Dragon Flight (10 page)

“How did she become queen?”

Niva assumed an expression that meant she was about to tell me something about dragons that I should already have known. I gritted my teeth: I disliked feeling ignorant, especially when I was trying to stop a war.

“Velika Azure-Wing is descended from the First Dragon, the mother of all dragons, who exploded out of the First Fires twelve thousand years ago. The queenship has been passed down from mother to daughter, directly, from that time.”

Luka cocked his head to one side. “Then why is it that everyone takes orders from Shardas? Shouldn’t Velika be in command?”

“Our queens are, you might say, the spiritual rulers among us. When the queen is strong, dragons prosper. We go to her when there is illness or injury, she blesses us when we mate, and sings the mourning song when we die. The king takes command when there is danger: wars, rogues like Krashath, mountains erupting, earthshakes, and the like. Sadly, in recent centuries, there has been more need for the king than the queen.”

“And the queen was lost,” I pointed out, and then felt tactless for reminding them. Then something occurred to me.

“Did Krashath depose the king of the Citatian dragons, then? And what about their queen?” I swallowed. “You don’t think he collared them, do you?”

Amacarin shook his head and rolled his eyes, as
though in despair at my ignorance, before leaning in close to me. “We who can fly see no need to be constrained by you humans’ physical borders,” he said. “We have one king and one queen.”

My mouth opened in an “O”. “Shardas is the king of all the dragons in the world? And Velika is the queen? Of the world?” I was agog at this information. How could Velika and Shardas have done so much? How could the dragons have survived so long without a queen?

I must have said this last thought aloud because Amacarin lashed his tail. “It has … not been easy. Shardas took Velika’s loss very hard, and in many lands we went into hiding. But we are an independent race.” He shrugged.

Niva dipped her head at me. “What were Shardas’s instructions?”

“Er, we’re to be careful, and not call any attention to ourselves until he gets here,” I said, swallowing and thinking of my earlier fears. “But
can
he get here? His wings!” My voice choked on the last word, as I imagined Shardas falling from the sky, his tattered wings unable to bear his weight.

“He knows his own strengths,” Niva reassured me. “Even in this matter I do not think he would be hot-headed enough to commit folly. We must do as he says.”

“All right,” Luka said uneasily. “And we’ll see what my father can do as well.”

“Very good.” Niva inclined her head graciously.

“There’s just one little problem,” Marta said, looking wary of bringing it up.

“What is that?” Niva eyed her.

“Creel and I have to return to the palace the day after tomorrow to deliver these clothes to the king.” She sucked in her breath. “And Krashath will be there.”

After discovering that the king of Citatie was controlled by a dragon, and then further learning that said dragon was evil, I planned never to see the king or his dragon again.

I was here to help – to save my country and her people (and dragons). But I knew my limitations, and defeating an evil dragon single-handedly was definitely beyond my power. Furthermore, I had promised Shardas that I would stay clear of Krashath, which had seemed an easy enough promise to keep at the time.

But then Luka and I went to the Grand Market the next day to buy the almond pastries we had all come to love. It was awkward, the two of us walking around, trying to pretend that we were just friends. The truth was, I wished with all my heart that we could be more, but in turning down Miles, I felt that I had shut the door on any alliance with the royal family. King Caxel certainly seemed to think so. If only he hadn’t offered me the wrong prince! Luka and I might already be married, instead of swallowing our feelings in the face of his father’s wrath.

A basket of the steaming pastries over my arm, I heard a chattering noise and turned to see my old friend the monkey seller waving at me, another little black-and-white ball of trouble clinging to his sleeve.

“Hello, hello, maidy!” He waved the monkey under my nose, and I quickly sidestepped. Marta’s horrible little Ruli had cured me of any desire I might have ever had to own one of my own. “Monkey?” He thrust the creature at me again.

“No! No monkeys,” I said, holding out my hands in a defensive gesture. I pasted on a smile, though, so that he wouldn’t take offence.

“Monkey, young sir?” He brandished the creature at Luka.

Having had his best shirt shredded by Ruli that morning, Luka had no trouble refusing. “No, I thank you. It’s too cold in Feravel for monkeys.”

The monkey seller’s face clouded. “No, no! Pretty maidy, youngsir, not go back! Feravel bad. All burn soon.”

“How soon?” Luka and I said at the same time.

The man’s dark eyes rolled to the sky, where dragons carrying white-uniformed soldiers wheeled in training formations. “Soon,” he said in a whisper. “You stay Pelletie, nice maidy, nice youngsir. Feravel all gone soon.”

“When?” Luka hunched down to the smaller man’s level, ignoring the monkey as it delightedly plucked at the laces of his tunic sleeve. “Next month? Next week?”

The man pursed his lips, making a face like a new baby about to cry. “Brother sell sheep to army for feed dragons. He say one day, two days. Brother sell all sheep today, dragons eat all, get ready for long flight.”

“In two days?” My voice rose, and I clamped my mouth shut before we called attention to ourselves.

“Sh-sh-sh!” The monkey seller put a thin brown finger to my lips and I fought the urge to flinch away. “Two days. Bad for Feravel. You hide, maybe?”

“Yes, yes, thank you.” Luka gave the man a coin, grabbed my arm, and steered me away. “Let’s get some bread and meat, and get back to the cave,” he said in my ear.

We quickly finished our shopping and almost ran out of the city gates to the small hill and juniper grove that hid Feniul. We shouted the news to him as he flew us back to our cave, and then we told the others.

“We have to stall Krashath,” Niva said when she heard. “We have to prevent his army from flying north.”

“How?” Amacarin’s tail lashed, and he knocked several of the beds over.

“We need to talk to the grand vizier,” I said, righting a bed and recovering my sewing, which had been scattered in the upset. “Krashath doesn’t want people to know that he’s controlling the king. If we can convince the grand vizier of what’s going on, I’m certain that he can buy us some time.”

“If we uncollared more of the dragons,” Niva mused, “they could help us fight.”

“If we told the vizier,” I pointed out, “he might be able to order the dragons uncollared.”

“We just have to make certain that everyone is careful,” Luka said. “We don’t know what Krashath will do if his plot is exposed.”

“Oh, dear,” Marta sighed. “It looks like Creel and I are going back to the palace to fit the king’s new coat.”

“I’m afraid so,” Luka agreed.

“At least the pay is usually good, sewing for royalty,” I said philosophically. Everyone stared at me. “It was a
joke
,” I protested.

“Humans have no real sense of humour,” Amacarin said with a sniff.

Since none of us had ever heard Amacarin attempt anything like a joke, we kept silent.

The next day Marta and I presented ourselves at the gates of the palace once more. This time, however, we were ushered straight into the throne room, with no need for tears or deception. The entire court was present, including the grand vizier, and, of course, Krashath.

I did my best to ignore the white dragon. The mind-numbed Citatian dragons were generally ignored, and it would ruin everything if we were to reveal that we knew Krashath was more than a status symbol for the king.

So, keeping my eyes firmly on the king and away from Krashath, I checked the fit of Nason’s new coat. All the while, I tried to draw the attention of the grand
vizier, to see if we couldn’t catch him alone or arrange to speak to him privately.

When I finally caught his eye, he came over to admire Nason’s new suit. I sidled over to Lord Arjas and waited until other courtiers joined us to praise our work. While Marta entertained them, I tapped the vizier’s elbow and murmured my request for a private audience.

“Why?” He looked frankly startled and his voice was a good deal louder than I would have liked.

“Um, well, I need to talk to you about … gaining citizenship. Of Citatie. Marta and I both,” I hedged. I had thought from the vizier’s worried looks the other day that he knew something was amiss, and perhaps he did, but it seemed that he was not expecting help from uppity female Feravelan tailors.

“Do you not have the proper permit to work here?” He looked scandalised.

I summoned my most winning smile. “Of course we do!” I made a mental note to see if Luka or one of the soldiers couldn’t forge one for us. “But it’s so hard to find a permanent place to live and work when one is a foreigner. We thought it might be easier if we were citizens.”

“I see.” But his brow was wrinkled in consternation. “Come to my study tomorrow, both of you, just after third bell, and we can speak about it.”

“Thank you.” My smile became even more genuine.

“You haven’t patted my dragon,” King Nason
announced, pushing through the crowd of courtiers admiring his new coat. He grabbed my arm with one hand and Marta’s elbow with the other. She shot me a panicked look as the king marched us up the length of the throne room towards the coiled white form of Krashath. “Isn’t he magnificent?! The only white dragon ever hatched!” Nason let go of my arm to slap Krashath’s flank in a proprietary way.

A sharp flick of the dragon’s tail was the only sign that the white beast even felt Nason’s hand on him. I had expected something to show in his eyes at this cavalier treatment: a glimpse of disgust, of anger, but there was nothing, only two dead black pools that seemed to …

“Creel?” Marta’s hand on my arm drew me back to the present.

“Very nice, Your Majesty,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

“Pat him,” Nason ordered.

I felt my gorge rise as I reached out a tentative hand. Krashath shifted a little, obligingly moving closer to me. It struck me that he wasn’t disgusted at this condescending behaviour: he was forcing the king to ask this of me. Krashath
wanted
me to touch him, and his reasons could not be good.

May the Triunity for ever bless her; Marta came to my rescue and made another scene.

Just as my hand, flesh crawling, was about to touch Krashath’s flank, Marta announced to the room in general
that she was feeling far too warm, and rather dizzy besides. I withdrew my hand and turned to look at her with feigned concern. She reeled towards me, one hand to her brow.

“Oh, help, Creel,” she cried out, and then fainted into my arms.

If I hadn’t seen her do this over a dozen times, I would have been quite worried for her. Her performance was very convincing, and the rest of the room was clearly taken in, rushing to offer cool drinks and a couch for her to rest on. But since she was justly proud of her skill and had tried to teach “theatrical fainting” to me and our friend Alle on a number of occasions, I was mostly grateful for the interruption.

Trying to look anxious, I carried her to the proffered couch and laid her on it. While I fanned her and someone applied a dampened handkerchief to her forehead, I explained to Nason and Arjas that Marta was very sensitive to the heat.

“They are lying.”

There was no mistaking who had said this. Dragon voices sound like rocks being scraped together, and Krashath’s was particularly loud and harsh. The twittering over Marta’s faint died instantly, and one of the ladies of the court fainted in earnest.

“It talks,” gasped a large woman, her face rigid with shock.

“How astonishing!” Lord Arjas threw up his hands
in a startled gesture that I thought looked a little forced. I frowned at him, but didn’t have the time to study him too closely.

“Yes, yes, of course! If he senses danger,” Nason said, his words tumbling over each other. “Guards, seize them!” He pointed a finger at me and Marta.

Recognising that our ploy had failed, Marta sat up, causing the court to glare and murmur accusingly. She gave them a defiant look. Meanwhile, I decided to lay it all out on the table, as the guards stalked towards us with bared scimitars.

“Lord Arjas, Krashath is controlling the king, not the other way round,” I said, reaching out a hand to him and trying to sound as sincere as I could. “You have to believe us: the king’s helmet allows the dragon to control him. Krashath was supposed to be dead for his crimes in Feravel – you must believe me!”

But Arjas’s face was closed and still. He stepped aside without a word as the guards came forward. One grabbed me by the arm, the other seized Marta, and they forced us to our knees in front of Nason.

“Clear the room,” Nason ordered, and his shocked courtiers filed out. Even the guards let go of our shoulders and stiffly exited the room.

“Your outburst is going to cause a great deal of trouble, young woman,” Arjas said once the doors had been closed. He frowned at me.

“Let Marta go,” I told Arjas. The king’s face was
completely blank, and I knew he would be deaf to any pleas. “I’ll tell you anything you need to know. But first you have to believe me: Krashath is controlling the king.”

Arjas laughed. “I knew that already.” He shook his head with mock regret. “But the court didn’t, and that’s why your little scene was so troublesome. I can’t very well have the entire court executed to stop the rumours.”

He said this last as if it were an option he might still consider. I suppressed a shudder even as my mind turned over what he had said.

“You knew?” Marta gasped.

“Of course! Krashath and I have been working for this for over a year. He came to me with his army of dragons, and I gave him access to this idiot.” Arjas’s lips twisted in distaste as he indicated the king. “It was ridiculously easy to put that scale-lined helmet on him. The difficult part was convincing the generals that coherent orders for the invasion of Feravel had actually come from our mad king.”