This voice was darker.
Deeper.
It scraped against her bones like claws on stone.
"Brother. . .why do you bring someone that could be a witch into my hoard?"
Sol flinched.
Korin's hand tightened on her back. "Witch? You smell her, brother. You know what she is. You know she isourqueen."
"I smell what could be deception." Pyrran's massive head swung toward them. Water dripped from his obsidian horns. "I smell what could be trickery. Witches have fooled dragons before. They take our scents. They wear our skins. They—"
"She is not a witch."
"How can you be certain?"
"Because I have tested her." Korin's voice hardened. "My fire did not burn her. Her ice brought me pleasure, not pain. She cannot lie—watch her try to deny what she is. She is a dragon, Pyrran. She is our mate."
Pyrran went still.
Those silver eyes fixed on Sol with an intensity that made her want to sink into the ground. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, and she could feel the pull of his breath from twenty feet away—strong enough to tug at her hair, to make her skin prickle.
"How can that be?" Pyrran's voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous. "The humans killed so many of our kind. We watched them fall. We burned their murderers in vengeance. For a hundred years, there has been no other dragon but us. We have been alone. So why now? Why her?"
"Sol’s egg was found, brother. Somehow it survived the Great Massacre." Korin stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of Sol. "Two humans discovered her egg in a forest. They had no idea what it was. They tried to cook it for food, and the heat of their oven triggered her, Becoming."
"A hundred years later?" Pyrran's laugh was a cruel, grinding sound. "You expect me to believe that a dragon egg survived for a century?"
"I do not expect you to believe anything." Korin's voice sharpened. "I expect you to use your senses. Smell her.Trulysmell her. Not with suspicion, but with honesty."
Pyrran's eyes flickered.
Sol watched the massive dragon with growing terror. He was even larger than Korin, she realized now—or perhaps he just seemed that way because of the cold fury radiating from his form. Where Korin had been heat and hunger, Pyrran was ice and doubt.
"Witches can take on scents," Pyrran growled. "They can weave illusions so complete that even dragons are fooled. I have seen it. I have watched many fall to such tricks."
"She is not a witch."
"Prove it."
Korin turned to Sol. His golden eyes were softer now, almost apologetic. "Little one, tell my brother what you are."
Sol's mouth opened. “What?”
"Tell him you arenota dragon."
She blinked. "But I'm not—"
The words caught in her throat.
She tried again. "I'm not a—"
Nothing.
Her tongue refused to form the denial. Her lips moved, but the lie would not come.
Pyrran's silver eyes widened.
