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“You think I dined at his special table every evening?” he barks at Ukar. “Last night was all for show. For her.”

His steps quicken out of agitation, and I realize he speaks the truth. His spine protrudes from his back, and when he leans forward, I see a sharpness to his face from lack of flesh.

My mouth tastes suddenly bitter. I swallow and find my way to Hokzuh’s side. I say gently, “You never told me how you ended up in Shenlani.”

He is quiet for so long I don’t think he’ll reply. Then finally he speaks. “I had friends, once. A crew of men who took me in when I was barely grown. Call us pirates, but we never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. We raided ships for money, used most of it for food and drink. No, I take that back. We used most of it for drink.” A wan smile. “On one voyage, we got caught in a monsoon. Lost everything—my ship, my cargo, almost all my crew. One of Meguh’s ships found us. Next thing I knew, I was in a cage.”

“Angma trapped you,” I whisper.

“Maybe. But it was Meguh who reveled in my torment. He kept me starved for over a year.” Hokzuh’s red eye glints. “He liked what I became when I lost control.”

“Couldn’t you fly away?” I ask.

“He broke my wings,” says the dragon through clenched teeth. “Took a hot iron to the flesh, then shattered the bones. Then he put me and my men in the arena the next day. When I wouldn’t fight them, he had his guards slaughter them. He left their corpses in my cell.”

What can I say to that? My legs turn leaden and I stop, twigs snapping under my feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

Words I’ve said so many times they sound strange coming from someone else.

I still don’t know what to say, so we walk in silence, crunching through the underbrush before I finally change the topic. “Are you really a prince of dragons?”

“My father is the king of dragons,” he says tightly.

King Nazayun? Ukar asks. He lifts his head in interest, his slit-shaped pupils widening like he is piecing together the clues of a profound mystery.

“Not the Sea King,” barks Hokzuh. “The one who resides in the heavens.”

“The Sky King,” I say. Hanum’anya’s secondborn.

Ukar’s told me plenty of tales about Hanum’anya’s heirs: how the two brothers once ruled the sea together until jealousy split the dragon throne, and one remained in the sea and one left for the sky.

“What about your mother?” I ask.

“A demon,” Hokzuh says. “Don’t ask me how it happened. She’s dead.”

He’s waiting for my reaction, and I disappoint him with my lack of surprise.

“What?” I shrug. “It wasn’t difficult to guess, considering your red eye…and what your pearl’s done to Angma. You could have told me from the start. Demon blood or not, I’m not afraid of you.”

“That’s because I’m not a demon right now,” he says darkly.

Here I thought Ukar was the dramatic one. “If that’s true, and your father is the king of the sky dragons, can’t he help you go home?”

“No.” Hokzuh’s eyes are hard. “He hates me. I’m a reminder of his mistakes.”

The way he says it brings a pang to my heart. I know something about being unwanted.

“Then how can you go home?” I ask softly.

“I have to find both halves of my pearl. Once they’re united, I can become a full dragon. Until then, these wings are to remind me I can fly only high enough to touch the clouds, but not high enough to go home.”

I feel my steps sink more heavily into the earth. His wings are like my mask: a cruel reminder of what I cannot have.

“What does your pearl look like?” I ask.

“If I knew, I’d have found it years ago.” A note of resentment creeps into his voice, and he touches the white moonstone he stole from Meguh. It hangs on a simple gold chain, stopping just short of his chest.