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The dragon careens toward the broken palace dome. Lightning streaks across the sky.
I see Evya, a coral-red blaze amid the rubble.
She stands on the top of a pile of broken stones, both arms outstretched, as a dozen dragon riders fly in formation toward her. Behind her, groups of tuath children huddle among the broken remains of the dome.
Waves rise to tower on either side of her, frozen in place for a long moment. She looks directly at the lead dragon, her expression vicious, then flings her hands forward. The waves follow her movement, soaring upward. As they rise, they grow thinner, like two arms of a great kraken. They catch hold of the dragon. I cry out in spite of myself as they twist around it and pull it down into the waves.
Three more of the dragons surge forward toward the ruins of the dome. I look back to Evya, breathless to see her response. She stands on the highest point of the ruined wall, her red skirts flying in tatters around her lithe, pale form. She moves with the grace of a dancer, coaxing the waters higher and higher and flinging out toward any dragon that dares get to close to her and the children.
Burning stars, she’s magnificent.
And she’s trembling. As my dragon veers closer, I see streaks of crimson streaming from her right shoulder. Alarm floods me.
She’s wounded!Yet she doesn’t back down. The waves pile higher and higher in front of her, drawn upward by the invisible strings of her magic. She falls to her knees, but her hands stay raised until the waters form a barrier between the palace and the remaining dragons.
The elven riders wheel their mounts around, barely avoiding the black wall of water. One doesn’t change course in time, and it rams into the wall and tumbles into the sea far below. The children Evya was protecting seize their chance at escape and dash to the safety of the water.
Evya shudders, her eyes shut in focus. Then she drops her hands. The water surges out, chasing the last of the dragons into the night.
A blast of magic flies from one of the departing dragon riders and slams into the palace ruins. Evya’s shriek cuts through the darkness as the rubble shifts and another piece of wall tumbles down around her.
“Evya!” Her name tears from my throat, only to be lost in the din of battle. I spur my dragon forward, frantic to reach her.
The rider fires another rune, but this time I’m prepared. I send out a wave of magic, forming it into a hasty shielding rune that catches the blast as it shoots toward the palace. The two runes smash into each other. The world spins around me from the impact. The shock wave of the colliding magic knocks me from the saddle and sends me crashing down onto the pavement below. My dragon gives a furious screech as he turns tail and flees.
The impact of landing reverberates through every bone in my body, but I don’t lose consciousness. Thankfully, I was flying low when I fell. I move my fingers, and then my feet, feeling as if I’ve been pummeled with stones. I push myself upright. Strands of rune-light still crackle through the air around me, but they’re fading. Falamar’s dragons are distant silhouettes in the western sky.
Only then do I realize where I’ve landed—just inside the ruins of the main dome, on the floor of what used to be a vast, ornate chamber. Cold waves splash down around me. I stumble through the broken landscape and the stinging spray of the breakers, looking around for Evya. A few rune-lanterns embedded in the remaining walls still give out light, casting the rubble in deep shadows.
My heart lurches when I catch sight of Evya. She’s pinned down by the collapsed wall, eyes closed and breath coming in ragged gasps. Broken glass and stone crunch beneath my boots as I run toward her.
Her eyes fly open just as I reach her. Their stormy blue depths are wild and unfocused, and she lets loose a cry like a rimecat that sends ice down my spine. Her teeth shift into sharp points. She bares them at me as if she wants to rip out my throat.
She could. I’ve seen tuath do as much when they’re caught up in the craze of battle. Wariness slows my steps as I approach her. I’m still an elf, and right now, with her senses filled with blood and adrenaline, that might be all she can see. I fight back my urge to rush to her side. Instead, I start humming.
It’s a simple melody, one of the first I ever sang to her. Sweet and lulling, a song meant to chase away nightmares. Evya goes still. The wildness slowly fades from her eyes.
I draw closer, each step slow and deliberate. Finally I kneel down beside her, still singing the old song.
Fallen pieces of the stone wall pin her legs and torso to the ground. I can’t tell how badly she’s injured. I have to get her out from under the rubble before I can do anything else. I hold up my hand against the stone. Light flows out from my fingertips, forming into a rune that etches the surface of the rock. The fallen debris turns to dust, sweeping away from Evya and whirling into the sea.
She’s on her feet in a heartbeat, heedless of the scrapes and bruises that cover her body. Before I can dodge, she catches me with one hand and hurls me down. I gasp in pain as my body slams against the stone floor. She lands over me, one knee on my chest and her hand firmly clenched around my throat. Her sharp fingernails dig into my skin, each a pinprick warning that if I move wrong, or speak wrong, she could rip me to shreds.
“Did you know the dragon riders were going to come tonight?” she demands.
“No.” I say the word firmly, fighting to keep my voice level.
She bares her fangs. As she opens her mouth to speak again her words are swallowed in a cry of pain. She doubles over, clutching her shoulder as a fresh stream of blood pours from the gash.
Unable to help myself, I reach for her. “Let me help—”
The pain in her face morphs into a vicious snarl. With her good arm, she shoves away from me and limps closer to the water. I gasp for breath, blinking through dazed eyes to watch her.
Waves mound up before her as she reaches the edge of the water, and she holds out one hand to draw them forward. I expect her to slip off the edge and vanish into the sea. Instead she calls up a gentle surge of water. It runs over her wound, washing away the blood and revealing a gash so deep I can see torn muscles and the white of bone. A hiss of pain escapes her, but she shuts her eyes and focuses.
She’s going to heal herself.The realization carries a sense of wonder. Only a few of the tuath are powerful enough to heal through the elements. I wait in anticipation, watching for the water to knit Evya’s muscles and skin to knit back together and leave her whole.
The water ripples over her skin and down into the sea. A fresh stream of blood bursts from the wound. Evya screams.
