great golden dragon lifted his head and then snapped opened his wings with an audible crack. A fresh wave of his scent went out on the wind. ‘You should not provoke what you cannot complete,’ he rebuked her.
She stared at him, feeling anger flush her colours brighter. ‘It had nothing to do with you, Mercor. Perhaps you should not intrude into things that do not concern you.’
He spread his wings wider still, and lifted his body tall on his powerful hind legs. ‘I will fly.’ He did not roar the words, but even so they still carried clearly through the wind and rain. ‘As will you. And when the time comes for mating battles, I will win. And I will mate you.’
She stared at him, more shocked than she had thought she could be. Unthinkable for a male to make such a blatant claim. She tried not to be flattered that he had said she would fly. When the silence grew too long, when she became aware that everyone was watching her, expecting a response, she felt anger. ‘So say you,’ she retorted lamely. She did not need to hear Fente’s snort of disdain to know that her feeble response had impressed no one.
Turning away from them all, she began stalking back to the forest and the thin shelter of the trees. She didn’t care. She didn’t care what Mercor had said nor that Fente had mocked her. There was none among them worth impressing. ‘Scarcely a proper battle at all,’ she sneered quietly.
‘Was a “proper battle” what you were trying to provoke?’ Her snippy little keeper Thymara was abruptly beside her, trotting to keep up. Her black hair hung in fuzzy, tattered braids, a few still adorned with wooden charms. Her roll down the hill had coated her ragged cloak with dead grass. Her feet were bound up in mismatched rags, the make-shift shoes soled with crudely-tanned deerskin. She had grown thinner of late, and taller. The bones of her face stood out more. The wings that Sintara had gifted her with bounced lightly beneath her cloak as she jogged. Despite the rudeness of her first query, Thymara sounded concerned as she added, ‘Stop a moment. Crouch down. Let me see your neck where he bit you.’
‘He didn’t draw blood.’ Sintara could scarcely believe she was answering such an impudent demand from a mere human.
‘I want to look at it. It looks as if several scales are loosened.’
‘I did nothing to provoke that silly squabble.’ Sintara halted abruptly and lowered her head so that Thymara could inspect her neck. She resented doing it, feeling that she had somehow given way to the human’s domineering manner. Anger simmered in her. Briefly she considered ‘accidentally’ knocking Thymara off her feet with a swipe of her head. But as she felt the girl’s strong hands gently easing her misaligned neck scales back into smoothness, she relented. Her keeper and her clever hands had their uses.
‘None of the scales are torn all the way free, though you may shed some of them sooner rather than later.’
Sintara sensed her keeper’s annoyance as she set her scales to rights. Despite Thymara’s frequent rudeness to Sintara, the dragon knew the girl took pride in her health and appearance. Any insult to Sintara rankled Thymara as well. And she would be aware of her dragon’s mood, too.
As she focused more on the girl, she knew that they shared more than annoyance. The frustration was there as well. ‘Males!’ the girl exclaimed suddenly. ‘I suppose it takes no more to provoke a male dragon to stupidity than it does a human male.’
Sintara’s curiosity was stirred by the comment, though she would not let Thymara know that. She reviewed what she knew of Thymara’s most recent upsets and divined the source of her sour mood. ‘The decision is yours, not theirs. How foolishly you are behaving! Just mate with both of them. Or neither. Show them that you are a queen, not a cow to be bred at the bull’s rutting.’
‘I chose neither,’ Thymara told her, answering the question that the dragon hadn’t asked.
Her scales smoothed, Sintara lifted her head and resumed her trek to the forest’s edge. Thymara hurried to stay beside her, musing as she jogged. ‘I just want to let it alone, to leave things as they’ve always been. But neither of them seems willing to let that happen.’ She shook her head, her braids flying with the motion. ‘Tats is my oldest friend. I knew him back in Trehaug, before we became dragon keepers. He’s part of my past, part of home. But when he pushes me to bed with him, I don’t know if it’s because he loves me, or simply because I’ve refused him. I worry that if we become lovers and it doesn’t work out, I’ll lose him completely.’
‘Then bed Rapskal and be done with it,’ the dragon suggested. Thymara was boring her. How could humans seriously believe that a dragon could be interested in the details of their lives? As well worry about a moth or a fish.
The keeper took the dragon’s comment as an excuse to keep talking. ‘Rapskal? I can’t. If I take him as a mate, I know that would ruin my friendship with Tats. Rapskal is handsome, and funny … and a bit strange. But it’s a sort of strange that I like. And I think he truly cares about me, that when he pushes me to sleep with him, it’s not just for the pleasure.’ She shook her head. ‘But I don’t want it, with either of them. Well, I do. If I could just have the physical part of it, and not have it make everything else complicated. But I don’t want to take the chance of catching a child, and I don’t really want to have to make some momentous decision. If I choose one, have I lost the other? I don’t know what—’
‘You’re boring me,’ Sintara warned her. ‘And there are more important things you should be doing right now. Have you hunted for me today? Do you have meat to bring me?’
Thymara bridled at the sudden change of topic. She replied grudgingly, ‘Not yet. When the rain lets up, I’ll go. There’s no game moving right now.’ A pause, and then she broached another dangerous subject. ‘Mercor said you would fly. Were you trying? Have you exercised your wings today, Sintara? Working on the muscles is the only way that you will ever—’
‘I have no desire to flap around on the beach like a gull with a broken wing. No desire to make myself an object of mockery.’ Even less desire to fail and fall into the icy, swift-flowing river and drown. Or over-estimate her skills and plummet into the trees as Baliper had done. His wings were so swollen that he could not close them, and he’d torn a claw from his left front foot.
‘No one mocks you! Exercising your wings is a necessity, Sintara. You must learn to fly; all of the dragons must. You all have grown since we left Cassarick, and it is becoming impossible for me to kill enough game to keep you well fed, even with the larger game that we’ve found here. You will have to hunt for your own food, and to do that, you must be able to fly. Would not you rather be one of the first dragons to leave the ground than one of the last ones?’
That thought stung. The idea that the smaller females such as Veras or Fente might gain the air before she did was intolerable. It might actually be easier for such stunted and scrawny creatures to fly. Anger warmed her blood and she knew the liquid copper of her eyes would be swirling with emotion. She’d have to kill them, that was all. Kill them before either one could humiliate her.
‘Or you could take flight before they did,’ Thymara suggested steadily.
Sintara snapped her head around to stare at the girl. Sometimes she was able to overhear the dragon’s thoughts. Sometimes she was even impudent enough to answer them.
‘I’m tired of the rain. I want to go back under the trees.’
Thymara nodded and as Sintara stalked off, she followed docilely. The dragon looked back only once.
Down by the river, other keepers were stridently discussing
