Dragons vs. Drones by Wesley King Page B

“I kind of . . . looked around while I was in here. I was bored, and I shouldn’t have, but I looked under the bed.”
    Dree stiffened. “You did what?”
    Abi pulled a small black-iron figurine from beneath the covers, welded with incredible detail from extra scraps atthe forge. It portrayed a Nightwing with a rider on its back, held in place by a saddle and armor plating. It was a perfect to-scale replica of something Dree had been designing for months, and it wasn’t the only creation hidden under her bed. There were miniature replicas of weapons—projectiles and bows and jousts—all designed for use from the back of a dragon. But Dree knew why Abi had selected this one in particular: Any mention of dragon riding was forbidden. To create new technology for dragon riding would have landed Dree in prison . . . or worse.
    Of course, Abi didn’t know the half of it—these inventions weren’t just for any rider and dragon, they were for Dree and Lourdvang. They were acts of war.
    Abi looked at Dree, eyebrows raised. “Why didn’t you tell me you were doing all this?”
    Dree snorted. “Why do you think?”
    â€œYou can trust me, you know,” Abi said, crossing her arms.
    Dree smiled and wrapped an arm around her sister.
    â€œOf course I can,” she said. “But the less people who know, the better. You know what would happen if the Protectorate saw this. The generals. I would be thrown in prison or . . .” She trailed off.
    â€œThen why do it?” Abi whispered.
    Dree paused. She couldn’t tell her sister about Lourdvang. It was too dangerous.
    â€œBecause of Dad,” Dree replied, which was partly true.
    â€œNow, you can’t tell anyone—”
    â€œDree!” her mother called from the kitchen. “Get up for work.”
    Dree sighed, staring up at the ceiling.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Abi asked.
    â€œYou’ll see.”

    It wasn’t pretty. Dree’s mother was furious, storming around the living room and probably waking up every single person on the docks. The few paintings they had on the walls— relics of a time when the family lived in a beautiful house in the city, her parents the descendants of two prominent families—rattled and shook, threatening to fall. Dree’s father watched in silence from his ratty old armchair, the fabric stained and worn. His brow was furrowed, but he showed no other expression. He just studied the proceedings carefully.
    â€œHow do you ‘just’ get fired?” her mom asked again, her voice getting louder. “You must have done something.”
    Dree couldn’t tell her mom the real reason. Her father was the only one who knew about the fire, and he had forbidden her a long time ago from telling anyone, even her mother. He said she wouldn’t understand, that she would be afraid. Dree wouldn’t blame her.
    â€œI don’t know,” Dree murmured, sitting at the kitchen table, which was perched in the center of the house. “He just said I was fired. He said he didn’t like my attitude.”
    â€œThere’s a surprise,” her mother snarled.
    Katrine Reiter was a beautiful woman who had been worn down by a hard life. Her blond hair, frizzy and unkempt, was graying, while her once delicate features were now marred by dark circles under her eyes and wrinkles that sprouted from her lips like cracks in the cobblestone. She worked at a mill on the outskirts of the city, lugging steel and firing coal and a bunch of other things the daughter of a wealthy merchant should never have had to do. Dree and her mother weren’t close. Dree suspected that her mother had never quite forgiven her—no matter how she might have tried—for the loss of Gavri.
    Katrine didn’t know what had happened, but she had seen Dree screaming that fateful day. She had heard her for years after in the middle of