A few days earlier

  Sower of Embers, Reaper of Flames flew. She had no destination in mind, nowhere she particularly wished to go. And that would have been fine, normally. This place was so pleasant. The air was thick with ambient magic. The forest stretched lush and green from shore to shore, except where the mountains rose tall and proud in a jagged range down the length of the island, and both the forests and mountains were practically crawling with delicious morsels, there for the taking. On any other day she might have been flying aimlessly, simply for the sheer enjoyment of it.

  But not today. Today, while she would never admit it, she wasn’t just flying aimlessly. She was flying away from something. And that something was a whelp less than a decade old, which had filled her with such a confused mix of rage and grief that she’d seen only two options: burn everything in sight, or leave. And despite all the confusion, and the rage, and the grief, she could not bring herself to harm the whelp that smelled like her own child, or the human that called to her through her Kin Sense, and who sometimes spoke in her daughter’s voice. And so she left.

  If she’d been less proud, she might have admitted that she fled. But Sower of Embers, Reaper of Flames had never fled from anything in the past four centuries, and she would be dead before she admitted to fleeing from a creature that couldn’t so much as annoy her, much less cause her any harm.

  If she’d been less proud, she would have admitted just how deeply that whelp had wounded her with her lies and her silence.

  Whether she’d admit it or not, she flew away from her child, from the ruined human city that had once adored a truly remarkable male, and from the north entirely. She followed the western coast of the island, not really thinking, refusing to reflect on what had transpired. She didn’t know what else to do.

  Her uncle had advised her to either kill the whelp or forgive her, but Embers couldn’t see a path to either. How could she kill a whelp, especially one that looked and smelled and felt like her own? And how could she forgive a deception of such a magnitude? How could she look past the claim, which she could not ignore, that her daughter had—what? Been infected with a human soul? Fused with it? Mated with it, in some bizarre intangible fashion, to create a third, independent creature that only partially felt like Embers’ own child, but which claimed to carry her daughter’s memories, and which saw Embers as her mother?

  She could see no way to either lash out or forgive, and so she flew; aimlessly in her own mind, but really away from the source of her grief.

  She didn’t hurry; flying for enjoyment should be done slowly, and since she had no destination, flying quickly would have been too close to admitting that she was not enjoying herself. Still, she went through the motions of enjoyment. She meandered. She stopped frequently to admire the stark beauty of some mountain peak in stillness, or to sample the many cool, clear streams that ran down high valleys toward the forest and the sea, and all the rest of that day she didn’t make it more than halfway south along the island.

  She spent the night in the mountains, inside a cave she’d expanded for herself while she was keeping the young silver and emerald pair from encroaching on her daughter’s territory. By the time sleep claimed her, she was no closer to a decision on what to do about the whelp and her pet humans. She’d barely even thought about them. She told herself that she’d been enjoying her flight too much; if she’d been less proud, she might have admitted that even thinking about how her daughter had deceived her was too painful to dwell on.

  She flew faster the next day, though nowhere near as fast as she could when she was actually going somewhere. It was not yet noon when she arrived at the southernmost point of the island, where she’d first met Splendor. And it was then, as she sat on the sand watching the waves, that she was finally forced to begin to work through what had happened, and what she was feeling. Not that she would have ever thought of it in those terms.

  It began with remembering how she’d first encountered that irrationally aggravating male. The Might And Splendor Of The Depthless Ocean had crossed the sea to meet her. He had a similar Advancement to her own, which had alerted him to a new female within his range, and he had flown for a day and a night to see who it might be; she’d detected him during his journey. And when she declared her disinterest and warned him not to approach the shores of the island, he refused to be discouraged. Every time she drove him off he returned, sometimes as soon as she turned to return to land, and every time he would shower her with some new form of flattery. Her size, her form, her vigilance, her pride, her speed, the shine of her scales, even the heat of her flame after the first time she singed his tail; there was nothing about her he did not admire, if he was to be believed.

  And if she was to be honest with herself, she had been, and still was, tempted to take him at his word. She always had been weak for a male smaller than herself who did not let her superiority discourage him. And she had tolerated his presence for some time before returning north. They had spoken long into the night, and she had discovered that his name was not entirely undeserved. There was at the very least some little depth to him, beneath the flattery. But that was a different subject altogether.

  Remembering those first encounters with Splendor inevitably brought her thoughts back to the whelp that she could not, for all her hurt and for all her confusion, stop thinking of as her daughter. As Embers kept guard against Splendor’s repeated intrusions, Draka had come to find her. And not because she wanted something from her; it had become clear early that the independent-minded whelp would have preferred for Embers to leave the island altogether. No, it was simply that she had grown and wished her mother to see, and when she could not find Embers she had flown south out of concern for her. Draka had feared that something had happened to her mother, and had put herself at risk to make sure that all was well.

  How was a proud dragon, many centuries old, supposed to react to that? At the time she had played it off as amusing. She had set her daughter’s fears to rest with reassurances that she was fine, and that Splendor would soon be gone. But even then she had been… touched, and unsure how to feel. No one had truly worried for Embers since before she left her father’s care to strike out on her own. Not even Night; even all those centuries ago, he had been convinced of her near invincibility, and he had not been entirely wrong to think so. But Draka had feared that Embers was hurt, and she had come to find her, and to attempt to help if she could.

  Perhaps if it had been anyone else, Embers would have been insulted at the suggestion that she might have been brought low, but not so with Draka. Embers had already felt a great deal of tenderness for her unexpected daughter. Her concern and her suspicions about the waning and waxing of Draka’s thread had done little to change that, but the way she, a barely fledged whelp, had come to her mother’s “rescue…”

  How was a proud dragon supposed to react to that?

  And after remembering something like that, how could a mother harm or reject her child, no matter what had come to light?

  When Embers roused herself from the stupor of her thoughts, the sun had passed its peak and begun its descent. A human ship lay at anchor at a well-judged distance from the shore, close enough to watch her but not so close as to provoke her; and when she looked around, there were more humans, these astride nervous horses, watching her from the low, sandy ridges that lined the beach. None approached or addressed her, and they scattered when she spread her wings and took to the sky. She chose to take their fearful distance as a mark of respect, rather than an insult; had she been younger and less assured of herself, perhaps she might have taken their lack of deference and tribute as contempt, and been forced to punish them, but the centuries had taught her better. Humans, she had learned, often responded to fear and uncertainty with inaction, and she was far too preoccupied to waste time and effort on taking offence where none was likely intended.

  The sight of the humans, though, reminded her of her deceitful daughter, just as her thoughts of Splendor had. No wonder that she loved humans so much; not only was she Night’s daughter, but she was supposedly partially human herself. She was so enamored with them that she cared not only for her own flock, but concerned herself with the safety of a whole city of the little creatures. In fact, if Embers remembered correctly, Draka would have considered the humans Embers could now see below her to be her enemies. Were not the southern humans at war with the northern ones? Embers was fairly sure that was the case. Should she burn them, just in case?

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  She caught herself before making a decision either way. Even she could not ignore how she’d just considered going out of her way to destroy her daughter’s possible enemies, despite what had so recently transpired between them. There was no denying that she still worried about her daughter, and that she wanted her to be safe and prosperous. But while Embers was proud, she was not too proud to admit to herself that she did not understand her. She had not truly understood Night, either, for all that she treasured his company, especially not when it came to the humans. Embers could appreciate humans. They were interesting, and often amusing, and when one truly latched on they could be downright precious. But those were singular humans, few and far between. A flock was to be treasured, certainly, but to Embers they had mostly been a faceless mass. The way Draka fussed over them, and her father before her, it was… odd. Embers didn’t understand it.

  Well, then. Ignorance was weakness, and Embers had never been one to suffer weakness in herself. And while she did not feel ready to return to the ruins of Night’s city, where her daughter had brought her most precious specimens, there were the city, and the village. Draka had relationships with the chiefs of both. Embers would simply go there instead.

  From high above, the human city was much as Embers had last seen it. She had avoided it for some time now; her daughter had wished to keep up some charade of protecting the city from her own mother, and Embers had acquiesced. It had been quite amusing, really, and as there was nothing Embers wanted in that place it had made little difference to her. That had changed.

  She circled the city, descending slowly as she picked an appropriate place to land. One soon suggested itself: there was a wide open space near the center of the city, surrounded by some of the largest buildings she could see. This was presumably the Forum of which Draka and her humans had spoken, and that would make one of the buildings surrounding it the Palace, where the chiefs of the city dwelled. It would serve excellently, and she stopped her circling and swept down to land.

  The humans there were understandably upset, fleeing from her with great commotion. Only a few of the scattered warriors stood their ground, placing themselves between Embers and those who fled. Embers could not say if they were ignorant, arrogant, or simply committed to defending those others, but it didn’t matter. Whether they stood or fled, she ignored them all, finding a spot where her natural dominance of any place she visited was enhanced by her positioning. And from there she spoke, her voice booming across the wide open space, echoing off the large buildings.

  “I will speak with the chiefs of this place!” It was a statement; a command; a declaration of her will, and of the shape of the near future. No human could hear those words and willingly work to defy them. And soon enough a small gaggle of humans, two aged ones surrounded by younger, more vital warriors, exited the largest building, descending its stairs and approaching her.

  The elders were the obvious leaders of the group; a well-fed female, and a stringy-looking male. They both showed signs of carefully controlled fear; the two warriors closest to them, both males in the prime of their lives, showed none. This was a common trait among would-be dragon slayers, but neither showed any sign of aggression. A fine thing, too, as Embers was not above reducing this group to ash and trying again.

  The old female stopped at a respectful distance from Embers, and the rest of the group followed her lead. She then held up one hand and took two more steps before bowing. Again, the others did as she had. And once she’d straightened, she spoke.

  “Lady Dragon.” The female may be old, but her voice was clear and firm. And the form of address was not the usual, but it was perfectly polite. Embers approved. “I am the Lady Justice Sempralia. I have been elected to speak for the Council and the people of the city of Karakan, along with my colleague, the Lord Exchequer Soandel.”

  The old male repeated his bow.

  Sempralia and Soandel. Both names that Embers vaguely recognized. She was fairly certain that they were among the chiefs that her daughter had the most contact with. Which may explain why these two in particular had been chosen to speak with her.

  “May I presume that you, Lady Dragon, are Sower of Embers, Reaper of Flames, mother to Lady Draka?”

  Embers almost huffed in wry amusement. She certainly had a daughter, who had been born in the body of the whelp calling herself Draka. But was the one calling herself Draka her daughter? That was the question, wasn’t it?

  But it would not do to hesitate or show uncertainty before these humans. “I am she,” Embers rumbled. “And I commend you, Lady Justice Sempralia, on the use of my full and correct name. Other humans have addressed me simply as Reaper, a sure way of invoking my displeasure.”

  “Thank you, Lady Dragon. The credit goes to your daughter; she has been quite clear about how you are to be addressed.” There was a tense silence as Lady Justice Sempralia carefully chose her next words, settling on, “May I inquire why you have chosen to grace us with your presence?”

  “I have come to learn more about the relationship between Draka and the humans of this city. She has been quite insistent that I leave you in peace, despite the many insults and injuries she has suffered. I find myself wondering why.”

  The humans grew visibly more agitated at her words, and the scent of their fear grew stronger. The warriors even went so far as to shift subtly, readying themselves to fight, or possibly to carry their elders away.

  “I understand that you have offered her tribute in the form of gold, which is a fine motivation. But I also know that she has developed an attachment to this place for the sake of her humans, and that she has often chosen to dwell here rather than at her own lair. It has even gone to the point of her defying my wishes and putting herself at risk for your sake. I wish to learn why. And while I do not expect you to know the full answer to that question, I do expect you to tell me what you know of her, and how you view your relationship with her.”

  The old human considered Embers’ words for a long while before replying. “That, Lady Dragon, will take some time, and Lord Exchequer Soandel and I are not as strong as we once were. May I call for some things to make us more comfortable as we give you the answers you desire?”

  “You may,” Embers indulged her. “But do not delay for too long. My patience is great, but not infinite.”

  And so it was. At Sempralia’s word many things were brought to them: cushions, low tables, scrolls, and refreshments chief among them. The humans asked if Embers required anything, but she declined; she was content to wait, and to watch.

  It was interesting. The longer she remained there without incinerating anyone, the more humans drifted back to the Forum. By the time Sempralia and Soandel were ready to give an account of their knowledge of and dealings with her daughter, a whole herd of humans had gathered, held back by warriors as the sound of their cautious curiosity filled the air. The scent of their fear filled the Forum, yet they were there, desiring to see what might happen. It was as though they couldn’t help themselves.

  It was well into the evening when Embers declared herself satisfied and departed for the mountains. She had learned much, and felt herself closer to forming an understanding of her daughter. There were many things about her relationship with the humans that Draka had kept from her; risks she had taken and harm that she had suffered for their sake, to protect them or to avenge insult and injury done to them. And that, she thought, was at the center of her deception. Draka, Embers was fairly certain, had feared as much for her humans as for herself. She had feared that Embers might harm the humans if she learned the truth, or separate Draka from them somehow. And from what Embers had seen over the last several weeks, her daughter was far more willing to be separated from her hoard than she was her humans, especially Herald.

  Embers was halfway to the mountains before it occurred to her that the humans had offered no tribute, and that she had asked for none. It only went to show how deep her distraction ran. She elected to forgive them. If their only experience with dragons was with Draka, then it was unsurprising that they did not know the proper way to greet one of her kind. Besides, Embers’ hoard was far away, and she had no intention of flying around with her craw full of gold. That, and it would be embarrassing to return to the city now.

  That night, Embers thought long and hard about what she’d learned and the conclusions she’d drawn. She refined them until, by the time the sun rose above the eastern sea, she’d arrived at this: to Draka, her humans were as precious as gold. Her love for them was no different than any dragon’s love for the precious metal. She could not hope to defend them from Embers, and so she had used deception, fearing that the truth might lead to losing them. If it had been her hoard she’d feared for, no dragon would have done differently in her place.

  It didn’t matter if there was some human in her; it didn’t matter if she was soft on humans, or showed a bizarre level of compassion even for rival dragons. In the ways that truly mattered, Draka was no less a dragon than her father had been.

  It did not resolve everything. Her true daughter was trapped in a human, able to do little but speak. She could not decide whether the one who resided in her daughter’s body along with the invasive human soul was a second daughter, a granddaughter, or something else entirely. But she could not kill them, and she found herself willing to forgive. That was enough.

  Her mind made up, Embers looked to the north, and took to the sky.

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