Frozen

44

“OKAY,” WES SAID, SHAKING NAT AWAKE in the morning. “You know what to do?”

Nat blinked her eyes open. “Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“They’re dropping us off at the other ship.”

“And?”

“They’ll be distracted, everyone will be out of their cages, and they’ll want to dump us as quickly as possible, which means they’ll let down their guard, hustling us out. When we see an opportunity, we need to take it.”

Truly, it wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he had. They had knocked out the strategy to the smallfolk as well. He only hoped that Shakes, Brendon, and Roark were still alive and on the Ear’s ship. He would need their help when it began. Wes felt better than he had in days; his color was high and he felt his blood pounding in his ears.

“You love this,” she said to him, watching him prepare for battle, as he wound strips of cloth around his fists.

“I won’t deny it.” He smiled. “We get out—and we beat them—or we die trying.”

“But if I can’t . . . ,” she said. So much of his plan hinged upon her ability to use her power and she wasn’t sure she would be able to. She didn’t trust herself—she had given away the stone—she was worse than a monster. She was a traitor to her own kind.

“You will. I know you will,” he said. “You won’t let me down.”

It was another miserable morning. Around noon, the prisoners were marched out of their cages and brought on the deck for another round of cruel amusements.

“You, boy,” the fat pirate with the worst mean streak said, singling out a small child from his family. “Come here.”

“Please no!” his mother cried. “No—take me instead—please!”

“Take ’em both,” another suggested.

“Why not?” the first one agreed. He looped a rope around each of their necks, making a noose. The other slavers brought out a bucket and a barrel for the mother and son to stand on. Then they tossed the other end of the ropes over one of the sails.

A skinny pirate with a chipped tooth pointed to the father, whose mark was shining on his cheek. “See if ye can save ’em both, eh?”

The fat pirate laughed. “See who ye love better.” Then he kicked both the bucket and the barrel and the wife and the boy were hoisted into the air, their legs kicking and their faces turning bright scarlet as they fought to breathe.

“Save him!” the mother gasped. “Save our son!”

The father of the boy held out his hand, so that his son floated higher than the rope around his neck, but the energy it required was killing him. And as he held his son from death, his wife began to lose consciousness, the noose cutting into her throat.

Nat buried her head in Wes’s shirt, stifling a scream. Wes trembled with fury as he held her close.

“Ear’s here—he’ll want them all alive! They’re no use to him dead!” a voice snarled; it was the first mate, and in quick succession both the boy and the mother were cut down from their gallows.

The boy lived, but the woman did not respond, and both father and son were weeping over her lifeless body.

“Get up, get up,” the fat pirate yelled, kicking at them. “Get ’em all out!” he screamed, ordering the rest of the prisoners lined up to board the Ear’s ship.

The Van Gogh pulled up next to the Titan; the Ear’s crew amassed on its deck, awaiting its newest cargo. They had slaves on hand as well to help with the new prisoners. Wes was glad to see Shakes among the slaves. Alby was floating by the Van Gogh as well. They must have been using it as a scouting vessel, just as he had hoped. Maybe this plan would work after all. He caught Shakes’s eye and gave him a signal, the military code that meant “prepare for escape.”

Shakes flashed two fingers to indicate he’d received it.

Next to him, Nat squeezed his hand. “Remember our deal,” she said. I would rather die at your hands than at theirs.

He shook his head. “It won’t come to that.”

Nat looked over the row of prisoners waiting to board the Van Gogh, and spied Liannan’s sleek blond head among them. Wes had gone over the plan with her the night before as well. Liannan looked as beautiful as ever. Her eyes sparkled. She had seen Shakes on the other ship, alive.

Brendon’s parents, Magda and Cadmael, were among the smallkind waiting to board. Magda had Brendon’s curly red hair and Cadmael shared Brendon’s shy smile. Nat hoped no harm would come to them.

The wind started to howl and the two ships rocked unsteadily as the ocean kicked up black waves. The two slave ships were only twenty feet apart, but the water was too rough to pull the vessels closer. If they were roped together, the two ships would bump each other, and neither seemed sturdy enough for that.

The Ear sent a smaller boat, two men on an outboard motor, from the Van Gogh to ferry the slaves from the Titan to his ship. When it arrived, Slob’s men threw a makeshift rope ladder down to the smaller craft. The slaves would have to climb down to the Ear’s ferry. Nat looked over the edge at the small metal boat as it bucked violently in the rough waters. This was not going to be an easy transfer.

She was right.

Hands bound, the first slave to attempt the ladder stumbled midway and then plunged headfirst into the dark waters. It took the two scavengers to pull him out and one nearly fell in. The Ear’s men called up to the Titan: “Unshackle them for the climb. If we don’t free their hands, we’ll lose half the slaves to the ocean.”

Wes nodded to Nat. This is our chance. He’d counted on a little improvisation to get through this, but now he knew exactly what to do. It was just as he’d hoped.

One of the brutes walked up to Nat, who was next in line, and removed her cuffs. As he turned the key, the slaver looked down at the ferryboat. “I’ll throw these shackles to you. As soon as she gets down there, we don’t want to leave these slaves unshack—”

He never finished the sentence. Hands still cuffed, Wes rammed the guard from behind, and the pirate tumbled off the deck, almost smashing into the motorboat as he plunged into the water.

The remaining slavers focused on Wes, drawing out their knives.

“Nat!” Wes yelled. “Now!”

45

WES SWUNG AGAINST THE PIRATE HOLDING him, and a crowd of slavers fell upon him. Nat screamed, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t break the iron bonds holding the rest of the slaves back. Useless. Useless. More slavers joined the fray—Wes was outnumbered—they would beat him until he was dead, make an example of it to the others.

She tried to focus, but she was dizzy with fear and hunger. A pirate fired his gun, and there were more screams, more confusion. Children crying . . .

The slavers were killing Wes . . . they were angry and would not stop until he stopped breathing . . .

If she did nothing, they would kill him . . . She struggled as the pirates held her . . . she was weak . . . she was powerless . . . She heard Wes cry out in pain, and it was his voice that echoed in her head now. I think you have to embrace it. You can’t fight it. Don’t resist it. You have to accept who you are, Nat. Once you do, you can do anything you want. Or maybe, to tap into your power, all you need to do is think of me.

She smiled at that for a moment.

With all her strength she smashed every iron cuff that held every prisoner.

In a moment, everything changed. Freed from their shackles, the slaves outnumbered their guards two to one.

Without planning or coordination, the freed slaves took up a collective war cry as they went to work on their former tormentors. The marked sent steel crates flying through the air. Tools and buckets became weapons they sent directly at their guards. Daggers were used to stab their owners. A slaver’s gun exploded in his face. Another found an iron cage smashing him against the mast. The mighty steel pole in the middle of the ship flexed with an awful groan. A marked family stood below it—eyes closed, the life pouring from their bodies—as they bent the mast at its base. Eighty feet of steel crashed to the deck. Cages were smashed, the deck was torn apart, and Titan listed in the water. The slaves fought hard—they had nothing to lose.

Their victory was short-lived. Bullets peppered the sky and Nat saw freed slaves stumble and cower as the scavengers aboard the Van Gogh began firing on the Titan. Smoke filled the air along with the sound of gunfire. A grenade exploded behind them, and the back half of the Titan roared into a mighty blaze.

“This way!” Wes cried, pulling Nat up from where she had fallen. Liannan was behind him. “Shakes has the boat!” she told them.

They ran toward the end of the deck. Wes stopped. Shakes, Roark, and Brendon were on board good old Alby with Farouk. Wes stopped short, glancing from Shakes to their former comrade.

“It’s all right,” Shakes told Wes as he boarded. “Farouk was the one who helped us out of our cages.”

There was no time for questions. Wes nodded to the boy and then turned to help Nat aboard.

“Donnie—your family is here!” she said as soon as she saw the smallmen.

“Where?” Brendon asked. “They’re alive?”

“Yes, they were in the line with us—”

“Come on!” Shakes was yelling, helping Liannan on board.

Wes was at the helm; he started the engines and pushed the throttle to its limit.

“We can’t just leave them!” Nat yelled, and she meant all of them, not just the Rimmels. The slavers had begun to retake control. They were running up and down the deck, executing prisoners one by one.

Wes swung past the Van Gogh as they headed for open sea. The way was clear. They were safe. He glanced back at the slave ship. Avo had made it to the Van Gogh and had taken charge of the revolt. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?” he screamed at the prisoners.

“BACK IN YER CAGES! BACK IN YER CAGES!” a fat pirate bellowed as he fired into the air.

“Wes!” Nat called.

“I know, I know.”

Wes turned the wheel hard and Alby groaned as it swung around in a tight arc to face the slave ship. The Titan was awash in fire, and its crew had followed Avo to the Van Gogh, where they now seemed to have the upper hand. Most of the pilgrims were in the Titan’s lifeboats, paddling or motoring as best they could to escape. The Ear’s scavengers, lined up along the bow, were taking shots at the unprotected lifeboats as they tried to escape.

Wes had grown attached to Alby, but as he powered toward the slavers, he realized it might be the last weapon in his arsenal. Wes told his crew to hold on and then rammed the Van Gogh.

There was enough smoke in the air that he caught most of the scavengers off guard when the two vessels collided. Wes just needed to buy time for the escaping slaves to get out beyond the range of the slavers’ guns. The ocean was thick with ice and trash—it wouldn’t take long for the small boats to find cover.

When they collided, Alby’s bow made a temporary bridge between the two crafts. Wes leapt up onto the bow and boarded the slave ship, Nat and Shakes at his side, leaving the smallmen, Farouk, and Liannan behind. Half the scavengers were tossed overboard from the impact, and the rest were throwing ropes to their fallen comrades. Wes grabbed a pistol from the hand of a fallen slaver and pointed it at the men. Shakes and Nat followed.

“Time to go for a swim, boys. You can paddle over to that raft of junk and hope some pilgrims find you.”

Wes put a slug through the shoulder of the biggest scavenger, nicking a chunk of flesh from his arm. He’d survive, but the wound would smart for a few weeks. The slaver glared and began to climb down, followed by the last of his men. “You’ll be fine.” Wes smiled as he tossed the ropes overboard. His joking words hid his anger. He had to force himself not to fire on them again.

Brendon’s parents were among the smallkind who had commandeered one of the small motorboats. They pulled up next to Wes’s ship.

“Donnie! Donnie!” his mother cried.

“I’m all right, Mum, come on, I’m okay.” Brendon laughed.

“Take the lifeboat to the port of New Crete. My people will find you, and lead you home,” Liannan told them.

“Right then, hop on board, boys,” Cadmael said.

“We’re going with our crew,” Roark said.

“Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll be right behind, I’m their new navigator,” Brendon shouted. “I can’t leave my ship.”

“What!” his mother cried, but his father looked proud. “We’ll see you in Vallonis.” He nodded. “Magda, let’s go.”

Roark and Brendon helped the rest of the team scramble back onto Alby. Nat stumbled as she fell on board, Shakes revved the engine, and the boat began to pull away.

“Wait!” she cried. “Where’s Wes?” She turned to see Wes still on the deck of the Van Gogh. He’d stayed behind to make sure everyone got on board safely.

“Shakes! Turn back!” Nat yelled. “Wes is still back there!”

She saw Wes making a run to leap on board when someone grabbed him from behind and he fell back. Avo Hubik and a dozen other slavers surrounded him. Seeing Alby return, the pirates began firing on them, bullets whizzing through the air, pummeling the ship’s hull.

Brendon yelped as a bullet grazed his arm, and another plugged Shakes in the shoulder. Wes’s crew tried to return fire, but they were badly outnumbered.

“WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING? GO! GET OUT OF HERE!” Wes yelled, even as Avo held a gun to his temple.

The slaver laughed. “Surrender, or I will make him eat his own fingers when I send him to the flesh markets.”

Shakes hesitated and killed the engine, unsure what to do.

“GET LOST! TAKE THE SHIP AND GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!” Wes screamed in fury, as the bullets continued to fly, one dangerously close to hitting Nat in the head. There was little cover on deck from the shower of gunfire.

“We can’t save him,” Farouk said. If they stayed any longer, the slavers would overtake them, and they would be back where they began, but in worse circumstances. The slavers didn’t take too kindly to slaves who tried to escape.

“No,” Shakes said. “No! We’re not leaving him.”

“But we’ll all get captured.”

“SURRENDER!” Avo screamed.

“GO ON! MOVE, YOU IDIOTS!” Wes yelled again.

That did it. Shakes tugged at the wheel and gunned the engine.

Nat remained on deck, her eyes fixed on Wes, surrounded by slavers.

“Bring the acid. Get him ready for the knives,” Avo ordered.

Wes shook his head at her. “Remember our deal,” he mouthed.

She knew what was in store for him. The flesh markets. The flaying. He would die slowly and horribly, as they skinned him alive, as they stripped the skin from his body; they would force him to experience every second of his own terrible death.

Nat felt tears spring to her eyes. No. No.

The slavers were upon him now. Three of them held him back as he stood on the deck, while another brought the bucket of acid to blind him, the beginning of the torture.

Alby was pulling away as the slavers kept firing on the ship. Nat had only a moment to act, a moment to decide.

Wes kept his eyes on her the whole time. “What did I say, Nat, I told you it wouldn’t come to this.” He smiled. There are worse things than getting shot, worse things in the world than dying quickly.

She knew what he was asking her to do.

But he was right. She wouldn’t let it come to this. There was a way she could save him and save them all.

Nat grabbed a sidearm from one of the boys. She remembered what Liannan had said the other night. She could feel the otherworldly strength rushing through her spirit as she locked eyes with Wes.

Her eyes filled with tears of hope.

“Do it,” he mouthed. “Hurry.”

The slaver held a bucket of acid over his head.

There was no time and no other way to find out.

Please, let this work. Please let them have been wrong about me.

Then she shot Wes through the heart.

46

CHAOS EXPLODED ON THE DECK OF THE Van Gogh. Avo Hubik stared at the fallen body of Ryan Wesson as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. The slavers looked stunned, and the pirate holding the bucket of acid dropped it on his own foot, causing more confusion.

Aboard the Alby, Nat collapsed to her knees, shaking, and the smallmen howled in grief. “What happened? What happened?” Shakes yelled.

“She shot him—Nat shot him—” Brendon whispered.

“WHAT?” Shakes turned white. “WHAT DID SHE DO?”

Farouk stood next to him, stunned. “Wes is dead?” he whispered.

“ICEHOLE!” Avo said, kicking Wes’s body overboard. “WHAT ARE YOU MORONS WAITING FOR—GET THEM!” he yelled, and the slavers reloaded their guns and resumed firing on Alby.

“Help me,” Nat said. Wes’s body was floating facedown in the water by their ship, and she leaned over to reach for him. The smallmen lent a hand, holding on to her as she pulled him out of the water.

“Got him?” Shakes yelled.

“Yes,” Nat said, cradling Wes in her arms. He was already cold and stiff. “Let’s go, Shakes!”

The team ducked for cover, and it looked like the slavers would take their boat, but Shakes finally got the engine running and they sped away.

When Alby was out of range the slavers’ gunfire stopped, and the Van Gogh headed back toward its course to the Blue. On the deck, Nat cradled Wes’s body in her arms. “Wes, wake up, wake up,” she whispered. “Wake up, come on, wake up!”

“Wake up? You shot him in the heart! He’s dead!” Farouk exclaimed.

“No,” she said. “No,” she whispered when Wes did not stir. He was so very cold. “This wasn’t what was supposed to happen.”

Liannan knelt next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I think he’s gone,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“NO!” Nat screamed. This was not the way it was supposed to end. No. Not like this. Not now. Not after everything they had done to survive. After everything they meant to each other.

“Let’s get out of here,” Liannan told Shakes. She looked sorrowfully at Nat. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

“What’s going on?” Shakes asked.

Liannan shook her head. “I’ll explain later.”

Nat held Wes in her arms and continued to sob. She’d believed she could save him. She had thought she could save them all. She hadn’t meant for this to happen . . . She hadn’t meant to kill him . . . She had thought . . . she had thought she was saving him . . . that she was saving them all . . .

They were right about me, then, she thought dully.

Subject has no heart.

That’s what they told her at MacArthur.

She was only a weapon, a vessel for fire and pain. She had no heart. There was a cold, dead space where it was supposed to be. She was not human. She was marked. She was a monster.

Subject is unable to love. Unable to feel. Subject is perfect for our needs.

She had believed they were wrong. She had believed her feelings for him were real, that what she felt for Wes was true . . .

She had believed she could save him as he had saved her. When he had kissed her before the traders came, when he had saved her from the white priests.

But she was wrong.

Subject unable to love. She did not love him and so she could not save him.

Brendon handed her his handkerchief, and Roark put a hand on her shoulder. Both of them were crying quietly.

Nat felt numb.

She thought she had been so clever. She had gambled and lost.

And now Wes was dead.

A few minutes later Shakes walked out of the bridge and knelt by his friend. “I kept telling him he’d get himself killed one day.”

“Shakes—”

He brushed off her hand, too upset to even speak. Don’t worry, I’ve never lost him yet, he had told Nat in the Trash Pile. Her fault . . . this was all her fault . . . she was such a fool to think . . . to think that she was different . . . and to hope that she could . . .

They brought Wes down to the captain’s quarters and laid him out on his bed. His face was gray and the bullet she had put in his chest left a neat, round hole.

Shakes staggered out of the room, as if he had no more strength even to walk. The smallmen followed after him.

Liannan entered.

“I killed him,” Nat whispered. “This is my fault.”

“Better that you had, or the slavers would have killed him and his death would have been worse than a thousand agonies. Plus, if it’s any consolation, you saved the rest of us. Can you do this?” she asked. “Get him ready for burial?”

Nat nodded and wiped her eyes. Together, the two of them wound his body in a sheet, wrapping him and blessing his forehead with oil. She put a hand on his cold cheek. He was so handsome and so brave.

“We will keep him here for a little while, let everyone have a chance to say good-bye, before we give him back to the ocean,” the sylph said.

Nat nodded. She walked back out to the bridge. There was no more sign of either the Titan or the Van Gogh.

The lifeboats were bobbing in the sea, on their way to the port at New Crete.

She found Farouk at the helm, looking lost and confused, his eyes red-rimmed from crying.

“Where’s Shakes?” she asked.

“Dunno,” the young soldier sniffed. “He looked like he wanted to murder somebody.”

From below, they could hear Shakes pummeling the walls of the cabin. Liannan joined them on the bridge. “I think we need to leave him alone for now. He doesn’t blame you, Nat, but he’s angry. He’s angry that he couldn’t save his friend.”

Brendon and Roark huddled with them as well. “None of us blame you; you did a brave thing,” Roark said.

Her heart was broken, but Nat held herself together and fought the tears back. Getting away was only one part of the plan.

“What do we do now?” Farouk asked.

“The same thing we did when we set out from New Vegas,” she told him. “We need to get to the Blue. The RSA is heading there. We need to stop them from entering the doorway. Liannan, you know the way?”

The sylph nodded. “Yes. Brendon, help me—we need to plot a course.”

47

IT WAS DARK WHEN NAT ENTERED THE crew cabin. Shakes was sitting on a hammock, bent over, his head in his hands, while Liannan rested her head on his shoulder, murmuring softly. The sylph looked up when Nat entered. “Nat is here,” she said softly.

“I can go,” Nat said.

“No, it’s all right, she can stay,” Shakes said, motioning for her to take a seat.

Nat could barely stand to meet his eye. “Shakes,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said finally, looking up from his hands and attempting a smile. “Liannan told me what you hoped would happen. You did right. Besides, I hope I would have done the same.”

“I know,” Nat said. “You’re a good friend.”

“So are you.” He nodded.

They sat together in silence for a while, then Shakes told her about their time on the Van Gogh. They had been put in cages as well, but the Ear’s men hadn’t starved them, since they were going to be sold to the circus, which fetched a good price. Their cages were located down in the hold, so at least they had been warm.

On their second night aboard the Van Gogh, they saw Farouk. He wasn’t in a cage. The slavers could barely navigate or maintain their own ship. When they’d found out Farouk could do both, they pulled him from his cage and put him to work. When the rebellion started, it had been Farouk who let them out of their cages.

“Turned out the whole thing was Zedric’s idea. He’d escaped from the hold when Farouk caught him. He tried to persuade Zedric to stay, but Zedric refused. He forced Farouk to help him, since he didn’t know how to navigate. He was going to try and make it to the port at New Crete. But they got picked up by the slavers, and when Zedric resisted, they shot him on the spot.” Shakes raked his fingers through his hair. “I told Wes those Slaine boys were trouble, but he always did have a soft spot for Santonio survivors.”

“He told me what happened there,” Nat said.

“Did he?” Shakes nodded. “Bet he didn’t tell you he tried to save them, did he—tried to get the Texans to sign the treaty, that’s why he got captured and tortured, but it was too late. They gave him a medal for the ‘victory,’ but he left the service anyway.”

Liannan returned and sat next to Shakes and put his hand in hers. “You should rest,” she said.

Nat left them alone and went to the captain’s quarters to check on Wes, covered in the shroud. Roark was sitting with him, keeping the body company. Tomorrow they would give Wes to the sea. She sat with them for a while, until Brendon urged her to lie down—he would sit with the body. She went back to the crew cabin and when she finally slept her dreams were full of fire.

The next morning, she woke to the smallmen talking excitedly. They were standing by her bunk.

“Get up!” Roark said happily.

“Come see!” Brendon said, tugging on her sleeve.

Nat followed them to Wes’s cabin, where Liannan and Shakes were hovering by the doorway. The two of them were smiling so intently, it was as if they were almost shining with happiness. Nat felt the first stirrings of hope in her heart.

“Go. He wants you,” Liannan said.

As in a dream, Nat walked into the room.

She found Wes sitting up in his bed. His face was no longer gray, but pink with life. His chest was bare, and the wound right over his heart was merely a scab.

“Hey, you.” He smiled, putting his shirt back on and buttoning it up. “I thought I was a goner when I saw you pull that trigger. I’m lucky you’ve got such terrible aim, huh?”

Nat fought a smile. She remembered that when she had raised her gun, she had hoped for this outcome, had wished for it with everything she had.

“Seriously though, I felt that bullet rip me apart. But I’m here.”

“You are,” she said with a laugh, feeling giddy with happiness. They were wrong about me, she thought. They told me I didn’t have a heart. They told me I would never love anyone . . . and look . . . look at him . . . look how beautiful he is . . . how alive . . .

“You knew this would happen?” Wes said. “But how?”

“It doesn’t matter how,” she said. “You’re here, and that’s all that matters.” A powerful protection spell. I must like him so very, very much, she thought.

“Nat,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I wanted to say something to you before . . . I don’t know if you want to hear it . . . and I don’t know what’s going to happen when we reach the Blue . . . but . . . maybe we can . . . after you find what you’re looking for . . . if everything’s okay . . . maybe we can . . .”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.” Whatever happened, the answer was yes. Yes!

His eyes lit up with joy. “Yes?”

“Yes.” She leaned down, but he was the one who pulled her to his lap, his strong arms surrounding her, and then they were kissing, and kissing, and kissing, and his mouth was on hers, and they were together, where they belonged, and she buried herself deep into his arms, and he kissed her everywhere, her nose, her cheeks, her neck, her mark, and she was laughing with happiness.

“All right then,” Wes said, squeezing her tightly, his old grin returning, happy to be back on his ship with his crew. “What did I miss?”

Nat was about to reply when Roark burst into the room. “We’re here . . . at the doorway to Arem. But Donnie says we’ve come too late.”

Ahead of them, on the distant skyline, they saw the battleships approaching the small island.

48

THE NAVY FLEET HAD SURROUNDED A tiny green island, almost invisible as it was hidden so well by the gray frozen ones around it. It was in the middle of the archipelago, a small green gem.

“Supercarriers,” Wes said with a frown.

“Missile destroyers, frigates, missile cruisers. It’s a full drone army.” Shakes whistled, peering through the binoculars. “They’re serious about this.”

Liannan paled. “They must not be allowed to enter the doorway. My people cannot defend themselves against this firepower. If they are allowed to enter, it will mean death to Vallonis. If only we still had our drakonrydders . . .”

Nat was startled out of her paralysis. She had been overwhelmed by the size of the fleet, helpless against the magnificent array and might of the country’s massive military machine, commanded by soldiers somewhere in bunkers, hidden far away where they could not be stopped. She had done this. She had given away the stone, and now it was too late—there was nothing they could do now, nothing they could do to stop it—but something Liannan said struck a chord in her.

Drakonrydders.

“The drakon,” she whispered. “The monster in the sea. The wailer. You called it a protector of Vallonis.”

“Yes, but it is missing its rider and it is uncontrollable without one, a wild animal; otherwise it is our greatest defense.”

Nat felt as if she were waking up from a deep and dream-filled sleep, as the memories she had long suppressed returned to her all at once.

The voice she heard inside her . . . that had ceased to speak because it was speaking in other ways . . .

The song of the little white bird . . .

The creatures that came to feed them . . .

They all said the same thing . . .

You have returned to us.

Bless you . . . bless the drakon . . . bless its rider.

The voice had stopped speaking to her after the death of the white bird. The wailer had been grieving. The wailer was the drakon.

She was not alone. Never alone.

I have been searching for you, but now it is you who must come to me. Journey to the Blue. The Haven needs you.

It is time we are one.

Don’t resist your power. You have to accept who you are, Wes had told her.

She was part of the drakon. She was its familiar, its shadow. When the ice came, the universe was split in two, so that when the drakon was born sixteen years ago, it was split as well, its soul born on the other side of the doorway. The drakon had been looking for her ever since.

She had no heart.

Because she was the drakon’s heart, the drakon’s soul. She and the monster were one and the same. Torn from the other, lost, alone, and only complete, together.

She walked out to the deck, watched as the navy made its way toward the green island that held the doorway to the other world. This was why she had journeyed to the Blue, because the Blue needed her as much as she needed it.

“Nat—what are you doing?” Wes asked, running out to the deck where she stood by the railing, her arms outstretched. “You’re going to get killed!”

She stepped away from him, as she felt her power surge within her, wild and free, unchained; she let it wash over her, let it cover every part of her body and her soul, felt its fury and its delight at being unleashed. She did not cower from it, she did not hide from it, she let it run over her, take over her spirit, she accepted the force of its magnitude.

It scared and exhilarated her.

The awesome power within her, that had kept her alive, that kept her safe.

She was a drakonrydder. A protector of Vallonis. They had kept the land safe for centuries upon centuries. She was the catalyst for destruction. She had been preparing for this all of her life.

She knew now why she had given the stone to Avo, and in turn to his commanders.

She was drawing the RSA to the doorway, drawing its entire fleet there, its entire might to one location, so that she could destroy it. Her dreams had prepared her for exactly this moment. Everything in her life had led up to this, so that she could answer the call, could perform her duty when the time came.

Fire and pain.

Rage and ruin.

Wrath and revenge.

Valleys full of ash and cinder.

Destruction.

Death.

She had brought the war here, had brought the war to the edges of the earth, to rain vengeance on her enemies, to protect her home. This was what she was made for, this was her purpose, her calling.

She turned to Wes and blinked back angry, happy tears. “I know what I have to do now. You were right, Wes, I can fix this thing.”

Then Nat raised her arms to the sky and called for her drakon.

49

DRAKON MAINAS, ANSWER MY CALL. HEED MY WORD.

ARISE FROM THE DEEP AND VANQUISH OUR ENEMIES!

Nat was the drakon, she was its heart and soul, she was its master and its rider.

The sea parted, and a blackened creature rose to the surface. Its skin was the dull color of coal, rippling and studded with spikes. Its eyes were the same shade of green and gold as Nat’s, the pale green of summer grass, the gold of a bright new morning, and it carried the mark of the flame on its breast, the same one that was on her skin. Its massive wings fluttered and folded, a curtain, an umbrella. It was huge, almost as large as a ship, a wonder to behold, terrifying and beautiful.

“DRAKON MAINAS!”

“ANASTASIA DEKESTHALIAS,” he rumbled.

Her real name. Her immortal name that had come to her in a dream. Natasha Kestal was Anastasia Dekesthalias. Resurrection of the Flame. Heart of Dread. Heart of the Drakon.

The creature fixed upon Nat and Nat felt something inside her transform, as if she were opening her eyes for the first time. The world around her grew brighter, and the smallest sound resonated in her ears. Even her mind seemed to expand. She stared into the creature’s eyes and in a flash, the two of them were linked.

Nat’s chest burned; she could hardly think as a new and intense pain washed over her body.

What was it?

Fire. She was breathing fire.

She was made of fire, of ashes and smoke and blood and crystal.

She was burning, burning.

Nat could see everything the drakon saw, felt everything it felt, sensed its anger and its rage.

The drakon rose into the air and the sky exploded with gunfire and missiles as the ships targeted this new enemy, but the drakon was faster and flew higher.

Destroy them! Vanquish our foes! Rain death upon our enemies!

The drakon roared. It zeroed in on the smaller ships first, pounding their hulls, tilting them against the waves and rolling the men into the water. Its powerful wings sent tsunami-like splashes of toxic water onto the ships’ decks. The drakon used the black ocean as a weapon. The frigates swayed and bobbed, and soon toppled over. The black ocean became thick with smoke.

Nat watched as the drakon dove beneath the dark water, disappearing into the depths only to emerge a moment later beneath one of the ships—lifting it up above the waves and breaking it in half as if it were a child’s toy. With a mighty screech, it grasped another ship and tossed it high into the air. When it fell, it slammed it into another boat, sinking them both.

The surviving soldiers beat a retreat into their lifeboats, and other ships begin to follow.

We’ve won, Nat thought, as the armada scattered and ships began to turn away from the green island. But a fresh volley of gunfire exploded from the two massive supercarriers. Their guns fired in elaborate patterns, guided by computers that tracked, plotted, and anticipated the creature’s course as it dove and wound through the sky.

Hide, hide, Nat sent urgently, and the drakon rose upward, its ashen underbelly blending with the dark clouds. But the gunfire continued its relentless rhythm. Red and orange flares sparked through the smoke.

The drakon was nowhere to be seen.

Nat panicked until the creature reemerged. The clouds disappeared into steam as flames shot down from the sky, dissolving the fog like mist meeting the morning sun. The drakon’s fire lit the dark ocean with a light that the black water had not seen in a hundred years.

Its flame as bright-white as day, its wings tucked behind its back, the drakon descended like a bomb towards the middle of the nearest destroyer. Its fire engulfed the ship, and the air reeked of burnt plastic and molten steel. The ship collapsed into the waves, its hull crumpling like twigs before flame.

Another supercarrier released an array of missiles directly at the drakon. The creature rolled away, but the ship’s guns met their mark. A rocket shell tore the drakon’s wing and the clouds glowed a fiery red once more.

Down below, Nat collapsed on the deck.

50

“HIT! I’M HIT!” SHE WHISPERED, holding her arm.

“Nat!”

Wes was by her side. “Nat!”

“The guns! You have to stop their guns!” she told him.

“Right—what was I thinking—just waiting for you guys to save our skins—Shakes! Farouk! Roark! Brendon! The guns!”

They’d never match the naval firepower, but Wes guessed they wouldn’t have to. Not with that thing—Nat’s drakon—on their side. A few of the remaining ships had open gunners on their decks. The soldiers sat behind heavy artillery shields, but he could still see glimpses of them as they trained and rotated their guns to follow the creature.

Wes grabbed his sniper’s rifle and climbed to the highest point of his ship. He motioned to Shakes. “Hold my leg and try to steady me; I need to get a clear shot at these guys.”

“But, boss, you’d be totally exposed.”

Wes knew he was right, the gunners were distracted by the drakon, but as soon as he fired, they’d turn their attention to him and he’d be a sitting duck. But he needed the height to get a clear shot and he’d just have to take his chances afterward.

Wes turned to his targets. He aimed low on the first shot and put a bullet through the hand of the first gunner. The second gunner spun toward Wes. He was manning a gun big enough to obliterate anything within a yard of him. The soldier smiled at Wes, wanting to let him know he was going to enjoy cutting him into shreds.

But Wes didn’t respond; instead he fired, and the bullet pierced the man’s armor before he could reach for the trigger. There’s always just a fraction of a second between life and death, Wes thought. Take every second you can.

With the sky cleared of gunfire, the drakon reappeared beside Alby. Its wing had healed, and it was beating glorious waves of air as it hovered above the water, its torso casting a jagged shadow before it descended to the deck.

The ship tilted as it received the creature’s weight. The drone of battle faded, and for a moment the crew stood, captivated by the drakon.

Its breath was like a whirlwind, raspy and strong like a hundred men sucking in air at once. Deck plates buckled and screws unwound from their fastenings—the creature was as heavy as stone. It drew in its mighty wings and lowered its head with a thud that shook the deck.

Nat knew what came next; she just needed the nerve to go through with it. The moment was surreal and stretched for what felt like minutes. She looked at the crew, who smiled at her hopefully. Liannan nodded, and Wes was the one who offered his knee for her to step on, to climb.

He took her hand and hoisted her up. “Give them hell,” he whispered in her ear, his eyes shining with admiration.

The drakon turned its neck, and Nat climbed onto his back, digging her heels against its side. When she reached his neck, the creature’s thick shoulder muscles adjusted to her weight, giving her a seat upon its mighty spine. She gripped its hard scales, and the drakon pushed off with a force that nearly tore her from its back.

Smoke filled her eyes as they soared upward. The cold wind rushed at her cheeks and in a moment they were above the battle. In one glance she could see the whole scene, laid out like a photo on a page. She saw the remaining ships rocking in the great black waters, the long sea of ice, and the brilliant fringes of the small green island.

From this height, the earth looked different—flatter, and even the noise from the battle was muted. They were so high in the sky they were invisible to the ship’s guns. The gray smoke covered them, and Nat held on tightly. She felt the drakon’s muscles contracting with each flap of its mighty wings.

The creature inhaled a mighty breath—its long muscular torso flexing beneath her—and her lungs, too, filled with fire once more.

“To battle!” Nat screamed, and the drakon surged upward so quickly that her hands ripped away and she fell from its back and she was flying.

She was airborne, just like that night at MacArthur when she had jumped out of the window. This was the same, and as she glided through the air, she felt no fear.

She could do this. She could fly.

She called to her drakon again and willed it to come to her. She caught it by the neck but they were moving too fast and her fingers gripped his scales for the briefest moment before her momentum pulled her away. She fell downward, but once again she was not afraid.

Drakon Mainas, to me, she urged, as the sea rose up to meet her.

Just as she was about to fall into the water, the drakon appeared beneath her and she slammed into its back. She righted herself and dug her feet into its hide.

They circled for a moment, then plunged toward the remaining ships.

Breathe deeply. We will need all our strength. Now exhale, Drakon Mainas directed.

Nat felt the same dark fire suffocate her throat, but she did not fight it, she breathed it in. Drakonfire. As she exhaled, a wild blue flame burst from the drakon’s mouth, covering the largest supercarrier in a swirling iridescent blue blaze.

They turned to the stealth cruiser next. Its surface was perfectly smooth and sleek, and the drakon bathed the entire ship in a flame so hot that the oxygen around the ship ignited in a wild orange fireball. The ship’s armored exterior contracted like shrink wrap—the hatches fell inward, the guns warped, and the windows slid from their frames.

The drakon roared its joy and flew higher and faster. With Nat directing its movements, when it flew back down to attack the remaining ships, it was able to evade the torrent of gunfire with a new and surprising agility. Nat held on with all her might, and the drakon’s spikes cut into her hands, but she felt no pain.

They exhaled together once more, and the blue flame bathed the final warship in a blinding cone of fire. The dark water boiled, clouds vaporized, the air crackled. As the ship sunk, its myriad guns let loose with a final volley. Shells sprayed in all directions.

A single explosive round cut through the drakon’s chest, piercing not just the creature’s flesh, but Nat’s as well.

The two tumbled, falling toward the sandy beach as the last warship sank into the fiery sea.

51

WES’S CREW CHEERED AS THE FINAL cruiser sank into the ocean. The smoke began to clear. The drakon had done its work. Wes scoured the sky and the sea for the drakon but saw nothing. They had stopped the armada, but at what cost?

The waters surrounding them swirled with blue flames as the ocean’s chemical sludge caught on fire.

“Where is she? Where’s Nat?” Wes demanded.

Shakes held up the binoculars but shook his head.

“Come on, take us to the shore,” Wes ordered.

They docked the ship by the green island, and Wes made his way to the coast. The air was cloudy with black smoke. Wes coughed. He thought he could see the drakon lumbering in the distance, but the sky was dark and his eyes were watering. The water was filled with wreckage from the battle, and those who survived were swimming to lifeboats.

From the shadows of the green forest, a few sylphs appeared. Like Liannan, they were clad in white raiment. They looked at Wes with somber faces.

“Where is she? Where’s Nat?” Wes asked.

“The drakonrydder was shot from the sky,” the nearest sylph replied. “She is gone.”

No way. No way. Wes kicked at the sand, unwilling to accept it. He knelt on the beach, his hands to his face, and stifled a scream of rage.

The waves lapped on the shore, and when he looked he saw a familiar-looking black boot.

He ran to the body and turned it over. It was Nat, still in her black coat and jeans.

In the distance, the drakon nodded its head. Wes wondered whether it had laid her down there for him to find.

“Nat! Wake up!” he yelled. Her flesh was cold from the icy water. Dark burns covered her skin. He laid his head down and put an ear to her mouth. She wasn’t breathing. He began to pump her heart, just as he had been taught. Three quick pumps, then he held her nose and breathed into her mouth. Nothing. He did it again and again. Nothing happened.

Liannan walked over the waves toward him. “I can help, please, bring her—follow me,” she said, leading Wes deeper into the island.

He lifted Nat in his arms and carried her, running after the fast-moving sylph as the crew followed behind him.

Liannan led them up the coast, over the burnt sand, and into the island’s interior. Wes looked around in wonder at a dense forest, with trees arching into the shape of a doorway. He had never seen trees before other than in pictures or on the nets, and these trees were like unlike anything he had ever seen. The branches curled with inch-long thorns, and roots reached up out of the soil. He laid Nat on the ground. He looked around in wonder at the green grass, the sky filled with life, birds chirping and fluttering, the buzz of insects, the smell of grass. The Blue was alive, alive as their world used to be.

The crew gathered around Nat’s still form.

Wes put his ear to her chest and listened for a heartbeat. There was none.

“We’re here, Nat. We’re here. We reached the Blue. Now wake up,” he ordered, his voice hoarse from crying.

He waited.

Finally Nat opened her eyes. She smiled at him.

Wes grinned. “You owe me ten thousand credits. Hand them over.”

52

NAT LAUGHED, SAT UP, AND LOOKED around. It was the Blue. Her home. Vallonis. There were no more clouds, no snow or fog. Just brilliant sunshine falling on her skin, warming her face. It felt like nourishment, as if the sun were giving her sustenance she’d been denied her entire life. Her ears filled with the sound of birdsong and the buzzing of insects. A soft, warm breeze fell on her face and tickled her cheek. The smell of blossoms, intoxicating and sweet, filled the air.

But nothing compared to the sky. The endless blue sky—there was no more gray, just a majestic blue. So this was why they called it the Blue. How could you name it anything else? She could feel the strength return to her body. The joy of breathing clean air. She was whole, she understood now, whatever rot had threatened to destroy her was expunged completely. She could return to New Vegas. She looked in wonder at the array of creatures passing through the doorway.

A dark-haired sylph was talking intently to Liannan, who was shaking her head sorrowfully.

Liannan returned to the group. “This doorway has been compromised; my people have no choice but to close it. It is too dangerous. We had hoped to leave it open for those of us who had been born in the gray land. But they must seek another way home.

“I must return to my task, to search for the source of the sickness. I have much more to do still, but the rest of you must cross before it closes,” she said.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Shakes said, taking her hand.

She smiled at him tenderly.

“What about you, boss?” Shakes asked.

Wes shook his head. “I can’t, you know I can’t. I’ve got to go back for my sister.” He stepped away from the green forest door and back toward the smoky beach. “Eliza needs me. She’s out there . . . somewhere. I have to find her.”

“Right.” Shakes nodded. “Don’t worry, boss, we will.”

“I can help; I think our goals may be linked in some way,” Liannan said. “If you’ll have me.”

“We will, too,” Roark said.

Brendon nodded. “We will help you find your family. You saved ours, and so we will do the same for you.”

Farouk was the last. “I’ll come, too—to earn your trust again.”

His team was assembled. This was his family now, his crew. There was just one person missing. Wes looked back at Nat, who stood alone by the doorway. “Nat?” he smiled, reaching out his hand for her to take.

She had said yes. They would be together. Always.

Nat felt tears coming to her eyes because she knew the answer she must give him. Drakon Mainas was in her head. You know you cannot go with him. We are pledged to Vallonis, we must protect what our enemies seek to control. This doorway will close, but they will return, and when they do, we must be ready. You and I are the last of our kind. We are all that is left. You cannot forsake me. She realized then that another cause for the drakon’s rage was its anger when it felt her falling for Wes. Falling in love was not part of the plan. Wes was a barrier to their reunion. The drakons and their riders did not love; they only served.

But she loved Wes. So much.

He was waiting for her to take her hand.

But she could not. She must not.

This was it.

The separation that could not be averted.

The ending she knew was coming.

This was the good-bye she had dreaded from the moment she had met him. She had fallen in love with him from the start, when he had stepped up to her blackjack table so long ago, in another lifetime, when they were strangers, a mercenary and his client, a runner and a dealer, a boy and girl.

“I can’t.” Nat shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Wes.” She had said yes before, but that was before she knew what she was . . . before she understood her place in the world . . . She had answered his question with a lie, a lovely lie. A lie that she had wanted to believe, that she had wanted to be real. But it was a dream. Fire and pain. Rage and sorrow. She was made of this, her cold heart of dread.

Wes nodded, holding his bluff, not letting her see what this was costing him, his blank poker face. “Well, good luck, then,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Good luck,” she said, and shaking his hand, placed the last two platinum chips in it.

The crew came to surround Nat, to hug and kiss her good-bye. Then it was time to go, and Wes turned back toward his ship.

Nat watched him walk away and then ran after him. Hot tears fell down her cheeks. “Ryan!”

When he heard her call his name, his face was so full of hope that it killed her to say what she needed to say. “I love you. I love you so much, but I can’t. I can’t. I love you but I can’t go with you.”

“I understand,” he said softly, and stepped back toward the beach.

She put a hand on his arm and turned him toward her, just as he had done to her that night on the Titan, when the traders had arrived. But before she could kiss him, he swept her off her feet and kissed her, dipping her low and holding her close.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispered. “This isn’t the end for us. I promise.” Then Wes kissed her again. More slowly this time.

Nat watched him walk away from her, her heart breaking and healing at the same time. There is hope, she had told him once. She would believe it. The feel of his kiss lingered on her lips. She hoped it would be soon, that he would return to her soon. That they would be together one day. She would like that very much. She would trust him with all the treasures in the universe. She would trust him with her very heart.

Then Nat called for her drakon and together they flew through the doorway, into the Blue.