A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,117

here, or pain, or exile, or any of those bad things. Just you and me, young forever, in love forever. Our perfect day."

He pulled away from her, walked to the window, and looked outside upon the hills of birches and cypresses. Above in the sky, the dragons glided. Solina came to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"In Requie—"

He turned toward her. "Solina, where are we?"

She looked aside, eyes pained. "Does it matter, El? Does it matter where this place is? It's real to me. It's real to you." She looked back at him, tears trembling in her eyes. "Don't you remember?"

He placed his hands upon the windowsill, lowered his head, and understood. He spoke softly.

"We're still in Tiranor. We're in the bowels of the mountain, and around us the nephilim spawn, and… this is some… some illusion of the water. Of the pool we entered." He grabbed her arm. "Isn't it, Solina?"

"So what if it is!" Her face flushed. "So what, Elethor? Who cares what lies out there?" She swept her arm around. "This is what matters. This place, not anything else. These books, and statues, and… and, Elethor, the turtle you carved me. You remember the turtle." She pressed herself against him and tried to kiss him. "I love you, Elethor, and that is what matters. That is all that matters. And you love me too. Here you do. Here you've always loved me."

He sighed and lowered his head. "It's not real, Solina."

"My memory is real. This day existed, El. It was real years ago; it's real again, real enough. It was my best day. Have you forgotten it?"

He looked around him, seeing his books, his sculptures, his bed. He looked at Solina—his love.

"I remember," he said softly. "It was my best day too."

Tears streamed down her cheeks and she embraced him. They stood together by the window, holding each other close.

"Then let us stay here," she said. "Your city that you loved still stands here. The people whom you loved still live. I will leave the Memory Pool sometimes—to govern my empire, to deal with the dirt, blood, and cruelty of the world. You can wait for me here, and read your books, and sculpt your statues. I will return to you every day. We will make love every night. Like this forever—young and happy. Out there, in the world, we are killers, Elethor. I killed so many; you did too. Our bodies are scarred there, our souls cold and drenched with blood. But not here. Here we are young, and good, and pure of heart." She touched his cheek. "It's finally over, El. All the pain. My exile. Our war. It's over now. The pain is gone, and nothing but joy and light remain."

He looked at her young, earnest face, unblemished by the scars of war. Her skin was smooth and supple, a soft golden hue, and freckles covered her nose. Her eyes were deep blue, her lips full and pink, her hair so soft in his hands.

Is this not all I ever wanted? he thought. Is this not what I spent years yearning for? Is this not perfection, eternal bliss?

He breathed deeply, and his chest ached. He had it here—all he had desired! He could spend the rest of his life in his home with the woman he loved, the woman who had claimed his soul and still clutched it, the woman who—

The woman who slaughtered children in our tunnels, a voice whispered inside him. The woman who slew my father and brother. The woman who destroyed my kingdom and butchered my people.

He thought of Lyana, his wife. Here, a decade ago, he hated Lyana—an imperious youth who would lecture him about this or that until he wanted to strangle her. And he thought of Lyana the woman, his wife, a warrior who had fought at his side, loved him, and flown through fire and death with him—a woman braver than any he had known, a woman of a heart pure and strong like steel forged in dragonfire, of soft light and goodness and eternal sadness, a woman who would always fly by his side.

I loved Solina in my foolish youth, he thought. But I walked through the Abyss with Lyana, and I loved her as a man, and I fought with her for all that we believe in, for all that our people hoped and killed and died for. Solina was a flame, a fire that had