Blood of Dragons

Almost as soon as she had the thought, she saw his eyes twitch, and then he blinked. Tats came back into his face and then smiled at her. ‘No. The flowers were cultivated simply for their beauty and fragrance. They came from far away, from a land much warmer than here, and only inside this room could they flourish. This Elderling wrote seven books about them, describing them in detail and giving directions for their care, and telling how one might force larger blossoms or subtly change the colours and fragrances by using different types of soil and adding things to the water.’

Thymara drew her knees up to her chin. The benches were like the bed in her room; they appeared to be stone, until one had been seated for a time. Then they softened, slightly. She shook her head in wonder. ‘And she devoted months of her life to this work.’

‘No. Years. And was well respected for it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’m starting to. I think it has to do with how long one expects to live.’ He paused and then cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘When I think about how long we may have to live, how many years I may be able to spend with you, it lets me think about things differently.’

She shot him a strange look and he came over to sit on the wide bench next to her. He met her gaze for a time, and then lay back on the bench and stared up at the sky through the dust-streaked glass. ‘Rapskal and I had a talk. About you.’

Thymara stiffened. ‘Did you?’ She heard the chill in her own voice.

A small smile tweaked Tats’s mouth. ‘We did. Would you be more pleased if I’d said we’d had a fist fight? I think we both knew it might come to that. Rapskal is changing as he takes on the memories of that Elderling. He’s becoming more …’ He paused, seeking a word. ‘Assertive,’ he said, and she sensed it was not quite the word he wanted.

‘And he was the one who was wise enough to come to me and say he didn’t want us to end up fighting. That we’d been friends too long to end it for any reason, but especially over jealousy over you.’

She sat stiffly beside him, trying to decipher not only what she felt but why she felt it. Hurt. Angry. Why? Because she felt they had gone past her, perhaps decided between themselves something that should have been discussed with her. She imposed calm on her voice. ‘And what did the two of you decide?’

He didn’t look at her but he reached over and took her hand. She let him hold it but did not return the pressure of his fingers. ‘We didn’t decide anything, Thymara. It wasn’t that kind of a conversation. Neither one of us is Greft, thinking that we can force you to make a decision. You’ve proven your point to both of us. When or even if you want to be with one of us, you will. And until then …’ He gave a small sigh and then finally looked at her.

‘Until then you wait,’ she said, and felt a small thrill of satisfaction at his understanding that she controlled the situation.

‘I do. Or I don’t.’

Startled, she met his gaze. It was strange to look at his face now and recall the smooth-skinned boy he had been. His dragon had incorporated his slave tattoo into his scaling, but the horse on his cheek looked more dragonish now. She almost lifted a hand to touch it but held herself back. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Only that I’m as free as you are. I could walk away. I could find someone else—’

‘Jerd,’ she growled.

‘She’s made it plain, yes.’ He rolled onto his side and tugged at her hand. Reluctantly, she lay down beside him. After a time, the bench adapted to her wings, cradling her. She looked into his eyes, her gaze cold. He smiled. ‘But I could also be by myself. Or wait for others to come and join us here. Or go looking for someone else. I have time. That’s what Rapskal and I talked about. That if, as seems likely, we may live two or even three hundred years, then we all have time. Nothing has to be rushed. We don’t have to live as if we were children squabbling over toys.’

Toys. Her, a toy? She tried to pull away from him.

‘No, listen to me, Thymara. I felt the same way when Rapskal first spoke to me. Like he was making what I feel a trivial thing. Like he was telling me to wait and that when he was finished with you, I could have you. But that wasn’t it at all. I thought it was stupid of him, at first, all the time he spent with memory-stone. But I think he’s learned something. He said that the longer life is, the more important it is to keep your friends, to not have quarrels that can be avoided.’ His smile faded a bit and for a time he looked troubled. ‘He said that, as a soldier, he had learned that a man’s deep friendships were the most important thing he could possess. Things can be broken, or lost. All a man can keep for certain are the things in his mind and heart.’