The Last Silver

Isolde crawled closer.

"Can he hear me?"

Eve answered.

"Yes."

Dinraal felt something.

A sound.

Muffled.

Far away.

Then—

a little girl's voice.

"Hello?"

The world changed.

Dinraal was no longer standing beside the bed.

He was inside.

Warm darkness surrounded him.

A heartbeat filled everything.

Then—

"Hello?"

He froze.

The voice came again.

"Can you hear me?"

Something inside the unborn Dinraal moved.

Outside—

Isolde gasped.

"He moved!"

Tiamat laughed.

"I think he can hear you."

The little girl leaned closer.

"Really?"

"Yes."

There was a pause.

Then Isolde whispered—

"Hello, Dinraal."

Something happened inside the darkness.

A pulse.

Not a thought.

Not language.

But recognition.

The voice came again.

"I'm Isolde."

Dinraal felt himself move.

Outside, Isolde laughed.

"He did it again!"

Tiamat rested a hand over her stomach.

"He likes you."

Isolde looked deeply pleased.

"I knew he would."

Dinraal would have laughed—

if he had known how.

The memory moved forward.

And Isolde came back.

Again.

And again.

At first, Dinraal did not understand.

The memories were scattered.

A voice.

Then darkness.

A laugh.

Then sleep.

But gradually—

they became clearer.

"Dinraal?"

He heard her.

The warmth around him shifted.

He moved.

Outside, Isolde gasped.

"Tia! He answered!"

Tiamat's tired voice came from somewhere far away.

"He kicked."

"No."

Isolde sounded offended.

"He answered."

Tiamat laughed.

"Of course he did."

Isolde leaned closer.

"Are you awake?"

Dinraal moved again.

"Yes!"

The joy in her voice filled the darkness.

For the first time—

Dinraal understood something.

He couldn't speak.

He didn't have words.

But she listened anyway.

So he answered.

A movement.

A pulse.

A small kick.

Isolde learned them.

And then—

she began talking to him.

"Father says I have to learn history."

Dinraal moved.

"I don't like history."

He moved again.

Isolde gasped.

"You don't either?"

Another movement.

"We're going to get along."

Another memory.

"Today I fell."

Dinraal was asleep.

Isolde waited.

Then—

"Dinraal."

He stirred.

"I hurt my knee."

He moved.

A tiny kick.

Isolde sniffed.

"It's not funny."

Another kick.

"You're mean."

Then she laughed.

Another memory.

The room was darker.

Isolde's voice was quiet.

"Are you asleep?"

Dinraal moved.

"No."

"Good."

She was silent for a while.

Then—

"Sometimes I don't like being the Chancellor's daughter."

Dinraal stopped moving.

Isolde continued.

"Everyone knows who my father is."

A pause.

"But no one knows me."

Dinraal moved.

Once.

Slowly.

Isolde inhaled.

"You know me?"

Another movement.

The little girl smiled.

"I know."

Her voice became softer.

"You don't know anything yet."

Dinraal moved again.

Isolde laughed quietly.

"Fine. You know me anyway."

Dinraal watched.

And remembered.

She had spoken to him when no one else was there.

She had told him things.

Small things.

Important things.

Things she would probably deny ever having said.

"I stole a pastry."

A kick.

"I did not."

Another kick.

"Fine. I did."

"I don't like Julius Caesar."

Dinraal moved.

"Don't tell him."

Another movement.

"I know you can't tell him."

"I think Cleopatra is scary."

A pause.

"Don't tell her either."

Dinraal kicked.

Isolde gasped.

"You're laughing at me."

She talked.

And talked.

For months.

Twenty months.

Twenty-one.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-three.

While Dinraal grew.

While his body struggled to reconcile two different inheritances.

Human gestation demanded one kind of development.

Dragon incubation demanded another.

Neither would yield.

His body could not simply choose one.

So it did both.

Month after month.

He grew.

Changed.

Became.

And through all of it—

he listened.

To Bahamut's voice.

To Tiamat's heartbeat.

To Eve's rare visits.

To the distant voices of Aurelius and Gilgamesh.

But most often—

to Isolde.

Twenty-One Months

Tiamat was furious.

"I'm going to kill both of you."

Bahamut looked toward Eve.

"Why am I included?"

Eve folded her arms.

"Because it is easier."

Tiamat pointed.

"You."

Then Bahamut.

"You."

Then Eve.

"You especially."

Eve raised an eyebrow.

"I saved your life."

"You can save it again."

Bahamut stepped backward.

"I am staying out of this."

Tiamat glared.

He stepped forward again.

"Metaphorically."

Isolde sat beside the bed.

Holding Tiamat's hand.

"Is Dinraal okay?"

Tiamat's anger vanished.

She looked down at the girl.

Then at her stomach.

"Yes."

"Then why isn't he coming out?"

Silence.

Eve stepped closer.

"Because his body is waiting."

Isolde frowned.

"For what?"

Eve looked at Tiamat.

Bahamut.

Then at the unborn child.

"For all of him to arrive."

Dinraal felt the words.

Human.

Dragon.

Eve's blood.

Bahamut's blood.

Tiamat's body.

The inheritance.

His body had not been growing normally.

It had been learning how to exist.

Two different laws.

Two different lives.

Trying to become one child.

Tiamat closed her eyes.

"How much longer?"

Eve was silent.

Bahamut looked at her.

"Tiamat?"

Eve answered quietly.

"Twenty-four."

Silence.

Bahamut frowned.

"Days?"

Eve shook her head.

Tiamat stared.

"No."

Eve nodded.

"Months."

Dinraal felt his mother's heart race.

Twenty-four months.

Two full years.

Human gestation.

Dragon incubation.

Combined into something that had never existed before.

Tiamat slowly looked at Bahamut.

"I'm killing you."

Bahamut nodded.

"That seems fair."

Isolde raised her hand.

"Can I help?"

Bahamut stared at her.

"No."

Tiamat smiled.

"Yes."

Isolde looked triumphant.

Dinraal kicked.

She immediately looked down.

"Did you hear that?"

Bahamut sighed.

"He cannot hear us through—"

Dinraal kicked again.

Everyone stopped.

Isolde leaned closer.

"Din?"

The unborn Dinraal moved once.

Isolde's face lit up.

"He heard me."

Tiamat smiled.

Bahamut stared at the child his son would become.

Then quietly said—

"I think he did."

Twenty-Two Months

The room was dark.

Rain fell outside.

Tiamat slept.

Bahamut sat beside her.

But Isolde was awake.

She climbed quietly onto a chair beside the bed.

Then leaned toward Tiamat's stomach.

"Dinraal?"

Nothing.

She waited.

"Din?"

Still nothing.

Isolde frowned.

"Don't ignore me."

A long silence passed.

Then—

Dinraal moved.

Isolde smiled.

"There you are."

She rested her tiny hand against Tiamat's stomach.

"I'm going to tell you a secret."

Dinraal stirred.

Isolde looked toward the sleeping adults.

Then whispered—

"I'm scared."

The unborn Dinraal became still.

Isolde's voice shook.

"What if you're born and you don't like me?"

Dinraal moved.

Hard.

Isolde gasped.

Tiamat woke.

"What happened?"

"He kicked me!"

Tiamat blinked.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

Isolde looked down.

Then smiled.

"He's mad at me."

Tiamat frowned.

"Why?"

Isolde leaned close again.

"Because I said something stupid."

Dinraal moved.

Tiamat stared at her stomach.

Then at Isolde.

"You can understand him?"

Isolde nodded.

"Obviously."

Tiamat slowly looked toward Bahamut.

"Your son is already being encouraged."

Bahamut, half asleep, answered—

"I heard nothing."

Twenty-Three Months

The conversations changed.

Isolde had grown used to him.

And somehow—

he had grown used to her.

"Dinraal?"

A movement.

"Good morning."

A movement.

"It's night."

Another movement.

"Oh."

She thought about that.

"Good night."

A kick.

"Din, I have a question."

A movement.

"Do you think we'll be friends?"

Silence.

Isolde frowned.

"Dinraal."

Nothing.

"Answer me."

A movement.

Her smile returned.

"I knew it."

One evening—

she said nothing.

Dinraal waited.

The darkness around him had changed by then.

His body was nearly ready.

Nearly.

He could feel the world beyond his mother.

The pull of life.

But Isolde was quiet.

He moved.

Nothing.

Again.

Finally—

"Sorry."

Her voice came.

Soft.

"I was thinking."

Dinraal moved once.

"What?"

She laughed quietly.

"Don't ask so many questions."

Another movement.

"Fine."

She leaned closer.

"When you're born…"

Dinraal became still.

"Will you remember me?"

The darkness seemed to stop.

Dinraal could not speak.

He did not know how to promise.

So he moved.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Isolde laughed through tears.

"That's cheating."

He moved again.

She placed her forehead against Tiamat's stomach.

"Then I'll remember enough for both of us."

Something changed.

Deep inside Dinraal.

Not power.

Not the Gaunt.

Not the inheritance.

Something simpler.

A bond.

A recognition.

Even before he knew what love was—

he knew her.

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