The palace was not yet complete; only half its columns stood, and no roof topped them. The winds blew into the hall, and birch leaves scuttled across the marble tiles. It would still be many moons, perhaps many years, before the halls of Requiem shone in all their glory. That did not stop one Vir Requis, a young hunter with dark eyes, from spending that summer carving and polishing, working an oak into a throne of wood, its branches and roots coiling to form its shape. On that summer solstice when Requiem welcomed its one hundredth dragon, Dorvin took his creation into the hall of his king, and he placed the throne upon the tiles between the columns.

"The Oak Throne of Requiem," the young man said to his king. He bowed. "Every king needs a throne."

Jeid looked at the young man and smiled. Dorvin had first come to him bursting with rage, ready to fight the world. Today Jeid saw a solemn warrior of Requiem, wise and strong. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Your sister gave you the name Eleison, an ancient word for mercy. I will sit on this throne you carved me, but you will always stand at my right-hand side, a noble son of Requiem, first among her warriors."

Dorvin raised his head, and his eyes shone with tears. "I will forever fly at your side, my king."

In the light of summer, the forests green and the sky clear, King Aeternum sat on his throne and gazed upon his kingdom—the columns that rose around him, the rustling birch trees, and the mountains that grew beyond. His family stood at his side. Laira, his wife, the light of his heart. Maev, his daughter, the beacon of his soul. Dorvin, a young warrior who had become like a son to him. They stood with him in his hall, and some of his pain, some of his loneliness, eased to see them with him. He was not alone. When he raised his eyes to the sky, he saw the others there, a hundred dragons beneath the sun.

Yet two lights were missing, two holes inside him.

I pray for you, Tanin and Issari, Jeid thought. Return to us.

He rose from his throne, shifted into a dragon, and took flight. The others flew at his side—a bride, a daughter, a brother in arms. They flew higher, circling around the sun, and gazed down upon their kingdom. Laira sang softly as she flew, her golden scales bright in the dawn.

"As the leaves fall upon our marble tiles, as the breeze rustles the birches beyond our columns, as the sun gilds the mountains above our halls—know, young child of the woods, you are home, you are home." Laira's voice rose and the others sang with her. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."

BOOK THREE: REQUEIM'S PRAYER

BOOK THREE: REQUEIM'S PRAYER

SLYN

 
SLYN