Dreadgod (Cradle Book 11) (26)

Their flight was mesmerizing to watch, but such was the reputation of Yushi, the Thunder Fairy.

The next to emerge was a cloudship almost as large as the Weeping Dragon itself. Its figurehead, shaped to resemble a lion, snarled as it pushed through. The ship was made of pale, golden wood, and its cloud base was white flecked with gold.

It flew dozens of flags, each white and gold: a lion’s head on a sun, a lion running across a field, three lions beneath a crown, and so on. All the banners of lesser houses that had sworn fealty to one great House.

House Shen had arrived.

Reigan Shen drifted down to Northstrider, who was both pleased and disturbed to note that for once, the Lion Monarch wasn’t swirling a wine glass. In fact, Shen was dressed for war, in elaborate silver-and-gold armor. Matching constructs hovered over each shoulder—they were Monarch-level launchers, each devastating but otherwise wildly different from the other, though they had been designed to match for aesthetic purposes.

Shen had a sword belted at his side, and he rested a hand on it casually as he lowered himself to Northstrider’s altitude. His hair and beard had been neatly combed and oiled, glistening white-gold like polished jewelry, and he bowed to Sha Miara.

“Monarch,” Shen said politely, “with your permission, we would be delighted to do battle against the Weeping Dragon on your behalf.”

Northstrider could see Sha Miara’s stunned confusion radiating from behind her shining mask. “Yes! I mean, we would be most grateful, and we will not forget the Rosegold Emperor’s assistance.”

Northstrider wasn’t so polite. He pushed his spiritual perception through Reigan Shen’s halfhearted veil and into the man’s armor, looking for a mass of hunger madra. He found it almost immediately, though it had been sealed away into a scripted and space-locked container.

The core binding of Subject One.

“What are you doing?” Northstrider demanded. He began to cycle his madra, even at the risk of attracting the Weeping Dragon.

It would be better to fight one of them now than risk fighting two of them on the same side soon.

Shen didn’t look alarmed in the least. “Would you prefer asking the moon for help?”

“I can trust the moon not to fall on my head.”

“My priorities have shifted. Yours should have too.”

“I know better than to trust—”

“The world has changed, Northstrider!” Reigan Shen shouted, and he had the roar of a lion in his voice. The clouds blasted away from him for miles, and Northstrider set his codex to monitoring the actions of the Weeping Dragon in case it was disturbed.

“Yes, I had a plan for the Dreadgods! Of course I plotted to gain every advantage I could over you. But that world is dead. I cannot be the only one to see it.” He stared in the direction of the Weeping Dragon. “There was a viper among the cubs, and it left its eggs behind. Until we are rid of them, everything else is a distraction.”

“I examined Lindon myself. I find there to be no immediate danger.”

“It will be too late to speak of danger when the stars vanish once more.” Reigan Shen turned his head and raised a hand to his armada, accompanied by a flash of madra. “Until the true threat is gone, we must preserve all the strength we can. We are on the same side now, Northstrider. Whether you can see it or not.”

Spirits unveiled throughout his fleet as House Shen readied itself for war.





4





Yerin’s head lay on Lindon’s lap, and she had an arm thrown over her eyes to block out light. He concentrated on controlling the life and blood constructs that swirled like fireflies around her head; they were really one construct with many separate pieces, and by powering them, he could stimulate her body’s natural healing.

A Herald usually didn’t need medical attention, but she had been suffering visibly during the two hours since she returned. “Guess I can’t set a foot down inside a thousand miles of the Phoenix without a headache anymore. My skull’s about to split like firewood. At least it’s better than going on a mad murder spree.”

Little Blue chirped sympathy and patted Yerin’s temple.

From the nearby table, Orthos raised his head from a bowl of apples as large as he was. “Tell us about the battle.”

“Didn’t see one feather of the Phoenix,” she muttered. “Bunch of bloodspawn crawling over a mountain, like ants. Treated them like ants.”

“Burned them alive,” Orthos said, his face covered by bits of half-chewed apple.

“Close enough. No Redmoon Hall either, which is half a treat. Still have to show my face to the Blood Sage, and now I won’t have to pretend to be sorry for cutting their friends into chunks.”

Lindon wondered why Redmoon Hall hadn’t been present. Now that the Bleeding Phoenix had an entire continent to itself, he had expected them to be reveling in its wake.

“Did you see the Eight-Man Empire?” he asked.

“Oh, right. They’ve got a shine for us. Invited the pair of us to join them. How do you think we’d look in gold?”

Lindon hesitated. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you the details, but we still—”

Her arm was still over her eyes, but she waved her free hand. “You’re waiting for some trouble from Monarchs. I’ve caught it. Doesn’t sound too sharp to tie ourselves to six strangers anyway.”