Prologue
Sazzie
The Ayala had a broken paw. The poor thing was mewling pitifully from inside the small hollow it had dug beneath the roots of the tree.
It was no way to hide, but it was too young to understand that crying like that would draw out the predators—predators like me.
I winced at the thought, but it was true.
If my mother saw me right now, sitting at the base of the tree with tears in my eyes, she’d be so furious.
She’d tell me to pull myself together and take care of grabbing my dinner.
My belly clenched painfully as I thought about that, my hand lowering to scratch at the few scales still molting from my hip.
I felt miserable, I felt sad, and I didn’t know what to do.
Listening to my mother's advice should have been my only consideration—I knew that—but everything inside me rebelled at the thought. Kill that poor little creature? That cute, fuzzy ball of fur and spikes? Honestly, there was nothing on the planet as cute as a young Ayala, with its black-and-white stripes and large brown eyes. If I could, I’d keep the little baby.
I wanted it so badly that I ached, but I knew it could never happen.
If I took it home, it would be in even greater danger than if I left it here, hurt and alone.
I didn’t know what to do or how to help it, and I knew there was absolutely no one I could ask for help.
No, that wasn’t true! I suddenly recalled the Shaman and his young apprentice who had visited our village a few weeks ago.
I had never seen a Shaman before, let alone Naga who weren’t blue, so they’d made a huge impression.
My scales were a pale azure that would still darken as I grew older—or so my mother hoped, since pale was not a desirable color.
But the Shaman’s apprentice, an adolescent boy similar in age to my brother Zathar, had scales as white as snow, while the Shaman he was with had been green like the fabled Water Weavers.
I liked the Shaman boy; he’d given me candied dried fruit when nobody was looking.
He was nice. Would he be nice to the hurt baby Ayala?
There was only one way to find out. I raised my eyes from the tiny, moaning Ayala to glance through the canopy of trees at the rising peak of a mountain.
I’d never traveled that far from the village, though nobody had told me that I was not allowed.
As a Naga female, I was supposed to be tough, a warrior, and brave without exception.
As a princess, I was expected to be the bravest of them all.
No goodnight hugs and kisses like my father had for his sons—not for me.
I was tougher than that. I didn’t need them, not like Zeske needed coddling at only three moltings, with a little lantern by his nest as he fell asleep.
Swallowing roughly, I scratched away the last loose scales from my own sixth molting.
Save the Ayala, I could do that. It wasn’t that far to travel to the Shaman’s den, was it?
That mountain looked close by. Checking the straps of my spear and knife, I ensured I wouldn’t lose them.
Then I checked my waterskin to confirm I had water; everything was in order.
Next step: pick up the injured little baby.
Nothing had prepared me for what a cornered, injured animal would do.
When the Ayala bit and scratched, my instincts rose, telling me to fight back, to battle.
Hissing, I bared my fangs at the beast as it clawed through my still-soft scales after the molting.
Blood welled in the scratches on my hands, against my chest where I tried to hold it, even on my belly.
More tears sprang from my eyes—a weakness that would get me punished if my mother saw it.
A Naga princess showed no pain, no fear. She was the toughest of them all.
I chanted that in my head, over and over as I tried to control the scratching, bristling Ayala.
It had raised its quills, and they were stuck in my flesh in more than one place, stinging with terrible pain that I knew I was supposed to ignore.
Move, come on! This wasn’t fun, and the Ayala wasn’t so cute now, but I’d made it this scared. I was responsible. It needed my help.
The injured animal tired before I did, and I would never know how close a call it had been, that little battle of endurance.
My wounds ached and bled as I forced myself to hurry through the woods as fast as I could.
My tail propelled me forward, my arms curled around my precious burden, and my focus locked on the mountain in the distance—the one I knew was the home of the Shaman and his apprentice.
I just needed to get there. How long could it take? A few minutes? An hour? All afternoon?
I didn’t count on being found; it had never crossed my mind.
When I ran into Astrexa and her friends, my heart plummeted into my belly, sinking like a stone.
Not her! Anyone but the awful Astrexa, who seemed to take such pleasure in tormenting me every day of my life.
She was a few moltings ahead of me—so were her two friends—which made them bigger and stronger.
There wasn’t a day that went by when my mother, the ever-so-powerful and perfect Thunder Rock Queen, didn’t remind me that Astrexa was exactly who I should aspire to be.
If I did not toughen up, a female like Astrexa would kill me.
My mother said if that happened, it would be exactly what I deserved.
“What have we got here?” the female hissed.
Her blue scales were an envious dark blue, like some of the precious stones my mother wore in her coveted gold jewelry.
“I think it’s a worm—a worm with a handful of dinner.
” She curled her lip in distaste and spat on the ground in front of me, an insult I knew I shouldn’t allow.
But my heart raced in fear, and all I wanted was for someone to sweep in and help.
I wanted my brother Zathar or my dad. Fighting was awful and scary, and I was already sore from the Ayala.
If I dropped it, I wasn’t sure if I’d have the courage to pick it up again.
“Leave me alone, Astrexa,” I said, tilting my chin and jutting my horn at her the way I’d seen my mother do.
Maybe it would work if I bluffed, but my tail was trembling so badly you could hear it rattle against the fallen leaves that carpeted this part of the woods.
“Leave me alone!” I repeated firmly, hissing at her for good measure.
It just made them laugh. They mocked me, and they knew they’d get away with it.
More fear soured my stomach, rising in my chest until I feared I’d throw up.
I didn’t know what to do, but I knew what I wanted: save the baby Ayala at any cost and avoid further pain.
It would have been easier to drop the Ayala and run, but then word might get back to my mother about what I’d done, and she would be very disappointed.
I knew what I should do, but my mind was so scared of it that I didn’t dare.
My sisters called me a coward; so did some of my brothers and the rest of my peers.
My mother curled her lip each time she saw me, her azure eyes filled with disappointment.
“She’s too scared, coward!” Astrexa jeered, laughing and elbowing her friend.
That girl hissed and bared her fangs—not at me, but at Astrexa, warning her off for the elbow strike.
That was how I should act too: fight and posture, even with my friends.
If I had any friends, but I didn’t, because I was the odd one out.
I knew that my brothers formed lifelong bonds with others.
It wasn’t like that for me, or, as far as I’d seen, for any of the Naga females.
They’d just as soon stab you in the back.
No thanks. I had enough to worry about already.
“What’s going on here?” a voice suddenly demanded, a deep bass that lightened at the end of the question.
It was full of authority, even though it was still in the stages of turning into that low, adult male voice.
I recognized that voice in an instant, because it belonged to one of my favorite people in the entire world.
Besides my father, who snuck me hugs whenever nobody was watching, Zathar was the best. As my oldest brother and the firstborn of the Queen—our mother—he was already a powerful male, and Astrexa and her friends slithered backward to give him space.
My scales eased along my spine when he settled his already huge, bulky body next to mine.
His scales were a deep azure, glittering beautifully in the early Serant light.
Patterns dappled him as the violet glow filtered down on us through the canopy of leaves above us.
He wore his swords, and a spear was in his hand, along with supplies strapped to his back.
He was about to leave on a hunting mission, and I wished I could go with him.
I’d be safe then, away from the village, without the company of my peers or our mother.
Zathar didn’t mind when I was scared, or when I cried at night over a bad dream.
His eyes were the exact same shade as mine—as all our siblings’—and they darted from me down to the bloody scratches and the panic-frozen Ayala.
Then he glanced at Astrexa and the two females at her side.
They weren’t talking, but I didn’t think he needed them to say anything to understand what was going on.
For the first time, there was a hard cast to his normally kind expression when he looked at me.
I felt tiny beneath that gaze, and my heart pounded with even more fear.