“Ah,” said Esofi. “Yes?”
“I’d love to have one of those big Rhodian dresses, too,” rambled the woman. “Don’t laugh! I mean it! I know they’re silly, but I’ve already seen seamstresses trying to copy the style. You could make three dresses with the amount of fabric that goes into them! But I don’t mind.” The woman fell silent, musing. “Though I’m not sure how they get any work done without knocking everything over.”
“Nobody works in Rhodia!” shouted Daphene happily, leaning over the table so that she could be part of things. “They just do everything by magic!”
Esofi opened her mouth to object, only to remember that she was supposed to be a native Ieflarian—though only a blind man or the staggeringly intoxicated would actually believe that. Fortunately, there was an abundance of the latter tonight. She fell silent and simply listened to the joyful shouting that floated around her head.
Beside her, Adale very gently put her own hand over Esofi’s.
A strange noise filled the air, like a single enormous horn being blown by some herald of the gods. Esofi glanced around, expecting to see someone with a ridiculously oversized musical instrument looking very pleased with themselves.
Instead, what she saw was a room filled with frozen faces. The tavern had gone utterly silent, all the joy and liveliness evaporating like water spilled on a hot road.
“What was that?” Esofi asked.
“The sirens,” whispered Lethea.
Adale ran to the door, and Esofi followed her. Just as they reached it, a few terrified people from the street darted inside the tavern. Adale looked upward, scanning the sapphire skyline.
“Do you see—?” began Esofi, just as the sound of leathery wingbeats filled the air. She caught a glimpse of something large and airborne circling the skies before Adale shrieked and slammed the door shut, pressing her body against it like she could possibly hope to hold it shut if the dragon came knocking.
“IolarTalciaPemeleAdranusEyvindrMerlaInthiDayluueReygmadraEran!” she cried, naming every major deity on the continent in a single breath. Her face had gone milk white.
“What are we going to do?” screamed Brigit.
“Esofi can kill it!” said Lethea. “She’s killed lots of dragons! Haven’t you? That’s what you said to Theodoar!”
“I—” Esofi looked at Adale helplessly, aware that all eyes were now on her. “Yes, but—but—”
“You don’t have to do it!” cried Adale. “The battlemages are right here in the city. They’ll get here soon enough! You’re not even wearing any armor!”
“Armor?” repeated Esofi blankly.
“And if it burns down the whole street in the meantime?” shouted Brigit. “Or maybe even the whole district?”
Esofi’s stomach felt as though it had turned to ice, and was slowly crystalizing outward to her limbs. “I’ve never fought one alone.” But even as she said the words, she knew it wasn’t an adequate excuse. There was no adequate excuse, and never would be, because she was going to be the queen of Ieflaria and now she had a responsibility to the city.
All the patrons of the tavern were staring at her.
“I need to get closer,” said Esofi. “How can I get onto the wall?”
“There’s guard towers every quarter mile,” said Brigit.
Esofi reached around the back of her neck and unclasped the necklace she’d been wearing. She removed her earrings next, and then her bracelets, letting them fall to the wooden slats of the tavern’s floor. Instinctively, she touched her bodice for any gems that might have been woven into the fabric of her dress, but fortunately this one was plain. Once she was clean of anything that might entice the dragon to tear her limbs off, she went to the door. Adale was still pressed up against it, horror etched in her face.
“I-I’ll come with you,” declared the crown princess. “Just let me find a sword.”
“No,” said Esofi. “You would only get in my way.”
“Either we’re both going or neither of us are,” said Adale, but Esofi just shook her head.
“Your parents can’t lose you too,” she said.
The streets were eerily empty, with only the remains of hastily dropped celebration to prove that the entire population of Birsgen hadn’t been wiped out by some plague months ago. The puddles of spilled ale seeped into the hem of her skirt, but she ignored that as she tried to spot the nearest guard tower. Fortunately, they were tall enough that she could see one easily, and the fact that she didn’t have the faintest idea of how to navigate the city didn’t put her at too much of a disadvantage. As she hurried through the streets, she occasionally caught a glimpse of something small and black hovering just outside her field of vision.
When she finally reached the closest tower, she pulled the heavy wooden door open. There were no guards inside, though the roaring fire and half-eaten meals on the table suggested there had been until very recently. Suddenly thankful for her light Ieflarian dress, Esofi charged up three flights of stairs until she felt the cool night air on her face again.
Gasping heavily, Esofi looked out over the city. In the distance, farther along the wall, she could see the city guards readying a cannon. The dragon swept past them, the gusts of wind from its wingbeats powerful enough to knock the archers’ arrows from midair.
Esofi called her magic to her hands, and it came more readily than it had at any point since they’d crossed the border into Ieflaria. Meanwhile, the dragon flared its neck in the way that all dragons did before they flamed. Esofi gritted her teeth and flung her arm out, letting the magic fly like an arrow loosed from a bow. The bolt of light only narrowly avoided hitting the dragon, but it got the creature’s attention nevertheless. A massive head swung around to stare in her direction, enormous eyes glittering in the torchlight.
Esofi called more magic up as the dragon launched itself back into the air. She let it flow over her skin, forming a barrier that would protect her from flames and brute-force damage. The dragon was upon her in a moment, and its heavy claws smashed through the stone wall as it landed.
Somehow, Esofi managed to remain on her feet, despite the force of the impact. She forged herself a pair of blades, one for each hand, and lunged for it. The dragon clearly hadn’t been expecting to be charged by a creature so tiny, its chest open and undefended. Esofi could practically see the massive heart beating beneath layers of black scales and coiled muscle, and that was where she aimed her blades.
She felt and heard the roar in equal measure and knew she had succeeded. Wasting no time, Esofi turned to run, but she felt something hard and cold snag the nape of her dress. It was one of the dragon’s long, curved claws.
I wonder who they’ll be sending from home to replace me.
After a moment of resistance, the fabric of the dress tore, sending Esofi sprawling. Her outstretched hands hit the stone, sending pain through her arms up to her shoulders. She lashed out blindly, her magic flailing like a whip, and spun to face the dragon, expecting it to attack—but it did not.
Instead, the dragon gazed at her for a long moment, as if appraising her. Esofi knew she had no excuse for not attacking, but there was something compelling about the way it stared.
It was not the closest she’d ever been to a dragon, but it was the first time she’d been able to truly examine one while it was still alive—though she wasn’t sure how much longer it would remain that way. Blood was dripping from the center of its chest, but it continued to simply stare at her.
“Well,” said Esofi, unnerved. “Have I got something on my face?”
“Dro vaq Sibari na?” rumbled the dragon.
Esofi’s mouth fell open. Those had been words—genuine words! And she knew their meaning, more or less. It was the major language of Siabaeld, the continent north of the Silver Isles, where the dragons dwelt.