Declan wanted to laugh, then, wanted to give up and throw his hands in the air and laugh. As it was he couldn’t stop himself from cracking a strained, weathered grin, eyes on the lithe, reptilian form of his friend, who was refusing to meet his gaze. He recalled, now, the conversation they’d had, in the fields surrounding the yr’Essel’s home.

  An “ambassador”, Ryn had called himself. Raised to the role.

  Slowly, the story was starting to piece itself together.

  Ryn’s embarrassment was not altogether resolved when he spoke up with insistence. There are hardly any dragons left in the world who consider me anything like a ‘sovereign’, and those few that do have lived separate from one another for centuries.

  “Only at your own instruction,” Bonner managed to mutter, earning a raised eyebrow from Declan, but Ryn was already speaking again.

  Regardless, it makes little difference. I was designated as the delegate to the conclave, chosen to be the voice of my kind in lieu of my sire when addressing Igoric’s proposition. Tyrennus would not leave the Reaches, as equally wary of the events transpiring in Eserysh as the King was. I was young. Not even a century old. Tyrennus had little choice—given my selection had happened decades earlier—but I question to this day the wisdom of seating one so inexperienced at the table with the likes of Igoric al’Dyor and Elnaryl ehn’Vyr’en to discuss something as impactful as the Accord of Four.

  Declan rather thought Ryn’s definition of “experience” was measurably different than his own, hearing this, but he thought better of interrupting.

  My youth came at a price. I had little patience for the negotiations of man and elves, and I sought distraction in those more my own equivalent when I could. The King’s children were a gifted pair, I’d been told. The youngest, the son, was at his barely twenty years a great hand with the sword, and the crown princess was rumored to have a talent for magic only rarely seen among mankind. The spellwork of our races is very different, as you’ve seen, and I can truthfully say curiosity more than boredom had me asking her teacher—he waved a loose hand at Bonner again—to introduce us. Elysia and I became fast friends—

  “Once she got over the claws and teeth of his rh’eem,” Bonner offered with a chuckled aside.

  —but it was her brother, to my surprise, that I was more drawn to, Ryn continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. He was still looking at Declan, but his white-gold eyes seemed to travel somewhere beyond the present while taking him in. Not that I had met that many of man’s numbers, by that point, but Herst was… something special, something more than one would have expected from his station.

  For once, Bonner made no indication of cutting in other than a slow nod of agreement.

  Among dragons, there was a deference to the primordial line, and for good reason. Those chosen to take on the burden are superior in many ways to the common breeds, in brute power and magical ability alike. I had seen the same capitulation among the party of Elnaryl ehn’Vyr’en, as well as in the deference granted Igoric al’Dyor by even the greatest of his advisors and officers. Elysia was an even more firm example, never one to shy away from the preferred treatment. She could be caring, and often was, but she could be selfish as well, and hard in her own way. I imagine she was expected to be, as the next ruler of Viridian. Ryn frowned again, looking thoughtfully back in time. Herst, though… You might have said Herst hated the obeisance to a dramatic point. I won’t paint him out to be some fairy-tale hero. You weren’t about to catch him sneaking out of the palace to feed the orphans or anything of the sort, but where he could ease the burdens of those around him, he always did. He was… the word is ‘kind’, I suppose. There was a softness to him that I found at first curious, given his position, a consideration of his lessers that transcended his station. At the time I was myself struggling over understanding how it was the leaders of man passed on their responsibilities, given their short lives, but I at least understood he was much like me in a way: an heir, even if only secondarily so. I think I may have even found him weak at the beginning, and there were certainly those in court who would have called him as much, if never to his face. The dragon’s lips turned upwards then in a reminiscent smirk, eyes focusing once more on his audience of one. I’ve yet to meet a man more suited to the blade. Even you have a long way to go to catch up to your forefather, Declan.

  “He’s the one who taught you,” Declan remembered abruptly.

  Ryn nodded. I was bored, and he was interesting. He must have found me at least similarly intriguing, because he offered the lessons himself.

  “We had a damned time finding a practice sword of a size for you,” Bonner recalled almost irritably, rubbing his temples with thumb and forefinger. “Had to have one specially made at the prince’s request.”

  Ryn chuckled. It paid off in the end. He motioned to Declan without looking from the mage. He’s saved you and Ester’s lives once apiece, and held his own against more than forty wereyn. I’d say you have nothing to complain about the lessons I received.

  Bonner grumbled good-naturedly, but didn’t respond.

  Declan took the chance to slip a question in. “But… if the Accord was enacted and you were friendly with the Kings’ heirs… What happened?”

  There was a sullen, distasteful pause.

  “Vanity and greed.”

  Ester was the one to mutter the words, getting Declan to look around at her. She was grimacing, like she’d been chewing on something foul, the expression echoed in Ryn’s answering voice.

  I said the realm of man held the greatest power. His tone was hard, regaining Declan’s attention. You should consider that an understatement. Even to this day Mathaleus al’Dyor can gather a force of more than a hundred thousand men if given enough time, and four times that if he were willing to press the able-bodied of his subjects into rank. Your fertility is the one great blessing of your kind’s abridged lifespan. You already know the elves breed more slowly, and that goes three-fold for us dragons. We were never that many to begin with—never more than a thousand in the entirety of the Reaches—but I was the only hatchling in the better part of a quarter-century. Shaldora was the next youngest, and she’s twenty years older than I. Our populations do not grow vastly in any given space of time, whereas in the course of a handful of generations your people are able to sprawl and swell your numbers with nearly the same fervor of rabbits. I don’t mean that as an insult. He raised a quick hand to forestall Declan’s wounded protest. If anything, it is to your great advantage. It was the most substantial card Igoric had in hand, in fact. The only reason he ever convinced the er’enthyl and the dragons to consider a pact that threatened our sovereign lines, much less condone it.

  Declan caught on, then. “Security from mankind itself…” he said, following the reasoning better now.

  Ryn nodded. Even seven hundred years ago I don’t doubt the armies of the al’Dyors could have waged war against any two of our nations to a draw. Igoric was aware of this, but just as aware was he of the storm on the horizon. Sehranya had the ability to make man’s strength its weakness, you see. Even if his armies outnumbered hers ten to one, the fallen could be turned against him with nothing more than a flexing of the Endless Queen’s will. He foresaw this disaster, foresaw the ruination of his race not so far behind the fall of the er’endehn, if the dark elves were left to their fate. Ryn’s expression soured, then. Unfortunately, not all of his advisors and seconds felt the same.

  “Even before we’d weaved the Accord, Igoric was being pressured away from the idea.” Bonner was staring at the ground now, watching the flecking sparks tumble earthward from Ryn’s still-smoldering twig to wink out among the damp blades of the grass. “Sevus Kant, Tyrel al’Behn, Thana Vostyk. The heads of three of the four greatest Alethan families, all appalled by the idea of willingly putting themselves on keel with the other races when mankind had stood superior—even just in theory—for so long. They weren’t the only ones, either. Many of the higher officers of the Vigil were of like mind with those three, and still more were happy to be convinced for a handful of gold or the promise of a grander future than they might have been born to. By the time everyone was seated at the negotiating table, even Tryvean Morne—Igoric’s own First General—was on their side. Not that we knew that at the time…” Bonner sighed. “To their credit, the nobility started by trying everything they could to break up the talks peacefully—or what was considered peaceful among the circle of the court. It started small, with slander and rumors and mischief crafted to put pressure on the King’s own guest. A great attempt was made to discredit Ryndean himself, Kant and the others apparently thinking him the easiest target for their machinations.”

  I recall that, Ryn said with the air of someone remembering something long forgotten. He sounded almost amused. Stories started spreading that I was killing and eating the palace animals, the cats and dogs and the like.

  “Wasn’t long before that grew into tales of you sneaking into the city at night to devour vagabonds, then pregnant mothers and infants in their cradles.” Bonner snorted at the thought. “Fortunately Amherst and Elysia put a quick end to that, by keeping in your company. After though… That was when the real trouble started. Accusations of misconduct on the part of Elnaryl’s party. Briberies attempted and failed. There was even an attempt on the elven prince’s own life—belladonna in his morning tea, which had him bedridden for the better part of a fortnight. That nearly did the trick.” To Declan’s surprise, Bonner smiled then, wanly. “Arathia kept the peace, then, I remember. I was in love by the time Elnaryl found his feet again.”

  On Declan’s right, Ester let out a groan somewhere between exasperated and resigning, leaning against his shoulder for warmth. The jostling of the limb made his forearm ache.

  Just the same, he was quite sure he would have cut off his own hand before telling her that, and risking the woman shifting away again.

  “But they failed?” he asked of Ryn, forcing himself to stay focused on the conversation. The firestone had pulsed again with the pleasant uptick in his heartbeat. “Igoric convinced you to agree to the Accord?”

  The dragon bowed his head in slow acknowledgment, staring at the fire again.

  He did. And he was dead before the sun rose the next day.

  Silence fell again, and this time no one felt the urge to break it. Declan waited, impatient but sensing it wasn’t his place to pull his friend from what appeared to be a painful memory. Finally, after nearly fifteen seconds in which the forest sounds of the early morning hours crept back over them, Ryn seemed to shake himself.

  Despite everything—despite the rumors and the slander and even the attempt on Elnaryl’s life—we none of us truly anticipated how far they were willing to go. There had been inquiries, investigations, but the houses were clever, and between the care they’d taken in their plans and the sway they held over the Vigil, nothing was ever able to be lain at their feet. We knew who was responsible, of course. Kant, al’Behn, Vostyk. They made little secret of it in their own way, never going so far as to incriminate themselves, but making their implications clear enough just the same. I was of a mind multiple times to tear their heads from their shoulders and set them to spikes on the doors of the negotiating chambers, but Igoric wouldn’t hear of it. He had much of the best parts of his children’s qualities in that way. Elysia’s stoicism, and Amherst’s heart. It ended up being his unmaking…

  Ryn took a deep, uneven breath. The binding—when it was finally agreed upon—was a simpler process than the elves or I had anticipated. An exchange of vows and a handful of rituals to chain our lines to the Accord’s power, with plans to do the same with the leaders of the dark elves when the opportunity presented itself. Bonner and the other mages had done good work, and I think their efforts took the nobles by equal surprise, or they would have made their move earlier. As it was, it happened during the celebrations that evening, at the reveries thrown in commemoration of the agreement. I’d never seen anything like it. Herst and Elysia had taken me into the city when they could, and I’d become as familiar with your kind as one could in the months the talks had taken, but I remember being dazzled. Dancers. Musicians and singers. Food in every corner of the hall, and a hundred soldiers in ceremonial armor lining the walls.

  “A grand affair,” Bonner put in quietly. “And the night we learned of the First General’s betrayal…”

  Igoric died at Tryvean’s own hand. Ryn’s tone had hardened again, and Declan could have believed the fury in his gaze was feeding the very flames he was staring into. I didn’t see it happen. None of us did. Herst, Elysia, Elnaryl, and I had been distracted, taken in by entertainers while the First General pulled the King aside for ‘a word.’ The fact that there was no screaming after the business was done will tell you enough of how thoroughly the nobility’s influence had spread.

  “They’d even gone so far as to serve platters of raw meat,” Bonner recalled bitterly. “I suspect just so you wouldn’t smell the blood.”

  Ryn didn’t disagree. I’d been on alert for so long, he muttered. Ever since Elnaryl’s attempt, I’d hardly let my guard down, even around Elysia and Herst. I thought the houses would have given up, with the Accord enacted. I’d assumed it. I didn’t even consider they would go so far as to free themselves of it by cutting ties with the one thing that held them firmly in the weave’s clutches.

  “The al’Dyors,” Declan said, understanding coming faster now. “All of them.”

  He could glean how Ryn had been so fooled, why he had let his guard down. The dragon had been exhausted from a mere day spent on edge. He couldn’t imagine what it must have done to him, to be wary and suspicious for so long, to have had to extend his magical senses for weeks on end.

  All of them, Ryn echoed. But they went further, too. It became clear to us, looking back, that Kant and his conspirators had had more reason than merely being wary of the ties of the Accord to desire its destruction, or at least its dissolvement. I think, if anything, they saw the Endless Queen as an opportunity, a chance to shift the power balance in the favor of man, while the dark elves were entangled in their own war. They probably imagined they would use the opportunity to expand themselves, to stretch into the Vyr’en and the Reaches, then turn whatever bounty and strength they gained in that conquering on Eserysh and whatever victor had risen from the conflict. I don’t think they ever believed in the danger Sehranya posed to them, much less our four peoples as a whole. The houses were too secure, too confident in the superiority of man, their ways set and their path carved into stone by so many centuries spent wearing the crown of the world…

  Ryn quieted then, the memory momentarily taming his voice, the hardness in his eyes complimented by dark, dismal regret.

  “They went after Elnaryl next,” Bonner picked up in a low, sour tone. “If you’re going to start a war, why not start by weakening the royal line of your opposition? The elves didn’t number many to begin with—a dozen in all—and the soldiers of the banquet were in the nobility’s pocket. They’d been hand-selected, undoubtedly, and if their armor was for show, their steel turned out to be very real. The King’s death was the signal, the spark, and the er’enthyl were surrounded so quickly, most didn’t so much as get the opportunity to draw their blades. Only the chance that I’d been standing nearby, sharing words with Arathia, kept it from being a complete massacre. Even then… Before I was able to put my power to use, most of the retinue had been carved through, and the prince already grievously injured.” Bonner brought a hand up to the side of his throat, frowning. “A thrust to the neck. A nasty one. Arathia didn’t even get a chance to fight, taking it on herself to see to Elnaryl while I and the others defended them. It happened so fast—too fast. By the time Amherst and Elysia were running to our aid, it was too late.”

  “What happened, then?” Declan pressed when the old man paused. He was riveted, taken in as little by little the puzzle formed a whole. “How did you survive?”

  Bonner smirked—a humorless, grim expression. “Kant and the others had made a mistake, in their preparations. I imagine they wanted as many of their turned swords on hand as could be had. One does not take half-measures when plotting the assassination of a royal household, much less three.”

  Declan waited a moment, but when Bonner seemed uninclined to make his meaning clear, turned instead to Ryn.

  The dragon grinned in hard satisfaction. The room, he said simply. The fools thought it a good idea to hold their coup in the palace ballroom, the grandest and most spacious chamber in the entire city of Aletha.

  Abruptly, Declan understood, and at his side Ester gave a hoarse laugh as she, too, came to the same conclusion. The speed at which Ryn could take whichever of his forms he desired had always been nearly as astounding as the skill itself.

  “Did they not realize?” Declan hissed, disbelieving. “How could they not have known?”

  I don’t think I’d ever given them reason to, Ryn answered with a shrug. At the time, the only form I knew aside from my natural body was that of my rh’eem, and you can imagine the former wasn’t likely to allow my entry into the palace unimpeded, physically or otherwise. I’d been as a dragonling for practically the entirety of my time spent within the city as a courtesy to Igoric, not to mention the palace staff. He made a face. It was miserable. I missed the open sky so much that I ended up begging assistance from the royal falconers in an effort to study the anatomy of their birds. I learned to take the form of a hawk just to fly again, as poor a substitute as it was.

  Bonner gave a small, pointed cough, and Ryn blinked as he was made aware of the tangent he’d taken.