Maristara had flown to join the army, leaving the palace guarded by the mad monks, never dreaming that the humans, armed and led by some wretched blacksmith, would invade it. There they had discovered the bodies of the hapless young women who had been impregnated by Grald. The truth about his breeding program was revealed and now most of the city of Dragonkeep was in open rebellion.

As for Seth, Maristara had already lost that kingdom. The people there knew the truth, as well. Ven had shown them the body of the Mistress in the tomb. Once she had seen that, the High Priestess had looked into the Eye and let her gaze roam far. She had used the Eye’s magic to see the past and the present. There had been nothing Maristara could do to stop it. Apparently, all these years, the Watchful Eye had been watching her.

Maristara pondered Anora’s dying words. Her colors had already started to fade when the dragon spoke them.

“We are our own doom, Maristara,” Anora had whispered.

And there had been a tinge of horror in those colors, the revelation coming too late.

The Parliament was dissolved. War was inevitable. Maristara’s new allies were hot-headed young dragons who, if not for this, would have been out stampeding cattle for the fun of it. She couldn’t stop them. They wouldn’t listen to her.

And here, rising up through the mists of her rage and gloom, was a human. The Prince who had helped Ven kill Grald. The Prince who had killed Anora. He was inside her mind, trying to kill her.

Maristara was in no mood for it. Her fury boiled like the fire in her gut, and she was about to expend it all on him, searing him with the blast that would leave his brains mush, when, suddenly, the Prince was gone. He dropped out of her mind as though he’d fallen through a trapdoor. Maristara didn’t have time to wonder, for there, in his place, was the Walker.

He wore his human shape, his human boots.

She saw Draconas in her mind, even as her eyes glared down on the castle below and the shadow of her wings glided over it. The women of Seth were working their magic. She could feel their power directed against her, as she had once directed that same power against others of her kind.

“So you have taken sides,” she said to Draconas. “You’ve turned against your own kind.”

One of her young cohorts dove down on the castle, spraying it with fire. She tried to warn Litard, but he did not listen. The flames hit the magical barrier created by the sisters and flared back at him, forcing him to make a sudden, violent, twisting turn to escape being toasted with his own breath.