Lakadara blinked, her double-lidded golden eyes affixed on Timur, who hadn’t even changed out of the imposter uniform that he’d borrowed.

“Are you certain of this?” the dragon asked.

“When it comes to Fennokra and Yolandra, I’m certain of their doubt in Thorgoth. I’m afraid I don’t know if Telkandra and Makendra are scheming with the king directly, but I assume they area,” said Timur.

Frances, who had been holding her hand mirror for King Jerome and Queen Forowena to discuss the situation, glanced at the monarchs contemplative visages.

“Lakadara, how willing are you to talk to your siblings?” Jerome asked.

The dragon shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m still shocked that Fennokra and Yolandra have started to question Thorgoth. They…they tried to kill me.”

“I’m more surprised General Helias has a different side to him,” said Frances.

Timur shuddered. “How his wife can see past that Clodthrog’s deeds, I have no idea.”

Frances intertwined her fingers with her trogre’s four. “From what you told us, he seems to treat her quite well and they seem to respect one another quite deeply. Maybe that’s enough.”

Madame Spinere, attending on behalf of Edana and the other White Order mages, piped up in a wispy voice. “I’m more intrigued as to why the general and his wife thinks that they are in a trap, especially since they are both aware that we are receiving reinforcements.”

“It could just be a sign of paranoia,” said Nicole, one of the Otherworlders and aide to Queen Forowena. “Forowena, what do you think?”

There was no response from the mirror at first. When Frances glanced over, she saw that the king and queen had stood to one side and were engaged in hushed conversation. From the frown on Nicole’s face, this didn’t seem to be normal.

“Sorry,” said Jerome, sitting back down in front of the mirror’s frame. “We have an idea what General Helias is suspecting, but we are trying to keep that under wraps for the moment.”

“All I can say is that from what you’ve told us, Prince Timur, the plan is going smoothly,” said Forowena.

A tingling sensation ran up Frances’s back, and yet she found she couldn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say. She could demand the king and queen tell her what was really going on, but if the battle was going according to their expectations, then it wasn’t like she could just request secret information.

“We also know that they’re likely attacking in two days. We can get some rest before then,” added Forowena. Smoothing her dress, the queen rose to her feet. “Thank you and your comrades, Prince Timur. I can’t imagine it was easy sneaking up on the dragons.”

Timur smiled brightly, but a yawn broke his joyful expression. “An invisibility spell I was working with my mother on. I’m afraid it drained quite a bit of my magic, though.”

“We’ll let you go get some rest then. Lakadara, if you can at least consider talking to your siblings, we’ll be rather grateful,” said Jerome.

The dragon dipped her head as the image in the mirror faded away.

***

Frances re-read her notes on song magic again, rubbing the edge of her eyes absent-mindedly with one hand as she balanced the papers by her dimly lit lantern.

She was so focused, she didn’t hear Timur’s yawn. She did feel his breath against her bare neck.

“Dear, are you reading late again?” Timur asked, looking over her shoulder.

Frances smiled, her nose rubbing against her trogre’s cheek. “Oh, sorry, did I wake you?”

“Not on purpose. It’s a little chilly here and well, I noticed when you left.” Gently wrapping his arms around Frances’s shoulders, Timur rested his chin atop her hair. “Oh I’ve missed this.”

“You missed resting on my hair? You’ve only been gone two days,” said Frances, smirking despite herself.

“And yet it felt like an eternity.” Timur stood up and sat down next to Frances on the adjacent chair, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. She didn’t mind, in fact, she rather welcomed it as it was rather chilly in her linen nightgown.

“So, what’s going on?” Timur murmured.

“Morgan attuned to the magic stones in her legs.”

The prince blinked. “Wait, that’s fantastic news! How did you do that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. We were just sparring, and not even with magic.”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, I was using Alanna and Morgan was getting acquainted with her battle claws. It wasn’t that serious really. We were just having fun together,” said Frances.

“That seems rather fortuitous…coincidentally fortuitous.” Timur’s grasp on Frances relaxed slightly as he tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “Magic is tied to emotion. What were you both feeling in sparring?”

“Both feeling? Wouldn’t it be more important for what Morgan is feeling?” Frances asked.

Timur opened his mouth and closed it. “Hm, ah, pardon me, Frances. You mentioned you and Morgan were sparring and having fun. Would you say you were both just focused on the sparring session and nothing else?”

“Yes. How did you know?” Frances asked.

Timur smiled. “It’s kind of what I feel whenever we dance, or practice magic together, or like, do a project for our house. I can see how happy you are, while I am happy at the same time and that just makes me feel even happier. Aloudin and Edana have told me that things like this happen before when two people are so connected, so in harmony that it’s almost like they enter into a trance.”

“Oh,” Frances whispered, tucking herself more snugly into her prince’s embrace. “That makes sense. Um, well I was proud of Morgan. I was also kind of proud of myself that I managed to help her. I was also having a lot of fun. I definitely felt happy too, but…”

“But?” Timur asked.

“Those were very different emotions to what I felt when I saved you and when I saved Hattie. I wasn’t happy then,” said Frances.

The prince grimaced. “Hmm, that’s true. Ah well.”

Frances glanced at her papers one more time. Pursing her lips, she reached over and picked up a copied passage from Alan’s diary.

“Well, King Alan, Moragon and Yalisa were strangely alright about facing the Goblin Empire.”

“How so?” Timur asked.

“Well, in this passage, Alan is talking about how they’re not sure if the spell they’re planning would work, but he basically says there's nowhere he’d rather be but here. I don’t understand how he could be fine with where they are.” Frances met Timur’s gaze. “The Goblin Empire was pursuing him. He…he’d gone through hell in the empire as a slave with Yalisa and Moragon. Yet they all seemed to write so calmly about it. Was he just pretending?”

Engaging in what Frances like to nickname his “scholar mode,” Timur took the paper offered by her and began to read, muttering quietly to himself. His dark eyes scanned the pages in the dim light, tilting his head ever so often as if to give himself pause.

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“There’s always a possibility but I don’t think so. This was his diary after all and at the time he was writing it, he didn’t expect to have it read by us. It was his later entries as king that he seemed to get a little more reserved about what to write,” said the prince.

“So he was being truthful, or at least, as truthful as he thought he could be,” said Frances. She frowned. “He was a slave. The things that I read about what happened to him in the goblin slave camps were horrible. They worked his friends, his family to death. And yet I remember him reading about how glad he is to see dew form in the mountains. I don’t know how he could write so…positively about the danger he faced.”

The prince nodded. “Well, as we discussed some time ago, there is the chance that he could have edited his diary before he sealed it underneath the temple. Yet, the decision to edit his diary wouldn’t have been made too close to our time. It was made years ago when humans and Alavari were friends.” Timur brushed back a lock of his hair from his eyes. “In fact, I’d say that what he’s feeling would be pretty realistic in some ways.”

“Really?”

“After he was free, and safer at least, they could appreciate life. I don’t know about Yalisa and Moragon, but Alan seems to have accepted the fact that he might fail but is ready to face it nonetheless,” said Timur.

Frances sighed, resting her head against Timur’s chest. “I wish I was as brave as he was.”

“You are. In a different way, but you want to protect your loved one like he does.” Gently squeezing Frances’s shoulders, the prince kissed her brow. “Come to bed love. You need your rest.”

Frances nodded, allowing herself to be led back to their shared bedding. “Thank you, Mataia,” she whispered as she tucked herself in beside him.

Timur smiled and yet even in the dark, that smile lit up her whole world. “You’re welcome, Frances.”

***

Skirmishes had taken place in the lead up to the anticipated attack, but the human kingdoms and their allies had managed to rest and rotate the majority of their forces. All of them were now on high alert and manning the walls.

This time the 2nd Terrace was manned with a mix of Erlenbergian, Lapanterian and Eridalian troops. The gatehouse had been doubly reinforced and the wooden gates had even been blocked off with a rammed earth barricade. Thorgoth would find it rather difficult to just blast the doors open.

“Morning Master Ulric, good morning Madame Spinera. A bit quiet today isn’t it?” Frances asked as her former teachers approached her position on the walls.

The eccentric bald man was uncharacteristically grimacing. “It is strangely quiet. I thought they would start with a bombardment. That’s how they’ve been doing so.”

Spinera sighed. “They’re probably conserving their ammunition, but you are right Ulric. It is odd that they are being so reticent.”

Hovering slightly above the battlements, Morgan turned around with an eager smile. “Master Ulric, Master Spinera, do you know any embarrassing stories about mom?”

Frances rolled her eyes as a wicked grin returned to Ulric’s lips. “Quite a few. When she first invented her lightning spell, we were casting atop a tower at Salpheron. The lightning spell did something really funny to your mother’s hair—”

Spinera leapt up and grabbed Morgan’s claw. With surprising speed, she yanked the harpy-troll to the ground, screaming, “Get down!”

Frances dove, Ulric a moment behind her. She saw a bright purple flash travel through the cavern almost like an echo.

The tower’s roof heaved. For a split second, Frances realized she was no longer touching the tiled floor. Hairline cracks snaked through the clay baked dark maroon. She seemed to stop in the air for a second, before she slammed right back into the hard surface.

The impact knocked the wind out of her and she saw stars, but she managed to scramble to her feet. Blinking back stars, Frances whirled around and swore.

In the centre of the Second Terace’s wall, she could see a cloud of dust. The curtain wall that had protected the terrace now disappeared into a void. Not only had the wall itself disappeared, but the terraced platform below it now spilled out onto the ruined First Terrace. It was like someone had taken a massive claw and yanked out a breach that a dragon could fly through.

Whipping her gaze to the distant Alavari camp, Frances heard the chanting of their foes start once more.

“Thorgoth! Thorgoth! Thorgoth!”

“Spinera!”

“Yes?”

“Tell the queen to get our artillery trained on that breach now!” Frances started running to the wall. “Then take Morgan to the Third Terrace!”

“Mom—”

“You heard your mother! Go!” Ulric bellowed. With his one arm, shoved Morgan into Spinera who was already speaking into a hand mirror. Yet the elderly mage still managed to lock an iron grip around the princess’s wrist and lead her down the stairs.

“Prepare for immediate assault! Don’t bother conserving your ammunition!” Frances yelled out. She glanced behind her, noting Ulric following her at a jog.

“If they’re smart, they’re going to pound that place with artillery,” muttered Ulric.

“I agree.” Frances glanced to her right and saw four winged forms looming in the distance. “Oh shit. Here they come!”

Yet the dragons didn’t go for the walls. They headed for the breach and circling high above, began to breathe fire. As Frances continued to run, she saw that they weren’t aiming for the gap but right behind it.

They were denying them the opportunity to set up a defence. Grimacing, Frances started to charge her lightning spell. A sharp and familiar crackling rang in her ears as she sang, aiming at the closest dragon.

At the last second, one of the dragon’s siblings heard her and cried out with a roar. Her target dived and the bolt of sky blue grazed the dragon before slamming into the ceiling of Kairon Aoun’s cavern.

Screaming in pain, the high-pitched wail grating in Frances’s ears, the dragon levelled out and started flying back. Frances’s gaze followed her for a moment, until her heart sank.

An unending tide of Alavari troops were fast-marching across the plain, leaping out of siege trenches and up the rubble. Banners and flags were converging towards the breach. The rumble of so many boots on earth was punctuated by the drumbeat of artillery. Cannonballs chipped and smashed brick from the breach, widening it, and more landed behind the breach.

“This is bad,” whispered Ulric.

“We have to—” Frances looked back up and froze. The three dragons had stopped circling, they were flying in one direction.

Right at her.

“Ulric—”

Ulric snorted and clapped her on the back. “I’ll get to the breach. Don’t worry yourself. You keep those dragons occupied! Everybody else get off the walls!”

Soldiers, Alavari and humans scrambled as Frances flashed her former teacher a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Ulric!” she called back as the bald man followed the solders in beating a hasty retreat down a staircase. She saw him wave back before the dragons neared. “Ivy, this is going to be a tough one,” she muttered.

“We’ll beat them. Together,” said Ivy’s Sting.

Taking a deep breath, Frances raised both hands and surrounding herself with a shimmering blue shield, she broke into a run and sang.

She had one very slight advantage. While the dragons could breathe fire, they had but one target, her. Maybe it was their mission to take her out, maybe they were blinded by revenge, but the fact was that if she was alone and had nobody to protect, she could use their attention against them.

While it was normally suicidal to run towards a dragon, Frances bet that if she got them too close to one another, she could get them to get into each other’s way.

And sure enough, that was what happened. As three neared, Frances could see them start to fly almost wingtip to wingtip. So focused on her, that they didn’t realise the distance between them was closing.

Crying out the key note, Frances threw another lightning spell, but at the rightmost dragon. The purple drake rolled and forced its sibling to pull back. Its other sibling had to dive, and Frances used the dragon’s drop in speed to slam a bolt of magic into its face.

She didn’t stop there. As the three dragons scattered, their formation broken, Frances cast as quickly and as fast as she could. Lightning coursed and arched around her, a vortex of sparks and plasma that on occasion would suddenly leap out toward the scaly beasts, barely missing them.

They tried to circle around her. Fire slammed into the wallpath ahead. Yet Frances bulled through the venomous flames, her shield holding. As she ran, continuing to sing, Frances kept using her magic to corral the three dragons into one another.

One bolt of lightning would make one dragon pull up, almost headbutting its fellow’s rear. Another time she blinded a dragon with a quick magic blast which led it to almost tangle its claws into its sibling’s wings.

Soon enough, the dragons started cursing at one another.

“Yolandra you fool, stay out of my way!”

“You stop being such a big useless lump of scale Velkandra!”

“Can both of you stop arguing and—oh you clodthrog!” the dragon that was presumably Fennokra reeled, rolling away to dodge the hovering Velkandra whose tail had lashed her face. Frances had halted the oldest dragon’s dive by throwing a barrel of gunpowder into the sky. Detonating the barrel with a wave of her wand, the blast sent the trio of dragons scattering, their ears ringing.

Letting out a gasp, Frances forced herself to take another wheezing breath and press on. So far so good. She wasn’t injured, she could hold and hit the dragons.

There was just one rather looming problem. She may be able to hurt the dragons but it was highly unlikely she was going to kill them. That meant they were still going to pursue and harass her. She also did not have an infinite amount of magic.

That meant she was going to need someone to get her out of this situation, or she had to find a way to disengage. As she neared the breach, which continued to be pounded by enemy cannon, an idea popped into her mind.

Ivy, you know what I’m thinking

Her wand reached into her mind and basically did the equivalent of a mental spit-take. Frances couldn’t help but giggle.

I think you’re crazy! Ivy exclaimed

But? Frances asked

But I don’t see any way. Let’s go!

Bracing herself, Frances ran onward toward the void and the section of wall under bombardment. Cannonballs flew over her head. The wall shook so furiously she thought she might slip.

“Stormcaller, are you insane? Do you so wish to die?” roared one of the dragons.

She didn’t have to reply to the dragon. She had nothing to prove. Yet Frances found the little pride she had rather ruffled by the dragon’s demand.

“Not as insane enough to follow someone who murders and abuses his own children!” Keeping her head down, and funnelling more magic into her shield, Frances turned. One step allowed her to leap onto the inward facing battlement on the wall. Another took her into the open air.