Page 138 of Of Empires and Dust

The guards ripped their swords from their scabbards, steel rasping through the corridor. Vaeril’s blade slid across Ilyain’sthroat, drawing a thin trickle of blood. Only Calen’s raised hand kept Ilyain’s heart beating.

“Move a hair and I will open your throat.” Vaeril glared at the Rakina, his sword holding true and steady.

Ilyain leaned into the blade, quickening the flow of blood. His pale, milky eyes stared at Calen. “Vengeance does not bring peace. Trust me, I know. The things we do in anger are a rot within us.” He drew a slow breath. “A dragon’s fury is a Draleid’s greatest strength and deepest weakness both. You must temper it before you can wield it, lest it will consume you.”

“If I wanted your advice,” Calen said, leaning in, “I would have asked for it.”

“We cannot ask for the things we do not know we need. Paspå varno, akar. Du é orin talos du vidim.”

Stay safe, brother. You are more than you know.

Calen stared back into Ilyain’s vacant eyes, searching. He cast one last glance down the corridor at Farda – who still stared back, unmoving – then turned and strode away, his heart still hammering, his veins on fire, Valerys roaring in the back of his mind.

“Still your fire,” Calen whispered as he walked, the clang of his boots echoing.

After a moment, Vaeril appeared at his side. They walked in silence until they stopped before an iron-banded door marked with Jotnar runes. An elf garbed in long dark robes over a breastplate bearing the white dragon stood to the left of the door. Amaril, along with four others, had been assigned to maintain the ward of Spirit around Tivar so as to keep her from the Spark. It was a small price to ensure those runemarked shackles stayed off her wrists.

Amaril inclined her head in greeting to Calen and Vaeril.

Calen gestured at the door. “She is inside?”

“She is, Draleid.”

“Thank you for watching over her.”

“Of course, Draleid. Det er myia haydria.”

It is my honour.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Calen said to Vaeril. He drew a quick breath, then pushed the door open and stepped into the cell.

An oil lantern hung on the leftmost wall, bathing the stone in soft orange light.

Tivar sat with her legs folded beneath her at the back of the room. She lifted her head as he entered, her dark eyes fixing on him.

“Alaith anar, akar.” She smiled weakly, inclining her head.Well met, brother.

“Alaith anar.”

She gave a downturn of her lip. “The armour looks well.” She leaned forwards. “Antherin steel… of a sort. The smith who forged it is skilled. Antherin steel is not easy to work with, and Jotnar rune work is even more difficult still. I assume you did not come so I could compliment your armour?”

“No.”

“Have Farwen and Coren arrived to put this waiting to an end?”

Calen shook his head. “I am to leave.”

“When?”

“Now. I’m taking Aeson to Arkalen, and then I fly with Valerys to Ilnaen.”

The sound that left Tivar’s lips was akin to a hiss. “That place… that place holds nothing but poison.”

Calen let out a soft sigh, sitting on the bench that rested against the wall beside the door, his armour clinking as he did. “Farwen and Coren are due here soon. I promise, no matter what happens, I will not let you be executed.”

Tivar sighed and met Calen’s gaze. “You will do no such thing. You will allow Coren and Farwen to pass their judgement, and you will accept what is chosen.”

“I will not.” Calen sat forwards, his jaw clenching. “Where do we draw the line, Tivar? If we execute you and Avandeer, take another Draleid and dragon from the world, then what? I’m left alone to fight Eltoar and Helios and the other Dragonguard? That’s a death sentence in itself. And what of the elves from Lynalion? What if they turn their sights on us? How many dragons do they have?”

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