Shouts came from above. The dragon was panting. If it was too weak to break through, they would all die here.
Tané called out to it. Whatever she said, it worked. The dragon steadied itself. Baring its teeth, it slammed its tail again. Wood splintered. Again. A chest slid across the floor. Again. The shouts from the pirates were closer now, their footsteps on the stair. With a snarl, the dragon rammed its body against the hull, gave it a mighty butt with its head—and this time, water came roaring in. Tané ran to the dragon and climbed onto its back.
Mortal sin or certain death. Death was the option the Knight of Courage would have taken, but the Knight of Courage had never needed to get to the Empire of the Twelve Lakes as badly as Loth did. Abandoning all hope of Halgalant, Loth waded after the murderous wyrm-lover. Desperately, he tried to climb her beast, but its scales were slick as oil.
Tané thrust out a hand. He grasped it, tasting salt, and she hoisted him up. As he looked for something to grip, he fought to blot out the rising dread. He was on a wyrm.
“Thim,” he shouted. “What about Thim?”
His words were lost as the dragon clawed from its prison. In panic, Loth grabbed on to Tané, who had lowered her head and grasped the wet mane that surrounded them. With a last push, the dragon writhed through the gaping hole in the Pursuit. Loth screamed as they plunged into the sea.
A roar in his ears. Salt on his lips. A freezing slap of air. Pistols were firing from the decks of the Pursuit, the gun ports were opening, and Loth was still astride the dragon. It slithered through the roiling waves, avoiding every shot. Tané gasped out desperate-sounding words, hands still wrapped in its mane.
It rose, like a feather caught by the wind. Water streamed from its scales as it left the sea behind. Thighs aching with the effort of remaining seated, Loth tightened his arms around Tané and watched the pirates turn to specks.
“Saint have mercy.” His voice cracked. “Blessèd Damsel, protect your poor servant.”
A flare of light made him look west. Now the sails of the Black Dove were on fire—and suddenly, wyrms were flocking. The Draconic Army. Loth searched the dark, heart booming.
There was always a master.
The High Western announced its presence with a jet of fire. It winged above the Black Dove and smashed through one of its masts with its tail.
Valeysa. The Flame of Despair. Harlowe had said she was near at hand. Her scales, hot as live coals, seemed to drink in the fire that now raged across the fleet. As her followers swarmed over the listing Pursuit, she let out a roar that shook Loth to his bones.
Tané urged her dragon onwards. The Rose Eternal was in sight. If they descended now, Valeysa would certainly mark them. If they fled, Thim would be on his own. Loth thought his stomach would drop out as their mount arced into a graceful dive.
Thim was in the crow’s nest. When he saw rescue coming, he scrambled even higher, to the top of the mainmast, and crouched there precariously. As it passed, the dragon scooped him up with its tail. He shouted, legs wheeling, as it yanked him from the Rose Eternal.
The dragon was on the rise again, toward a mantelshelf of cloud. It moved through the air as if it were swimming. Thim crawled painfully up its body, using its scales as handholds. When he was near enough, Loth reached out and helped him clamber on to its neck.
A shriek raised every hair on his arms. A wyvern was flying after them, spouting flame.
The dragon seemed as disturbed by the threat as it would be by a fly. The next jet of flame came so close that Loth smelled brimstone. Thim cocked his pistol and fired at the creature. It screamed, but kept coming. Loth squeezed his eyes shut. Either he was going to fall to his death, or he was going to be cooked like a goose.
Before either thing could happen, a powerful wind came from nowhere, almost unseating them all. The howl of it was deafening. When he could peel one eye open, Loth realized that the dragon was breathing the wind, as Draconic things breathed fire. Its eyes glowed welkin blue. Cloud smoked from its nostrils. Water beaded on its scales, only to be caught up and scattered like rain.
The wyrm screeched in rage. Its hide steamed and its jaws gaped open, but its flame was quenched, gusted back into its throat—and at last, the wind folded its wings and sent it tumbling toward the sea.
Rain battered Loth’s face. He spat water. Lightning flashed as the dragon entered the clouds, victorious, draping itself in fog as it ascended.
That was when Tané keeled to one side. As she fell, some merciful instinct made Loth snap out a hand. His fingers snared the back of her tunic, not a heartbeat too soon. The dragon growled. Breathing hard, Loth scooped Tané close, and Thim hooked an arm around them both.
Tané was lifeless, head lolling. Loth checked that the case was still on her sash. If it came undone now, the jewel would be forever lost to the sea.
“I hope you know how to talk to dragons,” he called to Thim. “Can you tell it where to go?”
No reply. When he looked over his shoulder, Loth saw that Thim was staring in wonder at the sky.
“I am seated on a god,” he said, moonstruck. “I am not worthy of this.”
At least somebody saw this nightmare as a blessing. Loth steeled himself and addressed the dragon.
“Well met, great dragon of the East,” he tried, shouting over the wind. “I don’t know if you can understand me, but I must speak to the Unceasing Emperor of the Twelve Lakes. It is of the utmost importance. Might you be able to take us to his palace?”
A rumble went through its body.
“Hold on to Tané,” it said in Inysh, “and yes, son of the West, I will take you to the City of the Thousand Flowers.”
63
East
When Tané woke, she found herself looking at a window. The sky beyond was pale as bone ash.
She lay in a canopy bed. Someone had dressed her in clean silk, but her skin was gritty with salt. A bowl of embers sat nearby, casting a lambent red glow on the ceiling.
When she remembered, her hand flinched to her side.
Her sash was gone. Seized by dread, she scrabbled through the quilts, almost scalding herself on a copper bedwarmer, only to find her case on a stand beside the bed.
The rising jewel glistened inside. Tané sank into the pillows and held the case to her chest.
For a long time, she remained in bed, imprisoned in a doze. Finally, a woman came into the room. She wore layers of blue and white, and the hem of her skirt touched the floor.
“Noble rider.” She curtsied to Tané with clasped hands. “This humble one is relieved to find you awake.”
The room swam. “Where is this?”
“This is the City of the Thousand Flowers, and you are in the home of His Imperial Majesty, the Unceasing Emperor of the Twelve Lakes, who rules beneath the gracious stars. He who is pleased to have you as his guest,” the woman replied with a smile. “I will bring you something to eat. You have had a long journey.”
“Wait. Please,” Tané said, sitting up. “Where is Nayimathun?”
“The shining Nayimathun of the Deep Snows is resting. As for your friends, they are also guests in the palace.”
“You must not punish the Westerner for breaching the sea ban. He has knowledge I need.”
“Neither of your companions have been harmed,” the woman said. “You are safe here.”
She retreated from the room.
Tané took in the ornate ceiling, the nightwood furniture. It was as if she were a rider again.
The City of the Thousand Flowers. Ancient capital of the Empire of the Twelve Lakes. Its palace was home not only to the honored Unceasing Emperor and the honored Grand Empress Dowager, but to the Imperial Dragon herself. The dragons of Seiiki looked to their eldest for guidance, but their Lacustrine cousins answered to one ruler.
Her thigh was throbbing. She pushed back the sheets and saw that it was bandaged.
She remembered the Seiikinese man, clad in robes of mulberry red. Another scholar who had run from his fate. He had called her the descendant of the long-honored Neporo.
Impossible, surely. Neporo had been a queen. Her descendants could hardly have ended up in a fishing village, scratching out a living in the farthest reaches of Seiiki.
The servant returned and set down a tray. Red tea, porridge, and boiled eggs with a helping of winter melon.
“I will have a bath filled for you.”
“Thank you,” Tané said.
She picked at the meal while she waited. The Unceasing Emperor would not have her as his guest for long when he found out what she was. A fugitive. A murderer.
“Good morning.”
Thim was in the doorway, clean-shaven, wearing Lacustrine clothing. He lowered himself into the chair beside her bed.
“The servant told me you were awake,” he said in Seiikinese.
His tone was cool. Even if they had worked together on the ship, she had still stolen it from his crew.
“As you see,” Tané said.
“I wanted to thank you,” he added, with a dip of his head, “for saving my life.”