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The interior of the longhouse was dim, but with a sense of space; the dark depths of it felt cavernous, rather than too-close. He smelled a faint whiff of old smoke, and something herbaceous. The central smoke hole had been left open, and grayish sunlight fell through in a single, pale shaft, highlighting the trough of stones where fires had obviously once burned.

Behind him, the door hinges creaked, and a foot landed softly on the hard-packed dirt of the longhouse floor. “He was my ancestor,” Náli said, quietly, all the temper now gone from his voice.

Oliver walked to the center of the room, and reached his fingers into the pale light; watched them turn ghostly white in the glow of it. “Who?”

“The man who lived here. The shaman. He was the first Corpse Lord. Lucian.” His voice was colored with reverence – and his face, when Oliver looked over his shoulder to see, was stamped with melancholy.

As if sensing his attention, Náli’s gaze slid from the hole in the ceiling down to meet Oliver’s, and he looked years older, suddenly, from the teenager Oliver had last seen in person.

“This isyourvillage, then.”

“No.” Náli shook his head, silvery hair rippling over his shoulders. He wore lover’s beads, now, Oliver noted, two in the braids behind each ear, swaying with the movement of his head. “It was his, a very long time ago…before the Sels drove his people out.”

Oliver felt his brows go up. “TheSels?”

“Like I said before: it’s a long story. I’ve learned much about not only my past, but that of Aeretoll as well. The birth – or, rather, thearrival– of magic in this country. It’s–”

A cry of alarm went up outside from both drakes.

“Náli!” Mattias shouted. “Your Lordship!”

Oliver watched Náli’s eyes spring wide, and knew his own did the same. They pelted out the door and into the yard, where Mattias stood with feet braced apart and sword drawn. The drakes had their faces lifted to the sky, hissing and growling low in their throats.

“What?” Náli said. “Did he return?”

“No. But, look.” Mattias gestured upward with his sword, and they looked.

At first, Oliver thought he was looking at birds. The twin, eyebrow arcs of wings, flapping as they propelled themselves toward them. He spotted three.

But then Percy let out an angry roar, and the bird-shapes tilted in the air, banking at a steep angle, and he realized with a jolt that they weren’t birds at all, but something much, much larger, and growing even larger by the moment as they swooped toward them. He saw long tails swaying like rudders, and sinuous, serpentine bodies, necks stretched forward and wedge-shaped heads with long, narrow snouts.

Drakes.

These were dark, and as they changed angles again, the weak sunlight struck the scales of their sides with an iridescent purple sheen.

Percy sent a flood of aggression through their bond, a wave of protective rage that threatened to send Oliver to his knees. He went to his drake’s side and gripped the strap of his girth, willing him to calm.

“He wants to fight,” he said, having to shout to be heard over the growling.

Valgrind did, too, apparently, if his ululating war cries were anything to go by. The younger drake was digging up runnels of earth with his claws, stamping and swishing his tail in agitation.

“No,” Mattias said, voice hard, battle-ready. “There’s only two of ours, and three of theirs. And one of ours is a baby, besides. We have to leave.”

The wind was working in their favor, sweeping the three oncoming drakes off target and giving them a challenge, besides. But they were still coming, and they were – gods, they werebig.

“Can we outfly them?” Oliver asked.

Through the bond, Percy was urging him to fight. Bite, claw, kill.Enemies.Rivals.

“They’re too fast!” Náli called. “We have to leave this plane. We have to go back!”

“Brilliant. How the fuck do I do that?”

“Use Percy.” Náli looped an arm around Valgrind’s flexing neck and extended a hand toward Mattias. “That’s how you got here. Make him take you back.”

“How?” Fear was winding his stomach into a knot; he’d broken out into a cold sweat beneath his clothes, and his lungs trembled on his next breath. He’d only been dreaming! Having a pleasant flight! And doom was falling toward him on spread bat wings, and Percy wanted to wrestle with it.

Kill, kill, kill.