But what if they were all risen by the time I made it back?

The possibility of that made a roar rip from my throat, aching and polyphonic—not human at all. It was another part of myself, the shadow soul of the dragon, and as the dragons above grew frenzied with fear and loss, the draconic side of my heart wanted to join them.

I surged to my feet and reached for the sky, roaring with every piece of both my souls. And then, even without the fire of noorestones, my wings flared and scales rippled down my body like armor. A too-big sensation filled my chest, like if I breathed just right, I could inhale into a second set of lungs.

Like I could breathe fire.

I inhaled sharply, sort of sideways, and the back of my throat tingled with possibility.

Stop.

Not the dragon me, but the other me. The girl me.

Stop.

I looked up to find the other dragons still screaming, circling, waiting for me to join them. And I could do it. I could lift my wings—

Stop.

Reason cut through the grief at last. If anyone saw me like this . . . if Apolla saw me like this, using my dragon powers . . .

I had to protect myself, and my dragon soul, from anyone who might want to use me for their own gain. I’d already spent most of my life in that position. My face, my opinions, my voice. I couldn’t let it happen again.

“Go,” I told the dragons, and then I wrenched my soul back from them, damming the threads between us.

The dragons screeched, their talons ripping at the rain-drenched sky. Flame arced overhead, higher than before. At last, they peeled away from me, flapping and spitting fire as they twisted through the drenching sheets of rain, flying toward the mountains as fast as they could.

Or maybe they were flying away from the city and the empress.

I watched them, heart whole and shattered all at once. They were healed. Their world was broken.

Then the dragons were gone.

I dropped to my knees as the wings and scales and fire disappeared. My skin itched and my chest felt shrunken, but even though I was only a girl again, rain sizzled where it hit my body, and steam rushed up around me.

Khulan was leaving.

Idris, Bopha, Harta, and now Khulan.

For several minutes, there was only the sound of rain pounding on the field, plinking off the darkened noorestones, and hissing off my face and shoulders and arms. There was only shock and terror and thunder rolling through the sky.

And there was anger.

Maybe it was surprise that had delayed her rage—I couldn’t imagine that it had been fear of the dragons or me—but all at once, Apolla left the protection of her tent and rushed at me in a storm of her own making. Guards and servants followed, but she was faster.

“What did you do?” The empress reached me, her hazel eyes hot with fury. “Tell me what you did.”