I was about to protest, but I realized she was baiting me. I didn’t have the patience for it. I was about to respond, anyway, when Sir Baramon joined us. His red face suggested both the rigors of a hard march and the tears he’d shed along the way. I reminded myself he’d lost someone very close just a few hours prior.

I didn’t even know his lover’s name.

Sir Baramon sat down next to me. “That was…” He pressed his lips together and tried again. “I’m not imagining things, am I? A dragon attacked us? I thought they were myths…”

“Oh no,” Brother Qown said as he unpacked his satchel, looking for whatever supplies he needed to treat Ninavis. “That was Aeyan’arric.”

Everyone stopped.

Ninavis blinked. “You know its name?”

“Her name,” Brother Qown corrected. “And yes, I know her name. There are eight dragons. Based on the descriptions I’ve read, that’s Aeyan’arric, the Ice Bringer, Lady of Storms.” He hesitated as he saw the expression on our faces. “Father Zajhera taught me their names.”

“Eight of them,” I repeated. “Like the gods?”

Brother Qown gave me a shocked look, the one he wore whenever I asked a question he’d rather I hadn’t. “No! I mean, there are more than eight gods, anyway…”

“Only eight gods who matter.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Dragons are the living antithesis of the natural order the gods personify, so you can’t compare them.” He held out his hands. “Sometimes a number is just a number.”

I stared at him and felt in my bones my priest had just lied to my face.

“So eight in all the world,” I said, “and yet one shows its face—her face—here. Now.” I finished pulling the plates from my arms. “Even if we call ourselves fortunate that the dragon was only interested in our elephants, I find myself discomfited. She flew toward Mereina…”

“It may be coincidence,” Qown said.

“Oh aye. And when vultures circle in the sky after a battle, that’s just coincidence too.” Dorna began picking up discarded armor and placing the pieces in neat, organized rows next to Sir Baramon. “I’d see about helping the group fix supper, but I’d say they’ve had enough catastrophes for one day. I can help with the ritual of parting, though.”

Embarrassment washed over me. Of course, the townsfolk would still have a funeral. Even if they didn’t have bodies to burn, ashes to scatter over fields, they would still honor those they’d lost. We wouldn’t have enough rations for the funeral feast, but …

But. They had to do something.

I couldn’t blame them.

“Do you think they’d mind if I said a few words?” Brother Qown asked.

“Well, you ain’t a priest of the Eight, colt—” Dorna began to protest.