BOOK TWO: RAGE OF DRAGONS

ORYN

Oryn was standing on a scaffold, laying bricks, when the winged woman appeared over the sea.

The day had begun like every day this spring—with backbreaking work alongside his fellow builders. They hauled bricks, mixed mortar, and labored on the scaffolds as the cold wind blew. Oryn hated it. But slowly they were raising the ancient tower from ruin.

It was a hard, tedious job, mostly done in human form. Twenty other workers covered the scaffolds with Oryn, stacking bricks, scraping off dripping mortar, molding staircases, and gently assembling arched windows. Despite the cold, Oryn sweated as he toiled. He cursed his hairstyle. He shaved the sides of his head but kept the crest long and luxurious. Now the limp, sweaty strands kept falling over his eyes. Damn his vanity! He shoved the hair back, blinked away sweat, and wobbled on the scaffold.

A gust of wind nearly knocked him off. He cursed and clung on. His head spun. It was funny, he thought. Whenever he shifted into a dragon, he gladly soared above cities and mountains. In his human form, he hated heights.

I'm probably traumatized from too many close brushes with gallows, he thought, smiling wryly as he clung to the scaffolds.

He gulped and glanced around. The tower they were building rose beside a gray, angry sea. The waves washed across the sand and pounded the boulders, and the clouds roiled above. According to the calendar, it was springtime in Requiem. But it was still damn cold here on the eastern coast.

Millennia ago, a watchtower had risen here. Here at Fort Sanctus, revered in Requiem's lore, the hero Kyrie Eleison had first defied the griffins. That mythical tower had fallen, and the griffins had left the world, and now Oryn labored here to rebuild Fort Sanctus from ruin. It was an important symbol. A legend rising again. Hope from despair.

He looked at the eastern sea. It sprawled into a hazy, cobalt horizon. Oryn shuddered. Beyond that water, she still lurked. Nemoria. The dark goddess. The demonic being who had shattered the cities of Requiem. Who had fled, burnt and stricken with grief, her son slain.

"You're still out there, aren't you, Nemoria?" Oryn muttered. "Until you lie dead and buried, I won't sleep easy."

And so he turned back to his labor. He laid down another brick. Day by day, brick by brick, the tower was getting taller. He toiled to rebuild an ancient symbol of Requiem but also to defend this coast. To raise a watchtower, its eye ever gazing east.

A year ago I was nothing but a thief, Oryn thought. Stealing gold, jewels, and the hearts of maidens. Let me no longer take from others. Let me seek redemption in honest labor, in building instead of destroying. He sighed and wiped sweat off his brow. Even though it's bloody exhausting.

"Oryn, incoming!" came a voice from above. "Get ready!"

A blast of air blew Oryn's hair back. He looked up, blinking. A blue dragon descended, wings pounding him with air. Her scales gleamed like sapphires, and smoke blasted from her nostrils. In her claws, she held a basket of bricks.

"Your wings are going to blow off the entire scaffolding, Miya!" he cried.

She replied with a puff of smoke, covering him with soot. "You're thinking of all your hot air."

Oryn sighed. Princess Miya Aeternum, youngest daughter of King Berinor, had refused to remain in the capital city, safe in the west. Miya was no longer heiress to Requiem, after all. Her older sister had returned from exile, releasing Miya from that duty. With her newfound freedom, Miya had been spending little time in the ruins of Nova Vita. Instead, the young princess had joined Oryn here on the coast, determined to raise new fortifications, to defend Requiem's border.

That is courage, Oryn thought, looking at the blue dragon. He remembered meeting a meek girl last year, a sheltered princess frightened of her own shadow. Now Miya flew above, a fearless dragon, on the very coast where Nemoria and her hydras had risen … where they might rise again.

The blue dragon slowly descended toward the tower top, holding her bucket of bricks.

"A little lower!" Oryn said. "A little lower …"

He reached for the bucket, prepared to pull out more bricks, when a shriek sounded in the east.

Oryn grimaced and covered his ears.

The sound rippled the air. It pounded against Oryn with physical force. The scaffolds shattered beneath his feet. The tower wall creaked, rained dust, and then collapsed.

Bricks cascaded. Across the structure, other builders cried out. They fell in an avalanche of bricks, mortar, and wood.

As he tumbled, Oryn reached deep inside himself for his magic—the ancient magic of Requiem, the magic the Vir Requis had protected for thousands of years, the magic countless enemies had tried to destroy. Black scales rose across him, clattering. Fire filled his mouth. His body ballooned, his canines lengthened into fangs, and claws sprouted from his fingertips.

An instant before he could hit the ground, Oryn beat leathern wings and soared, a black dragon, rising through a hailstorm of bricks.

Cursing as the bricks buffeted him, he rose to fly by Miya. A few other dragons rose around them. But only a few. Oryn winced. Several builders, pummeled by the raining bricks, hadn't managed to shift before hitting the ground. The bodies lay in the rubble below. One worker lay dead on the beach, the waves already tugging him into a watery embrace.

And over that sea, she flew. Oryn grimaced.

"What the abyss is that?" he said.

Miya hovered beside him, eyes wide, jaw clenched. She shuddered, blue scales clattering. She opened her mouth to speak …

… and the creature over the water shrieked again, drowning all other voices.

Oryn screamed, unable to even hear himself. The creature's shriek pounded against him, tossing him into a tailspin, aching in his chest. The sound waves rippled the water, blew sand across the beach, and whatever remained of the tower collapsed.

Oryn gritted his teeth. Despite the pain, he steadied himself and looked back at the creature. She was approaching fast.

"Bloody stars," he muttered, ears ringing.

The creature was humanoid. Female. Pale and beautiful. She wore a silver breastplate, sandals, and leather pteruges that hung across her thighs. Platinum hair flowed from under her winged helmet, streaming like a banner, and her eyes shone like stars.

But there her resemblance to a human ended. The rest of her was beastly.

Four arms spread out from her torso, the hands clawed. In one hand, she held a longsword. In another hand, she held a shield shaped like a sunburst, blades forming its rays. The lower two hands were empty, claws extended, like an insect ready to grab prey.

Even more monstrous were her wings. They shone, blinding, as if woven of sunlight. Oryn could barely look at them. As the creature flew closer, he realized the wings were made of steel, reflecting the sun. They were shaped like the wings of swans, but each feather was a blade. Hundreds of the blades stretched out, white and gleaming.

Oryn had spent years in seaside taverns, drinking with sailors. His mother had serviced many of them in the brothels of Altus Mare. Oryn had heard their tales from overseas.

He had never seen one of these creatures. But he knew their name. There was nothing the sailors feared more.

"A valkyrie," he said. "An actual valkyrie."

"They all died thousands of years ago!" Miya said, flying beside him.

"This one didn't."

As the dragons hovered above the ruined tower, the four-armed woman pointed her sword toward them. Light coalesced near the hilt, growing in a sphere, forming a miniature sun just above the crossguard.

Then, with a crackle and shock wave, the light streamed along the blade and blasted in a beam.

Blinded, Oryn winced and swerved. Miya dived the other way. Heat blazed. The beam thrummed only inches from Oryn, searing him. His scales expanded and cracked in the heat. The smell of ozone filled his nostrils.

Nearby, a dragon howled in agony. Oryn hovered back, eyes narrowed to slits. He could only see a little. But he saw enough. The ray was searing through a yellow dragon. It was Wilen, a stonemason and new father. A friend.

The beam tore right though scales, flesh, and bone, impaling the dragon.

With a cry, Wilen lost his magic.

The dragon shrank, becoming a man again—a thin man with a blond beard. The corpse fell through the beam, burning up, falling apart, and thumped onto the beach—a chunk of seared flesh and bones.

Oryn glanced at Miya. She met his gaze. Together, wordlessly, they turned back toward the creature. With roars, the two dragons charged over the sea and blasted their dragonfire.

The two flaming jets crackled, driving forward, reflected in the sea below.

Burn, bitch, Oryn thought.

Ahead, hovering over the water, the valkyrie swung her blade.

A beam of light blasted out, hitting Oryn's dragonfire. It split the flaming torrent in two. The two smaller jets flanked the valkyrie, doing her no harm.

Miya's jet of dragonfire still blazed forward. But the valkyrie caught it on her shield. An inferno blazed across the sky, coning around the shield. Ash fell toward the water.

The dragonfire died. The two dragons panted in the sky.

Unharmed, the four-armed woman made eye contact with Oryn. Her eyes shimmered like molten gold. She smiled. A deranged smile. A wolf's smile.

"You will scream for me, Oryn." She licked her canines. "You will scream as Requiem falls."

With roars, a hundred other dragons—surviving builders, guards, and their families—stormed across the sea, dragonfire blazing.

The valkyrie nodded at Oryn, winked, and soared.

Dragonfire blazed under her feet. More crackling torrents roared toward her. But the shield and sword swung, deflecting jet after jet. Through the blaze, the creature swooped, her shriek so loud it tossed dragons back in the sky and roiled the sea.

Great, Oryn thought. Another crazy she-demon from the east. Wasn't Nemoria enough?

Now, facing a veritable army of dragons, the valkyrie began to attack in earnest.

Another beam of light blazed from her sword, searing through a green dragon. The dragon lost his magic and tumbled to the sea, a mason with a gaping hole in his torso. The valkyrie's shield swung, ringed with blades, and sliced through another dragon. Screaming, the dragon lost his magic and fell as a human, lacerated.

"Miya, get out of here!" Oryn shouted. "Fly back to the capital! To safety!"

The blue dragon trembled in the sky, scales clinking. Burn marks stretched across her. But Miya growled and shook her head, scattering smoke from her jaws.

"I won't leave you," Miya said. "I will fight for Requiem."

With a battle cry, Miya charged toward the enemy.

Oryn cursed, clattering with fear.

I need to get out of here, said that old voice inside him. The voice of a thief. That voice that had helped him survive all those years in the underworld. I need to fly west. I need to hide. This place is death.

Oryn inhaled deeply and turned in the sky. There in the west spread the forests, fields, and mountains of Requiem—places where he could hide, survive this war, and—

No.

Oryn gritted his teeth.

I won't leave Miya. Not ever again.

He spun back toward the battle, roared, and shot across the sky. His dragonfire blazed in a shrieking, spinning fury.

The valkyrie turned toward him again. Her lips peeled back, showing her rows of fangs. Her eyes blazed, and she charged toward him.

Several dragons attacked her flanks. But the valkyrie mowed through them. Her wings carved a path forward. Each feather was a blade larger than the mightiest claymore, slicing, tearing through scales and bones. Corpses rained.

Where are you, Miya?

Oryn could no longer see the blue dragon. He roared and blasted his flames.

The creature's shield rose. His dragonfire washed over it, breaking like waves against a boulder. The four-armed woman raised her sword, and light gathered along the blade. Oryn howled, ducked, and flew faster.

A beam of light shot overhead, searing off the tips of his horns.

Oryn slammed into the woman with an explosion of fire and light and agony.

He clawed madly, scraping the shield, trying to reach the valkyrie's face. She glared at him, eyes blasting out light, and Oryn screamed, blinded. Her sword swung, piercing his wing. Oryn bellowed. Her shield slammed his flank, its sharp rim slicing him.

Pain exploded.

Oryn lost his magic.

He became human again.

Before he could fall, one of the creature's four hands grabbed his throat. She held him in the sky.

For the first time, Oryn grasped her size. The woman was huge. Seven or eight feet tall, dwarfing his human body. She held him at eye level, her hand tightening around his throat. He croaked, desperate for air. He kicked his legs, his feet barely reaching her knees. The luminous deity hovered above the sea, bladed wings beating, rippling the water below.

"So weak." The valkyrie tilted her head, studying him. "So puny. The reptilian form—just a veneer. I'll enjoy feasting on your heart."

"Oryn!" Miya cried.

The blue dragon dived closer, roaring fire. But the scythed shield rose, deflecting the dragonfire back at Miya. The princess cried out and fell back, her own dragonfire washing over her.

Other dragons roared, attacking in a fury, but the valkyrie swung her weapons, wielding light and steel, cutting them down.

Oryn struggled in the choking grip, legs kicking. The clawed hand tightened around his neck, crushing his windpipe. He remembered hanging from the noose last year, and blackness spread across him. He tried to shift back into a dragon, but he was too weak. He could barely even breathe, and his blood kept dripping.

The valkyrie placed a hand against his chest. Her fingernails were tipped with long, silvery claws like elegant daggers. It was a hand so large it was nearly the size of Oryn's entire rib cage.

"The heart of a mortal." She licked her lips. "Such a lovely meal! I will savor this feast."

The tips of her claws pricked his chest, just above the heart.

Oryn flicked his wrist, drawing the hidden knife he kept up his sleeve.

"Appetizers first, bitch," he whispered hoarsely.

He tossed the knife at the leering face.

The blade sank into one luminous eye.

For an instant, the creature was still.

Then, with a blast of heat and fury, light blazed out from the wound. Sizzling golden blood spurted, burning Oryn like acid. He screamed. The claws released him, and Oryn fell, spun, bled, tumbling toward the ground, gasping for air through his aching throat.

He reached for his magic. He couldn't grasp it. The pain flared. The ground raced up toward him.

Mere feet from the ground, he finally gripped his magic, shifted, and rose as a dragon.

The valkyrie still flew, spinning madly, one eye gone. Dragons flew toward her, trying to attack, but the creature rolled through the sky at maddening speed, her bladed wings slicing any dragon who got too close. Dragonfire spurted off her armor and shield, spraying across the sky. She was like a comet, tumbling, wreathed in fire.

Within the inferno, the valkyrie reached for the dagger embedded in her eye. She pulled the blade out, leaving a gaping socket.

Oryn sneered, flew at her, and roared out more dragonfire.

The valkyrie raised her shield, prepared to block the stream.

With a flash of blue scales, Miya swooped. Her tail lashed like a whip, severing the valkyrie's arm.

The shield, with the arm still attached, spun through the sky, wheeling toward Oryn.

He ducked, and the shield scraped across his back, slicing scales. He kept flying, spewing dragonfire.

The inferno washed across the valkyrie, burning her face, entering her emptied eye socket. Her metal wings heated, turned red, then melted.

The creature screamed—a sound higher pitched than a boiling kettle, louder than shattering nations, a cry so powerful it hurled Oryn across the sky, boulders cracked below, and the sea roiled. A sound that invaded Oryn like a living demon, twisting inside him, wrapping around his bones, and—

Like a tower of shattering glass, the valkyrie tore apart.

She fell in a rain of glowing, melting globs of metal, gobbets of flesh, and sizzling ichor. The chunks plunged into the sea, raising steam, then washed onto the shore, blackened and writhing.

Panting and bleeding, Oryn looked around himself. Miya flew at his side, her scales stained with blood and ash.

All the other dragons had fallen.

Oryn and Miya descended and landed by the ruined tower. The corpses littered the beach. Builders. Guards. Their families. A hundred Vir Requis—slain, lying as ravaged humans.

Flashbacks to last year pounded Oryn. The slaughter at Altus Mare. The dead all around. For a moment, he could barely breathe.

Miya returned to human form and stood among the carnage. The wounds to her dragon form shrank with her—cuts across her limbs, a gash on her shoulder, and an ugly bruise that spread across her cheek. Even her tunic and leggings, which had morphed into her dragon body with her, were now tattered. Ash glided into her blond hair, and her blue eyes gazed at Oryn with fear.

He too returned to human form—a young man, his skin brown, his shock of black hair constantly flopping over his brow. He too bled from wounds. Ignoring the pain, he stepped toward Miya and touched her cheek.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded and embraced him. "I'm fine. Oh, Oryn … they're all …" She looked around her, then buried her face against his chest. She cried softly as he stroked her hair.

"Miya." Oryn gently stepped back and looked into her eyes. "It's safe to say that you're more educated than I am. Of course, that's not saying much. As a humble street rat and thief, I never even learned to read, let alone the lore of creatures and magic. I got my education in seaside taverns and brothels. Sailors sometimes spoke of valkyries, but nobody had ever seen one. They're beings of legend. Do you know anything about them?"

"Not much," Miya said. "They're related to seraphim, the deities that enslaved Requiem centuries ago. But while seraphim have swan wings, these creatures have wings of steel. And while seraphim are angelic, these creatures are demonic." She shuddered. "Their four arms … it reminds me of Nemoria with her three heads."

Oryn shuddered too. The memories of last year haunted him: the goddess of the east, a great dragon with three heads, flying over his city, toppling buildings, slaughtering thousands.

His wounds needed attention, but Oryn ignored them. He walked down to the beach and stared at the remains of the creature. Several blades from a wing and the cracked shield rose from the sand. The skull gaped within the winged helmet. The rest lay scattered across the sand in smoldering chunks. Oryn swallowed hard and struggled not to gag. He approached what remained of the torso, leaned down, and tugged the breastplate free.

He carried it back to Miya. They stared together at the sigil carved onto the armor: a three-headed dragon, one head black, one red, one white.

"Nemoria's sigil," Miya whispered.

Shrieks suddenly rose in the east.

Oryn and Miya stared across the water.

"My stars," Miya whispered.

"Come, Miya!" Oryn shouted. "We fly!"

They rose as dragons.

They flew west, scales chinking with fear.

Behind them, ten more valkyries rose from across the sea.

LENORA

She propelled her wheelchair between the bookshelves and flickering lanterns, trying to muster the courage to face the most vicious demon in the world.

The library was a massive chasm, full of shadows, buried deep underground to protect its precious books from storm, fire, or war. Lenora had spent all her twenty-three years in this subterranean kingdom. And indeed, this was a kingdom, as vast and mighty and wondrous as any aboveground. Millions of books and scrolls topped the shelves, each a portal to a different land. Countless wonders filled these pages, from spells to poems to illustrations of magnificent and terrifying beasts. Lenora could wheel her chair from one side of the library to another within a few moments, yet every shelf she passed carried centuries of wisdom. For generations, her family had reigned here. The librarians of Requiem, guardians of its lore and wisdom.

"And now I'm the librarian," Lenora said to the shadows. "Now I'm queen of the underground." She lowered her eyes. "Yet I haven't seen sunlight in nineteen years, and I've never tasted the wind."

She propelled her wheelchair between two shelves. A few years ago, a kindly priest had built the contraption, attaching two wooden wagon wheels to a chair. After that, Lenora had stopped crawling on the floor, dragging her useless legs behind her. Now she felt like a true queen on a noble steed, riding through her kingdom.

"Sweet child," the priest had told her. "Will you join me in the sunlight? Will you summon your magic and fly as a dragon? You don't need working legs in Requiem's sky, only your wings."

Lenora had refused. She still shuddered at the thought. Yes, she could become a dragon. Sometimes on winter nights, when it was so cold here underground, Lenora would summon the ancient magic of Requiem. She would become a dragon, her scales a mosaic of many colors, curl up in the open center of the library, let fire fill her maw, and be warm. She would drape her wings around herself, forming a cocoon of safety, yet she had never flapped those wings.

She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Today we will finally see the sky," she whispered.

She pushed her thick, round spectacles up her nose, then clutched her necklace. Iron squares hung there, each engraved with a letter. She had taken them from a printing press, great machines of wood and metal that printed ink onto parchment. The tiles had been used to print many books, and they were holy artifacts to her, calming the storm in her mind. They spelled out her name. LENORA.

She had only fuzzy memories of the world outside this library. She had been only four years old, not yet old enough to shift into a dragon, when the dark goddess Nemoria had invaded this library, slaughtered her parents, and left Lenora with useless legs. Lenora had dared not emerge from this place since, dared not face the world, and so her memories—of sunlight, blue sky, trees, birds—all faded into flickers, dreams, smudges, mere memories of memories.

Lenora paused her wheelchair, removed her glasses—the lenses were thick like the bottoms of bottles—and wiped tears from her eyes. "But today we must be brave. As brave as Princess Miya and Princess Fira. They fought Nemoria while we cowered here." She placed her glasses back on and looked at her shoulder. "We'll do this together, Minori."

She swore she could feel the invisible spirit hop on her shoulder, feel the faintest tugging on her ear, the faintest rustle of her short blond hair. Minori was a jatash, a shoulder spirit, one who bonded to a human soul. As a child, Lenora had read about jatashi in one of her books, a dusty tome called Moth. The book was about a world of endless night, much like the world Lenora herself inhabited. The very next day, she had felt Minori perch on her shoulder.

Her jatash was invisible and mute, and Lenora was never sure whether Minori truly existed or was a figment of her imagination … or a figment of her madness.

She raised her hand to her shoulder, caressing gently, and she felt a faint hint of warmth, the gentle touch of this spirit from another world. Her companion. Her dearest friend. Courage on her shoulder.

"Courage, Minori," she whispered and wheeled her chair onward.

She passed by a shelf of poems, their pages telling of storms swirling across the skies, of fairies dancing in mystical forests, and of lovers lighting the world, all pages Lenora had escaped to countless times. Yet she had never seen a storm, never smelled the forest, never kissed a lover's lips. She passed by another shelf, this one containing histories of Requiem's battles and triumphs, stories Lenora had wept, gasped, and laughed while reading.

Yet she had never seen King's Column, not in living memory, and though she defended and preserved Requiem's lore, she had never seen the dragons of the Royal Army fly, had never seen the king speak to his people in halls of marble, had never gazed at the fabled birches whose beauty the poets extolled. She rolled on through the library, passing by so many dreams, so many visions, so many books she had read over and over by lamplight. Tales of snowy mountains, of blazing dragonfire, of wonder and adventure … all worlds that existed in her mind, that existed in these books, that existed aboveground—only a few moments away! And all worlds she had never dared face.

Finally Lenora reached the archway. She halted her wheelchair and stared ahead.

The archway was tall, its keystone inlaid with silver stars forming the Draco constellation. Two dragon statues guarded it, carved of limestone. One dragon wore round glasses and held a scroll. This statue depicted Fidelity, an ancient heroine of Requiem, a librarian who had fought the wicked Cured Temple and become queen. The second statue was shaped as a dragon holding a walking staff and compass. Here stood Luna the Traveler, one of Requiem's most venerated queens, daughter of Gloriae Aeternum. Luna had collected lore from across the world, had written many books this library still contained.

Lenora took a deep, shuddering breath. Through the archway, she could see only darkness. A tunnel. A tunnel that led to many other tunnels and chambers, to armories, cisterns, pantries, treasuries … and finally up to the surface of the world.

Lenora had read many books about the tunnels that coiled beneath Requiem. She hadn't traveled these paths since being four years old, and she remembered nothing. But she had examined the maps so many times she could probably navigate them blindfolded.

Yet she sat still, only staring, and cold sweat beaded on her brow. She gulped.

"We must be brave, Minori," she whispered. "Luna the Traveler was never afraid of going anywhere. She journeyed to the far north and saw the ice giants, and she rode a camel across the southern deserts of Tiranor, and she sailed even to the distant Leonis Isles. She was never afraid of some little tunnel." She gulped and clutched her wheels with shaking hands. "Queen Fidelity fought the evil firedrakes and bonedrakes, and she toppled the One True Temple and raised Requiem from oblivion. She wasn't afraid of a little darkness. She's my ancestor, Minori. I must be strong like her."

She took a deep breath. She pushed the wheels a half turn forward.

The shadows scurried.

Her mother screamed.

The creature danced in the darkness.

Lenora shivered, clenched her jaw, and clutched the wheels, daring not turn them anymore. She stared into the darkness of the tunnel.

"I have to do this," she whispered. "She's gone. She fled. Nemoria was defeated. I have to emerge into the world. I have to find the sky." Tears stung her eyes, and she spoke the most ancient prayer of her people, the prayer that Requiem's children had carried for thousands of years. A prayer passed through the generations. The prayer that meant everything to Lenora. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."

She gave the wheels another half turn. Her wheelchair rolled into the archway, and Lenora's legs—those shattered, useless legs—entered the tunnel.

Nemoria laughed.

The goddess leaned down, tearing into Mother, ripping out the kindly librarian's heart.

Little Lenora ran across the library, screaming, only for the goddess to grab her, to toss her down, to shatter her legs into a million pieces, and Lenora crawled, crawled as Father leaped onto the goddess, crawled as Father screamed, crawled into shadows, crawled into darkness, dragging what remained of her, hiding. Hiding for years. Growing up in hiding. Broken.

Back in the present, Lenora closed her eyes and released the wheels. Her wheelchair rolled a foot back, returning into the library.

"It was here," she whispered, tears on her cheeks. "Nemoria entered my library through this tunnel. I can't do this, Minori. I can't."

Lenora rolled back to the shelter of her books. The books Lenora had hidden among nineteen years ago. The books that were her birthright. The books that were her kingdom to rule. The books that were her windows to the many worlds above.

She rolled far from the archway, moving past shelf after shelf. Finally she reached the little hovel she had built between two bookshelves, a hideaway at the back of the library. An armchair awaited her, an oil lantern glowed on a table, and Lenora even kept a wooden box of tea here. These treasures had belonged to her parents. Lenora cherished them.

She pulled herself out of her wheelchair and into the armchair. Back when her father, grandfather, and all her forebears had been the librarians, thousands of visitors would come here to read the books. But since Nemoria's assault, few dared to enter this place. They feared the tunnel just as much as Lenora did. Rarely, a healer came seeking information on herbs. Or a priest came to read about the stars, or a general sought a book about old battles. But months could go by between visitors. Most likely, Lenora was facing many days of solitude before the next visitor.

With shaking hands, she made herself some tea. She held the mug over her shoulder, letting Minori drink, and she swore that she could see the tea level drop just the slightest. She grabbed a book and she read. It was an old book, crumbling, one she had read many times. A book about a world torn in two, its one half drenched in endless sunlight, the other cloaked in eternal darkness. It was her favorite.

She read. She spent hours flipping the old, familiar pages, dog-eared, some stained with droplets of tea, pages she had read countless times. She read about marvelous cities of light whose towers soared into the night sky. She read about ruined temples in rainforests, about deserts full of adventure and peril, about great love between heroes and heroines, and about dragons that flew, unafraid, from darkness into light.

Perhaps someday she too would fly. But not today. Lenora read until the lamp burned low, and she fell asleep curled up in the chair, surrounded by her books, those old parchment shields against the terror.

BERINOR

"I love you, Berinor," his wife whispered, kissing him.

He held her close. "I love you, my wife, my beloved."

They made love in mist, in fire, in eternal joy. Berinor was a king, a great leader who lived in a palace, who could rise as a dragon and claim the sky. Yet all those splendors paled by the wonder of his wife—her beauty, her kindness, the happiness he felt with her.

"Never leave me, my sweetness," she whispered, her naked body pressed against him. "I love you. I love—"

Berinor's eyes opened.

He lay in his bed, drenched in sweat, the blankets stifling. He gasped for air, shoved the blankets off, and lay breathing for long moments. His candles had burned down to stubs, and the first hint of dawn glowed through the windows.

With a last, ghostly kiss, his wife vanished.

Berinor's chest felt empty. He looked at his side. Nineteen years since her death, he still never dared stray to her side of the bed. The emptiness there reflected the emptiness inside him.

He looked back at the ceiling, silent.

"Almost two decades since you died," he said. "And I still expect to see you with me whenever I wake up."

Naked, he rose from bed and poured himself water from a ewer. He caught his reflection in the tall mirror—a mirror his wife had placed here long ago. He looked old. He looked haggard. During the days, Berinor walked through the ruins of Nova Vita clad in fine steel armor, a green cloak draped across his shoulders, a proud king from a legendary dynasty. Or he flew in the sky, a dragon wreathed in fire and smoke, blessed with starlight. But here before him, in the stifling chamber, he was just a man. Aging—closer to fifty than forty now. White streaks had infiltrated his beard and hair, and his body seemed stretched, worn out. He was still a large man, tall and powerfully built, but every year—every dream—he seemed to shrink, the emptiness gnawing from within.

As he stared into the mirror, he imagined his wife beside him—a ghost of a memory, smiling, her hand on his shoulder.

He put on his armor, armor he had worn every day since the goddess had slain his wife, armor he had worn last year when that goddess toppled his city. Clad in steel, he stared out the window.

From up here in his palace, he could see across Nova Vita, ancient capital of Requiem. Thousands of years ago, Queen Gloriae Aeternum, his ancestor, had founded Nova Vita, raising a city of wonder from the ashes of the Griffin War. The city had become a wonder to the world, a marvel of soaring columns, marble observatories, and homes of airy archways that sprawled through a forest of birches.

Three times since Queen Gloriae had placed down the city's cornerstone, Nova Vita had been razed: by the bloodthirsty Queen Solina and her phoenixes, by the treacherous Cured Temple that had outlawed dragon magic, and by the seraphim who had taken the Vir Requis captive to a searing desert. Each time the Vir Requis had returned. Had rebuilt their holy city.

Now, for the fourth time, Nova Vita lay in ruin.

Hundreds bustled across the city, working to raise her towers and temples again. Scaffoldings covered the ruins of temples, towers, walls, and theaters. Dragons flew above, carrying baskets full of bricks, capitals of columns, and statues to place upon temple rooftops. Even the children were at work, planting saplings to replace the birches that had burned in the hydra fire. More scaffolds covered the palace where Berinor now stood; workers were rebuilding the fallen towers and defensive walls.

Hydras swarmed across the city.

Nemoria spread her wings, covering the sky, her three heads laughing.

The dead fell from the sky.

Berinor grimaced and clenched his fists. He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths, to focus on the air entering and leaving his nostrils, to let those memories fade. Yet like the sweet memory of his wife, Berinor knew that these newer memories would always haunt him.

He leaped from the window and shifted, becoming a green-and-silver dragon, the colors of Requiem's banners. He flew over the city, gazing upon the birch saplings, the new houses, and the fresh graves on the hills. King's Column rose before him, the only structure not damaged in the war, hundreds of feet tall and shining with starlight. According to the old tales, so long as a single Vir Requis lived in the world, the column would stand. It had survived the hydras . . . but Berinor winced with another memory.

He looked up. The sky was clear, the blue of morning spreading across the blackness, and he remembered Nemoria soaring straight up, finally vanishing into that sky, grieving for her slain son.

For our slain son, Berinor thought.

Now the pain was so great his chest constricted, and Berinor found no warmth even with the dragonfire that filled his belly. Yes. That truth still chilled him. Nineteen years ago, Nemoria had stolen into his bed, disguised as his wife, and made love to him. As he flew, Berinor realized that his recurring dream, the same dream he had just woken from, was only partly about his wife. Mostly, perhaps, the dream was about that night. The night Nemoria had tricked him, had lain with him. The night he had placed cruel demigods in her belly.

Berinor found himself flying over the cemetery outside the city walls. He looked at the tombstones. Here were buried the most ancient heroes of Requiem, from King Aeternum, founder of the nation, to those who had fallen in Nemoria's invasion last year. Thousands of years of history were here, an unbroken chain of dragon magic. In this cemetery too rested Ramiel, son of Nemoria.

My son.

Gliding over the cemetery, Berinor looked up at the sky. Somewhere up there, his daughter—Lintari, twin to Ramiel—still lived. Still loathed him.

And someday, Berinor knew, mother and daughter would return. Nemoria and Lintari. Cruel goddesses. And he did not know if the column would survive their next assault.

"Father!"

The voice rose in the distance, full of fear.

Berinor looked to the east and saw her.

Stars above.

Miya was flying toward the city, a small blue dragon. A black dragon flew at her side. Berinor recognized Oryn, the young thief-turned-builder.

"Father!" Miya cried again.

Distant shrieks sounded from farther east. Berinor squinted, peering toward the sound. Several creatures were following Miya, still too distant to see clearly, shining like stars.

Berinor beat his wings, flying toward his daughter.

"Miya!" he called. "Miya!"

She reared before him in the sky, and Berinor's breath caught. She was hurt. Many of her scales had cracked, and some were missing completely. Blood dripped from her wounds.

"Yes, we all know her name!" Oryn shouted, flying alongside the princess. The young black dragon was wounded too, holes in his wings and ugly gashes across his flank. "Now summon the damn army! Requiem is under attack!"

Berinor looked again at the pursuing creatures. He counted ten, but each was terrifying. He sucked in air with a hiss.

My stars …

The creatures appeared like human women, but each sprouted four arms, the hands clawed. Their hair was long and golden, their faces angelic. They were beautiful and terrible to behold, fairer than any mortal. Their eyes shone like stars, and they held shields and swords and wore ancient armor. Their wings spread out, reflecting the sun, formed of blades instead of feathers.

Berinor had read about such creatures. But only in the most ancient books. He knew nothing about them—only that they were heralds of death.

"Valkyries," he whispered. A shudder clattered his scales.

The valkyries screeched in the sky.

Berinor roared in agony. He had never heard anything half as loud. The sound pounded against him, knocking him back in the air and thudding through his chest.

He spun back toward the city.

"City Guard!" he cried. "Arise, arise!"

His cry was unnecessary. Two hundred dragons were already taking flight—the Draco Platoon, tasked with defending the city. They stormed across the sky, bladed helmets on their heads, breastplates strapped across their underbellies. The dragons roared, leaving a wake of smoke.

Berinor joined the guardians. He let fire crackle in his maw. Oryn and Miya took battle formations around him. Both young dragons were weary and wounded, but they growled, facing the enemy, nostrils smoking and fangs bared. They hovered a league outside Nova Vita now. The forests rolled below.

"Turn back, valkyries!" Berinor shouted at the approaching creatures. "You've entered the realm of Requiem. This land is forbidden to you! Turn back now!"

The valkyries shrieked again. Their faces twisted into snarls, revealing rows of fangs. Their eyes blazed, and they raised their swords. Light gathered in the blades like rising suns, then blasted forth in beams.

Dragons roared in pain.

Beams of light flared around Berinor, bathing him with heat. One beam thrummed across the tip of his wing, trimming the claws at the tip. He bellowed in agony. Other rays slammed into dragons around him, burning through steel, scales, and flesh and emerging on the other side. The dragons lost their magic and fell as humans, dead before they hit the ground, holes the size of fists piercing their bodies.

Berinor roared out his dragonfire. The flames streamed forward, spinning, crackling, shrieking. One of the four-armed women raised a shield shaped like a sunburst, blocking the fire. The blaze sprayed back toward Berinor. He roared, charging through the flames. Around him, his fellow dragons blew their own fire. The sky burned.

The valkyries shrieked again. The sound pulsed through the sky, knocking dragons back. Berinor tumbled, righted himself, and charged back toward the deities. He roared out dragonfire, then banked hard as a beam of light blasted his way. The ray grazed his side. He yowled as his scales cracked.

The valkyries formed a ring in the sky, flying back to back, creating a tight defensive formation. Two hundred dragons surrounded them, blasting fire at their shields.

Grinning, the valkyries suddenly charged through the flames, their ring formation expanding like a fireball. Their wings spread wide, the blades tilting forward like pikes.

The blades tore into dragons.

Blood rained.

The valkyries carved paths through the army of dragons. With every beat of their wings, the blades sliced through armor, scales, bones. They were like plows tearing through a fallow field. Vir Requis fell in human form.

"What the abyss are those blasted things?" shouted a short, burly bronze dragon.

Berinor recognized his oldest, dearest friend—Durian, aging and gruff commander of the City Guard.

"Valkyries!" Berinor shouted back.

"What the hell are valkyries?" Durian said.

"Worry about that later!" Berinor said. "Dragons, cut them down! Don't let them reach the city!"

The dragons kept charging at the valkyries, only to fall to the beams of light and bladed wings. One dragon managed to reach one of the deities, but his claws sparked harmlessly against her armor. The valkyrie swung her shield. Blades burst out from its rim, slicing into the dragon, sending him falling. The corpse slammed into the forest below.

Berinor looked around with a chill. Dozens of dragons had fallen dead so far, and not a single one of these cursed creatures so much as bled.

"Sirana!" Berinor shouted at one of the dragons—a young warrior with silver scales. "Sirana, summon the Royal Army! On my orders!"

A silver dragon came flying toward him. She was Lady Sirana Oldnale, scion of an ancient family, the last of her noble house. Her father had been Master of the City Guard before Durian. Now Sirana served in that venerable force, a young guardian in spiky armor.

That armor was dented. The silver dragon panted as she beat her wings. She bled from an ugly gash across her leg.

"I won't leave—"

"Summon them and fly back here!" Berinor shouted.

Sirana nodded, spun around, and dived toward the city.

Berinor charged back into the battle. A valkyrie flew toward him, swinging her shield. The blades along its rims spun madly, casting out sparks.

Instants before the shield could decapitate him, Berinor released his magic.

He fell as a man, and the shield spun over his head, narrowly missing him. It sliced off locks of his hair.

He rose again as a dragon, spurting up fire, bathing the valkyrie.

She screamed, a sound so loud it cracked something in Berinor's ears. He heard only ringing. He kept rising, claws lashing at the valkyrie. A blade dug into his leg. He swung his claws, slashing her face.

The valkyrie bled from many wounds, half her face gone, her armor shattered, her skin burnt and flaking. But still she lived. She grinned, half her mouth vanishing into a wound, the teeth bared and the lips gone.

Her bottom two arms reached out. Claws grabbed Berinor. While larger than a human, she was smaller than a dragon. But she was strong. So strong Berinor couldn't free himself from her grip.

"King of Reptiles," the valkyrie hissed. "My mistress Nemoria sends her regards."

Before Berinor could react, the valkyrie bit his shoulder, crunching through scales and into muscle. He howled, swiped his tail, and bathed his enemy with fire, but still her fangs dug into him.

Deafening roars sounded above.

The sky darkened as hundreds of new dragons—the Royal Army—barreled into battle.

Fire rained, and a silver dragon plunged down. Jaws clamped around the creature biting Berinor. The dragon ripped off the valkyrie like a leech.

Sirana spat out blood. The valkyrie still flew between them, head ravaged, cracked open, revealing the skull and brains. Yet still she spun, wings slicing.

Berinor darted back, dodging the bulk of the attack, but suffered a gash along his chest. Sirana cried out as the steel wings carved her armor. Both dragons bled. Both blasted their flames.

The twin jets of dragonfire slammed into the spinning creature and exploded, rising to the sky, raining down, and the dragons kept blowing, sending forth all the fire within them until finally the valkyrie fell.

The four-armed woman tumbled down, barely anything remaining of her aside from melting wings and a blackened skeleton. She hit the cemetery below, shattered several tombstones, and rose no more.

Panting and bleeding, Berinor looked around him. Many Vir Requis lay dead below, and more dragons died every moment. He breathed a sigh of relief to see Miya still flying—splashed in blood, breathing raggedly, her eyes glazed, but still alive.

The other dragons had managed to kill another valkyrie. Eight of the damn creatures still remained. They flew back and forth at terrifying speed, wings slicing into dragons, light blasting from their blades. All were badly burnt, skin peeling, hair gone, but they didn't even slow down. The valkyries huddled together, then charged outward in an expanding ring, tearing dragons apart.

The eight valkyries regrouped, this time forming a spearhead formation—and began flying toward the city.

Berinor's heart sank.

These creatures will tear apart everything we've built.

"Dragons, fly!" he shouted. "Burn them! Claw them! Kill them!"

What remained of his force—by the stars, a hundred must have died already—charged with him.

We killed two, Berinor told himself. We can kill more. We can defeat them. They're not indestructible. We can win.

"After them!" he cried.

Ignoring the pain, he flapped his wings, chasing the four-armed beasts. He tried to blast more fire but only sparks emerged. He would need to rest before he could produce more flame.

His fellow dragons flew with him. A few shot forward jets of dragonfire, burning the enemy. The bronze, beefy Durian roared and leaped onto one valkyrie, and Sirana and Oryn charged with him. Together, the dragons managed to rip the arms off the beast. The valkyrie tumbled through the sky, armless, screaming. The dragons blasted down fire until nothing was left but bones and melting metal wings.

That left seven.

Seven valkyries who crossed the city walls and swooped to the streets.

Stars above, Berinor thought.

People across the city screamed and ran. Some rose as dragons, only to fall as humans, torn apart. Children, too young to shift, clung to their mothers. People raced into their homes, only for the beasts to rip into walls and roofs, shattering them, burying people under the rubble. One of the demonic women landed in a public square, grabbed three children, and ripped them apart.

This was all too familiar. Only a year ago, the hydras had razed this city.

Now you send more enemies against us, Nemoria, Berinor thought. He had seen the sigils on the valkyrie armor. These were Nemoria's pets.

Berinor was bleeding, weary, and every flap of his wings ached. He forced himself to keep fighting.

The battle raged across the city. Dragons rose everywhere, fell everywhere. The valkyries flew down the streets, and their shrieks shattered scaffolds and cracked temples and towers. Bricks rained, crushing people below.

"Into the tunnels!" Durian was crying. "People of Nova Vita, into the tunnels!" The gruff dragon landed on the road, then soared and slammed into a valkyrie above, bathing her with dragonfire.

As Berinor fought, he saw people race into the tunnels, seeking safety underground. The network of corridors and cellars below the city had saved them during the hydra assault, but hydras were large beasts, unable to fit through the archways that led underground. Berinor watched, chest constricting, as a valkyrie raced through an archway, following the people who sought safety in the dark.

Once again, his city crumbled around him.

Berinor roared toward a valkyrie, slammed into her, and lashed his claws as the light burned him.

LENORA

She was curled up in her nook, sleeping with her cheek pressed against a favorite book, when the screams woke her.

Lenora blinked, sat up, and straightened her glasses. Her oil lantern was guttering, down to the last few drops. The flickering light illuminated the alcove dug into the wall—a hideaway where Lenora had placed a rug, cushions, and favorite books. She could barely see the rest of the library from here, just a few shelves chock-full of books and scrolls.

The screams sounded again—faded, distant. The library thrummed. Shelves rattled and dust rained.

Lenora's heart burst into a gallop.

"War," she whispered.

She remembered the war last year, remembered cowering here in darkness as the hydras destroyed the city. The library had shaken just as badly then. Cracks had raced across the ceiling, and Lenora had thought the entire library would cave in.

Now, again—a battle above. She recognized the screams of pain, the shrieks of monsters.

Lenora pulled herself into her wheelchair, grabbed the wheels, and rolled as fast as she could. Her heart kept pounding.

She raced between the shelves, tilting at the turns. A horrible shriek rose, so loud that Lenora had to release the wheels and cover her ears. Her wheelchair slammed into a shelf, and books hailed down, pounding against her. One hit the floor and the pages opened, revealing a ghastly illustration of skeletons dancing in a graveyard, holding hands.

More books were falling—all across the library. The entire underground was shaking. The shriek sounded again, rising higher, higher, and Lenora screamed and covered her ears and shut her eyes until the sound gave a crack and vanished—perhaps simply rising too high for human hearing. Ringing filled Lenora's ears, and her chest ached.

She grabbed the wheels. She moved forward, not knowing what she sought, knowing only that she had to escape, to hide, to move farther from that horrible voice.

People were screaming, dying. She heard bones crunching, metal clanging against metal. Lenora rolled toward the library's exit. The archway loomed, leading to a labyrinth of tunnels—and finally to the world above.

Lenora froze, staring. There it rose, shaped like two rearing dragons carved of stone. The archway she had never dared cross, not since the goddess had taken her parents and her legs years ago.

In that tunnel beyond the archway, she saw firelight. She smelled blood. Shadows danced, falling upon Lenora—shadows of people fleeing, dying, and a looming figure of light and darkness.

It's true, Lenora thought, trembling in her wheelchair. There are monsters up there. I always knew there were monsters in the outside world.

She wheeled herself backwards, retreating from that tunnel, that portal to horrors.

Before she could reach the safety of her bookshelves, a creature emerged into the library.

Lenora froze, sweat drenching her, and stared.

The woman who entered the library was enormous, standing seven or eight feet tall. Once, perhaps, she had been fair, but now burns and cuts marred her pale flesh, and her long golden hair ended with burnt, black tangles. She wore armor as from ancient days: a cracked breastplate, leather pteruges that hung across her thighs, and vambraces and greaves. Four arms sprouted from her body. One hand held a shield lined with blades, another held a sword, and a third held a spear. The fourth arm hung uselessly, cut open to reveal the bone. The creature grinned, revealing rows of fangs. More horrible than all, hundreds of blades thrust out from her back, forming steel wings.

Lenora could not move, could not breathe, could not turn away. She knew this creature. She had read about these things in ancient books of lore. They had not been seen in this world in thousands of years, but Lenora was a mistress of lore, and she knew them, and she named the thing before her.

"Valkyrie," she whispered.

"Clever girl," the creature hissed, stepping closer.

As the valkyrie emerged from the archway into the library, her wings spread out with a hiss of steel, displaying the full wrath of the blades.

Lenora managed to wheel her chair a foot backward, but she dared not move any farther, fearing that she'd goad the creature into pursuit.

"I've read about you," Lenora said, voice trembling, trying to sound brave. "Ancient messengers of the gods. You would fly above battles, choosing which mortals should live or die."

The valkyrie stepped closer, blades rising. Her eyes shone, filling the library with white light, beaming into Lenora. That gaze seemed to peel back her skin and muscles, exploring her innermost fears. The burning gaze dropped to stare at Lenora's shattered, useless legs. The creature sniffed, then grinned, revealing fangs.

"My mistress, the goddess Nemoria, took your legs, did she not? I smell her glory upon you." The searing gaze rose to pierce Lenora's eyes. "Yes, mortal. We are the valkyries. We choose who shall live or die. My mistress spared your life, but I do not." The sword rose to point at Lenora. "I choose your death."

Light gathered along the blade.

Lenora grimaced and spun her wheels madly, reversing. She swerved and crashed into a bookshelf. The beam of light blazed, filling the library with more light than Lenora had seen since her childhood. The beam hit one of her wheels, and the wood blackened and crumbled.

The chair toppled over. Lenora thumped onto the floor, banging her hip. She cried out in pain. Blades hissed as the valkyrie's wings extended, and the creature rose in the library, hovering a foot above the floor. The shattered wheelchair smoldered and several books burned.

"Die now," the creature hissed and tossed her shield.

The circular disk spun downward, ringed with blades.

Lenora screamed and scurried aside, dragging her useless legs. The shield sliced her left leg, and her blood splattered.

Lenora cried out. She grabbed a bookshelf and tugged mightily. The shelf crashed onto the valkyrie, pummeling the creature with books.

Bleeding, Lenora crawled behind the fallen shelf. Her glasses had fallen. She pawed for them, put them back on. More shelves rose all around, and she panted, crawling, her legs trailing across the floor, smearing blood.

She crawled down a corridor between bookshelves. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the valkyrie following, amusement in her eyes. The creature shoved a bookshelf. It crashed down, and books fell, thudding onto Lenora. She kept crawling. The valkyrie stepped closer, grabbed another shelf, and pulled. Books pounded Lenora's back, and the heavy wooden shelf crushed her legs. She cried out hoarsely.

She's toying with me, Lenora thought. Like a cat toying with a wounded mouse.

Tears in her eyes, she pulled mightily, freeing herself from the fallen shelf. She crawled onward, blood trailing behind her.

"Such a pathetic, sniveling worm," said the valkyrie. "I'm going to kill you slowly, cripple."

As Lenora crawled, the valkyrie shoved aside more bookshelves, knelt, and drove her claws down into Lenora's leg.

Her legs perhaps could not walk, but they could still feel pain. And now that pain surged through Lenora. A scream tore through her.

The claws pulled out, and Lenora managed to flip onto her back. Propped up on her elbows, she stared at the valkyrie.

The creature gazed at her, a thin smile on her burnt, bleeding face. One of her cheeks had been slashed open to the ear, perhaps by dragon claw, revealing her molars. Ragged, golden hair dangled from her scalp, caked with blood and ashes. The valkyrie stuck out a long, wriggling tongue and licked the blood off her claws. Lenora's blood.

"You are delicious. I will eat you alive, little cripple." The valkyrie flipped her sword upside down. The hilt pointed upward. The blade pointed down at Lenora, who lay at the creature's feet. "I'll take your limbs one by one. Savoring you piece by piece. Living meat is so much tastier. And your screams will be like music!"

Yes, Lenora thought. I'm a cripple. I'm nothing but a weak, pale librarian with useless legs. She reached down deep inside her, felt the starlight within. But I'm still a daughter of Requiem.

As the sword plunged down, Lenora shifted into a dragon.

Multicolored scales flowed across her. Cobalt, emerald, indigo, and shimmering silver and gold. Lenora swung her claws, knocking the sword aside, opened her jaws, and let out a mighty roar that echoed through the library.

The valkyrie took a step back, eyes widening, obviously never imagining that the little cripple could still summon the glory of Requiem's stars.

Even as a dragon, her legs didn't work. But Lenora pushed with her wings, rose off her back, and blasted forth her dragonfire.

The blaze engulfed the valkyrie, blue in its center, flaring out to red and yellow. The creature screeched, a sound so loud bookshelves shattered, and Lenora kept roaring out her flames.

The valkyrie stumbled back, flesh melting off her bones, but still she lived. Ablaze, she thrust her sword, cutting Lenora's scaly shoulder.

Lenora ignored the pain. Her bottom legs hung lifelessly, but she kept herself propped up with her wings. She spewed more dragonfire, shoving the valkyrie back. The inferno filled the library.

The valkyrie's sword fell, the steel red-hot and dripping.

Lenora grabbed the sword with her claws. The hilt seared her skin, and she yowled but clung on. She shoved the blade forward.

The steel glowed like embers. The blade drove effortlessly into the valkyrie's neck and melted within.

Lenora released the hilt, her paw blistering. She shoved herself back on her elbows, her wings slamming against books and shelves. She looked ahead, panting, and saw the valkyrie fall.

The creature raised her head and stared at Lenora. Bleeding, dying, the valkyrie laughed.

"You cannot win," she hissed.

"I just did," said Lenora.

The valkyrie sprayed saliva and blood as she cackled. "Fool! Only ten of us shattered your city. A hundred thousand valkyries will follow. You will die. You will die screaming, Lenora. All Requiem will die—"

Lenora blasted more fire. The flames washed across the valkyrie, stripping the last bits of flesh from the skull. The charred skeleton fell and rose no more.

Footsteps pounded as several people raced into the library. Lenora recognized Princess Fira—a tall, dour woman with long brown hair, scars from old fire running across her arm, jaw, and temple. With her came guards in armor.

"Lenora!" Fira gasped, running toward her. "You're hurt!"

"The books!" Lenora cried. "Don't worry about me. Save the books!"

Lenora wept to see dozens, maybe hundreds of books burning around her. Still in dragon form, she reached out her wings, sweeping the burning books into a pile between the fallen shelves, containing the fire. The flames seared her wings, but she ignored the pain. Her tears dripped onto the burning pages.

"So many books," she whispered. "So many friends. So many worlds."

Fira and the guards helped, shoving shelves aside, then pushing the burning books into a single bonfire on the floor. The guards doffed their cloaks and tossed them onto the books, and Lenora patted the pile with her charred wings until finally the fire died.

Then she lost her magic. The pain was too great. She fell onto her back on the hot floor, coughing out smoke. Her palm blistered, covered with burns. Her leg bled, and more pain blazed on her shoulder blades where her seared wings had vanished.

Fira rushed toward her, knelt beside her, and pulled her into her arms.

"Lenora, you're hurt. I must get you to a healer."

But Lenora could only shed tears, could only think of the books. "I burned them," she whispered. "It was me. It was my dragonfire." She closed her eyes and sobbed.

Fira held her close. "You did what you had to do. You slew the last of these foul creatures. Requiem is safe now. You're safe."

Lenora opened her eyes. Her princess was gazing down at her, concern in her brown eyes.

"No," Lenora whispered. "We're not safe, my princess. A hundred thousand more of these beasts are flying here." She clutched Fira's scarred hand. "Fira, we must flee Requiem."

BERINOR

They filled the library—himself, the king of Requiem, with all his retinue of guards, advisors, priests, healers, and soldiers. He stood among them, looking at the pale, trembling woman who sat on the rug. Her immobile legs sprawled out before her, bandaged where the creature had cut her.

She never leaves the library, Berinor remembered. He had known her parents—wise, noble librarians, descended from Queen Fidelity herself, the greatest librarian of Requiem. He remembered how, in the early days after Lenora had been orphaned, he had tried to coax the girl into the sunlight, to find her a home with a foster family.

But whenever we tried to take her out of the library, Berinor remembered, she'd tremble and weep.

Since the war, Berinor had avoided this library. He kept a smaller library in his palace, a couple hundred favorite books, daring not revisit the shadows of this vast chasm. Too much pain lingered underground. Too many ghosts.

It was here, he thought. In this very library. Here Nemoria killed my wife.

He knelt by Lenora. A few of his people inhaled sharply, no doubt shocked that a king should kneel. Berinor ignored them and looked into Lenora's eyes. Her eyes were large and green behind the thick lenses of her glasses. Her earrings were shaped as tiny silver scrolls, and a necklace of metal letters, perhaps taken from a printing press, hung around her neck, spelling her name. Her hair was blond, spilling from under a feathered cap, just long enough to tickle her cheeks.

"You told Fira that you know about these valkyries," Berinor said. "That you thought more were coming here."

The young librarian licked her lips, tried to speak, but ended up swallowing her words. She nervously tugged at her vest, perhaps an attempt to hide her trembling. Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths.

"The lass is terrified!" boomed Durian.

The Master Guard stomped closer and leaned down until his bushy beard brushed the floor. He didn't have to lean down far; he was a squat man, and his beard was very long. His eyebrows bunched together, nearly large and bushy enough to be beards in their own right.

"She just fought a damn monster," the burly guard said. "Can't say I blame her for being all shaken up. Damn nasty things unnerve me too." He thrust his great, hairy face closer to Lenora. "Don't you worry, lass! No more of those bastards will hurt you."

Lenora squeaked and pushed herself a few inches back, and her trembling increased.

Yes, she's terrified, Berinor thought, looking at her. And not just of monsters. She's scared of everything and everyone.

Berinor knew something of this fear. His own daughter, young Miya, for years had been scared of everything and everyone, even her own handmaidens. The goddess Nemoria had left them all broken: Fira burnt and haunted, Miya frightened of her own shadow, Durian lost to grief and alcohol, and himself—Berinor, King of Requiem—a wreck who woke drenched with cold sweat most nights, shaken by nightmares. And perhaps the dark goddess had broken nobody more than Lenora—broken her body and her soul.

"Durian." Berinor gently pulled his bluff friend back from the cowering librarian. "Take your guards and go back into the city. Help search for survivors in the rubble."

The burly guard grunted, nodded, and turned away from the librarian.

"Come on, lads!" he boomed, trundling between his guards. He was the shortest one among them, barely reaching their shoulders, but wider and stronger than even the mightiest warriors. Across his back, Durian carried his massive war hammer—a weapon he had named the Pummeler, which nobody else in Requiem had the strength to lift. "Follow me, ya filthy bastards! We've got work to do before another enemy shows up for a smiting."

Another enemy. Berinor suppressed the shudder that threatened to run through him. Only ten of those things had devastated the city. If truly a full army of them was mustering …

Durian, his guards, the healers, the priests—they all filed out from the library. Berinor remained, standing by the librarian in her wheelchair. Fira remained too. The scarred princess stood by a column, silent and dark as a shadow, watching and listening but saying nothing.

With fewer people crowding around her, Lenora seemed to calm down.

"Blimey!" the librarian said and wiped her forehead. "I've never seen so many people in one place before." Already some color was returning to her cheeks, and confidence returned to her voice. "We librarians value silence and solitude, you know. This is a library, mister, not a theater hall."

Berinor smiled thinly. He remembered this library from his childhood. Long before Lenora had even been born. Back then, it had been a place full of light, thousands of glass lanterns shining everywhere, and many priests and scholars would walk here. Marble statues of sages had risen among the books, and Berinor himself would spend hours here, sitting in plush armchairs, sipping wine, and reading. Today the library was a dark, dingy place, more like a tomb than a place of wonders.

I wish you could have seen the library as it was, Berinor thought, looking at the young librarian. Lenora was only in her twenties. She had been only four when evil had cast its shadow here. A shadow they had still not banished.

"Lenora," he said, still kneeling before her. "Tell me everything you know about those things."

Lenora blanched and shuddered. "Those things are called …" She gulped and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Valkyries."

"I've heard of valkyries." Berinor nodded. "But only in the most ancient tales. If I recall correctly …" He thought back to his days as a pupil. "Thousands of years ago, they were said to fly over battlefields and choose which warriors should live or die. I always imagined them as beautiful angels, choosing souls to save."

"Maybe they're a bit more beautiful before you blow dragonfire all over them," Lenora said. "You're half-right. In some old tales, including The Epic of Thelrig, the valkyries appear as beings of mercy. But remember that the warlord Thelrig slaughtered countless enemies. His concept of mercy would be very different than our own. In the book The Creature Compendium by Bhalamir the Elder, valkyries appear as wretched monsters, closer to the creatures we saw. Tall, powerful women with four arms, cruel fangs and claws, and wings like scythes. I'd show you the book, but …" She gestured down at her legs. "With my wheelchair broken, I'm doomed to remain forever in the psalms section."

Fira finally emerged from the shadows. The lamplight fell upon the tall princess, revealing dented armor, a tattered green cloak, and hard eyes. Fira wore her brown hair tied back today, not bothering to hide the scars that ran up her neck, claiming one ear. She knelt by Lenora, and some of the hardness melted in her eyes.

"May I help, Lenora?" she asked.

The librarian nodded and reached up. Fira lifted her and gently slung Lenora across her back. The librarian clung on, piggybacking.

"Just tell me where to go," Fira said.

"Left and forward," said Lenora.

As Fira walked, carrying the librarian, Berinor watched them sadly for a moment. Both women had been in this library when Nemoria had first risen here. Both had been only children. Both had survived that terror, and both remained broken.

They walked through the library. Lenora led them to a shelf far at the back. It was a cold, dark, towering place, an echoing chasm carved into the living rock.

Lenora climbed a ladder to a shelf two stories up. The librarian tugged a tome off a shelf, a book as large as a warrior's shield. Berinor cringed, expecting the dainty librarian to stumble under the weight and fall off the ladder. Yet Lenora had developed strong, wiry arms from years in her wheelchair. She clung to the book while climbing down the ladder, all without using her legs.

With Fira's help, she placed the codex on a table. It was ancient and dusty, bound in leather that might once have been blue, now faded like the sea under a storm. Letters were etched onto the cover, golden flecks clinging to them. Centuries ago the letters must have shone, but now Berinor could just barely make them out: Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age.

Lenora slipped on silken gloves. Gingerly, with care behooving such an ancient relic, she opened the book. Dust flew and Lenora pushed her spectacles higher up her nose. It was slow work, flipping the pages. Lenora handled each sheet of parchment with the delicacy of a surgeon.

"When you're dealing with books so ancient," she whispered, "you can't even look at them wrong or they fall apart."

Page by page, the book revealed information about various creatures, each illustrated with faded colors. A phoenix coiled across one page, a flaming bird of orange, red, and yellow. On another page, warty giants lumbered across fields of ice. Bonedrakes, the reanimated skeletons of dragons, spread bony wings across another page. Page by page, creature by creature, Lenora flipped the crumbly pages.

As the librarian kept flipping, Berinor and Fira glanced at each other, and he saw the fear in his daughter's eyes. It was not a trembling, nervous fear, not fear that brought sweat or panic. It was a weary, jaded fear, hard and cold as stone.

You've seen too much war, daughter, Berinor thought, wishing he had some way to protect Fira from all the evils in the world. You don't deserve this.

"Ah! Here we go! Valkyries." Lenora shoved her slipping glasses up her nose. With that nose being rather small, the glasses kept sliding back down. "They appear rather more lovely in the illustration. Don't you think?"

Berinor and Fira leaned closer, looking at the page. Indeed, the artist had drawn angelic beings, faces pink and fair, golden hair flowing from under winged helmets. But there was no mistaking the four arms and bladed wings. They glided in the sky, wearing ancient armor, as below spread a battlefield of dying men.

Lenora read from the page.

From the mead halls of gods

Flew forth white ravens

Heralding the immortals

The valkyries, choosers of the slain

With scythed wings they cut the sky

Obeying the call of Aldur's Conch

They fly to fields drenched with blood

Choosing death or life for battling heroes

Shining sunbeams from their blades

Carrying fallen warriors to halls of glory

And leaving victors among flesh for carrions

For a moment, silence filled the library. Berinor stared at the page, and slowly it seemed to him that the illustrated valkyries were not fair at all, but that their grins were too wide, their eyes bulging, the features distended and demonic. The illustrated corpses reached up blackened hands, and Berinor thought of the real corpses rotting in the battlefield aboveground.

"From the mead halls of the gods," Berinor said. "The valkyries who attacked us wore amulets shaped as three-headed dragons."

Lenora shuddered. "The goddess Nemoria." The librarian clasped Berinor's hand. His hand was wide, rough, callused from countless hours in the yard, swinging his sword. Hers was small and pale and thin, but her grip was tight. "And thousands more are flying our way. That's what the valkyrie in the library told me. And when she spoke those words, when she stared into my eyes, I felt that she could see into me, and …" Lenora gulped. "And that I could see into her. Into her soul, rotted and foul, and into her memory." Her voice was barely a flutter of breath. "And I saw them there, Berinor. A hundred thousand valkyries, readying for war."

Fira stared at the book, body tense, and looked up at Berinor. "The ten who flew here were merely scouts, and they butchered hundreds. We cannot resist a hundred thousand. Not even in Requiem's glory days, during the reign of King Valien the Valorous, could we have hoped to survive such an assault."

Berinor struggled to calm the storm inside him, the fear that threatened to overpower him, to deprive him of all reason or leadership. Memories of the hydra war pounded through him—fire, screams, death—but he shoved them aside.

Panic will not help now, he thought, forcing in a breath.

He looked back at the page and read the words again.

"Obeying the call of Aldur's Conch," Berinor read, frowning. He looked back at Lenora. "Do you know anything about Aldur's Conch?"

Lenora tightened her lips, thought for a moment, and tapped her chin. "I've heard of Aldur. He was a king of ancient Lemuria, the greatest city that ever was, the jewel that was cast into the sea. They say Aldur lived in a fortress built of glass that did not shatter, and that he fell battling the nightshades in the Age of Chaos. I've never heard of his conch." The librarian scrunched up her lips. "But I know where to find information." She hopped in her seat. "A little help?"

Fira approached, prepared to lift the librarian on her back, but paused and leaned against the tabletop. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Berinor noticed that fresh blood stained the bandage on Fira's thigh—a wound from a valkyrie wing.

"Princess Fira!" Lenora said, gasping. "In the shadows, I didn't see that you're hurt. I never would have asked you to carry me!"

"Just a little woozy," Fira said.

"Sit down," Berinor said to his daughter. "Rest. I'll have you see a healer tonight." He turned back toward the librarian. "Lenora, may I help you?"

The librarian nodded. Berinor lifted her, surprised at how light she was. She pointed, and they walked between the bookshelves, leaving Fira to rest at the table.

"It's somewhere around here," Lenora said, looking at the towering rows of shelves. "There are millions of books here, you know. Sometimes even I get lost. Ah, here! Turn left by the dragon statue."

As Berinor kept walking, carrying the young woman, guilt filled him.

For years, Lenora languished in this darkness, he thought. While I dared not confront my ghosts here. While we all lived in sunlight, leaving her to wither.

He vowed that should Requiem survive, he would not forget Lenora. He would build her a library aboveground, with large windows to let in sunlight and fresh air, and construct her a new wheelchair—not just a simple wooden chair with wagon wheels attached but a seat to rival a throne.

And I'll teach you how to fly, Lenora, he thought, pity filling him as he carried her. In the air, a dragon blowing flame, you will be equal.

"Here," Fira said. "This shelf."

She hopped out of his arms, grabbed a ladder, and scurried up. High above, she took a massive codex, then descended the ladder using only one hand—releasing each rung, falling, and catching the next rung.

She hopped back into Berinor's arms, cradling the book to her chest, and smiled. Berinor regarded her, silent for a moment. She blinked back at him from behind her spectacles.

"Your Highness?" she said.

Berinor's throat felt raw. "Lenora," he finally managed. "I'm sorry."

She tilted her head, looking up at him from his arms. The book rested against her chest.

"For what, Your Highness?"

Berinor looked around him at the shadowy corridors that stretched between the shelves. He spoke softly. "Nineteen years ago, the dark goddess invaded our kingdom. We were left cracked, bleeding, haunted." He looked back into her eyes. "And I let you fall between those cracks, Lenora. I let you linger here in shadows when I should have pulled you into the light."

Her eyes softened, and she rested her cheek against his chest. "I like it here, Your Highness. I feel safe among my books. I'm a librarian, the daughter of a librarian, the granddaughter of a librarian—a family of librarians stretching back for centuries. You may rule the sky. But I rule the shadows."

He couldn't help but smile. "You've assuaged some of my guilt. But promise me this, Lenora. Once we cast back these valkyries, you'll fly with me in Requiem's sky."

He expected her to smile, but she blanched and shuddered. "I …" She licked her lips and swallowed. "I've always been too frightened to leave the library. I've flown with a thousand dragons in my books. But since what happened, I've never dared even wheel out of the library's archway. Fear has always been my greatest enemy."

"We'll defeat that enemy too," Berinor said. "We'll fight it together. I promise you, Lenora."

Too many broken souls, he thought. Too many broken bodies. But I'll keep fighting until I heal them all.

He carried Lenora back to the table, where Fira was still seated, breathing heavily.

"Fira, are—" Berinor began.

"I'm fine." She waved dismissively. "Just got the wind knocked out of me."

They laid the new book on the table. Ancient runes were engraved onto its leather cover, spelling out its title: Artifacts of Wizardry and Power. Fira flipped the pages, revealing and hiding many ancient artifacts. Berinor saw an amulet that could control griffins, talismans that allowed humans to rise as phoenixes, gemstones that animated statues and even corpses into warriors, beams to cast back demons of darkness, and many other artifacts. Finally Lenora reached a page with an illustration of a large, coiling conch.

"Aldur's Conch!" The librarian hopped in excitement, and her glasses slipped off her nose and onto the page. She blushed and put them back on. "I knew this book would help. See what it says here?" She read from the page. "In the Age of Chaos, Aldur the Elder walked upon the shore of Lemuria, city of crystal and light. Here he found a wondrous conch, as large as a man's head. When he blew into it, a beautiful song rose to the heavens. From the clouds descended the valkyries, immortals who granted life or death upon the battlefield. Though they were mighty, they could not resist the song of the conch. Whenever Aldur blew into the shell, the valkyries served him. He took them to his battles, and bound them to his song, so that they chose death for his enemies and life for his warriors."

"Lemuria." Berinor frowned. "The lost island of myth. The place that, they say, sank under the ocean thousands of years ago."

Lenora nodded vehemently, her glasses slipping again. "There are hundreds of books in this library about Lemuria, the drowned kingdom." She clasped her hands against her heart and sighed wistfully. "A city of crystal towers that kissed the sky, of marble statues the size of palaces, of boulevards lined with banners in every color, and majestic trees that grew from magical gardens, each tree giving forth a hundred kinds of fruit. They say the gods cast their wrath against Lemuria, that it sank under the ocean, but that underwater it became even more wondrous, a glittering kingdom of the depths. My absolute favorite book is the Tales of Luna the Traveler. My favorite chapter in that book tells of Luna's journey to the sunken Lemuria. She wore a magical amulet that let her breathe underwater, and she found a realm where coral, fish of every color, and forests of seaweed grew among the ruins, and where Lemuria's treasures still shine."

Lemuria, Berinor thought, and a chill ran through him. It sounded too much like Nemoria for his comfort—either a sickening coincidence or some cruel joke of fate.

Then again, it also sounded a bit like Lenora. And when Berinor gazed into the librarian's earnest eyes, he saw nothing but comforting wisdom and kindness.

"So if we find the conch, we can control the valkyries." Berinor sighed. "I wish I could believe. But Lenora, it sounds like old fairy tales. Nothing more."

Some fire filled the librarian's eyes. She shoved her glasses up her nose, glared at him, and clutched the metal letters that hung around her neck.

"Hydras were once just fairy tales, Your Highness," she said. "Until they destroyed our city. Valkyries were once fairy tales, until one invaded my library. Even …" She shivered. "Even Nemoria was once a fairy tale, until she came to this land, until she ruined our lives. I believe in fairy tales. I always did. These books might just be stories to you, but they're real to me. I believe that Lemuria exists, that Queen Luna had traveled there. I believe that Aldur's Conch is real, that it can control the valkyries. You're wise, King Berinor, and you're kind and strong and righteous. But one lesson you must learn. Always listen to your librarian."

Despite the pain and fear, Berinor couldn't help but grin. "Very wise advice."

Lenora returned to the book and flipped more pages. She bounced in her seat, her excitement growing. "Now wait for it. I have a cunning plan. Ah, here!" She stopped flipping. "See this artifact? The Mirror of Many Worlds." The page showed a large mirror, its frame shaped as a coiling green dragon. "The mirror will open to any world the observer names. Step through the mirror, and be transported at once. In one of my books—"

"Let me guess," Berinor said, smiling thinly. "Luna the Traveler used the mirror as a portal."

Lenora nodded. "Yes! How did you know? I guess you have to know these things as a king. Luna indeed used the mirror to travel to many lands. The problem is … she had no way to come back. On her last adventure, she opened a portal to the Dawn Islands, stepped through, and never returned." Her eyes shone. "All we need to do, Berinor—I mean, Your Highness—is find this mirror, open a portal to the most forsaken, distant place we can imagine, and use Aldur's Conch to command the valkyries to fly through." She looked back at the page and chewed her lip. "It might be a tight squeeze, but in the tales, Luna rode an entire winged horse through the mirror. Valkyries should be able to fly through."

For the first time in long moments, Fira spoke, her voice soft. "And now let me take a guess. This mirror is located under the ocean like the conch, or atop the tallest mountain in the world, or maybe buried in the deepest cave. Probably behind a bunch of booby traps and guardian monsters."

Lenora shook her head so vigorously her hat fell off, letting her blond hair spill across her brow. "Luckily, no. It's only located in the center of the Maze of Thorns, the world's largest labyrinth."

Fira sighed. "Well, that's a relief."

The librarian turned toward Berinor. She grew somber. "My king, I don't know how much time we have. Maybe days. Maybe months. Maybe only minutes. But an army of these valkyries will come to this city, and our dragonfire won't stop them. We need this conch, and we need this mirror. Yes, fairy tales. But ones I believe in." She took a shuddering breath, raised her chin, and clenched her fists. "And so I will do what, since I was a child, I dared not do. I will leave this library." Her eyes dampened, and her fists trembled, but she raised her chin higher. "This place is no longer safe. Like Luna, I will travel to the sunken city of Lemuria. I will find Aldur's Conch, and I will send these valkyries into the Abyss."

LENORA

Fear.

Lenora had known many feelings in her life. Grief for her lost parents. Excitement when reading her adventure books. Loneliness in the cold nights in the dark. Even creeping madness during those long days when nobody entered the library, when she thought that little Minori wasn't really on her shoulder, but just a sign of her insanity.

Yet now, as Lenora sat in the library with her king and princess, it was fear that overflowed her. Fear that rattled her teeth. Fear that soaked her with cold sweat. Fear that shook her fingers.

I will leave the library. Her breath shuddered. I will travel on an adventure. Like Luna. Her head spun. I will save this library from the valkyries.

She couldn't breathe. Darkness gathered in her peripheral vision. Her head felt too heavy, she had to lean forward, and she struggled for each breath.

"Lenora?"

The king's voice was deep, soft, as comforting as distant thunder. His hand gently touched hers. His palm was so large and warm, like a familiar blanket. Lenora felt that his hands could protect her from all the valkyries in the world. She looked up at her king. The sight of his broad, honest face, with kind brown eyes and a thick brown beard, banished her fear like the dawn banishes the night.

"Just felt a little woozy," she whispered, echoing Fira's earlier words.

"Helloooo, everyone!" rose a loud voice from deep in the library, followed by clatters and squeaks and screeches. "Incoming!"

Lenora gasped and reached deep inside herself for her magic, ready to shift into a dragon right here between the bookshelves. Her heart pounded against her ribs. The fear flooded back into her, and she was sure the valkyrie army was here already, that they were swarming into the library.

Shadows moved ahead. A figure burst from behind a shelf and came racing forward, clattering and creaking.

Lenora slowly released her magic.

It was a young man who was racing forward. His skin was brown, far darker than Lenora's pale skin, but his eyes were the same green as hers. He had shaved the sides of his head down to stubble, and a shock of black hair sprouted from the crest, long enough to flop over one side. As he drew closer, moving into the lamplight, Lenora saw the source of the clattering. The young man was pushing a new wheelchair.

"Hullo!" The man skidded to a halt and patted the wheelchair. "Got good speed on this thing. I built her myself. I call her the Blue Flyer." He looked at Berinor and Fira, then turned his eyes toward Lenora. "And you must be Lady Lenora, the lucky recipient of this glorious new throne. I beseech thee, my lady! Take a seat! You will find the Blue Flyer most comfortable to the posterior and most agile on the tricky turns."

Lenora glanced nervously at the others. Fira sighed.

"Meet Oryn," the princess said. "He's a scruffy, good-for-nothing, thieving scoundrel."

The young man's eyes widened. "Good-for-nothing! I built this chair. I'm good for something, at least." A bolt fell off the wheelchair with a clatter. "Ignore that."

Lenora's heart still beat madly. This young man, with his bluff demeanor, frightened her. She was used to quiet nooks, to shadows, to reading in silence, not to people like this, loud and fast and far too friendly. She looked away from him at the new wheelchair.

It did look comfortable. It was formed from a cherrywood chair, its blue upholstery embroidered with silver stars. Two cartwheels were attached, and leather straps stretched across it, ready to fasten her in.

Lenora glanced toward Berinor. The king smiled, warmth in his eyes, and nodded. Lenora gulped, looked back at the wheelchair, and hesitated. She feared that when climbing into the wheelchair she would slip and fall, that the others would see her as weak, a mere cripple. Or worse—that they would pity her. She inhaled deeply.

I slew a valkyrie, Minori! She directed her thoughts to her jatash, her invisible shoulder spirit. If I intend to find Aldur's Conch, I'll need at least enough courage to switch seats in front of an audience.

Holding her breath, she pressed against the armrests of her current chair, one of the library's immobile seats. Her legs rose into the air. Oryn nudged the wheelchair closer, and Lenora settled in.

A perfect landing, she thought, exhaling with relief.

The blue upholstery was soft, and she wriggled into a comfortable position. She noticed that Oryn had even attached a little footrest. She tugged on her knees, pulling her feet onto the wooden slat. She grabbed the wheels and gave them a tentative spin, then couldn't help but grin. She looked up at Oryn.

"Nice tilting axis," she said. "Let me try it on a turn."

She spun the chair around and began to move, slowly at first, then gaining speed. Soon she was racing through the library, barely slowing on the turns, and she smiled. The chair was still unfamiliar, and she needed to learn its kinks, but already it felt like a new home.

Luna didn't need a wheelchair, she thought. But I'll prove that I can be an adventurer like her.

She wheeled faster. The shelves blurred at her sides, her hat flew off her head, and her hair blew back from her forehead. Her smile grew.

She raced across the tiles, zoomed across the open space in the center of the library, and charged onward. Free. Strong. Brave.

Ahead of her loomed the archway. The exit to the tunnels … and to the world.

Lenora grabbed the wheels, and the chair skidded to a halt.

She stared at the archway, at the shadows beyond.

Through this archway, she remembered, the valkyrie emerged.

She looked down at the bandages on her legs, then back up at the shadows.

Through this archway, Nemoria entered to murder my parents, to break my body.

It was to this archway that Lenora had come so many times, wanting to push through, daring not. Again she sat here, locked in place, as if the archway were a wall of stone.

Footsteps padded, and she turned to see Berinor approach. He placed a hand on the back of her wheelchair.

"Would you like me to push you through?" he asked, voice still so deep and comforting.

Lenora shook her head. "No. I … need to do this myself." She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly damp. "But if you wanted to walk beside me, and keep your hand on my shoulder, I wouldn't object."

The king placed his large, warm hand on her shoulder. Lenora inhaled deeply, raised her chin, and turned the wheels. She moved closer to the archway. Closer still. Another turn of the wheels and her feet passed the threshold.

She paused again, spoke softly. "This is as far as I've ever gone." She looked up at Berinor and smiled. "But we are warriors of starlight and dragonfire, and we fear no darkness."

She closed her eyes. She gave the wheels another turn. Then another. Then a third turn. When she opened her eyes again, she was through. She sat in the tunnel, the library behind her.

Tears on her cheeks, Lenora wheeled onward, moving up the tunnel. Lanterns shone at her sides, and Berinor walked with her. Lenora kept rolling along the corridors, rising in the darkness, passing by many other chambers she knew from her books: pantries, armories, galleries, vaults, treasuries.

She kept going until she felt something strange, something she had not felt in years.

Fresh air, Minori, she thought. It's fresh air.

She wheeled forward with more vigor until she saw it ahead: sunlight. Sunlight streaming through another archway.

She would not slow down. The fear pounded through her, but she kept wheeling forward, racing again, moving even faster than she had in the library, until she charged through another archway and out—like a bird from a cage, finally freed, released into the world.

She stopped her wheelchair, and she looked around. Birches, marble towers, and pale columns rose around her, and grass rustled beneath her wheels. Above in the sky flew a thousand dragons in every color, shimmering and chinking, brilliant under the sun.

Tears flowed down Lenora's cheeks, and she clasped Berinor's hand.

"My journey begins," she said.

FIRA

The ruins of Requiem spread around Fira. And that old pain clawed inside her. The pain that had clutched her since her mother's death.

Whenever we rise again, we fall, Fira thought, looking around her at the devastation. Can there be no peace for Requiem, for my soul?

Half the palace of Requiem had fallen during the hydra invasion last year. The rest had collapsed under the shrieks of the valkyries. Across the city, many buildings lay fallen. Only ten harpies had done nearly as much damage as the army of hydras. Fira did not even want to imagine what thousands of those foul, immortal creatures would do.

You sent them, Nemoria, Fira thought, looking east toward the realm of the goddess. Still you haunt us.

The old pain flared. The scars that ran along Fira's arm, neck, and jawline seemed to burn again. It had been two decades since the fire. But the pain had never left Fira. In her childhood, hiding in shadows, waking from nightmares. In her lost youth, seeing refuge among the cambions. As a woman in exile, living in a cave, trying to forget her past. As a princess of Requiem, fighting the hydras, and now the valkyries. Since her innocence had shattered in the library on a cold winter solstice long ago, pain had been Fira's companion. Nemoria had planted this pain inside her. And it had grown into a dark, twisting oak with many branches and deep roots.

Do you still hurt too, Nemoria? Fira thought. Does your arm still scream with phantom pain?

The high command of Requiem had gathered today. They sat at a large oak table in what remained of a royal garden. Around them lay the ruins of the palace. A hundred guards surrounded them, covered in armor, and a hundred dragons flew above, but Fira did not feel safe.

She looked around at the gathered council—the kingdom's upper echelon, scions to ancient dynasties. Berinor Aeternum, King of Requiem. Princess Miya, fair and pale, her hair rivers of gold and her eyes pools of sky. Lord Durian Eleison, short and squat and surly, his beard flowing down to his belt, his war hammer hanging across his back. Lenora the librarian, custodian of Requiem's lore, descended of Queen Fidelity the Wise.

And for some reason, Oryn was here too. Fira groaned. Who the hell had invited the damn thief?

A thief who saved my life last war, Fira reminded herself with a sigh.

"Magical seashells?" Durian was blustering, pounding the tabletop. "Mirrors that open to other worlds? Rubbish!" He raised his mighty hammer overhead. "I believe in smashing my enemies, not chasing children's stories."

"And how well has smashing our enemies worked so far?" Berinor said, but there was no fire to his voice, only weariness. "Durian, sit down. Save your wrath, my friend. We'll need it for another time."

Oryn spoke up next. "I don't know, Berinor. I tend to agree with Old Grumpy here." He gestured at Durian, whose cheeks flushed crimson. "No offense to Lenora, who's just about the sweetest little thing—especially compared to the bearded brute I'm sat next to—but these do sound like, well … just children's tales." He chewed his lip.

Across the table, it seemed like the others agreed. Maya chewed her lip, her eyes dark. Doubt even seemed to fill Berinor's eyes.

Nobody believes the librarian, Fira realized.

Fira rose to her feet. She spoke softly, and all eyes turned toward her, the conversation dying.

"When I was very young," Fira said, "my mother would take me into the tunnels beneath Requiem every winter solstice. There she would tell me stories of ghosts and ghouls and ancient spirits. We would laugh and try to find them, but I always knew that no such creatures existed, that it was just a game. Until one solstice, when I was eight years old, we found a true monster in the dark. Even then, I could not believe it. When Nemoria's jaw widened, when she swallowed my mother like a serpent swallowing a deer, I thought it a dream. When she stole my mother's form, then rose as a dragon with three heads, I thought myself mad." With her right hand, Fira covered the ruin of her left hand—scarred, twisted, one finger missing. Her voice was a mere whisper now. "But monsters are real. And if evil is real, I must believe in goodness. I must believe in magic. I must believe that Lenora's stories are true—that we can find a conch to control the valkyries, that we can find a mirror to cast them out of this world. And so I will go chasing this fairy tale. Lenora has vowed to find the sunken city of Lemuria and Aldur's Conch in its depths. I will quest to find the Mirror of Many Worlds. We will find magic. We will find hope."

They all looked at her, silent, and Fira saw the sadness in her father's eyes.

It was Lenora who finally spoke. The librarian's voice was soft yet heard clearly in the silence.

"The mirror, they say, lies in the heart of the Maze of Thorns. It's a long flight away, and the maze is treacherous to navigate."

Fira smiled thinly. "All my life, I've been navigating through treacherous mazes."

Across the table, Miya rose to her feet. The young princess was pale, and she nervously clasped her hands. When Fira had fled into exile a decade ago, she had left behind a happy little sister. A girl whose eyes often sparkled, whose smile shone, who could speak for hours about her pets and garden. After years in her cave, Fira had come back to find a different Miya. A broken adult. Timid, fearful of the shadows, shying away from too many eyes.

I left you with too many burdens, little sister, Fira thought. I left you to replace me, to become the new heiress. The heiress to a kingdom at war. All while I hid from my own burdens. From my own traumas.

Yet today, it seemed, Miya found her courage. She walked around the table, placed a hand on Fira's shoulder, and raised her chin.

"I'll go with my sister," Miya said to the crowd, voice loud, shaking only the slightest. She looked at Fira, and her voice softened. "Having you back in my life, Fira, has been the best thing that ever happened to me. I won't part from you again. We'll find the mirror together."

Berinor too rose from his seat. He stepped toward them—his daughters, his only children, his only family—and pain filled his eyes.

"How can I send you both into danger?" the king said.

"You're not sending us, Father!" Miya rolled her eyes. "We're grown women, and we can choose our own path."

"There is danger everywhere in Requiem," Fira added, voice grave. "Since the dawn of dragons thousands of years ago, the world has hated us, hunted us. Every generation, an enemy has risen to destroy us. There is no safety for our kind—certainly not here in Nova Vita. A hundred thousand valkyries fly toward us, if the tales are to be believed. So yes, Father. Miya and I will fly into danger. We'll enter this maze across the wilderness. And Lenora will fly to danger, to a land sunken beneath the sea. I'm young, not yet thirty, but I've learned something in my life. Only at the end of a road of much pain and peril can one find hope."

Berinor seemed ready to say more when horns blared across the city.

Warning horns, Fira knew. War horns.

At once, Fira leaped back, shifted into a dragon, and rose into the sky. An instant later, her father and sister joined her. They soared over the ruins of the palace and saw that hundreds of the city's guards flew as dragons too, forming a protective dome of dragonfire over the city.

Fira's heart thrashed. She beat her wings, flying higher, looking for the enemy. She saw nothing.

"My king!" cried a silver dragon, flying toward them. "King Berinor! Princess Fira!"

The silver dragon wore the spiked helmet and breastplate of the City Guard. Fira recognized her. It was Sirana Oldnale! Fira had been her friend in childhood. She remembered a somber orphan girl. But today Sirana flew as a proud warrior.

"Sirana!" Berinor flew toward her, flanked by his daughters. "Why do the horns blow?"

The silver dragon reached them. The group of dragons hovered in the sky, wings scattering dust across the ruins below.

"I return from scouting in the east," Sirana said, panting. "There are thousands, my king. Thousands."

Fira inhaled sharply. Her pulse pounded in her eyes.

"Thousands of what, Sirana?" she said through clenched teeth.

The silver dragon stared at her, ghosts in her eyes, and Fira knew the answer before Sirana spoke the words.

"Valkyries. Flying here."

BERINOR

The words echoed in his mind.

Thousands. Valkyries. Flying here.

He stared into the east, seeking them, but could see nothing. Gritting his teeth, Berinor soared higher, rising in a straight line, flying so high the air thinned, his head spun, and he gasped for breath. The horizon curved around him, and the ruins became but a gray and green patch below.

When he looked east again, he saw it.

A storm loomed on the eastern horizon, swirling and oozing across the sky. One instant the stain seemed like a shadow, and the next it shimmered like chainmail. Beams of light fell from the approaching cloud like an insect's legs, propelling it forward.

The valkyries, Berinor knew.

He dived back toward the ruins of Nova Vita. He gazed at the circular defensive wall, dragons atop the battlements. At the ruins within, at the new homes still under construction. At the thousands who lived here. His people.

The valkyries are here too soon, he thought. Fira and Lenora haven't even begun their quests. His stomach tightened. Even if every man, woman, and child in this city rose as a dragon to fight, we cannot win.

His mind raced. Could they enter the tunnels, seek safety there again? No, he decided. That might have worked with the hydras. But hydras were obese, lumbering creatures, too large to squeeze into tunnels. The valkyries would swarm through the labyrinth of corridors and chambers beneath Nova Vita, slaying all in their path.

Durian rose toward him, a dragon so bulky it was a miracle he could fly. The Master of the City Guard wore armor over his underbelly, and his thick bronze scales covered the rest. He wobbled like an oversized bumblebee, his wings beating in a fury.

"Don't worry, lad. We'll cast those foul beasts back into the Abyss!" Durian said. "No mirror, no conch, just good old dragonfire." He sneered, exposing flames in his mouth.

Flying over the city, Berinor looked at his old friend. He looked at his daughters flying by his side. He looked at the myriads of Vir Requis here—some flying as dragons, others standing as humans below. Berinor had learned an important truth from his father.

A true leader does not rule over his people. A true leader protects them. And I have vowed to protect these people.

"No," Berinor said.

Durian swallowed his flames. "No, my lord?"

"No," said Berinor. "Not with all the dragonfire in Requiem could we win this battle. This is a foe beyond us, my friend. We proceed with our plan."

Durian gazed at him for a moment in silence, then nodded. "Aye, lad. We shall."

Berinor turned toward Fira and Miya. The two dragons hovered nearby, wings beating mightily. One red and one blue. The two souls Berinor loved most in this world.

"My daughters will find the Mirror of Many Worlds," he said.

Both daughters nodded.

"We will find it," said Miya.

"It'll send the damn valkyries into the Abyss!" said Fira, fire crackling in her jaws.

Berinor looked around, seeking Lenora, but could not see the librarian. Even if she flew somewhere above the city, he probably wouldn't recognize her. He had never seen Lenora's dragon's form, didn't know the color of her scales.

But Berinor did see a familiar dragon approach. A young black dragon without any armor. Berinor nodded at the thief.

"And Oryn here will accompany Lenora to find the conch," Berinor said.

The black dragon reared in the sky, wings blasting air. His scaly brow rose. "I'll do what now?"

"You will protect Lenora on her quest," Berinor said. "That is your king's command. You showed great kindness to her when you built her a new wheelchair. Let this chivalry continue a little longer. Go with Lenora, Oryn. Help her find the conch. Keep her safe."

Oryn grimaced, showing rows of fangs. "I came to offer my services in defending Princess Miya, actually." He looked at the blue dragon, and something soft and yearning filled his eyes. He looked back at Berinor. "If I may join the quest for the mirror, I—"

"No!" Berinor blasted out smoke. "Miya has her older sister to protect her, and Fira is a great warrior. Oryn." Berinor flew closer, reached out his claws, and clasped the younger dragon's shoulder. "The librarian needs you. Fly with her. She might not even know how to fly. I trust you with this task. So does all of Requiem. Find us the conch. Keep Lenora safe."

"I—" Oryn began, looking at Miya, and again that longing filled his eyes. "But—"

The squat, bronze Durian flew forward, shoving Oryn aside, and turned toward Berinor.

"Forgive me, my king, but we've got no time for this. Those damn she-demons are flying near, and—"

As if to confirm Durian's words, distant shrieks rose, cracking the sky. When Berinor looked east, he could see the horde. That storm of shadows and light was approaching fast. The valkyries would be here in moments.

"We flee," Berinor said. "Everyone in Nova Vita. We evacuate the city."

"And go where, my lord?" Durian said, flames filling his maw again.

Berinor grimaced, a chill flooding him. The thought had been festering in his mind for months now, even since Ramiel had broken into the tunnels last year. The fear had only grown since the first valkyrie assault. The underground was no longer safe.

He looked south toward the distant forests.

Yes, always you've tempted me, he thought. Always you were there, waiting.

"We go to the ancient one," Berinor said. "To he who sleeps."

Durian's eyes darkened. "He who sleeps?" The bronze dragon shuddered. "Damn it, Berinor, what madness has befallen you?"

Berinor looked at his friend. Durian rarely called him by his name. "We'll find shelter there. With … him." He turned toward his daughters. "Seek us there. Bring us hope."

His daughters stared, eyes wide with shock.

Berinor dived down and flew over the city roofs.

"Arise, Requiem!" he cried. "Follow your king! We fly south. Rise, rise!

Across the city, people emerged from their homes, shifted into dragons, and rose into the sky. Hundreds of dragons soared, soon thousands. They beheld the enemy in the east, and they cried out in fear, and the valkyries shrieks tore through the air.

"Rise, Requiem!" Berinor cried. "Rise and follow me south! Fly!"

More dragons rose. Many were too young to use the magic, to take dragon form, mere babies or toddlers; their mothers carried them in their claws. More and more dragons ascended, filling the sky, a tapestry of scales and smoke and fire.

The screeches of the valkyries grew louder, and soon Berinor could hear their voices.

"The dragons, sisters!"

"The reptiles rise!"

"Slay them, eat them, crush them!"

"Requiem will fall!"

Berinor could now make out individuals in the cloud of them. An army, vast, covering the east—thousands upon thousands of fair women, their hair blond and streaming, their armor bright, their clawed hands holding shields and swords. They cackled, screamed, laughed, a cacophony that shattered trees below.

"We choose death! We choose death to reptiles!"

Berinor forced his gaze away. He dived low over the city, rousing the last who lingered.

"Rise, dragons of Requiem! Rise and fly with me!"

They rose. Thousands of dragons in every color, emptying the city. Perhaps some were hiding in the tunnels, and they did not hear the call. Berinor's heart wrenched as he began to fly south, leaving the ruins—leaving, perhaps, hundreds who still lingered there.

No time. No time!

"Requiem, follow!" he bellowed, flying faster now. They flew behind him, myriads of dragons, covering the sky. Not since the days of Meliora the Merciful, when the nation of Requiem had flown free from captivity, had so many dragons flown together. Here was a second exodus, a cloud of dragons that hid the forest below.

As they flew south, leaving their holy city behind, Berinor turned his head. In the eastern distance, the horde of valkyries was following. And in the north, Berinor could just make out two dragons—one red, one blue. Fira and Miya, flying to find the mirror.

Damn it, Oryn, Berinor thought. Wherever you are, you better find Lenora and not let me down. He growled, and his skull seemed to tighten. No time. No time for farewells. No time to plan.

Where was Lenora? Berinor had not seen her since the horns had sounded. Was the librarian flying behind him, one among thousands of dragons? Was she cowering underground back in Nova Vita? Would Oryn find her, guide her on her guest?

Damn it. Everything was moving too quickly! Even if Oryn and Lenora managed to flee the city, even if they were questing for Aldur's Conch—did they know where Berinor was leading the refugees? Would they know where to bring the artifact?

Even if they knew, Berinor thought, will they dare follow into that darkness?

The ancient one.

Berinor shuddered, scales clattering. A dark place. A cursed place. Perhaps the last place of safety that remained for Requiem.

ORYN

He hovered over the ruined city, watching the valkyries swarm over the countryside.

Toward him.

What the abyss do I do?

Oryn looked around him. Berinor was leading the city's people south—a massive flight of dragons, larger than any Oryn had ever seen, a hundred thousand covering the sky. From the east, the valkyries were charging forth, only moments away. Most were veering south to pursue Berinor. But many were flying toward the ruins of Nova Vita—right toward Oryn.

He grimaced.

"Lenora!" he shouted. "Lenora, where are you?"

He glanced back toward the approaching valkyries. Damn it! A hundred or more were racing toward the evacuated city. Oryn dipped low in the sky, hoping they hadn't seen him.

Should I just join Berinor? he wondered. Did Lenora already fly off her on quest without me?

"Lenora, damn it, are you still here?" he cried, streaming over the abandoned city streets, flying so low his wings banged against the empty buildings.

Shrieks sounded behind him, so loud Oryn screamed in pain. Buildings cracked around him.

Damn it! He hadn't agreed to this. He wasn't some knight in shining armor, sworn to defend damsels. He was nothing but a thief. The Prince of Shadows, a lowlife, seaside scum. As he swerved along the streets, he cursed himself. He should flee this place. He should join Berinor—or better yet, seek safety on his own, far from this war. What did he care about Requiem? He had always looked out for himself alone. Just him, just Oryn, and to the abyss with everyone else.

He rose higher and saw a valkyrie fly over the city walls—the first of the swarm. The creature's bladed wings spread out, reflecting the sunlight, and her eyes cast beams of light. Her four arms rose, brandishing a bladed shield and three swords.

Fear—cold, clawing, cruel—overflowed Oryn.

"Oryn!"

The voice rose from below, weak, timid. He looked down and saw her there.

Lenora was still in human form. She sat among the ruins in her wheelchair. Fallen bricks, smashed columns, and upended chairs lay strewn around her. Her spectacles caught the light and gleamed. She was alone. Oryn guessed that they were the only two crazy souls still in this city.

He glanced behind him. The valkyrie was storming toward them. More were now flying over the city wall.

He looked back down.

"Lenora, shift and fly!" he shouted.

"I don't know how!" she shouted back up at him.

"Do whatever you did in the library!"

She looked close to tears. "I only shifted down there, I didn't fly!"

He cursed. He'd have to carry the damn girl. He swooped, extending his claws, prepared to pluck her up like a hawk. Before he could grab her, Lenora squeaked in fear of his claws, leaped from her wheelchair, and shifted into a dragon.

Oryn beat his wings mightily, trying to halt his dive, and bumped into her with a clatter of scales.

Lenora floundered and hit the ruins, knocking over more bricks. Oryn had never seen such strange coloration on a dragon. Almost every dragon in Requiem was a solid color. King Berinor was a rarity, his scales a blend of green and silver. Yet Lenora was a veritable mosaic with no discernable pattern, her scales indigo, cobalt, emerald green, a blue so dark it was nearly black, and shimmering bronze and gold.

"How do I fly?" she cried to him.

He groaned. "How do you think? Flap your damn wings!" He lifted her wheelchair with his claws and rose higher. "Come on!"

She beat her wings awkwardly, rose several feet, and wobbled.

"I'm flying!" she said. "I'm actually fl—"

A deafening shriek tore over them, knocking her back down and sending Oryn into a tumble.

He spun around, saw the valkyrie swoop, and he blew his dragonfire.

The blaze slammed into the creature, showered off her shield, and washed across Oryn and Lenora. He howled, shutting his eyes in the inferno. He widened his wings, trying to shield Lenora from the fire.

He swiped his claws blindly, hit a blade, and cried out in agony. The pain blazed, white and searing and sudden as lightning. His eyes snapped open. One of his claws tumbled through the air, sliced clean off.

"Lenora, fly!" he bellowed. "Get out of here!"

She rose again, wobbling, but did not flee. She roared her dragonfire in a narrow, concentrated stream of white-and-blue fury. The torrent streamed over Oryn's head and hit the valkyrie like a spear, knocking the creature back.

Oryn spun, whipped his tail, and slammed the spikes into the valkyrie, piercing her armor.

"Lenora, fly!" he shouted. "I'll hold her off. Now fly!"

"Not without you!" Lenora beat her wings, wobbling.

Like some mad butterfly, she flitted toward the valkyrie and blasted more dragonfire. The flames blazed over the creature's shield and armor.

Undeterred, the valkyrie raised her sword. Light began to gather across the blade.

"Lenora, back!" Oryn cried, slamming into her.

A beam blazed from the valkyrie sword. The two dragons veered through the sky, narrowly dodging it.

The dragons crashed into the ruins. A column, one of the few that still stood in the city, cracked and fell.

The valkyrie swooped, all blades thrusting. One sword scraped across Oryn's flank, descaling him like a fish. He bellowed. Another blade stabbed Lenora's leg. The librarian screamed and lost her magic, returning to human form—a fragile, pale young woman, lying in the rubble.

The valkyrie laughed, lips peeling back to reveal fangs. Half her face had burned off in the dragonfire, exposing the skull, but both eyes still blazed with unholy light. She grabbed Oryn with powerful claws, cracking his scales. Her foot slammed down, pinning his wing to the rubble.

"We know you, Oryn, son of reptiles." The valkyrie licked her chops. "Our mistress wants you alive, so that she may torture you herself. I think I will torture you first."

Oryn tried to rise. He was still in dragon form, larger and heavier than the valkyrie. But her strength was terrifying. She pinned him down with ease. Her blade sank into his shoulder, searing flame and white smoke, and he screamed. Her claws grabbed yanked him up, and she licked her lips. Oryn tried to blow fire, but he could manage only weak sparks. It barely phased the creature.

"I will feast on your flesh," hissed the valkyrie. Her jaw unhinging, dropping down to her chest, revealing rows of fangs surrounding a red gullet.

Below in the rubble, Lenora tried to resume dragon form. Scales grew across her, but then the librarian gasped in pain and clutched her wound, and her magic fled.

In the distance, more valkyries were entering the city. Their bladed wings sliced the sky. Their cries sent trees and towers crashing down. The beasts landed on rooftops and domes, watching the struggle.

The creature holding Oryn tugged him closer to her waiting maw. He was still in dragon form, but she was so strong. The jaws opened even wider, and Oryn saw the heads of children festering within.

Oryn grimaced, looked away, and saw the fallen column lying nearby. A marble pillar, once part of a temple.

He looked back at that valkyrie, her jaw now the size of a gateway, prepared to close around him.

"Eat stone," he muttered, wrapping his tail around the column.

With a roar, he lifted the pillar, spun, and drove it toward the valkyrie.

The column slammed into the creature's mouth, shattering teeth, then drove into the throat.

The valkyrie shattered.

Her wings' blades tore free and shot through the sky, slamming into the ruins. One scraped across Oryn, removing more scales.

I'm going to look like a naked cat when all this over, he thought.

Fresh shrieks sounded as a dozen more valkyries flew toward them.

"Hey, bookworm, you all right?" he called down to the librarian.

She began to shift again, faltered, fell back onto the ruins as a human, then finally burst into dragon form with a shower of dust and raining bricks. She beat her wings, rose several feet into the air, and reached down to grab her fallen wheelchair. Her back legs, even in dragon form, dangled uselessly. But in the air, she was as mighty as anyone in Requiem. She rose higher, her wings scattering dust and stones below.

"Let's get out of here!" she said.

The two dragons rose together, ragged, bleeding, panting. The cries of the enemy rolled across them, and they spun in the sky, tumbled, righted themselves, and beat their wings. They flew westward over the ruins.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this flying thing!" Lenora said with a toothy grin, then wobbled, dipped in the sky, shattered a weather vane, and rose again with a squeak.

"Less talking, more speed!" he called back over the roar of the wind.

The ruins streamed below, and soon they crossed over the city's northern walls and towers, and they flew over forests and fields. The cries rose behind them, blasting their backs, shattering trees below. When Oryn looked over his shoulder, he saw a dozen valkyries or more pursuing. The bulk of the horde was traveling south—he could still see them in the distance—following Berinor's exodus. But even just a few valkyries could easily handle a ragged thief and a librarian flying for the first time.

Oryn returned his gaze forward, staring north over the forests and mountains. The two dragons, one black and one a mosaic of many colors, streamed over the landscape of Requiem as the horrors of a dark goddess's wrath flew in pursuit.

FIRA

As she flew, Fira kept looking over her shoulder, seeking a sign of pursuit.

"They're gone, Fira." Miya flew closer, blue scales turning burnished red and gold in the sunset. "We haven't seen valkyries in hours."

Yet Fira couldn't shake her nervousness. They had escaped the inferno of Nova Vita that morning, and had been flying without rest since, crossing forests and mountains, heading westward over the wilderness.

Here were the ancestral lands of dragons, the outer reaches of Old Requiem. But that had been a different time, and today Requiem was smaller, a fledgling kingdom of freed slaves. No Vir Requis lived in these western lands today. But Fira still saw signs of past glory. A crumbling tower. The stubs of marble columns overgrown with ivy. A broken old wall snaking among the trees. Echoes of the Requiem of old. The land her ancestors had built thousands of years ago. The land the Vir Requis slaves dreamed of for generations in the desert. The land Fira's generation had vowed to resurrect.

Will this new Requiem too fall? Fira thought. And will all our halls be mere memories to some future traveler?

She pushed such grim thoughts aside. For now, she had to survive. If she failed this mission, truly all hope was lost.

And her younger sister was right. They hadn't seen any sign of pursuit since dawn. Only trees, birds, rivers, and lakes.

So why does my heart keep racing? Fira thought. Why is my breath still heavy, and why can't I shake the feeling of eyes staring at my back?

As she flew over the rolling forests of birch, oak, and elm, Fira realized that she had never stopped being afraid. Not since that winter solstice long ago, lost in a labyrinth.

And now I fly toward another labyrinth, she thought. Again Nemoria haunts me, and I'm lost in the darkness. Again I must protect my sister from monsters.

She thought back to that night. Two terrified girls in the library. So weak and small. Both now flew as powerful dragons, fire in their mighty jaws.

Yes, I'm a dragon, Fira thought. But perhaps I'll always be that girl who cowered in shadows. Perhaps I'll always be lost in that maze.

A gust of wind blew, and as Fira tilted her wings to adjust her flight, pain throbbed in her back leg. She craned her neck around to look at the wound. Over Nova Vita, a valkyrie had slashed Fira with a blade. The wound had reopened during the mad flight, dripping blood down her leg, and Fira winced. There was no healer for leagues around. Thankfully, dragons healed faster than humans. All Fira could do was keep flying, suffer the pain, and hope the wound healed on its own.

"Fira, are you all right?" Miya asked, flying a little closer.

Fira nodded. "I'm fine. Leg hurts a bit, but it'll heal in no time."

Miya twisted her jaws around nervously, then peered into the distance. "So where do we find this maze?" she asked.

Fira flew even closer until their wings nearly touched. The sun dipped below the mountains, and the first stars emerged.

"I wish we had more time with Lenora," Fira said. "Time to learn more about the legend, to find maps, to make plans. All I know is the little Lenora told us. That we must seek a golden mountain in the west, several days' flight away. From there, we're to fly until we find the Dead Plains and the Gray Plateau. Beyond them—the Coiling Woods. And inside those woods—the Maze of Roses."

Miya winced. "Dead Plains? Gray Plateau? Coiling Woods?" She sighed. "At least a golden mountain sounds nice. I just hope we have time, Fira. I hope that Father can hold off the valkyries until we find the mirror."

Fira cringed to remember Berinor's destination.

The ancient one. Fira shuddered. Wherever I'm flying with Miya, it's surely more pleasant than that cursed place …

At her side, Miya opened her jaws in a massive yawn that chinked her scales down to the tail. It was infectious. Fira let out a luxurious yawn of her own. A thousand fears battled within her for dominance, but the basic needs of the body—for sleep, for food—overflowed them.

"We should sleep," Fira said. "It might take a week or two to reach our destination. We can't keep flying forever."

"Should we rest?" Miya said. "We don't have much time, and—" Another yawn interrupted her words.

Fira nodded. "We'll fly in shifts. Ride on my back in human form, sleep, and try not to fall off. In a few hours, I'll wake you, and you can fly as a dragon as I sleep on your back. That way we keep flying continuously."

Miya yawned again and nodded. Fira dipped in the sky, and the blue dragon glided above her, then slowly descended. Soon Miya's soft underbelly skimmed Fira's scaly back.

"Steady …" Miya said. "Steady …"

The blue dragon landed on Fira's back so heavily that Fira let out an "Oof!"

"Into human form!" Fira said, glancing over her shoulder at the dragon that draped across her.

Miya grinned and puffed smoke her way. "I'm more comfortable this way."

Fira groaned. "Miya! You weigh a ton!"

"Oh, more than that," Miya said, stretching on Fira's back. "Dragons weigh several tons."

They were already dipping in the sky.

"Miya!"

"Fine, fine!" Miya released her magic, shrinking back into human form. She lay on her stomach, limbs spread out across Fira's scaly back. "There, now I weigh only a hundred and four pounds. Happy? Just fly real steady so I don't fall off and wake up smashed to bits in the forest."

Fira stretched her wings wide and glided on an air current. "Steady as she goes. Have a good night. If you fall off, just remember to wake up in time to shift back into a dragon!"

Miya propped herself up on her elbows, placed her chin on her palms, and gazed thoughtfully into Fira's eyes.

"I missed this," she said.

"Being on the run from an army of monsters?" Fira asked.

Miya shook her head. "Having a sister."

Something hard and cold, something that had been stuck in Fira's chest for many years, seemed to melt. She spoke softly. "Do you really remember being together? You were so young when I left."

Miya nodded. "I know. But after you left, often in my childhood, I pretended that you were still there. I used to tell everyone about you—how brave, strong, and noble you are, how you bit off Nemoria's arm. For a few years, at least. Then I got so angry, and …" Her eyes dampened, and Miya blinked rapidly and rubbed them. "Forget it. I'm going to sleep."

Miya laid her cheek against a red scale, closed her eyes, and soon was deep in sleep. Fira kept looking over her shoulder, watching her sister, and that softness in her chest suddenly felt cold.

I'm sorry, Miya, she thought, and now her own eyes dampened. You'll never know how sorry I am. That I left you. That I left everyone.

Tears in her eyes, Fira looked forward again, gazing into the darkness. Only the moon and stars now lit the night, and the forests and mountains below became nothing but a dark, rolling field, nearly indistinguishable from the sky.

As Fira flew in darkness, she remembered all those nights in her youth when she'd emerge from her cave at night, restless and afraid and covered in sweat, feeling breathless, too hot even in the winter. On those long, sleepless nights, when dreams of the dark labyrinth beneath Requiem haunted her, Fira would simply fly. For hours, she would glide on the wind, traveling over forests, mountains, lakes, and ancient ruins, letting all thoughts flow away, until she became as the wind itself. It was only during those long flights that Fira would feel that she—her identity, her soul—was not her thoughts, not her fears, not her memories. At those times, she could be mere consciousness, aware of the wind, the cold, the stars above, and she would let everything else, all thoughts and pain—all those things that during the day defined her—flow away like so many clouds in the wind.

As Fira flew here, moving far from her old hideouts, she realized that despite the fear, the pain, the unbearable danger, there was a little comfort here: a hundred and four pounds of warm softness on her back. There was her sister.

She looked over her shoulder again at Miya, who was sleeping soundly, and Fira smiled.

I love you, little Miya. I'm glad you're with me. A pang of that old guilt stabbed her. I'm so sorry that I left you. May we never part again.

As she was looking behind her, Fira frowned. One of the stars near the horizon seemed to be moving. Then two more stars dipped. Soon ten or twenty lights were streaming across the sky.

Fira inhaled sharply.

Valkyries?

She spun around, facing the distant lights, hovering in the darkness. The change in movement awoke Miya. The princess stirred, blinked, and stared east with Fira.

"What . . ." Miya frowned, then gasped. "What are those?"

The lights were moving closer, faster, larger, and soon Fira could hear distant cries. Not the shrieks of valkyries but caws, birdlike. Sudden lights blazed out, beams that shone through the night.

Fira grimaced and swerved, but one of the beams hit her. She winced, expecting agony, but there was no pain. These were not like the beams of valkyrie blades, able to tear through flesh and bone.

But her relief was short lived. In the distance, the caws grew louder, rising to a cacophony. The distant beads of light flowed forth, faster than any dragon, and Fira gasped.

"Giant ravens!" she hissed. "And they saw us."

"Valkyrie pets," Miya said, sitting upright on her back, still in human form. "Remember the book Lenora showed us? The page on valkyries mentioned white ravens."

Twenty, maybe thirty ravens were flying toward the sisters. Their eyes were white lanterns, casting beams of light. Their beaks were metallic, and their feathers were made of steel blades, silvery as moonlight. They were enormous birds, larger than albatrosses. Smaller than dragons, yes. But large enough to do serious damage.

Miya stood up on Fira's back, leaped into the sky, and fell in the darkness. An instant later, a great pillar of dragonfire soared, and Miya rose as a blue dragon, roaring her fury.

Fira roared with her, spread her wings wide, and raised her claws.

The dragons charged toward the ravens, blasting out dragonfire. The flaming jets slammed into two birds, so hot they melted the steel wings. The creatures screeched and emerged from the flames—dripping, spinning, lashing their talons. The other ravens whipped around their wounded comrades, so fast Fira barely saw them move, and slammed into the dragons.

Talons gripped Fira's scales, pulling them outward, lifting them from the skin. She bellowed. Beaks plunged into the exposed flesh. Fira howled, spurting fire, but couldn't reach the birds. More ravens slammed into her wings, tearing at the skin, tugging her down. Fira lashed her tail, knocking off several ravens, only for more to replace them.

Nearby, Miya cried out, thrashing in the sky, lashing her tail, blasting fire across her own back, desperate to remove the metallic ravens. Blood dripped down her flanks, and the beaks kept pecking.

A raven slammed into Fira's neck, crushing her windpipe. She let out a hoarse roar.

No. I will not die here. Not after all the battles I've fought. Not when Requiem needs me.

She released her magic.

As she shrank, Fira tore free from the ravens' grips. She fell through the sky, a woman again. The birds—she was now smaller than them—swooped after her.

Free from their talons, Fira shifted into a dragon again and blasted her fire skyward.

The diving birds screeched, caught in the flaming geyser. Fira soared, plowing through them, and screamed as their wings cut her. Some ravens caught her, talons digging. Fira flailed her tail, whipping herself, scattering the birds.

She flew toward her sister. Miya was still struggling against a crowd of ravens. Sneering, Fira crushed one bird in her powerful jaws, ripping it off her sister. A blade hit Fira's palate, and blood filled her mouth. She breathed fire, cauterizing the wound, and burned a diving raven. Her tail lashed, scraping ravens off her sister's back. Finally Miya was free. The blue dragon roared her dragonfire, casting back the screeching birds.

Fira lashed her tail, knocking down two more birds. Hope filled her. They could survive this. Miya's flames melted another two ravens. The creatures fell, their wings dripping molten metal over the forest. Trees caught fire, lighting the night.

Finally only one raven remained. With a caw, the metallic creature spun and began to fly back east.

"Yeah, you keep running!" Miya called out. But her voice trembled, her chest shook, and tears shone in her eyes.

Fira shook her head. "No. We can't let it get away!" She began to fly in pursuit. "If these are indeed valkyrie pets …"

Miya's eyes widened, and she joined Fira, beating her wings madly. Wounds covered the dragons, and holes whistled in their wings, but they flew with great speed.

"Spies," Miya muttered.

Fira gritted her teeth and flew as fast as she could. But the raven was faster. Its light became smaller and smaller, until it appeared as just a distant star. And then it was gone.

Fira cursed. Her wounds ached, especially her leg. She was out of breath, and no fire remained in her belly. She needed water, food, rest, healing.

"It'll bring news of us right to the valkyries," Miya said. "Or to Nemoria herself."

Fira shuddered.

Confirming their fear, beams of light shone on the horizon, piercing the night. The shrieks of valkyries rose, bone-chilling even at this distance.

"So much for slipping away unnoticed," Fira said, "I think we—"

A bolt of pain hit her. Fira grimaced. She couldn't breathe. Her leg was throbbing again. The wound from the battle back in Nova Vita.

"Fira!" Miya said. "Are you—"

"I'm fine," Fira said, though her heart galloped, and she felt a chill.

The wounds from the ravens seemed superficial enough. In dragon form, Vir Requis healed quickly, far faster than their human forms could. But that ache in her leg, the lingering kiss of a valkyrie sword, seemed to worsen every hour.

"Are you sure?" Miya asked, voice soft. "You were hurt badly."

Fira began to spiral down in the sky. "Those beams of light are coming closer. Any moment now, the damn valkyries are going to show up, and we need rest. We need to treat our wounds. Come, down into the forest."

As the two dragons dived down, the cries rose in the distance, and the beams of light crisscrossed the night sky. One of the lights nearly fell across Fira. She swooped hard with a stab of pain.

Voices rose in the distance.

"The weredragons fly ahead!"

"The reptile princesses cower!"

"We smell them, sisters. We smell their flesh!"

"Bring them to the goddess! Let them scream!"

The sisters crashed through the forest canopy, scattering branches and leaves. A broken branch stabbed Fira's leg, right by her wound, and white light exploded across her. She nearly passed out. With another bolt of pain, she hit the forest floor, rolled, and slammed into a tree trunk. The tree shattered, and Fira lost her magic.

For a moment she lay on the ground, dazed, back in human form. The forest coiled around her, as dark and twisted as secrets. Only the faintest moonlight illuminating the gnarled branches and roots.

Miya limped toward her. In the darkness, her wounds were invisible, but her sharp breaths and stooped shoulders spoke of her pain. The young princess reached down her hand. Fira grasped it and struggled to rise, feeling faint.

"Are we safe here?" Miya whispered. "Are—"

A beam of light blasted through the broken canopy like a bolt of lightning. Branches shattered and burst into flame. The sisters leaped into the cover of the dense foliage.

"Come to us, reptiles!" rose a shriek. "Come scream for us!"

A screech rose higher and higher, terrifying in its intensity, so loud that trees cracked. Fira covered her ears. They throbbed with pain. She heard nothing but ringing. Gripping Miya's hand, she ran between the splintering trees.

"Come, sisters!" rose the cries behind, barely audible over the ringing. "Scream for us! Die for us!"

The sisters ran. Trees shattered around them, and the beams of light filled the forest. It seemed like scores, maybe hundreds of valkyries flew above, streaming across the sky, their eyes casting searing rays.

"Fira …" Miya said, terror in her eyes.

"Keep running. Hush."

She dragged her sister onward. With every step, Fira's wounded leg screamed. But she kept going. She had spent enough years in the wilderness, hiding from the guards Father had sent to fetch her home. She knew how to remain silent, hidden, a shadow in the night.

There.

An ancient oak rose ahead, partially rotten and barely still standing. A great crack split its trunk like a gash in a dying soldier's stomach. As the valkyries streamed above, Fira ran toward the tree, grabbed the crack, and tugged mightily, teeth clenching. She tore out a chunk of wood. Miya helped, breaking off pieces of the trunk, widening the crack.

"Go in," Fira said. "You first."

She helped her sister climb into the tree. Miya vanished into the hollow, rotting trunk. Centipedes fled, and a shadowy animal growled in the branches above.

Fira glanced up for just an instant. A valkyrie was swooping toward the forest, and many more flew higher up. Trees burned and fell all around. Beams of light were scanning the woods, carving paths of fire.

Is there no hope for Requiem? Fira thought. Does all our land perish under this evil?

"Fira, come on!" Miya reached out from the tree and grabbed her. "There's room for two."

Fira had to twist her wounded leg to squeeze into the tree. Pain screamed—louder than valkyries, hotter than dragonfire. She stumbled into the trunk, shivering, almost fainting. Miya pressed up against her. A smell of rot and mold filled Fira's nostrils. Wearily, she wondered if the smell came from the tree or her wounded leg.

The wound is infected, she thought. If the valkyries don't kill me, my leg will.

She held her sister as the lights flared outside.

Feet thumped as a valkyrie landed in the forest.

Miya and Fira huddled inside the shadowy trunk, holding each other.

Through the crack, Fira could glimpse the forest outside. Two narrow beams of light were scanning the trees. A towering woman—she must have stood eight feet tall—was staring around, silent. Four swords rose in four hands, and steel wings expanded with a hiss, revealing their blades. The creature was sniffing, and the beams of light thinned as the valkyrie narrowed her eyes.

More valkyries fluttered above, knocking down trees, and cried out in fury. The valkyrie that stood outside the hollow oak looked up, then tossed back her arms and let out a deafening cry.

Fira and Miya winced and covered their ears. Trees cracked and fell, and the sound pounded against them, and wood creaked, and insects burst, and with a shower of rot and wood, the oak they hid inside crashed down.

The trunk hit the ground, the sisters still inside. Fira slammed against her side, and Miya fell onto her, crushing her wounded leg.

Fira's eyes rolled back, and she tasted blood, and she saw nothing but white light, nothing but the pain, visible before her, dancing demons.

Clinging to her last remnants of consciousness, she was vaguely aware of the valkyrie outside bursting into flight, of the forest growing dark.

"They're leaving, Fira!" Miya whispered. The young princess was lying atop her, still inside the trunk. But she sounded miles away. "Do you hear? We're safe. We're—Fira? Fira! Fi—"

The ringing flowed across Fira's ears, and the light veiled her vision, and it seemed to her like the trunk was rolling downhill and rising, falling, swaying on the waves of an endless dark ocean.

DURIAN

The nation of Requiem flew over the wilderness, and the valkyries followed.

Durian had never felt more agony.

In dragon form, his body was round, squat, and coated with bronze scales. He knew that behind his back some of his guards called him the Flying Doorknob. Durian had never minded the nickname much, at least not back in the city where he never flew great distances. Here in the wilderness, crossing league after league, he'd give a mountain of gold to be slender and quick like Sirana, the silver dragon who flew nearby.

His breath rattled and wheezed. His joints creaked. Every beat of his wings cracked his joints. Durian had once overheard a guard call him a bumblebee—his body seemingly too large and round for his wings. Durian had never felt more like a bumblebee than now.

I'm sixty-two years old, he thought. My wings are too short, my gut is too big, and damn it, I need a drink.

Ah, there it was—perhaps the greatest source of his pain, more than his age or shape. That monkey still clung to his back. It had been months since Durian had tasted the booze. Not since he had nearly died in Nova Vita, crushed by the rubble in the hydra attack. He had buried his flask that day, but by all the gods, he missed it. A day did not go by that Durian didn't miss his fallen son … and his flask.

A quick drink now would give me strength to continue, he thought. A sip would spur me on, let me fly as fast as the young ones.

He looked around, seeking a beverage. He was always seeking. Even here, flying with myriads of dragons, fleeing their city from a host of monsters, he kept glancing around, hoping to find a bottle or mug of that vicious nectar. Even in the goddamn sky.

He wobbled, dipped a few feet, and nearly banged against the dragon who flew beneath him—a young, silver female.

That dragon looked up at him, sparks spurting from her nostrils.

"Want to rest and ride on my back, my lord?" Sirana said.

Durian bristled, puffed out his chest, and let out a snort. "Ride on your back?" he rumbled.

The silver dragon struggled to hide her smile. "There are others here who ride on dragons."

Durian looked around him. Indeed, many Vir Requis had resumed human form. They now rode on the backs of family members, resting during the long flight to safety. They could not afford to land. Not for an instant. When Durian looked farther back, he could see the host of valkyries pursuing, covering the horizon. Whenever he looked, those beasts were closer.

He looked back at Sirana and snorted. "It's the elders, the nursing mothers, and the children who ride. I'm Master of the City Guard, as your father was before me. I will fly at the head of the camp."

He realized, cheeks hot, that they were far, far back from the head of the camp. King Berinor was flying a league ahead, leading the dragons. Durian and Sirana were languishing at the tail end.

"I mean," Durian added hurriedly, "we must guard the rear from the valkyrie menace. Yes." He nodded with a clatter of scales. "The rear is the most dangerous place in pursuits like these, you know. Only the bravest warriors fly here."

Sirana swallowed another smile. "You know, Lord Durian, we could use a pair of eyes constantly monitoring those valkyries. I need somebody to ride me in reverse, gazing back in vigil. In fact, I'd say that's the most important task there is. Would you …?"

Durian tried to keep beating his wings, to ignore the creaking of his old joints. Finally he snorted out smoke.

"By the stars, you're right!" he said. "I can't possibly keep an eye on those damn valkyries while flying forward." He cleared his throat. "I'll ride you and keep my eyes on the bastards. I have the eyes of a hawk, you know."

She nodded and dipped in the sky, coming to fly beneath him. "Ride me, my lord."

Durian lowered himself to fly over her, then released his magic. He thumped onto her back in human form—a squat, barrel-chested man, his limbs short, his beard long and white and braided. He slid across her back, scrambling for purchase, and finally grabbed one of her dorsal spikes. His feet dangled, and he wobbled for a moment, then finally managed to sit upright, clasping the spike with both hands. He rode in reverse. Her tail undulated before him through the sky.

As Durian sat here, bones aching, he could stare directly at the host pursuing them. His chest constricted, and instinctively, he reached to his belt for his flask, finding it gone.

"Save us, stars of Requiem," he muttered.

He had hoped that the valkyries would tire by now. Unlike the Vir Requis, they could not take turns riding one another. Yet the creatures kept storming forward, never flagging. They were as plentiful as trees in a forest. Their wings shone, and their cries kept rising, taunting the dragons, vowing death, torture, genocide.

And there at their lead, she flew.

Nemoria.

The bitch is back, Durian thought.

The goddess flew in her dragon form, dwarfing the valkyries. Her wings were like storm clouds. Her three heads stared at the fleeing Vir Requis. From the distance, it seemed to Durian like she was staring directly at him. He grumbled and couldn't suppress a shudder.

Durian Eleison, said a voice in his mind, as tempting and cruel as the booze. Last heir to a dying dynasty.

"Silence," he whispered.

The distance seemed to distort, then shrink between them, until he was gazing directly at three reptilian heads, their jaws open in lurid grins.

Lesser heir to greater sires, said the goddess, eyes ablaze. Torvin Eleison. Kyrie Eleison. Valien Eleison. Great warriors of Requiem—and now you. Wretched. Old. Drunk. Dying. Your only son, the last in your line, fallen to my jaws. The central dragon head, black and shimmering, licked its chops. Your flesh will soon join him. Your dynasty will die.

Pain stabbed Durian's heart. He clutched his chest. He winced, unable to breathe. A groan escaped his lips.

"Lord Durian?" Sirana's voice rose below him. "Lord Durian! Are you all right?"

Her scaly head appeared at his side; her neck was long and flexible enough to twist around to her back, where he sat. The silver dragon blinked, concern in her eyes. The vision and voice of the goddess vanished. Once more Nemoria was flying in the distance, many miles away.

"I'm . . ." Durian groaned and cracked his neck. "I'm fine, lass. Don't you worry about me. Just aching for battle." He pounded his chest. "My heart yearns to swing my hammer into my enemies. Keep flying, lass. Unless you're weary." He nodded. "You should rest. Let me fly and carry you."

Sirana returned her head forward.

"I'm good to fly for a while longer," she said. "The sun is setting. Sleep the first half of the night, my lord, if you can find a comfortable position on my back." She sighed. "I wish my back weren't so spiky. Why was I cursed with a spiked back?" Her spine undulated, lowering her dorsal spikes as low as they'd go. "Sleep, Lord Durian. I'll wake you up when it's your turn to fly."

Durian wanted to object, wanted to claim that he needed to stay awake, to watch the enemy. That was the whole damn point of riding here, wasn't it?

He rubbed his chest, the pain gone, but the echoes remained. Of her voice. Of the song of the drink. Of his son calling out to him.

Father! Father.

Falling … falling in the night years ago, vanishing into fire.

Something felt cold and hard in Durian's chest, as if a piece of his heart had died.

He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and tried to find some sleep. He did not know when he finally drifted off, but he found himself in shadowy halls, flying away from bats with human faces, trying to escape them, but their claws grabbed him, and their mouths bit him, and Durian realized that they all wore his son's face.

When he awoke, he found himself lying on his stomach, slung across Sirana's back like a sack of potatoes. Two of her spikes pressed against his sides, lodging him in place. He blinked and saw that dawn was rising, painting forests and rivers below.

He shoved himself up, planted his feet on Sirana's back, held out his arms, and wobbled.

"You let me sleep for too long!" he rumbled. "Morning already! Sirana, you need rest, and …"

His voice died.

They were so close now Durian could smell them. A smell of oil, metal, and ozone. Thousands of valkyries, slicing the air, their golden hair streaming from under their winged helmets. Clouds gathered above them, flashing with lightning. Many valkyries rode winged horses across the firmaments, their hoofs gilded, and white ravens flew between them. The army's banners fluttered, showing a dragon with three heads.

The actual three-headed dragon flew at their lead, close enough that Durian could have counted her scales.

No, not a true dragon, Durian thought. A monster who stole the dragon magic from Queen Tilania.

He leaped off Sirana's back and shifted into dragon form. He flew at her side, fleeing the horde. A hundred thousand other dragons flew around them, crying out in fear, wobbling, dipping in the sky, all so weary.

The valkyries' cries rose behind them, the sound slamming into Durian, thudding through his body, creaking his bones.

"We're almost there!" Sirana said, panting, clearly exhausted. Why had the damn girl flown all night? "I see it in the distance. Look, Lord Durian!"

Durian looked south, and a growl rose deep in his throat. A chill ran down his spine. He didn't know which evil terrified him more: the valkyries behind or that thing ahead.

"Sirana," he said, wheezing and creaking as he beat his wings. "Stay here and guard the rear. I'll return to you soon. I must speak to our king."

And hopefully dissuade him from this madness, he added silently.

He rose higher in the sky and flew with all the speed his creaking old body could muster. Old and creaky he was, but there were still short bursts of speed within him. Durian raced over the other dragons. Here were families who had fled Nova Vita in a panic, leaving all their belongings behind. Children huddled together, still in human form, on the backs of their dragon parents. Elders with missing fangs and torn wings—even older than Durian—struggled to fly among the youngsters. So many lives, so many stories, the souls Durian had vowed to defend.

Yet how can I defend them where we fly?

As the valkyries shrieked behind, as their stench flowed across the camp, some dragons began to sing. At first their voices were weak, afraid, but then they grew in confidence. Soon thousands sang together. They sang Old Requiem Woods, an ancient psalm of Requiem. A song the Griffin War refugees would sing in the forests thousands of years ago. A song the Vir Requis had sung in slavery. A song that had passed through the generations—through war, captivity, despair, and rebirth. A song of exile, of yearning for a lost home. The song of dragons rose so loudly that even the valkyrie cries could not silence it.

As Durian flew, he raised his chin, and smoke rose from his nostrils, and pride swelled his chest. This was Requiem pride. This was strength. This was a little hope under the shadow of death. A people forever unbent, unbroken.

Finally he reached his king. Berinor flew at the head of the camp, silver patterns coiling down his green back. Durian descended to fly beside him—his king, his brother-in-arms, and his oldest, dearest friend.

Berinor did not turn to look at him. He stared ahead and spoke in a low voice.

"I know that you're here to dissuade me from this task, Durian." Berinor's eyes narrowed and his neck stiffened. "But I will not be dissuaded. We will find shelter there."

Durian grunted and couldn't suppress another shudder. "We will find madness. We will find evil. We will find terror."

"And, perhaps, life," said Berinor.

The two dragons flew side by side, staring ahead together.

The titan.

There it was.

Durian shivered.

Thousands of years ago, they said, the titan had roamed the earth, his head higher than the tallest mountain or cloud, his feet large enough to crush villages, his footsteps causing earthquakes and tidal waves. The corpse now lay across the land, a mountain range of death. The spine had turned to stone, a jagged ridge. The arms stretched out, the bones the color of charcoal, the fossilized fingers still digging into the earth as if seeking salvation, the cracked fingernails as tall as houses. The skull was partially buried, draped with sheets of stone and soil, as if melting into the landscape. The lower jaw was underground. The upper teeth still gave a silent sneer. One eye socket was clogged with rocks, while the other gaped open, anguished, leading to shadows within.

No plants grew here. There was no life but for a few vultures that circled above. For miles around the dead titan, no grass grew, and no flowers bloomed. Only a few patches of dark moss dared cling to the rock and bones. Over the millennia, bones and rock and soil had fused into one another, until it was hard to see where one ended and another began. The landscape itself—the limestone, granite, chalk, and soil—seemed a living beast, bubbling up from the world, slowly invading the massive skeleton and tugging it down into its bowels.

"With all due respect, my king," Durian said, turning to look at his friend. "You cannot truly think of entering this giant corpse. The sleeping titan's innards are haunted, full of demons, ghosts, and ancient evil."

"If that's so," Berinor said, "perhaps the valkyries will hesitate to enter. Maybe we'll even find allies in the dark." He turned to look at Durian, and there was grief and weariness in the king's eyes. "It's the only place left for us, Durian. The tunnels will not stop the valkyries. Perhaps this great fortress will. I need you with me, my friend. I need the Sentinel of Requiem."

Durian raised his chin and spread his wings wide. "He is with you, my king. Always." He nodded. "The Bumblebee remains loyal."

Even in the innards of a haunted corpse, he thought.

They flew closer to the sleeping giant. A pockmarked ring surrounded one of the giant's stony fingers, aging, dripping rust. It was so large it could have encircled King's Column. A crown of iron encircled the skull, all but gone to age, just a few brown spikes cutting the sky. It was hard to believe that such a creature had once roamed the earth.

And now we will delve inside it.

Cries of pain and fear rose from behind. Durian turned away from the titan, stared to the back of the camp, and cursed.

The valkyries had reached the dragons.

Cries of pain and fury filled the sky.

Blades, claws, and beams of light tore into the rear of the camp. Blood rained. Dragonfire blazed.

"Into the titan!" Berinor bellowed. "Requiem! Into the stone giant!"

"I'll see you in the darkness, my king!" Durian said. "You get everyone to safety. I'll hold the bitches back!"

The valkyries were only attacking the rear, still several miles away. Across the entire sky, dragons cried out in fear. On their backs, children, elders, and nursing mothers pointed and huddled together.

Durian flew above them, eyes narrowed. Damn it! Guilt filled him. He had abandoned his post at the rear—just when the enemy assaulted! He breathed heavily, sneering, racing toward the battle. Behind him, he heard King Berinor bellowing.

"Follow, dragons of Requiem!" the king was crying. "Follow into the titan!"

Durian did not turn to look. He raced onward until the valkyries' shrieks drowned out the king's voice.

"City Guard!" he cried out. "Fly, fly! With me! Take them on!"

The valkyrie vanguard attacked ruthlessly. With swords, with claws, with scythed wings, they cut into dragons, ripping the magic free, sending humans tumbling down.

"Guard, into formation!" Durian called. "With me, attack!"

Armored dragons rallied around him, their helmets displaying the sigil of the City Guard—a dragon perched atop a tower. Across the camp, the Royal Army stormed forth, the second great military force of Requiem. The army's banners streamed, displaying silver stars on green fields. Both hosts roared and blasted out their dragonfire.

Bellowing, Durian slammed into the enemy.

The valkyries swarmed around him, thrusting blades, blasting out light. A scythed wing scraped along Durian's arm, carving through the steel. Other blades stabbed his burly old body. A ray of light streamed over his head, searing one horn. But Durian fought on. He fought as he had years ago, back in his first great battle—the night his son had died, the night his heart had shattered.

A valkyrie swooped toward him, and a blade drove into his shoulder, but Durian bathed the creature with fire, then swiped his tail, knocking the demon back.

I'll always fight for you, my son. When I join you, it will be with honor, the blood of our enemies on my claws.

The others fought at his side. Sirana roared, a silver streak whipping between the enemies, her fire melting valkyrie wings. Hundreds of other warriors fought in formations, forming walls of fire, breaking apart into battle flights of three, then regrouping to plow through enemy lines. Every moment, another dragon died, pierced with beams of lights or blades, falling to the countryside.

When Durian glanced behind him, panting and bleeding, he saw that Berinor had reached the fallen titan.

"Everyone—inside!" the king was crying, hovering above the giant's open jaws.

Many dragons began streaming between the stony, chipped teeth into the giant's shadowy innards. Durian would rather fly out here, facing a hundred thousand valkyries, than enter that wretched realm.

A great cry rose. A dozen dragons tumbled through the air, spurting fire. One slammed into Durian, knocking him into a tailspin. He steadied himself, turned around, and growled.

Nemoria had entered the battle.

The three-headed dragon was massive, dwarfing Requiem's dragons, her jaws large enough to swallow them. Her white head blasted out jets of ice, freezing the attacking dragons. Her tail shattered them, sending bloody scales down to the forests. Her red head breathed out flames. The white-hot jet swept across the battle, reducing dragons to bones, melting scales even from a distance. Nemoria's central head, black as night, spewed shards of spinning metal. The goddess sliced through dragon flesh, tore off legs, sent severed wings flying like sheets ripped off clotheslines.

For an instant, Nemoria froze, dragons falling dead around her. Then all three heads turned toward Durian. Slowly, the three jaws opened with dripping red grins.

"Durian Eleison," the jaws hissed. "Sentinel of Requiem. Old fool."

And for that moment, Durian froze in fear. All his doubts flooded him. That he had failed his great lineage, a lesser son to great sires. That he was too old, too drunk, too slow in body and mind. His ancestors were great heroes of Requiem, defenders of king and column, going back for generations.

And I'm nothing but a foolish old man, he thought, staring at those three heads. Too fearful to charge into battle like my ancestors. Like my son.

Yes, his son—the light of his life, the soul Durian loved more than any in the world. The son this creature had taken from him.

"Take me too if you must," Durian growled, smoke rising between his teeth. "But you will not fly farther. I defend my people. I, Durian Eleison, Sentinel of Requiem, Shield of Draco. Do you hear me, Nemoria? You will fly no farther!"

His innards trembled, his scales clacked, his joints creaked, but Durian roared and charged toward the goddess.

Nemoria flew toward him, plowing through dragons and valkyries alike. Durian—smaller, weaker—shot toward her and blasted his fire.

A cloud of frost flew, blocking his fire. The ice melted and rose as steam. Through the mist, chunks of metal flew. Durian whipped left and right, dodging what he could. But many shards peppered his armor and scales. Blue fire gushed ahead, and Durian ducked in the sky. The flames washed across his back, but he ignored the pain and rose higher, howling.

For my son.

He slammed into the goddess with an explosion of fire, blood, and raining scales.

Only innocence could hurt Nemoria. In the past, Requiem had sent its children to fight her. But now there were too many valkyries in the sky, and too few children, too few innocents. Durian would have to kill Nemoria somehow—or hold her back long enough to let the others flee.

He lashed his claws—sharp, thick claws, able to rip through stone. He tore off Nemoria's black scales and dug through the meat beneath. His jaws clamped down hard, ripping out flesh, and he blasted his flames, and he clawed again, digging, slicing through layers of muscle, seeking the heart. Even as her fire washed over him, Durian wouldn't release the goddess, kept clawing deeper, and yanked out a rib.

I end this now, Durian thought. I end what we started together, Perin. And if I join you today, I join you with honor.

Her claws cut him, pulled him, but Durian clung on. He bit into her flesh, ripping out more chunks, and saw the heart pumping within. He reached inside. He tore out the pulsing organ with a shower of blood.

It's over, son. Tears filled his eyes. It's over.

Nemoria lost her magic.

She became a woman—beautiful, her gray skin veined with purple, her hair long and black, a cavity in her chest. Still beating his wings, Durian grabbed her in his claws, holding her up in the sky.

But Nemoria did not die.

Already a new heart was growing in her hollowed-out chest, pumping new blood. She smiled at Durian, and her arms extended toward him, stretching out, inhumanly long.

Durian closed his mighty jaws around Nemoria's head. He pulled back hard, ripping the head off.

Ichor filled his mouth. The blood of gods sizzled, burning his palate. He spat out the severed head … only to see that three heads were now growing from the mangled woman's body. Red. Black. White. Scaled.

Nemoria grew in size, becoming a dragon again, ripping free from his claws. Laughing. Her wings hiding the sky.

"Fool!" her voices shrieked, echoing. "You cannot slay a goddess with fire or fang. Only innocence can hurt me. And I have burned the innocence of Requiem!"

Her grip tightened. Her arms were wrapping around him like serpents, growing longer and longer, constricting him, creaking his ribs.

"Durian!" Sirana cried in the distance, and he glimpsed her flying toward them. But a blast of ice washed over her, knocking her down.

The arms tightened around Durian, twin pythons, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't see.

I join you now, son.

No, Father. Fight. Protect them.

A distant cry rose. Lady Sirana. In pain. Needing him.

Durian released his magic.

A human again, he slipped through Nemoria's grip.

He fell through the sky, gasping for breath, his white beard fluttering.

He slammed onto a dragon's back, grabbed a spike, and managed to stand. In human form, he rode the dragon. As Nemoria came swooping toward him, Durian grabbed his massive war hammer. It was a part of him, as much as his clothes or armor, shifting with him every time. The goddess's black jaws opened, and she spewed venom.

The dragon Durian stood on banked, and the venom rained down to melt trees. Nemoria's jaws opened wide, plunging toward him, ready to swallow him.

Durian—short, stocky, old—swung his mighty hammer.

The metal head slammed into the striking jaws and shattered them.

Again Nemoria lost her magic.

She tumbled through the air, a woman again, her jaw smashed and her teeth falling.

Durian shifted into a dragon again and blasted his flames, bathing Nemoria with dragonfire.

Her hair, her skin, her muscles, her organs—all burned, leaving bones that tumbled toward the distant ground.

"That takes care of you," he muttered.

Durian panted and looked around him. Most of the dragons had already entered the fossilized titan. A few hundred still fought in the sky against the horde of valkyries. The foul witches were flying everywhere. Only a few feet away, Sirana was battling two of the creatures, trying to hold off their lashing blades.

Durian joined her, and their flames cast back the two valkyries. But thousands flew all around, closing in.

Durian looked down at the forest, seeking Nemoria's bones.

We have to grind those bones into ash, he thought. Or she'll rise again.

He made to fly down, to seek Nemoria's remains, when caws tore across the sky, and countless ravens of white steel, as large as horses, stormed toward them.

"Durian, we must enter the titan!" Sirana cried.

Several dragons screamed as ravens tore into them. They lost their magic and fell. Durian cursed. He made to swoop toward the forest where Nemoria's bones had fallen, hoping to grind them down. But the ravens flew everywhere, blocking his way. The valkyries laughed as their pets swarmed.

Durian rumbled and raised a pillar of fire.

"Dragons, fall back!" he cried. "Into the titan! Follow!"

They turned to flee the assault. They raced across the last stretch of sky. Those who flew too slowly were sucked into the valkyrie meat grinder. The last warriors of Requiem flew into the waiting maw of the stone giant.

"Sirana, go, enter!" Durian shouted.

The silver dragon nodded, her scales charred and her armor cracked. She dived into the stony jaws, vanishing into the shadows within.

Durian flew alone, and for a few heartbeats, he stared at the approaching horror. The enemy filled the sky, more valkyries than all the dragons in Requiem. He still did not see Nemoria, but he would not rest until her bones were ground to dust.

As the valkyries charged, Durian turned and flew toward the massive head of the giant—formed of bone, rock, and that rusting metal crown. The old tales—of ghosts and demons in the dark—returned to him.

I fought a damn goddess, and I'll fight damn ghosts.

Durian flew into the jaws and the shadows within.

King Berinor, Lady Sirana, and a handful of other dragons were waiting here, and a blast of dragonfire lit the chasm, revealing more dragons deeper down. Outside, the valkyries still flew.

"Close the jaws!" Berinor said. "Durian, we need your strength!"

The king flew toward the jaws of the stone beast, grabbed a massive tooth—it was larger than a dragon—and began to tug it down.

Durian nodded and flew to aid him. A hundred other dragons grabbed the stone jaws, yanking. Dust rained. The jaws began to slowly close like a portcullis. A deep moan rose from the dead titan, as if the creature were still alive, and Durian shuddered.

The valkyries raced toward them. Most of the creatures hesitated outside, pointing, cursing. The legends of the haunted titan must have traveled far. One valkyrie, braver than her sisters, flew and entered the chasm. Sirana and several other guards roared and torched the invader. The valkyrie fell, and the dragons mobbed her, clawing and biting, ripping her apart.

Still flying as a dragon, Durian gave the tooth he held a powerful tug. Berinor strained at his side. With a great crack and echoing thud, the jaws slammed shut, sealing the dragons in darkness.

The screams of the enemy rose outside. The giant's hollow head shook as the valkyries slammed against it. But the skull was so thick even they could not shatter it.

"We're safe for now," Sirana said, panting. She flew down, landed on a pile of stones, and shifted back into human form—a young, armored woman with short red hair.

Durian landed beside her and returned to human form too. Safe? He looked into the distant shadows where the rest of Requiem hid, and he thought of how the stone giant seemed to moan as they had closed its jaws.

No, we're not safe here, he thought. We're not safe until we get that mirror and that conch, and until we can leave this cursed place.

As his breathing steadied and his heart slowed, he felt that pain again—that dull, dead spot in his chest. He clutched it and shivered.

"Durian, are you all right?" Sirana said.

He nodded and walked past her, hiding his grimace. "Yes." He grunted. "Fine as always. Now come, let's go find the rest of the Guard. We still have a nation to protect."

She nodded and walked beside him. They left the jaws, plunging deep into the darkness.

LENORA

Her damn eyes just wouldn't stop watering.

I'm flying, Minori. She blinked away her tears. I'm flying in the world. Hang on tight!

Even in dragon form, Lenora imagined that she could feel her jatash on her shoulder, a comforting presence. Her invisible friend from the library was here with here, would protect her on this adventure.

Lenora looked around her, wings flapping. When shifting into a dragon, her glasses had shifted with her, morphing into her dragon form along with her clothes. She thanked the stars that she was only farsighted, not nearsighted. She could not read without her glasses, but the world unfurled before her in perfect clarity.

And it was glorious.

Forests—beautiful, rolling, rustling forests—covered the hills below. Lenora had read about forests in countless books, had never imagined them so massive, and she kept dipping down and flying low over the canopy, just to inhale the aroma. For almost all her life, she had smelled nothing but the musty books in the library, and so many new smells now tickled her snout—leaves, soil, wood, and rain—that her nostrils kept flaring.

She rolled over and flew upside down, laughing, gazing up at the sky, the flocks of birds, the feathery clouds. She flipped over again, soared high, looped through the air, and dived down to fly within a canyon. The stone walls streamed at her sides, bedecked with vines, and she rose again, flying up in a straight line, then twirled around to hear her scales chink. Snow-capped mountains rose in the distance, and beyond them rolled misty hills and valleys.

"Lenora!" rose Oryn's voice from behind. "Lenora, slow down, will you? You're flying like a damn firecracker."

She spun toward the black dragon, grinned toothily, and spurted fire his way. "Only way to fly!" She did another loop. "Oh, Oryn. It's wonderful."

She caught an air current and glided. As the air flowed beneath her wings, the leathery membranes ruffled like waves, making small fluttering noises. Lenora lowered her neck, twisted her head around, and looked at her back legs. They were thinner than her front legs, small, weak, and dangled uselessly in the air. Even in dragon form, they would not function; Nemoria had crushed them beyond healing. But up here in the sky, that didn't matter. In dragon form, all Lenora needed was her wings.

"I should have done this years ago," she said. "But I was scared. So scared of the world."

Oryn came to fly beside her. The black dragon was longer than her, his scales larger, his wings wider. And while Lenora had unusual scales—a mosaic of many colors—Oryn was solid black.

Even as a dragon I'm weird, Minori, she thought, and she couldn't help but grin again. Good.

"In many ways, I was like you," Oryn said. "I languished in the underground of Altus Mare in the east. I lived in glittering tunnels. I emerged only at night to slink through alleyways and burglarize villas and merchant ships." He inhaled deeply. "I never flew in the daytime until this bloody war."

Lenora's smile vanished, and a chill trickled across her spine. Yes. There was a war. There was a reason she flew here, and it wasn't a joyous one.

She nodded. "All right. No more fancy flying. We're close now, Oryn."

"Close to the drowned city?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, silly. The sea is many leagues away. We're taking a little detour."

He tilted his head. "Lenora! Did you miss that army of valkyries chasing the dragons of Requiem? We don't have time for detours."

She raised her scaly brow ridge. "Well, unless you can hold your breath for hours, we're taking a detour to Tinkers' Palace. In my books, Luna the Traveler bought enchanted seashells from the tinkers. Beautiful, gleaming seashells shaped like hands, with white palms and blue fingers. They let her breathe underwater."

"Tinkers' Palace?" Oryn snorted out a puff of smoke. "In the thieving guild, the new guys always talk about Tinkers' Palace. Say it's full of magical treasures just waiting for a brave thief. But no thief, adventurer, or looter ever found it. If you ask me, it's just a myth."

"If any of you thieves ever bothered reading books," Lenora said, "maybe you'd learn that Tinkers' Palace is real. There are maps that lead there. I happen to be very well read. And know exactly where it is."

"Tinkers' Palace—real." Oryn's eyes lit up. "The thief who finds that place would become a legend. If this place really exists, bookworm, it'll be full of treasures. We can—"

"Don't call me bookworm!" Lenora glared at him. "And don't you even think of stealing anything, Prince of Shadows."

His eyes widened and he puffed out smoke. "Me, steal? You wound me! You know my thieving days are behind me. I would only admire the treasures, is all. Looking, no touching. Well, maybe some touching. But no stealing! Maybe some borrowing, but … Ow! Stop whipping me with your tail!"

She gave him a cockeyed stare. "I'll be watching you, Oryn. You behave in this place. We'll buy the seashells with honest coins, and that's all we're taking."

Oryn nodded but kept mumbling to himself. "Tinkers' Palace. Well, I'll be …"

They kept flying.

They had been flying for days now, taking shifts when they were weary, hunting deer in the plains when hunger struck. Yes, they were close now. She knew the way. Lenora had always loved maps. She loved them just as much as words, because maps too were stories. Stories that you made up yourself as you explored kingdoms in cartography. Lenora had spent hours poring over maps of Requiem, and she knew her exact location, even if she had never flown here before, not for real. She had flown here ten thousand times in her mind.

The sun began to set, and the two dragons glided onward. They flew in silence, watching gold and yellow and indigo drip across the land.

Finally, in the distance, Lenora saw it. Three mountains rose ahead, reflecting the sunset like burnished triangles of bronze. The Three Founders! In Requiem's lore, the mountains represented the founders of Requiem.

Each mountain was carved with a massive, ancient face, representing one of Requiem's most venerable souls. One mountainside was carved into a bearded, noble face, representing Jeid Aeternum, founder of Requiem and her first king. A second mountainside was carved as a woman with a broken jaw, deformed yet defiant. Here was Queen Laira the Beloved, who had risen from ashes to become Requiem's first queen, the mother of a nation. The third mountainside: a beautiful woman, her long braid spilling out from her limestone hood. Here gazed Issari Seran, the Priestess in White, who had led the hunted weredragons to their promised land, whose soul had risen to shine as the eye of celestial Draco. These mountainsides had been carved five thousand years ago, and even then the Three Founders had already been ancient and legendary.

Lenora had seen these mountains in her books, but those illustrations now seemed laughably inadequate. The mountains ahead soared, making Lenora—even in her dragon form—feel so small, no larger than a dragonfly approaching boulders. She gazed in awe at the mighty stone faces.

"The Three Founders," Lenora whispered. "In my books, Tinkers' Palace appears between them. I see three mountains with faces. But I don't see any palace. Let's take a closer look."

They flew closer, passing one of the soaring peaks. The three mountains rose in a triangle, overlooking a misty valley. Lenora narrowed her eyes, seeking gilded towers, marble columns, or glittering domes emerging from the mist. Yet she saw no palace here, only jagged mesas of limestone.

"Oryn, do you see anything?" she asked, wondering if she was, after all, nearsighted.

"I don't see any palace," the black dragon said. "Just that old pile of junk over there." He pointed a claw.

Lenora squinted, struggling to bring it into focus, and flew closer. Oryn flew by her side, and their wings parted the mist.

"Is this what palaces look like?" Lenora said, eyes wide.

Oryn winced. "Well, it's sort of a palace, I guess. A palace of trash? But hey, it's what's inside that counts, right?"

The building below was certainly as large as a palace. It rose several stories tall, yet seemed ready to fall over. As Lenora flew closer, she decided that calling it a building was being generous. This was more of a trash heap. Somebody had cobbled the structure together from whatever they could find. It was a feat of engineering so bizarre Lenora could barely believe her eyes.

Several wagons, their wheels chained to the ground, formed the foundation. Above the wagons perched an entire wooden ship, large enough to contain hundreds of people. Lenora couldn't even imagine how anyone had lifted the carrack and placed it atop the wagons. The structure rose taller still. The ship's masts supported a huge metal sheet, forming another floor in the structure. A hundred carts, trollies, and wheelbarrows were piled up there, held together with chains and bolts. A stone turret thrust out from the side, complete with a ring of merlons, perhaps taken from a ruined castle. Higher still rose layers of wooden huts, one atop the other, the slats crooked and moldy. Finally, crowning the palace, a rusty tin dome tilted like a hat slipping off a man's head.

"Well, I think it's beautiful," Lenora said. "Unusual. But beautiful."

She herself was unusual. In human form, she wore strange jewelry, her hair was cropped short, and she wore a funny plumed hat and a vest with huge brass buttons. Not to mention her massive bottle glasses. In dragon form, she had the strangest scales in Requiem, a patchwork of every color. So what if this palace was cobbled together from scraps? If Lenora could live anywhere but her library, it would be here.

Tinkers' Palace was wonderful. It felt like a home.

The dragons landed in the valley. Lenora sat on her haunches, still in dragon form, her back legs tucked beneath her. She gazed up toward the top of Tinkers' Palace. When a gust of wind blew, the entire structure creaked and tilted. Incredibly, against all intuition, the beams and chains managed to hold the building together.

Lenora shifted back into human form. For the first few attempts at shifting, she had failed to shift with her new wheelchair. She had still managed to pull her scroll-shaped earrings, printing press necklace, and glasses into her dragon form. They were a part of her, and Requiem's magic allowed them to shift with her body. But the wheelchair always remained behind. Lenora had even cracked it once, shifting into a dragon while still sitting down. But over the past day or two, the new wheelchair had become a part of her too, as natural as her glasses and jewelry. As Lenora shrunk now into her human form, her clothes and jewelry reappeared, and so did her wheelchair—cracked and wobbly, yes, but still in working order.

Are you still there, Minori? She thought, looking at her shoulder. She imagined that she could feel warmth there, pattering feet, and the faintest tug to her ear. She smiled. I'm glad you're still with me, my friend.

Oryn returned to human form. Lenora looked at him. For the first time, she saw his human form clearly—in sunlight, without enemies attacking. Her skin was milky pale, but his was brown. Her hair was platinum blonde, so pale it was almost silvery, while his was pitch-black, stubbly on the sides and long on top. Their eyes were the same green, but his were confident, rakish, while hers hid behind thick glasses, used to peering at nothing but words.

He's handsome, isn't he, Minori? Lenora thought, her cheeks heating. He's handsome like the heroes in the stories. Not the noble knights in shining armor. He's like the pirates and smugglers, the scoundrels who swept the heroines off their feet.

He stirred strange feelings in her, the sort of feelings Lenora would get reading the library's romantic books. King Berinor had stirred feelings in her too, though of a different sort. Berinor was older than Oryn, stronger, wiser, and when the king had carried her in his wide arms, Lenora had felt so safe, so warm.

She forced thoughts of Berinor too out of her mind.

We simply spent too many years in darkness, Minori, Lenora thought. Starved for love, starved for any company. Now my heart yearns for any man I see, king or thief. She lowered her head. But what man would want me? I'm not beautiful like Miya. I'm not noble like Fira. I'm not brave like Sirana. I'm just a spectacled, gawky librarian in a wheelchair. A bookworm. A cripple. I'm not a heroine like in the books, and no king or scoundrel would want me.

"Look," Lenora said, spinning her wheelchair around, hoping to hide her flushing cheeks. "An entrance."

She wheeled toward Tinkers' Palace. A round tabletop served as a door, neatly fitting into a doorframe formed from a mill's waterwheel. A bronze doorknob was nailed into the tabletop, shaped as a lion's head.

Lenora reached for the doorknob. The bronze lion snapped its teeth, narrowly missing her finger.

She blinked in surprise and pulled her hand back.

"The doorknob tried to bite me," she said.

Oryn stared at the doorway. He tilted his head. Once more the doorknob was still.

"Lenora, it's not a real lion," he said. "It can't hurt you."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, but I'm ever so frightful, and so scared of the big bad lion. Won't you open the door for me, brave hero?"

Oryn puffed out his chest and nodded. "Of course. I vowed to protect you after all. I—Ow!" He pulled his hand to his mouth. "The damn doorknob bit me!"

"Go away!" the doorknob said.

Lenora blinked. She leaned forward, squinting at the bronze knob.

"Did you just … talk?" she said.

"Of course I did!" The lion doorknob glowered. "Now go away or I shall bite you a second time."

Oryn sucked his bleeding finger. "Bitten by a doorknob! That thing is vicious. Forget finding Aldur's Conch. Let's take doorknobs to battle."

The bronze lion bristled. "Fight your own battles, craven! Come at me! Grab me again, and I'll bite your hand off!"

Lenora sighed. "Kind sir, we seek the tinkers. We've come to barter with them. Will you not let us pass?"

The doorknob snorted. "Nonsense! Where are your tinker robes? Where is your tinker ring? You are no merchants! Only licensed peddlers or barterers may enter my domain."

Lenora tapped her wheelchair. "Here is my tinker throne! Only the highest ranked tinkers ride seats like this." She patted the wheels. "See how the wheels are attached to this old seat? Sort of like these giant wheels are attached to Tinker's Palace."

She gestured at the mill's wheel which formed the doorframe, then at the smaller wagon wheels that held up the structure, chained to posts in the ground.

Oryn nodded and cleared his throat. "Uh, yes! And here is my special tinker tattoo." He flashed his thieving guild tattoo—a serpent coiling around a dagger—then quickly hid it. "They call me the Prince of Tinkers. We've come to offer your masters some excellent bargains."

The doorknob grumbled, took a closer look at Lenora's wheelchair, and huffed.

"Shoddy workmanship," the doorknob said.

"Hey!" Oryn objected, but Lenora silenced him with a glare.

"Well?" she said, looking back at the doorknob. "Would you let us pass to barter with the tinkers?"

The knob harrumphed. "Don't touch anything."

The bronze lion shut his eyes, and the door creaked open.

Lenora glanced at Oryn, then wheeled through the doorway. Oryn walked close behind, helping her chair over a bump. The door slammed shut behind them, muffling the sound of the doorknob, who was muttering something about young tinkers these days.

A dark, cluttered hallway stretched ahead. A few lanterns cast their glow. Lenora saw no walls, no floor, no ceiling—just clutter, like mineral deposits filling a pipe, nearly clogging it shut. Countless objects filled the palace. Dreamcatchers, mobiles, wind chimes, gleaming ornaments, mummified animals, shrunken heads, and strings of beads hung from above. Shelves rose everywhere, holding millions of motley objects.

There were dulled bronze daggers with antler hilts; animal statuettes carved of wood and inlaid with semiprecious stones; undulating snakes coated with tiny wooden scales; model ships inside glass bottles, their little oars moving and their sails billowing; twenty-sided dice carved of wood, forged of metal, even made of glass with smoke trapped inside; brass horns with openings shaped like mouths, complete with teeth and tongues; boards of Counter Squares where the game pieces moved and fought; terrariums where waterfalls fell, miniature trees grew, and tiny animals grazed on moss; and countless other items, each more unique than the last.

And that was just the shelves! Treasures piled up on the floor too: leather-bound books whose titles changed whenever Lenora looked at them; vials of liquid that swirled and cast out lights; fairy statuettes that played lyres, producing eerie music; shoes that kept stomping, even without feet inside them; snow globes filled with tiny flying dragons; and a million other artifacts that rose in hills.

"Uhm, Oryn?" Lenora said. "I think I'll have to hitch a ride on your back. My wheelchair won't be able to slog through this mess, and there's no room here to shift into a dragon. Not unless I want to bang against the walls and send the whole palace crashing down."

Oryn nodded, fished out a leather backpack from the pile of objects, and emptied its contents. A hundred mustachioed wooden soldiers spilled out, shook their fists at him, then scuttled off to battle a foot-tall ogre forged of bronze. Oryn spent a moment with his dagger, fashioning the backpack into a harness for Lenora. Soon she was piggybacking, her legs slung through holes in the backpack.

"Onward, noble steed!" she said, slapping Oryn on the hindquarters.

Oryn slogged through the knee-deep piles of trinkets, carrying Lenora on his back. They discovered a network of interconnected chambers and corridors. There were no true walls here, but the objects formed their own walls, creating cluttered burrows. Knickknack towers rose everywhere like stalagmites, tilting precariously. They walked around a towering wooden statue shaped like a bearded barbarian, scarves hanging over its outstretched arms. A prodigious mushroom, taller than Oryn, grew from a stone pot. Drawers thrust out from dressers, overflowing with potions, marbles, dolls, buttons, lockets, counter square pieces, and feathers.

"Do you see any seashells?" Lenora said. "Look for shells shaped like hands with blue fingers. That's what we need to breathe underwater. So we can find Aldur's Conch."

"I see everything other than seashells," said Oryn. "Look at that, Lenora. I think that's … it is! A cannon! A real iron cannon, like from the old days of the Cadigus Regime. Back when becoming a dragon was restricted and we relied on gunpowder instead of dragonfire." He whistled. "Requiem hasn't used cannons in centuries. This is a priceless historical artifact. Think we can lug it back to Nova Vita?"

"Think you can climb in and I'll shoot you back to Nova Vita?" Lenora smacked him. "Oryn, forget cannons! And stop looking at those statues of naked ladies!"

"I wasn't looking at them!" He stiffened. "Well, I was only looking to see if they had seashells. I think I need a closer look."

"No." She pointed. "Let's go deeper. See those cabinets at the back? I see an anchor beside them. Maybe that's the nautical aisle, and—"

She bit down on her words.

Oryn was busy prattling on. "They have a toilet here. A toilet! Stars, I hope it's not used. Hey, Lenora, how did you always go to the bathroom in the library?"

"Oryn," she whispered. "Shh."

"What?" he said. "It's a legitimate question! I—"

"Shush!" She pointed. "Look. That pile of stuff just moved."

They stared together. A pile of trinkets rose ahead, roughly six feet tall. It was completely still.

Oryn exhaled loudly. "Just your imagination, bookworm. It—" He tensed. "All right. It just moved. I saw it."

Lenora blinked in disbelief and cleaned her glasses. The pile of trinkets was shuffling forward. It seemed vaguely humanoid. It had two legs: one formed from a trumpet, the other the wooden leg of a bed. Broomsticks served as arms, but instead of ending with straw, they sprouted cutlery fingers. A bear trap formed a rusty jaw, and brass buttons peered like eyes. Knickknacks formed the creature's body: old socks, doll's limbs, flutes, straw baskets, spice boxes, garden tools, balls of yarn, and many other artifacts, all woven together.

Lenora squinted, peering through her glasses, barely believing her eyes. The creature stepped closer, and—there! Lenora saw it! A seashell was embedded into the creature's body, white and blue and vaguely shaped like a hand.

Luna's shell!

"Lenora," Oryn whispered. "I think this is one of the tinkers."

"Nonsense!" she whispered back. "I saw illustrations of tinkers. They're human. Wrinkled and old with long beards."

"This one has a beard," Oryn whispered.

He was right, Lenora saw. Something resembling a beard hung from this creature. Whether it was human hair or yarn, Lenora couldn't tell.

She cleared her throat. "Hello, tinker!" she said. "We've come to trade with you."

The creature opened its bear-trap jaws. A bellows was lodged inside. The bellows inflated, then let out a blast of musty air. A creaky voice emerged from the contraption.

"We are tinkers. We will trade." It hobbled closer, reached out a hand, and tapped Lenora's glasses with its cutlery fingers. The bellows inflated and deflated again. "Fine glass. Rare glass." It touched her tiny scroll earrings. "Silver. We likes silver, yes indeed." A fork scraped her necklace. "Good iron. We like metal. Yes indeed, precious things. We will barter. We will trade. We are tinkers."

More creatures detached from hills of trinkets all around. Lenora counted seven more tinkers shuffling toward them. One creature was hunched over. A rusty gibbet formed its body, still containing an old skeleton. The tinker's limbs were rusty farm tools. A plague doctor's mask formed its face, complete with a beak and goggles. Another creature had an old helmet for a head, a lantern shining within, and two maces formed its arms. Its body was a barrel, rolling forward on two wagon wheels. More and more tinkers kept advancing, each covered with trinkets, patched together from sundry knickknacks.

On one tinker—it had a bathtub body and pipes for limbs—Lenora spotted a second blue seashell.

"I wish to make a purchase!" Lenora said. Still piggybacking on Oryn, she pulled a few coins from her pocket. "I've come to buy seashells."

The tinkers laughed—with bellows, trumpets, bear-trap jaws, and harpsichord strings—a discordant chorus that echoed through their palace. Items rattled on shelves and cascaded down piles in little avalanches.

"Why do you laugh?" Lenora cried over the din. "Will you not sell me them?"

A tinker snapped his bear-trap jaw at her. "We care not for coin! Not for all the gold in Requiem would we sell our beloved seashells. For they are treasures of the distant sea, yes indeed. We adored them." The tinker caressed the seashell embedded into its body, and its bellows moaned. "Oh, precious shell! How I love its smoothness. How it brings to mind visions of sand and waves and gulls above. It is precious to us, yes indeed, worth more than gold."

Lenora understood. She fingered her necklace. It was just as precious to her.

But right now, she needed seashells more than anything. She needed to breathe underwater. She needed to find the conch. She needed to save Requiem, for Requiem was worth more than any treasure.

With a deep breath, she removed the necklace and held it out. The metal letters jangled, spelling her name.

"Here are letters from a printing press," Lenora said. The iron squares were cold and comforting in her hand. "Many such letters are arranged into plates in large machines of wood, rope, and metal. They are coated with ink, then stamped onto pages. These letters are precious. They created books. Stories. Entire worlds." She blinked tears from her eyes. "For many years I languished in darkness, hiding from the world. Letters—just letters on pages—let me explore forests, seas, mountains, and the sky, taking me on great adventures. I will swap you these letters for your seashells. May they comfort you as they comforted me."

A tinker hobbled forward on wooden legs, reached out a hand made from fishing hooks, and touched the necklace. The creature harrumphed and shoved it away.

"Useless without books!" the tinker said. "They mean nothing to us."

Oryn groaned. "Lenora, mind if I put you down for a moment? I thought I saw a nice steak knife set. Maybe I can trade it for your necklace."

She glared and wriggled as he pulled her off his back. "Oryn! Not now!"

"Only a moment! Keep on haggling."

He found an antique armchair among the knickknacks and placed her down. Then he slinked off.

"Oryn!" she cried after him. "For stars' sake!"

She groaned. Her wheelchair was back at the entrance. She was stuck here until that good-for-nothing oaf returned.

The tinkers crowded around her, leaning in, peering with eyes formed from compasses, gemstones, binoculars, and the bottom of bottles. Lenora shrank back in her seat. Without her wheelchair, without Oryn's back, and without room to become a dragon, she felt so vulnerable.

She placed her necklace back around her neck, then removed her silver earrings. She held out the small scrolls, each no larger than an olive.

"I'll trade you these for seashells," Lenora said. "They're real silver. Furthermore, I'll return the seashells to you. I only need to borrow them."

Unless I'm too late, Lenora thought. Unless Requiem has already fallen.

The tinkers examined her earrings, then snorted and turned away.

"Cheap baubles!" they said. "They are not precious. They mean nothing."

"They mean everything!" Lenora said, leaning forward in her chair. "They mean everything to me. And if you accept the trade, they will mean everything to Requiem." She took a shuddering breath. "Tinkers, Requiem is in danger. A host of valkyries hunts my people, determined to kill every last Vir Requis. I need the seashells to …"

She hesitated. Perhaps the tinkers didn't realize the seashells were magical, that they magically let a person breathe underwater. If they knew, they would never sell them. Not for a wheelbarrow of gold.

Yet what choice did Lenora have? She had to be honest. If she could not sway the tinkers with her own material possessions, she could only hope to appeal to their better nature.

"I need the seashells to breathe underwater," Lenora said. "Luna the Traveler, the great explorer of the ancient days, wrote about these seashells. They're magical artifacts. Luna used them to grow gills. She was able to explore the underwater realm of Lemuria, the great sunken city. And I must swim underwater too. I must find Aldur's Conch, which rests among the ruins of Lemuria. Only the conch can defeat the valkyries."

The tinkers grunted and clattered and chinked, staring at her. Lenora realized how silly she sounded, like some flighty heroine from an old book, not a seasoned haggler.

"Do not speak of Luna here!" rumbled one tinker, his bear-trap jaw snapping.

"Luna the Traveler betrayed us!" another said.

"Foul, wretched liar!" said a third.

"She vowed to grant us the elixir of life," said the bear-trap tinker. "We gave her everything—our entire collection—only to be betrayed."

"Luna wouldn't do that!" Lenora said. "Luna was a great heroine of Requiem."

"Luna was a liar!" shrieked the tinker. "Her kind is cursed! We were old. We were frail. Wrinkled and bent and near death. We were promised immortality. We took Luna's elixir of life. We guzzled it down. But our bodies still aged. Decayed. And even as we withered to bones, we lived on. Immortal and cursed. We collected more and more treasures, hoping to find a cure. Over time, we became these things."

The creature reached to its torso, formed from a cast iron stove, and swung open its door.

Lenora gasped and covered her mouth.

Inside the iron stove beat a heart.

Other tinkers pulled open their own bodies, swinging latches and bolts, revealing human spines, lungs, veins.

"You're human," Lenora whispered, tears in her eyes. "You're—"

She gasped, her words dying on her lips.

A rope dangled down from the ceiling.

A shadow came slinking down—Oryn!

Dangling on the rope, the thief furtively reached toward one of the tinkers. One with a seashell embedded onto its body. His fingers grazed the shell, and …

Another tinker, which was leaning over Lenora, narrowed its mechanical eyes. It peered more closely at her spectacles. Its metal eyes widened in shock.

Damn it! Lenora thought. Oryn is reflected in my glasses!

The tinker spun around toward Oryn, and its bellows let out a deafening cry.

"Thief!"

Oryn grabbed the seashell, but it was glued on tight. He pulled hard, could not free it. The creature swung its arm, made from a rake. The prongs slammed into Oryn.

The thief cried out. He released both rope and seashell. He fell onto a pile of trinkets, scattering dice, marbles, statuettes, and snow globes.

The other tinkers leaped onto Oryn, beating him with their mechanical arms, stabbing him with fingers formed from cutlery, bones, and antlers.

"Hey, let go!" Oryn said. "I was just trying to take a closer look!"

One tinker hit a button on its chest. A grappling hook shot out from its arm. The chain wrapped around Oryn several times, then tightened, squeezing him. Another tinker grabbed Oryn by the hair and held him upright.

"Unhand me!" Oryn said.

"Let him go!" Lenora said, still trapped in her armchair. Never had she wished for working legs more.

"You betrayed us!" said a tinker. "You tried to steal from us! Now you will never leave our palace. Now you will become as we are."

The tinker lifted a cracked porcelain doll. He placed it on Lenora's lap. The doll stared up with one dangling, ghastly eye and one hollow socket.

"You will be one of us!" said another tinker. He lifted a rusty wrench, placed it along Lenora's arm, and tied it down like a splint.

"One of us!" said another, placing a pot on Lenora's head. It wobbled like an oversized helmet.

"Stop that!" Lenora said, trying to shove them off, but they kept piling more objects on to her. "Listen to me! I'm sorry that Luna betrayed you, and I'm sorry about the idiot thief, but—"

A tinker shoved an embroidered handkerchief into her mouth. Other tinkers were bedecking Oryn with objects, hanging ornaments, an astrolabe, a washboard, spice boxes, and many other items from the chains that still bound him. Oryn was thrashing uselessly.

As the tinkers kept working, such sadness filled Lenora. She spat out the handkerchief.

"For thousands of years, you languished here," she whispered, surprised to find tears on her cheeks. "Like I languished in my library. Like I found comfort with books, you found comfort with things. With objects that triggered memories, dreams, hopes. Same as books did for me. You collected so many things that you became things yourselves."

The tinkers ignored her. They kept piling the objects on to her, gluing them to her skin, strapping them on to her limbs.

"Yes, yes, this lamp will make a wonderful hand, yes indeed."

"Let us gouge out her eyes and replace them with these marbles! Yes, yes, lovely marbles."

"We must strip off her flesh! We will replace her abdomen with this basin. Very lovely, yes, see the beautiful design. Quality craftsmanship."

One's claws cut her skin. Another reached toward her eyes with two spoons.

"No!" Lenora said. "Stop this!"

But they would not listen, and her blood spilled, and Oryn screamed.

Lenora took a deep breath.

She summoned her magic. She shifted into a dragon.

The armchair shattered beneath her. Lenora thrust out her front claws, struggling to steady herself as wings burst out from her back, as scales rose across her. She wobbled, then sat down hard on her haunches, cracking and scattering countless baubles. Towers of knickknacks collapsed around her. Her head banged against dangling beads, wind chimes, and a thousand hanging knickknacks. A dream catcher entangled in her horns, and she shook her head, tossing it off.

The tinkers scampered back, staring up at her. They released Oryn, and the thief fell with a groan, sinking into the sea of doodads. Lenora expected the tinkers to attack, perhaps to flee, but they seemed almost … awed.

One of them, his legs formed from barrel hoops, bowed before her.

"A dragon!" he whispered.

"A true dragon!" said the others.

"She smells of sky, yes indeed!"

"She glimmers like the wind on water!"

They approached hesitantly, then poked and caressed her scales, making awed noises.

"Pretty things, yes, precious things."

"Precious scales! They shine like dragonfire."

"They speak of glory and marble halls, of mountains and storms, yes indeed. They are sky things."

"These are scales of clouds and sunlight and dreams. They are precious. They are memories and dreams of nations. They are glory."

Oryn struggled to his feet, still trapped in the chain. Lenora looked at the tinkers and spoke softly.

"Would you like two of my scales?" She looked at the seashells—two of them, each embedded into a different tinker. "I'll trade you. Two scales for two seashells."

"Yes, yes, a trade, a fair trade!" they said, eagerly reaching toward her scales. Metal hands ripped the seashells off tinker bodies, then laid them down at Lenora's feet.

With her claws, Lenora grabbed one of her scales. It was already wobbly, loosened while battling the valkyries. She knew that warrior dragons often lost scales in battle. According to the books, dragons could regrow their scales, same as humans could regrow fingernails. This wasn't forever.

But the sacrifice would still hurt.

She winced, holding the scale between her claws.

You can do this, Lenora. For Requiem.

She inhaled sharply and pulled the scale off.

She rumbled deep in her belly, the agony flaring. Before she could abandon her courage, she gripped another scale and pulled it free.

Her throat tightened, and she pounded the floor with her tail, holding her breath until the pain subsided.

Stars damn!

When she looked at her side, she saw two holes in her suit of scales, revealing raw, pink skin. The two scales gleamed on her paw—one indigo, the other green.

"Let this one speak to you of the sky at sunset." Lenora placed down the indigo scale. "When it catches the lamplight, let it sing of the sunrays over the sky, the smell of rain, and dragon wings gliding on the wind." She placed down the green scale. "And let this scale speak of forests, of birches rustling in the wind, of dawn over green, growing things, of the aroma of leaves and soil and the fruits of the earth, of dragons flying over the canopy and drinking from rivers and ponds and bathing in the sunlight."

Two tinkers reverently took the scales. They placed them on their bodies, hiding the holes the shells had left.

"I fly high in the sky," whispered one.

"I fly over forests and rivers," said the other.

Lenora shifted back into a human and lifted the seashells. They were quite small, both fitting into one hand. Oryn finally managed to unchain himself, lifted Lenora, and returned her into the harness on his back.

"Sorry about leaving you there for a moment," he said.

She slapped his head. "You nearly got us turned into tinkers!"

"Covered with treasures?" He looked over his shoulder and flashed her a grin. "Every thief's dream!"

"Well, you can come back for your transformation another day." Lenora reached down to slap his backside. "Now ride, noble steed! Back to the sunlight!"

He bristled. "Stop slapping my bottom!"

"Never. Now ride!"

He carried her through Tinkers' Palace back to her wheelchair at the round door. They left the strange kingdom of treasures and immortal longing. As two dragons, they flew—seeking the sea, a sunken city, and the hope of Requiem.

LINTARI

They escaped me.

She stood on the hill, the wind blowing her golden hair.

The sisters escaped me.

Lintari raised her sword overhead and howled in fury.

My brother's killers escaped me!

She panted, teeth grinding. In a fit of rage, she drove her claws into her own belly. Her blood showered. She howled as the wound healed.

The valkyries stood around her, silent. They towered over her. These immortal, four-armed women stood seven feet tall, and Lintari's head didn't even reach their shoulders. Yet she was a goddess—daughter of Nemoria the Devourer, granddaughter of Ta'al, the Lord of Light. And for all their might, these valkyries were her servants, and they cowered before Lintari's wrath.

"How?" Lintari hissed. "How did you—legendary warriors of the firmaments—let the wretched, murderous, mortal weredragons escape?"

One of the valkyries, a beautiful creature with hair of molten gold and wings of white steel, knelt before her.

"Forgive me, mistress," the valkyrie said. "The weredragons are cunning, and—"

Lintari swung her blade, severing the valkyrie's head. It rolled downhill, and the body thumped to the ground at Lintari's feet.

She looked back up at the other valkyries. Across the hill, they knelt, twenty of the beautiful, failed demigoddesses.

Lintari walked between them.

"You had them," Lintari said. "The ravens found them. You had them. The monsters who murdered the beautiful, noble Ramiel, who stole my brother from me. You had them!"

Her fist trembled around the hilt of her sword, her eyes stung, and her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Tears flowed as Lintari thought of her twin brother. Of noble, strong, beautiful Ramiel. All her life, Lintari had been inseparable from him. The two had grown up together in Icelos, the domain of the gods, a dark mountain that rose above the eastern clouds. Whenever Nemoria had beaten, stabbed, burned, and flayed Lintari—punishments for failing at swordplay or hunting—it was sweet Ramiel who comforted her. Whenever the rage against Berinor consumed her—blazing fury that their father had betrayed them, refused to acknowledge them—Ramiel soothed Lintari, vowing that they would someday slay the Reptile King.

And now you're gone, my Ramiel, she thought. Now I'm alone. Half of me torn away.

She thought back to that horrible day, the worst day of her life. To the battle in Nova Vita, where her brother fell. The hydras had destroyed the city, but Lintari wished she could destroy it a thousand times.

And she knew who had murdered Ramiel. She had heard the dragons boast of it.

"You killed him, Fira," she whispered, fingernails digging into her palms. "And you helped her, Miya. My wretched half sisters. But I will not kill you. No. You two will live for decades. Screaming. Begging for death."

But first, there were others who would scream.

Lintari sheathed her sword and shifted.

Her father had given her the magic to shift. But Lintari's mother was no Vir Requis. The ichor of gods flowed through Lintari's veins, mingling with her dragon blood, corrupting the starlit magic. She could not become a dragon like Berinor. She became a different reptile. She slithered across the hill, a monstrous serpent, as large as a dragon, her scales black and gold.

She opened her jaws, and she spat out venom, hitting one of the valkyries. The woman screamed as the venom burned through her armor and flesh. Lintari pounced onto another valkyrie. She wrapped around the so-called warrior, ignoring the bladed wings that cut her, and tightened until the valkyrie snapped.

A few valkyries still knelt, some silent, some begging. Others tried to flee, and one even attacked Lintari with sword and shield.

Lintari took them all.

With her venom that ate through steel. With her grip that snapped bones. The injuries they gave her healed at once. When one winged blade sliced Lintari in two, her bottom half shriveled up, and her upper body regrew. She had inherited Nemoria's divinity, and none but the innocent—young children or animals—could hurt her. Certainly not these beasts.

She hunted them in the sky, using the skills her mother had taught her. She shattered their bones. She devoured their heads. The mighty valkyries, ancient warriors of legend. Immortal deities whom armies of dragons fled from. Lintari slew them as easily as a child stepping on beetles.

She did not pause to digest. She slithered onward, the valkyrie heads in her belly. Lintari did not fly. No. Her sisters would be traveling afoot as humans, hiding in the forests. Lintari thrust out her forked tongue, licking, tasting, smelling the forest floor. She could detect the faint scent of Fira and Miya. She slithered onward, fallen leaves rustling beneath her. Coiling between the trees. Smelling. Hunting. She licked the air again, then licked the soil, tasting the girls. She crawled onward.

"I will find you, my sisters," the serpent hissed. "All of Requiem will fall, but you two will live, and you will be mine."

FIRA

They walked through the ravaged farm, staring silently at the destruction.

"They were here," Miya whispered, walking over the ashes. "The valkyries."

Fira sighed. "That or the world's worst ant infestation."

Deep ruts dug into the fields. Uprooted crops withered in the sun. Fig trees and cypresses lay fallen, branches broken, trunks cleanly sliced through. The barn had shattered, and dead animals littered the yard, partly consumed. Flies buzzed over the remains. One sheep still bleated miserably, its entrails dangling, covered with insects. The farmhouse had burned down to a shell, its roof gone. Two human skeletons embraced in the ashes.

"Why do they do this?" Miya whispered, tears in her eyes. "What have we ever done to them? Why does Nemoria punish us like this?"

Fira limped between the dead animals. Her leg had stopped bleeding, but the wound was swollen, and every step hurt. She'd give the world for some silverleaf right now, the soothing balm the healers used back home. She clenched her jaw and tried to ignore the pain.

She approached the last living sheep. The poor animal was crawling, leaving a trail of blood. Fira drew her sword and thrust into its head. A quick, merciful blow.

She turned back toward Miya. Her younger sister was pale, staring in horror at the dead animal.

"Evil will always find an excuse to hate," Fira said. "Evil will always feel victimized. Nemoria can speak of how Father refused to acknowledge Ramiel and Lintari—children she grew without his knowledge. Nemoria can speak of how I bit off her arm—when she was using that arm to pull Father into her jaws. The cruel will always find justifications for their atrocities. This has been true throughout Requiem's history, from the Demon King who fought our nation's founders, through Dies Irae and his griffins who reduced us to but seven living Vir Requis, and now to Nemoria. They all saw themselves as victims. And in the name of victimhood, they carried out genocide. We can seek to understand evil, Miya, but that is like understanding madness. Its reasons lack any sense to decent beings." She took Miya's hand and stared into her eyes. "We did nothing to deserve this, Miya. Nemoria's evil is like a fire that spreads. All we can do is seek to stop it."

Miya inhaled deeply, tightened her lips, and raised her chin. "Then let us stop it. The Maze of Thorns is not far, if Lenora's instructions are correct. And inside, we'll find the mirror. The artifact that can banish the valkyries to the Abyss." She turned toward the forest beyond the ravaged fields. "Only a few leagues into this forest, we should reach a river. Beyond, the hills will slope down to a valley. We'll find the maze there."

If it even exists, Fira thought. She liked Lenora; the girl was eccentric, yes, but sweet and earnest too. Yet the librarian had lived most of her life in shadows, books her only companions. How would she differentiate between reality and fairy stories? What if this maze was just a story in a book? Or maybe it was real, but had burned down centuries ago?

Fira sighed. She had chosen to believe in this hope. She had chosen to believe that if evil was real, so was hope. That she could find the Mirror of Many Worlds in the heart of the maze. That the conch Lenora sought could send the valkyries through this mirror into oblivion. A fairy story? Yes, perhaps. But so was Nemoria. So was an army of valkyries. So was all of Fira's life. And so she would chase magic, chase dreams. In this world, they were more real than cold stone and burning fire.

"Fira." Miya frowned at one of the dead animals. "Look at this one. The horse. Its skin is all …" She grimaced and covered her nose.

Fira looked. The horse lay dead by the barn, buzzing with flies. Its flesh had bloated and blistered, and black stains spread around the red boils. Fira recognized such a wound, recognized the stench that rose from it.

"Venom." Fira grimaced. "From a serpent's bite."

Miya shuddered and gripped her sword's hilt. "A serpent big enough to do this . . ."

The sisters looked at each other.

"Lintari," Miya whispered.

In answer, a hiss rose behind them.

The sisters spun around and inhaled sharply.

She emerged from the smoldering farmhouse, a python larger than the greatest oak in the forest. She slithered forth, forked tongue licking her chops. Her scales, black trimmed with gold, chinked like the treasures of ancient emperors. Her eyes were mere slits, staring at Fira, mocking her, hating her. The serpent rose from the ashes, baring her underbelly, rising taller than a dragon.

Fira and Miya shifted into dragons and blasted their fire.

The dragonfire washed over the leaping serpent. Venom showered through the inferno, and the two dragons leaped aside, barely dodging the spray. A few drops splashed Fira. She yowled. The venom sizzled through her scales, burning the flesh beneath.

The serpent came flying toward them, burnt, hissing, eyes blazing.

Fira rose higher and spewed a torrent of dragonfire, knocking the serpent to the ground. Miya added her flames. The snake twisted, scales melting, flesh peeling away, revealing the spine. But still Lintari lived, and even as the flames stripped away her flesh, more kept growing.

"Miya, keep blowing your flames!" Fira shouted.

The blue dragon nodded and kept blasting fire, knocking Lintari down whenever she tried to rise, stripping her of muscle and scales whenever more grew. Fira dived down and grabbed a boulder with her claws. She struggled, teeth grinding, growling with the effort, and managed to raise the boulder a few inches above the ground.

Miya let her flames die, flew over, and clutched the boulder too, helping Fira lift it.

"I told you to keep blowing fire!" Fira said as the dragons rose with the boulder.

On the ground, the burnt serpent was healing fast, fresh muscles writhing around the spine. New scales sprouted. The serpent began to rise again.

The dragons flew with the boulder above the serpent, then dropped it.

The boulder slammed onto Lintari, knocking the snake back to the ground. Lintari screamed, sprayed venom, and tried to free herself. Her body flailed.

Fira blasted more dragonfire, burning Lintari's top half down to the bone. Miya torched the serpent's tail. The snake skeleton screeched, then shrank back to the form of a woman. Lintari lay, still crushed under the stone, her skeletal arms moving, her dripping face raised, eyes gone. She screamed.

"You killed him!" cried the burnt corpse. "You murdered our brother!"

Still hovering as a dragon, Fira spun away.

"Miya, fly!" she shouted. "Before she frees herself!"

The dragons flew, leaving the farm and the screaming goddess behind.

Our sister, Fira thought, eyes stinging, as she flew toward the forests. Yes, our sister.

"Into the forest!" Fira said. "We'll walk as humans. Lintari will soon rise again, and she would see us in the sky."

The two dragons dived down, crashed through the canopy, and landed on the forest floor. There they became humans again. Miya's face was pale, and her bottom lip wobbled. She drew her sword. Fira drew her own blade. Arinor gleamed, cold and comforting in her hand. The sisters walked onward, silent, hidden beneath the thick canopy.

As they walked, a distant voice shrieked, the words filling the forest.

"You murdered him, sisters! You will scream! You will scream in the hall of the gods!"

LINTARI

She screamed, trapped under the boulder. It crushed her spine, her organs, her pelvis. Her feet emerged from one side, her shoulders, arms, and head from the other. Lintari wailed, digging at the soil, tugging, pulling, trying to free herself. Her body kept healing under the boulder, only to shatter again. The organs kept regrowing, shoving into her rib cage, no room for them in her belly. Every second—she returned to life, crushed again and again. A continuous loop of agony. She coughed blood.

"Fira!" she screamed. "Fira, come back here! Fira!" She wept. "Fira, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my sister. Please. Forgive me. Please. Help me!"

Lintari's face thumped into the dirt. She couldn't die. How she yearned for death!

"Somebody help!" she begged, but the only answer came from the crows that circled above.

One of the crows dived down and landed before Lintari. It cocked its head, scrutinizing her. Then it hopped closer, pecked at her arm, and tore off a bit of skin. The crow hopped back and gobbled the morsel.

Lintari lay very silently, very still, cheek on the dirt.

The crow hopped back toward her. Lintari grabbed the bird and snapped its spine.

More crows cawed above, enraged at the death of their friend. One bird swooped and tore out a clump of Lintari's hair. Another crow landed on her shoulder and ripped out a piece.

Lintari's wounds healed at once, and the crows fed.

They will eat me forever, Lintari realized. I will keep healing, an endless meal.

"Mother!" she cried. "Mother, help!"

But Nemoria was far from here, chasing Berinor and his fellow dragons. And there were no valkyries nearby either. Lintari had killed her pet valkyries for their wretched failure.

Yet I failed too. Tears flowed down her ravaged, bleeding cheeks as the crows fed on her face. My sisters escaped me.

Rage. Pure, fiery rage filled Lintari, as hot as dragonfire.

You murdered my twin brother, Fira, she thought. Now you leave me here to a fate worse than death. No.

"No!" she screamed.

Challenging her fury, Lintari swung her arms, scattering the crows. They hopped back, bits of her in their beaks. The boulder was still crushing her spine and pelvis, even more painful than the crows. Lintari dug her fingers into the soil and tugged.

She screamed.

She dug her fingers deeper, pulling with all her might.

She howled in pain.

She heard a crack from her spine. She kept pulling. She reached forward, grabbed a tree root, and pulled with all her might.

Her screams sent the crows fleeing as Lintari pulled, as her spine shattered, as her skin ripped, as she tore herself apart.

She crawled across the earth, weeping, leaving her body behind. She was nothing but her head, her shoulders, her arms, and a bit of dangling spine.

She thumped down onto the earth, twitching as her spine regrew down to the tailbone. New legs sprouted, fresh organs filled her, and muscle and skin wove around new bones. For long moments, Lintari lay still on the soil, naked and virginal, a beautiful goddess with soft skin and flowing blond hair.

Finally she rose to her feet and took deep, shuddering breaths. She looked back at the boulder, and she saw her old body, mostly buried under the boulder, no longer healing.

With a deep breath, Lintari shifted into a serpent again and slammed against the boulder, shoving it off the remains. Her old body lay there, crushed. Lintari returned to human form and knelt, picking at what was left. She managed to salvage her cloak—though it would stink forever. Blessedly, her katana was unharmed. After all, it was a holy blade forged in a palace of gods. She decided to discard the cloak—she'd find another on the road—and hung the sword from her naked waist.

The crows were flying above again. Lintari rose as a serpent, caught them, and crushed them between her jaws. She let their foul little corpses thump down onto the dirt.

Hovering in the sky, Lintari turned to look at the distant forests. Fira and Miya were there. Hiding among the trees. She knew this.

Lintari flew, the fire blazing inside her. She would find them, and their pain would make the boulder seem merciful.

FIRA

After days of trudging through the forest, they came to it at last: a gateway of thorns, leading to a pebbly path between rose hedges.

"Well." Miya hitched up her belt. "This seems to be the place. The Maze of Thorns."

Fira frowned at the thorny gateway. She leaned on her walking stick, a sturdy branch she had picked up a couple of days ago. Sweat beaded on her brow. It was becoming harder and harder to walk. Every day, her leg ached more, and now she could only move by leaning on her staff.

Ignore the pain for now, she told herself. Soon all this will be over.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Fira frowned. "It just looks like the entrance to somebody's garden. Somebody who lives in the middle of nowhere. In a cursed forest untouched by civilization. Hundreds of leagues from the nearest town. Okay, so it's a bit unusual. But still—just a garden. Are we sure it's the fabled Maze of Thorns?"

Miya smiled faintly. "The maze is a garden, if I remember the stories correctly. Lenora isn't the only one who likes to read. I never dared enter the library, not after …" She gulped down the rest of that sentence. "But I read all the books that we stored aboveground; Father had several hundred in his chambers. A witch built a tower in this forest, seeking isolation. To keep out intruders, she wove a labyrinth of thorns, which spread and spread around her tower. It was in this tower that she kept the Mirror of Many Worlds, the very artifact Queen Luna—our ancestor—used in her travels."

"Well then," Fira said. "That mirror is a family heirloom. Let's go reclaim it."

As they stepped under the thorny archway, Fira frowned. Yellow eyes appeared among the brambles, staring down at her. But when Fira tried to meet their gaze, the eyes vanished. More eyes kept appearing. Vanishing. Spying from the bushes. Fira suppressed a shudder. The sisters kept walking.

A pebbly path stretched ahead. Rose thickets rose alongside and formed an arched canopy above. The sky was invisible from here, and the canopy of thorns, leaves, and roses allowed only dim sunlight. The air was thick, hot, cloying. This felt less like a garden, more like a tunnel.

When they reached a fork in the road, the sisters paused.

"Well, which path do we take?" Fira said. "Did your book tell you?"

Miya furrowed her brow. "It's been years since I read it. It I remember correctly, the book said to always keep your hand on the right wall of the maze. If you do that, and go where it leads you, you'll solve the maze." She ran her hand along the rose thicket to her right, then winced and pulled it back. Blood beaded on her fingertip. "I think I'll keep my hand about an inch away. Come on. Let's take the right path."

They walked. The pebbly paths twisted, branching every few steps into two or three separate roads. Miya kept her hand elevated, just skimming the thicket at her side. They kept making right turns. The maze became eerily silent; they heard no birds, no insects, not even a rustling breeze.

"Miya, this is ridiculous," Fira finally said. "Let's just fly above as dragons. We'll see the tower in the center of the maze."

Miya chewed her lip. "I didn't see any tower from the forest."

"We're a bit closer now," said Fira. "I'll take a look."

She walked a few paces away from Miya, then shifted into a dragon. Larger now, she pressed against the roses at her sides, and the thorns scratched her scales.

There was no room here to flap her wings. Fira leaned back on her haunches, raised her claws to rip a hole in the rose canopy … and winced. Leaning back placed pressure on her wounded leg. The pain flared. The same damn wound from the valkyrie blade.

"Fira, are you—" Miya began.

"Fine." Swallowing hard, Fira raised her claws higher and ripped through the ceiling of thorns and roses. The thicket was denser than she expected. She kept clawing, widening the hole. Roses piled up across the floor. Soon the hole was six or seven feet deep, but still Fira didn't see the sky. Just more thorns.

Miya shifted into a dragon too, pressed against Fira, and helped claw through the thicket. The two dragons were soon balancing on their tails, wings spread out, digging through the roses. The canopy never seemed to end.

"Hang on," Fira said. "Miya, stand on all fours. Let me climb on your back."

It took some effort to balance, but soon Fira—still in dragon form—was standing on her sister, tunneling through the canopy. Finally she had to give up.

She gingerly climbed back down, and the sisters returned to their human forms. They stared up at the gaping hole, watching as the thicket sent out branches and vines, healing itself, closing up like a goddess's wound. Soon nothing remained of the shaft Fira had dug.

"How," Miya said, "does sunlight even reach this place?"

Fira sighed. "Let me try something else."

She became a dragon again, then clawed through the rose thicket at her side. This work was a bit easier. Soon she was tunneling through the roses at a quick pace. But no matter how far she dug, she found no end to the roses. To make things worse, the thicket began to close behind her, threatening to engulf her. Fira was forced to retreat back to the pebbly path, where she released her magic and stood by Miya again.

"Well." Fira sighed. "I suppose we're doomed to walk."

Concern filled Miya's eyes. "Fira, your leg."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. You've been limping, and it's worse every day. Don't think I can't see it." Miya held Fira's hand, then recoiled. "By the stars! You're burning up." She touched Fira's forehead. "You're feverish!"

Fira turned away. "I'll be all right. Come on."

"No. You're not walking anywhere." Miya shifted into a blue dragon again, then lowered her wing like a ramp. "I think I can just squeeze through these corridors. At least, if I don't mind those thorns scratching up my beautiful scales. Ride my back in human form. Rest."

The offer was too tempting to refuse. Fira was exhausted. Everything hurt; the pain radiated from her leg across her body. She climbed onto her sister's back and rode in human form, relieved.

They kept moving through the maze.

Miya walked for hours. They passed by more and more rose thickets. Riding the blue dragon was easier than walking, but it wasn't a smooth ride. Fira kept jostling on her sister's back, and pain kept stabbing her. At one point, when Miya wasn't looking, Fira pulled up her tunic and looked at her thigh.

Stars above.

She nearly fainted at the sight. The wound was infected, full of pus. It stank. She covered it back up. There was nothing she could do until they returned to Requiem and found a healer.

"Miya," she said. "Can you walk a little faster?"

The blue dragon looked over her shoulder at Fira, then nodded. She increased her speed. Soon Miya was running through the maze. Fira gritted her teeth. The jostling increased her pain, but right now, speed mattered most.

Finally Miya had to slow down, out of breath.

"Blimey," the blue dragon said. "This is one large maze."

Fira frowned and pointed at the path ahead. "Look at that. That little burrow by the bushes. That's where we stopped this morning to pee." She groaned. "We're going in circles."

"No way!" Miya said. "I've been keeping my right wing against the right wall. It's impossible."

Fira groaned even louder. "That's not how mazes work! Touching the right wall? That doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," said the blue dragon. "You'd know if you ever read books about mazes."

Fira clenched her fists, and that just made her leg hurt more. "I didn't have any books in my cave. Not like you in the palace."

Miya whipped her scaly head toward her, baring her fangs. "Then maybe you shouldn't have run away. Maybe you shouldn't have left me, left Father, and—" Miya bit down on her words, then lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Fira."

Fira climbed off her sister's back and grabbed the blue dragon's head with both hands.

"Don't be sorry." Fira stared into her sister's eyes. "Do you hear me? Don't be sorry! Get mad. Get mad at me! I deserve that."

The blue dragon looked away. "I don't want to get mad, I—" She sniffed. "I'm sorry, I …" Her magic fled, and Miya stood as a girl again, tears in her eyes. "I'm just scared."

"Stop being scared." Fira shook her. "You can't be scared anymore, Miya. You can't be a girl anymore. You are a princess of Requiem! You are a daughter of Aeternum, heiress to an ancient dynasty of warriors and leaders. You can become a dragon, for stars' sake, and—"

"Same as you!" Miya suddenly shouted, tears in her eyes. "You're a princess of Requiem too. You're a daughter of Aeternum. You can turn into a dragon too. But you're more cowardly than I ever was!" She was weeping now. "You left us! You got hurt in a battle, so you ran, and you hid in a cave, and you abandoned everyone. So don't you lecture me about fear! Don't you tell me that I'm a coward! I stayed! I'm stronger than you ever were, because I had to be strong." She trembled. "Because when you left, I thought that I would inherit all of Requiem and sit on the throne. And I stayed! I served! That took more courage than you can imagine. Maybe more than you ever had."

Fira stood quietly, listening. Miya breathed heavily and wiped her eyes. For a long moment, they were silent.

Fira looked at her left hand. It was deeply scarred, missing a finger. The scars extended up her arm toward her neck.

"It hurt for so long," Fira said softly. "I never knew pain could be so intense." She opened and closed her ruined fist. "But it was nothing compared to the pain of loneliness. To the pain of ten years in a cave, turning into a feral animal. Every day in that cave, I was miserable. I was angry. I was so sad that I wanted to die."

"Then why didn't you come back?" Miya whispered.

"Because I was ashamed," Fira said. "I was ashamed that I had left. I was ashamed of my scars. I was ashamed that I had failed to kill Nemoria."

Miya's eyes widened. "You hurt Nemoria more than anyone. Hundreds of warriors died that day, unable to harm her, and you bit off her arm! You sent her fleeing. You saved us."

Fira lowered her head. "But I couldn't save Mother. And I couldn't save myself. I couldn't heal my soul."

Sniffing, Miya embraced her. "But you saved me. I was only a baby, and you held me tightly that night in the library, making sure I wouldn't make a sound."

Fira was weeping now, her chest shaking. "I was so scared, Miya. So scared that I'd suffocate you. I've been scared ever since. You're right. I'm a coward."

"No. I'm sorry I said that." Miya caressed Fira's cheek. "I was mad. I was wrong. You're the bravest person I know, Fira. Yes, for many years, I was angry that you were away. But I still admired you. I've always loved you, and I always will."

"Love you too, sis." Fira wiped her eyes and looked around her. "It's getting dark. What say we sleep and try to find our way tomorrow?"

They lay down on the pebbly path as dragons, curled up together. Fira's leg hurt less this way. She had always been able to heal faster in dragon form, and she prayed silently that her wound would hurt less in the morning.

Nightmares haunted her that night. Dreams of a serpent in the maze, ever drawing nearer, until it caught her and Miya and devoured them. Fira awoke at dawn, drenched in cold sweat, yet feeling so hot.

She looked around her and frowned. "What the abyss?"

Miya leaped to her feet and spun from side to side. "Somebody moved us."

Fira sighed. "No. I still see our tracks on the path. The labyrinth changed."

No more rose thickets grew around them. Brick walls now formed the labyrinth, each brick engraved with a demonic, mocking face. The stone eyes moved, sallow and burning with hatred, and the mouths opened and closed silently. Saliva dripped from stone faces on the ceiling, hot and sticky.

Fira shivered, wondering if it was only her fever making her see things. That fever was worsening. When she looked at her leg, the infection now covered her entire thigh.

Half my body is covered with the scars of fire, Fira thought. Now I'm losing the other half to rot.

"We have to get out of here," Miya whispered. "We have to find you a healer."

Fira sighed. "We've come so far, we might as well keep going. We'll have just as much luck finding the center of the maze than its exit. We're lost."

"Nonsense! I know exactly where we are." Miya looked around her at the demonic faces. A shiver ran through her. "All right, I lied. We're lost. Let's keep going. Whether we find the center or exit, I'll be happy. I just want out."

They kept traveling through the maze, hungry and cold and afraid. There were no animals to hunt here, no rivers or lakes to drink from. Again Fira could not walk. Sleeping in dragon form had not helped; if anything, she was weaker today. Miya had to squeeze down the path as a dragon, Fira on her back. The faces along the walls kept smacking their lips, trying to bite the dragon as she walked by. Those yellow eyes, thousands of them, kept following the sisters.

As they walked between them, Fira realized that she knew these faces. No. These were not demons. These were human faces—twisting in anguish, in fear.

She recognized them.

Warriors of Requiem. The people who had died fighting Nemoria.

I'm trapped in a dream, Fira thought. Like the Dream Arena back at the cambion fortress. But who will wake me from this nightmare?

They walked for what seemed like hours, always choosing the right path, on Miya's insistence. They could not tell north from south here, could not tell the hour of day. Finally, after hours of walking, Fira frowned and pointed.

"Look, what's that? A furrow along the path."

They examined it more closely. A shallow groove ran along the pebbly path, coiling forward in the shape of a wave. A trail.

"There's only one animal that can leave such a path," Miya said and shuddered.

"A giant snake." Fira stared down at a patch of burnt, foul earth. "And that's a patch of venom. Lintari is in the maze."

"As if those horrid faces weren't enough." Miya began walking faster. Her claws scattered pebbles, obscuring the trail. "If Lintari is truly in here, then she's lost too. And we must move faster. We must find the mirror before Lintari, and then escape, and—" She frowned and froze.

"Miya?" Fira tilted her head.

The blue dragon shook her head wildly. "Nothing. I thought I saw … never mind. I'm just tired."

They kept moving through the maze, silent, lost in their fears and worries.

Miya stiffened. Smoke rose from her nostrils. The dragon began to walk faster. Soon she was running. She raced around the corner, and—

There.

The dragon froze, and Fira's chest tightened.

"Do you see it?" Miya whispered.

Fira nodded, unable to speak.

Before them, far down the corridor, walked a blue dragon. On its back rode a tall, thin woman with brown hair.

It's us, Fira realized.

Then the distant dragon and its rider rounded a corner and vanished from view.

"What is going on?" Miya whispered.

"I don't know," Fira said. "Some trick of mirrors?"

"I don't see any mirrors, Fira."

Fira shouted. "Hey! Hey, you in the maze!"

Miya winced. "Hush! Lintari will hear."

Fira bit down on her words. Damn it! She wasn't thinking clearly.

"Let's try to catch up with them," Fira said.

Miya nodded and began to run again, scales chinking, until they rounded the corner. But the strange apparition was gone. Fira wondered. Had it truly been them—a copy of Fira and Miya? Just a vision? A reflection in a hidden mirror? Perhaps another pair of lost Vir Requis who just looked similar?

Finally Miya was forced to slow down, then take a break. They shared a quick meal—a few wild figs and acorns they had collected in the forest, not enough to fill their bellies. They were out of water. They moved onward, Fira riding her sister again. The eyes in the walls kept following.

A voice rose from behind them, distant, echoing.

"Hey! Hey, you in the maze!"

A voice that sounded just like Fira.

The sisters spun around.

Nothing. The maze was empty.

"All right," Miya said, "this is getting very strange."

"Just getting strange now?" Fira asked.

Miya cringed. "No more resting. Not until we find our way to the center of the maze—or out of it."

Miya walked as fast as she could. Bouncing on the dragon's back, Fira tried not to think of her rotting leg, the feverish sweat that drenched her, the serpent in the maze, or even the hosts of valkyries hunting her people. Everything else faded. Right now, they just had to solve this maze.

For a long time, they navigated the twisting passageways. Every once in a while, they came across Lintari's tracks. Sometimes, they came across their own tracks. Choosing the right turn at every fork was leading them in circles, so they began to choose paths at random. They had no parchment, no ink, no way to make a map. At every intersection, Miya scratched an arrow into the ground, marking their path.

After a while, the mysterious light in the labyrinth—Fira could still not detect its source—began to dim. It felt like evening.

It was nearly dark when they saw movement ahead. They glimpsed a flash of blue scales.

Still in dragon form, Miya inhaled sharply and ran.

"Hey!" Fira cried, unable to resist, throwing caution to the wind. "You ahead—stop!"

They ran, raced around a corner, and froze.

Fira covered her mouth, and Miya let out a strangled sound.

A blue dragon stood ahead—a twin to Miya. Tears were flowing down the dragon's scaly cheeks, and she gave the sisters a sad look. On the dragon's back lay a corpse.

My corpse, Fira realized.

"She died," the dragon ahead whispered. "I tried to save her. I tried to. Her leg … I was too slow." The dragon hung her head low, then kept walking and disappeared around a corner.

Miya—the real Miya, the one Fira still rode—began to run again.

"Wait!" Miya cried. "Who are you?"

Fira bounced on her sister's back as they raced through the labyrinth, whipping around the turns. Miya didn't even pause to mark her path anymore.

The dragon ran for a long time. The faces on the walls and ceiling vanished. So did the pebbles on the ground. Smooth white tiles covered the floor and wall, polished, the grooves between them nearly invisible. The sisters raced down a bright white tunnel. Somehow, this lack of color, lack of features, was more disturbing than the faces with their glowing eyes. It was nothingness. Emptiness. Only the madness of the mind remained.

Finally Miya had to stop and rest. Fira climbed off her back, and Miya returned to her human form. Sweat dampened her golden hair, and her eyes watered.

Fira pulled her sister into an embrace.

"It'll be all right, Miya."

The girl—and yes, perhaps Miya was still a girl—held her tightly. "Don't die, Fira. Don't die."

"I won't." She kissed Miya's forehead.

Miya rubbed tears from her eyes. "It was just a vision, right? Just a dream. Not really us."

"Not really us," Fira agreed.

"I'm scared," Miya said. "I'm so scared, Fira. I'm scared we'll never get out of this place. I'm scared we'll die here. I'm scared that Lintari will catch us. I'm scared that the valkyries will kill Father and everyone else. We should never have come into this place."

Fira took deep breaths. "I'm scared too. But I learned something in my years of exile. Fear does not help us conquer our problems. Fear weakens us, paralyzes us. Let us not fear this place. Let us conquer it."

They slept for a while in the searing, white light, then continued through the labyrinth. They walked for several leagues before the lights began to dim. Fira's leg never stopped aching, and now thirst threatened to eclipse that pain. She couldn't stop sweating, her lips cracked, and her breathing sawed at her throat.

Finally Miya broke the silence, voicing the realization Fira had come to long ago. "This labyrinth is too big." The blue dragon looked over her shoulder at Fira. "I mean, it's got to be larger than the entire forest. We've been walking for leagues and leagues, and there's no end to it. No human hands could have built such a structure." Her scales chinked as she shuddered. "We're caught in a trap. Some illusion. Dark magic."

Fira nodded and told her sister about the Dream Arena back in the land of cambions.

"Could this be such a place?" Fira said. "A place of waking dreams? Maybe we never entered a maze at all. Maybe the rose garden simply causes those who enter it to hallucinate. Maybe a drug in the pollen."

Miya frowned. "So we're still in the same rose garden?" She clawed at a brick wall. "Solid stone." She took a few steps back, then ran forward and slammed her shoulder into the wall, only to grunt in pain. "Definitely solid stone."

"Try some dragonfire," said Fira.

Miya nodded, craned her neck forward, and breathed fire.

The flames roared, bathing the labyrinth with heat, banishing the shadows. The inferno slammed into a wall. Miya kept blowing her fire, draining her reserves, a furious torrent that could melt castles.

When the dragonfire finally died down, they examined the wall. Aside from a smoldering stain, the bricks were solid.

"This has got to be an illusion," Fira said. "Dragonfire is hot enough to melt stone and steel." She leaned across Miya's back and tapped the bricks. "Still hard and smooth. You should have destroyed these bricks, Miya. Or at least put a dent in them."

"So these bricks exist only in our mind?" Miya said. "Maybe we just have to imagine that they're gone. Maybe we shape this maze with our dreams. Let me try." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, took a step toward the wall … and banged her snout against it. "Ow! Damn it."

"Let's try again," Fira said. "This time I'll close my eyes too, and let's both imagine that the wall is gone."

Sitting on the dragon's back, Fira closed her eyes. She felt Miya take another two steps . . . then thud into the wall again. Fira opened her eyes.

"Damn it!" Miya said, crinkling her snout. "Hurt even worse this time."

Fira sighed. "So this is what it's come to. We're actually trying to walk through walls."

It was nearly pitch-black now. They kept moving. Occasionally, Miya would spurt out a flicker of fire, just enough to see by, and they kept walking. Fira dozed off on Miya's back, and dreams kept fluttering through her mind—dreams of a young child long ago, trapped in darkness, running from a monster in the shadows.

The monster kept scraping across the floor, chasing her, calling her. Fira, Fira …

"Fira?"

She opened her eyes and looked around, not realizing she had sunken so deeply into sleep. Miya was still walking as a dragon. Fire crackled in her jaws, lighting the way. Fira realized now where the scraping sound was coming from. The walls of the maze had narrowed and were scraping against Miya's sides, scarring her scales.

"Fira," the dragon said, "I can't … I'm stuck."

With another step, Miya lodged herself between the narrow walls.

Fira climbed off the dragon, grimacing with pain.

"All right, Miya," she said, leaning on her good leg. "We continue walking as humans."

The blue dragon twisted her neck over her back. "But your leg!"

"I still have my walking staff," Fira said. "And you'll help me."

"No." Miya shook her head wildly. "You need to rest. We'll go back and take another route. One I can fit through as a dragon and carry you."

But when they looked back, they realized that the walls behind them had narrowed. The entire maze was shrinking. Closing in like an iron maiden. Trapping them.

Reluctantly, Miya returned to human form. They walked onward down the narrow passageway. At first, Fira leaned on her walking staff, but then she found it easier to lean on Miya, her arms slung around her sister's shoulders.

"Funny," Fira said. "Last time I was stuck in a dark labyrinth like this, it was beneath Requiem, and I was holding you. Now you're holding me."

"Sisters forever," Miya said. "I just hope Nemoria doesn't chase us through these tunnels too."

No sooner had Miya spoken those words than a distant screech sounded, echoing through the maze.

Fira winced. "Maybe not Nemoria. But her daughter is here with us."

They walked faster, Fira hopping on one foot. The screech sounded again, followed by hissing and chinking scales. The stench of venom filled the maze. A shadow scurried ahead, and eyes blazed.

"Lintari," Miya whispered.

ORYN

As they moved through the forest, Oryn couldn't stop glancing at her, then looking away hurriedly, feeling like a damn boy.

Lenora was busy spinning her wheels, propelling her wheelchair through the forest, humming a tune. Her feathered cap hung askew, and her scroll earrings jangled. Beams of light fell through the forest canopy, shining on her vest's brass buttons. Strands of her yellow hair stuck out from under her hat, falling across her forehead. Her skin was still pale, but no longer sickly, and freckles had grown on her nose and cheeks.

She looks like a different woman already, Oryn thought. Healthy and beautiful and whole.

She noticed him staring. She turned her head toward him and gave him a huge grin.

"Hullo, my lord!" she said.

He looked away hurriedly, cursing himself for staring. And yet he couldn't help it. Something about those freckles, that smile, her humming …

Damn it, Oryn, he told himself. Are you starting to feel for the girl?

He had loved and bedded countless women back in Altus Mare. But those women had all been different—strong, quick, with curves that never ended, with mocking smiles and eyes that dripped sex. Lenora was unlike any woman Oryn had ever known. Softer. Kinder. Meeker. And yet strong in her own way, perhaps more than all the women who had visited his thieving dens back in the guild.

Forget about her, Oryn, he told himself. What would a girl like Lenora want with a boy like you? She's descended from queens and kings, and you're just sea scum, the son of a dockside whore. She's a bloody librarian, for stars' sake, and you can't even read. Besides, what about Miya?

He thought back to the young princess of Requiem—her golden hair, soft skin, blue eyes, her kindness and wisdom. And Miya cared for him. So many women had lusted after his gold, his reputation—but never cared for him. Not like Miya. At least, Oryn thought he had seen genuine care in her blue eyes. He thought that maybe the young princess even loved him. That maybe he felt the same.

He sighed.

No. That too was but a pipe dream. What was wrong with him? He used to woo wild women who could drink, cuss, and gamble like sailors, and now he was chasing princesses and highborn librarians? He had no time for this. Not for Lenora or Miya. Right now he had to focus on saving Requiem and being the handsome, dashing hero that everyone expected him to be. Not a lovesick boy chasing women far above his station.

"Are you sure you don't want me to push you?" Oryn said to Lenora, just needing to talk, to say anything, to distract himself from his thoughts.

Lenora shook her head. "Oh no, I'm quite happy to spin the wheels myself." Her arms pumped at her sides, and she inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the forest. "I'm rather enjoying our little trip here."

Oryn wished he could have said the same. He'd have preferred to fly as a dragon, not trudge through the forest as a man. But the memories of yesterday still haunted him. Steel ravens covering the sky, shrieking, hunting them. Oryn and Lenora had barely escaped the onslaught, and his hand still ached from where a raven's wing had sliced it.

And so they had been traveling under the forest canopy since, hidden among the trees, heading toward the sea. Flying in the open was just too dangerous. It was frustratingly slow, this walking business. As a dragon, Oryn could cross miles within minutes, but now every mile seemed an eternity.

And we don't have much time, he thought.

He didn't know if Berinor and the others had reached safety, if they still waited for Aldur's Conch. Perhaps they were already dead. The only thing certain was: If they still lived, every hour, every minute counted. While Lenora was enjoying the sunlight and forest—new experiences for her—Oryn fretted.

It's so damn stressful being a hero. He heaved a sigh. Thieving was much easier.

That night they set up camp in a small clearing. They dared not light a fire, not with valkyries and their ravens flying everywhere. They ate a cold dinner of apples, berries, and mushrooms collected on their journey. It wasn't much. When Oryn's stomach kept rumbling, he dared shift into a dragon, dig through a rabbit warren, and roast two of the little critters with a spurt of dragonfire.

"I'll take first watch," he said, munching on a rabbit.

Lenora yawned, hopped out of her wheelchair, and slept curled up on Oryn's cloak. He sat beside her in human form. As a dragon, he might accidentally belch out fire, alerting flying valkyries to their presence. He had already tempted fate by roasting the rabbits.

For a long moment, he watched the librarian sleep. She was mumbling, brow furrowed, troubled by nightmares. Oryn reached out to stroke her hair, then hesitated and pulled his hand back.

Forget about her, said a voice inside him. And forget about Miya. You just want to save Requiem so that you can go back to your old life—as a thief, living with wine, gambling, and hoarded treasures.

But he knew that voice was lying. He knew that old life was over. Like it or not, he was no longer a thief, could never more stomach that life—stealing, hiding, caring only for himself. He cursed his heart a million times for its newfound nobility … and for its feelings toward Lenora, toward Miya, toward all Requiem. A separate war was raging inside him.

Finally he slept, curled up beside Lenora, haunted by dreams of falling cities.

At noon the next day, they finally reached the sea.

Oryn walked onto the shore, and Lenora wheeled her chair up beside him. They faced the water.

"According to my maps, this is the place," Lenora said. "Terius Sea. The island of Lemuria sank here eras ago. Just ten leagues offshore." She glanced at the sky. "We could try to fly the rest of the distance, but those blasted ravens tend to show up out of nowhere, and …" She reached into her pocket and pulled out her seashells. "I'd rather test these artifacts while we're near the shore."

Oryn stared at the water. Suddenly it was hard to believe that this old legend was true, that there could really be an entire sunken kingdom under the sea. Then again, talking doorknobs, living piles of knickknacks, and ravens with steel wings were hard to believe in too. What was believing in sunken cities and magical seashells?

"Seashells that let us breathe underwater." He sighed. "I miss a world that still made sense."

Lenora smiled. "Like a world where we can magically turn into dragons and fly?"

"Touche." He took one of her seashells and hefted it. "So how do we use these?"

"Well . . ." Lenora examined her own seashell, one eye narrowed, like a jeweler examining a gemstone. "I'm not sure. In the books, it just says the seashells let Luna breathe underwater."

"How do we know these are the same seashells?" Oryn said. "What if the tinkers just had regular seashells, not magical ones?"

"These are the ones." Lenora nodded emphatically. "Seashells shaped like hands, with a blue palm and white fingers. Like in the stories. We just have to go swimming with them. It'll work. I'm sure it'll work. Pretty sure it'll work." She nodded. "You go first, Oryn."

"Me?" He shook his head wildly. "No way. You're the believer here."

She glared at him. "You're the one with working legs who can swim back to shore if you drown."

"That's not how drowning works!"

She pointed. "Into the sea, mermaid."

"I am not a mermaid." Oryn groaned. "This better work, bookworm. If I drown to death, my ghost will haunt you every time you take a bath."

"You will not watch me as I bathe," Lenora said. "And stop calling me bookworm!"

With a groan, Oryn pulled off his tunic and tossed it aside, remaining in his underpants. "Try not to get too excited, sweetheart."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll try to contain myself."

Gripping the seashell in one hand, Oryn stepped into the water. It was warm enough. Not a bad day for a swim. He kept wading forward until the water rose to his waist, then ducked his head underwater.

Oh, bloody dragon balls, he thought.

Seashell in hand, he took a tiny little breath.

He coughed wildly. He rose from the water, coughing, spitting it out. His heart pounded. It was a long moment before he could breathe regularly again.

"Bloody abyss!" He shuddered and spat. He turned toward Lenora who still sat in her wheelchair on the beach. "It didn't work! I almost died!"

His knees felt weak. He waded back and tossed the seashell onto the sand.

"Did you use it properly?" she asked.

"Use it properly?" He tugged his hair. "Well, forgive me, Lady Lenora, but how does one use a seashell properly?"

She chewed her lip. "I told you. The book never said."

"Or maybe these are just regular seashells, no magic to them." Oryn groaned and flopped down onto his backside. He coughed a few more times, his heart pounding. He stared at the fallen seashell. "Bookworm, we're wasting our time here. How are we going to find this sunken city now?"

She furrowed her brow. "Wait a moment. The book said the seashells let Luna breathe underwater. What if …" She looked at her seashell. "What if we're not supposed to hold them, but somehow breathe through them?"

"How do you breathe through a seashell?" Oryn asked.

Lenora pushed herself out from her wheelchair. She flopped onto the sand beside him.

"Let me try," she said.

She hopped forward on her backside along the beach, then into the water. She kept wriggling until the sea rose to her shoulders and splashed her spectacles. Oryn was getting a little worried. Could she swim without working legs?

With a deep breath, Lenora placed the seashell into her mouth, pressing it against her palate.

"Muybee ef we jush—" she began, speaking around the shell … when she changed.

Oryn's jaw unhinged.

Lenora shifted in the water, becoming a dragon. But not a regular dragon, a beast of sky and wind. Here in the sea, she became a glimmering aquatic creature. Instead of wings, she sprouted great fins, and smaller fins grew from the end of her tail. Many spikes, like those of an urchin, lined her back. Her head was different too, resembling the head of a seahorse, the snout long and thin, ending with flaring nostrils. Her scales were still a mosaic of blue, green, and gold, but now they resembled fish scales.

"You . . ." Oryn blinked, rubbed his eyes, and tilted his head. "You're some kind of … seahorse-urchin-fish-dragon."

She craned her neck around, looked at herself, and flapped her fins. "Well, I'll be." She swam farther out, dived underwater, and for a long moment swam with only her spikes visible. Then she rose, grinning, seaweed dangling from her snout. "I can breathe underwater! Go on, Oryn. Put the seashell in your mouth."

She opened her seahorse mouth wide, revealing the seashell. It clung to her palate.

Oryn stepped into the water. He placed his own seashell into his mouth, pressing it against his palate.

This wasn't like becoming a sky-dragon. There was nothing magical and comforting about this transition. This was far faster, almost violent. He felt like a popping kernel of corn. With a chinking of scales, he shifted in an instant. Involuntarily. It left his head spinning.

He could see his snout stretch out before him, ending with large, flaring nostrils—the snout of a black seahorse. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw that he too had become an aquatic dragon, fins replacing his wings, his body lined with spikes. His scales were still black, as they were in his true dragon form, but indigo and lavender glimmers now ran through them. He seemed to be about the same length as a regular dragon, but slimmer, aquatic, built for water rather than sky.

He gave his fins a test, propelling himself through the sea. He wobbled for a bit. It was different than flying, that was for sure.

Lenora took to swimming far more easily. She swam circles around him, grinning.

"Come on, dunk your head under!" she said. Her parti-colored scales shimmered. "Try breathing the water. It's great!"

Oryn cringed, his head above the surface. His chest still ached from his last attempt, and he shuddered. "I'll just swim like this. With my nostrils in the air."

"Come on, scaredy-cat!" Lenora splashed him with her finned tail. "I dare you. I double dare you!" She sucked up water into her snout, then sprayed his face. "Do it!"

Oryn grumbled. "Stop that."

She shook her head. "Uh-uh. Not until you breathe water. Dive under the sea with me! Are you a seahorse or a chicken?" She made clucking sounds.

He looked at his body again. "I'm not sure what I am."

Lenora sank into the water again, then rose, draped with seaweed. "Let's go diving, Oryn. Let's—"

Shrieks tore across her words.

Oryn spun around and looked toward the distant mountains.

A hundred valkyries, maybe more, were flying toward the beach.

"Oryn, into the water!" Lenora cried.

The valkyries stormed closer, their shrieks rippling the waves. Each beast, in her four hands, held four swords. Those weapons pointed toward the beach. Rays of light blasted out, hitting the sand and water. Steam rose. The water boiled where the beams landed. One beam narrowly missed Oryn.

He dived underwater and beat his fins.

"Come on, deeper!" Lenora shouted underwater, bubbles rising from her snout.

The two aquatic dragons swam, churning the seawater with their fins. More beams of light blasted down, piercing the water. Bubbles rose around the beams. A ray scraped across one of Oryn's spikes, and he cringed but kept swimming. More beams hit the seabed, digging into the sand, searing seaweed.

They swam farther, deeper, until the water darkened and almost crushed Oryn. When he glanced above, he could see the shadows of the valkyries above the surface. More light blasted down.

One beam hit his back, and Oryn screamed in the water, bubbles rising around him. He had seen these beams tear through dragons in the sky, but the water seemed to weaken their effect. His scales melted, and his back bled, but the wound was skin deep. He kept swimming, going even deeper, following Lenora.

Realizing their beams were useless from above, the valkyries plunged into the water. Their metal wings beat, propelling them downward in pursuit.

As Oryn kept swimming, his lungs ached. He realized that he was holding his breath. His chest screamed in pain. Every instinct in his body cried to swim upward, to rise to the surface, to gulp down air. His scaly cheeks puffed out.

"Oryn!" Lenora cried, swimming beside him. "Are you still holding your breath? Breathe! Breathe the water!"

Oryn cringed. After swallowing water before, the fear was too great. He began to rise, but the sight of the plunging valkyries sent him swimming down again.

All right, he thought, wincing. If I die, at least I'll die as a beautiful seahorse like I always wanted.

He inhaled.

Water flowed through his gills. He hadn't even noticed he had gills, but there they were, breathing away. The pain faded. He swam with more vigor.

The two aquatic dragons kept plunging deeper. More beams of light blasted, but this deep underwater, they didn't cause much damage. Oryn was almost feeling optimistic … when a valkyrie hurled her sword. The blade plunged downward like a hungry eel and pierced Oryn's fin.

He grimaced and kept swimming, water gushing through a hole in his fin. When he looked behind him, he saw the valkyries still swimming in pursuit. But thankfully, the damn things didn't have gills. Every moment, another valkyrie was forced to rise for air. Soon only three pursued Oryn and Lenora—larger, more determined than the others.

One of the immortal warriors reached them, swords flashing. Oryn scuttled to one side, Lenora to the other. The swords flashed through the water. Oryn opened his jaws and blasted out fire.

Fire! Actual dragonfire emerged from his jaws! It was white and blue, a thin stream, no wider than a man's thumb but concentrated, a beam like a spear. It slammed into the valkyrie, and the creature shrieked.

Oryn roared. In the water, his cry was even louder than in the air. He blasted more flame, and Lenora joined him. The twin spears of fire tore into a valkyrie's chest, and the corpse floated upward.

The last two valkyries spun and fled—whether from fear or lack of air, Oryn didn't know.

"Yeah, keep on running!" Lenora called after them. "I mean—swimming! I mean—get lost!"

"Oh, they're not lost," Oryn muttered. "They'll go straight to Nemoria. They know we're here. They'll be waiting for us to emerge from the sea."

"Well, good luck to them," Lenora said. "They can't reach us underwater, and they don't know where we'll emerge. They can't scan the entire sea, and—" She frowned. "Oryn! Your back. It's bleeding."

They were now skimming the seabed. Lenora reached down with her fin, scooped up sand, and slapped it onto his wound.

"Ow!" His spikes bristled. "That hurt."

"It stopped the bleeding," Lenora said. "Now come on, let's find the ruins of Lemuria."

He sighed. "The valkyries can't scan the entire sea. How can we? Where will we find these ruins? The water is murky here. I can barely see more than a few feet ahead."

Lenora smiled. "We don't need to see more than a few feet ahead. Look down, Oryn. Look at the seabed where I scooped up the sand."

She swam down and brushed more sand and mud aside. Oryn looked at what was revealed below.

"It looks like … a cobblestone," he said.

They worked together, brushing aside more sand with their fins, revealing more cobblestones.

"It's a road." Lenora grinned. "A road from before Lemuria sank into the sea. All roads lead to Lemuria, as the old saying goes. We need only follow this one, and we'll find the sunken city—and Aldur's Conch."

"Well, let's sweep along," Oryn said, brushing aside sand to reveal more cobblestones. "I just wish we had bought a broom from the tinkers."

They swam along the seabed, sweeping as they went, taking the long road to Lemuria.

FIRA

From the depths of the labyrinth rose the serpent's hiss, and Fira and Miya ran.

"Lintari is here!" Miya cried.

"Faster!" Fira said.

The sisters raced through the twisting tunnels. Somehow Fira managed to run, hopping madly on one foot, her arms slung around Miya's shoulders. The tunnels were narrow, pitch-black, colder than the heart of winter. They banged against a wall. They careened, hit a wall again, and stumbled onward. The hissing kept getting closer. The stench of venom flared. Fira was reliving her childhood trauma, trapped beneath Requiem in the winter solstice, fleeing with her mother from the monster.

"Fira!" rose a voice behind, followed by a cackle. "You can't escape me, Fira! I smell you! I smell the rot on your leg. Come to me, Fira!"

The sisters hobbled onward, banging against walls, falling, rising again, and the tunnels sloped downward. Yes, these were tunnels now, not just corridors but cramped tunnels, so low the sisters had to run stooped over. The walls scraped against their sides, carved from craggy stone, tearing their skin, and the air smelled musty.

"We're beneath Requiem," Miya whispered. "In the tunnels beneath Nova Vita."

"Impossible!" said Fira. "We're leagues away from home."

"This is the place," Miya said. "I know it. We're in Requiem."

They raced onward as the tunnels narrowed and narrowed until they had to run single file, Fira leading the way. The clammy walls brushed against her shoulders. Yes. Fira knew this place. These were the tunnels she would explore as a child every winter solstice, the secret paths beneath Nova Vita that led to armories, treasure vaults, cisterns, and the great library. How could this be real? How could this place be here, so many leagues from home?

A dream, a dream, she thought. Nothing but a dream!

"Sisters, sisters!" rose a taunting voice from the tunnels far behind them, echoing in the darkness. "Sweet meat to eat. Sweet sisters to scream." The serpent cackled. "Come to me, princesses! Come beg for death."

Fira and Miya ran. Every moment, the snake sounded closer.

"I can smell you, sisters!" Lintari hissed. "You cannot lose me in this twisting hive!"

Fira grunted with every step, her leg blazing. Miya panted beside her. The tunnels curved madly, twisting through the underworld.

"There's no way out," Miya said, voice trembling.

Fira forced herself to take deep breaths, to focus. "Let us think, Miya. This place … if these are indeed the tunnels beneath Requiem, that confirms this place—this entire maze—is a hallucination. Like the visions that became reality in the Dream Arena."

"This maze must be reading our mind, twisting and forming itself based on our nightmares," said Miya. She banged against a dark wall, nearly fell, ran onward. Behind them, the snake kept hissing and cackling.

"But we can escape our nightmares," Fira said. "I learned that in the Dream Arena. Miya, think about it! The faces on the walls—the faces of Vir Requis who died that night long ago. The vision of me dead, you carrying my body. Now these tunnels. This isn't a real labyrinth! It's just a rose garden, same as the Dream Arena was just a valley. This is all in our minds. And that means we can change things."

"But how?" Miya said. "We tried walking through the wall, remember? And just banged into it."

They raced downward, sloping into darkness. The serpent cackled behind, chasing them, like Nemoria had chased them nineteen years ago.

"We won't solve anything by walking into walls," Fira said. "That's not what this maze wants. Every maze is a riddle. And every riddle has a solution. This maze is a waking nightmare. And nightmares are about facing your demons. That's what we must do here. Like we faced Nemoria in this place long ago. We faced her in the library. Think of the library, Miya! The library where we made our stand as children."

Miya gulped. "All right." She shuddered.

"Sisters, sisters, come to beg!" hissed the serpent, moving closer. "Come to scream!"

As she ran, Fira brought to mind the old tunnels, those childhood explorations of the dark, and that horrible night, fleeing Nemoria through shadows. And she imagined the tunnels opening up into a wide, cold chasm. The library of Requiem. A place of echoes, shelter, and a battle with a monster. The center of the maze.

"Come to me, my sweet sisters!" Lintari laughed. "I'll feed on your limbs before bringing your writhing corpses to torture in my hall!"

"Keep thinking of the library," Fira said. "Ignore her. We must find the library."

Miya nodded and clutched Fira's hand.

The tunnel turned into a staircase. Fira and Miya ran deeper, down into cold darkness, until finally in the distance … light.

Lamplight shone ahead.

They ran, panting, the snake hissing behind them, and burst into a cold chamber.

They skidded to a stop and stared.

A vast cavern rose around them.

"We found it," Fira said. "The library."

The library beneath Nova Vita. The place where Mother had died.

"How can this be?" Miya whispered.

"A dream," Fira said. "Our dreams turned into reality."

The sound of the serpent faded. Silence coiled around them like a living thing. The sisters walked through the library, passing between the shelves. None of the books' spines bore any titles. Fira lifted a few and flipped the pages. Each page contained a single word: Die. Die. Die.

She tossed a book down. It landed with a thud, and Fira called out, voice echoing in the library, "Whoever you are, stop this! Confront us! Cease your trickery!"

Laughter rolled across the library, rattling the shelves. The books shook. Some fell onto the floor, opening to reveal bloodstained pages. Die. Die. Die. Shadows stirred. Miya whimpered and clung to Fira.

"Whoever rules this maze—show yourself!" Fira demanded, the pain in her leg forgotten. She drew her blade—Arinor, the legendary sword, forged in dragonfire from the shards of ancient blades. "Come face me, or are you a coward?"

Fira took another few steps, reaching a circular area between many bookshelves. She paused among the last few books, gazing ahead into the empty space.

She recognized this place. It was here, right ahead, that Mother had faced Nemoria.

A dream, Fira thought. An illusion. A trick.

Miya came to stand at her side and pointed. "Look!" she whispered.

Fira looked. She saw it. In the empty expanse, at the exact place where Mother had died, stood a tall mirror.

Its frame was shaped like a coiling serpent. The mirror's surface was polished bronze, as smooth as a still pond. Its reflection showed Fira and Miya from years ago. Fira stood as a child of eight, not yet scarred or haunted. She was carrying Miya, an innocent baby.

"It's us," Miya whispered. "Us that day."

Inside the mirror, a shadow stirred behind the young girls.

A corresponding creak sounded behind the adult Fira and Miya.

The sisters spun around and gasped.

They held hands and scurried backward, emerging from the cover of the bookshelves into the round, barren center of the library.

The creature scuttled after them.

At first, Fira had expected to see Lintari.

She saw something much more hideous.

It looked like a giant caterpillar, its body segmented. But this was no mere larvae. A hundred human babies formed its body, headless, stitched together. Each segment sprouted a baby's arms and legs. The soft limbs pattered, propelling the monstrous creature forward.

Only the top segment sprouted a head—a baby's head, curious, pale, the eyes completely black like those of a raven. A red gemstone, as large as a chicken's egg, hung from the creature's neck on a golden chain.

"Who are you?" Fira demanded, heart hammering against her ribs. She held out her sword. "Stay back!"

Miya drew her own sword. "We'll cut you!"

The caterpillar scurried forward, clattering, and bared sharp teeth.

"You entered my lair." Its voice was high-pitched, demonic, like many voices hissing together. "You came to steal my beautiful mirror. Now you will die."

The creature reared, its head nearly reaching the ceiling.

"This is not your mirror!" Fira swung her sword in arches, holding the caterpillar back. "This is the Mirror of Many Worlds. It belonged to Luna Aeternum, daughter of Gloriae the Gilded, a queen of Requiem. I am her descendant. This mirror belongs to my family. I've come to claim my heirloom."

The caterpillar chortled, its many segments swelling and rippling.

"Luna stole the mirror," the creature said. "She stole it from us! The mirror with which we hunted. Through which we fed." The centipede of babies laughed. "She made us. She constructed this thing you see. She stole our mirror, and she made us a monster. So we took our mirror back! And we took our babies back. And we sent the wretched queen of deceit into the Abyss." The top segment, the only baby with a head, sneered and revealed fangs. "Our mirror will never be stolen again!"

The creature pounced.

Fira and Miya leaped back.

Burn in dragonfire! Fira thought, reaching for her magic … and could not find it.

Miya gasped at her side. "Fira, I can't turn into a dragon, I—"

The creature slammed against them.

Fira screamed.

The caterpillar had a hundred limbs or more—the limbs of babies, but tipped with claws. Those claws dug into Miya, shedding her blood. The top segment, the one with the head, bit Fira's shoulder.

Fira hissed and reached for her magic again. She could feel it. Just there, beyond her reach, buried deep inside her. But she couldn't grasp it. The amulet pulsed on the caterpillar's chest, blinding her, spinning Fira's head.

"Fira, my magic is gone!" Miya said, scampering back. The caterpillar's lower half slammed into her, knocking her down. The monster's amulet shone brighter.

"It's an animating stone!" Fira said. "Damn it! We can't use magic around it!"

She had heard of animating stones. Everyone in Requiem had. Long ago, during the reign of Queen Lacrimosa the Wise, the tyrant Dies Irae had used these gemstones to animate corpses, to unleash them on Requiem.

Did this animating stone control the maze? Make its walls change shape, trapping travelers? Was it animating this very creature, this deformed caterpillar of dead babies?

Fira didn't know. But she remembered something else about animating stones. Their magic was so powerful it destroyed any other magic nearby. In the ancient tales, animating stones had forced Requiem's warriors to fight in human form.

We won't be shifting into dragons with this gemstone around, Fira thought.

The creature pulled back, then leaped forward, slamming into Fira and Miya, knocking them down. The teeth bit Fira again, and she screamed, tried to shove the caterpillar off, but it fought with furious strength.

When the caterpillar pulled back for air, Fira swung her sword.

She sliced the creature in two.

Its halves flailed. The top half barreled into Fira again, biting and clawing. The headless bottom half leaped onto Miya, scratching, tugging her hair, reaching for the eyes. Both sisters fell, wrestling with the squirming creatures.

Fangs sank into Fira. She reached for the amulet, tried to grab the animating stone, but the claws slashed her. One claw drove into her wounded leg, and Fira howled in agony. Her eyes rolled back. Consciousness began to flee her.

"Thief!" hissed the caterpillar, its demonic eyes glaring. "We know what you did. You let your mother die. We saw it in our mirror, Fira of Requiem. Fira the False. Fira the Coward. Now you will die in the same place."

The teeth bit again, and the claws dug into her wound.

As the pain pulsed through her, Fira's head tilted back. No. No, this was not the same place. An illusion. Just an illusion. The gemstone pulsed red, swaying—animating. Giving life to death.

These babies are dead, she thought. Just corpses. Just puppets of meat.

She looked past the flailing caterpillar toward the mirror, and she saw a reflection inside.

A figure. Barely a shadow. Hunched over between the bookshelves. Framed by scraggly gray hair. Old and withered.

Fira's fist tightened around her hilt.

With a scream, she lashed her sword, cutting the caterpillar.

Black blood sprayed. Fira howled, sliced again, kicked, and managed to shove the creature off.

Fira could not walk. She crawled across the floor, each inch an agony. The caterpillar scampered behind her, snapping at her ankles. Miya was fighting her own segment of the beast.

Fira kept crawling—toward the shelves where she had seen the figure.

There—in the darkness! She saw her.

A humpback. A crone. Her scraggly hair hung down to her feet. Her nose was long, her face withered, her eyes baleful. The marionette of this puppet. The mistress of the maze.

Fira grabbed a shelf and pulled herself to her feet. The caterpillar wrapped around her legs, biting, reaching up toward her belly.

Fira pointed her sword at the crone.

"You killed them," Fira said. "You killed your babies."

The witch shrieked, a sound that knocked back the shelves, sending books flying.

"I loved them!" cried the crone. "This evil is Luna's doing. Luna the Traveler? Luna the Traitor! She stole our mirror. She gave us only a crystal in return. She told me it would bring my babies back to life. She lied! She cheated! They returned to life, yes. But as this thing. This creature. This god. Foul life! So I took back my mirror. And I kept my crystal. And I built a labyrinth so that Luna could never find me again." She looked at the dying centipede. "They are my babies. They returned to life. And you are murdering them!"

With a shriek, the crone leaped toward Fira, mouth open and fingernails thrusting.

Fira raised her sword, an instinctive movement.

The crone impaled herself on the blade.

The woman stared into Fira's eyes, twitching, and suddenly she seemed to Fira not cruel, not a crone, but a grieving mother. The old woman fell to the floor. Her flesh disintegrated, leaving only a skeleton. The ashes fluttered away.

The caterpillar segments followed, decaying, leaving piles of dust.

As Fira limped back toward the center of the library, the bookshelves all disintegrated, falling as sand, and the floor became craggy, and the walls crumbled. Fira found herself walking inside an ancient, ruined tower. Brick walls rose around her. Through windows and cracks in the wall, Fira saw the rose labyrinth outside, surrounding the tower. But now the maze was small. The roses were mere hedges, barely three feet tall, and she could see the forest nearby.

Miya ran toward Fira and embraced her.

"Oh Fira," she said. "You did it. You killed her. Now let's grab this mirror and—"

A hiss rose, interrupting her.

The sisters turned and saw her slithering forth.

The python raised her head and grinned.

"Lintari," Fira whispered.

LINTARI

She slithered toward the Aeternum sisters, forked tongue darting.

Fira and Miya, princesses of Requiem, stood before her with drawn blades. The red gemstone shone on the floor, just beyond their reach—an ancient animating stone, so powerful that it canceled out magic around it.

The sisters will be unable to shift around it, Lintari thought, coiling closer. Good.

"Halt!" Fira said, pointing her sword at Lintari. "I slew the witch in the center of the labyrinth, and I can slay you."

Miya came to stand closer to Fira and raised her own sword. "I fought you before, Lintari," the princess said. "And I hurt you. Slither closer, and I will hurt you again."

Lintari coiled through the dust, drawing nearer. The animating stone pulsed brighter, blinding her. She felt its power reach out, tug at her, trying to steal her magic. To make her human again. Lintari resisted, clinging to her serpentine form.

I will resist the stone! I am not magical. I am divine!

She slithered closer. The animating stone pulsed brighter.

It was useless. The animating stone could perhaps not steal the divine powers of a goddess. Lintari would still be able to heal from any injury, the gift of her goddess mother. But Lintari was only half goddess. She had inherited the ability to shift from Berinor, a mere mortal. As she drew closer to the gemstone, her magic vanished.

Her scales melted into her skin. She shrank in size. She kept advancing as a human, her golden hair flowing down to her hips. She had lost her armor in the burnt farm. She wore only a tattered cloak which she had picked up along the road. But she still carried Soulshard, her katana. The blade gleamed.

"Hello, sisters," Lintari said. "Ah, so we fight as humans, I see. Do you prefer me to slay you with this sword? I would be glad to."

The sisters pointed their blades at her.

"Stand back!" Fira said. "I'll cut you!"

Lintari laughed. "You should be running, sisters! But you know that I would catch you. You know that your blades cannot hurt me—not for long. Only innocence can harm a goddess. Your innocence shattered years ago." She licked her lips and took a step closer. "I won't kill you either. Not quickly, at least. I'll make sure that you scream for many, many years in the Hall of Shadows."

Miya made to run, but Fira grabbed her arm.

"No," said the older princess. "We end this now. No more running."

Lintari had to marvel at the woman's spirit. While Miya was young and timid, Fira was older, taller, far stronger. Her brown eyes stared steadily at Lintari, and her sword did not waver. Despite the ugly wound on her leg—Lintari could smell the rot—Fira stood firmly. Scars still covered her, mementos from that old battle against Nemoria. The princess was still missing one finger and one ear, gone to the fire.

It was the night King Berinor made me, Lintari thought, gazing at those scars. The night he cast Mother out into the cold. With me inside.

Lintari was surprised to find tears in her eyes. She raced forward and raised her sword.

"Still you are so arrogant!" she cried, swinging her katana.

Fira raised her ancestral longsword, parrying the blow. "We've done you no harm."

Lintari sneered, swung her katana again, and the blades clashed. "Your family cast us out into the cold!"

Her tears burned. The blades slammed together again, showering sparks.

"That is a lie," said Fira.

Lintari swung the katana again, and this time she made it past Arinor. Her blade tore into Fira's hip, nicking the pelvis bone.

Fira screamed, wobbled, but somehow remained standing.

"Fira!" Miya cried.

With a scream, Miya charged and thrust her own sword.

The blade pierced Lintari's stomach.

But Lintari barely noticed the pain, barely cared.

"You murdered him!" Lintari trembled, staring at the sisters, her tears and blood flowing. "You cast us out, and then you murdered my brother when he returned home. You murdered Ramiel!"

"Only because he was slaying children in our city," Fira said. Her blood flowed. She swayed. "Lintari, listen to me! You are my sister. Listen! We've never meant you harm. We only tried to defend ourselves. We—"

"Liar!" Lintari shouted and swung her blade again.

Her katana whistled through the air, hit Fira's arm, and sliced it off.

The severed arm, with the sword still clutched in the hand, hit the floor.

Fira screamed.

Miya watched in numb horror, then fell to her knees.

Lintari breathed heavily, grinning, sobbing. "Now you know pain! You took my brother from me. So I took your arm from you! Now I will take everything from you both!"

Fira fell to the ground, ashen, blood spurting. She convulsed. Miya wept at her side, scrambling to form a tourniquet from her belt, but her fingers were shaking too badly. She whimpered as Lintari stepped closer, raising her blade.

"Now I'll take your arm too!" Lintari said to the girl.

Miya stared up at her, eyes damp, then looked aside meekly. She took a shuddering breath, then looked back at Lintari.

"Wait," the girl whispered. "Look into the mirror. Just look, Lintari. Please."

Lintari snorted. Look in the mirror? Why should she gaze into some old relic?

"Just look," Miya whispered.

Lintari glanced at the mirror, which stood propped against the wall. She frowned and tilted her head.

Fira and Miya both appeared in the mirror, much younger—Fira only a child, Miya a babe in her arms. Both were running down tunnels, fleeing from …

"Mother," Lintari whispered.

Nemoria appeared in the mirror, chasing the young princesses. The goddess was in her human form, skin gray and purple, long black hair flowing, her eyes burning. Her jaw hung down to her chest, lined with fangs, and her eyes were pools of molten metal. Her arms stretched out thrice the usual length, tipped with claws.

Lintari stepped closer, brow furrowed.

This was the night, she thought. The night I was conceived.

She gazed into the mirror, watching it unfold, watching Nemoria consume the queen of Requiem. She watched the goddess steal the queen's form, then enter King Berinor's bedchamber, naked and seductive. She watched the goddess rise as a three-headed dragon, the magic of Requiem now flowing through her veins.

And in her belly …

Ramiel and me, Lintari thought. Two sparks of divine light. Twin stars.

She kept gazing into the mirror, watching as the warriors of Requiem chased the goddess, as they died. She watched as Nemoria tried to kill the king, to consume him too, until Fira—a small red dragon, no larger than a horse—bit off Nemoria's arm. Young Fira fell, wreathed in flame. Nemoria fled, clutching her wound, defeated, vowing to return and slay them all.

The mirror went dark.

Lintari stood for a moment, gazing at the polished bronze. Her reflection stared back at her.

Berinor never cast us out, Lintari realized, trembling. He was never ashamed of us. Mother tricked him. Tried to kill him. Lied to him. Lied to Ramiel and me.

Lintari inhaled sharply. She spun back toward the princesses.

"A lie!" she screamed. "You trick me with your false mirrors!"

Fira's skin was ashen, her breath shallow. Miya had managed to tie a crude tourniquet around Fira's stump. But the blood still flowed. Fira would be dead within minutes.

"It's true," Miya said. "Please, Lintari. You must believe. Everything you saw in the mirror is true."

Lintari was sobbing now. No. No! How could it be true! Mother had told her the truth. That Berinor had used Mother to satisfy his lust, then tossed her aside. That he was ashamed. Disgusted to have impregnated a goddess, one who wasn't Vir Requis. That Berinor cast them out into the cold. That he was cruel. That Princess Fira and Miya were haughty, vicious, that they scorned Lintari, called her a half-breed and monster.

"We are sisters," Miya whispered. "Please."

Lintari's katana clattered to the ground.

"No," Lintari whispered. "She wouldn't lie. Mother wouldn't lie!"

Pain stabbed her belly, and Lintari fell to her knees. Memories pounded into her. Memories of herself as a child, spilling her mug of milk, and Nemoria shrieking in rage, ripping off Lintari's arms, letting them grow again and again, punishing the child for spilling her drink. Memories of Ramiel begging, pleading with Mother to stop, but Nemoria still beating him, breaking his skull, letting him heal, teaching him strength.

You will have to be strong to face the weredragons! Nemoria screamed. You weak, pathetic—

"No," Lintari whispered, trembling. Her world seemed to crash around her.

Mother lied.

She tossed back her head and howled.

She lied!

Fira gasped and twitched. Her skin was gray now, her eyes sunken. There was almost no life left to her.

Lintari rose to her feet and stepped closer. She knelt, gazing down at Fira. At her older sister.

"Stay away!" Miya said, scrambling for her weapon.

But Lintari ignored her. She clasped Fira's remaining hand, a hand scarred and deformed by Nemoria's fire. Fira took shaking, rattling breaths, her eyes red, the last drop of her lifeblood fleeing. She had only a few breaths left.

No. Lintari inhaled deeply. I already lost a brother. I will not lose a sister.

She placed her hand on Fira's chest.

"Don't touch her!" Miya said, trying to shove Lintari off.

But Lintari kept her hand on her older sister. She closed her eyes.

I am a goddess, Lintari thought. Ichor flows through my veins. My flesh can heal within instants from any wound, even rise again from death. Heal now, Fira. Accept my divinity. Let new blood flow through you, let your pain end. Rise again.

Warmth flowed down Lintari's arm, into her sister, spreading through Fira's body. To the stump of her arm. To her infected leg. To the old scars across her.

Heal, Fira. With me. Let me bless you. Accept me.

She felt them joining together. Souls entwining. She felt Fira's heart and mind, the goodness inside her, the love she held for Requiem, for her family.

She's not evil. Mother lied. All my life. She lied. My sisters are kind.

Lintari opened her eyes. Fira still lay by her, but her skin was no longer ashen. Her right arm had regrown. Her left arm—the arm Nemoria had burned years ago—was healed now as well, the hand no longer deformed, the missing finger there again. All her scars had faded. The side of her head, once ravaged by fire, was now pale and unblemished, and her brown hair flowed behind a new ear.

Miya gasped. "Fira, you— Are you all right, you—" The young princess burst into tears and pulled Fira into an embrace. "Is this real? Are you really healed?"

As Fira began to rise, awe in her eyes, Lintari stumbled back.

What have I done?

Lintari couldn't breathe. She trembled. She covered her mouth.

I healed her. I vowed to hunt her, and I healed her, I—

Fira took a hesitant step toward her, eyes damp. She reached out her healed hand, and she whispered, voice choked. "Lintari, thank you. Thank you so much."

"Get away from me," Lintari whispered.

Who am I?

Lintari spun around and fled the tower.

BERINOR

The nation of Requiem crowded in the fossilized titan, filling its veins and cavities and hidden chambers.

The titan perhaps was dead. But only on the outside.

In the dark innards, the parasites scuttled.

"My king!" Lady Sirana came racing down the stony artery. Her red hair clung to her brow, damp with sweat, and white sticky blood stained her breastplate. "My king, more of them attack inside the heart!"

Berinor was busy tending to a wounded knight. A chunk of flesh was missing from the poor man's leg. Berinor rose, leaving his patient for now. He turned toward his bodyguards, three hulking men.

"Come. They need us at the heart."

They rushed down the round tunnel—once an artery pumping blood through the giant, now turned to stone. Many Vir Requis huddled here in their human forms, slowing their passage. Mothers hugged their babes. Elders prayed. A few lanterns and candles burned, the only illumination inside this ancient, fallen giant.

Sirana, who ran at their lead, halted. "Parasite ahead!" she cried.

Berinor looked. He inhaled sharply. A creature hunched over a dead woman, feeding upon her flesh. It looked like a millipede, but it was man-sized. Its skin was translucent, revealing pulsing organs. Chunks of human meat flowed down its throat into its belly, visible to all.

The parasite raised its head, turned toward Berinor, and hissed. Its antennae twitched.

Sirana knelt and thrust her blade, impaling the creature. It screamed and fell, writhing, only for Sirana to slam down her blade, piercing its head.

She looked over her shoulder at Berinor. "Nasty buggers, the millipedes. Gotta stab 'em in the brain or they don't die."

Berinor nodded. "I'll remember that."

Little Lady Sirana, he thought, remembering the orphan he had cradled in his arms years ago. You've grown into one of our finest warriors.

They continued walking through the fossilized artery. They finally emerged into the network of four stony caverns they had deemed the titan's heart. Several Vir Requis toddlers cowered at the back, too young to shift. The corpses of adults lay before them. Twenty or more parasites hovered before the children, hissing, wings fluttering, diving down to bite and claw.

Some of the creatures were more millipedes. Others were worse. Some were oozing blobs, human corpses visible inside their translucent stomachs. Other creatures were giant insects, their mandibles clacking, their claws lashing. A few were great tapeworms, as long as pythons, their heads ending with rings of teeth.

Berinor shifted into a dragon and charged toward them. Sirana joined him, taking the form of a silvery dragon. There was no room to blow fire here—not without burning the children—and no room for the other guards to shift. Berinor clawed a giant worm. Sirana sank her teeth into a blob, ripping out chunks of slime and spitting them out.

Several parasites leaped onto Berinor. They couldn't break his scales, but one slashed his unarmored underbelly, and another ripped his wing. He roared and lashed his tail, knocking them down. Behind him, his soldiers—still in human form—thrust swords into the creatures. White blood splashed the chamber.

Finally the parasites all lay dead, though Berinor could still hear many scuttling throughout the titan's corpse. There must be thousands. Maybe millions.

Sirana returned to human form, knelt by the toddlers, and comforted them. Berinor shifted back too and stood, panting. The battle had winded him. Twenty years ago, he wouldn't have broken a sweat. Now his chest heaved, and sweat dampened his hair.

A screech rose ahead.

A parasite scurried into the chamber, reared, and displayed many clawed feet. It let out a deafening cry.

A mighty hammer slammed into its head, shattering the creature. It fell, twitched, and died with a squeak.

"Lovely hiding place, this!" boomed Durian Eleison, standing over the dead parasite. The burly guardian lumbered into the room. His white beard hung down to his enormous belt buckle, and a heavy helmet topped his head. "Sure, why don't we all go hide inside a desiccated corpse swarming with parasites the size of horses? Fantastic idea!"

Berinor smiled. Even here, with parasites inside the titan and valkyries waiting outside, the sight of his old friend comforted him.

"Thank the stars for your hammer," Berinor said.

Durian snorted. "Thank the smiths who forged it. I'm just the dumb brute who swings it."

Throughout all their years of war, Berinor had found solace in Durian's stalwart loyalty, his strength, his honor. He couldn't help but notice, however, that Durian's bluster was tamer these days. That his arms shook with the burden of his hammer, a weapon none other could lift. That his brow was deeply lined, his eyes weary.

You're growing old, my friend, Berinor thought.

Berinor was feeling his age, and he wasn't yet fifty. Durian was well into his sixties.

How much longer do we have to fight together? Berinor thought, and that thought disturbed him more than all the parasites and valkyries in Requiem.

"Old friend," Berinor said, placing a hand on Durian's shoulder. "I need you to stay here in this chamber, to guard the little ones."

"What?" Durian blustered, spraying saliva. His mustache bristled. "I'm needed deeper down in the guts! Thousands of these creepy crawly critters are scuttling around down there, and my hammer craves to crush their slimy heads."

Yet Berinor noticed that the hammer head now rested on the ground, and that Durian was leaning on the shaft. Only a few years ago, Durian would be swinging that hammer through the air, warming up for another round of battle.

Berinor leaned closer and spoke in a low voice for only Durian's ear. "The heart is where the nastiest critters travel in every corpse. I need you here, Durian. In the heart of things. Here is where I need my most trusted man."

Durian stiffened. "Yes. Yes, of course. The very heart of things!" He nodded, looked at the little ones, then back at Berinor. "I'll protect the wee ones. By my honor."

Berinor squeezed his friend's shoulder, then stepped aside and beckoned to Sirana. The young guard approached, her armor dented and scratched, her short hair caked with parasite guck. But her back was still straight, her eyes still strong.

Looking at her, Berinor realized how much she looked like her father. Lord Oldnale had been a good friend. An honorable man. A warrior who had given his life to Requiem. In the ashes following that old battle, Berinor had found little Sirana—a mere toddler—kneeling over her dead parents. He had carried the girl home, had comforted her, had accompanied her to the funeral. The memory of little Sirana standing at the graveside, giving a City Guard salute, had never left Berinor. In the years following that battle, Fira had fled to exile, and Miya had nearly shattered, but Sirana had found her shelter behind armor, serving in the force her father had commanded.

"Sirana," Berinor said in a low voice, too soft for Durian to hear. "Place guards in all arteries leading to the heart. We'll then shepherd more of the children into the four chambers. This must become the safest place in the titan."

Sirana nodded. "Yes, my king."

She turned to leave, but Berinor placed a hand on her shoulder, halting her.

"Sirana," he said, "how are you holding up?"

She raised her chin. "I will fight until my last breath, my king. No more parasites will enter this heart, I swear it."

He clasped her shoulder. "Sirana, your parents would be so proud of you. As proud as I am."

She blinked, her eyes suddenly damp. "Thank you, my king," she whispered, then turned and left the chamber, heading down the titan's body toward its fossilized bowels.

Berinor was about to find a quiet nook to sleep—he had been awake for many hours, perhaps days—when shrieks sounded in the distance.

Valkyries.

Berinor began to run, moving up tunnels, passing through the chest of the titan. The shrieks grew louder as he advanced. Berinor made his way among the refugees, hundreds of them, until he reached the giant's skull.

The titan's jaws were creaking open. And valkyries were streaming in. Dead Vir Requis warriors lay at their feet.

Berinor shifted into a dragon and breathed fire, bathing the valkyries with his fury.

"Warriors of Requiem!" he shouted, letting his flames die for but an instant. "Warriors, to the jaws!"

More valkyries raced between the giant's stone teeth, entering the head, swords raised. If they had feared the titan earlier, they had obviously found new courage. Between the giant teeth, Berinor saw thousands more outside, bustling through the sky, and among them …

Nemoria stared at him, flying high above her warriors. The goddess sneered.

Vir Requis warriors burst into the head, shifted into dragons, and blasted dragonfire. Berinor blew his flames with them, casting the valkyries back. Their beams of light pierced the inferno, slaying dragons. More Vir Requis emerged to replace the fallen.

"Close the jaws!" Berinor roared. "Push the enemy back, and close the titan's jaws!"

He walked forward, still a dragon, blowing his fire. A valkyrie emerged from the blaze, skin melting, blades thrusting. Berinor clawed and shoved her aside, suffering a gash to his leg. He kept advancing, taking another sword to the shoulder, a slice to his cheek. With fire, fang, claw, he kept plowing through them. His fellow dragons fought with him, fell around him.

Berinor beat his wings, flew toward the ceiling, and grabbed one of the titan's stone teeth. He roared, tugging down the jaws. His fellow dragons grabbed other teeth, pulled with him.

Finally, with a thud, the giant mouth slammed shut.

Berinor turned around, surveying the cavernous skull, and his heart sank.

Scores of Vir Requis lay dead, sliced with blades and burned with light. Outside, the valkyries kept shrieking, tugging at the jaws, trying to pull them open.

"We need to bolt these jaws shut," Berinor said. "I'm going to need Durian's hammer after all."

For long hours they toiled, collecting breastplates and helmets into pits of stone, melting them with dragonfire, and forging them into long nails, sturdy rods, and curved plates. Durian arrived—grumbling about being dragged away from the heart of the battle. The old warrior swung his mighty hammer, nailing metal sheets and rods into the titan's jaws, wiring them shut tooth by tooth.

The valkyries were still shrieking outside, slamming against the titan's head. Dust flew, and bolts kept loosening, and a tooth cracked. Light blasted through the opening, slaying a man. The Vir Requis quickly hammered a metal sheet atop the broken tooth, only for a crack to appear in the skull. More metal sealed the new breech.

"You cannot hide in there forever, Berinor!" rose the goddess's voice from outside. "You've entered your tomb."

"Keep sealing the cracks," Berinor said to his warriors. Where Durian's hammer could not reach, men were swinging clubs and shields. "And keep melting more metal!"

"My king!" rose a voice from behind, and a guard raced into the titan's skull. "My king, thousands of parasites! They're swarming up from the bowels, filling the chest! We need more warriors!"

Berinor could barely breathe. He clenched his jaw, then nodded. He barked out orders, sending fifty warriors down into the chest, leaving only twenty in the head.

Not enough.

Nemoria's laughter rose outside. It echoed inside the titan.

As the Vir Requis toiled, as the valkyries kept slamming against the skull, as the parasites kept attacking from below, Berinor knew it was only a matter of time. Sooner or later, the enemy would break in. And then every Vir Requis would perish. Requiem would fall.

Come back to us, Lenora and Oryn, and bring us the conch to control these beasts, he thought. Come back to us, my daughters, and bring us the mirror to send them to hell.

Yet as he worked, hammering another metal sheet over a crack, Berinor could barely cling to hope, and in his mind, as the titan cracked and crumbled, he saw King's Column fall.

FIRA

I'm healed.

Fira stood in the old tower, tears in her eyes, examining her arms in wonder.

No more scars marred her. The old pain, that curse she had lived with for so many years, was gone. She flexed her fingers. Once more, five fingers grew from her left hand. And the hand was flexible, no longer curled up and bloated from her old injury. She raised those fingers, touched her left ear, the new ear that grew there, from a face no longer ravaged with scar tissue.

"She healed me," Fira whispered. "Lintari healed me. All of me."

She looked at her right arm next, the arm Lintari had severed. It was back and unblemished. Her leg, once infected and full of pus, was strong again. No sign of the valkyrie's sword remained. Not even a scar. Even Fira's hunger and weariness were gone.

She looked at Miya. Her younger sister was still covered in scrapes and bruises, and her blue eyes were still sunken with exhaustion and hunger. Her golden hair lay flat, all its luster gone, and her gown was tattered.

But we're alive, Fira thought. And we're together again.

She embraced her little sister and kissed her forehead.

"We did it, Miya. We made it through the maze."

Miya held her close. "I was so scared, Fira. So scared we wouldn't make it out. And . . . I'm sorry, Fira. So sorry for everything."

All the hardness inside Fira melted. "Sorry for what?"

"For yelling at you back in the maze. For all those times I yelled into my pillow back home, cursing you, while you were in your cave. When I was so angry." Miya wiped her eyes. "Often I hated you, Fira. For leaving me. But walking here with you, I realized that I love you so much, more than I ever knew. I will love you forever, my sister." She smiled through her tears. "And I'm so grateful that you're healed. That she healed you. Lintari."

That last word hung in the air. Miya's smile vanished, and she chewed her lip. Fira inhaled deeply. Both sisters looked at the crumbling archway through which Lintari had fled.

"And perhaps," Fira said softly, "we need to heal her too. We need to find our hurt, broken sister. We need to find Lintari, and we need to convince her of the truth. She belongs in our family, Miya. I believe that now. She's done horrible things. She's killed many innocents. But she's still our sister. And she learned something from the mirror. And she healed me. Perhaps we can still redeem her. Perhaps we can atone for killing Ramiel by redeeming Lintari."

Miya shuddered. "I remember fighting her in King's Forest. She hunted children. She murdered them. She's a monster. She tried to kill us. But then she healed you …" She looked into Fira's eyes. "How could Lintari be good? After all the evil she has done, how can we redeem her, how can we love her?"

Fira lowered her head. "I don't know. Maybe we can never forgive her. But Miya … I still grieve for what I did in the tunnels. For killing Ramiel. Our brother. I don't regret it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But I still grieve. We have to try. There is goodness to Lintari. There is evil, cruelty, bloodlust. But goodness too. I don't know when our paths will cross again. But I pray to the stars that when we next meet, Lintari will see us as sisters, not as enemies. And maybe … she will become a powerful ally."

Pray to the stars? Fira thought silently, pondering her choice of words. She glanced up. The tower's roof was missing, and she could see the Draco constellation shining. Many in Requiem believed these stars to be gods, sentient, blessing the children of Requiem. Fira had never felt blessed until this night.

Do you look after me, stars of Requiem? Or have you forsaken me, and only Lintari—a goddess of darkness—now cares for me?

She did not know.

Miya gently pulled back from Fira's embrace and approached the Mirror of Many Worlds.

"How do you reckon it works?" Miya asked.

Fira approached and stood beside her. The sisters looked at the mirror. Their reflections gazed back. No longer their reflections from the past but their current figures, standing here in the ruined tower. It just seemed like a regular mirror now.

"I don't know," Fira said. "According to legend, it can take you anywhere. Luna used it. But how do you choose the destination?"

Miya shrugged. "Well, maybe you just … tell it where you want to go." She cleared her throat and spoke loudly at the mirror. "Nova Vita!"

The reflection in the mirror seemed to quiver, a movement so subtle Fira wondered if she imagined it. The pane continued to show their reflection: one tall princess with brown hair and dark, somber eyes; another princess with pale skin, golden hair, and blue eyes full of fear.

Fira stepped closer to the mirror. "Show us Lynport!" she said, naming one of Requiem's southern cities. "Lynport!"

She thought she detected the slightest bending of the reflection, the subtlest of swirls, before the reflection stilled again. Fira sighed, and her reflection sighed back at her.

"Do you think it worked?" Miya said. "If we stepped through, would we go to Lynport now?"

"I don't know," Fira said. "When we came into this tower, the mirror was showing an image from the past. We know it can display images, not just reflections. I was hoping to see Lynport's towers, streets, and harbor." She looked at the mirror. "Show us the library of Requiem again. The library!"

Once more, nothing happened.

"I'm going to test it," Miya said. She stepped closer to the mirror, inhaled deeply, and raised her chin. She walked forward … and banged into the mirror, nearly knocking it down.

Suppressing a smile, Fira grabbed the mirror and steadied it.

"You all right, Miya? You keep walking into things."

The young princess nodded, rubbing her nose. "Don't tell the thief about this."

Now Fira couldn't curb her smile. "Not a word. If we ever see him again." She sighed. "Did we come here for nothing?"

Miya frowned and paced the ruined tower. She stared through the windows at the rose hedges outside, then up at the sky through the missing roof.

"This mirror is ancient," Miya said. "If I remember the stories correctly, Luna the Traveler found this mirror in Osanna, an ancient eastern kingdom, once a great enemy of Requiem." Her frown deepened, and she rushed toward the dead crone, guardian of the maze. Grimacing, Miya plucked a ring off the skeleton's finger. "Look, Fira. The symbol on this ring. A winged bull. Symbol of ancient Osanna."

Fira tilted her head. "I think I know where you're going with this."

Miya nodded. "Maybe the mirror just didn't understand us. The names of places are different in our modern language."

"Well, I don't speak a word of ancient Osannan, if that's what you're thinking," Fira said.

"But I do!" said Miya. "Oh stars above, I hated my Osannan lessons back in the palace. Father made me take them. I never understood why I needed to learn a dead language nobody's spoken in thousands of years, but apparently, all princesses of Requiem are required to learn it."

Fira smiled thinly. "Not if they run away."

Miya stepped back toward the mirror, and she spoke a few words in the ancient language of Osanna.

The image in the mirror changed. It no longer reflected the ruined tower. A misty valley appeared. Chipped statues, ancient tombs, and crumbling mausoleums rose from the grass.

"The valley of King's Glory," Miya whispered. "A holy place in Osanna. The kings of that ancient civilization are buried there."

Fira inhaled deeply. She thought back to what little she knew of Osannan; she had only taken one or two lessons before fleeing into exile. But she knew the word for the Abyss, for that fiery land underground.

"Gehennah," she whispered.

The reflection changed. Flames replaced the valley, blazing through twisting caverns and tunnels. Bloated, dripping red creatures like living boils covered the walls, while demons of flames, hooks, and claws scuttled across the floor. One of the demons raised its head. It looked vaguely like a woman, hunched over, but with a snail's shell on her back, a slithering foot, and eyes on stalks. The snail-human hybrid screamed in fury and leaped forward, and Fira gasped and stumbled back.

"Araf!" Miya shouted.

The mirror changed again—an instant before the demon could leap out.

Droplets of slime flew into the tower, splattering the floor and sisters. The demon, thankfully, remained trapped in the Abyss.

Fira breathed out a sigh of relief.

The mirror now showed a murky cloudscape. Blotches of gray and black swirled lazily. A chill emanated from the mirror, and a wisp of cloud escaped to float through the ruined tower. Beyond the murk, Fira could just make out a dark, desolate landscape of stony hills.

"Well, so much for sending the valkyries to the Abyss," Fira muttered. "Not the safest portal to open." She frowned at the misty image. "What is this place? It looks dreadful."

Miya gazed at the swirling clouds, seeming lost in thought. "The ancients believed that Araf is where the souls of the dead travel, a realm where they await judgment from the gods. The righteous continue to a heavenly realm, where they dwell forever with Ta'al. The sinners are cast into a frozen wasteland, where they turn to ice. Araf is a sort of … giant waiting room, I suppose." She shuddered. "A place of desolation. Of vast emptiness."

"A place to send the valkyries." Fira nodded.

Miya doffed her cloak and tossed it over the mirror. The faint grumbling and chill vanished. When Miya lifted the cloak, the image of Araf was gone. It once more showed the sisters' reflection.

The sisters looked at each other.

"We have our mirror," Fira said. "Now let's fly to the sleeping titan and send these valkyries into desolation."

"If Lenora and Oryn found the conch," Miya said, eyes dark. "Otherwise, this'll be history's shortest rescue mission."

The sisters shifted into dragons. Gently, Fira lifted the mirror in her claws, careful to keep Miya's cloak still draped over it. They took flight, rising through the dilapidated tower, out the missing roof, and into the night sky. They flew under the stars of Requiem.

Please, stars, Fira thought, gazing up at her constellation. If you care for me at all … let Lenora and Oryn find the conch. Let us not be too late to save the others. And thank you, stars. Thank you for my sister.

She looked at Miya. The blue dragon flew nearby, staring forward, eyes determined. Fira didn't know if they would win this war, if they would find life or death in the stone titan. But one thing she knew.

I'm healed in body and spirit, and I have my sister again.

She took a deep breath and glided onward through the darkness.

Now I must save my people. And I must save my second sister.

LENORA

She and Oryn had been swimming for hours, feeding on fish and seaweed, when Lenora saw the vast, glittering ruins upon the seabed.

She paused from swimming, letting her fins drape at her sides. She inhaled deeply through her gills.

"Lemuria," she whispered. "Oh, Oryn, it's beautiful. Even more than what Luna described."

Oryn paused beside her, spikes bristling along his back, fins undulating like banners. It was hard to judge his expression in this form. As an aquatic dragon, his face looked more like a seahorse than anything. But she thought that she detected awe in his eyes.

Luna had written of this place in her books. But seeing it for real was beyond anything Lenora had ever imagined. She looked at the ruins ahead, trying to soak it all in, to memorize every detail, so that she could write about it later in a book of her own. But she thought that no words could ever capture the splendor of Lemuria.

Sunlight glimmered through the sea's surface above. Beads of light glided down like autumn leaves. They illuminated a city grander than ten Nova Vitas. Columned temples rose from the seabed, their columns covered with barnacles and moss. Colossal statues of ancient monarchs lay fallen, coral growing across them, forming colorful raiment. Gilded archways, marble palaces, boulevards lined with porticos, countless domes and towers—all rose or lay fallen here, all covered with algae, with life. Seaweed grew between the buildings, tall and thin like cypresses. Fish of every color flittered in and out of windows, yellow and lavender eels peered from between stones and walls, and rays lazily glided between towers.

There is more life in Lemuria now, Lenora thought, than when it rose above water.

"Well, so much for finding a bunch of wise old Lemurians to greet us," Oryn said. "This place is beautiful. But it lies in ruin."

Lenora looked at him. "I never imagined any Lemurians survived when the gods cast the city into the sea." She frowned. "Were you really expecting to see them?"

"Well …" Oryn twisted uncomfortably. "I mean, I sort of imagined, I don't know … a bunch of wise old men with long green beards, pointed ears, and robes. Maybe living inside giant air bubbles." He glared at her. "Come on, I bet you were expecting air bubbles too."

She blew bubbles at him. "There. You got your bubbles. Now let's go find Aldur's Conch."

They swam toward the ruins. A school of fish fled. A hammerhead shark coiled lazily above. A giant crab emerged from between two rocks, clacked its claws, then retreated back into its shelter.

"So where do we find this magical conch?" Oryn said as they swam through an archway, entering the drowned city. "This place is massive. It's much larger than Nova Vita." He looked around. "And I see thousands of conches here."

Lenora sighed. He was right. Many conches lay among the ruins, some elongated and spikey, some spiraling and smooth, some large as a fist, others larger than a human head. They gleamed white, blue, pink, azure.

"I'm not sure," Lenora said. "But I don't think we'll find Aldur's Conch just lying around on the street. This is an ancient, powerful artifact, able to control the valkyries. It would be protected. Kept hidden and safe. In a fortress or palace or temple."

"Or lying smashed under rubble," Oryn muttered, looking at a collapsed building, its columns cracked, its roof fallen.

Lenora swam among the ruins. Coral grew between the fallen columns. A crab peeked out from a pink spiral shell. Lenora looked around, seeing countless more shells. Thousands of buildings, some standing and others fallen, probably contained more seashells. It seemed hopeless.

"Searching an entire kingdom, and testing every seashell, will take days," Lenora said. "Maybe weeks, even months. Requiem can't wait that long." She swam in circles, distraught. "Have we come all this way for nothing?"

Oryn hopped in the water, tail pushing against the sand. A blowfish puffed up, gave him a suspicious look, then deflated and fled.

"Wait a moment," Oryn said. "Let's think. It's like … a library."

Lenora snorted out bubbles. "How?"

"Well, the library in Requiem is massive. It has thousands of books."

"Hundreds of thousands," said Lenora.

"Fine, Miss Librarian, hundreds of thousands." Oryn rolled his eyes. "If I were to wander in there, looking for a book, I'd never know where to find it. It would take me months and months. But you could find the book right away."

"That's because I'm the librarian," Lenora said. "Your point?"

"My point is," Oryn said, "we need to find Lemuria's librarian."

She groaned, blowing more bubbles. "What, a seahorse with spectacles?"

Oryn nodded. "Why not? We're seahorses now. Sort of. Giant dragon-seahorses. Maybe we can communicate with the animals here." He swam toward a patch of coral where he found several normal-sized seahorses. The black aquatic dragon leaned down toward the tiny creatures. "Hello, little ones! Can you understand me? Do you know where Aldur's Conch is?" The little creatures scurried away, hiding in the coral. "Hey! Come back here! Don't be shy."

With a sigh, Lenora swam away. She flitted up and down the boulevard between ruined buildings, deep in thought. A lavender eel emerged from between some stones and watched her swim by. Several crabs scuttled along the seabed. Lenora furrowed her brow.

"Library," she muttered. "Library …"

Maybe Oryn wasn't so crazy after all. She was close. There was a clue here somewhere. It tickled the back of her mind. If only …

"Come on, little guy! Come on!" Oryn said. He swam up to her, goading forward a small seahorse. "Look, bookworm! I brought you a friend. Try talking to him!"

The seahorse looked at Lenora, then bobbed away in the water.

"Hey, come back here, little librarian!" Oryn said, turning to chase it.

Librarian, Lenora thought. Like herself. Back in Requiem, it was the librarian who guarded the most powerful artifacts in Requiem—its books. The knowledge within them was worth more than gold, more than rubies and diamonds. Her parents had always told her that librarians protected the greatest treasures in Requiem.

"Oryn, I think you're on to something," Lenora said. "This was a grand city of splendor. A city of towers that kissed the sky, of golden domes, or palaces and temples and theaters. Only a society that valued knowledge, wisdom, and books could build such a city." She swam down the road. "In such a society, the library would be among the grandest—perhaps the grandest—building. It would be there, within the library walls, that Lemuria would keep its greatest treasures. Its books … and a magical conch to cast back enemies." She spun toward Oryn. "You were right, Oryn! What we need is a library!"

"I told you!" he said. "Always listen to old Oryn."

They swam through the drowned city, seeking the grandest buildings. They passed by what looked like a temple, its columns and pediment still standing, engraved with faded stars and suns. Marble statues of gods stood at its portico, draped with algae. Behind the columns, yellow and blue fish swam among coral. An impressive building, but not a library.

Leaving the temple, Lenora and Oryn swam along an aqueduct. Rays swam through its archways, nearly as large as dragons. A colossal statue lay fallen, as large as a castle, its stony face gazing toward the glimmering beads of light above. Seaweed formed its hair and beard, home to crabs and little orange fish.

A palace rose ahead, several of its towers still standing, capped with gold. At first Lenora thought this might be the library, but when she swam inside, she found treasures other than books. Anemones and starfish clung to mossy mosaics. Crabs and a barracuda hid inside gold and silver vases. The skeleton of a king, the bones still draped with jewels, sat on a throne. Clown fish darted in and out of its eye sockets and between its ribs.

"So … many … jewels!" Oryn said, jaw hanging open. "And no hands to grab them!" Vainly, he was trying to use his fins to lift a chest of rubies and golden coins.

"Oryn, come on!" Lenora said. "This is the wrong place. Let's keep looking."

Oryn settled for scooping a ruby necklace into his mouth, then swam after her, the rubies dangling around his chin. They kept exploring the city—around statues, under archways, and through schools of fish.

Finally, beyond a family of sea turtles and a forest of seaweed, Lenora saw another grand building. Its portico was still standing, coated with barnacles, and a statue of an owl topped the marble pediment. Beyond the vestibule rose a rotunda, the dome still showing flakes of silver. The structure was in excellent condition, far better than any of the other buildings in Lemuria. Aside from scratches, barnacles, and moss, the building was undamaged.

"This place was built to last," Lenora said. "Look, do you see the owl statue? Owls symbolize wisdom." She flitted closer, fins whirling the water, and grinned to see the words engraved upon the pediment. "Library of Lemuria."

"Lufs lufely," Oryn said through a mouthful of gemstones.

Lenora slapped his snout. "Spit those out."

With sad eyes, he watched the rubies fall to the seabed. A current raised a cloud of sand, burying the gemstones. Oryn groaned and looked back at Lenora.

"You almost knocked the magical seashell out too, you know," he said. "I could have drowned."

"Then you'd be among treasures forever." She swam toward the library's portico, squeezed between two columns, and approached an archway. Stone doors still stood here, covered in moss and barnacles. When she pressed against them, they didn't budge. "Oryn, help me, will you?"

He was busy blowing on the seabed, scattering sand, trying to find his missing rubies. He sighed and abandoned the hunt.

"Don't you even think of stealing my rubies!" he admonished a confused turtle, then swam toward Lenora.

The two water-dragons pressed against the stone doors, but they were stuck. Finally they relented and hovered before the doors, gills flaring.

"We'll find another entrance," Oryn said. "A window or hole in the wall."

They spent a while swimming around the library, but the windows were bricked up. There were signs of old damage to the roof—cracks and holes now sealed with concrete. And somebody had been scraping barnacles off the walls.

"Somebody's been tending to this library," Lenora said.

Oryn gasped. "The sea turtles! I knew they're smarter than they let up. They're after my rubies, I know it."

She slapped him with her fin. "It wasn't the turtles. There might be … a librarian."

"Probably inside a bubble," Oryn said. "I still think we'll find bubble people."

She sighed. "Back to the doors. Let's try again."

They returned to the stone doors. Lenora brushed off moss with her fins, seeking a doorknob or latch. Instead, she revealed …

"Letters," she said. "Oryn, help me."

They worked together, scraping off the moss and a few clinging starfish, until the doors were clean. The two water-dragons floated back, gazing at the doors. Words were engraved into the stone.

I comfort aching souls

I help prisoners escape dank cells

I inspire soldiers before war

And raise kingdoms from dust

All my words are lies

Yet none speak greater truths

Speak my name and enter my domain

Forsake me and turn to stone

"It's a riddle," Lenora said. "A magical riddle. If we solve it, the doors will open."

Oryn swam toward the doorway and spoke in a deep, clear voice. "Bubbles!"

Lenora groaned. "Oryn!"

"What? Bubbles comfort and inspire me!"

She slapped him. "And raise kingdoms from dust?"

"They could. Underwater kingdoms."

"Shush." She stared back at the stone doors, brow furrowed, and swam back and forth. "Something that's a lie, but comforts people … stories of the afterlife?"

"The afterlife is real," Oryn said. "I once saw a real ghost in the alleyways of Altus Mare. Well, it could have just been old Seli Silversmith from next door. He was always a bit pale, and usually drunk, but I'm sticking with ghost. Hey. Maybe ghost is the answer?"

"Oryn, go back to your jewels."

He nodded, swam back, and resumed searching for his missing rubies. Lenora stared at the stone doors again. What did she know of raising kingdoms, of inspiring soldiers for battle? She sighed.

Then again, maybe Lenora did know something about those. After all, she had read about many kingdoms and battles. And as for escaping dank cells, well, her library back in Nova Vita had been like a great prison cell, her fear forming its bars.

I always escaped the cell with books, she thought. With stories. And with you, Minori.

She gasped.

Hold on …

She nodded, reviewing the riddle again, then swam back toward the doors. She tilted her head back and called out the answer.

"Fantasy!"

The engraved words glowed, and the doors creaked open.

Oryn darted forward. He had found his necklace of rubies; it was draped across his fin. The two water-dragons swam through the doorway and into the library of Lemuria.

Lenora grinned. It was dark in here. But even in the murk, it seemed beautiful. The most beautiful place Lenora had ever seen. Frescos covered the ceiling, painted in flaking gold, silver, and pastels. Marble columns rose in rows, their capitals shaped as owls with spread wings. Statues of ancient librarians, spectacled and robed, stood everywhere, reading stone books.

But then Lenora's eyes adjusted to the shadows.

Her heart sank, and her smile vanished. Tears stung her eyes.

"The books are gone," she whispered. "Oh, Minori … they're gone."

She swam back and forth. She saw some remnants of bookshelves on the floor, just a few mossy slats. The wood had rotted away during the library's long years under the sea. Leather book covers still lay in the sand, corroded and shriveled. Lenora riffled through the wreckage. She found only a few sheets of parchment, their ink washed away. The pages disintegrated when she touched them.

She hung her head low.

"A hundred thousand books must have once filled this library," she said. "A hundred thousand worlds. The work of thousands of authors, their dreams, visions, hopes, their words to us. Their very souls. All gone."

She drooped and lay on the sand. This felt like … the only word she could come up with was genocide.

Maybe that's too extreme, she thought. But she didn't know how else to define such a feeling of loss. Authors lived on after death in their words. Their souls still shone on the page. Thousands of souls, and the worlds they had lived in, had perished here. Lenora wept.

Oryn patted her with his fin.

"Hey, Lenora, why the long face? Kidding, kidding! You know, because you look like a seahorse? But seriously—I'm sorry, Lenora."

She looked at his own long seahorse face, and his eyes seemed almost human to her. The eyes of the thief she had met in shadows. She saw kindness in those eyes.

"I know they're only books," Lenora said. "But to me, books are worlds. Real worlds full of real people. Life. So much life here—gone."

"I felt such grief when Altus Mare fell," Oryn said. "When suddenly, an entire city—the city where I grew up—vanished. We cannot bring back Altus Mare or this library. But we can still, maybe, save the people of Nova Vita." He pointed his fin. "Look, Lenora. There on the pedestal."

Lenora turned and saw it there. Resting on a marble pedestal. An ivory-colored conch, as large as a human head. A glass dome protected it, and a plaque identified it.

"Aldur's Conch," she whispered. "We found it."

Oryn nodded and pointed at the glass dome. "And it's inside a bubble! See?"

Lenora couldn't help but laugh. "Fine, Oryn, you were right about the bubbles. Now let's grab this thing and go home."

The two dragons swam toward the dome. They were only a few feet away when shadows stirred at the back of the library.

Lenora froze and held out her fin, halting Oryn.

She narrowed her eyes, staring into the darkness.

"Oryn, do you—" she began.

With a cry that shook the library, a creature burst out from the shadows, lashing massive tentacles toward them.

Lenora screamed.

One tentacle slammed into Oryn, knocking him into a tailspin. An instant later, a tentacle hit Lenora, large and powerful like a crashing column. She spun madly in the water, beat her fins, and struggled to steady herself.

"Thieves!" rumbled a deep voice. "Thieves in the library!"

Lenora scurried backward, grabbed Oryn with her prehensile tail, and yanked him back too. They retreated from Aldur's Conch, staring at the creature that had emerged to guard it.

An octopus! Lenora thought at first. But no. This creature was larger than any octopus should be, dwarfing the two water-dragons. Its eight arms flailed, lined with suckers the size of dinner plates. Its bloated, indigo head emerged from the shadows, and Lenora beheld yellow eyes and a mouth large enough to swallow a dragon, lined with sharp teeth.

A kraken! Lenora thought, eyes wide with wonder.

"We're not thieves!" she said.

"Well …" Oryn began. Lenora silenced him with a glare.

"You seek to steal from the library!" rumbled the kraken.

A tentacle shot out and slammed the doors shut, sealing Oryn and Lenora inside. Darkness filled the library. The only light now came from a few narrow cracks in the walls. The octopus was a great shadow, looming, rising higher. Another tentacle wrapped around the pedestal with the conch, protecting the relic. Two more tentacles shot out and slammed into Oryn and Lenora.

The tentacles hit them like battering rams. The aquatic dragons fell onto the sandy floor. Lenora banged her head against a rock. She shoved the tentacle aside and rose again.

"I'm a librarian!" she shouted. "Listen to me! I've come here to—"

A tentacle slapped her, knocking the tinkers' seashell from her mouth.

Lenora lost her magic and fell to the seabed, a human again.

She held her breath, flailing. The saltwater and sand stung her eyes, and panic pounded through her.

"Lenor—!" Oryn began when a tentacle hit him, hurling him into the shadows.

"Thieves will be slain!" rumbled the kraken. "I am Serefar, librarian of Lemuria. I defend her secrets. Die, thieves. Die now."

A tentacle lashed down. Lenora pushed off the ground with her arms, narrowly dodging the assault. The tentacle slammed onto the seabed. Sand swirled through the dark water. Lenora's cheeks puffed. She needed air. Where was her seashell? She couldn't see. She couldn't see.

The tentacle hit her. She rolled through the water, lungs screaming for air. Sand billowed all around her, and shadows danced, and the tentacles swung, and—

There! She saw a flash below in the sand. Her seashell! She swam down, her legs useless, her arms pumping, reaching for it—

The tentacle swung again, knocking the seashell aside.

Lenora saw stars. She was going to pass out. She had to breathe, even if it was water, even if it killed her.

Do not die here.

She gritted her teeth.

Not here. Requiem needs you. Berinor needs you.

She thought of how her king had carried her, his warm eyes, his kindness.

Lips tightened, Lenora pumped her arms, swimming. She dodged the swinging tentacles. In the swirling sand, she saw it again. She reached out—and she grabbed the seashell.

The tentacle hit her, and she rolled through the water. Her back slammed into a column, knocking the air out of her. Involuntarily, her mouth opened wide, ready to fill her lungs with water.

Lenora shoved the seashell into her mouth.

Instantly, she turned into an aquatic dragon again. She flared her gills, breathing the delicious, healing saltwater.

I'm alive. Thank the stars, I'm alive.

At her side, she saw Oryn struggling in the grip of a tentacle, still in his water-dragon form.

As her mind cleared, Lenora frowned.

Serefar.

The kraken's name. She knew that name from somewhere …

A tentacle flew toward her, and Lenora swam higher, dodging it.

"Of course," she whispered, then raised her voice again. "Serefar was a man! An old sage of Lemuria! He who scribed many books, named the Inkmaster by the city elders."

The tentacles froze.

Oryn fell to the seabed.

Lenora swam closer and stared into the kraken's eyes.

The creature stared at her, dark orbs narrowing.

"Inkmaster I am still." He snorted out a puff of ink. The droplets glided down onto the seabed. "They all perished around me. A million souls. With my knowledge, I took this form. And I, Serefar, librarian of Lemuria, guard this library still, though it lies in ruin."

Lenora bowed. "For that, I honor you, Serefar. I've heard much about you, and I've always admired you. I am Lenora, descended of Queen Fidelity, librarian of Requiem."

The kraken rumbled, and his tentacles rose again. His eyes burned red, casting crimson light across the drowned library.

"How do I know you're not a mere thief?"

"Because I can tell you the name of every knight from The Last King's Journey by Master Elvarian," Lenora said. "Because I can recite to you the poems of Goldendew and Moonspear, the lovers of the plains, from Harvest Tales. Because I know every adventure from Nine Princes of Amethyst, and I can draw you the family tree of every dwarf from The Caves of Felinar. I know every kingdom in Timandra, land of light, and every nation in Eloria, realm of darkness. I know books, master Serefar, like only a librarian could. I did not come here to steal from you. I came here to ask for your aid."

The kraken wrapped his tentacles more tightly around the display case containing the conch.

"And why should I aid you, librarian of Requiem?"

Oryn wobbled toward Lenora, breathing heavily, his fins torn. "Keep talking to it!" he whispered. "I'll sneak up and—"

"No more thieving!" she whispered to him, then turned back toward the kraken. "Serefar, the library of Lemuria is beautiful, and it was once home to so much knowledge, so many books and scrolls. When I entered this place, when I saw its devastation, I wept. And now the library of Requiem is threatened. The dark goddess Nemoria attacks, and already one of her minions—a cruel valkyrie—has burned many books. If I cannot cast back the valkyries, they will destroy every book in Requiem, and truly the lore of the world will be lost. I know that you love books like I do. Help me defend them. Let me take Aldur's Conch. With it, I will banish those who would burn books rather than read them."

The kraken flailed with rage, and his rumble shook the sand. But this time his rage was not directed at her.

"Nemoria, the dark goddess of Icelos, burns the books of Requiem?" He roared. "There is no greater sin!"

Lenora winced, hiding the actual truth—that she had burned the books with dragonfire, attempting to stave off the attacking valkyrie. Right now, here in this dead library, the guilt filled Lenora again.

"So will you let me take the conch?" she said softly.

Serefar retreated from the glass dome. He folded his tentacles beneath him.

"Take Aldur's Conch, Lenora, librarian of Requiem. And take my blessing. Defend your library." The kraken lowered his enormous, bulbous head, and his voice softened. "Do not let it come to ruin like this place."

Lenora swam toward the pedestal and pulled the glass dome off the top. Gingerly, she patted Aldur's Conch with her fin. The shell was smooth and surprisingly warm. Using her mouth—the only grasping organ she had—she gently lifted the conch. With the same delicacy she used when handling ancient codices, Lenora slung the conch atop one of her dorsal spikes.

"Thank you, Serefar," she said.

The kraken sent a tentacle into the shadows. He nudged a bottle, sending it floating toward Lenora. There was a scroll inside.

"Take this too," said Serefar. "It is the library's last book. The only one that survived. A book my daughter wrote. I cannot read it here. If I open the bottle, the water will claim the scroll. None will read these words unless you take them to your library in Requiem. Let my daughter speak to readers there."

Lenora managed to press the bottle against her body with her fin. It was getting quite hard to hold everything. She missed having hands.

"Come with us, Serefar," she said. "You had a human form once. Return to it! Come with us back to the world. Find light and books again."

The kraken shook his enormous head, sending fish fleeing. "I cannot. When I chose this form, when I chose to remain here, I gave up my human body forever. I can no longer become the man I was. This is my only world now, Lenora. This is where I belong. But I am comforted now. Comforted to know that while my own library fell, its last relic saved another library. That I saved books. That I mattered."

Lenora and Oryn swam away from the drowned city, carrying their treasures. They swam toward a distant shore.

That night, they slept on that beach in human forms. They were cold but dared not light a campfire. Lenora and Oryn huddled together for warmth, holding each other tightly.

"He's like me," Lenora whispered, her cheek resting against Oryn's chest. "Serefar. Lingering there in a shadowy library for so many years. He's like me. At least how I was."

"He's a bit more tentacly," said Oryn.

She smiled but tears filled her eyes. "Thank you, Oryn. Thank you for building me another wheelchair. For coming here with me. Without you, I might still be stuck in the library of Requiem, cowering, afraid of the world. I spent so many years reading books of adventure. With you, I had a real adventure."

He smiled too. "And without you, I'd still be talking to turtles." He kissed her forehead. "You're more than just a librarian, Lenora. You're an adventurer. And you're brave. And you're amazing. And …"

. . . and suddenly he was kissing her, not just her forehead but her lips. Shock pounded through Lenora. Wait, did … Oryn like her? Like her as a man liked a woman? Her head spun, and her heart fluttered against her ribs, but she kept kissing him. It felt like a whole new adventure.

It ended so soon. Oryn pulled back, looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to do that. I …"

She cuddled against him and kissed his cheek. "It felt good."

She laid her head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. They slept.

LINTARI

She flew above the clouds, a great serpent, her scales clattering and her heart aching.

She lied.

Lintari roared, spraying poison.

Mother lied.

She shook as she flew. The clouds rolled below her, an endless field, painted gold and red in the sunset. Lintari barely registered the view. In her memory, she saw them over and over. The visions in the mirror. Her mother in the tunnels below Requiem. Devouring the queen. Tricking the king. Slaying hundreds.

"You told me that Father is cruel," Lintari whispered, speaking to the clouds and sunset. "You told me that Berinor beat you, cast you out in shame, that he hated me." Her tears flowed. "You lied."

All her life—a lie. Who was she? From infanthood, Lintari had learned to hate her father, to hate Requiem, had trained to slay the dragons. They were the enemy! Berinor was a monster!

"Who am I?" Lintari whispered.

You are the princess of Requiem, a voice whispered inside her. Berinor never had a chance to love you. Fira and Miya are your sisters. You are a Vir Requis, you—

"I am not a Vir Requis!" she screamed, drowning that internal voice—that voice that sounded eerily like Fira. "I am a goddess! I will slay my enemies!"

Yet she did know who those enemies were.

She sneered, flying onward.

"You lied." She let out a long hiss, tongue flicking. "You lied to me, Mother. You lied. For years, you tortured me. For years, you twisted me. You are a monster. And now …" Her scales clattered. "Now Ramiel is dead. Because of a war we didn't have to fight."

Lintari dived, plunging through the clouds. Rain pelted her. Lightning flashed around her. She emerged from under the clouds into a world of wind and rain and shadows. The hills and forests of Requiem spread below, leading to distant mountains and a river.

She flew onward. She knew the way. Her forked tongue flicked. She could smell them, even from here. The metallic scent of valkyries filled the air, and beyond it, still faint—the fiery smell of Nemoria.

Finally Lintari saw it ahead. At first, through the sheets of rain, it looked like a mountain range. As she flew closer, details emerged. It was a titan! One of the ancient giants of legend! This one had died long ago. It lay across the landscape, a corpse the size of a city. Over the eras, it had melded with the land, and now slopes of stone and soil draped across its skeleton like new flesh. Its spine segments jutted out like boulders, and its skull rose from the land like a fortress. The skeletal hands reached out, clawing the valleys, as if the titan was trying to rise.

Around the stone titan, like flies around a corpse, bustled the valkyries. Thousands of the beautiful, immortal beings flew here, each as fair and pale as Lintari's human form. The clouds churned around their wings, and lightning flashed between them. The valkyries kept diving and slamming into the stone giant, chipping its bones. Whenever they managed to tear a hole open, fire blasted from within, casting them back.

Not just any fire. Dragonfire.

The dragons of Requiem hide inside the giant, Lintari realized.

On the titan's back, Lintari saw her. Nemoria stood there in her dragon form. She was a massive dragon, larger than any in Requiem, but seemed so small atop the sleeping giant. Her three heads rose, glistening with raindrops, and watched Lintari fly down.

Liar.

Lintari hissed.

Monster.

She dived down, shifted back into her human form, and landed on the titan's stony back. She stood before her mother.

"Shift back!" Lintari shouted, tears in her eyes. The rain kept falling, and her hair clung to her cheeks. She gripped her katana's hilt. "Shift back into a woman, Mother! Now! I will not gaze upon this stolen form of yours!"

The three-headed dragon looked down at her, then shrank, shifting into Nemoria's original form. She stood before Lintari as a woman, eternally young and beautiful, with gray skin and long black hair.

"And do you think this form I inhabit now, dear daughter, is my true form?" Nemoria smiled thinly. "Do you think an immortal goddess forever had a body of flesh?" Her eyes narrowed, a strange light inside them. "I am the daughter of a ghost, a spirit who stole the blood of Ta'al, the Lord of Light. For eras, I was but spirit in chaos, grace upon the water, mist in the air, consciousness in the void. Twisting. Shaping. Until I invaded the bed of a virgin princess and took her flesh."

"You stole the flesh," Lintari said. The rage exploded through her. "Like you stole the magic to shift into a dragon. You consumed the queen of Requiem. You ate her. You ate her like a glutton! I know everything, Mother." Her tears mingled with the rain, and all her pain and rage spilled from her. "I know what you did, how you tricked Berinor, sleeping with him in his wife's skin. Just like your mother tricked Ta'al. I know how you tried to kill Berinor, then fled like a coward after Fira bit off your arm." Lintari laughed, eyes stinging. "And I believed your lies, believed that Berinor and you were lovers, that he cast you out, ashamed of the twins that grew inside you. But he never knew us, Mother! He never knew Ramiel and me, never knew we existed. He could have loved us! And now Ramiel is dead." Lintari drew her sword. "Ramiel died trying to kill my father. My brother is dead because of you!"

Nemoria waited silently throughout the diatribe. Lintari stood before her, panting, her sword trembling in her hand.

"Well," Nemoria said, "now that you've gotten that off your chest, perhaps you'd like to listen too. Perhaps you'd like to know that Queen Tilania, whom I so cruelly consumed, also murdered my first child. Your other brother."

Lintari took a step back. "What other brother?"

Nemoria stroked Lintari's cheek. "So innocent. So young. Yes, you weren't even born then, were you? When a child I loved so dearly suckled at my breast, when he fed from the rivers of the world, when he roamed the forests and howled at the moon and made music in the dark. True, he had no human form, for his father's form was one that would make you scream. True, he did not speak the words of men, for his was a tongue of song, of wails, of whimpers, a language that was beautiful to me." Nemoria's eyes dampened—a sight Lintari had never seen. "And I loved him. I loved him more than you can imagine, Lintari. He was my firstborn. My little boy. And the queen led a host of dragons to a farm where your brother hid. That's all he was doing—hiding! Hiding from those who rejected him. And the weredragons slew him. Because he was different. Because they feared him." Nemoria's lips peeled back in a horrible, trembling snarl. "And so I killed that reptile queen, and I stole her magic—like she stole the life of my son. But I spared her daughters. Do you know why, Lintari? I spared Fira and Miya that day, because even in my rage, even as I sought vengeance, I was not so cruel as to take the life of a child."

Lintari stared in shock, eyes wide, and she thought of how she herself—she, the golden serpent—had chased children through the forest, had slain them, believing them demons. Believing them monsters worthy only of death.

I did what even you could not, Lintari realized, and she trembled.

"You lie again," Lintari whispered, but she heard the uncertainty in her voice.

"Look into my eyes, Lintari, and see the truth."

Lintari looked. In her mother's eyes, as in the mirror, she saw old images. A son. A brother. Deformed, unable to speak, a creature who skulked in dark hills. And she saw the dragons fly forth—with fire, killing him, driving off Nemoria as she tried to defend her son.

"I … I didn't know," Lintari whispered.

Nemoria pulled her into an embrace and stroked her hair. "I tried to shield you from that horror. But you're old enough to know now, Lintari. Old enough to know what the weredragons did to our family. They are evil, my daughter. They are deceptive. They tricked you, cast doubts into you, weakened you." Nemoria held Lintari's cheeks in her palms, staring into her eyes. "But you will prove to them your strength. You will defeat them. For what they did to both your brothers. For what they did to your soul."

Lintari shook with rage.

"My reptile sisters lied," she hissed. "They manipulated me. They tricked me." She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. Blood trickled.

Nemoria kissed her forehead. "But Mother loves you, Lintari. Mother loves you always. Nobody else loves you. They all hate you, Lintari. They all would see you slain or worse—weakened, deceived. But Mother will make you strong."

Shame filled Lintari. All her life, she had trained for this war, to slay the weredragons. And now, with just some smoke and mirrors, they had deceived her! She had been moments away from killing them! And she had faltered. She had failed her mother. She had shamed herself and her dead brothers.

"I will prove my strength to you!" Lintari said. "Give me another chance, Mother. I will show you the might of Lintari, goddess of Icelos!"

Lintari leaped up, shifted back into a serpent, and soared high.

I will redeem myself.

She screamed and spewed venom, a great spray that sizzled and burned the air.

I will slay them all!

Her venom hit the titan's back. The acid began eating through the spine.

Lintari soared again, spun in the air, and blasted down more venom. More and more. Everything inside her. A torrent of stench and sizzling fury.

One of the giant's spine segments was melting. The stone around it cracked. Chunks fell into the corpse. With a howl, Lintari dived headfirst and slammed into the crumbling back of the beast.

She crashed into shadows and beheld a thousand cowering weredragons.

Lintari hissed, venom dripping from her jaws. The weredragons—women, children, elders—fled deeper into the stone corpse. Lintari rose again. She slammed into the ceiling, scattering stone and bone, widening the hole in the titan's back. She soared out into a sky of valkyries.

"Enter, valkyries!" Lintari cried. "I forged a path to victory. Into the titan, daughters of the sky! Into the titan!"

The valkyries swarmed. Like enraged insects, they buzzed, fluttered, and flowed through the hole in the titan's back. From inside the creature rose the screams of weredragons. Of Lintari's enemies. Of the deceivers.

Lintari hovered above the titan, still in her serpent form, breathing heavily.

You lied to me, my sisters. You told me that my mother is cruel. But she loves me. She's the only one who loves me.

And yet …

Those images still floated before Lintari. Images of her mother taking another's form, fleeing Requiem, fleeing Berinor.

Fleeing my father. Abandoning him.

Lintari raised her eyes. Beyond the swarm of valkyries flowing into the titan, she saw her. Nemoria in her human form, standing on the titan's head, hands on her hips. Her mother stared at her, nodded, and smiled.

LENORA

As she flew on the wind, Lenora kept glancing at the black dragon beside her.

He kissed me, Minori. Her heart fluttered. Or maybe I kissed him?

Oryn caught her looking, nodded, and winked. Lenora hurriedly looked away. Her cheeks heated up, and she wondered if dragons could blush.

Lenora sighed.

I don't like him in that way, she told herself. Do I?

They were flying south—to find the stone titan, to face an army of valkyries, to save a nation. She had larger concerns. So why did she keep thinking about that blasted thief?

Lenora thought back to the romantic books she would read during her long years in the library. She had known a thousand lovers on the page, had gone on a thousand adventures as a plucky heroine—all from the comfort of her armchair, reading by lamplight, sipping tea.

She glanced at Oryn again, then quickly away.

And now, Minori, we had our own adventure, Lenora thought.

After decades of shadows, she had flown through the fabled sky of Requiem, the sky she had read about so many times. Like a heroine in a book, she had fought monsters, met magical creatures, explored an underwater city of beauty and light, and kissed a hero.

Lenora lowered her head, suddenly remembering that time King Berinor had held her in his arms, had spoken to her softly, had comforted her when she'd been so afraid. Oryn—young, handsome, rakish—was more like the hero in the stories, a rogue who made her heart flutter. Yet even now, blushing and trembling to be so near Oryn, she kept thinking of the king of Requiem. Berinor was more like, well … not a father, not truly. And yet when he had held her, Lenora had felt safe and warm, like she had in her childhood when her father had been alive.

She snorted and shook her head wildly.

Silly girl! she told herself. For years, you languished in the darkness, and all you knew of love came from books. Now you long for two men!

She inhaled deeply, scales chinking, and glided on an air current. The sky was cold and comforting.

For now, Minori, we won't think of love, she told her invisible friend. The time for romance and adventure is over. Right now Requiem needs us. Right now our nation will fall unless we can bring this conch back in time.

She wondered—not for the first time—whether Minori was real, an actual jatash like from the books, or simply a figment of her imagination. Lenora didn't know. Often, when speaking to Minori, she thought she felt the spirit hop on her shoulder, nuzzle her cheek, even tug her hair. But the sensations were always so subtle.

Perhaps I simply imagined you in the long, lonely darkness, Minori, she thought. Perhaps someday I can let you go, let you find another lonely soul to comfort. But not yet. I still need you, my friend. I'm still afraid.

Memory of the valkyrie in the library returned to Lenora—those baleful eyes, those blades cutting her. As Lenora shivered, a deeper, darker memory followed—echoes of a terrified girl, her parents slain, her legs shattered.

"Hey, bookworm, you all right?" Oryn asked. "You're shivering."

She beat her wings and flew faster. "I'm fine. Other than you always calling me bookworm. Let's get this over with, thief." She nodded. "I want to go home."

BERINOR

The titan shook as thousands of valkyries flowed through its chambers and tunnels, and the blood of Requiem spilled.

Berinor stood in the titan's belly. The enemy spilled in from above, and across the stony halls his people died.

I failed, Berinor thought. I could not protect them. I failed, stars of my forebears.

He shifted into a dragon and rose in the chamber, breathing fire.

If we die here, I die fighting. I die with whatever honor remains in me.

His fire rose, washing across the valkyries. But they were too many. More and more kept storming in, casting back the dragons. Steel wings flashed, slicing through dragons. Ancient swords cast out light, burning civilians fleeing down stony arteries.

"They're too many!" Durian cried. He rose to fly by Berinor, his bronze scales chipped and charred.

"Requiem, into the arteries!" Berinor bellowed. "Hide in the tunnels! Run!" He turned toward Durian. "Let's burn these bastards down."

The two old friends fought together. Berinor's dragons, warriors of the Royal Army, rallied around him. Durian's dragons, fighters of the City Guard, followed their lord. Their fire filled the belly of the beast, turning it into an oven. A few valkyries melted in the heat. Sizzling globs of meat and molten metal splattered the floor.

But more valkyries kept flying in.

A beam of light blazed across Berinor's flank, burning off scales. A sword lashed across his back, and he swung his tail, knocking the valkyrie off, only to suffer a gash from her wing. At his side, light blasted a young dragon. The soldier fell as a man, a smoking hole in his torso, half his rib cage gone. A lavender dragon soared above Berinor, charging into the ranks of valkyries, then fell as a woman, lacerated, her jawbone missing.

"We can't hold them all back, lad!" Durian said, fighting at Berinor's side. "This will be our tomb!"

Berinor flamed another valkyrie, then looked around him. Many Vir Requis already lay dead below. The others had fled into other chambers and tunnels within the titan.

If we can only secure this hall, Berinor thought. If we can block their passage, maybe we can defend the rest of the titan.

Screams rose from another chamber. Dust flew through an opening. Berinor dived, shifted into human form, and ran through the tunnel. He emerged into another hollow chamber full of Vir Requis. A hole burst open in the ceiling. Stones and chunks of ancient bone crashed down, crushing people. Torrents of rain followed. When Berinor looked up at the storming sky, he saw her there.

"Lintari," he whispered.

My daughter.

The serpent sprayed venom through the hole, casting back dragons. An instant later, the valkyries came swooping in.

And Berinor knew: there was no safety in this corpse. Lintari's acid was tearing it apart.

"We need to get out," Berinor said, turning toward Durian. "We need to escape in the night."

The bronze dragon stared at him, and in those old eyes, Berinor saw weariness. Age. Grief.

But that weary gaze soon vanished. Steel replaced it. Durian blasted out smoke and nodded. "We lead them out. We fly together, my king."

"To the sky," Berinor said.

Durian nodded, wreathed in smoke, his bronze scales chipped and burnt—but still strong. "To glory."

To death, Berinor thought. To death in our sky.

"Warriors of Requiem!" Berinor cried out. "With me! We find our sky! With me, with me! Fly!"

The two dragons, two old friends, soared together, blasting their dragonfire in a great fountain. Behind them flew the other warriors of Requiem, a hundred and more joining them, raising a cathedral of flame.

They plowed through the valkyries storming into the titan. Some dragons lost their magic, fell down dead. The others kept rising, slamming into the ceiling, widening the hole. Breathing fire, they soared into a sky full of valkyries.

"Rise, dragons!" Berinor cried. "To the sky!"

Behind him, they answered his call.

"To the sky!" cried Sirana, soaring with her fellow warriors.

"To the sky!" cried hundreds of dragons.

The valkyries shrieked, recoiling from the fire. Many fell dead, crashing onto what remained of the titan. And from that titan, from a dozen other holes that were opening across it, rose more dragons. Hundreds, soon thousands ascended into the sky. Then a hundred thousand brave souls.

The ancient dragons of Requiem, hunted for generations, emerged for their last stand.

If we die, we die in our sky, Berinor thought. We die blowing fire.

Berinor and Durian led the charge, carving a path through the valkyries, letting the other dragons emerge below. But a hundred thousand valkyries flew here, maybe more, covering the sky, cutting off retreat. There was no more safety in the titan. There was no hope to flee. Here in the sky of Requiem, here in their true ancestral home, the dragons would make their last, great stand. They would not die underground, not die cowering, but die proud and crying out for their kingdom.

And around their king, the dragons of Requiem died.

With every beat of his wings, Berinor saw another dragon lose their magic, plunge down as a human, and crash onto the mountain. Mothers fell, still holding their babies. Young men and women cried out, falling through flame, their light extinguished forever. They were like leaves in a burning forest, like stars in a storming sky, going out one by one.

Berinor turned his head as he fought, gazing toward distant Nova Vita. He could not see King's Column from here, but in his mind, he imagined it falling.

After thousands of years of starlight, will I be the king of Requiem who lets that column fall?

The valkyries swarmed toward him. Their light burned him. Their blades cut him. Berinor barely had any fire left. He fought with claw and tooth, trying to kill a few more before the end. He stared east toward the mountains, and he saw that dawn was rising.

And from the dawn, he heard a cry, as from a horn, barely audible over the screams of the dying. But beautiful. So beautiful. A note of pure song.

She flew in from the light, a dragon of many colors, her scales a mosaic of blues and greens and shimmering gold. On her back rode a man, a young thief, holding a conch to his lips. The conch's cry rang across the sky, a song of hope.

ORYN

Lenora flew as a dragon, and Oryn rode on her back as a man, wobbling. He tightened his legs around her, barely clinging on. He would have given Requiem for a saddle.

Ahead in the storm, casting lightning from their wings, flew the valkyries.

"Oh, bloody stars, there are a million of them!" he shouted.

"Keep blowing that conch!" Lenora cried. "Blow, Oryn! Louder!"

He winced. His chest pounded. Memories of Altus Mare flooded back into him. Ahead raged a new inferno, thousands of dragons and valkyries battling. Countless Vir Requis falling. And in the center of the battle—Nemoria.

We can't defeat them, Oryn thought. It's just a conch. Just a useless seashell. We—

"Oryn, blow that damn thing!" Lenora shouted. "Do it!"

As they flew toward the clashing armies, Oryn returned Aldur's Conch to his lips. He blew with all his might.

A clarion call emerged, thrumming, organic, so loud it drowned out the din of battle. It was a whale's song. It was the song of drowned cities of splendor. It was the song of hope, of beauty, of sky, of ancient life rising from chaos. It was pure music. A symphony from a single note.

Ahead of Oryn, buzzing over the massive stone carcass, a hundred thousand valkyries turned toward the sound.

They all stared at Oryn.

He gulped and lowered the conch.

"Uhm, Lenora?" he said.

"Keep blowing!" she cried, flapping her wings beneath him. "It's working!"

He grimaced. "I know it's working—that's the problem!"

"Blow!"

He blew into the conch again, and its song thrummed across the sky. The sound reverberated through him. His whole body seemed to vibrate. The horde of valkyries, a massive nation of steel wings and blazing eyes, began flying toward him.

"Lenora, this isn't—"

"Blow that conch! Trust me!"

Oryn blew again, his heart thudding. The valkyries were getting closer. Their hair streamed. Their wings reflected the rising sun, casting endless beams of light against him. Each creature, in her four hands, held blades and serrated shields. They were all flying toward him, crying out, tears in their eyes.

"The horn sounds in the dawn!" cried one valkyrie.

"The song of Aldur calls us!"

Their arms reached out toward Lenora and Oryn. "The song calls us home!"

And Lenora was still flying toward them.

Getting dangerously close.

"Lenora—" Oryn said, wincing, tempted to leap off her back, become a dragon, and flee.

"Don't stop blowing that conch!" the dragon shouted. "Hold on, Oryn! Hold on!"

Oryn tightened his legs around the parti-colored dragon and blew his conch.

They were getting closer.

Closer.

About to hit the valkyries.

Oryn winced. Below him, Lenora banked hard and turned in the sky.

Oryn slipped, nearly fell off the dragon. He clutched a dorsal spike. The world spun around him. The valkyries were only feet away. As he blew the conch, Lenora beat her wings mightily, flying away from the host.

The dragon and her rider stormed across the sky, and a hundred thousand valkyries followed.

I did not sign up for this, Oryn thought as the conch sang. I had a good life in Altus Mare. A wealthy, comfortable, noble life. All right, not noble, but I was wealthy, and armies of monsters almost never chased me.

He glanced over his shoulder. The valkyries were so close he could see the white of their eyes. Their swords were drawn, but the immortals were not blasting their light. Tears shone in their eyes, and still they cried for the horn.

"The song of Aldur calls us home!"

"Hear it, sisters! Hear the ancient song!"

Lenora laughed. "Good job, Oryn! I knew it! I knew the horn would work!"

"But where's the damn mirr—" he began, then quickly blew into the horn again. During the instant he had stopped the song, the valkyries had sneered, had raised their blades to attack. So long as he kept blasting air into the conch—and damn it, his cheeks were already aching—they were enraptured.

I don't know who you were, Aldur, old buddy, Oryn thought. But if you're still alive, and we ever meet, I'm buying you a beer.

The valkyries were getting even closer. They reached out, almost close enough to grasp Lenora's tail. Oryn dug his heels into the dragon's flanks to spur her on. As he kept plying the conch, he was cursing inwardly.

Without the mirror here, what use was this scheme? Fira and Miya were supposed to be here! The conch was supposed to order these creatures through the mirror into another world. Oryn could see no sign of the princesses, and he was running out of air. His lungs ached, and he felt lightheaded, but whenever he paused for breath, the valkyries' eyes narrowed with rage.

They were flying far from the titan now, leading the valkyries north above the forests. And just behind the valkyries, joining the pursuit …

Oryn's heart sank.

Great. Just great.

Nemoria flew there, dwarfing the valkyries, her three heads staring at Oryn. But while the valkyries followed the conch like sailors following a siren's song, Nemoria was roaring with fury. Fire blasted from her red jaws, ice from her white jaws, and shards of metal from her central head.

"Oryn!" the three heads shrieked. "Oryn of Altus Mare! You will beg me for death!"

He gave the conch a loud blow.

This was a bad idea. This was a damn bad idea.

One valkyrie reached out and grazed Lenora's tail. The dragon yelped and flew faster. Oryn kept blowing his conch, cursing inwardly all the while.

DURIAN

He hovered over the stone titan, wheezing, his heart hammering against his ribs. Again he felt that weight inside him, the dead spot in his chest, as if a stone was stuck there. He coughed—a ragged, ripping sound. Cuts covered him, holes filled his wings, but still Durian—defender of Requiem—flew as a dragon, leading what remained of his guard.

Thousands of dragons flew around him. Thousands of Vir Requis lay dead below in human form. For now, the sky above the titan was safe. The dark goddess and her unholy host were flying north, following that damn, good-for-nothing thief and his conch.

No, Durian thought. No, not good-for-nothing. That boy and that librarian saved my scaly old backside.

"They're fleeing!" Sirana said, rising to fly beside him. The silver dragon's helmet was cracked, her breastplate was dented, and wind whistled through a hole in her wing. "We can guide our nation south, my lord. We can seek safety in the forests, and—"

Durian sneered. "No. We're done fleeing, lass." He stared at the distant goddess. "We're going to slay those bastards."

Sirana's eyes widened. "We can't beat them, Durian!"

"If we don't fight them now, as they flee us, we might never get another chance." Durian turned his head, and he saw a green-and-silver dragon flying up toward them—Berinor, King of Requiem. "What say you, my king? Shall we give chase?"

King Berinor growled deep in his throat. For a moment, the king seemed torn between fleeing and fighting. Then he puffed out smoke, and his eyes narrowed. "We cannot flee forever. They will find us. Now is our best chance to burn them down—and to stop Nemoria from reaching that conch. I'll lead the Royal Army from the right flank. Durian, take the left with your Guard. For Requiem!"

His chest ached. His bones creaked. But Durian reared in the sky and roared. "For Requiem! Dragons, onward! Fly, fly!"

With roars, thousands of dragons—the warriors of Requiem—stormed in pursuit of the fleeing enemy.

Every flap of his wings stabbed Durian's chest with more pain. His body begged for rest, begged for booze. Durian gritted his teeth, flying onward. Behind him, his warriors followed. He had been commanding the City Guard, an ancient and proud army, for many years, had trained these warriors since they were but pups. He would lead them onward. To victory or death in glory.

Ahead, Lenora curved her flight, heading westward. On her back, Oryn kept blowing his conch. Like a swarm of hornets, the valkyries swerved to follow. Durian roared, charging toward them. He blasted his flames. Around him, hundreds of warriors blew dragonfire with him.

The valkyries screamed, the dragonfire blazing over them. The flames knocked a few out of their trance. The deities turned toward the dragons, hissing, and shot light from their blades. But their aim was off. They were still disoriented, still caught in the swarm that followed the conch.

Durian bellowed, blew more fire, and slammed into their ranks. An instant later, his fellow dragons joined him. They clawed the valkyries, whipped them with spiked tails, and bit them with jaws strong enough to crack boulders. Valkyries fell dead from the sky.

On the other side of the swarm, Durian could hear his king leading the Royal Army, the second military force of Requiem. For thousands of years, the Royal Army had fought on Requiem's borders while the City Guard defended her capital. Today they fought as one army. Today they sent valkyries falling down.

From the swarm, she rose—Nemoria, screaming in rage, blasting out fire and ice and metal. She rose above the smaller valkyries, heads tossed back, wings spread wide.

"Burn the goddess!" Durian cried. "Don't let her reach the conch! Burn her!"

They could not kill her. Durian knew that. But they could hold her back. Give the princesses time to return with the mirror.

Thousands of dragons rose higher, storming toward the goddess. Nemoria grew in size. Each of her heads could swallow a dragon whole. Her tail lashed, slamming into dragons, ripping them in two. Her fire burned them. Her frost froze them. Her metal shards tore through armor and scale. But the survivors still charged, blasting their fire, burning her. They melted her scales. They melted her skin, her meat, her bones.

"Keep burning her!" Durian cried. "Don't give her a chance to heal! Don't—"

The goddess's tail slammed into Durian and knocked out his magic.

He fell through the sky, a man again.

He gripped his hammer. He tried to shift back into a dragon, but the pain flared. He could not grasp his magic. The sky spun. He could make out the goddess tearing into dragons, and others falling around him, dying or dead already.

Damn it! He reached for his magic again, desperate to clutch it, when pain surged in his heart. He grabbed his chest, dropping his hammer.

The ground rushed up to meet him.

"My lord!" Sirana cried above. "Durian!"

He gritted his teeth.

Not yet. Not so soon. There's still some fight in these old bones.

He shifted into a dragon again a few feet above the ground, beat his wings, tried to rise …

The pain seized him. His magic vanished again. Durian slammed onto the ground in human form. The blow knocked the air out of him. He lay on his back, gasping for breath, and saw the horror unfold above.

MIYA

The two dragons, red and blue, flew toward the stone titan and beheld desolation and death.

"So many have died," Miya whispered, blue wings spread wide. In her claws, she held the Mirror of Many Worlds. A cloak was draped over it, protecting the reflective bronze surface. "We're too late."

"No," Fira said. The red dragon snorted out fire. "Many still live. There is hope."

The army of valkyries flew ahead, darkening the sky. They were swarming toward a single, small dragon of indeterminable color. When Fira squinted and flew closer, she recognized Lenora, a dragon with an unmistakable skin of many colors. Oryn—that blasted thief!—was riding her in human form, blowing a conch. The sound was deep, a sound of the sea, beautiful and haunting. The valkyries swarmed like bees, chasing the siren's song.

"It's working!" Fira said. "By the stars, they bloody did it!"

Nemoria was here too. The goddess was shrieking, trying to reach Oryn and his conch. Hundreds of dragons, wearing the armor of the Royal Army and City Guard, were mobbing the goddess, blasting their fire, trying to hold her off … and dying. Every moment, flames, ice, or metal shards tore the magic from another dragon, sending a man or woman falling.

Father, Miya thought, eyes scanning the battle. Where are you, Father? Where—

There! She saw Berinor leading a charge toward the three-headed dragon. The king was wounded, dripping blood, but still he fought, blasting fire at Nemoria.

"Come on, Miya!" Fira said, snarling. "You hold the mirror. I'll cover you. Let's send these valkyries into damnation."

Miya bared her fangs and growled. "We end this now."

She shook her cloak off the mirror, revealing its bronze surface. She clutched the frame in her claws. The mirror was just large enough, Miya hoped, for a valkyrie to fit through.

"Araf!" she shouted.

She glanced down to see that foggy, astral world of afterlife appear in the mirror, felt the cold rising from it. Fangs bared, Miya shot toward the battle. With a roar, Fira flew above her, dragonfire crackling.

Surrounded by hundreds of dragons, Nemoria spun toward them. From across the distance, the goddess stared into Miya's eyes and shrieked with fury.

Terror—pure, overpowering—pounded through Miya. Terror greater than any she had ever felt. Terror from her deepest nightmares, from that darkness that had always lingered in her memory.

But Miya growled. She flew onward.

I will face you. I will not run from you, Nemoria.

"Lenora!" Miya shouted. "Lenora, we have the mirror!"

Still far away, the multicolored dragon swerved in the sky, making a wide turn toward Miya. On her back, Oryn kept blowing Aldur's Conch. Behind the pair, the swarm of valkyries turned in the same wide curve, following the siren's song.

As the valkyrie army came flying toward Miya, she couldn't breathe. She nearly dropped her mirror.

I can't. I can't do this.

"Hold that mirror steady, Miya!" Lenora cried, beating her wings, leading the swarm. "We're coming in!"

The valkyries screeched. Their wings sliced the sky. Their swords all pointed toward Miya. Their eyes blazed, boring into her.

In her memories, Mother screamed.

In the darkness, Miya was just a babe, held in Fira's arms, the tunnels closing in around them.

In her nightmares, the goddess laughed, chased them, hurt them.

Miya trembled. She could barely keep flying. The mirror began to slip from her claws.

"Miya, hold up the mirror!" Lenora cried. "We're flying in! We're—"

A horrible scream rose, and fire and ice exploded across the sky.

LENORA

"We're flying in!" Lenora was shouting, beating her wings with all her might. "We're—"

The scream tore across the sky.

Fire blazed and icy shards sliced the air. Massive wings darkened the sky as Nemoria swooped.

Lenora gritted her teeth.

She flew through flame and frost.

"Oryn, hold on tight!" Lenora cried. "We're flying right into that mirror! I'll shift into a human at the last instant, and we'll tumble through!"

"What?" Oryn lowered his conch. "Lenora, no! We can't go into that—"

"It's the only way to lead the valkyries!" Lenora cried.

"What? We can never fly back home!" he shouted. "You want us to sacrifice ourselves?"

"It's the only way!" Lenora said, charging toward the mirror, only a moment away now. "Are you with me, Oryn?"

"Gods damn it!" Oryn shouted from her back. "Fine! Heroes to the end! Let's drag these creatures to hell!"

He returned the conch to his lips and blew again.

Ice shards flew through the sky, ripping into Lenora's tail and back legs. The pain spurred her onward. Miya and Fira were close now. The two princesses, one a blue dragon and the other red, gripped the mirror, holding it steady between them.

Lenora glanced over her shoulder to see Nemoria plowing through the valkyries in pursuit. Hundreds of dragons were nipping at her heels, powerless to stop the goddess. Another barrage of ice, fire, and metal flew forward, and Lenora soared, then banked hard, dodging the assault.

She looked forward again. Ahead, Miya and Fira were flying sideways, moving the mirror, adjusting to Lenora's new flight path. They were only a few flaps of her wings away now.

Lenora narrowed her eyes, prepared to release her magic at the last instant, to roll through the mirror as a human … into whatever hellish realm awaited. She was ready. So long as she could drag those valkyries with her—and maybe, if she was lucky, Nemoria too.

So here it ends, she thought. The little librarian in the wheelchair, the timid creature who hid from the light, will sacrifice her life to save Requiem.

Tears gathered in Lenora's eyes. She had finally emerged from shadows to see the world, and it was beautiful. The rolling forests of Requiem. The glimmering lakes and lofty mountains. The wonders of sunken Lemuria and all its treasures. There was so much left to see in this world, but it would not be for her eyes. Not for her life.

The world will live on, she thought. I will save it, though I will lose it.

She inhaled deeply.

So I will lose it. I will lose everything. For Requiem. For my friends.

Lenora flew toward the mirror, rising and dipping, dodging fire and ice. In the smooth bronze surface, she could see an astral realm, a place of mist and shadows. She recognized the place. Araf, the realm of purgatory. Of death. Of an end to wonders.

I've always lived in shadows. Her tears flowed. Let me fly to them once more.

She raced toward the mirror, Oryn blowing the conch on her back … and released her magic.

Lenora and Oryn tumbled forward, both in human forms, and the conch's song soared.

Lenora's feet emerged into the cold, foggy land … when massive claws wrapped around her body.

Oryn yelped as claws grabbed him too.

Lenora wriggled and thrashed, turning around in the grip. The three-headed dragon loomed before her. Her red head drooled lava. Her white head breathed frost. Her central head grinned, and a tongue emerged to lick the long, metallic fangs. The goddess tightened her grip, squeezing the two dragons.

Lenora screamed.

DURIAN

He lay on the ground, moaning. A gash bled on his leg, and it felt as if a thousand shards of stone filled his chest where his heart had been. Every breath was a struggle. The corpses of his warriors lay around him—guards of Requiem. Boys. Girls.

As Durian lay among them, gasping and clutching his chest, he thought of his son.

You fell.

In the haze, Durian could see it again. His beloved son, a proud dragon, losing his magic. Falling as a man. That laughter, that joy, that life—forever gone.

And he saw years of shadows, lost in a labyrinth of booze and grief. During the days—leading the City Guard, molding boys and girls into warriors. During the night—breaking apart.

And in the field around him now, so many years later, Durian—old, broken—saw his son a thousand times. For every lost life here. All those who had died under his command. They were all his sons and daughters.

Screams rose above.

Durian looked up, blinking, struggling for air.

The conch had fallen silent.

The battle raged in the sky.

The valkyries, freed from their spell, were flying in battle formations, charging toward the dragons who had fled the stone titan. Nemoria hovered high above the battle, clutching two figures in her claws—Vir Requis in human forms, too small to recognize from down here. Before the goddess flew two dragons—the two princesses of Requiem—holding a mirror between them.

They found the Mirror of Many Worlds, Durian realized. Why does the conch not sound?

He struggled to his knees, gasping for air, and coughed blood. His leg was a mess. His chest was a shattered fortress. He gazed up through eyes narrowed in pain.

He now recognized the two humans Nemoria was clutching.

Oryn and Lenora.

That damn thief was holding the conch, but too busy struggling in Nemoria's grip to blow it.

Durian growled.

"The damn, hollow-brained boy!" he rumbled. "I'll show him! The fool!"

Grumbling, Durian lifted his fallen hammer, placed it against his chest, and shifted into a dragon.

Flapping his wings stabbed him with icy shards. His leg hung at his side, sliced open, useless. But Durian roared and soared into the sky, and his fire blasted out, clearing a path through the valkyrie host.

He rose higher—last of a long line of Eleisons. Defender of Requiem. His claws lashed, knocking valkyries aside. Their blades cut him, but still he flew. He charged toward Nemoria, blasting his dragonfire.

Still clutching the thief and librarian, the goddess lowered all three of her heads to glare at Durian.

He flew toward her, raising a pillar of dragonfire, crashing through her raining shards of steel. He slammed into her with lashing claws, snapping jaws, and a whipping tail. For a moment, all pain was gone. All he had was fury.

His dragonfire roared, white-hot, searing a hole through one of Nemoria's legs. The goddess screamed. Her claws opened, and Lenora fell from the grip, shifted into a dragon, and soared. Durian's tail whipped, the spikes driving deep into Nemoria's other leg, and Oryn fell from her claws. He rolled through the sky.

The thief shifted into a dragon.

The conch fell, tumbling through the battle.

That wool-brained, good-for-nothing—

Durian roared.

Leaving the shrieking Nemoria, he swooped. He reached out his claws. He caught the falling conch.

"Durian Eleison!" Nemoria cried above, diving toward him. "Your son screams in the afterlife, Durian! My demons torture him there!"

Durian ignored her. Growling, holding the conch in his claws, he flew toward the mirror. The princesses still held the artifact, a shimmering portal to a world beyond.

Durian spun around, blasted fire, and released his magic.

He became a man in midair.

As Durian fell backwards into the mirror, he raised the conch to his lips and gave a loud blow.

Across the sky, the valkyries froze, then spun toward him.

Darkness and mist surrounded Durian.

He kept falling. Before him, through the dark mist, he saw the portal—a doorway leading out to Requiem.

He slammed down hard onto rocky ground. For an instant, the wind was knocked out of him. Then he blew into the conch again. The sound rose, filling the afterlife, and flowing out into Requiem. Summoning them.

And through the mirror, the valkyries flew.

One by one, the foul women flew through the portal, leaving Requiem's sky and entering this forsaken realm of shadows and stone. Durian barely had any strength left. He struggled to his feet and limped across the rocky hill, blowing the conch. And the valkyries followed.

Hundreds soon filled this vast, desolate realm, then thousands. And they kept flowing in.

Come on, you bastards, Durian thought, trudging forward. He fell, skinned his knees. His wounded leg throbbed. He shoved himself up and limped onward, blowing the conch. Come after me, you buggers!

The conch sounded muted here in this foggy realm. Or maybe he was just running out of breath. The clouds roiled above. The black hills spread into the distance. Thousands of valkyries kept flying in, covering the sky. Their eyes and blades barely pierced these shadows. And still more kept coming.

Durian took another step.

He wobbled.

One more step and he fell.

His breath weakened. The conch's song began to fade.

The portal was but a distant light, a sun in the darkness. Requiem shone like a single star. Durian lay on the ground, staring up at the speck of blue sky. At the home he would never see again. At the home he had saved.

SIRANA

"Durian!" she cried, trying to fly toward the mirror, to catch him, to pull him out of the desolation. "Durian, come back!"

But Oryn held her fast, his claws wrapped around Sirana's leg.

"Sirana, wait!" said the black dragon. "Wait."

The remaining valkyries were swarming toward the mirror. One by one, they were passing through the portal, entering the murky world beyond. About a mile away, King Berinor was leading a few hundred dragons against Nemoria, holding off the goddess. Here, where Sirana flew, she felt helpless. She could only watch the host of valkyries fly after her mentor. After her commander. After the man who, for two decades, had been like a father to her.

"Durian!" she cried again. "Let go of me, Oryn!"

The last valkyries flew through the mirror. And finally Oryn released her.

Sirana flew toward the mirror, tears in her eyes. Durian! She needed him. To save him. To hold him again. Since losing her parents, Durian had been her anchor, her light in the darkness. And he was weak now. He was wounded. Already Aldur's song was fading. As Sirana flew toward the mirror, she saw him inside, lying on a rocky landscape, bleeding, barely able to blow into the conch. Valkyries filled the swirling sky of that dark realm of afterlife.

"I'm coming for you," Sirana said. "Hold on, Durian! Hold on!"

The princesses still hovered in the sky, holding the mirror between them. Sirana beat her wings with all her strength, shooting forward, reaching toward the portal. It was only a few flaps of her wings away. Only a few feet. She reached out to it—

"You lied!" rose a horrible shriek, ear-piercing, knocking Sirana into a spin. "You lied, my sisters! You lied, you filthy whores!"

With a clatter of scales, a gold-and-black serpent soared from below, flying toward Fira and Miya.

Lintari! Sirana realized.

"You miserable liars!" Lintari shrieked. "I will slay you now! Face me now and die!"

"No!" Sirana screamed.

The snake slammed into the two princesses, cracking the mirror.

The sisters fell back, wings beating, fire blowing, losing their grip on the mirror.

"Durian!" Sirana screamed.

As the serpent battled the princesses, the mirror tumbled down. A hairline crack appeared on the bronze surface. Then another crack. Sirana reached out, desperate to grab the artifact. When her claws grazed the mirror, more cracks spiderwebbed across it.

Then, with a bone-chilling sound, the mirror shattered in Sirana's grip.

"Durian!" Tears filled Sirana's eyes.

Shards of bronze stung her. The broken mirror fell in a rain of sparkling shards.

In the shattered pieces, Sirana saw Durian reflected a hundred times.

"No!"

Sirana grabbed one shard. The bronze went dark in her claws. The other shards plunged down toward the earth. She swooped after them, grabbed another shard. It became a mere piece of bronze, no longer reflecting anything.

The last few shards of mirror slammed onto the earth below, shattering into smaller pieces.

Sirana landed by them and returned to human form. Her armor was dented, her hair matted with blood, her helmet lost in the battle. She ran toward one of the shards, the largest one. It was barely larger than her palm. In it, she could still see that distant, murky realm.

"Durian!" she said. She could see him there, lying on his back, reaching up. "Durian, I'm here!"

Inside the shard, she saw him struggle up, slog forward, then fall again—so close to her.

Sirana reached through the bronze shard into that cold, windy desolation. Lying on his back, he reached up and grabbed her hand.

"Durian," she said. "I'm here. I've got you."

But it was no use. The shard was barely large enough for their hands.

He can't fit through, she realized.

From the misty afterlife, the white-bearded man stared at her. The valkyries flew above him, confused, shrieking, the spell broken. Trapped in purgatory, they seemed to spare no attention to a weak, wounded old man. Maybe they thought him dead already.

"Sirana Oldnale," Durian said, voice raspy. "My finest warrior." He wiped his eyes. "And the finest soul I know."

"I'm going to get you out of there," Sirana whispered, eyes damp. "Somehow I will. We'll find another mirror. Or fix this one. Or I'll find another way to Araf. Just hang tight. I'm bringing you home, Durian."

He tightened his grip on her hand. "Ah, don't worry about me, lass. I'm perfectly comfortable where I am." He looked around him. "And I reckon I won't be here long." He looked back at her, his own eyes now damp. "I'm dying, lass. I'll be rising to see my son soon. And to see your father. And I reckon that now, I'll no longer be ashamed to see them."

Sirana wept. "I don't want you to leave. I don't want to lose you."

He released her hand, reached through the mirror's shard, and caressed her cheek.

"After I lost my son, Sirana, you became like a daughter to me. Serving with you, knowing you, has been an honor. See Requiem restored to her glory, Sirana. You're ready. Ready to serve as your father served—to command the City Guard. I can think of no one better."

"Don't leave," she whispered. "I'm not ready."

Pain filled his eyes. His skin was ashen. "My chest is broken, lass. Something cracked inside me. But I did it, didn't I? I pulled in all those valkyries."

"You did it," Sirana said through her tears.

"I rise now. I rise to find Requiem's sky. Farewell, Lady Sirana Oldnale, daughter of Requiem." He began to sing an old tune in a raspy voice. "Old Requiem Woods, where do thy harpists play, Old Requiem Woods …"

His hand pulled back into the land of shadows, leaving her so cold. His eyes closed, and his song faded.

The shard gave a last swirl, then turned to a simple piece of bronze.

Sirana knelt in the battlefield among the dead, lowered her head, and wept.

FIRA

"You lied!" the serpent cried, lashing her tail and spewing her venom. "You tricked me! You showed me false images!"

Fira rose in the sky, dodging the venom. "Lintari, listen to me!" she shouted. "Your mother has corrupted you, has driven you mad. We did not lie to you!"

"My mother loved me!" Lintari cried, spitting more venom.

Fira dodged the spray. "Lintari, please. Listen to me. I'm not your enemy."

The serpent hissed and grinned. "But I am your enemy, wretched liar. You hurt me. You hurt my mother. Even now, our father fights to slay her!"

Fira looked around her. Indeed, even with the valkyries gone, a great battle was raging across the sky. Thousands of dragons were blowing their fire at Nemoria, trying to slay the goddess, burning off her scales, her flesh, only for Nemoria to heal again.

"Lintari," Fira said softly, beating her wings, struggling to cling to her magic. She was so weary. "My sister. I'm so sorry for what happened. For all your pain. But this is not the way. Join us in Requiem. Join our family. Don't be as I was, lost in exile and rage. Come home, Lintari. Come home."

The serpent screamed. "I'll never join you! I'll never join an army of monsters!"

The dragon spun through the air, tail lashing like a whip. That hard, scaly tail slammed into Fira's side. She heard a sickening crack from one rib.

Fira couldn't even scream.

She lost her magic.

She fell through the sky, a woman again.

Above, the serpent dived in pursuit, venom raining.

Fira managed to grab her magic, to fly aside. Venom sprayed her wing and leg, and she screamed. She beat her wings, struggling to fly, but kept falling. She slammed onto the ground and lost her magic again.

At once, Fira leaped to her feet and swung her sword. Arinor sliced into the diving serpent, cutting the creature in two.

Lintari lost her magic, turning into a halved woman. The bottom half shriveled up. The top half healed rapidly, rising on new legs. The goddess walked toward Fira, hair streaming, and drew her katana.

"Lintari, please!" Fira shouted, kneeling in the dirt. Every breath ached. She thought her leg might be broken. "I'm your sister. I—"

"You killed my brothers!" Lintari screamed, tears flowing down her cheeks. "You killed both of them! You almost tricked me with your mirror, but my mother showed me the truth. Now you will pay, Fira Aeternum. Now you will die."

Lintari's katana, the cruel Soulshard from the realm of gods, rose high.

Fira raised her sword to meet it.

Soulshard slammed into Arinor and shattered the fabled blade of dragons.

Shards of steel flew and dug into Fira. She cried out in agony.

Lintari grinned, breathing heavily, and raised her katana again. "Goodbye, Fira."

"No!" rose a voice from above.

A blue dragon plunged down. Howling, fangs bared, Miya grabbed Lintari in her claws.

Lintari screeched, her flesh tearing open, and became a serpent again. The massive python writhed, ripping free from the blue dragon's grip. The snake's fangs dug into Miya's shoulder. The dragon howled and blasted fire. The two great beasts slammed onto the earth, locked in a struggle.

Fira gasped, still in human form, struggling to reclaim her magic. She was too hurt. Too weak. The magic to become a dragon kept slipping from her grasp.

"Lintari!" she cried, bleeding from many wounds.

The serpent tore into Miya again, biting deep. The blue dragon roared and lost her magic, becoming human again—a small, young woman. She gasped for air, bleeding.

At once, the python wrapped around Miya and squeezed. The young princess couldn't even scream. Lintari's bloated, scaly body encased Miya, and the serpent hissed and cackled.

"Lintari, no!" Fira cried, running toward the giant snake. "Listen to me! Stop this! She's your sister!"

The serpent stared at Fira, tongue flicking. Lintari kept wrapping around Miya until the princess all but vanished within the embrace. Only a few strands of Miya's golden hair were now visible.

"She's mine now, Fira." Lintari laughed. "You wanted me to join you. I think not. I think I will take your little sister to be my own. My little pet to torment. But you, Fira … you will die now. Die knowing that Miya will scream in the hall of shadows."

The snake's venom sprayed toward Fira.

It hit her breastplate and began eating through the steel.

Finally, Fira managed to grasp her magic. She blew dragonfire, but Lintari soared into the sky, dodging the flames. The serpent flew with Miya still in her grip.

Fira beat her wings, trying to soar in pursuit. But she screamed in agony. Her chest still burned. The venom blazed, eating at her scales. She lost her magic again.

She fell and slammed onto the earth. Frantically Fira ripped off her armor. The skin below was raw and red, and she grimaced, scooped up mud, and rubbed it across her, soaking up the venom. Ugly welts rose across her chest.

When Fira raised her eyes again, Lintari was a distant speck in the sky.

"Miya!" Fira shouted, voice hoarse, tears in her eyes. "Miya! Lintari, no!"

She became a dragon again and soared, blasting out dragonfire and calling to her sisters.

NEMORIA

The dragons kept burning her, clawing her, ripping her apart. Nemoria screamed, healing again and again.

They stole my valkyries!

She breathed fire, slaying a dragon.

They killed my sons!

She spat out shards of metal, slaying another.

They tried to steal my daughter from me!

She blasted ice, freezing dragons who flew toward her.

She was mad with pain, with grief. The dragons hurt her. Over and over, they hurt her. They had been hurting her for decades. Since their queen had slain her firstborn, a sweet boy who could not speak. Since that day only a few months ago when they had slain her other son, her sweet Ramiel.

"Mother!" Lintari cried, flying up to her, wobbling in the sky. The serpent held a prisoner in the coils of her body. "Mother, I caught one! I caught a princess!" She laughed. "Miya is ours!"

Elation leaped in Nemoria, flowing over her anxiety.

Miya! Miya is ours!

She stared around her. Hundreds of dragons were regrouping for attack, prepared to burn her again. And below …

Nemoria hissed.

The silver dragon was rising. Nemoria knew this one.

Sirana Oldnale.

Yes, she knew of the Oldnales, an ancient family in Requiem, third in might and power after the Aeternums and Eleisons. It was on Oldnale land that her firstborn son had perished. Now the silver dragon soared into the sky, leading an army—a new army of children, of innocence.

Nemoria shrieked.

Whenever the older dragons burned her, Nemoria howled in pain, but she always healed. Yet the wounds of children would not heal, for innocence harmed her more than any weapon. It was innocence that had taken her arm. It was innocence that now flew toward her—hundreds of small dragons, smaller than horses, blowing up fire.

And no valkyries were here to slay them.

Nemoria and her daughter flew here alone. Exposed.

She stared across the battle at Berinor. The green-and-silver dragon flew there, ragged, wounded, but fire still crackled in his jaws. He met her eyes.

You took my sons from me, Berinor, she thought. Now I take your daughter.

Nemoria soared higher in the sky.

"Fly, Lintari!" she said. "Fly with me! We're done here. We go home."

Nemoria flew, soaring high, higher than dragons could fly. Lintari followed, still wrapped around Miya. The young princess screamed in the serpent's grip, only her face visible, gasping for air, unable to shift into a dragon or free herself.

"Father, he has Miya!" cried Fira. The red dragon soared from below. "Miya!"

Berinor howled and flew in pursuit. "Miya!"

Hundreds of dragons, soon thousands followed. The nation of Requiem chased her through the sky.

Nemoria laughed.

"Goodbye for now, Requiem! Goodbye, Berinor! We will meet again!"

The dragons howled, following her, crying out to Miya. But Nemoria's wings were wide and fast. She rose higher, so high that the air thinned and frost coated her. Miya's eyes rolled back and she lost consciousness. Below, dragons began to fall in the sky.

Nemoria swerved to fly east. She streamed over forests and fields and rivers. The dragons grew more distant, until Nemoria could barely hear them over the wind. She and Lintari flew onward until the dragons of Requiem became but specks on the horizon.

"You've done well, Lintari," she said, looking at her daughter.

Lintari lowered her head. "I shamed you, Mother. I was weak."

Nemoria looked at the princess wrapped in the serpent's grip. "You redeemed your honor, my sweet, lovely daughter." Nemoria's eyes dampened, surprising her. "You're all I have left now, Lintari. You are my love. My everything. Never betray me again."

"Never!" Lintari vowed.

Nemoria nodded. "Good. You will prove your strength again with this princess. You will hurt her. You will make her scream for me."

Lintari nodded. "It will be as music to fill our hall."

They flew onward, leaving Requiem, heading back to their realm of sky and shadows.

BERINOR

He flew, silent, eyes narrowed.

Around him, the other dragons cried out, "Miya! Miya!"

Fira roared out fire in her agony. Lenora and Oryn were shouting. Hundreds of other dragons flew with them, wailing, calling for their princess.

Berinor flew without a sound. He stared east, focusing on those distant specks. He wasted no energy on shouting, on blowing fire, only flapping his wings. Only moving faster.

Yet already he knew: They're gone.

The dragons kept flying, even as Nemoria, Lintari, and Miya disappeared in the distance.

"Miya!" Fira kept crying, blasting out fire.

"Miya!" Oryn shouted, beating his wings, and even the hardened thief had tears in his eyes.

The sun set. The stars emerged. Still they flew.

Dawn rose to reveal no sign of Miya and her captors. The dragons flew over wild grasslands that spread to distant mountains.

And finally, Berinor descended.

He landed on the grass, leagues away from civilization. The others landed around him. They shifted back into human forms.

"Father …" Fira whispered.

He embraced her, holding her tightly—his firstborn, his brave Fira, now trembling against him. Oryn stood nearby, tears on his cheeks, his clothes tattered. His eyes were haunted, and his fists kept clenching. Lenora sat in the grass, blinking, head lowered. The young librarian had lost her feathered cap in the battle, her yellow hair covered her eyes, and her glasses had broken. Sirana Oldnale stood in her dented, bloodstained armor, holding the hilt of her sword, and a few hundred soldiers stood behind her.

"What do we do, Father?" Fira whispered.

Berinor clenched his jaw. He stared east. Grief and terror pounded through him. An image flashed through his mind—Miya chained, tortured, screaming …

No.

He inhaled sharply.

Think. Focus.

"We know that Nemoria comes from a distant, eastern land," he said. "They say that across the sea, a mountain rises above the clouds, and there she dwells."

"But how do we find that place?" Fira said. "The eastern sea is vast. It would be like finding a maple tree in an oak forest."

Berinor walked across the grass and knelt before Lenora. The librarian looked up at him, blues eyes damp.

"I'm sorry, my king," Lenora whispered. Her lips trembled. "We failed."

Berinor clasped her small, pale hand in his large, callused grip.

"Lenora," he said, forcing his voice to remain calm, forcing the terror out of his mind. "You know more of lore than any of us. What do you know of Nemoria's land?"

The librarian twisted around in the grass and stared east. "Far away, beyond countless horizons, atop a kingdom of storm clouds, rises the mountain of Icelos. A place of darkness and despair. A place beyond the realm of mortals. It is so far no ship can sail there. It is so high no dragon can fly there." She lowered her head. "Perhaps the Mirror of Many Worlds could have led us there, but the mirror shattered."

Berinor rose to his feet. He looked at the others. They gathered around him. Fira—tall, somber, her brown hair whipping in the wind. Oryn—stricken with grief. Sirana—guardian of Requiem, Miya's dearest friend.

Durian—gone, Berinor thought, his heart breaking. So many gone.

"We must fix the mirror," Berinor said. "We must collect its shards, and we must find a way to mold them back together."

Sirana reached into pack and pulled out a bronze shard. "When the mirror shattered, the magic died," she said.

"Then we'll scour every book in the library," said Lenora. "We'll find a way to fix it." She sniffed back tears and raised her chin. "We'll find a way."

Berinor nodded. "And then we will travel into Icelos itself." He clenched his fists. "And we will bring Miya home."

The eastern wind blew, scented of fire and sea, sounding almost like a scream. Berinor held the others close to him. They stood together, embracing in the field, for a moment overcome with grief. Then they rose as dragons. They blew their fire. Their roars shook the sky, vowing revenge, vowing justice, vowing to bring their princess home.