The Last Silver

"My grandmother?"

For several seconds, no one answered.

Dinraal stood at the edge of the abyss, staring into the darkness beneath the ancient chamber.

Somewhere below—

something laughed.

The sound did not travel through the air.

It entered his bones.

Claire slowly raised one hand.

"I feel as though we have skipped several explanations."

Johanna glanced at her.

"Several?"

Claire looked toward the enormous silver eye buried beneath the world.

"Fine. A catastrophic number of explanations."

Alexander cleared his throat.

"I would like it officially recorded that I knew none of this."

Cleopatra turned toward him.

"No one asked."

"I am establishing innocence."

Caesar stared into the abyss.

"You have never been innocent."

Alexander looked offended.

"That is an unfairly accurate statement."

The ground shook.

No one laughed this time.

Silver light spilled through the cracks in the ancient stone.

Vael looked down at his instruments.

Then looked again.

His face lost what little color it had.

"It's moving."

Dinraal frowned.

"The planet?"

Vael swallowed.

"Yes."

Gilgamesh closed his eyes.

"Oh."

Alexander looked toward him.

"You knew?"

"No."

"Then why did you say it like that?"

"Because," Gilgamesh muttered, "I have suddenly understood several things I desperately wish I hadn't."

The voice beneath them returned.

COME.

The command was gentle.

That frightened Dinraal more than a threat would have.

The silver beneath his skin answered.

His body took a step forward.

Isolde caught his arm.

"Din."

He stopped.

The chamber trembled around them.

Dinraal looked at her hand.

Then at her face.

"I have to go."

Her expression hardened.

"No."

"Ise."

"You have absolutely no evidence of that."

Dinraal glanced toward the abyss.

"The ancient being underneath the planet disagrees."

"Then she can come up here."

A voice answered from the darkness.

I COULD.

Everyone froze.

Isolde slowly looked downward.

"No."

A SHAME.

Alexander leaned toward Caesar.

"Does she always speak like this?"

Caesar didn't look at him.

"You have known her for three minutes."

"And already I have concerns."

The ground split.

A staircase rose from the darkness.

It wasn't built.

It grew.

Silver stone pushed upward from beneath the planet, forming steps that descended into impossible blackness.

Dinraal stared.

Gilgamesh stepped closer.

"She wants you to remember."

Dinraal looked at him.

"Remember what?"

The ancient king said nothing.

Dinraal sighed.

"That was helpful."

He stepped toward the stairs.

Isolde tightened her grip.

Dinraal stopped.

"Ise."

"No."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"Yes, I do."

"What?"

"You're going to tell me to stay here."

Dinraal hesitated.

Isolde narrowed her eyes.

"See?"

He looked at the staircase.

Then back at her.

"I was going to ask you to come."

Isolde blinked.

Claire's mouth fell open.

Johanna slowly turned toward Dinraal.

Alexander stopped smiling.

Even Gilgamesh looked surprised.

Isolde stared at him.

"What?"

Dinraal frowned.

The silver beneath his skin burned.

A memory surfaced.

Not from the Gaunt.

Not from Eve.

Something smaller.

Warmer.

He saw darkness.

He heard a voice.

A little girl.

Crying.

Then laughing.

Then talking.

Talking to him.

Dinraal stopped breathing.

"I remember you."

Isolde went completely still.

The ancient voice beneath the planet spoke.

YES.

The silver stairs trembled.

THE LITTLE ONE REMEMBERS THE FIRST FRIEND HE EVER HAD.

Isolde stared at him.

"What are you talking about?"

Dinraal looked at her.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"I don't know."

The darkness below them laughed softly.

THEN COME.

The world disappeared.

Rain struck the windows.

Dinraal opened his eyes.

He stood in a room he knew without ever having seen.

His father's chambers.

Older.

Smaller.

The banners were different.

The furniture had not yet been replaced by the weight of an empire.

It was a room from before.

Before the wars.

Before the lies.

Before everything had gone wrong.

Bahamut stood beside a bed.

Dinraal froze.

His father looked younger.

Healthier.

And terrified.

A woman lay beneath the blankets.

Long dark hair spilled over the pillows.

Her skin was pale with exhaustion.

One hand rested over her stomach.

Dinraal knew her.

Even though he had never truly known her.

"Tiamat."

His mother.

The word existed only in his thoughts.

But it hurt.

Tiamat opened one eye.

"You're staring again."

Bahamut immediately looked away.

"I am not."

"You have been staring at me for an hour."

"I was thinking."

"That is worse."

Bahamut frowned.

"Why?"

"Because every time you think too hard, someone ends up dead."

Dinraal stared.

Bahamut sighed.

"No one is dying."

Tiamat looked down at her stomach.

Dinraal followed her gaze.

For a moment—

he felt it.

A heartbeat.

Small.

Slow.

His.

Tiamat closed her eyes.

"It has been nineteen months."

Dinraal went still.

Nineteen.

Bahamut's expression darkened.

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because I know."

"And yet you look surprised every time."

Dinraal stared at them.

A human child should have been born long ago.

But he wasn't entirely human.

Tiamat was carrying something that had never existed before.

Bahamut placed his hand over hers.

"We knew it might take longer."

Tiamat opened her eyes.

"Not this long."

Silence.

Bahamut looked toward the window.

"The human gestation was part of the process."

Tiamat narrowed her eyes.

"Part of it."

"Yes."

"And the dragon incubation?"

"Also part of it."

"Bahamut."

"Yes?"

"Do you know how long dragons carry their young?"

He was silent.

Dinraal almost smiled.

Tiamat continued.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you agree to combine the two?"

Bahamut looked genuinely offended.

"I did not think it would literally combine them."

Tiamat stared at him.

Dinraal stared at him.

Somewhere beyond the memory, Alexander began laughing.

Bahamut turned toward the empty room.

No one was there.

The memory continued.

Tiamat leaned back against the pillows.

"I married an idiot."

"You agreed to marry me."

"I made a mistake."

"That isn't better."

For a moment—

she smiled.

Then pain crossed her face.

Bahamut was beside her immediately.

"Tiamat."

She caught his wrist.

"Don't."

"What?"

"Panic."

"I am not panicking."

"You're turning blue."

Bahamut looked down.

He was.

Dinraal stared.

Apparently dragons had physical symptoms when panicking.

This was information he wished he had possessed earlier in life.

Tiamat groaned.

Bahamut leaned closer.

"What is it?"

She breathed through the pain.

Then looked down.

"Your son."

Dinraal froze.

Tiamat's expression softened.

"He's moving."

Bahamut's fear vanished for a moment.

"Is he?"

"Yes."

A smile appeared on his face.

"That's my son."

Tiamat struck him weakly on the arm.

"You did this."

"I know."

"You sound proud."

"I am."

Tiamat stared at him.

Then laughed.

Quietly.

Tiredly.

Warmly.

Dinraal stood at the foot of the bed.

And understood.

This wasn't a historical record.

This wasn't another secret someone had hidden from him.

This was a memory.

His memory.

His mother had laughed.

His father had been afraid.

Before Dinraal had ever taken a breath—

they had been waiting for him.

The world shifted.

Twenty Months

Tiamat stood beside the window.

Her stomach had grown.

But not as much as Dinraal expected.

Until Eve placed one hand against it.

Silver light spread beneath Tiamat's skin.

Dinraal felt himself.

Not as he was now.

Not as a boy.

Something smaller.

Sleeping.

Growing.

Waiting.

Tiamat stared at Eve.

"Is he alive?"

Eve's expression softened.

"Yes."

Tiamat closed her eyes.

"Then why does it hurt?"

Eve was silent for a long time.

Finally—

"Because he is becoming."

Dinraal frowned.

Eve looked toward him.

Not toward the memory.

Toward him.

Across time.

Across everything.

"You asked that once before."

Dinraal stopped.

Eve looked away.

The memory continued.

Tiamat lowered herself carefully into a chair.

"Twenty months."

Eve nodded.

"Yes."

"Will it be twenty-one?"

"Yes."

Tiamat closed her eyes.

"Wonderful."

Eve almost smiled.

The door opened.

Bahamut entered.

And behind him—

a little girl followed.

Dinraal stopped breathing.

Isolde.

She was tiny.

Maybe three years old.

Her dark hair was a disaster.

Her formal dress looked as though she had already tried to escape it twice.

She took one look at Tiamat—

and ran.

" Auntie Tia!"

Bahamut's eyes widened.

"Isolde."

The girl stopped.

"What?"

"You are not supposed to run."

"Why?"

Bahamut opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Tiamat laughed.

Dinraal stared.

She had been here.

His mother had known her.

Isolde climbed carefully onto the bed.

Then looked at Tiamat's stomach.

Her expression became suspicious.

"Is he still in there?"

Tiamat smiled.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tiamat blinked.

"Why?"

"He's taking too long."

Bahamut covered his face.

Tiamat looked incredulous.

"Excuse me?"

Isolde pointed at her stomach.

"I've been waiting."

Dinraal went still.

Waiting.

For him.

Tiamat looked toward Bahamut.

"Your friend's daughter is rude."

Bahamut lowered his hand.

"I have told Aurelius this many times."

Young Isolde crossed her arms.

"I am not rude."

Tiamat raised an eyebrow.

"You just accused my unborn child of being late."

"He is late."

Tiamat looked down.

Then nodded.

"Fair."

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