“Why ever for?” Sorrow was astonished. “They are humans who are strong in the dragon-magic, but, apart from that, they are like any other humans, except that they have been honored by our father.”

“I just do,” said Ven. He could not tell his sister. She would not understand. He wasn’t sure he understood himself.

Sorrow shrugged and led him to where the women who were due to give birth to the half-dragon children were kept in isolation.

There were about ten of them. Sometimes there were more, Sorrow said, sometimes less. All of them were near the end of their time, their bellies distended and swollen, their faces haggard and pale, their bodies thin and wasted, for the dragon-child inside each was literally sucking the life out of its mother.

Ven looked at them and he saw his own mother, Melisande. She had also been “honored” by Grald.

“Do any survive the birth?” he asked.

“Not many,” said Sorrow in matter-of-fact tones. “Those who do are sickly and die soon after. Why do you look at them like that? They are to be envied, not pitied! The women of Dragonkeep vie for this honor! Only the very best are chosen, and they consider themselves extremely fortunate.”

“Do these women look like they consider themselves ‘fortunate’?” Ven demanded.

“They are human,” said Sorrow disparagingly. “I don’t look at them at all if I can help it.”

“The dragon lies to them, Sorrow,” Ven said, repeating what Draconas had told him. “The dragon tells the girls they are coming to live in luxury in this palace. Instead, he brings them here and impregnates them and, in essence, murders them.”

Sorrow was silent a moment, the flush of anger creeping back to her face. Then she said, quite calmly, “You think I should be shocked to hear that the dragon lies to them. I am not. Humans have no capacity to understand the dragon mind. You have lived among them. Do they understand you?”

Sorrow’s eyes softened. “I know your story, Ven. The human, Grald, told us. He said that they put you in a cage. That they mocked you and ridiculed you. He said that even your own foster mother told you that you are the devil’s spawn. And that you believe her.”

Ven regarded her in grim silence.

“I am sorry, Brother. I did not mean to bring up these hurtful things. Grald told us that it might make you sad.” Sorrow’s fingers touched his arm lightly. Her flesh was warm, the long talons cool by contrast. “Is he wrong in what he says of you?”

“No,” Ven answered, after a moment. “He is not wrong.”