Nobody asked Wren if he wanted the job. The soldiers just pushed the kingdom's last dragon egg into his arms and told him to walk. The queen's order sat folded in his pocket: deliver it to the Cinder Tower, sealed and whole. So down the mountain road he went, the cold egg against his chest. Then, near a sharp bend in the trail, the shell started to warm. It shook in his hands. With a soft, wet snap, a crack split across it.

Wren made up his mind in a heartbeat. He turned off the road and ran uphill, away from the Cinder Tower, toward the wild peaks where no one would follow. If this thing was going to hatch, it would not hatch into a cage.

Wren climbed until his legs burned, then stopped on a high ledge. The egg cracked one last time and a silver dragon spilled out into the open air. It spread tiny wings, caught the wind, and squeaked with joy. Up here, far from any tower, it was already free.