3

"What we're doing—it's called reconnaissance ," says Hinarax eagerly. "Two or three advance units sneaking in and scoping out an area when you don't want to arouse suspicion with large numbers. It's a human military term."

"That's not just a human term," I tell him flatly.

He does a loop in the air, seemingly oblivious to my reply. "You were right not to bring the human enchantress along. I don't trust her."

"Neither do I, but that isn't why I left her behind. She's too well-known, too recognizable, and our goal is stealth—at least until we find out where the Princess is and how heavily she's being guarded. Then I will determine whether you and I can free her ourselves, or whether we need to summon the power of the entire clan. I hope to avoid that. It would doubtless result in the deaths of more dragons, and we are few in number as it is."

Hinarax dips lower, letting his back claws trail through the sea foam. "I hope one day there can be peace among dragons and humans. No warring kingdoms, no dragon hunts. Prince Varex says humans can teach us how to craft things we haven't been able to make before."

"Perhaps. But don't be too inquisitive on this journey. You and I must keep our true nature a secret while we're in Elekstan."

"That may be difficult. Where will we hide when we revert to dragon form?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead," I admit. "In the woods, or in a large empty building? A cave, perhaps? Surely they have caves. We'll keep our eyes open for potential hiding spots. It will be your job to track the number of hours we've spent in each form, and to determine how much time we have left. In addition to helping me fit in among the humans."

"Right, yes, of course, I can almost certainly, possibly, help you try to do that."

I give him a sidelong glance. "Because you're so knowledgeable about them, as you boasted to us a few hours ago."

He swallows, dips his head a little. "Y-y-es. I'm very knowledgeable."

"Hinarax."

"You can trust me, Prince. I watched the Vohrainian soldiers put on their uniforms and eat together. The fashions and manners of the palace can't be much different, can they?"

"I have no idea."

"It will be fine." He says it firmly, cheerfully, as if by sheer willpower he will make it so.

I release a long sigh and beat my wings, speeding toward a sheltered cove up ahead.

Since Fortunix was on an errand for the King of Vohrain, he would have flown openly, not trying to conceal his presence. Hinarax and I will travel on foot, at least during the day, so Rahzien won't be warned of our approach. Before we begin our journey, we must determine whether Fortunix headed north to Vohrain or west to the Capital, and to get that information, we'll have to find humans who may have seen a dragon flying overhead recently.

We land in the cove, at the base of a rocky bluff. The instant my claws grate against the pebbled beach, several gulls rise, squawking. I inspect them carefully as they flap and circle overhead.

Rahzien used to have more than two dozen talking birds, but many of them were killed during the war. Their red glowing eyes, a side effect of the magic that enabled them to speak, served as a dead giveaway, and Elekstan's archers would target them on sight. Because they were so noticeable, Rahzien typically used the birds as messengers, not spies. He could not risk them too close to the enemy.

As far as I know, he has only a few talking birds left, with no way to get more since the sorcerer who spelled them died months ago. I doubt he would send his remaining birds to do random surveillance flights, but I should keep watch for them all the same.

"Watching for Rahzien's birds?" Hinarax inquires.

"Just in case."

"During the war, I befriended one of the keepers of the royal birds—a very handsome fellow, as humans go. He told me the phrases Rahzien must use every time he commands his birds—one special phrase to open the bird's mind, and another phrase to confirm the order. Of course the keeper was very drunk that night. Didn't seem to remember anything the next day. I wonder if we'll have a chance to get drunk during this mission? I would love to try wine, and ale, and mead, and rum…"

"Doesn't liquor interfere with one's mental capabilities?" I ask. "If so, we should avoid it. As I recall, Rahzien forbids his soldiers from drinking except on rare occasions. "

"True… but many of them drank in secret," Hinarax replies. "Some of them were very amusing to watch, once they'd emptied a few tankards."

"We should keep our minds on the task at hand." I unclasp my left front claw, releasing a bundle of clothing onto the beach. Among other things, I brought with me a pair of boots, two shirts, and two pairs of pants, items Serylla scavenged from Thelise's stash. They fit me well enough, though I'm not sure what sort of human they're meant to clothe, and for which occasions.

Serylla seems to draw a distinction between certain outfits. She tried to explain it to me once, while we were sheltering from the Mordvorren. Some clothes are for sleeping, others for hard work, others for walking or riding, and still others for dinner and visiting. Then there are finer clothes for special occasions, like feasts or balls.

To me, human clothing is divided into two categories—shiny and not shiny. I prefer shiny things. Unfortunately, none of the clothing currently in my possession is shiny. Perhaps at some point I can purchase a more attractive outfit.

Next I inspect my long black claws and focus my thoughts on banishing them, as Thelise instructed. Before we left Ouroskelle, Ashvelon brought the enchantress to my cave, where she performed another charm, one she claimed would affect not only me, but all dragons, enabling them to summon or dispel their horns and claws while in human form. She wrote the words of the spell on a flat stone with ink, then had Ashvelon trace them deeper into the rock with his claw. Once that was done she arranged many polished stones and clumps of herbs around the stone slab, along with a scale from Ashvelon.

During the casting of the spell, her eyes glowed violet, and afterwards she slumped over, conscious but weary. Ashvelon carried her off to rest, shortly before Rothkuri and his companion, Everelle, entered my cave. Everelle seemed thrilled to be one of the guardians for my eggs, and she asked shyly if, when the time came, she could lay her own eggs in the same nest, so that she and Rothkuri could watch over all of them at once. I have never seen a dragon look so overjoyed and proud as Rothkuri did when she made the request, so of course I said yes. Much as I hated leaving my offspring behind, it eases my mind to know they will be well cared for.

Thelise's spell must have worked, because once I harness my thoughts again and focus them on my claws, the pointed black nails transform into rounded, pale ones. I concentrate on my tongue next, feeling its cloven tip merge into one seamless, fleshy curve.

"This is the oddest feeling." I form the words carefully, testing the new shape of my tongue. Pleased to find that my speech is barely affected by the change, I turn my thoughts to the last telltale sign of my nature and will it to vanish. "Are my horns gone, Hinarax?"

He glances over and nods. "Well done! You look perfectly human."

So does he. His human form is skinny and tall, with deep brown skin and a mass of chestnut locs down to his waist, like hundreds of tiny bronze ropes that glitter in the bright sun. He's standing in the shallows of the cove, watching the water swirl around his toes, apparently fascinated by his own feet.

"You should get dressed," I remind him.

"Oh, of course!" He hurries back to the beach, pulls on the second pair of pants, and dons a loose shirt. "Now, put on the boots."

"I'd rather not." I grimace at the tall leather prisons in which I'm supposed to encase my feet. " You're going barefoot."

"Because there are no shoes for me. But humans wear shoes all the time, especially boots, so if you want to blend in, get on with it… my Prince," he adds, with an apologetic wince. "Respectfully. "

With a muttered curse, I shove my sandy foot into one of the boots. The sensation is horrible—grainy and sticky. I push my other foot into the second boot and attempt to stand.

Hinarax tilts his head. "I think you should switch them. The curved part should be on the inside of each foot."

"Fuck," I snarl, and wrestle the boots off before tugging them on again. "I hate these."

"They can't be that bad if humans wear them all day."

"Why don't you wear them, then?"

"Didn't your Princess give them to you?"

"She saved them for me in case I wanted them, which I do not. Please take them."

"Well, if you're offering…" Hinarax beams as I drag the boots off and hand them over. His smile fades once he puts them on, but he doesn't complain.

I pick up the remaining items from the bundle—a selection of my favorite jewelry from my private hoard. I sling several of the gold and silver necklaces around my throat and tuck them under my collar, so they're partly visible through the open neck of my shirt. Then I slip the bracelets and earrings into the pockets of my pants. That's another thing I appreciate about human clothing—pockets, which are small bags sewn right into the garment.

Hinarax has also brought some pieces from his personal collection. Once he has stowed the treasure in his own pockets and lined his fingers with rings, we trudge out of the cove and down the beach, toward a distant cluster of buildings. A fishing village, by the look of it.

During the trek to the village, Hinarax keeps stumbling on the rounded rocks that litter the beach, but he forges on bravely, determined to conquer the boots. We take a sandy path between grassy dunes and encounter our first humans of the day—tiny ones with round cheeks, who are flying paper dragons attached to strings .

"Greetings, small humans," I say loudly.

Hinarax elbows me in the ribs and whispers, "Don't say ‘humans' like that."

I nearly correct it to "hatchlings," but I manage to summon the right word. "Greetings, children. Have you seen any dragons flying today?"

They stare at me with round eyes, then look at their paper dragons.

"Real ones," I clarify. "Not those frail imitations."

"I saw a real dragon," pipes up one of the children.

"What color was it?" asks Hinarax.

"Gray. Big. Like a flying stone. And its wings had marks all over them."

He's describing Fortunix. "Which way did the dragon go?" I ask.

The child shrugs.

"That way?" I point north, toward Vohrain. "Or that way?" I swerve my hand west, toward the Capital.

The boy cocks his head, a calculating expression on his chubby face. "What'll you give me?"

I dig into my pocket. A small piece of information deserves a small reward, so I seize the tiniest earring I can find—a bit of gold with a starry white jewel dangling from it. "You can have this."

The boy's eyes widen. He snatches the bauble from my claws and points emphatically to the west. "That way."

"We can tell you things too!" The other children gather around me. "Do you have any more questions?"

I feel small fingers nudging into my pockets, so I bat them away. "Let's head for the Capital," I tell Hinarax.

"But we need supplies first. Food, and other things," he protests. "Surely we have time for a few purchases."

"Oh, very well." I stride through the swarm of little ones, wishing I dared transform and frighten them into giving me space. Accompanied by their pattering feet and eager voices, we enter the village.

Several wooden tables line the main street. Fabric coverings stretched across poles provide shade for the humans and their wares.

"Fresh fish!" bawls a man loudly near my ear.

"Spiced nuts! Currant buns! Meat pies!" squawks a woman from a table across the street. "Two bits for a pie, one for a bun!"

I don't know what a "bit" is, but she's selling food. Food for which I do not need to hunt or forage. Food prepared by someone else, ready for the taking, as long as I exchange something for it. The sheer convenience is astounding.

Intrigued, I head for the woman's table. "I'll take these, and this, and all of these." I gesture to most of the food she has laid out.

She peers at me, methodically chewing a wad of green weed. Her eyes linger on my necklaces. "That'll be two dolems."

I pull a gem-studded bracelet from my pocket. "Will this do?"

She gapes, and the wad of weed nearly tumbles from her mouth. She pokes the lump back into the side of her cheek and scowls. "You shittin' me?"

I glance sideways at Hinarax.

"The soldiers used to say that," he says eagerly. "She doesn't believe you're really offering her the bracelet in exchange for the food."

"I assure you, I mean it," I tell the woman. "This is my offer."

She shakes her head. "That's too much, lad. I ain't got change for a piece like that."

"Just take it, then," I say. "Give us the food."

"Please," adds Hinarax.

By now, several adult humans have drawn closer, lured by the haggling and perhaps by the glitter of gemstones. With a suspicious glance at her fellow villagers, the woman snatches the bracelet from me and tucks it into the front of her brown dress.

"You can have it all," she says. "I'll wrap it up for you. But mind you eat the pies before sunset. Won't be no good later than that."

"Since we apparently overpaid, do you happen to have an extra pair of boots for my friend here?" Hinarax inquires.

"What?" I mutter. " No ."

"You'll need them, trust me," he whispers.

The woman nods. "Might have an old pair of Wirram's boots somewhere about. Wait here."

She ducks into a weatherbeaten building that looks as if one good nudge from a dragon's wingtip would topple it. After a few moments she returns with a pair of floppy brown boots. "Here you are."

"I'll take those," says Hinarax quickly. "You can have these." He sits down on the street, pulls off the black boots, and puts on the worn brown ones.

"Traitor," I say. "You want those because they look more comfortable."

He grins up at me, and I shake my head with a brief answering grin.

I pull on the black boots while Hinarax fumbles over the laces of his. Finally he pays one of the bystanders a gold ring to tie them for him, while the vendor packs up the food we purchased, half of it in a large basket, and half in a cloth bag. I claim one of the meat pies and bite into it. To my pleasure and astonishment, it tastes similar to the stew Serylla made for me during the Mordvorren.

Perhaps my brother and Hinarax are right. Perhaps taking human form now and then could enrich our lives in ways beyond the pleasures of sex. Food is limited on Ouroskelle, but if we learn how to cultivate crops and cook meals as they do here on the mainland, perhaps I wouldn't have to be so constantly anxious about our food supply. As dragons, we would still need to hunt from time to time, but those hunts could be fewer and farther apart. We could sustain ourselves with smaller meals when in human form, and we'd have a greater variety of edible options.

As Hinarax rises and the woman hands over our food, a shout from down the street catches my attention. A group of armed men and women are striding toward us. One carries an ax, another a thick staff, and the third a crossbow. The leader, a stocky man with a prodigious frown, grips the hilt of the sword at his hip. On his left shoulder gleams a silver medallion emblazoned with a curved pair of leafy branches.

"Ho there!" he calls. "You! Put down your bundles and raise your hands!"

I dislike him at once, and I stare at him coldly, even as his companion lifts the crossbow and readies it.

"Put your things down," repeats the man with the medallion. "By order of the village watch."

"The village watch?" asks Hinarax.

"That's right. You've been flashing around a lot of jewelry, paying a king's ransom for things like directions, meat pies, and—" He glances at the gathered villagers.

"And old beat-up shoes," offers the woman behind the table. I throw her a glare, and she shrugs unrepentantly.

"That's right," continues the man with the medallion in a pompous tone. "As the constable, it is my duty to take into custody all suspicious characters that might otherwise heretofore cause something of an unseemly uproar in this here, our peaceful village, what has just started to recover from the toils of war, and therefore we do not under any circumstances welcome such strangers as yourselves, who must be either fine lords fleeing the new regime, or brigandish thieves of the robberly sort. In which case, in summation and conclusion, the proper course of action is to put you two in a cell and commandeer or requisition such articles of value as you might have upon your persons."

"You're the guards of this village. You don't like the way we barter, so you're taking our treasure and imprisoning us," translates Hinarax pleasantly.

"Not to put too fine a point on it—yes," replies the constable.

Hinarax leans over and whispers to me out of the side of his mouth. "We could transform."

I glance around at the villagers crowding the street, at their fragile homes and their tables of simple wares. Transforming into dragons here would cause too much damage, and word of the incident would travel swiftly to the King of Vohrain. Much as I ache to get to Serylla, it's too early to reveal our true nature.

"We'll go along with them," I mutter to Hinarax.

"Right." He doesn't seem at all perturbed by the idea of being locked up. In fact, he looks rather excited about it as he addresses the constable. "We'll come with you and give you our valuables, as long as you let us keep our food. And the shoes."

The constable looks rather surprised, but he says, "Fair enough."

The armed men close in and escort us along the street to the only stone building in the village. A storm like the Mordvorren would devastate a place like this, where most of the structures are fabricated of wood and bricks. These people are fortunate the Mordvorren decided to hover over Ouroskelle instead of battering the coastline.

What's strange to me is the way the Mordvorren vanished so abruptly, without a trace. When I left my cave, I expected to see it receding into the distance. But the ocean and the sky were clear on all sides. I haven't taken the time to ponder it until now… and within seconds I'm distracted from the mystery as I enter a human building for the first time .

As we step inside, I summon my limited experience with humans during the war, as well as everything I learned from Serylla, and I try to identify as many items as I can. Tables. Chairs. Fireplace. Some black metal rods that stand beside the fireplace… not sure what their function is. Lanterns. Rugs. Maps on the walls. And books, very large books, one of which lies open on a table while a woman hunches over it, writing rows of numbers and phrases in the Eventongue. Some sort of notation, perhaps to do with the business of the village. She looks up at Hinarax and me, and I get the distinct feeling that her sharp eyes are taking in every detail. Something about her reminds me of Jessiva, my brother's keen-eyed, red-haired captive, and the similarity sets me on edge.

We're taken to a small room at the back of the building… "a prison cell ," Hinarax whispers, with all the delight of a hatchling seeing a waterfall for the first time.

Straw covers the floor of the otherwise empty cell. If we were to transform in here, we would explode right through the stone wall into freedom. Perhaps we'll do that during the night. We could transform long enough to break out, then switch back to human form and run for the woods. Once we put enough distance between us and the village, we could take to the sky and find cloud cover. As long as the people don't see our dragon forms, they'll think we had secret magic or hidden explosives to facilitate our escape.

The constable takes our jewelry, placing it in a small brown satchel which he buckles shut and pats contentedly. "I'll keep this safe until we figure out what's what with you two." He slams an iron gate shut across the doorway of the cell and locks it, a process which Hinarax observes with keen curiosity.

After the constable stumps away, I seat myself onto the straw, propping my back against the wall. "Once it's dark, we're leaving. "

"We could have tried to fight them in our human forms," says Hinarax. "I've watched weaponless men battle with their fists and arms. They kick, too. Some of them even bite, though I believe among humans that's considered dishonorable."

"You and I aren't trained to fight in this form," I reply. "This was the only choice if we wanted to maintain our disguise and avoid causing damage. The Bone-Builder knows we've done enough harm in this land already." The ache of my guilt joins the gut-wrenching pain of Serylla's absence, and for a moment I don't know how I'll survive the agony of it all.

Hinarax gathers his locs and sweeps them over one shoulder before sitting down beside me. "The war was inevitable. In your position, any of us would have done the same thing. We followed you into battle, not just because of your bone-oath, or because of your title, but because we could see no other way."

"Perhaps we need to become a bit more innovative, as a species," I reply.

"I won't argue with that. But my Prince, you must not carry the weight of the war alone. We were all there. We all made choices. You were not solely responsible."

I inhale deeply and let the breath out gradually. I think I have been waiting for one of my people to say those very words to me. It does not absolve me for what I have done, but it gives me a little relief.

After a long silence, Hinarax inquires, "What's the plan, my Prince?"

"Wait till dark, explode out of here, run for the woods. Once we get there, we'll transform and fly to the Capital under cover of darkness and clouds. Also, while we are on this mission you may dispense with the honorifics. Call me Kyreagan. Or perhaps Ky is a more human name."

"Ky." He nods, pleased. "I like it. And you can call me Rax… or Hin? Or Arax? "

He keeps trying out various abbreviated forms of his name while I stare at the iron gate and wonder if Serylla's current accommodations are any better than mine. I hope they are. I hope she is comfortable. If not, I'm sure she will make it known, loudly.

I can't help smiling a little, remembering her demands and her whining when I first captured her. My fears for her safety are justified, but I must also remember who she is—a clever actress who can be dreadful, devious, or charming by turns.

My attempt to save her is not going well so far. Perhaps, by the time I make it to the Capital, she will have rescued herself.