As she bent her neck and consumed his flesh, all became clear to her. His store of memories was added to her own. If the world had been turning as it should, she would have passed his memories on to her offspring, along with her own. Someone would have profited from his mis-spent life. He would not have died in vain. She saw all he had seen and been. She knew all his frustrations, and was with him as frustration degenerated to confusion and finally bestiality. At every migration, he had searched for familiar seascapes and One Who Remembers. Time after time, he had been disappointed. Winters had driven him south again, to feed and replenish his bodily reserves, until the turning of the years would once more send him north. This she could know, from her dragon’s perspectives. That the serpent had made it this far with only the memories of his serpent pasts was little short of a miracle. She looked down at his stripped bones, the foulness of his flesh in her mouth. Even if she had been able to help him to deeper water, he would still have died. The mystery of the sea serpents who fled from her was solved. She clawed up more bones and studied them idly. Here were her folk; here was her race. Here was the future and here was the past.

She turned her back on the remains of the serpent. Let the river devour him as it had so many others. Doubtless it would eat others yet, until none remained. She was powerless to change it. She could not make the river run deeper here, nor change its course to take it close once more to the banks of silver-shot earth. She snorted to herself. Lords of the Three Realms. Rulers of Earth, Sea and Sky, yet masters of none of them.

The river was chilling her, and the acid kiss of its water was beginning to itch. Even her tightly scaled skin was not impervious to it when it ran this strong. She waded away from the bank to the center of the river, where there was open sky overhead, stretched forth her wings, set her weight back onto her hindquarters. She leapt, only to come down heavily in the water once more. The gravel had shifted under her clawed feet, spoiling her impetus. She was tired. For a moment, she longed for the hard-packed landing sites the Elderlings had lovingly prepared for their winged guests. If the Elderlings had survived, she reflected, her race would still flourish. They would have circumvented this shallow place in the river for the sake of their dragon-kin. But the Elderlings had died off, and left pathetic humanity as their heirs.

She had crouched to attempt another leap when the thought shivered over her. Humans built things. Could humans dredge the river out, could they channel the flow of water through this stretch to make it deep enough for a serpent? Could they coax the river to flow once more near the silvery earth needed for proper cocooning? She considered what she had seen of their works.

They could. But would they?

Resolve flooded her. She leapt mightily and her beating wings caught her weight and lifted her. She needed to kill again, to take the foul taste of the serpent’s spoiled flesh from her mouth. She would do so, but while she did, she would think. Duress or bribe? Bargain or threaten? She would consider every option before she returned to Trehaug. The humans could be made to serve her. Her kind might still survive.

THE RAP ON HIS STATEROOM DOOR WAS JUST A TRIFLE TOO HARD. BRASHEN SAT up straight in his chair, setting his teeth. He cautioned himself against jumping to conclusions. Taking a deep breath, he said quietly, “Enter.”

Lavoy came in, shutting the door firmly. He had just come off watch. His oilskins had kept him somewhat dry, but when he took his cap off, his hair was slicked wet to his head. The storm was not savage, but the driving insistence of the rain was demoralizing. It chilled a man to the bone. “You wanted to see me,” Lavoy greeted him.

Brashen noted the lack of a “sir.”

“Yes, I did,” he agreed smoothly. “There’s rum on the sideboard. Take the chill off. Then I wish to give you some instructions.” The rum was a courtesy, due any mate during such a cold storm. Brashen would extend it to him, even as he prepared to rake him over the coals.

“Thank you, sir,” Lavoy replied. Brashen watched the man as he poured out his jot and tossed it off. That had lowered the mate’s guard. There was less surliness in his manner as he approached Brashen’s table and stood before it. “Instructions, sir?”

He phrased it carefully. “I wish to make clear in advance how my orders are to be followed, specifically as regards yourself.”

That stiffened the man again. “Sir?” he asked coldly.

Brashen leaned back in his chair. He kept his voice flat. “The crew’s performance during the pirate attack was abysmal. They were fragmented and disorganized. They need to learn to fight as a unit.