To Winshaw, General Registrar of Birds, Bingtown
I think it is ridiculous that a simple accounting error is leading to suspicions and accusations against me. I have told the Council numerous times that I am the victim of prejudice simply because I came to this post as a Tattooed rather than as one Rain Wilds born. The current journeymen feel a loyalty to their own kind that leads to this sort of suspicion and tattling. As they seem to have nothing better to do than spread evil rumours, I have doubled their duty hours.
Yes, there is a discrepancy between the number of birds in our cotes now and the number that existed before the red lice plague completely subsided. It is for a simple reason: Birds died.
In the crisis of the moment, I did not pay as much attention to paperwork as I did to attempting to keep birds alive. For this reason, yes, I burned dead birds before other bird keepers had witnessed that they were, indeed, dead. It was to stop the spread of contagion. And that is all it was.
I cannot give you evidence of their deaths, unless you wish me to ship a package of ashes from the incineration site. I do not think that is a task worthy of my time.
Do you?
Kim, Keeper of the Birds, Cassarick
Postscript: If any keeper sites are in need of journeymen, I have a surplus, and will gladly release any of them for service. The sooner my own apprentices can replace those disloyal to me, the sooner the operation of the Cassarick station will become more efficient and professional.
Sintara waded out of the river, cold water sheeting from her gleaming blue scales. When she reached the shore, she opened her wings, rocked back on her hind legs, and shook them, showering the sandy bank with droplets. As she folded them sleekly back to her sides, she feigned oblivion to how every dragon eye was fixed on her. She let her gaze rove over all of them, staring dragons and frozen keepers.
Mercor broke the silence. ‘You look well, Sintara.’
She knew it. It had not taken long. The long baths in simmering water, flights to muscle her and plenty of meat to put flesh on her bones. She finally felt like a dragon. She stood a moment longer to allow them all to notice how she had grown before dropping to all fours again. She regarded Mercor in silence for a few long moments before observing, ‘And you do not. Still not flying, Mercor?’
He did not look aside from her disdain. ‘Not yet. But soon, I hope.’
Sintara had spoken true. The golden drake had outgrown his flesh, as if the meat of his body were stretched too thinly over his bones. He was clean, meticulously groomed as ever, but he did not gleam as he once had.
‘He will fly.’
The words were confident. Sintara turned her head. Her focus on Mercor had been such that she had forgotten there were other dragons present, let alone a mere human. Several of the Elderling youths had paused at their tasks to watch their encounter, but not Alise. She was working on Baliper, and as her hands moved over a long gash on his face, she kept her eyes on her task. The gash was fresh; she was blotting blood and dirt from it, rinsing the rag in a bucket at her feet. Baliper’s eyes were closed.
Sintara did not reply to Alise’s assertion. Instead, she said, ‘So you are Baliper’s keeper now. Do you hope he will make you an Elderling? To give you a better life?’
The woman’s eyes flickered to Sintara and then back to her work. ‘No,’ she replied shortly.
‘My keeper is dead. I do not desire another one.’ Baliper spoke in a profoundly emotionless voice.
Alise stilled. She set one hand on the scarlet dragon’s muscular neck. Then she stooped, rinsed her rag, and went on cleaning the gash.
‘I understand that,’ she said quietly. When she spoke to Sintara, her voice echoed Mercor’s exactly. ‘Why did you come here?’
It was an irritating question, not just because they both dared to ask her but because she was not, herself, certain of the answer. Why had she come? It was undragonlike to seek companionship with either other dragons or humans. She looked for a moment at Kelsingra, recalling why the Elderlings had created it: to lure dragons. To offer them the indulgences that only a city built by humans could provide.
Something that Mercor had said long ago pushed into her thoughts. They had been discussing Elderlings and how dragons changed humans. She tried to recall his exact words and could not. Only that he had claimed humans changed dragons just as much as dragons changed humans.
The thought was humiliating. Almost infuriating. Had her long exposure to humans changed her, given her a need for their company? Her blood coursed more strongly through her veins and her body answered her question. Not just company. She felt the wash of colour go through her scales, betraying her.
‘Sintara. Was there a reason for this visit?’
Mercor had moved closer still. His voice was almost amused. ‘I go where I please. Today, it pleased me to come here. Today it pleased me to look on what might have been drakes.’
He opened his wings, stretched them wide. They were larger than she recalled. He flexed them, testing them, and the breeze of them, heavy with his male scent, washed over her. ‘It pleases me that you have come here, as well,’ he observed.
A sound. Had Alise laughed? Sintara snapped her gaze back to the woman, but her head was bent over her bucket as she wrung out her rag. She looked back at Mercor. He was folding his wings carefully. Kalo was watching both of them with interest. As was Spit. As she looked at him, the silver male reared back onto his hind legs and spread his wings as wide as they would go. Carson stood between them, looking very apprehensive. ‘It needn’t be Mercor!’ the nasty little silver trumpeted suddenly. ‘It could be me.’
She stared at him and felt her poison sacs swelling in her throat. He flapped his wings at her, releasing musk in a rank wind. She shook her head and bent her neck, snorting out the stench. ‘It will never be you,’ she spat at him.
‘It might,’ he countered and danced a step toward her. Kalo’s eyes suddenly spun with anger.
‘Spit!’ Carson warned him but the silver pranced another step closer.
Kalo lifted a clawed foot, set it deliberately on his tail. Spit squalled angrily and turned on the much larger dragon, opening his mouth wide to show his poison glands, scarlet and distended. Kalo trumpeted his challenge as he snapped his wing open, bowling the smaller dragon to one side as Carson leapt back with a roar of dismay to avoid being crushed.
Kalo ignored the chaos behind him.
‘I will fly the challenge!’ the cobalt drake announced. He lifted his gaze to Sintara. She heard a distant cry and became aware that far overhead, Fente was circling. The small green queen watched it all with interest. The heat of Kalo’s stare swept through her, and suddenly all she felt was anger, anger for all of them, all the
