She nodded. “I’ve spoken to Ilina and Viktor extensively, and plans are being drawn up today.”

“Good.” I closed my eyes and touched the first noorestone to one of the ignituses. “You may want to step back. I don’t know how they’ll react when they wake.”

I didn’t open my eyes, but I felt her move away—through the space in the noorestone ring and to the safety of the line of her guards. Metal creaked and fabric caught air: the palace servants had opened up a small tent for Apolla to stand beneath.

That was probably a good idea. Already rain dropped faster and faster, running down dragon scales and dotting my face, where they sizzled and steamed off my skin.

I squeezed the small noorestone in my hand, then drew upon its energy.

The fire of Noore flowed through me, smooth like silk or oil, and this time, it felt right. Power rushed in, filling up the cracks and soothing the raw places where the giant noorestone had scraped, but I pushed it away before the wounds could finish healing; the dragons needed everything.

The light of two thousand five hundred and thirty-three noorestones bent toward me, droplets of radiance sliding up to my heart like beads of water on silk threads. The crystals themselves dimmed, but the whole arc above the dragons must have been blindingly bright as I slowly let the power slip into an ignitus.

It was like pouring water into sand.

Noorestone fire fell in and vanished, and nothing happened with the dragon. He just lay there, unmoving, his flame-red scales dulled to a dusty ember.

Cautiously, I opened the stream of fire a little wider. The dragons were so sick, so close to death. Maybe they just needed more pressure.

But still, the fire drained into them and went nowhere. Did nothing.

Doubt crept into me. What if I was too late? What if they were too far gone?

Thunder sounded above, rumbling through the sky as though inviting the dragons to come enjoy the storm. But they didn’t—couldn’t—move.

I had to keep trying. Warily, I slipped around to the next dragon, the mimikus, to let the power slide directly into her. “Wake up.” My voice was hoarse, thick with hope and fear. “It’s time to wake up and fly.”

But the same thing happened as before: nothing. Noorestone fire went in and in and in, hot blue-white beads of energy that could save this dragon’s life—that should save her life—but her heart merely continued its weak flutter.

This wasn’t going to work.

The giant noorestone had done too much harm. They’d already been sick. Dying. Drifting toward whatever waited for dragons. The giant noorestone, with its dark harmony and stuttering inner fire, had been too much.

The empress, in her urgency to have the dragons healed, had only hastened their deaths.

Or maybe it was my fault, because I hadn’t awakened in time to tell her that the giant noorestones wouldn’t work.

My heart broke a thousand times as I pressed more fire into the mimikus. “Please,” I whispered under the rain and thunder. “Please move. Breathe. Fly. Something.”