ROBIN HOBB
City of Dragons
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental
HarperVoyager
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First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2012
Copyright © Robin Hobb 2012
Robin Hobb asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007273805
Ebook Edition © April 2012 ISBN: 978000729026 0
Version: 2017-10-06
To the Little Red Hen
Table of Contents
Prologue: Tintaglia and IceFyre
Chapter One: The Duke and The Captive
Chapter Five: A Bingtown Trader
Chapter Six: Marked by the Rain Wilds
Chapter Nine: Return to Cassarick
Chapter Thirteen: Second Thoughts
Chapter Fifteen: Strange Bedfellows
PROLOGUE
Tintaglia and IceFyre
She rode the air currents easily, her legs sleeked tight against her body, her wings spread wide. On the undulating desert sands below, her rippling shadow showed her as a serpentine creature with bat-like wings and a long, finned tail. Tintaglia thrummed deep in her throat, a purr of pleasure in the day. They had hunted at dawn and hunted well. They had made their separate kills, as they always did, and spent the morning in feasting and then sleep. Now, smeared still with the blood and offal of the hunt, the two dragons had another goal in mind.
Ahead and slightly below her, IceFyre was a gleaming black shape. His long body flexed as he shifted his weight to catch and ride the wind. His torso was thicker and heavier than hers, his body longer. Her feather-like scaling glittered a scintillating blue, but he was an even black all over. His long encasement in ice had taken a toll on his body, one that was taking years to heal. His larger wings still had rents in the heavy webbing between the finger ribs. The smaller injuries to his body were long gone, but the tears in his wings would knit more slowly, and the welted scars of their healing would always be visible. Unlike my own azure perfection. Out of the corner of her eyes, Tintaglia admired her glittering wings.
As if he
