He saw Kemir look up at the sky and wince. 'They have to sleep, you know.'
They do. Yes, they do. Sollos shook his head. However much a part of him agreed with Kemir, murdering one dragon-knight or even ten wouldn't change the world at all. As long as there were dragons, there would be men and women who rode them.
As long as there are dragons.
21
The Wedding
Meteroa, of course, timed it perfectly. When Jehal returned to the palace, everyone was waiting for him. He walked briskly into the feasting hall with Princess Lystra at his side and a spring in his step. You are the speaker in waiting…
'Drink!' he cried before he'd even reached the throne at his lolling father's side. 'Drink! A toast! Not to us, but to everyone! To each other! To life!' Then he spun Princess Lystra to face him, kissed her, and then shot a glance along the tables and made sure he caught Zafir's eye. 'Drink!' he shouted again, into the shocked quiet. 'Drink to the pounding of hearts! To the thunder of wings and the wash of fire! To the clash of swords, to the moment of the kill, to the drunken passion of lovers! Drink and shout for joy or shout with rage, I care not which, but do not fill my feasting hall with silence!'
He sat down and thumped his goblet on the table. Everyone was looking at him. This wasn't how a wedding feast was supposed to start, but he simply didn't have the stomach for hours of tedious politeness. Far better that everyone got roaring drunk.
He peered past Princess Lystra at her mother. 'Isn't this more what you're used to, Your Holiness?' He grinned.
Queen Shezira's face remained carefully blank. 'Your exuberance would, perhaps, be more appreciated in my halls than in your own.'
'I mean to make your daughter feel welcome here.'
Shezira said nothing.
'Am I a monster?' he asked her, much later, when the food was almost gone and he'd drunk too much wine. 'Is that what you think of me?'
She met his eyes. 'In another few hours you will be my son,' she said coolly. And that was all.
After everyone had gorged themselves, a troupe of musicians struck up and the dancing started. Princess Lystra came first of course, with her big wide eyes and drooping lashes and that startled look she'd worn since the day had started. Then her mother, which was like dancing with a iron statue, cumbersome and awkward and with nothing to recommend it. And then, out of nowhere, Zafir slid into his arms, sinuous and sensual, pressing herself close and filling his nose with her perfume. Jehal felt himself stir. Her hand slid up his back to the skin of his neck, and he felt a slight pricking sting. He jerked.
'What are you doing?'
Zafir looked at her hand. On one of the rings she wore was a tiny spike, and on that spike the slightest drop of blood. She touched it to her tongue and then wrapped her arm around him again. 'Reminding you that you're not immortal,' she whispered.
'I feel immortal.' He pulled her even closer, but this time she resisted.
'I am a dragon-queen, Prince Jehal, not some courtesan, and eyes are watching us.'
'Is that a poison ring you're wearing?'
'Of course.'
'Am I about to die?'
Zafir smiled. This time, when he tried to pull her closer, she didn't resist. 'Not today, my love.' She leaned into him for a second and he felt her breath on his ear. 'I saw the way you looked at her today, your little starling- bride,' she murmured. 'Enjoy the novelty, but remember that it's me who can give you what you want. If you plan to toss me aside for her, you may as well take your dagger and run me through and let us both die here and now.'
Jealous? She was jealous? For a second he thought about it. 'If you want to see which of you I want, then let us slip away and I will show you,' he said huskily.
She pushed him sharply away with a brittle smile. 'Your starling can have you today. Afterwards… we shall see.' She waved her fingers at him, letting him see the ring again, still wet with a drop of his blood.
You are the speaker in waiting…
He watched her go. Before he could launch himself after her, another pair of arms took hold of him.
'Princess Jaslyn!' Jehal forced a smile.
'Prince Jehal.'
'I cannot say why, but I did not think you to be much for dancing.' Her movements were sharp and aggressive, not like her sister, and as far away from Zafir's as it was possible to be.
'I prefer to dance in the air.'
'With a somewhat more scaly partner, no doubt.' Jehal smiled. 'So do I. So we have something in common.'
Jaslyn looked at him with scorn. 'We have my sister in common now. I am only dancing with you so I can say this quietly, where no one else will hear: whatever hurt you bring her, I will return to you tenfold.'
'And if I bring her joy?'
'Then I will have misjudged you.' She bowed and spun away.
'That hardly seems an equitable arrangement,' he called after her, but she didn't turn back. Poor Lystra. He'd expected to see her weep at the prospect of leaving her family and being forced to give herself to a man who she'd doubtless been taught to believe was a monster. Yet she hadn't. If anything, she almost seemed excited.
And now I begin to see why.
Another princess appeared in front of him. Jehal screwed up his face, trying to remember who she was. One of King Silvallan's brood, he thought, as they swept through the crush of bodies. Over in one corner, over the music, he could hear some sort of commotion. Drink had got the better of a pair of his knights. Others were quickly pulling them apart. He thought he heard the scrape of a sword being drawn, but there were no screams and the music didn't stop, so presumably nothing came of it. He tried to dance his way to Zafir's sister, to start laying a few foundations there, but all he got was an endless stream of distant relatives, and they all wanted something.
Suddenly, he was immensely glad that the day was nearly over. Tomorrow the dragon-lords and their courtiers would be on their way back to Clifftop, where they could be Lord Meteroa's problem for a night before they finally left for palaces of their own. He slipped away from the dancing and made his way outside. His head was foggy, and when he tried to shake it clear, it only got worse. Too much wine? Or had Zafir poisoned him after all?
Meteroa appeared at his elbow. 'It's nearly time, Your Highness.'
'I'll be glad when this is done.'
'I would have thought you'd be enjoying this, Your Highness. Prince Tyrin and Princess Jesska have vanished, one suspects to one of your solars; Prince Loatan and Princess Kalista got as far as drawing knives on each other before your guards intervened, and those are merely the highlights. I shall of course have a detailed report waiting for you at your convenience, once you are free of your bride.'
My bride. 'Tell me, eyrie-master, about my bride. How do I look at her?'
Meteroa frowned. 'I would say, with an expression of intrigued interest. Magnificently played.'
Except I wasn't playing. 'Mmm. And how many queens and princesses have been unable to resist the temptation to fondle a drunken prince when he's naked?'
'Queens Shezira and Zafir have both politely declined and will be attending Princess Lystra. Queen Fyon, however, accepted with great enthusiasm. I believe she forbade her daughters from joining her.'
Jehal groaned. Queen Fyon -Aunt Fyon – was Narghon's wife. She was grey and sagging, at least ten years older than Aliphera had been. Rumours had once abounded in both palaces that she and King Tyan had been
