28

Two of Kyreagan's rebel friends, Odrash and Kehanal, drive Rahzien toward the palace in the prisoner's cart, while Kyreagan and I glide over them, flying just above the peaks of the rowhouses and tenement buildings. I don't like that we're the only escort available for such a high-value prisoner, but the other dragons and fighters are needed elsewhere. Kyreagan will have to serve as backup if anything goes wrong on the ground.

His wings have two small bullet holes, and although the wounds don't prevent him from flying, I can sense the extra bit of drag, the slight struggle to stay on course and keep up his speed.

I keep my eyes trained below, on the chaos in the streets as the people realize what's happening and either shut themselves up in their homes and shops, or grab weapons and join the fight. The rebels drive groups of two or three Vohrainian soldiers from narrow streets into wider avenues where the dragons can finish them off.

"Their helmets and uniforms make them easy targets," I comment to Kyreagan .

"So they do," he rumbles. "Are you well?"

"Yes. Although I feel as if we should be doing more to help."

"You've done enough. I feel better with you safely on my back, out of the fray. It's bad enough that I have to keep you near him ."

I wince, glancing down at the prisoner's cart, which has turned left into an alley to avoid a burning wagon and a knot of people fighting. As the cart proceeds down the alley, a cluster of five Vohrainians emerge from a building.

It seems as though they will bypass the cart at first, but something stops them. I'll bet my ass Rahzien heard them outside and yelled to get their attention.

The Vohrainians converge on the cart and begin attacking Odrash and Kehanal.

"Kyreagan!" I exclaim.

"I see them." He dives, then pulls up again, growling in frustration. "The street is too narrow for me to land."

"Shit." I lean farther to the side, watching the two rebels battle the guards. "They're outmatched, Ky. What do we do?"

But before Kyreagan can answer, a black-clad figure races out of the shadows and leaps into the fray. Even though we're high above the group, I spot the glitter of knives as the newcomer barrels through the cluster of Vohrainian soldiers, slashing, twirling, leaping. The soldiers fall, one by one, cut down before they realize what's happening.

"Who is that?" I exclaim.

Kyreagan replies, with a rumble of satisfaction. "I think that's Aeris."

"The woman who came to my room and took samples?"

"The very same."

"So she's back. Do you think she has a cure for me?"

"If she does, I plan to incinerate Rahzien the moment you're free. "

I shift uneasily on his back. I want Rahzien dead—I do. He treated me horribly, and he was the driving force behind Lady Cathrain. If she deserved death, he deserves it more. I'm not sure I have it in me to end another life, but if Kyreagan is offering, who am I to deny him that pleasure?

"You're quiet." Kyreagan's deep voice penetrates my thoughts. "Do you not wish him dead, Serylla? Or have you softened toward him?"

"No," I reply. "I haven't softened. He deserves death, of course. It's just—there's been so much death, and…"

My throat tightens suddenly, and I can't speak. I keep seeing flashes of myself in the Sorcerer's study—the way I sawed through Cathrain's throat, hacked at her spine, wrenched at her skull until it ripped free—

"Ky, I'm going to throw up."

He swerves aside and lands on the flat roof of a tenement building. I slide off his back and bend over, a dry retch breaking from my throat. Though I gag several more times, nothing comes up, and after a few seconds I sit down, dizzy and faint. My breath is shallow, panicked, and my heart is racing.

The great black dragon looms behind me, a silent, steady presence.

"How do you cope with it?" I ask him. "The deaths you've caused?"

He's quiet for a moment, the subtle slump of his wings the only change in his stance. "You killed her, didn't you? The Poisoner?"

"I had to. Or I thought I had to. Or… I wanted to. And I thought I'd settled the matter within myself but…" My voice trails off.

"Whatever your motives were, the thing is done. You cannot change it. Nor can I bring back everyone I scorched to ashes during the war. "

"She's not the only one I've killed," I confess. "Back on Ouroskelle, one of the other women tried to murder me. I killed her instead."

"I know."

My eyebrows rise. "You know ?"

"One of the other dragons found her body. While we were preparing to weather the Mordvorren, he told me she'd been killed, and he mentioned where he found her. It was along the same brook where you and I kissed for the first time, except we were downstream from that spot. You steered us downstream. So yes—I knew."

"You never asked me about it. You could have, while we were waiting out the Mordvorren. Did you not care?"

"I knew you weren't the kind of woman to take a life recklessly. I trusted that you had a good reason."

"You should have asked me."

"Perhaps. Or maybe you should have told me. Did you fear I would think less of you? I, who have slain hundreds?"

"It's different when you're face to face with someone. When it's personal, and it's blood and flesh, and you're looking into their eyes when they…" My voice trails off, and I press my fingertips to my forehead. "I didn't want you to think I was capable of that."

"Serylla." His voice is darkly tender, and his muzzle bumps my shoulder lightly. "I think you're capable of surviving. Of protecting the ones you care for. I think you're capable of any number of magnificent and terrible things. Each of us carries a fire that can warm or wound. From now on we choose together, you and I. We decide which is the right way to wield that fire."

The battle rages on in the city below us. Dragons wheel overhead or dive between buildings. Explosions shatter the air and men scream immediately afterward. The streets echo with the hollow beat of mighty wings and the cries of the rebels and the citizens as they take back their city .

Kyreagan should be with his clan, helping to win the day. Instead he's perched on a rooftop, cherishing me with his words, with that rich, velvety voice of his.

I rise and take his sleek muzzle in both my hands. "I love you, you know."

He blinks inky lashes over his yellow eyes. "I know. And we'll talk more of this matter, if you like, but now we should follow Rahzien. If the distance between you grows too wide, you may start to feel ill."

When we reach the palace courtyard, I'm astonished to find most of the Vohrainians already corralled in one area, guarded by the stable-master, his boys, and one of the dragons. Many of the Vohrainian soldiers have lost arms or hands—I doubt most of them will make it through the day without healing. The lucky ones look traumatized by the turn of events, and terrified of the scarlet dragon who prowls the periphery of the group, snarling intermittently and exhaling plumes of smoke.

A section of one palace tower is on fire, but one of the dragons is jetting sparkling streams of water onto the flames. This dragon has different coloring than Rothkuri, and I'm glad, because that means Rothkuri is still on Ouroskelle, watching over our eggs. Have they hatched already? Will the hatchlings believe that Rothkuri and Everelle are their parents? Will they even want me and Kyreagan when we return? What if they despise me, like I despised my mother? What if they injure me with their teeth, fire, or claws, without meaning to? After all, I'm their weak, fragile human mother …

"Your Majesty!" It's Myron, the head cook of the palace kitchens. He and several of the other cooks and maids cross the courtyard, armed with butcher knives, frying pans, and fireplace pokers. It takes me a moment to realize that when they say "Your Majesty," they're talking to me.

Kyreagan stretches his long neck to its full height and gazes down upon them. They stop short, cautious about approaching him.

I climb down from his back and run to Myron. It's been so long since I was folded in his embrace and he smells the same, like cooking grease and baked bread and sage. I bury my face in his ample shoulder and hold on.

"Ay, there, don't cry," he whispers. "You did well. I only wish we'd had the courage to rise up sooner. Could've spared you the pain."

"No, you couldn't have," I tell him. "I'm glad you didn't. You would have been killed."

A shout erupts behind me, and I turn to see the prison cart rolling into the courtyard. Aeris stands atop it, her legs wide apart, knives in both hands.

More servants emerge from the palace, gathering around the cart as it halts. When Odrash yanks open the door and pulls Rahzien out, the crowd of servants bursts into a unified chorus of anger.

"Kill him now!" yells someone.

"Don't touch him!" bellows Myron. "His life is bound to the Queen's!"

At his shout, the crowd settles somewhat, and someone yells, "Let's search the palace! Find every last Vohrainian!" And they all rush back inside.

Odrash and Kehanal flank Rahzien, weapons ready in case anyone else has revenge on their mind. Aeris stalks over to me, and I instantly feel smaller in her presence. She's such a skillful warrior—so sure of herself and her movements .

"Did you get the cure for Serylla?" Kyreagan asks.

"In a manner of speaking." Aeris gives me a look full of sympathy. "My sorcerer friend did his best, but he doesn't think the potion he made can sever the life bond between you and Rahzien. A poison like this is beyond his skill to undo entirely. He said it would require the magic of the person who created it. They would have to take the original written spell and destroy it with their own hand—"

"That's no longer possible," I say quietly.

"I see." Aeris eyes me for a moment, then continues. "Well, at the very least, this should negate what he called the proximity link,' which means you can travel as far from Rahzien as you like."

Kyreagan gives a feral growl. "So I can't kill the bastard?"

"Not if you want to be sure Serylla remains alive," Aeris replies.

A blast of wind rushes through the courtyard, and Hinarax descends, with Meridian on his back. The rebel climbs down gingerly, holding his bloodied left arm close to his chest.

"Stray bullet—the non-explosive kind," he explains, leaning against Hinarax's scaly shoulder for support. "Fucking bad luck."

"We'll find one of the healers Rahzien conscripted into his service," I tell him. "They'll fix you right up."

"You have my thanks." Meridian gives me a grateful nod. "Well met, Aeris! Nice of you to join us. I assume you were successful."

"Partly." Aeris takes a vial from her satchel and hands it to me. "She'll be free to leave Rahzien and go where she likes, but in all probability if he dies, she will too."

"Well, that's a fucking shame," Meridian says. "I was looking forward to watching the Prince here toast His Anal Majesty into a crispy little nugget. Eh, Odrash? Wouldn't that have been fun?" He spits in Rahzien's direction .

Rahzien doesn't flinch. Doesn't react. His face is entirely blank, completely neutral. He has shut down again, withdrawn all emotion and sealed it within himself. Who taught him to do that, I wonder? A parent, a mentor? Who made him this icy ruler, this brawling warrior, this fiend so ravenous for conquest?

If I want to live, so must he. And perhaps, if he lives, he can change. Maybe he can learn to be different—to be better.

"Make him kneel," I tell Odrash and Kehanal.

They glance to Meridian for confirmation, and when he nods, they push Rahzien to his knees.

I walk over to him and grip his bearded chin, forcing his face up. "Look at me."

His eyes meet mine. Dead eyes, blank as stone.

"I need you to repeat something," I say softly. "And if you don't, Odrash will cut out your tongue. You don't need your tongue to live, after all."

It's a threat I'm not sure I'd carry out, but I steel my gaze, because I need him to believe it.

His lips tighten, but he doesn't respond.

"Say these words aloud," I tell him, and he repeats after me, in a slow, even tone.

"I am a man who does what is right. When I do what is right, I earn my place in the world. I have done great harm to others, and great harm to myself. From this day on, I will be worthy. I will be wise. I have value, and I can be redeemed."

The courtyard is deathly quiet as Rahzien speaks the words.

I don't have him say it again. I know he'll remember every phrase, as long as he lives.