A Day of Dragon Blood by Daniel Arenson

strapped to his side, his face bearded and his brow showing the first hints of creasing. The thin, quiet prince she had known was gone; today she saw a king.
    "Mori," he said, "Bayrin has returned from Tiranor... and he brings news."
    Bayrin is back! Mori's heart leaped with joy. Bayrin—the boy who would tug her pigtails in childhood, who had grown into a man who would kiss her lips, hold her in his strong arms, and protect her. Bayrin—her guard, her guiding star, and the sky in her wings. She wanted to run to him, to kiss him, to hold him forever... but something in Elethor's eyes held her back. Her brother's gaze was somber and his voice low; Mori froze and stared at him.
    The news is bad.
    Cold, skeletal claws seemed to clutch her heart. She could barely breathe and her eyes stung. She grabbed Elethor's hands and squeezed them.
    "El," she whispered, "is... is the war here again?"
    Think of the leaves. Think of the wind in the birches. Think of stars at night. Don't let the nightmares rise.
    He looked around him, then lowered his head and spoke softly. "Mori, do not speak of this to anyone. Not yet. I don't want the people alarmed. We think the invasion is near. We think we know where the enemy will fly." He stared at her steadily. "I need you to be strong. I need you to be brave."
    Mori had expected to shiver, whimper, and see the world spin. Strangely no fear filled her, only a metallic resolve. She nodded.
    "I will be brave," she whispered. "Elethor... I will be strong. I will fight."
    She embraced her brother, laid her head against his pauldron, and held him tight. His armor was cold and hard against her. He kissed her head.
    "Our forces are strong," he said, his arms around her. "We've trained them well. This time Solina won't catch us by surprise. This time we'll cast her back into the sea."
    Mori closed her eyes. A vision flashed through her head—Elethor lying in the temple with the wounded, his limbs gone, his face burnt like Orin's face back at Castellum Luna. She held her brother tight.
    "I know, El. I know we're strong. I love you."
    He mussed her hair. "I love you too, Mors." He held her at arm's length. "I fly east now, beyond the mountains, to summon the farmlords. We will hold a council of Requiem's highborn—like the great councils Father would hold. It's two days to Oldnale Manor and two days back. Sit upon the throne while I'm away, Mori. You rule in Nova Vita in my absence."
    A tear streamed down her cheek. Elethor turned, shifted into a dragon, and flew across the city. Mori stood upon the temple steps, hand raised, and watched until he disappeared into the east.

 
 
BAYRIN

    Sea salt, sweat, and dirt covered him. He desperately needed a good, solid soak, but Bayrin remained in the throne room, waiting for Mori.
    "If she loves me when I stink, it's true love," he said to a marble bust of an old king—he thought it was King Benedictus, the great hero from the legends—who stood upon a plinth. The bust merely glowered.
    Old Benedictus must smell the stink too, Bayrin thought.
    He rocked on his heels, anxious to see the princess. The night they had parted, she cried and held him tight; he had barely extricated himself. He had kissed her, promised to return to her, promised to always love her. That had been three moons ago, and now Bayrin thought he could burst—he wanted nothing more than to pull her back into his arms and kiss her again.
    At the same time, a sliver of ice pulsed beneath those feelings. Worry for Lyana gnawed at him. His little sister—dancing for General Mahrdor himself! Like everyone who'd spent more than an afternoon in Tiranor, Bayrin had heard the rumors about Mahrdor. They said the man skinned humans to make scrolls, books, even upholstery. They said he collected shrunken heads, pickled hands, and bronzed fetuses he cut from living women's wombs. The thought of Lyana in his villa festered inside Bayrin so sourly that he barely noticed the palace doors open.
    "Bayrin!"