A Dawn of Dragonfire

ADIA



Mother Adia, High Priestess of Requiem, stood above the grave of her daughter.

It had been thirteen years since Noela had died—a cherubic child of dark eyes and darker hair. In those thirteen years, Adia had watched her other children grow into adulthood, watched white invade her hair, watched her husband turn from loving man to cold warrior… and yet the pain still lingered.

"I still feel like you only just left me," she whispered to the grave.

She smiled to remember the softness of Noela's hair, the sweetness of her smile, the warmth of her little fingers. Adia's two other children looked like their father. Bayrin and Lyana had the red hair, the green eyes, the fiery temper. But Noela…

"You were like me," Adia whispered. "You had black hair like mine. Soft brown eyes like mine. A sweet sadness like the one that lingers inside me. You wouldn't have been a warrior… you would have been a priestess like me."

A cold wind blew through the night, scented of fire. The wick of her lamp danced. Adia wrapped her white robes around her. The people are lighting bonfires, she thought. It was the Night of Seven, a night to remember the seven Vir Requis who had survived the Destruction three hundred years ago, the seven who gave birth to this nation of fifty thousand. Across the hills of Requiem, people would be lighting bonfires of memory, and this midnight Adia would walk through the temples, light incense, and praise the stars for their blessings.

But I'll be thinking of you, Noela. Today we remember the Seven… and today is the day you left me.

Thirteen years. A lifetime of memory and grief.

"Adia."

The voice spoke behind her, deep but soft. Adia turned to see Deramon, her husband, walk between the snowy graves. Frost covered his plate armor, sheathed sword, and red beard. His eyes, deep green, stared at her from under bushy brows. In his left hand he held a lamp; in his right, an axe.

"Why do you bring steel to this place?" Adia whispered. "This is a place of rest. Of beauty. A place for Noela to forever sleep under starlight. Why do you bring axe and sword to the grave of our daughter?"

She saw the pain that caused him. His eyes darkened, his mouth twisted, his knuckles whitened. She had loved him once, Adia thought. Thirteen years ago. Before her world had crumbled. Did she love him still?

Maybe, she thought. But how can I love another? How can I love anyone when my Noela awaits me in the starlit halls of our ancestors?

"I am Captain of the City Guard," Deramon said. His voice was gruff, but she heard its pain. "I am sworn to defend this city, my king, and my people. My weapons stay with me… at my post, in my bed, even at the grave of our child. You know this, Adia. You are a priestess; forever the light of stars glows around you. I am a warrior. Forever steel shines with me."

Adia looked away. She looked at the grave, her throat tightened, and her eyes stung with tears. She felt one roll down her cheek.

"She would have been a priestess too," she whispered. "I gave birth to three of your children, Deramon. Two look like you, with red hair and green eyes and steel in their hands. They are warriors. They are proud. And I love them. But Noela…" She trembled. "She was like a young me. A sad, reflective child. Why did she leave me?"

Deramon growled, a low sound like a bear in his cave. He placed his lamp down by the grave. "Noela died in her cradle, Adia. She was not yet two years old. We do not know the woman she might have become."

She spun toward him, glaring. "I knew!" she hissed. Her eyes blurred with tears. "I knew her soul, and her heart, and—"

Deramon grabbed her arm. "Adia," he whispered. His eyes narrowed, drowning in pain. "Adia, I loved her too. More than you can imagine. But I also love Bayrin and Lyana—who still live, who still need us. And I love you. We still have a family to protect."

She closed her eyes. "A family to protect. A king to protect. A city to protect. You protect everyone, Deramon, but who protected her?" She opened her eyes. "We were not there for her, Deramon. We didn't even know until the morning!" Her voice rose, torn in pain. "She lay dead in the cradle all night, as we slept, and it was dawn before we—"

Deramon howled. "Enough!"

He tossed his axe aside; it thumped into the snow. He held her with both hands. She struggled, but he pulled her into his embrace, and Adia found herself weeping against his shoulder. She shivered against him, and he held her tight and smoothed her hair. She stood with arms at her sides, but then slowly reached around him and embraced him.

Yes, she thought. I love him. I love Deramon, though he has changed, and I have changed, and joy has left our lives. But I still love him.

She looked aside at the grave, at the marble tombstone, at the place of all her sorrow and memory.

And I love you, Noela. Always. I will see you again in our starlit halls.

Wings thudded behind her. A dragon's roar pierced the air. Adia spun around to see a blue dragon spiraling down toward the graveyard.

Lyana. My daughter.

The young dragon's wings roiled the falling snow. Smoke plumed from between her teeth, and the moon glimmered against her blue scales. She landed, claws digging into mounds of snow, and shifted into human form. Lyana stood before her parents, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide and frightened. Frost whitened her armor.

She is like a young Deramon, Adia thought again. A warrior like him, angry and proud like him, clad in steel and honor. Mother and daughter—fire and water.

"Mother!" the young woman said, panting. "Quick, to the temple. Princess Mori is hurt."

Adia frowned. "Mori is far south in Castellum Luna. The king sent her to—"

"She's back," said Lyana. She shifted back into a dragon and took flight. Her voice roared. "Follow me! She needs your healing."

Adia's head spun. She took a deep breath and summoned her magic. White scales flowed across her, clinking and glimmering. Leathern wings sprouted from her back, and fire tickled her mouth. She took flight as a long dragon, white as snow. Her husband shifted too, and soon Deramon flew at her side, a burly dragon with clanking, coppery scales.

Parents followed daughter. The three dragons flew over the graveyard, over city streets, and toward Requiem's palace of white marble.

Again the Night of Seven comes to Requiem, Adia thought, and again sorrow falls. It had always been a night of destruction.

As she flew over the city, she looked south; the horizon glowed red. Distant fires blazed.