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She blinked. “Hear what?”

The birdsong faded. An unnatural wind rustled through the now-leafless branches.

Medra. The voice came again. Can you hear me, child?

“No,” I whispered. “That’s not possible.”

But Odessa was suddenly gone. I stared at the place she’d been standing.

You didn’t think you’d be rid of me that easily, did you? The voice chuckled.

I gasped. Mother?

That’s certainly one name for what I am—and the one I’m most fond of, Orcades said dryly.

My knees nearly buckled with shock. But beyond the shock there was joy, painful and aching, but wonderful.

What other names might there be? I asked nervously.

She sighed. I suppose you might call me Scorched, Scaly One. Or Queen of Carrion.

I snorted. Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. I hesitated. So you’re still … inside Molindra, then?

I am. Her soul is shattered. She sleeps now, but her dreams are scattered things.

My heart surged with relief. I thought when you vanished with Marcus and Catherine that you were gone … for good.

Still with those two idiots, not that they know it. Orcades sounded shockingly cheerful for a disembodied voice inhabiting a corrupt dragon raised with necromancy.

I thought I’d failed you. I was so stupid when I used the knife.

Stupid? How were you stupid? You didn’t fail me, she chided. You’re still alive, aren’t you?

Apparently.

And Florence?

She’s still alive, too, I conceded.

Well, then. Orcades sounded satisfied. All is well.

I swallowed. Is it? Where exactly are you?

A forest of some kind. Those two egomaniacal dolts have been calling it the Bonewood.

The name made me shiver. That doesn’t sound pleasant.

It’s certainly not the place I’d have chosen to reside.An utter mess of mist and cobwebs. Not much room for a dragon the size of Molindra between all of the trees either. But apparently it’s the perfect place for this nefarious little project.

The clearing I stood in had become a stone ravine, half-swallowed by mist. I took a few steps forward. Something vast shifted beyond the haze: a golden, ruined shape, wings webbed with dark veins. A dragon, massive and decaying—Molindra. I recoiled, stepping back quickly, twigs snapping beneath my feet.

Is Molindra … alive?

She’s … something. Something more like me, Orcades mused. Old bones, even older rage. She can be difficult. But I think we’ve reached an understanding.

I assume that means she gave up in the face of your stubbornness, I said, half laughing.

I do pride myself on my determined nature. You should, too, considering you’ve inherited it. In any case, I’ve been able to get through to her, in a sense. We’ve spoken—if you can call it that. A pause. I pity her, really. On some level, the poor old girl knows what’s been done to her. Orcades was silent for a long moment. Well, on the positive side, she said eventually, Molindra may be mostly dead, but her power is enormous. Why, her breath can melt stone. That said, one must wonder why our two fearless leaders chose a dragon whose specialty is drawing strength from the sun when they planned to bring her to such a sunless place. I suppose we should simply thank the gods they are such fools. Really, it’s difficult to take villains seriously when they make such fundamental mistakes.