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“Leave Valnir to die, you mean,” Corayne bit out, checking around a corner. It was clear but for a few corpses stripped of meat.

“Better Valnir than you,” Charlie shot back harshly. He sounded more like the fugitive she first met in Adira, focused on his own survival.

But she couldn’t argue his point. The logic was sound, undeniable. With every step forward, Corayne cursed her wretched blood. Her useless birthright. All the things that made her matter more, for no reason other than bad luck.For nothing.

They ran with abandon, vaulting over old skeletons and fresh bodies, the armor of Sirandel painted red. Tears stung Corayne’s eyes as she recognized fresh immortal corpses scattered throughout the rubble. By the entryway, Castrin stared at the now bright blue sky, his yellow eyes unseeing.

The mother dragon made a feast of the ruins, bringing down the remains of the castle stone by stone. She roared and raged, wings spread wide, Elder arrows glancing off her impenetrable hide. The red dragon cowered beneath her, wings curled over its body, shielding itself from attack. Its shrieking whines threatened to split Corayne’s head in two.

Only a dozen Elders remained, all battered, streaked with blood and ash.

Valnir limped among them, his great yew bow snapped in two, abandoned at his feet. But he still held a sword, brandishing it like a king’s scepter.

“Another volley!” he roared, the veins in his neck pulsing. The scar around his throat stood out starkly, above his collar of chain mail.

Bows twanged as arrows hissed through the air.

“It’s done!” Corayne shouted, to Garion’s dismay. He would sooner leave the Elders as a diversion than save a single one. “It’s done, get out of here!”

Valnir’s yellow eyes met hers through the dust and smoke, his head dipping once in acknowledgment. With a twist of his hand, he directed his warriors to retreat.

They closed ranks around Corayne as she ran, her fear eating up every other emotion. Charlie sprinted alongside, Garion with him, their hands clasped together. The last archway passed overhead and the ground sloped away beneath her feet, angling down the hill. Thorns rose up oneither side of the road. It was too early for roses, but corpses bloomed among the vines.

Corayne expected flame at any moment. Cold air smacked her face instead. Only then did she look back, chancing a glimpse at the ruins above. The silhouette was already changed, more towers fallen, smoke and debris rising in the air.

The mother dragon coiled within it, her glowing eyes watching them flee. Through the smoke, Corayne held her serpentine gaze. Until the dragon dropped its head, its scaled nose prodding over the infant beneath her. The red dragon gave a shudder, still alive, but gravely wounded.

In spite of all the death, Corayne felt another well of pity. And relief.

The dragon won’t leave its young,she realized, watching the castle grow smaller and smaller.

Another cry echoed over the winter hills, a child’s haunting call. Its mother’s roar followed, then faded.

For once, victory hung not on who they killed, but who they left alive.

They did not stop until they were well across the border, beyond the Alsor and the Rose, into the great foothills of the mountains. Night fell heavy there, and Valnir stopped the battered company only when the darkness grew so thick even the horses could not see their own hooves. The next dawn was already a soft tinge above the jagged peaks to the east, its light glowing on their snowcaps.

Corayne hardly noticed the mountains, the new stars, or the alpine kingdom of Calidon. Her exhaustion ran bone-deep and heart-through, leaving her only the strength to slide down from the saddle. She was barely to the ground before her eyes slid shut, a void of dreamless sleep already waiting.

She awoke at midday, her face to a weak campfire. It burned low to embers, throwing off a dying heat. Across the ring of stones, Charlie slept on, bundled up alongside Garion.

Even the Amhara are dulled by dragons, she thought, stretching her arms. The Spindleblade lay beside her, close as a lover. Her empty stomach ached and she twisted, searching for her saddlebags.

She nearly jumped out of her skin instead.

Valnir crouched beside her, silent and staring. It felt like coming nose to nose with a hawk, yellow eyes boring into her own.

“By the gods,” Corayne cursed, collapsing back on her elbows.

The Elder monarch only blinked, his rich cloak falling across his crouched form. “What?”

She gritted her teeth. “You surprised me is all.”

“That was not my intent,” he answered coolly.

“I know,” she bit back, angry at his Elder manner and terrible social skills. Angrier still at how much he reminded her of Dom.

Valnir stood with a sweeping grace, extending a white hand down to her in open invitation. “Walk with me, Lady Corayne.”