The lost Dragons of Barakhai

Chapter 11

BENTON Collins dragged through the carnivore caverns with an escort that included the lioness, the ocelot, the scrawny woman, and the bearded man who had first spoken to him. Exhausted from blood loss, assailed by a persistent headache scarcely alleviated by the Tylenol, fresh wounds throbbing, he staggered among the four with few verbal exchanges. They told him their names, but he retained only the last, Margast, and only because it reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, Marlys. At times, he discovered himself leaning heavily against the lioness' furry back. He always righted himself when he noticed it, glad she took no offense at his touch. One swipe of her enormous paw would send him tumbling, and he doubted he would ever regain his feet.

Collins staggered onward, though the reason seemed distant, and no strategy for handling the dragons once he found them came to mind. He was dimly aware that he would have to find a way to communicate with them, to convince them of the significance of following him back to the entrance where they could talk to Prinivere. She would likely have the words that he did not, the ones that might make them understand their role in rescuing every non-royal citizen of Barakhai. He hoped-and doubted-he could make it back to the cave opening with them. His body wanted only to lie down and surrender to sweet oblivion again, and the realization that a wandering carnivore might eat him barely overcame that desire. Inertia more than intent, the familiarity of forward movement surrounded by shapechangers, kept him going when even need failed.

Even though Collins glanced repeatedly at his watch, even though he had to force every step, time ticked by too fast for his liking. Every bone-weary step seemed to take a full minute, every one a beat closer to Zylas' death. Please God, let Falima and the others be doing better than me.

For over two switch times, two hours in Collins' world, Zylas listened to the click of Ialin's beak against plastic and metal, the muttered buzzing that indicated frustration. Though focused on this one task, Ialin's discomfort was gradually overcoming his overlap. With each failure, he became more birdlike and less human, which would impair his judgment when it came to perceiving the intricacies of the Otherworld lock. Driven to pace but confined to a quiver, Zylas concentrated on maintaining his own overlap. As his companions lost their humanity, he had to keep his as finely honed as possible. He shared Ialin's aggravation. If only he could turn around, he might find a way to aid them. He had explored the lock with his tail, knew its general feel and composition. He had yanked at the bar looping like an elongated semicircle through the matched tangs of the cage, but it seemed at least as solid and strong as the tangs themselves.

Cautiously, Zylas prodded Ialin, worried the hummingbird might become stuck on an untenable solution. "Try something different, my friend."

Ialin gave no reply but a tiny, bird grunt of assent.

Zylas' gaze swept the visible section of the room for the thousandth time. He could not see the trapdoor through which Carriequinton could descend at any moment. He only knew the scene in front of him: a wall thick with grime, including brown stains that could represent old blood as easily as dirt, the huge mirror the woman stared into obsessively, which showed her as she used to look. Prinivere's illusion spell had fallen. With the return of Quinton's scars had come a grotesque anger she vented with taunts. She had spoken of destroying Zylas' friends, his family, everything he held dear. She described in detail the fate that awaited him, the shattering of his bones into shards that would tear his insides like swallowed knives, the mangling of every body part, the puddle of blood his compacted body would leave on the floor. Zylas had become resigned to the likelihood of his death, and the cruel agony of its execution, yet he preferred to avoid it. He had dedicated his life to a worthy cause and wished to see it through. At least, he knew others now believed in it as strongly as he did. His death would not end the quest to lift the Curse hanging so long over Barakhai. So many others had become as serious in their devotion as he. So close. So damned close. He shut his eyes. If only I could have seen it through.

The sounds of Ialin's beak ceased. "Hole back," he said at length.

Zylas froze, knowing the broken speech meant Ialin was becoming too birdlike to communicate effectively much longer. "What?"

"Hole back. Hole back!"

Vernon scurried to the lock. "There's a keyhole on the back."

"On the back?" Zylas' lids flicked open. "I'll hunch as much as possible. Get out of your way. See what you can do, Ialin."

To Zylas' relief, Ialin still understood enough to shift his attention to the new discovery. The lacy little wings beat wildly, stirring a gentle wind through Zylas' fur. The warmth of impending change swirled through his blood. By the reckoning of Collins' world, he had fifteen minutes. Zylas did not bother to warn his friends. They all measured in switch times, and reminding the hummingbird of his friend's looming death would only add to the plethora of nervous energy that assailed him at all times. Vernon's frequent trips to the storage room for honey and sugar had kept Ialin alive so far; but the more upset he got, the more energy the little bird/man expended. And Vernon would know about the coming change because he was also feeling those stirrings.

That last realization mobilized Zylas. Before he could emit a warning, however, Vernon squeaked first. "She's coming. Carriequinton's coming."

It's over. Zylas refused to dwell on his own approaching fate. "Vernon, run!"

"No!"

"Run, damn it! Get out of here." Worried the mouse's loyalty would serve no useful purpose, Zylas preyed on it. "Do it for me, Vernon, as my last wish. The cause can't survive without both of us, and the lady needs to know what happened here."

With clear reluctance, Vernon turned tail and scurried back the way he had come. He had barely enough time till his change to get beyond the castle walls. Once there, he was safe. A royal patrol might find him, but only if they stumbled upon him before one of the hundreds of forest creatures in his employ did. Even then, the king's guards would have no right or reason to capture him.

Footsteps clomped on the stairs, Quinton's eternally angry tread. Beneath the noise, a close soft click touched Zylas' sensitive rat ears.

The lock? That reminded Zylas of his companion. "Ialin, fly!"

Too birdlike to reply in words, Ialin continued to tug at the lock.

"Fly! Fly!" Zylas squeaked frantically.

Quinton shouted, "Hey! Hey, you!" She charged toward the cage. "Get away from there, you damned bird." Her footsteps quickened as she raced toward them.

Ialin surged into the air in a sudden flurry of wings and feathers. He zipped forward.

Quinton made a leap for the hummingbird, tripped over something Zylas could not see, and tumbled to the floor amid a clatter of falling objects.

Go, Ialin! Go!

Ialin appeared suddenly in Zylas' vision, zipping at full speed toward the mirror.

What's he doing? With abrupt terror, Zylas understood. Nearly devoid of overlap, Ialin had mistaken the reflection for another room. Zylas had heard of young birds killing themselves by slamming into well-polished metal. If Ialin hit the mirror at his current speed, he would smash his skull and die before he was even aware of the impact, "Ialin, no! Swerve! Damn you, swerve!"

The warning came too late. At top speed, Ialin struck the mirror.

Zylas moaned out an unratlike noise, "No." He cringed, waiting for the terrible sound of impact that never came, Ialin passed through the mirror as if through an open door. A portal! It's a magical portal! As he stared, shaking his head, Zylas felt the prickle of the change passing in a wave through him. His time was running short, and the lock remained in place. Dismissing what he had just seen, he thrust his tail through the bars, wrapping it around the cold metal.

Quinton ran toward the mirror, swearing viciously. Her hair grew in strange patches amid the hectic swirl of scar tissue. As if in afterthought, she seized Zylas' cage. Thrown suddenly against the bars, Zylas clamped his claws against them, seeking grounding in a world gone mad. The index finger of Quinton's right hand came tantalizlngly near his mouth, but it never occurred to him to bite. All of his concentration was directed at wrapping his tail around the padlock and desperately hoping he had not imagined the click.

Collins' escort stopped in front of an ironbound wooden door, and the incongruity of that one man-made entity in the middle of natural caverns took inordinately long to register. "What's this?" His voice emerged slurred, even to his own ears. Clearly, he had lost more blood than he had realized.

"It's a door," Margast said.

Does he think I've lost my mind? Pain and grinding fatigue made Collins irritable. "I can see it's a fucking door. Where's it go?"

The lioness whined.

The skinny girl shrugged. "We don't know. No one's managed to open it."

"Locked?" Collins examined the deteriorating structure. It looked as if a solid kick would shatter the soggy wood, leaving only rusted bands of iron on sagging hinges.

"I don't think so." Margast's blue gaze fell to the latch, where Collins saw no bolt or keyhole. "Touching it hurts, though, and it screams."

The description sounded familiar to Collins. Warded. The only similar magic he knew of kept switchers from the royal quarters. He hoped this worked the same way. Raising his arm, he reached for the latch. His watch slid on his wrist. Since 11:45, he had deliberately avoided glancing at it, superstitiously convinced that if he could not see the time passing, it remained the same. Now, as he readjusted the band, he accidentally read the time. 11:57 A.M. Tears burned Collins' eyes. Good-bye, Zylas.

Steeling for a ward that might work even against him, Collins reached for the latch. He would open that door no matter the difficulty, no matter the pain. But none came. The door swung open, its rusted hinges screaming, to reveal a room as craggy as the rest of the caverns. A padded wooden chair stood planted toward the middle, several feet from a huge dark pit in the center. Behind him, the animals and humans stared curiously. As Collins entered, Margast attempted to follow, then dropped back with a shrill cry of pain.

Suddenly, a flash of emerald zipped past, in the form of what appeared to be a large insect. Ialin? Before Collins could consider the possibility in more detail, Carrie Quinton charged into the cave, swinging her arms and swearing viciously, a small cage tucked beneath her right arm. A hairless, pink tail protruding through the bars worked frantically at a combination padlock that hung, unlatched, from the door. Before Collins' eyes, the rat's form blurred. Zylas, it's Zylas. Terror slammed him with a rush of adrenaline. I'm about to watch him implode. The idea galloped through his mind in half an instant. Faster than thought, he hurled himself across the room.

Quinton screamed, leaping from Collins' path. He wrenched the cage from her grip, twisting off the lock as momentum skidded him into an outcropping. He ignored the pain that impact flared through his injured hip and thrust his hand into the cage. By now, Zylas had become an incomprehensible glow. Seizing an unidentified body part, Collins tore the changing creature from the cage.

For a terrifying instant, it resisted. Then, Zylas flew free, body arcing through the air to land hard on the rocks. As he assumed man form, he continued sliding, out of control, toward the pit.

"No!" Once again, Collins found himself lurching to his friend's rescue.

"You bastard!" Quinton shouted. A heaved stone slammed into Collins' shoulder with a raw agony that would have stopped him in his tracks, had he not already sent himself airborne. His wits were nearly scattered, and his arm felt broken. He watched, helpless, as Zylas' pale form went over the edge of the pit, fingers scrabbling wildly at the edge.

That small attempt of Zylas' to save himself gained Collins the seconds he needed. He managed to stop his own forward movement at the lip of the pit and grabbed blindly at his friend. By dumb luck, his fingers winched around one of Zylas' naked forearms. They both stared downward, dislodged pebbles toppling thirty feet to rain down on two enormous dark shapes below them. The dragons!

Collins lay still, focusing all his strength into supporting his dangling friend. All the exhaustion, all the suffering of the last few hours crashed back upon him at once. He closed his eyes as dizziness washed over him, hoping only that he could hold on long enough to regain some semblance of strength, that, somehow, he would Find a way to bring them both safely out of danger.

Abruptly, Collins sensed a nearby presence. He whipped open his lids to find Quinton towering over him, her face hideous with scars, her mouth an asymmetrical sneer. "So, you found them. You found them all. What good does it do you?"

Collins' mind staggered through a tired coating of fuzz. He licked lips that had gone dry as sand. "Carrie. Help us."

"Why?"

So simple a question deserved an answer Collins could not find in the desert of his fading thoughts. He tried to summon back the natural body chemicals that had given him the ability to act so quickly to save Zylas. "Because the fall alone might kill us. Because, no matter how much you hate us, you don't want to become a murderer." Collins' arms ached, and his grip grew slippery on Zylas' forearm.

Quinton laughed. "I've already crossed that line, with people I didn't hate half so much as I do you. She drew right up to where he lay, prone, on the rocks, clutching Zylas. "You sec, Ben," she spat out his name like a bite of bitter fruit, "dragons are natural carnivores. It didn't take long to teach them to eat Barakhai's undesirables, and King Terrin was glad to hand execution duties to me." She grinned with an inhuman wickedness. "He thinks I got rid of the dragons, too. But watch this." She called down into the darkness. "Dinnertime!"

The creatures in the pit surged like hungry crocodiles. It seemed to Collins that he could not catch a break. He wondered why none of this could have happened while at least one of the dragons held its human form.

Zylas was speaking quickly in a low voice that did not carry. It sounded to Collins like praying, an option that seemed like the only one left. But Collins still had one prospect-that Quinton had not fallen wholly into madness. "Carrie, please. Let's talk this out like civilized human beings."

"We're not," she hissed, "anymore."

"I am," Collins insisted. "And I believe, deep down, you are, too."

Carrie drew back her foot.

Aware he could not block a kick, Collins continued talking. "I'll do anything you want, Carrie. Anything. Just name it."

Carrie barely hesitated. "Marry me."

Collins despised the thought, but he would have promised more. "Done."

Quinton's boot crashed into the bandage on the back of Collins' head. His thoughts exploded. His grip on Zylas faltered. "Do you think I'd marry a jackass like you? I'd rather watch you die." She kicked him again.

Collins lay in a red fog of agony. He forced words through the pain. "Carrie, please. What… do… you… want?"

Quinton slammed the toe of her boot into Collins' groin. Cramps tore through his abdomen. Every muscle went limp. His hold on Zylas failed, and he watched the white blur of his friend's descent through eyes filled with tears. Quinton brought her face right up to Collins' and whispered in his ear. "I want… you both… to die." Then, she hammered both fists into the back of his claw-ravaged head.

Collins felt himself falling, twisted, and grabbed the only thing he could: Quinton's leg. He felt it give way. Then air surged around him, and he realized they were both tumbling in savage circles into the pit. Screeching, she embraced him like a lover, all semblance of righteous vengeance lost. They spun wildly for a moment. She was on the bottom when they hit rock-solid ground with enough force to drive all the breath from his lungs, too. Pain stabbed his chest, and he heard bones snap, most of them Quinton's. She lay still beneath him.

Suddenly, Collins felt hot breath puffing over him. Still gasping for air, he rolled to face a colossal mouth filled with dagger teeth. He only hoped he would die of suffocation before those massive canines skewered him.

Then air wheezed into Collins' lungs, bringing instinctive comfort even though it violated his wish.

Zylas spoke weakly, but his tone brooked no defiance. "Trinya, no! Bad girl! Bad girl!"

The massive teeth did not withdraw, but they did not impale Collins either. He willed himself to dodge but could not conjure up the strength even to save his own life. "Zylas," he gasped. "Zylas, she's listening."

Zylas did not respond. "Trinya… remember… me. Come on, girl, remember. Tell… your friend… to get his claws… out of my ribs."

Collins did not know how long the albino had tried to speak with his daughter, but now he guessed that the low talk he had heard had more to do with attempts to communicate with her, rather than with begging some god to save him. He cringed at Zylas' plight. Dragon claws could stab all the way through a man. Collins remained silent. He had nothing to add to the situation, and the effort of speaking might steal what remained of his consciousness. Don't give up, Zylas.

Then, a strange and hesitant voice touched Collins' mind.*Papa?*

"That's right, Trinya. It's your Papa." *Papa?*

"I've never stopped loving you, Trinya. I've been searching, and now I'm so happy I've found you." *Papa?* The dragon seemed incapable of saying anything more. She retreated from Collins, to his vast relief.

The pit went silent, and Collins hoped Zylas had simply switched to mental communication. Cautiously, measuring each movement against vertigo, Collins slid off of Quinton. He winched his fist closed around a rock.

After a long silence, Zylas' voice startled Collins. "Carriequinton! Watch our backs. Where is she?"

Collins studied the woman lying still on the rocks. Her tortured features had gone lax, peaceful for the first time since he had met her. What little sanity she had maintained at that time had vanished, leaving a cruel and soulless shell. If she survived, she would need intensive inpatient therapy and strong medications; she would surely refuse both. He could not allow her to cause more suffering to herself, to Barakhai's innocents, to anyone else. He told his conscience that Quinton was already dead or, if not, she would never make it out of the pit. Then, without further thought, he slammed the stone down on her skull with all his remaining might.

Bone collapsed beneath the blow, and dark clotted blood barely oozed from the wound. Collins' gut pitched wildly, and he vomited. Wiping his mouth, he finally managed to speak, as if he had done nothing more than touch the pulse point at her neck. "She's dead."

Zylas loosed a relieved sigh. "Now," he said with frightening weakness. "Trinya, Artoth, get us out of here."

Though more worried about the dragons eating him than getting left behind, Benton Collins dragged himself up Trinya's side to settle against the V of musculature between her left wing and neck. His left arm barely functioned. His head throbbed, his body ached, and unconsciousness hovered, promising a reprieve to which he dared not surrender. He doubted the young dragons had experience serving as living helicopters, or that they had the maturity to understand complex commands or situations. His grip and balance might be the only things between him and a deadly fall.

"Are you secured?" Zylas called tiredly through the darkness. Despite his own ordeal and injuries, Zylas had the presence of mind to remain focused and in control.

For once, Collins resisted cracking a joke. "Safe and sound." He forced some courage of his own. "Don't forget Ialin."

"He's with me." Zylas paused.

Collins presumed the rat/man was communing with his daughter, so the next words surprised him.

"And he wants me to thank you for worrying over his welfare." Zylas added in deliberate English, "Told you he'd come around."

Collins mouthed a weary smile, though no one could see it. He had never truly believed Ialin would ever grow to like him, despite the albino's reassurances. "So how do we get out of this prison? Surely the dragons can't fly out of this pit, or they would have done so long ago. And how are we going to get them out of the caverns past the magical wards?"

"Just hold on tight, and don't let anything surprise you." Without further warning, Zylas disappeared beneath the slap of leathery wings against air. The dragon he had called Artoth rose from the pit, carrying the rat/man with him. A moment later, muscles shifted beneath Collins' buttocks, and Trinya sprang into awkward flight behind the other dragon.

Thrown sideways, Collins eased into a prone position, hugging the dragon's scales. They felt warm and dry against his skin, smoother than Prinivere's, but not slimy or slippery. A world of difference existed between Trinya's jerky movements and the old dragon's easy grace. He shifted his body weight in miniscule increments, seeking the safest, most comfortable position. Finally reasonably secure, he raised his head, only to find himself rocketing toward his own reflection in a large mirror.

Collins screamed, ducking behind his outstretched hands. Ignoring her passenger's consternation, the dragon flashed through the polished surface as if through open air. The universe seemed to hiccup, then Collins found himself hovering on Trinya's back in a storage room filled with large, unidentifiable shapes swathed in tattered bolts of cloth. Artoth stood on the floor, while a disheveled and limping Zylas struggled with the mirror. Ialin flittered wildly around him.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Quinton must have found the mirror in storage, discovered its ability to reflect her undamaged face, and kept it for her own. Given the king's ban on magic, she had hidden it in her wardrobe, eventually discovering its true purpose. And probably the dragons had remained in the pit because they didn't know they could escape. After all, they were mere babes in dragon years.

Trinya dropped to the ground beside Artoth, and the two nuzzled one another like old friends separated for days, not moments. They had clearly relied heavily on one another throughout their ordeal. "We're in the castle?" Collins guessed.

"The dungeon level." Zylas finally managed to heave the mirror onto Artoth's back. "Hold on tight, and try to look like you have control over your… mount." He settled onto the base of Artoth's neck, a leg dangling on either side.

Wondering how difficult Zylas found it to call his daughter a "mount," Collins scrambled to the same position on Trinya and found it far steadier than the one he previously held. It allowed him to balance more like the way he might on horseback, and he had the ability to clamp on tightly with his arms and knees, if necessary. He could even stay on upside down, though he hoped he would never have to test that theory.

The dragons walked across the floor, picking their way around the stacked furniture. Zylas reached across Artoth's neck to flip open the door onto another storage area. Unable to avoid the carefully piled provisions, the dragons hulled through crates, boxes, and bags with little attention to the carnage left in their wakes. Collins glanced to his left as Trinya's wing dislodged a bag of flour that immersed him in a billowing white cloud. Her tail sent a crate tumbling. It shattered, releasing a multicolored wash of buttons, ruffles, and lace. A shadow loomed over Collins, and he swiveled his head just in time to see a dangling cookpot headed for his face. He ducked, feeling it graze his dried, blood- and sweat-plastered hair. Ahead of them, a door jerked open to reveal half a dozen startled guards and the familiar dungeon cells beyond them.

For a moment, no one did anything but stare.

Zylas broke the silence. "Move," he commanded the guards.

The guards shifted nervously, glancing at one another. Though they did not retreat, they showed no sign of attacking either.

Collins broke the stalemate with a pitiful roar, hut the toddler dragon took the cue. Trinya mimicked him, the sound welling up from deep in her enormous diaphragm. Feeling her movement, Collins clamped his hands over his ears just in time. The roar belched out of her with the power of fire and brimstone, and terror crashed through Collins despite his foreknowledge of the power of a dragon's roar. The guards whirled and fled in a panicked scramble, opening the way for the dragons and their riders.

"Thank you," Zylas called after them as Collins managed a shaky laugh. He wondered if he could ever grow as accustomed to the sound as Zylas apparently had. Ialin fluttered up the steps, Artoth squeezing through the winding stairwell behind him.

Even with her wings tightly folded, Trinya struggled between the tightly packed banisters. At the ground level landing, they faced the open portcullis and the massive door to the inner courtyard.

Collins leaned toward the panel. "I'll get it."

Before he could snag the latch, Artoth's massive body slammed against the wood. The door shuddered wildly, and Collins scrambled out of the way. Again, the dragon crashed against it; and, this time, the wood shattered like a thin layer of ice. Wood shards sprayed the courtyard, people and animals ran screaming, and the dragon struggled into the air like a gangly, half-grown condor. Trinya flew after him, her wing beats slapping Collins with cold whirlwinds of air. Lying low, he clung to her neck and waited for one of the renegades' flying spies to find them and lead them to Prinivere.

Benton Collins awakened in a sudden rush of amazing clarity. His headache had disappeared, and the many injuries that had plagued him for the last hours he could remember seemed to have disappeared. He kept his eyes tightly closed, afraid that he would find himself back in Algary Hospital. He dreaded the barrage of questions that would certainly follow, the lies he would have to concoct to keep himself out of some mental institution, the even stranger looks the professors and other students would inflict upon him. Oh. That Ben Collins.

Gentle hands caressed his body, soothing the skin where they touched. He focused on this comfort, enjoying it as long as he dared, dodging the grilling that revealing his awakening might invoke. *You're up.* The voice penetrated Collins' thoughts with a light sweetness that made it seem to float into his mind, bypassing his cars. Then, suddenly, he realized that was exactly what it had done. He was still in Barakhai.

Collins opened his eyes to another cave. Three massive dragon heads hovered over him, breath warm and sugary, their allspice dragon scent perfuming the air, their claws skipping lightly over his wounds. Zylas lay beside him, also prone, naked, and still in man form. Dirt peppered his snowy skin, and his pale blue eyes pecked out from fallen strands of white-blond hair. Prinivere instructed the younger two dragons in a wild barrage of mental communication that made little sense to Collins. The mirror portal stood against the wall at the farthest edge of Collins' vision.

Collins glanced at his watch, only to find spidery lines through the glass and a nonfunctioning display. Korfius trotted in frantic circles around them as a dog, which made it either before 3 P.M. or after 8 P.M.

Collins locked gazes with Zylas. "I see you got the portal."

"I suppose that's stealing," Zylas admitted, a red flush suffusing his cheeks. "But the king would only have destroyed it once he discovered-"

Collins cut off the explanation with a wave. "No justification necessary. I was just impressed that something so fragile made it here intact. I couldn't keep my eyes open long enough to bring us safely here, let alone an enormous, breakable knickknack."

Zylas tipped his head in a gesture that passed for a shrug. "You were hurt worse. And you're not a soldier." He grinned. "You got us through the worst of it. That roar of yours was inspired. How did you know she'd copy you?"

"Never met a toddler who didn't like to imitate loud noises." Collins smiled, hoping the dragons read his thoughts of appreciation through the confusion of their own conversation. He knew the others would already have thanked them, but he would do so personally when time allowed it. "Where's… " he started, preparing to ask about Falima. Then, not wanting to put one name above the others, he said instead, "the others?"

Zylas answered. "Ialin and Aisa are scouting, checking how our escape affected the castle. Apparently, King Terrin knew nothing about Carriequinton's sojourns in the caverns, nor that the dragons were still alive. Vernon's at home, where he's needed. Falima… " He swiveled his head. "Well, ask her yourself."

At that moment, Falima stepped into view. She wore a simple, plain dress that left him to imagine the exquisite curves that lay beneath it. Her sapphire eyes were swollen with tears and worry, her black hair wind-whipped to a snarl. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and Collins found himself breathless.

Falima raised her brows. "You've got that hungry look again. And, this time, I'm not even naked."

Collins searched for his tongue, but it betrayed him, blurting out words he had not intended to say, "I love you, Falima."

She came toward him with natural grace. Her high cheekbones, golden skin, and spare lips became the very definition of perfection. She crouched to meet his gaze. "You said that already. Or did staring over the brink of death make you forget I love you, too?"

Now Collins wished he had saved the sentiment. There seemed no way to explain how his devotion had escalated to a heart-pounding fever complete with fireworks and the farthest reaches of heaven. "I've never loved anyone more."

Zylas cleared his throat, as if to remind the pair that they shared the room with others. "I'm devastated, Ben. I thought I was your one and only."

Collins barely heard him. "I want to be with you forever. Falima, I want you to marry me."

Falima slid between the two men and ruffled Collins' blood-matted hair. "Sweetie, there's still so much we don't know." She looked at the dragons hopefully. When she got no reply from Prinivere, she continued, "Can they lift the Curse? If they do, what becomes of us switchers?" She sighed heavily. "What if I'm a horse forever?"

Collins could not believe God would do that to him. He had finally found a woman he loved without conditions and a world that saw him as competent and capable, a place where he dared to become a hero, despite the risks. "Then I'll marry a horse. And love you just the same."

"You're an idiot," she said.

Collins agreed. "But at least I'd be your idiot."

Beyond Falima, Zylas rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

Prinivere finally joined the conversation.*Currently, the younglings don't switch forms. They'll stay dragons until their maturity level catches up with their human forms.*

Zylas sat up. "How long will that take?"

Prinivere fell into silence for several moments, calculating.*I would guess about… three or four hundred.*

"Days?" Zylas supplied. "Weeks?" * Years.*

"Wow." Zylas gave the exact same reply Collins would have. The albino would never see his daughter in her human form again, would never know how much she resembled himself or his beloved late wife. Still, he smiled, content. She had returned to him from the dead, and she remembered him. *Would you like to know my opinion?*

Though Collins did not know which subject Prinivere meant to share her opinion on, he wanted to hear what she had to say on anything.

Falima nodded, and Zylas said, "Absolutely, my lady." *We don't yet have the ability to lift the Curse. The younglings need more experience, more maturity.*

"How long?" Zylas spoke the words for all of them. *A century, at least. Longer if I'm not still here to help.*

To Collins' surprise, no one objected to Prinivere's suggestion that she might not live long enough to assist in the project. The silence seemed awkward. It reminded him of how, at the end of every Christmas celebration, Great-Aunt Gertrude would say, "See you next year, God willing." They would always protest the possibility that she might not survive another year, even as her seventies became her eighties and old age finally claimed her. To say nothing felt like tacit condemnation, like giving death permission to remove her from the family.

Falima dropped her head.

Collins took her hand. "That doesn't change the way I feel about you. We'll deal with it."

"I can't go to your world."

"No," Collins confirmed.

"Do you love me enough to stay in mine?" Finally Falima raised her head to him, and Collins made certain to look right into her eyes.

"I do," he said without hesitation, without a trace of doubt. "But it's not really the life sentence you think it is. With Prinivere's help, I could go back occasionally, explain things to my parents, let them know I'm safe and happy." He smiled, squeezing her hand. "Bring back a Twinkie now and then."

Prinivere waited for them to finish before continuing.*There are modifications we can make now, until we can fully lift the Curse. We can create smaller magics that help switchers learn to control what they have: to increase the time spent in their preferred forms, to increase overlap, to allow those with strong overlap to control the switch itself so they can take whichever form they wish whenever they desire it.*

Collins did not fully understand, but his companions bobbed their heads. "Are you saying you and the younglings could help Falima spend more time in human form? That you could give her enough overlap to understand me well even when she's a horse?"

"That's exactly what she's saying." Falima faced Collins and took his other hand. "And someone like Zylas, who has near-perfect overlap, could switch between rat form and human form at his own whim."

Collins looked at Zylas to determine how close Falima had come to the truth, only to find the albino standing utterly still, eyes wide, clearly considering the implications of her words.

Collins also found himself thinking about the possibilities. Controlled shapeshifting seemed more of a gift than a liability, even better than the royals' full-time humanity. Cool! He found himself wishing he had a switch-form. Collins considered another important detail, concerned for Korfius. "What happens to life span? To intelligence and memory?" *I'm not sure.* Prinivere scratched behind one eye with a claw.*I can't remember if human and animal life spans differed much before the Curse. They both seemed pitifully short compared with mine.* She replaced her claw and fixed a craggy eye on Collins.*The intertwining of humans and animals has gone on so long in Barakhai, I don't think we can ever wholly separate what gets passed to future generations. And that's not a bad thing.*

Collins had to agree. Mongrel dogs tended to live longer than the inbred species and to demonstrate higher intelligence. Carrie Quinton would have understood the details better than he could, but he suspected the genes of humans and animals in Barakhai probably had become inseparable.

Prinivere finished her point,*Lifting the Curse can't change history or "blood." I believe the natural life spans of all creatures of Barakhai will remain reasonably equal, in the realm of a hundred years, at least for the next several centuries. Longer for those with dragon blood.* She glanced at Zylas.*As to intelligence…* She flicked a claw.*I think the same applies. It varies widely enough already.*

Collins had to agree.

Prinivere grinned and sent him a happy image of powder-blue sky speckled with clouds, filled with swooping dragon shadows.

Collins smiled at the joy the rescue he had assisted in brought to the old dragon as well as to the regular citizenry of Barakhai. Through Trinya and Artoth, a new generation of dragons might return to Barakhai as well. *And, if I might venture one more opinion, you should accept that proposal.*

It took Collins inordinately long to figure out what Prinivere meant.

"Yes," Falima said, the word coming out of nowhere.

Collins blinked. "What?"

"Yes," Falima said. "I'll marry you."

Thank you, Collins thought in Prinivere's direction. Not long ago, he had believed himself too young for marriage, but now the idea filled him with an excitement that seemed eternal. He caught Falima into a gleeful embrace, and Korfius shoved in to shower the announcement with happy dog kisses.