A sense of unease struck deep inside me. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not a prisoner, Mira. At least, not in the same sense as the rest of the inmates.” She walked faster and faster. “I did what I did to save my life, and I truly do care what happens to you. But I’m not like the others.”
“I don’t understand. If you’re not a prisoner—”
“Hush.” She grabbed my good arm and pulled me behind a column just as I caught the sounds of footsteps on stone.
In tense silence, we waited for three warriors to go by, and I cursed all the light coming from the noorestones I’d refused to leave behind. They were heavy, and they shone a brilliant glow up the column, where I pressed the sack and tried to smother the light with my body.
Tirta, too, leaned toward me, and as the warriors strode by, she held her breath.
But then they were gone, and we both sagged in relief.
“You should get rid of those.”
I shook my head.
She cast a deep frown. “That’s not a Daminan gift, you know. The way you used it earlier.”
Of course I knew. It wasn’t an anything gift. But if I thought about the implications too much, I’d never be able to move forward. Right now, I couldn’t let myself be distracted.
“If you’re not a prisoner,” I said again, “what are you doing here? How is it your job to look out for me?”
“Let’s keep moving.” She waved me onward. “And as for your questions, I haven’t been in the Pit as long as I told you. I actually got here when you did.” She held up a hand to silence interruptions. “Many of the guards—yes, even Altan—knew about me, but they weren’t permitted to unmask me. They had to go along with everything and act as though I were a prisoner, too. There’s a reason we met in the mess hall, and then were paired in the bathing room so often. There’s a reason I was chosen to help you prepare the day the Luminary Council came for you.”
Apparently our entire friendship was a giant lie. “And that reason is what?”
“To observe you. To learn you.” She shifted her posture, lifting her chin and setting her shoulders just so. Shades of familiarity struck me: for a second, she reminded me of my sister. “I admire you, Mira. What you did on the docks in the Shadowed City—that was brave. What you said at dinner—that was incredible.”
“How do you know about those things?” I whispered.
“If anything goes wrong,” she went on, as though I hadn’t spoken, “I’m supposed to get you out of the Pit.”
“What went wrong?” Besides a dragon in the cellblock. Besides Altan attacking me. Besides everything.
“I found out the Drakon Warriors aren’t disbanded like we’d believed.” She looked at me askance. “I found out what kind of questions Altan was asking you.”
“So you’re going to help me escape?” I didn’t understand. Who did she work for? Why did they care?
“It’s not as though Altan or the Drakon Warriors will just give you up at this point. If we want to move you, we have to do it the hard way. We probably should have killed Altan.”
“Who is we?”
Tirta stopped walking. “Here it is.”
We’d come to a huge door, easily twenty paces wide and three times as tall. Khulan’s crossed maces filled the mahogany planks. The silver inlay was polished to a shine, gleaming in the light of seven large noorestones that surrounded the door. But it was the second part of the image that arrested me.
Gold. Familiar. The very thing my dreams were made of.
A pair of serpentine dragons wound around the maces, their talons hooked on handles. Flame rushed from their mouths, crossing just above Khulan’s beloved weapons.
The Hall of the Drakon Warriors.
The doors were open just wide enough for a small dragon to pass through. Plenty of room for Tirta and me.
We slipped through and into an immense chamber filled with noorestones and banners and stained-glass panels that showed Drakon Warriors of old. They flew through blue skies. Fire burned enemies. The children of the gods were respected and revered.
“We need to find the armory.” I tore my gaze from the dragon; there was no time for admiring—not with my friends’ lives in danger. I didn’t want to imagine what Kelsine might be doing in the cellblock, but I knew it wasn’t good. We needed those reins.
“This way.” Tirta moved like she knew exactly which path to take.
The proper key was easy enough to determine: it was the biggest, and the brass matched the lock. Breathless, I gave the key a sharp turn, and Tirta and I stepped inside.
The room was much bigger than I’d expected, with seventeen noorestones illuminating the wood-paneled space. There were ceiling-high cabinets (twenty) and stands of weapons (one hundred). They held mostly maces, batons, and bows, but twenty racks held what might have been swords or long daggers; I couldn’t tell the difference. All of them looked terrifyingly sharp, with a glittering edge that might have been cut from diamonds.
The cabinets held knives, knuckles, and items I had no hope of identifying, like wires strung between two brass handles, and something that almost looked like shears but had serrated blades and hooks on both ends. I couldn’t tell exactly how one might use them to harm another person, but it was all terrifying and deadly to me.
Finally, I found the dragon reins, seized a pair for myself, and continued searching for calm-whistles, like the one Ilina always carried in the sanctuary. None. If there were calm-whistles in the Pit, the Drakon Warriors must have kept them on their persons. Still, I hesitated before leaving. There were fire-resistant jackets and burn kits. The last cabinet held leather backpacks.
“What are you doing?” Tirta checked the hall, bouncing nervously. “We have to go.”
“Let’s put the noorestones in here.” My sore shoulder groaned in relief as I lowered the reins and my makeshift bag to the floor, and then took one of the packs from the cabinet. A small pouch on the front already held a small field medical kit. That was useful. I took two more all-purpose medical kits, two burn kits, and three jackets. “They might be hurt. We need to be prepared to treat wounds.”
We worked quickly, wrapping crystals with the dress strip, two empty backpacks, and two of the jackets. There wasn’t enough space for the third jacket, so I slipped it on over my tattered dress.
“Anything else?” she asked. “The longer we take, the more likely it is that Altan will wake up or someone will find him.”
“Knives.” I added seven—one for each of us—to the bag and pulled the drawstrings tight. The light of the stones squeezed through the seams and the cinched top, but this would do for now.
“Ready?” Tirta asked, sliding the dragon reins into her belt.
“Yes.” I slung one bow and quiver over my good arm; Ilina had taken lessons when she was younger. Then I fitted two swords—one for Hristo and one for Gerel—into loops on the backpack. My hurt shoulder felt like it was on fire as I slipped on the backpack, and a low moan poured from my throat.
“Let me carry that.” Tirta reached for the bag, but I backed away. I couldn’t trust her. Not when she’d lied to me about who she was. She’d lied for months and knew things she shouldn’t and . . .
“Who do you work for?”
Her expression darkened. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to help you—”
“Then tell me who you work for.”
Her shoulders slumped in resignation. “The same people who sent you here. The Luminary Council.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
PANIC FLOODED MY VEINS. I WANTED TO RUN. NEEDED to run.
But I was loaded down with the backpack and weapons, and Tirta was blocking the door. She stepped toward me, one hand outstretched. “Let me explain—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” The noorestones in my pack were impossible to reach, especially with my hurt shoulder, but I took one from a sconce on the wall and gripped it so tightly my knuckles paled. “You lied to me about who you were. A
bout how long you’ve been here. You said you were here to look out for me, but all along you worked for them.”
Her face hardened, and the sweet, friendly girl I’d known disappeared once more. “Don’t do this, Mira.”
I should have taken a weapon. A real one. Knives were fairly self-explanatory. And even though I’d done something with a noorestone in the interrogation room, I wasn’t sure what. Or how. Or if I could again.
And I couldn’t trade the noorestone for a knife now, or Tirta would realize I wasn’t in control of this . . . power.
“I’m on your side, Mira.” In spite of her insistence, her fingers curled on the baton she’d taken from Altan. “If you just listen to me, you’ll understand that I’m trying to help. But we need to move quickly or the Luminary Guard will realize something’s wrong. I’ve missed my check-in already.”
“They’re here?” My heart pounded as I shoved past her, but the hall was empty when I looked.
Tirta grabbed my arm. “Mira—”
Every single noorestone in the room dimmed.
Immediately, she backed off, retreating farther into the armory.
My face must have revealed my shock, but before Tirta could act, I stepped into the hall and pulled the door after me.
The keys were still in the lock, jangling as the latch clicked into place. A thud sounded on the other side of the door as Tirta rushed forward and grabbed the handle, but I twisted the key and the bolt slid home.
“Mira!” She banged on the door. “Let me out!”
“I’m sorry.” I drew the keys from the lock and stowed the ring on the hilt of a sword. “I don’t trust you anymore.”
Just as I aimed myself toward the first level again, I realized my error: I hadn’t taken the dragon reins. They were secured in Tirta’s belt, where she’d put them right before admitting her association with the Luminary Council.
Indecision stalled me. I’d taken the long way to the first level solely to retrieve the reins. But if I went back for them, Tirta would be waiting on the other side of the door. And she had a room full of weapons.
Well, I had a room full of noorestones.
But I had no idea how to harness their power.
A low rumble filled my ears. Footfalls? Tirta? Luminary Guards? More angry baby dragons? It was impossible to tell, but that made the decision for me: I ran.
Although I’d secured everything as well as possible, the extra weight slowed me, made my heart thrum heavily and my breath scrape inside my chest. It hurt, but I forced myself onward, careening around corners and down a flight of stairs.
I was not built for running, even when I wasn’t loaded down with noorestones and weapons.
But I kept going. Even when cramps gripped my sides, and when fire throbbed through my shoulder. Even when sweat poured down my body and soaked my skin, and when my breath came in short, shuddering gasps. Even when black spots swarmed around the edges of my vision—and then everything faded into faint shadows. I knew where to go. My work cleaning had burned into my mind the number of steps to and from different places, and I used that as a map.
At last, I found myself in the anteroom. Struggling to catch my breath, urging my sight to return to normal, I found the thin blankets always stored here, took six, and slipped them through the straps of my backpack. They dangled around my legs, but I’d take anything that looked useful now. I had no idea what we might face outside the prison.
If we got out.
Still wishing I’d taken the reins from Tirta, wishing warriors kept calm-whistles, I hauled open the cellblock door. It was time to face the dragon.
Heat gusted outward. I staggered back, but I forced myself to move deeper into the hall.
It was dim, as always, but eerily quiet considering there were nine prisoners and a dragon inside.
I lifted my noorestone to my side, to keep the shine out of my eyes, and that was when I saw her. Kelsine slinked out of one of the cells, no longer terrified and cowed by the Drakon Warriors, but with a confidence that revealed her understanding of her dominance. She might be a young dragon, but she was still a dragon in a cellblock full of delicate, flammable humans.
A small gasp escaped me, drawing her attention.
At once, Kelsine lunged down the hall, her brown scales shimmering in the faint light.
“Wait!” I shouted, as if she could understand me. As if she had any reason to trust me.
“Mira?” That was Ilina’s voice.
Talons scraped the stone floor as Kelsine charged me, and deep, red flames dragged around her teeth. She was too young to ignite the air, and her fire was nearly extinguished now—probably from using so much—but that didn’t change the danger I was in. She had teeth. And talons.
A cacophony of voices rose up, all screaming at me, at the dragon, at the bars on their cells.
I clutched my noorestone in one hand, wishing to all the Fallen Gods I’d managed to get the dragon reins. Or a calm-whistle. Anything that would help. Anything but this pathetic jacket that might be fire resistant but certainly wasn’t crush proof.
I had two options:
1. Duck into one of the cells on either side of me.
2. Retreat into the anteroom.
They were both terrible solutions.
And then there was Kelsine herself. Though charging at me, she was exhausted, and the dying fire proved it. She was all fear and adrenaline, a dangerous combination for me and for her. This poor creature. Her parents taken. Trapped in a strange hall. Humans screaming at her.
“Oh, Kelsine,” I whispered. My heart broke. I could imagine the anguish of family ripped away, the terror of being surrounded by strangers, the wild need to survive against all odds—because I’d been there. I was still there.
At two dragon-lengths away, Kelsine stopped and lifted her eyes to mine.
My heart thrummed as her entire posture shifted from aggressive to . . . submissive? That couldn’t be right. But her wings folded, her back lowered, and her face turned downward to the floor. A huge sigh rolled out of her.
“What happened?” Varissa’s question hissed across the cellblock, and I quickly looked for Kelsine’s response, but the dragon appeared sedated.
“Don’t say anything,” I warned them, doing my best to keep my voice level. Tone neutral. Kelsine made herself smaller.
I needed to move. To free my friends. This was our chance to get out of here, but the longer I took, the more likely it was that Altan awakened and came for us. And I couldn’t imagine a world where Tirta didn’t search this very cellblock when she escaped the armory.
So I took one step forward. Two. Three. The numbers steadied my thoughts as I strode toward the dragon, knelt, and caressed the ridge of hot scales over her eye. Her third lid slid into place, but she didn’t back away. She didn’t break her gaze.
“I know you’re scared,” I whispered. “So am I.”
A deep shudder tore through her, but she was listening.
“I won’t let them hurt you again, sweet dragon.”
She blinked slowly as I stood up, then moved around her—toward Ilina’s cell. Over the incredible pounding of my heart, I heard only a small scrape of talons on stone as she turned to watch.
I breathed. In long. Out long. Just like Doctor Chilikoba had taught me. I made every breath last five steps, and little by little, the worst of the anxiety cleared.
Finally, I reached Ilina.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
“She’s a baby. I calmed her.” I passed her the bow and quiver, then twisted so she could remove Altan’s key ring from the sword hilt where I’d stowed it. “Fourth from the maces, I think.” At least, that was the key for my cell. “If that’s not it, we’ll have to find a way to pick the locks.”
“How encouraging,” she said, but she was still searching me like she couldn’t believe what I’d done.
While Ilina dealt with the keys, I went to Hristo’s cell and passed him a sword. He nodded in thanks. Then I went to
Gerel’s.
“I’m trusting you,” I said. “However unwise that may be, I’m trusting you, and I’m getting you out of here, too. Don’t betray me.”
“I have never lied to you.” She narrowed her eyes. “Give me the sword.”
“What about the dragon?” Ilina was just stepping out of her cell and moving toward Hristo’s.
“The real question,” said Altan, striding in from the anteroom with fourteen warriors at his back, “is what did you do to the dragon?”
In between us, Kelsine was slinking toward me, her wings still tucked against her sides. She was exhausted, and in no shape to defend herself, let alone fight on our behalf.
From the opposite end of the hall, another voice sounded.
“Mira Minkoba!” Tirta wore a hard scowl. In spite of her earlier claims of friendship, seven Luminary Guards flanked her.
My heart sank into the floor and through the depths of the island of Khulan. We were trapped on both sides. Twenty-three of them against six of us. And unless Aaru and Chenda were going to surprise me in the next few minutes, only two of us were trained for combat.
“With the authority granted to me,” Tirta went on, “by the Luminary Council of Darina and Damyan, I place you under arrest.”
“I’m already in prison,” I muttered.
Gerel snorted and drew her sword. “Make your friend let me out of my cage next.”
“Obviously.” I swung my backpack off, blankets flying everywhere, and dug for one of the knives. Noorestones scraped my skin, but it wasn’t a long search. I passed the knife through the bars as the sound of twenty-three pairs of boots grew louder. Closer.
“Why do you have all those noorestones?” Gerel asked.
I passed knives to Hristo, who’d just been freed from his cell, and then Chenda and Ilina.
“Stay in the middle,” Hristo said. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it.” He drew both his knife and sword, and positioned himself facing Tirta.
I believed him. Of course I did. But just in case, I made sure to get an extra knife for myself.
Ilina went to work on Gerel’s door, and I found myself in front of Aaru’s cell.