hands, and she dumped its various layers into them. He could do this and avert his gaze, which he did. He didn’t seem embarrassed, though. That took more effort, not that Bellusdeo was against that.
It was not illegal for Dragons to be Draconic in Tiamaris. And it was not illegal for Dragons to take to the sky in their second form. Bellusdeo, mindful of the damage done to clothing—or perhaps the cost of replacing it—didn’t seem to care all that much if she stood in the streets exposed and stark naked—but even in that form, there was little in the streets that could harm her. Plus, she had Maggaron. And Severn. And Kaylin.
Kaylin was grateful that she’d waited until there were no small children close at hand. The Dragon pushed off the ground with her wings bunched close to her back; she spread them as she gained height. Her shadow shrank as she gained distance.
“I wish,” Kaylin said softly, “that the Emperor would nix the law about Dragons in flight above the city.”
“She doesn’t understand it, either. But the city is the Emperor’s, and she accepts that.”
“I think she’d be happier if she could do this more often.”
Maggaron said nothing.
“You don’t?”
“I don’t know. She is...not what she was, when she ruled.” He glanced at Kaylin. “I am grateful for you. The problems you face are new to her. They are no less dangerous, and they require some attention. She is allowed to face most of them by your side, and given the nature of some of your enemies, she doesn’t have the time to think about...” He trailed off.
“What will she do?” Kaylin asked as Bellusdeo circled the boundaries of Tiamaris from above.
“She will do what she must. She has always done what she must.”
“And after?”
“And after, I think it would almost be better for her if she found—if she took—a fief Tower for herself.”
Kaylin shook her head. “It’s too close to Ravellon.”
“Perhaps. But that, Chosen, is the war she was trained—and raised—to fight. She knows no other.”
* * *
Tara was in her gardening clothing when the Tower’s base came into view. This would be because she was in her garden. Morse was standing guard, but Morse was decorative. This close to the Tower, there was little that could harm Tara. Tara, like Helen, was an Avatar, a way of interacting with the people of Tiamaris.
There were residents in similar gardening clothing who were at work; some were too young to be truly helpful, and some old enough they required more rest. None seemed afraid to see the Hawks or the Norannir.
Morse came to greet them. “Things have been pretty quiet.”
“And you’re bored?”
“Not bored, exactly.” Morse shrugged. “I don’t trust the quiet.” Her grin was brief. Dark. It was also hard to maintain when Tara was near. “It never stays quiet around you, you know?”
“I’m not bringing trouble with me.”
“Why’re you here, then?”
“To speak with Tiamaris.”
“Emperor sent you?”
“The Hawklord. We’re only here to learn what Tiamaris knows.”
Morse snorted. “You’ve got a year or ten?”
“About the fiefs. Not his,” Kaylin added. “But a neighbor’s. Did you know Tiamaris spent some time entering various fiefs—as research?”
“I’d heard.”
“He told you?”
Morse shook her head. “Tara did. She likes to talk. Sometimes she likes to talk a lot.” Kaylin winced. Morse had never been even remotely chatty. “She’s giving lessons; she’ll be done soon.”
“Do you know where Tiamaris is?”
Morse shaded her eyes and looked up. “I know where he will be, soon.”
* * *
Tara took a break after a quarter of an hour, by which time there were two Dragons in the air. One was gold. One was, hmmm, bronze? It was harder to pinpoint the color. Kaylin was pretty certain she’d seen red scales on at least one of them.
“Yes,” Tara said as she approached. “The colors can shift when the Dragon is under duress. As the Dragons age, that shift is less likely—although I am told the colors deepen or change with age. Tiamaris is considered young by his kin.”
“But Bellusdeo has always been gold.”
“Bellusdeo is female.” Before Kaylin could speak, she added, “I believe the female of any species is somewhat mysterious to the nonfemales of the same species.”
“Meaning you don’t know?”
“I know what my Lord knows.”
“Well...” She watched the Dragons cross paths. It was almost playful.
“They are conversing,” Tara said, her voice softer. “My Lord worries about Bellusdeo.”
“About her decision?”
“No. He trusts that she will accept the responsibility of being, of becoming—however temporarily—the mother of her race. But...he does not think