Chapter 1

The frozen sea was life for Giorgi, but it wasn’t until the dragons came that he realized how perilous the Kinuli Sea really was. If only he could’ve returned to those innocent moonsteps before—before he’d been forced into a life alone on the frozen waves.

He wiped the ice from his beard, wishing he could get rid of the irritating thoughts as easily, and focused on the storm that had deepened since Handi had risen. Where were the Drakoni’s promise of blue dragons to keep the tempests at bay? Over the past several rotations, their promises had become as reliable as an unteathered sail. How he wished he could slit each of their lying throats! Then he’d fulfill his vow to his papa.

The changeable frozen swells and fissures of the Kinuli Sea demanded his attention at any time, for no crossing was ever the same twice, but during a squall, when the winds drove icy mist into his face and veiled the more distant wave-caps, it was doubly true. If he wanted to make Port Gamar before moonfall, he couldn’t afford to lose time on the circuitous routes the sled-sail would be forced to take if he wound up on the open-sea side of a deep fissure.

“Mattay, pull that sail!” He called the order to the boy high on the mast. “This storm’s going to blow us off course if we’re not careful.”

“Aye, aye!” Mattay swung from the mast to the foremast and worked his wonders.

There was a reason Giorgi had agreed to a young one on his sled-ship. The kid reminded him of himself when the crew of the Gemi had pulled him from the ice waves nine rotations ago, but beyond that, Mattay was good at what he did.

With one finger, Giorgi traced the hawk carved on the wheel, saying a prayer. He didn’t know if the gods cared or not, but he wasn’t about to gamble on that count. Besides, his papa had been a praying man on this ice-sea.

Giorgi, when you stand before the symbol of a sled-ship’s icon, you must always touch it and pray. The gods may be kind to you or they may not, but best not to tempt fate.

Come on, Kori, pull us through, he added directing his thoughts to the matching symbol—the carved hawk whose open beak almost seemed to cry defiance into the wind, A gust pushed him against the helm.

“Mattay!” He called, but it was too late.

There was a rending of fabric, and the last bit of the sail flapped wildly before the boy could grab it and haul it in. Giorgi sighed. Just what he needed, but he schooled his face as Mattay hurried toward him.

“I’m sorry, sir. I tried.”

“I know you did.” Giorgi rested a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll have enough to cover its cost when we get this shipment into port.” Barely. Realizing the futility of sailing in this gale, Giorgi said, “We’ll have to use the dogs now.”

“Can I help, sir?” The lad’s eyes lit up.

“Another time, Mattay. I can’t risk anything else happening.”

Mattay nodded, but his disappointment was visible in his hunched shoulders and bowed head.

“You can grab the light so I can see what I’m doing.”

“Aye, sir!” Mattay sprang into action.

Giorgi strode to the front of the sled, fighting against the gust. At least the wind was coming head-on; if it’d been hitting them broadside, it would’ve been enough to capsize the Kori. At this rate, they’d never make it before moonfall.

As he knelt before the kennel, Zhagli whined. “I know, girl, it’s nasty weather, but you have your coat to help you.”

He patted her on her grey head and checked the pads of her dark paws. No sores showed through the thick fur.

“We’ll get you something special in port for your efforts.”

Even as the words left his mouth, he wondered how he’d fulfill the promise. He was already strapped for money, and adding the repairs to the sail were going to cut into his profits. As he harnessed Zhagli and Zua to the front of the sled-ship, he wondered again why he did this. He could go back to Toshesh and live happily.

Right, for a cycle or two.

He had tried—and managed—to keep his feet on solid ground in Skymna between the coming of the seasonal winds, but as soon as the latter winds arrived, the sea called his name, as if the air itself was drawing him to Gamar. So here he was, back where his furs protected him from the ice and snow, where the breezes sang through the sails, and the dogs howled to Handi and Tsiki.

He took his place at the wheel. “Tsadi!”

The dogs lifted their black noses to Handi—the moon was there somewhere, even if he couldn’t see it—and sang out the plaintive sound he loved. With a jolt, the Kori lurched forward. It was always an adjustment shifting sailing to towing, as the dogs couldn’t pull the the sled-ship over the frozen waves as quickly. They had a long way to go yet, and walking was best avoided in the icy wastes of the Sea, but he’d need to stretch his legs and eat at some time. For now, though, he’d stay put guiding the Kori along by instinct and reading his dogs. They knew where land was and would take the Kori to it, but Giorgi wanted to head straight to the port. And that was why he was captain. He knew how to read the ice-waves and the conditions to find ports.

***

By the time the storm had calmed, Giorgi’s gloves were frozen to the wheel.

“Mattay!” Even his voice seemed frosted. He cleared his throat and called again, “Mattay, I need your help.”

“Coming!” With a litheness Giorgi envied, the lad ran across the lower deck and up the ladder to the quarterdeck. “Oh, one moment.” Mattay knelt beside a box in the floor behind Giorgi, and pulled out the wraps. “Here you go.”

The blessed heat worked its way through Giorgi’s gloves and warmed his fingers until they could unwrap from the wheel. He stretched them out and pulled them back with a slow controlled movement, relishing in the freedom and wincing as they popped.

“Port Gamar’s ahead. Want to lead the dogs in?” Giorgi squinted against the glare of snow and ice.

At least Tsiki added its purple hue now, giving contrast to the gentle swell of the frozen waves. It made it easier on the dogs.

“You want me to lead Zhagli and Zua?” Mattay’s mouth hung open.

Giorgi laughed. “Have to learn sometime. Better now than never.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” The boy twined his thumbs together and fanned his four fingers out on either side moving upward from his chest to his chin—the sign of the hawk.

“Now, get going before I change my mind.” Giorgi hid his smile in his beard. It was getting time to trim it, but he didn’t have anyone to impress.

Mattay bounded down the rungs and to the front of the sled-ship where another ladder to portside would take him to the sea, but before he could make it past mid-ship, the ice swirled about with a whooshing sound Giorgi would recognize any moonstep—a dragon—and since he couldn’t see it, probably a white one.

Zhagli howled to Tsiki and came to a sudden stop.

“No, blast it!” Giorgi raced after Mattay, running toward the front ladder.

The lad beat him to the ice, putting all his weight against the bow to stop the vessel, but he was no match for the momentum of the sled-ship. By the time Giorgi joined him, Mattay had skid for several paces. Giorgi added his strength and positioned his heels into the snow for added purchase. When his boots tapped Zua’s white hocks, the Kori came to a stop.

Drakoni! How Giorgi hated them! He clenched his fists together and stomped off to confront the man who now stood before Zhagli.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Giorgi tried to control his voice, but the momentum of the ship could’ve injured his dogs, and who knew what may have happened to his cargo.

The man stood a head taller than Giorgi and gazed down at him. The air around chilled as the Drakoni’s hand filled with a white glow.

“Is that how you address your gate keepers, Meomari?” Where most people had colored irises with dark pupils, this man’s were white except for the small dot of a pupil. A Drakoni born, then, and a white to boot.

Giorgi bowed his head. Why had he let his tongue get the better of him?

“My apologies, sir.”

“Sir?” The Drakoni sneered. “You dare insult me?”

Giorgi swallowed. Figures he’d find one of the Drakoni who demanded utmost respect. “Upalo,” he said with another inclination of his head.

“What brings you to Port Gamar, Meomari?”

“I have a shipment from Toshesh, some of the finest of Astreiji’s mines. The Drakoni and Khalki will pay for it.” He couldn’t help the pride in the statement. Only a few braved crossing the Kinuli Sea with a heavy shipment of metals, even on such a small sled-ship.

“Well, then let me lead you in.”

Giorgi held a sigh in check. This moonstep couldn’t get any worse. “As you wish, upalo.” He bowed and called back to Mattay. “The Drakoni will lead us in.”

The lad nodded, his eyes wide, and scurried back to the deck. Giorgi didn’t blame him.

He ruffled Zhagli’s fluffy ears. “Can you follow the Drakoni, girl?”

She whimpered.

“I know. It’s only for a bit. We’re almost there. Then you can have your treat.”

“Do not veer to the right or the left, Meomari,” the Drakoni called from atop his dragon now.

Giorgi’s heart raced as he gazed up, up, up at the white dragon. The creature was as imperious as its rider, as cold as the ice it controlled, and as terrifying as Giorgi remembered from nine rotations ago. He stuffed the memories behind the bars that he’d erected and focused on the Drakoni’s words.

“The ice has become unstable.”

A chill wormed its way into Giorgi’s being as he said, “Understood, upalo.”

Unstable ice? Only heat could do that, and Graen’s rays were nowhere near Port Gamar, thank the gods! That left fire. Had someone been brave enough to challenge the Drakoni?

His hand strayed to the blade that almost reached to his knee. Papa had bid him not to cease fighting until the Drakoni had paid with their blood, but Papa didn’t know what it was like since the Battle of Gamar. The dragon riders and their followers had gained control of the sea routes, extracting taxes in exchange for better weather and keeping the peace in the ports.

Giorgi tried his best not to deal with the Drakoni—doing business with Meomari to the best of his abilities—but Drakoni were afterall the ones behind all movement in and out of Port Gamar, the only reliable port on the Kinuli Sea.

He kept his hand on the wooden knife-handle, as he led Zhagli behind the white dragon. The creature’s tail left a trail for them, which made it easier for the dogs, but the ice underneath was slick, and Giorgi had to steady himself with Zhagli’s grey shoulder too many times to count.

At last, they crested the last ice-wave, and Port Gamar came into view, a welcome sight after the long moonsteps of snow and frost. Near them wooden poles like sentinels guarding the sled-ships connected to the docks, and farther back, the rectangular outline of buildings lent a sense of humanity to the jagged ridge that overshadowed it all.  Sled-ships sat in their berths; their sails unfurled. Of course, the Drakoni would have spared the port from the worst of the storm.

“Dock three.” The Drakoni pointed; the ice in the air coellescing into a beacon under his command. “Follow the trail, and you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, upalo.”

The Drakoni dipped his head in acknowledgement, and, with a beat of wings which cleared the ground of all snow, sending it into Giorgi’s eyes and partially covering the dogs, the dragon lifted into the air, taking the ice-cursed Drakoni with him.

“Mattay!” Giorgi hollered.

“Aye, sir.” The lad was almost beside himself in his eagerness to help.

Together they unburied the dogs and made the final trek into Port Gamar.

Chapter 2

“What do you mean?” Giorgi stood mouth agape. “Since when does it cost twenty-five gold to dock? It was fifteen only five cycles ago.”

The diminutive man shrugged, holding out his hand. “Not my doin’, but it’s twenty-five now. An’ since ya put in already, ya got to pay it.”

“It’s robbery! My papa would shake his head and walk away if he were here.”

“But he’s not, Giorgi. Ya are.” The man’s hand hadn’t wavered. “So, are ya goin’ be the man I know ya are, or ya goin’ to back out of port, leavin’ some other Meomari to pay yer fees?”

Giorgi sighed and pulled out his coin bag. “I only have fifteen, Demna. Can I get the other ten to you when I sell my cargo?”

For the first time since Demna had approached, the port master relented. “That’ll do, Giorgi. I know ya won’t run, leavin’ me to take up the slack.” He pocketed Giorgi’s last coins and wrapped his arms around Giorgi in a bear hug that defied his size. “Welcome home, son. What took ya so long?”

“You know me, always wanting to try something new.”

Demna raised an eyebrow as he backed away. “Did ya find a girl? What’s her name? What’s she like?”

Giorgi waved both hands in front of him. “No, no. Nothing like that, Demna.”

“Oh… Well, ya can’t blame me for wantin’ to see ya settled down happily. The sea’s no place for old bones and takes too many young’uns.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who taught me all I know.”

“Hence, why I fear for ya.” Demna waved to the Kori. “I taught ya how to sail a decent vessel, not…” He shook his head. “Not this little piece of—”

“Now, if I disparaged the Gemi you’d have me cleaning the deck and would probably whip me good, so don’t you belittle the Kori.” Giorgi rested a hand on the runner nearest him, realizing the skids needed another sanding after this last trip. “She’s a good sled-ship. Not anything like her namesake, but she’s only been good to me.”

“Now, that was a ship.” Demna agreed. “What a sad step it was to see all those mighty ones destroyed.” He bowed his head and removed his fur cap which pulled his shoulder-length blond hair on end with a snap of static.

Demna was one of the old-timers who’d been there on the moonstep when the Drakoni descended on the Meomari sled-ships and secured their place as overlords of the Kinuli Sea ports. Giorgi had often wondered how a Meomari captain had managed to gain a position of authority in the Drakoni government, but it was something one didn’t ask, and it placated his own conscience for dealing with the Drakoni.

“So, how long ya in port for this time?” Demna returned his cap to his head. “Can I introduce ya to a girl or two?”

Giorgi shook his head. “I’ve got Mattay with me still.”

“Well, he could get a girl, too, ya know.”

“Demna! He’s only seen twelve rotations.”

The port authority only grinned.

Giorgi slapped Demna across the shoulder. “Enough.”

“Captain, want me to stow the dogs or bring them with?” Mattay called as he leaned over the railing on the Kori.

Another expense. If they came with, Demna would have to charge a port fee for the damage their claws would do to the wood. A dog or two wouldn’t cause much harm, but if every captain brought their dogs to shore, the combined wear would be significant.

“For now, leave them there. I’ll sell the cargo first, then we can have a rest period at an inn.”

“And a hot meal?” Mattay bargained.

“Yes, that too.” He wanted it to come out of the lad’s payment, but it was the captain’s duty to feed his shipmates, and since Giorgi only had one, he’d always paid for Mattay’s meals.

“Look me up at the Waxin’ Moon when ya get done with the Drakoni,” Demna said with a grin. “I’ll see what I can do to get ya a proper room an’ welcomin’ committee. Just maybe ya’ll want to stay in Gamar longer.”

Giorgi shook his head. The man was incorrigible. Every time Giorgi was in port, Demna tried to find a reason for Giorgi to stay, and every time the reason had long hair, batted her eyes, and swayed her hips. It wasn’t that they weren’t pretty, but Giorgi hadn’t found a one who looked beyond his status. All they cared about was that he had muscles and the status of owning his ship. He wasn’t sure which was worse—dealing with Drakoni or the girls Demna pushed at him.

“Are we going into Gamar, sir?” Mattay hopped onto the dock. “I wouldn’t mind looking around.”

“I can’t pay you—”

Mattay interrupted with a wave of his hand, “I know, but it doesn’t cost to look.”

“Hmf,” Giorgi snorted. “That’s not always true, Mattay. Sometimes just by looking you can get on the wrong side of a Drakoni. Best stay clear of them as much as you can.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Mattay saluted with his thumbs twined and fingers splayed.

The Kori. The only vestiage of his papa’s sled-ship, other than him. Would Papa be disappointed? He wasn’t killing the Drakoni; he was doing business with them—no matter how much he tried to swab over it by working only with Meomari. He sighed. How Demna could live with the memories of the lost Meomari ships and represent the Drakoni law was beyond him.

Well, best to get this over with. He stomped along the dock, ignoring the sled-ships towering over him with their deep hulls and fancy figureheads. He didn’t need the reminder of how far he’d sunk. Digging his hands into his pockets he hunched his shoulders against the chill. No wind blew, but Gamar always seemed colder than Toshesh.

The merchant house sat on the hill overlooking the docks. Glass windows gave it a view of Gamar City as well as the port that no other building had, and when Handi was in a specific spot on the horizon, it reflected back, lighting the building so even sled-ships furlongs out to sea could make their way into port. The massive building was crafted from local stones, but wood had come from Huvudstaden, along the Elv River to Toshesh, and finally crossed the Kinuli Sea to Port Gamar. The sheer logistics could only have been overseen by the Drakoni, and the building stood as a reminder of what they were capable of—and a subtle warning.

Giorgi straightened his back as he approached. Papa had taught him to face his enemies with confidence, even if his knees were shaking worse than the sails in a gale. Demna had reinforced the trait to the point that Giorgi bluffed his way through most of life now.

He pushed open the heavy wooden doors. A yellow glow flooded over him, and he was accosted with the cacophony. Heels echoed off the wooden floors, men chatted in groups at tables, chairs, and even standing off to the side. Here was where money flowed and deals were made—where the real power of Gamar dwelt.

Blinking to help his eyes adjust from moonlight to lamplight, Giorgi glanced about. He’d need the right buyer. Preferrably someone not connected with the Drakoni who had the money to take his cargo off his hands.

A tall woman walked his way, her colorful skirts swishing around her legs and twining around a snow fox tail hanging from her belt. “Giorgi! Welcome back.”

She grasped his forearm and trailed a finger along the back of his hand. With any other woman, it would’ve been welcome, but not with Aledis. Although dressed as a sailor, Aledis was Drakoni or at least held her connections with them too close for Giorgi’s comfort.

“What took you so long to return to Gamar?” Aledis brushed her long blond hair over her shoulder along with several strings of beads, her green eyes sparkling. “The Kori’s still fine?”

“No, nothing wrong. Just decided to stay in Toshesh for a couple of cycles.”

“Toshesh?” She waved her hand in front of her face as if to avoid a putrid odor. “There’s nothing there.”

“Hence I returned to Gamar.” Giorgi smiled at her; flattery always worked better than frosted words. “Besides, there are no ladies such as you there.”

A man wearing the standard sailor’s garb—white shirt with lose sleeves tied at the wrist and baggy trousers—joined them.

“Aledis,” the tall man rested a hand on her shoulder, “is this sailor bothering you?”

“Not at all.” Aledis took the tall man’s hand in hers and kissed it. “Temuri, let me introduce you to Giorgi. He runs a small sled-ship called the Kori between Toshesh and Gamar.”

“Kori?” Temuri ran a hand along his smooth chin, but the eyes made Giorgi tremble inside. Where his colored irises should have been, Temuri only had white—just like the Drakoni who had escorted them into port. Those disconcerting eyes observed him like the dogs would’ve examined a rat caught on deck. “Kori’s a Meomari name. One of the clans if I remember correctly.”

Giorgi swallowed. Just his luck he’d run into a Drakoni born, one bonded with a white dragon no less, who knew history, and, from the sound of his voice, the same one who’d guided them into port.

Licking his lips, Giorgi replied, “Yes, a smaller clan.”

Temuri regarded him with those disturbing white eyes. “Not many Meomari your age pay attention to their history.”

“My father ran a sled-ship.” Giorgi admitted.

“Ah, I see. You must be the runt the Gemi took in.”

“Temuri,” Aledis interrupted, resting a hand on his arm. “What does it matter?”

“His parents were part of the rebellion.” Temuri didn’t take his gaze from Giorgi, but placed his hand on hers. “I allowed Demna to care for the lad but didn’t expect him to have the gall to walk into the merchant hall.”

Aledis placed a hand on Temuri’s chest. “Giorgi has done nothing wrong. He pays his taxes and sells his wares like any other Khalki. Ask anyone.”

Her words became muffled, while the heat and wood of the merchant hall faded from Giorgi’s view, leaving him as his ten rotations old self.

***

He stood on the frozen sea, Momma beside him. Papa was on the Kori, near the burning sled-ships. A dragon roared his battle cry. How many were there? A blue one rose above the fire, its massive wings beating with a steady rhythm. With grace defying its size, it dove, snatching a sled-ship in its talons and carrying it into the air. Giorgi watched in horror as the dragon released the vessel.

“No!” His small voice wasn’t heard among the screams around them—those of the men and women falling from the ship and of those watching and fighting around them.

He didn’t know when Momma had led him into the fray, but in the middle they were. In front of a them a blond woman drew back a bow and released an arrow. Giorgi flinched.

“It’ll be all right,” Momma assured him as she pulled him out of the way of a man swinging an axe. “We’re going to Papa.”

As they drew nearer, Giorgi could read the symbols on the sled-ships. Each represented one of the Meomari and their families. There was the Megeli with its wolf head, and Geveli with its serpent. But where was the Kori? It had to here.

“There!” Momma pushed him forward. “Run!”

He took off, but stopped, skidding on the ice and snow. “Momma?”

She stood with her sword drawn. A Drakoni ran toward her his hand extended, glowing white. Giorgi’s legs refused to listen to him and trembled as he watched his momma. There was no way she could beat the Drakoni’s ice power with a sword.

As the man sent forth a burst of white which split into small icicles, Momma flung herself to the side and rolled forward. She rose beside the Drakoni and swung her sword, connecting with his leg. The man howled, but the sound was drowned out by a screech from the sky. The dragon swooped and with precision, scooped Momma into his talons.

“No!” Giorgi yelled as he charged heedlessly toward the Drakoni.

His fists pounded into the man’s middle, ineffective against the fur skins. The Drakoni held him at arm’s-length.

“What have we here? A Meomari whelp?” He laughed. “Oh, was that your dam? Makes a bit more sense why she was so eager to attack a Drakoni born.”

Giorgi wanted to say something, anything, but he found his tongue frozen to the roof of his mouth, as surely as if he’d touched it to a metal pole. He trembled with rage.

“At least the whelp’s aware of his danger.” The Drakoni lifted Giorgi to look him in the eyes, leaving the boy’s feet to dangle. “Now how do you take care of the snow fox den, huh?”

Snow fox den? Giorgi was a Kori, the people of the hawk, not the Mela.

“Are you too stupid to even speak your mind?” With a final glare, the man dropped him into the snow bank and whistled.

The white dragon landed, and the Drakoni born clinbed onto its back, a slight limp showing Momma’s sword had hindered him. Giorgi watched in horror as the two of them sent a stream of ice at the Meomari in their path, freezing everyone where they stood.

***

Slowly, the memory faded, leaving Giorgi numb. He’d managed to keep it shut in a hold in the recesses of his mind for nine rotations, but twice in one moonstep, he’d ran into the same Drakoni born—the one whose dragon had killed Momma. Now he stood in the merchant hall, with Temuri in front of him.

As feeling returned to Giorgi’s limbs, Temuri glared for a moment longer, then turned to Aledis and kissed the top of her head. “Alright, my dear. I’ll purchase his wares this time.”

Giorgi stared. This couldn’t be happening. “You… you don’t even know what I brought.”

Temuri waved a hand. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned something about the finest from Astreiji mines. Besides, anything a Meomari would find of interest will be worth it to me. Now, let’s finalize the deal.”

Giorgi wanted to speak up. To say something, but in front of this particular Drakoni, he was the little boy. Despite his promise to his papa, he felt as impotent as he did on the moonstep both his parents perished; so instead of speaking his mind, he followed the Drakoni to one of the counters.

Temuri leaned against it as if he had no care in the world. “Write me a bill of sale.”

The clerk pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill. “What will it be for?”

Temuri motioned to Giorgi.

Finding his voice, Giorgi said, “One hundred pounds of mixed azurite and malachite and twenty pounds of copper.”

The clerk wrote it, while Temuri lifted his thin brow. “I’d very much like to know how a Meomari got his hands on azurite.”

“I’m a merchant,” Giorgi huffed, now that he’d found his voice, his ire wanted to be released as well. He kept it in check by sheer force of will. It wouldn’t do to irritate the man any more than his mere presence had.

“And the price, sir?” The clerk cleaned the nib of his quill.

“The going market rate minus twenty percent for port fees.” Temuri dared Giorgi to protest.

“I’ve already paid Demna for that!” Giorgi said.

The same smug look he’d used when Giorgi was little crossed Temuri’s face as he chuckled, “And they’ve gone up since you entered the merchant hall.”

The going rate was what he’d expect from any other merchant, but only receiving eighty percent of it was going to cut deeply. Having survived nine rotations as a merchant, Giorgi knew when he was defeated. He glanced about, but every other person in the hall were Drakoni or were as entangled as Aledis. Even if he tried to back out, there was no one else that he could go to, and how Temuri stood with his arms crossed as he leaned against the wooden divider of this clerk’s station, said he knew he’d backed Giorgi into a no-win situation.

With a heavy sigh, Giorgi gave in. If he didn’t, Temuri would black list his name like had happened to Luka son of Dmitry. The merchant had run his own sled-ship for rotations, but when he’d tried to undersell to a Drakoni, he’d been run out of the merchant hall and never allowed to trade again. Some said he still ran the sea, but only as a sailor—not a merchant of his own.

“Fine, Upalo.”

Temuri nodded to the blue-eyed clerk.

“I’ll need both signatures.” The clerk slid the paper toward Temuri, pointing to the bottom of the paper as he handed his quill to the Drakoni.

With a fluid grace, the man signed his name and handed the quill to Giorgi.

Temuri Batono, Drakoni born. Giorgi bit his lip. Drakoni born. If the eyes hadn’t given it away, now Giorgi knew for sure; this was a man dragon bonded since birth. He pushed the information aside and signed his own name. Giorgi Ioseb’s son, Kori clan. And with a flick of a quill, he’d sealed his fate. If Temuri had suspicions about Giorgi’s heritage, he wouldn’t any more. Demna would be glad because with the twenty-percent extra taken out, the need for repairing the sail, and the extra port fees already owed, Giorgi would be stuck in Gamar with no way of getting back to Toshesh any time soon.

Chapter 3

The bill of sale weighed heavy in Giorgi’s hand as Temuri led him back to the docks. He wanted to protest. He knew his way around Gamar like the back of his hand, but with Drakoni you didn’t argue—especially Drakoni born. Instead, he trailed respectfully behind like a good Khalki, not the Meomari his father had raised him to be.

He contemplated how easily he could sneak closer and drive the tip of his blade into Temuri’s heart. He knew how—turn the blade parallel to the ground and slip it through the ribs—but this was a Drakoni who’d already proven to be more knowledgeable than Giorgi had believed possible. Most likely the Drakoni would see Giorgi move, and he’d be without any coins. But that wouldn’t matter because he’d be left an ice sculpture where he stood.

With a sigh, he settled his hand on the hilt of his knife, letting the dream of revenge slide away for now. One moonstep, he’d avenge his momma’s death and fulfill his promise to Papa.

As if reading his thoughts, Temuri turned and motioned to Giorgi. “Your sled-ship is ahead. From what I hear, you owe Demna as well.”

“I can’t pay him until I’m paid.”

Temuri sneered. “You really are a pathetic Meomari, aren’t you?”

Giorgi rose to his full height, hand tight on the knife handle. “You want to say that again?”

The Drakoni looked down his nose at him, his white eyes expanding as his pupils narrowed. “Boy, you don’t know what you’re dealing with. I’m Drakoni born. I take it a whelp like you wouldn’t even know what that means.”

Whelp. At the word, Giorgi’s blood froze. The everystep sounds of the port faded away, until he was ten rotations old, held aloft, feet dangling above the icy waves, as the port burned. As Giorgi had stood not knowing what to do, the Drakoni born—this Drakoni born—had hoisted him into the air and then discarded him as a worthless whelp.

Temuri didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care—that his words and actions had affected Giorgi.

“Let me explain,” he said as he raised his hand to Giorgi’s face; white glowed and frost floated off it. “At my birth, my parents brought the white dragon, Tetri, into the room where my mother labored. I was delivered onto the dragon’s feet.” He turned his hand over, creating a miniature snow storm under it. “Tetri took me in and raised me as much as my parents did. And thanks to her, I am who I am.”

Temuri flicked his wrist and a blast of cold air flew into Giorgi’s face, coating him in ice and frost. He allowed Giorgi the grace of wiping the rime from his beard before continuing. “There is nothing you can do to challenge me, whelp. Nothing. Now, are you going to be a man and lead me to the Kori or are you going to be the pathetic Meomari you are and trail behind me with thoughts of murder?”

Giorgi’s blood ran hot then cold. I’m sorry, Papa. Without a word, he stomped along the dock to the Kori, but not before he caught the flicker of amusement that crossed Temuri’s face. He longed to carve the symbol of the Kori in the man’s arrogant face. But what could he do to one with so much power? A dragon. How he hated them!

Zhagli and Zua let out a racket as Giorgi approached. “Stow it, you two!” He was in no mood to deal with them right now, even if they were doing their job of protecting the cargo.

Zhagli whined and sat back on her haunches. Temuri eyed the dog as if daring her to attack.

He probably would delight in freezing her to death as a demonstration of what he’s capable of, Giorgi thought as he hopped onto the deck and went to the small hold.

He pulled it open, revealing its contents. The copper glimmered in Handi’s fading light.

Temuri inclined his head. “And the azurite?”

“In the corner there.” Giorgi pointed.

“Get it for me.”

There was no asking why now when the port was all but closed for the rest period. Besides, Giorgi didn’t have any way to pay extra workers. So, he slipped into the hold and hoisted the first box of copper onto the deck.

“Even a whelp of a Meomari would know that’s not azurite.” Temuri stood with his hands on his hips, ice streaming toward his feet.

“To get to it, I have to first unload the copper,” Giorgi said through clenched teeth as he dropped another crate, not so gently, at the Drakoni’s feet. He was satisfied to see the man take a step back.

With a final grunt, he pushed the third crate onto the deck and returned for the azurite.

There was a creak of wood alerting Giorgi. He spun around to discover the Drakoni had climbed into the hold.

Temuri lifted a smaller box of lapis lazuli. “I’ll take this one as well.”

“What? Over my dead body, like my mother’s?” Giorgi was surprised at his boldness.

Maybe with the Drakoni’s hands occupied, he could do what he’d always dreamed of doing. Of its own accord, his hand slid to the hilt of his blade.

“I wouldn’t, whelp.”

“Why?”

“Because even if I don’t have my hands free, Tetri has her talons.” The beat of wings accompanied Temuri’s words, and Zhagli whimpered. “As for killing Meomari, yes, I did. All Drakoni killed when the Meomari rebelled.”

“Rebelled!” Giorgi blurted out. “Rebelled? All we were doing was trying to find safe passage out of Khalki, but you wouldn’t let us.” He leaned in closer, ignoring the warning in the back of his mind. With a Drakoni so close, he could at least set the record straight. “My parents were no rebels. They were intent on keeping me and the others safe, but no, you had to take her…” He shivered, but plunged ahead. “You!” He poked a finger into the Drakoni’s chest. “You killed her and left me to die.”

Temuri laughed, further provoking Giorgi’s anger.

“It’s funny to you? Will it be funny when I plunge this blade into your heart?”

Giorgi’s finger and hand grew stiff with cold. He tried to withdraw it, but it wouldn’t move. Temuri settled the crate on the deck and stepped in closer, so Giorgi had to bend his elbow to keep from breaking his wrist.

“Let me tell you a thing or two, Meomari whelp!” White eyes stared into his, and Temuri grabbed his upper arms, the position much like the white Drakoni had done rotations ago. “I may have killed Meomari and even been glad of it, but I didn’t leave you to die! Did you ever consider who sent the Gemi after you, or paid Demna every cycle for your room and board?”

Cold seeped into Giorgi’s core, and he shivered, his teeth chattering.

“You’re an ungrateful whelp is what you are.” Temuri dropped him, and Giorgi huddled in the hold.

It couldn’t be! He needed to protest to say it wasn’t so.

“But, my momma.” It came out as pitifully as Temuri claimed he was.

“Yes, Tetri killed her. She came at us with a blade, intent on killing us.”

A tear slid down Giorgi’s cheek.

“Your father was another matter.” He shook his head. “Between the blues with the storm and the red wyvern with his fire, there was no way of stopping the burning of the port. As soon as the battle was over, we took control back, but it was too late to save any of the sled-ships.”

It was as if the bottom of the hold had dropped out from under Giorgi. He fell to his knees and leaned against the side.

“While the others were busy bringing order at the port, I found Demna and sent him after you.”

“Why?” He whispered.

Temuri smiled. “Oh, don’t thank me yet.”

Giorgi hadn’t planned on it.

“Demna was a merchant. He’d already made an agreement to save his own can and his sled-ship. He wasn’t a clan leader, and so I kept him around. Instead of leaving a whelp of a child to freeze in the wastes, I sent a Meomari after him, a Meomari I could trust not to raise the cub to come after me when he was grown into a snow fox.”

The Drakoni took a step closer. “You’re not yet a fox, despite your self-aggrandized imaginings. You’re still the whelp. I know what your father made you promise. Oh, yes, Demna did more than care for you. He kept me informed of your progress, hence why I know you’re not a full-grown snow fox yet.” Temuri smiled, as if he knew a joke, Giorgi didn’t quite get. “One step, you’ll prove yourself, and then you’ll work for me as well.”

“Never!” Giorgi managed to keep his voice steady as he spat the word.

“And how are you going to survive, whelp?” Temuri placed both hands on the side of the hold above Giorgi’s shoulders, blocking him in. “Your sail’s in need of repairs. You barely have the funds to pay Demna’s port fees, and the coins I have in my pouch won’t be enough to purchase a cargo to return to Skymna with.”

The man was right, but Giorgi didn’t want to admit it. “I’ll… I’ll get by. Always have.”

“With my help.” Temuri turned and leapt onto the deck. “When you’ve run out of ideas, come find me. I may be in a better humor to honor that bill of sale, and I’ll be sure you don’t starve—too much.” He shook his head and turned away, tossing, “Pathetic whelp!” over his shoulder.

Giorgi watched, as Temuri set the box with the lapis lazuli and the one of azurite off to the side of the sled-ship and with ease, moved the other three beside it, securing them all with a net rope, then with a lumbering gait he grabbed the tethers and took off, swinging up into his dragon’s saddle. With the beat of wings and spray of snow, the dragon lifted into the air, taking Giorgi’s cargo with him. Giorgi stared upward, glad the hold blocked his view of the dragon that had killed his mother. It wasn’t possible this Drakoni had saved his life. Demna had cared for him those nine rotations, raised him as his own.

As Handi slipped beyond the horizon, Giorgi slid to the bottom of the hold and cried.

***

“Giorgi?” Mattay called. “Giorgi! Aren’t we going to the Waxing Moon? I’m hungry. Where are…” His words trailed off as he peered into the empty hold. “Oh, no! Giorgi’ll kill me!”

“I’ve never laid a hand on you, boy.” Giorgi wiped his cheeks and stood. “Waxing Moon it is, but I have nothing to pay you with.”

“What? But… The hold…”

“Aye, the hold’s empty,” Giorgi said as he bounded onto the deck, hoping the lad wouldn’t notice the signs of his weakness. “But unless you see a coin pouch around here, the Drakoni who signed my bill of sale left without paying.”

Mattay’s eyes grew round. “A… a Drakoni?”

“Let’s go find us some food.” Giorgi cut the boy’s questions short with a hand on his trembling shoulder. “You said you’re hungry. Just beware Demna’s offers.”

“I’ve survived on my own for nine rotations, haven’t I?” Mattay pushed Giorgi’s hand away. “I know Demna’s ways, but…” He held up a finger. “I can handle food.”

With a cocky grin, the lad bolted over the edge and hurried ahead, watching his steps in the dim light. The dock lamps had yet to be lit. Giorgi gave the dogs a pat and the last of the food he had for them, before heading to the inn. He was just as eager to get to the Waxing Moon as Mattay; Demna had some answering to do.

The guard was out, lighting lamps along the streets, and people hurried either home or to an inn for the rest period. The closer he came to the Waxing Moon, the noisier the street became. Multiple inns and pubs lined the way, and sailors and ruffians filled them. The Waxing Moon was known for its stricter rules on fights but also for its girls.

Music drifted out onto the street, clashing with the music from the neighboring pub, The Broken Sled. He reached the Waxing Moon, and opened the door to a shout. Probably some argument over a game of Tamashi, but Giorgi hurried his step just in case. An arm wrapped around his shoulder, and as quickly as the furs met, he spun away, his knife sliding free of its sheath at his side.

“Easy, Kori.” Demna raised his empty hands in front of him. “It’s me.”

“Sorry, had a rough time at the merchant hall.”

“Well, let’s drink your worries away.” Demna turned toward the bar. “A drink an’ meal for my friend.” As the barkeeper nodded and hurried into the kitchen, Demna said, “Now, come meet my friends.”

Giorgi allowed Demna to place an arm across his shoulders and lead him to a table where Mattay already sat, a waitress handing him a steaming mug. Two women sat on either side, but the one in the white tunic who was adjusting her blond hair and the multicolored beads that draped within it froze Giorgi to the spot, tripping Demna in the process.

“Aledis?” Giorgi whispered.

“Aye, a beauty, isn’t she? I’ve told her about ya, and she’s willin’ to listen to yer tales around the table and maybe later into the rest period.”

“I’ve told you—”

“Aye, ya’ve told me. An’ I’ve told ya a man’s not a man until he has a woman.” Demna grinned. “Just ask Elene.”

Giorgi sighed and accepted the inevitable. His moonstep couldn’t get any worse than it already had. Maybe Aledis could help him get the coins from Temuri.

“That’s my boy,” Demna said with a crooked grin. “Come eat. Aledis, seems you already know, Giorgi.”

“We’ve met a few times in the merchant’s hall. I’ve yet to get to know him beyond business.” She smiled at him, her vibrant green eyes lighting up, yet Giorgi couldn’t help but glance about for Temuri. “No need to worry, Giorgi. Have a seat.” She patted the spot next to her.

“The hot chocolate is excellent.” Mattay lifted his mug as if in salute. “It’ll warm your insides and your hands.”

“I’ll get ‘im somethin’ stronger than that Mattay.” Demna slid in next to Elene, giving her a kiss.

“Actually, his milk sounds about right for my step.” Giorgi leaned his elbows on the table.

“Suit yourself, then.” Demna frowned. “You’ve always been a different one.”

“But that’s what’s so intriguing about him.” Aledis slipped her hand through the crook of Giorgi’s elbow. “How’d it go with your cargo?”

Giorgi sighed. “Lost twenty percent to port fees.”

“Twenty!” Demna sputtered, his porter dribbling down his beard. “It’s only twenty-five gold. How’s that twenty percent?”

“I don’t have enough at the moment to pay you the rest of the gold I owe you.” He sat back, shifted and leaned on the table again.

Aledis turned to him and rested her other hand on his arm. “Relax, you’re among friends. Tell us what happened.”

Giorgi eyed her. She’d been there, and Temuri had kissed her on the forehead. It didn’t seem like something a Drakoni born would do randomly or in public.

She rubbed his shoulder, tracing circles with her delicate finger. “What has you on edge?”

What harm could it do? Giorgi surrendered the fight and allowed himself to enjoy the woman’s attentions. Across the table Demna and Elene exchanged smiles.

“Somehow I caught a Drakoni’s eye.” Giorgi told his story, watching both Aledis and Demna for their reactions. Neither flinched when he accused Demna of collaborating with the Drakoni.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Demna wrapped his arm around Elene, pulling her close and resting his chin on her head for a moment before looking up at Giorgi with a pained expression. “What do ya want me to say, boy? It was war. I saw the signs. We weren’t going to survive. The dragons…” He trailed off, his eyes distant. “I…” He blew a breath out. “I had a family to care for just like yer papa. I did what I could to stay alive. It kept ya livin’ as well.”

“But…” Giorgi stared. He’d hoped Demna would deny it, put it in a different light, anything but accept it as truth. “They’re Drakoni!”

Aledis stiffened beside him, and Giorgi gave an apologetic lift of his lips to her, focusing the majority of his attention on Demna and hoping his glare would get through to the man who’d raised him after the Drakoni had killed his parents.

“Aye, an’ we live in a world of ‘em. Cross ‘em and ya’ll not live. They’ll track yer family and exact vengeance.”

There was truth to Demna’s words; in essence Giorgi was the embodiement of it.

“I did it for Elene and you, Giorgi,” Demna said, a pleading in his voice. “I didn’t betray ya, nor did I betray my heritage. I’m the same I was before ya lost yer family. The Drakoni rule now, but I still do as I want.”

Giorgi wasn’t so sure, but the barkeeper set their plates on the table, and everyone began to eat. He had to admit the food was good, the company better, and soon his attitude had shifted.

Elene smiled at him as he pushed his empty plate away. “I always say the best way to change a man’s attitude is through his appetite. Works every time for Demna.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” Aledis smiled at her and turned to Girogi. “Care to dance?”

He glanced about. “Who, me?”

Aledis laughed. “I don’t suppose Elene would let me dance with Demna.”

Dance? Giorgi hadn’t danced since…

“Sure.” He rose and offered her his arm.

The music swelled to a fast-paced jig. Giorgi couldn’t help but lift his feet. Aledis smiled, and her skirts swished around her legs.

At the end of the song, Giorgi moved to head back to the table, but Aledis pulled him back. They danced another round and yet another.

After the third, Giorgi shook his head. “I can’t. I’m not used to this.”

“What? The captain can’t keep up?” Aledis grinned. “What would your ship’s crew think of you?”

Giorgi laughed. “My crew consists of a boy of twelve rotations.”

“And he doesn’t worship his captain?”

She had a point, but Giorgi wouldn’t be tricked into doing things so he would meet the lad’s expectations.

“Let’s go.” Giorgi led her off the dance floor.

“Come, Giorgi. I don’t want to sit. Let’s head out.”

Out? He didn’t have his coat and neither did she.

“We’ll freeze.”

“Trust me,” she whispered as she leaned forward and trailed her finger along his arm.

With a nod, he set aside wisdom. Let Demna say what he would. There was no way this moonstep could get any worse. Besides, maybe he could convince her to get his money for him.