PROLOGUE

They were doomed.

Huddled against sun-baked stone, Gaylen cradled her son Centra in a futile attempt to shelter him from the battle—from the clash of blades, the smell of blood, the screams. Wave after wave of men in black battle harness crashed against the thinning wall of their defenders. The Umbran commandos had ambushed their party at the mouth of the pass and driven them against the base of a cliff. They had no place left to run.

Centra stirred, but an improvised spell kept the toddler locked in slumber. She brushed the curls from his flushed forehead and kissed his brow. All she'd wanted was a little more time with him, a few more days until the wizards of the White Circle claimed him. Now, half a day's journey to the top of the pass and safety, she might lose him forever.

Twin drops splashed Centra's cheek. Tears. Gaylen squeezed her eyes shut to stop the flow. They had one hope. Despite the consequences, she would have to use sorcery. Though her arms already ached with loss, she kissed Centra again and laid him on a patch of grass near her feet.

She straightened and thrust her hands over her head. From memories she'd hoped to leave forever untouched, she summoned the words she needed. Power surged through her chest and erupted from her fingertips in a crackling blue arc. It rose above her defenders and plummeted into the black ranks. The ground shook, bodies flew, and a gap appeared. More power, more gaps, and always, more soldiers to fill them. Her fingers began to tremble and the world began to blur.

A blade sliced the guard in front of her, collarbone to hip. Hot blood splattered her face and broke Gaylen's concentration. She grabbed the man's shoulders and screamed a healing spell, but it was too late. He was dead. All her men were dead and her choices dead with them. All but one.

Words hammered her grief and rage into raw, barely restrained power. Wielding it like a scythe, she vaporized the men rushing toward her. While her remaining foes hesitated, she crouched beside Centra. "My will to yours, so destiny chose; seek the Sisters of the Rose."

He whimpered in his sleep as if he understood the compulsion she'd placed upon him. Gaylen hugged him to her breast. "Forgive me, dear heart, and fare well."

The dizziness that always followed her sorcery washed over her, but she stood and hurled Centra into the air on a stream of words. The spell wrapped around him in a glittering shield and carried him over the top of the cliff to the shelter of the trees above.

Once he was safe, she lowered her gaze to the soldiers, who stood motionless, necks craned to watch her son's flight. Sorrow washed over her, sorrow, grief and guilt.

So many men, so many deaths. She lowered her arms and spread them, as if to embrace her one-time enemies. "Now," she sobbed and burst into a storm of flame that engulfed them all.

High above, Centra dropped onto the root of an ancient oak, woke and began to cry.

Chapter One: Yucky

The baby dragon perched on the rim of his nest, green skin blending to gray where it touched the jumbled stones. His mother, the most beautiful and deadly of dragons, crouched behind him. Her long neck reached out. She nodded toward the precipice.

Out.

Her voice in his head lacked the humor he'd come to expect when she spoke of his leaving. He squinted against the light reflecting off her gold scales and tried to decipher her expression.

Joke? he asked hopefully.

Her tawny eyes grew red with irritation.

Out.

Fleecy clouds drifted between him and the jagged rocks below. He dug his claws deeper into the stones around his nest.

Out!

A rush of air and—smack—his mother's tail swept him off the ledge. He flailed his legs, desperate for something solid to cling to.

Hold.

The command reached him the instant before his reflexive belch. He clamped his lips to contain the explosion of buoyant gas.

Wings.

The approval in his mother's thoughts calmed his panic. Extending his wings, he felt the air buffet them. He pushed down and shot upward. The stroke lifted him high above the deadly rocks. His wings were the key, he realized, heart soaring. Tilt them to turn. Fold them to fall. Extend them to rise again.

Good. The voice in his head grew fainter as he rose. Fly well. She launched herself from the nest and vanished into the mountain mists.

He paid no attention. Flight was a wonderful game. He banked and dove, playing with the air currents. When his wings grew tired, he dropped back into the nest. When rested, he took to the air again. He practiced his new skill for days, ranging farther and farther, but always returning home.

Days passed. He finished the carcasses his mother had left him and grew hungry. He circled the nest, searching the sky for a glimpse of her. He wasn't worried, not really. His mother had disappeared before, once for more than seven sunsets, and had always come back with something tasty dangling between her claws.

The sun set and rose and set again. She didn't come.

His loneliness grew with his hunger. He wanted food, but he wanted his mother more. He sat on the edge of his nest and trumpeted the distress signal she'd taught him.

She still didn't come.

When his hunger grew unbearable, he abandoned the rocky heights. His mother hunted the woodlands below, maybe she waited for him there. With a single farewell look, he launched from his nest and started the long, circling descent.

He swept over a pasture full of grazing sheep. They panicked, and three stampeded over the edge of a cliff.

Thrilled by his luck, the fledgling dragon dropped to the foot of the precipice. He ate two sheep immediately. Hoping to please his mother when he found her, he saved the last and was about to rise with it in his claws when a shadow swept over him.

He cringed. His mother had insisted that a young dragon was easy prey and had ordered him to hide from bigger, fiercer dragons like herself. He'd said he wasn't afraid, that she was the biggest, fiercest dragon of all. She'd laughed and agreed. Then she'd clicked her metallic teeth near his nose and said if she ever caught him outside the nest, she'd fry him to cinders. At the time, he'd thought she was warning him not to leave.

He shivered and looked up, but the shadow was only a cloud. Torn between relief and regret, he launched himself into the air. Until he found his mother, he needed a place to hide during the day.

Three spirals later, he spotted a break in the forest-shrouded hillside, an opening that looked wide enough to squeeze through. He landed on the edge of a nearby cliff, abandoned his kill, and crept toward the dark opening. The crevice smelled faintly of bear, as did the smooth chamber he found inside. The dragon clicked his teeth and grinned. He liked bear. Better yet, the den was empty and more than big enough.

He searched the cliff and the forest surrounding his new home, but found no sign of danger. Yawning and flexing his sore wings, he walked back to the cave. He'd cook the last sheep. The meat would keep better, and he could give it to his mother or eat it himself after a nap.

Following his mother's example, he belched gas and clicked his teeth. The resulting roar startled him—it sounded louder than when his mother flamed. He almost forgot to point the fiery stream at his supper. But he cooked the sheep at last and shoved the smoldering carcass into the back corner of the cave. Exhausted, he curled up and rested his head on the base of his tail.

The scent of roast mutton lulled him to sleep, but he didn't rest well. Distant screams and the reek of magic disturbed his dreams. A piercing noise woke him.

"Mama!"

He jumped up and banged his head against the cave's stone roof. A trickle of gas, all that was left after cooking the mutton, ignited on his chattering teeth. In the resulting burst of flame, he saw a creature standing in the entryway. It was smaller than a sheep, barely a mouthful.

"More," it cried and beat its forepaws together, a large noise for such a small source. The intruder looked harmless—no teeth or claws shone in the gloom—but it reeked of wizard.

His mother had given him only three pieces of advice, but she'd repeated them until he knew them like the tip of his tail. Don't belch in the sky, avoid other dragons, and shun wizards. Wizards were small, apparently harmless creatures that used magic sounds to capture dragons and cut off their tails.

The dragon began to tremble. Without his tail, he couldn't fly, couldn't freeze prey with a glance, couldn't fade unnoticed into the background when a larger dragon flew over. Without his tail, he would wither and die.

He'd had nightmares about creatures that chased him around the nest, biting his tail. The night terrors had persisted until his mother brought him a scrawny carcass and made him memorize the scent.

Wizard. She'd explained. Remember. Avoid.

Swallowing the tidbit had quelled his fears, but they roared back as he gazed at the shadow blocking the mouth of his lair.

"More!"

He opened his mouth, determined to roast the danger to ashes, but he'd had no time to build more gas. The sparks from his teeth danced harmlessly in the cave's gloom.

The wizard's forepaws stretched forward. "Pretty. Mine." Quieter now, less demanding, the noise still rose above the clattering of his teeth.

Too frightened to think, too frightened even to bite, he watched the wizard step closer. A shudder convulsed him, and his tail lashed out, knocking the intruder flat.

A shriek, sharply painful, assaulted his ears. He shrank back and tried to hide under his wings.

"No!"

The wizard grabbed his tail and bit it. The skin gave way; warm blood trickled from the wound. It was his dream all over again, and too much for a baby dragon to bear. The floor tipped; the cave spun. Just before the world whirled away, he heard one last sound.

"Yucky!"

***