“I’ll see that you get your eggs,” Wistala said. “I don’t want us watched.”

“Oh, very well,” Scabia said, darting suspicious glances at the siblings. “I suppose I can trust you to see this through, NaStirath?”

“The sooner it’s over, the better,” NaStirath said. “Not that anyone asked my opinion, but I don’t care to be watched either.”

“When you start having sensible opinions, I’ll start asking for them,” Scabia said. “Well, get on with the matter. I must go to my offspring.”

DharSii was lost in the mists coming off the lake. AuRon and RuGaard both dropped their heads in bows that were meant to be both grateful and encouraging, she imagined. Odd that their gestures were so alike, with decades of different experiences behind them.

“Flying is not my favorite pastime,” NaStirath said. “I hope you don’t expect me to perform up where the air’s too thin.”

“Be assured, I’ll fly gently,” Wistala said.

“I’m no more looking forward to this than you are,” NaStirath said. “I live here on Scabia’s charity as well, you know. Though mine comes in dearer coin, being mated to her insipid daughter.”

Wistala let loose a deep breath. It won’t be so bad. A battle is worse, and you’ve survived many of those. A brief embrace, a fall—

That’s an idea. Don’t open your wings again.

No, my brothers need a refuge.

“Look,” NaStirath said. “This is all a joke. Think of it as a joke. I assure you, it’ll be over soon enough, and we’ll all be laughing.”

Wistala wasn’t so sure about laughter anymore. Perhaps her parents had a reason for giving it up when they went into the wild.

So this was to be her mating flight. Taking off from a windswept plaza into a cloudy spring sky over the Sadda-Vale, on a day as cold as DharSii’s heart and as gray as her brother.

She spread her wings and took off, tempted to fly, fly hard east until either her heart burst or she crashed in exhaustion.

But no, she wouldn’t do that.

“Well, if you’re going to follow, follow,” she said, taking off.

NaStirath launched his bulk into the sky behind her. He was a goodly-sized dragon, one of the very few larger than her in length and wingspan.

Might as well make NaStirath work a little harder for it, Wistala thought.

She fought to gain altitude. NaStirath shrunk to a madly flapping miniature behind, bellowing something about giving up on a joke going far enough.

No, the joke hadn’t gone nearly far enough. Or high enough. She put her whole body into getting a few more beats out of her wings, willing her heavy frame to rise. Muscles toughened by the ground-armor responded.

NaStirath gained his second wind. She heard him coming up behind. What would his blundering grasp be like?

They’d gone high enough. Surely even NaStirath could manage the job with this distance to fall.

She felt a nip at her tail.

That idiot is too much.

She turned her head to give him a taste of flame in his face.

DharSii!

How had he followed her here, in the clouds, and where between the Four Spirits was NaStirath?

She swooped, glided, and DharSii fell in beside her.

“What is this? Don’t tell me you’re going to fight NaStirath for me, or convince me to flee with you.”

“Neither,” DharSii said.

“So what is this?”

“Didn’t NaStirath tell you? It’s a joke. We’re playing it on Scabia.”

“But what about the mating with NaStirath and her precious next generation?”

DharSii twitched a griff at her. “Oh, she’ll get her eggs. I’ll see to that, if it takes a generation’s trying.”

His wing close around hers. Wistala shivered with excitement at the touch. For the first time in an age, it seemed, she felt like laughing.