The tunnel opened into an enormous chamber. Draconas had seen something like this only once before—the Hall of Parliament, where the dragons met. The entire center of the mountain had been scooped out like the insides of a pumpkin. The ceiling—far, far above him—was supported by huge columns of rock that jutted up from the smooth floor. The cavern’s walls were a veritable honeycomb of small caves, built in neat, even rows around the inside of the chamber. Stairs carved out of the rock led up to the caves, opening out into walkways that were like streets.

The chamber was brightly lit. A bonfire burned in the center of what would have been a plaza in a human city. Draconas wondered at the lack of smoke from the blaze—the cavern should have filled with it. Then he saw that the fire did not feed off wood. The flames fed off stone and magic.

The child, Draca, sat down on the stone floor of the tunnel and, letting her feet dangle over the edge, gazed down in wonder at the sight beneath her.

Humans, men and women and children, clustered about the magical blaze. He listened to their songs, to the words of the songs; he watched them dance their dances, and his wonder devolved into grim dismay. Their stories were those of fighting and battle. Their songs were songs of war. He had found the dragon’s army.

His roving eye took note of a group of people who held themselves apart from the others, kept their distance, stood aloof and proud. He stared at them and his dismay turned to shock.

“What have we done?” Draconas asked the question of himself and all of his kind.

“What have we done?” he asked again. “And can we ever be forgiven?”

Draconas now knew the truth about Anton and Rosa’s daughter. Why she had been chosen and what for. And he was pretty certain now that he knew her terrible fate.

15

VEN SLEPT FITFULLY THAT NIGHT AND WOKE THE NEXT DAY RE-solved to leave the room that had become a prison. He spurned the monks, who urged him to continue to remain in bed. He ate breakfast with a hearty appetite and then sent the monks into a panic when he stated that he was going out for a walk. They attempted to dissuade him by murmuring that he was not well. All he had to do was point to the wound that had already closed and scabbed over. He was still a little weak from loss of blood, but he would never admit to that. If he stayed cooped up in that room with only the mad monks for company, he’d go as mad as the maddest among them.