Tastion to it, and that was what the dragons had been staring at. Not her. She’d been standing in direct line between them and the cavern. Magic thrived in that figure to which they and she were attuned because…and here her surmise failed her outright. Dymphana had told her that not all mysteries were explained, but on the cusp of one, she resented that she couldn’t find its final panacea.
She almost got up then, to go off and prepare whatever needed preparing. Then, looking across the inlet, she thought, This is the last time I’ll ever be here. Her mother must have thought that once upon a time, too, looking out from this spot to this ocean. It seemed important to acknowledge.
She pulled off her small boots, drew off her bloody clothing, then ceremoniously walked into the water.
She swam across to the far side of the inlet, where she pulled herself up on a rock and perched like a sea otter. Like the evil mermaid of Omelune.
A cloud rolled across the sun, and the wind riding the water turned chilly. She shivered with gooseflesh and slid back into the inlet, splashing, diving down in the crystal-clear water to the bottom, where she grabbed a handful of weeds and sand, and offered a prayer of farewell to whatever could hear her thoughts. It was what Tastion said the fishermen did on their final outing.
When she kicked off from the bottom she found herself face-to-face with a sea dragon. She darted back in surprise. The dragon moved with her. Its protruding black eyes swiveled, studying her. She surfaced and drew a deep breath, ready to dive back down; but before she could, the dragon’s yellow head popped up beside her.
It wasn’t full-grown. An adult sea dragon could never have fitted through the narrow mouth of the inlet even at high tide. But it wasn’t a baby, either. Its body was mottled the way an adult’s was. Close up, she could see small soft spikes protruding from its ribs—features not visible from the beach. Features that only fishermen ever saw. A feathery ruff surrounded its neck, as thin as a dragonfly wing.
The plumes off the back of its head ended in purplish fans—one at the top of the head and one lower on the back of the neck—that seemed to rest on the water. Below the surface, its gills fluttered daintily. A puffy reddish mound, speckled like the torso, encompassed each eye. Tiny needle-like teeth encircled the crumpled mouth at the end of the reedy, tapered snout. The mouth flexed, wheezed, and blew spray at her. She thought of Muvros, the smaller dragon Tastion rode, and how it looked as if it were forever puckering for a kiss. This one was like that, too. She couldn’t help but smile.
“Hello,” she said to it.
The dragon glanced aside as if considering whether it should answer.
“What are you doing here?” she asked herself as much as the creature. It exhaled another small jet of water.
One of its paddle-shaped feet slapped against her side, and she flinched before realizing what had touched her.
The dragon turned its head to face her straight-on, its eyes swiveling to find her. With its snout it nudged her, and its whuffling breath sprayed her face.
Abruptly it turned as if to go, but remained, paddling in place. Its tail snaked across her belly. She dared to touch it now, expecting the creature to dive, to flee from her. Its skin was slightly rough. The mottling across its back was bumpy. Far down its back a third plume lay folded along its spine—another feature not visible from land. Now she understood how the riders could perch in place: They fitted against the base of the plume and held on to the lowest fan on its neck.
The dragon glanced around at her, clearly impatient. The third plume fluttered in invitation. She swam up beside the dragon and pulled herself onto its back. The rough and oily skin chafed her belly and then the insides of her thighs as she sat upright. She bent her legs and clutched its sides with her knees. They fell between the larger ribs quite naturally. Whoever had first climbed upon a sea dragon would have thought the creature had been designed for them—as she did now. The dragon seemed to think so, too.
She leaned against the rear plume and held to its neck. Neither her weight nor hold seemed to inconvenience the dragon. She was thinking, Well, this is nice,