Much as the past year had passed in a blur, the two weeks leading up to Cynobria’s visit to Jagrav’s army’s secret base dragged on with an agonising slowness.

  And, at last, it was time.

  Her parents seemed even more agitated than Cynobria herself as the day approached, and she might have found it funny were her heart not itself atremble, its anxious beat like a drum calling to war.

  ‘Bree,’ said Mum, resting her paws in the crooks before Cynobria’s wings. Her voice was tight with worry as she spoke. ‘Remember, you don’t have to join them.’

  ‘But you did.’

  Cynobria met her eyes, and the older dragon averted her gaze. ‘Yes. We did.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Cynobria, then gave a gentle smile. ‘Today I am only coming to see.’

  Mum nodded. ‘And remember, you cannot tell anyone about this.’

  Cynobria almost scoffed. As if anyone aside from Fey would care to listen.

  The flight there was neither long nor short; it fell into an in-between, blurred, perhaps, by the tangle of emotions tugging at Cynobria’s mind from every angle. Her paws twitched mid-flight with anticipation, and she kept glancing sideways to her parents as they flew like on any other trip, passing the city, then the orchards and vineyards and hills, and flying for the jagged snow-capped peaks of the Roche. This, though, would be no mere trip. This was a secret’s end. A culmination of all the nights spent on gleaning scraps of information that, at last, were resolving themselves into answers.

  Gradually less and less dragons flew alongside them, until they were alone in the sky, the closest dragons mere specks against the vast blue sky. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost missed it when Dad said, ‘We’re here.’

  Cynobria’s heart beat faster.

  They were approaching a mountain.

  The Roche were a range of rocky peaks with little by way of greenery, visible on the horizon even from the city, behind a film of blue. Now they rose before them, sharp, majestic, uninviting. The grey stone of them was rough as they landed, and Cynobria looked around in mild confusion at the almost flat patch of rock they’d settled on. ‘Here? I don’t see a thing.’

  ‘Do you think a secret army would be so easy to spot?’ asked Dad, leading them down a craggy path, and then through a wide crack in the stone, hidden by an errant bit of greenery. They went through—her parents had to keep their wings tight to their bodies—eventually reaching a dead end as the corridor widened. The air felt choked, somehow, hard to breathe, and smelled of old damp stone. A shadowed wall rose in front of them, disappearing into darkness above. It was entirely smooth, without so much as a—

  Dad produced a circular object from his pouch, placed it in a small indentation Cynobria had not noticed before, and turned.

  —crack.

  There was a click, and a rumble, and the sound of scraping stone. The dead-end wall shook a bit and moved, slow but steady, and within less than a minute—within a small eternity—it stopped, creating an opening three dragons wide.

  ‘Welcome,’ said Dad with an uncertain smile, ‘to the headquarters of the Armies in Shadow.’

  Before them stretched an unlit tunnel, leading downward, with a hint of brightness at the end. In went Mum, then Cynobria, then Dad. She almost slipped on the polished stone of the passage as the doorway snapped shut behind them with a heavy thud, and she descended on shaky paws into the heart of the mystery she had tried to uncover for the past few years.

  A patchwork of voices, most of them Tarangean, drifted from the lit part of the cavern below. Mum rounded the corner, Cynobria on her tail. Then she stopped, her maw agape.

  They were in a vast underground space, well-lit and milling with a crowd of dark-coloured dragons, and a few brighter shades mixed in. Most spared them barely a glance, some nodded, but otherwise they seemed preoccupied with their own work. In the far side of the cavern a few tunnels led farther into the mountain.

  ‘Rubin, Melodia,’ said a voice Cynobria didn’t recognise. She spun to see a large and burly dragon stepping toward them across a shelf of stone. She was a Tarangean through and through, black scales giving off a silver-lilac sheen, but built as unlike one as Cynobria had ever seen. ‘Is the little one there the Cynobria Jagrav told us about?’ Her accent warped Cynobria’s name so much she barely recognised it.

  Dad nodded. ‘The very one.’

  ‘Heh,’ said the dragon—who, Cynobria assumed, was a guard—and turned to her. ‘We always welcome a new snout in our ranks.’

  ‘She’s not a new recruit, Baterge,‘ said Mum sternly. ‘She’s only come to see.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Baterge, unsuccessfully hiding a grin. ‘So it is now. Give it a year and she’ll be one of us. Just look at her! She has the eyes of a warrior!’ The bulky dragon barked a laugh.

  I do?

  ‘No joining. That is that.’

  Baterge tilted her head and began to say something, but then she shook her head and smiled. ‘I’ll go tell the commander.’

  ‘No need,’ said Jagrav, stepping up to meet them.

  How… What… When…

  Baterge saluted him. ‘Commander.’

  He passed her, barely fitting abreast the guard on the narrow space, yet not a single step of his looked in any way uncertain. ‘I will take it from here, Baterge. Fly and be free.’

  ‘Fly and be free,’ she echoed, then moved away, fixing her gaze on the entrance to the cavern. Jagrav followed her with a look, then returned it to Cynobria and her parents, smiling. ‘I am glad you came. I should hope your visit to our humble base will be to your liking, Cynobria.’

  ‘Humble?’ she asked, looking at the crowd of dragons below the ledge they stood on. With Jagrav next to them the throng’s attention had shifted to the four. Cynobria tried to ignore their looks, turning to the commander. ‘This place looks anything but.’

  Jagrav laughed. ‘Wait until you see the rest of our force.’ He turned and extended his wing invitingly toward the space below. ‘And this is not all. We have many such bases across Tarange, even if this one is the largest.’

  There was a commotion, and at first Cynobria thought it must have been some cue from Jagrav that had roused it, but it couldn’t have been that—it spread from the other end of the chamber, near one of the tunnels, and over the whole crowd. Conversations quieted and a dense group collected near the tunnel, drawing back as someone approached.

  ‘Ah,’ said Jagrav, ‘there she comes.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Cynobria, looking between Jagrav and her parents. The commander was smiling, but Mum’s and Dad’s expressions held a tension that made Cynobria’s stomach turn.

  A white dragon entered the cave, the light reflecting off her scales giving them a pearly sheen. She was large—as tall as Jagrav and of even stockier build than Baterge, but as opposed to the guard’s rough demeanour and careless stride, the newcomer walked with dignified grace that did not match her strong physique. The crowd parted before her like a stream around a boulder, letting her through undisturbed. Cynobria felt as though a leaden weight had dropped inside her stomach, even before she saw the golden opalescence of the stranger’s scales, a glint of yellow gems embedded in her flanks.

  The silence held as high a tension Cynobria had almost forgotten to breathe as the white dragon made her way through the room, up the incline, and came to stand next to Jagrav. She regarded Cynobria with such scrutiny in her dark yellow eyes that an anxious prickle ran across her scales, made her want little more than to hide. Her ears lay flat against her head.

  ‘Meet Mistress Oonagh,’ said Jagrav lightly, turning briefly to the newcomer, then back to Cynobria and her parents. ‘The second-in-command of the Armies in Shadow, and my wife.’

  Cynobria had never seen a Cavrian before, never mind up close, and her mind screamed in incessant alarm. Enemy! Enemy! Enemy! To see one as one of the leaders of the move against the empire… She wasn’t sure what to think.

  ‘Cynobria, was it?’ said Mistress Oonagh in perfect Tarangean, enunciating Cynobria’s name in a way she had to admit was impressively close to correct. ‘It is rare we allow any dragons without explicit interest to join us to see this place, but of course the daughter of Rubin and Melodia is a welcome guest.’ The Cavrian inclined her head. ‘I hope your visit proves illuminating.’

  ‘Um… Thank you?’ She half-expected Oonagh to lift her snout and smile, but as their gazes met there was once again nothing there beside a careful judgement.

  ‘I must admit to having had little time prior to your visit to inquire further about you. Tell me, Cynobria, can you access?’

  ‘No, I…’ she started, then frowned. ‘Don’t Cavrians only allow accessing after twenty?’

  ‘Cynobria…’ said Mum.

  Mistress Oonagh smiled—a mirthless thing that went nowhere near her eyes. ‘We are not in Cavria, are we?’

  There was something about Oonagh—a feeling Cynobria could not quite place—that made her want to recoil from her. She looked to her parents for support, and the mere presence of them, somehow more solid than before, reassured her.

  ‘I can’t access,’ she said, remembering the test she had at eight. Four blue gems, not as commonly distributed in Tarange as in the Ablay lands, but little issue to get for her parents.

  Sapphire. Lazurite. Larimar. Zircon.

  Soulfire. Heartfire. Icefire. Hazefire.

  Four accessing streams of the Ablyns, and she had none. She remembered the disappointment she had felt, even though it was to be expected—while Dad could access sapphire, granting him control over water, Mum had only her white flame and no gem to answer her call. With Cynobria sharing a special kind of fire with Mum—one even more special, in fact—it stood to reason she might not harness other powers of her blue-eyed kin.

  Mistress Oonagh’s snout betrayed nothing, but Cynobria could not shake a feeling the answer had disappointed the Cavrian.

  She’s already assessing me as a potential recruit.

  Cynobria did not know what to think of that as the realisation dawned. This initial disapproval in the eyes of the second-in-command made her scales feel at once too hot and too cold, but she shoved any consideration regarding her joining the rebellion force for later.

  ‘Still, your fire is a special thing, is it not? You are a tealfire.’

  Tealfire. An old Ablyneese term used to refer to dragons whose flames, like Cynobria’s, were blue. It made little sense to her—why did it use teal if her fire was a different shade? And how did Oonagh know that name, rarely spoken of outside the old Alyneese stories? She made to reply, but was cut short as Mum said, ‘That is quite enough. She came here to see the Armies, not to be interrogated.’

  For a moment no one spoke, and needles of worry prickled under her scales at Oonagh’s gaze, but then Jagrav smiled pleasantly. ‘Of course. Come, love, let Cynobria have a look around.’

  Mistress Oonagh offered another fake smile and let Jagrav lead her away, the milling crowd once again parting before the commander of the Armies in Shadow and his second-in-command.

  While at first accompanied by her parents, after a time they withdrew to their own tasks and Cynobria was left to roam the compound by herself. She had expected, not without some anxiety, other dragons accosting her with questions as to what she was doing in their midst, but to her pleasant surprise they let her be with only a few questioning looks, and most didn’t even look up from whatever task they were at.

  Cynobria was careful in her exploration, only ever walking through open entryways, avoiding those behind closed doors. Much as they piqued her curiosity, the remaining rooms offered enough to sate her hunger for discovery.

  For now.

  Her parents left in one of the corridors branching from a large common room, similar to the one near the entrance. The tunnel was wide, with smooth, slightly curved stone walls broken, here and again, with sturdy-looking wooden doors. Her parents stopped in front of one—labelled with their names—and, telling her to explore and meet them in their room in three hours, disappeared inside. Cynobria had a glimpse of a long table strewn with a variety of scrolls and sheets of paper, before the door closed again.

  Moving down that corridor—well-lit, with braziers at regular intervals illuminating the passage—she passed more closed doors, some barring entry to silent rooms, behind others a distinguishable hum of conversation Cynobria tried not to listen to, but even so mentions of “rations”, “front lines” and “Cavria” didn't escape her.

  The size of the compound was more than impressive. Even as she saw the small crowd near the entry, the dragons present there could be counted in three digits. Now, moving further down, she marvelled at how expansive the maze of corridors was, and each held many rooms behind its walls. The large chamber was also one of many, all of them abuzz with activity. It was almost like a small hidden city, and all of it for the fall of Cavria.

  She stumbled upon a few open rooms, most of them for storage, though she did also enter a large chamber lined with long tables and filled with scents that made her stomach growl. A dining area, and rather well-equipped at that. More dragons than she could count at first glance sat along the tables and ate.

  Once more she was surprised at the size of the compound—of the whole undertaking. Where did they get funding?

  Sounds of struggling amid the busy chatter of this place roused her from her thoughts. She stopped mid-step, causing a tall, wiry Tarangean to bump into her. She was too distracted to apologise as she followed the yells and grunts that laced between the sounds of idle conversation. A few turns later she arrived at another open doorway. By then the talking was completely drowned out by the sounds of a fight.

  Of fights.

  The room was large, roughly the size of the previous big chambers, but instead of an empty floor and a teeming crowd, thick mats were lining most of the smooth stone underpaw. On almost each of them was a pair of dragons engaged in a fight.

  A training centre.

  Cynobria’s heart beat a little faster as she stood at the entryway and watched. Two dragons were sparring on the mat closest to her. One was black, with dark orange markings and frills, the other grey and pink, and both violet-eyed, though she guessed only the black-and-orange one was from Tarange, even if it was hard to tell exactly in the scuffle. Orange was pressing, and though Pink was bleeding from a few minor cuts, he stood on his hindpaws with his wings spread wide, beating them at his attacker. She took little heed of it, charging him with a growl.

  Pink’s eyes glowed, and a faint ringing reached Cynobria’s ears, almost drowned out by the sounds of fights. Darkness rose from him like a semi-liquid mist. She watched, heart fluttering, as the black fog moved. Even though its wreathing appeared sluggish, it was around Orange’s head faster than Cynobria would’ve thought possible, and Orange grunted, then roared and swung, but her aim was no longer there. Thrown off-balance she stumbled a step, and that was all it took—in a flash Pink was falling on her from above, and Orange made a sound between a roar and a yelp as Pink pinned her to the mat.

  She struggled under his grip—and she might have succeeded in wrenching free had he not stepped off her himself. ‘Lucky,’ she said.

  Pink laughed. ‘Keep telling yourself that, and you may believe it.’ Cynobria had been right—though he spoke a tolerably fluent Tarangean, his accent was southern. Fuen?

  ‘Should I remind you it’s twenty-five to twenty-two in my favour?’ said Orange, getting up.

  ‘Twenty-three after this one.’ Pink grinned.

  ‘Bah!’ she snapped her jaws at him. He didn’t flinch, only smiled more smugly. ‘You pinned me for, what, two seconds? That doesn’t count.’

  ‘Sure it does. Come on, you know I was better today.’ Pink patted her shoulder.

  She huffed. ‘Maybe I was going easy on you.’

  ‘As if I needed—’

  ‘Phine, Qez, you seem to have an audience.’

  Cynobria almost jumped out of her scales as someone spoke right next to her. Had she been so absorbed in watching the fight she hadn’t noticed someone sneaking up on her? It was a small miracle she didn’t let loose a plume of flame. Her heart’s hammering slowly subsiding, she turned to look at the source of the voice.

  He was a Tarangean, older than Cynobria, though not by much. Tall and slender, his scales were black with dark violet patterns and frills, and the colour of eyes to match. He had more muscle to his form than most—not unusual around here—but aside from that he looked as typical a Tarangean as one could get.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  And yet there was… something to him. A kind of presence that drew Cynobria’s attention like a magnetic force.

  ‘That we do,’ said the dragon Cynobria assumed was Qez. He stepped off the mat and made his way to Cynobria and the Tarangean. ‘Haven’t seen you around before. I’m Dianqez. Who might you be?’

  ‘I… Cynobria,’ said Cynobria. ‘I’m—’

  ‘The daughter of Rubin and Melodia,’ finished Phine. Cynobria hesitated, then nodded. ‘Figured. We were told you’d come, though I expected you to be younger.’ She gave Cynobria an appraising look. ‘Certainly not to be old enough to be a viable recruit.’

  ‘I’m not here to join yet.’

  ‘Yet, hm?’ The black-orange dragon tilted her head. ‘Well, I hope you’ll like it here enough to reconsider.’ Then, apparently considering the matter closed, she turned back to Dianqez. ‘Another round?’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re impossible, Laph. I’m too sore after the whopping you gave me. Let’s hit the mess and then we can maybe consider thinking about the possible next round.’

  She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her snout as she left the training hall behind Dianqez.

  ‘Cynobria… Cynobria…’ said the Tarangean, enunciating her name with an exaggerated accent. She turned back to him as he tapped his muzzle, looking her up and down. His scrutiny felt much less intense than Oonagh’s, more curiosity than judgement. ‘Mind if I call you Brie?’

  She blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Brie,’ he repeated. His frills fluttered gently. The nickname was similar to the one her parents had given her, though it sounded more Tarangean. ‘Don’t take it the wrong way, but your full name is a bit of a mawful.’

  ‘I… guess?’

  ‘Great!’ He beamed, then pointed to the empty mat with his snout. ‘Care to try?’

  Cynobria looked between him and the mat. It was a faded nondescript blue. Deeper into the room dragons were going on with their fights, without any interest for Cynobria and the Tarangean. ‘What? I’m not… Who are you?’

  ‘Oh, right. I’m Taroquel, but if you really want something shorter—’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘—then Taro is enough. So—,’ he grinned at her, once again pointing to the mat— ‘want to try? Come, quick, before someone else takes it.’ He grabbed her by the paw and Cynobria, confused, let him lead her. She stood in one corner while Taroquel moved to the other.

  What had she got herself into?

  The Tarangean crouched and smiled teasingly. The tip of his tail quivered in excitement. ‘Ready?’

  Cynobria assumed a similar pose. ‘I…’

  He lunged at her.

  She yelped and darted to the side, more reflex than conscious thought. She lost her balance, extended a wing to steady herself, but Taroquel gave her no reprieve. He came at her again, and she opened the other wing to match and went airborne to avoid his attack. She landed on the other side as Taroquel turned to her and grinned.

  He was playing with her. Of course he was. He was much better trained and, had he really tried, he could have won this excuse of a fight in seconds. Cynobria would have been fine with that.

  But the idea he had been toying with her…

  Anger boiled in her, and she only partly quenched it before she lunged at him.

  The brief look of surprise on his snout was satisfying, but soon morphed into practised certainty as he easily dodged, then jumped, wings wide, and Cynobria fell snout-first into the mat, Taroquel on her back, pinning her down.

  ‘Goodness!’ He laughed. ‘You’re quite ferocious, aren’t you?’

  His words flared Cynobria’s ire back to life. Blue flames danced around her maw and she knew she should stop, but oh, she didn’t want to stop.

  With a furious roar, mustering all her strength, she threw Taroquel off her back, bathing the air between them in a hot blue glow. He scrambled back in surprise, losing his balance, and she lunged at him again, fast and fierce and flaming.

  His eyes glowed. There came that ringing again. Something hard hit the side of her head. And all went black.

  ‘Have you lost your fucking mind?!’

  Cynobria’s head throbbed with pain. Dimly, she registered something cold pressing against her temple, and something soft underneath. Her wings fell on either side of her, their tips coming to rest on the floor.

  ‘You should have seen her. If I didn’t react, I’d be in a worse state than she is now.’

  Voices. Someone was talking. Was that about her? She strained to listen.

  ‘And you had to go for the head, you dolt?’

  ‘I panicked, alright? I got careless when I pinned her, and I didn’t expect she’d do anything else. And before I knew it she was one step from ashing me.’

  Was that…? Yes, the second voice belonged to Taroquel. She didn’t recognise the former, but its owner was speaking Tarangean with a slight Bacci accent. Before she could open her eyes or move, a third voice, much closer than the other two, said, ‘I think she’s waking up.’

  The arguing pair stopped talking and Cynobria heard steps approaching her. She blinked her eyes open to the blurry outlines of four figures standing over her.

  ‘Hello again,’ came Taroquel’s voice, and one of the blurry spots resolved into his grinning snout, but then his cocky smile ebbed, replaced by something gentler. ‘Sorry about that. I… No, no excuses. Just sorry.’

  She blinked blearily. Her head still throbbed, waxing and waning in painful waves. Her throat felt parched. She wanted to drink. She couldn’t make a sound.

  ‘Here,’ said the dragon who’d first spotted her waking, pushing a bowl on a side table toward her. He could’ve been Taroquel’s twin, the only difference in their colours—where Taroquel’s markings and frills were violet, his were a dark indigo. The shade of his eyes seemed identical to the other Tarangean’s.

  Cynobria seized the bowl and managed to lift her head enough to drink. Cool water felt wonderful falling down her throat and she coughed as she drank too fast, then laid the bowl back down on her chest, unable to comfortably reach the table. The dark indigo dragon picked it up and set it where it had been before. ‘So,’ he said, ‘how are you feeling?’

  Cynobria coughed once more, then cringed. ‘How do you think I'm feeling?’

  Taroquel said, ‘She seems alright.’

  I’ll give you “alright”.

  ‘Maybe I could help,’ said another voice in heavily accented Tarangean. The fourth shape—who’d been silent thus far—stepped up. His features seemed odd, though not in a way Cynobria could place, and his frame was less so wiry than nimble, willowy. He touched a talon to her head and a quiet buzz reached her ears.

  Her pain was gone.

  She inhaled sharply at the sudden clarity that washed over her. She didn’t feel well, exactly, but without the throbbing in her skull the world came into sharper focus. It was then she noticed the eyes of the dragon who touched her—glowing a steady green, the buzz now much clearer.

  It was not often Cynobria was close to someone while they were accessing, but each such case was marked by a sound. When she had asked her parents they looked at each other and shook their heads, and said neither of them could hear accessing, and asking her friends earned her little more than odd glances. She was certain, though, and more than that—trying to remember the ringing from the training centre, the current buzz seemed a different thing.

  The Vyl withdrew his paw and smiled sheepishly at her. Cynobria touched her temple gently, then said, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t think we’re all like this,’ said the dragon with the Bacci accent. ‘Taro’s making a bad example of himself.’

  ‘Hey now—’

  ‘I’m Lidique,’ she said, ignoring Taroquel and extending a paw. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Cynobria.’ She shook the paw and scrambled off the infirmary bed, shaking her wings out before folding them in. Looking around she saw no one else aside from herself, the four dragons in front of her, and one adult Tarangean lying on a bed farther in with her eyes closed.

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ said Lidique.

  ‘Don’t take it personally,’ said the dark-indigo dragon. ‘He was bound to cause trouble, though, I admit, knocking out the ambassadors’ daughter on her first visit is much, even for him. I’m Elomer, Taro’s brother, unfortunately.’

  ‘You think so little of me,’ said Taroquel, shaking his head dramatically, and Cynobria almost failed to hide an amused snort. ‘I wanted to give her a proper welcome, show her what’s best here—’

  ‘And how did that work out,’ cut in Lidique.

  ‘Splendidly! Now she’s met you and may even consider you nice when you stand next to me.’

  Elomer sighed.

  ‘I’m Trnth,’ said the Vyl. His scales were a muted mosaic—colours that, if more vivid, might have made him the most beautiful dragon she had ever seen. The blues and greens and reds and oranges mixed and swirled in perfect patterns, and his paws were topped with pitch-black socks, ending with white stripes just above the ankle. He wore what appeared to be a permanent expression of thoughtfulness. ‘You will, uh, not feel your temple for a time, but the effect might be wearing off soon.’

  Cynobria nodded. ‘Shouldn’t I still get checked?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Trnth. ‘I’ll go fetch the medic.’ He turned and made his way out the infirmary door.

  ‘So, Cynobria,’ said Lidique, looking after Trnth, then turning back to her, ‘what were you doing before Taro ruined your day?’

  She tapped a claw on the floor, looked around. ‘Wandering. Exploring. But this place is so big and…’ An idea occurred to her. ‘Would you mind showing me around?’

  Taroquel grinned again, every scale radiating glee. ‘It will be our pleasure.’

  After a brief check Cynobria was allowed to leave the infirmary, though not before Taroquel got a serious scolding from the medic, which was rather satisfying to watch. The five of them made their way down a wide corridor and deeper into the compound.

  Cynobria was glad for the company—navigating the immense maze that was the hideout of the Armies in Shadow was a tricky thing, but the four dragons knew their way. Mostly it was Taroquel who led and talked about the various rooms they could or couldn’t enter, and the others seemed content to follow in his wake. Cynobria found it surprising how easy it was to spend time with them, though, truth be told, she was doing more listening than talking, and that was something she could do.

  ‘This is another infirmary,’ said Trnth—the first thing he’d said since the beginning of their tour. ‘There is one close to each of the three entries, so that if someone comes in needing urgent help, they can get it quick.’ His Tarangean was heavily accented, and she wondered—she’d heard their languages were so different from any other that the Vyl had altogether different vocal cords than other dragons, but whether that was fact or mere rumour she didn’t know. Could she learn some of the Vyly tongues one day? Now that would be a challenge.

  ‘They should make them closer to the training halls though,’ said Taroquel. ‘Then I wouldn’t need to hold back when we spar, hm, Merry?’

  ‘Holding back?’ Elomer’s eyeridge rose. ‘I’m surprised you know what that means.’

  Cynobria frowned, looking between the brothers as the group passed a bend. ‘Merry?’

  ‘Elomer. Mer. Merry. Taro’s really fond of coming up with those,’ said Elomer. She found it difficult to read him, more so than the others, but there seemed to be no annoyance there. ‘Stick around enough and you’ll get one too.’

  ‘He’s already called me Brie.’

  Elomer nodded. ‘There you go.’

  ‘What can I say?’ Taroquel slowed his step until Cynobria was level with him and he nudged her side with a wing. ‘It was nickname at first sight.’

  ‘I’d say you look cute together,’ said Lidique, ‘but I don’t want to insult Cynobria.’

  She almost choked on her breath while Taroquel laughed.

  ‘Ah, Licci, but it would seem you were the one to take her breath away.’

  Cynobria looked at him, unsure of what to say, and he smiled at her and winked. Being the centre of their attention made her feel prickly and hot under her scales. ‘What did you do to knock me out?’

  Taroquel cocked his head. ‘What do you think?’

  She remembered the ringing in the air before the hit, odd and familiar. ‘You accessed, as much is obvious, but…’ she considered. ‘Was it kunzite? Did you hit me with a strong and focused blow of wind?’

  He smiled, then turned into a passage Cynobria would not have dared enter were she alone, but now everyone followed him with not a word, and so did she. He turned back to her. ‘Good guess, but wrong gem. It’s charoite.’

  Cynobria frowned. ‘But that’s… holdwind.’

  ‘Hold… what?’ said Lidique.

  Taroquel nodded. ‘Ah, right, your kind uses these names. Well—’ he half-consciously patted Lidique on the shoulder— ‘perhaps “hardwind” might be a more fitting name. Do you know how charoite accessing works?’

  Cynobria made to reply, but hesitated. It was likely different than what she’d known if he was asking. Then again, it was not as though anyone would scold her for a wrong answer. ‘You can move objects through air.’

  ‘True,’ said Taroquel. ‘Now, do you know how?’ Cynobria shook her head. ‘What charoite allows us is to create pockets of highly pressurised air. Then we can use it as a sort of invisible paw to carry small things—’

  ‘Or to attack,’ Cynobria said, eyes open a tad wider with understanding. ‘The typical use would be to grab and move objects, but something as general as “pressurised air” has many more applications. Attack. Defence… How much control over its shape do you have?’

  Taroquel laughed. ‘Goodness! You’re impressive, Brie.’ She blinked. Was she? The expressions of the other three mirrored Taroquel’s words. But it was a simple observation.

  ‘Are you an accessor?’ asked Elomer.

  There it was, this same question for a second time that day. Now, though, there was no judgement or prying scrutiny in the eyes of the questioner, merely polite curiosity.

  ‘No,’ Cynobria said, feeling much lighter admitting it now than to Oonagh. Then, feeling particularly daring she added. ‘But I have something better.’ She raised her head and blew a stream of blue flame into the air. Everyone save for Taro yelped and jumped back, though Cynobria made sure not to catch anyone with it, and that it didn’t reach the grey stone ceiling, and by the time it dissipated they reforged their fright to awe.

  Taroquel said, ‘Yeah, I nearly got a snoutful of that.’ Even though his tone carried no accusation, claws of guilt tugged at Cynobria.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said sheepishly, rubbing a paw with the side of her claw. ‘I got carried away.’ The memory of burning Fey’s game hit her then, unbidden. She shoved it aside.

  ‘No worries,’ said Taroquel brightly. ‘In the end it was me who landed you in the infirmary.’

  ‘And you?’ Cynobria said to Elomer. ‘Are you an accessor?’

  He gave her a tight smile. ‘I’m not, sadly, and I don’t have any breath weapons to show for it either. That said, I can fight better than Taro here.’ Taroquel snorted and Elomer turned to him. ‘Have something to say?’

  ‘Our score begs to differ.’

  ‘Our score is skewed due to your accessing. You’ve never beat me without using it.’

  It wouldn’t matter in a real battle.

  ‘Tsk tsk.’ Taroquel nudged Elomer with a wing. ‘Someone’s in denial.’

  ‘I am, decidedly, not.’

  ‘Merryyy…’ Taroquel said huskily, leaning closer to the dragon in question.

  Elomer said, ‘Ignore him.’

  But Cynobria found she neither could nor wanted to ignore him. Taroquel moved through life with a kind of ease she could never find in herself; confident and cheeky in a way that seemed to make even dragons who disliked him like him. It was an art which Cynobria found equally fascinating and enviable.

  ‘You’ve seen me,’ said Trnth, slipping gently into the brief pocket of silence. ‘I’m a Soother. Or… how would that be in your terms?’

  Cynobria hmmed, then said, ‘Clearleaf, I believe.’

  Trnth nodded. ‘Yes, then that.’

  ‘And I’m a double,’ said Lidique.

  ‘Makes up for Merry to bring the group average to one gem per dragon,’ said Taroquel. Elomer swatted at him half-heartedly, which the other dragon dodged easily.

  ‘Kunzite and amethyst,’ said Lidique, then sighed. ‘Though neither is too well developed. Would be better to have just one, but stronger.’ She shrugged. ‘Can’t complain though.’

  Cynobria caught up to her. ‘It gets stronger with use, though, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Lidique. ‘But even as I train, it’s less than you’d think. Still, it does give me more versatility.’

  ‘I wonder how you would fare against Taroquel,’ said Cynobria.

  The pair in question looked at each other, then at her, wearing matching mischievous grins. Lidique said, ‘That can be arranged.’

  The closest training centre was packed full of sparring dragons—the background ring of so much accessing made her tail-tip twitch—so they had to manoeuvre the maze of the compound’s corridors to find another. It surprised Cynobria more than it should have with how much ease the four navigated the convoluted passages. Before too long they were at the next centre, almost as full as the one before. Taroquel and Lidique got ready on the opposite corners of one of the few empty mats. The corridors they had travelled were loud, and the training centre was even worse, and the barrage of sound was beginning to make Cynobria jittery.

  ‘Ready…’ said Elomer. Taroquel and Lidique leapt at each other, heedless of him. ‘Hey!’ Cynobria cringed at his shout.

  The two dragons collided mid-air, grabbed each other, spun and fell away onto the mat. They began circling each other, looking for an opening. Lidique tried a lunge—a feint—she backed away. As she did so Cynobria saw a dissipating distortion in front of Taroquel, and even without seeing his eyes the ringing—barely audible amid the din—told her what it was. Hardened air.

  He lunged himself then, eyes aglow, though try as she might, Cynobria couldn’t spot his pressure pocket—the surrounding sound of so many dragons fighting, roaring, clawing, slashing, accessing almost drove her mad, and she could barely focus on the fight. Lidique, apparently, had no such issue as she swiftly avoided any hits, spun, and landed a small scrape on his side. Taroquel growled and before Liqidie could move in again she was pushed away by an unseen paw, though she managed not to fall.

  They began to circle again, and Cynobria pawed at the ground, ears flat. The blasted noise around them made her want to just be out of there. It was getting hard to watch, hard to think, hard to keep still with so much sound and she itched to roar and bite and claw, and fire tickled at her throat, and Elomer sent her a concerned glance and it was all she could do to ignore him and not start growling and—

  Lidique jumped.

  Taroquel charged.

  Their eyes glowed violet, ringing their discordant chime that made Cynobria’s head ache.

  Darkness poured around Lidique, obscuring part of her from view, and oozing on Taroquel. He attacked as though it wasn’t there, straight at Lidique, who spread her wings and caught an updraft—in a cave? ah, kunzite—and soared above him. The darkness dispersed, faded, but that did not stop the dragons. They both spun and came to grips, and became a tangle of wings and tails and teeth and claws, and though Cynobria knew this was just a sparring match, it looked anything but—as though only one of them would leave this fight alive.

  Lidique pinned Taroquel to the mat, but instead of struggling he grinned, eyes aglow again, and Lidique grunted and let up as air hit her from the side. Taroquel scrambled up from beneath her and they both backed away, panting.

  ‘Enough?’ asked Taroquel.

  ‘Enough,’ said Lidique.

  It took Cynobria several seconds for the meaning to sink in.

  ‘So,’ said Taroquel as he turned to her, his grin almost masking his exertion, ‘how was that?’

  The flight home was silent for longer than Cynobria would have thought possible, but she was grateful for it. She’d been so on edge since Taroquel’s and Lidique’s fight she later growled at Trnth when he cleared his throat. Now the only sounds were her and her parent’s leisurely wingbeats, and Cynobria could feel her frayed nerves settling down.

  At last, when the Roche was far behind them Dad said, ‘So?’

  ‘So…?’ echoed Cynobria.

  They flew on in silence a few moments more.

  ‘What do you think of the Armies in Shadow?’ Mum braved the subject at last.

  For all the wait, Cynobria wasn’t sure what to say. She’d been expecting an army against the empire—and in some ways she’d got just that. But in others…

  ‘I met a few dragons,’ she started carefully. ‘Have you heard of Taroquel?’

  ‘We did,’ said Dad, a touch tense. A wingbeat, two. ‘He has… a reputation.’

  ‘Almost not worth the trouble he brews,’ said Mum. ‘Almost.’

  Disdainful as she’d made it sound, Cynobria couldn’t argue with the judgement. And yet… Taroquel was a presence, and though it should have been too much for her—was, at times—she could not deny that when the focus of the group shifted away from her, she didn’t find it nearly as hard to fit. Perhaps it had been an illusion—they might have humoured “the ambassadors’ daughter” as she visited the base, and forgot about her the next day, or talked of how awkward she had been. And yet, when she’d been there, she felt welcome in a way she had missed since burning Fey’s game. Or even further back.

  She almost felt like she belonged.

  Bitter reminders of her fractured friendships rose in Cynobria’s mind, but she pushed them back. She realised she’d not replied to Mum’s statement, so she beat her wings and said, ‘I like him.’

  Silence settled in their midst once more. Then Dad asked, ‘Do you want to join?’

  Did she? To commit to such a thing was a choice not lightly made. She should not fly into a cave if she could first scope its darkness with her fire.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said, then turned to meet her parents’ eyes. Her heart beat fast as she added, ‘But can I visit there again?’