Blood of Requiem (Song of Dragons, Book 1)

19. LACRIMOSA

LACRIMOSA

As the four dragons streamed between the clouds, Lacrimosa shook her head. We're on a fool's quest, she thought. Chasing a legend, a dream.

The clouds filled her nostrils, tickled her cheeks, and stung her eyes. She could see Agnus Dei's red tail ahead, lashing from side to side. Benedictus and Kyrie flew by her, but the clouds hid them; she glimpsed only flashes of sunlight on their scales.

We're safe here, she thought. No griffins would see them in these clouds. Still Lacrimosa shivered as she flew. She wished she were in human form, walking upon the land; it was safer that way. Griffins could fly far, and Dies Irae would never stop hunting her, Lacrimosa knew.

We're risking our lives. And why? For a bedtime story I'd tell Agnus Dei years ago. A story, that's all. And for hope.

Lacrimosa sighed. The clouds darkened and moisture covered her. Maybe that is enough. Maybe Agnus Dei needs some hope, a journey, a future to cling to. There might be no true dragons, but if I can give Agnus Dei hope, even fools' hope, maybe that will help her. Maybe that will soothe the pain inside her.

As if to answer her thoughts, Agnus Dei turned her head. The clouds veiled her, but Lacrimosa could see her daughter's blazing eyes and the fire in her mouth.

"Come on, catch up!" the red dragon said. Excitement, even joy, filled her voice. It had been years since Lacrimosa had seen her daughter happy, and she felt droplets on her cheeks, and knew it was not the clouds, but her tears.

"We're flying as fast as we can," Lacrimosa called back, and she couldn't help but laugh and cry. "I'm old and slow, Agnus Dei."

That was a lie, of course; Lacrimosa was neither old nor slow. But Benedictus was, and his wing was torn, and he was too proud to admit weakness. Lacrimosa looked at her husband and smiled. He looked at her with one eye and grunted. The clouds flowed around him.

Kyrie, a stream of blue scales through the clouds, gazed anxiously at Agnus Dei. His claws flexed, and Lacrimosa knew he was aching to fly ahead by Agnus Dei, to spend time alone with her among the clouds. But the young Vir Requis looked at Benedictus, tightened his lips, and kept flying by the black dragon.

As much as my daughter's charmed him, he worships my husband more, Lacrimosa thought with a sad smile. He was like so many young Vir Requis in the war, so many who had fought for Benedictus. I myself once worshiped him thus; he was a being of legend to me. Maybe he still is.

Lacrimosa sighed and turned her gaze to her husband. He flew solemnly, staring ahead, his torn wing wobbly. The wing Dies Irae tore with his spear. Lacrimosa closed her eyes as she remembered that day so long ago, that day more terrible than any other. Benedictus had returned from Lanburg Fields, bleeding. He was half dead, and he only said to her, "It is over." Then he collapsed and slept for days, and Lacrimosa thought he would die, and she wept so many tears. Their race had died then, its last remnants fallen upon the fields, the elderly and the children. Only her family had remained: her husband, her daughters, and herself.

But no, Lacrimosa thought as she flew through these clouds. Kyrie Eleison survived. Our leader, Benedictus the Black, still flies. We still fly by him. And one day Gloriae will return to us.

Lacrimosa tightened her lips and blinked tears out of her eyes. Sometimes she felt like a youth again, a youth in love with her prince.

"I still fly with you, my lord, my love," she whispered.

When night fell, the Vir Requis flew down under the clouds, cloaked in darkness. Agnus Dei's nostrils glowed with fire, and Lacrimosa nudged her until the girl sniffed back the flames.