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“Sandals? Hyto doesn’t wear sandals.” I frowned. “He wears boots and they’re damned hard and heavy. I know, my ribs show the damage.” Smoky let out a low bark and I turned to him. “Keep hold of yourself, my love. Not once while I was there did he wear anything but those damned boots.”
“Should we follow the tracks?” Delilah asked.
Shade gazed at the direction in which they’d gone. “I don’t know if that will do us any good. That was powerful magic. Anyone who can command a strong lightning bolt . . .”
“My father cannot.” Smoky set Iris on the ground and she shook her self out. “He can control mist and fog and snow, better than I can, but he can’t control the lightning. Unless he was using a scroll, there’s no way he could have cast a spell like that.”
“Then who . . .” I paused. “I know who.” And I did—as sure as I knew my name. “Asheré. The snow monkey—he’s a rogue monk from the Northlands. Trust me, it’s got to be him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Makes sense to me.” I took a deep breath and looked around, expecting to see him at every turn, but there was simply nothing there. “He’s playing cat and mouse with us. That has to be it. Keep your eyes open—he’ll probably try to dishearten us before we ever come into sight of Hyto. Reason tells me that much. Hyto likes to torture his toys. Anything that can demoralize us, he’ll do.”
“His ego won’t allow the snow monkey to make the kill, however.” Smoky let out a long breath. “My father is the epitome of arrogance.”
“Yeah, I know that too well.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “When he was beating me, he was screaming that I was not his equal. He blames me for setting you against him, and consequently for getting him thrown out of the Dragon Reaches.”
“He would have been thrown out eventually, regardless of what I did or did not do. My mother was reaching the end of her patience. When I went to help her not long ago, she told me that she’d already decided to deny him in Council, and that his behavior toward me—and you—was just the final straw.” Scowling, he shook his head. “Hyto was never a good husband, but she married him because of civil obligation.”
I had never heard Smoky talk so much about his family. Most of what I knew about them came from Iris’s knowledge of dragons. “You mean it was a marriage of convenience?”
He picked up Iris again and settled her on his shoulder, holding her tight with his hair. I smiled, watching how carefully he made sure she was comfortable. We took off again, up the slope.
“Not exactly. My grandfather—Relae, my mother’s father—had promised his friend Layr, Hyto’s father, that he would grant a marriage between one of his daughters and Layr’s son. Hyto was the ninth son of a ninth son but had not been able to find a wife. At the time, my grandfather didn’t know that Hyto was unbalanced.”
“You mean, even as a youth he was deranged?”
“I think so, yes. Mother says the signs were there, but . . . she accepted her father’s request and married down in class. It did not affect her status, being a silver dragon, and she loved her father very much and wanted to honor his request. By the time they figured out Hyto was disturbed, Mother had already had several children. She decided to wait, hoping things would get better. Denying a partner in the Dragon Reaches has long-reaching consequences, if you can prove they’ve behaved badly. Hyto would have been shunned.”
Another thought cropped up—one I’d been wondering about for awhile. “Smoky, when we first . . . when I first came to your barrow, you told me you were the ninth son of a ninth son. But not long ago, you told me you were the eldest son?” Might as well get things out in the open. I decided that from here out, if we survived, it would behoove me to learn as much as I could about my husbands’ families and cultures.
Smoky shuddered. One strand of his hair whipped out, striking a tree as we passed. I shrank back, remembering Hyto’s attacks.
“It is complicated. For one thing, mortality rates among dragonets are extremely high. Not many live to adulthood, which is why dragons have such large family records but such small actual families. I was the ninth son to hatch—”
“Hatch? You were . . . you came out of an egg?” I stared at him now, wondering just what else I was clueless about. Smoky’s life was becoming stranger to me as the minutes wore on.
He broke into a little smirk. “What? I’m a dragon. If we were to have a child—and I do believe that is possible—it would be a live birth because you are not of dragon heritage, but . . . Shade—he was hatched. His mother was dragon.”
Shade cleared his throat but merely nodded. Delilah stared at him, then at me. I shrugged. So our lovers had crept out of eggs. So had we; the eggs had just stayed inside our mother and turned into us.
“Anyway, there were fifteen eggs in the first batch of eggs my mother gave birth to. All hatched. Nine boys, six girls. I was the ninth son. We all lived past the first year, so we were all counted as actual children and listed in the Hall of Records. Shortly thereafter, the weaker ones began to die. Out of that first clutch, three sons and two daughters survived.”
“So you were the ninth son on record, even though at that point there were only two brothers older than you?”
He nodded. “And one older sister. Dragons typically have two to three clutches. Mother had two. Out of her second clutch, only one son and two daughters survived to be entered into the records. Only a total of ten sons and eight daughters made it to their first year. And out of the ten sons, only three of us made it to puberty. The rest died. Four of the girls made it. By the time I left home, Hyto had engineered the death of my two older brothers. My eldest sister had died in a fall from the dreyerie. So I am now the eldest. I have one sister from my clutch still alive—younger than me. The children from the second clutch are alive as well, but if Hyto had stayed around much longer, I guarantee they wouldn’t be. My clutch sister married and left, out of his reach.”
Speechless, I stared at him, a gaggle of questions racing through my mind, but I wasn’t sure just how to phrase any of them.
Delilah broke through my whirling thoughts. “Why did your father kill your siblings? I thought being the ninth son of a ninth son is important. Surely he couldn’t be insecure about his place?”
Smoky stomped over a fallen tree, barely noticing it. His voice was rough as he said, “It is important. I have greater powers than my brothers. Just as Hyto has greater powers than the others in his clutch.”
That explained a little more—so there was a birthright involved in dragon powers. I wondered if the girls had an equitable match.
“As for why he attacked his own children—Hyto saw them as threats for Mother’s attention and her treasure. White dragons are greedy. They are arrogant.” He stopped to help me over another downed tree.
As we started up again, Smoky let out a long sigh. “I have those traits, to a degree. But I honor my mother and chose to cultivate her legacy instead. Not all white dragons are vicious and evil—my grandfather isn’t. He fought next to the Northmen in the wars. But Hyto . . . he is the worst type of white dragon. I choose not to let his heritage corrupt me, though I admit I have his quickness to temper and his impulsive nature.”
