"I must be strong," she whispered. "I am the daughter of a prince."

She closed her eyes, trying to remember that distant kingdom across the sea. Laira had been only three years old when Mother had fled with her, coming to this northern land, for the cursed ones—those who could become dragons—were hunted in Eteer too. In a haze, Laira saw faded images, perhaps memories, perhaps the stories Mother had told. Towers in sunlight. A great port that thrust into a city of countless homes. Walls topped with soldiers and lush gardens that grew atop the palace roof. Laira had seen villages here in the north; Zerra sometimes stopped at these small settlements, trading meat and fur for bronze and ale. But their old city across the sea . . . that was a place a thousand times the size, its houses not built of mud and straw but of actual stone.

"I want to go back home," Laira had once begged her mother. "Please. I hate the cold north. I hate this tribe. I want to go home."

Mother had only hushed her, kissed her brow, and smoothed her hair. "We cannot. We bear a secret, a magic of dragons. We had to flee Eteer, and Zerra is kind to us. Zerra gave us a new home. Hush now, Laira, my sweetness."

Laira had blinked away tears and clung to Mother. "Is my father still there?"

Mother had rocked her. "Yes, my child. Your father is still there, a great warrior prince." She showed Laira her amulet, the silver sigil of Taal, the god of the south. "This is the amulet he gave me, an amulet to protect us. You are descended of royalty. Never forget that, even here, even in our exile."

Yet what was royalty worth, Laira thought, if she could not return? Cursed with reptilian blood, they had fled the distant land of Eteer. Yet how was Goldtusk any safer? Mother had died here. Laira suffered here.

"Should I flee this tribe as Mother fled her old kingdom?" Her eyes stung. "Dare I fly to that fabled, secret place . . . the escarpment? The hidden land where they say other dragons live?"

Tears streamed down Laira's bruised face, mingling with the mud. Others like her . . . humans able to become dragons . . . cursed, outcast, afraid. Men whispered of them. They said that Zerra himself had a twin brother, a weredragon, a leader of weredragons. Could it be true? Or was the escarpment just a myth as Mother had claimed?

Laira sighed. If she fled this tribe to seek a legend, she was likely to die. The escarpment lay many marks away; a single mark was a distance too far for her to cross alone, let alone many. In this world of harsh winters and roaming beasts, even a dragon could not survive alone. Her mother's words echoed in her mind from beyond the years.

There are no others, Laira. Only us. We are alone. And Goldtusk is our home.