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Wendolyn’s tail relaxes. Her smile reveals all of her teeth.
“Why, thank you, Doshir,” she says. “That was rather dickish of you, running out like that. What a rude little surprise. To be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
I force myself to smile and try desperately to ignore the implications behind that lovely comment. Wendolyn’s shoulders shift forward, and she drops her second set of claws into the water. They tap gently against the smooth submerged stone.
“Now,” she says. “On to business. I assume you either believe your father’s insane stories or you’re here to warn me against him?”
I wince. Hadn’t I told my mother not to mention Rensivar in the Iron Mountains? That she would be laughed out of her seat on the Council?
“My father’s right,” I admit. It’s harder to say than I would have imagined, despite the fact that my shoulder still aches where Rensivar stabbed me.
Wendolyn frowns, then makes a sort of purring sound. Her claws click against the stone, sending a series of tiny concentric ripples across the pool.
“Funny thing is,” Wendolyn says, almost as if she’s talking to herself. “I believe him too.”
Her eyes drift back up to mine. Silence fills the room, broken only by the slow trickle of water down stone.
“He’s got no reason to lie,” she continues. “No one in the Iron Mountains takes that man seriously to begin with, and he’s got no ambitions to change that. As far as I can tell, the only thing he wants from the Council is to be left alone.”
I nod. Wendolyn’s claws stop tapping, then scrape as she comes to her feet. Her tail begins to slice through the air behind her like a metronome.
“And now you’re here,” she says, turning back to me. “And you’re going to say, what? You believe all the fairy stories? Rensivar really is going to sneak out of the darkness on the Queensmoot and kill us all?”
Her eyes narrow. I swallow hard, preparing to explain.
“Not just Rensivar,” Rayne says. “He’s got an army. The combined forces of Valgros and Cassonia answer to Rensivar now.”
Wendolyn huffs; twin trails of smoke rise from her nostrils.
“I know,” Wendolyn says.
“They’re camped on the flanks of the Iron Mountains,” Rayne continues, her voice hard. “And it looks like they’re moving.”
“I know that too,” Wendolyn replies. “What I don’t know is how Rensivar plans to use humans against us. I mean, what could humans do against dragons?”
Her eyes narrow at Rayne; the smoke rising from her nostrils grows darker.
“I’m not sure,” Rayne admits.
Wendolyn presses her lips together. Her tail lashes the air
“So, Rensivar the Wicked is alive,” Wendolyn says. “He knows the timing of the next Queensmoot. And he has an army camped just outside the Tarn of the Maiden.” She turns to look at both of us. “And what, Doshir, do you propose that we do?” she asks.
I open my mouth, then close it.
“Take us there,” Rayne says. “Take us to the Tarn of the Maiden.”
Wendolyn blinks once, very slowly. Then she sits back on her haunches, her tail curling neatly around her claws.
“I’m sorry,” Wendolyn says. “Who exactly are you?”
Rayne’s expression looks like it could strike sparks off flint.
“Does it matter?” Rayne snaps. “Your is about to be attacked, and I know the army of Valgros better than anyone in this mountain. But excuse me, do you need to see my hatching records before you accept my help?”
Wendolyn’s lips curve into a smile.
“Well played,” she says, turning to me. “Mad Scarlett’s daughter, is she not? I heard she’d been found. And I heard it didn’t end too well for poor Mad Scarlett.”
