SENA

Alone.

More than afraid, hurt, or ashamed—though he was those things too—Prince Sena Seran, Son of Raem, felt alone.

He sat in the corner of his prison cell, the top of Aerhein Tower. A barred window—barely larger than a porthole—broke the opposite wall. A ray of light shone into the chamber, falling upon him. Sena liked this time of day, the brief moment when the ray hit the wall near the floor, allowing him to sit in light and warmth. Soon the ray would move, creeping up the wall, moving over his head, leaving him and slowly fading into darkness.

But for now I have you here, friend, Sena thought, blinking into the beam. Please don't leave me again.

The beam began to rise as the sun moved, and Sena craned his neck, straightened his back, and tried to soak up some last moments of companionship, of sunlight, of safety. But then the beam was gone, hitting the wall above his head.

He supposed he could have stood up. Standing would make him taller, let him embrace the sun again. But he was too weak to stand most days. Too wounded. Too hungry. Too tired.

"Alone," he whispered.

He rattled his chains just to hear them answer, just to hear a sound. That was how his chains talked.

How long had he been here? Sena didn't know. At least a moon, he thought. Maybe longer.

"I'm sorry, Issari," he whispered. His chafed lips cracked and bled, and he sucked on the coppery liquid. "I'm sorry that I'm sick. I'm sorry that I shifted into a dragon. I miss you, sister."

He wondered where Issari was now. In her chamber in the palace, the gardens, perhaps the throne room? Was she thinking of him too? Sena had heard Issari several times since entering this prison. She had cried out behind the doors, calling his name, begging the guards to let her in. But they always turned her away. And Sena always tried to call out in return, but his throat was always too parched, his voice too weak.

Caw! Caw!

Sena raised his head. A crow had landed on the windowsill and stood between the bars. The bird glared at him and cawed again.

"Hello, friend," Sena whispered.

He began to crawl forward, desperate to caress this bird, to feel another living soul. The crow stared at him.

Caw!

You have freedom, Sena thought. You have wings and can fly, yet you came here—to visit me.

As he crawled closer, chains rattling, Sena found his mouth watering.

I can eat you.

Suddenly it seemed that this was no crow at all but a roasted duck, fatty and delicious, not perched on a windowsill but upon a bed of mushrooms and leeks. Sena licked his lips. Since landing in this cell, he had eaten nothing but the cold gruel the guards fed him once a day—a gray paste full of hairs, ants, and sometimes—depending on the guard—a glob of bubbling spit.

"But you are delicious, crow," Sena said, struggling to his feet. "You are a true friend—better than that damn light that keeps leaving me. Better than the rat that only bites me when I try to catch it." He reached out pale, trembling hands toward the crow, the shackles around his wrists clanking. "I'm going to eat you—ah!"

The crow bit him.

Sena brought his finger to his lips, tasting blood.

With a caw that sounded almost like a laugh, the crow flew off into the sky—back into that forbidden world, back into freedom.

Sena shook his fists at the barren window, spraying blood. It was just like that damn rat again. It was just like that damn beam of light. They all taunted him. They all pretended to be his friends. And they all left him.

He stared out the window. So many creatures flew across the sky these days. Birds. Demons. Creatures of scales, of rot, of blood, of jelly, of stone, of fire—a host of flying nightmares that cackled, grinned, sucked, spewed, swarmed, streamed, lived. Sometimes Sena thought he was delusional. Other times he thought the Abyss had risen into the world, that the endless lurid eyes and fangs were real, not just visions of his hunger but true terrors.

He shook his head wildly and knuckled his eyes, forcing himself to look away from the demons outside his window, from those taunting, cruel, cackling apparitions. They weren't real. They couldn't be real.

Alone . . . insane . . .

Sena trembled. It wasn't fair. The crow thought itself superior to him. Those winged visions of demons thought themselves superior too. If Sena had wings of his own, he could fly farther, higher, catch the damn bird, and—

But I do have wings, he thought.

Of course. He was cursed, impure, an abomination unto Taal.

I can become a dragon.

That sin had landed him in this tower cell in the first place. Perhaps it could also free him.

Wait, whispered a voice in his head. Wait. You tried shifting into a dragon already. Don't you remember? You tried just yesterday. It hurt you. It—

"Quiet!" Sena said, silencing that voice—that voice of the old him, of somebody who had been a prince, not a prisoner, of somebody who still clung to sanity. He hated that voice. He hated that false one, that liar.

He tightened his lips.

He summoned his magic.

Don't! cried the voice inside him. Pain—

Scales flowed across Sena, blue as the sky. Claws began to grow from his fingernails. His body grew larger, inflating, and—

Pain.

The chains that wrapped around him dug deep. He cried out. The metal links cut into him. His ballooning body was pressing against the bonds, and his blood spilled.

With a whimper, he released his magic.

He lay on the floor, trembling, small again, safe again, chained in the shackles that kept him human. He had always been able to shift with clothes, even with a sword at his waist, taking those objects—parts of him like his skin—into his dragon form. But these chains were foreign things, cruel, hurting.

"I'm sorry, Issari," he whispered.

The cell's doorknob rattled behind him.

Sena cowered, sure that the guards had heard him. They would kick him again, spit upon him, bang his head against the wall. He crawled into the corner as the door creaked open, raising his hands to shield his face.

"Please," he whispered.

But it was not the guards.

His father, King Raem Seran, stood at the doorway.

Clad in his bronze armor, the king stared down at his son in disgust. Sena blinked up at his father, and hope sprang inside him.

My father has come to free me.

"Father," he whispered, lips bleeding. "Forgive me. Please. Forgive me. I love you."

When Sena reached out to him, Raem grunted and kicked his hand aside.

"Forgive you?" Raem said. He sneered. "You are a weredragon, a filthy creature lower than lepers. I did not come here to forgive you." He lifted a bloody canvas sack. "I came here to show you what could have been your fate."

Raem upended the sack. A severed head spilled onto the floor, eyes still wide in frozen fear. Sena gasped and scampered away from the ghastly gift.

"A weredragon," Raem said. "My demons caught this one hiding under a bakery." He snorted a laugh. "It can be your friend. As you stare into its dead eyes, remember that you are alive, that I showed you mercy."

With that, his father turned and left the cell, slamming the door behind him.

Tears in his eyes, Sena raced toward the door. He slammed himself against the heavy oak, pounding it with his fists.

"Please, Father!" he shouted. "I'll do anything you ask. I'll never shift again. I . . . I'll hunt weredragons with you! I . . ."

His strength left him.

He slumped to the floor.

The severed head stared up at him, its mouth open, the stalk of its neck red. Sena pulled his knees to his chest and stared back into the lifeless eyes.

At least, he thought as the sunlight faded, I'm no longer alone.