shores, here backlit by a miles-wide orange lava flow. And it seemed to her, as Grandion swept a Human girl out into the moonlit night, that the stars themselves should answer in bell-like notes of rapturous approbation, and that having experienced this, nothing in the Island-World could ever amaze her again.
A sonorous bugle resounded from deep within Grandion’s chest, a sound that caused her to shiver pleasantly.
When she fell silent, the Tourmaline Dragon said, “Happy?”
“You’ve given me the greatest gift of my life, Grandion. Should I not exult?”
The Dragon rubbed his muzzle with his forepaw in a gesture Hualiama had learned signified deep Dragon emotion. He said, “And we Dragons take the power of flight for granted. Shame on us. I should deploy a little concealing magic, now that you’ve woken the entire Island.”
“Grandion?”
“Songbird of Fra’anior?”
“Do Dragons sing?”
He riposted, with a knife-edge ill-concealed in his tone, “Do Dragons rule the Island-World from shore to shore?”
“Except for the large majority of Islands which are ruled by Humans, aye,” she agreed. “You can have all the air; just leave us Humans the Islands.”
“You are exceedingly generous, your Highness,” he said, his displeasure crackling in an undertone of fiery reproof. “Though, I find your social and political education sadly lacking in foundation.”
“Don’t tell me you believe Dragons should rule by right.”
“By right of superior beauty, physical prowess, intelligence, scientific endeavour and achievement, breeding, and–”
“–modesty,” Lia snapped. “You’re awfully strong on modesty.”
Grandion coughed out an impressive plume of fire at her comment. Lia ducked, but the wind wafted the choking, sulphurous smoke into her face. As she coughed, he snarled, “Humans are nothing but the fleas infesting the armpit of this world.”
Fire roared over her vision. Rather than being cowed by his tone, Lia found herself snarling right back, “You’ve eaten so much monkey meat you’re starting to sound just like one!”
“Most Dragons would kill you for that insult!” he snarled.
“Well, it’s blindingly obvious good manners and charm didn’t land you up in that hole!”
GRRAAAAAGGGHHH!
A crack of thunder! Hualiama clapped her hands over her ears as Grandion roared so loudly, he almost stopped in the air with the effort. She distinctly heard boulders crashing down the nearby cliff, shaken loose. The Tourmaline Dragon flew straight for several moments, panting, while Lia clung to his back as though glued in place. Fantastic. He had spoiled her good mood with one thoughtless slur. Well, a slew of insults, truth be told.
Now her ride wanted to eat her.
At length, he commented, “You surprise me, Hualiama. You’re quite the little Dragoness.”
“I’m sorry, Grandion. I didn’t mean to–”
He cut in, “An apology? In my culture, that’s even worse than the preceding insults. It’s regarded as a sign of cowardice.”
“So, the flea must keep fighting?”
Just like that, the fire and stiffness in his manner vanished and Grandion began to chortle helplessly, shaking his head. “You are incredible. The nonsense that gushes from your mouth, mingled with the most sublime insights! Nay, I don’t want to fight with you, Hualiama. I don’t even know why I am wont to spoil your first flight with crass and worthless words.”
Lia pushed herself upright, peering past his spine spikes to catch a glimpse of his eye as he inclined his head. So, he could apologise but she could not? She smiled, “Thanks, Grandion.”
“Girl, in reply to your earlier accusation–I ended up in that hole because my shell-father ordered me to do something useful with my life, or never return home again.”
What could she say to such a bald statement? Even King Chalcion had not gone that far. No, she laughed hollowly. He preferred to keep her around so that he could beat her personally. Perhaps a cautious question or two could distract the Dragon from his unpredictable mood?
“Who are your parents, Grandion?”
But he shut his muzzle with a click of his fangs. “I will not speak of them.”
They flew north for several hours, each mired in their own thoughts, before Grandion curved his flight toward the northerly tip of Ha’athior Island and alighted in the mouth of a wide, shallow cave a mile beneath the top of the flat peninsula which formed part of Fra’anior volcano’s rim wall.
“Tired?” Lia asked quietly, as he walked beneath the overhang.
“Three months of inactivity doesn’t leave a Dragon flying-fit,” he admitted. “I need to rest. Of course, my superior Dragon physique will quickly adjust to the demands of flying–you’ll see. Meantime, how are you planning to descend the muscular mountain which is my overly conceited self?”
That was a