Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(43)

It was a massive undertaking, provisioning for the crew, the livestock, the dragons, and potential emergencies. All to steal dragons from Crescent Prominence and take them to our enemies. But why?

“You’re angry,” Altan observed. “Good. You should be.”

I wasn’t angry. I was furious. At the smugglers. At the Luminary Council. At Altan.

At myself.

“What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why it’s taking so long to leave the Fallen Isles. Why move the dragons around for decans before sending them away?”

“To weaken them.” That had been one of my first questions, too, but Ilina had provided a theory. “Most dragons don’t eat every day.”

“I know that.” A note of annoyance colored Altan’s tone.

I flinched away, but he didn’t make any threatening moves.

“Go on,” he said.

“Unless they’re unusually active, big dragons usually eat once or twice a decan, and snack between. But they can go two decans and stay healthy, as long as they conserve energy.”

“So they’re starving the dragons to weaken them.” Altan sounded disgusted. “To make them more complacent on the journey.”

I bowed my head, too easily imagining the starving dragons just waiting for food.

I knew the pain of hunger because Altan had nearly killed me.

Hate was a strong word—an emotion I’d never truly felt before. But now, I thought I understood it. A fire ran through me, different from the fire of panic.

Hate burned hotter. It seared my veins, up my chest and throat and face, and made a faint red glow surround the object of my ire. I indulged in a moment of imagining I was a dragon and I was setting him aflame.

The effect vanished as he stepped away from my bed and strode toward the door. “I assume you know to keep this talk a secret.”

“Wait,” I called, heart thundering in my chest. “Why do you care so much? Is it just because of the Warriors’ Oath?”

“It isn’t just an oath, Fancy.” He softened for an instant. “I thought of everyone here, you would understand. You were taken from your sanctuary. Mine was taken from me.”

With that, he opened the door and left.

Rushing filled my head so loudly that I could hardly hear. Everything felt weak. From my legs to my lungs. I was so stupid.

Horribly.

Ridiculously.

Stupid.

Altan was so interested in what I knew about dragons because he was a Drakon Warrior. Or he wanted to be.

According to the Mira Treaty, the Drakon Warriors should have disbanded, and the dragons all been sent to a local sanctuary where they could grow even more ancient in peace. There’d been rumors that the Drakon Warriors had remained, although it was said they were simply an elite division, not actually dragon riders anymore.

But his sanctuary had been taken from him. That seemed like . . . there had been dragons here. In the Pit. Recently. Khulan’s warriors had ignored the Mira Treaty.

Then, whoever was behind the exportation of dragons—the Luminary Council, or someone else?—had come and taken the dragons from the Pit.

Even worse, it meant that the removal of dragons from the Crescent Prominence sanctuary wasn’t an isolated event. This was so much bigger than I’d realized if the Drakon Warriors’ dragons were victims as well.

The burden of this knowledge shouldn’t have fallen to me. Who was I but a pretty face and mouthpiece for the Luminary Council? They should have been the ones to fix this. Protecting Damina was the reason they’d been elected and appointed.

And that was the question Altan hadn’t asked: why—instead of finding who was responsible for smuggling the dragons, and then making every effort to prevent the Algotti Empire from obtaining the power to destroy the Fallen Isles—had the Luminary Council instead tossed me in the Pit?

I’d told Altan what he’d wanted to know, and I hated myself for that. But at least . . . at least I’d only told him part of it.

The rest concerned a weapon: the most dangerous weapon the Fallen Isles had ever seen. Maybe the most dangerous Noore had ever seen. And no one—especially not Drakon Warriors like Altan—could be trusted with that kind of power.

I would never tell.

Not even to save my own life.





BEFORE





Seven Months Ago


I MADE A MISTAKE.

I’d made lots of mistakes in my life, yes, but this one was different. It happened in the sanctuary. And we almost died.

SWEET JASMINE PERFUMED the foothills of the Skyfell Mountains as Ilina, Hristo, and I made our way up the path toward Siff’s lair. She was the final visit for today, and all the hiking showed in our heavy steps and sweat-dampened clothes. Even LaLa and Crystal seemed tired, though they’d been riding on our shoulders for the last hour, and now Crystal had one of Ilina’s braids hanging from her jaws like she was about to bite it off.

“I dare you,” Hristo told Crystal.

Ilina glanced over her shoulder, gently tugging the braid from her dragon’s teeth. “Don’t encourage her bad behavior. She’s rotten enough.”

“I thought you looked good with short hair,” I teased.

“Short hair. Not singed hair.” Ilina paused while Crystal flapped and readjusted herself, but I blazed ahead.