The festival unfolded around them.
Dragons danced in patterns that had been old when the lowlands were new. Musicians played instrunts made of crystal and light. Food appeared on tables that had been empty a mont before, dishes that stead and glowed and slled like nothing Bai Yue had ever eaten.
She stood at the edge of it all, watching, and tried to rember that she belonged here.
"You’re thinking too loudly," Han Shān said.
"I’m trying to figure out if this is real."
"It’s real."
"The stars are falling."
"The Festival of Falling Stars. That’s the point."
"But they’re—they’re falling. And then they’re not. They’re just—" she gestured vaguely, "—floating."
Han Shān’s lips curved. It was barely a smile, but it was there. "They’re light. Captured light. The dragons harvest it from the upper peaks. They release it during the festival. It’s a tradition."
"It’s beautiful."
"Yes."
He wasn’t looking at the stars.
Bai Yue’s cheeks ward. She looked away, searching for sothing, anything, to focus on.
She found Yòu Lín.
The fox cub was in the center of the plaza, his small form sohow visible through the press of dragons. He was dancing. Or attempting to dance. His movents were enthusiastic rather than graceful, his tail wagging in rhythm with a beat he seed to have invented himself.
And across from him, matching his chaos move for move, was Glimr.
The baby dragon’s scales were blazing green, her feet stomping in a pattern that might have been a traditional dragon dance and might have been pure invention. She was laughing. Yòu Lín was laughing.
A ring of dragons had gathered around them, watching. None of them looked disapproving. Most of them were smiling.
"Yòu Lín is teaching the dragons to dance," Yàn Shū observed, appearing at Bai Yue’s elbow. "Or possibly the dragons are teaching him. It’s difficult to tell."
"Does it matter?"
"Not in the slightest."
Across the plaza, Ruì Xuě was perched on Cāng Jì’s shoulders, his purple eyes wide as he watched the falling stars. The golden dragon was pointing at the constellations, explaining sothing, and Ruì Xuě was nodding.
Bai Yue’s heart ached with joy. She scanned the crowd again, looking for—
There.
Hán Bīng was standing near the edge of the plaza, her hair loose for once, catching the light from the waterfalls. Beside her, his arm almost brushing hers, was Elder Emberglow.
The old dragon had changed. His robes were new, or at least newer, dark gray with silver thread that matched the streaks in his hair. His scales, usually dull, were gleaming. He was saying sothing, sothing that made Hán Bīng’s lips curve in a way that was almost a smile.
Han Shān made a sound beside her. "Is that—"
"Your mother," Bai Yue confird.
"With the dragon."
"With the dragon."
"The old dragon. The one who—" He stopped.
"She’s smiling," Bai Yue said.
"She never smiles."
"She’s smiling now."
Han Shān watched his mother laugh at sothing Elder Emberglow said. Watched the old dragon’s face light up in response. His expression shifted through several stages: shock, confusion, and finally, resignation.
Before they could say anything again, the music stopped.
The crystals dimd. The floating waterfalls, monts ago blazing with captured starlight, went dark. The dragons who had been dancing stumbled, confused, their hands falling away from their partners. The laughter died. The whispers started.
Bai Yue’s hand found Han Shān’s arm. "What’s happening?"
He didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the far end of the plaza, where the grand staircase led up to the Burning Sky’s palace. Where sothing was coming down.
"They wouldn’t," Cāng Jì’s voice ca from sowhere to her left. He had Ruì Xuě tucked against his chest, his arms wrapped around the cub, his face pale. "They wouldn’t dare. Not here. Not tonight."
"Who?" Bai Yue demanded. "Who wouldn’t dare?"
The staircase darkened.
Three dragons erged from the shadows. They were not like the dragons Bai Yue had co to know. Cāng Jì was golden and dramatic. Cāng Yáo was glittering and loud. The Burning Sky was ancient and terrible, but there was warmth in him now, buried deep but there.
These dragons had no warmth.
They walked through the crowd like it wasn’t there. Dragons who had been laughing monts before pressed themselves against the walls, their scales flattening, their eyes going anywhere but forward.
At the head of them was a dragon Bai Yue had never seen before. He was massive, broader than Han Shān, taller than the Burning Sky.
His scales were the color of dried blood, flaking at the edges like sothing that had been left in the sun too long. His hair was white, not the silver-white of Hán Bīng or the soft white of Ruì Xuě, but the white of bone.
He stopped in the center of the plaza. His eyes found the Burning Sky.
"Brother," he said.
What?....
"Dà Jiāo Huǒ has a brother?" Bai Yue breathed.
Han Shān’s grip on her arm tightened. "Not literally. That’s how old dragons refer to themselves."
Oh.
The Burning Sky stood at the far end of the plaza, Zhēn still in his arms, her small face pressed against his chest. He had not moved when the music stopped. He had not moved when the lights went out.
Now, slowly, he raised his head.
"Lóng Wēi," he said.
"You were not invited."
Lóng Wēi smiled. "Was I not? How unfortunate. I must have lost the invitation." He looked around the plaza, at the frozen dancers, the dark waterfalls, the frightened faces pressed against the walls. "It seems I’ve missed quite a celebration."
"You are not welco here."
"Am I not? This is my ho as much as yours, brother. The peaks belong to all of us. Or have you forgotten?"
"I have forgotten nothing."
"Then you rember what happened the last ti you tried to keep out."
The Burning Sky’s hand moved. Just slightly. Just enough to shift Zhēn higher against his chest, to tuck her small face more firmly against his robes.
"You will leave," he said, "or I will make you leave."
Lóng Wēi’s smile widened. "You think you can? With your court in chaos? Your guards scattered? Your attention divided between your throne and a—" his eyes flickered to the bundle in the Burning Sky’s arms, "—a lowlander infant?"
The word landed like a slap.
Bai Yue’s blood went cold.
Around her, she felt her family shift. Han Shān’s hand left her arm, his body turning toward the center of the plaza. Zhāo Yàn’s tails had gone very still, very flat, the way they did before he struck. Yàn Shū was no longer breathing. She could hear Hóng Yè sowhere behind her, his voice low and fierce, telling You Lin to stay back, stay back, stay back.
Cāng Jì was moving. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, handing Ruì Xuě to soone, Wēn Jìng, she realized, the grandmother had appeared from nowhere, and stepping forward, his face pale but his shoulders straight.
"You heard my father," he said, his voice hard. "This is not—you cannot—"
"Cannot what?" Lóng Wēi’s eyes found the younger dragon. "Cannot speak the truth? Cannot point out that our brother has brought sha to the peaks? That he has let lowlanders crawl into our ho, into our celebrations, into our—"
"She is my granddaughter."
The Burning Sky’s voice was quiet. It should not have been terrifying. It was.
Lóng Wēi stopped.
"She chose ," the Burning Sky continued. "She chose , and I chose her. That is the law of our kind. That is the tradition of our blood. You do not get to question it."
"I question whatever I please."
"Then you will face the consequences."
"Because of that....tiny filthy thing?"
"Zhēn," Dà Jiāo Huǒ said. His voice was soft. "My granddaughter. You will not speak of her again. You will not look at her again. You will leave this place, and you will not return, or I will remind you why I am the Burning Sky and you are nothing but ash."
The plaza went very, very still.
Lóng Wēi’s smile did not waver. "You threaten , brother? After all these years? After everything I have endured, everything I have sacrificed, everything I have lost, you threaten ?"
"I am not threatening you."
Dà Jiāo Huǒ handed Zhēn to soone, Bai Yue did not see who, did not care, her eyes were fixed on the two dragon facing each other across the obsidian floor.
"I am warning you."
Lóng Wēi didn’t listen.
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