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Chapters (49)
  1. Given
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. Acknowledgments
  44. About the Author
  45. Copyright
  46. About the Publisher
  47. Backad 1
  48. Backad 2
  49. Backad 3

Weysh could only stare, wide eyed, as his maman crouched down next to her husband. He’d always felt a dull resentment radiating from Montpierre, but never had he experienced this kind of passionate disgust.

Montpierre regained control of himself and stood, his dark eyes hard. “Who says dragonkind are Byen’s most noble creatures, en? You are living proof that mating is just for show, so pick a more suitable woman and settle with her. You never seemed to have any qualms about who you dallied with before.” Montpierre shook his head. “Just like your sire.”

Weysh took a menacing step forward. “Take that back,” he said, his voice low and warning.

“Weysh!” cried Maman.

“No!” snapped Montpierre. “You will not intimidate me in my own house! It’s no wonder this woman wants nothing to do with you. You are an animal who knows only how to eat and fornicate. Better she run long and far than end up abused and cast aside like your father’s Given, Dominique Pain.”

He didn’t know how he got there, but suddenly Weysh had lifted Montpierre clean off the ground by his shirt lapels. He stared into Montpierre’s wide, white eyes.

“Take. That. Back,” Weysh snarled.

Genevieve and Sylvie tugged at his arms, screaming. “Weysh! Stop, Weysh!”

“Weysh, lovely, please,” his mother begged.

He turned to her, his face contorted in anger. “Do you agree? Am I just like Guste Pain?”

She backed away, almost tripping over the hem of her dress, tears making tracks in the powder on her face, and the terror in her eyes made Weysh’s heart ache.

He let go of Montpierre, who collapsed in another fit of coughs.

“Maman,” said Weysh, his voice practically a growl. “Why do you always TAKE HIS SIDE?”

His voice had risen to a roar against his will.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking. “I’m sorry.”

Montpierre collected himself and scrambled over to his wife, taking her in his arms. She held his face in her hands, checking him over while Montpierre glared at Weysh, defiant, a trickle of blood staining his brown beard and flecks of blood dotting his white cravat.

Weysh turned to find Sylvie crying behind him, clutching Genevieve, who held a hand to her chest and stared at him in horror.

Byen divine, they were right. He was an animal.

“You should go, Weysh,” said Genevieve, her voice breathy.

“I’m sorry—”

“Just go!” Sylvie shouted.

Weysh looked at Sylvie and Genevieve pleadingly. “Not you too. Please.”

“GO, Weysh!” Sylvie yelled again, and then, softer, “How could you do this?”

Cursed Movay, he couldn’t face her. Them. Weysh stumbled out of the study and through the house like a drunk, the horror and terror on the faces of the people he loved most burned into his mind’s eye. He let himself out, his steps turned to a jog, and then he took off into the sky.

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