The hatchery was dark and quiet, the occupants of two of the three nests sleeping soundly, breathing even and dreams peaceful. Both of the sleepers were imperials, but only one of them belonged to the clan. Ahbriigol might have been new, but she had pledged her allegiance to Renyor, and had already done her share of gathering and lair expanding in the few weeks she'd been with them.
But the stranger with the platinum scales and silver gembond? She and her mate had rented the nesting spot, and would be leaving as soon as their hatchlings were able to travel. The only thing they were contributing was...well, Sihta wasn't really sure what they had offered in return for the space. All she knew was that they had chosen her lair because they wanted their children to have blue eyes.
They wanted them to be born into the Water element.
The blue Tundra lay curled around her eggs in the far corner of the dim hatchery, wishing, not for the first time, that she hadn't been traded from her old clan for a stack of treasure that hadn't even made a dent in Renyor and Kahlvot's hoard.
But her clan had been desperate. They were on the verge of starvation, of lairlessness, and the market was the lesser of two evils they could have bestowed upon her.
First it had been her father, his body, mind, and spirit sold to the whims of the Stormcatcher, now forever forced to carry out His will, even if it meant fighting his own family and betraying the Windsinger's trust in them.
If it had just been her father, her family might have been able to survive. But her mother's nest was the only one in the clan, and the others were all either too weak, or too old to be worthy of any God's attention.
So her brother and sister were the next ones to be sold into a war that wasn't theirs, and they weren't even given the privilege to join their father. Instead, they were sent to the Icewarden.
But it still wasn't enough. There were too many mouths to feed, and as a newborn hatchling that might not even survive its first winter, there was no point in wasting any of it on her. But even the most self-preserving of her elders hadn't been able to stomach the thought of exalting yet another child, so she'd been sent to the market instead.
The ground there was nothing but packed dirt and polished slate that cracked under the footsteps of the larger dragons, and had to be constantly replaced by a team of miners that she had seen scurrying about. She didn't see the point in it, if it was so easily broken, but the auctioneers insisted that it be maintained. No one would want to purchase a dragon that was covered in dust and mud, now would they?
She'd been forced to stand up on a tall stage with other hatchlings so that all of the buyers could see them, and had to wait in line until her name was called, before she was pushed forward to the front to present herself, walking around in circles to show all of her features, and spreading her wings to show off their length.
Her clown gene was praised without end, her lack of other details or markings going conveniently unmentioned.
Then she was removed from the stage, and placed on her own little pedestal to await whatever fate was in store for her.
She was there for an entire day, frightened and alone, before a young Guardian wyvern stepped out of the crowded walkway, and asked for her name.
She hadn't been able to answer. She'd barely learned to speak yet, and her mother hadn't given her a name.
You didn't name something unless you were willing to become attached to it, and her mother hadn't been willing to love her.
And now here she was, in a lair embedded in a coral reef, in the middle of the Sea of a Thousand Currents.
She loved Renyor, and Kahlvot, and the other members of her clan here, for they were the only family she had ever known. But her fur was meant to feel the breezes of the Zephyr Steppes she'd never had the chance to test herself in, and if she even tried venturing out into the ocean on her own, she knew that the thing that was meant to protect her from the elements was the one thing that would drag her down, even as thin as her summer coat was.
She liked it better when they'd lived in the Tsunami Flats. At least then she could venture out onto the shore to run and jump and fly. Here, in the Fishspine Reef, she was forced to stay inside the lair almost constantly.
It wasn't fair.
Besides Wind, she was the only Tundra in the entire clan. But even that was no comfort. Wind had been born beneath the sea's waves, and she swam through the depths as though the water were air. Wind swam the way Sihta wished she could fly, and she almost hated her for it.
But Wind was the one that always volunteered to help her to the surface, or invited her along to go hunting, or showed her the garden she'd started on the other side of the reef.
It was Wind that always brought her back feathers when hunting parties were sent to the surface to train their skills, and it was Wind's mate that had granted Sihta one of the few wishes she had in life
Avarice and Wind might have been in love, but no one could ignore how his stunning colors would mix so perfectly with Renyor's. The two Guardians had mated, and were blessed with three healthy eggs before Sihta had even reached maturity.
The hatchlings that emerged were barely a few weeks younger than Sihta, and grew faster, strengthened and attuned to their environment as they were. She hadn't meant to, and their colors hardly matched, but somehow she'd ended up falling for the single drake produced in the clutch.
His name was Gremal, and he had been so playful and sweet that from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, she loved him.
At first, she'd felt horrible. He was only a hatchling, and she barely any more than that. She'd expected Renyor to be angry, or disgusted, when she finally gathered the courage to tell her, but the older dragon had only been kind and understanding.
"We are dragons," She'd said, curling up around Sihta and pulling her wings over her in a comforting hug, "The laws that rule other animals hold no sway over us. Age does not matter, breed does not matter, gender does not matter. There is a soul-mate waiting out there for all of us, even if we are only meant to be friends. If you know in your heart that he is the one for you, and he feels the same, then it is meant to be."
And it was meant to be. Sihta could feel this, in her blood, in her heart, and in the three eggs nestled against her body.
She might have been bitter about her old clan's betrayal, but she could never regret this.
If she had been free to leave the lair without the need for assistance, she would have been more than thrilled with her life. She had a mate who loved her, and a clan that would protect both her, and her children to their dying breath. She never went hungry, and there were plenty of enjoyable ways that she could spend her time. Renyor had made a promise that no dragon would ever be forced to leave their clan against their will, and no one would be exalted unless they chose to be.
Unless...they chose to be.
Which was the problem, wasn't it?
The Gods wanted only the strongest in their ranks. To take in anything less would mean a lowered payment for the clan that was exalting.
And as of the last Tally, the Tidelord had given Gremal and his sister Lanata the ranking of fifteen.
Fifteen, out of twenty-five possible rankings.
Renyor and Kahlvot were only at rank thirteen, and Manhri, the fourth oldest of the clan, was level fourteen.
Gremal and Lanata had been gone every single day in the past week, waking up before the sunstones even began to glow, and only taking enough time to eat, and awaken those that requested, before they were gone, swimming for the surface with such easy speed and grace that Sihta felt heavier just watching them.
Her eggs were due to hatch any day now, and Gremal…
He hadn't even been there to see them quicken. The entire clan had been there to watch as the eggs glowed, first white, then slowly changing to a deep, beautiful blue as the little souls inside fully aligned with the water they were surrounded by, and the Tidelord's booming voice that echoed as a constant hum beneath Sihta's feet and through the walls.
She could never comprehend the prophecies He intoned, could never hear them any clearer than the dull roar that echoed through the waves.
But her children would be able to hear Him, would be able to hear His prophecies, and they would be able watch their own prophecies unfolding in the currents of the ocean, and the shifting masses of colorful fish that filled the reef. Her children would be able to flit and play to their heart's content, innocent in a way that had been denied to her.
Their eyes would be the blue of the sea, and they would belong to this clan, fully.
But she couldn't belong, not if Gremal was gone. Not if he...exalted.
That was what he was training so hard for, right? That was why he returned to the lair late at night, limping and bloodied but smiling as though he couldn't be happier?
The thought of him leaving almost brought her to tears, and Sihta curled tighter around her three eggs, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the wyverns that weren't about to lose their mates.
As always happened when she closed her eyes, the Tidelord's song grew louder, humming in her very bones and vibrating inside her skull.
With the voice of a God inside her head, it was hard to focus on her sadness, and within a few moments, her mind was cleared of everything but the Tidelord's eternal hum, and after that, it didn't take long for her to be drawn into the murky depths of sleep where she couldn't hope to dream, and all identity was lost as she was drawn into the Water God's endless prophecy.
Her eggs would hatch soon, and she couldn't afford to be bitter when they opened their eyes to see her face for the first time. The only expression they deserved to see was love, and the Tidelord would help to soothe her fears until that was the only emotion she could show them.
Everything would work itself out in the end, whether she knew it or not.