Dragon Haven

CHAPTER FOUR Blue Ink, Black Rain

Alise sat stiffly at the galley table. Outside the windows, evening was venturing towards night. She was attired modestly, if exotically, in a long robe of soft fabric. She could not, by touch, tell what it had been made from. Bellin ghosted through the room in her quiet, private way. She raised her dark brows in surprised approval, gave her a conspiratorial smile that made Alise blush and continued on her way. Alise dipped her head and smiled.

Bellin had become a friend, of a type she’d never had before. Their conversations were brief but cogent. Once, she had come upon Alise leaning on the railing, looking at the night sky. She’d paused by her and said, ‘We of the Rain Wilds do not have long lives. We have to seize our opportunities, or we have to recognize we cannot have them, and let them go by and seek out others. But a Rain Wild man cannot wait forever, unless he is willing to let his life go by him.’

She had not waited for a response from Alise. Bellin seemed to know when Alise needed time to think over what she had said. But tonight, her smile hinted that Alise was closer to a decision that she approved of. Alise took a breath and sighed it out. Was she?

Leftrin had produced the silky, clinging gown after her mishap in the river had left her skin so inflamed that she could scarcely bear the touch of cloth against it. Even two days after her dip in the river, she was still sore. The robe was of Elderling make; of that she was certain. It was a scintillant copper and reminded her more of a fine mesh than a woven garment. It whispered lightly against her skin when she moved, as if it would divulge the secrets of whatever Elderling princess had worn it in days long past remembering. It soothed the rash wherever it touched her skin. She had been astonished to discover that a simple river captain could possess such a treasure.

‘Trade goods,’ Leftrin had said dismissively. ‘I’d like you to keep it,’ he added gruffly, as if he did not know how to offer a gift. He’d blushed darkly at her effusive thanks, his skin reddening so that the scaling on his upper cheeks and along his brow stood out like silver mail. At one time, such a sight might have repulsed her. Now she had felt an erotic thrill as she imagined tracing that scaling with her fingertips. She had turned from him, heart thumping.

She smoothed the sleek copper fabric over her thighs. This was her second day of wearing it. It felt both cool and warm to her, soothing the myriad tiny blisters that her river immersion had inflicted on her skin. She knew the garment clung to her more closely than was seemly. Even staid Swarge had given her an admiring glance as she passed him on the deck. It had made her feel girlish and giddy. She was almost relieved that Sedric still kept to his bed. She was certain he would not approve of her wearing it.

The door banged as Leftrin came in from the deck. ‘Still writing? You amaze me, woman! I can’t hold a pen in my paw for more than half a dozen lines before feeling a cramp. What are you recording there?’

‘Oh, what a story! I’ve seen all the notes you take and the sketches you make of the river. You’re as much a documentarian as I am. As for what I’m writing, I’m filling in the detail on a conversation that I had with Ranculos last night. Without Sedric to help me, I’m forced to take my own notes as I go along and then fill in afterwards. Finally, finally, the dragons have begun to share some of their memories with me. Not many, and some are disjointed, but every bit of information is useful. It all adds up to a very exciting whole.’ She patted her leather-bound journal. It and her portfolio case had been new and gleaming when she left Bingtown. Now both looked battered and scarred, the leather darkening with scuffs. She smiled. They looked like an adventurer’s companions rather than the diary of a dotty matron.

‘So, read me a bit of what you’ve written, then,’ he requested. He moved efficiently about the small galley as he spoke. Lifting the heavy pot off the small cook-stove, he poured himself a cup of thick coffee before taking a seat across from her.

She suddenly felt as shy as a child. She did not want to read her scholarly embellished treatise aloud. She feared it would sound ponderous and vain. ‘Let me summarize it,’ she offered hastily. ‘Ranculos was speaking of the blisters on my hands and face. He told me that if they were scales, I would be truly lovely. I asked if that was because it would be more like dragon skin, and he told me “of course. For nothing can be lovelier than dragon skin”. And then he told me, well, he implied, that the more a human was around dragons, the greater the chance that she or he might begin the changes to become an Elderling. He hinted that in ancient times, a dragon could choose to hasten those changes for a worthy human. He did not say how. But from his words, I deduced that there were ordinary humans as well as Elderlings inhabiting the ancient cities. He admitted this was so, but said that humans had their own quarters on the outskirts of the city. Some of the farmers and tradesmen lived across the river, away from both dragons and Elderlings.’

‘And that’s important to know?’ he asked.

She smiled. ‘Every small fact I gather is important, Captain.’

He tapped her thick portfolio. ‘And what’s this then? I see you write in your journal all the time, but this you just seem to lug about.’

‘Oh, that’s my treasure, sir! It’s all my gleaned knowledge from my years of study. I’ve been very fortunate to have had access to a number of rare scrolls, tapestries and even maps from the Elderling era.’ She laughed as she made her announcement, fearful of sounding self-aggrandizing.

Leftrin raised his bushy eyebrows. It was ridiculously endearing. ‘And you’ve brought them all with you, in there?’

‘Oh, of course not! Many are too fragile, and all are too valuable to subject them to travel. No, these are only my copies and translations. And my notes, of course. My conjectures on what missing parts might have said, my tentative translations of unknown characters. All of that.’ She patted the bulging leather case affectionately.

‘May I see?’

She was surprised he’d ask. ‘Of course. Though I wonder if you’ll be able to read my chicken-track writing.’ She unbuckled the wide leather straps from the sturdy brass buckles and opened the portfolio. As always, it gave her a small thrill of pleasure to open it and see the thick stack of creamy pages. Leftrin leaned over her shoulder, looking curiously as she turned over leaf after leaf of transcription. His warm breath near her ear was a shivery distraction, one she treasured.

Here was her painstaking copy of the Trehaug Level Seven scroll. She had traced each Elderling character meticulously and reproduced, as well as she was able, the mysterious spidery drawings that had framed it. The next sheet, on excellent paper and in good black ink, was her copy of the Klimer translations of six Elderling scrolls. In red ink she had marked her own additions and corrections. In deep blue she had inserted notes and references to other scrolls.

‘It’s very detailed,’ her captain exclaimed with an awe that warmed her.

‘It is the work of years,’ she replied demurely. She turned a handful of pages to reveal her copy of an Elderling wall hanging. Decorative leaves, shells and fish framed an abstract work done in blues and greens. ‘This one, well, no one quite understands. Perhaps it was damaged or is unfinished in some way.’

His brows leapt again. ‘Well, it seems clear enough to me. It’s an anchorage chart for a river mouth.’ He touched it carefully, tracing it with a scaled forefinger. ‘See, here’s the best channel. It has different blues to show high and low tidelines. And this black might be the channel for deep-hulled ships. Or an indication of a strong current or tide-rip.’

She peered down at it, and then looked up at him in surprise. ‘Yes, I see it now. Do you recognize this place?’ Excitement coursed through her.

‘No. It’s nowhere I’ve ever been. But it’s a river chart, one that focuses all on water and ignores land details. On that, I’d wager.’

‘Will you sit with me and explain it?’ Alise invited him. ‘What might these wavy lines here be?’

He shook his head regretfully. ‘Not now, I’m afraid. I only came in for a quick cup of coffee and to be out of the wind and rain for a time. It’s getting dark outside but the dragons show no signs of settling for the night. I’d best be out there. Can’t have too many eyes on the river if you must run at night.’

‘Do you still fear white water then?’

Leftrin scratched his beard, then shook his head. ‘I think the danger has passed. It’s hard to say. The rain is dirty and smells sooty. It’s black when it hits the deck. So, somewhere, something is happening. I’ve only seen a true white flood happen twice in my life, and each time it was only a day or so after the quake. It’s common enough to have the acid in the river vary. But my feeling is that if we were going to be hit with white water, it would have happened by now.’

‘Well. That’s a relief then.’ She groped for something more to say, words that would keep him in the galley, talking to her. But she knew he had his work, and closed her mouth on such silliness.

‘I’d best be about my work,’ he said reluctantly, and with a girlish lurch of her heart, she was abruptly certain that he, too, wished he could stay. Such knowledge made it easier to let him go.

‘Yes. Tarman needs you.’

‘Well, some days I’m not sure Tarman needs any of us. But I’d best get out there and put my eyes on the river.’ He paused and daringly added, ‘Though I’d just as soon be keeping them on you.’

She ducked her head, flustered by his compliment, and he laughed. Then he was out of the door, and the river wind banged it shut behind him. She sighed, and then smiled at how foolish she had become about him.

She went to dip her pen, then decided she needed the blue ink if she were to make a note on the page of Leftrin’s interpretation. Yes, she decided, she wanted blue, and she’d credit him for the theory as well. It pleased her to think that scores of years hence, scholars would read his name and know that a common river captain had deduced what had eluded others. She found the small ink bottle, uncorked it and dipped her pen. It came up dry.

She held the bottle to the light. Had she written that much on her journey? She supposed she had. She’d seen so much that had given her ideas or made her revise old thoughts. She thought of adding water to the pigment that remained and scowled. No. That would be her last resort. Sedric, she recalled, had plenty of ink in his portable desk. And she hadn’t visited him since morning. It was as good an excuse to check on him as any.

Sedric came awake, not suddenly, but as if he were surfacing from a deep dive into black water. Sleep sleeked away from his mind like water draining from his hair and skin. He opened his eyes to the familiar dimness of his cabin. But it was different. The air was slightly cooler and fresher. Someone had recently opened the door. And entered.

He became aware of a figure hunched on the deck by his pallet. He heard the stealthy pawing of thieving hands on his wardrobe chest. Moving by tiny increments, he shifted so he could peer over the edge of his bed. The compartment was dim. Outside the light was fading and he had not lit a lamp. The only illumination came from the small ‘windows’ that also ventilated his room.

Yet the creature on the floor beside his bed gleamed a warm copper, and seemed to cast back light that had not struck it. As he watched, it shifted and brilliance ran over a scaled back. She scrabbled at the wardrobe chest, seeking for the hidden drawer that held the vials of her stolen blood.

Terror flooded him and he nearly wet himself. ‘I’m sorry!’ he cried aloud. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I did not know what you were. Please. Please, just let me be. Let go of my mind. Please.’

‘Sedric?’ The copper dragon reared up and abruptly took Alise’s shape. ‘Sedric! Are you all right? Do you have a fever or are you dreaming?’ She put a warm hand on his damp brow. He pulled back from her touch convulsively. It was Alise. It was only Alise.

‘Why are you wearing a dragon’s skin? And why are you rummaging through my possessions?’ Shock made him both indignant and accusing.

‘I’m … a dragon’s skin? Oh, no, it’s a robe. Captain Leftrin loaned it to me. It’s of Elderling make and completely lovely. And it doesn’t irritate my skin. Here. Feel the sleeve.’ She offered her arm to him.

He didn’t try to touch the shimmering fabric. Elderling made. Dragon stuff. ‘That still doesn’t explain why you’ve sneaked into my room to dig through my things,’ he complained petulantly.

‘I haven’t! I didn’t “sneak”! I tapped on your door and when you didn’t answer, I let myself in. The door wasn’t latched. You were asleep. You’ve looked so weary lately that I didn’t want to wake you. That’s all. The only thing I want from you is some ink, some blue ink. Don’t you keep it in your little lap desk? Ah. Here it is. I’ll take some and leave you in peace.’

‘No! Don’t open that! Give it to me!’

She froze in the act of working the catch. Stonily silent, she handed it to him. He tried not to snatch it from her but his relief at keeping it out of her clutches was too evident. He swung it onto the bed beside him so he could conceal it with his body. She didn’t say a word as he opened it and slid his hand in to grope for the ink bottles. Fortune favoured him. He pulled out a blue one. As he offered it to her, he ventured a half-hearted apology. ‘I was asleep when you came in. And I am out of sorts.’

‘Indeed you are,’ she replied coolly. ‘This is all I need from you. Thank you.’ She snatched it from his hand. As she went out the door, she muttered for him to hear, ‘Sneaked, indeed!’

‘I’m sorry!’ he called, but she shut the door on his words.

The moment she was gone, he rolled from his bed to latch the door tight, then dropped to his knees beside the hidden drawer. ‘It was just Alise,’ he said to himself. Yes, but who knew what the copper dragon might have told her? He worked it open clumsily, the drawer jamming, then forced himself to calm as he carefully lifted the flask of the copper dragon’s blood. It was safe. He still had it.

And she still had him.

He’d lost count of how many days had passed since he’d tasted the dragon’s blood. His dual awareness came and went like double vision after a blow to the head. He’d be almost himself; morose and despondent, but Sedric. Then that overlay of physical sensation and confused memory would wash through him as her baffled impressions mingled with his thoughts. Sometimes he tried to make sense of the world for her. You are wading through water, not flying. Sometimes the water lifts you almost off your feet, but this is not flying. Your wings are too weak to fly.

Sometimes he encouraged her. The others are almost out of sight. You have to try to move faster. You can do it. Move to your left, where the water is shallower. See? It’s easier to walk now, isn’t it? That’s a girl. Keep going. I know you’re hungry. Watch for fish. Maybe you could catch a fish and eat it.

Sometimes he felt vaguely proud of himself for being kind to her. But at other times, he felt his life had become an eternity of caring for a rather stupid child. By dint of effort he could sometimes block most of his awareness of her. But if she felt pain or her hunger grew too strong or if she were frightened, her dim thoughts burst through into his. Even when he could avoid sharing her dull mental processes, he could not escape her constant weariness and hunger. Her desolate Why? echoed through every moment of his day. It did not help that he shared that same question about his own fate. Worse was when she tried to make sense of his thoughts. She did not understand that sometimes he was asleep and dreaming. She broke into his dreams, offering to kill Hest or trying to comfort him with her company. It was all too strange. He was weary, doubly exhausted from his interrupted sleep and by his sharing of her dismal endless struggle.

Life aboard the barge had become very strange for him. He kept to his compartment as much as he could. Yet there was no solitude for him. Even when the dragon was not intruding into his thoughts, he had too much company. Alise was wracked with guilt and could not seem to leave him alone. Every morning, every afternoon and every evening before she retired, she came to call on him. Her visits were brief and uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hear her chatter enthusiastically about her day, and there was nothing that he dared share with her, yet there was no graceful way to shut her up and send her out of his room.

The boy was the second worst. Sedric could not understand Davvie’s fascination with him. Why couldn’t he just bring his meal tray and then leave? Instead, the boy watched him avidly, eager to perform the most menial service, even offering to wash his shirts and socks, an offer that made him cringe. Twice he’d been rude to the boy, not because he enjoyed it, but because it was the only way to get the lad to leave. Each time, Davvie had been so obviously crushed by Sedric’s rejection that Sedric had felt like a beast.

He turned the vial of dragon blood that he held, and watched again how it swirled and gleamed even in the dim cabin. Even when the vial was still in his hand, the red liquid inside it shifted in a slow dance. It held its own light, and red on red, the threads of crimson inside the glass twined and twirled about each other. Temptation or obsession? he asked himself, and had no answer. The blood drew him. He held a king’s ransom in his hand, if he could but get it to Chalced. Yet the possessing of it seemed very important to him now. Did he want to taste it again? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he wanted to experience that again. He feared that if he gave in to his reluctant compulsion, he would find himself even more tightly joined to the dragon. Or dragons.

In late afternoon, when he’d ventured out on the deck for a short breath of cool air, he had heard Mercor calling to the other dragons. He called two of them by name. ‘Sestican. Ranculos. Stop your quarrelling. Save your strength to battle the river. Tomorrow is another day’s journey.’ He’d stood there, the dragon’s words shimmering through his mind. He’d heard the words, as clear as could be. He tried to remember if he’d heard the dragon’s trumpeting or whuffling that carried the thought, but he couldn’t. The dragons spoke to one another, reasoned with one another, just as men did. He’d felt a whirl of vertigo that combined with his guilt. Heartsick and dizzy, he’d staggered back to his cabin and shut the door tight. ‘I can’t go on like this. I can’t,’ he’d said aloud to his tiny space. And almost immediately, he’d felt a worried query from the copper dragon. She sensed his agitation. And was concerned for him.

No, I’m fine. Go away. Leave me alone! He’d pushed at her and she’d retreated, saddened by his harshness. I can’t go on like this, he’d repeated, and longed for a day when he had known that no one else shared his thoughts. He tipped the vial of blood again. If he drank it all, would it kill him?

If he killed the dragon, would his mind be his own private territory again?

There was a heavy knock at his door. ‘Wait!’ he shouted, terror and anger making his voice louder than he’d intended. There was no time to hide the blood properly. He wrapped it in a sweaty shirt and stuffed it under his blanket. ‘Who is it?’ he called belatedly.

‘It’s Carson. I’d like a word with you, please.’

Carson. He was the other person who seemed unable to leave Sedric alone. The hunters were gone during the day, doing what they were paid to do. But if Sedric arose early or ventured into the galley in the evening, Carson always seemed to appear. Twice he’d come to Sedric’s room when Davvie was there, to remind the boy that he wasn’t to bother Sedric. Each time, the boy had left, but not graciously. And each time, Carson had lingered. He’d tried to engage Sedric in conversation, asking him what it was like to live in a civilized place like Bingtown and if he’d ever travelled to other cities. Sedric had answered each of his queries briefly, but Carson hadn’t seemed to realize he was being brusque. The hunter continued to treat him with gentle courtesy that was very at odds with the man’s rough clothing and harsh vocation.

The last time he had come and shooed the boy away, Carson had taken the boy’s seat on the end of Sedric’s trunk, and proceeded to tell him about himself. He lived a lonely life. No wife, no children, just a man on his own, taking care of himself and living as he pleased. He’d taken on Davvie, his nephew, because he foresaw the same sort of life for him, if Sedric took his drift. Sedric hadn’t. He’d finished eating and then made a great show of yawning.

‘I suppose you’re still tired from being ill. I’d hoped you were feeling better by now,’ Carson had commented. ‘I’ll leave you to rest.’ Then, with the precision of a man accustomed to caring for himself, Carson had tidied Sedric’s supper things back onto the tray and whisked them away. As he folded up the square of cotton that passed for a napkin on the barge, he’d looked at Sedric and given him an odd smile. ‘Sit still,’ he’d warned him and then, with the corner of the napkin, he’d dabbed something off the edge of Sedric’s mouth. ‘It’s plain you’re not used to having a bit of a beard. They take caring for. I think you should go back to shaving, myself.’ He’d paused and glanced meaningfully around the untidy room. ‘And bathing. And caring for your things. I know you’re not happy to be here. I don’t blame you. But that doesn’t mean you should stop being who you are.’

Then he’d departed, leaving Sedric feeling both shocked and affronted. He’d found his small mirror and leaned closer to his candle to inspect his face. Yes. There had been soup at the corner of his mouth, caught in the short whiskers that had sprouted there. It had been some days since he’d shaved, or washed thoroughly. He studied himself in the mirror, noting that he looked haggard. There were dark circles under his eyes above his unshaven cheeks. His hair was lank and uncombed. The mere thought of going to the galley to heat some water and shave and wash wearied him. How shocked Hest would be to see him in such a state!

But somehow that thought had not spurred him to clean himself up, but to sit back on his bed and stare up into the darkness. It didn’t matter what Hest would think if he saw him like this, sweaty and unshaven, in a room littered with laundry. It was becoming more and more unlikely that Hest would ever see him again at all. And that was something that Hest had caused, with his stupid vengeance in sending him off to nursemaid Alise. Did Hest even think of him? Wonder what had delayed their return? He doubted it.

He had begun to doubt many things about Hest.

He’d crawled onto his pallet, a bed more fit for a dog than a man, and slept the rest of the day away.

Another bang on his door jerked his mind back to the present. ‘Sedric? Are you all right? Answer, or I’m coming in.’

‘I’m fine.’ Sedric took the one step he needed to cross the room and flipped the hook on the door clear. ‘You may come in, if you must.’

Either the man didn’t hear the lack of a welcome in his voice or he ignored it. Carson opened the door and looked about the dim cabin. ‘Seems to me that light and air might make you feel better than lying about in the close dark,’ he observed.

‘Neither light nor air will cure what ails me,’ Sedric muttered. He glanced at the tall, bearded hunter and then away. Carson seemed to fill the small cabin with his presence. He had a broad forehead that sheltered wide dark eyes beneath heavy brows. His close-cropped beard was the same brown as his rough hair. His cheeks were wind-reddened, and his lips were ruddy and well-defined. He seemed to feel Sedric appraising him, for he smoothed his hair self-consciously.

‘Did you need something?’ Sedric asked. The words came out more abrupt than he intended. The friendliness in Carson’s eyes suddenly became more guarded.

‘Actually, yes, yes I do.’ He shut the door behind him, dimming the room again, cast about for something to sit down on, and perched, uninvited, on the end of the trunk. ‘Look, I’ll say this bluntly and then be out of your way. I think you’ll understand, well, I’ll make you understand, one way or another. Davvie is just a boy. I won’t have him hurt, and I won’t have him used. His dad and I were like brothers, and I could see the way Davvie was going a long time before his mother did. If she does even now, which I doubt.’ The man gave a short bark of laughter, and glanced over at Sedric as if expecting a response. When he said nothing, Carson looked back down at his big hands. He rubbed them together as if his knuckles pained him. ‘So, you take my drift?’ he asked Sedric.

‘You’re like a father to Davvie?’ Sedric hazarded.

Carson barked another laugh at that. ‘As much as I’m ever likely to be a father to anyone!’ he declared, and again, he looked at Sedric as if expecting some sort of response. Sedric just looked back at him.

‘I see,’ the hunter said, and his voice went softer and more serious. ‘I understand. It goes no farther, I promise you that. I’ll speak my piece plain and then be gone. Davvie’s just a youngster. You’re probably the handsomest man he’s ever seen, and the boy is infatuated. I’ve tried to make him see that he’s much too young and that you’re way above his social class. But puppy love can blind a boy. I’ll be doing my best to keep him clear of you, and I’d appreciate it if you kept him at a distance. Once he realizes that there’s nothing here for him, he’ll get over it quick enough. Might even hate you a bit, but you know how that is. But if you mock him, or belittle him to the other men aboard, I’ll take issue with you.’

Sedric stared at him, his face like stone. His mind raced, filling in the meaning behind his words.

Carson met Sedric’s eyes flatly. ‘And if I’ve misjudged you, and you’re the kind who would take advantage of a boy, I’ll come after you. Do you understand me?’

‘Very well,’ Sedric replied. Carson’s meaning finally penetrated to his mind, and he was torn between shock and embarrassment. His cheeks burned: he was glad of the dimness of the room. The hunter’s eyes were still fixed on his. He looked aside. ‘What you said about belittling the boy to the crew. I would never do that. I ask the same of you. As for Davvie’s … infatuation, well.’ He swallowed. ‘I didn’t even see it. Even if I had, I wouldn’t take advantage of it. He’s so young. Almost a child still.’

Carson was nodding. A sad smile edged his mouth. ‘I’m glad I didn’t read you wrong. You didn’t look the type to take advantage of a youngster, but you never know. Especially a boy like Davvie who seems to put himself in harm’s way. A few months ago, in Trehaug, he read a young man the wrong way, and said the wrong thing. And just for the offer, the fellow hit him twice in the face before the boy could even stand up. And that left me no choice but to get involved, and I’ve a temper. I’m afraid that we won’t be welcome back in that tavern for a long time. It’s one reason I signed us up for this expedition. I thought to get him away from town and temptation for a few months. Let him grow a bit of discretion and self-control. Thought it might keep him out of trouble, but as soon as he set eyes on you, he was gone. And who could blame him? Well.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘I’ll be going now. The boy won’t be bringing your meals any more. I thought that was a bad idea from the start, but it was hard to give a reason why he shouldn’t. Now I’ll tell Leftrin that I need him up earlier and at my side if we’re to keep the dragons fed. I’ll be taking him out of here earlier than usual. You may have to fetch your own grub. Or maybe Alise will bring it to you.’ He turned and put his hand on the door. ‘You work for her husband, right? That’s what she told us at dinner the first night I met her. That usually you go everywhere he does, and she can’t imagine why he sent you off with her, or how he’s managing without you. She feels real bad about that, you know? That you’re here and so unhappy about it.’

‘I know.’

‘But my guess is that there’s a lot she doesn’t know, and another reason that you’re unhappy. Am I right?’

Sedric couldn’t quite get his breath. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your concern.’

Carson risked a glance over his shoulder. ‘Maybe not. But I’ve known Leftrin a long, long time. Never seen him gone on a woman like he is on Alise. And she looks pretty gone to me, too. Seems to me that if her husband has been able to find a bit of joy in his life, maybe she deserves the same. And maybe Leftrin does, too. They might find that, if she felt free to look for it.’

He lifted the catch and began to ease the door open. Sedric found his voice. ‘Are you going to tell her?’

The big man didn’t reply at first. He remained with the door ajar, staring out. Evening was deepening towards night. Finally he shook his bushy head. ‘No,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It’s not my place. But I think you should.’ He moved like a large cat as he slipped out of the door and shut it firmly behind him, leaving Sedric alone with his thoughts.

They had travelled longer than usual that day, through a misty, dirty rain that made her skin gritty and itchy. For the latter half of the day, the banks of the river had been unwelcoming, thick with a prickly vine. The upper reaches of the dangling lianas, held up to the sunlight by the stretching tree branches, had been thick with scarlet fruit. The incessant rain jewelled the leaves and fruit, and freckled the river’s face. Harrikin had pulled his boat in to shore to try to harvest some of the fruit, but had got only scratches and mud for his efforts. Thymara hadn’t even attempted it. She knew from experience that the only way to win that fruit was to come at it from above, climbing down to it. Even then, it was a scratchy, precarious business. She decided that the time it would take her to find a pathway to the tops of the trees would put her and Rapskal far behind the other boats. ‘Perhaps tonight, when we stop,’ she suggested to him in response to his longing glances at the dangling orbs.

But as the light faded from the sky and the shores continued to be inhospitable, she resigned herself to a night aboard Tarman, with hard bread and a bit of salt fish as her only guaranteed meal. The dragons with their scaled skin could push close to the base of the trees and spend a drier but uncomfortable night if they must. She and the other keepers did not have that option. Her latest experience had proven that to her. The scaling on her skin might be increasing, but it was not the mail the dragons wore. Mercor’s teeth had left their marks despite his efforts to be gentle. It had been embarrassing to have Sylve see how scaled she had become as the girl helped her dress the scratches his fangs had left on her and the large scrape on her left arm. Most of her injuries had been superficial, but one score at the top of her back was still sore and hot to the touch. It ached and she longed to pull her boat into shore and rest for the night. But the dragons plainly hoped to find a better landing, for they continued their migration and the keepers had no choice but to follow.

The dragons were darker silhouettes against the gleaming water when she and Rapskal caught up with them that night. They were scattered on a long broad wash of silty mud that curved out into the river. The sand bar was a relatively young one, bereft of trees. A few bushes and scrolls of grass banks grew down its spine. It offered a plentiful supply of firewood in the form of an immense beached log and a tangle of lesser driftwood banked against it. It would do.

A hard push with her paddle drove the nose of her boat onto the muddy shore. Rapskal shipped his paddle and jumped out to seize the painter and drag the boat farther ashore. With a groan, Thymara stored her own paddle and unfolded herself stiffly. The constant paddling had strengthened her and built her endurance, but she was still weary and aching at the end of each day.

Rapskal seemed almost unscathed by the extra long exertion. ‘Time to get a fire going,’ he announced cheerily. ‘And dry off. I hope the hunters got some meat. I’m awful sick of fish.’

‘Meat would be good,’ she agreed. ‘And a good fire.’ All around her, the other keepers were pulling their boats ashore and climbing wearily out.

‘Let’s hope,’ he replied and without a backward glance he scampered off into the darkness.

She sighed as she watched him go. His unfailing optimism and energy wearied her almost as much as they cheered her. With a sigh of annoyance, she busied herself with tidying Rapskal’s scattered gear from the bottom of the boat. She arranged her own pack so that her blanket and eating gear were on top and then followed him. A fire was being constructed in the lee of the big log. The log would provide fuel as well as trap and reflect the heat. Small flames were already starting to blossom. Rapskal excelled at setting fires and never seemed to tire of it. His fire-starting kit was always in a small pouch at his throat. The endless misting rain sizzled as it met the reaching flames.

‘Tired?’ Tats’ voice came from the darkness to her left.

‘Beyond tired,’ she replied. ‘Will this journey never be over? I’ve forgotten what it is like to be in one place for more than a night or two.’

‘It’s worse than that. Once we get wherever we’re going with the dragons, eventually we’ll have to make the trip back downriver.’

She was still for a moment. ‘You’d leave your dragon?’ she asked him quietly. She had still not made amends with Sintara, still ached when she thought of the dragon. She cared for the dragon as she always had, grooming her and finding extra food for her, but they spoke little now. It made the contrast sharper when she saw the fondness that some of the other keepers shared with their dragons. Tats and Fente were close. Or she had thought they were.

He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. ‘I don’t know. It depends, I suppose. Sometimes she seems to need me, to even be fond of me. Other times, well—’

Even as she shrugged away from his hands, her body registered how good it felt to have his warm touch on her sore muscles. He stepped back from her, acknowledging her rebuke. Like a rising flood of warm water, the image of Greft and Jerd’s tangled bodies washed through her. For a blink of time, she thought of turning to face him, dared to imagine running her hands down his warm, bare back. But the next image that jolted her was the thought of his hands sliding over her scaled skin. Like petting a warm lizard, she mocked herself, and folded her lips tightly to keep from crying out at the unfairness of it. Greft and Jerd might be able to indulge in the forbidden, but perhaps it was only because each had found a fellow outcast as a partner. Neither would be repelled by how the Rain Wilds had touched the other. That would not be the case with someone like Tats. He came from the Tattooed folk; he had not been born here. His skin was as smooth as a Bingtown girl’s, unmarked by wattles or scaling. Unlike her own.

‘A long day,’ Tats said into her silence.

His tentative tone wondered if he had angered her by taking a liberty. She swallowed her fury at fate and evened her voice. ‘A long day, and I’m still sore from being “rescued” by Mercor. I’ll be glad of a warm fire and a bit of hot food tonight’

As if in answer, the fire suddenly climbed up the heaped driftwood. The glowing light outlined her friends gathering around the fire. Slight Sylve was there, standing next to narrow Harrikin. They were laughing, for long-limbed Warken was doing a frenzied dance to shake a shower of sparks from his wild hair and worn shirt.

Boxter and Kase were twin blocks of darkness, the cousins together as always. Lecter stalked past them, the spines on his neck and back clearly limned against the fire’s light. He’d had to cut the neck of his shirt to allow for their growth. That sight somehow reassured her. Those are my friends, she thought, and smiled. They were just as marked as she was. Then she caught a glimpse of Jerd’s seated profile. She was perched on a piece of driftwood and Greft stood behind her, powerful and protective. As Thymara watched, Jerd leaned back so that the top of her head touched his thigh as she spoke up to him. Greft bent to answer her and for an instant they formed a closed shape, the two of them becoming a single entity that shut out the rest of the world.