Father, kill him!

Still those old voices echoed, that old pain.

Tanin sighed. "Let's leave this place. I want to go home."

His sister sighed and mussed his hair. "Oh, you stupid clump of a brother." She showed him the purse of seashells she had earned—the prize from her fight. "We'll barter these in the next village over. Just keep your mouth shut there, all right? Once we get the herbs Grandpapa wants, a new belt for me, and some new fur pelts for Grizzly, we'll go home."

They left the village. They walked through fields of wild grass, geese honking above, until the sun began to set and the village disappeared in the distance. The stars stone above and distant mountains rose, deep black under the indigo sky.

In darkness, Tanin and Maev—outcasts and wanderers—summoned their magic.

Wings grew from their backs. Fire filled their bellies. With clanking scales, they rose into the sky, creatures, cursed ones, monsters . . . dragons. They flew in silence. They flew in darkness. Rain began to fall, and Tanin closed his eyes.

"Someday," he whispered into the wind, "I'll find others. Someday I'll know that we're not alone. Someday the world will know that we're not beasts to hunt."

At his side, his sister—a green dragon, her scales gleaming in the moonlight—looked at him, her eyes sad. She gave him a playful tap of her tail and blasted a little fire his way, just enough to singe his scales. He groaned and they flew onward into the shadows.

ISSARI

Issari Seran, Princess of Eteer, tightened her ragged cloak around her shoulders and entered the seediest, smelliest part of her city.

Back in the palace, Issari had gazed from balconies upon the port of Eteer, the great city-state, center of her family's civilization. From there, in safety and luxury, it had seemed a magical place. The canal thrust in from the sea, ending with a ring of water like the handle of a key. Ships sailed here every day, bringing in wares from distant lands: furs from the northern barbarians, spices from the desert tribes in the west, and even silk from the east. Issari had always imagined that walking along the port would reveal a landscape of wonder: merchants in priceless purple fabrics, jesters and buskers, and many tales and songs from distant lands.

Now, walking for the first time along this port she had seen so often from her balcony, she found a realm of grime, sweat, and stench.

Issari saw no merchants bedecked in plenty, only sailors with craggy bare chests, scowling faces, and hard eyes that seemed to undress her. She saw no jesters and musicians like those in the palace, only ratty men offering games of chance played with cups and peas, a chained bear battling rabid dogs, and topless women selling their bodies for copper coins.

My own face is engraved on some of those coins, Issari thought, shivering as she watched a sailor toss a few coppers toward a plump prostitute whose three children clutched her legs.