“Mukori!”

  A male voice calls out the word of loving affection, and it is a particularly familiar male voice, even if it’s in a form that isn’t true to its owner’s nature. Roeta recognizes the voice and whirls, finding an armored knight somewhat wearily approaching her. He has dark blue hair just shy of midnight, and faintly metallic blue horns that could pass for cobalt along with his reptilian tail, though far from the glowing, ethereal blues of the third Empress of the Fievegal.

  Regardless, having a boundless love for Reignleif, Roeta would rather see this particular blue dragon more than anyone else in the world.

  “Mukori!?” exclaims the rose-pink woman in her humanoid form. She’s still coordinating the artillery with the vehicle onslaughts against the invading Hegemony, driving them further and further back in panic while having to fight for their lives every step. The artillery can reach much further than the village they raided, which is mostly a collection of ash and rubble.

  Roeta runs to Magnir and hugs him, nuzzling their cheeks together. In their natural forms, it is more comfortable to rub against each other, and it carries the weight of a kiss. Though, in human form, even kisses are quite enjoyable, which is why she also hugs him close to lock her lips with his.

  He is caught a little off guard by her aggressive intimacy in the middle of battle, though it’s more of a sustained wind, rather than the quick avalanche that most battles try to be in order to overwhelm the enemy and end the battle as quickly as possible.

  Roeta hugs Magnir, relieved to see him again. “Tell me it’s not a dream, Mukori. Tell me that you truly are safe.”

  Magnir is quiet for only a moment. He says., “It’s real. I think I sired several eggs with the kobolds that Daniel brought with us, and it made me realize that one egg isn’t enough, Mukori.”

  Roeta just received a lot of information, though it’s probably not as shocking for her as it might be for a human. She can tell Wenlianna, Hekate, Kera’tai, and Vaergraes each privately wish and scheme to subtly try to steal Daniel away for themselves, since she is a fellow woman. But, for dragons, there will always be more females than males. Hearing his confession is relieving because Magnir is honest, and she’ll get him to explain how it came to that all of a sudden when he was simply supposed to be guarding their Emperor.

  “I would have you right now, my love, but I must uphold my duty to defend the Fievegal.”

  “As must I,” replies the male dragon with a smile as he cups Roeta’s cheek. She feels happy with his every touch, and she really would run away with him at this very moment were it not for the deep love she has come to have for her new home; the Citadel, the Fievegal, and the silly large extended family surrounding one very strange human.

  In Shiaulvolgarro’s Hoard, under the red lord Morthybargaron, and even the brief time that Roeta can remember under Shiaulvolgarro himself, lesser dragons, as they were called before the Fievegal, were considered barely more valuable than goblins or imps. The Fievegal has not only proven that, given the right guidance, tools, and use of their strengths, goblins can be a force to be reckoned with, but even lesser dragons can be considered the most trusted of knights.

  “I am not like the Empresses, Mukori,” warns Roeta. “I grant you your male imperatives, but I shall be your one and only Mukori.”’

  Magnir scoffs and nods. “Agreed. I’ll gladly explain, but the short version is that I could not leave the Emperor to try to satisfy them all himself. Though, he definitely let himself be fooled by their wiles.”

  Roeta can’t help but laugh as she cuddles with her beloved. “I’ll have you know, the Emperor made a pass at me.”

  “I shall kill him at once,” jokes the blue dragon.

  “My Lady,... My Lord,...” interrupts one of the radio operators. “Please excuse the interruption. The Empress Ryuogriar has granted us leave to show no quarter. An ally of Lady Senn has been awakened and will defend the Citadel should your fire not prove to be sufficient.”

  “Did you hear that, ‘my Lady’?” teases Magnir warmly. He stretches his arms and flexes his back a little to loosen up. Given that he was in a void bag for fear of death until a very short while ago, he seems to be a bit brazen with his confidence. “It sounds like our Empress has given us a challenge.”

  “Mukori, you’ve only just been healed…”

  “I was near death, I’ll have you know. Battling monsters half a world away. I want a victory. Victory that is not muddled by ambiguous alliances or devious intrigue. Our Empress has given us leave to deal with this motley force, and I am eager to defend my wife.”

  Roeta blushes a little, surprised by Magnir’s ambitious and brave declaration. “M-Mukori… Our flight against the Orbicharium…”

  “I have not forgotten, Mukori. Which is why I will go alone. I will go, I will burn our enemies, and I will return. And, spirits be kind, you will be heavy with our second in a few weeks from this day.”

  Magnir kisses her, adding softly, “Watch for any attackers. Obliterate them from here should anything happen. I have seen the Harbinger of Calamity at full-might. I fear no enemy, and no evil shall claim me.”

  “Mukori…!” whispers Roeta, unable to fully comprehend his sudden bravado.

  Magnir holds her shoulders firmly, and he adds quietly, “Twice, I have been gifted life in defiance of death. I am not invincible. But, if my Mukori must fear our enemies, I have already failed. Let me lead the attack. Let me earn the family name we shall be granted.”

  Roeta stares into her beloved mate’s eyes. He has a fiery passion about this that she would be a fool to try to quell.

  “You didn’t fail, Mukori. The Emperor is alive. You protected Daniel, as is our duty…”

  Magnir lays his chin on her shoulder, holding his rose-colored love close. “I stand beside a human, even in my true form, and I feel so small. The Empresses make me feel like a shadow when I’m lucky. I don’t want to surpass them, but I want us, I want our children, to stand alongside them as the respected might of the Fievegal. I don’t want anyone to see you or me and think that they need not worry. Grant me permission, Mukori, and I will bring you a victory under our name, not the Harbinger of Calamity.”

  Roeta nods. “Just be safe, Mukori. I will not hesitate to rush to your aid if you are knocked from the sky.” She cups his cheek. “Do not endanger me, Mukori.”

  It’s certainly a move she picked up from Ryuogriar. Normally, under Morthybargaron and his ilk, male greater dragons are the masters, and all others obey.

  But, with Ryuogriar, Reignleif, Geirahoel, and Daniel, they are all equals in the sense that they each have times that they are the master. It’s no secret that Daniel could be easily killed by even the weakest dragon now that they know how his ‘power’ works. But, he heeds the advice and warnings of the Empresses, including the others, and he uses that information or their talents to make the Fievegal stronger.

  All who are a part of seem to wish for the same thing, which maintains the balance overall.

  “I have moments before the Empresses will join me, at my request. But today… Today is a day I will hold my head high.” Magnir kisses Roeta again, and he uses his wings, which were how he arrived, and he takes off towards the battle.

  In a human form as he is, Magnir is still extremely strong.

  Oh, sweet Mukori… What do you intend to do that can move more quickly than our Empresses?

  She watches in hopes of seeing something grand. After all, Daniel himself has no fear about handing over firearms to the dragons, though they rarely need them, since even Roeta and Magnir can produce enough ignityal to burn a large city to the ground. An army that can spread out and flee is a little more tricky, and with mages in the mix, he will have to do something clever.

  ***

  Sundenelle has experienced a great many things in her eighteen years of life, even cloistered in the Imperial Palace as she was for most of it. Her father had great beasts of the north and far east brought into the capital for celebrations, while some of the visiting kings of faraway lands would ride others as their titanic steeds. She can remember seeing an ivorram, large, lumbering creatures that have a solid plate of ivory over their snouts up across their skulls and forming a fingernail-like crest above their heads, which continues to grow over the course of their lives. The specimen that was ridden into the capital for the Emperor’s 50th birthday celebration was as large as Roeta in her dragon form. But, seeing such a large being that can fly…

  Neith transforms into his true form on the flyway of the Citadel before Sundenelle’s, Byleathea’s, and Ecklevon’s eyes.

  Though Ryuogriar is the tallest of the female dragons in her human form and thus, the largest in her true form, Neith is almost a quarter or even a third again larger than her, and his size demonstrates every bit of it.

  The grey dragon’s voice is deeper, but he has a good sense for a volume that isn’t frightening or booming. “Do not be afraid. Once I cast the spells, it will be almost impossible for you to be dislodged from me.”

  Sundenelle steps forward as the great avian offers his foreclaw as a platform to help them up to his back.

  “I don’t think I can do this, Sun…” whispers Byleathea.

  “You don’t have to, Mother. Though, from the sounds of it, Sir Neith can have us there in half the time.” The albino Empress climbs onto Neith’s foreclaw without fear or hesitation, though she is in true awe of Neith’s great size, the armor that is tailor-fit to him, and the helmet that makes him look suitably like a knight who happens to also be a dragon.

  A very big dragon.

  The teen leans on his massive finger, and she looks at her mother and her loyal knight. “Well, Sir Ecklevon? My soon-to-be dear sister Veiranoei fearlessly rush-jousted against wyverns. Are you going to send me alone.”

  “Damn it…” grumbles the gatonine knight. He jogs to Neith’s waiting hand, and Sundenelle helps him up. “If I humiliate myself, your Grace, I ask your permission to resign.”

  “Denied. It will only be the four of us. We shall share this secret. Yes, Sir Neith?”

  “Of course, your Grace,” replies the dragon softly.

  Byleathea cautiously approaches, and Sundenelle remarks, “Mother, you may take the shuttle if you are uncomfortable. I will have Sir Ecklevon to escort me.”

  Bylethea stops on the ground, leaning on Neith’s finger, but she doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge him for what he is. She stands silently for a moment like someone trying to overcome motion sickness.

  “She’s right, Lady Byleathea,” offers Ryuogriar as she approaches. She’s carrying Fal affectionately, while the feldrok egg rests in her carrier harness. “If you’re looking for an even shorter and safer trip, I could ask her Greatness to transport you via her teleportation magic. Though…” The platinum white Empress, dressed in her shimmering red dress, steps forward and puts her hand on Neith’s claw alongside Byleathea’s. “When else will you be able to ride a dragon?” She leans closer with a devious wink at Sundenelle, teasing softly, “It’s a very short list of people who can boast such a thing.”

  Byleathea looks at the dragon Empress, and then at the grey knight in his true form. Finally, her gaze settles on her own regal daughter, who is dressed in a blouse and pants as if she were about to ride a buckrokh.

  “We’ll be alright, Mother. I can feel it.”

  Byleathea takes her daughter’s hand, and both she and Ecklevon help the matron onto Neith’s palm.

  “Neith, it goes without saying…”

  “Indeed it does, your Grace,” replies the knight to the First Dragon Empress. “The only one I fear in the skies is the Harbinger himself.” He lifts the trio up, and all three of them wobble nervously before clutching his fingers for balance. Ecklevon holds Byleathea to keep her steady, since Sundenelle seems to be quite ready for the adventure.

  The dragon lifts them up to the base of his neck, where the three of them can comfortably climb on and sit as if on a massive scaled bed. The large dragon’s neck is nearly as wide as a buckrokh is long. While it doesn’t quite feel as stable as a buckrokh’s saddle at first, Neith is surprisingly steady with his movements as he bows his head to the Empress.

  “Move calmly and make no rash decisions, Empress Sundenelle,” calls out Ryuogriar. “You are our allies for now, and so long as the innocents are evacuated, there is still time to act.”

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  Sundenelle nods. “I’m counting on you, Sister. Good luck and be safe against the Hegemony. If the Empire can lend assistance, I will send as much as I can as quickly as possible.”

  “Thank you. Farewell for now.”

  “Farewell to you as well, Empress Ryuogriar.” Sundenelle then says, “By your leave, Sir Neith! Please take us to the Imperial Palace with all haste.”

  “At once, your Grace.”

  Ryuogriar sees the four off, and Sundenelle braces against Neith’s neck as he turns towards the edge, spreading his massive wings.

  “Are you sure you can fly with us like this, Sir Neith!?” cries out Byleathea, hugging Sundenelle firmly from behind.

  The dragon chuckles, looking back to wink at Sundenelle. Seeing how far away the ground is, her heart is racing. The shuttle was one thing, but she’s on a dragon, one of the higher ranking most powerful creatures of Zenkon. She couldn’t be grinning more widely if she tried.

  “You are to be mother-in-law to my Liege, Lady Byleathea,” jokes the dragon. He stretches tall, towering over the flyway where Ryuogriar is watching them. She waves, at Sundenelle, who only barely manages to return the gesture excitedly.

  Whoosh!

  Neith springs forward into a dive, and the young albino empress can feel her stomach float. She is suddenly cast backwards to her childhood, to a rare time that her beloved father played with her in the lake, tossing her high in the air as she giddily screamed before splashing down into the water. Then, when he taught her how to ride a buckrokh using a feisty, but loyal young mare. He held her in the saddle as they raced forward at full speed, and she couldn’t have been happier.

  The walls of the flyway race by while the ground gets closer, and Byleathea hugs tightly to her daughter, while Ecklevon’s shouted complaint barely reaches the teen. “Take my claws and let me feel the ground again!” whines the knight.

  Sundenelle understands. Neith purposely dove towards the ground to gain lift under his wings, and when they do finally sweep in a humongous, relatively oval-shaped arc, the trio of human-kin are jolted by the dragon kicking off of the flyway’s structure for additional horizontal acceleration. The ground darts by faster than even a ballista, and Sundenelle screams excitedly, laughing as a faint breeze passes across them. It’s far from what she would expect with their speed, thanks to Neith’s magic, but it feels wonderful as her hair flies behind her, dancing freely and beautifully like strands of the most beautiful spider thread or silkworm silk.

  Racing across the training field, she felt like the master of the world, able to go anywhere her heart desired. And, for a time, she was able to… within reason. While she acknowledges her responsibilities as Empress of the largest eastern Empire on the continent, it soon became clear that the Imperial Capital was as much her prison as her home. Even when she became Empress, her responsibilities were far too many in the turmoil of the succession dispute, which remained a skirmish at worst, rather than a full-on crisis.

  Now, flying across the land faster than the wind itself, she truly feels like an Empress; a master of her own freedom and unfettered by the chains of Royalty, if only for a time.

  Even the Emperor took moments to rest, often with Byleathea and Sundenelle, and sometimes with the others who were supposed to be his children in name.

  It feels like only minutes as Neith artistically glides in slow, winding rolls that allow the Empress to marvel at everything below them. He slowly gained height, which does make the ground seem like it’s passing by more slowly, but she can tell they have only gained speed.

  She loves every minute of it.

  “Sir Neith!” calls out Sundenelle. She’s not sure how well he can hear her, given how far away his head is and with the wind rushing by, but he does indeed turn his head. All three of his passengers are safe, even if Byleathea is desperately hiding her face in Sundenelle’s back, and Ecklevon is doing his best to hold both of them securely.

  Just as he promised, the ride on Neith’s back is smoother than even the most docile and steady buckrokh. It’s just terrifying and exhilarating because of how high up they are and how fast they are going. She makes her request, hugging her mother’s arms. “Sir Neith, would it be out of line of me to request this for my honeymoon?”

  She watches his reptilian face. His helmet can cover his mouth, but he doesn’t have it down right now, which allows her to see the edges of his reptilian mouth curve upwards in an obvious smile as he scoffs.

  In spite of everything, his voice seems to reach her with ease at the perfect volume, like they’re standing in front of each other and conversing. “You’ll have to discuss that with your intended, your Grace. That said, I do not mind being the one to give your Grace a flight. But, of course, we have a long road before that day comes, I’m afraid.”

  Sundenelle smiles softly and nods. For just a moment, she’s glad she could forget about all of her worries. She doesn’t know what the fire looks like or why Senn was so desperate. Wildfires happen, and though she hasn’t had to deal with it as Empress, there was one when she was thirteen that she remembers her father having to deal with. He was especially busy during those days dispatching troops to help with evacuations, commissioning water mages and magic artisans with water affinities, and sending for aid from other countries while thousands lost their homes, their farms, and even their lives. The Empire struggled for a time to recover from the economic impact as well, since so much farmland was claimed by the fires.

  As such, when she heard about the strange drought relief systems Aramellianna and the Stalvaltan family were lending to various emergency response teams across the eastern half of the continent, the Empress didn’t hesitate to order as many as the Grand Duchess would sell. Even as Aramellianna defected the Grand Duchy to the Fievegal, the promised drought relief platoons would be deployed where needed, and the permanent sale models delivered to the Empire. Proprietary magic was installed on the devices that would detonate them if dismantled, and the eldest daughter of the Stalvaltan family is not the only magic artisan the Grand Duchy has. They would be informed of any attempts at reverse engineering, and it would prevent any more sales to the Empire. Someone will eventually unlock the secret, but given how they work, Sundenelle was already suspicious that the enhanced magic crystals also being sold by the very same powerful and wealthy family were indeed the first magic crystals capable of hosting water magic without self-destructing or melting.

  “Sir Neith, if you don’t mind, please fly us near the location of the fire, even if at extreme distance. I need to have some idea of the full scope.”

  The dragon nods, replying without even looking at her, “As you wish. If any of you start to feel nauseous or anything else abnormal during our approach, do not hesitate to get my attention. We must divert at the first signs of abnormal effects. I shall do the same if I am the first to detect it.”

  “Will do! I only want a glimpse, and I thank you for this!”

  Neith bows his head respectfully, angling himself slightly northward. The mountains are already visible, and she can see the crater that used to be Fort Twilight, glistening in the evening light with the rainwater slowly turning it into a large lake. The barrier it once provided as a fortress, restricting the movement of troops in either direction to a degree, has now become relatively impassable unless barges, boats, or some other means of crossing the two mile width of the nearly-perfect hemisphere that is not yet full of water.

  Ecklevon remarks loudly over the breeze around the trio, “It’s amazing to think something man-made could do that, your Grace.”

  “Indeed. And, it is now in the hands of Grand Prince Yaulander. We will need to be wary.”

  “Remember to play it carefully,” calls out Byleathea. “Your closeness to the Fievegal in this time of shifting alliances and unstable peace is all the more precarious.”

  Her point is a little undermined by the fact that she’s still hiding her face from the reality of what they’re doing, but she’s missing out on the trip itself.

  That said, Sundenelle intends to wait until they’re over the capital, since that will be the most recognizable and, hopefully, beautiful sight to her mother. Not to mention, Neith will have slowed down by then.

  Thanks to Neith’s immense speed, it doesn’t feel like long at all that Sundenelle is enjoying the scenery from the sky, including the mountains, before it becomes apparent what she is meant to see.

  Given the dimming sky, the anomaly stands out, and it seems to rattle the dragon as well.

  Ahead of the group is a strange source of light that would be considered ‘cool’ compared to the sun or a typical fire. It’s bright, but in a way that makes Sundenelle think of the moon, or even a sea of stars more densely concentrated than the night sky itself.

  Unlike the moon or a sea of stars, the light is swirling; moving. It very much possesses all of the tells of a flame in how the source of light moves, and how the ‘embers’ dance around. But, their colors are so far off of a typical fire, Sundenelle can scarcely believe her eyes.

  The ‘flames’ are a true and dangerous pitch black at their core, but sending off licks of rainbow-colored tendrils around themselves, blanketing the boundary of the large and growing fire in a splattered rainbow color, accented by dancing stars that rise and fall in a slowly expanding miniature sky beneath the sky.

  “Sir Neith?” asks the young Empress cautiously.

  “That’s it, your Grace. But, it has grown significantly.”

  “When was it sparked?”

  “I don’t carry a timepiece normally, but I believe it was somewhere between two and two and half hours ago.

  “And, it was said to have been no larger than a human fist?”

  “It was difficult to look directly at, even for me, but yes, your Grace. I estimate the spread at approximately fifteen to twenty feet per minute, by the looks of it. Its current diameter is just under a mile.”

  “A mile in two hours?” asks Ecklevon. The form of the Grand Principality’s exclave fortress Centerhold is visible, with its own structure under threat of the flames reaching it within the next few minutes.

  “Sir Neith, how is the wind right now?” asks the teenage sovereign.

  “Very mild. The evacuations should not be delayed, at least for the closest areas.”

  “Understood. Take us to the Imperial Palace, Sir Neith. I must start gathering my advisors at once.”

  He nods, banking to the south to head over Imperial Territory. Her mind is racing through possibilities. They were several miles away from the flames, and it was difficult to look directly at, in spite of the cool-feeling color to the light itself. It was strangely beautiful, and the strange prisoner that was interjecting cult-like praise for the ‘Children of the Star’ has started to make sense. Sundenelle didn’t feel an urge to suddenly start worshipping the fire or its star-like embers, but she also has some concern that those of weaker will might be entranced. No one likes to believe higher beings like human-kin, beast-kin, or demon-kin should be compared to moths to a flame, but there can be no denying the mysteries of magic that still linger behind forces of nature. The monsters mutated from otherwise-docile species is only a single example of the chaotic power of the world beyond a city’s walls, where the wilderness has not yet been claimed.

  Suddenly, Ecklevon calls out, “Your Grace! Sir Neith! Turn back! Look!”

  Sundenelle pivots to look over her mother towards where Ecklevon is pointing behind them. Even Byleathea can’t help but glancing, since it’s distance that is more distinct, rather than the height at the moment.

  Sundenelle can tell that something has intensified the fire, and she calls out, “Sir Neith! Please take us back once more, only briefly! I must see what that is!”

  He nods, banking back around to take the group towards the fire once more.

  Sure enough, as they get closer, the intensified light isn’t necessarily a ‘change’ in the fire, so much as its newest fuel.

  Centerhold.

  The fortress is rapidly being climbed by the flames, yet it’s not like a normal fire slowly consuming solid wood. The flames do spread up the walls, creating more and more of the star-like embers that rise above the flames for the most part.

  However, the ground is also being devoured from beneath the stone structure, causing the walls to crumble down into the pit they hadn’t noticed before.

  The fire isn’t just spreading across the ground. It is consuming everything.

  And, the vertical portions are even more quickly consumed as the sparkling jewels being shed by the flames come into contact with any material above or around them, instantly sparking new flames that quickly devour the building.

  “Great spirits…” whispers Neith.

  “Is… it consuming the fortress and stone faster?” asks Ecklevon nervously.

  All four of them watch from Neith’s cruising altitude as the black-hearted flames quickly disintegrate the large butte into which the Centerhold fortress is carved. No material is able to withstand it, and Sundenelle glimpses movement.

  “Down there! They need help-!”

  “No,” retorts Neith. “They’re not people. Not anymore.”

  She knows his vision is stronger than her own, but they aren’t large enough to be monsters, and several seem to be moving as upright beings. One is larger than the others, but…

  It doesn’t have a head.

  Regardless, several of the beings are caught in the flames and vanish as quickly as the stone around them, and only a few of the beings manage to escape away from the intense mana fire.

  “The mana is growing stronger,” replies Neith. “I’m only guessing, but I think it’s only going to be more obvious.”

  “What is it?” asks Ecklevon. “Worse than a fire that can spread to stone?”

  “Yes. It’s not just a fire. It’s turning solid material into pure mana.”

  This stuns all three of the Imperials on his back, and he banks back towards the Imperial Capital. They’re technically over Ahmpur territory right now, since it borders so closely with Centerhold, which is relatively small as an exclave.

  The dragon continues, “You’re right. You will need to work with a great deal of haste. I’ll inform the others of this as well.”

  “Please do,...” murmurs Sundnelle distantly. A wildfire, she was mentally prepared to take on.

  But, a fire that defies what anyone knows of magic by converting anything and everything in its path to mana… Even the void flames she can produce require an added ‘body’ of mana to sustain itself. If this fire is sustaining itself from ambient mana,...

  No… If it were consuming mana, it would be consuming its own mana, but he said it’s growing stronger…

  Sundenelle looks back at the glow of the terrestrial stars in the growing distance.

  One method to stop a wildfire is to starve it of fuel. We’ll have to try anything and everything…

  “Sir Neith, do we have enough trust for you to listen to an idea?”

  “Certainly, your Grace. Short of anything that directly conflicts with the Fievegal, I trust you well enough.”

  “Thank you. In that case…” She clasps her mother’s hands, which are still holding her firmly as the matron is even more terrified now. “I would like to adjust the plan a little. And, you’re one of the most important pieces. Sir Neith, how would you like to allow me to be the newest Dragon Empress for a time?”

  Neith looks at her skeptically, and she replies seriously, “It will speed along the convincing. Especially because there will certainly be a rapid spread of the rumors about my ‘new’ hair and eye color. I may need you to lower yourself before me, even perhaps… as far as humiliation at times… But, I assure you, I will repay any sleights or embarrassment to you and the dragons until I am redeemed. I just… I need to try to curtail the strength of my adversaries’ voices while I lack the time to play the normal games.”

  Neith takes a breath and sighs. “In that case, ‘Master’, you may refer to me as ‘Larven’, if you’d please. I’d rather not associate ‘Neith’ with whatever humiliations you intend for me. And, I would like to wear a mask. You can say my face is too ugly to show.”

  “If you are willing, I will gratefully accept. Thank you, Sir Neith. And, you have my word; I will repay you for this someday.”

  “Well, if you don’t… I’m still a dragon,” jokes the grey apex predator, winking at her with a tilt of his head. He continues his flight, and she feels a little relieved at his jovial nature.

  Even if the nature of the black fire is more grim than she thought, Neith’s reassurance and willingness to help her have restored some of her own confidence. After all, there are so few people in the world that can be truly trusted, and if she could come to call an actual dragon her friend…

  Or better yet, what about a feldrok?

  ***