Phoenix (7 page)

It was my fault.

I have the broken touch.

You know, like King Midas had the golden touch, and could turn things to gold with the tip of a finger? Well, I don’t have the golden touch. I have the broken touch.

I break things.

And if Nia escapes now, on my watch, I’ll have broken something far more precious than all the models and music boxes I ever dropped. Whatever I do, I cannot let that happen. And so, in spite of my exhaustion and the long silence, I vow to stay awake.

But Nia must be waiting, biding her time until she’s sure and certain I’m asleep, because I’m nearly dozing off in spite of my fear when I hear a clink of metal.

I open my eyelids the tiniest crack. I have slightly longish eyelashes for a guy (I think it’s my Azerbaijani heritage that causes it) so I can open my eyes to slits without it being too obvious my eyes aren’t completely closed.

And through those eyelash-veiled slits, I watch Nia gather her things—slowly, stealthily. When she’s got everything ready—her swords strapped securely into place, where they’ll stay whether she’s in human or dragon form, and her cloak wrapped securely around her—she rises and turns one last longing look on Ram.

One long, longing look. The firelight is flickering over her face and it’s not yet evening, so I can see her features clearly. I’ve mentioned we dragons can communicate a great deal with just a look. Right now, as she’s looking at my brother, Nia’s face says that she wanted so much, for so long, to meet another dragon.

And there he is, and he’s more than she hoped for and everything she wanted, all in one person, and she hates to leave him but feels she must in order to keep him safe.

She has a very expressive face.

Then she turns. I keep my eyes open only the tiniest bit, expecting her to direct a similar look at me.

And, okay, I admit, maybe I’m hoping the look she gives me will be even more longing.

After all, I met her first. I flew after her—if I hadn’t flown after her so that she stopped with me in the woods, Ram never would have caught up to her or found her. The two of them would never have met, and she’d have gone back to Eudora or been caught by the yagi by now. She wouldn’t even know we exist if I hadn’t flown after her.

So the look she gives me should hold all those unspoken sentiments.

But she turns and leaves. She doesn’t look at me at all.

It’s not as though I missed it. I’ve been watching her carefully through narrowed slits of eyes this whole time, and she hasn’t looked my way more than a couple of quick glances when her swords made clinking noises, when she was checking to see if I’d startled or awakened.

Nia never gave me a longing look. Whatever looks she gave me then, those brief glances, were more like wary looks.

And now she’s turned her back on us and is walking away, silently, to the other end of the open area where we’ve made our camp, farther from the fire.

Nia still has not looked at me, but leaps into the air, morphing into a glorious dragon whose color puts the flames of our fire to shame.

For the briefest second I’m simply shocked. She didn’t look at me at all? I mean, I know Ram has always before made me seem invisible, but I didn’t think I really was invisible, or so easily entirely dismissed.

But Nia is already in the air, jetting away in the direction we came—in the direction of Eudora.

And the yagi.

I’ve got to catch up to her before she encounters the yagi. In her current frame of mind, she might well let the yagi kill her, thinking it’s the only way to save me and Ram and all of dragon posterity.

I take stock of my weapons as I leap to my feet. Yes, I have everything ready. I’d feared Nia might leave—just not like this, not quite like this.

In an instant I’m in dragon form, flying after her with all my might. She is fast and had a head start, but I am quick and desperate. Besides, I don’t think she’s flying full out at all—part of her is still conflicted, still tied to the fireside and the dragon she left behind.

Not me, obviously.

Knowing I must stop her quickly before she encounters the yagi, who could be almost upon us in another moment anyway, I fly for all I’m worth. When I’m nearly caught up to her, I dart through the sky above her and drop suddenly, inserting myself into her path.

Nia swerves to go around me.

I swerve the same way.

She fakes left.

I have four older siblings who gave up trying that trick years ago. I can see her intention from the glint in her eyes, and catch her as she doubles back the other way, wrapping my arms around her and using my wings to lower us gently to the ground even as she fights to get away. She struggles against me, beating her wings in an attempt to lift us both into the air again, or to pull free of my grasp.

Once again, my years wrestling with my siblings, both in human and dragon form, pay off to my advantage, and I’m able to pull her out of the sky without hurting her. That last part—the not hurting—is vital to me, not only because I’m a dragon protector and therefore wish no harm upon humans or dragons, but also because I want to win this woman’s affections, and I don’t believe that’s something anyone can be bullied into.

Nia clearly doesn’t like being overpowered and pulled past the trees in the direction of the ground. She blows a blast of fire in my face. Fortunately I’m in dragon form, so it doesn’t really hurt me, though it’s hot and disorienting and momentarily blinds me, which is probably why we hit the ground a lot harder than I intended—I couldn’t see how close we were to the earth until after my shoulder made contact.

We roll, a hearty tumble across rocks and sticks, and I think Nia might even be trying to use her claws on me, maybe out of desperation, and I remember another lesson I learned from being the youngest.

The youngest, you see, is the weakest, at least for the first several years, and also the one most easily pitied by its parents. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but I’m not going to downplay the truth it taught me. That is: vulnerability is sometimes the best armor.

It’s a paradox, I know, but when you think it through, it really works. You see, if Nia blasts fire in my face and I respond by blasting fire right back—if she escalates so I escalate and we both get meaner and tougher and fiercer, we could destroy each other.

That’s not going to save the race of dragons from extinction.

Besides which, if Nia feels threatened, of course she’s going to defend herself any way she can, which means not necessarily fighting fair.

So the most effective way to end this fight is for one of us to get vulnerable, and since I’m the biggest and strongest, I can make the biggest difference by dropping my defenses.

All my defenses.

We roll to a stop against a tree and I spring back, out of reach of Nia’s claws, and turn human again. Yes, I’m vulnerable. Crazy vulnerable. Barefoot and almost naked kind of vulnerable. Nia could incinerate me in a breath, kill me with a single slash of her talons.

But she’s a dragon, and dragons are noble creatures. So I trust, not too insanely, that she won’t hurt me—not much, not on purpose. There’s something about vulnerability that elicits caution.

I’m panting from the effort of fighting her, and I’m staring at her face—my scarlet eyes locked on her flame-colored irises. Should she give any hint that she’s about to take a swipe at me or blow another blast of flames my way, I’ll be ready. I have quick reflexes, and can wrap my fireproof wings around myself more quickly that she can blow fire (fire-blowing takes a second—there’s a bit of prep work that goes on in the back of the throat, and you have to open your mouth wide before you actually blow, so the target always gets a brief warning).

I’m watching her.

Poised.

Prepared.

Her eyes narrow to slits watching me. She doesn’t nearly trust me. Of course not—she’s used to Eudora, who’s cunning and devious on top of being evil.

And I think Nia’s upset with me for foiling her escape, or suicide, or whatever you want to call it. But will she let that offense prompt her into reactionary behavior? Or will she rise above?

In some ways, this is my test. Will she respect that I am human, or will she take advantage of it? Eudora would have destroyed me by now. Nia has been working for Eudora, but I like to believe she’s a very different dragon.

Her gaze doesn’t leave mine as she slowly rises to standing. And then she turns into a human, too, and instantly begins lecturing me.

“You have no idea what you’re doing. Go back. Go back, now, while you still can.”

“Go back, where?”

“Anywhere,” she gestures widely as though to shoo me away. “Just get away from me. And hurry. Or let me go on my way, and you stay. I don’t care which.”

“I’m not letting you run.” I take a step closer to her. “It was working. Our escape plan was working. You just have to trust—”

“For how long will it work?” Nia cuts me off. “The mamluki will not stop hunting me. They will come in ever-greater numbers. We will have to run from them forever.”

“Not forever. There has to be a way to defeat them. We’re dragons. We’re stronger. We’re smarter.”

“You’re not smarter than the white witch who made them. She is consumed with her plans, always working, night and day—”

“We’ve defeated her before.”

“You have?” Nia looked sincerely surprised, then doubtful. But at least she’s willing to listen. For this moment, at least, she’s no longer running. “Then why is she still alive?”

“She used to be a dragon. Did she tell you that? My mother changed her into a human, only human.”

“How?”

“By turning her evil plan against her. We can do that, too—we can turn these mamluki against themselves—” Can I, the kid who usually breaks things, defeat the yagi? First things first, I have to keep Nia from handing herself over to them.

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. But we’ll think of something. We just have to stay ahead of them long enough to think of something.” I try to look confident, even if I have my own doubts. Can we really outrun the yagi and defeat Eudora? It might be nearly impossible, but Nia won’t have any shot at all if she doesn’t survive the night.

“Sorry, but that’s not enough.” Nia hardly has the words out when she leaps upward, changing into a dragon.

Instantly, I realize she let me get my guard down, let me think she was actually listening to me. She did that on purpose, didn’t she? I’d love her for her wiliness if it didn’t endanger her life.

Just as instantly, I leap into dragon form after her. We no more than clear the treetops when I tackle her again.

I simply cannot let her get any closer to the path on the oncoming yagi. They could be upon us any moment—we’ll encounter them even sooner if Nia rushes headlong into their midst.

This time, she’s expecting my tackle, anticipating the fight.

She’s ready and ruthless, and a lot harder to bring down.

Which is probably why, after struggling futilely for several minutes, we’re still in the air, glowing brightly and spouting fire, when Ram barrels into us and joins the fray.

My relief at his arrival is quickly replaced by the realization that he’s not necessarily on my side. True, he’s trying to bring us both down to the ground. That much is helpful. But judging from his scraping claws and searing fire blasts that leave my delicate underbelly smarting, he’s mad at me for some reason.

Why? If I hadn’t gone after Nia, she’d be dead by now, or on her way back to Eudora’s prison.

Once it’s apparent Ram has a firm enough hold on Nia that she’s not going to get away, I drop to the ground, stand back from the range of their fire and Ram’s talons, and I turn into a human again.

Ram hauls Nia to the ground in a tussle, turning human only after she does.

I run to his side to assist him should Nia once again attempt to escape.

“What were you thinking?” He yells at me, his expression livid. “You thought you could sneak away while I was sleeping? You thought you could run away with her?”

“I wasn’t running away with her!” I’m about to point out that she’d have escaped us both if I hadn’t stayed awake and gone after her, but Ram is shouting, not listening.

“Kidnapping her, then? You thought you could steal the woman away from me?”

“I didn’t steal her!”

“Did you go with him willingly?” Ram asks Nia.

“No!” She looks appalled.

Ram drops her hand and tackles me, changing into a dragon as he pins me to the ground.

I’d like to stay in human form so I can explain what happened. There’s no explaining anything in dragon form, but Ram gives me no choice. Vulnerability is insufficient armor when my brother’s in a jealous rage, as now. He thinks I kidnapped Nia away from him? Does he not trust me at all? I know we’re competing for the same woman’s affections, but we were brothers first.

I use the momentum of my dragon change to shove him back, off of me. At the same time, I’m worried that Nia will use this as an opportunity to get away.

For one stunned instant she’s standing there, still human, looking torn and guilty (she’s got to know it’s her fault Ram turned on me, besides which she knows we’re only fighting at all because she sneaked away in the first place). But then she lifts her face to the sky in a mournful, tragic sort of way, and changes into a dragon again, leaping away in the direction of her previous escape.

Ram’s got his head down, horns pointed at my chest (our underbelly armor is slightly softer than the rest of our scales. It’s still bulletproof, but it can be pierced by dragon horns, talons, or tail spikes). I roll to the side, spring into the air, and take off past him, flying after Nia as quickly as I can.

And Ram is after me, nearly upon me, when he sees that Nia has escaped again.

Now we’re both flying after her, and she’s diving down the mountainside to the north but mostly west, where the sun is low in the sky, a blinding haze of gold that strikes her scales as though igniting them.

And beyond, filling the valley, streaming toward us in uncountable numbers, black like an oil spill and every bit as devastating, their stink rising up to choke us, the yagi.