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The Dragon In The Dungeon: Rise With The Sun

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Chapter One

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The mirror was new. It was a beautiful thing, nearly as tall as a man. The looking glass was polished to a silvery sheen, and framed in dark mahogany. Creeping ivy vines were carved all around it, their leaves edged in painted gold. His caretakers bought it, snuck it down to the dungeon he'd spent half his life in, and left it as a gift to surprise him.

Valyrym hated it.

The old dragon appreciated the gesture, but whenever he saw his own emaciated reflection, he wanted to smash it to pieces. He would have, if not for the fact his wardens must have spent at least a week's pay on it. His friends meant well, and Valyrym did not wish to hurt them by rejecting what they must have thought a wonderful gift. So he'd taken the mirror to his sleeping chamber, acted as though he loved it, and then stuck it in a corner where he could ignore it completely.

Valyrym did not need a mirror to know he was little more than a husk of a once-great dragon. All the raw power beneath his scales had long since withered away to aching bones and sore scars. The glossy ebony armor that coated his body had lost its luster through the many years he'd spent imprisoned. The swirling cerulean highlights that once marked him had long faded to the color of old ash.

With a snarl, he pushed himself to his haunches atop his pile of blankets, pillows, and animal hides. He'd only just awoken, and already his heart was heavy, his thoughts dark. The dragon swatted a purple pillow at the mirror. He wondered if anyone would notice if he smashed it with his tail spines. The idea made his frills rise. They drooped back down just as quick. With his luck he'd get broken glass embedded under his scales.

Valyrym hissed, flexing his forelegs. His unsheathed his claws, and admired them. At least they were still resplendent and black. Still sharp, still strong.

They could still carve stone.

He tossed aside a gold-tasseled cushion, and pulled back a few blankets and furs to expose a section of stone floor. Freshly cut lines marked the floor in orderly rows. Valyrym pressed his paw to the cool stone, using a single claw to scratch a mark. Scratch by patient scratch, the dragon's claw cut deeper, till a scratch became a line.

Another day passed without Alia. Two weeks now, and already it felt like years.

Alia...just the thought of her left his patchwork heart aching. How he longed to be with the woman who'd woven his tattered soul anew. By the time they'd made her the dragon's warden, he was nothing more than a hollow shell held together by dried blood, bitter bile, and an ever-fraying hope that somewhere his son might still live.

And then Alia came into his life. She tore down his crumbling walls, pulled his ruined heart from his hollow chest, and pieced it back together. Alia made him whole. She had brought him hope, love, and a reason to live again. Here in this damp, bleak pit he'd wasted half his existence, Alia brought him back to life.

Then they took her away. They punished her for daring to stand up to his tormentors. Cast her out of the castle and out of his life like some common criminal. The thought made his ruined fire glands ache. If only he could still call upon his flame, he'd burn their damn castle down around them.

"She come back, you know."

Valyrym jerked his wedge-shaped head up, hissing a warning at the intruder. Some runty bipedal creature stood in the arched entryway to his sleeping chamber. Oversized ears perked next to short horns atop his dog-like head. Fluffy fur the color of chocolate cake cascaded from his green shirt and black pants. A bushy tail twitched behind him. The little beasty looked like some royal's fuzzy pet crammed into human clothing.

"How long have you been standing there?" Valyrym eased to his feet, curling his tail to show off the wicked, curved spines that adorned its gray and black tip.

"Long enough see dragon cut new Alia line in floor." The urd'thin strode in without invitation. "And hang head like sad old man."

Valyrym growled low in his throat, lifting his frills one spine at a time. "I did not invite you into my home, vermin. Be gone, or face my fury."

The creature shook a furred finger. "That not way you talk to Chief First Dragon Tamer Vatch!"

A smirk cracked Valyrym's mock-furious veneer. "First what now?"

"Chief First Dragon Tamer Vatch." Vatch beamed. His large, pointed ears shot upright.

"Yes, that's what I thought you said." Valyrym stalked around the urd'thin as though toying with his prey. "Who gave you that title?"

Vatch pivoted on his heel, his custom cobbled boots squeaked against the stone. "Vatch did. Is appropriate, yes?"

"Is not appropriate, no." Valyrym tensed, baring his fangs. "You've intruded upon my home without invitation! Now face my furious wrath."

Vatch tilted his head, one ear flopped down. He growled at the dragon and waggled his finger again. "Don't make Vatch get stick!"

Valyrym snorted laughter. "I have little to fear from any scrawny urd'thin and his tiny stick. You, however, should fear that no one's around to see what I'm going to do to you."

Vatch gasped and stepped back. He lifted his hands up. "No, no. Is okay. Dragon win!"

"Dragon always wins, Vatch." Valyrym surged forward, lashed out with a foreleg, and snatched the urd'thin up. "Now, face my furious, wrathful cuddling."

"No mean no!" Vatch laughed and swatted at the dragon's chest plates as Valyrym hobbled back to his bedding.

Valyrym set Vatch on a couple of pillows, then eased himself to his belly. He tucked Vatch up against his body, a foreleg encircling the urd'thin. "Too late."

"Urd'thin not stuffed toy!" Vatch wriggled in a half-hearted attempt to free himself. "You rumple nice clothes!"

"But a well-groomed urd'thin is so nice, and soft." Valyrym lowered his head, curling his neck around to gaze at Vatch. "Everyone knows soft things are for cuddling. Especially when no one's around."

Vatch huffed and folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the dragon. He flicked his ears. The fur brushed Valyrym's scales. "Everyone already knows Dragon is big softie."

"They do not." Valyrym snapped his jaws. "You, Alia, the crazy one and the stick in the mud do not count as everyone."

Vatch drummed his dull claws against the scutes of Valyrm's foreleg. "Also Enric knows."

"Enric? The man thinks playing cards with a dragon constitutes an adventure. He doesn't count."

"Also Bownen knows. Oh! Also...whole kitchen staff knows."

Valyrym hissed, pinning his ears. Damn it. He should have known that girl couldn't keep her mouth shut. "I shall have to punish Kaylen for blabbing my secrets."

Vatch only laughed at that, a happy, barking sound. "Oh, what you do, spank her? I think she like this."

Valyrym glanced away, grumbling under his breath.

"Oh!" Vatch straightened up.

"Yes?" Valyrym looked back at him.

Vatch smirked, his ears smugly swiveled. "Also queen knows."

Valyrym tightened his grip till the little creature wheezed. "I'm going to squeeze the life out of you."

Vatch gasped and squirmed, prying at the dragon's foreleg. "Vatch not want be cuddle to death by horny dragon!"

Valyrym shook himself, rattling his spines and scales. "Don't flatter yourself, Varmint. Cuddling you does not mean I'm horny."

"That not...what...Alia say!"

"Careful, Rodent." Valyrym tightened his grip.

Vatch wheezed louder, slapping at the dragon's foreleg. "Hrrrrnnhhh!"

"Oh." Valyrym relaxed his grip, his ears drooping. "Sorry."

Vatch rubbed at his ribs, wincing. "Is okay. But not so hard, yes? Vatch not breath so good when you do this."

Valyrym curled his head around and gave Vatch's oversized ears a long, sloppy lick of apology. Vatch flailed and swatted at the dragon's face till Valyrym pulled his head back, laughing.

"Vatch all wet now!" Vatch growled and wiped his ears.

"Yes, you are. I'd lap at you till you looked like a soggy rat, if you didn't taste like soap." Valyrym licked his nose, trying to cleanse his tongue.

"Soap is good!" Vatch pulled up a corner of one of Valyrym's blankets. He rubbed down his brown fur with the blue fabric. "Vatch happy be nice and clean all time."

Valyrym turned his head to gaze back at his own body. Despite the dull gloss of age, his scales and wings still benefited from proper washing. "It is a pleasant luxury, yes. Before Alia had my tub built, I had to make do with washing myself in the water from the fountain."

"I use city fountain." Vatch's fur grew fluffier by the moment as he rubbed it with the blanket. "Go in middle of night so not get caught." He lowered the blanket and gave the dragon a devious grin. "Sometimes, group of us sneak into inns, use tubs!"

"Sounds like a regular little urd'thin orgy."

Vatch laughed, and set the blanket down. "No time for have orgy!" He shrugged. "Vatch not get invite anyway." He perked his ears, dark brown eyes sparkling. "But one time? Vatch and female sneak in, little drunk? Have bath, and Vatch get mating very good!"

Valyrym laughed, a deep, resounding rumble that echoed around his sleeping chamber. "Get mating very good? Sounds like she threw you around the tub and did whatever she wanted."

Vatch wagged his tail. "Like Vatch say. Very good."

Valyrym licked his muzzle, murmuring. "Yes. That does sound nice. Lucky you." Valyrym ruffled up the urd'thin's fur. "So this female, do you still know her?"

Vatch twisted away from the dragon, shaking his head. "No. This few years ago. She vanish, few months after."

"Ah, I'm...sorry to hear that, Vatch."

The little creature shrugged, ears half hanging. "Thank you, Dragon. Is okay. Is how life go for many urd'thin. Sometimes must flee, sometimes get caught. Sometimes go jail...not get out. This almost happen Vatch, but Alia save."

Valyrym rumbled, rustling his gray-edged wings against his back. "Alia seems to have a talent for bringing out the best in others." He sighed, spines wavering at the sides of his head. Then he flicked his tail against a colorful cushion and sent it tumbling through the air. "Enough darkness. If I wanted to wander my own sad thoughts I'd have ignored your arrival. I assume you've brought my breakfast?"

"You know Vatch cannot carry so much food!" Vatch slipped free of the dragon's grasp, then stroked Valyrym's neck. "It come soon."

Valyrym arched himself into Vatch's touch. "It had damn well better. No reading lessons for you until I'm full."

"It coming, it coming!" Vatch patted the dragon's scales, then gestured at the newest adornment to Valyrym's home. "You like mirror?"

Valyrym turned his attention to the newly arrived mirror, trying to ignore his gaunt reflection. He looked like a lump of coal all used up. But his friends meant well. No sense telling the whole truth.

"Valyrym like mirror, yes."

Vatch growled. "No copy Vatch!"

Valyrym smirked. "Valyrym not copy!"

"Valyrym just wish was great like Vatch."

Valyrym pressed his nose to Vatch's muzzle, then snorted, blowing the fur back against his face. "You are rather great, Vatch, but don't expect me to admit it in front of anyone else."

Vatch smirked. He rubbed the dragon's nose just past the pink scar spanning Valyrym's nostrils. "Is nice enough you know this."

Valyrym smiled and stretched. With his chest plates against the furs, he lifted his hind end, and splayed his forepaws out past his bedding. He yawned, his tongue curled in his dark muzzle. Valyrym pushed his chest up, and his spine popped. He groaned then shook himself, scales clicking. He stretched a hind leg, trying to ease some of the uncomfortable tension around the pink scar that marred his thigh. The sudden throbbing made him wince.

"Dragon old." Vatch folded his arms.

"Yes, Vatch." Valyrym took a few steps towards the archway that led to the rest of his prison. His scarred limb ached. He could already tell he'd be limping today. "Dragon very old."

At the archway, Valyrym gazed back at his sleeping chamber. Since Alia left, he'd tried to keep the place tidy. All his bedding was arranged in a roughly circular pile over the symbol of penance he'd long ago carved into the floor. Every trinket, treasure, and piece of contraband he owned was rearranged on his makeshift shelves and stacked in wooden crates. He'd set Little Ky atop his favorite bookshelf to keep watch over OfPoetry. The rest of his family of stuffed dragons traveled around his prison home, all save Val Junior who now resided with Alia. Wherever she was.

Alia.

Valyrym sighed, and limped through the archway into the prison beyond. He surveyed his buried kingdom. Towering columns of fluted marble spanned the massive chamber in imposing rows. Many pillars bore extravagant carvings, memories given life in stone through decades of broken claws and endless patience. The chamber's far wall was covered by a carved mural that screamed silent testament to the life the old dragon once lived.

Valyrym paid his old carvings little heed as he limped across the prison chamber. Shimmering golden beams of morning sunlight cascaded through air vents cut in stone. For half his life, it was the only light Valyrym ever knew. Now, thanks to Alia's efforts, lamps installed upon wrought iron poles and bronze fixtures provided a warm, flickering glow.

Valyrym walked past his fountain, a fancy name for a place where the water flowed in and poured over mossy, algae-caked stone ledges. At the furthest corner of his prison, the water trickled back out through a rusty grate in the floor. The dragon stood over the grate and heaved a satisfied sigh as he emptied his bladder. He thought it a shame there was no one around for that sigh to annoy.

When the dragon had relieved himself, he limped to the area where an assortment of various wooden barrels and casks sat together along the wall. One barrel had rum, a cask held wine, and so on. Two of the larger barrels contained sweet silver water from the long-conquered country of Aran'alia. The rain there fell in silver waves, and tasted like melon and honey. To Valyrym, it tasted like home. They kept two barrels of it so Valyrym's other wardens didn't have to drink out of the barrel he shoved his snout into. Valyrym was tempted to lick all their drinking vessels when they weren't around. That'd show them.

"Rose look good today."

Valyrym glanced at Vatch. The urd'thin clambered onto one of several large ledges spanning the wall. At the right time of day, sunlight streamed down through the air vents and painted the ledges with pools of gold. Valyrym relished lounging in the light. It was the only time he ever felt a little of the sun's warmth. Thanks to Alia, the ledges were now covered in plush, red-wine hued carpeting that made his long sprawling sessions more comfortable.

The urd'thin tended potted plants atop the nearest ledge, placed where they'd get the most sun. Though Valyrym scoffed and muttered about the idea of a dragon keeping plants, in his heart he smiled. They were gifts from Alia, and they left him feeling warmed by her love whenever he set eyes upon them.

"That rose had better look good." Valyrym snapped his jaws, glaring at the urd'thin. "Because if it dies, I'm going to fill your trousers with its thorns."

"Yes, yes." Vatch waved his free hand while he poured water from a cup into the rose pot. "Dragon very cranky, very scary. But Dragon know only Vatch keep plants alive."

Valyrym flicked his spines back against his head, chuckling. Vatch was right. Any plant truly left in his care would have died ages ago. While Vatch watered the plants, Valyrym ducked his head into his drinking barrel, gulping down long mouthfuls of sweet, silver water. The taste and aroma of honey and melon sent memories washing through his mind.

Images flickered across the surface of the silver water inside the barrel. Houses with sloped roofs. A village grown into a city. A bandaged hatchling. An apple tree. Falling snow. Flames.

Amaleen.

Valyrym blinked, and the images were gone. He pulled his head from the barrel, and licked silver droplets from his scales. He glanced away to squeeze his eyes shut as memory's icy claws dug into his heart. With Alia gone, he'd have to drag himself out of the darkness. Valyrym gave a shuddering sigh, and rubbed a golden eye with the heel of his paw pad.

"Dragon alright?" Vatch stared at him from the ledge, his ears drooping. He worked the watering cup back and forth in his brown-furred hands. "Have more nightmare?"

A sharp retort, acidic and bitter like the fire bile he could no long produce coiled upon Valyrym's tongue. He glared at Vatch, baring his fangs. But Vatch was looking at him like a hound worried for its master, and after a moment Valyrym swallowed his retort back down. Little furry bastard wasn't teasing him, he was just concerned.

"I'm fine, Vatch. No nightmares last night." Valyrym picked up a wooden pail from the floor, and dunked it into the water. When it was full he hobbled on three paws to the ledge where his plants were, and set the pail down. "Thank you."

Vatch just smiled, and patted the dragon's nose. Then he crouched down and picked up the pail in both arms. "For apple, yes?"

"Yes, Vatch." Valyrym grinned at the way the urd'thin waddled across the ledge trying to avoid spilling water all over himself. "You can water the rose and the others with water from the fountain, but if you ever water that apple tree with anything but silver rain..."

"Yes, yes, Vatch know." Vatch glanced over his shoulder at the dragon, flattening his ears. "Vatch apples be next ones get planted in dirt."

Valyrym tilted his head, blinking. "That's not bad, Vatch. Not bad. Though, yours are more like apple seeds."

Vatch shook his head. He tilted the bucket, pouring water into the large clay planter containing the apple tree. "No, Vatch got big ones."

"Perhaps by urd'thin standards, but that's like saying you're the cat with the best endowment in a room full of wolves."

"Dragon spend lot of time think about male parts." Vatch moved around the pot to water the other side. He smirked. "Vatch think this mean something."

Valyrym just rumbled to himself. Amusing little bastard. He stared at the tree.

Though still young, the apple tree was taller than Vatch, with a single apple that weighed down its bough. Golden flecks strewn across the crimson rind flickered in the sunlight. How Alia found one that already had an apple, he'd never know. He hoped the white blossoms springing up across it meant there'd soon be more. Stylized images of houses with sloped roofs were carved all across the outside of the tree's heavy, baked clay pot.

"You eat apple soon?" Vatch finished watering the plant, and brought Valyrym the empty bucket.

The dragon tossed the watering can back across the room. It tumbled against the floor into the collection of pails and drinking vessels stacked up around the barrels. Everything loose tumbled to the floor with a clatter, rolling across the stone. Valyrym snorted. He'd have to make Kaylen clean up that mess later.

"Not yet, Vatch." Valyrym stared at the apple, a wistful smile upon his muzzle. So many memories wrapped around so simple a thing. The best and worst moments of his life could all be linked back to those damn apples. "Not yet."

"Is ripe now." Vatch licked his furry muzzle.

"Soon, Vatch." Valyrym limped away from the ledge. "I won't let it spoil." He was going to miss that damn apple when it was gone. "Back home, Amaleen's apple tree sometimes yielded a few early season apples before the main crop, too. Those apples from home grow swiftly."

"You share first one, yes?" Vatch clambered down from the ledge and walked after the dragon.

"Of course." Valyrym opened a wing and draped it across his little friend's furry back. "I'll share with you, but we may eat it when the other two idiots aren't around."

"Oooh, Kaylen get mad."

"I'll just tell her it was your idea."

"Oh no!" Vatch shook his finger. "Vatch not take fall!" He perked an ear. "Maybe we say it go bad, we feed to rats?" He rubbed the dragon's wing. "Then Crazy Lady not be mad."

"Not the worst devious plan I've ever heard." Valyrym coiled his tail in thought, spines brushing scales. Vatch's touch felt nice on his sensitive wing membranes, even if the fur tickled. "Speaking of Crazy Lady, she is bringing my breakfast, isn't she?"

"She bring, I sure."

"It isn't wise to keep a grieving dragon waiting."

Vatch came to a stop and Valyrym's wing nearly scooped him up. He stumbled, then patted the dragon's wing. "Not say this. Not grieving." His voice softened. He smiled at the dragon, tiny fangs glinting in the lamplight. Warmth shone in the little creature's dark eyes. "She come back to you, Dragon. Is not be long. Must just be strong in heart, yes?"

Those jumbled words were a warm blanket draped around Valyrym's cold heart. Valyrym wrapped the urd'thin up in his wing, hugging him against his scaly body. Vatch squeaked but did not protest, and tried to hug the dragon's side in return.

"There are days, Vatch, that I feel my heart is the only strength I have left in me." Valyrym stared at his forepaws. Fine scales of pale gray edged his fingers around his claw-slits. Every trace of blue that once marked him was long faded to shadow. "Other days I feel it is my greatest weakness. Everything good in me, and every horror dwelling alongside it..."

"Is okay, Dragon." Vatch stroked the dragon's scales, hidden beneath his wing. "It all be okay, in the end."

Valyrym blinked, his spines flaring. He'd only just gotten used to having Alia encourage him to put his thoughts into words, to let both light and dark, blood and blackness spill from his tongue. Now Vatch was cutting him off before he began, meeting Valyrym's old sorrow and anger head on with his own sort of fuzzy comfort. Valyrym sighed and hugged Vatch with his wing again before pulling it back.

"Thank you, Vatch." He licked his nose, and tilted his head, staring down at the little creature. "It's nice to have you around. You've a lot of kindness in your heart." He smirked, lifting his central spines. "Especially for a dirty little robber."

Vatch swatted the dragon's side. "Vatch not dirty!"

"Only because you damn near ruined my tub with all that filth you scrubbed off your first day here."

Vatch shrugged, wagging his tail. "Is nice have good bath." He adjusted his green tunic, and tapped a dull-clawed finger against the golden Warden emblem patch on his shoulder. "And Vatch not robber. Vatch Warden!"

"Quite the turnaround you've led." Valyrym thumped his tail against the ground, his spines clattering against the stone. "From the criminal to the jailor."

"Is good change." Vatch spent a moment smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothing, then smiled at the dragon. "Vatch think everyone can change for better, yes?"

"Yes, Vatch." Valyrym limped towards his favorite ledge. "Everyone can change." It wasn't always for the better.

Valyrym set a paw on the ledge's plush carpeting. The sunlight that shone down on the burgundy rug made it look as though Valyrym's forepaw rested on a sea of blood. He blinked, and ripples in the red tide washed across his scales. So much blood wrapped around his life. He'd shed a crimson ocean of it, and all for what? Illandra still conquered his home, he still ended up in a cell, and Amaleen was still dead.

His son still grew up without a father.

Beyond the ledge hung a portrait of his son. Valaranyx was at once the best part of his life and his greatest mistake. To leave him behind when he sought vengeance for Amaleen was the hardest and most agonizing thing he had ever done. Every part of him screamed for him to stay, and yet he could not. Valyrym knew even now that given a chance to do things differently, he would make the same mistake. There was no one who understood what had happened to him. Had he stayed, Valar would only have watched him descend into madness.

In the end, it was vengeance or madness. Their blood, or his.

"Dragon okay?" Vatch set a hand on the dragon's foreleg scutes.

Valyrym glanced at Vatch, then closed his eyes. "In the end, Vatch. It all comes down to blood."

Vatch stroked his foreleg in silence.

Valyrym kept his eyes closed. Vatch had been a great help to him lately. Without Alia's steadying presence the dragon felt himself pulled towards the mire of regret and guilt that nearly consumed him in his long years of imprisonment. Vatch's growing friendship helped keep him out of that hole, and he was ever more grateful for that simple comfort.

The dragon opened his eyes to gaze upon his son. In the portrait, Valar was grown, handsome and strong. He looked happy and proud of whatever life he'd achieved for himself. He'd grown into a fine dragon living a meaningful, fulfilling life. Valyrym could think of little more that would do a better job of cheering him up than that.

The painting made him smile. Valar had grown to look much as Valyrym had in his own youth. Lines of blue rippled along the edges of Valar's ebony wings. Azure graced his muzzle and his face, and the mismatched cerulean socks adoring all four paws had only grown over the years.

"Son very handsome." Vatch patted the dragon's forepaw.

Valyrym arched his neck in pride. "Yes, Vatch. Very handsome indeed."

"Must get good looks from mother," Vatch said, flicking his ears back. "Cause father ugly."

Valyrym growled laughter and lashed his tail. "His mother was a thing of beauty, that's for sure."

Voices and laughter drifted into the prison from the distance. Valyrym flicked his ears, then swiveled them towards the sound. "That had better be my breakfast." He raised his voice into a brassy call to make sure whoever was coming down the distant stairs could hear him. "If you're not bringing my food, you'd better turn right around and fetch it, or you're going to be my breakfast!"

"Keep your head on, Dragon!" A woman's voice called back, followed by laughter.

Valyrym glanced down at Vatch, spines-half lifted. "What does that even mean?"

Vatch shrugged. "Who know what anything Kaylen say mean."

Valyrym turned and padded away from the ledge. He did not wish to stain his new rugs with his meal. The dragon settled himself on the stone not too far from the large wooden doors that marked the entrance to his cell. Vatch had left the doors open to allow the other wardens to enter while they had their hands full of Valyrym's breakfast.

Though the inside of the doors were simple, clean wood, the other side was carved with elaborate images. There was a chained dragon wreathed in flame, there were spears and ivy, skulls and flowers, and other fanciful nonsense Valyrym had always hated. The spears carved in the door made his old wound ache. He rolled to his side to stretch out his scarred hind leg, trying to ease the throbbing.

"I don't know why you didn't set that folder down, Thomas." Kaylen's voice drifted through the doors, preceding her arrival. "It would have been easier, surely."

"Then I'd have to go all the way back up those stairs and get it." Thomas' more subdued voice followed after. "And who knows who might have gotten ahold of it. I may as well finish my paperwork while Valyrym has his breakfast."

Vatch nudged the dragon. "Thomas must sign many papers. Vatch only must sign two!"

Valyrym smirked at the urd'thin, raising his spines. "Do you even know how to spell your name?"

Vatch pinned his ears back, growling. "Vatch spell name good!"

"Slathering your paw in ink and slapping it against the paper doesn't count as spelling."

"Oh, Valyrym, don't tease poor Vatchy Pup!" Kaylen emerged through the doors, holding an immense platter of various breakfast foods. "He's learning quite fast."

"Couldn't convince me the little rat's learned a damn thing." Valyrym snapped his jaws and glared down at Vatch. "Other than how to wake a poor, lonely old dragon from the only solace he gets in slumber."

Vatch growled and snapped his jaws right back at Valyrym. "Dragon behave! Or Vatch get stick!"

"You hear how he talks to me?" Valyrym rustled his wings, hanging his head. "I'm so abused. One of you needs to discipline the little rodent."

"You can knock off the antagonistic act." Thomas followed Kaylen into the prison chamber with his own platter of food. A thick folder was precariously tucked under an arm. "Everyone knows you're practically best friends. It's like trying to hide your friendship with Enric."

"I haven't a friendship with Enric."Valyrym bristled, arching his neck. "I just enjoy beating that fool at cards and whatever other idiotic games of chance he finds amusing."

"He lets you win, you know." Kaylen set the platter of food down. "But only because you haven't gotten anything of value to wager."

"Neither has he." Valyrym snorted. "What's he going to stake, his beard stubble? His dirty helmet? I'd wager Vatch's pelt, but that's just as worthless."

"Vatch better at cards than dragon anyway." Vatch settled down alongside the dragon's platter. He picked up a few bites of food and popped one in his muzzle.

"Imagine that." Valyrym tapped claw tips on the floor, but did not stop Vatch from helping himself. "A back alley pickpocket knows how to cheat at cards."

Thomas strode up and set his tray down next to the first. Then he removed the leather-wrapped folder from under his arm, and set it nearby. He worked his arm in a circle a few times, rubbing his shoulder. Valyrym tilted his head, looking the man over. Thomas wore a golden-brown vest over a lighter tunic, and gold tinted breeches that nearly matched.

Valyrym snorted. "You look like a candied yam."

Thomas froze with his elbow cocked in the air, peering down at himself. "These are formal colors! I have to look the part while I'm your warden."

Kaylen giggled. Valyrym glanced over at her. She'd exchanged her usual frilly excess for a bright, blue and white striped dress.

"I don't know what you're giggling at. You just look like candy."

"I, unlike Thomas, shall take that as a compliment." Kaylen spun in a circle, her dress fluttering around her. "Now, would you like to know what we've prepared for your breakfast?"

"No." Valyrym lowered his muzzle towards the platters, sniffing at the assortment of eggs and sausages and slabs of fatty pork and apple dumplings and other delicious things. "I should like to eat it."

"First we have Denorian-style sausages." Kaylen swept her hands over the platter. "Two kinds, these are wild boar, with cherry, and those are lamb with rosemary and mint. Over here, we have goose eggs three ways. These are poached in butter, while these are gently scrambled with peppers, onions, and garlic, and these--"

Valyrym snatched up a pawful of scrambled eggs before Kaylen could go on. Some of it dribbled between his fingers before he plopped it down atop the sausages. "And here we have me slopping your food together so that I can eat it while I ignore you."

Kaylen gave an exaggerated sigh, and shook her head. Black hair swished around her rounded face. "Well, enjoy it, anyway."

"Told you." Thomas sat down, and opened his folder. He pulled out a miniature vial of ink and a small quill, then assembled a stack of papers. "If you want him to appreciate everything, you've got to tide him over first."

Thomas had an accurate point, but Valyrym was too busy filling his belly with eggs and sausages to care. As always, Kaylen's food was delectable. Each of the sausages had a distinct flavor, delicious in its own way. Especially after he'd mounded them up with eggs and slathered them in apple dumpling filling.

Before long, the first tray of food was nearly gone. Valyrym pushed a single dark sausage towards Vatch, then sliced it into quarters with a claw. Vatch accepted the offering and popped a piece into his muzzle, groaning in delight. The little creature's dark eyes rolled, and his ears perked.

"Oooh, Kaylen," Vatch said, tongue lolling. "Sausage even better than usual."

"Keep it in your trousers, Vatch." Valyrym licked sauce and yolk from his muzzle. "He's right though. It is delicious."

Kaylen laughed and dragged the platter out of the way. "Surprised you could even taste it, but thank you."

Valyrym nodded once, gazing at Kaylen for a moment. He turned his head to watch Thomas read and sign a few papers. It still seemed strange to be surrounded by people from his homeland all these years later. There was something familiar and comforting about the bronze skin and dark hair they shared. Compared to them, many of his captors and former tormentors over the years were but pale-hued ghosts, spirits of cruelty and callousness.

"What are you staring at?" Kaylen smiled, and strode forward to stroke the dragon's neck.

Valyrym arched into her touch. He couldn't be bothered to act grumpy. "Just enjoying the reminders of home. I'm still surprised that so many years after Illandra invaded our homeland, this city is now filled with Aran'alians. I'm...thankful a few of them have found their way to me, that's all."

"Aw, that's so sweet!" Kaylen wrapped her arms around Valyrym's head and hugged him against her soft, rounded body.

Valyrym accepted the hug, and cherished the soft warmth. He patted her with a forepaw, then pulled his head back. "Yes, yes, that's enough."

Thomas glanced up from his papers to give Valyrym a warm smile. "We're here if you need us, you know. While she's gone."

Valyrym cleared his throat with a growl. "Going back to my breakfast, now."

Vatch folded his arms and glared at Thomas and Kaylen. He gave a little growl of his own, pinning back his chocolate-furred ears. "Dragon tough! Dragon not need friends. You just give dragon food and shut mouth!"

Valyrym plucked an apple dumpling from the second tray and passed it over to Vatch without a word.

As Vatch devoured the treat, Valyrym dug into the rest of his breakfast. The second platter was heaped with just as much deliciousness as the first. With the edge of his hunger smoothed off, he was able savor the food. Especially delicious were the thick slabs of fatty pork belly and something with a funny name that seemed like delicious meat jam. When the tray was empty, Valyrym licked the wooden platter.

"You're going to get splinters in your tongue."

Valyrym froze in mid-lick, his tongue pressed to the tray. He lifted his golden eyes to glare at Kaylen over the end of his scarred snout. "You know I lick my platters clean. If this one gives me splinters, I'm going to splinter it over your head."

Kaylen scooped up the other tray, swinging it through the air with a giggle. "You do, and I'll use this one on your scaly ass. Again!"

Thomas tucked a few papers back in his folder. "Assuming you weren't killed by the initial blow on the head?"

"You stay out of this, Thomas, I'm in an argument with my prisoner!"

Valyrym snorted. "This game is more fun with Alia."

Kaylen lowered the tray, and rubbed Valyrym's nose. "Don't worry, Val. She'll be back soon."

Valyrym sighed. He gave her hand a few gentle licks and pulled his head back. "Yes, I know."

Kaylen patted his scaly cheek, and then stacked up her trays. "So, what have you got planned for the rest of the day?"

Valyrym cocked his head, splaying out one of his wings. "Oh, I thought I'd take a stroll around my lovely little villa, see how the gloom's looking today. I hear the mold in the corner is lovely this time of year."

Kaylen giggled, and Thomas shook his head. He waved his quill at her. "You know better than to ask silly questions like that."

Kaylen gazed at the tapestries and things they'd installed recently. "I thought he might be planning to do some carving. Or write a little poetry. He could glide and exercise his wings again. We've got to keep him in good shape while Alia's away."

Valyrym followed her with his eyes, curling his tail around his paws. "I suspect my day will go like most of my days lately. I'll lounge in what little sunlight there is. After a nap, I'll limp around my prison and mutter to myself. I'll read a book to Vatch. Why, perhaps I'll get especially daring and do something naughty in a hot bath."

Kaylen flushed even redder than Valyrym hoped. She stammered a moment and then gave the dragon a smirk. "That last part sounds exciting, at least."

Valyrym smirked at her. "Yes, you'd like that, wouldn't you."

"Me?" Kaylen shook her head. "No. But Vatchy Pup and Thomas are into that sort of thing."

Thomas just rubbed his forehead and looked away.

Vatch shrugged. "Vatch not care what dragon do in tub." He stretched his arms up over his head, yawning. "You want me start bath now?"

Valyrym licked his nose, then shook his head, spines rattling. "No, not yet, Vatch. If I take a hot bath after a big meal I'll just fall asleep."

Vatch rubbed his furry hands together. "Maybe we can do reading then?"

Valyrym stretched his wings out to his sides, and gave into a tongue-curling yawn. He worked his jaws a few times, settled his frills against his head, and nodded. "Yes, I think we can...do reading."

"Good!" Vatch bounced on his booted feet. "Vatch have new books."

"More new books?" Kaylen giggled, and ruffled Vatch's head fur before he could stop her. "You'll have the biggest library in the castle at this rate."

Vatch flailed his arms. "No ruffle Vatch!"

"Vatch like books." Valyrym huffed when Vatch ignored his flawless impression. The little runt's fascination with books always amused him. "Alright, Vatch. Go and fetch your new books, and we'll see what we've got to read today."

Vatch wriggled free of Kaylen. When she playfully chased after him, he gave a canine yelp and dashed for the exit doors. Just beyond them lay an antechamber with a door to an office, and the stairs that lead up into the castle proper. In Alia's absence, Valyrym's three wardens had taken shared possession of the office. Even after Kaylen and Vatch vanished beyond the doorway, Valyrym still heard yelps and squealing giggles.

"Nice to see she's calmed down while Alia's away." Valyrym rose and stretched, then went to examine Thomas' papers.

"Now you know why Alia chose me." Thomas chuckled, filing away another paper into the folder.

"You always seem to be signing something lately." Valyrym cocked his head. Each paper was covered in small writing, along with the official seals of the Kingdom of Illandra, and the emblems of the Warden's Office. "Thought you'd have those contracts all finished by now."

Thomas looked up from his work to give the dragon a weary smile. "You wouldn't believe how much paperwork there is to this job. Now I finally see what Alia was always complaining about. Half these papers are copies of existing papers I have to sign again. This form's an approval for the Warden's office to pay a tariff on your feeding bills. This one is a request from the treasurer's office for a third receipt for the second day of work we had done while we were installing your lanterns, and this one? Well this one is a request for..." Valyrym's thoughts wandered, and he barely noticed when Thomas trailed off. "You're not really interested, are you?"

Valyrym blinked. "Hmm? Sorry, I was thinking about Alia running around naked in the rain."

"You...oh." Thomas tapped his quill against the floor, murmuring. "Not the worst image. I can't blame you for your disinterest, this is mind-numbing. I never knew the amount of piddling garbage people in positions of power have to deal with. I wonder if I could hire an assistant to help me manage this?"

Valyrym walked away, calling back over his wings. "You'd be better off hiring an assistant to help you manage Kaylen."

Thomas laughed and scribbled his name down on another contract. "They'd quit in a day."

Valyrym limped around his prison, collecting some of the stuffed dragons Alia had brought him. They liked to join him for story time. He arranged the toys representing lost friends and family on the maroon rug. Valyrym set the green one in the middle, with the brown one and the black one with gold markings on either side of it.

"There. Now we have an audience."

By the time Vatch and Kaylen returned, Valyrym had made himself comfortable on the plush carpet. Kaylen carried a heavy wooden crate filled with books. Vatch carried only a large brush he was using to smooth out his ruffled fur. With a grunt, Kaylen set the crate down on the edge of the ledge.

"There ya go, Vatchy Pup." Kaylen patted the urd'thin's head.

Valyrym glanced at them both. "How did you get her to carry that for you?"

"Vatch is number one fast talker." Vatch flattened down his ears as he brushed the fur between them.

Kaylen laughed and offered no opposing answer. "I'll take your breakfast trays upstairs. I'll be back later with your lunch, and some fresh soaps and things for your bath. Need anything else?"

Valyrym bowed his wedge-shaped head in appreciation. "No.Thank you, Kaylen."

"You're welcome. If you think of anything else you need, have Vatch write it down and run it upstairs."

"Vatch busy." Vatch set the brush down only long enough to clamber onto the ledge before he returned to grooming himself.

"Yes, clearly you've important matters on your mind." Valyrym nudged the urd'thin with his muzzle, and Vatch grinned.

"Alright. I'll see you later, Val." Kaylen strode back towards the exit, pausing to scoop up the wooden trays. "Come along, Thomas. Let's leave them to their reading lessons."

"I...but..." Thomas sighed and put his papers away. He tucked away his quill and ink, picked up his folder and followed Kaylen out of the prison.

"Thomas whipped." Vatch brushed the fur peeking out from his sleeves.

"Yes, Thomas very whipped." Valyrym kneaded at the rug, rumbling a soft purr.

Vatch soon set the brush aside. He dragged the wooden crate closer to the dragon, knelt down, and dug through it. Valyrym arched his neck to peer into the box. Books of all color and size were stacked haphazardly within it. Vatch pulled a few out and set them down, then fetched a few more. Some were bound in old leather with creased spines, other books looked brand new. There were colorful picture books for children, and there were thick tomes that looked intricate enough to give even Valyrym trouble.

"Some of these look rather advanced." Valyrym unsheathed a single claw to flip through a book that looked brand new. "Your reading is getting better every day, but some of these will be too difficult for you."

"That okay." Vatch glanced up, swiveling his ears. "Is something work for. Vatch find many stores sell books. Some sell old books very cheap! Vatch buy many books."

"So I see." Valyrym paged through a children's book filled with fluffy looking gryphons. He scrunched his muzzle. "Bunch of damn ego-birds in this one." He pushed it aside. "Have you got one you'd like to read, Vatch?"

Vatch dug through a few more books, then pulled out an older looking book with a dark blue cover, and silver script down the spine. "Oh! This one, maybe. Is by author we know."

"Oh?" Valyrym held his paw out, and Vatch plopped the book into it.

"Yes." Vatch tapped the cover. "Is by Amira Brightcloud. We read book about village and dragon, yes?"

"Yes, we've read that book several times." Valyrym rumbled. It was one of their favorites. The ending always made him smile. But the book in his paw was much larger. "This must be one of her books for an older crowd."

"We try, maybe?" Vatch tilted his head up, grinning at the dragon.

Valyrym turned the book to the side, and read the title aloud. "The Uncaring Sky. By Amira Brightcloud."

The Uncaring Sky. The words sent a shiver through the dragon. His scales clicked. He eased the book open to the first page, and read a few sentences. His breath caught. He set the book down with trembling paws.

"Is not good book?" Vatch rubbed the dragon's foreleg.

"It's...not that." Valyrym set the book down. "Suddenly I...I miss someone, very much."

"Is okay." Vatch patted his paw.

Valyrym stared at the book, smiling. It was...her. It had to be her. From the very first sentence, the words rang in his head in her familiar voice. Her felt her touch, smelled her scent. Saw her blue scales in the silver rain. He paged through the book, curious and drawn by an old love spoken far too late. How he missed her. Valyrym shuddered to imagine what she must have thought of him when he was gone.

"I...I don't think I can read this, Vatch. Not yet."

As Vatch dug through his crate for another book, Valyrym glanced once more at the first page, the first sentence. It echoed through his head in Kylaryn's voice, bittersweet.

When I was young, I put my trust in the sky that shelters, and the wind that carries.

*****

Chapter Two

*****

Alia hummed to herself as she toweled off after her morning bath. The bathroom in her new home was small, with a wooden wash basin half the size of the hammered copper tub she'd grown accustomed to in the castle. There was no heater with a built in firebox, nor chain to pull for water. She had to pump the water from a communal pump nearby, carry it to her home in buckets, then heat it over her cook stove.

Yet to Alia it was perfect. She'd grown used to the ease of life in the castle, and it was surprisingly appealing to do everything on her own again. Doing things like carrying water and cutting firewood helped her settle in to her new life quickly. She'd only been on her own a few weeks, and already the routine felt normal. Alia liked it that way. Working hard at daily tasks helped distract her whenever she missed Valyrym too much.

Valyrym had become as much a part of her life as her own breath, as warming and vital as the blood in her veins. She missed wrapping her arms around his neck, his breath against her skin, and his scales beneath her fingers. She missed the golden shine in his eyes, and damn it, she even missed the old bastard's sarcasm. Still, she'd promised Valyrym he would be alright without her. She told herself she'd be alright without him, too. Before she knew it, the Queen would return and order Valyrym set free.

Unless she didn't.

What then? Alia grit her teeth, rubbing her beige towel against her black hair. Then it was Plan B. One way or another, Valyrym would be free. One hundred forty one years was enough suffering for any creature to bear. In her time away from the dragon, Alia had decided that if Queen Kathlyn would not set Valyrym free, she'd do it herself.

Alia worked the towel over her bronze skin. There was a softness to her body and plumper curves than she'd ever known until her time working as the dragon's warden. Amazing what living without being malnourished and worked to the bone could do. Alia hung her towel back up on the wooden hook. She stretched her arms, yawning. She could still feel the gentle ache of fading scars across her shoulder blades.

When she was dry, Alia dressed. She put on some simple undergarments, and then selected a new sundress she'd recently picked up. It was light and airy, perfect for the summer warmth that settled over Illandra. The dress was a pale blue color, with swirls of silver threading down the sides, and a ribbon of bright gold hemming the loose skirt. Though Alia often dressed to present a look of authority at the castle, while she was banished she might as well enjoy herself and dress casually.

Not that she couldn't be authoritative in a dress. Why, to hear Valyrym tell it, the last true leader of her people's homeland was a woman who rarely wore anything but colorful dresses. And she'd commanded the respect of an entire nation. The thought made Alia smile as she straightened her dress, looking at herself in a brass framed mirror.

Alia wandered into her bedroom to find her sandals. A stuffed black dragon with curled horns stared at her from atop her pillows. She snatched the stuffed toy up from her bed and squeezed it against herself. Valyrym's voice echoed in her head with the same words she once spoke to him.

You'll never be alone with Val Junior around.

Sighing, Alia kissed Val Junior's soft muzzle. "Trying to sneak a peek at me while I bathe? As bad as your father." She blinked, realizing she was talking to the toy the same way Valyrym did. "Guess we're both as bad as him, now."

Alia tucked the toy under her arm and carried it into the small kitchen. She set Val Junior on her little wooden table. Nearby, red and black roses protruded from a clay vase. A smaller vase on her counter held a few stalks laden with bright blue and yellow snapdragons.

With a little effort, she started a fire in her iron cook stove. She checked the flue to ensure the smoke was funneled outside, and then let the wood burn down a little. She had a few eggs left from her last trip to the market, along with a few links of cured sausage, some dried herbs and some fresh mushrooms. She'd restock her larders soon, but had plenty for breakfast. She set a cook pan over her fire and wandered her home while it heated.

The home she'd rented was a simple dwelling but its cozy rooms came furnished, which allowed her to save coin for groceries and clothing. Some walls were bare wood while others were painted a creamy beige color. It was on upper story of an old building, so her windows provided panoramic views of the city. Alia even had a small covered balcony that served as a patio.

Her ceilings were especially lovely. Whoever lived here before had painted them the same beautiful blue color as the summer sky. White painted dabbed here and there looked like clouds drifting by. Each morning golden sunlight spilled through her shutters and cast the sunrise across her ceiling. Every evening the blue color faded to dusky purple, warmed only by lantern glow. Alia loved it. She imagined she was sleeping beneath the stars, alongside her beloved.

Someday that would be more than a fantasy.

When the pan was hot, Alia sliced up cured sausages and dropped them in. The meat sizzled the moment it touched the hot iron, and the rich scent that wafted into the air made her belly rumble. Once the cooking sausage shed a little grease, Alia chopped some mushrooms and dropped them into the pan, followed by the eggs. While the eggs and mushrooms fried up in the sausage grease, she dusted everything with a pinch of dried herbs. When the food was cooked, Alia plated it and set the pan aside to cool.

Her breakfast was simple yet satisfying. There was a rustic pleasure to cooking a meal from ingredients she'd just picked up at the market down the street. Frying the sausages enhanced the flavors added by the wine and spices used in the curing process. The mushrooms had a pleasant hint of earthiness and the herbs she'd added to the fresh eggs rounded out their flavors nicely.

Val Junior stared at her as if in expectation.

Alia stared back at the stuffed toy. "Sorry, Val Junior, but this is my breakfast." She swirled her fork in the air. "Besides, if I start pretending to feed you, I'm going to be sliding down a slippery slope into crazy."

Val Junior glared at her, and Alia patted his head. "Maybe next time."

When Alia was finished eating, she washed up after herself and stepped out onto her patio balcony. The semicircular platform was enclosed by a latticework rail. A creaking, arched trellis supported the faded blue tarp sheltering the balcony. Alia had hung a few colorful banners from the trellis and railing. She'd also set out a comfortable chair and several potted plants on the balcony.

So far her vines seemed more inclined to wrap themselves around the outer railing than the trellis she'd intended. Several dark blue, bell-shaped blossoms hung from the vines. A small apple tree sapling sat in another pot, though so far it had not borne fruit. At least her tomato plant was covered in clusters of yellow-star blossoms.

Alia leaned against the railing, gazing over Illandra. Bright sunshine turned hazy wood smoke orange as it drifted amidst the many old buildings. Alia took a breath. The morning air was thick with the scents of cooking fires and hints of dew, with no trace of the scent of grime that sometimes clung to this part of the city.

Initially, Alia had been offered a larger home in an upscale area. She turned it down in favor of her cozy home in the Aran'alian district. It'd been far too long since she walked the streets she grew up on. So far she was enjoying shopping at Aran'alian markets, eating things she remembered from her childhood and hearing snippets of a language she scarcely recalled. She did what she could to avoid reminders of the less pleasant parts of her youth. It was like wandering through hazy memories of dreams, trying to navigate around the flickering shadows of scarcely recalled nightmares.

Today she planned to visit the market with a friend, but till he arrived Alia had time to kill. After watering all her plants she slipped back into the house. She settled into a small couch alongside her little table. Atop the table were a book, a writing quill, and a baked clay ink pot. The book's pages were blank save for the words she'd written herself. Alia picked up the dry quill and tapped it against the table. It was nothing as fancy as the gryphon feather quills the Queen used. Perhaps when she next saw the Queen, she could politely request a quill donation from Her Majesty's arrogant, black-feathered companion.

Alia stared at the empty pages. She drummed her fingers against the vellum. Alia sighed and rose back up. She padded to the kitchen, fetched Val Junior, and set her little stuffed friend alongside her open book.

"There." She patted his head, smiling. "Alright, Val Junior. Inspire me."

As if on cue, words filtered into Alia's mind. At first she struggled with them. How should she order them? What if she thought of better words later? She reminded herself that she had a hundred blank pages in that book. She could always change and fix things later. May as well just write down what came to mind.

There lives a beast,

Bound in stone,

Beneath their city.

Alia tapped her quill against the page. Each tap left little spots of ink that bled through the vellum. "Oh, damn!" She plopped her quill back in the inkwell, and fetched a spare cloth to serve as blotter.

Alia sat back down and collected her thoughts. Where was she? She read through the first few lines she'd scribed, and a few more ideas blossomed in her head.

They call him Monster,

For they know not his name.

They know not his deeds,

They count not his crimes.

They care not for his suffering.

Alia tapped her quill against her blotter cloth. She glanced at Val Junior and tried again.

They call him Monster, yet know not his pain.

They bind him in stone for crimes long forgotten.

They know not the love and life he lost.

Buried beneath their feet, he is forgotten.

But one day, those walls will crumble.

One day, the Dread Sky will...

There was a knock on the door. Alia lifted her head and returned her quill to the ink pot. She read over her words as she sprinkled a bit of drying sand across the page. Not bad for a first attempt, she thought. Alia went to the door and peered through the peephole. At the bottom of her circle of vision, furry brown ears twitched and flicked.

Alia unlocked the door and opened it up to let Vatch in. "Hello, you little mugger."

"One time I try mug you!" Vatch laughed and shook his head as he entered. "Now I never live down."

"What, you think we can let you forget that?" Alia giggled as she closed the door behind him and locked it again.

"I think is time forget it, yes." Vatch pinned his ears back, adjusting his tunic. "So! How you are today?"

"Alright, alright." Alia ruffled his fur, then led into the kitchen. "I'm fine thanks, you?"

Vatch smoothed down his fur. "I do good." He ticked things off his fingers, tapping dull claws together. "I have bath, breakfast, go see lazy dragon, make sure he okay." The urd'thin waggled his hand, staring at it. "Vatch run out of fingers." He ticked a few more fingers on the other hand. "I get Kaylen bring breakfast, have reading time with dragon, run dragon bath. Then come here."

His overcomplicated answer made Alia smile. The little critter really poured his heart into his job. It warmed Alia to know her friends were watching over Valyrym in her stead.

"How's he doing?" Alia fetched two wooden cups from her nearly empty cupboard.

"He do best he can." Vatch swiveled his oversized chocolate-furred ears, tilting his head. "He miss you very much."

Alia's fingers froze around a cup, her heart shivered in her chest. "I miss him, too." Breath escaped her in a slow sigh. "We'll see each other again soon. Just make sure he knows that."

"I remind him many times." Vatch walked around Alia's kitchen, his dark eyes wandering. "Sometimes he get sad for little while, but we cheer him up. He like reading time now."

Alia shook her head. She'd never imagine a creature like Valyrym would relish curling around an urd'thin to read a book if she hadn't seen it firsthand. "He's not denying it anymore?"

"He know no one believe him."

Alia smiled. She pulled the stopper from a bottle of fruit juice, and poured some into each cup. "We've all seen his heart now. He can't close that door again." She passed Vatch his cup. "Do be sure and tell him I said it's adorable he likes to read to you."

Vatch took the cup with a little whine, flattening one ear. "Last time tell him this, he throw me in soapy tub! With brand new clothes!"

Alia laughed as she put the stopper back in the bottle. "See, Vatch? The fact the tub was full of water shows he cares about you."

"Be nice if he care about Vatch clothes." Vatch sniffed the juice, and trilled in delight.

"He's a dragon, Vatch." Alia sipped her own juice with a happy sigh. A lovely mixture of apple and orange she picked up at the local market the night before. "Clothes are about the last thing he cares about."

Vatch grinned and nodded, gulping some juice. Droplets clung to the fur of his muzzle. He wiped it with his sleeve. "This very good!"

"Thought you'd like it." Alia set her cup down and fetched a cloth. "Here, use this instead of your sleeve. No sense dressing smart if you're going to get yourself dirty."

Vatch took the cloth in his free hand. He stared at his green sleeve with one oversized ear perked and the other folded back alongside his horns. Vatch narrowed his dark eyes, tapered muzzle twitching. Vatch looked as though his shirt sleeve was some sort of mystical puzzle he was finally on the verge of solving.

"Like this, yes?" Vatch dabbed his muzzle with a corner of the cloth, his little finger raised.

Alia giggled, and made a show of studying the urd'thin. "Something like that."

As far as Alia knew, Vatch must have been the first urd'thin in the entire city to wear clothes custom tailored to fit his body. His dark green tunic was sharp and with a formal cut, with a golden Wardens Office emblem on each shoulder. His black trousers were fitted to the canine-like shape of his legs, with an extra loop of material to buckle over the top of his tail to give it room.

"You do look nice in those clothes, Vatch." Given the way most of the city saw urd'thin as little more than sewer-dwelling, dumpster-raiding thieves, Alia relished the shocked double takes she'd seen him garner.

"Thank you!" Vatch straightened and squared his shoulders, his bushy tail wagging like an overexcited canine.

"You're welcome. Your fur looks nice, too." It cascaded over Vatch's collar and from his sleeves in fluffy layers of chocolate brown and dark cream, like strong tea with just a hint of milk. Even his ridged horns seemed to shine. "Did you polish your horns, Vatch?"

Vatch gave a gaping-muzzle smile. "Scrub with cloth! Horns must look good, yes?"

"Indeed." Alia stroked his fur between his ears and horns. Vatch murmured in enjoyment, leaning into her touch. "I bet all the female urd'thin go wild for you. I'd think a handsome male in uniform ought to get their attention."

Vatch lifted his ears. "That be nice! First Vatch must have time to meet more female. Is never get day off!"

"Curse of the worker, hmm?" Alia took Vatch's cup after he finished his juice, and put it in the washbasin. "You finally have your own money, but never any time to spend it."

"That very true." Vatch fiddled with his clothes. He tugged on a sleeve, then adjusted the leather belt at his waist. "But is better have full belly and no time, than all free time and empty belly."

Alia scowled as she washed their cups. She knew that concept all too well. In her youth she'd nearly worked herself to death trying to get off the streets and put a little food in her belly. Back then a servant's role doing any job the castle hurled at her seemed a crowning achievement just because it kept her fed.

Alia rinsed the cups and put them away. "We've both come a long way, haven't we."

Vatch nodded, glancing down. He splayed his ears, kneading his brown-furred hands. "I only come long way because you give me chance. No one else give urd'thin chance. Only you."

Alia dried her hands. She turned and wrapped Vatch in a big hug. He gave a startled squeak, kicking his feet as she hoisted him off the ground. "And you're welcome, Vatch. You deserve it. You all deserve it." Alia set Vatch down. "Your people and mine, they're a lot alike. In fact, I've been thinking about that lately."

Vatch smoothed his hands over his ears. "About what?"

"Your people." Alia walked to her bedroom with Vatch at her heels. She picked up her long-bladed knife, and buckled it around her waist along with her coin purse. "They used to smuggle things to Valyrym, right?"

Vatch shrugged, unbuttoning his Warden shirt. He pulled it off, and laid it over Alia's bed. "Some did this, yes."

"As Valyrym tells it, it was the urd'thin who used to smuggle Death in the Night agents in to meet him." Alia fetched the spare shirt she kept for Vatch's visits and handed it to him. "Back before Illandra discovered some of the tunnels."

"I hear this too." Vatch clicked his teeth as he pulled the shirt on. Though it was also green, it bore no golden symbols. Not all of the Aran'alian district appreciated Illandra's authority. "Why? You want me sneak you in see dragon?"

Alia smirked at Vatch as he buttoned up his shirt. "Could you?"

Vatch rubbed his tapered muzzle between his hands, his tail tucked. "Is likely, yes." His dark eyes widened as he splayed his ears. "But you really want press luck that far?"

"Not yet," Alia said, wrapping her fingers around the handle of her dagger. "But if things don't work out with the Queen? Let's just say I'm working on a few other plans."

"I thought Kaylen was crazy one." Vatch chittered to himself, flicking his ears.

Alia walked towards the front door, waiting for Vatch to catch up. "This is all just idle speculation, anyway. A passing thought."

Vatch padded up behind her. "Alia passing thought often become real." Then he looked down at something. "What this?"

Alia realized she'd left her book open. "Oh. That." Embarrassment warmed her ears. "That's just...something..."

"You write poem?" Vatch gently turned the book on the table.

Alia chewed her lip. "Giving it a shot."

"Is about Dragon, yes?"

Alia's blush deepened even as Vatch's recognition made her smile. "Yes, it's about Valyrym. Right now it's more a collection of ideas than a poem."

"All things start somewhere."

Alia hooked some black hair behind an ear. "Yes, Vatch, they do." She unlocked the door, drumming her fingers against the wood. "The upcoming holiday had me thinking. They still celebrate his capture like it saved the country. Everyone knows the date he was dragged here, but no one knows why. They don't even know he has a name." Alia leaned her forehead against the door and sighed. She straightened and cleared her throat. "You ready to go to the market?"

"You buy Vatch cake, yes?"

Alia laughed and opened the door. "I promised, didn't I?"

After Vatch exited, Alia followed him onto the landing. She locked her door. The door was covered in chipped red paint. She'd hung a fanciful wreath in the shape of a dragon's head from it, and tied black and blue lace to the branches forming the dragon's horns. She brushed the lace with her fingers, then stuffed her key into her coin purse.

The exterior of the building was all exposed wood, with rain gutters that ran down each corner. Alia descended the creaky stairs set along one side of the building. After months of traversing the stairway to Valyrym's prison, four flights was nothing. Just like her balcony, blue tarps affixed to wooden arches sheltered the stairs from rain and sun.

The stairs ended at a narrow lane that ran between a cluster of identical housing buildings. Dingy gray flagstones dotted the earth. Muddy alleys led to the other buildings. Stunted oak trees grew from a crumbling brick planter ringed by shoddy benches with sagging seats. Moss slathered the old brick, thriving in the shade. Beyond the trees, the open gate of a wrought iron fence led them to the cobbled street.

The area Alia had come to call the Silver Rain District had grown from a marginalized slum to a sprawling and increasingly thriving sub-city. Even after living there a couple weeks, it still seemed a thing of wonder. It was a remnant of a heritage she knew only in picture books and tales spun from the mouth of an ancient dragon. Hints of an old world she never knew showed up in unexpected places, from the sloped roof of a small fabric shop, to the sigil-carved support beams of a street corner food stall.

Everything was bright and colorful, a way to bring life even to places once stricken with grueling poverty. A broken, free standing wall was covered in a mural of green hills flecked with spires of stone. Streamers of silver lace were strung from rooftop to rooftop like raindrops frozen in time. Old wooden buildings in disrepair and filled with too many families were painted in layers of brilliant color. A red roof, a green wall, yellow doors. Sagging walkways spanning rooftop gardens and cramped living spaces were decorated with cloth banners and images of rolling hills, blue skies, and dragons.

The streets were filled with people. Children in ragged clothes mingled with shoppers browsing corner stalls. Men carried sacks of grain and loaves of bread, women led livestock to be sold or slaughtered. Merchants in colorful clothing designed to draw the eye mingled amidst paupers asking for handouts. Performers beat out tribal rhythms on one corner. On another corner buskers played mournful melodies upon instruments Alia had never seen.

"Is very festive!" Vatch stared at everything, ears swiveling towards every new sound. "Is for Dragon Day Festival?"

"Probably." Alia smiled, patting Vatch's head. "My people might not celebrate his capture, but we can damn sure throw a party!"

The whole place seemed brighter and happier than in her memories. Her mother had rarely taken her this deep into the home district of her people. She'd forbid Alia from venturing there, insisting she try to find a life outside her heritage. Now Alia understood why. Banners of axes with silver teardrop blades hung from stalls. Stuffed blue dragons sat in shop windows. The patrolling guards bore silver raindrop patches on their shoulders.

Death in the Night was everywhere, and Alia's mother never wanted her to fall in with them. Alia might have been the perfect recruit. Rebellious and young, standing up to the Illandrans, taking whippings to spare her friends suffering. Who knows what sort of shadowy dealings she'd have gotten wrapped up in if not for her mother's love and steadying hand.

Alia smiled. Death in the Night seemed to have changed. Now they appeared more a means of support for their people than dangerous freedom fighters. They brought coin, created jobs, repaired old buildings and built new ones. They even policed the district with their own guards. While the Illandrans might not support them, neither did they stop them. Alia had discovered that Illandran guards rarely came to the district unless they were summoned to quell some great unrest.

"Many urd'thin today!" Vatch stopped, waving at a few of his people across the street. They waved back and chittered with Vatch in their own tongue before moving on. Vatch smiled up at Alia. "Is more than usual, yes?"

"I think so." She gestured at an urd'thin with scruffy gray and tan fur. He wore a copper vest with odd symbols. "What do those mean?"

"Translate to..." Vatch worked his tongue over his muzzle. "Thief merchant."

"Thief merchant?" Alia's eyes widened.

"Is bad translation. Is more mean..." Vatch gestured, struggling for the right words. "Cunning trader."

Alia was still pleasantly surprised how accepted urd'thin were here. Even Vatch had been taken aback, wonder shining in his dark eyes the first time they'd spotted his people openly browsing stalls. But Aran'alians knew what it was like to feel unwanted, to feel marginalized.

The district accepted the other races of the world, too. Alia saw a group of four Va'chaak. Two covered their green and gray scaled bodies with beast hides, leather straps with pouches, and colorful bolts of cloth. The others wore elaborate purple and gold robes with their tails protruding from openings in the back. They strolled down the streets, gazing at everything, talking and laughing.

"Is not nice stare, Alia." Vatch nudged her with his elbow.

Alia tore her eyes away from the lizard people, lowering her voice. "I know, I know. Just never seen them up close before. I wonder if their scales feel like Valyrym's?"

"Want go find out?"

"No, Vatch." Alia laughed and shook her head.

Alia led Vatch into the place she'd dubbed Sigil Stones Market. It sprawled across an immense circular plaza where a dozen roads all intersected. A ring of Illandran oaks provided natural walls and towered over the nearest buildings. Gnarled roots crept across the battered cobblestones. Stone and root alike were worn smooth by generations of footsteps and wagon wheels bumping across them.

Each tree's vast canopy sheltered a different portion of the market. Beneath some trees were old benches half shrouded in dead leaves and brush or cushioned by layers of silken moss. Many of the trees were incorporated into the market itself. Their twisted, armor-like bark supported entire generations of old signs tacked up. One tree had a network of vendor stalls built all around it, wares hanging in open display from the lower boughs. Another tree had become part of a restaurant. Shelves and hooks for cookware were affixed to the tree, and the roof built amongst its limbs. Soot from cook smoke stained parts of the canopy yet the oak itself seemed to pay the daily cooking fires no more heed than it paid the weather.

Between the trees were statues and carvings as old as the market. Some had fared better through the ages than others. Stone archways lined with ancient symbols led to memorial chambers. Names and sigils were carved upon weathered boulders. Alia spotted a few runes she recognized from Valyrym's descriptions, but most of them were as foreign to her as her people's native tongue.

Even the market's design remained Alia of a home she never knew she missed. Emerald rain canopies and old roofs painted green were like rolling hills. Support ropes were dyed a stone gray. Streamers of lacy silver ran between the trees and canopy poles as though the market was ever shrouded beneath silver rain. Alia wanted to wander every inch of it, touch every rune carved in stone, and visit every statue.

Alia savored the market's noisy chaos. The air buzzed with voices and chatter. Children in colorful clothes giggled from suspended walkways in the old trees. Boisterous laughter spilled from makeshift taverns. Vendors with carts and stalls lined the streets and filled the intersections, calling out their wares to everyone who passed. Food sizzled, fires crackled, banners rustled, livestock bleated and squawked.

"Vatch get cake now?" Vatch raised his voice above the din.

"Soon, Vatch!" Alia patted his head. "First I need a new bag to put it in. Tore my last one."

Sigil Stones Market had just about everything. Alia went there mostly for food, but knew she could find anything else she'd require. From clothing and shoes, new sandals, bedding and blankets, plants and flowers, furniture, cook ware, fire wood, books, and on and on. With a little searching, Alia found a travel pack dyed dark blue, with buckles shaped like rain drops. It cost her less than half as much as the leather pack she used back at the castle, and held just as much. She threw in a few extra coins for the vendor's troubles and then roamed the market with Vatch.

One vender in gray and red clothes surrounded by animals in flimsy cages called out to Alia and Vatch, promising them an unbelievable deal on a nice plump goat. Alia considered it. Not because she wanted to butcher her own food, but because she thought Valyrym might have fun chasing prey around. Then again, the poor old lizard might slip and break his leg. She'd better not.

She bought a few smoked fish and had them wrapped in parchment. She chose some fresh fruits and vegetables, and added some cured duck sausages to replace her breakfast. She picked up a few fresh, spiced bread rolls. She bought some cookies, and got Vatch his cake.

By the time her new pack was full, she was hungry again. "Want lunch, Vatch? I'll buy."

"Vatch never refuse free food."

"No, I thought not." Alia settled her new pack on her shoulders. "I've a taste for fish, how's that sound?"

"Vatch like fish!"

So did Alia. After hearing all about the fish from streams fed by silver rain in Aran'alia, she'd developed quite a taste for them. Alia took Vatch to an aging food stall with just a few seats at a sagging wooden counter, and a sign carved like a fish.

Alia and Vatch settled into creaking chairs, and before long the woman running the stall was cooking their meal. The cook was an older woman with the sort of wrinkles that spoke of a constant smile even during hardship. Alia liked her immediately. As they chatted, the woman scaled a few long, slender fish. She dusted them with salt, herbs and dried peppers, then laid them out upon flat stones placed around hot coals. The aroma that permeated the air was a delight, and Alia half-feared she'd start drooling like Valyrym looking at a chocolate cake.

As they chatted the cook mixed coarse-ground flour with water and some pungent herbs, and then poured the simple batter over another set of hot stones. She flipped the fish over, then mixed together a sauce of melted butter, garlic and citrus zest. As the flatbread cooked, she basted it with the fresh sauce. When the fish was nearly cooked she squeezed a lemon above it. With a flat knife, she removed the flatbread and laid it out on a wooden platter. She basted it with more sauce before placing the grilled fish atop the crisp bread. She set the platter before Alia and Vatch. In a flurry she fetched a variety of clay pots and stone jars filled with sauces, fresh chopped herbs, and spices.

Vatch wasted no time adding a little bit of everything. The woman laughed and patted his furry arm. That was all the encouragement Alia needed. Once she'd done up her food with all that was available, she took an immense bite, trying to fit some of everything in her mouth. The flatbread was crispy, the fish was flaky with a pleasant spiciness, and the sauce added a wonderful garlic and citrus zest. The spices and additional herbs all brought an extra layer of fresh, pungent flavors.

Vatch let out a long groan, his eyes rolling back. "Oooooh! This...maybe...best thing ever."

The cook laughed, and scraped her cooking stones clean. From the way the woman smiled, Alia guessed she probably heard that a lot. With every bite Alia took, the flavors seemed stronger. Alia wasn't used to spicy food, but she enjoyed the way the heat slowly grew.

"I can honestly say I've never tasted anything quite like this." Alia wiped at sweat beading upon her brow. "It's incredible."

"Thank you both!" The woman gave them a grateful smile. "I hope it's not too spicy." Her lyrical Aran'alian accent was as delightful as her food. "You didn't give me a chance to warn you before you'd ladled everything on it."

"I'm quite enjoying it." Alia watched Vatch. The urd'thin's tongue hung from his snout like a thirsty hound. "It...may be a little hot for him."

Vatch glanced at Alia, panting. "Vatch tongue burn. Maybe Vatch put too much pepper sauce. But...Vatch love!"

"Urd'thin do seem to develop a taste for heat." The woman fetched a few corked bottles and pulled the stoppers. "It's a recipe from home, so it's not what they'd normally eat." She poured a little from each bottle into a set of wooden cups. "Then again, not all of our people get to eat food from home, either."

"Are you from there, then?" Alia wiped her forehead again and took a few deep breaths to ease the burn. "Our home?"

"Born and raised." The woman pulled out another bottle, and topped off each cup. "Been here decades now, but still love to bring a taste of the old land to our people." She offered Alia and Vatch the drinks. "You?"

"My mother was from home." Alia sipped it. It was smooth, velvety, and sweet, an oddly harmonious blend of fruit juices and a bit of cream. "She raised me here, like an Illandran. Thought it would be best for me. So I love getting to taste things like this."

"Lots of people do." The woman gave Alia a sympathetic look as she tucked the bottles away. "A shame, really. So much they miss out on."

Alia smiled and nodded, taking another drink. It eased the burn. "Things like this make me homesick for something I've never really know."

"Many people share that feeling." The woman wiped down her counter, then hung the rag on a nearby hook. "Makes me happy to provide them a taste of the life they never knew." She turned towards Vatch. "You like the drink?"

Vatch drained his entire cup in one long pull, then set it down and gave a long sigh. "More, please?"

The woman laughed. Though she'd only just tucked her bottles away, she seemed happy to mix him another. "I'll take that as a yes."

While Vatch stuffed his muzzle with more spicy food, Alia took a smaller bite. "I suspect you'll see my friend and me often."

"Oh, lovely." The cook passed the drink to Vatch. "I'm here just about every day. Save the days I don't feel like coming in." She giggled, and set the condiment jars away. "Then you'll have to find someone else's slop to eat."

Alia chewed her food slowly, savoring it. "Nice you can make your own hours."

The cook leaned against her counter, smiling. "Oh, I work more days than not to scrape enough coin together to keep a sturdy roof over my head. Lived in a shack when I first came here, but thankfully things are changing. I just need a break once in a while so I don't wear myself out. Get someone to cook for me once in a while."

"Things do seem to have changed." Alia finished off her food. She was stuffed, and worried the surface of her tongue had melted. She took a sip of the creamy fruit drink, and swished it around her mouth to cool the burn. "When I was little, I lived in a tiny house with my mother. Everything seemed so dismal. I found myself a job in the center of the city, and I'm ashamed to admit I rarely came back here till I decided to embrace my roots. I'm actually quite surprised how things have improved." She took another sip, and laughed. "Or perhaps time's just twisted my memory."

The older woman nodded, wiping her hands on her dark red apron. "Things have definitely improved. I've lived here over twenty years, and there's more coin in our little section of the city than ever. There are opportunities for us now. Why in the last five years alone, every part of our district's been fixed up and improved."

"I'm glad to see the Queen's finally doing something for our people." Alia smiled, folding her arms.

The cook clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Oh, I don't know about that queen. Sitting in her castle, ruling over conquered lands. Yes, things have improved for us during her reign, but is that really her doing?" She shrugged, and gazed out across the market. "I don't see Illandrans out there fixing our roads or shoring up our walls. The Illandrans don't come through offering us jobs. They don't pay us to build things or make their clothes. No, it's people from home who do all that, and there are more of them here every day."

Alia smiled at the woman, but something inside her twisted. She wasn't even sure why, but that idea just set her ill at ease. "That's wonderful. If the Queen won't support us, we'll just support ourselves."

"The way it's always been. But it keeps getting better." When Vatch finished his food, the cook put the platter in her washbasin. "The wind shall carry us to a better life."

Alia's skin prickled, a shiver ran down her spine. "What was that?"

"Oh, it's just a twist on the old saying from home." The cook glanced over as she scrubbed the platter. She offered Alia a smile. "I think it came from a dragon, actually." The cook laughed, her shoulders shaking. She pulled the platter from the water and scrubbed it with a towel. "Imagine that. Our people knowing a dragon so well they pick up something it says."

Alia struggled to keep her smile from fading. "Imagine that."

"Could be bollocks, of course." The woman placed her serving platter under the counter when it was dry. "But that's what they say."

Alia fumbled with her coin purse, her fingers rubbery. "Who says that, exactly?"

"Oh, lots of newcomers the last few years." The cook waved her hand as if dismissing the notion. "The people who've helped our district improve. Bunch of idealists with a lot of fancy talk about change. I think their dreams are bigger than their means, but I can't argue with results. Why, it was their idea for us to start policing ourselves when the Illandrans couldn't be bothered. If you ask me, things are a lot safer around here ever since."

"Yes, things certainly seem better." Alia pulled coins from her purse for the meal, and dropped them onto the counter. Her heart rattled in her chest. She wasn't sure why she felt so unsteady. "So...what was it they said about change?" Alia swallowed, struggling to maintain a casual interest. "It sounds like a saying I'd like to use myself."

The woman scooped up the coins. "The wind that carries." She tried to offer a few coins back to Alia. "This is too much, dear."

"Oh, consider it a tip. That food was stunning." Alia cinched her coin purse up, glancing at Vatch. "So, the wind that carries, hmm?"

"Yes, and usually they add something dramatic." She tucked her coins away, then swept her liver-spotted hand in a grand gesture. "The wind that carries will carry us to a better life." She tapped her fingers against the counter, scowling a moment. "I tell you, a few of them strike me as a little odd."

Alia rose up, and fetched her pack, glancing at the woman. "Odd?"

"Yes, a lot of hushed whispers and strange looks." She wiped down the counter, then gave a little snort. "In fact, those oddest ones usually just say, the wind is coming! The way they say, it sounds like they're waiting for something to happen."

"Maybe they are." Alia murmured the words before she could stop herself. "I've heard something like that before. From a woman in a wagon, sells silver water from home."

The cook straightened, some of the shine left her smile. "Oh? Yes, I'm sure she'd say that. I've met her a few times. She's very...well, she's the first one who ever told me the wind is coming. And other nonsense." She lowered her voice, crooked a finger at Alia.

Alia leaned in.

The woman made a show of passing some sweet biscuits over the counter. All her cheerfulness was gone in an instant, replaced by something taut and sharp. "Whoever you are, they're watching you. The ones who say the wind is coming. They've eyes everywhere, now. Be ever so wary who you put your trust in. If you're not part of it, best you stay out of the storm until it blows over. Understand?"

Alia tucked the cookies away, gave the woman a smile, and backed away. "Yes. Thank you."

The woman's cheerful smile and demeanor returned in a blink. "Lovely. Have a good day, dearie!"

*****

Chapter Three

*****

Movement against Krek's ebony feathers roused him from slumber. Decades wrapped in lies and slumbering in his enemy's beds left the gryphon attuned to every little sound, every little movement. Spending half a lifetime as a spy made it difficult to slumber soundly. But it was not Death in the Night who rustled his feathers at dawn, it was a dragon hatchling nestled between his wings.

Krek cracked a single eye open when Ayly stirred and crawled down his foreleg. She hopped onto one of the colorful cushions scattered about the stone floor. Ayly glanced at her slumbering parents, curled together nearby. Then she slipped away, a sneaking shadow edged in purple and blue.

Ayly slunk between brightly hued cushions and mounds of blankets to the far side of the room. The little hatchling waggled her silver-speckled haunches, and then leapt onto a crate. From the crate she clambered up onto a shelf, and padded to the end of it. Next she jumped onto the top of a tall, dragon-sized bookcase built by the villagers. Ayly sprinted across the bookcase and hurled herself through the air.

Krek's heart tightened, his crown feathers flared. She was going to break her damn legs. Ayly's little wings shot out and though they could not yet carry her, they caught enough air for her to reach a far window ledge. Ayly caught the edge of it with her forepaws and kicked her hind legs till short claws caught stone. Ayly hauled herself up onto the ledge. Atop the ledge were several stuffed toys. She picked one up in a royal purple forepaw and nosed at it.

Krek smirked, settling his crown feathers back down. All that for a toy.

Only it wasn't for a toy. Ayly set her plush friend back down, and moved the rest of them aside. The hatchling turned her attention to the thick hide curtains that covered the windows of the dragons' stone home in lieu of glass panes. Ayly tugged the stiff hide aside with her paw, spilling cool dawn light into the room. She glanced back to make sure the light hadn't woken her family, then wriggled through window into the world beyond.

Sneaky little thing.

Krek gave a heavy sigh, easing himself up to his paws. Pain thudded across his ribs, through his stitched wounds. Gods, weeks later and he still hurt. Been a long time since he'd had his ass kicked that badly. He never should have let his guard down around that bronze whelp. Sure as hell wouldn't have done so in his youth. Back when he first got into all this spy business, he'd have knocked that bastard out before he ever turned his back. At least Valar had bailed him out.

As always.

Krek smiled at the sleeping dragons. Valar and Aylyryn lay curled together, their tails twined. It eased Krek's pain knowing his friend had the peace he deserved. Valar was so close to escaping the cycle of hatred and violence that had consumed his parents. The same cycle that clutched Illandra and her plundered nations. Now if only Krek could stop Valar's mother from shattering the life her son built.

If by some miracle he succeeded, maybe Krek would settle down someday too. He could live a peaceful, boring life with the one he loved. How wonderful it would be to lay with Kathlyn each night, to talk and snuggle and count the stars and all the other pathetic-sounding things that suddenly seemed so achingly perfect.

But first he had a hatchling to rescue. Clearly her father had gotten too fat and lazy in his peaceful life to go and fetch Ayly himself. It was for the best. Krek wouldn't want poor, lazy Valar to have a heart attack chasing his giggling spawn around.

Krek slipped towards the front entry, silently picking his way around the bedding that covered the floor. It reminded Krek of every other dragon's home he'd ever visited. Whether a cavernous mountain lair or a stone house built in a city, they all had their beds of soft things. Valar's hoard of softness just contained more pillows and blankets than animal hides, thanks to donations from his beloved village.

After unlatching the heavy front door, Krek eased it open on oiled hinges. The humans had done an impressive job building this place. Everything was scaled and designed for dragons. Once this was all over, he'd have a chat with Kathlyn about getting the castle re-designed to fit him. Some of those hallways were a very tight fit for a gryphon. Krek only liked a tight fit when it came to his lovers.

The gryphon savored the cool, rain-scented air that washed in through the open door. There was a hint of honey-melon sweetness to it Krek found refreshing. Not that Valar's home smelled unpleasant. But there was only so much time a gryphon could spend breathing in the scents of flower-spice incense and dragons before he wanted fresh air.

Krek walked outside and eased the door shut. The dragons needed their slumber, especially Valar. His old friend had spent half the night twisting as though his dreams tormented him. Krek rustled his black feathers, wondering if poor Valar was still dreaming about his father going free.

Several weeks had passed since he'd announced his plan to free Valyrym in order to save the Queen. At the time, he didn't know if Valar would rage or rejoice, hug him or strangle him. Valar did none of those things. Instead he just sort of sat there, his ears back, his spines drooping. Then he'd changed the subject and forbid Krek from going anywhere till his wounds had time to heal. Since then, Valar had barely spoken of the idea. But whenever Krek tried to bring it up, the truth was in Valar's eyes. The ghost of his father's mistakes. As though Valyrym himself stalked behind Valar's gold and silver-flecked gaze.

Krek shivered. Some dreadful thing tingled beneath his silver crown feathers. His ebon pinfeathers fluffed all around his neck. How he hated putting Valar through this, but what choice did he have? They had tried and failed to reason with Valar's mother. Valyrym was the only one left who might be able to get through to Kylaryn. He was only chance to end this wretched cycle of bloodshed.

Valyrym was his only chance to save his beloved Kathlyn.

Krek flattened his feathers and hung his head. The gryphon closed his emerald eyes, took a few shuddering breaths. He would save her. He ground his beak. He had to save her. His goal now, his only goal was to save Kathlyn's life.

"You splashed me, duck! Now you're my foe!"

Ayly's voice replaced his fear with a smile. If only he could bundle up that hatchling joy and take it with him. He could take Ayly herself back to Illandra, but he doubted Valar would approve. Besides, Krek would make a terrible babysitter.

Krek followed Ayly's voice around the side of Valar's home. The building looked caught somewhere between a fortress and a children's drawing. It was a formidable stone structure painted entirely in bright blues and murals of cheerful dragons. All three of its residents were depicted flying, playing together, and interacting with villagers. It would have been heartwarming if Krek would ever admit to such a thing.

Valar's home sat atop a small hill, surrounded by fields of heather and tall grass. Willow bough fences and lines of stacked stone lay all around it. In the distance, a grassy slope lead to the sandbar in the river the dragons used as their private beach. Krek swiveled his ears towards the river. It hissed and gurgled, angry after all the rain. Krek hoped Ayly had taken her parents' lessons about the dangers of an angry river to heart.

Krek glanced at the sky. Though the rains had eased, the clouds lingered. They replaced the sunrise with a cold, gray light diffused across the hazy horizon. Thin, misty shrouds drifted over the surrounding hills, veiling the heather and sage in silvery gauze. The whole world looked slightly out of focus, as though Krek could not blink the bleariness from his eyes.

When a stray raindrop struck his beak, it left a silver streak. He crossed his eyes, trying to focus on it. It was not the rain's chill that left him shivering and fluffed. The rain never used to fall silver here. The puddles didn't look silver, though. Perhaps there'd only been a few silver droplets mixed in amongst the rest of the rain. Krek shook himself, and sloshed through the wet grass behind Valar's home, looking for Ayly.

To Krek's complete lack of surprise, he discovered her well beyond the walls of stacked stones meant to keep her from wandering off. No doubt she'd learned to scale those as soon as she discovered how to escape her home. Like father, like daughter, Krek thought.

Ayly was soaked and muddy. Her wet ebony scales glistened with a polished sheen. Silver speckles stood out against her haunches and tail. The blue mask that covered most of her muzzle and face looked like polished azure. A coating of mud obscured the blue and purple of her forepaws, and hid the royal purple markings on her belly. Her little wings were half unfurled. Blue and purple ripples edged the otherwise black membranes.

Ayly stalked the perimeter of a giant puddle, every step measured and graceful. Her purple-tipped tail lashed. The incessant giggles that cascaded from her lessened her intimidating posture. In the center of the water was a brown and green duck perfectly content to paddle circles in a puddle.

"Imma get you, duck!" Ayly stepped into the water. The duck quacked and Ayly jumped back onto the shore, her silver and gold eyes wide. "Shut up, Foe!"

"You know, Ayly, your grandmother used to tell me stories about your father sneaking out, too." Krek hopped over the stone wall and padded across the field. The wet grass soaked his paws, chilled his gray pads. "I don't think he ever had a duck for a nemesis, though."

Ayly gasped and froze. Her muzzle hung open, her tail suspended mid-lash.

"Going still doesn't make you invisible, my dear." Krek chuckled, and pat Ayly's head.

"I'm notta deer!" Ayly latched her teeth into Krek's finger.

"Ow!" Krek tugged his foreleg back, but Ayly did not let go. "No biting!"

The duck quacked twice.

"You shut up, duck." Krek snapped his beak, lifting his paw till Ayly had to stretch her neck.

"Mrrrrff!" Ayly pushed herself up to her claw tips.

"Unless you'd like to be hoisted aloft by your teeth, I suggest you release me."

Ayly spat out Krek's finger and dashed away, giggling. "Lellumgurbs taste yucky anyway!"

"That's not what..." Krek caught himself, and snapped his beak shut. "What are you doing out here?"

"Huntin' my foes." Ayly resumed creeping around the puddle.

Krek ambled after her, wet grass and mud squelching beneath his pads. "Looks more like you're stalking a duck, to me."

"The duck is my foe!" Ayly stomped a forepaw against the wet ground.

"Dare I ask why?"

"Cause it splashed me!" Ayly stomped again. Hatchling exasperation stretched her voice. "Now shut up Lellumgurb! You're gonna scare away my foe!"

Krek rustled his wings. The gryphon winced as his bandages pulled tight against his stitched wounds. "You're bossy in the morning. Why don't you just charge out there and snatch it in your jaws?"

Ayly paused. She flattened her wings and hissed, flaring her tiny spines. "Don't give away my plan!"

"Oh, my mistake." Krek gazed at the puddle. "I didn't mean to negate your tactical advantage."

Ayly nodded as if in agreement. "Don't negative my tactile evidence."

Krek laughed, and the duck quacked. Both Ayly and Krek said, "Shut up duck!"

All at once, Ayly ran into the puddle. "Charge!"

Muddy water splashed all around her. Ripples raced across the surface. The duck bobbled on the little waves as it paddled in a wide circle. Ayly surged through the water till it reached her chest.

"Ayly, how deep is that water? Come back here."

Ayly did no such thing. Instead she went deeper till she was paddling just like the duck. Ayly's wings splashed the surface, her tail snaked beneath the water like a tiny rudder steering her on an aimless course. She floated and paddled well enough but didn't seem to know how to guide her movement. Whenever she managed to get closer to the duck it just paddled away and resumed its lazy circles.

"C'mere duck!" Ayly splish-splashed through the puddle.

The duck swam around to face Ayly. It stared at her, then quacked three times.

Ayly shrieked in horror. "It's onto me!" She flailed and splashed. "Lellumgurb, help! It's a trap!"

Ayly's frenzied commotion proved too much for the duck to tolerate. It flapped its wings and shot across the puddle with loud, squawking quacks. As the duck ascended, water sprayed from its wings and splattered Ayly. Ayly snapped her little jaws at its feet but couldn't quite reach it. Then as recalling she was supposed to be in trouble, she resumed her flailing.

"Lellumgurb, help! It's a trap! Help!"

Krek sighed and hung his head. "You'd be more convincing if you hadn't stopped in mid-drown to try and catch the duck."

Ayly paused her thrashings to stare at the gryphon. She floated in the water. "Lellumgurb." She paddled in a circle, impatient. "Help!"

"Oh, if I must." Krek sloshed into the puddle, cold water soaking his paws. "At least you won't be so muddy now."

Ayly stopped paddling and floated, awaiting her rescue. Krek lowered his head, planning to gently grasp her neck in his beak. Ayly had other plans. She grabbed his ears in her forepaws and hauled herself up. Tiny claws prickled at his flesh as she scrambled over the gryphon's face.

"Ow!" Krek jerked his head back, yanking Ayly out of the water.

"Wheeeee!" Ayly squealed in glee, clambering over the gryphon's head. Her tail whacked his beak. "Giffid ride!"

"That wasn't how this was supposed to go!" Krek squeezed his eyes shut. "Watch your claws, my dear! You're going to put my eye out!"

"You got another." Ayly climbed over the gryphon's head, twisted around, and sprawled against the back of his neck. She wrapped her forelegs around him, claws used for purchase. Ayly nuzzled his ear, giggling. "Hi, Lellumgurb."

Krek sighed. It was impossible to stay mad at her even with a face full of claw marks. "Hello, Ayly. You're going to get us both in trouble, you know."

"Nuh-uh." Ayly said, lifting her head. "Just you!"

There was so much innocence in her voice, even Krek almost believed it was his idea to go duck hunting. "Maybe if we sneak back inside, your parents won't even know we were gone."

"I'm hungry, Lellumgurb." Ayly swatted Krek's ear. "Let's get fishies!"

Krek winced. "Not yet, Ayly."

"Lellumguuuuurb!" Ayly grasped his ear and shook it. "I'm hungrrrryyyy!"

"Ow!" Krek wrenched his head away from her paw, pinning his ear back. "Ayly, that hurts, and I'm in enough pain as it is."

"Cause you're all beat up?" Ayly slipped down his neck and nestled herself between his wings.

"Yes." Krek clacked his beak. "That."

Krek turned his head, gazing at his feathers. His plumage looked an untidy mess, and Ayly wasn't helping. He stretched a wing forward and preened his feathers. He rearranged them best he could, then pulled a loose feather and spat it to the wet ground.

"Why are you eating your wings?"

"I'm not eating them." Krek folded his wing, and turned his attention to the other.

"It looks like you're eating them." Ayly tugged a few feathers.

"Ayly, don't do that." Krek wriggled beneath her. "I'm not eating, I'm preening."

"Why?"

"So they look better."

"Why?"

"I'm not going to play this game." Krek preened his wing into something resembling tidiness. "There. Now, if you ask nicely, we'll find some food. Your parents will appreciate breakfast."

Ayly nodded. "I'm hungry, Lellumgurb."

"So I've heard." Krek squawked when Ayly yanked on a pawful of wing feathers. "Ow! Ayly, what are you doing?"

"Preening." Ayly giggled, tugging and ruffling his feathers into a disorganized mess. "I'm helping!"

"Not the word I'd use." Krek sighed. It was damn impossible for a poor gryphon to look his best these days.

Krek gave up maximizing his handsomeness, and returned to the front of the house. Just as he arrived, Ayly's father Valaranyx emerged from the front door. The older dragon was covered in scales as black as Krek's feathers, with myriad indigo highlights. He eased the door shut with a blue forepaw.

"Hello, Valar."

Valar whirled around, hissing. He flared his spiny, blue-tinged crests. "That is mine."

Krek cocked his head, lifting his silvery crown feathers. "Are you talking about Ayly or me?"

A smirk pulled at Valar's blue-tipped muzzle. "Both."

"Hi Father!" Ayly chirped. "Lellumgurb took me duck hunting!" She thumped a paw against Krek's neck.

"Did he?"

"She took herself duck hunting." Krek swiveled his head to grin at Ayly. "I just fished her out of a puddle when the duck sprang an insidious trap."

"Going to have to block those windows." Valar walked alongside Krek to nuzzle his daughter. She purred as Valar licked her. "Normally I wake as soon as I feel her trying to wriggle away."

"I take it her mother does not wake so easily?"

Valar flexed his blue-rippled wings, grinning. "Aylyryn is as deep a sleeper as I am a light one."

"Lucky her." Krek flicked his tufted tail, smiling. "Must be nice to get some real sleep once in a while."

"I wouldn't know." Valar playfully snapped his jaws at Ayly. She giggled and batted at him. "Perhaps I'll discover sound slumber once this one's all grown up."

Krek bumped his haunches up against the black and blue dragon. "Till she brings her own hatchlings to visit and teaches them to climb all over you."

"I want fishies, Father!" Ayly swatted Valar's blue-marked nose.

"So do I." Valar licked his muzzle. "We may as well go get--ack!"

Ayly scrabbled up Valar's face, snatching at ears and horns, digging claws into scales. Valar flattened down all his spines just before Ayly went sliding down the back of his neck with a squeal of delight.

"We're a source of endless amusement, aren't we." Krek thumped his tufted tail against Valar's scaly haunch.

"Her personal playground." When Ayly was settled in between his shoulders, Valar lifted his wings and started down the pathway. "You stay still while we walk, Ayly."

Krek admired Valar as they walked. His oldest friend had grown into a very handsome dragon, that was for sure. Every paw was blue in different measure, indigo toes on one foot, a cerulean sock another. Azure ripples and markings on the edges of his wings, blue nose and tail tip. The pink marks of lifelong scars caught Krek's eye. They marred Valar just under his wing, on his hind leg, and near his belly. Krek glanced away, not wanting to stare. At least Valar hid his limp well today, even if Krek knew the dragon's old wounds ached when it rained.

Valar was the strongest creature Krek knew. How he'd lived through that as a child, let alone continued to walk, learned to fly...

"Father!" Ayly swatted the back of Valar's neck. "Father! Father!"

"Yes, Ayly?"

"Hi." She licked a few scales.

Valar rumbled and grinned. "Hello, my love."

"Father!" Ayly swatted his neck again. "Father!"

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry!"

"As am I." Valar licked his nose. "We'll get breakfast and bring some back for your mother."

"Or she'll be cranky?" Ayly giggled. She sat up on her haunches.

"Trouble's always cranky in the morning." Krek rustled his wings, happy for the distraction. He smirked at Valar. "We'd better bring her extra or she might get your treasures in her paw."

Valar gave the gryphon a dirty look. "Yours too, Bird."

"Father!" Ayly swatted Valar. "Father! Father!"

Valar laughed, shaking himself to make her wobble. "Yes, Ayly?"

"I bited Lellumgurb." She flashed Krek her most innocent smile. "Then I climbed Mount Giffid."

"That's become a regular occurrence." Valar splayed his ears. "Whatever will you climb when Krek's gone?"

Ayly gasped, wide-eyed. "Lellumgurb's leaving again?"

Krek stretched a wing over Valar's back to brush Ayly with his feathers. "I'll be back, though."

Valar glanced over, fear and concern etched across his pebbly-scaled face. "Will you?"

Krek looked away, gritting his beak. Something cold squeezed the gryphon's heart. This wasn't the last time he was going to see Valar, was it? He swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat, flattening back his silver crown feathers. He pinned his ears. No. This wasn't their last goodbye, not yet.

Krek swatted at the curved spines tipping Valar's tail. "Of course I'll be back." The gryphon forced confidence into his voice. "Someone's got to be handsome around here."

"Cut it out, Krek." Valar tugged his tail away, and fixed his gaze on the hazy horizon. "Are you really going to set him free?"

Krek's wings drooped. That was the first time Valar himself brought it up since Krek's announcement. The cold claws in his heart dug deeper. "I...I don't know what else to do. If she won't listen to reason when spoken by her own son, I...there's no one left. Only him."

"You think it will work?"

"I think I have to try." The gryphon's voice trembled. "But you would know best." He canted his head, a note of hope lifting his voice. "Do you think it will work?"

"Maybe." Valar's crests flared, spines standing out. "But they never listened to each other before, so I doubt they'll start now. Still..."

Krek nuzzled Valar's neck, brushing beak against scale. "What is it, Valar?"

Valar's jaw tensed. His frills shook around his head. "My father is a hole in her heart she could never close. She has patched and forgotten it, but that hole is still there, waiting to swallow her. She has walled herself off in a fortress built on unsteady ground. If you bring my father into this, I fear that ground may finally give way."

"I don't want to break her, Valar." Krek took a deep breath, leaning against the dragon. "I just want to stop her."

Valar braced himself against the gryphon. He snorted. "You're going to try it no matter what, aren't you?"

"I have to." Krek shook himself, his feathers fluffing. "Times are desperate, Valar. I fear she may have slipped too far from reason's shore. This is my last desperate bid to avert more bloodshed, but I will die before I will let her touch one claw to Kathlyn."

"I won't let my mother hurt you, Krek." Valar growled. Dark flames burned in his gold and silver eyes. "And I won't let her kill the Queen! She cannot spread this madness she's wrapped herself in any further. When my father walked this path, it tore us apart. If my mother walks it, it will tear nations asunder! It...it has to stop."

"It does." Krek took hold of his friend's muzzle. He glared into Valar's eyes. "But I ask you again, Valar. Stay out of it. Please!"

"I cannot." Valar tugged his head away.

Krek's voice strengthened, forged in the fires of anger and fear. "I did not come here to drag you into your family's war. You're the only one who found a way out of this spiral of bloodshed and revenge. You have a good life here, with a family who loves you and a village who relies upon you. Don't throw all that away, Valar. Stay out of it. Please."

Valar sighed, his spines drooping. "How would I live with myself if I do nothing, and the Queen dies? Her death would unleash an ocean of blood, a red tide that will grow and wash across the land. Whatever mother thinks she will accomplish, she is wrong. Illandra has allies, enemies, all of whom will join the fray. In victory or defeat, my mother's war would consume everyone. Even us. This tiny nation, this village I love, they will burn. If we lose our home, if our friends are slain, and I did nothing? How will I ever look my daughter in the eyes again? I would... I would be worse than my father!"

Krek flattened his feathers back, glancing away.

Valar sunk claws into the road, his voice cracking. "I hate my father for many reasons, Krek, but there is one thing I still look up to him for. He made a choice to fight a war he knew he would lose, because he could not stand back and watch people die. He gave up the simple, peaceful life he could have had, to try and make a difference for others. If I cannot measure myself by that example, what would I be? How could Ayly ever look up to me if I refused to do what I knew was right?"

"Father, don't talk scary." Ayly nuzzled at Valar's neck, whining.

Valar rubbed her with his wings, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, my love."

The gryphon's heart thundered in his chest. Lumps of ice sat heavy in his twisting bowels. "Valar, you have suffered enough. You need not bear any more scars." Krek turned and lifted a paw to stroke Ayly's head. She purred and nuzzled his pads. "We'll talk about this later."

"There's nothing left to talk about, Krek." Valar offered the gryphon a smile filled with a strange sort of acceptance. "I've already told you, my mind is made up. I will stand before mother myself if that is what it takes to save the Queen. Or to save you." He took a deep breath, dragging his claws over cobblestone. "So if you truly want to free my father, I won't ask you not to." He smirked. "She'll probably just beat the hell out of him. But if by some miracle he changes her mind, let me know so I can save myself the trouble of the flight to the Queen's convoy."

Krek butted his head against Valar's side, grunting. "You're as stubborn as she is, you know. Trying to talk sense into your family is like bashing my head against a mountain."

"You're one to talk about sense, bird." Valar cocked his head. "Have you even got a plan?"

"Free Valyrym. Bring Valyrym to Kylaryn."

"A plan to free him."

Krek gave a low warble. "No. But I will by the time I reach Illandra. I'll start by talking to the prince." Krek grimaced, dread tingling at the base of his wings. "Elvir hates me, but he loves his mother. If I explain the reasons, he may order Valyrym's immediate freedom."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then I'll recruit his warden to help me break him out." Krek waved his paw, hissing.

"And what's she going to do? Fetch you a shovel?"

A raindrop splattered Krek's beak, cold and silver. "I'll figure out the details on the way back to Illandra."

"Assuming you can fly that far." Valar glanced at Krek's bandages.

Krek raised his hackles, clacking his beak. "I'll be more worried about your father. I rather doubt he'll be in tip top flying shape."

Valar's scarred wings drooped. He walked ahead of Krek a little while, picking up his pace. When he glanced back at the gryphon again, silver ghosts shone in the specks of his golden eyes. "You brought him things for mother, right? So have you ever met him?"

"No." Krek nuzzled Valar's neck as they walked. "I only slipped things through the vents, while he slumbered. I glimpsed him, but that was it."

Valar murmured, nosing at Krek's ears. "Do you think...he knows about me?"

The pain in Valar's voice was a claw carving into Krek's soul. "I don't know Valar. If there's something you want him to know, I'll tell him. Or if you prefer, I'll say nothing of you."

"I...I think...I'd like him to know I can fly."

Krek forced words through his clenched throat. "I'll tell him."

"Thank you." He arched his neck to gaze down at Krek. The pain slowly faded from Valar's eyes, as if a golden curtain had been pulled closed. "But if you get locked up for treason alongside him, don't expect me to come to your rescue."

"Noted." Krek warbled, nuzzling against his friend as they neared the river that marked the border of the village proper. A bridge lay ahead of them, followed by an immense blue waterwheel. "Look, Ayly, it's--"

"Waterwheel, waterwheel!" Ayly clapped her forepaws as she sang to herself. "Splishy-splashy waterwheel!"

"Ayly loves the waterwheel." Valar smiled at his daughter. "Don't you, Love."

Ayly clapped her paws again. "It's my waterwheel!"

"Laid claim to it, has she?" Krek was happy to let the hatchling's simple joy take over. If only they could all be made so happy by so simple a thing. "I wonder where she got that habit."

At the narrow bridge, Krek paused to let Valar and Ayly cross first. He stared at the indigo cog turning in the rushing, rain-muddied river, wishing the splashing sound soothed him as easily as Ayly. Krek followed Valar over the bridge, glancing at the angry water beyond the crisscrossing leaves carved in the latticework rail.

Past the bridge, people were already out and about amidst the village's colorful buildings. They were transporting goods, walking to work, and opening stalls and shops in the market. People in the street moved out of the dragon and gryphon's way. Many called out greetings to little Ayly.

Much as it hurt Krek's ego to be ignored, he could hardly blame them for favoring an adorable hatchling. Krek walked in silence, listening to Ayly sing little songs about everything they passed. Splishy-Splashy Waterwheel, Playing in the Rain, and Stinky Stinky Sheep all made Krek grin. Somehow a singing hatchling just lifted his spirits.

Krek ruffled his feathers when rain drops pelted him. He tried to ignore the rain, even as Ayly chanted another little tune about drippy-droppy rainy-cloppy, whatever that meant. As he walked, he told himself his plan would work. It had too. And if it didn't? He'd save Kathlyn one way or another.

"Hurry up, you old bird." Valar dashed forward as the rain picked up. "Before your bandages get soaked!"

Krek hissed, trotting forward. He'd almost forgotten his healing wounds until Valar reminded him. Now every stitch seemed to throb all at once. Ahead of him, Valar huddled beneath an arched awning outside his favorite smoked fish shop. Krek squeezed up alongside the dragons. Rain splattered against oiled green tarps stretched over wooden arches. Krek was glad whoever built them had accommodated for the size of the town's resident dragons. Before long, the angry skies unleashed a deluge. Muddy streams trickled across earthen lanes and old cobblestones.

"She'll be open shortly." Valar nudged Krek with his muzzle

"Who will?"

"The fish vendor."

"She's not even open yet?"

"This was your idea."

"It was not!"

Valar grinned and settled back onto his haunches. He moved slowly so his daughter could adjust. "May as well wait out the rain."

"I wanna sit on Lellumgrub!" Ayly squirmed and wriggled, then leapt from Valar onto Krek.

Krek yelped when Ayly dug her claws into his back. "Ow! Ayly, what have I told you about sinking your little needles into me? I don't have scales like your father! All those scars you're giving me are going to ruin my magnificence."

Ayly scrunched her short muzzle as she climbed the back of Krek's neck. She nosed at his ear. "Hi Lellumgurb! What's a magnagamence?"

"It means I'm stunningly handsome." Krek turned his head and rubbed his cheek against Ayly.

She giggled and squirmed on his shoulder. "Tickly feathers!"

"You keep climbing me with those claws, and I'm going to pin you down and tickle you till you cry." Krek grinned, ruffling up his neck feathers.

"No ticklies, Lellumgurb." Ayly gave him her sternest growl.

"We'll see about that." Krek smiled, and turned his gaze to the rain that cascaded beyond their shelter

Krek stretched his foreleg into the rain. The water slicked down his black fur. The wet chill made him shiver, his feathers fluffing. He cupped his paw, caught some rain, and pulled back a little pool of liquid silver. He lifted it to his beak, sniffed it. It smelled sweet.

"Valar..."

"No."

Krek gave a questioning warble.

"You were going to ask if the rain here usually looks like that. No. It doesn't."

"How long, then?" Krek tasted the water in his paw. Sweeter than it smelled.

"It's had a silver tint off and on for months." Valar followed Krek's example and let the rain fill his cupped paw. "But it's never been this silver. This..." He sniffed it, licked it. "This reminds me of home. My first home."

"Maybe it's spreading. Some change in the weather."

"You sound like my mother." Valar tightened his wings against his back. "Talking about changes and signs and better times."

"Then what do you think it means?" Krek gazed at his friend.

"Probably nothing."

Krek watched the curtains of silver rain wash across the land. Nearby, people emerged from their homes, calling loved ones to come see the rain. Some people ran out into it. Others hid beneath porches and awning. Still others collected it in cups and mugs, laughing and gulping it down.

"I don't know why, but something about it makes me uneasy." Krek flared out his wings as if to shield himself from some unseen enemy. "Like the world is privy to some grand plan the rest of us can only snatch and claw at. Feels like we're running out of time in someone else's game. I know what your mother will think, if she hears the silver rain is spreading. I know what she will believe."

Valar gave a long, weary sigh. "You'd better go get the old bastard out in a hurry, then."

*****

Chapter Four

*****

Brilliant golden sunlight woke Vatch just after dawn. The urd'thin blinked, dark eyes glinting in the light. Vatch swiveled his brown ears forward and turned his head. Direct sunlight was harsh on the eyes of urd'thin, but Vatch relished it nonetheless. After a life spent in warrens and filthy alleys in perpetual shadow, such brightness was a thing of wonder. Each morning it roused him to continue the wonderful life Alia had led him to.

While his eyes adjusted, Vatch lingered in bed. Till his first night in this castle, he'd never known a bed could be so soft. He'd broken into inn rooms, but their straw-filled mattresses were nothing like the layers of feather and down shrouding him now. And it was so big if he crawled under the blanket he'd get lost for an hour. A far cry from the crumpled pile of old bedclothes and rags he once called his bed.

Vatch yawned and stretched his arms over his head, then peeled back the thick gray blanket and soft blue sheets. He swung his clawed feet over the side, and hopped out of bed, nude. Wood smoke scented the cool air that blew in through his open window. At first the absence of the city's scents was jarring, but now he enjoyed the fresh air away from the alleys.

The room Vatch called home seemed like a mansion unto itself. Dark wood paneling covered the gray stone walls. Mirrored lanterns sat in recessed alcoves. He had his own table and chairs, his own cooking space, and a white brick hearth. He'd never had a place to build his own fire before. Not that he'd tried to build one yet, he'd probably burn his new home down by mistake. He'd even paid to have a set of bookshelves installed. The better he got at reading, the more he wanted to surround himself with the books he'd mastered.

Now that he had his own closet, Vatch had filled it with food. Alia told him the closet was for clothes and shoes, but Vatch didn't care. Why fill it with things to wear when he could fill it with things to eat? He'd brought in all sorts of preserved foods, from cured and salted meats, to hard biscuits, cheeses in wax rinds, pickled vegetables and eggs and so on. He also kept his kitchen stocked with tarts and cakes, just because they were delicious.

Vatch walked into his private bathroom. No more bathing in fountains, no more communal latrines. At last, he could stay clean. It wasn't as if urd'thin didn't like to be clean. There were just more pressing issues, like getting food in their bellies and staying out of some sadistic hangman's noose.

The bathroom had its own bathtub made of hammered copper. Pipes protruded from the stone wall above the tub, along with a pull chain. Vatch pulled the chain three times, as instructed, and then put the stopper in the tub drain. Vatch wondered if some servant had to sit around all day, waiting to heat and pump water. As far as he was concerned, that servant should be glad he wasn't stuck stealing from dumpsters.

As Vatch waited, he fetched himself a cup of silver water from his personal supply. Vatch sipped the water, sighing in contentment. The strange, silver water was still one of the best things he'd tasted. He was thankful Alia let him fill up a bucket for himself. Alia said it tasted like honey and melon, but Vatch had never eaten either of those things. To Vatch, it tasted like a better life.

It made him wonder if the rest of his people would ever find better lives, too. He hoped they would, even if Vatch had few strong ties left among his people. His mother was gone, and his father never known. He'd lost contact with most of his friends over the years. Even those with him when he met Alia were still new acquaintances at the time. Maybe when he had a chance he'd bring them some boxes of food and treats.

A brass bell rang three times. Vatch drained his wooden cup, and returned to the bathroom. Hot water cascaded from the pipes into the tub, swirling around the copper basin. Vatch tossed in a bar of soap and touched a single finger pad to the water running from the pipes. Satisfied it wouldn't scald him, Vatch stepped into the tub. He eased down onto his rump, careful not to smash his tail.

Vatch sighed as he leaned back against the tub, hot water rising all around him. When the tub was near full, the inflow trickled to a stop. Must have a chart or something showing how much water each tub needed. The wealthy certainly had ingenious ways to improve their own luxury.

Though Vatch would have enjoyed luxuriating in the tub all morning, he had things to do and dragons to take care of. He'd have to leave the lazy tub lounging to Valyrym. Lucky lizard. Not that he envied Valyrym his life as a prisoner, but it would be nice to spend the day lounging around in hot water without a care in the world for who caught you doing what.

He laughed and dunked his head, soaking the rest of his fur. He felt around till he found the soap, then stood up. Water slicked his dark brown fur against his body, made him look twice as slender as usual. Vatch stared down at himself. Could hardly even see his ribs now. Regular meals were nice.

Vatch lathered up his head, ears, and neck. He worked the soapy foam through his fur and over each ridged black horn. Then he worked the soap down over his body and back up again. Vatch pulled the chain three more times and yanked the tub stopper free. By the time fresh hot water began to pour in, the tub was nearly empty, and Vatch twisted and turned beneath the pipe to rinse all the soap from his fur.

Once he was rinsed, Vatch fetched a towel and scrubbed his fur with it. When he was dry enough, he brushed himself in front of a mirror. With every brush stroke his fur grew fluffier. His tail bushed out when he brushed it. Vatch smiled. He liked looking all fluffed out. Made him feel clean and handsome. And not at all adorable, no matter what Crazy Lady Kaylen said. She'd see how adorable he was if he sunk his teeth into her hand the next time she ruffled up his fur.

With a closet full of food, Vatch just stored his clothes wherever there was room. He selected a tunic from the back of a chair, slate gray with long blue sleeves. Then he picked out some dark gray pants from atop his table, and his boots from a cupboard.

Vatch did up the silver buttons on his tunic. Nice human clothing had so many buttons. He buttoned up his breeches and stretched his legs. The feeling of pants cut to fit his legs was still new to him, as was having boots that actually fit his feet. He laced them up, smiling. That Paulson was a hell of a...tailor? Cobbler? Whatever the word was, he made good stuff.

For breakfast, Vatch ate the pecan and walnut tarts he'd bought the night before. Each little tart was wrapped in a golden brown crust, filled with sweet jelly and candied nuts, and dusted with sugar. It was the sort of thing that used to make his whole week when he lucked into stealing one. Now he got to eat them whenever he wanted. Vatch brushed the crumbs from his muzzle and licked his hands.

When the breeze blowing through the open window ruffled Vatch's fur, he gazed outside. The rising sun painted the castle's walls and towers in layers of molten gold. A blanket of smoky haze drifted over the city beyond. He couldn't even see the city's edges. Whenever Vatch gazed across the massive city from high in the castle's keep, he felt as though he was little more than a tiny piece of an unsolvable puzzle.

Still, he'd rather be a tiny cog in a giant wheel than crushed beneath it.

Vatch left his room, and made his way through the castle. Even now he was still mesmerized by the size and scale of the place, and the wealth on display. The blue and gold rugs that lined the hallways near his quarters probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. Inlaid vases and crystalline gryphon figurines decorated antique tables with legs carved like beast paws. Colorful tapestries hanging from walls and paintings decorating rounded antechamber intersections depicted scenes from Illandran history.

It might well be history as written by the conqueror, but Vatch still hoped he'd made a good impression. Why, he hadn't even thought about stealing anything yet. He'd matched insults with polite greetings and dirty looks like a friendly wave or a bow. He ignored the remarks about the smell, and the rat infestation, and the warnings to watch over coin purses. It wasn't that difficult. He heard the same things from Illandrans all his life. Day by day, people seemed to warm to him. It started with servants smiling and waving, or returning his bows. One even asked his name. Soon the kitchen staff was greeting him, and before long even the guards offered him polite acknowledgement.

His first destination today was the Second Kitchen. It was so named because it was one of at least three kitchens in the massive castle. Each kitchen permitted a different level of access, just as each of the keeps did. Inner Keep, Outer Keep, First Kitchen, Second Kitchen. It was all very confusing and Vatch tried not to think too hard about it. All that mattered now was that he had access to the Second Kitchen, where meals and treats were prepared for most of the castle.

Nothing made for happy dragons like delicious treats.

With Alia gone, Vatch had made it his mission in life to keep Valyrym happy and stable. Not just for Alia, but because he Valyrym had become a true friend. He wanted to repay the dragon's friendship with happiness. The more time Valyrym spent bantering with Vatch and reading to him, the less time he had to miss Alia and his son.

Though Thomas and Kaylen also called the dragon friend, their days were too busy to allow them to spend as much time with him. Thomas had paperwork and contracts, Kaylen had to secure and prepare the dragon's meals and they both had to keep the wheels oiled to ensure Valyrym's proper care. But Vatch? Why, his very job description read "dragon tamer."

Vatch pushed open double doors engraved with images of wheat bushels and racks of lamb. He perked his ears and swished his bushy tail when he realized he could read the words "Second" on one door and "Kitchen" on the other. Only a few months ago and those letters would have been gibberish.

A bevy of delightful aromas washed over Vatch as he entered the kitchen. All at once he smelled eggs, sausage, bacon, pastries, simmering fruits, and more. Heat radiated from the multitude of cooking fires always lit in myriad stoves and hearths. Long countertops of polished stone set in rows divided the kitchen. People scurried about, stirring pots, slicing meat, chopping vegetables, tending fires. Vatch had never visited the place without finding it filled with controlled chaos. The kitchen master's booming voice rang out above the din, calling out orders that were followed without question. It amazed Vatch that the dozens of white-aproned cooks and gray-uniformed servants even knew who the kitchen master was yelling at.

Vatch found a quiet place to wait, not wanting to disrupt the morning routine. Good thing he'd already eaten those tarts, or the sights and scents of so much sizzling bacon and sausage might have caused his stomach to cave in on itself.

"Oh, hello." A slender young man with sandy brown hair and a pockmarked face approached the urd'thin. "Vatch, right?"

Vatch beamed and nodded. "Yes! You remember! Is very nice of you."

The man laughed, wiping his hands on his white cook's apron. "How could I forget? You're the only urd'thin here. And I like the way you talk."

Vatch glanced away. That wasn't the way he talked. It was just the way he spoke their language. The urd'thin language was structured differently than the common human tongue. It made for difficult translation. Vatch hated that he must sound like a simpleton. He'd been working on it, but it was hard. Where the humans had so many words for themselves and others, urd'thin just found it simpler to use a name. And humans used so many extra words.

"Thank you." Vatch smiled. No sense trying to explain. "Is pie ready? Dragon waiting."

"Oh! Yes, of course." The cook smiled and patted Vatch's head. "Let me get it for you."

Vatch tolerated the pat with a smile, though he didn't exactly like it. When Alia pet him, it was as a friend comforting a companion. But when the average human patted him, Vatch felt like he was their pet. It was as though they saw him as some lesser creature to be rewarded just because he hadn't pissed on their rug lately. He'd show them. Why, he'd piss all over every rug they had. Vatch sighed as the cook walked off. He knew the human didn't mean it that way. They didn't know any better. A pat on the head was better than an insult, so that was progress. Sort of.

The cook returned bearing an immense pie on a wooden tray. "Here you are, Little Guy."

Vatch didn't like being called Little Guy, either. Could be worse, though. Could be rat, or mongrel, or filthy little beast. Or thief. Well, that last one was accurate, once.

"Thank you!" Vatch took the heavy platter, perking his ears in friendly display.

"Those sure are expensive apples you had us put in there." The cook dusted off his hands, laughing. "Wouldn't your coin be better spent on local apples instead of imported ones?"

"No, no, no." Vatch shook his head, smiling. "These best apples ever. Make dragon very happy. Thank you much." He turned away, and realized he wasn't going to be able to open the doors with a gargantuan pie clutched in his hands. "Uhh...you can maybe get door for Vatch, please?"

The cook laughed and patted his head again. "Sure thing, Little Guy. See you later!"

Vatch grit his teeth. When the cook opened the door, Vatch thanked him again and slipped into the hallway. He glanced down at the massive pie. A latticework of flaky golden crust crisscrossed the top of the dessert. White and brown sugar dusted the top crust alongside swirls of red and white icing. Slices of fresh red apples with golden-spotted rinds were arranged in a circle atop it. The aroma wafting from the pie made Vatch forget all about his breakfast tarts. If he didn't get the pie to Valyrym soon he might eat the whole thing himself.

It was a long walk from the Second Kitchen to Valyrym's prison. Why did humans have to build their castles so big? The entire population of the warren Vatch grew up in could have fit inside this castle. By the time he reached the vestibule with the guard desk, Vatch's arms ached.

Vatch glanced at the guard. He wore a blue and gray tabard over his chain mail and sat behind the desk Enric often occupied. The man was unfamiliar, and gave Vatch a strange look. Probably newly assigned and didn't expect to see an urd'thin carrying a giant pie on the way to a captive dragon. The guard quickly shuffled through some papers, glancing up at Vatch with a concerned look.

Vatch decided to spare him the hassle. "Chief First Dragon Tamer Vatch report for dragon feeding duty."

"Ahhhh...right." The man chuckled and tossed his papers down on the desk. "Go on in."

"Thank you."

Vatch would have gone on in anyway. After all, Vatch had keys. Vatch started down the long, steep stairs. Thanks to Alia's efforts, the once-gloomy stairwell now had a set of bright lamps mounted at even intervals. A good thing, too. Vatch wouldn't want anyone to slip on the stairs in the dark and break their neck.

Vatch came to a stop at the first iron gateway. Ever since Valyrym was paid a visit by a sadistic nobleman with a whip, Alia had ordered the gates locked at all times. Vatch set the pie tray down, balancing it against the stone step and the iron bars. He unlocked the gate, moved the tray to the other side, then locked the gate again.

Vatch marveled at the age of the place as he descended into a cell carved into the bedrock. The stone stairs that lead to it were bowed and worn from generations of footfalls. Valyrym's prison must have been part of some fortress or fortified cathedral long before the rest of the castle was expanded above it. It was also connected to the old tunnels that ran beneath much of Illandra, where Vatch grew up.

At the bottom of the stairs, Vatch glanced into the small side office, but found it empty. The piles of papers, folders, and books that once spread everywhere now filled the shelves and file cabinets that lined the walls. A few new stacks of papers were neatly arranged upon the recently renovated wooden desk. Thomas had been busy.

The massive double doors of Valyrym's prison were left open, as usual. With the gates kept locked it was just easier that way. Vatch smirked at the carvings spanning the doors. The images of the chained dragon seemed especially generous to his scaly friend. Valyrym wasn't that big. And why wrap spears and swords in roses and ivy? Humans were odd. He shook his head as he carried the pie into Valyrym's chamber.

To Vatch's surprise, he seemed the last to arrive. He must have spent more time soaking in the tub than he'd realized. Valyrym sprawled upon his carpeted ledge, beneath the painting of his son. Kaylen was cleaning up platters and bowls that once contained the dragon's breakfast while Thomas dug around in a large wooden crate. Even Enric was there, out of uniform and sitting on the carpet across from the dragon, a spread of playing cards between them.

"You very early or I very late?" Vatch called out as he padded towards everyone.

"Little of both, I think." Enric rose up and stretched. He hopped off the ledge and walked to Vatch. "Let me get that for ya."

Vatch held the tray out when the powerfully built, red-haired man crouched down. "Alright, but no eating yet. Is for dragon!"

"I'm sure the dragon won't mind sharing." Enric laughed as he took the tray and straightened up.

"Don't count on it." Valyrym snorted, splaying his ears. "What is that, Vatch?"

"Is pie! Apple pie." Vatch rubbed his hands, trying to work some feeling back into his pads where the tray left lines across the soft pink skin. "I get import apples! From Ar...Aralia...where dragon come from."

"Did you?" Valyrym lifted his head. His gray-tinged nostrils flexed, his spines rose. "Thank you, Vatch. I'll eat it right away."

Vatch laughed, happy the dragon enjoyed his gift. "I thought maybe you eat later. Is dessert, yes?"

Valyrym muttered. "I never get to eat dessert in the morning."

"You had cookies with your eggs and sausage, and you had candied ham with fruit." Kaylen shook her finger at the dragon. "Keep this up, and when the Queen decrees your freedom, you'll be too fat to walk out the door."

Valyrym arched his long neck, gazing at himself. "I'm as slender as a hatchling's tail. Why, it's only thanks to Alia that I've begun to recover from years of malnourishment. Though, I do have an awfully fat--"

"Ego." Thomas didn't even glance up from the wooden box of tools he dug through.

Valyrym glared at him. "I was going to say awfully fat set of--"

"We all know what you were going to say, Dragon." Kaylen shook her head, her black hair swishing around her rounded, olive-bronze face.

Valyrym hissed, flaring his crests. He thumped his spined tail against the rug covering his ledge. "You're all a bunch of spoilsports and prudes."

"Vatch not spoil any sport." Vatch tilted his head. "Vatch not even know how play sport."

"That's not what he meant, Vatchy Pup." Kaylen giggled, striding towards Vatch. Her gray and blue warden dress swished around her. "Now let me give that lovely fur a morning ruffle!"

Vatch snarled, pinning his ears back. "No! You stay away, Crazy Lady!" He backed up a face paces, tail lashing. No way he was letting her ruin his perfectly groomed fur today.

"Just a little ruffle!"

"Don't make Vatch get stick!"

Kaylen paused, laughing. "Since when do you have a stick?"

"Since Vatch become Chief First Dragon Tamer." Vatch flashed Kaylen his many impressive fangs.

"Since what now?" Kaylen gazed at Thomas, who shrugged.

Enric returned from setting the pie tray somewhere safe. He dusted off his hands. "Don't look at me. I didn't give him the title."

"Who did?"

"No one." Valyrym unfurled a wing, gesturing in the air with it. "And he doesn't have a stick. He just likes saying that."

"Vatch have stick!" He jabbed a dull claw tip in the air. "You be good, or Vatch get it! Then you be sorry. And Vatch give Vatch title. Is in contract!"

"It is not." Kaylen glanced at Thomas, hands on her hips. "Is it?"

"Technically." Thomas pulled a few odd looking tools out of the box.

"What do you mean, technically?" Kaylen nudged something that looked like a tiny shovel with her shoe.

Thomas thumped the toe of her shoe with some kind of flat knife. "I mean, technically Alia let us pick out own titles, but only Vatch took advantage. If you read his contract, his official title is First Chief Dragon Tamer Vatch."

Vatch crouched down near Thomas, inspecting a few tools. "Vatch smart."

Kaylen stomped a foot. "No fair! I want a fancy title. Wait, do I have a fancy title Thomas?"

"Do you consider Assistant Dragon Warden Kaylen a fancy title?"

Kaylen's shoulders drooped. "No."

"Then you should have come up with something better." Thomas rattled around in the box.

"I didn't know that was an option!"

"Cause you were too busy giggling and signing things without reading the fine print."

Vatch swiveled his ears back and forth, trying to follow their banter. "You two get room already, yes? You give poor Vatch much headache." He rubbed the base of a horn.

"Thomas, I want a fancy title! Wait, what _is_my title?"

That was enough of that. Some days, Vatch could only handle so much of those two. Vatch picked up a sturdy hammer out the box, and after resisting the urge to smack Crazy Lady with it, made his way over to Enric. "Why you not in armor?"

"Unexpected day off." Enric scratched at his red stubble with a chisel. "Armadine is trying to sideline me."

"What mean this?" Vatch tilted his head, one ear lifted.

Enric dragged the toe of his boot across the floor. "Just means he's got me re-assigned to menial duties elsewhere in the castle."

Vatch tilted his head in the other direction. "He can do this? But Enric is spy, yes?"

"Officially, I'm a captain of the guard, but I work directly for Queen Kathlyn. While she's gone, authority transfers to Prince Elvir." Enric gave a frustrated sigh, and lobbed his chisel into another wooden box across the room. It clanged against other tools. "Armadine's talked him into reassigning me as punishment for looking the other way when Alia was beating the shit out of him." Enric folded his arms over his broad chest. "Shoulda let her beat him worse."

"That lick much sheath." Vatch swung his hammer in the air. Nice. Maybe he could add it to his stick collection.

"That licks...what?" Enric blinked and laughed. "Can't say I've heard that one before. Anyway, I briefed all the new guards Elvir had assigned here." He put a hand on Vatch's shoulder, smiling. "But if any of them give you trouble, you come and find me. Got it?"

"Vatch got, yes." He poked his tongue out, ears perked. He was thankful for Enric's support. He lifted up his hammer. "What tools for?"

Enric gently took the hammer back from Vatch. "That is an excellent question." He lifted his voice. "Hey Thomas, you know anything about these tools?"

Thomas walked over to join them, thumping his own chisel against his palm. "You know, last I saw Alia, she warned me to watch for missing masonry and stone-carving tools."

Vatch bumped the crate with his boot. "Vatch find them!"

"Good work, Vatch." Enric picked up the box. "You know, I'd love to figure out where they came from." He shrugged. "But I don't work down here anymore. So, until I'm reinstated, we may as well help Valyrym with his carving." Enric walked to the prison's original exit, now walled off with stone blocks. "Say, this looks like a good place to carve. What was it this symbol means again, Valyrym?"

Vatch followed Enric to the wall, gazing up at the massive sigil inscribed across all the old stone blocks. It looked like a stylized compass with lots of curved, intersecting lines.

Valyrym thumped his tail. "Freedom."

"Yes, freedom, that's it." Enric set the box down, then pulled out a heavy hammer and a large chisel. "That's as good a place as any to help Valyrym carve, right? Wanna help, Vatch?"

Vatch dug out some tools from the box, tail wagging. "Vatch want help, yes!"

"That's the spirit. See that circle at the bottom? Why don't you carve that out real deep?" Enric laughed, glancing at the others. "I sure hope no pickaxes and stone mauls go missing while I'm off duty. Why, someone could commit all sorts of vandalism with those."

Vatch's tail wagged faster. "Vatch want to pick axe!" Then his tail sank and his ears drooped. "Wait. Queen not free dragon when she back? We do? We get in big trouble, yes?"

Enric put his chisel to the wall. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Let's just say, Her Majesty likes to plan ahead." Mischief glinted in his eyes as he tapped his hammer to the chisel Stone chips fell around his boots. "And you can't call it a plan if you haven't laid the groundwork."

*****

Chapter Five

*****

Alia carried Val Junior through Illandra. There was something satisfying about carrying a symbol of a dragon's love through a city that hated him. She wandered central Illandra a while, taking in all the new decorations. The Dragon Day Festival's centerpiece parade was only weeks away and images of dragons were everywhere. Banners with stylized dragons in cages hung above Illandra's largest thoroughfares. Placards of spears and swords wreathed in roses and ivy hung from lamp poles. Every store front and vendor was displaying stuffed dragons, wooden dragons, dragon figurines, and other toys and items to celebrate the occasion. Larger stuffed dragons hung from trees and eaves for children to beat with sticks.

Alia wondered how many of the city's residents even remembered Valyrym was still there, bound beneath their feet.

When she grew fed up with imagery celebrating Valyrym's captivity, she returned to the Silver Rain district where things were different. Around the Silver Rain district, their banners depicted dragons in flight, or blue silhouettes against silver rain drops. Stuffed blue dragons adorned window sills.

Come to think of it, most of the dragons on display were blue. A few black dragons sat above doors. Some green and bronze ones marked barrels of ale. But the majority of dragons in the Silver Rain district were blue. It was as if Kylaryn defended Aran'alia for so long she ended up ingrained in their culture, adorning their banners and stuffed toys.

Alia smiled, wondering whatever became of the blue female. At least her scent on the toy she'd brought Valyrym let him know she was still alive. Alia had to assume she'd met with the woman who gave her a toy. Maybe she was even still working for Death in the Night somehow. It had all seemed very exciting at first, spies and dragons and rebellions. Yet the more Kylaryn's image popped up everywhere, the more those people watched her from the shadows, the more uncertain Alia grew.

Inside Sigil Stones Market, people were stringing up the grandest and most chilling banners yet. One image hoisted above the stalls and vendors depicted darkened silhouettes of sloped roofs and flames. A line of people were shown marching away from the burning homes into the dark night. Another banner alongside it displayed a huddled mass of families and children cowering in the snow. Behind them, an immense female blue dragon spread her wings as if wrapping them around the people in comfort and protection. A caption in white letters read, The Wind Protects.

The Wind.

So it wasn't just a saying. It was her.

Alia shivered, goosebumps broke out across her skin. What was she, their enforcer? Some secret weapon for Death in the Night? Alia scowled. Why were they putting those banners up? Were they reminding people of the past, or preparing them for the future? Maybe she was making too much of things.

Alia walked the market as the banners were secured. Everyone involved wore armor, bore weapons. Some of them wore thick leathers lined with bronze studs, while others bore heavier chain mail. Most bore the silver raindrop emblem of the Aran'alian guards. But others bore a patch with a twisted silver dagger. A few even had the silhouette of a blue dragon's head adorning their shoulder. By now Alia was not surprised to see them in their own uniforms, but the emblems were new. It was as if they were different units of the same force.

Some of the guards watched her, though granted that was their job. But other people watched her, too. Ever since her encounter with the old cook, Alia kept her eyes open. In her youth, she could always tell when she was being watched. Had to keep an eye out for guards and informants. Time spent as a servant had dulled her street instincts, but day by day they returned.

Now, Alia noticed the hidden eyes.

A man browsing spices kept glancing at her. A woman selling knives and blades shifted her focus from her customers to Alia and back again. An urd'thin having a chat in an alley swiveling his ears to follow Alia as he walked by. The old woman was right. They were watching her every time she entered the market.

Alia gazed up at the blue dragon banner. Maybe word had reached her that Valyrym had himself a new friend. Alia smiled. Wouldn't it be nice if Kylaryn herself had asked to have Valyrym's warden protected? Didn't feel like protection, though. And besides, that was ludicrous. If only she had someone she could ask about it.

Actually, she did.

Destination in mind, Alia walked beneath the ancient oaks that ringed the market. She paused to examine an old, weathered statue of a woman looking proud and determined. Alia touched the statue's face. The stone was cool and pitted, hints of leathery green lichen softened its exterior. Maybe it was Amaleen. A shame she couldn't show the statue to Valyrym. Then again, if he recognized it, it might be too hard on him to see her even in stone depiction.

As Alia made her way around the edge of the plaza, she gazed at sigils carved in stone arches and old walls. She spotted the curved, chain-like pattern of the love sigil, bound in its diamond shape. She also saw the compass points, circles and broken arches of the freedom sigil, and a dozen others she didn't recognize.

One day, she'd ask Valyrym to teach her every sigil he knew.

Alia turned onto a small lane only wide enough for a single wagon. Years of wheels and horseshoes had worn the cobblestone smooth. Simple, one room homes with slumping walls and mossy roofs lined the road. Muddy alleys ran between the houses. Even here, bright colors decorated what might otherwise be a squalid neighborhood. It reminded Alia of the place she grew up.

The winding lane led Alia away from the noise and chaos of the market. It eventually spilled into a smaller plaza ringed by peddlers' wagons and little cafes with only a few seats. More stone monuments sat around the outside of the plaza, nestled amidst apple trees. Narrow doorways led to shady taverns in ramshackle buildings. There were always people socializing and enjoying cheap, traditional Aran'alian food and drink. Come to think of it, Alia had never seen a single Illandran there.

Settled amongst the other roaming peddlers was a large wagon painted with images of rolling emerald hills, dotted with spires of gray stone. The front end featured a brilliant blue sky, which faded into stormy gray clouds roiling over the hills towards the back. The far side of the wagon featured layers of stylized silver rain drops painted across. Alia loved the design. It made it look as though the woman was perpetually ahead of some distant storm.

The wagon had moved several times since Alia first stumbled upon it, but finally seemed to have settled on a permanent spot. It was parked in front of an immense wall carved in intricate detail with the image of an apple tree laden with blossoms and fruit. The wagon looked as though it was sheltering beneath the tree's boughs. Such a tree once meant something to those fighting for Aran'alia. Alia doubted the symbolism was a coincidence. If anyone could tell her why she was being watched, it was the vendor Alia suspected was a spy for Death in the Night.

While the wagon's owner was busy filling orders and chatting with customers, Alia wandered the little plaza. Again she noticed eyes upon her. Watching her. This time, though, they watched everyone who came and went. Alia tried to ignore them. She spotted a woman knelt on a cushion before a stone slate, an array of stone-carving tools around her. So far she'd cut just enough guidelines to let Alia's imagination run wild. She imagined the image as a dragon's head and neck, curled around a person. Alia smiled.

The woman pressed her chisel to the stone and gave it a few sharp, even taps with a hammer. The chisel bit into gray rock with every strike. The woman moved it, struck it a few more times, and repeated the process over and over. Alia wondered if Valyrym would envy the artist her confidence in every movement or chide her for her lack of patience.

"Alia Silverrain!" The woman in the wagon leaned through her window. She gave Alia a smile and a wave, then vanished back inside.

Alia returned the wave and went to the wagon. An urd'thin with dark gray fur rose from a nearby table, and cut in front of her. Alia didn't mind, but she did stare. He bore black leather armor lined with silver studs. She'd never seen an urd'thin in armor before, it must have been custom fitted to him. The urd'thin carried a short, curved sword at each hip in quality leather scabbards. Where the hell had an urd'thin gotten gear like that?

"Never seen an urd'thin in armor?" The urd'thin glanced over his shoulder. Her curiosity must have been written in her gaze.

Alia laughed and shook her head, blushing. "Actually, no, I..." It took a moment for Alia to realize not only did he speak the common tongue fluently, but he had the musical accent of an Aran'alian. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

"It's alright. Humans like to stare." He shrugged. The dark gray fur that spilled out of his armor rustled a little. "So you're Alia?"

Alia's blood chilled just a little. She swallowed back her surprise, covering her nervousness with a smile. "Am I that famous already?"

"Yes." The urd'thin rested a hand on a sword hilt. "You are."

"Mek, dear." The vendor leaned out the window to hand the urd'thin his drink. When he took it she gave him a hard look. "Don't frighten her."

"So it's Mek, is it?" Alia shifted Val Junior, steeling herself.

"It is." The urd'thin sipped his drink. Beads of silver liquid clung to the dark gray fur of his snout before he licked them away.

Alia hugged Val Junior. "So, we have Mek, and Alia and..." She smiled at the vendor. "I'm sorry, all this time I've known you, I still haven't caught your full name."

"Nor will you." The woman folded her arms, and gave Alia an empty smile. "But you may call me Cassilia, if you please. Now, if you're here about renewing your contract for the silver water--"

"Actually I came here to ask if you know why I'm being watched."

Cassilia tilted her head, her smile fading. "It's a cold city to find yourself in alone. Best to have someone ready to offer a warm hand when needed."

"I'm not alone." Alia wrapped both arms around Val Junior.

"Comforting as your little friend may be, I don't think he counts." Cassilia laid her hands against the counter, her face darkening. "We are not the only gaze in the darkness, Miss Silverrain. Wherever you find friends, you will inevitably find enemies. There may come a time you're glad we watch over you."

"I'd rather you stopped." Alia tightened her grip on her stuffed dragon, glaring at the older woman. "If you're who I think you are, I want no part of whatever you're doing here."

Cassilia glanced at the urd'thin. Mek only shrugged and sipped his drink. Cassilia sighed. "We're not your enemies, Alia." Her smile returned. "In fact, we'd like to call you friend."

Alia inclined her head to the woman and the urd'thin. "You may both call me friend. But I don't like being spied on. If this is your way of recruiting me, I refuse."

The urd'thin snorted. "It is not."

Cassilia shot Mek a glare before she leaned forward. "Now, Miss Silverrain, I don't know what you're on about." She waved her hand. "Just what do you think we'd be recruiting you into, the water-vendor business?"

"Yes, I'm sure you only moved here to vend water." Alia waved Val Junior around. "And not because your guards can make sure the only people who might overhear you out here are on your side."

"And what side might that be?"

"Death in the Night." Alia hugged Val Junior again. "You're not as good a liar as you think you are." Alia eased back. She wasn't comfortable standing so close to an armed urd'thin who just stared at her in silence. "Since we first met, I've been putting things together."

Cassilia's voice sharpened in an instant. "You may not want to solve this puzzle, Alia."

"I think I already have." Alia idly stroked Val Junior's curled horns. "You know, all Valyrym ever wanted Death in the Night to do was protect Aran'alia."

"Seems he's told you a lot."

"Mostly about the past." Her eyes drifted to a nearby banner with a blue dragon upon it. "He didn't even know if she was still alive till you gave me that doll. So do you know her?"

"Who, dear?"

"Why do you play this game?" Alia stepped forward. "Have you met her?"

Cassilia's voice hardened. "A time or two."

"Does she miss him?"

Cassilia turned away, folding her arms. Her voice softened. "More than he'll ever know."

"Then does she regret leaving him here to rot?" Alia's voice sharpened, a sudden anger rising in her. "Does she even know what he's been through? Do you? They tortured him!"

Cassilia stiffened, her face reddening. She hissed through her teeth. "Careful, Alia."

"Do you think a little doll would make for a lifetime of lonely abandonment, of hopeless anguish?" She stepped forward, her eyes flashing. "Does Kylaryn even care about his pain?"

"His pain?" Cassilia whirled around, her voice a snarl. "He left her, Alia!" She waved her hand. "Off to kill the king. Only he didn't, did he?" She slapped her hands on the counter, her eyes burning. "He left her behind, left his son behind, like they were nothing! But he told her to fight the war, and so she has! She's done everything he ever asked! His pain may be great, but hers is greater, and it has made her stronger than he ever was."

Alia stepped back, her jaw tensed. Maybe she'd gone too far. "So you do have a soft spot. You must really care about her."

Cassilia faltered for a moment, then grimaced. "Clever, Alia. Yes, I care about her. We all do. She is the strongest soul any of us have ever known."

"You sound like a cult." Images flickered in Alia's mind. Stuffed dragons. Banners. Shoulder patches. The Wind Protects. Alia's breath caught. It wasn't a celebration. It was propaganda. It was a following. And Kylaryn... "She really did take his place."

Cassilia only shrugged, drumming her fingers. "Are you going to order anything, Miss Silverrain?"

"No." Alia gnashed her teeth, her heart rattling her sternum like a beast bashing itself against its cage. "In fact, I don't think I want to know you anymore. Whatever web you weave, I want no part of it."

Cassilia leaned forward, her voice a furious whisper. "This web was woven long before you ever met The Dread Sky. But he has given you the chance to spy the strands before they ensnare you. You have a choice to make, Alia, and precious little time to make it. The Wind is coming."

"That's what you call her now, The Wind?"

"She is The Wind That Carries."

The blood drained from Alia's face. Beads of ice trickled down her spine. That was...before they parted...Valyrym told her...

"Shall I assume you're familiar with the origin?" Cassilia's voice twisted, something dark and cold roamed between her words, stalked behind her eyes. "It all comes back to him. She will finish what he started, just as he asked of her. You must decide which side you're on, Alia. Will you weave the web, or find yourself trapped in its coils?"

"I'm on no one's side but Valyrym's." Alia snapped at the woman, backing away. She glanced at Mek, but he made no move to follow her. "Stop watching me. I'm done with all of you."

"I wonder." Cassilia's voice haunted Alia as she walked away. "If Valyrym were free, which side would he choose?"

*****

Chapter Six

*****

Miles melted beneath Krek's wings. Painful days stretched into exhausting weeks. Every morning he rose with the sun, and flew until it slunk beneath the horizon. Krek wished Valar was with him, but Illandra was not safe for dragons. Besides, his oldest friend had a family to care for. Parting with them was as wrenching an ordeal as the journey that followed. Krek already missed the comfort he found beneath Valar's wings, and the laughter that little Ayly brought to his otherwise dour visit.

Valar could not have matched Krek's grueling pace, anyway. He beat his wings till his stitches broke and blood dripped from his feathers to paint the land below in crimson splotches. His wounds be damned, they mattered not. Only Kathlyn mattered. Every drop of blood was nothing more than a grain of sand in an hourglass that grew emptier by the day.

Krek forced himself to get at least a few hours of sleep every night. He'd be no good to Kathlyn if he flew himself to death. Sometimes he crawled into some forest glade, or slumbered in a hay pile in an empty field. One night he broke into some poor fool's barn and settled in the loft. Another night he found an old contact to repair his stitches. He spent one night in the home of a lovely female gryphon, too pained and exhausted to enjoy her teasing.

When he visited his contacts, they provided him filling meals. When he slept in the barn, he helped himself to a hapless goat. But most days he made do with whatever food he could scrounge at night. He had no time to waste for extended hunting. A small fish and some mud frogs one night, a cluster of mushrooms and a pawful of berries another.

Hunger reminded Krek of his lonely youth. His mind drifted back to that ragged fledgling, scrawny and underfed, held together by anger and resentment. Living alone long before he should have, and it was his own damn fault. Back then, he had more spite in him than sense. He'd left behind the mother who pined for the hero she'd never have, and for what? To spite his father? Krek scarcely even knew why he left anymore.

A lot of good his selfish pride did him. Bitterness could not fill a belly left aching by failed hunts. In those empty years, he fell in with bandits, became a thief. Stole from anyone, everyone. Hurt them sometimes. Wondered if his father would even care if his unintended bastard died out there, alone in the wild.

And then he very nearly did.

It took the sight of his own blood gushing over his paws for Krek to realize how much he truly wanted to live. It took a dragon saving a life that didn't deserve saving to show Krek how wrong he'd always been. Valar saved the life he rightfully should have ended. Valar pulled Krek from his selfish spiral into oblivion, and set him on the path to something better.

When he was grown, and strong, Krek paid that kindness forward. When he stumbled upon some peasant woman in bloodied clothes, pursued by bandits, he knew he could save her. Krek was too late to save her lover, but his sacrifice gave the woman time to run, and Krek time enough to drop out of the sky.

Only, she was no peasant.

Krek only wished he'd gotten there in time to save Elvir's father.

Strange how things worked out.

Krek often wondered if his own father would be proud of him for saving a queen. That would have required recognition for the deed, and that was one thing Krek would never have. No matter the enemies he slew or the wars he averted, he would never truly be known. All his moments of courage, his loyalty and his heroism would remain ever in the shadows, known only by those who mattered most.

Krek hissed, cursing his father. So he'd been a big hero among a few dirty, backwater clans. What'd the old bird use his fame for? He'd spread his damn seed around to all those poor, adoring young females who thought he cared about them. Krek balled his forepaws into fists, his forelegs tucked against his belly while he flew.

Krek suddenly wished he could shove his success down his father's beak. Oh, you averted a war, did you? I've averted four! Saved a clan of gryphons? Made peace with a tribe of dragons? I've made peace with an entire nation! Slain a traitorous elder, did you, Father? I once killed three generals plotting a coup against an allied country! I saved a damn queen!

Krek took a breath and held it till his lungs burned. He heaved a long, deflating sigh, his sudden anger ebbing away with it. In his heart, he'd forgiven that old bird years ago. Maybe someday Valar could do the same for his father. It was Valar's influence that helped Krek find forgiveness. Krek hoped he could help Valar do the same.

Preferably before Kylaryn killed them all.

Would she truly shed her own son's blood? Wasn't Valar's family drenched in enough of it already? Only Valar had somehow pulled himself from their endless cycle of violence. Now that same red tide was rising once more, lapping at his paws, an echo of sins that would never fade.

Krek warbled, a low, sorrowful sound. He did not want to pit family against family, but what choice did he have? Valar seemed as determined to stop his mother's madness as Krek was. But would that be enough? Krek had seen Kylaryn in battle with men, dragons, and gryphons alike, and she did her namesake proud. Valar was big, but nothing withstood The Wind. If the three of them fought her together, they might have a chance.

Or not._Krek was half her size, Valar was hobbled by scars and Valyrym was a withered old skeleton. _Not exactly the most imposing army of beasts ever assembled. Krek's greater hope was that the sight of Valyrym would shock her out of whatever madness she was drowning in. If there was anyone left she'd listen to, it was Valyrym. Maybe he could talk her out of killing their homeland's last hope for peace.

But first he had to spring Valyrym from jail. How the hell was he going to do that? Actually, first thing was first, and first thing was Krek had to not crash and die. First thing was....Gods, why did he keep saying that? Exhaustion was wrapping his mind in shrouds of murk. Every thought had to claw its way through confusion. Krek knew he should stop, but he was nearly home. The sun had set and Illandra's orange glow wavered on the far horizon. If he pushed on just a little further, he'd make it home. Krek pinned his ears back, and pushed on.

His mind wandered. The world slipped by beneath him. A tangled sprawl of endless forest gave way to checkered farmland. He blinked, and spots of lantern light dotted country intersections. Krek blinked again and to force open his eyes. Tired. Scattered cottages with thatched roofs marked an outlying village along with a network of roads like webbing on the ground. Almost home. He closed his eyes, gliding. A moment's rest. Strange noises tugged at his mind. The grating bleat of panicked livestock. Loud voices yelling incomprehensible things.

Krek struggled to open his eyes just long enough to tell everyone to shut up.

He found himself a mere wingspan above a sprawling pasture filled with sheep. Nighttime shepherds and their hounds scrambled to chase their herds away from the descending gryphon. The sheep bleated and ran. Pigs in a corral squealed, and cows impassively watched from a field nearby. By the time Krek realized what was happening, he could have snatched a sheep in his paws.

Krek beat his black-feathered wings with everything as he hurtled towards the tall, pinewood fence dividing the pasture. He tucked all four limbs and still the wood brushed his toes. The fence clipped a few of the longer silver feathers edging the back of his wings. Krek keened in pained effort but prevented disaster.

The shepherds yelled angry insults. Someone called for a bow before "the beast" returned for another pass at their livestock. Idiots.

Krek called back an insult of his own as he put the pasture behind him. "Go mount your sheep, you ugly dirt farmers!"

Right, Krek. You almost crash, and it's their fault.

Krek supposed even he couldn't be magnificent all the time.

The near-miss left the gryphon trembling. His heart pounded, blood throbbed in his temples and flushed his beak. Bolts of pain shot through his side with every wing stroke. Krek grit his beak, focusing on the pain. He'd use it to stay awake. This whole journey had absolutely wiped him out, and he wouldn't have much time to rest in Illandra, either.

When Krek calmed, he realized he was flying near a popular livestock market on the outskirts of the many villages surrounding the Illandra capital. The distant orange glow of the city's many lights grew brighter with every moment. Soon they coalesced into a shimmering ring of torches, lamps, and lanterns that marked the immense granite walls and fortified gates surrounding the city.

Krek glided high above the walls, hidden by black feathers in the dark. Below him, the city's lights looked like a reflection of the sky, a blanket of orange and yellow stars flickering in a sea of darkness. To the gryphon's sharp eyes, each city district had its own unique nighttime shine. In poorer areas, oil torches on sconces filled the air with more smoke than light. Along the main streets, lamps hung from simple poles. Firelight spilled across cobblestone through open tavern doors. In wealthier districts, mirrored lanterns suspended from ornate arches brightened entire intersections with their yellow glow.

Krek's destination was the imposing castle that dominated the cityscape. Heavily fortified yet elegant, the castle was a city unto itself. Lines of towering curtain walls surrounded the grounds, each with their own battlements and gatehouses. Five towers crowned the sprawling central keep. Leaded windowpanes glowed from dancing candlelight within. Lanterns adorned each gateway and door. Guards patrolled its many walls and walkways. Blue and gray banners bearing the keep's five-towered silhouette fluttered as Krek passed over head.

Krek circled the tallest of the five towers, mantling his wings to slow his flight. The long silver feathers edging the back of his wings splayed out. He descended towards an open space amidst the tower's rooftop garden, and dropped to the stone with a grunt. The impact left his paws aching as he trotted to a stop. His limbs were stiff. He shook a forepaw and was rewarded with thousands of tiny pins needling his leg. The gryphon limped in a circle, trying to work out the stiffness and needles.

At least he'd chosen a relaxing place to wait out his discomfort. Krek was surrounded by some of the most beautiful and unique foliage the world had to offer. Krek tried to bring the Queen something new from every part of the world he visited on her behalf. There were the famous apple trees from the Twenty-Fourth Province alongside stout, spiny cactuses from lands of red stone and desert. He'd brought her rare brambleberry vines from the great southern swamps. Flowers and trees from every corner of the world, in pots and planters just as colorful and unique.

A beautiful garden befitting a beautiful woman.

Krek gazed around the garden, smiling. For all the years he'd known Kathlyn, their secret garden was one of the few places they could truly share. Krek savored the familiar scents of sweetness and spice. Apple blossoms layered over lilac, tinted with heather and sage and swirled with a hundred other scents.

It smelled like home.

The only scent was missing was Kathlyn's. She was not in the tower, waiting to greet him. He could not pull her from a meeting. He could not take her in his wings and tell her how he missed her. For the first time, Krek was home but Kathlyn was gone. The gryphon's heart sank. He cooed, wings drooping. Without her, home felt empty.

Kathlyn was so very far away. Off on some journey to try and make the world a better place, with a homicidal blue dragon coming to end her reign and her life.

"Why didn't you wait? I asked you..."

Krek snapped his beak. He had to get a grip. Lamenting her absence wasn't going to rescue her. He had to act. What was it Valar said? Something about how gryphons strutted, but dragons mounted? No, that was something else.

A gust of cold wind ruffled his feathers, icy claws raked the skin beneath his plumage. Krek shivered, fluffing up. He padded to the trap door, its thick handle designed for his paws. The gryphon heaved the door open and slipped through, but the cold followed him. A chill settled beneath his underfur.

These days the room beneath the rooftop garden served as much as storage for Kathlyn's gardening as it did as quarters for the gryphon. Shelves and bookcases lined the rounded walls. Plants and supplies sat alongside books, though it had been years since Krek had cracked a tome. Barrels of water sat next to piled sacks of dirt. Hidden alcoves protected some of his secrets. There was an immense bed sturdy enough for a gryphon, and with blankets enough to smoother him. Though there was a hearth in the wall, Krek only used it to lay alongside a fire with Kathlyn.

Moonlight glinted upon polished metal. Krek's armor lay upon a table beneath a window. Kathlyn must have had it arranged for him before she left. Usually he kept it in a secret room near her quarters along with some of his other gear.

The gryphon's armor was a masterwork designed and forged by the best smiths royal gold could buy. A combination of angled plates and thick chain mesh, every piece was custom fitted to his body. It protected the gryphon's most vulnerable places without sacrificing his agility. It even included armor for the gryphon's genitals. That was most important part of the armor, as far as Krek was concerned.

Krek had insisted a magnificent gryphon should have magnificent armor. Forged from a rare alloy, it shone like polished silver yet held far more strength. Scalloped black feathers edged the helmet. Gryphon runes were inscribed in gold upon the leg plates. The breastplate was embossed with an ebony gryphon, wings spread. The armor's elegant, ornamental look belied its excellent protection.

The downside was that Krek required assistance to don it. He could get some of the pieces on by himself, but could not get all the straps done up without a human's help. Usually that person was Kathlyn. With her gone he'd have to enlist someone else.

Exhaustion pressed against Krek like a weight. He needed sleep, but had no time to spare for it. But his bed looked so comfortable. Someone had even made it for him while he was gone. Usually the bed was a mess of unkempt blankets, scattered pillows and shed black feathers. Now, the stack of pillows was neatly arranged alongside the ebony headboard with its carvings of appropriately elegant gryphons. Krek sighed and walked to his bed. He lifted his paw, ran his pads over the carved images of gryphons in flight.

A gift from Kathlyn, so many years ago. A simple thing and yet it meant so much. A place to lay his head, a room to call his own. An unspoken invitation to stay with her forever. How long had it been now since loyalty and friendship blossomed into something greater? Yet never had they put those feelings to words. What if he lost her, and never got to say it out loud?

Krek shook himself, ruffled his feathers. He had to put things in motion right now. He made for the door. Though the oversized door handle was easy to turn, the winding stairwell that descended the tower was too narrow for Krek's comfort. Still, there were few places in the castle Krek couldn't go if he was willing to squeeze himself into narrow openings.

Krek clacked his beak, smirking. Narrow openings indeed.

At the bottom of the stairs, Krek opened the door that lead into the castle's inner keep. He sucked in his body, tightened his wings to his back, and squeezed himself through the door frame. He grunted as the door frame jarred his wounded side. Kathlyn once said pushing through doorways made him look like an oversized cat stuffing himself into a tiny box. From anyone else that would be an insult. But from Kathlyn, it made him laugh. Hell, he'd even tried to meow for her.

The memory was forgotten as entire forest of spears was leveled at his head. He hissed, his claws unsheathed in an instant. Adrenaline spiked his blood. He'd fight through whatever army dared put itself between the Black Bird and his queen. The gryphon overcame his instincts and retracted his claws as quickly as the Queen's Guard pulled back their spears.

"I live here, you know." Krek snapped his beak, glaring at the guardsmen. They all bore their formal plate mail. Krek was glad that even when the Queen was away, her inner circle remained prepared to protect her throne. Didn't mean he appreciated having spears pointed at him. "Move aside."

"Sorry, Black Bird." The answer came from behind the visor of a full helmet. The voice was familiar, though Krek was far too fatigued to match it to a name. The man waved an armored fist, and the legion of guards moved aside. "Can't be too careful."

"This door only goes to the tower." Krek ruffled his aching wings, striding through the guards. He tried not to limp. "Who else but me could possibly be coming through here?"

"Assassins?" Another man spoke up. "Assassins with grappling hooks?"

Krek grinned, cocking his head. "Yes, I suppose--"

"Or a dragon!"

The lead guard scoffed. "You think a dragon could fit down those stairs?"

"Maybe. Never seen one try."

"What about the one in the dungeon we took the Queen to see? He's twice Black Bird's size, and Black Bird barely fits."

Krek's grin melted into a scowl. Twice his size? "Cease your libelous conjecture." The gryphon flared his wings to look bigger. "At least wait until I'm not around to insult me."

"Oh. Right." The guards looked at each other as they took up positions along the hallway. "Sorry, Black Bird."

"Forgiven." Krek waved his paw as if dismissing them. "For now."

"Ah...Sir?"

Krek cringed. They called him Sir about as often as they kept to royal decorum in private with the Queen. Krek liked that, though. Protecting someone out of duty was one thing, but they'd fight all the harder protecting a friend.

Krek pinned his ears back. "Yes?"

The lead guard came forward, his armor rattling. "You're bleeding, Sir."

Krek glanced back at himself. He squawked when he saw blood dripping from his feathers. He must have broken his stitches again when he nearly crashed. "So I am. Got a bit nicked up in my travels, and your damn narrow doorway's scraped me. I've asked to have these expanded for a reason, you know."

"Are you sure you're alright, Sir?" The guard's voice tightened as he walked around Krek. His armored head tilted as he stared at Krek's bloodied wing.

"What's all this Sir nonsense?" Krek flared his silver crown feathers. Though he appreciated the guard's concern, he had neither time nor energy to address it "A little blood and everyone's so damn formal again." He cocked his head and settled his wing down to cover his re-opened wound. "I'm fine. I'll have a physician look me over later." Krek walked away, glancing at the guards over his wings. "I'm starved. Has the kitchen any food left?"

"I'm sure they've got something." The lead guard followed Krek. "You look as though you could use an escort, Sir."

"I suppose you could ask Elvir not to yell at me if I run into him." Krek flicked his tufted tail, sighing. "Don't really feel like being chewed out by royalty."

"The Prince is in bed." The guard shifted his weight. "What happened?"

Krek ground his beak. "I got in a fight with an enemy of Her Majesty." Krek gave the man a hard look, green fire flickering in his eyes. "And I plan to leave shortly to pick another. Other than that..." Krek sighed and lifted a paw. He held his gray pads towards the guards. "I'll see a healer tomorrow, alright? In the morning I must see the Prince. But I need the night alone, without questions."

The guard murmured, drumming fingers against the haft of his spear. "I don't like the sound of any of this."

"Nor should you."

"Is Her Majesty in danger?"

No reason to lie about that. "Yes."

"I'll wake Prince Elvir." The guard's voice hardened.

Krek flattened his crown feathers back. "Let him sleep. I need the night, guard. I'll tell him what I know in the morning."

The guard took a deep breath, and let it out in a long, slow sigh. The other guards shifted, the tension practically rattling their armor. "So be it, Black Bird. But if there's anything we can do to protect Her Majesty, I need to know."

Krek nodded. What was he going to do, ask them to commit treason? "There are wolves in Illandra's pastures, and a serpent in the Queen's garden. You want to help?" Krek unsheathed his claws, and dragged them down the floor, scratching the stone. "Flush out that serpent and take off its head."

Krek let that settle in over the guards and trotted down the hall before they could delay him further. In the morning he'd tell Elvir all he knew, but first he had to set things in motion. With luck, the prince would agree to help set the dragon free. Otherwise he'd do it his damn self. Krek decided to talk to Alia first. Not only did she desire to see her dragon set free, but she had one of the tools needed to help him do so in a hurry.

Late as it was, the castle halls were mostly empty as Krek headed for the Wardens' quarters. A few servants pressed themselves against the walls to let him pass. A fat, drunken nobleman in extravagant clothes stumbled down the hallway and sloshed red wine out of an oversized goblet. He stared at Krek with his jaw hanging to his overpriced boots as if he'd never seen a gryphon before.

Krek had never visited Alia, but he knew which room was hers. When he reached her door, he pounded on it with a forepaw. He settled back onto his haunches and rubbed his head. His eyelids drooped. Krek pushed himself back to his feet to stay awake. Krek growled and knocked harder, rattling the whole door on its hinges.

"Alia!" The gryphon hissed. He'd wake the whole damn castle if he had too. His head swam, and he leaned against the wall. "Alia!"

A door nearby opened, and an angry, high-pitched voice called out. "Alia not here! Stop yell...oh! Is big gryphon!"

Krek peered down the hall. A funny looking dog-faced creature with big ears and little horns had stuck its head out a few doorways down. "Who the hell are you?"

"I Vatch." The urd'thin narrowed his eyes, flicking his ears back. "Why you want Alia?"

"For a night of spanking and debauchery!" Krek snapped his beak, and lashed his tufted tail. His fatigue was boiling over into frustration. "What do you think I want her for, you little mongrel?"

The urd'thin snarled at the gryphon. "You not Vatch boss!" He jabbed his little finger in the air. "You not call Vatch hurtful thing! Vatch not mongrel! Gryphon go get mounted by dragon!" Vatch slammed the door shut.

Krek blinked. Had he just lost a shouting match to an urd'thin? And for that matter, when the hell did urd'thin live in the damn castle? And where was Alia, taking a vacation? Krek growled, ruffling his feathers. Gone a couple months, and the whole damn place was falling apart.

Krek considered his next move. Should he apologize to the urd'thin? The runt might know where Alia was. Krek was far too tired to find the strength to climb over his own pride and apologize. Besides, that little bastard told him to get mounted by a dragon. Wait. That gave him an idea. Several actually, but only one that was applicable. Alia must have been spending the night with Valyrym. That made things easy. He could see them both at once.

Krek limped to the dragon's prison. By the time he approached the vestibule with the guard desk, the gryphon felt like he was falling apart with every step. He glanced back down the hallway, half expecting to see a trail of scattered feathers. There were no feathers, but there were a few spots of blood on the floor. He grimaced, and addressed the guard behind the desk.

"I need to see the dragon."

"No admittance to The Prisoner without an authorized Warden's Office representative accompanying you." The guard had his face buried in a book. Krek was more impressed with his ability to stick to the rules than he was by his situational awareness. "Besides, it's the middle of the night. The Prisoner's asleep."

Krek's voice was a low, menacing growl. "Look. Up."

The man gave an exaggerated sigh as he lowered his book. His eyes grew so wide they must have nearly cracked their sockets. "Oh...Oh! I didn't know...it...well..."

"That part is obvious." Krek gestured towards the stairwell. "Are the gates locked?"

"Prior rules state that even during a period of--"

"Yes?" Krek slapped his paw onto the desk, claws unsheathed. "Or no?"

"Yes, they're locked." The man swallowed hard, and set his book aside.

"Then unlock them." He dug his claws into the wood.

"I'm...not supposed..." The guard trailed off, half-reaching for his keys.

Krek hissed every word, his crown feathers flared in silver threat. "One of us is going to open those gates, Guard. Do you want me to take those keys from you?" Krek dragged his paw back, cutting lines in the desk.

The guard shook his head, eyes on the gryphon's claws. "No. No, I'll open them, Black Bird."

"Good." Krek set his paw back on the floor as the guard rose and fumbled with the keys. He didn't recognize the man. He must have been a nightshift replacement. "Get to it."

The guard led Krek to the stairs. "It's a long ways down. There are two gates, spaced about--"

"I don't need the tour, I just need access." Krek pulled his wings in tight as he could as he entered the stairwell.

Valyrym's prison was one of the few places in the castle Krek had never ventured. He'd been to castle's other dungeons to personally toss prisoners into cells, supervise interrogations, and even prevent one. They were nothing like this. The whole descent was one long, claustrophobic death trap and deeper than he expected. His feathers brushed stone the whole way. The stairs were worn slick with age. Krek set his paws carefully. Be just his luck if he slipped and shattered his beak.

At least there were lanterns. Even Krek would be blind without them. Pale, blue-gray shelf fungus clung to wet spots on the walls. Beetles skittered into piles of moss. Above the first gate, a fat, forepaw-sized spider with red spots sat in a web so big it could almost snare Krek.

"This place is infested." Krek hissed at the spider. Lamplight reflected in its many black eyes.

"It's a dungeon, not the Queen's dining table." The guard shoved the key into the lock. "My apologies if it doesn't match your personal living standards."

So the man had a set after all. Krek followed him to the next heavy iron gate set in the stone stairwell. As soon as it was open, the gryphon slipped through. "If that's the last one, you can go back upstairs."

The man hesitated, rubbing the key in his hands. "I have to lock these gates again when I leave."

"So be it." Krek tried to gesture with a wing, only to thump it against the wall. "This will be a long conversation, anyway. If I need to get back out before morning, I'll yell."

"I don't think..."

Krek continued down the stairs, feathers ruffled. "Just lock the damn gate."

"It might not be safe!"

Krek tossed his head. "I won't hurt the old bastard."

"I meant for you."

Krek came to a stop. Now, that he hadn't considered. Ice prickled under his pinfeathers. He ground his beak. Alia could keep the old bastard calm, right? He'd be careful, just in case.

"I'll try not to piss him off."

*****

Chapter Seven

*****

The dragon's prison put Krek ill at ease. Empty silence smothered everything. Spicy, smoky incense covered the scents of old must and older dragon. Moonlight shone through the air vents in silver streams. Something ancient and ominous clung to the place, like some abandoned cathedral where only a lone sinner remained to contemplate his crimes. A place of worship turned house of penance.

Krek wandered the place, guided only by the moonlight that spilled through barred vents. The silver light pierced the murk just enough for the gryphon to find his way around. Towering, fluted columns of stone supported an impossibly high roof with elegant arches. This place was important once. Now it was nothing more than a hole in the ground where a dragon was sent to slowly die.

A portrait of Valar that rested above a carpeted ledge made Krek smile. Must have been Kathlyn's doing. At least Valyrym knew how his son had grown. The portrait's details were even mostly correct. Krek passed the other ledges and paused near the dragon-sized tub. It was all wooden slats and iron banding and fasteners. Looked like an oblong barrel someone cut in half and fixed to the stone floor. A hot soak was a nice luxury. Maybe he'd have the Queen build him a tub like that.

Scattered around the prison were stuffed dragon toys. Each was a different size and color. A green one sat upon a rum barrel while a bronze one watched from a ledge. A black toy peeked out from behind the tub. They looked like hatchlings, frozen after being caught at play in the middle of the night. A tiny, plush army ready to report to their aged master about intruders in his domain. Krek clicked his beak, rustled his feathers, and hurried from the stuffed dragons.

As Krek made his way through the prison, carvings surrounded him. Valyrym had engraved his stone tomb everywhere. Krek already knew about the images from his home Valyrym had cut into the pillars. But he had not expected to find Valyrym's entire life carved along a wall. To see Valyrym's very existence transcribed into everlasting rock set Krek's heart further back then he'd ever expected. Had Valyrym carved those things to be remembered, or to remind himself of the life he abandoned?

Valar was everywhere on that wall. He was in joy and sorrow, in triumph and tragedy. Krek saw the moment Valar hatched, and the moment his father left him behind. In those carvings were Valyrym's greatest joy, and his greatest mistake.

For all the years Valar spent hating his father, Valyrym spent them carving his son.

Pain welled in Krek's heart, cold and bitter. If only he'd stayed.

Krek swallowed the lump in his throat, and went to find Valyrym. He paused just outside the archway that led to Valyrym's sleeping chamber. All the years he'd known Valar, all the times he'd heard him curse his father's name. All the pain he saw in Valar eyes, all the loss and longing. It all lay ahead of him.

Suddenly, Krek's paws were lead weights affixed to the floor. His breath caught, lungs seized up. His wings trembled. What madness had brought him to this? To visit Valar's father, to meet the 'old bastard' himself?

Krek forced air into his lungs, struggling to ease his shaking. His feathers rustled, his throat parched. He ground his beak, his belly tried to knot itself round his spine. Damn it, why was he suddenly so afraid to meet Valyrym?

It was strange to think that until Alia, Krek probably knew Valyrym better than anyone in Illandra. Krek grew up alongside Valyrym's son, after all. He'd commiserated with Valar when his best friend raged against his missing father. He'd held Valar when he cried and confided in Krek that he just wanted a chance to see him again. Krek heard Kylaryn's laments and tales of the Dread Sky's glory. Krek knew of Valyrym as no one else did; through his family.

Yet never had he met the dragon himself. He'd brought him things for his family, glimpsed him through the air vents and wondered. Krek let his breath out slow, and took the last few steps around the corner.

For the first time, Krek saw Valaranyx's father.

Valyrym lay amidst a scattered pile of tattered blankets and worn out pillows, fast asleep and curled around something. Whatever powerful build the dragon once possessed had withered away to something Krek could politely call lean. The scales he'd heard described as resplendently ebony and indigo were now dull, and marked everywhere with gray. His wings were tattered, their muscles ill-defined.

In isolation and atrophy, The Dread Sky had long faded.

There were as many scars on the old dragon's hide as there were scales. They marked him in thin gray lines crisscrossing his back and haunches. A fat, pink blotch marred his hind leg, another marked his nose. Some of those scars came from battle, but many came from torture.

Krek cringed and looked away, tears welling. All the years Valar believed his father dead, and they were beating him. All the times his bitterness spilled over and Valar cried and raged and cursed his father's name, and Valyrym was being tortured.

Krek wiped his eyes. He sniffed and clicked his beak. As he tried to collect himself he gazed around the room. Shoddy bookshelves along one wall, old crates and boxes along another. A pile of things upon which to slumber. Aside from the distinct lack of a moldering carriage, very much like the first childhood home Valar once described to him. No sign of Alia, though. Valyrym must have been curled around her.

Valyrym twitched in his sleep. He grunted, snarled. His tail coiled. A hind leg flexed, claws scratched at the stone that lay beneath the blankets. The old dragon must have been fighting off some twisted nightmare. Krek thought it best to help him wake from his fearful slumber before he accidentally hurt poor Alia.

"Valyrym." Krek's voice came out a scratchy, croaking rasp.

The dragon stilled in an instant.

"Valyrym?" Krek spoke louder, his heart thundering in his chest.

The dragon's eyes opened to gleaming golden slits. Valyrym uncoiled in a slow, smooth motion, rising to a crouch. All his claws unsheathed as his wings flared and his spines splayed in open threat. A low, rumbling snarl permeated the air. To his sudden horror, Krek realized Valyrym was not curled around Alia, only a stuffed blue dragon.

Alia wasn't there at all. In an instant, the pitiable old beast was gone. Now there was only The Dread Sky, tortured and angry and facing an unknown intruder in his solitary kingdom.

Icy talons cut Krek to the bone. What had he done?

Krek backed away. Instinctual fear brought out his claws. Valyrym followed him, every motion grace and threat. A body that seemed withered and broken only moments before now looked anything but. Lean, wiry, and scarred as if all Illandra had heaped every torture they could devise upon this dragon and still could not break him.

Krek's crown feathers flared, he fought a rising wave of panic. "Valyrym, wait! I haven't come to fight you!"

"You think you can come here, in the middle of the night, and catch me unaware?" Valyrym's voice was tightly controlled fury ready to be unleashed. "You think I am some broken old beast you can put your claws to and slip away?"

"No!" Krek backpedaled into the prison. "Valyrym, I'm not here to hurt you! I'm here--"

"Then why do you skulk?" Valyrym's voice rose, a furious brass symphony that grew with every word. Even in the darkness, golden fire burned in his eyes as if Krek had awakened something long dormant. "Why do you slip through my prison in silence, while I slumber? Why do you slink to the foot of my bed while I lay dreaming if not to catch me unaware? And how, Bird, do you know my name?"

Krek stumbled over his paws and thoughts alike as he grasped for an answer to the dragon's question. He unfurled his wings, ready to fly for the door to wait out Valyrym's rage. Maybe if he told the truth, Valyrym would realize he was a friend.

"I know your name because your son told me! Valar told me your name!"

The moment Valar's name slipped from his beak Krek knew he'd chosen wrong. Something dark and hurt that lay coiled behind Valyrym's golden eyes sprang to violent life. With a roar that rattled the stone, Valyrym charged at Krek. Krek jumped into the air, but before he could even beat his wings Valyrym snatched his forelegs and yanked him right back down.

Krek crashed hard against the floor, battering his beak on the stone. Krek screamed, fresh agony blossoming in his head. Motes of blue-white light danced in the gryphon's vision. Old instincts kicked in. He fought the pain and rolled just as Valyrym's forepaw slammed down against the floor. The dragon's claws cut lines where Krek's head had been. Krek rose and Valyrym whirled upon him.

"What have you done to my son?" The Dread Sky stalked towards the gryphon as Krek struggled to clear the fog from his head and the ringing from his ears. "If you have harmed him, I will tear your wings from your body!"

"No, that isn't--"

Valyrym hurtled into the gryphon, his horned head a battering ram against Krek's chest. The THUD of impact reverberated through the prison. Krek toppled backwards with an agonized cough, air rushing from his lungs. Pain thudded through Krek's sternum. He scrambled to his paws, wheezing. Valyrym charged at him again and Krek spun to the side of the dragon.

Valyrym's tail spines whistled through the air for Krek's head. Krek flattened himself against the floor just as the dragon's tail snapped above him. Curved spines tore away feathers. Krek jumped up, scrabbling away as he pivoted to face Valyrym. He was in no condition to fight effectively even before Valyrym battered him.

"Valyrym, I--"

Krek squawked in startled terror as Valyrym lunged, teeth snapping at the gryphon's throat. Instincts saved Krek again as he twisted just out of the dragon's reach, but what little strength he had was fast dwindling. Darkness tinted the edges of his vision.

"Where is my son!"

"Your son is safe!" Krek screamed the answer.

Krek leapt back, beat his wings to put distance between them. Valyrym closed that distance in an instant. The old dragon was deceptively fast, and Krek struggled to keep himself out of Valyrym's reach. He doubted he could dodge many more fatal blows. "Your son is my friend, Valyrym! Valar is my friend!"

Valyrym paused, and Krek got as far away as he could. He rarely panicked, but when the dragon snarled and surged forward again, Krek found himself babbling. "Valar is my friend! My best friend! He saved my life, I grew up with him! With Kylaryn!"

Valyrym stumbled as though Krek's words had physically tripped him up. A hint of the fire in his eyes went dark. "You lie."

"I do not." Krek swallowed hard, struggling to catch his breath. Fresh blood ran down his side, and dribbled from cracks in his beak. "Valar and Kylaryn nursed me back to health, when I was young and foolish. I called Kylaryn friend, once. From her, I know you, Dread Sky." When Valyrym paused, Krek sought words that would reach him. "I see that great dragon still lives in you. I am honored to have shared the skies with your son. And I am here to set you free."

Valyrym went silent. Confusion replaced the fading golden fire in his eyes. His wings sagged, his spines settled back. The tautness of his body gradually drained into a tired slump. "What?"

That single word sounded so utterly baffled Krek almost laughed. He wobbled and swayed on his paws. "That seems...a reasonable question."

Valyrym took a few steps, a familiar limp in his gait now. They were so alike. "You're her companion. The Queen."

"Yes, Valyrym." Krek's vision swam. He stumbled. "And I am...out of time and ideas."

"What are you talking about?" Valyrym took another step, narrowing his eyes. His spined tail lashed, clattering against the stone.

"I am sorry to have woken you that way." Krek held out a paw, his pads up in apology. Half-delirious, he warbled. "I expected Alia to be here. I did not mean to seem a tormentor."

Pain washed across Valyrym's face. He pinned back his gray-tinged ears, his spiny frills sagged as he glanced away. "I was...still half dreaming, I think. With Alia gone, I am not always...right." Valyrym snapped his head back around, his golden gaze intense and fixated on the gryphon. "Why are you here, Bird?"

Krek hung his head and sighed. "Because you are the only chance we have left. Your son and I tried, and failed." Krek's strength was fading by the moment. His legs wobbled. He slid towards the floor. "You have to help me stop her. Please."

"Stop who?"

"I think you know." Krek lay his head down against his paw, his vision growing blurrier by the moment. "You were...curled around her."

A trembling fear crept into the dragon's voice, as if Valyrym already knew the answer, yet clung to some desperate hope he was wrong. "What is she going to do?"

"Kylaryn is going to kill the Queen." Krek closed his eyes. He had more to say, more to explain, but an ocean of darkness at last washed it all away.

*****

Valyrym limped through his prison, awash in pain and confusion. The adrenaline had faded and left only a bitter, lingering ache. Mind, body and heart, Valyrym was exhausted. It was as if the old dragon's very soul was tearing at the seams, a cloak around his heart too threadbare to deal with this madness again.

He'd been dreaming when the gryphon woke him, if he could call such anguish dreams. Broken images of the nightmare remained, puzzle pieces he tried to pull apart rather than fit together. Flames and screams. A cruel warden's face. Falling snow. A barbed whip. Valar.

When he woke from those horrible images to find his secret place discovered by some gryphon who knew his true name, there was no fear. There was no fatigue, no pain. Only fury, coiled, and cold. In that moment, he was The Dread Sky again. And when the gryphon spoke Valar's name, the Dread Sky was ever-vengeful.

The bird was just lucky he snapped out of it. His slumber was rarely easy, lately. Some nights, he'd wake in the darkness, feel around for Alia's warmth and find himself alone. Other times, he'd wake shivering from some cold, snowy nightmare, and it was sanity that he grasped for.

Until Alia came into his life, Valyrym had not realized how far he'd truly fallen. In the years that slipped through his claws, he'd grown ever more accepting of his fate, and the torments heaped upon him. There were still moments of rebellion, moments of pride, but more often than not he'd slink off in defeat when they were finished. Hell, Alia had done more to stand up for Valyrym than he had for himself in years. And what had that gotten her?

Banished from his life.

Alia had built something in him, some weave of hope and strength to hold him together. Alia reminded him there was a time he was worthy of more than torture, loneliness, and scorn. She'd put a spark of hope in his heart, and no more would he accept anyone's abuse. She'd made him strong again, but without her steadying hand, part of him suddenly feared that strength.

He'd almost killed the gryphon.

The gryphon who came to...free him?

Valyrym sighed. He struggled for breath, as if smothered by the weight of all the years he'd lost to this wretched place. His pounding heart rattled the plates of his chest. Fog, murky and uncertain, filled his head. Valyrym's limbs trembled as he limped into his sleeping chamber. His scars throbbed. The dragon's wings ached, lamenting all the years of flight they'd never know.

Free him?

Valyrym set his jaw, trying to focus. He'd come for something to put the bird on. A rolled-up rug leaned against the wall. Valyrym stretched his neck, took the end of the rug in his jaws, and dragged it back to the unconscious gryphon. He spat it out and unrolled it alongside the battered bird. The soft, gray-blue carpet would have looked nice laid out in his home somewhere. A shame he had to stain it with gryphon blood.

Valyrym hissed at the unconscious gryphon. The black feathers along one of his wings were caked in blood. Valyrym gently moved his wing. Beneath it, a ragged, half-healed wound leaked fresh blood from broken stitches. What the hell was the gryphon thinking? He'd needed a healer even before Valyrym beat the shit out of him.

"Stupid bird!" Valyrym hissed, grasping one of the gryphon's forelegs. "Could have killed you."

There was no gentle way to move a creature the size of a gryphon, but Valyrym tried not to injure him further. He lifted the gryphon's foreleg, and slipped his other forepaw under the gryphon's chest. Valyrym hoisted the limp beast partway off the ground, easing him onto the gray-blue rug. Then Valyrym moved around the gryphon, careful not to step on his outstretched wings. He got his forepaws under the gryphon's haunches, then hauled his back end onto the rug.

When the gryphon was settled, Valyrym sank his teeth into the rug. He grabbed a corner of it in his forepaw, then struggled to drag it. The effort strained his neck, but the rug slid across the stone. Step by step and inch by inch, Valyrym dragged the gryphon across his prison.

Halfway to his sleeping chamber, Valyrym paused to stretch his neck and work his jaws. He glared at the unconscious gryphon, muttering. "Lucky I don't just drag you by the balls."

Valyrym might have left the gryphon in the middle of his prison if not for the fact any visiting guards wouldn't appreciate that he'd just beaten the hell out of the Queen's companion. Valyrym allowed himself a moment of pride over how thoroughly he'd bested the gryphon. Granted, the gryphon was injured. By dragon claws, from the looks of it. But whose?

Kylaryn?

Valyrym scrunched his muzzle. No, if he'd fought Kylaryn she'd have killed him. So who, then? Surely not Valar if the bird spoke the truth of their friendship. Spirits. By the uncaring skies, he hoped Valar was not involved in any of this. Valyrym sighed, and went back to dragging the gryphon.

Valyrym was going to make that damn bird spill everything he knew before he let him go. No way that dirty crow could blurt out something like that and then slink away with his secrets intact. He needed Enric. And Alia. If the Queen was truly in danger, surely the prince would rescind her ban. Maybe he'd even...

What.

Set him free?

Would Elvir free Valyrym to stop Kylaryn from killing the Queen?

It had to be madness. Some horrible dream. Any moment now he'd wake to another day without Alia.

Valyrym dragged the gryphon on the bloodied rug into his sleeping chamber, alongside his soft things. He spat the rug out and swatted the gryphon across the back of his head. The gryphon's head lolled, limp. If not for the gryphon's slow, wheezing breaths Valyrym might have thought he'd killed the bird.

Valyrym arched his neck, glaring at the black-feathered creature. This was Valar's friend? They...grew up together? It was too surreal to be true, but how would Valyrym know? He'd missed his son's entire life. The idea that he'd somehow grown up with a gryphon left joy and anger mingling inside him.

It was a lovely thought that Valar had a loyal, lifelong friend, gryphon or not. But at the same time, this gryphon was the Queen's companion. If his story was true, then surely he knew of Valyrym. Just once, couldn't he have slunk down here to tell Valyrym about his son? To tell him that Valar was alive, that Valar could fly?

If the gryphon wasn't already unconscious, Valyrym would have strangled him until his eyes rolled back.

Valyrym sighed, and flopped down atop his pile of bedding. Valyrym curled his neck, and lay his head down upon a gold-frilled pillow. The truth sat in his belly, a cold, empty pit growing inside him. If the bird and Valar were truly friends, then he knew Valyrym as the monster who chose vengeance over family. Valar himself probably forbade the gryphon from speaking to Valyrym.

Valyrym wouldn't have blamed him.

He'd get answers from the gryphon in the morning. For now, his body demanded sleep, even as the questions that blossomed in his mind denied him slumber. His golden eyes darted around the room, seeking answers he could not find. His gaze drifted to Little Ky. Suddenly he didn't feel like snuggling. He forced himself back to his paws, placed Little Ky atop his bookshelf, and settled back down.

She stared down at him as if Kylaryn herself was watching.

Her gaze pierced him to his ragged soul, and with it came a memory. A moment he'd long forgotten now made itself a spear in his patchwork heart.

When I am gone, you must lead them.

In that moment, Valyrym understood.

The war never ended. Kylaryn had never given in.

Her voice rolled through his head, strong and certain.

Where you have failed, I shall succeed. Aran'alia will live free.

*****

Chapter Eight

*****

Valyrym rose before sunlight penetrated the gloom of his lonely kingdom. He could not sleep. Not with the damn gryphon wheezing nearby. Not with Kylaryn's voice echoing through his head. He glared at the stuffed blue dragon.

"You're not her."

Kylaryn glared back at him.

"I didn't tell you to do this."

Kylaryn disagreed.

"She wants peace."

She lies.

"Is this for Aran'alia? For our clan? Or for you?"

This is for all of us.

Valyrym shook his head, then pressed his paw pads into his golden eyes. He was talking to a stuffed animal. He'd done it a hundred times with Val Junior, but this was different. All these years, and her voice was still so clear. So many decades trapped in the darkness, and still she surprised him.

The dragon shook himself and rose. The rustling of scales and wings did not stir the gryphon. Valyrym wasn't surprised; the bird looked beat to hell. His feathers were splayed everywhere and matted with blood. More dried blood caked his beak. At least the bird was still breathing.

Gods, he'd nearly killed that gryphon. His belly churned. That wasn't exactly his proudest accomplishment. He pinned his spines back, a tine of icy guilt dragged across his heart. He tried to smooth some of the gryphon's feathers. If only the gryphon had waited till morning when Valyrym had friends and routine to keep him centered.

The deep purple sky beyond an air vent told him dawn was breaking beyond his line of sight. He may as well get up. Valyrym's hind leg ached as he limped through his prison. Actually, all of him ached, but his largest scar hurt worst. Typical, Valyrym thought. He kicks someone's ass and he's the one who ends up sore. At least the bird was going to feel it worse when he woke.

Valyrym scowled, baring his fangs. Blood stained the floor. He flicked his tail, spines rattling against stone. Stupid gryphon, bleeding on his floor, staining his rug. They'd have to have a healer come look at him.

"Better not bleed on my soft things, Gryphon." Valyrym tossed his head, padding to his tub. "Those have only just been washed."

A hot bath would help him relax. Careful as could be, he opened the feeder stove and examined the coals. A few embers remained from his bath the night before. Valyrym fetched fresh kindling from the pile nearby, and worked a few small sticks into the coal base. Soon they were smoldering. When flames took hold, he put a few larger logs in.

As he waited for the wood to burn down a little, Valyrym stared at his barrels of drink. He licked his muzzle. Rum sure sounded nice. Lots of rum. Maybe if he drank the entire barrel he'd sleep through this entire debacle. Then again, drinking an entire barrel of rum might prove fatal for even a dragon. Not exactly the solution he hoped for.

Silver water seemed to be the wiser choice. He pushed his muzzle into the barrel, lapping at it. It tasted like home. A rush of memories swirled through his mind. Amaleen dancing in a soaked dress. Valar wriggling in the wet grass moments after he'd hatched. Blue scales in the silver rain.

He lifted his head from the water, and gazed around the prison. Silver droplets dripped from the fine scales of his muzzle. Dawn's growing light drove back the shadows. An orange glow diffused beneath each air vent. On the far ledge, Vatch's crate of books sat beneath Valar's portrait. Maybe it was time he read The Uncaring Sky.

Then again, Valyrym knew her words were likely to hurt. He couldn't handle that right now. Besides, if the bird spoke the truth, he could tell Valyrym all about her. But if the gryphon was lying, Valyrym was going to drown him in his tub. Speaking of which, time to heat some water.

Valyrym fetched the broad coal-shovel his wardens had gotten him. It had a thick handle suitable for a dragon's paws. Valyrym used the shovel to transfer coals and burning wood to the three stoves that heated the water. He turned levers and got the water flowing over the heating pans, then closed the tub's sluice gates.

While the tub filled, Valyrym fetched a towel. He soaked it and tried to scrub the gryphon blood off the floor. When the tub was nearly full, Valyrym tossed the bloodied towel near the drain to be washed later. He closed off the tub's inflow, returning the water to its natural flow.

The dragon stepped into his bath one limb at a time. The water was almost too hot for his pads, but the heat would soothe his aching muscles. He settled into the water, hissing as his underbelly submerged. Valyrym rested his head against the wooden wall. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth sinking beneath his scales. The throbbing ache in his scarred limb eased.

Soft footsteps eventually drew Valyrym's attention. His frilled ears swiveled forward, attuned to the sound. Valyrym smiled, recognizing the softness of the footsteps. As usual, Vatch was first to arrive. The longer Alia was gone, the more difficult the nights were for Valyrym. Vatch's friendship was a great balm upon his wounded soul. Valyrym never knew a heart that big could fit in a varmint that small.

Vatch soon came neared the tub. Chocolate fur spilled from every available opening in his slate gray clothing, even between the buttons of his shirt. Poor Vatch. Tried so hard to look formal, and just looked adorable and cuddly. Vatch carried a tray heaped with all manner of delights. The scents were enough to make the old dragon's belly rumble despite the worries that knotted it.

"Morning, Dragon!" Vatch perked up his ears, cheerful. "Is early you already be in bath." He wagged his bushy tail, smirking. "You have good dream, have to take of something?"

Valyrym lifted his head, snorting. Water ran down the pebbly scales of his neck. "No, though that'd be a far more pleasant reason to wake so early." The dragon hissed, glancing at the archway to his sleeping chamber. "There's a gryphon in my room."

"Gryphon?" Vatch flattened back his big ears, growling. "That it. Vatch getting stick."

Valyrym cocked his head. Vatch really did have a stick? "Fine. But leave the food. Tell the other wardens and Enric. But no one else. Understand?"

Vatch set the tray down while he stacked a few crates alongside the tub. "Understand." Vatch fetched the platter and put it atop the crates. "Try not spill on floor. Vatch back soon."

Valyrym moved to the side of the tub as Vatch walked into the gloom. Water sloshed over wooden walls, splashing against the floor. Everything that Vatch brought him looked delicious even if Valyrym couldn't identify half of it. One side of the tray was heaped with sausages, ham, bacon, and a variety of other delicious meats. The other side was covered with pastries and tiny cakes, rolls with cream, and so on. With no one around to stop him, Valyrym ate his dessert first. He picked some up with his fingers, and snatched other bites with his jaws.

By the time Valyrym was licking the last of the cream from the tray, Vatch returned. It seemed the little creature could be awfully fast when he wanted to be. Vatch was panting but didn't seem too winded. When Valyrym saw what Vatch was carrying, he flared his spines in surprise.

"What the hell is that, Vatch?"

"This..." Vatch hefted a sturdy mace carved from white oak, with runes inscribed along the handle. Heavy iron flanges adorned the top of it. Vatch thumped it against his hand. "Is Vatch stick."

"Stick?" Valyrym curled his neck. "I've fought Illandran soldiers with less imposing weaponry."

Vatch beamed, perking his oversized ears. "Is Vatch stick!" He spun the club around his hands a few times, a show of casual deftness Valyrym hadn't expected. His lessons with Enric must have been paying off. "Chief First Dragon Tamer need stick, yes?"

"So you say. Where did you even get that?"

"Vatch have made." Vatch thrust the baton at Valyrym's nose. "Now be good, or Vatch use stick!"

Valyrym chuckled, shaking his head. "If you hit me in the head with that thing, I'd lose what little memory I have left."

Vatch gave a barking laugh. "Vatch not hit friend." His ears splayed, his eyes darkened. "But if gryphon mean to dragon? Vatch hit many times."

Valyrym cocked his head. "Much as I might enjoy that, I think he's been through enough. He's in my sleeping chamber right now, bleeding all over one of my rugs."

"Gryphon bleeding?" Vatch softened his tone a little. "What you do to him?"

Valyrym sunk lower in the tub, wings drooping. "We...scuffled. He woke me from a nightmare, and spoke Valar's name. I was..." Valyrym glanced away, flattening his ears back. "Confused. And I attacked him."

"Is okay." Vatch stretched his free hand out to Valyrym. "Is no one blame you. Alia be back soon, you do better then."

Valyrym sighed. He pressed his nose to Vatch's palm, grateful for the comfort. "Thank you."

Vatch soon set his stick down to pet the dragon with both hands. "Gryphon, is black?"

The dragon narrowed his eyes to smoldering golden slits. "Yes. Why?"

Vatch stroked the dragon's muzzle. "He wake me too, yell for Alia. I tell him Alia not here, he call me mongrel!"

"Did he?" Valyrym unsheathed his claws against the tub floor.

"Yes." Vatch nodded. "So Vatch yell insult, and slam door."

"Good for you, Vatch." Valyrym growled his amusement. "If it makes you feel any better, I knocked him around pretty good last night."

"That make Vatch feel little better, yes."

Valyrym's frills sagged. "Then I realized he was too injured to fight back."

"That make Vatch feel little worse."

"I know the feeling." Valyrym pulled his head back, licking his nose.

Vatch picked up his stick again. "Why he come down here?"

"To set me free." Valyrym turned his head to stare through an air vent. Sunrise broke orange and red across his patch of sky. "He's here to set me free."

"He do what now?" Vatch yipped, his ears up. He gazed at blocks of stone where Valyrym had long ago carved his own escape plan. Crates of stone-cutting tools lay hidden beneath extra blankets. "Vatch think he little behind."

"I don't think he's talking about months, Vatch." Valyrym took a deep breath, and let it out in a long, slow sigh. "I think he's talking about now." Vatch's dark eyes went as wide as he'd ever seen them. "Did you tell the others?"

"Thomas, Kaylen, yes." Vatch wrung his furry hands against his weapon. "But no could find Enric."

"We'll find him later. We must get word to Alia that..." Valyrym trailed off. Word of what? Some crazy bird's plan to break him out to stop Kylaryn? The whole idea was a bramble twisting in his head, sinking thorns into his brain. He pressed a paw behind a ridged horn. "This makes my head hurt, Vatch. I'll decide what to tell Alia after I hear from the gryphon."

Valyrym gestured with a dripping paw for Vatch to move aside. He eased out of the tub one paw at a time, sloshing more water onto the floor. Valyrym shook himself, droplets sprayed in all directions. Vatch opened the tub's sluice gate to drain the water. Valyrym limped towards the ledge with Valar's portrait.

"Vatch, when the bird wakes, fill the tub again. He's filthy, and I don't want him getting blood all over my things." Valyrym flicked his spines back, snapping his jaws. "And if I think he's lying I can just drown him and be done with it."

"Be big body to dispose of." Vatch laughed and thumped his stick against his palm.

"I'm sure someone's willing to pay a few coins for some mangy gryphon's feathery hide." Valyrym inspected his scales. Satisfied they were nearly dry, he climbed up onto his ledge. His scarred hind leg still throbbed, but the worst of the aching tension had ebbed away. "Just try not to get too close to him. I think he's got fleas."

Valyrym settled onto his belly atop the magenta rug. He curled his spined tail, idly kneading at the carpet. He liked the softness beneath his paws. It reminded him of some long lost comfort he could not quantify. Maybe something from the homes Amaleen had built for him and his companions back when they fought together.

His mind drifted back to the days before his capture. How happy Kylaryn had been when she saw the homes humans built for dragons. For their friends. Before Illandra took that all away from her. Again. Valyrym turned his head, but could not look away from the images in his mind. How many homes could Kylaryn lose? How many times could Illandra kill her friends, shatter her family? Her parents, her brother, her clan, her home, Amaleen, Sigil Stones. How many years had those losses haunted her, built inside her? How long had she waited for this moment, this opportunity? This chance to end it all, to avenge all of them.

"Dragon alright?"

Valyrym gave a long sigh. "No, Vatch. Dragon afraid."

Vatch climbed up on the ledge, his ears pinned back. He sat next to Valyrym, and rubbed the dragon's paw. "It be alright. Whatever happen, it be alright."

Valyrym smiled, and lowered his head to lay his muzzle between Vatch's oversized ears. His friend's comfort was appreciated, if not believed. "I hope you're right, Vatch. But I know Kylaryn, and I fear this can only end in blood."

*****

Lord Armadine of the Twenty Fourth Province reclined in his new padded desk chair, admiring the dark leather. The chair was a gift from Prince Elvir, bound in the hide of some exotic predator the prince had hunted the year before. Armadine couldn't recall the name of the beast, but it was nearly the size of a gryphon. If only he could make the Queen's gryphon into a chair. The thought made him smile.

"You like the chair?"

Armadine glanced at his personal information minister, Traval. "Of course. A powerful beast, laid low by man's strength." Armadine rubbed a few stitches in the leather. "And now just a chair. Fitting. Don't you like it?"

"A vorloth would've made a better guard dog than furniture."

"Vorloth!" Armadine slapped his hand against his desk. "That's the beast. Besides, you know Elvir loves his hunts." Armadine leaned back in his chair, propping his boots atop his polished granite desk. "Still, guard dog, you say?"

Traval folded his arms. His dark gray robe shifted against concealed weaponry. "Assuming you could beat one into submission."

Armadine gazed at his boots. They were new, made from the red hide from some great swamp dwelling reptile, and adorned with golden buckles. "Not the worst idea I've heard."

"I rarely offer bad advice." Traval's impassive face twitched.

Armadine stared at the man. Even after working with Traval for years, the nobleman still found his trusted advisor unreadable. The man's bland, rounded face reminded him of some dull stone cherub, weathered and without emotion. It gave his plain features a strange sort of disquieting hostility. That made Traval the perfect man to have around whenever he wanted to intimidate someone. When intimidation failed, Traval was even better at violence and blackmail.

"True enough, Traval."

"So, my Lord, if I may?" Traval tapped a few calloused fingers against a folder stamped with the Twenty Fourth Province's insignia.

"Always business, aren't you." Armadine leaned his head back against his hands, twining his fingers through his pale, wavy hair.

Traval grunted. Armadine ignored him, gazing around his new office. He'd just moved in after convincing Elvir to remove the former occupant to make way for someone more deserving, Armadine had placed his desk in the center of the circular room, a fitting symbol for a man at the center of a changing kingdom. The same man who would soon put a proper king on the throne, who would lead a nation of wolves back to its well-deserved glory.

Armadine's new office was decorated with mementos from Illandra's Twenty Fourth Province, the land once known as Aran'alia. Shelves supported arched stones he'd had removed from the earth. Each stone was carved with strange runes. It was all nonsense and gibberish as far as Armadine was concerned. But they made good display pieces, and history made them valuable. Armadine liked valuable things.

Crystalline cases contained roughly spherical sapphires and emeralds. They held an unusual clarity as if cut and polished despite being fresh from the earth. Each stone held a strange, swirling wisp of silvery mist suspended inside it. The mists coiled and twisted like anguished spirits desperate to escape. For generations Armadine's family sought to excavate those stones, ostensibly on Illandra's behalf. They'd had various levels of success, but he'd kept some of the best for himself.

An immense wreath hung from the wall. It was built of heavy boughs from the same apple tree he'd had chopped down to make a desk for Elvir. The boughs were intricately carved and interlocked to form a circle of old Illandran runes that equated to 'strength is survival'. The rebels had once rallied around that tree. Armadine took great pleasure in turning it into a symbol befitting their rightful conquerors.

Other displays celebrated the Twenty Fourth Province's history of fighting dragons. Claws and horns adorned shelves. An entire dragon skull was mounted to a mahogany plaque. A glass-paneled display case held dragon whips both old and new. Metal barbs and blades embedded in the braided leather helped ensure they'd penetrate the dragon's hide to inflict maximum pain. Supposedly effective in battle, but perhaps better suited to teach a dragon its proper place in captivity.

Armadine had certainly enjoyed teaching the monster in the basement some respect. Truth be told, though the dragons of The Wind's vile brood continued to harass and attack Illandran property and trade caravans, it had been since before Armadine's lifetime since his people had actually slain one, let alone captured one alive.

At least, until now.

"So they've got one, have they?" Armadine returned his gaze to Traval.

"Indeed." Travel pushed the wax-stamped folder across the smooth granite desktop. "Captured within the last few weeks."

Armadine ignored the folder. Why bother reading something he could just have Traval explain? He adjusted his silver vest atop his black silk tunic, smiling. "Excellent. It's not the bronze one, is it? With the blue legs?"

"No, my Lord." Traval shifted in his chair. Armadine never knew why Traval insisted on taking the stiffest, most uncomfortable in his office. That chair was meant to make people squirm, but Traval tolerated the discomfort like it was a badge of honor. "One of the newer ones to cause us problems."

"Ah." Armadine circled a finger around a button upon his vest. A marbled, pale gray color that his tailor claimed was cut from the horn of a dragon. He scowled. It looked chipped already. He should have that lying tailor flogged. "And who is in possession of the monster now?"

"Your father's house, my lord." Travel tilted his head but remained impassive. Armadine suspected the man could stand in a dust storm without so much as blinking the sand from his eyes.

"Wonderful." Excitement tingled along Armadine's spine. Every little hair he had stood on end. "So it really is ours." His own dragon.

"Your father awaits word on what to have done with it." Travel waved at the folder Armadine continued to ignore. "He thought you might want it executed."

"No!" Armadine slammed a hand against his desk. The impact left his palm stinging. "This one is mine." He sneered, lip curling. "Before long, that one in the basement will be mine as well."

Traval folded his fingers across his belly, gray robe creasing. "Then what do you wish done with it? It's male, do you still want it gelded?"

"Publically." Armadine eased back, smirking. "And send them to her. That ought to give these monsters a message. If they value their balls, they'd better back down."

Traval gave a single, barely perceptible nod. "Very well. But you realize..."

Armadine scowled. He hated it when the man just trailed off and left Armadine to make his own conclusions. "Yes, you're right." Armadine crossed his boots, snorting. "It's too early for that sort of message. We don't want to distract the blue bitch before she puts Elvir on the throne for us. Leave the beast intact. We might use him as a bargaining chip later. If he's still got something to lose, all the better."

"So what do you want done with him? Your father awaits word."

Armadine leaned back into his chair, his head cradled in his hands. How best to use this to their advantage? "He can still be a message. Have him chained up in public, and beaten daily for a week."

Traval's lips twitched. If Armadine didn't know better he'd swear that was a smirk. "As you wish."

"Make him talk, see what he knows." He waved his hand. "Just don't break anything. I like your guard dog idea, and a crippled dragon wouldn't do."

"Wise." Traval pulled the folder back. He opened it, fetched a writing quill and an engraved silver inkpot, and scribbled instructions. "Anything else?"

"Make sure they get his balls, too. The whole damn city should hear that monster howl."

Armadine's gaze drifted over his whips. Maybe he should visit the province and try his new one out. He'd certainly enjoyed testing a dragon whip on the beast in the dungeon. At least until that Silverrain bitch spoiled his fun. The memory made his mouth ache. He worked his tongue, probed an empty spot where a tooth once lay. Worthless dragon's whore.

Actually, that gave him an idea. He smirked. "Maybe there's another way to make him useful. After he's beaten for a week, send in someone gentle to care for him. Feed him well, bind his wounds. Earn his trust while his guard's down."

"Now that..." Traval tapped his quill against the vellum. "Is an idea."

"Thought you'd like it." Armadine licked his lips. Bumpy scars marked them. "Have we got any Aran'alian informants we could use? Bet he'd be quicker to trust one of those. Especially if she's willing to get her hands dirty."

"I know several who'd be perfect." Traval dipped his quill in the ink pot, glancing up. "You want them to go that far? Whore themselves out to the beast?"

Armadine winced. The very idea made his stomach turn. "I want someone willing, if the dragon shows an interest. After the first week, keep him in public during the day, but put him somewhere private with her at night. Make him feel like she's the only friend he's got."

"Done." Traval set his quill into the ink pot. "Now. About the Black Bird."

Armadine grit his teeth. "Now there's something I'd like to see gelded. What about him?"

Traval sprinkled some drying sands over the fresh ink. "He returned last night."

Armadine pinched the bridge of his nose. "Already?"

Traval pushed the folder aside, his voice hardening. "He was heard in the Warden's quarters last night, hollering for Alia."

"Alia?" Armadine dragged his hand down his face, narrowing his eyes. "Why does he want Alia?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"I suspect yours is better, Traval." Armadine snarled, anger heating his ears. "So spit it out."

"I think he knows."

Armadine froze, blood running cold. "Why?"

"One, he asked to see the prince today. Two..." He ticked off a few fingers. "He's wounded, I suspect by a dragon. Three, after hollering for Alia, he went to see The Prisoner. I can only assume to ask about The Wind."

"Damn clever bird." Armadine rose to his feet and went to his whip display case. He opened it and removed his newest whip. It was braided thick gray leather with heavy, sharp silver spines embedded in its length. "A shame we can't buy his loyalty like your gryphons. His services would have been useful."

"I think we should move your plans forward." Traval turned his head slightly to keep watch on Armadine.

"Do you think we could kill him?" Armadine cracked his barbed whip, imagining it cutting a lovely line across the gryphon's face.

"Not easily. Even wounded he'd be a formidable foe. Have to be done privately, our connections kept secret. A difficult thing to achieve in this castle."

"Still." Armadine twisted in place, spinning and snapping the whip. It cracked and whirled around him, a gray blur with flashing lines of silver. Ear-splitting cracks resounded against the stone walls. After a few moments, he slowed to let the whip hang limp. Panting, he kneading the braided handle. "Do keep an eye out for an opportunity."

"Understood." Traval stood up, his thick gray robe settling around him. He tucked the stiff-backed wooden chair beneath the granite desk. "And your other plans?"

"Where is the bird now?" Armadine set the whip back where he kept it.

"Unknown. Likely still with the prisoner."

"Then we should act while he's distracted." Armadine closed the display case. "Time is no longer a luxury for us. We act today."

"Yes, sir."

At last Traval smiled. Armadine liked it when he smiled. It meant something fun was about to happen.

The wolves were going out to play.

*****

Chapter Nine

*****

Krek awoke to pain and darkness. He was used to the pain, but the darkness was new. What the hell happened and why did he feel carpet beneath his paws? Felt like he'd drank too much, tumbled down his tower stairs and ended up in a supply closet. Gods, he hoped he hadn't gotten _that_drunk. The gryphon would never hear the end of it if he was caught in a compromising position with a rug.

Krek stretched each leg, then tested his wings. Nothing felt broken, but he ached everywhere. He opened his beak and was rewarded with a pulse of throbbing pain. He tried to rise, and sharp pain sliced into his side. Krek wobbled, groaned, and sunk back down. He needed a moment to collect himself.

He gazed around in the gloom. Though his night vision was sharp, his brain was still foggy. Gradually shapes came into focus around him. A series of small squares became crates piled with trinkets and junk. Large rectangles solidified into bookshelves laden with old tomes. A misshapen blob alongside him became a pile of blankets, animal hides and pillows. The orange glow at the end of the room clarified into sunlight seeping through holes at the top of the wall.

Where the hell was he?

Krek grit his aching beak. He tasted dried blood. Wonderful. He pushed himself up onto his paws again, bracing against the pain. His legs wobbled, but he remained standing. He glanced around, trying to piece things together in his head. Felt like he'd lost a fight with a dragon.

Oh. Right.

Krek lifted his wing, examining his wounds. A couple of stitches still held him together, but the blood matting his black underfur concerned him. He didn't have time to waste trying to heal again. He lowered his wing with an irritable chirrup. Someday he hoped to hold a meeting with Valar's family without getting his ass kicked.

The gryphon looked at the rug beneath him. The soft, pale blue carpet was stained with reddish-brown. Krek winced. He'd shed an awful lot of blood lately. But how'd he end up on a rug in the first place? He clacked his beak. Must have been the old bastard's doing. All that bluster surrounding a big, fat, heart. Just like his son.

Something dark blue caught Krek's attention. The symbol of Death in the Night glared at him atop a bookshelf. It even looked like an original. Far as he knew, only Kylaryn's chosen agents got an original. So how did Valyrym get one? Krek leaned back and forth. He could have sworn those little silver button eyes were following him.

Krek shuddered, his feathers rustling as he shuffled toward the archway. The gryphon was too sore to even limp properly so he just dragged his paws across the floor. At least he'd gotten a proper night's sleep for once. It may have taken passing out after a beating, but it had to have done him some good.

Krek followed the sounds of muffled voices into the dragon's prison. In the distance, Valyrym walked along the wall towards the many barrels stored near his tub. Struck by the way Valyrym moved, Krek stopped and stared. Every few steps Valyrym limped on his scarred hind leg, just like Valar. Same damn leg and everything. When Valyrym caught the gryphon staring, something roiled in his golden eyes.

"About time. Was coming to kick your ass again to wake you up."

It was all there in his eyes. Bitterness and pain, some old bruise he sought to cover with a smirk and a biting remark. It was uncanny.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Valyrym hissed, coiling his neck.

"You're just like Valar." Krek swallowed, pinning his ears back.

Valyrym recoiled as though the gryphon struck him. His eyes flashed golden anguish and he glanced away, all his spines flattened. "I hope not, for his sake."

"No, I..."

Krek looked down at his own bloodied paws. He rarely found himself speechless, but he truly did not know what to say to Valyrym. What words could he offer the father of his best friend? A father Valar both despised and pined for. The Prisoner who'd spent half his life wondering about his son.

"You look like him." Krek could not lift his eyes from his paws. Murmured words dribbled from his tongue, uncertain. "Or, I suppose he looks like you. Younger, of course. Lots of blue. But he limps the way you do when he's agitated or when it storms. And your eyes, he...he has that same look when he's angry, or hurt. As though he can't decide if he should thrash you, or cry on your shoulder. And he covers it the same way. Sarcasm, a flash of teeth, a smirk, a show of his spines."

"Stop!" Valyrym snarled, stepping towards the gryphon.

Krek flattened his wings against his body and lowered his head, an old gryphon gesture of apology and submission. "Sorry. It just...struck me now. Didn't have time to notice last night while you were smacking me around."

Valyrym took a breath so deep Krek half expected the dragon's gray-tinged chest plates to pop right off. His sigh was just as deep. Krek waited for an answer, but Valyrym just turned away, lashing his tail.

"Go get in the tub."

Krek blinked, his beak hung open. "What?"

"The tub, Bird." A growl crept into Valyrym's voice. "Now. Or I'll toss you in."

Krek winced, crown feathers flared. "Alright, alright. But why am I getting in the tub?"

"Because you're filthy." Valyrym limped away from the gryphon.

Krek looked himself over. The dragon had a point. His feathers were so matted with dried blood and the grime of a long journey they wouldn't even fluff right. Krek shuffled towards the tub, his muscles aching, wounds throbbing.

An urd'thin in gray clothing darted between a series of stoves, shoveling coals from one to another. It was an ingenious system they'd built for the dragon, but Krek wondered why it wasn't Alia heating the water. And how long had the castle employed urd'thin?

"Doing fine work, there." Krek gave the urd'thin servant a smile.

"You shut up." The urd'thin turned and glared at him. "Vatch not like you! You call Vatch mean thing." He set down the coal shovel, and fetched some sort of white, wooden mace. He thumped it against his palm. "You be nice Vatch now, or Vatch use stick!"

"You're the one from last night, aren't you." Krek peered into the tub. Hot water swirled around the stone floor and sloshed against the wooden walls. A waterline marked the wood. Layers of greenish algae clung to the tub's walls. Time for a scrub down, Krek thought. He glanced at the urd'thin. "I don't remember what I said. But I'm sorry if it offended you."

"You call Vatch mongrel." Vatch slapped his Urd-thin sized mace against his palm again. "Vatch not mongrel! Vatch Warden! No urd'thin is mongrel! We matter much as you! Much as human!"

Krek stared at the swirling waters rising inside the tub. "Yes. Yes, you do." He turned his green gaze to the urd'thin, peering into his dark eyes. "Very well. I apologize for insulting you and your people. I'm having a difficult time, lately."

The urd'thin gave a little growl, narrowing his eyes. "Vatch consider accept this."

"A good start." Krek tilted his head, staring at the flanged club. "Just don't crack my skull with that, alright?"

"Vatch consider this too."

The gryphon ruffled his wings, and stretched a foreleg over the tub wall. The movement pulled at what few stitches remained. Krek cringed. The pain made it a chore just getting into the tub. Once inside, he settled down on his belly. With any luck, letting the hot water rise around him would hurt less than dunking himself all at once. From the tub, Krek saw some of the stuffed dragons again. Gods, had they moved? They looked like they were watching him. Any moment now they'd leap on his back, sink their little needle claws into his skin and call him Lellumgurb.

The urd'thin soon clambered up a stack of crates and leaned over the tub. He clutched a lump of something yellow in one hand and a knife in the other. He sliced slivers of the substance into the hot water flowing into the tub. The rising water bubbled and frothed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Krek gave an irritable squawk.

"Is call soap." The urd'thin snapped at him. "Is for get clean."

"Yes, I know what soap is for." Krek splashed a forepaw against the water, clacking his sore beak.

"Oh? Not can tell because gryphon so filthy." The urd'thin sliced more soap into the water.

Krek flattened his ears back. He was far too sore to argue with an urd'thin. The rising water touched open wounds and sent lines of flame across his body. He hissed and twisted, unsheathing his claws. Krek squeezed his eyes shut as the hot water got into rent flesh. That hurt worse than he'd expected. Maybe he should have listened to Valar and spent more time healing in Denoria.

"Gryphon alright?" The urd'thin's voice softened.

Krek glanced up to see the smaller creature gazing down at him from his elevated position. Was that concern in those dark eyes and half-splayed ears? "You know, this is the second time in the last few months a dragon has beaten the shit out of me."

"Gryphon look like shit, too." The urd'thin flashed his teeth in what Krek assumed was a dog-rat grin. "I get you something, yes?"

"I'd say you could bring me some eager females, but I doubt Her Majesty would approve." Krek laid his head against the tub wall. "And I'd have to share with Valyrym."

"Not have those anyway."

The urd'thin hopped down, and rooted through the various crates and burlap sacks strewn amidst Valyrym's collection of barrels. Krek closed his eyes. He couldn't be bothered to watch whatever it was the urd'thin was doing. He heard liquid poured and something ground with mortar and pestle.

"Gryphon can drink from this?"

Krek opened his eyes. The urd'thin held out some sort of drinking bowl suited for a dragon's muzzle. "I can manage."

Krek stretched a foreleg and took the bowl, wincing as spires of flame danced along his side. Mingling scents of sweet and bitter wafted from the vessel. He sniffed it, and recoiled at the heat that flooded his nasal passages.

"Awwrrkk! You nearly burned my sense of smell out. Is that rum?"

"You'd better not give that filthy bird my good rum!" Valyrym called out from across the dungeon. The sound of spines clattering on stone followed his voice.

The urd'thin yelled over his shoulder. "No, is bad rum!" He glared at Krek. "Vatch not like you enough give good rum." He snapped his jaws, and thrust a little brown-furred finger at Krek. "Now drink!"

Krek gazed into the wooden drinking bowl. Chunks of green, red and brown herbs drifted amidst a sea of off-gold liquid. "What's in this?"

"Herbs."

Krek tried to take a calming breath, but breathing in too deeply made his ribs ache. "What kind of herbs?"

The urd'thin shrugged. "Vatch not gardener. Is for pain, bleeding. Is what Vatch taught."

"Vatch, is it?" Krek took another whiff of the mixture, unable to discern individual herbs behind the smell of rum. "Some of the herbs the Queen's physicians have given me have...side effects on gryphons."

Vatch flicked his big ears back. "Bad side effect?"

Krek sipped the rum. It burned his throat, but by the feathers of the First Hatched he sure as hell needed a drink. "More the awkward, embarrassing sort.

The urd'thin laughed and shook his head. "Vatch not care if gryphon get hard."

Krek stared at him. "Good to know."

"Just drink, stupid bird!" Vatch stomped a booted foot against his makeshift platform. The wood creaked beneath him. "Is help pain and bleeding."

"Why the rum, though?"

"Vatch hope make gryphon less annoying."

"In that case, I'd best drink it all." Krek tilted the bowl to his beak, gulping it all down in a few long swallows. The poor quality rum and astringent herbs scorched the gryphon's throat. He coughed and tossed the bowl away, cringing. "Ugh. Happy now?"

Vatch ignored him. He fetched the bowl, rinsed it and put it away. He walked around the tub, closing off the inflow gates now that Krek was up to his chest in soapy water. The worst pain had eased, and the warmth helped soothe the gryphon's aching muscles.

"So." Vatch returned to standing on a crate overlooking the tub. "Gryphon know Vatch name. What gryphon name?"

"You haven't heard it yet?" Krek glanced up at him, eyes half-lidded. He shifted and grimaced. The rum was burning a hole in his empty belly "Most call me the Black Bird."

"But name really is...?" Vatch waved his hand in an impatient gesture.

"Krek'Sa'Krathiss." Krek scooped up a pawful of froth, sniffing at it. The soap had a flowery aroma. Kathlyn would have loved to snuggle him after a flower-scented bath. The thought made him smile. "What few friends I have call me Krek."

"Krek work for Vatch." Vatch held up a hand, brown pads exposed. "Not that we friends. Maybe we friends later. You wash now."

Krek chuckled to himself. "I don't suppose Alia will be here soon? Sore as I am, I could use her assistance bathing."

"No. She not here soon. You want ask dragon?" Vatch tilted his head, smirking. "Maybe he help you bathe."

Krek scrunched up his face, splaying his ears. "I rather doubt his touch would be as gentle." Krek worked soap into his feathers. The motion stretched his wounds, jarred his bruises. "Where is Alia, anyway? I'd assumed she'd be the first one here in the morning."

Vatch perked one ear, and flattened the other one back. "You really not know?"

"Has something happened to her?" Krek ground his beak. When he got no reply, he dunked his head under the water. He flared up his crown feathers beneath the frothy surface, and worked his paw through them. He surfaced, shook his head, and glared at the urd'thin. "I must meet with her right away."

"She not here."

Krek growled, narrowing his glittering emerald eyes. "You are exasperating." He stretched a sopping wing forward and turned his head to preen. He stopped just in time to avoid a beak full of soap. No preening till he was rinsed. He swore in the gryphon tongue, and folded his wing back. "When will she be here?"

"Not for while."

Krek fanned silvery tail feathers beneath the water in frustration. Anger heated his face beneath his pinfeathers, darkened the inside of his ears. "We'll circle back to that topic later."

Krek focused on washing himself. Though every motion made his battered body ache, he was happy to finally wash the blood and filth from his feathers. The gryphon hated being so dirty. Inch by matted inch, Krek worked soap through his plumage and underfur. Would have been easier if he had some assistance, but he wasn't about to ask Valyrym. When the waters had turned a foul, reddish-brown, Krek asked Vatch to drain and refill the tub.

As Krek bathed, a man and woman entered the dungeon. Even at a distance, Krek spotted the bronze skin and black hair of Aran'alians. They joined Valyrym in front of the blocks that sealed off the old exit. The man wore a gray vest over a white shirt with black pants, and a woman a frilly, colorful dress. Valyrym spoke to them and gestured at Krek. Their voices were too distant for the gryphon to pick out anything but tension. The visitors soon vanished back into the stairwell.

When they were gone, Valyrym stared at the carvings on the wall. Krek worked his paws down his body, wondering if it had sunk in on the old dragon. Those walls were coming down. He curled his tail, scrubbing it down to his tuft. Was Valyrym contemplating his freedom? Wondering about revenge? Thinking about his son? Krek shivered. His wet feathers ruffled. He stood, water halfway up his sides. Krek mantled his wings and looked himself over. He was as clean as could be without assistance.

Krek fixed his gaze on the urd'thin. "Unless you want to scrub my back, I'm going to call myself bathed." Krek fought the urge to pull loose feathers from his wings. "Can you get the hot water going again? I'd like to rinse myself."

Vatch added fresh coals to the heater stoves, then opened the outflow gates to drain the tub. When the hot water returned, Krek slipped under the pipe and let it pour across his body. He rinsed every part of himself. He stretched his wings under the flowing water, dunked his head beneath it, and then propped his haunches up under it.

"Thank you, Vatch." Krek set his paw on the tub wall. It was slicker than before "Hopefully I can climb out of here without cracking my nuts if my hind paws slip."

"No big loss."

"Yes, hah hah." Krek scowled at the urd'thin as Vatch closed off the water flow.

The gryphon climbed out one paw at a time, careful of all the wet spots on the floor. He shook himself and sprayed water in all directions. Damp fur and feathers clung to him. The herbs had kicked in, and shaking off did not hurt too much.

"Don't suppose you want to help me dry?"

Vatch glared at Krek. He waved his hands. "Oooh, big fancy gryphon, work for Queen, get pampered. Bathe me, dry me, feed me!" Vatch fetched a towel and tossed it onto the floor to soak up some spilled water. "Do things for self, gryphon."

"Quite the help you are."

"Vatch much help!" The urd'thin pushed the towel across the floor with his boot. "Just not for gryphon. Air dry you just fine."

"I suppose it will." Krek limped a few paces, fanning himself with his black-feathered, silver-edged wings. "How long have you worked here?"

"Few months, maybe?" Vatch laid another towel on the floor. "Vatch very busy, lose track."

"And how did you convince the castle to hire you?" Krek glanced back at his wounded side. At least he wasn't bleeding. "You're the first urd'thin I've seen in here."

Vatch gave the gryphon a dirty look. He bared his little needle teeth, but swallowed back whatever insult he'd been contemplating. "Alia hire. Alia give chance. Alia..." Vatch gazed at the dragon, his bushy tail swishing behind him. "Alia give many people second chance. So when Alia gone, Vatch take care of dragon. Dragon is Vatch friend now."

"Alia, hmm?" Krek flared his crown feathers. It seemed Alia wasn't just taking the day off. "Can you contact Alia, if you have too?"

Vatch only shrugged and went back to mopping up. "You should talk to dragon."

"Yes, I suppose I should." Krek folded his half-dried wings.

"You really want set him free?" The urd'thin stared at him. His ears were half-lifted, like some loyal hound hopeful his master would soon return.

"I have to."

"You only say this if mean it." Vatch sighed, his ears sinking. He stared down at the towel, nudging it with his boot. "If you break dragon heart, he never recover."

Krek pinned his ears back, and crossed the dungeon to Valyrym on leaden limbs. Valyrym sat just before the sealed exit, his spined tail curled around his paws. Valyrym stared at the stone blocks, his frills half extended, his ears perked and twitching. Valar bore the same expression whenever gears were turning in his head. In the dim light, Valyrym's eyes were visible only as a dull, golden sheen amidst the black and gray scales of his face.

Whatever thoughts rolled through the dragon's head, Krek did not want to interrupt them. He eased himself onto his haunches alongside Valyrym, staring at the lines and glyphs spanning the stone blocks. A spherical opening was carved at the center. Arched lines extended from it. More spheres were carved in four other areas, like compass points on a map. Curved channels linked them while breaking the boundaries of other lines.

When Krek saw dust and stone chips littering the floor beneath the wall, he glanced around. Near the corner, a few old furs were draped haphazardly across wooden crates. A stone worker's chisel protruded from beneath the corner of one of the furs. He glanced at the wall again. The lines and circles looked deeper than a dragon's claws alone could carve.

Valyrym's voice broke the silence. "She really is going to kill the Queen, isn't she."

Krek's neck prickled beneath damn pinfeathers. "Unless we stop her."

"You can't." Valyrym's flattened his spines back, his gaze still locked on the wall. "Not her."

"I know. Valar and I already tried." He lifted his wing, exposing the claw wounds across his ribs. "This was the result." He settled his wing. "But if anyone can stop Kylaryn--"

"The only one who ever changed Kylaryn, was Amaleen." Valyrym arched his neck, muscles tensed beneath his black scales. "It was Amaleen who showed her the goodness in humanity, where before she saw only the evils that Illandra set upon our clan." Something dark crept into the dragon's voice. It was the same menacing growl from the night before. Somewhere in Valyrym's soul, a monster still lurked. "And then Illandra burned her alive in her own home. Her death ruined me, but it scarred Kylaryn, too. That poison ate away my soul, but if this is Kylaryn's path, then the same poison now lies within her. It will eat away at her bit by venomous bit until all she sees is vengeance and victory. Blood for blood. It is inescapable."

Krek's wings hung limp. "We have to try, Valyrym. You're the only option I have left."

"Do you know what I realized?" Valyrym tilted his head to gaze up at an air vent. A hint of blue sky shone beyond it. A warm, summer breeze wafted through, carrying the scents of blossoms and the strains of jubilant music in the distance. "I put this idea in her head. Before I left my home, I told her to lead them."

"Valyrym, I don't think--"

"We grow old, she and I, but some memories remain sharp. When I close my eyes, I can still see Amaleen's face. I hear the people cheering for her." Valyrym sniffed, pain shone wet and gold in his eyes, glowing in a shaft of sunlight. "I still remember how that place changed Kylaryn, how happy she was when they built her a home. When she closes her eyes, she hears me tell her to lead Aran'alia. And she has."

"Valyrym, I need to know." Krek lifted a paw, hesitated, and set it upon Valyrym's shoulder. "Will she listen to you?"

Valyrym glanced at the gryphon's paw, baring his fangs. "Kylaryn has never listened to me, Bird."

Krek murmured, lifting his crown feathers a little. "Your son thinks she might, now."

Valyrym stiffened. More emotions than Krek could ever count whirled in his golden eyes. "What do you mean?"

Krek squeezed Valyrym's shoulder, softening his voice. "Valar says you are a claw in her heart she can never remove. That the more armor she puts around her heart, the more she tries to close off that memory, the deeper into her soul it digs. He sees it in her eyes when your name is spoken, when those memories are stirred. How she wishes she could forget you and yet she cannot. That you will always be the only wound she can never close."

Valyrym crumpled beneath the weight of Krek's words. His ears pinned back, his frills drooped. The wetness in his golden eyes grew into tears that ran down the graying scales of his muzzle. The old dragon turned his head, lifted a paw to wipe at his eyes. His wings shook as he sought to steady himself. Krek knew his words were a hammer against whatever was left of Valyrym's heart, and yet there was nothing he could do but strike again. He set his paw atop Valyrym's, hoping the dragon would find as much comfort in the gesture as his son would.

"Valar and I believe--"

"You conspire with my son against his mother?" Valyrym's voice was an angry hiss. A furious ghost flared to life in his eyes, a golden flame that burned for only a moment before it was vanquished again.

"We seek only to stop this madness. Valar thinks that...that if Kylaryn sees you...it...well..." Krek took a deep breath. "Valyrym, words fail me. I assure you, that is a rare occurrence. Suffice it to say, your son and I believe you're the only one with a chance to stop her. Do you..." Krek stared down at their paws. Valyrym's gray-tinged fingers stuck out from beneath his black ones. It was strange, resting his paw upon that of the old bastard himself. "Valyrym, is there any chance at all?"

"I don't know." Valyrym glanced down at the gryphon's paw, as if only now noticing it upon his own. "If I am truly so grievous a wound upon her heart, would my arrival be balm or poison?"

"Only one way to find out." Krek shook himself, feathers rustling. Valyrym went silent, and Krek shifted, uneasy. If only Kathlyn was here to put her arms around his neck, stroke his feathers. Tell him it would be alright. "She only wants peace, you know. Kathlyn."

"I know, Bird."

"Wants to free Aran'alia." Krek stared into the distance. Kathlyn's smile shone in his mind, and gave him strength. "Other lands, too. She wants to atone for Illandra's sins before her kingdom crumbles beneath their weight."

Valyrym rumbled in amusement, though Krek did not see the humor. "I know, Bird. I have heard her say as much when she came to see me. And I believe her, because I saw the honesty in her eyes." Valyrym lifted his head, his frills extending. "Actually...Kylaryn needs to look into her eyes."

"What?" Krek tilted his head with a curious warble. "Why?"

"Because if she does, she'll see Amaleen, and she might not be able to kill her."

Krek fluffed himself up, clicking his beak. "I don't understand."

Valyrym growled, dragged a paw down his muzzle. "The Queen has Amaleen's eyes. They're damn near identical. It's hard to explain, but I think they share blood."

"Impossible."

"Is it?" Valyrym lashed his tail, spines grinding on stone. "The Mad King had no direct decedents when he tossed himself off that tower, correct? They had to search far and wide for suitable heirs?"

"Yes, but--"

"And were their not Illandrans of royal bloodlines serving as soldiers and officers in their wars of conquest?"

"Well, yes, but that hardly proves--"

Valyrym unsheathed his claws, talons flexing the floor. "Amaleen was an orphan, fathered by an Illandran soldier with an Aran'alian woman. If the man had royal blood, it explains why her mother would send her away, fearing what might happen to her. I swear to you, gryphon, when I look in the Queen's eyes, I see Amaleen's reflection."

Krek ground his beak. He lashed his tufted tail a few times. It was damn outlandish, but it wasn't as if Krek had any other ideas. "It's a start, anyway. First thing we have to do is get you out of here, if you'll let me."

Valyrym curled his tail to knead it with his fore paws. "You think I'd say no to freedom?"

"As long as you've been here, I had feared you would have trepidations about leaving so unexpectedly."

Valyrym snarled. "Trepidations? Given why you want to free me, it's more like a shaking terror. But I'd give anything to feel the sunshine again, to feel the wind under my wings."

"Let's just hope they still work." Before the dragon could reply, he gestured at the carved wall with his own wing. "Is this sigil Aran'alian?"

Valyrym glared at Krek long enough for the gryphon to wonder if he should move further away. "It is. It means freedom." Valyrym finally turned his smoldering gaze away. "I once called it my escape plan."

"Because of the Death in the Night agents who used to sneak in here, right?"

Valyrym's head snapped back around. He flashed his fangs at the gryphon, and Krek's belly tightened. "How did you know that?"

"I know a lot of things." Krek forced himself to meet the dragon's glare, tingling beneath his crown feathers. "I've read every report on you. I've heard so much more from..." He trailed off, flattening his ears back. "Sorry. You probably don't want to know."

Valyrym tilted his head. A strange sort of hope glowed in his eyes. "Did you really grow up with him?"

Krek smiled, happy memories drifting through his mind. "For most of my adolescence."

"How...how did you...?" Valyrym's spines rose and fell, his mouth opened and closed, but only jumbled syllables crossed his tongue.

"It is a very long story, Valyrym." Krek opened one of his black-feathered wings, and stretched it out. When Valyrym did not pull away, Krek laid his wing across the old dragon. "For now, suffice it to say your son saved me from myself, and in so doing, saved my life. There are two people in this world I would die for. Kathlyn, and Valaranyx."

Valyrym shrunk beneath the gryphon's wing, as if the mere thought of his son left him curled up, adrift in memory. "He sounds...honorable."

"He is." Krek sighed and left it at that. "Now we need to get you out of here." Krek glanced at the urd'thin cleaning in the distance. "Firstly, where is Alia?"

"Banished." Valyrym spat the word like bile. His tail struck the floor so hard his spines chipped stone. "For punishing the one who gave me this." Valyrym ran a single finger across the pink scar spanning his gray nostrils.

"What?" Krek's reply came out as a squawk so avian it would have embarrassed him if he wasn't suddenly so furious. "For knocking around that pompous, sadistic brat? Damn it, Kathlyn." Krek hissed, silver display feathers flared around his head, wings and tail. "That would have been the perfect time to kick an outdated tradition in its stuck-up ass!"

Valyrym laughed, low and rumbling. He curled his neck to smirk in Krek's face, close enough to make the gryphon pull back. "Suddenly I'm starting to like you, Bird."

"Lucky me." Krek ruffled his feathers, still seething. Surely Kathlyn had been trying to cut the girl a break without trampling the law. But damn it, there were times a Queen should trample the law."Where is Alia now?"

"She resides in the city. Why do you need her?" Valyrym held up a paw, claw tips waving in the air. "Aside from the fact that under no circumstances will I leave here without her."

"I assumed as much. Aside from that, she possesses the purest ghost stone I've ever seen." Krek gestured with his beak. "Large enough to put quite a dent in this wall here, were it placed in the right spot."

"Oh?" Valyrym waved his paw at the deep, circular hole in the center of the freedom sigil there. "Like there?"

Krek gasped, then warbled laughter. "You sneaky lizard!"

"It's not my doing." Valyrym flexed his wings. "Enric and the others have been cutting it deeper. He makes it sound as though Kathlyn's put him up to it. Something about a plan, and groundwork."

Krek tilted his head till he was almost staring at the carving sideways. "If you escaped, she wouldn't have to free you. And if the conspirators fled with you, there'd be no one to charge with treason."

"Smart woman, your queen." Valyrym snorted at the gryphon. "But I doubt one stone will be enough. You know, you look like a curious owl tilting your head that way."

Krek straightened his head out. "I'm far more majestic than any owl." He clacked his beak. "Let me worry about how many stones we need. The Silver Rain blood needed to activate them is just as important."

"That's the part that worries me." A shadow passed across Valyrym's golden eyes. "The blood."

"She'll be fine, Valyrym." Krek reached out and squeezed the dragon's paw again. "We won't need that much, especially if there's anyone else who can contribute. As difficult as this is, it needs to happen right away."

Valyrym nodded, his spines sagging against his head. "I can send Vatch for her. They won't let her into the castle, though."

"I'll take care of that." Krek grinned, splaying his crown feathers. "Believe it or not, I do have a bit of pull around here. I'll be sure Elvir understands the importance of this."

"Elvir?" Valyrym cocked his head. "The prince?"

"Yes. Considering we're trying to save his mother, I think I can secure his assistance. If not? We'll do it our damn selves. Either way, it hinges on Alia." Krek gave the dragon an open beak grin. "Send your furry helper to find her, and I'll go see the prince."

"You're not going anywhere." Valyrym rose to all fours and gently grasped Krek's wing with a paw, peering beneath it. "Not until a healer sees to you. Elvir can visit you here if he must. I promise not to eat him."

Krek's feather's bristled and he tugged his wing back. "I don't have time--"

Valyrym growled, raising his spines. "You passed out, Bird. I dragged you across my dungeon and you didn't even stir. I refuse to let you leave until a healer tells me you won't die halfway up the stairs. Besides, there's something else I want."

Krek sighed. He lacked the strength to argue with the dragon. "What is it?"

Valyrym's voice grew soft. "I want you to tell me about my son."

*****

Chapter Ten

*****

"It's not negotiable, Bird."

Valyrym limped away from his old escape plan, his tail spines swishing in the air. If he was stuck with this gryphon a while, he may as well learn about his son. Preferably the happier parts of Valar's life. The thought of Valar living a happy life would ease his burden a while.

"Come here, Feathers." Late morning sunlight streaming through the air vent dappled his favorite maroon carpet with mottled gold. Valyrym patted the rug. "Settle your furry ass down and wait for the healers."

Vatch walked up and patted the dragon. "You do okay?"

Valyrym nuzzled at Vatch's ears. The warm fur tickled the soft skin around his nostrils. "I'm still alive. That will have to do." Valyrym glanced over at Krek. The gryphon hadn't moved. "Vatch, I need you to fetch Alia soon."

Vatch stroked the dragon's scales. "Vatch go now?"

"No, we'll wait until the healers look at him, in case we need him to strut about in front of someone important to have Alia readmitted."

"That make sense." Vatch splayed his big ears, his muzzle scrunching. He rubbed his furry hands together. "Vatch maybe...try read book, stay calm."

Valyrym canted his head, then flared his nostrils, sniffing at Vatch. The urd'thin's scent was soured by hints of anxiety. Valyrym licked Vatch's ear. "That's a good idea."

Vatch shoved Valyrym's muzzle with a playful growl. "No licking! Vatch fur nice and clean! You behave while Vatch have stick!"

"Actually, I don't see your stick anywhere."

Vatch glanced at his belt, then gave a dog-like yip of alarm. "Arp! Where Vatch put stick?" He scrambled off to find his weapon.

Valyrym turned his attention back to the gryphon. Krek scowled at him. At least Valyrym thought it was a scowl. It was hard to tell with the beak and all. The front half of his beak looked as sharp and immobile as that of the hawks that roamed Aran'alia's skies. But the back half of the gryphon's beak looked softer, more mobile, twisting with his words and expressions. Valyrym snorted. Gryphons were odd. At least the pinned ears and narrowed eyes were easy to read.

When Krek glanced at the double doors, Valyrym thumped his tail against the stone floor, spines clattering. "Don't even think about it. I can still cross this chamber in a heartbeat. If I have to come get you, I'll--"

"Yes, yes." The gryphon waved his paw. "Drag me by my balls, I get it."

Valyrym looked him over. "Luckily for you, you haven't enough for me to get a grip on."

"Only because they'd never fit in your paw." Krek mantled his wings, hissing. His crown feathers flared around his head.

"Cause they're too damn small." Valyrym slapped the carpet. "Get over here before I yank every one of those tacky silver feathers off your head."

The bird gave a very exaggerated sigh. "If I must." He limped towards the dragon, one slow, groaning step at a time. "Oooh. Oooh, my wounds hurt."

"Gods, but you're a pain under my scales." Valyrym moved aside so the gryphon could climb the ledge. "Surprised my son hasn't beaten the shit out of you, too."

Krek warbled. The sound was somber and melancholy, like a regretful songbird. "He has, once." He rubbed his chest with a forepaw, ruffling the damp feathers. "You are not the first of your line to put me in my place." He eased down onto his belly, staring at Valar's portrait.

Valyrym was surprised by the reverence with which Krek looked at Valar's portrait. "Is...that accurate?"

"It's very close." Krek tilted his head, examining it. "Coloration's a bit outdated. His horns have more of an arch. He's a little bigger in a few areas."

"Bigger?" Valyrym curled his tail and toyed with a spine, confused. Then he jerked his head up, frills flared. He narrowed his eyes, snarling. "You'd better be talking about his paws."

"Vatch find stick!" Vatch walked up to the dragon, grinning. He thumped his white oak mace against his palm.

Valyrym glanced at him, then glared at the gryphon. "Well?"

Krek lowered his head, ears flattened. His beak hung half open in a sheepish, avian grin. "Let's...assume that I am."

"Oh, Gods." Valyrym rubbed the base of a horn. He closed his eyes, head spinning.

"Oh, is bad time?" Vatch glanced between Valyrym and Krek, then scrambled up onto the ledge. "Vatch take books and go." He dropped his club into his box of books and clambered back down. "Vatch be in dragon sleeping chamber if need."

Krek tilted his head, staring at Valyrym. "I didn't think dragons really..." Krek gulped and ruffled his feathers. Valyrym growled while the bird sought the right words. "...Cared...if someone found...say, their own...gender..."

Valyrym snapped his jaws and hissed. "Get one thing clear, Bird. So long as my son is happy, I do not care who he finds attractive."

"Oh. Good!" Krek ruffled his ebony feathers. "Then you don't care that he and I--"

"I don't care that you're male, no." Valyrym lowered his head till his muzzle nearly brushed Krek's beak. "I do care that you're a smarmy, smug, secretive little gryphon."

Krek growled at the dragon, not backing down. "So you have a bias against gryphons!"

Valyrym shook his head, his frill spines rattling. "My bias is against you."

"Me?" Krek fluffed himself up like a defiant raven. "What did I do?"

Valyrym only glared at him.

Krek's feathers slowly sank back against his body. "If it makes you feel any better, it's not as though we're mates."

Valyrym flattened his ears back, wishing he could forget this entire conversation. "I'm not surprised. I always thought you gryphons changed lovers like you change moods. Far be it from a gryphon to make such a commitment."

Krek jerked his head back around, snapping at him. "Have you made that commitment?"

"Yes." Valyrym growled, unsheathing his claws. "Twice. Careful where you tread, Bird."

Krek's anger melted as fast as it arrived. With his feathers slicked back, he seemed half as big as he was only a moment earlier. "I'm sorry. I...I didn't mean that. But what you said...about gryphons."

Valyrym heaved a sigh. "Perhaps we both crossed a line."

Krek dragged a single, unsheathed claw in a circle through the dark red carpet. "You're not wrong, about some of us. When I met Valar, he thought his father was dead, and I wished mine was. Though Valar lost you, a part of me envied him to have had a father that was ever there for him at all. My father was..." He balled his paw into a fist, hissing. "A hero to everyone but me. My mother was naïve, smitten with the great war hero. Loved him so much she named me after him."

Krek was silent for a little while. When he spoke again, bitterness and bile coated his voice like poison on a blade. "But she was never enough for him. He was...just like you say we are, a smug bastard drifting from lover to lover. All...all my mother ever wanted was for him to stay with her, someday. Seeing him with others, it tore her apart. I hated him for it. To think of myself doing that to anyone? Let alone someone I care for as deeply as your son? To think that any part of me is like the worst part of him, I despise myself for a moment."

Tendrils of icy guilt encircled Valyrym's heart. He turned his head away, gritting his teeth. He curled his tail around a hind limb. "I am...sorry, I didn't..."

"It's alright." Krek shook himself, ruffling up again. He yawned and stretched a wing as if to politely cover his gaping beak. His foreleg shifted, half hidden behind black feathers. Clever bird was probably wiping his eyes. "It's not as if I don't want a mate." He folded his wing back, his green eyes wet and slightly bloodshot. "But Kathlyn...well, you see her position...She can't really...even our feelings! We know, but...she cannot..."

"I understand, Bird. A queen can hardly declare her open love for a gryphon."

"No." Krek swallowed hard, staring at his paws. "She cannot. Perhaps when Elvir takes the throne, and she can retire somewhere peaceful." He chirped a few times, tail swishing. "Your son and I...almost..."

Valyrym tilted his head, smiling. "You were...that close, were you?" It was nice to think of Valar happy with a mate, whoever it might be.

"We were. But the winds did not carry us that way, and in time we each found someone else. I envy Valar for being able to take a mate, whereas Kathlyn and I..." Krek sighed, his wings drooping. "Even secrets can be a heavy burden."

Valyrym's heart fluttered. His tongue was like lead, unable to do anything but flop about dumbfounded, let alone form words. Valar...Valar had taken... "Wh...wh...what?"

"Oh!" The gryphon's bright green eyes went wide, black furred ears perked. "You wouldn't know! Yes, Valar has..." He trailed off, cocking his head. "Are those voices?"

Valyrym hissed, baring all his fangs. Before he could smack an explanation out of the gryphon, he heard voices drifting in from the distance. He swiveled his ears towards the sounds, then snatched the gryphon's beak in his paw. "You stay here. And when I return, you're going to explain!"

Valyrym hopped off the ledge and trotted to the doors with fresh exuberance. Had he heard that right? Did Valar have a mate? The possibility filled him with joyful energy, but before he could contemplate it, someone with even more energy bounded through the doorway. Purple and blue frills cascaded down Kaylen's ruffled dress as she ran into the chamber. She whirled towards the dragon.

"There you are, Valyrym!" Long black hair done up in red ribbons swished around her head as she skidded to a stop.

"Where else would I be?" The dragon tossed his head. "You have terrible timing."

"I'm sorry." Kaylen clasped her hands, her face flushed. "Thomas and I have been looking everywhere for that big lug."

"What big lug?" Valyrym peered through the doorway. Thomas stood in the antechamber, nervously clutching his gray vest.

"What?" Kaylen spun towards the doorway. "Oh, where's he gone now?"

"Who?" Valyrym's spined tail curled.

"Enric." Kaylen stepped towards the doors, calling out. "Enric! Enriiiiiic!"

Valyrym turned his wedge-shaped head away, pinning his ears. "Kaylen! I'd like to keep what's left of my hearing!"

Thomas strode forward, a finger to his lips. "Hush, Kaylen. They'll be here any moment."

"Who will?!" Valyrym stomped a paw and thumped his tail against the floor.

"The healers you asked for." Thomas glanced at the far corner, and called over his shoulder. "Have you a space, Enric?"

Enric's voice was muffled by walls and doors, but not inaudible. "Yeah. Bring it, quickly."

Thomas hurried into the main dungeon chamber, Kaylen right on his heels.

Valyrym strode alongside them, rustling his wings in growing irritation. "What! Are you! Doing?"

"You've asked for the castle's healers to come into your dungeon to tend the Queen's gryphon, grievously wounded under mysterious circumstances. And who may or may not be your hostage." Thomas shot the dragon a glare. "For some reason, Enric and I decided that the last thing the healers need to see right now are big boxes of stone cutting tools!"

Valyrym arched his neck, incredulous. "He's not my hostage. That feathered idiot came down here of his own accord."

"And yet you won't let him leave." Thomas crouched down in the corner, tossed an old blanket aside, and picked up a wooden box filled with chisels and hammers. "Kaylen, grab the other one, will you?"

"Sure thing." Kaylen picked up the second crate, kicked a few piles of stone dust aside, and then followed Thomas to the exit.

"It's for his own good." Valyrym padded along next to them. "And because I want him to tell me about Valar. Which he was just starting to do when you showed up."

"Kaylen!" Thomas snapped back at Kaylen from the antechamber.

"Right, Thomas." Kaylen glared at the dragon, holding her box in front of her. "We're not in the mood for your lip, Dragon! Not after what you told us this morning. So drop the attitude, or you'll get a kick right in the stones." Kaylen waggled her shoe at him then followed Thomas out. She called back. "And all the healers will see you on the floor."

Valyrym muttered under his breath. "...Should kick the gryphon. It's his fault." Kaylen soon reemerged, dusting off her hands. Valyrym backed away from her, narrowing his eyes. "I'm not letting you get behind me anymore."

Kaylen wagged a finger. "Just don't act like a scaly ass. You're not the only one who's worried and stressed and scared! It's just...no one expects to wake up and learn this might be their last day to ever see a friend." Kaylen swallowed, glancing away, her face darkening.

Valyrym pulled his head back, his neck curling into an S. He hadn't considered that. He'd take Alia, but the others? In his younger days he'd no trouble carrying two riders, but now? Gods, could he even fly? Valyrym spread his wings, staring at them. He'd exercised them best he could over the years, but his membranes looked worn and tattered along their gray edges. Worry twisted the dragon's bowels into cold knots. Flight would not be easy.

"Sorry, Kaylen." Valyrym pulled his wings back, bowing his head. "I shall try to tamp down my attitude if you will try not to kick me in the stones." He smirked.

"Fair enough, Dragon." Kaylen threw her arms around his muzzle and hugged him to her chest. "It's just...so sudden! So much could go wrong. It's...no, I mean, I'm worried but...you're my friend, Valyrym. I don't want to have to say goodbye to you so suddenly!"

"Alright, alright..." Valyrym rubbed her back before he tried to extricate his head from her grasp. "Let's worry about one thing at a time. The bird's more convinced I'll be leaving today than I am."

"Oh, the bird!" Kaylen backed away, once more all smiles and energy. Still, even Valyrym could tell a brave face on a fearful girl. "Can I talk to him? I'd like to pet him. I've never seen a gryphon up close. I bet he's soft and fluffy and snuggly."

"He's also a smarmy, pompous ass."

"You and he must get along famously, then." Thomas walked up alongside Kaylen.

"Funny, Thomas." Valyrym lashed his tail. "Where's Enric?"

"Hiding the tools in the office." Thomas slipped an arm around Kaylen's shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Kaylen leaned into his touch and they shared a smile before Thomas glanced at the door. "He came down here with us while the healers where gathering their things."

"Everything's stashed away," Enric said as he strode through the doors. "Healers are on the stairs. I went straight to the healers Her Majesty and I trust most, but I also made sure to tell them the gryphon was injured before he came down here. Also told them the Black Bird must be down here on official business and we'd best not speculate why."

"Hello to you too, Enric." Valyrym canted his head, peering down at Enric. "Back to your armor, I see. Just when I was used to having you around in regular clothes."

Enric looked ready for a war. He wasn't even wearing his usual guard armor. Instead he bore a mixture of heavy chain and steel plates over thick leather, his helmet crammed over his red-haired head. He had a sword on either hip, and an axe strapped across his back.

Enric ran a hand over a steel plate. "Not every day The Prisoner's holding a valuable hostage."

Valyrym snarled, beating his wings against the air. The gusts sent Thomas and Kaylen stumbling, but Enric stood his ground. "For the last time, I am not holding him hostage!"

"Enric, help!" Krek yelled across the prison. He smirked at Valyrym. "I'm being held hostage!"

Valyrym snarled and glared at Krek, yelling right back. "If that stupid bird doesn't tell me about my son, I'm going to squeeze his gryphon balls until he sings like the Queen's Choir!" At that point Valyrym caught sight of a trio of women in the doorway, staring at him with wide eyes and open mouths. "Oh, damn!" Valyrym flopped back onto his haunches, his nose and frills flushing. "I hope you heard the whole thing, not just..." Valyrym sighed, and tossed his head towards Krek. "Just go tend the stupid bird."

Enric shook his head, laughed, and then escorted the healers across the dragon's prison. All three women wore blue and gold vestments and carried boxes of supplies. The oldest woman gave the dragon a glance and a wide birth, clucking her tongue. The second woman's face was flushed almost purple, the crate she held shook a little as she passed the dragon. The youngest woman looked as though she were fighting a valiant battle against an army comprised entirely of the giggles.

Valyrym liked the third woman.

Thomas poked the dragon's plated chest. "I did tell you they were almost here."

Valyrym circled his paw in the air. "Yes, Thomas. I was just trying to get...Oh, I've an idea." Valyrym rose to all fours. Ignoring the ache in his hind leg, he trotted after the healers, calling out. "You're probably all wondering why he's here."

Krek shot the dragon a dirty look. "Later, Valyrym."

Valyrym took a seat near the ledge, out of the way of the healers. "He's here on a humanitarian mission, you see. The Queen's sent him to tell me about my son. So, gryphon, you were saying?"

"I can't spill state secrets in front of these lovely ladies!" Krek flicked his wing at the healers as they set their crates on the ledge.

"I hardly think The Prisoner's estranged son counts as a state secret." Enric climbed onto the ledge, then offered his hand to the women.

"I'm inclined to agree, Guard Captain." The oldest of the three women took his hand and clambered up the ledge. "Thank you." She glanced at the gryphon, smoothing her vestments. "Besides, it's not though you haven't spilled secrets around us before. You had plenty to tell the Queen while we were pulling arrows from your haunches."

"You got arrows in your ass?" Valyrym rumbled a growling laugh, his wings shaking.

"Oh, shut up." Krek lashed his tail.

Enric helped the other two women up, then gestured at each in turn. "May I present Bekany, Madeline, and Jakira, the Queen's personal healers. And the only three she trusts to look after Krek when he gets in trouble."

"Or gets arrows in his ass." Valyrym rumbled. "How delightful!"

"Like you've never had an arrow in your ass." Krek hissed through his beak, then glared at the women. "Anyway, that was different! I was only talking because of the herbs."

The youngest of the healers, Jakira, giggled as she piled gauze and sinew threads upon a clean cloth. "Krek, I should think you'd be more worried about what the dragon said he was going to do."

The third woman gave her a horrified look. "Jakira!"

"Oh, please, Madeline. Not as though we've never had to examine him there."

She shook her finger at the younger woman. "That doesn't mean you should encourage the beasts to indulge their less civilized natures!"

"You had to examine his balls?" Valyrym lifted his spines, his maw split wide with a grin. This was getting better and better. "Let me guess, you found them underdeveloped and insignificant?"

"Wouldn't know, actually." Jakira laughed, inspecting a large stitching needle in the lamp light. "Never had another gryphon to compare them to." She set the needle down. "It was after a training mishap, actually."

Bekany, the oldest woman, pulled a few jars of salve from her crate. "I've never heard such a squawk before or after. Thought the poor bird had shattered something."

"Ladies!" Krek recoiled, his ears flattened in humiliated horror. "Enough!"

Enric gave Valyrym a smirk. "That's the other reason I asked these three. They're used to holding their own around mouthy creatures a lot bigger than they are. I told them you're just a big kitten, but...you know."

"You told them what?"

Madeline swallowed, glancing at the dragon. Her face was pale beneath her reddish hair. "Thought he'd be on the other side of the room, though." She pulled a few things from her basket with shaking hands.

"You need not worry," Valyrym said, soft as he could.

"That's quite the scar you have on your nose." Jakira stared at him. "Looks recent. Is that from--"

"Jakira." Bekany sharpened her voice, glaring. "You shouldn't ask such things.

"Sorry." Jakira looked away, then glanced back at the dragon. "I meant no offense."

Bekany watched Valyrym. The way she had her graying hair done up in a bun behind her head gave her a stern look, but her expression did not seem angry. "Since it's been mentioned..." Bekany pursed her lips, her dark eyes wandering Valyrym's many scars. "I was at your warden's trial. Heard the descriptions of your wounds." She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "While I never condone retaliation, I also cannot condone what that man did to you. I hope your wounds trouble you no longer."

Valyrym lifted his gray-tinged ears. The unexpected nature of the woman's words made them all the sweeter. He bowed his head, smiling. "Thank you."

"Armadine." Jakira snorted, settling next to Krek. She brushed brown hair out of her eyes. "That man's gears are missing a cog."

"Jakira!"

"Sorry!"

"She's right, you know." Krek shook his forequarters, and ruffled his crown feathers. "There's something wrong with that little weasel. He's a terrible influence on Elvir. His whole damn family's a blight on the very province they rule."

Jakira nudged the gryphon black-furred shoulder. "We certainly don't need a family of torturers running a province."

Krek eased over onto his side, lifting up his wing. "No." He glanced at Valyrym. "We do not. They've been a thorn in Kathlyn's side for far too long." Krek warbled in thought. "Armadine...yes." He drummed claw tips against the carpet. "It has to be."

Valyrym's tail tip twitched back and forth, spines dragged against stone. The herbs Vatch had given the damn bird had him off in his own little world. "As much as I appreciate that you despise my tormentor, I asked about my son!"

Bekany knelt alongside Jakira, next to the gryphon. "Will you just tell this old creature about his child, already? Take your mind off what I'm about to do."

Krek blinked a few times as if dragging himself from some deep fog of thought. He chirped. "Hrrmp? Oh! Of course." He flexed a forepaw, beak shifting into a smile. "First thing you should know is that Valar has lived a very happy, very peaceful life for many years now. He lives in a human village, actually, in a small country called Denoria. When he was younger, he and his mother helped plant apple--AAAH!" Krek yowled, beating his wings above the healers' heads. "Not so rough! Believe it or not, rent flesh is quite tender."

"That's not your only problem." Bekany snapped at the gryphon, then thumped her fingers against his beak. Krek blinked and jerked his head back. "You've new scar tissue alongside fresh wounds. You've stitches popped out and scars torn open. What's wrong with you, Bird?"

Valyrym was starting to like her.

Krek mumbled something, glaring at his own front paws as if they'd insulted him.

"What was that?"

Krek unsheathed his claws, dragged ruts through the red carpet. "I did not have time to let them finish healing."

"What caused these wounds?" Jakira smeared something on a pad of gauzy bandage. The scent tickled Valyrym's nostrils with a familiar bitterness. "This will hurt, but then you'll feel better."

Krek hissed and splayed his forepaws in pain when Jakira pushed the bandage against his wounds. He grit his beak and tossed his head, voice strained. "A dragon. Who, I might add, I'd already beaten. Little bastard just snuck up on me."

"You can't have beaten him if he was still able to do that." Valyrym stretched his wing, gazing down at the tattered edges. He could only hope they'd support him when the time came. "Was it one of hers? I assume she has gathered others by now."

"It was." Krek squirmed till the salve took effect. "Thankfully, your son rearranged that bronze runt's ribs and helped me get to safety."

"Oh?" Valyrym lifted his head, pulling his wing back. "Valar is a good fighter, then?" Pride swelled his chest plates and flared his spines. "His scars...do not...?"

"They don't prevent him from beating the hell out of someone, no." Krek winced when the women worked to clean his wound. "He's a damn fine fighter, actually."

"Wonderful!" Valyrym smiled till his jaws ached. So Valar was strong, he could win fights. Wait, why was he fighting? "He doesn't fight often, does he?"

"Not so rough, I said!" Krek snapped his beak at Jakira when she put a stitch through his wounded flesh. He hissed, splaying the toes of his hind paws. "Valar doesn't fight any more than the other dragons."

"Other dragons?" Valyrym's excitement was like a living thing, trying to escape him with every word. "You mean Kylaryn's other dragons? Or there are others in Valar's village? Has he formed a clan? Who is he fighting with? Is it friendly fighting, mostly? Oh! You mention a mate? He has a mate? Tell me about his mate!"

Krek groaned, flattening his ears. "One question at a time. Gods, you're as bad as his daughter."

Krek kept talking, but the gryphon's words faded to distant birdsong. The healers moved at half pace, then froze entirely. Valyrym's heart stopped, then beat a single time, then stopped, then beat again. Each heartbeat was thunder in his ears. Then silence. A single moment stretched into quiet eternity as that single phrase sunk into his mind, and reached for his buried heart.

His daughter.

"Vllrrhrraoughtrrr?" Valyrym's tongue refused to cooperate.

"What?" Krek cocked his head. "I hope you're not having a stroke, you old lizard."

"Valar..." Time wound forward again, and Valyrym twisted his tongue around his words. "Has a daughter?"

Krek's eyes widened. "Oops. Seems I've skipped to the end." He smiled and lowered his head, ears perked. "Yes, Valyrym. Valar has a daughter, and she's beautiful."

"Valar has a daughter?"

Valyrym's breath seized. His whole body shook. That word was a joyous hammer that shattered the bitter golden walls behind his eyes. That phrase, a knife to the brambles that grew wild around his patchwork heart. Happiness sparkled in his rising voice like jingling chimes and brassy horns blown in celebration.

"Valar has a daughter!"

Valyrym leapt to his paws. In his sudden, gleeful exuberance, he roared at the healers. "Valar has a daughter!" They clapped hands over their ears, and Valyrym ignored them. He trotted along the wall of his prison. "A daughter! A daughter! Valar has a daughter!"

"So we heard!" Kaylen called out from where she and Thomas stood. She laughed, and grinned at the dragon. "Congratulations!"

Thomas laughed with her. "Yes, Congratulations Valyrym!"

Valyrym pranced a lap around the prison. He kicked his hind paws up high every few steps, his tail whipping and lashing at the air. Valar...had...a...daughter! His son was alive, his son could fly, his son could fight, and his son had a daughter. Which meant that Valyrym had a granddaughter. Valyrym skidded to a halt, unsheathed claws scratching at stone.

He had a granddaughter!

Valyrym tipped his head back and roared. The sound that erupted from him was a tide of pure elation given brassy, joyful voice. His roar rolled back and forth, cascading off the stone as if every carving he'd ever made was sharing in his joy. Valyrym reveled in the sound, calling out to every pillar, every graven image, telling them all he had a granddaughter.

Valyrym ran to his collection of barrels. He dunked his head in the good rum and took a long, celebratory drink. It warmed his throat, burned his belly, and left him coughing. The drink's heat left his frills and ears flushed even before he went in for another long swallow. He lifted his head and licked golden droplets off his muzzle.

A stuffed green dragon sat atop another barrel, watching him.

"I have a granddaughter, you cuddly bastard!" Valyrym hurled Cuddly Korvarak across the room at Krek. The gryphon squawked and the healers ducked as the toy soared overhead.

Valyrym bound back through his prison, darting between pillars. Soon, he was running circles around Thomas and Kaylen. Thomas was beaming and Kaylen was giggling so intensely the air was nearly vibrating around her.

"You have a granddaughter!" Kaylen yelled at Valyrym, bouncing on her feet.

Valyrym reared onto his hind legs and snatched Kaylen up in an immense hug.

"ACK!" Kaylen squealed as the dragon hoisted her aloft and squeezed her against his chest plates. She laughed and squirmed, her boots tapping against his belly scales. "I'm happy for you...but...you're squishing me!"

Valyrym laughed, set her down, and turned towards Thomas.

"Oh no," Thomas said, grinning. "You'll break my back! Go hug Enric or Vatch! They've got fur and armor to keep them safe."

"What dragon holler about?" Vatch's voice carried across the prison chamber.

That solved that puzzle. Valyrym whirled around, spined tail lashing the air. He growled, hunkered down and waggled his haunches, then sprang. Valyrym shot across his prison in a beeline for the urd'thin. He crossed the entire chamber in a flash, skidding to a halt just before Vatch. The urd'thin yowled and backpedaled, but could not escape Valyrym's joyful wrath.

Valyrym scooped up the smaller creature and squeezed Vatch against his chest plates. He threw his wedge-shaped head back, trumpeting his celebration. "I have a granddaughter!"

Vatch wheezed and wriggled, flailing his arms. "You...crush...Vatch!"

Valyrym hugged him a few heartbeats longer before setting him down, laughing. "Sorry! I'm just...I have a granddaughter, Vatch! A granddaughter!"

Vatch bent over, rubbing his chest and wincing. "Vatch...celebrate...when can breathe."

The old dragon hopped on his paws, giddy as a hatchling. In all his time in this place, only Alia had ever brought him happiness like this. Alia. That was who he wanted to celebrate with. He wanted to tell her. He needed to tell her. And hug her. And drink with her and laugh with her. And then...then what?

Freedom? The sky? The sun?

Valyrym knew it was too early to hope the bird's plan would work, but it didn't matter.

All that mattered now was Alia.

Valyrym smiled at Vatch. "It's time. Bring Alia back to me."

*****

Chapter Eleven

*****

Alia stood atop an elevated wooden viewing platform, hugging Val Junior. She leaned against the painted rail, overlooking Illandra's largest street. Colorful barricades on either side of the road held back immense crowds of revelers. A wall of city guards in gray and blue uniforms kept order. All through Illandra, the main thoroughfare was closed to make way for the Grand Dragon Day Parade.

The name made her sick. It sounded as if they were celebrating some alliance with dragons, rather than holding one in captivity. Alia wondered how many in the cheering crowd knew what the parade was really celebrating. How many of those roaring their approval of some ancient military victory knew that dragon was still alive, lonely and miserable beneath their city?

After all, while most knew he was there, the importance of his capture had faded with the years. The once-grand enormity of containing a live dragon was now scarcely worthy of note. To the newer generations, it was little more than a historic footnote and a novelty to tell travelers about. Hell, half the city probably thought he'd already died.

It was hard for Alia to blame them. She'd never spared Valyrym a thought until she'd actually met him. In her younger days, she loved the celebration. As a child, she'd never missed a parade. She'd giggled and cheered all the proud knights and the colorful dancers. She'd even fetched a stick and joined the other children when the guards gave them a chance to punish the fake dragon dragged behind carriages.

Back then it was all fun and imagination. She'd never connected it to the life of a real creature. But her mother had. Looking back, Alia's mother never seemed to enjoy the parade as much as she did. One year, she even bought Alia a stuffed dragon, told her it needed a friend. Her mother must have heard a very different version of the dragon's tale growing up in Aran'alia. One land celebrated the capture of a great monster while another mourned the loss of a great hero.

Alia sighed, and hugged Val Junior. If only her mother could see her now.

For a time, Alia considered skipping the parade this year, but ignoring it wouldn't set Valyrym free. She'd decided just to lose herself in the pageantry and amusing stupidity of the whole thing. Later, when her banishment was over, she'd tell Valyrym just how god-awful it was this year.

If nothing else, it was easy enough to be swept up in the city wide party. Taverns were full, shops were crowded, public games and sporting events were scheduled around the city. People packed the parade route all throughout Illandra, cheering and celebrating. The city built tall grandstands wherever space allowed.

Alia arrived early and secured a spot on a platform beneath a towering oak tree. The shade and gentle breeze were a delight on a hot day. She'd tied her long black hair back with a blue ribbon. To stay comfortable, Alia wore a breezy, loose fitting golden-beige sundress with cream colored ruffles around the hem of the skirt.

Even Alia had to admit the city looked beautiful decorated for the parade. Streamers of blue, gray and gold hung from platforms and wooden walkways. Bright ribbons adorned street lamps and tree branches. Merchant stalls in busy areas were painted in festive colors. Banners depicted proud knights in Illandra's colors, dragons bowing in surrender or wreathed in chains.

For the most part, Alia appreciated the artistry of the banners more than the content. A few needed work. One banner made it look as though the dragon was suffering an immense bout of constipation. Another had him posed in an unintentionally awkward way, as if the dragon was attempting to hide his arousal.

Alia giggled. Typical Valyrym.

Roaming merchants made their way through the crowd, selling toys, snacks, and sweets. Alia considered buying her old lizard a wooden dragon toy to remind him of...what had Valar called his toys? Rorgie and Squigg, she thought. She held off when she saw the inflated prices. Instead, she bought a commemorative leather pouch filled with spiced nuts from an Aran'alian vendor. He complimented Val Junior and Alia gave him a hefty tip.

As the man made his way through the crowds, Alia wondered if he worked for Cassilia. Though she felt fewer eyes on her when she visited the market these days, she doubted the old spy had given up that easily. She'd probably just told her agents to keep a lower profile. Alia gazed across the gathered masses, wondering how many of Cassilia's agents were among them. When her banishment was over, maybe she'd have a long talk with Enric. Surely his people were already on top of things, but it never hurt to ask.

While she watched the crowd, Alia ate some of the nuts. A mixture of pecans, almonds and walnuts, all toasted and dusted with a mixture of cinnamon, sugar, and a hint of pepper. They were delicious, and Alia fought the urge to shovel handfuls into her mouth until they were all gone.

Alia spotted plenty of Aran'alians mingling with the crowd. It was easier to be accepted when people were already in a festive spirit. She even saw some urd'thin. Some straddled tree branches and perched on rooftops. A few peeked over the railing of viewing platforms. It was nice to see them accepted outside the Silver Rain district, if only for a single day.

Cheers and the strains of music signaled the parade's approach. People jostled for a better view. Alia made room for children to squeeze up alongside her, smiling when their parents thanked her. She offered the children some nuts and then set the bag on the railing. She cuddled Val Junior, stroking his curled horns as the parade came around the bend.

First came a dozen trumpeters in elaborate, blue and gray vestments. Shields strapped to their backs displayed Illandra's five-towered keep. They marched in perfect lockstep as they played a bright, uplifting version of the Illandran anthem. A roaring cheer nearly drowned out their music. They lowered their instruments in perfect time and marched onward.

Behind them came a line of spearmen in elaborate, silvery plate armor. The armor looked far more ornamental than functional, as did their shining spears. Alia wondered how hot the poor bastards must be in all that armor, marching in the sunlight. An impressive formation of mounted knights on armored warhorses followed just behind. The horses pranced in perfect unison.

A wooden platform pulled by mules adorned with blue and gray ribbons passed by next. Men dressed as archers stood atop the platform and aimed toy bow and arrows at stuffed dragons suspended from wires. Sometimes they tossed similar toys to children in the crowd, encouraging them to shoot down any rampaging dragons.

Musicians in striped clothing followed the float. They played everything from lutes and drums to horns and pipes. A woman sang lyrics that made Alia laugh. It was all about the bawdy things a dragon did to a maiden, and the equally bawdy ways that maiden got revenge. The song was written in a way where the children heard a silly song about a dragon getting a spanking, and the adults knew the true meaning. Alia liked the song. It sounded like they both got a happy ending.

As the parade went on, Alia lost herself in the spectacle. She marveled as dancers twirled and spun bolts of cloth in intricate patterns. When acrobats scaled the viewing platforms and somersaulted back to the street, she gasped and cheered with everyone else. Daredevils hurled knives and fired crossbows at targets held by one another as they strolled down the street. Alia covered Val Junior's eyes as if he couldn't stand to watch.

Soon came a long procession of horses in colorful caparison and riders in matching clothes. Each rider carried the banner of another nation. Marching trumpeters blew horns, and heralds with booming voices announced the names of Illandra's many allies. Alia grinned. These days Illandra publically pronounced anyone who signed even the most minor trade pact to be their "ally."

Alia didn't know half the countries mentioned but some of the flags were fascinating. One banner depicted a vine-draped castle rising from a swamp. Another bore a massive ship silhouetted against a cloud. An intricate banner had a gray citadel in the midst of a blue lake shaped like a dragon, surrounded by red cliffs. Alia suspected some were not official flags, but show pieces dreamed up for the Dragon Day celebration.

Soon after the pageant of allied banners was a float Alia knew she should have hated, and yet she could not help laughing at it. A very large, elaborate black dragon puppet occupied most of the float. The puppet was locked in a stockade. The forelegs were bound to the platform, the hind end raised in the air, and the tail bound to the side. With ropes and poles, puppeteers controlled the dragon's every move. It seemed to be glaring at the crowd as it passed, wriggling against its bindings.

Two women stood behind the dragon. One of them was dressed as the Queen, with an oversized crown, a comically large scepter, and a golden dress. The other woman posed as his warden, with a black wig and bright gold patches on her makeshift warden outfit. Was that woman supposed to be her? Alia giggled, shaking her head. Thankfully no one knew what the "real" warden looked like in person.

The Queen made a show of gesturing to The Warden, then called out in a loud voice. "Proceed!"

The Warden picked up an enormous wooden paddle from a bin atop the float. "You're a very naughty dragon!" She smacked the paddle against the dragon puppet's upraised haunches. So that's why they had him posed that way.

The puppeteers made the dragon squirm, shake his head, and open his mouth. Then someone hidden away called out in a gruff voice. "OW! My ass!"

"Don't say ass!" The Queen waved her scepter. "Again!"

The Warden swung the paddle again, and the dragon gave another yowl. Alia laughed along with the rest of the crowd. A sudden, vivid image of real Valyrym in that pose popped into her mind. She could just imagine his shock if the real Queen returned and ordered her to paddle him for being a smug, scaly ass.

The float moved slowly so the Queen could call out greetings and interact with the crown. She made bawdy jokes and drew cheers and laughter. When someone yelled, "down with the crown", the Queen replied with the most obscene gesture Alia had ever seen. Ooh, she liked whoever was playing the Queen. So did the crowd. The longer her act went on the more people cheered.

"Any special requests from my subjects in the stands?" The Queen shielded her eyes with her oversized scepter, peering up into the viewing platforms.

Alia kept her request to herself. 'Set him free' wouldn't go over well.

A woman called out in a moment of quiet. "Get the dragon in the balls, Your Majesty!"

"Nooooo!" The dragon's voice cried out, and the puppeteers shook the dragon's head. "Not again!"

"In the bollocks it is!" The fake queen hiked up her dress and kicked the dragon puppet behind the hind legs.

"OOOOOOOHHH!" The man voicing the dragon gave an exaggerated cry, and the puppeteers made the dragon's mouth fly open, his limbs flailing. "My bollocks again!"

Alia laughed with the crowd. If only they knew how close to reality the puppet show was. She held up Val Junior, and curled him as if he was cupping himself in sympathy. That drew laughs around her, and she smiled. A shame she couldn't watch that theater troupe all day. If they were a local group, perhaps she'd hire them to entertain the real Valyrym. Wouldn't that be a shock for the old beast. They'd better come up with a new show first.

A cavalcade of colorful jesters followed the theater troupe. Some performed tumbling routines and threw sweets to children. Others tossed knives back and forth. A group of woman casually juggled flaming torches. Every so often, one took a swig from a flask then spat the contents into the torch flame to create an immense fireball. Every roiling eruption of fire made the crowd cheer.

Across the road, someone caused a commotion as they pushed through the crowd. Soon a well-dressed urd'thin clambered up the barricade. Chocolate brown fur spilled out over clothing the color of polished slate. Black stitching lined his long sleeves. Alia grinned when she recognized him. No doubt Vatch was trying to meet her at her house, as usual. Poor absent-minded Urd' thin must have forgotten it was the day of the parade.

One of the guards walked to Vatch and pointed into the crowd. Vatch tapped at the gold warden emblem on his shoulder. The guard just pointed back into the crowd again. They weren't going to let people stand on the barricades or cross the road, warden or otherwise. She hoped Vatch wasn't going to get himself in trouble.

Maybe if Vatch knew she was there, they could meet up after the parade. Alia called out to the urd'thin, but her voice was lost amidst the cheers of thousands. She waved her arms, but everyone else was waving too. After a few attempts, she gave up trying to get Vatch to notice her. The urd'thin climbed down from the barricade, and slipped back into the crowd. Poor Vatch. If she didn't see him later that day, she'd buy him lunch tomorrow.

As a few more floats passed by, an entertaining idea bubbled in Alia's head. If only Valyrym's prison had a gate instead of a stone wall. She could have had him chained and leashed to lead him down the street in the parade. Let the people see the dragon himself. And she'd forget about locking those chains, and off they'd fly.

Alia giggled. If only it were that easy for The Dread Sky to rise again.

Ooh, she should add that line into her next poem revision.

When she saw the next float, Alia's smile faded. A team of immense horses pulled a platform of heavy stone blocks atop an iron frame. Chains and heavy shackles were affixed to all four sides. Alia cringed and balled up her fists. Instead of a captive dragon, a trio of red-headed warriors prowled around the stone slab, waving at the crowd amidst displays of weaponry. Two of them were men, and the third was a woman. The two men wore elaborate studded leather, but the woman wore armor made from green dragon hide.

Alia's belly lurched and threatened to upend its contents onto the crowds below the viewing platform. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Could it? Alia squeezed her eyes shut. She swallowed a few times, fighting nausea. That armor was the same color as the head in Jena's bar. Those three probably sold it to her. She shivered, but her nauseous chill turned to fiery anger when the crowd cheered the passing dragon slayers.

Flames danced in Alia's emerald gaze. The female dragonslayer strutted around, showing off her armor. What kind of sick person...Alia dug her nails into her palms. She wondered if they'd slain some human warlord, would they wear his skin through the local villages?

And people cheered.

She grit her teeth. She'd never felt so distant from her own home, so alone even in an ocean of humanity. Suddenly all Alia wanted to do was hold Valyrym's head in her arms and cry. And then leave this place forever. Alia couldn't wait to get out of this sick country.

The dragonslayer pulled a sword from a rack and twirled it for the crowd. The dark steel held a swirling sheen. The hilt and crossguard looked suspiciously like dragon horn. Hell, even the leather of her steel-toed boots was probably some poor dragon's hide. She probably thought herself some kind of hero. Alia scowled, wishing she could put that monster in her place.

Alia picked up her pouch of spiced nuts. The commemorative leather bag was still half full. She hefted it in her hand and tied the little drawstring shut. The woman wearing dragon hide put the sword away, and Alia saw her chance. Before she could stop herself, Alia hauled her arm back and hurled the bag as hard as she could.

Though she only planned to startle the woman, Alia's aim and luck proved beyond her expectations. The pouch of roasted nuts hurtled through the air and smashed the dragonslayer full in the face. The woman yelled in pained surprise, stumbled back and fell onto her ass atop the stone slab. The whole crowd gasped and groaned.

The two men ran to her aid, helping her back to her feet. She grabbed her face, blood trickling from her nose. When Alia saw the woman was more shocked than injured, she allowed herself a smirk. Then the men with her pointed up at the viewing platforms. A few guards left the barricades to search for the suspect.

Her smirk faded. Time to go.

Alia took Val Junior, backed away from the railing and pushed through the crowd. Someone grabbed her arm near the stairs. She twisted free, slipped between a few people and descended the stairwell. At the bottom, an angry looking man barred her way. Before she could reason with him, he tried to snatch her. Alia kneed him in the crotch. He crumpled in an instant, groaning. Alia darted around him for a half-empty side street.

Behind her, she heard guards asking questions. She glanced back. Bystanders pointed and two guards followed her. As soon as they entered the street, a familiar snack vendor bumped into the first guard. The vendor stumbled and fell onto his butt just in time for his feet to fly up and trip the second guard.

"I'm terribly sorry!" The vendor groaned and rolled over onto his hands and knees, blocking the first guard from helping up the second. "You just came out of nowhere..."

Alia grinned as she slipped into an alleyway. Whether that vendor worked for Cassilia or just appreciated her generous tip, she was thankful for his assistance. Alia dashed down the alley between old stone buildings. Patchwork tapestries of moss and yellowed lichen decorated the weathered gray walls.

By the time Alia was certain she was safe, she was laughing. Oh, that was fun. She'd knocked that murderous bitch right on her ass. Alia had almost forgotten how thrilling it was to get away with causing trouble in the streets. She knew it was a bad idea, even if the woman certainly deserved it. Hell, she could have jeopardized her reinstatement or found herself in a dungeon cell of her own. But damn if it wasn't thrilling.

She eased her pace as she neared the Silver Rain district. Alia skipped a few paces along the muddied cobblestone, her skirt swishing. She couldn't wait to tell Valyrym. Alia giggled, imagining the conversation. Soon she was whispering it to herself without a care in the world.

"And then I hit her right in the nose, with a sack of nuts!" Alia deepened her whispered voice. "Oh, I'd like to hit her with my sack of nuts." She shifted it higher again, grinning. "Valyrym, you naughty beast!"

A single guard kept watch across the street from the old wrought iron fence around her housing complex. A silver raindrop patch marked his shoulder. She stared at him, but he didn't meet her gaze until she strode right up to him.

"I thought I told you not to watch me anymore."

The guard smiled and shrugged.

Alia sighed and shook her head. Could be worse people watching her. "Don't suppose you've seen my urd'thin friend today? Gray clothes, warden emblem?"

"No ma'am. Not today. Sorry."

Alia thanked the guard, and crossed the street. Vatch must have gone home. She passed through the gate, and by the stunted oak trees in their crumbling, mossy planters. In honor of Dragon Day she'd hung up a few black and blue ribbons, a personal celebration of the dragon himself rather than his captivity.

She smirked at the guard across the road then hopped across the flagstones embedded in the dirt lane as though playing some children's game. At the end of the lane, Alia jumped from the final flagstone onto the bottom stair. It creaked under her weight. Alia wouldn't want to ascend them with more than a few people at a time.

The blue tarps sheltering the stairs made for pleasant shade as she ascended. When she reached her door, she patted the dragon head wreath. The black and blue lace she'd strung from its horns fluttered in the breeze. Alia smiled and fished out her key, unlocked her door and went inside. After locking the door again, Alia set Val Junior on her scuffed kitchen table.

Her poetry book lay open to her latest attempt. "Never going to get those finished." She glanced at Val Junior, realizing she'd set him near her favorite knife. She'd been sharpening it earlier while contemplating verse. "Don't play with that, Val Junior, you'll cut your paws." She laughed and patted the toy between its curled horns. "And don't you dare tell him I've taken to talking to you."

Alia took her watering bucket out onto the balcony to check on her plants. Her blue bellflower vines had taken over the entire railing. Lines of fat indigo blossoms hung like church bells, the rounded leaves between them drooped in the heat. She'd moved her tomato plant into a larger pot, and staked it up. Clusters of tomatoes clung to it, some fat, red and weighing down their limbs, others small and green. Yellow starburst flowers promised even more fruit.

Even her apple tree looked healthy lately, speckled with bright white blossoms. As she watered it, she wondered how Valyrym's tree was doing. She'd selected one with a rare, early season apple just for him. She hoped he'd eaten it. Alia smiled, thinking it would be just like the old lizard to lose himself in nostalgia and stare at the fruit till it rotted right off the tree.

Gods, she missed that grumpy old dragon.

She'd see him soon. Though Alia tried not to count the days, she knew her banishment was at least half over. Before long, she'd be back in his embrace. Maybe tonight she'd dream of him again.

When her plants were watered, Alia decided on a bath. The summer warmth left her feeling sticky and unpleasant. At least the breeze rolling through her open windows kept her house from getting stuffy. As she undressed, she grinned at a memory that flashed through her head. She still remembered first time she'd ever undressed in front of the dragon.

To think, all she'd wanted was to give the poor, neglected captive a bath.

She shook her head, laughing. Sometimes her impulsive nature led her to something wonderful. Other times it got her banished. Or led her to throw nuts at someone's face.

After a cool, refreshing bath, Alia dressed in a green blouse with half-length sleeves, and black breeches with silver threading. She put on gray socks and her leather boots so she could go to the market for dinner later. She brushed her hair, humming.

There was a knock on her door. Maybe Vatch made it after all. Alia strode towards the door, still brushing her hair. As she neared the door, the visitor knocked again. Alia paused. Vatch never knocked that loudly. Surely the guards couldn't identify one random Aran'alian among thousands of people, could they?

"Who is it?" Alia set her brush near her knife.

"Aseps Delivery Service. Package for Alia Silverrain."

Alia peered through the peephole. A large man stood on her stoop, dressed in the simple gray and brown uniform of a delivery service. His reddish brown hair was mussed by the wind. He looked extraordinarily bored. He carried a large package wrapped in brown parchment paper, with bright gold ribbons.

"Who's it from?" Alia watched him through the peephole.

The man checked the label, lips moving as he read the text to himself. "Registered and paid for by a...Thomas, and a Kaylen. But says it's from V. Just an initial. Oh, and says its fragile. So open it carefully, huh?"

Alia grinned. Sneaky brats. Shipping her something on Valyrym's behalf. "Alright, just a moment."

Alia unlocked the door. She opened it and smiled at the delivery man. "Do I need to pay or sign anything?"

"Already paid for, but you gotta sign for delivery, make sure it's intact." The deliveryman shifted his weight. "So...where do ya want it?"

"Oh. Um..." Alia moved aside to let him in. She waved at the kitchen. "The table's fine. I'll take a look and sign real quick."

"Sure thing." The man walked in, heading for the kitchen table. "That'd be good, actually. Last delivery of the day, and my wife's waitin' on me back home."

"Wouldn't wanna keep her waiting." Alia laughed, and started to close the door but movement caught her eye. The guard with the silver raindrop patch was sprinting across the street, his sword in hand. What was he--

The guard screamed her name. "Alia! Get out of there!"

An icy shiver wracked Alia, her stomach tightened. Before she could move, the hulking delivery man grabbed her from behind. As she fought to twist away, he wrenched her around and hurled her through the air. Alia crashed into her kitchen table, scattering her things as she rolled off it. She hit the floor, breath knocked from her lungs with a pained cough. Stars flashed in her vision.

Her body seized up even as her mind raced. She had to do something. Through the motes of light whirling before her eyes, she saw the man advancing upon her. Her whole body ached, her lungs were frozen.

"Be a good girl and make this easy, huh?"

Alia's heart hammered her sternum. She wheezed, hoping nothing was broken. No time to worry about that now. The man kicked aside her book of poetry, glaring down at her. She focused through the pain, she had to do something. Alia spotted her knife in the corner of her vision as the man advanced.

Make it easy? Hell no.

The moment the deliveryman was close enough, Alia surged into action. She rolled over, snatched her blade and plunged it into his foot. The man screamed, stumbled back and Alia yanked her knife free. Blood welled up, pouring over his boot. He staggered back and thumped against her wall, grimacing.

"You bitch!" He snarled, reaching the knife hidden away inside his uniform.

No sooner had the man freed his weapon from its hidden sheath than Alia rushed him. She moved on instinct, lashing out at his hand. Her blade cut all the way through his index finger and halfway through his middle finger. The man screamed, dropping his knife as he fell to his knees. Blood spurted across his clothes and Alia's wall. He grabbed his mangled hand with the other, clutching it to his chest.

Alia took his knife, and ran for the stairs, a blade in each hand. She sprinted down the creaky wooden staircase, blood pounding her temples. Her breath came in ragged pants. Who the hell was that? He knew her name, he knew her friends. But what did that mean? Alia's mind was a whirling maelstrom of fear and convoluted ideas.

The Silver Rain guard knew enough to warn her, so maybe he could offer some explanation. Frantic cries and angry shouts rang out nearby. Someone was yelling for help, someone else calling for back up. Distance shouts quickly grew louder. What the hell was going on?

She leapt the last few steps and whirled around the corner onto the dirt lane. What Alia saw froze her blood. The Silver Rain guard was laid out on the ground, limp. Two men in Illandran guard uniforms dragged him towards a side alley. One of them spotted her and jabbed a meaty finger in the air.

"Grab her!"

Alia bolted in the opposite direction. Near where the lane met the street, two more Silver Rain guards ran towards the commotion, swords drawn. One called Alia's name. Behind her, a man cursed and heavy footsteps thumped against dirt and flagstone. Alia pushed herself, running for the Silver Rain guards. Right now, Cassilia's men seemed the lesser evil.

An older man in a coarse brown robe with an expressionless face stepped out of a shadowed alleyway. In a sickening instant, Alia realized she knew him. Traval stood between Alia and the road, and in a flash produced a tiny crossbow in one hand and a curved dagger in the air. He whirled between Cassilia's guards, their thrusts and slashes catching only air. It was almost spectral, as if he was nothing more than wood smoke wafting around their blades.

No sooner had Alia skidded to a stop than powerful arms locked around her, pinning her limbs. Alia cried out, struggling. Even as her heartbeat grew frantic, she refused to panic. Adrenaline heated her blood like rum and anger. She slammed her boot heel against his shin, then dragged it down his shinbone and stomped the top of his foot. He cried out and loosened his hold enough for Alia to yank her arm free and jam her knife into his thigh. The man screamed and stumbled away, then collapsed, dagger jutting from his leg.

Heedless of his cry, Alia stepped on his hip and yanked her weapon free.

Alia glanced at Traval just in time to see him fire his crossbow into a guard's throat. The guard stumbled and blood ran from his mouth. He fell to his knees, fingers scrabbling at the bolt protruding from his neck. The other guard screamed something incoherent, unleashing a flurry of strikes. The robed man parried a few blows with his dagger. Traval feigned a stumble, and when the guard took the bait, he pivoted behind him and cut his throat.

"You're making this harder than it has to be." Traval's crossbow vanished into his robe. He crouched and wiped his dagger on the dying guard's uniform, his eyes on Alia. "I advise to you surrender. Valiant effort, though."

Like hell. Alia turned and hurtled the writhing thug she'd stabbed. She ran down the lane and a man lunged, grabbing at her. Alia opened up his forearm to the bone and kept running. Ahead of her, an Illandran guard barred the open gateway. He smirked, arms folded. His smirk faded when Alia charged him, knives out. She'd impale the bastard and leap his body if she had to.

Alia never got that chance. Someone exploded from the alleyway near the gate and smashed into her, lifting her off her feet. Agony lanced through her chest and shoulder as she collided with the earth, her breath lost in a pained wheeze. Her attacker was on her immediately, wrenching her blades from her hands. As Alia fought to breathe, she was rolled to her belly. A knee pressed between her shoulder blades.

"As I said." The hem of a brown robe swished into view, hints of black boots beneath it. "A valiant effort, but you should have surrendered."

"Fuck you, Traval." Alia spat.

The man atop her pushed her face into the dirt.

"Not the plan, Alia."

Alia grit her teeth, struggling. "You...you murdered those men! When the Queen--"

"I wouldn't worry about the Queen, if I were you." That voice. That smug, smarmy voice. "And I'd hardly call eliminating rebel agents murder. Why, I'd call it heroism. The prince should give me a medal. Still, I'd better not get blood on my boots." Scaly, red leather boots came into view. "They're new."

Alia spat at Armadine's boots.

"Now that's uncalled for!" Armadine stepped back, then crouched to wipe his boots with a cloth. "You seem cranky. Have we come at a bad time, Miss Silverrain?"

Alia snarled, fear and fury alike surging through her. She thrashed and squirmed. The man on her back twisted her arms sharply. Alia grit her teeth, holding back her cry. She wouldn't give that bastard the satisfaction.

"My, but she's a fighter." Armadine laughed, his red boots left her view. "But don't break anything yet. We may need to return her whole."

The grip on her arms eased. Alia took a few ragged breaths, cheek against the dirt.

"Now do you see why I insisted you hire more men? I told you this wasn't enough to cover the exits, account for the guards, and catch her. I knew she'd make a fuss." Traval grunted. "You should have let me bring my own men."

"Yes, yes, Traval, your expertise is unmatched, but no one likes a gloater. Besides, more men cost more money, and she's not worth that much. And as for your men, they've a more important job to prepare for. Now get her ready before this whole filthy slum comes to see what all the commotion is."

Alia took a breath and yelled for help.

The man atop her cuffed her over the back of the head. Lights flickered in her vision, and she groaned, going limp. When her head was yanked up by her hair, the pain stirred her enough for her to struggle again. As soon as her hair was released, a coarse brown bag was pulled over her head.

"There." Smug laughter turned her belly. "Now you're just a bunch of guards, escorting a wanted criminal."

"Coast is clear if you wanna toss her in the cart."

Alia fought for breath. The sack was rough, scratched her skin. A strange, bitter smell clung to it. After a few moments, her head was swimming. When she was hauled up to her feet, her legs felt rubbery. The ground heaved and rolled beneath her. The air was heavy, weighing against her, pressing her into the softness of slumber. Voices drifted like ghosts. Words were murmured and incomprehensible, slipping away.

Some distant part of her knew what was happening yet could not stop it.

For a moment, the whole world rose and fell around Alia, an ocean of darkness in which she was sinking.

Then nothing.

*****

Chapter Twelve

*****

"Just take it one step at a time, Krek."

"Lift your hind paw up, there's a good gryphon."

"Do you need to stop and catch your breath?"

Gods. They sounded like they were talking to a damn fledgling.

"I'm not a child." Krek clacked his beak and flattened his ears back. How he hated being babied. He took a few more steps, grimacing.

"Just one step at a time, Krek, you can do it."

Krek glanced at Jakira. "You already said that."

"And it's as true now as it was the first time." Jakira stroked his furry neck, smiling. "Next step, go on."

"They're only stairs, Jakira." Krek ascended a few more steps, his newly re-stitched side burning. "There's just a lot of them."

"After this, you'll rest." Madeline glared at him, her gaze as sharp as her tongue.

"You also need a good meal." Bekany patted his shoulder.

"A healthy meal." Madeline wagged her finger at his beak.

"And no booze." Bekany sharpened her tone. "Wine and ale count as booze."

"None of you are the least bit of fun." Krek forced himself to take another few steps. Everything ached.

"I'm fun!" Jakira smoothed his feathers, smiling. "I like wine, and ale, and liquor, and parties, and excitement..."

"Good." Krek grinned. "Bring me something to drink."

"She'll not bring you anything to drink but water." Madeline gave the younger healer a stern look. "Or fruit juice. Something nutritional."

"And herbal tea." Bekany clucked her tongue. "I'll provide a list of the appropriate herbs for a healing gryphon."

Krek scrunched his face, ruffling his feathers. He could already taste that vile stuff. "I refuse to drink your ditch weeds and swamp water."

"You'll drink it." Madeline grabbed his beak. "And you'll be glad we care enough to make you do so."

"Fine, fine. Just measure carefully." Krek pulled his beak away, smirking. "Or you'll get a big surprise."

Bekany waved her hand at him. "Yes, yes, gryphon. We all recall that yellowbark gave you an erection. But we're healers, not giggling maids. The only embarrassment was yours."

Madeline snorted, turning her nose up. "Speak for yourself. Uncouth beast."

Jakira prodded his shoulder, giggling. "And your surprise wasn't even that big."

Krek warbled and hung his head. "Words can hurt, my dear. My ego has feelings too."

"Your ego needs a good bruising." Bekany unlocked an iron gate with the spare key Enric gave her.

"And it's had one!" Krek lifted his crown feathers, glaring at Jakira. "Miss Gigglepot has dealt it a severe blow."

Bekany held the gate for the gryphon. "Mind your stitches."

"Yes, I'd almost forgotten they were there." Krek hissed at her. He pulled his wings tight, used them to protect his stitches, and pushed through the gateway.

Jakira slipped through after him, smoothing his feathers. "I was only joking, you silly bird. I'm sure it's perfectly average for an adult male gryphon. It was interesting and gave us notes to add to our medical manuals."

Krek slapped a forepaw against the stairs, hissing. "Average and interesting are not words a gryphon wants--wait, medical manuals? What could you have possibly written down?"

"Shows itself when least wanted." Bekany locked the gate.

Madeline thrust her finger, pointing up the stairs. "Onwards, gryphon. And drop this perverse subject."

By the time Krek reached the top of the stairs, he felt like he was sinking through the floor. His limbs wobbled, and he leaned against the wall. As he caught his breath, he heard voices, and peered around the corner. Six of Elvir's personal guards stood in formation, dressed in chain mail and padded leather beneath blue and gray tabards. Shields were strapped to their backs, with swords at their hips and spears in their hands. The man who'd let Krek in the night before was furiously scribbling on parchment with a suspiciously familiar black feather quill.

The lead guard spotted Krek, and thumped the halt of his spear against the ground. "Prince Elvir awaits you."

"And his highness shall continue to wait." Bekany strode forward. "The Black Bird received extensive medical attention this morning. He now requires food and medicine. Please tell the prince he will be along shortly."

The lead guard shifted his weight, chain mail rattling. "His highness has been waiting all morning."

"I can't tell him anything if I pass out." Krek padded forward. He mantled his wings and splayed the silvery feathers of his tail fan. "I will meet with him as soon as I'm able."

The guard grumbled and twisted his fingers against his spear haft. "If his highness gets any angrier, it's your ass on the line, not ours. He's in the Sky Heart when you're ready."

The lead guard circled a finger in the air, and the rest turned in unison. They marched out of the chamber in formation. Krek rubbed his beak. He slicked his feathers back down, folding his wings. "Pleasant fellow."

"Don't worry about him." Jakira stroked his neck, and Krek leaned into her touch. "Let's get you something to eat. We'll find you a quiet room where you can rest."

Krek's thoughts drifted as he followed the healers through the hall. No doubt the Queen's Guard told Elvir that Krek was looking for him as soon as the prince awoke. He hadn't told anyone where he was going, though. How did they know where he was? Oh. Right. He'd nearly bellowed his beak off trying to find Alia before he spent the night in the dragon's dungeon.

If only it had been as fun and illicit as it sounded.

"Here we are, Bird." Madeline held a door open for him.

"Thank you." Krek gave her a smile as he entered a servant's dining room.

Krek pushed aside mismatched chairs, and settled onto his haunches alongside a battered wooden table. He considered lying his head down but feared he'd fall asleep and wake with a stiff neck.

"Madeline and I will fetch his food and medicine." Bekany patted Krek's shoulder. "Jakira, will you stay with him?"

"Certainly." Jakira pulled a chair up alongside the gryphon. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was dragged up those stairs by my balls." Krek smiled at her. She giggled and Krek rustled his wings, sighing. "Never been this exhausted in all my life."

"I'm not surprised." Jakira stroked his wings. "You need rest, Krek. Even a gryphon has limits."

"I know, Jakira." Krek hung his head, swallowing. "But I have more to worry about than my own wellbeing."

"You can't help anyone if you fall out of the sky in exhaustion." Jakira ruffled the tiny pinfeathers of Krek's neck, scratching him. "Or you give yourself a heart attack or--"

"Yes, Jakira."

"Or your wounds infect! Surely you can wait a few days."

"I appreciate your concern." Krek gazed at her. Of all the healers he'd had, Jakira was his favorite. Years back, she'd replaced an older woman so cranky and prudish she made Madeline look like a flirt. "But the longer I wait, the less likely I am to succeed."

"Just promise you'll take care of yourself." Jakira sighed. Her hand went still on Krek's neck. "We'd be quiet saddened to lose you. It would just about kill Her Majesty."

Krek cringed, glancing away.

"Oh! I'm...I'm sorry..." Jakira stammered, her hand shaking.

Krek nuzzled her hand. "Think nothing of it. I promise to take care of myself best I can."

Bekany and Madeline returned, each carrying a wooden tray. Bekany settled on the other side of the table, her tray bearing a tea pot, a mortar and pestle, and an assortment of herbs. Madeline set her platter in front of Krek, presenting a half dozen roasted game hens dusted with spices. The aroma was magnificent. Suddenly his hunger outweighed everything. How long had it been since he'd eaten a good meal?

Ravenous, Krek shredded the first hen with his claws, and shoved it into his beak in large chunks. He groaned and gulped them down, then devoured the second hen just as quickly. Sticky grease and spices clung to his pads and stained his forepaws. Juices dribbled from his beak.

"Her Majesty should teach you some manners, you filthy beast." A hint of amusement tinted Madeline's voice.

Krek smirked. "You're right. She should string me up and paddle my haunches."

Madeline narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. "Keep your perverse fantasies to yourself."

Krek chirped, his ears up. "You know I spice up your life."

Jakira giggled. She dabbed at the gryphon's beak with a cloth napkin. "You do make things more interesting around here."

"In all the wrong ways." Madeline folded her arms. "Try not to eat so swiftly. You'll make yourself sick."

Krek was happy to comply, savoring the rest of his meal. Well-cooked foods had to be at the top of the list of human accomplishments. From Valar's favorite smoked fish, to the spicy roasted venison in the villages of the Forest of Ghosts, Krek loved it all. Not to mention every wonderful thing he ate in Illandra.

Krek used a single talon to peel the skin from the next hen and drop it into his beak. It was cooked to perfect. The outside was crispy, and the inside was silken soft, the fat rendered and sweet. The dusting of spices and herbs added smoky, pungent flavor. Krek gave a long, satisfied sigh.

Bekany chuckled, grinding fresh herbs with mortar and pestle. "I've never seen a beast so spoiled."

Krek rumbled a throaty purr as he finished the skinless hen. "Nor has a beast ever been so happy to be so spoiled." The bitter aroma from Bekany's mortar made him scowl. "Though I suppose you'll make me drink whatever terrible witchcraft you're concocting."

"You asked for something for the pain." Bekany scooped the ground herbs into a wooden bowl. She poured hot water in from a steaming teapot. "Can you drink from this? They don't keep your birdbath in the Second Kitchen."

Krek clicked his beak, fluffing up. "I do not drink from a birdbath."

Bekany smiled and pushed the bowl across the table. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

Jakira petted the gryphon's neck. "Speaking of birdbaths, you do smell nice today."

Krek glared at her, hackles up. "Are you implying I usually smell otherwise?"

Jakira crinkled her nose, laughing. "No. You just smell like flowers today."

Krek stretched a wing forward, sniffing at his feathers. The scents of lilac and rose clung to him. He chirruped his irritation, preened, and spat a feather on the floor. "Not my fault the dragon's bath smells like a damn flower garden."

"Drink your tea, Flowers." Bekany smirked.

Krek glared at the wooden bowl. The astringent aroma made his eyes water. "This is not tea. And don't call me Flowers."

Bekany folded her arms. "Just drink it, Rose Petal. The prince is waiting."

Krek sighed, flattening down his feathers. He sipped at the herbal tea. It tasted like thistles and bark. He tossed his head back to force it down his throat. The gryphon scrunched his face, gagging.

"Don't be melodramatic." Madeline reached for his food tray.

"I'm not done with that." Krek put a paw on the platter. "You won't think it's merely melodrama if I retch this tea back up all over you."

"We're not your young, Bird." Bekany cleaned up her supplies and set them aside. "You need not retch things up for us."

"Gryphons don't do that."

"If you say so. Now finish your tea."

Krek picked up the bowl of tea. He glared at it. Tiny green and brown bits bobbled and swayed in the discolored liquid. Krek took a deep breath, tilted his head back, and tipped the bowl to his beak. He gulped it all down, then dropped the bowl to clatter against the table.

"Eerrruuughh!" Krek screwed his eyes shut, a wave of bile-like bitterness washing over his tongue and down his throat. He coughed, squawked, and coughed again. "EEECCCH! That's horrid!"

Bekany clucked her tongue, retrieving the bowl. "Never seen anyone down it all at once like that."

"Eeerrccchhhh!" Krek's tongue protruded from his beak.

Madeline shook her head. "Like trying to get a child to take his medicine."

"You harpies have poisoned me!"

Krek groaned, then snatched up one of the game hens. He licked the skin a few times, trying to coat his tongue with grease and spices. When that wasn't enough, he tried to shove the whole thing in his beak. He bit off as much as he could, and the juices that spilled over his tongue helped wash away the rancorous herbal aftertaste. By the time he'd finished his food, he'd almost forgotten how bad the tea had tasted.

Krek sighed, his wings sagging. "Aaaaah. Much better."

Jakira poked the gryphon, grinning. "You sound like you just emptied your bladder."

"Jakira!" Madeline took the empty tray away.

"Sorry!"

Bekany rose, and collected her things. "Do you need anything else right now, Krek?"

Krek gazed at a grease-stained paw. "Something to wash with, please." He gave the three healers a long look, then bowed his head. "And thank you."

Madeline gave him a curt smile, then went for the door. "You're welcome."

Bekany put her hand on Jakira's shoulder. "Could you help him wash up?"

"Certainly."

Krek said his farewells to the healers, and promised them he'd rest after he met with the prince. He waited in the room alone until Jakira returned with a basin of warm water and several towels. She put the basin on the table, then settled into her chair.

Jakira held out a hand. "Paw, please."

"I can wash myself." Krek hissed. Jakira cleared her throat, waiting. Krek huffed and lifted his forepaw. "Oh, very well. You may play the part of my mother."

"I should think your ego would enjoy it when you're babied." Jakira smiled as she bathed Krek's paw with a wet towel.

"Hard to enjoy it when you call it that." Krek warbled and chirped. "Though I do enjoy being treated the way your most handsome and majestic patient deserves."

"I guess you'll have to make do with being my most entertaining patient." Jakira dried his paw with a clean towel, then washed the other one. "Tilt your head back please?"

Krek closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. "Who could possibly be more ferociously handsome than I?"

"A soldier I treated a few times." Her voice shuddered as she washed Krek's beak. "Afraid he's got you beat there. But you're a lot more fascinating, and a lot more fun." Jakira washed his throat and dried him with the other towel. "There. All done."

Krek pushed himself to his paws, shaking his body. He clicked his beak and tilted his head, gazing at her. "Jakira, I may need a favor."

Jakira set the basin and towels aside. "What sort of favor?"

Krek flicked his ears back. "Two favors, actually."

"Don't press your luck, Bird."

"That's how I make my living, my dear." Krek mantled his wings, twisting his head around to gaze at them. "I shall require the assistance of someone I trust, and someone familiar with my body."

Jakira folded her arms, smirking. "Here it comes."

Krek thumped his paw against the floor, chuckling. "Sadly, not that kind of favor. No, for now I need you to help me fetch some of my secrets. Later, I need you to help me get into my armor."

"Oh!" Jakira brightened. "Yes, I can help you with that."

"Wonderful." Krek pulled the door open, squeezed through, and held it for Jakira with a hind leg. "Then come along, my dear."

Krek was going to miss her if he got himself killed.

*****

Vatch scowled.

Stupid parade. Stupid Gryphon. Stupid guards. Stupid everything.

Didn't they know he was on a mission? Of course not, it was a secret mission. Vatch felt like one of the Queen's spies, sent to find someone only he knew how to find. It made his ears perk and his fur fluff in pride. About time people realized urd'thin could do important things.

Vatch knew Alia probably went to watch the Parade. Vatch had even planned to take the afternoon off to watch it with her before the gryphon's arrival threw everything into chaos. Now the grand parade was nothing more than an impediment to his mission. He needed to get across that damn street. No way he'd spot Alia in the crowd. He could wait at her house, but it'd take him hours just to find a way around the parade route.

Maybe he could just dash across the street. Vatch pinned his ears and shoved through the crowd. He clambered up the barrier. Just as he'd spotted an opening between marchers and floats, a guard approached, holding up a hand.

"Whoa there, little guy." The guard held up a hand. "No standing on the barricades."

"Vatch must cross street." Vatch whined, impatient.

"Sorry, pup." The guard shook his head, pointing to the crowd. "No one can cross right now. You need to climb down."

"But Vatch is dragon warden!" Vatch pointed out one of his golden patches. "Vatch on important business!"

"Sure you are, short stuff. No one's crossing no matter how festive their costumes are." He thrust a finger towards the crowd. "If you want a better view, go climb a tree. Now get off the barricade. I'm not asking again."

Vatch grit his teeth. He didn't have time for this. He hopped down from the barricade and pushed back through the crowd till he could cut down a side street, muzzle scrunched and ears splayed in frustration. He scratched around a horn. He had to find a way across the street.

Maybe slipping into the tunnels would be faster. He hadn't been down there in ages. No, he didn't like that idea. He didn't want to get his fine clothes all dirty. Vatch stopped. He bared his fangs and balled up his fists. His fine clothes? Who cared about that? Was he trying to elevate his people or turn his back on them?

No. No, he couldn't think like that. He was working his ass off every day to prove to the Illandrans that his people deserved a chance. There was nothing wrong with enjoying the fruits of his labor, he was sure. Just because he didn't want to venture into the cramped, squalid place he was born didn't mean he was turning his back on his people. It only meant he wanted to help elevate them.

He snarled to himself and ran his hands back over his ears. Now was not the time for a philosophical debate with himself about his place in the world. He had to find Alia and bring her back to the castle. Hopefully by then Sir Squawk would have Alia's banishment rescinded.

Vatch paralleled the parade route on side streets between old stone buildings and upscale shops with expensive goods. He passed beneath an elevated walkway covered with spectators. Sudden gasps and groans made him wonder if some daredevil had hurt themselves. Actually, that might be the opening he needed.

Quick as he could, he returned to the parade route. He slipped through the crowd, ignoring dirty looks and insults. Vatch climbed the blue and gray partition, glancing down the street. People surrounded a float in the distance. The nearest guards were busy arresting a combative drunkard.

A perfect time for a stupid plan.

Vatch swished his tail, grinning. He made sure his stick was secure, then jumped off the railing into the street. Vatch sprinted through the parade, weaving between dancers holding the strings to elaborate kites. Paper dragons swooped and danced above them.

"Hey! You can't be there!" A guard spotted him halfway across. "Somebody grab that little mongrel!"

Vatch snarled, fighting the urge to go whallop that guard upside the kneecap and tell him he wasn't a mongrel. He knew he'd better not, especially since he might be the only urd'thin in the whole city with a name the guards might recognize. Wait, maybe there was another urd'thin name they should know.

"Mek not mongrel!" That ought to show that uppity spy. From what Alia told him, he didn't like Cassilia's assistant. "That my name! Mek pompous rebel! Laws not apply to Mek!"

As the guards closed in, Vatch sprang for the barricade. He grabbed at slats in the wood, climbed it and jumped back down. When spectators snatched at him to help the guards, Vatch bared his fangs.

"Stay back! Mek not like be groped!" He snapped his teeth. "Mek bite grabby perverts!" While he pushed and twisted through confused people, he pulled a few gold pieces from his coin purse and tossed them to the street. "Urd'thin very generous! You have coin now!"

While the guards were impeded by people scrabbling for coins, Vatch ran away from the parade route. He darted and wove through side streets, upending a crate of apples. The red fruit spilled over the cracked cobblestones. He wasn't sure anyone was still in pursuit, but he'd always wanted to try that. Down an alleyway, Vatch leapt over a snoring drunkard, only slowing when he was sure the guards had given up.

Vatch slipped under the boughs of an old willow tree to catch his breath. Breaking the law was a lot more fun when someone else didn't have to come to your rescue. He'd have to tell Alia and Valyrym all about his latest escapade. Vatch's ears drooped. He was really going to miss those two. They'd become better friends to him lately than his own kind had in years. Who was going to read to him on lazy afternoons now? Vatch swallowed, his tail hanging limp. He whimpered, blinking away tears.

Stupid everyone, being his friend.

When his throat tightened up, Vatch growled and splayed his ears. He had more important things to do than feel sorry for himself. Like find Alia. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. Vatch steadied himself, returned to the streets and tried to get his bearings. A wooden stall vending drinks sat nearby. Vatch licked his muzzle. All this fleeing was making him thirsty.

The sweet scent of fruit wafted from the stall when the breeze washed over it. Vatch walked to the stall and stood on his tip toes to read the menu board. Oooh, apple and cherry sounded nice. Vatch ordered, and the friendly man behind the counter mixed juices from two jars, stirred in some honey, and passed Vatch the mug.

Vatch paid the man, and tasted his juice. The sweet flavors were expertly blended, and Vatch groaned, eyes rolling. Oh, he'd drink twelve if he the coin. Then he'd have to stop and pee six times before he found Alia. Not that she'd be home till after the parade. May as well take his time with his juice.

When Vatch finished his juice, he headed for a tall building. He clambered up a pile of crates, hauled himself up to a windowsill, then tested the sturdiness of a drain pipe. He scaled the pipe up onto the roof, and gazed across the city. In the distance he saw familiar trees, and banners with blue dragons. From there it was easy to spot the cluster of old, multi-tiered buildings Alia called home.

Now he just had to get there, and get Alia back to Valyrym and Smuggy Smarmbird.

Vatch picked a road that led to the Silver Rain district. He followed it past small shops selling everything from pastries and meat pies to clothing and tools and weaponry. When the banners celebrating the dragon's capture had been replaced by images of silver rain and blue dragons, he turned onto a much smaller street that cut through a slum. There, the buildings looked like nothing more than a network of repairs and patches, ready to collapse in the next soft breeze.

Closer to Alia's house, where the area was in better repair, raucous laughter spilled from open taverns. Maybe later Vatch would go get drunk too. It wouldn't be the same without Alia and Valyrym, but it would still be fun with Thomas and Kaylen. With enough ale in him, Vatch might even tolerate having his fur ruffled. But too much ale and he might wake up in Kaylen's bed. Still, an urd'thin could endure worse things than drunken sex with a human.

At least if it was Kaylen, he wouldn't have to worry about Valyrym getting jealous. Vatch chittered in urd'thin laughter. He was really going to miss Alia and that scaly old cake-eating lump. Big fat dragon eat whole cake, indeed. How things had changed for him since he first met those two.

Vatch was so lost in memories he didn't realize he'd arrived until he saw the Illandran guards standing in his way. Several of them blocked off the gateway in the fence around Alia's housing complex. Old instincts took hold of Vatch. He melted away into a shadowy alley, just another scruffy urd'thin not worth paying attention to.

He glanced along the street. The area was mostly empty, with no sign of the local guards who usually kept watch. A dirty old cargo cart sat on the street nearby. Further away, an elegant carriage with well-groomed horses was parked. When a few Aran'alians approached, an Illandran guard at the gate brandished a sword. He shouted at them to keep moving. A door opened on the second floor stairwell. Another guard ascended the stairs and yelled to stay inside, lock their doors, and close their blinds.

Trepidation curled in Vatch's belly. His fur bristled. Something was wrong. Vatch slunk to another alley for a vantage of Alia's building. Her door was closed and a bloody smear replaced her dragon head wreath. Oh, no. Vatch's belly dropped into his boots. Cold fear flooded him, his tail tucked. What had happened?

Vatch crept from shadowy alleyway to darkened alcove, slinking in the gloom like the thief he once was. He was not proud of his past, but it served him well now. Even if he was spotted, he'd be ignored as another little thieving mongrel. Vatch scaled an old dumpster, and hopped over the fence to a muddy alley.

"That bitch stabbed me!"

Oh God. Were they talking about Alia? He crept forward.

"Feisty little whore, isn't she." Something about that voice made every fur on Vatch's body bristle. "Be glad she only stabbed you once. She put her blade through Jarl's foot, and cut off a couple fingers." The man laughed. "How will he ever cheat at dice games now?"

"Aaaah. Gods! My leg." Someone groaned. "This ain't funny, you prancin' fop."

"What was that?" The voice grew sharp, dangerous.

Fear replaced anger in the injured man's voice. "Sorry! Sorry, milord. It just...it hurts. I'm gonna be limping for-"

"The rest of your life, I'm sure. I'll have a few extra coins thrown your way. But speak to me like that again, and I'll put a knife in your other leg."

"My lord, we should go."

"Very well, Traval. This place is disgusting, anyway. Nothing but mud and dirty provincials."

"And the bodies?"

"Oh, have the boys dump them in some river, or something."

"We didn't sign up for no body disposal."

"Would you rather I added you to the body count and left you with the rebels? Why, with those uniforms the provincials might even riot against the Illandran guards. Give the army a reason to come here and burn this filthy place down. Oh, that sounds fun, don't you think?"

Vatch could hardly breathe. What had he stumbled into? An icy vice squeezed his heart. While the men were distracted by their gruesome task, he crept forward, gritting his teeth. Oh, God, he hoped Alia was alright. When he was as close as he dared to get, he leaned out to peer into the dirt lane between the buildings. Three dead Silver Rain guards were laid out beneath the stunted oak trees. Nearby, men were bandaging the injuries of Illandran soldiers. Another man's hand was wrapped in bandages already soaked in fresh blood. More city guards stood watch.

Standing back from the guards were two more men, one in a brown robe and the other hidden within a dark blue cloak. The hood was up, and the cloak tied shut despite the summer heat. Scaly red boots protruded from beneath it. Vatch had seen men like that before, in his days living on the street. Usually they were nobles who didn't want to be recognized.

A woman lay in the dirt with a burlap sack over her head. Vatch recognized her clothes, her boots. It was Alia. Vatch clamped his muzzle shut, fighting a whimper. At least she was still breathing. He clenched his fingers around the handle of his mace. It was all Vatch could do to keep from rushing out to try and save her. But there were too many of them, even for his stick.

The man in the brown robe issued orders and waved his hand as if directing trained dogs. "You. When they're bandaged, take them to a surgeon who won't ask questions. You two, dispose of those bodies. Remember, Illandran guards don't have to answer questions. Just in case, the papers I gave you should shut anyone up. You two, get the girl out of here while I return his lordship to the castle."

"Just us?" One of the guards glared down at Alia. "There was supposed to be five of us watchin' her."

The noble growled from within his cloak. "That was before you clumsy idiots got yourselves mangled. Besides, everyone knows whores are good with knives, but now she's got nothing. If you can't handle a single bound and hooded Aran'alian girl..."

"We can handle it."

"You'd better. Or you'll spend the rest of your life in the province, shoveling dragon shit. With your hands."

The robed man nudged Alia with his boot. "The substance in the hood won't keep her out forever. So when you arrive, bind her well and lock her in. Your incompetence already got half of you maimed. I don't want her getting away. I'll send more men with new instructions this evening. Until then do not, under any circumstances, unlock that door."

"And put a gag in her mouth." The noble snarled at them. "But only a gag. She might be a dragon's whore, but she's also a bargaining chip. She stays unharmed until you hear otherwise. Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah." One of the guards hoisted Alia up. She hung limp as he tossed her over his shoulder. "And if the monster don't cooperate?"

"Then we'll think up all manner of fun things to do to her to change his mind." The noble strode towards the gate, his blue cloak swishing. "Now get her out of here."

Vatch slunk back down the alley, trembling so hard he expected to hear his bones rattling. He had to do something, but what? His first thought was to call for help. But could he trust the Silver Rain guards? Besides, three of them were already dead, how many more would it take? Vatch doubted they'd even get here in time, anyway. And what would stop these people from killing Alia if they were surrounded?

Should he go to the castle, find Enric or the gryphon? They'd listen, but then what? Alia would be gone and they wouldn't even know where to start looking. Even if Enric arrested the noble, he'd have Alia as a bargaining chip. They might never see her again. Vatch had to find out where they were taking her before he could go for help. No, wait. Vatch wrung his ears in his hands. What if they moved her when their back up arrived? Or what if they had a signal to kill her because a rescue was coming?

As Vatch slipped around the side of the building, he saw them toss Alia into the back of the cargo cart. They dragged a wool blanket over her, then set crates and boxes to obscure her shape. One man sat on the back of the cart, while the other got into the driver's seat. He put reins to the mules, and the cart carried Alia away. In the other direction, the noble and his bodyguard climbed into a cream and blue carriage.

Vatch took a few deep breaths to try and calm the ferocious hammering of his heart. They couldn't do this. But who could stop them? He needed help, but if he lost track of Alia now, he'd have no way to ever find her again. The only one who ever gave him a chance in life was being whisked away to likely torture and death, and there was no one who could stop it.

Yes. Yes, there was.

There was no other choice.

Vatch clenched his fingers around his mace, and yanked it free.

He'd do this himself.

*****

Chapter Thirteen

*****

Krek led Jakira through the castle in silence. Overnight, security had doubled. Guards in full armor roamed corridors in pairs, and manned checkpoints at critical intersections. Krek gave clipped answers whenever questioned. Anything important he had to say was for the prince's ears.

As they walked, Krek worked a puzzle in his mind. Who was feeding the castle's secrets to The Wind That Carries? Royal travel plans were restricted to the inner circle, yet somehow, the blue dragon knew where the Queen was going to be. It had to be someone with both the means to discover such secrets and the desire to see the Queen dead.

No matter how Krek looked at the puzzle, the pieces kept falling together the same way. It had to be nobles. Krek thought he knew just which family was involved, but he feared there might well be more. Hell, it could be every noble family. Just how deep did this conspiracy run? If Kathlyn started granting independence to provinces, the nobles would lose their power base.

In Illandra's age of conquest and expansion, rule of each newly annexed province was given as reward. Sometimes it was granted to wealthy families who'd provided financial backing and staunch support for the conquering king. In other cases diplomats who'd negotiated victory without bloodshed were made dukes of the new province. Other titles were granted to the family of a general who'd organized a great military victory. Such titles were bestowed upon both immediate and extended family, earning their line a place of power within Illandra.

It all worked well enough until the Mad King tossed himself off of Krek's tower. That ended Illandra's original royal bloodline. In the scramble to find an heir, every damn noble nominated themselves. In the interests of putting someone on the throne before a civil war for succession could break out, Illandra's military recalled a young officer from Aran'alian. A distant nephew to the king, or some such. Some royal blood was better than none, after all.

It never sat well with some of the nobles. A few even tried to start rebellions of their own and had to be put down by force. They had been trouble ever since. Then again, what did Krek expect? Hell, just look at Aran'alia. That bastard Armadine's family had direct rule over the province, and yet all his distant cousins and their broods had noble titles as well. They were all carving their own little fiefdoms across that wild land. While Armadine was busy prancing around and whispering in the prince's ear, his far flung relations were growing their own private armies. Krek wished Kathlyn could just strike them all from the records.

But one thing at a time.

Krek pulled Jakira into an empty alcove to whisper instructions on what to find, and where to find it. There were secret vaults and chambers in his tower quarters, some of which could only be accessed by human hands. The unkempt veneer and garden storage helped keep them hidden. Krek and the Queen each had a few extra secrets accessible only to the other, should the worst happen.

At the entrance to his tower, Krek assured the guards that Jakira had his permission to enter. While she vanished into the stairwell, Krek settled onto his haunches, sighing. He waved off the guards' questions, and pondered his puzzle again. He turned it over in his mind a few times, only to reach the same conclusion. He was certain, but Elvir wouldn't believe him without proof. That was fine. He had to pay Armadine's office a visit later, anyway.

Jakira returned, carrying a large, black leather satchel. "I think I got everything."

Jakira opened the satchel, and Krek peered inside. He counted the bound folders and puzzle boxes with sliding tiles and switches. "Perfect. Put it around my neck, would you?"

Jakira slipped the satchel's straps around Krek's neck so it rested against his chest. "There, how's that?"

"Fine, thank you." Krek shifted the leather satchel. A silver outline of a gryphon's head marked it. Oversized silver buckles designed for a gryphon's paws adorned the straps, set at the side of his neck where he could easily reach them. "I'd best go see Elvir now."

"Don't worry, Krek. I'm sure things will be fine." Jakira stroked the feathers along Krek's neck. "Want me to walk you there?"

Krek cooed and pressed into her hand. Jakira's support was appreciated. He'd always liked her. Maybe if by some miracle things worked out, he could move with Kathlyn to Denoria. He could hire Jakira as chief healer in Valar's village. Then she could heal humans, gryphons, and dragons alike. Seemed like the sort of thing she'd enjoy.

Krek shifted his wings. "Much as I appreciate your help, I should proceed to the Sky Heart alone."

Jakira moved to stand in front of the gryphon, hands on her hips. "Just promise me you'll get some rest when you're done talking to Elvir."

"I promise I'll have a quick nap."

"Suppose that's the best I'm going to get." Jakira hugged Krek's neck. "I'll check on you later and Bekany will bring more herbs."

"Wonderful." Krek gave an irritable warble, nudging Jakira with his beak. "Go on then, I'm sure you've things to do."

Jakira patted his head, smiling. "Don't be nervous. I'm sure the prince doesn't hate you anymore."

Krek's face twisted up. He pinned his ears back. At least she meant well.

"Comforting to know."

*****

Vatch stalked the cart for what felt like an eternity. As he settled into the grinding rhythm of a slow pursuit, his adrenaline faded. It left him aching and sore, his bowels twisted and cold. His sharp teeth were bared in lingering grimace. He had no idea how he was going to save Alia, but he refused to let this happen to her. She'd given him the chance to be something more than a filthy little thief, and now he was going to repay her or die trying.

The slow chase led down winding streets and through twisting, rambling neighborhoods in worn down districts. Vatch stayed as far back as he dared. He moved through shadowed alleyways, watched from recessed alcoves. Even if they saw him, he was just another skulking urd'thin. Sometimes he clambered over walls and onto rooftops to survey the area. He fixed landmarks in his mind. Vatch never drew too near to the cart, but never lost sight of it, either.

The longer he followed the cart, the more downtrodden the area became. Crumbling buildings and shuttered shops lined the muddy streets. Old warehouses and storage buildings sat ruined and empty. Brush protruded from broken walls, weeds choked alleyways. It was the sort of neighborhood people only went to when they didn't want to be found. There was no sign of guards of any uniform, just a few squatters staring out from darkened ruins.

When the cart slowed, Vatch did the same. His mace trembled in his hand. The cart stopped, and Vatch slipped into an old shop. Beams of late afternoon sunlight spilled through the half-collapsed roof. Vatch sniffed the air. Someone had used the place as a shitter. Vatch didn't care. All the place had to do was hide him.

Vatch watched the cart through a hole in the wall. The men hopped out of the driver's seat, and spent a few moments looking around. One walked to a building made of moldering, mossy brickwork. It looked sturdier than the others. He fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, then slipped inside. He reappeared and waved. The second man glanced up and down the empty street, then held his hand up and made some sort of signal. He pulled away the blanket shrouding Alia and hefted her over his shoulder. As he walked towards the building, he rubbed her rump with a meaty hand. Vatch clenched his jaws to hold in his angry snarl.

Alia squirmed and the man called out. "Hurry up in there. Bitch is wakin' up."

Vatch swallowed back his growl. Oh, he couldn't wait to take his stick to them. Or hand it to Alia and let her do it.

"Yeah, yeah, keep yer pants on." The other man vanished inside the building, his voice drifting through the door. "I got some rope, we'll tie her to this chair."

As soon as both men were inside, Vatch slipped out and trotted down the road. He kept his ears swiveling, attuned to any sound. Vatch resisted the urge to rush in swinging his mace. He had to be patient. He was only going to get one shot at this and he couldn't take it while they were in range to harm Alia. When the time came he'd have to move fast and strike swiftly. He was no warrior, but Enric had taught him a few things.

When the two men reemerged, Vatch slipped into an alcove. He crouched behind an overgrown tree in a broken planter. Roots spilled across broken clay. One man got back into the cart and drove it around a corner. Vatch was tempted to ambush the lone guard, but didn't want the other man to return while he was untying Alia.

Just as Vatch feared, the cart driver soon returned on foot. He made a circular gesture in the air, and his accomplice walked around the building. Then he made the same sign in the air his friend had. Vatch pinned an ear. They must have been signaling someone.

Damn it. It was bad enough there were already two murderous men twice his size. Vatch's ears drooped. His tail tucked as fear twisted his belly into painful knots. He'd have to find that watchmen or he could never take them by surprise.

As the big bastards settled in around the door and struck up a chat, Vatch slipped through a broken fence. He found himself in a filthy alleyway. Their lookout must be somewhere with a clear view of their makeshift prison. Vatch scanned the area. Piles of rotting wood and crumbled mortar stood amidst weeds and brush.

Further down the alley, Vatch found boot prints in the mud. Broken branches marred overgrown bushes around an old tavern's back door. No other structure had any sign of recent access. Their sentry had to be hiding in the tavern. Vatch just hoped there was only one of them.

Across the street, someone banged on a door. "Keep it down in there!"

Whatever Alia was doing, it made for a good distraction. Vatch crept forward, gripping the handle of his stick so tightly his hand burned. He pushed through broken branches and found the old door ajar. He peeked through into the gloom, then eased the door open.

Vatch slipped through the opening, and slunk through the old inn. Scattered mugs and wooden plates littered the dusty floor. The scent of old ale mingled with fresh sweat. Vatch followed the smell, careful not to bump anything. The watchman sat in a chair near the front doors, peering through shutters that barely held together. A heavy crossbow sat across his lap, a bolt already set.

Vatch shuddered. If he'd tried to rescue Alia earlier, that bolt would have punched right through him. Vatch crept forward, considering his options. If the watchman called for help, things could go bad fast. It'd be best if Vatch took him quick and quiet. Then he'd bring the fight to the other two guards on his own terms.

While the man's attention was fixed across the street, Vatch slunk towards him. Vatch's heart hammered so hard he half-feared his rattling bones would give him away. His arm ached from clenching his weapon. Every inch closer seemed to take another agonizing eternity.

Then eternity became an instant, and everything happened at once. The man turned his head, lifting his crossbow. Vatch sprinted the last few feet, and leapt. The man aimed at Vatch and fired. The bolt whistled, thudded into the wall beyond, pain blossomed. Vatch's mace collided with the man's face, deforming it, shattering bone. A wet thunk. The man toppled out of his chair. He hit the floor, twitching. Vatch landed and stumbled into the wall. Blood ran over his fur.

Vatch panicked, dropping his stick to grab at his head. Blood poured over his face. Fire streaked through him. Oh, God, he'd been shot. He fell to his knees, searching with his hands. The urd'thin clamped his jaws shut to stifle a scream when his fingers found a ragged hole near the bottom of his right ear. The crossbow bolt had punched straight through it. Saved by his shortness.

Relief mingled with agony. His whole ear throbbed, pumping pain into the rest of his head. Vatch tore off the gray sleeve of his warden outfit, tied it around his ear to try and staunch the bleeding. As the pain worsened, Vatch tore off the other sleeve. He shoved it in his muzzle to keep from screaming.

Panting, Vatch forced himself up. He peeked through the shutters. No sign the guards noticed his skirmish. Good. He glanced at the dead man, a twinge of nausea in his belly. He'd never killed anyone before. Vatch bit harder against the cloth. No time to mourn, no time for guilt. That man and his ilk were going to do terrible things to Alia. They brought this on themselves.

Vatch took a few deep breaths through his nose. He glanced at the crossbow. The man had more bolts, but Vatch doubted he could set one, let alone wield something that heavy. No matter. He didn't need it. He had his stick.

Vatch spat out the cloth and fetched his mace. Blood coated it.

Across the street, someone yelled at Alia. "Settle down! If I gotta come in there, you ain't gonna like it."

The guards were distracted. Their lookout was dead. Vatch hefted his bloodied weapon in both hands.

They were next.

*****

"Been waitin' for ya, Bird."

Krek resisted the urge to growl at Elvir's guards. "So I hear."

"Waitin' a while." The second guard shifted, glaring at the gryphon.

Krek had never liked Elvir's men. It was as if the attitudes of the different royals had rubbed off on their personal guards. The Queen's men were jovial, always playfully bantering with both queen and gryphon, yet deadly serious when needed. Elvir's men were dour and much like the prince himself, rarely appreciated Krek's presence.

At least Krek knew he could trust them. They'd die for their prince if they had to, and were always dressed for battle. Each guard bore armor with Illandra's five-towered keep emblazoned upon their plated cuirasses, with blue and gray padding beneath. Both men had heavy spears in hand, swords at their hip, crossbows on their shoulders, and shields on their back. A double-headed axe leaned against the wall in arm's reach of one of the men.

"May I see him, then?"

"Let's find out." One guard turned to the white double doors behind them. A golden sun was emblazoned upon them, half on each door. The guard poked his head inside. "Your Highness, the bird is here."

"Let him in." Elvir's voice drifted through the door.

"Right."

The two guards pushed the doors open all the way, then moved aside to let Krek slip through. The doors were closed behind him as Krek padded into one of Illandra's most secretive and secured rooms. It was called the Sky Heart, and Krek doubted more than a dozen people alive today had ever set foot in it.

The Sky Heart was so-named for several reasons. The sunken central area was ringed with columns of rare azurite, layered with cascading shades of blue. The circular room's outer walls were paneled in the color of the summer sky. Crystalline skylights and angled mirrors hidden in the chamber's domed ceiling filled the room with golden sunlight. The floor was all white marble, with an immense sun of inlaid gold at the center.

The Sky Heart was built as a throne room, but had not served that purpose for ages. In Krek's time at the castle, it was more often used as a secure location to discuss highly sensitive matters. Hidden chambers in the walls and floors protected documents of state. Kathlyn sometimes used the place as a chamber of solace and reflection.

Since the Queen had left, Elvir had taken to using the Sky Heart as his personal office. A polished, ebony table sat in the middle of the floor. The table was familiar, but lacked all of Kathlyn's usual comforting knickknacks. Instead, only leather folders, papers and books covered the table.

Prince Elvir sat in an elegant chair with ivy-leaf patterns carved in the black wood. Plush cushions the color of red wine with swirls of gold padded the chair. Elvir wore a formal gray shirt with silver buttons down the front. Silver and black threading ran down the long sleeves.

Elvir glanced up from his papers, gesturing across the table.

"Sit."

Krek stepped down into the central area, and eased onto his haunches. He unbuckled his satchel and set it down. He fluffed his feathers where the straps had flattened them. Krek never quite knew what to say to Elvir when they were alone together. His gaze wandered as he tried to find the right words. Light cascading off mirrors made the columns' swirling blues shine like ripples of azure blood. A wispy haze of incense smoke revealed itself in the sunlight. The spicy aroma covered up the stale air of a room not often occupied.

Elvir set one paper aside and replaced it with another. "So?"

Krek kneaded at the cold white stone. Elvir's curt question did not make this easier. Krek couldn't blame the man for hating him. How Krek wished things were different. If only he'd gotten there in time to save Elvir's father. After that, Kathlyn never took another husband. Because of a love she could never announce. Because of Krek.

The gryphon sighed, staring at Elvir as he tried to put words together in his head. The prince's short cropped hair was redder now than Kathlyn's had ever been. In her youth, the Queen shared the same burnished copper hair. But where his mother's hair was graying, Elvir's was only getting redder, unusually so. Maybe, somewhere in his bloodline...

"You know I don't like it when you stare at me, Gryphon." Elvir looked up, glaring at him.

"Sorry." Krek glanced away, clacking his beak. "Just noticed how red your hair had gotten lately."

"Yes, you think my father was a Wanderer." Elvir's voice tightened. "I don't care anymore now than I did last time you brought it up."

Krek swallowed, heart sinking. He hadn't intended on saying it, but Elvir always found a way to cut him down, or open him to his heart. Not that Elvir's bloodline mattered. Krek just thought it ironic Illandra's next King was likely descended from one of their conquered peoples. Red hair had become far more common in Illandra after the influx of refugees and conquests from the provinces. Among them was a group of nomadic warriors who once called themselves the Wanderers. Once, long before Krek's time, they'd even been allies with gryphons.

Allies against dragons. Krek didn't like to think about that.

But like so many other nations, they'd been conquered. The Wanderers' rebellion against Illandra had been short but brutal. In punishment, many Wanderers were made to serve the new nobles ruling their homeland. Others became mercenaries, or conscripts added to Illandra's ranks. In time they'd fathered loyal soldiers who came to serve the--

"Have you even brought me anything meaningful, Bird?" Elvir folded his arms, glaring at the gryphon. "The guards told me you had important news! I have waited for you all bloody morning only to find you'd been down in the damn dungeon, probably getting fucked by a dragon! Again."

Krek cringed, glancing away. Krek could not blame him the bitterness that came from absent fathers. He knew that pain all too well. "I have an important request."

"Then out with it, Gryphon!" Elvir slapped his hand against the table. "My patience with you today has long since expired. If you're wasting my time, you'll be lucky if I don't have you locked up down there with new your friend till mother's return!"

Krek took a deep breath. Fine. Fine, that's how Elvir wanted it? Krek drew himself up, unsheathed his claws, and leaned forward, wings flared. "Actually I was the one fucking the dragon. In fact I had so much fun, I'd like you to order his release so that he and I can continue our affair."

Elvir's jaw tightened, his face twitched. The prince gave a frustrated sigh. "Point taken, Gryphon. Why were you really down there, then?" Elvir waved at the gryphon. "Did the dragon give you those wounds?"

Krek lifted his wing, showing off his fresh stitches as if they were a badge of honor. "Yes, had to subdue him before he'd let me mount."

Elvir blanched, sneering in disgust. "That isn't funny."

"Neither is the threat against your mother! And the sooner you stop making light of my proclivities the sooner we can discuss the real matter at hand." Krek tensed his forepaws, dragging his claws against the stone floor. "A dragon gave me these wounds, yes, but it sure as hell wasn't Valyrym."

"Oh, it's Valyrym now, is it? One little visit and you're on a first name basis with a monster."

"He's not..." Krek scrunched up his shoulders, wing tips pressed together. Anger bunched itself in his belly, hot and ready to spring. "Elvir, this is not productive. I need you to reinstate Alia Silverrain, and order Valyrym's immediate release. Please."

Elvir narrowed his eyes, hissing his words through grit teeth. "Are you insane? That dragon must have knocked what little sense remained right out of your feathered head."

Krek ground his beak, sighing. "Desperate times, Elvir. You'll have to trust me."

Elvir thumped his hand against his armrest. "Typical."

"What does that mean?"

"It means this is the same bullshit you always do!" Elvir slapped a folder off the table. Papers scattered across the floor. "You always think you know so much more than us, that we should just trust you at your word. How can I trust someone who spends his life slinking in the shadows, stealing one person's secrets to whisper them to another? Do you even tell my mother the truth? Maybe you've just twisted her around your talons like everyone else."

Krek's voice softened. "It's not like that with Kathlyn."

"Oh, isn't it?" Elvir stood up from his seat, throwing his arms up. "Let me tell you how it is with my mother! You vanish for months at a time! You leave her scared and alone in an empty bed! If you loved her half as much as you claim, you'd be here for her when her burdens are heaviest. Where are you when she wanders the halls, uncertain? And when all she wants is to be held while she cries, where are you?" Elvir knocked another folder to the floor. "Off romping with some dragon you used to fuck!"

Every word cut Krek deeper. As his heart withered, his wings drooped. He stared at the floor through bleary eyes, blinking back sudden tears. "Elvir, that's not fair..."

Elvir paced behind the table, a furious animal ready to be uncaged. "Then you slink back here with some nugget of secrecy, some little poison dagger ready to be slipped between the ribs of our enemies, and trumpet yourself as God's gift to Illandra. Then what? Do you ever even tell her you love her? Do you?"

"Elvir, watch yourself." Krek's voice sharpened, his body tensed. "You know I-"

"All you ever do is flit off to your next lover and leave her sobbing in your wake!" Elvir spun on his heel, his sapphire eyes flashing dark fire. "Have you ever told her? Do you even love her?"

"Yes!" Krek's reply was a roar, smoldering anger erupting in his heart and spilling through the rest of him. "Yes! I love her! I'm not like him!" With a snarl, Krek reared back and hurled the table across the Sky Heart, sending folders, books and papers scattering. The black wood broke in half against an azurite pillar, cracking the blue stone. "I love Kathlyn!"

Elvir stumbled back from the gryphon as Krek dropped to all fours, advancing on him. The guards threw open the doors and barged in. One man had his crossbow loaded and aimed at Krek, the other hefted his spear. Krek barely spared them a glance as Elvir waved them off.

"Hate me all you like, Elvir. That is your right." Krek's voice was a ragged snarl, his crown feathers flared and trembling in silver fury. "But I love your mother more than I could ever put to words! It shatters me every time I leave her behind. I weep for her broken heart each time she watches me vanish into the night, knowing I may never return. I would do anything to keep her safe. I would die, Elvir. I would shed my last drop of blood for her. I would die happy knowing I was protecting a better, stronger, person than I will ever be." Krek took a deep breath, tail lashing. "I will do anything to protect her. Anything. That is all that matters to me. Not you, not the kingdom. Only Kathlyn."

Elvir sank back into his chair, his shoulders slumping. "Krek, maybe...I shouldn't have..."

Krek was in no mood for an apology. "Set Valyrym free, or I will do it myself."

The prince sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's treason, Krek."

"I am not your subject, Elvir." Krek eased back onto his haunches, smoldering emerald gaze fixed on the prince. "I have no allegiance to you, nor your kingdom. My only allegiance is to your mother. Free Valyrym and help me save her."

A spark of realization dawned in Elvir's piercing blue eyes. Fear washed away the lingering anger in his voice. "Save her? So, you were right after all?"

"The Wind That Carries is going to kill your mother."

Elvir put his face in his hands. "Oh, God. Krek, I...look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't--"

"I don't care." Krek snapped his beak. "I am not here to discuss us. I'm here to discuss how we're going to stop The Wind."

Elvir sat up straighter again, gesturing at the gryphon. "Is she the one who gave you those wounds?"

"Not quite." Krek lifted his wing, staring at his stitches. He was thankful his tantrum hadn't broken them. "One of her brood did." Krek warbled a note of bitter amusement. "I did drag another out of the sky, though, so it wasn't all one sided."

"How many damn dragons were you fighting at once?"

"Three. Though, if I'm honest, The Wind just threw me around and choked me. It was her children I fought, and I only fought them one at a time."

"Her children?" Elvir rose up, and gathered some of the papers scattered across the floor. "But I thought..." He glanced through random papers, seeking some kind of answer. "Aren't you and her son...? I mean, isn't his village where I was..."

"Yes, Elvir. We are, and it was. But she has other children, and we no longer get along." Krek watched Elvir shuffle through reports and files now hopelessly mixed. "Sorry about your table."

Elvir glanced at the broken table. "It was mother's, anyway." He gave up trying to put papers back in order, and returned to his chair. "Think she'll be angrier you cracked the pillar."

"She always did love this place."

"She still does." Elvir held up a hand. "Alright, Krek. Truce. I won't yell, you don't yell. No secrets, no evasion. Fair?"

Krek nodded, ruffling his feathers. "Fair."

"Then start at the beginning. Tell me how we save my mother."

*****

Alia drifted on a black ocean. Her belly lurched. Pain thudded in her head. Her throat was cracked and dry. Something hot and scratchy pressed against her face. Muffled, incomprehensible sounds twisted around her unconscious mind. She floated, glimpsing consciousness yet unable to reach it. Something touched her, the feeling warm, firm and foreign. She squirmed, and fell. Falling seemed endless.

Undefinable colors swam in her black vision. She glimpsed a dragon's tail, the spines impossibly curling in upon themselves, the scales in strange rainbow hues. She tried to turn her head to follow it, but the dragon remained just out of sight, only his tail tip to lead her on. She swam through colors that could not exist.

Breath by struggling breath, Alia clawed her way back to consciousness. How long had she been drifting between moments of confused pain and dreamlike reverie? In her mind, Alia seized the dragon's tail. She grasped one of the curled spines, demanding her unseen guide return her to reality. Moment by moment, the world solidified around her.

Her arms ached, pinned behind her, twisted around something hard. Her legs were stiff, she could not stretch them. A black veil smothered her face. She sought words but her tongue was too heavy to form them. Something pressed against it. Only muffled moans and murmurs came out. There were noises around her, laughter. Each laugh was a singular sound, drifting in lazy circles inside her head. Hah! Hah! Hah!

As her mind awoke, details made more sense. Her shoulders ached, her wrists burned when she tried to twist free. Something tight squeezed her ankles. They'd bound her to a chair. She struggled and the chair clattered. If she fell over she might crack her skull.

Everything was dark. It was hot, her face slick with sweat. The bag. Alia remembered the bag. Alia worked her jaws, her tongue. Something soft and wet filled her mouth. They'd gagged her. Alia hoped it was clean. Wait, who had gagged her?

Alia grit her jaw against the gag, trying to focus her thoughts. It was...Armadine. Armadine and his cronies. She knew the man was twisted, but this? He'd just stood there while his thugs killed three men. She'd never realized just how dangerous a monster he truly was. And he called them rebels. Which meant he knew...

Damn it, it didn't matter what it meant right now. All that mattered now was escape. Valyrym wasn't about to break down that wall and rescue her. Hell, with Armadine this bold, it might be Valyrym who needed saving. No way in hell she'd let that sick bastard hurt her dragon again.

So how the hell was she going to get free?

Alia took a few deep breaths, telling herself to stay calm. Panic never helped anyone. Come to think of it, she _did_feel calm. Unnaturally so. Alia grimaced around the gag. It must have been the lingering effects of being drugged. May as well take advantage, she thought.

She squirmed and twisted, testing her bonds. The knots around her wrists were tight, but those around her ankles felt looser. Alia grit her teeth, working her legs against the binds until her muscles cramped. She paused, grimacing against the pain. When it faded she went back to work, pulling at the knots until the ropes loosened. If only she could slip them off the ends of the chair legs.

But how was she going to do that?

She rocked her chair, trying to lift a leg off the ground. But without being able to brace her feet, she couldn't balance it. She wouldn't be able to lean far enough without the whole thing tumbling over. Actually, was that such a bad idea? Oh, hell with it.

With a grunt of effort, Alia rocked her chair to the side hard enough to send it toppling down. Pain crashed through her shoulder when she hit the floor. She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut. Blue-white stars fluttered through her darkened vision.

"Keep it down in there!" The voice was muffled. Someone banged on a door.

She sucked in a wheezing breath and let it out in a pained groan. When no one came to investigate, Alia flexed her legs. The knotted ropes slide a fraction of an inch. Alia pushed her legs against the knots, alternating left and right. They slipped a little more each time until finally the rope around her left foot popped free of the chair leg. Her heart soared, and she worked her right leg even harder. That leg was against the ground, but with enough effort that foot came free as well, knotted rope hanging around her ankle.

There was no time for Alia to savor her small victory. Now came the hard part. How the hell was she going to get her arms free? She wiggled, flexing her arms. The chair didn't feel that sturdy. Maybe she could break it, but she'd have to get up first. Alia rocked against the ground, wood clattering. She rocked again until she was able to roll onto her belly, face pressed against dirty burlap and hard floor. The chair's weight wrenched her bound arms, but she ignored the pain. She worked her legs, tried to rise to her knees. The chair made it difficult, but she managed to get a foot against the floor, then the other.

Alia rose to a hunched position, her legs burning. She took a few breaths then jumped backwards, jamming the chair legs against the floor. The chair creaked and flexed. That was a good sign, though Alia couldn't help but consider how it could all go wrong. She could break her arms, or end up impaled on shattered wood. Icy coils twisted round her spine, but she knew she had no time to hesitate.

She rocked forward, back onto her feet. Alia took a few halting steps backwards, the chair wobbling against her. Her shoulders throbbed. She kept moving backward till the chair legs bumped a wall. Alia stepped three paces forward, took a breath, and surged backward. Or at least she tried. In her odd position, she lost her balance and fell back down, seated again. Alia cursed.

Alia returned to her feet, ignoring her body's protests. She surged back toward the wall as fast as her awkward position allowed. This time all she managed was to mash her bound hands against brick. She cried out, the sound muffled by her gag. Always seemed easier in the heroic tales.

It was time for a new plan. Alia paced back and forth, counting the steps, learning the rhythm. When she was ready, she took a deep breath and rushed back toward the wall. Just before impact she jumped backward and hunched up.

This time the chair legs hit the wall first. Wood cracked and splintered, collapsing beneath Alia's weight and impact. The legs blew apart. The chair's seat cracked against the stone, and the stiff back broke. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Pain erupted through Alia's body as she flopped to the floor. An ocean of stars swirled in her vision.

"Settle down in there!" The guard banged on the door again. "If I gotta come in there, you ain't gonna like it."

Even before she'd forced air into her lungs, Alia struggled against the damaged chair. Broken wood soon came free, leaving her arms bound only to broken slats. She stood on wobbly legs, yanked the bag from her head, and spat out the wadded cloth gag. The rush of air felt cold and fresh, a great relief even in a stuffy room. She tore the knotted ropes from her wrists and ankles, then gazed around. The room was dark save for light shining through the cracks around the door's edges.

Alia picked up the biggest, heaviest hunk of wood that remained. The weight was reassuring, and Alia was ready for some payback. Alia slipped up alongside the door. She checked it, found it locked. She cursed silently. She'd have to draw the guards in, then try to make a break for it. Outside, she heard muffled yells. The guards were probably arguing about who got to come 'shut her up' first.

She cocked her heavy chair leg.

First person through that door was going to get his head taken off.

*****

Chapter Fourteen

*****

Krek curled his tail around his paws, gazing at Elvir. "If you want to stop Kylaryn, you have to understand her."

Elvir piled a stack of books up near his chair. "So help me do that. If she fights for Aran'alia, why isn't an offer of freedom good enough?"

"Because it comes from Illandra."

Elvir rubbed his forehead. "Krek..."

Krek ground his beak. "I believe in her heart she has only the best of intentions. But she has fallen further than anyone, even Valyrym. She has known more pain, more loss than she has ever known joy. Her soul has been cut to the core time and again, and Illandra holds the blade."

Elvir shifted through a few papers, scowling. He put them in order, and stuffed them into a folder. "Go on, Krek. I'm listening."

Krek gazed at the ceiling. A cloud drifted across the blue sky beyond the sun-shaped skylight. "Kylaryn came into this world, happy and free, in a wild clan living somewhere in the vast wilderness. Didn't even know what nation they lived in, let alone that a great army was sweeping across the land. Or that such an army would see a dragon clan only as a nest of evil to be purged from their path."

Elvir picked up another folder, rubbing at the broken wax seal. "I won't argue we did a lot of bad things during our expansion. Mother wants to change all that."

Krek ruffled his wings, sighing. "I know Elvir." Krek drummed unsheathed claws against the floor. "Illandra had conquered plenty of provinces by then. Some had a history of fighting dragons, like the Wanderers. No doubt there were many voices proclaiming the evil of dragons to their new masters. Illandra had plenty of professional dragon slayers to hire. When Kylaryn was little more than a half-grown adolescent, her clan was shattered. She...saw her parents die. They sacrificed their lives to give her a chance to escape, but...she saw it. Heard their screams."

Elvir sighed and ran a hand down his face. "God."

"She escaped, roamed the world a while, looking for survivors. She found some, and in time she took one as a mate."

Some of the color drained from Elvir's face. He busied himself collecting scattered documents. "Valyrym, I take it?"

"Yes." Krek watched the cloud through the skylight. "They had a child together. She had a peaceful life, again. Until Illandran scouts put arrows in her infant son."

Elvir winced. He shoved papers into the folder, and gestured for Krek to continue.

"Valyrym took their wounded son to a town they called Sigil Stones. They treated him, saved his life, took the dragons in, and came to call them family. And in return, the dragons fought fang and claw to save their home when Illandra came to conquer it. In the end, Illandra razed the city that took her in. They burned to death the woman who saved her son's life. And they put her mate in a hole in the ground beneath their capital."

Elvir knelt down, stacking folders. He groaned as if Krek's words were a knife in his gut.

"Before Valyrym was captured, he asked Kylaryn to lead the war in his stead. And she has. She has fought all her life against the country that took everything from her. To her, Kathlyn is Illandra, and Illandra must die."

Elvir paced the room, hands clasped behind his back. "Alright, Krek. I understand. But how does freeing Valyrym help us?"

Krek's ears drooped. "Valyrym is...a wound she cannot close. I truly believe she will listen to him where even her son has failed. If she doesn't, would you not rather have another dragon there to help protect your mother?"

Elvir stopped, and shot the gryphon a worried look. "How do you know he won't just help his old mate get revenge?"

"Because his son will never let him."

Elvir scowled, folding his arms. "So you're pitting the whole family against each other."

Krek snarled his words, venom dripping from his tongue. "They pit themselves against each other without my involvement! The more I try to get them to reconnect, the further apart they drift! Kylaryn is determined to kill the Queen, and Valar is determined to stop her. Their teeth are already bared, Elvir. I only want to stop this from ending in blood."

Elvir flopped into his chair. "We never should have let her leave the castle."

Krek warbled, back of his beak twisting into a grin. "It's not as if we could have stopped her. She refused to alter her plans without personal confirmation the attack was imminent." Krek stared down at his ebony-furred forepaws. "And I may be to blame for that. I did not want to believe it myself." He lifted his wing, glancing at his stitches. "Until this happened I'd clung to the hope that Valar and I could still get through to Kylaryn."

Elvir picked at a wrinkle in his gray breeches, scowling. "Why don't you just carry mother to Aran'alia yourself? Fly her there, get the papers signed, bring her home. Aran'alia is on its way to freedom, mother is safe, and this dragon is circumvented entirely."

"I suggested that before I left." Krek splayed his ears. "You know how your mother gets." Krek flicked a few claws in the air, ticking them off one at a time. "She can't arrive early and unannounced to a diplomatic event as they won't be ready for her. She refuses to look afraid of anything, including a furious dragon. And finally, it simply would not do for a Queen's royal diplomatic party to consist entirely of a single horny gryphon." The prince quirked a brow, and Krek clacked his beak. "Her words, not mine."

Elvir chuckled just a little. "Maybe we have to protect her from her own damn pride. You could snatch her up, and fly her off to some secret location."

"I've considered it, but I expect she'd bash a tree limb over my skull the first time I stopped for rest." Krek chuckled, sweeping his tufted black tail across the floor. "She'd have marched halfway to Aran'alia by the time I came around."

Elvir grunted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "She never would let anyone change her mind. So what do we do?"

"Elvir, I've already..." Krek sucked in a hissing breath. Frustration wouldn't help. "Authorize Valyrym's immediate freedom so we can do whatever it takes to save her."

"Say I do." Elvir's gaze pierced Krek like blue daggers. "What if I only authorize it on the grounds you two return her here, where she's safe?"

Krek pulled his head back, tilting it just a little. "Have the guards not told you what I said last night?"

"Something about...serpents in the pasture?"

Krek clicked his beak. "Wolves. Wolves in the pasture. The serpents are in the garden."

"So...that means what. A spy in the kingdom? I'm sure there have been others."

"No...Elvir..." Krek put a paw on his head. "The garden is the castle."

"I thought the garden was Illandra?"

"No!" Krek waved his paw. "The pasture is Illandra!"

"Your damn codes are confusing, Krek." Elvir rubbed his temples. "You're talking about spies?"

"We'll start there, yes. Kylaryn has spies in the castle."

"What?" Elvir rocked back in his chair. "How do you know that?"

Krek slapped a paw against the stone floor. "Because she damn near told me herself. She knows your mother's route, and few people in the castle even know that. Someone within these walls has been feeding Death in the Night information."

"Who?" Elvir rubbed his face, his eyes closed. "Why would anyone here do such a thing?"

"My guess is it's a noble." Krek wouldn't suggest which noble until he had evidence. "Some of them still hold grudges against her lineage. And think about how much they stand to lose. One free province will lead to others and we both know she won't let the nobles remain in charge. She'll give control of the province to someone else, someone the locals will support."

Elvir folded his arms, growling under his breath. "And if she's killed in the attempt, they can praise her valiant sacrifice and use her death as an excuse to tighten their grip on power."

"So you do understand politics." Krek hissed. "They'd also be putting someone more favorable to their positions on the throne." He held up his paw to cut off any reply. "Your connections and friendships are well known. And your views regarding the provinces have always been more favorable to the noble houses than your mother's."

"Even if they wanted that, why would they deign to work with this dragon?" Elvir nudged his boot against a golden sunbeam emblazoned upon the white floor. "She's far more an enemy than my mother."

Krek flared his wings, flexing them. "Because they underestimate her. If a band of rebels can bend this dragon to their will and wield her as their weapon, then surely the nobles believe they can do the same. What they don't realize is that it's all misdirection. The rebels are _her_weapon to wield. She has hidden her army in plain sight, and it is poised to strike."

"You don't mean..."

"I fear they are everywhere." Krek swept his wings in a grand gesture. "While Illandra's army guards its borders, controls its provinces, Kylaryn's army gathers in secret, inside our walls. For every refugee family who found shelter in this city, there is a soldier ready to draw his blade. They stand poised to plunge a dagger into Illandra's heart. They wait only for Kathlyn's death, so that in the chaos, they may strike as one."

Elvir buried his face in his hands. "So. Our reward for giving generations of refugees a new home is a knife in our back."

"Yes." Krek ground his beak. The idea sat cold and hard in his belly like undigested prey. "Most refugees have no idea, of course. She's been sneaking soldiers in for ages."

"So what do we do?" Elvir sat back up, leaning towards the gryphon.

Krek squawked, tilting his head. "Elvir, until today I don't think you'd ever asked my advice in anything. Now you've asked several times in a row. It's...nice."

"I've never asked because I don't need lessons on how to be a pompous ass." Elvir smirked, but his amusement vanished as quickly as it came. "But as long as you've known about this, I'm hoping you have a plan." Elvir looked at his boots, nudging one against the other. "Besides, mother would ask your advice. Seems appropriate."

Krek smiled, lifting his ears. "Thank you. Yes, I have a plan." Krek grasped his cargo satchel and pulled it over. "First you need to decide which of your men you can truly trust."

"All of--"

"Think hard, Elvir. And rationally." Krek opened up the leather bag. He pulled out a pile of folders sealed with wax. "Consider their loyalty. Can it be swayed by extra coin to pay for the care of a sick child? Do they have a relative who died unfairly for Illandra? A mother saved by someone from Aran'alia? Consider whose loyalty has a limit." Krek passed him a folder. "Start here."

"What is this?" Elvir picked up the folder. Black and silver wax coated much of it. One side bore an imprint of Krek's forepaw, the other side a feather.

"Information." Krek stretched his foreleg and sliced through the wax with a single claw. "Your mother likes to have as much of it as possible."

"I know." Elvir made a face, working open the folder. He brushed off fragments of broken wax. "But that didn't answer my question. I think evasiveness is just habit for you."

Krek cooed softly, glancing down. That was closer to the truth than he liked to acknowledge. "Those are profiles and assessments of all your personal guards, accurate as of the day I left for Denoria."

Elvir lay the folder out, paging through the assessments. "This looks like Enric's work."

Krek gave a squawk of indignation. "I put as much work into it as he did!" The gryphon passed Elvir a few more files, each sealed and embossed the same way. "These contain similar assessments of other divisions."

Elvir examined each folder. A small mark on the corner indicated whose information was contained within. "This one looks like mother's guards."

"Correct." Krek dragged his claw through the wax. "Her men are truly loyal, I think. Perhaps even too loyal. If they try to protect her too zealously, they might get themselves in trouble." He ruffled his feathers, tapping another folder. "These are the rest of the castle's soldiers, from the highest officer to the lowest latrine scrubber."

"And these?" Elvir reached for the last few files, looking them over.

"The gray one is your mother's inner circle. Ministers, generals, and so forth. The black one with wolf emblem is all about the nobles." Krek waved his paw. "There's enough information in there for you to figure out who to trust, and who to cast out."

Elvir stacked the folders, grimacing. "Aren't you going to help?"

"I'm flattered you're asking." Krek clacked his beak, ruffling his feathers. "But I shall be busy conducting a prison break."

Elvir glared at him, but did not argue. "I'll ask Enric, then."

"Enric is as trustworthy as they come." Krek smirked. "As soon as he's free, I've instructed him to be your personal bodyguard. But first I need his help freeing Valyrym."

"Why? I doubt Enric...damn this seal, I'm getting wax everywhere!" Elvir held the folder out, and Krek sliced through the wax with a claw. "Thank you. As I was saying, I doubt Enric can do more than a few dozen men with pickaxes and mining tools."

"Though I'm glad you're coming around, we haven't time to waste on a bunch of men swinging their unimpressive tools about." He opened his wing, silver flight feathers stretched in smug display. "I've something much grander in mind."

"Such as?"

"I require written authorization for his freedom before I reveal anything more."

Elvir brushed wax crumbles from his hands. "It's grand treason unless the law is re-written. And that requires my mother."

"Yes, and we both know she can't publically grant the dragon freedom without damaging her reputation, and her ability to rule. Even if she thinks it's time to show an old beast mercy."

Elvir tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowed. "What are you on about? I hate when you dance around things."

"Your mother has given serious consideration to letting Valyrym escape."

"She has not."

"According to Enric, she has." Krek fluffed his wings, nonchalant. "Apparently meeting Valyrym in person has changed her perception. She can pin his escape on his wardens, who having escaped with him, are unable to be brought to justice."

Elvir folded his arms, snorting. "I'd expect that sort of backroom treachery from Enric, but not my mother."

"Please." Krek tossed his head, squawking. "Don't act like she's not done that sort of thing countless times before."

"So they're really considering it?"

"They're drilling holes in the damn wall." Krek splayed his ears, growling. "You know your mother and her groundwork. Hell, even this trip to Aran'alia is meant to lay the foundation for something bigger, the beginning of a better land for all. Freedom for the provinces, peace! But if this comes crashing down around us, we have to be ready."

"Ready for what?" Elvir's voice hardened.

Krek draped his wings across the ground. His gaze fell. "Kathlyn's death. She always plans for the worst case scenario, and we must do the same."

Elvir straightened up, leaning forward. "We won't let that happen."

Krek swallowed. He gave the prince a smile. "While I appreciate your optimism, we must prepare to defend Illandra against Death in the Night. They have breached our gates, slipped into our homes, and stand above us as we slumber, dagger in hand. We must wake and confront them while we can."

"You have a plan for that too, I take it?"

"I always have a plan."

Krek retrieved a black wooden cube from his satchel. A variety of silver sliders and knobs were set across its surface. Krek flicked a few sliders back and forth, twisted a few knobs, turned the box on its side, and shifted a few more small levers. The box clicked. Krek turned it over, and eased it open. Inside was a single scroll case, wrapped in blue and gray ribbon, and adored with Kathlyn's personal seal.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes." Krek set the box before the prince. "A royal emergency action decree, already signed by Kathlyn, her ministers, and her top generals. This is one of several dozen, each designed to mitigate a different worse-case scenario. In the event of her death, if activated it supersedes all other orders."

"Is her death required for it to take effect?" Elvir pulled the scroll case from the box.

"No." Krek lifted his wings, smiling. "As acting king, you can activate any emergency action decree you see fit. But do not take them lightly. They change things, Elvir." Krek closed his puzzle box. "That one has been around a while, but your mother and I updated it before she left. If the worst happens, I think that one will do the trick."

Elvir turned the scroll case over in his hands. "Mother had me briefed on these. They all have names, right? Which is this?"

Krek tilted his head, smiling. "That one is called Feed the Wolves."

Elvir froze, his eyes widening. "That's your plan? You tell me they'll kill my mother and launch an invasion from inside our own country, and your plan is to feed the wolves?"

"Yes, Elvir." Krek's smile grew. "That is exactly my plan. Feed the Wolves, and let them choke on it."

*****

Vatch slunk back through the abandoned inn. He crept back the way he'd come, clambered over the same wall and crouched behind the same broken planter. He didn't want the guards to know their lookout was dead. He settled in to watch them, ear throbbing. Vatch saw no sign they were signaling to anyone else. The whole district seemed abandoned. Anyone living out here didn't want to be found. Vatch knew backup could arrive any moment. He had to do this now. Vatch squeezed the handle of his stick in both hands, and stepped into the street.

"What the fuck is that?" The first guard to spot Vatch just stared at him.

Vatch growled, pinning his blood-soaked ears back. More blood caked the fur of his face, and his ragged shirt. He bared his fangs, snarling.

The other man's eyes widened. "Think he's got the rabies or somethin'."

The first guard put his hand on his sword. "Get lost, ya little ratdog."

Vatch walked straight towards them, growling.

"Yeah, you filthy mongrel." The second guard glanced at the old inn. "Step back before I cave your dirty little skull in."

Vatch split his maw wide. He gave a loud, spittle-flecked growl, trotting faster.

"Fuck me, he does have the rabies!" The first guard stumbled back, gesturing in the air. "Shoot the little rat!"

No bolt came, and Vatch charged the surprised guards, closing the distance in an instant. The nearest man backpedaled, yanking his sword from its scabbard. Just as the guard freed his blade, Vatch dropped into a slide. He struck the man in the ankle with his mace, shattering bone. The guard screamed and toppled over, clutching his foot.

"Shoot him, shoot him!" The other guard scrambled back, drawing his blade.

Vatch was back on his feet and into another sprint in an instant. The guard thrust his blade, but his frantic retreat left him off balance. Vatch darted back and forth as he ran, the sword missed by inches. Vatch leapt into the air, swinging his club.

Vatch's mace crashed into the man's jaw with a sickening crack. Blood and broken teeth erupted from his mouth, his head jerked to the side. The guard stumbled and fell to his knees with a gurgling cry. Vatch landed, spun, and slammed his club into the back of his head. His skull crumpled, and he flopped forward, twitching.

Even as one guard fell, the other tried to rise. On one knee, he thrust his sword for the urd'thin. Vatch pivoted away, and the blade only caught the outside of his arm. Fresh blood ran down his fur, but the added pain spurred Vatch on. As he twisted away from the man's next, off-balance sword stroke, Vatch lashed out with his mace. The first blow exploded his elbow, and as the man shrieked, Vatch struck him again. This time the impact splattered his face, and the man collapsed with long, wheezing groan.

Vatch fished the key out of the guard's pocket and ran to unlock the door. He threw the door open and stepped into the darkness. "Alia!"

No sooner had he stepped inside than Alia screamed and swung a broken chair leg at his head. The makeshift club whistled just above him. Vatch yelped and ducked as it broke in half against the door frame.

"Alia! Is Vatch! Is Vatch!"

"Vatch?" Alia gasped, shock in her voice. "I'm sorry! I thought...Oh, Vatch!" Her voice rose and fell with a rush of emotions. "Vatch! Oh God, am I glad to see you! Vatch, I thought... the guards!"

"Think they dead." Vatch squeezed his mace handle. "Alia, are okay? Are hurt?"

"I'm...I'm alright, Vatch." Alia snatched Vatch up in a hug. "Oh, Vatch! It's so good to see you!"

Vatch coughed as Alia squeezed the air from his lungs. "You...squish Vatch!"

"Sorry." Alia set him down. She peered through the door, then hurried into the street to pick up a dead guard's sword. She glanced up at Vatch, saw him in the light for the first time. Her eyes widened and she gasped. "Vatch, you're soaked in blood! What happened?"

Vatch winced. The reminder made his ear throb. "Is look worse than is."

"Vatch, are you sure? That's lot of--"

"Alia, we must go! More bad guys come!"

"Right!" Alia ran a few steps. She stumbled to a halt, gazing around. "Where the hell are we?"

"Bad place." Vatch pointed with his stick in the other direction. "Is this way to castle."

"Castle! Yes!" Alia ran back past Vatch, then whirled around. "Vatch, it was Armadine! We have to tell everyone!"

"Yes, must go to castle. Hurry hurry!"

Alia stared up at the late afternoon sky. "God, Vatch how long was I out? Oh no, what if he's already hurt Valyrym? Vatch, we have to help him!"

"Alia!" Vatch took her free hand, and gave it a little tug. "Must go this way. Dragon safe, gryphon is there."

Alia gave Vatch a baffled look. Her black hair stuck out in all directions around her flushed face. "Gryphon? What gryphon? ....Krek?!"

"Yes!" Vatch tugged at her hand till she followed him. "He need you now right away today to set dragon free!"

Alia stopped. "What?"

Vatch spun around, panting. "Krek want free dragon to save queen!"

Alia just gaped at him. She turned, stared at the dead guards, then looked back at Vatch. "Am I still unconscious?"

"You want Vatch slap you find out?"

Alia pressed a trembling hand to her face. She dropped the sword. Her knees wobbled, and she stumbled down the street. "I...I need a minute, Vatch."

"Okay, is okay Alia!" Vatch moved up alongside side her, walking her over to a grassy area. "You sit here, yes?"

Alia flopped into the grass. She put her face in her hands, and took a few slow, deep breaths. Vatch put a hand on her shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Alia lifted her face from her hands, and gave him a smile that warmed his frightened heart. Then she wrapped her arms around him, and soon Vatch hugged her back.

"Is good see you too, Alia."

Alia pulled back. She glanced away and gave a heaving sigh. "Gods, Vatch. What the hell is happening?."

"Is many scary things, Vatch know." Vatch squeezed her hand. "Vatch scared all day. Scared of lose friends, scared not good enough to save. But all day, Vatch just try do what must. Now must get you to castle. Can worry about rest later."

Alia took a slow, shuddering breath. She cupped Vatch's cheek in her hand, smiling. "You're a good friend, Vatch. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Is no need thank Vatch. He just big hero, that all." Vatch grinned, savoring the comfort of her touch. Then he pulled his head back, took her hand in his. Her skin was cool against his pads. "Alia...is time set Dragon free."

Alia's face hardened. Green fire flashed in her eyes. "So be it, Vatch." Alia rose to her feet and fetched her stolen sword. "How do we get to him? I'm banished from the castle, and only Enric will believe me about Armadine."

"Gryphon say he find way get you in."

"But who knows how many more guards Armadine has in his pocket?"

Vatch scowled, pinning his ears. That could be a problem. "I take you through tunnels."

"I thought the guards bricked those up ages ago?"

"We get really big hammer."

*****

Chapter Fifteen

*****

Alia followed Vatch past rotting husks of old homes and businesses. The whole place seemed abandoned, but eyes in the shadows told her otherwise. Now and then she saw someone standing in an alley, or crouching in a doorway. Two men in dirty clothes whispered and pointed. A scruffy urd'thin glared at her with dead eyes and a dagger in his hand. Alia gripped her stolen sword tighter, thankful for the message sent by Vatch's bloodied club.

Alia wondered if this was all that was left of the old Aran'alian districts Death in the Night hadn't helped revitalize. At least they didn't have to worry about running into any guards Armadine owned. Though they'd traveled quite a distance since her escape, they hadn't seen a single guard.

Loud voices drew Alia's attention. Vatch's ears swiveled towards the sound, and Alia gestured for quiet. Alia peered around a decaying building. Dozens of Aran'alians and half as many urd'thin drilled with weapons in an ancient plaza. A man with a silver raindrop patch on his shoulder barked out orders and the group obeyed. Armored men walked amongst them, adjusting stances, changing grips.

A lump of ice settled in Alia's belly. She doubted they were just being prepared for guard duty. How many of these abandoned plazas were filled with soldiers in training right now? Just what the hell were Cassilia and her people up to? Whatever it was, Alia didn't want them to spot her. She moved on with Vatch in silence.

Vatch led her to a strange, twisting lane. It wove between tall, decrepit buildings wreathed in shrouds of moss and ivy. Patches of smooth cobblestone peeked up from the dirt. Half the buildings looked ready to collapse. One even leaned across the narrow path. Walking in the cool shade beneath the slumping building made Alia shiver, and she was glad to be out from under it quickly.

The winding road ended at an old pumping station. The pump handles were all broken off, the well collapsed. A statue of a woman lay in broken pieces. Beyond the pumps, a stone archway carved with ancient runes led into an old bathhouse. Part of the roof had collapsed, cracking faded blue tiles lining sunken tubs. Red and yellow lichen decorated drains and old bath pumps.

Vatch picked his way through the rubble, pointing at a large crack in the back wall. "We go through here."

"You're joking."

"Is not joke." Vatch tapped an odd sigil on the wall with his mace. "Is way in."

"Vatch, I can't fit through there."

"Is easy." Vatch peered into the darkened recess. He thrust his white oak mace into the opening, waving it around.

"What are you doing?"

"Clear spider web."

"You want me to squeeze through a crevice filled with spiders?" Alia's belly tightened.

"Not filled." Vatch plucked sticky strands from the flanges of his mace. He flicked his bandaged ear, wincing. "Just watch for blue ones, yes?"

"Blue spiders?"

"Yes." Vatch wriggled into the crack in the stone.

Alia grit her teeth. "Why the blue ones?"

"They bite!" Vatch's voice bounced against the stone. His bushy tail vanished into the dark hole.

Wonderful.

Alia peered into the crevice. She didn't _see_any blue spiders, but then again, she didn't see Vatch, either. Only darkness. Alia scowled, sizing up the opening. She turned her body sideways, exhaled, and tried to squeeze through. Alia yelped when her head bumped stone.

"Vatch, this isn't going to work." Alia crouched to work her shoulder in. She felt like she was pushing herself into a vice.

"It get bigger." Something clanked at the other end. "Just push through."

"Push through and get myself stuck in the darkness with blue spiders that bite! Got it."

Alia forced herself in deeper, grimacing. The stone scraped every inch of her body. No wonder the guards rarely followed urd'thin into the tunnels. Alia struggled, pushing herself a few inches deeper. She grit her teeth, trying to tamp down on spiraling thoughts. What if she got stuck? Trapped between slabs of cold stone, slowly starving. Or would she suffocate? She could barely even take a breath.

"Vatch..."

Alia heard rustling before Vatch's hand wrapped around hers. His pads were warm and soft, his fur tickled. He squeezed her hand. "Is okay, Alia. You almost there. This way." Vatch tugged her hand. "This way, yes?"

Alia smiled in the darkness, grateful for his comfort. She braced against the stone, straining just to move an inch at a time. After long, painful moments, the stone vice eased its grip. Progress grew easier, and Alia pushed on until she freed herself from the confines of the broken wall. When Alia popped free, she stumbled into Vatch.

"Thank you, Vatch!" She hugged him with one arm, then patted him between the ears. "Where the hell are we?"

"Warren Entrance Seven Six Two."

"You're making that up."

"Yes. What else Vatch say?" Vatch walked off into the gloom, and Alia soon heard him rattling things again. "Is just other side of wall!"

"What are you clanking around?"

"Vatch getting lamp." Vatch struck flint against steel, and set spark to a simple lantern. "Is better now, yes?"

"Much better."

Alia gazed around once the lantern's orange glow illuminated their surroundings. They were in a separate room, probably storage for the bathhouse. An old stairwell led down into a maintenance area for the pumps. Crates in the corner looked newer than everything else. Several lanterns sat inside them along with flask of oil and a few other supplies. Small footprints in the dust told her no one but urd'thin had come this way in a long time.

A sprawling, asymmetrical web filled a corner of the room. An immense, bright blue spider occupied the web. It had a strange, elongated shape like a sapphire wasp, and was easily the length of her hand. Black fangs twitched beneath its many eyes. It wandered its trap, testing each strand with measured movements.

"Is that one--"

"Yes." Vatch pushed her away from the spider's web. "They bite. Also they jump. You stay away, yes?"

"Are they dangerous?"

"Very much poison." Vatch walked to the stairs. Orange lantern light wavered against the stone walls. "Also very much defend web. Not get close, yes?"

"Won't be a problem, Vatch." Alia cast a final glance at the spider. Its eyes glittered like fiery stones in the lamplight. She could have sworn it was watching her, ready to leap onto her face. Alia shivered and hurried after Vatch. "How long will it take to get to Valyrym's prison?"

"Not sure." Vatch flicked his ears back, glancing over his shoulder at Alia. "We go fast but is long journey."

Alia nodded, following Vatch down the old stairs into a larger chamber. The walls were damp, and covered in pale moss and brown slime. An unpleasant dankness clung to the air. Blue-gray shelf fungus obscured broken wheel-handles connected to the pipes for the pump house.

"I think that's the same fungus that grows around Valyrym's tub." Alia smiled.

"Yes, yes," Vatch said, waving his white oak mace. "Is real wonderland down here. Whole forest of slime and fungus. We go now."

"You've spent too much time with Valyrym." Alia switched her sword to her other hand, smirking. She wished she'd thought to take the scabbard too. "You've picked up his sarcasm."

Alia followed Vatch from the maintenance chamber into a long tunnel. The sound of dripping water echoed along the stone corridor. They passed several intersecting tunnels before Vatch took one that led to another stairwell. They descended it into yet another hallway. Alia was glad Vatch was leading her. She'd have been lost already.

When they ended up on a walkway overlooking a larger chamber, Alia came to a stop. Vatch's lamp shed just enough light for Alia to make out some kind of elevated, slanted drainage system. It ran the length of the chamber, supported by simple pillars. The scent of mildew and stagnant water sat heavy in the still air.

"Is this an old aqueduct?"

"Vatch not know this word." Vatch shrugged, waving his lantern. "Is many things down here. Is sewers some place, old city other place."

"I think Val's prison was built as some kind of grand hall for the old city." Alia glanced over the edge of the walkway. "So how many urd'thin live down here?"

"Here?" Vatch gestured with his lantern. The orange light danced with the darkness. "Not many. Is dangerous. Not everything stable. Plus bad things hide here."

"Bad things?" Alia scowled, moving closer to the urd'thin.

"Monsters." Vatch whispered, baring his fangs.

"Really?"

"Maybe!" Vatch laughed, swishing his bushy tail. "Probably not. Just bad people. Most urd'thin here live in other part we call warrens. Is..." Vatch scrunched his muzzle. "Is not pretty, but is safe."

"Safe is good."

"Yes." Vatch chittered. "But first we must go through sewer."

"Figures."

Alia stuck close to Vatch as he led her deeper. She guessed most of the tunnels they traveled through were old maintenance shafts for sewers, or aqueducts and pump houses. Others resembled hallways, with arched doorways blocked off by broken stone. A few times they passed through larger chambers. Alia caught glimpses of familiar pillars at the edge of the lamplight. Whatever Valyrym's prison had once been, it wasn't the only such chamber beneath the city. It made her wonder about the origins of the place. Was it something Illandra built when young, a place to shelter their people in case of invasion? Or was it from a civilization before Illandra?

Just as Vatch threatened, they passed through several sewer systems. Revolting sludge and refuse filled drainage channels in the floor. The stench made Alia gag. She pulled her shirt over her nose, breathed through her mouth. While only the wealthy had access to latrines directly above the sewer system, the city's refuse washed into drains with every rainfall.

They crossed the channels on rickety wooden walkways. Vatch scurried across them but Alia's stomach heaved with the unsteady span's every wobble. A few rats sat up on their hind legs, staring at her. A snake wound through bits of garbage floating on the surface. Something larger stirred beneath the foul water, trash and filth bobbed in the ripples. Alia swallowed, reminded of Vatch's comment about monsters.

Alia wished she could tell how far they'd traveled. Beyond the lamplight there was only darkness, echoing footsteps, and unsettling noises. Sometimes they had to double back when a tunnel was boarded up, or blocked by debris. How long had they been down here? At least Vatch always seemed to know another way around.

"So...you used to live down here?" Alia shuttled her sword between her hands. She wasn't used to the heavy weight of such a weapon. "You seem to know the place really well."

"Here?" Vatch gestured with his lamp. The wavering light made their shadows twist across the narrow walls. "No. But one of warrens? Yes."

"There's more than one of them?"

Vatch chittered laugher. "Yes! Different tribes, different warrens." Vatch paused at an intersection, inspecting the stone wall. Tiny mushrooms lined damp crevices in the stone. Vatch brushed finger pads over marks cut in the rock, then continued on. "Vatch told was time when many urd'thin tribes live here, like city. Then humans conquer. Is long ago. Now some tribes mixed, but not all."

Alia glanced at the markings as she followed Vatch. "Are those runes part of the urd'thin language?"

Vatch paused and smiled at her, nodding. "Yes! Is directions, for not get lost."

"I just thought you knew your way around!"

Vatch laughed, shaking his head. "Vatch never be here before! Just find entrance, follow signs."

Alia let Vatch concentrate. As she walked, her thoughts drifted. When had Armadine grown so bold? She was worried for Valyrym, but at least Vatch said Krek was there to keep him safe. But wait, why was Krek here? To free him, wasn't that what Vatch said? Something about saving the Queen? Nothing Vatch said in those first few moments after her escape made any sense. The more Alia thought about it, the more confusing it grew. She felt like she was trying to put a puzzle together with only half the pieces.

"Vatch..." Alia twisted her fingers against the sword hilt, trying to untangle her knotted thoughts. "Krek is here, right?"

"Yes."

"And...he wants our help to free Valyrym?"

Vatch grunted, nodding. "Yes."

Alia laughed, her amusement bittersweet. "As overjoyed as I'd like to be, you said something about saving the Queen?"

Vatch tilted his head. "Yes. Gryphon want Valyrym help save queen." Vatch splayed his ears, whining. "From blue dragon."

"Blue dragon..." Alia sucked in a breath. "Oh, God!"

All the banners. All the eyes everywhere. All the guards...

No. They weren't guards.

They were soldiers.

It wasn't a cult, and they weren't her following.

"Vatch..." Alia stumbled, bracing herself against the wall. "They're her army!"

Now she knew why they said it.

The Wind is coming.

*****

"My Lord, I cannot advise against this strongly enough."

Armadine heaved a weary sigh. Some days Traval could be simply exhausting. His protests and worries were a dark spot on a bright day. Things were going splendidly. They'd finally taken care of the Silverrain bitch and eradicated a few rebellious vermin in the process. Being there in the thick of battle, watching the rebels die, it was exhilarating. He felt like a right proper wolf. Now he wanted more. They had the girl, why not keep the excitement coming?

"Nonsense, Traval." Armadine straightened his golden vest until the ebony swirls emblazoned across it were in perfect alignment. He'd changed his clothes after returning from the city. Had to get the slum's stench off of him. "The bitch has learned her place. It's high time the beast learns his. It was your idea, after all. Why simply kill something when you can make it serve you? The dragon and his whore will make excellent servants, don't you think?"

"As your Lordship wishes." Traval gave an exaggerated bow.

Armadine wheeled around to glower at Traval. He adjusted the frilled sleeves of the elegant black and gray silk tunic beneath his vest. "Now, Traval, you know I don't appreciate your sarcasm."

"You also do not appreciate my opinion when it does not suit you." Traval glared back at Armadine. A hint of rare anger tightened his usually expressionless face.

"Oh, dragon bollocks, Traval." Armadine fetched a blue silk handkerchief to polish the dragon horn buttons of his golden vest. "I don't appreciate your opinion when it's wrong." He chuckled at his own cleverness. "But by all means, do tell me what you think."

"I think you're pushing your luck." Traval rolled up one of the brown sleeves of his robe. "If you want to punish the girl yourself, then do so. But do so now. The bird is going to be looking for her."

"Which is just what we want, isn't it?" Armadine sighed again, rolling his eyes. "The bird will be looking for Alia everywhere she isn't, and Elvir will be busy telling his generals about some imagined threat or another. We'll have that filthy beast all to ourselves for the evening."

"And that, My Lord, is where you push your luck the furthest." Traval's jaw set, his cheek twitched.

Oooh, he was getting angry. How amusing.

"It's nothing we haven't done before, Traval." Smiling, Armadine perused his selection of dragon whips.

"Luring the creature into an ambush is vastly different from confronting him in his own lair."

"It's a prison, Traval, not a lair." Armadine removed a whip from the rack. He ran his thumb over a metal shard embedded in the leather. "It's not as if I'm striding into the cave of some great monster at the peak of his ferocity."

"Do not forget why the dragon is here."

Armadine uncoiled the weapon. He pivoted on his heel, and cracked the whip. In the enclosed space of his office, the sound was deafening, but neither he nor Traval flinched. He set the whip on his desk, and returned to the display case. "That was hundreds of years ago, Traval."

Traval folded his arms, grimacing. "Your accurate knowledge of history is astounding, my lord."

Armadine plucking another whip from the rack. "It may as well have been that long. The beast can't even walk without limping, let alone breathe fire. He's worn out, Traval. He's weaker than Illandra has become under Kathlyn's leadership." Armadine laughed. How he amused himself. "We've nothing to fear from some crippled old lizard."

"If the beast is so helpless, why are you so insistent on owning him?"

"Because he's mine!" Armadine spun on Traval, snarling. "He is from my province, caught from my lands, and rightfully owned by my family. Illandra uses him as a status symbol, but that status belongs to me! Why should I just have his hide on my wall when I can have him chained up in my garden?" Armadine sneered, anger pulsing hot in his heart. "Along with his whore."

"There are plenty of whores to go around, my lord, and there are other dragons to chain up in your garden. Why, your father's already got that one back home..."

Armadine slammed his hand on his desk. "Enough! This is not just about owning a dragon! This is about what is rightfully ours! That dragon belongs to me, to my family! That dragon was captured by us, by true Illandrans!" His voice twisted into a furious growl. "No more shall the sheep own what the wolves worked so hard to capture. Not the dragon, not the province!" Armadine turned away from Traval and took a deep breath. "First thing's first. That filthy beast will bow to me or we'll bring him pieces of his whore until he does."

"You're better off with gryphons." Traval leaned against the wall, folding his robed arms. "Some of them have loyalty that can be bought."

"Why not both?" Armadine replaced his whip on the rack. "Start with the cripple and my father's captive. After the blue bitch does her job, we kill her and her brood. Catch the rest alive and teach them their place. I'll even give one to Elvir, make a nice present of it. And we'll replace the Queen's mangy crow with some of your gryphons." Armadine smirked at Traval. "Before long we'll have a whole army of monsters."

"I have to admit, your father would approve of the idea."

"Damn right he would." Armadine stroked the braided leather of another displayed whip. "It would remind the other Houses who rules the damn province. Father's right. We can't let our greedy little cousins and the other illegitimate nobles continue to try and carve out their own little fiefdoms while we're distracted."

"For the time being, your loyal forces are still more than a match for any rival who may vie for control of the province's resources." Traval shifted what Armadine assumed were hidden weapons inside his robe. "But I'll grant you that having both dragons and gryphons in your family's service would multiply your family's power greatly. Both in appearance and application."

"You see, Traval?" Armadine smiled. "It's just what we need. Once Elvir's on the throne, I'm going to request we be allowed to purge all the rival houses who no longer bow their heads to us. They will kneel once more to my family, or be buried with the rest of the rubbish."

Armadine removed his favorite whip, black with swirling lines of silver. Jagged bits of metal decorated the end of it. The whip was a family heirloom that had tasted dragon blood long before Armadine was born. A gift from his father, the day he'd finally won the old man's approval. Armadine cared for it, kept it clean and oiled.

He uncoiled the whip and worked it in his hands. "You know I'm right. You said it yourself about that vorloth Elvir hunted." He glanced back at Traval. "Why make a dragon into armor when I can make it fight for me, instead? The one in the basement might not be much for fighting anymore, but he'd still look impressive chained in my garden." He buckled his whip into its holster around his waist. "Oh! I know!" Armadine clapped his hands together, cackling. "When the barbarians visit to sign trade agreements, we'll have the dragon and his whore fornicate for their amusement."

Traval scrunched his face, lip curling.

"Hah!" Armadine rubbed his hands. "Knew that'd get a rise out of you." He dusted off his sleeves. "It's no more appealing an idea to me, but those dirty barbarians are into all sorts of disgusting things. They're not far removed from the animals they resemble, after all. But they do have great value in combat and trade."

Armadine walked to his looking glass. He'd had it commissioned to his own specifications. The body length mirror was edged in sculpted silver, its feet carved as wolf paws. Snarling wolf heads adorned the top corners. How he loved it. Looking himself over, Armadine adjusted his gold and black vest over his gray silk tunic. He licked a finger and polished one of the dragon horn buttons till it shone like the others. Armadine tugged a sleeve till it sat just so, then smoothed a crease in his silver breeches.

Armadine glanced at Traval. "Do you think anyone else in Illandra has clothing like this?"

"Unlikely, my lord, but not impossible."

"Good." Armadine smoothed another crease, admiring the expensive material. "Wouldn't want to feel common."

The material came from a far southern land beyond the great swamps, a lot of desert and red cliffs. It was an awfully long trip, even with Traval's gryphons. Hell of a tailor he'd met there, though. And the place had all sorts of valuable, exotic things. They even had a dragon. Well, he'd show them. One day soon he'd return on a dragon of his own. Hell, he'd return with many dragons. Buy the whole damn city...or at least their tailors.

"Are we ready, Traval?"

Traval gave an exaggerated sigh. "Ready as we're going to be."

Armadine ignored him. Traval could be a real child sometimes, always out for attention. "Good!" He swept his hand towards the exit. "Then let us proceed."

"My lord, this little outing may draw Enric's attention. To say nothing of the bird." Traval walked to the door of Armadine's office, glancing back. "Are you sure you do not wish to postpone?"

"Quite sure, Traval." Armadine put a hand over his heart, bowing his head for his favorite advisor. "But your concern does warm me. Fret not, my friend. Soon enough we'll remove both Enric and the fleabag. I'm going to enjoy my gryphon-feather cloak. For now, if they discover we paid the lizard a visit, I'll just straighten things out with Elvir. Now get the door."

"As you wish, my lord."

Traval held the door open and Armadine passed through, glancing at it. Mahogany was a nice wood, but the door was far too plain for someone so important. He'd have it replaced with something beautiful and elegant. Maybe he'd have it carved with his family lineage. He'd have himself at center as rightful lord of all the Twenty Fourth Province.

Armadine smiled, his thoughts drifting to the future. Once Elvir was king, it was only a matter of time before Armadine would be lord of the Twenty Third Province, as well. And the Twenty Second, and so on. Armadine would not stand idly by while a bunch of treasonous nobles plotted against his dear friend. No, he'd help Elvir eliminate all his foes, and then he'd take charge of those provinces himself. It was better that way. After all, every province had to work together for Illandra's greater glory. Any who refused, any who posed a threat to the new king would be ground beneath Armadine's boot.

It was a shame the prince hadn't listened earlier. If he'd pressed his mother to abdicate, they might have avoided this whole regicide mess. The queen's weakness made her an enemy of her own land. She'd left them no choice, really. They had to remove her for the good of Illandra. Though her loss would be hard on Elvir, Armadine knew it would strengthen him in the end. A bit of character building would do the prince a world of good. It would help him find his rightful place as a wolf in a world of sheep. Then he could lead Illandra back to being a nation that commanded respect and took what it rightfully deserved.

Too long Illandra had been ruled like a frightened child, handing over hard-earned gains to avoid conflict. Kathlyn saw Illandra as a bully trying to make amends, but such simplicities and compassion did not befit a leader. Illandra was no bully. Illandra was a righteous conqueror. Illandra claimed weaker lands, and made them all a stronger whole.

Every nation they conquered grew to benefit. The Twenty Third Province knew ten times the trade and prosperity as part of Illandra as it ever did as Vurnel. And the Twenty Fourth Province? Armadine's province had grown and become part of a modern nation, all because of Illandra. It was Illandra who provided both the means to harvest their nearly unlimited resources, and the trade contracts required to profit from those resources. Yet the provincials and lesser Houses thought they should break away? Be their own little nation? How dare they. They owed their prosperity to Illandra, and to the leadership of Armadine's family.

He should have them all hanged.

No. He'd have them fed to a dragon. _His_dragon.

"Fetch your men, Traval." Armadine's voice twisted into a snarl. "I want my dragon."

*****

Chapter Sixteen

*****

As Alia followed Vatch through the tunnels, he explained what he knew. It made her sick. Armadine must have known of Kylaryn's plans. That was why he'd grown so bold. Why hold back if he thought his friend would soon ascend to the throne? Alia hoped Krek was still there to protect Valyrym. Then again, based on what Vatch said, maybe it was Krek who needed protecting. She'd known Valyrym was having nightmares in her absence, but she had not realized how bad they'd become.

Ahead, two flickering lights beckoned through the gloom like ghostly eyes keeping watch over the darkness. As they drew near, signs of life emerged. Bits of bright cloth hung from strings and wooden poles. Distant voices echoed in unfamiliar tongues. The scents of smoke and sizzling meat tinted the stagnant air. Chalk murals of the blue sky and the bright sun stretched across the walls. Highly stylized urd'thin, like children's drawings, danced on another mural. Twin lamps in elegant bronze housing hung from curved poles. Between the likely-stolen lamps stood a gateway made of thick boards strapped together. Some were vertical, others horizontal like a wooden portcullis. Light shone through it, and cast a patchwork glow upon the damp stone floor.

Vatch called out a greeting in urd'thin as he neared the gate. It was one of the few words Alia had picked up. A female urd'thin on the other side bantered with Vatch for a few moments before she pulled it open.

"Ekka says is okay you come in, but say close to Vatch, yes?" He lowered his voice. "Not all want human down here."

"Happily, Vatch." Alia kept her sword low and unthreatening, still wishing she'd taken the damn scabbard. "Is...all the blood on your clothes going to be a problem?"

Vatch shrugged. "Urd'thin often come back bloody."

Alia grimaced. "I hope they don't think I did that to you."

Vatch lifted his ears and offered his free hand. "We make sure they know we friends."

Alia returned the smile, and clasped his hand. She had to duck beneath the gate as Vatch led her through it. Ekka closed the gate behind them. The female urd'thin was shorter than Vatch, and from the looks of her graying fur, older. She had no horns, and best Alia could tell, no pants either. Instead she wore an oversized gold shirt as a makeshift dress.

"Please thank her for letting me in, Vatch. And tell her I promise--"

"Ekka know your words." She glared at Alia, ears pinned.

"Oh!" Alia flushed, squeezing Vatch's hand. "I'm sorry, I just--"

"This way, Alia." Vatch tugged her forward. "Is best we just go."

"I didn't mean to offend her."

Vatch snorted. "Ekka always offended. She grumpy." Then he blinked, glancing away. "Not all urd'thin in warrens like ones who go to surface.

"Why not?" Alia gave his hand a squeeze as she followed him.

Vatch stopped for a moment, his ears drooping. "Remember how we meet? Vatch was thief. Squatter. Many like this. Give all urd'thin bad name."

Alia rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand, ruffling his chocolate brown fur. "But you're giving your people a good name now, Vatch."

Vatch nodded, his voice strengthening. "Vatch want help them! Make good example, show Illandra value of urd'thin! Hope more urd'thin get better life. But...cannot tell warren this."

"I know what you mean. If I went out into the Silver Rain district and started telling everyone I wanted to help them all get jobs at the castle, I'd be laughed out of the place." Alia sighed, squeezing his hand again. "I want to help them better their lives, but it's hard to get that across without sounding condescending."

Vatch tilted his head, smiling. "That what Vatch want. But for now, can only set example."

"You're a good person, Vatch." Alia released his hand to hug him. "One day they'll know that about you. Lead on."

Vatch returned her hug, his bushy tail wagging. "Thank you. Now, stay close, yes?"

Alia did just that as Vatch guided her into the warren. The deeper they went, the clearer it became that the urd'thin had turned the ancient tunnel system into a functioning sub-city. Lamps and lanterns of all shapes and sizes hung from rickety wooden beams, dangled from rusty hooks or simply sat on the floor. Crates held oil and spare wicks. Rooms were sectioned off by tattered, faded curtains and old cargo netting. Larger chambers were divided into simple homes by make-shift walls of wood and tarp. Partitions that leaned against grimy stone corners made for smaller private spaces.

There were more urd'thin than Alia had ever seen in her life. Some of them stared or gaped at her, others barely acknowledged her presence. Alia did her best not to stare, but could not help peeking into semi-private chambers, curious what sort of lives they might live. Inside a lean-to, a female urd'thin slept on a pile of straw covered with an old sheet. Smoke wafted from one narrow hall where skewered rats and giant mushrooms were being cooked over smoldering embers. The smoke helped cover the scent of mildew and damp rot. Another room Alia peeked into held at least eight simple beds made from scavenged materials. Urd'thin pups chased each other around. A mother nursed an infant and gave Alia a dirty look.

Blushing, Alia moved on. "Do you have any family left here, Vatch?"

"No." Vatch shook his head. "Have half-sister, but she take mate in other warren. Not see her many years. Father disappear when Vatch very young. And mother gone few years now." A wistful smile crinkled Vatch's muzzle. "She why Vatch go to surface. She want better life for Vatch. She be very happy to know Vatch find good life."

Alia squeezed his shoulder. "You've done her proud, Vatch."

"Thank you." Vatch smiled at Alia, then tilted his head. He flicked his tail and glanced away. "You want maybe...see where Vatch grow up? We go right past old home..."

"You want to show me your house?" The idea made her smile.

Vatch scratched around one of his horns. "No, is dumb idea. We not have time."

"I'd love to see your old house, Vatch." How could she turn down such a heartwarming idea? Alia ruffled the fur between his ears. "You said it's on the way, so I could peek in for a moment while we pass by."

"Okay, yes! We do this." Vatch wriggled away from her, laughing as he smoothed his fur. "And stop ruffle Vatch!"

Vatch guided her down a hallway adorned with red and gold rags hung along the ceiling. None of the colorful scraps were the same size or shape. One strip of cloth looked like it came from a bank's gold banner, another from a bright red dress. Some hung from rusted hooks, others were strung up with bits of twine. The din of voices rattled and echoed down the hall, and grew louder as they neared the end of it. The decorated hallway emptied into a much larger chamber, and the biggest crowd of urd'thin yet.

As soon as they entered the room, an urd'thin in mismatched leather armor stepped forward to bar their entry. A variety of knives were strapped around his waist, with another in his hand. He gestured with his blade at Vatch's bandaged ear and bloodied clothes. He snarled something in urd'thin, pointing at Vatch's bloodstained mace, then Alia's sword. Vatch offered a quiet reply, then glanced up at Alia.

"Watchers want make sure we not bring trouble." Vatch lowered his head. "You bow now."

"Watchers?" Alia blinked, glancing around the room. She spotted a few more urd'thin nearby in patchwork armor, with sharp implements and clubs. All of them were glaring at her. She lowered her head the same way Vatch did. "Tell them we bring no trouble."

Vatch spoke up so they could all hear. The watcher growled, but backed away to allow entry into the crowded room. Vatch nudged Alia. "He say keep weapon down, all times."

Alia kept her sword low, whispering to Vatch. "So the watchers are guards?"

Vatch shrugged. "They watch for problem. Then stop problem."

"I see." Alia gulped as Vatch lead her past the armed urd'thin. Half of them looked like they wanted to chop her up and grill her alongside the rat meat. "Should I...thank them for letting me in? How do I say thank you in--"

"Alia." A rare sharpness edged Vatch's voice. "Not bother watchers."

Alia's belly tightened a little. "Got it."

"Come, we go through market now."

"A market?" That explained the crowd. "You guys even have--"

"Yes, yes, urd'thin have functional society. Is great marvel." Vatch put his hand on her sword's cross guard, easing it down till the blade touched the floor. "Remember. Sword down. You not want watchers ask again."

Alia nodded, keeping her sword as low as she could. She took Vatch's hand again, and he led her into the crowded market. The many voices were almost deafening as they reverberated against so much stone. The musty scent of stale water mingled with dirty fur, and the aroma of sizzling meats and mushrooms.

There were vendors everywhere. Some had wares set up on wobbly tables or ragged rugs beneath hanging lamps. Many just set their things upon the stone floor. All sorts of goods were available, from knives and simple tools to scavenged clothing and things sewn from various scraps and pieces. Another table displayed bits of leather and wood. Some offered finer goods from the surface. One urd'thin was surrounded by crates filled with flasks of drink alongside bottles of lamp oil. Alia wondered if they ever got mixed up.

Food was laid out on long benches. Urd'thin butchers chopped rats, lizards and frogs in one area, and birds and snakes in another. Makeshift cages held fat insects. Another urd'thin sold things like fruit and giant mushrooms. A section of scorched chain mail laid over smoldering coals made for a simple grill.

The market was packed with urd'thin haggling and debating, but Aliaa rarely saw any coin exchange hands. Instead, everything seemed to be a trade. A couple of butchered rats swapped for a new knife. Some lamp oil for a coil of rope. A few urd'thin even seemed to get goods for nothing.

"How come some of them are getting things for free?"

"Not free." Vatch swiveled his large ears, listening in as they passed. "They offer do repairs. Is common. Have nothing to trade, can do work, make food, clean home. Get idea, yes?"

"Yes. It's not a bad idea, actually. Makes me wish I had something to give them in return for letting me pass." Alia glanced at her blade, the tip nearly scraping the ground. "I'd offer my sword but I feel like I'm going to need it."

As they worked their way through the market, some of the urd'thin paused their bartering to watch her. A few of them gave her dirty looks, others just stared. A trio of fluffy but matted pups nearly stumbled into her, chittering and laughing. They stared up at her, wide-eyed. Alia wondered if she was the first human they'd ever seen.

Vatch whispered to Alia. "Say ahma. Is hello!"

"Ahma!" Alia smiled at the pups. They giggled and ran off.

At the other end of the market, Alia ducked beneath a tattered tapestry that hung from the ceiling. Ancient iron lamps that barely held together illuminated the tapestry's faded forest landscape. On the other side of it, Vatch turned down a narrow hallway.

"Vatch, what are we going to do if the path to Val's cell is still bricked up?" Alia resisted the urge to peek behind the tattered blankets they passed that served as doors. "I don't think your mace will work so well on brick."

"We buy pick axe." Vatch gave her a devious grin, his ears half splayed. "Or hire help. Once, urd'thin very proud of smuggle things to dragon. Maybe they want do again. We figure out when get there, yes?"

"Alright." At a large intersection, vestibules of flimsy wood and moldering planks made up the walls of simple homes. "How far away are we?"

"Is little ways past warrens. First, Vatch home. We almost there." Vatch took her down a wider hallway with dirty curtains serving as doors to separate rooms. He turned a corner, and guided her to an arched doorway covered with a heavy, animal hide blanket. "This it! Hey, is new door."

Alia ran her fingers across the hide. The brown and gray fur was soft, whatever it was, and the pelt came from a large animal. "This looks expensive."

"Is free if steal." Vatch smirked at her. "Alia wait here, yes?"

Vatch thumped the animal hide and called out in urd'thin. There was a muffled reply, and Vatch pushed the blanket aside. Coils of wispy smoke drifted through the opening and swirled around Vatch as he slipped through. Several muffled voices spoke back and forth. At least they sounded positive.

Vatch popped back out and held the animal hide open for her. "You come in now."

Alia entered and gazed about. The whole stone chamber was little larger than her bedroom. Large recesses in the walls held simple straw pillows and cushions, along with ragged blankets. Old crates and the walls of a wagon made for chairs and a makeshift table. A rickety bookshelf stood near the alcove beds. Its shelves sagged under the weight of pots, jars, and a few ratty looking books. Incense smoldering in clay bowls around the room lent a heavy aroma of fragrant spice and a green-gray haze to the air.

The place was probably built for storage, but now served as home for a family of three urd'thin. Mother, father, and their female pup all stared at Alia. Warmth crept across Alia's cheeks beneath their uncertain gaze. She set her sword down next to Vatch's mace, and then gave them a little bow and a wave. The two adults just watched her, but the young one returned the wave and chittered.

Alia smiled at the pup. "Ahma."

"Ahma, ardgep!" The child giggled.

Alia's smile grew. At least she understood part of that. She nudged Vatch. "Please thank them for inviting me in, and tell them they have a beautiful home."

Whatever Vatch said to the other urd'thin, it made them laugh. Might not have been what she asked, but at least it broke the ice. She stepped deeper into their home. Nearby, something bubbled in a pot sitting over a few hot coals. She hoped she hadn't interrupted a family meal. Alia wished she had something to offer them as a gift.

"So..." Alia set her hand on Vatch's shoulder. "This is where you grew up?"

"Yes!" Vatch walked to one of the stony nooks. He patted a straw pillow. "This Vatch bed when he pup." The little female followed Vatch. He smiled at her and perked his ears.

Alia glanced down at the younger urd'thin with a smile. The little female was all big eyes, ears and smiles amidst her fluffy gray-brown fur. She wore an oversized blue shirt that hung all the way down to her bare, furry feet. Her tail poked through a seam cut into the back of it. She pointed at the bed and chattered at Vatch, wagging her tail.

Vatch laughed and swished his tail in return. "She says is her bed now."

"She's adorable! They relatives of yours?"

"No." Vatch shook his head, laughing. "Never meet them before. But they happy let see old home. Urd'thin share much." He pointed out the largest bed. "Vatch mother sleep there, near books. That where mother read to Vatch many times." He sighed, ears sagging as he stared at unseen memories in his head. Then he smiled at the pup. "Now they read to her."

The pup pointed to Vatch's bandaged ear. They chatted and she tugged on his bloodied shirt. Vatch said something that made her giggle.

"She ask how I hurt ear, so I tell her, I get careless when trim fur."

The little female turned and tugged on Alia's green blouse. Alia patted her head, and she pulled on Alia's sleeve, then ran to her parents, laughing. They sent her to a crate in the corner. She rummaged through it, retrieved a green tunic trimmed to fit an urd'thin, then returned to Alia and Vatch. She held the shirt up against Alia before handing it to Vatch.

"She says, is match! They want me take it, since mine ruined. Vatch have idea."

Vatch unbuckled his coin pouch from his belt, and then offered it to the girl. She ran the pouch back to the parents. When they looked inside, they gasped. The male argued with Vatch as Vatch stripped off his bloodied shirt, mindful of his wounds. Vatch put the green shirt on, then the male sighed and sat down, staring at the pouch.

"How much did you--"

"More than he ever see. But I wear shirt now, is trade. He must keep." Vatch grinned, then gave a little gasp of his own. "Oh! Red book! Is still here!"

Alia spotted a book with faded silver lettering on the crimson spine. "Is that in urd'thin?"

"Yes!" Vatch's dark eyes shone, his ears perked. "That antique! Was Vatch mother's! Is not many urd'thin language book left."

Alia got permission to retrieve the book, and carefully turned the brittle pages. While she could not read a single word, she found the urd'thin language beautiful to look at. The runic symbols were primitive yet elegant. Several pages in, she found an illustration of a young urd'thin facing down a twisted spirit wreathed in fire.

"What's going on here?"

"Oh!" Vatch looked at the picture. "That story of Ug-laag. Is book of urd'thin myth tales!"

"Myth tales? You mean folklore?" Alia delicately paged through the book. Scribbled marks and simplistic drawings had been added to a few illustrations. "Vatch..." She smirked. "Did you draw in this when you were a pup?"

"Maybe time or two." He laughed, perking a single ear. "Is Vatch favorite when little. Know all stories by heart! Ask mother read again anyway." Joyful memories danced across his dark eyes. "Make Vatch happy when times hard."

"Why didn't you take it with you?"

Vatch pinned his ears, shrugging. "Is better to share." He smiled at the urd'thin family. "Now they read to pup when have hard time."

When the pup held out her hands, Alia offered her the book. She flipped through it with an eagerness that made Alia wince. She tapped a picture, yipping her words in excitement. The image depicted both urd'thin pups and human children huddled together. Adults fought in the background. Alia glanced at Vatch for an explanation.

"She say that her favorite. Urd'thin and human have war, but children become friends and have big trick on adults to make peace. Vatch like story too."

"Oh?" Alia smiled at the picture. "I think one of the children's books Valyrym used to read Valar had a similar story in it."

"Is probably story human steal from urd'thin." Vatch smirked at her, then laughed when the pup chattered something. "She say you very tall."

Alia giggled. "Am I the first human she's seen?"

Vatch translated, then tilted his head, listening to the answer. "She say first to see, no. But first who talk to her!"

"I hope I've made a good impression, then." Alia glanced at the family. The mother was chopping some kind of greenish fungus and dropping it into the pot, while the father was looking at Vatch's bloodied shirt. "We should be going soon, Vatch."

The father made a sudden yapping noise, running his thumb over the remains of the golden warden emblem on Vatch's shirt. He stared at Vatch, wide-eyed, then at Alia. He shook the shirt, yelling. All the syllables ran together.

"Vatch, is he mad? Tell him we won't--"

"Alia, moment please." Tension tightened Vatch's voice.

Vatch spoke with the urd'thin father, both voices rising. Alia couldn't tell if they were in a heated argument or sharing excitement. The male urd'thin tapped the warden patches, shaking the shirt and babbling. Vatch gestured with his hands until the father slowed his speech.

Vatch flicked an ear back. "He very...excited...urd'thin become...dragon warden."

The father shoved the shirt into Vatch's arms, and fetched a book from the shelf. The faded brown leather color bore no lettering, only patches worn smooth by countless fingers. He opened it to an illustration spread across two pages, then handed it to Alia. The imagery stole her breath. A black dragon was silhouetted against a full moon, wings spread in ascension. Something was written in the urd'thin language at the bottom.

"Vatch..." Alia's skin prickled. "Does that caption say what I think it does?"

Vatch leaned over to read it. "Terrible sky flies forever?"

"Close enough. Vatch, this is Valyrym! Where did he--"

The male urd'thin jabbed his finger against the image. "Attala yek! Attala yek, nam?" He pointed to Alia. "Attala yek ta'rella arr!"

Vatch's large ears perked and swiveling as the father spoke. "He say, great dragon, great dragon! Great dragon...go free?"

Alia gasped. "He said what?!"

Before Vatch could reply, the father yanked the book back, flipped to a new image, and showed it to Alia. The picture showed Valyrym silhouetted against beams of light shining through barred vents. A group of urd'thin carried him bottles and smuggled goods. The father tapped the picture, then pointed to himself, chattering away.

"He say his great grandfather do this, help great dragon, he very proud. Now he also very proud see urd'thin serve as dragon warden. But he hope we here to help..." Vatch trailed off for a moment. "Free dragon."

"You told him that?"

Vatch shook his head, his ears flattening back. "No. He say...other urd'thin already come. Ask for help open tunnels lead to dragon."

Goosebumps broke out across Alia's body. "What urd'thin?"

Vatch's voice sunk, his fur bristled as the father replied. "Mek. Get many volunteers. They break down wall, then leave. Promise come back. Say coming wind bring change. Promise free dragon."

Alia hissed. "But why? They don't care about..." Alia trailed off when it hit her. A shiver shook her to her core. "Oh, God. Vatch, it's a way in! They're going to attack the castle!"

*****

Armadine stood in the waiting room outside his new office as Traval gathered his men. Armadine liked having a waiting room, it reflected his own importance. He was a busy man, with many important things to do. Armadine furnished the room with a half dozen high-backed wooden chairs. They were stiff and uncomfortable, just the way he wanted them. He did not want people to relax while they waited to meet with him, he wanted them to focus. He didn't want anyone wasting his time because they'd grown so relaxed they forgot why they'd come.

Portraits of Armadine adorned the stone walls. Antique copper lamps cast a faint orange glow across the paintings. The artists had captured him well. Armadine was sure anyone who gazed upon his portraits would know they were waiting to speak to a very important man.

The door opened, and his personal doorman peeked in. "Traval is ready for you, my lord."

"Excellent." Armadine gestured. "Come in, come in."

The guard strode in, and Armadine looked him over. He wore the brand new leather armor Armadine had commissioned for him. Armadine clasped the man on the shoulders, where the insignia of the Twenty Fourth Province was embossed. He ran his fingers over the distinctive row of mountains silhouetted against the sun.

Armadine smiled and stepped back. "It looks magnificent! I don't want you wearing Illandra's colors anymore." At least not until Illandra has a real king. "You're my_man, and you represent _my province. Understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good!" Armadine waved at the door. "Take your place in the hallway, then. If anyone has business with me while I'm gone, you may admit them to the waiting room."

Armadine strode into the hallway after his doorman. Not far away Traval stood before just over a dozen powerful men bristling with weaponry. Some of Traval's men were decked out in heavy chain, others adorned in plated mail. Between them, they carried swords, axes, maces, crossbows, spears, and in one case an immense warhammer. Traval must have been more worried about this crippled old dragon than Armadine was, but who didn't enjoy a good show of force?

"Impressive!" Armadine gave the men a low bow. He knew the paid strongmen always appreciated it when their betters deigned to show them a bit of respect. "I'm glad to see you all properly prepared. I'm sure my friend Traval has already briefed you on what we're doing?"

Armadine glanced around at his various bodyguards. The only replies he got were a few assorted grunts, but that worked for him. Men like this no doubt struggled to string more than a few syllables together, anyway. He glanced at Traval, and his adviser nodded in confirmation.

"Excellent. Then first thing's first." He snapped his fingers and pointed at a few men. "You, and you. Stay here to guard my office."

Traval stepped forward. "My lord--"

"Traval, I did request extra men for just such a task."

"You did, but they're best suited--"

"They're best suited for whatever I tell them. And guarding my office is a very important job. I don't want common folk rooting around in there. Or Enric!" Armadine waved his hand towards the door. "Go on. Guard my office. Visitors may await my return but no one may enter." He tapped his finger against the guard's chain mail. "No one."

Traval inclined his head, and the two large guards entered the waiting room and took up positions by Armadine's door.

Pleased, Armadine turned to address the rest of the man. "Now, about our little...." He waved his hand with a flourish, grinning. "Let's call it a visit. We do not have royal ordainment, but I don't expect much trouble. I've had most of the guards assigned to the dragon's prison replaced with men who enjoy spending my coin. And last I heard, the wardens and Guard Captain Enric are busy elsewhere. More importantly, I'll have no trouble securing the prince's blessing for anything we do. So if any problems pop up..." He gestured at their weapons. "Just solve them."

"And the monster?"

"An excellent question!" Armadine patted the breastplate of the man who spoke up. "This man has initiative." He pivoted around with a grand, sweeping gesture. "You should all follow his example. As for the dragon, he's practically a cripple. But the old beast might throw a tantrum when he finds out I've got his whore. If he acts up, make him hurt till he crawls away to cower in a corner like last time. But don't kill him unless there's no alternative."

With everything in order, Armadine led his men through the castle. Most inhabitants were busy with their work. Whenever they passed the castle's guards, Armadine gave them a friendly greeting. When they passed servants, he scowled and sent them scurrying on their way.

Halfway there, he spotted a trio of women in healer's vestments, carrying supplies. Strange, he thought. The Queen's personal healers were usually as scarce as Kathlyn's filthy crow. Come to think of it, they'd probably been tending that mangy bird. Armadine wondered just what secrets might be extractable from them. He'd have Traval look into that later. For now, he simply gave them a polite bow and continued on his way.

As they passed through the warden's quarters, Armadine looked around, glad to find the area empty. Traval had said as much, but he still half expected to find some nosy warden poking about. If any arrived he'd tell them he was here on official business, and have his men escort them out. By the time the wardens next saw their scaly charge, the filthy beast would be licking Armadine's boots.

At the guard vestibule outside the stairwell, Armadine was pleased to see a vaguely familiar face. Good. That would make things easier. A slender guard sat behind a desk, reading a book. The sound of rattling chain and clanking plate drew the desk attendant's attention from the pages. His eyes widened.

"Yes, it is I." Armadine smiled, sure the man was awed at having nobility pay him a visit. Armadine offered his most sincerely humble bow. "I trust you've been enjoying those bonuses lately?"

"Y-yes, my lord." The guard stammered and jumped to his feet. He dropped his book, bent forward to pick it up, and thumped his forehead on the desk. He groaned and stumbled back.

Armadine smirked. Oh, this little fool was amusing. He'd have to keep him around. "Now, now. Don't trouble yourself." He snapped his fingers, glancing at one of the armored men around him. "The book."

The bodyguard stomped forward, fetched the book, and thrust it into the smaller guard's arms. The slender guard smiled and thanked them, then set his book back down on his desk. He rubbed at the red welt rising upon his forehead, trying to force a smile through his wince.

"What can I do for you, my lord?"

"I should like to pay a visit to the dragon." Armadine strode towards the stairwell without giving the guard any real time to reply. "Unlock the doors if you please."

The guard picked up his ring of keys, then hesitated. Armadine inclined his head towards the man. A bodyguard grasped the smaller man's arm and guided him towards the stairwell. From the looks of it, it wasn't gentle guidance, either. Armadine didn't care so long as it got the job done.

"Thank you, my good man." Armadine reached out and gave the guard's shoulder what he thought would pass for an affectionate pat among the lesser people. "There we are. Get those gates open, and I'll be sure your bonus gets doubled. In fact, I'll triple it and give it to you tonight. Just be sure that no one else comes down here until my men and I leave."

"But...I'm not...supposed to..."

Armadine waved his hand. He didn't have time for some imbecile's quavering. Armadine's bodyguards hustled the man down the stairs. Under glare of mountainous men, he unlocked the gate with trembling hands. As soon as it was open, Traval's men carried him down to the next gate. Efficient. Armadine liked that. No wonder he paid these men so much money. Once the second gate was open, the same men hustled the gatekeeper back up the stairs.

Traval plucked the keys from him as he passed. "You'll get these back upon our return. Along with your payment."

While his bodyguards returned the watchman to his desk, Armadine descended the stairs. The worst part of visiting this worthless beast was the strenuous climb. He'd damn near worn out his knees last time. Armadine smirked. At least later he'd worn out something else with the woman he brought down. It was a shame her family turned out to be a bunch of money-grubbing merchants. Armadine couldn't be with a woman from that sort of line. He'd had to cut her loose.

Armadine paused at the bottom of the stairs to await the rest of his men. He gazed around, and glanced into the side chamber. "They've spruced up the place since my last visit." He nudged one red leather boot against the other. "Kind of them to ensure I don't ruin my boots with their filth."

"Very kind of them indeed." Traval's impassive stare may as well have been gazing through time itself.

Armadine rubbed his forehead. How long did it take to plop a skinny guard back into his seat and tell him to mind his own business? He admired the towering double doors, carved with scenes of the dragon's capture. "Now there's a righteous emblem if I ever saw one. A glorious moment in the history of a glorious kingdom." Armadine rested a hand upon the wood of the closed doors. "Do you suppose I could have these doors removed, Traval?"

"I suppose so, my Lord." Traval barely even gave the doors a glance. "Why do you ask?"

"Because they'd look lovely outside my estate." Armadine ran his fingers across an engraved spear. "I could have them set into a stone gateway, near where I'll have the dragon chained."

"If you had the wall torn down to move the dragon, you could take the doors as well."

"Good." Armadine wove his fingers and cracked his knuckles. "Add that to the list." His gaze settled on a smaller door with chipped paint. "Go see if there's anything useful in that office. Maybe we can have the whore's accomplices drawn up on treason charges. Be fun if Elvir sentenced them to lose their heads."

Traval vanished into the office. Armadine scuffed his boots against the ground. He glanced around at the remaining bodyguards. Some of them met his gaze. Others just stared at the wall, or fondled their weaponry.

Armadine checked his well-manicured nails. "Anyone know any good jokes?"

One of the men grunted. "Jokes is for children."

"Nonetheless..."

Another man spoke up. "I got one."

"Well, by all means, do entertain us while we wait."

"So, this horny dragon walks into this pub fulla whores, right?"

"Charming. Go on."

"Here's something you might be interested in." Traval walked out of the office, holding some kind of tool.

Armadine smiled at the man who'd started a joke. "We'll hear your fine jest later." He turned to Traval, and held out his hand. "What have you got there?"

"Stone chisel." Traval thumped it into Armadine's palm. "Couple boxes full of them, hidden away back there. Lot of other stone working tools and pickaxes, too."

Armadine scowled, turning the chisel over in his hands. "Not sure even I can convince Elvir that helping the dragon carve his stupid pictures is grounds for treason."

Traval heaved a sigh as he took the chisel back. "That's not what they're doing."

Clanking from the stairs signaled the return of the last of the bodyguards. Armadine clasped his hands in growing excitement. "Ah, at last, our company is complete. Put those toys away, Traval, we'll discuss those later. We have a dragon to claim."

Armadine swept his hand towards the double doors, waiting for Traval to push them open and announce him properly to the cowering old beast inside.

Armadine smiled. This was going to be fun.

*****

Chapter Seventeen

*****

Valyrym paced.

It was days like these he missed flight the most. Flight was a phantom pain, a memory of wind against his wings and sun upon his scales. Some days he ignored those memories, other days he tried to embrace them. Over his many years imprisoned, he'd often climbed to his highest ledge, leapt and glided across the prison. Some days he used to do that over and over to exercise his wings. He'd beat them against the air just to feel his flight muscles work even if it meant he banged his head on the ceiling arches.

But exercising his wings was not the same as truly flying. He could not take to the skies to clear his mind. Carving would soothe his racing thoughts, but Valyrym could muster neither the focus nor concentration he needed to carve.

So Valyrym paced his empty prison.

In the youth of his captivity, he had often paced. Walked the walls, hissed at the columns. Chipped his horns against the stones that walled him up in this place. After he took up carving, he'd spent a lot less time wearing trails into the stone. Lately though, he'd fallen back on old habits. At least it helped to keep his scarred leg limber. A shame Vatch wasn't here. His struggles to match the dragon's pace were always good for a laugh.

Valyrym snarled and lashed his tail. His spines clattered on the stone floor. How long did it take to fetch Alia? He expected them to be back by now. Vatch must have stopped for a damn snack. Once they returned, as soon as he was done embracing Alia he was going to give that little runt such a furious fur-ruffling. Valyrym paused. He smiled, and tossed his head. A dragon with an urd'thin for a friend. If Kylaryn knew, she'd needle him about it for the rest of his days.

Kylaryn.

Valyrym resumed his pacing, growling under his breath. All this madness was about her. All this effort to free him at a moment's notice, and for what? If Kylaryn's heart was set on blood, then blood it would be. Kylaryn was the last person in the world who would listen to him. Or was she? He'd told her to lead the war, and that was exactly what she'd done. What was he supposed to do now, tell her to stop fighting? Tell her that winning the war he'd asked her to fight would doom her beloved home to another cycle of violence?

Somehow the bird seemed to think he could just...fly in there, and talk her out of it.

And if not, then what? They'd fight?

He would lose.

Valyrym growled a bitter laugh. All those times he'd bested her in their shared youth, and the only time it mattered, he could not possibly win. He was scale and bone withering in a dungeon. She was fire and steel forged in war. According to the bird, she'd chosen a fitting name. While the Dread Sky slowly faded, The Wind That Carries raged, an unstoppable tempest. What could he do but slow her down? Maybe that would be enough. Get in her way, let her beat on him till someone convinced her to negotiate with the Queen for Aran'alia's freedom.

The thought made Valyrym smirk. He could just see Kylaryn, sitting at some diplomat's table, with a funny little hat on one of her horns and her claws dipped in ink. Ready to sign a contract until some pudgy ambassador made a snide remark. Then she'd smash the table, roast them all, and declare the negotiations a success.

Humans talked, dragons acted.

Still, there had to be a way to get Kylaryn to see reason. The bird suggested Valar could help, but Valyrym outright refused. He would not let his son get involved in this. Besides, what would he do? Invite the Queen to his home in the hopes his mother wouldn't burn down the whole village to get to her? Bring the war to Valar's home?

No.

What else could Valar do, take Valyrym's place between Kylaryn and the Queen?

NO!

Valyrym would not let his son follow his wingbeats into darkness. He could never pit son against mother. Valar had a mate, and a daughter to care for now. At least if Valar stayed away, it was over for him. But if Valar got involved, if the worst happened, then it was a cycle of loss and bitterness, of children without fathers.

"NO!"

Valyrym snarled and lashed out at a nearby barrel, shattering it. Iron bands snapped and splintered wood exploded in all directions. Waves of bright silver water cascaded across the floor. The cool liquid washed over his paws. His reflection wavered in the silver tide, dark and angry, his eyes golden fire. In that silver-hued glimpse, he saw himself as he once was. A force of nature, of strength and fury.

In the distance, the doors opened. The gryphon had asked for the doors to be closed, and Valyrym had not argued. The bird was probably returning or maybe Enric and the others. He stared at the silver water on the floor, raising his voice. "About time. Has Vatch found her yet?"

"My, you didn't even give Traval time to introduce me! How rude."

That voice.

"Afraid I don't know who Vatch is, but if he's looking for your whore, I don't think he's going to have much success."

Time slowed.

Laughter rose above the clanking of mail and the rattling of chain. "Why, I haven't seen the bitch at all lately, have you? I hope she hasn't run into a spot of trouble."

All the water around his paws turned to blood.

"Is she dead?" Something dark and cold awoke deep inside Valyrym's heart.

"Hmmm?" The noble's voice grated upon him, like a bone stuck in his throat. "I don't know what you're--"

The dark thing inside him uncoiled, claws in his heart.

"Is. She. Dead." Valyrym spat each word as its own growled accusation. In his head, snow fell in silence.

"Bit of a spoilsport, aren't you?" The trespasser walked deeper into his domain, his voice growing. "I thought I'd string you along a bit longer."

Valyrym turned to face his enemy, his paws splattering in pools of blood and wet snow. Old strength born anew rolled through his muscles. With his gaze locked on Armadine, the dragon stalked across the prison, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Ancient fury spread its wings within his soul. There was no sorrow, no grief.

There was only blood for blood.

"You will see your limbs scattered and bleeding on the floor as you die."

Armadine's face twitched, draining. He took a step back towards a group of heavily armored men.

"I am going to kill every one of you."

As Valyrym advanced, the whole group backed away. The armored men moved into a defensive formation. A man in a brown robe put an arm in front of Armadine.

"Do you know what they called me, when I was young?" Valyrym's voice was a whisper of ancient pain and coming death.

"She's still alive." The man in the brown robe spoke up. The noble protested but the brown-robed man cut him off. "She's unharmed, as well. So long as you behave yourself, she will remain that way."

Valyrym paused, his tail lashing. The snow stopped. "Then prove it. Bring her here at once. Unharmed."

"You'll get your chance to see her again." Armadine stepped forward. The man in the robe snatched his arm and dragged him back. Armadine scowled and set his hand on the handle of his coiled whip. "Your nose looks better than last time I saw it. You see? No harm done, just a bit of fun. Now, unless you want me to have more fun...you and I are going to play a game."

"No." Valyrym strode towards them, unsheathed claws clicked against the stone. "We are not."

Armadine's men drew steel, backing away. Armadine pulled his whip free, uncoiling it. "Stay back, beast! You overstep your bounds!"

Valyrym lowered his head till his gaze was level with Armadine, his fangs bared. "You are going to bring me Alia, safe and unharmed." Valyrym's eyes were golden spears driven into Armadine's heart. "Or I will kill all of you. And you, little man, I will tear in half."

Armadine stammered. Anger returned the color to his face. "If you're not going to play along, then perhaps we should teach you some respect! You'll obey your master yet!"

Valyrym tilted his head, his voice a polished claw, smooth and sharp. "You come to my buried kingdom and threaten my love, thinking that will cow me? That I will obey? You know nothing about me." Valyrym snarled, his eyes flashed anguish-wrought fury long forgotten. "You think your band of rabble can protect you, but the truth is, there are not enough soldiers in all the city to stop me from killing you."

As guards flanked them, the robed man pulled Armadine towards the door. Armadine stumbled, but did not resist. He spat at the dragon, flushed with fury. "Very well, Beast! We'll do it your way! We'll see if you feel more cooperative after I send you a piece of her!"

"You never answered my question." Valyrym stalked, coiling his strength. "Do you know what they called me, when I slaughtered your army by the hundreds?" The dragon leapt, and beat his wings, propelling himself over Armadine and his men. Valyrym landed just before the exit, claws skidding on stone. He whirled around, tail spines whistling through the air. "They called me The Dread Sky!"

Armadine's men came to a sudden stop as the dragon barred their only escape. The noble pushed men forward, shouting at them. "Do something!"

The man in the brown robe swept to the front of the group. In an instant, a small crossbow was in his hand, pointed at the dragon. "Are you familiar with blue cap, Dragon? It is a potent enough poison to fell even the greatest of beasts, and I have coated this bolt with its purest extract."

Valyrym laughed. His deep, rolling laughter echoed around the chamber, left the men glancing at one another. Even the robed man's confidence seemed shaken. His bland face tightened, his cheek twitched.

Valyrym spread his wings, and arched his neck. "The _first_time they put that in me, they were all dead long before I felt the effects. As will you be." He flared his spines, hissing. "The second time, I was immune. Now bring me Alia. Or die."

"Shoot him, Traval!" Armadine shoved the robed man. "Shoot him!"

"Yes, Traval." Valyrym snarled his words, lashing his tail. His tail spines cracked one of the immense carved doors. "Shoot me. I've wanted to spill that little worm's blood for ages."

Traval stared at the dragon, swallowing. He kept the crossbow leveled at Valyrym. "Perhaps we can negotiate for the girl."

"This is not a negotiation. You may send one man to fetch her, and the rest of you--"

"Just shoot the beast!" Armadine snatched at Traval's arm, and the crossbow fired. Pain erupted near Valyrym's shoulder where the bolt punched through the thinner scales. The noble screamed at his bodyguards. "Do your damn jobs! Get us out of here! Kill this filthy monster if you must!"

Traval cursed, pulling back. Armored man spread out and advanced in formation. Valyrym smiled.

The Dread Sky roared.

*****

"You're sure he's gone?" Krek pushed himself onto his haunches on the simple straw mattress he'd been napping on. After his meeting with Elvir, the healers took him to a forgotten storage room, so he could rest without being bothered.

"Yes." Jakira set her box of supplies down. "We kept watch, just like you asked. Saw him leaving with all his ugly guards."

"Good." Krek rubbed his eyes with a paw, trying to clear the bleariness. "Wait, how many ugly guards?"

"Close to a dozen or so." Madeline arranged jars of salve on a shelf. "Plus his advisor."

"Doesn't bode well." Krek yawned, his beak wide, tongue curled. "But I'd best take advantage while I can."

Bekany clucked her tongue. "You'd best go back to sleep."

"I slept as long as I could." Krek ruffled himself, stretching a foreleg. "How do I look?"

"Like a drunken raven who fell out of a tree." Jakira giggled and smoothed Krek's feathers.

Krek chirruped in irritation. "Wonderful. And with no time to preen, either." Krek rose up, then glanced at his wings. "Maybe a quick preening. Fetch my satchel, will you?"

As Jakira collected Krek's cargo bag, he preened his feathers, rearranging the most disorderly suspects. He'd slept on his side to avoid putting pressure on his stitches, and his good looks and careful grooming had paid the price. Krek paused to let Jakira buckle the bag in place. Then she fetched a brush and helped him groom.

Madeline gave a long sigh. "As if the bird could be any more spoiled. Do you even have a plan?"

"Two plans." Krek leaned into Jakira's brush. "The peaceful plan first. I ask to see him, he's not there, so I wait in his office. Take what I need, leave."

Jakira worked her brush over his fur. "He must look ready for a meeting with a noble."

"And if they don't let you in?"

Krek warbled, smirking. "There's a reason the first one's called the peaceful plan."

When Jakira was finished brushing him, Krek gave her a grateful nuzzle. "Thank you for your help." He gave the others a long look. "All of you."

"Oh, you need not thank us, Bird." Bekany patted his head.

"Jakira, I'll meet you later to get into my armor." He took a deep breath. "After tonight, if I see you again, I'll be a hero. But you'd best disavow all knowledge of what I'm about to do."

Krek slipped from the room before anyone could reply. He'd told the healers all he needed too, but withheld certain details for their own good. But at least they knew he might not be coming back. That possibility lingered in his mind as he strode through the castle. He'd return a hero, or not at all. The idea was strangely liberating.

Krek's heart fluttered as he traveled through the castle. Everything was ready. He'd laid it all out for Elvir, and put his plans in place. Surely by now Vatch had returned with Alia to await him in Valyrym's dungeon. If things went well, by the time Elvir finished meeting with his generals and advisers, Valyrym would be free. It was time to act.

As Krek turned into the corridor that lead to Armadine's room, he put on his friendliest mask. He perked his ears and smiled at the guard.

"Greetings, sir." Krek bowed his head and mantled his wings, feigning respect as he appraised the man. Leather armor, Twenty Fourth Province insignia, sword, not very threatening. "I require an audience with Lord Armadine. I know a man of his importance is quite a busy man indeed, so I shall only take a few minutes of his precious time."

"Ain't here." The man scratched the dark stubble on his gnarled chin.

Krek let his ears droop. "How unfortunate! Might I inquire when he'll be back?"

The man shrugged. "Can't say. Ain't been told. Just watchin' the door."

"Oh dear, what a quandary." Krek swiveled his ears forward. "You see, I've been sent by the prince to discuss crucial developments within his lordship's province."

"Guess you can wait." The guard scratched again. "In the waiting room."

Krek blinked at the man. It seemed he was dealing with a real mental giant. "Ah, of course! Just like the name, then. I shall do that, thank you."

Krek bowed again, forelegs splayed as the man opened the door. He smiled at the doorman and squeezed into Armadine's waiting room. Inside were two of the largest humans Krek had seen in ages. They both glared at the gryphon. May as well try it again.

"Greetings, good sirs!" Krek mantled his wings, dipping his head. Chain mail on both. No colors, no insignia. Traval's men. Sword and crossbow on the left, sword and spear on the right. Daggers. Calloused hands. Experienced. "Do you perchance know when his high radiant lordship will once again bless us with his presence?"

"No."

Krek clicked his beak. These two weren't any fun. He settled onto his haunches and gazed around. So many portraits. Armadine looked ridiculous in all of them. It looked as though he'd been all done up in powders and make ups before posing for the portraitist. Still, it made Krek think he should get portraits of himself done. Well...more portraits of himself.

"Will you at least entertain me?" Krek stared at the guards, unbuckling his satchel. He set it on a chair. "Waiting in silence is so awkward."

The guards glared at him.

"Don't you think it's awkward?" Krek flicked his tufted tail. "Want to tell me a story?"

"Shut your damn beak, Bird." One of the guards shifted his stance.

"No need to be rude." Krek rose up, and strode across the chamber. He gave the guards a friendly smile, ears up. "Since you don't appreciate my presence, shall I just wait in Armadine's office?"

The nearest guard put a hand on the hilt of his sword and drew a few inches of steel. "Sit your feathery ass back down."

Krek clicked his beak. So it was like that? At least he tried. "Don't suppose you two have anything to drink?" He glanced at the other guard. "Got a flask under all that armor?"

"Ain't got nothin' to share with--"

In a black blur, Krek snatched the nearest guard's sword hand. In the same motion, he reared up and smashed the crown of his skull into the guard's face. The man's nose split, bone cracked, and the guard collapsed with a muffled cry. Blood poured down his face onto the floor.

The second guard cursed and thrust his spear as Krek dropped back down. The gryphon twisted away. He flicked his wing into the side of the spear and sent the blow off balance. The man staggered and Krek lashed out at his arm, sinking claws into flesh. The guard cried out, dropping his weapon. He tried to pull away, reaching for his sword with his other hand.

Krek pivoted sharply and with claws in bone, spun the man around and slammed him against the door. The impact rattled its hinges. All the man's breath left in a heaving wheeze. His knees wobbled, but as he gasped, he fumbled for his sword again. Blood ran down his other arm.

The gryphon darted back, then hurled himself forward, twisting in the air. He threw his shoulder and his weight into the man's armored bulk. Bone and wood alike gave way under the impact as Krek smashed the guard right through the door. Chunks of shattered wood skidded across the floor. The man tumbled just behind it.

The door to the hallway opened and the doorman bolted inside, sword in hand. "What the hell's going on in here?"

Before the guard even made it halfway across the room, Krek hurled a chair at him. It exploded against the doorman's face and knocked him off his feet. He hit the ground with a sharp cough, then lay twitching and groaning. Krek bound to the entrance and glanced into the hall. No one else was around. He closed the door.

"Well, that was fun, don't you think?" Krek smiled. It was liberating not holding back.

After stepping over the unconscious doorman, Krek fetched his satchel. With a little work he buckled it around himself. Krek trod carefully around the man with the ruined face, not wanting any more blood on his paws. He slipped into Armadine's office, and gazed around. The guard he'd slammed through the door tried to sit up. Krek grabbed the man's head and bashed it against the floor as he scanned the room.

"Ah, there we are." Krek spotted just what he'd come for.

Krek walked around Armadine's extravagant desk and sickening, vorloth-hide chair. He took the display cases he needed off the shelves and set them on the desk. One display case held a set of sapphires, the other emeralds. All four spherically cut jewels were exquisite, though few knew how truly priceless they were.

Settling onto his haunches, Krek removed a large puzzle box from his satchel. He flicked the hidden panels, twisted the pearl inlays, and popped the dark box open. Inside, two of Krek's most treasured possessions lay in velvet enclosures. With great reverence, Krek lifted one of them from its nesting place. He peered at it in the light shining from Armadine's lamps.

The artifact was black crystal carved into a dragon's head. Not just any dragon's head, either. It was Valar. Krek smiled as he set it back next to its companion. The other crystal was also black, carved with a gryphon's face. His face. Krek held it up against the light. Hints of silver mist coiled within it.

The gryphon sighed as he tucked it away. Alia may have a purer ghost stone, but his were the only black crystal ghost stones he'd ever seen. They were gifts from Valar's family, when they were first about to part ways. Back when times were different and things were better. Krek had cherished them ever since. Once in a while he took them out and gazed at them to reminisce about happier times.

A shame he was going to have to blow them up.

Krek opened Armadine's crystalline display case, removed the gems and checked them each against the light. He eased each sapphire and emerald into its own velvet alcove inside his puzzle box. Though there was room enough for twelve, six would have to do for now.

After securing his puzzle box, Krek broke into Armadine's locked desk drawers. Krek was certain it was Armadine's family behind the conspiracy against Kathlyn, but he needed proof to convince Elvir. A muffled groan drew his attention, but when no other sounds followed, Krek went back to work.

Ears splayed in concentration, Krek went through drawers filled with leather binders, wax-sealed folders, and letters from Armadine's family. He glanced through a few, then skimmed one that seemed promising. Krek ground his beak, growling. That looked like just what he needed.

Without knowing when Armadine might return he didn't have time for an extensive investigation. Krek thumped his tail tuft. He'd just take everything that looked important. Then he'd give some to Enric and Elvir, and keep some himself to go through later.

One way or another, he'd pull this treasonous weed out of Kathlyn's garden.

As Krek stuffed documents into his bag, he gazed around the room. He pinned his ears, cringing. There were pieces of dragons decorating the shelves. Krek wished he could fit those in his satchel. Armadine sure as hell didn't deserve them. If only he could take them to Valar for a proper dragon burial by fire. Then again, maybe he didn't have to...

Oh, what the hell.

"Coming back a hero..." With a keen of effort, Krek upended Armadine's desk. Display cases fell and shattered, and wood cracked against the floor. "Or not at all."

Ignoring the throbbing of his wounds, Krek collected horns and claws and piled them atop the broken desk. He layered extra papers and parchment across them. Then he pulled down the dragon skull, and set it atop the pile. Krek yanked the apple bough wreath off the wall, and draped it around the dragon skull. After he gathered bits of the broken door and added them to the pile, Krek paused to see if he'd missed anything.

"Ah, yes. How could I forget." Krek trotted to the Armadine's whip display. He sat on his haunches alongside it, and with a grunt, tipped the entire case over. Glass exploded across the floor, some of the whips spilled out. One uncoiled, twisting like a dying snake. "Whoops."

A soft moan reminded Krek that the guards weren't dead. At least, not all of them. He wasn't so sure about the one he'd smashed through the door. Hard to tell if he was breathing or not. Krek grabbed his boot in a forepaw, and dragged him backwards into the waiting room. The other guards hadn't moved much. Krek hauled them all over to the exit door.

"It's your fault, really." Krek glared at the comatose guards. "If you'd just let me in, I'd have stolen them quietly and been off. But no, you had to start drawing steel. Years of secrecy and discretion, gone." Krek patted one guard's bloodied head. "At least I'm having fun."

Krek warbled laughter as he returned to Armadine's office. He fetched one of Armadine's antique lamps, holding it by its elongated handle. He took a deep breath and contemplated his actions for only a moment before he hurled it against the desk. Oil and flame exploded across papers and wood, igniting everything. The fire spread quickly, engulfing the wreath around the dragon's skull.

Krek watched the pyre burn in silence.

Rest well, he thought.

As smoke filled the chamber, Krek backed into the waiting room. He watched the fire till he was convinced the stone walls and floor would prevent it from spreading before he headed for the door. The man with the splattered nose groaned and squirmed a little. Maybe he'd stumble off for help soon. If not, someone would find them eventually. Probably.

Krek checked the hallway. Empty. No surprise the servants gave Armadine's corridor a wide berth. He slipped into the hall, and closed the door. Krek shook himself as he strode away from Armadine's burning office. He wondered how long it would be until his traitorous men were up in arms, screaming about a mad gryphon arsonist.

Krek didn't care anymore. No more discretion, no more secrets. No more spy.

Now, he was only Kathlyn's protector.

Krek was sure Armadine would go straight to Elvir about this. That was fine, because soon Elvir was going to know who his mother's enemies really were. It was a shame Krek wouldn't be around when that little worm was arrested for treason. He'd have to make do with imagining it.

But first, he had to deliver the information to Enric, and find the wardens. Then he'd get his armor on, and then...

Then he'd find something to hold a whole lot of blood.

*****

The Dread Sky moved as a maelstrom of teeth, claws, and spines. White clouds roiled above him. A tide of blood washed over his paws. In his mind there were no shouts, no screams, only silence and falling snow. No pain, no fear, only the acrid smell of embers and ashes in winter.

Though Valyrym had slowly crumbled under the weight of isolation and guilt, the Dread Sky's instincts remained honed by decades of battle against an army of invaders. Where time had broken down Valyrym's body, the Dread Sky was stronger than ever. No scar could slow him. No pain could distract him. Instinct and anger made him a force of nature, a black storm set upon invaders within his buried kingdom.

Valyrym whirled, his great scar forgotten. He lashed out with his forepaw and struck a bodyguard in the head. The force of the blow lifted the man off his feet even as claws tore through iron helmet and shattered skull. He cartwheeled sideways and crumpled in a lifeless heap. His sword skidded over the stone.

As he spun, The Dread Sky whipped his tail around. Curved spines punched through the plate mail of the Illandran Soldier attempting to flank him. The invader gave a wet, gurgling cough, blood gushed from his mouth in a crimson river. The dragon's tail lashed, yanked him back and forth before it flung him away.

A man rushed him, raising an axe. Valyrym shot his head forward, snapped his jaws on the man's shoulder. The dragon's teeth punched through chain mail and crushed bone. Valyrym jerked his head to the side, and tossed the screaming man through the air like a bloodied leaf tumbling in the wind. He hit the floor with the rattle of chain and the crunch of bone, rolling to a stop.

Snow fell upon the Dread Sky's wings, cold and beautiful. It muffled the screams of dying men. Something stuck him in the side. Even the pain felt distant. Blood ran down his black scales, dripping red splotches onto the snow-covered earth. The coppery scent of blood mingled with the smell of ashes and embers that clung to the cold air.

Valyrym twisted away from the man who speared him in the ribs. He kicked out and slammed his hind paw into an armored torso. Steel crumpled into shattered sternum, and the maelstrom kept whirling. He sunk teeth into a man's arm, bit it off at the elbow. The soldier screamed. Blood painted the dragon's scales in dark red spurts.

The invaders fell back, rallying around their leader. Some pulled crossbows and frantically struggled to set bolts. The dragon spat out the arm and bound after his enemies. Crossbow bolts whistled through the air. One went wide, another struck a glancing blow against his scales and bounced free.

Even as they regrouped, the Dread Sky charged into their midst, intent now on one thing. He knocked men aside and snapped his jaws at Armadine's head. Traval pulled the little worm away just in time and Valyrym's teeth caught only air. Hot pain erupted along his cheek when a sharp blade cut through fine scales. Valyrym pivoted after Armadine, blood dripping from his jaw line. Another burning line ignited across his nose, made him jerk his head back. But nothing would slow him now and again he went after the noble and his protector. Valyrym snapped teeth and lashed claws at Traval. Each blow missed him by inches, shredding bits of his brown robe.

Armadine screamed and yelled and flailed and stumbled behind his bodyguard. Traval constantly redirected the worthless little nobleman just out of Valyrym's reach. But Valyrym gave them no chance to escape. When Armadine took off running, Valyrym leapt into his path. Traval wrenched Armadine out of harm's away at the last second. When Valyrym was surrounded and Armadine tried to slip away, the dragon hurled a screaming bodyguard at him.

Traval shouted orders in an unfamiliar tongue. The remaining men shifted tactics. They spread out around the dragon and attacked in coordinated movements. One thrust a spear at Valyrym's scarred hind leg. Another tried to bury his heavy war hammer in the dragon's skull as he twisted away. Valyrym jerked his head back just in time, only for a crossbow bolt to embed itself near his hip while he was distracted.

It was no matter. The maelstrom whirled, and men died.

As soldiers fell around him, the dragon pivoted towards the man with the crossbow. He feinted a charge with a flash of fangs and a few swift steps. As the crossbowman backpedaled and the others closed in, Valyrym spun on his paws, dropping his tail. His spines hurtled just above the floor, shattering a man's shins, his foot torn away. He dropped his war hammer as he fell, screaming.

Valyrym came to a stop, facing the bodyguard with the spear. In desperation, the man thrust his spear in rapid succession at the dragon's face and throat. Valyrym kept his long neck curled to protect his throat, pulling back just enough to draw the man in. Then on the next attempt, shot his neck forward, twisted his head and bit the spear in half. The panicked soldier stumbled back. Valyrym charged him and smashed his head into the man's chest, tossing him off his feet. The man landed with a wet cough and skidded across the stone.

To the Dread Sky, he left a furrow in fresh snow. He buried his claws in the fallen man's brain, splattering the white ground with wet crimson.

Out of the corner of his eye, Valyrym caught a flash of gold and black as Armadine broke away from Traval and sprinted for the doors. Valyrym turned and sprang after him, beating his wings. Armadine reached the double doors just before the dragon landed. Armadine vanished through the exit. The last time that happened, an ambush awaited Valyrym, and Armadine got away.

This time, the Dread Sky would not let him escape.

Valyrym hurtled after him, jamming his wing joints against the doorframe. As much as he'd withered over the years, he could almost fit through. Valyrym's head shot forward. Teeth sank into Armadine's shoulder. Armadine screamed. Valyrym bit to the bone and dragged the noble backwards, relishing his squeals.

It took only seconds. Before Traval could reach him, Valyrym yanked Armadine back through the door by his mangled shoulder. He pivoted and snapped his neck around, opening his jaws to toss Armadine across the prison. Armadine landed hard and rolled head over heels, leaving a bloody trail. He came to a stop, wheezed, then curled up to clutch his shoulder and shriek his head off. Traval ran to the noble and knelt alongside him, trying to move him away.

"Now." Valyrym advanced one slow, measured step at a time. In his head, blood-stained paws crunched in the cold snow. "I will ask you only once. Where is Alia?"

"Safe!" Traval wrapped Armadine's uninjured arm around his shoulder, helping him up. He backed away from the dragon. "She's somewhere safe!"

"Then bring her to me." The Dread Sky's voice was a whisper of a storm, a promise of fury and fire yet to be wrought. "Or you and your wriggling little worm will beg me for death."

"Dragon, we can--"

"Now!" Valyrym snarled, his spines flaring. Blood striped his ebony scales, dripped from his jaws. He fixed his piercing golden glare on Armadine. "Have Alia brought to me, alive and unharmed, or I will kill you very, very slowly."

"Find her!" Armadine squealed, his voice high and taut. He leaned against Traval, his knees wobbling. "Bring her! Safe! Now! Go!"

Valyrym turned his head to stare at the only bodyguard left unharmed. The man took a few steps back, his eyes wide behind his helmet. He tossed down his crossbow.

Traval called out to him. "Our men upstairs know where she is kept. Fetch her, bring her back here. Unharmed! You'll be paid ten times what you expected."

The man glanced at Traval and the dragon before gazing around at his comrades. Most of them were dead. A few were still moaning, still bleeding. He took a few breaths, then turned and ran. He vanished through the doors without another word.

Valyrym rumbled and bared his fangs. "You'd better pray to whatever force you believe in that he is coming back with Alia."

"If not, I will fetch her myself." Traval's eyes darted everywhere as he backed away.

"Stop looking for a way out." Valyrym flicked a paw. "Move up against that wall. If you go, you'll leave him here." A grin spread over his bloodied muzzle. "With me."

"I would have to trust you not to kill him just as you'd have to trust me not to kill your girl." Traval eased Armadine towards the wall. The noble moaned again, limping along. "Allow me to bind his wounds, at least. If he bleeds to death before your girl arrives, I'll--"

"You'll what? Hope I don't slay you with him?" Valyrym stalked them, backing them up to his carved timeline wall. "Keep your threats. You have nothing."

Traval helped Armadine sit down against the wall. Traval crouched and cut away some of Armadine's clothes, despite the noble's moaned protests. Armadine screamed when Traval probed the wounds. Traval worked the strips of cloth around Armadine, glancing at the dragon.

Valyrym nodded. He'd let them both live for the time being. That he'd have insurance if the soldier did not return. "You may be tend his bleeding. For now."

The dragon dropped onto his haunches. The pain of his own wounds was only just settling in. The blue cap poison left his head swimming, his thoughts unclear even when he sought focus. He still felt snow falling on his wings. That...wasn't real. Was it? He shook his head, trying to clear the cobweb of nightmarish memory meshed with reality. Valyrym set his jaw, sharp teeth pressed together. Blood dripped from his muzzle, and ran down his side, splattering the floor in crimson splotches. Valyrym turned his head to gaze at the bloody paw prints he'd left in the snow.

No. No, the snow wasn't real. But the blood was. And now there was no one to wash away the crimson stains from his paws.

Pained moans drew his attention. He swiveled his ears. "Do you wish to tend your other men as well?"

Traval stared at them. "There is nothing I can do for those injuries."

Valyrym sighed, pushing himself back to his bloodied paws. "Then I will end their pain."

"Then what, Dragon?"

"Then we wait for Alia. Or you die with the rest."

Snow fell, cold and silent.

*****

Chapter Eighteen

*****

Alia hurried up ancient stairs layered in pale moss. Hints of stone peeked out here and there in the wavering orange glow of Vatch's lantern. Mildew and the scent of stagnant water tainted the thick air. Thin shafts of pale light filtered in through unseen cracks somewhere above. Water dripped and trickled down the narrow walls. A rat darted from a crevice to snatch a long, segmented insect.

"Doesn't look like anyone's come through here in years, Vatch." It had been some time now since they'd passed the walls torn down by Mek and his assistants. Alia glanced down at her friend. The lamplight cast his dark eyes in flickering flames amidst his chocolate fur. "Are you sure we're going the right way?"

"Is only way go right direction." Vatch peered back down the stairs, then nodded. "Is almost there, I think."

"I'm still amazed how well you keep your sense of direction here."

"Is instinct. Learn growing up." Vatch flashed a toothy grin. "And use old sign."

Alia ascended after Vatch, glancing over her shoulder. The faint pillars of purple-blue light that cascaded through the darkness told her twilight was approaching. At least they were nearer the surface. Maybe that light shone through the remnants of other old air vents for the underground city, like those in Valyrym's prison.

Alia shifted her sword. Both arms ached from carrying the weighty blade. She wasn't used to hauling such a weapon around all day. Come to think of it, how long had they been down there? Was dusk approaching or had dawn just broken? Felt like they'd been traversing the tunnels for hours, and she wasn't sure how long she'd been unconscious after the attack.

"Careful." Vatch held his lantern out over a stair coated in brown slime. "Is slick here."

"Thanks." Alia took the rest of the stairs carefully. What a way to go if she slipped and tumbled down a dark stairwell to her death, just before she rejoined Valyrym.

At the end of the stairwell, Alia found herself in a short hallway. Distant, fading light silhouetted a rectangular shape at the end of the hall. Alia walked towards it, her heartbeat accelerating. Was that...? Nervous excitement left her throat parched, and her soul trembling. One begged for water, and the other begged her to throw her arms around Valyrym's neck.

Alia ran the last few steps and pressed her free hand against the object. It was wood, just like she hoped. It was a bookcase, pressed up against an arched opening in the stone. She'd seen it a hundred times from the other side, she'd peeked behind it at the darkened hallway and the stairs beyond, but she'd never seen it from that hallway till now. Alia smiled till her jaws ached. All she had to do was push, and she'd see Valyrym again.

Alia pushed, and her smile faded.

The bookcase wouldn't budge.

Damn it. Alia grimaced. Maybe she and Vatch could push it together. No, better yet she'd just call Valyrym. Oh, how she missed him. She couldn't wait to see the look on the old dragon's face when he saw her behind his bookcase. She took a deep breath.

"V--"

Vatch shot his hand up to cover her mouth. His paw pads were soft and warm but pressed firmly. Fear glowed in Vatch's lantern-illuminated eyes. His ears were pinned, his fangs bared. He flared his furry nostrils, sniffing.

When he pulled his hand back, Alia whispered. "What is it?"

Vatch sniffed again. His ears flattened so far back they nearly blended into his skull. "Blood. Vatch smell much blood."

Alia's stomach lurched. If she'd eaten anything since the parade she might have vomited. Her knuckles ached as she squeezed her sword hilt. Her knees buckled and she leaned up against the wall. Was she too late? What had they done to Valyrym?

Alia hissed through her teeth. "We have to help him!" What if Valyrym was hurt, wounded, bleeding? Alia would not leave him there alone. Her strength returned and she pushed her shoulder against the bookcase. "Help me, Vatch!"

Vatch set his lantern down. He stood alongside her and put both hands on the bookcase. Together they pushed, and while it did not slide, it did wobble a little.

Alia eased back and glanced at Vatch. "We'll have to get it to topple over, Vatch."

"That be loud!" Vatch's ears swiveled. "If someone here, they hear crash."

"Good! If they come to investigate, maybe it'll give Valyrym a chance to fight back!"

"Be ready fight." Vatch growled, checked his mace at his belt, then put his hands against the case. "What do on three?"

"Yeah." Alia set her sword aside, then returned her shoulder to the sturdy wood. "Then rock it until it falls. One...two...three!" Both of them threw their weight into the bookcase. It wobbled, and they threw themselves into it again. It only swayed a little, but they kept repeating their motions, and each time the case tilted more precariously. "One more, Vatch. One more!"

Together they gave it everything they had. Alia ground her teeth, braced her feet against the floor. The bookcase swayed, tilted, and finally toppled over. Alia nearly toppled with it. She caught her balance as the case smashed against the floor with a tremendous crash. Wood cracked and old books spilled across the ground. Alia hoped Of Poetry survived, but helping Valyrym outweighed preserving his most beloved relic.

Alia snatched up her sword and stepped across the battered bookshelf into Valyrym's sleeping chamber. The room still looked familiar. The dragon's pile of soft things looked nice and clean. Stuffed dragons peered at her from secluded places. Carved lines marked the stone floor. The mirror her friends bought him stood against one wall. Creeping ivy vines in dark mahogany and gilded gold surrounded the polished looking glass.

All this time away, and it still felt like home.

A snarl of growling threat echoed from the prison beyond the dragon's private room. Alia ran towards the archway. If he was fighting, she wanted to help him. She knew she was no match for the sort of men that Armadine might have sent after Valyrym, but it did not matter. She would fight for him to the death, if she had to.

Alia ran into a scene from a nightmare. The smell of blood hit her like a blow, thick and coppery. At the other side of the dungeon, lamplight glistened on crimson pools surrounding mangled corpses. A robed man cradled a bloodied form slumped against the timeline. Valyrym stalked towards her, painted in blood. His paws left red prints in his wake. Even amidst all the horror, it was the emptiness in Valyrym's eyes that stunned her. Alia skidded to a halt, staring. What had they done to him?

There was nothing left in his eyes but murder.

Valyrym broke into a bounding charge, and still Alia only stared. For a single detached moment, she knew Valyrym was going to kill her. They had so shattered his patchwork soul that he could not tell friend from foe. Yet her only fear was for him. When he realized what he'd done, how could he live with himself?

The Dread Sky roared.

Alia dropped her sword. She called his name into the echo of his roar. "Valyrym!"

As claws lashed for her, something flickered in the dragon's eyes, something changed. Alia turned her head, eyes squeezed shut, an arm in front of her face. She fixed her last thought in her mind, an image of Valyrym, happy and curled around her. Claws whistled by her, her hair rustled. Scales brushed her, tail spines scratched the stone at her feet. Something skidded against the floor, thumped against the wall behind her.

Alia opened her eyes. He'd missed. No, he'd altered course. She whirled around, found Valyrym backing away from the wall. He turned and stared at her. Blood striped him.

"Alia?" His voice was soft, filled with a shivering fear that cut Alia to her heart. Horror flickered in his eyes. "A-Alia? Oh, Gods, what did I do? I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You were...you were just...

"Valyrym, I'm fine!" Alia ran to him and threw her arms around Valyrym's neck, heedless of the blood that coated his scales. She hugged him, pressing herself against his muzzle, her cheek to his head. "You didn't hurt me Valyrym, I'm fine, I'm fine!"

"Alia!" Valyrym's voice broke. Tears cut wet trails through half-dried blood. He scarcely seemed to hear her. "I couldn't see you! You were just a shadow in the snow!"

A shiver wracked Alia. She eased back from him. "Valyrym, what snow?"

"The snow!" Valyrym sniffed, his ears pinned back. More tears ran down his cheeks. "I couldn't see you through it!"

Goosebumps broke out in cold waves. Oh, no. "Valyrym, listen to me!" Alia cupped his cheeks in her hands, staring into his eyes. A cold, terrifying void lurked behind them. "There is no snow! I'm safe, alright? It's not winter, you're not at war! It's summer, its warm..."

Valyrym's ears swiveled as if attuned only to ghosts. "It was so silent. There was only a shadow in the snow, and...then someone called my name in the distance. I...I knew the voice."

"Yes, it was my voice! I'm safe now, we're together! Everything is alright!" Alia pressed her face to his bloodied muzzle. She rubbed his scales. The frightened emptiness behind his eyes shrank a little. "We're together again, Valyrym."

Valyrym gave a trembling nod. "The only sound in the snow was your voice. Then I saw you...I thought I--"

"You didn't!" Alia ran her hands up to his ears, grasping them. "Valyrym, listen to me. There is no snow. I'm safe..."

"No snow..." Valyrym pulled his head back, some of the fog faded from his eyes. "No snow." He blinked and shook his head, took a wheezing breath. "Alia I...I didn't hurt you?"

"No, Valyrym, I'm safe!"

"You're safe?" He stared at her, then gasped, spines raised in shock as if seeing her for the first time. "Alia!"

It all seemed to click at once. Valyrym dropped onto his haunches and snatched Alia up in his forelegs. He hugged her against his chest plates, squeezing almost too hard and yet Alia cherished it. His purr rumbled from his chest, rattling her. She wrapped her arms as far around him as she could, kissing his scales. Valyrym curled his neck to brush her hair with his muzzle, nuzzle her, and murmur her name. Gods, she had missed him. For a long, beautiful moment, love and happiness replaced her fear.

"Oh, Valyrym, I--"

"Bad guys get away!" Vatch snarled, pointing his mace across the room.

Alia spun around as Valyrym released her. Traval was on his feet, with Armadine's bloodied form cradled in his arms. Blood dripped from Armadine's fingers. The noble's face was pallid, his head lolled around as Traval sprinted for the exit. In only a moment, Traval had carried his wounded charge halfway to the double doors.

"No!" Valyrym coiled and leapt.

Alia had never seen him move so quickly. He crossed the prison in a blur of black and gray, of darkness and shadowed scales. He reached the doors only a moment after Traval plunged through them with Armadine. In a flurry of claws and teeth, Valyrym breached the doorway as far as he could, banging his wing joints against the frame. Valyrym thrashed against the double doors, his hind paws scrabbling at the floor as he struggled to pursue.

The dragon's whole body expanded as he sucked in a sharp breath. Then he heaved it all back out in a great, hissing wheeze. Alia had never heard him make that sound before. What was he doing? Oh, no, was he...? She cringed and put a hand over her mouth. Valyrym was so wrapped in old instincts and horrible memories he was trying to blast fire across his quarry.

"Valyrym!"

The dragon took in another deep breath.

"Stop!" Alia cringed. Gods, what if he tore open his ruined fire glands? "You'll hurt yourself!"

Heedless, Valyrym gave another long hissing wheeze. When that didn't work, he thrashed against the doors again, his breath coming in furious, heaving pants. After a few moments, he wriggled back, his whole body shaking. Fresh blood dripped from his jaws. He turned his head, staring at the carved images of the dragon bound in chains upon the door. His body tensed, his wings snapped taut and his spines all stood rigid.

Vatch snatched Alia's hand, pulling her back. "Alia...maybe give dragon space now."

Valyrym reared onto his hind legs, grabbing the massive door's edges with his claws deep in the wood. With a roar that made Alia clap her hands over her ears, Valyrym wrenched the door off its moorings. Wood splintered and metal hinges squealed agonized protests. Valyrym twisted, and hurled the entire door across his prison. It smashed into his timeline wall, shattering. Jagged wooden chunks scattered in all directions. Delicate carvings cracked, stone chips and dust fell to the floor.

The dragon stumbled and dropped back onto all fours. He caught his balance and spun, lashing his tail. Valyrym's tail spines exploded through the middle of the other door in a shower of wooden shrapnel. He twisted back around to slam his paw through a carving of spears and roses. His claws broke through the wood, leaving only a devastated, ragged panel. Valyrym grasped what was left of the door and tore it from its hinges, flinging it into the stone blocks that sealed the exit. Battered wood broke apart and clattered across the ground.

After that, Valyrym whirled and lashed out at everything and nothing. He snapped at the air, slashed his claws against the floor and whipped his tail spines against the nearest pillars. The dragon ravaged the column carved with sloped roof houses, bits of stone scattered across the ground. He tore apart the armor of dead men with the grinding shriek of torn metal, and the clattering pop of shredded chain. He threw corpses around the prison, roared and snarled and raged until he was stumbling and exhausted.

Even when he collapsed, he seemed as though he wished had he more energy left with which to fight the world. He pounded his paws against the floor, wounds bleeding anew. He twisted, lashing his tail, grabbing his head. Tears streaked his bloodied scales as he screamed in an old language Alia could not understand.

Alia wanted so desperately to help him, to ease his pain, to bear his burden. She would have done anything to shine her sun upon his dark world. But she knew she had to wait till he was ready and able to accept her comfort again. She sniffed, wiping her eyes.

Vatch gave her hand a squeeze, whimpering. "Dragon just...need moment."

"I know, Vatch." The hoarseness of her own voice caught her off guard. Alia returned Vatch's squeeze. His comfort was appreciated. "It's all I can do not to run over there and hold him, and yet I know that will not be enough."

Vatch sniffled, looking up at Alia, his ears back. "It be enough. He love you very much. Miss you every day. When he calm, I think he very much want you hold him."

That didn't help Alia staunch her tears. She worked her mouth, unable to push any sort of reply past the hot tightness in her throat. She wanted to say just how deeply she'd missed him in return, but those words were not for Vatch, and Valyrym was in no condition to hear them.

Wiping away tears again, Alia glanced at the vents. Darkness had settled across the world beyond Valyrym's sunken kingdom. The lamps and lanterns she'd provided him cast orange light in flickering, spectral glows. Where that illumination once felt warm and enveloping, now it bore a cold, haunted pallor. It shone on nothing but blood, death, and emptiness. Corpses were scattered everywhere. Just what had Armadine done to push Valyrym into the cold, snowy desolation of his darkest memory?

At least they hadn't broken him completely. Her voice had still reached him. She stared at her beloved dragon, wondering how best to guide him back from the silence and the snow. And how much of the blood that coated him was his? She needed to see to his wounds. Alia glanced at her hands. After holding his muzzle and hugging him, her hands were as blood stained as his paws. She needed to wash...

Alia glanced at Vatch. "Will you start a bath, please? Valyrym needs someone to wash the blood from his paws."

Vatch tilted his head, flicking one ear back. "Is blood on many parts of dragon. But is bad time worry about get clean."

Alia chuckled, shaking her head. Vatch didn't understand, and she wasn't in the mood to explain why so simple a gesture would mean so much. "I need to clean him up so I can tend his wounds. So please, can you start a bath while I get supplies?"

Vatch nodded, hooking his blood-stained white oak mace in his belt. "Vatch can do this."

Alia gestured towards the ruined doorway. "When it's ready, go and wait at the stairs. I need some time with Valyrym. If Enric or Krek or the others come down, prepare them for what they're going to see."

Vatch perked his ears. He scratched at the base of a small horn. "You think more bad guys come?"

"I don't know, Vatch." Alia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Traval's probably more worried about saving Armadine right now. I don't think they'll be stupid enough to try that again, but..." Alia grimaced and sighed. "Just get the bath started then stand watch, alright?"

"Alright, Alia."

"And Vatch?" Alia leaned down to kiss the little urd'thin's muzzle. "Thank you. For everything."

Vatch wagged his bushy, chocolate-furred tail. "Is no need thank Vatch. Is what friend do, yes?" He smiled, and then trotted towards the tub, calling back over his shoulder. "I yell if there trouble."

As Vatch prepared the stoves for the bath, Alia hurried to Valyrym's sleeping chamber. The bookcase they'd tipped over lay cracked and broken on the floor. Old books had spilled out across the ground and over Valyrym's soft things. Alia took a moment to locate _Of Poetry._She was glad to see it had not suffered any serious damage. She dusted it off and set it in a safe place. She knew he'd want to take it with him when they left.

When they left.

Those three words were enough to set her heart alight and leave it fluttering in her chest. Was it really going to happen? Were they really breaking him out? Yes. Yes, and now it had to be tonight. Whatever Krek's plan was to bring down that wall, they had to push it forward. Valyrym nearly killed a noble and they could not risk retaliation, official or otherwise. God, she hoped that gryphon had a good plan. If it worked...

The sun would rise on Valyrym's wings.

With trembling hands, Alia pulled out a crate of healer's supplies. It was one of several crates she'd kept down there before her banishment. She'd also stored clothes, shoes, hairbrushes and other simple items. After a few moments of searching, Alia decided just to take the whole thing. She hoisted up the box, her hands shaking so hard the supplies rattled inside it. Alia took a few deep breaths, her stomach a writhing nest of anxious vipers.

Alia ventured back out into the dungeon. She half-expected to see Valyrym standing alongside the tub, ready to offer a dismissive remark about her attempts to bathe him. Instead, he lay where he'd collapsed. He stared at the wall, lamplight glittering in his wet, golden eyes. Alia watched him as she set her supplies down. She laid out a section of cloth. Then she dug out a stitching needle, some sinew threads, bottles of spirits for cleaning wounds, and finally some bandages.

You look like a patchwork quilt.

When the memory flickered through her mind, Alia wanted to laugh and sob at the same time. What a horrible moment, that day she'd first come down the stairs to find the blood. Yet it had brought them so much closer. Here she was, ready to stitch him up all over again, and things were so very different. Now she had something better to offer than protection.

When her supplies were ready, Alia went to Valyrym. She approached him slowly, not certain he wanted company. "May I join you?"

Valyrym's voice was a barely perceptible murmur. "I would like nothing more, Alia."

Alia knelt down near his head. She set her hand upon his neck, and Valyrym arched it into her touch. She stroked his scales, looking him over. He had fresh wounds to his nose, his muzzle, his side. At least one small, broken crossbow bolt jutted from him. A few other wounds, but thankfully none of them looked serious.

"Are you alright?" Alia shifted herself, sitting down with her legs crossed.

"No." Valyrym lifted his head to gaze at her. Tears washed clean lines down his bloodied muzzle. A lifetime of pain and regret shone in the golden ocean of his eyes.

"Then I'll stay with you until you are." Alia leaned forward to hug his head, fighting back her own tears as she whispered to him. "And then I'll wash the blood from your paws."

Valyrym shuddered at her words, swallowing hard. He curled his neck and laid his head in Alia's lap. He closed his eyes, and heaved a sigh against her. "Thank you, Alia. I...I don't see the snow, anymore. I...I am already better, just having you here."

Alia stroked the dragon's muzzle, ran her hands over his ears. She opened her mouth to reply, but could not find the words. She wanted to tell him it would be alright, that everything would be fine. That he would be fine. That they'd leave this place, and after that he'd be happy again. But she did not want to tell him that which she did not know. So she told him the only truth she could find in her heart, the only words that would come to her.

The only thing that mattered.

"I love you, Valyrym. And tonight I will set you free."

*****

Chapter Nineteen

*****

Krek smelled blood.

Cold dread prickled across his neck and made his pinfeathers bristle. Ebony feathers fluffed wherever the plates of his silvery armor didn't flatten them. His claws unsheathed. He flared out a wing to hold the others back as they reached an intersection. Krek slunk forward then glanced up and down the long corridor that led to Valyrym's dungeon. Crimson droplets speckled the floor. Krek hissed, tensing.

"Look at you, getting all puffed up." Kaylen giggled as she pushed past his wing, carrying an armful of supplies. "You spot some she-bird to show off that fancy armor for?"

"Blood." Enric spat the word, drawing his sword with a hiss of steel. When Krek withdrew his wing, Enric moved into the intersection. He crouched, studied a few blood spatters, then gazed down the hallway. "Think whoever was bleeding was going that way."

"Away from the dragon." Krek stared in the other direction. "We need to get down to him. We're going to have to push our timetable ahead."

"Shouldn't we find out who's bleeding, see if they need help?" Thomas shifted his own box of supplies, scowling.

"I can't think of many people who would be injured and coming from that direction." Krek shook himself, armor clinking. "And I certainly wouldn't be giving them any assistance. I'd have Enric arrest them, instead."

Enric spun his sword around his hand. "Maybe I should see where that blood trail leads."

"I think we both know who that trail leads to, Enric." Krek clacked his beak, glancing over at the red-headed guard captain. Just like Krek, Enric wore his full mail and helmet now. Weapons were strapped across his body. "But you can deal with the serpent and his guardian later, once you have the prince's blessing and some back up. Right now, I need you."

"Understood, Black Bird."

As the others fell silent, Krek moved into a trot. His armor rattled around him. At least there was padding beneath both plate and chain mesh to keep anything from catching his feathers. The armor felt both heavier, and looser than he recalled. His freshly stitched wounds throbbed with every step, but by now he was used to the discomfort. By the time they reached the guard desk, the whole area seemed abandoned. No snooty watchman reading a book. No off duty soldiers laughing over ale or yelling about cards and die in the break room.

"Where are all the guards?" Thomas came to a stop in the center of room, gazing around. "There should always be guards here."

"It's just as well." Krek swiveled his ears beyond the scalloped, black-feather edges of his helmet. He tilted his head towards the adjoining hallway. Enric trotted down it, peering into rooms to ensure there wasn't an ambush waiting. "If they were here, we'd have to kill them."

"What?" Kaylen's eyes widened, her mouth hung open.

"The only guards who've been here lately are in Armadine's pocket. With the Queen gone, he's manipulated the prince into letting him make a few changes." Krek growled low in his throat. "It's why he had Enric reassigned, so he could alter the guard staff and harass the dragon."

"But...he wouldn't...I mean..." Kaylen shifted, glancing at Thomas. The man shrugged and gave her a worried look. "You...really think we'd have to kill people?"

"You?" Krek cocked his helmeted head, then gave it a shake. "No. Enric and I would do it. If we caught them doing something like this, we'd have had no choice."

"Like...like what?" Kaylen's eyes grew wide as she stared at the blood trail leading to the stairwell. "Were they hurting Valyrym?"

"I'm sure they tried."

"Oh!" Kaylen took a few quick steps towards the stairwell, purple dress swishing around her feet. "We have to help him!"

"We will." Krek lashed his tail. "But you need not worry for him."

"But...the blood..."

Thomas shifted his box to cradle it under a single arm. He put an arm around Kaylen and gave her a reassuring hug. "That's not Valyrym's blood."

"So you think..." Kaylen leaned into Thomas. "Valyrym chased them off, maybe clawed a few of them up?"

Krek didn't have the patience to babysit anyone's innocence. "No. I think he killed them. "You'd best prepare yourself to see whatever's left."

"He can't have killed all of them." Thomas scowled. He hugged Kaylen tighter she buried her face against him. Thomas tapped his foot near the blood. "Someone made it out."

"The vermin are always the last to die." Krek shook himself, hissing. He should have killed that little rodent himself. Too late now. Someone else would have to do the deed.

"But what about Alia?" Kaylen lifted her face from Thomas, a few tears glittering in her eyes. "And Vatch? What if they're still in the city? Oh!" She gasped. "What if they'd gotten back, and they were down there..."

Krek lifted an armored paw. Lamplight glittered on a golden rune. He flexed unsheathed claws in the air. "One thing at a time, Kaylen." Krek pivoted towards movement, relaxing a little when he saw Enric. "Clear?"

Enric nodded, walking right past the gryphon towards the long stairwell. "Clear."

"You've the keys?"

"Always do." Enric took the lead down the stairs, descending them at a swift pace. "Watch for the blood. Don't slip."

The four of them descended the stairs in tense silence. The sounds of boots and paws against the old stone steps echoed along the stairwell along with the rattling of Krek's armor. The flickering, orange glow from lamps and torches seemed more eerie than comforting. The light revealed splattered blood all along the stairs.

"Gates are open." Enric paused at the first gateway, inspecting it for only a moment before he continued onwards.

"Had bigger things to worry about than locking up behind themselves." Krek squeezed himself through, iron grinding against his armor.

As they continued their descent, Krek stayed attuned for any sound out of the ordinary. His furred ears swiveled constantly, his helmet's scalloped edges curled around them. Something rustled further down the stairs, and Krek's ears shot forward.

"Enric, ahead!"

"Got him!" Enric accelerated down the stairs, hissing through grit teeth. "Thomas, Kaylen, stay back!"

"Enric, is you?"

Who the bloody hell--

"Vatch?" Enric sounded both pleased and shocked.

_Oh. Right. The urd'thin._That was good, probably.

"Yes, is Vatch! I wait for you! Why you take so long?"

"We had a lot of..." Enric trailed off, and waved the others forward.

Krek called out past Thomas and Kaylen. "It doesn't matter! Did you find Alia?"

"Yes!" Vatch pressed against the wall to let Enric pass. "But Armadine have her kidnap!"

"What?" Krek's alarmed squawk was followed almost immediately by a similar cry from everyone else. Every feather he had stood on end. "Then we need to--"

Vatch cut him off, raising his voice. "Is okay! Vatch help her escape!"

"So Alia is safe?" Thomas whirled on Vatch.

"She's alright?" Kaylen's voice was tight with worry. "You're sure she's safe?"

"Yes! She alright! She with dragon."

"How did you get back in here?" Thomas stared down at the urd'thin, shifting his box.

Krek ground his beak. As fascinating at this was, they did not have time for it. "Would everyone please continue descending the stairs! Time is now very much of the essence."

Vatch growled and squeezed his way between Thomas and Kaylen to start trotting down the stairs. "You must be ready, much dead bodies down in dungeon." His voice softened. "Is bad men, but to see is..." He whimpered a little. "Bad...very bad."

At the bottom of the stairs, there was blood, and shattered wood everywhere. One door was missing entirely. The other was reduced to shattered fragments that clung to a single hinge. Some of it littered the ground. Enric spared them only a glance before he vanished into the gloom.

"What the hell happened to the doors?" Thomas craned his neck, staring at the ruined doorway.

"Dragon get very mad." Vatch nudged broken wood with his boot.

"Valyrym did this?" Kaylen took a step back, as if she expected a massive door to come flying at her any moment.

Enric returned a moment later, pointing his sword toward the far wall. "Go that way. There's a lot less things you don't want to see. But prepare yourself just the same. It's pretty ugly."

"Vatch try tell you this." Vatch kneaded his hands around his mace. "Is very bad."

Krek clacked his beak. "Not bad enough if Armadine's not among the corpses."

"How you know was him?" Vatch tilted his head, one ear up.

"Let's just say I'm good at putting things together."

Krek walked past the others into Valyrym's dungeon. He peered into the gloom. The scent of blood was thick, almost stifling, sickly sweet and coppery. Mangled corpses were strewn about. Fools thought they could just stroll in and slay a dragon? Though Krek hardly pitied anyone who worked for Armadine, it was still an unsettling sight. Some of them weren't whole.

The gryphon turned to the side, splaying out his wings as far as he could to shield some of the bodies from view. Valyrym's other wardens didn't need to see that up close. Vatch walked past the gryphon's wings, and held his arms out to try and help hide the horrific scene. Krek didn't have the heart to tell him he was too short to hide anything.

Enric set a hand on Vatch's shoulder. "Looks like you've had a rough day too, huh?"

Vatch gave him a smile, then glanced away. "Vatch is fine. But thank you."

Krek waited till Thomas and Kaylen had passed before he folded his wings again. Kaylen kept her face pressed to Thomas and let him guide her. He glanced at Vatch. Rusty red stains marked his white oak mace now. Alia's rescue must not have been easy.

"You've done well, Vatch. But where's Valyrym?"

"At back." Vatch spun his mace around his fingers the same way Enric did with his sword. "Alia washing his paws."

Krek blinked. He rustled himself, armor rattling. "Clean paws are hardly a priority now!"

"I think is more than that." Vatch walked with the others into Valyrym's dungeon. "Is mean something to dragon. Something deep. Is help him calm."

"Help him calm." Enric repeated the urd'thin's words, his voice flat. "Is he...himself?"

"Safe, is the word you're looking for." Krek ground his beak.

"Not the way I wanted to put it." Enric gave the gryphon a dark look. Thomas and Kaylen exchanged silent glances.

"The last time I came down here, he beat the shit out of me." Krek brushed the urd'thin with his wing. "Vatch, is the dragon safe for everyone to be around or not?"

The urd'thin glanced at Krek. Lamp light reflected in his dark eyes as pools of molten worry. "Was not sure when first get here. But...think he okay, now. Maybe."

"How very confidence-inspiring." Krek sighed. "Very well. The gryphon shall do everything, as usual. You all wait here until I'm sure it's safe. If he hurls me against the floor again, I suggest you run."

Krek walked away from the group. Enric started to follow, but Krek waved him off with an armored foreleg. Enric's face was drawn, eyes narrowed in concern. Krek suspected he blamed himself for not being around to prevent the attack. The gryphon didn't have time for Enric and all his personal responsibility.

Lamplight glistened on wet scales in the distance. Valyrym sat alongside his tub. Alia knelt upon a cushion near him, her hair wet, but her clothing dry. She rubbed one of his forepaws with a towel. The old dragon's neck was arched, and he gazed down at Alia with a smile upon his muzzle. At least he looked calm.

As Krek approached the dragon, Valyrym turned his wedge-shaped head to glare at the gryphon. Pain and anger flared in his golden eyes. Muscles tensed under his dark scales. For a moment, Krek feared the dragon was about to initiate a rematch. At least Krek was ready this time. He bowed his head to look passive, even as he coiled his strength beneath his armor, ready for the worst. Soon, the anger faded from the dragon's eyes and he turned his attention back to Alia.

"Where the hell have you been, Bird?" Valyrym's voice was a low rumble, weary and yet impatient.

At least the old bastard remembered who he was. "Wreaking havoc." He gestured with a spread wing towards the bodies in the distance. "As it seems you have been. On the same group of people, in fact." Krek gave the woman a smile. "Hello, Alia."

"Hello, Krek." Alia gave him a little smile, but her focus was clearly on the dragon.

"Is he alright?"

"I'm not injured half as badly as you are." Valyrym lifted his forepaw from the towel, and stared at it. He waggled his claws.

Krek eased his wing back. Valyrym had several freshly stitched wounds, but that wasn't what he meant. He glanced at Alia as she dried Valyrym's other forepaw. She met his questioning gaze with a nod. If she thought he was safe that was good enough for him. She'd know him best, after all. Krek turned and waved the others forward.

Kaylen set her box down and rushed around the gryphon. She nearly stumbled over Alia in her haste to fling herself against the dragon and hug as much of him as she could. It was a shame Krek hadn't met her under more pleasant circumstances. He liked the affectionate ones. Thomas followed her and offered the dragon a more reserved greeting, rubbing his shoulder.

Krek walked away to give them a private moment. He waved his wing, gesturing for Enric to follow him. They had an escape plan to put in motion. "If anything needs further chiseling, now is the time. Otherwise, let's decide which stones should go where. We could also take a stone outside, and chisel a little hole out there. Think we need to hit it from both sides?" Krek paused, staring at ancient sigils carved in the wall. "Enric? ....Enric?"

Krek peered over his wings. Enric and Vatch were still standing around the dragon along with everyone else. Krek snorted. This was just like Valar's village. Everyone loved the dragon, and everyone ignored the poor, lonely gryphon. He tried to fluff himself, and only rattled his armor. Instead, he gave a long, exaggerated sigh which to his great dismay, everyone ignored.

Krek hung his head. "My poor ego."

When he could take being ignored no longer, Krek returned to the group. He opened up the cargo pouch settled over his breastplate. He moved a few things around, and retrieved a similar cargo satchel, empty and folded up. Long, multi-sectioned straps were rolled around it. Krek opened it and intruded upon everyone's happy reunion.

Krek slapped the pouch against the dragon's chest plates. "Gather your things. Space is limited, so only what you can't live without." He glanced at Alia. "Same goes for you. Kaylen?"

Kaylen eased away from the dragon as Valyrym grasped the pouch. She fetched a simple pack from her supply box, and offered it to Alia. "Here. For your things. We...we brought you some supplies..."

Alia took the backpack from Kaylen, and gave her a little smile. She touched her arm, opened her mouth, but only gaped in uncertain silence.

Krek lashed his tail. "We haven't got time for you to stumble over your feelings together. If we succeed we'll return as heroes and you'll all be together again. Right now, we have to get Valyrym out of here. Thanks to tonight's events, I no longer feel safe waiting till morning. Besides, the sooner Valyrym is free, the sooner Enric can track Armadine."

"And I will." Enric folded his arms, growling.

Krek waved at Enric. "Just be very wary of Traval. That man's a lot like me."

"You mean he's a pompous feather-ass?" Enric smirked.

Valyrym snorted. "Well played, Enric."

"You're all hilarious." Krek clacked his beak. "I mean, he has connections everywhere, some of which even I struggle to pick apart. When he realizes we've evidence enough to convince even Elvir of their treason, they're likely to flee the city."

"Then I'd best find them first."

"Just don't take him lightly if you do. He's very, very dangerous." Krek glanced around at the others. "Now, can we get to work--"

"Oh!" Alia jumped. "Enric! I have to tell you! You have to warn the prince about Death in the Night!"

Krek held up his paw, frustration left him uncomfortably warm under his armor. "Alia, I understand your wish to help, but we already know all this. I've already told Elvir they're in the city, and planning to attack. It's the Queen's death that will trigger it, which I'd like to remind everyone is why we need to free the damn dragon!"

Alia put her hands on her hips. "Did you know they're going to sneak into the castle when it happens?" She turned and thrust a finger towards Valyrym's sleeping chamber. "That's how we got in! The tunnels are open, because Death in the Night recruited urd'thin to break through the walls!"

"Shit." That Krek didn't know. "Enric, you need to address that with Elvir as soon as possible."

"Anything else we need to know, Alia?" Enric gave Alia a long look.

Alia ticked things off her fingers. "Death in the Night runs the whole Aran'alian district. They're everyone. And, you know what Armadine did to me? Oh! I think he's involved with whatever Kylaryn is plotting!"

"Yes, Alia, thank you but we know." Krek patted his cargo satchel.

"And did you know Kylaryn is coming here?" Alia stared at Krek, anger and fear dancing in her emerald eyes. "All her people keep saying the Wind is coming! Valyrym thinks...well, tell them."

"Krek." Valyrym's voice sharpened. "What happened to Sigil Stones?"

Cold dread coiled in Krek's belly. "Illandra razed it."

Valyrym closed his eyes, and let out a long, slow sigh. "Then after Kylaryn kills your queen, she will help her army conquer this city. And then she will burn it down."

*****

Valyrym sat in the middle of the only home he'd known for half of his life. He clutched a book in his paws. The red leather was faded, the embossed roses on either side worn smooth. The gold lettering had washed out, the letters half vanished. Valyrym knew them by heart, anyway.

Of Poetry.

It was the only memento he had left of his first true love, and the life he left behind to avenge her. Valyrym's heart thudded in his plated chest. In his darkest time, Kylaryn sent him that book as balm to soothe his aching soul. Even after he'd abandoned her to pursue blood for blood, even after all this time locked away, she still thought of him. Still cared for him.

Still waged a war he'd asked her to finish.

And now...

What was this terrible dream he was trapped in? A moment of fleeting hope, of joy, twisted into something horrible. What good was freedom if it only came so he could stand against the mother of his son? What was he to do, fight her? To shed her blood? Even if he was in any condition to fight her, Valyrym wasn't sure he could bring himself to do so.

But he couldn't just let her kill the Queen.

She must burn.

Her voice haunted his mind.

Illandra must burn.

Her gaze pierced him.

Valyrym lifted his head, staring at Little Ky. She perched atop the shelf that remained standing. How had she gotten there? Had he put her there? He couldn't remember anymore.

"No, Kylaryn. There are better ways!"

This city must fall. This kingdom must crumble.

"The Queen wants peace..."

I will build peace upon Illandra's ruin. What you began, I will finish.

"That isn't what I wanted. I only wanted to protect Amaleen. Protect Sigil Stones!"

They burned Amaleen. They razed Sigil Stones. They shattered our clan, murdered my family. They slew your greatest love and they destroyed our home. For my parents. For my brother. For Amaleen! For Sigil Stones, and all their sins, they will burn!

"No..."

You know this better than anyone, Valyrym. Blood for Blood...

"It will not fill the hole within you. It cannot replace what you have lost. It is ruin."

"Valyrym..."

A soft voice drew him from his thoughts. He gazed over his wings and found a gryphon in armor staring at him from the archway. He hissed at the intruder, but the sound died shortly after it began when things clicked together again in his mind.

"Bird."

"Are you alright?" Krek stepped into the dragon's sleeping chamber. Valyrym could not be bothered to bar his entry. "I heard you talking..."

Valyrym snorted. He waved the book in the air, curling his tail. "Yes, yes, let's all tease the old dragon who mutters to himself. Senility is hilarious."

A smirk cracked Krek's stoic veneer for a moment. He lifted his gaze, peering up at the stuffed blue dragon seated atop a bookcase. "You were talking to her. Was she talking back?"

Valyrym stiffened, spines raised. "If you have concerns about my sanity, you should have broached those before you decided to break me out."

"Actually, I was wondering what she was saying." Krek warbled, and eased onto his haunches alongside the dragon. "Whatever you hear her say to you is probably better insight than anything the rest of us may think. I know she has a way of slinking into your head and staying there. I think if I had one of those perched above me while I slept, I'd be hearing her voice, too."

Valyrym arched his neck, gazing down at the gryphon. "When Alia first brought me that toy, and I smelled her scent on it, it gave me hope. Happiness. I knew that somewhere out there, she was still alive. I felt joy I had not known in a great age. Yet now..."

"Now you wish she'd died protecting Sigil Stones?"

Valyrym growled. He set the book aside, then smacked the gryphon across his helmeted head. "Stifle your beak. I was going to say now she only whispers darkness to me. I dread knowing she has chosen the same ruination I once chose."

Krek winced, adjusting his helmet. "You're just like your damn son. Always roughing up poor, defenseless gryphons."

"I've a sneaking suspicion you always deserve it."

Krek set his paw down, gazing at the stuffed blue dragon. "Do you really think she's going to come here herself? She did not hesitate to tell Valar and I about her plans, but said nothing about conquering the city herself."

"Do you know what it's like, Gryphon?"

"What?" Krek tilted his head the other direction, silver fan splayed out around his tail, beyond his armor. "Dragon, I haven't time for your senile babbling."

"Imagine the best part of you." Valyrym shifted himself, flaring his wings and arching his neck. A spark of fear flickered to life behind the emerald shields of the gryphon's eyes. Krek shrank a little, wings drooping at his armored sides. "Imagine the hole left inside you if they were murdered before your eyes. If everywhere you ever called home was buried beneath the boots of your enemies. To have all that ever made you good wrenched from your paws."

Valyrym shivered, his scales clicked and rustled. He turned his gaze back up to Kylaryn. "I know her pain, Gryphon. There is a hole inside her. A wretched, gnawing wound in her heart she cannot patch no matter how she struggles. And drop by bloody drop, all that was good has bled from her as it bled from me. At last, the wind has carried her to blood."

Her voice echoed through his head.

I am wind, and flame.

I am vengeance upon the sinners.

Flame. For flame.

Blood. For blood.

Valyrym gave a long, weary sigh. He suddenly felt as if the weight of every sin he'd ever committed weighed down upon his wings all at once. "She will come. The Queen's death may be what triggers it, but the conquest of Illandra ends her war."

"And starts a new cycle of rebellion and retaliation." Krek splayed his ears back, rubbing his beak. "More and more bloodshed." He took a deep breath, and set his paw upon Valyrym's. He tilted his head back, gazing up at the dragon. "We have to stop her."

"I don't know if we can." Valyrym sighed, his spines settled back against his head. "But we have to try. Not for you, or your queen, or your conquering nation. Only to stop the cycle of blood."

Silence settled over them for a little while before Krek spoke up again. He set his paw atop Of Poetry. "She had me bring you this, you know. Back when we were friends."

Valyrym grunted, curling his tail. "I had surmised as much. Did she tell you what it is? What it means to me?"

"Not all of it, but enough." Krek ruffled his wings and withdrew his paw. "I was as careful with it as I could be. Hated having to drop it through the bars. I'm pleased it survived." Krek turned his head, gazing around. "You've collected quite the assortment of contraband."

"I tried to recreate my old home." Valyrym gazed around, flashes of his old life flickering through his mind. "All the crates are... boxes of tribute from my youth. The shelves are what Amaleen had built for me in our home in Sigil Stones. Where I kept books, and Valar's toys. Sometimes at night, in the darkness, I could almost forget where I was for a little while."

Krek pushed aside a few spilled books and bits of broken wood, nudging them towards the cracked bookcase. "How rude of Alia to break that illusion for you." Krek warbled. "No rotting carriage, though."

Valyrym snorted, pinning his ears. "Heard about that, did you?" A smile twitched at his muzzle. "My homes always were a mess."

"So that's where Valar gets it." Krek fluffed up his feathers with an amused churr. "His room was always the only messy part of Kylaryn's lair when we were young. Even now that he's got his own mate and daughter, their house is always a mess."

Valyrym's smile grew. "It's still strange to hear the humans built him a house."

"Takes after you in more than one way." Krek turned his head, gazing at Valyrym's lamp. The flame flickered in the gryphon's green eyes. "There's...something I'd like to show you, if you don't mind. It's the only chance I'll get."

"What is it?"

Krek shifted his cargo satchel and worked the buckles. "Special stones. I'd make a joke about them being mine, but that's too easy."

Valyrym shrugged his wings. "I've already seen those, anyway. I wasn't impressed."

Krek clacked his beak, muttering. "Tongue like a knife, just like your son."

"Nice to know he's picked up at least one of my finer attributes."

While the gryphon worked his cargo pouch open, Valyrym admired his armor. He had to admit, it was beautiful. All the angled silver plates and mesh stood out against the gryphon's ebony plumage. The black feathers edging the helmet almost made it look like part of him. Unfamiliar runes in gold marked the plates on his limbs and paws. The ebony gryphon spreading its wings on the breastplate looked almost angelic.

"That's nice armor." Valyrym canted his head. "Where did you get it?"

"Hrrm?" Krek chirruped, tilting his head like a curious raven.

"Armor, Bird." Valyrym would have savored the gryphon's confusion if it wasn't so exasperating. "Where'd you get it?"

Krek splayed his black ears back. "Oh, I forged it myself." He squawked. "Where do you think I got it? The Queen's smiths made it for me."

"It's nice." Valyrym rumbled and flexed his wings. "Showy, but nice."

"Thank you. It's a bit looser than I recall. Must have lost weight with all that flight." Krek held his foreleg out to the dragon, grinning. "Go on, you can touch it."

Valyrym stretched a foreleg to touch his pads against the metal plates. His new stitches throbbed a little through the numb haze of painkilling herbs. "What do the runes mean?"

Krek tilted his head, gazing at them. "Love and loyalty. When I put on this armor, that is all I fight for. No flag, no nation. Only love, and loyalty."

"To your queen." Valyrym stroked one of the runes.

"I have no queen, Valyrym. My loyalty is to Kathlyn, not to her throne."

Valyrym rumbled his approval. That was an ideal he could respect. Not that he'd tell the gryphon. He pulled his paw back. "I had armor too, you know. Good armor!" He puffed up his chest plates. "None of this fancy, ceremonial nonsense."

"I know you did." Krek set his paw down, lifting his ears. "I've seen the banners and the portraits. I'd wager my armor against yours any day."

Valyrym blinked. The banners. He'd forgotten them. His spines drooped as an image of Sigil Stones came to him. Banners of all the dragons in the plaza, their new armor on display. So proud. A crowd that cheered for them. Amaleen giving her speech to the city. Valyrym closed his eyes, savoring the memory. They had hope, then, and for a time, happiness. He heaved a long sigh.

He opened his eyes again, watching as Krek removed an ebony box covered in strange pearl inlays. "Where did you see the banners, anyway?"

"When Kylaryn finally had to flee the fallen city, she took all the banners with her. Some of them hang in her home to this day." Krek flicked hidden switches with his claw tips. "Later she had portraits commissioned of all the dragons, including you."

"All the dragons?" Valyrym pulled his head back. Icy claws tightened around his belly. "Does that mean you know my sister?"

The gryphon's paws went still. "Narymiryn. Yes. And Korvarak. "

Valyrym tried to swallow to ease the sudden dryness of his long throat. Without realizing it, he kneaded a nearby blanket in his forepaws. "And...their daughter..."

"Arynyra." He clacked his beak. "She likes to hit. Yes, I knew them all." Krek's armor rattled when he tried to ruffle himself.

"Knew?" Valyrym's spines sank against his head. He squeezed the blanket till his paws ached, his tail twisting like an injured serpent "So...they're...." Valyrym trailed off. He couldn't say it out loud.

Krek made an odd sound, like a snort and a chirp rolled into one. He glanced up at the dragon, his green eyes trembling in the lamplight. "The truth is, Valyrym, I don't know. I'd like to think they're alive, somewhere. They left, quite some time ago, and I've not heard of their whereabouts for years."

"What do you mean, they left?" Valyrym pulled his head back. The coldest part of his fear ebbed away, replaced with a worrying uncertainty that heated his frills.

Krek warbled and shook his head, helmet rustling against his feathers. "They were done with war, Valyrym, tired of bloodshed. They lived near Kylaryn while their daughter grew. Friendship kept them together, and it was good for Valar to have a playmate while he was little. Not long after I became part of Valar's life, his mother and aunt began drifting apart. Nary believed the war was over, and Kylaryn disagreed."

Valyrym kneaded the blanket, stifling a whine.

"They did not want to lose their daughter to the war that claimed Korvarak's flight and Nary's brother." Krek patted Valyrym's paw. "So they picked a destination far from the conflict, and they left. Far south of Illandra, according to Valar. Lush forests, gentle hills. A bit like home for them, but easier for Korvarak to get around in. Valar visited them often at first, and when his cousin was older, she'd visit him in his village. When I last saw Valar, not even he had heard from them in ages. They're just...gone."

Valyrym rolled the blanket up around his paws, wings trembling. "So...they might still be out there?"

Krek gave the dragon a smile. "They might. I even suggested to Valar if I survive all this, we go and visit them. I think in the end, they just wanted to be left out of the war, to live out their lives."

Valyrym sighed and pushed the blanket away. "No one could blame them there. Thank you, Krek. I shall endeavor to take that as happy news and convince myself they're alright." He lifted his head a little. "What of Voskalar?"

Krek shook himself, ruffling his feathers and glancing away. "Well...the thing about him is...you're...not the jealous type, are you?"

"What do you mean, the jealous type?" Valyrym curled his neck into an S, flaring his spines. "Why would I ever be jealous of that little bronze...wait." Valyrym's golden eyes shot open, his maw dropped. "He didn't!"

"He did." Krek warbled birdsong laughter. "He still is, in fact."

"Even now?" Valyrym found himself smiling. "They're...together?"

"Oh yes." Krek ran his pads across his ebony and pearl box. "They've been mates for many years, now."

"That's...that's wonderful!" Valyrym laughed, his whole body shaking. The laughter felt good, draining the tension from his old, aching body. It was hard to believe brazen Kylaryn took shy little Voskalar as her mate. He must have grown up fast. After all those years pining for him, Kylaryn had finally found love with another. Valyrym was happy for her. She deserved love. "Do they have any hatchlings?"

Krek opened his beak, but no sound came out. Something odd flared to life in the green expanse of the gryphon's eyes and he glanced away. "Two of them." He looked back at Valyrym, smiling. "A male and a female, but they're hardly hatchlings anymore. The female is the older of the two, and she looks mostly like her mother. The male looks more like his father."

Valyrym smiled, trying to picture them. In his mind, he saw Valar romping through green fields and silver rain with his brother and sister. Happy, and free. "So...Valar has siblings."

"He does."

"Half siblings, anyway."

Krek nodded and swallowed, his gaze on the box. He tapped a finger against it.

"Do they...well..."

Krek smiled, bowing his head. "Valar and his siblings love each other, if that's what you're wondering. Though, the younger two have sided with their mother, while..."

"I suppose that's to be expected." Some of Valyrym's happiness faded. Heaviness chained itself around his heart, an anchor dragging him back down to reality. "Still, better than Kylaryn and her poor brother."

Krek stiffened, his voice a started squawk. "She has a brother? I've never heard her speak of him."

"I'm not surprised." Valyrym hung his head. "He died when she was young. Slain by Illandra along with her parents and half our childhood clan. It ate at her for years after that. She was finally able to let go, but I doubt she's spoken of it since, even to Valar." Valyrym sighed, and took a long breath. "What's in that box you keep fondling, anyway?"

"Your freedom."

Krek propped the box open, and let the dragon see inside. It contained a dozen small enclosures sunk into soft red velvet. Half the enclosures held smooth stones. Most were green and blue, two were black. When the lamplight caught the crystalline stones just right, a hint of silvery mist swirled inside them. Valyrym's breath caught. He'd never seen so many of them, so pure and in one place. He reached out to touch one.

Krek swatted him. "Paws off my stones."

Valyrym yanked his paw back, hissing. "There's a phrase you've never uttered before."

"Clever." Krek flattened his ears. "I show you these because..." The gryphon trailed off, looking away. His ears drooped beneath his helmet. "I want you to know...how hard this is for me. She...she meant something to me, once. They all did." Krek eased the black stones free. He stared at them. "She gave me these when she learned I was leaving soon. She wanted me to have a reminder, a beautiful keepsake of my life with her son. In better times."

Krek held the stones out to Valyrym. Each was carved with an intricate image. One was cut into Krek's likeness, and the other the face of a smiling dragon. His son. Valyrym's lungs froze, and his heart fluttered. Spines trembled around his head. With a shaking paw, Valyrym gently took the one carved in Valar's image.

Valyrym held it up near his muzzle, staring at it. Valar looked happy. Peaceful. He gazed at the other stone. Krek looked every bit as content in that carving as Valar did. Valyrym swallowed, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in his long throat. They...really were...happy growing up together. Valyrym squeezed his eyes shut, fighting tears.

Valyrym wondered what great pull was so irresistible as to wrench the gryphon away from that happiness, but the answer was obvious.

Love.

Valyrym handed the crystal back to Krek, his voice hoarse. "They're beautiful."

"They are one of my greatest treasures." The gryphon tucked the stones away into his odd little box, and closed it up. "I'd never seen black ghost stones before or since. She must have spent a fortune to have them carved. I take them out when I need a reminder that even I can do good things with my life. Even I can make someone happy."

Valyrym set a paw atop Of Poetry. He stroked the worn leather beneath his pads. Her scent drifted through his mind. The soap she washed with. The smell of flowers that clung to the dresses she wore. "That is what this book is for me. I look around my home, my prison, and...there is little else I want to bring with me. But I'll keep this book until I die."

"Consider yourself lucky you get to keep it." The gryphon returned his box to his cargo pouch. "Pack it carefully, but pack it soon." Krek rose to his paws and padded away. He stopped and gazed back at Valyrym. His words hung in the air like a blade poised above the dragon's head. "We're ready when you are. It's time to go free."

Freedom had never seemed so frightening.

*****

Chapter Twenty

*****

Valyrym left his sleeping chamber for the last time on rubbery, trembling limbs. The cargo pouch Krek provided bumped against him. He couldn't get it buckled properly. It didn't fit him the way it fit Krek, and he had to strap it around his neck. Even then some of the straps hung loose, swaying as he walked. He'd tucked Of Poetry and a few other special books in the satchel. He'd also nestled his stuffed family inside, and his favorite pillow. And that was it. The portrait and the apple tree wouldn't fit, and there was nothing else for him here but memories.

Alia stood with everyone else near the walled off exit. She and Vatch had both dressed in fresh clothes. Vatch had clean bandages around his ear and arm. Vatch held a silver bowl. Enric had a knife. Thomas and Kaylen were bleeding from their hands into the bowl. Valyrym suddenly didn't feel so well.

"Alia..." Valyrym's voice came out a nervous croak. A thousand rambunctious hatchlings beat their wings inside his belly. "Alia. Have...you packed? I have...more...room."

Alia turned and trotted across the prison to the dragon. She wore simple leather breeches and a dark shirt. Her black hair stood frizzy and untamed after their earlier bath. All her words ran together in one long stream of barely comprehensible babble. "Valyrym, are you alright? I think I have everything but I could always use more room and we're almost ready to go and are you shaking, you look like you're shaking, it's alright Valyrym!"

At least he wasn't the only one who was unbearably nervous.

Valyrym lifted a trembling paw, and gently smoothed back Alia's frazzled hair. "I should tell you, it's alright, as well." He ran his paw down her back, and lowered his head to brush his nose against her face. "I'm shaking, you're babbling. I suspect we're both an anxious mess."

Alia wrapped her arms around his head, and hugged him, thankfully mindful of his new stitches. "I know...I know. But you'll be alright, Valyrym. We both will."

Valyrym took a deep breath, her familiar scant calming him. "It is...strange. For all the years I've spent wanting to tear down that wall, now that it will crumble, I find myself..." Valyrym pulled his head back, gazing at all his carvings. "Frightened."

"I know." Alia caressed Valyrym's pebbly scales. He leaned into her soft touch. "I think that's only natural, Valyrym. As terrible as this place is, it...it's the only place you've known for..."

When Alia trailed off, Valyrym nosed at her cheek. "It's alright. I counted my years while you were away. I wanted to know how old Valar was."

"You've been here far too long, Valyrym. Your fear is to be expected." She pressed her face against his muzzle, and Valyrym closed his eyes, taking comfort in her presence and soft warmth. "But it's time to set you free."

Valyrym's head spun. A tumbling cascade of excitement and uncertainty poured through his mind. "Are they...ready? Do you have everything for the trip?"

"I've got some clothes and food and things, and a bedroll and...well...I don't really know what else I need. I've...never really been outside the city."

Valyrym drew in another shaky breath. "If you've more things you wish to take, pack them in my pouch." He glanced over at Krek's. "Or the bird's."

"I have something important to get, but it's at my house." Alia grasped one of the straps hanging from Valyrym's cargo satchel, grinning. "I don't think you did this right, Val."

"I'm sorry I'm not familiar with human inventions and gryphon trickery." Valyrym sighed. "Can you fix it?"

"Maybe." Alia tugged one strap, then another. She took a step back. "Hmmm..." She glanced over her shoulder. "Krek, can you help?"

Krek trotted over, silver armor rattling. Alia gestured at Valyrym's pouch, and Krek dropped onto his haunches in front of the dragon. He unbuckled the pouch and set it down. "I brought you the adjustable one. The extra straps fasten together." Krek pulled off a few straps, snapped them together, and returned them to the pouch. He buckled the longer straps around the dragon's neck and settled it against his chest plates. "See? Like that."

Valyrym shifted it. It felt more secure and more comfortable. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Krek smiled, then glanced at Alia. "Your turn, if you're ready."

Valyrym gave Alia a questioning look. She drew a line across her skin with her finger. Valyrym winced, his frilled ears flattened back against his skull. "Just...be careful, alright?"

"Do my best." Alia kissed the dragon's lowered nose and gave him a nervous smile.

Alia hurried back to the others with Krek. They all gathered near the old freedom carving. It was one of his first. How many times had he broken his claws etching that sigil into the stone that bound him here?

When Alia joined the group, Enric offered her a knife. She hesitated, her hand shaking. Valyrym growled. He did not want to watch this part. Seeing the blood of loved ones always put him ill at ease. But he was not about to leave Alia to her task alone. The dragon followed Alia and sat on his haunches behind her. Valyrym lowered his head to nuzzle her cheek.

"It's alright, Alia. It won't hurt for long."

Valyrym encircled his foreleg around Alia's middle. She smiled at him, leaned her head against his muzzle. Alia took the long knife from Enric, the blade trembled. She held out her other arm, pressed the blade against it, then hesitated again.

"Would you rather Enric does it?" Valyrym rubbed her side with his paw.

Alia pressed against the dragon, swallowing. "If he doesn't mind."

Enric took the knife back, shaking his head. "Not at all."

"On my arm." Alia held one arm to Enric, stroking Valyrym's foreleg scutes with the other. "I'll need to use my hands a lot, and I don't want to keep opening it up again."

"Sure, now you think of that." Thomas gave his own bandaged hand a sour look.

"The arm it is." Enric grasped Alia's arm, looking for a suitable place. "I've got to go deep enough to ensure it bleeds freely for a little while. Alright?"

Alia nodding, biting her lip.

"On three, then. One..."

"OW!" Alia tensed up, her face scrunched as Enric drew the blade along her forearm. She hissed through grit teeth. "That wasn't on three!"

"It's never actually on three." Enric tilted Alia's arm to the side. Krek pushed a silver basin with a long spout under Alia's arm to collect the blood that ran from her. "Just...hold your arm like that a while."

"You're lucky I'm leaving, Enric, or I'd knee you in the crotch." Alia winced.

Enric only chuckled. "You asked for my assistance."

Valyrym rubbed his muzzle against Alia's cheek. He gently squeezed her side with his paw. He glanced at the gryphon. "How much do you need from her?"

Krek tilted his head, gazing at the dragon. "Valyrym, you're the only one who's ever seen this done. I was hoping you could tell us. The blood both activates the stone's magic, and guides it, right?"

Valyrym nosed at Alia's ear. She stroked his leg. "Yes. It's something in their blood. The Aran'alians. They think it comes from the silver rain. Generations of people drinking it until..."

"Until the magic in the rain has changed their very blood." Krek gestured at the distant barrels. "And your Aran'alian wardens have been drinking plenty of the stuff, though Alia is the only one we know has purely Aran'alian heritage."

Kaylen gave the gryphon a dirty look. "We're not bastard children, Krek!"

"Sorry." Krek warbled. "Hope you're right. We'll not need as much from Alia."

Valyrym nuzzled Alia's cheek again. "It's not too bad, is it?"

Alia turned her head to kiss Valyrym's scales. "Compared to what you've been through tonight, my love, it is nothing at all."

"Stop moving your arm." Krek clicked his beak, shifting the basin.

"I'm not moving it."

"You are."

Alia shot the gryphon a glare. She turned her head, her black hair tickling Valyrym's stitched nose. "Let's cut your foreleg open and see how still you remain."

"I'd happily offer my own blood if it would help matters, my dear." Krek glanced up from the basin, head tilted the other way. "But it won't, so I shall keep it to myself."

Alia winced, turning her arm a little to get more blood dribbling free. "Maybe you're the one I oughta kick in the crotch later when your armor's off."

"I haven't got..." Krek stopped, flexing a wing as he reevaluated his word choice. "I mean, obviously I have those, but I don't think the term crotch applies to four-legged creatures."

"Shut up, Bird." Valyrym growled, flaring his spines. "Have you got enough blood yet? I should like for Alia to keep at least a little of it in her body."

"Valyrym, you tell me." Krek gestured to Vatch. The urd'thin held a second basin, swirling the blood inside to keep it from clotting up. "We've got about this much from each of them. But I'm not sure how much it takes. Can you enlighten us?"

"Enough to guide the magic everywhere you want it to go. A man I knew named Asgir used it to carve stone. He'd chisel guidelines in the rock, then coat them with his blood, and when the primal magic in the ghost stones was activated, it blasted through everything that had his blood on it."

Krek peered at the wall. "With any luck...this should be enough." He brushed Vatch with a wing. "Swap bowls. Let her blood mix with theirs, it might help if theirs isn't as pure. I'll start applying this. But we'll have to act fast before it gets too dry. So decide who goes with us, and say your farewells."

Vatch crouched down, and swapped the blood basins. He handed the one with Alia's blood to Krek. The gryphon took it to the wall, and reared back onto his hind legs. He pressed the spout to the top-most channel. Blood ran from it, and dribbled down through the line cut in the stone.

"Thank you for holding me." Alia smiled at Valyrym, rubbing his jawline. She winced when Enric worked her arm to get more blood to run down into the other bowl. "I really missed you, you know. I even tried to write you a poem..."

"You did?" Valyrym cocked his head, smiling.

"Tried, anyway." Alia grit her teeth, tilting her arm. "Val Junior helped."

Valyrym smiled at the image of Alia writing poems alongside Val Junior. The thought wrapped his heart in layers of loving warmth. He wished he'd done something for her while she was away. "I mostly just skulked about and got angry. Cut some lines in the floor."

"I saw."

"As much as I'd rather let you two have the proper, loving reunion the situation has denied you, it will have to wait." Krek shifted positions, pouring a little blood down another carved channel. "Is anyone coming with us besides Alia?"

Alia sighed, glancing around. "I...well...there was a time, when this was all a fantasy, that..." She looked at each of her friends. "I asked you all if...if you'd go with us, if we ever left this place..."

"I'll tell you right now, you can't all go. Given my injuries, I can only carry one of you." Krek moved again, pouring a bit of Alia's pure blood into each major guideline Enric and the others recently expanded. "Valyrym will already have one passenger. Dragons can carry more, but..."

"I'm old, and weak?" Valyrym snorted, glaring at the gryphon.

Krek fixed his gaze on the carvings. "Not how I was going to put it. But you're also wounded, and right now your flight is an open question. Do you think you can carry more?"

"We'll stay." Thomas lifted his voice before anyone else could reply.

Alia reached out to him. "Thomas, you--"

Thomas grasped her hand in both of his. "It's alright, Alia. What you're doing, what you're going to do? Let's be honest. There's nothing Kaylen and I could do to help." He glanced at Kaylen, who pursed her lips but nodded. "Someday, I should love to see the world beyond this city, but..."

Kaylen finished his thought. "This isn't the time. We love you both, and we'd do anything to help you!" She managed a smile, and held up her bandaged hand. "But...even if we weren't literally slowing Valyrym down we'd be...in the way, at best."

Alia shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "You two could never be in the way!"

"Alia," Thomas said softly, squeezing her hand. He smiled, leaned in and kissed her cheek. "I don't want to say goodbye to you and Valyrym, either. But be realistic. He needs to travel light. There's nothing we could do to help out there. Here, at least...we can help Enric, we can testify against Armadine, we can show Illandra that not all of our people are against them."

Enric put a hand on Thomas' shoulder. "They could do a lot of good here, working for me and the prince."

Valyrym kneaded at the floor with his forepaws while Thomas and Kaylen both came to hug Alia. He did not wish to part with them, either. Though Alia had torn down most of the walls around his heart, the others had wrenched a few crumbling bricks free themselves. But they were right. He'd be lucky if he could even carry Alia.

Gods, and wind, it had been a long time since he'd flown for more than a few seconds, let alone carried anyone. He turned his head, gazing at his wings. Their edges were tattered, but he'd tried to keep the muscles strong over his many imprisoned years. He sighed. He'd carried at least two passengers easily enough in his youth. His youth. To think that all the time he'd spent with Amaleen, all the years he'd warred with Illandra, it was all part of his youth. Now what was he? Some withered old lizard just hoping his wings could carry him far enough to save a life.

"Perhaps we..." Valyrym grasped for the right words, but they proved elusive prey. The dragon rustled and shifted his wings, his tail coiled. "When we save her...if we save her...we'll...if you want to leave then...we could..."

"Oh, Valyrym!" Kaylen pulled away from Alia and threw herself at the dragon. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his scales, sobbing. "I'll miss you too!"

"That's not what I...aw, hell with it." Valyrym circled a foreleg around Kaylen and hugged her in return, smiling. "You've...been a good friend Kaylen. Thank you for your kindness, it has been more than I deserved."

Kaylen tried to reply, but all that came out was an indecipherable string of sobbed syllables. Valyrym rumbled and gently stroked her back with his paw. Leaning on his haunches, he held his other foreleg out to Thomas. Thomas attempted to give Valyrym's forepaw an awkward shake. Valyrym snatched him up into a hug instead. Thomas cried out in surprise, but soon returned the dragon's gesture alongside Kaylen.

"You both know, right? Don't expect me to say anymore." Valyrym patted their backs with his forepaws, gazing at Vatch. "Well?"

Vatch rubbed his hands together, ruffing up his chocolate brown fur. "Vatch maybe not need hug."

"Oh?" Valyrym pulled his head back. An unseen claw cut a painful wound across his heart. He thought he'd grown closer to Vatch than that. Maybe the urd'thin just preferred to keep his goodbyes private. "That's fine, Vatch."

Vatch splayed his ears back. He scratched at the base of a horn, glancing at Krek. "Gryphon say can carry one, yes? And..." He waved towards Thomas and Kaylen. "Stick In Mud and Crazy Lady not go, so..." The urd'thin smirked when they glared at him in response to his pet names. He perked his ears. "So...maybe Vatch not need hug, because...maybe Vatch go with?"

Valyrym sat up straighter as Thomas and Kaylen moved back. He swiveled his ears forward, cocking his head. He furrowed his eye ridges. "Is that a question or a statement Vatch?"

Vatch shifted his weight, fidgeting with his bandages. He winced and splayed his ears. "Vatch...maybe want to go with."

Alia gave the urd'thin a smile, gritting her teeth as Enric wrapped a dressing around her arm. "I thought you wanted to try and make things better for your people here?"

Vatch shrugged, his oversized ears flicking back and forth. "Vatch want this yes, but. Is complicate. Is hard say in your words. What say better thing about urd'thin than help save Queen?" Vatch softened his voice. He looked away from everyone else, whimpering. "Is really..." He sniffed, blinking a few times. "Vatch just want go with friend."

Valyrym murmured, swallowing at the stubborn lump in his throat. "If it were you and I alone, Vatch...I would tell you...your friendship has been...very important to me, lately, and...I...don't know what I'd do without...Chief First Dragon Tamer Vatch." He cleared his throat with a growl, glaring at everyone. "But since you're all listening, I shall only allow Vatch to come to serve as my pillow."

A smile crept over Vatch's muzzle. His dark eyes teared up, his voice trembled. "You no squish Vatch..." Vatch sniffled and wiped his eyes, forcing a smile. "Vatch have stick."

"Oh, Vatchy Pup! I'll miss you most of all!" Kaylen flung herself at Vatch, hoisted him off his feet, and squeezed him in a massive bear hug.

Vatch squeaked and wheezed. "You...crush...Vatch!"

Valyrym swung his head around to glare at Kaylen. "What do you mean, most of all?"

Kaylen sat Vatch down, giggling. She glanced at Valyrym, her eyes wet. "He's not grumpy like you are."

"That cause you squeeze grump right out of Vatch." The little urd'thin rubbed his ribs.

"We'll both miss you, Vatch." Thomas smiled and ruffled the fur between Vatch's ears.

"We all will." When Enric finished bandaging Alia's arm, he set hand on the urd'thin's shoulder. "You keep practicing all those moves I taught you, alright?"

"Vatch will!" He smiled up at Enric. "Vatch big hero now. He slay many bad guys."

Enric laughed, then turned towards Valyrym. For a moment, he just stared at him. A smile crept over his lips. "Dragon."

Valyrym stared back. "Guard."

"You behave yourself, you hear?"

"You can't boss me around anymore." Valyrym's smirked.

"I couldn't boss you around to begin with." Enric shook his head, and then patted Valyrym's scaly shoulder. "I'm glad I got to know you, though." He scowled, and then gestured at a few of Valyrym's recent wounds. "Just wish I'd done a better job."

"So long as that worm gets what's coming to him, we'll call it even."

Enric's voice hardened. "Deal." Then he glanced away, ears reddening. "I must say..." His voice broke a little, and he cleared his throat with a cough. "A lot of people were wrong about you. A lot of people in the guard corps thought you were--"

"I know what they thought I was, Enric."

Enric set his jaw, swallowing. "I just wanted to say, it's been an honor for me to find out just how wrong those people were about you. You didn't deserve this."

Valyrym smiled. He had not expected such sentiment from Enric, but it warmed his frills and set his golden eyes. Valyrym murmured an appreciative, cooing whine before he could stop himself. Then he smiled, he knew just how to repay Enric's kindness. He lowered his head, nosed at Enric's cheek, and then gave him a slow lick across the face.

"HEY!" Enric swatted at the dragon's muzzle and scrambled away.

Valyrym rumbled low, growling laughter, then scrunched his muzzle. "ECH!" He opened his maw, tongue lolling. "You taste terrible, Enric."

"Serves you right." Enric wiped his face, grumbling. "Damn dragon. Try and say something nice and this is the thanks I get!"

Valyrym licked the back of his paw, trying to wash the taste from his tongue. He ignored everyone's laughter, and turned his attention to Vatch. "Hurry and fetch your things. Your books and..." Valyrym trailed off. Books. He scowled, spines pinned. "Bring The Uncaring Sky, Vatch. I think I'd best read it before I see her."

"Yes, yes! No leave without Vatch!" Vatch dashed off, his bushy tail waving behind him.

"Dragon!" Krek waved an armored foreleg towards Valyrym. "Come here a moment. I've a question for you. And bring the rest of the blood."

Valyrym picked up the silver basin in one paw then hobbled over to Krek. Krek took the basin from him, swirled the blood in it a few times, and then poured it into the remaining channels and holes. Nearby, the black box with the ghost stones lay open. There was one more stone in it than before. The newest jewel was a deep clear blue, and looked oddly familiar.

Krek cocked his head at the dragon. He looked like a curious raven with a fancy hat. "Once the ghost stones are in the blood, how long will this take?"

"A matter of seconds, or so, I think."

Krek squawked. "That's it?"

"Whenever old Asgir used to use the ghost stones to carve with, the reaction between the magic in the stone and in his blood was immediate. And he never used stones anywhere near that pure. So yes." Valyrym snapped his jaws. "Seconds Bird, then get your feathered ass out of the way." Valyrym gently plucked the clear blue stone out of the box. "Is this Alia's?"

"You know it is." Krek emptied the last of the blood into the deep channels in the stone. "She told me where to find the necklace it was in while you were fondling your book."

"This is an heirloom from her mother!" Valyrym hissed, glancing back at Alia. "Alia, did you agree to this?"

"Of course, Valyrym." Alia walked over and stroked the dragon's foreleg. "It's alright. Krek's giving up his stones too, you know."

Krek stiffened, his armor clinking. "Alia, please don't say it like that."

Valyrym set the stone back in the box. "Very well."

Krek dropped back to all fours, setting the basin aside. "Alright, we're ready, I think. As quick as the reaction will be, we need to put them all in at once." Krek unsheathed a claw, indicating spots on the sigil. "If we look at this as a compass, the holes in the north, south, east and west have all been enlarged, as has the hole in the very center. Valyrym and I can set the stones in the higher holes if Enric and Alia can put them in the lower ones."

"Okay, then what happens?" Alia glanced at the wall, scowling.

Valyrym twitched his tail. "Then we all hide behind the scruffy gryphon and his fancy armor."

"You're the biggest, Dragon, we should all hide behind you."

"I plan to retreat as far in that direction as I can." Valyrym opened a wing, and pointed with a wing-tip talon along the wall. "Alia may hide behind me. The rest of you...duck." He chuckled, then gazed around. "It will be quite loud. You should cover your ears."

"Valyrym also says it will be quite fast, so when the stones are set, get away." Krek waved his paw in a circle. "I'm not sure the whole wall will come down, but with the way the channels are between holes, the blood in them should serve as guide for the magic to cut a sort of tunnel through the center of it. I'll keep the last two in reserve to blast through whatever remains."

Valyrym licked his nose. "Wise."

"There's one other thing to go over." Krek's voice sharpened, all traces of smugness and playfulness gone. "There are archers all along the castle's walls and watchtowers."

Valyrym heaved a long sigh. "They're going to shoot at us, aren't they."

Krek dipped his head, lamplight glinting upon his silver helmet. "They're going to shoot at us." He glanced at Enric. "Ideally, this would be a bit anticlimactic, and we'd just fly out peacefully. We have the prince's sanction but...it's unofficial, for now. We were supposed to wait till dawn so Elvir could sign off on it and spread word after meeting with his generals. But with what's happened with Armadine, we must leave immediately. If Elvir is still in meetings, I do not know how far word will have spread. The nearest guards are going to hear an explosion, and then there's going to be a dragon in the sky. They'll do their job."

"So now you expect me to kill guards, too?" Valyrym tossed his head, hissing.

"No!" Krek shook himself, clattering his armor. "Kathlyn will have my balls hanging from her bedpost if I let you kill her soldiers for doing their job. I will try and tell them what's happening, get them to stand down. If that doesn't work, I'll draw their fire, knock the most dangerous ones out of position, and you'll get up and over that wall as fast as you can. I'll repeat when necessary."

Valyrym curled his neck, his frills at full extension. "You'll not do the Queen any good if you get yourself killed drawing some archer's fire as I blunder along."

Krek held up a paw, pads towards the dragon. "I'm in my armor for a reason, Dragon. Just let me do my job."

"Fine, fine." Valyrym waved his foreleg. "Get another arrow in your ass, see if I care."

Krek narrowed his eyes, tail fan splayed. "When the way is clear, fly south." He pointed his beak. "That direction."

"I know which way south is!" Valyrym snapped his jaws.

"Do you? In the middle of the night, with no knowledge of local landmarks? After a lifetime spent imprisoned? Just..." Krek took a breath, his armor shifting. "The main gateway in the outer wall faces the south. Fly in that direction. Fly up and over the wall and back to the ground so as not to present your belly--"

"I know how to deal with archers, Gryphon."

Alia nudged Valyrym. "I have to get something from my house in the city. Valyrym and I refuse to leave without it."

Valyrym cocked his head. "We do?" Alia gave him an urgent stare, nodding. "I mean, yes, of course. We won't leave without it."

Krek gave an irritable sigh. "Where is your house, and can you spot it from the air?"

"It's in the Silver Rain...er...Aran'alian district." Alia pressed her back to Valyrym's chest, smiling. "I'm sure I can. I'm familiar with seeing the area from my balcony. I have tomatoes and apple trees and flower vines there, and there's a blue tarp over the stairwell."

"Alright, alright." The gryphon flattened his ears, grimacing. "Just fly south. I'll catch up and lead you to the Aran'alian district. I'll send Vatch in so Valyrym doesn't have to land. In fact, once it's safe to ascend, Valyrym should fly as high as possible to stay out of range. Just in case. Then we put this city behind our wings. Once outside it, we should be safe. The prince will spread word that we're not to be pursued just yet."

"Yet?"

"One step at a time, Dragon. Tonight, we'll only fly as far as you're able, and no further."

"Speak for yourself, Feathers." Valyrym thumped his tail. "You're the one with half his body sewn back together."

"Shall we race, then?" Krek's voice was flat, his tufted tail curling around his hind paws. "When we've flown as far as we can, I'll find us a spot to rest. Then we fly again, rest, and repeat for...maybe a week, depending on our pace."

"That's all it will take to reach the Queen?" Valyrym smiled. That wasn't so bad.

"Not even close." Krek smirked. "It took me nearly a month to fly here from Denoria, and it may take longer than that to reach the Queen. But if we manage a good pace, in a week or so we'll reach a place we can rest a few days. It's safe there, and I've arranged to meet a contact of mine. She'll have supplies and things for us."

"Contact?" Valyrym's spines bristled. He narrowed his eyes to golden slits, hissing through sharp teeth. "How long have you had this planned?"

"Not as I'd like. But I do try to put things in motion just in case any of my crazy plans ever succeed." Krek mantled his wings, silver edge feathers displayed. "I met with her on the way up. I'd planned to free you as swiftly as possible, but timetables are always uncertain."

"And who is this contact?" Valyrym glanced at Enric, who simply shrugged. "Is she another of the Queen's spies?"

"More a personal contact." Krek lifted his paw, gazing at his pads. "But a reliable one. A female gryphon I know."

"Oh, Gods." Valyrym hung his head, flicking his ears back beneath his horns. "It's a mounting call."

"I doubt either of us will have the energy to mount a female at that point, but perhaps our luck will change." Krek warbled, folding his wings. "More importantly, she'll provide supplies and shelter." Krek softened his voice, lowering his head. "I do hope you're ready for this, Valyrym."

"I am not." Valyrym took a deep breath. "But it matters little." Valyrym opened a wing and curled it around Alia, savoring her warmth against his sensitive membranes. "We should get some tethers or something. For Alia and Vatch."

"I can fetch some rope." Alia stroked the inside of his wing. "Tie one end round your neck, and the other end around my middle? Just something short in case I slip."

Valyrym's wing twitched. Alia's touch tickled. "Hardly ideal, but better than nothing. Do you know where to find enough rope to make one for you and one for Vatch?"

"There's plenty in the office." Alia kissed the inside of Valyrym's wing. "Leftover from when we had all those workers down here. Kaylen and I were going to use it to tie you up and have some fun."

Kaylen giggled. "Lots of fun."

Valyrym lifted a paw and rubbed around the base of his horn. The stress of his impending escape made his head ache. "Just fetch the rope, Alia."

Alia slipped out from under the dragon's wing. She soon returned with long coils of rope in her arms. Vatch was at her heels. An overstuffed pack hung from his shoulders. Alia handed Vatch one of the coils of rope and explained the plan, and he set about tying it around himself. Alia returned to Valyrym, and tossed one end of the rope over the back of his neck, then pulled it under him.

"How's this going to be?" Alia pulled the rope tighter.

Valyrym turned his head, gazing at the rope. It felt odd sliding against his scales, coarse and itchy. He worked his wings up and down a few times. "That should be alright." He grimaced. His new injures ached and throbbed, but he knew he'd best get used to it. "Just make sure it's not interfering with my wings."

"Let me help with that." Enric joined Alia and took the rope.

Enric showed Alia how to tie an effective knot she'd be able to untie again later. Once the rope was secure around the dragon, he tied the other end around her middle. He made sure she knew how to work it herself later before he untied her again. After that Enric checked Vatch's knot work, and over Krek's grumblings helped him tie the other end around the armored gryphon. He showed Vatch the knot a few times, then untied the gryphon.

"There. I'll tie you guys back together after Krek deals with the archers. After that, you two are on your own." Enric ruffled Vatch's fur. "But I think that'll hold in an emergency. I...ah...I guess that's it."

"So..." Valyrym swallowed, trying without success to ease the dryness of his long throat. A whole barrel full of rum would have done nicely, right about then. He could just drink himself into oblivion, and wake up free. And hungover. If only it were that easy. He gazed around at everyone. As far as Valyrym was concerned they'd said their farewells. "Are we...ready?"

"We are." Krek padded to the dragon and placed a paw on his chest plates. "The question is, Valyrym, are you ready?"

"No." Valyrym shook his horned head, rumbling a bittersweet laugh. "But get me the hell out of this pit anyway."

"So be it." Krek smiled, and turned away. "Valyrym, you take the space at the top, and the left. I'll take the middle, and the right, and Alia, you take the bottom space. Alia, your stone is the purest of them all, so I'll put it right in the middle if that's alright with you."

Alia crouched down. She checked her hands for blood, then plucked the brilliant blue stone from Krek's box. She held it in her hands. As Alia gazed into the stone, Valyrym rubbed her back with a paw. He wondered if she'd ever seen it free of its silver pendant before today. Alia swallowed, childhood memories drifting behind her beautiful green eyes. Valyrym imagined her mother staring back at her from the blue crystal. He laid his chin against her shoulder, murmuring to her.

Alia turned her head to kiss Valyrym's muzzle, tears shining in her eyes. She offered the jewel to Krek. "Just put it where it will do the most good."

The gryphon bowed his head. "I intend to, my dear." He picked up a black stone, smiling. "Here, I shall trade you one of my greatest treasures, in return."

Krek swapped the jewel carved with Valar's face for Alia's blue one. Then he picked up the other black jewel, and offered it to Valyrym. "I suspect you should enjoy exploding my head."

Valyrym took the ebony stone carved with the gryphon's likeness, chuckling. "Not as much as you'd think. Where'd you get the others?"

"Armadine kept them as trophies from the province." Krek passed Valyrym a sapphire, and Alia an emerald. "So I stole them from him, right before I burned down his office."

"You burned down his office?" Alia grinned, rolling the crystalline spheres around her hands. "Well done."

"Thought you'd approve. Now." Krek turned his head, glancing at the black crystal carved with Valar's face. He blinked a few times, his eyes shining and wet, then glanced away again. "Everyone ready?"

Valyrym gazed down at Alia. Alia nodded. Enric, Thomas, Kaylen and Vatch all backed away. When they were clear, Valyrym dipped his head. "Ready as we can be."

A chill formed at the base of Valyrym's skull.

"On three, then. Put your stones in place, get them in the blood, and get away." Krek took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "One."

The chill grew to a steady, icy trickle down Valyrym's spine. His frills tingled.

"Two."

Valyrym's belly knotted. The trickle became a frozen torrent running down his back. He shuddered. He forced himself to breath. This was really happening.

"Three!"

Krek moved, and Valyrym moved with him. They reared up alongside each other, shoving ghost stones into openings where arching lines and channels intersected. Each carved line was glistening, red and wet. Alia darted beneath their underbellies, pressing her two ghost stones into position. Every jewel was soon connected to every other by lines of silver-rain blood.

A loud, crystalline crack sounded from the center hole. Valyrym pinned his ears back. Another cracking sound followed a second later. He dropped down onto his paws, snatched Alia up in a foreleg, and leapt out of the way. "Move, Bird! Move!"

Valyrym covered Alia with his body, pressing himself up against the wall. He glanced back as Krek scrambled away and the others ducked behind pillars. "Cover your ears!"

A deafening roar shattered the air with a flash of silver light so intense it cast the entire dungeon in mercurial illumination. The floor rumbled. Stone chunks and debris hurtled across the prison, bouncing off ceiling and pillar, scattering across the floor. The sound left Valyrym's ears ringing. The brilliance of the silver fire burned itself into his vision. He hissed, squeezed his eyes shut, and wrapped Alia up in his forelegs.

A second explosion ripped through the wall before the debris had even settled from the first. The flash shone silvery-bright even through Valyrym's closed eyes. Then another explosion erupted, and another as each ghost stone detonated with tremendous force. Lines of mercury fire consumed the blood, sliced through stone in molten arcs and curves. Rock blew across the floor and the whole prison shook. For one terrifying moment, Valyrym feared it was all caving in on them.

Then the silver sun extinguished, and the shaking ceased. All the noise faded, leaving only a singular ringing tone. Valyrym slowly uncurled from Alia. She scrambled out and turned towards him as he stood. Her mouth opened and closed, but the sounds were all jumbled up with the bell-tone in his ears.

"I need a moment, Alia!"

From the way Alia winced, he must have been shouting at her.

Valyrym turned around. Dust and smoke rose from smoldering stone. An immense hole lay in the center of the wall. A large chunk of gray rock with molten, red-orange edges slipped from the hole, and clattered to the floor where it broke apart. Krek was back on his feet, inspecting the damage. Enric was with him, using a pickaxe to dislodge broken rock. The gryphon grabbed at a few sections of shattered stone where the magic was already cooling. He pulled them free, and tossed them to the ground.

Krek poked his head into the hole. It looked big enough for the gryphon to fit, maybe even for Valyrym. But Valyrym couldn't see how far back it went. Krek withdrew his head and went to his puzzle box. He pulled the last stones free, pointed to Alia, then pointed to his own foreleg. It seemed he wasn't the only one with ringing ears.

Alia glanced at her bandaged arm, and Krek enthusiastically nodded, waving her over. Alia trotted to the gryphon. She pulled her bandage away, wincing. Fresh blood seeped from the wound. Krek handed her a blue stone. He took one in his own paw, and pointed into the smoking crater in the wall. Enric moved away, and Alia nodded, holding up three fingers.

Alia counted down in silence, and when she folded her last finger, she thrust her arm towards Krek. Alia rolled the blue stone against the blood seeping from her cut, and Krek did the same. The stone cracked in her hand, and Alia hurled it into the hole. Krek threw his in after it and pivoted away. Alia darted back to the dragon, her hands over her ears. Valyrym wrapped her in a wing, and this time covered his own ears.

Just as Valyrym squeezed his eyes shut, two more explosions rang out. The eruptions of primal fire painted the dungeon in shades of radiant silver that seared through Valyrym's eyelids. When he felt Alia slip out from under his wing, Valyrym opened his eyes. More smoke and dust choked the air, but the crater had turned into a hole. Stone from the top of it was collapsing into the bottom bit by bit. Krek moved in a flash. He yanked more pieces of stone out, widening the space. Enric brought his pickaxe to bear again. Stone toppled down into shattered, crumbling heaps.

Valyrym stared in stunned silence.

The wall was down.

Beyond it, Valyrym saw freedom.

Valyrym stumbled towards the exit. The ringing in his ears faded, but all sound died to silence. The scents of scorched blood and burnt stone and smoke were washed away by a tide of fresh, clean air. A cool breeze flowed through the opening, caressed his unfurled wings.

Everything was still. A moment of impossible peace, of perfect tranquility. A moment he never thought he'd know again.

Freedom.

"...Free." Alia's voice slowly came back into focus. She was crying. Valyrym turned his head, choking on a sudden sob. Alia threw her arms around his neck. She wept her joy against him, her tears left hot streaks down his scales. "You're free, Valyrym! You're free!"

Valyrym could not stop the tears.

After one hundred forty one years...

He was free.

*****

Chapter Twenty One

*****

On trembling paws, Valyrym crawled over broken rock. Heart and soul, every part of him shook. He struggled just to pull air into his lungs. Blood pounded in his head, his heart rattled against his ribs. Tears pooled in his golden eyes, his vision swam. Hot, jagged edges scraped his wings, scratched at his scales. Smoke swirled around him, carrying the acrid scent of burnt blood and stone.

A gust of fresh air dispersed it.

Fresh.

Air.

Not from a barred vent, but from the world beyond his buried kingdom.

At the precipice of crumbled wall and old pathway, Valyrym took a deep breath. He savored the scents that flowed through him like lifeblood. The cool nighttime breeze. Blossoms in the distance. The scent of rain on the wind. Wood smoke from the castle's stoves. The earth and trees, the sweetness of the flowers in the courtyard garden.

He could not take it all in.

Valyrym willed himself forward. He pushed his forequarters through the opening in the crumbling tunnel, and set a single forepaw down upon the free world beyond. It had taken them weeks to build that wall. They'd chained him in place and made him watch them seal him in. And in seconds, the wall came down. It was almost too much for the old dragon to bear. He took a deep breath to try and quell his trembling. Valyrym wriggled his other fore paw free, and set it on the path. Then he froze.

For a horrible, sinking moment, the world outside his prison seemed unbearably immense. Half a step beyond his cell, and he already felt lost. How could he...? It was all so...big. Could his withered wings even carry him from this city? How could he cross countries? Where would he sleep? Could he still hunt? How could he--

"Out of the way, you lumbering behemoth!" An agitated voice squawked behind him.

Who was talking? A paw pressed against his haunch, firm and insistent. Valyrym resisted the urge to lash out with his hind leg and kick whoever it was square in the muzzle. Growling, he glanced back. He saw glimpses of black feathers and silver armor behind him, beyond the tunnel. Oh. Right. The bird.

"This may be difficult for you to comprehend, but we haven't the time for you to be overwhelmed by the moment!" The gryphon pushed harder on his haunch, hissing. "Now let me by! Move your scaly ass before the guards start putting arrows in it!"

Valyrym snarled, but did not argue. He wriggled the rest of his body through the opening, his stitches throbbing. Thanks to herbs and adrenaline, the pain was easily ignored. Beyond the broken wall, Valyrym found himself on a sloped path. Grass and weeds grew in every crack between old flagstones the moonlight painted silver. The path led to a grassy hill and some kind of courtyard garden.

Krek shot past him. The gryphon was a black and silver blur, armor rattling and clanking as he hurtled up the slope. Krek leapt into the sky, ascending in a tight spiral. In the brilliant moonlight, Krek's armor gleamed white like bleached and polished bones. Someone shouted from the nearby walls. Krek spun in the air, flicked his wings, and vanished over the wall.

"Gryphon forget Vatch!" Vatch ran out of the tunnel, his heavy pack bouncing, safety rope trailing behind him.

"He's coming back!" Alia ran after him. "Vatch, just wait!" Alia came up alongside Valyrym, her hand trailing over his scales. "Are you ready?"

"Not in the least." Valyrym lowered himself to his belly, flattening his wings out. "Tie your rope and climb up."

Alia tied the rope around Valyrym and herself just as Enric showed her. She grasped Valyrym's wing joint and put a boot against his shoulder, climbing onto his back. The pressure made him grunt. Alia suddenly felt far heavier than ever before. What if he couldn't fly with her? Valyrym grit his sharp teeth. He told himself he could. He had to. When Alia was settled, Valyrym pushed to his paws.

The dragon lowered his head, peering back into the tunnel. Enric, Kaylen and Thomas crowded around the other end. They all waved at him. Kaylen rubbed her eyes. They called their farewells. As far as Valyrym was concerned, he'd already said goodbye to them. He lifted his paw, imitating their gesture.

Valyrym called out one last sentiment. "Thank you for your friendship!"

With that said, Valyrym took a few steps up the path, concentrating on Alia's weight. He opened his wings and stretched them out. Wind brushed his membranes. Valyrym shivered, his scales clicking. Even after so many years, the wind's gentle caress was almost foreign. He lifted his wings over his back, beat them a single time. Alia huddled against his neck as the gusts buffeted her. She stroked his scales. Valyrym arched into her touch, thankful for the silent encouragement.

He stretched his wings as far as he could. Tendons creaked, tattered edges ached. He worked them up and down, the membranes rustled as they caught air. He turned his head, gazing at each wing. They were still vast. The motions were still there, in his muscle memory. He'd exercised them the best he could during his long imprisonment, made them carry his weight when'd glided across his prison.

"I have scarcely felt so old, Alia."

Alia kissed the back of his neck, but offered him no platitudes. He appreciated that. She knew the same as him. Either his wings would carry them from this wretched place, or he would die here.

In the distance, Krek squawked and shouted. Men yelled back at him. The bird was doing his job. At the top of the slope, Valyrym gazed around the courtyard gardens. The immense castle rose behind him, while the towering walls protecting it loomed beyond the garden. Ancient trees stood sentinel over wooden benches. Mossy rocks lined little ponds and trickling streams. Bushes sculpted in the shapes of beasts served as fences alongside cobbled paths in the grass.

Nearer the castle proper, Valyrym spotted a few air vents where stone met earth. Further along, the wall that enclosed the garden took a sharp turn, intersecting with the castle. They'd built a walled garden to enclose the entrance to his prison. Which meant...

"We're going, Alia!" Valyrym glanced back at his beloved passenger. "Lean forward, wrap your arms around my neck."

"Valyrym, that's not the plan, we're supposed to wait for Krek!"

"Hell with the plan, there's something I have to do!" Valyrym flared his wings, his heart thumping. "Dragons act!"

"Oh, God damn it!" Alia threw herself against the back of the dragon's neck, arms encircling him.

Warm arms around his neck drew him back into his old life. Images formed out of the darkness of his mind. Lenira smiling at him. Her first flight. She was so old. So happy. Amaleen squealing when he jumped into the sky. Cursing him even as she laughed. How she grew to love flight. So many years wasted in this place. This horrible, wretched place.

"Alia, I am never coming back here."

She lifted her face from his neck to give him a smile. She nodded, and pressed herself to him once more. They were as ready as they'd ever be.

Fly.

Valyrym pivoted to an open stretch of land, and burst into a gallop. Alia bounced against him as he hurtled across the ground, claws tearing up chunks of earth and sod. The dragon's lungs heaved. His breath came in furious pants.

Fly!

His heart thundered. His paws tore at the earth, his wings flared to their full extent. With a roar of effort, Valyrym leapt off his hind legs, and beat his wings against the air.

Fly, you old lizard!

The old dragon's wings caught air, jerking him aloft. His stomach lurched. Alia cried out, her voice muffled against his neck, squeezing him. Valyrym beat his wings again, no smoothness in the motion. He felt like a youngling taking his first awkward solo flight. Yet all that mattered was ascension. Valyrym stroked his wings with everything he had.

FLY!

Valyrym rose.

He was flying.

Before he could even celebrate it, Valyrym was already above the outer wall. Startled guards in armor and chain cried out and whirled towards him. One man screamed orders while another fired an arrow that whizzed past the dragon's head.

"You idiot!" Krek's voice rang out above the din. "I told you to wait!"

"Do your damn job, Bird!" Valyrym hurtled over the wall. He had something to accomplish.

Behind him, Krek called out to everyone. "Lower your bows! This action is sanctioned by Prince Elvir! Lower your bows--Stop shooting! I'm going to hurl you off the damn wall!"

Valyrym left the bird to his negotiations. Another arrow whistled past him before he dropped back down, flying just above the streets. Valyrym dipped a wing and wheeled to the left, swooping behind some buildings. He turned sharper than intended. Alia's weight shifted against him. It was going to take him some time before flight was instinctual again. Valyrym stretched his wings, gliding over the cobbled road below. A few late night revelers screamed and ran for cover. One man stumbled out of a tavern, spotted the dragon, and stumbled right back in. In the distance, a guard drew his sword, and called for help.

Valyrym ignored them all, focused on his task.

Ahead of him lay a building that for countless years obscured his view of the stars from his favorite ledge. Valyrym would recognize that corner of roof anywhere. The dragon extended his hind paws, touching down on cobblestone. His landing was as jerky as his takeoff. He stumbled and nearly flopped onto his belly, jostling Alia.

"Valyrym!" Alia's wide eyes shone silver-green in the moonlight. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Keeping a promise to myself! Vengeance is coming, roof!"

He might not be able to burn the place down like he'd once promised, but he could damn sure claim his revenge. Valyrym trotted to the small structure that stood near a fenced off section around an air vent. He reared onto his hind legs, and grabbed the edge of the roof in his forepaws. With a furious snarl, Valyrym wrenched the roof from its moorings. Wood splintered, and clay roofing tiles shattered. The whole section of roof tore away along with an upper portion of a wall. Valyrym hurled the roof corner as far down the street as he could, roaring his victory.

A terrified scream rang out.

Valyrym arched his neck and peered into the hole he'd just created. A man cowered in a corner, arms up over his head. A table set with a half-eaten meal sat nearby, the chair toppled onto the floor. Valyrym blinked, flicking his spines back. He never realized it was a house.

Still...

"Your damn roof blocked my view for decades!"

He dropped back to all fours, turned away and bound down the street.

"Valyrym!" Alia yelled at him as she bounced against his back. "I can't believe you--"

"That roof had it coming! Hold on!"

As soon as Alia's arms were tight around his neck, Valyrym leapt. Tattered wings caught the air and pulled the old dragon towards the unreachable sky. As he rose, he glanced at the wall, now divested of all its guards. Armored forms lay on the ground below, clutching various injuries. Then there was another scream, long and terrified, and getting louder and louder.

All at once Krek hurtled over the wall. Vatch was on his back, screaming his head off.

"Cease your squealing!" Krek's wings beat in double time as he shot towards the dragon.

"Youflytoofaaaast!" Vatch's words all came out in one garbled stream. He clung to Krek's armored neck, his oversized ears flattened back against his head.

"I have to!" Krek snapped his beak, glaring at Valyrym as he neared him. "And you! What the hell do you think you're doing? They were ready to lay down their arms, until you...never mind!" Krek altered course, speeding away from the dragon. "Just follow me!"

Valyrym followed the gryphon through the dark skies over an unfamiliar city. The gryphon ascended higher and higher, and Valyrym did the same. He rose with every beat of his stiff wings, and Alia clutched him tighter. Beyond the castle walls, Valyrym knew not one inch of the city that held him captive for half his life. It stretched into the darkness as far as he could see. An ocean of flickering lamplights and glowing windows spread beneath him, ghostly eyes watching him escape.

He'd never known cities could grow so big.

Krek accelerated ahead of him. Valyrym followed the shining beacon of his moonlit armor, hoping the gryphon did not expect him to match his pace. Already his wings were giving aching voice to an increasingly loud protest. At least the discomfort told him this was real. Wasn't it? He was...he was free, wasn't he? Gods, what if he'd died in his sleep and this was all some feverish afterlife?

Valyrym did not want to think about it. He glanced back at Alia. She still had her face buried in his neck, so Valyrym lost himself in the simplicity of physical exertion. He concentrated on his flight. He focused on the motion of his wings, the feeling of air currents across them, pushing and pulling. Flight was second nature in his youth, as unconscious a movement as walking. Now every wing stroke took effort.

"Where is it?" Krek circled in the air ahead of them.

Only minutes had passed, and already they'd crossed much of the city. Torches and lamps cast an orange glow across blue banners and silver flags shaped like raindrops. Alia shifted against his back, gazing below them for the first time.

"Oh...Oh, God!" Awed joy shone in her voice. "Look at all the lights! I never imagined...! It's like a blanket of stars thrown across the earth! Oh, Valyrym! Is this what the world was like for you, before? It's beautiful! Your world is so beautiful!"

Your world is so beautiful.

Then and only then did Valyrym know freedom was real. The dragon shivered, his scales clicking. The pure, simple joy in that statement--

"Alia!" Krek spun back around, circling Valyrym. The angry tension in the gryphon's voice stifled some of Valyrym's happiness. "We have to go! Where is your house?"

Valyrym growled. Stupid bird ruined everything. Even his escape. He twisted his neck, glancing at Alia. She clung to him with both arms, the lights below reflecting in her emerald eyes. She rolled and shifted against his back each time Valyrym pumped his wings. How did Amaleen get comfortable riding him?

"Alia! Move forward a little." He stroked his wings again. "If you settle your weight--"

"This is no time for flying lessons!" Krek screamed, fury ruffling up his feathers where they protruded from his armor. He circled the dragon again. "There are highly trained archers tracking us through the streets, and you two want to stop and visit the neighbors? Where is your damn house?!"

"East of the plaza!" Alia pulled one arm back from the dragon's neck to point. "There! With the big trees, and all the silver rain streamers! And the banner of Kylaryn!"

"The what?" Valyrym looked where she was pointing.

A few dozen wing beats away lay an immense plaza with great lines of silver flags strung from tree to tree and pole to pole. Shuttered stalls and stands filled the place in ramshackle fashion. Everywhere were flags and banners of dragons and rain drops. It was at once both oddly familiar and totally foreign, like the market in Sigil Stones but with everything in the wrong place. Monumental banners towered over it. The images sent ice trickling through Valyrym's every vein. People trudged through the snow, a line of burning homes with sloped roofs behind them.

Krek's voice echoed in his mind. They razed it.

Another banner held a vast blue dragon upon it, her wings stretched around the people of Aran'alia, beyond their burning city. Valyrym's breath caught when he saw the caption. The Wind Protects. What had she become? What had they become? They were...preparing people for her arrival. Valyrym looked away. He did not have time to lose himself in thought or memory. They were trying to flee a city and he had no time to gaze at her image. Besides, if this mad journey went as planned, he'd see Kylaryn herself at the end of it.

"Which way now?" Krek wheeled above the plaza, beating his wings. Vatch clung to his neck, face half buried against armor and feathers. "Alia, where is it?"

"East!" Alia pointed again. "That one, there! With the blue tarps!"

Valyrym dipped a wing, turning away from the banners. He spotted a cluster of four-story buildings where Alia was pointing. They were certainly larger than the homes he remembered humans having in Aran'alia. They also looked more run down. A few wing beats later, and they were closer enough to see people swarming around the building. Some of them were in the street, more of them were in the alley. Though their uniforms were unfamiliar, their purpose was clear.

"Krek!" Valyrym called out to the gryphon. "There are guards there!"

"They aren't guards, Valyrym!" Alia raised her voice over the wind. "They're--"

"I know who they damn well are!" Krek yelled back at them. "You two stay in the air, as high as you dare! I'll deal with them!"

Vatch lifted his head from Krek's armor. "Vatch know what Alia want! Vatch know where is. Vatch can get!"

"Fine!" Krek called out, glancing back at the dragon. "Valyrym, get higher!"

Valyrym beat his aching wings harder, ascending. He scanned the ground, searching for any sign of archers. A few groups of people in dark clothes advanced together through distant streets and alleys. Just what was the range of bows and crossbows these days? He rose higher, staring down at Alia's home as he circled. "Alia, if they're not guards, who are they?"

"They're Death in the Night!" Alia shifted and tightened her grip as Valyrym rose. "They've been watching me! Armadine's people killed a few of them when they captured me. I think they were trying to recruit me, or protect me, but...I'm not sure!"

It was all too surreal. He flew above the city that held him captive, watching the army he built in his youth search for the woman who was once his warden. It all felt like some lucid dream. He shook his head, hissing. It was no dream. Kylaryn had taken his simple army meant only to protect their homes, and grown it into something...terrible? Something mighty? Year by year, Death in the Night had grown into a monster waiting to be unleashed. Valyrym just hoped that monster could still be controlled.

Down below him, Krek dove towards Alia's home. Vatch's terrified scream alerted the whole neighborhood and gave the Death in the Night agents a target. A few nocked arrows and loosed them at the armored gryphon, but missed him as he spiraled down. He flared his wings at the last moment, alighting upon the building's roof. He snapped his beak at Vatch, though distance stole the gryphon's words.

Vatch jumped off Krek's back, untied the tether around his middle and dashed to the edge of the roof. Vatch scrambled down a drainage pipe, then untied a nearby rope anchoring the corner of a shade canopy. It blew open, exposing a balcony covered in plants. Vatch leapt to the vine-wrapped railing and clambered over. He yanked his mace free and smashed the handle right off the door, then threw himself inside. At the same time, several Death in the Night guards sprinted for the stairs, swords drawn.

Krek bound across the roof in another direction, and jumped over the edge. The gryphon crashed through the blue tarp covering the external stairwell. Support poles snapped and wooden stairs shattered. Guards screamed as the entire top flight of stairs collapsed onto the lower levels. Debris rained to the ground. The whole structure crumbled as Krek shot into the sky with a flick of his wings. Another flick, and he dropped back onto the roof.

"The bird's good, I'll give him that!" Valyrym beat his wings, circling.

"People live there, Val!"

"Someone will get them a ladder!"

Before long, Vatch re-emerged onto Alia's balcony. He climbed the railing, leapt to the drain pipe and scrambled back up to the roof. He opened his pack to show the gryphon what was so important and when Krek peered inside, his indignant squawk of anger made it all the way up to Valyrym.

Valyrym glanced back to his rider. "What the hell did you send him for?"

"Our son!" Alia's laughter only confused the dragon further.

"Have I flown too high, woman? What are you babbling about?"

Vatch squealed when Krek rocketed into the sky again. In only a few breaths, the gryphon was flying alongside Valyrym. "You madwoman! You sent us all this way, with archers on our trail, for a stupid stuffed toy? What's wrong with you?"

Stuffed toy? He glanced over at the other two. A curled horn protruded from Vatch's pack. Valyrym gasped, and his laughter joined Alia's. "I'll have you know that's our son, Gryphon!"

"You're both mad! No more stops, I don't care what you're missing!"

"Why so cranky, Gryphon?" Valyrym kept laughing as he winged away from Alia's former home. "Get another arrow in your ass?"

"That isn't funny!" Krek squawked, accelerating. "Archers really are tracking us!"

"Yes, about that!" Valyrym snapped his jaws. "Did you not say we had the prince's sanction?

"I also told you we had to go early!" Krek glanced back, moonlight glinting on his green eyes. "We couldn't risk Armadine's injuries or my arson giving Elvir second thoughts before he's seen the evidence against his friend. Still, I'd hoped word would spread by now!"

"You_hoped_?" Valyrym snarled. "You pompous, feathered ass!"

Krek tossed his helmeted head. "Just fly, you decrepit reptile! Stay high, and fast, till we're out of the city. It'll be hard for them to see you against the night sky. Just in case, I'll fly ahead to the outer wall and clear the way!"

Valyrym growled, but found himself unable to sustain any anger. Instead, he just glanced back at Alia, grinning. "I don't care what the bird says. We could never leave this city without Val Junior!"

Alia laughed and hugged his neck. She settled in again, pressed her cheek to his scales, and watched the city slide by beneath them. While she watched the lights below, Valyrym watched her. Her clothes buffeted around her body. Her black hair whipped around her head in a tangled, knotted mess. Her face shone radiant joy. She had never looked more beautiful.

"I love you, Alia!"

Alia lifted her face to shine her joyful sun upon him. "I love you too, Valyrym!"

Valyrym smiled at her till his jaws ached and his neck cramped from being twisted so long. He returned his gaze to the horizon, noticing for the first time that darkness lay in the distance. As Alia kissed the back of his neck, Valyrym realized that darkness signified the open land beyond the city. Ahead, a long line of torches and lamps illuminated the various walls and gateways that marked the city's borders.

A flash of silver and a distant squeal told Valyrym that Krek was diving to the city's outer wall. Lights danced along the walkways and watchtowers as guards bearing lanterns ran towards him, or went for arms. Before long, those same lights were moving away from the shining silver blur that flashed in the moonlight. One arced through the air and bounced down the wall, another toppled over the side, down into darkness.

"I hope those are just lanterns he's hurling around!" Alia sounded worried.

Valyrym left the worrying to her, and made his way for the dark spot Krek had created atop the wall. Though he flew as high as he dared, he didn't like the idea of arrows aimed at his underbelly. As he neared the wall, he counted down the moments until at last he was truly free forever from this terrible city. Distant shouts rang out below him as he hurtled through the sky above the wall. An arrow buzzed somewhere in the distance but by then Valyrym was already past them. He heard another arrow whistle somewhere behind him as Krek returned to the sky.

And then he was beyond the borders, and Illandra, at last, was behind him.

Sudden, joyous giddiness overwhelmed the dragon. He laughed and laughed and soon called out. "One hundred forty one years, and still you could not break me, Illandra!" Valyrym's voice rose, stronger and louder. "I am the Dread Sky! I am free!"

Alia screamed her own wordless cheer, then took a deep breath. Her call to the heavens was nearly as loud as Valyrym's. "May the Dread Sky ever rise!"

Valyrym roared his freedom to the skies.

*****

Valyrym focused on his flight. While his soul rejoiced in his escape, his body protested the effort it took. His wing membranes ached, his joints throbbed, and what began as a dull pain was now a line of fire stoked across his back with every wingbeat. He forced himself onward. His wings would not grow stronger without use.

The land beyond the city was dotted with villages and hamlets, ghostly and quiet in the midst of the night. Checkerboard fields and farms rose and fell with the lay of gentle hills. Two track lanes snaked between farms. Animals woke and bolted across their pastures when the dragon and gryphon passed overhead.

How long had it been since he'd last seen prey running from him? The sight made his claws twitch and his belly rumble. A shame he couldn't stop to feast on fresh meat. Valyrym snorted. He knew he was so out of practice hunting he'd probably just crash and kill himself. Besides, he could eat later, when they reached...well, wherever they stopped when he could fly no further.

Alia eased back from Valyrym's neck, lifting her voice above the rushing air. "It's so peaceful away from the city!"

Valyrym smiled, glancing back at his passenger. Her raven hair thrashed in all directions at once as if seeking an escape from her head. He hoped she remembered her brush. "Yes! It is!"

"I've never been this far beyond the walls before." Alia leaned over with one arm wrapped around his scaly neck. She gazed at the pastures and farms that slid by below them. "At least not since I was too young to truly remember it. How far do you think we're going tonight?"

"Probably not much further." Valyrym looked out across the horizon. Far in the distance beyond the gryphon, the vague outline of rising hills and towering trees gave themselves away against the star-strewn expanse. "Maybe that forest in the distance."

"That'd be lovely! I've never been to a forest. I hope I packed the right sort of things..." She trailed off and settled against him. Her warm presence was comfort itself. Valyrym never wanted to be anywhere without her again. "I must sound like a fool."

"Not at all." Valyrym fixed his gaze upon the tree-lined hills. Now and then something silver flashed before them when Krek's armor caught the moonlight. "Just someone trapped inside stone walls for far too long."

"That goes for both of us."

Valyrym closed his eyes, savoring the wind across his scales. "So it does."

"What's it like then? The forest, I mean."

"Beautiful. Peaceful." Memories drifted through Valyrym's mind. "It smells of earth and wet leaves and moss. In the morning there is birdsong. At night the insects call. When the wind blows, all the leaves rustle."

"It sounds wonderful!"

"It is." Valyrym smiled, his son's laughter echoing in his head. "Valar used to love the forest. He always wanted to climb the trees, but never knew how to get back down."

Alia giggled, stroking the dragon's scales. "Sounds like a cat."

"A cat who back talks you." Valyrym rumbled and stretched his wings, gliding on breeze and memory. "Once, he got so high he froze up, out on a narrow limb. Amaleen had to go up and save him. She scaled the tree, plucked him from the branch and climbed back down. She tore a big hole in her dress, too." Valyrym laughed, kneading the air with his forepaws. Air currents teased his taut wing membranes. "And she had the gall to blame me for it!"

"You shouldn't have let him climb so high!" Alia gave his neck a playful swat. "Or made her go up and get him."

"That's what Amaleen said. Only with words I forbade Valar from repeating."

"How did that work out?"

"He called me those names for weeks." Valyrym beat his wings a few times, grimacing as fire rolled along his back. "But whenever Amaleen heard him say them, she'd turn bright red and apologize for teaching him such foul language."

"I promise if I climb any trees in the forest, I'll get myself back down."

"That's good, because I'm sure as hell not going to be climbing after you. I'll send Krek, instead. Trees are a bird's natural habitat!" Valyrym smirked. "How's the ride?"

"Not completely terrifying." Alia gave a nervous laugh and leaned forward to wrap both arms around him again. "I was trying to forget how high we are!"

"We're not that high, I...Oh." Valyrym pinned his ears back. "Sorry!"

"No, it's fine." Alia pressed her soft cheek to his scales. "It's exhilarating, but it's also frightening. All the times I dreamt of this, imagined it? I never realized I'd feel like I'd left my stomach on the ground! Or that whenever you shift and pitch, I'd feel like I was going to heave."

Valyrym winced. "Please don't."

Alia stroked his neck. "I just have to get used to it. When I look at the ground, even in the darkness? I marvel at its beauty! But at the same time, it makes my head spin and my heart flutter! Anyway..." Alia shifted, twisting around on him. "How are your wings?

"Sore as hell!" He glanced back at her. She was watching his wings. "Alia, don't take this the wrong way, but please sit still!"

"Oh! God. Right!" Alia pressed herself tighter to his neck than ever. "Sorry, Val. Oh, now I can't help but imagine what would happen if I...well...you know."

"That's what the rope is for." Valyrym hoped his words were reassuring. "It's short, so it shouldn't even break your..." He trailed off, then amended himself. "It should catch you right away! But...just don't fall."

"I assure you, I'll try my very best!"

"Good." Valyrym grit his teeth as he stroked his wings harder, ascending again. "Since you bring it up, though, I think I'd best concentrate on flying."

Valyrym fell silent to focus. The flight instinct was still in him, but the motions were rougher, using more energy than they should have. With enough time spent flying, he knew it would become second nature again, but for now every wing stroke hurt. Each time he pumped his wings it was like he was rending his flight muscles a little more. He glided as often as he could.

It seemed impossible to think he'd once followed the air currents by instinct alone. In his youth, he could alter the tiniest angle of his wings without even thinking about it. Now he struggled with basic movements. When the air currents changed, he fought them before he remembered how to shift his wings to ride them, instead. Whenever the gryphon banked, Valyrym found himself thinking about how best to match his angle before he actually dipped his gray-edged wing and turned.

The longer they flew, the more it hurt, and the more effort it required. In the far eastern distance, a faint midnight-blue hue crept across the dark horizon. How long had they been flying, that the sun now threatened to rise? Valyrym's body ached as if he'd flown for years without rest. For all he knew, they might have only been in the sky an hour. He'd lost track of the time long before Alia reached his prison, let alone before they actually blasted through the wall.

However long it had been, Valyrym knew he'd flown enough. "Bird!"

Krek flicked his wings and dropped back towards the dragon. "What is it?"

"I can fly little further!" Valyrym grunted, forcing a wingbeat. "I must rest!"

Krek clacked his beak, warbling. "Then I've already pushed you too far. I shall find us a peaceful place for repose."

Alia rubbed the dragon's neck. "Are you alright?"

Valyrym watched the gryphon bank into wide circles, scanning the forest below. "I will be, when he stops trying to impress you with big words."

"Repose isn't a big word, Valyrym, and I know what it means." Alia laughed and leaned against him.

As Krek searched for a suitable spot, the sky brightened to an indigo bruise. By the time Krek keened for their attention, layers of pink and orange crept across the far horizon. The gryphon's cry echoed across gentle hills and thick forest as Krek circled a distant, mist-draped clearing. Valyrym replied to his call with a clipped roar. Krek vanished through the mist. Fog swirled and danced in the wake of his wings. Valyrym followed the gryphon till he too descended through the haze hanging above the earth. Coils of vapor spun beyond the tips of his outstretched wings.

The area Krek picked was a soft, grassy expanse between the trees, alongside a narrow pond. Fog rose and glided across the water in delicate curtains. As it gathered it formed a flimsy gray-white blanket draped across the clearing. Alia tightened her grip on Valyrym's neck just before he dropped onto his hind paws. Valyrym stumbled as his forelegs touched down. His paws were numb after his grueling flight.

As soon as he stopped, Alia took off her pack and tossed it to the ground. Then she swung her leg over his back and hopped down. She lurched forward a few paces before her knees gave out. Alia tumbled to the grass, laughing as she ended up sprawled on her back. Valyrym turned around to face her on shaking limbs, his paws tingling.

"Alia?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine..." She waved her hand in a wide circle at the sky. "I'm just...well, my legs are all...wuggly."

"I don't believe that's a word, Alia, but I know the feeling." Valyrym walked towards the narrow pond, shaking his paws every few steps. "My limbs are all wuggly too."

"If you're going to retch, do it somewhere else." Krek sat on his haunches nearby, removing his cargo pouch. He glared at Vatch. "I'm planning to sleep there!"

Vatch was on his hands and knees alongside his pack. His oversized ears were pinned back, his fangs bared through grimaced muzzle. Valyrym chuckled. Poor little runt looked ready to vomit. At least Krek had the right idea. Though he'd scarcely noticed his cargo pouch while flying, the straps suddenly felt unfamiliar, heavy and chafing. He worked the large buckles till the pouch dropped away from him.

Valyrym walked to the pond and pushed through the reeds that lined it. Tiny silver fish darted away. A fat green frog leapt into the water, croaking a protest at his intrusion. The dragon smiled. He hadn't seen one of those in a while. Valyrym lowered his head to sniff the water. The simple, pure freshness of it made his heart sing. He lapped at it, and found it tasted even better than it smelled. Rumbling a happy purr, the dragon drank and drank until his belly was full to bursting.

"Save some water for the fish." Krek padded up nearby, still in his armor.

Valyrym lifted his head, beads of water dripping from his muzzle. "Get mounted, Bird."

"Hardly the time for that, Dragon." Krek lowered his head, slurping up water alongside the dragon. He glanced over. "I mean it, though. Don't make yourself sick."

When his thirst was quenched, Valyrym turned away from the pond. He swung his tail and clanked his spines against the gryphon's armor. Krek yelped and glared at him, his own tail lashing. Valyrym laughed, limping away from the pond. "Just testing your armor."

Valyrym gazed up at the sky. The sunrise painted drifting clouds in shades of purple and red. As the sun crested the horizon, sunbeams streaked through the forest, dappling leaves in gold. Valyrym squinted, trying to judge the sun's upcoming trajectory. He padded to an open, grassy area, and glanced at the sun once more. Satisfied he was in the right spot, he collapsed onto the dewy grass with a long sigh.

When Alia joined him, the sight of her stole his breath. The sunshine through the trees silhouetted her in layers of golden fire, with the clouds above a red-purple halo. Valyrym stared in awe. "You have never looked more beautiful, Alia, than you do silhouetted against the first sunrise I have seen in half my wasted life."

Alia's whole body trembled. She fell to her knees, and took his head in her arms. "Nor you, Valyrym, with the dawn reflected in your eyes."

"If you lay there, Dragon, you're going to be sleeping in the sun." Krek trotted back to the others. He dug through his cargo pouch, glancing at the dragon. "It's going to shine right between that oak and those birches."

"It had better." Valyrym grit his teeth, growling. "You know how long it's been since I've felt full sunshine against my wings? Now quit ruining my moment!"

"Sorry." Krek's voice softened. "Enjoy your rest, Valyrym."

Smiling, Valyrym pressed his head against Alia. She stroked his cheeks, his jaw, kissed his nose. He nuzzled her, licked her cheek. Valyrym lifted his foreleg, and she snuggled up beneath it. Valyrym curled his limb around her, happy just to have her in his life. Lulled by peace and birdsong, Valyrym slumbered.

The sun rose on tattered wings.

*****

Chapter Twenty Two

*****

Warm beneath the sun, Valyrym slept deeply until Alia woke him. A glance at the sky told him it was already mid-afternoon. He'd slept longer than he'd hoped for. The old dragon began to rise, only to find his body so stiff he could scarcely move. Dull pain thudded along his back. He tried to stretch his wings, whining as the pain sharpened. Every muscle ached. He forced his wings open, then hissed as cramps squeezed them.

"You okay, Valyrym?" Alia knelt next to him.

"Fine." Valyrym grimaced, stretching his forelegs. At least they didn't hurt like his wings. "Why?"

Alia gave him a lopsided smirk, rubbing the arch of his neck. "Because you're hissing, whining, and baring your fangs."

"Little stiff, that's all." Valyrym forced a smile, only for a pained snarl to replace it when he tried to work his wings again. "Just...give me a few minutes to stretch."

"If you can't fly anymore today, just tell me." Krek sat nearby, out of his armor. Vatch sat across from him, with an immense map spread across the grass between them.

Valyrym growled. "I'll be fine."

"You can go back to sleep if you need too." Alia moved and stroked the dragon under his jawline. "We don't want to press you too hard."

Valyrym gave a low, rumbling sigh. It was going to be a very long journey if everyone spent the whole trip doubting his ability to go on. An acidic reply bubbled up his throat, but he swallowed it back down. Instead, he pressed his head against Alia's hands. She rubbed his face, mindful of his stitches.

"I can fly. I just need to loosen up." Valyrym licked Alia's palm, then gazed at her. She smelled and tasted clean, her hair was damp. "Have you bathed already?"

"I did!" Alia giggled, her eyes shining, her voice like happy birdsong. "Our first day outside the city and I've already done so many amazing things! First, I watched you sleep in the sun, you looked so...free! You were even more beautiful in the sun than this wondrous forest. Which Krek says is mostly oak, but they're not at all like the oaks in the city. And doesn't it smell nice out here? Then Vatch and Krek and I all took a bath in that pond. I've never gotten to bathe in...well, water in the wild. It was strangely refreshing! Almost...natural, I guess."

"And to think, you're the one who once extolled the virtues of hot, soapy water." Valyrym laughed, stretching out his limbs one at a time. He pushed a hind leg out behind himself, then froze in that position, hissing. "Wait. You bathed with Vatch and the bird?"

Alia giggled and kissed the dragon's nose. "Oh, don't tell me you're jealous, Valyrym. Vatch has used your tub with us before. And what about that party we had, before I left?"

"That was different." Valyrym arched his neck. He set his hind paw down and shot a glare at the gryphon. "He wasn't there."

"Not like he hasn't seen human women naked before. Besides, it was just a bath." Alia waved a hand in the air, turning away. "Why, the stroking I gave the gryphon was as quick and perfunctory as could be. Just to help him fit back in his armor."

"Hah. Hah." Valyrym stretched out his other back limb.

"Nothing at all like the one I gave Vatch. Now that was slow and passionate, right Vatch?"

Vatch glanced up from the map he studied with Krek. One big ear splayed back. "No tease Vatch about this! He not have for long time."

"That makes two of us." Krek snapped his beak, ruffling up his feathers.

"You see Alia?" Valyrym tried to stretch his wings again, gritting his teeth. "That's what you get for teasing. Now you'll have to tend them both next time."

"You just want to watch." Alia turned back to the dragon, gesturing at the ground. "Lay down. I'll rub your wings for you."

Valyrym eased to his belly, sprawling out. He draped his wings at his sides, and gave Alia toothy smirk. "You keep talking about your bath, and--"

"I'd wager he has something else he'd like you to rub." Krek chirped laughter, and Vatch joined in.

Valyrym glared at the gryphon. "Clamp your beak, Bird." He hung his head, ears drooping. "He stole my line. Alia, I was going to say--"

"You were going to say, you'd 'give me something to rub', I'm sure." Alia scaled the dragon's side and settled at the base of his neck, facing his wings.

"You're all spoilsports."

"Don't mope, Valyrym." Alia worked her hands around the base of the dragon's wing joint, kneading at the tender flesh.

Valyrym dug at the grass with unsheathed claws. "I'm not moping. I'm sulking."

"My mistake, then."

Valyrym tried to relax as Alia massaged his sore flight muscles. Her ministrations hurt at first, but as she worked out the worst of the stiffness, the pain faded. After a while, he was able to work his wing up and down with far less discomfort. Alia shifted to knead his other wing joint, and the pain started all over. He hissed, working his forepaws against the ground. The grass tickled his pads. His paws twitched. The feeling brought back memories of walking through green fields and over rolling hills in his youth.

The moment it hit him, Valyrym burst into joyous laughter, his body shaking under Alia.

"What are you laughing about?"

"Grass, Alia. I'm...I'm lying on grass." Valyrym lifted his head and turned his nose to the breeze. The scents of fresh water joined the earthy, lush aroma of the forest, of trees and moss and dead leaves. "Not stone, or furs, but grass! Real grass. Warmed by the sun."

"Yes." Alia gave a long, happy sigh. "You are."

"It's...it's starting..." Valyrym tore free a chunk of sod and pressed it to his nose. The fresh, wet scent of torn grass and the heady aroma of healthy loam left his head swimming. So simple a scent, and yet one he'd gone so long without knowing. "It's starting to feel real."

"It_is_ real." Alia turned to hug his neck. "You're free. You'll never have to go back to that horrible place again."

Valyrym squeezed his paw, watching the sod crumble. He'd never realized he missed the simple feeling of earth and grass beneath his paws until he stopped to savor it. "I think...it will take some time, to...truly settle in on me."

"That's only natural." Krek gazed at them from nearby. His drying wings were stretched in the sun. The silver flight feathers at the back of his wings shone in the light. "As much as I hate to hurry you--"

"You don't hate it in the least." Valyrym snapped his jaws. He lifted his wings, testing them.

"I don't want to push you any harder than I have too." Krek rose to all fours, and shook his body. He stretched a wing forward, and pulled a feather free with his beak. He spat it out, then examined the other wing. "But my contact does have a relative timetable with which to expect us, and I don't want her to get cranky because we're late. Rest if you must, but I don't have time for you to get all weepy about some grass."

"Lick me, gryphon." Valyrym snarled.

"I thought you'd prefer Alia." Krek shrugged his wings. "But if that's how you want to celebrate your freedom, I could spare a moment. Vatch, will you fold up the map, please?"

Valyrym sighed, gazing back at Alia. "He's frustratingly hard to insult."

"Not really." Alia smiled as she went back to massaging his wing. "He just doesn't seem to have many sexual boundaries." She lowered her voice, grinning. "But his ego's even bigger than yours."

"I'm not sure which one of us you're insulting." Valyrym snorted. "But your point is taken." He swung his head around, spines raised. "Krek! ...You're ugly."

Krek jerked and stiffened as though he'd stuck with a knife, then sagged as if the wound was deflating him. "That hurts, Dragon."

"Good! I'll remember that."

"Alia, will you come help a poor wounded gryphon into his armor?" Krek fixed a smoldering emerald glare on the dragon. "Before he breaks down in tears?"

"Alright, Krek." Alia patted Valyrym's wing. "You mind?"

"No, go ahead. Thank you for your help." As Alia slipped off his back, the dragon's stomach rumbled, angry, empty, and aching. "I don't suppose we have time to hunt?"

"You can hardly fly." Krek clacked his beak. "How are you going to hunt?" Krek led Alia to the shaded area where he'd left his armor. He ducked his head to her, his ears half-flat. "Thank you, my dear. After I'm armored up, I'll hunt the old bastard some breakfast. While I'm gone, see if you can help him work his wings into something resembling functional."

Valyrym glared at the gryphon. "I oughta bite the function right out of your wings."

When Krek ignored him, Valyrym muttered to himself. Just what did the Queen see in that stuck up bird? He eased his wings up and down, tensing his forepaws against the grassy earth. They weren't as stiff as before, but it was still uncomfortable. As Valyrym stretched them, he watched Alia strap pieces of silvery armor around the gryphon's body.

"You sure you can fit all that armor over your ego?" Valyrym lifted his wings up over his back, grunting in discomfort.

Krek turned his haunches towards the dragon, shaking his hind end.

"You've nothing to worry about back there." Valyrym lowered and lifted his wings a few times. It hurt a little less each time. "You could fit a thimble over those."

Alia laughed and Krek glared at her. "Hey!" He splayed his ears, glancing at back at the dragon. "You're the one staring at them."

"I'm just wondering why you call yourself male."

Krek squawked, ruffled his feathers, and gave the dragon a sidelong grin. "Just like your damn son."

Valyrym's frills flared. He curled his tail to show off his spikes. "You'd better be talking about his handsome good looks and his charm."

"Oh, I am!" Krek made a show of bowing his head while Alia strapped another piece of armor to his body. "And the smarm that's always dripping from his tongue. I knew it couldn't have come from his mother."

Valyrym settled his frills and perked his gray-tinged ears. "Kylaryn always was more the type to smack the sarcasm right out of your muzzle."

Krek lifted his wings for Alia. "Your muzzle if you're lucky."

Valyrym smirked, working the stiffness from his wings. "So you do know her."

Krek shivered, fluffing up. "Quite the grip, that one."

"That's putting it lightly."

"Unlike her. I doubt she's ever done anything lightly in her life."

Valyrym chuckled, grinning at the gryphon. "Which is why, when we finally meet with her, I'm putting you between us."

"I am not your shield, dragon!" Krek held his foreleg up for Alia.

"Oh, there's a good idea." Valyrym draped his wings at his sides in the sunshine. "I'll just hold you up in front of me while we talk with her."

"I'd best stay in my armor then." Krek chirped at Alia as she buckled a silver plate around his leg. "Is he always like this?"

"Usually he's worse." Alia patted the gryphon's paw.

Valyrym rumbled, sprawling in the warm grass. "Just fetch my breakfast, Gryphon."

*****

Valyrym fell into an exhausting rhythm. He'd never imagined freedom to be so tiring. Each day they flew as far as his wings would allow, pausing to rest whenever he required it. While he rested, Krek hunted food for everyone. Then it was back to the skies till his wings were ready to give out again. At night they'd find a secluded spot to sleep, and in the morning Alia helped him work some functionality back into his stiff, aching wings.

Though each morning his body seemed angrier than the last, Valyrym persevered without complaint. If that damn bird could fly for months with his ribs sticking out, Valyrym sure as hell wasn't going to complain about a little stiffness. Despite the exhaustion that claimed him every night and the pain that followed in the morning, Valyrym found himself able to fly a little further with each new dawn.

After four or five days on the wing, everything had blurred together. Dawn, dusk, and the hours in between seemed almost indistinguishable. Each passed into the other in an endless cycle of fatigue and stiff muscles. Valyrym lost track of how far they'd flown, and where they were. He knew they were flying roughly southwest, and he'd seen very few roads lately, let alone towns or villages.

Krek studied a map every morning, and steered them clear of any settlements. Even with Krek's explanations, the map made little sense to Valyrym. It was covered in numbers and symbols, and names he didn't recognize. In his youth, Valyrym barely even knew where Aran'alia became Vurnel. He certainly couldn't tell where the boundaries of Illandra and its many provinces now laid. Perhaps one day he'd have Krek explain the modern world to him.

It was evening when they finally neared their temporary destination. By then Valyrym was sure they'd been flying well over a week. He suspected they were still well within Illandra's borders, but at least Krek believed this place to be safe enough to spend a few days resting there. The land beneath them was flat but thickly forested. Krek followed a simple, two-track trail that cut through the trees. In the distance, a stream carved a crystalline blue line through the woods. Nearer the far horizon, smoke smudged the sky.

The trail led to what looked like an abandoned farmstead. Red paint flecked off old barns. Birds nested in holes in their roofs. A small tree grew through the broken window of an old house with crumbling walls. Remnants of an old wooden fence surrounded an overgrown pasture. Near the cart trail stood a larger building resembling an inn. It was in better condition, with plenty of windows and lots of cheery blue paint splashed across the walls. Behind it, steam rose from hot springs surrounded by rocks.

Valyrym circled the inn alongside Krek, confused. "Is this gryphon friend of yours some kind of...farmer?"

"No! She's a mercenary!" Krek squawked laughter as he descended.

"Good! Then I can pay her to kick your feathery ass!"

Valyrym swept in and landed on the dirt trail before the inn. He trotted to a stop, then lowered himself to his belly. As Alia dismounted, he gazed at the building. Unlike everything else, the inn seemed well maintained. The double doors at its entryway were massive. If opened all the way, even Valyrym could have fit through them. A wooden sign near the doors read, Wing's Rest.

Valyrym pushed himself to his paws, hissing. "What manner of mercenary hideout have you brought us too, Bird?"

"You say mercenary hideout like it's a bad thing." Krek clacked his beak. "It's perfectly safe. And since it's been renovated to fit her, might even be able to squeeze your scaly ass inside."

Valyrym growled and glanced back at Alia. She only shrugged and untied her safety rope. Valyrym sighed, deciding to follow Alia's lead. He was too tired to be concerned. While Alia stowed the rope in the cargo pouch, Valyrym sniffed around. The warm but unfamiliar scent of female gryphon and perfumed feathers hung in the air.

"What manner of contact is this?" Valyrym unbuckled his satchel, easing it to the ground. "I've never heard of a gryphon mercenary."

"You've been in jail half your life. I'm surprised you've even heard of gryphons." Krek removed his own bag, chuckling. "Believe it or not, when your lands are claimed and your lives disrupted, even gryphons have to find other means of livelihood."

"Figured you'd just fly somewhere else, and live the same way as before."

Krek shrugged.

"Who does she work for, then?"

"Whoever pays me the best, Dragon." A female gryphon with soft gray feathers and faint hints of blue peeked out from an upper window.

Valyrym jerked his head up. "How long have you been there?"

"Since you landed. I like to know who's coming and going from my home." She tilted her head, chirped, and glanced at Krek. "Hello, Soot."

Krek flattened his ears. "Don't call me that, Jirr."

Valyryrm smirked at Krek. "Soot?"

Krek hissed at him. "Don't you start."

Jirr clicked her beak and warbled at Valyrym. "You look positively wretched, like you're half-starved or something."

Valyrym lifted a paw, rubbing around a horn. "Krek, have you not explained to your girlfriend what is happening?"

"I am not his girlfriend!" Jirr cheeped indignation, ruffling her feathers.

"Jirr, did you not read the message?" Krek swept his wing at the dragon. "This is him!"

"Soot, you know your codes are confusing."

"My codes are perfectly sensible!" Krek gave an irritable chirrup. "And stop calling me Soot!"

Jirr leaned out the window. "But Soot, your codes are confusing! I wasn't sure if you meant..."

Valyrym pinned his ears back. "I can't listen to your squabbling anymore! You sound like competing birds warbling nonsense at each other from neighboring trees." He tossed his head, spines flared, then hissed at Krek. "Explain things to her. Then sort out your relationship issues. I'll be in the springs, trying not to strangle you."

Valyrym slunk away from them, around the inn. Behind it, he found a trail cut by gryphon paws through the grass, and followed it towards the rising steam. Heavy, flat stones turned a simple hot spring into an inviting tub. Now that was something he could appreciate. He descended the makeshift stairs, sighing as the warm waters rose around him. The old dragon settled against the bottom, laid his head on the sun-warmed stones, and was asleep before Alia even joined him.

*****

"Valyrym!" Alia's voice was a dull knife scraping against the hard scales of slumber. "Valyrym!"

"Rrrrrhhmm." Valyrym opened his eyes to bleary golden slits. Light spilled through distant trees in shafts of gold. The sun was only just rising. He closed his eyes. "Sleeeeeeeeep."

"Valyrym, wake up!"

The dragon squinted against harsh morning light. For a moment, he wondered why it was so damn bright in his dungeon. When he stretched a stiff wing to shade his eyes, the fierce aching proved a vivid reminder of his freedom. He lay on soft, dewy grass behind an old inn renovated to serve as home for gryphons.

Valyrym thought a moment, trying to recall their host's name. He was sure it was something like...Smirr. Or...Chirr. Or some other silly gryphon noise. The way she argued with the black gryphon, he ought to just call her Missus Krek. At least she was happy to share the copious food and drink she had stockpiled after Valyrym's bath and nap. After they'd all eaten, she'd gone right back to bickering with Krek, so Valyrym had left the birds to their tweeting and found a comfortable place behind the inn to spend the night.

"Everyone keeps telling me to rest, Alia." He yawned, pink tongue curling in his muzzle. He laid his head against his paws. "So that's what I'm going to do. Come back later."

"No, Valyrym!" Alia's voice rose sharply. "You need to wake, right now!"

The growing urgency in Alia's voice clawed at him, dredged him from the sleep his body so desperately needed. He lifted his head, neck arching, claws unsheathed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Alia put a steadying hand on his muzzle, smiling. She looked radiant, with green clothes that matched her eyes and her black hair washed and brushed. Her whole face glowed. "Nothing is wrong, my love." Her eyes shone and danced with some strange, joyous excitement Valyrym could not place. "But I promise you, you'll want to see this."

Valyrym relaxed again, licking his muzzle. "Alright, alright. What is it? Is Nirr kicking Krek's ass?"

"Her name is Jirr, and no, she's not."

"I'll just call her Chirp." Valyrym chuckled, eyelids drooping. "A shame, though. I'd have enjoyed seeing Chirp kick some of the pompousness out of Krek."

"Don't worry, Valyrym. This is better. Come on, get up!"

"Oh, very well."

Valyrym pushed himself up onto his haunches, sighing. His body ached, but the hot water the night before had helped. He gazed around but did not see anything that had changed. Vatch stood at a small table behind the inn, skinning some kind of rodent with a knife. Krek and Jirr sat nearby, whispering to each other. Krek flashed the dragon a grin that was somehow both joyful and smug at the same time.

Valyrym was about ready to knock the smug right off his beak. "What are you smirking at, Bird?" He glanced at Jirr. "You climb on your hen last night?"

Jirr just shrugged her wings and Krek said nothing.

"Valyrym!" Alia's voice trembled. Her fingers glided over his scales, cupped his cheek. "Look to the east." She gently turned his head. "There, above the trees, with the rising sun."

"What are you on about? Has the damn gryphon's secrecy become contagious?"

Alia pointed. "Just watch."

He huffed, spines lifting in frustration. Valyrym followed Alia's finger with his gaze, peering towards the distant eastern tree tops. The brilliant, curved arch of the sun's golden flame peeked above the pointed tops of a stand of pines. A large bird crossed the rising sun.

Valyrym's breath caught. It wasn't a bird.

The vast sweep of the wings, the long tail, they gave it away.

It was a dragon, the first one of his kind he'd seen in half of his wasted life.

He glanced back at Krek, unable to help but smile. "You've a dragon contact, too?"

"Something like that. Keep watching."

Valyrym huffed. For a few long heartbeats, he simply watched the distant dragon grow. With the rising sun behind him, the other dragon was little more than a winged silhouette. Valyrym's belly fluttered as though a horde of mischievous hatchlings were all flapping their wings inside him at once. Had he known this dragon, once?

Was it Kylaryn? Had she heard of his escape, come to find him first?

He gazed at the silhouetted dragon's tail, trying to see if it had spines or not. Too hard to tell at such a distance. But something about the dragon's flight caught his attention. One wing did not beat the same as the other. Valyrym studied the dragon's wing strokes. Yes, there was definitely a hitch in one of the dragon's wings.

No.

No.

It couldn't be.

His whole body shook. His very heart trembled.

In the distance, the dragon dipped lower. Colors came into focus.

"That, Valyrym..." Alia kissed Valyrym's neck.

The paws were all blue.

"Is your son."

Valar.

It was Valar.

Valar was flying.

Valyrym clenched his jaw, fighting back a wracking sob. His son. His beautiful son. His vision swam with welling tears. Sudden terror filled him, and he could not breathe. All these years, and now, so unexpectedly...Valar was coming to see him. He wanted to flee, to hide. Valyrym was so afraid in that moment, horrified of what his son might think of him. Did Valar hate him? Fear filled him, clenched his heart, and yet he begged the gods for it to be real.

Please let it be real, please let it be real!

It was.

Even terrified, Valyrym dared not tear his eyes away from Valar. He wanted every moment to burn itself in his soul. Valar's flight was beautiful. His son might strike him down in righteous fury built over a lifetime of abandonment, and Valyrym would die happy having seen Valar fly. He stared. Tears streaked his pebbly scales.

Valar landed across the pasture, staring at his father. Valyrym struggled to rise on wobbly legs. He could scarcely stand, much less take a step forward. All he could do was stare through his tears, and fight for breath through his wrenching sobs.

Valar...had grown up... handsome. Strong. He was bigger than Valyrym had ever been. All his blue markings had deepened to a beautiful indigo. His paws, his nose, the edges of his wings. His scars, still there, but nearly faded. His wings, at last powerful enough to carry him. And his eyes...shining gold, striking silver...

And filled with so much pain.

Valyrym found himself lost in his son's eyes. There was an ocean there, dark and angry. An anguished storm rolled behind the silver flecks of his furious golden gaze. Valar took a deep breath, his eyes hardened. His wings spread, displaying their blue ripples. His spines all flared around his head, his fangs bared. As Valar took a few slow steps towards his father, Valyrym saw his claws unsheathe.

He lifted his foreleg, gently nudging Alia till she moved aside. If Valar had come here to settle things, he did not want her in the way. Valyrym took a step towards his son, his whole body trembling. Whether Valar had come here to scream and roar or unleash a lifetime's worth of pain out on the father who was never there, Valyrym would take it all. Valyrym would listen to every horrible word, take every agonizing blow, because he knew he deserved them all. He only wished that would take Valar's pain away.

After only a few steps, Valyrym's limbs gave out. He stumbled and fell. Valar froze, staring. Valyrym forced himself back to his feet. He refused to let his own aged body, his own sudden weakness keep Valar from what he so rightfully deserved. Whether Valar had come here for closure, or vengeance, Valyrym would let him have it at any cost.

Valyrym took a few shuddering breaths, trying to calm his body long enough to make it to Valar. He managed a few steps, and Valar strode towards him with growing urgency. Would Valar let him speak? Or would he just beat Valyrym and leave him behind, as Valyrym once left him?

There were so many things he wanted to tell Valar. How he'd missed him, thought of him, longed for him. How proud he was of him. How he hated himself for what he'd done. How he'd never regretted anything more.

When Valar reached a wing's breadth from his father, he stopped. Valar stared at him, and the dark ocean in his eyes rose and swelled, but the anger...the anger faded. Moment by moment, breath by breath, it melted away. Valar's wings drooped and his spines sagged. His ears splayed back. His paws shook. Uncertainty flickered in his pained eyes.

Valyrym took a quivering breath. Was Valar waiting for him to speak? He wanted to, but all Valyrym could do was cry. He had so much to say, but all the words turned to ashes in his mouth. There was nothing he could say to make up for all the empty years. Nothing.

"I...I have...missed you so..." Valyrym's words spilled from him, like blood from his tongue.

After that, there were only tears. Valyrym could find no more words. He wanted to hold Valar, to hug him, to tell him over and over how sorry he was. But nothing came from him but wordless anguish. It was all he could do not to curl up on the grass in front of his son.

Valar took a step forward, then another, and another. Valyrym steeled himself, ready for Valar to reject him, to tell him what a wretched creature he was, to bite him, claw him...

The scorn never came. Instead, Valar ever so gently touched Valyrym's paw. Valyrym's breath froze in his lungs. He lifted his foreleg, and Valar cupped Valyrym's forepaw, staring at it. Wetness glimmered in Valar's eyes. Valyrym had never noticed just how truly gray he'd become until he saw his fingers resting against the vibrant blue of his son's scales. Valar dropped onto his haunches as if he'd been struck. He lifted his other paw, traced a single blue finger over an ancient gray scar.

"Hello, Father." Valar's voice was little more than a broken, heartsick croak. Tears spilled down his muzzle. "You look...terrible."

Then Valyrym understood. Valar hadn't known. How could he?

Whatever reckoning Valar had come here for, whatever anger he held, Valyrym could see it bleeding from him with every scar reflected in Valar's eyes. Whatever he expected, whatever Valar remembered him as, he'd found only an old dragon long since ruined by loss and regret. He found his father, reduced to unstoppable weeping at the mere sight of his own son.

It must have stunned him.

Maybe he'd just leave. There was something Valyrym wanted him to know, first.

"You were...all...all I...thought about." Valyrym forced words through his tears, his voice a shattered, rasping whisper. "...All those years. Everything they...did to me! Every...every snowfall, I thought of you! You kept me going, Valar...I am sorry, I am so sorry, I am..."

By the time Valyrym could speak no more, Valar was sobbing with him. Valar opened his wings, then held out his forelegs. His blue paws trembled. He took a few breaths, opened and closed his mouth a few times, but words would not come. Finally, he spat them out.

"Just hug me, you old bastard."

There was nothing in all the world Valyrym wanted more. He moved into Valar's embrace, and pressed his head against his son's shoulder. All the tension bled from Valar, and he hugged Valyrym back. Soon, the warmth of Valar's wings surrounded Valyrym. After all these years, through all the pain and loneliness he must have suffered, it was Valar who sheltered him from the world.

Wrapped within his beloved son's wings, Valyrym cried.

---

And that heartwarming reunion long coming is where this installment ends. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

_Accept yourself for who you are, and be forever proud of it. Love who you love, and be forever proud of that. Whoever has wronged you, whatever pain you've endured, find a way to forgive them. Forgiveness is the way forward. Life is too short to waste on anger and hatred, uncertainty and confusion. Find your way forward. Be proud, and be happy. _

If you've enjoyed this installment, please hit the FAVE button, and please leave a comment with all your thoughts on everything that happened this time around.

Thank you for reading. Until the next time...