then continued. “What I do have, though, is luck. Luck and an instinct for when to move. I’ve lived quietly here for years, doing the best I can to be an absent Queen through messengers and the good offices of court dragons like NoSohoth and HeBellereth. Word has come to me through a variety of sources that something is reaching sii and saa for my mate’s throat. For all that he’s suspicious of hominids, he’s entirely too trusting of dragons, especially those close to him.
“I’m going to tell you something, Wistala, about one time when I had the instinct to be in the right place at the right time and I didn’t act.”
Nilrasha watched the sun turn red. “Your brother had a mate before me, a very frail dragonelle, one of FeHazathant’s line, daughter of Ibidio and AgGriffopse, one of the best dragons who ever flew in the Lavadome. My mate was an upholder at the time, in an important but remote province called Anaea. I was on hand the night she ate an enormous meal and choked on a bone.
“Some people say I choked her. Well, I might as well have. I don’t know if you’ve had this lesson in the Firemaids, Wistala, but in my day we learned how to help a choking dragon. You pierce the weak spot in the windpipe just above the breastbone with a reed, a pair of arrows, anything you can find. It opens the lungs to the air and you can still breathe, after a fashion.
“I had the presence of mind to grab a horn off the wall, the brass tubing would have served admirably to feed her air once I punched it through her throat, but then I froze, unable to act. I think part of me, the part that wanted to be mated to your courageous brother, wished she would die. I stood there, watching her choke, seeing the pleading fear in her eyes, and I knew what I had to do. But I stood there, rooted. Then she collapsed and quit breathing, and too late I tried to intervene. I dropped the horn and went to her side. I thrust my sii down her throat and tried to take out the bone in a panic, and your brother finally appeared in answer to a human thrall’s signal.
“I’ve always regretted those moments when I stood there, doing nothing. As usual, I was lucky enough to be at the right place and the right time, and as usual, the world came down on top of me, just like in that attack in Bant.”
Wistala respected Nilrasha, but had never felt warm toward her. For the first time, she found herself in sympathy with her queen.
“I tried to save my wounded father,” Wistala said. “He had—terrible injuries. From war machines, weighted dragon harpoons.I brought him water and food. Later I looked for coin and metals to help his scales heal. I found some in an old ruin, but I ate most of them on the way home. I couldn’t help myself. Even worse, men followed my trail, and the hunters found him. I led them right to his refuge.”
Nilrasha rubbed griff with her. “Thank you for that confession. But at least you tried from the first to save your father’s life. Poor little Halaflora, who’d never said a cross word to even a waste-barrow thrall, died while I stood there like a rooted elf.”
“Even when you do try, sometimes fate is too much for you,” Wistala said.
The sun was half-gone now, and mostly obscured by horizon-hugging clouds. The sky above it had turned purple. Queen Nilrasha emptied her lungs. “So, what is your answer.”
Could there be a plot against her brother? Would it be worse if it failed, or if it succeeded? In the Firemaids she’d heard terrible stories about the dragon civil wars, where the clans even made unhatched eggs the target of their vengeance. “I can try. But in trying, I may bring disaster.”
“You must have faith in my mate. Don’t listen to the whisperers—me excepted, of course. He just needs time to see Hypatia grow used to living and working with dragons.”
“If there’s a plot against Tyr RuGaard . . . how would I learn of it?”
“Some dragons have a natural gift for sniffing out
“I’m going to tell you something, Wistala, about one time when I had the instinct to be in the right place at the right time and I didn’t act.”
Nilrasha watched the sun turn red. “Your brother had a mate before me, a very frail dragonelle, one of FeHazathant’s line, daughter of Ibidio and AgGriffopse, one of the best dragons who ever flew in the Lavadome. My mate was an upholder at the time, in an important but remote province called Anaea. I was on hand the night she ate an enormous meal and choked on a bone.
“Some people say I choked her. Well, I might as well have. I don’t know if you’ve had this lesson in the Firemaids, Wistala, but in my day we learned how to help a choking dragon. You pierce the weak spot in the windpipe just above the breastbone with a reed, a pair of arrows, anything you can find. It opens the lungs to the air and you can still breathe, after a fashion.
“I had the presence of mind to grab a horn off the wall, the brass tubing would have served admirably to feed her air once I punched it through her throat, but then I froze, unable to act. I think part of me, the part that wanted to be mated to your courageous brother, wished she would die. I stood there, watching her choke, seeing the pleading fear in her eyes, and I knew what I had to do. But I stood there, rooted. Then she collapsed and quit breathing, and too late I tried to intervene. I dropped the horn and went to her side. I thrust my sii down her throat and tried to take out the bone in a panic, and your brother finally appeared in answer to a human thrall’s signal.
“I’ve always regretted those moments when I stood there, doing nothing. As usual, I was lucky enough to be at the right place and the right time, and as usual, the world came down on top of me, just like in that attack in Bant.”
Wistala respected Nilrasha, but had never felt warm toward her. For the first time, she found herself in sympathy with her queen.
“I tried to save my wounded father,” Wistala said. “He had—terrible injuries. From war machines, weighted dragon harpoons.I brought him water and food. Later I looked for coin and metals to help his scales heal. I found some in an old ruin, but I ate most of them on the way home. I couldn’t help myself. Even worse, men followed my trail, and the hunters found him. I led them right to his refuge.”
Nilrasha rubbed griff with her. “Thank you for that confession. But at least you tried from the first to save your father’s life. Poor little Halaflora, who’d never said a cross word to even a waste-barrow thrall, died while I stood there like a rooted elf.”
“Even when you do try, sometimes fate is too much for you,” Wistala said.
The sun was half-gone now, and mostly obscured by horizon-hugging clouds. The sky above it had turned purple. Queen Nilrasha emptied her lungs. “So, what is your answer.”
Could there be a plot against her brother? Would it be worse if it failed, or if it succeeded? In the Firemaids she’d heard terrible stories about the dragon civil wars, where the clans even made unhatched eggs the target of their vengeance. “I can try. But in trying, I may bring disaster.”
“You must have faith in my mate. Don’t listen to the whisperers—me excepted, of course. He just needs time to see Hypatia grow used to living and working with dragons.”
“If there’s a plot against Tyr RuGaard . . . how would I learn of it?”
“Some dragons have a natural gift for sniffing out
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