The descending dragon buffets the wind, whipping my hair, sending pebbles skittering and dust billowing. Aspa whinnies and snorts behind me. The very ground shakes as the great beast lands at the base of the mountain, scarcely ten yards away, its long body poised like a viper ready to strike, black scales swallowing the light. It’s not blocking where the sun will rise, and it’s not within range to land a blow with that attack, so I hold my position and wait for Ninon, heart pounding in my throat.
As the sun’s upper crest appears beyond the horizon, Ninon comes into my peripheral. Glimmers of light reach us, glinting off the rogue’s scales and the tip of Ninon’s pointed arrow. I feel the flower unfurl at my fingertips as the sun enters the crevice and I snatch up the flowers, ripping my arm free and standing tall as the beast lowers his head towards us. In a transformation I’ve seen countless times before, the beast is enveloped in a churning twist of clouds, though the air surrounding us stays steady with the winds of the Sere. As the vapor clears, the dragon is suddenly in male human form. I step back, snapping my head around to look at Ninon, a question on my lips. Ninon holds her fire, and for good reason. Rogues don’t shift. But I don’t recognize him as a dragon of Dyeus, either. I analyze his clothes: an open robe, fine in its making, loose and white, and wide-legged pants tied neatly around his waist. Not what the dragons of Dyeus wear. Locks of wavy, midnight black hair shine copper in the rising sun, the ends brushing against his bare chest and across his temples. The sunlight catches on the tanned skin of his high cheekbones, a small, round mark resting just under the outside corner of his left eye. His elongated jaw line squares off at his chin, giving him a regal air. He’s so close that I can see the golden color of his eyes—eyes that are locked on mine.
I hold my breath, waiting. He glances down to where my fingers clutch the flowers before returning to my face. A small, crooked grin slides into place, showing the whites of his teeth. Every muscle in my body tenses. He knows what I hold in my hand. He opens his mouth, and I wait for him to say something, to roar at me, curse me, anything, but inthe distance another screech fills the air, and he turns his attention to the sky. All the while, Ninon keeps her bow drawn. Her arms must be in agony.
I tighten my hold on the flowers and step forward, intent on demanding answers. “Who—” but before I can get another word out, he transforms back. I startle, but Ninon holds her position, keeping her arrow trained on him. The beast launches himself skyward, swimming gracefully through the air as if he were a fish in water, wings smooth and steady.
“Did I imagine…” I trail off, now unsure of what I saw.
Finally, Ninon lowers her weapon. “No,” she says as we watch the dragon fly, not towards Dyeus, but into the Realm of Rogues. “He was flying like a rogue.”
We watch the dragon until he disappears into the mists. “He shifted,” I murmur, finally looking back at Ninon when the dragon is fully out of view. “A rogue can’t shift.”
“We’ve been told many things about the rogues and their Realm.” She finally meets my gaze. “We both know that there are always more questions than we have answers.”
Unease sends chills down my back. I suddenly have a terrible feeling that I know where Ninon might go if she did leave. I swallow hard and push the thought aside. She wouldn’t. The first lesson we learned as children about the outside world is that if we ever entered the Realm, we’d turn into mindless, bloodthirsty creatures. Ninon is the smartest person I know. She would never. Not unless she had a good, logical reason. And as wild as that rogue appeared before the light of the day hit his scales, what came after may have just given her the good, logical reason she’d need.
Another series of trills echoes over the landscape, snagging my attention. “The hoard,” I gasp, reality crashing back down on me. “We have to get back.”
Ninon moves then, grasping my hand in hers. “Did you get them?”
I nod and open my fingers. A collection of five petaled flowers with squared off ends, pink in the center, fading to purple on the edges, pinned at the base by a thick, roundreceptacle.
Her shoulders loosen and she nods, dropping her head in relief. “Good. Good.” From her waist pack, she procures a rigid box and I place the blossoms inside. “Let’s go.”
We ride hard and fast back home. I run soothing hands along Aspa’s neck as her mouth froths with effort. We make it to the grassy plains, heading for the western stable entrance as we track the hoard descending towards the main entrance on the eastern side of Nevoba. Here the river that hails from one of Dyeus islands ends and streams down into the caverns by the great hall where the fresh water flows down into the lower chambers, filling the bathing room at the lowest sector while channels of aqueducts throughout Nevoba carry the water to the kitchens and washing stations. At the head of the hoard is a brilliant dragon, all white from the tip of his nose to the tuft of fur at the end of his tail, save for a single scale at the center of his chest that glistens as black as night. The Sar Dyeus. I think I spot Alixor’s copper figure among them, somewhere in the middle of the hoard, before we disappear into the stables.
The long entrance is lined with carvings inset in the walls, depicting the two-faced gods on one side and dragons on the other. Though not nearly as ornate as the ones lining the great hall, they are equally detailed in their renderings, the twin faces of each deity staring at us as we enter. Eratex, of time and existence. Erovosvis, of life and death. Erenmaag, of fate and agency. Eriratem, of nature and contrivance. And finally, Erpaceox, of peace and chaos. Each exists within one body like a serpent, the head divided into two faces, looking opposite one another. They each have a set horns like the dragon shifters, but oriented at unnatural angles to signify that which they represent.
We waste no time dismounting our horses, and they break away from us to where their water runs fresh and clear. I consider skipping getting cleaned up and going straight to the great hall, but Ninon is ahead of me and I follow her lead towards our rooms. The bed chambers are empty; all able-bodied women already at the great hall to welcome the hoard.
“I’ll meet you out here,” I say, barreling through the beaded curtains into my chamber.
“No,” Ninon says, following me inside and grabbing my brush. “I need to get started on your tincture. I’ll help you get ready.”
I’m already stripping my clothing and don’t bother stopping. “Ninon, no. You’ll get in trouble.” I leave my clothes where they lay on the ground.
Ninon’s attention remains pinned on my discarded pants, shirt, and jacket for a long moment. “No one will notice me gone.”
“I will notice,” I argue, dipping a cloth into a bowl of water to wipe the dust from my face and neck. She’s right, though. Aside from me, it’s only Kalixta and my mother who would care. Ninon’s mother died many years ago, one of the first who’d died without warning or reason. Even before her mother died, Ninon was unusual. Quiet and often on her own, reading tomes she found or organizing collections of stones and herbs she decided were of importance to her. After her mother passed, the few women who had given her the time of day suddenly stopped. I’d hear rumors, the fear of sudden death simply by association. It angered me as much then as it does now. Ninon is a treasure and anyone who doesn’t see that is a complete fool.
I grab a set of gauzy finery from my shelves and Ninon intercepts me to swipe a bit of kohl under my eyes and across my lashes, forcing me still. “It’s better that they don’t notice I’m gone, so try not to make it too obvious I’m not affixed to your side.”
“Who will be there to glare at Alixor when I have to pretend to adore him?” I ask, shaking out my skirt when she moves to start on the other eye. When she finishes that, I tie the skirt around my waist, the fabric light and airy across my bare legs, high slits on both sides of my thighs.
“Kalixta does a fine job of that,” she says as she smudges some rouge onto my lips and cheeks. I loop my top around my neck and across my breasts in the simplest, yet securest way, leaving my mark almost completely exposed. Ninon pushes me down to a sitting position, quickly untying thecord wrapped around my hair and gently running a brush through my tangled strands. “Better. We don’t have time for more than that. Now go.”
As I rise, I place a kiss high on her cheek. “I’ll come find you after.”
I’m leaving the room when her hand wraps around my wrist. “Whatever you do, don’t let him take you today. We’ve worked too hard to get this point. We need three days,” she reminds me.
“We’ll have three days,” I promise, squeezing her hand over top of my wrist, but it’s a long moment before she finally lets go.
As I race down the halls, I wonder if there was something else she wanted to say.
CHAPTER THREE
I SLIDE INTO the back of the great hall, the space packed full of nearly three hundred women, adults and children alike. Skimming along the worn, smooth wall, I make my way towards the front where my mother, Kalixta, and her babies are already meeting the hoard. Sunlight trickles in from irregular natural openings in the ceiling, each one sealed shut with glass, the color casting a pale purple glow like twilight. High along the wall, metal sconces lit with fire mimic the setting sun. It’s as if the great hall is attempting to replicate every color the sky has to offer, and though beautiful, it fails to bring the same feeling as seeing the real thing.
