“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thorn cried. “Just kill me if you’re going to.”
Sarmondelaryx was never one to be kind. Thorn had learned that in her dreams. The Angel of Flame would always twist the knife if given the chance, and their situation was no exception.
“Kill you?” she said. “And what would I kill? You’re not Nyrielle Tam. You never were. You were always Sarmondelaryx.”
“Of course I am,” Thorn said. “I have a brother; I saw him a week ago. I’m a Dark Lantern of the King’s Citadel.”
“Nyrielle Tam had a brother. She served your Citadel. And she died a year ago. Where do you suppose those stones in your spine came from?”
“Far Passage…” Thorn said.
“I took the Preserving Shard when I slew the Keepers of the Grove,” the dragon growled. “I slew an army of giants to claim the Quiet Stone. Your Far Passage was a story to serve one purpose: a single Lantern returns with shards in her back, the rest of her team lost.”
Tears were stinging Thorn’s eyes. “So I never went to Far Passage?”
“You went,” Sarmondelaryx said, her chuckle shaking the room. “You and your lover, proud to serve your king. And both of you died. It was my body that returned, with only your memories.”
“And Nandon didn’t notice the difference?” Thorn said.
“What difference?” Sarmondelaryx said. “We dragons are creatures of fire and magic, and our flesh is a mutable thing. I learned to transform myself long ago, and I have worn a hundred shapes in my lifetime. Our enemies trapped me in your form; the only difference anyone would see would be the shards in your spine, and the story of Far Passage was enough to hide that. But you’ve seen the world through my eyes, eyes that can pierce the deepest shadows. You’ve walked through fire in my skin, unscathed. You may see Nyrielle when you look in the mirror, but your flesh is mine.”
“Why?” Thorn said. “Why would the Citadel do such a thing?”
“Because your Citadel is just one more toy in the hands of my enemies,” Sarmondelaryx told her. “The Chamber had plans for me, but I knew far too much. They knew I’d never be their pawn. And yet they needed me to serve them. The Angel of Flame. The Devourer of Souls. I’ve fought dragons and demons alike. I’ve laid waste to nations and scattered armies. I didn’t realize just how organized they’d become or guessed that they could hold me even for a moment. Far less that they could push my thoughts into my own Preserving Shard and bind your soul to my body.”
“I’m not Nyrielle…?” Thorn said, her voice breaking.
“No. You’re just a ghost who doesn’t even know where her bones are buried.”
“Who?” Thorn said. “In the Citadel? Who did this to me?”
“I’d tell you if I knew, just to watch you suffer,” the dragon replied. “Just know that your Citadel is one more pawn in the games of the Chamber. There are dragons walking your halls, and it is they who decide the fate of your nations, not your kings or your soldiers.”
“All right…” Thorn said. And slowly she let the stammer fall from her voice. “All right. I think you’ve told me enough. You can go now.”
“What?” the dragon roared. “You think you can dismiss me?”
Thorn looked right in her eyes. “I think I just did. Go. I’m done with you.”
Sarmondelaryx laughed and her laughter shook the tower. “You? You are done with me? You are nothing. Less than nothing. And I am Sarmondelaryx. The Bane of Thrane. The Angel of-”
“No,” Thorn said. “You’re not.”
The laughter stopped.
“You’re just a dream,” Thorn said. “Plucked from both of our minds. You may have her memories but you’re nothing. Fly away. See what happens when you pass over the fortress walls. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll continue to exist, drifting through the dreams of others. Or perhaps you’ll simply fade away.”
“No…” Sarmondelaryx said. “I won’t let you do this to me.”
“And what are you going to do about it? You said it yourself. I am you. This is your body, and you’re just a dream waiting for the dreamer to wake. Even if you could kill me in this place, you’d only be killing yourself.”
“No!” the dragon roared.
“Enough!” Thorn said. “Go! Just get out of my sight.”
Sarmondelaryx looked back at her, and there was a gleam of desperation in the dragon’s burning gaze. “We can bargain, you and I.”
“Oh? And what do you possibly have to offer me?”
“Power,” the dragon said. “Vengeance. Those who bound me killed you to do it. They murdered the man you loved just to make the story real. You can’t possibly fight them on your own. With my power, you can strike terror into their hearts. You can make them pay for all that they’ve done to you.”
“And what would I have to do?”
“Release me. Give me my body again. Join with me. Let us become something new, Thorn and Sarmondelaryx together.”
Thorn knew the idea was madness, that she had no way of knowing if anything Sarmondelaryx had told her was the truth. And yet… she thought of Lharen, the man who’d given her his heart and who’d been ready to give his life for Breland. She thought about Nyrielle Tam, the dreams a young girl once had. And in that moment, there was a part of her that wanted that vengeance for both of them.
“Drego told me I wouldn’t last if I merged with you. That you’d dissolve my personality.”
“In time, surely. But how long did you ever expect to live, Thorn? You’re mortal. You could last a decade before you fade completely. And in that time, you will see your enemies fall.”
Thorn thought about it, about how glorious it had felt when she’d battled Drulkalatar. How wonderful it would be to see those responsible fall. Thought they might share a thirst for vengeance, but there was little else she had in common with the fiend before her. Just a moment past, the dragon had spoken of slaughtering armies and devastating nations. As long as Thorn held her contained, that could never happen again.
She remembered the words of Drego Sarhain when she kissed Cadrel at the Silver Tree: You may be doomed, but do not go easily, Nyrielle. And don’t fall to the likes of this one. She didn’t know if there was truly anything of Drego in those words. But she was going to stand by them.
“Go,” she told the dragon. “You can’t fight me. You have nothing I want. Go now and maybe you’ll find a home in someone’s nightmares.”
Sarmondelaryx hissed. Yet she’d had time to think as well, and she’d come up with a new weapon.
“You’re clever, little one. I can’t kill you without killing myself. And yet…” she moved her foreclaw, placing a talon against Drix’s stomach. “I can certainly kill the boy.”
Surprised as she was, Thorn almost laughed. “Perhaps you missed the last week of my life,” she said. “But I think you’ll find it’s not that easy.”
“Perhaps,” Sarmondelaryx rumbled. “And yet here we are, standing in a circle designed just for that purpose. The eight shards of Ourelon’s Gift around us. If the fallen fey was right, I might even spread the Mourning in the process. I can’t kill you. But him? I’d kill him just to make you suffer.”
Her talon shifted and Thorn moved. Reaching out, she set her palm against the dragon’s claw and pulled. She called on all her anger, all her strength, and sought to drag the spirit down into the prison of the Preserving Shard.
It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. When she’d swallowed Toli, Daine, even the eladrin guard, it was instinct and desperation. When she’d forced Sarmondelaryx back into her chains down beneath the streets of Sharn, the dragon was weak, barely released. The nightmare was something else, a Sarmondelaryx who’d had time to savor the sensations of life again.