Page 289 of Of Empires and Dust

Calen brushed his hand along Valerys’s jaw and pushed his forehead into the hard, warm scales.

“What is the third reason?” Ella asked, lifting her hand from Calen’s knee and leaning forwards. “You said there were three. What is the third?”

Calen stared at his sister. Where tears had formed in his eyes, hers were hard and cold, her blue irises now a glittering gold, her nails turned to dark claws, fangs pressing into her lips.

Fenryr drew a long breath and let out a heavy sigh. “Enough lies have been whispered in your ears and enough promises to fill an ocean, I’d wager. So I will speak plain. The third reason is a selfish one – I need you. Our clan is at the brink of death. Our people as a whole are not far away.” Fenryr tilted his head back and looked up at the dragon looming over him. “Astride Valerys, Calen is the most powerful weapon we have. One of your blood has never been bound to a dragon. Pathfinders do not have keepers as Blooddancers do. In this, Calen and Valerys are unique and their bond has created something singular. I want for Calen’s power – and yours, Ella.”

“Mine?”

“Your father’s bloodline is that of my greatest warriors. And you are the last of that line, a Blooddancer of Sept Bryer. You are far from seeing even your thirtieth summer and yet what you did – shifting with the souls of dragons – has never been done. Not once. That alone shows me the power you hold.” Fenryr laughed, a deep choking laugh as he muttered to himself, “Of course,the blood of Darand and Alannah’s line would emerge precisely when it was needed.”

“I fragmented.” Ella shook her head, and Calen could see her twisting her tongue in her mouth as their mother had taught them to do when biting back anger. “If not for Tamzin, my soul would be drifting through Níthianelle until the breaking of time. What about that speaks of power to you?”

“You’re alive, young one.” The laughter had gone from Fenryr’s voice, the mention of the name Tamzin seeming to sour his mood. Calen recognised the name. It was the druid he had met at the edge of the Burnt Lands alongside Rokka, the one who had told him Ella had awoken. “Our Blooddancers attempted to shift with dragons from the emergence of the very first wars after we made landfall. Tuatha who had fought a hundred battles, who had waged war against the voidspawn. Tuatha who had shed more blood than you have seen water. If we had been able to do so, those wars would have been shorter than a breath. I felt their minds shatter and burn. Felt their souls bleed. Dragons are beasts unlike any other. The fact that your mind still holds itself together says more than a thousand words ever could. And so I say again, my motives are not entirely pure. I came here to guide you back to the mortal plane, but I stay because I wish to use your strength to forge a second dawn for the children of my blood, to forge a new world.”

“There is already a war raging,” Calen said.

“I am aware.” The god turned his eyes on Calen, and a shiver ran through him, the very blood in his veins growing cold. “They are the same war. If Efialtír crosses into this world, we will all pay the price. The Enkara left the mortal plane for a reason. All I ask is that I and Clan Fenryr be welcomed to stand at your side and, when the blood has been spilled, the fires have died, and the living crawl from the ashes of what is left, that our people have a place in the new world.”

Calen held Fenryr’s gaze, something deep within him refusing to look away. This was a god that sat before him. Not Aeson or Chora or the Triarchy. A god. Of all those who had sought to use him and twist him, Fenryr was the one who truly had the power to do so, and he had chosen not to.

As though reading Calen’s mind, the god spoke again. “I would fight at your side, not on your back with chains in my hands. I have felt the pull of chains around my neck. It was your father who freed me from them. And it is not something I would inflict on another.”

“What of the other gods?” Calen glanced at Ella, who was staring back at him, Faenir now sitting upright at her side. “You spoke of Bjorna, and Kaygan, and Vethnir, and Dvalin. Where are they in all of this?”

“Dvalin resides within this very woodland. Though I am not surprised she has yet to reveal herself. She has always been a cautious one. Though, I do not believe it will be long before she shows herself. As for the others…” Fenryr flicked his tongue off the tip of his right fang. “Bjorna wants for nothing but blood – my blood and that of the others. He does not care for the wars of this land. He is fighting the same war he has been fighting since Terroncia. He would be the last of us. We will find no friend there. Kaygan I’m sure we will be seeing shortly. That kat is many steps ahead of us all. The moment you think you know his will is two moments after the knife is buried in your gut. He will require caution. As for Vethnir…” The name turned to a growl on Fenryr’s lips, and he spat on the stone. All about the plateau, the other Angan snarled.

“Bjorna wants us dead. But he and his clan fight like warriors. They fight for their own will. That I respect. Vethnir betrayed us all. He was the first of the Danuan to hunt his own kind and sell his captives to the Cealtaí, the elves, the Jotnar. Even now, he has been aligned with Fane Mortem since TheOrder fell, buying his safety with the heads of his kin. I would rip out his throat and feel his blood run down my chin.”

“I would do the same.” The voice echoed in the vast open space of the Eyrie. Faenir snapped upright, the Angan following suit as Valerys spun, frills vibrating, wings spreading wide.

Calen and Ella were both on their feet in a heartbeat, Ella’s claws extended, the Spark flowing in Calen’s veins. Only Fenryr moved slowly, letting out a sigh as he pulled himself upright.

Two women and a man stood at the edge of the Eyrie, along with that same kat-like creature Calen had seen on the edge of the Burnt Lands, scales of black glass glimmering on its body. Calen recognised each of them.

“Tamzin…” Ella took a step forwards, her stare softening as she looked to the short, dark-haired woman.

Tamzin smiled softly and bowed her head. “It is good to see you well.”

Fenryr stepped past Ella as Aneera and the other Angan drew closer. For a moment Calen thought the Eyrie might run red with blood, but instead, Fenryr gave the slightest of bows towards Tamzin and pressed his palm to his forehead. “I am told it is by your grace that my child has returned to this plane. You have my thanks and my boon. If you find yourself in need, ask what you will of me. If it is within reason, I will fulfil it.”

Tamzin mimicked the gesture, bowing far deeper. “You honour me, Danuan. I would not have seen her taken by the Vethnir or slain by the Bjorna. She is my kin. Your thanks is more than I require.”

Fenryr inclined his head.

Rokka pressed his hand to his forehead and moved closer, only flinching when Valerys lowered his head and pulled his lips back in a snarl. The old man looked up at the dragon, a smile cracking his hesitant expression. “Don’t.”

Valerys leaned closer, the rumble in his throat rising. But after a moment, he pulled back, the rumble never truly dissipating.

“My most sincere thanks.” Rokka bowed deeply to the dragon, deep enough for it to seem almost theatrical. He looked to Calen and smiled. “Being burned alive is not as fun as it sounds.” He turned his attention to Fenryr. “It is good to see you, brother.”

“Is it? I see you still hide behind smoke and dead faces.”

The pair exchanged greetings, but all the while, the words that had left Rokka’s lips spun in Calen’s mind. He took a step forwards, eyes narrowing on Rokka. “Brother?”

Fenryr let out a long sigh, pursing his lips. “You have encountered him then? Which name did he give you? Which guise did he wear?”

“Rokka… He said his name was Rokka.”

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