A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,115

to escape his failed life.

But he had purpose now. He had Mori.

I may still be nothing but a lowly guard… but I guard the Princess of Requiem, the woman I love.

"I won't let anyone hurt you again," he whispered into her hair. "I love you, Mori. I know that healing will be long and painful—for you, for this city, for all of us. I know that some battles only now begin. But you have me. We'll go through this together."

She lowered her eyes, her lashes brushing his cheek, and clung to him. "I miss them, Bay. My brother. My father. I miss them so much, that… I don't know if the pain will ever end." She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with tears. "I love you too, Bayrin. Always. So much that it hurts, so much that… when you fell from the sky, I thought I would die, that light could never more shine in the world." She smiled shakily and nodded. "We will heal together, Bay, you and I. It hurts so much, but… we have each other. We'll do this together."

A robin took flight outside the window, rising into a clear sky. Spring is here, Bayrin thought, Mori in his arms. They sat together silently, embracing, watching the dawn rise.

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.