Sena shook his fists at the barren window, spraying blood. It was just like that damn rat again. It was just like that damn beam of light. They all taunted him. They all pretended to be his friends. And they all left him.

He stared out the window. So many creatures flew across the sky these days. Birds. Demons. Creatures of scales, of rot, of blood, of jelly, of stone, of fire—a host of flying nightmares that cackled, grinned, sucked, spewed, swarmed, streamed, lived. Sometimes Sena thought he was delusional. Other times he thought the Abyss had risen into the world, that the endless lurid eyes and fangs were real, not just visions of his hunger but true terrors.

He shook his head wildly and knuckled his eyes, forcing himself to look away from the demons outside his window, from those taunting, cruel, cackling apparitions. They weren't real. They couldn't be real.

Alone . . . insane . . .

Sena trembled. It wasn't fair. The crow thought itself superior to him. Those winged visions of demons thought themselves superior too. If Sena had wings of his own, he could fly farther, higher, catch the damn bird, and—

But I do have wings, he thought.

Of course. He was cursed, impure, an abomination unto Taal.

I can become a dragon.

That sin had landed him in this tower cell in the first place. Perhaps it could also free him.

Wait, whispered a voice in his head. Wait. You tried shifting into a dragon already. Don't you remember? You tried just yesterday. It hurt you. It—

"Quiet!" Sena said, silencing that voice—that voice of the old him, of somebody who had been a prince, not a prisoner, of somebody who still clung to sanity. He hated that voice. He hated that false one, that liar.

He tightened his lips.

He summoned his magic.

Don't! cried the voice inside him. Pain—

Scales flowed across Sena, blue as the sky. Claws began to grow from his fingernails. His body grew larger, inflating, and—

Pain.

The chains that wrapped around him dug deep. He cried out. The metal links cut into him. His ballooning body was pressing against the bonds, and his blood spilled.

With a whimper, he released his magic.

He lay on the floor, trembling, small again, safe again, chained in the shackles that kept him human. He had always been able to shift with clothes, even with a sword at his waist, taking those objects—parts of him like his skin—into his dragon form. But these chains were foreign things, cruel, hurting.

"I'm sorry, Issari," he whispered.

The cell's doorknob rattled behind him.

Sena cowered, sure that the guards had heard him. They would kick him again, spit upon him, bang his head against the wall. He crawled into the corner as the door creaked open, raising his hands to shield his face.

"Please," he whispered.

But it was not the guards.

His father, King Raem Seran, stood at the doorway.