"Why did he do that?"
Breeard kneeled beside me., "His father's blood gives him tolerance to dragon's fire."
I recalled the dragon rider in the painting, and understood.
"This time, however, the fire took its toll on him."
I noticed sad looks and worried eyes resting on Talon, and I realized few were tending to him. As I lay watching, two Fae came in and started to move him.
"Wait," I cried out. "Where are you taking him?"
"My dear lady, he is fading," one told me heavily. "We will take him away to pass quietly."
I sat up, ignoring my rasping breathing and burning throat, "No! No, leave him. Care for him!"
Poe ran in to calm me and took my hand, but I continued begging them to leave Talon be. Flashbacks to the day I became a widow crashed through my mind, and I just couldn't bare
