Page 11 of Under Restless Skies

We’re silent, but my mind keeps talking, yelling, having circular conversations on whether this is stupid, crazy, or a great opportunity.

Maybe I want to believe that he has a feasible plan, and that I can do something meaningful, honorable, and join the academy as more than a mere recruit. The issue is that when I try to picture myself walking into the riders’ lands, all thoughts of glory dissolve.

Huge wings flap above us, as Auranius flies over the city. If he’s awake, at least there won’t be any attacks tonight. It would be sad to be burned alive before even leaving, before even trying. Is being burned alive after leaving any better?

Alayel stops by a large stone building and leads us to a windowless basement, darkness immersing us as soon as he closes the door. The room smells of clothes, paper, straw, wood, and a human scent. Not any human—Alayel. He probably lives here. Or lived. The scent is faint.

I hear the crack of flint and steel, and an oil lamp comes to life, illuminating a tiny bedroom with a straw mattress in a corner, a chipped wooden desk, and an old drawer chest, under a ceiling so low that its owner has to hunch.

He smiles. “I would apologize for the squalid ambience, but we have more pressing matters.”

This room reminds me of my attic, of the suffocating dread that my life will end there, smothered in my own insignificance. “Is this room yours?”

“There’s little privacy in the academy, so I kept this place.” He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a piece of parchment. “Let’s do this contract.”

My chest feels lighter as I realize he hasn’t gone back on his word. Then I remember what I’m about to do, and the weight returns all at once. “Can you explain the plan? I need to know that we have a chance.”

He’s pulling a pot of ink and a quill, and pauses with the quill midair. “If you decide it’s too much of a risk, I can’t simply put you back in your cell. And if you’re not with me, they’ll consider you a fugitive, and then… I don’t know.”

If his plan is deranged, I’ll have to figure out a way to escape. For now, I still want to hope that it makes sense.

I click my tongue. “You said it yourself: you don’t want to die. So your plan must be solid.”

He places the quill back in the pot and takes a deep breath. “The riders don’t have ports, right? And no ships go west of Dracolius to their lands.”

I feel queasy because in reality, while I was taught to read and write, I learned little about the lands beyond the wall. My understanding has always been that they’re not interested in trading and that their shores are like our outer coast, with turbulent waters and gigantic, violent waves. I hope he’s not expecting me to know much about the Kingdom of the Riders.

“They don’t have a bay,” I say.

“Right.” He points the quill at me. “Ships can’t dock on their side of Dragon Island. But what I bet you didn’t know is that boats do sail around their land, and dragons can transport items to and from those boats. It’s risky, but the higher the risk, the higher the pay. Smugglers live for that.” Alayel smirks. “That said, they’re not above profiting in a somewhat… easier way. They’ll talk for the right price.”

Alayel doesn’t strike me as someone who has the means to pay off smugglers, but I could be wrong. “What did they tell you?”

“The northern shore has some small islands. I’d say some twenty, thirty, scattered here and there. There have been dragons circling one of these islands in the last few days. Guarding it. An island with a rocky hill and caves. It’s a nest. Has to be. A boat will get us near enough to it. We swim there, find the cave, then take the eggs.” He snaps his fingers. “Like that.”

“Quite simple.” My chuckle is tight, as I’m not sure if he’s joking or serious.

“Not that simple. You should be asking how we’ll approach the island without being spotted by the dragons. How we’ll reach the nest.”

“I’m assuming you’re about to enlighten me.”

He nods, his black waves bouncing. “Dragons fly over the island, right? Except that they don’t fly all the time. We’ll swim to it during the rainstorm.”

A knot forms in my stomach. “And risk a lightning strike on the sea.”

“We’ll time it right. When the lightning is distant. There are caves at the bottom of the hill, where we’ll wait for the next day, and approach the nest during the afternoon storm.” He shows me a corked glass bottle. “Dragoncurse.”

My breath stills. “I thought it no longer grew in Dracolius.”

He half shrugs. “I guess it’s rare now, but it came into my hands—a powerful extract, which should make the dragons sleep long enough. One of us will have to throw the bottle at the cave wall to break it. We wait a little, take the eggs, descend the hill, signal to the boat, and swim there. Then we return to Dracolius—and make history.”

All kinds of shivers run through my body. “How come nobody has done it before? If it’s that easy? And why would they have a nest in such a vulnerable location?”

“I don’t know if anyone has done it—or attempted it. As to the vulnerability, you’ll need to ask the dragon riders. Should I keep writing the contract, or would you rather risk a death sentence?”

I should push more, ask more questions. Surely if he can grant me a pardon when we return, he could grant me a pardon now. At the same time, his plan doesn’t require two people, so the fear of being left behind is overwhelming my senses and smothering all my caution.

“Write it.” The words come with a sense of relief and even hope.