Wingborn (52 page)

“Elder
B-Blazeborn?” The voice this time was much closer, even more timid
than before and full of apology.

Khennik
glanced towards the irritant with narrowed eyes. “What is it now,
Mastekh?”

Mastekh kin
Rainstorm Clan Flowflight sweated with nerves as he stood on the
edge of Khennik’s precious sunlight. Barely past his change time,
the youngster had only just mastered a human shape, though his skin
was blue-grey instead of a more acceptable shade, his hands were
clawed and he wore scales instead of clothes. Merely being in
Khennik’s annoyed presence loosened what little control Mastekh had
and a soggy tail uncoiled behind him.

Trying not to
snap at such a poor showing of focus, Khennik closed his eyes again
and lifted his face towards the sunlight. “You will have to work
harder than that, wingling, before the humans arrive. Else you will
unsettle them and be asked to leave.”

If it were up
to Khennik the youngster would have been long gone. Whoever had
decided to pair a nervous Rainstorm dragon with a Blazeborn elder,
not well known for his patience, was a fool indeed. Yet it was a
rule between the kins and Clans that youngsters had to gain
experience with others outside their own, especially those opposed
to their nature. To toughen them up, the Starshine elders claimed.
Khennik thought it was all rather cruel, when he thought of it at
all.

“That’s j-just
it, Elder B-Blazeborn,” Mastekh stuttered, his voice turning bubbly
– a clear indication that he was about to lose his hold on his form
altogether and revert to dragon shape.

Khennik’s eyes
flashed open in a glare. “If you’re going to liquidate, do it
outside.” The only water he permitted in this sunroom was for the
plants. Everything else took too long to dry, and if he had to see
to it himself the flowers might not survive. Which would put him
quite out of temper.

Gulping
nervously, Mastekh clenched his clawed-hands together and stared at
the ground for a long moment. A shudder rippled over his scales and
skin, the blue shade darkening as more water dripped from his nose
and elbows, but he finally mastered himself.

“Ap-p-pologies, elder,” the young dragon whispered, lowering his
head as if expecting a beating.

Khennik had
never been one for physical punishment. He sighed. “Fetch a cloth
and clean up after yourself, then leave me be. I have too much
preparation to do for the arrival of our human guests’ tomorrow to
be disturbed now.” If meditating and brooding over his poor fate
could be considered preparation. Which in Khennik’s book it
definitely could.

Humans were
useless. Once they arrived they would need constant supervision and
support, leaving him no time for anything other than irritation at
their hopelessness. A foolish task for a Blazeborn, especially one
with as important a mission as his.

“N-not
tomorrow, Elder B-Blazeborn,” Mastekh squeaked, wringing his hands
so hard that yet more water dripped onto the beautifully dry
floors. “N-now.”

“What?”
Khennik snarled, losing patience as he opened his eyes yet again.
“Stop this brookish babbling, Mastekh, and speak clearly.”

“The h-humans
are er-er-early, elder,” the Rainstorm dragon bubbled in a rush.
“By a whole d-day. They’re h-h-here. Now!”

With that
Mastekh lost all control, bursting out of his human form and
leaving a large, soggy dragon drooped pathetically across the floor
and a completely sodden elder glaring at the mess.

“AH, LIEUTENANTS. PLEASE
, sit down and forgive this rather late request for a
meeting.” Ambassador Jesken waved a hand in welcome without looking
at either of them. That was because even the slightest twitch of
her head made her maid twitter in protest, since she was working
hard to ensure the ambassador’s wealth of curly brown hair was
arranged
just so
.

Following
Anhardyne across the room, Nera stared in fascination as the little
maid tucked and crimped and pinned, transforming the ambassador’s
usual messy bun into a stunning confection of loops and swirls and
shining silk, all held in place with delicate gold net and diamond
pins. As remarkable as the performance was, the result also turned
the ordinary, plain-faced woman with an air of amused command into
a dignified lady of wealth and stature. All because of a hair-do.
Nera was most impressed.

“I know we
have spoken often this last moon and a half about what to expect
over the next five years, but there are two final topics I need to
address before our arrival.” Regardless of her looks, Ambassador
Jesken had a beautiful voice, rich and mellow, rolling with only
the slightest hint of her Etherian origins. “Being as they are also
the most personal, I had hoped to discuss them over dinner tonight,
but as you can see, events have overtaken us somewhat.”

She waved a
plump hand towards the wide window that allowed them a perfect look
back over the glowing Cloud Sea, now peppered with forested islands
and hints of stone buildings. The best view of this moment would
have been found at the front of the ship, but still, even from the
stern, the sight was breathtaking.

A flurry of
squeaks drew Nera’s attention away from the window, realising that
she hadn’t been the only one who’d turned to stare. The
ambassador’s eyes crinkled with humour as she apologised to her
maid for moving her head. Then she looked at the women in front of
her again.

“There is
little about our role here that you do not already know, and both
Captain Wellswen and Commander Bethnelm assure me that you are each
fine Riders, well-versed in etiquette and dragon behaviour.
However, there is one topic that the books do not discuss: sexual
relations.”

Nera felt her
eyes widen, while beside her Anhardyne choked.

The ambassador
smiled. “Indeed. My own initial reaction to the subject was much
like yours. They are so much bigger than us, of course, and an
entirely different species. But you will find that, inside their
own lands, dragons are a little different to the ones we glimpse at
a distance in our cities. The ones we do meet in their human forms
tend to be the highest ranking officials, ones who have little
interest in humans beyond political negotiations. Which is why they
were chosen, of course. Things are a little different here.”

As the maid
stepped back with a sound of satisfaction, Jesken thanked her and
dismissed her to finish packing. “As you will soon discover,
dragons are quite sensuous creatures, curious too. They can be
rather flirtatious and are not afraid to touch. A new influx of
humans is quite a novelty and you will find yourselves the centre
of attention for quite some time.

“For the most
part this curiosity is harmless. However, dragons can also be quite
alluring. It is perfectly understandable to be drawn to them and
personal relationships, while not encouraged, are not expressly
forbidden either. Humans are a novelty to dragons, and they do not
always take as much care with us as they should, but as long as you
are aware of this, and make sure that your partner is also aware,
little harm should be done. Provided that your partner is
thoughtful.”

The
ambassador’s smile was soft, her gaze distant as if recalling fond
memories. Then she cleared her throat and fixed them with a stern
gaze once more. “There are a few risks that rise alongside the
obvious physical disparities. Some humans, for example, experience
strange reactions on contact with certain dragons’ skin. No one is
quite sure why, or who will be effected, but it can be treated with
the right herbs and lotions and is something to bear in mind. The
reaction can range from a small rash to something quite painful and
debilitating, and may not be obvious on first contact. A good
dragon lover will be aware of such possibilities and provide you
with adequate care, but please know that myself and Captain
Wellswen are always here if you need us.”

She settled
back in her chair, taking on the same stance that Nera had grown
familiar with during their journey: a lecture was coming. “But
there is another, much greater risk to be found when lying with
dragons. Despite the differences between a human and a dragon, when
a dragon takes on a human form, they do so in all ways. Some trick
or slip of magic means that when you lie with a dragon in human
shape, you face the same risks you would with any human male.”

Anhardyne was
the first to make the connection. “Do you mean pregnancy?” Her
forehead scrunched in a frown. “We could end up having dragon
babies?” The incredulous squeak of her voice made Nera smile.

Ambassador
Jesken’s lips also twitched. “In theory, yes, though it is doubtful
that you would carry any offspring to term. Dragon pregnancies are
long and arduous. A female dragon will gestate her egg for a
considerable period even before laying it and leaving it to
incubate.”

“
We’d
have to
lay
an egg
?” Anhardyne
sounded horrified, and Nera didn’t blame her.

This time the
ambassador chuckled. “No, no egg laying, just an excessively long
pregnancy that will likely end up with a still born child and an
infertile mother.”

Which sounded
worse than trying to lay an egg.

“Human and
dragon blood doesn’t mix well,” Ambassador Jesken continued firmly.
“Just well enough to create a spark of life, one which burns up all
too quickly. Best for all involved if you never fall pregnant in
the first place.”

She would get
no argument from Nera on that point – nor Anhardyne either, if her
expression was any indication of her thoughts.

“So you’re
saying we should stay clear of bedding dragons?” the older
lieutenant asked, shifting in her chair.

Jesken smiled.
“It is probably the safest course, yes, but I believe there are
herbs that take care of such things. Slightly different to ones you
may already use, but easy enough to obtain if necessary. You should
investigate all the options thoroughly before taking any risks –
should the opportunity arise.”

While
Anhardyne looked thoughtful, Nera wrinkled her nose. It was
unlikely that she would ever need such knowledge, especially when
Anhardyne was close by. Her friend was golden and beautiful, bound
to draw attention wherever she went, while Nera was small and plain
and quiet and far too easily overlooked. Which was how she
preferred things.

“I must also
warn you about your hair.” The ambassador reached up a hand, as if
to check that her elaborate arrangement was still in place. “When
assuming a second form, most dragons take a human shape, but
because they are more akin to reptiles and birds, hair does not
come naturally to them. The most skilled and powerful dragons can
produce a small amount of hair, but it tends to be short and
straight and of only one shade. The prospect of curls and many
colours absolutely fascinates them. Lieutenant Fennik will become
very popular.”

“Fennik?”
Anhardyne laughed incredulously at the mention of one of her
Riders. “But he’s a squashed-nosed bruiser, with hair so short you
can hardly see what colour it is. Except brown.”

The
ambassador’s smile was indulgent. “The dragons won’t care what his
face looks like. His hair may be short, but you can still see a
hint of red amongst the brown. I’ve no doubt that before the first
moon of our trip is through someone will have convinced him to grow
it long, just to see what else is hidden in there. As for you,
Lieutenant Anhardyne, you’ll be flooded with offers before
nightfall. If you’re not careful, a bidding war might
commence.”

“Bidding war?”
Anhardyne echoed, startled. “For my hair?” She pulled the long
braid over her shoulder and wrapped it around her hand, staring
critically at it. “But why?”

“Wigs,” Nera
answered before the ambassador could. Having spent her childhood
watching her mother dance for the greatest courts across the
Overworld, Nera had learned at a young age how a different hair
colour could add surprise and a sense of the exotic to any
performance with very little effort. “Your golden mop could make a
fine few wigs, Hardy.”

“Indeed.”
Jesken nodded in agreement. “Whether or not you choose to sell will
ultimately be up to you, of course, lieutenant. However, try not to
make any decisions for a good few days. I have a list of reputable
names for if you do wish to sell, but either way, you will need to
pay close attention to your hair tonight.”

While
Anhardyne sat there blinking, Nera smiled at the ambassador. “I’ll
remember for her, Your Excellency, thank you.”

Jesken smiled
back, but didn’t extend the warning to Nera. And why should she?
Nera’s hair was short, thin, stick straight and dull black, with
nothing about it to interest any dragon whatsoever. Not when
Anhardyne and Fennik were around anyway, and especially not when
she considered all the other Rift Riders they travelled with, whose
hair included near-white blonds, vibrant reds, myriad brunettes, a
deep black with an almost blue shine, rich thickness and curls
glorious enough to make a temple dancer weep. Even the ambassador’s
hair was blessed with abundant curls, though the shade was a
non-descript brown.

A brisk knock
on the door interrupted Nera’s depressed thoughts and Captain
Wellswen stepped inside without waiting for permission.

“Forgive the
intrusion, Your Excellency, but I’ve come to reclaim my
lieutenants.”

Nera eyed her
captain’s wealth of dark, intricate braids, currently tied back in
a simple knot, and wondered how much a dragon would be willing to
pay for them. Not that Wellswen would sell. Mistrunan braids were
gifts from friends and lovers, each design unique and highly
personal to the wearer.