A Dawn of Dragonfire

ELETHOR



He stood above the twin graves, jaw tight, staring with dry eyes.

The stones rose tall and white, carved of marble and engraved with the Draco constellation. One bore the name of King Olasar. The second bore the name of Prince Orin.

My father. My brother.

Elethor lowered his head. Spring had come to Requiem, and grass grew where snow, blood, and ash had fallen. Bluebells bloomed upon the hill, and the air was sweet, but Elethor's heart was heavy. He found no peace here, only memories and grief.

He remembered the day of the funerals. His throat tightened to remember the coffins, their birch wood inlaid with golden leaves and stars. Elethor had looked upon them, unable to stop the horrible thoughts, the twisting imagination. Inside the coffin, was his father only a burnt skeleton? Was his brother just a severed head—the only part of him found? He had clenched his fists, praying to remember Father as the wise ruler, his brother as the handsome hero, to forget the blood and fire.

That had been a moon ago, but the blood and fire remained in Elethor's mind, and even the song of birds or the scent of flowers could not dull them.

How do you forget the sight of dead children, limbs severed and bellies slashed? How do you forget the demon Nedath, or the sphinx of the underground, or the shriveled bodies that lingered there?

He turned away from the graves, jaw clenched and eyes burning.

He walked that day through the city of Nova Vita, his guards at his sides. Requiem's crown, forged three hundred years ago by Queen Gloriae herself, rested on his head. He visited the temple and spoke to those who still lay wounded, healing or slowly dying. He visited buildings covered with scaffolding, where masons spoke of new walls, arches, and towers. He visited the barracks of soldiers, too many of them gone, and praised their courage and sacrifice.

The numbers spun through his head as he moved through the city. Fifty thousand Vir Requis had lived here under his father's reign. He now ruled thirty thousand haunted souls.

Everywhere he looked, he saw the wounds of battle. As he walked through the city, Elethor saw a child sitting upon a toppled wall, his face wrapped in bandages, his eyes peering and haunted. He saw a young woman sweeping her porch; her left arm ended with a stump. He saw a husband leading his wife down a street; a scarf covered her eyes, and a scar ran along her head.

Elethor greeted all those he passed, squeezed shoulders, whispered comforts. He tried to stand strong. To smile. To jest that wounded children were stronger than knights, that farmers missing limbs would be back plowing tomorrow, that women with burnt faces were still as beautiful as queens. His words tasted stale.

He turned to face a wall and shut his eyes. Did I drive her to this? he wondered, as he wondered every day, the guilt clawing inside him. He touched the scar along his face, a twin to the one Solina bore, her last gift to him. Did I cause this death and pain?

"My lord."

The gruff voice rose behind him. Elethor turned to see Lord Deramon. The burly man stood in burnished armor. His sword clanked at his side, and in his left hand, he held his axe. More white than ever filled his beard.

Elethor approached him, and the two stepped into a quiet, cobbled alley.

"So many lost limbs, eyes, faces." Elethor lowered his head. "Every wounded person mourns dead family and friends. Deramon, how do I give them strength? How do I comfort them?"

Deramon gave a low grumble like a bear disturbed in his cave. He blew out his breath and said, "Give them time to mourn. You walk among them. You stand tall. You smile rather than cry. This is well, Elethor. You are doing right."

Elethor nodded, eyes stinging. "I keep thinking… what would my father do?" He looked up at Deramon. "How would he lead today?"

Deramon's lips tightened and he clutched Elethor's shoulder. For a moment, Elethor was sure that the lord would admonish him, call him a callow boy, speak of how greater King Olasar had been.

But Deramon only stared at him steadily and said, "Your father watches from the stars, Elethor, and he's proud of you. I am proud of you. You will make a fine king, and a fine husband to my daughter." He growled and hefted his axe. "I'll be here to make sure of it."

Grumbling, the lord trundled out of the alley, barked orders at some wandering guards, and disappeared around a corner.

That evening, Elethor walked toward the gazebo in the city square, the place where she had asked him to surrender, and where he chose to lead Requiem to war. He stood staring at the columns and glass panes, then turned and looked south. Somewhere beyond forest, mountain, and desert, Solina waited.

Are you looking north now, Solina? Do our eyes meet across the endless leagues?

"Elethor."

Again a voice rose behind him, but this voice was high, fair, and soft. For a terrible instant, he was sure it was her, Solina. He spun around, saw Lyana, and slowly exhaled.

She stood in her silvery armor, the ancient armor of the bellators, the knights of Requiem; she was the only one of their number to survive. Her eyes were soft, and her sword hung from her waist. Her wounds had healed, the scabs peeling to show her pale skin strewn with freckles like stars. A year ago, the mere sight of Lyana would chafe him, like seeing a bee during a garden meal. Today she seemed so fair to him, so soothing, that his eyes stung.

This is how I let go of the ghosts, he thought. With Lyana.

"She offered me surrender here," he said to her, voice soft. "In this gazebo. If I had gone with her to Tiranor, how many would still live? How many lives would I have saved?" He shook his head. "Did I make a mistake, Lyana?"

She walked toward him, placed her hands on her hips, and glared at him. "Elethor, if you do not stop speaking utter nonsense, I will kick your backside across this square. If you had surrendered, she would have burned us all, and you know it." Her eyes flashed. "So will you please stop moping, and maybe grow some sense in your hollow head?"

He sighed. Same old Lyana after all.

"Would have saved me the lectures," he said and couldn't help but smile.

She shook her head, curls flouncing. "Just wait until we are wed, Elethor. If you think this is bad, you haven't seen nothing yet." She grabbed his hand and tugged him. "Now come on! Stars. We're meeting my parents in the court today, and the Prince of Osanna will be there, and if you are late again, I swear that I will…"

He stopped listening. He let her pull him across the square toward the palace, and as they walked, he looked at the flowers that grew in gardens, and the masons hauling bricks, and the doves that flew, and he felt something new, something he had never felt in his life.

He felt whole.