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Please note that dates indicate this message has been delayed by several months, through no fault of the Bird Keepers’ Guild. It is addressed to the Khuprus household, but appears intended for Reyn and Malta Khuprus.

To my sister, Malta Vestrit Khuprus and her husband, Reyn Khuprus of the Rain Wild Traders:


Sister, Brother, if you can summon that dragon of yours, there was never a better time for you to do so. My efforts to locate Selden have been fruitless. I wish he had contacted me before he undertook a journey in this direction, for I would have made sure that a suitable escort was provided to an Elderling lord and dragon-poet such as he. For now, I am heartsick to tell you that I have received tidings of a ‘Dragon-Boy’ that somewhat matches a description of Selden since his Elderling changes. I both hope and fear that this is indeed our little brother. My hope is that at least he was alive when this gossip reached me and my fear is that he is in dire need of help, as he has been taken as a slave of sorts, displayed as a wonder for the ignorant gawker. I pray to Sa to keep him safe wherever he may be, but I have also offered a substantial reward if he is brought safely to me. I regretfully add that I have promised a reward also for reliable news of his demise, with evidence, for I would know what has become of him, no matter how much sorrow it brings me.

What was our mother thinking, to let him go off on his own like this? Did no one there think of how valuable a hostage he was to any that cared to take him?

Vivacia sends greetings to Althea and Brashen, if you should see them. Etta earnestly desires them to know that our Paragon wishes to see the ship whose name he bears. I myself think he is still young to hear of that part of his heritage, for doubtless the Paragon would disagree and would impart far more information than a boy of his years needs to understand just yet.

Please remember you are always welcome here and that we all most earnestly desire to see you again.

And if Selden has since wandered home, in the name of Sa herself, send me word by the swiftest means possible.

When I think of him, I still imagine him as a boy with his front teeth just beginning to grow in.

My love to both of you, and my hope that this finds you both in good health.


Your loving brother,

CHAPTER TEN
Tintaglia’s Touch

‘But we came so far!’ Malta protested. ‘There must be something you can do! Please!’

The golden dragon once more lowered his muzzle and drew his breath in as he nearly touched her child with his nose. The dragon’s head was so large that she could see only one of his eyes at a time when he was this close. That black eye seemed to whirl as he slowly lidded it and then opened it again. The wind off the river rose in a gust and swept past them. And Malta waited, hope painful in her chest.

A number of the dragons had converged on the baths late last night. Alise had cautioned her that they would not be patient of questions when they were soaking lethargically. So Malta had risen at dawn and waited in the Square of the Dragons, knowing they must pass her before they could take to the skies to hunt. They were hungry. One after another, she had importuned them to help her babe. A few had simply passed her by as if she were a mad beggar woman. Others had paused to snuff the baby. ‘He smells of Tintaglia,’ a green queen dragon had told her, and a tall cobalt dragon had said, ‘Would that I were of Tintaglia’s lineage!’ before he passed on. One after another, she had stopped them, sometimes with the aid of their keepers. Hunger flared in them and she shared their relentless appetites when she spoke to them.

Now only one remained. His slender, golden-haired keeper stood with her hand on his mountainous shoulder, almost as if her touch could restrain him. Hunger blazed inside him, but fondness for the little creature at his side tempered it. Malta felt how impatience simmered in the dragon but desperation boiled in her own heart. She reached for courtesy, reviewed all she knew of dragons and sank down in a low curtsey. ‘Please, O Glorious One. Please, proud lord of the Three Realms. Please help me understand.’

Golden Mercor drew his head back and looked down on her once more. He was almost patient as he repeated what he had already told her. ‘No one here is sufficiently related to Tintaglia to accomplish what you ask. Her marks are on you and on your mate. She made you the Elderlings that you are. Your child has inherited from you the distinctive traits of the dragon who made you. For him to survive, the one who left her marks upon you must alter them so he can grow.’ He snorted, and his rank carrion-scented breath smelled to Malta like death and despair. Perhaps he tried to be gentle as he said, ‘You should not have bred without the permission of your dragon.’

‘What?’ Reyn demanded, fury scarcely caged in his voice.

Malta made a small and hasty motion with her hand, trying to caution him to calmness but as he stepped forward, his anger was like a cold cloud around him. Malta more felt than saw several of the dragon keepers who had accompanied them step closer to them. Plainly, what she was now hearing was news to them as well. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw flecks of fury in one girl’s eyes. Thymara, yes, that was her name.

‘Permission?’ the winged girl repeated in a low voice full of outrage.

Alise suddenly held up her hands as if by doing so she could quell the mood of the Elderlings or at least bid them suppress their frustrations. ‘Please. Malta, if you will, allow me to ask a few questions.’ She stepped between Reyn and the dragon, as if her small body could shelter him from the dragon’s wrath. Mercor’s eyes were spinning faster, with tiny flecks of red in them. Malta held Ephron closer and reached out to seize Reyn’s hand. He put his arm around both of them, but did not allow her to retreat. Mercor’s keeper stood biting her lip.

Alise glanced back at them nervously and then lifted her voice. ‘Mercor, most gracious and golden of all dragons, font of wisdom and power, have patience with us, we plead. What you tell us confounds us, and we seek only to understand.’

Even in an Elderling robe, standing as tall as she could before the dragon, the Trader woman looked short and round now. Her body had not changed, Malta realized. It was her contrast to the tall and willowy Elderlings that surrounded her that made her seem like a different creature from them. Yet all the dragons seemed to treat her with respect. Certainly she seemed most adept at speaking to them. Malta was as frustrated as she was frightened, but bit back her anger and made not a sound. Alise had kept the golden dragon’s attention when he had seemed on the point of dismissing them all. He looked at her, and pleasure at her praise seemed to shimmer off his golden scales like heat from a stove.

‘Ask your questions, then,’ he invited her.

Malta clutched at Reyn’s arm. She could feel the ridged muscles in his forearms and knew how difficult it was for him to restrain himself. After days of waiting for the dragons to converge and have speech with them, it seemed that all they could tell them was that Ephron must die. Had they come so far and waited so long just to hear what she had most feared from the moment of his birth? She looked down into the little face she held so close to her breast. Her son was swaddled in an Elderling tunic to keep the cold and damp from him, but even so, he never seemed warm to her touch. His dragon scaling was bright where it outlined his brow and the line of his nose, but his human flesh below it seemed greyish, and he was so thin. The little hand that had ventured outside his coverings clutched at her with fingers more like a bird’s bony talons than a child’s fat fingers. An ache sharper than any physical pain she had ever endured stabbed her every time she looked at him. So tiny and so brief a life, and he had never known a moment of ease or contentment.

Alise was speaking. ‘For generations, the folk of the Rain Wilds have suffered the deaths of their children, children born too Changed to survive. Those who have lived have taken on some aspects of Elderlings that we have seen depicted on ancient tapestries, but they too go to early graves. All these things the Rain Wild Traders have accepted as the cost of living where they do. Yet in all those days, there were no dragons to wreak changes on them. Why, then, wise Mercor, did they have to endure such hardships?’

The dragon’s head was held high and he appeared to be looking off into the distance. Was he thinking, or merely wishing the puny humans would leave him alone so that he could safely launch himself back into the air and return to hunting?

He spoke reluctantly. ‘Humans are vulnerable to dragons. Of old, we changed some of you deliberately, to better fit you to be companions and servants to our kind. You lived such a short time that it was nearly impossible for us to achieve full communication with a human before it died. And so we allowed and shaped change for those who seemed most fit to live alongside us. But soon humans learned that any exposure to dragons and the things of dragons could change any human, and that those changes were not always beneficial. So those who took pleasure and found purpose in serving the dragons built their cities and their works, lived alongside us and took joy in serving us. They cherished the ways we could change them.

‘Those who wished to remain unchanged ventured into those cities but seldom and knowing the risk involved. Here, in Kelsingra, Elderlings lived. Humans lived and worked in a different settlement, across the river. Others lived outside the city, where they tended herds or grew crops far from the Silver-streaked stone walls of the city. Risks were known, and those who took the risks did so of their own will. We did no wilful harm to humans; if harm was done, they brought it on themselves.’

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