Page 239 of The Reckoning of Starlight

The hatchlings knew. The one flapping overhead folded its wings and dropped like a stone, its harness of force jerking taut before it struck the shallows. The one with a mouthful of reeds spat out the stalks and flattened into the mud. The creature in Lykor’s grip went rigid, every talon locking against his arm.

Across the marsh, a dark ridge cut through the water.

At first, only a snout surfaced, scales slick with algae and trailing weeds. Ocean-blue eyes emerged from the murky film, the crystalline glaze gone. Ancient irritation narrowed on Lykor before sliding to Aesar’s illusion at his side.

Rimeclaw heaved from the swamp with the slow weight of a glacier, water raining from his skull. His nostrils flared, drawing in the scent of Lykor and the three hatchlings currently attempting to disappear.

“Out of every place in any realm,” Lykor said, “you chose to rot in a marsh?”

An inner lid swept across Rimeclaw’s eyes. His snout tipped toward the magic securing the hatchlings, and cold crept through Lykor’s skull when the dragon answered.

“Rot hides what grief leaves bare.

And hunters lose the trail where death has soured the air.”

Aesar hummed beside him. “He has you there.”

Lykor ignored him.

Rimeclaw lowered his head, water trickling from the fins along his jaw. The hatchling in Lykor’s arm stiffened further, its frantic pulse knocking against his forearm.

“Where,” Rimeclaw rumbled, “did you find them?”

Lykor adjusted his hold on the dragon. “There were Unbound eggs in the Maw. I claimed four.”

“I count three.”

Lykor’s jaw locked. “We lost one to the king’s portal.”

A tremor moved through Rimeclaw’s chest, too deep for a growl.

Water lapped at Lykor’s boots. Somewhere in the reeds, a frog released a strangled croak. Aesar’s smirk vanished when Lykor spoke.

“I came to settle our bargain.”

Rimeclaw stilled. “Our bargain.”

“You asked me to end you.” Lykor held the dragon’s stare. “I told you I wouldn’t until the choice was yours. Now it is. If silence is still what you want, I’ll see it done.”

Rimeclaw remained motionless, exhaling snow from his nostrils. “You would strike me down if I asked again?”

Lykor tightened his grip on the hatchling in his arms. “If you want me to kill you, ask me in front of the whelps carrying your legacy.”

Rimeclaw’s lips peeled back from teeth long as spears. “You think I cannot smell the trap beneath this so-called choice?”

“Strategy,” Lykor muttered. “Manipulation, if you’re feeling poetic.”

Aesar rolled his eyes. “Stars preserve me.”

“You bring me hatchlings and think purpose will rise where death was promised? I asked for silence, scalebound. I asked for the tide to draw shut above me.”

Fine.

He’d make the choice harder.

Lykor thrust a claw toward the hatchlings. “I thought it prudent they meet their Warden before I drag them back to the desert.”

The fins along Rimeclaw’s jaw flared, each edge glittering with ice. “The desert is no place for those born of sea.”