When their dying squeals faded, she remained as she was, sprawled upon her kills, trying to draw breath. Stillness was her only hope of making the pain subside. And after a time, it did, but not to its previous level. It was something she had noticed: every day it hurt more and every day the sudden spikes of agony that a wrong movement could deliver became more debilitating. Yet the spilled blood smelled so good, and the warmth of the freshly-killed prey beckoned her. As cautious as if she were woven of glass strands, she extended her neck to pick up a chunk of pig. She gulped it down, waking her hunger. Need warred with pain. She could scarcely stand, but managed to manoeuvre herself over the mucky ground to reach her kills.
As soon as the last piece was swallowed, lethargy rose up to claim her. It was still early in the afternoon. There was plenty of light to fly by still, but she had no strength for it. Pain still ruled her but the muddy bank was chill and damp. She dragged herself to slightly higher ground, to where the rushes had not been crushed and dirtied by her battle. She considered, regretfully, that if she slept now, she would be here all through the night. She would not wake in time to fly more today. It was as it was, she decided. She settled, gently arranging her body in the position that hurt least and closing her eyes.
Day the 3rd of the Plough Moon
Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Reyall, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown
To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug
Enclosed, a transcription of a hand-carried message from Wintrow Vestrit Haven, captain of the liveship Vivacia and Consort to the Pirate Queen Etta Ludluck.
Please note that dates indicate this message has been delayed by several months, through no fault of the Bird Keepers’ Guild. It is addressed to the Khuprus household, but appears intended for Reyn and Malta Khuprus.
To my sister, Malta Vestrit Khuprus and her husband, Reyn Khuprus of the Rain Wild Traders:
Sister, Brother, if you can summon that dragon of yours, there was never a better time for you to do so. My efforts to locate Selden have been fruitless. I wish he had contacted me before he undertook a journey in this direction, for I would have made sure that a suitable escort was provided to an Elderling lord and dragon-poet such as he. For now, I am heartsick to tell you that I have received tidings of a ‘Dragon-Boy’ that somewhat matches a description of Selden since his Elderling changes. I both hope and fear that this is indeed our little brother. My hope is that at least he was alive when this gossip reached me and my fear is that he is in dire need of help, as he has been taken as a slave of sorts, displayed as a wonder for the ignorant gawker. I pray to Sa to keep him safe wherever he may be, but I have also offered a substantial reward if he is brought safely to me. I regretfully add that I have promised a reward also for reliable news of his demise, with evidence, for I would know what has become of him, no matter how much sorrow it brings me.
What was our mother thinking, to let him go off on his own like this? Did no one there think of how valuable a hostage he was to any that cared to take him?
Vivacia sends greetings to Althea and Brashen, if you should see them. Etta earnestly desires them to know that our Paragon wishes to see the ship whose name he bears. I myself think he is still young to hear of that part of his heritage, for doubtless the Paragon would disagree and would impart far more information than a boy of his years needs to understand just yet.
Please remember you are always welcome here and that we all most earnestly desire to see you again.
And if Selden has since wandered home, in the name of Sa herself, send me word by the swiftest means possible.
When I think of him, I still imagine him as a boy with his front teeth just beginning to grow in.
My love to both of you, and my hope that this finds you both in good health.
Your loving brother,
Wintrow
CHAPTER TEN
Tintaglia’s Touch
‘But we came so far!’ Malta protested. ‘There must be something you can do! Please!’
The golden dragon once more lowered his muzzle and drew his breath in as he nearly touched her child with his nose. The dragon’s head was so large that she could see only one of his eyes at a time when he was this close. That black eye seemed to whirl as he slowly lidded it and then opened it again. The wind off the river rose in a gust and swept past them. And Malta waited, hope painful in her chest.
A number of the dragons had converged on the baths late last night. Alise had cautioned her that they would not be patient of questions when they were soaking lethargically. So Malta had risen at dawn and waited in the Square of the Dragons, knowing they must pass her before they could take to the skies to hunt. They were hungry. One after another, she had importuned them to help her babe. A few had simply passed her by as if she were a mad beggar woman. Others had paused to snuff the baby. ‘He smells of Tintaglia,’ a green queen dragon had told her, and a tall cobalt dragon had said, ‘Would that I were of Tintaglia’s lineage!’ before he passed on. One after another, she had stopped them, sometimes with the aid of their keepers. Hunger flared in them and she shared their relentless appetites when she spoke to them.
