The eastern side of town, withered or blighted, slouched beside the Berwem. The northern side grew wild and overlarge, and the west was vibrant and green, yet fruitless. Here in the center, though, there fell a sort of stiffness or trimmedness. Guards patrolled the roofs on turtles, and Adwyn watched as the carried lamps traced a sort of mortal starfield to match the sky’s offering. It had more seeking stars, though. Adwyn spent a glance up at the stars, and watched the true seeking stars, the meteors, as they slithered across the sky. One had grown very big and bright, and moved quickly earthward. Perhaps it would strike true. Below, buildings blended and blurred as he flew on. Toward the big bridge. A thick, redundant construct, which felt the strides of the caterpillar cows who every day hauled in the sifts. The bridge split the slouching east side from the glass shops of the business district. Sifters or glassworkers were alike in how little a difference the job made to them. So many prodding, breathless posters asking for more sifters, more blowers. To lift Gwymr/Frina out of the shadows, to polish it to a shine. The caterpillar cows came from far off in the plains, the glazeward from an obscure forest serum, the glassworking equipment (some of it) from Pteryxian design, of all things. Gwymr/Frina was reaching high and far, for⁠ ⁠—⁠ something. Adwyn wondered what, and why. He knew the literal answer; he did not know the meaning of it. Adwyn had overshot the big bridge. Looking around for bearings, he caught, all the way at the south gate, a familiar glint of gemstones sown into a gaudy cloak. Beside the sky-dweller slouched another dragon without anything so identifying. By a lamp one also glimpsed the silhouette of a fluttering thing. Adwyn knew it could only be trouble. But it was not his priority now. As he lighted down another figure had emerged from the shadows on the east side, with a swinging confident step and that glowing smell like something overripe. Were that all he saw, Adwyn might’ve lighted down right behind him as a surprise. When he looked back at the big bridge, though, he saw, coming toward the bridge, a figure measuring forth with all the severity of a Black Fang, and all the precision of an eternity clock. He would have been worried if that wasn’t all it took to identify the figure. Adwyn stole to the ground on the east side, behind a building which eagerly perched by the river. If a road didn’t wind right between them, one would think it would fall in. Almost like it didn’t want to be on the east side. Adwyn didn’t either, and it only took these few thoughts before he had sight of the big bridge again, around a corner of that eager storefront, which let him peek unseen. He breathed deeper the farther he got from the filth. Rightly, you’d guess that the figure’s precise strides overtook the sauntering of the Rhyfel the younger. They met on the near end of the bridge. The figure stopped still, his cloak swinging and flapping around him. One could see he wore something black beneath the cloak. He merely regarded the high guard, his expression for himself and whoever could parse the cowl’s shadows. Rhyfel-ann waved slightly, the sort of wave given so many times the gesture resided half in memory. He still wore the schizon armor he’d had on the mission. Here was the high guard and the last, closest friend of his traitor father; the heretic alchemist, the green devil. The forest-dweller who survived the Inquiry. What matter would concern the two of them? What would they discuss in private? Adwyn knew eavesdropping. Rhyfel-ann spoke first; a lesser drake would have trouble hearing a conversation across the street. Adwyn the black ascendant did not. “You.” The high guard spoke the word like a curse. “Do not act surprised, Rhyfel the younger. You invited me here.” “It’s a greeting, Ushra-ychy.” The scarlet drake waved again, more dismissive. “At least you’ve completed the transmutation into a crotchety old drake. Was that one of your ambitions?” “Do not waste my time, old friend. I have the most fruitful study of experimental olm blood mixtures to which I shall return.” “Sounds mighty captivating.” Adwyn couldn’t hear him laugh, but knew he did. The scarlet drake snaked his head around, looking over the street and the bridge. “Funny how just mentioning the pits is enough to lure you out of that estate. Should’ve thought of that all those evenings I was drinking alone.” Ushra glanced behind him, waited, and asked, “Could you please tell me what you meant by the seal is loosening?” “I will, we’re just waiting for the adviser. I invited him.” Rhyfel-ann looked down the big bridge again. “You ought to have met him this morning,” he added. Ushra flicked his tongue, and moved his head; he glanced at the corner of the eager storefront. Adwyn had slipped back when the gaze moved this way, but it nonetheless set his frills still, and his eyescales didn’t cloud for many breaths. The legendary alchemist was speaking, “I did. He was tolerable, for one of Mlaen’s idiots.” His tone shifted lightly. “Somehow, I did not get the impression he is one to be late.” That deep, calming growl of a voice: “Not at all, at all. I know he’s always complaining about his assistants crawling down his neck, they’re probably giving him trouble.” Adwyn dared peek again, to see Rhyfel-ann doing another look around. “While he isn’t here, though, I could ask you something. Have you found out why, yet? It’s been dozens⁠ ⁠—⁠ no, hundreds of gyras. You’ve stopped sending me updates.” Adwyn held his breath. Hundreds? “I told you, you will be the first to know when I do. It is magic. Esoteric Pteryxian biological magic no living dragon has seen before. Short of returning to the pits again, we may never puzzle out why.” The alchemist flicked his tongue. “And yet, you say the seal is loosening. Pray tell what that means.” Rhyfel-ann said, “We need those answers now. My strength is tied and Gwymr/Frina is in danger. I have to be there to protect it.” “Whatever weakened you down there has been waning ever since Dwylla alighted. There have even been stabs of stillness⁠ ⁠—⁠ there was one earlier today, in fact. Did you feel that?” “Of course I felt it. But it’s too⁠ ⁠—⁠ tempermental, too fluctuant. It’s worse than the weather. I need something I can depend on. Sure, it feels like it’s on the wane now, but who knows how long that’ll last?” “Until I uncover its last mysteries, I can do nothing for you. You know this. I shouldn’t have to tell you again.” “Ground me for thinking something might’ve changed these last few gyras.” Rhyfel-ann stepped back. Beneath his cowl Ushra folded his frills. “My Enkelin occupies my time these days,” he said. “And unlike you⁠ ⁠—⁠ unlike most, I cannot pawn her off to compeers to free my time.” The admission lured the high guard’s gaze back toward the alchemist. “Hinte. You know, last thing Ceian-ychy (rest his heart) was up to was itching for her.” Then he sighed. “I can almost forgive her for fighting my guards. You should have seen her when the thieves tried to burn a building down on us. I didn’t know fire could rot.” Ushra was nodding. “She⁠ ⁠—⁠ worries me, sometimes. When I heard about that incident this morning, I was split. On one fork I could not dream any of that violence from the little fledgling, who would try to pick me fruits before they ripened. On the other it sounded just like the sort of strange turn her character has begun taking.” The angle was just right to see Rhyfel’s fanged grin. “So that talk of experiments was dillershit, wasn’t it? Thought she wouldn’t be working down in Wydrllos just yet. Knew she wouldn’t end up like you.” “I wonder like whom she will end up. She is⁠ ⁠—⁠ changing. She asked me for dragonfire, last night.” “Dragonfire.” He smiled the syllables. “What fledgling doesn’t want to spit flames? I say give it to her. Maybe temper it till she quits picking fights, say.” “Even were I to forget the dangerous, tongueless residua that dragonfire indisputably is, I don’t know what she intends to do with it. She’s changing, Rhyfel.” A chuff of a laugh. “Of course she is. This isn’t your first hatch⁠ ⁠—⁠ couldn’t be. Why’re you acting like you don’t know what a rowdy fledgling is like?” His voice wasn’t a murmur, but close: “Gronte had the first dozen hatches minded by servants. By the time Haune hatched, I had long left for the cliffs, keeping you in line, and trying to make a free thinker out of Dwylla.” “Heh. Well, now you get to taste what it’s like having an egg grow up.” “It is not just growing up. She knows things, brews mixtures that I know and have not taught her. Mixtures I do not know. Someone is teaching her, and I can think of a single dragon in the cliffs who knows more alchemy than I do.” Rhyfel said, “Your teacher.” He stood a little straighter. “It’s true, then. He’s really back. I thought it was a bad joke.” “I don’t think he ever left. He always had a way of hiding from every caution and sloughing even the most perfect death.” Ushra flicked his tongue. “Everything he does is measured. Ten gyras with him and I never learnt anything that could threaten him. As if he knew I wouldn’t side with him in the end.” “Could that be why he wants your granddaughter? You were a touring professor when he found you. Your granddaughter is hardly even a wiver. Starting young.” “Works well for the guard, doesn’t it?” Ushra shook his head. “That is his plan, it’s clear to see. But I’ll allow her. My Enkelin is stronger, cleverer than she seems. And if he trusts her more than he did I, the learning opportunity is immense.” “Hope that doesn’t bite you latter.” “I can handle it,” Ushra said. “Now, pray tell just what loosening the seal means, Rhyfel.” “I ought not to tell you at all. Would it ground you to wait for my friend?” Friend? “He’s already here.” Ushra looked over, and this time Adwyn didn’t hide. They met eyes. Adwyn was high walking onto the road before Rhyfel followed Ushra’s gaze. “Adwyn!” was his greeting. “You get enough trouble from those assistant?” “Until I get back, only Dyfns can know. I slipped away. If they have any sense⁠ ⁠—⁠ they don’t⁠ ⁠—⁠ they’d stop looking for me.” He shook his head. “Good to see you, Rhyfel-ann.” Rhyfel gave a laugh and grin. “Hopefully I’ll get two words out before they drag you away.” Adwyn nodded and looked from the high guard. “Greetings, Ushra.” The drake gave a slight courtesy, something hard and oily cracking on his schizon apron. Adwyn knew under the cloak and cowl was a drake time had been almost kind to. High cheekbones, a thin long snout. Sharp intelligent eyes. Lean but not muscled. He had the look of a scholar; not elegant, not grounded, but something like and unlike both. Far, far too old for Adwyn, though. The legendary alchemist said to Rhyfel, “He’s shown himself. Let us get on with it, shall we?” “After I get him up to height.” To Adwyn, he said, “You know the legends about the fires?” Adwyn arched a frill, but shook his head. Before other drake continued, he asked, “What’s with this secret tryst? It sounds relevant to Mlaen-sofran.” “Ah, that. There ain’t a whole lot of dragons I trust. Mlaen’s not with them. Too much squirreling around.” “What do you need to trust us for?” “You know the legends about the fires?” “The demon? Or the monsters? Or the prison?” Rhyfel tossed his head. “They’re all true fact. The demon’s sleeping. Those monsters are⁠ ⁠—⁠ were⁠ ⁠—⁠ the demon’s spawn. Down in the pits he’s sealed up tight, and that prison is sitting guard right over it.” Rhyfel spoke plainly and quickly, but gave Adwyn tongueful of questions. He started with, “Sealed? With what?” “Chwithach tells me it’s Ulfame demon-hunter magic. Ushra here tells me it it’s ancient Pteryxian tech. I don’t very much care.” “Because you are not the only one who could repair it.” “Either way,” the handsome scarlet drake started, looking back to Adwyn, “it’s something you can feel⁠ ⁠—⁠ I can feel⁠ ⁠—⁠ loosening up. And that’s just what I felt stepping near the fires.” Adwyn asked, “Just what are you feeling?” “Don’t worry over it.” The reply was snapped like a defense. Rhyfel followed with, “Call it a gift from the old Rhyfel.” Adwyn gnawed on his answer for a breath. If he wouldn’t tell him... He eventually let out, “If you’re being dim with the details, just what are you gathering us here for?” He grinned, and shakiness limned it honest. “Timing is everything. The theft and the loosening happen in the same evening? It’s not chance, it’s design.” Rhyfel spread his wings, pointed at both drakes. “I want us all in the same skein, and working together. Way I see it, Adwyn here can riddle out who the thieves are, what they’re about. Ushra can reason out how to ground the demon. I do everything in between.” Ushra straightened his stance. “You forget to mention what our rewards would be.” “To save Gwymr/Frina? To have done good? To win?” Rhyfel watched the alchemist not react. “What’s happened to you, old friend?” Ushra tilted his frills, eyes clouded, a reply fermenting. But Rhyfel said, “Don’t you hope to finally be free, Ushra?” “I do not hope.” “Then how about this: you help out, and I tell you just what Gronte was up to while you were out touring the plains.” Rhyfel had a certain high tone of voice that had Adwyn tightening his tail and digging into the gravel. He was grinning quite savagely. “...Adequate,” was all the alchemist said, face still thoughtful under the cowl. “Silent nights, Rhyfel the younger. Adwyn.” He took now to be time to turn and measure his way back in the starry black of the night, farewells coming after him. Moments like now, together with that scarlet drake under the bright skirmboard sky, whether upon the rooftops or streets, had always seemed to limn life with some private chroma. He had not reflected on it, yet all the same these instants had always felt quietly significant to him, as of some visual seed that a painter would grow into a piece to be remembered for a long time. Adwyn sighed. Now he looked at that drake, with his faltering grin, as though through an obscure scrim. The moment was pale. Adwyn felt nothing. “I’m sorry,” said Rhyfel, and it had the smell of those ambiguous responses he tended to at the oddest moments. Adwyn asked, “Why did you come back from Dyfnder?” Rhyfel never looked tired. But around the adviser, that showy grin was taken off⁠ ⁠—⁠ little details like that had kept Adwyn’s hope tucked away, instead of grounded. For worse or for better. Even with a natural smile, his frills perked and attentive, and his legs slipping from a low stand to a high one, Rhyfel looked suddenly ancient, as if the wind had blown dust onto him, not off him. A cruel, helpful wind. The first time Adwyn had seen this was the first time his hope truly faltered, but a small detail shouldn’t impinge upon a chimerical hope. This time when the adviser saw it, though, it was his trust that faltered. “Cancel that question. When did you go to Dyfnder?” For all that the scarlet drake looked ancient, it didn’t imply a lack of strength. Rather than a wearied old pillar or a crumbling monument, his age limned his features like a mountain that only grows taller and stronger. At that particular question, with that particular emphasis, you could imagine an avalanche rolling down the mountain. “You’ve riddled it out, then.” “I’m not dim, Rhyfel.” He wasn’t, and neither was Rhyfel. Deception, riddling, was all a waste of time. Adwyn could at least trust Rhyfel to be straightforward. “Tell me: I no longer trust you; should Mlaen-sofran?” Rhyfel paused, and Adwyn felt his fangs grow cold. But he did respond. “Yes. But I owe Mlaen something great, and she’s got something Dwylla lost. That’s why I came back, and why I’ll stay. Gwymr/Frina isn’t home, but it’s what I care about.” Adwyn had a complex look on his face. “And yet, we cannot trust you?” “No. Not me and not Ushra. We want to help and we will.” Adwyn heard him trailing. “But?” The high guard clouded his brilles, and his tongue wavered. “Deep, deep down in the pits, there’s a supposedly sealed door. You can find it by going the other way whenever any one way seems right. If it feels like you shouldn’t be there, keep going. After it feel like you right died, you’re close. If you go deep like that, you’ll find the sealed door.” The high guard looked up high, brilles still clouded. “As long as that door stays all the way sealed, you can trust us.” “It’s not like you to be this vague. What’s down there?” “Deepest apologies, Adwyn, but I’ve already given you enough oil to light the town. Does the name Aurisiuf mean anything to you?” Adwyn smirked at the legend. The drake’s tone should have tripped that up, but the adviser wasn’t scared of legends. “Not much.” The scarlet drake shook his head. “If he were out of the picture, I could tell you what’s going on. But he’s the reason for the whole mess starting so long ago. And information always has a way of reaching him.” Eyeless phobia. All of this blurry riddling, for what? Fear to catch the gaze of a moltling’s nightmare? “I can’t hide this from Mlaen, you know that.” “I thought so. You’re a good, loyal drake when it comes down to it.” The high guard muttered something, only caught for how stained were the orange drake’s frills. Something like, if only that were all it took. Adwyn had puzzled out what he needed to puzzle out, and he would do his duty for the town. Now, perhaps, he could act for himself. Sate something kept occulted for very long. “How old are you, Rhyfel?” Adwyn licked his fangs. The scarlet drake revealed a grin. A real grin. “Three hundred ninety and four gyras young. I’m not really Rhyfel the younger⁠ ⁠—⁠ wouldn’t ever name a hatch after me. Don’t tell, though.” Adwyn let out a sigh and wished he hadn’t; he felt empty now. “It wasn’t just Dwylla, then? Is it alchemy?” Adwyn stared as the drake shook his head. “Can’t tell?” Again. “Why not?” “Aurisiuf.” “Even Gronte? I don’t recall her being in your little group.” “Gronte is all alchemy, yeah. Ushra’s a mixed case. S’ppose I am too, now that we’re speaking friends again. But I reason they’d both be here with alchemy alone. Well, maybe me too. Ushra’s good like that.” “I can’t recall alchemists⁠ ⁠—⁠ even forest alchemists living to almost four hundred, though. It’d be something to boast about.” The scarlet drake’s grin was near savage, though the adviser felt a pang calling it that. “Ushra hasn’t been the forests’ golden egg since before Dwylla bought the Berwem outpost. He knows plenty they’re still slobbing over.” “Then who taught him?” “Aurisiuf.” Adwyn sat and his thoughts played out in twitches of his frills. Another dimension of Gwymr/Frina’s history had opened up, with as many answers as questions. But there was one mystery at the core of it all. “Gronte, Ushra, you,”⁠ ⁠—⁠ his frills twitched and he seemed to glean from the drake’s word choice⁠ ⁠—⁠ “Aurisiuf. They’ve all be around since before the beginning, haven’t they?” “They have.” “And Dwylla, there was no reason he couldn’t have lived as long as you all, is there?” The scarlet drake grimaced, but said, “He was in the same boat as us.” “Then if it wasn’t old age that grounded him, despite what the histories say, what killed him?” “Aurisiuf.” Adwyn left the scarlet drake without saying goodbye, fearing it would sound final. The schizon-clad adviser didn’t leap off and fly to the town hall. He walked the streets westward, past the eager perching building, taking in the dim, lamp-lit sights and letting his thought reflect and refract inside his skull. Walking was easy, tireless, and it seemed the freedom and speed of flight came at the expense of freedom and speed of thought. Adwyn had realized one last lead he could pursue, a ningling suspicion, that might unravel the puzzle of the day’s events. He just had to wonder at the consequence if he was right. He walked quiet on, before coming to a knowing stop. The adviser had chosen his route with his feet, unthinking, so perhaps a hidden part of him had expected this. “Adwyn.” Still, the adviser whirled around like a breeze, a foreleg already at his baton’s hilt. Metallic-red eyes settled on cowled face of the apronned figure, the untouchable alchemist. The foreleg fell. “Ushra.” “Do not act on what you have learnt here today, and do not inform the faer.” Gone was the almost wistful nostalgia of talking to the high guard. His voice was hard. “Why not? If Gwymr/Frina is in danger, it is my duty to inform the faer.” “The past stays in the past, Dwyn. We catalyzed this reaction. Let us bring it equilibrium.” “Ushra⁠ ⁠—” “Adwyn. There is a reason why I alone among our alchemists survived the Inquiry. Why no forest-dweller in the land of glass and secrets dares to look me in the eyes. Do not go sifting into this town’s past. You will regret it. I am not Rhyfel. You are not my friend.” Orange wings touched the batonhilt only once. He didn’t stop for the vow; no, sense was sense, and Ushra was a very old, experienced alchemist. Adwyn peered, staring under the cowl where those pure black orbs must have been. They moved as the alchemist nodded. The menace in his voice receded. “Perhaps I shall see you at breakfast some day soon. Silent nights, Adwyn.” Ushra measured his way off, past Adwyn and down the street. Adwyn watched him walk away for a long time. It was silly, but he waited until the cloaked figure was gone awhile before Adwyn smirked. Ushra’s threat only clinched it: now Adwyn knew exactly whom to blame. He crouched, and leapt, and flew off to the depths of the night. Somewhere in the distant dark Adwyn heard an explosive smash. It would sound mighty were it near. Winging over the faintly scented air of the west side, it came anonymous, pathetic. Adwyn knew the butte he winged toward, only because he saw the fledgling alchemist steal away to it rings earlier, before second dusk. He knew it now because those two trees were still burning. Thanks to the forest hope, there had been (and still were) enough green scaled refugees in the capitol, and thanks to them, Adwyn knew how forest-dwellers mourned. The little wiver had acted stone when the guards refused her; but he had glimpsed from her twitching tail and restrained words that she raged at her inability to save them. The wiver acted callous over their alighting; but he knew hopeless emptiness in a tone, in a gaze. It was those tells that reminded Adwyn he dealt with a dragon and not anything dangerous. While those trees still burnt, the butte had become empty save a discarded skewer and a scent of grapes or glasscrabs. Adwyn flew on. It wasn’t called the cliffs for having only one butte, and Adwyn was searching. For something, for someone. A dragon who couldn’t help but tell every time she thought of Hinte. It made her behavior easy to guess, but the butte being already empty clouded that guess. He still smelt the fledgling alchemist, but did that mean he came soon enough? Ten houses passed below as thoughts reflected around in his skull. He was too late. But Dyfns shined upon him anyway: A different wiver was winging a bounding flight over the town, aimed toward the cliffs. He trailed after her. This wiver was a note of consonance. Rhyfel walked the night in his schizon armor. Adwyn wore his tight schizon suit. Ushra had crept out with a schizon apron and robes that had to be official (head alchemist garb, say) for it was woven in with the volcanic glass hairs Mlaen loved to flaunt. Similarly, this wiver wore poisonous-smelling schizon robes. Black fibers danced with their bleached white brethren. Woven like that were little black and white pictures of birds, trees or eggs. You couldn’t make all this out, of course. Adwyn had seen it before, this morning. Following this wiver one noticed how she bounded or circled. It didn’t parse like she was going somewhere or even flew to enjoy the cool night air. Adwyn glimpsed she followed someone. When she lighted down on someone’s high rooftop and watched a figure stalking down the street, he didn’t think aha!, he thought, of course. He did smirk at his luck, though. Adwyn the black ascendant could land quietly. He did not. From his scent the wiver might have guessed who. Still she jumped, and stiffened, and seemed to pause in her regarding the stalking figure. Adwyn gazed at the stars while he hunted for the words. The stalking figure was gone now, but the wiver remained. Adwyn said, “I respected you, you know.” He watched her. “You were like a legend, an immortal symbol of freedom. Where I studied, the prevailing belief is that you weren’t even a real dragon, but some personification of Dyfnder’s efforts to help the forest refugees. You’d saved so many dragons in those days.” There was a certain incredulity in his gaze, and he added, “What changed? You had done so much good.” Gronte curled her wings around herself. “Do you have a daughter, Adwyn?” She shook her head. “No, even if you did, you wouldn’t understand. Haune. She... she was Hinte’s mother, and it’s my fault. I didn’t know. Haune had had another child. And she had been so scared.” “But why leave Dyfnder? You were doing so much good there.” “Hadn’t I done enough? Hadn’t I earned the right to raise my daughter in peace, without my past weighing me down?” She shook her head. “Either way, Ushra wasn’t in Dyfnder. My husband was somewhere in the cliffs, living as some kind of noble bandit. The same trick he’d pulled when I had to raise my Haune alone. I wouldn’t raise Hinte alone.” Adwyn said, “And of course the green devil wouldn’t brave to light anywhere in the canyons,” he said. “Was this about when Mlaen offered him his old position here?” Gronte only nodded. “Ja. You’ve heard the whispers. Cults, demons, spiders, humans. The raw cliffs are no place to raise a daughter. I don’t know why Ushra wanted to come back here, of all places, but Gwymr/Frina was the cliff’s capitol⁠ ⁠—⁠ it had to be the safest. I knew it’s some design of Mlaen’s. Smite her. But I wanted somewhere safe to raise my daughter⁠ ⁠—⁠ granddaughter.” “You’re skipping something, Gronte. You know what I really want to know.” “Ja. I have a past here too. Dwylla. I had failed him. Ushra had gone to go find⁠ ⁠—⁠ something, out in the plains. Rhyfel had left for Dyfnder to fight the spiders. I was the one who remained, who should have remained, should have saved Dwylla from his madness.” “You can’t save everyone, Gronte. At some point, it’s their own fault.” “But it wasn’t Dwylla’s fault, it was Aurisiuf! I should have listened, I should have done everything he told me.” The wiver spun around and that frantic energy took moments to vitrify on her face. Gronte had calm, thoughtful green eyes. “But I can have a second chance, can’t I? That’s what Gwymr/Frina is all about, second chances.” The Return of Dwylla. Adwyn thought, we were both right, and wanted to laugh. He took a step toward her. Foreleg at his baton hilt, he said, “Whom did you tell?” “Wrang. Wrang of Llosgi Hoddi.” She looked down and something reflected in her eyes. “He’s been my liaison with Dychwelfa. They wouldn’t make me a full member⁠ ⁠—⁠ because of my scales, I suppose.” Adwyn nodded once. “And the alchemy the thieves used, that was your work?” “The Llygaid Crwydro sold me the supplies. You would be worried, to know what you can do to this town with just a pouch full of electrum.” Adwyn didn’t smirk because he was standing before another traitor. But he said, “You would be surprised how few dragons can spare anything close to a pouch full of electrum. Or the ages you’ve had to learn alchemy.” Over three hundred and a half gyras old, a traitor to both her old and new homes, drenched in the dimness of night, Gronte still managed a coy smile. Adwyn snapped his tongue. “I’ve seen your confession. I will be taking you to Mlaen, now.” Gronte’s smile faded yet remained, turning to something... not sad, but sorrowful all the same. She said, “You could, and I wouldn’t resist. I cannot imagine it will bear fruit for you or mean very much to me.” Adwyn drew his baton out of his sheath. Just a few toe lengths. She snaked her dark-jade head forward. “You don’t think Ushra is loyal to Mlaen, or Gwymr/Frina, do you? Do you think he cares about them?” “You are like Hinte. Untouchable because of one drake. Arrogant.” Gronte looked over to where the Gären estate could just be seen. “He helped build this town. He fought Aurisiuf to a silence. He’s unraveled the chain of life.” Her voice, a wisp. “He could bring the dead back to life.” When she lowered her head, she was frowning and there was honest imploring in her eyes. “I think that deserves respect, don’t you?” Adwyn sheathed the sliver of weapon. What good could it do? He replied, “Law reigns above all. Should reign above all.” “Said the murderer to the traitor.” “I believe one can shine beyond their past. I think you should try.” Gronte had no words to that. She merely looked up at the endless stars, as if their silence could give her words. Adwyn had waited for something profound to light the silence. What he got was a bonk. Upside his head. A rock cracked against the roof, and the orange drake looked up to see a purple parrot flutter down. The blasphemous creature screeched. Adwyn could do nothing but clutch and wriggle his frills while the noise lasted, which was till its handler leapt over and lifted the thing, petting it and whispering inappropriately sweet things. “Why is that thing here?” “Ima protect Wrinklyfrills. Toastyfeathers told me all about you! You’re a mean scheming drake and you’re making Wrinklyfrills all sour. Qyer!” “Versta, please go back home and wait for me. This is an exceeding important conversation.” “Neh! Ima protect.” Versta said chirping onto Gronte’s head. Wings flared. The dark-jade wiver caught eye with Adwyn. “Pray don’t mind him.” Adwyn was glad to ignore the flying rat. “Tell me what you were out here doing?” “Watching Hinte, making sure she’s safe. I think she’s going to where that meteors landed.” A grandmother being a grandmother, then. “So, Wrang. Tell me what he was doing in the lake last night.” “I wouldn’t know. He hates to keep me informed of things. He had asked me about magical energy sources, not long before, so take your hint from that.” “And the bodies? Was there design besides interrupting our plans?” “Again, I wouldn’t know. Ask Wrang.” “Oh, we will, shortly.” Adwyn looked eastward, to the clouds darker than night that everlingered above the fires of the Berwem. “You understand that this means conflict, correct? I don’t condone what you’re doing.” In the moonlight Gronte’s grin had teeth and fangs. “I know.” Like a final confession. There was silence, and there was breathing. * * *