Page 238 of Of Empires and Dust

Five winged shapes dotted the sky, with a sixth nestled not far from the white walls. The sight was a bittersweet one. To see dragons fly openly over a reclaimed Lunithíran city of old was a thing of beauty, a thing she had never thought she would see and a sight she was now sure she would never forget.

But there was one missing. Dravír and Irulaian had fallen on the eastern coast, slain by the traitors Lyina and Karakes, their remains dashed against the cliffs and lost to the waters of the Antigan Ocean.

The thought drove Salara’s mind deeper into Vyrmír’s as they shared in the grief. All of them had known the risks of flying to war. They had known them and been willing to take them ten times over. But that didn’t diminish the sense of loss that cut at her heart. The loss that had set her mind in stone. Never again would she allow one of her Draleid to fly these skies alone. Risks needed to be taken, but flying alone left them far too vulnerable. The Dragonguard had not survived so long, through so much bloodshed, by dumb luck. They were fierce and merciless.

As Vyrmír approached the city, he pulled upwards, spreading his brilliant crimson wings. Shouts rose from below, the Craftsmages and workers pausing their toil to cheer, steel clattering and hands clapping together.

The dragon soared over the walls and swirled around the newly erected tower that rose twice as high as any within the city.

Nymaxes and Baerys took positions on either side of Vyrmír, Taran and Indivar at the napes of their necks. The three dragons rose sharply, diving and darting about each other, chirping and shrieking. Both were far smaller than Vyrmír, but they were fierce warriors and a bonded pair. Though their eggs – like all others – had not hatched.

The three soared over the city, and Salara admired the flapping banners of the golden stag that hung from every tower. This city was theirs now. The Reclamation was no longer a dream.

Nymaxes and Baerys pulled away as Vyrmír alighted on the flat top of the central tower at the rear of the keep. A hundred and fifty feet wide with no battlements, just open smooth stone at the top. It was just as the old hatchery towers had once been, purpose-built for dragons.

Before Vyrmír’s talons even hit the stone, the Dracårdare were moving across the tower’s top with buckets of water andbaskets of cloths and mops. They sat themselves down not ten feet from the dragon as he dropped the severed carcass of the black lion to the ground and began tearing it to pieces. Vyrmír had made a habit of taking his meals to that particular tower over the past few days, and the Dracårdare had not been long in learning.

They greeted Salara as she slid from the dragon’s back and walked across the stone, and she inclined her head in return. She was met by Ithandel of Vandrien’s Sunguard, who led her down the stairs and through the tower’s corridors, stopping at a door that appeared to have been spark-carved from solid gold. An enormous depiction of a dragon egg dominated the doors, split through the middle, dragons swirling about it. There was no elf alive that she knew of who could have carved it by hand in that time.

Salara removed her helmet as the guard pushed open the twin doors, and a rush of air swept her hair across her face. The chamber on the other side was enormous, adorned with swooping arches of white stone and golden eggs atop polished pedestals. Hundreds of alcoves were set into the walls, lantern flames flickering all about.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Princess Ervian Lunithír, Vandrien’s youngest sister, strolled through the newly built hatchery, a broad, beaming smile gracing her lips. She was everything that beauty should be: elegant, soft, graceful, awe-inspiring. Her hair was as golden as Vyrmír’s scales, her eyes the same.

“It is.” Salara stared straight at Ervian as she spoke, and the princess gave a wry smile.

Ervian cupped Salara’s cheek with one hand and placed the other over Salara’s heart. “I promised you the hatchery would be one of the first things built, did I not?”

“You did.” Salara savoured Ervian’s touch. She had not felt it often of late.

“Enough nests to hold four hundred eggs in just this one chamber. As large as any at Ilnaen.” Ervian pulled away and gestured about at the alcoves in the walls, each of which lay empty.

“And yet, they may as well be used to hold rocks.”

Ervian narrowed her eyes and glared.

“I’m sorry.” Salara pressed her fingers into her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, Salara.” Ervian once more cupped Salara’s cheek, setting her heart fluttering.

“You are always so full of hope. I don’t mean to cut you down. It’s just hard…” She lifted her gaze to survey the hatchery. “It’s beautiful. All of it. Not even before the Cuendyar has a more beautiful hatchery existed.” Salara could physically feel her heart darkening in her chest, feel the weight of it bearing down upon her. “And yet, it will never know a hatchling’s cry. Never echo with the beats of tiny wings or the cracking of shells.”

“Stop it.” Ervian pressed a finger over Salara’s lips, golden eyes staring into hers. “We focus on what we can control and leave what we can’t to the gods.”

“I trusted the gods before, Ervian…”

“Salara.” Ervian’s voice dropped into that tone it took when she had reached the end of her patience.

They’d had this argument many times over. Despite everything, Ervian still believed in the gods. Still trusted them. Still prayed to them. Salara could do no such thing. She still believed they existed. Their marks were everywhere; they were undeniable. But she could not bring herself to think they were anything other than malevolent or, at best, uncaring. No god that was good would have allowed The Fall to happen… would have taken the life from the dragons. She sighed. Some arguments weren’t worth having.

“Focus on what we can control,” Salara repeated.

“You lead our people on the field of battle, fill their hearts with courage, watch over them. And I will build our home anew, stronger than it ever was before.”

A third voice sounded, echoing in the open chamber. “Salara.”

Queen Vandrien stood on the far side of the hatchery, her hands resting on the low parapet of an open arch set into the wall. She had her back to the chamber, looking out over the city.

Ervian smiled once more and squeezed the sides of Salara’s head before planting a tender kiss on her forehead. “Be patient, my Ayar Elwyn.”

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