Chapter Text
In the fortieth year of Admiral Manfred von Karma’s aviator career, during the Year Five, another dead body washed up on the shore of Loch Gourdy: mutilated almost beyond recognition: as if someone had carved away at the corpse with a knife, or with unnaturally large claws.
News of the body traveled through the covert faster than if a courier dragon had delivered the headline itself. Rumors followed just as quickly, that the French had made the kill, as a warning for them to watch their backs; these were whispered behind closed doors in such a way as to leave a hole in the shape of the actual suspect, who no one dared name out loud. No French army, dragon or otherwise, had been seen in Great Britain since before the start of the war: and they did not have a cursed Parnassian.
Von Karma’s cane thudded against the dirt as he strolled through the covert. He found her where he had expected: unclipping her carabiner from his dragon's harness, having just returned from a flight he had not given her permission to go on.
“You there,” he snapped, and his lips pressed together in satisfaction as both his daughter and dragon’s head whipped around with wide eyes. “Come with me. I want to speak with you. You too, boy,” he added, indicating the dragon.
His daughter kept her chin raised in defiance as she followed, but her cheeks flushed with the knowledge of having been caught in the act. He pulled them aside, away from the bustle of the covert and where even a dragon could speak without fear of being overheard. He turned to take it in; from here he could see the entirety of the fortress at Loch Gourdy, and the nearby lake spanning out like a gleaming slash of silver.
His charges shifted restlessly while he took in the view. His daughter cracked first, stomping her foot on the ground. “What is this foolish ploy, Papa? Was it really worth pulling us away from our work so urgently, just so you could watch the clouds?”
“Patience.” He thumped his cane in retort, purposefully moving slower as he absorbed the stony defense. A few dragons flew around the fortress, scales sparkling with color, their wings taught with anxiety and worry. By the time he turned to face them again, his daughter had started grinding her teeth, and his dragon pulled his wings up tight, so that the red spots on his pale hide stared like eyes watchful of danger. “I suppose I don’t need to inform you about the body.”
She scoffed. “Gumshoe told me it was Robert Hammond.” Hearing the name of his old officer, his beast flinched and dug his over-large, knife-like claws into the ground, drawing up trenches in the dirt.
“Once again, it will be up to the von Karmas to prove the meaning of perfection in the face of disaster.” He scowled and raked his attention up and down, picking out every hair out of place, every speck of dust, every wrinkle in jacket and harness alike. “I will not hear of either of you putting a single toe out of line. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” they muttered in unison. His dragon kept his gaze averted; to his delight, for the briefest of moments, his daughter shrunk back. Just as quickly as it happened, it passed: but he had seen it.
He turned his attention to the dragon, now. He weighed some twenty tons, and still he bent at the knee to von Karma’s will. “You know I wish I did not have to do this, but I must ask: Did you do it?”
His dragon turned away and drew more channels in the dirt with his claws. “No, sir.”
“I needn’t remind you that everybody will be keeping a close eye on you,” he said. “Both of you.”
He dismissed them; as he started to walk back, his daughter jogged to catch up. “Papa, wait.” He didn’t slow his pace, cane thudding rhythmically against the ground, and she scowled. “Any fool can tell that Miles didn’t do it.” But her grip on her whip tightened as she spoke; she didn’t quite believe herself.
Von Karma stopped and turned to face her. “Every fool knows that he has a higher kill count than any other dragon in this covert,” he said. “I am doing my due diligence, and if you want to be his captain after me, you will make sure he enacts complete and total obedience. I expect the same compliance from yourself, daughter of mine.”
Her hand tightened on her whip, understanding that she was being chastised for her rash flight earlier, but she nodded. “I am going to investigate Mr. Hammond's death. If I can prove who did it, then surely this will prove there is nothing to the curse; there will be no more reason to cast doubt over Miles every time we encounter a minor inconvenience.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”
Von Karma shook his head. “What if all the evidence points to him? Would you testify against him?”
She hesitated for too long, her loyalties torn between what she believed and what she knew. “Surely, I would.”
But his daughter could do what she wished; it wouldn’t change his guilt in the end. Admiral von Karma surveyed the fortress in the distance. When he stretched out his hand, the whole of the covert fit snugly against his palm.
Thirty days after Mia’s funeral, Maya fit the last of her baggage into the belly rigging on Phoenix’s harness. Their luggage was much lighter than they had anticipated, now that they only had to carry enough for one, and Maya had packed away her entire collection of Warrior of Neo Olde Tokyo books, which Phoenix had made a fuss about carrying, and an even bigger fuss when she offered to take them back out.
Maya barely came past his leg, but she didn't flinch as the dragon bent over to examine them critically. It was hard to find him intimidating regardless of his size, which wasn't large for a dragon, but even the smallest of them weighed several tons. The chill caused by childhood stories of immoral man-eating beasts had been somewhat dampened after watching Mia scold Phoenix for running late to training one too many times, and how he had moped around feeling sorry for himself afterwards.
“You know it’s no issue for me,” he told her. “But what will the others think?”
“Probably that Mia and I are the coolest aviators in the covert,” Maya teased, but both of them quickly realized the obvious falsehood in anyone knowing anything much of Mia at all; Phoenix turned away his attention to nudge the books into a more comfortable space among the rest of their things, and Maya ran her hands through her hair, fussing with the too-short ends; she had cropped it in preparation for the journey, and the breeze tickled her bare neck.
The scant remains of their village had come out to see them off, and they had blessed Maya to guide her way. Phoenix had not been so lucky; despite their best efforts otherwise, no one in Kurain Village outside of the Fey Clan had never quite shaken their fear of dragons, and so he had been forced to wait outside the outskirts of the village.
Aunt Morgan had blessed Maya through gritted teeth: she had always made it clear that she didn't approve of Phoenix's choice of captain, especially now that they were being summoned into battle after their years-long banishment to the most rural part of the country.
The other elders, though more wary of Phoenix, had nevertheless been more thoughtful: they had given Maya two meals, one a tidy stew of rice and goat meat, flavored with the remaining vegetables of the season and steeped with spices; the other much the same but served in a dragon-sized cauldron. Their goodbyes made and their final meals eaten, Maya had hoisted herself into his harness and gave him his head.
Phoenix took off with a leap and a bound, and circled over the village longer than necessary, but Maya didn’t urge him on. He said gently, "This is our last chance to back out."
From up here, the village that had made up her whole world looked so inconsequential: here was the dent in the meadow from when she and Phoenix had played tag and he took his duty to catch her a little too seriously; there was Aunt Morgan's house, where she had fed and clothed Maya for most of her life; and there grew the tree that always blossomed too early, and underneath it the garden shaded too much to blossom at all.
Maya had never understood why Mia had spent her whole life trying to leave Kurain Village, but she would have followed her sister to the ends of earth. But now Mia wasn't anywhere. Her sister had always wanted to join the Aerial Corps; the least Maya could do was stand in her place.
He peered down at the villagers down below, who were happy enough to wave them both off, now that he was a safe distance away. “I hope we can visit soon,” he said. “I’d like to see the Mia’s favorite cherry blossom tree in bloom again.”
The ache in her heart, constantly renewing, reopened raw. Maya hoped Aunt Morgan would tend to the tree, but didn’t dare expect it. She reached down to scratch his scales at the base of his neck, where he always had trouble reaching.
Phoenix stretched out his wings, soaking in the early morning sun’s rays; they were high enough up to catch the first light before they hit the ground below, and they turned his scales bright blue and glowing pink. He angled his wings and tail fins, dipping in the direction of Loch Gourdy and with Mia at their backs.
Phoenix was not a long-faring courier dragon and could only travel so far in a day, even pushing himself as he was. At night they slept in hidden away clearings in the woods, or on one memorable occasion, a barn that wasn’t as abandoned as previously thought: the barn’s owner had threatened to shoot Phoenix, thinking him a feral, and Phoenix hadn't helped matters by flaring out his wings and growling until he accidentally triggered his spitting reflex, hurling phlegm through the air that stuck uselessly to the farmer’s boot. Neither backed down until Maya found her copy of Admiral von Karma’s summons, stamped with his official wax seal.
“I'm not feral,” Phoenix griped afterwards, doubtfully spreading his sleek blue wings to their fullest and inspecting critically, trying to find some fault. “Anyone can see that I'm much too put together for that.”
“Totally,” Maya said, reaching over to dust dust and grime off of a particularly dirty patch.
There was no need to set up a formal camp; Phoenix wasn't quite big enough for her to stand underneath him without crouching over, but he was longer than most dragons of his weight due to his Japanese heritage, and there was more than enough space along his side. At night Maya crawled underneath his large blue wing and easily slipped into slumber, comforted by the familiar beating heart of her companion.
After noon on the seventh day, Phoenix interrupted their game of I Spy to say, “I think I see it. The covert,” he clarified, “Not ‘something green’! It's all green, Maya; we're in the heart of farm country.”
“Oh!” Maya pulled out her eyeglass, and sure enough she could make out a large stone fortress nestled away in the valley, each of its many towers ending in a stony point. But she paid little mind to that as Phoenix coiled tight like a spring, quivering from his whiskers to his tail as he spied the dragon soaring above the gleaming lake.
Maya had seen precious few tame dragons other than Phoenix, and ferals tended to be rather plain, and less disciplined in their movements besides; this Parnassian was quite something to watch as he ran through his drills in careful, practiced spirals, even though he lacked the rest of his formation to complete the pattern.
“We're being watched,” said Phoenix.
“They’re quite striking markings, aren't they?” murmured Maya. Even from this distance, he appeared easily twice Phoenix’s weight, so his wings were easily large enough to make out; a brilliant maroon underneath and pale with distinctive markings above.
“No, look here,” and Phoenix angled his snout, not at the Parnassian’s distinctive markings but at his captain. From this distance, Maya could just barely make out the shape of him: silvery hair that flew about his ears in boyish waves, and an outfit ornately decorated to make even the least material dragon perk up with envy: he wore an aquamarine brooch large enough to be visible even from so far away.
The Parnassian arced in his pattern until he was flying in their direction; he jerked his head in surprise and abruptly pulled up. His captain must have given him some command, as he turned wide and made for the ground, every muscle perfectly controlled. Before he landed, he spun neatly, landing with his tail already tucked around his haunches.
“Showoff,” Phoenix muttered, and Maya thought it hardly mattered who he referred to, the dragon or his captain. “Maya, did you think they looked familiar?”
“How do you mean?” Maya squinted after them again, trying to recall some memory. “Maybe we’ve read about them in the newspaper? Or maybe you met him before you came to Kurain?
Phoenix stiffened, then put his head down and flapped harder. “Never mind. Hold on tight; the sooner we land and I can take a nap, the better.”
“I do not tolerate tardiness,” Admiral Manfred von Karma said, when Maya had finally been ushered into his office. As soon as she and Phoenix had landed in the covert, an officer had approached and led Maya into the stony fortress, up several flights of stairs and down even more twisting corridors.
So she had been paraded into the Admiral’s office without even a chance to take off her leather riding jacket or fix her sweaty hat hair. The Admiral’s eyes were clear and no less calculating for his age, his silvering hair slicked back impeccably. Both his outfit and his office were similarly pressed, and decorated on all sides with medals boasting of his success. On one wall sat a window with a gorgeous view of the lake, though the incoming light did little to cast him in an inviting glow. He beckoned behind Maya, to the offer that had brought her in. “You there. Fetch von Karma post-haste; I want a word.”
Given that the Admiral was von Karma this made no sense to Maya, but the passing officer gave a two-fingered salute and scampered off. He had already lost the interest of the Admiral, who turned back to Maya. “I had sent your summons several months ago. I could dismiss your case and send you home for that alone.”
She stood up straighter, fighting off the lightheadedness that always came after so many hours aloft. Maya had not conversed with Admiral von Karma personally, but she had read the letters addressed to Mia; though he was due for grounding soon, he still held a good deal of social influence, and political sway besides. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that-”
He snapped his fingers; the sound reverberated around the room and demanded her silence. “Captain Mia Fey, is it?”
She stood awkwardly for a few moments before realizing that now she was expected to speak. “It’s Maya Fey. Sir.” Maya smoothed down her jacket nervously. “Mia Fey is no longer captain; I’m her replacement.”
He sighed. “She’s been grounded, I suppose. That would explain the delay in your arrival. I assume she is engaged to be married?”
“She was murdered.” Speaking it out loud made it raw all over again, and her heart ached. “But I’ve been a part of Nick’s crew for almost as long as Mia, and we both agreed I should replace her.”
This seemed the obvious course of action to her, but Admiral von Karma raised his eyebrows surreptitiously. “And what’s your experience with the beast?”
She tried not to shrink away from his fierce gaze. “I’ve been a part of Nick’s ground crew since he came to us. Nick and Mia did regular patrol work, and these last few years they started doing their own reconnaissance work. Together they uncovered intel which had contributed to a victory against General Hawthorne. They’re really great! Last year, Mia had expanded started gathering intel into corrupt nobles—"
“I see. Regardless,” von Karma said, cutting into her rambling explanations, “You are not the captain I had sent for. I’ll remind you that the Aerial Corps function under my purview, and the one to replace the late Mia Fey — if anyone should — will be decided by myself.”
It would have been less upsetting if a Regal Copper had broken through the window and eaten up Maya whole. “Sir,” she started, and again, “Sir, with all due respect, surely the best course of action would be to honor all of the work Mia had put towards her goal of joining the Aerial Corps—”
“By letting you reap the gains of her hard work?” Admiral von Karma snorted. “We were right to strip the Feys of their place in the military all those years ago, if this is how you think. Most men in the Corps start as ground crew, and only gain a dragon after building rank and rapport over a matter of years, if not decades. But I cannot do the same with you, as you already have a beast, and he would surely attack any dragon whose crew I put you on; I have no recourse but to send you away.”
Maya wished that his meeting had happened outdoors, where Phoenix might have joined in; he would have immediately spotted some contradiction in the argument and stab at it for all its worth. As it was, she was saved only by a brisk knock at the door, and Admiral von Karma’s barking command for the newcomer to enter.
In stepped a young man with silvery hair falling about his ears in boyish waves, framing his piercing gray eyes. He wore an aviator’s jacket with a severe cut, and his necktie was embellished with a large aquamarine brooch. Maya was startled twice over: first, to realize that this was the very same person she had witnessed riding the Parnassian earlier; second, that someone so young had been able to ride with such skill: he was about her age, young enough that his facial hair had not yet made his cheeks rough.
Introductions were hardly necessary; the resemblance between the two von Karmas was easily apparent. They both had the same silvery hair and intelligent, piercing eyes, but where the younger von Karma clearly made no habit of smiling, the senior had frown lines etched into his jowls.
The younger von Karma didn’t even glance in Maya’s direction before slamming his hand down on the Admiral’s desk. His hand went to his hip, where Maya noticed with some alarm he holstered a whip. She barely had time to hope that he didn’t use it on his dragon before he unslung it and stretched it tight between his fists, evidently just as comfortable using it on people. “What is the meaning of this? Wasting my time with foolish summons and your foolish desk work. I have to continue with my investigation!”
Admiral von Karma gave his outburst no notice. “This is my daughter, my first lieutenant and due to take over my dragon, once I am grounded. I gathered that you met this morning.”
The aviator finally seemed to notice Maya, and deigned to cast a cold eye in her direction. “Franziska von Karma, first lieutenant under Miles,” she said stiffly.
That women could be aviators was a well-guarded secret among the Aerial Corps; the general public would not hear of it to learn that some of Great Britain’s fearsome beasts were managed only by fairer sex. A few dragon breeds always chose women captains, and were impossible to manage otherwise; still, though consistent, their presence was small, and even rare still on the crews of dragons that took male captains. Due to their Japanese heritage, the Fey Clan didn't subscribe to this belief; indeed the Fey dragon riders were all women. But Maya was the exception that proved the rule: there were no female captains in the Corps, outside of those necessitated by breeding.
Though to that point, Franziska made a poor woman. Like Maya, she too wore a practical jacket in the Aerial Corps bottle green over riding breeches, more useful to carry off the ruse of being a man and more convenient for actual dragon riding by far; and she kept her hair similarly short, though Maya still had a bad habit of running her hands through the recently shortened ends in confusion. Maya could never quite shake the look of playing at being a boy for a school play; Franziska, on the other hand, looked every bit the man, from her severe jawline to her squared shoulders to the thick, clunking boots with a heel that must have given her an extra two inches of height.
Franziska turned back to the Admiral without returning Maya's stammered greeting. “Honestly, Papa, it’s like you don’t even want to have Miles’ name cleared.”
Admiral von Karma didn’t respond right away. Instead he studied Maya more closely, his eyes glittering. Maya resisted the urge to squirm, feeling rather like a beetle about to be pinned to an insect mount under his calculating stare.
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “My daughter, you are henceforth relieved from your investigation. Increasing the numbers of the Aerial Corps takes priority. This girl hasn’t yet gained her captain rank in the Corps, but you shall train her and see if she’s up to snuff. Don’t start,” he said warningly, “This will be good practice for when you are the sole captain keeping your dragon's crew in line.” To Maya, he added, “I’ll assign you a crew if you pass training; for now you will handle your beast’s care for yourself.”
Franziska clenched her whip so tightly her hand shook. “You know the trail will go cold if no one is there to guide the investigations into Hammond’s death to their natural conclusion.”
“Trust me, I will be keeping a close eye on the investigations, and I will make sure they reach the right conclusion. Oh, and daughter,” he added, “If you really did need to devote so much time into your ‘investigation’, you wouldn’t have had the time to take my dragon out on an unauthorized flight this morning. It’s unbecoming.”
Franziska sputtered, caught thoroughly left-footed. “I— Miles was— He wanted to practice the formations—”
“I do not care whose fault it is,” Admiral von Karma said; a patent lie, as he had already placed the blame squarely on his daughter’s shoulders and hers alone, “But the fact remains that if you were telling the truth, you wouldn’t have had the time nor the inclination to do so. We're rather short on dragons these days, so we don't have the time to dilly-dally. I expect weekly reports on our new aviator’s progress. Dismissed.” He snapped his fingers with finality; the sound cracked through the room as sharply as a whip.
Franziska’s face turned bright as the underside of her dragon’s wings as she turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. Maya bowed in deference to Admiral von Karma before quickly following her out.
Franziska strode down the passageway with purpose, indifferent to Maya yelling after as she jogged to catch up. “Franziska!” She panted, “So you were the one that we saw flying this morning!”
She wheeled around, and this time her whip was in her hand and cracking right in front of Maya’s face before she registered what was happening. “You will address me as Mr. von Karma.”
Startled by her ferocity, Maya said, “You were impressive, sir. Nick and I both thought so.”
“Nick,” Franziska spat. “That pitiful blue thing is replacing the multiple heavyweights with experienced captains that we have lost over the last few months? You’re not even a proper captain!”
Maya's stomach curdled. “I am, too! Nick chose me. I mean, sure, he picked Mia first, but…” she hesitated, “But I was really young when he first came to Kurain, so obviously Mia was the better choice.” That was the least consequential reason he had picked Mia, she knew, but it was also the least embarrassing, and the longer she talked to Franziska the hotter her face and the more wet her eyes.
Franziska’s scowl deepened impossibly further. “What do you know about being a captain? Do you know how to maneuver aboard the harness during flight?” she pressed, when Maya tried to protest. “Or how to communicate with flag signals? What can you tell me about the strengths and weaknesses of different formation patterns, and how move between them? Have you or your dragon ever killed a man?”
“No, but Mia told me I could out-eat a whole platoon of soldiers, which would definitely starve them to death, and that counts for something, right?” She smiled, far wider than the situation merited; this was her last chance to break through Franziska’s icy exterior.
Franziska’s face didn’t so much as twitch. “I will see you tomorrow at the training grounds, Maya Fey. We will run you through the formations and assess your skill.” She smartly turned around and stomped off. The heel of her boots, in addition to giving her an advantage on height, made a wonderfully satisfying and intimidating clack against the stone floor as she retreated.
Phoenix had at first been distraught to see Maya pulled away from him in an unfamiliar environment, but had calmed down at the promise of a nice goat to snack on; she found him a little ways away from the bustle of the covert, happily licking his lips and picking fragments of bone out from his teeth.
“Oh, it was fine,” he assured Maya, “But did you know that they don’t even cook their meat? Not that fresh blood isn’t nice every once in a while, but it doesn’t make for a warm welcome.” he griped, stretching out his wings and wincing as they cramped. “But what about you? How did your meeting go?”
Maya forced a smile. “It was great! Five out of five stars.”
Phoenix paused mid-stretch to nudge her affectionately. “That bad, huh? It’s okay; once we start training they’ll see that they misjudged you. Come on, let’s get settled in.”
Through only a small amount of trial and error, they found the grounds where the dragons slept. They passed several gaggles of dragons, all deep in conversation about their meals and the latest gossip they picked up from the couriers. Maya smiled and waved as she passed; some stared at her curiously but none approached.
“Oh! Hello,” she called out, at the sight of a lone dragon peaking at them from behind some trees. He was small enough that the leaves covered most of his body, but did little to camouflage his blue-gray hide where it lay exposed. His scales had dulled with age, and he carried himself with a distinctive slouch.
Evidently he was no more willing to engage than the others, as he jerked back at Maya’s greeting; the last she saw of him was his tail whipping around as he darted away into the sky.
“That was strange,” said Phoenix. “Did you see what he was holding?”
“Nope,” responded Maya. “Whatever it was, it certainly made his claws seem awkward. Well, this is as good a place for you as any,” she said with a shrug, and started to fuss with Phoenix’s harness. She had taken out about half of her belongings before it occurred to her that she probably wouldn’t be sleeping here tonight, and Phoenix would have to help her move them later. Then off came the belly netting, the rigging, and the myriad of leather straps that Maya always tangled up in knots.
They had barely gotten ten minutes into their daily argument about how to put away the harness when Phoenix stiffened and looked over her shoulder; Maya turned to follow his gaze and found herself practically nose-to-nose with a stranger. She yelped and fell back against Phoenix’s leg; he flared his wings and growled: he was not soothed at all when the stranger started laughing.
“I beg your pardon,” sniffed Phoenix, nudging Maya upright and checking to make sure she was unhurt.
“Then beg,” said the stranger happily. She was also a woman, Maya noted, with long black hair swept up in a high ponytail and curious, sparkling green eyes; she wore a pin with some sort of golden bird pinned to her typical aviator jacket which, looking like no status symbol she had ever seen before, Maya suspected was more sentimental than an indicator of rank. “Von Karma sent me to make sure you haven't been stepped on and squashed like a bug by one of the heavyweights. I’m Kay Faraday, by the way.”
“I’m not that small,” muttered Phoenix.
“You kind of are,” said Maya, forcing cheer into her voice. “Thanks for looking out for us, Kay! I’m Maya, and this is Nick— Phoenix,” she corrected, at Phoenix’s glare. “When you say von Karma, do you mean the Admiral or his daughter?”
“Does it matter?" Kay said with a shrug, "Whatever his majesty wants, her highness enacts."
"You work with the von Karmas?" Nick asked, perking up with interest. "Does that mean you know Miles? What is he like? He'll be my formation-partner, and I want to prepare for tomorrow," he said testily, to Maya's look of indignation, even though he had never planned ahead once in all the years Maya has known him, except to ask about what's on the menu for dinner.
Not knowing this, Kay seemed more surprised to be addressed by him at all, than by the particulars of his question. "Well, he's fine enough, I suppose. A little bossy. I haven't been affected by the curse yet, so it's been smooth sailing."
Phoenix's eyes narrowed with interest. "A curse?"
"Oh, you know, I'm not supposed to talk about it," said Kay evasively, "But it's not all that interesting. Nothing's happened to me worth talking about, anyroad. Now, if you’re all set here, I can show you to dinner.” Kay seemed all too eager to change the subject, and Maya could tell Phoenix wanted to press the subject, but she put a hand on his leg and he relaxed, pulling back. For her part, Kay laughed when Maya asked about harness storage. “You don’t keep it on your dragon? You’re going to drive Von Karma crazy.” She clapped Maya on the back in a friendly manner. “I like you.”
“Thank you,” said Maya, not sure if she was being complimented or insulted, and choosing to be flattered.
Despite Kay’s assertions otherwise, there were supply rooms plenty large enough to host Phoenix’s harness, alongside many others otherwise that weren’t currently in use. Kay helped Maya bring her luggage to her room, and then to the mess hall for dinner, where she kept up a running commentary of everyone’s names. They were almost entirely men, Maya learned, and many of them older than herself. Certainly no one else her age was a captain.
Kay invited Maya to sit with her and Ema Skye, one of the only other women in the covert, and who was currently deep in debate with Eustace Winner. The three of them all worked with dragons in Phoenix's new formation, so Maya would see plenty of them going forward — assuming the von Karmas let her stay. After introductions were made, Kay told her, “I used to be on Byrne’s crew; he was a Longwing, and I was even in training to take over once Captain Calisto Yew retired. But he passed in the battle of KG-8 and Yew is probably dead; so now I’m with Miles, serving under the von Karmas. At least until the Admiral retires: inherited or not, no woman has captained any breed that wasn’t a Longwing or Xenica. Present company excluded, of course,” she hurried to add.
Ema stabbed at her dinner and chewed angrily. Evidently this was a sore spot among them; Kay’s wide smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. “If it were any other woman, I’d want her to get it,” Ema complained. “But because it’s von Karma… Well, I still want her to get it, but I don’t want to put up with her lording it over our heads until the end of time.”
Sitting on the edge of their conversation, Maya couldn’t help but feel staunchly awkward that her fate had been secured: she already had a dragon, and by unconventional means; neither of the breeds that made up Phoenix’s lineage traditionally took female captains.
“Everything here feels upside down,” she confessed to Phoenix after dinner. She had excused herself from the others as soon as she could, claiming exhaustion, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate; nevertheless she found herself back by Phoenix’s side instead of in her lodgings.
Phoenix climbed out of the lake, sending small waves ripping up onto the shore. Maya had tried to meditate while he swam, as was their custom, but couldn’t focus; now she picked up a rag and started to dry off what parts of him she could reach.
“But water is still wet, and the sun still set in the west,” Phoenix said, and immediately undercut it by adding, “It’s odd that no one else wants to wash off. Doesn’t anyone else like to clean up after eating?”
“Ka-Riu are known to enjoy swimming," Maya said absently. Phoenix had been an experimental cross between the French Pêcheur-Couronné and Japanese Ka-Riu, an attempt to mix the size and agility from the former with the acid-spitting prowess of the latter. He had come out somewhat lacking in both respects, although that had never bothered Maya; the Fey Clan had always worked with Japanese dragons, though not since her mother’s disappearance 16 years ago.
“I didn’t learn this from some mother I’ve never met,” Phoenix said haughtily. “I learned this from you and Mia.”
“They Feys have an affinity for water, too. We use the waterfalls for purification rituals.” As they headed back, a few of the smaller dragons scattered before them; curious enough to spy but not brave enough to approach the newcomers. Phoenix settled down, claws tucked underneath his body, cat-like; Maya curled against his side, and he lay his wing over her lap as a blanket. He looked like an inky blue shadow in the growing darkness, and his eyes flickered mischievously.
Maya patted his wing tenderly. “This is your last chance to back out. Training starts bright and early tomorrow morning.”
Phoenix huffed. “You mean, if von Karma doesn’t have you whipped for showing up late.”
Maya’s smile didn't reach her eyes. She ran her hands along his wing, feeling the sinew and taught muscle. “Are you sure you want me as your captain?” she asked, voice low. “There are any number of men here who are more qualified.” And they were real captains. captains like Mia.
Phoenix’s spikes bristled. “Who said you aren’t qualified?” he asked fiercely.
“For one, you did, just last week.”
“That was in your choice of reading material. Besides, I’m allowed to say that,” Phoenix curled protectively around her. “You’re mine, and I chose you when I could have had anyone.”
This, however, was the crux of the issue: a hurdle Maya couldn’t jump no matter how she tried. “But you didn’t choose me. You chose Mia.” She knew that a dragon never really moved past their first captain, even if they agreed to work with others later on.
“You’re not the captain Mia was,” Phoenix agreed, “But that’s because you’re not Mia. You’re Maya, and we’re partners. And,” he added, holding her close, “You are the only one who knows how to scratch that hard-to-reach spot on my neck. Where would I be without you?” Maya’s heart warmed with this impassioned speech, but before she could convince herself that maybe she could do this after all, Phoenix’s tail coiled tight around her and he added, “But Maya, do you want to be here? You were never interested in combat like Mia or myself.”
“So you don’t want me to be here?” Maya said, twisting her fingers into her breeches anxiously.
His spikes drooped as he asked, “Where did you get that idea? Obviously I want you here. But if you don’t want to be here, but you stayed for me, knowing that you would be miserable the entire time…”
“That’s not it at all,” Maya said sharply. “I want to be here. I owe it to Mia to try. No, no,” She brushed Phoenix’s protests off with a laugh, ignoring the way her stomach dropped even as she said it. “I can make my own choices, and this is what I choose. Do you know what else I choose? I choose to read this!” She reached into her jacket and pulled out her copy of Warrior of Neo Olde Tokyo: A Love Forged in Steel.
Phoenix grumbled, and threatened to kick her out, but at the same time he relaxed and settled in. As Maya picked up from where they had last left off, he listened intently, interrupting only to correct her when she said a word incorrectly, and a few times when she hadn’t, just to be contrarian.
As it always did, reading the stories out loud calmed her down, even when she had to preempt it with several minutes defending her choice of literature. Several chapters later, she bade him goodnight, leaving him to grumble about how he is not a horse and does not need to be petted like one, her stomach had uncoiled itself from its knots.
She finally made her way back towards her own quarters; on her way, she heard a familiar voice that drew her pause: it was Franziska, tucked away on the other side of a hill. But the hill’s pale scales reflected the moonlight; not a hill but the Admiral’s dragon, Miles, back turned to Maya as he curled around Franziska in rapt attention.
“'Observe what your Captain requires,'” Franziska said, and paused expectantly.
Miles’ harness clinked together as he readjusted. He spoke slowly, as if reciting from memory: “'Walk in obedience to him, and keep his decrees and commands, his laws and regulations, as written in the Law of Vincitatus. Do this so that you may prosper in all you do and wherever you go.'”
Maya’s mouth tasted sour; she felt as if she had stumbled upon a scene she was not supposed to witness. She turned her head and made away as quickly and quietly as she could.
As a captain, Maya had been provided her own quarters; she was sure for an aristocratic aviator like Franziska it seemed cramped, with room for little else besides a bed, writing desk, and chamber pot. But she had never had a room to herself before: she found the experience to be quite lonely.