"Eat, my king!" she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. It seemed that none of the Vir Requis behind her so much as dared to breathe. "Enjoy our gift."

The meat steamed in his hand, flecked with tillvine. He lowered the slab.

"I smell a strange smell," Slyn said. "This meat is strangely spiced."

Laira nodded. "We've dusted the meat with herbs, my king, giving it a delicious flavor you will enjoy."

Please eat, she thought. Please, stars, let them all eat.

"I'm hungry!" shouted a Widejaw from across the hall. "Let us feast."

But Slyn only stared at Laira. He rose again from his throne, walked toward her, and held out the steaming meat.

"Take a bite," he said to Laira. "The great kings in the south have slaves taste their meals, testing them for poison. Eat, chieftain of Sharpspear. Take a big bite."

She stared at the meat, hesitating.

What do I do?

She felt everyone stare at her—the Widejaws around her and the Vir Requis behind her. They all waited.

"Eat." Slyn's voice dropped, turning dangerous. He reached for his sword. "Is there a reason why you're not taking a bite?" He gripped her arm, his fingers digging into her. "Do you bring bad meat into my hall?"

Laira trembled. She looked over her shoulder at the other Vir Requis. Jeid took a step closer and shook his head.

No, his eyes told her. No. Don't.

Behind Jeid, Dorvin and Maev glanced at each other, then back at Laira. They placed their index fingers against their thighs, pointing downward, a predetermined symbol.

We fly as dragons, they were telling her. We attack.

She shook her head. "No," she whispered to them. She looked back at Slyn. "It is your right, my king, to eat first. Who am I to steal that right?"

Slyn's nostrils flared as the scent of poisoned meat filled them. "Eat now or we will feast upon your flesh instead." Slyn licked his massive chops. He twisted her arm painfully, nearly dislocating it. "I will enjoy crunching your bones between my teeth."

Laira closed her eyes.

In her mind, she was a child again, a mere girl of only several years, flying with her mother through the night. She was a young woman fleeing her tribe, flying through the open sky, no longer a beaten wretch but a proud dragon. She was flying with her husband, a queen of many other dragons, a queen of Requiem. She was free. She was strong. The wind flowed across her, and her stars shone above, and her fire lit the darkness.

How would she live without the magic of dragons? How would she go on, powerless, lacking the one gift that had always given her strength?