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They’d commandeered some of the fishermen’s catch. It would be enough to feed the riders properly, anyway. An enterprising rider had found beds of wild onions beside the river, so skewered fish and onions looked to be the menu, unless one of the promised supply barges arrived. As for entertainments, there was a good deal of driftwood along the riverbank that hadn’t yet been gathered for cooking fires. Perhaps they could have some kind of carving contest, with the winning dragon and rider pair being given a trip back to the palace at Ghioz to figure out just what in the glowering mood was the reason for this hungry delay.>She was very fond of jewelry. He always associated it with the change in her.
It was after he’d given her a crystalline bauble, the same one AuRon had worn into the Lavadome, bringing the Red Queen’s peace offer, that she’d grown more assertive. He’d tried the jewel himself first, of course, to make sure there wasn’t any danger. All it did was sharpen up the senses and clarify the thoughts. Both of which Imfamnia needed—desperately.
He found her lounging in her modest bath. It was nothing compared to the epic pools of steaming water that SiMevolant had been so fond of. This was more of a dipping pool in a tile room, where thralls could easily work you over with bristle brushes and polishing cloths, depending what the scale needed, lubricated by warm water.
He dismissed the thralls. They always did gossip.
“I suppose you’ve heard RuGaard is in Hypatia,” NiVom said.
“I’ve heard little but,” Imfamnia said. “What will we do about it?”
“I’m tempted to wait until he’s at the base of Nilrasha’s refuge and then drop her on him. She’s heavy enough to kill whoever she falls upon.”
“You always were direct,” Imfamnia said.
She touched her snout to his. She’d scented herself with something intoxicating, probably some distillation of hominid female musk. “I’m famished,” he said. “I’ve been flying too much lately. I think we both need to spend a few secluded days figuring out what to do about him. Dine in, two servants only, hours of undisturbed sleep—”
She brushed him gently across the neck with her wingtips.
“And a deep pool for mating purposes,” he continued. “Seeing you wet and glistening gives me an appetite for you. Too bad SiMevolant’s old baths are defunct.”
“So what do we do about RuGaard?” Imfamnia asked, redirecting his thoughts.
“I’ve ordered the whole Aerial Host to Hypatia. Between them and the Hypatians, they’ll make short work of him.”
“That’s like sending arrows to enemy archers,” Imfamnia said, looking at her scale and then glaring at him as if to ask: What, do you expect me to nibble the rough edges myself? “Why on earth would you do that?”
“He’s a serious threat. I’ve heard his rule spoken of as in better days.... And that, after all I’ve done for the Lavadome and Empire.”
“Well done, my love. All the scoundrels are either dead or fled, and it sounds as though RuGaard has finally gone mad and will take a number of disloyal dragons down with him. We should capture him, decorate him for helping us sniff out traitors, then remove his head.”
NiVom nuzzled her. She was more for flattery than praise, so he glowed when it came. “My one fear is that he’ll run back north three times as fast as he’s marching south. Yes, the Host will encircle him, and that’ll be the end of it. We can get on to more important matters, like acquiring prawn-farms on the Sunstruck Sea. I do enjoy a big, fat prawn in butter.”
NiVom ordered a meal. Imfamnia ordered her favorite dessert, iced cream. “A double helping. No, a triple. In case NiVom wants some.”
“Yes, my Queen,” the old Ghiozian croaked.
They made small talk over dinner. He was worried enough about RuGaard’s challenge that the taste of the food was spoiled, and subsequently his appetite. He called for more water.
His dinner wasn’t sitting well. He burped, and it put a nasty, numbing stickiness in his mouth. His heartsbeats increased.
“I feel dreadful,” he said.
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Imfamnia countered. She sniffed his breath and her eyes narrowed. “You’re never very careful about what you eat. I think the cooks could put carrion in front of you and you’d have it with wine.
Breathing with difficulty, he staggered toward her.
“You’ve outlived your usefulness, dragon. It’s time I took charge of things,” she said.
“What—how?” he managed.
“It’s the same poison we used on those louts at the feast. I scooped out the marrow in those bones and loaded it in.”
He lost the rest of her conversation to confusion and darkness. Along with everything else.
Chapter 15
The Aerial Host’s temporary riverbank camp in Dairuss was flanked by reeds and bulrushes along a sandbar where supplies were to be landed. But the supplies never appeared. Only a fishing boat or two arrived, filled with men who moved on as quickly as wind and current allowed. The dragons and men had little to do but forage, look up- and downriver in the hope of a supply barge, and attract flies.
