A few nervous chuckles rose.
“Well,” the Unceasing Emperor said, “the legends say they could once make themselves smaller than a plum. For now, however, they are as large as you have imagined.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “They are beneath the waves, Your Majesty. Immersing themselves in water, gathering their strength. I hope very much that you will be able to meet the Imperial Dragon, my guiding star, after this battle.”
Sabran maintained a neutral expression. “We are sure it would be an honor,” she said. “Does Your Imperial Majesty”—her voice strained a little—“ride on this … being?”
“When I am on progress. And perhaps tonight.” He leaned toward her, just slightly. “I must confess, however, to a trifling fear of heights. My virtuous grandmother tells me I am unlike all my predecessors in the House of Lakseng in this respect.”
“Perhaps that is a favorable sign. After all,” Sabran said, “this is a day for new traditions.”
At this, he smiled. “It is.”
Another fanfare, and the Warlord of Seiiki joined the meeting. Silver-haired, with a thin moustache, Pitosu Nadama had the build and bearing of a man who had once been a warrior, but had not had occasion to take up arms in many years. A sleeveless coat of gold covered his armor. With him were thirty of the dragonriders of Seiiki, who bowed to the foreign rulers.
The rider Loth had seen in the water was among them. She had removed her helm and mask, revealing a sun-beaten face and hair in a topknot. She was looking at Tané, who looked straight back at her.
Nadama hailed the Unceasing Emperor in his own language before turning to Sabran.
“Your Majesty.” Even his voice was military, clipped and clear. “My fellow riders will fight alongside you this day. Despite our differences.” He glanced at the Unceasing Emperor. “This time, we will ensure the Nameless One does not return to plague us.”
“Be assured that Inys stands with you, all-honored Warlord,” Sabran answered. White breath fluttered from her mouth. “This day, and for the rest of time.”
Nadama nodded.
Trumpets sounded then, announcing King Raunus of the House of Hraustr. A pale giant of a man with golden hair, eyes like iron, and great knotted muscles. He greeted Sabran with a bone-crushing embrace before introducing himself brusquely to the Eastern rulers. His hand stayed close to the gold-plated rapier at his side.
Despite the friendly opening, the tension between the four of them was a low-burning fire. One errant breath of wind could fan it. After centuries of estrangement, Loth supposed it was of little wonder that each side should be wary of the other.
When they had conferred in low voices for a time, the rulers withdrew to their own ships. The dragonriders marched after the Warlord. The moment they began to leave, Tané turned on her heel and strode in the other direction.
Ead followed Sabran into her cabin, but motioned to Loth to join them. Loth waited for most of the guests to clear the deck. As soon as he was past the Knights of the Body and through the door, he scooped Ead right off her feet.
“Being your friend is quite a strenuous affair, you know,” he said, feeling her smile against his own cheek. He gathered Sabran close with the other arm. “That applies to both of you.”
“Rich words from the man who sailed into the East with pirates,” Sabran said into his shoulder.
He chuckled. When he set Ead down, he saw that the stain was gone from her lips, though she looked tired. “I’m all right,” she told him. “Thanks to Tané. And to you.”
He cupped one of her hands between his. “You still feel cold.”
“It will pass.”
Loth turned to Sabran and straightened her crown of pearls, which had gone awry in the embrace. “I remember your mother wearing this. She would be proud of this alliance, Sab.”
She raised a smile. “I hope so.”
“We have an hour before the third day of spring begins. I had better see Meg.”
“Meg is not here,” Ead said.
Loth stilled. “What?”
She told him everything that had happened since she had woken from her sleep of death. How Tané had eaten the fruit, and how the rulers of the South had come to broker an alliance. When she revealed exactly where his sister was, Loth took a deep breath.
“You let her go to Cárscaro.” He said it to them both. “To a siege.”
“Loth,” Ead said, “Meg made her own choice.”
“She was determined to play her part, and I saw no reason to take that from her,” Sabran explained. “Captain Lintley is with her.”
He imagined his sister on the barren plain, hunkered in a field hospital among the filth and blood of battle. He thought of Margret with the bloodblaze and felt sick.
“I must address the Inysh seafarers,” Sabran murmured. “I pray we see the dawn.”
Loth swallowed the cork of dread in his throat. “May Cleolind watch over us all,” he said.
On the deck of the Dancing Pearl, Tané stood among the soldiers and archers who had gathered to await the hour.
The Unceasing Emperor was on the upper deck. Behind him, like an immense shadow, the Imperial Dragon loomed. Her scales were darkest gold, eyes blue as glaciers. Long tendrils matched the white of her horns. At the stern were three of the Seiikinese dragon elders. Even after all the time Tané had spent in the company of dragons, these ones were the most colossal she had ever seen.
Close to the elders, the Warlord of Seiiki kept watch beside the Sea General. Tané knew her former commander was more than aware of her presence. Every time she looked away from him, she sensed his attention snap to her face.
Onren and Kanperu were among the dragonriders. The latter had gained a scar across one eye since Tané had last seen him. Their dragons waited behind the Defiance.
A touch on her arm made her look back. A figure emerged from the shadows behind her, wearing a hooded cloak.
Ead.
“Where is Roos?” Tané asked her softly.
“The fever has set in. His fight today will be for his life.” Ead never took her gaze from Sabran. “Has your dragon arrived?” Tané shook her head. “Could you ride another?”
“I am no longer a rider.”
“But surely today—”
“You do not seem to understand,” Tané said shortly. “I am disgraced. They will not even speak to me.”
Finally, Ead nodded. “Keep the jewel close,” was all she said before she returned to the shadows.
Tané tried to concentrate. A breath of wind caressed her spine, unsettled her hair, and rose to fill the sails of the Dancing Pearl.
Deep in the Abyss, there was movement. No more than the flicker of butterfly wings, or the quickening of a child in the womb.
“He comes,” the Imperial Dragon said. Her voice quaked through the ships.
Tané reached for her case. The jewel was so cold that she could feel it through the wood and lacquer.
The wind howled against the sails. This was it. Clouds gathered above the ships. The Imperial Dragon called out to her brethren in the language of her kind. The Seiikinese dragons joined their voices to hers. Water bubbled on their scales. The mist grew thick as they brought the storm, and with it, their strength. As they took off from the sea, water streamed off them, soaking the humans below. Tané shook it from her eyes.
It happened so quickly. One moment, all was silent, save the rain.
Then, madness.
The first thing she thought was that the sun had risen, such was the light that ignited in the north. Then came a heat that sucked the breath from her. Fire exploded across the Seiikinese warship Chrysanthemum, moments before a second eruption tore through the fleet of the Northern king, and a full-throated roar announced the arrival of the enemy.
When the black High Western appeared, the downwind from its flight extinguished every lantern on every ship. “Fyredel,” someone bellowed.
Tané choked on the hot stench from his scales. Screams rang out. In the light from the fire, she saw Loth rushing Queen Sabran to her Knights of the Body and the Imperial Guard encircling the Unceasing Emperor before a shoulder slammed into her chest, knocking her flat.
A war conch sounded in the darkness. The riders disappeared with their dragons into the sea. Even as chaos sparked around her, Tané ached to be among them.
The black High Western circled the fleet. Its servants came tearing above the ships. They tangled with the Eastern dragons. Wings, endless wings, flocking like bats. Tails whipped lightning across the sky.
A wyvern flew straight at the mainmast of the Reconciliation. It groaned and buckled, bringing down the highest sail. An agonized cry went up from the deck.
The sails of the iron-armored Chrysanthemum were engulfed in flame. Tané ran with the crowd, pistol in hand. The force of the power inside her—her siden—throbbed in her blood like a second heartbeat.
A fire-breather landed in front of her. Bigger than a stallion. Two legs. A scarlet tongue rattled in its mouth.
Wyvern.