Page 61 of Of Empires and Dust

“I trusted you.” Aeson rested his hand on the open door, the iron band cold against his skin. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. So many years had passed that he’d wished he could have had this conversation, and now that it was here, he had no time for it. “You were my brother and I trusted you.Alviratrusted you.”

“She let them die, Aeson. I could have saved them. She let them die.”

Without looking back, Aeson stepped from the room and closed the door behind him, the lockclickingback into place.

Calen stoodwith his hand on Valerys’s flank, staring out over the edge of the plateau, the sound of crashing water drifting up from below.

Valerys rumbled in the back of his mind, and through the dragon’s eyes Calen saw Tarmon, Erik, Lyrei, and Vaeril emerging from the passageway in the rock on the western edge of the Eyrie. Ten warriors bearing the mark of the whitedragon on their breastplates followed, flanking four figures who marched between them, chains clinking.

Aeson, Chora, Thacia, Atara, and Harken all stood waiting at the edge of the Eyrie’s main plateau, the other Rakina spread about, stares fixed on the procession. The two dragons, Varthear and Sardakes, were curled up near the Eyrie’s entrance, their backs pushing against the lowest branches of a nearby tree.

Calen drew the cold air into his lungs and turned, observing the scene with his own eyes. His pulse picked up as he caught sight of Farda walking at the head of the prisoners. Four angry gashes ran across the left side of his face. Beside Calen, Valerys pushed himself upright with his forelimbs, a growl reverberating in his chest. Calen had to physically slow his breathing, trying to calm the rage that burned in Valerys at the sight of the man, a rage that shifted between them.

A hand rested on Calen’s shoulder, pulling him from his mind.

“Are you all right?” Dann asked, his gaze not leaving Calen’s.

Calen shook his head, clamping his jaw down. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I want to cut his heart out, Dann.”

“I don’t think you’re the only one.” Dann tilted his head, gesturing at those gathered. All twenty-six of the Rakina who resided in Aravell, along with Therin and Dann, stood about the plateau. All twenty-six stared unblinking at Farda and the others.

“He killed her,” Calen whispered, to himself as much as to Dann. “He set her on fire… he…”

Calen’s hands shook, the memory replaying in his mind. The look on Farda’s face, the flames, his mother’s screams.

By force of habit, Calen reached down to rub his thumb and forefinger between the silk of the scarf that had long been tied to his belt loops. All his fingers found was the rough touch of leather. He had given the scarf to Haem. He could see it inhis mind’s eye, the autumn red, the vines of cream and gold, but it wasn’t the same as feeling its calming touch against his fingertips. The scarf’s absence only served to amplify that of Haem’s. Moments like this were when he needed his brother, his sister.

Dann’s hand squeezed tighter on Calen’s shoulder.

Theclinkof chains echoed through the passage, accompanied by the sound of talons on stone and the drum of footfalls.

Valerys moved forwards, the force of his anxiety causing Calen to stagger with him.

Eight elven mages, each bearing the white dragon, marched through the enlarged passageway, trepidation on their faces as they wove threads of Spirit, Air, and Fire about themselves. Behind them walked eight more elves, fists gripped around long chains connected to the neck and legs of a dragon twice Valerys’s size, purple scales tipped with white, eyes of brilliant yellow.

“Avandeer…”

Calen’s gaze fell on the blue light that shimmered from the runes marked into shackles on Avandeer’s legs and the collar around her neck. His heart stopped, his breath catching. Calen had not seen Tivar and Avandeer since the fighting, but he knew those bindings, knew the pain and emptiness they caused. He looked to Tivar at the end of the four prisoners. She had stopped and now stared back at Avandeer, pulling at her chains. He knew that agony, that hopelessness, felt it still in his bones.

His jaw twitched, memories flitting through his mind of the cell in Drifaien, of Artim Valdock, of the apathy, the loss… An insuppressible fury ignited within Valerys, pouring into Calen, flooding his veins and burning his mind; he tried to push it back, to soothe it as he had been learning, but it was too raw. The sight of Tivar and Avandeer suffering as Calen and Valerys had suffered was too much.

“Get those manacles off them.” Calen strode across the plateau, ignoring the staring Rakina, his arm shaking as he pointed from Tivar to Avandeer.

The rage that flowed over him burned cold, ice in his veins, frost on his skin.

“Calen, take a moment. Breathe.” Aeson moved to stand in Calen’s way, his arms open.

“Take the manacles off, Aeson.” Calen clenched his jaw, trembling. The purple light of his eyes reflected in Aeson’s as he once more pointed at Avandeer. He tried to hold back the rage within, tried to calm himself, tried to calm Valerys. The dragon had no heart for calm. Calen steadied his voice as best he could. “Take them off.”

“Calen, I?—”

“Take them off!” Calen’s roar scratched at his throat, and he could feel the veins in his neck bulging. A surge of power swept through him as he and Valerys’s minds collided.

Aeson stepped back, his expression shifting. He raised his open palms, his gaze lifting upwards.

Calen didn’t have to look to know Valerys loomed over him, purple light misting from the dragon’s eyes, teeth bared, a vicious rumble in his throat. They had moved as one, completely and entirely. Calen could feel each pump of their heart, blood coursing through their veins.

As though in response to Calen and Valerys, Varthear and Sardakes rose in the southern section of the Eyrie, their eyes fixed on Aeson, their frills raised, lips pulled back.

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