Jaslyn left Evenspire as soon as politeness allowed. They barely said goodbye. She didn't tell Almiri where she was going; in fact, she didn't tell anyone. Jaslyn and Hyrkallan and the half a hundred dragons she'd brought with her to Evenspire. North towards home, for the sake of any prying eyes, high over the Blackwind Hills until they passed Fardale and Southwatch and the Last River. Up in the north there were no foothills, no grassy rolling slopes. Just ash and pale silver sand, rippling in giant waves until they crashed against the immense white and grey cliff faces at the edge of the Worldspine. No rivers, no trees, no grass, only ash and sand. Ash and sand. That's all there was to the north. Endless days of dead nothingness before the land slowly changed once more.
When they were well and truly out of sight, they parted ways. Most flew on, back to Outwatch, Southwatch and Sand. The places they belonged. Jaslyn, though, turned west, towards the Worldspine, with Hyrkallan and two others that he'd chosen beside them. Hyrkallan didn't like it, had sternly advised against it. Hyrkallan could go screw himself. In the safety of the deep dead peaks, they turned back south and began their long journey towards the sea. Little streaks of green began to appear in the valleys below, desperate little strips of life clinging to the shady spaces where a few tiny streams would flow on those rare days when the rain came. Out here even the mountain stones seemed bleached white by the heat. Then they crossed the deep gash that seemed to run like an open wound all the way as far as she could see, even into the immeasurable heart of the Spine. The valley of the Last River. The last water in the north, the blood of her realm that ran past the edge of the Blackwind Hills and Southwatch and Sand and all the little hot and dusty towns of Ishmar's Valley until it staggered away into the desert again and finally expired, if it was lucky, in the Lake of Ghosts.
She thought of turning west again, of launching herself even deeper into the Worldspine if only to see what she might find. She always thought of that when she came out here. The Worldspine was rumoured to be filled with hidden valleys, or else to rise up ever higher, until it touched the sky, so high even dragons couldn't pass over. Or else, some said that beyond the Spine lay other realms, another speaker, another palace, yet more dragons, a world a mirror of this one. Up here, this far north, no one would ever find her. The Worldspine belonged to the King of the Crags, or so they told her, but here, she was quite sure, it belonged to no one but itself.
Yes, a part of Jaslyn was minded to explore but that part would have to wait. For now, she had a duty to her sisters. To Almiri, who sat on her dead husband's throne, who was so still that she might have been a statue, whose face looked as brittle as fine glass. Almiri had not taken the news well, though it had hardly come as a surprise. Her husband and their mother, beheaded by a dozen soldiers. No one there to bear witness. No one to hear their last words. Their bodies hung in cages outside the palace instead of being fed to their dragons. And all Jaslyn could do was wonder: What if they were guilty? What if mother did kill Hyram? What if she did try to have Zafir murdered? Is it so unlikely? I wasn't there, I didn't see it all unfold, so how do I know it's not true?
And to Lystra, most of all to little sister Lystra. The last news was that the Viper was going to live after all. Which was a pity, and was what had finally convinced her to fly south and not north. She needed her sister. She needed Lystra to tell her who to fight. To tell her that Jehal was a monster to be slain. Or to tell her that she was wrong. Or, more simply, she needed Lystra to be there. Next to her. In the flesh, alive and breathing. To hug and hold and laugh and tell her that life was not quite so bleak as these mountains. So she stayed her course and watched the valleys below spring into timid uncertain life, still clinging to the great rivers and the few little streams that fed them. They stopped for a night in a valley looking down over the Blackwind River, four riders and four dragons, surrounded by emptiness. In the morning they flew on, steadily south, and as they came closer to the Purple Spur, it seemed as though a line of shadow speckled with stars crossed the spines and ridges of the mountains. Snowfields sprang up, the greens of the valleys thickened and filled with trees and rushing water. Valmeyan's realm. Hyrkallan guided them uneasily now, took them low into the valleys where there was little to see but the rush of trees below and snow-spattered cliffs to either side. But the mountains were empty; King Valmeyan's dragons were ensconced around the Mirror Lakes, slowly eating their way through the speaker's cattle.
They reached the abyss of the Gnashing Snapper Gorge, where the immense mass of the Fury roared through the depths of the Worldspine. Hyrkallan tipped B'thannan's wings and they dived into it, down deep between black slabs of rock only a few dragon-spans apart. Jaslyn's ears popped and throbbed. The world became as dark as night as they fell and the air filled with spray and the thunder of rushing water. As Hyrkallan slowly levelled his descent and skimmed across the black waters, Jaslyn looked up. Far above her, the sky had gone so dark that she could see stars.
Slowly the gorge widened out. The river slowed and they passed the startled eyes of Hanzen's Camp, the last stop for even the most adventurous boats plying the Fury River. They stopped for a second night not far away on the edge of the Worldspine, a hundred miles east of Drotan's Top and then drifted up again with the dawn, veering a little eastwards but still flying south, out over the swathes of rolling green that were the Raksheh, the Thousand-Mile Forest, squeezed between the endless flat grey clouds above and the rolling green ones below. In the hills and plains to the faraway east, Zafir's eyries were almost empty, her dragons dispatched to the palace. Once, in the far distance, back towards the mountains they'd abandoned, they saw four other dragons flying north, high in the sky and deep among the peaks. Other than that, they saw no one. As the light failed they stopped again in the empty depths of the forest, at the ancient abandoned Moonlight Garden, looking out over the wild Yamuna River and at the Aardish caves where Vishmir the Great and, some said, the Silver King himself were laid to rest, Jaslyn stood there amid the blood-red marble stones veined with yellow and watched the moon rise. In a place like this, in this wilderness of lonely emptiness and the stone relics of a people who had died and gone long ago, she felt strangely at home. Outwatch was like this. Surrounded by desolation, old beyond measure, crafted by hands long dead with skills long forgotten. Enduring. Everlasting.
Unlike everything else.
She sighed and tried to sleep under the cool open skies of the south. The dreams that came to her were strange, always were in this place. Of men with white hair and silver skin and wide blood-red eyes. Of the Silver Kings.
They flew away again with the dawn, saddlesore and weary although the dragons who did all the work seemed untroubled by their long flight. South-east now, down the Yamuna River and out across the rolling deep green canopy of the Raksheh. As they took off it started to rain, low grey clouds rolling in off the Sea of Storms far away to the south. Rain. It was delicious. A novelty for those born to the desert realm of Sand and Stone.
They crossed the edge of the Raksheh, the dark sprawl of trees breaking up into a patchwork of fields and copses laced with a dark spider-web of muddy roads and spattered with hamlets and farmhouses. As they did, Jaslyn saw a single dragon far in the distance. She urged on Morning Sun until he was alongside B'thannan and signalled to Hyrkallan, but by then the other dragon had seen them and sped away. They flew on a little further, closing in on the grand eyrie of Clifftop. Jaslyn looked for a open space and brought Morning Sun as gently as she could to the ground, thundering into the side of a hill, slipping and stumbling, tearing gouges as deep as a man out of the thick damp earth. A flock of sheep scattered in panic in front of them. Jaslyn felt a sharp stab of desire from her dragon. Hunger. He hadn't eaten since Evenspire. When she told him no, he snorted and tossed his head, blew a column of flame a hundred feet up into the air, the rain around his face sizzling into steam.
Jaslyn sat, slowly getting wet. The air smelled of dragon and the rich dark soil. Without the wind in her ears, the world fell silent apart from the steady hiss of the rain. She sat and she waited, alone in the emptiness while Hyrkallan and his two outriders circled above to mark where she was. That was how it was done, when a stranger on a dragon entered a foreign realm. Like an animal rolling on its back, exposing its belly to show it meant no harm.
Eventually the dragon from Clifftop came back with others. One rider landed nearby, his dragon shaking and tearing the earth once again. The rest stayed in the air, circling. Jaslyn told him who she was and why she'd come. She had no idea who he was. She wasn't at all sure that he believed her either, but then maybe he did. Or maybe he'd seen her at Lystra's wedding. Maybe he'd been one of the dozen and more southern riders who'd gallantly asked for her hand at a dance only to be brushed away without even a smile. Climbing to the top of the hill and then hurling themselves down the side, the dragons raced and flapped their wings and ripped the earth with their claws once again until they launched themselves into the air, one after the other. She followed him towards Clifftop, trying not to think of what would be waiting when they got there. Ceremonies and greetings and all manner of tedious rituals to go through. All a waste of time. From Clifftop to the palace of Furymouth was most of a day on the back of a horse, longer in a carriage. She didn't have much time before she'd have to fly back, and every hour she spent at the eyrie was an hour away from Lystra.
Except it wasn't. At Clifftop Jaslyn let Morning Sun dive and then spread his wings and almost stop in the air before smashing into the ground, the way all dragons like to land. She threw off her harness and slid from the dragon's back and there was Lystra, little sister Lystra, right in front of her only a few dozen yards away. In the rain, Jaslyn had to blink a couple of times to be sure. Then she had to blink again. Tears this time. Protocols and rituals could go hang. She raced across the ground and grabbed her sister, almost lifting her off the ground. She remembered the smell of the air here. The smell of the sea, the distant sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below.
'Lystra!' She still had to keep blinking.
'Jaslyn!' Lystra seemed reserved, returning her embrace with only a measure of joy. Jaslyn took a second to realise why.
'Ancestors! You're so big! When will it be? It can't be long! Look at you!' She put a hand on her sister's big round belly and smiled. The first smile since… she couldn't remember. Since Lystra's wedding perhaps.
Lystra smiled too, the shy proud smile that Jaslyn remembered. The smile that made her heart melt, and perhaps Jehal's too. 'Another two months, they tell me.'
'So long? You look ready now!' The thought of Lystra as a mother had a bitterness to it. Almiri had already given Valgar three heirs. She was the last one. Lystra was all grown up, not little any more. But that sort of thinking wasn't helpful, wasn't why she'd come. 'Why are you here at Clifftop? You should be at the palace with everyone to look after you!' She stepped back. For the first time she realised that Lystra was clothed from head to foot in grey. 'You're in mourning! What's happened?' Someone was dead. Jehal? Her heart jumped with hope. Could it somehow be Jehal? Is he dead after all?
Lystra looked confused. 'You mean you don't know? How can you not know. Mother…'
Oh. Yes. That. Jaslyn looked down at herself. Not a trace of grey. She'd almost… No. Not almost. She'd actually forgotten. For a few days she'd forgotten that her own mother had been executed. She'd tried to forget that horror along with everything else, and for once she'd actually managed it. Now she felt ashamed.
There were several men and women standing either side of Lystra. Jaslyn had ignored them totally until one of them coughed and smiled and stepped forward.
'Meteroa, Your Holiness.' The man bowed. Holiness. She still couldn't get used to people calling her that. 'I am King Jehal's eyrie-master and I am at your service. I do my best to advise Queen Lystra while he is away. Currently I have advised her to move away from the palace. The air here is cleaner. So is the water. And indeed the food, I have discovered.' He raised an eyebrow as if he meant to convey some complex meaning. Jaslyn had no idea what he was talking about. She should have worn grey. She should have worn grey if only for Lystra. I never liked our mother but I know you did. I always thought you were her favourite because you were the pretty one, but maybe it wasn't that. Maybe she liked you the best because you were the only one of us who liked her back. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
'Can you…' She was still looking at Lystra. Could she what? Forgive her? For forgetting that their mother and their queen was dead? For being as coldly indifferent as the speaker?
'I'm sure Queen Lystra understands.' Meteroa smiled. 'You are almost at war with Speaker Zafir. There is little time for mourning. It is a luxury, I know. I assume that's why you're here.'
'I…' Is that why I'm here? 'I wanted to see my sister again. In case it was the last time.' She cocked her head at Meteroa, desperate to talk about something else. I want to be alone with my sister. ALONE! 'Since you are here, Eyrie-Master, I have a question for you. Do you have dragons who refuse their food? Hatchlings who sicken and starve and die?'
Meteroa chuckled. 'All eyries have them, Your Holiness. Tarrangan's Curse, we call it here. Three dragons live, one dragon dies. So it's always been.'
'Do you have any of them here right now?'
'Hissing and snarling at the end of their chains in some deep cavern beneath our feet? You ask strange questions, Your Holiness.' Meteroa looked baffled. 'I have no idea why you ask me this, but no, at present we do not. Why? Why do you wish to know? If I have your permission to ask, Your Holiness?'
'No.' Jaslyn shook her head, all interest suddenly gone. 'No, you don't.' She shivered. 'May we go?'
Meteroa bowed. 'Of course, Your Holiness.' He led them towards the cliff-top towers and in among the sprawling walls. 'The King of the Crags is returning to his mountains, I hear. It is curious, Your Holiness. Why would he emerge from the Worldspine for this when he doesn't even come for the crowning of a new speaker? I cannot help but wonder about that. Valmeyan has more dragons than any two kings or queens put together. It is something of a quandary. Can you enlighten me, Your Holiness?'
Jaslyn thought she sensed the faintest hint of mockery in Meteroa's voice. She bristled. 'No. I'm sure Prince Jehal will know the answer.'
'King Jehal,' purred Meteroa. 'King Tyan died five weeks ago.'
Five weeks? Why didn't I know this? Jaslyn turned to Lystra. 'Then if Jehal dies, you're queen!' She could slap herself. She must sound like an idiot. Meteroa had been calling Lystra his queen ever since they'd arrived. What's the matter with me?
Lystra was staring at faslyn. Her eyes were very big and glistening with tears All of a sudden she stepped closer and embraced Jaslyn again. 'I know you think the worst of him,' she whispered, 'but he has the heart of a good man, not a wicked one. All the things they say about him, they aren't true. I know. I see him in a way no one else does. Don't wish him dead, Jaslyn, please.'
Jaslyn froze. A shiver ran through her. She held Lystra tight. 'You've changed,' she whispered. She couldn't think of anything else. There. That was every question I had, answered in a stroke. Now I might as well go home.
Lystra straightened and stepped away. 'Jehal tried to save Mother from Zafir's headsman. That's why he was imprisoned.'
'Did he? Did he really?' Jaslyn couldn't bring herself to believe in Jehal. If he did, he had a selfish reason for it.
'He was trying to save the realms from a war, I think,' murmured Meteroa. 'Always a foolish pursuit.' He turned and grinned at Jaslyn. 'Since you're here, I suppose he must have failed.'
'I came to see my sister.' Go away!
Meteroa didn't go away. All through the dregs of the day he was constantly at Lystra's side. To protect her, he said, from all the little dangers that others don't see, although he wouldn't say what those dangers were, and Lystra had practically been born and bred in an eyrie. The next day was no better, although Meteroa at least took Jaslyn around Clifftop to present his dragons. Quite a collection, Jaslyn realised. Jehal didn't have as many as Isentine held at Outwatch, but such a variety! So many colours and shapes and sizes. Hunters and war-dragons of course, like every other eyrie, but some were… something else. Smaller, too small even to be hunters. Then he led her into the caves etched into the cliffs, into tunnels and darkness where everything smelled of smoke and Jaslyn could barely hear what he was saying, where all his words were blotted out by memories of choking air and rushing water and the deadly tightness of the alchemists' redoubt. She could barely breathe. Cold sweat clung to her skin, gripping her, wrapping her in suffocating arms. Twice she stumbled and leaned on Lystra to keep herself from falling, and then finally a blast of fresh air and light thundered into her. They emerged into a gallery overlooking a yawning void. A hundred feet below, the sea crashed and roared over a tumble of black boulders that littered the cave mouth. Sunlight reached inside to light up the stone walls beyond, worn smooth by the waves. Further in lay a deep pool of still dark water. The air was fresh and salty.
'No use for dragons, this one,' said Meteroa, shouting to make himself heard over the noise of the spray. 'No easy way in and out. We use this cave for something else. The kings of Furymouth have always kept their collection here.'
Jaslyn took deep breaths, sucking the cool fresh air into her lungs, cleansing them of the memory of smoke. 'Collection?'
'Collection.' Meteroa pointed out into the emptiness of the cave. Slowly, as Jaslyn's eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun pouring in off the sea, she saw that there were things suspended in the air. Bones. Blackened bones. Dragon bones. Whole dragon skeletons.
'Are they real?' She stood agape. Dragons burned when they died. Burned from the inside out so that nothing was left except their scales and their wings. Maybe a few charred bones from the end of their tail, but everything else went to ash. She'd never seen the skeleton of a dragon. No one had. Or at least that's what she'd thought until now. Now there were four of them in front of her. They were enormous.
Meteroa nodded, sounding solemn. 'Very real, Your Holiness.'
'How?'
He pointed down to the water below. 'The Salt Pool. The sea barely reaches into the cave, but the pool beneath us is deep. Sometimes when a dragon is dying we bring it here to the Salt Pool. We feed it the same poisons as the Embers took when they fought for you and the alchemists. When a dragon dies in the Salt Pool, the water is enough to save the bones. The salt ruins the scales though. We don't bring them here very often.' He pointed. 'The nearest is Awestriker. He was King Tyan's last mount. Prince Jehal had the dragon slain when it became clear that his father would never ride her any more. The furthest is Bludgeon. That was the first dragon to be brought to the Salt Pool. They say the first king of Furymouth, the blood-mage Tyan from whom King Jehal's father took his name, came here. There had been a battle. This was long before Narammed and Vishmir and the rise of the speakers. The Order of the Dragon had risen up in the Silver City and ousted the blood-mages from the Pinnacles. The battle was lost, the magus' dragon was damaged and he did not want it to fall into the hands of the Order. He brought the dragon here to hide it. The dragon died. Later, when the Order came and Tyan fled, they sent soldiers to the cave to bring back the scales. The scales were ruined, but they found the bones instead. For days no one understood where the bones had come from. Sea monsters, they said. Eventually they realised the bones came from Tyan's dragon.' Meteroa smiled. 'Of course, that was long before there was an eyrie at Clifftop. Come. There's more.'
He walked along a narrow ledge carved into the sheer side of the cave. Jaslyn followed nervously. Lystra stayed where she was. The ledge was rough, a foot wide or sometimes less, and the Salt Pool was far below. Small niches had been cut into the wall, tenuous handholds to offer an illusion of safety. Meteroa moved carefully and methodically. 'The menagerie may interest you, Your Holiness, if you have an interest in dragons.'
The ledge ran for some fifty feet before it opened out into a wide natural gallery. There were more skeletons here, much smaller than the monsters hanging over the bulk of the cave. These were hatchlings, so small they must have been fresh out of the egg.
'We've been breeding them like this since the realms begun, Your Holiness.' Meteroa smiled again. 'Not many of our visitors are privileged to come down here but I know this isn't wasted on you. And you are our king's sister now. The interesting ones are back here.'
One of the hatchlings had two heads.
Jaslyn stared at them in disbelief. Half of them were deformed. Two heads, two tails, four wings…
'Blood-magic,' said Meteroa with a curl of disgust, although whether he meant it or it was feigned Jaslyn couldn't tell. 'A few of our kings have had a taste for it. They were set on breeding a new kind of dragon. This is what they got. They never had any success. Fortunately the local penchant for blood-mages has died away. We work with the alchemists now, using potions to try and evolve the breeds.'
'You want to breed a dragon with two heads?' Jaslyn couldn't contain her disbelief. Meteroa laughed.
'No. It's all about the colour of the scales, the timbre of their sheen, that sort of thing. That's why Jehal so wanted your white dragon.
A new strain, a new bloodline, perhaps we could have done something different. You breed your dragons for speed and strength; we're known through the realms for the most colourful dragons.' He chuckled again. 'In different times, an alliance between our realms would have been a happy time for me. I would have spent a great deal of time in your eyrie and you in mine. We could have traded secrets, eyrie-master to eyrie-master. We could have traded bloodlines. I had high hopes for what our eyries might produce if they worked together. Who knows – maybe those dreams are not quite lost?' He talked on and on and Jaslyn soaked up every word. Meteroa knew what he was doing and he knew his dragons. She got lost in them and almost forgot why she was there. Other things slipped in. Jehal's imprisonment, his injury, his recovery. The poisons Meteroa had found in the kitchens. The sabotage to the saddles of Lystra's horses. A dozen other ambiguous little clues, all of them pointing to Zafir. Evil, wicked Zafir.
'King Jehal was so sure he would keep her in check. I'm afraid he rather seems to have failed.' Meteroa sighed. 'Queen Lystra lives at Clifftop now because it's safer. I trust the alchemists and the Scales here more than my own riders and certainly more than the servants in the palace. I had thought we knew all of Zafir's secrets, but I'm afraid we rather failed there too. It's all quite depressing. Come, Your Holiness. We've left your sister for long enough. If we delay any further she may have one of her foolish moments and try to follow us.'
The eyrie-master retraced his steps. Jaslyn followed, easing her way uncertainly along the ledge. When they returned, Lystra was sitting on the edge with her feet dangling over the Salt Pool, tossing stones down into the water. She glared at them both.
'Meteroa, you've taken my sister away for far too long and I'm immensely bored. I am cross with you.'
Meteroa bowed. 'I am deeply sorry, Your Holiness. To make amends, I shall arrange a great entertainment for you. I shall leave at once. I trust you will be safe in the care of your sister.' He turned to Jaslyn and his face became serious. 'There are men I trust not far away. You will be left alone. If you are not, you should assume that whoever approaches von means you harm. You are armed?'
Jaslyn nodded.
'Good. I suppose, apart from myself, you're the one person I will leave alone with my queen until my king returns.' He suddenly looked weary and shook his head. 'It has been a regrettably interesting few weeks. I will not be far away.'
With that he turned and walked slowly away into the tunnels. Jaslyn stood alone with her sister, staring out into the cave, breathing the damp salt air. For a long time they were silent. Then Lystra held out a hand and Jaslyn took it.
'There's another path,' said Lystra in a whisper. 'You can climb down to the cave mouth. Then there are steps carved into the cliff to take you back to the top. It's very steep and very slippery and you'd like it. Shall we?'
'No.' Jaslyn squeezed her sister's hand, then crouched down and put her ear to Lystra's belly. Lystra began to stroke her hair. 'Two more months. And they won't let you fly?'
'Meteroa doesn't want me to fly.'
'But he has to do what you say.'
'No, he has to do what Jehal says.'
Jaslyn put a hand next to her ear. 'I can feel the baby! It's moving.'
'Yes.' Lystra hugged Jaslyn's head. 'Isn't it magic?'
'On the back of a dragon is the safest place in the world,' whispered Jaslyn. 'Why won't they let you fly?' She stood up and held Lystra tightly. Why won't they let you fly?'
Lystra laughed softly. 'Why won't you climb the cliff with me?'
'You might fall.'
'Yes. I might fall.' She pulled away and held Jaslyn's hands. She was still smiling. 'I can't be the Lystra you remember. I have to be a queen now. Soon I will have to be a mother.'
'The speaker is trying to kill you.'
'Jehal will keep me safe.' She spoke with conviction. Love even. Jaslyn winced. The hurt was like a knife.
'Come back to Outwatch with me.' Her voice was trembling. 'We'll slip away in the night when he's not watching you. Speaker Zafir won't know where you've gone. You'll be safe.'
Lystra squeezed Jaslyn's hands. 'Of course she'll know where I've gone. No, Jaslyn. A part of my heart is always yours, but my place is here.'
'Lystra! Sister!' How to make her understand that Jehal was a monster. That he was vicious, that he was a murderer, that he had no love for anyone but himself, that as likely as not he was Zafir's lover. The very woman who's trying to murder you. He doesn't care about you. You're nothing to him. Just something to be veiled behind screens, making babies and heirs until he tires of you. He'll take what he wants, bleed you dry and crush you. Like Aliphera. Like Hyram. Like Mother.
She wanted to say all of those things, but the words stuck in her throat. She saw Lystra's wide eyes and knew she couldn't wound her sister with them. That even if she did Lystra wouldn't believe her. That Jehal, for now, had won. The understanding made her weep, despite herself.
'You don't belong to us any more, do you?' she croaked.
They held each other tight, and then Lystra kissed her. A long, lingering kiss. The sort meant for lovers. 'I will always be your sister, Jaslyn. Promise me we will never be enemies.'
Jaslyn bit her lip and nodded. 'Never. I promise. Promise me you will stay safe.'
'I will.'
'I miss you, little Lystra. I will never, never let anyone hurt you.'
'I know. I miss you too.'
For a long time they stood together, holding hands. Jaslyn wept in silence. Eventually she turned and led Lystra back into the tunnels, back to the eyrie-master's men. Then she left the tunnels, summoned her riders and her dragons and put Clifftop behind her as quickly as she could.
Meteroa watched her go, soaring away into the afternoon skies. 'How very sudden and very rude.' He sniffed and gave his queen a queer look. 'What did you say to her?'
'Nothing. Nothing that she didn't know before she came here.' Her voice was flat and gave nothing away. Inside, Meteroa smiled. Very good, little one. Very good.
She was looking at him, he realised. She cocked her head. 'Why did you lie to her about the halchlings?'
Meteroa shrugged. Did I lie? I don't even remember. He grimaced.
'I apologise if this offends you, Your Holiness. Doubtless I shouldn't say such things about another queen, but your sister is very strange. Hatchlings. What a question to ask.' Now he laughed. You know, I can't remember the last time someone asked me a question and I hadn't the first idea why they were asking it.' 'But why did you lie?'
Meteroa smiled. Because I didn't like not knowing why she asked. Because I didn't like the way she looked at me. Because I think she's dangerous in a way that even Jehal wouldn't understand.
He couldn't say any of that though, not to his queen, so he settled for something else that was equally true. 'Because I'm not a particularly nice fellow, Your Holiness. I've made a career of it. Sometimes I lie simply because I feel like it. Because I can. Keeping my eye in, so to speak.'
He winked, but Queen Lystra didn't see. She was looking back to the sky, watching her sister fade into the clouds.