Doravan raced through the camp, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Everyone, wake up! Princess! Shen’al! The Hoarder is comi–!”

  An avalanche of fire rained from the sky. Horses neighed, and the lucky ones sprang away into the darkness. Soldiers barked orders and questions. Doravan stared, horrified, as the fire engulfed an entire line of tents.

  Amalla grabbed his arm. “Get on my horse!”

  Trembling, Doravan mounted behind Amalla. She dug her heels in, and the horse galloped away from the doomed caravan. The princess began muttering furiously under her breath. Doravan turned and caught a look at the Hoarder. His stomach dropped.

  The dragon dipped in and out of the firelight. Ka’ran’ere’geth was black, so he was difficult to see even when illuminated. Soldiers threw spears and fired arrows, but it was like attacking a mountain. A bolt of lightning cut through the sky, striking the great dragon. Doravan thought that meant a storm was coming, but he heard no thunder, and he felt no rain.

  Another bolt of lightning fell on the camp. “Where is Eremis?” Doravan asked.

  Amalla didn’t answer.

  They rode all through the rest of the night, only stopping to let the horse rest. There was no water in The Ganton, so Amalla wanted to press on.

  “What happened last night?” Amalla asked while they were letting the horse catch his breath.

  “I only know about the Hoarder.” Doravan shuffled through his provisions for the tenth time, thinking he could find something for the horse to eat or drink. “I don’t know where that lightning came from, and I don’t know if anyone else survived.” His eyes widened. “What if … Eremis didn’t make it?”

  Amalla shook her head. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

  A powerful whoosh filled the air above them, and Doravan looked up. He sighed with relief; it was Shen’al.

  “Where were you?!” He snorted smoke at Doravan. “I was looking all over The Ganton for you!”

  Doravan shrugged. He didn’t want to care that Shen’al was worried about him; deeply, he was a little touched. “The Hoarder found us last night. Amalla and I had to leave.”

  “The Hoarder?” Shen’al frowned. “It was too dark for you to even travel. How did he find you?”

  “His ears, probably,” Doravan responded dryly.

  Shen’al didn’t seem convinced. “You were all sleeping.”

  Doravan shrugged. “How far can a Southern dragon hear?”

  Shen’al looked at Amalla. “Did the king get away?”

  Amalla stared at the ground. “We have not heard from him, and we did not see him escape. For all we know, he didn’t survive the attack, or only lived long enough to collapse from exhaustion somewhere in The Ganton.”

  Shen’al straightened. “You get as close to Shyyda as you can. I’m going to look for Eremis.” He spread his wings. “If we can’t find him, then you are the new queen of Mengor, Your Highness.”

  Amalla sighed. “Does that even matter right now?”

  Shen’al leaped into the sky and vanished in a flash of silver. Amalla and Doravan mounted her horse. They could see a tiny patch of green on the distant horizon; Shyyda was finally close.

  But the malnourished, exhausted horse was slow. Even at his fastest pace, their hope on the distant horizon didn’t seem to get any closer, and he had to rest more and more often.

  Doravan didn’t want to talk about it. He steeled his fears against the situation; worrying about not making progress wouldn’t fix the problem. He kept looking for Shen’al, but he didn’t see any signs of the dragon. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Shen’al to find Eremis or not. If Eremis was gone, it might make his coup easier, or eradicate it as a necessary step altogether.

  Logically, he should have wished Eremis dead. He was a ridiculous king and an unfit ruler; Doravan could repair the infrastructure and policies of Mengor, make it so no one starved again and the kingdom was safe from the Hoarder. But something emotional, irrational, intangible, stirred in him while he clung to Amalla.

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  Caring about Eremis for Amalla’s sake sounded useless and nauseating, but he felt it anyway.

  “We’re never going to make it,” Amalla said through gritted teeth. Her horse slowed to a stop yet again. She leaped from the saddle, grabbed her gelding’s reins, and yanked. The horse snorted, instincts battling his training. Doravan dismounted and grabbed Amalla’s shoulders.

  “Princess. Stop.” She gave him a stone cold glare. He stepped back, shocked by the sheer aggression in her eyes.

  That aggression quickly melted into despair, and Amalla collapsed to the ashy ground.

  “My brother is dead,” she sobbed. “My horse is dying. We are dying.”

  Doravan knelt by her side, unsure how to comfort her. “Well … we are not dying yet. I still have some hard bread and dried meat in my sack.”

  She scowled at him, but the scowl did not last. She slumped into his chest, and her sobs continued.

  Doravan wrapped his arms around her. He had never seen her as vulnerable and fragile before, but right now she was a child in a world of monsters.

  All she had was him.

  A massive shadow passed over Doravan, and he looked up. He didn’t know whether to breathe with relief or yell at the silver dragon that landed in front of him.

  “Shen’al, where have you been?” He somehow kept his voice level.

  Amalla whipped around. When she saw the dragon, she raced to him and embraced him. Jealousy flicked Doravan’s heart, and he shooed the emotion away.

  “I’m sorry, my queen,” the dragon said. “I couldn’t find your brother. But … I found this.” Shen’al dropped a golden circlet with a solitary white stone in the middle.

  Amalla gasped and grabbed the circlet. Doravan glanced at it, expecting to see blood from some kind of struggle, but the circlet was clean.

  “I’m sorry, Amalla. There’s no chance he survived. I’m sure the Hoarder has–,” Shen’al shook his head and didn’t finish his sentence.

  Amalla sank to her knees, sniffling gently. Doravan took a respectful step back, not sure what to do to comfort her. He let her kneel there for what felt like an hour before she stood.

  “We will mourn him when we return to Mengor. For now, we need food and rest.”

  Shen’al lowered his neck. “I can take you to Shyyda, if Doravan will get over his effeminate fainting and let me fly you there.”

  Amalla turned to Doravan, her expression pleading.

  Doravan sighed heavily and shouldered his provisions. He wondered how far he would let Amalla push him, if she would ever make him give up his ultimate goal.

  No. Never that. Anything up to that.

  “Just this once, for the princess.” He shook his head. “Queen. Of Mengor.” He bowed to her.

  She smiled gratefully and climbed onto Shen’al’s neck.

  “Won’t you be safer in his claws?” Doravan clambered into Shen’al’s outstretched fingers and clung to one as though his life depended on it. Which it did.

  Amalla stroked the dragon’s neck gratefully. “Well, he has to carry my horse, doesn’t he?”

  “I would need both claws for that, Your Majesty.”

  “I get it!” Doravan snapped. He leaped out of Shen’al’s hand and mounted behind Amalla. Shen’al’s scales were smooth like metal. He didn’t have a saddle, and he just knew he was going to slip and tumble to a gory death. “If I fall off and die, I’m coming to haunt and eliminate both of you.”

  Amalla laughed, although it was half-hearted, like she was still focused on her shock. Shen’al laughed too, his voice rumbling through his large chest.

  “You won’t fall. I have many places to hold on.” He reared up on his hind legs. Doravan sucked in a breath and grabbed one of the massive spines protruding from Shen’al’s back. The dragon grabbed the horse with both claws and lifted into the sky.

  Doravan groaned as they ascended, and empty bile rose in his throat. He pinned his hand to his face.

  “Come on, Doravan.” Amalla smirked at him. “It’s like riding a horse.”

  He shook his head and closed his eyes. Being unable to see didn’t make the situation perfect, but it made him feel a little less miserable. Thankfully, the flight was over before he anticipated it would be. He promptly ran into a rosebush to vomit.

  “Doravan,” Amalla hissed. “We are right in front of the castle.”

  Doravan stumbled out from the bush. “I apologize that my uncontrollable bodily processes are not suited to your decorum tastes, Your Majesty.” He bowed, clumsy with sickness. He stumbled like a new sailor.

  “Strangers!” a soldier yelled. “Identify yourselves, or we will shoot!”

  “I am Amalla, the Princess of Mengor! This is the apprentice to our Keeper of the Treasury, and this is his dragon companion.”

  “Leave now, Princess of Mengor! You are not welcome here!”

  Flight forgotten, Doravan peered up at the soldier at the top of the red granite battlement. “What are you talking about?” Doravan spread his arms. “We are here for the Conqueror’s Feast! Or has it already begun?”

  “Did you not just cross The Ganton?” The soldier gestured beyond his borders. “There will be no feast! We are preparing our kingdom for an attack against the Hoarder!”