Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,302

gloves. Her golden locks cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes stared at him, solemn.

"Gloriae."

She approached him, stood behind him, and placed her hands on his shoulders. She laid her head against him.

"Kyrie," she said softly, "do you know what I want to tell you this morning?"

His throat itched and his fingers tingled. "Yes."

She walked around him, faced him, and held his hands. "It's been over three moons now, four I think. You remember that night, when autumn leaves covered the ground."

He nodded, and his heart thrashed against his ribs. His eyes stung. "I remember," he whispered.

She embraced him and kissed his cheek. "I told Agnus Dei," she said. "She's happy for us, Kyrie. She won't let this change what you two have. I won't either. This is a great blessing."

Her eyes were soft, and she smiled. He smiled too, his breath shook, and he held Gloriae as they watched the sunrise.

"Are you still ready, Kyrie?" she whispered.

He nodded. "I am. I've never wanted anything more."

They walked through the ruins and frosty trees, and saw King's Column before them. Terra and Memoria stood there, garbed in green and silver, their swords at their hips. They smiled at him, eyes damp.

When he saw Agnus Dei, Kyrie's breath caught.

She stood between his siblings, head lowered shyly, arms behind her back. When she looked up at him, her eyes were shy, questioning, trembling with tears. She was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. She wore a green gown and flowers in her hair. She smiled through her tears, and reached out to him. On her left arm, she wore a giltwood hand Silva had carved her, its fingers moving on invisible joints.

Kyrie approached his bride and held her hands, one hand soft and warm, the other hard and smooth. They walked to stand before King's Column, and gazed over the shattered hall of Requiem's kings. Snowflakes fell around them, filling their hair.

Terra and Memoria stood at their sides. Gloriae stood before them, eyes solemn.

"This is a sad day," the Queen of Requiem whispered. "This is a day when we still mourn those we lost. But I know that Benedictus and Lacrimosa are watching over us. They stand now in our starlit halls, and they smile."

Agnus Dei nodded, biting her lip. Tears spiked her lashes.

Kyrie could never afterwards remember Gloriae's words. She spoke of love, and joy, and a future for Requiem. And he spoke too—spoke of meeting Agnus Dei, of loving her always, of growing old by her side. But words glided like snowflakes, and he thought only of her eyes, and her smile, and the light in her hair, and he marvelled at how much joy she gave him, and how the mere touch of her hand spread warmth through him.

He kissed her, arms around her. She mussed his hair and laughed.

"Pup," she said, and winked, and cried.

They walked through the forest, hand in hand.

The snowflakes fell, and melted, and the ice left the trees. They planted gardens, and for the first time in years, life grew in Requiem: sweet peas, and mint, and squash, and enough flowers for Memoria to pick every day, and place inside the cave where they lived. And they lived—like the wild dragons of old, nesting upon cliffs, sleeping in caves, roaring in the dawn and herding across the sky.

"It's a new spring," Kyrie said as they planted birches around the ruins of their temples. He brushed soil off his hands. "These trees will be saplings next year, and the year after that. But when our children pray here, tall trees will shade them, and countless leaves will rustle around them."

The twins smiled and placed their hands upon their bellies.

Under summer's blue skies, Gloriae lay in their cave and shouted and clutched Kyrie's hand. Memoria delivered their child, and held up the squalling, red creature that Kyrie thought looked so ugly, he couldn't help but laugh and cry.

"It's a girl," Memoria said. "A golden-haired girl."

Gloriae took the baby into her arms, and nursed her, and kissed her head. "Her name is Luna."

Autumn winds blew, and Kyrie found himself in the cave again, holding Agnus Dei's hand as she shouted, and cursed him, and swore to beat him bloody. When Memoria held up the child, Kyrie thought this one ugly too, wrinkled and red and squealing. This babe had curly black hair, like lambs' wool.

"It's a son," Memoria said, smiling, and placed the baby in Agnus Dei's arms.

Agnus Dei nodded, her brow and hair sweaty, and kissed