“Perhaps the First Dragon does not know about the interdict the Committee of the L’au-dela has placed upon sirens,” Gabriel said.
“He knows,” Baltic said. “As is he fond of pointing out, he’s a god. There is little he does not know.”
The other wyverns looked mildly uncomfortable. The First Dragon eyed his son, telling himself that he shouldn’t encourage such disrespect, but it was ever thus with Baltic.
A memory suddenly returned to him of centuries past, when Baltic had taken his first steps, his tiny pudgy hands holding tight to the First Dragon’s fingers, lurching forward with infinite glee at his newly discovered mobility. He remembered the joy in Maerwyn’s face, how she applauded and praised the babe, and the swell of pride in his chest at the sight of them together.
A familiar ac
