Queen Of The Great Underworld

34

“Tell me where the dragons are right now. Kyhani warriors will rescue the dragons and s*******r those who’d take them from their rightful place. I swear it.”

That stilled me.

We both wanted the dragons returned to the islands.

I didn’t know how I felt about the warriors slaughtering everyone—besides negatively—but I did like the idea of keeping the dragons from being taken to the Denneth Empire. That was why I’d confronted the Luminary Council, wasn’t it?

“Well?” Yarrow’s voice came at a low growl.

I turned to my numbers, counting the days and decans since the sanctuary dragons had been taken, and I’d seen the shipping orders, and the number of days it took to sail from Kyhan to the various points that were listed on the shipping orders.

“Galadriel.” Yarrow’s mouth thinned into a line.

If I told Yarrow where he could find the dragons, the warriors could go rescue them.

But then the warriors would have the dragons.

But the Denneth Empire wouldn’t.

Wanting the same thing as Yarrow didn’t make him my ally.

I couldn’t trust Yarrow.

But if I didn’t, I’d go back in the dark. And then what? What about the dragons?

I took one long breath in, and pushed one long breath out. And pointed. “Here,” I whispered. “They’ll be at Crestshade from Zabel the twentieth to the twenty-ninth, and then they’ll be moved again. There.” I pointed to Thornfell. “They’ll reach it on the first day of the Hallowed Restoration and stay there for a decan. That is where they’ll begin the voyage across the sea.”

“And they’ll be unreachable.”

I looked sharply at him.

“By our ships,” he explained. “I can think of perhaps two vessels capable of crossing the open sea. The rest were built for moving between the islands. They’re smaller and faster, but they wouldn’t make it even halfway to the mainland. Not without the crew starving to death.”

“Do you have access to the ships that could cross?”

He shook his head. “The Kyhani vessel is on patrol around the islands. The other belongs to the Anabeln and Anaheran governments.”

The Star-Touched was a magnificent vessel. I’d seen her from my window a few times: she had seven masts, with every sail colored to represent a different island, and she required three of the largest noorestones in existence to power her. She patrolled the eastern reaches of the Isles, and was the first line of defense against an attack from the Denneth Empire.

“There’s a small chance we could commandeer the ship transporting the dragons and turn it back toward the islands, but if we reached them more than halfway to the mainland, we’d risk some of the dragons starving. Not to mention the human casualties.”

That thought was sobering. “How long does it take to reach the mainland?”

“From Thornfell, it takes seventeen days.”

Fourteen immense creatures, meant to soar in the sky—not be chained down in a cargo hold. Fourteen huge predators, meant to hunt their prey and eat it whole, not be fed whatever livestock the crew shoved in. If the crew fed the dragons at all.

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,” Yarrow observed. “Good. You should be.”

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

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 Ilydsey had provided a theory. “Most dragons don’t eat every day.”

“I know that.” A note of annoyance colored Yarrow’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.” Yarrow 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 Yarrow 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.

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

According to the Galadriel 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.