“Dreng’s mind is small and narrow,” Alban replied. “I do not say that in meanness, Majesty. It is simply the way he and his people are fashioned. While it is rare that there is any change in Belmair, it is rarer still that change of any kind comes to Beltran. I, while as cautious as any Belmairan, am always ready to look at something new, to try something different. I may not change my ways, but I do try. When word came that Fflergant was breathing his last I hurried like the others to the royal castle, wondering if Dreng’s young grandson would be the dragon’s choice for I could see no other. Imagine my surprise to find you, our new king. A Hetarian! But the dragon had chosen you, and I would never deny Nidhug’s decision in the matter of who will rule over Belmair. You will bring change to us, Majesty,” Alban said. “But I suspect that you will bring it slowly and carefully so that we are not too discommoded.” He smiled. “My oath to you was true, Majesty.”
“I know that,” Dillon told him. “And while the world I came from is known as Hetar, Alban of Belia, remember I am not Hetarian. I am faerie and I am Shadow. With these two strengths I can hopefully prevail over the Yafir, and keep Belmair safe.”
“Aye,” Alban answered him. “I believe that you can, Majesty.”
They returned to the hall to speak on other matters, and then the lady Ragnild led the king to a guest chamber high in the north tower. Alone, Dillon looked out over the sea below. The skies above him were filled with stars, and searching carefully he found Hetar twinkling silvery-blue. He had been here on Belmair for several months now, and he realized that while he had good memories of his previous years, he felt more at home here than anywhere else. How odd, he thought, that he should have been born to this destiny. He had always thought he would move between Shunnar and Terah, continuing to learn from Kaliq and from his mother. He had assumed that while his little brother, Taj, was Magnus Hauk’s heir, that he would be his mother’s right hand.
It had been months since he had seen Lara. Hopefully he would see her soon and introduce her to his bride. He had always been close to his mother, but oddly he found that he didn’t miss her. Was it the great distance separating them that made him feel that way? Or was it that he had found purpose as king of Belmair, and a love of his own in Cinnia? Whatever it was Dillon knew that he was truly happy. And he also knew that such happiness was a rare commodity. Leaving the window, he climbed into bed and slept soundly until he was awakened early the following morning by a man servant sent by the lady Ragnild.
After a hearty breakfast he and Nidhug thanked their host and hostess, bidding them farewell. Out on the green lawn before the two towers the dragon regained her full size. She lifted Dillon up to the safety of the pouch, where he settled in. Her lacy golden wings unfolded slowly, catching the rays of the rising sun. Then the Great Dragon of Belmair soared into the blue morning skies and out over the sea, turning toward Beldane.
They flew for the next several hours, and Dillon told the dragon of his talk with Duke Alban. “I quite liked the man. He is so different from Dreng.”
“I knew you would make a friend of him,” Nidhug said. “His mind is more open than most Belmairans. Now you will deal last with Tullio of Beldane. Be patient with him. His eagerness to look at every side of an issue can be irritating.”
They reached Beldane, and Dillon was charmed by the lovely meadows and glens of the land below him. The duke’s gracious manor house was set upon a small hill. Below, his vineyards stretched out, and from above, the workers harvesting the grapes could be easily seen as they went about the business of clipping the bunches of grapes, and setting them gently in willow baskets. Seeing the dragon as she descended, they cried out, pointing skyward. One ran from the vineyards toward the manor house.
Nidhug landed on a gravel path before the house, disembarking the king. Folding her wings, she shrank herself down. She was taking no chances with being fed slops this day. Duke Tullio hurried from the house, a lady by his side. He was a very tall, slender man with thoughtful gray eyes. He bowed low.
“Your Majesty! This is most unexpected, but you and Belmair’s dragon are more than welcome to Beldane and to my home. This is my sister, the lady Margisia, who serves as my hostess as I am widowed.” He drew the lady forward, and she curtseyed.
Dillon greeted them both, and then he said, “We must speak on matters most serious affecting Belmair, my lord duke. Take me to your privy chamber, and I will begin my discourse. Nidhug will join us.”
“Will you honor us at the midday meal, Your Majesty?” the lady Margisia asked.
“We will!” Dillon said enthusiastically.
“I have a particular fondness for sweets,” Nidhug said to the lady Margisia.
She appeared somewhat startled to have the dragon address her so directly. She gulped as discreetly as she could, and replied, “I will tell our pastry chef.”
“I am one of those irritating creatures who can eat all and everything they desire, and never lose my figure,” Nidhug noted. “I shall look forward to our meal.”
Duke Tullio led them to his book-filled library, and offering them refreshment, he looked to Dillon. The young king carefully explained the serious problem that Belmair was facing from the Yafir. Tullio listened closely and when Dillon had finished, he said, “You are absolutely certain this creature you summoned was Yafir?”
Dillon nodded.
“Hmm,” Tullio said. “But how can you be certain that they did not leave Belmair when they were ordered to go?”
“Because Ahura Mazda said they did not. He had no reason to lie, and he has admitted to stealing the women over the centuries that have passed,” Dillon replied.
“Perhaps he has just said that to you because he wanted to frighten you,” Tullio responded. “You say he has no reason to lie to you, but how can you know that?”
“I am sure that this Yafir is quite capable of lying,” Dillon said. “But knowing the nature of faeries like him, he is less apt to lie when he feels he has the upper hand. Indeed he will brag in a case like that which, of course, he did.”
“But-” Tullio began.
“But what if this faerie creating the spell is actually helping these Yafir?” Tullio wanted to know. “Have you considered that?”
“
“Nay, my lord! You are the king. The dragon’s choice! I trust you without question,” Duke Tullio protested.
“Then you must trust my uncle, as well, my lord, for I would trust him with my life,” Dillon told the duke.
“I will follow your instructions to the letter, Majesty,” Duke Tullio responded.
“I would think so,” Nidhug said irritably. She was hungry now, and knew that she had a long flight ahead of her if they were to be home tonight.
“I thank you,” Dillon said.
They repaired to the Great Hall of the manor house, and were offered a midday meal. Then, thanking Duke Tullio and his sister, the lady Margisia, they departed Beldane for home. The sun was setting as they finally arrived at Belmair’s royal castle. Nidhug dropped down onto the flat roof of the battlements, her great wings coming slowly to a stop and folding themselves against her sides. Nidhug immediately shrank herself down.
“I have had enough of flying, Majesty, and will walk the distance between our homes,” she said. “Sarabeth will have a most excellent meal for me. The woman is a treasure. But first let me pay my respect to Cinnia, and we shall tell her of our visits to the three dukes.”
Together dragon and king descended from the battlements down a staircase into the Great Hall of the castle. Reaching it, they saw there was no fire in the fireplaces, which Dillon thought odd. Even when there was no one in the hall the fires were kept going. There were no servants in sight, either.
“Cinnia will be in the family hall,” Dillon said.
But when they reached it the hearth was also cold, and there was no one in sight.
Nidhug experienced a shiver down her back.
“Britto!” Dillon called out. “To me!” His senses were tingling.
Britto came running at the sound of his master’s voice. His fat cheeks were pink with the exertion. His blue
