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I turned back, intending to compliment Florence on how well she was looking, but the two women had already disappeared. They’d moved out onto the terrace, their arms linked.

“Chaos demons,” Nyxaris complained, as he watched the two fluffins follow the women out onto the terrace and begin chasing one another through the legs of various tables, ignoring the people sitting at them.

“I know it’s a little late, but congratulations on your … forth-coming progeny?” I wasn’t actually sure what people were supposed to say in these situations. It wasn’t as if many of my friends had had babies yet. Florence was the first.

Nyxaris looked amused. “Thank you.” He folded his hands behind his back. “Florence is hoping it won’t be a dragon.”

I choked so hard I started to cough. “What? Is that a possibility? I thought …”

Nyxaris’s face remained impassive for one more moment. Then he broke into a deep, rich laugh and clapped me on the back.

“Damn, Blake. Your face.” He chuckled again.

“That’s not funny,” I complained, my face hot. I scowled. “There should be pamphlets. Some sort of a book you can read.”

“I’m working on a book,” Nyxaris said complacently.

I raised a brow. “Really?”

He nodded. “Though, I’m not sure it will include all the content you need.” He still looked amused. The bastard. “Florence’s mother suggested it. I know it’s rather self-indulgent, but the truth is that most knowledge about dragons was destroyed over the last century.”

“I can’t think of anyone better to write a book on the subject,” I said truthfully. “Have there been many books about dragons written by, um, dragons before?”

“There used to be many,” he said, still perfectly composed. “But again, all were destroyed.”

I thought of the eggs we’d found, and then of Molindra and Alabryss. If the knowledge hadn’t been lost, their offspring might have had the chance to read books written by their mothers one day.

A crash of what sounded like breaking dishes came from the vicinity of the terrace, followed by delighted yapping. I groaned. “It’s like we already have children.”

“I assure you, my real children will have better manners,” Nyxaris declared. He marched toward the doors, then paused, tilting his head slightly as if listening for something. He looked back at me. “I hope you weren’t expecting a quiet afternoon?”

I grinned. “Not at all.” I followed him outside into the warm seaside air.

Pendragon and Florence were seated at a table near the edge of the terrace. Flowers spilled over the edge of the stone balustrade beside them, vibrantly colored and fragrant. I saw lavender, roses, and a little blue flower I didn’t know the name of.

The two women were no longer alone. A boy had run up and now stood at Florence’s side with a hand on her shoulder, panting. I smiled as I recognized Persis. He was taller than the last time I’d seen him, gangly in that awkward way boys tended to become for a few years before they hit actual manhood.

I knew Persis was living at Somnaria now. Nyxaris had exchanged strong words with Lord Pansera when he’d tried to come and claim the boy last year at Bloodwing. Nyxaris had pointed out that if Regan’s father was going to use his child as no better than a hostage to gain favor with noble houses, then what better place for Persis than with the only Duskdrake in the land? It hadn’t really been so much of a question. Persis’s mother hadn’t shown up to see him at all. It made me wonder just what kind of an upbringing Regan had really had with those sorts of parents. It was too late to talk to her about it now. But it had made me realize that some of her cruel ways hadn’t really been natural to her at all.

I realized Persis hadn’t arrived alone. “Holy shit,” I breathed.

A hatchling the size of a very large hound sat in the shadow of Florence’s chair. Its scales gleamed warm gold. Its wings hadn’t fully grown in. They were small, delicate-looking things, folded awkwardly at its sides.

“You didn’t tell us one had hatched,” I said, looking at Nyxaris accusingly.

He shrugged. “I think Florence wanted to surprise you both.” He glanced at the baby dragon and cleared his throat. “We’ve been calling her Molly.”

“Molly? For Molindra,” I guessed.

He nodded, blushing slightly as if he was worried I was going to say it was not a noble-enough name for a dragon. Considering my Inferni name, I wasn’t about to complain about Molly’s.

“Her wings are still small. She hasn’t mastered flight.”

“Blake!” Persis had finally noticed us. His eyes lit up. “Did you see my dragon?”

Nyxaris rolled his eyes. “She is not your dragon.”

“Right, but she likes me the best,” Persis bragged. “She follows me everywhere. Even to bed.”