Idris named the draigling Blodwen the next winter. Laoise thought it an odd name—in their mother’s tongue, it meantwhite flower. The draig—grown now to the size of a rotund wildcat—was neither white nor particularly reminiscent of a flower. Her iridescent scales were the color of sunset, shifting from scarlet to rose-gold to crimson with her moods. Her claws and teeth had lengthened, lending her an air of adorable danger. Possibly to herself. She wobbled erratically through the caverns on slowly lengthening wings, claws outstretched to slow her careening passage on nearby stalactites.
Laoise supposed the name must be a private joke. She was glad Idris had chosen one, even if she did not understand it. Or him.
Idris, too, had grown—his frame lengthening, lanky without quite enough food to sustain him. His hair—the same red as hers, although straight instead of curly—swept in a shock over his forehead, hiding his scar as well as the rest of his face. His moods shifted, fretful as the weather above their mountainous home. One moment he would be laughing and loose-limbed; the next he would curl in on himself, tense and tight-lipped; then he would be shouting, railing at Laoise or kicking out at Blodwen. The draig inevitably took this better than Laoise did, spitting a shower of red sparks before tackling the young man into the shadows and wrestling with him until his mood miraculously shifted back to laughter.
Laoise shook her head. She could not remember being so temperamental, so sullen, even as an adolescent. She supposed her volatility had taken a different form.
A more dangerous one.
Visions of scarlet flames licked the backs of her eyelids, mingling with screams she would never forget. Not as long as she lived.
She vowed to be kinder with Idris, more patient with his moods. After all, he was all she had left.
Him… and Blodwen.
They found the cache of blood-red draig eggs the following year.
The caverns extended deep below their mountain—which Idris had taken to callingthe Cnoc. Far deeper than Laoise had guessed. Blodwen, now the size of a large dog and beginning to grow lean and muscular, had developed a terrifying habit of scuttling away into the dark, chilly vaults for hours at a time, only to return with a burst of incandescent flame and mischief in her eyes. Laoise did not like her exploring so far without supervision. Intrusive visions plagued her—of Blodwen getting lost, or trapped by a cave-in, or devoured by ancient forgotten monsters. But no matter how she scolded, Blodwen never listened.
One day, when Blodwen returned from her explorations, she brought something with her.
Laoise and Idris were busy in the area of the mountain Idris sardonically called the Farm. After a great deal of trial and error, they’d discovered they were able to grow crops beneath the wan but magical light of the minerals thronging the Cnoc. Not many, mind—mushrooms and tubers and a kind of sweet-sour berry that clustered over stones like barnacles. But enough to keep them alive. Laoise was bent over one of the plots when Blodwen unexpectedly curled around Laoise’s legs.
“Blodwen. What is it?”
The draig craned her sinuous neck, opened her mouth, and gently dropped something onto the floor. Then looked at Laoise with eager, flaming eyes.
“Egg!” said Blodwen. And then, with a slight lisp: “Sister?”
Laoise and Idris both gaped at the draig, who they had not known could speak, before staring at the stone nestled between her claws. It was the exact size and shape as their mother’s ruby. Laoise looked warily at Idris; her brother made a noise in his throat before slowly scooping the egg from between Blodwen’s talons. He inspected it, tenderly, then cupped it to his chest.
“Where did you find this?” he asked the draig. “Show us.”
They followed Blodwen into the dark. The route was twisting, circuitous—several times, downright dangerous. Laoise feared the young draig had forgotten the way and was leading them into a labyrinth they would never escape from. Anxiety reared fierce inside her, tightening her ribs. She should never have let Blodwen explore; she should never have let Idris come with her; she should never—
A great rush of air smelling impossibly ofoutsidegusted into Laoise’s cramped lungs and teased the curls from her forehead. Light exploded—red as dawn and brighter than wildfire, though Laoise knew it was night. Stars glinted far, far above—little more than a hint of silver against black.
This was asinkhole, punched deep into the mountain. And as Laoise’s eyes adjusted to the light flaring from its center, she saw it was not empty.
Arranged in a loose ring at the heart of the sinkhole weretrees, though Laoise had never before seen any tree that looked like these. Swooping trunks of gold and vermilion and red, like tongues of draig flame made crystalline. Crimson leaves crackled, flaming from dazzling branches to shatter sparks on the rocks below.
Blodwen squeaked and gamboled forward, gleefully winding her sinuous body around the nearest tree. Laoise opened her mouth to warn her away, even as the unearthly light from the tree seemed tobleed into Blodwen’s frame, suffusing her already gleaming scales. Idris followed Blodwen toward the grove, his face slack with awe.
Laoise trailed them. Warmth and wonder and the undeniable thrill of magic painted her bones as she approached the trees, seven in all. This close, molten fire seemed to course below the crystalline bark, veins of light tangling toward leaves bright as comets. Tentatively—almost fearfully—Laoise laid her palm upon the nearest tree. Visions blazed through her, ephemeral as a spark but hot as a bonfire. Red-gold scales crept along her arms; she tasted brimstone and sulfur in the back of her throat.
“Egg!” cried Blodwen, her excitement snatching Laoise’s hand from the tree. “Egg! Egg!”
Laoise turned. More rubies were piled in a hollow at the center of the ring of trees. Idris picked one up, cradling it beside the egg Blodwen had carried to the Cnoc. He reached for another, but Laoise grasped his hand. She could almost hear his thoughts, painted in flaming relief against the back of his head. She said, “Wait.”
Idris did not have their mother’s eyes; he did not havehereyes. His eyes were their father’s deep, opaque brown. They glimmered with an accusation as he stared from beneath the overlong shock of his crimson hair. “Why?”
“Because there are—” She counted swiftly. Five eggs, including the one Blodwen had brought them. There were indents where more rubies might once have rested, but were now gone. She laughed.Gone?Where had theycome from? “What are we going to do with six draigs, Idris?”
“The same thing we have been doing, Laoise.” His voice cracked on her name. Her brother suddenly looked so young Laoise couldn’t bear it. He was just thirteen—the same age she had been when she irrevocably destroyed their family. “Surviving.”
She stared at him. Stared at Blodwen, who had scuttled into the hollow and was coiled happily amid the eggs, smoke unfurling in tendrils from her nostrils. Stared at the impossible flaming trees.
“If we hatch them,” she said slowly, “we will truly be stuck here.We cannot leave a brood of baby draigs alone. We will not be able to leave this place for a long time. Perhapsever.”
