I spent about an hour trying to sever the tendril that bound Instinct to the spark in the center of Herald’s soul. Try as I might, I failed. Then Herald finally went to sleep, and doing anything at all with that tendril became impossible. And not only because Herald’s soul brightened when she slept; when Herald slept, Instinct came awake.

  Counterintuitive as it might’ve been, that really felt like the right word for it. Instinct had been just kind of existing, swaying occasionally in some unseen breeze and completely impossible to make any meaningful contact with. When Herald fell asleep, however, Instinct suddenly began moving excitedly, pulling at the tendril whose end I could no longer see among the brightness of Herald’s sleeping soul.

  She also went from silent to loud, which was one hell of a surprise. Though loud really wasn’t the right word; there was no sound. I just didn’t have a word for broadcasting emotions and impressions in a way that can’t be ignored, so loud would have to do.

  And broadcast, she did. Confusion and apprehension were first, but they were soon overshadowed by curiosity and frustration as she moved around, unable to move any further from Herald than she’d begun. Soon she was angry, tugging on her bond to absolutely no avail, jerking this way and that as effectively as a balloon on the breeze tugging on its string.

  Then came triumph, and Instinct disappeared. Or rather, she fell into Herald, vanishing from my sight. And not knowing what else to do, I followed.

  The dream I found myself in could only generously be called a dream. There was a floor of smooth stone, an endless expanse of darkness, a young woman, a dragon, and me. So two dragons, really, but I couldn’t see myself.

  “Ah, there she is!” Herald cheered at my arrival.

  “I told you that she would come,” Instinct said smugly.

  “You did indeed,” Herald agreed. It felt a bit like how someone might praise a child for doing well, but not in a patronizing way. Herald’s tone was affectionate, more than anything.

  Instinct turned to me, her posture, expression, and tone all betraying her eagerness. “Well, now that we are all here: how goes it, Little Ghost? Tell me! Have you found anything?”

  Had I found anything? Mercies, did she have to come right out and ask me like that? I didn’t feel at all ready to admit what I’d found, or what it might mean. To Instinct, maybe, but not in front of Herald!

  And yet, Herald was the one person most deserving of my honesty and candor. Not that I should be hiding things from Instinct, but Herald had never once done anything to deserve losing so much as a shred of her freedom. Even Kira could be argued to have committed some minor, understandable sin by staying with the Silver Spurs instead of trying to flee, but Herald? Until I came along, Herald was nothing but noble and good.

  And she deserved a chance to be that again, and to make up her mind about me independent of my influence. If that was even possible.

  Sorrows take me! Something like despair threatened to overwhelm me as I again remembered that she’d taken not one, but two Advancements binding her to me. It didn’t matter if I could make her entirely and irrevocably free of me. I’d changed the course of her life in a way that nothing could ever undo. One of them didn’t even do anything except let her stick to me, and let me speak through her mouth!

  I suspected that I may have let some of my tumult show when Herald’s face twisted with a sorrow that I never wanted to see there again. She rushed over to me, which was literally instant in our shared dream, and suddenly I was only hip-high to her again and she was kneeling, cradling me to her chest and demanding to know what was wrong as Instinct towered above us.

  I wanted to just stay silent. I wanted to never speak again. I was the only one who knew what I’d found, and if I never said another word it would die with me. But I couldn’t. Because lying about something that important was more painful than telling her the truth.

  “I found something,” I said, hoping against hope that she’d leave it there. But of course she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not when I was hurting.

  “What did you find?” she asked gently.

  “I don’t know,” I said. And it was true, in a way. I didn’t know; I only suspected very strongly. But a half-truth was as bad as a lie, so I had to continue. “I don’t know,” I repeated, “but I think I found what binds you to me. What binds you all to me. And Instinct… it’s what’s keeping Instinct inside you. I think to free her, to bring her home, I have to… I have to find a way to—”

  “Don’t,” Herald said hurriedly, with such sadness that it struck me dumb. She knew what I feared. Of course she knew. She was so clever. Considering my despair, she’d probably known from the moment I mentioned our bond. And now she didn’t want to hear it because that would make it real; because she knew how much it would hurt me; because no matter how much she should want to be free, she couldn’t. She couldn’t even want it, because her being free of my influence would hurt me, and she couldn’t allow me to hurt. And now she was practically begging me, “Don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Nothing good can come of it.”

  God and Mercies, that was the cruelest aspect of my power. I’d known it ever since Kira had begged me to break her entirely. When she’d still been enough of her own woman to fear what she could feel happening to her. My power didn’t just bind people to me. It didn’t just make it impossible for them to break free. It made it impossible for them to desire freedom.

  I’d worried for so long about becoming a monster. Well, what was the point of worrying? It was too late. I was a monster, no better than Behold Her. I enslaved people, and forced them to be happy about it. Who but a monster could weaponize joy?

  “Do not say what?” Instinct thundered from above, oblivious to my and Herald’s turmoil. “A way to what?”

  You need to tell them, Conscience whispered. You owe it to them. To both of them.

  Swallowing down my pity for myself, I looked up at the dream image of my displaced companion. I deliberately didn’t look at Herald. I didn’t want to see her face when I spoke the words. I may have found the strength to speak, but I wasn’t strong enough for that.

  Driven by pure self-loathing, I told them.

  “I may be able to free the people we’ve enthralled. I think that’s what I have to do to separate you from Herald.”

  “Please.” Herald’s voice shuddered. I wished that I could believe that she meant Please do it. Please free me. But I knew better.

  Instinct was horrified. “You cannot!” she insisted. “Our precious servants! Our—” Her gaze shifted to Herald, and I could swear that there was as much pain and fear in her expression as there was outrage. “They are ours!” she finished, and it was more a whine than a roar. Almost a plea.

  “I have to.” This time it was easier to speak. My mind was made up. I’d accepted the future consequences, whatever they may be. Conscience was right. I had to try. I owed it to everyone, not least of all myself. I doubted Instinct would care about that, though. She treasured and adored our humans, but she wasn’t the least bit conflicted about taking their freedom. The more completely they belonged to us, the better, as far as she was concerned. But there was one person’s freedom she cared about above all else: her own.

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  “I know you love Herald,” I told her. I meant it in the truest sense that a dragon could love. Instinct treasured Herald and the others as much as any part of our hoard, and for a dragon, there was nothing higher. “Believe me, I know. I’m terrified of what might happen if our influence over her disappeared.”

  I forced myself to look at my sister, to acknowledge the despair there. “I’m terrified that you’ll hate me,” I told her.

  Herald’s whole face twisted with pain, eyes shutting tight as she shook her head in denial, like a child. “No,” she croaked. “No, I could never. I can never!”

  “You don’t know that. You once told me that you knew that you should be angry with me for what I’d done. That you should hate me. You—”

  “I was wrong!” she sobbed. “I was confused! It was all… it was just the stress of what happened with Tarkarran in that house, and our escape, and fleeing to the forest. I didn’t know what I was saying!”

  “You were entirely right.” I laid my head on her shoulder, and she crushed me to her chest. “Instinct,” I continued, “I know you love Herald. You love all our humans. But you must be miserable. All you can do is speak and move Herald’s shadow. Can you live like that forever? Can you imagine another month without feeling the wind under your wings? Another year? Ten? And what about what we talked about before we laid down? What if I reach another Threshold, and you don’t? What if you’re stuck as you are forever?”

  “No! No, I cannot!” Instinct groaned, eyes wide and nostrils flaring as I forced her to consider the misery she might face.

  “I know you can’t. And, Herald, I know you’re scared. I imagine my power is making the idea of being free the most terrifying thing you can think of. But if this works—if it lets me bring Instinct home—you can’t deny her that, can you? You can’t leave her trapped in your body because you’re scared. I know you can’t. Even if our bond didn’t make you want what’s best for her, that’s not the kind of person you are. You’re stronger than that.”

  “No,” Herald whispered, and I wasn’t sure if she meant No, I can’t or No, I’m not.

  I hated myself for the misery I’d inflicted on my sister, but I had to push on. “I’m going to wait until Tam goes to sleep,” I declared. Now that my mind was made up, planning what to do became so much easier. “I don’t know that removing the bond, or even trying to, won’t be harmful. I only have an extremely weak bond with Tam, and I hope that if it causes any harm, it will do less with a weaker bond. But I need to ask him first if it’s okay. If he’s willing to risk it. He’s… I can’t think of anyone who won’t give me the answer they think I want. So… I’m going to go watch him, and hope that he takes a nap.”

  With a flex of my will I was out of Herald’s embrace, beside her and my normal size relative to her. With me gone she folded in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest and hiding her face in them. “I am so sorry for all of this,” I told her, nuzzling her hair gently. “I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish we could have just been friends from the beginning, without this power tainting everything. And I hope… gods and Mercies, if breaking our bond is something I can do, and something I have to do to free Instinct, then I hope beyond anything I’ve ever hoped before that you can forgive me, and that we can still be friends.”

  She didn’t look up or speak, but she raised her hands to my snout and just held them there for a while before letting them fall. Her hair rippled as she gave one short, sharp nod.

  “You understand that I have to do this?” I asked Instinct.

  “I do not like it,” she whined back.

  “Me neither. But it’s the right thing to do. Take care of each other while I’m away, all right?”

  “I do not like to see the Herald in pain,” she admitted sadly, settling down to curl herself around the tiny form of our sister. Herald didn’t respond, except to lean into her, like she’d done so many times with me. “She should be vital, and content. Not… this. I do not wish this for her.”

  “Me neither,” I said again. “Me neither.”

  When I got to Tam, he and who I assumed to be Val were moving around. Going for a walk to help my brother get used to being on his feet again, most likely. But that walk seemed to really take it out of him, because soon they stopped, and Tam’s soul came alight. It was a soft light, like one of those diffuse mood-lighting lamps that are like one or two watts and don’t really light anything up, but that was perfect. It only made me more confident that whatever I’d done to Tam hadn’t been more invasive than I’d feared.

  I didn’t wait for him to begin to dream. That wasn’t something I needed. I pushed myself into his consciousness, creating the same kind of empty space as where I’d spoken to Herald and Instinct, and there we both were.

  Tam looked around with the unquestioning acceptance of any dreamer. I didn’t rush him. He realized soon enough that he was lucid, as I’d known that he would, and when he did he looked up at me apprehensively.

  “I thought you could only do this with your people,” he said, the hint of an accusation in his tone.

  “Did Val tell you what happened, and what I did?” I asked. Then, as I waited for his answer, I lay down. It was that or shrink myself; I didn’t like to be looking down on him for this conversation. I needed him to feel in control, like he could be fully honest with me.

  “He did, yeah,” Tam replied, following my eyes with his own as I put us on a more equal level. “He said that Mak and Herald and me were dying. That we had too much magic in us after Mak touched something in that underground chamber, and that you had to suck it out of us and stitch our souls back into our bodies. Something like that.”

  “And I had to touch you with my power to be able to do that,” I added for him. “Did he tell you that?”

  “Yeah. He said that you’d promised to be as feather-light as you possibly could, and that he trusted you to be as good as your word. And I haven’t felt any strange urges to hike a hundred and a half miles north through the forest to find you, so I guess it worked.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Weak, but like I’m recovering. I was asleep for weeks, right? So no wonder there. Don’t feel like my soul’s going to fly off, if that’s what you mean.” Then he laughed wryly, and it was a wonderful thing to see and hear. “I just hope you didn’t stitch me in too well. I’d like to be able to go with the Traveller someday, when my time comes.”

  “Good. That’s good,” I said, bobbing my head lamely. Then I asked the truly important question; the one whose answer I dreaded. “And how do you feel about me? What I’ve done to our sisters, even if it wasn’t intentional?”

  To my immense relief, Tam sighed, his mouth turning down in a soft frown. “Listen, Draka,” he said. “Sister. And I call you that with all sincerity. I think I know what you’re doing here, so I’m not going to mince any words. I’m glad that Mak and Herald are happy. I really am. And what’s done is done, I suppose. But if I believed for a second that you’d done what you have intentionally, you’d have to do the same to me, or kill me. Because nothing would keep me from coming for your head. Does that satisfy you?”

  At least half of the tension I’d felt on beginning this conversation left me as I said, “I’ve never been so relieved to have someone threaten my life.”

  “Hey, now,” he protested with mock offense. “I didn’t threaten you. I warned you.”

  “Nah, yeah. Fair.”

  “So, with all that said…” Tam trailed off, raising his arms to his sides and turning around slowly. “What’s with this? Not that I’m not glad to see you, or grateful for your help, but I’m guessing you had some purpose in haunting my dreams.”

  “You’re right,” I sighed. And then I told him. I told him about Instinct, and about the sparks, and what I wanted to try. I’d barely even started to tell him about the risks I feared before he interrupted me with a non-negotiable, “Do it.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t know what—”

  Again, he cut me off without an inch of give in his voice. “If you think it might do something bad, I’m your best bet. As you describe it, this ‘spark’ of yours is smallest in me, and I’ve had it the shortest time. If removing it does any harm, it’ll do less to me. You need to try on someone. Use me.”

  I considered protesting, or trying to talk him out of it, but I couldn’t come up with a single reason that didn’t boil down to I don’t want to know that it works. It was all my fear trying to stop me, so I’d have an excuse not to do it to Herald, Mak, or Kira, and me giving in to fear was inexcusable. I was supposed to command fear, not submit to it.

  I steeled myself, and nodded. “All right,” I said. “Thank you. I’ll do it as soon as you wake up. Tell Val what’s going on, and that if something goes wrong he should… I don’t know. Run around, maybe? I can kind of see him, but only as a shapeless blob.”

  “I take offense to that!” Tam gasped. “He is anything but shapeless!”

  I had no words for the gratitude I felt that he could joke at a time like this. Smiling, even so small that I barely felt it, was wonderful. “Right. Apologies,” I told him drily. “But seriously. All I can perceive is where he is. No sound, no gestures or anything. Just position. So if he wants me to know that I’m killing you, or pulling your soul out through your nose, I need big movements. Tell him!”

  “Right,” he said, more seriously this time. “I’ll tell him.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So. As soon as I wake up, huh?”

  “As soon as you wake up.”

  He nodded, taking a long, steady breath. Then he said, “Well, no time like the present,” and I was unceremoniously kicked out as he forced himself awake.

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