possessed only a third of the Dragon’s gift.
“I’m humbled by the distances you’ve traveled and the seas, mountains, and plains you’ve crossed to join me here. You are the first of a new age. Northern and Southern Indranan together, sharing the same air and the same hopes for a future forged of trust, not continued spite. Some of you come to us from the other four clans. I welcome you and ask for your aid as we of the Indranan work to heal old hurts.”
Even members of Clan Garnis were present. They were known as the Lost, but they weren’t extinct. She could pick out those rare minds as if finding diamonds among dust. They were skittish among the press of so many bodies.
“Our people are dying,” she said bluntly.
Many gasped. Some cried out in quiet despair.
Kavya extended her hands before clasping them together—a woman giving a gift, a woman begging for help. She was both. “Please help me. We must not be the ones to bring about our own extinction. Previous generations turned away from the truth. We will be the last if we follow their example.”
Looking out, she couldn’t identify any particular face. Instead she saw black—the ceremonial robes and saris of the Dragon Kings, each accented with their clan’s color. The Indranan were the exception in that they did not wear a uniform shade of blue. Those from the north of the Indian subcontinent wore the pale turquoise of a high mountain sky. Those from the south wore the deep ultramarine of the ocean coastlines they called home. A trio of Indranan women, roughly eighty years old in middle age, stood nearest to the altar with upturned faces. Two Northern and one Southern.
Astonishing.
“Each of our Leaderships know that conception has become nearly impossible. Not even the Dragon King Council can deny that we are a dying race—we, who have shaped the civilizations of this world from their infancies. What would each culture, each continent, be without our influence? This has led many, dare I say
She paused, breathed, recentered. An Indranan could only touch one mind at a time. To mentally project the image of an appealing yet unassuming woman—one who radiated the indescribable shine her followers longed to worship—she individually brushed that impression over every mind in the valley. Over and over again. She used her gift at a speed beyond conscious thought, a skill she’d honed through the years as the number of faithful increased. If she became too impassioned, she lost her trancelike concentration. Yet passion was exactly what she needed to impart.
Those few followers she knew personally were out there somewhere, among the rapt throng. She wished she could find one of them, to derive a measure of comfort, like a familiar blanket to hold during long, frigid nights. Knowing she was in the right would have to shore up her courage.
“What’s the use of thinking ourselves better if we can’t hold children of our own? The time has come for reconciliation, and through reconciliation will come solutions—and the future we long for.”
Her words must’ve touched her followers because the murmurs that had threaded through her soliloquy strengthened into applause and even shouts of approval.
“At dusk this evening, I will make an announcement to reward your faith. Some call us a cult. The Sun Cult. But we are not a religion. We all have our means of worshiping the Dragon. This, our gathering, is a meeting of forward-thinking individuals. And finally, with hope, I can say that two such individuals are here among us, joined in a vow of cooperation.”
With a swell of pride behind her breastbone, she once again lifted her hands—this time in triumph. “Northern and Southern, at last you will have better than bellowed accusations of past crimes and threats of retribution. You will use peaceful voices in thoughtful discussion. As the woman you call the Sun, I swear it.”
The applause was breathtaking. Slack, stunned faces transformed. Kavya saw relief and curiosity, but mostly joy. Some embraced or turned to clap each other on the back. None gave any sign of typical clan suspicions, either physically or with what she could sense of the crowd’s mood. Neither Indranan faction seemed to remember that they’d warred for countless years, or that fresh blood spilled a generation before—at the massacre known as the Juvine—had renewed three millennia of hatred.
Kavya lowered her head and interlaced her fingers. Her mother had taught her,
That was Kavya’s earliest memory. Her last memories of her mother were colored by madness and an indescribable sense of loss.
She needed order. Although beautiful, the ridges of rock that marked the far western edge of the Himalayas had no order. Random peaks. Irregular riverbeds. High glaciers that changed with the seasons and the passing of time, and trees that bent beneath fierce wind and heavy snow. Kavya aligned her knuckles. None stood higher than the others. Only then did she feel calmer, which was more important than happiness. Those who’d gathered in the Pir Panjal could be happy. She still had work to do.
When she lifted her face to the crowd, she unclasped her hands and lowered them straight to her sides. The silk of her sari was more luxurious than any she’d ever owned. She gently toyed with the flowing fabric. “Now,” she said, “our day must continue as it has. With purpose. Join me in the noon benediction.”
She was no cult leader, but she understood the importance of ritual. The rituals she’d fashioned were an amalgam of practices from all Five Clans. Words from each language. Praise to each version of the Dragon. Affirmation of each special gift. Although the origin of her work had focused on peace among the Indranan, she’d since expanded her purpose to include all of the Dragon Kings. They needed each other. She was convinced.
Thus the words she spoke in daily blessing were meant to appeal to as many as possible, just as her appearance was. Once again, Kavya’s brain—her entire body—ached from the effort. And once again, she persevered.
“Eat, my friends. Peace be with you.”
She turned to the rear of the altar and descended. She was alone. No one followed her. Even her bodyguards maintained a respectful distance on the other side of a natural archway. She basked in the privilege of lowering her mental shields and releasing the crowd from the spell of her mind. There was no need for anonymous luminosity when she was alone.
Yet she was so very alone.
How could she be otherwise?
Pashkah would find her someday. Her triplet would kill her or she would kill him. Relying on even the most devoted follower was a risk she rarely took. That meant hiding her real self. She had long since abandoned the innocent child named Kavya of the Northern Indranan. The little girl she’d been was a photograph faded to gray.
“Very pretty words.”
Her head jerked up by reflex. An Indranan so lost in thought was a telepath stripped naked of defenses. For a slip of a moment, she couldn’t remember how to hide. The danger of her mistake shot flame through her bones.
Had he been Pashkah . . .
Instead the man was a stranger. Not exactly slim, but not overly brawny, he straddled the solid middle ground where muscle and skill hid beneath an unassuming exterior. He was paler than members of her clan, although he retained the golden shimmer of the Dragon Kings. And as a Dragon King, that meant exceptional male beauty. Dark hair was tipped with glinting silver—not the gray of an old man, but a gleam like the shine of mica flecks. His hair didn’t reach his collar, but it was long at his crown and stood in disarray.
He wore lightweight layered sweaters, cargo pants, heavy black boots, and an open leather coat lined with wool. No ceremonial robes. Just the clothes of a human. The straight, narrow swords that crossed in an X at his back, however, were the weapons of a Pendray. He radiated wildness, from that mass of careless hair to the way his relaxed, almost negligent stance proclaimed him a killer.
Her gift would confirm what made her senses prickle and cringe. In self-defense, she reached out to learn his identity and his intentions.
And to her profound shock, she couldn’t read his mind. Not a single thought.
“Who are you?”
