Page 48 of The Dragon Queen

“No more than the king’s did,” Rex huffed.

“Draven’s had a drop of dragonfire in it,” Stefan informed him, “and it was frozen solid. We had one of those pretty blue dragons freeze it inside an insulated cold box and, even still, it had to go back and refreeze it a few times in the night. Unless you’ve got a lot more ice dragons?—”

“Water dragons,” Draven corrected mildly.

“Water dragons then, and…” Stefan did a mental tally as he looked at all the dragons on the field. “Nope, not many at all.”

“They are rare.” Rex seemed particularly aggrieved by this admission. “Kings rarely choose them as bondmates because freezing an enemy or blasting them with water is not an especially useful skill compared to acid or fire.”

“Well, they’re bloody useful right now.” Stefan slouched in his chair, looking like a man at a summer picnic, not a military exercise. “There’s a reason why kings haven’t used dragonfire often. Potent, but unstable, just as likely to blow your head off as your enemies.”

“But the queens of old used it.” I hadn’t meant to say that, and now I had every eye on me. How did I know this? That went unsaid. “They sent dragon corp out to loose explosives on some of the dragon-run towns.” My eyes narrowed, as if I could summon that vision, but instead of apparatus or battle tactics, all I could see was white bones lined up across the fresh soil we’d dug up. “It’s beendone before. Is there anything in the dragon corp archive that discusses how?”

“Dragon-run towns…?” Stefan asked.

“Smith,” Rex snapped, snapping his fingers at the aide closest to him. “Return to the keep and ask the librarians to comb through the records. Any records of use of dragonfire…” He glanced at me. “During the reign of queens, or more recently.” His focus shifted then to Stefan. “And you, Lord Nithe, are there no records of how to safely move and use dragonfire?”

“You don’t.” Another glass of wine disappeared down Stefan’s throat, right before he shot the general a smile. “That’s all I’ve been told. Not one of the kings has asked us for a thing, not in my time, nor my father’s, nor my grandfather’s, and perhaps for generations before that. Obviously that knowledge was very useful at some point, but Nevermere has enjoyed an unprecedented period of peace during the reign of kings. It simply hasn’t been needed.”

“Brom’s wing won the bout,” a rider said, all of them converging on the tent. The competition had ended and people were slapping Brom and the rest of the wing on the back. The wing commander’s shy smile, the way his cheeks coloured just a little, caught my eye.

And my heart.

Humans complicate everything.Glimmer sounded grumpy inside my head.Males protect and fight to mate with you.The queen chooses. Anything else goes against nature.

Natural or not, in a time of upheaval, leaders must provide consistency, certainty,I replied.In this case, that means preserving the illusion that I am Draven’s queen.

Obsidian’s rider doesn’t care a jot for the adulation of others, she told me.Just you… and Darkspire’s rider.

My eyes found Brom’s, and just for one stolen moment, I stared at him. A small smile, I rationalised, one a queen might give a loyal rider.

Gods, who did I think I was fooling?

It wasn’t me who stepped forward and into my husband’s arms,but Draven. The king offered his hand to Brom, because that was the only way they were allowed to touch out here.

“Your aim was always excellent.”

Did people hear the tenderness in that statement? I think Brom feared that they might’ve, because he tried to pull away after a firm shake. Draven didn’t allow that. He pulled my husband closer, clapping him on the back in that rough kind of hug men seemed to think was acceptable, and I swear I knew what each one of them were feeling. That they couldn’t, wouldn’t, let go, but they did anyway. My king blinked and then moved down the line.

“Well done,” Draven told Flynn, then Soren. “Ged, that recovery was particularly good.”

His dragon had dropped a pot, but grabbed it mid fall and then carried it to the target.

“Cloudy will need to learn not to be such a fumble fingers,” he said ruefully.

“Truly.” The general got to his feet and the riders all fell silent automatically. “I know yesterday’s display was all very theatrical, but we’ve run into some technical difficulties. Dragonfire is terribly unstable. One sharp knock and it will be you and your dragon that bears the brunt of the blast, not the enemy.” The silence was perfect, not even broken by bird song. “We’re going to need to try another round, this time instructing your dragons to grab the ropes closer to the pot itself.”

“Without actually scraping those big claws across it,” Stefan drawled. “Otherwise that will have you going boom as well.”

“Quite.” Rex was trying to put a brave front on, but I tracked the ticking of the muscle at his temple. “Don’t think you can retire to the keep yet. We’ll need to practise until we can get this right. Pick the pots up without letting them swing, carry them to the targets and then improve that aim. Everyone should be hitting the targets every time, not just Brom’s wing.”

“But how the hell?—?”

“Stop a pot swinging midair? May as well sprout wings myself and fly it over there.”

“What—?

Discipline was fracturing as every rider started to chatter at once. Rex’s frown grew at the same rate the questions did. I thought hard, thinking about what I’d seen in the vision. It was like there was some kind of device that kept the pot suspended. I hadn’t seen it swing… I heard a faint humming in the back of my mind as I shoved my hand into my pocket and pulled out the fractured crystal egg.

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