Page 303 of Of Empires and Dust

“There is something unique and special in watching a person grow – as you have.” Chora pursed her lips as though this might hold back the tears that threatened her. When Daiseer had been taken from her, she had wept for almost three days and three nights without break. Her stomach had turned, her eyes had been dry as sand, and a hammer had pounded in her head. But after that, she had not shed a tear. This day might change that. “I watched every one of them die or have their soulkin be torn from them, their soul shattered. They were, each of them, like my own children. And there is nothing more savage, and brutal, and soul-rending to a parent than watching their children suffer. Aeson is the last, and he has lost more pieces of himself than any one man should be able to bear. Yet he perseveres. By some form of divine will, he puts one foot in front of the other, and he refuses to stop. Do not tell him, but he is the pride of my life. He should have been what you are. Do you see that?”

Calen raised a curious eyebrow.

“Aeson was the greatest prodigy we had ever seen. The bond he shared with Lyara was akin to the bond the moon shares with the stars. He was all pride and arrogance but equal parts honour and strength of will – much like someone else I know. He would have been a champion. His name would have danced in thegreatest songs of the Age. He was destined to be Archon one day, to grace the skies with Lyara until time wore away at their hearts. That was taken from him. Everything was taken from him, and still he never faltered. Not once. His name will never be sung, his story seldom told, but if we win this war, it will be on Aeson’s back we were carried.”

Chora studied Calen, hoping her words were being heard. Understood. Calen needed to know who and what Aeson was. He needed to understand that no matter what strength flowed in his veins or how many marched at his back, he had been granted it all by the gift of Aeson’s unwillingness to lie down and die. And he needed to understand that loss was a part of life.

“When I look at you, Calen, I see all of their faces. All of those young souls I failed to protect. I see the pride and hubris of youth, the hope and the fire. And it terrifies me, because I do not know if I can survive losing that hope again.” Chora’s gaze met Calen’s, and a deep rumble resonated from Valerys’s chest. “There are two shades of hope, Calen. One is the light that guides you forward, the other a noose around your neck. The more hope you let into your heart, the brighter the light, the longer the noose.”

Calen gave a long sigh and nodded, more to himself than to Chora.

“Four hundred years ago, I would have stood here and I would have argued and roared and demanded you fly north to Tarhelm. Because without you, every soul in that mountain will die. Because it is your duty as a Draleid and your responsibility as a leader. But now I find myself in a place I have never before been, a place where I am afraid, and uncertain, and simply not myself. Because I have once more allowed hope into my heart. What if you fly to Tarhelm and Coren is wrong? What if Helios stands in your path, or Karakes, or Seleraine – or any of the elven dragons? Coren’s message said the armies are alone, butwhat if she is wrong? If she is, then you will be dead and that hope will be gone, and I will see no more point in trudging through this world any longer. When hope dies, the light fades and the noose tightens.”

She clicked her tongue off the roof of her mouth and shook her head.

“If I listened to myself, I would keep you sheltered in this place where you are safe, just as I have done to myself for these past four centuries while Aeson and Coren and Farwen refused to give in. So I will not listen to myself, and I will actively try not to tie you with those same chains I put on myself. I have been less than I am, and for that, I am sorry.” Chora allowed a deep breath to swell in her chest, and she straightened her back in her chair, taking one last look at the woodland. “I will inform the others that you are to fly south to Salme. Perhaps there is something we can do for those in Tarhelm, perhaps not. As I said, this is war.”

“We are going to fly north, Chora.”

“North? You couldn’t have led with that?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” Calen gave her a half-smile before reaching up and touching the scales of Valerys’s neck. He stared into the dragon’s eyes, going silent for a moment.

“Rise so that others rise with you.” The words left Calen’s lips in a whisper. Chora recognised them. Coren had repeated them over and over in those first years following The Fall, like a creed.

“Did you know a Draleid called Tarast?” Calen asked.

“Tarast?” Chora did little to keep the surprise from her tongue. “How do you know that name?”

“I watched him die.” There was awe and admiration both in Calen’s voice. “In the western hatchery tower, the night Ilnaen fell. He fought like a man possessed. He could have run. Could have taken Antala to wing and fled. But instead, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his brothers and sisters and facedhis end. With fire and fury. He was a guardian until his dying breath.”

Chora wanted to speak, but her voice twisted in her throat, refusing to come forth. She had not known how Tarast had died. She had simply never seen him again after that night.

“And Kollna, there was not a piece of her soul that considered doing anything other than save those eggs. She knew she would die, and yet she accepted it. That was why I did everything I could to bring them back, because it felt as though, in some way, it meant her death was for a reason.”

“Calen, Calen, do not hold that weight.” Chora knew she had been too harsh when he had returned with the eggs and left Alvira’s possessions to the knights. She knew, and yet her own pride forbade her from saying so.

Calen shook his head, turning so he stared out at the morning sun that still hung low on the horizon, the Blood Moon beside it like a horrid mirror. “This Gift – if it is truly such a thing – shows me the darkest of memories. But there is something within them… I watched a Dracårdare refuse to allow fear to control him because his faith that the Draleid would protect him was so unshaking.”

Those words sliced deep into Chora’s shattered soul and carved into her pride and her guilt. The Draleid had not protected them. The Draleid had failed.Shehad failed. The city had fallen.

“When you told me I had a lot to learn about the world, you were right.” Calen drew a long, slow breath. “I asked you here, Chora, not simply to tell you I will fly north, but because I need something from you first.”

Calen’s tone grew sombre, and his gaze fixed on hers. Above him, Valerys let out a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the stone around them. “I need you to allow Tivar and Avandeer to fly at my side.”

Chora stared back at him. “We have already voted, Calen. You know this.”

“I do. And if Farwen and Coren die at Tarhelm because I cannot save them alone, what then? I need Tivar and Avandeer at my side if I am to fly north and stand any chance of making a difference. And for that, I need you to change your vote. I need you to grant them life.”

Chora gripped the rim of her right wheel reflexively, the muscles in her jaw tensing. “You ask this of me, when you know what they have done?”

“I do.”

“Do you know how many of those young Draleid Tivar and Avandeer slew? How many of my friends? My family?”

Calen looked away for a moment, then turned back, his stare unflinching. “No, but no doubt countless. I don’t ask this lightly, Chora. I understand the gravity of the decision. I understand what I am asking you to do.”

“And what of Farda and the others?” Chora squeezed the rim of her wheel even harder, the knuckles in her hand and fingers growing stiff, her skin paling as she relived those moments from all those years ago. The night Ilnaen fell burned through her mind. Dragons shrieked as they were torn limb from limb, as their soulkin were ripped apart and slaughtered in their sleep. Screams echoed off white stone as the citizens she was meant to protect were savaged and butchered in the streets. “What of the man who murdered your mother, Calen? Are you as quick to forgive him as you ask me to be with Tivar?”

---