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“I just…I just want to know that you don’t hate me. What must I do to make you believe I tried to save her? Stuff a horse down my throat and choke myself?”
“You’re too tough to choke on a horse. I must sleep. I’ve got a long flight tomorrow.”
“I wonder what SiMevolant has planned for you?”
“Tyr SiMevolant,” the Copper corrected.
“Not for long, I think. He won’t last his name-year.” She displayed her teeth and rattled her griff.
He left AuBalagrave at the Uphold, with instructions to defend the temple and inform the kern kings that he was in mourning over the death of his mate and would perform no functions, ceremonial or otherwise, until further notice.
Then he took to the sky. Thoughts of Halaflora took all the joy out of flying; now it was just a dull, exhausting routine. He broke his journey at the Tooth Cavern bridge to speak to Rayg and the Firemaidens and Firemaid.
“Supposedly there’ll be no war,” the Copper said. “But I want you watchful here nonetheless. I’m sure these hag-ridden dragons know of the existence of this bridge and this portal into the Lower World. They may use it to reach the Lavadome.”
The dragons nodded their agreement. Then the Copper pulled Rayg aside, to the little bench where he kept his plans and designs.
“I understand you’re to be congratulated,” the Copper said.
“For what? Construction on the bridge has stopped ever since that fight in the cavern.”
“Rhea. You’re mated, I hear.”
Rayg looked across at him, sucking on his fleshy cheeks. “I didn’t know you paid attention to that kind of thing.”
“I do. How would you like Rhea freed with you?”
“Nothing more, your honor. You would do that?”
“I just need you to turn your brain to one final project.”
His shoulders dropped. “What’s that?”
“You worked for the dwarves, I understand?”
“Yes, well, it was sort of an apprenticeship.”
“They understand armor, I’m told. I want you to design some kind of armoring for the underside of a dragon. Enough to keep out one of those poisoned crossbow quarrels. It’s got to be light, though. No layers of chain mail.”
“It would help if I had one of their crossbows for a test firing.”
“A few may have been lost thanks to those riders the FeLissaraths downed. I’ll have Nilrasha hunt for them.” He reminded himself to send a messenger bat as soon as he finished with Rayg.
“Leather would be best, then,” Rayg said, eyes rolling in thought. “Perhaps if it were stiffened and reinforced with wire. Or wood flanges.”
“One more request. It’s got to look like a regular dragon’s underskin, at least from a distance.”
As there was no emergency, the Copper returned to the Lavadome by the more tiresome—and cramped—south passage. The entrance was well hidden by a thick, multicanopied forest, and he’d never seen it from the air, only from the ground in his orientation hikes in the Drakwatch. So he had to cast around a little before he found the right waterfall that led to it.
He found Angalia and another maid guarding the door.
“I come at Tyr SiMevolant’s request, Angalia, but I cry joy at seeing you again,” he said, figures of speech being just that. “How do you like your change of scenery?”
“Warmer, your honor, but still terrible. The air is so heavy and moist. I feel it creeping into my lungs. I’ll be dead of a fever in a year; mark my words.”
“It would take a tall tablet to mark all your words, Angalia,” her companion observed.
He had no difficulty learning about the death of SiDrakkon on the way to Black Rock. It was all anyone talked of, from the youngest drake to the oldest dragon-dame playing with some widower’s hatchlings. He’d been found alone in his garden bath, dead of some sort of seizure.
