“Fuck that. I’d have to put on pants and leave the house.”

  She grinned at the Vhemin. //I PROMISE IT’LL BE WORTH IT.//

  Armitage glanced at Vertiline, then nodded. “Okay. But they better be house trained.”

  Hollyhead was a ghost of its former self. Most of its people had stayed at the Vehement Systems fortress to learn and build, but a few returned here for a simpler way of life.

  Ormeon arced across the sky, sighting the fallen wreck of the Century Charm. There were secrets buried in the hulk, and these people meant to find them. They had a leader who worked with those at the fortress to share knowledge from both great factions of the ancients. Dancing in the Storm was a treasure trove of Itikari knowledge, and here was the enemy’s sister ship.

  The old rivalry between Itikari and Vehement Systems had endured over eight hundred years, threatening to pull the world back into darkness when it barely had its head above water. Hollyhead’s new mayor had said I won’t allow it, and that was that.

  The great red settled near the lakeshore. They’d put aside a smooth area where she could land without frightening the sheep in the fields. Sheep were delicious, so it was good to provide some space between them and a potentially hungry dragon. I’ve never understood how an animal both so stupid and tasty survived extinction.

  She didn’t have to wait long. The Mayor of Hollyhead walked down the main street, her husband at her side. The Mayor had not survived the events at the fortress unscathed. She was similarly creased by time, the Ritual she’d leashed the demon lord with having taken its fair share from her. Despite it, she had an easier smile than Ormeon remembered her wearing. “Ormeon. Be welcome.”

  //MORGAN.// The dragon eyed her husband. //WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY CAT, HESER?//

  Heser the Cheg’s broad shoulders had slumped a little, but he walked as straight as his wife. “She hunts.”

  //YOU BETTER NOT BE GIVING HER SHEEP WHILE I’M WAITING BY THE WATER, FREEZING MY SCALES OFF.//

  “She claims to have found a small enclave of vampires.” Morgan waved a hand over there. “She likes to play with her prey. You know cats.”

  //SO, THAT’S A NO TO SHEEP?//

  Heser scratched his beard, which trended well to grey but suited him, as far as dragony sensibilities went. It makes his head look larger, anyway, and anything that makes them look larger is a plus. “How goes our regent?”

  “Our?” Morgan’s left eyebrow raised exactly one millimetre.

  “Our,” he affirmed, not quailing in the face of that gale.

  //I HAVEN’T MADE IT THERE YET. IT’S A BIG PLANET.//

  Morgan nodded, then pulled her cloak closer against the southern wind. “Well, she always thought she knew better than me. I’ll be interested to hear your report.”

  //ASK HER YOURSELF.// Ormeon spread her wings, then stilled. //YOU’LL COME, WON’T YOU?//

  “The time is now?” Heser breathed deep. “We will be there.”

  Morgan gave him a little side eye but nodded. “We will be there, dragon. It’s not everyday you get to witness the birth of a new kingdom. Fair, just, and free.”

  //DON’T PUT TOO MUCH PRESSURE ON THE KIDS OF TOMORROW,// Ormeon rumbled. //SEE YOU SOON.//

  I remember this place. It is much nicer now. Ormeon kept her distance from the field where she had done an unforgivable thing and been forgiven. I do not deserve these humans.

  To be fair, though, it was another human that made me commit evil acts. It is past time for Redemption.

  The old castle still crumbled on the hill. Coin flowed into the du Reeves estate from Ravenswall. The du Reeves were allies who guarded the kingdom’s northern vanguards. Ormeon kept her height as she surveyed the vineyards. Workers walked the vines, doing whatever ridiculous things humans did to plants to make mind-altering substances. That there were workers at all was a marvel, as the old Lord du Reeves had a fair salting of insanity in his skull.

  The new one, though: he’s all right.

  The docks sported a new structure, and Ormeon could see the merchants Amber and Jade there. They had dogged the Lord du Reeves for exclusive trading rights on liquor, which he was pleased to offer, because as near as Ormeon could tell, the Lord du Reeves had a negative appetite for anything that looked like administration.

  Atop the sagging keep’s main spire, Ormeon spotted hair still red despite the Sway’s demands. Geneve knew her dragon was coming, just as Ormeon knew where her dragonrider was. We know each other like the sea knows its salt. Like Vertiline, she’d paid a terrible price for their victory. Her young visage had been stolen by the Three, replacing it with an older woman’s, but she still had enough green glint in her eyes and form in her step to be the best swordswoman in the world.

  Geneve raised a hand, and Ormeon bellowed fire in return greeting.

  Ormeon settled outside the keep, because inside held too many bad memories. Meri promised he would make it a place she would feel welcome, and the dragon didn’t have the heart to tell him that might not be in his power. But she loved him all the more for it. He exited the gates as she landed, the dragon blasting a heavy silting of sand and crud, which he squinted his way through before looking up at her. “Really?”

  //THESE WINGS AREN’T FOR SHOW. THEY MOVE THE AIR QUITE A LOT.//

  “Huh.” He kept the squint on. For all he’d been a part of their save-the-world gig, he hadn’t put on more years. Perhaps the Three had considered his debt paid when he took his Doom to the demon realm the last time. Perhaps the Three ignored the only remaining Holomancer, because gods were fickle. “Are you letting yourself go?”

  //I HAVE KILLED PEOPLE FOR LESS.//

  “No, really. The scales on your right flank look a little dull.”

  She bent, nose to his head. //YOU ARE TERRIBLY BRAVE OR CRIMINALLY STUPID.//

  “He was the only one who put hand to dragonscale when we first met, out on the burning sands.” Geneve called from the keep’s gate, walking toward them. “He is eternally curious.”

  //STUPID AND BRAVE. GOT IT.//

  They pair linked arms below Ormeon. Geneve sighed. “Are you well?”

  //I’M A DRAGON.//

  “Is that a yes, or..?” Meri trailed off.

  //LITTLE HUMAN, I AM MADE TO BE WONDERFUL. THE MANIFEST TELLS ME DRAGONS WERE THE BEST THINGS HUMANS EVER MADE.//

  “Talked to Sight of Day recently?” Geneve’s lips quirked.

  //ALWAYS IT IS SOMETHING ABOUT CATS.// Ormeon gave a dragony grin. //I AM VISITING THEM NEXT.//

  “Is it time, love?” Geneve unlinked from Meriwether and put a hand on Ormeon’s lowered muzzle. “I’m so very pleased for you.”

  //IT IS. I WANT…// Ormeon raised her head a moment away from Geneve’s hand, then bowed, front legs lowered. //I WOULD BEG THE GIFT OF MY DRAGONRIDER’S PRESENCE.//

  “I’m not your dragonrider anymore.”

  //WHILE THERE ARE STARS IN THE SKY, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE MY DRAGONRIDER.//

  “We will be there. There is no force in the world that could keep us away.” But Geneve looked at her feet. “I’m not who I used to be.”

  Her heart is sore, even after a year. //YOU PAID A PRICE FEW WOULD, SO ALL COULD LIVE FREE.//

  “I had dreams,” she said. “I had dreams like yours. This body is too old now.”

  Meri moved to her, slipping his arms about her waist. “We’ll work it out.” He brightened. “But we’ll be there, dragon.”

  //THANK YOU.// She shifted. //THERE IS A PACKAGE FOR YOU.//

  Meriwether brightened. “More books from Armitage?”

  //IT IS A MYSTERY WHO PUT THE PACKAGE IN THE SADDLEBAG.//

  He clambered up, not as graceful as Geneve by far, but enthusiastic with it. “Did he like the wine?”

  //HE SEEMED PLEASANTLY DEPOSED.//

  Meri unbundled the rectangle and beamed. “It’s a book.”

  “What of?” Geneve leaned over his shoulder.

  “I have no idea. It’s in a language I’ve never seen.” The Holomancer seemed delighted, then eyed the keep. “I really shouldn’t, but there’s still daylight.”

  Geneve gave him a gentle shove. “Off with you, husband.” He swooped in for a kiss, then took his prize toward the keep. Ormeon was left with Geneve in companionable silence, excepting the sigh she offered.

  //IT WILL BE OKAY, DRAGONRIDER.//

  “Will it?” She hugged herself, still strong enough to carry whatever blade she needed, and still present despite lack of armour.

  Ormeon stayed quiet for a while, letting the question rest between them. Geneve leaned against Ormeon’s leg, and Ormeon sniffed her hair, which smelled quite nice. The dragon thought a lot about what okay might mean. For her, and for Geneve, and maybe the world. //I DON’T ACTUALLY KNOW.//

  “The Manifest lacks the answers?”

  //THE MANIFEST WAS WRITTEN BY COMMITTEE.// Ormeon straightened, looking down over the hill leading to the keep, and all the people there. Working together, to make things, or make things better, or just to be with each other. //I BELIEVE IT IS NOT ABOUT HOW LONG YOU LIVE, BUT HOW WELL. HOW YOUR MARK IS MADE, AND THE PEOPLE YOU MAKE IT WITH.//

  Geneve looked up at her. “Did I do it well, dragon? Did I make a good mark? Only,” her voice broke, before she leashed it, “I don’t know. I’m so old, Ormeon. Meri and I will die in a handspan of years. But we are young. We should not yet be half-way through life, with children about us, and good friends to talk with. I won’t get to see whether what I sacrificed was worth it.”

  //I WILL.// Ormeon chuffed at her. //I WOULD NOT BE DOING WHAT I’M DOING IF I DIDN’T BELIEVE IN THIS WORLD, AND EVERYTHING IN IT. YOU DID THAT, DRAGONRIDER.//

  “Was I a good dragonrider?”

  //YOU WERE THE BEST.// Ormeon grinned. //LET ME SHOW YOU.//

  Geneve leaned on her a moment, then straightened. Pulled the tatters of herself back around her. “I guess if he can leave to read a book, you and I can…”

  //WE CAN.// Ormeon leaned forward and let her Dragonrider climb about. She launched, the ground pulling away.

  Geneve’s whoop of joy was heard across the valley.

  The forest was how Ormeon remembered. It was quiet, cool without being cold, and away from humans and Vhemin. Toward the heart of it, klicks from any edge, and thus random chance encounter with a stray tourist, was a tiny cottage. The cottage stood in a respectable clearing. A decent-sized garden’s distance away, a brook with aspirations of becoming a river bubbled its way through, and a clever person had built a water wheel to harness its power. A pocket smithy stood near the wheel.

  There were two horses ambling about the field, keeping the clover at bay. They didn’t seem to have much else to do, which worked for all parties. The horses, who knew Ormeon well by now, didn’t freak out, bolt, dig up the ground, or destroy structures. At her massive whump landing, one horse flicked an ear, and she elicited a tail flick from the other.

  Situation normal.

  The horses were Orange and Hickory. Ormeon was sure it was important which was which, but she couldn’t remember. The horses didn’t care about the dragon, so the dragon didn’t care about the horses.

  The cottage had a porch, sheltered with an awning, roofed with good thatch, not any hint of poor maintenance to be found. On the porch was a rocking chair, and beside the rocking chair, a bassinet. The bassinet was empty, but the chair was full of a very pregnant Sands Apart.

  {Hello, dragon.}

  //HELLO, CAT. WHERE IS THE OTHER ONE?//

  {He is hunting. He knew you were coming. He never tells me how he knows.}

  //THERE IS LUNCH?//

  {Despite the noise of your arrival, I’m sure he will find some. There is plentiful game here. No one else is around, and we don’t eat much.} She smoothed the round of her belly. {We will eat a little more, soon.}

  //YOU’RE NOT TOO FAT TO TRAVEL?//

  Sands Apart gave her a deep and level ochre stare. {Hickory might think so, but she could use the exercise.} Sands Apart’s fingers paused, then were sharp, and precise. {She is fat.}

  Across the field, Sight of Day walked from the tree line and into the sun. Time had touched him almost not at all, the long-lived People measuring their span like dragons, if given the chance. He carried a deer across his shoulders and held a bow loosely. Ormeon waited for her old friend to take the deer out back, wash up, and join them. It was nice, here, with two of her favourite People. They didn’t make much noise and understood how the world should work.

  When Sight of Day emerged from the cottage’s front door, he ruffled Sands Apart behind the ear, touched her neck very lightly, then faced the dragon. {As suspected. You turn up for dinner empty handed.}

  //I DIDN’T WANT TO KILL A HORSE SOMEONE HAD TAKEN A LIKING TO.//

  The cat half-smiled. {There are few horses about. I would recommend boar. They are ferocious this time of year and are quite delicious with the right amount of rosemary.}

  Ormeon sobered. //I KNOW SANDS APART IS CLOSE. BUT … IT’S TIME.//

  Sight of Day gave the dragon an even, golden stare. {I’m not sure of your point, exactly.}

  Sands Apart stood, slipped an arm around Sight of Day, and leaning close to him before she said, {I’m pregnant, not dead.}

  //IT IS SOME DISTANCE TO THE MOUNTAIN.//

  Sight of Day didn’t say anything for a spell, just listening to the forest. Ormeon twitched as a bee came too close to her ear. A bellbird called from the trees. She was almost ready to lay down and sleep when Sight of Day said, {Distance is a thing that can be traversed. It is a solvable problem for one of the greatest smiths in the world. What could never be undone would be missing an event like this. We will be there.}

  Ormeon lowered her head. //YOU HUMBLE ME, CAT.//

  {It’s good you still have perspective. Are you hungry?}

  Ravenswall was a long flight. It was the last stop on Ormeon’s journey before she returned home. She was glad she’d asked Tarragon to saddle her, so she and Geneve could fly once more. But now it was time to make the final visit. I have a very special favour to ask.

  Dragonwing over the skies of Ravenswall wasn’t entirely welcome. Not after the last time Ormeon was here. She clearly wasn’t responsible for the busted docks, though. That had the look of a completely different group of assholes. Despite not being entirely welcome, no one shot at her. She coasted over the artist’s borough, which was returned to its former glory. While Morgan wished the borough to continue, she no longer ruled as queen. Her Regent was a card-carrying believer, and Ravenswall was once again a place of music.

  The Regent had said, A song lifts the hearts, when you need to carry something really heavy. She wasn’t wrong. In that, as with many other things.

  Ormeon cruised to the keep. It was massive, much repaired since the Saviour of Ravenswall had done her thing. The central courtyard had been fashioned big enough for someone of dragony size. The big red crunched into cobbles, but carefully, because there were people here, and many of them looked like they’d rather be somewhere else.

  The statue is new. Toward the castle’s main door stood a man carved in stone. While the statue was eye-level with Ormeon, the model—assuming all proportions were kept when upscaling—was not particularly tall, or particularly handsome. He wore armour, though, his face tilted toward the sky, and he rode atop a massive, rearing tiger.

  Pakhet will have kittens.

  Ormeon sobered, because she remembered the hoof code, although it wasn’t strictly true. This time it was; this soldier had died in battle. She leaned forward, peering at the plaque beneath it.

  Erik Hitcherson, saviour of us all.

  Tarragon burst from the doorway behind the statue, running down the steps and grabbing Ormeon’s foreleg in a big hug. “You’re back!”

  //HELLO, BUILDER.//

  “I’m not a Builder any more.”

  Ormeon considered that. It didn’t feel true. //YOU MADE THE STATUE, THOUGH.//

  “How could you tell?”

  //BECAUSE IT WAS MADE WITH LOVE.// Ormeon rumbled. //SHE CARED FOR HIM VERY MUCH, AND YOU FELT THAT, AND PUT IT IN THE STATUE.//

  Tarragon stepped away and toed the ground. “He and I didn’t see eye to eye. Not all the time. But we always agreed on how important she was.”

  //SPEAKING OF, IS SHE HOME?//

  “She’s dealing with a trade delegation.”

  //I COULD COME BACK.//

  “No, I think she’ll be right out. She sent me ahead and said I should ask you to yawn.”

  //YAWN?//

  “I don’t make the rules.”

  Ormeon shuffled, then curled her tail about her forelegs. A few moments later, the Regent emerged from the keep, dragging a reluctant man behind her. The reluctant man was very well dressed, and wore a wig, no doubt to deal with his balding pate. He looked like he was less than a minute from pissing himself at the sight of a dragon. The Regent pointed to Ormeon, and said, “We have a dragon. The dragon is very good at seeing into the hearts of men and telling if they’re lying.”

  The trade delegate looked at Ormeon, then at the Regent. “The dragon can tell if I’m lying?”

  “I didn’t say you specifically.” The Regent gave a tiny bell of laughter. “What an odd way of phrasing it.”

  “Uh. Yes! Quite.” The delegate gathered his robes. “Perhaps a small discount on lumber is in order. While the weather has been poor for forestry, in this instance we can make a concession to the crown.”

  “Excellent,” the Regent said. “Do you want to talk to the dragon?”

  Ormeon, sensing her cue, yawned wide, showing many teeth, and a little emberfire. When she’d stopped yawning, the delegate was nowhere to be seen, and the Regent was laughing. //THAT WAS UNKIND.//

  “It was necessary. He was going to talk me to death! And I’ve been dead once before. It’s no fun ticket.” The Regent sauntered down the steps and glanced up at Ormeon. “Hello, dragon.”

  //HELLO, EVANNE.// The bard was a shade leaner than when she’d died, and looked a little older. Her face said I’m nearing thirty but her eyes had an almost negative level of maturity. As expected.