---Chapter 7

Who are we to eat and drink, marry and give away in marriage, live and let live while the end of the world is coming? Why, children of course. Every one of us playing our own imaginary game — Anton Minestrone, chronicler of Shard.

Once our appetites were finally satisfied on the roast beef, biscuits and dessert of fruit in whipped cream, Shyven talked news with our host.

I leaned back in the chair and felt a sleepy satisfaction at the fact that we had not starved. But after a few minutes of listening to their talk and relaxing, I began to feel restless. Quietly, so as not to disturb them, I stood up and walked to one window. Twilight was creeping across the world, dragging blue-gray shadows through the trees like the train of a skirt. I leaned on the windowsill and watched it, idly picking up pieces of the conversation behind me.

“Really? And did the general accept this unusual proposal?”

“Hah, only the first half of it.”

“So they are still...”

“...no one would think that!...”

“King’s orders to everyone in Shard...”

I did not really try to piece the bits together. It sounded like nothing but gossip to me. After a few moments, I left the window and drifted around the room. The books there were written in at least five different languages and seemed to be on every subject under the sun. The scrolls were old, often written in disused tongues, and followed suit on the subjects. In one corner of the room, there was a writing desk with pots of ink, a case of quill pens and stacks of loose paper on it. There was a peice of writing laying half-finished on the desk and I read the first few sentences. Then realized that it was Anton’s unfinished work and he might not want me to see it.

Moving on, I came to a chest pushed up against the wall with strange figures carved on the outside of it. It was made of a rich, reddish wood I had never seen before, and my merchant’s mind told me it was worth a fortune on its own. The hasp was gold; the carvings painted with lapis blue and the whole thing gleamed with polish.

Curious to see how smoothly it worked and if the inside was lined with anything, I grasped the lid and swung it open. Inside, purple velvet cushions cradled a large shard of what appeared to be crystal. It was dark blue, swirling gently with lighter shades as if shifting light was playing off of it. I stared at it for a minute and blinked, before realizing that the conversation had come to an abrupt end behind me.

I heard Anton’s voice, “So, you’ve found my little secret. Recognize it?”

I shut the lid and turned to look at him. “It’s one of the boundary shards of Shardland. Why...how?”

The chronicler did not appear angry at my discovery, just a little nervous, “hah, well, that is a long story. But first, do you know the history of the shards?”

Shyven nodded, but I shook my head.

“Just that they came from a large stone that was broken in some war, and that they were set up around two of the borders to keep enemies out.”

“That is the basic story.” Anton waved me back to the table and got up to pour us all a glass of cherry-red wine from a silver pitcher. “See, it goes like this. Long ago, no one lived in this land. Nor anywhere to the west. Our land, as you know, is a large peninsula with Shardland, the mountains and the western kingdom on it. At the time I was speaking of no-one had yet crossed the mountains from the places now called Frizzeen, Trent or the Dragon’s land. But eventually people settled in the mountains, then colonized the edges of the plains and the Dardec. They were called the Fehoan.”

“Shyven told me a little about them when we found their ruins south of here,” I told him.

He nodded. “So you know they died off? The next people to come were those that settled in the marshes. They set sail from some inhospitable land far to the north and came all the way around the peninsula, down to the Twick marshes. There they settled and made their homes. Not long after, a closely related band set out by land from the north as well. They settled all across the plains, made treaties with the marsh people after a brief period of war, and the seeds of Shardland were planted.”

He paused for a sip of wine and a reflective glance out the window before continuing, “but all was not happiness for long. A warrior band from across the seas far to the north-east sailed to our shores. They were fierce, tall men with dark hair and black eyes. The Shandi, and they wished to conquer. They had many ships, fiery warriors and something which our people could not stand against. An enormous stone, carried on a sort of litter between eight men, that shone all the colors of the rainbow. It protected their men from our arrows, shot bolts of lightning when they commanded it to and had a presence which weakened our fighter’s spirits. All except for the spirit of a great warrior called Hexon.”

I nodded once, and Anton raised an eyebrow at me. “You have heard of him?”

“Just the tales told around fires at night. The sort which tells of him as a ten-foot-tall hero who could smash mountains and destroy men with the wink of an eye.”

“Well, he wasn’t quite all that.” Anton smiled forgivingly. “But he was strong of spirit and will. In a great battle, the last attempt to hold the Shandi back, he rode out on his horse alone. Fighting his way to the litter, he struck the stone with his magical spear, Nightdeath. The stone shivered into pieces. There was an explosion and many of the Shandi, as well as Hexon, were killed. But the warrior had saved his people.”

“Without the stone, the Shandi lost heart and began to flee. After another year of cleanup, our land was free again. But the shards of the stone still held great power. Each was a different color, all the shades of the rainbow. The king had one that was as bright as fire made into a crown. Later, a ruler gave it to his new queen and since then, it has always been worn by the royal consorts.”

An image of the Ebony Queen played behind my eyes and I saw her crown of fire. Made from the same shards as the protecting stones of Shardland...

“The rest were taken and set around the eastern and southern borders of our country. Great spells were woven within them. It is said that no enemy can come at Shardland by sea as long as those shards stand. That is why the country has almost no naval power and yet has not been conquered from outside. Even our neighbors on the other borders fear the power of the shards and do not come at us. But in the recent past, two of the shards were stolen from the ring. Which does not break the spell, though perhaps weaken it a little...”

Shyven had been listening with appreciation to the entire story and now sat forward in his chair. “But how did you come to have one, Anton? And why did you take it?”

“Because.” Anton’s smile broadened. “The stones have powers other than that of protection. Each of the stones has its own small bit of magic. And this one happens to be a Seeing stone. With the right words and ways of using it, the holder can see things happening all across the land, even in distant places. It is very useful to a chronicler, you see. And it does protect my tower from any wandering bandits. As for the other shard that was stolen, I don’t know where it is or who has it. I only saw the place where it was supposed to be set and it was gone.”

“But they say that no human hands can remove a stone, now that they have been set into alters around the border,” Shyven pointed out, “so how did you get this one? Do you know a counter-spell?”

Our host shook his head. “No, I am no skilled wizard despite my ability to use the shard. But it is very simple to get a shard if you know someone who is not human to help you...such as a Dragonbound.”

Shyven and I both jumped and looked at each other in surprise.

Shyven asked, “a Dragonbound? You know one?”

“Knew. He’s dead.” Anton looked away with an expression of sorrow. “They are like the shards, coveted throughout the land for their power. But unlike the shards, they have no magic to protect them except for the little that is inherent in their people. And even that is mostly lost in the transformation. Shaz was a good friend to me. But he liked to travel and one day someone found out what he was. They killed him for his bones to sell on the wizard’s market.”

I shivered at the thought of having one’s bones cut away and plucked of flesh, even if one was dead, to be sold in a market.

“I’m sorry.” Shyven bowed his head. For a few minutes there was no sound but the light jingle of the raven’s bell as he hopped about the table and picked at crumbs, looking at us with bright, intelligent eyes. I stood up and went back to the window, still carrying my glass of wine half-consumed. It was dark outside now, stars shining in the blackness above.

Bones, stones and men full of power.

“Speaking of the Dragonbound,” Shyven said after a polite interval had passed. “I’ve heard before that they can be told by a mark on the back of their neck. Something like a coiled dragon?”

I turned my head a little to watch them out of the corner of my eyes, listening.

“Yes, that is true,” Anton returned briskly, sitting up straighter, “it is the one way they can be recognized easily, and it is a great danger to them. Shaz always wore a high collar to hide his. Some in the past have kept their hair long for the same reason. It is like a tattoo, but silvery rather than black. Depicting a winged dragon curled with snout tucked under its tail. They say that when a dragon commits a crime and is bound into the shape of a man, the most powerful dragon in the tribe touches him on the neck with his snout. Some sort of magic happens, and the mark becomes fixed there while the dragon shifts into a man.”

I found myself touching the hair that I let grow long on the back of my neck and stopped abruptly, folding my hands on my chest instead. Just in time, as Shyven looked around at me out of the edge of his eyes. Turning back, he said, “these Dragonbound, do they carry over any of their strengths or weaknesses from being a dragon? You said that they kept a small amount of magic.”

Anton looked thoughtful. “Not magic, exactly. Shaz, my old friend, could not blow fire or fly. But a Dragonbound is often stronger and has more endurance than a normal human. An average one, at least. And whether they are magic or not, their bones are very strong. But there are weaknesses which carry over as wall. Such as the Trengarll, a fever that makes them very weak and can even kill. Dragons are beasts of fire and air, you see, sometimes of earth as well. But water is their enemy and if they get too cold and damp...it weakens them. Shaz never liked the rain, though he preferred to sleep outside when it was fair weather.”

As he spoke, I felt myself go cold from my head to my heels. He knew too much. Shyven guessed too much. I turned away and felt his eyes on my back. How could I stop this conversation? It was too late. He knew...he knew...

Just then, the door burst open. All three of us jumped and jerked towards it, my hand going to my knife. A wild girl with flying black hair pushed her way in and slammed the door behind her. Her clothes were those of a farmer, but the face I recognized instantly. It was the girl we knew as Tayra, the same who had pawned stolen clothes off on me and been carried in a palanquin like a princess.

“Tayra!” Shyven exclaimed, scrambling from his seat.

She stepped into the middle of the room and looked at us earnestly. “You must leave, hide, immediately! Both of you have to go. There are men after you, two groups of them! They are only a little way behind me.”

It was Anton who took command of the situation first. “What sort of men and how many?”

As he was speaking, he moved over to grab up a sack from a cupboard and begin cramming supplies into it. Bits left from our dinner, bread from the same cupboard, apples from a barrel. Anything that packed easily and quickly.

“There are two groups of them,” the girl repeated hastily, clutching her hands together in front of her. “One is about five strong. All of them scraggy, ruthless looking men led by one with bright green leggings--”

“Melleus!” Shyven hissed, clenching his hands into fists. “He’ll pay for this treachery!”

“The other group I didn’t get as close to, but there are only two or three of them. Men dressed in fine black clothes with masks and silvery weapons.”

“The queen’s kidnappers,” I inserted grimly, coming over to look down in the girl’s face. It was perfectly earnest and open, filled with anxiety that we would get caught. I lay a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “Why have you been following me?”

She looked down for a moment, not meeting my gaze, before jerking her head back up and saying with a quiet firmness, “because I want something from you. But I can’t tell you what it is right now.”

On the last words, her eyes slid over to point at Shyven and Anton. She broke free of my grip and ran to the nearest window. Leaning against it, she peered into the dark. “Hurry, please hurry. They could be here any moment. I rode as fast as I could, but a horse in dark woods does not make much more speed than a man on foot.”

Shyven gave her an admiring look. “You’re a brave one to do all that, and spy on those assassins. Thank you for warning us.”

Tayra waved his words away. “Just go! I’ll wait here with your friend and trick them you have not been here. Don’t worry, I’m a talented actor. Go!”

Anton handed Shyven the bag of provisions and gave a separate, small waterproofed sack to me with the words, “one of my manuscripts. Please take it somewhere it can be seen.”

I nodded, and we thanked him for his hospitality as we went out the door. Tayra leaned out of the tower to whisper that they were coming from the south and west respectively, so we should continue north-east.

We slipped around the tower’s walls and went northeast, stepping quietly into the woods. As we reached the tree line at the base of the hill, I heard behind us the sound of someone moving through the woods towards the tower. They were coming from the south and making some noise at it. I did not hear anything from the west, but I was sure that if one group was the real, the other was as well. For some reason, Tayra wanted me alive, no matter if my enemies were assassins, kidnappers or a dragon’s fever. The payment could be steep whenever it came. But for now, it was what kept me alive.

We moved off into the woods and the sound of someone knocking at the tower door echoed vaguely after us, before being muffled by intervening trees.

“I hope they don’t burn it down,” Shyven murmured anxiously. “All that knowledge...”

I blinked at him through the night. The shard would protect the tower from any damage, but I didn’t know if it extended to the inhabitants. “I hope they don’t even know that we were there.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

---

We spent the rest of the night in covering ground. In the early gray of dawn, we took a brief rest, sleeping with our ears still conscious of what was around us. Near noon we set off again and kept going, traveling fast. Luckily, our enemies were not mounted. And if the girl and chronicler did their duty, they would never know which direction we had taken. But all the same, we hurried, just in case they were still on our trail.

The sun was striking down through the branches above us, golden with the afternoon sun, when Shyven looked at me sideways. We had not spoken much on the march from the tower, but now he slacked a little and said lightly, “so, what is it really like to fly?”

“Shyven---” I broke off what I had been about to say and gave him a measuring glance. He already knew too much. There was no use in trying to prevaricate now. If he meant me harm, it would be coming no matter what I told him, and the knowledge of it would have to be erased just as fully. If not, he wouldn’t tell anyone what I was about to say.

Letting out a deep breath, I continued walking. “Wonderful. There is no way to describe it in this language. The wind, the wide-open spaces...it is a freedom you’ll never know. But it is not the only thing I miss. The strength I had then, Shyven. I could pull a house apart like a heap of hay and break a tree like a twig. All gone.”

I looked down at my hands, flexing them and feeling the pitiful strength they offered. They were much more dexterous. I could not have played Vhoe before, or any human instrument. It was probably one reason I enjoyed music so much. But they were weak compared to a dragon’s talon.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Shyven,” I went on, feeling the distant anger of all I had lost, once again. The anger I had worked so hard to bury. “To lose what I was and become the weakest of all sentient beings. Soft, unarmored flesh, gangly legs and arms, useless jaws, darkened eyes! To a human, it would be like losing both your legs, or being turned into a rat!”

By now I was almost shouting and had stopped walking, turning on my companion so swiftly that he drew back in alarm. Realizing how close I was to Furandrahz, the red temper of the dragon that revels in destruction, I took another deep breath and turned away. I continued on our course, silent. For a long time, Shyven said nothing. We walked up and down little hills, crossed a stream and wove through the ancient, rough-barked trees. Eventually he spoke again, “forgive me for asking, my friend, but my curiosity is condemnable when it comes to history and society. It picks at me until I understand foreign customs thoroughly. That is why I ask, how did you come to be bound in the shape of a man?”

It was a few minutes before I answered, “there was an old dragon, what you would call a ‘king’ or ‘chief’ I suppose, though our system of rulership is not quite like that. He wielded a lot of power in our council, held every Grr’dath--”

“Grr’dath?” Shyven interrupted with care.

“Sorry. A difficult to translate word...you’ve made me forget my time among humans. Let’s just say every ‘council-day’. He had a lot of weight to throw around in the councils and he did just that. But among many of our folk, he was popular. Big, gray-gold scaled and with shoulder-spikes almost as long as his forearms. He could beguile half the council to his way of thinking with his words, or force it with his might.”

“I saw through his speeches to what a hypocrite he was and pointed it out one day.”

“A dangerous move in the intrigues of court,” Shyven ventured with a nod of his head.

“Exactly.” I slashed a hand through the air. “He tried to cut me down with words there and then. I answered him sharply. It became a feud in the way of dragons...what is called a Grsnargrrsnortex.”

The noise I made was not quite right. It is difficult to pronounce many of the dragon words without a long snout and flexible tongue. Embarrassed, I paused, but my companion seemed impressed, though perhaps on the edge of laughter.

“A grsnarl-snort-snux?”

“Something like that. Humans can’t say it right,” I went on hurriedly, “the feud went on for days. Tension rose high in the councils. Then one day he came to my, er, abode and the feud became a fight. He attacked first. I did not want to bring bloodshed into it. But once I felt his teeth in my shoulder, the Furandrahz took hold of me. I used my youth and agility against his experience and brute force. It was a terrible battle. I was the victor, as you can see. But his widow roused up, hatred against me and made it seem like I had been the one to attack him. For what would amount to treason and regicide in this society, I was Manbound. That is, turned into what you call a Dragonbound.”

Shyven let out a low whistle. “Treason and regicide...now I understand. A lot.”

I shot a look at him. “You heard Anton. Our bones are worth a lot on the wizard’s market. And a live Dragonbound would win you a fortune.”

He looked at me in astonishment, then his face shifted to an ironic smile. “Gray One, I’ve guessed what you are since I saw the mark on your shoulder, tending you while you were under the sway of the Trengarll. If I wanted to sell you, dead or alive, I would have then and you couldn’t have fought back. Which would save me considerable trouble, I think.”

“True.”

“What I want to know is, what does this Tayra want from you? It was a risk, but I let her watch over you unaided and she probably knows what you are as well.”

“Do you think she will betray me?”

“No, not directly...she is strange and probably wants something that is not at all obvious.”

I narrowed my eyes, remembering what Anton had said about his Dragonbound friend Shaz. “Perhaps she wants me to steal a shard from the border for her.”

Shyven nodded agreement. “That is a possibility. We do owe her a lot by now, but if she shows up again, you had better be on your guard.”

“I will be. I always am.”

Now that my anger and fear had subsided, I felt a sense of peace which I had not for a long time. Shyven knew what I was and did not care, beyond his curiosity about strange peoples. I did not have to hide anything or try not to say the wrong thing. Even speaking in what was left of my dragontongue would not get me in trouble. As long as it was just us two, that is. If we came upon any habitations, I would be right back to guarding my every thought lest I give myself away.

That evening when dark came upon us, we made camp in a wooded dell and risked a small fire to warm our dinner. While Shyven cooked, I unslung my Vhoe and played it, fingers finding their way over the silver strings without the aid of the flame’s light. After a moment, he looked at me and remarked, “that’s what you’re playing, isn’t it, the memory of flight?”

I stopped and looked down at the instrument, then nodded as I realized that this was the truth. “The memory of everything.”

“But a dragon could not play the Vhoe.”

“No. Your species does have a few advantages...just a few.”

And I continued to play the memory of everything that had been.

---

The next morning, Tayra was there. We had not heard her ride up in the night (and neither of us had ever thought to stand watch). But when I woke up, there was a horse tied to a nearby tree and a girl wrapped in a blanket next to the coals of the fire. Her hair was laying tousled out of the covers, one hand was clutching the blanket to her for warmth and her face was sunk deep in pale oblivion.

I slipped past her to stoke the fire, throwing on small, dry twigs and blowing on the coals to bring them to life. They crackled and took as I held my hands out to them to feel the familiar warmth. In a moment, the noise awoke Tayra, who sat up and blinked around her like a disturbed kitten. Meeting my gaze, she startled, then sat up and pushed the blanket off. Her farmer’s dress was rumpled from sleep, so she straightened it out with one hand while rubbing her eyes with the other.

“Hi.”

I nodded, letting her collect herself. Shyven was still asleep, or at least pretending to be. His breathing did not sound quite genuine to me.

“Is your name actually Tayra?”

She shook her head, moving to sit with knees drawn up across the fire from me. “No. It’s Anna. Anna Delascar, adopted daughter of Sir and Lady Delascar. As you probably noticed by following me in Daggasta.”

“Well, thank you for warning us about the men coming after us, Anna. They didn’t give you and Anton any trouble?”

“Not much.” She shrugged and smiled wanly. “We were able to convince them you had never been there, but if you had been, you would have gone northwest.”

“Then, since we have the time, perhaps you can tell me why you tried to sell me stolen clothes in Rockyford and got me sent to the dungeon for it?”

The girl looked embarrassed and picked up a twig, breaking it nervously in two. “I didn’t mean for you to get arrested. I’m sorry. That’s why I brought your boots to the cart for you, in the hope you would forgive me.”

“You’re the one who brought my new boots?” I raised my eyebrows at her. “You just get deeper and deeper. How did you know I had boots waiting, where my cart was, or that I would escape to find them?”

She shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “I just figured...well...I knew you would escape because you’re the type to. And I have methods of knowing things if I want to, in a town. People are always willing to tell me what I want to know, for the right price.”

Without warning, she gave me a wide grin. “I sure made ol’ Frethic mad, didn’t I?”

It was such an infectious expression of mirth I couldn’t help smiling a little in return, though I tried to hide it. “You certainly did. He almost tore me apart trying to get his clothes back. Why did you steal them in the first place? Or should I ask?”

Anna nodded compliantly. “Oh, you can ask. Because he’s a donkey, that’s why! He kept plying me with attentions while I was staying at the inn there, just because I was a rich man’s daughter. So I dressed as one of his servants, snuck in while he was taking a bath and stole his clothes to make him pay for all his ‘attentions’. Ha! The whole town must have been laughing as he ran out in his bathrobe! But I didn’t pick on you, particularly, to sell them to. Anyone would have done. And I didn’t think that he would be so close on my heels. I just wanted to get rid of them and cause him more mischief, not hurt you.”

“I see.”

Moving over to the pack, I shoved Shyven’s head off of it to get at the breakfast things. He pretended to roll over and go back to sleep, but he wasn’t fooling me.

“Wake up, Shyven. Or get up, I should say. We have company.”

He sat up and stretched. “Well, so we do. How did you get here, Tayra?”

“Shyven, you heard that her name is Anna.”

“Did I? How interesting. Hello, Anna. And thank you for warning us of our enemies. Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

Anna nodded, but gave him an uncertain look. He began to belt on his sword and put on his hat while I made breakfast and the girl went to check on her horse. It was a swaybacked old plow beast that looked half-dead as it stood, but she looked after it with care, anyway.

“Why didn’t you ask her what she wants from you?” Shyven hissed at me meanwhile. “I gave you a good chance.”

“Oh, is that what you were doing?” I flipped over a piece of meat in the pan, then decided it wasn’t done enough and switched it back. “I had other things I wanted to know, first. When she tells me the price, then I’ll worry about it.”

“By then, it may be too late!”

Anna was coming back then, carrying a clump of purple flowers in one hand. “Do either of you know what these are called?”

Shyven gave me a warning look, while I glanced at the flowers. “Goosebane, they call it. Geese eat them and die. Poisonous nectar. But they are pretty to look at.”

“Oh!” Anna looked at the flowers as if she would drop them, but then tucked them in her dress on second thought. “Well, they can’t hurt me if I don’t eat them.”

We sat around the fire and ate breakfast before tying all our packs onto Anna’s horse and moving on. She came with us by silent consent, without asking permission or being denied it. We owed her something, but as of yet, neither Shyven nor I knew what. And so far, she did not seem in any hurry to press her claim.

Tacitly giving me another chance to question her, Shyven strode ahead to ‘scout’ while the girl and I strolled behind. She was leading the slow horse with one hand on the bridle, walking along beside me with a bright, alert expression on her face. Somehow, I was sure that little moved around her without her notice. Her dark, glinting eyes seemed to take in everything.

Despite her help and cheerful silence, I was still wary of Anna’s motives. Whatever she wanted must be a large thing, something very important to her, or else she would not follow me so far and persistently. Her tenacity and courage were already proven, a dangerous mixture in someone to owe a debt to.

Trying to bring the conversation around by gentle degrees to the subject, I remarked, “you must have been following me even before I fell ill. Unless you often work as a maid in that inn.”

“Not often. In fact...almost never.”

“But did you know about me, then?”

“I’d seen your cart and knew that you were a merchant.”

I looked at her and saw that, though her face was serious, her eyes were twinkling with laughter.

“You’re dancing around my questions.”

“And you are avoiding asking what you want to.”

“Very well,” I stopped and made sure that she did as well, “what do you want from me?”

She faced me and all the laughter went out of her eyes. “I want to be a dragon.”

A sharp pang of cold seemed to freeze me to the core. Shyven was right, she also knew. I turned away with a frown. “No.”

“What’s that?”

“I said no!” I turned back around to face her. “I couldn’t grant that request even if I would.”

“Oh, I know that you can’t grant it directly.” Anna clasped her hands behind her back. “but I have heard that a dragon, a real dragon, can. Or at least their council can, perhaps. I don’t know enough yet. So I want you to tell me how.”

I closed my eyes and put a hand over them. Images flashed in my mind of a stone covered in blood, a dragon with eyes of fire and a night of stars like swords...

“You don’t know what you’re asking for. The dragons...they are a harsh, demanding people. Our--their ways are not like a human’s. It’s not something you can just don like a cloak and throw aside whenever you wish.”

“But you were a dragon.” There was challenge in her voice now. “And you wish you still were.”

“That’s because I was hatched as a dragon. It was natural to me. It would be just as much of an unnatural shock for you to become a dragon as it was for me to be forced into the shape of a man. Why do you want to be one?”

A far-away look came into her eyes. She stared off above the trees as if an image floated there that I could not see. For a long moment, she seemed wrapped in a spell and I almost became afraid that she would never leave it. Finally she answered, “I saw one once...a dragon I mean. It flew over our town with its wings spread in the morning light, diaphanous and struck through with emerald gleams. Its scales rippled with light like a million tinted mirrors and it looked down at me. Right at me. I saw something in its eyes that I would give anything to own...”

I started walking again, trying to hide the tears that her description had brought to my eyes. To have all that again, I would give anything as well. But at the same time, I felt a sense of latent disgust at her poetic words.

So many people only saw the exterior of a dragon, or the fire they seem to think is a mystic promise in our eyes. They don’t realize that it is often like being any other living creation to be a dragon. Some days we’re bored, hungry, depressed or simply out of whack with our whole world. Being a powerful creature with the ability of flight doesn’t mean that every day is a perfect, magical adventure.

I remembered with a sudden clarity a day I had spent mostly in cleaning my nest and bickering with a neighboring dragon until at the end of the day I felt worn by the blandness of everything in life. It had been worth it, of course, to live naturally as the most powerful mortal beings on the continent. Just not always perfect.

But she did not know this and had only seen a gleam of the dragon’s flame in ones eyes. Which I knew not every human could see, even when they had the rare opportunity to look into a dragon’s eye without being eaten directly afterwards.

Hurrying up beside me, she twisted her head to look into my face with a pleading look that was almost as winning as her smile. “Please tell me?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll have to find out for myself!” she turned away sharply, jerking at her horse’s reins.

“You’ll be killed if you try. By the very people you’re trying to become.”

“I’ll find out, one way or another!”

And with that, she untied our packs of provisions from her horse, dumped them on the ground and jumped up to ride away.

I did not move to stop her, though I would have helped her with anything more reasonable if she asked. And I did not want Anna to be killed by the dragons if she went snooping in their territory looking for answers. But I could not stop her from leaving by force, or even find the words to reason with her further.

Shyven came back after a few minutes and looked around with a puzzled expression. “Where is Anna?”

I gave him a grim look. “I don’t think your plan of leaving us alone was a good one.”