Is it love, or loss? What has turned you into such a warrior?”
That girl might as well have been lost in the Cloudlands, for what had transpired after, must change a person’s very soul. But Lia rued the new distance between her and her mother.
“Mom, am I so difficult to love?”
“Oh, petal. It’s your father, isn’t it?” Her mother’s sigh contained depthless wells of grief. Tall and graceful in that most Fra’aniorian way, Shyana was a beauty like her daughter Fyria, and a dancer like Hualiama. Her raven hair fell to her waist, unbound for sleep. Her striking mauve eyes softened in sympathy. “He can be so stupid, so unbendingly proud! Chalcion sees being rescued by his daughter as an insult–to his kingship, to his manhood, I don’t know. He mutters about a royal ward issuing orders. That nonsense about the Dragon is just the smoke of those inner fires, petal.”
Nonsense? Lia allowed herself to be drawn into her mother’s embrace. That was exactly the problem. To Chalcion it was not nonsense. It was the tripartite pillars of honour, law and unshakable belief. Prejudices that ran as deep as the roots of Islands.
“Our main concern is who that Dragon is,” Shyana added. “Grandion is Sapphurion’s son, and not a good egg, petal. He’s been a liability to peace and a claw in his parents’ side since he cracked the shell. You just don’t see the evil in people, or in Dragons, for that matter. You’re kind and sweet–”
“Dragons can change,” Lia said.
“Petal … what attachment have you with that Dragon?”
Now she must tiptoe most carefully, because Shyana was so emotionally perceptive, she’d winkle the truth out of Lia before she knew it. She must tell herself that the Queen’s concern was legitimate, that Grandion could indeed be manipulating her as part of some overarching Dragonish scheme against Humanity. He might have lied about being a changed Dragon. Shyana, for her part, must sense something of Lia’s conflicted feelings and fear that their roots might drink from the most forbidden well of all.
Ironic. She had told Ja’al things could not be more or less forbidden, but she had been wrong. Some things were anathema, beyond the pale of reason.
Lia said, “It’s a debt of life, mother. Grandion feels obliged to me because, as I shared with you, I saved his life on Ha’athior.”
“Then he’s treading dangerously close to the Dragon law about interfering in Human affairs.”
“He is–but Ra’aba is allied with Dragons.”
Shyana said, “I hope you’re right. Perhaps Sapphurion will overlook the matter of the Island from which you rescued his son, and not be shouted down in the Council of Dragon Elders. It’s a complex situation which we need to approach wisely. Grandion’s request to offer us aid could easily be cast as Dragons helping Humans against Dragons. And you know how jealously they protect their precious holy Isle.”
Grandion’s exact fears. Queen Shyana evidently concealed a shrewd and calculating political mind behind her ethereal, often mystical exterior.
Lia drew breath. “Mom, there’s something you need to know. Something more.”
“What? Secret warrior training?”
“Uh … that too.” Hualiama chuckled. “I am apprenticed to one of the Dragon Warrior monasteries. Please don’t tell Dad! He’d explode.”
The Queen chose this moment to arch an eyebrow at her. “Were the monks nice to you, daughter? Was there a special one?”
“Mom! Aye … there was.” Lia willed her ears not to start burning. “We kissed. But he decided to take his vows of celibacy and service, and we parted as friends. Mom, it’s worse than that. I know who my real parents are.” Now that she had cracked open this chest of secrets, she had to throw the lid right open in a rush, or her courage would fail her. “My mother was an envoy from the East, a woman called Azziala. I’m not sure she ever came to our court, because she was bound for Gi’ishior. But my father … well, you’ve seen my ears.”
Shyana’s hand flew to her mouth. “It wasn’t … he didn’t have an affair, did he?”
“Not Chalcion, no.” Lia had never considered that possibility. Which was worse? Swallowing painfully hard, she rasped, “Ra’aba.”
“Ra’aba? Truly, petal?” Her mother’s shoulders stiffened until she resembled a petrified tree, but when she spoke, it was to add, “I don’t believe it. Never was a daughter less like the father, were that the truth. Why would he not have told us? Clever, though, to keep you nearby where he might watch over you.”