When Urla was a young girl, she never could have envisioned herself seated in the High Council chamber of the Dragon Palace with some of the greatest Attican lords. She was a high noblewoman only through marriage, privy to knowledge about origins of Attican dragons only because of her connection to Campos.

Yet, here she was in a vast pillared chamber. The ornately painted dome rose fifty feet above a room-spanning map depicting the entire region the Crescent Sea. Emperor Athanasius sat upon a high-backed ivory chair carved in the shape of pluming dragon wings. A gargantuan skull was fixed on the wall at his back so that the jaws of an ancient dragon faced every other man and woman in the room. Like all ruling bodies in Attica, the council largely consisted of men.

Urla was one of four women among the council of eighteen dragon lords gathered around the table. And she was the only one whose house was not currently in possession of a dragon.

Everything was a maelstrom of activity after the news of Campos’s death. Within hours, the entire council was gathered, and the emperor had insisted Urla join the meeting.

“You’re about to enter a den of wolves,” Athanasius told her before they entered.

“But Lord, don’t they know where their dragons come from?”

“Yes, they know about the isle at the edge of the world. They are the sacred few. And now, that traitor Rykus…”

Urla had not mentioned the fact that this error fell on the emperor. Or at least his chosen Consul, though if he thought as much, the emperor had not voiced it to Urla.

“Lord, I am honored, but—”

“Do you wish to serve Attica?” Athanasius asked.

“I live to serve, Lord.”

“Campos’s estimation of you was well-founded. And that’s good, because secrets are unraveling. The balance of power is tipping. And dragon lords respond to threats in one of two ways. Either they hunker down in their own towers. Or they lash out in fear, and rarely at the correct target. We are at risk of losing all we have gained these past two decades.”

As the lords and ladies took their seats, the chamber filled with anxious murmurings. Urla wore ceremonial armor befitting a Lady Captain of the legions, which a servant had fetched from her husband’s capital estate. She was the least decorated person present. All the others were dressed in fine silken gowns and decorated black Dragonmount uniforms.

Emperor Athanasius was not much older than thirty summers. It was strange to Urla to think that the man who ruled the world had seen less life than she. Most of these lords and ladies had seen more years than the emperor, but Urla understood how easy it sometimes was to mistake age for wisdom. She’d seen this enough times in the legions.

When all were seated, the emperor stood.

“The Isle of Eòreth has been brought low. Thanks to the swift action of Houses Regata and Indica, we sent our message to the other Valucian lords before Rykus could return. What follows will require action from all of us in the coming days. This is an historic moment, and we must meet it with all the gods require.”

“The Valucian lords are in an uproar,” said Tersius of House Regata.

Regata hailed from the Isle of Theleset, a close neighbor of Valucia, though with Attican loyalties that had historically never wavered. Regata looked like he hadn’t slept in two days, which was quite likely. He spoke carefully, but the trepidation was not lost on anyone in the room. “There were uprisings in the streets, Lord.”

“Peasants,” said Athansius. “The Valucian lords have expressed passionate loyalty to the empire.”

“Outwardly, yes,” said Rodrick Marius.

“Speak your minds,” Athanasius said.

Regata hesitated. “I… fear we may have sent the wrong message, Lord.”

“Everything we have striven to create is at risk of unraveling,” Athanasius said. “A full-blown Valucian rebellion could set us back a decade or more. A warning had to be made.”

“I’d say it was received…” Regata said, shaking his head. “I just pray it does not incite further unrest. Rykus was a blood-traitor. As are most of their lords. But if it was a ruse for Rykus…”

Athanasius nodded solemnly. “We share the same fear. Hence, the warning. If they want to play at rebellion, they must know the full cost. It would seem they have forgotten what a few dragons can do.”

“My Lord, there were hundreds lost on Eòreth,” said Marius. “Women, children. There are some calling it a war crime.”

“Who?” the emperor demanded.

Regata simpered. “Murmurings.”

“It was an act of retaliation! For treason! Rykus attacked unarmed Atticans. Three lords are dead at Rykus’s hands. And a noble lady just come of age.”

Regata was not the only dragon lord on edge, but he was the most vocal. The three ancient Dragon Lords said little, all watching how Athanasius handled the council with an air of bemusement.

This is a test in their eyes, Urla thought.

Urla suspected the ancient lords would gladly sacrifice Valucia, and plenty of other lesser regions of Attica, if it led to their own return to prominence. Fifty years ago, this would have been a council of four. Not eighteen.

Athanasius spoke again, quietly now. “Valucia has been a point of contention for many centuries. And their people have suffered the consequences for the decisions of many foolish lords. For the past decade, they have prospered. Their lives are far better now. Their keeps are stronger, their cities rebuilt from war-torn shambles. But for rebels, memory is often short. Regata, your island has known the effects of both scenarios all too well.”

“We’ve reaped the benefits of peace, Lord,” said Regata. “And we have taken the brunt of the carnage in times of Valucian rebellion. They are a stubborn people, and I fear what we’ve done to Rykus’s kingdom, small though it may be, could rally their rebellious spirits once more.”

“Do you know why Ava Rykus was chosen to contend for a dragon before the lottery?” Athanasius asked.

No one in the room seemed surprised by the words chosen, and Urla realized for the first time, that the lords and ladies present all fully understood the true process.

Regata shook his head.

Urla noted the way the ancient Dragon Lords shifted.

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“Valucia has a long history of dragon riders,” Athanasius said. “Old as Attica itself. A proud history. But there has not been a Valucian Dragonmount in three hundred years. After a decade of peace, I intended to rectify that proud history, and bind Valucian loyalties even closer.”

The irony of the intent was not lost on anyone in the room.

“I believe it was the right plan, but the wrong lord,” Athanasius said.

“You still intend to give Valucia a dragon?” Lord Cassian asked incredulously.

All eyes fixed on the emperor, along with several raised brows.

“We need to show the other Valucian lords that nothing has changed,” said Athanasius. “This is a matter of Rykus, not Valucia. Tersius, you know their lords better than any in this room. I’d like you to choose the Valucian house best suited to serve on this council.”

Urla barely held back a smirk at the way the man puffed up at this. “I’ll choose wisely, Lord.”

Athanasius nodded. “I have full confidence. Now, to the next matter. General Campos has long overseen the acquisition and distribution of dragons on the Isle of Faltara. Fortunately, before he died he had a successor in mind.”

Urla glanced around the room. Campos’s station as a non-dragon lord had been pivotal to his role. Everyone in this room possessed a dragon. Except her.

Urla’s chest tightened as the emperor’s gaze fell to her. She thought she was here to inform the council about what she’d seen on the island, not…

“M-me?” she stammered.

“The Lord General has spoken highly of you throughout your service,” Athanasius said. “And as you are no longer the wife of a dragon lord, your loyalties are well-suited to the needs of the realm. And of this council.”

“Lord, surely there is…”

Athanasius smiled. “It has already been put to a vote.”

Several of the lesser lords, and all of the female lords nodded their heads to her.

“Campos was a good man,” said Lord Marius. “We’d be fools not to select his first choice of successor.”

“First choice…” Urla muttered, still unable to wrap her mind around what was happening.

“We have little time to waste,” said the emperor. “The situation on Faltara is dire.”

He spoke the same words he’d spoken to bring her here, when she’d longed to return to her son’s bedside.

Urla was overwhelmed. Campos had been dead less than a day. Her son still lay unconscious a few rooms away. What did this mean for her son’s chance at reclaiming a dragon?

But since the day she’d come of age, Urla was a soldier in the imperial legions. An officer devoted to the emperor, before any other role.

It was unfathomable to consider refusing the recommendation of her superior officer, or her duty to the empire.

She stood and bowed to Athanasius, a churning mix of emotions in her gut. “I would be honored, Lord Emperor.”

Athanasius nodded. “Very good. We will recess for one hour. Then, we will make a decision regarding the Isle of Faltara.”

***

Urla sat at her son’s side, wondering, Was this what Campos planned all along? Did he ever intend for my son to bond with one of those eggs on Faltara?

She wished Keivan were here, even though she knew exactly what he would say.

Our duty is to Attica. Before House. Before family. Before glory.

Besides, Attica’s enemies and her own were one and the same. They had taken Keivan from her. They’d brought her son to the brink of death. And they would learn the emperor’s wrath.

Ruan moaned softly, eyelids shifting as they do in dreams. His fingers twitched at the tips, a gentle fluttering that made her spirit surge.

“I’m right here, son,” Urla whispered. “I’ll make this right, I promise you.”

“It’s good for you to speak to him.”

Urla jerked her head at the voice to find the Dragon Emperor Athanasius himself entering the chamber. He was followed by two Knights of Caadron, one of them Vera Salyr, the other a tall Attican man. They flanked the entrance, hands on the hilts of their godblades. Even sheathed, the emerald glow tinted the lamplight that flickered off the walls.

Standing to attention, Urla crossed her right fist over her heart as Athanasius drew up beside her.

“That’s what the healers told me when Emperor Vitruvian lay in such a state. They encouraged me to read to him when I visited.”

The emperor’s short dark curls wove around the slender golden crown on his head. Up close, Urla could make out the individual branches and barbs of thorns. Though the crown still bore the emblem of flames at the front, the band hearkened back to the rose crest of Athanasius’s house—Berona.

The emperor dipped his head to her, and gestured to her chair.

“Please, sit, Lady Consul. It’s good your son knows you’re right by his side. His spirit can sense everything in the room, the healers say.”

Urla had forgotten that Athanasius’s predecessor had also slipped into a coma from an unexpected injury. She tried not to let her mind linger on the fact that Vitruvian never woke again. It was the sudden tragedy that had thrust Athanasius into power shortly after he came of age.

“Thank you, Lord.” Urla sat and took hold of Ruan’s hand once more.

“The world changes all at once. Or else not at all,” Athanasius said, standing beside her. Even at a whisper, the young man’s voice was strong and comforting. “My mentor taught me that. One moment, you’re just another middling young lord at the academy. The next, you’re shadowing the most powerful man in the world.”

“It is the greatest honor of my life to serve you in this new capacity, Lord.”

Athanasius smiled grimly. “Ah, but you didn’t let me finish. For another moment, you’re serving beside a man you admire more than any other. The next, you are stumbling alone in a dark world that demands your entire body and soul. And you dare not show fear or weakness, else you risk destroying the world built by greater men.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Lord. You’ve done more for a greater Attica than even Vitruvian himself.”

Athanasius raised his hands modestly and shook his head. “I’ve done my best to build upon my mentor’s foundation. His legacy is set firm. He brought the ancient Dragon Lords to heel, spread out power, united the lords. My own legacy is still being written. You saw the way the ancient lords were looking at me in there.”

Urla nodded.

“This is the great test of the new Attica my predecessor envisioned, led by lesser and younger houses. We have fractured over less. What follows will demand everything of us both in the days ahead.”

Athanasius’s gaze drifted to Ruan, then met her own, his dark brown eyes piercing straight to her spirit, as though asking, Will you have the strength to put duty before all else? Even your own son, if it comes to it? As your husband did?

“My duty is to Faltara. I trust the work of your healers while I’m away.”

“Yes… I’m afraid even they have their limits. My mentor is testament to this.”

“A sparring injury,” Urla recalled aloud.

Athanasius nodded. “Not so different from your son. A fluke injury that struck the right place at the wrong time. I insisted we try every avenue of healing available. Even those beyond traditional Attican measures. But Vitruvian had written into his will against such experimental sorcery. To this day, I wonder if I should have defied that will, somehow. If the empire would have been better served if I had.”

“The empire has thrived under your leadership, Lord.”

“What I’m saying is that your son need not share the same fate.”

“Lord?”

“The Faltari shamans know deep magic, beyond that of our orders. Take your son. He was chosen for a dragon for a reason. And I, for one, would still see him become Dragonmount. Gods know, we’ll need brave men such as he in the days ahead.”

“But if I am Consul…”

“There are ways around it. You are single now. You could take up your father’s crest again. Or marry into another.”

The thought of remarrying was unthinkable at the moment, but Urla’s heart surged nonetheless, and she swore her son gripped her hand back, though he did not stir.

“In fact, we may need more dragons than ever before if this is to be an Age of Fire. Now, I need you to help me convince that council.”

The emperor left, and the male knight followed after, but Vera Salyr lingered, waiting for her.

Urla crossed the room and saluted her.

The Lady Knight returned the gesture, but remained where she stood, blocking the door.

“What is it?” Urla asked.

“Lady Captain, er, Lady Consul…”

“Urla is fine,” she said. “You’re a Knight of Caadron, for Marha’s sake.”

“Of course, Urla,” said Salyr. “I am sworn to the emperor, but I have served General Campos for the past eight years. I have joined him on many journeys to Faltara, and other nations as well. As the new Consul, it would be my honor to serve you on this coming mission, and whatever may follow.”

“Lady Knight, I would be—”

In a flourish, the knight drew her glowing runemarked blade. In the same movement, she dropped to one knee, and extended the flat edge of the blade between her hands and dipped her head to Urla.

She touched the knight’s cheek so that she looked up at her. Her deep brown eyes were close to tears.

“You are my Lord’s chosen successor,” the knight said. “And you are a servant of the True Mother. The First Swordmaiden. By Marha’s Blade, my blood is yours, whatever fates may divide.”

Urla took the godblade from the woman’s grasp, the soft pulse of magic thrumming even before her fingers brushed the cool surface.

She extended the hilt to Salyr, and the knight took it proudly.

“You are now a member of the Bloody Company. The time for spilling blood will come soon enough. But for the moment, do you have any advice for convincing a den of wolfish nobles to change how we distribute dragon eggs once more?”

The Knight of Caaadron flashed a smile. “I may have learned a thing or two from your predecessor.”