The girl stroked the hound’s shaggy head and leaned her cheek against the cool glass of the window, listening to the patter of rain outside. Her silken voice sang the chorus to some song or other, soft despite the apparent strength behind her breath. Lady’s blood and Lady’s tears Warm my soul and calm my fears. Heaven’s light and Heaven’s love Carry dreams to realms above. Her voice, though, was cold, despite the song. The blanket around her did little to keep out the chill in her body, the chill that had been there for several decades now. Ever since that night so long ago, when the slayers had come. She shook her head to clear it, and the hound beneath her hand whined and pressed his cold nose to her fingertips. She resumed petting him, a single tear falling to land on her hand. Oh, Father, why did you leave? “Ayana?” a soft voice asked, and the girl cursed herself for not hearing the door open sooner. A whole century and she still had not grown used to her situation. “What do you want?” she demanded, rising unsteadily to her feet. Her hand immediately searched for her staff, and she jerked it back, irritated at herself. She shouldn’t need it. Why was she reaching for it? “Ayana, I’ve brought someone to see you,” the Keeper’s voice said warily, as if afraid of what the girl might do. “He says he can help.” “I don’t need any help,” the girl growled, moving slowly to the night stand. She reached for the wine pitcher, took a few moments to feel for the handle, and shakily poured herself a goblet of the watered-down liquid. She knew she spilled a few drops on the floor—she could feel them splash against her hand—but she didn’t care anymore. Why had these people taken her out of the mountains? She had been perfectly content to live out her miserable existence there, without others meddling in her affairs. Her fingers slipped as she set the pitcher back on the night stand, knocking a few things to the floor, and she set the goblet down and knelt to feel along the floor for the fallen objects. She felt the breath of air and soft tread on the carpet as someone else moved to help, and she tried to push them away. “I don’t need help,” she repeated, testily. The hands that brushed her own, though, were not the Keeper’s gnarled, ancient, human hands. They were callused, as if from sword-use, and the fingers were thick, but straight. “Who are you?” she asked quietly, so the Keeper wouldn’t hear. “Someone who can help,” a man’s voice replied, and the callused hand reached up to touch her cheek. She tried to pull away, but the touch held her in a firm grip. Colors swam in her mind before she shielded; she’d been away from dragons so long that she’d forgotten she needed to. “Dragon,” she hissed, backing away. “As are you,” the man’s voice replied. “What do you want with me?” “Simply to help.” “How can you help?” she demanded, backing up until she bumped the bed with her legs. The sudden imbalance sprawled her across the mattress, and she quickly scrambled up to a sitting position. “I think I’ll leave you two alone,” the Keeper’s voice began, and Ayana heard the door shut.