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Chapter 2

W
ES SLAMMED HIS HEAD ON T
HE CEILING
of the Mustang, and when he opened his eyes, the racetrack was gone.

Murky dark water littered with ziggurats of trash the size of icebergs filled his vision. A burnt battle cruiser slowly sank into the waves while a grayhawk drone hovered in the sky. When he blinked again, the roar of a car engine pounded in his ears, closing in fast from behind. A white Lamborghini slid past his side mirror, sending a drift of snow over his windshield, blocking his sight.

He turned the wheel sharply to clear his windshield, and when he blinked, there it was again: the churning waves and sinking ships. But now he saw something else as well—a great black silhouette with wings and a tail, soaring through the gray sky, breathing fire.

Another bump, and Wes was back in the race, past the bend and into the straightaway. If one of the other drivers was going to pass him, now was the time. They would approach from the inside and try to force him toward one of the outer lanes.
Fine. Let them.
He wasn't trying to win the race, after all. Winning was the last thing he wanted to do. Mostly, he just wanted to stay alive.

Screaming around the turn with the track opening up before him, Wes didn't have to blink this time to see the bow of the drone ship again, and the creature in the air. And this time he saw
her.

Nat on her drakon, wielding a sword, looking like some kind of god, like a story from a fairy tale, like a hero from the book of legends, her long dark hair streaming like a ribbon in the sky.

Nat!

Wes?

She was looking right back at him, her green tiger eyes flashing in shock and joy.

Nat!

But just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Was it a memory? But Nat looked different—her hair was longer, and she was wearing different clothes. Armor? He could have sworn she was wearing a suit of leather and black chain mail, similar to the black scales of her drakon. It had to be a dream.

But it
felt
so real.

And his feelings for her were as real as the day they'd said good-bye.

He'd done what he promised. He'd taken her out of New Vegas, across the ruined Pacific to the Blue, her home. Together they survived slavers and traitors, chaos and death. Wes had taken her right to the gate of Arem, where she and her drakon had turned the entire Pacific fleet into ash in order to defend their homeland.

An Aston Martin crashed against him with a thunderous crack, sending his car spinning, and Wes quickly refocused on the track. He flew ahead of a pair of black Ferraris, the white Lamborghini close behind. Good. He would lead them for a few laps, before letting them overtake him. The guys in the exotic cars were the ones who were supposed to win, paying top dollar for the privilege. Execs from as far as Xian and New Kong came to the New Vegas track for a chance to race in the last international no-rules speedway. Drivers like Wes were part of the entertainment, to lend authenticity to the experience; he gave them someone to pass, to beat, to outrun, someone to splash with a cloud of snow, someone to send spiraling into the snowbanks. If he made the mistake of actually winning the race, he wouldn't get paid. It was a risky business, driving cars, causing accidents, but it was the only work he could find. He was already blacklisted by a few of the casino bosses for refusing to torch a rival hotel, and then by the military for refusing to patrol the black waters.

His thoughts drifted back to Nat. She had
looked
at him. She had seen him. Her presence made him feel warm for a moment, the way it had on the slavers' ship, when she had kept them both alive. He hadn't thought to question it before, but there was no way they would have survived the subzero weather if one of them hadn't been made of drakonflame.

But she wasn't here anymore. He was alone and the car was cold. The heater on the '77 Mustang didn't work. They'd let him borrow an old heat suit for the race, but the jacket wasn't working, and he was so cold, he could hardly keep his hands on the wheel.

Maybe it was the cold that made him think about her. He'd left Nat at the door to the Blue, left her behind, left her to fight her battles alone. He'd left her to find his sister, Eliza. The girl the RSA had stolen as a child. Eliza was family; Eliza was blood. It had been months since he'd said good-bye to Nat, and during that time he had searched for Eliza. There had been leads here and there, but none of them had led to his sister.

He shivered.

Wes pushed Nat from his thoughts.

The road ahead was open, the track clear. Black pavement stretched in front of him. Wes opened up the gas and floored it, exhilarated from the speed and adrenaline. As he rounded the turn, he saw a mechanic in an orange heat suit waving the checkered flag to signal the end of the race. The finish line was near.

But there was no car in front of him.

Ice. I hadn't meant to do that.

He was about to win the race. He'd let his memory of Nat distract him, and now he was still ahead of the other drivers. His opponents—the heat elite, the global execs and the RSA stooges, the casino lords and gangsters, the rich boys from the heated dome cities—were so inept at driving that he had won without even trying.

Godfreezeit!
he cursed, and Wes didn't like cursing. His mother had taught him better. He needed to lose, and he needed to lose now. If he won the race, he wouldn't get paid—not one freezing watt. Those were the rules.

The white Lamborghini flew past him, sending a shower of snow against his windshield once again.
Cretin.
Wes let off the gas a little—he couldn't be too obvious—but he needed to get out of the race and he needed to do it soon. He slammed the brake and his car spun, sideswiping the Lamborghini. Two more cars came flying around the bend, the pair of black Ferraris turning sharply to avoid Wes and the Lamborghini as they careened wildly across the track. But their efforts came to no avail, as the pair rolled over each other and crashed into the embankment. A blue Porsche ran past, gunning to win, but it was too late, and it, too, collided with the Mustang in a flash of blue and a burst of snow. As Wes finally spun to a halt, a black Corvette shrieked across the finish line.

The race was over.

Wes's car skidded into the off-road portion of the track, crashing into a flimsy barrier with an awkward bang. He pushed himself out through the driver's window and fell onto the fresh powder, laughing a little, relishing the look of the other drivers, especially that icehole in the Lamborghini. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed. Ruining the race for some heatbag was the closest thing Wes had to enjoyment, but his laughter faded quickly. The driver of the white Lamborghini was already running toward the control box, complaining to the track manager about Wes's last-minute maneuver.

Wes shook the snow from his hair. It didn't matter. He had done what was required of him. He would get paid. He would eat tonight.

His back was sore from the impact; the injuries hurt more than he let on. Lately the ice had been getting to him. He felt it in his joints every morning and when he lay awake at night, dreaming of the ocean, his every muscle aching, his mind unable to rest.

Nat was out there somewhere. The nets were full of stories of ocean attacks and images of the creature that was systematically destroying the RSA's armada. First the entire Pacific fleet, then the Atlantic cruisers; now a newly formed battalion of grayhawks and supercarriers was rumored to be headed to New Pangaea to meet the monster head-on. Was that what he'd seen? Was that where she was?

He'd left Nat because he had to, but now he wasn't so certain. She was all alone, one drakonrydder against many drones. He hadn't seen any backup, no sylvan archers, no warriors on horseback. Just Nat and her drakon against the might of the RSA.

Wes pushed his way through the snow, avoiding the other drivers, the victor as well as the losers. He was done for the night. His account would register the watts in a few minutes. When the money arrived, he'd have enough heat for a meal, a drink, maybe two; maybe he'd even be able to share that meal. The wind rose up, the icy breeze rattling his bones, making him shiver. He was only sixteen but was shaking like a frail old man. He was shivering so hard, he hardly noticed the buzzing in his pocket.

When he finally heard the low rumble, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a stolen satellite phone. A text flickered on the screen, green letters glowing on the black display. Wes read the message twice, not quite believing what he was reading.

It was from Shakes. His best friend. His right-hand man. It said:

FOUND ELIZA

Wes stuffed the phone back into his pocket, hurrying from the track, feeling hope spark in his heart again, as warm and bright as drakonfire.

Chapter 3

T
HE GRAYHAW
K DISAPPEARED BACK
into the clouds before the drakonflame could reach it, and Nat shook Wes's warm brown eyes from her thoughts.

Riding high above the ocean, she looked down at the islands below, a stony archipelago covered in blankets of snow and dotted with bursts of bright green foliage. She flew closer to the water, looking for the grayhawk that had chased her from the gorge, but it was nowhere to be found. The drone remained hidden in the misty fog.

As she and her drakon flew closer to land, Nat could see the trees more clearly, hardy brown trunks sprouting from the frost-covered earth, their leafy branches reaching heavenward. Liannan, the sylph who'd guided them to the Blue, told them that one day its magic would cover the world. Here, at the bottom of New Pangaea, along the coasts of the Roo Islands, at the gate of Afal, the deep green forests of the earth were returning, and life was spreading across the black waters once more.

This is what I fight for,
Nat thought, seeing the forest in all its beauty.
The land I love.
The words made her fly faster, as if only the speed itself could keep her from the thought she knew would be next.
Is that all you love? The land?
Nat tightened her grip, forcing herself to focus only on what lay ahead of her—just as she always had.

And besides, what lay ahead of her was a truly staggering sight. Closer and closer they came, diving near the treetops, the smell of the sap pungent and heady, the scent of flowers wafting in the air. Nat tried not to let the forest distract her. The drone was still out there, hiding in the fog, waiting. She couldn't let her guard down, even for a moment, even to see this forest, growing where nothing had lived for a century.

When the ice and the floods came, when the world ended and almost everyone and everything died, she had thought these things were lost forever, that vast swaths of the world were too irradiated, the soil too poisoned for any greenery to grow again. But somehow, the Blue was changing everything. The earth was coming back to life. How precious it was: wildflowers and their many-colored blossoms rich with buzzing insects, butterflies flitting while ladybugs crawled. Nat wanted to stop, to smell and touch everything, almost worried the forest would vanish if she didn't. She feared it was nothing but a mirage, like the image of Wes she had just seen, that her mind was soothing her with things she wanted to see. That, like Wes, it would disappear if she blinked or turned away. But it didn't, and as they flew farther and farther, above rich and verdant acres of forest, Nat stopped worrying.

Or so she told herself.

Letting the drakon fly even lower, Nat marveled at the wide trunks and heavy branches of the trees, at the leafy canopies that soared above her. The trees were over eighty feet tall and would normally have taken a century to grow to this height. Only the power of the Blue could have accomplished this feat in such a short time. Vallonis and its magic was transforming the landscape, renewing what was destroyed.

Nat herself felt renewed in its presence.

During these past months, the days had passed like minutes. The rage and pain, the hurt that had once filled her heart was gone. She had believed she couldn't love, couldn't feel, that she was broken. But she no longer suffered from that hollow feeling of emptiness. In its place she felt a warm, deep sense of fulfillment. She was complete. She had lived half awake, only half alive until she found her drakon. But now she was whole. Ready to live, to fight, to face whatever came next.

She was the last remaining Guardian of the Blue, the first and last drakonrydder of the third age of Vallonis.

Nat inhaled deeply, feeling a tingle from the life all around her.
When the war is over, when the Blue is safe, I will come back here.
Deep in her heart, she knew that her dearest hope was that she would not return alone.

But there was no more time to dream.

As quickly as it had disappeared, it returned. The grayhawk had found her.

And now there were two of them.

Let them come.
As the gray-winged planes streaked above the forest, their engines as silent as bird's wings, great gray harbingers of doom and death, her drakon filled the sky with fire, turning the clouds into vapor and the air into flame.

A drone crashed to the earth, burning, dying.
One more,
thought Nat,
one more drone to defeat and then we can rest.

But Drakon Mainas was slow to move this time, the months of battle finally taking their toll on the great beast.
So many wasps,
she thought.
Too many.
Soon it would rest; soon
they
would rest, she soothed. Just one last push. One more attack.

Breathe,
she told her drakon.
Breathe and let's burn this thing and go home.

No fire came. The last grayhawk set its sights on them, sent its rockets arcing into the air, and she felt a dozen bullets tear through the drakon's hide. Nat screamed, feeling as if her whole body were tearing open as the iron pierced the drakon's scales. Each shard stabbed at her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs, the pain nearly knocking her from her mount.

Breathe,
she told herself.
Breathe.

Struggling against the pain that consumed them both, Nat inhaled as deeply as she could, felt the fire burning inside and out, and before the drone could circle back to fire at them again, she unleashed the drakonfire, bathing the great gray warbird in a pillar of flame that turned the entire body of the drone into a red, glowing cylinder. She watched as the cylinder bent and collapsed, hurtling toward the granite cliffs, shattering into a thousand pieces as it struck the rocks.

They did it. They destroyed the latest battalion as completely as the ones before it. The RSA would have other resources, of course—who knew how many more in its great armada were hidden in the frozen oceans of the world.

But for now, they had won.

Nat's heart was racing as she and her drakon rose once more into the clouds. The sound of the crash reverberated across the island valley. She would bring the news to the Council's Messenger, to tell the Queen that the land was safe once more.

Home now,
she urged.
Home and sleep.

We will have time enough to celebrate.

A sudden strange rumbling shook the air around them. That was no warbird. That was no grayhawk.
What is that?
Nat gripped the reins tightly, waiting, uncertain, and the drakon hovered, flapping its giant wings, remaining in place.

Let's get out of here,
Nat told her drakon, but before they could move, a black cloud engulfed them, piercing the drakon with shards of hot iron. They'd been hit with a new weapon, Nat realized. They weren't bullets or missiles, and they were everywhere, painful, hot, and stinging with dangerous silver poison. The drakon moved its body to shield Nat, to protect her from the iron rain, as the iron daggers tore at its hide, searing through scale and armor into the soft flesh of the great beast, drawing rivers of blood.

The pain was too much to bear and they fell, crashing into the earth, the drakon beating its wings to cushion the landing as they smacked into the trees and the rocks, hitting the ground in a clatter of pebbles and a cloud of smoke.

Nat fell from her seat, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that her drakon was weeping, it burned with such pain, and her own face was wet with tears. She felt its pain in her own body, in her own soul, and it was intolerable.

Her drakon was dying. She could feel its pain, its terror, as the iron worked its way into its flesh, into its very spirit, corrupting and destroying with its silver poison.

She screamed and Drakon Mainas rumbled, its voice cutting through the pain.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

What is happening?

You must calm yourself.

Nat took a deep breath and slowed her heart.

Better.

You are hurt. Make it stop.

I cannot. We must separate.

No.

It is the only way to survive. Listen. I will go deep into the earth, deep into the Blue. I will be safe there and the pain will abate for both of us until I am healed.

Already it was digging into the sand, its talons scraping the ground, creating a deep and dark hole.

A tomb. Nat shuddered. A burial site.

Do not let cowardly thoughts overcome you,
her drakon thundered.
You must return to Vallonis whole and warn them of this magic that is in our enemy's hands. GO!

Then the ground opened up, and her drakon disappeared into its depths.

Nat sat still for a moment, exhausted and shaking from the battle, and now from the sudden separation. She was incomplete again, more alone than ever, especially after having known and lived otherwise.

She tried calling to Mainas, but the drakon did not answer.

Where once it was buried in the ocean, now it was underneath the ground itself.

There was nothing to be done.

Nat picked herself up, dusted herself off, and walked toward the gateway hidden deep in the forest.

Home and sleep. Just not the way she'd planned.