By the Silver Wind (15 page)

Shard tucked his talons into his chest feathers and recounted the dream. Off to his other side, he saw Kjorn’s ear flick back, listening over the wind, but the gold gryfon let him speak to Brynja in relative private.

When Shard spoke of the ruby gryfon, Brynja sucked in a breath. “Kajar? The red gryfon,” she said slowly. “It has to be Kajar, doesn’t it? But you told us that the Sunland dragons had the feud with him, not the wyrms.”

Shard tried to remember anything else from the dream, remember exactly what the hissing voice had said. The hissing voice, he became more and more sure, had to be a dragon of the Sunland. “The Sunland dragons I spoke to think that the wyrms were jealous of the gryfons, of the treasures and favor they showed the gryfons. Or at least,” he added grimly, “that’s what they told me.”

Brynja tilted her head, eyeing a stretch of clouds that loomed closer. They flew lower than Shard would have liked, but it was that or go above the clouds, and they preferred to track the landscape. “Yes, I remember. You said that after Kajar went to the Sunland and they had the falling out with the dragons, the Sunlanders sequestered themselves.”

“Which meant they didn’t go to the home of the wyrms anymore, they didn’t make them treasures, they didn’t show them favor.” Shard thought aloud, hoping he might speak an answer. There was something missing, some link, that would bring sense to the wyrm’s hatred.

There had to be.

Hear me, beast.

“But one wyrm went to the Sunland,” Brynja said quietly, and that was the part that burned his mind like a nettle, and would not be solved. Rhydda had gone to the Sunland, and she had almost told him what happened there.

“And that’s all I know,” Shard said quietly. “The chronicler tried to show me the truth, but we were interrupted. There’s a secret they didn’t tell me. There’s something else. Something else about why the wyrms are angry. It couldn’t be just gold and jealousy, could it? I could swear there was something she thought . . .” He trailed off, ruffling his feathers. “And Rhydda might have been about to remember for me, but Kjorn woke me up.”

“You can’t blame him,” Brynja said. “You didn’t hear yourself.” When Shard didn’t answer, embarrassed and angry, she said firmly, “We’ll figure it out. These dreams, they’re obviously getting clearer. You’re helping Rhydda to remember. Maybe you’ll be able to speak to her, truly, to find common ground and peace.”

They were all the things Shard hoped for, and had said aloud. But hearing another gryfon, his future mate, his friend, talking it over with him, Shard felt many times better. He was not alone. He didn’t have to solve it alone.

“Thank you,” he said, focusing on her stern and hopeful gaze.

“Just keep talking to me,” Brynja said, the gray light bright on her face. “If the dreams get worse, or you feel in danger, you must tell me, tell Kjorn. You’ve been alone for a long time, but you aren’t now.”

That she echoed his thoughts made him laugh. She looked startled, then laughed as well, relieved. “Thank you,” he said again, brushing her wingtip on his next down stroke.

They fell quiet then, and focused on flying as the weather began to turn windy and damp.

The storm unleashed just as they spied the sweeping shore the Vanhar called home. Shard caught up with Kjorn to fly on point, and sentries rose through the gloom and battering sky to meet them.

“Fair winds, Kjorn!” A gryfess shouted through the driving rain. She winged up, looking them over, and Shard recognized her from the Battle of Torches.

“Hail, Nilsine!” Kjorn called. “Fine weather here!”

She laughed, and welcomed them to land, then ordered one of her sentries to take word back to their pride of the incoming force of gryfons.

Shard called to his Vanir for descent, gladly, for they couldn’t fight the rain any longer. With Nilsine in the lead, they sprinted on the ground for shelter. This turned out to be a cliff that soared up majestically from the shore, riddled with dens and little grottos along the bottom. The wind lashed rain against the high ground and over the sea, effectively transforming the cliff into a sheltering roof. It was quiet and warmer under the overhang, with only drumming rain above, like a herd of Silver Isles horses parading on top of the cliff.

An uncountable number of Vanhar gathered on the beach, laughing, apparently in buoyant celebration.

Kjorn shook himself, dousing Shard with his drops, and Shard returned the favor, puffing up cold feathers away from his skin. A glance over his shoulder showed his Vanir looked more invigorated than worn.

“What’s the occasion?” Kjorn asked Nilsine, just before a deafening crack of thunder. All fell silent, and heads turned expectantly toward the sea. Skyfire darted in silver claws over the white-capped waves. A cheer rose, laughter, and Shard chuckled, perking his ears.

“Spring rite,” Nilsine said, looking over their group. “The first true thunderstorm of the season. Winter is leaving us. This year, Tor roars like a lion. A good omen.”

Rather than look happy, Kjorn’s expression darkened. “How long until the Halflight?”

“Two moons, no more.” Her exuberance calmed. “Ah, yes. You think of your mate. Don’t worry, my lord. We’ll return you to her in short order.”

Shard would’ve reassured him too, but he didn’t feel so certain. Most of the Silver Isles gryfesses would whelp on or near the Halflight, the sun’s turn toward spring. Thyra had demanded Kjorn be there for the birth of his kit, but Shard feared his task in the Winderost would take longer.

The gold prince tipped his head stiffly, politely. “Yes. But I’ve been remiss. Nilsine, you never received a proper introduction to my wingbrother. Rashard, son-of-Baldr, future king of the Silver Isles. Shard, please meet Nilsine, daughter-of-Nels, sentry of the Vanhar and lately a steadfast companion and friend.”

To Shard’s surprise, Nilsine mantled for him as she would a prince.

Of course, I am a prince. . .

Somewhere, he could imagine Stigr grumbling. He must stop looking surprised at acts of deference. At his back stood loyal Vanir. He would be a king. He dipped his head to her. “It’s an honor. Kjorn told me all you did for him during his hunt for me in the Winderost, and I thank you for your part in the Battle of Torches.”

“I was honored.”

Shard nodded toward the rest of their companions. “I think you’re acquainted with Brynja, daughter-of-Mar, of the Dawn Spire. But do you know Asvander, from the Ostral Shores?”

The gryfesses inclined their heads to each other. Asvander stepped forward with ears perked, but then Dagny moved in front of him, wings lifting as she eyed Nilsine.

Shard saw Kjorn mask a look of amusement. “And this is—”

“Dagny,” Nilsine said, looking from Asvander to her. “I remember. Well met!”

“Well met,” Dagny said, and flicked water from the end of her tail. To Shard’s delight, Asvander leaned into Dagny just a little, perhaps reassuring her that he didn’t plan to wing off with the sentry from the Vanheim Shore.

Ketil and her daughters came forward then, and thus continued a long and cheerful round of introductions as the rain clattered and thunder boomed.

Nilsine drew Kjorn and Shard aside. “I hope you will not feel offended,” she began quietly. “Our elders won’t meet with you during the spring rite, but they know you’re here, they welcome you. And they look forward to speaking at sunrise, weather holding.”

Kjorn eyed the rain and shivered. “Well enough. Thank you. I don’t know that any of us want to stand around talking in this. While we’re here, I ask another favor.”

She regarded Kjorn with her strange ruby eyes. “I’ll do anything I can to be of service.”

Kjorn nodded to Shard, who straightened. “My wingbrother hopes to speak to your priestess.”

Nilsine looked between them curiously. “Oh?”

“I was hoping she could tell me more about the vala,” Shard said. “And . . . their powers.”

“I am certain she would be glad to speak with you.” Nilsine inclined her head to both of them. “But for now, rest, eat. Let us revel in mighty Tor.”

“Indeed,” Kjorn murmured, and a timely roll of thunder punctuated their words.

Supper was fish, and more fish, a variety and amount which the Vanir and Lakelanders fell on with enthusiasm, while Kjorn looked rueful.

“You’ll get used to it,” Shard said.

“It isn’t the taste. It’s what it reminds me of.” His ears slicked back, and his blue eyes shadowed, and Shard thought of what fish had meant to them, once. The act of hunting in the sea, forbidden by Sverin.

“It’s over,” Shard said quietly. They lounged now in a semi-private grotto carved into the cliff side, with a good view of the sea and the surrounding beach. Vanhar fledges and some of the Vanir ventured out into the evening to frolic in the rain, and this cheered Shard. “It’s all over.”

“But it lingers,” Kjorn said, his talons sliding into the meat of the fish with vengeance. “Like an illness. Your exiles here, that was Per’s doing, Sverin’s doing. My bloodline, Shard. It doesn’t go away. There will be a lot of work to be done here, and in the Silver Isles.”

“And we’re doing that work. You’re doing all you can now. We will have peace, brother.”

“Because of you, Shard,” he said harshly, and Shard tensed. Kjorn sighed, tail dusting the sand. “Don’t you understand? None of this is because of me, not even the allies I have here. You laid a path for my coming. And before that, you had a chance to kill my father. And you didn’t. I can’t say I would have done the same, in your place.”

“Not before, maybe.” Shard studied his friend, the long, strong lines of him, the exhaustion. “But now you would.”

Kjorn flexed his talons in the sand and met Shard’s gaze. “Yes. Now, I would do what I understand was a great act of honor and courage on your part.” His eyes searched Shard’s face, the whole history of their lives together, and their lives apart. “But only because of you.”

“You were never your father,” Shard said quietly. “I have faith you would have been more just.”

“Maybe,” Kjorn sighed. Then, with a stubborn and mischievous air added, “Because. Of. You.”

Shard laughed, and Kjorn watched him. He saw, Shard thought, all they’d both become in the last year.

One year. This upheaval and change has taken course over one year.

One hundred years since Kajar had flown to the Sunland. Ten years since Per had conquered. And one year since Ragna sang the Song of the Summer King to the pride in the Silver Isles. So much could happen in a year. A lifetime could happen, Shard thought. Some lifetimes
did
happen.

Hikaru.
With a talon of piercing fondness and regret Shard thought of the Sunland dragon, who would be fully-grown by summer, and old by the time the first autumn leaf dropped free.
I shouldn’t have left him. I should have stayed. I should have demanded he come with me.

“What is it?” Kjorn asked quietly.

“I was thinking of Hikaru.”

Kjorn looked regretful too, for Shard had told him the whole of it—how a Sunland dragoness had left her egg to Shard’s care, how he’d hatched it, raised Hikaru, taken him home to find help from the dragons in the arctic country at the bottom of the world. But he’d found only more secrets and fear, and Hikaru felt called to stay and help his kind. Shard couldn’t begrudge him that.

When silence stretched on, Kjorn nudged him with a wing. “Should Brynja and I be jealous, or . . .?”

Shard blinked back to the present and laughed. “Eat your fish.”

Kjorn separated flecks of meat from the bone with irritating pickiness. “You
did
take a wingbrother vow to this dragon.”

Shard studied Kjorn’s face, but saw no trace of true upset. Curiosity maybe, or a quiet awe. “He was my nest-son, and otherwise alone in the world. I had to.”

“Hm.” Kjorn picked halfheartedly at the fish, and the smell that rose succulent and delicious to Shard made Kjorn sniff reluctantly. “Well. Perhaps I’ll take a wyrm for an extra wingbrother.”

“If that’ll make you feel better,” Shard said gravely.

“It will, thank you.”

The thought of Kjorn spreading wings with a wyrm seemed to strike them both at the same time, and was so preposterous that they both laughed. Then they bent their heads to discuss Kjorn’s first meeting, the next morning, with the ruling council of the Vanhar.