A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,94

many gone. So many will still die as we fly into the southern horde.

She kissed his lips.

"I am yours," she whispered. "In bed. In battle. In the glory of our halls when we rebuild them—or in the starlit halls of our fathers. You are my king. You are my husband. You are my love." She held him tight and closed her eyes. "We fly together, Elethor; always."

They slept holding each other through the long, cold night.

TREALE

She stood upon the cliff, the wind in her hair, and looked at her king. Treale had dreamed of this for so long—to finally stand beside him again. He was so close now she could reach out and grab him, yet he had never seemed farther to her, not in all the forests and deserts she had hid in.

Once more they stood upon Ralora Beach. Last year she had stood here with Elethor and three thousand dragons, a green army awaiting the southern fire. Today a hundred thousand warriors covered the cliffs, hills, and beach: griffins, salvanae, soldiers of Osanna, and dragons of Requiem. Last year Solina had lured them here, allowing her forces to crush Nova Vita. Today Elethor had decided the queen's fall would begin in this same place.

You are thinking of her now, Treale thought, looking at the young king. He was staring south, the wind ruffling his dark hair. You are thinking of Solina, the one you loved, the one you vow to kill. But I am thinking of you, Elethor. I am thinking of the night I kissed your cheek, and I am standing here beside you, and you cannot even see me.

Treale lowered her head, and the wind played with her long black hair, scented of the sea. She closed her eyes. So many nights she had dreamed of him! When she had lain curled up in charred forests, fleeing the wyverns, she had pretended to still lie by his side like that night upon the hill. When she had huddled in alleys in cruel Irys, or crawled over dunes that burned her, or trekked through the swamps of Gilnor to seek sanctuary in the north, she had thought of him. She would remember talking to him about her puppets, and kissing his cheek, and sleeping all night by his side under the stars, feeling safe by her king. And then… and then after all those long moons, she had met him again! She had returned to him. She had flown with true dragons and fought by his side, driving the nephilim from the ruins of Bar Luan.

And he had gone into his tent.

And he had taken Lyana into his bed.

And her heart had been broken; it still felt like shattered clay in her breast.

Oh, he had given her a compulsory embrace, and squeezed her shoulder, and thanked her for saving his sister. He had kissed her forehead, then pulled Mori into his arms again and nearly crushed her, and not a moment later he was walking with his soldiers and talking of battles, and Treale had remained standing in the ruins, cold and alone.

You have Mori now, she thought, looking at him. You have your sister whom I saved. And you have your wife, whom I serve. And you have me, Elethor. You have me always; you had me since that night upon the hill. And still I wait for you. Still I stand by your side, but do you see me here?

She walked across the cliff, moving closer to him, until she stood a foot away. Lyana stood at his other side, clutching her sword and also staring south. Mori stood beyond her, clad in armor—Treale had never seen the princess in armor before—and hugging herself. None seemed to notice her.

"My king?" Treale said softly. He seemed not to hear her, and she touched his arm. "Elethor?"

He seemed to wake from a dream. With a quick draw of his breath, he turned toward her, and his face softened.

"Lady Treale," he said.

Not his love, she thought. Not his wife or sister or even a friend. A lady. A cold title for a court. Her eyes stung and she blinked. She wanted to grab and shake him, to yell at him: Don't you remember that night? Don't you remember how you told me your story, and I told you mine—about the puppets, and Oldnale Farms, and… I kissed your cheek, Elethor, and we slept side by side. And now I am only a lady, this… this cold warrior like