Blood of Dragons

‘So you keepers were when you first came to serve us. Contorted by proximity to the things of dragons, but not on the path to being true Elderlings. But, with a bit of blood to bond you to us, we could shape you to be more pleasing. For there is Silver in dragon blood, and we are most powerful when our blood is rich with it. Deprived of Silver as we have been, each of us yet still has the power to shape an Elderling to our service. So, we have Changed you, made you Elderlings, and if later you attempt to have children, we may shape them as well. But no dragon can change what another dragon has begun, any more than a human can change the aspects of another human’s child. Tintaglia herself might be able to aid your baby, but none of us can.’

There was nothing of apology in his tone, and a cold part of Malta wondered if dragons could even grasp the concept of regretting something they had done, or feeling responsible for the pain their carelessness could cause. Her fear vanished suddenly, leaving only her fury. If her son could not live, what did it matter what this dragon might do to her? She stepped forward suddenly, almost shouldering Alise aside to stand before Mercor. She felt her skin flush with her anger and knew that the crest on her brow and her scaling took on brighter colours as she did so.

‘I never asked for this!’ Her low voice was swollen with anger and sorrow. ‘Tintaglia never sought our permission for the changes Reyn and I have experienced, let alone warned us that our baby might suffer for them. Our changes brought beauty and pleasure to us, but we would not have accepted them if we had known the price! Nor did I ever take blood from Tintaglia! So how can this change in me be her doing?’

The dragon tucked his head and looked down on her. His black eyes were spinning with silver glints that seemed to ride that ominous whirlpool. But his response was thoughtful rather than angry. ‘You were near her at some point. Did you run your hands over the cocooned dragon? Share long thoughts with her, perhaps, breathe the warmth of her breath?’

Reyn spoke quietly, to her rather than the dragon. ‘Selden and I were there when she melted her way out of her case. The air was thick with the stench of dragon; we both breathed it in.’

‘I was there, too, in that same chamber. And Sa knows I shared thoughts with her during that time. But—’

Mercor made a sudden sound of impatience, cutting her off. He looked up at the morning sky, as if he longed to take flight and begin his day’s hunt. The other dragons had already left. He alone remained and she sensed he would not stay much longer. When he returned his gaze to Malta, the ebon liquid of his great eyes spun more slowly. A long moment passed as he studied her. Great puzzlement and curiosity were conveyed as he asked, ‘Why do you ask so many questions, Malta Vestrit Khuprus?’ Malta could feel how he tried gently to compel a truthful answer by the use of her full name. ‘You have been touched with Silver in a purposeful way. The smell of that magic is all over you and wakes my thirst for it. Why do you ask questions when it seems to me you must know the answers very well indeed?’

‘Me? Tintaglia marked me with blue, not silver!’ She looked at the scaling on her arms, trying to discover the meaning of his words.

Mercor snorted out his disdain. ‘You bear the mark of Silver, on the back of your neck. I can smell it on you still, even though you have worn it for years. Someone touched you, with skill and purpose, and sent you on your way to fulfil a great task.’ The dragon leaned close to her, and she saw her own shocked face reflected in his gleaming black eye. ‘Whence came the Silver that marks the back of your neck? You must know how great our need for it is! You come to us, asking this favour, but hide from us the source of your Silver that began your change.’

Malta’s hand flew to the back of her neck. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about!’ she proclaimed in confusion. But she did know of the faint silvery scaling there, each mark the size of a fingerprint. Never before had she associated it with a dragon. The marks had been there since the day her family had launched the Paragon, long before the fall of Bingtown had sent her fleeing to the Rain Wilds and ultimately to the cocooned dragon’s chamber. No dragon had put them upon her. She held Tintaglia responsible for many things in her life, but not those marks.

Reyn spoke out in her defence. ‘She has always had those marks. Birthmarks when first I glimpsed them, just dusky smudges, now made silver by her changes. That is all they are. We keep nothing from you, great dragon. Whatever we have is yours, if you will just save our child. Take my life, eat me now if you wish, but let my son know a moment of peace and calm!’ And then the man Malta loved more than life fell to his knees and offered the golden dragon his bent neck.