“They already know we’re here,” sighed Merceron.
“They do? Then why’d I bother hiding the dragonfly?”
Merceron shrugged. “I didn’t tell you to.”
Annoyed, Skyhigh pretended to turn his back. “Just for that you’re not getting any beans. So, if they know we’re here, why don’t they come for us?”
“Because they have patience,” snapped Merceron. “Every race has patience—except humans. Now would you mind shutting up?” He grumbled as he settled his long chin back onto his claws. “Fifty years, no flying. Then a boy comes along and suddenly I’m flying myself to exhaustion every day…”
“What are you muttering about?”
“Nothing. I’m tired. All right?”
Skyhigh offered him a biscuit. “Here…”
Merceron batted it away, right over the cliff.
“Hey! That was supper!”
“If you’re hungry, eat,” Merceron growled. “Please, put something in your mouth instead of your tongue.”
Skyhigh stuck his spoon into the beans, silent for a moment as he watched the sinking sun. The moon appeared in the cloudless sky, its silver light beginning to tinge the far-off palace. Skyhigh set aside his tin.
“Merceron, we have to talk.”
“Oh, no…”
“What’s our plan? You haven’t told me yet.”
“No?”
“Listen,” said Skyhigh crossly. “For two days you’ve done nothing but fly and keep quiet. I trusted you enough to come along, but the Skylords aren’t going to just hand Moth over to us. I want to know why I’m here. What exactly do you want me to do?”
Finally, Merceron lifted his head. “Trust?”
Skyhigh nodded. “Yeah. I trust you. But I can’t go further until you tell me your plan.”
“That’s not trust,” harrumphed Merceron, and went back to staring at the palace.
His demeanor puzzled Skyhigh. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Why are you going after Moth?”
“Why are you?” the dragon countered.
“Because he’s my friend. And I’ve known Moth a lot longer than you have, Merceron, so don’t tell me it’s because he’s your friend, too.” Skyhigh leaned back on his palms. “We’ve got all night, so you might as well start talking.”
Lady Esme walked down to the tip of Merceron’s nose. He snorted gently to move her back to his crown, then asked, “How much did Rendor tell you about me?”
“Not a lot,” said Skyhigh honestly. “Moth, either. He said you were a wizard.” An idea bubbled up. “Is that your plan to rescue Moth? Some sort of spell?”
“Only a human wouldn’t know how ridiculous that sounds.” Merceron closed his rheumy eyes. “Do you have children, Skyhigh?”
“Kids?” chortled Skyhigh. “No, thank heaven.”
“A woman, then? Someone special?”
Skyhigh grinned. “I’ve got a lot of special women, but I don’t think that’s what you mean. Why?”
“Because I have a story to tell,” said Merceron, “but I’m not sure you can understand it.”
“We Skyknights are pretty smart, Merceron. Give it a try.”
“All right, but remember you pushed me into this…”
“Go on.”
Merceron kept his eyes shut. “Once there was a young dragon named Elaniel…”
Skyhigh laughed. “Sounds like a bedtime story.”
“Are you going to listen?”
“Sorry.”
The dragon started again. “Elaniel was the pride and joy of his parents. His father was a prominent dragon, a leader of his race. All the other dragons believed in him and trusted him, and Elaniel worshiped his father.”
Skyhigh felt uncomfortable suddenly, not liking where the tale was heading. “Okay…”
“When the war with the Skylords started,” Merceron went on, “all the dragons had to decide whether or not to fight. Elaniel’s father wanted to fight, so Elaniel went with him. He thought nothing could happen to him. He trusted his father to protect him.” Merceron opened his eyes, his gaze empty. “He trusted.”
Skyhigh didn’t need Merceron to finish the story. “Elaniel. He was your son.”
“Yes,” said Merceron softly. He searched Skyhigh for understanding. “What do you think it feels like to lose a child, Skyhigh? Can you imagine that feeling? Can you comprehend it at all?”
The answer came to Skyhigh easily. “I think,” he said sadly, “that it’s a tragedy of unbearable proportions.”
The phrase made Merceron smile. “Unbearable proportions. You’re a poet, Skyknight! Maybe now you understand. Elaniel trusted me and died. Lady Esme trusted me and got turned into a bird for it. Our friend Moth is just one of many. But this time I can do something about it. I can save him.”
“I believe you,” said Skyhigh. “But how?”
Merceron went back to gazing across the canyon. Skyhigh remained beside him, silent. It wasn’t the palace Merceron was watching, Skyhigh realized, but the dying sunset.
PARTING
MOTH AND THE CLOUD HORSE spiraled up to the very top of the training chamber, the circle growing smaller and smaller with each revolution. Together they had performed the exercise a hundred times, so that now Moth could control the creature with only the smallest movements of his body. Above him, frets of sunlight poured down from the glass roof. Moth released the golden reins, reached up both hands, and touched the warm glass. Here in the Palace of the Moon, above even the clouds, the days were always perfect.
He pulled back his hands, took up the reins again, and slowly wheeled the cloud horse down again. Alisaundra sat with her back against the wall, her knees tucked up to her chest, watching curiously as Moth and the cloud horse glided to the ground. She had spent the morning watching him, no longer spying on him from the shadows or hiding when he called her. Now she was his constant companion. Moth wasn’t sure, but it looked like she’d even brushed her hair.
“You fly like me now!” she called to him. “Only not so well.”
“Soon,” Moth promised, and turned the creature up again in a flaring pirouette. “Once Artaios lets me outside with her, I’ll show you what she can do.”
Alis’ expression soured. “Do not ask him for favors,” she warned. “Remember?”
Moth remembered, but couldn’t help himself. The lure of the cloud horse was everything Artaios hoped it would be, and too much for Moth to resist. With so little to occupy his time, the cloud horse was the one bright spot in his captivity. He trained with the creature every day, spending hours in the glass-roofed chamber, sometimes with Artaios himself. While the Skylord plied Moth with questions—just as Alis had predicted—Moth learned what he could from Artaios, getting to know and love the cloud horse the way Skyknights loved their dragonflies. He had even given the creature a name—Comet, because of its long, glowing tail.
“Don’t tell him I’ve been riding without hands,” said Moth as he steered the cloud horse through the chamber. “I’m trusting you, okay?”
Alis raised a scaly eyebrow. “I cannot lie to my Master.”
“No, but do you have to tell him everything?” Moth brought the creature up alongside her. “Listen,” he whispered, “we’re friends now, right? That’s what friends do. They keep secrets for each other. If you want to be human again that’s part of it.”
Alis nodded. “I understand. I remember.”
Moth smiled, noting her hair again. “You look nice today.” He hesitated. “Pretty.”
Her scaly face seemed to blush. “I… am trying.” Her tone grew confessional. “I remember more things now. Family things. I will tell you later.”