‘The dragon, my prince. She was all grief and rage. The path led her here, into our realm. Or, perhaps, through it. When Tiamath last sembled, when the conflagration awakened and all that they kept apart was now one, the Suzerain took the life of Latal’s mate. It was the death of Habalt Galanas, prince, that has precipitated this.’

He felt his jaw bunching, molars grinding, stirring to life the familiar ache in his neck muscles. ‘This? Nothing has precipitated this, my queen. A breach. Opportunity. Expedience.’

Her laugh was soft, but brief. ‘Yedan. You’ve a gift for brevity, and simple lines, sharp as that which divides sea from shore. Habalt Galanas was host to the proper blood. Proper to the Suzerain’s need. Darkness indivisible, until that blood spilled out. The kin should have known. Never trust an Azathanai.’

‘I felt that killer’s return—’

‘Not you, my prince.’

‘No?’

‘And even then, it was your spirit that trembled at his return, long after your sister knelt at the side of your corpse, speaking words you could no longer hear.’

‘But… not me.’

‘Not you, not yet.’

He passed a stained hand over his eyes, seeking to dismiss the scene before him. ‘Grief and rage, you said? It seems I am cursed to stand in the way of such things.’

‘Even Tiamath has weaknesses,’ she said. ‘The host can be sundered by the killing of but one. The thing is, how do you choose which one? Each sembling alters the flaw. You must ask yourself, how did Draconus know which one?’

He snorted. ‘Simple. As you said, darkness indivisible. He knew his own. Had Galanas’s death not shattered the sembling, he would have died beneath the fury of Tiamath, and none of this would have come to be.’

She sighed. ‘Must we ever blame Draconus?’

Shrugging, recovered from his ordeal, Narad shook dragon blood from the blade of his sword.

‘Careful,’ she admonished, ‘lest some of that blood find its way into you. I’d not see you consumed by a stranger’s rage, a stranger’s grief, and memories not your own.’

‘No fear of that,’ he muttered in reply. ‘I’ve no room left inside.’

Her etiolated hand rested lightly upon his shoulder, and with the contact her voice changed. ‘My brother, there is so much I would say to you, if only I could. Your worship unnerved me. I well understood, if but dismissively, your odd aversion to capturing me on canvas. But it so sweetened my vanity—’

‘My queen, I am not that brother.’

‘You are not? Then tell me, please, where is Cryl? How he longed for a depth to me that simply did not exist! His love was a girthed thing, cast upon my shallow self, but how terribly the delusion strained his faith, his belief!’