James Wyatt - Storm dragon

“You don’t seem pleased to be home.” Rienne’s voice startled him-he had so completely fallen into the illusion of solitude. He turned to see her crossing the deck toward him. Stormhome rose up behind her shoulder.

He shot her a weak smile then turned back to the sea. “Storm-home hasn’t been my home for a very long time.”

“Despite its name,” Rienne said as she stood beside him, leaning her shoulder against his.

“Despite its name,” Gaven echoed sadly. “They cut me out, Ree, like a healer cuts out gangrene. What am I doing going back there?”

“What are you doing?” Rienne said. “What destiny will you forge?”

“I don’t know.” Fleeting thoughts of a life on the sea passed through his mind-to spend his days and nights on the open water, under the open sky.

“If you don’t know what you want, you’re sure to do what someone else wants.”

Gaven turned again, saw the warmth in her eyes and smiled. Then his eyes drifted over her shoulder to Stormhome, drawing closer as the Sea Tiger surged forward. His smile turned into an eager grin.

House Lyrandar’s ancestral home-his home, for the first half of his life-occupied an island off the coast of Aundair. Its towers rose gracefully from the hills of the island, accentuating the natural contours of the land. Arching bridges and ornamented domes made the city into a work of art, glittering under a sky kept perpetually blue by the weather magic of House Lyrandar. Despite the city’s position at the mouth of Scions Sound, at the northern edge of Khorvaire, the power of the Mark of Storm kept the weather warm and fair. There were buildings Gaven didn’t recognize-the city had changed some in twenty-six years-but the closer he came, the more he felt glad to be there, even if he couldn’t quite say it was home.

Rienne pointed to a prominent tower on the north side of the city, and Gaven’s mouth hung open in delight. The tower was tall and slender, decorated with krakens whose outstretched tentacles formed spurs radiating out near the tower’s top. Moored at one of these spurs was the largest airship Gaven had yet seen, considerably larger than Jordhan’s impressive galleon. She boasted two elemental rings, one of white-hot fire and another of roiling cloud, occasionally flashing with lightning.

“Do you think,” he asked Rienne, “that while we’re here, I might get a chance to ride an airship?”

Rienne looked puzzled for a moment, then realized: “Ten seas! Of course, you’ve never been on one!”

“I’d never even seen one until I went to Korranberg.”

Rienne took his hands in hers and clutched them to her chest. “You’ll ride one, I promise,” she said.

She turned to face the city, and he wrapped his arms around her. She leaned back into him, and he savored her warmth, her smell, the way her hair tickled his nose. It was almost enough to make him forget Stormhome as they sailed to the docks.

“I can’t thank you enough, old friend,” Gaven said, clasping Jordhan’s hand in his own. “I hope this doesn’t land you in any trouble.”

“I never saw you,” Jordhan answered. “Either of you.”

“That’s right. And neither did your crew.”

“They won’t say anything unless I tell them to. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Gaven said. “How long will you stay in port here?”

Jordhan’s blue eyes scanned the towers that rose above the harbor, and he scratched his chin. “Not long, I think. This is the one place it’s hard for a freelancer like me to find work. Why? You think you’ll need a way out of here?”

“I hope not, but I don’t really know what’s next. I just thought it would be good to know my options in case I do need to leave in a hurry.”

Jordhan shook his head. “Think you can stay out of trouble?”

“No way,” Gaven said with a laugh.

Jordhan embraced Gaven, then turned to Rienne. Without a word, Rienne threw her arms around him and held him tight for a long moment.

“Stick to him, Ree,” he said with a nod to Gaven. “You two should be together.”

“I plan to,” Rienne said. She took Gaven’s hand and stood back.

“Thank you again, Jordhan,” Gaven said.

“I still owe you my life,” Jordhan replied. “At least once or twice.”

“But who’s counting?”

“Sovereigns keep you,” Jordhan said.

“Winds’ favor,” Gaven replied. Holding Rienne’s hand, he strode off the Sea Tiger and into the city.

Rienne had been right: in a city full of half-elves, Gaven felt far less conspicuous, almost as though he belonged there. It helped that he knew the streets and buildings of Stormhome far better than any other city in Khorvaire. He found himself confused a few times by newer buildings that had altered the course of streetways, but overall the city had changed little while he was in Dreadhold. From time to time he was almost able to convince himself that it was still 970, that he’d never found the Heart of Khyber, never done the things that earned him his imprisonment, never been to Dreadhold. He even felt younger.

Rienne corrected him at each wrong turn, and soon they stood looking up at the three-spired tower where Gaven had spent his childhood, his father’s house.

“Do you want me to wait?” Rienne asked. He gave her a puzzled frown. “I thought you might want a chance to talk to your father alone.”

“Is there any reason he wouldn’t be delighted to see you?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Well then, you’re coming in.” He took her hand and squeezed it, then he knocked on the door. It swung open immediately. Gaven didn’t recognize the young man who stood in the door, but Rienne did.

“Good afternoon, Jettik, we’re here to see the elder Master Lyrandar.”

From the look on young Jettik’s face, Gaven assumed that the boy guessed who he was. He gritted his teeth, planning how to keep the boy quiet-or, if all else failed, how to escape to a safe hiding place. Then he realized that Jettik’s eyes were fixed on Rienne, his white lips quivered, and his eyes were red as though he had been crying.

What is going on? he thought.

“I–I’m sorry, Lady Alastra,” Jettik stammered. The act of speaking seemed to break a floodgate, and fresh tears sprang to his eyes. “The master…” He wiped his nose on his sleeve and tried to draw a steady breath. A dread gripped Gaven’s stomach, and he put a hand on the door frame. He already knew what the boy was trying to say.

Jettik started again. “The master passed away this morning.”

“Oh no,” Rienne breathed, squeezing Gaven’s hand. Gaven heard the words and felt the squeeze, but both seemed distant, as though he looked down on the whole scene from a mile in the air.

“Th-th-the younger Master Lyrandar is upstairs, Lady, if you want to…” Jettik trailed off.

Gaven only vaguely realized that Rienne was looking to him for direction. Did he want to see his brother? Some part of his mind thought that Jettik’s words should have stung-he should have been the younger Master Lyrandar, not his younger brother-but he was too numb to feel the sting. It was impossible: he had been cut off from his family for so many years, and he had come hours too late to see his father one last time. Hours. Did he want to see Thordren?

Rienne led him forward into the entry, clutching his arm and looking up at him with eyes full of concern. She had evidently made the decision for him, or made her own. They were going to see Thordren.

His brother had been a headstrong adolescent when Gaven saw him last, barely more than a child. The two brothers had never been close, had never really been anything more than casual acquaintances who happened to live under the same roof. Now Thordren ran the household in their father’s illness-no, he had just inherited the household. He could throw Gaven out of the house if he wanted to, he-