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  I had no other choice. I had to stop her!

  “Moppe. Mmmmph!”

  A hand slapped over my mouth, stifling the spell. It was the hawk-eyed boy. I writhed and twisted, but his grip was too strong. There was nothing I could do except watch and listen as Moppe called out across the water.

  “BLACK DRAKE! I, AGAMOPA, QUEEN OF MEDASIA, SUMMON YOU TO RETURN!”

  17

  AT FIRST THERE WAS only the crash of waves, the creak of rope and wood. Everyone on the ship had gone utterly silent. Then a hum came from below, like a voice so deep you felt the words more than heard them.

  Bubbles frothed up suddenly, a dozen yards off the starboard side. The water sloshed and swelled, bulging up in a great dark bubble that split to reveal the beast himself.

  He was even more terrifying than the painting in Master Betrys’s study: an enormous black-scaled serpent, as big as a naval galleon. Spines as long as spears rippled along his sinuous neck. Slitted golden eyes rose like crescent moons above his wedge-shaped snout. He made the Victory look like a rowboat. My stomach heaved along with the deck in the wake of the monster’s surfacing.

  The Liberationists seemed struck with awe and fear. Even the iron arms of the hawk-boy fell slack around me, his hand slipping slightly from my mouth. But I had no spell for this.

  Slowly, the great dark head wove through the air. Gleaming eyes came to rest on the prow of the Victory. Cords of muscle slid beneath shimmering twilight scales as the creature arched his neck, peering down at Moppe.

  By the First Word, that thing could have snapped her up in a single mouthful! And yet she faced him square-shouldered and resolute. She had always been too brave for her own good.

  Desperately, I searched my mind for any spell that could help. The drake was going to eat her! I had to do something!

  But the creature made no move to attack. Instead he made an odd, keening noise. His shivering voice was full of secret echoes: “Long have I slumbered, deep in the abyss. Eagerly have I awaited the command of my liege. And now a queen has returned! Oh, glorious day!”

  He bobbed with delight. It might almost have been endearing if he weren’t the size of a small mountain, which meant his motion sent an enormous wave crashing over the Victory. My captor cursed, tugging us both back against the ship’s railing and clinging to it one-armed as a torrent of water poured over us.

  The icy sea dashed my eyes, burning. I sputtered, spitting salty brine. The bodyguard released me and did the same. All the Liberationists had managed to stay upright, clinging to rigging or mast or railing.

  Moppe straightened from the prow, her purple vest drenched, the pearly crown tilted rakishly on her head. She scowled up at the monster. “If you’re so glad to see me, try not to drown me next time.”

  The drake blinked at her. “I am sorry, magnificent one.”

  The creature loomed over the ship, his great muzzle opened to expose a terrifying maw of jagged teeth. But Moppe seemed somewhat mollified. “That’s all right. I suppose it was an honest mistake.”

  “What is your will, splendid queen?”

  The drake’s breath was a stormy gust, filling my mouth and nose with a strong fishy stench. And something else, rank and metallic. I squinted up at the clots of seaweed trailing from the drake’s mouth. There were pale splinters caught between his teeth. Lumpy splinters with knobby ends.

  I choked back a surge of sickness as I realized they were not wood. This was no time to panic. Besides, he had quite a large vocabulary for a ravenous sea monster. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as the legends told.

  “Shall I visit destruction upon your enemies?”

  Or maybe the legends were entirely accurate.

  “Tear the hearts from your foes and let the sea drink their blood?” The creature sounded hopeful as he offered this last suggestion. He even gave what I took to be a smile. It might have been charming, had it not revealed the shattered, yellowed skull caught on one of his rear teeth.

  Moppe paled, just slightly. “No, ah, not right now. Thanks.” She hesitated, looking to her mother.

  Captain Porphyra stepped forward. “We wish you to guard this port and prevent any ship from entering or leaving. If attacked, you will defend yourself. And above all else, you will guard Queen Agamopa and keep her safe from harm.”

  The drake’s enormous golden eyes swung from the older woman back to Moppe. “I follow the will of the one who wears the crown. Is this your command, most effulgent one?”

  Moppe took a deep breath, then spoke. “Yes. That is my command. Prevent ships from entering and leaving, and keep me safe from harm.”

  The drake nodded in satisfaction. “Very good. I have waited long in the dark depths for redemption. I will not fail the crown again.”

  “Excellent,” said Moppe, sounding relieved.

  “Ware the Regians,” called the scout in the crow’s nest above. “They aren’t retreating.”

  “Neither are we.” Porphyra turned to Moppe. “Order the beast to attack.”

  Moppe frowned. “No, that isn’t part of the plan.”

  “We need a show of strength,” Porphyra said. “You’re queen now, Agamopa. You have to do what’s best for Medasia.”

  “What, you mean starting a war? How is that best for Medasia?” I cried. If I didn’t do something, this standoff was quickly going to become an outright war. But what could I do? The drake was bound to follow Moppe’s commands. I had heard the order myself.

  I could think of only one thing. It was a long shot, but it was better than the alternative. I knew Moppe didn’t want war, but would she be able to stand up to her mother’s demands? I couldn’t risk it. At least this way I could give her more time to figure out a better solution. Quietly I muttered the spell, praying that the guard beside me would not notice what I’d done.

  Then I gave a bloodcurdling scream, pointing dramatically at the boy. “Ahhh! He’s got the spotted fever! Look, look, his skin!”

  Every eye turned toward us, including the great golden orbs of the drake.

  The young guard looked completely befuddled. Then, slowly, he held out one hand, staring at it as if it belonged to a stranger.

  Bright crimson polka dots covered his brown skin. He gasped in horror. “What? No!”

  All around us, the other Liberationists took a step back, some making warding gestures toward the spotted guard, others giving yelps and gasps of alarm.

  “Black Drake!” I called out. “Beware! If you wish to keep Moppe safe from harm, you must take her away from here before she falls ill! Don’t waste a single moment!”

  The drake gave a perilous bugle of alarm. “My queen, fear not, I will save you!”

  Moppe waved her arms. “No, you great fool, can’t you see it’s just a—”

  The serpent dove, jaws snapping at the prow. Wood shattered. Moppe shrieked, stumbling back. For one frozen moment, I saw her silhouetted against the open air; then she was gone.

  My plan was working a little too well. I’d gotten Moppe away from Porphyra, but only by getting her tossed overboard. And it looked like I might be next. The ship heaved as a great wave sluiced over the deck. I scrabbled for a hold, but the slosh of water was too strong. I lost my grip.

  An icy torrent swept me down, down, down. Water closed over my head, beat at my lips as I fought the urge to scream. I clawed through the waves until my fingers found wood. The painted face of a woman floated beside me. It was the Victory’s figurehead. I clung to her, gasping for breath.

  “Antonia!” cried a voice from somewhere high and distant.

  I craned my neck, tracking the sound until I found her.

  Moppe hung from the jaws of the Black Drake. She didn’t appear to be injured, thankfully. The drake had caught her delicately, the way a cat might hold one of its kittens.

  “Do not fear, my queen. I will guard you with my life.”

  With that, he arced his massive coils, heaving abruptly away from the ship. The motion set off another great wave. I clung to t
he figurehead as the torrent ripped over me, tearing at my hands, my hair, my clothing.

  It was too much. My grip failed. The waves sucked me down, tossed me up, left me gasping. Blinking through the streams of brine, I glimpsed the drake slithering away through the waves.

  “After them!” shouted Porphyra, from the Victory. The drake might have snapped off the prow, but the vessel was still seaworthy. “Bring her about!”

  I gulped and sputtered as the frigate began its turn to chase after the drake.

  Relief spilled over me. My gamble had worked.

  Except for the part where I was now floundering in the sea. Alone. Unable to swim. I beat the water with my legs and arms, trying to stay afloat. I screamed after the departing ship, but the rebels were already too far away to hear my pitiful cries.

  My sodden clothing dragged at me. Lead seeped into my limbs. I tried to scream, but the brine sloshed into my mouth and down my throat. The sea was going to take me; fill me and drown me and make me part of it. I gagged. My head felt strange and dizzy. I tried to focus. “Antonia,” I sputtered. “Rise.”

  I jerked up a few inches, enough to catch a breath, before I sagged back down again. Again and again, I repeated the spell, but each time I managed to gain only a single breath. The edges of my vision turned sparkly, then dim.

  It was only a matter of time.

  I sank down into the waters. They felt warmer now. Almost comforting. I could sleep, pillowed in their soft embrace. I tried to call out again, but my lips were too heavy. Everything was too heavy, and it all fell away.

  18

  I WOKE IN A SOFT BED, gauzy with gray light filtering in through wide glass windows. A familiar blue coverlet tickled my nose, smelling of lavender. I blinked at the wallpaper before my eyes, a pattern of overblown pink roses I had chosen when I was seven and quickly came to regret when my brother declared they looked more like cabbages.

  Home. I was home.

  I could almost believe it was all just a terrible nightmare. Except for the constellation of bruises peppering my body and the rough, brine-soaked dryness of my throat. And the deeper bruises on my soul. I felt as if someone had torn out my heart and used it for a game of croquet, thumping it from mallet to mallet.

  “You’re awake. Good.”

  I rolled over, wincing at the twinge of my tired muscles, to find my mother sitting beside my bed.

  “Mama?” I asked, bewildered.

  “If you don’t recognize your own mother, Antonia, perhaps I’d best have the doctor back to take another look at you.”

  Of course I recognized her. Glossy dark braids, green eyes that could find any errant number in an account book, the full lips that curved just so when she knew she’d maneuvered an enemy where she wanted them.

  But there were shadows under her eyes, too dark even for her rose-scented powder to cover. One of the buttons along her sleeve was askew. Her fingers plucked at it, as if she was nervous.

  Mother was never nervous. Or at least, she never showed it. Something terrible must have happened.

  “What’s wrong?” I croaked, fearing the worst.

  There was a strange, haunted look in her eyes, and when she spoke, each word honed her voice to a sharper edge. “What’s wrong is that my daughter was plucked half-drowned from the sea yesterday evening. It’s very fortunate the Thorn was close at hand, or—” She caught herself. After a moment she went on, her tone calmer. “And thank goodness Lord Benedict owed me a substantial favor. Otherwise you might be sitting in the courthouse prison cells with your Master Betrys right now.”

  I pushed myself up from my pillow, heedless of the dizziness swirling around the edges of my mind. “I’m no traitor, and neither is Master Betrys!”

  “So you didn’t help some upstart girl declare herself queen of Medasia?”

  “She is the queen,” I protested. “She’s King Goros’s great-great-granddaughter. I was… I was trying to do the right thing.” In spite of myself, I felt tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I squeezed them shut, fighting the swell of misery.

  A soft warmth touched my cheek. I opened my eyes in time to see my mother pull her hand away, looking almost guilty. She sighed. “You always were too caught up in books and magic. I should have taught you better.”

  I had chased after useless magic. I had mussed her dress. I had helped start a rebellion. Nothing I did was ever good enough.

  “I—I’m sorry, Mama.”

  “Apologies don’t solve problems,” she said, needlessly straightening the coverlet.

  “What’s the Black Drake done?” I asked, bracing myself for a tale of death and destruction.

  “Thankfully very little, as of yet. The beast has retreated to Caphos Lighthouse. It hasn’t attacked Port Meda directly, but it’s gone after any ship that attempts to enter or exit the bay.”

  “And Moppe?”

  “The upstart queen? We believe the drake has her there, at the Lighthouse. But no one can get close enough to see. Not the Imperial Navy, not even that rebel Porphyra.”

  Relief swept through me. My plan had worked! Maybe there was still some way to end this without all-out civil war, if we could just get everyone together to negotiate with words, not muskets and sea monsters. “And the crown?”

  Mother gave me a hard look, as if she could see the hope thrumming inside me. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning. There are still many questions. Accusations of treason. I need to know everything that’s happened if I’m going to carry our family through this.”

  And so I told her while I got washed and dressed. Mother helped me herself, something she hadn’t done since I was a little girl. Plucking the hairbrush from the bureau, she gestured for me to sit in the slim, velvet-pillowed chair. Her hands moved the brush steadily through my hair, pausing only to take up the comb when she encountered a particularly defiant tangle. I could feel her watching my reflection in the silvered glass as I spoke.

  I kept my own gaze on one bit of the gilded frame, where my brother had carved a secret smiling face into the filigree to cheer me when I had the grippe for a whole month when I was little.

  I whisked rather lightly over our time visiting with Moppe’s family on Mount Turnip. As far as I could tell, they had little to do with the Liberation—though it must have been Moppe’s grandmother who sent word to Captain Porphyra so she knew where to find us after our encounter with the mermaids. Even so, I didn’t want a troop of gold-coated soldiers marching up the mountain to arrest them.

  I also skipped over our nightmares in the Forest of Silent Fears. I couldn’t bear to repeat my own to Mother’s face, and it seemed unsporting to share Moppe’s. Besides, they had nothing to do with recovering the crown and preventing the Black Drake from destroying Medasia.

  “And then I woke up here,” I finished. Mother was intent on tying a ribbon at the tail of my freshly braided hair. “But there’s one more thing. Moppe said F—” Blast it! I still couldn’t say his name. “My brother was a Liberationist.”

  Her hands faltered. A faint crease appeared between her brows.

  “It’s true,” I said. “Isn’t it?”

  Her lips crimped, as if she were tasting something bitter.

  I stared at her. I’d expected shock and denial. But I could see that this was no surprise.

  “You knew,” I said dully. “You knew they didn’t really murder him, and you never told me!”

  “They might as well have,” she snapped harshly, looking away. “He was only a boy. He didn’t know what he was doing. Your grandfather filled his head with stories. And of course Florian believed them. He was brave and fearless.” Her voice snagged, and she blinked several times. “Brave and fearless and foolish.” When she finally met my gaze, her eyes were hard and sharp as cut gems. “They used him. Just as they used you. They killed my son. But they did not kill you.”

  For the first time ever, it didn’t sound like an accusation. She laid her hands lightly on my shoulders. It was barely the ghost of a hug, b
ut it made my breath stop.

  I didn’t know what to think. Nothing made sense anymore. It was as if someone had taken my life and smashed it to bits and then put them back together, all mismatched, sharp edges. My brother was a Liberationist. And my mother was actually looking at me. Not to criticize, not to correct. Looking at me as if she actually… cared.

  I caught her hands in mine, clinging to her, searching for the right words to hold the moment fast. “I wish there were a spell to let me take his place. So you could have him back.” My voice cracked. I’d thought the words a thousand times, but I’d never said them aloud.

  She startled sharply. My mother, a woman who anticipated the turnings and twistings of every conversation five steps ahead, stared at me in what I could only describe as horrified shock.

  In the long moment that followed, I could almost hear the cry of the flocking crows, snipping with their silver-shear beaks. Then her grip tightened painfully, as if she were trying to heave me back from the edge of a perilous chasm.

  “I don’t want that,” she said. “I never have. You’re my daughter, Antonia.”

  Deep inside my chest, a crushing band seemed to loosen, freeing my heart to beat again. My throat burned with relief. Things might never be easy and smooth between us, but we belonged to each other. And for now, that was enough.

  Finally she squeezed my hands and pulled away. “Goodness, the day will be half spent if we sit here much longer,” she said. “I need to start packing a trunk.”

  “Packing? Why? We need to send word to the Liberationists. We need to try to negotiate! And Mama, there’s a problem with the snail harvest. The mermaids—”

  My mother held up her hand, silencing me. “No. That’s no longer your concern, nor mine.”

  “But you’re on the council!”

  “Only until I compose a letter of resignation,” she said grimly. “It’s time to face the truth, Antonia. Our family has no place on Medasia any longer.”