Grald was not right, either, but Ven couldn’t explain that. His feelings were a jumble, his world turned topsy-turvy, so that black was white and white was black, good was evil and evil had been made good. Or maybe it was all just a muddy shade of gray. He envied his sister, envied her pride in herself. He envied her clear, sharply delineated view of life. He envied Sorrow her ideas about the dragon, far different from his. She had been raised to honor her father and disparage her mother. He’d been taught just the opposite. Which was right? Both? Neither?

It was all such a tangled, twisted mess. He couldn’t sort it out. Life would be much easier, simpler, if he took his sister’s view of it. Yet, something about her life wasn’t quite right. Just as something about his own life wasn’t right. Fumbling for the answer, he spoke his thoughts aloud.

“If we are taught to believe that we are better than humans because we are half dragon, then doesn’t it follow that we are viewed by dragons as being less worthy than one of their own kind? Who knows but that, among themselves, they mock us and ridicule us the same as humans? We are neither, you see. And despised by both.”

“No, of course not,” Sorrow retorted. “Our father is proud of us! We are his greatest achievement.”

Ven shook his head. Sorrow seemed about to add more, but she clamped her lips and even managed a wry smile. “It seems we are brother and sister. We have been together only a few hours and already we are quarreling.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ven, and he meant it. “I’m trying to understand. That’s all. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Have you talked to our father about your feelings?” Sorrow asked him.

Ven wondered what she would say if he told her he was determined to kill the father she so revered.

Sorrow clasped his hand, squeezed it tightly. “Do so. Our father wants the chance to try to explain. He says that the humans have mistreated you so that you are all twisted up inside.”

Maybe that’s true, Ven said to himself. Maybe I should hear my father’s side of the story.

“I will,” he said suddenly. “I will talk to him this night. Thank you . . . Sister.” He spoke the word awkwardly, but found it felt good. It warmed a place inside him that had been cold almost forever.

He basked in the warmth, until one of the mothers gave a cry of agony, her back arching with the pain. The skirts of her dress were suddenly stained red with blood.

“It is her time,” said Sorrow, pleased. “Another brother or sister will soon be with us.”