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It’s shocking to me how they’re having this frank conversation in front of everyone. My mother would never allow us to appear in public as anything but a devoted parent and dutiful daughter. If I even hinted at disagreeing with her in front of our people, I knew I would pay for it later in long tirades, vicious slaps, and reduced privileges. Even once I passed age twenty, she made it clear that I belonged to her—that I was an asset, an object, not a partner.
Watching the partnership between Kyreagan and Varex makes my heart ache—even more so when Kyreagan dips his head to his brother. “I support you.”
“Then we will have music,” calls Varex. “Ladies of Elekstan, you may have been captives at first—spoils of war, prey to our vengeance—but I believe I speak for every dragon here when I say, you have become far more than that to us. You are honored guests, beautiful friends, cherished companions. You are our salvation. As my brother proclaimed earlier today, not one of you will be forced to mate with any dragon, in any form. But if you would deign to honor us with your affection during this season, we will worship you as you deserve and cherish you as long as you allow. No pairing during the heat will be binding. It is a time of joy, and yes, of breeding, but the eggs, once laid, will be the males’ responsibility alone. You will be free to live as you like, with or without the dragon you choose today.”
I elbow Kyreagan’s neck and mutter, “Why couldn’t you have said it like that?”
And of course, my words are transferred throughout the valley. Everyone hears them.
Hot blood rises to my face as I realize what I’ve done. I humiliated Kyreagan, questioned his leadership abilities in front of the whole clan and all the women.
“My brother has a tongue of gold,” Kyreagan says loudly, with humor in his voice. “I am fortunate to serve the clan with him.”
It’s a graceful admission that he’s less skilled at public speaking than his brother. The other dragons chuckle at his comment, and Varex takes over smoothly, directing the women to back up and move together, calling the dragons to gather around the central slab of stone.
I don’t see Thelise or Ashvelon anywhere. But Jessiva approaches me, reaching up her arms, so I toss her my bundle and manage to scramble down from the slab without hurting myself.
The noise of the dragons fills the valley—the beat of their wings, the impact of their feet, their voices growling in Dragonish as they quickly plan their performance. Under cover of that noise, Jessiva faces me, with the bundle between us, and says, “Each of us was given fresh clothes today, and soap, and a few other supplies.”
“I’m glad.” I try to take my things, but she holds onto them. Beneath the cover of the blanket-wrapped bundle, she’s giving me something. I touch a sharp edge, and my eyes flash up to hers.
She mouths the next words distinctly. Kill the prince. With this.
Her fingers press mine around the object. It’s a curved knife, or maybe a claw. Useless against a dragon, but for a human, it could be deadly.
She’s giving me a weapon. She wants me to kill Kyreagan with it, when he’s in human form.
“He won’t choose me,” I whisper.
“You can choose him,” she says. “I’ll choose his brother.”
Her fierce look leaves no doubt in my mind. She’s determined to remove the leadership of the dragon clan, in the hopes that the resulting upheaval will permit us to escape.
Jessiva steps back, leaving me with the weapon and my things. I manage to slide the claw-knife into a fold of the bundle before setting it beside a nearby rock. I’ll retrieve it once I determine which dragon I’ll be leaving with.
Last night, I thought Kyreagan was on the verge of confessing his love for me. Obviously I misunderstood what he was trying to say. I acted like a fool, covering his mouth, panicking over a declaration he never intended to make. Today he has made it obvious that he doesn’t feel any affection for me at all.
Kyreagan and Varex both said the women can choose their jailers, guardians, partners—whatever the dragons are calling themselves now. I could pick Kyreagan, against his will. But that seems wrong to me. My best option is to choose another dragon, someone who is kind and intelligent, but already has his affections set on a different captive.
The blue dragon, Rothkuri, seems like the obvious choice. I’m confident he would take care of me and protect me during the storm. And judging by how his captive was stroking his shoulder a moment ago, the two of them are still deeply fascinated with each other. He’ll be fucking her for sure. Maybe I can offer her some of the contraceptive herbs I got from Thelise, in case she wants sex but doesn’t fancy squeezing dragon eggs out of her vagina.
I almost laugh, standing there in the group of women, thinking such outrageous thoughts. This situation is beyond ludicrous, beyond anything I’d ever pictured myself having to endure. I thought my best chance at a decent life might be a reasonably attractive prince from a neighboring kingdom, who would hopefully treat me well, with whom I could enjoy friendship if not love. I was fully prepared to have babies with said theoretical prince, and make those babies my entire life’s purpose.
What’s laughable is that I have been claimed by a prince, and he does need a mate to father his children. But in my fantasies, such a life came with certain luxuries—clean, well-appointed rooms in a fine palace, excellent dining every day, lovely gardens in which I could play with the children and the pets. A home to manage, not a cave. Tailored clothing, not scavenged gowns. Food that has actually been cooked on a proper stove.
The dragons are doing their best, I suppose. I have to admit, the other women look decently cared for—they’re much cleaner now, clad in fresh clothing. None of them are weeping, nor do they look quite as desperate as the first time I encountered them. I wonder how many of them have grown close to a particular dragon—or more than one. After all, there are more dragon males than women. Some might be left without a mate, which, according to Kyreagan, means that their magic may be diminished.
Five of the male dragons have withdrawn to the side, apparently more interested in each other than in the performance. Two of them seem particularly affectionate. As with humans, I suppose some dragons discover that the love and fulfillment they crave lies beyond a male-female pairing—or beyond the confines of any gender.
Someone touches my arm, and I turn to see Gweneth, the woman who ran into the forest ahead of me.
“So you were recaptured as well,” I murmur.
“No,” she replies. “I returned on my own. Once I saw more of the island, I realized the dragons were my best option for survival. And I discovered…” She bites her lip, her eyes soft and distant. “They’re not as terrible as I thought. They need us. And to be needed, wanted… craved… that is worth something to me.”
Her words strike deep. I want to talk to her more, to ask questions, to unpack some of the feelings clashing within my heart—but before I can figure out what to say, the dragons begin their song.
First a low, resonant hum, deep in the chest of every dragon. Some form a circle around the great central slab, others perch upon it, and about a dozen of them take to the air, beating their wings in perfect sync. Meanwhile the dragons on the ground stomp their feet, a rhythm interspersed with the thump of huge tails.
