Blood of Requiem (Song of Dragons, Book 1)

46. KYRIE ELEISON

KYRIE ELEISON

Kyrie watched the salvanae leave, and he felt a sadness in him, a deep sadness that he could not explain, a sadness of beauty and music. He turned toward Agnus Dei. She stood by him in human form, her clothes tattered, blood and mud smearing her skin. Ash covered her face, and her hair was a mess of tangles. Yet still she was beautiful to Kyrie, more beautiful than the salvanae or their song.

"Will you go live in Salvandos now?" he asked her, suddenly fearful. "You've often spoken of wanting to be a true dragon, to forget your human form." Strangely Kyrie wanted to cry again, and he hated his weakness. For so many years, fire and pain had blazed within him, but this day was a day of tears.

Agnus Dei snorted so loudly it blew back a strand of her hair. "Pup," she said, hands on her hips, "there are some things dragons can't do."

"Like what?" Kyrie asked.

She walked toward him in the mud, grasped his head with both hands, and kissed him deeply. The kiss lasted for long moments, and Kyrie shut his eyes. Her lips were soft and full, her fingers grasping in his hair. When finally she broke away, leaving him breathless, she said, "This. And I intend to do a lot of it with you."

Kyrie laughed. His placed an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her hair. "I love you, Agnus Dei," he said, and suddenly tears filled his eyes again, and he turned away lest she saw them.

She smiled and pulled his face back to hers. "Right back at you, pup."

When they looked back to Benedictus, they saw that Lacrimosa had become a silvery dragon and stood by her husband. She was only half his size, so delicate and lithe by his bulky form, her scales like starlight.

"Do you really think we can do it?" Kyrie asked her and Benedictus. "Can we rebuild Requiem?"

Benedictus looked at the horizon, beyond which Requiem lay, then at Kyrie. "I don't know, Kyrie. But we're going to try."

Kyrie raised the amulet. It felt hot in his hand, still humming and trembling. "We have the griffins with us. I sent them to Confutatis, but I can bring them back. With their help, we can—"

"No," Benedictus said, shaking his head. "The servitude of griffins to Osanna or Requiem ends today. Hand me the amulet, Kyrie, so that I can destroy it."

Kyrie gasped. He shook his head wildly. "No! Benedictus! I mean, Your Highness. I mean... I don't know what I'm supposed to call you now, but we can't release the griffins. Dies Irae still has armies that can hunt us. You yourself said so. The people of Osanna hate us, and—" Kyrie blew out his breath, exasperated. "I can't believe this. We need the griffins." He clutched the amulet so tightly, it hurt his palm. "With their power, we can reclaim our land and reclaim our glory."

Benedictus only gazed at him, waiting for Kyrie to end his speech. When finally Kyrie could think of nothing more to say, Benedictus spoke softly.

"We cannot rebuild our land with the slavery of others, Kyrie. We have seen where that can lead. Enslaving the griffins was the downfall of my father; once Dies Irae stole the amulet, his rule crumbled. No, Kyrie. Griffins cannot speak, but they are wise beasts. They can be as wise as men, when they are free. If we can rebuild Requiem, it will be with justice and light, not as overlords of another race."

Kyrie took deep, fiery breaths. Anger pulsed through him, tingling his fingers, but he forced himself to clench his teeth. Benedictus was right, he knew. He hated that it was so. Hated it! But he knew the king spoke truth.

Wordlessly, lips tight, he held out the amulet in his open palm.

Benedictus lifted it with his mouth, smashed it between his teeth, and spat out the pieces. Somewhere in the distance, a league away, rose the cries of ten thousand griffins.

"They're free now," Lacrimosa said quietly. "They will no longer serve us, nor will they hunt us. May they find their way back to Leonis, their fabled land across the sea, and prosper there."

Kyrie stood with arms limp, not sure how to feel. Without the griffins, the road ahead seemed impossible to travel. How could they rebuild Requiem now, just the four of them? Could they truly find more Vir Requis survivors? Did any even exist? Would Dies Irae heal and resume his hunt, or was he dead already? Kyrie did not know, and the world seemed darker and more confusing than ever.

He thought of Lady Mirum, how she'd protected him for ten years in her fort, and knew the first thing he would do now. He would find her body. He would give her a proper burial. He would rededicate the fort in her name.

"We return to Fort Sanctus," he said and did not need to say more. The others understood and nodded. There his journey had begun; there it would end.

Agnus Dei kissed his cheek, ruffled his hair, and said, "You are a pup." Then she shifted into a red dragon, all fire and fang, and took flight.

Kyrie shifted too, and soon the four Vir Requis, perhaps the last of their kind, flew together. The clouds parted, and the dawn rose, and they flew into that good, golden light. The sunrise gilded the clouds, spreading pink and orange wisps across the land, and the stars still shone overhead.

As they flew into that sunrise, Kyrie dared to hope, to imagine. The world was still dangerous for the Vir Requis. Many still feared them. Many would still hunt them. But as he flew now, his new family at his side, he breathed the cold air and smiled. He imagined flocks of thousands of Vir Requis flying, the glory of their magic. He would help rebuild that race with Agnus Dei, whom he loved more than life, and maybe someday, years from now, many dragons would fly again.

"Requiem," he whispered into the dawn. "May our wings forever find your sky."