You had stayed close to Jace at first, Moondancer's smaller frame darting between the larger dragons like a minnow among sharks. The two of you had fought in tandem, the way you had practiced a hundred times above the cliffs of Dragonstone — Vermax breathing flame onto a Lysene galley, Moondancer sweeping in to finish what he started, your fire hotter and wilder than his, less controlled but somehow more devastating. You had whooped with exhilaration, the wind tearing the sound from your lips, and you had seen Jace turn toward you once, his face split in a grin that was all teeth and triumph, and you had grinned back, certain in that moment that nothing could touch you, that the two of you were invincible, that the stories they would tell of this day would be stories of glory.

Then, a Tyroshi warship had come up beneath you, its deck crowded with crossbowmen, and Moondancer had shrieked as a bolt grazed her wing, the sound piercing your ears like a needle. You had pulled her up, hard, climbing toward the safety of the clouds, and for a moment you had lost sight of Vermax in the smoke. When you found him again, he was below you, diving toward a line of galleys with the reckless abandon that was so characteristic of your brother, and you had started to follow, to call out a warning, to do something—

But another ship had emerged from the smoke, a Myrish vessel with scorpions mounted on its deck, and you had watched, frozen, as one of those great bolts flew true, striking Vermax in the belly with a sound like a cracked rib, burying itself deep into the flesh before the beast could even exhale.

The scream that tore from the dragon's throat was not a sound you had ever heard before, not from any beast, not in any nightmare. Vermax's wings faltered, and then he was falling, tumbling through the air like a broken kite, his green scales dark with blood, his tail lashing uselessly at the sky. You saw Jace's small figure clinging to the saddle, battling with the straps, right up to the split second he realized he had no choice but to leap.

And Moondancer, feeling your panic and your grief, dove before you could even command her, wings folding against her sides as she plummeted toward the water. The wind screamed in your ears and you could see the wreckage now — a floating spar from a shattered ship, and there, clinging to it with white-knuckled desperation, was Jace.

He was alive. He was alive, and he was looking up at you, face pale and streaked with blood — his own or Vermax's, you couldn't tell — and his mouth was moving, shaping words you couldn't hear over the wind and the screaming of dying men. You thought he might be saying your name, or perhaps he was cursing you, or simply praying to gods he had never believed in.

Moondancer was still diving when you saw what Jace must have seen a moment before you: the Myrish crossbowmen on the nearest ship with their weapons raised and their faces dark with the grim determination of men who had been taught to fear dragons and had learned to kill them instead. You saw the bolts fly, a dozen of them, a cloud of iron death aimed directly at your brother's exposed back.

You hauled on Moondancer's reins with a strength you didn't know you possessed, screaming a command that was a raw wordless need. The dragon shrieked, wings snapping open, and she twisted in mid-air, her body interposing itself between the crossbow bolts and your brother. You felt the impact as a series of dull thuds against her scales, felt her shudder and falter, and then you were sliding from the saddle, dropping the last ten feet into water that was cold as a knife and dark as ink.

You broke through gasping, salt water burning your eyes and throat, but you could see Jace now, close enough to touch, his eyes wide with terror and… relief, maybe, or fury, or the same desperate love that was clawing its way up your throat.

"You idiot!” He was shouting, his voice raw and broken, barely audible over the roar of battle. "You absolute fucking idiot, what are you doing?! You were supposed to stay safe!"