She nodded curtly and walked deeper into the library. At the back wall, twenty weredragons stood in chains. Solina snarled. When she had lived in Requiem, the weredragons would taunt her. They would shift into dragons, fly above, blow fire, and she would watch from below, a scared and weak girl with no magic. In chains, they were as helpless as she had been. They had been stripped naked. Their bodies were lashed, bloody, and broken. Three were men, supposed warriors; the rest were women and children.
"Reptiles," she said to them, voice dripping with disgust. "Look at you. Naked. Filthy. Weak." She laughed bitterly. "You call yourself a noble race, an ancient and proud people." She spat. "I see only wretches."
A few of the weredragons stared back, defiance in their eyes. Others moaned, blood seeping from their wounds. The chains chafed their wrists and ankles, digging into the flesh. One, a girl no older than the princess Mori, was trying to shift. She grimaced, and scales appeared and disappeared on her body, and wings sprouted and vanished from her back. When her limbs began to grow, the chains dug deeper, shedding blood, keeping her in her filthy human form. Tears ran down her cheeks.
Solina approached the girl, a soft smile on her lips. "Precious," she said softly. "Do you still try to fight?"
The girl looked up with teary eyes, opened her mouth to speak, and Solina swung her sword. Raem, her blade of dawn, sliced the weredragon's neck as easily as a fisherman gutting his catch. Blood gushed, the girl gasped and choked, and her head slumped back. She lay still, blood spilling down her body to pool around her.
Solina grinned, teeth clenched, as the other weredragons howled.
Five years ago, this girl would have taunted me, she thought. She would have shifted, soared in the sky, mocked my lack of magic. She would have burned me too, burned me like Orin did. She snarled. They all would burn me if they could.
She ran her fingers along her line of fire, the scar that split her face and body. It still burned sometimes. She could still feel the screaming agony of fire. The rage and pain pounded through her, spinning her head. She turned to another chained weredragon, an old man with one eye, and she lashed her blade across his stomach. She stared with cold eyes as he screamed, as his innards spilled.
She turned to the next one. Her blades swung. She moved from weredragon to weredragon, ridding the world of their evil, banishing their shadow with her light.
"For the Sun God!" she cried as she plunged her blades into the last one, a child clinging to the corpse of his mother. "For your glory, Lord of Light! I banish the weredragon curse for you."
Blood washed the floor, rivers of it, intoxicating with its scent. Blood had splashed her face, Solina realized. She wiped it with her fingers and licked them eagerly.
Soon I will drink Elethor's blood too, she thought. Soon we will meet again, my love.
"Clean this mess," she said to her men. "If the blood dirties the books, I will replace the parchment with your hides."
She turned and left the library, grinning savagely, boots sloshing.
ELETHOR
He stood upon the mountain of bodies, still in human form, and faced the sphinx. Herathia's feline body rose taller than him, draped in wrinkly skin. Her torso and head towered, a pale woman as large as a dragon. The Crimson Archway rose above her, leading into shadow and mist.
"Ask us your riddles," Elethor said to her, heart pounding. He reached out and clasped Lyana's hand. She squeezed back.
Behind that archway waits the Starlit Demon, he thought. Behind that archway is the hope for my people, for Lyana, for my sister. I must pass.
He swallowed a lump in his throat, remembering the pain of the sphinx's curse. If he failed to answer her riddles, how long would she torment him before letting him die? A minute? Hours? Moons or years? Eventually he and Lyana would join these bodies, a new peak for the mountain of them, and Requiem would fall. Everybody he knew would die.
No, he told himself and drew sharp breaths. Don't think about that now. You will answer the riddles. You will pass through the archway.
The sphinx regarded him, a soft smile on her lips, as if she could read his mind. A trickle of blood ran from her lips and trailed down her body, snakelike. She opened her mouth, revealing bloody fangs and chewed human heads, and spoke in a deep voice like wind through tunnels.
"All love me with full hearts
They visit me by day
Yet they cry around me
At night they stay away"
Elethor raised his eyebrows, considering. He turned to look at Lyana. She stared at the sphinx, frowning, lips scrunched together. She turned and met his gaze, thought a moment, then nodded.
"Seems easy enough," she said.
Elethor couldn't help it. Even here, wounded and famished, leagues underground upon a pile of bodies, he rolled his eyes.
"Of course it's easy for you," he muttered. "Everything always is."
She glared at him, fire blazing in her green eyes. "If it were up to you, Elethor, I think we'd grow old trying to solve it." She turned to look up at the sphinx. "I have the answer!"
The towering creature gazed down upon them, stars glimmering in her feline eyes. Her tongue licked her lips. "Answer! But if you answer wrong, your souls will be my prize."
Elethor winced, remembering the pain of her black lightning.
"Lyana, wait," he began. "What are you—"
But she ignored him and called up to the sphinx, "The answer is: a beloved's grave."
Herathia's lips curled back, showing teeth and gums. Elethor's heart pounded as if trying to escape his chest, and his palms dampened. A beloved's grave? He wished Lyana had consulted with him first, but by the stars, the answer did fit.
"Well?" he demanded of the sphinx. "Is that the answer?"
She shifted her claws, each one as long as his body. They dug into the corpses she sat upon, tearing through the pale flesh into bloodless cavities. Her tongue darted out and a hiss left her throat, a sound like steam. She was laughing, Elethor realized.
"You have," she said, "answered correctly."
Elethor breathed out a shaky sigh of relief. His hands tingled and he turned to Lyana. She looked at him, gasping and smiling. She hesitated an instant, then stepped over a body and embraced him. She clung to him, and Elethor realized that she was trembling and that tears filled her eyes.
"I was right," she whispered, voice shaky. "Thank the stars, I was right."
He tried to snort derisively, but only a weak puff of air left his nostrils. "Of course you were right. You always are, remember?" He turned to the sphinx. "Herathia! We answered your riddle. Will you let us pass?"
Her lips pulled back further, past the gums, showing veins and red flesh clinging to her skull. "You will not pass, child of stars. You answered one riddle, but did not ask one of your own. Ask me a riddle, Boy King. If I cannot answer, then you may pass my door."
He groaned. Ask her a riddle of his own? He knew no riddles. He was a sculptor, a stargazer, a reluctant king. He squeezed Lyana's hand.
"Any riddles under that mop of red curls?" he asked her.
She scrunched her lips, a line appearing between her eyebrows. She spoke in a low whisper into his ear. "The answer would have to be something Herathia wouldn't know. Something of sunlight, or sky, or trees… something foreign to this dark place."
Elethor looked around him. The mountain of bodies sloped into valleys of stone. Rocky walls surrounded the place, rising to form a dome above their heads. Rivers of lava flowed and clouds of smoke danced like demons.
"That pretty much includes everything other than fire, rock, and death," he whispered back.
They thought in silence for long moments. Elethor tried to remember riddles he had heard in childhood. He vaguely recalled reading a book of them in the library—he had shared a few with Mori—but could remember none.
Mori would have remembered, he thought. She loves that library.
His sister was always so sad, so frightened, but when reading in the library, sh
e would smile, laugh, and her eyes would sparkle. She would run to him with a new book, show him a word that she loved, or a tale that moved her, and life and joy would overcome her shyness. At the memory of her eyes and smile, a lump filled Elethor's throat, and tears stung his eyes.
"El, how's this?" Lyana said. She leaned forward, hid her mouth with her hand, and whispered into his ear.
He thought about her riddle but could not guess the answer until she revealed it. Nodding slowly, he helped her fine-tune the wording, praying that Herathia could not hear whispers behind palms. Finally, when they were happy with their riddle, Lyana turned to face the sphinx.
"Herathia!" she cried. "We have a riddle."
The sphinx gazed down at them, eyes blazing, tongue licking the air. She seemed eager like a cat toying with a mouse.
"Ask," she said.
Lyana raised her chin, thrust out her chest, and called out her riddle.
"I sing as fairly as a bird
I glide as gently too
I comfort the most aching soul
With a voice so clear and true
I live on branches and windowsills
Relishing the breeze
Yet I don't live
Just place me down
You'll silence me with ease"
The sphinx did not miss a beat. An instant after Lyana fell silent, Herathia calmly spoke: "Wind chimes."
Elethor's heart sank. She had solved it! She hadn't even thought for a second! Had the sphinx heard them whispering? Had she cheated?
"You heard us whisper the answer!" he shouted at her. "Your ears must be sharper than ours. Will you cheat at our game?"
She snickered, a bubble of blood bursting on her lips. "I cheat not, shapeshifter. Insult me again, and our game will end, and you will die. I would like that." She snarled. "Prepare for my second riddle, children of stars. If you cannot answer, you will join my nest of corpses."
Elethor steeled himself with a deep breath and waited. After a moment of silence, the sphinx spoke her second riddle.
"I sadden the sun
High in heaven
And the night's moon too
I follow the eagle in his flight
I lived wherever he flew
At a ball I slide away
In a crowd I'm shy
I'll sneak up when you're alone
I'll make you shake and cry"
Lyana frowned and tapped her cheek. Elethor thought long and hard, but his mind was blank. He tapped his thigh, pursed his lips, and ran a dozen answers through his mind, but none fit. When he looked at Lyana, she was pale and her lips trembled.
She doesn't know either, he realized.
"Answer, shapeshifters!" the sphinx demanded and her eyes reddened. A growl left her throat, stinking of rot. "Solve my riddle or my light will sear you." She raised her claws.
Cold sweat washed Elethor. Lyana gasped and clutched her sword.
"Wait!" Elethor said to the sphinx. "I will answer, I…"
What riddles would he read with Mori in the library? He summoned back the memory, seeing his sister again; she would huddle in the shadows between books, a single candle lighting the library, smiling to herself softly, fleeing the world that scared her into the realms of imagination.
He breathed out shakily. He knew the answer.
"Loneliness," he said softly.
Lyana gasped at his side and whispered, "Of course."
The sphinx's eyes sparkled with amusement and hunger. She leaned forward, sending bodies rolling down the mountain. Elethor nearly fell, and Lyana clung to him. A gutted child rolled by him, disappearing down the mountain into shadow.
"This game is getting interesting," Herathia said. "You have answered true. Now ask me a riddle." She licked her lips, cutting her tongue on her teeth, then sucked the blood. "Make it hard."
Elethor turned to look at Lyana. Her eyes were solemn as she stared at him.
"We'll think silently," she said. "No more whispering."
He nodded. He tried to think of riddles, brow furrowed. Lyana covered her eyes and her lips moved silently. The sphinx leaned forward, drooling and hissing.
"Ask!" she shrieked. "Ask me your riddle or die!"
Elethor clenched his fists, shut his eyes, and thought until his head hurt. Suddenly, in a flash, it came to him. He remembered! Mori had asked him the riddle two years ago, laughing when he could not answer.
"I have a riddle for you," he said. He opened his eyes and looked at Lyana. She nodded, and he looked back at the sphinx and recited from memory.
"Never leaves home
Walks alone
When in danger
Turns to stone"
The sphinx sighed, rot on her breath. "A turtle," she said, "entering its shell for safety."
Lyana stared at him, mouth open, eyebrows raised and head tilted.
"It was a tough riddle," he answered in a small voice. "I couldn't answer when Mori asked me."
Lyana's face turned red, and she looked ready to throttle him. She gritted her teeth as if stifling rage, breathed in heavily, and turned away.
"I will ask you a third riddle," said the sphinx. "Are you ready, children of stars?"
Elethor and Lyana looked at each other, took deep breaths, and nodded. The sphinx raised her head and spoke, voice echoing across the mountain.
"Young princess of sand
Sad prince of snow
Turned to queen and king
From the desert
With heat and blood
The birds of fire sing
When father falls and brother dies
When flesh and fire burn
When an ancient kingdom falls to ruin
Why does our king still yearn?"
Elethor clenched his fists and lowered his head. Rage and shame coursed through him. This was not fair. This was no riddle; it was an accusation, a cheat, a trick. He raised his burning eyes and stared at the sphinx.
"You speak of me," he said, voice raw. "And of Solina."
He did not know how the sphinx knew of life aboveground. Could she see through leagues of rock and flame? Was she a goddess like the stars of Requiem?
Lyana clenched her fists and howled. "You are cheating!" she said. "This is not a true riddle. I've read books of riddles before." She panted with rage, cheeks red. "Riddles follow a format. Their answer is simple, their hints obscure. The answer always snaps into place and seems obvious when you know it. This is just a question, not a riddle!"
The sphinx raised her brow. "This is the greatest riddle of his life. He must answer."
Elethor gritted his teeth and looked away. Did the sphinx want to cheat? Fine. He would answer. He would play her game.
"Because she was mine!" he said, digging his fingernails into his palms.
The sphinx growled and raised her claws. "That is no answer, Boy King."
"It is the only answer!" he shouted, eyes burning. "I'm not ashamed of it. You want to know why I still love Solina? Why, even after she butchered my family, toppled my city, and murdered my people, I still love her?"
His breath came heavy. He was aware of Lyana gaping at him, but paid her no mind. Blood pounded in his ears, and his heart thrashed as if trying to break his ribs. His head spun, and the sphinx eyes stared at him, boring into him, peeling his soul.
"Yes," he whispered. "I still love her, Herathia. When I think of her eyes, her hands in mine, the sunlit days when we lay upon grass, yes… I still love her, even now. Because she was mine." Tears burned in his eyes. "Orin had his inheritance, his sword, his betrothed. My father had his throne. Mori was adored by the court. But I had no room there; I was a lesser prince, a mere sculptor, no warrior or leader. But Solina…" He could barely breathe; his lungs ached. "She was beautiful, and strong, and wise, and from another world. She was a princess, a great light in her homeland. And she loved me. Me, the younger prince—not Orin, not my father, but me. She was mine, and proud, and beautiful, and I would share her with none. Earning her lo
ve was the greatest thing I could do; she was my crown, my throne, my golden pride."
He realized that tears ran down his cheeks, his chest rose and fell, and his fingers shook. Vaguely, he was aware of Lyana placing her hand on his shoulder.
"So yes," he whispered, "I still love her, and I hate her. The heart will still love those who broke it, like a drunkard loves the wine that ruined him, like a poor gambler still loves his favorite game." He looked up at the sphinx and smirked through his pain. "Does that answer your riddle, Crimson Guardian?"
The sphinx was grinning—a cruel, feline grin, the grin of a huntress.
"Yessss," she hissed. "That answered it well. I like this game. Ask me another riddle."
Rage flared in Elethor, turning the world red. This was all a game to her! He had spilled out his innermost secrets, secrets he had spoken to no one. His people were dying. Lyana probably hated him now, and always would, as much as he hated himself. And all this demon could do was grin! Anger made him tremble. If she would cheat, he could cheat too. If she could ask questions to trap him, he could do the same to her.
Without even looking at Lyana, he shouted out his next riddle. It was an old riddle Mori and he would laugh about as children. A trick. A game of words. A cheat.
"Why don't donkeys drink dawn's delicious dew?"
Beside him, Lyana gasped and spun toward him. Her face reddened, and she looked ready to shout, attack him, or faint. Elethor ignored her. He stared at the sphinx, chin raised.
Herathia hissed and glared. "That is no riddle." Her voice crinkled like old parchment. "What game do you play?"
"Answer me, Herathia!" he shouted. "Answer, or can you not? If you fail to solve my riddle, let us pass. These are the terms you agreed to, that the elders of Requiem bound you to. Answer!"
She tossed back her head and screamed, a sound so loud that Lyana covered her ears, and Elethor nearly fainted. Blood spouted from her mouth like a volcano. Her claws thrust, knocking down bodies.
A Dawn of Dragonfire (Dragonlore, Book 1) Page 21