“Eat this,” Azania told her sister.
“Eat … the cream?”
“Aloe’s highly effective against this type of poison. Trust me, I was made to study this as part of the education Princesses take in keeping themselves alive.”
Interesting curriculum.
The second part of the curriculum involved changing their clothes. All of them.
Azania said, “I’m going to miss these leather trousers.”
“So are half the men in the kingdoms,” Dragon agreed, drawing a gasp from Inzashu and a mock kick from the older sister. “No mind. I’m sure we can find something even more scandalous for you both.”
Inzashu said primly, “I am not being caught dead in trousers.”
“Skartun must be an incredibly backward realm,” he teased. “I can’t see you flying well in desert robes.”
“No,” said Azania, pulling out her Dragon talon dagger. “We’ll wear the pantaloons and tunic tops. A swift spot of tailoring will resolve any issues with the full-length outer robes. When we get to Chakkix Camp, sister, we’ll purchase you something that’ll have the boys chasing your curves.”
“Azania!”
“Oops, slip of the old forked tongue there, as some Dragon I know would say.”
“Don’t drag me into this, Princess.”
Despite their banter, he realised that neither girl was doing well. They were in pain from the burning rash, their stomachs knotted up and their muscles leaping infrequently in spasms. When he inquired if they were able to fly, however, he earned a pair of glares that left him in no doubt as to the truth of their sisterhood, and of their mettle. By his sire’s egg, Human Princesses were clearly far more dangerous than the legends made out. No insipid, simpering nitwits waiting for their perfect Prince to fall out of the sky at the end of a rainbow around here.
Maybe they would fly a thousand miles to find their Princes.
Or, not settle for Princes at all?
Inconceivable!
By now, several Palace guards were peering through the bedroom doorway, asking what had happened. Azania briefed them, making them promise to have the maids burn all the sheets and not touch them with their bare skin. Most had known her all her life; their emotions were muddy, furious, and not a hint of treachery could he sense. They made vows of vengeance in the desert way.
He gave that a satisfied snort. No Dragon could have done better.
Then, Princesses safely seated astride his neck, he spread his wings and launched off the Princess’ balcony with supple grace. Smooth as silk sliding into a deep desert night. One moon of the triplets stood high, a thin white crescent that still shed enough light for the draconic eye to enjoy, if one had his –
“Spectacles?”
“Thank you, Princess.” He perched the spectacles atop his head.
Impudent mind reader.
Dunes leaped into relief ahead of him. Sculpted for aeons by the powerful desert winds, they stood stark in the faint white moonlight. In the deeper desert, they had seen dunes over three hundred feet high. These were half that height, but still impressive for their chiselled, serpentine curves and pristine splendour. No footprints. No animal trails, plants nor signs of water. Just emptiness stretching as far as the eye could see.
Azania leaned against Inzashu, who made herself comfortable against his neck. Both girls were strapped in tight on the leather saddles. Stretching out his body, he set about testing just how efficiently he could fly, adjusting his wingbeat for minimal bounce and maximal smoothness.
Soon, a snuffle against his neck revealed his success. One down.
“Dragon, please look out for fresh aloe plant,” Azania whispered. “Might be hard to find this far south, but we could do with more juice.”
“Of course. Where’s best?”
“Look for dips and flash flood watercourses, and around clumps of boulders. Might be well hidden in the cracks.”
“Right.” In a world of glittering obsidian sand? Hmm.
Swooshing his wings in efficient half-beats, he bored northward into the stillest of nights. Worrying about his charges. So cunning, that attack. Someone had carefully considered how best to access a Princess under a Dragon’s protection, and very, very nearly came out the winner. Shiver.
For four hours he coursed over the dunes, before the ripples smoothed out as if brushed away by a godlike paw. A new desert slowly unfurled before him, flat and featureless. Much more rock here, but it lay low and wind-worn. This region was called the central plains of T’nagru, he understood, the diametric opposite of what was called plains in the rest of the seventeen kingdoms. How odd it was that Vaylarn was never included amongst the seventeen. As an island chain lying three hundred and fifty miles offshore of the main continent of Solixambria, the most casual glance at a map identified it as a Dragon’s paw print in shape.
Capital city, Zunityne. Major lair, Wave Dragonhome. Primary danger, Sea Serpents. That was about as much as he knew about the faraway archipelago, apart from that it was also the birthplace of quite the most lethally attractive Dragoness he had ever met.
Ariamyrielle Seaspray, ocean tempest on wings. Twenty-nine feet of irresistible cobalt warrior Dragoness.
Promised to another male.
His muzzle turned to the darkling skies. Curse these fates.
On and on he flew, skirting another citadel before continuing out over the black, grassless plains.
As the first fires of dawn turned the eastern horizon into the crimson heart of a forge, Dragon spied a clump of boulders several miles off his right wingtip. Aha. He nosed about briefly, but saw and scented nothing green. Another clump lay near the horizon. His leathery wings creaked, spreading across the lowering moons. They should find shelter soon.
Check both heartbeats. Weak, but present. Aye. Rest and
