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Chapter 1: Liz eased the door closed behind her. She clicked the lock into place, took off her shoes, and tiptoed toward the stairs. At this hour, Dad would be in his workshop, but Liz wasn’t going to take any chances. She placed a gentle foot onto the first step and waited to see if its groan would give her away. Mercifully, the old house obeyed her unspoken command to remain silent. She gripped one hand around the railing and began her ascent. She just needed to make it into her room, and she’d be in the clear. Dad wouldn’t see – “Liz!?” Dad’s voice stopped Liz in her tracks. She peered over the railing, down the hallway, and toward the kitchen. Dad was still dressed for work, wearing a lab coat, a buttoned shirt, and a tie so loose, Liz wondered why he bothered wearing it. He held a half-eaten sandwich up to his lips before dropping it to the floor. How could she have forgotten? She had the worst luck imaginable. “Liz!” Dad shouted again, sprinting down the corridor. Liz considered running up the stairs, but she knew the futility in attempting an escape. Her shoulders sagged, and she hopped off the steps. Liz held up a hand to slow her father’s approach. “Dad, it’s not as bad as it –” Liz winced and sucked in air as Dad’s palms touched the sides of her face. A quick burst of pain arced across her cheek while Dad inspected her right eye. “What happened?” Dad asked, moving Liz’s head back and forth. “Are you okay? Lord, your eye is practically closed shut.” “I’m fine.” Liz pressed a palm against Dad’s chest, hoping against reason that would keep him at bay. “I fell on my way off the bus. It’s nothing.” Dad scoffed. “Nothing?” He took a step back, planting hands on hips. “You expect me to believe you fell off the bus and landed on your eye?” He leaned closer. “And that your fall created a perfectly fist-shaped mark?” “Dad, I…” Dad steeled his jaw and pointed behind him. “Kitchen! Now!” *** “Thanks,” Dad said into his phone. He hung up and placed the phone on the kitchen table. He threw his lab coat over the back of one chair and tossed his tie onto the seat of another. “How’s the eye?” “Better.” Liz removed the bag of frozen peas. The world worked its way back into view on her right side. “Good.” Dad walked over and examined Liz’s face again. “The swelling is going down.” The oven beeped and drew Dad’s attention away from her. “Stay seated, young lady. If I am to believe you, your balance is off today. I don’t want you tripping and cracking a rib.” He rolled up his sleeves and jogged over to the oven as a savory aroma filled the kitchen. Liz grimaced while he had his back turned to her. If she was quiet, he’d give up, and she could go upstairs to her room. Her plan might have worked if her stomach hadn’t betrayed her with an audible roar. “It sounds like someone can’t resist my cooking!” Dad chuckled as he set a plate in front of Liz. She took one whiff of the bubbling pizza, and her mouth watered in an instant. Liz huffed and turned her nose up at the plate. “Reheating the pizza I ordered last night is not cooking.” “I don’t know.” Dad took the seat next to hers. “Seems good to me!” He picked up his slice and chomped into it. Immediately, he spat out a molten glob of cheese and waved a hand over his protruding tongue. “So hot!” Drops of grease spilled onto his wrinkled dress pants. He gasped and helplessly dabbed the stained fabric with a napkin. Liz resisted the urge to laugh. “Aren’t you a doctor?” she mused. “Not too smart for a doctor though, are you?” “My degree is in astrophysics.” Dad took a long sip of water. “Not pizza-ology.” “That’s not a thing.” “How would you know? Are you a doctor?” Dad grinned before remembering he was supposed to be angry. His curling lips reversed course. “Don’t try to change the subject.” “Change from what?” Liz asked, raising her brows. She lifted her slice of pizza and made a show of blowing air onto it before taking a bite. Dad’s frown deepened. He pointed toward his phone. “That was Jane’s mom. Since I know getting the truth from you is like trying to pass light through a blackhole.” Liz narrowed her eyes. She hated that she understood his terrible analogy. He crossed his arms. “A fight Liz? Really?” “I didn’t start it!” Liz wanted to walk away from the table, but her empty stomach wouldn’t allow it. She took another bite. “That’s not what Jane told her mom.” “Jane is an ungrateful idiot!” Dad recoiled and nearly fell from his chair. “Jane is your best friend. You shouldn’t–” “Was my best friend,” Liz corrected. “I don’t have friends anymore.” Dad tossed his crust back onto his plate before pushing it away. He twisted in his chair to stare directly at Liz. She saw herself reflected in his bright blue eyes. Wow, she was a haggard mess. Her black curls frizzed in every direction, her blouse managed the rare feat of being more disheveled than Dad, and a massive welt on her right side marred her dimpled cheeks. Her reflection dulled as the sparkle faded from Dad’s gaze, and his shoulders dropped. He knew the truth in her words, but he fought against it anyway. “Honey, don’t say things you don’t mean.” “I do mean it! I stood up for Jane, and do you know what she did? She yelled at me! Said I embarrassed her. Can you believe that? Becky was harassing her, and as usual, being a spiteful bit–” Liz stopped herself as Dad’s eyes widened. “And of course, Phebie sided with Jane and made some snarky comment that I take things too seriously. Can you believe that? I just wanted to make Becky stop. Everyone knows Jane is too much of a coward to do it herself.” Dad shrugged. “Jane is shy. Nothing wrong with that. When I first met your mother –” “Don’t,” Liz said through gritted teeth. “Don’t start with this again.” Dad worked his jaw and ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. He looked behind Liz toward the family portrait on the back wall, and she could sense the dark cloud forming above his head. That cloud spewed a hailstorm of guilt onto Liz’s soul. She really was the worst daughter in the world. “Sorry honey,” Dad muttered under his breath. “But this isn’t like you.” He started counting her misdeeds, lifting an ink-stained finger with each accusation. “You stay in your room all night. You quit softball. Your grades are slipping. You and Jane haven’t talked in over a month.” He threw out his arms. “And now you’re getting into fights!” He sighed and pinched between his brows. “I spoke with your school’s counselor. She thinks you need to talk about it.” Liz shot up. Her guilt be damned, she wasn’t going to sit here for another second. “You talked with Donna!?” Dad remained seated, looking up at Liz with a concerned expression. Or was it pity? “Ms. Richards is worried about you. So am I. Honey, I know it’s been tough.” He placed a hand on his chest. “It’s been tough on me too. I just want to do anything I can to make you feel better.” “And what if I don’t want to feel better!?” Liz shouted. “Why wouldn’t you want that?” “You wouldn’t understand!” Liz wanted to say more. Wanted to ream him out. All she managed was a groan before stalking away. “Young lady…” “Shut up!” Liz yelled behind her shoulder. “I’m done talking with you.” She rounded the corner. “I – well, I never thought I’d have to do this, but I think I have to ground you,” Dad called out. He then whispered to himself, “How does that work?” Liz rolled her eyes. “It means we don’t speak for the rest of the night. No, scratch that. We don’t speak for the next week.” She reached the stairs just as the regret hit. Why was she acting this way? She couldn’t manage a single conversation without snapping. She needed to retreat into her room before she did any more damage to the people around her. She dashed upward, readying herself for a night huddled under the covers. She reached the second-floor landing, pulled out her phone, and – Why wasn’t her phone connected to the Internet? She opened her settings. The screen read, “No Wi-Fi signals found.” Liz moaned loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear before clomping back down the steps. She had to hand it to her father; he was good at getting under her skin. Dad sat in the same spot at the kitchen table with a smug grin. The plates and silverware had been replaced by an unplugged router and some sort of headset with wires sticking out of it. “I can’t believe you,” Liz said, walking back into the kitchen. “A little petty, don’t you think?” Dad gave an apologetic shrug. “Oh, most certainly. But grounded girls don’t get to have fun upstairs on their phone.” “Grounded woman,” Liz corrected, gripping the seat opposite her father. Her knuckles paled as she attempted to snap the wooden frame in half. All she managed to do was dig a dull pain into her palms. “Women don’t get into fist fights at school. Little girls do,” Dad said, then stuck out his tongue. And I’m the one acting like a child? – Liz thought. Liz took a deep breath before sitting down again. She looked around the room. A thin layer of dust covered every surface. Tumbleweeds of hair gathered in the corners. The tiled floor had lost its sheen to months of neglect. Except for a few kitchen appliances, nothing in here had been touched since – that night. The only noise left in this dying home was the hum of Dad’s equipment emanating from the basement. The door to Dad’s workshop was ajar, and Liz could just make out the glow of the computers inside. As she shifted her gaze back toward her father, she caught a glimpse of the shelf on the far side of the room. A portrait lay next to the tray with Dad’s keys. Three smiling faces stared back at Liz. A reminder of the last time she was happy. “I’m sorry Dad,” Liz said, feeling defeated. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” Dad pushed his chair closer to the table. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have.” He stared down at the tablecloth as if it held the solution to their insurmountable divide. “And I should have been more sensitive. I’m sorry too.” “Apology accepted,” Liz mumbled. Dad cupped a hand over his ear. “Sorry, what was that?” Liz returned that comment with a flat look. Her reaction tugged on Dad’s lips. Liz pointed toward the black box. “Can I have the router now?” “What year was I born?” Dad asked. Liz raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember.” “Good. So at least you know I wasn’t born yesterday.” He laughed at his own joke. “No router while you’re grounded.” “Seriously?” “Yes!” Dad patted the headset to his left. “But I can do you one better than those videos you watch all night.” He scooped up the device and moved toward Liz. “I know you love my gadgets.” I used to love your gadgets. When I was eight. – Liz decided to keep those comments to herself. Dad placed the device down. “Can you guess what it is?” “Dad…” Liz and her father used to play this game all the time when she was a kid. Dad would show off his latest invention, and a better version of Liz would be dazzled by her father’s handiwork. Even now, Liz could remember the joy of working together on a new project in the basement. When their minds were fully in sync, it felt like they could do anything. It felt like all was right in the world. But that was before. Before Liz realized her father wasn’t as perfect as she once thought. Before the daughter her father had idolized was long gone. “Liz?” Dad took the seat beside Liz. He reached out a hand and placed it on hers. She broke from her stupor and glanced into Dad’s eyes. A tiny speck of hope ran across his pupils. “I thought this could be fun. Maybe it could make you feel better...” What he didn’t have to say was how this would make him feel better too. Liz wasn’t sure if she succeeded in a believable smile, but the glow in Dad’s expression was a good sign. Creases formed beside his eyes as he slid the device toward her. She took a deep breath and leaned over to inspect the headset. It looked like a crown made from steel with sensors welded onto the inner part of the circle. Wires connected the different sensors together to form a kind of hairnet. A long cord extended out the back of the headpiece. Liz rubbed her chin. This was interesting. Were those neural modules? They were used to detect brainwaves. What were they transmitting? The device reminded her of Dad’s invention from last year. If she remembered correctly, it could make someone’s thoughts appear as text. How exactly did it work again? “Want me to give you the answer?” Dad asked, smiling. Liz held up a finger to silence him. The old Liz, which had remained buried deep within her being, slowly resurfaced. She loved a good puzzle. She needed to figure this out on her own. “Can I check the basement?” Liz rotated the device in her hands. The rest of the room faded away. “If you’re referring to my lab, then yes. Go right ahead.” Dad waved toward the open door. Liz took the device and strode over to the workshop. She bumped her shoulder into the doorframe without thinking. Dad let out a yelp, then he moved to help Liz down the steps. After reaching the basement, she took the cord at the back of the device and inspected it one more time. It ended in three prongs. Liz looked up. The basement had been rearranged – again. Dad said he couldn’t think unless he changed his surroundings on a regular basis. Evidently, complacency in his environment stifled his cognitive function. Or so he claimed. He wasn’t making this easy for her. Randomly assorted junk sat in the middle of the room with a nest of wires hanging overhead. Each wire led to a different machine or computer haphazardly placed in the space. Tables and chairs lined the walls, each with gadgets and monitors resting atop them. Liz moved a standing telescope out of the way and started peering behind the various pieces of equipment. She was searching for – “Got it!” Liz said aloud. The cord fit perfectly into Dad’s mega-server. The whirring piece of machinery looked like an old computer from the sixties. It extended from floor to ceiling, radiating with dozens of blue and green lights. Liz plugged the headset into a vacant port, and a nearby monitor lit up. She sat in a rusted stool opposite the monitor to read prompts on the screen. “It’s just the device that shows the words in your head as text on the screen,” Liz said with a tone she hoped conveyed her disappointment. “You’ve shown me this before…” “Have I?” Dad asked. He rested a hand on her shoulder and motioned toward the screen. “Look closer.” Thick cables connected the monitor to the server and the computer at Liz’s feet. A program was already running on the computer that appeared to be recording something. She clicked on the window to reveal dashed lines on a solid black background. The lines formed a graph with a thick, green line laid flat at its center. Liz considered for a moment before snapping her fingers. She put the headset on, and the green line bounced up and down. It danced and formed a wave pattern on the screen. “It’s recording my thoughts,” Liz whispered. This was nothing she hadn’t seen before, but on another window, there was a text box reading, “ready to transmit.” “Transmit?” Liz asked. She peered down at the keyboard. A piece of red tape covered one of the function keys. Instinctively, she reached a finger toward the key. Dad grabbed her wrist. “Don’t touch that!” Liz looked up at her father, her mouth forming a line. “Then how am I supposed to know what it does?” “Sorry sweetie, but I haven’t tested it yet. I don’t want it to hurt you.” Dad rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. “But I’m sure you have a good idea what it does now.”

REBELRY- YA Science Fiction, American Royals meets Divergent Opening chapter - introduces main character, setting, tone, inciting incident CHAPTER 1 Summoned “. . . though we have toiled and emerged from the War victorious, now our labor truly begins. Today we grant our oppressors an amnesty they have not earned. We shall not exact vengeance, but they will learn to follow and serve. With wisdom, mercy, and compassion, we will build a magnificent world and show our oppressors that we can create paradise on Earth. And so, let it be shouted in every street, the Age of Man is no more. For I proclaim to you, the Age of Woman has begun!” Excerpt from General Roxana Darieos’ address to the Women’s Coalition Army New York City ruins, 22 August 2124 Dust from the pages of the twenty-second century chronicles tickled my nose. Its thick cover, warped by time, felt rough to my fingertips. As I soaked up our founding mother’s words, just knowing I was breaking rules made me giddy. Not that I went out of my way to read censored books, but my history tutor never shared these firsthand accounts of the Magnificent Revolution, and it could help me with my Grad Exam. As I read, I stretched myself long on the sofa like a cat, one foot landing up on the sofa’s back and the other resting on the seat cushion. Midnight pressed chilly on our French door that led to the east wing patio, but here in the library it was toasty. The fireplace radiated warmth with a sweet cedar scent. The fire crackled, and its sparks reflected in the bay window’s dark glass. Being cozy and safe inside with my nose buried in a book, while outside the air grew frigid, was a special sort of wonderful. And this book—whoa. I reread the passage and gasped. But this part couldn’t be true. Was this why the book was censored? “Ryver?” I called out. “Is it true that some women stood against the Revolution?” Across the room, the desk-high titanium hub spooled into active mode. Blue lights ticked up its sides, and the luminescent nectoliquid fountained from its crystal basin, swishing into a floating azure sphere. The sphere vibrated when the Ryver spoke in her deep motherly voice. “What a curious question, Miss Xandra.” “That’s weird, right?” “There is no historical record of any female opposition before, during or after the Magnificent Revolution. It did not happen.” “Then why would it be written here?” “Written where? Are you reading one of the censored books from your grandmother’s collection?” “Umm, I’m not sure?” I lied. “It’s not like Gamma’s books have big red stamps across their covers to indicate which ones I’m not supposed to read.” “I will have to send a note to the Governor.” I lifted my head and pleaded over the sofa’s arm. “Please, don’t. Do you really want to distract Mother when she’s at the Summit? Anyway, it’s for my studies. The Grad Exam is only three months away. It’ll be here before I know it, and history’s a huge chunk of it.” “Checking now on your latest performance chart.” Oh, Mother God. I dropped my head on the sofa’s cushion and buried my eyes under a pillow to escape. Its tassels made my nose itch. Sometimes I wished we had a basic Ryver hub that only spit out info, instead of a criterion hub with its Wisdom and Nurture built-ins. “As I suspected,” the Ryver said, “among sixteen-year-old girls you are rated at the ninety-eighth percentile in history studies.” Which meant I still had two percent to go. I pressed the pillow around my ears, trying to shut out the Ryver’s lecture. “If you’re concerned about your Graduation Examination, might I suggest that instead of focusing on your strongest subject, you may wish to shift your focus to your weakest—oratory. Most of the girls in your level have already completed the public speaking requirement.” The mere suggestion sent a chill through me. I shoved the pillow under my head. “I have three whole months until the exam. Plenty of time.” I tucked my nose back into the book. “If you’re experiencing anxiety about the speech . . .” The room went silent. I lowered the book to my belly. Weird. The Ryver never stopped in mid-sentence. BEHH-BEHH-BEEEEEE blared throughout the chamber. I jerked up. The emergency alert. My book hit the floor with a thunk as I rushed to the bay window and yanked the drapes closed, then hid behind a wing chair. In the case of imminent danger, it was protocol for the security team to flood our estate lawns with light, but it was still dark outside. “Ryver, what’s going on?” I started my breathing exercises. Breathe in-two-three-four, hold-two-three-four. “A guest has arrived at the estate, Miss Xandra. Madam Qiu is bringing her to you now.” I blew out my breath in a gust, and my shoulders dropped. “Since when is a guest an emergency?” Madam Qiu was Mother’s closest aid and protected the family like a Doberman. Normally, she’d educate uninvited guests to make an appointment during office hours. Not fire off an emergency alert and usher them into the family’s private wing in the middle of the night. “Your guest is an officer with the Arbiter Corp,” the Ryver replied. My back went rigid. “What?” I said too loudly. Now the alert made sense. And with Mother away, I had to greet guests. My stomach twisted into a painful knot. “Please tell me there’s time to run up to my quarters to change.” “I’m afraid not. They will be here any minute.” A noise came out of my throat that sounded like a half-throttled whinny. I spun back to the window to use it as a mirror. My leggers had a big stain on them, my shirt was from my brother’s closet, and when did my hair tie fall out? The Arbiter Corp would not be impressed with messiness or boyswear. I combed through my long brown tangles with my fingers. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to make my nose daintier or russet eyes less dull. And where were my shoes? Skidding through the chamber in socks, I checked the study table and Ryver hub, and along the shelves lining the walls, then circled back to the sofa by the fire. Ah ha. As I reached for my loafers tucked under our tea table, a high-pitched ping signaled that someone had entered the library’s archway. I popped up, slapping a smile on my face, with a shoe on one foot and the other held behind my back. Madam Qiu entered first, eyeing my hair and shoeless foot. I shot her a helpless shrug, then cranked up my smile for our guest. A tall woman in a cobalt blue uniform with gold buttons and shiny boots strode into our library holding the most erect posture I’d ever seen. Her hair was spun into a tight twist, not a wisp out of place. The woman’s magnolia-scented perfume bit into my nose with its tart bouquet. Her male guard cast a mountainous shadow. Madam Qiu’s gentle Pacifican accent and quilted overrobe masked her steely reserves. She displayed a soft smile and offered a gracious nod of her head, as if guests stopped by every midnight. “Miss Xandra, may I present Lieutenant Noma from Cyprus.” I tightened my smile. “Oh. Whoa, hey, all that way?” Cyprus? That made no sense. “Um.” I cleared my throat and tried to mimic Qiu’s gracious nod. “How do you do?” The lieutenant scanned me from tangles to toes. Her nostrils flared a fraction. Then she pulled out a silver scroll-tube with a hard wax seal. I hesitated to touch it. Clinging to my smile, I popped on my second loafer. “Lieutenant Noma, was it? Sorry, there must be a mix-up. Mother is at the Leadership Summit. In Cyprus. Where you came from?” “You are Miss Xandra Fallow?” the lieutenant said. “Of the East Atlantic Fallows?” “Yes?” The lieutenant thrust the tube at me. I accepted it gingerly and broke the seal. A slip of paper tumbled out. Paper? But paper was reserved for the highest degree of secrecy. 10 Matrona 2496 To Miss Xandra Fallow, by order of Her Serene Luminance. You will present yourself at Palace Darieos for a private audience with the Arbitrix Iliana Darieos. A slipjet is waiting at Providence City Skygrid Center to transport you to Cyprus. You are to leave immediately. Goosebumps spread across the back of my neck. Officially, as arbiter of the Grand Council, the Arbitrix served as the builder of consensus over the domains’ queens. But everyone understood that Arbitrix Iliana ruled the world. I passed the paper to Qiu before swinging back to the officer. “What’s going on?” Lieutenant Noma’s diction was crisp. “You’ve been summoned to meet the Arbitrix.” “Thanks for spelling that out. That was helpful.” I clamped my lips shut. Whoops. I pulled my smile back on. “Do you, maybe, have any idea why?” “It is not my duty to know,” she replied. Turning from the unhelpful titan, I huddled with Qiu, “Does Mother know about this?” “The Governor has been unavailable tonight,” she whispered. “She’s missing?” My heart thumped faster. Qiu rested a warm hand on my arm. “She’s been called into several ad hoc meetings this Summit. I expect it’s more of that.” I spun back to the lieutenant. “Did something bad happen to my mother?” “Last I saw, Governor Kalliope was as healthy as a tiger.” I blew out a long exhale. Okay. But I’d never met such a rude officer. Why the bad attitude? The guard cleared his throat. When Lieutenant Noma looked over to signal orders to him, a Divina Matrem pendant popped out of her collar. Oh. Its beveled diamond shape that contained a revolving number four symbolized the Temple of the Divine Mother. This Noma was a Femenina, a member of my mother’s opposing political party. “You’ve ten minutes to gather presentable attire,” the lieutenant said. “The journey will take an hour. Bring whatever personnel are needed to prepare you.” Madam Qiu propelled me through the archway and across the grand foyer while firing orders into her ryvulet—a device inserted behind the jaw that connected her to the Ryver. Mother’s adorners were coming along. Qiu too. But someone had to stop this dreadful mistake. The Arbitrix didn’t want me. The one time I’d met her it didn’t end well. I looked back toward the library where my Arbiter Corp escorts waited. They should be flying out of the archway any second, the lieutenant howling that it was all cancelled because the message belonged to a different girl. Any second now. Any second. The archway remained empty. I whimpered. Oh, no. I couldn’t go to Palace Darieos. They’d expect a governor’s daughter, and especially the heir-elect, to have mastered a strong posture and commanding voice by my age. I couldn’t even walk into a room of strangers without panic—I gasped. No-no-no. The Leadership Summit was still in session. “Qiu, how many people attend the Summit?” Qiu tugged me up the staircase. “Delegates include the global assembly of queens, governors, Sapphic ministers, ambassadors, and mayors. Also, their teams, a few husbands—” “A big crowd you’re saying? Like really, really big.” I dragged my feet on the stairs. Qiu slipped a supportive squeeze into her iron grip. “You’ll be fine, Miss Xandra.” But my heart was beating way too fast. Breathe in two-three-four. Mother God, someone was going to look awfully foolish when this mistake was sorted. Please don’t let it be me.

Opening Scene- Establishes setting, protagonist, antagonist, and primary and secondary conflicts. CHAPTER 1 “Only one in forty are venomous.” The murmured reminder did nothing to banish the trickle of bright adrenaline down my nerves as the breakers began their telltale frothing beneath the water’s surface. I should have felt badly for skipping my voice session, but I was too sated on the sand’s warmth and a full belly to much care. Strands of hair coaxed on the sea’s winds floated across my copper cheeks, and I did not bother to restrain their path over slitted eyes which watched the ebb of the surf- waiting. The coiling of my stomach had little to do with breaking the unspoken rules governing my days, but what I now contemplated as I watched the equine creature emerge from the roiling waves. I began to hum and then to sing, my ability to voice two notes simultaneously drawing the animal near in swells of melding chords. She beckons with misting fingers Tantrums of thrown limbs Join the waves, the wind, the storm Listen to her hymns Embrace her darkness, kiss her depths Taste salt upon your lip Your neglect of dawn’s blood skies Cost more than just your ship Closer it came across the sand, ears perked at the old sailor’s ballad as I wove the chorus in the air around us. Half a dozen coves carved Cretoria’s coastline in aggressive gouges, but Oren and I had claimed this one. Tidal pools of varying sizes reflected the slouching sun like pieces of shattered mirror embedded in the dark rocks on the west end, while nothing but golden sand comprised the remainder of the small crescent. Neither the locals nor the summer sunbirds from the nearby capital city of Mytikas enjoyed traversing the narrow ledge of a trail down the slate cliffs over the cove, leaving this place to us most days. Dusk had coalesced in fading golden shafts suspended in the leaden hour of the evening- the hour in which wild sea horses sometimes swam onto shore here to fling their manes of kelp as they pounded across the sand. I had never approached one until now, the longing to run my fingers over its flaring pink gills overpowering the conviction that such a thing is never meant to be tamed or even touched by civilized hands. My hands were not soft by any means, not like the lavender oil-scented ones of those in Mytikas. But they were human hands, and humans tended to ruin things they loved. I would only touch its muzzle, just for a moment. My notes fell softer as it approached. The hard plates of its nectarine-hued body rose and fell in ridges capped with skeletal knobs, ending in a curled tail. As it danced closer, my eyes drifted to its saddle fin, which rose high on its back tipped in lethal spines. Those needle-sharp points, and the smaller ones embedded in its ridges, contained a venom the barest amount of which would paralyze your limbs with creeping stealth as you were impaled further and dragged into the sea by the carnivorous animal. It was said that during those moments, the venom caused a euphoria, and you didn’t mind your imminent death approaching on the white-tipped depths. Her gills fluttered as she stretched her neck towards me, my nostrils catching the briny scent of kelp which hung in layers of twisting jade ribbon and bulbous air pockets along her neck. The orange of her shell absorbed the sunlight slanting across the cove like my own skin did. I was always famished for sunlight, for cool seawater, for the sound of the tide shushing my staccato heartbeat. She and I were kindred. The tips of my fingers brushed her fluted nose. A familiar voice sliced through the carefully cultivated haze around me. “Oppi? What-” The horse reared back, tossing her head as she shimmied backwards and turned away from me. “Curse you, Oren!” I yelled as the creature sprinted for the surf, thundering into the undertow. I whipped towards him, eyes squinting to see the outline of his rangy limbs. The wheat gold of his hair caught the sunlight and, for the briefest of moments, gave him a haloed aura which had me snorting. Deific at first glance, perhaps, but I knew the crooked angle of his lower front tooth and the origin of the scar beneath his sharp jawline- an incident involving sea urchin spines and decidedly mortal indignity. His eyebrows weren’t even symmetrical, the right one slightly more arched than the left, undoubtedly from raising it at me so often. “What’s the matter with you?” my friend called, long legs ambling over the sand towards me. “Were you about to touch that thing?” I crossed my arms as he approached. “Maybe.” The white of his eyes showed as he sighed. “Did you skip voice lessons?” What was he, my mother? Kalliope, her lilting voice wavered in my mind. I won’t have it said you’re shirking your duties to the Opera… Anxiety curled in my gut, but I clobbered it down with an imaginary piece of driftwood. The Phoerian Opera could go rot today. I was not yet in its gold-fisted grip- or so I told myself. Rolling my eyes in answer, I picked up the lobster tail I’d been roasting and tossed it to him. “Found four today.” I didn’t mention I’d spent two hours diving for them, but they were his second-favorite food, so I didn’t mind. He caught it with a soft swear and then dropped the scalding crustacean in the sand. Flicking his nimble fingers as if to rid them of the heat, he commented casually, “Suppose it’s a good thing you’re here already.” He paused, and I almost threw sand in his sun-bronzed face before he finally spit out what I’d been waiting to hear. “My contact at the Nautilus Citadel replied to our inquiry.” Everything in me suddenly focused to a razor-sharp edge, my urge to ream him for the ruined lobster abandoned. We’d been waiting over a month for a response from Oren’s friend who served as an Ensign in the Royal Navy. This was it. The only answer to the only question that mattered. “Yes?” My hands twitched as I contemplated the urge to strangle him. “What did he say? The one-dimpled smile which crept across my friend’s face raised the hairs on my arms. “We leave in the morning for the Solstice Trade.” My breath hitched. It was true. The vanished peoples of Gomethra’s mainland were real. The Solstice Trade was real. And we were going to crash it. No rule for what we were about to do existed, but if it had- I’d break it faster than a sea horse could drag me beneath the indifferent waves, euphoric to the bitter end. **** The edge of my awareness drug on unfamiliar ground, a hem fraying further with each barefoot step we’d taken inland to arrive at the wastelands of Gomethra. Though the boat in which we’d traveled was only a mile away through the forest, I forced the image of its hull bumping against the rocks through my mind like a talisman. “Do bones burn to ash as well, or are they still beneath us?” Oren mused. Patience had never been my strong suit, but I could think of a thousand things I’d rather be than patient, so I wasn’t going to fill the Amphritis Sea with tears over it. My cheeks stung as I dragged ash-encrusted nails down them. The imbecile beside me had clearly forgotten the need for silence as we crouched on the edge of the vast, grass-covered Ash Plains, anticipation taught as a lyre’s strings in our veins. “Shut it,” I hissed, sending his larger form toppling over from where he crouched next to me. The azure of his eyes widened as he froze at the lofty grass rustling around us. I prayed to Chrosos no one in the envoy had seen the ripple in the silver vegetation. The company of a hundred soldiers waited in stoic silence a stone’s throw from us as they faced the undulating waves stretching out for miles in front of them like a sea of mirrored anemones. My shoulders dropped in relief as they stood unmoving against the cloudless skies. “Thought you were bringing more food,” Oren growled, his mutinous wheat hair slipping over one eye. I heaved a token sigh, inhaling and exhaling the smell of burning leaves still lingering in the soil after all this time. His nattering didn’t matter anyways while the breeze and the grass spoke so freely around us, drowning our words in their whispered song akin to velvet brushing over my ears. “No matter how long we wait, seeing dragons will be worth it,” I reminded him, pulling a leather thong tight around my mass of lightning pale hair. There had always been rumors the dragons still existed. The official word claimed they had gone extinct from disease and starvation after The Scything, the war waged eight centuries ago between Nyskos and the northern kingdom of Volnyrocq. The mainland had not always been the wasteland of cursed grass which stretched before us. Oren had heard through his connections in Mytikas that some Rocqes still lived beyond the Ash Plains and that an exchange of goods happened each year near the summer solstice. Yet none of the things we’d speculated about came close to the reality before us. Half a dozen cargo ships were tethered on the wide river mouth which flowed alongside the plains, and the massive caravan of goods sitting behind the line of guards could have fed the capital city of Mytikas for a month. Nyskos had amassed hundreds of barrels of salted and smoked fish, live lobsters and crabs in enormous glass tanks pulled on wagons, towers of crated wine and sweet liqueurs, bottles of olive oil, sacks of grain and kafe beans...The smell alone carried over on the wind caused my mouth to water. I’d skipped breakfast for this (more like Oren ate mine on the way) to meet him at the docks and arrive here by the sun’s highest point. A distant rumble began to shake the ground beneath my knees, and I looked up to see the hazy outline of black forms marching through the grass. Those who believed in the tales of the Rocqes’ existence said they had lost their ability to breathe fire or fly, just as we, the race of Nereiden, had lost our sirenic traits over time. Whatever form they wore caused a rhythmic trembling of the grass around us, and we watched as the first row of two dozen black plates of armor came into focus. Their pace would bring them to us in moments, but that wasn’t what caused Oren to swear. “Holy mother of tentacles,” he breathed. Behind the Rocqe soldiers were massive carts pulled by beasts I had only read about in one of the texts from my mother’s collection. Unlike most cart animals, the heads of the bone lynxes with their twitching feline noses stayed angled high in the air, looking out over the soldiers of the retinue in front of them. Black spikes of bone longer than my arms rose in pairs from the ringed white fur on their backs, chains connecting them to the carts pulled taut from the manacles encircling them. They moved as if the weight of the house-sized carts didn’t affect them in the least as they stalked forward with fluid grace. My head tilted. “Is it wrong I have an urge to see how soft their ears are?” “T’would be a noble death,” Oren replied. “I'll sing your song in the Nautilus Citadel.” Oren’s voice was terrible, so I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. More intriguing than the bone lynxes were the men encased from the waist up in armor of glistening jet black with horned helmets. As they drew closer, I could see the iridescent scales which made up the armor shifting over each other. There were what appeared to be wings for epaulets, flaring out beyond their shoulders and ending in a single talon at the tip. In contrast, the golden armor of the Nereiden almost blinded a person when looking at it in full sunlight. I was pleased to see that our representatives didn’t move a muscle in reaction to the approaching envoy. One of the bone lynxes snapped its head in our direction, looking straight at us through the grass. My lungs seized. Ducking back down, I pulled Oren with me. “Do you think it sees us?” Oren’s eyes were not teasing now. “I have no doubt it does.” Shivers chased over my scalp. Or perhaps the shiver had more to do with the way he lowered his voice to a baritone murmur that had developed of late. It was strange to realize Oren’s lanky form had filled out into broader shoulders and his face had developed new angles to it. He’d always had beautiful features, and I’d teased him mercilessly for being prettier than any of the girls on Cretoria. But now he was beginning to strike me as something different. When the retinues finally came face to face, it was rather anticlimactic. Two soldiers simply exchanged scrolls, and then we watched for almost an hour while they loaded and unloaded goods from the bone lynxes onto the ships and vice versa. My stomach grumbled as time wore on, but I refused to look away. “They managed to cross the Ash Plains unscathed,” I commented, sifting gray dirt through my fingers as I sat on the packed earth. Drawings on old parchment surfaced in my mind, images of the warped creatures which hunted in the grasses of the plains and made crossing a suicidal endeavor. Oren raised a brow at me. “I would imagine it had something to do with the giant cats they brought,” he drawled. “Even if the shadow wolves are as big as they say, nothing would attack those things.” He had a point. As we watched yet more containers and barrels being hefted onto the flat carts of the bone lynxes, Oren voiced a question of his own. “Do you think the Prince of Volnyrocq truly started the war? That he burned an entire city to the ground?” I’d thought about the answer to his question a thousand times. “Wouldn’t blame him if he did.” Oren gave me a look like I’d grown another head. “Just because one person died doesn’t mean you can-” “She didn’t just die, Oren. Her fins were cut from her body and her heart ripped out.” We’d had this argument countless times, but I was more than happy to rise to the occasion again. “If I found the person I was supposed to marry like that, I might go on a fire-breathing rampage too.” Oren frowned. “He should have known better than to bring a nereid to the Winged Court. The Rocqes were barbarians, even without the danger of a Kymaera being produced from their union.” I shrugged. “Forbid something, and someone will inevitably be stupid enough to try it, daemon spawn or not.” He paused, then looked at me sideways. “You still believe those stories? I doubt any of us could shift into dragons or mer, even eight-hundred years ago. And the Kymaera were probably just deformed children, not monsters. I pity them.” I turned my body towards him, jaw dropped. “What are you talking about? You’ve seen the Draekenmor Reef the same as I. The bones are piled from the sea floor to the surface. Thousands of dragons. They were pulled from the sky in The Scything.” He shrugged. “But what if it’s just casts and molds? Carvings? What if it doesn’t reach to the sea floor, Oppi?” “I can't even hear you over your own horsecrap,” I hissed, struggling to keep my voice low. He didn’t deserve to use his pet name for me. “What besides dragon fire could have created the Ash Plains you’re sitting on?” Those scrolls are not stories, Oren. They're histories. How can you deny that? He sighed, leaning back onto one elbow. “Mytikas has different texts now, ones that are more accurate based on actual research. Your mother’s scrolls are probably just a collection of tales that were never meant to be taken seriously.” My fingers curled into the ash beneath us. He was suddenly revealing this misbelief now, of all times? Those stories of dragons and mer were an unshakable part of us- so I’d thought. I was going to push him off a cliff when we got back to Cretoria. “What nonsense have those in Mytikas been spout-” A screech rent the sky in the distance, raising the dusty hairs on my body to stand. It was a shrill cry, ear-piercing in pitch and ending on a hopeless, echoing note like the last song of a dying glasswhale. We lifted our heads up out of the grass. All of the soldiers had stopped to listen too, and the bone lynxes had shifted to crouched positions as low as possible in their harnesses. Their great yellow eyes watched the sky to the north, and I turned to look at well. Another desolate shriek sounded, and I saw the vague outline of something high in the air- something too big to be any sort of bird. “Is that…?” I couldn’t say the words, my heart pounding so loud the bone lynxes could probably hear it with their tufted ears. “It can’t be,” Oren whispered. “It’s impossible.” The creature was too far away to make out anything more than the outline of wings and a sleek body, but I knew. It was a dragon. Apparently, the soldiers thought so too. Shouting began, and swords were pulled from sheaths as the Nereiden guards faced their dark counterparts. It was clear this wasn’t part of the plan. The Rocqe soldiers also drew their weapons from their backs, wielding two wickedly curved onyx blades in response. “We need to get out of here,” Oren rumbled, taking my hand. “Now.” I couldn’t agree more, though I was dying to stay and see what happened. But if fighting occurred, there would be no predicting where the soldiers would go, and they could run right into us. I wasn’t stupid enough to think we would be spared by even our own soldiers in such a precarious situation. Looking up to the sky once more, I saw the shape of the dragon- or whatever it was- growing closer. I had never in my life wanted to stay put more than I did in that moment, whether I was burned to a crisp or chopped into pieces. “Kalliope, now!” Oren dragged me towards the forest with more force than I expected. Tearing my gaze away from the black spec in the sky, I followed him, awkwardly running while bent over as low as I could. When we were almost to the tree line at the edge of the Ash Plains, another primeval screech struck our ears as the clang of swords rang out, and we both abandoned our stealth for speed as we sprinted for the shelter of the trees. As we reached the first few steps under the forest’s canopy, I turned back. All I saw before Oren jerked me forward again were flashes of gold and obsidian striking each other. “Wait, Oren, I want to see if-” “No, you don’t,” he snapped, and I blinked at him. He never spoke to me in that tone, but the hard set of his jaw silenced any argument I had planned to use. Still- I looked back one last time before jolting into movement… The elegantly curved blade of a black-suited soldier plunged into the space between his opponent’s armor where the shoulder met the golden breastplate. I watched as it was forced deeper, piercing sideways into the man’s chest. My own ribs seemed to constrict inwards as I pictured the perforation of his lungs, his heart, blood filling the cavities in between. The Nereiden’s cry was so small compared to the creature’s above and yet echoed through my nerve endings. It was final. It was desperate and fearful and knowing, his last sound. The gold-clad body fell to Ash Plains and did not rise. My blood had frozen, but it pounded in my ears nonetheless as Oren pulled me away. We sped over the forest paths back to where our small fishing boat waited. As we shoved off for the sail back to Cretoria, I thought I heard another wailing cry, and I caught my breath at the loneliness of it. Or, as Oren insisted on the way home, it was probably just the wind.