he said, "the weredragons have crowned a new king. He fights at the entrance of a nearby tunnel, and he wishes to treat with you." He laughed, a sound like snapping bones. "Would you like to hear this boy king beg for life before we kill him, or shall I gut him now?"
Solina felt like a bellows blasted hot air against her. She froze, fingers tingling, sweat dripping down her forehead.
"Elethor," she whispered.
Acribus barked a laugh. "Yes, that was his name. A soft boy; looks like he never swung a sword in battle until today. I will break him. I will shatter his spine. I will crush his limbs with a hammer, sling them through the spokes of a wheel, and hang him to die upon the palace walls."
She glared at him, baring her teeth. "You will not touch him, Acribus. If you do, you will be the one broken. Show me to the weredragons' new king. I will speak to him."
They marched down the streets, leaving the palace behind. Ash swirled around their boots. Trees and bodies burned at their sides, raising black smoke. Phoenixes soared and screeched above; the sky itself seemed to burn. The sounds of battle came from ahead: swords clanging, battle cries, and the shouts of dying men calling for mothers, lovers, or the mercy of death.
Soon Solina saw an entrance to a tunnel. The stone archway rose ten feet tall, its keystone engraved with dragon reliefs. The bodies of Tirans and weredragons littered the cobblestones around it. Living soldiers fought above the bodies, clanging swords. Blood puddled and flowed toward Solina's boots.
A memory thudded through Solina, aching in her chest. Come on, Elethor! she had cried, laughing, and pulled him down the streets. She had been twenty, maybe twenty-one, a young woman blooming into her beauty. He had still been a youth, awkward and gangly, but she was determined to make him a man. They explored the tunnels that day, moving between wine cellars, libraries, silos, and finally finding a nook full of rugs where they made love—fiery, passionate love that made her scream and scratch her fingernails down his back. We returned to these tunnels most nights after that, she remembered.
"Tirans!" she shouted. "To me. Form rank. Leave the weredragons to cower in their burrow."
With a few last sword swings, the men fell back and formed rank around her. Blood splashed their armor, and they glared at the tunnel archway. Weredragon warriors stood there, panting over the bodies of their fallen. One man clutched a hole where his ear had been, and another sat against a wall, cradling an arm that ended with a stump. The place seemed strangely silent without the clash of steel and cries of battle; Solina heard only the fire of phoenixes above and the moans of the dying.
"Elethor," she said, speaking to the gaping shadow of the tunnel. "Elethor. Come see me."
Flames crackled. Smoke unfurled. From the blood and shadows, the pain and hope of her youth emerged. All that sweet pain—the secret kisses, the forbidden taste of love—flooded her, made her fingers tingle, and she stared in silence.
He had been only eighteen when she last saw him, a tall and gaunt youth; she would poke him and laugh at how thin he was. He had grown into adulthood since then, a man of twenty-five with dark, haunted eyes and brown hair that fell over his brow, caked with blood and ash. And yet those were the same lips she would kiss, the same eyes she would gaze into—hound dog eyes, she would call them.
"Solina," he said softly.
Her eyes stung. She had not expected this to be so difficult. She had not expected to still feel so much, hurt so badly. She remembered him speaking her name so many times—as a child growing up in her arms, a lover in her bed, and that last time he called her name, shouting it from the walls of Nova Vita as she fled into exile, her line of fire burning down her body.
"Elethor," she whispered. She beckoned him closer. "Come. We will speak." She snapped her fingers, and her men formed lines around her. "Follow me; we will find someplace quiet."
He stood still, staring at her between strands of damp hair. "We will speak here."
She couldn't help it; she laughed, tears stinging her eyes. "I won't harm you, Elethor. And my men will not hurt yours until we've spoken. You have my word." She stepped toward him and took his