Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy

LACRIMOSA





They flew east, wings churning clouds, breath hot in their lungs. Moonlight glinted on their scales. When Lacrimosa looked over her shoulder, she saw the nightshades. They were darker than the night sky, and their eyes burned, red stars.

"They're getting closer!" she cried, and heard the pain and fear in her voice. She blew fire back at the nightshades, as bright as she could make it. The other Vir Requis—her husband, daughter, and Kyrie—roared flames too.

The nightshades shrieked. The light hurt them. But they kept flying.

"I don't get it," Agnus Dei said. The young red dragon flew by Lacrimosa. "When a nightshade attacked Kyrie and me, firelight sent it fleeing. We had to nearly burn down the forest, but eventually it fled. Why don't these ones flee?"

Benedictus, a great black shadow in the night, grumbled. "You and Kyrie saw one nightshade, a scout, when twilight still filled the world. Nightshades are stronger in the night, and stronger in numbers. Firelight will no longer stop them. Sunrise burns behind the horizon. Fly! Faster!"

The nightshades shrieked again, and Lacrimosa could feel them. They tugged at her soul, as if trying to pull stuffing out of upholstery. She gritted her teeth, flapped her wings harder, and fought them. You will not claim me. You cannot.

She scanned the eastern horizon. Where was the sun? They flew so fast, faster than she'd ever flown. Lacrimosa felt ready to collapse, and the nightshades gave her soul a tug so powerful, she cried in pain. She left her body and floated a foot behind it. Benedictus grabbed her shoulder, and the pain jolted her soul back in.

"Fly, my love," Benedictus said to her. "We're almost there."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her wings burned. Her lungs felt ready to collapse. "I fly for you."

Hadn't she always flown seeking sunrise? For nearly two decades—since Dies Irae had raped her, toppled the courts of Requiem, and stole her daughter Gloriae—she had flown seeking light. Darkness had chased her for years.

Screeches rose around her, cutting off her thoughts. They were so loud she had to cover her ears. Ten more nightshades took flight, left and right, and flew at them. The nightshades behind shrieked too, welcoming their companions. The world shook. Lacrimosa screamed.

"Fly!" Benedictus shouted. "Fly fast, the sun shines behind the mountains."

Lacrimosa flew hard. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her wings screamed, but she flew. The nightshades tugged at her. One flew only a foot away, grinning, showing its smoky teeth.

"Lacrimosa...," it hissed, and she couldn't help but stare into its eyes. They were two stars, glittering. Beckoning. There were worlds beyond those stars, dimensions that swirled and spun, a space so much wider for her soul to travel. She would be free there. In darkness. In pain.

She could see her body flying below her. A silvery dragon, so delicate, so small. The worlds in those eyes were endless. Her dragon wings stilled. She began to fall. She saw Benedictus fly toward her, grab her, dig his claws into her shoulders.

"Lacrimosa!" he cried, shaking her in midair. Kyrie and Agnus Dei flew by him, nightshades wreathing them.

"You should not struggle," Lacrimosa tried to say, but she had no voice. "Join the unlight. Join the worlds. There is loneliness here. There is pain. There is darkness to fill. Join."

"Lacrimosa!" Benedictus shouted, and he slapped her face.

Pain. She felt pain. She felt her body. No! It sucked her back in. It pulled her. She slammed back into her body, and that pain filled her, and she saw the world through her eyes again.

She wept.

"I'm here, Benedictus. I'm here. I'm back. Fly!"

She could see hints of dawn now. It was only a pink wisp ahead, but it filled her with hope. Benedictus saw it too, and he howled and blew fire, and flew with more vigor. The nightshades swarmed around them, hissing and laughing.

"Mother!" came Agnus Dei's voice, frightened, almost childlike.

Lacrimosa saw that a dozen nightshades swarmed around her daughter, forming a shell of smoke and shadow. She struggled between them, as if floundering in water, and screamed.

"Agnus Dei!" Lacrimosa called and flew toward her daughter. She blew fire at the nightshades. They shrieked. Benedictus and Kyrie shot flames at others. Agnus Dei screamed, the horrible sound of a wounded animal.

"Mother!" she cried, tears falling.

Lacrimosa blew more fire, but the nightshades would not leave her daughter. No. No! I already lost one daughter. I will not lose the other.

"Take me!" she said to the nightshades. "Leave her and take me."

They laughed their hissing laughter. Their voices were only an echo. "We will take both, Lacrimosa. We will torture you both in the worlds beyond."

Lacrimosa saw them inhale around Agnus Dei. Silvery wisps rose from the girl's body, entering the nightshades' nostrils and mouths.

"No!" Lacrimosa screamed and blew fire.

Agnus Dei went limp. She began to tumble from the sky.

As Kyrie blew fire at the nightshades, Lacrimosa and Benedictus swooped and caught Agnus Dei. Her eyes stared blankly. In their grasp, she returned to human form. She seemed so small. A youth, that was all, only nineteen. A girl with a mane of black curls and scraped knees. She lay limply in Lacrimosa's grip, eyes unblinking.

"The sun!" Kyrie called. Tears flowed down his cheeks. "Let's get her into light."

They flew eastward, blowing fire at the nightshades that mobbed them. With a great flap of their wings, they cleared a river, and sunrise broke over a cover of mountain. Light drenched them.

The nightshades howled. Their screams made the river below boil. Trees wilted and fell, and a chunk of mountain collapsed. A barn burst into flame.

"Agnus Dei!" Kyrie cried, flying toward Lacrimosa. "Is she dead?"

Lacrimosa was weeping. "No." She is something worse.

The nightshades tried to swipe at them, to bite and claw, but they sizzled in the light. Howling, they turned and fled back into darkness.

"Yeah, you better run!" Kyrie called after them and shot flames in their direction. Then he looked at Agnus Dei, eyes haunted. "Let's get her on the ground."

Lacrimosa nodded and descended to a valley. She landed by a willow and placed Agnus Dei on the ground. The girl lay on her back, eyes staring, not blinking, mouth moving silently. They all shifted into human form.

"Agnus Dei," Kyrie said, kneeling by her. He clutched her hand. "Are you here? It's me, Kyrie."

She said nothing. Her eyes seemed not to see him. Her hand hung limply in his grasp.

Tears ran down Kyrie's face, drawing white lines down his ashy cheeks. He kissed Agnus Dei's forehead, and shook her, but she wouldn't recover.

"Agnus Dei, you wake up right now," Kyrie demanded. "Do it, or I'm going to kick your butt so hard, it'll fall off."

Normally, Lacrimosa knew, the taunt would rile Agnus Dei into a fury, and she would be wrestling Kyrie to the ground and calling him a worthless pup. Today she only stared blankly over his shoulder. Lacrimosa also wept. She knew that Agnus Dei was not here, not in this body. Her soul was shattered and lost in the night worlds.

She and Benedictus both held Agnus Dei's other hand. The sunlight fell upon them, but would not find their daughter. She seemed cloaked in shadows. They tried shaking her, slapping her face, pinching her, singing to her, pleading with her. Nothing helped.

Kyrie looked up, eyes huge and haunted. "What do we do?" he whispered.

He looked so young to Lacrimosa. Sometimes she forgot he was only seventeen, still a youth despite all the battles and fire he'd been through.

"I don't know," she said and hugged Agnus Dei.

Her daughter was cold and limp in her arms.





GLORIAE





She rode across the countryside, eyes narrowed. She had taken little from Confutatis: Her horse, a white courser named Celeritas; her sword, crossbow, and dagger; her gilded armor, the breastplate curved to the shape of her body, the helmet a golden mask shaped as her face. Celeritas's hooves tore up grass and dirt, and Gloriae spurred the beast and lashed it with her crop.

"Faster, damn you," she said. Once she had ridden griffins, could cross a hundred leagues in a flight. Horses were slow and stupid, needed more rest than griffins, and frayed her nerves.

"Move your hooves, you mindless beast," Gloriae said and lashed her crop. Celeritas whinnied, and her eyes rolled, but she kept galloping.

Mindless beast. That was what she herself had been only yesterday, was it not? Yes. She had floated, naked and mindless, among the nightshades. Her soul had been broken, had filled thousands of nightshades across Osanna. She'd seen through their eyes, travelled through their planes. She had seen the weredragons fleeing into the east. She had seen Lacrimosa, the silver dragon who had infested her with the reptilian curse. She had seen Kyrie and Agnus Dei, the youths she had fought. And she had seen Benedictus, the Lord of Lizards, the man who claimed to be her true father, the man she had sworn to kill.

"I know where you are," Gloriae hissed through clenched teeth, the wind claiming her words. "I will find you, weredragons. I will slay you with my crossbow, and sever your heads with my sword. I will drag your heads back to Dies Irae, to my real father, and he will forgive me."

Gloriae nodded and tasted tears on her lips. Shame burned within her. Dies Irae, her real father, had trained her from birth to hate and hunt Vir Requis. She had killed many for him, but failed him now. She had failed to set the nightshades on them, had allowed the creatures to destroy the empire.

"But I will make amends," Gloriae vowed into the wind. "I do not need the nightshades. I will kill the weredragons with crossbow and blade."

Dies Irae's men hunted them too, Gloriae knew. Those who'd survived the nightshades would be patrolling every corner of the empire, armed with blades and ilbane. Whoever killed them would become a hero, a favorite son of Osanna, a lieutenant to Dies Irae. But they did not know where the weredragons cowered. She, Gloriae, had seen them through the nightshades' eyes. She had felt the nightshades tug Agnus Dei's soul, bite it, and rip it apart. Dies Irae might control the nightshades now, but Gloriae had seen enough.

As she rode, spurring Celeritas, she gazed upon the ruin of Osanna. It was daytime now, and no nightshades crawled the empire, but she saw signs of them everywhere. Forts lay toppled upon hill and mountain, blackened with nightshade smoke. Cattle lay dead and stinking in the fields. Farmhouses smoldered and bodies lay outside roadside inns.

I did this. The thought came unbidden to Gloriae's mind. She forced it down, refusing to acknowledge it.

"No," she whispered. "I will feel no guilt. The weredragons made me do it. I will redeem myself when I kill them."

She drove Celeritas out of the fields and down a forest road. The leaves were red and gold. Autumn was here, and cold winds blew, biting Gloriae's cheeks. Other than her armor—a breastplate, helmet, greaves, and vambraces—she wore little. White riding pants. A thin woolen shirt. She had brought no cloak in her haste, and she regretted that now. It was cold, colder than autumn should be. She saw frost on grass and leaf, and even Celeritas's hot body could not warm her. She shivered.

"The light and heat of the Sun God are leaving the world," she whispered. "Nightshades and weredragons have filled it, but my heart still blazes with the Sun God's fire. I will light the world with it, even if I must burn it down."

She let Celeritas rest, eat grass, and drink from a stream. Gloriae dismounted and stretched, ate dried meat and crackers from her pack, and drank ale from her skin. She dipped her head into the stream, scrubbed her face, and looked at her reflection. She was thinner than she'd ever been. Her eyes looked huge in her pale face, too large and green. Her hair was long, cascading gold, like a lion's mane. She was still beautiful, Gloriae thought, but sadder now. Haunted.

She thought back to that day in her chamber. The day she had met Lacrimosa, contracted the disease, and shifted into a dragon. With a shiver, Gloriae pushed that memory aside. She might be cursed now, but she would hide it. She would never become a dragon again. She would remain Gloriae the Gilded, human and healthy, a slayer of weredragons and never one of their number.

She was riding Celeritas again, and heading around a bend in the road, when the outlaws emerged.

They stepped out from behind trees, dressed in brown leather and patches of armor. There were three—tall and thin men, a hungry look to them. One bore a chipped sword. A second outlaw hefted an axe. The third pointed a bow and arrow at her.

Gloriae halted her horse. She raised her shield, raised an eyebrow, and stared at the outlaws from behind her visor.

"So," she said. "A swordsman, an axeman, and an archer. You must be mad. I'm on horseback and wearing armor. You don't stand a chance, so scurry along and find easier prey. You might find children you could steal sweets from."

The archer laughed, an ugly sound. "Aye, but there's three of us, and we're hungry."

He loosed his arrow.

Celeritas whinnied and bucked. The arrow hit her neck, spurting blood. Gloriae fell from the saddle and hit the ground hard. The outlaws rushed at her.

Gloriae could barely breathe, and pain filled her, but she wasted no time. She rolled, dodging the axe; it slammed down by her head. She kicked, and her steel-tipped boot hit the axeman's shin. A sword came down, and she rolled again and raised her shield. The blade hit the shield, chipping the wood and driving pain down Gloriae's arm.

She leaped to her feet, swinging Per Ignem, her sword of northern steel. It clanged against the swordsman's blade. She heard the axe swing behind her, and she ducked. The axehead grazed the top of her helmet. An arrow flew and hit her breastplate; it dented the steel, drove pain into Gloriae's side, but did not cut her.

"Who's mad now?" the swordsman said, grinning to reveal yellow teeth.

Gloriae feigned an attack, but jumped back and over Celeritas. The horse was dead. Gloriae crouched behind the body, as if hiding there, and grabbed her crossbow from the saddle. She rose to her feet to see the outlaws bounding toward her. She shot her crossbow, hitting the archer in the face. He stumbled back, screaming a gurgling scream, and hit the axeman.

Gloriae leaped over the horse, swung Per Ignem, and met the swordsman's blade. She thrust, parried, and riposted. The axeman attacked at her left; she blocked him with her shield, thrust her sword, and slew the swordsman.

The archer had fallen and was screaming, clutching the quarrel in his face. Gloriae faced the axeman. He paled and turned to flee.

Gloriae would not let him escape.

She placed a foot on her crossbow, pulled back, and loaded a new quarrel. She aimed, one eye closed, and shot. Her quarrel hit the fleeing axeman in the back, and he fell.

Gloriae walked between the trees, Per Ignem in hand, its blade dripping blood. She had fallen hard off her horse, and her side hurt, but she was otherwise unharmed. When she reached the axeman, she stood above him. He writhed at her feet, blood spreading down his shirt, and rolled onto his back.

"Please," he said, trembling. "Mercy."

Gloriae stabbed him through the chest. Blood filled his mouth and dripped from his wound. Gloriae twisted the blade, then pulled it out and walked away.

She returned to the road. The swordsman was already dead, but the archer was alive. He sat against a tree. He had managed to pull the quarrel from his face, revealing a gushing wound. When he saw Gloriae, he struggled to his feet and threw a rock at her.

The stone hit Gloriae's breastplate, doing no harm. She walked toward the man, her sword raised. He rose to flee. She chased him down and slew him between the trees. His blood soaked the bluebells that carpeted the forest floor.

Bluebells. The flower brought memories to her. She remembered seeing Lacrimosa wear a bluebell pendant, even as the creature had cowered in the dungeons of Confutatis. Gloriae had been shocked at Lacrimosa's beauty, fragility, the moonlight of her hair. How could a creature so evil seem so beautiful?

"I am your mother," Lacrimosa had said. "You have our magic, you can shift too, become a dragon."

Yes, Gloriae had shifted that night, become a golden dragon of scales, fangs, and claws. But she knew this was no gift, as the weredragons claimed, no lofty magic passed down from kings. It was a curse. Dies Irae was her father, and Lacrimosa had infested her with disease.

Jaw clenched, Gloriae again stabbed the body at her feet, as if stabbing the memory of that day.

She took what supplies she could carry from her slain horse: a rolled up blanket, a cast iron pot, three skins of ale, and a pack of battle rations. In the outlaws' pockets, she found a few coins and took those too. She slung her shield and sword over her back, and continued down the path with her crossbow in hand. She kept a quarrel loaded. Should more outlaws attack, she would shoot them. She left her horse behind, bloodied on the road; the wolves would dispose of it.

The road was long, overgrown with weeds and burrs, and rocky. Soon Gloriae's feet ached. A thistle snagged at her leggings, tearing them at the knee. Blood and mud stained her leather boots. Gloriae was bone-tired, and evening began to fall, but she refused to rest. She had to find the weredragons. She had to kill them. Had to.

"I will regain your trust, Father," she whispered through shivering lips. A cold wind blew, sneaking under her armor like the icy hands of a ghost.

When darkness fell, Gloriae wished she had brought her tin lamp and tinderbox. She had forgotten it upon her horse's body, and she cursed herself. How would she light a fire? Her horse was too far behind now, so Gloriae trudged on. Owls hooted around her, and jackals howled, but Gloriae did not fear them. Worse creatures emerged in the night.

The trees soon parted, and Gloriae found herself walking in open country. Clouds cloaked the sky, but once when they parted, revealing the moon, Gloriae saw hills and a stream. She recognized this place. The weredragons had flown here before Dies Irae had taken the nightshades from her, stealing their eyes.

"Where are you, weredragons?" Gloriae whispered, clutching her crossbow. The quarrel was coated with ilbane—weredragon poison.

A screech above answered her.

A nightshade.

Gloriae ran. Her shield and sword clanked over her back, and her boots squelched through mud. The nightshade saw her. It dived toward her, eyes blazing. She loosed her quarrel, but it passed through the creature, barely dispersing its smoky body. Gloriae cursed and kept running. The nightshade chased.

"Father!" she shouted. "Call it off!"

The nightshade only shrieked. Was Father controlling it? Was he watching through its eyes and could stop it? If so, he did not. The nightshade swooped and flowed across her. She shivered; the nightshade was so icy, it made the night winds seem warm. She swung Per Ignem at it, dispersing some of its smoke, but it only laughed.

Light. I need light! Why had she forgotten her lamp? Gloriae ran. She felt the nightshade tugging her soul, felt her spirit being torn, tugged from her body. She screamed and swung Per Ignem, but the nightshade only laughed and kept tugging. She no longer sat upon the Ivory Throne; a nightshade would show her no quarter now.

Then she saw light ahead.

It was still distant, but burned bright. A ring of fire in the valley. Gloriae ran toward it, swinging her sword and shouting. She had never run faster. With a great tug, the nightshade pulled her soul clear from her body. For a second, she saw herself from above. But the jolt of her body tripping on a root pulled her back in, and she kept running.

She reached the fire. She leaped over the flames, ignoring the pain, and spun around, panting. The nightshade hovered outside the ring of fire, ten feet above the ground. It glared at her, drooling wisps of smoke.

Gloriae grabbed a burning branch and held it before her. She stared at the nightshade, daring not remove her eyes from it.

That was when she noticed, from the corner of her eyes, that others stood in the ring of fire.

The weredragons.

Gloriae gasped, spun to face them, then spun back to the nightshade. She didn't know who posed a greater threat, but she knew that she would die. She could not defeat both these enemies.

All four weredragons were there—Benedictus, their king, a gruff man with a tangle of black curls; Lacrimosa, his wife, a dainty and pale woman; Kyrie Eleison, the boy who had wounded Gloriae's leg. Agnus Dei was there too, but she lay on the ground, eyes open but unseeing, and Gloriae knew what that meant. The nightshades had gotten her.

In a flash, Gloriae realized that she herself had claimed Agnus Dei's soul—or at least, lived in the nightshade that had done so. A shard of that soul still pulsed within Gloriae, weak but crying inside her. Now that she gazed upon Agnus Dei, she could feel it inside her, weeping, crying for release.

She had no time to ponder it further. The three standing weredragons looked at her, then shifted. Soon three dragons blew fire beside her. Gloriae ducked and hid behind her shield, but the dragons were not burning her. They were shooting fire at the nightshade. It screeched, and Gloriae watched, mouth hanging open. The creature seemed to suck in the light, to cancel it out. The dragons kept blowing fire at it, white hot fire that drenched Gloriae with sweat.

I can shift too, she thought. I can help them. I can also blow fire. I shifted once.

But no. She dared not, would not. She had vowed never again to shift. She would not allow the curse to claim her.

The fire kept burning, and finally the nightshade shrieked and flew away. Gloriae watched it disappear into the night, fleeing into the forest.

The weredragons shifted back into human forms. For a moment, they all stared at one another.

Then Gloriae raised Per Ignem. She would have shot them, but had no quarrel in her crossbow, nor time to load one. She pointed her blade at Benedictus.

"You will not touch me," she hissed. The ring of fire crackled around them. "Take one step forward, lizard, and your head will be my trophy."

Benedictus scowled, Lacrimosa shed a tear, and Kyrie rolled his eyes.

"Oh, give it a rest!" said the boy. He pointed his dagger at her. "Gloriae, you are denser than a mule's backside, and just about as pleasant. Even I figured out Benedictus and Lacrimosa are your parents by now, and I'm not even related. Can you really be so dumb?" He spoke slowly, as if spelling out a truth to a child. "Benedictus is your father, not Dies Irae. Lacrimosa is your mother. Dies Irae lied to you. You are a Vir Requis. Get it? Good. Now sheathe your sword, before I clobber some sense into your pretty head."

Gloriae gasped. Nobody had ever insulted her like that. If anyone ever had, they'd be broken, slung through a wagon wheel, and left to die atop her city. She took a step toward Kyrie, sword raised.

"I will cut your lying tongue from your mouth."

He gave her a crooked smile. "I'd like to see you try, sweetheart."

Benedictus stepped toward them, fists clenched. "Stop this," he demanded.

Gloriae swung Per Ignem at him.

So fast she barely saw him move, Benedictus raised a dagger and parried. With his other hand, he shoved her back. She fell two paces, snarled, and prepared to attack again... but Kyrie reached out a foot, tripping her.

She fell. Benedictus placed a boot on her wrist and yanked her sword free. Kyrie leaped onto her back and held her down, pressing her head into the mud.

"Take her crossbow too," Benedictus said. "And there's a dagger on her thigh. Grab it."

As Gloriae struggled, Lacrimosa took her weapons. She screamed and floundered, but Kyrie and Benedictus held her down. Mud and hair filled her mouth, but she managed to scream.

"Cowards! Fight like men. I will kill you, weredragons."

"Stars, she's dumb," Kyrie said, his forearm on the back of her neck, holding her head down. "Are you sure she's your daughter, Lacrimosa? Maybe she was actually born to a warthog. She does smell like one."

Gloria screamed into the mud. She felt Kyrie pull her arms back and bind her wrists. She kicked, but Benedictus grabbed her legs and tied them too.

No, no! I cannot fall prisoner to weredragons. Cannot. Tears burned in her eyes. First she had failed to kill them. Then Lacrimosa had infested her with the curse. Now the nightshades she had freed were destroying the empire, and the weredragons had captured her. Her world crumbled around her, and she screamed and wept and shouted curses.

Once she was tied up, they placed her on her back beside Agnus Dei. Kyrie stuffed an old sock into her mouth and smirked.

"I've been wearing this sock for two days," he said. "It should be nice and stinky now, and perfect for keeping you quiet."

Gloriae ceased struggling. It was pointless. The sock tasted foul in her mouth, and she glared at Kyrie with a look that swore she would kill him. Most men would cower under that glare; she had killed men after staring at them thus. Kyrie, however, only snorted and rolled his eyes again.

What will they do to me? Gloriae wondered. Would they torture her, or would the death they gave her be quick? She suspected the former, but she was ready for it. She could endure it.

Lacrimosa knelt over her, and Gloriae clenched her jaw, prepared for whatever torture the weredragon planned. But Lacrimosa only held out her bluebell pendant, clicked a hidden clasp, and it swung open. The insides of the locket were painted with a delicate hand. The right side held a painting of a brown-eyed baby with black curls. The left side featured a baby with green eyes and golden locks.

"The black-haired baby is Agnus Dei," Lacrimosa said, voice soft and sad. A tear ran down her cheek. "The golden baby is you, Gloriae. That's how you looked before Dies Irae kidnapped you."

She tried to speak, but could not. The sock still filled her mouth. Lacrimosa reached for the sock, but paused and said, "You must promise not to scream if I remove it. Do you promise?"

Gloriae glared at the weredragon woman and nodded. Lacrimosa removed the sock from Gloriae's mouth, but left her arms and legs tied.

"Dies Irae is my father," Gloriae said, letting all her fire and pain fill her voice.

Lacrimosa nodded. "Maybe. Maybe not. He raped me, Gloriae. I don't know who your father is, Benedictus or Dies Irae. But I know that I gave birth to you and Agnus Dei." She gestured at the girl, who stared unblinking into space. "She's your sister."

Gloriae looked from weredragon to weredragon. "I... I remember harps. And... columns among birch trees. I remember walking with my mother and sister through courts of marble."

Lacrimosa nodded. "You remember the courts of Requiem. Dies Irae toppled them with his griffins, and burned the birches, and stole you from me. You were only three years old. He left Agnus Dei, because she could shift into a dragon already; Dies Irae thought her cursed."

"I can shift t—" Gloriae began , then bit her lip. Suddenly she was crying and trembling. "You cursed me," she said, tears on her lips. "You infected me. The day I met you in the dungeon, when you told me I could shift, I... I turned into a dragon that day. A golden dragon. I'm horrible now, diseased."

Lacrimosa leaned down and hugged her. Gloriae squirmed, but Lacrimosa would not release her. "Gloriae, my beloved. My sweetness. You are not cursed. You are blessed with beautiful, ancient magic that flows from starlight. I knew you could shift too. You bloomed into this magic late, but the Draco stars shine bright in you. Do not fear your magic, or be ashamed of it. It is beautiful. You are not diseased, Gloriae. You are perfect and beautiful and blessed."

Gloriae wept onto Lacrimosa's shoulder. She wanted to scream, to bite, to struggle, but only trembled. Her head spun. She was not cursed? Not diseased?

"I'm so confused," she said, speaking into Lacrimosa's hair. "Dies Irae told me that you murdered my mother."

Lacrimosa nodded, weeping too. "I know, child. But I am your mother. Don't you remember me? Do you remember nothing of your first three years?"

Gloriae sniffed back tears. "I remember you, but... I thought you had planted those memories in me. With foul magic."

Lacrimosa shook her head. "Those are your real memories, Gloriae. That is who you are. Do not doubt it, and do not fear it. I love you."

Gloriae shook her head too. "It makes no sense! Why would Dies Irae lie to me? He loves me. He... he's my father."

Benedictus knelt beside them. He placed a large, calloused hand on her shoulder. "Dies Irae is my brother, and he hates me. He hates our father. He is Vir Requis too, and mostly he hates that he lacks our magic. So he killed our father, destroyed Requiem, and hunts us. He trained you to kill us, but he cannot hide the truth from you. Not any longer." Benedictus seemed overcome with emotion. His eyes were moist. "Welcome home, daughter. Welcome back to our family."

Gloriae gazed at him, this rough man, her tears blurring his hard lines. "You are my real father?"

He touched her cheek. "I don't know. But I think so. I'm almost certain." He smiled, and Gloriae could see from the lines on his face that he smiled rarely. But it was a warm smile. A good smile.

He does not hate me, Gloriae realized. He does not try to kill me. He truly loves me. How could he? He was a weredragon! He was evil! Wasn't he?

A twinge yanked her heart.

Gloriae froze.

Again, something tugged her chest. It felt like a demon had wrapped a noose around her heart, and was pulling it tight.

"What are you doing to me?" she demanded, breathing heavily. Were the weredragons casting a spell upon her? Her head spun. She had heard of warriors stepping into battle, then clutching their chests and dying without a scratch, their hearts stilled. Was this happening to her? Again something tugged inside her, invisible hands.

"What are you talking about?" Kyrie said. "We haven't touched you."

Gloriae clenched her jaw. Something was crawling inside her chest, pulling, whispering, calling to her.

"Sister," it spoke. "Sister, hear me."

Gloriae thrashed in her bounds. "You cast a spell upon me! Stop this black magic."

The invisible hands wrapped around her heart, her soul, her mind... and tugged. It felt like a nightshade, but nightshades pulled souls out of the body. Whatever spell infested her, it was pulling her soul inward, deeper into her body, into a world that pulsed far in memory. Gloriae resisted, gritting her teeth, clenching her fists, and kicking.

"You will not—" Gloriae began to shout... and her breath died.

"Sister, hear me!" the voice inside her cried, and pulled harder. White light flooded Gloriae.

That was it, she thought. She was dead. This black, weredragon magic was killing her. She tried to scream, to roll around, to fight it, but could not. She drowned in the light. The force pulled her. She felt herself sucked into a tunnel, and she tumbled down, deep, far, streaming into nothing. She flowed like water down a drain.

Nothing but white light.

She floated.

Sunlight fell upon her eyelids.

Gloriae opened her eyes, and saw birch leaves. They rustled above her, kissed with sunlight, the green of spring. Their shadows danced upon her, and Gloriae saw that she wore a white dress. She no longer had the body of a woman. Her body was small now, the body of a toddler, no more than two or three years old. She wore no leather boots, but soft shoes. She wore no armor, but a cotton dress.

"Where am I?" she whispered. Her voice was that of a child.

She was lying on her back, and pushed herself onto her elbows. Marble columns stood before her, their capitals shaped as dragons. A temple, she thought. But not a temple to the Sun God. No golden dome topped this temple. It had no ceiling, and birch leaves scuttled along its floor.

Roars sounded above her. Gloriae raised her eyes and gasped. Dragons! Dragons flew there! Not scattered refugees, but a herd. There were hundreds. Green dragons, and blue, and silver, and red, and black. They did not fly in war. They did not burn or bare fangs. They would not hurt her, Gloriae knew. She felt only warmth and love from them.

"Do you remember, Gloriae?" somebody spoke beside her. "Do you remember this place?"

Gloriae turned her head, and saw a ghost sitting beside her. It seemed the ghost of a girl her age, but Gloriae could not be sure. The ghost was near transparent, flickering in and out of sight.

"Who are you?" Gloriae whispered.

The ghost smiled. Her hair was like black smoke, a mop of curls. "I'm your sister. I'm Agnus Dei. A part of her, at least. A whisper and a speck."

"Are you a ghost?"

Agnus Dei shook her head. "I'm a figment. A shard of a soul. I live inside you now, Gloriae."

Gloriae rose to her feet. It felt strange to stand this way. She was used to standing tall and strong, powerful in her steel-tipped boots, a warrior. She was so short now, her limbs so soft, her voice so high.

"What do you mean? Why am I a child here? Is this a spell?"

Agnus Dei shook her head. "It's a memory. A memory that still lives inside me, and inside you. Do you remember being inside the nightshades?"

Gloriae nodded. "I... I flew with them, yes. I saw through their eyes. I smelled through their nostrils of smoke. My body sat upon the Ivory Throne, but my soul was scattered, hunting with a thousand nightshades."

Pollen glided through the ghostly girl. "And now my soul is shattered. The nightshades broke me into a hundred pieces. Ninety-nine of those pieces are trapped now. Nightshades devoured them. But one piece, Gloriae... the hundredth piece... that piece went into you. When you flew inside the nightshades, you claimed that piece for yourself. Maybe you didn't mean to. Maybe you didn't even know it. But that piece of my soul is trapped inside you. That piece is me, who speaks to you here."

Gloriae shook her head. Her hair whipped side to side, slapping her face. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. But I've looked inside you, Gloriae. I've seen our past together." The ghostly Agnus Dei spread her arms around her. "Look at this place, Gloriae. This is a memory I found within you. It's no spell. It's no trick. This place is yours."

Gloriae looked around her, at the marble columns, the birches, the herds of dragons.

"It is Requiem."

Agnus Dei nodded. "Requiem sixteen years ago—when you and I lived here, twin girls."

Dapples of sunlight played across the grass. The air smelled of bluebells, trees, and life. Robins, starlings, and finches chirped in the trees. Home. Was this truly her home? Gloriae had always lived in Flammis Palace, in a room full of swords, lances, and armor. She had never lived among flowers, trees, and birds. And yet... this felt real to her. Agnus Dei spoke truth. Gloriae could feel it. This was no spell, but a memory that filled her nostrils, her ears, her eyes, and her soul.

"I remember," she whispered. "I had a cat here, a gray cat with green eyes. We lived beyond that hill, in a palace of marble. You and I shared a room. There was a fireplace for the winters, and flowers on the walls, purple ones." Her eyes moistened. "This is where I'm from. This is where I was born. But... how did I leave this place? What happened to me?"

Agnus Dei smiled sadly. She flickered more weakly now, appearing and disappearing.

"Look," she whispered and pointed skyward.

Gloriae looked, and ice flowed through her.

Griffins.

Hundreds of the beasts swooped upon Requiem. They shrieked, lashed claws, and their wings bent the trees. Riders rode them, clad in white and gold. Dies Irae rode at their lead, bearing a lance of silver and gold. His banners flapped around him, the red griffin upon a golden field. A jewel glowed red around his neck. The Griffin Heart.

"Run, Agnus Dei!" Gloriae said. She tried to grab her sister, but her hands passed through the ghostly girl.

Agnus Dei smiled sadly. "Watch, Gloriae. They cannot hurt you now."

Gloriae stood and watched the skies. The dragons crashed against the griffins, blowing fire. The griffin riders attacked with crossbows, lances, and bows. Flame and blood filled the sky. The trees burned. Feathers and scales rained. The war was like a painting of red, gold, and black, the colors swirling, mixing together, and tearing the canvas.

Gloriae wanted to fly, to fight, to kill. But... who was her enemy now? This was her home, and the griffins were destroying it. Their talons tore down trees. They crashed into columns, toppling them. Were they her warriors, or her enemy?

"Agnus Dei, what's happening?" she demanded, but she knew the answer.

Dies Irae had stolen the Griffin Heart. The war of Requiem had begun.

Flame and tears covered Gloriae's world. She fell onto her back, her eyes closed, and ash fell onto her like snowflakes.

She lay for a long time.

When she opened her eyes, it seemed like many days had passed. The griffins and dragons were gone. The fires had burned away. Requiem lay in ruin around her. The trees smoldered. The columns lay smashed. Bloodied bodies covered the field, vultures and crows gnawing on them. Requiem stank of rot, blood, and fire. Gloriae couldn't help it. She rolled over and threw up, then lay trembling.

For a moment she could only lie there, hugging herself.

"Agnus Dei?" she finally whispered. "Is this a memory too?"

Her ghostly sister still sat beside her. She nodded.

"Look, Gloriae. Stand up and look around you."

Gloriae stood on shaky legs. The ruin spread around her. She saw nothing but blood, ash, and destruction. She should be happy, she knew. Requiem was defeated! The evil of weredragons was wiped clean!

But Gloriae could not rejoice. Nothing seemed clean here. There was no Sun God light, only ash and smoke in the sky. There was no good, clean earth, only bodies and blood.

But no. Not all were dead. A group of dragons crouched behind the toppled columns. A few were warriors, tough male dragons with sharp claws and dented scales. A few were females. Some were children.

"Dragons of Requiem!" cried a burly black dragon. "Fly! Fly from here."

It was King Benedictus, Gloriae realized, but he was younger here, stronger, his voice clearer. Blood and ash covered him. He flapped his leathern wings and took flight, leading the other dragons into battle.

As Gloriae watched them fly away, she heard a new voice.

"Daughters."

She turned toward the voice, and tears filled her eyes.

It was her mother.

Mother was beautiful, her hair silvery-gold, her skin pale, her eyes deep lavender. She wore a gown of white silk. Blood and ash covered her.

"Girls, come, we must leave," Mother said. She ran toward them, feet silent on the bloody earth.

Wings flapped.

A griffin landed before Mother.

Volucris. King of Griffins. And Dies Irae rode him.

"You will not touch them!" Mother screamed and shifted into a silver dragon. She lunged at Dies Irae, blowing fire.

Volucris leaped back. Dies Irae shot his crossbow, and the quarrel hit Mother. The silver dragon screamed, lashed her claws, and hit Dies Irae's armor. Dies Irae fell from his griffin, hit the ground, and swung his sword. Mother tried to bite him, but Dies Irae held her back with his blade. Volucris leapt onto the silver dragon. Shrieks tore the air. Fire rose. Blood splashed.

Gloved hands grabbed Gloriae. Somebody hoisted her into the air.

"Mother!" she screamed. Dies Irae had grabbed her, she realized. His fingers dug into her, so painful she could barely breathe.

"No!" Mother cried. "Not my daughter. Leave her, Irae!"

Dies Irae only laughed and shot his crossbow again. He hit Mother in the neck, and the silver dragon screamed and fell.

"She's my daughter too, lizard whore," Dies Irae said. "You can keep the dark one, the freak who shifts into a red dragon. Gloriae is pure. Gloriae is not cursed. She is mine."

Mother tried to rise, but Volucris kicked her down.

Gloriae screamed and cried and twisted. "Mother!" she cried. "Sister! Help me!"

Dies Irae's gloved hand covered her mouth. She could not scream. She could not breathe. Stars floated before her eyes. She was so small, so weak, her arms so soft.

She thought she would die, and then a dozen dragons swooped upon them.

Fire. Claws. Pain and heat and blood.

Gloriae kicked and felt faint. Her lungs felt ready to burst. Her eyelids fluttered.

The world went black, then red, then blue. The next thing she knew, they were airborne. She sat in a griffin's saddle. Dies Irae sat behind her, his arm wrapped around her. Dragons chased them through the sky, and a thousand griffins screeched and flowed around them. The griffins and dragons clashed, and blood rained. The screams nearly deafened Gloriae.

"Daughter!" Mother cried somewhere in the distance. Gloriae could not see her through the smoke and fire. "Gloriae! Stay strong, daughter! I will save you."

Gloriae cried, and screamed, and kicked, but Dies Irae held her tight.

They flew from the battle. They flew from the smoke and fire, from her mother's cries. They flew over leagues of ruin, toppled temples, fallen palaces, burned forests, a million bodies. They flew to the east.

The world of ruin blurred.

She slept.

When she awoke, she saw a world of light and beauty. Forests and rivers. Farms of gold. Castles and walls. Dawn, sunset, stars, and dawn again. Still they flew, Dies Irae clutching her in the saddle. Finally she saw a city ahead, a great city of white stone, its towers touching the clouds, its banners white and gold.

"Our new home," Dies Irae said. "Behold the city of Confutatis." He stroked her hair. "I will raise you here, Gloriae. Away from the weredragons. I will raise you to be pure, and strong, and cruel. I will raise you in the light of the Sun God, to be a huntress of evil."

"I want to go home," she whispered, tears on her cheeks.

He kissed her head. "We are home, daughter."

"Where is Mother? Where is Agnus Dei?" She trembled.

Dies Irae caressed her cheek. "The weredragons killed your mother. They killed your entire family. All but me, your father. I will teach you to fight back, to kill those who hurt us. Do you understand?"

She did not, but said nothing. He took her to this city, to a palace of light and gold. He took her to a room of blades, shields, and poison. She trained. She hated. She fought and she killed. She wore gold, steel, and fury.

"I am Gloriae the Gilded," she cried to the city, a woman, a huntress, a ruler. "The weredragons cannot hide from me."

She ruled, and she warred, and she killed. She freed the nightshades, and she lived inside them, and her soul shattered. She tore into the soul of the red weredragon, this Agnus Dei. She scattered the pieces into the worlds beyond this world... all but one shard, a whisper inside her, a voice and memories.

"Do you see?" Agnus Dei whispered, a ghostly child. She was fading fast, dispersing like smoke.

"I don't understand," Gloriae whispered.

But she did. She trembled, shook her head, and wanted to scream.

She understood. She remembered.

"Now you must help me, Gloriae," Agnus Dei said. She was nothing but smoke, her voice an echo. "Return this shard of me, this bit of soul, into my body. Breathe this smoke into my lips. Return me to my body, so that I may wake, and hold you, and see you in life."

Gloriae shook her head wildly. "How can I? You are but one piece. One of a hundred."

"I will find the other ninety-nine. I will reclaim them. Please, Gloriae! Please, sister. I love you. Please. Only you can save me now. Open your eyes. My body lies here beside you. Only you can wake it."

Agnus Dei flickered like a guttering candle. Her voice faded into nothing.

"Please, Gloriae. Please...."

Gloriae's eyes snapped open.

She took a deep, desperate breath like a woman saved from drowning.

"Agnus Dei!" she cried.

The weredragons crowded around her. She was back in the true world. She was captive in the night, her limbs bound.

"Mother!" she said. Her arms trembled. "Mother, help me. He's taking me with him. He's taking me from you. Mother!"

Above her, Lacrimosa and Benedictus looked at each other, and their eyes softened. Kyrie's eyes filled with confusion.

"She's lost her mind," the boy said. "I didn't think I hit her that hard."

Gloriae turned her head, and saw Agnus Dei, not the ghostly child, but the soulless woman. Her empty body still breathed, but her breath was shallow.

Please, the voice whispered inside her. Please.

Gloriae took a deep, shaky breath, then looked at Benedictus.

"I think I can cure her," she said to him.

"How?" the three Vir Requis asked together.

Gloriae lowered her eyes. "I was in... inside the nightshades. When they attacked Agnus Dei." She took a deep breath, prepared for a storm of anger. "I was controlling them. Well, not truly. Mostly they controlled me, but I could see through their eyes. I know where they hid Agnus Dei's soul. They did not claim all of it. They wanted to. I wanted to. But a piece still remains inside me."

Kyrie took a threatening step toward her, fists raised. "I'm going to kill you if she dies."

Lacrimosa placed a hand on Kyrie's shoulder, holding him back, and looked at Gloriae.

"What can you do to help her?"

Gloriae shuddered. "I don't know. I understand little of it. Agnus Dei fought well; I felt it inside the nightshade. She is strong. Her soul still remembers its name. When the nightshades sucked her soul, part of it went into them, and part into me. I think I can give it back. The jolt might cure her, suck in the rest of her soul, and wake her up."

Kyrie blew out his breath loudly. It fluttered his hair. "Fighting griffins was easy. You bit, you clawed, you blew fire. These nightshades... none of it makes any sense to me."

"I understand little too," Gloriae confessed. Her head still spun from the memories. "I feel more than I understand. Their world is so different from ours. It's not a world our language has words for. It's not a world of objects or flesh. It's of endless dimensions, of emotions rather than thoughts, of smoke and shadow and darkness, not material things. They don't understand our bodies. They only see our minds. Let me go to Agnus Dei. Can you free my hands?"

The Vir Requis glanced at one another, and Gloriae knew they didn't trust her. She herself wasn't sure what she'd do with free hands. Would she try to attack them? She had spent years wanting to kill them. But... her memory was true. She knew that.

This was a piece of her twin.

Benedictus untied her hands, and Gloriae knelt by Agnus Dei. She placed her hands on her sister's cheeks. Her flesh was cold, but she still breathed. Her eyes stared blankly. They looked alike, Gloriae realized, almost shocked. Their faces were identical. Agnus Dei had a mane of black curls, and Gloriae had a mane of gold. Agnus Dei had tanned skin and brown eyes, while Gloriae had pale skin and eyes of green. But otherwise they had the same face—the same full lips, high cheeks, straight nose.

"Agnus Dei," Gloriae whispered. "Once we were together. We were one being in the womb. We are one again and need to separate. Take your spirit, Agnus Dei. Sister. It is yours."

Gloriae leaned down and kissed her sister's lips. Mist fled from her mouth into Agnus Dei's mouth. A light glowed. Agnus Dei coughed.

"Agnus Dei!" Lacrimosa called.

Gloriae looked into her sister's eyes, still holding her cheeks. "Do you hear me, sister? You have a piece of yourself now. Call your other pieces. Summon them; they are there in the worlds, you can find them, grasp them. Wake up, Agnus Dei. Your time has not yet come. Return to your body and speak to me."

Agnus Dei's mouth opened wide, and she called out, wordless. Her eyes moved. Her body floundered, but still Gloriae held her cheeks, keeping her head still.

"Sister, can you hear me?" Tears streamed down Gloriae's cheeks to land on Agnus Dei. "I was lost from you for so long. For years I wandered the world without you. I didn't know. I was torn and broken. Now I'm back, and you are lost. You are torn. You must return too. You must return and be with me, with us. I love you, Agnus Dei." Her own words shocked her, but Gloriae could not stop them; they flowed from a deep, hidden place inside her, a place now broken and spilling its secrets. "I remember you, sister. I love you."

The tears fell onto Agnus Dei's face.

The girl took a deep, ragged breath.

"Gloriae!" she called. She hugged her sister. "Gloriae, I remember you too. I saw you in the worlds. I saw us as children. I loved you once. I remember. I love you again. You've returned to us."

And then the others were embracing them too. Lacrimosa wept, and even Benedictus and Kyrie shed tears. The five hugged one another, the fire burning around them. The Draco constellation shone above.

The nightshades could return any moment, Gloriae knew. The next time, she would not be able to heal the bodies they emptied. Dies Irae would lead them upon the Vir Requis with all his wrath and pain. But Gloriae could not fear nightshades, not tonight.

Tonight her world crashed around her. Tonight memories flooded her, making her fingers tremble, her eyes water, and her head spin. Dies Irae had banished her; the weredragons had welcomed her. Who was her family? Who was she now? Gloriae looked to the sky, swallowed, and closed her eyes.