“It has shades of many of your words—queen, leader, caretaker, mother.”
This from Braith, who had no mother. This for me, who would never be queen. Unexpectedly touched, I took hold of his hand and kissed it, and felt an answering kiss on the top of my head.
“My name is Harsik,” he whispered, nearly inaudible even directly by my ear. “I give it to you of my own will. Say it, if you can.”
I repeated the sounds in my mind, first, trying to form the draconic language into a word I could see and spell. The first part was a growling breath, the second almost a whistle, like winter wind. “Harsik,” I whispered, but knew it came out wrong, a deeper wrong than mere mispronunciation.
Braith let out a long, sorrowing sigh. “Your mind will not hold it. Well, it was worth the attempt.”
He had trie
