Not that that made Julius feel better about it.

     “I don’t trust him,” he whispered to Katya as they watched the two humans walk down the hall.

     “Then I’d say your instincts are improving, Julius the Nice Dragon,” Katya replied. “I don’t trust him, either.” She wrinkled her nose. “He reeks of magic.”

     That was a perfectly normal thing for a mage to smell like, but Julius understood what she meant. Myron’s magic had smelled…odd. Not bad, exactly, but definitely stronger than Marci’s. He was adding that to his already massive list of things to ask her about when she woke up when Katya clapped him on the shoulder.

     “Be careful,” she whispered, dropping her voice to a level only he could hear. “They are not wrong about Algonquin, but humans only look out for themselves. Don’t trust them too far, especially not with your treasured mage.”

     Julius didn’t see how dragons were any different, but he took her point. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “But Marci’s not mine to order around.”

     “Then just don’t tell her,” Katya advised, checking her phone. “I have to go. Svena is awake and grumpy. Pregnancy doesn’t agree with her. Unfortunately, I have to go make her grumpier still. We were hoping the news from the DFZ would be better, but it seems we should be expecting Algonquin to act sooner rather than later.” She gave Julius a serious look. “You might want to get your clan in order before that happens.”

     “I’m trying,” Julius said with a frustrated sigh. “I’d have the vote today if I could, but I’m not going to push it until I’m sure we can do it right. We might only get one shot at this first Council. I mean to make it count.”

     “That’s what Ian keeps saying,” Katya said, rolling her eyes. “And speak of the devil.”

     The moment she finished, Julius smelled it, too, and he looked up to see Ian walking purposefully down the hall toward them.

     “That’s my cue to go,” Katya said with a grimace. “Having to deal with that smooth-talking snake while he’s visiting Svena is bad enough. I’m not doing it in my free time as well.” She turned around, giving him a final grin. “Good luck, my friend.”

     “Thank you,” Julius said, taking a deep breath before turning to see what his brother wanted. “Can I help you?”

     Before Ian could answer, Justin cut in. Literally.

     “What my brother meant to say was ‘Why are you here?’” he growled, stepping directly into the other dragon’s path.

     “Certainly not to have a monosyllabic conversation with you,” Ian replied curtly. “Move.”

     Justin sneered down at him, a feat that took Justin levels of freakish size and bravado given how tall Ian was as well. The two of them stayed like that for a good thirty seconds before Julius decided he’d better say something before the ballooning dragon one-upsmanship became lethal.

     “It’s okay, Justin,” he said, tugging on his brother’s arm. “Ian’s on our side again, remember?”

     “If by ‘our’ side you mean ‘his,’ then yeah,” Justin snapped.

     “My side is your side, fool,” Ian said coldly, giving the knight a final disgusted look before turning to Julius. “I’m calling in a favor.”

     Julius blinked in surprise. “What favor?”

     “Remember that lovely house I gave you for a song last month?” Ian asked sweetly. “The one that’s now going to have to be completely renovated due to the extensive damage my building manager says you did to the first floor?”

     “Of course I remember,” Julius said. “I lived there. But if this is about the repair bill, you should send it to Conrad. He’s the one who cut the front door open, and the rest of the wall with it.”

     Considering Conrad had been under Estella’s chains at the time, that wasn’t actually fair, but Ian was already moving on. “Actually, I’m selling the whole thing as is. It’ll be a write-off, but there’s not much point in owning property in the DFZ for us right now, is there? Whatever I decide to do with my property, though, it doesn’t change the fact that you still owe me for letting you use it in the first place, and I’m calling that in.”

     Justin shot Julius an I told you so look over his shoulder, but there was nothing to be done. Ian was right. Julius was in his debt, and he just waved for the dragon to get on with it.

     “It’s a very small boon,” Ian assured him. “I thought I’d let you off light as a gesture of goodwill since we’re going to be working together soon.”

     “David had said the same thing,” Julius said with a long sigh. “Just tell me what you want, Ian.”

     “Very well,” his brother said. “I want you to have breakfast with me. Right now.”

     “Breakfast?” Julius repeated, confused. “Sure, but not right now. I have to get back to—”

     “Julius,” Ian said testily. “It’s eight thirty in the morning. There is nothing you have to get back to that can’t wait another hour, and you smell hungry.” He smiled at Justin. “Your lug of a guard dragon can come, too. A mark of my generous nature.”

     Justin still looked surly, though he’d definitely perked up at the mention of food. To his shame, Julius had, too. He’d been a human for so long, he’d gotten used to eating like one. Now that his seal was off, though, he realized he was starving. Just the mention of food was enough to set his stomach rumbling, and from the look in his eyes, Ian had heard it.

     “Come,” the dragon said, gesturing down the hall. “One breakfast, and then we’re even.”

     “Just breakfast?” Julius asked. Because that sounded too good to be true.

     “I might have invited a few guests,” Ian admitted. “But I think you’ll like it.”

     Julius wasn’t sure about that, but given that this was payback for an entire house, breakfast seemed like a pretty small price. Also, Marci would probably be asleep for another hour at least, and if she did wake up before he was done, he’d just invite her up to join them.

     That last bit of logic decided it, and Julius motioned for Ian to lead the way as the three of them walked together toward the elevator.

     ***

     “Well,” Myron said as they stepped out of the mountain’s front entrance and into their waiting car. “That went well.”

     “Not as well as it could have,” Emily said as the soldier closed the armored door behind them. “You pushed too hard on the human. He suspects something.”

     “So what?” Myron said, stripping off his gloves before reaching into his pocket for one of his moleskin notebooks that had been meticulously filled with ink drawings of mazes. “Even if he is suspicious, I don’t think he’ll keep her from us. He seems very reasonable for a dragon. Certainly more so than his mother. Bethesda would make us crawl on principle. This one we can work with.”

     “Assuming he actually tells this Marci about us,” the general said, frowning through the tinted window at the towering mountain. “I don’t like it. He seems emotionally attached, which doesn’t bode well for the girl. Dragons—especially Heartstrikers—have a reputation for making humans do stupid things.”

     “Good thing we don’t actually need the girl, then,” Myron said, turning the page. “We just need the spirit. That’s the important bit. If the vessel proves difficult, we’ll simply offer the Mortal Spirit a better home.”

     Emily cocked an eyebrow. “By which I suppose you mean yourself?”

     “Why not?” Myron said. “I am the greatest living mage. I’m not sure what sort of Mortal Spirit we’re dealing with yet, but I’m positive I’d be a step up from some random dragon groupie. The first Merlin should be a mage who knows what he’s doing.”

     The general’s scowl deepened at the smug satisfaction in his voice, but she knew better than to wrestle the bear that was Sir Myron Rollins’s ego. To be fair, though, he was probably right. As official sorcerer to the queen of England and three-time winner of the Nobel Prize for Magic, he’d gotten his job as head of magical policy for the UN precisely because he was that good. Even Sir Myron’s greatest rivals would never claim that he hadn’t earned his positions through sheer, unstoppable, genius-level skill. It certainly wasn’t due to his winning personality.

     The same could be said for you, Raven whispered in her mind. Or did I imagine you calling the Secretary General an idiot last week?

     “Good thing we’re not talking about me, then,” she said, holding out her hand for the giant bird who popped out of nowhere to land on her fingers. “I need your help.”

     “Way ahead of you,” Raven replied, his beady eyes flashing. “But are you sure this is a path you want to pursue? Stealing from dragons is a dangerous business.”

     “Then we’ll just have to be clever thieves,” Emily replied, grabbing one of Myron’s cards from the stash in her pocket and jotting a quick message on the front. “Go do what you do best.”

     For a moment, she would have sworn Raven was grinning at her, and then the spirit took the card in his beak and disappeared, the shadow of his weight vanishing from her arm as the car began to pull away.

     Chapter 7

     When he’d lived in the mountain, Julius had avoided the main dining room at all costs. This had meant a lot of cold meals eaten at his desk, but congealed soup and melted ice cream were nothing compared to running the gauntlet through the one place in the mountain where you were guaranteed to see every dragon you were trying to avoid (which, in Julius’s case, meant pretty much his entire clan). Today, though, walking into the beautifully decorated, restaurant-style dining floor with both Justin and Ian at his side, the experience was entirely different.

     It was still terrifying, of course. No matter how much things changed, Julius didn’t think he would ever be able to walk into a room full of dragons without that initial shock of survival-instinct-induced panic. It also didn’t help that there were a lot of Heartstrikers having breakfast this morning. An astonishing number, actually, given how early it was. The kitchen staff wasn’t even done setting up the buffet line—the only way to effectively feed so many dragons—and yet every circular, white-clothed table in the place was packed full. Even stranger, most of the gathered Heartstrikers were ones Julius actually recognized.

     With the sad exception of Jessica, the entire J-clutch was sitting in front of him. Most of I was there, too, as was a good portion of H. There were even a few Gs sprinkled around the back tables, but the majority of the crowd was lower-alphabet Heartstrikers. It was a crowd, too. Not counting the F who was there to oversee the food service, there had to be forty dragons in the dining room when Ian opened the door. It was a scene straight out of Julius’s worst anxiety nightmares, and it only got worse when Ian slapped a hand on his shoulder, drawing everyone’s attention right to them.

     “Brothers and sisters,” Ian said loudly. “Thank you for joining us this morning.”

     Julius’s head snapped around to gape at his brother in horror. Us? he mouthed.

     “Welcome to politics,” Ian whispered back before turning to smile approvingly at the small army of dragons that was coming up to greet them.

     “Julius!” his brother Jordan said, grabbing Julius’s hand in a crushing handshake. “I always knew you were faking being a failure!”

     “Um, thank you?” Julius said.

     “He wasn’t being a failure,” his sister Jennifer cut in, elbowing Jordan out of the way. “He was biding his time and letting Mother make bad assumptions. A classic ploy.” She beamed at him. “I never doubted you were on your way to the top.”

     “You didn’t?” Julius said, too shocked to watch his words. “But you tried to banish me to another plane every morning for two years!”

     “And look how strong it made you,” she said proudly.

     “We’ve all made you strong,” his sister Jacqueline agreed, reaching over Jennifer’s shoulder to steal Julius’s hand for herself. “That’s why I burned off all your feathers when we were eight. I was training you to endure pain and humiliation, and no one’s had more humiliation than you! That’s how you were able to beat Bethesda when no other Heartstriker could.”

     His siblings all smiled and nodded as though this was the only logical explanation for the years of torment every dragon in the room had heaped on Julius’s head. Julius, on the other hand, felt like he’d just stepped into the Twilight Zone. “Wait,” he said, prying his hand away. “Every single one of you bullied, harassed, and otherwise made my life hell for our entire childhood, and you seriously want me to believe now that it was all on purpose?”

     “Of course it was on purpose,” his brother Jacob said, looking down his long nose. “I cursed your toilet thirty-seven times with thirty-seven different types of boils. That sort of attention to detail doesn’t happen by accident.”

     “And you were the smallest,” Jorinda agreed, pushing in front of her brother. “It was our duty to make your life as terrible as possible to make sure you were tough enough to overcome your natural setbacks, or have you forgotten that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?”

     “It was more than that,” Jacob argued, pushing back. “If we hadn’t worked so hard to beat you down, you wouldn’t have gotten so good at hiding, which means Mother never would have kicked you out, and this whole coup could never have happened.” He smiled a sharp white grin. “It wouldn’t be a stretch to say we made you the important, powerful dragon you are today.”

     The whole group nodded as if that was acceptable logic, leaving Julius gaping. In hindsight, he supposed he should have expected it. This was the most extreme example he’d ever witnessed personally, but this sort of reality twisting was actually pretty par for the course for his clutch. He might have been at the bottom of J, but every J was at the bottom of Heartstriker. If claiming credit for his current position gave them legitimacy within the clan, they would dog-pile on Julius until he was crushed beneath the weight of their newfound self-importance.

     But while part of him was insulted beyond words that any of them had thought he could just forgive and forget the dragons who’d made his childhood hell, a surprisingly larger part of him already had. He was still angry about what they’d done, and probably always would be, but it was done. All of those childhood tortures were in the past, and Julius was a very different dragon than the one their mother had kicked out of the mountain. At this point, he was just glad his siblings were conniving to support him instead of thinking up new ways to make him miserable.

     But while they clearly expected him to fall on the ground in gratitude for their newfound support, Julius drew the line at actually thanking them. It didn’t matter how they tried to spin it, he would never say thank you for those years of abuse. Fortunately for everyone, Ian came to the rescue, grabbing Julius out of the circle of Js and leading him to the empty table at the front of the room, the only free seats in the house.

     “Thank you all for accepting my invitation,” he said loudly as the Js who’d rushed Julius hurried back to their seats. “We’re all very proud of what Julius has accomplished. He alone, of all Heartstrikers, was able to overthrow Bethesda. Now it’s our turn to build on his successes and secure our power for the centuries to come.”

     He paused there, waiting, but he didn’t have to. The moment he’d said power, every dragon in the room had stopped talking and started listening with the intensity of a hunter stalking prey. Even the Hs in the back were watching Ian like he was the most important thing in the room, and from the light in his new dark eyes, he loved it.

     “This is our chance,” he said solemnly, his smooth voice rich with anticipation. “From the moment we were born, we lower clutches have been at the bottom of the clan, subject to the whims of dragons whose only claim to greatness was the luck of being born before us. All our lives, we’ve been told that the only path to power was through dragons far greater than ourselves, and even then, even when we won, our prize was a slightly better form of servitude to Bethesda.”

     The room began to growl. Not loudly, but the frustration and suppressed anger of so many dragons was still a terrifying sound, and Ian nodded. “I know,” he said. “I was angry, too. We are dragons. We were born to take power, and yet we were expected to wait. To bide our time and toe the family line until we found our opportunity to punch up at the dragons above us. Dragons who were given their power purely by rank of birth. For far too long, the power of our clan—the greatest dragon clan in the world—has been determined by age, size, and our ability to flatter Bethesda’s ego. Now, thanks to our brother, that’s all changed.”

     He grabbed Julius’s shoulder, his fingers digging in like claws. “There are some idiots who say Julius’s Council is not draconic. That a fair contest between dragons is somehow contrary to our nature and our pride. But we know better. We know that the measure of a dragon’s worth is not his fire nor his size nor any other power that comes with merely surviving to a ripe old age. Any fool can hide in a cave for a few centuries and grow big, but it takes a real dragon, an audacious dragon, to rise to power with only what’s up here.” He tapped his free hand against the side of his head. “Intelligence, cunning, the ability to plot—these are the traits that make us powerful, and they have nothing to do with age.”

     All around the room, heads were nodding, and Ian moved in for the kill. “Conquest is no longer done on the wing. The time of fire is over. Today, the truly powerful dragons are the ones who understand how to use and manipulate human systems. How to cultivate the money, power, and connections that make this modern world turn. Under the old system, these traits were secondary to a letter at the start of our names, but”—he grinned down at Julius—“by creating a Council that’s decided by vote, our brother has finally cut us a path to the top. We don’t need age, we don’t need fire, we don’t need to fight and kill and claw for power like animals. All we need is what we younger dragons have always had in excess: our cunning and the audacity to use it. For years, we’ve allowed Bethesda to turn that power against us, playing us off each other so we’d never become powerful enough to turn against her. Now, though, that’s changed. Now, without spilling a drop of blood, we can finally take control of our clan.”

     A few of the Js began to clap, but Ian wasn’t finished. “This is our chance!” he said again, louder this time. “In one fell swoop, Julius has cast away years of favoritism to create an even playing field. If we use our heads and work together instead of allowing Bethesda to turn us against each other, we can take what should always have been ours. Power. Power to rule, power to undo years of mismanagement where the greatest assets of our clan—us, the younger dragons with the modern understanding required to thrive in a modern world—were ignored. That is the opening Julius has given us, and I intend to leverage it to the fullest extent.”

     By the time he finished, the whole room was buzzing. Julius, however, was in a state of shock, because Ian was saying exactly what he’d said when he’d first pitched the Council to Bob and the others. True, it sounded like Ian had run Julius’s ideas through an evil overlord filter what with the new focus on power and taking, but at its heart, his message was the same one Julius had been pushing all along: a peaceful transition of power, the end of might-makes-right-rule, and a chance for all Heartstrikers to have a say in the leadership of their own clan. That was what he’d been fighting for this whole time, and after so long feeling like he was talking to himself, hearing those same ideas coming out of Ian’s mouth was nothing short of extraordinary, though not nearly as extraordinary as seeing an entire room of dragons agreeing with them.

     Well, almost an entire room.

     “Isn’t this a little premature?” one of the Hs from the table by the far windows asked, eyeing Ian skeptically over the rim of his mimosa. “You burned a lot of favors to fill this room, Ian, but even if we all decided to throw our lots in with yours, you still wouldn’t have enough votes to beat David.”

     “But I will,” Ian said firmly. “David’s a career politician. But while he can sound like a good candidate, we all know the first thing he’ll do if he gets on the Council is work with Bethesda to dissolve it.”

     “But he can’t.”

     It wasn’t until Ian’s head snapped toward him that Julius realized he’d spoken aloud. “Um,” he said, face turning red. “That is, the Council can’t be dissolved. We all signed a contract that binds us to the new system where the Council is the clan head. It can’t be reverted.”

     “True,” Ian agreed. “But I’ve read that same contract five times now, and it clearly gives Bethesda’s power in total to the Council. This means the Council’s votes carry the same magical weight as a clan head’s edicts, but if it’s a two-to-one vote, what’s to stop David and Mother from ganging up on you and simply voting things back to the way they were?”

     Julius opened his mouth only to close it again. “Nothing,” he admitted at last. “There’s nothing.”

     “Precisely,” Ian said, turning back to the crowd. “Why would a dragon like David, who’s already a D and a favorite of Bethesda, fight so hard for power he’ll just have to give up when the next election happens in five years? He has no motivation, no reason to keep this road open for anyone other than himself, because he already has what he wants. I bet he and Bethesda have already conspired to give him Amelia’s old position as heir in return for his help in reverting the clan back to her.”

     There was absolutely no proof of that, but Julius found it too easy to believe.

     “What’s to keep you from doing the same?” another dragon yelled. “How do we know you’re not working with Bethesda?”

     “Because she would never have me,” Ian said plainly. “I’m like you, one of the lower alphabet. Bethesda was happy to use me because I was effective, but she would never welcome me to the top. That, I had to fight for, and that’s what I’m doing now. Fighting.” He clenched his fists. “This Council is the best thing that’s ever happened to dragons like us. Julius is on our side, but if Bethesda gets one of her cronies into the final seat, he’ll be outvoted. But if we can get one of our own into this critical first Council, Julius and I can work together to make new laws that will bind Bethesda’s hands, making sure she can never block our road to power again.”

     That raised another cheer from the Js, but the older dragons in the back still didn’t look convinced.

     “Maybe it would be for the better if things went back,” one of them, a tired-looking female, said. “I don’t like serving Bethesda any more than you do, but at least things worked under her. All we’ve had since this voting nonsense began is chaos. Do you know how much money just being here has cost me already?”

     “Change costs money,” Ian snapped. “Deal with it.”

     “I wasn’t talking to you,” she snapped back, pointing at Julius. “I was talking to him.” She glowered at her youngest brother. “This is all your fault. I only came because Ian said you’d be here, so spit it out. What are you going to do for us?”

     Julius’s heart began to pound. He looked to Ian for help, but his brother just dragged him to his feet, turning him so he was facing the crowd. It was less than half the size of the mob he’d faced in the throne room yesterday, but Ian’s group was somehow even more terrifying, probably because Julius actually knew most of the dragons here as ones who’d tormented him in the past. Now, though, they were just staring at him, waiting to be impressed. He was still trying to get over the anxiety of that when Julius suddenly realized what it meant.

     “I don’t know if what Ian said about David dissolving the Council is true,” he got out at last. “But if it is, I’ll do everything I can to stop him. Not because the Council was my idea, but because just trying to have one has already changed our clan for the better. Just look at us.” He waved his arms over the crowd. “When was the last time we were all together in one room without Mother forcing us to be there? When was the last time we got together and had a discussion without trying to kill each other? I can tell you: never. This has never happened before, and the fact it’s happening now is proof that the Council is a good thing for all of us. Yes, it’s disruptive, but so were Bethesda’s plots, and unlike those, my Council doesn’t cost lives.” He looked straight at the H who’d challenged. “How many of your siblings has Mother killed over the years trying to build her power?”

     Her silence was answer enough, and Julius moved on. “We’ve all lost siblings to Bethesda’s selfish ambitions, and the only reason we’ve never spoken out about it is because we were all afraid we’d be next. So we kept our heads down and focused on our own schemes, usually against each other. But that’s not a clan, is it? You say ‘at least things worked under Bethesda,’ but they didn’t. We were never moving forward or getting better. We were just wiggling under her boot. The only reason we functioned at all is because Mother kept us too afraid to do anything else. But that’s not how it has to be anymore.”

     He looked back to the H. “You asked what I’m going to do for you. How about not being terrified of your own family anymore? How about actually knowing the rules instead of just trying to guess what Bethesda’s decided is a killing offense today? That’s what I’m after, and the fact that we’re all in here talking about it instead of cowering in our respective corners, waiting for Bethesda to use us against each other, is a pretty clear sign that it’s already working.” He pointed at Ian. “I’m not here to support Ian. I’m here to support the process. Vote for whomever you want. Just remember that the reason you have that power is because we—Justin and I and Marci and Chelsie and Bob and everyone else—fought to make this Council happen. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to change things for the better, and I’m really happy that Ian is fighting for it, too.”

     He sat down when he finished, chest heaving as he braced for backlash. That was a lot more than a small dragon like him was wise to say to a crowd of larger ones, especially without the Quetzalcoatl’s power to back him up. Way he saw it, being booed out of the room was the best he could hope for, but to his amazement, that didn’t happen. The H just nodded like her question had been answered, smiling at him a little from her seat in the back. Several of the dragons were smiling now. Particularly Ian, who was grinning down at his youngest brother like a cat in a canary preserve, despite Julius specifically not endorsing him.

     “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he said, getting his smile under control before turning back to the crowd. “I burned every favor I had outstanding to gather you all today. I did this not because I was desperate, but because I believe that if you’re not using everything you have to win, you don’t really want it. And I want this. I want Heartstriker to change, and if your name starts with anything lower than a D, you do too. Bethesda will only fall once. This is our chance, our only chance, to turn that to our advantage. So if you don’t want to see all of this potential go to waste—if you don’t want to spend the next thousand years under David and Bethesda’s thumbs—you know what to do. Go out and tell the others what Julius and I have said. Call in favors, get them on our side, get us the majority we need before the vote tomorrow, or I won’t be the one who loses. It’ll be all of us, and it’ll be for good.”

     The room was silent by the time he finished. Then, like some secret signal had been given, all the non-J dragons got up and left. They didn’t say anything, didn’t look at Ian or Julius. They just walked out, breaking into threes and pairs as they filed down the hall toward the elevators.

     “Oh boy,” Julius said with a ragged breath. “That didn’t go well.”

     “What are you talking about?” Ian said, sitting back down with a grin. “That went amazingly.”

     Julius looked at him like he was crazy. “They walked out.”

     “Yes,” Ian said. “Without saying no or laughing in our faces or demanding we pay for their assistance. They just left, which is as close to an unequivocal yes as dragons get.”

     “You seem pretty confident for someone who’s still losing,” Justin said. “You need half the clan plus one to beat David, and J, I, and a handful of Hs isn’t half.”

     “But it’s more than I had yesterday,” Ian said proudly. “It’s only going to grow, too, because I’m not asking them to vote for me. I’m asking them to vote for preserving their own shot at power, and that’s something everyone in the clan can get behind. Wait and see. They’ll come. By tomorrow, I should have the numbers I need.” He smiled at Julius. “You just have to make sure you stay alive that long. And speaking of, I’ve heard you’ve had some trouble in that department.”

     “Not really,” Justin said cockily. “Few curses, couple of explosives, nothing I can’t handle.”

     Ian looked thoroughly unconvinced of that. “Just make sure you keep your hand on that ace at your side,” he said, glancing pointedly at Julius’s sheathed Fang. “If you die, we’ll have to do this all over again.”

     “Fate worse than death,” Julius agreed tiredly. “But what I don’t understand is why everyone’s trying to assassinate me. The contest is between you and David. With the way the Council’s set up right now, if I die, my seat will just go to another Fang, and they don’t even want it.”

     “That’s actually part of the problem,” Ian said, taking a sip of the coffee a servant hurried to place in front of him. “As you just proved with that stirring speech, you’re the spearhead of this movement. If you go down, the dream of a Council goes down with you. It doesn’t hurt that you’re also the easiest target by far. You might have a sword that stops all attacks, but I’m the White Witch’s consort.”

     Justin snorted. “You really think Svena’s going to start a war over the loss of her boy toy?”

     Julius winced at his brother’s word choice, but Ian didn’t look insulted in the least. “Absolutely,” he said without missing a beat. “Have you ever met a dragoness who tolerates others breaking her toys?” He chuckled. “Trust me, I’m the best-protected dragon in this mountain. But you’re looking at this all wrong, Julius. Assassination attempts aren’t a threat. They’re a compliment. They’re the final strike, the last desperate move when every other plot has failed.” Ian winked at him. “When they try to kill you, that’s when you know you’re winning.”

     Julius had never considered that angle of attempted murder. It didn’t make him feel better about the chance of finding more plastic explosives hidden under his seat, but it was nice to be able to see the attempts on his life as something other than dragons simply hating him.

     “Well, I don’t care how desperate they are,” Justin said around a huge mouthful of the T-bone steak and eggs the servants set in front of him next. “Julius is under my protection. Anyone stupid enough to try and kill him knowing that deserves to lose their head, since they’re clearly not using it.”

     “Actually, I wouldn’t let you,” Julius said as the waiter came over with his own breakfast plate. “The entire point of a democracy is that power can change and no one has to die. I don’t care if they’re trying to kill me, I just want this revolution to stay bloodless.”

     “That will take a miracle,” Ian said. “Bloodless isn’t something dragons do well.”

     “But we will,” Julius said firmly. “We’re not animals.”

     Neither of his brothers seemed to buy that, but Julius actually felt a lot better. In fact, this whole breakfast had been a revelation simply because it had happened. For the first time ever, he’d watched a room full of ruthless dragons who didn’t agree work something out on their own—without resorting to threats, trying to trap each other in debts, or backstabbing each other into the floor. Granted, that was a low bar by human standards, but for Bethesda’s children, it was progress. Enormous progress, and Julius had never felt prouder. Even if it all came to nothing in the end, right now, right here, in this room, he’d watched a little piece of his clan change for the better, and it felt like the victory of a lifetime.

     That plus the giant plate of food in front of him was enough to put Julius in the best mood he’d been in since this whole thing started. He fell on his breakfast with gusto, pausing only to ask the staff to set aside a box for Marci to make sure there’d be food left when she finally woke up. Once he’d made sure she’d be taken care of, he asked for a second plate for himself. When it came, he ate that, too, his eyes closing in pleasure as he devoured his first properly dragon-sized meal in months.

     And outside in the hall, satisfied that the young idiot would be tied up for another hour at least, Gregory Heartstriker shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled toward the elevators to begin his hunt.

     ***

     Meanwhile, multiple dozens of floors down in the roots of the mountain itself, Marci woke up feeling like death.

     Technically, she knew that description was inaccurate. She’d felt death plenty of times since she’d bound Ghost, and it was much colder than this. It also involved way less nausea, an observation that led Marci to her final, inevitable conclusion.

     Being hungover was worse than death.

     “Never again,” she groaned, pressing her clammy hands against her face in a futile effort to make the room stop spinning. “Never drinking again.”

     I told you to stop, Ghost reminded her, his disapproving voice echoing far too loudly inside her aching head. What made you think you could keep up with a dragon?

     “The first three shots,” she replied grimly, rolling over to bury her head into…she wasn’t sure, actually.

     Marci cracked her eyes open with a grimace, forcing herself to focus on the unknown surroundings. This didn’t actually tell her much since the room was very small with no identifying characteristics, but it looked like she was lying on a beaten-up couch in someone’s underground library. Probably still inside Heartstriker Mountain, given the ubiquitous reddish-brown stone. Whose library and where in the mountain, though, she had no idea. Her memories of last night were hazy after the fifth shot and gone completely to pieces by the tenth. In fact, the only thing she could remember from last night other than Amelia pushing shots into her hands was Julius taking her to his room.

     That sent her right back down to the couch. Of all the vital, important things she’d lost from last night, like where she was or who’d brought her here, her drunken brain couldn’t do her the courtesy of also forgetting the most embarrassing moment of her life. No, she just had to remember every second of her failed seduction in perfect freaking detail. Including certain comments to Julius about dragon riding.

     “Please,” she whispered into the cushions. “Please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.”

     Oh, you said it, Ghost assured her. It was very amusing.

     “You’re not supposed to take pleasure in my suffering,” Marci grumbled, sinking deeper into the couch. Really, though, she couldn’t blame him for laughing. From what little she remembered of last night, Marci was sure she’d been hilarious. What other word was there for a drunken girl making a five-star idiot out of herself over a dragon? God, she was no better than the human groupies in the lounge. Worse, actually. At least the stuck-up beautiful people had managed to successfully seduce their dragons.

     That thought nearly crushed her to the floor, but even in the wallow of her self-pity, Marci knew she was being ridiculous. She might not remember much from last night, but she was reasonably certain that Julius had turned down her advances because she was drunk and he was being a decent human being. Well, dragon being, but the point still stood. She couldn’t even be too angry at her drunken self for being so forward. She’d had a crush on Julius since forever, and while he’d always been super handsome in that way-out-of-your-league-adorable-boy-next-door sort of way, with the feathers and the armor and the sword, he’d looked like a dragon. A big, handsome, dangerous, powerful dragon.

     For a girl who’d always had a thing for that, the result was a knockout combo. Given how amazing even her hazy memories of him were, Marci was reasonably sure she still would have gone for it sober. She certainly would have done a better job. In fact, if her memories of how he’d kissed her back were right, it wasn’t a stretch to say she’d probably be sleeping next to him right now if things had been different, but nooooooooooooooo. Instead of moderating herself like a sensible freaking person, she’d gotten sloshed like a college freshman at her first party and ended up dragonless and alone on an unknown couch.

     “Good job, Marci,” she muttered, rubbing her aching temples. “Way to show these dragons you’re a contender.”

     At this point, the only positive thing she could say for last night was that Amelia’s flame was still safe and sound. Even through the blanket of her hangover, she could feel it flickering in the hearth of her chest. The constant motion didn’t help her nausea, but it was comforting all the same because it meant there was at least one thing that had gone right yesterday. When she tried to pull a little magic out of it for an anti-hangover spell, though, her mental grasp found nothing. The fire was burning merrily, but the magic flowing from it—which should have been enough to fill her internal magic reserves to bursting after eight hours of inactivity—was suspiciously missing, and given how cold and lively the spirit sitting on her back was, Marci had a good idea why.

     “Ghost…” she said warningly, rolling over to glare at the transparent cat, who was now sitting on her stomach. “Did you eat Amelia’s magic while I was asleep?”

     Not all of it, he said innocently. I didn’t touch the fire itself. Just the power it put out. He licked his chops. It was delicious.

     Marci gaped at him. “Seriously?!”

     What? The cat turned up his transparent nose. I was hungry. The magic here is too thin to support me, and it’s not like you were using it.

     “That doesn’t mean you can just eat it without telling me like a…a cat stealing food off the counter!” Marci cried. “We’re supposed to be a balanced pair, remember?” And now that she was paying attention, she could already feel their equilibrium going out of whack. Ghost had been dim and sleepy yesterday, but now he was fully awake and glowing with power. Given how thin the ambient magic was here, he must have been gorging off Amelia’s fire all night to get that charged up. There didn’t seem to be any permanent damage—Amelia’s actual fire felt okay so far as Marci could tell—and Ghost did look much better, but even so, this was not a behavior she wanted to encourage.

     “Do not do this again,” she said sternly, sitting up. “Amelia gave me her fire for safekeeping, not for you to snack on. If you need power, tell me and I’ll happily get it for you, but you are not to eat magic behind my back again.”

     I don’t see why you’re so upset. I was hungry and there was extra magic. It’s not like you were feeding me. He lashed his tail angrily. You were too busy with dragons.

     “It’s the principle of the thing,” Marci said, and given the delicate balance of power between them, it was one she was very serious about. She trusted Ghost to a point, but she’d also seen what happened when he got the upper hand. That was not a fight she wanted to have again, but while she was not about to budge on this, she also couldn’t deny that her spirit had a point.

     “I’m sorry I got drunk and left you hungry,” she said, reaching out to pet his freezing fur. “That was wrong of me, and I won’t do it again. But this is serious, Ghost. I meant what I said about being your partner and supporting you, but that goes both ways. If this is going to work, you have to trust me, too, which means no sneaking magic behind my back. If you need more power, just tell me. I’ll take care of you, I swear it, but don’t do this again, okay?”

     The spirit flattened his ears. For a long moment, Marci didn’t think he was going to answer at all, and then she felt him sigh in her mind. Agreed, he said at last, looking at her with his glowing eyes. I am placing a great deal of trust in you, Marci Novalli. More than our bond requires. Don’t make me regret it.

     “Right back at’cha,” she said with a grin. “Who’s letting who live in her body again?”

     That was your idea, the spirit said, flicking his ears as he turned toward the doorway. Someone’s coming.

     “Is it Julius?” she said hopefully.

     No, Ghost said, his furry brows furrowed in a look that would have been confusion on a human. It’s a bird.

     That should have made no sense, but one thing Marci did remember about yesterday was the giant bird she’d seen watching her from the bar after Amelia had picked them up. Sure enough, when she stood up to see what Ghost was talking about, an enormous, black bird was waiting for her in the tiny hall, twisting its head back and forth to look at her with each of its beady eyes as its beak opened in delight.

     “Foooooound you.”

     The words came out in a hoarse croak, and Marci began to sweat. A giant bird was one thing. Since the return of magic sixty years ago, mutations of common animals into magical varieties were everywhere, not just in the DFZ. But a giant talking bird? That was another matter altogether.

     Spirit, Ghost agreed, his ears going flat against his head as he jumped up onto her shoulder. Be cautious.

     He didn’t have to warn her twice. Marci had already sent what magic she had down to her bracelets. Since Ghost had eaten everything already, it wasn’t much, but it was still enough to make the slightly warped plastic loops glow menacingly as she raised her arm and pointed it like a gun at the spirit in the doorway. “Who are you?”

     “Who am I?” the bird squawked, clearly offended as it hopped through the door to perch on the low trunk-turned-coffee-table in front of her. “That’s a silly question to ask a spirit.” It spread its wings. “Can’t you guess?”

     Marci bit her lip. Not including Ghost, who, as a Mortal Spirit, seemed to do his own thing, spirits were usually physically representative of their domain. Since she was dealing with a giant bird, it was clearly an animal spirit of some sort. A big one, too, given its obvious intelligence. Unfortunately, not being a shaman and thus never formally studying spirits, Marci couldn’t tell much more than that. She wasn’t even sure if the giant bird was a crow, a raven, or some other variety of big black bird, and she didn’t want to offend the spirit by guessing wrong. She was going to have to pick something, though, so in the end, Marci just went with what felt most impressive to her.

     “Raven?”

     The bird hunched its wings sulkily. “Lucky guess.”

     “I’m a Thaumaturge, not an ornithologist,” she said defensively. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you work for Algonquin?”

     The raven began to squawk in a way that sounded very much like laughter. “I should hope not! What kind of spy comes in and introduces himself to the enemy? Algonquin’s got some real idiots in her fan club, but no one’s that dumb.”

     “Well, if you’re not here to spy for Algonquin, what are you doing here?” Marci asked, lowering her admittedly useless bracelets.

     “What do you think?” Raven asked. “I’m Raven. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

     Marci was about to shake her head when she suddenly remembered a high school reading assignment on Native American myths. She wasn’t sure if it was right, but at this point, a little flattery couldn’t hurt.

     “Wait,” she said slowly, giving the bird her best smile. “Are you saying you’re the Raven? As in the trickster god?”

     “Now you’re getting the hang of this,” the spirit said happily. “I knew you’d catch on eventually. Even after a thousand years of sleep, legends like myself live on.” He winked a black eye at her. “We’re the closest you mortals get to true eternity.”

     Gag.

     Marci shushed Ghost in her head, keeping her smile plastered as she wracked her poor, hungover brain to figure out what she was going to do. But while Ghost’s commentary had been meant for her, Raven looked up sharply, as if the spirit had spoken out loud.

     “I see you have a cat,” he said, hopping up onto the arm of the couch, causing Ghost to hiss. “How fascinating. I have a friend who loves cats. He’s human, too. Maybe you know him?”

     “I doubt that,” Marci said, scooping Ghost into her arms before he could take a swipe at the bird. “We’re all mortals, but that doesn’t mean we all know each—”

     “His name is Myron Rollins.”

     Her mouth went dry. “Sir Myron Rollins?”

     “See?” Raven said with a sly look. “You do know him.”

     “Who doesn’t?” Marci cried. “He’s one of the most famous mages in the world!”

     That was a critical understatement. Sir Myron Rollins was more than famous, he was a legend. One of the first-generation mages, he’d made his own school of magic based around labyrinths. It was one of the most powerful and versatile forms of casting ever invented, at least in modern times, but it was so complicated that only Sir Myron himself had ever mastered it. Marci had given it a try herself in college, but after years of relying on the absolute certainty of Thaumaturgical equations, she hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of the delicate, subtle art that was Labyrinth Casting. She’d still read all his books, though. The man was a true genius of magic, one of the treasures of the age. And apparently buddies with Raven, who was basically a god.

     She was struggling to find a way to phrase all of that that wouldn’t sound like fan-girl gushing when Raven leaned forward, his black eyes gleaming slyly. “Would you like to meet him?”

     The frantic yes! almost burst out before Marci could stop it. But while, under normal circumstances, she would have given her right arm to meet a mage like Sir Myron, this was all moving way too fast, and Marci had been through enough seer plots now to have a deep mistrust of anything that fell together too easily. “That depends,” she said, clamping down on her excitement. “Does he want to meet me?”

     “Spoken like a true dragon’s human,” Raven said. “But why are you worried? I’d think a mage with a Mortal Spirit would have little reason to be afraid of anything.”

     The constant shocks of this conversation were threatening to give her whiplash. “You know what he is?”

     “Of course I know,” Raven said. “I know everything, and my humans do as well. I’ve been feeding them all the information Algonquin doesn’t want people knowing for decades now. I can share it with you, too, if you want.”

     Now things were getting really suspicious. “That’s quite an offer,” she said, keeping a firm grip on Ghost. “But, not to be rude, how can I trust you? I don’t know what Sir Myron has to do with any of this, but if you really are the Raven from the stories, then you’re a trickster and a troublemaker. Why should I believe anything you say?”

     The bird laughed again, but it wasn’t a caw this time. It was a warm, large, deep sound, and suddenly, Marci had the all-too-familiar sensation that she’d just poked a much bigger monster than she’d realized.

     “You’re not wrong,” the spirit said at last. “When you’re as clever as I am, immortality gets a bit dull. Confounding humans has been my primary source of entertainment since you lot started walking upright. But believe it or not, that’s exactly why you can trust me. Unlike other spirits, I am very fond of you charming little magical apes. Almost as fond as I am of making sure Algonquin’s plans don’t go according to script. She and I have never seen eye to eye on anything. Now that she’s put herself on the warpath in every way, my only logical choice is to align myself with the other side.”

     Marci frowned in confusion. “You mean the dragons? But—”

     “Dragons aren’t even part of the equation,” Raven scoffed. “They’ve only been in this world for what? Ten thousand years? That makes them the new kids on the block by our reckoning. No one but Algonquin even cares what they do. Honestly, I can’t even comprehend why she’s so obsessed. Yet another thing we don’t agree on.” He shrugged his wings. “So no, not dragons. I’m talking about the other power in this world, the one that was always meant to balance spirits.” He looked at her. “You.”

     Marci arched an eyebrow. “Me?”

     “Well, not you specifically,” Raven clarified. “I meant humanity. We spirits are the magic, but you’re the ones who push magic around. That’s a far more complicated relationship than anything dragons can lay claim to, and it’s why I’ve braved the serpent’s den to find and free the two of you.”

     “Oh no,” Marci said. “We’re not prisoners.”

     The bird gave her a funny look. “Really? So the multiple wards and vault doors I saw on my way in are just for decoration?”

     That was all news to her, but Marci wasn’t about to admit to Raven that she’d just woken up from being passed out drunk and didn’t actually know where she was. “They’re for my safety,” she bluffed instead. “Heartstriker Mountain isn’t exactly a friendly place for people like me. But I’m not a prisoner. I’m here because I want to be.”

     “So you could leave at any time, then?” Raven said, ducking his beak under his wing. “That’s splendid! I have your invitation right here.”

     He pulled out a white card and held it out in his beak. Marci took it gingerly, eyes going wide. Sure enough, it was Sir Myron Rollins’s—as in sorcerer to the queen, chair of Tectonic Magic for Cambridge University, Master of Labyrinths, and undersecretary of magic to the UN—personal card with his personal number and a personal, handwritten note inviting her to brunch at some place called the Dragon Diner in Heartstriker, New Mexico at eleven thirty.

     “Wow,” she said at last. “You weren’t kidding.”

     “I never play tricks with something this serious,” Raven replied somberly. “And I knew from the moment I saw your spirit that the two of you are as serious as it gets.”

     By this point, no amount of telling herself to keep cool could slow Marci’s racing heart. “What does that mean?”

     The bird’s black eyes flashed as he pointed his beak at the card in her hand. “I’ll explain when you get there. A secret’s no good if you spill it all at once.”

     “Oh, come on!” Marci cried. “Really?”

     “Of course,” Raven said, preening. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? It wouldn’t be me if there wasn’t a catch. But, assuming you’re really not a prisoner and can actually get out of the mountain, I think you’ll find the effort worth your time.” He winked at her. “Merlin.”

     Marci’s breath caught. Amelia had used that word, too. Before she could ask for more, though, the spirit vanished, leaving only the card to prove he’d existed at all.

     “Great,” Marci grumbled, clutching the card in her hand. “He’s worse than you.”

     Don’t compare us, the cat said, insulted. I tell you everything I know. He knows everything and stays deliberately vague to bait you.

     “True enough,” she agreed. “Unfortunately, knowing there’s a hook inside doesn’t make the bait any less tempting.”

     Then take it, Ghost suggested. What do you have to fear? You’re a better mage than he is, and you have me.

     “I am not a better mage than Sir Myron Rollins,” Marci said firmly. “He’s one of the best in the world, maybe the best. There’s a reason he’s got, like, thirty jobs other mages would consider the pinnacle of their careers. Everyone wants him. He’s that good.”

     Not as good as you, Ghost said stubbornly.

     “Aww, you’re sweet,” Marci said, petting him. “Wrong, but sweet.”

     Not wrong, he argued. Let’s just go see what he wants. Even if it all turns out to be a waste of time, at least we’ll have proven we’re not prisoners. His blue eyes roved over the tiny hallway. This place feels too much like a cage.

     She couldn’t argue with him on that one. “I wonder where Julius is,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Or where we are, for that matter.” She glanced at Ghost. “You were up eating magic all night. Do you know?”

     No, the cat said, looking away like the entire subject bored him. He’s probably off making plots with his millions of siblings.

     That didn’t sound like Julius to her. He never went anywhere without telling her where he’d be, which was as overly cautious as it was cute. When she pulled up the fancy AR system on the new phone Julius had gotten her, though, she didn’t see anything that hadn’t been sent last night, and while reading his profuse apologies for standing her up made Marci grin, they weren’t actually useful right now.

     “I’m just going to call him,” she said, hitting his picture on the new phone’s sleek contacts list. “Maybe he knows what this Raven business is all abou—”

     She cut off abruptly when the call picked up on the first ring, and a voice that was obviously draconic—but definitely not Julius’s—said, “Julius Heartstriker.”

     “W-Who are you?” Marci stuttered, shocked. And then she got mad. “Where’s Julius?”

     “You must be the human,” the dragon said in a calm voice that somehow managed to be both polite and insufferably condescending. “I’m afraid the Great Julius is currently occupied with matters of vital strategic importance to the Heartstriker clan. But I’ll inform him that you called.”

     “You can inform me who you are,” Marci snapped back. “What did you do, steal his phone?”

     There was a long sigh, and then the dragon said, “I am Fredrick, the Great Julius’s assistant.”

     Marci blinked. Her first instinct was that the dragon was lying, but she dismissed the idea as quickly as it came, mostly because she couldn’t imagine a dragon who would lie about being an assistant. That said, F was pretty high in the Heartstriker alphabet of power. Assuming he was also telling the truth about his name, she couldn’t understand what a dragon like him was doing picking up Julius’s calls. Then again, though, Julius was on the Council now. Given how big and rich Heartstriker was, that probably made him equivalent to a senator or a CEO, which was kind of cool. And kind of annoying, especially if it meant she was going to have to go through this nonsense every time she wanted to talk to her dragon.

     “Okay, I get it, you’re his secretary,” she said. “But can I just talk to him anyway? It’ll only take a moment.”

     “He does not have a moment,” Fredrick said haughtily. “As I already told you, he is very busy with extremely important matters. His new position requires a great deal of attention.”

     “So I’ve been learning,” Marci grumbled. At this point, she was starting to wonder if she’d ever see Julius again. “When will he have a moment?”

     “I do not know,” Fredrick said. “But as I said, I will inform him you called, Miss Novalli.” He paused after that, and then, like it had just occurred to him, he asked, “Is this an emergency?”

     She rolled her eyes. “Would you have acted differently if it was?”

     Fredrick’s reply was an icy silence, and Marci sighed. “No emergency,” she said, looking down at Myron’s card. “Just tell him I’m having lunch with a friend and to call me whenever he can.”

     The dragon didn’t make a sound to let her know he’d gotten that. He just cut the call, leaving Marci clutching her phone with shaking hands.

     Dragons, Ghost said in disgust. The more I see of them, the less I like them.

     “They’re not all bad,” she said, shoving her phone back into her pocket. “Most of them, sure, but some are okay. Well, Julius and Amelia, but two makes some.”

     Let’s just go, Ghost said, hopping down to the ground. The sun is already above the horizon. We’ll be late if we wait.

     “I can’t go like this,” Marci said, looking down at the plain, cheap T-shirt and cloth pants the infirmary had given her to replace the shredded and bloodstained clothes she’d come in with. The drab outfit might have been passable if she hadn’t also reeked of alcohol from her wild night of drinking, but she wouldn’t go outside right now looking like this, much less to a meeting with the world’s greatest mage. She was wondering what in the world she was going to do about it when she remembered the emergency change of clothes she kept in her bag…right before she realized she had no idea where her bag was.

     For a heart-stopping second, that set off a panic. Her bag had her wallet, all her casting materials, her Kosmolabe, everything important in her life. She was just starting to freak out in earnest when she spotted a familiar, bulging shape sticking out from behind the edge of the couch. Sure enough, when she reached over, her grasping hands found the handle of her overstuffed shoulder bag, and Marci nearly collapsed in relief. Julius must have put it there, she realized. He was so thoughtful about these kinds of things. But as she unbuckled the flap and dug down for the emergency change of clothes she was praying was still stowed at the bottom, her hand bumped into—alas, not the soft cloth she’d been expecting—but something sturdy and cardboard with sharp, regular edges.

     Frowning, Marci grabbed the mysterious object and yanked it out to reveal a cardboard container roughly the size of a shoebox. Going by the printed label, it was obviously mail of some sort, but Marci didn’t remember picking up a package or putting it in her bag. It must have been important, though. Her bag space was precious and limited, and this package had clearly been carefully tucked into the bottom below the wrapped Kosmolabe and her regular casting supplies. But despite the evidence that she’d clearly considered the package important, Marci had no memory of getting it, or of ever going to the private post office the stamp showed it had been delivered to. She was about to just rip it open and see what was inside when she spotted a name printed in stark, Unicode government font across the top.

     Aldo Giovanni Novalli.

     She frowned. There was the problem. The mail carrier must have delivered this to the wrong Novalli, because she’d never met an Aldo in her life. Given that the return address was for a morgue, she could see now why she’d saved it. Unfortunately, Marci didn’t have room for charity right now, and she wasn’t going back to the DFZ anytime soon. She was about to say screw it and just toss the box in the trash when her vision began to blur.

     She reached up in alarm, but fear turned to confusion when she touched her eyes to find tears rolling down her cheeks.

     What’s wrong? Ghost whispered.

     “I don’t know,” she said, scrubbing the mysterious tears away, not that it did any good. They just welled up again, pouring down her face without stopping. And as they kept coming, the uneasy feeling that she was forgetting something important grew heavier and heavier.

     It’s nothing.

     She looked up in surprise to see her spirit sitting right in front of her, his blue eyes peering straight into hers. “What’s going on?” she whispered, scrubbing the strange tears away yet again. “What’s happening to me?”

     Rather than answer, the spirit reached up to press a paw to her face. And that was when things got strange, because while Marci’s blurry eyes saw a cat’s fluffy forefoot, her skin felt a man’s freezing hand land gently against her cheek.

     You are mine, the spirit whispered, his voice deep as a chasm. Bound to me forever. As you have sacrificed, so will I remember and honor. The others come and go, but we are each other’s. Mine to yours, yours to mine. Always.

     That was as touching as it was creepy. Too bad Marci didn’t understand a word. “What does that even mean?”

     It means what it always meant, Ghost said cryptically, looking away as he dropped his paw. The bond was paid. Even if you don’t remember the price, I am the Spirit of the Forgotten Dead. I am the one who remembers, and I will remember you and yours forever.

     That made even less sense than what he’d said before, but Marci decided to let the whole thing drop. According to her phone, it was already ten, which meant she had an hour and a half to get dressed, break out of here, and somehow get to the town outside the mountain. That schedule left no time for mysteries, so Marci decided to save the strange box for later, placing it carefully on the couch before grabbing her spare clothes, which had been crushed beneath it.

     Five minutes and one ironing spell later, she was looking much better. The tank top and running shorts were still not as formal as she would have liked, but it was better than smelling like a wino, and it wasn’t like she had anything else. With that, Marci declared her outfit done and moved on to her next task: getting out of wherever this was.

     “Hooo boy,” she said when she saw the insanely warded wooden door waiting at the end of the tunnel-like hall. “Raven wasn’t kidding.” She looked around at the stone bunker with its medical bay and closet full of identical tactical suits. “At least I know where we are now. This must be Chelsie’s room.” She scowled at the multiple locks. “No wonder it’s so uptight.”

     Can you break it? Ghost asked.

     “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Marci said smugly. “Breaking things is my specialty.” Especially when she had a spirit who could walk through even warded walls.

     That thought was Ghost’s cue, and he trotted straight through the door, describing the wards from the inside out as Marci grabbed the chalk from her bag to start drawing the counter-spells.

     Chapter 8

     By the time Ian’s breakfast was over, Julius was feeling uncharacteristically positive about the new direction of his life. He’d eaten his fill and had an actual reasonable conversation with several of his siblings that didn’t involve death threats, which had to be some kind of record. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was actually getting along with his immediate family when he turned to grab the food he’d set aside for Marci only to find it was gone. He was staring at the place where it should have been in confusion when he heard a loud crunch.

     Julius jumped at the sound, whirling around to see Bob standing directly behind him with Marci’s to-go box in his hands.

     “What are you doing?” he cried as Bob shoved Marci’s Belgian waffle into his mouth. “That’s not for you!”

     “I had no choice,” Bob said with his mouth full. “Ian’s been hogging the dining room for an hour.” He glowered over at Ian, who looked as surprised as Julius. “Other dragons need to eat too, you know.”

     “I never said you couldn’t come in,” Ian replied coolly. “Everyone is welcome.”

     “How egalitarian of you,” the seer replied, licking his fingers. “Though I have to admit I’m a little shocked by how quickly you’ve adapted to the new Julius-culture.” His eyes widened in horror. “Ian, could it be that you were secretly a Nice Dragon the whole time?!”

     Julius hadn’t known it was possible for a dragon to look as insulted as Ian looked at that, and he quickly changed the subject before his brother did something they’d all regret. “That food was for Marci.”

     “Oh, she won’t need it,” Bob said flippantly, shoving all three pieces of Marci’s bacon into his mouth at once. “You’ve got quite the busy bee of a mortal. She’s already up and about and receiving visitors.”

     The ever-present knot of dread that had been temporarily banished by the amazing breakfast returned to Julius’s stomach with a vengeance. “Visitors?”

     Bob turned innocently to Fredrick, who was hovering nearby. “Didn’t you tell him?”

     “Tell me what?” Julius demanded. “What’s going on?”

     The F looked slightly put out. “You were busy,” he said, pulling a familiar, slightly battered phone out of his pocket. “I didn’t want you to be disturbed during such a momentous occasion, so I took the liberty of intercepting your calls.”

     “So you stole my phone?” Julius cried, snatching what was obviously his phone from the F’s hand.

     “I didn’t steal anything,” Fredrick growled, back perfectly straight. “I was merely holding it for you to reduce distractions. You are a member of the Heartstriker Council on very important business. We cannot afford to let anything put you off course.”

     Julius ground his teeth. That phone had been in the front pocket of his suit coat, the one right over his heart. He had no idea how Fredrick could have taken it without him realizing, or why the F had thought it would be a good idea in the first place. Then again, though, this was a very different world than the one Julius was used to. Maybe high-ranking dragons handed over their phones to their assistants all the time?

     But while that might explain Fredrick’s actions, it didn’t feel right to Julius. No dragon, high ranked or low, would ever allow an underling to take what was theirs without permission, and while Julius was not a typical dragon, he didn’t like it either.

     “Please don’t do that again,” he said firmly, glaring at the F, who looked unrepentant. “I know you meant well, but I can take my own calls.” He glanced down at the screen, but other than a notice that Marci had called, there was nothing about why. “What did she say?”

     “Just that she was going to lunch with a friend,” Fredrick replied. “And before you ask, she did not say with whom.”

     Probably because she was rightfully pissed at being cut off from Julius by a dragon she didn’t even know. Fortunately, the vague message still told Julius everything he needed to know. There was only one dragon in the mountain good enough to sneak into Chelsie’s room and whom Marci would call friend. Looked like he was going to be paying yet another visit to Amelia’s trapped cave.

     “Not that this is ever happening again,” he said, sliding his phone carefully into his pocket. “But for the record, Marci is always priority. She’s my best friend and partner. If she calls, messages, or just shows up, it doesn’t matter what I’m doing. I want to know. Immediately.”

     “Understood, sir,” Fredrick said crisply. “It won’t happen again.”

     That would have been more believable if the F had looked even slightly ashamed of what he’d done. Unfortunately, the only thing he seemed bothered about was that Julius was making such a big fuss out of it. Shaking his head, Julius made a mental note to work with his new “assistant” on treating humans like people rather than pets and started for the door, waving to Bob, who was just polishing off the last of the food that had been meant for Marci.

     “Thanks for the tip.”

     “I am a most generous tipper,” the seer replied with a humble smile. “Give my regards to Amelia.”

     Julius nodded and walked out the door, holding it open for Justin and Fredrick, who were apparently coming with him whether he wanted the company or not. That just made him sigh again, muttering under his breath about councils and ridiculousness as he started down the hall toward the elevators.

     ***

     Amelia’s hall was every bit as dark, trapped, and scary as Julius remembered. He didn’t have Chelsie with him this time, either. A serious problem since he didn’t remember exactly where all the web-like traps she’d led him around were hidden.

     “She’s almost as paranoid as Chelsie,” Justin muttered, sniffing the air above the first trap. “This place is warded to the teeth.”

     “What else would you expect?” Fredrick asked. “Amelia didn’t survive eight centuries as Bethesda’s heir by accident, you know.”

     “Well if you’re so impressed, what do we do?” Justin growled. “Stand here and yell until she comes out to let us in?”

     “Actually,” the F said, reaching into his pocket. “I have a much better solution.” He held up a small, rectangular wooden object the size of a bookmark that was covered on both sides with scrawled dragon magic that reeked of Amelia. “This will get us through.”

     “What is it?” Julius asked, squinting in the dark.

     “A guarantee of safe passage,” Fredrick explained. “The Planeswalker sent them to everyone in F-clutch yesterday to limit interruptions to her work.”

     That made sense. Someone had to set up all those banquet tables and keep Amelia supplied with liquor. “How does it work?”

     “Observe.” Fredrick turned and stretched out his arm, dangling the little talisman over the first invisible trap. Sure enough, the moment the wooden markings got close to the ward, the sharp magic retracted like claws, leaving the hallway clear.

     “I’ve already determined the pass has a three-foot range,” he said as he returned the talisman to his pocket. “So long as you stay next to me, you should be perfectly safe.”

     “There’s nothing safe about a pass from Amelia,” Justin growled, but he stayed just as close to Fredrick as Julius did, following right on the tall dragon’s heels as they shuffled down the hall to Amelia’s warded door. As with everything else, the menacing wards on the doorway dimmed the moment Fredrick got close. The actual lock was handled with a key from his key ring. He’d barely gotten it open before Justin barged in, throwing the door open and barreling inside only to stop in his tracks.

     Julius immediately understood why. Even standing behind his massive brother, just being near Amelia’s dark room felt like standing on the edge of an abyss.

     There were no tiki torches this time, no light bulbs or candles. Even the morning sunlight from her balcony had been completely blocked off by heavy curtains, leaving the cave drenched in a darkness that felt both suffocating and endless, interrupted only by the dragon standing at its heart like a lone star in the night.

     Amelia stood in the middle of her room, her body wreathed in tongues of orange flame as she glared down at the multiple casting circle painted in ash on the stone floor. Julius counted five in total, each one overlapping the others to form a sixth, larger circle. At the point of convergence in the center, Frieda, their mother’s secretary, was sitting curled up in a ball on a metal folding chair, looking like she was fighting not to cry.

     “Amelia!” Julius cried when he recovered his voice at last. “What are you doing?”

     His sister jumped, and the orange fire faded. The feeling of the endless abyss faded with it, leaving only the normal gloomy dark of a curtained room before Amelia snapped her fingers, and another light, a perfectly normal flicker of dragon fire this time, appeared above her head. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?”

     The question came out in a growl, but Julius was too distracted by his sister to care. “What happened to you?”

     Amelia looked horrible. He hadn’t noticed it in the spell fire, but now that she was normally lit, it was impossible not to see how hollow her face looked. Her cheeks were sunken pits below the knives of her cheekbones, and her skin looked almost gray. Her normally shiny black hair was a dry, tangled knot hanging down her back, and what he could see of her arms beneath her red long-sleeved T-shirt looked skeletal, like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Given that she’d been perfectly fine last night—tired and drunk, sure, but definitely nothing like this—that was enough to put Julius in a panic, and he rushed to her side. “Are you sick?”

     “I’m fine,” she said, waving him away. “I’ve just been working.”

     “Working on what?” Justin snarled, nodding toward Frieda, who was only now uncurling from her ball thanks to Fredrick, who’d rushed over to help. “Sacrificing Fs to your dark god?”

     “Please,” Amelia said, pulling a flask out of the pocket of her ripped jeans, which were clearly meant to be tight but were now hanging loose from her protruding hips. “I’ll have you know there isn’t a dark god for twenty planes who could afford me. This is a private project. One for you guys, actually.” She pointed two fingers at her own warm, brown eyes. “I thought it was time I finally took a real crack at breaking Mother’s green chain.”

     That sounded like a worthy project to Julius. But. “Why are you using Frieda?”

     “Is that her name?” Amelia asked, taking a long drink off her flask. “I’ve had a stream of Fs coming in since you left yesterday. I can’t be bothered to remember them all.”

     “A stream of Fs,” Julius repeated, dumbfounded. “Why?”

     “Because they’re the easiest to get,” she said with a shrug. “Ideally, I’d prefer to use another clutch. The Fs are positively pickled in Bethesda’s magic, which makes narrowing down the specific curse that controls the eyes that much more difficult. Alas, Ian’s got everyone under G whipped into a froth, and older dragons are so much trouble. They always want something in return, and when you need a large sample size, the whole thing just turns into a mess. That’s what makes Fs the best. They can’t say no.”

     She paused, clearly expecting Julius to congratulate her on finding such a clever work-around, but Julius could only stare at her in horror. “So you’re using them for magical experiments because they can’t say no?” he bit out at last. “How is that different from slavery?”

     “I guess it’s not, really,” she admitted. “But they’ve been slaves for six centuries now, so I figured, if it’s already that bad, why not use it to do some good? It’s not as if I’m abusing them.” She waved her flask down at the ash circles. “The magic’s not harmful. It stings a bit, sure, but you can’t prod the limits of a curse implanted before birth without a little discomfort. I even let them take turns so that no one has to be in the hot seat for more than two hours. That practically makes me a saint by F-clutch standards.”

     Julius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew that F-clutch had the short end of the Heartstriker stick, but once again, he was shocked to see just how short that end could be. Though at least this explained why she’d given Fredrick a pass. And speaking of Fredrick. “Have you had to do this, too?”

     “I took a turn last night,” he replied with a nod. “It’s not pleasant, but not as bad as some.”

     The resignation in his voice made Julius even angrier, and he turned on his sister with a glare. “Amelia,” he said firmly. “I’m all for you breaking the green-eye thing Mother put on us, but you can’t abuse F-clutch like this. This is exactly the sort of thing we formed the Council to stop!”

     “I just told you, I’m not abusing them,” she argued. “I’m using them. I’m practically doing them a favor, here! If I wasn’t using them, they’d just be off getting used by another dragon, and like I said, I’m a cakewalk compared to most.”

     “She is better than Bethesda,” Frieda said, looking up at Julius from where she was clutching her brother.

     “That’s not saying much,” Julius growled, turning back to Amelia. “I can’t let you—”

     “And there’s our problem,” Amelia said, walking over to flop down in the folding chair Frieda had just vacated. “You don’t let me do anything, Baby-J. Until your Council’s up and running, you can’t order me to do diddly. Now I’m sure you’ve got buckets of change in the pipe, but until they actually get here, I’m going to use the resources I have, and on that note.” She turned to Frieda. “You’re off the hook until tomorrow, but make sure you send the next one up on your way out. I’m only taking a five-minute break.”

     “Yes, Planeswalker,” Frieda said, lowering her head as she slunk past Julius out the door.

     “You look like you need a lot more than five minutes,” Julius said when she was gone. “F-clutch issues aside, I don’t think what you’re doing is good for you either, Amelia.”

     “What? You mean this?” She pointed at her sunken cheeks. When he nodded, his sister began to cackle. “Bethesda wishes she could get me this bad! It would take a dragon mage at the height of her power to drain me like this. Mother can’t even break the seal I put on her while I was mind controlled.” She stopped to wipe her eyes. “No, no. Breaking the green eyes is just a vanity project, something to kill time while I wait for bigger fish to finish frying. This whole heroin chic look I’m rocking right now is Marci’s doing.” She frowned. “Where is she, anyway?”

     Julius’s heart began to pound. He’d been so surprised by what he’d found when they’d walked in, he’d completely forgotten why he’d come up here in the first place. “I thought she was with you.” He stared at his emaciated sister. “How did Marci do that to you?”

     Amelia’s brows furrowed. “You mean she didn’t tell you?”

     “Tell me what?” Julius asked, his body shaking with anger that rapidly transformed into guilt. Marci hadn’t told him anything, but when would she have had a chance? He’d been practically ignoring her since yesterday morning.

     “Well, if she didn’t tell you, I’m not saying anything,” Amelia said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know better than to get in the middle of couples’ fights. But before you freak out too hard, rest assured that Marci didn’t actually do anything other than graciously agree to go along with my plan, which means I really did this to myself.” She lifted her head proudly. “Like I said, dragon mage at the height of her power.”

     Julius couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly make themselves look that sickly, but Amelia didn’t seem upset about it, so he set the rest of his questions aside for later and moved on to the more immediate problem. “So you don’t know where Marci is?”

     Amelia shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry too much, though. She’s probably just out exploring the mountain.”

     “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Julius cried. “Do you know how many dragons hate my guts right now?”

     “If any dragon in this mountain is stupid enough to mess with Marci, they deserve what they get,” Amelia said with a wry smile. “You need to remember who you’re talking about. This is the mage who killed Vann Jeger and, even more impressive, stood up to me. And let’s not forget her extremely dangerous and protective spirit.” She grinned wide. “Trust me. Anyone who picks a fight with Marci is going to find themselves holding the wrong end of the cat.”

     That was all true, but Julius was more worried than ever, because Amelia was right. If Marci was cornered, she’d fight back, and it would make everything worse. Not only would she be in danger, fighting would earn her enemies of her own, and Julius didn’t even want to think about the damage it would do to his own push for nonviolent change if his mortal ended up killing one of his siblings inside their own mountain.

     There was nothing else for it. He’d just have to find her first, before anything happened. He was about to say good-bye to Amelia to go do just that when a cold shiver ran up his spine.

     It wasn’t a physical cold. There was no water or metal or anything else sliding up his back. It was just a feeling, like someone had stepped on his grave. He was about to brush it off as nerves when Justin growled.

     “What was that?”

     Fredrick’s head snapped up. “You felt it, too?”

     “I think we all did,” Julius said warily, looking at Amelia, who was grinning in a way that made him very uncomfortable.

     “Speak of the devil,” she said, reaching down to run her hand through the shadows that were crawling over the ground. Shadows that, despite the darkness of Amelia’s closed room, Julius was positive had not been there before. “I think our little Marci just played her hand.”

     “Really?” Justin said, kicking the strange darkness with his boot. “’Cause I never saw a human spell do this.”

     “I have,” Julius whispered, staring at the shadows, which he could now see weren’t actually crawling over the ground at all. It was hard to see in the sputtering light of Amelia’s fire, but Julius’s night vision had been good even when he was sealed. Unsealed, he could clearly see that the shadows were moving through the floor, not over it, and more importantly, they weren’t shadows at all. They were humans. Hundreds of them. An entire army of transparent, ghostly people moving through the stone floor like swimming fish, their faint shapes fluttering in a wind no one but they could feel.

     That was enough to send a second chill up his spine, and Julius grabbed his brother so hard Justin snarled. “We have to go. Right now.”

     “What?” Justin said, prying Julius’s hand off his arm. “Why? They’re just—hey!”

     Julius was already out the door, pausing only to grab a confused Fredrick before he plunged into the trapped hall. A moment later, Justin charged after them, yelling loudly at his brothers to wait.

     “Say ‘hi’ to Marci for me when you see her!” Amelia called, holding up her flask in salute before shutting the door behind them with a knife-sharp blast of magic.

     ***

     Meanwhile, ten minutes earlier and multiple floors below, Marci was struggling with a very different problem. Namely, the fact that she was completely and utterly lost.

     “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, staring up the endlessly spiraling industrial stairwell the one human servant she’d found would talk to her had sworn would take them outside. “The floors aren’t even numbered! How are you supposed to know when you get to the right one?”

     We’ll find it eventually, Ghost said, bounding soundlessly down the stone stairs in front of her. There’s only one ground floor.

     “And eighty million others,” she said, leaning over the metal railing to peer down the empty center of the enormous stairwell, which seemed to go just as far down as the spiral above went up. “I can’t even tell if we’re above ground or below. I don’t suppose you could ghost through the stone and go check?”

     She glanced back for his answer, but her spirit had gone perfectly still, his translucent body frozen like an ice sculpture below the stairwell’s high-efficiency halogen lights.

     “What?” she whispered, instantly on alert. “What is it?”

     The spirit didn’t answer, but she felt his presence in her mind draw tighter as his attention focused on something up the stairs behind her.

     Dragon.

     Given the positioning and the suddenness—and whose wards she’d just finished trashing—Marci’s first thought was Chelsie. But when she whirled around, the dragon waiting on the steps above her was one she’d never seen before.

     He was, of course, a Heartstriker, but other than the ubiquitous green eyes and dark hair everyone in the family shared, he looked as much like Julius as she did. He was also huge, easily as big as Justin. But while he was still insanely handsome (as every dragon seemed to be by default), he looked more brutal and thuggish than the J-clutch knight ever could. He was also doing that leering-down thing dragons always did with people they considered beneath them, which definitely wasn’t helping. A month ago, Marci would have found that intimidating, but these days she’d been leered down at by no less than Bethesda herself, and she was not impressed.

     “Can I help you?”

     “I’m sure you can,” the dragon said, taking a deep breath. For some reason, this simple action left him looking confused. Confused and angry, which Marci had the feeling was a pretty common combination for him.

     “You certainly do get around, don’t you?” he growled.

     She arched an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     “It means you smell of both Julius and Amelia,” he said, obviously disgusted. “I’ve never met a human who belonged to two dragons at once, but Julius isn’t much of a dragon. He already shares his power with a Council. Why not his human as well?”

     Marci’s fingers tightened on the railing. Normally, she found it was good procedure to be polite to everyone she met. This went double for immortals, who tended to be prickly. But between her still-lingering hangover and the indignity of getting lost on a stairwell that only went two directions, her worn-down patience was already on the edge, and this rude dragon had just crossed the last line.

     “First,” she growled, “I’m no one’s human. Second, I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

     “The name’s Gregory Heartstriker,” the dragon interrupted, pulling himself to his full height, which, when you added in the fact that he was standing two stairs up from her, put him at over double Marci’s own. “Terror of the Amazon. Maybe you’ve heard of—”

     “Nope,” she interrupted right back. “Don’t know, don’t care. You have zero right to talk about Julius. He saved all of Heartstriker’s bacon the night before last, which includes yours. By dragon rules, I’m pretty sure that means you owe him your life. Fortunately for you, Julius doesn’t buy into your creepy debt system, so why don’t you do us both a favor and go count your blessings somewhere else.”

     That was supposed to be the end of it. Julius’s honor had been defended, and she had places to be. But as Marci turned to stomp away, the dragon grabbed her shoulder.

     “Mortals don’t turn their backs on me.”

     “And you do not touch me,” she snarled, bracelets flaring as she grabbed the magic from Amelia’s fire and shoved it through the bracelet containing her variation on the Force Choke, folding and bending the magic into a giant invisible hand that grabbed the dragon around the throat and slammed him into the stairwell’s stone wall.

     The sudden attack surprised Marci as much as it did her victim. She hadn’t intended to fight, but dragons weren’t the only ones with instincts, and the moment she’d felt Gregory’s fingers clamp down, something inside her had bitten right back. In hindsight, attacking a magical creature that was probably ten times her size at least was probably a critically stupid idea, but it was done now. Any hesitation at this point would be seen as a weakness to be exploited. Fortunately for her, Marci didn’t feel like hesitating. She was sick of dragons looking down on her and beyond sick of hearing them badmouth Julius, who’d done nothing but try to help these losers since he’d gotten power. With the exception of Amelia and Julius, she was sick of Heartstrikers period, and after the things this one had said, she was perfectly happy to keep grinding him into the wall until he turned into paste.

     Unfortunately, Gregory didn’t seem to be down with that plan. He was fighting her hold tooth and claw, shoving back on her magic with his own as hard as he could, which wouldn’t do at all. Amazing as Amelia’s magic was, it wasn’t infinite, and thanks to Ghost’s earlier gorging, her supplies were rapidly running out. If he kept fighting her like this, she’d burn through all her juice in no time, and then she’d really be up the creek.

     The easiest thing to do would be to crush him into unconsciousness, but Julius had worked so hard on this nonviolence thing. He hadn’t even hurt Bethesda, and she’d done much worse than make insulting insinuations. Marci wasn’t about to ruin his track record now just because a dragon was being a jerk. Also, she wasn’t sure if she could knock him out sufficiently with the magic she had left. What really she needed was a diversion, something to make Gregory stop struggling long enough for her to make her point. So, with that, Marci flicked her hand, snatching Gregory off the wall to the empty space in the middle of the spiraling stairwell.

     She still wasn’t sure where they were in the mountain, but it was quite a drop. Thirty stories at least, more than enough to seriously injure even a dragon if she kept him trapped the whole way down. Gregory must have realized this, too, because he stopped struggling. Marci smiled coldly, counting down silently in her head to the sixty seconds she thought would be sufficient to make it clear that she was a mortal to be feared before she tied the spell off and left him here.

     That was the plan, at least. But she’d barely made it to twenty when an icy voice commanded, Drop him.

     Marci’s eyes flicked to Ghost, who was now perched on the railing beside her, his glowing eyes locked on the floating dragon with a look of cold disdain. Do it, he ordered. He will not let us be if you spare him.

     That was probably true, but Marci shook her head. Putting stuffed-shirt dragons in their place was one thing, but no matter how rude they were, she drew the line at straight-up murder. Also, she wasn’t even sure she could kill him anymore.

     Once he’d gotten over the initial shock of being dangled helpless in midair, Gregory had started fighting harder than ever, burning through the last of her magic in the process. At this rate, Marci wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep him trapped long enough to escape, never mind holding the spell long distance all the way down. If they’d been in the DFZ, she could have grabbed a refill from the ambient magic, but the power here was so thin it was practically worthless. She was about to just release him and run while he was trying not to go splat when Ghost’s voice purred in her mind.

     I have power.

     Marci sighed. “Not this again.”

     Why not? he asked, his glowing eyes innocent. Let me take over. I have everything we need to make sure this one never bothers us again.

     She was shaking her head before he even finished. She’d heard these devil’s deals from him before, and they always turned out to be more than she wanted to pay, especially for something as stupid as this. She was out of time anyway, so Marci pulled her hand back, releasing Gregory moments before the last of her magic ran out.

     “I think I’ve made my point,” she said, looking down on him with her best imitation of Amelia at her scariest while he flailed and caught the railing. “Run away, little Heartstriker, before I do wors—oof!”

     Gregory leaped before she could finish, swinging himself one-armed over the railing to body-slam her into the stone stairs. For a terrifying second, Marci was crushed beneath his weight, and then his hand closed around her throat as he lifted her off the ground to pin her against the wall.

     “Not so haughty now, are we?” he growled, baring his teeth as Marci beat futilely at his grip on her throat. “Your parlor tricks might keep a whelp like Julius in line, but I’m not stupid, mortal. I know how your magic works, and I can smell when you’re out, and we both know you’re very much out.”

     A chill of panic shot through her, driving Marci to fight even harder, but it was hopeless. He was so much bigger than she was, and so, so much stronger. He didn’t even seem to feel her kicks. He just squeezed, cutting off her air as his fingers crushed into her throat.

     “I could kill you right now,” he said calmly. “One twist, and your neck would snap like a chicken’s. The only reason I haven’t is because doing so would defeat the purpose of bothering with you in the first place.” He leaned down to grin in her face. “It’s your lucky day, mortal. In yet another example of his extreme incompetence as the head of a dragon clan, Julius has let his attachment to you become well known. Very stupid of him, but what else can you expect from a failure?” He reached down with his free hand to grab her wrist. “Let’s see how determined he is to have his vote after I send him one of your fingers, shall we?”

     He bent her hand back painfully, but Marci was too preoccupied with trying to breathe to feel it. Between her panic and the dragon’s grip on her neck, the world was already starting to go dark, and to make things even worse, Gregory wasn’t the only one Marci was fighting.

     Let me go! Ghost roared in her mind. I’ll bury him for daring to touch us!

     That’s why I can’t let you go! she yelled back, clamping down on their bond as hard as she could. Don’t you get it? He’s only doing this to get to Julius. If we kill him, we lose!

     If we kill him, he’ll be dead and we won’t. That’s not losing.

     There was more to it than that, and Ghost knew it. He’d been there, too. He’d seen how hard Julius had fought for his dream of a clan where things like this didn’t happen. The fact that Gregory was stooping to threaten her now was proof that Julius was gaining ground, and Marci was determined not to be the weak link. The whole reason she’d come to Heartstriker Mountain was to help him, not mess him up by letting some overgrown reptile drag her off to use as a prize like he was Bowser and she was Princess Peach.

     But that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t let me crush him, Ghost growled, his pale light washing over her darkening vision. I’m part of you, two halves of the same whole. But while I can’t die, you can. Julius isn’t here now. I am. I am always with you, Marci. Let me help.

     She shook her head stubbornly, and her mind was filled with the odd but distinct sensation of a spirit sighing.

     What if I promise not to kill him?

     The words came out so grudgingly, Marci had trouble believing them, but she was rapidly passing the point where she could afford to be picky. Her body was already shutting down, her limbs going heavy and useless. If she was going to do something to actually stop this kidnapping, it had to be now, and so she gave in, releasing her hold on Ghost’s connection.

     The moment she let go, a wind rose in the stairwell.

     It was cold as death. A dry, hollow wind that smelled of dust and blew from every direction at once. But while Marci thought the cold air actually felt kind of nice in a creepy way, Gregory snatched his hand off her throat like he’d been burned.

     “What the—”

     Did you think we had forgotten?

     The voice was Ghost’s, but infinitely deeper. Even gasping for breath on the floor, the sound made Marci look up in surprise. But while she saw nothing, Gregory was another matter entirely.

     He must have jumped back the moment he’d let her go, because the dragon was now standing against the railing on the far side of the stairs, his green eyes wide and moving wildly. For several seconds, Marci couldn’t figure out why, but as the spots vanished from her own choked vision, she spotted it at last.

     The dragon was covered in shadows. They came from nowhere, were cast by nothing, but every time the ghostly wind shifted, they crawled higher, sliding up his massive body like a lover’s hands.

     “No!” Gregory shouted, beating his chest and legs with his hands as he tried in vain to knock the shadows off. “What are these things?” He bared his teeth at Marci. “What did you do?”

     That’s the wrong question.

     The deep, disembodied voice echoed down the empty stairwell, and then Gregory’s shape became hazy. At first, Marci thought this was just another trick of her still not quite recovered vision, but that wasn’t it at all. She couldn’t see the dragon properly because there was another figure standing on the stairs between her and him. A tall, ghostly man dressed like a Roman centurion and wearing a helmet with nothing inside save for two glowing ice-blue eyes that glared at the dragon with pure, hungry malice.

     In a move that impressed Marci more than anything else he’d done, Gregory glared back. “What are you?”

     “Again, you ask the wrong question,” the soldier said, his deep voice rising as the wind picked up. “The question you should be asking, Gregory Heartstriker, is, ‘Who are they?’”

     He extended his ghostly hand, pointing at the shadows that were crawling up Gregory’s legs. The dragon must have thought he was bluffing, because it took him several seconds to actually look down. When he ducked his head at last, the shadows changed, transforming from vague blobs into distinct human figures, and as their shadowy hands moved up his chest, all the bravado fell off Gregory’s face.

     “No!” he roared, beating frantically at the shadowy human figures that were now crawling out of the ground all around him like a seething ant hill. “You’re dead! You can’t— Get away from me!”

     But it didn’t work. No matter how hard he fought, his hands passed right through the humans like they were shadows in truth.

     “You can never escape them,” the spirit said, his blue eyes gleaming in the dark of his empty helmet. “Yours has been a violent, careless life. Even you can’t remember anymore how many corpses you’ve left in your wake, but I do.” He pointed at the crawling shadows, who were now up to the dragon’s neck. “Those are your ghosts, Gregory Heartstriker, and they have come for what is theirs.”

     By this point, Gregory looked well and truly panicked, his green eyes moving frantically between the shadows and the ghostly soldier like he couldn’t decide which was the bigger threat. “What are you?”

     Marci knew there was no mouth inside that empty helmet. Even if there had been, she couldn’t have seen it from where she was, but it didn’t matter. She could feel the spirit’s smile as he answered. “I am the Empty Wind, Spirit of the Forgotten Dead. All who are lost are mine to keep, and to avenge.”

     The wind had risen to a gale by the time he finished, pushing the shadowy ghosts crawling over Gregory higher and higher until their grasping fingers were within an inch of his face. What they were going to do once they got there, though, Marci never saw. The moment the first ghostly finger touched his chin, Gregory panicked.

     There was no warning, no blast of fire. He simply changed, transforming from an overgrown, beautiful, thuggish-looking man into an overgrown, beautiful, terrifying blue-and-orange-feathered dragon that barely fit inside the stairwell. That was as much as Marci saw before he bolted, half flying, half squeezing his long body down the hole in the middle of the stairwell. By the time she’d scrambled back to her feet and run to the railing, all she could see was the orange-and-blue flash of his tail as he vanished through an unmarked door a dozen floors below.

     I told you I wouldn’t kill him.

     Marci looked up to see the Empty Wind standing over her.

     “That you did,” she said, trying not to wince at the grave-like chill of his hand as he pulled her to her feet. “Good job.”

     The blue eyes smiled at her from the empty helmet, and the wind died as fast as it had risen, taking him with it. Seconds later, the terrifying ghostly soldier had collapsed back into a ghostly, fluffy white cat. Tired, he said, yawning.

     “Poor baby,” Marci cooed, leaning down to scoop him up. “Thank you for helping. You did good.”

     I will always help you, the cat whispered in her mind, his eyes closing. You are mine and I am yours. When all others have forgotten, I will remember. Always.

     Yet again, the promise struck her as equal parts sweet and creepy. She knew it came from a good place, though, and Marci hugged her spirit tight, kissing him on the cold, soft patch of fur between his ears just as Julius burst through the door a few floors above them.

     ***

     In another part of the mountain as far away from the stairwell as possible, a newly human and very naked Gregory burst into the large storage closet where he’d intended to stash Julius’s mortal. He stood there panting for a moment, and then he threw himself at the supply bag he’d left in the corner. He was still rummaging through it for something to wear when a disappointed voice spoke from the doorway behind him.

     “Never send a G to do a dragon’s job.”

     “Shut up,” Gregory growled, grabbing a pair of pants and shoving his legs into them as fast as he could. “You didn’t tell me she had a spirit.”

     “It shouldn’t have mattered,” David replied, closing the door. “Aren’t you the Terror of the Amazon?”

     Gregory sneered and kept dressing, and the older dragon’s eyes narrowed. “You had one job. You owe me much, Gregory. I’ve covered up your failures in Brazil for a century now, and all I asked in return was that you keep this vote from moving forward and Julius under control.”

     “It’s not that simple,” Gregory snapped, finally turning to face him. “You told me to go for his human so we wouldn’t have to worry about his Fang, but you didn’t say anything about that…that thing.” Just the memory of the cold shadows made him shudder, and Gregory shook his head. “We miscalculated. That girl isn’t Julius’s weak spot. If anything, it’s the other way around. I don’t even know what a mage like that is doing with a whelp like him. She’s got Amelia’s smell all over her.”

     “The Planeswalker is famous for her humans,” David said with a shrug. “She probably loaned her to Julius to help him, because everybody helps the Nice Dragon.” He bared his teeth. “I swear, the universe itself bends over to protect his delusions.”

     “Maybe it does,” Gregory said. “He is Bob’s pet project.”

     “Brohomir is insane,” David replied dismissively. “Has been for centuries. Don’t waste your time worrying about him. If the human girl won’t work, we’ll just have to find a new way.”

     “Why?” Gregory demanded, turning on his brother. “Why are you even doing this? Just have the stupid vote. I still don’t understand why you told me to stall it in the first place. Even with Ian’s new support, he doesn’t have enough votes to beat you. Just call it and let this be done.”

     “And that’s exactly why I’m not calling it,” David said, looking down his nose at his overgrown brother. Quite the feat considering how tall Gregory was. “I can win this silly little popularity contest any time I choose, but that’s not the point. The point is that this Council shouldn’t be happening in the first place. If Julius’s vote goes smoothly, even if it goes to me, the clan’s going to start thinking the new system works. They’re going to accept this as the new way, which means I won’t have to beat Ian and his J brigade once. I’ll have to do it every five years for the rest of our lives. That’s a lot of work, Gregory, and worse, it gives the ambitious ones ideas. If they start listening to Ian and thinking this Council is their ticket to power, they’ll never go back into their rightful place on the bottom.”

     “So just dissolve it,” Gregory said, frustrated. “Win the vote, get on the Council, and—”

     “Of course I’m going to dissolve it,” David snapped. “That’s always been the plan. But I’m not wrecking things until I’m sure I can do better. Bethesda’s already offered me Amelia’s position as heir, but only if I make sure this Council dies and stays dead. That’s a tall order with Ian and Julius filling the lower-alphabet’s heads with dreams of power. If I’m going to stomp this foolishness down for good, it’s not enough to win a vote by a landslide. I have to prove that the entire concept of voting in a dragon clan leads to nothing but chaos and disaster.”

     “That shouldn’t be hard,” Gregory said. “We’re already boxed up in this mountain like starving lions. A few more days, and there won’t be a Heartstriker left who isn’t at someone else’s throat.”

     “Exactly,” David said with a smile. “For all her other flaws, Bethesda understands her children very well. She knew we’d fall on each other like dogs, and the longer we stay like this—trapped together, unable to move forward, leaderless—the lower everyone’s opinion of Julius and his ill-advised changes will sink. Even the Js will start to lose faith as they get picked off by larger dragons, because good as she is, Chelsie can’t stop everything.” He grinned wide. “By the time I actually allow the vote to take place, our family will be so desperate to go back to how things were, they won’t make a peep. They’ll welcome the dissolution of the Council and Bethesda’s return to power with open arms, and Mother will owe it all to me.”

     “And you’ll owe me,” Gregory reminded him with a greedy grin. “I’m the one who stopped the vote.”

     “And failed at everything else,” David growled, rolling his eyes. “But I suppose you can take comfort from the fact that you’re not the only one. The last twenty-four hours have been a carnival of failure. You’d think killing the smallest dragon in the mountain would be easy, but between Chelsie and that surprisingly observant idiot Justin, we haven’t managed to take so much as a feather off Julius’s obnoxious snout. Now you’ve let his human—”

     “I already told you that was not my fault!” Gregory roared. “That girl has a monster with her! You weren’t there. You didn’t see—”

     “Make excuses all you like, it’s still failure,” David said. “Fortunately for you, I’m still on the ball.”

     Gregory’s scowl turned into a grin. “You have a plan?”

     “I’m a politician,” David said. “I always have a plan. You won’t like it, but there’s no way you can fail this time.” A smile spread over his face as well as he reached for his phone. “It’s time to call in the big guns and permanently solve our—”

     He froze, his hand stopping midway into his pocket. A second later, Gregory felt it, too: a cold stab of cringing, instinctive fear that cut right to his gut moments before Chelsie stepped out of the shadows between them.

     She didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything except stand there staring at them with her killer’s eyes. Then—slowly, languidly—she lifted her black-gloved hand and extended one finger, wagging it back and forth.

     That was it. Just the silent no, no, no of her moving finger, and then she was gone, vanishing back into the deep shadows of the windowless room like smoke on the wind. When the last of her faint scent was gone, Gregory’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground like a dropped puppet.

     “That’s it, then,” he said quietly, reaching up to wipe the fear sweat from his forehead. “If she knows, it’s over.”

     “Don’t be stupid,” David said, pulling himself straight, though no amount of good posture could hide his too-pale face. “Of course she followed you. You flew down here as a dragon. But Bethesda’s Shade is not a problem. Leave her to me.”

     “You?” Gregory snorted. “What can you do against Chelsie? She’s the clan enforcer, and Julius is her favorite right now. We can’t beat that.”

     “But that’s the trick,” David said as he lifted his phone to his ear. “We don’t have to. Chelsie was already beaten long ago, and believe it or not, this actually plays into my new plan perfectly.”

     Gregory didn’t see how Chelsie’s presence could benefit anyone. But before he could ask what his brother was planning to do, David’s call picked up, and the politician’s scowling face transformed back into his usual charismatic smile.

     “Hello, Mother.”

     Chapter 9

      

     Julius had never run down stairs so fast in his life. At one point he was certain it was less running and more controlled falling, but anything that got him to Marci faster was fine with him, especially now that he could scent Gregory in the stairwell as well.

     That pushed his panic even higher, and he finished the final flight in a single jump, ignoring the icy brush of Ghost against his chest as he pulled Marci into a frantic hug. “Are you okay?! Did he hurt you?”

     “He tried,” Marci said cockily. “But I’m fine. Ghost and I sent him packing.” She grinned at him. “Let’s just say he won’t be messing with me again anytime soon.”

     Given that he’d seen the shadows all the way up at Amelia’s, Julius had no doubt of that. The whole upper half of the mountain was probably traumatized by whatever Ghost had done to make Gregory run. As a responsible Council member, he probably should have been worried about the implications of that, but he was too relieved to care. So long as Marci was okay, all was right with Julius’s world, and the fact that she hadn’t made him stop hugging her yet only made things better. He didn’t even mind that her undead cat was still stuck between them like an angry, icy lump. So long as she was with him, he could have stayed like this forever. He was about to lean down and bury his nose in her short brown hair when he heard his brother’s heavy footsteps stop directly behind them.

     “So let me get this straight,” Justin said as Julius reluctantly turned away from Marci to face him. “You”—he pointed at Marci—“and your cat”—he pointed at Ghost, who’d poked his head out right through Julius’s back like a freezing spike—“defeated Gregory, the G who made a giant show of himself yesterday by claiming that Julius wasn’t hardcore enough to run a dragon clan? That Gregory?”

     “I guess?” Marci said with a shrug. “I mean, I’d never met him before, but unless there’s another dragon named—”

     Justin’s whoop of laughter cut her off. The Knight of the Heartstrikers doubled over, laughing so hard tears ran down his face. “Gregory,” he gasped. “Mr. ‘Terror of the Amazon,’ defeated by a little…a little girl…and her pet cat.”

     “Who are you calling ‘little girl?’” Marci demanded. “I’m a year older than you are! And Ghost is not just a cat. He’s a fearsome and powerful spirit.”

     “He’s fluffy.” Justin cackled. “And Gregory’s such a pompous—” He was laughing so hard he couldn’t even finish. He did, however, manage to get his phone out of the pocket of his dark jeans, his large fingers clumsily gesturing through the floating AR display between fits of laughter.

     “What are you doing?” Julius asked after Justin’s third failed attempt at…whatever he was trying to do.

     “What do you think?” Justin gasped, finally getting enough of a hold on himself to actually type. “I’m telling everyone. I don’t care how they feel about the vote, this is too good not to share.”

     “Justin!” Julius hissed, letting Marci go in a desperate attempt to snatch his brother’s phone away. “You can’t do that!” If the mountain found out about this, Gregory would be a public laughingstock, and any hope of bringing him around peacefully would vanish forever.

     But even crippled by laughter, Justin was way too fast. He easily defended his phone from Julius’s attack, holding it high above his head, a good foot out of his shorter brother’s reach. “What’s he going to do? Try again?” he asked as he watched Julius jump. “Maybe Marci could defeat him with a pony next time.” He started snickering again. “A little white pony, with a pretty pink bow in its mane.”

     “Now you’re insulting everyone,” Marci said, placing Ghost, who seemed to be falling asleep in her arms, into her shoulder bag. “Just let him send the message, Julius. Gregory’s a jerk who was trying to kidnap me to get leverage on you. He deserves what he gets.”

     “He’ll hold a grudge,” Julius warned. “If we humiliate him, he will never let it go.”

     “I think that’s going to be the case no matter what we do,” she said with a shrug. “He doesn’t strike me as the forgive-and-forget type. But so what? If he’s stupid enough to come back, Ghost and I will just scare the feathers off him again, easy peasy.”

     That was probably true, but “I don’t want there to be an again. You shouldn’t be getting attacked in the first place.” And that was all his fault. Marci would never have been in this position if he’d hadn’t dragged her—

     “Would you quit it?” she said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, Julius. I can feel you blaming yourself.”

     “Because it’s my fault!” he cried. “You just said Gregory attacked you because of me!”

     “Gregory attacked me because he’s a dick,” Marci said flatly. “That’s his fault, not yours.”

     Julius didn’t see how that made a bit of difference. He was so tired of Marci getting hurt because of his stupid family. He never should have brought her—

     “Ow!” He jumped in the air, grabbing his upper arm where Marci had just punched it. “What was that for?”

     “To make you listen,” she said, glaring at him. “You keep saying this is your fault, but you’re completely forgetting the part where I wanted to come here. You think I don’t understand how dangerous this mountain is? Believe me, I get it, but what you don’t seem to realize is that we’re dangerous too. Maybe you were a weak dragon at the bottom of your clan before, but that’s not the case anymore. You don’t have to cower, Julius, and you don’t have to take responsibility for every single thing. I volunteered for this, and I think I just proved that I’m not some weak human who’s going to bring you down. Even Justin gets that. Why can’t you?”

     “Hey!” Justin yelled. “What do you mean ‘even Justin?’”

     “I do get it,” Julius said at the same time, ignoring him. “I’ve never thought you were weak. I just…” care for you, love you, want you to be safe, “worry.”

     “And I appreciate that,” she said with a wide smile. “But I’m not going to stop doing what I need to do just because it makes you nervous. I’m not some pet you can keep safe in a tank, Julius.”

     He knew that. From the very beginning, he’d steadfastly avoided thinking of Marci as his—his human, his treasure, his weapon—any of the classic draconic possessives. But while he was determined she’d never be his in the dragon sense, she was still his trusted partner, ally, and friend. For a dragon who’d grown up constantly alone and afraid, he didn’t have words for how much all of that meant to him. How could he not freak out when the consequences of his gambles landed on her head? The need to keep her safe from his mistakes was overpowering, and yet, Marci was right. Unless Julius was ready to send her away, lock her up, or give up on his push for change within his clan—none of which he was willing to do—then he was just going to have to accept that Marci would always be in danger. At this point, his only options were to continue worrying himself to death, or trust her to take care of herself.

     Julius being Julius, he was sure he’d end up doing both. For now, though, he sighed in acceptance, reaching out his hand. To his continual amazement, she took it, sliding her warm fingers around his with a smile that made his heart pound.

     “There,” she said happily. “Was that so hard?”

     “Yes,” he muttered. “But I’ll get over it.”

     “Well, you’d better do it fast,” she said, letting him go to check her phone. “Because I have to be at a meeting in town in fifteen minutes.”

     Julius was so busy being disappointed that she was no longer holding his hand, he almost missed that last bit. “What meeting?”

     Marci shot a poisonous look at Fredrick, who was waiting discreetly up the stairs. “While you were busy with your very important whatever it was, I got a visit from the Raven spirit.”

     That got everyone’s attention.

     “A spirit was here?” Justin yelled, hand going for his sword.

     “He’d hardly be the first,” Marci reminded him, patting her bag where Ghost was sleeping. “But yeah. He found me less than half an hour ago to invite me to a meeting with Sir Myron Rollins!”

     She was practically squeeing by the end, and Julius cursed silently. So much for his big surprise. But while he wasn’t at all shocked to hear the UN humans had gone behind his back, Raven’s involvement was a new and far more disturbing development. “So Raven is working with the UN now? Isn’t he a big spirit?”

     “That was my impression,” she said, giving him an odd look. “But you don’t seem nearly as surprised about this as I’d thought you’d be.”

     “That’s because he already met with the UN humans earlier this morning,” Justin said, cutting in. “The Rollins guy in particular seemed pretty interested in you.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is there something you want to tell us?”

     Julius winced at the hostile question, but Marci’s jaw was hanging wide open. “Sir Myron Rollins was here?” she cried, whirling on Julius. “That was your important business?”

     He shifted awkwardly. “Part of it.”

     “And you didn’t bring me?”

     He would have if Ghost hadn’t stopped him. But Julius didn’t want to cause trouble between Marci and her sleeping spirit, especially since Ghost had just saved her life, so he told her another truth instead. “I didn’t know he was that important. I just thought he was some mage the UN sent to talk to Mother about Algonquin.”

     Marci gaped at him. “Sir Myron Rollins is the greatest living human mage. How do you not know about him?”

     “Because I’m neither a human nor a mage,” Julius reminded her. “He wasn’t even on my radar until a few hours ago. But I still don’t understand what Raven has to do with this, or why they all seem so desperate to meet you. Not that anyone wouldn’t want to meet you, of course, but it just seems odd.”

     She smirked at his quick recovery. “Well, I do have a Mortal Spirit fifty years ahead of schedule. That seems to be a pretty big deal, and Sir Myron does a lot of work with spirits. I bet he just wants to have a look. I know I would if I were in his position.”

     That made sense, Julius supposed, but he couldn’t help feeling uneasy about the whole thing. Maybe he was more of a dragon than he realized, because the thought of Marci going to a meeting with people who might try to steal her away from him put his teeth on edge. Unfortunately, it was a feeling he was going to have to suck up. He’d just decided to trust Marci to handle herself. He couldn’t very well turn around now and try to convince her not to meet the mage she was having a fangirl freak-out over just because he was feeling antsy. So what if they tried to “free” her from her dragon? Marci wanted to stay with him. If they said anything about her being a dragon’s servant, she’d just laugh in their faces and set the record straight.

     Right?

     He clenched his fists. He trusted Marci, he really did, but it was just so hard to believe she’d pick him over someone else, especially someone as apparently famous as Myron Rollins. But just as the old insecurities started to rear their heads, Marci looked up at him again, and suddenly, Julius didn’t feel so bad. It was hard to feel like a worthless failure when she was smiling at him like he was worth everything. He had to remember that she’d had a choice, and she’d chosen him. Over and over again, she’d chosen to stick by his side, even when things had looked impossible. She’d even chosen to kiss him when he was positive she could have had any dragon she wanted. And while Julius still didn’t think he deserved any of that, he was determined to prove to Marci that she hadn’t chosen wrong.

     “I guess the only way to find out for sure is to go to the meeting,” he said at last, forcing a smile so she wouldn’t see how hard it was for him to let her go. “What can I do to help?”

     The moment he offered to help, her whole face lit up like a sunrise. It was so lovely, so happy and excited and Marci, it made him giddy. He could have stood there soaking it up forever, but in classic Marci fashion, she’d already burst into motion, rummaging through her bag with both hands.

     “I mostly need directions. The signage in this place is severely lacking. I’m trying to get here.”

     She pulled a white business card with an address written on the front, and Julius nodded. “That’s in town.”

     “I know,” she said, giving him a sheepish look. “But I can’t even find the front door. If you can get me outside, though, I can probably find my way from there.”

     He could do a lot better than that. “Fredrick?” he asked, glancing up the stairs. “Would it be possible to get a car to take Marci into town?”

     “Absolutely, Great Julius,” the F said, turning to the human with a painfully polite smile. “If you would follow me, Miss Novalli.”

     Marci shot Julius a nervous look. “Is he for real?”

     Julius nodded. “I’m sorry he was rude to you before. Fredrick’s had a rough time of it here in the mountain, and it’s given him some odd ideas about things. But he seems like an honest dragon who’s good at his job. You should be fine.”

     By the time he finished, she was grinning at him. “Look at you, all official! It’s almost like you’re part of the ruling Council of a dragon clan or something.”

     Julius winced. “Please don’t say that.” It sounded as if she were praising him for being his mother.

     “It was meant in the nicest way possible,” Marci assured him, clutching her bag. Then, without warning, she rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss against his cheek. It was the barest brush, a quick touch of her lips that was over almost before it started, but that didn’t stop it from sending a jolt of electricity straight down to his toes. He was still reeling when she pulled away, slinging her bag securely across her chest.

     “I’ll call you to report the moment the meeting’s over,” she said as she hurried up the stairs toward Fredrick. “And I haven’t forgotten you promised to take me flying, so make sure to leave room on your schedule tonight, okay?”

     Still speechless, Julius could only nod, watching in a haze as she flashed him a final smile and took off, following Fredrick up the stairs and out the door at the next landing. He was still grinning like an idiot when Justin finally stood up to join him.

     “It’s like that now, is it?”

     “You’re just jealous,” Julius said, not bothering to wipe the happy grin off his face as he reached up to touch the spot on his cheek where Marci had kissed him.

     His brother rolled his eyes in disgust. “Yeah, well, if you’re done staring after your mortal like a lost puppy, we’ve got real problems.”

     “Like what?” Julius asked, because this crisis had ended fantastically better than he’d expected.

     “Gregory to start,” Justin said, leaning over the railing to glare down the center of the stairwell. “He was obviously after the girl to get leverage on you, which isn’t a bad plan given how stuck on her you are.”

     He paused there, clearly waiting for his brother to sputter and deny it. When Julius just kept grinning, Justin continued with a sigh. “Your mage sent him running, so I doubt he’ll bother her again. Now that I’ve spread his failure around to the entire clan, though, he’s going to be madder than ever, which means we might actually get a real fight.”

     Now it was Julius’s turn to sigh. “Don’t say that like it’s a good thing. The entire point of this is to end the cycle of brother fighting brother, remember?”

     “That doesn’t mean some brothers don’t deserve to have their tails kicked,” Justin said stubbornly. “He talks a big game, but that Amazonian gutter snake clearly doesn’t have the guts to take me head on, which explains why he went after your human. Now that I’ve put his failure out there for everyone to see, though, he’ll have no choice but to put up or shut up.”

     “That’s why you did it?” Julius cried. “To antagonize him?”

     “Well, that and it was hilarious,” his brother said with a shrug. “But this needs to happen, Julius. Dragons like Gregory don’t just forget. If we don’t shut him down hard now, he’ll be a thorn in your side forever.” He cracked his knuckles. “I say we go find him now while he’s still licking his wounds and put an end to this nonsense for good.”

     “No,” Julius growled, fists clenching. “For the last time, Justin, you don’t free a dragon clan from threats of violence by using threats of violence!”

     “Oh, I wasn’t going to threaten,” Justin assured him. “I was just going to do it.”

     “That’s even worse!”

     “Says you,” Justin snapped. “But you’re a freak of nature: a pacifist dragon. The rest of us are normal, and if you want to make a point to a normal dragon, you need to use claws.”

     “That’s not true,” Julius said stubbornly. “We’re not animals, Justin.”

     His brother snorted. “Gregory is.”

     Considering he’d just attacked Marci, defending Gregory was not high on Julius’s list, but he couldn’t let that slide. “Gregory is angry,” he said, trying his best to stay calm and reasonable. “He’s only acting like this because I’m threatening his position. He’s a traditionally strong dragon, which means he was at the top of the old system. Now I’m changing things and threatening to upset that, so he’s fighting back the only way he knows how. I’m not excusing what he’s done, but fighting back in the same way isn’t going to make things better. We can’t make a clan free from bullies by being bullies ourselves.”

     “So you’re just going to roll over for him?” Justin said. “If you let this slide, he’ll be after you forever.”

     “No, he won’t,” Julius said confidently. “Because no dragon bangs his head on the wall forever. Once he realizes the old violence doesn’t work anymore, he’ll find new ways to solve his problems. Hopefully ones we can work with. But I don’t care what he does, we are not going to go looking for a fight, and that’s the end of it.”

     Justin looked surlier than ever by the time he was done, but to Julius’s amazement, he didn’t keep pushing. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t keep arguing, either. A fact for which Julius was incredibly grateful, at least until his brother changed the subject.

     “What I really want to know is where was Chelsie during all of this?” he said angrily. “You won’t let me punch in Gregory’s head, but policing family idiots is supposed to be her job. Why wasn’t she here doing it?”

     “Probably because she’s busy,” Julius replied. “The vote has the entire clan crammed in together. That’s a hundred and fifty dragons in close quarters, many of whom are involved in ongoing blood feuds. I’m pretty sure the only reason no one’s died yet is because Chelsie’s been working her butt off.”

     “That’s no excuse,” Justin growled. “I was stabbed through the heart by a crazy dragon seer not two days ago, and you don’t see me slacking. Look at you.” He slapped Julius on the back. “Fit as a fiddle. Not a single assassination attempt all morning, unless you count a little bit of C4.”

     Julius was pretty sure that counted, but his brother sounded oddly let down. “Do you want me to get assassinated or something?” he said, rubbing his bruised back.

     “Not gonna happen,” his brother said cockily. “But I wouldn’t mind if someone tried. The whole reason I agreed to let you have the Fang Council seat was so that I wouldn’t have to go to meetings, but that’s all we’ve done all morning! I thought your peace-and-love routine would pull dragons out of the woodwork, but other than one attack on your mage, no one’s tried anything direct. It’s all been traps and curses and other cowardly nonsense.”

     “Why would they do anything else?” Julius asked, pointing at his sword. “I’ve got a weapon that stops any Heartstriker with killing intent cold before I even see them. Attacking me head on is pretty pointless.”

     “Yeah, but I still thought they’d try,” Justin said irritably. “You’re a weakling, easy prey, and thanks to your demonstration at the vote yesterday, everyone knows you have to be actually grabbing your sword for it work. That’s a pretty big loophole in an unbeatable weapon. You should be drawing real assassins by the dozens, but we haven’t seen so much as a knife up a sleeve. I didn’t even get to punch Gregory!” He pouted. “What’s the point of being your bodyguard if I don’t get to do anything?”

     Julius sighed. He supposed he should be comforted that Justin was so eager to protect him, but that didn’t change the fact that this was all about ego at the end of the day. He was about to tell his overly aggressive brother to swallow his disappointment and prepare for more meetings when the hairs on the back of his neck began to tingle.

     “Speak of the devil,” Justin said, lifting his lip in a sneer at something on the steps behind Julius. Or, rather, someone.

     “Hello, Chelsie,” Julius said, turning around to greet his sister. “We were just talking about…”

     The words died on his tongue. When he’d seen her last night, he’d thought Chelsie looked a little haggard. Now, though, she looked almost as bad as Amelia.

     As always, she was dressed in black combat armor, with her Fang on her hip. But while she looked normal enough at first glance, the harsh glare of the stairwell’s lights showed that her armor’s matte black surface was heavily splattered with darker stains, some of which were still wet. The smell hit Julius a few seconds later, a pungent mix of dragon blood and fear, neither of which belonged to her.

     This wasn’t to say Chelsie wasn’t injured. Her stern face boasted several faint bruises, and she was holding her left arm at an odd angle, like she couldn’t completely use her shoulder. She also seemed to be heavily favoring her right leg, but Julius didn’t want Chelsie to think he was casing her for weaknesses, so he forced his eyes away from her injuries and back to her face.

     Naturally, Justin was not so polite. “What happened to you?” he demanded, looking her up and down. “Losing your touch?”

     Chelsie answered that with a cutting glare that rolled off her hardheaded brother like water off a duck’s back. “So who got you?” he asked excitedly.

     “No one you’d expect,” Chelsie growled, finally giving up. “And before you get any ideas, they were all lucky shots.”

     He snorted. “Likely story.”

     “Very likely,” she growled. “I’ve fought close to thirty of our idiot siblings this morning already. With those numbers, some hits are bound to get through. Even the blind pig finds an apple every now and then.”

     Justin was already opening his mouth to keep arguing, and Julius scrambled to get ahead of him. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a hard time.”

     Chelsie shrugged. “It was inevitable. Enforcing the clan rules is my job, and even smart dragons can lose their heads when power is up for grabs. But I didn’t come to complain. I’m actually here to offer you an apology.”

     Julius blinked. “Me?”

     His sister lowered her eyes. “I suspected Gregory was going to make a play for your human,” she said. “That’s why I went back downstairs after you left and rearmed all the wards on my rooms. I didn’t expect her to be able to break out anyway, or that Gregory would find her before I finished reminding a pair of Hs that a change in clan power doesn’t mean they can get away with murdering each other.” She looked at him again. “I’ve already dealt with Gregory, but I wanted you to know I’m sorry I was late. I hope your human is all right.”

     Chelsie apologizing to him was more than Julius knew what to do with. Even Justin was shocked speechless, his jaw hanging open. Finally, after the two of them had stood stupidly for way too long, Julius found his voice at last. “Marci’s fine,” he said in a rush. “She wasn’t a prisoner, anyway, so there’s no worries about her getting out. But, um, you didn’t… That is…”

     “Did you kill Gregory?” Justin finished for him.

     “No,” Chelsie said, shaking her head. “I only kill dragons who deserve it, and seeing how he’d just been defeated by a human, I decided he was already going to suffer plenty. But he knows I’m watching, and he shouldn’t be bothering you or Marci again.”

     “So you didn’t even rough him up?” Justin said, appalled. “I turned into a dragon in the DFZ for five minutes, and you took my sword and had me chained to a chair for a week! Gregory straight-up attacks Julius’s mage, and you let him off with a warning?”

     “I gave you plenty of warnings,” Chelsie snapped. “You just chose to ignore them. Gregory, by contrast, is still on his first offense of the year. I would have come down harder, but like I said, I’m a little busy at the moment. And again, it’s not like he isn’t going to suffer. You just sent news of his defeat by a human to the entire clan. I wouldn’t be surprised if he up and left altogether after this.”

     That would suit Julius just fine. But before he could thank his sister again, Chelsie winced, clutching her arm.

     “What?” he asked, instantly on guard.

     “Nothing,” she muttered, closing her eyes with a deep breath. “I have to go.”

     That made Julius more nervous than ever. “Where?”

     “None of your business,” she snarled, but the angry words were undermined by the obvious pain in her voice, and Julius bit his lip.

     “Are you sure you’re—”

     “I’m fine,” Chelsie growled. “I just need to take a short break and change into something with less blood on it. You.” She stabbed her finger at Justin. “Stay out of trouble. And you.” She stabbed her finger at Julius. “Keep your hand on that sword. And don’t do anything nice. Gregory’s not the only one who sees taking you out as his road to power, and I might not be around to save you next time.”

     “You weren’t around this time!” Justin yelled, but Chelsie was already gone. She didn’t even bother to wait until their backs were turned. She simply pulled her sword and sliced down, splitting the air in a strike almost too fast for Julius to see, leaving them staring at the empty step.

     “Show-off,” Justin grumbled.

     “I don’t think she was showing off,” Julius said, looking worriedly at the blood she’d left on the stairs. “I think she’s really hurt.”

     “You can’t hurt Chelsie,” his brother snorted. “She’s invincible.”

     Normally, Julius would have agreed. But everyone had their limits, and between Justin, Vann Jeger, and Estella, Chelsie had been up against hers for a long time now. Mother still hadn’t let her rest, either, sending her to get shot in the DFZ first thing yesterday and making her get up before dawn this morning to keep the clan from tearing itself apart. Even for an old and powerful dragon, Chelsie was obviously being worked far beyond what she could handle, and the more Julius thought about that, the angrier he got.

     “I’m going to go talk to her,” he said, starting down the stairs.

     “Are you crazy?” Justin growled, stomping after him. “Chelsie doesn’t talk. She threatens. And if that doesn’t work, she hits. It’s called being clan enforcer.”

     “All the more reason for me to do something, then,” Julius argued, taking the stairs down two at a time. “Chelsie’s the best at what she does, but no one dragon can police an entire clan alone. She doesn’t even like her job. She’s only doing it because Mother makes her. She has to work harder than all the rest of us combined, and that’s not fair.”

     Justin snorted. “Fair has nothing to do with being a dragon.”

     “It does in my clan,” Julius growled. “The whole point of moving to a Council was to free us from Mother, but that can’t happen if some of us are still trapped under her thumb.”

     “Yeah, well, life ain’t fair,” Justin said. “I’m sure Chelsie doesn’t like her lot, but it’s not like you can just make Mother set her free.”

     “Why not?” Julius asked. “Because that’s exactly what I’m planning to do.”

     Justin froze on the stairs behind him. “What?”

     “I’m going to free Chelsie,” Julius said, stopping as well to turn and look at him. “Mother’s making her do this just like she makes F-clutch act like servants, and it’s wrong. So I’m going to find a way to set them all free and put a stop to this once and for all.”

     Justin stared at him like he’d lost his marbles, and then he turned away with a curse. “Look,” he said at last. “I’m all for not having to deal with Chelsie lurking behind me anymore, but what you’re saying is insane. I know that you’re not exactly up on how our clan actually works since you were basically living under a rock until a month ago, but Chelsie’s been the Clan Enforcer since forever. She’s an institution, not to mention one of the only reasons this clan keeps functioning. Do you know how many rebellions we would have had before now if Chelsie hadn’t been there to stomp them down?”

     “All the more reason to set her free,” Julius said. “What kind of clan are we if the only thing keeping us together is our unifying fear of Chelsie? That’s not healthy.”

     “Maybe not,” Justin said. “But it works. And what makes you think you can set her free, anyway? Chelsie’s as sneaky as dragons come. If there was a way to wiggle out of this, she’d have done it ages ago. You already overthrew Bethesda. If Chelsie was going to go, she would have done it then. The fact that she’s still here doing her job just proves that she’s in a bigger mess than you can clean up with some Council edicts and wishful thinking.”

     Bethesda herself had said something similar yesterday morning, but it was far too early for Julius to accept defeat. “I won’t know until I try,” he said stubbornly, starting down the stairs again. “If I can just talk to her and explain what I want to do, maybe she’ll at least tell me what Bethesda’s using to keep her in line. That’s more than I have now.”

     “Yeah, good luck with that,” his brother grumbled. “Chelsie keeps her secrets even closer than her enemies. If you start asking questions, she’s just going to slam the door in your face.”

     Knowing Chelsie’s temper, a simple door slam was the probably a best-case scenario. But that was a risk he was willing to take. Even when she was being terrifying about it, Chelsie had always been there for him. Now, Julius was determined to at least try to return the favor, so he picked up the pace, taking the service stairs two at a time as he jogged down the endless corkscrew toward the very bottom of the mountain.

     ***

     Now that he knew where he was going, finding F-clutch’s hidden door was remarkably easy. This was partially because Julius had always had an excellent, survival-enforced memory for the mountain’s layout, and partially because generations of Fs making the trip down here on a daily basis had worn a faint but noticeable track in the stone floor. But while finding the entrance was no problem, getting in was another matter entirely.

     “For the last time,” Julius pleaded to the F who’d answered the door, a greasy, angry-looking dragon whom Julius vaguely remembered as being in charge of the mountain’s vehicle fleet. “I don’t mean Chelsie any harm. I just want to talk to her.”

     “And I’m telling you she’s not here,” the dragon replied. “Sir.”

     He spat the honorific like a curse, and Justin growled. “Watch it, Frankie.”

     “It’s Finlay,” the dragon at the door growled back. “Sir.”

     Justin bared his teeth, and Julius sighed. “Enough,” he said, getting between them. “We’re all on the same team, remember?” He looked up at the F. “Can you just tell her I’d like to see her, please?”

     Despite his insistence that Chelsie wasn’t in, Finlay stepped back inside, closing the door firmly to keep them from following.

     “He’s going to ditch us,” Justin said, looking back down the badly lit stone hall toward the stairwell. “I don’t even know what we’re doing down here. Chelsie’s a C and Bethesda’s Shade. If she lives anywhere in the mountain—which, for the record, I doubt—it’s going to be upstairs, not down here in the F gutter.”

     “I’m not saying she lives here,” Julius replied carefully, doing his best to toe the line between keeping Chelsie’s secret and not outright lying to his brother. “But the Fs have a better chance of finding her than either of us. They—”

     The click of a lock cut him off, and Julius looked up to see Finlay holding the door open with a new look of grudging respect. “Come in.”

     Julius was moving before he finished, darting inside before the F changed his mind. When Justin tried to follow, Finlay barred the way with his heavily muscled arm. “Not you.”

     Justin’s eyes narrowed. “I go where he goes.”

     “It’s okay, Justin,” Julius said quickly. “I’m not in danger from the Fs. They’re bound not hurt any of us, remember?”

     Finlay’s glower said he didn’t like being reminded of his clutch’s bondage. Justin didn’t look convinced, either, so Julius tried a different approach.

     “If you really want to protect me, there’s something else I need you to do,” he said quickly, glancing up and down the hall in a convincing—and not entirely false—show of nerves. “Chelsie’s probably right about Gregory getting desperate after you insulted him, but if he wasn’t willing to go head to head with you before, he’s not going to try it now. With that in mind, I’m betting his next attack will be something subtle, like poison.”

     “Good thinking,” Justin said, impressed. “You’re finally starting get this dragon gig, Julius. A coward who’d attack a human would absolutely use poison. So what’s our plan? Should I start eating your dinners?”

     “You could do that,” Julius said, heart sinking at the thought of how much food this was going to cost him. “But a better bet would be to just get food from somewhere Gregory doesn’t have access to. You know all the good takeout places around here. Could you—”

     “Way ahead of you,” Justin said, whipping out his phone. “You stay put in the F-locker, I’ll take care of food. Meet back here when you’re done.”

     “Roger,” Julius said, biting his lip to hide his relieved smile. “Thank you, Justin.”

     Justin nodded and waved him inside, never taking his eyes off his phone, where he’d already saved multiple pizza orders. When it was clear the knight was no longer a threat, Finlay closed the door in his face. “You’re pretty good at that,” he said as he turned the lock.

     “The Justin redirect is a J-clutch survival skill,” Julius said with a shrug, glancing down the Fs’ long hall. “Is Chelsie in her room?”

     Finlay nodded. “Fair warning, though, she’s in a foul mood. I think she only had me let you in so she could yell at you personally.”

     “That’s fine,” Julius said. “So long as she talks to me.”

     Finlay didn’t seem to know what to make of that, but he didn’t stop Julius as he walked down the hall to the warded door at the end. He knocked when he got there, but it was only perfunctory. Chelsie knew he was there, and he’d barely set his knuckles to her door before she snarled, “Just get in here, Julius.”

     He did as he was told, opening the door just enough to slip inside. But when he looked up to thank her for seeing him, the words died in his throat.

     It didn’t seem possible, but Chelsie looked even worse than she had on the stairs. She was sitting on the medical table with her armored jacket off, revealing a bloody mess of wounds—old and new—crisscrossing her olive skin beneath her stained tank top. One particularly nasty cut on her arm was still in the process of being stitched up, which shouldn’t even have been possible for an unsealed dragon, much less one as old as Chelsie. Julius had seen her heal wounds twice that size right in front of his eyes while she was fighting Vann Jeger. He couldn’t imagine how close to the limit her body must be for her need actual manual stitches to keep herself together. She should have been passed out in bed ages ago, and yet here she was, sitting patiently on the metal operating table at the front of her lair like this was all old news while Fredrick hovered beside her with a bloody needle and thread.

     The sight of the F made Julius do a double take. “I thought you were with Marci?”

     “I passed her on to the correct dragons,” Fredrick said. “She’s safely on her way, but Chelsie required my immediate attention.”

     Julius glanced at the needle in his hands. “Are you a doctor?”

     Fredrick shook his head. “Frances is the family doctor. I’m merely a good tailor.”

     “The best,” Chelsie agreed, wincing as Fredrick resumed stitching. “Go ahead.”

     Julius blinked. “Me?”

     “No one else has barged into my room,” she said irritably. “Finlay said you wanted to talk, so get on with it. Talk.”

     Julius began to fidget. He’d been so concerned with just getting to Chelsie, he hadn’t actually planned what he was going to say when he did it. He knew the basics, but saying them in a way that would actually get through to his sister rather than just putting her back up was no easy task. But Chelsie always had appreciated honesty more than cleverness, and in the end, Julius decided to just stick to what he did best: blurting out the truth.

     “I’m worried about you.”

     “Don’t be,” Chelsie said. “I’ve gotten through worse.”

     “That’s why I’m worried,” he said, looking pointedly at her fully stocked and obviously well used medical station. “This has to stop, Chelsie. You can’t keep acting like Mother’s secret police. It’s not right, it’s not good for the clan, and it’s not good for you.”

     “I couldn’t agree more,” she said through clenched teeth as Fredrick tied off the last stitch in her arm. “Go tell it to Bethesda.”

     “I intend to,” he said. “Right after you tell me what she’s using to keep you obedient.”

     Chelsie’s answer to that was a long, silent stare. It was the same stare she always gave him when he pried, and Julius was sick of it. “Why won’t you tell me?” he demanded. “I’m trying to help you, here! I know how much you hate being the clan boogieman. You don’t even like hurting dragons, do you?”

     “That depends on the dragon,” Chelsie said casually. “Sometimes I enjoy my job a lot.”

     “But you still hate having to do it.”

     She looked away, which was answer enough. “If you hate it, why are you keeping Mother’s secrets?” Julius demanded. “Why won’t you help me help you?”

     “Because you already had your chance,” Chelsie snapped, whirling back around. “You had Bethesda on her knees. Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of that moment? Of what I’d do to her when I finally got the upper hand?”

     Just like on the night they’d overthrown Bethesda, the hate in his sister’s voice sent a chill down Julius’s spine. “I know,” he said. “But I couldn’t. What she’s done to you—to all of us—is terrible, but I couldn’t kill her. Not if I actually wanted things to change. You can’t stop the cycle of violence with more violence, Chelsie.”

     “Spoken like a dragon who’s never truly had his back against the wall,” she growled, sliding off the table. “Go back to Brohomir, Julius. Enjoy the future he’s made for you while it lasts. But don’t come down here pretending you want to help me when we both know you’ve already made your choice.”

     “I’m not pretending,” Julius said, insulted. “You act like the only way to help you is to kill Bethesda!”

     “That’s because it is,” Chelsie said as she limped over to grab a clean armored coat from her closet. “You asked me how you could help, I told you. If you’re ready to do something about it, we’ll talk. Otherwise, get out.”

     “I’m not leaving,” he said stubbornly. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

     “What’s wrong is that I’m stuck with a stupid baby dragon who won’t leave!” she snarled, working her injured arm into the sleeve. “I was patient with you last night because you’re an earnest kid and I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m all tapped out today. Even whelps have to grow up and face reality sometime, Julius.”

     “You’re the one not being realistic,” Julius argued. “Being overly pessimistic is just as wrong as being overly optimistic. I know you’ve been grinding away at this for a long time now, but things are already changing, and they’re about to change even more. You signed that paper with the rest of us. You know the new Council will have all of Bethesda’s power. Once that third seat is filled, the three of us will be the Heartstriker. When that happens, what’s to stop me from just voting you and the Fs free?”

      He could already see how it would go. Bethesda would obviously vote no, but the rest of the clan feared and hated Chelsie for all the years she’d threatened them. No matter who won the final seat, they’d almost certainly side with Julius to set Chelsie free if only to get rid of her. It was practically a done deal.

     “There’s nothing,” he said, grinning wide. “No one has to die, because we’ve already won.”

     “He’s right,” Fredrick agreed, looking at their sister with the wild-eyed hope that only came from years of repression. “It would work. If we can just get to the vote, Julius could—”

     “Fredrick,” Chelsie said coldly. “Leave.”

     The F recoiled as though she’d struck him. “What?”

     “Go,” she growled, glaring at him. “And don’t let anyone else in. I need to speak with Julius alone.”

     For a moment, the tall dragon looked truly hurt, and then he pulled himself together, leaving the room with a silent, professional anger that scared Julius even more than Chelsie’s.

     “Why did you—”

     “This way,” Chelsie said, cutting him off as she turned on her heel and vanished down her badger tunnel of a hallway. “I’ve taken care of the Fs all their lives. Fredrick’s as loyal as they come, but he has sharp ears and a bad habit of pressing them against doors.”

     With a final glance over his shoulder, Julius hurried after her, stomach fluttering in anticipation. From the purposeful way she was walking, he hoped Chelsie was leading him to some kind of secret chamber where everything would be revealed. Instead, she pulled him into her tiny cell of a bedroom, locking the door and pressing her back against it, hiding the watercolor painting that hung from it with her body.

     “This is the most secure room in the mountain,” she said. “It’s still not absolute, but we’ll have to settle for what we’ve got. Give me your phone.”

     Julius obeyed, handing the device over. The moment Chelsie had it, she opened her door again just enough to toss it into the hall. He couldn’t help wincing as the shiny black plastic bounced off the stone walls, but he didn’t say a word as Chelsie relocked the door, turning on him with a determined look that he could only hope meant he was about to finally get some answers. A hope that proved to be short lived the moment his sister opened her mouth.

     “You can’t free me or F-clutch.”

     Julius gaped at her. “That’s what you brought me in here to say?”

     She nodded. “I couldn’t say it front of Fredrick. He’s pinned all of his hopes on you, and he’s convinced the rest of his clutch to do the same. He’s the oldest. The others have always followed his lead. Now, he’s got them all thinking you’re their ticket out from under Bethesda’s boot, but it’s a pipe dream. We can never be free.”

     She said this like it was the absolute truth, but Julius refused to believe. “Why not?” he growled. “F-clutch was bound while they were still in their eggs. What can Mother possibly have over them that—”

     “It’s not Bethesda,” Chelsie said, dropping her eyes. “It’s me. I’m the reason we’re trapped. That’s why I can’t let you give them hope. It doesn’t matter how much you change the clan. So long as Bethesda’s alive, I can never stop serving her, and F-clutch can never leave the mountain.”

     She said this quickly and quietly, but Julius couldn’t wrap his head around any of it. “But…” he said at last. “Why?”

     His sister heaved a long sigh and stepped sideways, revealing the beautiful Chinese watercolor hanging from the door behind her where the younger version of herself slept peacefully, smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world.

     “A long time ago,” she said, reaching out to brush her finger over the ink-black curls of her painted hair, “when I was your age, I did something very stupid.”

     Julius’s heart began to pound. “This is what happened in China, isn’t it?”

     “Lots of things happened in China,” Chelsie said bitterly.

     “But this is the one Bob was talking about,” Julius said, refusing to be put off course. “Who painted it?”

     The question made Chelsie twitch. “A dragon.”

     Given the intimate nature of the painting, it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. “You were involved with a Chinese dragon?”

     “You don’t have to say it like it was an impossible feat,” Chelsie snapped. “I’m not that homely.”

     “That wasn’t what I meant,” Julius said quickly. “It’s just, it’s hard to imagine you having a whirlwind romance in a foreign country. You’re always so serious and responsible, and the Chinese dragons are so…um…”

     “Insular?” she suggested.

     “Secluded,” Julius finished politely, though secretly, he felt Chelsie’s description was more accurate. The dragon clans of China might not be as big as Heartstriker, or as blatantly magical as the Three Sisters, but they were still some of the most powerful in the world. Whereas most dragons had merely come out publicly when magic returned, the Chinese clans—many of whom already held powerful positions inside China’s Communist Party—had banded together and taken over the country. This was only possible due to the fact that, unlike pretty much every other clan in their race’s bloody history, the dragons of China had abandoned their petty squabbles in favor of peaceful unification under a single ruler known as the Golden Emperor.

     How the Golden Emperor had accomplished this, no one seemed to know. In addition to being uncharacteristically civil, the Chinese clans were secretive to a level that raised even dragon eyebrows. They didn’t even talk with dragons from the outside, and they never left China. Or, at least, that was what Julius had heard. He’d never met a Chinese dragon or been to China himself. Most likely never would, either, since Heartstrikers were expressly forbidden from setting foot in the Golden Emperor’s domain. Before now, he’d always assumed the ban was their mother’s way of keeping them from accidentally starting a clan war by carelessly bumbling into an insular and powerful clan’s territory. Given what he’d just seen, though, Julius had to wonder if the truth wasn’t far more specific.

     “How did it happen?” he asked. “And what were you doing in China, anyway? I didn’t think the Golden Emperor allowed outside dragons in his territory.”

     “Not now,” she said. “But this was a long time ago, when things were different. Back then, Mother had just killed the Quetzalcoatl, and she was in the process of reestablishing all his old alliances under her name. Unfortunately, she had to do most of this alone since all the dragons from her first two clutches except Bob and Amelia had died in the coup against her father. My clutch was the first born to Bethesda after she became the Heartstriker, and the moment we were old enough to be trusted not to swallow our own tails, she had us running all over the world.”

     “And she sent you to China?”

     “I volunteered, actually,” Chelsie said with a shrug. “It was a long and dangerous trip, but traveling to the opposite side of the world from Bethesda sounded like a vacation to me. It was actually one of the best times of my life. Until things went wrong, anyway.”

     That was a cryptic way to put things, but given how Chelsie was still touching the painting like it was her greatest treasure, Julius could hazard a guess. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”

     Chelsie jumped like she’d been caught with her hand in Bethesda’s treasury, and then she shook her head. “That obvious, huh?”

     He nodded, and she sighed again. “I told you I was stupid.”

     “There’s nothing stupid about falling in love.”

     “There is when you know better,” Chelsie snapped. “This wasn’t some human I could safely fall into puppy love with. He was a dragon. I might have been young, but I wasn’t naive. I knew exactly what sort of fire I was playing with, but I went ahead and did it anyway, and then I cried when I got burned. If that’s not stupid, I don’t know what is.”

     The way she said that made Julius wince. “Was he that bad?”

     She blinked in surprise at the question. “That’s not what I meant. He wasn’t bad at all. Quite the opposite, actually, which was the whole problem. I should have been terrified, or at least spooked enough to stay wary, but he was just too…”

     “Too what?” he prompted.

     “Lovely,” she finished at last, her voice wistful in a way he’d never heard from her before. “Absolutely lovely, inside and out. Smart and thoughtful and charming, not to mention the handsomest dragon I’d ever seen. Even in his human shape, he had eyes like you wouldn’t believe. They were the exact color of golden coins, the heavy, beautiful, yellow ones dragons kill for. Ironic, actually, since I don’t think he’d ever killed anything in his life.”

     “He didn’t kill?” Julius said, amazed. Other than himself, he’d never even heard of a dragon who didn’t kill, but Chelsie was nodding.

     “He didn’t need to,” she explained. “He was the eldest son of a very powerful clan. No one dared to touch him, much less challenge him. Even during the drought when humans forgot about us, dragons still lived like royalty in China. He’d never even had to hunt for his own food.” Her lips quirked. “I was quite a shock to him. As a dragon from the uncivilized lands across the sea, I think I was the most savage creature he’d ever met.”

     “But he must have liked you, too,” Julius said with a smile. “No one paints a picture that lovely of someone they don’t care about.”

     He’d meant it to be a compliment, but the moment the words were out of his mouth, Chelsie’s wistful look died so fast he wished he’d never said them.

     “He did care,” she said stiffly, turning the picture over so the watercolor was hidden against the wall. “More than he should have, and definitely more than I deserved. We both knew it couldn’t last, but we were young and stupid enough to think the rules didn’t apply to us. We kept telling each other that we were different. Toward the end, I think we even believed it. But reality doesn’t care what naive young dragons think, and by the time we realized we were crashing, it was far too late.”

     She sounded so sad by the time she finished, Julius was afraid to ask, and yet he had to know. “What happened?”

     Chelsie sighed. “What always happens when a nobody dragoness from a backwater clan gets seriously involved with the eldest son of a powerful one. We were found out, and his mother objected.”

     Julius blinked in surprise. “That’s it? His mother objected?”

     “I’m sorry my sordid past isn’t dramatic enough for your liking,” Chelsie growled. “But when you’re a twenty-year-old whelp alone in China, the matriarch of a territory’s biggest clan isn’t someone you want objecting to you. The moment she found out what was going on, she put an end to it, which included putting an end to me. She was about to do it, too, when Mother arrived to intervene.”

     Julius’s jaw dropped. “Bethesda went to China to save you?”

     “I know,” Chelsie said, shaking her head. “It sounds ridiculous now, but you have to remember this was right after she lost her first two clutches. Bethesda spent the decades after her father died laying eggs faster than anyone thought possible, but even with D- and E-clutches already hatched and growing, she simply didn’t have enough dragons yet to risk losing even one. When I cried for her help, she came to China personally to negotiate for my life. Unfortunately, there was nothing to negotiate. Even the wealth of the Heartstriker paled in comparison to the Golden Emperor’s. When all was said and done, Bethesda simply had nothing they wanted more than my death, and so she was forced to do the only thing left that she could.”

     “Which was?”

     Chelsie’s jaw clenched. “She begged.”

     “Begged?” he repeated, incredulous.

     “On her knees,” Chelsie said grimly. “She got down in front of the Golden Emperor and begged him to spare my life. Her humiliation amused them, and I was set free that same afternoon. Naturally, I’ve been paying for it every day since.”

     That went without saying, Julius thought, glancing down at the bloodstained stone of her bedroom floor. He’d always known Chelsie’s story would be unique, but he’d never expected that. Even when her own life had been on the line, Bethesda hadn’t begged. He couldn’t imagine how high the stakes must have been to make her to do it for Chelsie. But while this explained how his sister had gotten so deeply in debt to their mother, it still didn’t add up why she was refusing to let Julius get her out of it now.

     “I get that between the begging and everything else, you owe Bethesda a crazy life debt,” he said carefully. “But it’s been six hundred years. Entire civilizations haven’t lasted as long as you’ve been paying this off. Surely you’ve done your time.”

     Chelsie arched an eyebrow. “Have you met our mother? Forgive and forget aren’t in her vocabulary.”

     “But that doesn’t give her the right to keep you in debt forever,” he said firmly. “And even if she’s vowed never to let you go, none of this has anything to do with F-clutch. They’re only…” He paused to do the math in his head. “Six-hundred-years old themselves. Were they even hatched while this was happening?”

     “No,” she said, her voice strangely strained. “They were laid shortly after Mother and I returned home.”

      That was odd timing. If Bethesda had laid F-clutch right after getting back, that would have meant she’d been pregnant at the start of her journey, which didn’t make sense. First, pregnancy left dragonesses severely weakened, and the Bethesda he knew would never risk going up against a stronger dragon at anything less than full power, even if she was only going to beg. Second, even Bethesda—whose superpower was laying eggs—couldn’t have carried a clutch for the multiple months it took even dragons to get from the Americas to China and back again in the fourteen hundreds.

     In fact, once you factored in travel time, it was actually impossible for Bethesda to have been pregnant when she’d left to save Chelsie, because E-clutch was famously only one year older than F. By that math, she must have hopped on the boat the moment the Es hatched, and even Bethesda couldn’t have gotten herself pregnant again that fast. But if she wasn’t already expecting when she’d set sail, that meant she would have had to have found F-clutch’s father in China, which seemed even less likely. There was no way any of the Golden Emperor’s dragons would fly with her after their clan head had nearly murdered Chelsie just for having a fling. Even if she’d gotten pregnant there by accident, they never would have let her leave. Eggs were deadly serious business in any dragon clan. No matter how much they looked down on her, the Golden Emperor would never have let Bethesda waltz out of his lands with a belly full of his clan’s unhatched eggs. But if she hadn’t been pregnant when she’d gone to China and she hadn’t been pregnant when she’d left, where had F-clutch come from?

     He was still puzzling over this when he realized Chelsie was staring at him, her green eyes shining with a desperate, violent light. “You’ve always been an odd dragon, Julius,” she said quietly. “But you’ve never been a stupid one. I can already see that clever brain of yours putting the pieces together. For your sake, I suggest you forget them. Some mysteries are better left in the past.”

     “Not if the past is still crippling the present,” Julius said angrily. “There’s obviously a lot more that happened in China than you’re telling me, but whatever it was, it’s not F-clutch’s fault. They weren’t even laid when all this happened. I understand you’re in debt to Mother up to your neck, but that still doesn’t explain why you think they can’t go free.”

     He expected Chelsie to get angry at that, but she just looked sadder than ever. “You’re right,” she said at last. “It’s not their fault, and it’s not fair, but that doesn’t mean they’re not suffering for it. They shouldn’t be, but they are, and that’s my fault, too.”

     “How?” he asked, clenching his fists. “I don’t want to pry into your life. I just want to fix things.”

     “I know,” she said. “And that’s the only reason I’m telling you all this. Because you do care, but it’s not enough, Julius. What happened…what I did in China all those years ago hurt a lot more than just myself. You’ve never seen the fallout because I’ve kept it a secret all these years, but if the truth ever gets out, we will all pay. F-clutch in particular.”

     “Wait,” Julius said, staring at her. “That’s why they have to stay sealed and in the mountain? Because of something you did in China?”

     “I told you it wasn’t fair,” she said bitterly. “But you’re right. Because of what I did, F-clutch can never go free. I can’t tell you why for obvious reasons, but you should know it’s not just you. The only dragons in the world who know all the details are myself, Brohomir, and Bethesda. I trust Bob not to talk because he’s already seen what happens if this gets out, but Bethesda’s different. She’s a selfish, spoiled princess who cares only for her own power.”

     “And you think she’ll tell your secret?” Julius finished for her.

     “I know she’ll tell,” Chelsie growled. “Did you really think something as simple as a life debt could have kept me her slave for six hundred years? All my blood oath does is bind me from killing Bethesda myself. To actually force me to obey, she would have had to put a seal on me before I hatched, like she did for the Fs, and that has its own drawbacks. But Bethesda didn’t need magic to put me under her boot. Blackmail is just as effective, and far simpler. There’s nothing to break, nothing to go wrong. So long as I don’t want my secret getting out, I have no choice but to obey her every word. Simple as that.”

     Julius scowled. He supposed he should be happy that his mother’s control over Chelsie wasn’t some sort of crazy blood debt, but blackmail was actually way harder to deal with than magic. A life debt he could just break, but a secret was far more insidious, especially since he had no idea what secret could possibly be horrible enough to make Chelsie willingly remain under Bethesda’s heel and keep F-clutch there with her.

     “This secret,” he said at last. “If it’s really as bad as you make it sound, surely Bethesda won’t actually use it? Even with the Council, she’s still at the top of the clan. She has just as much to lose as we do if—”

     “That’s where you’re wrong,” Chelsie said bitterly. “I know our mother better than most, and I can promise you that, at least in her own mind, Bethesda has more on the line right now than anyone. She was able to stomach your Council because, in her mind at least, she hasn’t actually lost yet. So long as she has me to enforce her will, my sword will always be on the clan’s neck, which means she will always be the Heartstriker in the only way that matters to her. Unfortunately, I’m also the last piece she has on the board. If she loses me, she really is defeated.” She frowned. “Honestly, I think that’s the only reason she hasn’t ordered me to kill you yet. She doesn’t want to risk flaunting just how much power she still has until the Council is complete and she’s safely unsealed.”

     That was a disturbing thought. Julius had been so caught up in the Council’s power to make official clan decisions, he hadn’t even considered how easily his mother could undermine that with Chelsie behind the scenes. But while Julius considered that even more of a reason to free his sister, Chelsie just looked defeated, as though she’d already fought and lost.

     “Don’t count us out yet,” he said with a smile. “We’re not going to sit by and let her keep the power she signed away. Besides, even if she does order you to kill me, I know you’ll just find a way around it. Like you said, it’s blackmail, not mind control, and you’ve gotten around her orders before when you helped me in the DFZ.”

     “That was different,” Chelsie growled. “She didn’t hate you as much then, and you were less of a threat. Now you’re at the top of all her lists, which means it’s only a matter of time before the order comes down. Less if you keep pushing.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you think I keep telling you to keep a hand on your Fang? It’s not to protect you from the others. It’s because having your hand on the hilt at all times is the only chance you have of surviving me.”

     That resigned practicality in her voice was enough to turn Julius’s blood to ice, but even when she was giving him tips on how not to die when she came for him, he couldn’t make himself believe that Chelsie—the sister he’d come to know as one of the most secretly kind dragons in the family—would willingly remain in her position as Bethesda’s blade, killing her siblings and keeping the mother she hated above all else in power, just to keep a secret from six hundred years ago.

     “You see?” she said, glaring at him. “This is why I didn’t want to talk to you. I can already see you trying to think your way out, but there is no escape, Julius. I’m all Bethesda has left now. If you try to take me from her, you can bet your feathers she’ll blurt my secret out in the next breath, because that’s how she operates. Bethesda will cut deals all day if she thinks she can get out of them, but she’d sooner die and take us all down with her than give up even a fraction of what she considers her actual power. That’s why I keep telling you to kill her. If she dies, my secret dies with her, and all of this becomes moot. But so long as she’s alive, all it will ever take is one word for her to do far worse than kill me, which means I will never be free. Not while she lives. So.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now that you know as much of the truth as I can give, I’ll ask one more time. Will you kill Bethesda?”

     Julius took a deep breath. In the end, though, he could only shake his head. “I know she deserves to it for what she’s done, especially to you, but I did this to end the killing, Chelsie. I want to make this clan a better place, somewhere we don’t have to be afraid all the time, and awful as Bethesda is, we don’t get somewhere new by repeating the same bloody choices of the past and expecting a different outcome. That’s why I didn’t kill her during the coup, and it’s why I can’t kill her now.”

     Chelsie’s eyes narrowed. “Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

     “Yes, we do,” he said, clenching his fists. “Because this isn’t the same clan it was two days ago. We’ve already changed so much. We can change this, too, I know it! I might not be exactly sure how yet, but I refuse to let you give up on everything just because I won’t kill our mother.”

     “You don’t get to decide that,” she growled. “Do you know how many times I’ve given up, Julius? I’ll give you a hint. It’s exactly the same number of times I’ve let myself believe what you’re spouting right now. Over the centuries, every time something changed in the clan, I used to think that maybe this was it. Maybe, just maybe, this time things would get better, and every single time, I was wrong.”

     “But this is different,” he argued. “We’re—”

     “Not for me,” she said, shaking her head. “I know you think you’re being a good brother by trying to give me hope, but there’s nothing nice or kind about giving someone something they can’t use. So long as Bethesda lives, there is no hope. Not for me, and not for them.” She pointed through the wall at the F-clutch hallway. “I hate that more than you can ever know, but hating the truth doesn’t change it. It’s taken a long, long time, but I’ve finally made peace with that, and I refuse to let you undo all of my hard work with your false promises.”

     “They’re not false!” he cried. “And you shouldn’t be at peace with this! If you keep thinking like that, nothing will ever change!”

     “Nothing changes now!” Chelsie yelled angrily. “I respect what you’re trying to do. It’s a noble effort to try and fix something as broken as Heartstriker. But don’t tell me things are getting better when the sword I’ve been living under for six hundred years is closer than ever to falling on my head! You’ve already pushed Bethesda to the edge, but all that means is that she’s clutching me even tighter. If you try to pry her claws off, she’ll use my secret as brutally as she can to spite us all, and everything I’ve suffered to protect for all these centuries will be for nothing.”

     Julius shook his head frantically. “But—”

     “No,” she snapped. “No more buts. I’ve already told you more than I’ve told anyone in centuries. I even told you exactly what you need to do to fix the problem, but you won’t, which means we have nothing more to say.”

     Before Julius could reply, she turned back to the door, unlocking the dead bolt before stepping aside to let him pass. When he didn’t leave quickly enough, she shoved him into the hall, closing the door behind him. Julius caught it at the last second, wedging his shoulder into the crack.

     “This isn’t over,” he said. “I’m not going to kill Bethesda, but that doesn’t mean I’ve given up on setting you and the Fs free. The answer’s out there somewhere, and I’m going to find it.” He looked her in the eyes. “I haven’t given up on you, Chelsie.”

     “That’s too bad,” she said, pushing him out of the way. “I have.”

     And then she shut the door in his face.

     Julius stared at the blank wall of wood for a long time after that. He was still standing there when he heard his phone buzzing on the floor where Chelsie had tossed it, the screen flashing with an angry message from Bethesda, demanding his presence in her chambers five minutes ago.

     Chapter 10

     It was amazing what having an inside dragon could accomplish.

     Despite the crowd of surly humans packing the section of Heartstriker Mountain Marci now thought of as the human holding pen, Marci had zero problems. One word from Fredrick, and the human staff had whisked her away to a private room with a full bath suite. By the time she’d finished cleaning up, someone had even laid new clothes out for her. Really nice clothes.

     Given where she was, Marci supposed that was par for the course. With the exception of Julius, most dragons dressed like they wanted to be ready to shoot a fashion editorial at a moment’s notice. But even if this was business as usual for the Heartstrikers, Marci still found it thrilling in a Cinderella sort of way. The work-appropriate wardrobe wasn’t exactly gowns and glass slippers, but Marci would take meeting Sir Myron Rollins over a ball any day. The only downside was that Julius wasn’t there to see her when she actually looked decent for once.

     “He liiiiiiikes me,” she sang happily as she tried on all the shoes the staff had left to find the pair that fit best. “He really liiiiiikes me.”

     Of course he likes you, Ghost said grumpily from the bed. You’re one of his best tools.

     “Don’t be a downer,” she scolded as she slipped on a pair of spindly heels before shaking her head and going back to the comfortable black flats. Never knew when you were going to have to book it around here. “Let me have my moment, would you?”

      And oh, what a moment it was. After months of crushing hard on Julius, all the time knowing she didn’t have a chance due to the whole “human” thing, things had taken a dramatic turn for the awesome. She’d known something was up when he’d kissed her before Vann Jeger, but she’d written it off to pre-battle jitters. Since then, things between them had been a mess of interrupted conversations and the hesitation she’d always assumed was disinterest, but was now starting to realize was actually Julius’s crippling shyness. When he’d found her on the stairs just now, though, Marci had finally understood that it wasn’t just friendship for either of them. Julius cared about a lot of people, most of them dragons, but he’d never looked that scared for anyone but her. And yeah, part of it was probably the natural attraction of having gone through so much together, but when she’d taken a chance and kissed his cheek, he’d looked every bit as happy about it as she’d felt. That was very promising, and after the week she’d had, Marci was ready to jump on it.

     Don’t get your hopes up.

     She stopped her happy humming and turned to glare at her cat. “Why are you acting like this? I thought you liked Julius.”

     Ghost flicked his ears. He’s not bad for a dragon, but you’re forgetting the part where he’s immortal and you’re not. He likes you now when you’re both young, but when you get old, he’ll leave you.

     “Don’t bury me yet,” Marci grumbled, glaring stubbornly at the mirror as she ran the complimentary brush through her short hair. “Why do you care, anyway?”

     Because he isn’t worth so much of your attention, Ghost said, jumping up on the vanity beside her. He has a whole mountain. I only have you. He shouldn’t get that, too.

     He finished with a lash of his tail, and Marci started to smile. “I get it now,” she said, scooping the spirit into her arms. “You’re jealous.”

     Ghost huffed at her, and Marci bent down to bury her face in his soft, freezing fur. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I like Julius a lot—like a lot a lot—but you’re my cat. Whatever happens, nothing changes that.”

     Nothing changes that, he agreed, flattening his ears. But I still don’t like how much of your thoughts he takes up.

     “Part of growing up is learning to share,” she said, checking the time. “And speaking of sharing, we have to go. I’m supposed to meet Sir Myron in five minutes.”

     The moment she said the undersecretary’s name, Ghost’s attention begin to slide. You can handle a human, he muttered, closing his eyes. I’m tired.

     “Poor baby,” she cooed, tucking him back inside her tattered shoulder bag. “You’ve been through a lot today. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when something happens.”

     She sent him a little pulse of magic from Amelia’s fire as she finished, and Ghost gobbled it up, his presence in her head curling into a ball. A few seconds later, he was asleep, his transparent body little more than a glowing shadow inside her bag as she hurried out of the room to find her ride.

     As with everything else since Fredrick had tied his name to hers, this proved to be a cinch. Now that she was approved as a VIH, or Very Important Human, the staff of Heartstriker Mountain was falling over themselves to do her bidding. She barely had to breathe the word car before she was bundled into a huge, black, armored SUV with nearly opaque tinted windows and on her way into town.

     A few minutes later, she discovered calling Heartstriker, New Mexico a “town” was being generous. The cluster of buildings on the road leading up to the dragon mountain was a tourist trap, plain and simple.

     Enormous, boxy shops lined both sides of the two-lane desert highway, and their kitschy windows were filled with every imaginable bit of dragon merchandise and paraphernalia. Some of it was pretty clever, like the bottles of ketchup-scented novelty body lotion and the T-shirts with the fake scorch marks that read “I SURVIVED HEARTSTRIKER MOUNTAIN!” The hot item seemed to be signed hardback copies of Bethesda’s fifth autobiography, Mother of the Year, which was stacked four rows deep in every store, but most of the merchandise was standard-issue lazy tourist junk: key chains and postcards and stuffed feathered dragons with huge eyes designed to entrap children and separate tired parents from their money. It was nothing Marci hadn’t seen before at tourist shops back in Las Vegas, though now that she’d actually lived with dragons, she was surprised Bethesda tolerated her image being exploited like this. That said, the Heartstriker matriarch did love attention, and Marci supposed it wasn’t so bad when you were the one doing the exploiting.

     But in the midst of all the rampant dragon commercialism, there were a few holdouts of actual local business. On the back side of the strip, sandwiched between the Dragon Theater and a dragon-themed buffet, was a classic American diner. It was one of those shabby, hole-in-the-wall, locals-only joints with the faded red leather booths, counter service, and pancakes sold by the stack. It definitely didn’t look like the type of establishment where the undersecretary of magic to the UN would eat, but according to the address on the card Raven had given her, this was the place, so Marci grabbed her bag with the still-sleeping Ghost and climbed out of the car. The moment she was out, the automated vehicle turned itself around and started back toward the mountain, leaving her blinking in the bright desert sun before she gathered her courage and marched into the diner, pushing open the dusty glass door with all the self-importance she could muster.

     This turned out to be a lot of show for nothing. The tiny diner was empty. Marci wasn’t sure if this was because it was eleven thirty a.m. on a weekday in the middle of nowhere, or if the restaurant was deserted because the undersecretary of magic wanted it that way. In either case, there wasn’t even a waitress there to greet her, though the complete lack of customers did make it easy to spot Raven perched on the back of a large circular booth in the diner’s far back corner.

     “Well,” he croaked, looking her up and down. “Took you long enough.”

     The sorry was on the tip of her tongue before Marci remembered she was the one doing them a favor. “I was busy,” she said instead, walking around the counter as confidently as she could to get her first look at the legend she’d come here to meet.

     Given the importance of any of his numerous jobs, Marci had expected to find the undersecretary of magic holding court at a table filled with aides and security. When she turned the corner, though, there were only two people sitting in the large booth. The first was obvious—Sir Myron Rollins looked exactly like the pictures on the back of all his books right down to his perfectly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and immaculate tailored suit—but she didn’t recognize the extremely intimidating woman beside him. Even under the conservative black suit, it was obvious she was augmented—muscles simply didn’t grow that big on a woman without serious outside help—but that kind of thing was pretty common these days, especially in the military. She was waffling between battle mage or bodyguard, or maybe even battle mage bodyguard, when the woman suddenly rose from her seat with what looked like a real smile.

     “Marci Novalli?”

     Marci nodded, and the woman’s smile grew even wider as she offered her hand. “I’m General Emily Jackson, commanding officer of the UN’s Magical Disaster Response Team. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

     “Sure,” Marci said, taking her hand…only to nearly drop it again. For someone who wasn’t wearing any of the normal mage trappings—no rings or wards or obvious sources of power—the general’s fingers were humming with magic. It reminded Marci strongly of the few times Julius had let her hold his first magical sword, Tyrfing, but she’d never felt anything like it in a living creature before, much less from a person. But if General Jackson noticed her odd reaction, she didn’t show it. She just squeezed Marci’s hand and sat back down, nodding to the famous mage beside her, who had yet to acknowledge Marci’s presence. “I’m sure my companion requires no introduction.”

     “None at all,” Marci said, forcing herself to stay calm and not squee like a rabid fangirl. “It’s an honor to meet you, Sir Myron. I’ve read all your books.”

     “They are required reading for most institutions,” the undersecretary replied, though he made no move to stand and did not offer her his gloved hand. He wasn’t even looking at her face. His attention was entirely fixed on her shoulder bag where Ghost was sleeping, and his dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Is that your spirit? The cat?”

     That struck Marci as a weird question. She wasn’t even sure how Sir Myron had known Ghost was a cat considering there was no way the mage could see through her bag. But he was a legend for a reason, and they were here to talk about Mortal Spirits, so she brushed it off and sat down on the padded bench across the booth from them. “He is,” she said, pulling Ghost out of her bag and placing him gently on the table. “I call him Ghost.”

     The moment the sleeping spirit came into view, the look of bored apathy fell off the undersecretary’s face. He sat up at once, leaning forward so fast he almost knocked over his coffee. “Extraordinary,” he murmured, his gray eyes satisfyingly wide when they glanced back up at Marci. “What’s his name?”

     “Ghost,” Marci said again.

     Sir Myron’s look turned sharp. “His actual name.”

     Marci clamped her jaw shut. Starstruck or not, that was not information she was comfortable giving to just anyone. She wasn’t exactly sure how it worked, but considering how much stock Ghost had put into learning his true name, it wasn’t hard to guess that spirit names were powerful mojo. Too powerful to just give away, even to someone as famous as Sir Myron Rollins. She was trying to think of a polite way to say No way when the general raised her hand.

     “This isn’t an interrogation,” she said, looking at Marci with an expression so extraordinarily patient and polite, it had to be practiced. “We’re not here to make demands, Miss Novalli. I had Raven ask you—”

     “Wait,” Marci said, confused. “You told Raven? Not…”

     She glanced at Myron, and Raven squawked with laughter. “Surely you don’t think I listen to him,” the spirit said, hopping off the back of Marci’s padded bench seat to land on the table in front of the general. “Mr. Labyrinth’s razzle-dazzle might be enough to impress some spirits, but I’ve been playing with mages since before your kind learned to write. I’m not so easily won over.”

     “So you’re a mage?” Marci asked the general.

     “Not exactly,” she said. “I—”

     “She’s my special project,” Raven said, fluffing out his chest in pride. “I found her on a battlefield ages ago. My children have always been carrion eaters, and I’d meant to let them have a little fun, but despite all cause to the contrary, this one wasn’t quite dead yet. I found that interesting, so I patched her up and we made a deal.”

     “Don’t make it sound so sinister,” General Jackson said, giving the bird a stern look before turning back to Marci. “Raven and I aren’t tied by the usual links because I’m not a mage. There’s no spell binding us or anything like that. It’s more of a mutually beneficial partnership. He helps me, I help him.”

     “Do you have to be so practical?” Raven croaked, irritated. “Now it doesn’t sound interesting at all.”

     Marci thought it sounded quite interesting. She’d never even heard of a link between a spirit and a normal human. Sir Myron, on the other hand, looked put out by the whole conversation.

     “Interesting or not, none of this is fit to be discussed in public,” he said crisply. “Let me get us some privacy, and then we’ll get down to business.”

     He removed his gloves as he finished, revealing a set of wide metal rings carved with an intricate geometric line pattern, like the turnings of a maze. Marci was trying to get a better look when he flicked his fingers, and magic exploded into the room.

     The blast sent Marci flat back in her seat. There was no circle, no spellwork, nothing to channel the power or tell it what to do. The undersecretary was simply moving magic through the labyrinth of his rings, tweaking the power on the fly like an artist manipulating clay. But where shamans made this sort of on-the-fly casting look reckless at best, every one of Sir Myron’s movements felt like a natural extension of the power he was shaping. This, she realized with a start, was Labyrinth Magic, the school Sir Myron had created himself that was so complicated, no one had ever been able to copy it properly.

     Watching it live herself for the first time, Marci could see why. He didn’t throw the magic around like shamans did or run it through a Thaumaturgical equation full of variables like Marci. He simply pointed, and the spell followed, weaving itself through the maze he traced in the air until the table was surrounded by a Gordian knot of magic so perfect and precise, she could have studied it for hours.

     “There,” he said proudly, tying the ward off with a flourish. “That should stop anything short of a full attack from the Heartstriker herself. Now.” He turned his glare on Marci. “Would you care to explain why you’re letting the first Mortal Spirit to rise since the return of magic waste away?”

     “What are you talking about?” she asked. “He’s just asleep.”

     “Spirits don’t sleep unless they are critically low on magic,” Sir Myron said authoritatively, staring critically at her snoozing, transparent cat. “They are the sentient embodiment of magic, not biological—”

     “Wait,” she said, eyes going wide. “You know spirits are sentient magic?!”

     “Of course I know,” Sir Myron scoffed. “It’s the central conceit of my latest book, New Spirit Theories.”

     Marci slumped down in the booth, defeated. So much for her Nobel Prize in magic. She’d thought for sure she was the first modern human to know when Amelia had explained it on the beach, but apparently she was a day late and a whole textbook short.

     “Don’t feel down,” General Jackson said, giving Marci what was probably supposed to be a kind smile. “Not to downplay Myron’s accomplishments, but our office has access to a wealth of information that we’ve kept secret from the larger academic community.”

     “Why?” Marci asked. “This is huge! If spirits truly are sentient magic, then we’ve been thinking about them all wrong for decades.”

     “Not all wrong,” Raven said. “The current prevailing magical theory is that spirits are great, mysterious powers to be respected and honored, and that’s true. It’s also true we’re basically giant walking, talking bags of magic, and that’s where things get trickier. If humans start seeing us less as terrifying supernatural forces and more as untapped magical wells, it’s only a matter of time before you start sucking us dry like you do every other resource on this planet. That’s actually why I’ve been corrupting Myron’s final publication draft file every chance I get for the last few weeks. I’m not sure if the world is ready for this yet.”

     Sir Myron’s look turned murderous. “That was you?”

     The spirit shrugged, and the mage raised his fist before General Jackson grabbed his arm with a firm gloved hand. “We’ll discuss this later,” she said in an iron voice. “For now, I’m more curious as to how you learned about sentient magic theory, Miss Novalli. Myron figured it out through years of top-level research with some of our greatest spirit allies, including Raven, but how did you learn the truth?” Her eyes flicked to Ghost. “Did he tell you?”

     Marci shook her head. “Ghost is a pretty new spirit. He says he doesn’t know this stuff, and I believe him. I learned about Mortal Spirits and the sentient magic from Amelia.”

     Everyone at the table jumped. “Amelia?” Sir Myron demanded. “Amelia? As in the Planeswalker, heir to the Heartstrikers?”

     Marci nodded, and the UN officials shared a look. Raven, on the other hand, started to laugh. “That sounds just like her! Greedy snake never could resist a power play. She was trying to recruit you, wasn’t she?” When Marci nodded, he cackled again, his beak open in the closest thing a bird could get to a grin. “So did she mention me? Huh? Huh? Did she?”

     “No,” Marci said, trying not to wince when the bird looked crushed.

     “I didn’t even think the Planeswalker was in this reality at this moment,” Sir Myron said, stroking his beard as he gazed at Marci. “Though an alliance with Amelia would explain the car you arrived in.”

     “I don’t have an alliance with Amelia,” Marci said. “I don’t belong to any dragon, actually. I’m just here to help Julius. He’s my partner.”

     She’d almost said boyfriend, but confident as she was feeling right now about how things were going, that felt like a bridge too far. The UN team looked impressed in any case, probably because they’d only met Julius, Council member and Usurper of Bethesda, not Julius the Nice Dragon. Personally, Marci far preferred the latter, but she wasn’t above riding on his new coattails, especially since Sir Myron was finally looking at her with something like grudging respect.

     “I’m happy to hear you’re not beholden to a dragon,” he said at last, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “How much do you know about Mortal Spirits, exactly?”

     “Not as much as I’d like,” Marci admitted. “When Amelia explained it to me, she said that when lots of humans believe something, it creates an impression on the magical landscape. When this impression fills with magic, it becomes a spirit of the idea the same way magic collecting in a lake or mountain creates a spirit of the land.”

     “But far, far bigger,” Sir Myron added.

     Marci nodded. “She said that as well. That’s why we haven’t seen any Mortal Spirits yet, because the indentations that create them—the big human concepts like death or love or whatever—are so big, so deep and so wide and so huge that the last sixty years of magic simply hasn’t been enough to fill them yet.”

     “That is all technically correct,” the UN mage said, nodding. “Though I don’t think you quite appreciate just how much bigger we’re talking about. The relative level of the manasphere is a difficult concept even for theoretical mages, but I think the water metaphor works best here.”

     That sounded like the same analogy Amelia had used, but Marci didn’t want to interrupt Sir Myron now that he was finally explaining things, so she just motioned for him to continue.

     “Magic pours into this world like a stream into a wetland,” the mage said. “A thousand years ago, something—we don’t know what—stopped the stream’s flow, and the result was a magical drought so severe that spirits, mages, and other creatures and phenomena that relied on magic all but ceased to exist. The wetland became desert, so to speak. When the meteor hit sixty years ago and brought the flow back—again, we don’t know how—the influx of new magic was enough to fill the cracks and bring back all spirits of the land and animals within twenty-four hours. By contrast, given the current rise of ambient magic around the world, my lab’s best calculations estimated that the ambient magic level would not be enough to support Mortal Spirits for another forty to fifty years. In other words, the gusher of magic that was enough to bring back spirits like Raven and Algonquin in a single night will have to flow for a century and then some to fill even the smallest vessel of the Mortal Spirits.”

     By the time he finished, Marci’s eyes were round. She’d known there was a difference in scale, but she hadn’t realized until this moment just how much bigger they were talking.

     “You don’t have to make it sound that uneven,” Raven said, insulted. “We had a boost because we were already well established. But Mortal Spirits rely on human ideas, which are a far more flimsy foundation than land formations and animals. There are always ravens, but not every person has the same vision of death.”

     “That’s true,” General Jackson agreed. “But Myron’s point—which we learned from you, I might add—still stands. Once they become fully formed, Mortal Spirits are exponentially larger and more powerful than any other type of spirit. So much so, in fact, that mages of the ancient world didn’t even call them spirits. They gave Mortal Spirits an entirely different set of names.”

     “What was that?” Marci asked, almost leaning over the table in her excitement.

     “Gods,” Sir Myron said grimly. “They called them gods.”

     Marci supposed she should have guessed that from the start. What else could you call something like the Empty Wind except divine? But while all of this made sense in the historical context, she still didn’t see how it explained her situation now. “If that’s the case, then why is Ghost here now? Amelia also said that he was fifty years early, which agrees with your calculations. But if it’s supposed to take over a hundred years of magic to fill out a Mortal Spirit, how do you explain him? Is he a runt or something?”

     Sir Myron smiled politely. “To answer that, it would be helpful if you’d tell us what he’s the Mortal Spirit of.”

     He paused expectantly, but like before, Marci’s mouth clamped shut. When it was clear it was going to stay that way, the general sighed. “I’m sure you have your reasons to keep his true nature to yourself,” she said. “But the point you bring up is exactly what we asked you here to talk about. As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, the arrival of what is basically a god fifty years ahead of schedule marks a massive change in the power balance of the world.”

     “Oh, come on,” Marci said with a nervous laugh. “Not to downplay my own cat, but I’ve seen him in action. Ghost is pretty intense, but he’s not global-scale.”

     “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” General Jackson said, nodding toward her partner. “Three days ago, the night before Algonquin attacked the Three Sisters, Myron’s teams at the various magical research stations all around the world simultaneously detected a disturbance in the Earth’s deep magic.”

     That didn’t sound good. “What kind of disturbance?” Marci asked. Because three days ago would have been the night they’d defeated Vann Jeger. “Could it have been the collapse of a spirit?”

     “It was far bigger than that,” Sir Myron said, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. “As the UN’s lead sorcerer and world’s foremost expert in Tectonic Magic—” He paused to give her a skeptical look. “You do know what that is?”

     “Of course I know what it is,” Marci said, giving him a cutting look of her own. “I wasn’t lying about reading your books. Tectonic magic studies the movements of magic at its deepest, most primal state, before it rises from the ground and becomes usable.”

     “There’s more to it than that,” Myron said defensively. “Tectonic Magic isn’t just about looking at magic before it becomes usable. It’s the study of the creation of magic as it wells up from the deepest core of our plane. But this welling doesn’t happen uniformly. Like the plate tectonics it’s named for, magic at the tectonic level is highly volatile with its own fractures, eruptions, hot spots, and so forth. We’ve yet to feel the true impact of these changes since the Earth’s relative ambient magical level is still far lower than it was before the drought, but as more and more magic flows into the world, disturbances in Tectonic Magic have the potential to be every bit as devastating as the volcanoes and earthquakes they’re named after. This is why we study and track them, but the tremor we detected three days ago was different.”

     “Different how?” Marci asked.

     Myron scowled. “It’s difficult to explain to someone who isn’t familiar with the normal numbers, but the best way to describe it is that, three days ago, something deep in the Earth’s magic moved. Something very large, big enough that the tremors were detected simultaneously by sensors all around the world.”

     “And you think it was Ghost?” Because given what he’d just said about the relative size of Mortal Spirits, that was the only thing Marci could think of that’d be big enough to cause such a phenomenon. The timing lined up perfectly, too, since that was the night she’d fed Ghost all the magic she’d pulled out of Vann Jeger, giving him the oomph he needed to regain his name and become the Empty Wind. But while all of that made sense to her, Sir Myron was shaking his head.

     “Again, there’s more to it,” he said, placing his hands on either side of the transparent cat on the table. “Despite his current deplorable condition, I’m sure your spirit was quite large at one time, though still not as big as he should have been. The ambient magic of the world is simply too low to support a fully-fledged Mortal Spirit just yet. That said, I do believe the tremor was related to his appearance. Or, more specifically, to yours.”

     Marci blinked. “Me?”

     He nodded. “The night of the disturbance was the night you bound him, correct?”

     “Well, technically, I bound him over a month ago,” she said sheepishly. “But that was the night he changed, so—”

     “Changed?” Sir Myron asked sharply. “What do you mean changed?”

     “He wasn’t always like this,” Marci explained. “When I first found him, he was smaller and far less intelligent. I actually thought he was a death spirit at first. But as I fed him power, he grew—”

     Sir Myron lurched in his seat. “You fed him power?”

     “What?” she said, taken aback. “Is that bad?”

     “Not bad. Just reckless and stupid. Did it never occur to you that feeding magic into an unknown spirit was perhaps a dangerous thing to do?”

     “It did,” Marci said, narrowing her eyes. “But not as dangerous as the other things I was dealing with at the time. I’ve spent the last month running with dragons in the DFZ and fighting one of their seers. Given everything else that was happening, Ghost’s growth was the least of my worries.”

     By the time she finished, Sir Myron was looking very satisfactorily cowed, and Marci wasn’t above giving him a superior smirk. She might not hold a Chair at Cambridge, but she wasn’t some undergrad he could push around, either.

     “Be that as it may,” the undersecretary said when he’d recovered, “you’re lucky you were able to maintain control, and that he wasn’t something dreadful.”

     “Luck had nothing to do with it,” Marci said proudly. “I fought for him all the way. And I never said he wasn’t dreadful.”

     Now she was just pushing her luck, but Marci had had it up to here with being talked down to. If she could hold her own against dragons, there was no reason at all to let another human mage walk all over her, no matter how famous he was. It was time she took control of this conversation, and Marci had a good idea how to do it. “That disturbance you were talking about before,” she said, resting her elbows on the table. “Does it have anything to do with Merlins?”

     That was a total stab in the dark, but from the way Myron’s eyes went wide, she knew it was a bull’s-eye.

     “How do you know about that?”

     Marci shrugged. “Amelia mentioned it.” Obliquely, in passing, while drunk and reeling from Svena’s spell. But she wasn’t about to give away how ignorant she actually was, so she just sat there, smiling her best “I know, I just want to see if you know” grin as she waited for the know-it-all UN mage to cave.

     It didn’t take long.

     “I’m not sure how much a dragon would know,” he said a few seconds later. “Even before the drought, Merlins were very secretive. I’ve read every magical text in the Vatican’s secret library, and I’ve only ever found a handful of mentions of Merlins, most of them wildly contradictory.”

     Now they were getting somewhere. “Just so we’re clear,” Marci said, trying her best not to sound too excited. “When you say Merlin, you’re not talking about the King Arthur, big blue wizard hat, time-travels with his pet owl kind of Merlin, right?”

     “I suppose if one’s history was taken entirely from children’s television, that would be one description of an historical mage who was known to be a Merlin,” Sir Myron said disdainfully. “But here, Merlin is a title, not a person. It seems to be a technical designation for a specific kind of very powerful mage, but the few texts I’ve read that mention Merlins specifically don’t agree on what that actually entails. There are wild accounts of Merlins doing everything from slaying dragons to commanding the seas to part and give way to new land. The only actual connecting factor I’ve found is that, whatever other powers they were reported to possess, a Merlin is always a mage who has bound and controls a Mortal Spirit.”

     By this point, Marci’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might thump straight out of her chest. “And you think I’m a Merlin!?”

     “Not just a Merlin,” General Jackson said. “The first Merlin. At least of our generation.”

     “That has yet to be proven,” Sir Myron said quickly, glaring at Marci. “Binding a Mortal Spirit is merely the first step. There are still other qualifications that—”

     “Like what?” Marci asked. Because if it meant becoming some kind of super mage, she was ready.

     Again, though, Sir Myron’s face crumpled into an annoyed scowl. “We don’t know,” he admitted at last.

     “You don’t know?” she cried. “But you’re the one with all the secret knowledge and Vatican connections and—”

     “We’re talking about things that were considered great mysteries when they were current a thousand years ago,” Myron snapped back. “I only can only work with what I have!”

     “What about you?” Marci asked, turning to Raven, who was in the process of stealing the uneaten pancakes from the general’s plate. “You’re always going on about how you’re ancient and wise. Don’t you know all this stuff?”

     “I am indeed old and powerful,” Raven said, swallowing a beakful of pancake. “But I’m also an animal spirit. My concerns are my ravens, my world, and having a good time. I admit to a great fondness for humans—your kind has given me an enormous amount of entertainment over the years—but I’m afraid the specifics of Merlin creation are outside of my area of expertise. Frankly, I had my talons full just dealing with the bastards on a day-to-day basis. You wouldn’t believe how pushy humans get once they’ve got the power of a god behind them.”

     “Well,” Marci said, her face splitting into a grin, “if you don’t know and you don’t know”—she flicked her gaze back to Sir Myron—“who’s to say I’m not a Merlin right now?”

     You’re not.

     The words made her jump, and Marci looked down just in time to see Ghost crack his glowing eyes.

     You’re not a Merlin, he said. Not yet.

     Way to take the wind out of my sails, she thought back, her whole body slumping. So how do I become one?

     The spirit flicked his ears in the cat equivalent of a shrug, and Marci gaped at him. “Really?” she asked out loud.

     “Are you talking to the spirit?” Sir Myron demanded, grabbing the table as he leaned in closer. “What does he say?”

     Marci waved for him to be quiet and kept her focus on Ghost, who unfortunately seemed to be struggling to stay awake. “Come on, buddy,” she coaxed. “If there was ever a time to drop the cryptic-cat act and just give me a straight answer, it’s now.”

     I’m not being cryptic, the spirit whispered grumpily in her mind. I’m as new to this as you. But I know you’re not what they say. At least not yet.

     “How?”

     The cat yawned and closed his eyes again. Because if you were, I wouldn’t be this tired.

     “Oh, come on,” she said, reaching out to pinch the icy fur on his back. “Don’t go back to sleep.”

     But it was too late. Ghost had already turned nearly completely transparent, his presence in her mind receding as it only did when he was deeply asleep.

     “He faded,” Myron said accusingly. “The magic here is simply too weak to support a spirit of his size.”

     Marci dropped her eyes. Much as she hated to admit it, Sir Myron was right. She’d dismissed Ghost’s current downturn as the natural consequence of blowing so much magic to scare Gregory, but if she was honest with herself, he’d been running on low power ever since they’d left the DFZ, and no wonder. She’d noticed herself how empty and lifeless Heartstriker Mountain felt when compared to the pea-soup magic you found in Algonquin’s city. If that was how it felt to her, how much worse must it be for Ghost, who was entirely made of magic? If it wasn’t for Amelia’s flame, he might have vanished entirely.

     Even without all the stuff Sir Myron had told her, that was a sobering thought. She’d only had Ghost for a little over a month, but what a month it had been. He was her cat and her foxhole buddy, as close and dear to her as Julius himself. Maybe even more so, because while Julius belonged to his world, Ghost was hers. He depended on her, and as she looked down at the faint shadow of his outline on the table, all Marci could think was that she was doing a piss-poor job of it.

     “Okay,” she said quietly.

     Sir Myron arched an eyebrow. “Okay what?”

     “I’m ready to become a Merlin,” she said solemnly, folding her hands on the table. “I know you just said you don’t know exactly how that works, but you clearly know more than I do, so I’m ready to try. What do I do?”

     For some reason, this announcement drew a sour look from the older mage. General Jackson, on the other hand, was grinning like she’d just landed the shot of the century. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she said, folding her gloved hands on the table. “With your permission, Miss Novalli, I’d like to take you into protective custody.”

     “Huh?” Marci said, blinking in surprise. “Why? Protective from what?”

     “Everything,” the general said flatly. “I’m not a mage like you or Myron, but I am highly invested in humanity’s long-term magical security. I’ve just had a Merlin dropped into my lap fifty years ahead of schedule. That’s not the kind of good fortune I’m willing to gamble.”

     Marci still didn’t get it. “But…Sir Myron just said you guys don’t even know what a Merlin actually does.”

     The general shrugged. “We know they’re powerful. That’s enough for me.”

     That seemed like nebulous reasoning to Marci, but before she could say as much, General Jackson leaned over the table, her dark eyes sharp as knives in her oddly ageless face. “I don’t think you understand our situation,” she said quietly. “For the past sixty years, the reawakening of spirits and reemergence of dragons has left humanity scrambling to keep up. Even with modern magical advances in weapons and security, we’ve always been the weakest force in this new power structure. That’s how spirits like Algonquin and dragons like Bethesda have been able to take and hold so much ground. Because for the last six decades, humanity has been at a crippling disadvantage. Quite frankly, the only reason we haven’t been wiped out or enslaved already is because of our gross numbers advantage. But even that edge won’t last forever. Spirits and dragons have time on their side. We, on the other hand, are mortal, and while we have our own form of magic, we’ve lost all cultural knowledge for how to use it. Myron’s one of the best mages in the world, and even he knows only a fraction of what an apprentice would have been taught before the drought.”

     “Less than a fraction,” Sir Myron growled, his ringed fingers curling into fists. “A sliver. A pittance.”

     His voice shook with an anger Marci knew very well. She’d raged herself at how unfair it was that dragons and spirits had gone right back to business as usual while humanity had been forced to relearn everything from scratch. But even so. “It’s not like we’re helpless,” she said. “The EU shot down that dragon who went crazy over Turkey twenty years ago. And you!” She turned to Myron. “You got your knighthood because you banished the spirit of the Thames River and stopped it from flooding London. I wrote an entire paper about it.”

     “Then you should know that I and my entire team nearly died in the process,” Sir Myron said bitterly. “We’ve made huge advancements in magic considering we didn’t even believe in the stuff sixty years ago, but we are still far, far behind where we need to be.”

     “Population and military strength have kept us from open conflict,” the general picked up. “But none of that helped us save Detroit when Algonquin claimed it, and we won’t be able to save the next city a spirit decides to take, either. Just look at China. Dragons took over the ruling Communist Party barely a week after the return of magic, and they’ve been running the country like their own private kingdom ever since. Same goes for Algonquin and the DFZ. We can’t even make her honor basic human rights because we can’t do anything to her, and she knows it.”

     Marci blew out a breath. “And you really think one Merlin could change that?”

     “I do,” General Jackson said firmly. “Myron’s histories might not agree on the details, but all of them describe Merlins as mages with access to a caliber of magic miles above what we have now, enough to put them on equal footing with dragons and spirits. Even if we assume those stories are grossly exaggerated, there’s still a good chance that you and your spirit could be the push we need to tip the balance of global power back into humanity’s favor. If you really are the Merlin, and you’re even half of what the stories say, you could be what finally turns the tide back in our favor. That’s a chance I’m willing to risk a great deal for, Miss Novalli.”

     Marci swallowed. That was a lot to take in, though at least now she understood why Amelia had pushed so hard to win her over back at the beach. Having the world’s first Merlin as your pet human would have been quite the ace up her sleeve. But then, maybe that was why she’d given Marci her fire yesterday. Maybe it wasn’t actually a ploy by Amelia to keep herself safe from some unknown threat. Maybe it was an oblique way to make sure Marci had the magic she needed to fuel Ghost.

     That last bit felt a little far-fetched and, frankly, way too selfless for Amelia. She might not care about her clan, but when it came to magic, the Planeswalker was as ambitious as any dragon. However much she liked humans, Marci couldn’t imagine her risking her fire to keep the first Mortal Spirit ticking over unless that Mortal Spirit and its Merlin were firmly under her control. But while Marci was busy thinking all these puzzles through, General Jackson interpreted her thoughtful silence in an entirely different way.

     “I know this is an enormous responsibility,” she said gently, giving Marci a look that would have been reassuring on a less stern face. “I’m asking a very big thing of you, and I don’t fault you for being nervous, but you owe it to your country and your species to see it through.”

     “I’m not nervous,” Marci said, snapping herself out of the endless cycle of dragon plots. “I volunteered, remember? You’re the one who brought up protective custody.” She frowned. “What would that entail, anyway?”

     “It would start with us taking you back to New York,” she said, nodding to the black sedan parked beside the restaurant. “I couldn’t bring them with me into Heartstriker territory, but I’ve got a full convoy and a jet on standby just across the border. All you have to do is say the word, and we’ll be gone before Bethesda knows it.”

     “And when we arrive in New York, you’ll be working out of my own private lab,” Sir Myron added proudly. “I’ve spared no expense to make it the finest magical facility in the world. You’ll have access to my books, my mages, all my research—public and security rated—whatever you need to figure out how to take the next step.”

     “Anything?” Marci asked, trying not to drool at the idea of getting to run rampant through a UN-sponsored magical lab.

     “Anything,” Sir Myron repeated firmly. “This is an unprecedented research opportunity for me as well. Potential weaponization of the Merlin aside, you could be the key to rediscovering knowledge that has been lost to humanity for a thousand years. Even if you fail, just think of how much we’ll learn from interacting with an actual Mortal Spirit.”

     By the time he finished, Marci was shaking. Of all the bait they could have offered, that was one hell of a start. Forget having her own casting room. She’d have her own multi-million-dollar research facility! With staff! And the Sir Myron Rollins to help her! Just thinking about it was painfully exciting, and oddly enough, that was what stopped Marci from shouting Yes! Because if there was one thing she’d learned growing up in Las Vegas, it was a deep mistrust of anything that seemed too good to be true.

     “What’s the catch?”

     “There is no catch,” General Jackson said. “We’re talking about a fundamental improvement to the magical combat capability of the entire human race. That’s not something I cheap out on.”

     “But what about all the stuff that’s not money?” Marci asked. “You said this would be protective custody, but how much custody are we talking? Could I leave if I wanted?”

     “You would be free to do whatever you liked,” the general said, clearly insulted. “We’re not jailers. Given your strategic importance, you’d be subject to certain security necessities—bodyguards, a warded residence, that type of thing—but I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

     Marci would see about that. “Would I be able to see Julius?”

     The general and the undersecretary exchanged a look.

     “As the first and currently only potential Merlin, allowing the dragons to continue to have unfettered access to you would put our entire operation at risk,” Sir Myron explained patiently. “Having met Julius myself, I understand that your relationship with him isn’t the usual sort, but while he appears to be an uncommonly reasonable one, he’s still a dragon. He’s also not alone. He’s got a whole mountain to look after now, and your status as a potential Merlin makes you a vital strategic asset.” He glanced out the window toward the enormous black thorn of Heartstriker Mountain rising in the distance. “I’d wager that the only reason you were allowed to come meet with us today is because the dragons do not yet know what you are. Once they discover the truth, they will not be so slack.”

     “They’ll lock you down,” General Jackson agreed. “Maybe not Julius—I also met him, and I agree he’s very different from his kin—but the others? Absolutely. Even if he fought for you, your dragon would be impossibly outnumbered, and eventually you would be captured. So with that in mind, Miss Novalli, my question becomes, which would you rather be? A treasure in the Heartstriker’s horde, or the key to possibly unlocking the full potential of human magic once again?”

     Marci’s jaw clenched. The general was much smoother about it than Amelia had been, but this was still a pitch Marci had heard before, and once again, she wasn’t buying. Besides...

     “What makes you think I’d be safer in New York than I am here? You’ve already admitted you can’t take Algonquin, but the Heartstrikers have got that covered thanks to their deal with Svena. Frankly, this mountain is the safest place I can be right now, and since one of the three dragons on the Council is pretty much my boyfriend and I’m BFFs with Amelia the Planeswalker, I don’t see myself becoming a treasury item anytime soon. But before the two of you freak out at me and call me a traitor to humanity, know that I really do want to help. I want to expand magic and push the boundaries and rediscover what we’ve lost. We’re on the same side here, so before you start telling me where I have to go and who I can and can’t see, let me make you an offer.”

     Sir Myron seemed to be having trouble keeping the look of blatant skepticism off his face. “You?” he said at last. “What can you offer us?”

     “How about a leg up on all that magical knowledge you were just complaining about losing?” Marci said with a smug grin. “I don’t know if you know, but Amelia the Planeswalker has been collecting human magical texts pretty much forever. She still has them all, too. Her entire collection is safe and intact on her secret island in the South Pacific, and I can get you in.”

     By the time she finished, Sir Myron didn’t look skeptical anymore. He looked hungry, practically drooling on the table. “How?”

     “Because Amelia’s my friend,” Marci said confidently. “And she owes me big time. So how about we make a deal? You let me keep on doing whatever it is I want to do with whomever I want to do it with, and I’ll work with you on this Merlin problem. If we pool all of our resources together, it has to be enough to learn something. But this only works if we all trust and respect each other, and I’m telling you right now: I’m not leaving this mountain until the vote is over. After that, I’m cool. Amelia can portal us right to her island, and we’ll get straight to work. But I will not abandon Julius to face his family alone until I’m sure he’s going to be okay, and I will not accept any deal where I’m treated like a prisoner and kept from my friends and allies, whatever species they happen to be.”

     “Done,” the general said immediately.

     The sudden agreement made everyone jump, even Raven.

     “You sure?” Marci asked. “I mean, that was kind of fast.”

     “Too fast,” Sir Myron agreed, glaring at his partner. “Shouldn’t we—”

     “No,” she said, glaring right back. “Obviously I have security concerns about letting dragons near a potential Merlin, but I’m a soldier, not a tyrant. I’m not in the business of forcing people to act against their will, and I’m definitely not in a position to turn down an offer of access to the Planeswalker’s private hoard.” She turned back to Marci. “Your Julius seems to be going through a very dangerous time with his recent rise to the top. If you want to stay here and help him, I respect that and am happy to work with you. All I ask is that you allow Myron and I to remain with you as well.”

     “Here in the mountain?” Marci asked, still not believing. “Just the two of you? You don’t want a security detail or—”

     “Would you let me bring a security detail?” the general asked immediately.

     Marci thought about that for a moment. “I don’t think there’d be room for one, actually. The mountain’s kind of full.”

     “Then we’ll go without one,” General Jackson said with a shrug. “All that matters is that you stay safe and free to work with us. So long as those goals are met, I’m happy to do this anywhere you choose.”

     “Really?” Marci said. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s just…that’s surprisingly reasonable of you.”

     “What else could I be?” the general asked, staring her straight in the eyes. “You’re a potential Merlin who’s arrived fifty years ahead of schedule. You and your spirit represent a once-in-a-lifetime chance to improve the lives and security of billions of people. That’s not something I’m willing to risk for any reason. Obviously I’d prefer if you were safe inside our facility in New York, but if the price of your cooperation is staying here, then we stay here. I don’t care if I have to follow you around and act as your lady’s maid while bowing to dragons. I’ll do whatever it takes to improve humanity’s chances against the monsters who would stomp us down.”

     That answer struck Marci as both earnest and fair, and despite her long-standing suspicion of anything that sounded too good to be true—including people just taking her deal as offered without even trying to negotiate her down first—she could find nothing wrong with the general’s agreement. “I guess that settles it, then,” she said, putting out her hand. “We have a deal. What should we do first?”

     She really hoped they didn’t say the library. She was sure Amelia would let them use it, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d offered it without getting permission. Fortunately, she’d already stipulated that she had to help Julius first, which meant she could stall on the library offer at least until the vote was done if she had to. But while Marci was frantically trying to figure out how she was going to handle this new life she’d suddenly agreed to, Sir Myron had more practical concerns.

     “As much as I want to see the Planeswalker’s library, the first thing we have to do is stabilize your spirit,” he said, glaring pointedly at the fading cat in Marci’s arms. “Agreeing to work together is well and good, but this will all be for nothing if the first Mortal Spirit can’t maintain his form due to severe neglect. You’ve made it clear you won’t tell me what domain he represents, but can you at least tell us where we can go to find magic that’s appropriate so we can feed him before he wastes away and takes our once-in-a-lifetime chance with him?”

     As always, Marci did not approve of the undersecretary’s attitude. She was, in fact, becoming severely disillusioned with the mage she’d hero-worshiped for half her life. Sadly, being a jerk about it didn’t make him any less right. Even with free access to Amelia’s fire, Ghost looked dimmer than ever in the bright noon sun. She was starting to feel a bit panicky about that when she remembered the boy in the dumpster.

     “I think I know how to help,” she said, petting Ghost’s transparent fur. “Do you have any contacts who know this area?”

     “Several,” the general said, pulling out a sleek black brick of a military phone. “What do you need?”

     She looked down at the spirit cradled in her arms. “Somewhere a lot of people died and no one cared.”

     Sir Myron’s eyes widened in horror, but the general just nodded and started waving her fingers through her AR. “Let me see what I can find.”

     “Thanks,” Marci said, carefully tucking Ghost back into her bag before pulling out her own phone to let Julius know what was going on. But as she was trying to figure out how she was going to explain all this, she spied a tall, familiar figure sitting on the hood of an ancient but beautifully maintained Buick parked at the far end of the diner’s empty lot.

     The sight sent a chill though her. She had no actual reason to think he was here because of her, but given what had happened the last few times Marci had seen Bob sitting on a car, she didn’t have a good feeling. The seer didn’t waste his time sitting around in places that weren’t going to be important. So, though it went against all her better judgment, she stuck her phone into her pocket and knocked on the ward. When Sir Myron lifted it, she hurried out the door, scurrying across the bright parking lot to ask the Great Seer of the Heartstrikers what he was doing here and if she should duck.

     She was only a few steps away when Bob said, “No ducking required just yet.”

     Marci froze, but the seer didn’t even turn to face her. He just reached backwards, holding out a battered white pastry box containing a lone, bright-yellow confection that kind of—if one was being both generous and imaginative—looked like a dragon in flight.

     “Dragon Danish?” he offered cheerfully. “They’re hideously overpriced and taste like sugared cardboard, but I always get a kick out of eating a pastry effigy of myself.”

     “I’ll pass, thanks,” Marci said, circling around to the front of the car so she could look at him face to face.

     “Your extremely slight loss,” the dragon said as he pulled the box back, reaching inside to grab the pastry before shoving it into his mouth wings first. He finished the thing in two bites, pivoting to toss the now-empty box into the public trashcan before leaning back on his windshield. “I suppose you want to know your future now?”

     Marci shook her head. “I just came over to ask what you were doing.”

     “Oh, so, same question, really,” Bob said, patting the spot on the hood next to him. Marci was about to decline the offered seat when she realized he wasn’t offering it to her. Instead, his pigeon swooped down from the clear blue sky to land on his hand, cooing excitedly.

     “I never let her miss a good show,” he explained, lifting the bird up to kiss its feathered neck. “And trust me, this one’s going to be an extravaganza.”

     Marci’s stomach began to sink. “Good extravaganza or bad extravaganza?”

     “That depends on your perspective,” the seer replied, gazing up at the mountain that rose like a skyscraper over the desert town. “Do you prefer your Julius rare or well done?”

     Now Marci was really worried. But as she was opening her mouth to demand to know what he meant by that, Bob raised his hand. “Wait for it…”

     She held her breath, waiting.

     And waiting.

     And waiting.

     And then, just when she couldn’t wait any longer, Bob said. “Now duck.”

     Marci ducked, dropping her body to the sun-warmed asphalt just in time as the peak of Heartstriker Mountain exploded in a blast of fire, sending debris raining through the city below.

     Chapter 11

      

     Twenty minutes earlier, before Marci had even made it to the diner, Justin and Julius were in the golden elevator on their way to the top of the mountain to answer Bethesda’s summons.

     Julius had actually toyed with the idea of not going. Two days after her overthrow, it was finally starting to sink in that he didn’t have to jump every time his mother said frog. Also, he’d desperately needed time to think over everything Chelsie had told him and find the angle that would let them win. It had to be there. He refused to accept that Bethesda actually had Chelsie—and apparently by extension, F-clutch, not to mention the rest of the clan—in an eternal trap. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a puzzle he could just breeze his way through, and it was hard to think when his mother kept calling and calling.

     In the end, he’d decided to just go. He might not owe his mother obedience anymore, but he was the one who’d put her on the Council, and it was rude to just ignore her. Besides, it might actually be important, so he’d left the Fs’ hideout at the base of the mountain, grabbed his brother, and started up the mountain toward the opposite end of the Heartstriker world to see what she wanted.

     As always, Frieda opened Bethesda’s door when he knocked. His mother’s private F seemed to have recovered from her time with Amelia, but there was still something off about the way she lowered her eyes when she saw Julius, shuffling back as if she were afraid to get close to him.

     “Frieda,” he said gently. “Is everything oka—”

     “She’s in the treasury,” she said, her eyes still locked on the floor as she pointed down the hall. “Giant door at the end. Can’t miss it.”

     Julius and Justin exchanged a look, and the knight’s hand fell to his sword. “I’ll take point,” he said, stepping inside. “Let’s go.”

     Julius nodded nervously, happy to let his much larger brother go first. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about his mother’s chambers felt off this morning, and it wasn’t just Frieda. Her nervousness could be easily explained by any number of the things that had happened since Bethesda was overthrown, but this uneasy feeling was new. A nebulous, malicious threat that hung over his mother’s newly cleaned rooms like old smoke.

     It was a pity, too, because under different circumstances, Julius would have really enjoyed the trip. Unlike his short journey to the sitting room yesterday, the walk to the treasury took them straight through the heart of Bethesda’s lair. Here, the human-sized apartments widened into two far grander, dragon-sized caverns. One, the egg-laying chamber, was open and empty, but the other was sealed off with an enormous iron door that prickled with dragon magic.

     Given the size of it, Julius didn’t even know how they were getting in. But his question was answered before he could ask when Justin walked right up and grabbed the giant metal slab of a door, yanking it open with a tug that would have pulled his arm off if he’d been human. When he’d made a gap wide enough to pass through, he motioned for Julius to go ahead, holding the iron door open as his brother squeezed through the crack and into a glittering new world.

     Thanks to the size of her clan and the fact that she controlled not one, but both American continents, Bethesda the Heartstriker’s treasury was the stuff of dragon legend. Now, seeing it himself for the first time, Julius absolutely understood why. The rough-hewn cave on the other side of the iron door was as large as the throne room itself, and every inch of it was piled with pure, unrelenting, uninterrupted gold.

     Gold chains hung from the ceiling like stalactites, creating huge, intricate spider webs around the massive golden lamps whose ever-burning golden light made the cavern glitter. The walls were layered with thread-of-gold tapestries until you couldn’t even see the stone beneath, while the ground was heaped with so many golden coins they looked like sand dunes. They were also, as Julius learned when he tried to make room for Justin, very treacherous footing. He nearly fell before his brother caught him by the shoulder, steadying them both on the slippery gold as they looked around for Bethesda.

     She was surprisingly hard to find. Everything in the room was dragon scale, including the massive, oddly flattened pile of gold at the cave’s farthest point, a hollow in the mountains of treasure that had obviously served as a bed to a very large dragon for a very long time. Against that kind of backdrop, even Bethesda’s normally imposing human form looked almost dainty perched atop a hastily assembled throne of gold brick bullion. As always, Conrad was beside her, though he looked far less calm than usual, gripping his Fang as he watched their mother from his post against the far back wall. For her part, Bethesda didn’t even acknowledge her knight’s existence. She just sat on her makeshift throne, staring down at Julius with a look so cold and draconic, it looked utterly alien on her lovely human face.

     “Well, well,” the Heartstriker drawled, resting her elbows on her own sheathed Fang, which was lying in her lap. “Look who decided to grace us with his presence.”

     The automatic apology was already on the tip of Julius’s tongue before he remembered he didn’t owe her that anymore. “I was asleep,” he said instead. “And I’d like to get back to that, so what do you want?”

     Bethesda arched an eyebrow. “So curt,” she scolded. “What happened to your vaunted politeness?”

     “It’s been worn a bit thin of late,” he said honestly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dealing with dragons constantly trying to get in my way for no reason other than their own contrariness will do that. But I’m sure the vote tomorrow will pick me right up.”

     He finished with a smile that his mother didn’t return. “You’re not the only one growing tired of this,” she said, gripping her sword as she rose from her seat. “I’ve tolerated your antics so far because, quite frankly, I never dreamed you’d last this long. Surely, I thought, the weight of your many, many failures would crush you before you had time to become really annoying. But alas, like a cockroach, you simply won’t die.”

     She finished with a growl that made Julius’s blood run cold. He’d been on the receiving end of his mother’s anger many times, but until this moment, he’d never really seen just how deeply she hated him. It hurt more than he’d expected. Apparently, despite everything that happened, some deep part of him still longed for his mother’s approval. But the rest of him, the part that wasn’t a little whelp staring up at the dragoness who should have protected him, understood too well that it changed nothing.

     “You’re right,” he said, dropping his hand on his own sword. “I won’t die. I told you before, Bethesda: you’re not getting rid of me or this Council. We’re here to stay, and the sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.”

     “We’ll see about that,” she said, climbing down the pile toward him, her bare feet sure and steady on the shifting piles of gold. “I’ve always believed in fairness, Julius. Nothing makes me angrier than being forced to watch as successful dragons like myself are punished and betrayed, while undeserving little failures like you get a free ride to the top. I keep waiting for the balance of the universe to reassert itself and crush you, but—thanks to my late father’s eccentric addition of an unbeatable, nonviolent sword—I’m sad to say that nature has not been allowed to take her course. But no luck runs forever.” She drew her own Fang from its sheath. “And I have the feeling yours is about to run out.”

     By the time she finished, Julius’s sword was in his hands as well. “That’s enough,” he said calmly, holding the blade in front of him. “There’s no point to these threats. So long as I have this, we both know you can’t hurt me.”

     “Oh, they’re not threats,” Bethesda said, twirling her sword around her fingers in a blatant show that Julius’s Fang had not paralyzed her as it should have if she’d really been planning to kill him. “I was merely stating fact. A little trick I picked up from Brohomir. The future really is so much more enjoyable when you know what’s going to happen.”

     That was clearly bait, so Julius ignored it, watching her casually spinning sword instead. Technically, Bethesda’s Fang had the power to control all the others, but they’d already learned last time this happened that his Fang’s will to stop violence trumped her Fang’s need to command. But while he was positive his mother wanted to kill him, which meant she should be frozen, she clearly wasn’t, and he didn’t know why. He had no idea what she was up to, and that—not her threats or her posturing—was what made him afraid.

     “Ah,” she said, her voice rich with satisfaction. “There it is. There’s the fear. I was beginning to think I’d lost my touch. But don’t worry, darling. Fear is the natural state for weaklings like yourself. After all, you’ve done nothing to deserve a place by my side. Every success you’ve had—the coup, this Council foolery, your own continued survival—has come from others. Bob, your obnoxious brat of a mage, even my own father came to your aid from beyond the grave. But that all stops right now. Doesn’t it”—she looked over her shoulder—“Chelsie?”

     The moment their mother said her name, Chelsie stepped out of the shadows beside Conrad. Even from halfway across the treasury, Julius could see she looked even paler than she had when Fredrick was stitching her up, but that didn’t slow her down as she took her place at Bethesda’s side.

     “I know you two have been very cliquish of late,” Bethesda said, reaching up to stroke Chelsie’s hair. “But what you don’t realize is that my daughter and I are very close. I know all about your little chats, including the one you just concluded, which would have been rank treason if treason still mattered in this mountain gone mad.”

     Chelsie shuddered as she spoke, and Julius’s hand tightened on his sword. “I know you’re blackmailing her,” he growled. “But whatever secret you’re keeping, it doesn’t give you the right to use her like your slave.”

     “That’s where you’re wrong,” his mother cooed, pressing her cheek against Chelsie’s in a mockery of a mother’s hug. “You see, I was the one who saved Chelsie from herself. I know exactly what she will do—has done—to keep her secret, and that makes her mine. My daughter, my sword, my deadly shadow, utterly loyal to me, always and forever.”

     She pressed a soft kiss to her daughter’s cheek, making Chelsie close her eyes in anger, and Julius couldn’t take it anymore. “She’s not yours,” he snarled, baring his teeth. “None of us are! The only reason anyone in the mountain has ever obeyed you is because you gave them no other choice. And the saddest part is, it didn’t have to be that way! You’re our mother. We were born loving you, trusting you. At any point, had you given us any cause, we would have followed you willingly to the ends of the Earth. But you never did. You’ve done nothing but mistrust and manipulate us from the moment we hatched, some of us even before. That’s why your only ‘loyal’ child is the one who hates you the most!”

     Chelsie’s eyes were wide by the time he finished. Julius was shocked, too. He hadn’t meant to say all of that out loud, but there didn’t seem to be much point in keeping his cards close to his vest when Bethesda was playing for keeps.

     “Everything that’s happened over the last few days, you’ve brought on yourself,” he said, glaring at his mother with two decades of pent-up rage. “You say I got here because I had help, but the reason so many of your children were willing to help me is because I was standing up to you.”

     “So I’m the problem?” Bethesda hissed, shoving Chelsie away. “Deluded child. I am Heartstriker! You might have coerced me into signing my powers away at sword point—which, incidentally, is very hypocritical of you considering what you just said about Chelsie—but it doesn’t matter. Everything you’ve worked for is utterly meaningless now, because there’s not going to be a Council.”

     Julius stared at her in disbelief. “But there already is,” he said. “You’ve already signed your powers away. You’ve lost, Bethesda. There’s no going back.”

     “Oh, darling,” Bethesda drawled. “When will you learn? I never lose. If I experience a setback, I simply find a new way to win. That’s why I’m the Heartstriker, and you’re about to be a stain on my floor.” She lifted her head, raising her voice as she called to someone behind him. “Isn’t that right, Gregory?”

     Justin began to growl as both Js looked over their shoulders to see Gregory walking through the heavy vault door.

     “What are you doing here?” Justin said, lifting his lips in a snarl.

     “What you should have done,” Gregory snarled back, stopping to stare Justin down. “You call yourself the Knight of the Heartstrikers, but when the Heartstriker was overthrown, you stood by and let it happen. Now you’re protecting her usurper, who didn’t even beat her in combat.” He looked away with a sneer. “You don’t deserve to stand at the top of this mountain.”

     Justin snorted. “Big talk from a dragon who got taken out by a human girl and her kitten.”

     Gregory’s face turned scarlet, but Bethesda just laughed. “Please,” she said airily. “Julius’s human defeated Vann Jeger, whom even Chelsie couldn’t hurt. I’m starting to think she’s the secret to the little whelp’s success. If Julius was less obnoxious, I’d actually be proud. Seducing more-powerful creatures and turning them into weapons is a Heartstriker specialty.”

     The way she said that made Julius feel filthy all over. “That is not what I—”

     “Oh, I know,” his mother said. “Even when you’re competent, it’s only by accident. But it matters not. Your little girlfriend can’t help you now, and neither can Chelsie, whom, by the way, I’ve strictly forbidden from offering you further assistance.”

     “Assistance with what?” Julius said, trying his best to sound confident. “Whether you use Gregory or Chelsie, it doesn’t make a difference. So long as I have this”—he gripped the hilt of his Fang—“we both know I’m untouchable. The moment Gregory seriously considers hurting me, he’ll be stuck like a fly in honey. You’re all bluff.”

     “There is no bluff,” Gregory said, a chilling grin spreading over his face. “You forget. Your little parlor trick only works on Heartstrikers, and after not even twenty-four hours of seeing how you’d run this clan, I don’t want to be one anymore.” He turned to their mother. “I quit.”

     “What?” Justin roared, looking more insulted by that than he had at anything else. “You can’t quit! No one quits being a Heartstriker!”

     “Ian quit for a one-night stand with the White Witch,” Gregory reminded him. “Next to that, my reasoning’s far nobler. Besides, it’s not actually Heartstriker anymore, is it?” His green eyes flicked back to Julius. “We’re his clan now, and I refuse to be part of anything that has a worm like him for a leader.”

     “I don’t blame you a jot, dear,” Bethesda said sadly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Normally, the rule is no one gets out of this clan alive. But killing you would help Julius, which Chelsie’s been strictly forbidden from doing, and with the Council still pending, there’s no one else who can officially force you to stay.” Her lips curled in a cruel smile. “Looks like we have no choice but to let you go.”

     The moment she said that, magic shivered over the room. It was the same clan magic Julius had felt many times before, but oddly distant, like an echo, probably because there was no actual clan head right now. But while the magic was distorted, it clearly still worked, because Bethesda and Gregory both shivered from head to toe. On the very edge of his mind, in a place he didn’t even know he could touch, Julius felt it, too: a quick, sharp sting, like a taut wire had just snapped.

     “I forgot how much that hurts,” their mother said, pressing a hand to her head. “That’s why I accepted Ian back. Kicking dragons out is dreadfully destabilizing. Do that enough times, and you’ll break a clan.”

     “Sometimes the only way to heal something is to break it,” Gregory said, rolling his shoulders as his green eyes locked on Julius. “Tell me, Mother. If I fix your broken clan, will you welcome me back?”

     The pained look fell off Bethesda’s face, immediately replaced by a triumphant sneer.

     “With open arms.”

     The moment the words left her mouth, Gregory attacked. He came on so fast, Julius barely got his sword up in time. But while he felt the Fang’s biting magic rise to meet him as it always did, Gregory didn’t freeze. He didn’t even slow down…because he was no longer a Heartstriker.

     In hindsight, the ploy was obvious, but knowing didn’t help. In the few seconds it had taken Julius to realize his Fang was useless, Gregory’s hand had wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the ground. But then, right before Gregory delivered the twist that broke Julius’s neck and ended it all for good, Justin’s sword flashed between them.

     Gregory’s hand vanished from Julius’s throat. At first, Julius thought this was because Justin had chopped it clean off. But Gregory must have been faster than Julius gave him credit for, because though he was bleeding buckets, his arm still looked to be intact when Justin turned on him with a roar of pure fury.

     “You traitor!”

     “That’s my line,” Gregory growled, cradling his bleeding hand. “I left the clan to save it. You’re standing there protecting its downfall!”

     “That’s rich coming from a dragon who wasn’t even there,” Justin snarled. “But I was. I saw Julius defeat the enemies of this clan and take power with his own hands.”

     “But you let him take it!” Gregory cried. “You betrayed—”

     “Mother lost!” Justin roared. “By what she taught us, that means she doesn’t deserve power. Julius was the one who gave her a choice, and she chose to stay alive. Now she’s trying to get her power back, and while I don’t blame her for that, I will not step aside from my duty to protect the rightful head of this clan from jealous backstabbers like you.”

     His growl at the end left zero doubt of how Justin meant to do that, and Julius scrambled to his feet. “Justin! Don’t—”

     But it was too late. His brother was already swinging for Gregory’s head, his enormous Fang slicing through the air with a building wave of razor-sharp magic. But then, just before the inevitable happened, Justin froze.

     It all happened so quickly, it took Julius several seconds to realize that what he’d assumed wasn’t actually what had happened. Justin wasn’t frozen. It was his sword that had stopped, the blade stopped cold in mid-air despite Justin pulling on it with all his might.

     “None of that.”

     Bethesda’s voice cut through the room like the Fang she was now holding level in her hands. The Fang that controlled all the others. “I told you,” she growled, narrowing her eyes at Justin. “He gets no more help.”

     “I’m not helping,” Justin snarled back at her. “I’m doing my job.”

     “Your job is to do as I say.”

     “It was,” Justin said, releasing his sword. “When you were the Heartstriker. Now, you’re just another dragon.” His eyes flicked back to Gregory. “So far as I’m concerned, you’re pretty close to treason yourself by helping him attack the rightful clan head. But it doesn’t matter.” He folded his fist into his palm, cracking his knuckles. “I don’t need my sword to beat a weakling like him. Armed or not, I do my job, and it will be my duty and my pleasure to turn this clan traitor into paste with my bare hands.”

     By the time he finished, there was real fear in Gregory’s eyes. With good reason, too. Justin looked terrifying. Fang or no Fang, he was a massive and intimidating dragon who, now that they were standing right next to each other, Julius saw had a good two inches and fifty pounds even on a monster like Gregory. Seeing him like this, it was all too easy to remember that Justin had held his own against Conrad—famously the best one-on-one fighter in the clan—only two days ago. He hadn’t won, of course, but against a G, that didn’t matter. As a dragon or a human, Justin was a savant of violence, which meant this was going to be over very quickly if Julius let it start.

     Given the trouble Gregory had caused, Julius was sorely tempted. But satisfying as it would be to watch his brother beat Gregory into a pulp, he couldn’t. Resorting to violence, however satisfying, went counter to everything he’d said since this began. But as he was opening his mouth to order Justin to stand down, Bethesda beat him to it.

     “Chelsie,” she said sweetly. “Shut him up.”

     Julius barely had time to process the words before Chelsie vanished. A heartbeat later, she reappeared behind Justin, her sword already flying as she sliced through the back of both his knees in one smooth stroke.

     “Justin!”

     The warning was miles too late. Fast as his brother was, Justin never had a chance. Chelsie’s cut was brutal in its efficiency, taking him down before he even realized she was behind him. Not that that stopped him from fighting. He fell with a roar, forcing her to jump back as he grabbed for her. When he did it again, she sliced the inside of his arm, making him bellow in pain. She took out his other arm, too, just to be sure, and then stepped back, leaving him gasping in pain on the floor.

     The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than five seconds, but it felt like forever before Julius recovered from his shock to race to his brother’s side. “What did you do?” he cried, dropping to his knees beside Justin, who swearing loudly in the middle of a terrifyingly large pool of blood.

     Chelsie said nothing. Bethesda, however, was grinning wider than ever. “What she always does,” she crowed victoriously. “She enforced my will. I already told you, it doesn’t matter what you do. So long as Chelsie is mine, her sword is at all of your throats, which means I am and shall always be the Heartstriker. And as the Heartstriker, I said you would have no help, so no help is exactly what you got.”

     “But he’s your son,” Julius said desperately, pressing his hands against Justin’s arm to try and stop the bleeding. “He was your favorite!”

     “Yes, well, he should have remembered that before he disobeyed,” their mother said flippantly, waving her hand. “Gregory, finish him.”

     The name had barely left her lips before a blinding flash of light blossomed at the edge of Julius’s vision. That was all the warning he got before a wave of white-hot dragon fire blindsided him, blasting him off his brother and through the treasury’s stone wall into the empty air beyond.

     ***

     Julius had been human for far too long. Even hurtling through the air in free fall, it took nearly a thousand feet for his instincts to kick in. When they did, though, it was with a vengeance. The change roared over him like fire, burning away his human form in less than a second. His wings shot out like arrows, catching his fall just enough to let him flip over and grab the side of the mountain with his newly formed claws.

     It was still a near thing. He slid down the stone, leaving deep grooves in the mountain’s weathered face before finally grinding to a halt barely five hundred feet from the ground. He clung there, panting, as he tried to tame the rush of vertigo that always accompanied the change from human sized to dragon. He was still adjusting when he heard the beat of dragon wings in the sky above him, and he raised his head just in time to see the shadow of a much larger, orange-and-blue feathered serpent right before it launched another fireball at his head.

     This time, Julius managed to get out of the way. He’d never spent much time—or been very good at—actually being a dragon, but dodging was the one combat talent he’d never had trouble with. He didn’t even have to think before he scrambled up the rock face like a lizard, using his bright-blue wings and feathered tail for balance as he took shelter under one of the mountain’s many balconies. When he was safely clinging to the underside of the jutting stone, he extended his snaking neck and peeked over the balcony’s lip to check his opponent’s position.

     If he’d been fighting Justin, his brother would already be attacking him from below. Fortunately for him, Gregory was not Justin, and the big dragon was still exactly where he’d left him: using the thermals that blew up the mountain to float in midair directly parallel to Julius’s position under the balcony. Now that he was no longer backlit by the sun, Julius was able to get his first good look at Gregory’s dragon. But while aggressive blue-and-orange coloration was classic G, Julius hadn’t counted on just how much bigger Gregory would be. He was literally twice Julius’s size, and while that wasn’t surprising given the age difference, the mismatch became a much bigger deal when the bigger dragon in question was the one hunting you.

     “Come away from the mountain, whelp!” Gregory bellowed, his deep voice echoing off the cliff face. “It’s over. There’s no one coming to save you this time. Stop cowering in shadows and come face your death like a dragon should!”

     “Since when is placidly facing death a draconic trait?” Julius yelled back, curling tighter under his cover. “Why are you even doing this? It’s not like killing me will change anything.”

     “Of course it will!” Gregory roared. “You’re the reason everything went wrong! If you’d just kept your stupid head down, none of this would have happened!”

     “If I’d kept my head down, Estella would have succeeded, and we’d all be dead,” Julius reminded him, crawling to the edge of the balcony so he’d be ready to jump if needed. “Why are you fighting this so hard? Do you really enjoy being Mother’s pawn that much?”

     “Better hers than yours,” the bigger dragon growled, puffing black smoke from his nostrils. “The strong rule, the weak follow. That’s the natural order of things. That’s how it’s always been. A weakling like you has no right to be at the top of that mountain!”

     “By that logic, Bethesda doesn’t either,” Julius said. “She lost. But you’re not listening. Just because something’s always been one way isn’t a good reason to keep doing it.”

     “And you think your way is better?” Gregory sneered, swooping down to try and get a shot at him from below. “You think we should all be nice like you?”

     “No,” Julius said, darting around to the topside of the balcony so the wall of stone between them. “But I do think not every dragon has to be the same. Have you ever imagined what our lives might be like if there was a route to power that didn’t involve murdering each other?”

     “It’s called culling the weak,” his brother snapped, swiping at him. But Julius was used to Justin’s speed, which was far faster, and he easily hopped away, skittering up the wall to look down at his fuming brother with something dangerously close to pity.

     “It’s called waste,” he said, shaking his head. “By your logic, anyone who loses is worthless, but losing is part of life. No one wins every single fight. Losing is the price for trying, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It definitely shouldn’t be punished with death.”

     “So we should embrace the losers, then?” Gregory growled. “Exalt the weak?”

     “Why does it have to be so black-and-white with you?” Julius huffed, frustrated beyond belief. “I’m not saying we should exalt the weak any more than I’m saying we should cull them. I’m saying that we’re all weak and strong in different ways, and that our clan as a whole is stronger when we work together to match those strengths and weaknesses in useful ways rather than throwing away any dragon who doesn’t fit our narrow definition of ‘strong’ at the time. It’s not that complicated.”

     Gregory bared his teeth, but Julius just dug in deeper, sinking his claws into the stone as he leaned out to glare at his murderous brother head on. “We’re all on the same team!” he yelled. “Every dragon is a long-term investment, but Bethesda’s been throwing us away for short-term gain. Any investor will tell you that’s a stupid strategy. Just think how much stronger our clan would be if Mother hadn’t lost all of her first two clutches except for Bob and Amelia when she overthrew her father. Or for that matter, how much better positioned we would be if Amelia had stayed here and worked her magic for us instead of having to constantly flee to other planes to avoid being murdered by her paranoid mother.” He shook his head. “We’ve wasted so much following your kind of strength, and for what? A giant clan that needs the constant threat of violence just to keep functioning. How is that strong?”

     Gregory’s answer to that was to shoot another fireball at Julius’s face. This close, it was much harder to dodge. He still managed to scramble out of the way, but he lost his grip on the stone in the process, falling off the wall before he caught himself with his wings.

     That must have been what Gregory was waiting for. The moment Julius was clear of the mountain, he filled the air with his fire, forcing Julius to flee farther and farther from the mountain’s shelter. But while Julius had never been the strongest or most graceful flier, he was still the second fastest in his clutch after Justin. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him ahead of Gregory’s attacks. A fact that seemed to be driving his brother into a frenzy.

     “Hold still!” he roared, clawing the air in a vain effort to grab Julius’s tail. “Don’t you get it? You’re already dead. A puny whelp from the bottom of a clutch of puny whelps. You have no chance of beating me, and no one is coming to save you. Look.” He jerked his head back at the mountain, which was now terrifyingly far behind them. “The whole clan has turned out to watch you die, and not a one of them is going to lift a claw to help. You’ve lost, Julius. Give up.”

      Julius couldn’t actually see into the mountain’s dark windows with the sun glaring in his face, but he knew Gregory was telling the truth. As always, he could feel the dragon eyes on him, watching his every move with that cold calculation every dragon except him seemed to master instinctively. But the realization that he was being watched didn’t have the effect Gregory intended.

     Up until this point, Julius’s main concern had been not dying. Now that he had an audience, though, mere survival was no longer enough. This was the exact scenario he’d been desperately trying to convince all those watching dragons was wrong. If Gregory beat him, they would all see that might did make right. If he lost now, the push for the Council would crumble, and all his work, all the pain and suffering he’d put everyone through, especially Marci, would be lost with him.

     With that realization, Julius’s survival panic faded. The fight-or-flight urge was still there, still pounding in his chest, but it was no longer the dominant instinct, because for the first time in his life, Julius wanted to win. He wanted to show the world that he was right, that everything he’d been saying wasn’t just platitudes and hot air. If he was going to prove that compromise and working together actually was superior to the usual dragon violence, then he had to step up and do it. Right here. Right now. And that couldn’t happen if he was fleeing for his life.

     That truth hit him like a punch, and as it landed, Julius stopped running. He whirled in mid-air, checking his mad dash with a beat of his wings before turning around to calmly face his brother, who’d stopped as well.

     “What are you doing?” Gregory growled suspiciously.

     “What you asked,” Julius replied. “I’m holding still.”

     “Why?”

     “Because I’m done running,” Julius said, lifting his head proudly.

     “So you’ll fight?” he asked, his green eyes lighting up eagerly.

     Julius shook his head. “I’m not going to fight you.”

     Gregory looked more suspicious than ever, not that Julius could blame him. If he’d been in Gregory’s position, he wouldn’t have believed him, either. But he was telling the truth, and if this was going to work, he had to make his angry brother believe it.

     “I’m not trying to trick you,” he said solemnly, lifting his forefeet and retracting his front claws in a clear display of non-aggression. “But I won’t fight you, either. You’re my brother, and family shouldn’t have to kill each other. That’s the whole reason I set up the Council. Because situations like this are stupid, wasteful, and wrong, and we shouldn’t be forced into them.”

     “I think you’re missing the point,” Gregory growled. “No one’s forcing me to kill you. I want to kill you.”

     “Why?” Julius asked, looking at him green eye to green eye. “You didn’t even know my name two days ago. Now you’ve quit the clan just for a chance to murder me, and you honestly believe you did it because that’s what you want? That all of this”—he gestured down at the watching dragons, who were now clearly visible on the crowded balconies— “is a personal vendetta?”

     “What do you know?” Gregory roared. “You ruined everything! We were strong until—”

     “We weren’t strong,” Julius said. “We were afraid. Of each other and Bethesda. But we don’t have to be that way anymore.”

     “What do you know? You’re still a child,” Gregory snarled, snapping at Julius, who dodged out of the way. “I thought you weren’t fighting.”

     “That doesn’t mean I’m going to stay still and let you bite me,” Julius said, righting himself.

     “So what are you going to do?” Gregory sneered. “Dodge?”

     “That’s one part,” Julius said. “But I’m also going to talk to you, because even though you’re not acting like it right now, I know you’re an intelligent dragon, and intelligent dragons don’t allow themselves to be used and manipulated for others’ power.”

     That must have hit closer to home than Julius had intended, because the moment the words were out of his mouth, Gregory exploded. He opened his fanged mouth with a roar, blasting the sky in a wall of fire that blackened the tips of Julius’s feathers before he could dart away.

     “You can’t dodge forever!” Gregory bellowed, diving after him with another ball of flame. When Julius avoided that one as well, his brother seemed to lose all patience. “This is disgraceful! Damn you, fight back!”

     “No,” Julius said again. “I told you, I won’t—”

     Gregory attacked before he could finish, breathing a cone of fire in a huge spray across the entire section of sky where Julius was flying. For all its size, though, the flames weren’t actually that hot, a feint Julius realized much too late as he dove for safety only to find Gregory already waiting.

     This time, not even Julius’s speed could save him. He barely had time to realize he’d been tricked before Gregory bit down on his left wing, crushing the delicate bones beneath the tough blue feathers. The attack was fast as a cobra strike, and just as deadly, because Julius was now hundreds of feet in the air with a broken wing. When his brother let him go, he fell like a stone, crashing into the sand below.

     Julius had fallen plenty of times, but never when he was this large, and never from so high. He still remembered to tuck at the last moment to protect his head, but that didn’t stop him from slamming into the ground like a bug hitting a windshield. If he’d been a smaller dragon, that would have been the end, but Julius wasn’t quite as runty as he’d once been, and somehow, he held together. The crash still knocked the wind out of him, though, leaving him gasping and confused. Even his broken wing didn’t hurt in the confusion of everything else, though that changed very quickly when Gregory landed beside him and grabbed it, using the broken limb like a handle to flip Julius onto his back.

     “So much for dodging,” he growled as he pressed his claws against Julius’s exposed throat. “I win.”

     His lungs were too busy getting air to form words, so Julius shook his head.

     Gregory didn’t seem to know what to make of that. “You’re on your back,” he snarled. “You’re defeated. I’ve won!”

     “How could you win?” Julius choked out at last. “I didn’t fight.”

     “I gave you a chance,” Gregory snapped. “You could have fought.”

     “But not won,” Julius said. “There are no winners when brothers fight, Gregory, and you know it. But it’s not too late.”

     “It is far too late,” his brother sneered. “Your human and Justin humiliated me! Everything I worked for centuries to build in Heartstriker is crumbling, and I’ve already left the clan. The only salvation for me now is through you. Once you’re dead, Mother will welcome me back, and I’ll finally get my place of power and respect.”

     “Do you really believe that?” Julius asked, staring up at his brother. “You’ve seen how Bethesda treats those beneath her. Is that really how you want to live? Toeing her line for the rest of eternity? We have a chance right now to make something better. A clan where we attack our enemies, not each other. You want respect, I get that, but how does this”—he twitched his broken wing—“earn you anything? All you’ve done is beat up a weaker, younger, smaller dragon who didn’t fight back.”

     “Shut up!” Gregory roared, slashing his claws across Julius’s belly, leaving four long wounds from his legs to the joint where his wings met his shoulder. “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us!” He slashed again, opening another, even bloodier set of gashes across Julius’s ribs, turning his bright-blue feathers an ugly purple black as they saturated with blood. “If you’re really so secretly powerful, make me stop.”

     By this point, spots were dancing across Julius’s vision. Between the pain and the overwhelming scent of his own blood, he couldn’t think straight, which made it that much harder to fight the lizard brain yelling at him to bite Gregory’s exposed neck and escape. But powerful as the survival instinct was, Julius was chasing something even bigger.

     From the moment he’d refused to kill his mother, he’d set himself on this path. For a dragon who refused to fight and refused to bow, there was only one logical ending, and Julius was smack dab in the middle of it. There was no way he could beat Gregory, and that was precisely why Bethesda had arranged this. Because Julius wasn’t a warrior, and never had been. But just because he couldn’t win didn’t mean he could be defeated. Even when Gregory lashed out, crushing Julius’s remaining good wing until it was even more mangled than the one he’d bitten through, Julius didn’t bite back. He just lay there and took it, letting Gregory break him piece by piece in front of the entire mountain.

     It didn’t take long. Julius wasn’t a very big dragon, and Gregory was very good at what he did. In a matter of minutes, he’d crushed every bone in Julius’s body, leaving him a burned and broken pile of feathers in the bloody sand. But no matter how much it hurt, Julius refused to move. He didn’t run, he didn’t make a sound, and the longer he held out, the harder Gregory hit.

     “Fight back!” he screamed, raking his claws yet again over Julius’s crumpled body. “Fight me back now, or I swear, I will kill you!”

     Even through the pain, the threat was enough to make Julius smile. Ian was right. When they tried to kill you, that was when you knew you were winning. It was small comfort considering this victory would probably be his last, but while he’d never been a good one, Julius was still a dragon. He had his pride, such as it was, and it gave him the strength he needed to push himself up on his broken claws and say, once again,

     “No.”

     The quiet word echoed through the silent desert air, and then Gregory roared, engulfing him in a ball of the hottest fire yet, turning Julius’s world white with pain before burning it out entirely.

     ***

     Back at the top of the mountain, Chelsie was in as close as she came to a true panic.

     Outside, she could hear Gregory tearing Julius to pieces, but she couldn’t get up to watch. She was stuck kneeling beside Justin, her hands moving faster than even she could see as she tried desperately to patch the holes she’d put in her little brother. A task made infinitely more difficult by the fact that he wouldn’t. Stay. Still.

     “Stop it,” she snarled, grabbing his shoulders and shoving them into the stone as hard as she dared before snatching her fingers back to the bandage she was trying to wind around his leg. “I’m trying to save your life, idiot.”

     “Yeah, well, who endangered it in the first place?” Justin snarled back, wiggling harder than ever. “Let me up. Julius is getting murdered out there.”

     “He’ll be fine,” she lied. “Worry about yourself.”

     “Why are you even doing this?” Justin growled, glaring at her with the too-common look of pure hate that still stung even after all these years. “So you can stab me again?” He jerked his head at Bethesda, who was watching the fight from the broken wall with a look of pure glee. “You’ve always been her backstabber. I bet the two of you planned this together.”

     That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. If Chelsie had known her mother’s plans for Gregory, she would have killed him this morning when she’d caught him conspiring with David. But she hadn’t given Bethesda enough credit. She’d thought the summons today was just more of the usual posturing. Even when Bethesda had brought Gregory out, she’d assumed Justin would beat him and that would be that. Bethesda always had enjoyed a good, bloody duel. It wasn’t until her mother had ordered her to strike that she’d finally realized just how badly her mother’s back must be against the wall, and by that point, it was far too late.

     “Just stay still,” she said, focusing her attention on the task at hand. “I was too good at getting your arteries. If you keep moving, you’ll bleed out, and I don’t want to lose two brothers today.”

     “You don’t have to lose any,” Justin growled. “We’ve never gotten along, but I know you like Julius. I can’t do my job thanks to you, but you can still redeem yourself.”

     His green eyes darted to Bethesda, who was standing with her back to them, watching the fight outside with gleeful anticipation. “All those times you took me out, I never smelled her magic on you. There’s no compulsion, nothing holding you back but a moldering old life debt.” He looked back at her, bloody fists clenching. “Fight it, Chelsie! Whatever she’s got over you, kick it out. Break free and go save our soft-hearted idiot of a brother before it’s too late!”

     Chelsie’s hands began to shake where she was holding his wounds, and then she gripped down harder than ever. “I can’t,” she whispered, refusing to meet his eyes. “I can’t fight her. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

     “You’re pathetic,” Justin sneered, pushing off the ground again. “Looks like it’s up to me to—”

     Chelsie released her grip on the sliced artery at his knee. After so much blood loss, it took only seconds of free bleeding to make him pass out. She clamped her hand back down as soon as he went limp, her chest heaving as she yelled for Frieda.

     Bethesda’s aide was there in an instant. So was Fredrick, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. He’d always been the most rebellious of her Fs. Sneaky, too, which was the only reason he was still alive.

     “We’re taking him to medical,” she said, indicating where they should hold Justin to keep him from bleeding out any more than he already had. “You keep him steady. I’ll cut.”

     They did as she asked at once, but while Frieda followed the directions with her usual silent acceptance, Fredrick wasn’t so easy. “Who did this?” he whispered, glaring at Conrad, who was standing beside Bethesda at the edge of the hole Julius and Gregory had left in the mountain. “Was it—”

     “No,” Chelsie said, drawing her sword. “It was me.”

     The hurt and shock in Fredrick’s eyes was more than Chelsie could take, so she didn’t. She just looked away and did what she’d done for six centuries. She did her job, slicing the air on all sides with her Fang in a perfect square to form a hole in the world that would take them to the infirmary.

     As always, it was a perfect strike, but even though she knew better, Chelsie couldn’t help stealing one last look through the gaping hole in the mountain down at where the idiot whelp who’d become her favorite brother was now pinned on the ground. Pinned and dying, just like all the others.

     And yet again, it was all her fault.

     That bitter truth was the last straw. Chelsie turned away with a strangled sound, closing her eyes as the air split, dropping the four of them right into the middle of the Heartstriker’s scrambling medical staff.

     ***

     Bethesda allowed herself a small sigh of relief when she felt Chelsie leave. She’d used that particular tool very hard of late, enough that she was starting to get worried about breaking her. Even Chelsie had her limits. She was contemplating what to do about that when another unwelcome problem reared its ugly head.

     “I don’t like this,” Conrad growled, scowling down at the painfully one-sided fight below. “Gregory’s killing him.”

     “That’s the point,” Bethesda said irritably. “I didn’t put a hole in my mountain to leave the job unfinished. And anyway, I thought you liked duels.”

     “That is not a duel,” Conrad said, stabbing his finger at the bloodstained sand where Gregory was clawing at Julius like a dragon gone mad. “This was badly done, Bethesda.” His eyes flicked over his shoulder to where Chelsie had just vanished. “All of it.”

     “You’re not going to gripe about your sister again, are you?”

     “Chelsie made her own bed,” Conrad said, and from the tone of his voice, he clearly thought she deserved it. Yet another reason Bethesda had chosen him as her knight. “But I was referring to Justin.”

     “Oh, he’ll be fine,” she said with a laugh. “He’s tougher than you are. He just gets pigheaded sometimes, and he needs a stern hand to steer him back to the right path.”

     “But that’s the problem,” Conrad said, turning his cold green glare on her. “I’m not sure you know what that is anymore.”

     “Don’t start,” Bethesda growled. “It’s bad enough you had a hand in that contract to begin with, but I am still your mother, and I am doing this for all of us. Julius’s weakness would have brought the whole clan down.”

     Conrad’s glare didn’t budge. “Would it?”

     Bethesda bared her teeth, but as always, Conrad didn’t even seem to notice. “I signed Brohomir’s contract because you lost,” he said, turning back to the fight. “By your own edicts, that makes you unworthy of rule. That said, you are still my mother and part of the leadership of this clan, which is why I’ve continued to protect and support you despite your fallen status. But there is a line, Bethesda. You have never been honorable, but stabbing Justin in the back just for doing his job? Sending Gregory to maul a twenty-four-year-old child who won’t fight back?” He shook his head. “That’s too far. Even for you.”

     “I see treason week continues,” Bethesda snarled, pulling herself up to her full height. “But you’ve gone turncoat too late, Conrad. With this defeat, my youngest son’s bizarre hold over otherwise civilized dragons will be forever broken. There’s no way any of them will follow him now that he’s been so utterly defeated by Gregory, who couldn’t even stand up to a human.” She chuckled. “That’s as low as it gets, and about what I expected from Julius. He’s nothing without help.”

     Conrad shook his head. “Were any of us at his age?”

     “That doesn’t make me wrong.”

     “It doesn’t,” he agreed, giving her a strange look. “But that’s Julius’s power, isn’t it? He sincerely wants a better future, and he’s willing to put his life on the line for it. That kind of conviction inspires others. It makes them want to help him, if only to see what kind of world he’d create if he won.”

     “Gag me with a spoon,” Bethesda said, rolling her eyes. When her son refused to join in the mockery, though, she grew wary. “Come now, Conrad,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for this nonsense, too?”

     Conrad shrugged. “I am the Clan Champion. I side with whoever makes us stronger.”

     “And that’s why he has to go,” she snapped. “He’s the embarrassment who’s bringing us all down!”

     “Is he?” Conrad said, glaring at Gregory, who was now breathing fire all over the much smaller blue dragon’s motionless body. “There is a great embarrassment occurring here, Bethesda, but for once, it’s not Julius.” He turned to face her, one hand resting on his sword. “Stop this,” he growled. “Or I will.”

     “Why would I stop it?” she said flippantly. “I’m winning.”

     The words were barely out of her mouth before Conrad’s face changed from his usual scowl to a look Bethesda didn’t recognize, and very much didn’t like. “But you’re not,” he said, stepping toward the hole in the wall as he drew his Fang. “And if you can’t see that, then you truly have lost the right to call yourself Heartstriker.”

     “You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Bethesda argued, backtracking. “He’s just a whelp. It’s not what I—Conrad!”

     But it was too late. Conrad was already stepping out through the broken hole in the mountain. He changed the moment his boot left the cracked stone, and the sun vanished behind the shadow of a midnight-blue dragon the size of a battleship sweeping down the mountain toward the one-sided fight below.

     Chapter 12

     “You have to help him!”

     Marci stood in the diner’s parking lot, watching in terror as the fighting dragons—one hateful, giant, and orange, one small and beautifully blue—flamed through the sky beside the mountain. “He’ll die!” She turned to Bob, pleading. “Please!”

     When the seer said nothing, Marci’s panic turned to rage. “Fine,” she growled, whirling back around. “If you won’t help, then I’ll—”

     “No.”

     A hard hand caught hers, and Marci looked over her shoulder to see Bob glaring down at her, his long fingers wrapped around her wrist like iron shackles. “Let me go!”

     “No,” the seer said again, raising his eyes pointedly to the smaller of the two dragons. “He has to do this by himself.”

     That was insanity. Julius was a lot of things, but he was not a fighter. He was also losing. Badly. If Marci didn’t do something soon, Gregory was going to roast him to a crisp, but the stupid seer wouldn’t let go. “He’s going to die!” she cried, planting a foot on his car’s bumper in an attempt to pry herself free.

     “He’s not going to die.”

     “You don’t know that!”

     The words popped out of Marci’s mouth before she remembered whom she was talking to. Fortunately, the seer just rolled his eyes and moved on. “I know things look a little iffy at the moment,” he said, shielding his eyes against the glare as Gregory began to spew fire. “But if Julius is ever going to win the respect of his clan, he has to do this on his own. No help. Or at least no obvious help.”

     Marci stopped fighting. “But you are helping him, right?” Because if Bob wasn’t, her dragon was a goner.

     “I’m not exactly known for leaving things to chance,” the seer said with a sly smile. “But I can only see the future, not make it. Whether Julius lives or dies in the next five minutes depends on if he’s actually the dragon I believe him to be. But I’m pretty sure it’ll work.”

     Her stomach dropped. “Pretty sure?”

     “That’s as good as we get in this business, I’m afraid,” Bob said as he finally released her arm from his death grip. “But as I once told an old and very foolish friend: the future is never set. No matter how certain things may seem, there’s always a chance for the unexpected. That’s why the smart seer invests in the tool rather than the plot. A plot can be upset, but a good tool does what you expect it to every time, and Julius is a very good tool indeed.”

     That was the least flattering compliment Marci had ever heard. At the same time, though, it was oddly comforting to know a dragon as powerful as Brohomir had so much faith in Julius. Faith to do what, though, Marci had no idea, because from down here, it looked like Gregory was roasting him alive. The longer she watched, though, the more Marci realized that wasn’t quite right. Gregory was driving his little brother back, but not because he was stronger. He was only winning because Julius wasn’t fighting back.

     If it were anyone else, Marci would have called that the stupidest plan in the world. But she liked to think she knew her nice dragon pretty well at this point, and from him, not fighting was the only course that made sense. There was no way he could win a head-to-head fight with a G, but by refusing to fight and denying Gregory his dominance, Julius was fighting in his own way. Everything he’d said about ending the cycle of violence and rejecting the might-makes-right system he’d hated all his life, he was actually doing it, and Marci was so proud of him it hurt.

     That didn’t make the fight any less terrifying to watch, though. Especially once Gregory actually caught Julius, breaking his wing with a sickening crunch of his teeth. Marci almost lost it then. She’d already started sucking in magic from Amelia’s fire to blast Gregory out of the sky when Bob grabbed her shoulder.

     “Wait for it.”

     “Wait for what?” she cried, chest heaving as she watched Julius fall like a stone, vanishing out of her sight behind the line of buildings as Gregory shot down after him. “He’s killing him!”

     “Not yet,” Bob assured her, raising his green eyes to the blasted-out hole that now marred the peak of Heartstriker Mountain. “It’ll all be over in three…two…one…”

     The silence after one dragged on for over a minute, broken only by the terrible sounds of Gregory’s rage and Marci’s own panicked breathing. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She yanked out of Bob’s hold, pushing magic into her bracelets as she got ready to run for it. But before she’d even made it out of the parking lot, a shadow blocked out the sun, throwing them all into darkness.

     When she looked up to see what it was, she nearly fell over. She had no idea where it had come from, but there was suddenly a new dragon in the sky. An enormous one with a massive, heavily muscled body that rippled beneath sleek midnight-blue feathers. Strangest of all, he was armored. Marci had never even heard of an armored dragon, but this one boasted a full set of building-sized bone-colored plates that covered him like an exoskeleton from the crown of his crested, wedge-shaped head to the tip of his long, feathered tail.

     “Who is that?”

     Just going by the size, her first guess—and greatest fear—was that this was Bethesda herself come down to finish the job. But while Marci had never personally seen the Heartstriker as a dragon, pictures of the Heartstriker Matriarch in all her rainbow-feathered glory were plastered all over town, and this monster was obviously not the same dragon. She also knew for a fact that Bethesda was still sealed, which prohibited this kind of display. But if the new battleship-sized dragon wasn’t the Heartstriker, then who—

     “Conrad,” Bob said, his voice lightened by something that almost sounded like relief. “Finally.”

     “That’s Conrad?” Marci said, eyes wide. “I had no idea he was so big.”

     “I’m sure he’d be delighted to hear you say that,” Bob said, checking his phone. “Of course, I’d be delighted if he was more punctual.” He gritted his teeth. “Lazy snake always waits until the last minute.”

     That sounded suspiciously like Bob had been worried, but Marci couldn’t think about that right now. She was too busy staring at the giant midnight-feathered dragon as he swooped in for a landing directly beside the black plume of smoke where Gregory had dragged Julius down. “What is he wearing?”

     “His Fang,” Bob said. “Didn’t you notice Julius’s crown when he changed in the throne room? Conrad’s is no different, except he gets armor.” The seer smiled wide. “Grandfather always had a flair for the dramatic. Seems to run in the family.”

     Marci couldn’t argue with that. She also supposed it made sense that the Fangs would change with their owners—a human-scale sword wouldn’t have been much use to a dragon Conrad’s size—but it seemed a little unfair that his would be so much bigger. Julius’s crown had barely fit on his head. Conrad got full-body coverage, and for him, that was a lot. Even now that he’d landed, he was so big she could still clearly see him over the buildings even from inside town. She couldn’t see Gregory or Julius, but a second later, Conrad solved half of the problem by lashing out with his front claws, grabbing the terrified orange-and-blue dragon and lifting him up until he was dangling at eye level with his much, much larger brother.

     “Gregory.”

     The name came out in a growl that shook the ground, and Gregory froze, staring up at the bigger predator with green eyes the size of beach balls. Marci was too far away to hear what he said in reply, but it must have pissed Conrad off something fierce, because the bigger dragon began to squeeze.

     “Bethesda did not send me,” he snarled, his thunderous voice echoing across the desert as he crushed Gregory in his grip. “I am here because I am champion, and you, Gregory Heartstriker, have dealt our clan a great offense.”

     By the time he finished, Gregory was almost crushed. Even after Conrad let go, he lay limp and panting in the bigger dragon’s palm. When he finally spoke again, though, his voice was loud enough for Marci to actually hear.

     “In what way?” he demanded, baring his bloodstained teeth. “I’ve done nothing wrong! I’m just cleaning up the shameful mess everyone else has been too soft to—”

     “The only shame here is you,” Conrad snapped, making Gregory jump. “You were granted your position in the Amazon because you were strong, but there is no strength in pummeling an opponent half your size who isn’t fighting back. If you disagree with Julius, that’s between the two of you. Kill him, maim him, betray him. Defeat him however you want, I don’t care, but this…” He looked pointedly down at the smoking crater by their feet. “This is pathetic. There’s no fight here, only shameful, ego-driven drama, and I will tolerate it no longer.”

     He spread his wings as he finished, and they were so huge, the tips actually shaded Marci’s head all the way in town. It was a move clearly meant to impress, and from the collective intake of breath in a hundred dragon throats she could hear all the way from the mountain, it was definitely working.

     “Your weakness today shames us all,” he boomed, the words so loud they were physically painful. “You have insulted your clan and stained the honor of all who call themselves Heartstrikers. As Knight of the Mountain, First Blade of Bethesda, and Champion of the Heartstriker Dragons, I demand satisfaction.”

     Marci wasn’t up on her old-timey dragon chivalry, but the bloodthirsty gleam in Conrad’s glowing green eyes left no question of what kind of satisfaction he wanted. Gregory must have known as well, because he began to thrash in the bigger dragon’s grip like a caught eel.

     “It’s not my fault!” he bellowed, whipping his tail frantically. “It was a fair challenge! He’s the one who wouldn’t fight back!”

     “That was his choice,” Conrad said coldly. “You had yours as well. You could have slaughtered him and taken what you wanted quickly and with dignity, like a proper dragon. Instead, you decided to drag it out and drag our clan’s good name through the mud in the process as you flopped and flamed and failed your way through this embarrassment of a beating.”

     “But I didn’t!” Gregory cried. “I was trying to kill him, but he just wouldn’t die!”

     “That makes your situation even worse,” Conrad growled. “We all saw the moment when Julius decided not to run and not to fight. Whether or not that was wise is immaterial. What matters is that even when he was on the edge of death, he did not falter in his resolve. That is determination deserving of merit. You, on the other hand, couldn’t kill a whelp who wasn’t fighting back. That makes you a failure as well as an embarrassment.” He grinned wide, revealing a wall of teeth that glared blindingly white in the midday sun. “Heartstrikers have died for less.”

     “But this was all the Heartstriker’s idea!” Gregory said, his blatantly panicked face reflected in Conrad’s glistening fangs for all to see. “Mother’s the one who ordered me to kill Julius and save the clan!”

     The accusation rang across the desert like a shot. Knowing what she did about Bethesda, Marci had zero trouble believing it, but Conrad just shrugged. “So what?” he said. “If you did this on Bethesda’s order, that’s just another failure. If you’re lying, then you’ve shamed our mother by dragging her name into your disgrace. Either one is grounds for death.”

     “You can’t!” Gregory roared. “I did this for Heartstriker!”

     “If this is your idea of helping the clan, I think we’re safer without you,” Conrad said casually. “But stupid and shameful as your actions are today, it is the privilege of the strong to be merciful.”

     Terrified as he was, that seemed to throw Gregory into a rage. “Merciful?” he shrieked. “Don’t tell me the pathetic nice dragon is wearing off on you, too!”

     Conrad snorted, sending a black cloud of smoke into Gregory’s face. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said as the G began to cough. “You think this started with a whelp like Julius? Chelsie and I have always been merciful. Why do you think any of you are still alive?”

     That shut Gregory right up. The whole desert was silent, actually. Even the dragons watching from the shadows of the mountain had gone still, leaving hundreds of wide, unblinking green eyes staring silently across the sand.

     “As I was saying,” Conrad continued, “it is the privilege of the strong to show mercy, and since you have been a strong asset to the clan for many years in South America, I have decided to offer you a choice in your death. You can either fight me now and die with honor as, per your own words, a dragon should, or you can run away and live the rest of your life as a coward. Either way, your time as a Heartstriker ends now. You have already left the clan. If you fight me now, your status will be posthumously restored, and your corpse will be burned as a Heartstriker. If you run, though, your defection becomes banishment. Your name shall be stricken from our ranks, and every dragon who meets you from this day forward will know you only as a failure and an outcast. If you set foot on Heartstriker lands again, you will be killed as swiftly as any other trespasser. So tell me, Gregory No-Longer-Heartstriker, which death do you prefer? Your life, or your pride and status as a dragon? Either way, you’ll be dead to us forever, but such is the price of betraying your clan.”

     By the time he finished, it was clear Conrad was no longer speaking just to Gregory. The last sentence especially was directed at the dragons watching from inside the mountain. But even though the champion was no longer looking at him, Gregory had already gone limp in Conrad’s claws. For a moment, Marci thought for sure that he was going to save his brother the trouble and slit his own throat on the champion’s cargo-container-sized claws. But then, just as Conrad was turning back to finish him, the orange dragon burst into motion, his long body moving like a striking snake as he leaped into the air and flew away as fast as his wings would carry him.

     Conrad watched him go with a look of supreme disappointment before turning to address the mountain. “He has made his choice,” he announced, his voice echoing off the stone. “From this day forward, Gregory is banished. Any with vendettas or debts still standing against him may pursue those on their own time, but his life as a Heartstriker is finished. Any dragon who has a problem with that can take it up with me.”

      He paused, letting the threat hang in the air, but nothing in the mountain moved. When it was clear no one was going to challenge him, Conrad folded his wings and crouched down. When he straightened up again, he was holding a small, blackened heap of once-blue feathers. It was so mangled, Marci didn’t even recognize the sad little pile as Julius until Conrad took off, cradling his broken brother against the smooth, bone-white chest piece of his armor as his enormous wings carried them both back to the mountain.

     “Will he be okay?” she whispered, clenching her hands so tight, her nails bit painfully into her palms.

     “Give him some credit,” Bob chided, grinning wide. “He might be a sorry excuse for one, but Julius is still a dragon. We can heal from pretty much anything that doesn’t kill us outright. A little rest and food and he’ll be back to his insufferable niceness in no time. The only difference is now that Conrad’s so clearly on his side, the rest of the family might actually listen.”

     He rubbed his hands together like that was the entire point, but Marci just felt sick to her stomach. All she wanted to do was get back to Julius as fast as possible, before any other disasters struck. She was turning to go do just that when Bob’s arm snaked around her neck.

     “Not just yet,” he whispered, squeezing her into a gentle but inescapable choke hold. “I’ll let you go in a moment. First, though, we have to say hello to our guests.”

     For a confused moment, Marci had no idea what he was doing. When he turned her around, though, she saw it. She’d been so caught up in the dragon drama, she’d completely forgotten about the UN team. But they must have heard the commotion and come running, because Sir Myron and the general were now both standing in the center of the parking lot just a few feet away.

     In hindsight, Marci wondered what had taken them so long. The fight hadn’t been more than five minutes total, but surely that was more than enough time to run out of a diner? Then again, though, maybe they’d been there for a while and simply stayed quiet, because while neither of them looked afraid, they were both staring at Bob like he was the end boss of the most sadistic game ever invented.

     “Emily!” Bob cried cheerfully, waving at her with the hand he wasn’t using to keep Marci pinned. “Long time no see. How’s the new arm?”

     “Upgraded since the last time we met, Brohomir,” the general replied flatly, lifting her seemingly empty, gloved hand so that it was pointed palm out at the seer. “Step away from the Merlin.”

     Bob grinned and pulled Marci closer. “Just laying it right out, I see. Not even going to play at secrets?”

     General Jackson shrugged. “No point in lying to a seer. But since you know what she is, you should also know that Marci Novalli is now under the UN’s protection.”

     “And that’s why you’re pointing your cannon at her?” Bob said, arching an eyebrow at the general’s open palm, which still looked empty to Marci. “Do you understand how protection works?”

     “We have that covered,” Sir Myron said, spreading his own hands to show Bob his glowing rings. It wasn’t until he moved them, though, that Marci realized the parking lot around her and Bob was covered with spellwork. She had no idea when he’d had time to lay it all down. She didn’t even know what the spell was meant to do since she couldn’t make heads or tails of Myron’s maze-like symbols. Whatever they were for, though, the chalk markings on the pavement were humming like high-voltage power cables. Even Bob looked impressed, if only a little.

     “The Master of Labyrinths lives up to his name,” he said, glancing down at Marci. “Seems like you’re attracting all the A-listers these days, and I don’t just mean Amelia.” He chuckled. “Julius is going to have to up his game.”

     Before Marci could think of how to reply to that one, Bob turned back to the general. “The only thing missing now is your charming pet. Where is the little miscreant? Hovering over my head with an anvil?”

     “I’d never be so gauche,” Raven said, appearing from nowhere to land on Emily’s shoulder. “If I wanted to kill you, Brohomir, I’d drop a tip to Algonquin and let her take it from there. But we have no quarrel with you or your insanity. We’re just here for the girl, so if you’ll kindly…” The spirit’s croaking voice faltered as his black eyes went wide. “What is that?” he whispered.

     “What do you mean?” Marci asked, craning her head back to look up at the dragon. “It’s just Bob.”

     “Just Bob?” the seer said, looking terminally insulted, but Raven was shaking his head.

     “Not the dragon.”

     “Now I’m ‘the dragon’?!” Bob cried, glaring daggers at the bird. “You’re crushing my ego, which is a dangerous thing to do. You don’t want to make me have to show off.”

     “Would you shut up?” Raven snapped, his angry voice suddenly far too big for his feathered body. “I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about that.”

     He bobbed his head, pointing his beak not at the dragon, but behind him at the pigeon who was still sitting on the hood of Bob’s car, who’d been silently watching everything unfold.

     “What is that?” Raven asked again, his still-too-big voice growing deadly as his beady eyes slid back to Bob. “What have you done, dragon?”

     “Why do you bother to ask?” Bob said, dropping the insulted act as quickly as he’d picked it up. “You already know.” He held out his hand, and the pigeon fluttered to him, perching on his fingers with a coo, making Raven flinch back with an angry caw.

     “Are you actually crazy?” the spirit cried. “Even I don’t play games with stakes that high! What possessed you to bring that...that thing here?”

     “Careful,” Bob warned, lifting his pigeon to press a delicate kiss to her feathered head. “You’ll hurt her feelings. And I invited her here for the same reason I do everything.” His thin lips curled in a deadly and very un-Bob-like smile. “To help me win.”

     “Wait,” Marci said, confused. “Are we still talking about Bob’s pigeon?”

     “That is no pigeon,” Raven said, his black eyes flashing. “That is a Nameless End.”

     The way he said that made Marci shiver from head to toes, and from the look on the UN team’s faces, she wasn’t alone.

     “What does that mean?” the general demanded, glaring at the spirit on her shoulder.

     “It means we need to get out of here,” Raven said, talons tightening. “Right now.”

     “No need for that,” Bob said cheerfully. “My lady love and I were actually just leaving. We have a very busy schedule of cryptic proclamations and appearing where we’re least expected to get back to. But before we go, I have one final word of advice for Marci ‘the Merlin’ Novalli.”

     Marci winced inwardly. Here they went again. “Is it going to make sense this time?”

     “It’s very simple,” Bob said as he released his hold on her neck. “Even a mortal can do it.”

     “Okay,” Marci said, turning around to face the dragon. “What is it?”

     Instead of answering, the seer walked back to his car, placing his pigeon on the dashboard as he dropped into the leather bench seat and cranked the ancient engine. When it finally sputtered to life, he backed out, forcing them all to step out of the way as the giant Buick rolled backwards and turned around. When he was aimed at the parking lot’s exit, Bob stopped the car and rolled down the passenger window, motioning for Marci to come closer.

     Shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all, Marci obeyed, walking over to stand beside him. This was apparently not close enough, though, because Bob kept waving, beckoning her closer and closer until she was leaned over with her head practically inside the car’s window.

     “What?” she growled.

     The seer smiled wide. “Duck.”

     She jerked back in surprise, but Bob was already peeling away, squealing his tires as he floored it out of the parking lot just in time before the wave of dragon fire crashed down.

     ***

     After that, everything happened at once.

     Marci had barely had time to move, let alone duck. She hadn’t even fully registered the heat of the explosion blasting down from above her head before the flames were washing over her. But just as the shock of the light and heat was hitting her brain, they both vanished as suddenly as they’d appeared, replaced by an equally intense wave of grave-cold dark.

     Like everything else, the change happened so suddenly, Marci didn’t even get to the point of trying to guess what was going on. She just looked up, eyes wide, and stared.

     Just as when Conrad had flown overhead, the entire diner parking lot was thrown into shadow, but this time, it wasn’t because of a dragon. On the other side of the street, the bright desert sun was still beating down, but not on her. It was as though night had fallen just on this one particular corner of the parking lot, and standing at its center was the Empty Wind, his hand raised like a shield above Marci’s head.

     That was close.

     “Tell me about it,” Marci muttered, looking around at what appeared to be their private bubble of dark. “What happened? Where’s everyone else?”

     I could not take them to this place, the spirit said, the glowing blue eyes narrowing inside the empty dark of his helmet like he was furrowing his unseen brows. I’m not even sure how I got you here, but we cannot stay.

     “Why not?” Marci said, looking around at the bubble of night with growing excitement. “This is incredible! Did we jump planes or something?”

     I don’t…I’m not… The soldier stumbled, almost like he was fainting, and Marci rushed to catch him.

     “Oh no,” Marci said, grabbing his freezing body. “No, no, no. Stay with me!”

     But the spirit was already fading, vanishing before her eyes as the hot sunlight began to creep back in. I’m sorry, Marci, he whispered, slumping to his knees. I pushed too far.

     “It’s okay,” she said, going down with him. “We’ll fix it. Just tell me how.”

     The fading spirit shook his head. I don’t know. I don’t know where to go. I just…I need… He looked up, his glowing eyes pleading inside the empty helmet. Don’t leave me alone. We are all alone and forgotten here. You’re all I have. Please, don’t go.

     “I’m not going anywhere,” Marci promised, grabbing his freezing hand with both of hers. “I told you already, I will never leave you alone, but the same goes for you.” She gripped him tighter. “We’re going to get you fixed up, Ghost. Just stay with me!”

     She reached inside as she spoke, grabbing as much of Amelia’s fire as she dared and shoving it down their connection. His body got a little firmer as the fresh burst of magic hit him, but it was still nowhere near enough. Close as they were right now, Marci could feel the intense dragon magic—enough concentrated power to fund a month’s worth of her normal spells—fall into Ghost and vanish like a pebble down a well. And it was at that moment, when that huge pulse of magic disappeared into the Empty Wind like it was nothing, that Marci finally understood just how big her Mortal Spirit was, and what she was going to have to do to save him.

     Yes, Ghost whispered, reading the answer in her mind. That’s it. He shrank as he spoke, his soldier’s body collapsing until he was once again a small cat that fit into the crook of her arms. Take us home.

     “That’s where we’re headed,” Marci said, clutching the cat against her chest as the unnatural darkness lifted. “I’ve got you, and I’m going to keep you. You’ll never be alone again.”

     She wasn’t sure if the spirit heard her. By the time she’d finished, Ghost had faded away entirely, leaving her kneeling empty-handed in the glaring sun directly in front of a giant, bloody, and very pissed-off-looking blue-and-orange feathered dragon.

     “You,” Gregory growled, smoke curling from his mouth. “How did you survive? I hid in the sun. I know you didn’t see me. How did you—”

     He never got a chance to finish. Before the hateful words could leave his mouth, Marci shot to her feet, grabbing a fistful of Amelia’s magic fresh from the fire before pelting him right in the face with the industrial-strength fist version of her Force Choke spell.

     With the power of the Planeswalker behind it, the invisible blow was enough to send the massive dragon flying head over tail into the souvenir shop across the street, crashing through the glass storefront and sending posters of Bethesda flying. He was rolling back to his feet when Marci hit him again.

     “You hurt my cat!” she screamed, slamming Gregory right back into the broken glass. “You hurt Julius!”

     She was reaching for more magic to hit him a third time when her fingers hit the flames of Amelia’s actual fire. There was powerful magic there, more powerful than anything she’d touched yet, enough to finish Gregory for good. But tempting as that was, Marci knew if she used that magic, it would be the end. All of Amelia’s fire would be gone, which meant not only would she be undermining Julius’s grand slam of nonviolence, she’d have to break her promise to Amelia in order to do so.

     Angry as she was, that price was too high, and Marci lowered her glowing hands, glaring at the battered dragon, who was only now pushing himself out of the rubble. “You’re not worth it,” she spat, jerking her head down the road toward the open desert. “Get out of here.”

     “And go where?” Gregory snarled, shaking the broken glass and concrete off his wings. “Thanks to your whelp, I’m banished forever. But while I couldn’t kill Julius, I can kill you, which is almost as good. You will both suffer for my—”

     A flash of light cut him off. A split second later, it was followed by a deafening thunderclap loud enough to make Marci’s ears ring, and then Gregory fell over, gasping and spasming in the street as he tried in vain to clutch the smoking, perfectly round, trash-can-lid-sized hole that had just appeared in the center of his left wing.

     “That’s enough of that.”

     The dragon roared in pain, flipping over to hide his wound from General Jackson, who’d just stepped in front of Marci with her smoking hand held out in front of her.

     Marci stared at the general in wonder. She’d known from the moment she’d first walked into the diner that General Jackson was heavily modified, but given the crazy body augs you saw every day in the DFZ—giant fake muscles, twitchy wired reflexes, camera eyes, and so forth—she hadn’t thought too much of it. Now, though, staring at the smoking, obviously metal, spellwork-covered hand that was clearly visible beneath the burning remains of the general’s leather glove, Marci was starting to realize just how much she’d underestimated the woman. She didn’t even know there were implanted weapons that could produce an attack like that, but whatever Emily Jackson was packing in her arm, it was a lot more than Gregory had bargained for.

     Too bad he didn’t seem to understand that yet.

     “I don’t know who you think you are, woman,” the dragon hissed, crouching protectively over his injured wing. “But you should have aimed better. I can smell the magic on you, and I know you don’t have enough to do that again. This”—he lifted his smoking, useless wing—“will heal, but you’ll never recover from what I’m about to—”

     He didn’t get a chance to finish. The moment he showed his wing again, Emily shifted her hand and fired. There was no warning, not even the twitch of rising magic. Just a blinding flash of light from her palm followed by the thunderclap as she shot Gregory’s wing clean off. The boom was still echoing off the buildings when she turned and shot off the other one as well, her free arm stretched protectively in front of Marci as the critically wounded dragon began to thrash in the rubble, his roar of pain lost in the crash of the godlike weapon’s aftershock. She was aiming her hand at his chest to finish the job when Marci finally came to her senses.

     “Stop!”

     She grabbed the general’s arm with both of hers. “You can’t kill him!”

     General Jackson looked at her like she was crazy. “He just tried to kill you.”

     “That doesn’t mean you should return the favor!” Marci cried, tugging on the general’s arm, which was about as effective as tugging on a steel girder.

     “I think it’s a perfect reason to,” the general growled, glaring at the dragon with a deep, old anger. “He’s banished, which means killing him is no longer an act of war against Heartstrikers. He also clearly has a personal vendetta against you, which means if we don’t take him out now, he’ll be a thorn in your side forever. Both of those sound like excellent reasons to kill him.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “And the world can always use one less dragon.”

     That sounded like it came from personal experience, but Marci didn’t let go. “I know,” she said. “I hate him and his stupid traffic-cone-colored feathers more than you ever could, but I’m not going to let you kill the dragon Julius just nearly died trying not to fight!” She turned back at Gregory, who was now crouching in his own blood, his green eyes wild with pain. “You’ve done your job. He’s not going to be attacking anyone like that. The Heartstrikers have already punished him, and I’ve proven I can put him in his place. If he comes after me again, I’ll just put him through an even bigger wall, but I will not let you undo everything Julius has fought for.” She released her grip on the general’s arm and stepped forward, putting her own chest between Gregory and the general’s deadly hand. “Let him go!”

     General Jackson sighed deeply, and then she lowered her arm. “You heard Miss Novalli,” she growled at the dragon. “Your life is spared. But if I ever see you near her again, I’ll consider it an attack on the UN itself, and unlike Conrad Heartstriker, we don’t have the luxury of being merciful. Now get out.”

     She didn’t have to tell him twice. Her threat was barely finished before Gregory bolted, racing down the street as fast as his legs would carry him. It wasn’t as fast as Marci was used to—dragons were built for flying, not for running—but Gregory was still gone before she realized it, vanishing around the corner behind a billboard advertising this year’s Heartstriker-branded ready-to-wear fashion line.

     “That was a terrible idea,” Sir Myron said, pulling up his incredible ward with a sweep of his hand. “Dragons never forget humiliation, and they can regenerate any part of their body. He’ll be back.”

     “Then I’ll just kick his butt again,” Marci growled, putting a hand to her chest to check Amelia’s flame. Despite her reckless use, it was still burning, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Ghost was another story, though. Amelia was still burning, but the little nook inside Marci’s magic where her spirit lived was far too still. She reached inward to give him a mental poke, just to be sure, but there was nothing there. The space where Ghost should have been was empty. Marci didn’t know if that was because he’d climbed further inside her than she could reach, or if it was because he’d faded too far for even her magic to feel. Either way, it made her blood run cold.

     “What’s wrong?” the general asked, her already serious frown pulling even deeper. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

     “Opposite problem, actually,” Marci said shakily, running her hands through her hair. “Change of plans. Forget what I said about finding something local. We need to take Ghost home right now.”

     Sir Myron had the gall to look smug about that. Fortunately, Raven beat him to the punch. “And where is home, exactly?” the spirit asked, fluttering back down to the general’s shoulder, which he’d abandoned when she’d started shooting.

     Marci bit her lip. No one was going to like this, least of all her, but after what had just happened, she didn’t think she had any other choice. “I need you to take us to the DFZ.”

     The UN team exchanged a grim look, and then General Jackson reached up with her metal hand to retrieve the military phone from her jacket pocket.

     “Let me get the jet.”

     Chapter 13

     The first thing Julius became aware of was an itching on his chest.

     His whole body itched, actually. It also hurt. Just the act of breathing caused a hitch in his ribs, and moving his arms felt like an impossible feat. If he didn’t move, though, he wouldn’t be able to scratch everything that itched. He was contemplating the conundrum when someone cleared their throat beside him.

     “Welcome back, Great Julius.”

     Julius’s eyes popped open. He was back in his human form, lying on his back in a large bed in what was clearly a medical room. A quick check told him he was still all there, but every inch of his body was wrapped in white bandages. He was working his arm out of the sheets to push aside the gauze and see what was underneath when Fredrick grabbed his hand.

     “I wouldn’t suggest that, sir,” he said, pushing Julius’s hand back down into the mattress before returning to his chair beside the bed. “You were very badly burned, and matters were further complicated by your return to your human form despite being unconscious. Frances said she’d never seen an injured dragon revert to being human. Most go the other way. But you seem to defy stereotypes at every turn, and it did make you easier to bandage.”

     Julius had to think a moment before he remembered Frances was the F in charge of the Heartstriker infirmary. “Guess I’m used to being human-sized,” he said, looking down at his mummified body. “Will I heal?”

     “Of course,” Fredrick said, giving him the closest thing to a cheery smile Julius had ever seen on his dour brother’s face. “With food and rest, you’ll be good as new in a few hours.”

     That was a huge improvement over what Julius was used to, and he took a moment to thank his lucky stars yet again that grabbing his grandfather’s Fang had broken his mother’s seal. And speaking of his Fang. “Where’s my sword?”

     “Right beside you,” Fredrick said, nodding to the edge of the bed, where, sure enough, Julius’s Fang was waiting propped up against the side of the hospital bed, its wrapped hilt poking between the rails and the mattress in easy reach of Julius’s right hand. “Conrad set it there himself.”

     Julius blinked in confusion. “Conrad?”

     “That’s right,” Fredrick said. “You were out for that. Conrad saved you.”

     “Conrad?” Julius was starting to feel a bit like a parrot again, but that just didn’t make sense. Conrad was Bethesda’s knight, and Bethesda was the whole reason he was in this mess. “Why?”

     The F shrugged. “Who knows? He never talks to anyone except Bethesda. But whatever swayed him from her side today, it would seem that the Clan Champion is now firmly on Team Julius. He flew down and saved you from Gregory in front of the entire family.”

     Julius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The last time he’d seen Conrad, the huge dragon had been leaning against the treasury wall, impersonating a support beam while Bethesda ran rampant. Apparently, though, even their mother’s knight had his limits. Happy as that idea made him, though, his joy was overwhelmed by dread at the implications of the last part of Fredrick’s story.

     “When you say he saved me,” he said with a nervous swallow. “You don’t mean he killed…”

     “No,” Fredrick said, shaking his head. “And personally, I think that was a mistake. But he must have respected your dedication to not killing family, because as much as Gregory deserved to be publicly beheaded, Conrad was merciful and offered him a choice of exile instead. Coward that he is, Gregory chose banishment over death. He lives, but he’s no longer a Heartstriker.”

     That was bound to come back to bite them later, but right now, Julius didn’t care. He was too busy collapsing back into the bed in relief, followed by a very draconic rush of victory.

     He’d done it. He’d faced his mother’s plots and Gregory, and he’d won. Sure, that was only because Conrad had swooped in to save him, but that was a victory, too! Conrad had always been at Bethesda’s side. Now, he’d openly defied her to help Julius, and he’d done it without killing anyone. Considering how easy it would have been for him to crush Gregory utterly, letting him live had to be a conscious choice, and he’d made it in front of the entire clan. That basically amounted to Conrad openly declaring his support for Julius’s new way of running things, and when Conrad spoke, other dragons listened. “This could change everything.”

     “There’s no ‘could’ about it,” Fredrick said. “Many Heartstrikers consider Conrad to be the ultimate example of draconic perfection. Whether he meant it that way or not, now that he appears to have publicly come out in your favor, the whole mountain’s falling over itself to declare how much they always secretly liked you. Ian came by three times while you were in surgery to see when you’d be recovered enough to go around with him and campaign. He’s pushing to have the vote tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow to capitalize on the current mood.”

     That sounded like Ian. “And what does Bethesda say?”

     “Nothing,” Fredrick said, looking smug. “Mother hasn’t come out of her rooms since the incident.”

     “She never was a good loser,” Julius muttered, trying in vain to scratch through the layers of gauze. “But still, I wonder why she hasn’t sent Chelsie to…you know…”

     “Kill you?” Fredrick finished. “I’m sure she wants to, but she can’t. The whole mountain and Conrad are currently rallied behind you. If Chelsie kills you now, everyone will know who gave the order. If that happens, Mother really will have rebellion on her hands, only this one won’t end in a Council. Without you there to stop them, it’ll be her head on a pike.”

     That was a horribly morbid image, but it still made Julius smile, his face splitting into as wide a grin as his burns allowed. “You know what this means, right?”

     “I do,” Fredrick said, grinning back. “Gregory’s protest faction collapsed the moment he was defeated. Now Bethesda’s been forced to retreat as well, which means there’s nothing left to stand in the way of the Council vote. In other words, you’ve won.”

     “We’ve won,” Julius said, clenching his fists. “We did it!” With this, everything he’d wanted—the election, the Council, the final removal of ultimate power from his mother’s hands—was finally coming true. He’d done the impossible. He’d actually changed his stubborn, snarly, prideful family for the better, and he’d done it without killing anyone!

     Or, at least, he hoped he had. “How’s Justin?”

     “Still unconscious,” Fredrick said. “He lost a great deal of blood. But a Knight of the Mountain won’t be killed by something so small as this. As my sister Frances says every time she patches him up, your brother is too stubborn to die.”

     Julius had said exactly the same thing himself plenty of times, but hearing it from someone who was actually an expert on dragon medicine was a huge relief nonetheless. But while he was overjoyed to hear Justin would pull through, there was still another sibling he had to worry about.

     “How’s Chelsie?”

     The smile fell off Fredrick’s face. “The same,” he said grimly. “Her speed at getting him treatment was the only reason Justin survived. Fitting, since she was the one who sliced him up in the first place. But saving Heartstrikers is as much a part of her job as hurting them, and no matter the circumstances, Chelsie always does her job.”

     His voice was so bitter by the end it gave Julius goose bumps, and he instinctively rushed to Chelsie’s defense. “She doesn’t want to,” he said. “She despises all of this as much as we do, but Bethesda has her by the throat. You can’t hate someone for doing something they were forced to do.”

     “I don’t hate her,” Fredrick said. “Chelsie’s the reason we’re all still alive. She’s never been soft, but she’s protected my clutch since we hatched. She’s been more of a mother to us than Bethesda ever was, and yet…” His eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer to the bed, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I know she told you not to free us.”

     Julius’s eyes went wide. “You heard her?”

     Fredrick shook his head. “Even my ears aren’t that good. Whatever Chelsie told you in her rooms is still your secret, but I don’t have to know the specifics to guess. She’s always said we can never be free, but she’s never said why.” He glared at Julius. “Did she tell you?”

     That was a very complicated question. Technically, Chelsie had told Julius he couldn’t free her or the Fs because Bethesda knew a secret that could ruin them all, one she’d use in a heartbeat if she felt her hold on Chelsie was being threatened. But while Julius had no problem believing the worst of his mother, and he was pretty sure Fredrick wouldn’t, either, Chelsie had told him this in strictest confidence. Given how close she was to F-clutch, if Fredrick didn’t know, there had to be a good reason.

     Until Julius knew what that was, he wasn’t comfortable letting that dragon out of its bag. At the same time, though, he strongly felt that Fredrick deserved to know. The Fs were prisoners of this every bit as much as Chelsie herself, but unlike her, he hadn’t chosen their suffering. Chelsie might be serving Bethesda to protect a secret, but Fredrick and the other Fs were legitimately trapped through no fault of their own, and it was wrong. The whole point of the Council was to break their family out from under Bethesda’s boot. What good was his victory today if a whole clutch got left behind?

     With that, something inside Julius clicked into place. Maybe he was just drunk on victory, but for once, he didn’t feel like compromising. He’d started down this path to make a better clan, one where dragons would no longer be casually stepped on or thrown away. That was the dream he’d been chasing this whole time, and he’d bled for it enough by now that he was no longer willing to accept anything less than total victory. If he was going to change Heartstriker, then he was going to do it for all Heartstrikers, F-clutch and Chelsie included. And if Bethesda tried to stop him, he’d beat her again. Whatever knife she pulled, whatever secret she trotted out, he’d find a way around just like he’d circumvented all her other plans. He didn’t care how much it hurt him personally to do it, either. At this point, pain was just part of the job. The only real defeat would be if he left someone behind, and after all she’d done to them—done to him—Julius was determined never to lose to his mother again.

     Fredrick must have seen he was coming to some kind of resolution, because he didn’t interrupt. He simply watched and waited, studying his youngest brother with his own inscrutable version of the Heartstriker’s famous green eyes until, at last, Julius sat up in the bed. It hurt like crazy, but this was the sort of thing Julius felt he needed to be up for, and since standing was out of the question, sitting would have to be enough.

     “I can’t tell you why Chelsie’s so determined to never get free,” he said solemnly. “Partially because I can’t breach her confidence, and partially because I legitimately don’t know. But I can tell you that she’s doing it for a good reason. I’ve seen Chelsie face down a dragon-hunting spirit a hundred times her size without breaking a sweat, but whatever Bethesda’s holding over her head to keep her obedient terrifies her, and I respect her judgment. No one hates Bethesda more than Chelsie does. If she’s still here, then she has good reason to be, but what Chelsie doesn’t understand is that this isn’t the clan it used to be. Bethesda doesn’t have the power anymore. We do. That’s been the goal since the beginning, and now that we’re in spitting distance of having a full Council, I won’t be held back by the old threats any longer. I told you yesterday that I was going to set you free, and that’s a promise I intend to keep. As soon as the vote’s done and the Council is complete, I’m going to put forward the motion to free you, your siblings, and Chelsie. If Bethesda has a problem with that, we’ll deal with it, but she doesn’t get to decide our futures anymore.”

     That was a reckless promise, but Julius meant every word. He wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to handle the secret problem yet, but with Ian and the rest of the clan eager to get Chelsie off their backs, he was positive he could find enough leverage to convince his mother to keep her mouth shut. It probably wouldn’t even be that hard. All he had to do was engineer a situation that made keeping Chelsie’s secret more advantageous to Bethesda than spilling it, and her selfishness would take care of the rest. But happy as he felt about his decision, it didn’t come close to the joy in Fredrick’s eyes.

     “Do you mean it?” he asked, his normally stern voice quivering.

     “Absolutely,” Julius said, reaching out to tap Fredrick’s chest on the spot where Bethesda’s seal kept the F’s dragon locked away. “I’m going to set you free. All of you. The moment the Council comes together, it’s done.”

     That was a very reckless promise. He was still only one vote out of three, but no matter what, Julius was determined to keep his word. Hell or high water, he was going to make this happen, and from the look on his face, Fredrick believed it.

     “Then we are with you, sir,” he whispered, clutching Julius’s bandaged hand. “All of us. Whatever you need, if it’s in our power, it’s yours.”

     “I’d be happy if you just promised to keep this a secret from Chelsie,” Julius said with a nervous smile. “She’s been dug in on this subject for a long time. I don’t think she’ll take my attempts at change well.”

     Fredrick nodded. “That goes without saying. She hides it admirably, but she’s still an old dragon. They don’t change easily.”

     Julius had to laugh at that. “You’re six hundred years old. That makes you an old dragon too, you know.”

     “True,” Fredrick said, standing up. “But unlike Chelsie, we never gave up. We’ve been waiting for this chance our whole lives. And speaking of.”

     He turned and walked to the door, sticking his head out to speak quietly with someone who was waiting outside. A second later, he came back in carrying a tray of food so massive, Julius wasn’t sure how he’d gotten it through the door. “What is that?”

     “Your dinner,” Fredrick said as he balanced the massive tray on the rails of Julius’s hospital bed. “If Ian’s as successful as I think he will be, Heartstriker will vote on the final Council seat tonight, and unless you want to attend in a wheelchair, you need to eat and recover.” He nodded to the spread of steak, sausage, chicken, breads, and root vegetables that would have fed a football team. “That should be enough to get you started. I’ll be back with more in an hour.”

     Julius stared at him in horror. “More? Are you crazy? I’ll die if I eat all this!”

     “Spoken like a dragon who’s spent too much time as a human,” Fredrick said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Regeneration takes energy, and unless you want to cannibalize your own fire, that means food. Now eat, or I’ll be forced to feed you.”

     “Yes, sir,” Julius said meekly, reaching for the nearest pile of hot corn muffins slathered in butter.

     Fredrick watched him like a hawk, tapping his foot loudly every time Julius slowed down. But while Julius’s brain was convinced he was eating himself to death, his body was another matter. Far from feeling sick, digging into a pile of food this huge felt incredibly good, and the more he ate, the better he felt. Before he knew it, he’d cleaned the tray. It hadn’t even taken ten minutes, which normally would have been shameful. Even Justin didn’t eat that fast. But Julius felt too much better to be embarrassed, and Fredrick just looked smug, piling up the empty plates with the cocky smile of a dragon who’d just been proven right.

     “I’ll be back with another in a little while,” he said, balancing the tray expertly on one hand. “Try to rest until then, but first, I should give you this.”

     He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black rectangle, which he handed to Julius. Julius, however, did not understand. “What’s that?”

     “A phone,” Fredrick said, like that should have been obvious. “Yours fell to the ground and cracked when you transformed during the fight with Gregory, so I took the liberty of procuring you a new one. I’ve already transferred all of your numbers, accounts, and so forth. I really should have waited until after you’d slept more, but I thought you’d want it now considering the number of calls you’ve missed from your mage.”

     Julius’s stomach dropped like a stone. He’d been so caught up in family drama, he’d completely forgotten about Marci. Now that Fredrick had reminded him, the fact that Marci wasn’t here as well was terrifying. He’d gone down in flames for all to see. After something like that, Bethesda herself wouldn’t have been able to keep Marci from running to his side. So where was she?

     “I don’t know,” Fredrick said when he asked. “But before you assume the worst, she’s been calling you every five minutes since Conrad brought you in, which makes it hard to believe she’s in any pressing danger herself.”

     That was a huge relief. Julius turned on the new phone, smiling when he saw the mountain of missed calls. “Can you give me—”

     “Of course,” Fredrick said, ducking out of the room with the tray. “I’ll be back with more food in a bit.”

     Julius mouthed a silent thank you, but he couldn’t say anything out loud because he’d already hit Marci’s picture in the contacts box, wincing as the fancy new phone automatically popped up a video call. He was trying to figure out how to cancel, because the last thing he wanted was for Marci to see him looking like this, but it was already too late. He didn’t even hear the ring go off before the call picked up, and Marci’s lovely face appeared in the AR right in front of him.

     “Julius!” Her dark eyes widened in horror as they roved over the bandages wrapped around his head, neck, torso, and pretty much everywhere else. “Oh my God, are you—”

     “I’m fine,” he said quickly. When it was clear she wasn’t buying that, he added, “Okay, it hurts a lot. But I’ll heal. I’m a dragon, remember?”

     That was a line he never thought he’d say, but for once, Julius felt quite comfortable in his own feathers. Now that his stomach was bursting with food, he could actually feel his magic working, making him itch worse than ever as the burns began to heal. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. I just woke up.” He frowned. “Um, how long was I out, anyway?”

     “About three hours,” Marci said, leaning to the side so he could see the not-quite-setting sun over her shoulder…along with what appeared to be a view of farmland from several thousand feet up in the air.

     “Where are you?”

     “On a plane,” she said, sitting back up. “That’s what I’ve been calling about.”

     Julius froze. “You left?”

     That sounded heartbroken even to him, and Marci began frantically waving her hands. “No, no! It’s not like that! I didn’t want to go. I had every intention of staying until the vote tomorrow at least, but then Gregory attacked me after you went down, and—”

     This was going from bad to worse. “Gregory attacked you?”

     “Don’t worry, I put him in his place,” she said with a wicked grin. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t kill him. I wanted to after what he did to you, but I wasn’t about to undermine your dragon-Gandhi shtick, so I just roughed him up a bit.”

     By the time she finished, Julius was smiling so hard his face ached. If he hadn’t been head over heels in love with Marci already, that show of understanding would have finished the job. “Thank you,” he said when he could speak again. “For everything. I’m sorry I ever doubted that you could take care of yourself, but I still don’t see how getting attacked ended with you being on a plane.”

     “About that,” Marci said, shifting uncomfortably. “I didn’t see Gregory’s initial attack. Ghost protected me from getting insta-roasted, but it took everything he had left to do it. Now he’s hurt really bad, and I can’t fix him with the magic I’ve got access to here. The only way to save him is to take him back home to the DFZ.”

     Fear closed over Julius like a fist. “The DFZ?” he whispered, hands shaking on the bed. “Marci, you can’t go there. Algonquin’s on the warpath against dragons. She knows you’re with me. If she—”

     “Normally, you’d be right,” Marci said. “But I’ve already got it covered. I’m going to the DFZ as a special guest of the United Nations, and Algonquin’s not at war with them.”

     “That’s not going to stop her,” Julius said, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. “The UN is a human organization. Algonquin doesn’t follow their rules. What are they going to do if she attacks you? Embargo the DFZ?”

     “It’s not like I have a choice,” she said angrily. “I’m not doing this because I want to. If I had my way, I’d be there with you, but I don’t. I’m doing this for Ghost. He’s my spirit, he’s sick, and he needs my help. If that means taking him back to the DFZ, then that’s where we go. You’d do the same thing if I was the one in trouble, right?”

     In a heartbeat, but that didn’t do anything to stop the icy dread crawling up Julius’s spine. “This isn’t going to end well.”

     “It’ll be fine,” Marci assured him. “These UN guys are total bosses. We’ll be in and out before Algonquin even knows we’re there.”

     That might be true, but the way she said it only gave Julius something else to worry about. “Why are they helping you?” he asked suspiciously. “I get that Ghost is special, but you have to admit it seems a bit suspicious that a general and the undersecretary of magic would just drop everything to fly you to the DFZ.”

     “Not that suspicious,” she said, her eyes gleaming with the Marci-brand excitement that always meant trouble. “Ghost is the spirit who defeated Vann Jeger, but there’s a chance he might be a lot more. You remember that Mortal Spirit stuff I told you about?”

     Julius nodded.

     “Well, he might be the first,” she said proudly. “That’s big. Big enough to make the UN play taxi, anyway.”

     That was exactly what Julius was afraid of. He’d only met the UN humans once, but once was enough to recognize both of them as power players in their respective fields. In his experience, power players—human, dragon, or spirit—didn’t let assets like Marci go once they had them in hand. They’d happily fly her to the DFZ now if it protected their interests, but it was what could happen afterward that had Julius tied in knots.

     “Would you relax?” Marci said, rolling her eyes. “You are such a worrywart. Look, it’s going to be fine. Everyone knows this is a one-time gig to save Ghost. Once he’s up and running again, I’m heading straight back to you. With any luck, we’ll have this wrapped up in a few hours, and I’ll be back at the mountain in time for the vote tomorrow morning.”

     “Actually, Ian’s pushing to have it tonight,” Julius said. “But that doesn’t matter. Whenever you get back is good with me, so long as it’s soon. I miss you.”

     He hadn’t meant to say that last part. The sentimental words had just popped out, and Julius’s face began to burn. Thankfully, bandages made a good mask, but nothing could hide the fact that he was acting like a mopey, clingy idiot. But while he was kicking himself for being stupid, Marci seemed to be having a very different reaction to the words.

     “I miss you, too,” she said quietly, giving him a shy smile that made him forget all about that other stuff. “I know we haven’t gotten a chance to talk much these last few days, but while we’re here and on the subject, I want you to know that I…that is…”

     She stopped to brush her hair back from her eyes with nervous fingers, but Julius wasn’t moving at all. He didn’t even dare to breathe lest he risk missing a millisecond of whatever Marci was trying to say. Before she could take another stab at it, though, something black and feathered flew in front of the phone’s camera, making them both jump.

     “Crud,” she muttered, shooting whatever it was a nasty look. “We’ve got company.”

     “So send them away,” Julius said frantically, leaning forward in the bed. “Please, keep going.”

     “This isn’t the sort of voyeur I can just ‘send away,’” she said, blowing out a frustrated breath. “But it’s probably for the best. I didn’t want to say this over the phone, anyway. We’ll finish this when I get back tomorrow, without an audience.”

     There was an odd croaking sound from her side of the call, but Julius barely heard it. The moment Marci had promised they’d continue this tomorrow, in private, his poor heart had started thudding so hard he was amazed he hadn’t set off the heart rate monitor beside his bed. “I’ll be waiting for you,” he said in a rush. “I swear, Marci, the moment this vote is over, we are taking a vacation from everything. I’ll fly you anywhere in the world you want to go.”

     “Now that sounds like heaven,” she said wistfully. “I can’t wait.” The odd croaking sounded again, and Marci rolled her eyes. “I have to go. Good luck with the vote. Call me when it’s done, okay?”

     “I will,” he promised. “And please be careful.”

     “Hey,” she said. “It’s me. I’m always professional, and I’m human. We don’t go around pulsing magic like you guys do, plus there’s nine million of us in the DFZ. I’ll be a glass needle in a backlit haystack. Algonquin won’t even know I’m there.”

     Julius sincerely hoped she was right about that. He still hated the idea of her getting anywhere near the DFZ, but as she’d said, there was nothing else for it. Part of loving Marci was respecting her bond with her spirit, and if Ghost needed to be fixed, he wasn’t about to stand in her way. He only hoped he could keep from worrying himself sick in the meanwhile. “Just…please be careful,” he said again. “And call. Any chance you get, even if you don’t have anything to say, I’d still like to hear your voice and know you’re not a head on one of Algonquin’s pikes.”

     “Aww, that’s sweet and gruesome,” she said, laughing. “Same goes for you, though. Heal up, and try not to let any more dragons take chunks out of you, or there’ll be nothing left when I get back.”

     “I’ll try,” he promised.

     This was the place where one of them should have said good-bye, but Julius didn’t want to be the one to do it. From the way she was also hovering, Marci obviously didn’t want to, either. But while Julius would have been perfectly happy to sit here looking at her forever, it was obvious she was no longer alone. While they’d both been avoiding saying good-bye, the large, black blur from before had hopped onto the back of Marci’s seat. When it dipped its head down into the AR camera’s frame, Julius saw it was a bird. A raven, to be precise, and a huge one. Far larger than any natural bird could grow. He was already opening his mouth to ask if this was the Raven, as in the spirit, when the bird began tugging impatiently at Marci’s hair.

     “Would you stop it?” she snapped, batting the bird away before turning back to Julius with an apologetic look. “I’ve got to go. Take care, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

     “See you tomorrow,” he replied. “And Marci, I—”

     The call cut off before he could finish, and he lay back in the bed with a sigh. He was looking at his phone trying to calculate the minimum acceptable time period before he could call her again when he heard his door open.

     He looked with a smile, eagerly expecting Fredrick with his second dinner tray, but the dragon standing in the doorway wasn’t an F. It wasn’t Ian come to roust him out of bed, either, or even Chelsie or Bob. It was, in fact, the very last dragon save for Bethesda herself that Julius had expected to pay him a visit, but nonetheless, it was clearly David who was walking into his room, his handsome face plastered with that unshakable politician’s smile as Julius’s hand instinctively went for his sword.

     ***

     “Was that strictly necessary?” Marci griped, rubbing her scalp.

     “Absolutely,” Raven said, hopping down to perch on the leather seat across from hers in the back of General Jackson’s extremely swanky military jet. “I’ve watched your kind go through the ritual of courtship millions of times, and I could see you were about to make a critical misstep.”

     She sighed. “Which is?”

     “Never tell a dragon you like them first,” he said sagely. “Even if it’s true, telling them you care gives them all the power, and you know how dragons get when you give them power.”

     Marci sighed harder. That kind of thinking didn’t apply to Julius, but it was pointless to try and explain their unique relationship to something as old and, frankly, kind of alien as Raven. It was probably for the best anyway. If she was going to work up the courage to tell Julius she liked him, she wanted it to be face to face, where she could take advantage of whatever came next. That was something she definitely didn’t want an audience for, so Marci told herself to be happy they’d been forced into a rain check and turned back to Raven to ask what he wanted.

     “Just a question,” he said, turning to look at her with each of his beady black eyes in turn. “You seemed very familiar with the Seer of the Heartstrikers back there. Do you know him well?”

     “Only in passing,” she said, shaking her head. “He likes to burst into our lives on occasion and make cryptic pronouncements.”

     “It’s a seer thing,” Raven said, nodding. “What about his…companion, shall we say? Have you seen her before?”

     “You mean his pigeon?” When Raven nodded, she thought back. “He’s had her as long as I’ve known him. To be fair, that’s only been about six weeks, but no one else seems surprised to see her, so I’d say she’s been with him for a while.”

     Either that or all the dragons were just so used to Bob’s weirdness that they didn’t even react to things like a pigeon on his shoulder anymore. But Julius had taken it in stride as well, which made Marci think the pigeon was a standard Bob accessory. But the real question here was, “Why do you want to know?”

     “Because she’s not a pigeon,” Raven said. “I know Pigeon very well, and he’s as stupid as the birds who created him. Definitely not the caliber of intellect required for palling around with the Heartstriker’s genius fortune teller. Plus, the spirit of pigeons hasn’t left New York’s Central Park since he woke up there when the magic first came back sixty years ago, so I’m going to go with no.”

     Marci frowned. It seemed silly in hindsight, but she hadn’t even considered the spirit angle before Raven brought it up. She’d always assumed Bob’s pigeon was just that: a bird. Not that she’d admit it anywhere he could hear, but Bob had always struck Marci as a lonely sort of dragon. Breeding a new kind of hyper-intelligent, magically awakened pigeon as a pet struck her as exactly the kind of thing he’d do to keep himself company. But Raven wouldn’t be here asking her questions if Bob’s pigeon were just a pigeon, so if she wasn’t an animal, and she wasn’t a spirit, what was she?

     “You called her a Nameless End.”

     “Did I?” the spirit squawked innocently. “I don’t recall—”

     “I do,” she said. “And you did. You said she was a Nameless End and that it meant we needed to run. Why? I mean, obviously anything called a ‘Nameless End’ is going to be bad, but what kind of bad?”

     “You are a very curious mortal,” Raven grumbled. “Normally, I like that, but curiosity kills more than cats, and considering the state of your own feline, I wouldn’t push it.”

     “Leave Ghost out of this,” Marci said, hugging her poor faded spirit’s tiny connection close to her magic. “You’re the one who brought this up. I see Bob all the time. If he’s walking around with something dangerous, I want to know.”

     “Like being around the greatest seer ever born to the dragons on this plane isn’t dangerous enough,” Raven grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you want to ask a different forbidden question? I can tell you tales of the Merlins of old.”

     That was so tempting, Marci almost didn’t mind the blatant change of subject, but she refused to be put off. She didn’t have to be a dragon to know that Bob was the shadowy hand behind Julius’s rise. He was the force powering all of this, and if he was consorting with something sinister, that made it their problem, too.

     “No, I don’t want to ask another question,” she said firmly. “I want to know what a Nameless End is, and I want to know why you were so afraid of it. The whole point of this trip is that I might be the Merlin, and the whole point of Merlins is that they’re mages strong enough to protect humanity from all the other big hitters out there. If that’s really the case, then something big enough to frighten you definitely seems like the sort of thing the first Merlin should know about.”

     “You’re not a Merlin yet,” Raven reminded her. “But you do make a good point.”

     He leaned over, peeking around the chair to glance up the aisle at General Jackson, who was sitting at the front of the plane, waving her hands through what looked like mountains of invisible AR screens. Across the aisle from her, Myron had taken over an entire table with his papers and was scribbling on them while simultaneously conducting a loud and angry phone call in German.

     When it was clear neither official was paying any attention to the two of them, Raven flapped his wings and hopped across the gap between the facing seats to perch on Marci’s knee. “Very well, maybe-Merlin,” he whispered, looking up at her with wise black eyes. “You want to know about the Nameless Ends? Here’s what I can tell you.”

     He fell silent, and Marci leaned forward eagerly, ears straining as she waited for him to speak.

     And waited.

     And waited some more.

     “Um…” she said at last. “What can you tell me?”

     “That was it,” Raven said. “Nothing.”

     “Oh, come on!”

     “Don’t ‘oh, come on’ me,” the spirit snapped, glaring at her. “Try to see this from my point of view. I love humans. The moment you started talking, you became the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to this planet. You have entertained me for thousands of years now, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are very, very young. The oldest of your kind barely constitutes the blink of an eye for most spirits. That’s not your fault. I’m sure you would much rather not die if given the choice. Unfortunately, though, you do, and that mortality produces a critical inability to survive long enough to acquire what my kind considers a mature and responsible nature.”

     Marci pulled herself up, affronted. “So just because we don’t live for thousands of years, we can’t be mature?”

     “Exactly,” Raven said. “You’ll never be anything but babies to us, and many spirits, including Algonquin, say this is why you can’t be trusted with anything important. Admittedly, looking at the mess you made of our planet while we were asleep, I can’t blame them for thinking that way, but I’ve always felt humanity had to be taken as individuals rather than a whole. Herds of humans invariably sink to their lowest common denominator, but I’ve met thousands, perhaps millions of individual humans who possessed amazing levels of sophistication, intelligence, and maturity considering how brief your lives are. All that said, there are things in this world humans are legitimately too young to understand. It’s not a matter of intelligence or morality or even magical knowledge. It’s an issue of experience and the ability to take the long view, and when it comes to the spirit level of long view, your kind simply doesn’t have the grasp of time necessary to wrap your heads around it.”

     As much as she hated to, Marci had to give him that one. Humans worked in years and decades, maybe even centuries if they were really organized. But spirits lived for millions of years. They functioned on a geologic timescale, and it wasn’t an insult to say humans couldn’t grasp that. How could you even conceive of a million years when the humans with the most money and best health care still died at a hundred and twenty? But while Marci was willing to spot him that one, it still didn’t explain why Raven couldn’t tell her about the Nameless End.

      “All right,” she said. “We can’t appreciate time on the same level you can. Fair enough. But if this thing is as dangerous as you seem too think, ignorance isn’t going to help us. Why don’t you just try explaining it to me? I might not understand everything, but I’ve seen that pigeon a lot more than you have. You might be amazed at what I can come up with despite my mortality handicap.”

     “I’m sure you could,” Raven said, touching her arm condescendingly. “But I’m afraid this is bigger than you and me. The Nameless Ends are not something to be invoked casually. I don’t even think the dragon knows what he’s doing, and he’s a seer. He can literally see the future, and I still don’t trust him to be wise enough to make the right choice when the time comes.”

     “The Nameless Ends,” Marci repeated, smiling. “So there’s more than one?”

     Raven snapped his beak shut. “You see?” he said, glaring at her. “Too clever by half and never knows when to quit. No wonder most spirits would rather stay silent forever than tell a human anything.”

     “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Marci said quickly. “I’m just worried. Even if I’m fundamentally incapable of understanding the Nameless Ends fully, I still want to know enough that I won’t have to blindly trust you spirits to handle them alone. Not that I doubt your wisdom and experience, but most of you don’t seem to value human lives very highly, and frankly that’s not the kind of guardian I want protecting me from something so dangerous you won’t even tell me about it.”

     “I suppose that’s fair,” Raven replied grudgingly. “But my answer is still the same. When it comes to something this big, any knowledge can be dangerous. If you were a Merlin, things would be different, but as I keep reminding you, you’re not there yet.”

     “I know,” she said. “I’m trying, okay? But I don’t know how to get there, and neither does Ghost.” She looked pleadingly at Raven. “I don’t suppose that’s one of the forbidden questions you would answer?”

     “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Though it’s not from lack of wanting this time. I can’t tell you how to become a Merlin, because every Merlin I’ve ever met became one in a different way.” He shrugged. “I guess you’ll just have to figure it out for yourself.”

     “Great,” Marci groaned, flopping back in her chair. “And what happens if I don’t make it?”

     “I suppose you’ll go on as you are now,” Raven said. “At least until your Mortal Spirit eats you.”

     She blinked at him. “What?”

     “Oh yes,” he said. “Not to add to the pressure, but as I’m sure you’ve already noticed, your Mortal Spirit is getting bigger. Eventually, he’ll get too big for you to control, and unless you become a Merlin first and use that to keep the upper hand, you’ll end up serving him.”

     Marci paled. “Really?”

     The raven nodded. “I’ve seen it happen many times, and it’s never pretty. Mortal Spirits are the embodiments of base human nature, and humans aren’t known for being kind.”

     That was a grim thought. Even worse, it matched what she already knew of Ghost, which meant it was probably true. Unfortunately, it was a problem Marci had no idea how to solve. She didn’t even know where to start looking. She was about to ask Raven if he had any general tips he could offer when the whole plane bucked.

     Marci grabbed her seat, stomach lurching. Even Raven was scrambling, flapping wildly to stay upright as the plane turned and tossed. Outside the windows, what had been a clear autumn evening was now pitch black, which made no sense. Even flying east through the time zones, it was still too early for this kind of night. A second later, a flash of light proved she was right. The darkness wasn’t night at all. It was thunderheads. A massive, terrifyingly black wall of them surrounding the plane on all sides, and at the center of it all was the shadow of something enormous.

     Marci could only see it when the lightning flashed, so she couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a giant bird of prey. A hawk, maybe, or a falcon. Size-wise, though, it looked more like a blue whale had gotten lost in the sky, and it was coming right for them.

     “Never rains but it pours,” Sir Myron said with a sigh, glaring out the window at the rapidly approaching shadow. “Emily?”

     “Already on it,” the general said, standing up and taking off her coat. She took off her crisp white shirt next, leaving only her undershirt tank top, but that wasn’t what made Marci stare. She was gawking at the fact that the general’s entire torso—arms, shoulders, chest, everything she could see—was made out of the same spell-etched metal as her deadly hand. The only parts of her that actually looked human were her head and neck, which were still covered in normal, brown skin, though that might have been clever plastic work. It was impossible for Marci to tell for sure with the lightning flashing every few seconds, but the general didn’t seem in a hurry as she folded her clothes neatly, set them down in her chair, and walked to the back of the plane.

     “Raven,” she said when she reached Marci’s seat. “Stay out of sight.”

     “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he croaked. “But do give the Thunderbird my regards.”

     She nodded and walked through the door at the back. The one Marci had presumed went to the lavatories. “Um, where is she going?”

     “Out the back,” Raven said, hopping over to the window. “This is Emily’s personal jet. It’s got a depressurized compartment in the back for just this sort of occasion. Without it, you’d all be sucked out when she opened the door.”

     Marci’s eyes went wide. “Sucked out? You mean she’s going outside the plane? Into that?”

     She pointed at the near-constant lightning, and Raven nodded. “Of course,” he said. “How else do you talk to the Thunderbird? I certainly can’t do it. We’ve just entered Algonquin’s airspace. I’m even more forbidden here than the dragons.”

     There was so much crammed into that statement, Marci didn’t know where to begin, so she went for the biggest. “That’s the Thunderbird?” she said, staring through the plane’s round window at the huge, predatory mass of clouds and lightning that was now moving toward the back of their jet.

     “Surely you didn’t think this storm was natural,” Raven said with a chuckle. “Yes, that’s him. He’s the spirit of the thunderstorms that form over the Great Planes. Or at least he used to be. These days he’s more like Algonquin’s doorman. Since she shot down the Three Sisters, she’s had him patrolling her skies for unauthorized entrants.”

     Marci swallowed nervously. “Like us?”

     “No, actually. Myron called ahead and got us clearance before we’d even left New Mexico. Algonquin just enjoys harassing Emily because Emily is mine.”

     She stared at him, confused. “General Jackson is your human? I thought she said she wasn’t a mage.”

     “She isn’t,” Raven said. “And I didn’t say she was my human. What do I look like, a dragon?” He shuddered. “I said she was mine because I’m the one who built her.”

     Marci nearly choked. “Built?”

     Raven chuckled. “Come on, you’re supposed to be clever. You didn’t think she was born made of metal, did you?”

     “No,” Marci said. “But—”

     “She’s a construct,” Raven went on proudly. “Though I suppose the proper term these days would be cyborg. She’s a charming mix of enchanted metals and modern machinery I wrapped around a human soul.”

      “You wrapped?” she repeated, stunned. When she’d first touched the general’s hand, Marci had noticed she’d felt like Julius’s enchanted sword, but she’d never imagined that could actually be true. “How did you do that?”

     “Ravens have always been clever with tools,” he said proudly. “But I can’t take all the credit. The structure and ideas were mine, but I’m a spirit. I can’t move magic, so I had to rely on human helpers. My Emily is the product of many hands, including Myron’s in recent years. He’s the one who figured out how to fit that lovely cannon in her palm.”

     “But how does it work?” Marci asked, fascinated. “If she’s not a mage, where does she get the energy to fire? Or to move?”

     “From me,” Raven said, puffing out his chest. “I keep telling you, she’s mine. Every part of her is tied to me, which is why Algonquin can’t stand her. But what the Lady of the Lakes doesn’t realize is that her connection to me is the least part of why she should fear Emily. She assumes I’m the puppet master, but the old water sprite never could grasp that I’m not interested in control. I didn’t choose Emily because I wanted a weapon. I picked her because she asked me, and I was curious to see just how far she would go.”

     “You made a human into a construct because you were curious?” Marci said, disbelieving.

     “It’s why I do most things,” Raven said with a shrug. “I know forever is a hard concept for humans to grasp, but it’s my reality. If I ever run out of things to be curious about, my life will become too dull to bear, and then I’ll be in real trouble.”

     That seemed like a strange reason to make the world’s first magic-integrated cyborg, but given everything else Marci knew about Raven, she didn’t think he was lying. Before she could ask another question, though, the door to the back of the plane opened again, and a sopping-wet General Jackson stepped back into the pressurized cabin.

     “We’re clear,” she said calmly, brushing the water off her face like she’d just come back from a walk in the rain rather than standing on the rear deck of an aircraft flying at cruising altitude. “The Thunderbird knew we had prior clearance, but he still made me recite the entire code four times.”

     “I’m just glad none of his lightning struck the plane this time,” Sir Myron said grumpily as he restacked the papers the earlier turbulence had scattered. “The last time he did this, we had to replace the entire autopilot.”

     “He was being careful this time,” the general said, grabbing a towel from the compartment beside the door to wipe down her metal arms and shoulders, which Marci could now see were covered in an intricate, interlocking web of engraved spellwork from multiple schools of magic. “Probably because we’re surrounded by commercial flight lanes. Algonquin might be on high alert, but she isn’t going to throw the DFZ tourism baby out with the dragon bathwater. The city is still open for business if you’re not a dragon, which means if we’re careful, we shouldn’t have any further trouble.”

     She looked at Marci as she finished, greeting her gawking stare with a resigned sigh. “I suppose Raven told you what I am?”

     “Of course I did,” Raven chirped, fluttering up to land on her shoulder. “I’m a very proud papa.”

     “You are most definitely not my father,” the general said as she turned back to Marci. “I hope this won’t damage your ability to trust me, Miss Novalli,” she said, holding up her metal hand. “I assure you that, other than a few modifications, I’m as human as you or Myron. I was actually born right here in Detroit, and I can show you pictures if you need proof.”

     “No, no, I believe you,” Marci said quickly. “It’s just that I’ve never…that is to say, I didn’t know you were possible. The last I’d heard, we were still trying to figure out how to make enchantments stick to paper clips, never mind a full-blown person.”

     “I’m a bit of a special case,” the general said, sitting down in the seat across from her. “And I’m not actually enchanted. I have no magic of my own. My body is simply a complex spellwork conduit for Raven’s magic. He provides the power, I decide how it should be used, sort of like a pilot.”

     “How did that happen?” Marci blurted out. “I don’t want to be rude, but you have to admit it’s not a common thing.”

     “Hardly,” the general agreed. “There have only been a handful of successful human constructs in all of history. All made by Raven, I might add.”

     The spirit shrugged. “What can I say? I enjoy playing god.”

     “So we’ve noticed,” the general said, turning back to Marci with a smile. “Don’t let him fool you. He plays like it was his idea, but I asked for this. A long time ago, Raven appeared to me when I was dying and offered me a second shot at life. I accepted, but only if I got to remain in control. He agreed, and the rest is public record. I’ve been working for the government—first the US, then the UN—as a weapon protecting humanity from the monsters who suddenly appeared in our midst with moderate success for five decades now.”

     “Five decades?” Marci said, staring at the general’s lineless face. “But you don’t look more than forty.”

     “I assure you, I’m much older than that,” the general said with a chuckle, rapping her knuckles against her thigh with a metallic clack. “Being made of metal and plastic does occasionally have its advantages, as do constant upgrades. I’m actually eighty-six.”

     “Wow,” Marci said, doing the math in her head. “So when you said you were born in Detroit, you meant actual Detroit. Not the DFZ.”

     The general’s face grew angry. “I was born before any of this, back when there was no magic and Detroit was just another struggling Midwest city. I grew up thinking magic and dragons and spirits were all just make-believe. But when the flood came, I learned the hard way how wrong I was.”

     By the time she finished, Marci was practically bouncing in her seat. “You were there?” she cried. “That means you saw the return of magic and Algonquin’s flood with your own eyes! What was it like?”

     “The end of the world,” she replied bitterly, giving Marci a look that knocked the excitement right out of her.

     “I’m sorry,” Marci said, suddenly ashamed. “It’s all history to me. I didn’t think about what it must have been like to live through it.”

     “That’s good,” General Jackson said calmly. “It’s not the sort of thing you want to imagine. But I don’t mind answering your questions. When the flood came, I was still in the Marine Corps. I was at home on leave visiting my family when we felt the ground shake. We thought it was an earthquake, but I learned later that what we’d felt was the meteor hitting the bedrock of the Canadian Shield eight hundred miles away in Quebec. After that, we felt something far worse. It was painful, like something inside us was rupturing, but not in our physical bodies.”

     “The tearing open of magic,” Marci said, nodding. “I’ve read about it.”

     “Trust me, it wasn’t fun,” General Jackson said with a shudder. “Since I wasn’t a mage, mine was over quickly, but my brother was in crippling pain for nearly an hour. We were trying to get him to go to the hospital when the ground shook again, only this time, it didn’t stop. When we went out to see what it was, all we saw was a wall of water.” She shook her head. “It washed everything away. My entire neighborhood was destroyed, and my family drowned. I was the only one who survived, but not for long. My legs had gotten crushed when the house came down, so even though I’d survived Algonquin’s wave, I was going to bleed out anyway. That’s when Raven appeared and offered to save me.”

     “She thought I was the devil,” Raven said with a chuckle. “That was fun.”

     “What else was I supposed to think?” she growled. “I didn’t know magic was real yet, and you were a giant talking bird. My choices were devil or pain-induced hallucination.”

     “But you took my deal all the same.”

     “Of course I took it,” she said. “I’d just seen my entire family killed by something I couldn’t understand or explain. I wanted only one thing, and I didn’t care if I had to make a deal with the devil to get it.”

     Marci could guess what that was. “Revenge?”

     “No,” Emily said, looking at her like she was crazy. “The power to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. That’s why I do all this.” She gestured at the jet. “That’s why I endured the decade of operations and experiments it took to get my first body up and running. So that when creatures like Algonquin try to step on us, I can step back and stop them. That’s why I’ve done everything I’ve done for the last sixty years, and it’s why I’m so excited to find you.”

     She gave her that strange look again, as though Marci were all the hope in the world. “You’re what we’ve been waiting for. Hard as I’ve worked, I always knew I was a stopgap, a makeshift weapon to help us limp along until the Merlins returned. Now that you’re here, we can finally start pushing back for real, and I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to it.”

     “I see,” Marci said, feeling suddenly insufficient. “But you do know there’s a chance I won’t be one, right?”

     “Oh, you’ll do it,” the general said with absolute confidence. “We’ll make it happen.” She tapped the window, where the double-layer skyline of the DFZ’s Skyways was lighting up for the rainy night. “We’ll go down there and do whatever it takes to get your spirit back online. I don’t care if I have to bring you Algonquin herself in buckets, the first Merlin will be ours. I will make you humanity’s shield, or I will die trying.”

     There was conviction in those words far deeper and older than Marci’s involvement in this, and it made her feel decidedly like a pawn. Normally, Marci hated that, but it was hard to be angry at someone whose only wish seemed to be for you to protect humanity. The whole thing was enough to stir up old childhood dreams of heroism. Dreams Marci promptly squashed. Heroes did stupid things like get themselves killed selflessly. She was a mage pushing the boundaries of magic. If she was going to do something as dangerous and reckless as sneaking into the DFZ on a quest to become the power that could finally unseat Algonquin, then she was damn well going to get something out of it for herself and Ghost. She was also going to make sure she stayed in control. General Jackson seemed like a fine and noble soul, but she was still military, and the military had a bad habit of taking over when push came to shove. When that happened, Marci had to be ready to shove back harder. First, though, she had to get her cat back.

     “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” she said, peering out the window as the plane finally set down. “Right now, we need to get back to the house where I first bound Ghost. That’s not going to be easy with Thunderbirds in the sky.”

     “Actually,” Sir Myron said, joining them at last. “The Thunderbird is the least of our worries. Algonquin has her whole panoply out on patrol in the wake of her war declaration. The Thunderbird just watches the sky, probably because it’s the only patrol area straightforward enough for a storm spirit. The rest of Algonquin’s group are far sneakier and just as dangerous in their own ways. Vann Jeger was her best fighter, but there’s no such thing as a harmless spirit.”

     “So what’s the plan, then?” Marci asked. “The Thunderbird already knows we’re here, which means we’re bound to get tailed when we leave. If the others are as dangerous as you say, it sounds like we’re screwed.”

     “You would be if you were with anyone else,” Sir Myron said, running his fingers over his maze-inscribed rings. “But you’re with us, Miss Novalli, and we do not get screwed.”

     From anyone else, that would have been some grade A hubris just asking to be put down, but this was Sir Myron Rollins. He was famous for a reason, which meant Marci was willing to spot him the benefit of the doubt. “If you say so,” she said nervously, running a sweaty hand through her hair. “Let me give you the address.”

     Myron nodded impatiently, tapping his foot as Marci found a piece of paper and wrote out the address where she’d worked her first job in the DFZ, squinting in the fading light as the rain from the Thunderbird’s vigil in the sky poured down around them.

     Chapter 14

     By the time David closed the door, Julius’s hand was wrapped tight around the hilt of his Fang. Part of it was general principle: no dragon was comfortable being injured around a more-powerful opponent. Mostly, though, it was because David was Bethesda’s preferred candidate, and given what had just happened with their mother, Julius wouldn’t have trusted him to steal an unguarded bag of money right now. But for all of Julius’s nervousness, the Fang’s magic rolled right over David without making him so much as shudder, meaning whatever he was here for, he didn’t intend violence at the moment. That didn’t mean he couldn’t change his mind later, of course, but for right now at least, David was peaceful, and Julius decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

     “Can I help you?”

     “No,” the senator said, stopping at the foot of his bed. “Believe it or not, I’m here to help you.”

     Julius was firmly in the ‘or not’ side of that statement, but he was determined not to jump to conclusions. “Okay,” he said, loosening—but not removing—his grip on his sword. “What’s up?”

     “This,” David said, tossing a formal-looking scroll on the bed beside Julius’s leg. “I’m officially resigning from the race for the open Council seat.”

     There was no way Julius had heard that right. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his bandaged head. “Could you say that one more—”

     “It’s all right there,” his older brother said, pointing at the scroll. “Read for yourself.”

     Julius picked up the scroll, breaking the seal and spreading it open on the bed. Sure enough, it was exactly what David said: a statement revoking his candidacy for the Council race written in the flowery, archaic language usually reserved for formal surrenders. But while the meaning was clear, Julius still didn’t understand. “Why?”

     “Because I’m not a fool,” David said with a shrug. “Continuing a campaign you have no hope of winning is a waste of time and resources. Ian was gaining modest ground thanks to your support, but your masterful handling of Gregory’s little stunt has turned a small shift into a clan-wide movement. I can’t even walk down the hallway now without hearing dragons claiming they always knew you were special, and since you’ve already thrown your weight behind Ian, I find myself at a terminal disadvantage.”

     “It can’t be that bad,” Julius said, feeling unaccountably sad for his brother. David might be a snake, but he’d been legitimately trying to win a spot on the Council. If he quit, they’d be right back to only having one candidate again. “Everyone’s excited right now, but as soon as something else happens, they’ll forget and move on. You can’t just give up.”

     David shook his head. “If we had longer, there might be a chance, but even if Ian fails to get the vote called early, I still have less than twenty-four hours to turn a landslide around. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

     “But—”

     “Enough,” David said tiredly. “I’ve no interest in lost causes. They’d be deathly insulted to hear it, but when it comes to elections, dragons aren’t so different from humans. We all like to be on the winning team. If Gregory had killed you, as everyone was certain he would, your dreams of a Council would have died along with you. But that didn’t happen, and so everyone’s jumping ship.”

     Julius swallowed. “Is that what you wanted? Me to die?”

     “Of course,” David said with a careless shrug. “It’s not personal. I was on top under the old system. Why would I want that to change? When I saw my chance at greater power, I colluded with Bethesda to bring you down. We were planning to just scare you off with the traps and threats to your mortal, but you’re surprisingly difficult to corner. Gregory was supposed to fix that. He was the final solution, the last, great blow to finally knock you out of our feathers for good, but that didn’t work either. Not only did he not kill you, he lost spectacularly and gained you the public support of Conrad. That’s a sweep by anyone’s standards. Now the whole mountain’s falling over itself to save face by proclaiming how much they were secretly on your side the whole time, and I find myself unwilling to continue throwing good money after bad.” He sighed. “You’ve won, and since this was only ever about power for me, I see no reason to keep fighting a losing battle. Especially since, as you’re always so quick to point out, there will be another Council election for me to win in five years.”

     It was completely out of place, but Julius almost laughed at that. “If you can’t beat us, join us?”

     “A real dragon always finds his way to power,” David reminded him. “I lost this round, but five years should be plenty of time to let you and Ian make a proper mess of things before I come in to show you how a representative government should be run.”

     He finished with a confident smile, and oddly, Julius found himself grinning back. Up until a few moments ago, he’d been sure this was all a ruse. David was a dragon’s dragon. “Surrender” wasn’t in his vocabulary. “Strategic retreat” was, though, and that was what David seemed to be doing. He wasn’t giving up, he was shifting strategies, and that gave Julius more hope for the future than anything else so far, because he was here talking about it.

     Under the old Heartstriker, the only answer to a defeat like this would have been to go down swinging, taking as many of his enemies out with him as possible. Now, though, thanks to the election cycle, David could simply wait for another chance. There was no need for violence, no logical reason for the death and blood and waste that had always been the hallmark of draconic power struggles. The fact that he’d come here with a letter instead of a knife for Julius’s throat was proof that Julius’s plans were already working. Yet again, he was seeing Heartstriker change right before his eyes, and Julius was so happy about that he couldn’t sit still.

     “I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” he said, pushing himself up off the bed. Even with the new strength from his meal, standing probably wasn’t the best idea, but Julius was determined to shake his brother’s hand properly. “I’m sad you’re leaving the race, but I respect your decision, and we really do need the Council up and running as soon as possible. With your cooperation, we might be able to get this whole thing wrapped up by dinner.”

     There might even be enough time to hold their first session, which meant that he could put forward the vote to free Chelsie and F-clutch tonight! No more interruptions or grandstanding, just a united clan actually moving forward. Together.

     That was enough to make Julius dizzy with happiness. Or maybe it was just the blood loss. Either way, he was grinning like an idiot when he stepped forward to take his brother’s outstretched hand, shaking it with every bit of strength his poor abused body could manage. “Thank you for being so mature about this, David. Your decision to bow out peacefully will make a huge difference.”

     “It’d better,” David said, grabbing Julius’s fingers in a crushing grip. “Because this whole Council system needs a great deal of work. Having one seat that’s split between five Fangs and one that’s elected from everyone else is hideously unbalanced. Even with Ian’s new popularity, I still had enough guaranteed votes left in my pocket to make him sweat. You got your seat simply because no other Fang could be bothered to run.”

     “I know it’s not perfect,” Julius agreed quickly, trying in vain to wiggle his fingers out of David’s. “But this was just our first attempt based on the power structure we had at the time. Once the Council’s established, we can change the rules to divide the power up more equally, starting with the Fang’s seat.” He grinned at his brother. “Seeing how you’ve been a senator for longer than I’ve been alive, I’d be happy to hear your expert opinion on how best to do that.”

     “I’m sure you would,” David said, squeezing harder. “But you mistake my meaning. I like having one seat for five Fangs. Far less competition, and it’s not like getting a Fang of your own is hard.”

     Julius stared at him, confused. “What do you—”

     “Pulling the tooth out of the Quetzalcoatl’s skull initially is a challenge, to be sure,” David went on. “But once they’re out, the Fangs will go to anyone who fits their broad requirements. Just look at Justin. Surely you don’t think he’s what our grandfather envisioned for a Knight of the Mountain? Of course not. He got his Fang because he was reckless, prideful, and violent. For a tooth that was already out of its skull, that was good enough. And now that you’ve done the impossible and dislodged the Diplomat’s Blade, any reasonable, politically inclined Heartstriker should be able to waltz right up and—”

     His free hand—the one he wasn’t currently using to crush Julius’s—darted down to grab the hilt of Julius’s Fang where he’d left it on the bed. But while David was faster than a human, he wasn’t particularly fast for a dragon. Julius, by contrast, was still the fastest of his clutch. Even injured, he grabbed his brother’s wrist with time to spare. His brain, unfortunately, wasn’t nearly as quick on the pick-up.

     “What are you doing?” he demanded as he struggled to hold David’s hand in place. “Did you even listen to what you just said? The tide has turned. You can’t win like this anymore!”

     “I know,” David said with a smile that turned Julius’s blood to ice water. “Which is why I’m going to win like this.”

     His other hand—the one that, until now, had been employed for the vise-like handshake—released Julius’s fingers and shot forward. It still wasn’t really that fast, but stopping David’s grab for the Fang had put Julius at a very bad angle, and with his hand already positioned less than a foot from Julius’s bandaged stomach, David didn’t have far to go. Julius barely had time to spot the gleam of the knife that slid out of David’s sleeve before the dragon plunged it into him, stabbing through the bandages and into his ribs before angling up in a precise strike for his heart.

     He was going to make it, too. Despite his restored dragon form, Julius had been a human for a very long time. Where other dragons would have changed right there and let the size difference spoil the attack, Julius’s first instinct was to jump backwards. Since he was still gripping David’s wrist to keep him away from the Fang, though, this turned out to be impossible, and the mistake cost him dearly. In the time he’d wasted trying to simultaneously scramble back and keep his Fang safe, David had stepped in for the kill, sinking his long knife to the hilt in Julius’s already-injured chest. And then, just when Julius was sure he’d doomed himself to the stupidest, most gullible death possible, a miracle happened.

     The medical room door flew open, and Fredrick burst into the room, tossing his laden tray of food on the floor as he lunged straight at David. The other dragon was so focused on Julius, and so used to ignoring the Fs, he didn’t even notice the new dragon until Fredrick’s hands wrapped his chest, yanking him back and dragging the knife out of Julius’s ribs a split second before it reached his heart.

     “You idiot!” he roared, snatching his hands off David as though holding onto the other dragon was physically painful, which, given how many seals of obedience Bethesda had put on his clutch, it probably was. “She’ll kill you for this!”

     For a moment, David could only stare at the F in stupefied shock, and then he pulled himself back together, casually brushing Julius’s blood off his shirt cuffs like he did this every day. “Please,” he said at last, looking at the still-seething Fredrick in contempt. “Bethesda won’t do a thing. She’s wanted this whelp dead for—”

     “He wasn’t talking about Bethesda.”

     The cold whisper made them all freeze. Even Julius, who should have been focusing on not bleeding to death, went perfectly still, his eyes darting to the shadows behind David, who’d gone white as a sheet. But unlike the rest of the disastrous last few minutes, this time, Julius’s instincts were right on the mark. By looking at the shadows, he was the only one who saw Chelsie before she grabbed David.

     He almost wished he hadn’t. He’d seen his sister in a lot of different lights, but she’d never looked half as deadly as she did right now. She grabbed David’s throat like she meant to rip it out right there, yanking him back against her so fast, he never had a chance to fight.

     “I warned you,” she growled as David made a terrified sound. “You knew what would happen if you did something stupid. Well, David, that”—she forced his head down to look at Julius—“was a very stupid thing to do. Now you’re going to learn the hard way what happens to stupid dragons who don’t listen.”

     “Wait,” Julius gurgled, reaching out a bloody hand. “Chelsie, stop! Don’t—”

     His sister didn’t listen. She just turned and kicked the door open, dragging the still-choking David behind her as she stomped into the hallway. When Julius tried to follow, though, his legs refused to work. He was still struggling to stand when Fredrick shoved him back down to the floor.

     “Be still,” the F hissed, pinning him to the ground. “You’re going to bleed out.”

     “It’s just a knife wound,” Julius hissed back, craning his neck in a frantic effort to keep Chelsie and David in sight. “I’ll be fine. I’m a dragon.”

     “You are a J,” Fredrick snarled, letting Julius go for a split second while he grabbed a cloth napkin from the wreck of the tray he’d tossed over when he’d come in. “And you’ve already been seriously injured. Do you think David chose this time to attack by chance?” He shook his head as he shoved the napkin into Julius’s wound. “He knew exactly what he was doing. You could die from this, and then where will we be?”

     “Nowhere if I don’t do something,” Julius said through clenched teeth, grabbing the lapel of Fredrick’s suit in a last-ditch effort to pull himself up. “I have to go after her.”

     “No,” the dragon growled, smacking him right back down. “If you die, all our work goes down the drain.”

     “But this is exactly what I’m working to stop!” Julius cried, staring pleadingly at his brother. “Please, Fredrick. If Chelsie kills David because he tried to kill me, everything I just went through with Gregory will be for nothing.”

     “He should die,” Fredrick snarled. “He knew he’d lost, and he still tried to kill you.”

     “Doesn’t matter,” Julius said, panting. “We can’t keep doing this. Sister killing brother, mother killing child, on and on and on. I don’t care how much a dragon deserves to die, unless someone lets a killing offense go, the killing will never stop. That’s the entire reason I refused to fight Gregory. That’s why I’ve done all of this, and it’s why I can’t let Chelsie do what we both know she’s about to do right now. You have to let me go.”

     “No,” Fredrick growled, looking him in the face at last. “Don’t you get it? You’re our only hope. My clutch has lived our entire lives as Bethesda’s slaves. You’re about to be in a position where you can actually do something to change that, and I will break both your arms before I let you throw your life away and our freedom with it trying to save a monster like David.”

     “But I’m not trying to save David!” Julius cried, beating his fists weakly against Fredrick’s chest. “I’m trying to save us all. Do you think I don’t know how much easier my life would have been if I’d just killed the dragons who tried to stop me? If I’d killed Bethesda? I could have fixed all of this with one sword stroke, but I didn’t. Not because she didn’t deserve to die, but because you can’t build a peaceful future on corpses, and I care about that a lot more than I do about justice. We’ve been up to our eyeballs in family blood since this clan was founded. Now we finally have a chance to change for the better, but it only happens if we actually stop killing each other long enough to take it.” He grabbed Fredrick’s arms as hard as he could, pulling himself up until they were nose to nose. “Please, brother,” he begged. “If you care about anything I’ve done these last few days, help me.”

     Fredrick’s eyes narrowed, and for a long moment, Julius was sure the F was about to throw him back down to the ground. But then, to his amazement, Fredrick leaned down and eased his arm under Julius’s.

     “Keep this on the wound,” he ordered, shoving the bloody napkin into Julius’s hand. “And don’t try to walk. I’ll carry you.”

     Julius nodded, not caring how ridiculous they looked as his brother lifted him off the floor. There’d be time for dignity later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was catching Chelsie before she slaughtered David in front of everyone and undid all of Julius’s hard work.

     “Hurry,” he gasped, gritting his teeth as he pressed the cloth to his bleeding stomach.

     Fredrick obeyed, helping Julius out of the room with surprising speed. It still wasn’t fast enough to keep up with Chelsie, but her trail was easy to trace. All they had to do was follow the lines of gawking dragons down the hall from the main infirmary and up the stairs to the clan’s grand, hotel-style dining room one floor up.

     It was the same room where Ian had dragged Julius for breakfast just that morning. Now, as then, it was packed with dragons. Even Ian was there having pre-dinner drinks with his crowd of supporters. But while it was obvious everyone was here to gossip, by the time Fredrick and Julius made it through the doors, the packed room was deathly silent. Every green eye in the place was locked on Chelsie as she slammed David down on the elegantly decorated banquet table at the room’s center, knocking over a vase of flowers as tall as Julius in the process.

     “You can’t do this!” David shouted as Chelsie drew her sword, showing him the Fang’s bone-white blade before she pressed it against his chest. “You were forbidden from helping him!”

     “I’m not helping him,” Chelsie said coldly. “I’m punishing you.” She leaned in closer. “You have no idea what kind of day I’ve had. But since I can’t kill the ones who truly deserve it, I’ll settle for you. You’re about to be a public example of what happens to idiot Heartstrikers who—”

     “Chelsie!”

     Her body went stiff, and then she turned with deadly slowness to glare at Julius as Fredrick slowly limped them in.

     “Julius!” Ian cried, his eyes going wide as he saw the blood dripping from his brother’s stomach. “What happened to—”

     “Shut up!” Chelsie roared, making Ian sit right back down as she kept her eyes on Julius. “And you stay out of this.”

     “No,” Julius said, glaring back at her as Fredrick set him on his feet in front of her. “This isn’t how we do things anymore.”

     “This is exactly how we do things,” she growled, turning back to her victim. “David tried to kill you, which is still against the rules. Until the Council says otherwise, no one kills Heartstrikers except for Bethesda and myself. David knew that, but he stabbed you anyway, and now he’s going to pay in kind.”

     David turned a little green at the eagerness in her voice, and Julius grabbed his sister’s arm. “No,” he said again. “He has nothing to pay for. I’m still alive.”

     “Only because of Fredrick,” Chelsie growled, yanking her arm away. “Besides, the fact that you survived just means David here is a rule-breaker and a failure, and we all know the price of failure.”

     A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, making Julius’s skin crawl. No. He hadn’t fought this hard just to backslide now, especially not for something as stupid and pointless as this. Chelsie didn’t even seem to be looking at David. She was just fighting blindly, Justin’s dried blood cracking off her fingers as she clenched her sword so hard, Julius worried it might break. And the moment he saw that, he knew what he had to do.

     “Chelsie, stop,” he said quietly. “You don’t want to kill David.”

     “Oh, I assure you, I do,” she growled, sneering at him over her shoulder. “Did you know he was the one pulling Gregory’s strings? He’s the reason for all your injuries, not just that knife wound. Still think he doesn’t deserve to die?”

     “I don’t care what he deserves,” Julius said. “I care about what makes us better, and that’s never death. You know that better than anyone. You’ve killed more dragons than all of us put together. Tell me, has it ever made the clan better?”

     His sister bared her teeth. “I can think of one death that would solve all our problems. But you won’t do that, will you?”

     “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I won’t kill Bethesda.”

     Chelsie’s look turned deadened. “Then you don’t get to stop me from carrying out her will.”

     “But this isn’t her will,” he said. “It’s yours.” He pointed at David, who was still sprawled on the banquet table in front of them like a chicken waiting to be butchered. “You’re killing him because you can’t kill Bethesda. Because she hurt you, and this is a way you can hurt her without technically disobeying. I get it, okay? I understand. But it’s also why I can’t let you do this, because you’re not a killer. You are better than what she’s made you, Chelsie, and as soon as the Council is formed, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you never have to kill again.”

     “You can’t change anything,” Chelsie snarled. “Nothing ever changes for us, Julius. Not so long as Bethesda is alive.”

     “You’re wrong,” he snarled back. “We’ve already changed so much. Look around! Would this many dragons be sitting together if Bethesda was still actually in power?”

     She snorted. “They’re just afraid.”

     “Of you,” Julius said. “But they don’t have to be.” He pulled himself as straight as his wound allowed. “I’ve already proven how far I’m willing to go to change this clan, and it hasn’t been in vain. Gregory’s banished, and David’s failed now, too. Every piece Bethesda’s put on the board to stop this has lost, because she’s not the game master anymore. She’s just another piece, same as all the rest of us, but the real victory is that we’re playing our own game now. One where we decide the rules, and that includes you. I’m not saying you have to forgive her, all I’m asking is that you work with me. Help me make a better clan, one where this”—he nodded at David—“doesn’t happen.”

     “Impossible,” she muttered, though she didn’t sound as certain as she once had. “Dragons always kill.”

     “So do humans,” he reminded her. “But that doesn’t mean they let murder rule them. And if mortals can do it, surely we can, too. But we’ll never know if we don’t try. I’ve already taken the first step. Now it’s your turn.” He smiled at her. “Let me help you, Chelsie. Let him go.”

     Chelsie said nothing for a long time after that. Then, slowly, she lifted her sword and slid it back into her sheath. “You don’t know how lucky you just got,” she growled at David before turning her glare on the rest of the room. “Show’s over, but don’t think this means you get a break. Council or no, I’m always watching, and don’t you forget it.”

     Julius bit back a frustrated sigh. That was not how this was supposed to end, but he supposed Chelsie had to keep a tight hand on things until he actually came through on his promise to improve her situation. For now, though, her method still definitely worked. The crowded room was so silent you could have heard a snail breathe as Chelsie turned and marched back into the hall, slamming the double doors behind her with enough force to rattle the chandeliers.

     The bang broke the terrified silence, and then everyone started talking at once. Several dragons actually rushed Julius, but Ian got there first, appearing at his side so fast, Julius wondered if Svena had taught him her teleporting trick.

     “What did I tell you?” he said proudly, wrapping his arm around Julius’s shoulders. “Afraid of nothing. He can even talk Chelsie down!”

     “That’s not why I did this,” Julius said, wincing in pain as Ian’s grip bit into the still-healing burns on his shoulder. “I—”

     “Now you see the proof,” his brother went on as if Julius hadn’t spoken. “I told you all he was the real deal. Some of you didn’t believe me, but would Bethesda have fought so hard if he wasn’t a true threat? No. She threw the best she had at him, even Chelsie, and Julius still came out on top. He’s even eliminated our final competition.” He nodded at David. “Now, all that’s left is to claim our victory.”

     The room began to applaud, and Ian drank it in, gripping Julius even tighter. “We’ve got this,” he whispered excitedly. “Can you stand long enough for a vote?”

     Julius didn’t know. Now that the crisis was over, he was feeling nauseous and lightheaded. If Ian hadn’t been physically holding him up, he probably would have fallen face-first on the banquet table beside David. But while he didn’t care for the grandstanding, he couldn’t deny Ian had a point. For the first time ever, all the Heartstrikers around them were smiling and talking to each other excitedly. That was a huge change from the mistrust bordering on violence he’d seen when they’d flooded into the mountain yesterday morning, and Julius was desperate to lock that positivity in before Bethesda figured out a way to ruin it. Desperate enough that even though he was sure Fredrick was probably going to have to hold him up through the whole thing, he nodded anyway, earning himself a beaming grin from Ian.

     “I knew you were one of us,” his brother said proudly, glancing down at Julius’s wobbly legs. “I’ll have someone get you a chair.”

     “Thanks,” Julius muttered, sinking down into the chair one of the other Js who were always around Ian now had already slid in behind him. He sat down with a sigh, closing his eyes to focus on managing the pain as Ian took control of the room, ordering dragons out to gather everyone in the throne room, because they were doing this tonight. He was about to ask Fredrick to get him another tray of food, because he was clearly going to need it, when David finally pushed himself up off the banquet table.

     The sudden movement made Julius flinch back instinctively, but for once, the politician dragon didn’t look slick, sly, or dangerous. Quite the opposite. His face was pale and still a bit terrified, but the look in his eyes when he looked at Julius was a humbled mix of gratitude and bewilderment.

     “You stopped her from killing me.”

     “Of course I kept her from killing you,” Julius said irritably. “How many times do I have to say this? We don’t kill—”

     “No,” David cut him off. “I meant you saved my life. She would have gutted me for sure if you hadn’t grabbed her arm.” He dropped his eyes. “I owe you a debt, Julius Heartstriker.”

     Julius was grimacing before he even finished. Not this again. But when he opened his mouth to tell his brother he didn’t do the life debt thing, a new, far better idea occurred to him.

     “You do owe me,” he said, nodding. “And you know what? I’m cashing it in right now.”

     David’s head whipped up in confusion, but Julius was on a roll. “You want to repay me for saving your life?” he said with a pained, but still sincere, grin. “Help me make this Council work. You’ve been a professional politician for decades. That means you’re an expert on all the problems we’re about to have. You’re the best resource we’ve got for this, so my price for saving your life is that, until the next election cycle, you have to swear to help me build this Council. And I don’t mean arrange things for your own benefit, either. I mean actually help me design a clan that will smoothly, peacefully, and fairly work for the benefit of all the dragons who live in it.”

     By the time he finished, David looked horrified. “I don’t know if what you’re describing is even possible,” he warned. “Dragons are not—”

     “Dragons are whatever we want to be,” Julius said firmly. “We’ve been told our whole lives that if we’re not violent, greedy, and ambitious, we’re not dragons, but anyone with eyes can see that’s ridiculous. Dragons come in all types, with all different personalities and dreams. Those differences mean there will always be conflict, but that’s fine. We’re not trying to build a utopia. I just want to create a system where being strong enough to eat your opponents isn’t the only option for victory. Something with fair and understandable laws, not a supreme leader’s whims. You know, the kind of government most human nations take for granted, like the one you’ve worked in for the last five decades. I’m not asking for the moon, here. I just want you to help me build something that will work. A clan government that takes its lessons from the best of what the humans have already discovered, but is still designed to take into account dragon lifespans. That’s what I want. Help me build it, and I’ll count your debt paid.”

     He wiped the blood from his hand and held it out, but David just gave him a funny look. “You could have made me your slave, you know,” he said as he shook Julius’s hand.

     “I could have,” Julius said, happy that David’s normal handshake wasn’t nearly as crushing as his murdering one. “But I don’t think either of us would have enjoyed it. You seem like you’d be a very bad slave, and I know I’d be a terrible master. This solution plays to both of our strengths.”

     David nodded, closing his eyes with a wince as the sharp, stabbing magic of the life debt bit down, locking them both to their promises. “I just hope you know what a mess you’re inviting,” he said, dropping Julius’s hand to shake out his fingers. “Designing a system dragons can’t abuse isn’t going to be easy.”

     “That’s why I called you in to help,” Julius said, slumping back into his chair with a relieved sigh. “No one can do everything on their own.”

     In what seemed to be his default expression now, David gave him another baffled look. Before he could say anything, though, Fredrick cut between them with a large plate of food, which he shoved unceremoniously into Julius’s hands.

     “That’s enough of that,” the F growled, glaring at David. “The debt is made, but if you want the Great Julius to be conscious later for the vote, he needs to eat and rest.”

     “I was just leaving,” David assured him. “I have a lot of work ahead of me.” He turned back to Julius with a bow that would have been graceful if it wasn’t so obvious how unused David was to lowering his head. “I hope you feel better.”

     Julius nodded, his mouth too full of delicious roast to answer. As soon as David moved away, Fredrick moved in to cover Julius’s side, keeping the other dragons away while Julius stuffed himself as fast as his hands could move.

     ***

     After the excitement surrounding their entrance into Algonquin’s airspace, the rest of Marci’s grand return to the DFZ was almost boring.

     They landed on a small, private airstrip beside the DFZ’s massive, modern, and eternally crowded airport and got straight into a car that was already waiting for them on the tarmac. Once they were in, the general turned off the autonav and took the wheel herself, driving them straight into the Underground. When Marci tried to tell her this wasn’t the right way, she just put a finger to her lips and kept going, driving them in ever-widening circles for nearly an hour before finally pulling into a nondescript parking deck below downtown filled with black armored SUVs identical to the one they were driving. They sat there for a while longer, and then, as though she’d reached some pre-agreed-upon checkpoint, Emily ordered them all out of the car and into the identical one beside it before turning the auto drive on the previous car on again and sending it empty back into the city. When it was gone, she joined Sir Myron, Raven, and Marci in the new car, which Sir Myron had already programmed with their actual destination.

     “I know we’re trying to avoid being followed,” Marci said as the general climbed over the seat to join them in the back of the armored SUV. “But don’t you think that was a little overkill?”

     “Better over than under,” General Jackson said as she settled into her seat. “Algonquin’s on high alert, and you’re a known target. Under those circumstances, there’s no such thing as too careful.”

     “And we absolutely can’t have her getting your Mortal Spirit,” Sir Myron added, looking dourly down at Marci’s empty hands. “How is he, anyway?”

     Marci reached inside with a mental hand to pet Ghost’s tiny shadow. “The same,” she said sadly. “But everything’s going to be okay once we get him home.”

     The mage looked more skeptical than ever. “And where is home? The address you gave us is within spitting distance of Reclamation Land. That’s the middle of nowhere.”

     “I didn’t give you the wrong one,” Marci said defensively. “Relax. I know where we’re going.”

     Sir Myron did not look convinced, but he didn’t say anything more as the new black car left the Underground and rolled out into the open streets of what had once been the lovely University Heights neighborhood.

     The old house where Marci had lived before she met Julius looked exactly as she remembered: stuffed with trash, riddled with bullet holes, and on the verge of collapse. “Good god,” Myron said as the car pulled to a stop. “This is where you found the first Mortal Spirit? I’ve seen war zones in better shape.”

     “I’ve seen worse,” Raven said as he fluttered into the air. “Not many, but some.”

     “What happened?” the general asked, nudging the spent ammo shells that still littered the driveway with the toe of her polished boot. “Or are these not yours?”

     “They were fired at me,” Marci said as she climbed out of the car. “I had an altercation with an old associate. He tried to force me to give up something that was mine. I had other ideas.”

     “Obviously,” Sir Myron said, glancing pointedly at the burned bushes in the next yard over. “What was he after?”

     Marci opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She’d already decided not to tell them about her Kosmolabe, which was still hidden in her bag, but when she tried to tell them the other reason for her beef with the dearly departed Bixby, Marci had suddenly realized that she couldn’t remember. She was positive there’d been something else, but when she tried to remember why she’d run from Bixby or even how she’d gotten the Kosmolabe in the first place, all she found was a blank. She knew she had good reason to hate him, knew that she’d been in the right, but the harder she reached for the truth, the more it faded.

     She was still working on it when a cool hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up to see General Jackson standing over her with a concerned look. “You okay?”

     “Fine,” Marci lied, plastering a smile on her face. “I’m fine. Just bad memories.”

     As always, Sir Myron didn’t seem to believe a word she said. Fortunately, Marci’s past wasn’t why they were here. Now that they were out of the car, the stray cats—who’d been conspicuously absent when they’d pulled up—were starting to appear, poking their noses out of the undergrowth and through the remains of the house’s dusty broken windows. There were even cats up on the collapsing roof, their reflective eyes gleaming through the rainy evening as they stared down at their visitors. It was every bit as creepy as Marci remembered, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief.

     “Come on,” she said, clutching her bag even though she knew Ghost wasn’t in it. “Let’s get inside.”

     Sir Myron’s eyes widened in horror. “In there? It doesn’t look structurally sound.”

     “It’s sound enough,” Marci assured him, hurrying down the old steps and through the empty door into what was left of what had once been her basement apartment. “This is where I found Ghost.”

     “No accounting for taste, I suppose,” Raven said, landing on the stairs to peer through the dark at the mountain of trash, which had only gotten moldier without the door to protect it. “Is he the spirit of consumer culture?”

     Marci scowled at the bird. She wasn’t exactly proud of the place, but she didn’t think it was that bad, especially the bits she’d cleaned. Of course, between the broken glass, spent shells, and other debris from the firefight, it was kind of hard to tell which bits those were at the moment. Some luck must have still been on her side, though, because the stretch of cement floor where she used to draw her circles was still clear and only a little damp from the rain blowing in through the broken windows.

      “Ah, ah, ah. No.”

     That exclamation came from Sir Myron, and Marci looked over to see the undersecretary of magic gingerly trying to keep one of the stray cats from coming through the door with the toe of his expensive leather loafer.

     “It’s okay,” she said, digging into her bag for a piece of chalk. “Let them in.”

     He gaped at her. “You want stray cats in your casting area?”

     “Not normally,” Marci said as she set her bag on the stone floor and knelt down to start drawing her circle. “But I think they’re part of this.”

     Sir Myron muttered something under his breath about Thaumaturges and their lack of standards that Marci pointedly chose to ignore, focusing instead on the spellwork she was writing along the inside of the hastily drawn circle. It was the same spellwork she’d written on the shield when she’d bound Ghost a second time after he’d defeated Vann Jeger, or as best she could remember it. She wasn’t actually quite sure about some of it, but this was uncharted magical territory for everyone, which meant best guess was the best she could hope for.

     Thankfully, given how much of a hurry she’d been in at the time, the new binding was a relatively simple spell. Even so, Marci took her time, going over each symbol one by one to make sure they were exactly as she meant them. She was doing a final check when her elbow bumped into something furry and soft, and she looked up in surprise to see that the basement was now full of cats.

     They were obviously strays, small cats with lean bodies, ragged coats, and hungry, wary eyes. Despite their numbers, they didn’t step on her spellwork, and not a one made a sound. They just sat in silence around the circle she’d drawn, staring at the empty spot in the middle like an audience waiting for the show to start. Even for Marci, who was used to this sort of thing, it was pretty creepy, but UN Team looked seriously spooked. Sir Myron especially seemed to be fighting the urge to kick the cats away, looking at Marci’s spell with increasing nervousness.

     “What kind of spirit did you say Ghost was again?”

     “I didn’t,” she reminded him, earning herself a nasty look. Honestly, it was kind of a silly thing to be a stickler about, especially since these people were helping her, but Ghost had fought so hard for his name. Telling it to strangers just felt wrong. Maybe she was making too much of it, but until he told her otherwise, Marci had decided the Empty Wind’s true name and true nature was for her alone.

     Of course, if she didn’t get a move on, it wasn’t going to be for anyone.

     “Okay,” she said, putting her chalk in her pocket. “That should do it.”

     She moved to the spot she’d designated as the beginning of the spell and put her hands down, fingers just touching the edge of the bright-yellow chalk circle. When she was sure she was in the right position, Marci put everything else out of her mind and reached out, gathering the rich, familiar, pea-soup magic of the outer DFZ into her body before channeling it back down her arms and through her fingers to fill the circle in front of her.

     It didn’t take long. Compared to the thin, scattered magic of Heartstriker Mountain, being back in the DFZ was like standing under a waterfall. She barely had to hold out her hand and the magic rushed in, filling the circle instantly. And as the magic swirled and gathered, a small, flickering figure began to appear at the center, pulsing like a will-o’-the-wisp in the dark.

     “That’s it,” she whispered as she pushed even more magic into the circle. “Come back to us. Remember your promise.”

     The words rang with unexpected power, and Marci glanced up in surprise to see the cats moving their mouths in time with her own. They made no sound, couldn’t even physically form the words, but that didn’t seem to matter. They were clearly working with her, almost like a casting team would, and as they followed her lead, Marci could feel the faint lines of their natural magic mingling with her own, all of it boosted by something else. Something cold and familiar.

     It was power of the forgotten, she realized with a start. The longing of the lost to be remembered, and it wasn’t coming from the cats alone. There were others here as well, shadowy figures hovering at the edge of the dark basement. Every time Marci reached for more power to feed into the circle, they reached out to meet her, handing her magic as cold and lonely as the grave itself.

     If Marci hadn’t been in the middle of a spell, that would have been enough to send her running. It was one thing to see the undead tearing apart a violent dragon-hunting spirit who was trying to kill you, but it was quite another to take magic from them like you were borrowing a cup of sugar from your neighbor. Unsettling as it was, though, running wasn’t an option. The spellwork around the circle wasn’t just a binding for Ghost. She’d specifically engineered this spell to cut both ways, and with every fistful of magic she fed into it, the more tightly Marci bound herself to everything around her: the cats, the ghosts, the emptiness, the death, all of it. But while she was now inextricably part of it, the magic was not being offered to her. Now that they were flowing through her, Marci could almost hear their silent voices crying for him to wake up and remember what no one else bothered to. To wake and keep the names of the forgotten souls the DFZ was built on, to be a champion for the forgotten dead.

     I have not forgotten.

     Marci almost jumped out of her skin. The deep voice rose like a gale in her mind, scouring away every other thought. When it passed, only the cold remained, a grave-like chill that still froze her to the bone, though that didn’t stop Marci from mentally hugging it tight as she looked up with a joyful grin.

     “Welcome back.”

     In the middle of her circle, Ghost’s furry body shone bright as moonlight, lighting up the dark basement. He stayed like that just until he saw he had her attention, and then he changed again, the cat blowing away like dust to reveal the ghostly soldier in his ancient centurion’s armor, his blue eyes glowing happily from the depths of his empty helmet.

     You came for me.

     “Of course I came for you,” she said, laughing with relief. “I’ll always come for you. We’re a pair, remember? You to me, me to you.”

     Always, he finished, his shadowy body shaking with emotion. I was right to choose you.

     “Same here,” she said proudly. “Best cat ever. Now.” She spread her fingers, sucking in as much magic from the air as she could hold. “Let’s get you fed up and get out of here. Not to be cocky, but I’m probably near the top of Algonquin’s to-kill list at the moment, and I’d rather not stick around here longer than is strictly necessary.”

     No need. I am ready.

     Marci frowned. “Are you sure? Because I’ve only fed you—”

     You have been good to me, so I shall be good to you, the Empty Wind said firmly. You have kept faith, Marci Novalli. I will do the same.

     That didn’t sound like it had anything to do with obtaining an adequate amount of magic, but before she could point that out, her spirit made it a moot point. As soon as the Empty Wind finished speaking, the centurion vanished, his shadowy body blowing away on a wind she couldn’t feel. The shadows at the room’s edge did the same, the ghostly figures collapsing back into the dark with a unified sigh of relief. In the end, only the cats remained, and standing in the middle of them like a proud king was Ghost, big and white and glowing brighter than ever as he glanced up at Marci with a slow blink.

     Ready when you are.

     “So it’s back to the cat, eh?” she said, shaking her head. “You know, you’re not nearly as impressive this way.”

     But far less obvious, Ghost replied. I don’t think your guests could take much more in any case. The pompous mage in particular looks like he’s going to pop. He swished his tail. I’d enjoy that.

     So would Marci, but she knew better than to say so out loud. In any case, the look on Sir Myron’s face when she turned around was satisfying enough.

     “Wh-What was that?” he demanded, whirling around to peer into the now-empty corners where the shadows of the dead had been. “What did you do?”

     Marci shrugged and held out her hands for Ghost, who jumped nimbly off the floor into her arms. “Exactly what I said I’d do. I took my spirit back to his home and fed him magic. Now he’s all better, see?”

     She held out her glowing cat for Sir Myron to inspect, but the mage recoiled. “You said he was a Mortal Spirit!” he cried, his voice growing angry. “That’s a death spirit if I ever saw one.”

     Marci nodded. “I thought so, too, at first, but while death is a part of his powers, he’s most definitely not a death spirit. You see, death spirits are just echoes—”

     “I know what a death spirit is,” Sir Myron snapped. “I’m not talking about technical classifications. I meant that that thing can’t possibly be the first Mortal Spirit! Mortal Spirits are the spirits we create. They’re the living incarnations of universal human obsessions: love, war, wisdom, bravery, anger, fertility. You know, the things we made gods for. How is it possible that the spirit of this”—he threw out his arms at the stray cats, who startled and scattered to the safety of the trash—“is the first to rise? What does that say about humanity? About our magic?” He glared at Marci. “What does it say about you?”

     “Now hold on,” she said angrily. “You make it sound like Ghost is evil, and that’s just not true. Sure, his powers are a little creepy, but that’s on us, not him. Death is a natural part of life.” She looked down at Ghost. “Everyone’s afraid to die and be forgotten,” she said, petting him gently. “It’s certainly much more universal to the human condition than any of the stuff you just listed.”

     “So are murder and greed,” Myron growled. “And I wouldn’t want either of them as the first Mortal Spirit, either.”

     General Jackson crossed her arms over her chest. “A Mortal Spirit rises fifty years ahead of schedule, and you’re being picky?”

     “Yes,” Myron said, drawing himself up to his full height. “Because this is worth being picky about! We’re talking about a spirit-human pair who could possibly influence the course of human magic for centuries to come. If we begin with death, I don’t think we’re going to like what we get.” He pointed at Marci. “She hasn’t even told us what aspect of death he represents yet! For all we know, he’s the spirit of murder.”

     “He’s not a spirit of murder!” Marci cried. “He’s—”

     “He’s what?” Sir Myron taunted. “Worse?”

     Marci looked pleadingly down at Ghost, but he was just glaring at Myron in disgust. Do not grant my name to this small-minded idiot, he hissed, turning up his nose. Spirit of murder, indeed.

     “Now you’ve insulted him,” Marci said, shaking her head in frustration. But as she was scrambling to come up with a way to defend Ghost to Myron that didn’t involve dropping his identity, General Jackson stepped between them.

     “It doesn’t matter,” she said coldly, fixing the undersecretary with a glare. “This isn’t an opportunity we can afford to waste, Myron. Sailors on sinking ships can’t be picky about what kind of vessel comes to their rescue. Whatever we get, we’ll make it work.”

     “But at what cost?” Sir Myron asked. “Some of us still have humanity left to lose, General.”

     Emily’s eyes narrowed. Before she could answer, though, the room was filled with the fluttering of wings as Raven flew in through the empty doorframe. “Heads up!” he croaked. “We’re about to have company.”

     General Jackson whirled around. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

     “I didn’t want to interrupt,” Raven said as he settled on her shoulder.

     The general’s face turned furious. “I leave you on watch, and you didn’t want to interrupt?”

     “Fine,” Raven snapped. “I couldn’t interrupt.” He turned to give Ghost the evil eye. “The spectral feline over there has very strong opinions, and I was most decidedly not welcome inside until just now.”

     “Ghost!” Marci cried.

     The spirit flicked his ears in the cat equivalent of a shrug. His magic doesn’t blend well with mine. Would have made a mess.

     She frowned, curious. “What kind of mess?”

     “He means a mess of me,” Raven said. But just as Marci was realizing this answer meant that Raven could hear what Ghost was saying inside her mind, the spirit flitted up to one of the broken windows. “Oh, there, you see?” he squawked. “While you were busy accusing me of negligence, they got everywhere.”

     “They who?” the general demanded, moving to the window so fast, it was like she teleported. She must have spotted her answer immediately, because she stepped away again just as fast, grabbing Marci by the arm. “Is there another way out?”

     Marci winced. Nothing good inspired that question. “There’s a way upstairs through the trash,” she said, nodding toward the back of the basement. “But—”

     “It’s blocked, I can see,” General Jackson finished, letting her go. “Okay, change of plans. We negotiate.”

     Now Marci was getting really worried. “Negotiate with whom?” she asked, rising up on her tiptoes to peer through the broken windows into the growing dark. “I don’t see—”

     She was interrupted by a loud thunk as a huge bank of floodlights switched on with blinding intensity. The glare was so bright in the rainy night, Marci didn’t actually see the trucks behind the lights until the soldiers began to pour out.

     “Marci Novalli!”

     Marci froze. She’d heard some pretty terrifying things in her life, but the sound of her name crackling through a police megaphone at full volume had just jumped to the top of the list.

     “Known dragon sympathizer,” the voice continued, the megaphone warping and screeching the words until they sounded almost alien. “Murderer of Vann Jeger and Eugene Bixby. You are surrounded. Surrender now, and the Lady of the Lakes will show mercy.”

     He didn’t say what would happen if they didn’t surrender, but he didn’t have to. Given the multiple tanks Marci’s adjusted eyes could now see waiting in the neighbor’s yard, she could guess well enough. “Well,” she said, sinking down against the damp brick wall with a sigh. “At least someone’s taking me seriously for once.”

     “Those aren’t for you,” Emily said, peeking through the open doorway. “See the rocket-propelled harpoons above the gun mounts? Those are anti-dragon tanks. I use an older version of the same model for my own task force, but these new units use a modified law rocket that can shoot through fifty centimeters of steel.” She arched an eyebrow at Marci. “Your dragon must have made quite an impression.”

     “They could hardly have sent less,” Sir Myron said as he frantically dug through his pockets. “You’re talking about the pair who killed Algonquin’s most famous dragon hunter. She’s not going to make that mistake twice.”

     “I don’t think she’s allowing for any mistakes,” the general said, her eyes squinting past the floodlights despite the fact that Marci couldn’t see a thing. “There’s enough Algonquin Corp firepower out there to level this place twice over, and I think I see a second anti-mage task force in the back.” She turned to the spirit on her shoulder. “How many battle mages are we dealing with?”

     “Too many,” Raven squawked. “But they’re not what I’m worried about.”

     At this point, Marci was afraid to ask, but someone had to. “What’s worse than an anti-mage task force full of battle mages?”

     Rather than answer, Raven just looked up. Shaking, Marci followed suit, grabbing the wet brick window ledge as she looked up.

     And up.

     And up.

     “Oh boy,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she finally realized what the giant dark shape looming over them in the rain belonged to. “That’s not…”

     “The Leviathan?” General Jackson finished grimly. “It is.”

     “But it can’t be,” Sir Myron hissed, shoving Marci over to get a spot at the window. “The Leviathan hasn’t been seen on shore since Algonquin first flooded the city.”

     The general gave him a flat look. “Do you know anything else that big that works for Algonquin?”

     Myron didn’t answer this time. Marci couldn’t either. She was too busy trying to make sense of what her eyes were seeing.

     Even with the rain and the dark, the sheer size of the Leviathan made it easy to see once you knew it was there. It truly was as big as a mountain, a towering, bulbous mass of glossy, shark-like black flesh riding on a bed of constantly moving tentacles. Given how huge it was, Marci expected it to be loud, but the Leviathan made no sound at all. When it moved, she saw why. Despite looking solid, the Leviathan’s body passed through the houses surrounding theirs like it was made of smoke, which was the only thing that explained how something that big could have snuck up on them. That struck her as pretty impressive, but given what she’d seen Raven and Ghost do, she supposed phasing through houses was par for the course for a spirit.

     That’s not a spirit.

     Marci jumped and looked down to see Ghost crouching low in her arms, staring up through the broken window at the Leviathan with something very close to fear. “It’s not?”

     “No,” Raven said quietly.

     Any annoyance Marci might have felt at the bird spirit butting into what was supposed to be a private conversation was crushed under a tide of fearful curiosity. “Then what is it?”

     “A problem,” Raven replied, turning to Emily. “We need an exit. You can’t fight that.”

     “I don’t know,” the general said, tilting her head back. “It’s not that big.”

     “Fine. You can’t fight the Leviathan and the tanks. Happy?”

     The general’s shrug was way too calm for Marci’s growing level of panic. “What are we going to do?”

     “What we always do,” General Jackson replied, pushing away from the wall. “We’re the UN. We’re going to negotiate.”

     “Negotiate?” Marci cried. “With that?”

     “Diplomacy is the first, best option in every situation,” the general said sagely. “We’re rational people, Miss Novalli. Not monsters.” Her lips curled in an odd smile. “That comes later.”

     Before Marci could ask what she meant by that, the general turned to Sir Myron. “Make a ward.”

     “Way ahead of you,” he said, flexing his fingers as his odd, twisting magic began to spider around the room.

     When it was clear he was well underway, Emily took a deep breath, pulling herself to her full height before she stepped out to stand in the empty basement doorway. “I’m General Emily Jackson of the United Nations,” she shouted, raising her empty hands for all to see. “Stand your forces down, and we’ll come out to negotiate—”

     There will be no negotiation.

     Ghost cringed in Marci’s arms at the words. Marci cringed, too, her ears popping. Just like Vann Jeger’s, this voice was not at all human. But where the fjord spirit had sounded like grinding sea ice, this voice was musical, lovely, and oddly terrifying, like having your head held under gently flowing water until you drowned. Marci was still trying to wrap her brain around the contradictions when the falling rain in front of Emily began to shimmer.

     It changed as she watched, the water moving and coalescing in the glare of the floodlights until it had formed a person. A woman, to be precise, whose face and body were the perfect reflection of General Emily Jackson.

     “Well, well,” Emily said, lowering her hands. “The queen herself. I’m honored.”

     “You should be,” Algonquin—because there was no one else this could be—replied, lifting her reflection of the general’s gloved hand to grab the tentacle the Leviathan had sent snaking across the ground. “I did all of this for you. Even I know better than to underestimate humanity’s most fearsome weapon, or her stalwart supporter.” She glanced at Raven, and her lips curled into a mocking smile the general herself would never have worn. “Hello, Raven. Still rolling in the dirt with mortals?”

     “Always,” Raven replied, fluttering out to land on the real General Jackson’s shoulder. “Because unlike you, I know how to have a good time. But let’s not get hung up on pageantry. How did you find us?”

     “That’s a stupid question from such a famously clever bird,” Algonquin replied, tilting her head up toward the gloomy sky. “It’s raining.”

     “So?” Raven said. “That’s the Thunderbird, not you, and he’s too wild and reckless to care what happens to his water.”

     “But I’m not,” Algonquin said, glancing pointedly at the wet ground. “No storm can make its own water. All of this comes from my lakes, and wherever my lakes are, I am.” She grinned wide. “Didn’t think of that, did you, clever bird?”

     Raven’s silence was answer enough, but General Jackson was just getting started. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “The United Nations and the DFZ have been neutral partners for decades. We’ve broken no laws by coming here.”

     “Laws are for mortals,” Algonquin said flippantly. “And anyway, I’m not here for you. I’m here for her.”

     She leaned sideways to peer around the general through the door. Her body rippled at the same time, the water moving as Emily’s face morphed into a perfect reflection of Marci’s.

     “Whoa,” Marci said, taking a nervous step back. “If this is about Vann Jeger, I—”

     “Vann Jeger’s defeat is no concern of mine,” the spirit said with a shrug. “I allowed his hunt because it was beneficial to us both, and it’s not as though he’s dead. We are the land. We can never die. So long as the Geirangerfjord exists, Vann Jeger will rise again, and I’m sure your dragon’s head will be at the top of his list when he does. But I’m not here for that. I’m here for you.” Her eyes flicked to Ghost. “Both of you.”

     Emily’s scowl turned deadly. “Then I hope you’re prepared to be disappointed,” she said as she placed herself between the lake spirit and Marci. “Marci Novalli is under the protection of the United Nations. She’s not going anywhere.”

     “You say that like I should care,” Algonquin said with a laugh. “But I already told you: laws are for mortals. Besides, if anyone’s in violation here, it’s you. This is my land. The DFZ acknowledges no treaties. You have no rights here save those I deign to give you. If I were to kill you all, no one could stop me. Even if they knew, even if they cared, no one would dare.”

     The general bared her teeth, and Algonquin’s smile grew wider. “But don’t fear. I’m not a monster like you, Phoenix. I am a lake. I am the land. My will is the will of the Earth itself. I have no desire to conquer or rule. I only want what’s best for everyone, and that starts with the proper training of the world’s first Merlin.”

     “Too bad,” the general snapped. “She’s not yours to take.”

     The Lady of the Lakes scoffed. “Since when do you speak for an independent mage? Surely a young lady smart enough to survive the machinations of not one, but two dragon seers can answer for herself.”

     Everyone looked at her, and Marci took a deep breath. This situation had gone off the deep end way too fast, but she couldn’t see how she was getting back out. Despite her claim to not be a monster, there was no way Algonquin was going to let them leave. If they tried to run or fight, she’d just smash them and take Marci prisoner anyway. And while Marci had seen for herself just how good Emily Jackson was, she was no match for the firepower surrounding them, much less the Leviathan, who was still hovering over the face-off like death waiting for his cue, which was the entire point. Algonquin had rolled in hard specifically so there could be no path forward save through her, and now they were trapped.

     The full weight of that realization made Marci’s knees shake. They were trapped, utterly and completely. They’d assumed they could sneak in, that the size of the city would protect them, but Algonquin had been waiting for this from the start, and now they were screwed. From the looks on their faces, everyone else knew it, too, but while Emily clearly wasn’t backing down, Marci knew a losing battle when she saw one. A month ago, that would have made her despair, but if there was anything she’d learned from Julius, it was that there was always another way out of any unwinnable scenario. She just had to keep herself and everyone else alive long enough to find it.

     With that, the way forward became perfectly clear, and Marci stepped forward, placing Ghost on her shoulder before raising her empty hands over her head. “I surrender.”

     “What?” Emily roared, grabbing her arm. “You can’t surrender to her!”

     “What else are we going to do?” Marci asked, glancing over her shoulder. When the general didn’t answer, she turned back to Algonquin. “I’ll come with you peacefully and listen to what you have to say,” she offered. “But in return, you have to let General Jackson and the undersecretary leave the DFZ unharmed tonight. Otherwise, no deal.”

     “You’re not in a position to make demands,” Algonquin said, her watery voice smug. “But it matters not. Unlike the dragons you’re used to, I am generous.” She waved her hand. “Your associates are free to go with my compliments. A gift to mark the beginning of our mutually beneficial relationship.”

     She smiled as she finished, clearly expecting everyone to fall on their knees in the mud and give thanks for her benevolence, but Marci just turned back to the others. “Go,” she said quietly. “I’ll be fine. Believe it or not, I actually have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. I get threatened by supernaturally powerful monsters all the time, and it’s probably better for Ghost if I stay in the city for now, anyway.”

     “It is not better,” the general growled, her dark eyes furious. “Marci, you don’t know Algonquin. She’s not going to be fair like we were. If you have something she wants, she’ll take it, and we cannot lose the first Merlin to the very spirit we need her to fight.”

     “Don’t underestimate us,” Marci said, reaching up to press her hand against Ghost’s freezing fur. “We’ve escaped a lot of things we shouldn’t. But you guys need to get out of here while she’s still feeling ‘generous.’ And don’t tell Julius.” Marci could stay strong for herself, but if Julius rushed up here to help her—and she knew he would—Algonquin would really have a weapon to use against her. “Just go,” she said again. “I’ve got this.”

     The general clearly didn’t like that at all, but after another look at the Leviathan and the tanks surrounding them, she lowered her head. “We’ll be back for you,” she promised, shooting Algonquin a look of pure hate. “Stay alive.”

     “I always do,” Marci said, smiling wide and clasping her hands behind her back to hide how badly they were shaking.

     Don’t be afraid, Ghost whispered, crouching low against her shoulder. She can’t hold us.

     That’s what I’m counting on, Marci thought back, keeping the words as quiet as possible in her head just in case Algonquin shared Raven’s ability to eavesdrop. But we can’t bust all of us out at once, and I’d hate to get these people killed just for giving us a ride. She looked at Algonquin, who was still smiling Marci’s own smile back at her. We’ll go along for now. But first chance we get, we’re gone.

     Ghost lashed his tail at that, but Marci had already made up her mind. In a morbid twist, part of her was actually kind of excited to finally hear Algonquin’s side of all of this. That was a reach in terms of optimism, but it was better than despair, so Marci clung to it as hard as she could, using the promise of answers to give her the courage she needed to walk into the rain, up the buried stairs to the bullet-riddled driveway where the Lady of the Lakes was waiting.

     “This way,” Algonquin said, waving the reflection of Marci’s bracelet-covered arm toward the limo that was parked just down the street.

     Marci’s feet stayed firmly planted. “Not until I’m sure my companions leave unharmed.”

     The spirit sighed and turned her head, yelling over her shoulder to the human soldiers. “Escort General Jackson and the Master of Labyrinths to the border.”

     The order was barely given before the soldiers jumped into action, hustling a surly Sir Myron and a still-murderous-looking Emily back to their car. When they were safely locked inside and on their way down the road, surrounded by a cage of Algonquin’s Security Force, the Lady of the Lakes turned back to Marci. “Satisfied?”

     As much as she could be. “Let’s get this over with.”

     “Don’t be that way,” Algonquin chided. “I’m on your side now. I wasn’t before, thanks to the company you keep, but all that’s over now. You’re safe here, free from anyone who would manipulate you. All I want is for you to relax and enjoy the benefits of my hospitality.”

     Marci didn’t believe that for a second, but there was no point in calling the spirit on her lies now while she and Ghost were so outnumbered. Instead, she walked to the waiting limo, plopping her cold, rain-soaked body into the heated leather seat without a single twinge of guilt. But when she looked to see if Algonquin was going to join her, the spirit was already gone. The Leviathan was, too, leaving only the tanks and remaining soldiers standing under the floodlights in the dreary night rain.

     That was the last thing Marci saw before the armored door slammed shut, locking her inside as the car started down the street.

     Chapter 15

     As soon as she and Ghost were locked inside, Algonquin’s armored—and, as Marci quickly discovered, heavily warded—limo took them straight into Reclamation Land.

     In hindsight, it was the obvious destination. Vann Jeger had also taken her here when he’d grabbed her, though if she had to rank her kidnappings, Marci far preferred this one. Frustrating as it was to be locked down and helpless, a limo ride was much more civil than being black-bagged in a parking deck.

     They didn’t seem to be headed for a room with a drain this time, either. The moment the limo drove through the gate in the chain-link fence that separated Algonquin’s private land from the rest of the city, the rotting houses and crumbling roads of the DFZ’s abandoned outer edge had given way to the most amazing, mist-shrouded wood Marci had ever seen. It was like driving straight into a nature photographer’s idealized image of the perfect old-growth forest. Given that this land had been clear-cut suburbs only sixty years ago, she knew the giant trees couldn’t actually be as old as they looked, but with the sheer amount of magic in the air here, anything seemed possible.

     “Wow, that’s thick,” Marci muttered, grabbing a handful just to feel the heavy magic ooze through her mental fingers. “Forget pulling off reagents. I could cast forever in a place like this.”

     Of course it’s rich, Ghost said, standing on the door with his paws up and his nose pressed against the window’s warded glass. This is spirit land.

     “Enjoy it while it lasts,” Marci said ruefully, stroking his freezing fur, which was glowing like fresh snow in moonlight thanks to the power saturating the air. “I don’t think we’re going to be getting the limo treatment for much longer.”

     That statement turned out to be prophetic. Seconds after the words were out of her mouth, the armored limousine pulled to a stop. The locks clicked as soon the car was still, and Marci threw the door open, lunging outside in the hopes of making a break for it. A hope that died when she saw what was waiting for them.

     The road they’d been following through the woods ended abruptly at what could only be described as a misplaced Himalayan mountain. There was no lead-up, no transition. The jagged stone peak just rose abruptly from the soft forest floor like someone had dropped it there. Still, the dizzyingly tall mountain—complete with white snow capping its lofty peak—was neither the strangest, nor even the biggest, thing waiting for them. That honor belonged to the Leviathan.

     How it had beaten them here, Marci had no idea, but when she burst out of the car, Algonquin’s monster was already waiting, his black flesh glistening in the last evening light shining down from the now crystal-clear sky. Marci couldn’t tell if it was just because she was standing closer, or if the tar-thick magic of this place empowered the Leviathan the same way it did Ghost, but the overgrown slug looked even bigger than before. Even standing beside the out-of-place mountain, it dominated the horizon, its smooth, curving, eyeless black surface rising up before them in an arc that seemed to touch the sky. She was still gawking when the monster extended one of the thousands of tentacles it used to propel its bulk silently across the ground. Compared to the rest of the monster, the tentacles had looked tiny as millipede feet, but as it approached Marci, she realized with a start that the wet-looking black length was actually the size of a bus before it tapered at the end, the giant mass shrinking to a bowling-ball-sized blunt point that it hovered right in front of her at chest level, almost as if it was offering to shake her hand.

     “Uh…” she said, taking a wary step back. “I don’t—”

     Come.

     The command vibrated through the ground like an earthquake. A second quake followed a heartbeat later as the Leviathan set its tentacle down on the road behind the car, cracking the asphalt and knocking Marci off her feet in the process.

     Come, it commanded again, the giant tentacle twitching impatiently. Now.

     Marci got back to her feet with a grimace. Someday, she’d like to go twelve hours at a stretch without some giant creature bossing or threatening or otherwise ordering her around. But today was not that day, so she gathered her glowing spirit into her bag and climbed on, wincing when her fingers touched the Leviathan’s cold black flesh that reeked of old lake water. Ghost winced too, his presence flinching in her mind, though not for the same reason.

     He is not like us, he said, sticking his head out of her bag to glare up at the Leviathan’s featureless face with his ears pressed flat. I don’t like it.

     “Me neither,” Marci said. “But I think we get a—”

     She cut off with a curse as the tentacle lifted off the ground. It rose with frightening speed, lifting Marci and her spirit up, up, up through the misty air until they were less than a hundred feet from the mountain’s snowy peak. There, the tentacle stopped, tilting slightly to roll its passengers off onto a flattened ledge that had been carved into the sheer cliff face. Marci hit on the stone with a grunt, scrambling back to her feet to see where she had landed.

     They were right below the snow line, high enough to be bone-chillingly cold, but not so high that the little streams flowing down from the snow cap had frozen. But while the sheer cliff and icy rivulets made it look as if the monster had just shunted them into howling wilderness, the center of the stone ledge had been chiseled back to form a smooth, wide platform nestled under a protective lip. In this room-like nook was a nice carpet, a small end table, and a pair of chic, neutral toned chairs of the sort you’d find in the lobby of a nice hotel. There was even a breakfast tray loaded with pastries, juice, coffee, and fresh-cut fruit that, again, was just like you’d find waiting on the table in a nice hotel conference room. Assuming said conference room was on the side of a mountain with a sheer, multiple-thousand-foot drop on either side.

     “Now things are just getting surreal,” Marci muttered, turning back to the Leviathan, who’d retrieved its tentacle and was now just standing there in the mist. “So what happens next?”

     Instead of answering, the monster turned away, rolling over the forest without a sound, its huge body passing through the trees like smoke. It vanished with astonishing speed, its black body fading into the night mist right before her eyes. Seconds later, it was gone, leaving Marci staring over the empty sky and the dark, fog-covered trees.

     “I guess we’ll just wait here, then,” she muttered.

     At least there’s food, Ghost said, hopping up onto the table. Unless it’s poisoned.

     “Algonquin wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to poison me,” Marci said, peering over the cliff’s edge. “I don’t suppose you know any tricks for getting off mountains?”

     Not if you want to reach the bottom alive. Ghost thought for a moment. What about a flying spell?

     Marci paled. “I’ve tried that, but let’s just say there’s a reason you don’t see mages flying everywhere. Humans aren’t great at 3-D navigation, and the amount of magic you have to control just to keep yourself lifted is staggering.” And abundant as it was, she didn’t actually want to draw that much of the strange Reclamation Land magic into her body. Ghost might be eating it up, but to Marci, the viscous power just felt wrong, like trying to drink out of a pond that was choked with algae.

     “We’ll save flying for a last resort,” she said, walking over to join Ghost. “Besides, aren’t you curious?” She grabbed a cinnamon raisin bagel from the pile, then picked up the card beside it, which listed all the flavors, calorie content, and allergen information for the tray followed by the Algonquin Corp Hospitality logo and a smiling picture of the middle-aged Native American woman that was Algonquin’s public face. “This is definitely not your usual interrogation cell. If she’s giving us the five-star treatment, that means she wants something bad. We can use that.”

     Don’t be so sure, Ghost warned. Algonquin is old and wise.

     “Not that old,” Marci said. “The Great Lakes were created during the last big Ice Age only twenty thousand years ago. That makes her a young blood by spirit standards.”

     But still older than every dragon and all of recorded human history.

     “True,” Marci admitted. “But Vann Jeger was orders of magnitude older than us, too, and we handled him just fine.” With hours of setup and two dragons to help, but even so. “Punching above our weight class is what we’re all about. We got this.”

      I’m more concerned that we haven’t seen her yet, Ghost said, peering out at the dark. Night’s already fallen, and we know Algonquin can be in multiple places at once. If she’s making us wait, she’s doing it on purpose.

     That was a good observation. “Do you want to go scout?” she asked around a mouthful of bagel. “You’re not stopped by thousand-foot drops, and this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get a look at the inside of Reclamation Land.”

     Actually, I’ve been here several times, Ghost said casually.

     Marci stared at him. “This is where you used to go when you went roaming when you went AWOL all those times?” she cried. “And you didn’t tell me about it?”

     I went lots of places, the spirit said with a flick of his ears. And I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t have words to explain. I wasn’t as aware then as I am now, if you’ll recall.

     True enough. “Well, did you learn anything good?”

     A trick or two, he said smugly. But I could never stay long. This place is menacing to outsiders, which is why I’m not leaving you alone now. He swished his tail. The air is bloody tonight.

     She didn’t know what he meant by that, but given her own aversion to touching the Reclamation Land magic, Marci wasn’t about to argue. Her phone didn’t seem work up here either. So, since neither she nor Ghost seemed ready for any crazy escape plans at the moment, Marci plopped into one of the modern chairs to enjoy the complimentary breakfast-for-dinner tray and wait for her enemy to appear.

     It didn’t take long. She was barely through her second cup of coffee when one of the little streams of snowmelt running down the cliff began to shimmer, the falling water rising up to form the vague shape of a woman. For a moment, she stood there wobbling like jelly, and then the water firmed up into a perfect reflection of Marci, right down to the wrinkled business-chic black pants and silk blouse she’d borrowed from the Heartstrikers this morning.

     “Thank you for waiting,” Algonquin said in her strange, watery voice as she stepped off the cliff into the ledge-turned-waiting-room. “I trust you were comfortable?”

     “Comfortable enough,” Marci said, putting down her coffee cup before the liquid could betray how hard she shaking. Back at the cat house, the fear and adrenalin had kept her from focusing on anything that wasn’t immediately required for survival. Now that she’d had time to calm down, though, it was finally sinking in that she was speaking to Algonquin, Lady of the Lakes, de facto dictator of the DFZ, the most famous and deadly spirit in the world.

     Algonquin must have known the effect she had, either that or Marci hadn’t been fast enough setting down her cup, because her reflection of Marci’s face wrinkled in concern. “You’re afraid,” she said. “I always forget how unnerving your kind finds talking to yourselves to be. One moment.”

     She walked across the cave-turned-sitting-room to the breakfast tray, reaching down to pick up the card beside it, the one with the picture of the corporate face she used for all her public broadcasts, including the one where she’d declared war on all dragons. She stared at the card with Marci’s eyes for a moment, and then, like wind rippling the surface of a pond, she changed. When she set the card down again, the spirit in front of Marci looked like a lovely Native American woman with a long, silver-streaked black braid, a power suit, and a stern, sharp face with wise, dark eyes.

     It was the same exact face Marci had seen a thousand times on television and all over the DFZ, but seeing it just appear in front of her removed any feelings of familiarity. If anything, Algonquin looked even more alien like this than she had wearing Marci’s face, and it was all she could do to keep herself from flinching when the spirit smiled at her again.

     “Still nervous, I see,” Algonquin said, setting the card down with a musical, watery sigh. “But I’m afraid this is the best you’re going to get. I can only appear in reflections.”

     “Really?” Marci said, her fear fading under the eternal push of her curiosity. “Why is that?”

     Algonquin shrugged. “Because I am water, and change is water’s nature.”

     And spirits always acted according to their nature, Marci remembered. That said, Vann Jeger was a fjord, and even he’d had a body. “So you don’t have a face of your own?”

     “I have a visage,” Algonquin said with a smile. “But most humans don’t find it reassuring, and I do not wish to frighten you. Quite the opposite. I’m here to ask for your help, Marci Novalli.”

     “If you’d wanted that, you could have just asked me at the beginning and saved us all a lot of trouble,” Marci grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “But since you decided to trap me on a mountain instead, you must want something pretty big, so let’s hear it.”

     “Very well,” Algonquin said, grabbing the second chair and moving it so that she was sitting across from Marci, speaking face to face. “I want you to work for me.”

     Marci sighed. This again. “I figured it was something like that,” she said, petting Ghost, who was crouching in her lap like a little fluffy tiger ready to pounce. “But I’ve got job offers flying fast and furious these days. If you want to win me over, it’s going to take more than a room with a view and a pastry tray.”

     “Don’t get cocky, mortal,” the Lady of the Lakes said, her watery voice going choppy. “You want to know what’s in this for you? How does not dying sound?”

     Marci shrugged. “Honestly, pretty weak. I’ve been threatened a lot recently, and the effectiveness is starting to wear off. Especially since we both know you’re not going to follow through.”

     Algonquin arched an eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”

     “Because I’ve got him,” Marci said, patting Ghost on the head. “If I was just another mortal with something you wanted, you’d have had your Thunderbird crash our plane the moment we entered your airspace. You certainly wouldn’t have staged such an expensive and overwhelming trap, but the very fact that you rolled so hard to make sure I had no choice other than to go with you tonight proves that I’m not just another mortal. I’m not going to go so far as to say irreplaceable, but I think you’ve proven I’m not someone you’re ready to idly kill. So if you want me to cooperate, you’re going to have to try another line. Because I’ve been down the ‘obey me or die’ road before with other gigantically powerful beings who could squash me like a bug, and I’m not buying it anymore.”

     Marci ended with a smile smug enough to make a dragon proud. She knew how this game was played. Immortals always thought they could push her around, but for all their power and age, none of these spirits or dragons seemed to grasp that power was fluid, and that it had nothing to do with age or magic or strength. When it came to making others do what you wanted, the only thing that counted was who had the upper hand, and so long as Marci had the potential to become the Merlin, that was her.

     Knowing this was how Marci had stayed alive and free as long as she had despite always being horribly outclassed. But rather than growing surly in her defeat as Amelia had, the Lady of the Lakes just gave her a pitying look.

     “Poor little mortal,” she said, shaking her head. “Now I see how you’ve lasted so long among the dragons. You play their games very well, but I’m afraid you fail to grasp the reality of your position in my realm. You see, I don’t actually need you or your Mortal Spirit, because I’ve already got one of my own.”

     Marci’s eyes went wide. “What?”

     Instead of explaining, Algonquin got up and walked to the edge of the cliff. When she reached it, she lifted both hands in front of her with her palms pressed together. When her arms were straight out in front of her, she whipped them apart, and the swirling night mist blanketing the forest parted like the Red Sea.

     “Come,” she said, beckoning to Marci. “See for yourself.”

     Trembling, Marci obeyed. Clutching Ghost to her chest, she walked to the cliff’s edge and peered down, looking out over what was now a very different landscape. With the mist gone, she could now see that the forest, which she’d assumed covered everything, actually ended less than a hundred feet from where the limo had stopped, giving way to what looked like another world.

     Open fields stretched out as far as she could see. The massive clearing ran in a giant circle from the tree line to the shore of Lake St. Clair itself. Along its inner ring, trees the size of DFZ superscrapers stood like sentinels over the beautiful, perfectly round pools of glowing water that nestled like jewels in their gnarled roots. Some of them were festooned with spring flowers, others were covered in autumn leaves. All were bigger than any natural tree could ever hope to grow, but the longer Marci stared, the more she realized bigger was the theme here.

     Beyond the giant tree’s shadows, wolves the size of SUVs chased equally giant golden deer across the open fields. They ran like the wind, their bodies moving with supernatural grace, but no matter how they raced, the hunt never seemed to end. The chase just kept going, the wolves and deer moving in endless, interconnecting circles that matched the one made by the clearing itself. It was all circles, she realized. The giant trees, the hunt, even the mushroom rings she could see in the shadows were all locked together in a pattern of circles within circles within circles, all spinning around a rise at the clearing’s center. It was much smaller than Marci’s mountain, more like a very tall hill, but it was clearly the spoke around which all the wheels were turning, and as she watched the whole thing spin, Marci finally realized what she was looking at.

     “They’re channeling magic,” she said, eyes wide. “That’s why the power is so thick here. You’re collecting it. This whole place is a giant casting circle!”

     “Oh, it’s much more than that,” Algonquin said, gazing down on the circles within circles with obvious pride. “What you see before you is the end result of the largest unified effort my kind has ever put forward. Save for a few stubborn holdouts, I’ve recruited every spirit in North America, plus many others, to join my work.”

     Marci’s eyes went wide. Just going by what she could see, that had to be hundreds. No wonder the magic in the DFZ was so much crazier than everywhere else. It was sitting right next to the world’s largest spirit pile. It also explained where Algonquin had gotten the magic to shoot the Three Sisters out of the sky, which was probably the entire point.

     “This is the weapon you’re going to use to wipe out the dragons.”

     Algonquin blinked in surprise. “Dragons? Why would I waste all of this on worthless parasites like them?”

     Marci felt like she’d just had the mountain jerked out from under her. “But…” she got out at last. “You killed the Three Sisters.”

     “I did,” Algonquin said, nodding. “But that was merely a target of opportunity. My spirits and I are very powerful, but we build at a fixed rate that’s tied to the natural magic of the Earth itself. Dragons, being interlopers from another dimension, run on their own system. When Estella came to me for help, I saw the chance to harvest a great deal of power off the standard curve while ridding myself of a troublesome infestation in the process.”

     The way she said that made Marci cringe. “What do you mean harvest?”

     Algonquin looked even more surprised this time. “You didn’t see it?” she asked, frankly disbelieving. “It’s right there in the middle.”

     Marci was about to point out that it was dark and her eyes were only human when Algonquin placed a cold, wet hand on her scalp. “Look again,” she ordered, forcing Marci right to the cliff’s edge.

     Frustrated, Marci looked again. Thankfully, the moon had risen a bit while they’d been talking, shedding new light over the ever spinning circles. Even with the added light, though, it took her forever before she realized that the hill at the center of the circular clearing—the one all the circles were revolving around—wasn’t a hill at all. It wasn’t even land. It was bodies. A massive pile of headless dragon bodies of every color, size, and kind imaginable, including three absolutely enormous white ones, all stacked neck down so their blood would run down into the ground.

     And it was at this point that Marci really regretted eating that bagel, because she was going to be sick. “Ugh,” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth as she stumbled back. “You butchered them.”

     “I did,” Algonquin said proudly. “And good job of it, too. Since it’s based around a living fire, dragon magic can be finicky once the creature is dead. I still had a few turn to ash despite my best efforts, but overall, I’m quite pleased. Thanks to the Three Sisters’ hissy fit, I had the perfect excuse for the purge I’d been planning for a while now. They’re not even done draining yet, but the power I’ve already gathered from their blood has put us nicely ahead of schedule, proving yet again that the only good dragon is a dead one.”

     She finished with a grin, but Marci was still fighting to keep her stomach down.

     “Don’t act so disturbed. It’s no worse than what you mages do when you pull magic out of chimera horns or whatever other body part is in vogue these days, or what the dragons do themselves for that matter. They’re the ones running around using their dead grandfather’s teeth as weapons.”

     Much as she hated to, Marci had to give her that one. “Fine, I get it,” she grumbled. “Everyone is horrible. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re doing this.” She glanced at the circle again, doing a rough calculation in her head. “From circle size and magic density, I’d estimate you’re hoarding enough power here to drown the DFZ another dozen times. Why? What’s it for?”

     Algonquin looked down at her. “Do you always ask this many questions?”

     “I’ve found it’s the best way to get information,” Marci said. “And since you’re not a dragon, I don’t think you’d show me all of this just to brag.”

     That joke at the Heartstrikers’ expense went over much better than Marci had anticipated. Algonquin looked absolutely delighted, throwing her head back with a bright, musical laugh. “You certainly do know how to play to power,” she said, wiping her eyes. “A very useful survival mechanism for one as lowly as yourself. But seeing how I brought you up here precisely to answer the question you just asked, I’ll oblige you. Look again at the dragons, and tell me what you see at their base.”

     The last thing Marci wanted to do was look at that grisly pile of corpses ever again. But curiosity eventually overpowered her disgust, and she looked, peering down through the now-bright moonlight at the pile of dead dragons. She was morbidly searching for a telltale Heartstriker feather when she saw it. At the base of the pile, in the spot where the draining dragon blood formed a large, circular pool on the sodden ground, something was moving.

     Her first thought was that it must be a trick of the wind and moonlight. It was just a puddle of blood on the ground. Even from this distance, she knew it had to be far too shallow for anything to swim in. And yet, the longer she stared at it, the more convinced Marci became that that was exactly what was happening. There was something living in that pool of dragon’s blood and mud. Something big.

     “What is it?” she whispered, squinting in the dark.

     “What I told you at the beginning of this,” Algonquin said, her watery voice trembling with excitement. “That is a Mortal Spirit. My Mortal Spirit.”

     Impossible.

     Marci jumped. She’d been so distracted by the craziness going on in front of her, she’d completely forgotten that Ghost was still in her arms until he wiggled free.

     You can’t own a Mortal Spirit, he said, his voice wavering between a cat’s angry yowl and the Empty Wind’s deep, unearthly rumble. We are the products of mortality. Just as the glaciers carved out your bed, lake spirit, we are what remains when human fears and hopes dig gouges into the magical landscape of this world. You can’t own or control us any more than you can create us.

     By the time he finished, Marci was staring in shock. Her spirit must be feeling better if he was making speeches, but how did he know all of that? When she’d asked him about Mortal Spirits before, he’d claimed to be as ignorant as she was.

     I was, Ghost purred in her head. Amelia told us, remember?

     She choked a little. And you just took her word for it? About your own nature?

     A nudge rolled through her head, almost like a shrug. It felt right.

     Marci didn’t know what to say after that. Algonquin, however, was full of ideas.

     “Well, well,” she said, crouching down to look at the glowing cat eye to eye. “The walking death can speak. And here I thought you were just playing kitten to string the mortal along.”

     Ghost hissed at her, raising the fur on his back, and Algonquin stood up again with a smile. “Neither of you is as special as you think,” she said, turning back to Marci. “Mortal Spirits might be shaped by humans, but they’re born the same way the rest of us are. All you need is a well and enough power to fill it, and pop, you get a spirit.”

     “That’s what you’re doing here, isn’t it?” Marci said, the words bursting out of her as everything came together. “All this magic isn’t for a weapon or even your own power. You’re using it to fill a Mortal Spirit so that it’ll be born ahead of all the others!”

     “Don’t forget dependent on me,” Algonquin added with a cruel smile. “That’s the most important part.” She looked out toward the horizon where the glimmering lights of the DFZ sparkled in the distance. “The magic is rising, but it’s not there yet. Without me to feed it, my new Mortal Spirit will be no stronger than your sad little cat was outside the city, if it managed to be born at all. But with all of this to back it”—she swept her hand over the interlocking circles of spirits—“it will soon be at full capacity, and wholly dependent upon me to stay that way.” She looked back down at Ghost. “So you see, kitten, you can be both created and controlled. Sorry to ruin your expectations.”

     Ghost growled low in his throat, but Marci still wasn’t convinced. “If that’s true, how do you explain my spirit? He didn’t need you.”

     “True,” Algonquin admitted. “But I’m afraid your precious spirit was little more than an unintended consequence. A freak mistake born far too soon due to the elevated ambient magic caused by my real work here.”

     I am no mistake! Ghost roared, blue eyes flashing as his body began to shift. I was born because you left the ground littered with corpses! This city was built on the dead you created, Algonquin. Hundreds of thousands in a single night, abandoned and forgotten, and all because you were angry about some dirt in your water.

     The glowing cat’s shape fell away as he spoke, and in his place was the faceless soldier, his transparent body taut with rage and growing more solid by the word. “Did you think they would not cry out for justice? That their pleas would not be heard? There is far more magic in this world than what you can touch, water sprite. More power than your shores could ever know. Our time is coming, Algonquin, and when it dawns, the dead will have their satisfaction, and you will pay for what you have done.”

     By the time he finished, a gale was howling over the mountain strong enough to blow the chairs over. Even Marci was having trouble staying standing, and Algonquin’s body was rippling like water in a storm. But though she seemed to be having trouble maintaining her reflection, her voice remained as calm and cold as the deep lake bottom.

     “I know what is coming better than any,” she said, glaring the Empty Wind down. “Ignorant fool. I am the land itself. My anger is older and greater than any pain your precious forgotten dead will ever know. Why do you think I’m doing this?”

     The Empty Wind clenched his fists, but Marci got there first, putting a warning hand on the spirit’s ice-cold, ghostly arm. “Actually,” she said. “Why are you doing this? If you’re so certain of your ability to breed a new Mortal Spirit, why bother grabbing us? For that matter, why bother with any of this? You clearly don’t have a high opinion of mortals or our spirits, so why put all this effort into creating a Mortal Spirit of your own?”

     “Because a Mortal Spirit alone is not enough,” Algonquin said bitterly. “To actually get what I want, I need the human that controls it.”

     She’d thought as much. “You need a Merlin,” Marci finished confidently.

     “Not just any Merlin,” the lake said. “The first Merlin.”

     That made less sense. “Why does the order matter?” Marci asked, looking at the Empty Wind, who shrugged. “I thought a Merlin was just a souped-up mage with a Mortal Spirit for backup.”

     Algonquin looked insulted. “That’s what you think? I already own all the best mages in the world. Do you think I’d spend sixty years and a continent’s worth of spirit effort just to get a slightly better version of what I already had?”

     Not when she put it that way. Now that Marci thought about it, something as simple as Mage 2.0 didn’t explain why Amelia had tried so hard to win her over, either. But if power wasn’t the point, what was?

     “What does a Merlin do?” she asked. “Why are they so special?”

     Algonquin gave her a disgusted look, and Marci’s old rage flared back up with a vengeance. “Don’t look at me like that!” she yelled. “It’s not my fault I’m ignorant! It’s not like there’s anyone around to teach us this stuff. We’re having to relearn it all the hard way. But if you need a Merlin so badly, it might help if you got off your high wave and freaking told me what I’m supposed to do!”

     She hadn’t meant to say all that, but at least her explosion seemed to have snapped Algonquin out of her snit. “You really have been around dragons too long, haven’t you?” she said, her voice amused. “Always raging and demanding when you should be thinking.” She tapped the side of her head. “Use your brain, mayfly. What do humans do that no one else can?”

     Marci had heard this question before, and she answered immediately. “We move magic.”

     Algonquin nodded. “And what vanished without a trace or warning a thousand years ago?”

     The cliff fell silent as Marci’s jaw dropped. “Wait,” she said at last. “Are you’re saying that we—as in humans—caused the magical drought?”

     “Who else could?” Algonquin asked. “Any natural-born spirit will tell you that the magic of this world is like the sea. It ebbs and flows, but it never dries up completely. Not unless something makes it.”

     Marci blew out a breath. “And you think a Merlin can do that?”

     “I don’t think,” Algonquin said. “I know. Any mage can grab magic and keep it bottled, but only a Merlin with the ridiculous power of a Mortal Spirit behind them could possibly manipulate magic on a global scale. That’s the level of power we’re talking about, and it’s why I grabbed you.” She looked over her shoulder back down at the thing moving in the bloody pool. “Even with the boost I got from the dragons, my Mortal Spirit still has far to go. Even when it is finally born, I’ll still have to find it a proper human capable of controlling it. But you and your spirit are already here, and while you are both pushy, inexperienced, undereducated, and outspoken with far too high an opinion of yourselves, you’re still the closest this world has to a Merlin at the moment. I couldn’t just leave you with the dragons. Do have any idea the damage those selfish snakes could do with a Merlin’s power?”

     “But not all dragons are like that,” Marci said automatically. “Julius—”

     “Julius is the runt you came to Vann Jeger’s with, correct?” When she nodded, the spirit scoffed. “He’s too young to count. He’ll harden up if he lives long enough, and eventually he’ll be the same as all the others. I should know. I’ve killed more dragons than you can count, and every single one of them was a conniving snake who’d trade his own family for power at a moment’s notice. They came to our plane as refugees, and yet they’ve done nothing but fight amongst themselves and terrorize their new home from the moment they arrived.” She lifted her lips in a sneer. “And the others wonder why I hate them.”

     She looked so angry, Marci gave up after that. What was the point of trying to convince Algonquin that dragons could be things other than monsters when Julius was having trouble convincing his own family? There were more immediate problems to worry about anyway, starting with what Algonquin planned to do with Marci now that she had her.

     “Is that why you laid a trap for me, then?” she asked. “To keep the Merlin away from Heartstriker?”

     “One of the reasons,” Algonquin said. “Denying your enemy access to a weapon is almost as good as getting one yourself. I would have preferred to grab you earlier, but I didn’t even know for sure what you were until Vann Jeger was defeated and you were long gone. I knew you’d be back eventually—there’s nowhere in the world except the DFZ with enough magic to keep a Mortal Spirit afloat—but I assumed you’d have an escort. Of course, I was expecting the Planeswalker rather than Raven and his tin soldier, but it made no difference in the end. Emily Jackson is as close to a true monster as your kind gets, but neither she nor Amelia is a match for my Leviathan.”

     “And what is the Leviathan?”

     That was a stab in the dark, but Algonquin smiled as though Marci had just asked something deeply profound. “He’s what happens if I fail.”

     Now Marci was getting really nervous. “Fail at what?”

     Algonquin looked pointedly at the Empty Wind, who’d gone very still. “Stopping them.”

     “You mean Mortal Spirits?” Marci asked, baffled. “But I though the entire point of this was to make one.”

     “Yes,” Algonquin said, holding up a single finger. “One. You only need one Mortal Spirit to make a Merlin, and one Merlin should be all it takes to stop the magic from rising enough to fill and wake the rest.”

     “The rest of the Mortal Spirits?” Marci clarified, arching an eyebrow. “Why?”

     “I know why,” the Empty Wind said, sneering at the water spirit. “She wants to stop us because she’s afraid we’ll be more powerful than her.”

     The Lady of the Lakes didn’t even look insulted by that. She simply said, “Yes.”

     Both Marci and her spirit jumped at the sudden agreement, and Algonquin sighed. “This is why I can’t stand mortals,” she said. “You’re too young to have any perspective. Of course I’m afraid of Mortal Spirits. Everyone should be. Mortal Spirits are the magical representations of humanity’s universal fears. Your own spirit is a face of death powered by humanity’s narcissistic terror of being forgotten, and he’s just the beginning. More will rise as the magic fills up the gap left by the drought, and when they come, they’ll bring hell with them.”

     “It can’t be that bad,” Marci said with a nervous laugh. “There were Mortal Spirits before the drought, and the world didn’t end.”

     “Not for lack of trying,” Algonquin said bitterly. “It’s been more than a thousand years since the drought sent us all to sleep, and your kind still has stories of the Wild Hunt and monsters in the night and bloody gods who demand sacrifices. This is because those things didn’t use to be stories. They were real, Mortal Spirits created by humanity’s terrors. Occasionally, Merlins would show up to control them, but mostly they raged unchecked across the landscape, self-fulfilling prophesies of your kind’s worst fears.”

     “But there were good ones too, right?” Marci said, remembering what Myron had said. “I thought the whole idea of Mortal Spirits was that they were what happened when magic filled up the depressions left in the landscape by the combined weight of enough humans all putting their concern into a single concept. But cultures all over the world believe in love and justice and fairness and lots of other good things. We’re not all bad.”

     “But you’re not good, either,” Algonquin said, glaring at her. “Yours is not a gentle race, Marci Novalli. True, you’ve produced gentle spirits, but they can’t begin to balance out or stop the far stronger devils. But horrible as the Mortal Spirits of the past were, they’re nothing compared to what they’ll be when they come back this time.”

     “Why is that?” Marci asked. “We’re still just people.”

     “But there’s a lot more of you,” the lake spirit said, pointing through the dark at her own DFZ, glittering in the distance. “A thousand years ago, the total human population numbered in the hundreds of millions. You were also spread out, with multiple cultures living in isolation from one another. Both of these factors helped to keep the Mortal Spirits in check. With a relatively small population and limited communication, the gouges your collective fears could make in the magical landscape were limited to the size of a large mountain at worst. Dangerous, but still controllable. This is no longer the case.”

     Marci could see where this was going. “You’re saying humanity’s gotten too big. But there’s no proof that the new Mortal Spirits will—”

     “I don’t need proof,” Algonquin snapped. “I know how spirits work! You said it yourself. Mortal Spirits are what happens when enough people care about the same thing. This is why so many of them revolve around death, because every mortal fears death. But there is a world of difference between a few hundred million people fearing death and nine billion humans doing the same thing. Can you even comprehend the size of the impression that leaves in the world? Or the spirit that will rise when it finally fills?”

     That was a truly terrifying image, but Marci was still skeptical. “So you’re saying you’re doing this to save human lives. You drowned hundreds of thousands of people, and you want me to believe you’re the good guy now?”

     “Good has nothing to do with it,” Algonquin said dismissively. “If it was only your deaths, I wouldn’t care. Dying is what mortals do. But humans won’t be the only ones to pay when your Mortal Spirits come. We will all suffer, and unlike mortals who will perish quickly and be freed from the consequences of their mistakes, we immortal spirits will have to stay and deal with the hell you left. Even after you’re all dead, the monsters you created could linger on for eons, and when there are no more of you to prey on, they’ll turn on us.”

     “But you’re powerful,” Marci said. “Surely—”

     “Powerful next to you,” she said. “But no spirit of the land can possibly compare to the monstrosity that is humanity’s ego. We’ll be hopelessly outmatched, and we can’t even die to escape. Your demons will make us their slaves, and the world—this land that was beautiful and perfect before your kind evolved and began destroying it—will fall to ruin. That was what I realized when I woke up and saw what you had done. That’s what I’m trying to stop. That’s why I’m doing all of this.” She threw her hands out, gesturing over the enormous vista of the endlessly spinning circles and the thing at their center.

     “I’ve been doing everything I can to head this problem off for sixty years now,” she went on. “And thanks to the dragons’ generous donation, I’m nearly there. Another few months and I’ll have it. But happy as that makes me, why should I wait if I don’t have to?”

     Marci sighed. “I get it,” she said. “You want me to try and stop this. That way, if I fail, you’ll still have your original spirit as a backup.”

     Algonquin nodded. “Beautiful, isn’t it? You’re the unexpected gift, Marci Novalli. I usually make it my policy to never trust anything touched by a dragon seer, but a ready-made Mortal Spirit with its human already attached is too good to pass up. If you can figure out how to take the final step and actually become a Merlin, you can take control of the world’s magic as your ancestors did, and we can fix this problem years ahead of schedule. I don’t want you to shut the magic off again. That would send us all back to sleep, and we can’t have that. I just want you to dampen the flow back down to a level that’s too low for Mortal Spirits to survive in. A mute, not a stop, that’s all I’m asking, and if you care anything about our shared future, you’ll do it.”

     Marci looked down at her feet. Honestly, Algonquin’s request was a lot more reasonable than she’d expected. Up until now, everyone had talked about Merlins as if they were weapons, but the Lady of the Lakes seemed to see them as tools to prevent apocalypse. But while everything she’d said about increased human population leading to truly monstrous Mortal Spirits made sense given what Marci understood about how spirits worked, she just couldn’t believe they were all as bad as Algonquin made out. Just look at Ghost. He was spooky and dark and even terrifying at times, but he wasn’t evil. Most parts of humanity weren’t. They were just…people. Besides, if all Mortal Spirits were monsters who were going to kill mankind, why was one needed to make a Merlin? Why would a system that made the mages who—if she believed Sir Myron—were the ancient champions of mankind be based around partnering with the very spirits who would destroy them?

     And Algonquin is hardly an expert on humanity, the Empty Wind added, his glowing eyes never leaving the Lady of the Lake. She built a city on human suffering and cares more for her fish than the children who die forgotten in its streets. Who is she to say we are evil? What does she know of us?

      The dead boy they’d found in the dumpster flashed in front of her eyes, and Marci nodded. She’d known from the moment she arrived that for all its impressive architecture and glittering opportunity, the DFZ was at its core a cruel, pitiless city, mostly because Algonquin had never allowed it to be anything else. She’d steadfastly refused to pass any laws to protect even the most basic human rights, despite petitions from her own citizens. There were no safety nets, no second chances, no representation or guarantees of fair trial. Before, Marci had thought that was because the spirit simply didn’t care. Now, though, it almost felt as though Algonquin wanted to show the world just how bad humanity could be when left to their own devices.

     But even when there were no laws to make them, most citizens in the DFZ were good, honest, normal people just trying to make a living. Marci knew that for a fact, because she’d been one of them. So had Ross and Lark and countless others she’d met while living and working in the city, and unlike the spirits of the land, who already had their power, humanity’s magic was just beginning. If she did as Algonquin asked and stopped the magic from rising any higher (assuming that was even possible), she’d be both the first and last Merlin humanity ever produced. Ghost would fade for good, and never rise again. As for the rest of them, they’d be stuck right where they were now—below spirits, below dragons, below everything—forever.

     Just the thought made her shake with anger. It didn’t matter what Algonquin threatened, that was a price too high. No amount of possible future spirit Armageddon prevention was worth giving up their entire race’s magical future. Besides, if she really was a Merlin, then there was no way her first act was supposed to be giving up her power and shutting the system down for everyone just because Algonquin thought humans couldn’t handle it. According to Raven, Algonquin didn’t trust humans to handle anything, and once she’d remembered that, Marci knew her answer.

     Thank goodness.

     Don’t thank me yet, Marci warned. If she’s right, this might be the act of hubris that ends the world.

     Better yours than hers, the Empty Wind said, glaring at Algonquin. She thinks she’s a god for no other reason than she’s been here forever. She’d rather kill the true gods and force us all back to a lower time when she was strongest than let the world move on to a future where she doesn’t rule. His glowing eyes narrowed. She’s no better than Bethesda.

     Harsh, Marci thought with a wince. Still, there’s no guarantee I’m right.

     There never is with anything that matters, he said, reaching out to take her hand. And I’d rather be wrong with you than right in a world that would see me dead before I was born. Besides—she felt him smile in her mind—a mage without audacity is no mage at all.

     That made her grin wide. “I knew you were the cat for me,” she said out loud, turning back to Algonquin, who’d been watching their silent exchange with a growing scowl. “We refuse.”

     Algonquin’s scowl deepened. “Maybe you don’t understand what’s at stake here.”

     “No, we understand,” Marci said, gripping the Empty Wind’s freezing hand as tight as she could. “We just don’t agree. Fear is no reason to throw away opportunity. If I do as you ask, not only will I be denying all Mortal Spirits the chance to rise, I’ll be throwing away every human mage’s chance to become a Merlin themselves. I don’t care what hell you think is coming, it’s not worth that. So that’s our answer. We refuse.”

     “Then you are as selfish as the snakes you serve,” Algonquin rumbled, her angry voice losing even the semblance of human tones. “But it makes no difference. As I said, I only took you to give myself two shots at this instead of one and to deny the dragons their potential Merlin. You’ve refused the former, but the latter doesn’t require your participation.”

     Her voice was a razor’s edge by the end, and Marci flinched. “So you’re going to kill me?”

     The spirit made a show of thinking it over before she shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “Mortal minds are ever changing. We still have a month or so before my spirit is ready to rise, so I’ll just leave you here to think about your future and how long you’d like it to be.”

     Marci felt no need to dignify that with a reply. Algonquin was already melting back into water anyway, rolling off the ledge and down the cliff like the mountain stream she’d been when she’d first appeared.

     Send your cat when you’re ready to change your mind, her now-disembodied voice whispered. I’ll be waiting.

     “Yeah, well, you’re in for a long wait!” Marci yelled, kicking the last of the trickling water off the ledge. She was kicking it again when the Empty Wind joined her. What do we do now?

     “What do you think we’re going to do?” she growled, rolling up her sleeves. “We’re a mage and a spirit with nothing to lose on a mountain surrounded by enough magic to blow this whole city sky high. We’re going to escape.”

     He had no face to show it, but Marci knew he was grinning. I hoped you’d say that.

     “Change ‘hoped’ to ‘knew,’ and I’ll believe you,” Marci said, grinning back as she grabbed her bag off the chair and pulled out her favorite piece of casting chalk. “Let’s break something.”

     The Empty Wind threw back his head and laughed, an eerie, terrifying sound that echoed down the mountain, startling the spirit beasts running their eternal circles on the field below.

     Chapter 16

     Four hours after his confrontation with Chelsie in the dining room, Julius was beginning to think that getting roasted, clawed, and then stabbed was actually the easiest part of putting this vote together.

     It had sounded like such a simple idea to start. The whole clan was already in the mountain, and there was only one candidate. In theory, all they had to do was get everyone together into the throne room to physically cast their ballot. Compared to the scramble of yesterday’s vote, with dragons arriving from all over the country, it should have been a snap. But Julius had grossly underestimated his mother’s ability to make her children fall into line, and now that Bethesda was actively not helping, getting all of Heartstriker together in one place on short notice had turned into a full evening of trying to herd a mountain’s worth of prideful, nervous, fire-breathing cats into a box.

     Even the lower-alphabet dragons who’d actively supported Ian during his campaign were being obnoxious, claiming they had something or another to do that night that couldn’t possibly be put off. Julius wasn’t sure if they actually had things to do, or if they were just trying to look busy and important. Either way, the whole situation was impossible. In the end, the only reason it happened at all was because of David.

     Julius wasn’t sure if the senator was taking his new life debt seriously, or if he just wanted to get this over with, but David was working like a fiend. While Julius and Ian struggled to get the lower clutches together, David had the upper alphabet in line and ready to vote in a mere two hours, after which he came to help with the rest. Whatever was inspiring David’s new helpful nature, Julius was excessively grateful for it, because despite his determination to see this through, his body was rapidly reaching its physical limit. They were still thirty dragons short when he finally gave out, slinking back to his hospital room to take a nap while Ian and David finished putting everything together.

     As he fell into bed, Julius was certain it would all come to nothing. The vote would just have to happen tomorrow morning as planned. But then, shortly before twelve a.m., Fredrick woke him up to tell him that the clan—all of them, except for Justin, who was still stuck, and Amelia, who was blatantly playing hooky—was awaiting his presence in the throne room.

     Julius leaped out of bed. There was no bothering with ancient armor this time. He didn’t even take time to look at the suit Fredrick was helping him into before he was out the door. He finished dressing in the elevator, combing his hair with his fingers as he walked into the crowded throne room at the stroke of midnight.

     He was the last to arrive. Even Bethesda was out of her rooms, probably thanks to Conrad, given the murderous looks she kept giving him. But while she clearly wasn’t happy about it, she didn’t seem ready to fight that battle again so soon. She didn’t even make a speech this time. She just looked down her nose at her children as though she couldn’t possibly be more disgusted and snarled, “Get on with it.”

     And with that, the second Heartstriker Council vote commenced. Given the insanity they’d gone through to get to this point, Julius was braced for something to explode. From the dark look on her face, Chelsie was clearly thinking the same thing, but nothing happened. There were no dramatic interruptions or last-minute challenges. Now that they were all finally in here, everyone seemed to be as ready to get this over with as Julius. Not fifteen minutes after the Fs handed out the slips of paper, all the votes were in.

     Unsurprisingly seeing how he was the last candidate standing, Ian won by a landslide. There were a few other names—mostly contrary dragons voting for themselves—but by the time the last vote was counted, Ian’s pile was well above the fifty percent needed to win.

     “And I believe that’s that,” Ian said, strutting up onto the stage proud as a peacock. “The votes have been witnessed. I’ve won beyond the shadow of a doubt, which means the Heartstriker Council is finally officially complete.” He put out his hand to their mother, who looked like she was trying not to choke on her own bile. “I look forward to working with you.”

     Bethesda smacked his hand away. She glared at them all for a moment, and then she turned without a word, stalking back into her rooms and slamming her door so hard, a new crack appeared in the throne room’s battered stone wall.

     Julius sighed. “That didn’t go well.”

     “Really?” Ian said. “I was waiting for her to go for my throat. By that measure, I’d say it went very well indeed.”

     “I’m not expecting her to dance on the rooftops,” he grumbled. “But would it be too much to ask for her to at least not drag her tail? It’s over, she lost.”

     “Exactly,” his brother said. “Bethesda isn’t a good loser under the best of circumstances. But don’t worry. She’s in a snit right now, but she’ll come around. For all her faults, Mother’s a survivor. She’s not going to turn her nose up at some power just because she can’t have it all.”

     “I hope you’re right,” Julius said tiredly. “We’ll have a hard time making this Council work if one third of it refuses to come out of her room.”

     “Well she has until tomorrow to sort it out,” Ian said, checking his phone. “It’s too late to start anything tonight. Also, I have a date.”

     Julius gaped at him. “You scheduled a date after this? It’s nearly one in the morning.”

     “Like that matters,” Ian said, turning to smile at Svena, who was sweeping into the newly unsealed throne room while Heartstrikers scrambled to get out of her way. “What’s the point of victory if you don’t stop to enjoy it?”

     Julius supposed that was true, but it still bothered him. They’d been pushing as hard as possible on this for what felt like forever. Letting things slide now, even if it was just until tomorrow morning, felt wrong somehow. He was about to push one last time when a familiar hand landed on his shoulder.

     “Enough, Julius.”

     For the first time ever, Chelsie’s voice behind him didn’t make him jump. “But we’re so close,” he said, turning around to face her.

     His sister looked pointedly at their mother’s door. “Not as close as you think. Just because Bethesda’s backed off doesn’t mean she’s given up.”

     “All the more reason to push now, while she’s still defeated.”

     Chelsie’s eyebrows shot up. “Why Julius, what a ruthless observation. Are you feeling okay?”

     “No,” he snapped, pressing a hand to his aching side. “I’m hurt and tired and I just want this to be over. I want to finally win.”

     He mostly wanted Chelsie and F-clutch to be free. Only when that was done would Julius finally feel like he’d actually succeeded, but he still didn’t know how he was going to get around Bethesda’s killer secret, and he didn’t dare poke Chelsie about it again. She was already looking suspiciously fragile, her jaw clamped tight despite the appearances she was so clearly desperate to keep up.

     He wasn’t doing much better. His burns were healing quickly—Fredrick had actually removed all the bandages except for the ones around his stomach an hour ago—but even though he looked better than he had all afternoon, Julius felt like he was one stiff breeze from going down. He was about to give up and tell Chelsie he was going to bed when he smelled a familiar scent approaching from the side.

     Chelsie caught it, too, her body going stiff as the two of them turned to face David, who was now waiting nervously beside the stage. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

     “Not at all,” Julius said, smiling extra wide to dispel the aura of doom that had fallen when David and Chelsie noticed each other. “Thank you so much for your help tonight. We couldn’t have managed this without you.”

     “I’m aware of that,” the senator said. “Though I’d much rather you applied your gratitude to my debt.” His green eyes flicked to Ian, who was standing to the side of the stage, artfully kissing his way up Svena’s arm. “I came up to congratulate my opponent, but he seems to be indisposed, so I’ll just take my leave. I’ve missed four senate hearings over this election nonsense as it is. If I miss another, I risk losing my control over my subcommittees.”

     “Go, then,” Julius said. “Thank you again, and good luck.”

     “Good luck to you as well,” he said with a pointed look at Bethesda’s closed door. “You’ll need it.”

     He held out his hand, and Julius shook it without hesitation, wincing only a little when the bigger dragon squeezed down hard. Still, despite the return to the macho posturing, he was happy with how things between him and David had shaken out. He’d rather not have gotten stabbed for it, but in the end, this mess had netted him an invaluable ally, as tonight’s vote had already proven.

     “I have to admit, I didn’t see that one coming,” Chelsie said as David walked away. “You really do have the oddest talent for turning enemies into assets.”

     “Not assets,” Julius said, shaking his head. “Friends. Or at least allies. Either way, it’s amazing what can happen when you actually talk to your enemies instead of just trying to crush them.”

     “Then I hope you talk to many more,” she said. “We could use a few less—”

     She cut off suddenly, her green eyes darting over Julius’s shoulder. When he turned to see why, he found Svena standing right behind him.

     “Julius,” she said, her voice haughty and cold with all the proud self-possession of a powerful clan head who hadn’t just been making out with his brother. “Congratulations. You pulled it off. I look forward to the mutually beneficial relationship between our clans this election will produce. Katya will be especially pleased. She always said you’d be the one who came out on top.”

     “Thank you for your support,” Julius said, doing his best to sound sincere. It was a bit of a struggle since, privately, he thought Svena had taken advantage of this whole situation purely to jumpstart her own new clan. But whatever her initial reasons, she and Ian seemed legitimately happy together. Moreover, everything had worked out in the end, which was all that really mattered.

     But as he was trying to think of an appropriately polite way to ask how she’d be keeping up her end of the bargain now that the election was over, Svena abruptly changed the subject. “Where is your human?”

     Julius blinked. “My—you mean Marci?”

     “Do you have another?” the dragoness said with a sniff. “And before you start with the ‘she’s not my human’ rot again, yes, I mean your mage. Where is she?”

     As always, any dragon asking questions about Marci put Julius’s back up. He didn’t think Svena meant any harm. The White Witch was as ambitious and calculating as they came, but she had her own brand of honor that almost certainly didn’t include stealing other dragons’ mortals. That said, she did have an intense rivalry with Amelia, which could explain the sudden interest in Marci.

     Whatever the reason, he didn’t like it, especially since he didn’t actually know the answer. He hadn’t heard from Marci since their last call six hours ago. All he knew was that she was somewhere in the DFZ, a fact he was most definitely not making public knowledge. But dodging the question would be suspicious and disrespectful toward Svena, so Julius settled on the truth, albeit only a tiny fraction. “She’s with her spirit.”

     For some reason, that made Svena frown. “I worried that was the case. Not that I care what foolishness your trouble-prone mortal gets herself into. I only ask because of Amelia.”

     Now Julius was even more confused. “Amelia?”

     “Yes,” Svena said. “You know, your oldest and most obnoxious sister. The—”

     “I know who Amelia is,” he said, frustrated. “But what does she have to do with Marci?”

     “You don’t know?” she asked, surprised. “Amelia had me put half her life’s fire into your human the day before yesterday.”

     Julius nearly fell off the stage. “What?”

     “How do you not know this?” Svena demanded. “Amelia’s scent was all over her.”

     Julius had smelled his sister on Marci the last time they were together, but he’d assumed it was because they’d been drinking together, not because she was apparently housing half of his sister’s life. Marci certainly hadn’t said anything, not that she would’ve had a chance given how little time he’d given her. It would explain Amelia’s cryptic comments when he’d talked to her yesterday, but Julius still didn’t understand. “Why would Amelia do that?”

     “Because she’s as stubborn and crazy as the rest of you,” Svena growled. “I told her that putting half her life into a mortal, especially one as disaster prone as yours, was a terrible idea, but did she listen? Of course not. I went up to see her just now while Ian was busy with the vote, and she looked absolutely terrible. Drained to a husk. It wouldn’t even be a challenge for me to kill her as she is now. Were it anyone else, I’d demand to know who she’d been fighting. But since no one save myself has a chance against the Planeswalker, the only explanation for her current state is that your human has been off being reckless with her magic.” She crossed her arms over her chest with a huff. “I will not lose my last true rival to this idiocy. Spit it out! Where is your mage?”

     “I don’t know,” Julius said honestly, and he was now very concerned about that. He knew better than to just take any dragon at their word, but Svena’s story was simply too bizarre to be a lie, and Amelia had looked sick when he’d visited her yesterday. But if she was telling the truth and Amelia’s current downturn was because of Marci, then they could both be in real danger.

     The realization had barely finished crossing his mind before Julius grabbed his phone. When the AR flashed up, though, there were no missed calls or messages. He was about to just call Marci himself when a gentle hand touched his elbow.

     “Sir?”

     Julius looked up to see Fredrick hovering beside him, his stern face pulled down in an uncharacteristically nervous frown. “I know you’re busy, but there’s someone here I think you should see.”

     He pointed at the throne room doors, and Julius’s stomach lurched. He’d only met them once, but there was no way he could forget the UN’s duo of haughty mage and terrifying general. The same pair that was supposed to be with Marci, but was instead standing in the hallway leading up the throne room. Alone. He was still hoping that was because Marci was around the corner when he met the general’s eyes.

     And that’s when he knew, knew to his bones, that something had gone horribly, catastrophically wrong.

     ***

     “Where is she?”

     He’d never crossed a space so fast in his life. One moment he was standing with Svena and Fredrick, the next he was in the hall with hands fisted on the lapels of General Jackson’s coat. “Where is Marci?”

     The general blinked in surprise at his sudden appearance, but fortunately for Julius’s nerves, she didn’t panic as most mortals would when confronted with an obviously upset dragon. She just looked him straight in the eye and answered, “In the DFZ.”

     “Then why are you here?” Julius asked frantically. “The two of you were supposed to be keeping her safe! Did you just leave her in—”

     Someone cleared his throat pointedly behind them, and Julius looked over his shoulder to see Chelsie, Fredrick, Svena, and Ian all glaring at him.

     “This is not the sort of conversation one should have in hallways,” Ian said pointedly, flicking his no-longer-green eyes down the crowded hall, where several Heartstrikers had already blatantly stopped to listen.

     “I don’t care,” Julius snapped. “I—”

     “Well, I do,” Ian growled, turning on his heel. “Follow me. I know somewhere with far fewer ears.”

     He marched back into the throne room. The others did the same, including the humans, which meant Julius had no choice but to follow as well, trailing after the crowd as Ian led them back across the throne room and into the same textile-filled hallway off the side where Bob had saved Julius from Estella what felt like forever ago. This time, though, instead of whispering behind a display case as Julius and Katya had done, Ian led them to a small door hidden behind a beautiful Navajo blanket that opened into a stone room the size of a large supply closet with a modern conference table and wheeled office chairs set up in the middle.

     “What is this?” Julius asked Ian. “Your secret conference room?”

     “One of them,” his brother said. “This is where I conducted much of my business when Mother was still in power. It’s completely soundproofed and warded, and best of all, Mother doesn’t know it’s here.”

     “How did you manage that?”

     “Easily,” Ian said with a grin. “When I volunteered to take charge of the renovations to the mountain a few decades ago, I added several improvements, and since Bethesda can’t be bothered with details, I got away with most of them. You never know when you’ll need somewhere quiet to talk treason.”

     “You clever snake,” Svena said, smirking at him. “Always something up your sleeve.”

     Ian looked smugger than ever at that, but Julius could only shake his head. “I’m just glad you’re on our side,” he muttered, taking a seat at the table.

     “How perfectly draconic of you,” a rough voice croaked. “But if the reptilian half of the table is done with the self-congratulations, we have a serious problem to discuss.”

     All the dragons jumped and turned to the center of the table, where an enormous black raven was now standing, staring at them.

     “What is that?” Julius cried, gripping his chair.

     In hindsight, that was a stupid question. He didn’t even need his nose to know that he was looking at a spirit. There was no other way a bird that big could have gotten into a sealed, windowless room full of dragons without them noticing. Also, normal ravens didn’t talk. They didn’t bow, either, which this one did, his wings thrown out in a dramatic flourish.

     “Forgive the late introduction,” he croaked. “I am Raven. And before you ask, yes. That Raven. I’m here with my associates General Emily Jackson and Sir Myron Rollins of the United Nations to discuss the current situation in the DFZ.”

     “Likely story,” Svena said with a snort. “He’s here to see Amelia.” She turned to Ian. “She dumped him a thousand years ago, and he’s never gotten over it.”

     “She did not dump me,” Raven said, insulted. “And if you don’t mind, White Witch, this is a serious issue.”

     “It is,” Julius agreed, leaning over the table to glare at the spirit. “Where’s Marci?”

     Before Raven could open his beak, General Jackson beat him to it. “With Algonquin.”

     Julius had feared as much from the moment he’d spotted them, but hearing it confirmed still sent him into a cold terror. “How?” he demanded. “She went in with a general, Great Britain’s royal sorcerer, and I presume the Raven spirit.” He glanced at Raven, who nodded. “How is it that you’re all here and Marci isn’t?!”

     “Because we weren’t Algonquin’s targets,” General Jackson said sharply. “She knew exactly where we’d be. This whole thing was a trap.”

     “That doesn’t make sense,” Julius said. “I know Algonquin’s on the warpath, but I’m nothing compared to the other dragons she’s killed. Why would she go through the trouble of setting a trap for Marci? Is it revenge for Vann Jeger?”

     “Vann Jeger has nothing to do with it,” the mage, Sir Myron, said with a sneer. “And for once, neither do dragons. Algonquin grabbed the Novalli girl because she’s bound to a Mortal Spirit, which gives her the potential to become the first Merlin.”

     He said this with great gravitas, but Julius was more lost than ever. “You mean Merlin as in King Arthur’s wizard?”

     Myron’s reply was a look that said volumes about the depth of Julius’s ignorance. When he turned to his siblings, though, they looked as lost as he was. The only one who did seem to have a clue was Svena, who exploded out of her seat.

     “The cat is a Mortal Spirit?”

     The whole table jumped, but Svena didn’t even seem to notice. She was too busy clenching her fists in rage. “So that’s what she was doing,” she growled, baring her teeth. “Why, that sneaky, shameless, alcoholic snake! I’ll turn her into a red feather boa for this!”

     Now Myron looked very interested. “Red feathers?” he said, leaning over the table. “You mean the Planeswalker? What did she do?”

     “That is none of your concern, mortal,” Svena sneered, looking down her nose at him. “You deserve nothing. You lot are the ones who let Algonquin steal the first Merlin.”

     “But we’re not going to let her keep her,” General Jackson said firmly, turning to Julius. “That’s why we’re here. We need your help to rescue Marci.”

     “Absolutely,” Julius said without hesitation. “But would someone explain this Merlin thing to me? Marci’s told me about Mortal Spirits, but she’s never said anything about Merlins.”

     “That’s because she didn’t know about them until today,” Myron said, glancing at his watch. “Well, yesterday now, I suppose.”

     “Of course she didn’t know,” Svena said. “Even dragons have forgotten.” She turned to the Heartstrikers. “Merlins are the only human mages capable of standing up to us. I’ve fought a handful, and they were obnoxious in the extreme. Even Estella avoided them.”

     “And Marci’s one?” Julius said, swelling with pride. “I knew she was good!”

     “More like lucky,” Myron said with surprising bitterness. “It’s her connection to the spirit that makes her special.”

     “Lucky isn’t the word I’d use,” Raven said, shaking his head. “No one should have to endure being the object of Algonquin’s ambitions. But getting back to the point.” He looked at Svena. “What’s Amelia’s interest in Marci?”

     “Nice try, bird,” the dragoness said with a sniff. “The Planeswalker might be my enemy, but I would never be so gauche as to gossip about another dragon’s business with a common animal spirit, even if she was tasteless enough to dally with one.”

     “Careful, Svena,” Raven warned. “If you keep your nose in the air too long, it’ll stick that way.”

     Svena was opening her mouth for a comeback when Julius cut her short. “Enough,” he said, frustrated. “You guys can bicker all you want later. Right now, we’ve got to save Marci.”

     “Agreed,” General Jackson said. “I’m not sure why she took her, other than to get her away from us, but Algonquin absolutely must not be allowed to possess the first Merlin. We have to get her back.”

     “Then why come to us?” Chelsie asked, eyeing the general suspiciously. “I know you. You’re the Phoenix. Your job is to fight monsters like us. It seems odd that you’d come to us for help rather than just phoning in an air strike.”

     “I could phone in a lot more than that, Bethesda’s Shade,” the general growled. “But there’s the matter of time. The United Nations is a diplomatic organization, and Algonquin is a sovereign power. Even with her numerous crimes and human rights violations, it would take me a week at least to line up the proper clearances for a secret sortie into Reclamation Land. But the Heartstrikers have no such red tape. You can move now, and since you have as big a stake in Marci Novalli’s safety as we do, it seemed like a natural alliance.”

     “That’s a lot of assumptions,” Ian said with a cold look. “But Heartstriker is not yours to order around. Algonquin’s declared war on our kind. We’re not going to risk our necks to save a mortal—”

      “I’m in,” Julius said firmly. “What do we do first?”

     “Julius!” Ian hissed. “Maybe sitting on the Council’s gone to your head already, but you can’t just unilaterally—”

     “I’m not speaking for the Council,” Julius snapped. “I’m speaking for me. The rest of you can do what you want. I’m going to save Marci.”

     Ian bared his teeth. “You will not. I didn’t just move heaven and earth to make this Council happen so one third of it could go off and get himself killed the same night!”

     “He won’t be,” Chelsie said. “Because I’m going with him.”

     Julius stared at her in shock, but his sister just shrugged. “I didn’t do all that work keeping you alive just to let you die now, either,” she said. “And besides, I owe your human for her help during the Vann Jeger fight. Saving her from Algonquin now will make us even.”

     That sounded like some sketchy math to Julius, but he wasn’t about to try and argue his sister out of helping. Ian, on the other hand, looked ready to pop.

     “You can’t be serious,” he said. “There’s only two places Algonquin would keep something as valuable as this Merlin sounds: her tower or Reclamation Land, both of which are currently decorated with freshly severed dragon heads. We’re talking about the spirit who shot the Three Sisters out of the sky! What hope do you possibly have of getting through this alive?”

     “And that’s just Algonquin herself,” Svena chimed in. “We haven’t even touched on her soldiers, her spirits, or the Leviathan. There’s a reason no dragon has ever been inside Reclamation Land or Algonquin’s Tower and come out alive.”

     “Actually,” Julius said with a smile. “That’s not true. There’s at least one dragon who’s survived both, and he should be waking up any minute now. He might be able to tell us something.”

     “Then let’s go,” General Jackson said, standing up. “Every moment we waste here is one more Marci is under Algonquin’s control.”

      “Follow me,” Julius said, heading out the door with Chelsie on his heels. Fredrick went next, followed by Raven and, more slowly, Sir Myron, who didn’t seem to be in nearly as much of a hurry as his partners. When it was clear Julius wasn’t going to stop, Ian left as well. Svena followed last of all, rubbing her now visibly pregnant stomach and muttering under her breath about genetic inheritance and the suicidal insanity streak all Heartstrikers seemed to share.

     ***

     For the first time ever, going to Justin for advice actually turned out to be a good idea.

     As he’d hoped, Justin had been awake and eating his weight in pizza when they’d arrived at the infirmary. He listened to the explanation of what had happened with uncharacteristic patience, and then, just as Julius was bracing for the demands that he be allowed to go on the attack with them, Justin had picked up his phone and started sketching a map in the drawing app of their shared AR.

     “Wait,” Julius said, flabbergasted. “You don’t want to go with us? You’re just going to stay here? Just like that?”

     “I’m not an idiot,” Justin growled, glaring at him as he traced his finger through the glowing display. “I might be awake, but I’m still missing half my blood, and my legs are being held together with tape. If you could wait until tomorrow, I’d be ready, but right now I’d just slow you down. A knight should be a strength, not a burden.”

     Julius still couldn’t believe it. “Really?”

     “It’s not like you’ll be on your own,” Justin said, turning his attention back to the glowing map hanging in the air between them. “You’ll have her there.”

     Julius glanced at Chelsie, who was leaning on the wall beside the door. Justin had pointedly avoiding looking at the enforcer since they’d walked in, but in the current context, there was only one her he could have meant.

     “She’ll keep you safe,” Justin went on, green eyes focused on his drawing. “Unless Mother orders her otherwise, of course. You might want to watch your back.”

     Given how his brother had ended up in that hospital bed, Julius couldn’t fault him for feeling that way. He wished Chelsie would speak up for once and tell him it wasn’t her fault, that she was their mother’s slave and had had no choice. As always, though, his sister said nothing, and Julius decided to just let it go. There’d be plenty of time later for mending fences when Marci wasn’t in mortal peril, and anyway, he didn’t want to distract Justin from the amazing piece of cartography he was currently drawing from memory in the air.

     In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Justin had always had an amazing memory for detail when it came to combat-important information like terrain and landmarks. He’d also spent the last several weeks sitting on a collapsed roof staring at Reclamation Land before Julius had made him get down. Of course he’d know every in and out to the place, but what really amazed Julius was the map Justin produced for Reclamation Land’s interior.

     It looked too bizarre to be real. If Justin had been a more imaginative dragon, Julius would have thought he was making it up. Even knowing they were going into the heart of Algonquin’s land, his descriptions of endless old-growth forest, massive spirit circles, gigantic trees, and wolves the size of Buicks sounded too fantastical to be real. But Justin was as prosaic as their kind came. No matter how spectacular a picture he painted, Justin’s description focused purely on strategic importance. He even listed all the relative heights for each landmark as seen from the air so Julius and Chelsie would be able to pre-plan their escape flight course if it came to that. The whole thing was so practical and technically proficient that even though Julius was certain the landscape his brother was drawing was too big to fit inside Reclamation Land’s official borders, he still believed every bit of it.

     “There,” Justin said when he’d finished. “That’s Rec Land. You want the Tower, too? I only saw the bottom of it, but I can probably give you a good idea of scale for the sub-lake levels.”

     “No, this should be more than sufficient,” Raven said, peering down at General Jackson’s phone, where she’d accessed Justin’s map as well. “I’m certain Marci is being held in Reclamation Land.”

     Julius frowned. “What makes you say that?”

     “Because Reclamation Land is where Algonquin likes to keep her magical projects,” the spirit said authoritatively. “And because, if she is in the Tower, we’re screwed. Even if we could sneak inside, which we couldn’t, the Tower’s in the middle of Algonquin’s lake. She can flood the whole thing at a moment’s notice, which is all the time we’d have since she’d be able to feel us the moment we set foot inside her domain. But Reclamation Land is different. Algonquin might own it through and through, but it’s still land. That puts it outside of her actual waters, which means we actually stand a chance at getting inside and moving around without being spotted. It’ll still be nearly impossible, but if our choices are between nearly impossible and totally impossible, I’m going to go with that.”

     “Reasonable enough,” General Jackson said, saving the map. “Myron, what do you think?”

     “I think this is insane,” the mage said, studying Justin’s map with fear in his eyes. “Even if we’re not going in the water, it’s still spirit land. Once we cross the border, all bets are off. Even time’s supposed to move differently in there. If we’re not careful, Algonquin could trap us for centuries.”

     “She wouldn’t bother,” the general said confidently. “It would be far more efficient to kill or ransom us. Either way, we’re going in.”

     “How?” Julius asked. “Are we just going to sneak in through the city and hop the fence?”

     “Actually, I was thinking of taking a more circumspect approach,” Raven said, fluffing his feathers. “Your sister is the Planeswalker. Surely that comes with certain perks.”

     “You want to portal there?” Julius asked, scratching the last of his still-healing burns thoughtfully. “That’s…not a bad idea, actually. It would certainly save time.”

     “Assuming Amelia’s up for it,” Svena said from the doorway, where she and Ian had been hovering this whole time.

     “She told me once that she’d have to be at death’s door before she was too weak to make a portal,” Julius replied. “It can’t hurt to ask.”

     From her glare, Svena obviously thought it could, but with Marci captured and the clock ticking, Julius was ready to push a lot harder than usual. He thanked Justin several times and hurried out, rushing down the hospital hall as he mentally planned the route that would get him to Amelia’s rooms at the top of the mountain as quickly as possible.

     This turned out to be overkill. Now that the Council was officially complete, the mountain was emptying as fast as it had filled up. The halls that had been packed with whispering Heartstrikers just a few hours ago were now quiet and clear, creating an easy path for Julius and the rest as they raced to the elevators for the long trip up to Amelia and Bob’s private floor.

     But while getting to Amelia’s hall was infinitely easier, the walk to her door was every bit as terrifying as Julius remembered. Thankfully, Chelsie was there to find all the traps, or they would have all ended up cursed within an inch of their lives. Finally, after what felt like forever, they made it to the door. Julius opened it without knocking, bursting into her dark room. But the simultaneous apology and request for transport died on his lips when he saw what was waiting inside.

     Just like before, Amelia’s room was pitch black. The casting circle was still there, along with the requisite F in the middle—Frieda again this time, and looking none too happy about it—but Amelia was no longer standing over the spellwork like a movie sorceress. Instead, she was lying on one of Bethesda’s old fainting couches that someone had pulled right up to the circle’s edge, using her bare foot to keep in contact with the circle while she drank straight from a bottle of wine like a baby sucking on a pacifier.

     “Really,” Svena said as Julius and Chelsie ran forward. “How pathetic can you get?”

     “Amelia!” Chelsie bellowed at the same time, marching into the heavy dark like she was plunging into boiling water. That was exactly what it felt like, too: a kettle at a roiling boil. With knives in it.

     Despite looking like she was about to fall asleep, Amelia was rolling harder than ever. Her magic was so thick and sharp in the air, it was a physical force. If he hadn’t been so desperate to get to Marci, Julius never would have gone inside. Thankfully, the terrifying power dropped off within seconds of Chelsie marching in, the invisible knives vanishing as Amelia grudgingly lifted her foot. “Would it kill you to knock?”

     Chelsie ignored her, marching right into the middle of the circle to help Frieda, who was looking like she might be sick. “What are you doing?”

     “There’s no need to yell,” Amelia grumbled, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes as she sat up. “And the same thing I’ve been doing for three days. I’m trying to break the green eyes.”

     “Well, stop it,” Chelsie snapped as she lifted Frieda to her feet. “F-clutch are not your guinea pigs.”

     “They are until the Council says otherwise,” Amelia reminded her. “You don’t give me orders, little sister.”

     “Big words from a dragon who doesn’t look like she’s breaking anything except herself,” Chelsie growled. “When was the last time you slept?”

     “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Amelia said with a shrug.

     “Which will be tomorrow at the rate you’re going,” Svena said, snatching the wine bottle away before Amelia could take another swig. “Do we need to have an intervention? I know you’re obsessed with beating me, but if you kill yourself over it, neither of us wins.”

     “You could always give me a hint,” she suggested sweetly.

     “You are impossible,” Svena said, tossing the half-empty wine bottle to Ian, who caught it easily. “I don’t know why I bother.”

     “Because I’m the best you’ll ever get, snow bat,” Amelia said, flopping back onto her couch with a grin. “Now, is someone going to tell me why there’s suddenly a party in my rooms, or do I have to—Hello.”

     She sat up again in a rush as she spotted Raven and the UN team standing in the doorway. “Well, well, look who flew in,” she said, reaching up to smooth her tangled black hair. “Long time no see, Raven.”

     “Same to you,” Raven said, fluttering off the general’s shoulder to land on the arm of Amelia’s couch. “I wish I could say you’re looking well, but even I’m not that good of a liar.” He looked her up and down. “What are you doing, Amelia?”

     “Moving up in life,” she said, reaching under the couch to pull out another bottle of wine. She bit the cork and the glass neck off the bottle with her teeth, spitting it out into the dark before turning to the UN team, who’d finally come inside. “Who are your pets?”

     “General Emily Jackson, United Nations,” Emily answered without missing a beat. “And this is Sir Myron Rollins, undersecretary of magic.”

     “Planeswalker,” Myron said, stepping forward eagerly. “It is an honor to finally—”

     “I’m sure it is,” Amelia said, taking a slug off her wine bottle. “But I’m not in the market for another mage right now, and you’re too old in any case. You, though.” She looked the general up and down. “You are interesting.” She looked back at Raven. “How’d you manage that piece of work?”

     Raven preened. “Didn’t you know I’m extraordinarily talented?”

     “Of course,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the general. “When you get tired of him, come hit me up. I’m always looking for prime—Ow!”

     She grabbed her head as Raven fluttered away with several strands of her black hair in his beak. “Stop trying to poach my human,” he said, spitting them out.

     “Why should she?” Svena asked from the sidelines. “Isn’t human poaching how you two fools got together in the first place?”

     “She’s got you there,” Amelia said, laughing. “You were always snatching my humans, thieving bird. You had a bigger human collection than I did before the drought sent you to sleep.”

     “It was not a collection,” Raven said defensively. “It was a village, and I was experimenting to see—”

     “Enough,” General Jackson snapped, glaring at Raven. “We’re not here to discuss ancient history.”

     “She’s right,” Julius agreed, turning to his sister. “Algonquin has Marci. We need you to portal us inside Reclamation Land to get her back.”

     The smile fell off Amelia’s face. “Algonquin?” she muttered, looking worried for the first time. “That would explain why Marci’s been so upset these last couple hours.”

     Julius’s heart skipped a beat. “You can feel her?”

     “Not exactly,” she said. “I can’t tell you what she’s thinking or where she is, but it’s hard to miss when the vessel housing the other half of your soul is having an epically bad day. She’s not hurt, though,” she added quickly at Julius’s terrified look. “Just unhappy.”

     That went without saying. “Can you get us to her?”

     “About that,” Amelia said with a sigh. “I might be a little less than optimal at the moment, I’m afraid.”

     “I can see that,” he said. “But you told me before you could always make a portal.”

     “I could, when I had my magic. But your human’s been hitting the fire a lot harder than I anticipated, and I’m afraid I’m temporarily out of oomph.”

     “And whose fault is that?” Svena growled, folding her arms over her chest. “You did this to yourself, and now I know why. I know that girl is a potential Merlin, Amelia, which means I know what you’re after.”

     “I sincerely doubt that,” the Planeswalker said, taking a long drink off her bottle. “Why are you here, again?”

     “Because I have a sense of responsibility,” Svena snapped. “Unlike you, I’m not willing to leave something as powerful as a Merlin, potential or otherwise, in the hands of a violent spirit who wants to kill all of our kind!”

     “It’s not a question of willing,” Amelia said, exasperated. “I’m not saying I won’t make a portal, I’m saying I can’t. I want to save to Marci just as much as any of you do. Probably more since she’s carrying half my life right now. That makes this kind of a big deal for me, but I can’t force a portal if the magic’s not there.”

     “Then maybe you should have thought about that before wasting the power you did have on something as foolish as breaking your mother’s green eyes!” Svena snarled, smoke puffing out of her mouth.

     “How was I supposed to know this would happen?” Amelia snarled back. “What do I look like, a seer?”

     Svena threw up her hands and turned away, marching across the dark cave to the far corner, the only part of the room that wasn’t covered in spellwork or empty bottles. When she was standing in the middle of the clear space, she threw down her hands, and a ring of frost appeared on the stone.

     “There,” she said, glaring at Julius. “Step in. I’ll take you to the DFZ myself.”

     Julius blinked in surprise. “You can do that?”

     “Of course,” Svena said haughtily. “Didn’t you see me do it with my sisters? I can go anywhere in the world. And since I don’t rip my way through the fabric of dimensions every time I want to go somewhere, my way is far less obnoxious. Algonquin won’t even feel it.”

     Julius couldn’t believe it. “Then why didn’t you offer this before?”

     “Because you’re not my clan and it’s not my problem,” Svena snapped.

     “And she’s not supposed to be casting while pregnant,” Ian growled. “Svena, Ysolde told you—”

     “I know what I can and can’t do!” Svena roared. “I am the White Witch, and your clan head! If I say it’s fine, it’s fine. Now are you getting in or not? Because I’m not doing this all day.”

     Julius jumped to obey, hurrying into the icy circle. Chelsie got there next, followed by Raven and the UN team.

     “Are you sure you can get us inside Reclamation Land?” Emily asked, giving the white dragon a skeptical look.

     “Of course I’m sure,” Svena spat. “I wouldn’t have offered if I couldn’t perform at least as well as Amelia the Drunk. And speaking of.” She turned to Julius. “You have to get that human back, before my oldest and best enemy dies from her own stupidity.”

     Julius nodded, finally understanding. Svena wasn’t doing this for the Merlin. She was trying to save Amelia, her best enemy, which was how old, prideful dragons said friend.

     “I’ll bring her back,” he promised, pulling out his phone to bring up Justin’s map. “Can you set us down here?”

     He pointed at a spot in the north on the tree line, just before the forest gave way to the open field. Since they had no idea where Marci was, he didn’t know if it was a good one, but at least the location would give them some cover while they planned their next move.

     Svena stared at the spot for a moment, and then she nodded, stretching out her hands.

     “I still say you’re all overreacting,” Amelia called from the couch. “This is Marci we’re talking about. Hundred bucks says she’s already busted herself out by the time you get there.”

     Julius sincerely hoped she was right. But while he’d never doubted Marci was incredibly capable, she was still alone with an enemy no dragon dared face, and she was very, very mortal. A fact Julius had never been more aware of than he was right now.

     “Brace yourselves,” Svena warned, raising her hands.

     “Ooh!” Amelia said, pulling herself to the edge of her couch. “Do it without the snow this time so I can see how it works!”

     “Not for all the gold in your mother’s treasury,” Svena growled as she slammed her hands down. A wave of snow rose at the same time, whiting out Julius’s vision as the wind came to blow them all away.

     ***

     Marci had had it with this stupid mountain.

     From the moment Algonquin had left, she’d tried everything she could think of to get her and Ghost off of the ledge/lobby combo where the Lady of the Lakes had left them. She’d tried blasting, she’d tried digging, she’d tried flying (and had the bruises to prove it), she’d even tried opening a portal using the Kosmolabe and what she remembered from watching Amelia, all to no avail. Frustrated as she was, Marci was tempted to blame herself for that, but the real problem was the cliff.

     At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a hollowed-out rock face spruced up with a bit of interior decorating. The longer Marci picked at it, though, the more obvious it became that there was a lot more going on here than just furniture and cliffs. It wasn’t a ward, exactly. There was no detectable wall or barrier. It was more like a resistance, an invisible, implacable force that got stronger the further she pushed out from the little square of tamed mountain where the Leviathan had set them down.

     “Ugh, so frustrating!” she cried, throwing the now-empty breakfast tray off the ledge. Naturally, it didn’t get caught by the invisible whatever-it-was. The tray just sailed out into the night, falling for an impressively long time before finally hitting the rocks below with a distant clatter.

     “See?” she cried, throwing out her hands. “How does that even work?”

     It could be a ward tuned only to you, Ghost suggested from his perch on the table.

     “Ah, but a ward would still flicker when something passed through it,” she said, glaring at the empty—and obviously not glowing—air. “This is some weird spirit mumbo-jumbo I’ve never seen.”

     Don’t look at me, her cat said, lashing his tail. I free people, not trap them.

     “I shouldn’t even be trapped,” Marci argued, flopping down on the cold stone. “I’m supposed to be a Merlin! What kind of super mage can’t escape from an unmonitored prison cell?”

     She can’t keep you locked up here forever, Ghost said helpfully. Unless Algonquin wants you to starve, someone has to be by to feed you. We’ll just jump them and get out then.

     “I’m pretty sure she’ll have thought of that,” Marci said. “Anyone careful enough to wrap us in a bubble like this isn’t going to do something stupid like have an easily attackable guard bring us breakfast.” She looked down at her hands, which were scraped, dirty, and chalk covered after hours of fruitless casting. “What I want to know is where all this Merlin power is when I actually need it. ‘Cause so far, all it’s done is make my life complicated.” She glanced back at her cat. “I don’t suppose you’ve gained any insights on that score while I’ve been beating my head against invisible walls?”

     If I had, I would have told you, Ghost assured her. But again, I don’t know any more about this than you do. Sometimes I hear things and they feel right, and then I know. Most of the time, though, your guess is as good as mine. It’s not like there’s another Mortal Spirit around to tell me how this works.

     Marci knew that feeling all too well. “I just wish I knew what a Merlin actually did,” she grumbled, hauling herself up off the stone to go flop into the chair beside him. “It’s hard to figure out how to be something when you don’t even know what it looks like or how it works. So far, most of what I’ve heard is ‘like a mage, but better.’ How am I supposed to work with that? I’m already being the best mage I know how to be.”

     Maybe it’s me?

     “It’s not you,” she said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. “You’re a great spirit.”

     That’s not what I meant, Ghost said. On the jet, Raven told you that the path to Merlin was different for each person.

     “How do you know that?” she asked. “You were asleep.”

     I live in your head, he reminded her. I know what you know. Think about it, though. The potential to become a Merlin is defined by a human making a connection to a Mortal Spirit. But if that’s the case, it only makes sense that the same spirit would be the key all the way through. Otherwise, why would they be required in the first place?

     Marci had never thought of that before. Now that she’d heard it, though, she couldn’t believe she’d seen things any other way. “I think you’re right,” she said, eyes going wide. “The only reason people think I can be a Merlin at all is because of you. Of course you’d be the secret to actually getting! It makes total sense!” It also explained why every Merlin’s journey was different, because every Merlin bonded with a different Mortal Spirit. “You are such a clever kitty!” she cried, scooping Ghost into her arms.

     He yowled in protest, but considering he could have phased through her arms and gotten away at any point, Marci didn’t believe it. “So what do we do now?” she asked when she finally put him down. “You’re the key to all this. What do you need?”

     I don’t know, he confessed, looking out over moonlit spirit land toward the faint glimmer of the DFZ on the horizon, which looked much farther away than it really should have. But it probably has something to do with my purpose.

     Marci frowned. “Your purpose?”

     Every spirit has a purpose, he explained. A thing we’re meant to do, like how Algonquin was born to watch over her waters or how Raven minds his flock. I don’t have land or animals, but even when I knew nothing, I heard the calls of the dead.

     “You’re talking about your domain,” Marci said. “The place where your magic comes from.”

      Ghost nodded. The lost and forgotten have always called to me, and I’ve always been compelled to reply. But there are so many, I can’t answer them all. His glowing blue eyes slid back to her. If I had more power—

     “Not this again,” Marci said, crossing her arms over her chest. “We went through this deal-with-the-devil stuff already, and it nearly got me under your boot.”

     But it’s different now, Ghost said, swishing his tail. That pompous UN mage went on and on about how Merlins are spirit/mage pairs. What if the reason I haven’t seen our path yet is because you’ve been holding me back from my purpose?

     Marci set her jaw. “That’s not—”

     You did promise you’d help.

     He had her there. When she’d bound him again after Vann Jeger, she’d promised to help the Empty Wind do his work in exchange for going back to a more equal relationship. Since then, she’d nearly gotten him killed dragging him all over for her business with Julius. He’d steadfastly stayed by her side the whole time, saving her life at least twice in the process, but Marci hadn’t kept her end of the bargain even once. Just thinking about that made her feel terribly guilty. Guilty enough to give his idea a shot at least, especially since none of hers had worked.

     “Okay,” she said with a long breath. “What did you have in mind?”

     Ghost jumped into her lap. Ever since Algonquin mentioned I was an accident, I’ve been wondering, why me? Why did I rise faster than whatever carefully groomed spirit she’s growing down there? I was thinking it was just luck like she said, but now I understand. I wasn’t born by accident. I rose because everything Algonquin’s built in this city—Reclamation Land, the skyways, the borderlands, everything—rests on the bones of the dead. The pleading voices of those who died in her flood and were forgotten were what woke me in the first place. If we harness that anger, if we grant the dead of Detroit the vengeance they cry out for, we might be able to take it back.

     “Take what back?” she asked. “Reclamation Land? The DFZ?”

     All of it, Ghost said, his blue eyes boring into hers. Everything she has.

     “Whoa, there,” Marci said, jerking back. “We’re talking about becoming a Merlin, not overthrowing Algonquin.”

     Why can’t they be the same? he asked. Everything I know about Merlins I got from your mind, and the picture you’ve always had is a mage powerful enough to stand up to giant spirits like Algonquin. Someone who can lift humanity out from under the claws of the monsters who returned with the magic. That’s a Merlin to you, Marci, and overthrowing Algonquin fits right into that picture.

     “It does,” she said slowly. “But you’re skipping the part you mentioned earlier about vengeance for the dead. That doesn’t sound nice.”

     The cat’s eyes narrowed. It isn’t. That’s my part of this bargain. You get to overthrow a spirit who’s caused you nothing but harm, I get to finally answer the cries of my darling dead. It’s a win-win for both of us. An equal partnership. Isn’t that what this Merlin thing are all about?

     Marci didn’t know. It sounded right when he said it, but as he’d reminded her, Ghost lived in her head. He knew what she wanted better than she did, and right now, Marci wanted nothing more than to finally become a Merlin and kick Algonquin’s watery butt until she evaporated. The plan he’d laid out satisfied both of those urges, but Julius must have rubbed off on her more than she’d realized, because even though she knew Algonquin deserved no mercy, any scheme that involved murdering someone to get her way—even a spirit—just didn’t sit right. There was also the part where Marci had barely managed to get Ghost back under control the last time she’d let him run wild.

     That was long ago.

     “Not that long,” she reminded him. “Less than a week.”

     Long enough for everything to change, he said firmly. We’re different now. Both of us. I don’t want to master you and take control anymore. I want a partner, someone who will stand beside me and help me do the work I was born to do. He looked at her. You said that was you.

     “It is me,” Marci replied. “I’m just…”

     Afraid, she finished to herself. Afraid she couldn’t control it. Afraid of making things worse. Everyone kept saying how Mortal Spirits were insanely powerful, but they didn’t have to tell her that. Marci had felt the Empty Wind’s strength for herself numerous times now. If she gave him access to the pulsing magic that ran through Reclamation Land like a deep-sea current—power that put even the magic she’d pulled out of Vann Jeger to shame—how much more would he become? More importantly, how would she ever manage to stay in control?

     You won’t, he whispered. You’ll just have to trust me.

     Marci breathed out a long, deep sigh. There it was. There was no clever trick this time, no brilliant, last-minute scheme to save the day. If they were going to do this, then she was just going to have to trust her spirit. And herself for that matter, because Marci was also gambling that she could control more magic than she’d ever known could exist in one place. There was zero way of knowing how things would shake out, either. So far as she knew, no one had ever tried anything like this before. She could very well fry them both the second she tapped into the crazy magical engine that was Reclamation Land. If she didn’t try, though, they’d be stuck on this stupid mountain until Algonquin decided to let them out, which could mean forever.

     That was the deciding factor. Worried as she was over all the unknowns, Marci hated dead ends even more. “Screw it,” she said, standing up and putting out her hand. “Let’s do this.”

     A cold breeze whipped up around her, and the Empty Wind appeared where the cat had been, his blue eyes gleaming excitedly inside his empty helmet. “Together,” he said, his deep voice chilling her ears just as his fingers chilled her skin when he grabbed her offered hand. Master.

     Marci jerked in surprise. He hadn’t called her that since right after Vann Jeger had died. Now as then, the word rang through them both like a gong, putting Marci firmly on top as she turned and plunged her hand—not into the barrier that had been her nemesis for the last several hours, but into the magic that flowed in and around it. The strange, thick magic she’d been steadfastly avoiding touching since they arrived. The magic of Reclamation Land itself.

     The result was immediate.

     The moment her mental touch brushed it, magic burst into her body like a fire hose, instantly filling her to the brim. It happened so fast, Marci was sure she was going to pop, but the Empty Wind got there first, sucking the magic down as fast as she could pull it in. And as he ate and ate and ate, Marci’s world began to change.

     The cliff grew dimmer, the unnaturally bright moonlight fading to a dull gray then vanishing altogether. It was like what had happened when Ghost had protected her from Gregory, only this time it wasn’t just a few feet in a parking lot that changed. It was everything, a wave of bitterly-cold darkness that covered the land as far as Marci could see. But when she turned to ask the Empty Wind what it meant, she saw he’d changed, too.

     He was still clearly not human. His face was still nothing but shadows beneath his helmet, but his body was no longer transparent, and his hand was now the same temperature as hers. She was opening her mouth to ask how that could be when she heard the voices.

     They were soft to begin with, frustrating whispers on the edge of her hearing, but the more she listened, the clearer and louder they became. Hundreds, thousands, millions of voices calling out in every language imaginable, but while she couldn’t always understand what they said, their meaning was unmistakable. They were crying for help. Begging not to be forgotten.

     “You hear them.”

     She jumped in surprise. Even the Empty Wind’s voice was louder here, the deep bass vibrating through her chest. When she nodded, his glowing eyes smiled. “This is my world,” he said, looking down at the circling spirits, who now appeared as little more than shadows on the field below. “Here, they are the ghosts. We are what is real. Us, and them.”

     He turned as he finished, dragging Marci with him as he came around to see—not the back of the cave where they’d been stuck for the last half of the night, but an endless, empty dark filled with an army of people Marci had never met. They were all different ages and ethnicities, but unlike the ghostly figures she’d seen in the Vann Jeger fight, all of these people wore modern clothing. They were also all dripping wet, and that was when Marci finally understood what she was looking at. These were the dead of Detroit, come to collect their due.

     “Because of you,” the Empty Wind said, clutching her hand tighter. “They came for your promise. It’s because of you that I was able to bring them all here. Now, with your help, they will be answered at last.” He looked at her. “Are you ready?”

     Marci opened her mouth to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make a sound.

     “Because you are not dead,” the Empty Wind explained. “Speak anyway. I can hear you.”

     Like this?

     She jumped at the sound of her own voice echoing in his head, but the Empty Wind just laughed. “Like that,” he said, turning back to the cliff. “Just keep the magic flowing. I’ll do the rest.” He took a deep breath of the freezing wind. “Once more, are you ready?”

     Marci tried to take a breath herself, but that didn’t work either. She really was the ghost in this place, but it didn’t seem to matter. The maelstrom of Reclamation Land’s magic was still there, pouring through her into her spirit. She gripped it tighter, answering the Empty Wind’s question with a burst of magic that made his whole body stiffen.

     “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the army behind them. “Come!” he shouted, raising his hand, which now gripped a spear. “It’s time to take back what she stole from us!”

     Behind them, the wind picked up as the ghosts began to wail. The sound was so loud, even the endlessly circling spirits in the field below faltered, looking around for the source of the terrifying sound as the Empty Wind lowered his spear, his blue eyes narrowing to slits.

     “Destroy it all.”

      Wait! Marci cried, but it was far too late. The dead were already flooding past her, trampling the barrier that surrounded her mountain prison as they poured off the mountain and down into the valley below. And as she stood at the Empty Wind’s side, watching the beautiful spirits of nature flee for their lives before the wave of angry death she’d just helped unleash, Marci began to worry that she’d made the wrong decision.

     Chapter 17

     Like all of his clutch, Julius had grown up hearing stories of what was inside Reclamation Land. Most dragons painted it as a horrible place where Algonquin tortured their kind mercilessly, but privately, he’d always imagined it as a spirit safe haven crossed with an environmental clean-up project, hence the “reclamation” part. After Justin’s report, he still felt that was a pretty good assessment, and under different circumstances, he would have loved to see the endless forest and wild spirits his brother had described. Even in his panic over Marci and the inherent fear that came with charging into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold, part of him was still unaccountably excited to see something truly wondrous and magical that simply didn’t exist anywhere else in the world. But when Svena’s snowstorm faded, what he saw was nothing like he’d imagined.

     “What the—”

     As promised, Svena had dropped them at the edge of the ring of deep forest. According to Justin’s map, this meant they should have been just under the tree cover looking down on a field full of spirits and other wonders. But while the field and the trees were there, there were no spirits to be seen. Even the moon was hidden behind thick, black clouds hovering low above what appeared to be hundreds of thousands of human figures walking down a mountain.

     “What is that?” he cried, moving to the edge of the forest to get a better look. “I thought the only humans allowed in here were Algonquin’s mages. Who are all those people?”

     “They’re not people,” Myron said, his voice shaking. “At least, not anymore.”

     For a moment, Julius had no idea what the old mage was talking about. Then something cold passed through him, and he turned around to see that the people were here, too, walking through the dark woods silent as shadows, their semitransparent bodies blending into the dark in a way Julius had seen before.

     “They’re ghosts,” he said, his stomach knotting in a painful mix of fear and hope. “It’s gotta be Marci! This is what happened when she killed Vann Jeger.”

     “I think you’re missing a couple of zeros off the end of that assessment,” Chelsie said quietly, gripping her sword. “This is orders of magnitude bigger than what she did before.”

     “It’s working, though,” the general said, peering across the field. “Look down by the lake.”

     Her eyes must have been insane. Even Julius couldn’t see that far in the dark, and he considered night vision to be one of his better draconic traits. If he squinted, though, he could just make out the faint glimmers of what he could only assume were spirits, all huddled in a line against the water as if they’d been driven up against it.

     “It’s the power of the Merlin,” General Jackson said, her voice caught somewhere between fear and excitement.

     “This is not the power of the Merlin,” Myron snapped, glaring at the silent ghosts. “This is an abomination. This is death.”

     As much as he hated to admit it, Julius kind of agreed with him. He loved Marci to pieces, but her pact with Ghost had always made him uneasy precisely because it did things like this. Even the magic here reminded him of the deathly, heavy aura of the Pit where they’d fought Bixby. Just the memory was enough to raise the hairs on his neck, but while this place wasn’t quite as dirty feeling, it was much colder than the Pit had been. Colder than Svena’s ice storm, for that matter. Cold as the grave.

     “Let’s just find her,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around his chest with a shiver.

     “Shouldn’t be hard,” Raven said, fluttering up to perch on a branch above their heads. “All we have to do is follow the ghosts, and they’re all walking toward that hill in the middle there.”

     “That’s not a hill,” Chelsie said quietly, her mouth compressing to a thin line. “I think we just found out what Algonquin did with all the dragon bodies left over from her head collection.”

     Julius almost choked. He’d been so distracted by the fleeing spirits and the army of ghosts, he hadn’t paid much attention to the rest. Now that Chelsie had pointed it out, though, he didn’t know how he’d missed the pile of dragon corpses standing like a monument at the clearing’s center. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

     “No time for that,” the general said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Raven, fly up and see if you can find Marci. The rest of you, stick with me. We’re following the ghosts.”

     “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Myron said, staring out at the dark with fear in his eyes. “This isn’t what the Merlin is supposed to do. The Mortal Spirits are supposed to be the best of us: our hopes made real, human magic given form. This is a cold hell.”

     “It’s also got Algonquin on the run,” Emily said, striding out of the trees into the grassy clearing. “She’s taken over all of Reclamation Land. That’s better than we’ve ever done.”

     “But at what cost?” Myron asked, pointing at the ghosts who were still walking silently past them, their flickering faces contorted with rage. “Is this what you want?”

     The general shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers, Myron. You go to war with the army you have, not the army you want.”

     “But there’s a line, Emily,” the mage said, his voice shaking. “You might be willing to throw away everything to win, but I say a victory that looks like this is no victory at all.”

     Emily turned around, glaring up the hill at her partner, but it was Julius who spoke first. “It’s not like that,” he said firmly. “I know what she does can look scary, but Marci’s a good person, and the dead aren’t always bad. See?” He waved his hand through one of the passing figures, gritting his teeth to keep from shivering when the grave-dark cold went through him. “They’re not attacking us.”

     “I don’t think they can even see us,” Chelsie said, waving her hand in front of a ghost, who walked right through it.

     “Well, they’re going somewhere,” Emily said, looking out at the ranks of ghosts marching toward the middle. “This is an attack, and where it stops, that’s where we’ll find Marci.”

     There, Julius agreed. The wind was picking up now, carrying scents from all across the giant clearing. If he sorted through them, pushing aside the heavy scents of forest and water and the smothering blanket of freezing magic that lay over it all, he could just barely catch the warm, familiar smell that belonged to Marci alone. “There,” he said, pointing at the stony mountain that poked straight up from the plains like a tack. “She’s up there.”

     “I’d say coming down,” Chelsie said, breathing deep. “You’re catching where she was. When you’re tracking, always go for the moving scent. That’s where your prey is now. Going by the movements and the wind, I’d say Marci’s there.”

     She pointed at the ghost-covered field leading up to the pile of headless dragons, and Julius nodded. Now that she’d shown him how, he could tell the difference between the old and new scents, too, and Marci was clearly on the move. So he followed her, jogging toward the center with Chelsie at his side. The general caught up with them at once, easily keeping pace with the two dragons as they loped down the hill.

     “Blast you, wait for me,” Myron grumbled, running at a much slower, human speed as he chased the others into the grassy field, where the ghosts were thick as flowers.

     ***

     Marci walked across the field with the ghosts, her eyes wide as she glanced around the grassy plain she’d been staring at all night from above, which now looked completely different. Even in the Empty Wind’s odd dark, the loss of the spirits was painfully obvious. There were no more huge wolves or deer, no more jewel-like ponds. Even the giant trees were gone, leaving only turned-up ground to mark where they’d been. Marci hadn’t known it was possible for a tree to run away, but these clearly had, and that bothered her.

     “Go!” the Empty Wind commanded, his voice ringing out from where he marched in front of her, rising larger than life above his ghostly army. “Drive them out! Take back the land as she took it from you!”

     His words howled over the multitude, but the ghosts didn’t need encouragement. Their shadowed faces were already contorted with rage as they charged ahead, driving the last of the spirits—the giant wolves and golden deer, the trees and the water, anything that had dared to form Algonquin’s circles—off the field and into the lake beyond. Even the Thunderbird had taken refuge over the water, perching on top of one of the pikes holding the Three Sisters’ heads that ringed Algonquin’s tower. He was hardly alone, either. Algonquin’s lake was teeming with spirits fleeing the long-suppressed anger of the forgotten dead of Detroit.

     And it bothered her.

     She couldn’t say why. Logically, Marci knew she had nothing to complain about. Ghost had done everything she’d asked, breaking Algonquin’s prison on the mountain in seconds and setting them free. She certainly didn’t begrudge the ghosts. If she’d been minding her own business only to be drowned without warning by a skyscraper-sized wave because some lake spirit had woken up and thrown a fit, she’d be angry, too. When you were mortal, this brief life was all you got. To have that stolen from you by a careless immortal who’d never understand what it meant to live and die was an injustice that demanded to be answered. Marci understood that, and yet…

     Her eyes went back to the Empty Wind, who was now standing tall as a giant over his army. Other than the increased size, which was new, she’d seen him in this form plenty of times, and yet he looked different. The spirit she knew had always been calm, his anger cold and determined. Now, the muscles of the Empty Wind’s bare back were as knotted as old roots, and his hands were fisted around his spear, whose point had somehow gotten more jagged. She’d never seen his face, didn’t even know if he had one, but Marci was still sure that if she somehow saw it now, his expression would be every bit as furious as the ghosts walking at his feet, and that felt wrong. All of this felt wrong, and as the ghost army finally reached the bloody pool where Algonquin’s Mortal Spirit was forming, Marci decided she had to do something about it.

     Stop.

     The dead paid her no attention, but the Empty Wind froze. “Why?” he rumbled. “We are not finished.”

     Yes, we are, Marci said firmly, raising her odd, disembodied voice until she could feel it rattling inside his head. We got what we wanted. We’re free, and the dead have gotten their payback by taking over Reclamation Land. All the circles are broken now. Even the crazy magic is starting to fade. That’s enough. Let’s go home.

     “We have no home,” the spirit growled, his blue-white eyes flaring in the gaping emptiness of his helmet as he whirled around to face her. “There can be no home while Algonquin lives!”

     His anger made Marci take a step back. But she’ll always live, she reminded him. She’s immortal.

     The Empty Wind clenched his fists. “Then we shall kill her again. Over and over. One death for every life she took.”

     Marci shook her head. What is wrong with you? Why are you so angry?

     “Because they are angry!” he yelled, sweeping his hands over the ghosts, who’d already begun plunging their hands into the unborn Mortal Spirit’s puddle, bailing out armfuls of the magic-rich dragon blood that was keeping it alive. “She took our lives! She took everything. Now, we will take from her!” He turned and walked to the pool’s edge, kneeling down to plunge his now-giant hand into the glowing red water. “She’s spent sixty years growing this,” he growled. “So we will destroy it, and when that’s done, we’ll turn on her precious lake. We will destroy everything she’s built as she destroyed us. We will make her pay.”

      “Pay,” the dead agreed. “Pay. Pay. Pay.”

     Marci cringed as the mob around her began to chant, their colorless eyes flashing blue in a cold, hate-filled imitation of the Empty Wind’s own. It was so strong, Marci could actually feel their anger radiating up her connection to her spirit like electricity through a wire. As it stung her, Marci finally understood what was going on. The Empty Wind wasn’t suddenly going insane with rage toward Algonquin. He was the product of his domain, the sentient magic that had filled the concept of the Forgotten Dead. The humans were the angry ones. He was just reflecting that, becoming what their screaming voices demanded he be. And that was when Marci knew she had to stop this, before she lost her cat for good.

     Stop, she commanded again, grabbing their connection as tightly as she could. We’ve done our duty here, Ghost. Let them rest.

     The Empty Wind’s head snapped around in fury, and then he was right in front of her, towering over her like a falling redwood. “Rest? Do you know how long they’ve suffered? How long they were forgotten?”

     Too long, Marci agreed. But—

     “You said you’d help,” he growled, grabbing her entire body with one hand, which was now as large as a car. “You promised. You swore to help us get vengeance!”

     No, she said calmly, fighting not to panic as his huge, freezing grip lifted her off the ground. I swore to help you do your duty, and this isn’t helping.

     “What do you know of duty?” he cried. “I am the Empty Wind, spirit of the Forgotten Dead! I am them!”

     All the more reason not to do this, she said, staring into the depths of his empty helmet. You’re their spirit. You’re supposed to help them, to ease their suffering and remember them when no one else will. That’s what you told me back in the alley when I first gave you magic. But vengeance doesn’t help anyone. Didn’t you learn anything from watching Estella fall apart?

     “Do not compare us to your precious dragons,” he said, his angry blue-white eyes flashing. “We are different. We are human. Algonquin has no idea what she’s unleashed.” He squeezed her tighter. “We are bigger than she could ever be.”

     And that’s why you have to stop! Marci cried, pushing on his hand. Algonquin thinks Mortal Spirits are monsters whose rise will destroy the world. I turned her down because I thought she was wrong, but all you’re doing here is proving her right!

     “We are punishing her!” the Empty Wind roared. “Stop defending her! The dead deserve justice!”

     I’m not defending her! Marci roared back. I’m trying to help you! This isn’t even justice. You’re just smashing things because you’re angry.

     The spirit sneered. “That sounds like something your Julius would say.”

     It is, she agreed. Because he’s right. A dragon would know better than anyone what lies at the end of that road. All these ghosts, these poor people, they’ve been prisoners to their anger for sixty years now. That’s why they were yelling at you, because they were angry, and you were the only one who could still hear them. But while they have every right to be mad, you’re the spirit of the Forgotten Dead, not the Vengeful ones. Your duty is to remember them, not keep their rage burning. If you really want to serve these people, then we should stop feeding their rage and help them move on. Do for them what you did for that poor boy in the dumpster, and let them find peace. That’s why you’re here: to remember and care for the souls no one else will. That’s the spirit I signed on for, not this.

     Her empty voice was sad as she finished, and she gripped his giant, no longer freezing hand with both of hers. Please, Ghost, she begged. This isn’t us. You did exactly what you said you would, and I don’t regret any of it, but it’s over now. Let them go in peace, and we’ll do the same.

     As she spoke, the Empty Wind began to shrink. Marci could feel the ghostly rage leaving him at the same time, returning the spirit she knew to his usual self. When it was over, he was back to his normal size and calm, standing beside her at the edge of the bloody pool, which the dead were still attacking.

     “Thank you,” he whispered, his deep voice halting, almost as if he was embarrassed. “When I let the dead in, their needs are…difficult to ignore.”

     You’re welcome, Marci said with a smile. And I want you to know I don’t blame them. I’d be unstable too if I’d gone through what they have. But I’m certain this is how it should be.

     And she was, on more levels than one. The more she worked with Ghost, the more she realized it really was a two-way street. It wasn’t just a spirit and the mage who fed him magic. It was a partnership, a balance designed to help them rein each other in just as much as they lifted each other up. And the more Marci thought about that, the more she liked it. We’re going to be a great Merlin.

     “If we survive,” the Empty Wind said, looking out at the dark lake where the spirits were hiding. “She will not let this go unpunished. But if I let the dead go, they’ll move on, and we can never summon this power again.”

     Good, Marci said. They should move on. Also, while I certainly appreciated the jailbreak, I really don’t want my power to come from armies of angry ghosts. That’s some evil overlord stuff right there, and I prefer to think of us more as chaotic neutral.

     The Empty Wind actually chuckled at that, and the feeling of partnership settled even deeper into Marci’s bones. She was still savoring it when the Empty Wind turned back to his army.

     “Stop,” he said solemnly, the command sweeping through the darkened field like a gale. Everywhere it touched, the dead froze, staring at him with eyes as blue as his own. When they were all looking, the Empty Wind opened his arms. “Our work here is done,” he said solemnly. “Your anger is answered. Come now to join me, and be remembered forever in peace.”

     The words were still ringing on the wind when the ghosts began to vanish. One by one, they closed their eyes, the angry scowls falling off their faces as their colorless bodies blew away like dust into the wind that swept them back into the open arms of the spirit who’d called them, and who would remember them always. By the time the wind had swept all the way around, every one of them was gone, leaving Marci and her spirit standing alone in the empty field.

     Wow, Marci said. That was fast.

     “Because you were right,” the spirit said, running a hand over the shadows where his face would be. “They didn’t want to stay. Their anger kept them bound to this place, lost and forgotten. I should have let them go far earlier, but there were so many. I am as much theirs as they are mine, and their feelings overwhelmed me. If you hadn’t spoken when you did, I might have raged with them forever.” His glowing blue eyes found hers. “Thank you.”

     Hey, what am I here for? Marci said with a smile. Everyone gets in too deep sometimes. That’s why you need a partner to pull you out. Julius does it for me all the time. And speaking of Julius, it was high time they got out of here. So, she said, looking around at the now-empty mirror world of dark and cold Ghost had taken them to. How do we get out of here? And for that matter, where is here? Is this your own private reality or something?

     “I don’t know,” the Empty Wind said. “But it’s always been mine. This place is how I get around wards and through walls.”

     Cool! Marci said. Can I do that too when I’m here?

     “Probably,” he said. “But you shouldn’t. This is a place for the dead. It’s not good for the living to linger.”

     Marci didn’t know about that. Other than only being able to speak in a disembodied voice, she felt great. Even the cold didn’t bother her. Plus, there didn’t seem to be any other spirits here, which was a huge bonus given how badly Algonquin undoubtedly wanted to kill them right now. But before she could make her case for staying at least until they were out of Rec Land, the Empty Wind put a hand on her shoulder, and the world of the Forgotten Dead vanished on the wind, blowing away to reveal a jewel-bright meadow shimmering with dew in the predawn light, and a great deal of dragon blood.

     “Yuck,” she said, turning away from the pile of dragon corpses. “Some welcome to the land of the living. At least my voice is back, though.”

     I liked the other one, the Empty Wind said. It was nice having you in my head where you couldn’t leave.

     “You are the master of the sweet but creepy,” she said with a laugh. “But haven’t you learned by now that I’m not going—”

     “Marci!”

     The cry rang out like a shot across the field, and Marci’s head shot up. She had no idea how he was here, but she’d know that voice anywhere.

     “Julius?”

     ***

     Julius ran across the grass at top speed, leaving the others behind as he rushed toward the edge of the bloody pool in the middle of Algonquin’s field where Marci and the Empty Wind had just appeared out of nowhere. It had happened so suddenly, he hadn’t believed his eyes at first, but when he’d blinked and she hadn’t vanished, he’d just started running, desperate to get to her now, before anything else had the chance to happen.

     “Marci!” he yelled again, voice cracking as he grabbed her right off her feet and hugged her as hard as he could. He hugged her until he could feel her heart beating against his chest, as he wanted it to always. Hugged her until the proof that she was alive and safe was unmistakable even to his worst-case-scenario imagination. Hugged her until her arms went around his shoulders and her fists started beating on his back, her legs banging into his like she was trying to get his attention.

     “Julius,” she gasped. “Too tight!”

     “Sorry!” he said, loosening his grip at once. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I was just so—”

     “It’s okay,” she said, wrapping her arms around him as she caught her breath. “I was worried about you, too.”

     Julius closed his eyes in happiness, burying his face in her hair as he breathed in deeply. He didn’t care that they were standing in the middle of Algonquin’s territory ankle deep in the bloody dregs of what was basically a dragon mass grave. He could have stayed there with Marci hugging and being hugged back forever. But just as he was getting used to the idea, Marci pulled away.

     “But how did you find me?” she asked, the smile falling off her face. “How did you even get here? And why are you with them?”

     Julius glanced over his shoulder to see Chelsie, Emily, and Raven standing behind them. Myron was only now catching up, but the others had clearly been watching for a while. For once, though, Julius didn’t care. His whole clan could have been staring at him, and he still wouldn’t have let Marci go.

     “We went to him, actually,” the general said. “We—”

     “You went to him?” Marci cried, her voice outraged. “After I specifically told you not to?”

     “You told them not to get me?” Julius asked. “Why?”

     “Because I knew you’d do this,” she said, waving her hands at the bloody field. “Charging into the heart of enemy territory. I was trying to keep you safe!”

     “What good is that if you’re not safe, too?” he cried, grabbing her shoulders. “I am never not going to help you, Marci. Never ever.”

     “And with all due respect, you don’t give us orders,” General Jackson added, lifting her chin defiantly. “Our mission is to protect you and your spirit, and since the Heartstrikers were in a more strategic position to do that than our own forces last night, we went to them.”

     Marci blew out an angry breath. “I suppose all’s well that ends well,” she muttered, looking back up at Julius, who had yet to let her go. “But you still haven’t told me how you got in here. Did Amelia make a door for you?”

     “Actually, Svena teleported us,” Julius said. “We asked Amelia, but she was too weak since she gave half her magic to you.”

     “Oh, snap!” Marci said, letting him go at last to press a frantic hand against her chest. “Amelia’s flame! I forgot all about it when I was in the land of the dead.”

     Julius went pale. “Land of the dead?”

     “Whew, we’re good,” she said, slumping in relief as she patted her chest above her heart. “Still burning strong. But I’d better head back to the mountain and get this back to her.”

     Going home sounded like a marvelous idea to Julius. He had no idea what she’d meant by “land of the dead,” but given the army of ghosts they’d followed to find her, he was okay with that. Unfortunately, the undersecretary of magic was not.

     “Is that where you’re going to leave it?” he growled, glaring at Marci with something uncomfortably close to hate. “You covered this place in ghosts! I got only a single glimpse at Reclamation Land when I came here as part of the UN treaty delegation twenty years ago, but even that was enough to see it was a wonder. A beautiful, untouched land of primordial spirits like nothing else on Earth, and you’ve turned it into this.” He waved his hand at the empty field dotted with upturned dirt. “What kind of spirit do you have?”

     Marci went rigid. Then, almost like she was putting on a mask, Julius saw her pull her professional face together and turn on the mage with a self-possessed look that would have done a dragon proud.

     “Don’t assume what you don’t understand,” she said haughtily, putting out her hand to the empty air beside her. Air that Julius realized wasn’t empty at all when Ghost appeared beside her, and not as a cat. He’d only seen the spirit like this once before, but Julius would never forget the terrifying, faceless soldier who’d defeated Vann Jeger, and that memory was enough to finally make him step aside as the Empty Wind moved in to stand beside his mage.

      “Sir Myron Rollins,” Marci said, turning to the terrifying spirit beside her. “This is the Empty Wind, spirit of the Forgotten Dead. He champions and protects those whom everyone else has forgotten, including the hundreds of thousands Algonquin killed when she flooded Detroit sixty years ago. Algonquin’s spirits can rebuild their land, but what they took from the people who lived here can never be repaid. Given how little Algonquin cares for human life, I’d think you would be on their side, not hers.”

     Sir Myron scowled when she finished, but General Jackson looked almost proud, her clenched fists shaking in a surprising show of emotion. “If that’s the truth,” she said, nodding respectfully to the ghostly soldier, “then I’m happy to have him on our side.”

     “Well, I’m not,” Myron snapped, drawing himself to his full height. “I don’t care if she’s the first Merlin or the last. A power that relies on the exploitation of human souls is not a weapon we need.”

     “It’s not exploitation!” Marci cried.

     “Myron!” Emily snapped at the same time, but the mage just gave her a savage look.

     “I’m done,” he said coldly. “You might be willing to do anything for a weapon, Emily, but I’m not.” He glanced at the Empty Wind again, and Julius caught the faint scent of human fear. “I know a monster when I see one, and that thing is a god of death. He’s an end, not a beginning. If that’s the spirit you want to make into a Merlin, then I wash my hands of this whole affair. I’d rather wait another sixty years than accept the devil we’ve got just because he’s here.”

     “Don’t be a fool,” the general growled, pointing at the pile of dragon corpses. “We don’t have another sixty years when Algonquin’s doing things like this. I don’t care if her spirit is one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, we need him now.”

     “Then take him,” Myron spat. “But good luck getting any progress without me. I’m the Master of Labyrinths, the only one in all of this who actually knows what he’s doing.” He looked down his nose at Marci the same way Bethesda used to look at Julius. Like she was dirt. “This one’s nothing but a dragon groupie who got lucky. She doesn’t even have her PhD.”

     Marci clenched her fists with a snarl. Julius was worried she was going to take a swing at the older mage when Chelsie stepped between them. “This is not the place to discuss this,” she growled, jerking her head at Algonquin’s lake. “I don’t know why she’s not here yet, but she’s coming, and if we don’t want to end up like them”—she pointed at the dead dragons—“we need to go.”

     “Agreed,” Emily said, shooting Myron a final chilling look. “This isn’t over.”

     The look on the undersecretary’s face said otherwise, but he remained silent. When it was clear he wasn’t going to cause any more trouble for the time being, the general lifted her hand. “Move out.”

     “Where?” Marci asked, looking around at the empty field. “How were you guys planning to get back, anyway?”

     The blood drained from Julius’s face. He’d been so desperate just to get to Marci, he hadn’t actually thought past that. Thankfully, Chelsie had him covered.

     “I’ve got it,” she said, drawing her Fang. “Heartstriker Mountain always has dragons, which means I can get us back no problem, but I’ll have to make two trips.”

     Julius breathed a sigh of relief. That was right. Chelsie’s Fang could cut to any Heartstriker. Thank goodness someone was planning ahead. “Take Marci and the undersecretary first, then,” he said quickly. “I’ll stay here so you can cut back to me, and then the general, Raven, and I will—”

     A wave of magic crashed down on top of them.

     The shock knocked everyone but Emily and Raven to the ground. Chelsie was back on her feet almost before she hit the grass. Julius was only a hair slower, but when he reached down to help Marci back to her feet, she didn’t take his hand. She just lay there on her back, staring up at the sky like she was watching the ax fall at her own execution. When Julius looked up to see why, though, all he found was black. He almost thought something was wrong with his eyes before he finally understood what he was looking at.

     The Leviathan was looming directly above them.

     Before this moment, Julius had only seen Algonquin’s monster on television. But the little measurements they always put up on the screen couldn’t accurately convey just how big it was when you were standing below it. In the back of his mind, the one remaining rational sliver of Julius’s brain knew that Dragon Sees the Beginning must have technically been bigger, but he’d also looked like a dragon. Even as a magical construct, he’d been familiar. Understandable. But Julius couldn’t make heads or tails of the thing towering over him now.

     Even the way it moved made no sense. There was absolutely no way something that big could move that quietly, or that fast. And yet it did, floating over the destroyed, bloody field like a black cloud. Its huge tentacles stretched out at the same time, ringing them before Julius realized what was happening. He was still staring at the slick, undulating surface of the Leviathan’s multiple appendages when lake-smelling water began to pour down the Leviathan’s eyeless front, becoming a woman as it hit the ground. An extremely angry-looking woman whose sopping-wet face flickered wildly between all of theirs as she rose to her feet.

     That was a very stupid thing to do.

     Julius swore under his breath. The thing in front of him looked nothing like the Algonquin he’d seen on television, but there was no mistaking that terrifying, watery voice. Honestly, the only surprise left now was what had taken her so long. But while Algonquin was clearly here to kill them all, her eyes were locked on Marci and her spirit with a special kind of hate.

     “Do you know how much damage you just caused?” she said out loud, the words rocks in a stream, sending huge ripples through her human image. “The work you undid?”

     “Of course,” Marci said, glaring right back. “Why do you think we did it?”

     Julius cringed. That was not the sort of thing you said to a furious spirit with godlike powers. But before he could think of something to defuse the situation, assuming it could be defused, Chelsie appeared at his side.

     “On three,” she whispered in a voice only dragons could hear. “You grab Marci, I’ll grab you.”

     He bit his lip. “What about the UN team?”

     Her silence was answer enough, and Julius winced. “We can’t just leave them.”

     “Sure we can,” Chelsie said. “They have diplomatic immunity for this kind of thing.”

     Algonquin didn’t look like she was in a mood to honor the niceties of international politics, but given how fast things had gone south, Julius was starting to think it was time to take what they could get. He nodded to Chelsie and was starting to reach for Marci’s hand when Myron suddenly broke the silence.

     “What work did she undo?”

     The Lady of the Lakes turned to him, her rippling face finally solidifying into a reflection of Myron. “You are the Master of Labyrinths. We met once, years ago.”

     “We did,” Myron said, taking a big step away from Marci. “And I am not with her.” Everyone shot him a deadly look, which Myron pointedly ignored, nodding instead to the pool at Algonquin’s feet. “I can feel incredible magic coming from this. You’re making something extraordinary here. What is it?”

     “My Mortal Spirit,” she said sadly, reaching down to trail her fingers through the bloody water. “Or what’s left of it after Marci Novalli let her rabid cat turn savage.”

     Julius heard General Jackson’s breathing speed up. “You have a Mortal Spirit?” she said, stepping forward. “Another one?”

     “Had,” Algonquin corrected, glaring at Marci. “And will have again. We always rise again, but this delay is most inconvenient.” Her face shifted again, becoming a watery mockery of Marci’s. “Why did you do it? Were you that determined to be the first?”

     “Actually, I didn’t set out to break your Mortal Spirit,” Marci said. “I was just trying to break out of your cage. Now that it’s over, though, I’m glad we did it. The more I learn about Mortal Spirits, the more I understand that they are us. They belong to humans—our magic to use for our common good—not yours.”

     “My good is your good, fool,” Algonquin hissed, shooting to her feet. “Did you not listen to a word I told you? I’m not a dragon, investing decades of time and magic into something purely for my own power or vanity. What I’m doing here is vitally important for all of us. If I don’t get control of a Mortal Spirit soon, the others will start rising, and then it will be too late. You think your god of death is a monster? You don’t even know what that word means.”

     “I’m pretty sure I’m looking at it,” Marci said, glaring straight at the Lady of the Lakes. “But I told you already, Algonquin. You’re not the only one on this planet who gets a say in its future. I don’t doubt you know a lot more than we do about magic, but that doesn’t mean you get to make our decisions for us. Whatever is coming, if you need help to face it, then you’ll have to come to us as equals.”

     “You are not my equal,” Algonquin hissed, shaking with so much rage, she couldn’t even hold a face. “You will eat those words, mortal.”

     “Not before you eat the dirt,” Marci replied defiantly. “Face it, lake water, you need us. I think Ghost and I have just proven we can’t be forced, so the ball’s back in your court. Either you come up with a fair deal this time, or we walk for good.”

     By the time she finished, Algonquin looked less like water imitating a person and more like a boiling cauldron of pure rage. Just being in the same zip code as that was enough to make Julius sweat, and he leaned in to whisper in Marci’s ear. “Are you sure about this?”

     “Positive,” she whispered back, never taking her eyes off Algonquin. “I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t plan for this to happen, but it’s working out great. Algonquin desperately needs a Mortal Spirit, and now that Ghost’s ruined hers, we’re all she’s got left. She can’t kill us, not if she wants to stay on schedule.” Her face split into a grin. “I think I just found our ticket out of—”

      Julius never got to hear the rest. In that moment, something wet and impossibly heavy slapped him across the back. He went down like a shot, slamming into the muddy grass so hard, it knocked the breath out of his body. He was scrambling back to his feet on instinct alone when the thing that had knocked him down—a huge, black coil his stumbling brain belatedly recognized as one of the Leviathan’s tentacles—wrapped around his midsection and lifted him into the air, throwing him straight at Algonquin before Marci could even scream.

     ***

     No! she thought frantically. No, no, no, no!

     This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be forcing Algonquin into a compromise, just as Julius always did. The Lady of the Lakes didn’t care about the others, which meant no one else was supposed to get hurt. And when the spirit did try something—because of course she should—the Empty Wind was poised to snatch Marci back into the other world. It should have been an airtight plan, but all of it went out the window when the Leviathan’s tentacles came down like a divine hand and snatched Julius away, jerking him into the sky like a rag doll before tossing him in the shallow, bloody water at Algonquin’s feet.

     “Oh dear,” Algonquin said, putting her dripping foot on Julius’s chest. “Look what I found.”

     Chelsie pulled her Fang in response, but Algonquin just flicked her hand, and a wave shot out, washing the Heartstriker’s enforcer off her feet in a cascade of dark, icy lake water. Unlike an actual wave, though, this one didn’t crash. It just circled and stayed, locking Chelsie inside a bubble of cloudy, fishy-smelling water she seemed unable to escape from.

     “None of that,” the Lady of the Lakes said, smiling coldly as Chelsie slashed ineffectively at the water’s walls. “You’re in my world now, snakes. I am in control here.” Her face flickered back to Marci’s reflection as she turned back to her prey. “You want a fairer deal than serve me or die? Fine.” She waved her hand a second time, and again, water followed, sweeping over Julius from head to toe, surrounding him in a cocoon of dark water so fast, he didn’t even have a chance to close his mouth before the water poured in. “Serve or he dies. How’s that for a better offer?”

     “No!” Marci said, putting up her hands at once. “There’s no need to be hasty. Let’s talk this through.”

     “I’d love to,” Algonquin said. “But I’m afraid your dragon doesn’t have time to wait while we discuss. I’ve done extensive experiments on how long it takes dragons to drown, and while the older female can probably last a good twenty minutes, a little baby like this isn’t much better than your average human. I give him two minutes before he passes out and another three before the oxygen deprivation kills his brain. That gives us five minutes to arrange the conditions of your surrender.”

     Marci froze, her brain spinning frantically to find a way out of this, but Algonquin wasn’t finished.

     “And before you waste any time trying to convince me you don’t care about him, remember that I know your history.” She smiled Marci’s own smile down at Julius, who was thrashing frantically inside the watery prison. “I know exactly what the Heartstriker’s infamous Nice Dragon means to you, Marci Novalli, which means you have two options: continue being stubborn and watch the object of your ill-conceived affections die, or agree to work for me and I set them all free. It’s the same deal you offered me last night, so it shouldn’t take you long. Whatever you decide, though, do it quick. You’ve only got four minutes left before the water makes the choice for you.”

     By the time she finished, Marci’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Ghost?

     I can’t stop her, he said, answering the question she’d been too frantic to complete. I’ve already put the people she killed to rest. That means Algonquin is stronger than I am again, and Julius isn’t connected to me like you are, so I can’t take him into death where immortal spirits can’t reach like I can for you.

     Marci swore under her breath. That had been her next question. “What about you?” she asked, looking at General Jackson and Raven, because forget Myron. “You’re some kind of crazy super-weapon, right? Can’t you do something?”

     “If we could stand up to Algonquin, we would have done it years ago,” Raven said, shaking his head. “I know this is difficult, Marci, but you can’t give in. If Algonquin’s also trying to get her hands on the first Merlin, that makes you more important than ever. You’re the only weapon we have against her. We can’t let her win.”

     That was easy for him to say. He was an immortal animal spirit, and his dragon wasn’t drowning. “But we don’t even know if I can help!” she cried. “I’m not even a Merlin yet! For all we know, I never will be.”

     “You will,” General Jackson promised, stepping forward. “Ignore what Myron said. He’s a prideful fool, and he’s hardly our only mage. Whatever help you want, I’ll get it for you. I will stay here and fight Algonquin myself to buy you time to escape if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes, but I will not let our first chance in sixty years of actually fighting back sink into that lake. Do you understand me?”

     Marci did. Trouble was, Emily and Raven’s goals weren’t hers. They were fighting for the bigger picture and the lofty ideals. Marci was just a human mage watching the dragon who’d saved her life more times than she could count drown because of her. Drowning for nothing, too, she realized, because even if she agreed to work for Algonquin, the spirit couldn’t actually make her do what she wanted. If the road to being a Merlin really was through her spirit like she thought, then there was nothing Algonquin could do to force her to take it. No matter what happened, Marci’s magic was her own, and once Julius was free, she wouldn’t have to obey a word.

     And we can always escape again, the Empty Wind reminded her smugly. Algonquin won’t keep us for more than a day.

     Now that was a plan Marci could get behind, and she turned back to Algonquin. “If I agree, do you swear to let Julius and everyone else here leave the DFZ alive and unharmed?”

     “Don’t do it!” Emily yelled.

     “Of course,” the Lady of the Lakes said over her. “You think one more whelp matters to me? Surrender, and your little dragon will be free to scurry home until the next time he’s stupid enough to enter my lands.”

     Marci nodded, putting out her empty hands. “Then I surrender.”

      “No!” Emily roared, startling Raven off her shoulder. “Think about what you’re doing! You’re betraying your entire race for a dragon!”

     “I’m not betraying my race,” Marci said angrily. “I’m saving my friend.” That word was nowhere near enough to describe what Julius was to her, but Marci didn’t have time to think of a better one. Especially since Julius was still drowning. “I said I surrender!” she yelled at Algonquin. “Release him!”

      “I never go back on my word,” Algonquin said, her watery voice insulted. “But first, a little insurance.”

     She nodded toward the UN team, and the Leviathan obeyed, sending tentacles out to coil around Emily and Myron as well, binding their arms and legs before dragging them both to the ground. Myron went down peacefully, but General Jackson fought the whole way, catching the black appendage with both her arms and stopping the monster cold.

     Another time, that show of strength would have made Marci gasp. She’d yet to see anything that could even faze the Leviathan, much less stop it. Now, though, she didn’t even have time to care. She only watched the general’s fight long enough to make sure Emily wasn’t actually going to break free before she turned back to Algonquin. “Okay, you’ve got them,” she said, eyes locked on Julius, who’d stopped struggling. “Now let him go.”

     “As my Merlin commands,” Algonquin said, waving her hand. The watery prison burst as her fingers passed over it, and Julius spilled out onto the grass, coughing up lungfuls of water before he took the most beautiful breath Marci had ever heard.

     “He’s alive,” she said, almost falling to her knees. “He’s alive.”

     “For now,” Algonquin said coldly. “But if you want him to stay that way, you’ll have to keep your end.” She raised her hand to beckon Marci over. “Come. We have much work to do to repair the damage you caused.”

     Marci took a step then paused. “What about her?” she asked, looking at Chelsie, who was still trapped inside her own unbreakable bubble. “I said everyone.”

     The spirit shook her head. “Bethesda’s Shade is a dangerous, treacherous snake. I’m afraid I can’t set her free until you’re safely with me, so if you don’t want her to drown and be added to my pile, you’d better hurry.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground beside her. “Come.”

     The indignity of being commanded like a dog hit Marci hard, but she was the one who’d signed up for this, so she went, walking across the muddy, bloody grass until she was standing where she’d been told at Algonquin’s side.

     “Don’t listen to her!” Emily yelled, her voice strained from her ongoing fight with the Leviathan. “It’s not too late. Run, Marci! You can’t—”

     “Shut her up,” Algonquin growled, jerking her head at the Leviathan. The monster obeyed instantly, adding three more tentacles to the pile it was using to force Emily to the ground. This proved to be too much even for the general. She went down with a crunch, sinking out of sight into the mud beneath the weight of the Leviathan’s glistening, eel-like flesh.

     “Much better,” Algonquin said, turning back to Marci. “Let’s go.”

     “Wait,” she said, looking at Julius, who was still catching his breath on the muddy grass in front of them. “Can I at least say good-bye?”

     “No,” Algonquin said crisply. “You’ve proven too untrustworthy to be allowed niceties, and I’ve had about as much human sentimentality as I can stomach for one day.” She crooked her finger, and the Leviathan pulled one of the tentacles off the pile it was using to crush Emily and lowered it to the ground beside Marci. “Get on.”

     As before, just touching the monster’s slimy appendage made her queasy, but Marci’s eternally plotting mind was already going double time. She knew the meeker she played it now, the better her chances for escape would be later, and so she lowered her eyes and played the conquered human to the hilt, grabbing onto the offered tentacle like obeying Algonquin was the only thing she had left to live for. She was twisting her head to sneak one last look at Julius when a thundering crack rang out through the crisp morning air.

     It was a sound Marci had heard only twice before, but the thunderclap of General Emily Jackson’s incredible magical cannon wasn’t something you forgot. Sure enough, when she looked up, the general had wrestled her arm out of the Leviathan’s grasp, her glove smoking from the laser-like shot that had just fired from the magical markings on her metal palm. It happened so suddenly, Marci actually had the time to wonder what General Jackson had shot before she saw the wisp of smoke rising from her own chest.

     “Marci!”

     Julius’s frantic scream sounded very far away. Everything felt like that as she looked down to see the perfectly round, still-smoldering hole Emily’s attack had burned right through the center of her body.

     Thanks to the instant cauterization, realizing what had just happened hurt more than the actual shot. Marci hadn’t known the general well, but she’d been certain Emily was on her side. Fatal mistake, apparently. Fortunately, the sting of betrayal was as distant and hazy as everything else as Marci toppled off the Leviathan into the mud. She was enjoying being able to lie flat when Julius’s frantic face appeared above her, his soaked hair dripping cold lake water onto her forehead as he screamed at her to hold on. To stay with him.

     Oddly, it was his fear, not her own, that finally kicked her into action. Everything still felt detached and far away, but the moment Marci realized she was going to die in Julius’s arms, she decided to start caring. She forced her mouth open, forced herself to breathe, as much as she could, anyway, with burning holes in her lungs. She even pulled in magic because she’d read on the Internet once that simply holding magic could preserve a mage’s life. There were numerous practical reasons why that wouldn’t make a lick of difference, of course, but she did it anyway, clinging to life in every way she could think of while Julius worked on her wound, tearing off his shirt and pressing it into her chest in a desperate effort to staunch her wound.

     Lying flat on her back, Marci couldn’t see how that was going. From the look on his face, though, her guess was not good. As he grew more and more desperate, Marci began to finally understand that she was dying. Actually dying. For real.

     Marci!

     Her spirit’s voice rang through her head, and Marci cracked open her eyes—which she hadn’t realized she’d closed—to see the Empty Wind standing over her. I can see it!

     “See what?” she croaked, making Julius jump.

     How we become a Merlin.

     That got her attention.

     I couldn’t see it before because you were alive, he said excitedly. But now that you’re on the threshold, it’s right there! Just on the other side.

     By which she assumed he meant death.

     He scoffed. Surely you are not afraid of death?

     Of course she was. Everyone was afraid of death, even immortals. Especially immortals, which was why all the spirits had run when Ghost’s army had come marching down the mountain.

     But you won’t run, the Empty Wind said with absolute certainty. You alone have never feared me. We were matched for a reason, you and I. You told me we would be a great Merlin. Now’s our chance to do it.

     He put out his hand, passing it right under Julius, who didn’t seem to see the spirit at all. We’ll make the jump together, he promised. Let me guide you as you guided me.

     But Marci didn’t want to take his hand. She didn’t want to die. She especially didn’t want to do it in front of Julius, who looked like he was on the edge of something terrifying. She’d never seen him look so scared, not even when he was the one who’d been shot, and the sight broke her heart for both of them. There was too much left to do. She hadn’t gotten her flight through the sky yet. She hadn’t even kissed him properly. What was the point of surviving everything else if she died before she got her dragon?

     That thought was enough to make her cry. If she’d had the breath left for words, she would have told Julius she was sorry. Sorry for the waste, sorry for stumbling at the last second. She would have kissed him, too. She should have done it the moment she’d seen him, but it hadn’t felt appropriate. Now, all she could think was how stupid she’d been. Every chance she’d had to tell him the truth about how she felt, she’d let something get in the way. She’d always told herself she was just waiting for the right time, and now, suddenly, there was no time left.

     The moment that thought crossed her mind, Marci knew this was it. For someone who’d spent as much time with death as she had recently, she’d never realized just how final the icy hand would feel when it finally closed over her. The weight of it was already pushing down on her so hard, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She tried her best, if only so she could keep looking at Julius for just a little longer, but she was just so tired. Everything was cold and dark and heavy now. But even when she finally gave in and slid her eyes closed, the Empty Wind was still there, waiting for her in the dark with his hand still outstretched.

     Take it.

     No. She didn’t want to. If she took it, that was the end.

     It’s already the end! he cried, his deep voice cracking. Please, Marci, you have to trust me. I can see exactly where we have to go. I’ll take you there, I swear it, but if you go by yourself, I can’t follow. You’re too remembered, too loved. If you leave without me now, you’ll pass out of my reach forever, and I’ll be alone again. You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone!

     He was almost begging by the time he finished, and it broke her heart all over again, because he was right. She had promised. Julius loved her, she knew, but he had others who could help him when she was gone. Ghost had no one. No one to trust, no one to cling to. No one but her.

     With that, Marci knew what she had to do. Sucking in what was probably the last breath she’d ever take, she gathered what was left of her strength, which she’d intended to use to grab Julius’s hand one last time, and took the Empty Wind’s instead, wrapping her fingers around his ghostly flesh, which now felt as warm and welcoming as any human skin. “I trust you,” she whispered. “Take me there.”

     She’d barely finished before the Empty Wind yanked, snatching her out of the cold, dead weight of her body into the dark.

     And with that, Marci Caroline Novalli died.

     Chapter 18

     “No!” Julius screamed. “Don’t go! Don’t you dare go, Marci!”

     But she wasn’t listening. What was left of her attention was focused on Ghost. Julius hadn’t seen the spirit since she’d been shot, but he knew he was there, occupying the last few seconds of Marci’s life. And in that moment, Julius hated him for it.

     “You can’t have her!” he yelled furiously. “I’ll remember her forever! She’ll never be yours!”

     But it was already too late. Marci’s warm eyes had already closed, her lips moving in words he couldn’t hear. He was leaning down in a desperate attempt to try and make them out when her hand lifted, her long, lovely fingers curling like she was reaching for something he couldn’t see. By the time he grabbed her, though, there was nothing left. Her grip was gone, leaving only the limp coldness of her lifeless hand. And that was when Julius knew—knew with every cell in his body—that she was dead. Marci was dead, and he’d never see her again. Never get to tell her he loved her, never fly with her, never kiss her. He’d never get to see her eyes light up when she figured something out, never hear her laugh. She’d never tease him, never hug him. Everything she was, everything he’d treasured was gone forever, and he would never see it again. Never, never, never.

     And it was all that human’s fault.

     “You,” he said quietly, his voice flat and terrifying even to him as he turned on Emily Jackson, who was still being crushed beneath the Leviathan. “You did this.”

     A few feet away, Algonquin smiled, her face changing to mirror the cold, terrifying rage Julius barely recognized as his own before she flicked her fingers, commanding the Leviathan away from the general, who rose to her knees.

     “You did this,” he said again, gently folding Marci’s lifeless hands over her bloody chest. “You killed her.”

     “I did,” she said, looking him dead in the eyes. “But she left me no choice. The Merlin is humanity’s greatest weapon. I knew before we came here that I would destroy her before I let her fall into the hands of our enemy.”

     “Marci’s not a weapon!” Julius roared. “She’s a person. My person!” He bared his sharpening teeth. “You murdered her!”

     The general didn’t deny it. She just stripped off her jacket, revealing a pair of obviously artificial arms beneath a sleeveless shirt. That was all Julius saw before the fire consumed him.

     Even in his rage, that was a surprise. He’d never had fire when he’d changed before. Other dragons did, but he’d always assumed it was a flashy trick to impress others. Now that it was happening to him, though, Julius understood that others had nothing to do with it. The fire came from inside, from the flames that raged when he finally unleashed the desire to kill. Julius hadn’t even known he had feelings like that until they bit down hard, devouring his grief and anger until he was nothing but fire and the desperate need to bite back. And that was what he did, dropping his Peace Keeper Fang on the ground before it could freeze him as he lunged for Emily’s throat.

     She blocked him easily, catching him under the jaw and slamming him into the ground with inhuman strength. But Julius was used to this treatment after a lifetime of being his family’s punching bag, and he rolled right back up, lunging at her again. And again, she caught him, though not quite as quickly this time.

     “Stop this,” Emily growled, fighting to keep him pinned. “You have every right to be angry, but fighting me won’t—”

     Julius stopped listening. He had no interest in talking or reason. The only thing the fire had left in his mind was the all-consuming need to burn, so that was what he did, blasting his enemy with a flame so hot and explosive, it blew them both away. Unlike the human, though, Julius had wings to check his fall, changing direction in midair to dive straight at his prey as she hit the ground.

     Under any other circumstances, that attack never would have worked. He didn’t know what Emily Jackson was exactly, but she was clearly an old hand at fighting dragons. She wasn’t even singed by his fire, and she wouldn’t have gotten bitten either if Julius had been himself. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t just raging, either. His attack was neither wild nor crazed, but purposeful and calculated, the sort of precision strike he’d never been able to land in training because he’d never wanted to kill. But things were different now. He’d never wanted anything like he wanted Marci back, but that was never going to happen. Because of this human.

     So he was going to kill her.

     Young or old, big or small, a dragon with an all-consuming desire is the most dangerous enemy in the world. A whelp like Julius would have had no chance against the UN’s Phoenix on a normal day. Today, though, the day his Marci died, even Raven’s famous weapon was in over her head.

     The moment she hit the dirt, Julius was on top of her, biting down with all his might. She still managed to turn in time to dodge his top fangs, but the bottom landed exactly where Julius had planned, stabbing into her ribcage from the back, which turned out to be a blow for him, too. Humans were supposed to be easier to bite than dragons, but biting through Emily was like biting into an enchanted support beam. The metal ground his teeth even as her spellwork burned his tongue, but the pain only made him more determined. He didn’t care if he broke every tooth in his mouth, he was going to finish this. He was clenching his jaw to do just that when a new, much larger set of fangs grabbed his body and ripped him away.

     Julius went flying. He tumbled through the air, almost landing in the bloody pool beside Algonquin before he got his wings open. When he managed to flip back over, a huge, soaking wet, and very pissed-off dragoness with matte-black feathers was standing between him and his prey.

      “Enough, Julius!” Chelsie snarled, baring her dripping fangs. “You don’t want to do this!”

     But he did. He’d never wanted to kill anyone more in his life.

     “Don’t interfere, Bethesda’s Shade,” Emily ordered, getting back to her feet, or trying to. She was having trouble standing thanks to the line of fang-shaped holes Julius had left in her legs and chest, none of which were bleeding. Even in his single-minded fury, that struck Julius as odd. He’d known the general was heavily augmented from the moment she took off her coat, but there should have been some flesh left. No human was all metal, and yet there was no taste of blood on his tongue. He couldn’t see any of the usual organs through her wounds, either, not even white plastic synthetic ones. Under the thin veneer of Emily’s human shape, there was only more metal, an intricate clockwork of interlocking parts covered in massive scrolls of super-complicated spellwork Marci would have bowled him over to get a closer look at.

     Except she couldn’t. Because she was dead. She was dead, and Julius would never see her bouncing with joy over spellwork ever again.

     That was enough to make him see red. He lurched forward, smoke curling from his fangs as he prepared to blast the wounded general with a fire that would melt even her metal insides. He was still fanning his fire up to temperature when Chelsie tackled him, launching straight up off the ground to knock him out of the sky before slamming them both back down in the muddy grass.

     “Let me go!” he roared, biting his sister savagely.

     “Stand down!” General Jackson ordered at the same time. “This is my fight. I don’t need your help.”

     “I’m not doing it for you,” Chelsie snarled. “I’m doing it for him.” She glared down at her brother, blood dripping from the shorter feathers on her neck where he’d bitten her. “You are not a killer, Julius, and I won’t let you become one. Not over this.”

     “She killed Marci!”

     “She did,” his sister said sadly. “And I know that hurts. But if I let you kill her for it, it’ll hurt you even more.”

     Julius didn’t see how anything could hurt more than this, but as his sister spoke, he knew that she was right. Killing the general wouldn’t bring Marci back. It wouldn’t do anything except add more death to a world that was already choked with it. And as that truth worked its way into his brain, the fire of his rage finally burned out, leaving him with nothing. He didn’t even feel sad anymore. Just empty. Empty and alone with the cold, hard truth that Marci was gone, and even if he lived to be as old as the Three Sisters combined, he’d never see her again.

     With that, Julius collapsed under his sister, curling his feathered body into a tiny ball in the mud. He was preparing to stay that way forever when a watery sigh cut through the now-quiet air, reminding him that they still had an audience.

     “What a supremely disappointing display,” Algonquin said, looking down on them from her perch on the Leviathan’s tentacle with a rippling face that was no longer even attempting to appear human. “I never knew you were such a killjoy, Bethesda’s Shade. I was looking forward to watching the UN’s dragon killer and your loss-maddened brother tear each other apart.”

     She paused there, waiting for the inevitable comeback, but Chelsie didn’t bother. She just crouched lower over Julius and lashed out with her tail, wrapping the delicate, feathered tip around the hilt of his dropped sword. She scraped the ground with her claws at the same time, digging the tips—which Julius only now noticed were covered with the curving, bone-white blades of her own Fang of the Heartstriker—through the grass, tearing a hole in the world. The moment the crack was open, she yanked him through, dragging Julius and his Fang out from the bloody field and back to Heartstriker Mountain.

     ***

     Emily stared at the closing hole the Heartstriker had ripped in the world, cursing herself for not following them down it. That little dragon was more than she’d bargained for when he was in a rage, and Bethesda’s Shade was a fight she’d worked hard never to get cornered into, but she would rather take on the whole of Heartstriker Mountain alone with her chest full of holes than remain stuck here alone, deep in enemy territory.

     Not alone, Raven whispered. I’m always here.

     “Really?” she said, pressing a hand to her sundered chest. “Then where were you when the dragon was taking a bite out of me?”

     You deserved that, the spirit said grimly. You shot our best chance at a Merlin.

     “It was that or leave her with the enemy,” Emily said, narrowing her eyes at Algonquin, who was hovering over the bloody grass, poking the ground where the dragons had disappeared with watery tendrils. “I did what I had to do.”

     Now you just have to live with it.

     Emily knew that better than anyone. She’d been a soldier for a long, long time now. She’d done terrible things, and had worse done to her, and yet she was still alive. She’d live through this, too. The Phoenix always rose again. That had been the one fundamental truth of her life since Raven had first appeared to her in the floodwater so long ago, and Emily Jackson clung to it now, keeping her stance wary as Algonquin turned to her at last.

     “Well, well,” the spirit said, looking down at them with a face that was no longer a face at all, but a flat mask of shimmering water where Emily’s own distorted reflection—the normal kind, not Algonquin’s creepy mimicry—stared back at her from the ripples. “What a mess. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You humans ruin everything you touch. Always have. Sometimes, I think I hate you more than the dragons.”

     “Don’t pin this on me,” Emily said defiantly. “You were the one who forced my hand. But it’s over, Algonquin. The Merlin is dead, and her spirit’s gone with her.” She grinned a wide, mirthless grin. “You’ve lost.”

     “Impossible,” the spirit said, her watery voice sharp. “When you have forever, you can’t lose. You can only be set back, and that’s all your efforts have bought.” She turned to look at the bloody pool. “I might have lost my early edge, but even with this, my Mortal Spirit should still be up long before any of the others, which means all of your sacrifices were for nothing. And I didn’t even get to see you kill a dragon.” She shook her head. “Waste of a day for everyone.”

     “I’m sure you think that,” the general said. “But for the record, I wasn’t trying to kill him. Julius Heartstriker is a good dragon, which makes him one in a million. He attacked only because he was heartbroken, as he had every right to be, but even in his rage, he was no match for me.”

     “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Algonquin said, pointing at the holes in Emily’s chest. “But it doesn’t matter now. The prize is dead and the dragons have scurried home. The only thing left to do now is use your life to threaten Raven back to his senses.”

     “Impossible,” Raven cawed, appearing from nowhere to land on Emily’s shoulder. “I’m already there. Any spirit with sense can see that there’s no end to your need for control, Algonquin. But we’ve been down that road before, you and I. We both know how it ends.”

     “But this time is different,” Algonquin said, raising her transparent, watery hand. “This time, I have him.”

     One of the Leviathan’s tentacles dipped down to curl around her fingers, and Raven looked away with a shudder. “All the more reason to stay away,” he muttered, his voice dark and deep, as it sometimes got. “But I told you before. I told you sixty years ago when we first woke: no good can come from a weapon that hurts us as much as it does our enemies. Stupid as it was back then, though, it’s even worse now, because you’re no longer the only one with a trump on the board.”

     For the first time since she’d appeared, Algonquin hesitated. “What are you talking about?”

     “Your weapon,” Raven said, looking up at the Leviathan. “It’s no longer the only one. Brohomir of the Heartstrikers has his own Nameless End. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

     She scoffed. “You think I care what company that baby seer keeps?”

     “I hope you do,” Raven snapped back. “Because if you don’t, you’ve gone mad. Brohomir is young, but he’s the best seer the dragons have produced since they came to this plane. There’s only one reason a genius like him would be stupid enough to bring another Nameless End into the picture, and that’s to counter yours. Are you familiar with the term ‘mutually assured destruction?’ Because if you don’t step back—”

     “Why should I step back?” Algonquin said, her water roiling. “It is I who have been wronged! I was forced into sleep, unable to defend myself, and when I woke, I found my waters polluted and ravaged and crawling with dragons and humans! Filthy worms all over my body!”

     “So you drowned them,” Emily growled, trying and failing to keep back the old, deadly anger. “Hundreds of thousands of innocent—”

     “I was innocent!” Algonquin cried, growing larger as the bloody water from the ground started to collect at her feet. “I was the one who was violated, and I will drown this entire world before I let any of you do it again!”

     “That might very well be what happens,” Raven said, hopping off Emily’s shoulder to land on the grass in front of Algonquin. “You were wronged, no one can argue that, but being a victim doesn’t free you from taking responsibility for what you’ve done since. You started this escalation. You invited in what you should never have touched. Now the dragons have done the same, and it doesn’t take a seer to see how that’s going to end. There’s only one possible outcome when two unstoppable forces collide.”

     “Perhaps,” Algonquin said. “But what does that matter to us? We are the land. Even if everything else dies, we live forever.”

     “Alone?” Raven asked.

     “At least it would be quieter than listening to you,” she said bitterly. “A world without ravens would be quite peaceful, I think. For now, though, I’ll settle for killing your pets.”

     Beside her, Myron gasped, but Emily just clenched her fists. “Why bother?” she asked. “Killing us won’t net you anything. Wouldn’t you rather get a ransom?”

     “What would I do with that?” the spirit asked. “I have everything I need right here.” She gestured at the DFZ, its glittering superscrapers shining like ripples in water as the first dawn light finally broke over the horizon. “But even though I can never truly lose, someone still needs to pay for all my wasted work, and since you killed the one who was actually responsible, Emily Jackson, that burden falls on your metal shoulders.” Her falling water split into a horrifying mockery of a smile. “Looks like the Phoenix’s number is finally up.”

     “Now, now,” Raven said, fluttering back to his human. “Let’s not be too hasty. I spent a lot of time building her, you know.”

     “Then you should have no problem building another,” Algonquin said as bloody water rose up to circle around her like a spinning blade. “We are spirits. Time is all we have.”

     Raven made a frustrated sound. Emily, however, said nothing. She just stood there, perfectly still, watching her reflection in Algonquin’s blank face as the blade of water spun faster and closer. Then, just as she was readying the self-destruct blast that would hopefully shatter Algonquin so hard, she wouldn’t reform for a month, an unexpected voice spoke up.

     “It doesn’t have to be wasted.”

     The spinning water rippled, and Algonquin turned to stare down at Myron, who was still lying prone on his stomach in the mud under the Leviathan’s tentacle. “What did you say?”

     “I said, your work doesn’t have to be wasted,” the mage repeated, his voice straining under the tentacle’s weight. Obviously curious, Algonquin sent the black appendage away with a flick of her fingers, moving like water pouring down a hill to crouch beside the mage with focused attention.

     “Explain.”

     “It’s true your spirit’s taken a hit,” Myron said, brushing the grass, dirt, and tentacle mucus from his coat as he got to his knees. “But I’ve been studying it this whole time, and I think I can help you repair the damage.”

     “You?” Algonquin said, her voice dripping—in some places literally—with disdain. “How could you help me?”

     Myron looked at her with the haughty confidence mages seemed to be born with. “Because it’s a Mortal Spirit, and I’m the only mortal left alive who’s worked with one before. Marci Novalli was too naive to shroud her cat in illusions, which meant I was free to study it every second she wasn’t watching. In that time, I got a good look at his magical structure and the nature of the bond between them. I could use that knowledge to help you fix the damage they did to your spirit, and bind him properly when he rises.”

     “Making you the new Merlin,” Algonquin finished, her water bright and excited at the possibility. Emily, on the other hand, was struggling to keep her rage in check.

     “You dirty traitor,” she snarled. “Don’t help her!”

     “Who should I help?” Myron asked, wiping the mud off his cheek with a hateful look. “You? You were ready to put all our futures in the hands of a death spirit just because it rose first. Whatever Algonquin’s breeding here can’t possibly be worse than a spirit who summons armies of human ghosts. She’s going to do it anyway. If I help her, at least I’ll have some control over the final product this time. Not to mention I’ll stay alive.”

     “Which is what’s most important,” Emily growled, glaring at him in disgust. “I don’t think you even care what kind of spirit she’s making. You just want a shot at being Merlin.”

     “There’s no need to make it sound so dreadful,” Myron said, lifting his chin. “We both know Marci Novalli was a freak accident. I was the one who rediscovered the concept of Merlins. The one who did the research, who trained himself to be ready. The only reason she got a Mortal Spirit and I didn’t was because she was in the right place at the right time. But while you might be happy dying for nothing in a field, I’m not going to choose death over the position I’ve trained for my entire life. The spirit might be Algonquin’s, but I’m the Merlin the world deserves, and unlike Novalli, I’ll actually know what to do with all that power.”

     “You mean use it for her,” Emily said, jerking her head at Algonquin.

     “You were ready to work with the Heartstrikers,” Myron reminded her. “Frankly, I don’t see the difference. Spirit or dragon, they all consider us as disposable, and after seeing the mess that is Heartstriker Mountain, I think I’d rather take my chances with the lake.”

     “Well said,” Algonquin purred, reaching down with a watery hand to help Myron to his feet. “How nice to finally meet a human with some sense. Your aid would be much appreciated, Master of Labyrinths, and if you can get my Mortal Spirit back on schedule, I’ll even give you first shot at the binding. Is that not fair?”

     “Quite,” Myron said, accepting her help to his feet.

     Emily was already there, lurching at him. The Leviathan’s black tentacles caught her before she could actually lay hands on the mage, but that didn’t keep Emily from railing at her former partner. “You’re a jealous idiot!” she roared. “The whole point of finding the Merlin in the first place was so that we could finally stand toe to toe with things like her, not join them. She’s only using you to get what she wants!”

     “So is everyone,” Myron said flippantly. “That’s what intelligent creatures do. We use our environments to get what we want, all except for you. You were given near immortality, and you’ve wasted it playing the martyr for humanity. I used to think that was noble, but now I see it’s all just a waste of time.” He shook his head. “I’m done, Emily. I’m sick of playing peacekeeper with you and your bird while I watch my dreams get crushed by a bumbling child and her arrogant cat. This time, I’m taking what I want.” He turned back to Algonquin. “Give me unfettered access to your magic, and I’ll fix the damage the girl and her abomination did to your spirit within the month. I don’t care if I have to hold it together with my own two hands, I will be the first Merlin.”

     “I believe you will,” Algonquin said, bubbling back up to her full height. “Welcome to the team, Sir Myron. But what of your former partner? Any specific requests? Should I drown her or—”

     “Don’t kill her.”

     Emily blinked in surprise, but there was no kindness in Myron’s eyes when he looked at her again. “Emily Jackson isn’t just Raven’s toy. She’s the pinnacle of modern magical innovation, an amalgam of the best spellwork and technology humanity has invented. There’s things in her that even Algonquin Corp hasn’t figured out, including a great deal of my own best work. Not to mention she’s worth a billion euros at least. That’s not the kind of weapon you throw away on a whim.”

     “I didn’t realize she was quite that valuable,” Algonquin said, her voice bright with new interest as she looked the general over again. “It seems your partner has bought you a stay of execution. You should thank him for his generosity.”

     She paused, waiting, but Emily stayed stonily silent, pushing with all her might against the Leviathan’s grip until, eventually, the spirit lost her patience.

     “Put her somewhere she won’t get lost,” she ordered her Leviathan as she wrapped a watery arm around Myron’s shoulders. “The future Merlin and I have much to discuss.”

     Emily looked away in disgust as Myron lapped up the praise. Raven flew away, too, though not for the same reason. I’ll be back, he promised as the Leviathan’s tentacles curled around her. Don’t do anything stupid until you hear from me.

     Emily didn’t think she’d be doing anything at all. Already, the Leviathan was coiling her up like a mummy, binding her arms and legs until she couldn’t even twitch. The last thing she did was spit on the grass at Myron’s feet, earning herself a disgusted look from the undersecretary of magic before the black tentacles rose up to swallow her head.

     Chapter 19

     Three days later.

     Julius was lying face down in his old bedroom. Someone had replaced the door, but otherwise it was the same as the last time he’d been in here: completely empty. Even the bed on the floor was still missing its sheets, so he’d lain on the bare mattress with his coat over his head. In the dark. Alone. He had every intention of staying that way, too, when someone kicked open his new door.

     “Get up.”

     A week ago, his sister’s furious, growling voice would have sent him flying out of bed. Now, Julius didn’t even flinch. He just rolled over, pulling the jacket higher over his head.

     “Get up,” Chelsie snarled, flipping on the overhead light before reaching down to yank the jacket away. “You’ve been in here for days. Bethesda says she’s not putting the Council meeting off again, and Ian’s starting to agree with her. So if you don’t want to lose everything you’ve worked so hard to build, you will get out of that bed.”

     Julius pressed his face into the mattress. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what his sister was saying, or even that he didn’t think she was right. She was, he knew she was, he just couldn’t see the point anymore. He’d almost killed himself trying to be responsible from the moment he’d overthrown Bethesda. He’d ignored Marci, squandering what turned out to be his last days with her, and for what? His mother still hated him, Ian was still a plotting snake, and even if he could get them to work together, he didn’t know what to do. Worse, he didn’t care. Without Marci, nothing seemed to matter anymore.

     If he hadn’t already cried himself dry hours ago, that thought would have set him right off again. He’d thought he’d appreciated her, that he’d understood his own feelings. What a joke. He hadn’t even begun to realize how much he’d needed and relied on Marci until she was gone. Everything he’d accomplished that he was proud of in his life was because of her. Even when he’d done something alone, she was always there holding him up. It had taken her death to make him realize that he didn’t just love her, he needed her. Marci was the one who’d kept him going when he wanted to quit, who’d never let him give up and hide. They’d been a pair in more ways than he’d even imagined. When she was alive, he hadn’t even noticed, because it had just felt natural. The way things should always be.

     Now that she was gone, though, all he could feel was her loss. It was as though death had ripped out half of him as well when it had taken her, and Julius had no idea how to keep going after something like that. Every time he moved, he felt like he was going to crumble. He’d nearly bitten Fredrick’s head off when the dragon had tried to wash the blood off his hands because it was the only thing he had left that still smelled of Marci, and now Chelsie wanted him to go deal with their mother?

     When it was clear he wasn’t going to be getting out of bed anytime soon, his sister sighed and sat down on the floor beside him. “I know you don’t want to,” she said. “I know it’s too soon, but that doesn’t matter. You have to do this, Julius. You have to—”

     “I know, I know,” he said bitterly. “I have to be a dragon.”

     “Actually, I was going to say you have to be an adult. Hiding in the dark and growling at your pain is very draconic. Trust me, I would know. But it’s also very childish, and you can’t be that way anymore. You have to take control.”

     “Why?” he snapped. “The whole point of having a Council is that no one dragon is in charge.” And he was so tired of being in charge. “If David still wants my Fang, he can have it. I’m done.”

     “No, he can’t,” Chelsie said tiredly. “If anyone else could do what you did, we would have changed long ago.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “We need you, Julius.”

     He froze. Chelsie’s fingers were so light he could barely feel them. But slight as it was, that touch was the first act of open affection Julius had ever received from his sister, and it grabbed his attention more than any of her growling when she’d first come in.

      “It’s harder to be weak than to be strong,” she said softly. “Any idiot can beat others into following him, but while stomping on your enemies is the simplest road to power, it’s also the quickest way to make everyone else hate your guts. Worse, it’s never actually worked. I don’t think there’s ever been a truly functional dragon clan. But even in the face of failure, no one thought to try anything else, because we all thought that’s just how dragons were. Even in China, where everything was different, every dragon I met believed that hate and fear and betrayal were part of our natural state as a species. That’s what I thought, too, until you came along.”

     “I didn’t do that much,” he grumbled, lifting his head to look at her at last.

     “You did enough,” Chelsie said, flashing him the closest thing to a smile he’d ever seen on her face outside of the painting. “Heartstriker is a different clan now, and that’s because of you. You were the only one who could overthrow Bethesda without killing her and taking her power for yourself, because you were the only dragon in this mountain open minded enough to imagine a different ending. It might not have gone exactly as you planned, but the fact remains that you’ve changed this clan more in six days than anyone else has managed in six centuries, and so far, it’s all been for the better.”

     Her voice wavered a little at the end, and she looked away, pulling her hand back to wrap her arms protectively around her knees. “Do you know how hard that was for me to believe? I swore centuries ago that I would never again expect anything to get better. I’m not normally the sort who gives up, but expecting nothing was the only way I could avoid having my hopes crushed again and again and again. I decided that if I really was doomed to be Bethesda’s Shade forever, I could at least use my position to try to protect the rest of you, so I made that my goal and gave up on everything else. And that’s how it was, until you.”

     She did smile then, a tiny curl of her lips Julius would have missed completely if he hadn’t been peeking at her from the corner of his eye. “You’ve made me want to hope again,” she whispered. “That’s why I can’t let you quit. You’re not finished yet.”

     “But I am,” Julius said, sitting up at last. “Because I didn’t actually do any of that stuff. All the change you’re talking about was Bob. He’s the one who set everything up. I was just following his plans, and I still had help every step of the way. I wouldn’t even have survived finding Katya without—” He couldn’t even say Marci’s name. “I was just the one who happened to be there every time,” he finished at last. “I didn’t do anything on my own.”

     “You stood up to Mother,” Chelsie said. “You stood up to Gregory, and to me. You’ve stood your ground in a lot of places where any normal dragon with a healthy sense of self-preservation would have fled. But not you. You stood your ground and demanded that we listen, not because you were bigger or stronger, but because you were right. You’re living proof that even dragons are capable of change and compromise, and I will not allow you to throw that away now, when you’ve finally won.”

     Julius sank into the mattress. He knew Chelsie was trying to be motivational, but the uncharacteristic praise just made him feel awkward and uncomfortable. As much as he disliked it, though, at least the awkwardness was a change from the loop of endless sadness, anger, and regret over Marci’s loss. That was more than Julius could say for anything else in the last few days, but even more importantly, it reminded him that his life wasn’t actually entirely pointless yet. The rest of eternity might look like an endless blank without Marci, but right now, there was at least one thing he still had to do. He wasn’t sure how he’d do it, exactly, but just knowing he had unfinished business was enough to finally make Julius get up.

     “I’ll go to the meeting,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face. “I promised to free you and F-clutch—”

     “Stop,” she snapped, her newborn smile vanishing under a far more Chelsie-like scowl. “I said I was hopeful, not delusional. You are to say nothing about freeing me or the Fs, because we both know that can’t happen. Bethesda still has me by the throat, and you’ve pushed her closer to the edge than ever. Now that Conrad’s abandoned her too, I’m really the only power she has left. If you so much as look at her funny, she’ll shout my secret from the mountaintop for sure, and then we’ll all be the ones to pay.”

     “Then we’ll find another way,” Julius growled. “I don’t care what Mother says, I—”

     “I do,” Chelsie snapped, staring him down. “There’s no clever trick this time, Julius. The only way we can be free is if you kill Bethesda, and I’m not going to let you do that, either.”

     Julius blinked in surprise. “What?”

     “Don’t get me wrong,” his sister said bitterly. “I’d love nothing more than to see her feathered head on a pike. But if you’re the way it gets there, that’s too high a cost.”

     He still couldn’t believe it. “But—”

     “You’re not a killer, Julius,” she said. “And that’s a good thing. If Heartstriker’s actually going to move forward, then we need someone at the top who won’t resort to the same old violence the moment things go bad. That’s why I stopped you from killing General Jackson, and it’s why I’m revoking my request for you to kill Mother now. I finally understand why Bob’s sunk so much into you. You’re our chance to finally escape the blood of the past. Even if you can’t help me and the Fs, you can free everyone else, and make all of our lives a lot better in the process. That’s no small victory, but it’s only ours if you get in there and finish what you started.”

     Julius sighed. He still didn’t want to leave his room, and he was miles from feeling okay, but his sister was right. Bob might have foreseen it all, but Julius was the one who’d actually made the decisions, and as the seer always told him, his choices were always and only his own. He’d taken over responsibility for his clan the moment he’d decided not to kill Bethesda. Now it was his responsibility again to see this through, and no matter how bad he felt or how much he never wanted to move again, Julius was determined to do it. His sister deserved no less, and if Marci had been here, she would have already been dragging him out of bed.

     That image made him want to cry and smile at the same time. Both felt like more than he could handle and remain functional though, so Julius ran his hands through his hair instead, shaking himself like a dog before turning back to his sister. “Okay,” he said with a long sigh. “I’m up.”

     “Clean clothes are there,” Chelsie said, pointing to the pile Fredrick had left on the end of his bed yesterday. “Be quick. I’ll be waiting outside.”

     He nodded, waiting until she was out the door to strip off the clothes he’d put on when they’d come home three days ago. The ones that were still coated in Marci’s blood. He folded them carefully, stowing them away in the closet where no one would mess with them. When Marci’s precious scent was safe, he forced himself to wash his face and hands in his tiny coffin of a bathroom, hurrying through the motions as fast as he could before changing into the clean clothes with barely a look. Thankfully, Fredrick had given him a button-up shirt and jeans that were impossible to put on backwards, which meant Julius was more or less presentable when he finally stepped out into the hall, where his sister was waiting.

     The mountain had changed a lot during the days he’d been in his room. He’d seen the dragons heading out right after the vote. Now, though, now they were gone completely, leaving the formerly packed-to-the-rafters mountain fortress empty once again. Other than himself and Chelsie, Julius didn’t so much as smell another dragon until they’d gotten all the way up to the grand entry hall. By the time they reached the top of the mountain, Julius was beginning to wonder if the entire clan had run for cover just in case this Council thing blew up. When the door rolled open, though, he saw that wasn’t quite right. There was at least one dragon left in the mountain. A tall dragon with long black hair in a peacock-blue military coat complete with gold-braided epaulets for his pigeon to perch on, leaning on the wall beside the elevator door like he’d been waiting hours for just this moment.

     “Could it be?” Bob said, clutching his chest dramatically as Julius stepped off the elevator. “Has the hermit crab emerged from his shell at last?”

     He continued faking heart-attack levels of shock for several seconds before Julius shook his head. “I’m not in the mood, Bob.”

     “Neither am I,” his brother said, dropping the act. “Let’s be serious, then. I have something very important to tell you.” His green eyes went pointedly to Chelsie. “Alone.”

     Julius winced. Good news never followed statements like that. Fortunately, Chelsie didn’t seem insulted, just annoyed. “Fine,” she snapped. “But don’t take too long. We had to twist Mother’s arm just to get her to agree to this much. If he’s late again, this whole thing could blow up.”

     “I am most aware of the future implications of my actions,” Bob assured her. “It’ll be fine. Go on in. We’ll be right behind you.”

     Chelsie didn’t look convinced, but she did as he asked, marching into the throne room ahead of them. When she’d vanished through the newly replaced wooden doors—much cheaper than the gilded ones Bob had broken through during the fight with Estella—the seer grabbed Julius and pulled him back into the elevator.

     “Where are we going?” Julius asked while his brother mashed buttons seemingly at random.

     “Nowhere,” Bob said as they began to move. “But Chelsie’s ears are the best in the mountain, and I’ve learned to respect them. Still, even she shouldn’t be able to hear us in here.”

     “And what don’t you want her to hear?” Julius asked, suspicious and impatient in equal measure. “I’m not—”

     “In the mood for games, I know,” his brother said, leaning against the elevator’s button panel. “But I already told you we’re being serious, so listen carefully, because this is very important.”

     “I’m listening,” Julius assured him, leaning closer. “What?”

     Bob took a deep breath, preparing himself, and then he looked his brother straight in the eye. “You can’t free Chelsie.”

     “What?”

     “You. Can’t. Free. Chelsie,” the seer said again, slowly this time. “Not yet. F-clutch, maybe. It’s murky. But definitely not her.”

     Julius still couldn’t believe it. “Why not?” he demanded. “Is it because of the secret?”

     “That old thing?” Bob scoffed. “No, no. I’d actually be delighted if that got out. Make my life much less complicated. But I’m afraid this is a far more practical concern. You can’t free Chelsie because this clan can’t function without her.”

     That didn’t make any sense at all. “What do you mean can’t function?”

     Bob sighed. “Julius, you’re twenty-four. You know what ‘function’ means, and it’s exactly what we’re not going to do if you let Chelsie off the hook for her job. You were a meek little failure for most of your life, which means you didn’t get many visits, but for the vast majority of Heartstriker, Bethesda’s Shade is the one line you never cross. Fear of her and Mother is the only thing everyone in this family has in common, but now that you’ve defanged the Heartstriker, so to speak, Chelsie’s all we’ve got left. She’s the last monster in the dark, the lone remaining iron rivet that keeps this family stuck together. Without the knowledge that we’re all only ever one turned back away from being stabbed into submission, Heartstriker will fall apart. You think the split between David and Ian was bad? Imagine if those two factions had nothing to actually keep them from killing each other. That was Chelsie. She’s the force that keeps us all in line and together. If you free her, that last threat will vanish, and this whole family could fall apart just as we’re beginning to change it.”

     That was the most straightforward bit of politicking he’d ever heard from his oldest brother, but Julius still didn’t understand how Bob could say such a thing. “I understand her job is important, but do you have any idea how much all of this is hurting Chelsie? How much she hates doing what she does?”

     “Of course I do,” Bob said. “I’m her brother.”

     “That makes it even worse!” he cried. “What kind of brother sits back and lets his sister suffer just to keep around a few dragons who have to be frightened into behaving in the first place? If fear of Chelsie is the only thing keeping this family together, then we’ve got bigger problems than she does.”

     “Spoken like a true reformer,” Bob said with a smile. “But I’m not telling you all of this because I have vested political interests. I’m telling you this because I see the future. This isn’t speculation for me, Julius. I already know how everything plays out, and I’m telling you that the road you plan to take us down today doesn’t end well for anyone.”

     Julius stared at him in disbelief. “So you’re saying if I free Chelsie from her slavery, the clan is what? Doomed?”

     “I wouldn’t go that far, but it’s definitely not the path I’d pick,” the seer said. “And I’m not saying she has to stay a slave forever, just that you can’t free her right now.”

     “Or what?” Julius demanded. “What future is so horrible that letting Chelsie remain under Bethesda’s boot is the better option?”

     “You know I can’t tell you that,” Bob said irritably. “I’ve already explained many times why giving out knowledge of the future to non-seers is a terrible, no good, very bad idea. If I tell you what’s going to happen, you’re just going to argue and come up with a thousand reasons for why I’m wrong and whatever doom I’ve predicted can’t possibly come true, which is exactly why I don’t normally deal in absolute proclamations. I vastly prefer nudging you along with coincidences until you come to the conclusion I wanted from the start of your own accord, but I’m running out of time. I wouldn’t be telling you this at all if it wasn’t vastly important, so you’re just going to have to trust me. Don’t set Chelsie free tonight.”

     Julius took a deep breath. “I do trust you,” he said at last. “If you say something bad is going to come of this, I believe it, but that doesn’t change what I intend to do.”

     Bob fell utterly silent, his green eyes growing cold. “That is a very stupid decision,” he said at last.

     “I’m sure it is,” Julius agreed. “But I don’t care. Whatever is coming, we’ll deal with it, but I refuse to let Chelsie pay for our comfort and security with her suffering one moment longer.”

     “But I already said you could free her later,” Bob reminded him. “That’s a compromise! Don’t you love those?”

     “Not on this,” he said, clenching his fists. “Another time, maybe, I might have agreed, but I’ve just had the world’s hardest lesson in the dangers of putting things off. You say she’d go free later, but later is never guaranteed for any of us, is it? Chelsie’s already lost six hundred years to this nonsense. I won’t make her give up another minute.”

     “Even after she ordered you not to?” the seer growled, dropping the jovial brother act entirely. “We both know she won’t thank you for this.”

     “Maybe not,” Julius said. “I don’t even know what kind of secret Bethesda has over her because no one will tell me, but whatever it is, we can take it. We’ll handle whatever comes at us together, as a clan, but I did not waste my last day with Marci getting burned and stabbed by my own siblings so I could become part of the Council for a family that relies on an enslaved enforcer to hold us together.”

     “I am well aware of your feelings on the subject,” Brohomir snapped. “But I’m not here to fight over moral high ground. I am telling you as plainly as possible what we need to do to avoid disaster. It also bears mentioning, since you seem to have forgotten, that the only reason you’re even on this Council is because I put you there.”

     “I know that,” Julius said. “But—”

     “I don’t think you do,” Brohomir said, stepping forward until he was looming over his much smaller brother. “All of your impossible luck, your meteoric rise to power, it was all me. You’ve always been key to my plans, Julius, and I have been very good to you. Now, all I’m asking in return is one teensy tiny little favor. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to not do something, for that matter. I’m only asking for a delay, which I think we can both agree is uncharacteristically reasonable of me. So if you appreciate any of the work I’ve done for you, any of the blessings I’ve rained on your head, you’ll rein in your slightly annoying sense of moral justice temporarily and grant me this one little boon I’m asking to save us all from a great deal of unpleasantness.”

     By the time he finished, Julius was pressed against the wall. Bob always made such light of everything, it was easy to forget just how old and scary he could be when he stopped playing. Even worse, his request for a delay wasn’t actually that unreasonable, especially since Chelsie had told Julius repeatedly not to do it. It would be so easy—and probably smart—to just give in and do what they said, but he couldn’t. Maybe if he hadn’t just spent days being eaten raw by the unfairness and pointlessness of Marci’s death, Bob’s plea would have gotten through, because he did owe the seer more than he could ever repay. But even back when he’d been a pushover who did anything his family told him, Julius had never liked debts, and he’d started down this path specifically to end the exact crime Bob was telling him to protect. It didn’t matter if the delay was for one day or a thousand, it didn’t matter how much he owed his brother, it didn’t even matter if a meteor was going to crash into the mountain tonight because of this, what had been done to Chelsie was wrong. Unspeakably, abusively, microcosm-for-all-the-sins-of-the-clan wrong. And he would not let it continue.

     His decision must have been clear on his face, because Bob turned away before Julius could say a word, stepping off the elevator as it opened at the dark floor he shared with Amelia with a silence so pointed, Julius was amazed it didn’t draw blood.

     “I’m sorry,” he said to his brother’s back.

     “No, you’re not,” the seer replied as the doors closed. “And that’s the entire point.”

     Julius had no idea what to make of that, but the doors had already shut, leaving him alone in the golden elevator with the fear that he’d just made the second-biggest mistake of his life and the knowledge that he was still going to do it anyway. That was a cocktail strong enough to make any dragon pause, but Julius didn’t have time to recover. He had a promise to keep, and so he pulled himself straight, wrapping his resolve around him like armor as he pushed the button that would take him back up to the top of the mountain.

     ***

     After all that buildup, the inaugural meeting of the completed Heartstriker Council came together surprisingly quickly. Everyone was already there by the time Julius walked in. Including Bethesda and Ian, who were both sitting at what had been his mother’s marble banquet table, which someone had dragged out, chopped into a triangle, and placed in the empty space where Bethesda’s throne used to stand.

     As symbolism went, it was a little heavy handed, but that was dragons for you. Personally, Julius appreciated the primal roughness of it. He took his spot at the last empty corner with a feeling of surprising gravitas, folding his hands on the marble’s cold, smooth surface before turning to face his fellow Council members.

     “Finally,” Bethesda growled, giving him a dirty look. “Now that we are all here and have thus fulfilled the requirements of the contract Brohomir forced me to sign, unseal my dragon.”

     “In a moment,” Julius said. “First, I have a motion I’d like to put forward.”

     “It can wait,” Bethesda snapped.

     “No, it can’t,” he said, glaring at her. “And if you push me, I’ll just go back to my room, and then you’ll have to wait another day for the vote to unseal you.”

     His mother blinked in surprise, and then her face turned sullen. “When did you get this ruthless?”

     “I’ve had a very hard week,” he reminded her. “And a very good teacher.”

     “Better late than never, I suppose,” she said, waving her hand. “Fine. Let’s get your motion over with so I can go flying. My wings ache like you wouldn’t believe.”

     Having been sealed for over a month himself, Julius knew exactly how badly her wings ached. Telling her so wouldn’t change a thing, though, so he just moved on to what was actually important. “Now that the Council is assembled,” he said, pointedly not looking at Chelsie, who was standing on the balcony beside Conrad, sharpening her sword. “I’d like to propose a change to the Heartstriker clan structure. For many centuries now, some dragons in this family have had measurably fewer rights than others. Therefore, my first proposal to the Heartstriker Council is that the dragons of F-clutch be recognized as full members of the family with the same rights, privileges, and protections as everyone else, including the removal of the seal placed on their dragons at birth, the right to leave the mountain whenever they choose, and above all, the ability to say no to any order that doesn’t legally come from this Council without punishment.”

     “That’s quite was a mouthful,” Bethesda growled. “You could have just said ‘I want to free F-clutch.’”

     “I have to be thorough,” Julius replied. “Laws are no good if they’re too broad to effectively enforce. And I wasn’t finished. I also want all of these same rights, protections, and freedoms applied to Chelsie, effective immediately.”

     By the time he finished, the room was so silent he could hear the dust sweeping over the desert through the open balcony.

     “What?” Bethesda said at last.

     “I want to free Chelsie,” Julius translated for her. “Right now.”

     Something crashed across the room, and Julius looked up to see Chelsie had dropped the sword she’d been sharpening. Her Fang of the Heartstriker was still rattling on the ground like a cymbal, but Chelsie didn’t seem to hear it. She just stood there, staring at Julius with a look so torn between heart-stopping fear and wild hope that even she didn’t seem to know what to make of it.

     “Are you out of your mind?” Bethesda snarled, slamming her fist down on the table to bring the attention back to her. “I absolutely forbid it! Chelsie is vital to our security. If you set her free, you doom us all.”

     “How so?” Ian asked. “Personally, I think life without worrying about when Bethesda’s Shade is going to stab me in the back sounds like the exact opposite of doom. And the Fs have always been a pointless waste of resources. Who keeps an entire clutch of dragons as servants?” He turned back to Julius. “I vote yes. On all of it.”

     “Then you’re even more of a short-sighted fool than I thought you were!” their mother roared. “No dragon clan runs without fear. This is just more of Julius’s softhearted idiocy. He’s trying to turn us into humans. We’ll be a laughingstock!”

     “No, we’ll be an effective government,” Julius said firmly. “I think the run-up to the election proved perfectly just how badly fear works as a unification tactic. But I don’t have to convince you, do I? Because I’m also voting yes, which makes it two against one.” He smirked at Bethesda. “You’re outvoted, Mother.”

     For a heartbeat, Bethesda’s lovely face turned a very unflattering shade of scarlet. Then, fast as it had changed, she was right back to her old self, smirking down at Julius like a cat toying with its prey. “It won’t work,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I can’t stop you from freeing the Fs, but my control over Chelsie is a personal debt, which puts it outside the reach of this farce of a Council. You can’t make me give her up.”

     Julius began to sweat. He hadn’t considered that angle. Thankfully, though, he was no longer alone.

     “Oh, but we can,” Ian said slowly. “I’m sure your hold over Chelsie is dreadful indeed, but whatever deal you struck to make her sign away her soul was made during your long reign as clan head. During that time, you ran Heartstriker as a dictatorship with no differentiation between personal and clan decisions. Obviously, it’s far too late to go back and sort everything out now, centuries after the fact, which means we’re going to have to just pick one. So unless you want to claim that all the mortal insults you delivered and clan wars you started while acting as the Heartstriker were also personal debts incurred by you, and thus yours to deal with alone, you have no choice but to admit Chelsie’s servitude is to the clan, not to you.” He glanced at Julius. “Agreed?”

     “Yes,” Julius said, eyes wide. “That was amazing.”

     Ian shrugged the praise off and reached for one of the sheets of blank paper someone had stacked neatly in the middle of the table. “It’s what I do,” he said casually. “I was running businesses for a century before you were even born, remember? Fudging the line between business and personal is the oldest trick in the book. Frankly, I’m disappointed Mother didn’t see it coming.”

     Bethesda shot him a nasty look, but Ian was staring at his paper as he began to draft a proposal. He wrote for several minutes and then passed the sheet to Julius, who read it over. Sure enough, Ian had written down a more formal version of what he’d just said: that since Bethesda couldn’t differentiate between which decisions had been made as head of the clan and which had been made as herself, all previous decisions were now formally considered to have been made by her acting as the Heartstriker rather than alone. Furthermore, because of this, all of her personal claims on Chelsie—magical and legal—were hitherto null and void. Below these statements, he’d drawn three lines, one for each of them to sign with his own signature already in place. Julius signed next then passed the paper to Bethesda, who looked like she was about to choke.

     “I won’t sign.”

     “Then you won’t get your dragon form back,” Julius said flatly. “We can’t move forward with a proposal still on the table. You can mark yourself as a no if you want, but if you don’t sign, we’ll never get to the vote to unseal you.”

     Bethesda’s chest began to heave, and then she lurched forward, snatching the pen from his fingers. “Fine,” she snarled, scrawling her signature across the line. “Here’s your vote, and I hope you choke on it. But it won’t make a difference. You can’t change what’s in my head. So long as I know what Chelsie would rather die than admit, I’ll always have her by the—”

      The moment Bethesda finished signing her name, dragon magic snapped like broken glass. It was similar to what had happened when they’d all signed Bob’s contract to form the Council in the first place, except much more pointed, and much, much older. But while the shock of it put to rest any lingering doubts Julius had about the magical efficacy of the Council’s decisions, it hit Chelsie even harder. He’d been focused on their mother, so he hadn’t actually seen it happen, but that didn’t matter. Julius felt Chelsie’s bloodlust ring through the air like the scrape of a drawn knife right before she launched herself at Bethesda.

     “Chelsie!” he yelled, scrambling for his Fang. “Stop!”

     But she wasn’t listening. The second the life debt that kept her from actually killing her mother had snapped, she’d gone straight over the table, crashing into Bethesda like a cannonball. Now the two of them were rolling together on the floor. But while it was impossible to tell exactly what was going on between the flying limbs and deadly claws, Chelsie had the clear advantage over her sealed mother. Sure enough, barely five seconds after it had begun, the brawl ended with Bethesda’s neck firmly under Chelsie’s boot. Chelsie had already stomped down hard enough to draw blood before Julius finally got his hand around his Fang, freezing them both under an iron wall of magic.

     “Chelsie, stop,” he said again, panting. “You said you didn’t want to kill her!”

     “I said I didn’t want you to kill her,” Chelsie growled through clenched teeth, her eyes still locked on their mother with centuries of pent-up hate. “I have no problem at all skinning the old hag from nose to toes for what she’s done to us.”

     The unfettered rage in her voice was enough to make Bethesda tremble. In fact, now that Julius’s Fang had ended the fight, Bethesda’s own bloodlust seemed to be vanishing altogether in favor of fear, freeing her from the grip of his Fang as she wiggled out from under her murderous daughter’s boot.

     “You see?” she cried, scrambling to her feet. “She’s insane! This is what I warned you about. She’s never going to stop trying to kill me.” She turned to Julius. “Well, what are you waiting for? Attempted murder is still illegal in your little hugbox utopia, isn’t it? Punish her!”

     She actually tapped her foot as he finished, looking at Julius as if she seriously expected him to order Chelsie’s execution. But as he stared at her in disbelief, Julius realized his mother had just handed him the key to solving the problem of Chelsie’s secret.

     “Actually,” he said slowly, “freeing Chelsie and F-clutch was our first vote ever, which means we haven’t actually set any other rules down yet. That’s too bad for you, but really, what else did you expect? If you abuse and blackmail someone for six centuries, they’re going to want to kill you.”

     Bethesda began to look more nervous. “But we don’t do that anymore,” she said quickly. “Isn’t that what you’re always going on about? Ending the cycle of violence? If you let her kill me, you’ll be breaking your own rule.”

     “You’re right,” Julius said, glaring at her. “I didn’t go through all the headache and trouble of saving your life multiple times just to let you get killed now. But just because I don’t want any more killing in this clan doesn’t mean that what you’ve done magically goes away.” He tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword. “I can keep Chelsie frozen, but sooner or later, I’m going to have to let go. When that happens, do you really think I’ll be fast enough to stop the assassin you trained to kill your dragons?”

     By the time he finished, Bethesda’s face was ashen. “Then what are you going to do?” she said, her voice shaking. “You’re supposed to protect the Heartstrikers. That includes me!”

     “Hey, I’m just a J,” Julius reminded her. “And a failure. I can try, but even with my Fang, we both know I’m no match for Chelsie. Sooner or later, she’s going to find a way.”

     “I will,” Chelsie promised. “I will hunt you every day of my life if that’s what it takes, but I will kill you, Bethesda.” She bared her teeth, forcing Julius to put another hand on his sword to hold her in place. “You will pay for what you’ve done!”

     “What I’ve done?!” their mother roared. “I saved your life, you ungrateful child! I begged for you!”

     “And you’ve lorded it over me every day since!” Chelsie roared back. “I’ve saved your hide more times than I can count over the last six hundred years, and you repaid me by making me kill my brothers and sisters so you could play the good mother and keep your hands clean!” She lurched against the Fang’s hold, her eyes flashing with more emotion than Julius had ever seen on her face before. “You will pay!”

     “Not before you do,” Bethesda snarled, lifting her chin as she turned to Ian. “Do you want to know what Chelsie’s been hiding all these years? The secret shame she can’t let anyone—”

     Julius released his grip on the sword, and Chelsie pounced, tackling Bethesda back to the ground before he could freeze her again.

     “What are you doing, you idiot?” his mother cried, scrambling out from under her second near-fatal mauling in as many minutes.

     “Making a point,” Julius said calmly. “I don’t care what you did before. All I care about is our future together, as a clan. But that can’t happen if we stay mired in the past. Now, I can’t make Chelsie not want to kill you, but she might be willing to let things slide if you swear never to tell her secret.”

     Bethesda stared at him like she couldn’t believe what he’d just said, but it was his sister who took the suggestion worst of all. “Never!” she snarled. “I will never let her slide again. You have no idea what she’s done!”

     “I don’t,” he admitted. “But I’m not asking for your mercy or forgiveness, Chelsie. I’m asking you to compromise.”

     “You’re letting her get away with murder!” she roared, jerking against his Fang’s magic with a fury that gave him an instant splitting headache.

     “I know,” Julius said, gripping down tighter than ever. “But the killing has to stop somewhere, which means someone is going to get away unpunished. I can’t tell you how bad I wish it wasn’t her. You’re not the only one Bethesda’s stepped on. But no matter how much she deserves it, I can’t let you kill her, and you know it. But I can give you something I think you want even more: freedom.”

     Chelsie didn’t deny it, but she didn’t look convinced, either. “She’ll never let me go.”

     “She’ll have no choice,” Julius said, turning back to Bethesda. “Because she’s going to swear a blood oath of her own never to tell your secret to anyone. In return, you’ll swear not to kill her.”

     “So we’ll both lose,” Chelsie growled. “And her crimes go unpunished forever.”

     “Technically yes,” Julius said. “But I’d say you’re the clear winner here. You get to go free and live your life without worrying about Mother holding something over your head, but if she wants to keep any of her power, she’ll have to remain here in the private hell that I’m sure this Council will be for her. That definitely sounds like you’re getting the better end of the deal.”

     Bethesda clearly didn’t like that logic, but since Julius was the only reason she was alive at the moment, she wisely (and surprisingly) kept her mouth shut, watching Chelsie, who seemed to be fighting herself. She must have wanted to kill Bethesda even more than Julius realized, because it took her forever to decide. But then, finally, the pressure on his Fang eased as Chelsie clamped down on her bloodlust and stepped back, glaring at her mother with a look that was now more disgust than hate.

     “Swear it,” she growled. “Swear you will never tell anyone why we left China. Swear on your blood and your clan that you will take my secret to your grave, and I’ll promise not to be the one who puts you in it.”

     Bethesda lifted her chin. “An oath for an oath,” she demanded. “Swear on your blood not to kill me, and I’ll keep your foolish little secret to myself.”

     Chelsie ground her teeth, but in the end, she nodded, reaching up with a sharpened nail to slice open her hand. Once the blood started welling, she paused, glaring at her mother. “You first.”

     “Mistrustful little snake,” Bethesda said, reaching up to wipe a smear of blood from one of the small cuts on her bruised neck before pressing the bloody fingers to her lips. “I swear on my blood and my fire, on my power and my life, if you honor your oaths, I will keep your secret to my grave.”

     Julius frowned. He’d never heard that particular oath before, but it must have been a powerful one. Even sealed, he could feel his mother’s magic rising like flames around them, burning the words of her promise into the two dragonesses’ flesh as Chelsie pressed her own bloody hand to her mouth.

     “I swear on my blood and my fire,” she growled. “On my power and my life, if you honor your oaths, I will abandon all attempts to kill you, now or in the future.”

     Chelsie’s magic joined Bethesda’s as she spoke, the two flames spinning together in a maelstrom as sharp as dragon teeth. Then, as suddenly as it had risen, the magic was gone, sinking into the two dragonesses’ skin as the blood vanished from their hands.

     “And that’s that,” Bethesda said, reaching up to rub her injured neck. “I—”

     She never got to finish. As soon as the magic sank in, Chelsie hauled back and punched her in the face. It happened so quickly, Julius didn’t even have time to grab his sword. When he finally did get his hand around it, though, there was no need, because his sister didn’t try to attack again. She just stood there staring down at Bethesda, who was lying on the ground, swearing up a storm while clutching her dislocated jaw. Then, without a word, Chelsie turned and walked away.

     Every step was faster than the last. By the time she reached the balcony where she’d dropped her sword, she was practically sprinting, running right past her abandoned Fang as she bolted through the balcony door and did a swan dive out into the open air. For a terrifying second, her body vanished over the edge, and then an enormous dragon burst into view, its matte-black-dyed feathers rippling in the afternoon sunlight as Chelsie flew silently and swiftly toward the horizon, her huge wings pushing her faster and faster until she was out of sight.

     “I suppose that’s her way of saying ‘I quit,’” Ian said, walking over to offer his hand to the injured Bethesda, who smacked it away. “So what now?”

     “What do you mean ‘what now?’” their mother spat, wrenching her jaw back into place with a sickening crack before marching back to the Council table and slamming herself down in her chair. “Chelsie’s not the only one who wants to go flying. You two idiots still owe me a vote.”

     Given how she’d behaved through all of this, Julius didn’t want to give her anything. But a deal was a deal, and so, with a final look at the empty blue horizon, he went back to the table as well, taking his seat across from Ian as Bethesda grabbed a sheet of paper and began writing down the Council edict that would finally authorize Amelia to break the seal Estella had made her put on their mother and give the Heartstriker her dragon back.

     ***

     “And there she goes,” Bob said from the edge of Amelia’s balcony, shielding his eyes against the sun as he watched the black speck of a dragon vanish out of sight.

     “Good for her,” Amelia wheezed from her couch by her magical circle. “Though I suppose this means Julius didn’t take your advice.”

     “I knew he wouldn’t,” the seer said, walking back inside to join her. “It was hopeless from the start. His mind was already set.”

     Amelia nodded, but she didn’t open her eyes. She just lay there like a frail old woman, her hands clutching the cut-glass tumbler containing the last of her really good scotch. “Why do it, then?” she whispered. “You seriously harmed his trust in you.”

     “I did worse than that,” Bob said, reaching down to help her raise the tumbler to her colorless lips. “But it had to be done. If this is going to work, I needed a tool even I couldn’t break, and you can’t know if someone won’t cave unless you push them.”

     “Still seems too risky to me,” Amelia said, taking a tiny sip. “What if he never trusts you again?”

     “He shouldn’t,” Bob growled, taking the glass away. “I’m out of time, Amelia. From here out, there’s no more room for error. Everything has to work exactly the first time.”

     “And it will,” she assured him, cracking her eyes open at last with a weak smile. “I’ve known since you had your first vision at thirteen that you’d be the greatest seer ever born. I’ve bet my life on you countless times, and you’ve always come through. This time will be no different.”

     “So you say,” he whispered, reaching down to stroke her brittle hair. “But you’re cutting it awful close, dearest.”

     “What’s the point of gambling if you aren’t willing to go all in?” Amelia said with a hollow laugh. “And it was past time for a change. I’ve been traveling the planes for a thousand years now. Thanks to the time dilation, that makes me old even by dragon standards, but planeswalking can’t challenge me anymore. I need something new. Something I can sink my teeth into forever.” She smiled. “You might say I’m finally ready to settle down. Before I do, though, there’s one last loose end to tie up.”

     She reached into the folds of her blanket and plucked out a heavy envelope with Julius’s name on it. “What’s this?” Bob asked, truly curious. He’d foreseen there would be a letter, but he hadn’t glimpsed what was inside.

     “A condolence gift,” she said. “For our Nice Dragon. It was ridiculously hard after Marci’s death left me like this.” She waved down at her emaciated body. “But I did it. I finally managed to crack those hateful green eyes. It was actually stupidly simple, which I should have guessed from the start. Mother’s never been much of a mage.” She tapped her fingers on the envelope. “Anyway, I’ve written it all down in steps even a J should be able to follow. With this, he should be able to break the whole clan free if he wants to.”

     That was a surprise indeed, but Bob was in too much of a hurry to savor it. “Who did you break out?” he asked as he took the letter.

     “Fredrick,” she said. “He was quite shocked, but who wouldn’t be? Dragon eyes usually come from the father, and with eyes like those, there can be no doubt.”

     “Well, I hope you covered them right back up again,” the seer said with a nervous look at the horizon. “If Chelsie finds out, she’ll have our heads.”

     “You mean your head,” Amelia said. “Because unless she gets here in the next five minutes, she’ll be too late for mine.”

     Bob’s hands began to shake. “Amelia…”

     “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I gave Fredrick an illusion that should do the trick long enough. I’m not trying to air dirty laundry or ruffle any feathers. I just wanted to make sure I could die in peace knowing Svena never beat me at a single thing.”

     She grinned up at her brother, but Bob was looking at his feet. “You know, maybe we should wait another—”

     “No!” she snarled, grabbing his arm. “We can’t put this off any longer, Brohomir. Look at me! Between Marci’s death and breaking the green eyes, I’m running on fumes. You were the one who just said there’d be no more second chances. That includes me.” She let him go, falling back to her couch with an exhausted sigh. “This whole thing was our idea, yours and mine. I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn.”

     He knew that. He’d seen this day coming for a century now, but like all his visions, knowing didn’t make it any easier to accept. “Can’t it be someone else?” he choked out at last. “Svena would do it in a heartbeat, but I don’t know if I can…” He stopped, taking a deep breath. “You’re the only real family I’ve ever had, Amelia.”

     “But that’s why it has to be you,” she said softly, reaching up to brush his long hair back from his face. “I might be grossly weakened, but I still have the feeling I’m going to take this rather badly, and you’re the only one I could never bring myself to kill.”

     Bob knew that, too. He’d told her as much himself back when all of this had seemed terribly clever rather than just terrible. Every step of this day had been planned for decades, and yet…

     “Enough,” Amelia growled, tossing back the last of her scotch before sitting up and chucking the empty glass tumbler off the balcony. “No more hesitation. I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”

     He wasn’t, but seeing how he never would be, Bob supposed that didn’t matter. So, since he clearly wasn’t getting out of this, he focused instead on sharpening his magic, sending his pigeon safely away to perch on Amelia’s pile of empty bottles while he honed his fire. When it was as sharp as he could make it, he turned back to his sister.

     “Ready?”

     She held her emaciated arms out wide, which was answer enough. With no more chance of escape, Brohomir decided to just get this over with as quickly as possible, moving at his full speed for the first time in centuries as he punched forward, plunging the talon of his sharpened magic deep into Amelia’s chest.

     As predicted, she did not take it well. Even on death’s door, Amelia was one of the strongest dragons on the planet, and she fought to the last breath. If he’d been anyone else, she would have ripped his throat out, among other things. But even in her dying struggles, Amelia’s attacks never landed anywhere truly vital, and eventually she fell still, her frail hands sliding off him as she slumped over.

     For a long moment, she lay motionless on the couch. Then, in a single instant, her entire body turned to pure-white ash. It held her shape for an instant, and then a breeze blew in from the open balcony, and what was left of his favorite sister collapsed into dust. When Bob finally worked up the courage to pull his hands free of the ash, a beautiful orange flame was cupped in his palms. It was the last of Amelia’s fire, the purest magic of the greatest dragon mage he’d ever known. He was still staring at it when a shocked voice spoke behind him.

     “What are you doing?”

     Bob shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a seer, after all. But hunched over the fire and ash that was all that remained of the sister who’d been more of a mother to him than Bethesda could ever claim, Bob had lost track of time, which was the only reason he hadn’t been ready and waiting when Svena teleported into Amelia’s room carrying a frozen bottle of Aquavit and two tall glasses.

     “What are you doing?” she said again, the frosty liquor bottle crashing to the ground as her blue eyes went from Bob and the fire to the pile of ash on Amelia’s couch. “What have you done?”

     “What she asked,” Bob said, closing his hands protectively over the flickering orange flame.

     Stumbling in shock, Svena made her way to the couch, reaching down to touch what was left of Amelia with trembling fingers. “My enemy,” she whispered, her cold voice cracking. “My only true rival.” The delicate ash crumbled even further when she touched it, and Svena snatched her hand away, whirling on Bob instead. “You killed her!”

     When he didn’t deny it, ice raced across the floor, filling the enormous cave and dropping the air temperature to below freezing in seconds. “How dare you?” Svena roared, rocking the mountain with her rage. “She was mine! My rival! My friend! Mine to kill! How dare you take her from me?” She threw out her arm, launching a barrage of razor-sharp ice straight at his head. “I will kill you!”

     “But you can’t,” Bob said, dodging the ice easily before stepping into position to avoid the next attack, which she hadn’t even formed yet. “First, we’re in the desert, which means you have to work twice as hard to produce your ice cubes. Second, you’re pregnant and pouring most of your power into your still-forming eggs. Third, I’m a seer, and we both know that if you could kill one of those, you’d have done so ages ago and saved us all a lot of trouble.”

     Svena responded by throwing a giant ice spike at his head, but Bob simply leaned sideways, letting it sweep by him with inches to spare. The next attack played out the same way, as did the one after that, but Svena didn’t stop. Her rage wouldn’t let her, and so she kept going, launching ice wildly at Brohomir until there was nothing left.

     “You see?” Bob said as she doubled over, panting as she clutched her rounded belly. “I was right.”

     “Shut up,” Svena snarled, glaring at him. “I can see now why my sister hated you, but it matters not.” She tapped her fingers on her pregnant stomach. “We both know I’m the only expecting dragoness in the world right now. My eggs will be the first to hatch since Estella’s death. That means my daughter will be the next seer, and I swear, Brohomir, as soon as she is born, I will teach her to hate you. Together, we will ruin your every plot, disrupt your every effort purely for the joy of seeing you fail.” She straightened up with a haughty look. “When we are done, you will wish I had killed you here as you killed her.”

     “Undoubtedly,” he said. “But there’s an old saying about counting your chickens before they hatch, Svena.”

     “You’re one to talk about chickens, feathered snake,” she growled, her white-blond hair whipping in the wind as a swirl of snow kicked up around her. “But I think I’ve coddled these eggs enough. When I see you again, I’ll have a seer of my own at my side, and the first thing I’ll teach her is how to pluck a Heartstriker.”

     “Looking forward to it,” Bob said, but his heart wasn’t in it. Svena was already gone in any case, vanishing in a storm of ice and fury to go lay her eggs in a fit of vengeance for her lost friend. Depressing as that picture was, though, Bob was glad Svena had her anger to carry her through. Having someone to hate undoubtedly felt better than the dull ache in his own chest as he carried Amelia’s flickering fire—which he’d kept safe in his hands throughout the fight—out of her room and down the countless stairs to the very bottom of the mountain.

     As foreseen, the Fs’ quarters were empty. A quick glance at the future revealed that they’d all taken a page from Chelsie and skipped town, barreling into the sky to enjoy their newfound freedom the second the news of their release came down. He’d be alone here for six hours at least, more than enough time, but that didn’t stop Bob from walking quickly down the corridor, passing Amelia’s fire to one hand as he set to work on Chelsie’s door.

     Even knowing exactly where to press, it still took forever to get through all of his rightfully paranoid little sister’s locks and wards. Finally, the last lock clicked, and he stepped into the bunker that had served as Chelsie’s fortress of solitude since she’d first come home from China all those centuries ago. It was just as small as he remembered, but Bob hadn’t been here personally in ages, which was why he’d left himself plenty of time to search. Time, it turned out, he did not need. True to form, Chelsie had left his target on display, nestled in a place of honor at the heart of what passed for her treasury.

     Carefully, painstakingly, Bob popped the lock and removed the rainbow-hued dragon egg from its heated box. Most eggs rattled when you touched them, the tiny whelp inside alert to danger even before it knew what danger was. But this egg was still when his arm closed around it, the fragile life inside still pulsing softly only because Chelsie was too stubborn to let it die.

     Balancing the egg in one hand and Amelia’s fire in the other, Bob sank to the floor. He placed the too-quiet egg in his lap, making sure it was snugly tucked against his body heat before pressing the hand that still cradled the last flicker of Amelia’s life into the leathery shell. The egg absorbed the flame at once, and a second later, something inside it began to shake as the old dragon’s fire sparked the new.

     Once caught, the flame spread quickly, and the egg began to grow warmer. Having watched his own mother do this eight times now, Bob knew how to help it along, blowing little puffs of his own flame across its rainbow surface until the shell glowed red. Finally, when the egg was so hot it was singeing his clothes, a crack appeared on the surface as a tiny claw broke free, clutching the wall of the egg that had been its prison for far, far too long.

     “There you go,” Bob said, using his hands to help it break through the old, leathery shell. “There you are, my beauty.”

     The baby dragon cheeped, moving her blind, shaky, down-covered head toward the sound of his voice, growing steadier on her spindly little legs as she opened her lids at last to look up at him with eyes as beautiful and bright as golden coins.

     “Hello, darling,” he whispered, mindful of her baby fangs as he reached down to gently stroke her downy nose. “Happy extremely belated birthday. My name is Bob. Remember it, because you and I are going to be the very best of enemies.”

     The tiny dragon chirped in confusion, blinking her golden eyes as Bob stood up, lifting her out of the remains of her egg before tucking her into his coat. When she was safely pressed against his chest, he kissed her little nose and held out his arm for his pigeon, who’d been silently following this entire time. When she flew down to perch on his wrist, he turned and carried both of his girls out of the room, out of the basement sanctuary Chelsie had made for her Fs, and out of the mountain altogether, stealing into the desert like a thief with a Nameless End on his shoulder and the first dragoness hatched since the death of Estella, his very own little seer, hidden inside his coat.

     Epilogue

     When Marci woke, she was alone in the dark.

     She blinked rapidly, looking around in confusion, but there was nothing. She couldn’t even see herself. Just the dark, a lightless void so deep and unrelenting, she had to close her eyes again. Not that it helped.

     “Ghost?”

     I’m here, the spirit said, but his voice in her head sounded odd, like he was shouting from across a chasm.

     “Why do you sound so far away?”

     Because you’re not in my domain, he said, his distant voice frustrated. You’re dead, but you’re not forgotten.

     Marci nodded. “So how do I get to you?”

     You can’t. Not unless we wait until everyone who remembers dies as well. It wouldn’t be too bad if it were only humans, they forget easily. But that dragon will remember you forever, and dragons live a very long time.

     He said that like it was a problem, but Marci refused to feel bad about the fact that Julius would remember her forever. “We’ll just have to try something different, then,” she said, peering around at the dark, the only thing there was to look at. “Let’s start with where I am. I mean, I understand that I’m dead, but I have no intention of staying that way.” She was going to get out of here, and then she was going to get back home to Julius. There had to be a way. What was the point of dying to become a Merlin if she couldn’t go back and actually be one? And speaking of, “I thought you said the path to being a Merlin was just on the other side?”

     It is, Ghost said angrily. I’m actually standing right next to it, but I can’t see you. Don’t worry, though. I won’t let you go.

     Something moved in the dark as he said that, and Marci had the odd sensation of a hand tightening inside her head. Under any other circumstance, that would have been creepy as all get out. Right now, though, it was very comforting to know someone had a grip on things. It also gave her an idea. “Do you think you could yank me over there like you yanked me out of my body?”

     What do you think I’ve been trying to do? I’ve been pulling since I heard your voice, but it’s not working. The only reason I can touch you at all is because of our bond, but it wasn’t meant to be used like this. If I pull too hard, it will snap.

     “Crud,” she muttered, taking an experimental step forward.

     This was a very bad idea. Now that she was trying to move, it became obvious that she wasn’t just blind from the dark. There really was nothing there, no ground under her feet, no sensation of movement, not even the feel of her own body. There was no pain, no pleasure, no sensation of any kind. Just her thoughts and the endless, fathomless, empty dark.

     “Ghost?”

     I’m here.

     The sound of his voice was instant relief. Marci didn’t have personal experience with sensory deprivation, but she was pretty sure staying too long in places like this was how people broke. “I need to get out of here.”

     I know, the spirit growled. I’m trying. But I don’t know what to do. I can’t reach you. There was a long pause after that, and then, Maybe I can send you some help.

     That sounded promising. “Help would be great. I’m literally in the dark here. What did you have in mind?”

     You’ll see, he said, his voice strained, like he was pushing very hard. As you gave to me, so I will give to you.

     The spirit’s words were strangely ritualistic, and deep in Marci’s mind, his reassuring grip began to vanish. “Whoa,” she said nervously. “What are you doing?”

     What I have to, he said. I can’t get to you, so I’m sending someone who can. His voice grew more distant with every word, growing softer and softer, even as he started to shout. I give it back! The price is returned! The bond is broken!

     “What?” she yelled back. “No! That’s not what I want!”

     It’s the only way, he cried, his tiny voice desperate. Trust me!

     She did. She had, but this was too much. “Don’t leave me alone!”

     I won’t, he promised. But you have to remember, Marci. Remember him, so he can guide you back to me!

     That sounded terrifyingly final, but before Marci could scream at him to stop, Ghost’s hand vanished from her mind.

     The moment he was gone, the endless emptiness roared in to fill the void. Marci staggered as it hit, clutching her head, but there was nothing to clutch. She had no head, no hands, no body at all, and now no Ghost, either. She was alone, utterly alone in the yawning emptiness. But just as she began to panic, Marci realized that wasn’t quite true.

     There was still no light or sensation, so she had no explanation for how it worked, and yet she knew with absolute certainty that there was now someone else here with her in the dark. He was actually standing right in front of her: a stocky middle-aged man with brown eyes and brown hair that was touched with silver at the temples. How she could see all of that without light, Marci had no idea, but there he was, smiling at her with a wide, easy, laughing smile that was as familiar as her own face. And as Marci instinctively smiled back, everything she’d forgotten came rushing back.

     “Daddy.”

     The memories landed like punches in her mind—Bixby, fleeing Las Vegas, her childhood, blowing up her stupid, ugly house—they were all back, and at the center of everything was the man in front of her. Her father. Her poor, murdered father, who she’d left forgotten in the desert. How had she forgotten?!

     Tears tumbled down her face. The sudden wetness was the first physical feeling she’d had in this place, but Marci was too gone to care. She barely even registered the fact that she could see her body again as she threw herself into her father’s arms. “Daddy!”

     Aldo Novalli hugged her close. “Hello, carina.”

     The familiar endearment sent Marci to pieces all over again. She shut her eyes tight, clutching her father in the endless dark as she cried all the tears she’d forgotten for the father she’d lost plus more for the spirit that she could no longer feel.

     Thank you for reading!

      

     Thank you for reading No Good Dragon Goes Unpunished! If you enjoyed the story, or even if you didn’t, I hope you’ll consider leaving a review. Reviews, good and bad, are vital to any author’s career, and I would be extremely thankful and appreciative if you’d consider writing one for me.

     Want to know when my next novel is available? Visit www.rachelaaron.net to see all my books and to sign up for my new release mailing list! You can also follow me on Twitter @Rachel_Aaron or like my Facebook page, facebook.com/RachelAaronAuthor, for up-to-date information on all of my releases.

     I’m already hard at work on the fourth Heartstriker novel and hope to have it out early next year. If that’s too long to wait, you can always check out one of my other completed series. Simply click over to the “Want More Books by Rachel?” page in your eReader’s table of contents, or visit www.rachelaaron.net to see a full list of all my books complete with their beautiful covers, links to reviews, and free sample chapters!

     Thank you again for reading, and I hope you’ll be back soon!

     Yours sincerely,

     Rachel Aaron

     Enjoyed No Good Dragon Goes Unpunished? Try the Fantasy series that started it all,

     THE LEGEND OF ELI MONPRESS

     

     Eli Monpress is talented. He's charming. And he's the greatest thief in the world.

     He’s also a wizard, and with the help of his partners in crime—a swordsman with the world’s most powerful magic sword (but no magical ability of his own) and a demonseed who can step through shadows and punch through walls—he's getting ready to pull off the heist of his career. To start, though, he'll just steal something small. Something no one will miss.

     Something like… a king.

     "I cannot be less than 110% in love with this book. I loved it. I love it still. Already I sort of want to read it again. Considering my fairly epic Godzilla-sized To Read list, that's just about the highest compliment I can give a book." - CSI: Librarian

      

     Keep reading for a sneak peek of the first chapter, or buy it now in ebook, print, or audio!

     Chapter 1

      

     In the prison under the castle Allaze, in the dark, moldy cells where the greatest criminals in Mellinor spent the remainder of their lives counting rocks to stave off madness, Eli Monpress was trying to wake up a door.

     It was a heavy oak door with an iron frame, created centuries ago by an overzealous carpenter to have, perhaps, more corners than it should. The edges were carefully fitted to lie flush against the stained, stone walls, and the heavy boards were nailed together so tightly that not even the flickering torch light could wedge between them. In all, the effect was so overdone, the construction so inhumanly strong, that the whole black affair had transcended simple confinement and become a monument to the absolute hopelessness of the prisoner’s situation. Eli decided to focus on the wood; the iron would have taken forever.

     He ran his hands over it, long fingers gently tapping in a way living trees find desperately annoying, but dead wood finds soothing, like a scratch behind the ears. At last, the boards gave a little shudder and said, in a dusty, splintery voice, “What do you want?”

     “My dear friend,” Eli said, never letting up on his tapping, “the real question here is, what do you want?”

     “Pardon?” the door rattled, thoroughly confused. It wasn’t used to having questions asked of it.

     “Well, doesn’t it strike you as unfair?” Eli said. “From your grain, anyone can see you were once a great tree. Yet, here you are, locked up through no fault of your own, shut off from the sun by cruel stones with no concern at all for your comfort or continued health.”

     The door rattled again, knocking the dust from its hinges. Something about the man’s voice was off. It was too clear for a normal human’s, and the certainty in his words stirred up strange memories that made the door decidedly uncomfortable.

     “Wait,” it grumbled suspiciously. “You’re not a wizard, are you?”

     “Me?” Eli clutched his chest. “I, one of those confidence tricksters? Those manipulators of spirits? Why, the very thought offends me! I am but a wanderer, moving from place to place, listening to the spirits’ sorrows and doing what little I can to make them more comfortable.” He resumed the pleasant tapping, and the door relaxed against his fingers.

     “Well”—it leaned forward a fraction, lowering its creak conspiratorially—“if that’s the case, then I don’t mind telling you the nails do poke a bit.” It rattled, and the nails stood out for a second before returning to their position flush against the wood. The door sighed. “I don’t mind the dark so much, or the damp. It’s just that people are always slamming me, and that just drives the sharp ends deeper. It hurts something awful, but no one seems to care.”

     “Let me have a look,” Eli said, his voice soft with concern. He made a great show of poring over the door and running his fingers along the joints. The door waited impatiently, creaking every time Eli’s hands brushed over a spot where the nails rubbed. Finally, when he had finished his inspection, Eli leaned back and tucked his fist under his chin, obviously deep in thought. When he didn’t say anything for a few minutes, the door began to grow impatient, which is a very uncomfortable feeling for a door.

     “Well?” it croaked.

     “I’ve found the answer,” Eli said, crouching down on the doorstep. “Those nails, which give you so much trouble, are there to pin you to the iron frame. However”—Eli held up one finger in a sage gesture—“they don’t stay in of their own accord. They’re not glued in; there’s no hook. In fact, they seem to be held in place only by the pressure of the wood around them. So”—he arched an eyebrow—“the reason they stay in at all, the only reason, is because you’re holding on to them.”

     “Of course!” the door rumbled. “How else would I stay upright?”

     “Who said you had to stay upright?” Eli said, throwing out his arms in a grand gesture. “You’re your own spirit, aren’t you? If those nails hurt you, why, there’s no law that you have to put up with it. If you stay in this situation, you’re making yourself a victim.”

     “But . . .” The door shuddered uncertainly.

     “The first step is admitting you have a problem.” Eli gave the wood a reassuring pat. “And that’s enough for now. However”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“if you’re ever going to live your life, really live it, then you need to let go of the roles others have forced on you. You need to let go of those nails.”

     “But, I don’t know . . .” The door shifted back and forth.

     “Indecision is the bane of all hardwoods.” Eli shook his head. “Come on, it doesn’t have to be forever. Just give it a try.”

     The door clanged softly against its frame, gathering its resolve as Eli made encouraging gestures. Then, with a loud bang, the nails popped like corks, and the boards clattered to the ground with a long, relieved sigh.

     Eli stepped over the planks and through the now empty iron doorframe. The narrow hall outside was dark and empty. Eli looked one way, then the other, and shook his head.

     “First rule of dungeons,” he said with a wry grin, “don’t pin all your hopes on a gullible door.”

     With that, he stepped over the sprawled boards, now mumbling happily in peaceful, nail-free slumber, and jogged off down the hall toward the rendezvous point.

     ***

     In the sun-drenched rose garden of the castle Allaze, King Henrith of Mellinor was spending money he hadn’t received yet.

     “Twenty thousand gold standards!” He shook his teacup at his Master of the Exchequer. “What does that come out to in mellinos?”

     The exchequer, who had answered this question five times already, responded immediately. “Thirty-one thousand five hundred at the current rate, my lord, or approximately half Mellinor’s yearly tax income.”

     “Not bad for a windfall, eh?” The king punched him in the shoulder good-naturedly. “And the Council of Thrones is actually going to pay all that for one thief? What did the bastard do?”

     The Master of the Exchequer smiled tightly and rubbed his shoulder. “Eli Monpress”—he picked up the wanted poster that was lying on the table, where the roughly sketched face of a handsome man with dark, shaggy hair grinned boyishly up at them—“bounty, paid dead or alive, twenty thousand Council Gold Standard Weights. Wanted on a hundred and fifty-seven counts of grand larceny against a noble person, three counts of fraud, one charge of counterfeiting, and treason against the Rector Spiritualis.” He squinted at the small print along the bottom of the page. “There’s a separate bounty of five thousand gold standards from the Spiritualists for that last count, which has to be claimed independently.”

     “Figures.” The king slurped his tea. “The Council can’t even ink a wanted poster without the wizards butting their noses in. But”—he grinned broadly—“money’s money, eh? Someone get the Master Builder up here. It looks like we’ll have that new arena after all.”

     The order, however, was never given, for at that moment, the Master Jailer came running through the garden gate, his plumed helmet gripped between his white-knuckled hands.

     “Your Majesty.” He bowed.

     “Ah, Master Jailer.” The king nodded. “How is our money bag liking his cell?”

     The jailer’s face, already pale from a job that required him to spend his daylight hours deep underground, turned ghostly. “Well, you see, sir, the prisoner, that is to say”— he looked around for help, but the other officials were already backing away—“he’s not in his cell.”

     “What?” The king leaped out of his seat, face scarlet. “If he’s not in his cell, then where is he?”

     “We’re working on that right now, Majesty!” the jailer said in a rush. “I have the whole guard out looking for him. He won’t get out of the palace!”

     “See that he doesn’t,” the king growled. “Because if he’s not back in his cell within the hour . . .”

     He didn’t need to finish the threat. The jailer saluted and ran out of the garden as fast as his boots would carry him. The officials stayed frozen where they were, each waiting for the others to move first as the king began to stalk around the garden, sipping his tea with murderous intent.

     “Your Majesty,” squeaked a minor official, who was safely hidden behind the crowd. “This Eli seems a dangerous character. Shouldn’t you move to safer quarters?”

     “Yes!” The Master of Security grabbed the idea and ran with it. “If that thief could get out of his cell, he can certainly get into the castle!” He seized the king’s arm. “We must get you to a safer location, Your Majesty!”

     This was followed by a chorus of cries from the other officials.

     “Of course!”

     “His majesty’s safety is of utmost importance!”

     “We must preserve the monarchy at all costs!”

     Any objections the king may have had were overridden as a surge of officials swept down and half carried, half dragged him into the castle.

     “Put me down, you idiots!” the king bellowed, but the officials were good and scared now. Each saw only the precipitous fall that awaited him personally if there were a regime change, and fear gave them courage as they pushed their protesting monarch into the castle, down the arching hallways, and into the throne room. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” the Master of Security said, organizing two teams to shut the great, golden doors. “That thief won’t get in.”

     The king, who had given up fighting somewhere during the last hundred feet, just harrumphed and stomped up the dais stairs to his throne to wait it out. Meanwhile, the officials dashed back and forth across the marble—locking the parlor doors, overturning the elegant end tables, peeking behind the busts of former kings—checking for every possible, or impossible, security vulnerability. Henrith did his best to ignore the nonsense. Being royalty meant enduring people’s endless fussing over your safety, but when the councilors started talking about boarding over the stained-glass windows, the king decided that enough was enough. He stood from his throne and took a breath in preparation for a good bellow when a tug on his robes stopped him short. The king looked down incredulously to see who would dare, and found two royal guards in full armor standing at attention beside the royal dais.

     “Sir!” The shorter guard saluted. “The Master of Security has assigned us to move you to a safer location.”

     “I thought this was a safer location.” The king sighed.

     “Sir!” The soldier saluted again. “With all due respect, the throne room is the first place the enemy would look, and with this ruckus, he could easily get through.”

     “You’re right about that,” the king said, glowering at the seething mass of panicked officials. “Let’s get out of here.”

     He stomped down the steps from the high marble dais and let the guards lead him to the back wall of the throne room. The shorter soldier went straight to an older tapestry hanging forgotten in one corner and pushed it aside, revealing, much to the king’s amazement, a small door set flush with the stonework.

     “I never knew this was here,” the king said, genuinely astonished.

     “Doors like these are standard in most castles this age,” the guard said, running his gloved hand over the stones to the right of the door. “You just have to know where to look.” His fingers closed in the crack between two stones. Something clicked deep in the wall, and the door swung open with a soft scrape.

     “This way, sir,” the soldier said, ducking through.

     The secret passage was only a few feet long. This was good, because it was only a few inches wide, and the king was getting very claustrophobic sliding along sideways between the dusty stone walls, especially when the second soldier closed the door behind them, plunging the passage into darkness. A few steps later, they emerged into the back of another large tapestry. The soldier pushed the heavy cloth aside, and the king was amazed to find himself in his own drawing room.

     “Why did no one tell me about this?” he said, exasperated, watching as the second soldier draped the tapestry back into place. “It will be fantastically useful the next time I want to get out of an audience.”

     “Over here, sir,” the shorter guard said, waving toward the wide balcony that overlooked the castle garden. The king didn’t see how a balcony was much safer than a throne room, but the guard seemed to know what he was doing, so the king followed quietly. Perhaps there was another secret passage. The king frowned, regretting all those times he’d chosen to go hunting rather than let the Master Builder take him on that tour of the castle the man was always so keen on. Well, the king thought, if the Master Builder had put more emphasis on secret passages rather than appreciation of the flying buttresses, perhaps he would have been more inclined to come along.

     The balcony jutted out from the drawing room in a large semicircle of pale golden marble. His mother had had it built so she could watch the birds up close, and the handrails brushed right up against the leafy branches of the linden trees. The king was about to comment on how peaceful it was compared to the nonsense in the throne room, but the shorter of the two soldiers spoke first.

     “I’m really sorry about this.”

     The king looked at him quizzically. “Sorry about wha—”

     His question was answered by a blinding pain at the back of his head. The trees and the balcony swirled together, and then he was on the ground with no notion of how he’d gotten there.

     “Did you have to hit him that hard?” The soldier’s voice floated above him.

     “Yes,” answered a voice the king hadn’t heard before, which his poor, aching brain assigned to the tall soldier who hadn’t spoken while they were escorting him. “That is, if you want him to stay quiet.”

     The shorter soldier took off his helmet, revealing a young man with a head of dark, shaggy hair. “If you say so,” he said, tucking the helmet under his arm.

     The shorter soldier trotted to the edge of the balcony, where the trees were thickest. Spots danced across the king’s vision, but he was sure he saw what happened next. One of the trees moved to meet the soldier. The king blinked, but the tree was still moving. It leaned over as far as it could, stretching out a thick branch to make a nice little step up off the railing. So great was his astonishment, the king barely felt the bigger soldier heft him over his shoulder like an oat sack. Then they were up on the tree branch, and the tree was bending over to set them gently on the ground.

     “Thank you,” said the shorter soldier as they stepped onto the grass.

     And the king, though his ears were ringing horribly, could have sworn he heard the leaves whisper, “Anytime, Eli.”

     That thought was too much for him, and he dove into unconsciousness.

     ***

     The ghosthound appeared at the gates of the royal city of Allaze without warning. One moment, the guards were standing beside the gatehouse playing divel shanks and speculating on what all the noise in the palace was about, the next they were on their backs, staring up at an animal that only lived in stories. From the way it was showing its teeth, the guards would rather it had stayed there. Twice the size of a horse and built like a racing dog, it had to swivel its head down to look them over. The great orange eyes, each the size of a dinner plate, twinkled with amusement, or perhaps hunger. But most horrifying of all was the way the white patterns on the animal’s silver fur moved like night clouds in a high wind, forming terrifying, shifting shapes above its dagger-sharp teeth.

     “Excuse me,” said a voice, “but I need you to open the gates. I have an urgent message for King Henrith.”

     The guards cowered on the sandy ground. “Great powers,” the left one muttered. “I never knew they could talk.”

     There was a long sigh, and the beast lay down in a fluid motion, bringing the woman on its back into view. She was very well dressed in a handsome green riding suit with a crisp white shirt and tall boots. Red hair hung in a cascade of curls around her pretty, girlish face. Overall, she had a very striking look that was entirely out of place for a woman who rode a monster.

     When she was sure she had their attention, the woman said, very slowly and with a charming smile, “My name is Miranda Lyonette, and I am here on behalf of the Spirit Court with a warning for your king. Now, I’m on a very tight deadline, so I would appreciate it very much if you would open the gate and let me on my way.”

     It was the older guard who gathered his wits first. “Um, lady,” he said, picking himself up off the ground, “we’d like to help, but we can’t open the gate without the Master Gatekeeper, and he’s been called off to the castle.”

     “Well,” she said, “then you’d better run and get him.”

     The men looked at each other, then back at the woman. She made a little shooing motion, and the guards ran off, falling over each other as they rushed the tiny gatehouse door.

     When they were gone, Miranda slid down the hound’s back and began to stretch the last few days out of her joints.

     “I could have just jumped it,” the hound growled. It eyed the two-story wall and snorted dismissively. “Saved us some time. I thought you said we were in a hurry.”

     “We are in a hurry,” Miranda said, shaking the road dust out of her hair as best she could. “But we’re also trying to make a good impression, Gin. Mellinor has a reputation for not liking wizards.”

     “Good impressions are wasted on this lot.” Gin shook himself vigorously, raising a small cloud of grit from his ever-shifting coat. “We should have just jumped and saved the act for the king.”

     “Next time I’ll just leave the negotiating to you, then.” Miranda stepped clear of the hound’s dust cloud. “Why don’t you worry less about the schedule and more about keeping your nose sharp? He has to be skulking around here somewhere.”

     Gin gave her a withering look. “My nose is always sharp.” His long ears twitched, then swiveled forward. “The guards are coming back, and they brought a lot of other clanky metal types with them.” He flopped down, resting his chin on his paws. “So much for doing things the quick way.”

     Miranda ignored him and put on a dazzling smile as the two guards, and a small squad of spearmen, marched through the gatehouse.

     ***

     The gate guards had had no trouble finding the Master Gatekeeper. He was in the throne room, standing in a rough clump around the empty throne with every other official in Allaze.

     “Sir,” the older guard said, tapping him on the shoulder. “We have a situation outside.”

     “I’m a bit busy,” the Master Gatekeeper snapped.

     “But, sir,” the guard said, clutching his metal cap, “it’s really something I think you should—”

     “There’s a wizard at the east gate!” the younger guard burst out, and then shrank back as the older guard and the Master Gatekeeper both snapped their heads around to glare at him. “It has to be a wizard,” he said sheepishly. “Ain’t no one else can ride a monster like that.”

     “Did you say wizard?” The Master of Security pushed his way over to them. “Was it a dark-haired man? Young looking?”

     “No, sir.” The young guard saluted. “It was a lady wizard, sir. Redheaded. Said she had a warning for the king.”

     The Master Gatekeeper and the Master of Security put their heads together and began arguing quietly. Whatever it was they argued about, the Master of Security must have won because he was the one who started barking orders. Three minutes later, the two gate guards were back at their post, only now with a squad of royal guard and the Master of Security between them and the monster, which lay with its long chin rested on its paws, watching.

     The woman appeared completely unruffled by the sudden arrival of a large number of spears pointed in her direction. If there were any remaining doubts about her being a wizard, the large, ostentatiously jeweled rings covering her fingers put those to rest. She watched patiently, gently tapping her nails against the large ruby on her thumb, which was beginning to glow like an ember in the bright sun. Several of the men started to ease back toward the gatehouse, their spears wobbling, and the Master of Security decided it was time to take control of the situation.

     “I hear you have a warning for the king,” he said boldly. “You may speak it to me.”

     “My orders are to speak only to the king himself,” Miranda said. “It is a matter of some delicacy.”

     “I am Oban, Master of Security. You’ll speak it to me, or not at all,” he huffed.

     Miranda looked at Gin, who flicked his ear in the ghosthound equivalent of a shrug. “I suppose we have wasted enough time,” she said. “I am here on behalf of the Spirit Court by order of the Rector Spiritualis, Etmon Banage. Yesterday morning we received a tip that the known fugitive wizard and wanted criminal Eli Monpress has been sighted within your kingdom. It is our belief that he is after an old wizard artifact held in your treasury. I am here to offer my assistance to keep him from stealing it.”

     There was a long pause, and Miranda got the horrible, sinking feeling that she had missed something important.

     “Lady,” the Master of Security said, shaking his head, “if you’re here to warn the king about Eli, then you’re a little late.”

     Miranda scowled. “You mean he’s already stolen the artifact?”

     “No.” The Master of Security sighed. “He’s stolen the king.”

     Want more books by Rachel Aaron? Check out these completed series!

     

     THE LEGEND OF ELI MONPRESS

     The Spirit Thief

     The Spirit Rebellion

     The Spirit Eater

     The Legend of Eli Monpress (omnibus edition of the first three books)

     The Spirit War

     Spirit’s End

     "Fast and fun, The Spirit Thief introduces a fascinating new world and a complex magical system based on cooperation with the spirits who reside in all living objects. Aaron’s characters are fully fleshed and possess complex personalities, motivations, and backstories that are only gradually revealed. Fans of Scott Lynch’s Lies of Locke Lamora (2006) will be thrilled with Eli Monpress. Highly recommended for all fantasy readers." - Booklist, Starred Review

     

     PARADOX (written as Rachel Bach)

     Fortune’s Pawn

     Honor’s Knight

     Heaven’s Queen

      

     "Firefly-esque in its concept of a rogue-ish spaceship family... The narrative never quite goes where you expect it to, in a good way... Devi is a badass with a heart." - Locus Magazine

     "If you liked Star Wars, if you like our books, and if you are waiting for Guardians of the Galaxy to hit the theaters, this is your book." - Ilona Andrews

     "I JUST LOVED IT! Perfect light sci-fi. If you like space stuff that isn't that complicated but highly entertaining, I give two thumbs up!" - Felicia Day

      

     To find out more about Rachel and read samples of all her books, visit

     www.rachelaaron.net!

     About the Author

     Rachel Aaron is the author of eleven novels as well as the bestselling nonfiction writing book, 2k to 10k: Writing Faster, Writing Better, and Writing More of What You Love, which has helped thousands of authors double their daily word counts. When she’s not holed up in her writing cave, Rachel lives a nerdy, bookish life in Athens, GA, with her perpetual motion son, long suffering husband, and obese wiener dog. To learn more about me, my work, or to find a complete list of my interviews and podcasts, please visit my author page at rachelaaron.net!

     Nice Dragons Finish Last, One Good Dragon Deserves Another, and No Good Dragon Goes Unpunished Copyright 2016 by Rachel Aaron. All rights reserved.

     The Legend of Eli Monpress Copyright 2010 by Rachel Aaron and Orbit Books. All rights reserved.

     Cover Illustration by Anna Steinbauer, Cover Design by Rachel Aaron, Editing provided by Red Adept Editing.

     Finally, a very special thank you to my incredible Beta Readers: Michele Fry, Jodie Martin, Eva Bunge, Beth Bisgaard, Hisham El-Far, Robert Aaron, Judith Smith, Sarah Nutt, Clark Grosvenor, Kevin Swearingen, and the ever amazing Lali. I couldn’t do this without you! Thank you all SO MUCH!