“PISCALO!” trumpeted the mighty green and not even the ringing in Piscalo’s ears could hold back the sound.

He crumpled forward. “My lord,” he said, barely able to hear his own words. Eyes to the ground, Piscalo felt more than saw the second head rise.

“What is this?” Syldrae hissed, like she had just found mice in her pen.

“This”—was that a hint of joy in the green?—“is the boy.”

“You,” spat the gray and her voice was no longer high but deep and deadly. “You did this?”

Piscalo’s mouth was opening and closing as he tried desperately to think of a way to explain himself so that he wouldn’t be turned to ash by one of these enormous dragons. While he floundered, something else caught Syldrae’s attention.

“Misola, my child! What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Misola said, her voice not far from where Piscalo crouched. “But I could not miss the chance to see such a gift.”

Piscalo froze. Gift? What was she talking about? Don’t get caught up in my mess, Missy, he thought.

“Gift?” Gresset thundered, but Syldrae merely drew closer to her black-haired dasha.

“Go on,” the gray said.

“You had spoken so often of how marvelous the gift would be that you were presenting to Lord Gresset near his naming day that I had to see it myself. And truly it is a wonder to behold.”

The great green shifted. “Syldrae, what is—”

Piscalo jumped in before the gray had a chance to respond. He quickly scraped sideways, changing the focus of his obeisance to Syldrae. “I hope you are pleased, my lady. Two hundred and ninety-two burning bulbs, just as were discussed.”

Syldrae’s head snapped over him and slowly lowered, obviously weighing her options. She could easily expose both his and Misola’s lies, but to do so would mean that she had practically thrown herself at Gresset, and she would never live that down. Piscalo dared to look up, seeing one inky black eye sparkle over him. She held everything in her claws. The moment stretched so long Piscalo wanted to scream.

“Oh, I am very pleased, my little dasha.” Her eye twinkled. “I might just burn you again I am so happy!”

Piscalo fought not to sigh as Gresset’s face pulled back, confusion written across his maw.

“What is this?” He looked up at the many lights, to the sprawling forms of Piscalo and Misola, and finally back to Syldrae. “What is all of this?”

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

“Oh, my poor Gresset,” cooed the gray. “Do you not see? I have felt bad all these years about how we parted before and decided that it was time to make amends.”

Smoke poured from the green’s nostril. “Amends? By stealing one of my own?”

She moved closer, almost rubbing him scale to scale. “It was necessary, love. Only one of your own could have driven you out in such a fury and only one of your own could have done all this.” A wing moved to encompass the cave.

Gresset arched a ridged brow. “He climbed on the ceiling did he?”

Syldrae laughed sweetly. “Of course not, dear. I sent helpers, who departed before we arrived.”

It was good Piscalo was mostly facing the floor because one look at him would have given the game away. If Misola’s tongue was silver, Syldrae’s was gold. She wove lies like the blue wove wool!

“I remember well how drafty this cave can be,” she continued, but Gresset turned away.

“That was a long time ago.”

“So it was, but if I cannot be here to warm you, I thought that my fire trapped in these bulbs could.”

Piscalo dared to speak. “You also thought that they would remind him of the stars that he used to love to chase.”

Syldrae eyed him, whether for talking out of turn or because she was surprised that he knew something from so long before his time he wasn’t sure. “Well remembered, little dasha,” she said. “I did say that.”

Gresset took a slow look around. “They are most impressive,” he finally conceded.

She seemed to purr at the compliment. “Indeed they are. I plan to have the boy fill my own cave as well, but I wanted you to have them first.”

Her comment made Piscalo gulp. It had taken him near a year and constant trading of every scrap he had to get this many bulbs. To do the same for Syldrae would take forever, seeing as she had three caves, and if what Misola said was true, all were larger that Gresset’s modest abode.

“That was most kind of you,” the green brood lord said.

Again she purred. “Indeed it was, so I’m sure you will forgive my teasing before. I wanted your mind on other things, so it would truly be a surprise.”

If a dragon could blush, Gresset was as close as any Piscalo had seen. He waved the comment away with a wing. “Of course, of course. Thank you for your gift.” His massive head swung to regard Piscalo. “Your sons will be sad to see him go.”

Syldrae’s tongue whispered in and out. “They are partial to this dasha?”

“Partial?” Gresset said with a laugh. “They take him everywhere, like he is a true brother. I assume you’ve seen him tagging along when they come to visit you.”

“I have not…” Syldrae said, and the way she looked at Piscalo and Misola discernibly changed, causing them both to redden under the dragon’s weighty gaze.

“I thought, perhaps, that is why you took him,” Gresset continued, voice lowering. “To lure them away from me.”

Syldrae was silent for a time and when she spoke her words had none of their usual gilding. “You truly think I am so evil?”

Gresset huffed loudly. “I am an old fool,” he said. “And you are the better of us, offering me an apology when I have done nothing to deserve it.” He looked straight at her. “I am sorry, Syldrae. For everything.”

Piscalo watched the gray dragon’s eyes widen, but then, just as quickly, she regained control of herself. “Yes, well, I’m glad you like the gift. I’ll leave you to enjoy it.” Her long neck came to rest against the lip of the ledge. “Children.”

Her message was clear, but Piscalo balked. Getting on her back meant leaving everything he knew: Zalc, Jikkol, his green brothers and sisters. As a gray, his bonds with them would melt. And Gresset. Gresset would no longer be his clutch father. Everything would change.