Thomas Loxley sat at the top of the Mountain, right on the Rim.

He was quiet, gazing down at the land that the king had promised them. It was rich and green, filled with cattle and horses. The sweet-smelling plants and sirens’ songs and the overflow of water tempted them all to go, but the King hadn’t yet said the word. This was a place where everything was abundant, the milk, the honey, the soil. Where faeries played and wyverns were peaceful and kind. Fertile land, they rumored. A perfect place to colonize.

Or so the scouts had said.

They reported a paradise for the people of Anglia to explore. They couldn’t believe it. Thom certainly didn’t. Thom only saw fog below, and nothing else. He could only hear the wind, and nothing else. Despite the promised life, even his dragon, Vyk, didn’t dare to go down. It seemed dead down there. No birds, no wyverns. Quiet.

“Magic,” the scouts breathed with awe when they returned. They had climbed back up on the Moutain’s side, dirty and wearing such . . . odd clothes. Dirty and torn apart, hair messy and cut. They had been gone for years, the other said. Thom was there when the scouts had been pulled up, holding onto his mother’s hand when he saw the dirty men lay against the ground in relief. Their chests rose and fell as they caught their breath from the climb. Most of them came back wholly changed.

“It’s filled with magic down there.”

Ten years of waiting for elaboration, ways to go down and explore, and still, there was nothing. Nothing from the scouts. Nothing from the soldiers who were ordered to explore the Great Below. Nothing from the monarchy or the rest of the government branches. No one dared go down.

Not since the scouts that returned from the Below started having those horrifying fits.

They would wake up and scream about lights coming for them, firesticks that shot pain, wolf-like creatures running after them. They shook and the healers could do nothing to stop it. They saw creatures in the night that their dragons couldn’t sense, which was impossible. Dragons lived and breathed magic.

They rambled about how there were residents of some sort, the evil kind that could take away your very soul. Thom didn’t like the sound of that, and neither did the rest of the citizens of Anglia. But when they were sober and awake, they only said good things about it.

Their wives left them because of their delusions. Their children hated them. But to the kingdom, they were heroes. Heroes for venturing were no one dared, for coming back with news of the Below. It had been five hundred years since they went above.

Five hundred years of hiding magic from the others. Three hundred since it ran out. Fifteen generations. Still not enough.

Vyk purred quietly, his white opal scales rumbling. He was getting nervous from being so close to the Edge. If there was magic down at the bottom of the Mountain, then why couldn’t a dragon, the bravest of all creatures, handle it? “Shh,” Thom whispered to the beast. “Shhh.”

He let out a confused rumble, tossing his head like a horse. Thom felt his brow furrow in slight frustration with his dragon. Vyk had spent too much time in the stables. Vyk whimpered slightly in a sort of Yes? He seemed happy. Thom scratched his neck, under his chin.

The dragon’s jaw relaxed as Thom pet him. He lowed the very lowest rumble he could, snuggling his face into Thom’s torso, both of which were about the same size. He ran his hands over his smooth scales, watching out for his wings.

“We need to get you back to the dragon pens,” he muttered. Vyk, the young dragon, still needed naps. He sighed, bridling him again.

He looked back down, trying to see a waterfall or a tree from the Below. But, still, there was nothing off of the Rim but . . . nothing. Not even a dragon’s scale.1

Dragons were from the sky; from the Mountains. You couldn’t find them anywhere else on the planet, and for this reason, they were coveted. The different species were different to tame, as well, each serving a different purpose.

And, depending on your type of person, you may want to steal a different kind of beast.

They were all dragons, and they were all wanted. They sensed magic and each person may have wanted a beast, but only a select few could keep them as pets. (Most of the time, if a scaly creature wanted you, it stuck with you despite your feelings. Secondary imprinting.) Only the highest of hearts could woo a dragon.

Because of this, not everyone knew how to tame an amphiptere, a kind of serpent-like dragon that was used for cleaning the waters. And then there were wyverns. Wyverns weren’t useful with anything; they didn’t listen, they were just dangerous. The scaly wyrms . . . they came in all shapes and sizes, their only difference from Westerns was their smallish size.

The ever-wanted Westerns were twice the size of a man when fully matured, and they were the most complex. Each breed had different characteristics. They were the hoarders, the attackers of ancient castles and palaces. The reds were angry, violent, and perfect for battle. The greens had sweet temperaments, helping with the livestock and (rarely) stealing them from pens if they were agitated.

Vyk was a white Western. His scales shone like an opal stone, with amber eyes that glowed in the dark. One of the most dangerous dragons, usually reserved for the army. But Thom had tamed him from the sky’s birthing of the egg, and as the ‘unwitting’ stable boy, he got to keep him. Whites . . . they were reserved for royalty. They were supposed to be stubborn and prideful, but Vyk seemed to be some kind of confused one.

By order of Prince Calix, his . . . untimely companion. He loved the man, but he was always such a royal when he wasn’t acting like a passionate fool. When a person has been raised to act and think one way, you tend to forget that to them, it’s normal. And Calix was arrogant and had a mind like a tunnel, but his heart was like a dragon’s hoard: full and open.

“Good boy,” he whispered, loving him despite. His thoughts turned back to Calix.

Thom had a brother in the palace. By bond, not by blood, the queen had said. She practically raised both boys side by side, minus the fact one was training to be the greatest at one thing, and the other was just trying to do his best at whatever he could.

Thomas, unfortunately, was the latter. He was linked to this prince, but not in any romantic way, like the soldiers liked to tease him. He felt like they were brothers, but parted before they were conceived in the womb.

The link between them . . . it was like magic.

Magic meant a lot to the people of Anglia. It could cure all their problems, they said. It fueled their spirits, helped the crops. So high up on the Mountain, no one could reach the Earth’s skin again to feel it run through Her veins.

When the scouts had returned, the people rejoiced. Thom was old enough to remember that. The parties and balls lasted for a week, dragons roaring loudly and people setting off canons. They wanted to move into the new land as soon as possible, but Thom never saw the point in leaving the Mountain.

Now that he was older, all he could think of was leaving and exploring. Thoughts of going down the sides of the Mountain and seeing what’s really down there, going on expeditions for King Vali. That was all he wanted to know anymore. What was down there that was down there, in the Great Below? Thomas couldn’t think of what could be so dangerous.

“Loxley,” a voice called from behind him. He hadn’t expected to hear anyone else. It sent a jolt down his spine, for more reasons than one, and snapped him back into reality. The owner of the voice often ruffled his feathers, thinking she was above the world. He couldn’t stand her, even if she was a lady.

Thom shifted to see the woman who had called him.

He looked up slowly, seeing her mounted on her steed regally. Did she have hopes in seducing the prince? Her dragon, Evyleen, roared in pride, standing with an air of arrogance. She was the same white and plumy breed as Vyk, even acting the way she was supposed to. The dragon had no clue that she was beautiful. She just knew she was intimidating.

The rider, on the other hand, was gorgeous and knew it. Thom felt his face heat, staring deep into the ice blue eyes of the soldieress, Emma Adams. An old friend, he thought, but an older nuisance.

“Lady Emma,” he greeted, his voice steelier than he would have liked. She flung him a cold glare. He stiffened a little, chiding himself for being afraid of someone he knew since infancy. “What’s a lass like you doing this far up the Mountain?”

“What’s a boy like you questioning it?” She didn’t bother to dismount. Her cold gaze sent chills down his back. She was the best soldier in the army, originally hiding as a boy. Her hair had finally grown back, black and curly down her back in soft ringlets. She occasionally wore a dress, but mostly trousers and a tunic. Sword and purse at her side, she was perfectly browbeating.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business?” he snapped without thinking. He definitely wasn’t caught by her beaux. Terrible comeback, he mentally noted, wincing.

“Says the one not minding his,” she smirked. She wore a circlet of glittering silver on her brow, a sapphire in the middle. Her earrings were the same material and color. She even bore a pretty suit of armor. Evyleen shook her head in dignity as she watched Thom study her rider. Thomas sighs. She thought she was all that, didn’t she?

“All right, I take it back. What are you doing here, Emma?” He dismounts and clicked his tongue—a command for Vyk to stay where he was. Vyk growled lowly in disappointment from the command. He loved to play with Evyleen. Thom scratched his head in a small apology; he didn’t need to deal with Emma trying to shoot dung bombs in his hair all day.

The last time they had been actually civilized was the last Winteryule. Winteryule was a giant festival that all attended to bring good luck into the New Year. More often than not, it was a time to make amends, kiss those you had fallen in love with when you had no courage, and for making new friends. To ensure you had a good year, you gave gifts to your loved ones.

Thom and Emma danced and moved like it was meant to happen. Thom could still feel the way his heart raced, holding the soldieress close. But with the turn of events, they never became anything.

It was the equivalent of removing your shoes from the stoop for fearing it would bring you bad luck into the newdawn (a tradition mostly for little children so their shoes don’t get destroyed by weather or dragons).

Lastdusk, for example, Thom had forgotten and it had resulted in this encounter. He forced down every single rude comment he had and looked at his . . . the soldieress. Why had she come?

“Looking for you,” she replied. She arched an amused brow. Bratty snot, he thinks, suppressing his own grin. Emma was obnoxious and annoying, but they had known each other since the days they toddled. Emma didn’t know what she was getting herself into . . . she still didn’t.

But Thom did.

“I heard the Crown Prince wanted your company. In fact, his general sent for me. What did you do this time?” Emma asked, grinning like crazy. She slipped off of Evyleen. Thom could feel Vyk’s tail thump in anticipation, seeing now that his friend was ready to play. He had to click his tongue again for him to stop.

Emma walked over to him, hands on her hips as she snatches Vyk’s bridle. She was still shorter than he was, Thom noticed. She smirked. The expression on her face said You’re both dead. This was probably because most of the time, it was never Calix calling Thom anywhere . . . it was Calix’s mother, scolding them both. He stiffened when Emma took another step toward him.

What was with this . . . this minx? His face heated at his old associate, stepping back. Oh, the days he used to think of the woman and wanted to stay in his fantasies forever. But nowadays, there was nothing he wanted less than to stop.

“That is certainly not your business,” Thom said, taking back Vyk’s bridle. Vyk let out a bark, something like a laugh at Emma’s dumbfounded face. They head back into the palace without a second look at the foggy view of the Below, relief riddling Thomas’s body as they left the Rim.

“And what if it becomes my business?” she asked. He couldn’t answer, for two reasons. One reason because of his swollen tongue, and the other because he just didn’t know how.

𒎓

“Thom! Thom, come quickly!” a voice comes, a cape and some rope visible from the ceiling of the great palace’s ground layer. Marble and ivory mingled together, the soft footfalls of his boots sounding like sticks against the largest drums in existence. He could smell the brass as he headed down to the dungeons. The scent of mold and mildew grew and dissipated, being replaced with the awful reek of oil in his nose.

He wished his dragon were here to comfort him, to nuzzle up against him. Unfortunately, almost nothing could comfort him from the idiotic Crown Prince and his schemes . . . except for the prince himself.

You see, despite the Crown Prince being his best friend . . . The prince was absolutely mad.

An insane laugh was heard through the echoey caverns, causing Thomas to bite down on his tongue. A joyful crow it was, but it was also worrisome, because it meant that Calix had a new plan to tickle his fancy. Thom had better things to do than to cater to this fool’s every whim. But he let the easy, genuine smile spread across his face as he saw Prince Calix dashing between his new machines.

Cogs and needles ticked rhythmically; the wheels and gears grinding happily. The smell of petroleum and oils filled Thom’s nose as he stood under the cover of whatever the prince was tuning. Glistening gleams of the tools, like hammers and such, clanked and thunked against gold and bronze.

The prince had an affinity for clockwork and instruments. When he wasn’t being proper and stiff, he was joyous among devices and appliances. In the Other Life, he’d be a clockmaker. Thomas was sure of it.

“Yes, Your Most Magnificent Highness?” Thom joked, bowing when Calix jumped down from the ceiling. His face was covered with oil and his fingers were pure black from the stuff. Didn’t he know what gloves were for? Apart from his dirty fingers, his bronze hair was tied back in a tiny ponytail that couldn’t be more than a centimeter long. His scruff was beginning anew.

“I’m going to need Vyk,” he barely managed, breathing too hard from excitement. His words were accented with laughter he was holding back. It had been a long time since Calix laughed. “And,” he adds, “I’ll be keeping my promise to you: You’ll be a scout, soon enough!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, not following the prince’s words. Calix was bouncing up and down, and for what reason? He wouldn’t say, and it was driving the dragon-rider wild! “What exactly did you send the wench out to get me for?”

“So you could witness my newest creation come to life! But it requires the everlasting effects of dragon-fire, so I hope you don’t mind.” The corners of his mouth tugged to his ears. Thom stared at him, seeing the smile and already predicting the worst was yet to come. In fact, the Crown Prince’s wide grin was probably one of the only things that were normal about him. On top of his madness, he was abnormally handsome, as was his personality.

But he was one odd duck. . . .

“Mind? What in the name of the gods are you going on about, Calix?” Thomas demanded. “It better be important.” Calix looked around the empty hall as if suspecting someone to come in and ruin whatever he was planning.

Thom’s heart raced quickly, a sort of pounding that came with all of Calix’s ideas. They weren’t just creative ones; they were dangerous. Everything with Calix was dangerous. A jack of all trades.

“I’ve created a device,” Calix whispered, clutching Thom by the shoulders, “that will finally get us to the Great Below.”

That was important. Thom’s jaw dropped.

“Tell me more,” he said, but Calix didn’t get that far. The door to the ground floor opened swiftly, making them both jump.

“Boys?” Maria called from the other end of the hall. Their heads swiveled to see the old woman. The queen seemed tired of her son’s toils, body heavy with all the emotions she carried. If Thom hadn’t felt like she were his mother too, he would have glared at Calix. But he did add to some of her worries.

“What are you doing down here?” She lifted her skirts and looked around the basement of their palace. Covered in grime yet again. She was hesitant as she stepped through the stone floors, grumbling about how Calix shouldn’t be making more work for the servants.

Queen Maria was a beautiful thing for being her age. Curly blonde hair with small streaks of silver. Her eyes shone the same color as the Crown Prince’s, a periwinkle purple hue. She had a pointed nose, and her ears were higher than most nixies’, the tinge of her skin a slight yellow at the end of the cartilage.

Nixies were a faerie and human offspring. Calix inherited the ears, but not the color. He often hid them in his curly bronze hair that sat just at the nape of his neck. Thom, for this reason, could have easily passed as his brother in public. He had dark brown hair, bright green eyes, and the pointed ears of his kind: elves.

“Mother, look! Thomas and I are going down to the Great Below,” Calix said, triumphant and proud, his powder blue doublet smudged with all the oils he was covered in. Thom himself wasn’t too ardent about the subject. “Finally, we can join the Earth as we’ve dreamed for years.”

Maria looked at Thom, a silent plea. Get his head out of the clouds.

“My dearest love,” she started, looking at him with vexed expression, “we can’t. Not yet.”

“I’m nineteen years, Mother. I take the throne in two winters. Thomas will be my adviser, Lady Emma Captain of the Guard. I say we try!” Calix sighed. “What’s the point of promising something if we can’t even go?”

“We’re still trying to see how the scouts who went fare, my son.” She rubbed her temple. “I admire your heart and zeal, but we can’t.” She looked just about as stubborn as Calix was prepared to become, perhaps even less than what the prince could really do. He wanted to leave, as did most of the youth. But because he was the prince, he was the only one with the power to do it, and at the same time, he was the only one who absolutely couldn’t.

“If I may I interject—,” Thom tried, seeing his comrade getting tricky. His eyes widened as Calix’s chest filled with air. Calix looked like he was about to scream.

“I say we should. Colonize.” He sat down in his chair, rubbing his face. His bright periwinkle eyes shown with frustration. Thomas understood how his friend felt. The cabin fever was getting ridiculous. They needed to explore, and staying here wasn’t doing anybody any good.

“I say you can’t.” Her words were clipped, calling the manner closed. The prince was about to make another point when Thom interrupted him.

“Calix, listen to your mother,” Thom sighed, panicking slightly from the royals’ staredown. Maria was already terrifying, but Calix was a demon behind his princely demeanor when he wanted to be. “We can talk later.”

“Fine. But we are going down there, one day. I promise you.” Calix stood, knuckles white from clenching his fists so tightly. “No matter what Father says.” He untied his hair, spinning on his heel. He stormed out. The door slammed. Thom and Queen Maria winced.

“Please try to convince him that right now,” Maria says, “right here is the best place for him.” Thomas nodded, unsure of how he was going to help his dragon-hearted friend.

A few days passed. Thomas felt a little out of place with the others on the Mountain. Ever since he heard the prince’s promise, his gut bubbled with some strange hope. He couldn’t place it. But we are going down there, one day, he had said. Thom went down to the armory, to practice with his broadsword or maybe with his bow.

He trudged down the hills to the armory during the misty prenoon, feeling the soft droplets collect on his cheeks. Everyday life here was easy, simple. Complicated.

Everyone hated him.

He was the prince’s companion; that’s why the girls used him. He was nothing but a dragon rider; that’s why the soldiers mocked him. Nothing more than an elf; that’s why the magicians sneered. He wasn’t anything special. In fact, he never was nothing more than a floater: trying out everything, being the odd-jobs man. If he wasn’t in high favor with the royal family, he wouldn’t have anywhere to go.

Because he was an elf, he had an affinity with the Earth. He didn’t start to feel it until his adolescence, and that was part of the reason that he wanted to leave. Many of his kind had died; either from suicide or from the lack of Mother Earth’s skin under their feet. He couldn’t bear to live in the sky. He couldn’t do anything in a country that didn’t have nature.

His species was dying. So was he. He clenched his fist, unsure how to tell the prince that he was being ridiculous without sounding like a hypocrite. It’s so dangerous, he thought. Leaving? It was preposterous for the prince, much less someone like him. No one would allow it.

He looked around at the armory, the soft grass underneath the weapons’ tent squishy like moss. He missed green grass. The winter months were finally passed. He didn’t need to wear a thick cloak anymore.

Winter used to be his favorite season when he was a boy. He used to play with Emma and Calix in the snow, like children just out of farm work. Nowadays, it reminded him of how bleak life here was.

The canvas the tent was made out of let out a soft breeze, but when needed to, it kept out the cold. He searched for the loaner broadswords and bows. He had left his own defenses in his room inside the castle. He took a rusted sword, a quiver of arrows, and a worn bow. The more accurate you can be with unbalanced weaponry, the more powerful you can become with the evenhanded.

He walked out to the courtyard to practice. Horses whinnied their greetings to him. He heard the metal footfalls around the cobblestone. It didn’t feel fake, but it wasn’t as real as flying was. It just didn’t feel right; most likely from being an outcast from a young age.

Thom readied his stance, swinging the sword. He hated the feeling, but someday, if there were to be battle, he might have to do it. To get better into character, to fight better, he imagined some haughty courtier who had wanted to duel in the art of the blade.

Thom, in his head, accepted and began to wield his saber.

He parred with the invisible challenger he offended for asking for a lady’s hand. Apparently, the wench was not for a lowly rider like himself. He scoffed at his imaginary nemesis, taking him down with one quick blow.

A man’s never felt so bold as to mock him again. As Thom stepped out to practice on a real dummy, Emma ran up to him with wild eyes, frantic about something.

“Thomas!” she called, his head turning her direction. “Thomas, is it true that Calix is planning to go Down tonight?” Her chest rose and fell with anxious air filling her lungs, hair and makeup all over her face. Thom lowered his sword.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, eyebrows knitting in worry. Emma knew, which was bad enough, but the prince . . .

“From Queen Maria, but I wasn’t sure. If he plans to go without us—”

“Well, he’s certainly going without you. It’d be too dangerous,” he says, setting down the weapons and heading toward the palace to give the Crown Prince a few choice words. He couldn’t pull that off so soon. Especially not without him. He was going to put a stop to that.

“Excuse me? I can do more things in combat than you could do with sixteen years of training!” she exclaimed. She kept up with him. “I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t just decide that!” he says, moving faster down the halls. His ears and cheeks burned, the life of this palace becoming too overwhelming, too cracking. He would have to become a hermit for years in order to even become normal again. She moved next to him, stopping in front of him. He sighed, halting to listen to whatever she had to say.

Girls, he decided, are too much.

“I can, and I just did.” She turned around and kept walking. Thom gritted his teeth, stomach knotting. That lass! She was so haughty, so high . . . This wasn’t going to end well, Thom knew it.

But the reminder that Prince Calix was going to do something so stupid as to leave without proper preparations—to take Emma with him—made him upset in a way he didn’t understand. He just knew that someone as reckless as Emma and someone as heart-driven as the prince on a mission was the most idiotic thing he had ever heard.

So he strode after her, as fast as his long legs could carry.