Marak flicked a hand. “Take the priest to him. Do not let him see.”

Rhok understood. He reached into his cloak and withdrew a length of black cloth, kneeling down to wrap it around the fire priest’s eyes, blinding him. His big hands worked roughly. When the blindfold was tightly fastened, he grabbed the priest suddenly by the neck, squeezing tight with his fingers, digging into the cords of his throat. Pagaloth frowned, perplexed, as the priest thrashed and wriggled as he was choked, his neck bulging and turning red. No one made any move to interfere. They only watched, impassive, until Rhok released his grip, and the priest lurched for breath on his gag, sucking air fiercely through his nostrils.

A nod from Marak said that was enough. Rhok stood, grabbed the priest by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him off toward the cave as though he was nothing but some beast being taken to the butcher’s table.

Pagaloth felt a small measure of pity for the man. “Why did he do that?”

“It is better when they hate us. Rough treatment stokes their ire.”

“And now? What are you going to do with him?”

“Leave him to stew,” Marak said. “For a day or so, in silence and darkness. His hate and fear will grow.”

“The voice is more powerful like that,” put in An’zon Graz. “All that anger and hate…it fuels them. It’s a better test.”

“Test?” Pagaloth was not fully understanding. “You mean to say…you are exposing yourself willingly to the voice? You’re…” And then it came to him. “You’re building a resistance to its power. An immunity.”

“Yes,” said Ulrik Marak. “As a knight armours his body for battle, so we are armouring our minds. The plate we wear has grown strong, Pagaloth. This is not the first priest we have found.”

Replacement, he thought. That is what Marak had called him.

“The other one died three days ago,” Graz explained. “We had him here for weeks, but every barrel runs dry eventually. He stopped trying to turn us, and his voice grew thin. Then we came in one morning and he’ll bitten off his tongue and choked on his own blood. The one before that managed to dash his head against the wall. Now we keep them bound and watched at all times. These priests are precious commodities.”

Pagaloth had so many questions. “But…if they know what you’re doing…why would they…”

“They cannot help themselves,” sniffed Lady Adelle Kazaan. “They are slaves. Their purpose is to spread his will. And this is what they try to do. Again and again. Until they are spent.”

“And you?” Pagaloth looked at them. “How did you come here, after the battle?”

“By fortune and the good favour of the gods,” An’zon said. He put a hand on Lady Kazaan’s shoulder and she quickly shook it off. “The good lady and I were two of the lucky ones, Sir Pagaloth. Many riders were thrown from their dragons - perhaps you saw? - but I suppose our bonds were tighter. I saw Lord Marak fly east on Garlath and something urged me to follow. We found Lady Kazaan a day later, flying aimlessly across the woods. That was when we discovered this rift and took it for a camp. The others joined later.”

“They’re Fireborn?”

“Not like us. But yes, there is fire in their blood.”

Marak stepped in, brushing An’zon aside. “Garlath is not a dragon to yield to anyone, Pagaloth, not even Drulgar the Dread. He is stronger than that, and has broken free, as I have. As you can see, others have been drawn to him. He is a power of his own now. And they are his flock.”

As if on cue, a great rumble spread through the wide walls of the chasm. Smoking flame gushed through the teeth of Garlath’s maw, curling and rising to join the roof of fog above them. Several other dragons screeched out, unfurling and flapping their wings. The air stirred and blew, the flames of the fire flickering.

Marak smiled. “Garlath is no one’s slave,” the dragonlord said proudly. “And nor am I. We are done serving another.” He reached out with a powerful arm and took Pagaloth by his shoulder. “Your mother’s side, did you say?”

The dragonknight took a moment to riddle out his meaning, then nodded. “Yes, my lord. I had faint hopes of becoming a rider myself, as a boy. I was told the fire was too weak.”

“A weak fire can still grow. You only need the right fuel.”

Wings thumped the air. Several of the dragons rose up on their roosts, screeching. The sound stirred his soul. There was a great beating in the chest of Pagaloth Kadosk.

“You have a noble heart,” Marak said to him. “They can sense it in you.”

He thought of his betrayals. He thought of the chaos he’d caused. He was about to shake his head in denial when one of the dragons took flight from his perch, beating his wings in a hard ringing thunder, crashing down to land before them.

The earth trembled at his feet, pebbles dancing on the shelf. The dragon stretched out his long slender neck, nostrils opening wide, sniffing. Pagaloth felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck as those glowing golden eyes peered down into his very soul. Scales in royal red and copper glittered on the dragon’s flank. There were tears in the dragonknight’s eyes. Those were the colours of his house.

“You have been chosen,” Lord Ulrik Marak said, in a voice of great weight. “Step forward, Sir Pagaloth Kadosk. The first ride will seal the bond.”

52

She could have throttled her dead.

“You have a lot to answer for, young lady,” she said, with tears in her eyes, as she strode into the dim-lit bedchamber. “So much to answer for.”

She could have throttled her dead…but instead she wrapped her into an embrace so fierce she felt she might never let go. Let it be real, she thought, shutting her eyes tight. Let this not be some cruel dream. Her fingers pressed hard into Lillia’s back, as though making sure, and her lips split into such a smile that she felt the skin might tear at the corners of her mouth.

She held her there so long that eventually Lillia squirmed. “I’ve missed you too, Auntie, I have. But the adventure’s been fun. Daryl is such a hoot.”

A hoot? Fun? Adventure? Amara Daecar could have throttled her dead…but instead she only laughed out loud, a manic chortle pouring from her lips. Lillia looked at her like she was crazed, and perhaps she was. Driven mad by fear and grief and now this wild and blazing relief to have found the girl at last, safe and entirely unharmed.

“Auntie…you’re…are you all right? You’re scaring me a little.”

Amara’s crazed laughter crumbled and collapsed into tears, and they were streaming down her cheeks, hot and fierce. She snapped her arms around Lillia again, clutching for her life. “I feared you were dead. I’ve been searching…we’ve all been searching for so long…”

“Searching? Oh…because I ran from Grandfather? I had no choice, Auntie. He wasn’t letting me train at all, and I missed you and Jovy too much. Is he here with you? Did you bring him too?”

“He’s here,” Amara wept. She drew back, clutching her cheeks, smiled as she looked into her sweet beautiful young face, hugged her again, and then moved her to the bed. She sat her down and perched right next to her. She could not be certain what she had been told, but it was important she set some things straight at once. “Lillia, you need to know…about your uncle.”

“I know,” the girl said. “Cousin Gereth…he told me.”

“What did he say?”

“That Uncle Vesryn died a hero.” Her big blue eyes dipped down. “I mourned him, but…but the way he died. They say…” She looked up again. “They say the Dread is back. That’s how Uncle Vesryn was killed. Fighting him. And Father and Elyon were there as well, but they lived…” Her voice weakened. “I heard, anyway. Though, now…I don’t know if…if they’re…”

“They are alive,” Amara said, though she could not know that for sure. But she believed it. She had to believe it. “Your father has been declared king. He has marched west to defend the Twinfort.”

“The Twinfort? I thought he was at King’s Point?”

“He was.”

“What about Elyon?” Lillia’s face scrunched up, demanding. “If you’ve been looking for me, why hasn’t he come? He can fly. He’d have found me easily if he’d tried. It wasn’t that hard. We were on the lake for a long time, and then on those islands, and then back on the lake again. And then we came here.”

Here was Blackfrost, the city seat of House Daecar, perched in the southern foothills of the pine-forested North Downs. After all that chasing, all those weeks and months in the saddle and under sail, the girl had come back home all along. Sir Daryl, Amara thought. Bless that man. He would have a lordship for this, she would make sure of it. Well, a better one. Daryl was already set to become Lord Blunt at his grandfather’s death, but Amara would make certain his lands at least were vastly expanded. “Elyon has been busy, Lillia,” she said. “He is helping to win the war, like your father. They do not have time to worry about you. And they wouldn’t have to if you had stayed where you were. You never should have left Ilivar.”

“I hate Ilivar,” the girl seethed at once. “It’s too clean and boring. And Grandfather’s castle. Keep Quiet,” she hissed. “I hate it even more. Even the servants go around afraid of him. Not like ours. In Keep Daecar, and here. The servants here are happy and friendly. They smile and aren’t afraid to talk to us, because we’re nice to them, and treat them well. But with Grandfather they cower and move like corpses, all stiff and worried they’ll do something wrong.” She shook her head. “I hate Grandfather most of all.”

“You don’t mean that,” Amara made herself say. She had no love for Brydon Amadar, but he was still Lillia’s grandfather, and a greatlord, and she must respect him. “Your grandfather has his faults, I will not say he doesn’t, but he loves you, Lillia. He only wants to see you safe.”

“He wants to see me become my mother,” she bit back. “He doesn’t really love me. He loves her. The ghost of her. But I’m not her. I’m never going to be her.”