The Sky on Fire

Prologue

PROLOGUE

The dragon’s roar stopped all conversation.

A hundred people had been engrossed in feasting, drinking, and celebration, but at that sound, a hundred hearts stopped and a hundred heads tilted up. The banquet hall fell silent save for glasses and dinnerware rattling against each other.

A few seconds later, the stone building shuddered as if someone had dropped an enormous weight upon the highest ridge, an unwise architectural addition foreshadowing catastrophic collapse. More than one guest uttered a prayer to Eannis. Plaster dust drifted down onto uncovered dishes and into open mouths.

The mayor’s wife kept enough presence of mind to check the building’s warding plates. They appeared intact; this wasn’t an enchantment failure. Inscriptions could only do so much against forces outside their tolerances—enormous dragons landing on the roof, for example.

“I thought Aldegon was nesting,” the mayor whispered.

To which his wife replied, “She is .”

The mayor motioned for a city guardsman to investigate. A dragon’s roar might be common enough in Crystalspire, but to land on a roof without warning or introduction was not.

That guard hadn’t taken more than five steps when the front doors swung open with a thunderous boom. Chill night air swept in, making the candles gutter.

A dragonrider walked inside. He wore a blue-gray leather tunic over darker gray trousers tucked into long black boots. Silver clouds embossed his bracers, embroidered his mantle. A hematite-and-silver hair pin held back long black hair; a matching collar encircled his neck. He appeared young, although that meant little; a dragonrider’s bond with their dragon caused changes few outsiders could even comprehend.

Silence again fell upon the hall. The dragonrider’s lips curled in a smile as he took in everyone’s shock.

“Now, now,” he proclaimed, spreading his arms wide. “Why the long faces? Are we not having a party? This is a celebration!” He picked up a wide-eyed man’s glass of wine as he passed a side table. The dragonrider sniffed it, wrinkled his nose, and set it back down again. “Only, what are we celebrating?”

The mayor stood and bowed. “My son’s fifteenth birthday, Honored Rider. I am Mayor Aiden e’Doreyl. This is my wife, Belsaor Doreyl, and our only child, Gwydinion. Had we known to expect you—” E’Doreyl reconsidered his next words. “Please forgive our oversight, Honored Rider. You’re welcome to share our table.”

The boy, Gwydinion, appeared so much like a younger, rounder-cheeked version of his father that there could be no question of his paternity. He all but vibrated with excitement as he leaned forward across the table.

“What’s the name of your dragon?” Gwydinion asked. “Are you here to take me to—” The boy’s mother grabbed his arm in a clawlike grip and dragged him back down again.

“Silence,” she hissed.

The boy’s eyes widened in shock.

Mayor e’Doreyl’s smile thinned, but he ignored his wife and son in favor of giving the dragonrider a second bow. “Please forgive my son’s enthusiasm, Honored Rider. He is overeager to begin his training.”

“Oh? He’s a candidate?” The dragonrider’s gaze turned calculating. “Congratulations on both your choosing and your birthday. Have you ever ridden a dragon, I wonder? I know a few.”

Before the mayor’s son could stammer out an answer, the dragonrider turned back to the boy’s father. “I imagine he’ll know a few himself soon enough.” Something ugly flickered behind his eyes. “If he lives.”

Before the mayor could respond, the rider swung out his arms again to encompass the hall and tilted his head. A bow, if observers felt generous. An insult, if not.

“I am Jaemeh Felayn, rider of the dragon Tiendremos of Yagra’hai.” He pointed a finger toward the ceiling in case any might be obtuse enough to miss the importance of that second introduction. “Tiendremos would say hello himself, but this is meant as a friendly visit. For now.”

For a few long seconds, the mayor found his mouth too dry for speech. Belsaor pinched his leg, hard, to snap him out of it.

“It is our pleasure to welcome you, Honored Rider,” Aiden e’Doreyl said. “Although I admit to some confusion that you and Tiendremos should present yourselves here instead of at Aldegon’s crèche. To what do we owe your visit?”

“Treason,” Jaemeh said amiably.

The rough edges of the banquet guests’ initial shock had hardly worn smooth by that point, but the crowd had been making an admirable effort. People whispered about the dragonrider—speculations on his origins, appraisals of his clothing, questions about his dragon. All that gossip stopped with that single word, replaced with stunned silence.

“Treason?” Mayor e’Doreyl’s throat moved as he swallowed air.

Jaemeh flinched.

No reason for such a flinch made itself obvious. Then the dragonrider straightened and his eyes began glowing, as if lightning arced inside them.

Perhaps that was the truth, because electricity jumped around his bracers, played over his fingertips. An intangible presence descended upon the rider, taking up all the space in the room, smothering and terrible.

“Is it not treason,” Tiendremos the dragon asked, using Jaemeh’s mouth, “to give aid and succor to those who have acted against your betters? Queen Neveranimas is sorely disappointed.”

“We would never—” someone in the crowd called out before a wiser soul silenced them. Agitated whispers rose once more.

“Quiet,” Mayor e’Doreyl yelled at everyone but the dragonrider. “All of you. Clear the room, now. Guards, please escort everyone outside—”

“But the dragon!” It was unclear who’d shouted the protest.

The mayor’s wife, Belsaor, slammed the table as she stood. “We have always served the dragons in exchange for their protection, and they have always provided. We will see justice done here.” She put a hand on her husband’s shoulder as she addressed the guests. “You have nothing to fear except insulting these honored guests. Now please go, with our apologies.”

Aiden took her hand, kissed the knuckles. “You too, Bel. Take our son with you.”

“Father—!”

“No,” Mayor e’Doreyl said. “I promise I’ll make it up to you later. Do as you’re told.”

The quick departures left the two men alone in the vast hall. Aiden e’Doreyl turned back to the rider. Lightning still arced over his body as he channeled his dragon’s will. The mayor lowered his head to the table in submission. He then raised his chin enough to talk. “Your Eminence, I implore you to provide me with more information. Please tell me who in Seven Crests has been so brazen, so faithless, as to act against our guardians.”

“You did,” the dragon growled. “Fifteen years ago. All you had to do was execute one insignificant human. Instead, you hid her. You protected her!”

Mayor e’Doreyl’s brows furled as he tried to recall some event—any event—that matched the dragon’s claim.

He turned gray as an answer came to him.

“Am I to assume that you refer to Anahrod Amnead, Your Eminence?” His tone was both incredulous and horrified.

“Yes!” Tiendremos said. “The rebel who swore herself to Zavad and plotted against the First Dragon. Did you think we would never discover the truth?”

Aiden e’Doreyl stepped backward, nearly tripped. “Your Eminence, she was executed—”

“She was not ,” the dragon growled. “You betrayed your oaths by pardoning her life!”

The mayor swallowed. “I would not dare disagree with one such as yourself, great dragon, but…” The man glanced up, saw the lightning eyes of the rider, and lowered his head again, shuddering.

“I’m not interested in your excuses. Make this right or the First Dragon will assume you shelter the traitor here in Crystalspire. We’ll see how much of your precious city is left when she’s done with it.” A second roar shook the building and made the cutlery dance across the tables.

One of the inscribed warding plates overhead cracked.

The dragonrider Jaemeh’s eyes returned to their normal brown color. A shudder rolled over his body.

The mayor remembered to breathe. “Honored Rider, surely you realize—”

Jaemeh scrubbed the heel of his hand into an eye as he recovered from the possession. “Realize what, exactly? That you weren’t even mayor fifteen years ago—?”

“Seventeen years,” the mayor corrected automatically, and then flinched at his own gaffe.

Jaemeh squinted. “Yes. Right. Seventeen years. Whatever the number, you have inherited the sins of your predecessors. Fair or not, it’s your problem now. My master’s threat was serious. He’s loyal to the First Dragon. He doesn’t always behave rationally if she’s under threat.”

“The girl was fifteen. How much of a threat could she have been—”

Jaemeh scowled. “The question you should ask yourself is how much of a threat the dragon queen will be if you displease her.”

Mayor e’Doreyl wiped his forehead with a napkin. “I’ve read my predecessor’s files, Honored Rider. Anahrod Amnead was executed for high crimes, as ordered.”

“And Lord Tiendremos has it on good authority that she survived.” The dragonrider made for the exit, but he called back over his shoulder: “He’s giving you one month to find her.” He raised a finger. “Alive. Tiendremos doesn’t intend to delegate her sentencing this time.”

“He could give me a thousand years and it wouldn’t be enough. She’s dead!” Fear—genuine fear—shook loose any sense of diplomacy or tact.

The rider didn’t take offense.

“Less dead than lost, it seems.” The cruel humor returned to the rider’s stare. “So, I’ll give you a piece of advice. When I lose something, I always check the last place I remember seeing it. You may wish to do the same. One month. Make it count.”

The rider walked through the doors, which slammed shut behind him.

Aiden e’Doreyl’s hands shook as he lowered himself down to his seat. A few seconds later, the feast hall stonework creaked as the dragon launched upward. More dust floated down like snow flurries to mark the dragon’s passing.

Then all was still.

He glanced at the warding plates, but no further damage manifested. Still, they’d have to be replaced. He shuddered to think how much Whitestone Division would charge for the task.

His wife placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I should have known better than to think you’d obey, Bel. You never have before.” The mayor covered his face with his hands. “Did you hear everything?”

“Yes.” His wife’s voice was as ragged as a knife sharpened against granite, but when he glanced at her, her eyes were clear and cold. That didn’t surprise him. Belsaor was the strongest woman he’d ever known. All the tears had been wrung from her long ago.

“And our son…?”

“Already home,” she said. “I sent him ahead.”

“Good.” He hesitated, and then grief and outrage shuddered over him. “I can’t believe—” He shook his head. “To walk right into our hall like that—”

“I’ll need to work quickly,” Belsaor murmured. “The rumors will spread like a fire in the Deep. Our enemies will claim the dragon came here to accuse you personally.”

Aiden blinked at his wife. “He did .”

“No,” she corrected. “The sins of your predecessors are Mayor Amnead’s sins, not yours. I can slant this in a positive light. Make sure everyone realizes how noble you are for cleaning up her mistakes. This might even help us in the next—”

“The next elections can throw themselves off a cliff!” Aiden snapped. He grabbed his shocked wife’s hand. “I’m not worried about the elections. I’m worried about you. This cannot be easy for you.”

“What is hard about it?” Her voice carried a false lightness. Possibly Aiden e’Doreyl was one of the few people alive who could see through the lie. “Anahrod’s been dead for almost twenty years. Neveranimas must be on the verge of going rampant if she thinks otherwise.”

“Maybe so, but she’s still the First Dragon—”

“Neveranimas”—the name was a snarl on his wife’s lips—“has never been the First Dragon.”

“A technicality, Bel. Ivarion will never wake and so she’s a regent instead of a queen. Her word is still law, not just over her kingdom, but over all of Seven Crests as well.” He closed his eyes, canted his head back against his wife’s hip.

She stroked his hair, saying nothing.

He glanced up. “Do you think there is any chance, any chance at all, that she might have lived?”

His wife still said nothing, but this time it felt like she was marshaling her thoughts. “They threw her off a cloud cutter at fifty thousand feet, Aiden. There were witnesses to that effect.” She scoffed. “Are we supposed to think that is not enough proof because no one risked the Deep to retrieve her shattered body?”

“But if she survived—”

Belsaor’s eyes flashed. “She didn’t .”

The mayor exhaled. “As you say, then. She didn’t. Which means we face an unpleasant fact: since we don’t have her body”—he glanced significantly at his wife, but Belsaor remained silent—“we have no way to prove we executed her.”

“Not ‘we,’” his wife corrected. “Mayor Amnead. She—” Belsaor stopped, gathered herself. “ He executed his own daughter.”

Aiden heard the quiet revision and grimaced. He seemed about to make a correction of his own, but stopped, fingertips digging into the hard wooden tabletop. “It won’t matter who held office,” he said. “You know dragons can’t tell us apart unless we’re bonded to them.”

Belsaor froze, then her eyes turned hard and cunning. “You make an excellent point.”

The mayor shifted in his chair to meet his wife’s gaze. “What mean you by that?”

“I mean exactly what you think.”

“You cannot be suggesting we give the dragons some other girl in her place.”

“Why not? Would this dragon know the difference if we presented him with any random woman and claimed she was Anahrod? And if she shouts and rants that she’s innocent, that her name isn’t Anahrod at all, who will believe her?”

“No one. No one would.” Horror crossed the man’s face. “I won’t do it, Bel. I won’t send an innocent person to their death like that.”

A sad, sweet smile settled on Belsaor’s face. “Ah, my love. I always knew you were too pure for this job.” She touched his cheek and whispered, “The world is full of people who deserve nothing less than this. I would send a monster to her death in Anahrod Amnead’s place in an instant and sleep well, knowing that for once, a guilty person had been condemned.”

He took his wife’s hands in his. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing it’s not your decision, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be a fool. You heard what he threatened!”

Aiden nodded. “Yes, I heard what he threatened. But I also remember when Neveranimas ordered Anahrod’s execution the last time. A whole flight of dragons, including Aldegon, perched outside the city in broad daylight, with their magic carrying the sound of Aldegon’s rider’s voice to every nearby mountaintop. Every single person in Seven Crests knew what the accusations were.”

“You think shouting accusations of treason in the middle of our son’s birthday party was subtle?” Belsaor raised an eyebrow at her husband.

“For a dragon? Yes. If Tiendremos had any proof to back up this absurd claim, he would’ve shouted it from the mountaintops instead of invading our son’s party.”

Her eyes widened. “You think the dragon plays a game.”

“He must. It’s what we can do about it that concerns me.”

They continued discussing their options, or lack thereof.

Neither of them heard their son sneak away.