“I’m the Queen-errant, don’t you know?”

“Have you ever heard of a thing called a lightning rod?”

“Umm…”

“It’s a dwarfish invention for places struck by storms. It’s simply a piece of iron placed high, with a wire to the ground. It attracts lightning bolts, rather than the more vulnerable usual rooftop or ship mast. You’ll be a lightning rod for discontent. Your dragons are celebrating now, but as soon as bad news comes, a plague strikes, or a battle falls the wrong way, they’ll blame you. They always do. A Tyr can engage in all manner of foolishness and still be loved, but his Queen—her slightest misstep is remarked upon and criticized. She’s always accused of secretly manipulating her mate.”

“RuGaard’s not my mate. He’s my brother.”

“I’m very glad of that,” DharSii said. “I’ve delayed too long already. Tongues will be tasting the air about you tonight and discussing this tomorrow, you can be sure.

“Now, I’ve recuperated enough to eat a meal without bringing it back up. The kitchens haven’t moved, have they?”

“Just follow your nose,” Wistala said.

“I was hoping you’d give me a tour, and take a bite with me.”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” she said.

Chapter 11

Wistala longed to see the sun again.

She was spending far too much time in Lavadome for her taste. It seemed the Queen, even a Queen-Consort, was expected to preside over every social gathering, on top of her largely ceremonial duties as head of the Firemaids.

Having to listen to the same news repeated over and over and over again, discussed much the same way with the same insipid observations and jokes—it was enough to make you gnaw at your flanks until your scale fell out. Now there was news of the blighters she’d briefly lived with coming into the Grand Alliance, and all the Lavadome wanted to know what sort of gemstones and precious metals could be found in their lands.

“Unless cattle horn is a precious metal and chicken beaks a gem, I don’t know that we’ll see much wealth from them,” Wistala said.

She’d kept her ears open for news about DharSii. He was consulting with the Ankelenes about the crystal statue that had once stood in NooMoahk’s cave until the Red Queen of the Ghioz stole it. The dragons of the Lavadome claimed it when they settled matters with the Red Queen in a desperate attack.

Strangely enough, it was when she paid a rare call on the Ankelenes’ “hill”—it wasn’t a natural feature of the Lavadome, but rather an artificial hill made of stone—that she happened upon the first evidence she found of Nilrasha’s purported conspiracy.

While climbing the stairs to the Ankelene Hill, she met Ibidio, AgGriffopse’s mate and widow. Ibidio was a fixture at Imperial Line events, a sort of Queen-in-her-own-mind who saw to it the traditions of the Lavadome were upheld.

“Ibidio, I’ve seen little of you for days. Have you been ill?”

“No. I don’t care to meet my husband’s murderer. I understand today he’s swimming in the river-ring.”

Wistala suddenly lost interest in visiting the Ankelenes. Her time there always passed like dried, splintered bones through her digestive tract, as she could rarely enter without having some expert question her about conditions near the pole or in the great east or other places she’d visited.

“I might follow your example and go into hiding. I thought I’d borrow some books and spend a few days reading,” Wistala said. “I’m tired of duties and ceremonies.”

Ibidio explored her gumline with her tongue. Wistala noticed she was lacking teeth. “You aren’t fond of your brother, are you?”

“Fond? No, not fond.”

Ibidio cocked her head. “Yet you have dropped scale all over the Lavadome acting as his Queen-Consort. Strange.”

“I respect him, I respect what he’s built, and what others before him established. I believe in what he’s trying to do for dragons.”

“Are you aware of the circumstances of my daughter’s death?”

“His first mate? I’ve heard the story. RuGaard said she choked.”

“No one knows the whole story, except perhaps for RuGaard and Nilrasha.” Ibidio sighed. “I’ve devoted myself to the subject. Halaflora wasn’t a favorite of mine at the time, but since Imfamnia revealed her true character, her memory has sweetened. I’ll never forgive her death.”

“You believe she was murdered, then?”

“Would knowing the truth change your opinion of your brother from respect?”

“Of course,” Wistala said. “I have my own grievances and accusations against him.”

“I remember that day in the Audience Chamber. His tyrancy should have ended that day. Would you like further proof of the character of that outcast and Tighlia?”

“I will hear it,” Wistala said.

“Follow me.”

Ibidio led her into Ankelene Hill, and then down to the storage rooms. They passed through a corridor lined with scroll tubes and into a sort of reading room beyond. There were several smaller rooms off of it filled with materials and implements for writing—dragons had learned the practice from dwarfs, some thought—and Tighlia opened the curtain of one.

A giant, bloated bat and a dwarf had just finished a meal inside.

The bat was unremarkable except for its size and its over-large ears. Wistala knew that there were some big bats in the Lavadome; the vermin did well suckling on the blood of cattle and dragons, when they got the chance.

The dragons tolerated them, mostly because they’d been part of the fight against the Dragonblade’s riders. But she still suspected the dragons of squashing them on the sly.

“Let’s hear his story, then,” Wistala said.

“Don’t be afraid,” Ibidio said. “Tell this dragonelle your story.”

“Could I have a sup, first, your lordship?”

“After!” Ibidio insisted. Wistala thought Ibidio looked a little drained. Maybe she’d stayed in seclusion for more than one reason.

“Well, it was like this,” the bat began. “Himself kept a few of us around as messengers.”

“Himself who?” Ibidio prompted.

“Tyr RuGaard. Or Upholder RuGaard, as he was then.

“I’d come back from delivering a message. RuGaard wanted to ask something about the construction of a bridge. I was tired, and went right to the ceiling to find a comfortable spot. This horn-blowing woke me up, and I saw RuGaard’s human girl blowing on the horn, and both the Tyr an’ his Queen standing over the frail dragon, his mate.”

“I don’t suppose we’re going to hear from this girl?” Wistala asked.

“Her name was Rhea. She met with an accident. But this family servant RuGaard gave to Rayg’s family, Fourfang, he heard her at her death, talking about it.”

“Where is he? Another room?” Wistala asked.

“He’s afraid to return to the Lavadome to tell the story. But I heard it myself with two witnesses present.”

“The female’s story, or this Fourfang’s?”

“The human told Fourfang of her death.”

“A human woman is dying, and she uses her last breaths to tell a story about a dragon dying years ago?” Wistala said.

“She was afraid of telling the truth. Nilrasha killed Halaflora. She told RuGaard the truth, and he lied for her, stuck a bone in her throat. Vermin.”

Wistala heard from the other witness, a beardless dwarf of the sort that seemed to wash up in the Lavadome, to do odd jobs until they built up enough of a hoard to move on to wherever they were going. This one must have been in the Lavadome a long time; he moved stiffly and held his toothless mouth shut.

He only told his story with much prodding and prompting from Ibidio.

He didn’t have much information to offer—all he told was a story about working a ferry in the depths of the western tunnel leading to Tyr RuGaard’s old uphold. RuGaard and his mate traveled west, and soon after, Nilrasha followed. She asked questions about whether RuGaard seemed happy with his new mate.

Wistala thought the dwarf the next thing to useless. If Wistala wanted to get an idea of a dragon’s feelings, the last thing she’d ask would be a wandering dwarf.

“So, a terse dwarf and a thirsty, blood-addled bat are going to bring down Tyr RuGaard?” Wistala felt a little sorry for Ibidio. A dead daughter, a fled daughter, and a third sworn to celibacy in the Firemaids.

“No,” Ibidio said. “But I believe I can bring down Nilrasha. She’s his real weakness, not the bad sii or the lazy eye or the wing joint. Tell us the truth, did he have his family killed?”

“That’s a truth not even my brother himself could tell you.”

“Don’t say a word of this to anyone, if you value your position,” Ibidio warned.

“I might say the same to you,” Wistala said. She turned and left Ibidio with her hate and her witnesses.

Chapter 12

Imfamnia called a meeting to discuss relations between Ghioz, Dairuss, and the new Protectorate of Old Uldam. This one came from a veteran Roc-rider who had survived the war between Ghioz and Lavadome and threw in with the new Protectors.