“Race you.” Shard leaped, shooting free of Hikaru’s coils and risking cramps by flinging himself from the mountain face and throwing open his wings. The harsh wind battered against him and he gasped, laughed, made a full, sweeping turn in the night air to clear his head before winging back to Hikaru, who waited, bunched on a ledge outside the tunnel.
Shard hovered, and the dragon joined him in flying out to sea, though Hikaru insisted that Shard let him do the fishing. Shard did, gratefully, and watched, realizing how quick and graceful the young dragon had become—both in body and in heart.
Hikaru caught two wriggling herring, and Shard joined him back on the mountain ledge, where Shard consumed both fish, to Hikaru’s satisfaction.
“Thank you,” Shard said, flicking scales from his talons.
Hikaru bent his head and gently touched his nose to Shard’s brow. “Of course, my wingbrother. Of course. I wish I could do more. I wish the empress would help you.”
“You’ve done enough. Don’t risk yourself for my sake again. I can only hope that now that the seed has been planted, curiosity will grow. Perhaps one day…” Shard huffed, shook himself, and looked around in attempt to gain his bearing. “But now, Hikaru, we must fly this very night. Too much pulls me away, and I can’t risk being captured again. For your sake, or mine.”
“No,” Hikaru said hesitantly, “I know you can’t.”
A strange note touched his voice, and Shard studied his face, and his eyes, with dawning sadness.
“But you’re not coming with me, are you.”
Hikaru lowered himself to his belly, forelegs on the ground, like a mountain cat, so that he was more at Shard’s level. “No.”
The relief Shard felt at his escape tightened back to anxiety. “Why, Hikaru? There’s nothing for you here. The dragons don’t care about the truth, and if you make another mistake, who knows what the empress will do?”
“I know. But you’re wrong—there is something for me here. Many things. Some of us do care about the truth, Shard, and I must find those who do and we must stand together and rejoin the rest of the world. That is what my mother wanted. That’s why she left the Sunland, and why she left me with you.”
Shard swallowed against his dry, tightening throat. “I had so many more things to teach you.”
“You taught me the most important things first.” Hikaru huffed a cloudy silver breath and laid his head on the ground near Shard. It was nearly as large as Shard’s whole body. “I thought I would fly beside you always. But I think Mother knew this would happen. That we would become brothers and through that, my heart would be stronger, that I would need a good heart because I am winterborn.”
“You have one of the strongest hearts I know,” Shard said softly. “I hope you
will
let it guide you. I only wish you would come with me. You can always return here.”
“Maybe, or not. Journeying out into the world isn’t quite safe, either. I learned that the hardest way.” He winced, perhaps thinking of the whales. “Besides, now gryfons are in everyone’s thoughts. They’ve seen you, the young are curious, and I might have a chance at opening their minds.” He showed his teeth in attempt at an amused expression.
Shard couldn’t laugh, and Hikaru sobered. The wind tickled them, icy and unsympathetic, the stars piercing like eyes above.
“Shard, do you remember when you told me that we always think we know what we’ll do, but then when we really face a decision, it’s not as easy as we thought?”
“I remember,” Shard murmured.
Hikaru closed his eyes. “This moment is like that for me. One of the warrior virtues is loyalty. I must be loyal, and help my kin here if I can. I was disappointed to find out what they think of you, to know that they wouldn’t help us. But now I understand that they needed
my
help. They shouldn’t be secluded or ignorant any longer. Shard, I owe you a great debt for all you did for me—”
“No you don’t,” he said sharply. “You owe me nothing, do you understand?”
“I understand.” Hikaru tilted his head. He looked as if he might speak, but his large, liquid gold eyes only studied Shard thoughtfully, gently, as if to memorize him.
Shard watched him in return, his gaze traveling each black scale in the moonlight, the wispy mane and growing silver horns, the black wings. His thoughts drifted to Amaratsu and his promise, to the other dragons, the help they could have been, the help Hikaru could have been.
Then, simply, he knew with a hollowing pang how much he would miss Hikaru’s bright laughter and the dragon’s presence at his side.
He knew, with hard certainty, that Hikaru’s short life meant this would likely be the last time they saw each other.
But he couldn’t linger any more. The stars in the black sky reminded him of the black wolf in his chaotic dreams. Cold wind brushed against the rock and snow and with it, her words.
You are the Summer King, and this will be your song.
He stepped forward and rested his talons on Hikaru’s scaled brow. “Fair winds, little brother.”
Hikaru shut his eyes and whispered, “Fair winds.”
They stood there a moment, then Hikaru raised his head, his expression clearing as he turned to the sky. “I’ve learned the stars you can follow from here to take you to the Silver Isles, if you wish.”
The Silver Isles. He could go home.
“Do you know the stars,” Shard asked quietly, “that would lead me back to the Winderost?”
T
WILIGHT FELL AS THE
pride gathered on the Copper Cliff.
Days after their final confrontation, Caj, Sverin and the rest of the warriors returned to the nesting cliffs. Sverin had refused to fly since Caj could not, and so the whole procession, including now Halvden, Tocho, and Ragna’s five warriors, had walked all the way from the White Mountains back to the pride, arriving near sunset on the fifth day.
At Sverin’s request, Ragna gathered the entire pride. Grudgingly, Caj thought it a sign not only of her honorable nature, but her sense of security, that she allowed his request and didn’t simply imprison him. She did not require the old to attend, or those gryfesses with kit who felt too weary or ill—but all of them came anyway. All of them wished to hear what the fallen king could possibly have to say.
Ragna stood on top of the King’s Rocks, dove-white against the clear dome of delicate blue sky.
For so many years Per and Sverin had stood there. Caj watched Ragna quietly, for she had said nothing about Sverin’s fate. There had been no time. Now the red gryfon sat behind her, awaiting his turn to speak and flanked by two large, fully grown Aesir who would not look directly at him.
Caj sat with Sigrun on a lower ledge of the King’s Rocks, not as Sverin’s honored wingbrother now, but as Thyra’s honored father. The father of the queen. The noble warrior who had captured, restored, and returned the Mad Red King.
Rather than watch the pride gather and read the expressions of revulsion and fear, Caj sought out Thyra, who stood the same level with Ragna but well back, letting the Vanir queen rule this moment. Sensing his look, Thyra glanced at Caj and lifted her beak reassuringly.
Caj inclined his head to her, and looked back to the Widow Queen.
When all appeared settled in the snow, Ragna spread her pale wings. “Sons and daughters of Tyr, of Tor, mixed blood of Aesir and Vanir, conquerors who are now mates, family…friends. We gather as one pride, healing, to hear the confession of one who would have divided and ruined us.”
Caj eyed Sverin, but the fallen king’s expression remained distant, neither angry nor arguing.
Ragna addressed the pride, telling of Caj’s bold initiative to find and bring Sverin to his senses, and to justice, telling of Halvden’s redemptive actions and the warriors who sought out Sverin, in the end. All watched her, rapt, her voice like balm after long years of the aggressive Red King.
All the while, Caj watched Sverin, desperately seeking some reaction, some hint of what he might say. He looked better than when Caj had found him, preened and eyes alert, as if finally aware of everyone and everything around him, a prisoner of war.
“Come forth, son of Per,” Ragna said. Her voice carried across the frozen field. Every ear perked. Caj shifted, and Sigrun made a low, reassuring noise beside him. “You are here to answer for your crimes against the Vanir, the wolves of the Star Isle, every other creature of the Silver Isles bullied and abused under your and your father’s reign. Come forth, and speak, as you wished to.”
Sverin drew himself up, and with a sour pang of regret, Caj saw that he was truly defeated. The arrogance had drained from him, his once-proud stride dragged, limbs liquid and slow as if he walked to his death, not his confession.
Ragna swept back and stretched her wings as if to present him to the pride, and all drew a breath as the War King turned his back to them, and bowed before her. “This chance to speak is more than I deserved.”
“Use it well,” Ragna said, her voice now flat and neutral.
Caj’s blood quickened more than before he’d faced Sverin in the valley, and he perked his ears.
Sverin turned to face the pride, as he had so many times before. His wings remained closed, his tail low, his ears slanted back as if to continue regarding Ragna, behind him. “I stand before you, defeated. I pass on my right to rule to my son, and to his mate.” He lowered his head toward Thyra, who still would not look at him. His ears twitched, and he turned back as the older Aesir mumbled amongst themselves.
“Why did I not fight openly?” His tail lashed, showing some of his old aggression, but he didn’t move otherwise. He struck a harsh, red outline against the sky, like an open wound. “Why did I not call out the enemies of my rule and deal with them honorably?” He paused, his voice checked, then he closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the sky, as if asking strength of Tyr. Caj fought the urge to leap up and stand at his side, to give Sverin whatever strength he needed. But he remained close to Sigrun. She also grew tense, for Ragna had kept secrets from her, too.
Caj had never seen Sverin hesitate before, and he almost wished he wouldn’t confess—though certainly his rule failed at the end, some part of him was chilled to see the king brought so low.
After a moment Sverin lowered his gaze again to the assembled. “I should have, but I did not, because I was afraid—not of my foe, or of the Vanir king’s son.” He paused, corrected himself. “Rashard. Your prince. No, not because I was afraid to fight, but because I was afraid if I broke a certain promise, then my own worst secrets would be revealed. I was a coward, and a liar, and this brought suffering on the Vanir and on you, and your families, and ate away at me until I was no longer king, brother, or father to anyone.”
Caj gazed at him in wonder and confusion, then around at the pride. Ears flicked. Glances exchanged, no one stirred otherwise or spoke.
“Two things I’ve kept in my heart, and they poisoned it slowly. The first concerns our coming here, of which the Aesir who flew with us know only half.”
He looked to Caj. “We came here under the guise of conquering new lands, expanding the rule of the Aesir in the windward land. The Winderost.” He said the name as if it tasted bitter. “But those who flew with us know that we left a great scourge behind us there. You know we left the enemies of Kajar to terrorize the land. Perhaps my father thought our leaving would draw them away.”
He hesitated, his gaze now locked on Caj. “Perhaps he thought this, and his intentions were honorable. I can only hope, for it means my line isn’t entirely ruled by cowardice.” His beak remained parted, holding words, as he stared at Caj. Then he broke the stare, and gazed at the rocks. “But his true reason for leaving, was me.”
A long, rasped breath led to his next words. “
I
begged my father that we might flee. I couldn’t stand their horrible screams in the night. I couldn’t stand knowing they haunted our borders. I could not fight them, and I couldn’t bear the thought of my son growing up to the same nightmare. More than anything, I didn’t want Kjorn to know the terror I had known.”
He raised his voice, declaring his confession to the cold winter air, to Tyr’s light, to the pride. “I was afraid. I was afraid, and I spent every moment of our reign here working to convince all of you, and my son, and myself, that I was a true king.”
A light, frozen wind brushed their feathers up. Caj shuddered. Sverin would not look at him now, but his gaze settled on the middle distance of the White Mountains. No one moved. His voice grew hard.
“Ragna.”
The Widow Queen, who had been watching the pride, turned her gaze to Sverin. He lowered his head.
“Please step forward.”
Her ear flicked back. “You’ve said enough. This is unnecessary.”
“No, they must know, they must understand that it was not greed or anger or arrogance that drove me mad.”
“What more?” Caj breathed, so softly only Sigrun heard him, and she touched her beak gently to his ear. He’d known Sverin feared the great wyrms in the homeland. Everyone did. But never had he imagined that the reason they’d all left to conquer new lands was because Sverin had asked his father to flee.
Ragna and Sverin watched each other a moment longer, sharing some silent history Caj knew nothing about, then Ragna came forward, and Sverin retreated a step as if to present her. “All of you know that my mate died the first, bitter winter in the Silver Isles, drowned in the sea.”
Low, disgusted grumbles washed through the pride, and Sverin snapped his beak to demand silence. It worked. His power still held the pride in thrall.
“For so many years I cast blame on the sea, on the winter, on the Vanir and then on Ragna herself.” He watched Ragna’s face, and it was like pale stone. “For so many years I did this, telling myself and the pride that the Vanir, that Ragna, had taunted and driven Elena to her death.” The name of Sverin’s dead mate, so long unspoken, struck like a bolt of skyfire. “I did this for so long that I began to believe it was true.”
Ragna looked at Sverin, ears perked forward, and said nothing.