would have missed the murderous undertone, a crackling akin to a monstrous bonfire, accompanying his words. Hualiama was struck once more by the Dragon’s powers of insight and perception. Not only did he listen, but he internalised and remembered what he heard and observed. She must beware that he did not learn to read her too well.
“I forbid a draconic revenge-taking against my father!”
Fire whirled into Grandion’s eyes. “Aye, Human girl, but were I to exert a Dragonish cunning to circumvent your words, I would say, King Chalcion is not your true father. Therefore, your words fail to bind my actions.”
“Semantics!” she snapped, clenching her little fists.
“Remember this lesson. Dragons are all too fond of sliding between the scales, as we put it, whenever the occasion suits. The dragonet tells me of my lack in the arts of diplomacy and courtesy.” Reaching out, Grandion ran a talon down her unbound hair, eliciting a tremor in her body. “Riddle me this: why do you veil such a wealth of beauty, o Princess of Fra’anior?”
When Lia found herself tongue-tied, Flicker said, “Another point about Humans, Grandion. This flushing of the blood vessels beneath their soft skin denotes feelings of embarrassment or anger.”
The large Dragon rumbled, “Did I anger you with a feckless insult, Lia?”
“Nay, noble Dragon,” she replied. “Know this, that not all creatures of this Island-World share the power and freedom of the Dragonkind.”
“Aye? I understand, now.”
“Grandion, did I see you speaking to a Red Dragon, earlier, while you were scouting?”
“Aye. Xardiora is an old fledgling friend of mine, a messenger Dragoness of the Council of Dragon Elders.” The Tourmaline Dragon looked to the skies, a gravity gathering in his manner as if storm clouds had abruptly occluded clear skies. “Apparently the war in the East has taken an ill turn against the Dragons. Razzior uses this information to divide the Council. Many Dragons have rallied to him, upsetting the balance even amongst the voices of wisdom, while Sapphurion struggles to maintain control. The Dragons are aware of Ra’aba’s treachery, but with the alliances fracturing, they have other concerns–which even Xardiora was unwilling to share with me. These are strange and troubling times.”
“Strange indeed, when Human, dragonet and Dragon form an alliance,” said Flicker.
Lia muttered, “I’d bet half the jewels in the kingdom that Ra’aba’s underneath it all, stirring the whole situation into a putrid pot of soup.”
Grandion gave a great, water-boiling snort of laughter. “You! Always, you remind my hearts to keep the drumbeat of courage.”
“Er … right.” Hualiama did not know what exactly she had done or said to earn such an accolade, but she smiled as the tension between them evaporated. “Grandion, what exactly are we looking for in the Spits? And how will we manage to fly in there, given the dangerous winds and–”
“The place is called ‘the staircase into darkness’,” he said. “It’s the place to which we Dragons magically banished Ianthine. I have an image and a description from a scroll. We’ll fly into this perilous wilderness because I am a Dragon with all the power and freedom that you think Dragons enjoy. And you have these new straps to keep you on my back.”
“Oh. Grandion, I’ve a favour to ask.”
“Aye?”
“I’d be a great deal more secure if I could affix those straps properly. Could I drill holes in your spines for my saddle?”
“WHAT?” A Dragon’s fury blasted over the lake, scaring off every bird in a half-mile radius.
Then, his savage gaze met her ingenuous smile. “Joke?”
His paw flattened her in the water.
* * * *
Lia woke before dawn the following day, missing the warmth of the Tourmaline Dragon’s body. Grandion stood by the lakeshore, brooding over his private meditations. The Dragon really was better than a blanket, she told herself. Warmth, protection, and the low rumbling of belly fires to lull her to sleep. She blushed. Hopefully he could not hear her thoughts!
After a swift breakfast consisting of a handful of wild grain, two ripe tinker-bananas and water, Hualiama clambered onto Grandion’s back to affix her new saddle. It was a simple affair–a ratchet-and-spindle strap for the spine at her back to anchor her waist belt, a second strap to the fore to hold onto if needed, and a set of stirrup-like loops which buckled around her upper thighs, which ought to serve to prevent a sideways slide.
Without looking up, Lia grunted, “You’re breathing on me.”
Grandion’s supple neck allowed him to curve his muzzle right over his own shoulder. “Just checking there’s no surreptitious