I pulled down again, breathed into my second lungs, and screamed fire into the water between the two fleets.

Steam surged upward, then more and more as the other seven dragons flew after me, spitting fire into the sea.

The black ships did not slow their approach.

I turned and passed between them again, blowing fire as hot as I could manage. The others came after me, and within moments we’d created a wall of steam and boiling ocean, but still the black ships didn’t slow.

Again, I turned and spit fire, hitting the same stretch of ocean as before. My heart sped as I watched the ships draw near the steam pouring upward. I didn’t want them to get hurt—that was why I’d given them time to stop—but if they were going to sail straight into the steam . . .

Maybe they didn’t care about crew lives. Maybe their mages would protect them. I didn’t understand enough about imperial magic to know what they were capable of.

But finally, as I went back for a fourth pass between the fleets, the black ships began to slow. By the time I came around again, all the other big dragons flying in my wake, the imperial fleet had fully stopped.

Time was less meaningful to dragons, but we could grow bored—even of breathing fire. But the storm waned and the rain thinned, and still I directed the others back again and again, blocking the way of the imperial fleet with our flames. And every time I looked toward the Fallen Isles fleet, they were farther away, although it wouldn’t take much for the black ships to catch up. So we burned and burned, and finally, some communication must have been sent to the imperial ships, because they adjusted their sails and changed course—heading back to the mainland.

My dragons and I stayed for a while longer, circling until the island ships had fully vanished in the distance. Only when it seemed clear the empress wasn’t going to come after us did I peel away, flying westward.

Light from the setting sun gleamed across the water, beautiful and bright. I let myself fall into the joy of flying again, wings pumping as we caught up to the Fallen Isles fleet. A cheer rose from below, people celebrating the freed dragons and, perhaps, me. My flight with the first dragon.

LaLa and Crystal chittered and let go of the first dragon at the same time, catching the great gust of wind after me. Then, together, they dove toward the ship—toward Ilina, who waited for them with open arms. Another wave of celebration greeted them, but through our connection, I knew they only cared about seeing Ilina and Hristo again, and the full bellies they’d have after receiving whatever treats she’d stashed away for them.

I flew.

My wings. My roar. My sky. My life.

I flew as the sun lowered and the sky purpled, and finally I came back to myself. Still connected, still flying, but ready to settle and change into my clothes—not Apolla’s gift.