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“Yes,” I said. “But he’s a little frightened right now. We both are, so you’ll have to give me a minute.”

Kion turned his head to stare at me.

I shrugged, not knowing what else to do. Fennor dropped his hold and stepped aside. I studied the dragon as if he was a drawing in one of my father’s beloved books, or a discovery, like rock drawings. A mystery waiting to be solved.

Wonderment eased the fear pounding through me.

The dragon was a beautiful nightmare, perfectly formed, lethal, streamlined, with a triangular head and an array of spikes that snaked along his spine to his tail.

The golden, reptilian eyes held a savage intelligence and a gleaming menace.

His size was greater than I’d expected; the wingspan was wider than his body length.

He’d maneuvered through the air with the precision of a dancer, landed as if his weight was nothing, even though we’d all felt the jarring impact.

The dragon lowered his head; the span from his chin to his nostrils was the same as my height, while awareness glowed in his eyes. This creature was sentient and in control .

Sarnorinth blinked the way Bogo blinked.

His lips drew back, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

The dragon’s onyx-colored scales looked iridescent.

I wanted to touch them. Find out if his skin had the same soft-rough texture that I felt on Bogo.

So many similarities I did not want to see… father and son…what Bogo would become.

He would never again follow me to Thales. Perch on an open window waiting for food. Be around Nikki. Chirp when I was lonely. But here, in the Faded Lands, he was home. He had the sky. Other dragons. And freedom, what I longed for.

All these attributes I described to Bogo, urging him to lift his head and judge for himself. Slowly, the pressure of Bogo’s talons eased. His chirp held more curiosity than alarm.

I took a step closer, then another step. Another. Sarnorinth grumbled, his irritation a clear echo in my head, and I said, “Look, I’m giving him back. But he’s been mine for a long time, and it’s hard, you know? Because it…it’s what I want, but it…hurts.”

The dragon raised his head and bellowed. With the endless, reverberating roar, the glow of ruby fire intensified in his throat—glowing, pulsing, so like the penance candles in the cathedral, the drops of heart blood.

I faltered. My hands trembled, too hard to hold Bogo, and he…slipped free. “Go,” I whispered, my fingers pressed to my lips. I had to be Silk. Silk would never bend.

You. The thunderous voice was back in my head. Don’t leave.

Kion was at my side, refastening the mage shackles around my wrists. This was who he was…more monster th an man.

Sarnorinth closed his talons around Bogo—a delicate movement. Then he rose in the air, wings tearing the needles from the pine trees with each downward beat.

As he disappeared into the mist, the moisture tracking down my cheeks could have been rain.

It could have been tears.

It could have been the sound of a dragon’s voice in my head…and what that might mean for me now.

Don’t leave.

We were riding toward Dangira, the Sky City, facing the Pelagios Sea and the glittering, setting sun. A city of hills and coastlines, and the Phaidros River, spilling over high cliffs in waterfalls that spewed mist and rainbowed light.

Sprawling villas covered the hills, with wide stone terraces and open spaces for the dragons. In the valley below, small cubed houses had flat roofs. We passed the stables, then wove through a city center with shops, restaurants, fountains, and wide squares.

Everywhere, white marble glistened with a pale pink tinge from the sunset.

Lush flowering plants and trailing vines softened the stone buildings and many bridges.

Much of the foliage had changed with the cooling weather: oranges, yellows, reds.

Vibrant color—more than I’d ever observed in Thales, making me wonder which realm was actually the faded realm.

I asked Fennor, “How long has this city been here? ”

“Dangira has existed for centuries,” he said. “Dragons live long lives, and the men and women bonded to them receive that blessing, also living well beyond a human lifespan, unless an accident befalls them.”

I glanced at his profile, the strong male lines of cheek and jaw. His brown hair, trimmed short, unlike the Draakon’s hair that was silvered and long enough to brush below his shoulders. “How long have you been alive?”

Fennor’s mouth firmed. “Since before the Chaos.”

Which meant he had a bonded dragon who wasn’t speaking to him. “What did you do at age five that I can blame you for, Fennor?”

“I pulled my sister’s hair.”

“High crimes. Nothing else? I’d like to not feel so…guilty.”

“Not everyone here blames you,” he murmured.

“How can I tell?”

“By the housing. Those with bonded dragons live on the hills. They keep the terraces clean and the nighttime fires burning in case the dragons change their mind and drop in for a visit.”

“What of the flat-topped houses? Are they strong enough for dragons?”

“The flat-topped houses are for folks who like to sit there at night and stare at the stars.”

“A brilliant reason.”

“It is to them,” he countered. “Not everyone in Dangira has a bonded dragon. Or wants the long life. For those who want to become dragon lords, the process is difficult. The dragons demand more than some men or women wish to give. But the city was built around the sky, and for those who rule the sky. Dragons have their own eyries scattered around the Faded Land. They have never lived here. But they like to swim in the river, or they did. We keep waiting for them.”

“You’re a dragon lord?”

His jaw flexed.

“I’m truly sorry.”

“I believe you.” Fennor’s attitude had eased after the encounter with Sarnorinth. He glanced at the mage shackles and murmured. “He had no choice.”

The order had been given: don’t leave. I studied the distant sun, pale vermillion now, but still bright enough to cause spots in my eyes. “How is it possible to share the Pelagios Sea with Thales and the red priests, and yet they’ve never mentioned this city?”

“The Wall protects us. Mage magic extends out into the sea, and no one has dared explore here since the Chaos.”

“They’re afraid of what they’ll find?”

Fennor looked around. “The Draakon has magic of his own. Few to none survive it. Storms from the Pelagios Sea come in the winter, mostly rain, but snow when it’s cold enough, and the dragons retreat to the mountains. The weather remains mild along the Phaidros, and we stay warm in our houses.”

“What happens when blue rain falls?”

“The Draakon fights, like your mage priests fight. Using magic.”

“He’s one man.”

“Yes. Those of us who can, fight with him.”

“The dragons don’t help? ”

“No.”

Fennor took my arm. We’d left the horses in a stone courtyard, and he angled me toward wide steps flanking a square pavilion decorated with flower-filled white urns.

“This is the Draakon’s house,” he said. “A formal name, since he doesn’t stay here. The villa is secure, and we use the space for events and special guests. A maid has your room prepared.”

“Oh, good.” I stared at the beautiful setting, feeling an old chill. “Another prison cell disguised as hospitality.”

Fennor frowned. “We are not Thales.”

He was defensive, and I said, “Most people don’t like what they hear from the justice speaker.”

“Then speak justice for Bogo. For Tova.”

I stumbled.

“You heard him in your head, didn’t you?” Fennor demanded. “Sarnorinth? On the road, you carried on a one-sided conversation.”

My fingers curled around the shackle chain. “He was quite grumpy.”

“Until now, only the Draakon could talk to a dragon without a bond. I can only speak to one dragon, the dragon I’m bonded with, but you…” His shoulders rolled as if the muscles were tight. “Sarnorinth speaks to no one.”

“We’ve established that I’m a freak.”

Fennor pushed open a door, waited for me to walk through. The mage shackles around my wrists hummed as if they recognized home. Or at least the magic of home .

“Fate pulls everyone in,” said Fennor as he followed me into an open room with pillars, a white marble floor, and a view that captured a breathtaking sky.

“There’s no fighting it. After the war, a schism between dragons emerged that hasn’t ended.

Half the eyries want to work with humans again. Half don’t. Sarnorinth is…”

“One who doesn’t.”

“He spoke to you,” Fennor said.

“Because I stole his fledgling.”

“We all witnessed it, how Bogo defended you and you protected him. Made his return easy. Possible. Sarnorinth will not forget.”

I studied Fennor’s face in the waning light; concern had narrowed his eyes. “What you mean is that he won’t be happy. Hard to maintain your schism when you owe a debt of gratitude to the enemy.”

“Hard, indeed. Be careful, Senaria Wraithion. Guardian between realms.”