he searched for words. “Forgive my blundering tongue and my deplorable behaviour. I’m confused, Hualiama, my hearts captivated by this magic … and by all you are. I know not what to make of it. One thing I understand. This Dragon is profoundly honoured to have you as his Dragon Rider.”
The pulse in her throat seemed attuned to the drumbeat of his Dragon hearts. It burned on her tongue to tell Grandion about her dreams, yet she withheld. Something in the gravity of the moment prevented it. Then, the chance evaporated.
Lia said, “You frightened me.”
“Aye,” he growled, with a piratical leer, “we must keep our slaves in line, we must! A nibble here, a beating there …”
The Human girl chuckled, “Allow me to remind you, my humble means of transportation, of who rides who in this relationship?”
Not to be outdone, Grandion declaimed:
Cruel was she, that Dragoness fair,
A cunning heart in evil lair,
Black-fire burning in hearts of stone,
She tossed that slave about like a bone!
Hualiama pretended to draw a dagger out of her heart. With a dramatic, swooning swoop to her voice, she sang:
“Nay, foul traitor, thou hast wounded me most grievously.
My love, my soul’s rest, I die …”
The King, beset with grief, cried, “Away with thee, beast,
O perfidious Blue Dragon, thou hideous fiend of Gi’ishior–
Grandion’s guffaws drowned her out. “Now you’re just making it up.”
With that, she reached out and smacked the Tourmaline Dragon on the nose, crying, “Slowest one’s a mangy cliff-fox!”
Dragon and dragonet looked at each other.
“Cracked as Fra’anior’s caldera,” suggested Grandion.
“Crazy as a monkey dancing in a storm,” agreed Flicker.
Hands on hips, Lia grumbled, “Great Islands, I feel like the prize ralti sheep. You’re supposed to chase me. Don’t you know the game? Don’t Dragons play games?”
“Oh, she’s playing wingtips!” cried the dragonet.
“Do Dragons play games?” Grandion eyeballed Lia in a mock-fury, before making his lunge.
She skipped beyond his reach. “Too slow.”
A second time, the Dragon’s claws clicked shut on thin air.
With a taunting dance, Lia cried, “What’s the matter, Grandion? Is your fat old belly weighing you down? Here I am–no I’m not! You cheat, don’t herd me with your wings. Ha, fooled you.”
The Nuyallith forms allowed her to keep ahead of the Tourmaline Dragon for a few seconds at least, although she suspected Grandion was not trying his hardest. Lia kept expecting him to return to hot avarice, but instead, discovered a mischievous side to the Dragon’s personality. He pounced on her but missed on purpose, swiped at the air as though drunk, and pretended to be blinded by her beauty, allowing Lia to scuttle between his legs to safety. When, declaiming that she had died from Dragon fear, Lia fell face down on the black sand beach, Grandion nosed about the backs of her knees and the nape of her neck until the tickling became unbearable and she curled up, giggling helplessly. The Dragon scooped her up in his forepaws, only to pretend that she was as slippery as a bar of well-used soapstone. He used a cunning flick of his talon to ‘squirt’ her thirty feet through the air into the deepest part of the pool.
They played and laughed together–oh, how they laughed! Knowing her mother’s name made an irrepressible joy bubble up within Lia. Her mood clearly affected Grandion. Seizing his lower lip, Hualiama dragged the Dragon into the pool for use as a diving platform. They had a mock fistfight, ending in Lia knocking the Dragon out, whereupon he pretended to fall over, only to slip over the edge of his lava caldera for real. His howls had Lia in stitches.
“Treacherous Human slave,” he growled, grasping her in one fist while he threatened her throat with the talons of the other, “you didn’t clean my talons properly yesterday.”
Hualiama pressed his talon with her hand. “I enjoy the magical power of commanding talons to disappear.”
Retracting his claws into their flexible sheaths, the Dragon cried, “You’ve grown mighty in the lost art of declawing the Dragonkind, Lia!”
“You’re all hot air and smoke, Grandion.”
“Aye? Then meet my most fearsome Dragon power yet.” And he blew smoke into her face until she began to cough.
When the smoke cleared enough for her to speak, Lia inquired, “Are your claws battle-sharp?”
“By my wings, that was a polite way of suggesting my claws are in a sorry state,” the Dragon said. “I’ll admit, they aren’t at their best.”
Lia said, “I read that it was customary for Human slaves to tend to their Dragons’ needs, including sharpening their claws