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The Dragon in the Dungeon: Sins of the Father

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Chapter One

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Rain smothered everything. The steady, rushing whisper drowned out all other sound. Its fresh scent overwhelmed the blue curls of incense smoke wafting from copper censers. It trickled in silvery rivulets through the garden beyond the covered patio. Raindrops dribbled in steady streams from the narrow leaves of the bellflower veins wreathing the veranda. It splattered the wooden steps leading to the sheltered patio with silvery blotches, as if it was not rain that fell, but mercury.

“What do you make of this rain, Jons?” Fifth General Corvin Vren gestured at it with a dark blue book.

The nearby soldier leaned against his spear, chain mail rattling. “Not my place to make anything out of anything, Sir.”

Corvin chuckled, and eased into his favorite patio chair. The wood creaked. “Just because you’re on duty doesn’t mean we can’t make small talk. You ever seen rain like that before, son?”

Jons grunted, and shook his head. “Not till this year, Sir.”

The general set the book on his lap to adjust the mirrored lantern on a nearby table. “Never used to go far outside the province. We’d see it here maybe, once a year or so. Now almost every time it rains, it’s silver.”

“It’s creepy, Sir.” Jons eased away from a silvery trickle running across the wood. “Unnatural.”

Corvin scratched at his close-cropped beard. “It’s perfectly natural. Just…not around here. Still, things change, eh? Best get used to it. I can’t say I like having more gray in my beard every time I glance in a looking glass, either, but things are the way they are.”

“So they are, Sir.” Jons glanced back at him, a hint of a grin on his lips. “You know, Sir, if you don’t like the gray, I hear-”

“You talk ill about my beard, and I’ll have you scrubbing latrines for a month.”

“Sir!” Jons thumped his spear against the boardwalk.

The general smiled to himself, leaning back in his chair. He drummed his fingers on the hard, indigo cover of the book. The tome was one of his favorites. He read it at least once a year, and often turned back to it when something was troubling him. Corvin ran his fingers along the spine, brushing the silver lettering. Though he had at least a dozen copies of it in his collection, this was his newest. It arrived just the other day, delivered by special courier, with a signed note of thanks inside, along with a quote from the story.

Thank you for reading, may it bring you many hours of peaceful enjoyment.

“The Fleet Dove Hews Closer, the Razor’s Edge.”

Amira Brightcloud.

Corvin left the note inside, on his desk. He balled up a fist and thumped it against the book, scowling. “Goddamn fleet dove hews.”

“What’s that Sir?” Jons glanced back at him.

“Nothing you need to know, Soldier.”

“Sir.” The guard shifted his weight, chain mail rattling. “That’s a line from your book, right?”

Corvin glanced at the guard, grinning. “Read it, have you?”

“Long time ago. I remember that line, though, if I heard you right. Wasn’t it from a poem?”

“It was.” Corvin folded his hands over the top of the book. “Though, with respect soldier, I don’t much feel like talking about Brightcloud right now.” He sighed, drumming his fingers again. “Planned to come out here and read all evening, enjoy the rain but…think the mood’s gone.”

The general gazed out into the darkness, an anxious knot in his belly. Beyond the edge of his sheltered veranda, a half-dozen more armed guards patrolled the grounds of his home. Their oiled rain cloaks glistened with silver splotches rivulets. Torchlight glinted off steel. Further beyond them, a line of willow trees loomed, edging his property. He knew there were another half dozen guards he couldn’t see, as well. The Illandran military had stepped up its protections of all its high ranking officers, recently. In the time since he received he the book, he signed off on an order he never thought he’d scribe, and seen his guard detail tripled.

“Rain does that to me too, Sir.” Jons popped his helmet off, and held in the crook of his arm while he scratched his head. “Always seems so damn dreary.” He popped his helmet back on. “But don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be sunny again, tomorrow.”

“Hardly the rain that worries me, soldier.” Corvin thumbed through the book, glancing at a few of his favorite passages.

“Understandable, Sir. But there’s enough of us here, they’d need a gods-damn army to get through.” Jons thumped his spear twice.

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, it’s not myself I’m worried about.” With a sigh, the general pushed himself back to his feet. He set the book on the table. “Enough of that.” Corvin clapped his guard on the shoulder, grinning. “You ever get that coin Benson owes you?”

The guard snorted, shaking his head. “Benson never pays anyone back.”

Corvin shook his finger. “You tell him if he doesn’t hand it over, I’m gonna take it out of his pay and give it to you myself.”

Jons grinned, thumping his spear twice again. “Yes Sir!”

“Hell, you oughta get him to go double or nothing, first. Man can’t race a horse to save his life.” The general chuckled, wandering the veranda. “Don’t know why he keeps taking those bets.”

“Probably cause he keeps thinking he can ‘forget’ to pay.” Jons leaned up against a post, spear braced against his arm. “Double or nothing though, I like the sound of that.”

“Seems fair to me, soldier. If a man’s trying to take advantage of you, you use his greed against him.” He waved his hand. “If you’ve a wolf who keeps raiding your flock, poison a few sheep, let the wolf claim them so the poison claims him.”

Jons furrowed his brow under his helmet. “But then you lose the sheep.”

“You’re losing them anyway, Jons. It’s an acceptable loss to stop the wolf from taking any more in the future.” Corvin tilted his head back, gazing at a few crimson bellflowers hanging from the trellis above him.

“I’m not sure you’ve ever worked a farm, Sir. Or a sheep herd.”

Corvin laughed, fetching a set of sheers. “It’s just an analogy, Jons.” He clipped off a wilting flower. “Point is, if he’s gonna keep taking and taking, you use it against it.” He waggled the sheers. “You make sure Benson bites off more than he can chew, and next time he’ll remember to pay off his bets.”

Jons gave him a lopsided smirk. “You’re mixing your analogies, sir.”

“I think you’re missing the point, soldier.”

The general wandered around his covered patio for a little while, clipping wilting flowers and vines creeping too far past their boundaries. The breeze shifted, and rain-cooled air washed across him. He shivered, a few goosebumps breaking out across his skin. The gray and gold tunic he wore left his forearms bare. It never used to bother him, but lately he felt autumn’s chill creeping in far more than he ever used to so early. It was barely even fall, the trees were just starting to think about turning. Corvin scowled, thinking he should have worn his damn cloak anyway.

Getting old.

Corvin set his sheers away, and went to the brazier near the door into his home. He popped it open, and added a few dry logs to the coals glowing in the bottom of the iron chamber. Once the fresh wood caught flame, he dragged his chair over a little closer to the heat, and sank back into it. He sighed, leaning his head back against the padding, and closing his eyes.

“If you’re cold, Sir, I can bring your cloak.”

“I’m not an old lady, Jons.” Corvin cracked his eyes open. “I don’t need a shawl just because it’s drizzling.”

“Sir.” Jons nodded, grinning.

With a sigh, Corvin opened up his book. He decided he may as well read a few chapters, anyway. The pages turned quickly, and he found himself swept away in the story. Even knowing it by heart, it still moved him. A long time ago, when he first the book, it showed him the world in a way he’d never considered. As a soldier, rising through the ranks, it affected the way he approached his duty, the way he treated his subordinates, and all those around him. And when he realized who the story was truly about, it put things in a whole new perspective. It helped him understand the threats they faced far more than most of his nation’s army ever would.

“You know, if it was up to me, Jons.” He brushed his finger over the pages. “This would be required reading for any soldier of Illandra.”

Jons grunted, staring into the distance.

“Are you listening, son?”

“Did you hear that, Sir?”

Something in Jons’ voice set Corvin on edge. “Hear what?”

“Probably nothing.” Jons scanned the distance. He whistled, and sent another guard a hand signal.

Corvin sharpened his voice. “What is it, Soldier?” He set the book aside, leaning forward.

Jons glanced back at him, his face drawn tight. “Thought I heard wingbeats.”

“Shit.” Corvin jumped to his feet. He picked up the lamp near the table, and blew it out. “Douse the lanterns.”

“I can’t be certain, Sir. It was hard to tell over the rain-”

“Which is exactly why they’d come now!” Corvin hurried to a corner of the terrace and blew out another lamp. “Douse the damn lanterns!”

Jons whistled again, two sharp, short bursts. All around the general’s compound, guards quenched the torches and blew out lanterns. Guards inside his home who knew the place by heart put out lamps. As darkness settled in, soldiers all around the property sounded off. Each gave a different whistle or animal call, three bursts, a bird warble, a coyote howl, two hard claps, and so on. Each guard had his own code-sound, and they all knew them by heart.

Corvin waited till he’d heard every call, then gave one of his own. He clapped once, whistled, and clapped again. The signal told all the guards in earshot to take up a specific defensive formation. In the dark, some men took up hidden positions. Others shifted patrol routes to search nearer the tree line, backed up by more guards positioned on the roof with crossbows.

“You should get inside, Sir.”

“Hard to give orders if I’m hiding in a room by myself.”

“With respect, Sir.” Jons’ voice was taut as he gazed out through the rain, at the tree line. “This isn’t a battlefield that needs your command. We know what we’re doing, and if they’re here, they’re here for you.”

“And I’d rather not be a cornered rat. I’m getting my-”

“There!”

A shout from one of the guards drew his attention. There was another whistle, and then sharp twang of crossbow fire. Bolts whistled into the woods, but no screams rang out. The crossbowmen atop the roof dropped beneath the battlements to reload. Nearer the forest, a few guards split up and plunged through the willows. The generals heart thudded as he waited. Rain smothered any sound.

“Sir!” Jons hissed. “If there’s a dragon-”

“They’d be perfectly content to burn me alive inside my home!” Corvin grit his teeth. “If there’s a dragon, why aren’t they attacking? Unless they wanted us to hear the wingbeats…” He put a few fingers in his mouth and gave a trio of whistles.

From the forest, a scream rang out, cut off in an instant. More crossbow bolts hurtled through the trees. Corvin cursed under his breath. If they weren’t careful, the archers were going to hit one of their own men. Then a louder scream came from just overhead. A crossbow-wielding guard toppled through the air, crashing through the wooden veranda just behind the general with a tremendous splintering crash. Water poured across him, and he fought through tangled and torn vines the reach the wounded archer.

“The-the roof!” The man gasped, blood ran from his nose and mouth.

Corvin grabbed him by the arms, dragging him to the door. Before he got there, Jons threw the door open, then wrenched the general away from the fallen man. “Sir, get inside!”

Before Corvin could argue, a hulking figure erupted through the hanging willow boughs. The attacker was tall and armored, with a broad, wolf-like head. A koraa’gi. The wolf-like creature strode forward, swinging an immense axe. He buried it in the skull of the first guard who rushed to meet him. The koraa’gi yanked his axe free and kept moving. When he glanced towards the shattered patio, every drop of blood in Corvin’s body turned to ice in an instant. The koraa’gi’s muzzle was white as snow.

It wasn’t just an attack. It was them.

“Jons, it’s the koraa’gi!”

“It’s her gods-damn kill squad!” Jons turned and shoved the Fifth General through the door. “Get inside! Go!”

Before Corvin could argue, Jons slammed the door shut behind him. Between the walls and the rain lashing at windows, it was hard for Corvin to hear what was happening outside. There was a thump above him, a muffled cry somewhere beyond, and the only the sound of rain. He hurried through his dark house, heading for his study. He kept his sword there, and though there was passage to a safe room, he had no intent on using it. If they had their dragon with them, they burn him out, anyway. Even so, Corvin was not about to let men die on his behalf while he cowered in some hidden chamber.

He crept down one dark corridor, and into another. A few guards held positions at a far doorway. He slipped through the open door of another room, dismayed to find there was no guard there. There should have been. There was no body, no blood, and he wasn’t sure to make of that. Ahead of him, orange light wavered and danced under the door way to his study. Each night he spent an hour or so in the room before bed, so he liked to have a fire going to keep it nice and warm.

Corvin cracked open the door, and peeked in. The room looked empty. Firelight danced across bookshelves filled with countless tomes. An semi-circular ebony desk occupied one corner of the room. An overstuffed recliner sat near the still-blazing fire. His sword hung on a rack near the desk, along with a whetstone, oil and cloths. He’d already burned any remaining documents of importance after receiving the note with the book. But the note itself sat on his desk, open. Hadn’t he folded it back up? Corvin couldn’t remember.

The Fifth General hurried into the room, and went to his desk. Just as he reached for the note, a reflection on an ornamental silver platter moved. He made a show of snatching up a letter opener instead, as if going for a weapon rather than the note. Then he spun around to face the woman standing in the corner, out of site from the doorway. She held a book her hand.

“I heard you read Brightcloud, but I didn’t believe it till I saw it for myself.” The woman waved the book at him. It was another copy of The Uncaring Sky. “You do read it, don’t you? I’ll be awfully disappointed if you only use it as a decoration.”

Corvin stared at her, trying to control his breathing. Curly black hair framed her slightly rounded face. Even in the firelight, her eyes were dark and piercing, a storm ready to be unleashed. Black leather armor glistened with silver droplets. Beneath her green cloak, edged with golden leaf patterns, daggers and other weapons were strapped. A sword rested at each hip.

“Sylva, right?”

“I am.” The woman gave him a little bow. She straightened up, then waved the book at the desk behind him. “If you were planning to burn that note, don’t bother. I’ve already read it. What’s it mean?”

Corvin glanced at the note behind him. “Should think it was obvious. She appreciates my support for her work.”

“Does she.” Slyva’s voice was flat. She set the book aside. “Do you who Amira Brightcloud really is, General?”

The Fifth General set the letter opener aside, shrugging. “Do you?”

Sylva flourished her cloak back, freeing up both sword hilts. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound rhetorical. I’m genuinely curious if you know who your favorite author really is?”

Corvin pursed his lips. He glanced at his desk, where a crystalline decanter and a few glasses sat. “You mind if I get a drink, at least?”

“By all means.”

The General opened the decanter, and poured some golden liquid into a glass. “Care for some? It spent forty years in Denorian oak, you know. Be a shame for it to wait all that time, only to be wasted.”

Sylva shook her head. “I’ll pass. My hands are steady enough. But you’re welcome to finish it all while you’re still breathing, if it makes this easier for you. Now…about Amira.”

Corvin snorted. He lifted the glass, inhaled the aroma, and let out a long sigh. He took a sip, savoring the flavors of sweet sugar, spice and oak. “There is no Amira Brightcloud. There never was.”

The woman smiled, twining fingers around one of her sword’s hilts. “You’re right so far.”

“I know where the name comes from, too.” He took another sip, leaning back against his desk. “It’s a combination, actually. Amira, from the name of the city that took her family in, and Brightcloud, the family name of the woman who once helped her son. Out near the Forest of Ghosts, right?”

“So you do know.”

Corvin finished off his drink, and refilled the glass. “You know, I’ve a first edition of Uncaring Sky in the case, near you. If this plays out the way you expect it, you should take it when you go. It deserves a good home.”

“I’d be happy too.” Sylva glanced at the case, stroking her sword hilt. “So you really do-”

“How do you pronounce it? I’ve always wondered that. Kee-lah-rin?”

A smile tugged at Sylva’s lips. “You’re probably one of her few enemies she’d want to know. It’s Ky-Lar-rin.”

“Ah.” Corvin smiled to himself, swirling his drink in his glass. “Kylaryn. Feels good to say it right. So, does she write everything with the Amira Brightcloud name?”

“Dictates, generally.”

“I see.” The Fifth General gestured with his glass. “I’d wondered how a dragon might actually hold a quill. Makes more sense knowing she dictates it. You know, when I first read her story, it damn near changed my life. Never really…” He took a long gulp, gritting his teeth at the wash of heat that followed. “…Thought about dragons, that way. As people, I mean. Who cry for their loved ones, who mourn their lost, who want revenge. If I’ve got the time about right, her land was already gone long before I ever became a soldier, let alone a general. I always found myself…” He set his glass down, folding his arms. “Not pitying her, if only because I can tell from the story, she wouldn’t want my pity. But sympathizing.”

“Because your people stole everything from her?”

“No.” He shook his head. “If that story is true, then her life has been as tragic as any I know. But everyone knows loss, Sylva. Our lives are shaped by how we deal with it. The dragon in the story, she says, there is a wound in her heart she cannot close. But what she never says, is the wound wouldn’t close because she won’t let it. This rebellion you wage, this shadow war, it keeps her from healing. The story is a tragedy not because she loses her lover, and her homeland, but because she refuses to take her family somewhere safe, and start their lives anew.”

“She did what she-”

“The war was lost, Sylva. Over a century ago. Even the nations themselves have long-since healed.”

“Spoken like a man who has never known oppression.”

“No, just a man who has seen enough bloodshed to know its futility. Your people’s freedom will come through diplomacy, not a tide of blood.” He twisted around to pick up the note lying on the desk. He crumpled it up, and tossed it between his hands. “That is the tragedy. That after all the anguish and loss she has suffered, she has learned nothing. That in her desire to see things set right that have long since been forgotten by the world, she opens her own wound, again, and again, simply because she cannot let it go. In her need to right this wrong, she will set fire to the world and cast herself into the flames.” He snorted, and threw the note into the fire.

“The only one who is going to burn is-”

“Spare me, Slyva.” Corvin spat on the floor. “In the story, she fears she’ll lose her son, the way she lost his father, but she never realizes she’s the one pushing him away. I wonder, did she set that subtext herself? Because when I read it, it opened my eyes. It made me realize that I was the one who opened the chasm between my own son and me. After that, I did whatever I could to fix things, between us. So I wonder. Does she care what will happen to her son’s new home, if she brings her war to his doorstep?” When Sylva tensed, Corvin allowed himself a smirk. “You’re not the only one with eyes and ears in the shadows.”

Sylva slowly drew a sword. “The fleet dove hews closer, the razor’s edge. What’s it mean?”

“Haven’t you read The Uncaring Sky? It’s a famous quote.”

“I’m aware of the quote.” Sylva took a step towards him. Firelight glinted off steel when she raised her sword. “I’m also aware your Queen has a winged spy involved in her intelligence operations, with a penchant for codes and hidden messages. So I ask you again.” Her voice sharpened. “What does it mean?”

“We both know where this road ends, Sylva. I won’t tell you a thing.”

“I could have my dragon-”

“I doubt she likes being called your dragon. Her name’s Kylyra, right? Named after her mother?” The twitch of Sylva’s brow made him smile. “See? We know as much about you as you know about us.”

Sylva sneered at him. “I doubt that.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Corvin picked up the crystalline decanter, draining the last of the exquisite rum right from the vessel. He sighed, wiped his mouth, and set it down. “I won’t tell you anything. If you know me well enough, you know you’d kill me before you break me. And either way, by the time you figure out what it means, it will be too late. So, you may as well stop wasting time, and do what you came here to do.”

Sylva gazed around the room till her eyes settled on Corvin’s sword. “A man who reads Amira Brightcloud deserves to die with his sword in his hand.”

Corvin gave her a little bow. “Very gracious of you.”

He turned, and retrieved his sword. He’d carried the blade with him most of his adult life. It served him battle when he was an infantry soldier, and made a faithful companion ever since. Even years since the last time he’d fought with it, the weight was familiar, the balance still perfect. He squeezed the hilt till his knuckles ached, swallowed th fight the dryness in his throat, and turned back around.

“Alright, then.”

“Ready?” Sylva drew her other sword, holding one in each hand.

“No one’s ever truly ready to die. But I’ve had a good life.” He paused, suddenly hesitant. “One thing, first.”

Sylva shifted her stance, readying herself. “Yes?”

“I’d ask you to spare my men, but…I suspect it’s too late for that. But my son. He’s…not on your list, is he?”

“No. Just you.”

That lifted a weight from the old general’s heart. His son never wanted anything to do with the military. He’d become an artist, and though Corvin never really approved it, he was always proud of his son for choosing his own path in life. “Good. Good. Alright then. Ready when you are.”

Sylva came at him with a flurry of blows and steel flashing in firelight. Corvin shifted his balance, backing away, deflecting her strikes. He feinted, and when she moved in he pushed back, ramming his forehead into her hers. Sylva cried out and stumbled back, but caught her balance and attacked again long before he could press any further advantage.

Steel clanged on steel constantly, and in only moments, Corvin’s arms were aching. His heart hammered, and it took every ounce of focus he had just to turn her blades away. In his youth, Corvin had been a hell of a swordsman, but that time was long gone. Sylva thrust for his belly, and he knocked that blade aside, only for her other sword to come for his throat. It was all he could do parry her again, and soon she was dancing around him, her swords whirling. She struck for his neck, his hamstring, his belly, his Achilles, his arm.

Now and then he managed another parry, another feint, but each time he tried to press whatever tiny advantage he earned, she drove him back just as swiftly. Every strike of her swords against his left his arms throbbing. His hands went numb. Each dodge and maneuver he made left his legs a little more wobbly, his footing a little less certain.

Corvin saw a gap in her defenses when her own stamina flagged. He pushed for it, thrust at her, forced her to put all her effort into parrying and stepping away from his counter. She spun around him, and he twisted towards her to press his advantage. He’d run her through from behind, if he had too. But as he whirled around, he realized a second too late that it was all an elaborate feint. Her sword punched through his body, just under his sternum, and out his back. He cried out as agony tore through him when she wrenched the bloody steel free. The general fell to his knees, blood gushing over his hands as dropped his sword to clutch himself.

“You fought well, General.” Sylva wiped her sword off on the padded chair nearby. “You might have bested me, in your youth.”

Scarcely able to breathe, Corvin forced words anyway. Blood flecked his lips. “Better to die in battle…for a cause you believe in…than…”

“Cowering in the shadows, while the world you love withers.” Sylva eased her swords back into their scabbards. “One of my favorite quotes, too. Gothaal! It’s done.”

The white-muzzled ko’raagi warrior strode into the room a few moments later. “Think we got ‘em all. How’d your chat go?”

“Well enough to make me wish I didn’t have to kill him.”

Corvin would have laughed, if he could. He flopped onto his side, blood pooling beneath him. “When…everything…burns. And it will. Remember. She’s only herself to blame.”

The wolf-like creature stared over Sylva at the dying man. “He tell you anything?”

“No. Just another strange message. It’s code, I’m sure. We need to go see The Wind right away.”

Corvin groaned, rolling onto his back. The room was dimming, and the numbness in his hands was spreading everywhere else. “It’s too late. You’ve…already lost.”

“You let us worry about that, General.” Sylva crouched down, gazing at him. “Aran’alia lives free.”

“You think…you fight…to be free?” Corvin sucked in a breath through blood-stained teeth, pain piercing him with every fading heartbeat. “This…tide of blood you spill…it will drown you…long before you ever taste freedom. What comes next…is on you. Fleet dove hews…”

“You want his sword?” The Ko’raagi walked to stand alongside Sylva. “Make a good trophy.”

“No. The man earned a burial with his weapon. Leave the sword.” Sylva’s stood up, and walked out of sight. “Take the Brightcloud.”

“Fleet dove hews…” Corvin rasped a few words, then found the strength to laugh as darkness closed in around him. “Razor’s edge…Too late. Too late.”

The voices drifted away.

As the pain ebbed, Corvin closed his eyes.

He thought of his son until the fire’s crackle faded to silence.

*****

Chapter Two

*****

In a clearing, deep in a forest far from the estate of Fifth General Corvin, Sylva watched a dragon rage. The woman stayed well out of the dragon’s way. Allies or not, she did not wish to be trampled underfoot. The dragon, a young adult female, snarled as she paced back and forth, crossing the entire clearing in a few furious strides. She whirled around again, her tail scything down an unfortunate sapling.

Droplets of rain pattered her, dappling her brilliant blue scales with trickles of silver. Mud sloshed beneath her black paws. Her vast azure wings beat the air, and the gusts nearly pushed Sylva off her feet. The dragon took a breath, tossed her wedge-shaped head back, and roared. Sylva forced herself not to clap her hands over her ears. She ended her roar with a burst of roiling, red-orange fire spat into the sky. Rain hissed against the flames, and the wash of heat made Sylva take another step back.

Sylva grit her teeth, waiting for the dragon’s tantrum to fade. Teenagers. “Will you calm down-”

“No!” The dragon stomped a forepaw, snarling. She whirled around to face Sylva, all her spiny frills standing on end. “I am sick of being your decoy! You will let me slay the next target!”

“Oh no. If I let you go anywhere near that sort of danger, your mother will toss me off a cliff!” Slyva folded her arms beneath her rain cloak.

“Oh? Then how about this. The next time you use me as I decoy, I will toss…” The dragon trained off. She glanced back and forth between Sylva, and Gothaal, the tossed her head towards the wolf-like warrior. “Him off a cliff!”

Sylva shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“Hey!” Gothaal’s tan-furred ears shot up. He jabbed a finger into Sylva’s shoulder. “Not funny!”

“Neither are these crossbow bolts peppering my hide!” The dragon turned away, lifting a black-edged wing to expose her ribs. “Remove them at once.”

Gothaal scratched his white furred muzzle. “Not sure two bolts counts as peppering.”

Slyva stepped forward, reaching for the first bolt. “You’d get a lot more than this if you were actually involved in the battle, you know.”

“Battle wounds are acceptable. Being injured as a decoy is not!”

“I know, I know.” Sylva softened her touch and put a hand on the dragon’s side. She rubbed her scales. “It’s not worth risking your safety for a mission Gothaal and the others and I can accomplish on our own.”

“This is that damn gryphon’s fault!” The dragon lashed her tail against the muddy ground, splattering her scales. “Mother was perfectly fine with my participation before he showed up again.”

“Your mother just wants to make sure you’re fully healed-”

“I was fully healed months ago! That ugly bird just got lucky.” She swung her horned head around, glaring at Sylva under her raised wing. Her silvery-gold eyes shone even in the darkness. “Are you going to pull those bolts out or not?”

“Yeah. Take a breath. It’s going to hurt.” Sylva braced one hand against the dragon’s rain-dampened scales, and wrapped the other around a crossbow bolt.

“This is not the first time I have had-AAAAAHH!” The dragon yowled in pain when Sylva pulled the bolt free. “That hurts!” She kicked her hind leg.

Sylva walked the bolt back to the lamp she had set up under a makeshift rain shelter. “I told you it was going to.”

“It wasn’t ready, that was all.” The dragon curled her neck around, gazing at her side. Fresh blood tricked from the puncture in her hide. “I am bleeding.” She stretched, stretching to reach the wound to lick it. “Have you bandages?”

“Yes, but they’ll have to wait till it’s not raining.” Sylva held the bolt up to the lamp. In the flickering orange light, something dark and oily clung to the projective, beneath the crimson of the dragon’s blood. Sylva sniffed it. Behind the coppery tang, she detected another pungent odor. “They’re changing poisons…”

The dragon jerked her head up. “To what?”

“Bishop’s bile, I think.”

“Will that hurt me?” Fear crept into the young dragon’s voice. Some of her fury ebbed. She turned her head, staring at the second bolt. “There is another! Quick, remove it!” She snapped her teeth, trying to grab the bolt in her jaws. When that failed, she flopped onto her haunches to reach for it with her foreleg. Though dragons walked on their front paws, they had opposable thumbs, like humans. But her paws were too thick to easily grasp the slender bolt. “Sylva! Get this out of me at once before it poisons me!”

“If it’s got poison on it, it was in your blood the moment it punctured your hide.” Gothaal spoke up, walking towards the dragon. “Lemme get it.”

“What do you mean it’s already in my blood?” The dragon’s voice tightened, and she took a breath when Gothaal put a furry hand against her scales. As he dragged the bolt out, the dragon lashed her tail, hissing in pain. “That hurts!”

“It can’t be that bad.” Gothaal dropped the bolt to the earth. “Remember that mission with all the archers? You were yelling about taking an arrow in the-”

“If you finish that sentence I’ll bury you in the mud and leave you here.”

The wolf flattened back his ears. The silvery rain left his fur damp and clinging to his face. “Just sayin’, coulda been worse. You’re lucky it missed and-”

“That’s it. I’m digging a hole.” The dragon unsheathed claws and dug out pawfuls of mud, growling under her breath.

“Heh, took your mind off the fact you were poisoned, though, right?”

The dragon jerked her head up, frills raised.

Sylva sighed, tossing the other bolt away. “Gothaal, you’re not supposed to remind them what you’re taking their mind off. Kylyra, you’ll be fine. You dragons are not easy creatures to poison. At least not fatally. And you build up immunities easier than we do. Your mother and her healers have helped immunize you to anything. I’m just worried that they’re changing it. They must have realized bluecap wasn’t going to work so well, anymore. Anyway, you’ll be fine, I promise. Might feel a bit ill, but that’s it.” She pointed to the edge of the forest, surrounding the clearing. “There’s a stream over there. Go drink your fill. It’ll help flush your system.”

“Very well.” The dragon pushed herself up to her paws, glaring at Gothaal a moment. “I’ll bury you later.”

While the dragon went to drink, Sylva doused her lantern, and packed it away. The dragon would have to wait till later to have her wounds bandaged. Sylva didn’t want to patch her up with soaked bandages. The rain would help clean her wounds, anyway. Though she didn’t think the poison would cause the dragon any serious distress, it worried her nonetheless. It was the first time she’d seen their enemies coat their weapons with bishop’s bile instead of blue cap.

In the old days, before Sylva’s time, the Illandrans always used bluecap poison to help bring down dragons. It worked well, at least until the dragons learned that by ingesting a small but daily dose of mushrooms themselves, over time they could develop an immunity to their inherent toxins. The same theory proved true for other poisons the Illandrans used, but it still made Sylva nervous to see them adapting, because it made her wonder what else her enemies knew.

“Fleet dove hews, the razor’s edge.” She slung her pack over her shoulders, drumming fingers on a sword hilt.

“What’s that now?” Gothaal walked up behind her. The koraa’gi put a furry arm around her shoulders, hugging her against his armored body. “That some kinda code, you keep muttering?”

“Has to be.” She rested back against Gothaal. “Just like the last one. Maybe The Wind knows what they mean.”

“Maybe.” Gothaal put his other arm around, rocking back and forth with her.

“What are you doing?” Sylva tilted her head back, smirking up at his wolf-like face.

“Comforting you?”

“Well, the effort is appreciated, anyway.” She lifted a hand to stroke the white fur of his muzzle. All his fur was slicked down against him from the rain. “You look like a drowned dog when it rains.”

Gothaal growled and playfully snapped at her fingers. To the koraa’gi, being referred to as a wolf, let alone a dog, was usually considered an insult when it came from a human. At least by now Gothaal knew it was unintentional. They just happened to look like wolves. These days, Sylva did it just to irritate him. She rubbed his muzzle again, and he leaned his head into her touch, still rocking her.

“If you two are going to mate, at least wait till we get home.” The dragon called out as she stomped her way back through the forest.

“Do we look like we’re gonna mate?” Gothaal snapped his teeth.

The dragon lowered her head, looking them over. “Yes. Though with the way you humans clothe yourselves, I cannot be sure.”

“I’m not human.”

“Human, wolf, wolf-human, you’re all smaller than me.” Kylyra waved her paw, rumbling a laugh. “Are you ready to go?”

Sylva sighed, shaking her head. “You’ve such an attitude, lately.”

The dragon tilted her head, her fangs bared in an intimidating smile. “We’re partners, after all. That means I don’t have to treat you politely anymore.”

“I dunno, Kylyra, I think you were easier to get along with before we were on such familiar terms.” Sylva pulled away from the wolf, and fetched the heavy safety harnesses hanging over low boughs. She tossed one to Gothaal, then started buckling straps around herself. “At least back then all you ever did was pull your stupid pranks on me.”

“Ooooh.” The dragon rumbled her amusement. She settled down on her belly, flattening out her wings. “I thought you were going to piss yourself when I made you think we were falling.”

Sylva shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I had a fear of heights.”

“You still do, don’t you?” Gothaal glanced down at her as he buckled his own straps around his armored body.

Glaring at him, Sylva reached up and flicked the very end of his nose with a single finger.

“OW!”

“He’s right, though.” Kylyra swung her head around, her ears splayed in smug display. “You are still afraid of heights. But at least you don’t scream your head off every time I dive, anymore.”

“You know, when I first met you…” Sylva backed up a few steps, then took a running leap onto the dragon’s side. She scrambled against her, put a boot on her shoulder, and vaunted onto her back. Kylyra wasn’t that large, twice the size of a horse or so, and by now Sylva was very experienced in riding her. She leaned forward and punched the back of the dragon’s neck. “I thought you were an adult.”

“I am an adult!” The dragon hissed, shaking her head, rattling her spines.

“Physically, maybe. But you still act like a brat sometimes.” Sylva tossed her straps around the dragon’s neck. “Buckle me in.”

“Not till you apologize for calling me a brat.” The dragon thumped her tail in the mud.

“How come you just ask her for an apology…?” Gothaal climbed up behind Sylva, settling in just before the dragon’s wings. “But you threaten to bury me in the mud?”

“Because she likes me more than you.” Sylva rubbed the dragon’s scales.

“I was asking Kylyra.” Gothaal tossed his own straps down.

“You don’t get to call me that.” The dragon curled her neck to glare back at her passengers. “In fact, I don’t want either of you using my name now. You may call me The Azure Tempest.”

“Yeah, nothing bratty about you.”

The dragon grunted, rising up to her feet. She stood on three paws, and used the other to buckle the oversized clasps around her chest to secure her riders. “I’m not leaving till you apologize.”

“Just say it, Sylva.” Gothaal prodded her in the ribs. “I wanna get somewhere dry by dawn.”

Sylva shook the rain from her head, making sure it splattered Gothaal’s face. His canine-sounding yelp made her grin. “Fine, fine. I’m sorry I called you a braAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!”

Her words twisted into a startled squeal when the dragon launched herself into the air in a single, sudden leap. Her vast blue wings lashed against the rain, and she ascended in a tight spiral. Slyva grit her teeth, her stomach puddling in her boots. Powerful flight muscles rippled beneath her. She leaned forward, gripping her safety harness so tight her knuckles ached. When she first started riding the dragon often, she did so bareback. Once they became frequent partners, Sylva wanted a saddle. But no, her azure highness wouldn’t hear of it. At least the safety harness was a decent compromise.

Once the dragon leveled off, Sylva settled in. Flying wasn’t as terrifying a prospect as it once was, but it was still difficult for her to enjoy. Every time she started to savor the beauty of the world stretched out below her, that was when The Azure Tempest decided to feign a wing seizure and start spiraling towards the earth. Not that she’d have enjoyed this flight, anyway. It was hard to enjoy anything with cold rain pelting her, and a mind filled with worry. The young dragon’s antics were an amusing distraction while they stopped to deal with her injuries, and Sylva was thankful no one was seriously hurt. But now, with hours of chilly flight before her, it was harder to keep herself from being dragged back under those dark, fearful waters.

Their last target was a high ranking military officer, too, and he also had a strange, coded message. And for all the bravado she made sure General Corvin saw before he died, Sylva wasn’t willing to lie to herself. His confidence that her people had already lost this war unnerved her. Despite all the plans they had so painstakingly assembled, and all the things they put into motion, she could not shake the sudden feeling that somehow, they were falling behind.

Gothaal leaned forward, his armored body pressed to her back. He slipped an arm around her belly to hug her, and pulled his cloak forward to wrap it across her. Though she couldn’t really feel his warmth through their armor, she appreciated the gesture the same. Sylva reached back to find his other hand, and twine her fingers through his.

“It’ll be alright!” Gothaal cradled her against his body. “The Wind will know what to do!”

Sylva smiled. “She always does!”

*****

Dawn broke cold and gray above the City of Stairs. Though the rain had eased as they flew south, the clouds remained. Sylva’s arms ached from clutching her flight harness all night. Hunger gnawed at her belly. She was ready for a hot meal, a hot soak, and a long sleep. As much as her sore body needed the rest, her mind needed it worse. But she had to talk to The Wind, see if she any answers, and ask for new orders.

At least they were almost home. As soon as she saw the city’s familiar terraces in the distance, she breathed a sigh of relief. Though City of Stairs was not the place’s official name, it was a fitting moniker. Much city was built halfway up a mountain, an ever escalating series of terraced roads carved into the granite face, each at a higher elevation than the last. From a distance it gave the city the appearance of a massive staircase built for some world-striding titan. Walls and common sense were the only things that kept people from plummeting over the far more often than they did. Sylva was certain that every year at least a few drunkards took the long tumble.

Sylva leaned over, gazing down at the lower half of the city. It spread out in a fan-shaped sprawl across the valley below. The imposing mountains and rugged wilderness surrounding it provided natural defenses. Layers of sturdy walls built in part by dragons, lined with fortified towers and guard posts ringed the city. Some of them were recent additions, others older structures only just repaired. Though Sylva doubted they would ever face direct invasion, she was thankful The Wind was not willing to take chances. Given that General Corvin seemed to know this place, they had to be prepared to withstand a siege, just in case.

“We’re about to land!”

The dragon’s voice drew Sylva’s attention towards their destination. She shifted in her harness, leaning over the other side of the dragon. Gothaal kept a steadying arm around her. A monolithic citadel capped the mountain that housed the city of stairs. When Sylva first set eyes upon the place years ago, it was little more than a crumbling remnant of an old mountain empire’s capital. But that empire had long dissolved into city-states dotting the wild land. Once they settled into peaceful alliances, the fortress fell into disrepair. Its original front courtyard and guard houses were lost to a landslide, and replaced.

At least, not until The Wind that arrived. Sylva smiled. That city gave refuge to a family of dragons, and in return, The Wind had restored it to glory. Now, the castle that loomed above them was whole once more. Rumor had it that the mountain itself was carved out by dragons, in ages long forgotten. Sylva didn’t know if that was true, but they’d sure as hell helped put it in back in order. More dragons than she’d ever seen in one place helped complete the repairs. They hauled stone, and lumber, they dug out landslides and debris, and now, they would protect this place and the humans who gave them a home with their lives, if it came to it.

From above, it looked as if the primary fortress was composed of three separate buildings, connected with battlement lined walkways. But within the mountain lay a whole host of corridors and hidden rooms. Half the castle was hidden within the stone. Tunnels connected it to the city below. Behind those buildings, much of the mountaintop now served as flat courtyard, paved with white and silver flagstones. A layer of steam smothered part of the courtyard, with bent pine trunks protruding from it.

As the dragon swept in for a landing, coils of mist swirled in tiny vortices beyond the tips of her azure wings. When she flared her wings to land, Sylva braced herself. The dragon touched down on her hind paws first, jarring Sylva and pressing her back against Gothaal. Then Kylyra dropped down and trotted a few paces until she came to a stop. She dropped to her belly to let her passengers off. Sylva unbuckled her straps and hopped down off the dragon. Once Gothaal did the same, Sylva removed the harness from the dragon.

“Hate that thing.” Kylyra snorted, shaking herself.

Sylva ignored her, and tucked her harness under her arm, gazing around. Freshly painted doors set in stone led to more tunnels. All the brush and debris that once obscured the place was gone. Gnarled, bristlecone pines shaped by centuries of cold winds poked up from the stony ground, roped off to ensure proper reverence was paid. Banners with curved, silver daggers, and axes shaped like raindrops fluttered from poles. Another, large building was set further back, and a walkway lined with cross-shaped poles held brass lanterns and more banners.

“Think your mother’s awake?” Sylva walked across the courtyard towards the meeting hall at the far end.

“Probably.” The dragon padded alongside her, with Gothaal taking up the rear. “She’s often up earlier than father. And she would be expecting us to return around dawn.”

Sylva scowled. “So she would.”

She shifted her harness, tossing its straps over her shoulder, then gazed around she courtyard as she walked. Nearer the meeting hall, immense banners taller than she was depicted each of the dragons in the ruling family, each with their human monikers scrawled across the colorful, detailed images. Foremost amongst them was the largest banner, with the blue-scaled leader of Death in the Night herself.

The Wind That Carries.

Something prickled at Sylva’s spine. She slowed her pace, and made a show of gazing up at the banner, as if in awe. They were being watched. She wasn’t sure who or what might have hidden themselves nearby, but whenever possible, Sylva preferred to be seen as just another mercenary, just another assassin. The truth, of course, was that while she was one of Death in the Night’s most accomplished assassins, she was also among their highest ranking human members. But the less the average member knew about her real duties, the better, let alone if they were enemies about.

She shifted back towards Gothaal, intent on making small talk while she glanced around. Even before she opened her mouth, she caught sight of something silver glinting in the distance, beyond the veil of thick fog smothering the hot springs. The glint was just above the waterline, with a hint of shadow lurking behind it. Sylva snorted, then shook her head, chuckling.

“What?” Kylyra glanced back at her, her blue neck curled. “What is it?” She sniffed the air.

“Put this away for me, will you, Pup?” Sylva handed her harness off to her wolfen friend. She removed her pack, and gave it to Gothaal as well. He nodded, carrying everything towards the meeting hall.

Sylva walked through the warm steam towards the edge of the spring. All around the bubbling water, the stone had been carved into a deep bathing pool. Scratch marks from dragon claws marks its edges. The pool was kept fastidiously clean. As Sylva reached the water’s edge, she bowed, then folded her arms. Near the center of the pool, ridged gray horns protruded from the water. Deep silver eyes, ever-shining with untold inner fire, glinted just above the surface. Indigo nostrils poked out, flexing with the dragon’s breath.

After a long moment of silence, the old female dragon lifted her head enough to speak. “Are you just going to stare at me, or are you going to report?”

“General Corvin is dead.”

The dragon’s head shifted, rising a little more. “You are certain?”

Sylva bowed her head, curly black hair falling around her face. “Absolutely, Wind.”

“Good.” The old dragon cocked her head. “And my daughter?”

“Is sick of being used as a decoy!” The Azure Tempest stomped towards the hot spring, lashing her tail.

Sylva inclined her head towards the younger of the female dragons. “She took a few bolts, poisoned, but nothing she hasn’t been immunized to. No serious wounds.”

The Wind snorted. She lifted her head higher, and water ran down her pebbly blue scales. Her silver gaze fixed upon her daughter. “Why were you close enough to take crossbow bolts?”

“Because I am tired of being nothing more than their distraction! I need not-”

“Risk your life!” The oldest dragon growled low in her throat. The water rippled around her neck. “If the mission does not require a dragon for its success, you do not need to risk yourself to see it completed.”

Kylyra settled at the water’s edge, hissing. “I’m not a child, mother.”

“You’ve yet to prove that.” The Wind That Carries turned her gaze back to Sylva. The older dragon’s eyes were like molten silver, smoldering and penetrating. “What poison?”

“Bishop’s Bile.” Sylva scratched her arm. “I don’t like that they’re trying new methods.”

“Nor do I.” The Wind licked her muzzle, her frills splayed out in worry. “Was she harmed?”

“No more than an upset stomach, headache. Bit of dizziness, she said.”

“I’m right here!” Kylyra thumped her blue tail against the stone around the springs.

The older female snapped her teeth. “Adults are talking. Wait your turn.”

“But mother-”

“Wait your turn!” This time The Wind’s words came in a dangerous snarl, her eyes burning into her daughter.

Kylyra hung her head, softening her tone. “Yes, mother.”

The older dragon gazed at her daughter, then tossed her head her. “Wait for me by the cliff. I will join you shortly.”

With a grumble, the young female dragon pushed herself back to her paws. She turned so swiftly Sylva had to duck under her swinging her tail. “As you wish.”

As Kylyra stalked off, Sylva folded her arms. She was glad the younger dragon didn’t press the issue. Impetuousness was always a problem for her scaled partner, but The Wind That Carries was not one to tolerate disrespect, even from her own daughter.

Once the younger dragon was out of earshot, Sylva lowered her voice. “If I may ask, are you going to tell her soon? About her father? I know you wanted to wait for confirmation, but…”

When Sylva trailed off, The Wind heaved a heavy sigh. “Give me a moment.”

“Certainly, Wind.” Sylva gave a little bow, and stepped away.

In Sylva’s mind, Wind deserved every ounce of respect anyone had to offer. She was the strongest soul Sylva had ever known. Throughout her long life, time and again everything she held dear was taken from her. Her parents. Her homeland. Her mate. The woman and the country that took her in. Every loss she suffered, every pain she endured, they all made her stronger.

There was no better leader for Death in the Night.

For years, even the members of their ever-expanding shadow army rarely knew who their true leaders were. It was better that way. The further in the shadows their leadership dwelled, the harder it was for the knives to find their backs. Fewer still knew that the rebel army known as Death in the Night was led by a dragon. Even those within their ranks did not often understand their true hierarchy.

To many, The Wind That Carries was as much a symbol of the rebellion as was the beautiful silver rain that fell across their stolen homeland. To others, she was a powerful secret weapon who threw her support in behind the rebel forces. But the truth was, the great blue dragon herself helped found their shadow army, and to this day, she led them.

Though there was a time Sylva was but another soldier, serving as spy and assassin, now she held a much higher ranking role. She had no official title, only an emblem proving her rank as an Agent of the Wind. As such, she helped with all of Death in the Night’s planning, and she answered directly, and only, to The Wind That Carries.

Death in the Night began as a humble group of farmers and villages, forced to band together with the dragons they once feared against a common foe. Together, they fought to protect their beloved homelands against the unstoppable force sweeping across the land. Those battles were fought long before Sylva was born, and the wild, beautiful country of Aran’alia was no more, its people never gave up. Even as their cities burned, even as they fled as refugees across the land, they did not forget.

Even as the generations passed and The Wind That Carries raised her children, she worked tirelessly to free their home. Now, at last, they were near that goal. Their army was larger than ever, and hidden away within the cities of their enemies, poised to strike. And it was all thanks to The Wind.

Water sloshed as the old female dragon climbed out of the hot spring. Sylva moved far enough away to give her plenty of room, and to be clear of the spray when she shook herself off. In the cold gray light, The Wind’s scales looked darker than usual, midnight blue along her back gradually fading towards her cerulean belly. Her vast, powerful wings lightened to a royal blue at their tips. Ridged, gray horns crowned her broad head, along with a collection of spiny frills. Scars marked her hide, reminders of the countless battles she had not only seen, but survived. She was a little larger than her daughter, her body hardened by countless decades of hardship and war.

Once out of the hot springs, the blue dragon shook herself. Droplets sprayed in all directions, and Sylva took another big step back. She was only just starting to dry out from the rain. Fanning her wings, the blue dragon glanced back at Sylva. Her eyes were silver fire, glimpses of a soul forged by equal measures pain and determination.

“You said they used bishop’s bile?”

“Correct, Wind.” Sylva walked closer to the dragon, and stood just before her. “First time I’ve seen that use that.”

“You and Gothaal were not harmed?”

Sylva shook her head. “No. Some of the local men helped with the infiltration, and the pup and I were more than a match for the rest. Neither of us took any poison. But the old man, he…” She trailed off, her face twisting.

The blue dragon settled on her haunches. She curled her tail around her paws, wings draped out to dry. “Take your time.”

“He was reading Brightcloud.” Sylva fidgeted with the hem of her cloak, rubbing at a golden leaf pattern. “Heard Uncaring Sky was his favorite. Didn’t believe it, till I saw him with it. He can quote it word for word, I bet. Said it changed his whole view on…Everything.”

“And now you are regretful that we had to slay him?” The Wind cocked her head.

“He’s an important enemy general. I may regret taking a man’s life, but I have such regrets about cutting such a large hole in their armor.”

The dragon’s spiny frills lifted, just a little. “That isn’t what I asked.”

“I wish we could have turned him. But he was more than ready to give his life for Queen and country.” Slyva folded her arms, staring into the fog. “I cannot fault him that.”

“Nor can I. How did you…” The dragon waved her paw.

“As he deserved, with a sword in his hand.”

“Good.” The Wind lowered her head, her muzzle hovering before Slyva’s face. The dragon’s breath washed over her. “You should remember this man’s example, and learn from it. When the Queen dies and her kingdom crumbles, our own generals will no longer be hidden. You will have an example of your own to set for our people.” The dragon snorted, then lifted her head again, speaking before Sylva could reply. “What else do you have to report?”

“He knew it was you.” Sylva set her jaw. “Amira Brightcloud, I mean. Hell, he even knew the origin of the name. A guess, maybe, but a damn lucky one if it was.”

“Did he.” The Wind’s voice was flat. A low growl crept up her throat. “What else did he know?”

“Nothing he’d have ever told me. I’ve had to try and break men like that before. It’s…unpleasant. They either die before they tell what you need to know, or if they’re good, they feed you a lie so convincing it serves their purpose. So I killed him rather than try to wrench anything out use off his tongue. But…” Sylva opened a pouch at her hip, and retrieved a small, rolled piece of vellum. “There was a message, coded and hidden in a new copy of Uncaring Sky. Posed as a signed message from Amira herself. Enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know you’re Amira. Copied it down, word for word.”

“What does it say?” The Wind straightened her neck, hissing.

Sylva read the message aloud, then stuffed it back in her pouch. “When he was dying, he was muttering part of it. The fleet dove hews, part. And then he said it was too late, that we’d already lost. Does that mean anything to do?”

The old dragon drummed unsheathed claw tips against the damn flagstone. “Perhaps. I am not certain, but I do not like it.”

“Nor do I. I’m sure it’s one of the bird’s codes, though.”

The Wind shook her head. “No, if Krek’s paw is in this, then it’s more than just a code. It will be a puzzle to solve, just to learn the code. It may be an order of some sort. Something he put in motion before he left with Valyrym.”

Sylva tensed up, her eyes widening. “So it is confirmed.”

The old dragon heaved a long sigh, and at least for a moment, all the fire went out of her. “It is. Valyrym is free. I…” She swallowed, staring at her own front paws. “If you will, write a report up on your findings, and your suspicions. Share it with our other intelligence groups. I…I need to be alone with my daughter for a while. Keep the plaza clear.”

“Yes, Wind.” Sylva reached out and put a hand on the warm, strong scales of the dragon’s neck. She knew the conversation to come would not be an easy one for a mother and daughter to share. “I wish you the best of luck.”

*****

Chapter Three

*****

Kylaryn strode across the flagstone courtyard towards her daughter. Outside the hot water, the air was chilly against her damp scales. She kept her wings half outstretched to help them dry. A cold coil knotted the dragon’s belly. She knew this would not be an easy conversation to have. Kylaryn had put it off as long as she could. She kept her daughter busy on missions with Sylva, made sure no one broached the rumors with her. But now that they had confirmation, she could hide the truth from Kylyra no longer.

Of her three beloved children, Kylyra was her only daughter. Old clan traditions dictated that the dragons name their hatchlings after the family line. In her daughter’s case, she was named directly for her mother, and her grandmother. Her youngest son was named after his father, and her oldest child, a name composed of both sides of his lineage.

Her daughter sat near the edge of the courtyard, above a cliff overlooking the City of Stairs far below. She’s grown so beautiful. The younger dragon’s scales were beautiful shades of blue, darkest near her back, palest along her belly. Ebony ripples marked the edges of her indigo wings, and each limb darkened to a different measure of black across her paws. More black smudged her nose and her frills. Her horns held an elegant arch.

Even without the sunlight, the golden flecks in her silver eyes glinted and shone as she peered over the cliff. Kylaryn walked up alongside her, following her gaze. Down in lowest streets, the humans going about their morning routines looked like little more than scurrying insects. Two dragons lazily circled above the lower city, their bright colors muted by the gray light. A gryphon circled them at a higher altitude, with feathers in the colors of earth.

Kylaryn tensed, her claw tips unsheathed. She did not recognize that gryphon. “Friend of yours?”

“The mud bird down there? Hardly.” The younger dragon tossed her head. “Friend of Azamek’s, I think.” She glanced back at her mother, her frills twisting back in worry. “Speaking of Azamek, have you seen him lately? Or Loravel?” She shifted her weight, curling her tail. “They still hadn’t returned when we left on that mission. Are they back now?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Kylaryn took a measured breath. For now, she had to keep her daughter on task. “I’m sure they’ll return soon.”

“They’d better.” She rubbed one foreleg with the other, huffing. “I’m going to get worried.”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Kylaryn arched her neck, looking the young dragon over. “Where were you hurt, Kyly?”

Kyly growled, flaring up her spines. “Oh, now you want to talk about my injuries?”

“Earlier you seemed more upset about being a decoy than you were about being wounded, so I assumed they were only minor wounds.”

“Minor wounds in which I was poisoned!” Kyly stomped a paw, hissing.

“Sylva assured me you took no ill effects.” The older dragon cocked her head, appraising her daughter. “Was she wrong?”

“I felt dizzy and nauseous, and my head ached.” She rubbed her head, just around a gray horn. “The worst of it ebbed during the flight. Now my wounds hurt.” She lifted her wing, exposing her ribs.

“If those are the worst of the effects, consider yourself lucky we worked so hard to protect you against every poison we can.” Kylaryn inspected the young dragon’s side. Two small holes marred her hide across her ribs. Both injuries oozed a little blood and other fluid, but neither looked serious. “The flight did not do them any good, but with a few stitches, they should heal well.”

“I hate stitches.” Kyly lashed her tail. “I’d rather just let them heal.”

“That will take twice as long, Kyly. You will eat, and then you will see the healers before you do anything else.” The dragon let a growl creep into her voice. “Understood?”

“Yes, Mother.” Her daughter flashed her a glare, spines on display. “Stop calling me that. It makes me sound like a hatchling again. I have a banner now! So I want to be called by my battle name.”

Kylaryn perked her ears, rumbling in amusement. “Battle name?”

“I thought of code name, but battle name sounds more dramatic.” She waved her paw, hissing. “The Azure Tempest.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“But Sylva does!”

“Only when you insist.” Kylaryn snorted.

“Well, she calls you Wind. If you get to be called The Wind That Carries, I want to be called The Azure Tempest.”

Kylaryn curled her tail, pinning back her spines. As deeply as she loved her daughter, Kyly could be incredibly infuriating at times. To think, she hadn’t even reached the difficult part of the conversation yet. “Humans call me that, Kyly. Not other dragons.”

“That gryphon messenger called you Wind.” The younger dragon arched neck, her frills splayed in smug display. “And so does father, sometimes. As a term of affection!”

“Fine, fine.” Kylaryn waved her paw, wishing she could just brush off the idea. “If you wish to be called Azure, I shall call you Azure. Happy?”

Azure dipped her head. “Yes, Wind, I am.”

“Watch it.”

“Yes Mother.”

“I…” Kylaryn swallowed, trying to find the strength to broach the subject. “I have to talk to you.”

“So talk.”

“It’s…” She licked her muzzle. “About your father.”

“What?” Azure jerked her head up, her frills spread in alarm. “What happened to him? Where is he? Is he alright?”

Kylaryn touched her daughter’s forepaw, hoping to avert her panic before it began. “Voskalar is fine. I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about your real father.”

Azure hissed, yanking her paw. “Voskalar is my real father! He might not have given you my egg, but he did damn well everything else! He raised me, he taught me to fly, to hunt! I don’t care what you have to say. Voskalar is my father.”

With a sigh, Kylaryn stared off over the city, watching the dragons circle. Through diplomacy, and promises, and shows of force, she had united the once-shattered clans under a common banner. As arduous and difficult a task as that was, it paled in comparison to talking to Kyly about her real father. Though she completely understood her daughter’s disdain, that made it no less painful to hear. Kylaryn wanted to ease into the subject gradually, but if that wasn’t an option, then she may as well just put it bluntly. She tightened up her body, flared her wings, and lifted her head.

“Valyrym is free.”

“Wh…what?” Azure’s jaw hung open, her tongue lolling out. Her eyes went wide, and both her wings lay limp against her body. All her spines drooped down around her head. “That…that’s impossible.”

“Your father is free, Kyly.”

“He is not-” She snapped her jaws shut, hissing again. “Why would they ever set him free? I don’t understand. How do you even know?”

“Illandra did not free him.” Kylaryn steeled herself. This was only going to get worse. “The Black Bird did.”

“What?!” Azure recoiled, fury flashing in her silver eyes. She stepped away from the cliff, scratching at the flagstone with black claws. “How could he-”

Kylaryn held up her paw to try and silence her daughter. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is Valyrym’s freedom. We have also lost contact with our eyes inside the Queen’s house. The noble has vanished, and rumors are the guards have been searching the city for him. It is likely The Black Bird discovered his betrayal, and he was forced to flee during Valyrym’s escape.”

“After all you did for that mangy gryphon!” Azure lashed her tail, snarling. “I knew he’d betray you, but this…how could he do this?”

“He loves the Queen, Kyly.” The older dragon sighed, shaking her head. “He would die to stop us from slaying her. As much as it pains me, I cannot begrudge him that.”

“We should have killed him while he was here!” Azure flexed her black forepaws, digging her claws into the stone. “You never should have let him leave! Next time I see him, I’ll kill that filthy bird myself!”

Kylaryn hardened her voice, her own claws clicking against the flagstone. “Your wings still bear scars from the last time you skirmished with him. Which is why I did not pursue him myself, I was busy tending you. And your brother’s ribs have only just healed.”

“Next time I-”

“Next time he’ll be in his armor, and he’ll knock you out of the sky.” Kylaryn gave a low, rumbling growl, fixing her smoldering gaze upon her daughter until the younger dragon withered a little. “The scrawny runt you and Valar grew up alongside is long gone. He has served our enemies most of his life, and been trained by their very best. If you engage him in battle yourself, you will lose. If we have to fight with Krek, I will do it.”

“You should kill him if you do.”

“If I must, I will.” She let out a long sigh, lifting her head. “Let us both hope it does not come to that. Your older brother would never forgive me.”

Azure arched her neck, fangs bared. “Valar has a mate and a daughter of his own. He’ll get over it.”

“Don’t be so flippant.” Kylaryn dragged a single claw across the stone, scratching a line. “Our family may be divided, but we are still family, we are still blood. Krek was the greatest friend your brother had growing up, he could reach him when no one else could. For that, I came to love him almost as much as my own son.”

“A love which he has betrayed! None of us should feel regretful if we have to kill him.”

“What was it you used to call him, when you were a tiny hatchling?”

Azure shrank away. She swallowed, and glanced at the city below, suddenly unable to meet her mother’s gaze. “I don’t remember that nonsense anymore.”

“Pillow bird.”

“That’s stupid.” The Azure Tempest snarled, tossing her head. “Hatchling nonsense, nothing more.”

“The day you broke your paw, he carried you home. That night, you cried yourself to sleep into his feathers, and he held you until morning.” A wistful smile came to her muzzle, her ears up. “After that, you called him Pillow Bird, because it drove him crazy, but you always smiled when you said it. He was as good a friend to you as he was to Valar, and almost as dear a son to me as my own. That gryphon stands against us now, but that does not change who he is. If I have to slay him, I will, but never doubt for a second that it will tear my heart out to draw his blood.” She took a deep breath, and let it out slow. “We do what we must, for our people and for our homes. But every drop of blood I have shed weighs upon my heart, and Krek’s will weigh heaviest of all.”

“What about Valyrym’s?”

Kylaryn froze, her breath caught in her lungs. Her paws went cold.

“That’s why the bird freed him, isn’t it?” Azure’s voice sharpened, her spines bristling. “To stand against you?”

“It is a distinct possibility.” The thought made her tremble inside. All these long, difficult years, and when finally she set eyes upon her first true love again, it would be as enemies. They could have had such a life together, but the wind carried them apart.

“I wonder Mother.” Azure snorted, a smug grin spreading across her muzzle. “Will it weight upon your heart when you shed his blood?”

“That’s enough, Kyly.” The older dragon’s voice was a snarl, her body tensed.

“He’s better off dead, anyway. If the king’s men had finished the job, we wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not you bring yourself to kill that worthless old-”

Kylaryn struck her daughter across the muzzle so hard it staggered her. Azure cried out and stumbled sideways. She flopped onto her haunches, grasping her muzzle in a paw, her silver-gold eyes wide and tearful. The Wind whirled on the younger dragon, advancing on her. Her voice was molten steel.

“You will not disrespect your father that way!” Every fiber of Kylaryn’s being was fury. Only the younger dragon’s stunned silence kept her from being struck again. “I have tolerated your derision of him until now, because I understand why you hold search hatred in your heart. You feel he abandoned you and your brother, I understand that! But I will not tolerate your disrespect of him!”

“He did abandon us!” Kyly sucked in a breath, her voice shaking. “He left us! He left you! To raise us on your own, in the middle of a war! Valyrym cared more about revenge than he ever cared about his children, how can I respect that?”

“You will respect him!” The elder dragon drew herself up, her vast indigo wings flared at her sides. “Your father made a mistake, a grave mistake, and it cost him everything! His family, his freedom, his very life. Half his life, he spent locked in the ground. He has suffered for his sins, and while I will not ask you to forgive him, I will demand that you respect him.”

“Why?” Azure wiped her muzzle with a paw, sniffing. “Why should I respect the dragon who abandoned us?”

“You’ve no idea what he suffered. She was everything to him, and they burned her alive-”

“I know the history of the war, Mother! She was the leader of our army before you, of course they were going to come after her, just as we are going to slay their Queen. But he had family here, who loved him, who-”

“Yes he did.” Kylaryn snapped her teeth, silencing her daughter. “But I don’t ever want to hear you speak of him, or me, that way again. They tore his heart out, and cut him to his very soul. I did all I could, every day, to try and staunch the bleeding, but that wound would not close. He was…” She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, forcing herself to meet her daughter’s eyes. “He was crumbling, inside, his mind, his soul, it was all broken. I held it together as long as I could, but…losing her that way, nothing heroic about it, no…no goodbyes…it ruined him. I hate…I hate what he did to us.” Kylaryn balled up a forepaw, and smacked it against the flagstones. “But I do not begrudge him it, because I know what was happening to him. There was…less of him left in his eyes, by the day. The last I saw him, when he left to kill their king…there was only emptiness, and pain left in those eyes. I told him to come back to me, but I knew…I knew he meant to end himself when it was done.”

“Only he didn’t slay their king, or end himself.”

“You pray, Kyly.” She pressed her muzzle to her daughter’s, her voice a broken rumble. “You pray to any god who will listen, and you beg them. You beg them that you will never understand the pain your father knew. That you will never know loss and anguish as he knew it. That you will never find yourself, as he did…torn between the family he loves, and the madness he fears is consuming him. He left, as much as anything, to spare us from watching him be consumed by the darkness he knew was overtaking him.”

Azure took a few breaths, collecting herself.

Kylaryn lifted her paw, brushing the end of her daughter’s muzzle. A few of the scales there were cracked and broken. She wiped away a trickle of blood. “I’m sorry I struck you. But if you wish to find something to respect your father for, look around.” She withdrew her foreleg, and waved at the fortress around them. “Your father has a hand in all of this, in everything we’ve become.”

“Quite impressive, considering our enemies held him locked away while you had all this rebuilt.”

The elder dragon ground her teeth, flattening back her spines. “Not this fortress. Everything about us, about Death in the Night. Your father founded it with me. Without him, none of this would have ever existed. Without him, we would not be poised to free our homeland, once and for all. Death in the Night only exists because when everyone else wanted to give up, when…when even I wanted only to flee…your father refused. Your father chose to stay and protect the people of Aran’alia, simply because it was the right thing to do. Those people saved our son’s life, they took us in…and to my great shame, I wished to turn my back upon them because I thought the fight unwinnable. But your father refused. Your father…he did not care if we could win or not. He chose to stay and defend them because it was right. If not for that honor, that courage…none of this would be possible. Your father is one of the great heroes this rebellion has ever known. He is one of the greatest dragons I have ever known, and I will no longer allow you to disrespect his name. Hate him if you must, but you will respect him.”

Azure heaved a sigh, her head hanging. “Very well, Mother. The question remains. What does the gryphon expect Valyrym to do?”

“I do not know.” Kylaryn shook her head, settling down onto her haunches. Her belly churned, and cold claws sunk into her heart. A hundred wonderful memories of a life with Valyrym crawled through her mind. Flying together as children. Visits while she healed. Holding each other after their first mating. Finding him again in the silver rain. The day their first child hatched. She swallowed, blinked a few tears, and looked away. “I suspect Krek hopes Valyrym can talk me out slaying the Queen.”

“Or they plan to stand together against you. Perhaps with Valar.”

Much as it terrified her to imagine having to battle her former mate, and her own son, Kylaryn knew it was possible. “Perhaps. Whatever the case maybe, everything must be moved up.”

“Is that why you’ve been sending Sylva and the wolf and I everywhere all of a sudden? I thought some of those targets were to come later?”

“They were. And yes. Though I did not wish to broach this subject with you until I had confirmation, I did not want to risk it. With Valyrym free, everything must be accelerated. Surely Krek told others he can trust, and they will accelerative defensive plans.”

“Those messages Sylva spoke of.” Azure scratched her neck with a wing tip talon. “They may be related.”

“I’m certain they are. We need to break that code.” Kylaryn pushed herself up onto her feet, then shook herself. “I’ll go and tell Voskalar you’ve returned. He’ll want to see you.” She licked her muzzle, softening her tone. “I’m glad you’re back safe. I love you, you know.”

The younger dragon glanced away, huffing. “I love you too, Mother. But I…” She scrunched muzzle, ears pinned. “I have to ask. If it comes down to it…if the only thing stopping you from finally slaying the Queen is Valyrym…can you?”

Kylaryn winced, flattening her ears. She worked her jaws, but could not find words.

“Mother…mother, this is where you snarl and growl and say, in the end, you’ll kill Valyrym yourself. You will…won’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

The Wind That Carries shook her head, leaving her daughter behind. She told herself if she had too, she would kill even Valyrym if it meant freedom for her home. But in her heart, she knew better. It frightened her to realize that when the time came, she was not sure she could bring herself to kill Valyrym.

*****

Sunlight shone on tattered wings. After so many years trapped in the darkness, Valyrym still wasn’t used to the sun’s warmth. The heat coated him like a physical thing, a comforting blanket laid across his outstretched wings, and tarnished scales. It was a wonderful feeling, and the old dragon hoped to never grow accustomed to it.

The soft grass under his belly was nice, too. When he stretched his limbs, the little green blades tickled his paw pads. He unsheathed his claws and dug them into the sod, just to release the aroma of the earth beneath. Valyrym breathed its scent in, savoring it. He knew it was only dirt and grass, but it smelt exquisite, simply because it was not the scent of his prison. That place smelled of filthy stone, mold, and old blood.

Here, every scent reminded him he was free.

“Sleeping again, are you, Dragon?” A voice with far too much ingratiating warble in it distracted him from his reverie.

“I’m not sleeping, Bird.” Valyrym stretched again, limbs, wings and tail all pushed as far away from his body as he could reach. Then the left them there, sprawling in the sun. “I’m enjoying the sunlight.”

“So lazing about, then.”

Valyrym snorted, glancing up at the lump of black feathers named Krek that suddenly obscured his vision. “Even you cannot possibly dampen my good mood today, Soot.”

The black gryphon bristled, his green eyes narrowed. The silvery crown feathers around the back of his neck shot up, and he shook an ebon-furred forepaw at the dragon. “Listen, you old lizard.” He unsheathed a single talon, wagging it. “No one calls me Soot, not even-”

“Chirp calls you Soot all the time.” Valyrym inclined his head towards the gray and blue female gryphon in the distance.

“First, her name is Jirr.” He unsheathed a second talon. “Not Chirp, or Nirr or-”

“Don’t you mean second?”

“What?” The gryphon tilted his head.

“You’ve got two claws out, but you said first.”

“Ugh.” Krek rubbed his head behind an ear, his crown feathers sinking. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Then you know how I feel whenever you open your beak to warble your birdsong nonsense at me.” Valyrym waved his paw at the gryphon. “Now be gone. You’re blocking my view.”

“Of what?”

Valyrym sharpened his voice. “Of my son.”

Krek sagged, and eased back out of the way, rustling his black-feathered wings. He soon settled down on his haunches alongside the dragon, curling his tufted and feathered tail around his paws. He turned his head, preened at the front of a wing, then spat a loose feather out on the ground. When he spoke again, his words were softer.

“Does it seem real to you, yet?”

The dragon swallowed, shaking his head against the grassy ground. “No. It feels very un-real, as though I’m simply trapped in the midst of the best dream I’ve ever had. Every now and then I start to feel as if I’m waking, and I so desperately fight to stay asleep a little longer.”

“Let’s make sure you really are awake, then.” The gryphon reached out for the dragon’s head.

“You pinch my ear, and I’ll bite off your fingers.”

“Fine, fine. Languish in your perpetual dream state, see if I care.”

If it was all a dream, Valyrym knew he would be happiest if he never woke. It certainly all felt as if he were locked within some subconscious reality. Less than a month ago, he had been pacing around the same lonely walls he spent the last century and a half staring at. Carving the same stone columns with images of the life he once lived. Wondering where his son was, and hoping he lived a good life. And counting down the days until he could see his beloved Alia again. Then the Queen’s gryphon spy Krek arrived, and everything changed in an instant. As Krek explained it, Valyrym’s former mate plotted to slay the Queen and restart the very war that so long ago tore his family apart. A day or so later, and the walls that bound him in that horrible place came down, and they were all fleeing together into the night sky.

The way the days all blurred together after that only made it seem all the more surreal. Though he worked throughout his long confinement to keep his wings from withering, it was a miracle they could still carry him into the sky. But to flee the city’s vast reach, they had to travel great distances in as short a time as possible. During the trip there was little time for him to savor his newfound freedom. Whenever he wasn’t struggling to stay aloft, he was fast asleep, resting up in preparation for another day’s flight. Days blurred into weeks. Maybe the weeks blurred into months. By the time they reached their current resting place, Valyrym had no idea how much time had passed.

Even that made everything seem less than real. From a prison buried beneath the capital city of Illandra, to an old, overgrown farmstead turned into home for a band of mercenary gryphons. Valyrym lay in the grass behind the only building that wasn’t falling apart. It looked as though it once served as a country inn, alongside a narrow, two-track trail that cut through the vast forest surrounding them. The building was several stories tall, lined with windows and slathered in cheery blue paint. All the entrances had been redone to make them large enough to fit gryphons, as had the building’s interior. The place even had a name.

Wing’s Rest.

Beyond the well-tended inn, and its manicured gardens, the rest of the grounds looked abandoned. Weeds and vines smothered what was left of wooden fences. The remains of stables lay in collapsed piles of debris, with yellow flowers poking up here and there. Sunflowers and crimson star-blossoms choked off the old pastures. Barns with flecking red paint occupied two sides of the field. Birds nested in holes in their roofs. A tree grew through the broken window of a long-empty house.

Valyrym wondered how long the place had belonged to the flock of gryphon mercenaries. At least, he was told there was more than one of them. The only inhabitant he’d actually met so far was Jirr, and she seemed to be an old friend of Krek’s. To Valyrym, that meant he probably couldn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Not that he’d throw Jirr. He’d throw Krek, instead. She claimed the rest of her people were off on various assignments and missions. Valyrym had the sneaking suspicion that Krek arranged it that way, so the place would be nearly empty when their group arrived. But he also got the feeling Jirr didn’t want any of them to know just what sort of tasks her people were accomplishing.

In truth, Valyrym didn’t care what the other gryphons were doing. All that mattered to him was that his beloved son was here. In the distance, Valar sat on his haunches, gazing into the distance. The afternoon sun made his colors shine, from the glossy black scales that covered most of him to the vibrant indigo that covered each paw. The same colored swirled across the edges of his black wings, and marked his nose and tail. He was a big dragon, bigger than Valyrym had ever been even before his imprisonment.

Despite his youthful injuries, Valar had grown up strong, and proud, and best of all, he grew into a dragon with a beautiful heart. Though every year of Valar’s life Valyrym missed was another claw in his heart, it helped ease the pain to know that despite all the pain and bitterness his son must have suffered, he grew into someone determined to do what was right.

When Valar glanced his way, the sunlight glittered on the golden flecks in the younger dragon’s silver eyes. He tilted his wedge-shaped head, and then bowed it in a nod of greeting. Valyrym lifted a forepaw from the grass to offer his son a little wave, swallowing.

Krek nudged him. “Go talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me right now.” Valyrym snorted, turning his attention to the gryphon. “Or he’d be here.”

The gryphon ruffled up his feathers with a squawk. “You can’t just sit here, staring at him. He didn’t come here just to give you a hug, tell you he forgives you, and then fly off again.” Krek clacked his beak. “At least, I don’t think he did. Otherwise he’d have left by now.”

Valyrym tensed, his belly coiling. “You’re so very inspiring, Bird.”

Forgiveness. Did he deserve it?

The old dragon was not so convinced that he did. He wondered, for a while, if he was in his son’s place, would he have been able to find that forgiveness in his heart? If it was his father who left him behind to pursue his revenge, who missed his entire life because he could not let go of his pain, would Valyrym be able to forgive him? He was not so sure. The fact that somehow, through all the pain and anger, Valar choose forgiveness made him a better dragon than Valyrym imagined he himself could ever be.

At the back of the inn, a woman emerged through the door. She stepped out into the sunlight, shading her eyes with a hand. The sunlight painted her olive skin with a radiant glow. Her black hair was freshly washed, and tied behind her head with a few gold ribbons. She wore an unfamiliar sundress, a dark golden color with black around the hem of the breezy skirt. Valyrym wondered where she’d gotten it, but it hardly mattered. He was so used to seeing her in the dim light of his prison, wearing things with Warden’s Emblem on them, that gazing upon her in the sun, in beautiful, casual clothes, it still his breath away.

“Alia looks beautiful in that, doesn’t she?” Krek gave the dragon a gryphon smile, his beak open, his ears up.

“Alia always looks beautiful.” Valyrym lifted his head to gaze across the garden at the woman he loved. “But yes, she does.” He swatted the gryphon on the shoulder, smirking at the squawk it earned. “She doesn’t like gryphons, though, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry.” The gryphon shook himself, ruffling up his feathers. “Just because I’ve a harem of both males and females at my beck and call doesn’t mean I’m the sort of creature who’d impugn upon another’s relationship. I’m a very honorable gryphon.”

“Your own paws don’t count as a harem.” Valyrym smacked the gryphon again.

“Ow!” Krek hissed at him, clicking his beak. “Stop that! You’re mussing my plumage.”

“And I rather doubt your real lover would appreciate you bragging about a harem.”

“On the contrary!” The gryphon warbled laughter, flaring his wings. “It was her idea!”

“Was it?” Valyrym cocked his head. “So when I meet her, if I tell her about how you’ve been bragging about all your mating conquests, she isn’t going to kick you right in your feathery gryphon-”

“No need to trouble her with that nonsense!” Krek curled his tufted tail around his paws as if to cover himself. “And they’re not feathery, but I am quite fond of them, so let’s not give her reason to-”

“You give people a reason to hit you there every time you open your beak.” Valyrym glanced down along the gryphon’s underbelly. “Lucky for you, there’s little to worry about. Small targets.”

“Hah. Hah.” Krek muttered to himself, then made a show of preening one of his wings. “Tongue like a damn knife. Just like your son.”

“Good to hear he’s inherited at least one good thing from me.”

“Speaking of your son’s tongue-”

“Be very careful how you finish that sentence, gryphon, or you’ll be spending the rest of your days without a beak.”

“I was going to say…” Krek gestured at Valar, as Alia approached him. “You missed your chance to have a word. Now your woman’s doing it for you.”

“You call her my woman, and yet you wonder why females get angry with you.”

“Regardless. You should join them.”

“Later, Gryphon. Let them talk.” Valyrym laid his head back down, smiling.

For now, he was happy just to watch the two people he loved most in the world get to know each other.

*****

Chapter Four

*****

Valaranyx lounged in the sunshine, struggling not to stare at his father. It was just as difficult as not taking to his wings, and putting his father behind him again. Valar had come here, wanting to see his father at least once more while he had the chance. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to the old bastard, and most of them were fueled by anger and a lifetime of bitterness. Part of him wanted to tear his father apart, to scream at him every ounce of pain his absence had ever brought. To cut him to his very soul until he understood Valar’s pain.

But the moment Valar saw him, he knew time and his father’s own regrets had beaten him to it. There was nothing Valar could say that Valyrym had not already cursed upon himself. There was so much pain in those faded golden eyes, that nothing Valar could do could have added to it. And when he finally forced himself to look into his father’s gaze, it was his eyes that did Valar in.

They were not the eyes Valar remembered at all.

This was not the dragon Valar remembered. Though his memories from his earliest years were fading, the image of his father remained strong. He remembered him as a proud dragon, strong and sleek, a force of nature. He remembered a gentle father who held him when he cried, but he also remembered a warrior of black scales and cerulean markings. In his mind, Valar still saw his father’s eyes, so vibrant, a gold so piercing they could cut steel. Even at the end, there was strength and determination in those eyes Valar could scarcely believe.

But those were not the eyes he saw now, and that could not be his father there before him. Dragons aged slowly, and even a very old dragon could be healthy and strong, the way his mother was. This dragon just looked old. All the blue that once marked him had long since faded to the color of colds ashes. His black scales long since lost their glossy sheen. Now they just looked dull, losing their luster to the same gray shades that crept up his paws and over his face.

Scars marred his hide everywhere, some fresher than others. All these years later, and the Illandrans were still torturing him. In that horrifying instant, Valar realized that for all the years he’d been cursing his father’s name, for all the decades he felt abandoned, Valyrym was being beaten. When he learned he was still alive, how many times had he wished the old bastard had just died? How often had muttered under his breath that he brought it on himself? That he got what he deserved. For all those years, Valyrym suffered.

Valar knew it as soon as he landed, as soon as he set eyes upon the withered husk that remained of his once proud father. Though he knew in his heart his bitter fury was justified, that Valyrym had abandoned them to pursue revenge, this…this was not what Valyrym deserved. Even then, it was his eyes that truly stunned Valar. For a moment, there was nothing left in those eyes but ashes and emptiness. Where once was golden fire, was now but fearful cinder.

Though he came here with anger in his heart, it all melted away when he looked into his father’s eyes. When Valyrym could not even bring words to his tongue without breaking into sobs, Valar knew. Though the bitterness, the anger and regret would linger, Valar knew what truly filled his heart, his soul. In that agonizing moment, just before he embraced his father, there was nothing left in him but forgiveness.

Forgiveness.

It was all Valar had to offer, but he hoped it would ease his father’s pain. He wasn’t even sure he loved the old bastard anymore. He didn’t hate him, but he was still angry at him. Still bitter over all the lost years. But what good did it do him to dwell upon? Nothing would change. They could not undo the paths their lives took, and they had far more to worry about together, now.

Valar glanced at his father again. Valyrym was watching him. He shifted his weight, but offered his father a polite bow of his head. Valyrym waved back at him like a human. Valar chuckled to himself. So much time with humans. Not that he was one to speak, he knew, considering he was raising his own daughter in a human village.

A door squeaked open, and Valar turned his attention to the human woman named Alia who emerged. She was Aran’alian, though she’d been raised on the streets of the city that conquered her people’s home. His people’s home too, once. Valar cocked his head, smiling. Her black hair and dark olive skin were a very pleasant reminder of a home he had not seen in a very long time. She waved at his father, then turned and tilted her head back, staring up at him.

“Hello.” Valar offered her a smile.

“Hello.” Alia took a few steps closer, wringing her hands as she stared at him. “We haven’t really…I mean…”

“No.” Valar rustled his wings. “We…we haven’t.”

He twitched his tail tip a few times. Since his arrival, he hadn’t truly spent much time talking with his father. Neither of them seemed to know what to say to each other. Though he’d greeted Alia, Valar mostly gave her space to be with his Father. He was happy to see what a great comfort she seemed to be with the older dragon. But she had mostly stuck with father, and their urd’thin friend, while Valar mostly stayed at Krek’s side.

“I’m…” Valar licked his muzzle. “I’m Valaranyx.”

“Yeah.” The woman smiled, rubbing her arm. “I know.”

“I…suppose you do.” He glanced at his father, laying alongside Krek. The black gryphon whispered to his father. Trust Krek to try and put ideas into Father’s head. He turned his eyes back to Alia. “You can call me Valar, if you want. Most people do.”

“I’m Alia.” She tugged on her dress and shifted her weight, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “So…do you know…a human name?” Alia gestured at his father. “The way they used to call him The Dread Sky.”

The Dread Sky. How long had it been since he’d heard that?

“He looked…a lot different, back then.” Valar swallowed, trying to banish the memory of his father in his youth, proud and strong and bright-eyed. “But no. I mean, I have, in the past but…” He waved a paw. “I don’t use it. I think that’s all nonsense, really. My name is my name, it…seems disrespectful to make someone call me something else. Besides, you’re my father’s mate. If that doesn’t make you family, I don’t know what does.”

“His mate?” Alia blinked. Her smile faded for a moment, and a heavy blush tinted her cheeks. Then she gave an incredulous sounding laughing, shaking her head. Her black pony tail swished behind her. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Valar tilted his head. He flattened back his spines, suddenly unsure. “You are…aren’t you? Krek said…and the way you…comforted him. If I’m incorrect, tell me.”

“No, no.” Alia wrung her hands, but her smile soon returned. “You’re definitely correct. You father and I are…very much in love.” She swallowed, then ran a hand down her face. “I’m just not used to hearing it put that way. The only people who knew back home were my friends. At least for a while. It all came out in the trial, though, and that-”

Valar cut her off with a wave of his paw. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care that you’re human any more than you care that he’s a dragon. If you love each other, you love each. That’s all that matters. I’m…” He trailed off, then sighed. “I’m actually glad he found someone to help him through that…terrible time. However improbable it may be.”

“Improbable is right.” Alia scuffed a sandaled foot against the grass. “You can thank the Queen for that, though. She had me put in charge of your father’s care to make a point that Aran’alians are as capable and qualified as anyone else. If not for that, I’d have never met Valyrym.”

Valar snorted. “My father’s care.” He glanced at the older dragon again, still basking in the sunshine. “I was going to make a joke about how it sounds as if you were put there to tend some doddering old fool who can’t take of himself, but…looking at him now, I fear that is far too close to the truth.”

Alia pursed her lips, her face scrunched. Even spending years around humans, Valar sometimes still had trouble understanding their facial expressions. Flat faces, immobile ears, and no frills made it difficult to read their emotions. When she turned away and rubbed her face, that was easier to understand. He lifted a paw, and gentle as he could, set it against her back.

“Are you alright?”

Alia stiffened at his touch, but slowly turned back towards him. She took his paw in her hands. Her skin was soft and warm, and she gave his fine scales a grateful pat. “Better now to see him free than I think I’ve ever been. But it still hurts, you know? For him, for me, and I’m sure for you. I cannot imagine what you’ve been through, and, if you’ll permit me to say so, nor can you imagine what he’s been through.”

“No, I suppose I cannot.” Valyrym swallowed, gazing at her hand. Her dark olive skin was a pleasant reminder of a land, and a people he once knew. “I did not expect him to look…as he looks.”

“He’s…been through a lot.” Alia sniffed, glancing at the older dragon. “Some of those scars, I stitched up myself. I sewed his nose back together after a noble cut it apart with a whip. I…held him, that night, so for at least a little while, he wouldn’t have to feel alone anymore. For so many years, more years than I will ever live, all he’s known is emptiness, and loss, and torment. You see his scars, but I promise you, the deepest wounds, the ones that will never heal, they cannot be seen. His soul bears his great scars, and they bring him far more anguish than any spear or whip.”

Valar took a shuddering breath, his paw trembling in Alia’s grasp. “I understand that all too well. You know, for…for half my life, I thought he was dead. I thought…I thought at least he died a hero, trying to win the war for us. Mother…never told me the truth. She didn’t know me to know.” He sniffed, blinked away a few tears, and cleared his clenching throat with a growl. “Didn’t want to burden me with the truth. I was angry at him for leaving his behind, but…at least for a while, I thought him a hero just the same. It was Krek, you know.” Valar flicked a wing open, gesturing at the gryphon. “Who finally told me the truth. That he hadn’t died out there, fighting the king. That he hadn’t even tried to kill the king. And instead, he sought to slay the King’s wife, just so he’d understand my father’s pain.” Valar snorted, derision curling his lips over his teeth. “And that in so doing, he also killed the king’s child, and got himself caught.”

“The prince was-”

“A tragic accident, I know. I’m well aware Father never meant that to happen.” Valar grit his teeth, and lashed his tail. Tail spines tore out chunks of sod. “But father never meant to abandon me, either. My point is, that…after Krek told me the truth, I….I hated him. For years. Knowing that…he hadn’t gone to be some great hero, he hadn’t died trying to save us, he’d just…left me behind so he could…take revenge. That…that Amaleen and the love he’d lost, was more important to him than me, than mother, than the life the lives and love he still had. I hated him for that, for so long. And then…then I see him here…and I see what’s become of him. And I know that…that all this hatred was in vain. That he’s suffered as much as I…no, worse. And what has my anger, my bitterness brought me? Only pain. I want to ease it, but…but I cannot. I doubt it will ever fade completely, but…I have offered him my forgiveness. I cannot say if he deserves it, or not, but…it is the right thing to do. But the scars his absence left upon my soul will fade no quicker for it.”

“For what it’s worth, Valar, if I may say?”

When Alia waited for confirmation, Valar inclined in his head. “Say what you wish.”

Alia cupped the dragon’s forepaw, a warm hand on either side of it. “In all his long years imprisoned, you are all he thought about. You are his best and worst moments, his greatest regret and his biggest hope. There was nothing, nothing that haunts him to this day more than leaving you behind. And there was nothing in all the world he hoped for more than your happiness. For so many of his stolen years, he had no way of knowing if you’d even survived to adulthood, let alone if you could fly, if you were safe. If you were happy.” She glanced away. “If you hated him.”

Valar rumbled, but held his tongue. Old wounds could not heal if he kept digging his claws into them anew.

“For every cold, lonely year that passed, he cut another mark in the wall, until there were so many lines he could no longer bring himself to count them. But still he carved a new marking each passing year. Do you know upon which day he would carve his marks?”

Valar swallowed, his ears flattened back. An anxious knot twisted in his belly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He shook his head.

Alia took a breath, and squeezed the dragon’s paw. “The first snowfall.”

The dragon stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath. The knot in his belly tightened. In his youth, his parents always used the season’s first snowfall to mark another year in his life. They used to celebrate his hatchling anew each time snow first covered the ground. Memories flickered in his mind, of his father waking him, whispering that the snow fell. That it was his hatching day. All day long, they’d play in the snow, eat special treats, laugh and romp in the cold. He could scarcely remember his father ever being happier. After Father was gone, his mother carried on the tradition, but as he aged, the importance faded, until at last he had his own daughter’s hatching to celebrate. He worked his jaw, but could find no words.

“As each year passed, Valyrym stared at the sky through air vents cut into the stone, his only window to the world. Each day he watched the sky move, and waited for winter’s first snowflakes. When at last they drifted in, he carved another mark in the wall. Another year without his son, lost to his greatest mistake. But it was never his years he was counting. It was yours. Another year he hoped brought you happiness, wherever you were. Those days were special to him. For at least one day, he could lose himself in memories of the snow, and remember his happiest times, with his beloved son.”

Valar eased his paw away from Alia’s hand to wipe at his eyes. Tight as his throat suddenly was, he couldn’t have squeezed words through it. A few tears ran down his muzzle. He shook his head, sniffing. “I…I don’t…”

“You need not say anything, Valar.” Alia patted the dragon’s chest plates. “I just wanted you to know. You’re everything to him. Everything. And you always were.”

The dragon sniffed again, wiped away fresh tears with a paw. “I am…glad he has you, Alia.”

“I do what I can, when I can.” Alia laughed, then turned away to wipe her own eyes. “Someone’s got to help keep him together. You should…talk to him. If you can bring yourself to do so.”

“I…” Valar shifted his weight, curling his spined tail. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Alia turned back towards him, offering a smile. “I can understand that. To be honest, I was…shocked when Krek told us you were on your way. I had so desperately hoped Valyrym might one say reconnect with you, but…I could not have blamed you if…”

“Krek, hmm?” Valar snorted, arching his neck. He gazed across the pasture to where the black gryphon sat alongside his father. “If I’m honest, it was his doing. I…I wasn’t going to come. I needed time to…come to terms with the fact he was going to be free. But Krek…I guess you could say he talked me into it.” He snapped his teeth when he saw the gryphon splay his ears and part his beak in smarmy gryphon smile. “Look at him over there, smirking at me. Stupid, smug ego-bird.”

That made Alia laugh. “You know, you and your father sound a lot alike, sometimes. Especially when it comes to Krek.”

“I’m not surprised. I doubt I could sear off that layer of smarm coating his feathers even with my fire.” Valar chuckled, digging claws into the earth.

“I thought your father had an ego, until I met that gryphon. Still, if your arrival is his doing, I’m going to have to thank him later. I’m…very glad you came.” Alia gently touched his shoulder, rubbing her thumb over his scales.

“I think I will be too, when it’s all…” Valar flicked his tail, shrugging his wings. “Settled in. Don’t get me wrong about Krek, he…” The dragon glanced down, staring at his forepaws. Their cerulean hues stood out against the green grass. “He has a very, very big heart. And almost no one will ever get to see it. He’s always been a smug shit, but the longer he’s worked for the Queen the more he’s let it conceal the gryphon beneath. It’s like armor, I think, helps him keep his real allegiances concealed.”

“He’s her personal spy, right?” Alia brushed her fingers over Valar’s chest plates before she pulled her hand back. “Or is that just what he led us to believe?”

Valar rumbled laughter, splaying his ears. “Hell if I know. Until he showed up in my village a few months ago, I hadn’t seen him years. Far as I know, he works directly for Kathlyn, yes. First as her bodyguard, then an advisor of sorts, and then as her spy. I think he spent a lot of years in a lot of nations, making a lot of contacts. He’s probably been a triple agent so many times, I’m amazed he can remember which loyalties are real and which are a cover. By now, he’s probably get more than a few claws sunk into Illandra’s military intelligence apparatus. Hell, if you ask him, he’d probably tell he secretly runs the whole nation. I suspect the truth is somewhere in between. Though…” He gazed down at Alia. “I don’t think he cares about Illandra. He cares about her. He loves Kathlyn, and she will always have his loyalty. Krek would give his very last drop of blood to protect her.”

“You sound like you’re on a first name basis with the Queen.” Alia smiled, folding her arms. “Must be nice.”

“She’s not my Queen. I live in Denoria.” The dragon licked his muzzle, shifting a wing tip to scratch his neck. “And I knew her when she was the princess, and still with child.”

“You…you did?” Alia blinked, glancing at the gryphon. “I was certainly she’d met you, after she told your father you could fly, but-“

Valar jerked his head up, frills flared. “The Queen met my father?”

Alia nodded, a bright smile on her face. “She did. Which I am proud to say, was my doing.”

“Why would you want them to meet?”

“At the time, I was hoping to convince her to set your father free. I wanted her to understand he wasn’t just some…” Alia grimaced, waving her hand. “Some monster. Or some relic from a half-forgotten war. He was a person, like her, and he’d suffered long enough. She put me in that position because she wanted to prove a point about us, about my people. When I discovered how impressed she was by the job I’d done, I used that to my advantage. Pressed her to visit him. He’s carved a whole timeline of his life, down there, and we talk the Queen through it.” Smiling again, she glanced at the gryphon. “Of course, if I knew her gryphon was planning to break him out, I might not have bothered.”

Valar gave a playful growl, flashing his teeth when the gryphon looked their way. “You’ll never know what to expect from that one.”

“For what it’s worth…” Alia trailed off, tilting her head to peer along his body. “Valyrym was never happier than when he learned you could fly.”

“Oh?” Valar lifted his blue-ribboned wing, peering at the fat pink scar beneath the joint connecting it to his body. “He taught me, after all. It’s…my last good memory of him. The day he taught me to fly.” For a little while, he stared at his scar. “Really just…showed me how to glide, but…I like to think he taught me to fly.” He folded his wing back against his body. “Wing still doesn’t sit right. Never will. Put myself through hell working the strength up for consistent flight, but once my body was used to it, doesn’t hurt much anymore.”

“What about your leg?” Alia walked around him, looking at the pink knot scarring the meat of his right hind leg. “Does that hurt? Krek said you two…share the same limp.”

Valar snapped his teeth. “I don’t limp.” He arched his neck, grinning. “I stride with a prideful strut.”

Alia burst into laughter. “Oh, you two really are alike!”

“What does that mean?”

“That’s exactly the sort of thing your father would say.”

Valar kneaded the ground with his forepaws, tearing up the earth a little. “Perfect. If you must know, all of my scars hurt from time to time. When it’s cold, or the weather changes, or I overexert myself. But none of them trouble me. I can walk, I can run, I can fly, and I can still kick Krek’s ass, whatever lies he may have told you.”

“So that’s something else share with your father. You’ve both kicked that poor gryphon’s ass.”

“Really?” Valar cocked his head, his perked in amusement. “Father roughed him up?”

Alia’s face twisted. “Something like that. He made the mistake of waking your father from a bad dream, and, when he mentioned your name, Valyrym thought…”

Valar cringed, his ears drooping right back down. “Poor bird. He was wounded, too. I guess there’s a little of The Dread Sky left in the old bastard after all.”

“No…” Alia wrung her hands, then turned to stare at his father, and Krek. “Not a little. All of it. His body’s not what it used to be, but, I’m not sure his mind is either. But The Dread Sky, that furious, monstrous thing that once slew so many to try and save our homeland…I promise you, that part of him is still there...” Alia trailed off, and a shuddered racked her.

The dragon gently set a paw upon her arm. “What happened?”

Without looking back, Alia took a deep breath, and set her other hand against his paw. “For now, let’s just say they all got what they deserved, and leave it at that.” After a moment, she turned back to face him. The worried clouds drifting behind her green eyes gradually eased away, and she patted his paw. “You know, Krek never told us you gave the queen sanctuary. Or how you knew her at all, actually.”

Whatever troubled her, Valar decided not to press her on it. “Don’t expect him to tell you much of anything, at least not anything true. Unless he genuinely trusts you. Which…” Valar ground his teeth, his spines flattened back. “Given the situation, I suppose he has to.” Valar curled his tail, flicking his ears. “As for the Queen, Krek saved her life, when she was young, and brought her to me to hide her a while. Though, it may be a story best told by the ego-bird himself. Suffice it to say that, I gave her shelter, long before I ever knew she had royal blood. I imagine we’ll have plenty of time to discuss things on our travel.”

“Our travel?”

“You didn’t think I was just coming here to give me father a hug, and going home, did you?” Valar tilted his head, his spines tingling. “You…you do know why Krek helped you free my father, don’t you?”

Alia set her jaw, her eyes hardening. “Because he thinks Valyrym might be the only one who can convince your mother not to murder the queen. But if I’m honest, even your father doesn’t know if he can do that. And more than anything else, I think he agreed because he wants to keep you out of it.”

“Then he’s going to be disappointed. I’m going with all of you.”

“He doesn’t want you involved, that’s all. He doesn’t want you to find yourself-”

“I’m involved, Alia.” Valar held up his paw to hold off her replies. “I’ve been involved since long before he heard of Mother’s plans. She drew the line between us, not I. I see her following the same obsessive path to revenge that my father once flew. But where his path ended with the death of an innocent, and a shattered family, hers will end in a tide of blood that will wash across this land. I have a daughter, Alia, and I cannot look her in the eye and tell her I did nothing while my mother burned any lasting hope of peace. If my mother kills the Queen, her rebellion, her war, it will ruin my daughter’s home. What will I tell her, if we flee the flames of war, when she learns I could have stopped it? For all the hatred I had for my father…” He thrust a single unsheathed claw at Valyrym. “For all the bitterness and I anger, I was always proud of him for one thing. He stood before an unstoppable foe, he threw himself into an unwinnable war, not for pride or vanity, but simply because he knew it was the right thing to do. I cannot…cannot rightly call myself a father if I am unwilling to do the same. How could I ever teach my daughter how best to life her life, if I am too afraid to do what I know is right?”

“You’re…so much like him.” Alia took a slow, shuddering breath. She reached up and gently touched Valar’s jawline. “I think you’ve taken all his best attributes, along with his stubbornness.”

Valar snorted. “What’s wrong with stubbornness?”

“Nothing, as long as it doesn’t get you killed.”

“Mother won’t…” With a hiss, Valar shook his head. “Let’s not talk about this now. I scarcely know you, so with respect, I will wait to discuss the various horrors that have rent my family asunder for at least another day or two.” When Alia paled and swallowed, Valar softened his tone. “Sorry, I…meant that as perhaps a bit more playfully sarcastic than it came out.”

“No, you’re right.” Alia shook her head. “It’s strange, I…I feel as if I know you better than I do, just because I’ve heard so much about you from your father. And yet…all I ever heard was about your hatchling days…” She held her hands apart, smiling. “You were probably this big in most of the stories I heard. And you’re only the second dragon I’ve ever seen.”

“Am I?” Valar curled his neck, looking himself over. “I hope I make a good showing for my people.”

“An excellent showing. And yes, you are.” She tilted her head towards his father. “I suppose I’ve just gotten so comfortable around Valyrym that I’m almost just as comfortable around you, even though you’re bigger and, I imagine to most people, scarier than he is. I guess growing so comfortable around one dragon has conditioned me to feel unusually comfortable around all of them.” She rubbed her hands together with a nervous laugh. “Which…probably means I’ll walk up and start chatting to the wrong dragon soon, and get eaten.”

“I shall try and keep myself between you and any other more hostile dragons, then.” Valar stretched out his wings, ignoring the twinge of pain beneath one of them. “If you’re that comfortable with dragons, I suppose I don’t need to let you offer examine me.”

Alia blinked a few times, then turned her head to gaze at his wings. “Is that something you often offer humans?”

Valar flexed his outstretched wings. “I find that it helps soothe nervous humans who have never seen a dragon up close, or spoken with one.”

“You must have met a lot of humans over the years. After you left Sigil Stones, did you live in another city?” Alia moved to touch one of his wing membranes. “If…you don’t mind talking about it.”

Sigil Stones. There was a name he did not hear often. The name sent a shiver all through the dragon, rustling scales and rattling spines. “We lived…in many places.”

A flood of memories poured through his head. Of rolling green hills, dotted with spires of gray stone. Of sheets of silvery rain. Of running down city streets, surrounded by humans who back then, still towered over him. Of kind faces, and markets filled with countless delights. Of riding on his father’s back, all through town.

With a sigh, he gazed across the pasture at Valyrym. “But yes. Over the years I have known many humans. Some far more friendly than others. Letting them get close to me, to touch my scales, my wings, to hear my voice. It often calms their worried nerves.”

“You know, that’s not unlike how I got to know your father.” Alia ran her hands down the edges of a wing, tracing the blue markings. Valar’s wing twitched, her soft touch tickled against the sensitive membranes. “We talked a lot, after I brought him his meal. I’d never seen a dragon before. He let me touch him, feel his paws, his scales. I know what you mean. It helped him seem a little more like a person to me, and…less like…a monster, I suppose.”

“Touch and speech are good ways to overcome fears.”

“I agree.” Alia set her hand down, and walked around him.

Valar folded his wings back, twisting his head to watch her. “You can touch me elsewhere, if you wish.”

“Just don’t…” Alia grinned, staring at him as she trailed off.

“Yes?” Valar cocked his head.

“Oh.” Alia scratched her head, laughing. “I think I was expecting you to make a joke, something like…” She deepened her voice. “You can touch me elsewhere, just don’t make Father jealous.”

Valar cocked his head the other direction, a lopsided smirk spread over his snout. “Oh. I’ll consider that next time. I think that’s more the sort of joke I’d make to Krek than to my Father’s mate.”

Alia came around the other side of him, chuckling. “If it helps, you aren’t going to do or say much that offends me.” She put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the broader scales there. “You’re…pretty close, actually.”

“Close to what?”

“To the portrait.” She waved at Valyrym. “I had a portrait of you painted for your father, but the artist had to go off descriptions of you as a hatchling, along with what the Queen remembered. I think we got you just about right.”

“Oh.” A smile spread over Valar’s muzzle. “That’s…a beautiful thought.”

“Thank you.” She folded her arms, turning to gaze across the grass at the old dragon, basking in the sunshine. “I hope he loved it.”

“You aren’t certain?” Valar flicked his spines back.

“No. I…” Alia shifted her weight from foot to foot. “A lot happened right before the escape. I hadn’t seen him in months until the night we broke him out. It’s…a very long story. Perhaps not as long as your story, but long enough.”

“At least you’re all here now. I could not believe it when Krek said he was going to set him free.” Valar lifted a forepaw, staring at his own unsheathed claws. “It wasn’t sure if I wanted to beat him to death, or hug the life out of him.”

“I’m starting to see why that gryphon’s always complaining about being roughed up by your family.”

That brought happy, raucous laughter from the dragon. He smiled, and when the gryphon looked his way, Valar sneered at him. “Oh, trust me. He has it coming.” While Valar and Alia both watched the gryphon, Krek rose to all fours, and splayed out his wings, displaying their silver flight feathers. He strut back and forth, showing off his silver tail fan, and the vibrant, mercurial feathers along the back of his neck. Valar groaned and shook his head. “See?” Then he raised his voice, calling out to the gryphon. “I don’t know what you’re strutting about for. We were just discussing how hideously ugly you are!”

“Awrrroooo.” Krek gave a loud coo, and all his feathers drooped at once. When that only made Valar laugh harder, Krek snapped his beak. “You can kiss my stones, you scaly upstart!”

“I could never find something so small in all that fluff!” Valar glanced down at Alia when she laughed with him. “I’d make a rude gesture as well but that’s not very nice when humans are present.”

“Never stopped your father.” Alia giggled, nudging her sandal against the ground. “As I said before, you two have a lot in common. He’s been bantering with the Krek the same way almost since he met him. Think he felt bad about hurting him, and…I’m not sure I’d call them friends now, but I’m starting to see why Krek gets along so well with Valyrym, in his own way. He’s already so used to acting that way around you.”

“Krek’s naturally that way. He can get along with anyone, if he has to, or he can be at anyone’s throat. I think he likes Father though.”

“I’m not sure the feeling is mutual.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not.” Valar held up a paw, grinning. “No one likes Krek. But the more you dislike him, the more he likes you, and the more he likes sharing your company and getting on your nerves.”

“He’s like a big cat, really.” Alia glanced up at the dragon, sharing his smile. “The less you want him around, the more often he’s there.”

“That’s Krek, alright.” Valar curled his tail, then fidgeted with one of the spines. “Wouldn’t have him any other way, though.”

“He does have his charms. You two were…” Alia unfolded her arms and waved a hand. “Close. I mean…very close, right?”

“The word you’re looking for us lovers. And yes. If that makes you uncomfortable…”

“If it makes me uncomfortable I wouldn’t have brought it up.” Alia inclined her head towards Valyrym. “I’m with him, so it’s not as if I’d have any room to criticize. As far as I’m concerned, you can do whatever you like, with whoever you like, so long as they’re willing.”

“Krek’s always wiling. Male, female, dragon, gryphon, human. I think that gryphon would have his way with a hay bale if the hay bale said yes. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure he has.”

Alia burst out laughing, covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh, Gods, that’s a mental image I didn’t need.”

“And yet now you’re glad you’ve got it.”

“Not sure glad is the word I’d use, but it’s certainly worthy of a good laugh.” Alia wiped her eyes when she got control of her laughter. “How did you and him…well…?”

“Become lovers?” Valar shrugged his wings. “It’s not complicated. I met him in my youth, we became fast friends…” He waved his paw in a circle. “Then you know, confusion and curiosity and all that. I found I was as comfortable with another male, even a gryphon, as I was with female dragons.”

“Makes sense. Though, I was more curious about how you two met.”

“Ah. That is…” Valar tapped claw tips against one of his tail spines. “A story best saved for when I know you better. The short version is, he was robbing people I imagined myself protector of, and in my attempts to stop him, I injured him worse than I intended. Wanted to help him, after that. I’m sure you’ll hear the long version, eventually. Or if he’d rather tell you, that’s fine too.”

“That’s fair.” Alia patted his shoulder, and then took a few steps back. “I have probably taken up enough of your time as it is. You should talk to your father.”

Valar grit his teeth, his spines flattened back. “I…I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Then don’t talk. Just go…” Alia shrugged. “Sit next to him. Say hello. Or…I don’t know, what do dragons do when they want to be social but don’t have anything to say?”

“I don’t know.” Valar flexed his wings. “Most of my socializing lately is either with my mate, and daughter. The rest of my family and I…” He sighed, tilting his head back to stare up at the sky. “The sky, as always, does not care.”

“That…that sounds familiar.”

“Mother used to say it. That no matter how sheltering the sky may seem, it does not care. It sees all, but is ever dispassionate. Sometimes when I think of the way things ended up for my family and myself, I…I find myself staring at the sky. Wondering. I have…” He waved his paw at a lone cloud drifting over the blue expanse. “Other family, now. Aunt Nary and Korvarak and cousin Ary are all gone, escaped from this war in decades past. I have two siblings, both younger than I, and…both on their mother’s side in this madness. And when last I saw Mother, she threatened to slay my best friend, and I had to fight my own brother to protect him. So…my…” He sighed, and waggled his claws in the air. “Social skills amongst other dragons are not the sharpest. If it wasn’t for all…this. This madness, this…horror we must prevent. I would be more than content to just live out my days, with my mate, watching my daughter grow.”

“And there was a time that was all Valyrym wanted. To watch his son grow. He…” Alia swallowed, furrowing her brow. “He never got that chance. I know that’s his fault, but…it has been as hard on him as it has been on you. Now…now you’re here, and…” She put her hand against his scales, smiling. “Just go to him, Valar. Please.”

“Now you sound like Krek.” He swept his tail back behind himself. “Asking me to come and see him, while I had the chance.” Valar swallowed, frills drooping. “That sounds…horribly morbid, when I say it out loud. But you’re right. I should at least go sit with the old bastard a while.”

“It will make his day.”

“At least my colors will look all the more resplendent next to his washed out old scales.” Valar rumbled to himself, then glanced at Alia, softening his tone. “That was…a joke.”

“I gathered as much. I’m used to draconic ego, you needn’t explain.” She waved at the gryphon. “Want me to see if I can get Krek to give you and Valyrym some time together?”

Valar shook his head. “No, you’d better let me handle it. It will take a delicate touch.” He cleared his throat with a growl, then called out, loud enough to make sure everyone could hear. “Hey! Smarmy Stinkbird! Stop preening your ass-feathers and make yourself useful, for once! Go hunt us some lunch!”

“Words hurt, Dragon!” Krek hung his head, across the field.

“Good!” Valar yelled right back at him. “Your ego needs the bruising!”

“Fine then!” The gryphon shook himself, ruffling up all his ebony feathers. “I’ll go hunting for everyone but you! You’re getting carrion!”

Near the gryphon, Valyrym lifted his head. “You’d better not be expecting to feed my son your disgusting vulture-vomit like you do your chicks!”

Valar growled laughter. “That’s nauseating, why would you do that, Krek?”

“I don’t have any chicks! And…we don’t call them chicks!” He clacked his beak a few times, hissing. “And we’re not birds, so we don’t do that!”

“Someone’s getting angry.” Valyrym snapped his teeth. “Go cool off in your birdbath, you pompous magpie!”

With a loud squawk, Krek launched himself into the air, beating his vast, black and silver wings. “You can both get mounted!”

“There, you see?” Alia prodded at Valar’s chest plates, smiling. “Ice breaker. You’re both good at insulting the gryphon. I’m going to go see how Jirr is getting on. You go say hello to your father.”

Once Alia was gone, and the gryphon out of sight beyond the tree tops, Valar took a deep breath. He rose to all fours, and took a few steps towards Valyrym. His father turned his head, staring at Valar. After a moment, he looked away again. Valar took another couple steps towards the older dragon. Valyrym busied himself plucking at weeds mixed in amidst the grass. He scythed a dandelion down with an unsheathed claw, dug out a few tufts of crabgrass, and then cleaned the dirt from his claws.

Only when Valar reached him did Valyrym look up again. Fear and hope alike shone in the old bastard’s golden eyes. Valar couldn’t decide if his father’s eyes looked worn out, or revitalized. Was his soul coming apart at the seams or was it being stitched back together? The older dragon swallowed, then tried to speak, but the only sound that came from Valyrym’s maw was a raspy croak.

Valyrym growled, clearing his throat. “H-hello, Valar.” He kneaded at the sod with both forepaws. His tail twitched, and spines caught in the grass.

“Hello, Father.” Valar tried to offer him what he hoped was a comforting smile, with his spines half-lifted and his ears perked. “It’s…nice weather, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” The older dragon laughed, a nervous, halting growl. “It…it is. Very nice weather.” He stretched his wings, pushing himself up onto his haunches. “It’s…nice to feel the sun on my wings again.”

Something withered inside Valar. “I can only imagine.” He stretched his own wings out, as if to enjoy the sunshine. Valyrym turned his head, a small gesture but not imperceptible. Valar knew where he was looking. He raised his right wing higher to let his father see his scars. “They’ve…healed quite nicely.” It was a lie, and the fat pink blobs that forever marred his hide made it clear. “I don’t have any trouble getting about.”

A hint of a smile twitched across Valyrym’s gray marked muzzle. “No, I’m…sure you don’t. You used to dash around Sigil Stones, as spry as any other hatchling. I was ever so proud, of how strong you were those days. Stronger than I ever could have been.”

Valar stretched out his hind leg, where another knot of scar tissue sat in the meat of his thigh. “I was too busy having fun to let a sore leg slow me down.”

“You used to terrorize that market.” Valyrym’s smile widened, and clouds of memory drifted across his golden eyes. “You must have cost poor Amaleen so much coin for all the things you knocked over and broken and devoured before I could stop you.” He laughed, as much to himself as anyone else, and slowly shook his head. “You used to…ride around on my back, and…point at things, and claim they were yours.”

“Well…” Valar cocked his head, trying to quell the hoarseness that crept into his voice. “In fairness, father. They were mine.”

“So they were.” Valyrym curled his tail, and Valar glanced down at it. He remembered hints of blue there, but now only gray marked the older dragon’s tail. The sturdy spines tipping it were chipped and scarred, just like the rest of Valyrym. “Do you…” Valyrym cocked his head, working his jaws. It took him a few moments to form the words, and when they finally came out, his voice was as cracked, broken, and yet oddly hopeful as the rest of him. “Do you…still like smoked fish?”

Valar blinked, and laughed despite himself. “You remember the strangest things, Father. But yes…I do.”

“You used to love those fish.” Valyrym leaned against his tail, his eyes darting around. He rubbed his paws together. “They…they brought me some. Alia and her friends. Smoked fish. It wasn’t the same, but…I always thought of you, when we had them. Do you…do you get…good smoked fish, where you live now?”

“I do.” Valar took a breath, and let it out in a long sigh. “You don’t know what to say to me, any more than I know what to say to you, do you?”

“Valar, there are a thousand things I wish to say to you, but there are no words that can even begin to atone for what I did to you. If they did-”

“I don’t want your apologies, Father.” Valar held up a single paw, and kept his voice gentle. “I know you regret it, I know it pains you, but you’re right. All the penitence in the world will not replace those empty years with your presence. They won’t ease the pain, they won’t fill the void you left in my life. We both know that.” He set his paw back down, atop Valyrym’s. “I came here to…yell and scream and maybe even strike you. To tell you what torments your absence put me through, to…to demand you apologize, and then if I’m honest, I hoped to find it in myself to forgive you.” He glanced at the sky, sighing again. “You can thank Krek for that. He…he is the one who…convinced me to come here, when I was unsure. That whatever I had left in my heart to say to you, I should do while we both still had time. But when I set eyes upon you, I saw that the years had ravaged deeper than any words ever could. And I find that…” He swallowed, his voice shaking. “That I don’t want to live the rest of my days with hatred in my heart. I think…some part of me still loves you, and maybe someday, that love will grow again. But, all I want in me now is…is forgiveness. There’s…so much anger and hatred already in the world, that I cannot let it poison my soul, as it once poisoned yours.” He squeezed Valyrym’s paw. “So say it once more, the words you’ve so long hoped to tell me. What you must so deeply need to tell me, if only for your own peace of mind. And I’ll say, what I need to say to you…and then we’ll be done with it.”

Tears glistened in Valyrym’s golden eyes. He blinked, and a wet streaks ran down his muzzle. The old dragon sniffed, nodding a few times. He opened his maw, and closed it again when he couldn’t find words. He tried a few more times, and finally, with his paw trembling beneath Valar’s, put voice to his thoughts.

“I am…so sorry, son.” Valyrym took a few breaths, steadying himself. “For being only a void, when I should have been a father. For…being only a memory, when I should have been a sheltering wing across your back. For missing…everything. For all the pain I put you through, for every burden I was not there to help to bear. For being the pain, the wound, but never the healing. I am sorry, Valar.”

By the time Valyrym fell silent, tears were running down the old dragon’s muzzle. A thick lump lay in Valar’s throat, and he forced himself to blink away tears of his own. He had something to say in return, and he wanted his voice to stay strong. “First, Father. You were loss. She told me you were dead. You were a hero, in my heart, but a loss just the same. Then when I learned the truth, then you were bitterness. Then you were spite, and your name was bile, to be spat like excess flame. Then you were hatred, to be cursed, and better off forgotten. But try as I might, you were a wound I could not close. I dreamt of you, now and then, carrying me aloft. When it snowed, I remembered your laughter. And when I hated you most, I cried the hardest because I was all the angrier at myself because I still missed you. I wished you had died, so at least I’d feel this void you left meant something. I wanted to free you, so I could curse you and thrash you and have you hold me again, and I could never sort that out. I made Krek take me to the city, show me the safest routes to fly…we circled the castle together, but I…I could not bring myself to land, to peer through the holes, and see you. I thought, at the time…you deserved it. Never did I…did I truly…know.” Valar took a breath so slow and deep it made his lungs ache. He let it all out in a sigh just as heavy. “But all that? It is all in the past. When I look at our lives, at the events that have brought us together again? I don’t want to hold onto my pain, anymore. I don’t…want to cling to bitterness, or anger, or hatred. I want that poison out of me. Mother…mother doesn’t understand what those feelings do to her. She’s too much like you, I fear. But…I won’t gave them room in my heart, any longer. So I will say this once, and then we will be done with this, and I will speak of no more. Please know that I mean this.”

Valar forced himself to stare into Valyrym’s tear-filled eyes, his voice cracking. “Father, for all the pain you ever put me through, for a century and a half of life, marked most be your absence, for the years of anger and anguish…I forgive you. I forgive you, Father.”

“Thank you, Valar!” Barely contained sobs wracked the older dragon. His wings shuddered at his sides as tears dripped to the grass. “Thank you…”

“It’s alright, Father.” Valar sniffled a few times, then tried to clear his throat. He lifted his foreleg, curling it around the back of Valyrym’s neck. With a gentle tug, he pulled Valyrym into a hug. The older dragon curled his wings around Valar, embracing him. Valar stroked his father’s neck, leaning against him, savoring the warmth of his wings. The old bastard felt almost frail. Valar hugged him back, murmuring. “It’s alright…it’s alright.”

Valar held his father until Valyrym’s sobs were under control. He eased back, and Valyrym withdrew his wings, folding them back against his own sides. “Feel better?”

Valyrym wiped his eyes with a paw, then shrugged his wings. “Yes. And no. I never used to cry so often.” He sniffed again, and managed a little smile. “I blame Alia.”

“Do you, then?” Valar glanced over his back, towards the inn. “She’s not around, so I suppose that’s fair. I’ll blame Krek. I promise you, something is always that bird’s fault.”

“At least we have one thing in common now.” Valyrym swallowed, still smiling. “We both think the gryphon’s an ass.”

Valar laughed, shaking his horned head. The laughter felt good, breaking some of the tension that still lingered in his soul. “That we do. It’s because he is an ass.” While they shared a smile, Valar shifted on his haunches, tail curling. “I should…tell you, that…Krek and I…”

This time, it was Valyrym’s turn to set his paw atop Valar’s. “I know, Valar. The bird let it slip, already. It doesn’t matter, to me.” His golden eyes settled on Valar’s, warm and far more understanding than Valar could have hoped. “He said you two were almost mates, once, and I was happy for you. It doesn’t matter, male, or female, dragon or gryphon.” He swung his muzzle towards the inn. “Or human. I was happy just knowing you found someone you loved.”

Valar swallowed. Did he love Krek? It was a complicated question, but he saw no real reason to say otherwise. “Thank you, Father. I…I do have a mate, now. We’ve been together quite a while.”

“I know. And…” Valyrym swallowed, and his smile grew. “A daughter, right?”

“Yes.” Valar could not help but share his father’s smile. “A daughter. Which means you have a granddaughter.” He stretched his neck, nudging at his father with his nose. “Now you know you’re getting old.”

“Oh, son, I knew that a long time ago. Having a granddaughter just gives me reason to be happy I’ve grown so old.” Valyrym arched his neck, his voice under control again. “Will you tell me about her?”

“All in good time, Father.” Valar took a few steps back, and stretched his wings out to their full extent. Though the right wing did not stretch quite as far, his wings were still broader than his father’s. “I’ve been told you spent a lot of time hoping I could fly.”

Valyrym turned his head, happiness shining as golden beacons in his eyes. “I did. I was…so very happy to hear that your wounds had not stolen your flight. I…knew in my heart, our last day together, that someday you’d fly. But the fear was still there.”

“I can only imagine, when your time of escape came, that you worried if your own wings could still carry you.” Valar beat his wings once, the gusts stirred the grasses all around them.

“I did. Still seems a miracle I’ve made it this far.”

“Well…you’re going to fly a lot further, still. We’ve a long, long way to go.” Valar waited for Valyrym’s objection. But if the old dragon had one, he did not voice it. “It occurs to me that…you and I have never had a chance to fly together. There was a time, you first taught me how to use my wings. It is…one of my happiest memories, with you. It…also occurs to me…” He hoisted his right wing higher, ignoring the pain, and glanced at the scars beneath it, and along his side. “That I have a unique perspective on flying with difficulty. Perhaps, if we flew together, I could observe you, and…offer pointers that may help you regain your strength. That is, if you’d like to fly with me.”

Valyrym lifted his head, his voice a heartfelt whisper. “Valar, I would fly with you until my wings gave out, and I would fall happy, having been at your side.”

“To the skies, then.”

For the first time in all his life, Valar ascended alongside his father.

*****

Chapter Five

*****

Months Earlier

Krek sat upon a sandbank on an isolated stretch of river, just outside the village Valar called home. In the morning, he would leave to begin his long, difficult trip home, where he hoped to set Valar’s father free. His side throbbed, fresh stitches held him together across his ribs. With a single claw, he scribed a map in the sand. The gryphon wanted to ensure that Valar knew not only the route he was taking home, but the route he planned to lead Valyrym on, in order to catch up with the Queen.

Valar himself sat nearby, staring at his reflection in the water. The river that raged only days earlier had calmed again, now that the skies had cleared, and the land had time to dry out. Whenever they came down here together, Valar always stared at the water that way. Wondering what could have been.

“I think she has nightmares, sometimes.” Valar’s voice came as a surprise, breaking a long silence.

Krek slowly lifted his head, tingles of dread prickling under his crown feathers. “I thought she was too young to remember?”

“I think she is, and thank the gods for that.” Valar kept staring into the water. “But…once in a while, she wakes up with a squeal, or shaking and in tears. She can never tell us why. A bad dream, she thinks, but she can never quite remember. I think it’s about the river.”

“Could be.” Krek swallowed, flattening back all his feathers. “Could just be…scary hatchling dreams.”

“When she has those, she tells us. These are…” Valar’s spines lifted, but his ears drooped. “Different.”

“It’s possible.” Krek swished his tail across the sand, stirring it up with his tuft. “She doesn’t…know, though, does she?”

“No.” Valar shook his head, rustling his wings. “She doesn’t need to.”

“I agree. Though, she may have heard you and her mother discussing it.”

“I’m sure she has.” The dragon gave a bittersweet chuckle. “She’s a sneaky little thing. We always tried not to go into specifics, just in case.” He clenched his forepaws, unsheathing his claws and cutting furrows in the sand. “But she doesn’t need to know. She shouldn’t have to know.” He took a breath, staring downstream. “She loves the water so much.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. With any luck, she’ll…” Krek waved a wing in the air. The movement made his healing injuries ache worse. “Outgrow the nightmares, and that will be that.” He stretched his wing, and brushed it across Valar’s fault back. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

Valar only grunted, tossing his head.

“Just…snuggle her extra tight, tonight.”

“I always do.” Valar took a deep breath, and gave a long, weary sigh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t just…bring things up like that. It just popped into my head, while I was staring at the water.”

Krek shifted closer, and set his paw against his friend’s. “Oh, Valar. You know you never need apologize for any such thing. You could hardly be called a father if such painful thoughts did not often trouble you.” He clicked his beak, his ears back. “Doubly so at times like this.”

“Suppose you’re right.” Valar smiled at the gryphon, but the scars behind his eyes belied his expression. “Regardless…thinking about, talking about it…Never changes things.” He tossed his head towards the gryphon. “What are you scribbling in the sand, over there?”

“Are you so eager to change the subject?” Krek tilted his head, worried for his friend. “I can understand that, and I won’t press you on it but I suspect you know what I’m drawing. You’re only swapping one difficult subject for another.”

“Just show me.” Valar grunted, stretching his neck.

Krek swept a paw over the map he scribed with lines in the sand. It was simple but clean, and clear. “Here’s your village.” He marked a dot in the sand with a claw tip. “This line here demarcates the border between Illandra, and Denoria.”

Valar tilted his head. “Actually, I think the border has more curves and twists than that. I’ve seen human maps. You’ve drawn it too straight.”

“Valar…” Krek ground his beak, exasperated. “I’m drawing lines in the sand to illustrate things for you. I’m not attempting a scale model replica of the entire continent. You know the landmarks I’m referencing well enough. Your village isn’t a dot, either, but you still recognize it as your village.”

“Where’s the market?” Valar tilted his head, grinning.

“Just shut up and pay attention, dragon.” Krek indicated Valar’s village again. “Your home.” He swept his paw across the sand, over cone shapes he carved to indicate mountains. “This direction is where we flew to meet your with your mother. Her city is here.” Krek pointed to a little staircase symbol. “With me so far?”

“Why does her home get a sigil, and I just get a dot?”

“Awwrkk!” Krek squawked in frustration. With a single claw, he cut three little dragon’s head outlines, two large and one small. “There. Now your village is marked. Happy?”

“It’s a start.” A smirk crossed the dragon’s muzzle. “But the scale is off. If it’s that far to mother’s, then Illandra should be much larger.”

Krek glared at him a moment. “I’m going to punch you in the balls, before I leave.”

“Alright, alright.” Valar snapped his teeth. “Show me your route, if it’s so important to you. It’s not as if it’s going to matter to me.”

“Made up your mind so quickly?”

“That’s the problem, actually.” Valar curled his tail around his haunches, digging in the sand with unsheathed claws. “I’ve not even had time to make peace with the fact he’s going to be free, much less considered whether I want to see him or not.”

“Unfortunately time is a luxury none of us will have enough of until this is all over. And even, only if we survive.”

“You’ll survive.” Valar’s voice sharpened. He lifted his head, the silver flecks in his golden eyes smoldering. “I won’t let her kill you or the Queen.”

“So you’ve said. But if you’re so determined on helping stand against your mother’s plans, then you’ve already decided to meet with your father again.”

Valar growled, looking away. “I don’t have to do that.”

“He’ll be with me, Valar.”

“Then I’ll fly a different route. I’ll go find the Queen first. Protect her on my own. You can take Father to try and snap Mother out of her madness while I keep Kathlyn safe.”

Krek growled, frustration prickling at his skin, under his feathers. As much as cared for Valar, the dragon’s stubbornness was an irritating match even for his own. “Let me just show you the route I’ll be taking.”

“Thought that was your plan all along, before you started babbling about scale models and sigils and-OW!” Valar yelped when Krek cuffed him over the head with a paw. He winced, rubbing at the back of his head. “Right in the frill.”

“As I was saying.” Krek indicated a few spots on the map again. “Your home. Your mother’s home. And way up here…” He stretched his foreleg to the furthest spot on the map he’d scribed. “This is where your father is kept. After I free him, we will fly this route.” With a single unsheathed talon, Krek scribed a new line across the map. It passed by several other markers he’d already made. “Avoiding all major roads and cities. With the intention of reaching Wing’s Rest within several weeks or so, depending on how far your father can go.”

“Wing’s Rest?” Valar rubbed his sore frill again, then set his paw down. “Isn’t that where that female you used to fancy lives? What was her name? Squee?”

Krek scrunched his face, flattening his ears. “Jirr. And yes. That is where she lives. Along with the rest of her-”

“You just want to stop there cause you’re hoping she’ll offer you a chance to mount her.” Valar laughed and thumped Krek on the shoulder.

“That has nothing to do with it.” The gryphon ruffled his feathers, glaring at his friend. “That would be nothing more than a pleasant coincidence. Besides, I’m taken.”

Valar perked his ears, and lifted his spines. “Oh? Are you?”

“You know Kathlyn and I-”

“I didn’t know you two were exclusive mates now.” The dragon flexed his wings. “If that’s the case, I’m proud of you!” He stretched his neck and licked Krek’s cheek, then tilted his head, murmuring. “Though it means Trouble and I will have to cancel your going away party.”

“My what now?” Krek lifted his head, crown feathers rising.

“Oh, the mate and I were going to send Ayly to stay with some human friends tonight, so the three of us could…” Valar waved his paw in a circle. “Shall we say, enjoy ourselves together, before you head back in the morning.”

Krek swallowed, ears splayed. “That sounds like a delight.”

“Oh, it would have been.” Valar drummed his clawtips against the sand, staring across the river. “But, if you and Kathlyn only indulge in mating play together, it wouldn’t be fair to either of you to invite you to join in.”

“When I said I was taken, I just meant I didn’t want Jirr getting the wrong idea, and-”

“But I’ve already made the arrangements for Ayly…” Valar scratched his neck with a wing tip. “Suppose that means Trouble and I will have our fun, and you’ll just have to settle for watching.” He snapped his teeth. “You’d better not knock over any lanterns this time. Anyway, do go on. I believe you left off on how you’ll be going to Jirr’s, and refuting all her advances?”

Krek glared at the dragon for long, silent moments. “You know, whenever I feel as though I’ve been away from you for far too long…I return here, and you soon make me realize I hadn’t been gone long enough!”

Valar lifted a forepaw, staring at his own blue markings. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm.” The gryphon grunted, then traced a circle around the marker for the Wing’s Rest inn. “Back to the point. I’ve several reasons for stopping here. First one, I shall have to push Valyrym as hard as I can to get him to safety. Even if I can convince the prince to go along with my plans to free him, for political reasons he is likely to be required to publically condemn me, and this escape, at least at first. If we save his mother, we’ll all be heroes, but until then, the further we are from that city and any other major population centers, the better.”

“That’s close to the same route you took me on, right? When we…” His voice softened, and his gaze wandered, aimless. “Visited him, all those years ago.”

“Correct. From Denoria, it is the safest path to fly.” Krek clicked his beak. “I took your mother on a different path, and with any luck, she won’t know about this route, but I will keep prepared for any sort of ambush, just in case.”

Valar stiffened. “You really think she’d-”

“She damn near chocked the life out of me right in front of you. Yes, I think she’ll do whatever she believes she must in order to win this war she believes she’s waging. When she hears I’ve freed Valyrym, she’ll know why. I would not put it past her to try and head us off early, on her terms. Perhaps not even to attack, but to sway your father on her side.” When Valar only grimaced, Krek set a paw on the dragon’s shoulder. “I shall take your silence to be agreement.”

“That’s certainly one possible hole in your plan, Krek. Who says my father won’t join her, instead?”

“You told me yourself, Valar. The one thing you’re proud of him for. He does what’s right. I believe when he understand the situation, understands what’s at risk…he’ll do what’s right.” He gave the dragon’s shoulder a squeeze, then set his paw down. “Otherwise I’ll have to fetch you to talk some sense into him, to get him to talk some sense into your mother!” Krek warbled laughter, but Valar didn’t join in. “That was a joke, by the way.”

“Hilarious.” He waved his paw at the gryphon. “Go on.”

“Right, so we’ll make way to Jirr’s home. It’s as safe a place as I can provide without taking him out of Illandra. It’ll give him a chance to rest, and…” Krek glanced up at the dragon again. “If you should wish it, the best place for you to meet us. You know the flight, and from your village, it is not too arduous a journey.”

The dragon only bared his fangs. “Then where?”

“After Jirr’s, we head southwest, deeper into the provinces. The Queen’s journey will take her on this path.” The gryphon swept his paw over a long line drawn across the simple map, indicating a road. “It is a lesser trade path, used mostly by loyal Illandran merchants, but with several areas of historical significance. The Queen believes it will allow her to send a message on her journey, but also keep her visibility low until she arrives in the Aran’alian capital, where she’s hosting talks with them on their independence. I am hopeful that, assuming your father can maintain a reasonable pace, we’ll intersect with them here.” He tapped a spot on a map.

“And you think Mother will attack them somewhere on this journey?”

“Most likely, yes. I’ve identified a few areas where I believe she will be most likely to make her attack.”

Valar tilted his head, his blue marked frills raised. “Why wouldn’t she just wait till the Queen reaches her destination? Aran’alia is all run by nobles who serve Illandra, anyway. Surely Mother would wish to strike them down at the same time she strikes down the queen. If she attacked the independence summit, she could kill them all at once.”

“I’ve considered that, and it’s not impossible.” Krek shook himself, rustling up his feathers. “But I think it’s unlikely. For one, the queen means to meet with the local Aran’alian leadership, not the nobles ruling above them. She wants to hand the country back to its people, which of course strips the nobles of their power. Few of the nobles will even know she’s there until it’s too late. For another, thanks to the history, some of those cities are more heavily fortified against dragons. There’s a reason your mother doesn’t want her children involved in any operations out there. Even for her, it would be far riskier to attack the summit itself. Not to mention the way it would look to the Aran’alians. Granted…” Krek tapped a finger against the sand, swishing his tufted tail. “The Queen’s trip is so secret, your mother seemed caught off guard when we told her it’s an independence accord. If she meant to attack in Aran’alia previously, I doubt she will now. It’s hard to convince a people you’re fighting for their freedom if they know you’ve just slain the leader trying to grant it.”

“So where do you think she’ll attack?”

“I have several locations I consider the highest risk, and I shall explain them to your father, at the appropriate time, as well as to the Queen’s guard, after we rendezvous.” Krek lifted his head, unfurling his silver-edged wings. “And to you, if you decide to join us.”

Valar took a slow breath, deep enough it caused his chest plates to expand. “I…I don’t know, Krek. I don’t know if I can face him. Even if I find the strength, I’m afraid of what I might do. Terrified of what I might say.”

Krek put his paw over Valar’s, squeezing it. “You would say only what had to be said. For good or ill, there are things you…you can only say to him. You have whimpered them under your mother’s wing, you have screamed them at the skies, and you have cried them into my feathers. But you can only truly free yourself from beneath his burden when you speak them to your father.”

The dragon swallowed. “I fear the things I would say to him, Krek. Whatever is left of the old bastard, I might well ruin.”

“I understand that, Valar. But I also know your heart, and I know your soul. There is deeper wisdom, love, and forgiveness inside you than any creature I have ever known. You made me a better person, once, and I have sought to follow your example ever since. And I would be remiss if I did not help you lift this lifelong burden from off your wings. This anger, this hatred you hold, it is an anchor around your heart, Valar, and you can never truly soar unless you shatter that chain. I cannot make you forgive him, I cannot even make you meet with him. But…I can try to make you understand why I believe it is so important. I can…” Krek trailed off. He worked his beak a few times, swallowing hard. “I can you tell about my father.”

Valar slowly lifted his head. “Did…did you ever…?”

Krek waved his paw, asking for the dragon’s silence. “I know we talked about our fathers in our youth, when we lay awake at night, unable to sleep. I think, in her way, your mother was glad you found me. So you’d have someone to connect with, back when you thought your father died for revenge, and I just wished mine was dead. When you met me, there was nothing in me but…bile, and bitterness.”

“You were a barely grown pile of fluff. Think you were driven by anger and hormones.” Valar chuckled, and stretched his neck to nose at Krek’s feathers. “Least you’re not as angry anymore.”

Krek gave him a little smile, bowing his head. “You helped me with that part, many years later.” He clicked his beak. “Did I ever tell you about my father, what he looked like? When I was young, very, very young, I wished I looked more like him.”

Valar shook his head. “Not really. Just that you took after your mother.”

“Almost completely.” Krek lifted a forepaw, staring at it. “My mother was black, almost head to tail. Like me. Her crown feathers, her flight feathers, they were a soft gray. Her own father, he had silver highlights, like I do. A common color in their clan. A small tribe, really, especially compared to father’s. About the only thing I did take from my father’s side was is my eyes.” Krek ground his beak, grimacing. “Even that’s more from his father. My grandfather on his side had the deepest green eyes. Only met him once, but he had eyes just like mine. Kra’thiss’ eyes were gold, mostly, but with green flecks. The same green as mine.” Krek stared at his paw a little longer, then slowly set it down. “When I was but a tiny fledging, I used to think if I looked more like my father, he would have wanted to spend more time with me.”

“Oh…Krek.” Valar whimpered, draping his wing across the gryphon’s back. “That’s…”

“I know.” Krek clacked his beak twice. “At that age, I didn’t know any better. I wanted to see him more, not less. I used to tell my mother, I wished I looked more like father, because then father would want to see us more often. Then she’d hold me and cry, and…I never knew why. Till I got older. Then I knew.” Krek ruffled his feathers, hissing. “Then I knew.”

“You hated him after that, didn’t you?” Valar’s wing tightened across him.

Krek leaned into the dragon’s warmth, grateful for the comfort. “As I got a little older, yes. When I saw what he doing to my mother.” He held his paw to silence any question. “He never harmed her, not physically anyway. Emotionally…it was never his intent. But…she loved me so much she named me after him. Krek’Sa’Krathiss. The son of the great war hero.” He worked his beak back and forth. Even the words tasted bitter against his tongue. “She was so deeply in love with him. She lived for his visits. And he’d come, and stay for a week, a month. He’d play with me like a good father, he’d fly with her, and for those short little happy bursts, we almost felt like a family. And each time, she hoped it would be the time he stayed with her. The time he’d take her as his mate, for the rest of their lives. And each time, when he’d had enough, he flew off again.” Krek waved his paw at the sky, growling. “Off to another of his many lovers, to leave my mother waiting again, waiting, and hoping, and staring at the sky.”

“He was…” Valar curled his tail, anger rising in his voice. “A real piece of shit.”

That brought a bitter laugh from the gryphon. “That’s what I started to think, as I got older. I didn’t want to play with him anymore, when he visited. I didn’t want to ride on his back, I didn’t want to roam the woods, I didn’t want him to take my flying. I think each time I turned him down, it hurt him a little more. After a few years, there was…a sadness in his eyes, that wasn’t there before. He spent more time with my mother, and for her benefit, I acted happy when he was with her. I wanted her to be happy. I think I knew, that…that he was never going to stay, and so I wanted to help her savor each visit, but I couldn’t bring myself to act like his son, anymore. I didn’t feel like his son. If he…if he wanted to spend time with me, why did he keep leaving? I told him once, when I was older, that mother wanted to be his mate. He sighed, stared at me a while, and finally, just told me he knew.” Krek balled up his forepaws, scrunching beneath them. “He left just the same, a few days later, and that was when I started hating him.”

“I…I can’t blame you there.”

Krek glanced at his friend, shaking his head. “No, I suppose not. When I was old enough to understand, I knew he had other lovers. Mother knew had other lovers. It’s not unusual for gryphons, at least not the clans I grew around. Having multiple partners is common enough, mating is meant to be enjoyed. But when one of those partnerships grows into love, it…it changes things. Usually when gryphons get older, that is when they are more likely to settle down with a single life mate, someone to share their life with, or raise a child with. That’s all mother wanted, to share a life with the male she loved. Every time Krathiss left her again for another of his conquests, it broke her heart all over again, and I hated him a little more. I used to think I must have been the only gryphon in all the land who despised him. I grew up hearing about all his successes, all his great victories, the way he saved all the clans, and helped bring them together.”

“He forged an alliance between your people and ours, right?” Valar licked his muzzle. “Dragons and gryphons, I mean. Not your tribe and mother’s.”

“Correct. I wish…” Krek flattened back his crown feathers. “I wish I could have appreciated that, growing up. But all I ever heard was, ‘oh, you’re Krathiss’ son? He slew that traitorous elder!’ Or, ‘Your father’s the one who averted war with the dragons!’ He was a hero, to all of us, and gryphons rightfully looked up to him! If not for his actions, the gryphon clans back home might still be locked in bloodshed with the dragons. Or dead. But I never saw a hero when I looked at him. I just saw a smug, heartless bastard who didn’t care about the hearts he broke or the children he left behind. Needless to say, when I learned about your father abandoning you, it struck a chord.”

Valar bowed his head, smiling. “As it did when I first heard about yours.”

“And yet, you were the one who taught me how to forgive.” Krek lifted a paw to ruffle the fur on his chest, brushing fingers over the old scar hidden beneath. “Even without ever meaning to. Even after what I did, even after the worthless little whelp I’d become, you forgave me. You…you saved me, and you…pulled me out of that downward spiral I’d fallen into. I could not have escaped it without you.”

“I just…did what seemed right at the time.”

“My point exactly.” The gryphon sighed, brushing his wings across the inside of Valar’s. “You know, when I left home, it was for my mother. Or so I imagined at the time. I…I couldn’t take watching her soul crack anew each time he left her behind. It hurt too much. For all the hatred I had for my father, I had equal love for my mother. She was so sweet and kind to me, gentle and loving. I told her later, that I was so glad I looked like her, and not like father, because inheriting her great beauty made me the most handsome gryphon in the clan.”

Valar set a paw on Krek’s, gently stroking the fine fur. “That sounds like you, yes.”

“Didn’t mean it smugly, at the time. It had just came to me that…one I told her I wished I looked like father, so he’d spend more time with us. And only later in life did I understand how that broke her heart. I wanted her to know that whether he stayed with her or not, she was beautiful, and I was proud to be her son. But I couldn’t…it wasn’t even that I couldn’t stand to see her heart break anymore. It was that the older I grew, and the more the anger and confusion of adolescence took of me, the more I hated him for what he did to my mother. I couldn’t stand to look at him, anymore. I couldn’t be around him, I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. And I knew if I stayed, I would…I would only be making it harder for him to visit. And mother might not get to see him anymore, and…I couldn’t do that to her. So I told her, that…I was going to go explore the world a while. Gave her time to process it, and we spent a few lovely weeks together, reminiscing, hunting, flying. She told me she knew, somewhere out there, was a wonderful mate just waiting for me. And that I would always be welcome with her, and so would any lover I ever had. I waited just long enough for father to arrive. Then I told my mother goodbye, I hugged her tight, and I went to see my father.”

Valar glanced away, lifting a paw to wipe his eyes. “What did you say to him?”

“Not much. Most of what I wanted to say, I…I didn’t want to make it hard on mother. So I just…told him…he might be a hero to everyone else, but he was no hero to me. Because he’d never been a father to me. I…didn’t tell him I hated him, I didn’t have to. He knew. He…He actually…” Krek took a shuddering breath, trying to steady his quaking voice. “He teared up. He…started to cry, and…I’d never him cry, before. He…tried to hug me, told me he was sorry, that he did the best he could, and…that he loved me, even if I didn’t. I pushed him away, and I took the sky. Called back to him that if he had any heart at all, he would make right by my mother. And then I left home.

“Didn’t return to that place for many years. And when I did, it was…only ever to see mother. I met you, in the years before I first returned, when all my anger and bitterness pulled me in the wrong direction. Found myself in a place where…I didn’t care if I lived, or died, didn’t care about anyone else, didn’t always see the point to living, anymore. Until this…” He traced a single claw down his chest, across the hidden scar. “Until you saved me.”

The dragon cupped Krek’s paw on his own, and gave it a squeeze. “Like I said. Just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Didn’t care if I lived or died until I was actually dying.” Krek shook his head, chuckling. “After your family took me in, it was as if…as if I was building my life anew, from the bottom up. I didn’t…I didn’t want to be angry all the time, anymore. When I learned about your father, and how…despite that, you had come to be this…this…” He ruffled his wings, chuckling. “You seemed like a great dragon to me, at the time, though you were not all that much older than you. You were already trying to protect human villages, making something important of your life. And what was I doing? Robbing them, and…wallowing in self-pity. I learned from you, over the years…that if you could push through your anger and your regret, and find kindness in yourself, then surely I could do the same. I…I modeled myself after you, you know.”

Valar pulled his head back, blinking. “What? What do you mean?”

“I knew that all that hatred inside me had turned me into a terrible person. There was a time, that if I saw a mob of bandits chasing people down, I might have thought to help myself to anything of value their victims had. I just…I didn’t care anymore. But you changed all that. All your honor and your kindness, it reminded me of…of the person my father should have been, and the person my mother was. I didn’t want to be… the thing I hated, I wanted to be better. I wanted to be like you. I wanted to do good things in the world. I didn’t want to be my father. And so one day, when I did see bandits chasing a woman, I did not hesitate. I knew I could help her and so I did. At the time, I didn’t know they were assassins, I didn’t know she was with child, and I sure as hell didn’t know she would be queen someday. I just wanted to do something good, and save a life. And so I did.”

“I…I didn’t know I…”

“You inspired that change in me, and you should be proud.” Krek swallowed, turning his eyes to the river. The water flowed, cold and steady. “You inspired a lot of changes in me. I…I wanted to be like you. I didn’t…I didn’t want to hate him, anymore. My father. In a way, I wanted to be like the best part of him, the part of him that did heroic things. I wanted to be better than him, and petty as that sounds, it nonetheless fueled some of my own actions later in life.” He chuckled, gesturing with a paw. “He made peace with tribes, I made peace with a nation. He ended a war, I averted four of them! He killed the elder gryphon plotting to seize control, and I slew three traitorous generals of an allied country to prevent their coup. Part of me…part me wanted to go home, and cram my success so far down his beak he choked on it. But whenever I thought about it…this little voice in the back of my head always told me the same thing. He’d be proud of me, if he knew what I’d become. He’d be proud. I was never sure if…if that made me happier or angrier. I told myself I didn’t want his pride, or his love, I just…I just wanted him to know how I felt, when I was young. I wanted him to understand my pain, and to…to regret filling me with it. To regret hurting mother so many times. But the older I got…the longer I knew you…I more often I…I wanted to…to…”

Valar sighed, his ears drooping. “You wanted to forgive him.”

“I wanted to forgive him. You inspired that in me, Valar. When…when at last I was able to let go of some of my anger, some of my bitterness…” He glanced at the dragon, ears back. “And make no mistake, it is folly to think you can let go of all of it. To this day, those feelings worm their way into my consciousness from time to time. But when I was able to release the worst of it, it struck me that…that I did want his love. I did want him to be proud of me. I did…I did want to forgive him. And I wanted him to know it.”

Krek took a shuddering breath, squeezing his paws against the sand. “Over the years, I had learned a lot about him, through visits with my mother, or talking with other gryphons. I knew that after the war, his fame brought him all kinds of females. Males too. I came to realize that…I wasn’t his only child. Not a surprise, at all. There were half a dozen of us, at least. I knew a bit about that growing up, but…I never really…wanted to meet them. Not with the way it hurt mother just knowing he had so many other lovers. But…what I later learned was…He was always with one of his children. He wasn’t…he wasn’t just…flitting from lover, to lover, he was…trying to spend his time, with his sons and his daughters. I learned, in time, that Kra’thiss loved all those females, and he loved all his children deeply. It tore him up inside, to…to leave them, each time he went to see another. He had grown to understand all too well the mistakes of his youth. Each time he visited another of his fledglings, he felt the same pain, the same hurt, knowing he had to leave them again, to see another. They were scattered amongst a half dozen different clans. What in his youth seemed like nothing more innocent mating romps on diplomatic visits became a shattered family he could never quite piece together. He loved all of us, and that was the pain I saw growing in his eyes, year by year. Knowing what he had done to us, knowing we…we would probably all growing up hating the father, who, despite his many, many mistakes, loved us just the same. When I learned that…I knew I had to go and find him, to offer him my forgiveness. To show him what I’d made of my life, to…give him something to be proud of. To tell him that…somewhere in my burnt out heart, I found love for him. That for every sin he ever committed against me, and my mother, I forgave him.”

Valar whimpered, his frills hanging limp. He blinked away a few unshed tears, rubbing the gryphon’s foreleg. “And now you want me to…to do the same. For my father.”

“I think, somewhere in your heart, you want to forgive him, too.”

The dragon grit his teeth, his wings shaking. “Did…did it help? When you returned to him? Did it mend your heart, did it…make up for anything?”

Krek squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know. When I finally worked up the nerve to return home, some years ago…I found out my father had died. A month or so, earlier.”

“Oh, Gods, Krek…” Valar sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, I…I didn’t…”

“You’re the first I’ve told. Never even told Kathlyn.” Krek swallowed back a sob, fighting to keep his voice level even as tears slipped out from clenched eyes. “I missed it, by…by a month, Valar. A month. He was…getting old. We don’t…live as long as you. His health was…declining, they said. It was peaceful, in his sleep. He’d settled down with a female. Wasn’t mother, but…at least one of them, and one of his children…knew him as father. I don’t know…what the others thought of him, but…but in the end, my father died, never knowing what I made of myself. Never knowing I forgave him, never knowing I loved him, never knowing I wanted to call him father again, just once. And it was because of me. Because of my anger, my hatred and…and my fear. If I’d gone earlier, I could have seen him again. He would have known I didn’t hate him anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Krek, I-”

“Don’t be sorry!” Krek jerked his head up, turning his gaze on the dragon. He twisted around and seized Valar’s paw, squeezing it tight. “Don’t you ever be sorry. Don’t regret when you could have acted. Don’t make my mistake, Valar. This could be your last chance to see your Father. Don’t stay here, wondering, wishing, debating it. Go and see him. If you miss this chance because you let your fear control you, because you let your anger, and your hatred hold so tight to your heart, you will regret it for all of your days. Please, Valar. Whatever you have in your heart, find a way to tell him. If there is anger in you, speak it to him. If there is forgiveness in you, tell him. If there is still love inside you for your father, then hug him tight, and tell him so. Take this opportunity, Valar. You can never make the past right, and he can never take back his actions. But you can start again. But hesitate, and you may never get another chance.”

A sudden sob wracked the dragon, and Krek pulled him into a hug. He wrapped his forelegs around Valar, and stretched his warm, feathery wings around his best friend in all the world. “Please, Valar. Not for me, and not for Valyrym. But for you. Go and see Valyrym again, while you still can.”

*****

Chapter Six

*****

Prince Elvir of Illandra sat inside the chamber known as the Sky Heart. Located deep within the castle, it was one of secretive and secure chambers in all the vast kingdom. Even the prince had never set foot in the place until recently, when his mother’s long absence left him in charge of the kingdom’s affairs in her stead. In the time since she left, he made the Sky Heart into his personal office, meeting only with those in which he had the deepest trust.

Elvir leaned back against his chair, sighing. How could he have been so wrong? He’d been asking himself the same question for weeks now. How could he have been so completely deceived by someone he thought a friend? Elvir balled up a fist, and ground it into his palm. Part of the problem, he was sure, was that his so-called friend didn’t see it as deception. No, he was sure that vile maggot truly believed he was doing what was best for the country.

Somehow, that made it worse.

The prince thumped his fist against the ebony table sitting before him. Stacks of leather bound folders wobbled. How long had it been now since Elvir first learned his childhood friend now sought to have his mother murdered? He grew up alongside Armadine, they gave each other strength in their darkest times, and now the nobleman stabled him in the back. Just the thought of it made his gut twist. After he saw the proof, it was days before he could even eat. Anger and disgust left him both nauseous, and ready to explode in fury at anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way.

A series of knocks on the door drew his attention. Elvir tilted his head, waiting for the next set with a hand on the loaded crossbow alongside his chair. When the second set of knocks sounded with the correct timing, he relinquished his grip on the weapon.

“Enter.”

The door cracked open, and a stone-faced guard peeked inside. Light glinted off armor as he glared at the prince. “Yer ‘sposed to keep this locked, your Highness.”

Elvir grunted, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair. Ivy leaves were carved into the black wood. “If an assassin manages to force his way past you lot, I don’t think a door lock is going to be his undoing.”

“Might give you time to get to the escape passage.”

“If you say so.” Elvir glanced across the room. Layers of turquoise paneling along the outer walls gave the room its namesake coloration. Hidden panels and recesses were everywhere. “I doubt I could even find the right latch in time, anyway.” He shook his head, snorting. “What did you want?”

“Salamander is here to see you.”

“Ah. Good.” Elvir moved piles of folders and stacks of documents to the side of his desk. “Send him in.”

“Yes Sir.”

The door opened, and the man now called Salamander walked through. He was larger than Elvir, if not quite as burly as some of his other bodyguards. Nonetheless, he was built like stone. He was also deceptively quick and accomplished with countless weapons. Though he officially held the rank of Captain, and stood as the head of the Dragon Warden division of the castle’s guards. Salamander served Elvir’s mother in more a secretive, intelligence-based role, reporting directly to the Queen. With the Queen away, and the dragon once held prison long since escaped, Salamander now reported only to the prince. He had other duties too, serving as Elvir’s personal bodyguard. He was also one of the few people like Elvir genuinely trusted.

“Welcome, Salamander.” Elvir gestured at the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Ugh.” The man shook his head, grimacing. “Do we gotta?”

Elvir arched a brow, holding back his smile. The more Salamander hated his new code name, the more amusement Elvir derived from using it. “You know Black Bird’s orders, Salamander. Code names only.”

“Like you ever listened to the gryphon.” Salamander scowled, gazing around. “Not like anyone can hear us in here, anyway.”

Elvir peered around the room. The Sky Heart was hidden away behind layers of corridors, hidden entrances, and walls and rooms designed to muffle sound. It was meant as a secure throne room, but hadn’t served that purpose in decades, at least. The chamber had two levels. The upper level was circular, paneled in turquoise. A domed ceiling held hidden crystalline skylights and angled mirrors designed to fill the room with much sunlight or moonlight as possible. The sunken floor of the lower level was tiled with marble, and ringed with elegant columns. The pillars were rare azurite, shades of dark blue cascaded from the ceiling to the floor. At the floor’s center was an immense sun of inlaid gold.

“No sense in risking it, though. What have you got there, Salamander?”

Salamander grimaced, retrieving the folder from under his arm. “Pretty sure Black Bird just gave me this name because he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” The prince laughed, shaking his head. “He hates me. He just called you Salamander because of the way you skulk about in dark places, privy to secrets. You know, like a salamander, slithering about in the damp, and the muck.”

“Salamanders don’t slither.” He tossed the folder on the table. “They crawl. And I’m not sure I like being associated with something that lives in the mud. Hell, I thought he gave me this name cause of my hair.” Salamander ruffled his short-cropped red hair, then scratched the red stubble on his chin. “Used to be tales about them being fire creatures, right?”

Elvir scrunched his face. “Hell if I know. Faery tales were always more mother’s sort of thing. No surprise the Black Bird would have picked up on them.” He reached for the folder, undoing the bindings. “Are you going to have a seat or not Salamander?”

With a long, frustrated sigh, Salamander eased himself into the chair. Elvir looked him over. As usual lately, the man bore no signs of rank, and none of the armor the prince was once accustomed to seeing him in. Instead, he wore a burgundy tunic with gold threatening down the sleeves, and dark gold breeches with black seams.

“Still not used to seeing you without your armor on all the time, Enric.”

“Ah hah! See, you used my name.” Enric folded his arms, smug. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Slip of the tongue.” Elvir shook his head, smirking. “Won’t happen again, I assure you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The prince opened the folder on the table, spreading out its contents. It was filled with sheets of parchment stamped with Illandra’s royal seal, each decorated with symbols for intelligence clearances. Some were stamped with the outline of a five-towered castle, others with a black feather. Elvir scanned some of the reports and information, growling under his breath.

“I don’t suppose you’ve found him yet.”

Salamander shifted, folding his arms. “No. I’m sorry. Traval’s good. Real good. As much as I like the idea of Armadine dying alone in some alleyway, I think we have to assume he’s survived. Traval probably had him out of this city by morning. With all the chaos of the dragon’s escape, he had plenty of chances to slip away. We tightened the net as soon as we knew, but he was probably already outside by then. Traval would have whisked him away as quick as possible because he had to know we’d be sending everyone out to find him.”

Elvir sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t surprised. Every day he hoped to hear they’d captured that monster in companion’s clothing, and every day he learned anew how unsuccessful they had been.

“I’m sorry, your Highness.” Salamander’s voice was soft, regretful, but his eyes lingered on Elvir’s face. Salamander was never one to look away. “If we knew earlier, we could have-”

“If I knew earlier.” Elvir slapped his hand against the desk, snarling. “This isn’t your fault, Enric, it’s mine.”

“With respect, Sir, it isn’t.” Salamander shook his head, still watching the prince. “The only ones at fault are the ones behind this treason. You might thinking missing his betrayal makes you culpable, but the only ones I blame are the ones who put this all in motion. There’s a hundred people we could blame, including me. Why didn’t we catch more of the spies earlier? We didn’t we realize Death in the Night had eyes inside the castle? But pointing the finger doesn’t get us any closer to stopping this plot, or saving your mother’s life. Or catching Armadine. Once he’s caught, once your mother is safe, you’ll have plenty of time to mope about and blame yourself for being friends with a traitorous asshole. For now, you need to focus on what’s most important.”

“I know. You’re, you’re right.” Elvir dragged his nails across the surface of his tail, gritting his teeth. “It just…it’s not getting any easier. Just…give me your update. Where do you think he’s fleeing to?”

“Home, I suspect.” Salamander leaned forward to flip to a page of the report. He tapped it. “Back to the Twenty Forth Province.”

“Why the hell would he go all the way to Aran’alia?”

“Loyalty, protection, family.” Salamander spread his hands. “We rule the province, but out there, his family considers themselves the highest authority. There’s no way they’ll ever turn him over, no matter what we accuse him of. We’d have to take him by force, and…that would lead to war against our own province. Hell, there’s a good chance they’re complicit in all of this. They stand to lose as much or more than anyone if your mother grants Aran’alia its independence.”

Elvir folded his hands back behind his head, his stomach a clenched knot. “If he’s going that far, we should send word to the border, to our men all across the nation. It’s a long journey, he can’t be that far along. Especially wounded.”

“Unfortunately, Sir, I don’t think they’ll be able to stop him. He’s unlikely to be taking any major roads. Maybe not even any roads at all. He’s probably halfway there already, if not further.”

“How the hell would a man with a mangled arm in need of serious medical care get so far, so fast?”

“Traval’s contacts.” Salamander flipped to a new page.

“Thought you’d rounded them up already?”

“Some of them. Others slipped out while they could. Others are…who knows, probably hiding out under the city, with the urd’thin.”

“You think he has urd’thin contacts?”

“He’d be a fool if he didn’t. He’s paid for a lot of loyalty, spread a lot of wealth across the city, and across the country. But it wasn’t urd’thin who helped them escape, I don’t think.”

The prince gave a long, frustrated sigh. “Feel free to skip to the point any time, Salamander.”

“Might get there faster if you quit callin’ me that.”

“I’ll go to the Hall of Records and have that made your permanent, given name if you keep it up.”

“Gryphons.” Salamander folded his arms again.

“What about them?”

“I think that’s how he escaped. With the help of gryphons. They’re big enough to carry a passenger, and they’re the fastest thing in the sky. Hell, look how fast Black Bird made it back here, and he was practically falling apart at the time. If they’ve got enough of them, and they’re traveling light, they could be practically to Aran’alia already.”

Elvir’s voice was flat as he stared across the table. “Gryphons. You think Armadine and Traval escaped on gryphons.”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“How the hell…” The prince rubbed his forehead, sighing. “The only gryphon in the city is Krek, and he’d have torn Armadine apart himself, given the chance.”

“There’s no law that says gryphons aren’t welcome here.” Salamander shrugged. “Hell, technically, there’s nothing that says dragons can’t visit the city, either.”

“Dragons can’t-”

“Just because we held Valyrym prisoner doesn’t mean there’s laws stating other dragons would not be allowed here, if they came with peaceful intent. Might raise a ruckus, sure.” Salamander waved a hand. “But if say, some peaceful dragon from a clan with access to valuable minerals and metals wanted to come here and trade, you think your mother would deny them?”

“No, but that’s getting off topic.” Elvir leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “A dragon in the city would raise a lot of alerts, for one thing, even peaceful. We’d know about it. We’d know about gryphons, too.” He faltered, glancing down at the various papers and reports. “Wouldn’t we?”

“Depends.” Salamander scratched at his reddish stubble. “Krek comes and goes in the middle of the night, at high altitude, landing the tower. Sure, he’s seen once in a while, but did you know he’s also been accompanied by others from time to time?” He circled a finger in the air. “Gave Valyrym’s son a tour of the city from above, once. How many people you think really watch the skies all night these days? And if you saw you saw a dragon circling in the middle of the night, right here in the heart of the kingdom, and tell you someone? The next question isn’t going to be, how big was it, or what color was it, it’s going to be how much did you have to drink?”

Elvir growled against grit teeth. As much as he hated to admit it, he had to admit Salamander was probably right. The man certainly had access to more intelligence briefings and reports than Elvir ever did until recently. Both his mother and her chief spy invested their trust in Salamander, and now Elvir had to do the same. He paged through a few reports, skimming the details. One page had detailed reliefs drawn upon it, of likely aerial infiltration and exfiltration routes into the city.

“Gryphons in the city, you think?”

“It’s possible.” He held up his hands. “Mind you, if they were in the city I’d say they’re gone now. Haven’t seen any sign of them.”

“Then why are you-”

“Because I know for a fact that Traval counts several bands of mercenary gryphons among his contacts. He’s paid exorbitantly for their loyalty, out of funds likely funneled away from those used by the Twenty Fourth Province.” He leaned forward, pointing to another page where witness reports were described. “And, I’ve recently obtained reports from a small village, well outside the town, indicating a group of at least half a dozen gryphons who showed up, paid to hire out an entire inn, and left a few days later with humans.”

“They bought an inn?”

“Rented, anyway.” Salamander leaned back in his seat, twisting up his face. “No one in that village had ever seen a gryphon before. Half the folks there thought they were under attack from beasts. But then went on to say, the gryphons speak fluent common, and fluent Illandran, were exceedingly polite, and paid exceedingly well.”

“What about the humans they left with?”

“Arrived in the middle of the night, at the inn the gryphons were staying in. Left with them first thing in the morning.”

The prince set the papers aside, leaning back. “I take it one of the humans was injured?”

“That’s the rumor. No one got a good look at any of them.”

“Let’s say it is them. Why would Traval meet them at a place like that? Why not…someone no one would see them?”

Salamander shrugged. “I doubt the gryphons gave him a choice. Was probably a prearranged meeting place, and he could do was send message that they needed emergency transport. Didn’t exactly have time for a back and forth debate about where to meet. Besides, Armadine’s actions left him standing atop a burning bridge, and all he could do was try to reach the other side in time. There’s no coming back here for either of them, now. He knows that. There’s only one place he’ll feel safe, and all know where that is. All he had to do was get Armadine there before we could stop them.”

“My mother trusts you for a reason, and so does the bird.” Elvir folded his arms, glaring at Salamander. “I do the same. What’s your estimation here, how likely is it that this happened?”

“Very.” Salamander tapped a finger against the paper. “It’s my direct belief that Traval used his contacts and his coin to slip out of the city, likely with some high paid surgeons and healers, and made their way to this village. From there, it’s likely they’ve traveled with gryphons, making as much haste as possible for the capital of Aran’alia.”

“So it’s not just spies, an army of infiltrators, and vengeful dragons allayed against us now, it’s gryphons, too.” The prince slapped his fist on the table. “Perfect. Is there anyone left on our side?” He jabbed his finger in the air. “And don’t say Krek. Or Valyrym.”

“Krek and Valyrym.” Salamander looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“I told you not to say that.”

“And I told you not to call me Salamander!” He grimaced, shaking his head. “God. I don’t even like being called Captain. Just go back to calling me Enric.”

Elvir gnashed his teeth. “I would but…I’ve been trying to train myself to think of everyone as their code names, just in case.”

Salamander folded his arms, scowling. “Gods-damned Black Bird and his Gods-damned codes for everything. How come you’re not stuck with a code name?”

“Because I’m the prince, and I said no.”

“Aren’t you the lucky sod.” Salamander snorted. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think the gryphon band is on Armadine’s side. At least, not ideologically. They’re mercenaries. They’re just providing a service. Once they’ve delivered him, they’ll take their coin and go.”

“Look into tracking them. Dig up whatever you can on these gryphons, see about having some of them caught. Maybe we can get something valuable out of them, or use them to snare Armadine in the future.”

“That’s going to be exceedingly difficult.”

“I don’t care. It’s worth looking into, at the least.”

“Understood. But be aware, actually attempting to capture them could result in causalities. They’re not going to come quietly, especially knowing they just transported your enemy.”

“That’s a good point. We don’t need to lose men, if we don’t have to. Tell you what.” Elvir fetched one of his own ledgers, and opened it up. He scribbled down a few notes and figures. “Try and look into hiring them, instead. If all they care about is coin, maybe enough of it will make it sell out their former clients.”

“Doubt it. That’s bad business.”

“Just look into it.” He passed the ledger to Enric. The man read the notes, nodded, and the prince closed it up. “So. What else? How much of Traval and Armadine’s network have you rounded up?”

“A good portion, I think. A lot of his personal men were killed by Valyrym, and a few more by the gryphon. Hell, even Vatch took out a few.” Salamander laughed, shaking his head.

“Who the hell is Vatch?”

“The urd’thin. Alia’s friend. Been showin’ him how to use that mace he bought. Glad it came in handy.”

“Ah, that one.” Elvir knit his fingers together. “He’s gone with the dragon, right? A shame, he sounds like he might have made you a useful agent. Maybe you should look into hiring some urd’thin. They must know the alleys and the sewers like no one else.” He tilted his head. “What about bigger prey? It’s unlikely Armadine is the only noble involved in the plot against my mother.” He unfolded his fingers again and jabbed one against the desk. Anger heated his face. “I want them all caught. If you plot against my country, you had better beg and pray that a lifetime in a cell is the worst you’ll see. That’s bad enough, but this is my mother, Enric. Knowing that dragon bitch wanted to kill her was one thing. But my own friends, my own confidants, plotting her death? I will not let that go.” Fire heated his voice, and spittle flecked his lips. He leaned forward, snarling. “You follow this poisoned vine to its end, and you rip it out by its roots. Leave no part of this to linger. Understand?”

“Absolutely Sir.” Salamander straightened up, then tilted his head. “About that. We were looking into connections that Armadine’s cousin might be involved.”

“Right.” Elvir took a deep breath, trying to quell the sudden, furious pounding of his heart. “Lord Asterbury. You mentioned he might be involved. He wasn’t exactly the most strident believer in Mother’s cause. Then again, few nobles are.”

“Yeah. Him.” Salamander folded his arms across his broad chest. “He’s dead.”

“What?” The prince straightened up, knitting his brow.

“Lord Asterbury is dead. Along with at least one of his bodyguards. Others have gone missing, and another’s gone into hiding.”

“Really?” He rubbed his chin, chewing on his lip. He had expected the noble houses to cause trouble, but he hadn’t thought they’d resort to openly resisting the Illandran royal guards, right here in the city. “What happened? Your men find something incriminating, and he tried to fight his way out?”

“Nope.” Enric shook his head. “Wasn’t us. He was murdered.”

Elvir blinked. The murder of a noble was a near monumental event, let alone such a murder occurring inside the capital. Ordinally, Elvir would have expected the rest of the house to be breaking down his door, demanding that the perpetrators be brought to justice. Doubly so if an Aran’alian was responsible, or if they thought they could earn political capital from it. The fact this was the first Elvir heard of it made the prince wary. It might mean that the rest of the noble houses of Aran’alia were aware of the plot against the Queen, and did not wish to do anything now to draw extra attention to themselves.

“Why haven’t I heard about this already?”

“Just found out myself this morning.” Salamander collected some of the papers, and arranged them again. Then he pushed one towards the prince. “Preliminary report. At first blush, looked like he was mugged. Think his family tried to suppress it, cause it’s an awful ignoble way to go.”

“Mugged. A noblemen.” Elvir glanced at the report, scowling. Multiple bodyguards dead or missing. He looked up at Enric, again. “It must have been a trap or something, if they took down his bodyguards, too. Death in the Night, perhaps? Asterbury’s family is one of the ruling houses of the Twenty Fourth Province. Death in the Night would love to cut down a few nobles.”

“Don’t think so.”

“And why not?”

“Because Lord Asterbury was murdered by an urd’thin.”

“An urd’thin.” Elvir’s voice was flat. “An urd’thin murdered a noble, and his bodyguards.”

“Yeah.”

“Gods, I can’t imagine the training an urd’thin would have to have to be able to take down an entire contingent of bodyguards. That almost means he has to be a Death in the Night agent, right?”

“That’s not what the report says.” Salamander inclined his head towards the desk.

“Why should I read that when I have you here to tell me all about it?”

“He wasn’t an agent. He was a looney.”

“What do you mean?”

“Witness saw part of it. One urd’thin, all alone. Slender, gray furred, clean clothes by urd’thin standards. But the urd’thin took the noble down, started stabbing him, and telling him how, the only thing he was ever gonna be remembered for, was being murdered in an alley, by an urd’thin.”

“God.” Elvir ran a hand down his face. “No wonder we haven’t heard from the House yet. Don’t think there could be a more embarrassing death for a noble than that. Maybe dying on the latrine.”

“A few other witnesses also saw that urd’thin later. Covered in blood, and…” Salamander scrunched his face.

“What is it?”

“They say he was wandering down the street, in a daze, singing.”

“The urd’thin killed a noble, and then started singing?” Elvir rocked back in his chair, incredulous. “You’re right, he is looney. Any chance your men have caught this crazy urd’thin? If Asterbury’s house is involved in the plot against mother, I’d be damn tempted to pin a medal on that blood-stained shirt.”

“No one’s seen him since. Probably vanished into the warrens.” Salamander waved his hand. “Weird thing is, they only found one bodyguard’s body. Couple others are missing, another seen running away from the scene, terrified. And there was sand, scattered around the alley.”

Elvir sighed, shaking his head. “That’s all very bizarre. Any chance the surviving bodyguard was involved?”

“Doubtful, but not impossible.” Salamander folded his arms. “The other dead man was busted up pretty bad. Mangled hand, fractured skull. Maybe the urd’thin was on something, at the time. Other guards mighta just cut and run, too, and now they’re afraid to resurface, in case Asterbury’s house tries to pin the blame on someone other than an urd’thin.”

Elvir clucked his tongue, glancing at a few other reports. One in particular caught his eye. He pushed it across the table. “What’s this? Some kind of…electrical storm?”

“Yeah, that’s real weird. Happened well outside of town. Guards on patrol said they say something like…well, they described it as a ball of lightning, up in the sky, way off in the distance in an unpopulated area. Went to investigate, and the whole ground was not only blackened, but torn up. Trees were gone, chunk of road was missing. Like this…lightning…thing just sorta…scooped up everything. Also said there was sand there, as if the grass got burned away to golden dust.”

The prince took a breath, and let a long sigh. “I hope you asked these guards how much they’d been drinking last night.”

Salamander laughed, and put the paper back with the rest. “I didn’t. Only got their report via messenger. But I dispatched a few men to go investigate, just in case.”

“Good. Keep me informed if they hear anything.” Elvir set his jaw, and gave Enric a long look. “You say there was sand there, too? Like in the alley?”

Salamander nodded once. “Mhm.”

Elvir waited for him to elaborate. Instead, Salamander’s gaze wandered for the first time. The prince grimaced. That never boded well. “I take it you’ve got more to tell me than you’ve put in the official report?”

“Not about the sand, or the lightning. Least not till I’ve heard more, myself. But…” He sighed, glancing down at his own boots. “I’m afraid we’ve confirmed the third slaying.”

“Damn it!” Elvir sat up, slamming his fist into the cover of a book hard enough to dent it, and leave his knuckles aching. “How many generals are we going to lose before we can put a stop to this?”

“Hopefully no more. Everyone’s had their security upgraded, some of them are in safe houses now. And the military’s already made the necessary promotions, and given the necessary briefings.”

“How disruptive is this going to be?”

“We think all messages were received, first, and all your orders carried out.”

Elvir sighed, leaning his head back. He closed his eyes. “That’s good, at the least. See if you can get ahold of his son. I want him taken care of.”

“Yes, Sir.” Silence hung in the air for a moment. “You should be aware, it’s likely that Death in the Night got ahold of some of the coded activation messages.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Elvir opened his eyes again, leveling his gaze at Salamander.

“Let’s hope not.”

“Enric?” The prince sharpened his tone. Much as he enjoyed needling the man with his code name, he needed to know. “Do we need to change course?”

“No.” Enric shook his head, his face hardening. “The gryphon’s right, Sir. In my estimation, this is the best course of action we can take to protect the country. Even if they discover what the code means, they won’t know what it’s ordering. And by the time they figure it out, it’ll be too late to stop it.”

“Good. Can we speed it up, or would that show our hand too soon?”

“I think the schedule is good as is, but…” Enric waved his hand, scowling. “Valyrym’s freedom must have rattled them, given all these sudden assassinations. It wouldn’t hurt to work on accelerating things a little. Just in case. I haven’t been briefed on how well its being implemented yet, but the first stage should be underway.”

“Excellent.” Elvir rose to his feet, and crossed the room. “I hope mother isn’t too upset about the wolves feeding.”

“At least if she is, she’ll be hearing about it from The Black Bird, not from you.”

“True enough! Let him feel her wrath, for once.”

“Oh, I think that gryphon’s felt your mother’s wrath plenty of times.”

Elvir chuckled, stepping up to the upper level. “I want a briefing by this afternoon, about the progress of my orders, and any possible obstructions. I want to be kept informed of all possible outcomes, so that we can prepare to deal with anything they threw at us, however unexpected.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The prince went to the wall, and slipped his hand into a recessed panel. He felt around, and flipped a hidden latch. Another panel opened up. He reached inside and retrieved an elaborate scroll case, covered in little dials and switches. Returning to his table, he set it down, and set about unlocking it. It took him a few attempts to remember the right combinations.

“Damn it. That stupid bird showed me how do this, and yet somehow, my hands don’t quite work as well for it as his stupid claws do.”

“It was made for him, after all.”

“Not helping, Enric.” When at last the scroll case popped up, Elvir retrieved the document from within. It was sealed in black wax, with a sigil of a feather embossed in it. He fetched a letter opener, slid it through the wax, and then opened up the scroll. He looked it over, then pushed it across the table. “I want this one initiated as well. I’ll fetch the proper documentation, but it already has mother’s signature, and Krek’s signature, just like the last one.”

“Very well. Another emergency action decree?”

“Correct. It’s another one that Krek showed me.” Elvir leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “He says this dragon, this…Wind That Carries. Has drawn entire clans of dragons into her sway. If all her plans fail, and her hidden army is forced into the light before their time, she may grow desperate. If in her desperation, she sends that army of dragons after us, I want to us to be ready. It might not be enough, but at least we’ll be prepared.”

“So which one is this?”

“Sky Piercer. It’s called Sky Piercer.”

*****

Chapter Seven

*****

Alia Silverrain could not stop smiling as she watched her beloved dragon take to the skies alongside his long estranged son. She doubted that there was anything in all the vast world that could have made Valyrym happier in that moment. Seeing him follow Valar to the sky buoyed her heart almost as much as it must have buoyed his. Alia knew that for far longer than she had known him, Valyrym hoped, dreamed, and prayed that one day, he would see his son again. It was that powerful hope that held his tattered soul together. Now, at long last, seeing that dream realized, seeing father flying alongside son for the very first time, it brought tears to her eyes. She watched their winged silhouettes cut against the deep blue sky until at last they were out of sight.

“That went well, I think!” A gryphon warbled nearby.

“Better than I could have ever hoped.” Alia turned to smile at the gryphon, wiping her eyes.

Jirr sat in the sun nearby, her gray-feathered wings draped across the grass. Blue tones mottled her flight feathers, as well as the fan of feathers around her tail, and the back of her neck. She clicked her dark beak, and tilted her head to return Alia’s smile. Gryphon expressions were still something Alia was learning to interrupt, but the gaping beak, shining eyes and perked ears were easy enough to understand. The back half of a gryphon’s beak was softer and more mobile than the rest, which helped them with speech and expressions alike.

“Yes, I’ve no stake in the matter but I must admit that was moving.” The gryphon blinked a few times, then stretched out her pale gray-furred forelegs. “Hard to say who just had the heavier stone removed from their heart, Soot’s old boyfriend, or your current lover.”

“Not long ago I would have said Valyrym, but…perhaps their burdens were equally heavy.” Alia glanced up at the sky again. By now, both dragons were but black blotches far above the trees. “Still trying to get used to everyone being so open about…” She waved a hand. “Everything.”

Jirr tilted her head, ruffling up her blue-speckled crown feathers. “Do you not like it when I call him your lover?”

“No, it’s fine.” Alia chuckled, a hint of heat warming her ears. “Just spent a long time having to hide it. It’s…it’s nice to able to be open about it, just…I guess old habits, and all that.”

The gryphon tilted her head the other way. “And all what?”

“Oh.” Alia tugged on her dress’s golden sleeves. “It’s all an expression. Nevermind.” She waved at the distant dragons. “So, you called Valar Krek’s old boyfriend.”

“Did you not know they were lovers?” Jirr gave a little squawk. “That was quite some time ago, but, I hope you’re not against the idea because one’s a dragon and one’s a gryphon.”

Alia laughed, shaking her head. “I’d hardly be one to judge that sort of relationship.”

“Ah, so it’s because they’re both male, then?” The gryphon warbled, ruffling her wings. “There’s nothing wrong with creatures of the same sex coming to love one another, you know.”

“Oh, I agree.” Alia folded her arms, grinning. “If you’re trying to find a way to rile me up, it’s working. A person should be allowed to love whoever they love, and that’s that.”

“Hrrrmph!” Jirr shook herself, fluffing up her feathers. Then she chirruped laughter. “Actually I was trying to rile you. As glad as I am to see you don’t hold any such objections, I think I’d have more fun if you got all stuffy and indignant about it like some humans.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, then.” Alia shaded her eyes, gazing across the horizon, above the forests. She expected Krek to return soon. “I only brought it up because, while I knew they were lovers, I didn’t really know how close they were. Whether they were just casual lovers, or if it was something deeper for them.”

“First one.” Jirr lifted a forepaw and unsheathed a single claw, then flicked a second claw out. “Then the other. Or so it was explained to me. Of course, they’ve known each other far longer than I’ve known either of them, so you’d best get the story straight from Soot’s beak. Or Valar’s muzzle, if you prefer the truth to exaggeration.”

“Krek does enjoy stretching the truth to suit his needs.” Alia crouched down, plucking a bright golden dandelion blossom. She straightened up and smelled it, savoring the sweet aroma. “I thought Valyrym had an ego, until I met Krek. You’re only the second gryphon I’ve met, and I must admit to being curious if that ego comes with the territory or if that’s solely a Krek trait.” She blinked, realizing what she’d said. “Sorry, I hope that didn’t sound rude. That’s not the way I meant things.”

“Nonsense!” Jirr stretched her wings, her blue-dusted flight feathers splayed. “Gryphons are perhaps the most difficult people to offend. We’re quite open minded, playful, quick-witted, enjoy a good barb and a good mating, a good drink, fun company…why in short, we’re a delight.”

A smile twitched at Alia’s lips. “So the vanity comes with the feathers, then.”

Jirr chirped and nodded, ears perked. “Now you’re getting it. I can’t speak for all gryphons, but about the only way you’ll offend me is if you’ve done it on purpose. But yes, old Soot’s ego definitely outweighs the rest of us.” She warbled, folding her wings again. “Probably combined!”

“At the least.” Alia turned, gazing across the expansive grounds surrounding the inn. Late-season wildflowers swayed in the breeze, and dilapidated barns creaked as the wind blow through them. The breeze carried with it the rich, earthy scent of the forest that surrounded the area. Alia doubted it would be long before the fiery colors of autumn swirled through the woods beyond the inn. “So, how did you come to live in a place like this? Just needed the isolation for your…” She waved her dandelion in the air. “Mercenary operations?”

“Basically, yes.” Jirr tilted her head, gazing back at the blue-painted inn. The breeze ruffled her feathers. “The place used to be called Sword’s Home. Don’t know how old the original farmstead is.” She inclined her beak towards some of the abandoned buildings. “Was a farm first, I think, and then a working inn. But I doubt they got a lot of traffic out here, even before Illandra’s expansion led to so many new trade roads opening up.”

“So Sword’s Home was the name of the inn?”

Jirr shifted a wing, preening at its leading edge. “I think so.” She spat a feather. “An old partner of mine used to own it. A human woman like you, but a mercenary, like me.”

“A human like me? You mean Aran’alian?”

“That’s the one, yes.” Jirr folded her wing back. “Started as her mercenary band, were a few more humans back then, and along the way, I brought some of my companions into the fold, and so on. Changed the name to Wing’s Rest when I took ownership of the place, as by then it was mostly just us gryphons.”

“Is it still just you gryphons?”

Jirr gave her a smile. “Mostly.”

“What happened to your old partner, then?” Alia flicked the dandelion away, then picked another. “Nothing bad, I hope?”

“No, no, she’s fine.” The gryphon preened her other wing, arranging her feathers, only for the breeze to rustle them up again. Unperturbed, she continued her attentions. “She just decided to retire from the life while she had the chance. We’d just completed a very challenging, very lucrative operation, and she wanted to use her portion of our pay to go and relax a while. I suspect she’s also found other, shall we say, opportunities, but I don’t like to pry.”

“And I’m sure there’s only so many details you can divulge, anyway.” Alia rolled the dandelion stem back and forth between her hands.

“Right you are!” She set her wing back, then twisted her head to glare at the other one. With her ears back and her eyes narrowed, the gryphon looked as if her own wing had just offended her.

“Can I ask what that last operation was? I’ve no idea what sort of things gryphon mercenaries might do.”

“Escort missions, mostly. We travel with trade caravans, wealthy merchants, keep them safe in dangerous areas. A group of bandits might be willing to push their luck against a contingent of human guards, but they’re less likely to try and risk their lives against a half dozen armored gryphons.” Jirr clicked her beak, then pulled free an obtrusive feather. She spat it, and arranged its neighbors again.

“I can only imagine. Then again, I wouldn’t even know how to go about contacting a gryphon mercenary, even if I had too.” Alia tossed the dandelion into the wind. It topped through the air and fell back to the grass. “I notice you didn’t answer about your last operation with your old partner. That secret, hmm?”

“A rescue, actually.” Jirr turned her head to fix her gaze on Alia, a dangerous, mischievous glint in her eyes. “A dragon, in fact. Took our hold band.” She swished her forepaw around in the air. “Was a young adult dragon, caught way down south. Doing things he shouldn’t have been, in places he shouldn’t have been. Wasn’t our concern, of course. They were going to sell him to some royal or another, no doubt to try and make him into some kind of…mount or guard dog or who knows what royals do with dragons.” She tapped a single claw against her beak. “Come to think of it, I’m a bit surprised your lover didn’t end up that Queen’s mount or something.”

“You rescued a dragon?” Alia’s brows raised. That sounds like a magnificent adventure. In fact it sounded so magnificent, Alia half-thought Jirr was making it up. Though the female gryphon had shown great generosity and kindness, Alia wasn’t yet sure that Jirr was telling her the truth about much of anything. Krek had made it clear they were safe here, and that he trusted Jirr with their lives and his own, but aside from that honesty often seemed in question. She got the feeling that Krek and Jirr were mutually assisting one another, but that their interests overall might not overlap. “That sounds like a hell of a story!”

“And so it is!” The gryphon warbled, fluffing up every feather she had. “One of our greatest triumphs, I think! No causalities on our side, and we freed the dragon and got him safely back to his family. Why, even old Soot had a hand in that one.”

Alia blinked, tilting her head. If Krek was involved, maybe there was more truth to the tale than she realized. “He was part of your group?”

“Never officially.” Jirr shook her head, ears splayed. “Unofficially, though, he participated in more than few of our expeditions. He’s a wealth of knowledge hidden away in that head, assuming you can find it beneath all that ego. One of his covers while serving as the Queen’s spy, was that of a mercenary in our band. Had all the papers and documents to show for it. That’s where the name Soot came from, in fact. His cover story was that he was raised in a village alongside humans, an orphaned gryphon they took in. They named him Soot because they didn’t know any gryphon names, and he’s dark as the inside of a chimney. If you really want to prickle his pinfeathers, wait till the wind’s rustled him up, and tell him he looks like a chimney brush.”

Alia laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll keep that one in reserve, for when he’s really rattling me. So, Valyrym thinks you and him are mates….or…were…I mean, that’s…sorry, is that something I should even ask about?”

Jirr chirruped laughter. “I told you, you can ask what you want. We weren’t ever mates, but we were definitely lovers, on many occasions.” She lifted a paw, shaking a single unsheathed talon at Alia. “I will never, ever say this around him, but he is a very handsome male. And he does know how to make a female very happy. I can only assume he does the same for his male companions. If he wasn’t so attached to that Queen, I’d see about dragging him onto the floor with me while he’s here. Who knows, perhaps I still will! They used to be open with their relationship, you know. A bit like Valar and his mate.”

Alia fought to keep her jaw from dropping. Gryphons were even more open about things than she realized it. Part of her found it incredibly refreshing. The rest of her was left spinning, and wondering if that part about the Queen was true. Not that it was any of Alia’s business, but it was fascinating. It wasn’t often she was privy to gossip, let alone gossip involving a monarch, and a gryphon. She worked her jaw a few times, but couldn’t quite find the strength to close her mouth, or the willpower to form words.

“I’m sorry, Dear.” The gryphon tilted her head. “Have I broken you? I forgot how repressed humans can be. Though, you’d think you’d be less so, considering you and that dragon-”

“I’m not repressed,” Alia said, fighting back laughter. “Just not quite used to hearing that sort of thing blurted out. I’m still trying to figure out how much of that is nonsense and how much the truth.”

“That’s the game, isn’t it?” Jirr shook her wings, perking her ears. “That’s what makes it fun.”

“Suppose you’re right.” Alia smiled. “You gryphons do seem to know how to have fun. I hope Krek’s not overdoing it with his stitches, though.”

“I did offer to hunt for him, but I don’t think his pride would allow him to accept.” Jirr swept her tail across the grass, grinning. “Perhaps next time I’ll just snatch his balls in my paw, and tell him he’ll stay here and rest, or next time my grip won’t be so gentle.”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Alia giggled, shrugging. “Not you, anyway.”

“I think he likes it, though. Sometimes a female just has to show a male he’s not always as tough or in command as he thinks he is.” She lifted her paw, examining it. “I suspect that queen of his keeps him in line when he’s home, and so when she’s not around, someone else has to do it. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if that woman doesn’t secretly lead Soot around on a leash, walking him down the castle halls.”

That mental had Alia laughing again. “Oh, I’m going to have to mention that to him later. But not until Valar and Valyrym are back, so they can hear it too.” Alia turned, glancing at the blue-painted building behind her. “Speaking of keeping people in line, I’d better go check on poor Vatchy.”

“Why’s he in there by himself?” Jirr waggled a few unsheathed talons in the air. “I’m not going to eat him, I already told him, urd’thin are stringy and bitter.”

“Probably because you told him urd’thin are stringy and bitter.”

“I thought urd’thin had better senses of humor that that.” She set her paw down, shrugging her wings. “You should tell him to stay out of the blue crystal decanter.”

“Why?” Alia started towards the back door, knitting her brows. “It’s not poisonous, is it?”

“Not in small measures.” She gestured with a wing. “It’s a sort of…hallucinogenic, for gryphons. Not sure what it would do to a smaller creature with a smaller liver.”

“I’m gonna go make sure he’s not drinking it, then.”

Alia hurried away from the gryphon, and pushed open the inn’s back door. The doorway led to a vestibule with hooks for hanging cloaks and coats, and another door led her into the inn’s expansive former tavern. Arched oak crossbeams spanned the vaulted ceiling. Wooden panels carved with intricate feather designs lined the walls. Brass lamp fixtures hanging from chains shed plenty of waving, orange light. A broad hearth built of uneven limestone blocks charred with soot occupied one end of the tavern. Braziers burned incense, and the scents of cinnamon and clove filled the room.

The many tables and chairs that once filled the room were now stacked up alongside a single wall. In their place were several padded recliners, and a half dozen larger pieces of furniture Alia had taken to calling “gryphon chairs.” To Alia, they looked a bit like an odd couch, elevated and slightly angled, and heavily padded. The gryphons called them loungers. At the far side, a long, polished mahogany bar stretched along one side of the tavern, with cushioned stools in front of it.

“Alia!” A slightly voice called out from the bar. “Scary gryphon not come in?”

Laughing, Alia turned towards the bar. “No, Vatch. Scary gryphon not come in.”

“That relief.” Vatch sat atop the bar, his furry feet dangling over the edge. “Look what I find!” The urd’thin tugged on the voluminous black clothing covering him. “Was in storeroom. Vatch have fancy robe now, like big important minister!”

Alia crossed the room to the bar, tilting her head. “I don’t think tha’ts a robe, Vatch. I think it’s a really big shirt.” Alia stopped alongside the bar, examining the fabric. The black sleeves were hemmed in gold, as was the bottom of it, where it hung just above Vatch’s feet. Fluffy, chocolate-brown fur spilled out from every available opening. “For a Koraa’gi or something, maybe.”

“Yes, yes, Vatch very fancy now.” He gave a dismissive way, his big furry ears splayed around his head. “Vatch have many important meetings on agenda. Alia have appointment?”

Giggling, Alia leaned over the bar to look behind him. Vatch’s bushy brown tail protruded from a ragged hole in the back of the garment. “Did you cut a hole for your tail?”

“Tail must be free, Alia.” He shook a finger at her, then made a show of wagging his tail. “Free tail is happy tail!”

“Can’t argue with that.” Alia patted Vatch on the head, then ruffled up the fur between his little black horns. “You’re adorable, Vatch.”

“No ruffle Vatch!” The urd’thin swatted Alia’s hands away. His muzzle twisted in a snarl, ears pinned back. “Vatch bite many times!”

“Uh huh, suuure you will.” Alia tweaked Vatch’s ear. “You’re such a cute little mugger.”

Vatch barked laughter, shaking a finger at her. “One time. One time I try mug you. Vatch think, maybe after be big hero, not be called mugger anymore!”

“Aww, you’ll always be a murderous little villain to me.”

“Don’t make Vatch get stick!”

Alia scrunched up her face. “I hope you washed the blood off that thing.”

“No, blood is good intimidator! Bad guys see blood, they know Vatch is big bad warrior!” Vatch leaned over and picked up a wooden mug, then slurped from it.

Alia peered across the counter. A whole array of casks, barrels, bottles and decanters sat along shelves and racks. She spotted one made of blue crystal, and glanced over at Vatch. “What are you drinking? It’s not from that blue decanter, is it?”

“No.” Vatch shook his head, swishing his tail. “Vatch smell that. It smell like herbs. Who want drink what smell like herbs? This just ale. Why you ask?” The urd’thin tilted his head, one ear up. “Gryphon say we help selves to all, yes?”

“She did. But she also told me that blue one is for gryphons only. It’s got something in it. Something hallucinatory, from the sounds of it. So stay out of it. It could be dangerous to anything that isn’t a gryphon.”

The urd’thin scrunched up his muzzle, flattening back his ears again. “Vatch not want that. Enough happen when Vatch just drunk!”

“Oh it does, does it?” Alia folded her arms, grinning.

“Yes! Remember Alia going away party? Everyone drunk in tub?” Vatch sipped his ale, and gave Alia a solemn look. “Vatch pretty sure he sleep with crazy lady that night.”

Alia burst into laughter. She went around behind the bar to fetch herself a mug. “I’m pretty sure Vatch didn’t sleep with her, but feel free to keep dreaming.”

“Why must be funny?” Vatch ran a brown-furred hand down his body, slimming the oversized “robe” against himself. “Vatch can be very sexy.”

Laughing, Alia rubbed the silken fur of the urd’thin’s ear. “Yes, Vatch, you’re very sexy.” She poured herself some ale, and took a drink. It tasted a little too bitter and herbal for her liking, but she wasn’t exactly in a position to be picky. She doubted Jirr got many non-gryphons guests out here, unless they were here to hire her mercenary flock. “Did you see Valar went to talk to his father?”

Vatch perked his ears. “Yes! Vatch see through window. It very happy when they hug and fly away.” Smiling, Vatch stared into his ale. He swirled it in his mug. “Vatch maybe cry just a little.”

“Just a little, huh? I bet you were just finished drying your fur when I came back in.”

“Maybe more than little.” Vatch gulped some ale and wiped froth from his muzzle. “How long you think we stay here before travel again?”

“Hard to say. Probably no more than a few days, at most.” Alia ran her fingers against the bar. The wood was scuffed and dented from years of use, but smooth. “Krek wants to talk to the dragons about our routes, and how far we think we can travel each, but he wanted to give them time to get to know each other a little, first.”

“More like he want give time to rest old wings!” Vatch put a hand on his back, wobbling back and forth. “Oh, Alia, wings not hurt at all, I totally fine, ignore whimpers, they just for show, I go pass out now.”

Alia took another drink, grinning. “Don’t let him hear you talking about him that way.”

Vatch lifted one ear, flattening the other back in a gesture Alia had come to recognize as an urd’thin smirk. “Or what? He give Vatch too many snuggles?” He waved his hand. “Old dragon big softy.”

“Yeah.” Alia drummed her fingers on her mug. “He really is, isn’t he? And you’re probably right. If he wants to punish you he’ll just cart you around in his foreleg like a stuffed toy in front of everyone.”

“Urd’thin not stuffed toy!” Vatch glared at her, his little fangs bared.

“Yes, I know, you’re ferocious warriors, and you’ve the blood-stained mace to prove it.” Alia set her mug down, and perused the selection of alcohol. She picked up a glass bottle with a faded label. “This is old. Really old.” She set it aside, and looked over a few more. Then she spotted a barrel labeled rum, and went to examine it. She wiped dust off the date and distilling locations carved into the wood. “This is older. Hell, this is the oldest barrel I’ve ever seen. Probably been sitting here since this inn was built. Bet Valyrym would love this.” Alia glanced back at the urd’thin. “Think Valar likes rum too?”

Vatch shrugged, finishing off his ale. He set the mug aside. “Why not? He do everything else like old dragon.” He pointed to a door nearby. “Is many more back there.”

Alia straightened up and turned to the door. Like the front entry, the main halls, and most of the doors, it was long since renovated and expanded to easily fit creatures the size of gryphons. Alia fetched a lamp, then pushed the door open and walked through. Along one side of the wall were a few smaller hearths and cook stoves set into a stone counter. Stacks of old pots and pans rested on the floor. Crates filled with platters and bowls were stacked up against another wall. A few dozen more barrels of ale, wine, and spirits took up the rest of the room. A few insects scuttled away from the lanterns’ dancing orange light.

“Looks like this was the original inn’s kitchen. Basically a storeroom now, lots more booze, though.”

“Still not enough last old dragon long if he find out.” Vatch hopped off the ground and walked in after her.

Alia lifted her lantern, peering up into the corners. Immense, tangled webs spanned a few of them. A bright yellow spider with black spots on its long legs peered back at her, lamplight glinting off myriad tiny eyes. “Hey, Vatch. That’s not one of those venomous spiders, is it?”

“All spider venomous.”

“You know what I mean. Is that one dangerous?”

Vatch licked his muzzle, tilting his head back to stare up at the web. “How Vatch know?”

“You knew about those dangerous ones, back in the warrens.”

“Cause Vatch grow up there!” Vatch vanished through the door, and soon returned with his flanged, white oak mace. Contrary to his statements, Alia was glad to see it was in fact, clean. “Vatch never been outside city till we flee. Not know anything about country spider.” He lifted his mace. “You want Vatch squish it?”

Giggling, Alia ruffled his fur between his ridged black horns. “You’d have to climb up all those barrels and jump just to reach it.”

Vatch swatted her hand away. “No ruffle Vatch!”

“Besides, it would probably jump on your face.”

The urd’thin flattened his ears. “That make Vatch fur bristle. But Vatch not scared.” He thumped his mace against his palm. “Vatch big hero.”

“And don’t you just look heroic in your stolen nightie.”

Vatch scrunched his muzzle, ears flattening back. “What means nightie? Vatch think he not like this.”

Alia pushed into the room, leaving the spider be. “You know what we should get you? Some armor.” She dusted off a few bottles, examining their labels. “Don’t know when we might actually have the chance, but a brave hero needs armor, don’t you think?”

“Yes! Vatch want much armor. This sound very good.” The urd’thin clambered up onto a crate to examine the contents of a shelf. “Much shiny metal!”

“Normally, I don’t think armor is very shiny. Unless it’s new. Or ceremonial.” Alia made her way towards the corner, where several barrels sat clustered together. “Unless you get something like Krek’s. But his is forged from very rare ores, as far as I know. To say nothing of being crafted by Illandra’s finest smiths. I rather doubt we could afford that for you.” She glanced back at Vatch, grinning. “Besides, metal armor would be too heavy for you.”

“Oh, because Vatch little, he too small for metal armor?” Vatch growled and flicked his tail.

“Oh, hush, you silly pup.”

“Vatch not pup!” The urd’thin barked laughter, then hopped across an old fire pit onto another section of counter. “What armor you really think be good for Vatch?”

“Maybe some chain mail. Have to get lots of padding under it though, to make sure it doesn’t pinch your fur all over.” Alia slipped between two barrels to check the labels on those behind them. “Or some leather, with metal studs.”

“Vatch is big stud, that true.”

“That too.” Alia grunted, shifting a barrel aside to inspect the markings on another. The movement brushed away some of the dust on the floor, and she noticed a seam in the wood beneath her feet. She crouched down, and ran her fingers along it, following it to another barrel. Alia turned, studying the floor, and soon found a few more seams. “Looks like there’s an old trap door here.”

“Oooh, big exciting secret.” Vatch hopped off the counter, and padded over.

“I wouldn’t get too carried away. It’s probably an old root cellar.” Alia straightened up, glancing at the urd’thin. “Then again, if it isn’t, I rather doubt Jirr would appreciate us poking around in her inn’s old secrets.”

“Aww, but Vatch want see what down there.”

“We could ask Jirr.” Alia folded her arms, thinking it over.

“She say we make selves at home, yes? If this Vatch home, Vatch want know what in creepy basement!”

“I’ve worked in inns, Vatch. There’s usually nothing creepy down there.” Alia gestured him over to help move a few barrels. “I guess taking a peek wouldn’t hurt. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been down there in years, given all the dust on these barrels covering it up.”

Together, they managed to move the heavy casks out of the way, clearing just enough space to expose the trap door in the floor. Alia found the latch, and pulled the door open. It swung up easily than she expected, and revealed a staircase leading into a basement. She crouched down and pushed her lamp into the opening. At the bottom of the stairway was a door.

“Hmm…this isn’t big enough for Jirr to fit, anyway.” Alia glanced at Vatch, and when the urd’thin nodded and swished his tail in excitement, she sighed. “Alright, fine. We’ll see what’s down here.”

“Is no worries, Alia.” Vatch thumped his mace against his palm. “Vatch have stick.”

“I wouldn’t be worried unless there’s something down here you actually have to use it on.” Alia started down the stairs. They were narrow, and creaked under her weight. “I’ve no idea what sort of dangerous animals might live out in the country, here.”

“Probably just snakes, spiders, scorpions….badger…rabid death bear…” Vatch padded down behind her.

“There’s no such thing as a rabid death bear.”

“If bear is rabid, he be very deadly.”

“Suppose you have a point.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Alia stopped at a gray painted door. She brushed her fingers across it. Some of the paint flecked away and clung to her skin. Alia held up her lantern, and in the orange light, the gray paint shone almost silver. Near the center of the door, there was a small carving. Alia traced her finger across the curved edges of it. It looked akin to a raindrop. A tingle ran down Alia’s back, prickling up the hairs on the back of her neck. She took a step back, holding her lamp up near the carving. It was definitely a raindrop, with the bottom carved into a crescent blade.

“This is a Death in the Night symbol.”

“What?” Vatch squeezed up alongside here. “Where?”

“Here.” Alia pointed it out to him, glancing down. Vatch’s dark eyes gleamed with flickering flame. “See? It’s just like the banners they hung in the Silver Rain district.”

“Ooooooh.” Vatch licked his muzzle. “Why you think is here?”

“I’ve no idea. It’s a very out of the way place.” She tugged on Vatch’s gold-hemmed black sleeve. “If this is some koraa’gi shirt, maybe some of their agents used to meet here. I saw some koraa’gi with Death in the Night guards back in the city.”

“We see what inside, yes?” Vatch clasped the handle, but it would not turn. He jiggled and shook it, growling. “Is lock!”

“Can you pick it?”

“What you think Vatch is, thief?”

“No, you’re right.” Alia shook her head, smirking. “You made a terrible thief.”

“Very funny! Maybe we can-”

“You just had to go snooping around, didn’t you!” An angry gryphon’s voice echoed down the stairs.

Alia whirled around, heart hammering. Jirr loomed over the exit to the stairwell, barely silhouetted against the dim light beyond. “We…we were only curious! We just thought-”

“All you had to do was stay out of the basement!” She clacked her beak, hissing. “Now you know my secret, and I can’t let you leave.”

“Jirr, wait a minute!” Alia started up the stairs.

“This is your fault! I didn’t want this to happen, but now I’m going to have to kill the others, too!” Jirr slammed the trap door shut.

“Damn it, Jirr, don’t do this!” Alia grabbed Vatch’s hand, taking the stairs two at a time. “Help me get this open before she weights it down!”

Just as Alia reached the trap door, it flew open again, and Jirr backed away, warbling raucous gryphon laughter. “Oooh, you really fell for it! I got you good!”

Alia hurried out while the door was open, then stumbled to a halt. “You…wait, what?”

“S’only a prank.” Jirr flopped onto her haunches, clapping her forepaws and warbling again. “You should have seen the look on your face! You really thought I was going to trap you down there!”

“You….you…” Alia stomped her sandaled foot, turn between relief and fury. “If you were my size, I’d punch you right now!”

“Oh go on then, if it’ll make you feel better.” Jirr inclined her head. “Only on the shoulder, though.”

Alia punched the gryphon on the shoulder as hard as she could. The impact sent a jolt of pain up her arm, but the loud, high pitched squawk she got from the gryphon made the discomfort worth it. She shook out her hand, grimacing. “That wasn’t funny!”

“Nonsense, it was hilarious.” Jirr rubbed her shoulder with her other forepaw, leaning against her haunches. “If it was Krek trapped down there and terrified, you’d have been laughing your ass off alongside me.”

Vatch stormed up alongside Alia, poking Jirr in belly with his mace. “That not funny! You scare Vatch! You scare Alia!”

Jirr tilted her head, clicking her dark beak. “Oh, don’t be angry, little Treat. It was only a bit of fun. You must admit, you two opened yourself up for a comeuppance when you decided to start prying into this place’s darkest corners. All you had to do was ask, I’d have told you what was down there, to the best of my knowledge. I’d have let you go see, too. You can back down if you want. I won’t close the trapdoor again.” She smiled, her ears up. “Probably.”

Alia shot Vatch a glare. “Told you we should have asked.” Then she turned her attention back to the gryphon. She set her lantern aside, and folded her arms. “So what is down there?”

“I’ve no idea.” Jirr chirruped and turned away, flicking Vatch with her tufted tail. “I can’t fit down those stairs!”

Vatch yelped and swatted her tail away.

“But you said…” Alia grit her teeth. She doubted she was ever going to get the whole truth from Jirr, if Jirr even had it to offer. Arguing with the gryphon wasn’t to do her any good. She picked up her lantern and followed after her. “There’s a Death In the Night marked door at the end of the stairwell.”

“Yes, I know, but I haven’t any clue what they might have left behind down there.” Jirr slipped back out into the main room.

Alia put her arm around Vatch, and gave him a reassuring squeeze as they followed the gryphon. “What does that mean? Was this place some kind of Death in the Night safe house? Was your mercenary band part of them?”

Out in the main room, Jirr settled onto her haunches. “So many questions all of a sudden. If I was you.” Jirr flicked a single claw out. “I’d not trouble myself with matters that aren’t going to matter in the long term.” She shook her head, ruffling up her feathers. “It wasn’t a safe house, as far as I know, but some of their agents used to meet here, back when my old partner was running our outfit. And if we were part of Death in the Night, we wouldn’t be mercenaries, would we? We’d be Death in the Night agents. We worked for them, not with them.”

“You worked for-”

“Are you just going to repeat things back at me all afternoon?” Jirr tilted her head, flaring up her blue-speckled crown feathers. “We’re mercenaries. You do understand what mercenaries do, don’t you? We work for whoever pays the best. Usually, that’s wealthy merchants, but once in a while, that’s dragons who need their child rescued, or a rebel army.” She shrugged her wings. “Or a Queen. Soot understands. You think he’s never assisted Death in the Night?”

Alia sharpened her tone. “Krek works for Illandra. Not Death in the Night, or whoever pays him most.”

Jirr only warbled, tossing her head. “No, no, no. Krek works for his Queen. He’d be happy to let Illandra burn, if not for her.”

“I think you’ve misjudged him.” Alia folded her arms, though even as the words slipped from her tongue, she wasn’t so sure.

“Yes, I’m sure our years of alliances and lovers meetings have left me a far poorer judge of his heart that you, with your…what is it now, a month of friendship?” She clicked her beak three times, tapping a claw against the floor. “He spent his adolescent years growing up alongside Valar. The Wind That Carries was like a surrogate mother to him. Her family is his family. He served with Death in the Night, for a time. How do you think he started building so many connections Illandra later had him exploit? Yes, he works for Illandra, and he serves them as their loyal wings. But you think that loyalty is to the kingdom of Illandra, you are sorely mistaken.” Jirr held up a single talon again. “Krek’s only loyalty is to the woman he loves. If I know Krek, I suspect if anything happens to her, and he survives? He’ll blame both sides. He’ll have some grand plan, he’ll set them on each other, and then he’ll watch them all burn in pyres of their own making.”

“You really think he’d do that?”

Jirr took a deep breath, and let it all out in a long sigh. “He loves that woman with all his heart, and he will give anything to keep her safe. But if The Wind slays her, what will Krek have left? He cares little for the nation of Illandra, for he knows all too well the pain that nation put Valar and his family through. Yet it is that same family who would have taken from him his greatest gift, love. I suspect he’d want nothing then, but to see her toppled. At best, I’m certain he’s already put things in motion to make sure that if the Queen dies, then The Wind That Carries will see her grand dream die as well. And then he’ll vanish, leaving only ashes in the wake of his wings.”

“And if we save the Queen?”

“Then The Wind is probably dead, and Krek’s best friend has lost his mother.” She gave Alia a long, hard stare. “It’s best you know what you’ve involved yourself with.”

Alia sighed, running a hand down her face. “I’m guessing we can’t exactly count on your help. You know, the Queen could pay you better than anyone else.”

“So she could.” Jirr gave chirped and pushed herself to her paws again. “Anyway, Soot should be back soon with food. If you really want to see what’s in that basement, feel free. I doubt you’ll find anything of value, though, and you’ll have to pick the lock or break the door down. If there’s a key I’ve never seen it.” The gryphon trotted for the door, then paused, glancing back. “I’d stay out, if I were you. If there’s anything down there, I doubt it’s pleasant.”

*****

Chapter Eight

*****

Valyrym sat on his haunches inside the expansive tavern meeting hall, along with his son, the gryphons, and Vatch. Only Alia wasn’t there. She was bathing, and would join them later. Valyrym gazed around the room. Until they arrived here, the last time he rested inside a building built to suit creatures his size, it was in a house built for dragons, in the city he once fought for. Back then, Valar was but a tiny hatchling, unaware of the weight of the world that would one day press against his wings. Back then, Amaleen was still alive.

I love you, Valyrym.

He could still hear her voice. The dragon closed his eyes, and her voice got louder.

It’s snowing. Should we wake your son, to celebrate?

Valyrym smiled. In his mind, he sat in his old house, long before she ever died. Long before he ever left his son behind to pursue revenge. He flexed his forepaws. The wooden floor was familiar. Cushions dotted it all around him. Shelves lined the walls, filled mostly with his son’s toys, and a few of his own books. They had blankets to sleep in. A hearth to keep their home warm. The fire crackled nearby, its heat warmed his scales. Snow crusted the windows. It was still early, but little Valar would want to see the snow. It was time to celebrate his hatching, his life.

“Valar.” Valyrym whispered his son’s name. “It’s snowing, Valar. Wake up, little one…”

“Father…” A paw touched his shoulder, gentle. “Are you dozing off already?”

Valyrym opened his eyes. His stomach knotted itself, and embarrassment warmed his frills. “S-sorry.”

Valar sat next to him, and concern shone in his beautiful son’s silver-gold eyes. “Nothing to be sorry for. Do you want to rest? Krek and I can-”

“I wasn’t falling asleep, I was…” Valyrym sighed, his wings drooping. “Sometimes my mind wanders, lately. I was just thinking about our old house, back in Sigil Stones.” He swallowed, turning his gaze to his son. “Do you…do you remember it?”

“Yes, but…” Valar scratched at his neck with a wing tip talon. “Not as well as you, I suspect. I was awfully young back then.”

“I know.” Valyrym glanced away, only to find himself looking at Krek, and Jirr. He curled his neck a little, staring at his forepaws, instead. Near Valar’s, they looked so gray. “It meant so much to me back then. To all of us. A house…a house made for dragons. None of us had ever…even conceived of such a thing. That…that humans might want us to stay, want to give us shelter. To give us a home. I think…I think it cut your mother the deepest. Up till then, she had lost more to humans than the rest of us combined. And now…now it was humans, asking for her friendship, asking her to live her life as part of their…their family. And now…now I’m told they razed that place, and they…they wonder why she pursues them to this day.” He sighed, still staring at his own gray scales against the wooden floor. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m…more used to talking with humans and Vatch about…about dinner than I am about…well, usually I just talk about my memories to Alia.”

“Is okay, dragon!” Vatch, sitting near him, rubbed his foreleg. He perked his ears and smiled up at the dragon. “Everyone is friend here, yes?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Krek clacked his beak, grinning. “I’m still cross at him for hurling against the floor when we first met.”

Valar cocked his head at his father, blinking. “You did what?”

“We were fighting.” Valyrym shifted, curling his tail around his paws. He knew Krek was only trying to lighten the mood, but it still made him a little uncomfortable to remember. “He startled me awake and I…I thought in my confusion, that he had you captive somewhere. I was attacking him before he even had time to explain.” He waved a forepaw, spines pinned. “He tried to take to the air and I snatched him by his forelegs and hurled him back to the stone. I…” He swallowed, an anchor built of guilt dragging down his heart. “It…it could have been worse. I’m…I’m sorry, Krek. I don’t know if I said that before, or not, so…I’m sorry.”

Krek fluffed himself, then gave a low, warbling coo. “Apology accepted. Just don’t let it happen again, or the result may be quite different.”

Valyrym bristled, spines raising. “Yes, yes, Bird, you’ll heroically beat on an old cripple.”

“Hardly a cripple.” Krek stretched out his wings, and draped one across Jirr. She nestled up against him, stroking his black-furred foreleg. “You might be old, but after what you did to Armadine’s bodyguards, no one can doubt your lingering ferocity.”

“Alia mentioned something about that.” Valar nosed at Valyrym’s neck. “What happened? You…You don’t have to tell me if you don’t-”

“I killed them.” Valyrym wasn’t going to hide his deeds from his son. “This man, Armadine...”

“His family is the highest House of the Twenty Fourth Province.” Krek glanced at Valar. “Basically, other than the Queen, they’re the highest power in Illandra, while his cousins rule competing houses.”

“I didn’t know that until recently.” Valyrym flexed his wings. They still ached a little from their long weeks of flight, even after days of rest. “He used to torment me. Gave me this…” He lifted a forepaw, and dragged a single digit across the fat pink scar between his nostrils. “With a whip.”

Valar cringed, his frills flattened back. “Gods, Father. I’m-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. You didn’t do it.” Valyrym snorted, gazing around the room. He found a window where he could see the sunset’s purple hues, and fixed his eyes upon it. “Alia stitched me up. That was…when I really knew she was different from all those who came before. In time, I told her who I was, once. And through her, I discovered the strength and defiance I thought long lost. When that noble and his men ventured into my prison again, told me they had Alia…” He worked his jaws, trying to find the words. “It was…different. I wasn’t some cowed beast, quivering in the darkness anymore. I was…”

“He was The Dread Sky.” Krek spoke up when Valyrym trailed off. The gryphon’s voice was like spider silk, soft yet strong as steel. “And The Dread Sky had been asleep for a very long time. But Armadine woke him, and in that moment, that place was a prison no longer. It was The Dread Sky’s kingdom, and he would abide no invaders.”

“They told me they had Alia, and I told them to let her go, or they would all die.” Valyrym kept his gaze fixed on the reflection of the sunset. His voice remained soft, even. “They refused, so I killed all of them save the noble and two of his men. I only maimed the noble, needed him to live a little longer to order Alia brought back. But when I did it, when we fought it was…it was easy. It was snowing.”

“Snowing?” Valar arched his neck.

Valyrym’s gaze finally fell back to the floor. “In my head. I thought it was snowing. It was…like the day she died. They weren’t…they weren’t bodyguards, they were…Illandran soldiers, like so many others I had killed.” He swallowed, his ears drooping. “I used to slay them by the dozens.”

“By the hundreds, I think.” Valar’s voice grew softer. He set his forepaw upon Valyrym’s, gently squeezing. “At least, that’s how mother used to tell it. She used to say that, The Dread Sky was the most unstoppable weapon Aran’alia had, before you were caught.”

“I don’t know what that makes me, to have taken so many lives.”

“A soldier. A general.” Krek’s voice remained strong, his silvery crown feathers flared out around his head. “It was a war, Valyrym, and you fought for your home. Terrible as your deeds were, they were justified.”

“At first.” Valyrym turned his head, glancing at his son. “What I did…the horror of it, when I realized…that was why they caught me. I don’t think they would have brought me down, otherwise. When I fought…those men, in my prison, it was the same. Like nothing they could do would ever be enough to bring me down. It was only later, when they were dead, and Alia was safe, that…that I felt the pain, realized I was wounded. That my body ached from the effort. And I remembered I was old, and withered. But in that moment, when I thought the snow was falling, I may as well have been invincible.”

“A shame you didn’t finish Armadine off.” Krek clacked his beak, hissing. “We’ll end him later.”

Valyrym glanced over at the gryphon, nodding. There was almost as much hatred shining in the gryphon’s green eyes for the man as Valyrym himself felt. He wasn’t surprised, given that Armadine was involved with the plot to kill the Queen. As Krek had discovered, the noble hoped to use Kylaryn to kill the Queen, and put Elvir on the throne. That way, not only would he have the ear of the king, but they’d have a common enemy to blame for her death.

Jirr nibbled on Krek’s feathers, then murmured into his ear. Krek tensed, gave her a dirty look, and then nipped at her. She hissed and swatted him.

“What are you two lovebirds squabbling about?” Valyrym glared at them both, his spines up. In truth, he was glad for the distraction.

“Nothing of importance.” Krek fluffed himself and nipped at Jirr again. “She can’t keep her paws off me, that’s all.”

“Oh, just mate and get it over with.” Valar tossed his head, bumping his father with a wing.”

“What, right here in front of you?” Jirr squawked laughter, slipping a forepaw between Krek’s hind legs to cup his sheath. “Well, I’m game to give a show if you are, Soot.”

Krek shivered, his wings shaking. “Stop that, Jirr! I’m trying to be faithful, here.”

Jirr only laughed, rubbing him a moment before pulling her paw back. “Since when has your illicit relationship with the Queen ever kept you from your illicit relationships with everyone else?”

“Since I decided I didn’t want my relationship with her to be illicit anymore!” Krek snapped his beak, his green eyes smoldering. “You’re making it difficult.”

“Now, now, Jirr…” Valar waved a paw at the male gryphon. “You know poor Soot doesn’t have any willpower.”

“Don’t you start with that Soot-”

“You rub him like that again and he’ll be on your back in no time.”

Krek stretched his wing, hiding Jirr behind it. “Stop encouraging her! You’re not helping.”

“Really?” Valar clutched at his chest plates. “I thought my job was to help you mount her! At least that’s what you told me last night.”

“I told you no such-Ow! Ow! OW!” Krek squawked and tugged on his wing when Jirr grasped a paw full of flight feathers, twisting them.

Valar rumbled laughter, shaking his head. “Maybe I misheard, then. Or maybe I’m just looking for something I can tell Kathlyn when we meet to get you in trouble with her.”

Krek freed his wing, and folded it against his side again. Hissing at Jirr, he took to preening his feathers. “I assure you, I’m going to be in enough trouble with her as it is.” He spat a few feathers, and glared to Valar. “In case you’ve forgotten, your father is only here because I’ve broken him out of prison. She’s going to be furious.”

“She’ll get over it, I’m sure.” Jirr watched, her ears smugly splayed, as Krek fought a valiant battle against the untidy state of his own wing. “Besides, it’s not as if she didn’t know you and Valar and his mate used to all fool around together. Or that you and I used to romp on our excursions. And you and that male gryphon-”

“Cover stories are different!” Krek batted her with his wing. “She understands that to maintain certain covers, I had to…do…certain things. With certain people!”

“I don’t think ‘understands’ is the word you’re looking for.” Valyrym arched his neck, more than happy to let their squabbling take the focus off his own darker thoughts and memories. “I think that would be ‘tolerates’. As in, she tolerates you being a smarmy, horny ego-bird trying to mount everything that breathes.”

“And a few things that don’t.” Valar thumped his tail against the floor, spines clattering against the wood. “There was this hay bale incident, when we got him really drunk-”

“That never happened!” Krek gave a very indignant chirp.

“So you’ll mount a hay bale but not a poor, lonely, gryphon?” Jirr whimpered, hanging her head. “I must be terribly unattractive in your eyes.”

“Chirp’s right.” Valyrym waved his paw at Jirr. “Now you’re just insulting the poor gryphon.”

Satisfied with his preen, Krek folded his wings back against his body. “I hate you all so much right now.”

“What about Vatch?” The urd’thin sat up straight alongside the dragon.

“I hate you the most.” Krek glared at him.

“What Vatch do?”

“Nothing! You should have leapt to my defense, defended my honor!”

Vatch tilted his head. “But gryphon not have honor to defend.”

Jirr chirruped laughter, clapping her paws. “You see? Even the urd’thin knows.”

“Yes, and the urd’thin’s going to be getting a very bumpy ride when next we travel.”

“Aww.” Vatch’s ears drooped.

“Don’t worry, Vatch.” Valar peered at him around the older dragon. “You can ride on me if Stinkbird’s being mean to you.”

“Oh, no!” Krek held up both forepaws, leaning onto his haunches. “We’re not starting up that Stinkbird nonsense again.”

“Stinkbird?” Valyrym cocked his head, grinning. “Oh, that’s even better than egobird, because it seems to dig deeper under his feathers.”

Valar laughed, nodding. “Oh, he hates it. My sister used to call him that when we were little.”

“Sister?” Valyrym’s heart froze in his chest. “You…you have…”

The room fell silent.

Valar stared at his father, worry swirling in his silver-gold eyes. He swished a paw in the air, worked his jaws, but could not seem to find the words. “I have…siblings. Two of them. A brother, and a sister.” He turned his head, hissing at Krek. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I thought it might be best if you told him.”

With every word, Valyrym’s paws grew colder. His heart resumed its beating, but it only pumped ice through the dragon’s veins. He stared at Valar, his jaw hanging open. The younger dragon’s wings were tense, his tail rigid, and his spines all flared. Valyrym knew that Kylaryn and Voskalar were mates, now, and he wasn’t surprised to learn that they had young together. But Valyrym doubted that was why everyone went quiet, or why Valar was suddenly so fearful, so tense. They mentioned his sister as if everyone else already knew, and feared what he would think.

Valyrym knew what that meant.

“She’s…she’s mine, isn’t she?” Valyrym could barely form words. He struggled to keep control of his spiraling emotions, fought to keep from hyperventilating. Learning he had a granddaughter was joy and exuberance itself, but learning that he had a daughter was terrifying. “That’s…that’s why you…”

Valar rose to all fours, and gently nuzzled Valyrym’s neck. “Come outside, Father. We’ll talk about it alone.” He took a few steps, then glanced back at Krek. “Get your maps and things ready. We’ll be back soon.”

*****

On trembling limbs, Valyrym followed his son outside. The early autumn sunset painted the world in shades of burnt gold, and the sky in hues of deep purple and bright pink. Valar’s blue highlights glowed a vibrant indigo. He walked out into the wild grasses and flowers of the overgrown meadow, and Valyrym followed his trail through the thick growth. The whole way, the dragon’s heart beat as a hammer against his chest, and his stomach twisted till he feared he may retch up the deer Krek brought back for dinner earlier.

When they reached a nice, quiet spot, Valar settled down on his haunches. Valyrym sat down across from him. His mouth felt filled with sand, hot and dry. The old dragon’s wings shook at his sides. He took a few shuddering breaths, rubbing his paws together. His fingers were frozen, half-numb, and his heart was slowly sinking into a cold, empty pit.

“V-Valar…do…do I…” He couldn’t even bring himself to finish the sentence.

Valar took a slow, deep breath. He let it out in a long sigh, and then stretched a wing forward to cradle it across Valyrym’s back. “Yes, Father. I have a sister, and she is yours. You have a daughter.”

The whole world fell away, and Valyrym found himself in darkness. There was only Valar, and only the echo of his voice. You have a daughter. You have a daughter. You have a daughter… He tried to reply, but could scarcely draw breath, let alone form words. His scales felt too tight, constricting him. His head darted around, instinctively seeking some kind of escape, but there was only Valar. There was only the truth.

That he had missed out on not one child’s life, but two.

“When?” The only word he managed came out as an anguished, confused croak.

Valar kept his wing across his back, and its warmth centered Valyrym, just a little. “Your last days with mother.” His son’s paw settled upon his own, blue scales against gray. “You…you mated with her, a last goodbye, out in the hills.”

Valyrym panted, his head spinning. “We…we did…”

“She was close to her heat cycle. Closer than you knew.”

“No…I…” He worked his jaws, but his tongue was leaden, difficult to move. “I wondered, but…”

“It’s alright, Father.” Valar squeezed his forepaw. “It’s alright. Her name is…Her name is Kylyra. Named after her mother.”

Valyrym whimpered, his strength swiftly fading. He started to slump over, and Valar was at his side in an instant. He leaned against his son, at once horrified to imagine what his unknown daughter must think of him, and yet amazed at the strength inside his son.

“Easy, now, Father.” Valar braced himself, hind claws dug into the earth. “Take a deep breath before all that panting has you blacking out.”

“M’not blacking out…” Still resting against his son, Valyrym forced himself to take a much deeper breath. He inhaled till his chest plates expanded, then held it until his lungs burned. The dragon then let it all out in a great, heaving sigh. “Does…she know?”

Valar chuckled, just a little, his spines half raised. “Would be almost impossible not too, considering she looks more like you and I than Voskalar.”

“She…she does?” Valyrym lifted his head, gazing down at his son, trying to imagine.

“The opposite of me, actually.” Valar peered down at his forepaws, and Valyrym followed his son’s gaze. The blue markings that covered each of Valar’s paws in different measure had never equalized. One limb had blue halfway to his body, another had only blue toes, and the other two were somewhere in between. “I took mostly your colors, with mother’s highlights, and…she took mostly mother’s colors with your highlights. She’s blue, like mother, but with black paws.”

“She…she sounds beautiful.”

“She is. She’ll remind you of just that, too.”

“Runs in the family, I suppose.” Valyrym swallowed, then took another slow breath, trying to steady himself.

“So it does.” Valar shifted his weight to stay braced against his father. “You alright?”

“I…” Valyrym didn’t even know how to answer that question. His chest suddenly felt far too small for his heart, tight and constricting. Just how much ashes and anguish had he truly left in his wake? “I don’t know…”

“Why don’t you lay down, Father?” Valar eased towards the ground, causing Valyrym’s weight to shift down against him. “Come on, lay down.”

“If I must.” Valyrym let Valar guide him to the grass. He settled against it. It tickled his pads, and for a moment he just kneaded at the earth, claws tearing little ruts in the sod. “Thank you, Valar. For telling me. And…for supporting me, just now.”

Valar shrugged his wings, then draped one over Valyrym’s back. “Someone has to care for you, you old bastard.”

Valyrym forced himself to smile, glancing at his son. “I’d…say I resent that, but sadly I know all too well it’s true. Normally it’s Alia who supports me, but…”

“You’d have squashed her, anyway.”

The old dragon laughed, and it helped ease his worry and pain, just a little. Valar’s wing was warm blanket of comfort that Valyrym doubted he could ever grow accustomed to. “Would you…would you…tell me about her?”

When Valar glanced away, his spines flattened, Valyrym cringed inside. She must have hated him. He could not blame her. “What do you want to know?”

Valyrym sunk his claws deeper into the earth. “She…doesn’t like me, does she?”

The younger dragon rumbled, running a blue paw back and forth across the grass. “Not exactly. She considers Voskalar her father, and…takes offense when someone points out otherwise. A point of contention between us.”

Valyrym’s ears drooped. The thought was a cold tine in his heart, but it was not unexpected. “It’s true, isn’t it? I may have sired her but…I have never been her father. I was scarcely ever yours. Voskalar always had a good heart. Though I…” He smiled for a moment, recalling only an eager bronze runt, happy to help his friends and protect his home. “…Have trouble imagining him as a father, I suspect he made a far better one that I ever did.”

Valar shrugged his wings, rubbing one against Valyrym’s. “Voskalar has always been there, has always supported us, and has always loved us. I love him, and would never speak a word that would bring him pain. He helped me learn to hunt and fly, he helped to raise my sister and I like his own but…” He licked his nose, sighing. “You have always been my father. Even when my anger was greatest, even when I hated you the most, I still thought of you as my father. Kylyra is…different. She never knew you, so…”

“She is right to hate me, right to-”

“Enough!” Valar snapped his teeth, sudden fire in his voice. “I don’t want to hear your self-pity. You did what you did, and it tore out our hearts. I know you regret it, just as you know how it hurt me. How it hurt all of us. But I didn’t come out here just to hear you lament your past, to hear you pity yourself and ask over and over for forgiveness.” He clutched Valyrym’s paw, squeezing it. “You already have it from me, and you are not likely to get it from her. You’ve had…a century and a half to feel sorry for yourself. I don’t want you feeling sorry for me, I don’t need, or want, your pity. Kylyra sure as hell won’t want it. If anything, if you meet her, she’s probably going to try and fight you.”

Valyrym blinked away a few tears. He knew Valar was right. He owed his son so much more than self-pity. No matter how it hurt to learn he had a daughter who rightfully despised him, Valar deserved better than to see him wallowing in that pain. After all the difficulty and the anguish Valar must have put himself through just deciding to come here, Valyrym was not going to make his son watch flounder about in an ocean of regret for a past he could not undo, for a daughter he never knew he had.

With a deep breath, Valyrym forced himself to smile. “So she takes after her mother, then.”

“In all the worst ways.” Valar laughed, and nudged at Valyrym’s neck. “She’s every bit as stubborn as Ky, and every bit as desperate to prove herself right. She and I love each other very much, don’t get me wrong, but we…often butted heads. Over you, over the war, over who got the last deer haunch, over anything, really. She’s always spoiling for a fight, and totally convinced she’s going to win, no matter what.” He cocked his head, ears up. “I wasn’t joking about fighting you. If…you get a chance to meet her, she might actually strike you.”

“I’d expect nothing less from any daughter of Kylaryn’s.” Valyrym smiled despite himself, gazing off into the distance. The sun had set, and the pink and orange fire that lined the drifting clouds was quickly darkening. “I would deserve whatever she set upon me.”

“What did I just tell you about self pity?” Valar snapped his teeth near Valyrym’s face. “If you’re going to get like that any time we talk of our families, I’m going to keep my muzzle shut. So if you must moan and whimper about it, do it when you’re alone, or with Alia. If I can learn to walk with this…” Valar stretched his hind leg out, displaying his scar. “And fly with this…” He hoisted his injured wing. “Then you can learn to make it through the rest of your life without succumbing to all this pain you’ve let fill your heart.” He lifted a forepaw, waggling a claw at Valyrym. “As rightfully regretful as you are for the lives you left behind, if I can survive that life, put my anger and bitterness behind me, come here and embrace you? Then you can sure as hell find a way to overcome your regret.”

Valyrym could only stare at Valar, awed once more by the fire of his soul. “There is strength in you like I’ve never known, Valar.”

“Let’s not go too far, Father.”

“I mean it every time I say it. I’ve known that about you since you were hatched. The way you recovered from your injuries, the things you’ve suffered, they would break any other dragon. I’ve been through less, and I fear it broke me. But you? You only get stronger. There is a strength in your soul like no other, Valar. The least, the absolute least I can do is try to be strong for you, in return.”

A smile twitched at Valar’s muzzle. “That’s more like it.” He patted his father’s forepaw. “If you do meet her, if she strikes you more than once, hit her back. And for your own sake, guard your balls.” Valar laughed, shaking his head.

“That bad, hmm?” Valyrym found himself smiling, and happy to break the tension, if only for a little while.

“You said it yourself.” Valar shifted his hind end, wincing. “She takes after mother.”

“Sounds like you two growing up weren’t all that different from Nary, and me.” He cocked his head, his voice still soft. “You said you often fought but that you loved one another, just the same. I hope there were good times for you two, as well?”

“Of course.” He nodded, glancing up at the sky. “I think all siblings fight, but they remain close, in the end. Given our situation, we had the best childhood mother and Voskalar could provide. When we were both still little, we were best friends. As I got older, I used to drive her crazy picking on her. Then when she grew old enough to be interested in males, I went out of my way to keep watch on her, make sure she was safe. First she was proud to have a brother so caring.” He smirked. “After I chased off her first suiter, she wished I’d love her the hell alone.” Valar tossed his head, growling. “I couldn’t let her be with just any random dragon. Oh, and then I think she and Krek were…well, you don’t need to know all that.”

Valyrym shook his head, laughing. “It would not be my place to pry in her personal life. Or yours, for that matter. Poor Kylaryn must have been run ragged, having two hatchlings to care for. You said…you said you had a brother, too?”

“Voskyr, yes. He’s a bit younger than Kylyra and me, and so far he seems to have inherited mother’s stubbornness rather than his father’s gentle side. In fact, when last we all saw each other I had to…well, you saw Krek’s injuries.”

Valyrym blinked, jerking his head up. “They did that to him? I thought that was Kylaryn herself.”

“I suppose he wouldn’t have made that clear.” Valar curled his tail against the grass, it brushed Valyrym’s. “No, Mother did hurl him against a wall, but that was Voskyr who opened him up. Krek and I went to see mother together, to try and talk her out of all this…” He snarled, his spines up. “Madness. They weren’t going to let him leave, so I had to get in Mother’s way while he took the sky. Kylyra went after him. She’s fast, almost as fast as mother. But not as fast as Krek. He got the best of her in the sky, and crashed her into the plaza, then took off again.”

“Was she alright?” Valyrym flattened his ears, worry’s grip tight around his heart. Things were worse for his poor lost family than he realized.

“Nothing broken. I don’t think.” Valar glanced away, a hint of guilt in his eyes. “We didn’t exactly stick around. Voskyr ambushed Krek in the city, and though Krek got the best for him, he also let his guard down. Voskyr got back up and opened him up with his claws while Krek was calling out to me. I had to join in to help Krek. Dove right into Voskyr, broke a few of his ribs. Waited around long enough to help him, make sure he’d be alright, and then we had to flee.”

“That’s terrible, Valar.” Valyrym shifted to put a paw atop Valar’s, and gently squeeze it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Father. But thank you, just the same. That was the first time I…we…actually fought them. We’d have plenty of youngling scraps before, bruises, bite marks, but never a real fight. That was…different.” Valar’s voice wavered, and he took a slow breath. “I want to hope it will never happen again, but…knowing what we face, I find that unlikely.”

“We’ll do whatever we can, Valar.” Valyrym wished with every ounce of his tattered soul that he could bear this burden in his son’s stead. “Whatever we have to.”

“So we shall, father.” Valar turned and gave Valyrym’s neck a lick. “Do you feel a little better?”

“Not really, but…that will come in time, I hope.”

“That’s a start.” Valar turned his head, gazing back towards the inn. “Are you well enough to go back inside? I’m sure Krek has everything ready for us, by now.”

“Either that or he’s busy mounting Chirp while we’re away.”

Valar laughed as withdrew his wing from Valyrym’s back, and rose to his paws. “No, it doesn’t take Krek that long. He’d be done already.”

Valyrym shared his son’s laughter. That, more than anything else, made him feel better. He walked along at the younger dragon’s side, smiling despite everything. “This may sound foolish, but…I’m glad you’re here, Valar.”

Valar paused and turned to stare at his father. He bowed his head, smiling. “So am I, Father.”

*****

Chapter Nine

*****

Valyrym followed his son back into the Wing’s Rest inn. Ahead of him, Valar ducked his head and squeezed his wings tight to his body to squeeze through the large back doors. Though they were built to accommodate gryphons easily, it was a tighter fit for a dragon, especially one as large as Valar. As Valyrym slipped through the same doorway without any trouble, he could not help but wonder if he had withered that much during his long confinement, or if his son was simply that much larger than he. In truth, it was probably both. Why wouldn’t a hatchling as strong and healthy as Valar grow up to be a more impressive dragon than his father? For a little while, the simple pride that thought brought him erased any of his other worries or doubts.

He watched Valar pad through the expansive main hall, and take a seat near Krek. The gryphon now reclined atop one of their custom built loungers, all sturdy frame and padded cushions. It made him wonder if that was the sort of things gryphon civilizations built for themselves. Even back in his clan days, Valyrym did not recall them building much in the way of furniture. Most of their homes were in the caverns dotting the mountains. They did make things to protect them from the rain, and some dragons did built homes out of log and stone, but at least in his clan, no one had anything like the furniture these gryphons did.

The old dragon smiled as his son settled on his haunches alongside the gryphon. It warmed his heart to know his son had made such a dear, lifelong friend, gryphon or not. The fact that Valar was big enough to toss Krek around if he wanted only made him all the more prideful. His son was strong. He wondered, for a moment, if it came to blood, if Valar could stop his mother. The thought was cold teeth in his heart, and yet there was no part of Valyrym that expected Kylaryn to simply turn her back and fly away from this. If it did come to battle, Valar looked better suited for it than Valyrym, but the older dragon doubted his son had the experience that he and Kylaryn did. Hell, he knew well enough that for all the years he was locked away, Kylaryn kept fighting.

Valyrym gazed across the room at his son, and Krek. Even all together, the three of them might not be enough. But they had to try. They couldn’t just let her slay the queen, and reignite the war that consumed their beloved home. Though Valyrym knew Kylaryn believed she was doing right, her success would only unleash another generation of bloodshed, another ride tide lapping at their paws. Yet here was Valar, bound and determined to stop it, whatever it took. Though the horror of potentially seeing his son pitted against his mother left him nauseous, he had to admit a deep swell of pride beneath his chest plates, knowing Valar would do what was right.

“I’m proud of you, son.” Valyrym settled on his haunches across from Valar and the gryphon. “I know that…that won’t mean anything to you, coming from me, but…I wanted you to hear it. I’m ever so proud of you.”

Valar tilted his head, his ears half splayed. He smiled and bowed his horned head. “Thank you, Father.”

“Of course.” Valyrym took a deep breath, and let it out slow. He gazed around. Vatch and Alia were behind the bar. Alia gave him a concerned look, and he smiled, hoping to allay the worst of her worries. Then he glanced at Krek. “Where’s Chirp?”

“She went out for a flight, going to hunt us some late night snacks.” Krek ruffled himself, dragging a paw against the side of the wooden lounger he rested on. Several rolled maps and scrolls sat on the floor before him. “I didn’t really want her here for this little meeting. She doesn’t need to know our exact route.”

“Why not?” Valyrym flared up his spines, wondering what the gryphons were hiding now.

“Because she used to work for Death in the Night.” Alia called out from behind the bar. “And so did Krek!”

“What?” Valyrym snapped his teeth, glaring at the black gryphon.

Krek, in turn, glared at Alia, all his silver crown feathers up around his head. “That is a slanderous accusation, and I won’t abide having you drag my good name through your malicious muck!”

Valar lifted a paw, balled it up into a fist, and punched the gryphon on the shoulder.

“Ow!” Krek jumped and nearly fell off the lounger. “What was that for?”

“Because you did used to work for them.”

“I used to work for a lot of people.” The gryphon twisted his head around, his crown feathers drooping, eyes wide. “That’s no need to assault a poor gryphon. Here I am, trying my best to be of some help to her majesty, and all I get from the rest of you is assault and belittlement.”

Valyrym held up one paw, working fingers and thumb in imitation of a gryphon’s beak. “All I hear is, chirp, warble, coo, tweet!”

Krek clacked his beak, ruffling up every feather he had. “Now that’s just speciest. At least I know where your son gets it from.”

“If my son has inherited my intolerance for smarmy idiocy, then I’m all the more prouder of him.” He tossed his head towards the gryphon. “Hit him again, Valar.”

Valar punched Krek again, even harder.

Krek squawked and rubbed his shoulder with his other paw, hissing. “Aahh! Same spot! Gods, you dragons are violent. How’d you like it if I went around punching you?”

Valar snapped his teeth at the gryphon, grinning. “How’d you like it if I pluck those garish silver feathers and leave you looking like an ugly vulture?”

“You try it, and I’ll smack you square in the balls, dragon!”

“Do that and you’ll lose a lot more than your crown feathers.”

“Nonsense! I’ll laughing down at you from the sky, while you’re squirming about on the floor, cradling your hoard.”

“You know, Valyrym,” Alia said, walking across the room to join the others. She held something soft and black tucked under an arm. “That really does sound like the way you were arguing with Krek back in Illandra. I can see why the similarities struck him so.”

Valyrym arched his neck, smiling down at Alia. “I suspect he’s so abrasive everyone who meets him cannot help but argue.” He gestured at her cargo. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Who else?” Alia produced a stuffed dragon, black, with curled horns atop its soft head. She held it out to Valyrym. “I know it sounds silly, given that you have the real thing here now, but…” She glanced at Valar, then back up at Valyrym, swallowing. “When I heard about your…that you have…well, I just thought maybe Val Junior would be of some small comfort to you.”

Valyrym’s throat tightened a little, and he swallowed at the sudden lump. With gentle care, he reached out and took the stuffed dragon from her, and held it up before his face. “Hello, Val Junior.” He tilted his head, smiling. “Have you heard? I’ve…I’ve a daughter.” He sniffed a few times, and cleared his throat with a growl. “We’re…we’re going to have to find you a little blue sibling. I…I hope you won’t fight with her. Or…or try to play favorites.” He nuzzled the toy, and then hugged it against his chest. The familiar treasure brought a blossoming warmth to his heart that far outsized the toy itself. “Thank you, Alia. This helps.”

“Any time, Val.” Alia hugged the dragon’s side.

Valyrym curled his wing across her, returning the hug.

“Did I hear you call that thing Val Junior?” Valar tilted his head, his spines half-lifted and wavering in confusion.

“You did.” Valyrym held the toy out to his real son in both forepaws. “Valar, may I introduce Val Junior, your brother.”

Valar just stared at it. His jaw slowly parted, and his tongue protruded. He glanced at the toy, then at Alia, and finally up at Valyrym. When Valyrym only smiled at him, Valar glanced at the gryphon. “What’s he talking about?”

“Don’t ask me! These idiots made us stop off to pick that thing up while we were being hunted across the city!”

Valyrym waggled the toy at his son. “Say hello, Valar! Don’t leave him waiting.”

Valar gulped audibly, staring at the toy. “Uh…hello….Val Junior.” He clamped his jaw shut, then gazed at Alia. “Can I talk to you, outside?”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Valyrym burst into happy, rumbling laughter. He set the toy down and patted its head. “Oh, Valar! The look on your face! You really thought I’d lost it, didn’t you!”

The younger dragon gave an exasperated sigh. “I was starting to wonder, yes. Very funny, Father.”

“Thankfully, I’m not quite that far gone.” Valyrym laughed a little more. He eased down onto his belly, with Val Junior tucked between his forepaws. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Do you…really call it Val Junior?”

“It’s a him, Valar, not an it.” Valyrym crooked his foreleg for Alia, and she settled down against his chest. He curled his front leg around her. “And yes. I do.”

“Dare I ask why?”

Krek clacked his beak, thumping a paw against the lounger cushion. “I’ve been wondering that for weeks now.”

“I named him.” Alia stroked the scutes across Valyrym’s foreleg. “Not that long after I first met your father. I kept seeing stuffed dragons in the markets, and I decided to buy one for your father, to sort of…” Alia trailed off, glancing up at Valyrym.

“I think she did it half as a joke, at first.” He lowered his head, nuzzling her cheek.

Alia caressed his muzzle. “Partly. I thought it might keep him company when I was away, but yes, I also wanted to see the look on his face when I presented him with a stuffed toy. I didn’t know that much about him, yet. He still seemed rather inscrutable, and arrogant, though I’d already seen glimpses of the beautiful soul beneath all that sarcasm he shields himself with.”

Krek cocked his head, grinning at Valar. “Shielding himself with sarcasm? My, Valar, who else do we know who does that?”

“Get mounted, Gryphon.”

Krek flexed his wings. “Maybe later. Kathlyn would surely make an exception for you.”

Valar stretched his own wing, far enough to completely obscure the gryphon from the rest of the group. “Go on, Alia. Stinkbird over here won’t interrupt you again.”

Laughing, Alia patted Valyrym’s nose. “I bought the toy, took it down to him, and made a big show of presenting it. And I told him, it was called Val Junior! Not because I was trying to remind him of you, but because I thought it would rile up his ego, having as stuffed toy named after him.” Her voice softened, and she gently rubbed Valyrym’s jaw. “The look on his face. I didn’t understand it at the time. He looked shocked. Horrified. I thought at the time he was just…disgusted and insulted to be compared to a toy, let alone to have it named after him. What I didn’t know at the time was that, the first thing he must have thought of when I showed him that toy, was you.”

“For a moment…” Valyrym’s voice was raspy, a rattling groan. “When she held it out to me, it was you I saw, Valar. Clear as day, there you were, a tiny, squirming hatchling again. The horns were wrong, and…I realized, of course, it was a toy, and I…I put my walls back up as quickly as I could. She…she didn’t know I did have a son, let alone that I really had named you after me.”

“I figured it out, eventually.” Alia hugged Valyrym’s neck when he lowered his head. “The very next morning, I saw those little curled ram’s horns peeking out of his blankets and bedding, and I knew it made him happy. I just…didn’t know how happy.”

“That’s…” Valar shifted his weight, curling his tail around his paws. “Rather beautiful, actually.”

“Will you get your damn, leathery bat’s wing out of my face!” Krek flailed his paws at the back of Valar’s wing.

Valar folded his wing back, only to punch Krek on the same shoulder once more. “That’s for spoiling my father’s moment!”

“OW!” Krek howled, rubbing his foreleg. “I’m going to have a bruise, you know.”

“Good, you deserve it!”

“You’re going to feel every so sorry for me, when you see me hobbling about all day tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna bruise your damn beak if you don’t clamp it shut!”

Valyrym stroked the little stuffed dragon’s head, ignoring the gryphon entirely. “So that was the beginning of my little stuffed family.”

“There’s more of them?” Valar arched his neck, perking his ears.

“After Valyrym told me about you, and your family, and…his old friends, I went out and tried to collect more of them. Tried to get a stuffed dragon to match every dragon he used to know.”

“I brought them with me.” Valyrym plopped Val Junior into Alia’s lap so he could hug them both together. “In fact they’re about all I brought. Along with my favorite pillow, and the poetry book I shared with Amaleen.”

“You still have that?” Valar glanced at the gryphon. “Mother had you bring him, that right?”

“Correct.” Krek busied himself re-arranging his feathers and smoothing his fur. “Dropped it through the air vent of his cell, ages ago.”

“She had me pose for it.” Valar splayed a forepaw on the floor, staring down at his own blue markings. “Didn’t know it was for you, at the time. Didn’t even know you were still alive, back then.”

“I’m glad she did.” Valyrym brushed his thumb pad against Alia’s belly, through her dress. “Gave me hope. Kept me going a while, knowing you were still alive.”

Silence settled over them for a little while. Valyrym rumbled a soft purr as Alia stroked his foreleg scutes. The old dragon did not mind the silence at all. It was comforting, rather than awkward. A time spent savoring the companionship of the woman he loved, and the son he had missed for so long. The quiet was disrupted only by the clinking of glasses and clattering of mugs from behind the tavern’s bar. Valyrym lifted his head, peering over at it. Now and then brown fur poked up over the counter.

“What are you doing over there, Vatch?”

“Get something for dragon!” Vatch peeked up over the counter. “Is red label Alia, yes?”

“Oh!” Alia nudged Valyrym’s foreleg aside and stood up. “Yeah. Sorry, I’ll help you Vatch. I just got caught up.”

Valyrym cocked his head, watching Alia cross the room and slip around the bar to join Vatch. “What are they doing?”

“Getting you booze, I think.”

Krek chirruped. “Oh! Bring me booze, too.”

“This is not booze.” Alia slapped a wooden bowl against the bar, using the clatter to drown out the gryphon. “This is rare, exquisitely aged rum that I’m bringing for Valyrym. You’re welcome to fetch yourself some, but I can only carry so much.”

“What about the urd’thin?” Krek waved a wing. “Urd’thin, bring me rum.”

“Urd’thin have name!” Vatch hopped up onto the counter, glaring at the gryphon. “Urd’thin name Vatch! Vatch not gryphon slave! Gryphon get for self.”

Krek slowly tilted his head, one ear perked up. “You know, I think the more irritable you get, the fewer words you remember.”

“Don’t make Vatch get stick!” Vatch hopped off the counter again, and soon more plates and mugs were clattering around.

“Instead of the Chief First Gryphon Tamer, why don’t you make yourself useful?” Valyrym gestured at the rolled up maps on the floor. “Get that stuff in order before Chirp comes back.”

“Chief First-” Krek clapped his beak shut, then turned it up at the ceiling. “I’m not even going to dignify that by repeating it. Besides, it was Dragon Tamer back in Illandra.”

“And now he rides you.” Valyrym smiled at the gryphon, tapping an unsheathed claw against the floor. “Therefor, you’re the one he’s taming.”

“Dragon right.” Vatch came around the bar with a heavy mug in each hand. Dark liquid sloshed over their lips, and across his brown-furred fingers. “I tame gryphon good.”

Krek unsheathed his talons into the wood, gouging the sides of the lounger. “That had better be a peace offering you’re carrying.”

“Peace?” Vatch set the mugs down near Valyrym. “This for Alia and Vatch. You want peace? Vatch give you piece of stick! In head!”

Krek gave an exasperated sigh, climbing down from the lounger. He unrolled the largest of the maps, and weighted its corners with iron cubes sitting nearby. “Your little Warden has grown awfully violent of late.”

“Vatch big hero! Slay many bad guys.” Vatch dropped onto the floor, picking up a mug in both hands. He took a long drink, then wiped his muzzle with a back of a furry hand. “Drink much ale.”

“He’s caught the bloodlust, I’m afraid.” The gryphon shook head, opening a smaller, more detailed map. “Killed a few humans, and now he wants to slay the rest of us. Might be the rabies.” He cooed a few sad, birdsong notes. “Afraid we’re going to have to put him down.”

“Is not rabies!” Vatch took another swig of ale, froth coating his muzzle. “Is heroism!”

Valyrym peered down at the smaller creature, grinning. “I don’t know Vatch, you are foaming at the mouth.”

“Yes, and I don’t think heroes wear dresses.” Krek chirped laughter.

“Is not dress!” Vatch wiped his mouth with the gold-hemmed black sleeve of his oversized shirt. “Why everyone say is dress? Is magnificent robe.”

“It looks like a dress, Vatch.” Valyrym gazed at the urd’thin, then shot the gryphon a smoldering glare. “But you’re wrong. Plenty of heroes wear dresses.”

Krek squawked. “Name one.”

“Amaleen.” Valyrym growled, a low, menacing thunder from his chest.

“Me!” Alia called out as she returned from behind the bar, carefully balancing an immense bowl filled with rum.

Valar thumped his spined tail against the floor. “Your Queen.”

“Alright, fine.” Krek beat his wings against the air, hissing. “Heroes can wear dresses. I didn’t know it was Gang Up on Gryphons day.”

“That’s every day.” Valar lifted a forepaw, smirking.

Krek glared at him. “You punch me again, and I’m gonna hit you in the balls.”

“You do, and I’ll hit yours back, twice as hard.”

Alia set the bowl of rum down in front of Valyrym, then reached up to stroke his neck. “They sound like twelve year olds. Or whatever the dragon equivalent is.”

“Somewhere between competitive best friends, and squabbling lovers.” Valyrym lowered his head, sniffing at the rum. The aroma was redolent with spices and burnt sugar.

“I can’t tell if they’re going to fight, or mate.” Alia shook her head, giggling.

“First one.” Valyrym flicked a claw out, smirking. “Then the other.” He slapped a forepaw against the wooden floor hard enough for the sharp slap to cut everyone else off and echo around the room. “Now. If you hatchlings can stop threatening to fondle each other for a few minutes, I believe we have business to discuss before Chirpy Spyfeathers is back from her hunting trip.”

Valar hung his head, adopting a mock, high-pitched tone. “Sorry, Father. Stinkbird started it.”

“I did not!” Krek shook himself, feathers fluffed. “And stop calling me-”

“Yes, Stinkbird, you did start it.” Valyrym snorted at the gryphon, waiting till his fluffed up feathers deflated a little before he went on. “And since you’re the only one who knows where we’re going, we’re all waiting on you to stop flirting with my son, and get on with your explanation.”

Krek’s ears drooped. “No one ever wants to flirt with the gryphon anymore.”

“That’s because you’re ugly!” Valyrym laughed, gesturing at the maps. “Now get started.”

“Oh, very well. So.” Krek swept his black-furred paw over the largest map. “This represents all of Illandra and its many provinces, along with the nations bordering them. The capital city is here.” He tapped a claw tip against a massive city drawn towards the northeast side of the map. “That is where we started our journey together. We have since flown this way.” The gryphon dragged a finger pad along the map, tracing a line roughly to the south, away from any of the lines indicating roads. He turned it to the west, and eventually came to a stop. “This is where we are now.” Krek glanced up at the others. “Can everyone see?”

“Not with your fat paw in the way.” Valar arched his neck, peering down at the map when Krek moved his front limb. “Where’s Denoria on that map?”

“Here.” Krek circled an area further south, then turned his green eyes to Valyrym. “As I doubt you’re especially familiar with modern geography, Denoria is a small but independent nation bordered on several sides by Illandra’s southwestern provinces. They’ve several important trade routes, and if Kylaryn’s rebellion blossoms into outright war, are likely to be caught in the middle. As are all of Illandra’s allies. Illandra would ask for support, Kylaryn would move to cut them off or conquer them to block off passage from other allied nations, and so on.”

Valyrym murmured. “I surmised as much from what Valar told me. Where…where is his village?”

“Right here.” Krek pointed to a little dot. “It’s a small village of little regional importance, but having dragons living among them certainly gives them a larger reputation. It’s likely the rulership of Denoria would try to ask for the dragons’ help defending their small nation if they came under attack, or needed help breaking through a Death in the Night blockade.”

“It’s just like home, isn’t it Father?” Valar sighed, wrapping his wings around his body. “When you decided to help Sigil Stones. This village, this country, they…they took me in, when I couldn’t bring myself to live with mother anymore. They welcomed us, my daughter was conceived, hatched there…it’s the only home she’s ever known.”

“I understand, Valar. I understand.” Valyrym examined the map, trying to gauge distance. “Which way are we going to be traveling?”

“This way, at first.” The gryphon used a claw to trace a line across the map, again avoiding any major roads or settlements. “We’ll be crossing some of the southern and southwestern provinces, heading towards what used to be Vurnel, and eventually, Aran’alia. Though, I hope to link up with her majesty long before we get anywhere near there.”

“It looks as though we fly somewhat close to Valar’s home.”

“We do. Relatively speaking, we’re already somewhat close to Denoria.” Krek glanced up, waving at the younger dragon. “That’s part of the reason I suggested this place as the one for him to come and meet you. It’s isolated, he’s been here before, and it’s close enough to his home that it gave him plenty of time to think it over before he had to leave.” The gryphon splayed his ears, bowing his head to Valar. “A decision I am ever so glad he made.”

“As am I.” Valyrym sighed, rubbed his forepaws together, and then pulled the bowl of rum a little closer. He curled his neck, lapped up a single mouthful. The warming liquid was divine, rich with complex flavors of spice and wood and sweet, sticky toffees that reminded him of treats he once had in Sigil Stone’s market. “Oh, Gods, that’s good.”

“Keep it in your sheath, Dragon.” Krek chuckled, rising to his feet. “Though if it’s that good, I am getting myself some. Would you like some Valar?”

The younger dragon nodded. “Please.”

Valyrym lapped up more rum, groaning after swallowing. “Where did you find this?”

“In the back.” Alia smiled up at him, stroking his scales. “I’m glad you like it. I was going to bring you some earlier but…”

“I’m glad you waited. This is…far better savored than used to ease my pain.” He curled a foreleg around Alia again to hug her, then glanced at Valar. “How…far out of the way is it to your home, from here?”

Valar turned the map towards himself, brushing a few pads across it. “Suppose that depends how closely we stick to Krek’s route. Why?”

“I thought…maybe…” Valyrym swirled an unsheathed claw tip in his rum, watching the ripples. “I could…if you didn’t mind…if…you weren’t too ashamed of me, to…to…”

“You want to meet her.” Valar lifted his head. Lamplight shone warm and bright in his silver-flecked golden eyes. A smile spread over his muzzle. “Your granddaughter. You want to meet her don’t you.”

Valyrym tried to reply, but couldn’t find the words, or the strength. He worked his jaw, but silence flattened his tongue. After a few attempts, he managed only a single, weak nod. Alia stroked his chest plates, and he hugged her, thankful as always for her comfort.

“Krek!” Valar turned his head to the gryphon. “Do we have time to go by my home?”

“Certainly not!” Krek filled a wooden drinking bowl carved for gryphons with rum, then carried it in his beak back to the others. He set the bowl down in front of Valar, glaring at the younger dragon. “We haven’t time for your sentimental nonsense. Once the Queen is safe, then you can all go do whatever the hell you want, wherever the hell you want to do it. As touching as this has been, I haven’t freed Valyrym for family reunions. He can meet Ayly when her majesty is safe.”

“Krek…” Valar’s voice was soft, and questioning, filled with an unspoken fear.

Valyrym knew just what his son was thinking. What if they failed? What if this was Valyrym’s only chance to meet his granddaughter?

The gryphon stared back at Valar, and soon gave a long, deflated sigh. All his feathers flattened back against him, and for a moment, he gazed down at his own paws. “I’ll…see if we can make time. I cannot promise anything. Perhaps if we catch up swiftly enough, and if Valyrym can find a way to stop slowing us down, we may make up just enough days to swing southward. But only for a day, at most, and that is still a very large question mark.”

“I’ll accept that, then.” Valar offered the gryphon a thankful smile, his ears perked. The silver flecks in his eyes glowed warm when he gazed back at Valyrym. “The father I remember was never one to shirk from such a challenge.”

Valar’s determination and belief in him gave Valyrym new strength with which to speak. “I’ll fly till my damn wings fall off, if that is what it takes to meet my granddaughter.”

“At your age, they probably will!” Krek snapped his beak. He padded back behind the bar, poured himself a bowl of rum, and then returned. “Now, can we get back to business?”

Valyrym drank a little more rum, exhaling through his nose to savor the taste and aromas. It warmed him through and through. He glanced at the gryphon, shrugging a single wing. “You’re the one holding us up.”

“I am not!”

“Are you!” Vatch gave the gryphon a dismissive wave. “You make all wait while get rum! Very impolite.”

“Shove it under your tail, you dress-wearing mutt.” Krek slapped the map with a paw. “The Queen’s route. Because of the logistics of traveling with an entourage like hers, she does have to take roads. They are avoiding the most heavily traveled roads, and instead taking old trade routes and military roads. That will minimize her visibility, and as several of those roads crisscross each other as they wind towards Aran’alia, it will make it harder for Kylaryn to predict the queen’s travel plans. Now.” Krek’s voice grew harder, and fire flickered in his green eyes as he gazed at everyone in turn. “We are all in agreement that The Wind will try to kill the Queen long before she ever reaches Aran’alia’s border. Correct?”

No one disagreed.

“Good. Now. Barring any unforeseen complications, her planned route is thus.” Krek traced a snaking line all the way across the map, starting from Illandra’s capital city in the northeast, down to the southwest. The route ended in Aran’alia’s provincial capital, which he tapped with a claw. “At present, she is likely in this region.” He circled an area west of their current position with a claw tip. “If we fly at top speed, considering Valyrym’s limitations, and if we do not dally too much…” He glanced at Valar. “I believe we can intercept here.” He tapped another spot on the map, near a crossroads. “Give or take a few days’ worth of travel on her part.”

“And you think she’ll be safe at least until then?” Valyrym stretched his neck, examining the map, looking for any familiar names or landmarks. “I don’t recognize much of this at all.”

“I think so, but…the sooner we can reach her, the safer she will be.” Krek withdrew his paw to let the dragon better see the chart. “I’m not surprised. A lot has changed since you’ve been locked away. Borders have been redrawn, nations have been absorbed or broken away.” Krek took a sip of his rum, then indicated a few places. “This used to be Vurnel, here. And way over here is where Sigil Stones was.”

Alia leaned over Valyrym’s foreleg. “Spirits, but Aran’alia is massive.”

“It is.” Krek nodded, then glanced at the dragons. “Was, anyway. In truth, even now half of it may as well be unclaimed. Compared to when you lived there, Valyrym, I suspect much of the area you once knew would seem quite different. Lots more cities, larger cities, more Illandran influence and architecture. Lots more fortifications. But out here?” He swept his forepaw over the mountains and wilderness stretched across the southwestern side of the map. “This is likely much as it was when you were young. Too wild and too isolated for Illandra to push deeply into.”

“May I ask a foolish question?” Valyrym lifted his muzzle, his ears splayed.

“I’d be more surprised if you asked an intelligent question.” Krek warbled, nodding. “But go ahead.”

Valyrym ignored the gryphon’s attempts at an insult. “How much of the world does Illandra control? Are there…many nations like Denoria, or does Illandra hold almost everything?”

“By world, I’ll assume you’re talking about this continent.” Krek tilted his head, clicking his beak. “Illandra is the largest nation, if you count all the provinces. There are some that would tell you, her Majesty among them, that they’re overstretched. Her desires to grant some of the provinces their independence are two-fold. For one, she views it as the right thing to do. That annexing and conquering other lands was a mistake in need of amends. For another, she believes Illandra cannot sustain itself spread so thin, that as a nation, it would be better off smaller, with its resources focused inward, and with a tight-knit collection of allied nations amongst its former provinces.” Krek drew a wandering line across the map. “All of those provinces were once independent nations and kingdoms. If they were given their independence again, and made allies of Illandra, then Kathlyn’s kingdom would still benefit from their resources via trade, and also be able to strengthen her military, and theirs, via mutual protection treaties.”

Valyrym licked his muzzle, trying to take it all in. There was a time in his youth, long ago, that he scarcely even knew countries existed. In his clan days, there was only the land, the clans, and the human villages. He knew this sort of national politics was not totally unlike clans battling for territory, or allying themselves to protect against more hostile clans, but he doubted he could ever keep up with all the names and histories of so many different nations.

“So this continent…how much more is there?”

“A lot.” Krek ruffled his wings, shifting his weight to stretch out on his side. “Unfortunately I do not have maps with me of the greater continent, let alone the world. Suffice to say that counting all its provinces, Illandra is the single largest nation, but there are several others that are also quite sizable, and a many more smaller countries. They are not all on friendly terms, and in fact Illandra has a host of enemies. Enemies which are no doubt watching closely, waiting for any sign of weakness. To give you an idea of what else is out there.” Krek stretched his fore paw out beyond the edge of the map. “Far enough in this direction, and there is a great primeval swamp, the largest such place known in all the land. In this direction…” He moved his paw another way. “There are mountains so large as to be nearly impassive. Eventually, there is ocean. There are vast plains, where the Koraa’gi and their cousins hail from. And this way, the mountains turn red, with stone like sands stained with blood.”

“I think I saw banners for places like that, during the Dragon Day parade.” Alia leaned her head back against Valyrym’s chest. “They have all of Illandra’s allies and trade partners, and anyone else they can convince to carry a banner all march together, and each nation or what-have-you carries its own flag. There was one with a castle in a swamp, I think, and another with…I think it was a city, near water, but surrounded by big red cliffs.”

“Yes, not all of them are friends with Illandra, but many have trade ties, or historical treaties that remain.” Krek set his paw back down, then sipped his rum. He brushed his beak off, and glanced up at the older dragon. “Does that answer your question, well enough?”

“More than I can ever remember, I think.”

“Good. Onto specifics, then.” Krek pulled up one of the smaller, more detailed maps, and set it atop the first one. “Trying to discern where The Wind will plan her ambush.”

“What are we looking at here?” Valar moved closer to the gryphon, turning the map towards himself.

“This is a meticulous relief of the part of her journey where she will be most susceptible. It’s the longest stretch where she’ll be closest to enemy territory, and the furthest from easily available reinforcements. Various military units along her route have been notified via coded messages, but obviously, when a large, angry dragon in heavy armor shows up, the battle’s going to be over long before back-up arrives, even if they’re close.”

“Kylaryn knows where the Queen is going?” Valyrym lapped up a little rum, trying to put himself in Ky’s head. He could almost hear her voice, echoing in his mind, even without Little Ky staring at him from some high place.

For Aran’alia, Illandra will fall.

For Amaleen, the Queen will burn.

“That is my assumption, yes.” Krek bristled, his silver tail fan splayed out, crown feathers on end. “That worm Armadine has been feeding them information. He’d have access to her inner circle…or at least, access to someone who did have access to it. If he can have Kylaryn kill the Queen, then he’ll have Elvir on the throne, and a dragon to blame his mother’s death on. And an excuse to crack down harder than ever on the local population of the province.” He snapped a wing out. “Obviously, that was going to backfire on him all along, even before we discovered his plot. Kylaryn is far too smart to let herself be played like that. She’s been the one playing him. The Queen’s death is the signal to her shadow army, long-since infiltrated deep into Illandra, to rise up and strike as one. Armadine always underestimated not only the dragons, but Death in the Night.”

“So even if we save the Queen…” Valar flattened his frills, his tail twisting. “What stops my mother from sending some other signal for her people to attack anyway?”

“The Prince and I have put something in motion to deal with Death in the Night, and the rest of her shadow army.” Krek held up a paw to cut off any follow up questions. “No, I’m not going to tell you what it is for now. Suffice it to say if our plan works, they’ll be far too busy with other matters to rise up against Illandra.”

“You’d better be right, Gryphon.” Valyrym pushed his rum bowl aside, wanting to stay focused. Later, he could get good and drunk and take Alia out to the hot springs at night, when they had time to be alone. “Otherwise your Queen might not have a country left to govern.”

“It’s up to the prince to worry about that now. I offered him the plan I think will best save the kingdom if worst comes to worst, and it’s up to him to implement it. Our job…your job…is to stop Kylaryn. So. Take a close look at this map, and tell me where you think she would strike.”

Valyrym reached out and dragged the cloth map across the floor. “I don’t know why you’d expect me to know such a thing.”

“You know her in a way even Valar does not.” Krek waved a paw at the dragon’s face. “I can see the gears turning behind those golden eyes already. You’re thinking about her. What are you thinking?”

“That it’s personal to her. Kathlyn…the Queen…she’s not really a person, to Kylaryn. She’s an enemy nation, she’s…she’s a black ideal, a symbol of conquest. She stands for everything Kylaryn ever lost to Illandra. Her clan, her family, her home…” Valyrym glanced over at Valar. The younger dragon couldn’t meet his gaze. “In a way, her son. This war, this loss…it has defined her since her childhood. She won’t just want to kill the Queen. She’ll want to send a message. She’ll want her death to have meaning, to have…greater symbolism for her cause.” Valyrym licked his muzzle, then swallowed, waving at the map. “If there’s a place where it could witnessed by Illandrans, she might strike there. Or a place of great meaning to them, then that could be just as meaningful to Kylaryn.”

Krek lowered his head, crown feathers slicked back. “I have imagined much the same.”

“Then why ask me?”

“Confirmation. I need to know that I’m on the right track, because this is not something we can afford to be wrong on. Let me ask you this.” Krek scratched lines in the floor with his claws. “If she felt she could strike earlier and succeed, or strike later at a place of far greater meaning, which do you think she’d choose?”

“The meaning. Kylaryn is patient to a fault. She’s waiting this long, another week, another month, it won’t matter to her.”

The gryphon nodded. “Follow the southern road on that map. Near where it crosses the central road, southwest side.”

Valyrym examined the map until he found the crossroads the gryphon spoke of. A little further south, a stone edifice was inscribed upon the cloth. The name of the monument was spelled out in fanciful golden script. Memorial to Shattered Innocence. Alongside the edifice were two smaller markers, like gravestones with stylized crowns atop them.

The old dragon’s breath caught in his throat. His heart shuddered, struggling to beat, and the painful twist of his belly threatened to send all his rum right back up. “Is…is that…”

“That is where you killed the prince, and his mother.” Krek’s voice was soft, and gentle, almost reverent. “They’re buried there. The sight his been turned into a memorial to them, and in a way, to that King’s reign. Kathlyn plans to stop there to pay her respects.” Though the gryphon’s voice was soft, his words were a claw carving ever-deeper into Valyrym’s heart. That poor child. He’d never meant for that to happen. “There’s a bitter irony in it. If you hadn’t taken your revenge that way, Kathlyn never would have ascended the throne.”

Alia grasped Valyrym’s forepaw, and squeezed it. Her warm comfort, and the concern in her voice helped ease some of the pain such memories brought. “Are you alright, Val?”

“I’m…” Valyrym shook his head, forcing himself to try and focus. “You said…you said the Queen is going there?”

“Correct. She’ll have wreaths to place, and words to speak, and-”

“And Kylaryn knows she’s going to be there?”

The gryphon drew his wings in tight, grinding his beak. “We must assume so.”

Valyrym took a deep breath, and held it till his lungs burned. Her voice echoed in his head.

For Amaleen, she will burn.

What you began, I will finish.

Where you should have slain their king, I will slay their queen.

“Then that is where Kylaryn will kill her.”

Krek lifted his head again, looking from person to person, all around the room. “Then we have to reach her first. We leave tomorrow.”

*****

Chapter Ten

*****

Valyrym flew alongside his son. As taxing as days of flight were on the old dragon, having Valar flying next to him made it so much easier. If his son could learn to fly so well despite such grievous injuries in his youth, then what did Valyrym have to complain about? Even as the days dragged on, even as Valar’s wing-strokes sometimes faltered when a bolt of pain from old scars pierced them, never once did the younger dragon complain. Valar’s strength and perseverance was deeply inspiring to the old dragon. If Valar could do this, he could do this.

At the end of each day of hard travel, Valyrym did not think he could possibly be more proud of his son. And yet with each new day, he somehow found room for even more pride within his heart. Valar had grown so strong. Now and then guilt tugged at Valyrym’s soul. He knew he should have been the one there to teach Valar to fly, to hunt. Valyrym did what he could to push through his pain. If Valar could find it within himself to forgive his father, than maybe Valyrym could learn to forgive himself, too.

When fatigue, sore flight muscles and stiff joints threatened to overwhelm the old dragon, Valar helped him continue along. The younger dragon had suggestions and demonstrations, ways to angle his wings and alter the way he stroked them to make long, endurance flights more bearable. They were motions and techniques Valar had taught himself, to make it easier to fly extended stretches with his scars. Valyrym was happy to have each suggestion, and happier still that they eased the strain.

Each time they landed for the night, Alia rubbed and massaged his wing joints, easing as much of the tension and pain from them as she could. She did the same again each morning, to help him prepare for another day’s flight. Flying all day did not tax him quite as badly now as it had when he first escaped. The days spent relaxing at Wing’s Rest and savoring its hot springs renewed what little energy he had left these days. And exhausting as it was, Valyrym knew the flight was making him stronger. While he doubted he’d ever be as good a flyer as he was in his youth, if he survived all this, at least he’d be as capable as any other ancient dragon.

As they fly, Valyrym glanced back at Alia now and then. With his focus on keeping himself aloft, he had little breath to waste on words. But each time he gazed back at her, she smiled and hugged herself against his neck, stroked his scales. Each little gesture of love and affection brought him renewed strength, reminded him just how important she had become to him. Alia spent most of the flight gazing down over the side of him, watching the world pass by. Valyrym could only imagine what it must be like to see everything so far below, for a creature born without wings. Even to him, seeing the world from the sky once more was a wondrous thing, that his heart soaring higher than his wings could ever take him. To a person not meant to fly, he could only imagine what must be going through her head.

Valyrym idly wondered if Alia would want a saddle, someday. He wasn’t even sure where the idea came from. But dare he hope they survive this, Valyrym wished to live out his days somewhere with Alia, watching her grow old. He hoped the same for her, but doubted he could grow much older now. If she enjoyed flying as much as it seemed, he would take her to the skies every day, fly her wherever she wished, to show her anything she wished to see. Having a saddle might make that more comfortable for her.

At least she had leather breeches to protect her skin from his scales. Days of flying left her sore as well, and in more sensitive places than his wings. Her pants kept her from chafing too badly, though, and she never complained about her soreness aside from a few nightly jokes. Valyrym wasn’t sure having some kind of saddle built for her would actually alleviate any of those problems, but he realized he would happily wear such a thing if she but wished it.

Despite Krek’s previous threats, Vatch continued to ride the gryphon, and Krek continued to give him a smooth flight. At least, most of the time it was smooth. Now and then Krek dove or ascended sharply enough to make Vatch squeal. Sometimes it was clear the gryphon was only doing it to amuse himself. Other times, Valyrym was half convinced Krek forgot he was there, and went into a sharper maneuver than he otherwise would have.

Krek flew in all his armor, and put together it likely weighed as much as the urd’thin. With so much metal, chain, and padding already matting down his feathers and fur, the feeling of the urd’thin against him likely barely even stood out. Much as Valyrym hated to admit it, the gryphon had the most magnificent set of armor he’d ever seen.

It was forged from a very rare, very expensive alloy, and while it shone just like polished silver, it held far more strength. Scalloped black feathers edged the helmet. Silver plates protected the gryphon’s limbs, and were inscribed with gryphon runes in gold. The largest section was the breastplate, and the angled silver metal was embossed with an ebony gryphon, wings spread. More silver plates covered his belly, and a bowl-like section with soft padding inside protected the gryphon’s genitals. Sturdy chain mesh covered him elsewhere, and another layer of padding beneath kept it all from catching his fur and feathers.

The old dragon made sure to hold his tongue whenever the subject of Krek’s armor was broached. He did not wish to accidentally admit to how beautiful it was, or how handsome the gryphon looked in it, as he doubted Krek’s ego could possibly survive any further inflation. Instead, Valyrym settled for telling him it whenever he donned his armor, he looked a little less ugly. Somehow even that left the gryphon strutting about.

Damn ego-bird.

At night, someone had to help the gryphon out of his armor, and in the morning, back into it. Most of the time that was Alia’s task. She performed it often enough she could get Krek in or out of his protection in a matter of minutes. Valyrym suggested that she teach Vatch to do the same, so that Alia would not always be stuck assisting the gryphon.

Some nights, Krek suggested they sleep without a fire. The gryphon never quite made it clear who he was afraid would spot it, and Valyrym thought it best not to ask. As often as he argued with the gryphon, Valyrym was willing to admit there was some things Krek knew best, and some things he simply had to trust him on. Alia had brought a blanket in her own pack, and when they slept, she curled up inside it and Valyrym curled around her.

Other nights, when Krek was sure it was safe, they built a large fire to sit around, talk, and relax. Those became Valyrym’s favorite nights of the journey, because each evening around the fire was a little more time spent getting to know his son. In truth, he often did not know what to say to him, and just sat, quiet or talking to Alia. Even then he listened to everything Valar said, happy just to learn more about the life his beloved son led.

Sometimes when they all talked, they swapped stories, and Valyrym found himself wishing he had more tales to tell his son. He had misadventures with Kylaryn from his youth to share, and stories of Valar’s own hatchling days he might not have heard. But after that, most of Valyrym’s stories all dark, and not at all worth sharing. There were a few bright spots from his long years in captivity, but even those did not seem like moments worthy of sharing around a fire.

He might have kept them all to himself if not for Alia.

“I built him a tub.”

As they all sat around a crackling fire one night, answered a question asked of him before he could decide whether to deflect it or not. Valar had asked, simply enough, how they met. The younger dragon knew the broad strokes but not the fine details, and the baffled look on his face told Valyrym he wasn’t sure if Alia was telling the truth or just yanking his tail.

“You met by building him a tub?” Valar cocked his head, his spines half raised, wavering around his head.

“Mhm!” Alia smiled, and then laughed, sipping rum from a little wooden cup. They’d taken what they could from Wing’s Rest. “A tub! You know, for bathing in.”

“I know what a tub is, Alia.” Valar chuckled, glancing over at Krek. “Do you know this story?”

“Know the story? I’ve seen the tub!” Krek punctuated his words with a thrust of his forepaw. “I’ve bathed in it, in fact.”

“Why were you bathing in their tub?” Valar cocked his head, his ears flattened back.

“Vatch make gryphon take bath.” The urd’thin sat alongside Valyrym, grinning at Krek. “He very filthy!”

“That is not what happened!” Krek snapped a wing out, buffeting the urd’thin with a gust of wind. “I was only in that tub because-”

“Because you were filthy.” Valyrym cut the gryphon off, rumbling his amusement. “All covered in dirt and dried blood. I felt bad about kicking his ass, so I thought the least I could do was get him cleaned up before the healers arrived to see to his injuries.”

“So you bathed him?” Valar laughed, twisting his neck around to coo down at the gryphon. “Aww, wittle baby burd needs a big boy baf!”

“Shut your muzzle, lizard! Valyrym did not bathe me!”

“No, I didn’t.” Valyrym shook his head, then gestured at the urd’thin. “Vatch did.”

“Oh no.” Vatch growled and pinned back his big ears, leaving his horns exposed. “Vatch not get in tub with filthy gryphon! Vatch make gryphon bathe self.”

“Smart move, Vatch.” Valar curled his neck, a smirk playing across his muzzle. “Besides, Krek is used to tending his own needs.”

The gryphon ruffled up his feathers, glaring right back at the dragon. “I don’t know, Valar, the last time you and I and your mate bathed together, you two didn’t seem to averse to tending my needs then.”

“You were wounded. We were genuinely helping you bathe.” Valar tossed his head, flexing his wings. “It’s not my fault gryphons are set off so easily.”

“Bahahahahaha!” Valyrym burst into coarse, growling laughter. He curled his foreleg around Alia’s middle. “See, Alia? I knew the bird was all talk.”

Krek hissed and ground his beak. “That isn’t what-”

“Trouble likes to tease, you see.” Valar ruffled up Krek’s neck feathers with a paw. “That’s what we call my mate, because that’s what she is. She often has wandering paws, and gryphons are over before it’s even started. So we were helping him get washed, and Trouble had only just gotten her paw around him, and then he was shuddering and warbling his head off.”

“None of that ever happened!”

“So you’re admitting nothing happened in the bath, then? The truth, at last.” Valar laughed, nipping at Krek’s ear when the gryphon glowered at him. Then he looked back at the others. “So, about this tub you built. Might I ask why?”

“An excellent question.” Valyrym arched his neck, peering down at his mate. “I think it was because she just couldn’t wait to get into the bath with me.”

“You keep that up, and you’ll be waiting a very long time before I next bathe with you.” Alia leaned her head back against the dragon’s scales, gesturing with her cup. “Truth was, I just wanted to see him treated decently. I’d heard…all sorts of stories about him, and though he was certainly intimidating, he also looked…neglected.”

Valyrym glanced away, murmuring under his breath. His ears drooped a little. He wasn’t sure he actually wanted to hear this, now. “Do we have to…talk about this?”

Alia reached for his paw, and gave one of his fingers a squeeze. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the naughty parts of our lives.”

That brought a smile to the dragon’s muzzle. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Made you smile a moment, didn’t it?” She patted his forepaw, gazing up at him. “Do you really mind?”

“Just don’t make me seem too pathetic.”

“Very well.” Alia stroked his foreleg, glancing at the younger dragon. “I’ll keep it short then, for your father’s benefit.”

“Yes, you need not say anything that will embarrass him.”

“Not unless he gives me reason too. I do have plenty of stories that would embarrass him.”

“And you’ll keep them to yourself unless you want a very bumpy flight tomorrow.” Valyrym squeezed her around the middle for emphasis.

“Yes, yes, love, no one likes a cranky dragon.” Alia patted his forepaw. “So, the tub. The first time I ever saw Valyrym he was…” Alia took a breath, and gave a little sigh. “Suffice it to say, it clear he had gone a long time without a filling meal, and even longer time without knowing kindness. I had no way to know what sort of creature he was. I’d never seen a dragon before, but it was clear enough he was…” She twisted to brush her hand across the dragon’s midsection, over his ribs. “Malnourished and mistreated.”

“And for all you knew, I deserved it.” Valyrym turned his gaze away, staring off into the forest that surrounded them. Flickering firelight sent orange spirits dancing amidst the trees.

“That’s true.” Alia stroked the dragon’s leg again, her voice drifting above the crackling fire. “By that point, I don’t think anyone in the city even knew why he was there. The city celebrated his capture every year, but to most of Illandra, those are forgotten days. Generations on generations have passed since my homeland was conquered, and your father was dragged into the city. He was just…a fixture. Everyone knew he was there, beneath their feet, but they scarcely paid him any heed. Most of the records about the real reasons for his captivity are known only to castle staff and royalty. I suspect there came a time when those in power decided they didn’t really want their city to know a dragon had so severely altered their line of succession anymore. So I had to assume he was there for a good reason, whether monster or trophy or murdering beast. But…but at the same time, I knew nothing about him, just as he knew nothing about me. At the time, I half-thought I was being punished by being made his Warden. It seemed like a dangerous, thankless position, and yet at the same time it moved me up in the world. I was happy to accept. I told myself…the only right thing to do, the only…honorable thing to do…would be to treat him with respect. At least as far as he was willing to treat me with respect.”

“She told me as much, the first day I met her.” Valyrym licked his gray-marked nose, swallowing. “She’d carried my meal all the way down those stairs, and I came to intimidate her, to size up what I expected to be my newest tormentor, and though I saw fear in her, I also saw defiance.”

“He likes bold things.” Alia laughed, reaching up to stroke the dragon’s cheek.

Valyrym leaned his head into her touch, purring. “So I do.”

Alia caressed his scales. “I offered him my respect, if he would show me his. He let me touch his paw, his wings…” She gestured at Valar. “And just as you said, it did help put me at ease. And while I was sating my curiosity for the feel of a dragon’s hide, I could not help but notice he was…grimy.”

Valyrym snorted, pulling his head back to glare down at her. “I was not grimy.”

“You were.” Alia poked his chest plates. “You were very grimy. It wasn’t your fault, but you were slathered in grime.”

The old dragon growled, flaring up his spines. “Now you’re just exaggerated.” He turned his gaze to his son, hissing. “I was not slathered in anything, least of all grime.”

Krek ruffled up his feathers, chirruping. “Yes, it wasn’t grime you were slathered in when I met you, it was filth. Filth and muck.”

“Your beak’s about to be slathered by my-”

“Maybe he wasn’t slathered,” Alia said, laughing. “The point is, it had clearly been a very long time since he’d had a proper bathe. At the time, the only way he had to bathe himself was to roll around in his drinking water. It sort of…” She waggled her fingers in the air. “Trickled down these ledges, from a stream flowing through the courtyard. It collected in a pool but it was difficult for him to properly clean himself. Allowing a thinking creature the chance to bathe and clean itself just seemed like common decency, to me. So I offered to build him a tub, and a chance to take a real hot bathe.”

“A hot bath? How’d you manage that?”

“I hired some engineers to do all the planning and the work.” Alia leaned over the dragon’s front leg to trace designs on the ground with her finger. “They chiseled into the stone floor, so they could anchor the tub walls into it. Built it out of wood and metal, like a gigantic hollow egg. Used the stream to fill it, and put little sluice gates at each end to drain it. As for the heat, we had stoves built down there.” She set one hand atop the other, then again, stacking them like layers. “With flat pipes built across them, so that the stoves could heat the water flowing into the tub.”

“That’s quite ingenious, actually.”

“Oh, it was! I made sure all those engineers and workers were paid quite handsomely. Especially the poor one Valyrym chased around till he pissed himself.”

Valar gaped at his father, blue-marked muzzle hanging open. “You didn’t.”

“I…” Valyrym flexed his wings. “May have. On accident.”

“Accident?” Alia swatted him, grinning. “You chased him around, saying you were going to cook him over one of those stoves!”

“I don’t remember that part.”

“Sure you don’t, you big lizard.”

Krek tilted his head, grinning. “That sounds like something you’d have done in your youth, Valar.”

“Maybe to the bandits. Not some poor worker.”

“If you say so.” Krek shook himself, ruffling up his feathers. “I must say, for something built in a dragon’s dungeon, that tub was quite nice. If I’d been there under more pleasant circumstances I might have enjoyed myself in it.”

Valyrym nodded, hugging Alia against his body. She returned the affection, kissing his scales. “Though I was loathe to admit it to her, it was…nice…to have someone who cared for my well-being, even in the slightest. That tub became a refuge, of sorts. Even before Alia and I truly grew close, I would soak in the hot water, and lose myself in memories and reverie. I could forget, for a little while, what ruinous darkness consumed my life. It was nice to remember what warmth felt like, again. That tub, as silly as it sounds…that was the start of everything for Alia and me. I am…” He swallowed, his throat tightening for a moment. Such a simple, spur of the moment act of kindness and curiosity had led him to the love he once thought he’d never know again. “Ever so grateful for that simple kindness that brought us together.”

“Then so am I, father.” Valar rose to his paws, walked over, and nuzzled his father’s neck. Then he patted Alia’s head, smiling down at her. “Thank you for caring for him, in his darkest time.”

Alia stood up and hugged Valar around his neck. “And thank you for finding a way to forgive this old bastard.” She pulled back and settled against Valyrym again. “Taking care of him was my pleasure.”

“Literally, from the sounds of things.” Krek squawked laughter.

Valar retreated back to the other side of the fire. He sat next to the gryphon, glaring at him with his wings half unfurled. “Just had to the ruin the mood, didn’t you.”

“The mood was boring.” Krek flared his crown feathers. “Someone tell a funny story.”

Valyrym glared at the gryphon a moment, then tilted his head. “Yes, Bird, why don’t you tell us all about the time you got arrows in your ass?”

Krek squawked again, fluffing up. “That is not a funny story! I still have scars from that, you know.”

“Under your ass-feathers?” Valyrym rumbled his amusement.

“I don’t have ass-feathers!” Krek curled his tufted tail around his paws, grinding his beak.

“Then what do you call those gaudy things?” Valyrym waved at the silver fan of feathers spread out across the gryphon’s rump, on either side of his tail.

Krek twisted around to gaze at them. “Those are tail feathers, you scaly idiot.”

“Tail, ass, close enough.”

“If you think the tail and the ass are the same thing, you’re in severe need of an anatomy lesson.” The gryphon canted his head, clicking his beak. “Alia, perhaps you know a funny story about him.”

“Well…” Alia drummed her fingers against the old dragon’s foreleg. “There was the time the Queen came to visit.”

“I don’t remember anything funny about that.” Valyrym peered down at her, his ears splayed.

“It was right before she entered the dungeon. I’d convinced her to come and visit him, in the hopes that she might see some of what I saw in him. I was trying to get her to grant his release at the time. But poor Valyrym was so nervous and worked up he was pacing all over the dungeon, his limp be damned.”

“I was just ready to get it all over with.”

“So, she finally arrives.” Alia leaned over the dragon’s foreleg, giggling to herself. “And as she’s waiting out in the vestibule, she sends in her retainer first.”

“Bownen?” Krek perked his ears.

“Yes, him.” Alia turned her face up to Valar, smiling. “He’s very stuffy. Very, very formal. He’s a stickler for all the old royal traditions, all the bits of decorum, and everything. Dressed in beautiful, formal clothes. Strides in, pale as I’d ever seen, and does his best to face down Valyrym. Bows, and gives his grand pronouncement speech.” Alia deepened her voice. “May I present to you, Her Grand Majesty, the Queen of Illandra, Kathlyn the Second…” She trailed off. “Or some such nonsense. You get the idea. So halfway through, Valyrym cuts him off.”

“I’d been a nervous wreck, waiting all day to meet this queen, and instead I find myself stuck listening to some purple-dressed dandy, while he bows and waves his arms about.” The dragon huffed, flattening back his spines. “I was sick of him before he even opened his mouth.”

“So Valyrym snarls at him, and says…” Alia made her voice as low and brassy as she could. “And may I present to you, my balls!” She smacked the dragon on the shoulder, giggling. “And then he turns around, hoists his tail, and presents them, just like that! I’ve never seen a man go so red, so fast.”

“Got him the hell out of there, didn’t it?” Valyrym chuckled to himself. “I’d call that a small victory.”

“At least you put your tail back down before the Queen strode in.”

Krek warbled with raucous gryphon laughter. “Oooh, you did that to Bownen? Now that is funny!”

“Agreed!” Alia giggled, patting the dragon’s scales. “He’s a good man, but I can only take so much of his obsessive fixation on decorum before I want to scream.”

Krek waggled a paw in the air. “You know, he even lectures Kathlyn. Or at least, he used too. I think he gave up when his efforts were repeatedly in vain.”

“Her majesty seems to stick to decorum often enough.” Alia leaned back against the dragon, folding her arms. “And when it doesn’t suit her, she tosses it aside. As it should be.”

“Doesn’t toss it aside often enough.” Krek fluffed his feathers up, flicking his tufted tail against the grass. “If she did, we might not be in the mess.” He flicked open a wing, waving it in the air. “Oh, it wouldn’t do to have a gryphon fly me to a secret location to meet with only one secret representative. Sends the wrong message! Have to make an official visit, have to make this a royal prerogative, even if it gets me killed! You can’t issue a formal decree of independence in secret and expect it to be respected. Everyone has to know, it has to be official!” Krek clacked his beak, tilting his head. “That’s my impression of her, if it wasn’t clear.”

“Wasn’t very good.” Valyrym rumbled, watching the gryphon. “I can’t figure you out, bird. You clearly love the woman, yet you shackle yourself to her laws and decrees when you need to be free of them.”

Krek folded his silver-edged wings back against his body. “What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you just snatch her up and fly her somewhere safe?” Valyrym hugged Alia around the middle when she gave his forepaw a squeeze of agreement. “Stash her away somewhere while we try and square things away with Kylaryn?”

“Ah.” Krek stretched his forelegs out before himself, paws splayed. Firelight glittered in his emerald eyes as he dug his claws into the earth. “That. I had a very similar conversation with her son. Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple. She’s the queen of the most expansive, powerful nation in this continent. I can’t just stick her in a broom closet for a while. Her absence would send the country into chaos, and it might even send out the same signal as her death. Where would I even take her? In allied nations, people may recognize her. And The Wind has eyes everywhere. She’ll come looking. That’s to say nothing of the fact that she’s expressly forbidden me from doing any such thing. If I tried it, she’d probably have me neutered.” The gryphon tightened up his hind legs, flattening his ears.

“And nothing of value would be lost.” Valar rumbled laughter, flicking his tail against the gryphon’s haunch.

“I’d wager they’re more valuable than yours.” Krek ruffled himself, glaring at the dragon. “After all, mine belong to royalty.”

The old dragon laughed, glancing at his son. “You hear that Valar? The Queen owns them.”

Valar folded his forelegs across his plated chest. “There’s a twist everyone saw coming.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Krek gave an irritable chirrup, then softened his voice, his ears perking. “But, suffice it to say, I do have other ideas in mind for keeping her safe.”

“Such as?” Valyrym curled his neck. If the gryphon had secret plans to help protect the queen, he wanted to know them. The rest of their group couldn’t help Krek if the bird kept them in the dark about everything. “As much as you value your secrecy, we cannot help you if don’t let us.”

“Let’s just say, I always try to have a back-up plan, and that you’re on the right track.” Krek picked up a log sitting nearby, and settled it into the fire. The flames popped and crackled, and embers spun into the night. “I will discuss it more with you in detail if need be, but…perhaps the less you know, the better, in this case.”

“If you say so, Bird.” Valyrym tossed his head, then gently stroked Alia’s arm beneath his broad paw. She smiled up at him, reclining against his scales. He lowered his muzzle to nuzzle her cheek, then glanced up at the gryphon again. “What are the odds you think we can actually talk Kylaryn out of her madness?”

“You know her better than I.” Krek pinned his ears, staring into the flames.

“I am not so sure that is true, anymore.” Valyrym gazed at his son, who in turn stared only at his blue-marked paws. “I knew her until I was Valar’s age, but that was…nearly a century and a half ago. I cannot imagine what she has been through in those long decades, or how they have changed her, shaped her soul.”

“Stronger.” Valar’s voice was soft. He dragged a single paw back and forth against the mossy ground. “Everything she’s been through, it…it only makes her stronger. But it also makes her more stubborn. More convinced she’s right. She’s been planning this for years I dare not count. To be so close now, so near the victory she imagines for her home, and her people, I cannot see how she can be talked out of that now.”

“Part of the reason I decided to free you, Valyrym…” Krek turned his eyes back to the older dragon, uncertainty swirling in the reflected firelight. “Is because you were once described to me as the claw in her heart, the only wound she could never close.”

Valyrym swallowed, a tinge of cold pain encircling his belly. “So you said.”

“Is it possible that the shock of seeing you, speaking to you…may give you an opening? A chance to get her to listen to you, to understand why slaying the Queen will only make things worse, not better?”

“I do not know.” Valyrym rustled his wings, rubbing them against his sides. “It is certainly possible, but…as Valar said, this is…the culmination of all she has worked for. I am not sure a shock to her soul will be enough. And I must admit…” The dragon swallowed again, a stubborn lump forming in his throat. “If…if I am this…claw in her heart…I do not know if I have it in me to twist that tine any deeper. My actions in our youth brought her so much pain, brought Valar so much pain…I am not certain I can bring myself to hurt her anymore, should it come to it.”

“As much as I hate to say this, Father…” Valar rose up and padded closer to Valyrym. He sat down next to him, and set a forepaw atop the old dragon’s. “Whatever pain this brings her, she has wrought upon herself. This war, her war…in my mind, it was over when we fled Sigil Stones, when we flew from Aran’alia to find sanctuary elsewhere. I hate, I hate that our home was taken, that Amaleen’s people suffered so, but we cannot change the path of history. The war is over. Illandra won a century ago. All killing the Queen will do is bring the war full circle, and start the cycle of bloodshed all over again. If preventing that, and helping Aran’alia achieve true freedom again means wrenching all her half-forgotten pain and anguish back into the light, then so be it. She chose this path. Not us.”

“I know, Valar, I know.” Valyrym smiled at his son, thankful for the support, even as it continued to surprise him. He still scarcely felt worthy of it. “And yet that will not make it any easier on any of us.”

“No, it won’t. But we may have to find the strength to do so, nonetheless.”

Valyrym bowed his head, still smiling. “As difficult as it is, I am certain you will have no trouble finding that strength. It seems you always do.”

“If I may interrupt your family bonding moment…” Krek raised his voice, though his usual smugness was replaced by respect. “When we talk about Valyrym as this great, lingering wound, when we hope he may shock her out of this…” He circled a paw in the air, hissing. “Death spiral of vengeance. I feel that I must ask, while I have you both here to question…”

When the gryphon trailed off, Valyrym lifted his spines in worried curiosity. “What is it?”

“Kylaryn.” Krek gestured with his paw again, then set it down, fidgeting. “Does she have any other…shall we say, open wounds?”

“I don’t think so.” Valar shrugged his wings. “She’s been with Voskalar for ages, now. They’re very happy together.”

“There was Amaleen, of course.” Valyrym’s voice was soft, rough. “Losing her was almost as difficult for Kylaryn as it was for me. That woman took her in, gave her back almost everything she lost to Illandra’s armies, long before.”

“That’s right.” Valar nodded. “Amaleen gave Mother a home in Sigil Stones. Made her feel like that whole place was her family.”

Krek curled his tail around, picking bits of dirt out of the tuft. “That is true, but not something we can use to our advantage. I was wondering more if you two knew anything about her I might not. Anything we could use against her, something to press her on, or withhold from her?”

“I rather doubt it.” The old dragon looked back and forth between the gryphon and his son. “Anything since after I was caught, you two would know better than me. And other me, I doubt there is anything she’s lost, or anything that pains her, that could be used to help stop her.”

“I don’t want to have to use you to open a wound, father, but if we must bleed her dry to get her to see reason…”

Alia patted the back of Valyrym’s front paw. “There was one thing, that used to haunt, wasn’t there? Back when you were with her?”

Valyrym gazed down at her, his head tilted. “What are you thinking of?”

Alia grit her teeth, holding up a hand to Valar. “I don’t know how much this I’m really supposed to be speaking about, but, when you were hurt, Valar.”

Valar cringed, glancing at the scars along his side, and in his leg. “She blamed Father, for a while.”

Valyrym whimpered, looking away.

“For what it’s worth, Father, I blame you for many things, but not for these.” He gestured at the pink blotches marring his scales. “I’ve never in my life blamed you for my injuries. You didn’t put those bolts in me.”

“No, but…but…if I’d been awake, if I’d held you tighter, if-”

“If you hadn’t woken when you did, I’d be dead. I prefer to think you saved me. There’s a thousand other things that could have happened but didn’t, and there’s no sense troubling ourselves about them now.” Valar swallowed hard, taking a shuddering breath. “Most of that time is…little more than a painful blur, anyway. I remember the fun we had together, out in the wild. And I remember you curled around me, at night, but I…scarcely remember slinking away from you. My own daughter does that now, and sometimes it frightens me.” His voice grew soft, his gaze distant. “There’s a river, and…” Valar flattened his spines, and dug his claws into the ground. “Nevermind. The rest of the night I just remember…pain, and…you were carrying me and…then I think it was days later, and we were in Amaleen’s backyard.”

Alia hugged Valyrym’s foreleg against her body, stroking his scutes. “I’m sorry to bring that up, for both of you. But you know why Kylaryn wasn’t there, don’t you? Or…or do you?”

Valar turned his silver-gold eyes back to his father, and the woman. “She was…searching for old clan members or something, I think.”

“Her brother.” Valyrym’s voice was a soft, broken whisper, held together only by will and determination. He blinked away a few tears, struggling to avoid losing himself in the horrible, terrifying memories of Valar’s brush with death. “She was looking for her brother.”

Krek lifted his head, silver crown feathers flared. “Kylaryn has a brother?”

“Had a brother.” Valyrym licked his nose, and when the younger dragon and gryphon exchanged a confused glance, he cocked his head. “You…you didn’t know?”

Valar shook his head. “No. She…she’s never…”

“No, I suppose she wouldn’t.” Valyrym scratched his neck with talon tipping a tattered gray wing. “That was probably the biggest hole in her heart, before me. Maybe even including me. She had a younger brother, and she loved him dearly. Used to carry him around on her back, before our clan was shattered.” He gestured at Valar, a wistful smile on his muzzle. “Like I used to carry you, when we played conqueror. If anything, I think your mother invented that game for her little brother.”

Valar unfurled his wings a little, hugging himself with them. “What happened to him?”

“He was murdered.” Valyrym hardened his voice. He curled his tail, the curved spines caught in the mossy ground, tearing a rut. “By Illandra. When they invaded and slaughtered our clan, drove the survivors apart. My family survived, and hers…hers did not.”

“I knew that part.” Valar glanced at Krek, who only shrugged is wings, his ears drooping. “I mean, I knew her parents were killed. They…they fought back to make sure she had time to escape, but…she never…Gods, if she ever mentioned her brother it must have been when I was a tiny hatchling.”

“She used to search for him.” Valyrym tilted his head back, hugging Alia against his chest. He stared up at the night sky, the stars like myriad tiny, shining eyes gazing back at him. He waved a wing at it. “She used to call it the uncaring sky. Other dragons used to say the sky sheltered us, but Kylaryn said it watched, and watched, and did not care how many of us died. She cursed it, sometimes, as she grew older. Before you hatched, and later, when you only needed one of us to care for you at a time, she used to wander beneath the uncaring sky, searching for her brother.”

“Why…why would she search for him?”

“Closure.” Valyrym heaved a great sigh, still staring at the stars. “She…she knew her parents were dead. She…saw. But she didn’t see it happen to her brother. I knew that he was dead, and…I think she knew, too. They’d split up, and…I think it…lingered, in her heart. That somehow she survived, and he did not. She wished she’d taken him with her, but…the truth is, the only reason she escaped was because she’s so fast. Her family was one of the last out of the clan, and…if she’d been carrying him or waiting for him, then they’d have both have died. The night you were hurt, Valar, she was looking for her brother’s remains.”

Valar sniffed, covering his face with a wing for a moment. He rubbed his eyes, then folded his wing back. “She…must have found them, at least. I don’t remember her leaving again, after that.”

“No, Valar. She did not. She stopped looking, because she did not want to be away from you anymore. For all the horror your injuries brought us, all the anguish that attack has caused you, it opened her eyes. She…” Valyrym waved a paw, speaking through grit teeth. “She realized she was…spending so much time on someone who was already gone, when she had a son to love, and raise, and protect. She gave up any hope of finding her brother’s bones, because she wanted to spend every waking moment, cherishing her beloved son. Keeping you safe where she felt I failed and…where she thought she had failed. She gave up on her brother, to spend her life with her son.”

“Gods.” Valar took a shaking breath, his wings trembling at his sides. “I…I never knew any of that.”

“It’s not something she’d want you to know, is it?” Valyrym shook his head slowly. “Over the years I think she did all she could to forget him herself. She cherishes their childhood memories, but beyond that, she did what she could to move on. She would never wish to burden you with such knowledge.”

“Valyrym.” The taut edge in Krek’s voice sent a shiver under Valyrym’s scales. “Her brother. Are you certain he’s dead?”

“Of course he’s dead.” He tilted his head, lowering his eye ridges. “Why?”

“How old would he be if he wasn’t?” Krek sat up straighter, her wings half unfurled.

“A little younger than her, relatively speaking. By now he’d be old, just like she and I.” Valyrym swallowed, then sharpened his voice. “I ask again. Why?”

“Because if you think in all of Illandra’s long years of conquest and dragon-slaying, that you are the only one they ever captured alive, you are greatly deluding yourself.” Krek turned his head, gazing at each of them in turn until his emerald eyes bored once more into Valyrym. “How can you be certain he is dead?”

“Because she never found any evidence he survived. She searched everywhere. None of the other survivors saw any sign of him. She hoped to find his body, but…our clan was in a rugged place, if they slew him, they probably stripped his course of hide and teeth and anything else valuable, and tossed the rest in a ravine to be washed away in the next storm.”

“And yet…” Krek leaned against his haunches. He held his forepaws with his pads upturned. “She found nothing. Not a single bone. Is that correct?”

Valyrym shifted, curling his tail. Something about this left him deeply unsettled. “That is my understanding. After Valar was hurt, she knew she had to accept that he was dead.”

“With no evidence of this.” Krek shook his head, and gave a low, sorrowful warble. “That doesn’t mean he’s dead, Valyrym, that only means she gave up on him.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say.” Valar snapped his jaws at the gryphon, growling.

Krek did not relent. “What choice did she have? Your father said it himself. She could not continue searching for her missing brother at the expense of her son. She had to choose the life before her, or the life she thought she lost. Any mother would do the same, any parent would choose their child, and rightfully so.” He warbled again, the sound soft and mournful. “It was tragic, Valar, but it may also be an opportunity for us. She must believe he’s out there, somewhere, or she’d have told us about him. She dares not think of him, for fear the unknown may take hold of her heart. If she has convinced himself he’s dead, then she’s nothing left to search for. In your youth, that meant nothing to distract her from raising you, and now, it means nothing to hold her back from her war. But in her heart, she must know. Lack of remains does not mean he’s dead, Valar. It only means he’s missing.”

“After all this time, Krek, he has to be dead.” Valyrym snarled, grinding his sharp teeth. “It isn’t right to try and use something like this against her. If he was alive, she’d have found him, or he’d have found her.”

“First.” Krek flicked a claw into the air. “Right and wrong have nothing to do with it. Her happiness, her life, even her sanity, she has offered them all upon the altar of her war. If we must strike at her very core to save the Queen, to save this land from another tide of blood, then so be it. We do whatever it takes to end this. Do you disagree?”

Valyrym snarled again, but as much as he wanted to raise an argument, he had to admit, the gryphon was right. He gave his head a single shake.

“Then, second.” The gryphon unsheathed another talon. “If she had a choice between slaying the queen to continue her war….or finding her brother, alive and well…which do you think she would choose?”

“The war.” Valar sighed, dragging his tail spines back and forth across the mossy ground. “As painful as it may be-”

“Her brother.” Valyrym gazed down at his son, his neck curled. “As much as this war has meant to her, if after all these years, I am still a hole in her heart? Then I cannot imagine the chasm that could be opened if she learned her brother was alive.” He hung his head, ears drooping. Gods, as if that poor dragon hadn’t suffered enough. “That is…only my opinion, of course.”

“It hardly matters.” Valar waved a paw in the air. “She has an entire army. She could go and meet her brother, and she’d just tell her army to slay the Queen on her behalf, and we’re still stuck with the same problem.”

“One step at a time, my friend.” Krek leaned over, and gently nibbled at Valar’s neck. “For now, I am only exploring my options. I cannot make plans without all the facts. If this is something I can stick in her, when the time comes, so be it.”

“So what does that mean, Krek?” Valyrym hardened his voice, fixing his golden glare upon the gryphon. “Is he alive or not?”

Krek shrugged his silver-edged wings. “Doubtful.”

Anger heated Valyrym’s voice, reddening his frills. “Then why did you-”

“Because we need to use anything against her we can!” The gryphon snapped right back at him, crown feathers fully extended. He glared a moment, but then his ruffled display slowly settled back down. “And because doubtful still means it’s possible. Illandra used to…” He shifted a wing forward, preening it. “The people who took you across the land, after you were caught. Who took your fire. They were professionals, were they not?”

The reminder made Valyrym cringe. A image of a bloodied knife before his muzzle, sliding under his jaw. Agony like he’d never known as they punctured his fire glands. He rubbed at the back of his jaw, pads brushing the scars there. “I hardly know, but it is possible.”

“One of Illandra’s provinces. The original natives had extensive experience fighting dragons, a people who called themselves the Wanderers. It’s where I believe Elvir’s bloodline originates. Illandra used to hire them for their expertise. It’s likely such people are the ones who transported you after your capture. It is also likely that such people were involved in the attack on your clan. Back then, it was not entirely unheard for Illandra to reward loyal allied nations with especially extravagant gifts.”

“Gifts?” Alia sat up straight, her hands on Valyrym’s foreleg. “You’re talking about a dragon. A live dragon.”

Krek gestured at Valyrym. “They brought him back, didn’t they? As a trophy of their war effort? All I’m saying is, with no evidence her brother is dead, it is possible they captured him alive, and shipped him off somewhere.”

“Where they probably killed him anyway.” Valyrym growled. The idea sat cold and uncomfortable in his belly, like a heavy meal he could not digest. “If he was lucky.”

“Krek, whenever you talk like this, it usually means you want us to tell you everything we know.” Valar nipped at the gryphon’s ear, then gave a hiss. “Without actually telling us anything you know.”

The gryphon shoved the dragon’s muzzle away. “I have good reasons for keeping my information beneath my wings.”

Valyrym raised his forelegs to grind his paw pads into his eyes. “You are impossible, Bird! Do you or do you not believe her brother is alive?”

The gryphon gave a long, slow sigh. “It’s possible. There is a place, that…it was an ally to Illandra, once. Times have changed and…well, I wouldn’t know unless I went there. And I can’t go there until Kathlyn is safe, so perhaps it’s all a moot point anyway.”

“Where is this place?”

“I’d rather not say. Whether or not I’m correct, I don’t want any of you to have any more information The Wind could wrench out of you if things go badly.”

“Mother’s not going to torture us, Krek.”

The gryphon glanced at Valar, shrugging his wings. “I cannot divulge what few advantages we may have, if it means she may have a chance to learn of them, whether by torture, trick, or manipulation.”

“Very well, Bird.” Valyrym rumbled low, gaze fixed upon Krek. “We will play the game your way. For now. But you think he’s alive, don’t you?”

“I’ve already said too much.” Krek tightened his wings around his body.

“Just tell us.” Valar put a paw on the gryphon’s shoulder, and gave him a gentle squeeze. “Please, Krek.”

The gryphon took a deep breath, then let it out in a long, deflating sigh. “It is only a guess, but yes. Now that I know she had a brother? I think he’s still alive. And I think I know where he is.”

*****