Not so Liandra. She desired battle, ached for it. Fierce-hearted, especially as she was now clad in her ceremonial dragon armour, she was happiest with a sword or lance in her mailed fist. The blood red of the armour’s finely lacquered plates, edged and scalloped, only enhanced her ethereal beauty.
Imladrik removed his other boot before giving her his full attention.
‘Petty pride is not worthy of a princess of Caledor,’ he told her. ‘And you have not even greeted me properly yet,’ he added.
Liandra turned and bowed, a gesture that Imladrik reciprocated. There was no physical contact, no handshake or embrace of any kind. It was as if an invisible veil of propriety existed between them that no sword or spear could ever part. Briefly, Imladrik found he was envious of the more tactile ways of the dwarfs, the open and flagrant, even sometimes crass, mores of social greeting in their culture. Elven stiltedness had its place in court. It was dignified, but all too cold between old friends. Perhaps he had spent too long amongst dwarfs, learning their ways as Malekith once did before his fall.
‘Congratulations again on your victory,’ she said, interrupting his thoughts but only exacerbating the formality of their exchange further.
Imladrik inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
‘But it is not pride that makes me glad you defeated the dwarf and showed all of these mud-dwellers our true strength.’
‘Do not speak of them like that.’ Imladrik was on his feet, and still looked imposing despite the fact he was barefoot and had no armour.
The beasts in the deep shadows of the rookery stirred but he calmed them with a glance. None present, not even the largest, would dare oppose the Master of Dragons.
‘Vranesh!’ snapped Liandra, an eye on the darkness briefly too before she replied. ‘I heard them talking, heard what they think of us, our people.’
Pouring a goblet of wine, Imladrik sighed. ‘As did I, but that is no reason to hate them, Liandra, not if we are to achieve harmony between our two races.’
‘I do not want harmony. I do not like these dwarfs or their ways, nor do I understand why you seem to have such an accord with them.’ She moved away from the entrance, down the steps and away from prying eyes. ‘All this talk of murder, of ambushes in the night, it is just that. Talk. Likely, it was made up by the dwarfs to justify attacks on elves.’
Imladrik looked at her shrewdly. ‘And is that what you think, Liandra? Or are these the beliefs of your father?’
‘Not only my father, but my brothers also,’ she snapped, raising her voice. ‘Why wouldn’t I believe them?’
‘Because they are thousands of miles away on Ulthuan, fighting the remnants of Malekith’s forces in the mountains where you wish you could be right now.’
She was on the verge of another outburst when her anger ebbed. ‘I am a warrior of Caledor, Imladrik. By my father’s side is where I should be.’ She lowered her voice, unable to meet the prince’s gaze. ‘And is it any wonder that I want to kill druchii after what they did, after…’ She faltered, but recovered quickly. ‘I am here under sufferance, that is all.’
‘You’re here because your father, despite his misgivings, believes that peace is something worth fighting for and not over. You are his ambassador, a feat beyond the skills or patience of either of your brothers.’
‘Do not besmirch them,’ she warned.
Candlelight limning the edge of its saurian body, the beast a few feet away from Liandra growled in empathy. It clawed at the earth with its long talons.
Imladrik was not cowed. He had nothing to fear from Vranesh, upraising his palms to placate the princess not her beast.
‘I merely speak plain fact and the truth as I see it, Liandra. Just as I see the dwarfs are a noble race who value heritage, tradition and honour.’
‘Honour? Really?’ She stooped to retrieve a length of thick iron chain that trailed along the ground and into the darkness. ‘Where is the honour in this? The dignity?’
‘The dwarfs built this rookery for us. They cut the earth to allow us–’
‘They dug a hole, Imladrik. A hole. And then they filled it with chains and shrouded it from the sky. Insult is too light a word, confining noble creatures such as this. The dwarfs should be grovelling at their feet.’
‘The High King has organised this brodunk for us, the least we can do is concede to his wishes to see our mounts kept hidden. We are on his lands, these are his people. I can understand his concern.’
Liandra scoffed. ‘You even use their tongue like it is your own. Are you sure you aren’t turning native on us, Imladrik?’
‘I will pretend you did not say that to me, and attribute it to the fact you miss your father and brothers. The dwarfs are a good people. We have much to learn from each other. We are just different, our kind and theirs.’
‘As mud is to air and sky.’
She mounted Vranesh, getting a foothold in the stirrups and propelling her body up into the saddle. Liandra turned to Imladrik, looking down from her lofty position as the roof of the rookery tent was hauled away by ropes like a tarp from the back of a cart and the light flooded in. A host of dragons, drakes and wyrms of all stripe and hue were revealed, chained to the ground and muzzled. Draukhain was amongst them, easily the largest and most magnificent, lowering his neck under the gaze of his master. All did, recognising Imladrik’s mastery and the potency of his dragonsong. Few were left amongst the asur who commanded such respect amongst the dragons. Certainly, none bore his archaic title.
‘It is no wonder that blood has been spilled between us and them,’ said Liandra. ‘The only surprise to me
