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'Ah.' The Weaver sounded amused for the first time so far. 'I would not call it reincarnation, no. Rather, I suspect it is a higher form of inheritance.'

'A higher form?' said Chergoa. 'You make it sound like some kind of magic.'

'I cannot help how you choose to interpret my perspective,' said the Weaver.

'Hmph.'

'In the matter of inheritance, the Rainlords of Sair already carry quite a pedigree, would you not agree? The ancient Water Dragon walks among us still, does he not? Is it so difficult to believe that this blood of kings might yet hold more secrets?'

Blood of kings? That was one way of putting it, but Emiliana had to disagree on principle. "You seem to know a lot about me," she said, "I'll grant you that. But you don't know much about Rainlords, do you?"

'Why do you say that?' the Weaver asked.

"We do not suffer kings. We never have." And Emiliana couldn't explain it, but she had felt an unexpected warmth in her chest when those thoughts had occurred to her--and it only swelled further when she spoke them.

Her entire life, she had never once thought that being a Rainlord was anything special. Despite all the stories and lectures and reapers and powers, she had always thought it was just silly bravado. Masculine posturing.

But here and now, all of a sudden, it made complete sense to her.

She was a Rainlord. And she was proud.

'Call it what you like,' the Weaver said. 'The purportedly divine appointment of the Water Dragon is a kingly quality. But that is neither here nor there. All that matters is your inheritance from Agam. Perhaps we should reconsider the potential of such a gift.'

Emiliana was still listening, but she couldn't help feeling suddenly homesick. Something in this strange conversation was making her wonder if she would ever see her family again.