When Issari was back in the palace, she entered her chambers—those chambers so empty without her brother—and stepped onto her balcony. Clad again in a fine tunic hemmed with gold, her raven braid upon her shoulder, she leaned against the railing and stared across the city to the distant sea.

"If you're out there, Mother," she whispered, "if you hear these tales, Laira . . . come back. Come back as dragons. Come back with claws, fangs, and fire . . . and save him."

LAIRA

In the cold dawn, Laira mounted a roc, dug her heels into the beast, and soared into the sky on her first hunt.

The wind whipped her face, Neiva's wings beat like drums, and Laira laughed upon the gargantuan vulture. She shouted wordlessly and raised her bow above her head.

"Goldtusk!" she cried, soaring so fast her ears popped and her head spun. "Blessed be the gilded ivory of Ka'altei!"

Around her, the other hunters raised javelins and bows and roared their prayers, calling out the name of their tribe and gods. All were men—beefy, clad in furs, wild of hair and beard. Bone beads hung around their necks and tattoos of their totem animals adorned their arms. Some riders sported tin rings in their ears, lips, and brows, the precious material stolen from the villages that knew the secrets of metallurgy. A few of the hunters were mere boys, the youngest among them thirteen.

I am twenty, old already, and this is my first hunt, Laira thought. Yet this is not the first time I've flown.

Heart wrenching, she remembered the only other time she had taken flight—a cold autumn day so long ago. As she soared now upon her roc, Laira could almost see her mother again, a proud white dragon on the wind. She could almost smell Mother's burning flesh, hear her dying screams, see the rocs feast upon—

No, Laira told herself. Do not raise that memory now. Now you must be strong. Now you must prove you are a great huntress, as great as the men.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. Between her legs an ache still lived, the pain of Zerra's thrusts, but as the roc moved below her, that pain faded into a comforting throb. It kept her alert, alive, hungry for the hunt. They left the camp far below upon the hill. Their tents, their tribesmen, their dogs, and even their totem pole seemed like toys from up here. Soon the camp vanished into the hazy distance, and Laira saw only the open wilderness: fields of swaying grass, fiery autumn forests of birches and maples, a rushing river, and distant blue mountains under white clouds. Geese and crows flew below her, and clouds streamed at her sides.

This is freedom, Laira thought. I missed this.

"Prove yourself today, and I will bed you again!" Zerra cried, flying his roc near hers.

His was a great beast, a terror named Ashoor, the largest roc in the tribe. Every flap of the animal's oily black wings blasted out stench. Its gangly neck thrust out, ending with a bald head and cruel beak. Zerra was no prettier than his mount; his burned half faced her. Laira winced to remember his body pressing against her last night, wet and sticky.