Chapter 3
At her promise to return his child, Zakhar let out a roar so fierce it seemed to shake the mountain itself, baring his fangs as he thrust his massive head toward Henriette.
She understood well his fury.
The land upon which the present Elhyde Empire stood had once been known as Liberne, a vast and fertile plain surrounded by mountain ranges.
Of these, Mount Horeb was the richest and most expansive, home for countless ages to dragons.
Yet humans, too, had dwelled in that bountiful place, and among them was a powerful realm that had long spread its name far and wide, the Elhyde Empire.
Three hundred years earlier, when a new emperor, Conrad Res Hortensia, ascended the throne, the history of Liberne had taken a darker turn.
Conrad had unleashed the might of Elhyde’s military upon Mount Horeb, striking mercilessly at the black dragon Zakhar and his kin.
Only after the dragons’ great wings were broken and the mountain was drenched in human blood did the emperor succeed in piercing the heart of Zakhar’s mate, Lanya, and sealing the black dragon in the deepest cave.
Not content with that, Conrad seized Zakhar’s egg as a trophy of war.
If history had not been distorted, then the truth was clear, a human who had slaughtered his kin and family now dared to threaten him by holding his child hostage.
What father would endure such a thing?
“How dare you speak such contemptible words before me? Never again utter my child’s name in my presence. Can you even begin to comprehend the despair of losing a beloved family?”
“You ask if I can understand? Of course I can. More than anyone, I know your pain. I too have lost my only daughter, and I have tasted the agony of death. If my words are false, then you may tear out my throat here and now.”
Zakhar’s growl faltered at the unexpected answer. Narrowing his eyes, he stepped back slightly.
“You have tasted the agony of death…?”
Only then did he catch the faint scent of the grave clinging to her.
“Yes. I see the mark of the god of death upon your soul. You are neither truly living nor truly dead. You who have returned from the threshold of death, what do you seek that you would come to me in my despair to bargain?”
“I seek your strength and wisdom, for I mean to be emperor. Come with me, leave this place. When the time comes, your wings will cover the whole sky.”
Zakhar growled as if unsurprised.
“Humans are nothing but cunning creatures. When it suits them, they flatter and offer everything, but at the first opportunity, they take all for themselves. On what grounds should I believe you, when humans have taken from me everything I loved?”
The glare he fixed upon her burned with a hatred and rancour that had not faded in centuries.
“Did I not tell you to tear out my throat if I spoke falsely? You have already discerned that I am neither living nor dead. You can see the rest as well. If you doubt me, use your magic to look freely upon my past.”
“Ridiculous. Must I show you the corpses of those who sought to use me as a weapon before you abandon this folly? Do you think to sway me with sweet words and lies?”
“I know well that many have coveted your might. And the most greedy, foolish of them all is my husband, the Emperor of Elhyde. I mean to stop his monstrous design. As ruler of Elhyde, I will protect my people, and I will defend your dignity.”
Zakhar was silent.
“How could a mother who has lost her child speak falsehoods before you?”
Her unflinching gaze stirred something in him.
The black dragon took a great step forward out of the cave. For a long while he studied her from above, then, instead of baring his teeth, he closed his eyes and bowed his head.
Henriette stepped forward and pressed her cheek to the cold, scaled brow.
“You may look into my memories, Zakhar.”
“…Human, for what do you go so far?”
“I will make a world where no parent must weep for a lost child as I have. For that, I need your strength.”
Zakhar closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her skin.
In that instant, an ocean of memories rushed into him, visible not to the eyes but to the soul.
Among the swirling visions, one shone more brightly than all the rest.
He fixed upon that light, and a new scene unfolded before him.
Beneath a radiant sun, a little golden-haired girl played upon the open grassland, spinning a paper toy that someone had lovingly crafted for her. She laughed without cease, her joy as boundless as the sky.
At last she turned and ran into the arms of a silver-haired woman, Henriette.
“Mother!”
“My sweet angel, Emilia.”
The child beamed.
“Mother, tell me again the story of the girl who went to meet a dragon.”
“I told you that story last night.”
“If I met a dragon, I would tell him this.”
“And what would you say?”
“Let us be friends.”
The mother and daughter laughed and embraced as if they could never bear to be parted.
The memory was so full of love it could stir even the cold heart of a black dragon.
But the brighter the light, the deeper and more chilling the shadow it cast.
The scenes that followed, after the girl had gone, were steeped in grief.
It was not long after Emilia’s death.
“Your Majesty, please, just one spoonful. You must regain your strength…”
“I need nothing. I only wish to close my eyes and see her again. Charlotte, I miss her so much. It feels as if she might walk through that door even now and call for me.”
Henriette, sunk in despair, refused even a sip of broth.
Her grief was as great as Zakhar’s own when he had lost Lanya, perhaps greater.
For a time, the tears had dulled the pain, but it had returned in full.
Zakhar saw the moment of her first death, drinking water from the glass at her bedside, then lying down and never waking again.
And yet, the first wish she had spoken upon returning to life was, “I want to see my daughter.”
Even with vengeance in her heart, her first words had been for the child she loved.
“That is enough,” Zakhar murmured as he withdrew from her memories.
He looked at her anew. She burned like a log stoked by rage for someone’s sake, moving forward as if nothing else remained.
Perhaps that was why he found himself reflected in her.
He too longed to see Lanya’s golden eyes once more, and the child of his blood who was somewhere in the world.
“Have you seen all my memories?” Henriette asked.
“Yes. I acknowledge your words were no lie.”
“Zakhar, will you come with me? I have heard of the age when Mount Horeb was ruled by a wise and mighty dragon. I would be a sovereign to match him. By my breath, I vow this pact shall not waver.”
“By your breath, you vow?”
Even many dragons knew little of that ancient oath, yet her voice was steady.
Among dragons, the Breath-Vow was the most solemn of pledges, staking one’s life or something of equal worth, as if each constricted the other’s very breath.
In his long life, Zakhar had given such a vow only twice before. Now, this human swore it with her life and soul.
“I am surprised you can speak our tongue so well, but more so that you would make the vow we reserve for our own kind. You say you are of Laenes’ blood? I always wondered what became of the eccentric dragon who left with a human woman… Very well. Henriette Neva Hortensia, I give you my breath. From this moment, I shall be your mightiest ally, and until I reclaim my child, I will not falter in aiding you. Should I break this oath, may my long breath end and may I fall into the pit of death.”
“I have heard your terms. I too give you my breath. I will devote all I have to returning your child to you. Your strength shall be my sword, your ancient wisdom my shield, and if this vow be broken, may my soul be torn apart by the god of death.”
“The pact is sealed. The proof shall be inscribed upon our souls.”
Power surged through Henriette, the flow of the dragon’s magic confirming the contract.
Zakhar roared, curling in upon himself. Light engulfed him until even Henriette and Bertrand had to shield their eyes.
When the brilliance faded, no dragon stood before them, but a man of striking beauty.
His long black hair gleamed with a hidden blue, and his eyes shone deeper than any gemstone.
Bertrand, who had understood nothing of the dragon’s tongue, at last found his voice.
“Your Majesty… Have you accomplished what you desired?”
Henriette gave a slow nod. Without a word, Bertrand removed his cloak and handed it to Zakhar.
As he draped it over his shoulders, the sun began to rise.
With the light at his back, Zakhar spoke in a low voice, in the language of men.
“…Dawn is breaking.”
The forest, once shrouded in darkness, filled swiftly with light.
Henriette let out a long breath. She had passed the first gate.
Perhaps it was the release of tension, but she could no longer keep her footing. Her vision swayed.
“Your Majesty!”
Bertrand rushed forward, but it was Zakhar who caught her. Looking down at her in his arms, he said evenly,
“You are more trouble than I expected, human.”
