Page 21 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

“Kyreagan.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes.”

“He seems like an asshole.”

Varex chuckles. “He may not always be pleasant, but he has a good heart. He is kind, wise, and strong, but he is bearing greater burdens than usual right now, and that can affect the demeanor of the very best of dragons. I left him alone today, but he will need me tomorrow.”

“I’m happy to stay with them.” I nod toward the other women.

He hesitates, surveying the group. “Do you wish to remain here tonight? If you prefer that, I understand. But I did make you something, back in our cave… something you might enjoy, if you would care to spend the night with me.”

“You made something? Is it a nest?”

“Better.” His eyes are alight, and his jaws open slightly, showing his long tongue. It’s as close to a smile as possible for a dragon.

I can’t remember the last time a manmademe a gift. When I was more popular at court, men used to buy me things, but it’s been ages since someone crafted or created an item with me in mind. The excitement radiating from Varex makes a tender, amused joy well up inside me. It feels like yielding, like weakness, and I hate it.

And yet… I can’t bear to disappoint him.

“I’ll go with you,” I say. “But not yet. I want to stay a little longer and try to cheer everyone up.”

“How will you do that?” he asks.

I rise from my spot, testing my ankle and finding that it’s completely healed—not a twinge of pain. For the first time, I give the dragon prince a real smile. “I’ll do it with dance.”

7

Jessiva leaves me and walks over to speak with two of the other women. All of our captives seem to be in a much better mood now that they have washed and eaten. The fires seem to lift their spirits as well, providing light and warmth. I’m embarrassed for my clan that we were so ill-prepared to care for the humans last night. My brother’s plan was a surprise, a shock to all of us, and though we joined with him enthusiastically, we should have done more research first. At minimum we should have realized that the women would require more warmth and coverings than dragons do. But all of us were exhausted fromthe war, weak with shock, thoughtless from the sheer pain of our grief. Perhaps that is some excuse for the way we treated our captives.

At least we are attempting to remedy the negligence now, and the women seem to appreciate it. Though they still startle when we move swiftly, they aren’t screaming at our approach anymore.

I wish Kyreagan would have stayed longer to witness what we’ve accomplished here, but he is trapped in his own head, locked in a cage of grief, guilt, and anger. I know him, and I know I can’t break him out of it. He’ll have to come out on his own, and I trust that he will. Allowing him to have one day to himself was the least I could do. Tomorrow, neither of us will have a choice about facing our responsibilities again. We must meet with the King of Vohrain and confirm that he is turning over the Middenwold Isles to us, as our new hunting grounds. Those islands will be the salvation of our species—a reprieve from the looming threat of starvation.

A soft trickle of variegated sound ripples through the air. I’ve heard something similar before. Lorgrin, my grandfather, was an artist and a creator of beautiful things, one of which is the Pipes of Lorgrin on the Singing Isle, some distance from Ouroskelle. He chiseled and hollowed a series of rock formations so they make music when the wind blows through them and around them. With claws or tongue, a dragon can seal some of the holes and change the pitch of the sounds, creating a tune. My mother and I visited the spot many times, and she told me there was a rumor of a musical cavern Lorgrin designed for Grimmaw.

If there was such a cave, my grandparents kept its location private. The knowledge died with Grimmaw.

The music I’m hearing now reminds me of the Pipes of Lorgrin, though it’s smaller and thinner, produced by a set of reed pipes held to the lips of a human woman. Another womanlifts a small wooden contraption to her shoulder and slides a stick across it. The noise that emerges from the device surprises me. It’s little more than a screech at first, but after some adjustments, the instrument produces a singing sound.

“A fiddle,” says Hinarax eagerly, advancing to stand beside me. “We heard fiddle music a couple times on the mainland, don’t you remember?”

“It does sound vaguely familiar,” I admit. “But you spent more time lurking around the humans’ campfires than I did.”

“Of course.” He bumps my shoulder playfully. “You were always the dutiful brother, following your siblings and sharing their disdain for human culture.”

The comment unsettles me. I dislike being constantly perceived in relation to my family, as if my worth lies solely in uplifting and strengthening them. Kyreagan is the one family member I have left, and it seems I have already fallen into the role of his loyal second-in-command, purveyor of his orders and defender of his choices.

I love him, but I ammorethan my love for him.

The women with the fiddle and the pipe consult briefly with Jessiva, and they begin to play a soft, wistful tune that soars through the air, amplified by the rocks and the mountain itself, echoing through the entire valley. A third woman turns over two empty clay pots and beats an accompanying rhythm on them.

The music intensifies, surging in the night and reverberating in my very soul until I can barely keep still. With a delighted growl, Hinarax joins in, beating time with his feet. Two other dragons do the same, their rhythmic footfalls shaking the ground. A couple of the women begin to hum, a low, passionate sound, vibrant with doleful longing.

I can hardly breathe, can scarcely believe what I’m witnessing. It’s like the casting of a spell, a sinuous weaving ofmagic, invisible cords slithering around us, binding us together with our captives in the fervency of this moment.

Jessiva moves gracefully into the glow of the firelight, each foot carefully posed, each step a measured thought, her bare toes pointed, legs rigidly graceful. She has tied her blue skirts around her waist, leaving her lean legs bare, and as she steps, I can see every defined muscle along those pale legs.

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