As she sang those old songs of Eteer, she found the tune changing on her lips, and new words flowed from her. She had heard this song only once, but she had never forgotten it. Dizzy, weak with the smoke, she sang the song of Requiem in the hall of Goshar.

"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." Tears stung Issari's eyes at the memory of dragon wings. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."

The giggles died across the hall.

Sin-Naharosh stopped chewing, letting saliva thick with crumbs slide down his chins.

Issari froze.

"Requiem," the obese abina whispered. His face reddened. "The land of dragons." He swung his massive arm with a burst of strength, knocking over the platter of cakes. "The kingdom of reptiles!"

What have I done? Issari stopped singing. "My lord, I'm sorry. I—"

He roared, spraying spittle on her. "How dare you mention the dragons to me? Do you think I don't know that your paramour, that creature you call Tanin, is a weredragon? Do you think I don't know how he lusts for you?" The abina spat. "Yes, I have heard him scream in the dungeons. As my guards' whips tear into his flesh, he cries out your name." Sin-Naharosh laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, the boy tries to shift into a dragon. Tries again and again, only for the chains to dig deep, to keep him in his human form . . . a form so easy to hurt. Should you meet him again, you would not recognize him. I've made your weredragon lover ugly. You are mine, Issari." Through some feat of will, the abina managed to raise his arm; it must have weighed more than Issari's entire body. "You are my wife. Only mine! You will sing to me. You will pleasure me. And you will feed me. Feed me!"

The palace guards, standing between the columns, shifted uneasily and reached for the hilts of their khopeshes. Issari stood frozen, the fallen honey cakes lying around her bare feet.

Tanin.

Her eyes stung with tears.

My sweet Tanin . . .

She thought back to the first time she had met him, a tall northern boy with brown hair and kind eyes. He had flown south to Eteer to free her brother. She had ridden his dragon form, had fought demons from his back. She had learned to become a dragon herself and flown at his side. She had made love to him in the sand, had traveled with him into exile, had seen him grow from boy to man, from juggler to warrior. She had grown to love him.

Now you scream for me. Her tears flowed. You scream in a dungeon while I linger here, eating sweets, clad in silk.