“No thanks to you, kes-ahla,” the scarred dragon growled, and Akarra shrank into herself. With her head bowed and wings tucked to her side, she looked like a kitten caught in the reproving glare of a great hunting hound. “You should know better than to attempt an ascent like that when the Tanar-Al’eketh is blowing!”
Alastair went forward and bowed to the older dragon. “We didn’t have a choice. Shurraneth shan, my name is—”
“Alastair, son of Erran, son of Seraphina, heir of House Daired. Of course we know who you are,” another voice said. “Stand aside, Tanar, and let me see them.”
The sentinel drew back and a female dragon came forward, crested and crowned with an iron circlet. Her scales were dark, almost black, but in the torchlight they glittered midnight-blue and her eyes were the same fire-opal color as Akarra’s. Other dragons flanked her, more than I’d ever seen before, all straining to see us over one another’s shoulders and whispering among themselves in Eth. I felt very small.
Akarra bowed with her wings over her head. “Vehrys Neheema,” she said. “Shurraneth shan.”
“Well met, little daughter. And you, Lord Alastair, and your lady—my fire, have you been in a battle?”
I curtsied, wobbled, and straightened, still scrubbing at my chin and cheeks. “No, just the mountains. Aliza Daired, your, um . . .” I trailed off, my mind suddenly blank of the proper address. This dragon was not the Drakaina, and I knew no other dragon honorifics. Madam didn’t seem to fit and she was certainly no lady. Shurraneth, Alastair and Akarra had said. That stirred a distant memory. “Your Honor,” I tried.
“I am Ahla-Na-Katar-Lys-te’an Neheema, She-Who-Brings-Light-to-the-Dark, Chief Keeper of the Sacred Hearth,” the crowned dragon said. “Vehrys Neheema, you may call me. But Tanar, for shame! Can you not see our friends are at the end of their strength?”
“Forgive me, Vehrys Neheema, but Akarra had not—”
“There’ll be time enough for scolding later, if a scolding must be had.” Neheema raised her wings. “Attend me, dragonets! Bring roast meat and water to the Daired chambers.” There was a stirring deeper in the cavern and a handful of smaller dragons appeared. “Tanar, return to your guard. Akarra, come. I will speak to you as you eat.”
Tanar rumbled his reply and retreated to the mouth of the cavern. Akarra headed after Neheema with a meaningful look in our direction.
“Is she in trouble?” I asked Alastair when they’d gone.
“Not once she tells Neheema what we’ve seen.” He looked around. “Shield and Circle, khera, I didn’t imagine the Hearth would look like this.”
“You’ve never been here before?”
He shook his head. “Daireds rarely visit. My grandmother did once and Aunt Catriona might have come with Herreki, but I’ve only heard stories. I’ve always wanted to see it.”
Out of the glare of the setting sun, my eyes had begun to adjust. What I’d thought were mere shadows took on architectural depths. Pillars rose from floor to ceiling all around, carved in the silhouettes of dragons and leaping flames. The source of the firelight came from deeper in the cavern, a bright circular glow roaring beyond the largest of the pillars, but it was too far away to make out the details. Everywhere there was a sense of immensity. Not just in space, but in years as well. The very shadows felt heavy with the weight of centuries.
“It is beautiful,” I whispered, “but right now I wouldn’t care if it was a hole in the rock with a dirt floor and a gargoyle infestation. Just as long as there’s food.”
“Ask nicely and you may get a hot bath too,” he said, grinning that dimpled grin I’d missed so much. I hadn’t seen it since the Morianton midwife had delivered her fatal news. “Maybe even a real bed.”
“All right, we ask nicely. But whatever happens, food first.”
“My lord Daired?” One of the smallest dragonets came forward. She was about the size of a draft horse, watery silver with beautiful golden eyes and a strong Eth accent. She dipped her head almost to the ground. “And lady. Come please. I will take you to the quarters of the Daireds.”
She led us in the opposite direction from where Akarra and Neheema had gone, watched carefully by the rest of what Alastair had called the Vehryshi. The main cavern branched into dozens of smaller tunnels, though smaller meant that they were only several stories above our heads instead of dozens. The smell of dragonfire was strong here, sharper than it was at House Pendragon, wilder and more metallic. It sent the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. Our guide walked with her wings bent out a little at her sides, wingtips nearly touching in front of her. She said nothing as we walked.
“What’s your name?” I asked after a few minutes, keen to take my mind off the disappointment as each turning failed to reveal any human-sized rooms or, more distressingly, any sign of food.
She jumped. “My name?”
“Er, yes.”
“You wish to know my name?” she asked.
“Is that allowed?”
“I—oh, yes. Of course,” she said. “Ahla-Na-al Hsetek-an-Sanar, my lady. She-Who-Rides-the-East-Wind.”
“Sanar? Like Niaveth Daired’s dragon?”
“My Nestmother named me for her honor, yes,” she said. Her wings rose a little.
It made sense that the lone dragon in Arle’s greatest epic would hold a place of honor among the dragons of An-Edannathair, but this namesake still intrigued me. Here above the clouds, in halls of living stone lit by wild dragonfire, even the tragedy of Marten, Princess Ellia, and Niaveth Daired seemed somehow small and unimportant. Apparently, however, the dragons remembered the tale as well as we did. I thought of the steward Mòrag’s recitation on Martenmas. The chilly shadows of Castle Selwyn seemed ages ago, but I couldn’t forget her unflattering description of House Daired. She’d spoken of greed and corruption, of the blood of the Fireborn watered down in the generations between Edan and Niaveth, who had pledged her sword to protect the princess in her great task: winning over the Oldkind of Arle to an alliance with humans, as Niaveth’s ancestor had once done with dragonkind. As the song had it, it was in the service of the princess that Niaveth’s dragon Sanar was slain. A tragic end, but a noble one. No wonder the Nestmothers christened their dragonets in her honor.
Sanar stopped at the end of a long corridor. There was no door, just an archway into darkness. “Here are the quarters of the Daireds,” she said, and breathed a column of dragonfire to the right of the arch. “We keep it in readiness for times of such visiting.”
Flames rolled down the oil-filled channel along the top of the walls, filling the room with golden light. The pile of ancient and dusty furs, the ewer basin full of steaming water, and the little table laid with roast wild goat seemed in that moment a glimpse into heaven itself.
“Eat and rest,” Sanar said. “Someone will come to summon you when the Vehryshi have made ready.”
Alastair thanked her in Eth and she bowed again before leaving us alone.
We were at the food before the sound of her footsteps faded. The meat was blackened, stringy, and the best thing I’d ever tasted. The ache inside me shrank with each bite. Neither of us felt the inclination to talk. We ate, drank, shed our armor, and splashed clean in silence, the warmth and wonder of our surroundings soothing my exhausted muscles as well as any bath. I collapsed onto the furs next to Alastair with just enough consciousness left to appreciate the fact that we had human bedding, though I wouldn’t have minded if we had boulders for a headboard and a stone for a pillow. I was asleep in seconds.