Leif drew in the line of the makeshift fishing gear and examined the untouched bit of jerky on the other end. “Guess the fish aren’t hungry,” he said, disappointed. He had done exactly as Amale had instructed him to and the gnawing emptiness in his belly was quickly depleting the last of his, admittedly limited, patience. He turned to Kaja, who sat on a nearby log, kicking her feet idly. “Maybe it would be easier to find a couple rabbits,” he suggested. “Or, gods willing, a boar.” His stomach growled loudly as he imagined slabs of bacon crackling over the fire.

  Kaja listened in awkward silence. It had been a few days since the companions left Ainchalez behind and set up a temporary campsite in the saddle between two mountains, with their destination, the sacred glacier Dusanek, tantalizingly close on the westward peaks. Jo had tried to keep pace at first but it soon became clear that their trials in Ainchalez were more damaging to her injuries than she originally let on. Amale warned the group that she needed rest and so they picked a relatively sheltered location to wait out her recovery, despite her protests. When the little food they had became scarce, Leif volunteered to go search for more. He specifically requested that Kaja come with him, which was why she was now sitting by the water’s edge as the pink light of dawn sparkled across the crystalline surface.

  “The fish go to the bottom when snow falls,” Kaja said quietly. She didn’t understand why Leif had wanted her to come with him, but she resolved to be useful now that she was here. “I can go get them.” Before Leif could ask her what she meant to do, she had shed her outer clothes and waded into the icy water.

  She dove gracefully below the surface, the fins on her tail flaring out to propel her through the water. The pond was still and the water clear, so it was an easy thing for Kaja’s sharp eyes to catch sight of a mountain carp lying motionless on the rocky bottom. As she slowly approached it, careful not to alert its dulled senses, she flashed back to a memory of diving with her friends as Matus looked on with pride. She remembered Feodor grinning ear to ear as he held up his catch, the largest fish in the group. Would they be waiting for her at Dusanek? She shook the thoughts from her mind and refocused on her task.

  Just as the carp’s fins shuddered and its tail flicked, she struck. Pushing herself forward with a powerful whip from her tail, she simultaneously rimed her fingertips into icy claws and clasped the fish, piercing its soft flesh as it struggled. Without wasting a movement, Kaja swam to the surface and took a gasping breath.

  “Here,” she said, throwing the half-frozen fish onto shore. Leif looked at the carp as it flopped weakly then lay still.

  “Wow, that’s amazing!” he said with a good-natured laugh, once the shock wore off. “Think you can find another?”

  Kaja nodded and disappeared below the water again. When she was done, they had three good-sized carp on their hands.

  “I’m still hoping we see a boar on the way back,” Leif said as they secured their catch and began the trek to camp. “Not that the fish you caught aren’t good enough, mind you!” he amended quickly. “But you just can’t beat crackling pork fat, you know?”

  Kaja had never had crackling pork fat, so she didn’t know, but she doubted it was better than a nice, frosty fish, the ice crystals in the raw, unspoiled flesh crunching between her teeth. Now her own stomach was growling. “I like fish,” she said.

  Leif smiled, elated that he had gotten Kaja to speak with him about something other than business. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I like fish too. Salt fish is a specialty of Stielheim, you would love it.”

  “Is it hot?”

  “Nah you can eat it as is, although some people like putting it in stews. Next time you’re in Aurea, I’ll search the market for some so you can try it.” He stroked his beard and twisted a lock thoughtfully. “Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I went out on a fishing vessel for a couple weeks? Well, it wasn’t exactly my decision—I was drinking one night and. . .”

  Leif’s story carried them all the way back to camp, where Amale was tending to Jo and Sakrattars was reading by the fire. “. . .and that’s how we slew the great northern kraken,” Leif finished. “The island ate grilled squid for weeks!”

  Amale’s ears perked at the sound of Leif’s voice, but quickly flattened again when he heard the words coming from his mouth. “The food?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yeah okay. Got it right here.” Leif plopped the fish on a nearby stump. “Thanks to Kaja. She’s a good little fisher.”

  “No doubt,” Sakrattars said without looking up from the page. “I didn’t think you would catch anything with that rig.”

  “Alright, smarta—elf,” Leif corrected with a glance at Kaja, “what happened to the fire while we were gone?”

  Everyone’s eyes trailed to the sputtering fire, which had been under Sakrattars’ care while Leif and Kaja went hunting and Amale nursed Jo’s injury. Sakrattars felt his face flush. “Bartholomew!” he scolded. “I told you to keep it going!” Bartholomew lay huddled and motionless in the snow, a handful of tindersticks by his side.

  Leif rolled his eyes. “Relying on a toad to tend a fire, now I’ve seen everything.”

  “He’s not just a toad, he’s my familiar,” Sakrattars snapped. “I’ve shown him what to do. I don’t know why he hasn’t.” He took the tindersticks himself, broke the spell on them, and reignited the glowing coals. He was running low on the proper ingredients for fire magic, and so turned to the sticks for support, but now he was beginning to run out of sticks. He couldn’t wait until they were back in civilization. “It must be too cold for him,” Sakrattars reasoned, scooping Bartholomew up and tucking him in the cowl of his robes.

  Leif and Amale set to work cleaning the catch, while Sakrattars stoked the coals and skewered the fillets for roasting. He pulled a small pouch from his inner robes and sprinkled a light dusting of Aurean sea salt on the meat, his lips pressing into a thin line when he had to scrape the bottom of the bag for salty residue. Kaja sat to the side, quietly gnawing on the frozen body of the smallest fish: her reward for a job well done.

  Jo was doing better after a few days worth of rest. She was sitting up and moving about the campsite, fetching wood and helping with small tasks. Though Amale never let on, she knew that he was running low on the necessary supplies like clean bandages and pain poultices, and that his ability to make more was severely limited in the inhospitable environment of the central Calthian mountains. They were all running low on everything, and early winter was beginning to set in. Once the heavy snows fell, they had little hope of making it off the mountains until spring and Jo doubted that they would survive until then. They had to keep moving; they couldn’t afford to wait for her any longer. She once cursed the orc who took his battleaxe to her flank and she twice cursed herself for her rash actions during the siege.

  “I’ll be ready to leave after breakfast,” she announced. “I’m much stronger today.”

  Hearing this, Amale lowered his ears. Kaja stopped eating and stared at Jo, the concern plain on her face.

  “Alright,” Leif replied, his tone somewhat grim but resolute. No one believed Jo’s words but they all knew in the backs of their minds that they couldn’t stay in the mountains much longer.

  Kaja bit her lip, her eyes downturned. “We—we should go back to the Empire,” she said softly. “I don’t need to go to Dusanek.”

  Everyone turned toward her in surprise, most of all Jo. “No,” Jo said. She was sympathetic but firm. “If there are survivors from the Skolka waiting for you there, you deserve to be reunited with them.” Leif and Amale expressed their agreement.

  Kaja shrunk, her shoulders lowering, but she didn’t respond. After a moment’s pause, everyone resumed their tasks.

  “If you’re worried about her, you can just say so,” Sakrattars said in Draconic, idly poking the coals with a frost-covered stick as the cooking fish above smoked and blackened. Kaja looked at him, her brow furrowed in annoyance and her lip stuck out in a pout. “Don’t give me that.” Sakrattars rolled his eyes. “What Jo did, keeping that note from you, was done for your benefit. She was only looking out for you. You don’t need to be so stubborn about holding it against her.” Kaja snorted but her eyes softened slightly at his words.

  After breakfast, the companions packed up their belongings and stamped out the fire. The day was bright and mercifully clear, with an endless blue sky stretching out above their heads and warm yellow light glinting off the snow. With the weather so cooperative and Dusanek so close, they expected to be at the foot of the glacier before sundown.

  “So tell us about this glacier,” Leif said as they walked. “Have you been there before?”

  “No,” Kaja answered, subdued. “I was supposed to go, but then. . .” her voice trailed off. No one asked her to continue that thought. She picked up elsewhere. “But everyone else goes there. It’s a sacred place. Dusanek speaks to the Great Elders when they descend below the treelines. He tells them what he knows of the world and he’s very ancient so he knows a lot.”

  “Ah, so this Dusanek has a spirit, eh?” Leif remarked thoughtfully, tugging at his beard.

  “Yes, he is like a. . . brother. Just like she created us, Snihl’ad created him.”

  “And Snihl’ad is. . ?”

  “The Great Mother, the sacred white dragon.”

  All color drained from Leif’s face. He swallowed his nerves and managed a “yes, of course” in response, though his voice was considerably less enthused. “And Snihl’ad. . . she’s an ancient dragon, right?” he probed further. “As in, she’s not. . . there anymore, is she? And it’s fine if she is! All mothers deserve respect—”

  “No, she lived in the time before time,” Kaja said. “She lives on through us and Dusanek.” Leif waited until Kaja turned away from him before he breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his posture.

  As expected, the companions arrived at Dusanek’s base just as the sun was skirting low in the sky and the air was getting chillier. The area before the glacier was devoid of trees, the gravel and silt surface criss-crossed by rivulets of meltwater continuously draining off the leading edge of the ice sheet. Like a waterfall locked in place, the glacier snaked up into the mountains, meandering through the valleys and tumbling down the ridges until it was lost in hazy clouds high above. From the bottom it was difficult to judge the true scale of the massive glacier.

  The air grew colder and colder the closer they went, though there was no wind to chill them as there had been amid the peaks. This cold was deep, ambient, radiating out from the huge amount of ice that had remained unchanged and unmoved since before living memory. Sakrattars took a deep breath, shivering under the powerful magic of the place. Eddies of ethereal energy swirled in the air, growing in strength as the companions approached the side of the ice sheet, until they made even Amale’s hackles rise and the hair on Jo’s and Leif’s arms stand on end.

  Overwhelmed by the majesty of the glacier, and excited by the thought of what it might be able to teach him about the zmaj, Sakrattars reached out and touched the ice. Instantly, he saw a massive white dragon wheeling through the sharp peaks during a mighty blizzard, exhaling a blast of cold magic as it passed overhead. The vision ended as suddenly as it came, but Sakrattars was enthralled.

  “This might be a dumb question,” Leif started, ignoring Sakrattars’ sigh, “but is there. . . a door, or something?”

  All eyes turned to Kaja, who said nothing. It was her first time visiting this place too. There were huge cracks and inlets in the side of the glacier. Did one of them lead to Dusanek’s interior? She had no way of knowing anymore than anyone else there. She bowed her head and quietly asked her brother for help in understanding.

  Dusanek did not speak. Perhaps Kaja did not know how to connect with him, or maybe he did not deem her worthy. But when she lifted her head, she spotted something oddly familiar. She put out a hand and ran her fingers along some patterns formed into the ice. It had a scalloped texture, almost like scales, and was similar to the decorations inscribed into the icy huts of the Skolka. The subtle pattern made a line along the side of the glacier, roughly at shoulder height for an adult, laid in such a way that they flowed in one direction. Once Kaja noticed it, she wondered how she hadn’t seen it before.

  Keeping her fingertips on the ice, she followed the flowing scales. The only sounds accompanying her footfalls were the soft calls of mountain birds in the distant pines and the occasional gust of wind through the eerily still air. Sakrattars stared at the others, searching for their thoughts, but no one dared to disturb such a spiritual moment. One by one, in reverent silence, the companions peeled off to follow.

  After a time, they came to a place where the walls of the glacier cupped inward, making a bowl shape. Kaja saw a similar scalloped line leading into the bowl from the opposite direction. Both trails vanished into a dark crevasse, leading into the heart of the glacier itself. Kaja turned back to look at her companions for support before stepping through the crack. As she entered, she accidentally kicked something. To her surprise, there were shards of ice all over the ground. They were a deep, strong blue like the tabor and like Dusanek himself—the blue of ancient ice compressed by immense pressure.

  Then the ice shards began to move.

  They shook at first, trembling as if by a tiny earthquake. Soon, they pulled themselves from the wet silt and tumbled across the ground, collecting together into two piles on either side of the crack.

  “Kaja get back!” Amale barked, as the party prepared for a fight. The shards pulled themselves into two animal-like forms, abstractly mimicking the shape of a wolf or dog. They stalked closer to Kaja on gleaming, crystalline legs, but then pivoted to stand in between her and the others before they could enter the crack. The beasts lowered their heads, eyeless faces regarding the companions with what could only be suspicion.

  “Uhh. . .” Leif stammered, looking to the others for guidance. The ice beasts didn’t move, or make any sound.

  “It’s okay,” Sakrattars said, in Draconic. “We’re her friends. We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

  The guardians remained unmoved, as if they couldn’t hear him.

  Kaja came around to face the beasts. “Um. . . it’s like he said,” she said, also using her native tongue. “They’re my friends. Can. . . can they come in? Please?”

  The guardians’ attitude changed immediately. They raised their heads, abandoning their menacing stance, and came to flank Kaja on either side. “Thank you,” she said politely. She reached out to pet one of them, stroking it on a part of the head that sort of looked like a snout. It didn’t react to her touch, but both turned to follow her as she went inside. Neither seemed to mind the presence of the other companions anymore.

  As they entered the crevasse, they were enveloped by darkness. The silvery glow of Leif’s axe, Oxhiminn, was soon joined by Sakrattars’ light spell. The lights danced and twinkled along the irregular walls of the ice cavern. Though the tunnel was oddly shaped, with the ceiling slanting off diagonally into the darkness, the floor was smooth and level, and coated with a thin layer of snow. The soft clinking and cracking of the ice guardians’ movements accompanied them as they made their way down. Each wall showed the scaly, scalloped pattern that had led them to this point. They were going the right way.

  After a time, the ice guardians paused, each one sitting on its haunches to wait. Ahead was a deep, wide river of icy runoff. The tunnel continued on the other side, but there was no visible way to cross. Kaja peered over the ledge. The water flowed quickly from the left, carrying with it heavy ice chunks, and vanished back beneath the ice on the right. There was no way to know if or when the river emerged again and it was certainly not worth the risk of swimming.

  “So that’s it?” Leif remarked. “How are we supposed to get across?”

  Amale sniffed unhappily, rubbing his big ears to urge some feeling back into them. He had spent entirely too much time underground, in the dark, and in the cold lately. Koa, who had been perched on his shoulder and equally upset, decided that the extra jostling was the final straw. With a flutter, the frustrated bird took flight, gliding across the river, and landed on an outcrop on the other side. Amale laid his ears at the bird’s petulance but didn’t command him to return.

  “Wish we could do that,” Leif grumbled.

  Kaja squinted into the darkness after the bird. The “outcrop” that Koa was perched upon was actually a sculpture, with another just like it on the other side of the tunnel. Though overgrown with ice, with icicles extending down from their limbs and faces, Kaja could still understand their meaning. They were two zmaj—each with arms extended back, their shoulders hunched in effort, pursing their lips toward the icy river.

  Kaja took a deep breath and exhaled an icy current of air over the river. Responding to her magic, the powerful, rushing river froze solid within moments. Calmly, the guardians got up and walked across the frozen surface.

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  “Nice work,” Sakrattars said in awe. Kaja flushed pink.

  On the other side, Leif held Oxhiminn close to the icy wall. “Oy, take a look at this,” he said, moving aside so the others could see.

  The ice had been meticulously carved into a relief, showing a scene of village life that was familiar to Kaja. Adults gutted and dried fish amid their huts, children ran and played, or sat in a semicircle and listened closely as their teacher gave lessons. The background was full of tall, straight pine trees, the same kind that covered the mountain slopes outside.

  Yet that was where the familiarity ended. Just like in Ainchalez, none of the zmaj in the picture had any draconic features. Kaja couldn’t see anything that looked like a tabor or other buildings made by ice-shapers. And, most strikingly of all, was the gigantic dragon at the edge of the scene, laying in a lion-like pose overlooking the village. Its great head, and most of its body, was covered in thick fur-like feathers. What patches of scales were visible overlaid each other like the scales of a fish, and the dragon’s tail was adorned with great fins. Zmaj were sitting on its large limbs, speaking with it. Children sat nearby, talking and laughing. Even though it was carved in ice, the expression of love and peace on the dragon’s face was unmistakable.

  Sakrattars, brimming with an excitement and energy he had not felt since they discovered Ainchalez, wanted to study the scene longer, perhaps take a rubbing. He dug around in his pack, desperately searching for a roll of paper large enough and a piece of coal. Here was the first solid, documentable proof of his long-held belief in the intimate connection between zmaj and dragons and he didn’t have the proper supplies at the ready! When he looked up again, he realized that the others hadn’t waited for him and were already down the tunnel. Sighing, he hurried after them. Maybe he could take the rubbing on their way out.

  As they walked, the tunnel yawned wider and wider until it opened up into a small cavern filled with huge icicles. Bigger around than Jo’s arms, they rose from the floor in a dense forest and hung from the ceiling like giant bats. The party passed carefully through, not wanting to disturb the sharp formations. Sakrattars peered closely at one of them. It was smooth and angular, giving it an appearance more like a quartz crystal than an icicle, but the little bubbles of air trapped inside showed him that it was indeed made of ice. The zmaj’s skill in ice-shaping was peerless. Still, he wondered why so much time and effort had been taken in carving them.

  His answer came as the waning daylight outside shone through a cloud. A narrow hole had been bored in the ceiling, letting light in all the way from the surface of the glacier. The sunlight refracted through one icicle, then another, then the entirety of the room, covering every surface with a bright, rainbow spectra. As the magic-saturated ice heated in the sun, each icicle began to softly vibrate. They created a beautiful, harmonious hum, like a symphony of wind chimes. As light reflected through the ice guardians, they too joined the chorus. It was an unexpected display of natural beauty, one that even lifted Amale’s sour mood and made the tip of his tail wiggle with pleasure.

  Leaving behind the icicle room somewhat reluctantly, the companions emerged into a much larger central chamber. This one was half-moon shaped; the opposite wall was solid, thick ice. Undeterred, the ice wolves proceeded through, waiting patiently as the party paused to study more carvings.

  Ten stones—some colored gems, some orbs of polished metal—were embedded in the thick ice wall, forming a perfect circle. Like the spokes of a wheel, solid lines radiated from each and joined in the center. At the meeting point was a dark, amorphous shape. The ice had been colored with coal dust, save for a few flecks of amber gleaming like sinister eyes in the shadowy depths.

  “It’s one of them,” Leif said, frowning. “The demons.”

  “What does it all mean?” Sakrattars wondered aloud, studying the ten stones. There was an emerald, a sapphire, a gold chunk, a silver orb, a ruby, a copper coin, and several others. He wouldn’t be able to take a rubbing of these reliefs; he’d have to commit them to memory and draw them later. “Do you know what it means?” he asked Kaja, in Draconic. When she didn’t answer, he realized she wasn’t with them anymore. She had gone on to the next carving.

  Sunken into the floor of the chamber was a scene in miniature, a crowd of tiny figures surrounding the form of a great sleeping dragon. It had the same features as the one they saw in the village scene earlier—the thick down, the fish scales, and the fins. However, gone was the expression of peace and love on its face. Its eyes were now closed, its previous vitality drained. Many of the surrounding zmaj held their faces in their hands, weeping. Friends and mates held each other in grief. A young child sat beside the dragon’s great snout, their hand placed gently on the bare scales. The tears upon their cheeks were tiny, but had been shaped in such a way as to sparkle in the dim light.

  Sakrattars sucked in a sharp breath, his audible reaction mirroring the silent astonishment of his companions. Unlike every other depiction they had yet seen, the zmaj in this tragic scene now had the familiar draconic features—horned crowns, patches of scales on their shoulders and backs, finned tails. Even the child that sat before the great dragon’s head had small horn nubs poking through their hair.

  Kaja was lost. She didn’t really know what she was looking at, and somehow seeing these “normal” zmaj only made her more confused about the unusual zmaj they had seen elsewhere. She felt a gaze upon her and turned to see the ice wolves sitting patiently on either side of a narrow, arched opening in the thick inner wall. It hadn’t been there before; they must have willed the magical ice to open and make way. Kaja’s skin prickled and her heart beat faster. She sensed powerful magic, the most potent she had yet experienced in the glacier, but that wasn’t all. There was something familiar, something nostalgic and wistful. Something that felt like home.

  Drawn to the doorway and the irresistible feeling from beyond, Kaja approached the arch and glided past the guardians without reaction. But when her companions tried to follow her, the guardians stood firmly in their way. Sakrattars tried repeatedly to step around the wolves and was blocked at every chance. Frustrated, he bent and extended and leaned in a vain attempt to see what lay beyond the arch. “Kaja, tell them it’s okay again,” he said. “Tell them we can still come with you.”

  Kaja lowered her gaze, her expression uncertain. She was about to say something when Jo spoke for the first time since they entered Dusanek. “What’s in there is for Kaja alone,” she said, gently pulling Sakrattars back by his shoulder. Then she made eye contact with Kaja. “Go on.”

  Kaja gave Jo a small nod and summoned a bravery she did not truly believe in. Was her family waiting for her on the other side? Would she finally see Mila and Matus and the others again? She heard Jo tell Sakrattars “you’ll just need to be happy with the carvings in here” and she smiled weakly. That’s right—no matter what waited for her in the next room, her friends here would still be there for her when she came back out. Before she had a chance to talk herself out of it, Kaja stepped through and the icy door froze solid behind her, sealing her in cool darkness.

  As her keen eyes adjusted to the light, or lack thereof, she realized she was not alone. But it wasn’t her parents or Mila or the villagers from the Skolka who awaited her.

  It was a dragon.

  Kaja jumped back, realizing she was mere steps from its massive snout, but then relaxed again when it became apparent that the dragon was no longer alive. Its eyes were closed, its resting body coated in a thick layer of ice from being immobile for so long. Kaja could see white scales and white-silver down perfectly preserved beneath the crystalline ice. It was the dragon from the carvings.

  She took a wary step forward, swallowing nervously. She felt the same fluttery anxiety she had around Bhorovane or Anya, or even the Great Elder Bonifac—the feeling of being exposed before someone of true strength. Yet she felt something else too, something entirely unexpected. She felt like she was looking into a mirror, at her own reflection.

  “Please, do not be frightened, daughter.”

  Kaja heard the voice in her head, but unlike the taunting, malevolent tones of the Voice in the Deep or the Fallen, this one was sweet, kind, and strong. It reminded her of Anya’s voice or that of her own mother’s.

  “You may speak to me, little one, and I will hear you. Do you know my name?”

  Kaja took a step closer, and placed her hand against the ice that coated the dragon’s nose. The dragon had not stirred, had not shown any signs of life, and yet Kaja could feel her as surely as she could feel her own soul. “Snihl’ad?”

  A warm joy filled Kaja’s chest, as a soft laughter echoed in her mind. Snihl’ad was sharing her happiness. “Very good, my child. Very good!” Snihl’ad said, her voice as clear as a cold glacial stream. “May I know your name as well?”

  “. . .Kaja.”

  “‘Purity and goodness’. It is a beautiful name.” Snihl’ad paused and Kaja felt a pang in her heart. Was it her own feeling or Snihl’ad’s? Was there even a difference? “I am happy to meet you, Kaja, and to see you are safe. I have been so worried for my children during these dark times.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Kaja said softly. “I—I got separated from my family and I thought they might be here.”

  Snihl’ad didn’t speak for a long time but Kaja could still feel the swirls and peaks of various emotions: sadness, grief, fear. “You have been my only visitor for quite some time, little one,” she said, subdued. “I am sorry.”

  Kaja stood in stunned silence, then her knees buckled and she collapsed to the snowy ground. One thought kept repeating incessantly in her head: they aren’t here. . . they’re gone. . . It was her deepest fear coming true.

  Then, she felt a loving warmth radiate from within, washing over her like a calming embrace. She thought of how her father would hold her when she was small, or how Mila and Chessa would snuggle her as they slept. She didn’t know how, but she knew it was Snihl’ad, sharing her grief and offering comfort.

  “What have your teachers told you, little Kaja? About our history, and how our family came to be?”

  Kaja shook her head, but when she realized Snihl’ad could neither see her nor read her mind, she spoke up. “They didn’t,” she said breathlessly. “I just know that it’s always been this way.”

  “Not always, my daughter,” Snihl’ad corrected gently, her voice patient and maternal. “Ours is not a family born from blood and seed, but one that was chosen and fought for. Believe it or not, there was a time when we were strangers to one another.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, little one, long ago, before even my time, dragons were alone in the world. For eons, it was only us and the creatures of the wilds. Some dragons lived their whole lives without ever seeing another.”

  “That sounds lonely,” Kaja said sadly.

  “It was. So you can imagine the excitement our ancestors felt when the zmaj first appeared. We took them under our wing—often literally—and taught them our language, showed them how to live in the world; and the zmaj delighted us with their stories and their company. The world was not so empty anymore.” Snihl’ad’s melancholy faded away under a warm glow of happiness. The feeling even encouraged Kaja to crack a small smile. “For generations we lived together as one people, sharing our lives, our adventures, and our tragedies. Over time the zmaj and their dragon guardians began to live similar lives. Myself and my zmaj tribe lived up in the mountains, taking fish from the streams, and exploring the snowy valleys.”

  Kaja listened with rapt attention, recalling similar adventures with her own friends in the tabor. “Is that how we got our horns and tails?” she asked.

  The great dragon projected a jolt of sadness. “No, little Kaja. That happened after. For a long time there was peace—even when the elves arrived in Calthia from across the sea and built cities and kingdoms, there was peace. We offered ourselves as advisors, hoping to guide them into cooperation rather than competition. For the most part, it worked, and elves and zmaj visited one another, traded freely, and shared their culture. That was before they came.” Snihl’ad said the word with a dangerous rumble in her voice.

  Kaja frowned and her inner dragon growled as Snihl’ad did. “The demons?”

  “We don’t know where they come from, but they must have been infiltrating the world for decades, perhaps centuries. Before we knew it, they had corrupted many of the elven leaders, those looking for advantage over their rivals. They even turned some of our beloved zmaj to their cause. Whether by threats or by promises, many fell to darkness and turned against their own kind. One by one the great kingdoms fell.

  “But dragons have potent magic, and powerful spirits. We discovered that our magics were especially deadly against the Dark Ones, but we simply could not match their numbers, and more and more of us died each day. We knew something had to be done—we needed allies, but there were no more to be had. It was Kral’ohen, the most powerful of the gold dragons, who came up with a solution. If the shadow creatures could merge their spirits with that of mortals, perhaps dragons could do the same. We believed that the zmaj, with our deep affinity and understanding of one another, were the only possibility for this process. Kral’ohen sought a way to split our spirits, and give a shard of our power to our zmaj tribes.”

  Another bolt of pain rent through her heart as she continued. “However, those who wished to do this were in the minority. Most dragons disagreed. They didn’t want the zmaj to have such power, given that so many of them had already fallen to the Dark Ones’ pacts. Others didn’t believe it would work at all and were afraid the spell would kill the zmaj. Still others felt it would be the ultimate betrayal to turn the zmaj—who we had come to see as our children—into weapons. But we couldn’t afford to debate about it. The end of the world seemed near.

  “And so we went ahead with the spell, without their permission. I offered myself freely to be part of Kral’ohen’s spell, to give my spirit to my tribe for all time. Kral’ohen told me I would fall into a perpetual sleep—never to die, and never to wake, never even able to speak to anyone ever again. I accepted this willingly. I would have done anything to give my family the powers they needed to stay alive.” She paused, and when she resumed the voice in Kaja’s head was much lighter. “As you know, our people survived. The spell worked, and using their new powers, the zmaj sent the dark spirits back into the outer void.”

  Kaja swallowed, her eyes wide. “So. . . my horns, my tail, and my magic. . . they’re all a part of you?”

  “Yes, little one. You and I and all of our people share one soul. We are individuals and we are one; we exist in separate times and all at once; we are of the physical world and the ethereal realm—and it is that last part that makes us so dangerous to the Dark Ones. Zmaj do not just banish these demons; they can destroy them. Utterly, and permanently. That is why they fear us. A piece of my spirit exists inside you, and all the zmaj of my tribe, ready to protect this world and its people.”

  Kaja thought of her dragon spirit, pursuing the demons through black clouds and hailstorms. “Sometimes my—our spirit takes over, or leaves my body to fight them.”

  Snihl’ad hesitated before responding. “I am impressed. That is a rare ability.”

  “It is?”

  “Normally it requires years of study and training. I have never heard of it manifesting in one so young.”

  Kaja thought back, remembering when it had happened. Whether in the dungeons of Castrum Ustarius, amid the fires of Forgeheart, or lost in the darkness of Ainchalez, one thing was the same. “It happens when my friends are in danger.”

  “Ah,” Snihl’ad said, warmth radiating through the bond they shared. “That is it. You have a powerful motivation, little one. A desire to protect. You and I both know how strong that desire can be, and how much we would sacrifice to defend those we love.”

  Then something occurred to Kaja about what Snihl’ad had said earlier. “You said you would never die, never awake, and never speak again. So how can you be speaking with me now?”

  Snihl’ad did not respond right away. Her grief and sorrow permeated the room so heavily that Kaja felt it might smother her. “Oh, my daughter, that is why I have been so worried. When a new life is born, a sliver of my magic leaves my body and binds to them, and when an old life ends, their spirit shard returns to me and begins the cycle anew. Most of my spirit should be out, bound to zmaj, not resting with me here. It means. . . it means many of my children have died.”

  Tears stung the corners of Kaja’s eyes as the words settled in. “Am I—am I alone, then?”

  Snihl’ad reached out to her, wrapping her in another mental embrace. “You are not alone, Kaja. I am here. And, though they are not your kin, your companions wait for you outside.”

  For the first time since she entered Snihl’ad’s chamber, Kaja thought about Jo and Sakrattars, Leif and Amale. “Yes,” she sniffled. “They’ve been really kind to me.”

  “Tell me about them,” Snihl’ad prompted warmly.

  And so Kaja told Snihl’ad about each of them. She told her about how they met and the adventures they had had together. She explained that Sakrattars would let her play with Bartholomew, and Amale would sometimes let her pet his ears when no one else was looking. She mentioned that Leif could drink a lot but Jo could drink even more. With a touch of guilt, she explained how Jo saved her life in the Goldenwoods and even tried to show Snihl’ad the woolen cloak she wore—made from the blanket Jo had given her back then—until she remembered that the great dragon could not “see”.

  “They sound like wonderful people,” Snihl’ad said indulgently. “And tell me about yourself, daughter. It has been so long since I have spoken to one of my children. I wish to know you and what kind of person you are.”

  “What do you want to know?” Kaja asked shyly.

  Snihl’ad thought for a moment. “Tell me, what is your favorite food?”

  A little smile crossed Kaja’s face. “Fish.”

  *

  *

  How long she spoke with Snihl’ad, Kaja couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that when she finally re-emerged into the relief room, Leif had to be shaken awake and Sakrattars had finished preliminary sketches of every carving they had seen. As the wolf guardians guided them back out, Kaja told her companions about Snihl’ad and what she had learned.

  Copper-colored sunlight bathed the mountainside as the party emerged from the glacier. The sun had nearly set behind the trees, whose long shadows reached far across the dry riverbed.

  “That’s why Snihl’ad was awake enough to speak to me,” Kaja said, finishing her story. “A lot of us. . . have died.” She swallowed, her voice cracking despite her best effort to hide it. She had spent the better part of the past year avoiding facing the truth square in the face. Some small part of her believed that if she just ignored it, pretended she couldn’t go back or made excuses for herself, that reality would never catch up to her. She could still exist in a world where her parents and friends were alive, where her baby sister had been born and was waiting to meet her lost older sibling. Even Linnea’s note about the Ordo’s discovery didn’t seem real enough to break the illusion. Now, Snihl’ad’s haunting words brought the terrifying truth that much closer to Kaja’s heart.

  Jo placed a hand on Kaja’s shoulder. Kaja stiffened, then melted, tears pooling in her eyes. She so badly wanted comforting but still couldn’t allow herself to seek it. Sakrattars was right—she had treated Jo terribly when Jo had only done what she thought was best. Kaja opened her mouth to start an apology.

  “I’m sorry,” Jo said gravely, speaking the words before Kaja had the chance to. “I’m sorry for hiding the letter from you, Kaja. It wasn’t my information to conceal. You deserved to know.”

  Kaja sniffled, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wasn’t a crybaby anymore. She wasn’t. She had a dragon’s spirit. She needed to be strong. Straightening up, she wiped her face with the back of her arm. “I’m—I’m sorry, too,” she stammered, swallowing the last of her emotions. It felt like a crushing weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  “Whether we go to the Skolka or not is your decision,” Jo continued gently. “I’ll go with you no matter where. You won’t be alone.”

  Kaja felt the tears coming back but quickly forced them away. “I think I need to go,” she said quietly. “I think. . . I need to see it with my own eyes.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Jo confirmed, turning back to the others. Leif and Amale nodded supportively, while Sakrattars tried unsuccessfully to smile past his apprehensions. Kaja knew that he had always wanted to see the Skolka, but she also knew that he was keenly aware of their situation, that winter was on the horizon. The fact that Jo, Leif, and Amale surely knew that too touched Kaja deeply. She had wronged each of them, in big and small ways, and yet they were willing to risk themselves to give her this chance at closure.

  Reorienting herself, Kaja peered across the mountains. “It isn’t far,” she said. “I’ll show you the way.” She signalled the direction to Amale and he slipped into his usual role of pathfinder. Kaja stayed in place for a moment longer, taking a deep breath of the cold mountain air. It smelled like home.

  Then three hounds came into view, skulking on a nearby ridge. They paced and circled around each other, roiling shadows dripping off their fluid forms and blending together into a mass like a blight upon the mountain. They set their glowing ember eyes on Kaja, singularly focused on her and her alone. She stared back at them defiantly, as if to let them know that she had noticed them stalking her all of this time—first in Aurelia, then in the Steppes. Her point made, she turned away to catch up with her companions.

  She wasn’t scared like she was the first time. She wasn’t angry like she was the second.

  This time, she was ready.