The oarsmen poled on. Eppie pushed out, hurrying to join them as fast as she could with her makeshift paddle.
The raft reached the island’s shore as the sun rose. The Aralel stood, going through the tent on her way to the prow of the raft. One of the oarsmen handed her out. From where Eppie was, out on the water, she could just see a young, thin priestess shadowing the Aralel. Whoever she was, Eppie was pretty sure it wasn’t Iola. The ambassadress was taller and would never scuttle along like that.
The men and women on the boat rested their oars. Now the sun was rising. Eppie realized belatedly that the tower had been shining from within. It had not done that before, not that she’d seen. The light hadn’t been the light of the sun at all. It was the dragon’s own light.
Then everything ex
