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“Oh, they’ll tell you.” Fortunix chuckles. “Humans are nothing if not demanding and entitled. Very well, my Princes. We shall go and prepare for the journey.” He heaves himself up and takes to the air, gliding a bit before he manages to rise with several aggressive wingbeats.
Ashvelon is about to take off and follow him, but I say quickly, “Ash… bring back something for tea.”
He cocks his head at me, confused. “Something for tea? What does that mean?”
“Fuck if I know. Ask the enchantress what is required.”
“As you wish, my Prince.” He dips his head to me and takes off.
My brother and I cling there in the dark, unmoving. My night vision is not as good as his, but I can tell by the tension of his jaws and the angle of his neck spikes that he is suffering, too. He did not have a Promised life-mate, but he lost Grimmaw, like I did. And we both lost Vylar. That loss bites deeper. For twenty-five years, the three of us have been inseparable.
“I remember when Vylar hatched,” I say, low. “I had been out of the egg for a day already, and I considered myself an expert on the world around me. But when she came out, she crawled farther, stretched her wings wider, and screeched louder than I did. She was always the smartest of us, and the quickest. Our parents were so excited to witness our hatching. Their first mating did not produce eggs, and they could not believe their luck to have three eggs in the nest after their second season. Once Vylar and I had arrived, we all waited for you to hatch.”
“And I was late. As I usually am.” Varex’s voice is thick with emotion.
“Yes, you were late. Weeks late. Our parents thought you had died in the egg, and they were ready to deliver you to the sea, but Vylar wrapped both her tiny wings around your egg and would not let them take you. She had learned some words by then, and she kept saying, ‘Mine. Mine.’ So they left you in the nest, and finally you hatched.”
Varex makes a choking sound, his shoulders heaving. He throws back his head and lets out a blast of his magic, a huge void orb edged with purple lightning. It’s not safe for him to release such a large one here, but I don’t chide him. I hang onto the cliff with all my might until the void orb implodes on itself and its sucking pull vanishes. As dragons, our own fire cannot damage us, and we’re mostly resistant to each other’s powers, but Varex’s void magic is the dangerous exception.
“We should go. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” I detach from the cliffside and flare my wings, catching a gust of wind and banking into a glide. Varex follows me toward the cave of Mordessa’s family.
By now, Ardun and Ianeth know their daughter is dead. They have heard the mourning from the rest of the clan, and they know something terrible has happened. It is up to me to explain the details, to offer what comfort I can.
The other relatives of those who died at Guilhorn understood why I did not bring back a bone from every fallen dragon. They were disappointed, but they accepted it. I can only hope the fathers of my Promised will understand as well.
We land on the ledge of their cave. Six cube-shaped dyre-stones glow along the floor, illuminating the space. Dyre-stones are found in the deepest caves on the island. Once they are heated with dragon fire, they glow brightly for several hours before they must be reheated. Every family possesses them as a means of illumination, since the quality of our night vision varies from dragon to dragon. On nights of mourning or celebration, the cliffs are dotted with the reddish-gold light of dozens of dyre-stones.
Within the cave, Ianeth and Ardun sit side by side, their shoulders pressed closely together. Both males are seventy-five, primes full of wisdom and strength, but Ardun lost his sight in a terrible encounter with a voratrice. He was lucky to survive, and since then, Ianeth has been his eyes. Neither of them could accompany us to war, but they sent their powerful daughter instead. And now they wait for me to say the words I never thought I would have to speak.
“It is with the greatest sorrow that I must tell you—Mordessa has fallen, and her spirit has ascended.” I struggle to keep my voice calm and steady. “She fell in the company of many great dragons, among them my grandmother and my sister.”
“How?” croaks Ardun. “You swore that our army was powerful, that the humans did not have the strength to withstand us. You said there was little risk, that their acid bombs were weak, their airships flimsy, and their crossbows inaccurate. What happened?”
My jaws part, but I cannot speak.
Varex moves forward. “When Elekstan’s Supreme Sorcerer saw that his nation would be defeated, he cast a curse more terrible than any spell ever performed in this world. He died casting it, and he took with him every female dragon. No one could have known such a thing was possible.”
“You believe the Vohrainians, your allies, did not know of such magic?” says Ardun.
“If they had known, I believe they would have warned us,” Varex replies. “And they would have been more cautious themselves, lest he turn his spells upon them.”
“Killing thousands of humans would have been much more difficult than cursing a few dozen dragons,” Ianeth says in his slow, ponderous voice. “But there is no use considering what might have been, only what is. We share your grief for the loss of Grimmaw and Vylar, my Princes.”
“And I share your grief for the loss of Mordessa,” I reply. Her name feels wrong between my teeth—no longer the name of a living being, only the title of a memory.
“She was glad to be your Promised,” Ianeth says. “She spoke of you all the time. She said she was pleased to have found such a love—a love like mine and Ardun’s.” His sorrowful gaze holds mine. “And you loved her well, I am sure. Have you brought bone-tribute?”
Here is the moment I’ve been dreading. “We could not wait for dawn on the night of the battle. We had to fly swiftly to the capital city before the forces of Elekstan had time to regroup and prepare for our arrival. The Vohrainian army marched from Guilhorn immediately, and we flew ahead.”
“You did not take a bone for us.” Ardun’s voice trembles. His pale, scarred eyes are void of sight, but they seem to hold even more grief and anger than Ianeth’s. “Did you take one for yourself?”
“No.”
“You were her Promised.” He trembles, and his voice rises. “You did not wait for her dissipation?”
“I saw her spirit go, Ardun, but we had to leave. We had to find some means of vengeance, a way to save our race.”
“I heard,” he snaps. “I heard that all of you came back with human females. As if such paltry creatures could ever replace those we lost.”
