By morning the dragon was gone. They made a quick search for Kailin, but there was no sign of him, and Kemir's heart wasn't really in it. When the dragon came back, late in the afternoon, its snout and claws were stained with blood, and its breath was foul. It looked fat, Kemir thought.
They flew north because that's where the alchemists laired. The dragon never said what had happened to the Scales, and Kemir never asked.
The Dragon-King's Tithe
The rider, if his Hatchling Gold has bought him favour, may visit many times before a suitable dragon is hatched. On each visit he will bring a gift to the eyrie-master, and these gifts are of the utmost importance, for their quality and generosity will
determine the care with which the chosen dragon is raised.
When a suitable dragon is finally hatched, a price will be set by
the dragon-king himself. This price is the Dragon-King's Tithe
Usually the tithe is agreed far in advance, yet until the price is
paid the rider can never quite be sure that it will not change.
Sometimes the tithe is everything that the rider possesses;
sometimes it is nothing at all.
39
Parting
Jehal awoke from a restless sleep. His dreams had been troubled – always running, always being watched, always chased, always having to look over his shoulder – and everywhere he ran the walls, the trees, even the rivers would burn and melt and the heat would force him to run again.
He slipped out of bed and padded to the window. Kazah, his pot-boy, was slumped on his stool, snoring loudly. Jehal opened the shutters to let in the light. Kazah didn't stir. That was what Jehal liked best about the boy. Aside from being a deaf mute and blessed with a loyalty that put Jehal's hunting dogs to shame, Kazah slept like the dead. Jehal could have an all-night orgy, and the boy would be none the wiser.
Outside, the sun was creeping over the horizon. Ships bobbed on the water out in the estuary of the Fury River. In places the water seemed to be on fire, burning in the dawn sun. Jehal shuddered and turned away. The sight of it reminded him too much of his dreams. There wasn't a little golden dragon with ruby eyes perched on the sill outside. That was the important thing.
He padded back to his bed, sat down, pulled a strip of white silk out from under his pillow and wrapped it around his eyes. His sight blurred, shimmered and shifted, and then he was somewhere else. He was in the Tower of Air in the Adamantine Palace. In Zafir's bedchamber, out of sight under the bed.
He listened. He could hear breathing. Her breathing. Relaxed and restful, as though she was asleep. He didn't hear any snoring. If Hyram had been there with her, there would have been snoring. Then again Hyram rarely came to her, and when he did, he rarely stayed. Usually Zafir went to him and then slipped back to her own bed once he was asleep. Sometimes when she came back in the middle of the night, barefoot, hugging her clothes to her, she looked desperately sad. Other times she looked angry. Yet other times she would look around the room, searching for his little golden dragon, and then she would stand in front of it naked, and blow him a kiss, or mime being violently sick or slitting someone's throat. Whether she meant him or Hyram, he was never quite sure.
Sometimes, in the morning, she would look for him too, and if they were both alone, they'd whisper to each other through little golden ears and watch through little ruby eyes.
That would be later, though. This was much too early for Zafir. Under her bed the little golden dragon twitched its head and skittered across the floor. It flapped its wings, so fast that they vanished into a blur, and lifted off the ground; then settled itself at the head of the bed, a couple of feet away from Zafir's head, and stopped, staring at her. Jehal took a deep breath. She was fast asleep. Sometimes when she was sleeping, she was breathtaking. He could have stared at her for hours.
He shook himself, took the white silk off his eyes and slipped it back under his pillow. Then he put on the other silk, the black one.
Well, my lover, let us see who you've been spying on today.
The answer wasn't much of a surprise. Zafir's Taiytakei dragon had secreted itself in Lystra's room, where it usually was. Zafir clearly had nothing better to think about than how often he was sharing Lystra's bed. Which was pleasantly predictable of her. Jehal grinned to himself and kicked Kazah's stool. The trouble with Zafir's jealousy was that it was a challenge. It made him want to see how many times he could bed his wife without his lover and her spy-dragon catching them at it.
It was depressingly easy too. But then if it had been harder, he'd probably have done it even more.
He kicked Kazah's stool again. The pot-boy jerked upright and then fell over sideways. He jumped to his feet, ramrod straight, and saluted.
Message for my wife. Jehal and Kazah had their own sign language, a bastard hybrid of the signals that the dragon-knights used when they were flying together, the signs that some thieves used, and other bits that they'd simply made up themselves. Jehal was having the boy taught to read and write too, but he was so slow that one of them would probably be dead before he got anywhere.
Kazah nodded. Having a private language meant no one else understood what Jehal was telling Kazah to do. Several times he'd sent Kazah to Lystra to arrange a rendezvous knowing full well that Zafir was watching him.
Wake her up. She is to come to my bed. Tell her I want her. Kazah smirked and Jehal grinned back. That gesture wasn't particularly hard to translate. Tell her to shut all windows and doors first. Tell her that eyes are watching her. He gave Kazah a kick and watched the boy scurry away. Then he closed the shutters, blocking out the dawn light, lay back in his bed and sighed.
He didn't have to wait long. He heard footsteps outside and then giggling, and then Kazah slipped back in with Lystra behind him, still in her nightclothes.
Jehal grinned. 'Did anyone see you?'
Kazah shook his head. So did Lystra. 'Only the guard you put on my door.' She flung her arms around him and snuggled her head against his chest. He always flinched for a moment when she did that. It reminded him too much that he was going to have to let Zafir have her way one day.
But not yet. He pushed her gently away and put a hand on her belly. She had his heir inside her, and that made her the safest person in the world just now. He'd have to wait another couple of months before he could feel it move, they told him, but he put his hand on her anyway. After this morning they might not see each other for a while.
She held his hand there for a second, then moved it up to her breast. 'I still don't see why I can't come with you.'
Of course you don't. He smiled at her. 'You need to conserve your strength.'
'Oh Jehal, I hardly know it's there.'
'You're sick every day. Don't pretend you're not.'
She made a face. 'That's nothing.'
'Besides, you're safer here.'
'But why? At the palace I'll have you and my mother and my sisters and all their riders as well.'
He laughed. 'You know the answer. There might be people who would prefer your mother not to take Hyram's place.' Me, for example.
That was the trouble. She simply didn't understand that anything might happen, that someone might break their word, that the dragon-kings and -queens weren't all fast friends working together for the good of them all. Which made it very difficult to look her in the eye sometimes. And if she'd really thought there was any real danger, she'd either insist on going to be at her mother's side, or else insist that he didn't go so he'd be safe too. She didn't insist on things very often, but when she did it was a timely reminder of who her birth-mother was.
He kissed her lightly. 'I don't want to trouble you.'
