her heart. Her true father threatened her adopted father. This was her worst nightmare come true. Hualiama knew she would have to kill one father or the other. Or both, she realised. She begged the skies, ‘What now, Amaryllion?’ In the eyes of the watching Dragons, this was a simple dispute between Humans. Whether Yulgaz allowed himself to be used as a tool or not, that would be judged later by the Dragon Elders, amongst themselves. The second Dragonwing was minutes away.
Too far.
She dropped her swords.
“No, Lia …” That was Flicker, looking on from just a few feet away.
“And the forked daggers, girl,” said Ra’aba.
Hualiama tossed her Immadian forked daggers aside. “Let my father go, Ra’aba.”
“Go stand with him,” the Roc commanded, grimacing as he tried to rise.
That would put her within easy reach of Yulgaz’s talons. Lia wanted to scream. Again, she glanced to the west. Where was Sapphurion, the vaunted leader of the Dragon Elders? She saw Grandion, but not his massive, instantly recognisable father … yet she sensed him, a closeness of a presence she might have known as a babe. How could she force Sapphurion to intervene?
Pitching her trained singer’s voice to carry across the throng of Dragons overrunning the Receiving Balcony, Hualiama said, “Where is Razzior the Orange today, Ra’aba?”
He hesitated, the triumphant smirk on his lips fading.
“You see, when Razzior came to burn me that day, father, I recognised him. I recognised in him the same spirit that I see in you. You two are kindred spirits. Yet your primary ally’s missing, Ra’aba. Why don’t you summon him to your aid? Surely, by the power of ruzal, you could do just that?”
Here was the edge of the cliff, and she should tread with the utmost delicacy.
Ra’aba appeared to have no answer. His eyes flicked away to their right, to a spot which stood strangely vacant amidst the throng of Dragons.
Into her mind, Flicker whispered, Why then, do Dragons follow a Human?
Changing to the dragonet’s tack, Lia continued, “I wonder what Sapphurion the Dragon Elder thinks of this unholy alliance you’ve forged between Dragons and Humans? Why are these Greens so willing to follow a Human leader?”
“Get back, girl!” Ra’aba snarled. “Back to your father. Yulgaz, let him go. I have no need of Dragons to do my bidding. One false move, Lia! Just one, I swear!”
“Easy, rajal,” she soothed, closing the distance with King Chalcion. Perhaps she could protect him. “The Dragons follow you because you are possessed by the spirit of Razzior.”
“You’re mad!” he snapped.
“Stone skin, fiery yellow eyes, unearthly speed and the devoted attention of dozens of Green Dragons,” she ticked off on her fingers. “Does that sound Human to you? Ask any–”
Lia broke off as that vacant spot shimmered, resolving suddenly into the vast form of Sapphurion. When had the Dragon Elder arrived? Had he been hidden all along? Sapphurion stood twenty-five feet tall at the shoulder, visibly more impressive than any of the Greens in his immediate surrounds. Hualiama gasped, fighting an urge to bow before the depthless gravity of the Dragon’s demeanour, the clarity of his gaze and the sense of a mind reaching out to divide truth itself.
A trapped, feral mien seized Ra’aba. His fingers clawed. Lia could not understand the nature of the disturbance which had so visibly sunk its talons into her father. Why an intervention now? What had changed? Why Sapphurion’s naked menace directed not only at Ra’aba, but at her? Magic built darkly within him, Lia sensed. Here, in the space between her two fathers, beneath the burning gazes of dozens of Dragons, was a place of unimaginable peril. She must navigate it alone.
“No!” Her father cursed luridly. “You cannot take this from me, Lia, I swear–”
Carefully, Hualiama said, “I can, because I’m the child of the Dragon.”
In a low, terrible rumble, Sapphurion asked, “Ra’aba, how do you answer these accusations?”
“No … no!” Ra’aba insisted. “I am a man. I bleed like any man.”
Lia said, “You have children like any man. Ianthine confirmed it, and Dragons do not lie.”
“The Onyx Throne is mine!” Ra’aba screamed. Every vein popped out on his forehead; sweat streaked his neck and gleamed on his cheeks. “It is my right! Nobody can tear it from me!”
* * * *
Flicker perched on a plant a little aside from his Lia, watching the fungus-face with narrowed eyes and muscles primed to pounce. Trapped in his own vile scheme, Ra’aba at last recognised the hour of his fate, yet he could not