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“Perhaps some oliban,” Wistala suggested.
“What is oliban?” Natasatch asked.
A few of the assembly tittered.
“It’s a sort of sap from rare trees in the south,” an Ankelene named NoFarouk said. “When burned, it is most soothing.”
AuRon heard whispers. “No welcoming coin… no oliban…”
“Our new Protector isn’t very courtly,” HeBellereth said.
“If being courtly is what’s required of a Protector, perhaps you should get a new one,” AuRon said. “NiVom and Imfamnia are my guests. Dairuss isn’t the Lavadome, and whatever she did in the past she’s been a good friend to myself and my mate now.”
The Copper’s one good eye looked AuRon’s way. “This is my brother’s Protectorate. He sets his own social conventions. He may invite who he will. I think, however, it would be best if I depart. Please, good dragons, do not consider this an insult to our host or our new allies. But I must choose my society.”
The Tyr moved off to contemplate the river.
Just like my brother. Skulking off, AuRon thought to Natasatch.
We mustn’t make an enemy of the Tyr, she thought back. Then aloud: “I’ll see to it that some food is brought to him.” Natasatch quit the feeding pit and did her best to order some servants to follow with platters.
With that, HeBellereth rose, and the members of the Aerial Host followed his example.
Wistala came to her feet, said, “I shall return,” and trotted off after him.
The feast had turned into a disaster.
“I’m sorry we caused such a rift in your celebratory feast,” NiVom said.
Imfamnia laughed. “Well, I never. What, he thought I might attack him? Our Tyr, who has smashed our enemies aboveground and below, retreats at the sight of one ragged exile? And a female at that?”
Ragged? Natasatch thought to AuRon. She’s dye-washed her scales to add contrast. Her servants have labored many hours with brushes to get that pattern.
The rest of the dragons shifted about nervously.
“Protector AuRon,” NiVom announced. “I’ve brought a specialty of my kitchens. In these waxed baskets—a dessert fit for the Tyr, even if he’ll have none. Brains in sweet brandy!”
She extended her wings and rotated them down, a sort of a bow crossed with a flourish, to AuRon’s mind, beautifully executed.
Part of him couldn’t help comparing Natasatch to the former Queen of the Lavadome. Everything NiVom’s mate did, she did gracefully.
Wistala settled down next to her Copper brother.
“I suppose I’ve let you down. Nilrasha would have smoothed all that over much better, or warned AuRon about Imfamnia in the first place. I’m not very good at these squabbles.”
“Neither am I,” the Copper said. “It’s the way many of the dragons in the Lavadome were raised. There’s nothing important for them to do, so they pick at each other. Reminds me of the baboons I saw in Bant. They’re either hurling dung at each other or picking nits.”
“Baboons,” she laughed. “Well, AuRon’s put together a good feast. You’ll have a fine cold breakfast in the morning.”
“I suppose I should have a conference with him. Just to see how he’s getting on. I’d like to know more about that daughter of his, Istach.”
“Why her?”
“Doesn’t she remind—well, never mind. She seems a bright young dragonelle and it’s a waste to haver just trailing after her parents like a hatchling. Did she come off badly in a fight as a drakka?”
Wistala wondered at this sudden interest. She hoped he hadn’t set his heart on winning all of AuRon’s offspring—three of the four were already serving the Grand Alliance. “I don’t know. I believe she grew up on that island of theirs.”
“There’s something about this I don’t like” the Copper said. “Imfamnia’s not a threat. She does incidental damage with her vanity and greed, it’s never intended. She just loves being the center of attention and having things her own way. In a way, she enjoys being an outcast. It gets others talking about her.”
