5

The only illumination in our gloomy cell is a distant, watery glow from a lamp in the front room. Hinarax has been pacing for a while, watching as the light from the window at the end of the hall faded. It's dark now. Nearly time for our explosive escape.

Part of me seethes with impatience, aching to break out and fly toward the Capital. But another part of me wonders if I'm already too late. I'm terrified that we'll make it all the way to the palace only to discover that Serylla has been tortured and killed, like her mother.

I don't think Rahzien would kill her, not yet. But he could wound her deeply, injure her in ways I can't bear to imagine. And I have to sit here and wait , because if we reveal what we are, and word gets to Rahzien, he will either kill the Princess or hide her where I'll never find her. Or he'll ambush Hinarax and me, and Serylla will be left to the King's mercy—which, judging by my fleeting acquaintance with him, is practically nonexistent.

In moments like this I miss my family more painfully than ever. I miss the sparkle in Grimmaw's eyes, her throaty voice, her words of brusque encouragement. I miss Vylar's intensity, her wholehearted devotion to every task. I miss Mordessa's steadiness, her loyalty, her gentle calm. My Promised was a formidable warrior, but there was never any hint of frenzy about her, not even during the heat of battle.

I miss my father, the Bone-King, though my memory of him is somewhat soured by the terrible oath with which he bound me. And I miss my mother, lost years ago to a voratrice. If only she and Varex hadn't ventured out that night, perhaps she would be here to advise me. Perhaps her wisdom could have redirected my father's purpose, prevented our involvement in the war, guided me to a different future.

And yet… I can't bring myself to truly regret my choices, because each one was necessary to bring Serylla into my life. My soul has wrapped itself together with hers, and I can't imagine an existence without knowing her.

I said the word "love" aloud to her once. It was nearly a confession, one she did not return. I suppose I deserved that. It's justice for my failure to return Mordessa's love when she confessed it to me. I now feel the same pain and uncertainty she must have felt.

Hinarax tosses the slim ropes of his coppery hair over his shoulder and plants himself in front of me. "It's time," he says in an undertone. "Do you want to break the wall or should I?"

"It should be me. If the change doesn't do the trick, I'll be able to focus my fire and explode the stones themselves."

He looks a bit disappointed, but doesn't protest. We both know that his yellow fire isn't as hot as mine.

Wearily I climb to my feet, trying to shed the heaviness of my body and spirit. I'm about to switch to dragon form when Hinarax and I hear two voices. One is a woman's, and the other is lighter, younger, and male.

"Where are they?" asks the male.

"Back there, in a cell. The head watchman locked their goodies in the safe behind the map of Revalor. "

"Child's play. I'll have it open in no time."

"Don't tell me about it, just do it," responds the woman dryly.

"Of course, of course! I was never here."

"And I'm heading home, so I can pretend I didn't see you. Watch yourself, now. The prisoners don't seem like fighters, but you never know."

"Sweet Thora, always looking out for me. So may you rise."

"So may we all," she responds.

Footsteps, and then a door creaks and closes.

The last two phrases they exchanged sounded like a password of some kind. Varex, Vylar, and I used to make up such passwords as hatchlings—phrases with responses known only to the three of us.

Hinarax glances at me. "Escape now?" he whispers.

I shake my head. The human male, whoever he is, obviously intends to take our treasure and either kill us or release us. My guess is the former. Perhaps, if I'm patient for a few more minutes, we can discern his intentions and devise a way out of this that doesn't include destroying a large chunk of this building and calling attention to our escape.

The man in the front room is humming, and I'm immediately reminded of Serylla. I wonder if she's singing her annoying song for her new captor. At the thought, my body heats with possessive jealousy. That horrible, repetitive tune is our song, and she had better not be sharing it with the King of Vohrain.

When the sound of clinking metal reaches our ears, Hinarax wraps both hands around the barred door of the cell and mutters, "The human is taking our treasure. My jewelry, my coins. I planned to buy more clothes…"

"Our priority is rescuing the Princess," I hiss at him.

"Yes, but... one can rescue people while being well-dressed. "

A moment later, footsteps scuff the floor, and the person who's humming comes into view, his right leg dragging slightly as he leans on a gnarled staff. By the light of the lamp in his free hand, he inspects us, and we stare at him.

His voluminous wavy hair is a dark red, like dragon blood. He wears a patch over his right eye, and a crooked scar runs through both lips along the right side of his mouth, giving him a perpetual twisted smirk. Black tattoos of roses and antlers cloak his throat. He's carrying the satchel that contains our treasure.

Without a word, he sets down the lamp, produces two slivers of metal, and pokes them into the keyhole of the lock on our cell. Seconds later, the lock pops open, and the cell door swings wide.

The man with the staff doesn't wait. He simply walks away, moving with surprising speed despite his limp.

Hinarax and I exchange glances, then follow him to a side door of the building. We emerge into the cool blue darkness of night and hurry across the grass to the edge of the nearby forest.

Only when we're deep among the trees, in a clearing dimly lit by starlight, does the man with the eye-patch pause. After propping his staff against a tree, he takes out a thin stem of wood with a tiny bowl at one end. He presses something into the bowl with his thumb, takes a chip of stone from his bag, and produces a spark. Setting the stem to his mouth, he inhales, then blows a puff of fragrant smoke into the air.

"What is that thing?" Hinarax asks.

The man scoffs lightly. "Never seen a pipe before?"

"No," replies Hinarax, with guileless curiosity.

"Well, hang me by the heels and beat my shiny buttocks," says the man. "Thora was right. You two are odd ducks and no mistake. Foolish, too, flaunting gold coins and fine jewelry in a village market, buying information from a child with an earring that could purchase this entire village and everyone in it."

"That's no business of yours," I tell him .

"But it is my business, see. I'm the one they call when oddities like yourselves show up—particularly oddities with money."

"So you're a thief," I say.

He splays a hand over his chest. "I'm deeply insulted. Thieves are common miscreants—I am an artist . Besides which I'm fairly sure that the two of you are thieves, which takes us into the realm of the pot calling the kettle black—"

"We did not steal the treasure you took. We scavenged it."

"Scavenged." He takes another puff of his pipe. " Scavenged . Oh, I like that as a euphemism for thievery. Are you pirates then? That would explain your attire, and the treasure—although there's still the matter of how you seem to be completely ignorant regarding the true worth of your valuables."

"We're not pirates," Hinarax replies.

"And we don't have time for this." I step forward, pleased to find that I'm much taller than the human. "Give us the treasure, and be on your way. You may keep a few pieces, with our thanks."

"Generous of you," he replies. "But you haven't answered my questions. Where did you come from? What's your purpose in Elekstan? Do you realize we've just been conquered? Is that where you got your loot—from ransacking the manors abandoned by the fleeing families of the nobility?"

This human won't stop asking questions, nor does he seem in a hurry to leave. Now that we're free of the cell and out of the village, I don't want to waste another minute. I'm not sure how to fight without my claws, my teeth, and my fire, but I'm willing to give it a try if it will silence him.

The red-haired man must sense the threat in my stance, because he tucks his pipe between his scarred lips and casually presses his thumb to the side of his walking stick. With a snick of metal, spikes emerge from the head of the staff. He hefts the weapon .

"I'd advise you to answer my questions," he says pleasantly. "And speak toward my left ear, if you would. The right one's hard of hearing."

Like Hinarax, I've observed humans brawling before. They generally curl their fingers and use their balled-up hands as weapons to strike their opponent. I frown at my own hand. My fingers look unusually thick and short now that my claws have been charmed away. I could summon my claws with a thought, but that would raise more suspicions in the mind of this inquisitive fellow.

Carefully I curl my fingers, then lunge toward the red-haired man, leading with my fist.

He sidesteps and whacks the side of my wrist with his staff. Pain erupts through my arm.

"Fuck," I snarl.

Hinarax charges in, trying to seize the staff or grapple with the man—I can't tell which. He ends up on the ground, on his hands and knees, while the human lays a swift blow across his backside.

The man is only using the rod of the staff on us, not the spiked head. I hate that he's showing us mercy. I despise how powerless I feel in this form.

"You can't be pirates or brigands, because you're terrible fighters," comments the stranger. "In fact, it's almost as if neither of you has ever thrown a punch." When Hinarax and I grimace at each other, the stranger barks out an incredulous laugh. "Is this your first fight?"

"No." I'm about to try attacking him again when a buzzing sensation quakes through my body. Once glance at Hinarax tells me he's feeling the same thing.

"How long has it been?" I gasp.

"I thought it was seven hours but—shit—it must have been eight," he groans .

I'm not about to lose the only set of clothes I have, so I begin tearing off my shirt and pants, while Hinarax does the same.

The stranger watches us with a shocked expression. "Gentlemen, I've experienced my share of good times where fighting led to fucking, but I usually prefer to know someone for longer than half an hour before we get naked—"

"Stand back!" The words rip from my chest in a throaty growl.

The stranger's eye widens, and he staggers back just in time as Hinarax explodes into his true form—a sleek dragon with coppery scales and bronze wings. I shift as well and toss my head, shaking off the eddies of the transformative magic before looking down at the human from the height of my long spiked neck.

White-faced, the stranger says, "Well, spank me silly. That answers a few of my questions, and I have a hundred more."

"Your questions will go unanswered," I tell him. "There is someone we must find, and time is short. Give us the satchel."

The man wraps one arm around it protectively. "Not until you agree to talk."

"I can incinerate you quickly and easily," I say.

"But you won't. You two are trying—clumsily—to avoid notice, which means you won't risk using dragon fire so close to the village. The attempted stealth means you don't want your presence reported to the King of Vohrain. If you were here as his allies, you wouldn't mind being seen. Which means you are enemies of his, or at least at odds with him. And since we have a mutual enemy, perhaps we also have grounds for a conversation."

"There is nothing to discuss, and we're out of time. Keep the treasure." I attempt to stretch my wings in the cramped clearing, but Hinarax expands his at the same time and our wingtips collide. We'll have to take turns mounting into the air .

"You say you're looking for someone," persists the stranger. "You'll never find them if you keep bumbling about like this. I don't know how you managed to obtain human form, even temporarily, but it's obvious neither of you knows how to behave among humans. You'll be caught before you even come close to locating the person you seek."

"I have knowledge of humans," Hinarax says proudly.

"Do you now?" The stranger smirks. "What's a tinderbox?"

"I… well, it's a… something that you use to… aw, fuck," grumbles Hinarax.

"Exactly. That's something every human would know." The stranger presses his thumb to the same spot on his staff, and the spikes disappear. "Let me instruct you, help you, and guide you. In return, you'll help me."

"How?" asks Hinarax.

"I can think of a few ways, but for now, let's focus on monetary payment. I need this treasure. I came to the coast to see if I could borrow the funds I require, but that didn't work out, nor have I managed to find an abandoned trove in the manor of an absent lord… not for lack of searching. But this—" he pats the satchel. "It's more than enough to sway the people I need to bribe."

I snort. "Humans despise dragons for hoarding treasure, and yet you lust for it yourselves, even more powerfully than we do. You will harm others for it—even kill."

The stranger's face sobers, and his gaze pierces me like a spear of blue steel. "And you dragons kill for land. Do you think we, the people of Elekstan, do not know the price you were paid to slaughter us? You wanted islands that belonged to the King of Vohrain, and he gave them to you. You killed thousands of us, for land . Sucked my eye from its socket and ruined my ear, for land. When I say I will help you, it's not because I want to. It's because for some reason I cannot fathom, you have turned against your master. You wish to shed your scales and walk upon two legs. For my part, I wish to drive the Vohrainians out of this region. And I want to kill their king."

A wicked glee sparks in my heart at those words. Vaguely I recall Varex begging me not to start another war… and yet, in this moment, the idea of destroying Rahzien and freeing Elekstan sounds so delectable I cannot resist.

I lower my head until my jaws are level with the stranger's face. My breath glows faintly orange in the night air. "In this, our purposes are aligned."

He grins, darkly triumphant. "Then perhaps we have something to discuss, after all."

The discussion is a long, slow exchange of all the pertinent information, and though I know it's necessary, the delay frays my patience. The roguish stranger, whose name is Meridian, continues to be far too chatty and inquisitive for my taste.

"Humans talk too much," I growl, thrashing my tail. It knocks against a tree, and a squirrel scurries out of a hole with an alarmed squawk and chitters angrily at me. I narrow my eyes and hiss at the creature, blowing superheated orange mist in its direction. With a panicked chirp it scrambles away, leaps to another tree, and disappears into the dark forest.

"What I'm proposing is far more satisfying than terrorizing helpless woodland animals," says our new acquaintance. "It smacks of redemption, reparation, and… and…" He snaps his fingers a few times. "I can't think of a third thing to go with that, but—ah! Rebellion! That's the one! Or revolution. Redemption, reparation, and revolution. Brilliant. "

"So you're part of a group that's resisting Vohrain's occupation?" asks Hinarax.

"Not just part of it, mate. I'm the damn organizer—the leader, you might say, if we believed in leaders. When Thora sent me a message about you two, I'd just finished meeting with a gallant band of pirates. They wouldn't loan me gold, but they did promise to partner with us and harass any Vohrainian ships that approach the Elekstan coast. Vohrain hasn't got much of a navy, which is a good thing for us—"

"What the fuck does this have to do with my rescue of the Princess?" I interject.

"Settle your spikes, big guy," says Meridian. "Surely you can see how two enormous dragons could be helpful to the resistance. I'll help you come up with plausible disguises so you can gain access to not only the city, but the palace itself. That way, you can locate your royal belle and sneak her out from under Rahzien's nose. In return, you'll help us kill Rahzien and drive out the Vohrainians so we can set up a new democratic government."

"Democratic." Hinarax mouths the word carefully with his long jaws. "What does that mean?"

"Aren't you adorable." Meridian pats Hinarax's muzzle. "It means no more kings or queens."

"But if you overthrow Rahzien, Serylla should be queen," I interrupt. "It is her birthright. Is that not how it's done among humans?"

"Things can change," Meridian replies. "My band will bow to the wishes of the people. If they want Serylla on the throne, I won't object, though it's not my preferred form of government. In fact my preferred form of government is no government at all. I'll admit anarchy rarely works well in practice, but still… a fellow can dream." He gives Hinarax another pat, on the cheek this time. "What do you say? Will you let me be your guide into the palace? "

"By your own admission, you're a thief and a rogue," I say. "Untrustworthy."

"Thief, pickpocket, highwayman, locksmith, juggler, and yes… I'll answer to rogue . Go on."

"How will someone like you gain admission to the palace?"

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it! Remember the pirates I spoke of? They told me that one of the Southern Kingdoms, Zairos, is sending its seventh prince to meet with Rahzien, to officially acknowledge his conquest of Elekstan and recognize him as its new ruler. But the prince's ship was attacked, looted, and sunk by the pirates, and the prince drowned. No one in Elekstan knows this yet, so we have a small window in which to act."

"To act?" I narrow my eyes.

"After the conquest, the Capital was locked down," says Meridian. "Getting inside takes certified permits, which citizens can only obtain from one of Vohrain's census stations, and only if they're a verified resident or tradesperson. We've been harassing Vohrain very effectively throughout the countryside, but our access to the Capital is limited, which means finding the Princess isn't as simple as sending in a few spies. So we have to go bigger."

"How big?" For once, Hinarax sounds apprehensive.

"Diplomatic papers are easier to forge than the official stamped permits the locals have to procure," Meridian explains. "You with the black hair—you look remarkably like the seventh prince of Zairos—and I know that because one of the pirates snagged the prince's portrait from his royal cabin before they scuttled the vessel. They're using the portrait for dart practice in the galley aboard the pirate ship. Good times."

He sighs with dramatic wistfulness, then continues. "You'll pretend to be the Southern prince, while your friend here acts as your esquire, your most trusted servant. I'll play the part of your attendant and entertainer. A few friends of mine can act as your guards, and together we'll be welcomed into the palace."

"You told us we can barely pass as human, and now you're suggesting we masquerade as foreign dignitaries?" I say coldly. "You're a fool."

"Don't mind him," Hinarax says. "He's been through a lot, and he's suffering because he's in love with the Princess."

My only answer is a threatening snarl.

"How absolutely charming," says Meridian. "A dragon in love with a princess. Rather poetic, that. What about you, handsome?" He surveys Hinarax. "What's your preferred flavor? He? She? They? All?"

Hinarax arches his bronze neck, then slides his slender muzzle past Meridian's cheek, letting his tongue glide along the rogue's jaw.

"So that's how it is." Meridian chuckles, a little breathless.

"Don't mind him , either," I comment. "We're at the end of our mating season, and he's still a bit randy."

"Indeed." There's a gleam in the rogue's eye as he touches the place on his jaw where Hinarax licked him. "Well… back to business. If you agree to this plan, we should set off for the Capital at once. My people have a hideout in the mountains north of the city—a network of caves."

"Caves?" My interest perks.

"Indeed. Some of the chambers are quite large, big enough to accommodate a dragon. You say you can remain human for about eight hours at a time?"

"Yes."

"Good. We'll use that time to teach you some courtly manners. Since you're pretending to be from the Southern Kingdoms, they'll overlook a few differences in your speech or behavior, but complete ignorance like the kind you displayed in the market will not be excused. "

"Understood." I arch my wings. "If you're coming with us, you'll have to ride Hinarax. The Princess is the only one who rides me."

"I'll bet she does," murmurs the rogue.

I ignore his comment. "The clouds are low tonight. We'll fly above them to escape notice. It will be cold."

"I can endure it," Meridian assures me cheerfully. "This leg of mine wasn't damaged in the war—it's been my companion since childhood. Discomfort is an old friend."

His plucky attitude enhances my opinion of him. As he said, our interests are currently aligned, and it's plain that Hinarax and I need help. The bits of human culture Hinarax gleaned from watching the Vohrainian soldiers was clearly insufficient for this mission. I realize that now.

"Onward, then," I say.

Once Meridian has mounted Hinarax, I extend my wings. It's a struggle to take off in such a small clearing, but I manage it, clumsily. I head straight for the cloud cover, darting through the gray, misty mass and hovering just above it while I wait for Hinarax and his passenger.

The Rib Moon was days ago, and the moon is waxing again, slowly. As its faint light shimmers on my scales, I think of Varex—of the ragged wound in his throat, and his odd behavior. He wasn't himself when I left him in charge of Ouroskelle, yet I abandoned him to deal with a clan of dragons fresh from the mating frenzy, not to mention a bunch of hungry human captives, some of whom were carrying eggs or had recently birthed them. He will have to assign dragons to help with the island cleanup and the disposal of storm debris. He'll grieve with the clan over the three lives lost, and collect bone-tribute from the dragon who drowned with his two women. He'll check on my offspring from time to time, and he'll lead the first hunting party to the Middenwold Isles, without me .

Once again, I've forced him to clean up a mess I left behind, when he has endured as much grief and loss as I have. I rely on him when I can't bear the weight of being a Prince of Ouroskelle… but on whom does he rely, when he's weary or troubled? I told him I would listen if he needed to talk—but I'm not there, am I? I left him with his bitch of a partner, that redheaded, murderous devil Jessiva. To think I admired her spirit at first—

Hinarax breaks through the clouds, with Meridian clinging desperately to his back. "Ready to fly?"

In answer, I bank upward, catch the sleek surface of a brisk night wind, and I coast westward, toward the city where my enemies sleep.