Nayimathun stayed above the clouds during the day, and avoided settled areas at night. Sometimes they would spot a pillar of smoke in the distance, and they would know that fire-breathers had attacked that settlement. The further west they traveled, the more of these dark columns they saw.
On the second day, they reached the Sleepless Sea, where Nayimathun landed on a small island to rest. There would be nowhere to land when they flew over the Abyss, not unless they veered into the North. Dragons could go for a long time without sleep, but Tané knew the journey would be hard for Nayimathun. She had been underfed by the pirates.
They slept in a tidal cave. When Nayimathun woke, she immersed herself in the shallows while Tané filled her gourds with water from a stream.
“If you grow hungry, tell me. I will pass you something to eat,” she said to Nayimathun. “And if you need to swim in the Abyss, you must not fear for me. My clothes will dry in the sun.”
Nayimathun rolled over lazily. Suddenly she lashed her tail, spraying water, and Tané was drenched to the bone.
For the first time in an eternity, she laughed. She laughed until her stomach hurt. Nayimathun snapped playfully as Tané used the jewel to fling water back at her, and the sun made rainbows in the spray.
She could not remember the last time she had laughed. It must have been with Susa.
By sunset, they were flying again. Tané held on to the saddle and breathed in the clean wind. In spite of all that lay before them, she had never felt more at peace than she did now.
The black of the Abyss spread like a stain into the Sundance Sea. As soon as Nayimathun left the green waters behind, Tané felt a chill. A vault of darkness now lay below them—the vault in which Neporo of Komoridu had once imprisoned the Nameless One.
Days passed. Nayimathun spent most of the journey above the clouds. Tané chewed on cuts of ginger root and tried to stay awake. Mountain sickness was common in riders.
Her heart thumped heavily. Sometimes Nayimathun would descend to swim, and Tané would relieve herself and stretch her limbs in the water, but she only relaxed when she was back in the saddle. This ocean did not welcome her.
“What do you know of Inys,” the dragon asked.
“Queen Sabran is the descendant of the warrior Berethnet, who defeated the Nameless One long ago,” Tané said. “Each queen has a daughter, and each daughter looks the same as her mother. They live in the city of Ascalon.” She pushed back a wet strand of hair. “They also believe the people of the East are blasphemers, and see our way of life as the opposite of theirs—as sin to their virtue.”
“Yes,” Nayimathun said, “but if she seeks our help, Queen Sabran must have learned the difference between fire and water. Remember to be compassionate when you judge her, Tané. She is a young woman, responsible for the welfare of her people.”
Nights above the Abyss were colder than any Tané had ever felt. A harsh wind cracked her lips and scourged her cheeks. One night, she woke with the clouds in her breath, and she looked down at the sea and saw that there were stars there, mirrored in the water.
When she woke next, the sun was high, and a golden haze made a ribbon across the horizon.
“What place is this?”
Her voice was rough. She reached for a gourd and drank enough water to moisten her tongue.
“The Ersyr. The Golden Land,” Nayimathun said. “Tané, I must swim before we enter the desert.”
Tané gripped the horn of the saddle. Her head grew light as Nayimathun descended.
The sea stung her face. It was warm here, and clear as glass. She glimpsed rubble and flotsam strewed among the sills of coral. Metal glinted at her from the seabed.
“All of that is from the Serene Republic of Carmentum, after which this sea is named,” Nayimathun said when they surfaced. Her scales glittered like gems under the sun. “Much of that country was destroyed by the fire-breather Fyredel. Its people flung many of its treasures into the sea to protect them from his fire. Pirates dive for them and sell them.”
She swam until the shore was close, then took to the sky again. A desert stretched before them, vast and barren, rippling in the heat. Tané felt thirsty just looking at it.
There was no cloud to hide in. They would have to stay higher than ever to avoid wandering eyes.
“This desert is called the Burlah,” Nayimathun said. “We must fly across it to reach Lasia.”
“Nayimathun, you are not made for this climate. The sun will dry your scales.”
“We have no choice. If we do not awaken Lady Nurtha, we may never find another person who can wield the waning jewel.”
The moisture on her scales was drying almost as quickly as it appeared. Dragons could make their own water for a time, but in the end, this beating sun would overwhelm Nayimathun. She would be weaker over the next few days than she had ever been.
They flew. And they flew. Tané shed her cloak and used it to cover the metal scale, to prevent it from growing too hot.
The day went on for eternity. Her head ached. The sun burned her face and scorched the skin at the parting of her hair. There was nowhere to hide from it. By sunset, she was shivering so hard that she had to reach for her cloak again, even though her skin was hot.
“Tané, you have the sun quake,” Nayimathun said. “You must keep your cloak on in the day.”
Tané dabbed her brow. “We can’t carry on like this. We’ll both be dead before we reach Lasia.”
“We have no choice,” Nayimathun said again. Then, “The River Minara runs through that land. We can rest there.”
Tané wanted to answer. Before she could, she slipped back into a fitful sleep.
The next day, she wrapped the cloak around her body and head. Sweat drenched her, but it kept the sun off her skin. She removed it only to tend to Nayimathun, and to cool the metal scale with water, making it sizzle and sputter.
The desert did not end. Her gourds ran dry as bone. She sank into the cradle of the saddle and let go of her thoughts.
When she opened her eyes again, she was falling.
Branches lashed at her cloak and hair. She had no time to scream before the water seized her.
Panic thrummed along her limbs. Blind, she kicked. Her head broke the surface. In the blackness of night, she could just make out a fallen tree jutting over the water, almost too high to reach. As the current gulped her toward it, she grabbed one of its branches. The river tore at her legs. She hauled herself onto the tree and keeled over it, shuddering.
For a long time, she clung there, too bruised and shaken to move. Warm rain drummed on her scalp. When she finally came to her senses, she pushed her weight onto her hands and pinched the tree with her knees. It shook as she moved inch-meal along it.
As she fought to stay calm, she remembered Mount Tego. How she had weathered the freezing wind and knee-deep snow and the agony in her limbs. How she had climbed a sheer rock with bare hands, breathing flimsy air, one slip from death. How she had not let herself turn back. After all, dragonriders had to be able to remain nimble-fingered and strong at great heights. They could not fear the fall.
She had stood on the pinnacle of the world. She had ridden a dragon across the Abyss.
She could do this.
Her fear crushed, she moved faster. When she reached the end of the tree, her boots sank into mud.
“Nayimathun,” she shouted.
Only the roar of the water answered.
The case with the jewel was still on her sash. She was on the bank of a river, close to where it frothed into white rapids. If she had not been shocked awake in time, she would have been washed to her death. She pressed her back against a tree and slid to the ground.
She had fallen from the saddle. Either Nayimathun was looking for her, or she had fallen, too. If that was the case, she could not be far away.
This had to be the River Minara, which meant they had reached the Lasian Basin. She searched her memory for the maps she had seen as a child. The west of the country, she remembered, was covered by forest. That was where Loth had told her she would find the Priory.
Tané swallowed and blinked the water from her eyes. If she was to survive this, she would have to keep a clear head. The pistol was useless now it was wet, and her bow and sword had been attached to the saddle, but she still had a knife and the bladed wheels.
A few of her possessions had fallen with her. Tané crawled to the nearest bag and opened it with aching fingers. When she felt the compass in her hand, she let out a sigh of relief.
She gathered up as much as she could carry. Using a strip of her cloak, a branch, and a little sap, she fashioned a torch and kindled it with a spark from two stones. It might attract a few animals, but better to risk discovery than step on a snake, or fail to see a hunter in the dark.
The trees pressed close as conspirators. Just looking at them almost made her courage fail.
You have a dragon’s heart.