The blue dragon dropped Aytin unceremoniously at the foot of the derelict keep. He rolled to a stop, picking up half a dozen new bruises and scrapes in the process. Before the young dragonette could recover he found himself roughly dragged to his feat by a pair of snarling brigands.

There was a thump as the dragon flared and landed not far away. He was massive compared to the dragonettes nearby, but a fair bit smaller than Faelon had been. Blues tended towards speed and agility more than other colors, and their builds reflected it..

"Is he in one piece?" Xantha demanded, striding out of the crumbling entryway.

"I was gentle," the dragon rumbled.

"That's not what I asked," she replied, mildly.

The brigand leader grabbed Aytin's head and yanked it upwards. He just hung limply in the guards' grasp. After a moment's examination she dropped him. "Looks intact. Good work Kalthor."

The dragon - Kalthor, apparently - seemed unimpressed. "You owe me a deer."

"So I do, so I do." Xantha nodded absently. "Didn't I tell you that he would be stupid enough to try something on the first night? The first fucking night. Not that I expected him to even get past the walls." She shot a glare at the two dragonettes still restraining Aytin. "But it never hurts to be careful."

"At least now I get to sleep," the blue dragon growled. "I want the deer over the fire by the time I wake up."

"Late afternoon, then. Easy enough."

With a grumble like grinding boulders, Kalthor stalked around the keep's walls. The ground shook slightly as he dropped to the ground.

"Now," Xantha said, with false cheer in her voice. "Let's get out of the cold."

They hauled him in front of the fire. Someone dumped an armful of wood onto it and the flames quickly rose, filling the space with light and heat.

The commotion had woken up the rest of the band. Most stared at Aytin like a pack of hungry wolves would watch at a fawn that had wandered into their den.

"You know, you shouldn't have done that."

Xantha's tone was mild, like a master pointing out her apprentice's minor error. It was the same one she had used throughout the trip as she explained the ins and outs of being a part of a trader's crew.

Aytin didn't even blink. Not out of any courage or defiance. Utter defeat left him dead inside, staring off into the dark night.

The traitor didn't care. She just kept right on going.

"I don't just mean your timing was stupid. It was, but that's not the point. What I mean, is that there will have to be consequences."

She pulled a knife from her belt. The sight of it drew Aytin from his stupor, because once more she had drawn his knife. The one his sister Lin had given him.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Xantha smiled wickedly at his flicker of recognition. She waved the blade in front of his eyes like some sort of talisman. And then she tossed it into the fire.

Aytin had been expecting to have his head wrenched down and feel the bite of his own blade against the base of his horn. That was what the brigand leader had promised after all.

So when the knife fell into the flames, he didn't quite register what had happened. Not at first. But when he did, he started screaming and struggling like someone had plunged the blade into his belly.

The open handed slap whipped his head sideways. Then Xantha crushed his snout in an iron grip. "Shut up," she snarled, her face a hand's breadth from his. He could smell her breath through his desperate snorts.

The leather wrapped handle began to smolder as Aytin watched. A high pitched keen of pain grew from deep in his throat as it caught fire and the turquoise setting began to yellow. It immediately began to crackle like a handful of dry grass.

"I supposed it's too much to ask that you behave," she muttered. "Still, I guess that it's better for you to get that out of your system now, while I'm still around."

Without warning, she grabbed one of his wing roots and twisted. The bone creaked and his joint felt like it was about to pop. Aytin tried to gasp, but his mouth was still held tight in her other hand.

"It really is a pity that I can't just smash these and be done with it. There isn't much money in returning a crippled goods. Although, personally, I'd do this for free." Her grin showed off the razor tips of her teeth.

"Hate doesn't fill your belly," Nyx called out from the crowd.

Xantha's grin only widened. "It doesn't. But it's nice when you can have both."

She released Aytin's snout. His whine had long since faded away. His gaze remained locked on his knife half buried in the coals.

Everything but the bronze base metal was gone. Even the turquoise had cracked and crumbled away. Soon enough the heat would be too much and the metal itself would sag and melt into nothing more than a dull golden lump.

"In another couple of days, I'm going on a little trip," Xantha said. "Someone has to go tell your mom and dad that their precious boy has fallen in with a bad crowd. Obviously not me personally. Unlike you." She flicked him on the nose. "I'm not stupid or naive enough to think they would hesitate to grab me or anyone here."

She gave him a look that implied she thought he would be that stupid. "But I need to be there to coordinate.

"And that brings us back to... consequences." She drew the word out, relishing it like a cup of hot tea on a cold morning.

"This? This is all the consequence of your parents' actions. Propping up an uncaring king and his vengeful court. Fucking egg thieving heartless traitors, the lot of them. Gods willing, they'll get what's coming to them someday."

Had the circumstances been any different, Aytin might have laughed at the irony in the words. Cold, exhausted, and beaten, he didn't even have the energy to recognize it.

"You, though," Xantha growled, her eyes narrowing. "Your consequences are a bit more immediate."

She still held him by the wing and she gave him a shake. Aytin flopped like a sack of grain, much to the amusement of the crowd.

"You might look like a drowned hatchling right now, but I can't trust that you've learned your lesson. That you should've just sat your ass down and accepted the way things are. And that means I have a problem."

The sigh that followed was theatrical enough to be at home in any wandering minstrel's performance.

"See, I'm about to have to leave you here for weeks. And I can't have you trying to run away every time one of the crew has to turn their back." She looked pointedly at several other dragonettes.

"So, tell me, does a pampered brat like you know how they treat a gash to the wing?" Xantha meant the odd question to be rhetorical because she didn't pause for an instant.

"If you're lucky, there's a healer who can rejoin the membrane. Then it's just a matter of a few days of rest and you're back in the air.

"Or if you're one of the masses who can't afford the gold a healer demands, some fine stitchwork and an apothecary's salve will eventually heal you right up. It might take a bit longer, hurt a lot more, scar horribly, and never be quite as good as it was before. But." And at this, her tone turned sadistically gleeful. "That's the price of not being one of the elite."

Even through his exhaustion and despair, Aytin realized where she was going. He started writhing once again. Shouting, screaming his throat raw.

Xantha just tightened her grip and moved to avoid his uncoordinated thrashing.

"But suppose you don't have any of that?" She continued, raising her voice to be heard over the desperate screams. "Suppose the wound were old and sealed. A healer can't heal a scar, after all."

Her arm twisted, and Aytin found himself toppling to all fours as the guards released him. Then someone kicked an arm out from under him and he fell flat on his face. A heavy weight descended to press against the small of his back, pinning him there.

"In that case," Xantha went on, "you would have to have someone cut the edges. Reopen the wounds, so there's enough raw flesh for magic or mundane healing to work with. It's quite a painful process. But it's the only way to ever fly again once a wing gash has healed."

Aytin wasn't screaming anymore. He was panting. Hyperventilating. A wordless frantic grunting as he pulled and kicked and lashed his tail. Spittle flew as he thrashed his neck back and forth.

But at a gesture from their leader, two more dragonettes joined his captors. They were all females, and big ones at that. They held him tight and pulled his left wing to full extension.

Instead of drawing the sword at her hip, Xantha strode to the fire. With no more ceremony than rolling up her tunic sleeve, she thrust her arm into the flames. Aytin's eyes went wide as she withdrew the bronze blade from the coals.

It should have seared her flesh to the bone. The edge of the blade glowed the faintest red against the darkness and smoke wafted gently from the charred surface. But she held it like it had only been sitting in the sun on a hot summer day.

"I probably should have mentioned that I lied to you about my magic," Xantha said with a faint smirk, eyes glowing bright as she approached. "But even you should have figured that out by now."

She raised the blade, now dark with soot, and brought it down on his exposed wing.

There was a sizzle, the smell of burnt meat, and Aytin screamed.