“You saw the army of dragon warriors. You know that your brother and his people cannot win against them.”

“So will it make my brother feel better if I’m standing there by his side, ready to die with him?” Ven asked, annoyed.

“I’m not asking you to die for him, Ven,” said Draconas, leaning close. “I’m asking you to live. In the kingdom of Seth, your mother’s kingdom, there are people who know how to fight this kind of war. People who have been fighting dragons for centuries. They’ve been fighting for all the wrong reasons, but that doesn’t matter. Go to them, Ven. Tell them the truth. You can enter safely now. Maristara is away.”

Ven smiled. “Good plan, Draconas. But it’s wishful thinking. I’m dying and you know it. And you can’t save me. Not this time.”

“Ven—” called Draconas.

Ven closed his eyes and refused to open them, and eventually the little girl went away.

“Ven ...” a voice spoke his name. Bellona was there. In all these years, she’d never found his cave. She was there now. Stern and unsmiling, she regarded him in silence. But he knew that he’d pleased her. For the first and probably only time in his life, he’d pleased her. Bellona gave him a brief nod and then she was gone, and Ven was alone.

He wasn’t afraid.

He wasn’t anything.

Ven let himself sink into the darkness. He let the darkness carry him along, as the river had taken Bellona’s body to the sea.

Sorrow stared into the afterimage left behind by the human, Marcus. She pondered his words, considered what to do. She rose from her bed and went to the chamber next to hers. She sneaked inside, moving softly, but her brother’s senses were acute. Lucien’s slit eyes were already open.

“I heard you talking in your sleep,” he said.

“I wasn’t asleep,” said Sorrow.

“Then who was here? Who were you talking to?” He looked closely at her face, which glimmered white in the darkness, and he rose from his bed. “What is it, Sorrow? What’s wrong?”

Lucien was the most dragon of all the siblings. He had dragon arms and claws, dragon legs and feet. His torso was human flesh and bone, with a smattering of scales across his shoulders that extended up the back of his neck and over his head. His face was human. The eyes were slit eyes, like those of a reptile. He was quick and he was strong. The nearest in age to Sorrow, he was her confidant, her companion.

“Come with me,” she said. “Be quiet. I don’t want to wake the others.”

Lucien did not ask questions. He knew her, trusted that she had a good reason for this midnight ramble.