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The sacred oath, coupled with the intensity of her gaze, convinces me. “Very well.”
“I’ll just need a little time, and a lot more wine, and my bag—you remember which bag it is, pet?”
To my shock, Ashvelon responds to “pet” with a rumble of assent. With a forepaw he moves aside a couple of the larger bags, uncovering one made of dark leather, stamped with complex symbols.
“Give me eight or nine hours, and it shall be done,” says the enchantress. “There are precise calculations to be made, chants to be written, ingredients to be blended. Oh, and princelings—make sure all your people sleep on the ground tonight. Dragons and humans.”
“Why?” asks Varex.
“Don’t question the sorceress, darling.” She clucks her tongue reproachfully at him. “And don’t worry your horrible spiked heads about anything. It’s in my best interest to do what you want, isn’t it, since I obviously crave my freedom and want to return to my little shack in that salt-crusted town by the sea? So rest assured it will all be done exactly as you need it to be. By this time tomorrow, you and your human captives will have far more in common.” She smiles broadly, then hiccups. “Fly away, sweet monsters, but remember to keep your captives on the ground and be at their sides around sunset. The change may be disconcerting for those involved. Can’t be too careful.”
“Very well.” I leave Ashvelon to watch her, while Fortunix, Varex, and I fly outside, up to the peak of the mountain. The morning sun bathes our scales, and the sea air lifts our wings as we converse.
“Do you trust her?” Varex asks me.
“She swore on her father’s bones.”
“I don’t know about trust,” Fortunix says. “But she had magic enough to confine Ashvelon and me in her stable for a while.”
“She kept you captive?” exclaims my brother.
“Not for long. But I’m sure she could have imprisoned us longer if she liked. She came with us willingly.”
“Perhaps she wishes to atone for her father’s wicked deeds,” I say.
“Perhaps.” Fortunix coughs deep in his chest, then says, “With respect, my Princes, a more urgent matter requires your attention. While I was on the mainland, I sent word to the King of Vohrain and requested a meeting.”
My wings stiffen with surprise. “You did this without consulting me first?”
“I assumed you would want to speak with him, to ensure that our contract with Vohrain is being honored. Without the islands he promised, we will starve. Even if there are no eggs or hatchlings this season, food will only grow scarcer. The herds of wild pigs, goats, and deer have not had time to replenish their numbers, and we cannot subsist on plants alone. We must have meat.”
“I understand. Did the king respond to your message?”
“He did. He sent one of his talking birds, who said we should meet him today at noon at the fortress on Ehren’s Point.”
“Then we should leave now.”
“Yes, my Prince.”
“But the women—” begins Varex.
“The women are under guard,” Fortunix assures him. “Do not concern yourself any further with them. This meeting is not about human captives, it is about dragons. It’s about the bargain your father made, and seeing whether or not Vohrain will honor it.”
He’s right, of course. My mind knows it, but my heart reacts with wild panic, with a dread approaching physical pain, every time I think about returning to the mainland. I spent weeks there while we were fighting the war, and I must admit the landscape was reasonably pleasant. I liked the forests, plains, and bluffs where my dragons and I resided in between battles.
But the memory of those battles haunts me now, not just because the last one brought about the fall of my loved ones. I think of the men and women I burned to death, the way I viewed them as insects or pests so I could cope with the reality of what I was doing. I view it all differently now that I’ve been so close to a human. Every person I scorched had a family, feelings, thoughts, skills, and dreams. I eliminated it all. I caused infinite pain in so many human dwellings. Those who survived had to suffer the same grief and guilt that I feel.
A bone-oath is sacred, unbreakable, and we are taught never to refuse if it’s requested by a loved one nearing the moment of death. But perhaps I should have denied my father the bone-oath he asked for. Then I would not have this ponderous weight in my chest, burdening me as I fly with Varex and Fortunix west across the sea toward the coast.
The flight to the mainland takes two or three hours depending on winds, weather, and the weariness of dragons. If I were alone I would fly much slower, but once Fortunix gets going, he is a fast flier despite his age and his scarred wings, and he keeps my brother and I moving at a quick pace. Long before I’m ready, I spot the rocky point. At its crest stands a fortress of weathered stone.
My body does not want to touch the ground. It’s not as if my sister fell to the earth in this exact spot—she and the others died far from here, so touching this ground shouldn’t bother me. But my revulsion isn’t logical.
I can’t bear to plant my feet on this continent where I abandoned my sister’s bones. And yet I must.
For a fleeting moment, I think of flying to Guilhorn to take bone-tribute from all those dragon skeletons. But it’s too far from here. We must be back at Ouroskelle before sunset, to witness the transformation of our captives into dragons.
Fortunix and my brother are already landing atop the bluff, near the wall of the fortress. A contingent of Vohrain’s guard form three straight lines, their banners and cloaks flapping in the wind. Their king stands front and center, his boots planted widely apart, one gloved hand gripping his belt. He has wavy red-orange hair, a full beard threaded with small braids, and a broad, sturdy frame. Gold beads glint in his beard and a gold ring pierces the space between his nostrils. More gold shines on his fingers and along his ears. Though he wears no crown, he is a man of wealth and power, and he likes to make it known.
