Carrie Vaughn - Voices of Dragons

Kay stood for a long time wondering what she should say. Maybe she should just leave her mother alone. But she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do that to her mother.

“I’m going,” she said.

Mom looked at her like she hadn’t understood.

“He probably won’t even be there, so I’ll be back in a couple of hours, I think,” Kay continued. “I won’t go far, I promise. Just to our usual spot across the border. I wouldn’t know where else to go anyway.”

Then Mom started to get up, setting aside coffee mug and blanket. “I should go with you. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Kay held up a hand to stop her. “No, Mom. It’s okay. I can do this.”

The look of anguish on Mom’s face was as bad as Kay had ever seen it. Like the world was falling apart all over again.

“Mom, I’ll be careful.”

“At least let me drive you there.” She went for her coat across the arm of the sofa and her purse on the dining room table.

Kay started to argue, then didn’t, because it would be easier just to let her mother drive her. And if it made Mom feel better, well, it didn’t cost Kay anything.

Kind of nice, Kay thought, not having to worry about hiding the Jeep.

During the drive, the silence between them was delicate, like handling well-packed explosives. As long as they took care, nothing would blow up.

They drove past the trailhead to the dirt service road, until the trees blocked them. Mom stopped the car, but kept her hands on the wheel and stared into the forest.

“I’m almost jealous,” she said, donning a tight smile. “I’ve always wanted to meet one of them. Your grandfather was part of the delegation that negotiated the Silver River Treaty. Did you know that?”

Kay had, but didn’t know much more than that. Rough details, an old black-and-white photo in the family album. It was a group photo taken outside Silver River, with the northern mountains as a backdrop. Her grandfather was one of the young men in a suit standing to the side, in the crowd surrounding the generals and ambassadors who’d made up the core of the delegation. He’d died when she was too young to really remember him.

“He was just a junior assistant secretary of some sort. But he was there. He met them. And then they were just…gone. I think he’s part of why I got into this line of work, just to be close. As close as I could.”

Maybe, if this all worked out, Kay could bring her mother to meet Artegal. Kay hoped she didn’t ask for that now. Kay just wanted to get the car ride over with. She wanted to get out to the woods, to their spot, confirm that Artegal wasn’t there, and then tell Branigan this wouldn’t work.

“I’ll try to hurry up so you won’t have to wait long,” Kay said.

Mom leaned toward her—fell, almost—and caught Kay up in a tight hug. “Leave your phone on. Call me if you need anything, if anything happens. Though they’re probably listening in on our phones now,” she said with a short laugh.

“What?” Kay said in a panic.

“Never mind, don’t worry about it.” But Kay couldn’t not worry. She couldn’t say anything now without thinking about Branigan listening in. Spying on her . Mom said, “If you’re not back in an hour and you don’t call, I’m coming after you.”

Kay wanted to argue, but strangely, the idea comforted her. She couldn’t just vanish. “Okay.”

She slid out of the car and started into the woods without looking back. She could feel her mother watching her.

Branigan and the others assumed she’d be able to contact Artegal as easily as calling him. That wouldn’t work, so she had to come up with another plan. Start a bonfire and send smoke signals? That would attract attention—but probably not Artegal. That was exactly what she needed, to explain herself to a horde of strange dragons.

Even the dragons who’d been coming to the border didn’t come to this section, the tumbling stream, the climbing rocks, the narrow glen. So, she was going to leave him a note. She’d already written it out and would tack it to a tree in the place where they’d first met, setting a meeting date for the weekend. She assumed he would come here, if he could. Just to check. She was guessing—hoping—that his people hadn’t drafted him for their war or had restricted him or started watching him so he couldn’t travel. Any of a million things could happen that would keep him from coming here. Part of her hoped he did stay away.

When the news carried footage of dragons soaring over other cities, racing away like rockets after they’d started fires, she studied them, searching for the lithe, slate gray and silver form of Artegal. She hadn’t seen him yet.

She came to the creek and followed it upstream to the place where Artegal had fished her out that first day. The creek was rimed with melting ice, and the log bridge was still there.

So was Artegal, a gray mound settled among the trees, wings tucked to his side, tail wrapped around him. He faced the creek, his neck raised, so he could watch the forest on the other side with those deep onyx eyes.

She stopped and stared for what seemed like a long time.

He lowered his head and blew a steaming breath.

“I’ve been waiting,” he said.

She almost hated to cross the border again, now that they knew about her and were watching. But she did, running straight across the log before she could change her mind. Artegal lowered his head so she wouldn’t have to crane her neck back to see him. It felt as if years had passed, and she didn’t know what to say. She’d wanted just to leave the note, like calling someone specifically to leave a message rather than talk to them. But she was so relieved to see him. She had so much to tell him—so much to ask about what had happened, what the dragons were doing. Her throat closed; she could hardly breathe.

“Are you well?” he asked. The first thing he’d ever said to her, months ago. What a strange question now.

“No,” she said, and started crying. Stumbling almost, she sat on the ground and buried her face in her arms. All this week, she hadn’t cried. It came out now, all at once. Each time she tried to stop, to pull herself together, to talk to him, she choked, and the crying started all over again.

She felt a warm breeze, air smelling of iron and embers. Artegal hovered over her, a worried purr sounding deep in his throat.

“So much has happened,” she said, blubbering the words.

“Yes.”

She scrubbed her face. They had to talk, and they didn’t have much time before her mother started worrying.

“They know about us,” she said. “They—the military—got pictures, and they were looking, and I finally just came out and told them because, because…”

“Because of the attack. The fire,” he said calmly. Not that he was ever anything but calm.

“Are you okay?” she said. She realized she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep secrets anymore, and she couldn’t be a spy. The only way she could get the information was to come out and ask him what Branigan wanted to know, and then tell Artegal that the military wanted the information.

He didn’t answer right away. Kay’s heart sped up. She wondered if things would ever be the same after all this, if they would ever fly again. Already the few times they’d flown together seemed like a memory from another life.

“Some elders say this was inevitable. That people and dragons could never live together. That war is inevitable.” The words sounded like an avalanche in his throat. “Some want to talk. But they are afraid.”

“I can’t imagine you ever being afraid of us,” she said, looking up at him, as large as a bus, so powerful. “That’s why the military’s doing what it’s doing, because it’s afraid of you . They think they have to do this, before you do.”