25

I'm on my knees in a stone cell, breathing through blood and bruises. My wrists are shackled to chains hanging from the ceiling, and two more chains are wrapped around my body for good measure. A few moments ago, some of Rahzien's men held me still while the healer Cathrain drew some of my blood, took a shaving of my skin, and chopped off a lock of my hair. She's still there when Rahzien arrives, and she doesn't leave immediately—she withdraws into the hallway and stands there quietly, watching.

Rahzien walks right up to me and punches me in the side. At the last moment I twist slightly and his knuckle rams into the chain around my body. He swears harshly, and I'm grimly satisfied that I managed to injure him, even though I cannot touch the fire I possess, or do anything except wrench my arms vainly against the chains.

Rahzien inspects the knuckles of his right hand, sucks the blood from a cut, and releases a sour laugh. "Well played."

"This is not a game," I reply .

"Tell me about the spell the Supreme Sorcerer's daughter performed. How did she do it? Is she still on Ouroskelle?"

"I wasn't present for the spell. And I've been absent from Ouroskelle for days—how am I supposed to know where she is?"

"Where was she when you last saw her? What does she look like? What supplies did she have available when she performed the spell?"

I clench my teeth and stare him down, defiant. No matter how simple or seemingly harmless his questions might be, I refuse to give him anything.

"You'll talk," Rahzien says. "You think you're in pain now, but we've only just begun. You and Serylla and I will have some very interesting times together before you die. And you'll be dying as a human. No little dragon spirit wafting up to the stars, no dragon bones laid upon the fields of Ouroskelle, no ‘bone-tribute.'" He says the phrase with such scorn that I growl and yank at my chains again.

"Dragons have such a primitive belief system," Rahzien muses. "What do you call your god—the ‘Bone-Builder?' Fuck, that's a juvenile term if I ever heard one. You're a swarm of pathetic animals, blinking wide-eyed at the stars, revering each other's bleached skeletons after death, clinging to your bits of bone."

He snorts and turns away, running his fingers along a selection of silver tools on a small table nearby. "But the way you kill—the magnificent slaughter— that I can respect." He picks up one of the sharp implements, then sets it down. "I don't usually torture prisoners myself. But for you, I'll make an exception. Perhaps I'll cut off your nose, your lips, your eyelids. That face isn't truly yours, anyway. It was produced by magic."

Fuck… I'm not familiar with human methods of torture… I didn't expect him to mutilate me. I like my face, and Serylla seems to favor it, as well. My resolve weakens, and I begin to wond er if telling him a few facts about Thelise would be so terrible.

"Ah, you don't like that idea." Rahzien bends, looking into my eyes. "You like being handsome, don't you, beast? Do you think Serylla will want you once I've sliced all the best bits off your face? You know, I told her once that I'd have a butt plug carved from your bones, that I'd put it in her ass when I fuck her, so you could be there in spirit. What do you think of that idea?"

In his malicious eagerness, he's gotten close. Too close.

"Careful, my lord," exclaims the healer—but I'm already swinging my head, whipping the sharp tips of my horns across Rahzien's face. He staggers back, blood streaming from his torn cheek and lip.

"Fuck you!" he sputters through the blood.

Cathrain sighs and enters the cell. She presses her hand to the wound for a few minutes, a look of concentration on her face. Then she pulls a cloth from the woven bag at her side and tenderly wipes the scarlet stains from his cheek and mouth. At the sight of the seamless flesh beneath, she nods with satisfaction. Rahzien is as whole as if I'd never touched him at all. Too bad.

The King holds out his hand, as if expecting her to repair his knuckles, but she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. "Keep that one, as a reminder to be careful," she says. "I'm going to my study. I have a few ideas I want to try. I'm not to be disturbed, so try not to get your stomach slashed open by those horns, Your Majesty."

"Very well," Rahzien mutters.

I watch her depart, wondering why he allows her such freedom of speech with him. Even during the war, I saw him strike men full in the face or send them to the whipping post for failing to give him the respect he craves. But Lady Cathrain seems to be the exception .

Rahzien plucks a tiny, glittering knife from the table and tests the point against his thumb. "I prefer giving good things over dealing out punishment," he says, in a quiet, toneless voice. "It's not in my nature to be cruel, no matter what you may think of me."

"You can't fool me." I chuckle darkly. "Killer recognizes killer. You may believe yourself to be more evolved, but your desire to expand your territory is as primal an instinct as any other."

"This isn't just about gaining land and kingdoms." His voice is tense, earnest. "I could never make you understand—you, who possess the mind and manners of a beast. But even a beast should be able to answer a few simple questions."

"I don't know how Thelise transformed us," I tell him.

He runs the tip of the knife along the inside of my arm. "Perhaps instead you could tell me the location of your clan's hoard."

Laughter snags in my throat. "That is a secret I will never betray, no matter what you do to me. There are things far more dangerous than treasure hidden in that place—things my ancestors were given to protect."

"I wonder…" Rahzien taps his lips with the knife. "Is guarding this secret worth watching Serylla suffer untold horrors? If I slit open your princess's belly and unspooled her intestines in front of you, would you tell me what I want to know? If I cracked open her skull and showed you the glistening coils of her brain while she screamed for mercy, would you yield? I think you would."

He's right. I could not bear watching her suffer like that. I would give in, even if relinquishing the secret doomed the world.

"My father would have paid you a nation's ransom from our hoard, in exchange for the Middenwold Isles," I grit out. "You could have had a fortune from us, yet when he offered that price, you would not accept. "

"Because I didn't want coins and baubles. I wanted fire. I needed your help with the war," says Rahzien. "And I knew, even then, that once I had destroyed all living dragons, I could retake the Middenwold Isles, and claim your entire hoard as mine."

"And there is the flaw in your plan," I say. "With no dragons left, you'd have no one to tell you the hoard's location."

"I planned to persuade Fortunix to tell me. But if neither you nor he will disclose the secret, there are plenty of buccaneers, mutineers, and mercenaries who, for the promise of a hefty share, will scour Ouroskelle and the surrounding islands until they find it."

"It's impossible to find, unless you're a dragon."

"All the more reason for me to extract the information from you." He adjusts the angle of the blade against my forearm, but before he can begin cutting into me, a Vohrainian soldier appears, carrying a brown-and-white hawk on his arm. The hawk's eyes gleam an unnatural red.

"Your Majesty," says the soldier. "Apologies if this is a bad time—but the bird has returned from Ouroskelle."

"About fucking time," snarls Rahzien. "Go on, bird. Open the memory, unlock the message."

The bird cocks its head, then croaks, in an odd, stilted cadence, "All dragons dead."

"All of them?" says Rahzien. "Did you check all the caves?"

"Dead bones in caves," says the bird. "All dragons dead."

No.

I wouldn't let myself believe it, or truly imagine it. Not until now.

All dragons dead. Dead bones in caves.

Tears spill from my eyes, tracing down my cheeks.

Varex… my brother …

But where is Hinarax? He should have returned by now, with news of the clan's demise. Unless he tried to save some of them. Or perhaps some accident took him down. Perhaps a fenwolf killed him in human form, perhaps he fell to his death…

"Was there no bronze dragon?" I ask hoarsely. "Or a black dragon with void magic? What about the eggs?"

My children, my children…

The bird's feathers ruffle for a moment and it repeats, "All dragons dead."

Rahzien's birds do not possess independent thought. They repeat simple messages, report basic concepts. Perhaps the bird does not understand what I'm asking. Surely some eggs must have survived, even if the primes and elders are gone.

There's no chance of Varex and my clan coming to help us—no hope at all, unless Serylla finds some cure for my poison and hers. But by then, I'll probably be mutilated, and unless I receive healing quickly afterward, the disfigurement will be permanent.

Not that my fucking face matters when the last of my kind have perished. I can't even grasp it. Can't comprehend a loss so massive, not when I've barely come to terms with the death of all the female dragons. Between my roaring grief and my helpless fury, I feel as if I'm ripping apart inside, bones cracking, tendons splitting, organs bursting into tears and blood.

"I wonder if the sorceress is still alive," Rahzien says. "Bird, did you see women on the island?"

The hawk only stares at him.

"Fuck," Rahzien mutters. "He can't answer because that's not one of the things I told him to look for. Fuck…" He turns back to me. "All the dragons, dead. And it must hurt all the more because you know it's your fault. The alliance your father made, the one you upheld… in the end, that's what killed them."

"Liar," I hiss. "You did all of this. You made a deal with Fortunix. You spread the disease that diminished our food supply, you forced us into the war, and then you turned on us like the traitorous monster you are. Without your greed for land and power, and your love for manipulation and deception, countless humans and dragons would still be alive today. Hear me now, Rahzien… you will suffer for what you have done to this world."

Rahzien's eyes go cold as the sunless stone in the heart of a mountain. "Are you threatening me? On your knees, in chains?"

"The threat isn't mine to make," I tell him. "It's a belief I hold, that the wretchedness you have dealt to others will visit you in turn. The wrong I've done has come back to torture me, and your fate will be the same—a violent end, in fear and blood."

"Perhaps." Rahzien nods. "But no matter what happens to me, I'll always have the satisfaction of knowing I ended the entire race of dragons. I'll always have the joy of this memory—the look on your face, right now. Devastation, despair. Oh, and I'll have the memory of coming inside your princess, too. One day soon, she will bear my children."

I give him a savage, broken smile. "She already bore mine."

It's a foolish, vindictive remark, one that I knew would anger him.

Rahzien's eyes narrow with icy fury. "I'm going to send my soldiers to collect any dragon eggs on Ouroskelle. I'll have them crushed and tossed into the sea. But I think I'll save one of yours, to be raised by my hand. They will call me ‘Father' and obey me alone. It will be easy to break their spirit. I'll enjoy it. They will live in torment, knowing they are the last of their kind."

A wretched groan lurches from my chest. I hate letting him know how deeply his words affect me, but I can't help it. My heart is too full of grief and pain. It cannot be silent.

As the King leaves my cell, the soldier carrying the bird says quietly, "Your Majesty, General Varka requested your presence. The new gun barrels and ammunition have been delivered from the facility at the Risling Mines."

"Good. He'll have to manage without my presence, though—I have more pressing business to deal with. Tell Varka to have all troops in the city bring their weapons to the palace courtyard to have the old barrels swapped out. They need to turn in their old ammunition as well, in favor of the new. I want it done by dawn."

"By dawn?" quavers the soldier. "I'm not sure—"

"The new gun barrels are the same size," snaps Rahzien. "They were designed to fit in the same spot, with the same mechanism to secure them. The old barrels simply need to be unclamped, removed, and replaced."

"There's a bit of soldering to be done for each," ventures the soldier.

"Then let it be done. The sun has not yet set—you have all evening and all night. Get fires going, call in all the blacksmiths of the city, summon the troops, and make it so. Am I understood? I want everyone using the new ammunition by morning. Begone. Put that bird away, and tell General Varka it will be his head if it's not done."

The soldier hurries off.

"At last, some good news," says Rahzien. "Perhaps we'll string up your one-eyed friend in the market square tomorrow and show off our new precision bullets. Take out his ankles first, then his kneecaps, then his dick, and so on, right up to his one good eye. A lesson for the people, and a warning to the rebels. Perhaps I'll wait until then to cut up your face—make a show of it in the square. The princess and her people should watch your undoing."

"But you haven't found her yet, have you?"

A wave of irritation crosses the King's face. "She's a sneaky little spider. But no one can hide from me for long."

After locking the door of my cell, he stalks away .

My delight at Serylla's evasion of the King fades quickly, giving way to the pain in my body, the ache in my knees from kneeling on the stone, and the deeper agony of my heart. Yet in spite of the grief, I'm eerily at peace, knowing that so many dragons' spirits have gone before me, that they await me among the stars. Despite Rahzien's cruel words, I still believe my soul will ascend to join them, even though I've been trapped in this form.

It's almost a relief, having everything out in the open. Not having to feign another identity or suppress my thoughts and instincts so harshly. I yield to the quiet of the moment, the reprieve before the next terrible chapter of my life unfolds.

Some dragons believe that the Bone-Builder still surveys the world from a vantage point among the stars and orchestrates our experiences for some greater purpose. I believed that too, until our clan followed me into war and half of them died. Until a bird told me that the remaining dragons are nothing but bones now… bones in caves, bones upon the mountains.

Any deity who could have stopped such a tragedy, yet allowed it to unfold, isn't worthy of my respect. So I must believe that the Bone-Builder no longer exists, or has no knowledge of what is happening to my species. The alternative would be too painful.

Better to believe in someone who's here, who cares. Who might have a chance of doing something about my predicament and hers. Serylla isn't only my intended life-mate, queen of my heart—she's my goddess now. Whether I die or not, I know she'll have tried everything possible to save me. That's who she is—the brilliant, brave girl who aimed a crossbow at the leader of a dragon army. That's the woman who took me inside herself, knowing what being pregnant by me would mean for her. Birthing those eggs was possibly her bravest act. Or perhaps her bravest moment was facing a ballroom full of men who were competing for her body. Or enduring the lash in the marketplace. Or coming to warn me that my life was in danger.

She's the bravest creature I know.

My musings are interrupted when Meridian limps into view outside my cell, holding the bars for support since the soldiers took away his cane.

It takes me a minute to realize that they locked him up, just like they did me, and yet he's walking free. He's pale and bruised, but he gives me a weary smile.

"You escaped already," I say, a grin pulling at my injured lips. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"You'd think they'd take more precautions with their prized captives. Security in this place is pathetic, really." He takes a stud from his earlobe. When he pulls on it, the stud extends into a tiny sliver of metal, a lock-picking tool. "I'll get you out of here, but we have to move quickly. Remember the plan I told you about? It has nearly come to fruition. About damn time, too. But I need to give the final word so my people are ready to act, and then—"

Rhythmic footsteps echo somewhere in the distance, and Meridian glances in that direction anxiously. "Fuck, we might have to fight our way out."

"No. Just go. Follow through with your plan, get the word to your people."

"Kyreagan—"

"There's no time," I hiss at him.

"Fuck," he mutters. "I'll be back for you, I swear."

"I know."

He hurries away, not a moment too soon. Seconds later, a helmeted Vohrainian soldier appears and takes up a guard position next to my cell. Judging by the shape of the person, I think it's a woman. The soldier keeps turning to glance at me.

"What?" I say. "You've never seen a dragon shifter before? "

The guard's skeletal helmet leers blankly at me for several seconds before she turns back around.

Guarding a prisoner must be a tedious job. Almost as tedious as—

I smirk, my pain and grief receding for a moment.

And I begin to sing. "I once had a wife who took my life…"