"In her chambers, my Lord," Lord Malachi bowed.
Lord Michael nodded. "I'll speak with her in a moment. Great Sisters save you, Malachi, if she's in any way harmed."
Malachi seemed to shrink into himself.
Lord Michael nodded. "Is everything understood? Is the will of the High King clear to you?"
"Yes, my Lord." Lord Malachi did not lift his eyes.
Lord Michael looked across the High Square. "And you, Gideon?"
Lord Gideon bowed. "Yes, my Lord."
"You will obey the High King's commands?"
"Yes, my Lord," Tevéss and Fel said together.
"Louder please. There are many ears here. We want no confusion."
"Yes, my Lord!" they cried.
But Lord Michael had already turned away, as if the High Lords weren't worth his breath. "Garen, please remove Zar, Khondus, and Borónd to the Tarn for treatment." He glanced at Moondagger, lifting his sword in Dagger's direction. "Take this dragon as well." He turned to the line of kneeling House Dradón soldiers. "You men, free your imprisoned fellows, disarm these soldiers, and escort these good people from the Drádonhold. But hear me well: The High King shall broach no further fighting. No reprisals, no vengeance,
nothing
. If one drop of blood is shed—one drop, be it Fel or Tevéss or Dradón—then all will face
our
justice. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" The soldiers of House Dradón saluted and got moving.
Lord Michael turned to Anna, stepped up behind her, and unlocked the manacles at her back. She stood, rubbing her wrists. Mother, Penelope, and Wendi walked towards her, their eyes wide with wonder.
"You are Anna Dyer," Lord Michael said softly. It was not a question.
"Your servant, my Lord." She bowed.
"I got your message."
She bowed, low and long. When she looked up again, he was looking her over. His eyes were dark, intelligent, and utterly fierce. He looked into her face, their eyes met—and something electrical passed between them. He cleared his throat. "Your injuries, they're not severe?"
"No, my Lord." Her face flushed, in spite of herself. "My dragon—."
"Leave your mount to Lord Garen." Lord Michael cocked his head at his brother. "He may not know a sword from a stick in the mud, but he's the finest healer in all the Remain."
69
A
MONTH LATER
, the High Square was once again packed with people, this time a jubilant, celebrating crowd laughing and milling under a glorious noon sun. They crammed the walls, every window and balcony filled with lords and ladies and soldiers and merchants from across Dávanor, high houses and low, House Dradón banners flying from every wall and hand, each man, woman, and child bedecked in their finest sky blue. High above it all, perched on the Square's uppermost ramparts, House Dradón's strongest remaining dragons rested. Nightlove was at their pinnacle, huge and refreshed, her brilliant white scales blinding in the sun. Her eyes shone like liquid sapphire.
Along the Square's eastern side, on axis with the High Gate and its blue-robed adepts, High Lady Abigail sat on a throne of silver wood. She wore a tiny gown of blue Eulorian silk and a simple diadem of high silver rested on her blonde hair. In her right hand, she carried a miniature scepter topped with a large sapphire enclosed in a sculpted rendering of the Dallanar Sun. Her little feet rested on a sky blue cushion. A huge House Dradón war banner hung from the wall behind her.
The High Lady was flanked by her advisors, councilors, and captains, Master Khondus, Master Zar, and Master Borónd first among them.
Master Khondus wore a fresh velvet doublet of sky blue under a greatcloak of heavy, blue wool. The wounds on his head were near gone, his right eye was well on its way to healing, and his nose had been reset, showing only the barest hint of bruise. He wore the high silver revolver he'd taken from Floren d' Rent a month ago in the stable, cross-holstered at his leather belt; it glimmered like milky steel, fresh with new polish.
Master Zar stood at Master Khondus's side. The stocky Anorian held little Gregory across his chest and was busy feeding the ravenous little beast bloody scraps of lamb from a silver goblet. Zar would kiss the dragon on the nose, dangle a shred of meat above Gregory's mouth with thick, purple fingers, then repeat. The little dragon's blue scales and white fangs flashed brilliantly. Zar's scalp had been fully healed on Kon; the Dallanar Sun tattooed on his forehead glowed white in the bright daylight. He wore a cloak of purple velvet and a rich doublet of fine Eulorian silk. At his thick neck, a silver amulet in the shape of a book, the token of the Great Sister Aaryn, glimmered. Like those of Master Khondus, Master Zar's other wounds were well on their way to healing. His only care in the world now was making sure little Gregory had a limitless supply of sloppy meat on which to sup.
Master Borónd stood next to Zar, his head bowed, his bandaged hands cradled before him. The Master wore a simple robe of blue cotton, the hood cast back around his shoulders, a new pair of wire-framed reading spectacles perched on his nose.
Directly in front of the High Lady's dais, Mother, Penelope, and Wendi waited on a long, ceremonial carpet of sky blue. They wore new gowns of Eulorian silk in various shades of blue along with simple, silver jewelry at their necks and ears. Mother, striking and tall, stood a step behind her daughters, a ravaged Dradón battle flag folded carefully in front of her.
"Here they come!" someone shouted.
There was a blaze of silver trumpets, the Dradón dragons thundered the sky, and the Square's main portal opened to a roar of deafening cheers. Through the door, scores of standard bearers marched, House Dradón's banner first and largest among them. The Dradón banner was followed by dozens more, one from each of Dávanor's loyal minor houses. The Goróns, the Hensporters, the Kyne, the Tallerduns, the Lef, the Berénor, and so many more. Every color of the rainbow, their coats of arms waving in the noon breeze. A column of trumpeters came next, their blaring horns high and true, curled silver gleaming in the sun. Then came Captain Jenifer Fyr, leading a column of perfectly coordinated Dradón guardsmen, steel spears glimmering with spotless polish. She had taken wounds during the battle in the High Square and still wore a silk sling for her right arm, but her smile was fierce and utterly proud.
"Anna!" Wendi cried, pointing at her from across the Square.
Anna Dyer was standing in the portal's shadow, waiting for her cue to enter, looking out into the cheering square.
It didn't seem real.
Everywhere she looked, they were shouting her name.
"Anna! Anna! Anna!"
The trumpets blazed.
That's you.
She took a deep breath and stepped into the sun.
She wore new armor and gear, all of it custom fit and fully functional. The high silver dagger she'd received from Master Khondus was sheathed upside down on a polished bandolier marked by silver clasps and studs. The revolver she'd received from Master Zar was slung in a new custom rig beneath her left armpit. Her shoulder pads were modest, the right much smaller than the left, perfectly balanced for the war lance, both dyed sky blue. The right pad was freshly stamped with the coat of arms of House Dradón, a white dragon rampant; the left pad was marked by House Dallanar's six-pointed sun. Her breeches and boots were of the best Abúcian leather, both tinted blue to match the colors of her High House. She wore a thin band of silver in her hair.
Of course, they'd told her to carry a lance in with her, so she'd done it, even though it was just for show. It was an ancient spear of gleaming high silver from the Drádonhold's Inner Armory, impossibly light, impossibly strong, a primordial weapon crafted during the first years of the Founding, its strange, fluid design seeming more a product of nature than craft.
When she stepped fully into the sun, the crowd cheered like mad and the dragons roared their triumph. Anna smiled and looked up at them.
"Anna! Anna! Anna!"
And then she couldn't help herself.
She lifted the ancient weapon over her head and cried.
"
For the Remain!
"
The crowd went mad, the dragons bellowed, and the Square trembled. The chant began in earnest.
"Anna! Anna! Anna!"
She looked past the Gate; saw Mother, Penelope, and Wendi. Penelope and Wendi were cheering and yelling their heads off, hands cupped to mouths, and Mother . . . Mother was crying. Anna had never seen it before. Mother's chin was up, her back was straight, but tears streamed down her cheeks. She held the destroyed Dradón war banner tightly to her chest.
Anna looked her in the eye, raised the lance again, for her and for her alone, and the crowd
roared
their approval. Mother laughed, shook her head, then bowed and clapped her hands, grabbing up Wendi, squeezing her to the banner at her chest. "Lemme go! Lemme
go
!" Anna could see Wendi say.
Behind her family, Master Khondus, Master Zar, and Master Borónd smiled. Anna saw Gregory snap at Master Zar's fingers, the stocky Anorian promptly kissing the little dragon on the nose and shoving a gob of bloody meat into his mouth.
High Lady Abigail raised her little scepter and the crowd went immediately quiet. Then she spoke, her voice high, true, and perfectly trained.
"Step forward, Anna Dyer, Dragon Rider of House Dradón, Defender of Dávanor!"
Total, absolute chaos. The entire Square seemed to buckle on its foundations. Sky blue flags waved everywhere. The dragons' roar shook the heavens.
"And step forward, Moondagger, Prince of Dragons!"
Anna's breath caught.
She knew he'd been treated. She knew he was better. But he'd been on Kon the entire time, under the direct care of Lord Garen at the Tarn, or so Master Borónd had said. And none of them had said anything about him coming back.
At the High Gate, the House Dradón adepts raised their voices in song, and the Gate flared to life, its brilliant silver shining brighter than the sun, its noiseless sound like a high, clean hymn, totally familiar—eternally unknowable.
And then Moondagger was there.
He stepped through the Gate, scales pure white, wings like sails, huge eyes glowing like silver moons. He wore new gear, as well. A new war saddle of molded blue leather trimmed with silver. New reins of soft Abúcian hide. A new banner of Eulorian silk crossed his chest emblazoned with the House Dradón crest: a white dragon rampant on a field of high blue. His claws had been polished and his whiskers had been carefully trimmed. His fully-sprouted horns had been burnished until they glowed like white fire, just a touch of black beginning to show at their tips.
And he was
huge
.
Almost twice the size she'd last seen him.
His eyes sought her out immediately, connected, and she walked straight down the blue carpet towards him, trying to be solemn and dignified like they'd told her, but she realized suddenly that she didn't care, that her dragon was home, and that she just couldn't wait.
So she ran, dropped the lance to the carpet, and threw her arms around his neck, pushing her cheek into his scales. The crowd went completely berserk, but the noise seemed not to exist. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. He leaned forward and touched his smooth forehead to hers. Together, they closed their eyes, his warmth filling her mind with everything she'd ever need.
This and only this
.
Forever.
70
T
HERE WERE SPEECHES.
And then there were more speeches, and then Anna gave a little speech that they'd prepared for her, and then there were more speeches. Through all of it, Anna kept her hand on Dagger's neck, savoring the feel of the coiled power beneath his warm white scales.
He wanted to
fly
. They both did. The way his broad tongue tasted the air, the way his muscles bunched and shifted, the way his claws dug into the new blue carpet, his eyes rolling with what seemed like exasperation every time yet another speaker would step up onto the dais to commend their bravery and dedication. But then it was done, there was a final cheer, and then the tables and the mead and the food started coming out, the celebration beginning in earnest.
Wendi ran across the courtyard and leapt into Anna's arms.
"
Now
can I ride him?" Wendi giggled as Anna gobbled her ear.
"Of course." Anna smiled.
Mother, Penelope, Master Khondus, and Master Zar came over and surrounded her, hugging her, patting her on the back, squeezing her shoulders. Little Gregory squeaked and Zar gave him some more meat.
"You keep that up, Zar," Master Khondus grinned, "he won't be able to do his job. Be wider than he is long."
They laughed, Gregory snarled, and Master Zar gave him another bloody scrap.
"Can't help myself." The squat Anorian shrugged.