At that moment, looking into those endless green eyes, Tanin would have promised her to save the sun from the sky, rescue sunken cities from the depths of the sea, and free every last chained man and animal across the world.

Maev had to ruin the moment, slamming down her mug of wine. "My brother can barely free his manhood from his pants fast enough to piss." She slammed her fist against the tabletop and shouted, "More wine!" She returned her eyes to Issari. "But I'll free the boy. I'll fly right into that tower. I'll burn every last demon around it, and I'll burn every last guard. Sounds like fun."

Their conversation halted as a serving girl poured more wine. When they were alone again, Issari shook her head.

"You cannot burn the guards," the princess said. "They are innocents."

Maev raised her eyebrows again. She spat right on the floor. "Bloody stars! They're guarding your jailed brother!" She scrunched her lips and looked at Tanin. "Then again . . . in some cases, that might not be a bad thing."

Issari shook her head wildly, her braid swaying. "They are following my father's orders. I know those guards. I grew up with them. They guarded my chambers in my childhood. They guard the tower entrance, and they guard the cell's door. But they do not guard the window." She raised her chin, and deep fire filled her eyes. "You can fly. You can reach that window. You can tear open the bars."

Tanin sighed, his earlier feelings of heroism fading. He spoke wearily. "I saw the tower. A hundred demons fly around it. Demons are smaller than dragons, but they outnumber us greatly. If we fly up there, they'd take us down like wolves taking down a buffalo."

Issari pulled out her amulet from under her tunic. With no demons nearby, it no longer emitted light. "That is why I will ride you." She reached across the table and touched Tanin's hand. "The light of my god will clear your path."

Her hand was soft and warm, her eyes earnest. Tanin would have agreed to fly into the Abyss itself.

LAIRA

 
LAIRA

Laira stood upon the escarpment, staring at the dragon.

For so long—so many years of exile, pain, and tears—she had dreamed of others like her, of people with the dragon disease. Hiding in tents, shivering in the cold among the dogs, crawling through the forest, bruised and bleeding, she had yearned for this, prayed for this, never knew if others even did exist. Now she stood—a frail girl clad in rags, her hair sheared, her body lacerated, her jaw shoved to the side, a wreck of a thing barely alive—no longer alone.

When dreaming of this moment, she had imagined crying in joy, running toward the others, hugging them, laughing with them, feeling safe, feeling whole.

Instead she felt fear.