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“Not replace them, no,” I grit out. “But we had to do something. We cannot suffer a mating season without females.”
“Ianeth and I have been through mating seasons without females,” Ardun retorts.
“Yes, because you were born to thrive together. But most of us need the energy of the mating frenzy, the hope that a new generation brings, the joy of hatching season. It fuels our power, strengthens our bodies, binds us together as a clan. We are already far fewer in number than usual because of the plague and the war. What if another plague comes, or another war? If we wait twenty-five years until the next mating season, there may not be enough of us left to repopulate Ouroskelle.”
Without meaning to, I have allowed my voice to grow in volume and depth until it booms through the cave and beyond.
“Brother.” Varex touches his nose to my neck. It’s a sign of submission, of sympathy, and of warning.
He is right. I must control myself. I came here to mourn with the fathers of my Promised, and instead I am berating them as if they are the enemy. Both dragons sit grim-jawed, proud and silent.
“Forgive me,” I say. “I have been absent from home for a long time, and this was not the return I hoped to make. I have allowed my own sorrow and anger to overshadow your loss, and that was not my intention. Forgive the lack of bone-tribute, I beg of you.”
“I could have borne it,” says Ardun, “knowing that her bones will not grace the green fields under a cloudless sky. But to have nothing—” His voice breaks.
“I’m sorry,” I manage. “If it helps, remember that I have nothing as well. Nothing from my sister, or Grimmaw. Nothing from any of them.”
I leave the cave and burst into the night, fighting my way upward as hard and fast as I can despite a contrary wind. I climb and climb, until my breath comes short and my wings ache and the stars surround me like a glistening forest. It angers me how they sparkle there, pleasantly remote, untouched by the ravages we endure far below, among the cliffs and cities.
Swinging my head from side to side, I spray long arcs of flame through that black sky, through the emptiness. But I cannot burn the stars.
Varex joins me after I’ve drained my fire to the dregs. He glides below me, a silent presence. At last he says, “That did not go well.”
“No. It did not.”
“But it’s done. And now you must rest.”
“How? How does one rest after such a day, and such a night?”
“Judging from what I saw, you’ve emptied your fire. Your body will be craving rest to replenish it. You should be able to sleep, at least for a while.”
“And you?” I gaze down at him.
“I need to speak with the woman I stole,” he says. “And then, I will try to rest, too.”
We head down, angling in the direction of the east-facing cliff in which my cave is located. His cave is in another mountain, along the same valley.
As we fly, a confession builds inside me, a weight that has been dragging at my heart since Guilhorn. Suddenly I can bear it no longer.
“I did not love Mordessa.” The confession hangs in the night air, cold as starlight. “Not like she loved me. Not like her fathers love each other.”
“You cared for her,” says Varex.
“Not enough. Not like she deserved.”
He doesn’t answer, and I respect him for not offering false comfort. I don’t speak the rest of my thoughts aloud, but I sink their truth into my own heart like a bloodied shard of bone.
If I could not give her the love she deserved, then I am not deserving of love.
6
Pale light glows through the pink lens of my eyelids.
My lashes flutter apart.
Instead of a creamy, gold-fringed, brocade canopy, there’s rock above me. Rock etched with a million delicate patterns—interlocked circles, overlapping triangles, curlicues, diamond shapes, and waves.
Instead of cool satin sheets and a sumptuous mattress, I’m lying on my own discarded clothing and a thick mat of compacted, feathery grasses.
