followed. Abruptly, vile curses flooded from Ra’aba’s mouth. “I killed her with my own hands! Twice … the prophecy is broken. It must be. There’s no other way … no other person … the bane … that Dragoness brought it down on me … on us all …”
His voice broke down into meaningless babble, punctuated by more curses; now sobbing, the deep, rasping sobs of a man gripped by mortal terror.
“Tell us about the prophecy, Ra’aba,” said Ja’al’s father. “Perhaps we can help.”
“You’ll never have it. Never! I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you all if I have to.”
Sarcastically, aiming to rile, Master Jo’el said, “Ra’aba, no man can escape a word of fate spoken by the Great Dragon.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand.” Ra’aba’s voice grew fainter. Lia imagined his men were dragging him away from the house, down the path. Yet, his final wail carried to her hearing, “It’ll mean the end of us all … of everything we hold dear!”
* * * *
Hualiama knew Ja’al’s mother had noted the tender care her son bestowed upon the Princess of Fra’anior. Now beardless, she sported a hot red rash where her disguise had been glued to her much-abused cheeks. His mother was the least of her worries. She explained all that the Nameless Man had told her–or not–careless of the irritation boiling beneath her manner until Master Ga’athar crashed his fist down on the table.
“My son saved you from a reckless attack on Ra’aba!” he growled.
“I would’ve killed him!”
Ga’athar shouted, “You would not!”
“Not when I was thrashing on the floor like a speared trout, no!” Hualiama yelled back.
Master Jo’el said peaceably, “You simply aren’t ready.”
Lia roared to her feet, stung by his words, when realisation sucked the wind out of her Dragonship’s sails. The Master was right. The heat of righteous anger could only carry a person so far. Last time a thrown blade had fortuitously nicked the Roc’s skin. His reactions were quicker than a dragonet’s–she, of all people, should know. Ra’aba and his soldiers would have slaughtered this family. What a fool she was. She had to train. She must grow stronger.
Collapsing into her seat, Hualiama fought bitter tears. She would not cry on account of that man! Never again! Yet she was afraid, so dreadfully afraid. How could she ever face Ra’aba? Please, Great Dragon, lift this soul-shivering destiny from her life …
“It is said,” Jo’el added, “that Ra’aba has a mysterious, magical capacity akin to the rare Dragon skill known as stone skin. You told me of the legend that he had never been touched by another blade, Lia. Except yours.”
“He wasn’t prepared, that’s all,” she spat. Stone skin? None of her delving into Dragon lore had mentioned that ability, nor had it mentioned Dragon-empathy so deep-seated, it was as if she had inhabited a hide of gemstone hue … “You heard the Nameless Man. Much as I would have loved to hear, ‘Do this and your victory over Ra’aba will be assured’, what he said was, ‘To stand a gnat’s chance in an erupting volcano’–well, that’s my point. And what, by every Cloudlands hell in the entire Island-World, do my parents have to do with the price of silk in Helyon? Riddle me that!”
She glowered at the group gathered around the table. Fulminating. Fuming at the dragonet, who had just suppressed a purr of approval at her ire–she hardly needed his encouragement!
“Another sweetbread?” Master Jo’el offered her the basket.
“More spicy ralti stew?” suggested Hallon.
“A cheeky dragonet’s tail to stir the stew?” Rallon grinned, holding up Flicker’s tail. He had gently lifted the dragonet off Hualiama after Flicker arrived in a mewling mess, scratching at the front door, clearly feverish and delusional.
Flicker cracked open an eye. “What say you I stir your intestines with my talon?”
Lia grinned grimly. Clearly the herbs she had instructed Ja’al’s nineteen year-old sister, Inniora, to prepare, were having the desired effect. “He’s touchy about his tail,” she advised. “Treat it as a sacred object.”
“He’s beautiful,” said Inniora.
“Mmm,” purred Flicker, switching laps with alacrity, nestling into Inniora’s sky-blue Fra’aniorian lace gown with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me more, you lovely girl.”
She was the girl who had played for them in the Nameless Man’s chamber. Inniora had all the graceful height that Lia lacked, a mischievous twinkle in her dark brown eyes, and hands which appeared to be calloused from the use of a blade. She moved as though she knew how to take care of herself, but had a gentle air about