As they walked through the labyrinthine corridors of the dragon’s lair, Sorrow shared the image of Ven’s human brother with Lucien. She shared his words, the pictures. Lucien was so shocked at the vision flaring before his eyes that he almost walked into a wall.

“I don’t believe what he says about our father, Sorrow. The human lies.”

“I don’t believe it either. That’s why we’re going there.”

“To the Abbey?”

Sorrow nodded. The cave was dark, but not to her eyes or her brother’s. They moved swifdy through the winding corridors of stone. They did not speak except with their thoughts, which sometimes converged to form a river, then separated, forking off into individual streams. The dragon’s children were not like dragons, who rarely give voice to their thoughts. Nor were they like humans, who are forced to do so. They blended speech and thought so that many times they had no idea where one began and the other left off.

The corridor they walked led from the Abbey to the palace beneath the mountain. The corridor was used by the dragon, to travel from one place to another. Few humans knew of the existence of this corridor. What went on beneath the mountain was secret and was meant to stay that way. The children knew it from the mind of the dragon.

The walls of the corridor were rimed with scales, marks of the dragon’s passage. The sight of these led Lucien to exclaim suddenly and vehemently, “Our father would never take the body of a human. It’s all a lie.”

“A lie,” Sorrow agreed.

She walked swiftly, confidently, certain of the outcome. The children of the dragon entered the great hall to find it awash with blood.

In the center lay their father, dead.

Sharp nails pierced Ven’s human flesh, claws raked the skin of his forearm. The pain was acute and dragged him up, struggling and fighting, from the deep.

His eyes flared open. Sorrow bent over him.

“Why did you do this!” she demanded, hissing in anger. “Why did you kill our father?”

She dug her nails deeper in his arm, until the blood ran. Her fury flared through the darkness, lighting her face, blazing in her eyes, and staving off death, just for a moment.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Ven said weakly. He closed his eyes, tried to sink back down beneath the dark surface. “Just go away and leave me alone.”

“I think he’s dying,” Lucien said in hushed tones.

“Oh, no, he’s not,” said Sorrow. “Not until I know the truth.”

The hand that had drawn his blood moved to his forehead. Another hand rested, palm down, on his breast. His sister’s touch was healing; warmth poured through his body, thick and viscous and sweet as honey. Ven’s heartbeat strengthened. His breathing came easier. The darkness began to recede, and he was floating rapidly to shore.