"Truly?"
"Truly. I remember the first time I met the matriarch. I cherished her strength and her humor. I recall the gemlike quality of her eyes, and the way that sunlight danced upon her lustrous scales. Every time I met her, my infatuation deepened. I grew fond of her scent; days spent without hearing the music of her voice were as cold and barren as the depths of winter. When at last I confessed my desires, and found she felt the same, it was the first moment of my life when I was wholly alive. Don't you see, Graxen? I didn't mate due to some intellectual scheme to produce the perfect scion. I wanted you to live because you were a testament to the feelings I had for the matriarch. I wanted you to live because you were product of my love."
"Love?" said Graxen. "All my life I've been taught that love is a folly of the lesser races, an unworthy emotion for a sky-dragon."
"I know. I preached this doctrine. I've written books defending it. I've been a hypocrite of the highest order. Falling in love with the matriarch changed everything I knew about the world. Publicly, due to the gravity of my office, I couldn't speak out against the chosen method of propagating our species. But, privately, I fear for the long-term prospects of our race. What does it matter if we become as numerous as ants and as powerful as gods, if we breed away all compassion and love from our species?" As Metron spoke, his voice seemed in motion, beginning in the book-filled niche and ending in the hall behind Graxen. Graxen turned to find the elderly sky-dragon, his wings torn to strips. His wounded limbs weren't fully healed; he smelled of rot and corruption.
Metron continued: "I fell victim to Blasphet because he flattered my intellect and I ignored my heart, which knew what he wanted was wrong. I believe the underlying amorality of sky-dragons led us to stand silent as Albekizan attempted genocide against the humans. We hold the intellect as the highest virtue while denouncing the value of emotion. We mock as philosophical illusions such concepts as good and evil. We're following a genetic road to becoming a race of brilliant, attractive, soulless monsters."
"Your words are hollow to me," said Graxen. "Where was your defense of love when you held power? You once had the authority to change the world. Now that you've lost your rank, you confess to your regret?"
"Yes," said Metron, lowering his head, looking woeful. "Yes, when I held power, I sought to protect the status quo. I may be the greatest hypocrite in all of history, yet it may not be too late for me to make amends."
"How?"
"While I've lost my rank and power, the matriarch remains in her position. I must speak to her. I must appeal to the last embers of her affection and ask her to end the centuries-old traditions that separate the sexes. I believe it's time to allow love to again play a role in the pairings of sky-dragons. It may be that she'll have me slain the moment she sees me. But what if she's as riddled with regrets as I am? The seeds of my words may fall on fertile soil. It's a slim chance, but I feel I must try."
Graxen contemplated the words. The matriarch had shown such hostility toward him. Did that hostility mask a regretful heart? Would she listen to Metron?
"Why do you need me?" he asked.
"As a tatterwing, I cannot simply fly to the Nest. I can't make this journey alone, Graxen."
"I've met the matriarch," said Graxen. "I don't think my presence will help your case."
"But-"
"But I didn't say I wouldn't help. I can't condemn you for falling in love. I, too, have recently tasted this emotion. I've met a female who I want to be with and, against all odds, she wishes to be with me. It's why I was searching through this library."
"You… were going to meet her here?" Metron sounded confused.
Graxen felt embarrassed, but he'd already said enough that he could see no harm in confessing all. "No. I need information. Neither Nadala nor I have been trained in the, um… skills… of biological pairing."
"Oh?" said Metron, still sounding bewildered. "Oh! You mean you don't know how to copulate."
"I chose not to use such crude terminology."
"Crude terminology is one of the more enjoyable spin-offs of the process. However, it's understandable that you don't know what to do. Mating comes quite naturally to lower animals, but for thinking creatures the act can appear slightly absurd and impractical. I assure you, however, with a little practice everything makes sense. It's mainly a matter of changing the way you look at your body's plumbing. You see, the organs of reproduction and the organs of waste lie very-"
"Stop," said Graxen, raising his fore-talon. "I'm uncomfortable discussing this matter with you. Isn't there a book I could read? Some manual of instruction?"
"Oh," said Metron. "Why, most assuredly. There's a book for everything, you know. In fact, you're in luck. Albekizan's father was a collector of such manuscripts. The subjects are all sun-dragons, of course, but the biological differences between our species are mostly a matter of scale. The Prime Codex of Pleasure is an excellent reference work, due to the illustrations. Two of the five known copies reside in this library. I drew quite extensively from its pages during my encounters with-."
"Enough!" said Graxen. Despite his intense interest in the subject, he was disturbed by the thought of learning details of the encounters between his parents. "Show me the book. Then I'll take you with me to meet Nadala. I suspect she'll be interested in your mission. Perhaps she'll know of a way for you to see the matriarch."
Pet gingerly touched his face. His left eyebrow was a hard, swollen knot. He wasn't certain he could open the eye beneath it-in the pitch black cell, there was no difference with his eyes opened or closed. He was missing three teeth, two on the top and one on the bottom. His hair was tangled and glued to his face by dried blood. His nose was too painful for him to explore its new contours. He couldn't breathe through it, which was just as well. He could taste hints of the odors that haunted the cell. He'd barely been awake earlier when the guards fastened the manacles onto his arms and legs. An earth-dragon had sullenly washed the floors by pouring stagnant water from a wooden bucket onto the area where the girl's corpse had been. The traces of urine and vomit that crossed his tongue were dreadful; he was glad his broken nose spared him the full impact of the stench.
He drifted in and out of wakefulness. He wasn't certain how much time had passed; though it felt as if he'd been here an eternity, he suspected he hadn't even endured a day, since the guards hadn't yet fed him.
In the tomblike silence, Pet's attention was drawn to a scratching, clicking noise nearby. A rat? No, the scraping was more metallic, like long needles tapping against iron. A moment later, a loud clank echoed through the chamber, the distinctive sound of a padlock opening. The hinges of the iron door groaned as they inched open. Dim light seeped through the ever-widening gap.
Two women squeezed into the doorway, their faces barely visible in the light of a small vial that glowed with a yellow-white phosphorescence like an oversized firefly. The women had shaved heads tattooed with serpentine designs; their bodies were hidden beneath heavy black cloaks. They moved barefoot across the floor toward Pet.
A yard away, they drew to a sudden stop.
"That's not Deanna," one said.
"Help me," Pet whispered, his voice sounding like someone else's as it passed through his damaged mouth.
"Kill him," the sister who carried the light said, drawing her dagger.
"Wait," the sister on the right said. "I've seen him before. He's the one they chained before the crowd in the Free City. His face is messed up now, but I remember his hair."
"That's me," Pet said, summoning the strength to sit up. "I was the one Albekizan tortured. You were in the Free City?"