“I believe there are three important pieces to this enigma. One is the Lavadome entirely, the second is the sun-shard. The third is a smaller crystal. They might be compared to your body—the Lavadome is the muscular meat, the sun-shard is the heart, and the third is the mind.”

“So where is the third?”

“It went from Silverhigh to Scabia’s Sadda-Vale. From there, she told me that a dragon named AuNor took it. He was fond of looking into it—according to Scabia it gave some visions… others nightmares.”

“AuNor!” Wistala said. “My father’s father?”

“The same. He passed down the traditions of the Silverhigh Star to you and your brother… or at least he began to.”

“What is the Silverhigh Star?”

“Order of the Silverhigh Star, is the proper name,” DharSii said. “A league of dragons devoted to improving dragonkind and its place in the world. From good dragons, better was one of their sayings.”

“I’ve never come across anything about an Order of the Silverhigh Star among the Ankelenes. Though I’ve limited my studies to the physical sciences, for the most part,” Rayg said.

“Its influence was waning even before Silverhigh fell,” DharSii said. “Your mother sang one of its songs to her hatchlings.”

“If you find your missing piece of the puzzle, what will you do with it?” the Copper asked.

“Unite the pieces. Very carefully.”

“So it will belong to the Lavadome.”

“It belongs to all dragons, I believe,” DharSii said. “I would like to examine your home cave. With Wistala to guide me.”

Home cave. Bitter words.

“My home cave is the Lavadome,” the Copper said. “For now, it’s also Wistala’s. She has duties here.”

“Let me try to change your mind,” DharSii said.

“If there’s nothing more, Rayg, I will leave.”

Rayg ignored him, staring at Wistala in thought.

The Copper turned tail and began the long climb back to Imperial Rock. He heard Rayg’s quick footsteps behind.

Wistala and DharSii lingered behind.

Wistala couldn’t take her eyes off DharSii. He stood there amidst the fairy lights, looking as though he were standing in a thundershower of fireflies.

“I’d like to know more about your order,” Wistala said.

“It’s a matter of few words, or a great many,” DharSii replied.

“Tell me.” As far as he was concerned, she could listen to him forever.

“The Order was committed to learning from others. Hominids, avians, whatever. All the natural world holds a lesson.”

“That’s true. I learned courage from an old horse,” Wistala said.

“According to the philosophers of Silverhigh, dragons taught others to speak and record their thoughts. But sometimes I wonder if it wasn’t the reverse. There are so many odd words in the dragon vocabulary that are of little use unless you’re dealing with hominid concerns. Terms having to do with architecture, or agriculture. Dragons in their natural state don’t grow food and sniff out shelter more often than they build it. You’d think we’d only have three words for a cave, much as the bears do.”

“When would you like to leave for my home cave?”

“What about the Tyr?” DharSii asked.

“Talking about the past upsets him. That part of our shared past, I should say.”

DharSii planted his feet. “I’d rather talk about the future. Wistala, I’d prefer to have you as a mate.”

Wistala thought she’d imagined his statement. He’d like her to be his mate? “That’s it? I’m a preference? No song, no mating flight, no—”

“You’re a sensible, intelligent dragon. You really want to sit there and listen to me sing about my life? You know the particulars—the important ones, anyway.”

“That’s it,” she repeated, feeling the heat in her words.

DharSii looked puzzled. Perhaps he expected her to quietly agree, then have a long talk about the ideal Protectorate for a home cave. “These old traditions sound better than they live. My bellowing, you flying off and trying to outrace me. It’s silliness. I’m sure two intelligent dragons can come to a reasonable decision.”

Wistala spoke without thinking. “Reason, reason—everything with you is reason. Give me a reason to be your mate!”

DharSii stamped in confusion, looking at her first out of one eye and then the other as if to make sure his visual abilities were functioning properly.

“So we’re not to be mated?”

The Wyrr temperament he’d just praised disappeared. “Not without a proper courtship, no. Furthermore, I have my duties as Queen-Consort. I don’t know where Lavadome traditions stand on such matters.”

“Vent the Lavadome. There are dozens of dragonelles, in the Firemaids and in the hills, for your brother to choose from. Any of them could preside over ceremonies and sniff hatchlings as well as you. I don’t want us to be following old traditions that have outlived their usefulness. Let us start our own.”

“I swore oaths on my honor when I became a Firemaid. I cannot mate without breaking that oath. Nilrasha broke hers and look what happened. They think her capable of murdering a sister dragon.”

DharSii blinked and took a deep breath. She might as well have told him that his teeth needed a polish. Curse him, was he a wind-up toy, built by dwarfs? Didn’t a recognizable emotion exist in that great horned head of his?

“We’ll talk more. Let me see about helping you find this missing piece of the puzzle, or engine, or whatever this is.”

With that, she fled upward, afraid that if she stayed any longer she’d forget those oaths and her duties to a nation of dragons.

Wistala wanted to fly, wanted to touch the sun. DharSii wanted her to be his mate. But instead of flying, she had to find her brother to ask him to accompany DharSii on his search.

She found Shadowcatch with a great bucket of wine guarding the entrance to his chamber.

“Shadowcatch, I must see the Tyr.”

“My Queen, I suppose I should tell you that I’m to kill you,” Shadowcatch said, slurring a little. He was a great eater and an ever greater drinker of wine, and the Tyr had recently given him some barrels of brandy-fortified syrup, the tribute of grateful elvish winemakers on the Ku-Zuhu coast whose fields and cellars were no longer being raided by Inland Sea Pirates.

Wistala couldn’t have been more shocked if the world had turned upside down.

“My own mate’s bodyguard, an assassin?”

“Don’t misunderstand. I’ve no intention of killing you now. Your mate’s been so kind to me. I was hired by the Wheel of Fire dwarfs to hunt you down and kill you. But seeing as most of ’em are lying dead on the battlefield, I doubt anyone will be asking for their upfronts back.”

“Why tell me?” Wistala asked.

Shadowcatch looked discomfited. “I’m not a clever dragon like some here. But I know when a fight is on the way. I can just tell, the way some dragons look at me, they’re guessing which way I’ll jump if there’s an attempt on your mate’s life. I wanted to tell you about the dwarfs hiring me so you’d know that you could trust me. But at the same time, if I don’t kill you, I feel like I’m breaking an oath.”

Wistala thought furiously. “What were the terms?”

“Kill you, bring back your head to prove it, and then I’d get the rest of my coin.”

“Was there a time limit set on the job?”

“No, though they wanted one. But I told them with the whole world for you to hide in, it’d take a while to track you down.”

“Then let’s put off the day of reckoning. The way things are shaping up, I may very well end up dead in any case. Should fate overtake me, you’re welcome to my head and your reward.”

* * *

The Copper watched the questioning from the unusual perspective of the audience ledges.

The old dueling pit under Imperial Rock was roughly oval, sand-bottomed with lines of ledges that could accommodate many dragons, depending on how willing they were to be squashed. When very full, thralls pulled chains that worked winglike flaps moving in and out of the two exits, one leading to the Lavadome and the other up into Imperial Rock.

A unique, rising ledge projected out into the arenalike sand pit. When it was used for dueling, a neutral dragon would oversee the duel from that vantage, ready to intervene in the event one of the duelists received aid from a nonduelist or fought with non-natural weapons. Now the promontory held the Tyr as he listened to witnesses and heard evidence and held debates over important issues when he wanted to hear other opinions.

Now NoSohoth reclined on the Tyr’s ledge, and looked as though he enjoyed his view. There were enough spectators so that every fan-chain was employed, every oliban brazier was lit, and still the air was thick with stale air and dragon-musk.

The Skotl and Wyrr clans gathered on either side of the arena, with the Ankelenes scattered about. Drakwatch and Firemaid drakes and drakka were grouped around him and Wistala.