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She had been a child then, a granddaughter of the lord of Telavir, a small territory located in the foothills of Ishvalier. The war had officially ended when Isael made his pact with the dragon god Avalrashael, but not all the dragons immediately retreated from the elven territories. This had proved to be fortuitous for Isael, who had set out on a campaign across the lands, ridding each territory of its lingering dragons in exchange for vows of fealty from the local lords.
Maewyn's grandfather had been one of the few lords who had refused to kneel before Isael. According to her, he'd been a foul man who had spent his life in the shadows of Ishvalier. From the moment Ishvalier had fallen, he'd begun planning to fill the power vacuum. The only thing that had prevented him from pressing forward was a fire dragon that had taken up residence in the network of caverns that lined the mountain pass. Just days before Isael had arrived, Maewyn's father had led a band of soldiers into the pass. Not one had survived.
"When my grandfather refused to bend the knee to Lord Isael, I thought the high lord would strike us all dead where we stood. But instead, he turned to my grandfather's court, my cousins, aunts, uncles, all who had lost so much to the dragon. He told them that he would not see them suffer for my grandfather's pride, and he promised to return to them with the dragon's head."
Many had found Isael's words to be stirring, but not Maewyn. All she felt was anger toward the high lord, as she was determined to be the one to avenge her father. As soon as Isael had left, she'd slipped out of her home with her brother's sword, stole a mount, and began making her way to the pass. With her intimate knowledge of her own lands, she managed to beat Isael and his entourage to where the dragon slumbered.
"I'd heard many stories of the dragon, who we called Embrecht. He'd taken up residence in our lands towards the end of the war, and he was said to be large and fat, with jagged horns and breath that was more lava than fire. Even knowing all of this, I was not scared as I approached the caverns. My grief was such that I felt certain, as only a child could, that the stars would align for me and my sword would find its way into the dragon's heart. And then Embrecht, sensing my approach, emerged from his cave."
Maewyn shook her head, smiling wanly as she thought back. "The moment I saw him, I knew I would die. It is one thing to know of a dragon, but when you see one, look into its eyes and see it looking back, there is nothing to do but fall to your knees and pray that your end is swift. I could not even do that. My feet were rooted to the ground, my legs as stiff as tree trunks. Inside my head, I was screaming, but no sound could escape me."
Cera shivered, remembering a similar feeling when the transformation had begun to come over her. She'd yet to reflect on the harrowing ordeal, choosing instead to compartmentalize it so that she could move on with her new life.
"The dragon was indeed fat, but he moved with the grace of a cat, watching me from one red eye as he approached. At the time, I wondered why he didn't spew fire on me the instant he saw me. Now, I think he was just confused. He'd seen many great warriors come to challenge him, and here was this little girl holding a sword nearly as long as she was tall. Perhaps he thought I had brought him an offering."
Before the dragon could reach her, Isael had appeared.
"The high lord can walk without making a sound, but on that night, his boots practically stomped against the ground, drawing the dragon's attention. At the sight of the lord in his gleaming armor, the dragon pulled back his head, his belly glowing as he conjured his flaming bile. I might have said something to the lord then. Perhaps I told him to run, or maybe I finally was able to scream. In any case, Lord Isael reached me the second before the dragon fire. I remember that the air grew very hot, but the fire never touched us.
"When the dragon saw us standing there, not a single hair singed on our heads, he grew furious. He said something in the language of dragons, foul, guttural sounds, and then he rose up into the air, preparing to dive at us with his teeth and his claws, like a bird of prey. The high lord merely looked up, and one moment the dragon was in the sky, the next he was being flung against the jagged mountain pass with such force that the sound of his bones breaking echoed through the forest."
The dragon had made a feeble attempt to get up, and Maewyn swore that he cursed the high lord's name as Isael approached him. Isael then drew his sword and plunged it deep into the dragon's head, until the dragon's eyes went dull and glassy.
Sidryne cheered at this part, clapping her hands in delight. Maewyn cast Cera a grave look.
"I cannot tell you everything our high lord can do. He does not make a spectacle of his powers. But that dragon plagued my family for years. He killed my father, a man skilled in both magic and the blade. But I have had more trouble purging a mosquito from my chambers than Isael had in killing Embrecht."
It had the feel of a fantasy, the idea of any man, even the high elven lord, pulling a dragon from the sky. Maewyn's expression was earnest. She seemed to be telling the truth, or at least, what was true to her.
Cera was startled when Maewyn reached over, abruptly seizing Cera's hand. She was looking at Cera so intensely that she worried she might have inadvertently magicked something.
"Last night, you were comfortable next to Lord Isael. He can be very...personable. He can seem like any other man. But he is not, and you should never forget that. It would be sacrilegious to call the high lord a god, but there is a piece of divinity within him. You must take these lessons seriously. You have been given a great gift, to have been made as you are. You must not squander it. Give him an heir. A son, a daughter, there is no difference. All that matters is that we have another part of him in our world."
The Rhyming
Cera plodded through the gardens behind Maewyn, feeling both hungry and tired. These were good things, she'd come to realize. When her mind was preoccupied by the baser instincts of eating and sleeping, it seemed less able to cause trouble for her.
She had managed to escape the meeting with Sidryne largely without incident. There had been one moment when Cera had grown bored and she'd felt certain that she'd made some dust motes bounce around in a dance-like motion. Sidryne hadn't noticed, and if Maewyn had, she hadn't commented on it.
Magic still felt like a strange and unwieldy thing, as though it were not something she caused, but something that merely happened around her. She wished she had spent the morning learning to better control magic, rather than her reproductive cycle.
Even so, she'd soaked up everything that the elf had told her, which mainly consisted of anecdotes of her own conceptions. To Cera's surprise and dismay, she'd learned that Sidryne had conceived many children, but only two lived past birth. This, she'd learned, was also something common among their kind, such that they didn't consider a pregnancy viable until the child had quickened. Until that point, it was considered bad luck to comment on one's own condition, or for others to speculate on it.
During Sidryne's last pregnancy, she had told no one that she was with child. When she'd entered her period of confinement, even her maids and midwife spoke of nothing but books, politics, and the weather. It was not until the baby was placed in her arms that she'd remarked, 'Goodness, I suppose I was with child.'
Her recounting had drawn a rare chuckle from Maewyn. Cera had laughed along, but inwardly the tale had made her rather uncomfortable. She didn't think she could keep such a secret, and for so terribly long. She thought it would drive her mad, to have everyone around her pretending as if she weren't increasing.
The fringe of trees along their path gave way to an open meadow. On a nearby hill, Cera could see two elven youths stretched out in the grass and sharing a laugh. Beyond them, a pair of does meandered through the grass, idly nipping at it. The air was sweet, and fragrant in a manner she was still growing accustomed to. It was a far cry from the Ateran city she'd grown up in, where her father had reveled in the soot, grime, and smog, considering them to be marks of a thriving industrial city.
A set of dots appeared in the distance, much farther down the cobbled path. Cera squinted at them, trying to bring the approaching figures into focus. She couldn't make them out yet, but something made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
Maewyn's brisk stride slowed. She tilted her head as she surveyed the group, and then motioned for Cera to turn around.
"We'll take another path," she announced, heading back in the direction they'd come from.
The proclamation annoyed Cera, as they were already within sight of the citadel wall. As beautiful as the gardens were, she'd had her fill of them and she was eager to return to her room and eat.
There was also something else, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. It was a wrongness, an odd discomfort. It reminded her of the feeling she had when she knew she was forgetting something, but couldn't remember what.
