Sorrow looked. She looked at the shriveled heart and the maltreated corpse in the tomb. She looked at Grald, the human, dead, and saw the expression of agony and horror frozen on his face.

Ven could hear outside the cave of his mind the beat of wings. He could feel the hot wind of Maristara’s coming. He tossed the locket into the tomb and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Sorrow demanded.

“Away,” said Ven.

“You can’t!”

“Fine.” Ven turned around. “You brought me back to life. Now what are you going to do with me? Wait here to see me die again? That’s all right with me. Just make up your mind.”

Sorrow hesitated, wavering and unsure. Lucien had finished being sick. Though he still looked ill, he went over to her and the two conferred softly.

Ven stood waiting. It truly did not matter to him, one way or the other.

Eventually the two came to an agreement.

“You’re coming with us,” said Sorrow.

Lucien took hold of Ven by the arm, handling him roughly, scratching him with his claws.

Ven shrugged and went along. He didn’t ask where they were going. He already knew. The dragon’s children had only one place they could go, and that was back to the lair where they’d been born, where they’d lived all their lives. He didn’t ask what they were going to do with him, because he didn’t care.

Sorrow and Lucien held Ven between them, both of them gripping him tightly, securely, though he came along docilely enough. They talked to him and about him, but he paid scant attention. He heard only the clicking of their claws on the stone floor—three sets of claws, his claws and those of his sister and brother. They made quite a racket, none of them in unison. He listened to the clickety-clack with a kind of detached fascination.

“What are we going to do with him?” Lucien asked, as they clattered down the corridor that led from the Abbey back to the lair.

“We’ll hide him,” said Sorrow. “With illusion magic.”

“They’ll come looking for him—” Lucien began.

“Not in our chambers,” said Sorrow. “They won’t suspect us. Why should they? They’ll suppose he ran back to the humans. They’ll search the human city and beyond. We’re the last they would suspect.”

Lucien accepted her decision without question, and the three walked on.

“What do we tell the other children?” Lucien asked, after a moment. “About Grald . . .”

“Nothing,” Sorrow returned, quick and harsh. “We tell them nothing. It would be impossible to explain to the little ones, anyway,” she added, a tremor in her voice.

“That’s true,” Lucien said. “When we don’t even understand. Our father took a human form—”

“Don’t say that!” Sorrow cried, glaring at him. “Don’t ever say that!”