Legion

Legion

Julie Kagawa

Books by Julie Kagawa

The Talon Saga

Talon

Rogue

Soldier

Legion

Blood of Eden

Dawn of Eden (prequel novella)

The Immortal Rules

The Eternity Cure

The Forever Song

The Iron Fey series

The Iron King

Winter’s Passage (ebook novella)

The Iron Daughter

The Iron Queen

Summer’s Crossing (ebook novella)

The Iron Knight

Iron’s Prophecy (ebook novella)

The Lost Prince

The Iron Traitor

The Iron Warrior

To Tashya, Laurie and Nick,

my trio of awesome.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Books by Julie Kagawa

Dedication

PART I: Sacrifice Is Necessary

DANTE

EMBER

RILEY

GARRET

EMBER

GARRET

DANTE

RILEY

EMBER

GARRET

EMBER

DANTE

PART II: The Wyrm Turns

DANTE

EMBER

RILEY

EMBER

PART III: Fang and Fire

RILEY

EMBER

DANTE

GARRET

DANTE

EMBER

RILEY

EMBER

GARRET

RILEY

EMBER

GARRET

EMBER

RILEY

EMBER

GARRET

RILEY

EMBER

DANTE

GARRET

RILEY

GARRET

RILEY

GARRET

DANTE

GARRET

DANTE

GARRET

DANTE

GARRET

DANTE

GARRET

DANTE

EMBER

RILEY

GARRET

EPILOGUE

DANTE

Copyright

PART I Sacrifice Is Necessary

DANTE

She was always the favored one.

“Ember,” Mr. Gordon sighed for the second time that hour. “Please pay attention. This is important. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” my twin muttered, not looking up from her desk, where she was doodling cartoon figures into her textbook. “I’m listening.”

Mr. Gordon frowned. “All right, then. Can you tell me what the fleshy part of a human’s ear is called?”

I raised my hand. As expected, Mr. Gordon ignored me.

“Ember?” he prompted when she didn’t answer. “Do you know the answer to the question?”

Ember sighed and put down her pencil. “The earlobe,” she said in a voice that clearly stated, I’m bored and I want to be somewhere else.

“Yes.” Mr. Gordon nodded. “The fleshy part of a human’s ear is the earlobe. Very good, Ember. Write that down—it will be on the test tomorrow.

“All right,” he continued as Ember scribbled something in her notebook. I doubted it was the answer, or anything to do with the test, so I jotted the definition down, just in case she forgot. “Next question. Human hair and fingernails are made of the same substance a dragon’s claws and horns are made of. What is this substance called? Ember?”

“Um.” Ember blinked. Clearly, she had no idea. “I dunno.”

I started to raise my hand but stopped. There was no point.

“We discussed this yesterday,” Mr. Gordon continued sternly. “All through class, we talked about the human anatomy. You should know this. A human’s hair and fingernails, and a dragon’s claws and horns, are all made of...?”

Come on, Ember, I thought at her. You know this. It’s in your brain, even if you were staring out the window most of class yesterday.

Ember shrugged, slumping in her chair in a pose that said, I don’t want to be here. Our teacher sighed and turned to me. “Dante?”

“Keratin,” I answered.

He gave a brisk nod but turned back to Ember. “Yes, keratin. Your brother was paying attention,” he told her, narrowing his eyes. “Why can’t you do the same?”

Ember glowered. Comparing her to me was always a surefire way to make her mad. “I don’t see why I have to know the difference between scales and human toenails,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Who cares what it’s called? I bet the humans don’t know that hair is made of kraken, either.”

“Keratin,” Mr. Gordon corrected, frowning back at her. “And it is highly important that you know what it is you are Shifting into, inside and out. If you want to mimic humans perfectly, you must know them perfectly. Even if they do not.”

“I still think it’s dumb,” Ember mumbled, looking longingly out the window at the desert and open sky beyond the chain-link fence that surrounded the compound. Our teacher’s expression darkened.

“Well, then, let’s give you some motivation. If you and Dante don’t make at least ninty-five percent on your tests tomorrow, you both will be banned from the game room for a month.” Ember jerked in her seat, eyes going wide with outrage, and Mr. Gordon gave her a cold smile. “That is how important you knowing the human anatomy is to Talon. So I would study, both of you.” He waved a hand at the door. “You’re dismissed.”

* * *

“It’s totally unfair,” Ember raged as we walked across the dusty yard to our dorms. Overhead, the Nevada sun beat down on me, chasing away the chill of the air-conditioned classroom and warming my skin. Or, should I say, my epidermis?

I smirked at my own joke, knowing Ember wouldn’t get it. And, in her current mood, she wouldn’t appreciate it even if she did.

“Gordon is a bully,” Ember growled, kicking a pebble with her shoe, sending it bouncing over the dusty ground. “He can’t ban us from the game room for a whole month—that’s completely insane. I’d go crazy—there’s nothing else to do around here.”

“Well, you could try paying attention,” I suggested as we neared the long cement building at the edge of the fence. As expected, the suggestion did not go over well.

“How am I supposed to pay attention when everything is so boring?” Ember snapped, wrenching open the door. Inside, the living room was cool to the point of chilly. A pair of leather sofas sat in an L around a coffee table, and a large television hung on the opposite wall, its huge screen shiny and dark. It had over a hundred channels, everything from sci-fi to news stations to movies and sports—an attempt to keep us pacified, I suspected, though it never really worked on Ember. She would rather be outside than sitting in a room watching TV all day. The room was also spotlessly clean, despite the mess a certain sibling made of it nearly every day.

Ember stalked to one of the couches and tossed her books onto the cushions. “They never give me a break,” she continued, ignoring the texts as one of them slid off the leather and fell to the floor. “They just keep pushing me—do better, go faster, pay more attention. Nothing I do is ever good enough.” She gave me a half joking, half sour glare. “They never do that with you, Tweedledum.”

“That’s because I actually pay attention.” I set my bag on the table and headed into the kitchen for something to drink. Our live-in caretaker, Mr. Stiles, was not in sight, so I figured he was either out or in his room. “They never have reason to come after me.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know how lucky you are,” Ember grumbled, heading down the hall to her quarters. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room cramming for this stupid test tomorrow. If you hear a crash, don’t panic. I’ve probably just smashed my head through the wall.”

Right, I thought as the door to her room opened and closed with a bang. Lucky.

Alone in the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of orange juice and perched on the breakfast stool, brooding into the cup.

Lucky, Ember had said. Of course it would seem lucky to her. She was the favorite, the one they all paid attention to. It had always been that way. In our eleven years together, our instructors always seemed to ask her questions first, show her things first, make sure she knew what she was doing. They pushed her hard and insisted she do things right, not noticing—or seeming to care—that I already knew the answers. And when I did get them to notice, it was always to set an example for my sister. See, Dante knows the answers. Dante already has this down. I would kill for half the favor they showed her.

Draining the glass, I put it into the dishwasher before heading down the hall to my room. I just had to do better, I thought, resolve stealing over me. I had to work for the attention that came so easily to my sister. Ember was hotheaded and always getting into trouble; it was up to me to watch out for us both. But at the same time, if I kept working hard and excelling, eventually they would realize that I always did better than my twin. They would realize that I was the smart one; I was the one who did everything right. If Talon didn’t notice what I could do, I would just make them see.

* * *

“Mr. Hill? The Elder Wyrm is ready for you. Please, go in.”

Sitting on the couch in the cold, brightly lit lobby, I raised my head as the present caught up with me, shaking away dark thoughts and the memories of the past. I’d been thinking of Ember a lot recently, her presence weighing heavily on my mind. Guilt, perhaps, that I had failed her? That I wasn’t able to keep my twin safe from her worst enemy—herself?

Standing, I nodded to the human assistant and walked toward the huge doors of Elder Wyrm’s office. I couldn’t think like that anymore. I wasn’t eleven years old, desperate to prove I was worth something. I wasn’t the pathetic, overlooked twin of the Elder Wyrm’s daughter. No, I had proved myself, to all of Talon, that I was worthy of my heritage. I was the Elder Wyrm’s right-hand man, the one she trusted with Talon’s most important campaign.

And someday, if everything worked out, I would lead all of Talon. Someday, this would all be mine. I was close, so very close, to achieving what I’d set out to do all those years ago. I couldn’t falter now.

The enormous wooden doors to the CEO’s office loomed above me, brass handles glimmering in the light. I didn’t knock or wait for the Elder Wyrm to call me in. I simply opened the doors and entered.

The Elder Wyrm was sitting at her desk, manicured nails clicking over the keyboard as her eyes scanned the computer screen. Her presence still filled the office, massive and terrifying, even though she wasn’t looking at me. I walked quietly across the room and stood at the front of the desk with my hands clasped behind my back. Having an open invitation into the Elder Wyrm’s office was one thing. Interrupting the Elder Wyrm, without waiting for her to acknowledge your presence, was another. I was heir to one of the largest empires in the corporate world, but she was still the CEO of Talon and the most powerful dragon in existence. Not even the son of the Elder Wyrm was exempt from protocol.

The Elder Wyrm didn’t say anything or look up from her task, and I waited silently for her to finish. Finally, she clicked the mouse button, pushed the keyboard tray beneath the desktop and looked up at me. Her green-eyed gaze, identical to Ember’s and my own, pierced the space between us.

“Dante.” She smiled and, unlike that of many other dragons who could only imitate a smile, hers seemed genuine. Of course, that was what made her so dangerous; you never knew if what she was showing you was real or not. “Good to see you again. How was your trip back?”

“It was fine, ma’am. Thank you.”

She nodded and rose, gesturing to the duo of chairs in front of the desk. I sank into one obediently and crossed my legs as the Elder Wyrm came around the desk to pin me with her stare. The weight of her gaze was suffocating, but I settled back with a calm yet expectant expression, careful not to show any fear.

“Plans are in motion,” the Elder Wyrm said, and her low voice sent a shiver down my spine. “Everything is nearly in place. There is just one thing missing now. One last thing we must take care of.”

My heart beat faster. I could guess what that final piece was. Of course it would be her. Even now, she didn’t realize her importance.

“Ember Hill must be retrieved,” the Elder Wyrm went on, her tone becoming frighteningly intense. The hairs on my arms rose, and something inside me shrank down in terror as the Elder Wyrm speared me with that terrible gaze. “It is imperative that she return to Talon. No more mistakes. This is what we are going to do...”

EMBER

He’s gone.

I knelt in the salt, holding Garret’s motionless body in my lap as the sun climbed slowly over the flats and tinged the desolate landscape the color of blood. The soldier’s face was slack and pale, his skin still warm as he bled out in my arms. Around me, there were flurries of frantic movement, voices shouting, questions that might’ve been directed at me. But nothing seemed real. Garret was gone. I had lost him.

“Shit, he’s bleeding out fast.” This from Riley, kneeling on the opposite side of the soldier, holding a bloody cloth to his side. “We can’t wait for an ambulance—he’ll be dead in two minutes if we don’t do something now.”

“Here,” gasped another voice behind me. Tristan St. Anthony, Garret’s former partner and a soldier of St. George, dropped to his knees beside Riley. He carried a large plastic box and yanked the lid back, revealing an array of bandages, gauze and medical supplies. “I can do a transfusion right here,” Tristan said, pulling a long, clear tube from the bottom of the container, “but I don’t have the correct blood type. His body will reject it if it’s not a match.”

“What does he need?” Riley growled.

“O positive.”

“Shit.” Reaching into the box, Riley pulled out something that glittered metallically in the cold light. For just a second, he stared at it, as if trying to come to a decision. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, and sliced the scalpel blade across his arm, right above the bend of his elbow. Blood welled and ran down his skin, and my stomach lurched.

Tristan’s eyes widened. “Are you—”

“Shut up and stick that tube in his arm before I regret this even more.”

Tristan scrambled to comply. Riley stood, holding the other end of the clear plastic, shaking his head. “I fucking can’t believe I’m doing this,” he growled again, and shoved the end of the tube into his bicep.

A dark stream of red ran from his arm, twisting lazily through the plastic, inching toward the dying soldier. Fascinated, I stared at the crimson stream, heart pounding, until Riley’s voice snapped me out of my numb daze.

“Don’t just sit there, Firebrand! How about you start patching him up before he starts leaking my blood all over the ground?”

I jumped, but Tristan was already moving, pulling out disinfectant, bandages and a needle and thread with grim determination. He glanced up, dark blue eyes meeting mine, and I saw the raw emotion behind his careful soldier’s mask. A lump caught in my throat, and I gently lowered Garret to the ground, then accepted the supplies thrust into my hands. For the next few minutes, we worked to keep the soldier we loved from dying on the barren flats outside Salt Lake City, while Riley loomed over us both, connected to Garret by a thin stream of red, his expression like a thundercloud.

RILEY

Whoa, getting light-headed here.

I swayed, gritting my teeth, as a wave of dizziness washed over me, making me stagger back a step. Thankfully, Ember and St. Anthony, still bent over the soldier, didn’t seem to notice. They’d patched up his many wounds, either by wrapping them in gauze or sewing them shut, and he now lay between them on the salt flats, still as death and nearly as white as the ground beneath him. I looked at Ember, at the tear tracks staining her cheeks, and wondered if she would cry for me if I ever bit the dust.

“He still alive?” I asked gruffly.

The other soldier of St. George felt his wrist, then nodded once and sat back on his heels with a sigh. “Yeah,” he answered in an equally brusque voice. “For now.”

“Well, that’s good. I’d hate to be getting this nauseous for nothing.” I watched him carefully remove the tube from the soldier’s arm and tape the final wound shut. The end of the tube dropped to the ground and leaked my blood all over the salt.

“You should go,” St. Anthony said in a low voice, not looking at me. “Get him out of here. Before the rest of the Order shows up.”

I nodded wearily. “I’ll call Wes,” I told Ember. My human hacker friend waited on standby, ready to speed to our side if anything went wrong. I’d say this classified as very, very wrong. “He should be here in a few minutes.”

She nodded without looking up, her attention riveted to the soldier, and I stifled the growl rumbling in my throat. Instead, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and pressed a familiar button.

“Tell me you’re not dead, Riley,” said the terse English voice on the other end.

I sighed. “No, Wes, I got my head blown off, and this is just my ghost speaking to you from the afterlife. What the hell do you think?”

“Well, since you’re calling me, I take it things did not go as planned. Did St. George manage to get himself killed?”

I looked down at Ember and the soldier. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? What kind of bloody answer is that? Either he’s dead or he isn’t.”

“It’s complicated.” I explained the situation, and what led up to it, as briefly as I could. Wes already knew that Garret had been challenged by the Patriarch, the leader of St. George, to a duel to the death. The soldier had defeated the man, barely, and forced him to yield, ending the fight. But then he made a mistake. He’d spared his life. And while the soldier was walking away, the Patriarch had pulled a gun and shot him in the back. That move had ended his life, as one of his own seconds responded immediately by putting several bullets through his former Patriarch, but it came too late to help the soldier, who now lay like the dead on the salt flats outside the city.

“So much for the famed honor of St. George,” I muttered into the shocked silence on the other end. “So now we need to get him, and us, out of here pronto. Think you can manage that?”

“Bloody hell, Riley.” Wes sighed. “Can you not, just once, go into a situation without one of you nearly dying?” There was a pause, and I heard the growl of an engine as it rumbled to life. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Try not to let anyone else get shot, okay?”

“One more thing,” I said, lowering my voice to a near whisper and turning my back on the trio kneeling in the salt. “I’m initiating Emergency Go to Ground protocol now. Send the signal through the network, to all the safe houses.”

“Shit, Riley,” Wes breathed. “Is it that bad?”

“The leader of St. George, their Grand Poobah himself, was just killed. Even if they don’t blame us—which they will, you can be sure of that—things are going to get crazy from here on. I don’t want any of us out in the open when the shit starts to hit the fan. No one moves or pokes a scale out the door until I say otherwise.”

“Bugger all,” Wes muttered, and the faint tapping of keys drifted through the phone. Even when he was on standby, Wes’s laptop never left his side. “Initiating protocol...now.” He sighed again, sounding weary. “Right, that’s done. So now I suppose we’re heading to the bugout spot to wait for the Order to flip the hell out when they hear the news.”

“Get here as soon as you can, Wes.”

“Joy. On my way.”

I lowered the phone and glanced at St. Anthony, forcing a smirk. “I don’t suppose you people brought a stretcher.”

“Actually, we did.” The other soldier still knelt in the salt beside Sebastian’s body. His voice was grave, but a tremor went through him, barely noticeable. “The Order always comes prepared. Though we thought it would just be...one body.”

A chill went through me, joining the dizziness. I lifted my gaze and looked over the huddle of people in front of me to where a still form in white lay crumpled in the salt a few yards away. Like the soldier, he was covered in blood, the back of his once-pristine uniform spattered with red from where the series of bullets had torn through his body. The Patriarch of the Order of St. George lay dead where he had fallen, the final look on his face one of disbelief and rage.

I guessed I’d be surprised, too, if I’d been shot several times in the back by one of my own soldiers. And not the one I had challenged in a fight to the death.

“Tristan St. Anthony.” The new voice echoed behind us, low and frigid. I saw the human briefly close his eyes before raising his head.

“Sir.”

“Get up. Step away from the dragons, now.”

St. Anthony complied immediately, though his movements were stiff as he rose and stepped away from Ember and myself. His face was carefully neutral as he turned to face the man standing behind us. Martin, I remembered the Patriarch had called him—Lieutenant Martin. He wasn’t a large man, or tall; he was older and had that commanding presence I’d seen in unit leaders and veteran slayers. St. Anthony stood rigid at attention, his gaze fixed straight ahead as the other regarded him with stony black eyes.

I watched intently, wondering if he was going to shoot the younger soldier right here. Execute him for killing the Patriarch, perhaps. Even though, in my mind, St. Anthony had done exactly what he was supposed to. The seconds were there to ensure the duel was fair, that no one interfered, cheated or swayed the fight in any way. Sebastian had won; the Patriarch had yielded and the duel was clearly over. Shooting Sebastian in the back wasn’t just extreme cowardice; it marked the Patriarch, beyond any doubt, as guilty, and St. Anthony had responded as he should have. Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction, and the realization of what he’d done was just now hitting home, but his response had probably saved both their lives from two vengeful dragons blasting them to cinders.

But I didn’t know St. George policies or politics, only that they were severe to the point of being fanatical. Maybe it didn’t matter what the Patriarch had done. Maybe killing the revered leader of St. George was an immediate death sentence, no matter the intent behind it. It wouldn’t surprise me.

By the look on St. Anthony’s face, it wouldn’t surprise him, either.

The officer regarded the younger man in silence for a moment, then sighed. “You did what you had to do, St. Anthony,” he said in a stiff voice, making the other look up sharply. “In accordance with the rules of St. George. The Patriarch was guilty, and his actions called for immediate reprisal.” His voice didn’t quite match the look on his face, as if he would give anything to believe that it wasn’t true. “You did your duty, though the council might not see it that way,” he added, making St. Anthony wince. “But I will speak on your behalf and do my best to ensure you are not punished for it.”

“Sir,” St. Anthony breathed as, with the crunching of salt, the other officer walked up. He was older than either of them, with a white beard and a patch across one eye, and his face was twisted into an expression of hate as he glared at us.