Val patted the neck of the mountain goat idly, half listening to the conversation between Fenris and Za’kel as they prepared to separate again. The passage through the glowing blue Laon tunnels had been uneventful, and they had cut through the very mountain to emerge on the eastern slopes.

  The goat watched her back with one flat pupil. Its elegant horns were polished and neat, with the growing edges where the keratin flaked at the base of its skull sanded smooth. The long hairs were matted into white locks, with a few around its chin decorated with black beads.

  “Our elder Matriarch has not much longer,” said Za’kel grimly, “If you are to see her before she passes, it’d best be soon.”

  “I have business elsewhere once this task is done,” replied Fenris with unusual sternness for the wolf-boy.

  “Shall I pass your well wishes then?”

  “Yes, and a thanks for granting me your tunnels.”

  Za’kel turned to Val, his expression odd and thoughtful. Then his eyes slipped to Dorius, and his arrogant tone returned, “Alate, a word?”

  Val glanced at Dorius, who folded his hands within his robes and gave her a nod. She gathered the reins of the mountain goat and followed after Za’kel as he beckoned back towards the tunnel entrance.

  “Will you follow this hume when your task is done?” he asked contemptuously once they were out of hearing range.

  Val shifted nervously, she had felt this question coming and still had no answer prepared. Instead, she deferred to the words Fenris had shared with her, “I heard the Fae have always served the Dragon Throne, one way or another?”

  Za’kel clicked his tongue, “Yes, but not an Alate.”

  Val sighed, and looked at her bandaged hand. She bit back her apologies and remained silent, waiting for his rebuke. Instead, he reached a hand as he had done when they first met, and lifted her chin to look at his dark eyes.

  “It is an Alate’s nature to wander from the colony. You will do as you are, and I have no blood right to stop you. But, you have been robbed of your true nature by the hume, and you rob us of a gift if you do not come back one day and share.”

  Val drew herself away from his hand, her eyebrows tight, “I don’t know.”

  “You cannot truly say the humes welcome you as one of their own?”

  Val paused, studying the Laon’s haughty expression to try and interpret his meaning. Slowly, she replied, “No, but I am not sure the Laons do either.”

  Za’kel grinned, the edges of his mouth genuine, “Do you think any other Alate fits as neatly with us, as the soldiers or workers do? To wander is to change.”

  “You do not resent me? For being too hume for your tastes?”

  “I am angry that you were taken from your home. We, like all the other Fae, have shrunk to the small and wild places of the world, what we have left, we must hold precious and dear. Only the hume spread freely, abundantly. But, all Alate are fated to walk alone, to grow alone, to fight alone. You may have travelled a similar path even if you had started first with your own kind. I think you will have much to bring us when you return, even if it is not what we expect. Whether that will be a good thing, only time can tell.”

  “And if I never return?” tested Val.

  Za’kel twisted his nose, “Then you abandon us.”

  Val stiffened, “Abandon? Your kind left me for dead.”

  “I will not have this conversation!” hissed Za’kel, raising his voice so loud the soldier that walked with them transitioned into the blank stare that indicated situations they were uncomfortable in.

  “Why should I owe you anything,” challenged Val, feeling the familiar dislike for the drone’s haughty manner resurface. Who were they to say she owed them so much? Who were they to claim she was special and important to their people, then make it so clear that she would be just as alone with them as she was with the humans? Why start again earning their respect when she had spent so long fighting for human respect?

  “You do not,” declared Za’kel firmly, “Just as we do not owe you a welcome or unconditional love.”

  Val snapped silent, and locked eyes with the drone waiting for him to speak further.

  The drone frowned, and tucked a piece of his hair behind one ear, then turned to face the mountain, his horns arching gracefully over the back of his head. “This world is a cruel place,” he started, “Nothing is gained that is not earnt. With the hume, you may survive… but to thrive as Fae we must work together, and fulfill the role we were born into.”

  Val cut him off, “The world is both cruel and unfair. You can fight as much as the next man, and never earn what would be fairly yours. Or you can be born lucky and peaceful, and be gifted more than you could ever imagine.”

  Za’kel drew himself up, still barely coming to her shoulder, “How dare you!?” he hissed, “I am the First of the Matriarch, I have won my place from a dozen others-”

  “And I have won nothing but an outsiders place. Do not speak to me on cruelty or survival.”

  Val just caught the edge of the compulsion as it untied with her words, holding back the tone of her voice and the vibration of the magic. Za’kel’s eyes widened as he felt its touch as a threat, but it did not unfurl to twist his thoughts. He then narrowed his eyes as he considered her.

  “What will you do, Alate?” he asked coldly.

  Val sighed, and shrugged her pack, then resigned herself, “I owe a duty first to another.”

  Za’kel glared and said bitterly, “Your command. Travel safe, Alate. When your humes are dead, or have finally discarded you, we will still persist.” His hands signed a curt farewell.

  Val handed him the reins of his stead, signing him her own clumsy farewell, and turned her back to return.

  Fenris was speaking loudly and sitting on a fallen tree as she rejoined their party, his wolves both sitting at his feet panting. Dorius paced nearby, fingers in his hair as he debated with the wolf-boy.

  “Luring her will be quick, yes. But if I am any judge of your twiggy little body, I doubt you will be much use holding her off when she comes breathing fire and fury?”

  “How large is she? How much danger does she pose?” asked Dorius.

  “How much danger? I would not be caught by her in her current state! I have no desire to test if my immortality holds when I am torn to pieces. Your Laon guard will be little more than a distraction. She is a wyvern, uniquely designed for combat even among dragons. She was fearsome before she was immortal.”

  “Does the tree line offer protection?”

  Fenris raised an eyebrow, “Speak your plan, and I will advise.”

  Dorius stopped, and nervously grabbed one finger where he would have worn his rings. “We find a clearing, with dense trees at its edge for protection and ideally high enough on the slopes some snow remains, or with plenty of rock, to manage the spread of fire. Val will start a big bonfire, to lure her in. You say she is only active at night, so we will need to have the area well lit if we are to have a chance of spotting her.”

  Fenris crouched, and picked up a stick to begin sketching something in the dirt, “Trees are not a bad idea, I do not recommend rocks - you will twist an ankle when you need to flee,” he finished his lines, creating a rampant winged figure in the dirt, not unlike the dragon mosaic the Vigilants had in their chapel, and tapped the hindlimbs, “The wyvern body plan means they can keep their wings high and safe, and swing their hind feet forward, hunting like a bird. The temptation is to be wary of the teeth, but it is her hind talons that pose the greatest danger. She breathes fire, and has mastery of magic, both living and non-living. Likely our only advantage is that she has closed her mind to the silent symphony according to the winged horses and will likely not use her magic. Breaking through to her rational mind is the highest priority, the longer she remains wild the more likely you will both die.”

  Val gripped her hand nervously, the pain yet remained, and her knuckles had swollen to the point she had no movement in her fingers, burning hot and red that was now spreading up her wrist with spidery dark tendrils that foreshadowed deep infection.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “What do you recommend, what to say for her to hear us?” asked Dorius, wringing his hands now.

  Fenris shrugged, “The Weave sent you.”

  “But you knew her once,” begged Dorius, “Surely you must know what will get through to her?”

  Fenris gave a toothy grin, mocking sarcasm dripping from his words, “Oh Dragon Prince, who am I to advise you on matters of your own gods! Stroke her ego? Beg her mercy? Just don’t piss her off.”

  “Great advice,” spat Dorius, and turned his back as Fenris barked a laugh, “Will you follow my plan or not?”

  Fenris passed Val a glance as she folded her arms, his eyes pure yellow and hooded with concern.

  “There is a clearing that will suit your purpose. I will lead you.”

  Without command, his twin wolves leapt to their feet, and streamed ahead through the trees, one casting a look back to see if they would follow. Dorius huffed, and began a march after them.

  “Will you fight with us?” asked Val as Fenris rose from his seat. In his dark clothing, he appeared far more composed and stern, his regal furred collar gave him the look of a king, despite his age. Just as his voice carried the feeling of whistling winds rushing through desolate places, his face when serious had the command of thousands of years.

  He was silent, fishing a tie that bound his sleeves around his forearm free, and used it to bind his hair into a high knot at the back of his head.

  “I will do my best to keep him safe for you,” he said after his pause, rolling his loosened sleeve up his arm to keep it in place now.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Fenris raised an eyebrow at her, and meaningfully glanced at her hand with a tilt of his head, then began to follow after his wolves.

  Val clenched her good hand into a fist, and took quick steps to catch up with Dorius. As she drew close, he cast a look over his shoulders to check who it was.

  “What did they want?” he asked darkly.

  “Who?”

  “The Laons.”

  “Dorius…”

  “First Bastian and now you,” he turned sulkily after the wolves.

  Val bristled and grabbed him on the shoulder, exerting just enough force to bring him to a halt.

  “I am not leaving,” she said.

  “But they asked you to leave?”

  Val hesitated, he was not meeting her eyes. “Not directly, no. And I did not offer to join them,” she finally admitted.

  Dorius sighed, his shoulders relaxing with his relief. When he continued the edge of accusation was free from his voice, but his tension remained.

  “Up until now, this might as well have been a game. Playing politics at the edge of the Pentarchy, negotiating trade on the sly and demanding attention by acting like a fumbling brat in public. If we live, the only outcome of this is a direct challenge of Sylus and Synthias, a challenge to my Uncle himself. There is no hiding anymore when that happens. I must shift to exerting my influence publicly and broadly.”

  “If we live.”

  “If we live,” echoed Dorius.

  “What are your goals?” asked Val.

  Dorius grimaced, “I have not decided. I know what I want, but I am afraid to admit the conclusions they lead me to. I want my people free to prosper, I want to ensure their continued peace. I want certainty of full bellies and safety, not that threadbare existence you and Bastian lived as children and that I have continued my mother’s work lifting Southold out of. I want to forget a past that no longer applies to us, diminishing be damned! So what, if we were greater once? Greater to who? We have relearnt to forge metal, to build our cities without magic, and forged our nations smaller without the freedom of flight to make their travel easy. But we will continue to learn, reach greater heights with the skills of our hands and labor instead of relying on the gifts of the nobility.”

  “You would make a play for the throne?”

  Dorius twisted his hands, “No. I believe the time of thrones is coming to an end.”

  “And what would replace it?”

  Dorius sighed, “I do not know, yet. But I have belief that there is something better that will be found by trying for it.”

  “So you would tear your cousins down still?”

  Dorius grinned, “It might be fun,” and then softened, “But at what cost? And irresponsible if done too early, without an alternative prepared.”

  He was quiet while they walked, and then asked her, “What do you want to do?” as he stepped over a large boulder on the path, hitching up his travelers robes.

  Val hummed, “I think I’d like to know where I was born.”

  Dorius turned over his shoulder to look back at her, eyes bright and curious, “South?”

  Val nodded, and then continued gently, “I don’t think I will ever feel as if I belong anywhere. But the Laons are right that I cannot ignore them either.”

  “You will always belong with me. If I exert my influence more publicly, you can be treated by others however you want.”

  Val sighed at the sentiment, “It is not the same.”

  Dorius put his hands behind his back and looked at the canopy as they walked, “We are not so different I think.” Val raised an eyebrow as he explained himself, “I am aware that others have not always treated you well, likely in ways that I am entirely blind to. But, we were both born different, always held at a careful distance, earning only grudging respect and cautious alliance rather than true connection.”

  Val blinked and mildly countered, “It is easier when others default to respect instead of suspicion or disgust…”

  “It is easier when you command a room with appearance alone, when you have magic and overwhelming strength. I have fought my own fears and second-thoughts my whole life to meet the expectations that came with that respect and responsibility thrust upon me. And fallen short every time my own family spurned me, every time a decision turned bad. I have sacrificed many Company lives building our network of trade to places merchants would not travel previously, and I know my decisions will sacrifice more, that sometimes I will not be able to choose the bloodless path. But logically, the wealth and prosperity it has bought Southold and the generation after us will be worth the trade, and future decisions need to be worth the weight in blood and hardship paid as well.” Without turning to her, he asserted, “We will earn our places, each a thousand times over.”

  Val cocked her head and wandered after her Prince, with no words to reply.

  “We will make changes, when we return,” he said leaning cautiously away from one of the wolves that was doubling back to check on their progress as it passed on the path, “No more masks. We will proudly be ourselves.”

  “Is that dangerous?” asked Val.

  Dorius gave a short laugh, “I cannot imagine my family being anything equal to a dragon. If we live through this, I think we will have earnt our right to confidence.”

  Val gripped her injured hand, the throbbing a constant presence in her mind. “If something goes wrong… Let Fenris defend you, run, do not come for me.”

  Dorius stopped, and turned to her, his face grim, “No.”

  “Dorius, please. What can you do against a Dragon? If anything goes wrong, you must run. You must live to go home to Bastian, and the Company, and your household.”

  “Val, I will not hear this.”

  “Dorius, I am injured. My hand is not healing, and my grasp of magic is no better than a child with a wooden sword. I intend to only be a distraction for the beast, I can hope for nothing more. Bastian would tell you to be realistic, I am being realistic.” Val felt her breath shake, desperate for him to hear her fear at what they walked into.

  “Bastian is not here,” spat Dorius, suddenly angry.

  “Because you chose to not have him,” bit back Val.

  “I know.”

  Dorius’ confidence fled, and the shaking hands he had been trying to hide reached for her. He suddenly seemed so weak, with dark bags under his eyes and unsteady steps from his exhaustion. He had always been skinny, with only his golden skin giving him the flush of youthful strength. In the cool mountain air since leaving Southold he had quickly lost his tan, looking paler and almost sickly given how little he had eaten of their field rations, and how much of their time had been spent travelling the past few weeks. Val hesitated to push him further, but her need for him to understand how serious their circumstance was won and she drew back before he could touch her.

  “You must flee, if anything happens. And go back to Bastian for me. Fenris will keep you safe. I will not help you call this Dragon god down if you do not promise me this.”

  Dorius flinched when she drew back from his hands, twisting his own together and gripping his knuckles.

  “I can’t face losing you…” was the final quiet reply he choked out, “not after Bastian as well…”

  Val relented, and drew him into her, cupping his head as he buried into her chest. She drew a deep breath to find her strength, and spoke into the top of his head.

  “You will flee. And live to go back to apologize to Bastian. And you will bring him my words too, tell him that I am sorry, that I tried.”

  “Val, you’re not dead yet…”

  “We must make back up plans, Dorius. Promise me you will run, if things go bad.” She wanted to shake his shoulders to hammer home her request.

  Dorius would not look up at her, but very quietly he agreed, “I will flee if success is not certain.”

  “And you will choose your own survival over mine?”

  “Yes.”

  Val sighed, and turned him to nudge him onwards. They had many hours yet before night.