“Thurmwood says you think it’s Rendor.”
“He told me it’s near Pandera,” said Merceron. “The children are in Pandera, the ones who stole the Starfinder from him.”
Dreojen looked shocked. “You sent them to the centaurs?”
“Why shouldn’t I have?” said Merceron. “Jorian and his people are braver than any of your lot here. They’ll take care of the children until I can get there.”
“Oh, really?” Dreojen’s feathered mane bristled at his insult. “Before you go, there’s something you need to see.”
The caverns were larger than Merceron remembered. As Dreojen led him through the torch-lit catacombs, Merceron recalled the time fifty years ago when they had first discovered them together. Still, he was unprepared for Dreojen’s surprise as she made him close his eyes.
“Now?” he asked eagerly.
She took him a few more paces, then released him. “All right,” she said. “Open them.”
Merceron glanced around the chamber. Smoky candles glowed in iron holders in the rocks. A few rickety, dragon-sized chairs sat along the stone floor. A slant of waning sunlight struggled through a crack in the cavern, pointing like a finger to a wall stuffed full of…
“Books!”
Hundreds of them—maybe a thousand—lined the shelves dug from the rock. Merceron ran his claws over their spines, reciting their names. Books of poetry and history, tales once penned by mighty storytellers, ancient tomes and hand-stitched diaries—dog-eared and yellow, yet lovingly preserved.
“You rescued them,” said Merceron. “How?”
“Thurmwood,” Dreojen explained. “He’s the one that saved them.”
Merceron pulled a volume from the shelf. “Thurmwood? You’re joking.”
“When he knew we’d have to abandon Taurnoken, he took whatever books he could. He asked me to take him to a place where they’d be safe. Look at them, Merceron—these are the most precious books we had in our library.”
Merceron scanned the manuscripts. The very book in his hand had been penned by Jorjungen, a great dragon scholar.
“You may think Thurmwood is a coward,” said Dreojen. “But he’s risked his life to protect these books. The Skylords took everything else in the library. Burned them, probably. You’re looking at all that’s left of our history.”
“Thanks to Thurmwood,” sighed Merceron. He shelved the book. “I’ve been a fool.”
“A small one, perhaps.” For the first time, Dreojen smiled. “There’s something else you should know. After you left, the Skylords demanded we leave Taurnoken. All of us. But no one would help them find you, Merceron. Maybe you won’t believe this, but most of us understood why you had to leave… after what happened.”
Merceron steeled himself. “Do you still blame me for it?”
Dreojen moved to stand beside a chair. “I did,” she said, propping herself up. “For a very long time I blamed you.”
“And now?” Merceron searched her eyes. “What about now?”
“Elaniel wasn’t a child. I think of him as a child, but he was grown enough to know what he was doing.”
Merceron lowered his horned head. Why did parents always remember their offspring as children? Whenever he dreamed of Elaniel, it was always as a youngling, barely able to fly.
“Dreojen, you didn’t answer my question. I need to know—do you still blame me for what happened to him?”
Dreojen moved around the chair but would not look at him. “Sons follow their fathers. Elaniel followed you because he loved you.”
“And because our cause was just,” said Merceron. “Even you must see that now.”
“No one loves the Skylords,” said Dreojen. “But I still wonder why we sacrificed so much.” She studied his coat and bulging pockets. “The Starfinder?”
Merceron removed the Starfinder from his pocket. Its silvery surface gleamed in the candlelight. The object mesmerized Dreojen, but not because of its beauty. To her, the Starfinder was a symbol for everything she’d lost.
“The others won’t change their minds,” she said. “Whatever you do, you’ll have to do alone.”
“Is there a chance you’ll come with me?” asked Merceron hopefully. “It’s been so long.”
Dreojen’s golden eyes swelled. “This is my home now. This time, I’m not leaving.”
Merceron wanted to argue, but couldn’t. A wall remained between them. Brick by brick, the years since Elaniel’s death had made the wall strong. He realized Dreojen still hadn’t answered his question, then realized she didn’t have to. She would always blame him for his death, at least a little.
The sunlight through the crack began to fade. Night was coming fast. Night might bring Redeemers. Merceron summoned Esme to his shoulder again.
“It’s time,” he told his mate.
They embraced without a word. Merceron held Dreojen, wanting to tell her he’d return someday, but knowing he could never make such a promise. In his heart, he knew he’d never see Dreojen again.
Merceron and Esme emerged from the crevice into the last rays of sunlight. The tide had risen, splashing over Merceron’s clawed feet. Overhead the stars were emerging. Merceron fondly scratched Esme’s feathered neck. Things had gone from bad to worse. They were out of options.
“I’m sorry, my Lady,” he told Esme. “There’s only one person who can help us now.”
EGG
THE BLACK TOWER REMINDED MOTH of a light-house. From what he could tell from his tiny cell, it was the only structure on the island, jutting up from the barren earth like an outstretched arm. Sluggish water surrounded the island, licking at its gray shores. Moth stared through the barred window, watching the sun go down. There were no candles in his prison, and no torches or lamps, either. Once the sun was gone, all he’d have was the light of the moon.
The Redeemer had carried him for hours, flying off with him into the cold night, her powerful arms wrapped around his chest like snakes. At first Moth had screamed and screamed, afraid she would drop him. He imagined himself falling, tumbling helplessly to the ground, his body breaking against trees and rocks. Then, when his voice gave out and he could no longer scream, he lay limp in the creature’s grasp, carried away like a half-dead squirrel.
And she had done it all without saying a word.
A chill wind rolled off the water. Moth put his nose through the window bars. The lower the sun fell in the sky, the faster it seemed to drop. Darkness gathered above the tower, and Moth could see stars popping out one by one, like freckles on a face. The freckles reminded him of Fiona. He wondered if she could see the stars, too. He wondered if she was even alive.
His empty stomach rumbled. He scanned the sky, waiting for a rescue that probably wasn’t coming. Once, he thought he heard the engine of a dragonfly, but it was only the wind.
Moth’s cold fingers slipped from the bars. Looking out the window took too much effort. He had to stand on tip-toe just to see. When he turned away, he glimpsed a single bloodshot eye blinking through the peephole of the door.
“Hey!”
The eye disappeared. Moth ran to the door.
“Get back here!”
He put his own eye up to the square. The hall was nothing but shadows. He strained to see, finally catching a glimpse of his jailor pressed against the wall. Her wings lay flat against her back. Yellow, straggly hair tangled on her shoulders.
“I see you!” said Moth. “Why are you spying on me?”
The Redeemer skulked a little closer. Around her waist hung a thick silver chain.
“Why are you keeping me here?” asked Moth. He banged on the door. “Let me out!”
The creature watched him, infuriatingly silent.
“I need food, water!” Moth demanded. “You gonna starve me? Say something!”