Dragon Rule - E. E. Knight [19]
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 secrets and finding weaknesses. It’s quiet up here. I have visitors. Most of them are important Hypatians, or Hypatians who want to be important. They come here to seek my help, an intervention from the Tyr. They’re always awestruck, at first, and tell me about the only other time they met a dragon. I’ve heard an elf named Ragwrist used to have one traveling with his circus; it seems she told fortunes and somehow worked her way into the Wheel of Fire. She humbled a dwarf-king’s fortress that entire armies hadn’t managed to breach.”
“I’ve heard that story too,” Wistala said. “I think storytellers look for ways to improve on the truth.”
Nilrasha cocked her head and flexed her stumps again, as though brushing off imaginary birds perched on her fringe.
“A dragon who can bring down a dwarvish fortress so mighty that no army could take it might find herself in another conspiracy, wouldn’t you agree, sister?” Nilrasha looked at her sharply.
Was Nilrasha testing her to see if she was already involved?
“We’ll talk more in the morning. Would you like my thralls to clean your scale before you retire?”
Wistala enjoyed their services that evening. She wanted to think, and strangely enough, having the Queen’s servants cleaning and polishing claws, teeth, and scale gave her strange powers of concentration in their busywork. When they were done she fell into a deep, post-flight sleep and dreamed of moss-covered ruins filled with stalking cats and furtive rats.
They breakfasted on freshwater fish hauled up to the Queen’s eyrie in a woven basket on a line.
“You’ll not mind if we climb down so I can show you something? After, there’s good hunting in those woods, if your taste runs to wild goats or small deer.”
Wistala agreed. The Queen had the good manners to ask if she’d changed her mind about serving as Queen-Consort.
Wistala had assured her that she had not, but had more doubts than ever about how well she’d fit the role. “I’m no social dragon. I learned my manners from an elf.”
“That’s the great thing about being Queen. Blunder away. Your manners are never laughed at, at least to your face. Perhaps you’ll introduce a few new traditions,” Nilrasha said, giving an unsettling laugh.
Wistala’s family hadn’t been laughing dragons, though she’d learned humor in Rainfall’s gentle school.
They began their descent and Wistala found it exhausting, despite the chisled-out holds for sii, tail, and saa. She hadn’t had to cling vertically in years.
“I see now how you stay so fit,” Wistala said. “Hanging on for your hearts’ dear life is good exercise.”
Nilrasha held on with her tail as she negotiated a difficult overhang. “Better than flying in many ways—the constant strain of unusual angles brings a muscular warmth and a healthy fatigue that