"Yes, reptile." The chieftain smiled thinly and the firelight blazed against his own wound. "You burned me. Now you will forever burn in the depths of the Abyss."

When finally Mother was silent and still, Shedah spat a green glob, huffed, and released Laira.

She stood for a moment, staring at the corpse of her mother. It still burned, crumbling away into charred ashes. Laira wanted to embrace the corpse. She wanted to save her, to beg the shaman to heal her. But she knew: Mother was dead.

Men tossed rugs over the corpse, stamped out the flame, and bound the remains with ropes. They hung the charred, blackened thing from the tribe totem, a sacrifice to Ka'altei. Mother swung in the wind, banging against the carved pole, shedding ash. She barely looked human, just burnt meat upon bones. The rocs beneath the totem rose, reached up their talons, and snapped their beaks, but they dared not yet eat. The great vultures looked back at Zerra, their master, begging.

"Eat, my friends." Zerra nodded. "Eat, hunters of the sky. She is nice and crunchy."

With shrieks and flying feathers, the birds leaped up, grabbed the hanging corpse, and tore it apart. The beasts tossed back their beaks, guzzling down legs, arms, the head, then fought one another for the torso and its dangling, smoking entrails.

Laira turned and fled.

She ran between the tents, tears in her eyes.

She wanted to keep running—to flee the camp, to head across the open fields, to enter the forest and never emerge. Other weredragons lived in the world; she knew that they must. But Mother's words returned to her.

There are no others. The world is cold and large and empty. The lone wolf perishes. The pack survives.

She ran back into her tent, raced toward her pile of fur blankets, and grabbed her doll. She clutched the wooden girl to her chest, and her tears flowed.

"We must never shift again," she whispered, rocking the toy. "I promise you, Mustardseed. I promise. We'll never become dragons again."

She shivered, the fire still burning in her eyes, the screams still echoing in her ears. She would remain. She would keep her disease secret. And she would grow strong.

"We'll become hunters, Mustardseed." She knuckled tears away from her eyes. "We'll grow big and strong and become hunters like Zerra, and he'll never be able to hurt us. Ever. I promise."

Outside rose the laughter of men, and the smell of burnt meat wafted into the tent. Laira lay down, held her doll close, and shivered.

RAEM

Prince Raem stood above the prisoner, khopesh raised, prepared to swing down the sickle-shaped sword.

"Look at me," Raem said softly. "Look me in the eyes."

Bound and bruised, her neck upon the block, the prisoner shivered. When she raised her eyes, they shone with tears.

"Please," the woman whispered. "Please, my lord, I beg you."

"Do not look away from my eyes." Raem's voice was still soft.