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“Take it from one who has mated many times. It is over before you know it.”
She wondered how far she could dare tax Scabia’s charity and desire for another generation in the Sadda-Vale. “I’d much rather mate with DharSii,” Wistala finally said.
“DharSii? Surely you joke.”
“He’s a closer relative of yours, isn’t he?”
“Yes. But he’s a striped dragon. They’re always difficult, often sterile. I don’t believe mating with him would be productive. Striped dragons never fit in, no offense intended against either my uzhin or your scaleless brother.”
“My brother has stripes, and has managed to produce offspring. One clutch of four eggs.”
“Probably striped as well. If that’s all he’s managed to have, he’ll be the last of his line. DharSii is out of the question. You must lay the next eggs in my hall, with NaStirath.”
She stared at the empty floor.
“Besides,” Scabia continued, “there are attributes of DharSii that I wouldn’t wish to see passed on. He has forever humbled himself by working in harness for hominids. I would not have any line of mine sullied by a slave.”
“He worked for hominids to bring you coin.”
“A real dragon finds coin, takes it, demands it of his inferiors. He doesn’t run errands like a dwarfen shopkeeper.”
“You think NaStirath his superior?”
“I wouldn’t trust NaStirath to burn down a barn full of oil-soaked cotton. But he is of an impressive length, his bone structure is exceedingly fine, he displays a better than average wingspan. I’ve never known him to be sick a day in his life.”
“The way he idles, I wonder how you could tell if he was sick.”
“What will it be, Wistala? You wish to live in my vale, you will accept my rule. Produce eggs for my daughter to raise as her own, or find another cave for your poor exiles. If you can.”
Wistala knew what her choice would be. It was there, half-formed and painful, like a toothache just setting in. She was but one dragonelle, thrown out by her society, but she held in her tender jaws the lives of two brothers, their families, and a handful of loyalists to an exiled regime.
“I will do as you demand.”
“You and your friends will find us generous hosts. There is nothing to fear from the Lavadome, relations between our two societies are of long-standing.”
“I hope that proves true,” Wistala said.
“The rule of Scabia is not to be trifled with.”
* * *
There was nothing to do but get it over with. If it had to be done, it might as well be done quickly. Her Copper brother was making himself miserable, and AuRon lay in his loft and slept like a jungle snake with a deer in it.
But they roused themselves to attend her “mating.”
Scabia even managed to climb a little spit of land that looked out on the unusually misty lake. Blue clouds high above looked like a stormy sea.
“Wistala,” NaStirath said. “Don’t look so down-at-hearts. Think of it as a silly game, to please your relatives. You may not admit it, but you’re a sprig of the great tree Scabia tends, in her way.”
She took one long, last look at DharSii. If ever a dragon looked miserable enough to drop scale, it was he.
“I don’t suppose I get a song,” Wistala said.
Scabia snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not his mate, my offspring is.”
“Well, off with it, you two,” Scabia said. “I’ve waited long enough for some eggs in this cavern.”
DharSii, evidently unable to watch the rest of the ceremony, moved off in the direction of the lake.
