

# Polo Shawcross: Dragon Skin

# Lee Abrey

Published by Lee Abrey at Smashwords  
Copyright © Lee Abrey 2017-2018

### Cover Art and Design by Lee Abrey

With massive assistance from Adobe Photoshop  
And the artists of pixabay.com

### Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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For Author Notes and Contact Details  
See The End.

### Enjoy

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### Dedicated with love to my very own angels

### Suzanne Farrell

Who showed me the kindness of strangers  
And saved me from sleeping in my car

### Johanna Harness

Founder of the #amwriting hashtag  
Thanks for your kindness

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## Chapter 1 - Home is the Hero

In response to the many unauthorised biographies now published in the Dragon Kingdom, lauding me as some kind of mythical hero, I wish it known I was no hero. Mostly, I was an idiot. Of all the idiotic things I've done, joining the Army of the North ranks high. It was in Panswell, at Castle Harbour. Of course, I was drunk.

Three years later, I was finally on my way home, having been released a few weeks early thanks to friends in high places. With me were a motley bunch, made up of His Highness the Crown Prince of Sendren, Azrael Westwych – the influential friend - our bodyguards - as I was a civilian duke I'd need mine again - and various Sendrenese courtiers, including the Artist Royal, Hiram Westwych, a distant cousin of the prince, who kept doing sketches of me and my warhorses, and of all of us.

#### ****

As we sailed down the Great Star Lake, the ship ran into storms. We took shelter at Castle Harbour in Panswell, not far northwest of Sendren. This time we went up to the castle. The Panswell Royal Family were down south visiting Sendren, so the steward received Azrael. We were all made welcome, including my warhorses. After coming down from the north, I was freezing and couldn't believe it was only mid-January, the last month of summer. I was shivering but everyone else was just feeling cool, they hadn't been north long enough to get used to the heat there.

Although I didn't want to leave the castle fires, once the weather allowed I went to see the sergeant who signed me into the army, to show him I was still alive. He remembered me.

"But then I don't send many dukes to the front, Your Grace." He offered his hand. "Welcome back." I shook his hand. He was smaller than I remembered, but then I'd been lying on the floor dead-drunk last time I saw him. That was just after I'd signed up for three years.

"Polo," I said, "please."

"I'm Ron," he said. We looked at each other, and I wondered what he read in my face. "Coffee?"

"Thank you," I said, "that would be welcome. I can't seem to get warm." Like the last time, my bodyguards stood at the door, and Ron and I talked while I drank his coffee. This time I was sober.

Three years later, I could also imagine being in his position and refusing to take a bribe to let me off signing up. Nothing personal. Drunken young idiots shouldn't be excused the consequences of their actions.

"You survived in the ranks then," he said. "They said you were half-peasant but I wasn't sure from the look of you."

"My father is a peasant," I said, smiling. "And I'll have you know I made corporal." Then the conversation became more serious. I had to ask, "Did you think I'd die?" He shrugged.

"You've been there, lad," he said, "you know it's a bloody lottery. I didn't wish you dead if that's what you mean." I nodded. Me surviving was only luck. I reflected that if I were as lucky as people thought I was, I'd never have ended up in the army. There was one other thing I had to know.

"Did you know," I said, "officers are paying bribes to pass the guild exams?" Ron nearly spat his coffee.

"They're doing what?" The sergeant was livid.

I explained, feeling marginally better that the older man hadn't known when he refused a rather large bribe to forget I'd signed an enlistment form. "Or I bloody well would have taken your coin!" he said. "I devoted my life to the army, risked it thanks to idiot officers, figured they had gifts I couldn't see because they'd all passed the guild by their own efforts." He breathed out. "Mind you, now I think about it, last few years of my tour? It explains a lot."

#### ****

On the way back through the town to the castle, to my surprise I saw someone familiar coming towards me. A woman with dark curls, lush curves and creamy skin, walking with a man and three children. It was Molly, and her husband Rob, who I hadn't seen since my mother paid Molly to leave me alone when I was only fifteen.

Since the day before I left Blue Hill Farm. What was it, six years now? I shook my head for a moment, thinking I was hallucinating. Molly saw me, glanced to see if Rob had, and when he hadn't, she gave me a wink and a smile. She looked older, she must be what, twenty-eight? But her smile was as saucy and inviting as ever. I smiled back. The youngest child, maybe three, suddenly said,

"Shoe! Shoe!" as hers began to fall off, and Molly's family all stopped to sort the child out. They looked well, happy and prosperous. My men and I walked right past. Molly didn't look up and I didn't feel right saying a proper hello. I barely knew Rob and it would be hard to hide how well I knew his wife. I also had no idea what she told her husband to excuse them suddenly coming into money and having to leave Sendren. I didn't think she'd mention her lover's mother paying her to disappear. We kept moving, along the road that led to the castle.

I saw myself in a shop window, surrounded by the bodyguards, all of us big men with military bearing. My blonde hair was still cropped very short. I might grow it. There was a look in my green eyes, the copper circle that circled the iris glinting, and I tried to figure out the look. Then I realised it was that I wasn't a boy any more. Somewhere along the way, I'd become a man. The look said so.

"You're still pretty," said Ross, captain of my Ducal Guard, catching me looking at myself. I laughed.

"I was thinking I looked manly." They all laughed too. Ah well, at least I was amusing.

#### ****

The storm blew out and the ship sailed on, down the lake towards home. Shivering in a borrowed sweater, I was sure the weather was unseasonably cool, but everyone assured me it was just that I was feeling the cold.

"You'll be fine once you acclimatise," they said, which seemed to be what everyone had been saying for the last three years. We arrived in Port Azrael, capital of my Duchy of Starshore, the title and lands a gift from Azrael's grandfather for saving Azrael's life when we were boys.

I welcomed the Crown Prince Azrael and all the Hangers On to my castle set high above the harbour. Our arrival caught Master Thomas by surprise, though the steward didn't let it faze him and the castle staff went into action as if a hundred extras for dinner and bed were normal. It was as though one had entered a well-ordered and well-maintained machine, albeit one with a very human heart. I headed straight for a warm bath and then warmer clothes.

My arrival was ahead of schedule. There was a fete planned in a month's time for His Grace's official return from the war. I could only apologise for arriving early while I snuggled inside a long wool coat and good leather gloves, fleecy-lined leather boots on my feet. I slept like the dead that night, waking up in the same position I fell asleep, feeling stiff but well-rested.

The ducal suite led out onto a north-facing terrace and looked out over the water and the harbour far below. It was warm. Outside it felt freezing and I wasn't looking forward to a snowy Sendrenese winter. The shadows chilled me to the bone so I was sticking to the sunshine. The lake was flat and pewter in the early calm. The smell of just-baked bread filled the morning. I could hear gulls crying and see sailing boats of various draughts moving in the harbour.

I began my katas wearing a sailor's woollen cap, a coat, jumper, shirt, scarf, breeches, and cavalry boots to stop my feet being ripped up by the stone. I stretched until my stiffness eased then began the exercises with a practice sabre, playing a kind of music in my head, music underscored by the clash of blades, the twang of bowstrings, the screams of men and horses. Sriamans, eyes variously surprised, resigned or disbelieving, died in my head as my blade cut into them. Friends and enemies fell as I re-ran old battles or adapted them to my current mood. For thirty minutes, until my muscles were burning and my arms felt like they'd fall off, I was in the dance with Zol, the dance of war. As I warmed up, I peeled off layers until down to breeches and boots. Breathing hard, I turned to salute the sun then wiped my forehead with my arm.

In the corner of my eye, I saw the figure in the shadows as he started clapping. Azrael was smiling at me from the doors that led back into my suite. I must tell the servants that he wasn't to be admitted without my permission. The Crown Prince had a crush on me, or maybe, after all these years, it might be love. I didn't think so. He did. We'd had sex when we were much younger, and though I'd moved on, Azrael hadn't. I was his first. I didn't keep count, but he wasn't mine.

"You're more balanced than you used to be," he said, walking out into the light. I panted and grabbed some water.

"Balance or death," I said, "refines a man's technique." He bit his lip. I ignored the come-on in his eyes. He pouted. He was still prettier than me. Thick black hair, dark blue eyes, the iris dusted with diamond lights, the colouration called Westwych Blue. I bet the girls still melted, and he was still oblivious. Girls weren't his thing. His eyes lingered on my torso. I walked past him pulling on my shirt. I was firm. "I'm thinking breakfast and a shower."

"Want a spar?" he said. A spar was a good option to defuse his sulk, and he couldn't come on to me in front of the castle garrison. I hadn't sparred with Azrael up until then, citing battle reflexes as possibly dangerous until I settled a bit. I hadn't sparred at all for a couple of days so some hard exercise would do me good. I wanted to go riding. I wanted to do all the things the old me would have done while visiting his duchy.

"A spar? Why not?" I said, adding, "If Fenric says it's alright." The head of Azrael's bodyguards might say no. I slid back into my coat and we began to walk downstairs together.

"I'm hoping for an advantage," he said, "knowing you're still asleep for the first few hours of any day." I laughed.

"Some things don't change," I said. We headed down to the castle garrison and had to wait for someone to find Fenric, which I was happy to do. Gave me time to get some coffee down and wash more of the sleep out of my eyes.

Azrael did some warm-up katas. I was warm enough but kept stretching. I wondered about putting a bet on myself but decided I didn't need the money. I did have a pipe of mindweed. Fenric sent a message, go ahead but we weren't to kill each other. I understood. He meant I wasn't to kill the prince. The stands were filling up. The betting was fierce between Starshore people and the Royal retinue, each group feeling they had to support their man.

"Shall we put some coin on it?" said Azrael. I laughed.

"Alright," I said, "a gold says I win best of three." I saw his eyes widen. When he was feeling competitive, best of three would have been pushing it. He'd always had my measure, at least some of the time. Before I went to war, I was more relaxed, less driven.

"You know I play to win," he said. I nodded.

"I don't play any more," I said, "usual rules, below the neck."

#### ****

Fenric arrived before the start, black hair wet from the showers. The big man walked down to the pits to talk to us. He looked more relaxed than when we'd been on the front, and I guessed not having to look after an idiot prince in a war zone was agreeing with him.

"No cheating now," he said, "remember who trained you both. Make me look good." I laughed and took a last hit of a pipe. As Fenric left, his back to Azrael, his grey eyes with their shower of golden sparks met mine, and he said softly to me, "Emotion is the enemy." I nodded.

"Right," I said to Azrael, "let's do this."

We saluted. He went for the first strike. I slid under his guard and dropped him. Each time I put Azrael in the sand, I helped him up politely then handed back his sword. He'd figure the trick out soon but for now I had him completely. I tried not to laugh. The men who'd bet on the Crown Prince were furious. I won three without trying too hard.

"How in the name of Thet did you get so good?" Azrael said, panting and shaking off sand. "It's not natural." I grinned.

"Come on," I said, "I'll stop throwing you and spar a bit." I blocked and blocked again, darted a lazy stroke to his thigh and he noted I didn't hit home. He sighed.

"I'm lacking the edge that comes from real combat."

"Aye," I said, "but that's not a bad thing. Means you're probably saner than I am." He laughed.

"I bet you'd beat Fenric now," he said. "In a proper fight, not a spar." I shook my head. I'd sparred with Fenric a few times since we left the north. The big man might be touching forty but he still had my measure. However, since my time in the army he did have to move faster with me.

"He's too good," I said. "I'd have to get dirty to win, and it wouldn't be a foregone conclusion." I didn't get to ride but went for a shower, deciding to use the bathroom in my suite instead of the castle's bathhouse.

I made sure to warn my servants to keep Azrael out without my permission, and I locked the bathroom door.

#### ****

## Chapter 2 – War and Religion

The Crown Prince had much to discuss with his duke. At his request, we breakfasted alone on the terrace. The servants withdrew to the ring of a silver bell away. Nothing seemed real. Everything was too clean and much too beautiful. The food was sublime. Nothing was stamped Army of the North. High above the harbour, pelicans circled, lazy gliders on the morning breeze. I didn't know where the horror that my army life had gone, and its absence left me dizzy. I was also worried this was a temporary respite and suddenly the war would reach my little duchy. Azrael's voice broke into my thoughts.

"Why didn't you stay in the lancers?" he asked. I shuddered.

"I'm not sure I can describe the full horror of a cavalry charge," I said. He raised his eyebrows.

"It's that bad?" I wondered how to explain it.

"You only feel good charging about knee-to-knee on horseback when death isn't waiting at the end of the gallop." I smiled at the view. "People think I'm joking when I say I sold my soul to Haka. Goddess, I told her, save me and I'll bring you as many Sriamans as you want. I will be your Harvester of Souls." Azrael nodded.

"Like in the _Book of Thet_ ," he said, "where Zol pledges himself to the goddess."

"Aye," I said, "just let me live, and if it's not too much trouble let me keep my limbs and digits. And if you want me, take me. Take me fast." I shrugged. "Haka kept her part of the deal."

"Last time you mentioned it to me," he said, "you said you'd negotiated a sharing agreement over your soul, between her and Zol." Haka was goddess of death, Zol was god of war.

"I put that in a letter?" I said, and he nodded. I laughed. "Aye, I needed the skills of Zol to bring Haka her harvest." Azrael had a wistful look in his eyes. I stopped being facetious, though I made my tone kind. "Everyone is terrified and trying to survive, Azrael. That's all. I coped by praying to gods that may or may not exist. In the paintings they never show you all the fear. They don't mention it in the books." I sighed. "Men literally piss and shit themselves. I've done it. The other thing? Everyone throws up." I laughed. "Hopefully not inside a helmet." He didn't seem to get the joke. I was trying to figure out how to put what I felt into words.

"Isn't anyone brave?" he said.

"The brave and the craven," I said, quoting the _Book of Thet_ again, where Zol promised to listen to the brave and the craven, "all scream, cry out for their mothers, beg for mercy and sob about how afraid they are of the Darkness." The words had begun to tumble out of me and there was a feeling of a tearing in my chest. "We were all so afraid. Only the truly stupid aren't afraid."

"I didn't realise," said Azrael. I shrugged, trying to recover some equanimity.

"Especially, we were all afraid of dying. Haka, the great leveller, is always at your shoulder." I took a steady breath. "War is not glorious. It's something one endures. There's nothing honourable or beautiful about war. It's mud and blood and tears. And the smell of shit. And pain." He looked at me, and I could see it wasn't sinking in. I was lying too, there were good times. You laughed harder when you knew you were probably doomed. I'd made some good friends. I sighed and tried to smile. "Though mostly it's waiting around." I wasn't going to glorify it for him.

"I read the reports," he said, "of how you won the Red Dragon. And the Black Dragon," the red was for bravery in battle, the black for the same in a covert operation, "there were stories in the papers too." He smiled. "You being famous in Peterhaven." I laughed. It was an old joke of ours.

"I saw," I said, "Mother sent me some clippings. I'll have you know, my fame has spread all the way up here to Starshore." Starshore was a few hours ride from Peterhaven, the capital. I paused and shook my head. "I wasn't as brave as they made out. I didn't feel brave at all." He turned his head and I looked at him.

"They said when you won the Red Dragon you faced hundreds of Sriamans alone." I sighed and poured more coffee into my mug. I gestured to him, did he want? He shook his head.

"I couldn't leave the sarge," I said. "He wouldn't have left me. All the men in our squad, any one of us would have gone back. Jessop died trying to get the sarge out before I managed it." I remembered, looking back, away from the Sriamans, seeing Jessop go down, and realising the sarge's life was in my hands. Reining Magpie back towards him, scooping him up off the ground, the Sriamans closing in.

"But you were alone when you did?" said Azrael. I shook my head. I was no hero.

"I was alone in the middle of a battle," I said, "that's all. Within fifty yards were other lancers attacking the warband. I wasn't alone. A bit further away, more men were standing by with horses, lances, bandages. They didn't mention that in the news. I was never alone." The sarge over my saddle, unable to get my sabre out of the scabbard with the sarge there, Magpie spinning, killing Sriamans, and me never really thinking, I was alone and about to die. Though I was. So many times. "For instance," I said, remembering a better example, "I won the Black Dragon as part of a group of five. Three of us died." I didn't mention that technically, that time we were alone. Alone in the darkness. I shook myself. "We saved some prisoners from a horrible death but some of them died slow in hospitals anyway. You know what it's like in a hospital when you're dying." That at least seemed to impact him.

"Aye," he said drily, "not as much fun as people pretend." I smiled.

"We killed nearly double that number of Sriamans," I said, "note the we, I don't believe my official figures. At least four they attributed to me, Magpie killed while I wasn't even on his back. Also, every man I saw die, every one I killed, they shadowed every fight afterwards. It all gave me knowledge, made me a better fighter. Luck and skill, that's all it was." I remembered what the recruitment office sergeant had said. "A lottery." I wasn't explaining well. I wasn't sure I ever could explain it well. Azrael completely misunderstood me.

"You could see their ghosts? The ones you killed?" I was pretty sure there wasn't a soldier ever lived who didn't see a ghost.

"No," I said. I was also pretty sure there wasn't a soldier hadn't lied about it. "What I'm trying to say is, I was never alone because it was as though they all stood with me. From every action I've ever taken in a fight came the skill and experience that enabled me to get through each new one." I remembered Azrael already knew I saw ghosts so I didn't have to pretend to be completely sane. "I did see Cree, the day you arrived," I added, mentioning a being-not-in-body I'd been seeing since I first came to Court. I didn't mention the new one, the woman. Jules, Cree called her.

"You never did say how you got those arrow holes," Azrael said, "was that recovering the body I saw you ride in with? Your sergeant?" It seemed strange that Jansen was dead now, a final resolving of his struggle with the drink.

"Sort of," I said. "I was shot while looking for Jansen, aye. I was on foot, wondering why his horse was loose, and a Sriaman shot me in the hand. Had a bit of a chase through a forest, the bastard shooting at me. Finally he popped me in the back of the knee. I was all ready to die flailing at him when Cree appeared, told me I wasn't going to die. Then Fire bounced up, and with Jansen's horse, chased the Sriaman up a tree." I sighed. I was sighing at how the sight of the two horses treeing the Sriaman was currently my most vivid memory of warfare.

"You don't have to talk about it," said Azrael. I laughed then and rang the bell, mouthed 'mindweed' at the first servant who stuck their head out to see what Himself wanted. The servant mimed 'did I need a pipe?' I looked over the table and nodded to him.

"Don't mind me," I said, turning back to Azrael, "I'm being self-indulgent. Talking about it isn't painful. Being shot with arrows though, avoid that. Not sure if crossbow bolts are worse. Perhaps avoid both. And the trick where an arrow's gone right through and someone snaps off the shaft, taking the arrow out that way? Do not do it without anaesthetic." He laughed.

"Bit like being attacked by a dragon?" he said. I whistled, thinking about it.

"You know, I'm not sure. The arrows were possibly worse, because the dragon wasn't going to torture and barbecue me afterwards. Even at the time, we both knew Kristen just wanted to get away from Queen Rose."

"No escape from one's mother," said Azrael and I laughed. Life seemed surreal. Where had the war gone? Suddenly I had to deal with people who didn't realise we were doomed. I tried to keep breathing. It occurred to me I might be suffering from some kind of post-army mental problems. Of course, I pretended to be fine. I was rich, titled, and still young enough to recover. I should be grateful.

Mindweed arrived, along with servants who cleared the table of everything except coffee. I thanked them, said to please tell the cooks that breakfast was excellent. That my guest was our prince, who also chimed in with praise, meant the cooks had the chance to be proud of their work.

I didn't grow up with servants, so had always felt that along with good pay and conditions, praise was important. It was for me when I worked. Nothing worse than not even a thank you. Azrael, despite growing up with staff, didn't fall into that Blood trap of forgetting to acknowledge them. His mother trained him never to take people for granted, and the commoners in particular liked him for it. He could forget they were there when sharing confidences. As they enjoyed gossip, the staff also liked him for that, and on request would even keep secrets.

Azrael and I were Blood, descendants of Dragon. Dragon was descended, via some genetic manipulation, from humans. I was half peasant – half-human- thanks to my father, but the other half of me was Mother's inbred family, so madness was probably in my future even if it wasn't in my present.

For some reason that thought made me feel better. While we looked out at the water, at the pretty town immediately below us, the people moving in the streets, I smoked a pipe. I sighed again, happily that time.

"It still feels so good," I said, "being out of the army."

"You've said that every thirty minutes since we left the north," Azrael said, laughing. I chuckled.

"It's true."

"I have a favour to ask you," he said. I'd wondered what his price was, for getting me out of the army five weeks early. Apparently I was about to find out. I took a hit on my pipe. "I want you to go south," he said, "to the Dragon Queen, as my emissary." That was it, go on an adventure? A trip to foreign places? Visit a beautiful queen's Court? Where was the catch? I blew the smoke out.

"I'm a soldier," I said cautiously, "if I'm anything. I'm happy to do this, but do you think I'm cut out for diplomacy?" Azrael smiled happily at me.

"You know her," he said, "you're good with women, and Lilith liked you enough to save your life. Twice." She only saved his once, ordering members of the Dragon tribe to give him blood. Mind you, he hadn't needed saving. People did keep trying to kill me. I smiled too.

"Three times actually," I said, "the two times in Peterhaven, then in Malion she sent Stefan." I wondered if he knew about her visiting and missing me as I was starting in the army. "She's stunning." He looked me in the eyes.

"Would you do her?" he said. I looked back.

"I would." We both laughed.

"Nice to see you haven't changed," he said. "From your letters, I was wondering if you'd given up sex. Seems you used to do it more."

"It wasn't a big part of my enlisted life," I said, "too busy staying alive. Besides, when we were boys your spies used to tell you about my sex life, I never mentioned it." He had the grace to look guilty.

"It wasn't me," he said, "it was Grandpa Theo. I bribed the spies not to tell him everything."

"So they told you instead," I said, reminding him I knew the truth. It was old news but it still rankled sometimes.

"Were you very angry?" he said. I shrugged.

"At first," I said, "then I decided to be careful instead of angry." He nodded. He rubbed fingers down his cheek and along the dragon-scar.

"I want you to find out what Lilith's price is. Then beat her down, best you can." He smiled, eyes cold. It was something we practiced as boys, trying to look fierce while smiling.

"The look has improved," I said, "you're getting the eyes better." He stopped, laughed, and Azrael, my friend, was back.

"I'm trying to channel that face Fenric does," he said, looking serious. I nodded. It was a good look. A future king could do worse.

"I thought it was good." I made a dramatic gesture. "His Highness's steely gaze bodes well for his future rule, as the papers might say." He shook his head at me.

"You've been reading those biographies of yours again. It's the same florid style." I laughed. "I'm reliably informed," he added, "that the presses are standing by for Book Three. Galaia knows what it's going to be called. _Polo at War_?" I groaned.

"Gods," I said, "why won't they leave me alone?" His Highness shrugged.

"My spies say the publishers have the latest volume and were waiting to see if you were going to be exciting in your last few weeks, in case the author needs to do a rewrite." I wondered, for perhaps the millionth time, who the author was. Azrael frowned, apparently wondering the same. "Did you ever get a clue who Anonymous is?" he said. I shook my head. "I did my own investigation," he said, "told them everyone was a suspect. Came up with me as most likely, except in some key places where I couldn't have known the details. And I knew I didn't, if you get me. Nobody told me, you hadn't, and I wasn't there. The investigators said if not me, then your manservant Bernard, maybe one of the bodyguards, or my mother as an outside long shot. And I don't really think it's one of them. I know it's not me."

"Aye," I said, "to be honest, I'm as big a suspect in the report the detectives gave me."

"The reports by the king's spies I read," Azrael said, "well, I showed those to you. You know some of the details weren't there." I nodded.

"I suspected Bernard," I said, naming my manservant at the time, "but same thing, I keep coming up against details he couldn't possibly have known. Ones I didn't think anyone knew. He knew who I was doing, but what kind of sex we had?" I frowned. "By the way, with the Dragon queen, what _won't_ Sendren do?" He grimaced. The action made the scar on his cheek stand out, a straight line, long-healed and pale, where a very small dragon had marked his face.

"We'll do whatever Lilith wants, pretty much. When it comes to coin, no real limit. To end the war, gold is cheap. She can have a duchy here in Sendren. If Dragon want command of the Army of the North, well, we'll at least consider a Dragon commander-in-chief." I nodded.

"I can see the advantage of having the tribe on your side." It was a slip of the tongue. Our side, I reminded myself. I was back in Sendren and after my duchy the kingdom was my first loyalty. Our side.

"You were always good at seeing sense," Azrael said, smiling. He clapped me on the shoulder. "Thank you. It means a lot, having someone I can trust to do this for me. The Crown will pay all your expenses. I expect you to leave immediately. Well, in a couple of days when I head for Peterhaven."

"Why the hurry?" I said. He sighed.

"Well, Grandpa Theo has liver disease. From the drinking, they say." I nodded, the king had a problem with alcohol. "They don't know how long he'll last. Might be five years, might be two. Might be six months. They're trying to stop him drinking." He smiled. "Grandpa told them if he was dying, he needed a bloody drink." I laughed. That sounded like Theo. "And my half-brother is still here in Sendren," he said, "wishing me dead." Several things I hadn't understood dropped into place.

"This is why you didn't join the army," I said, "after all the effort you put into the Military Guild, and getting permission?" He nodded.

"Theo was diagnosed right as I sat my exams. I couldn't say I was available to serve when the king was ill. Now I have to prepare to rule." He smiled. "And so it begins, Polo. I'm calling a meeting. All the duchy rulers and every king or queen in every kingdom will be invited to Peterhaven, I'm thinking next summer." I raised my eyebrows.

"Me too?" I said. He laughed.

"Aye, idiot," he said, "you're a duchy ruler." I was relaxed, not expecting his next words. "What I would like," he said, "right now, is to take you, this coffee, this mindweed, and go find a bed." If he couldn't see how tense his words made me, he didn't know me at all. I shook my head emphatically. There wasn't going to be any ambivalence this time. Ever.

"Not me, Azrael," I said, "I've given up princes." He grinned.

"Surely not." I resisted the urge to say no thank you. I wasn't a woman, to be polite, to pretend to be flattered.

"No," I said, firmly. He'd lied to me. His Highness had sworn he was over me. Over the stupid crush that had caused so much trouble during our teens. I did cover the swell of emotion in me. Not such a stupid duke after all. "Sit, stay," I said, "have some more coffee. I want to enjoy the view. It's been some time since I've had such a nice start to a day." He tried not to look sad.

"You're sickeningly happy," he said.

"Aye," I said, looking out at the blue water and ignoring his sulk, "not being in the army feels good." After a few minutes he gave it up. It was hard to look at the view and not let it wash away all vanity.

"Once this business with Lilith is sorted," he said, "I would like you to work for me as a military advisor." I sat up a bit at that and looked at him. Despite my state of joy, I was feeling some survivor guilt. I might be able to do some good for our soldiers and the others stuck up there in the misery of the Northern Front.

"You would?" I said. "I could be a Royal Whatsit?" They were Crown-appointed experts who advised the king. The citadel in Peterhaven had hundreds. When we were boys, the old king had arranged for Azrael and me to be instructed by the ones on the citadel, and I'd found it fascinating.

"Aye," Azrael said, "I need you. You've never been an aye-sayer." Call me a sucker but it felt good to be needed. I would be needed and do good. I focused on that, and pretended he hadn't just tried to get me into bed.

He had, there was no doubt about it. He asked straight out. I hadn't misheard him. I pasted on a smile.

"I can advise, but do not ask me to be in the army again." He laughed.

"A swim instead?"

#### ****

We waited until the sun was hot before dressing casually. The bodyguards had to approve our disguises, which were simply hats and work clothes, as if we had just been mucking out stables and were now taking horses for exercise. Once we were ready, accompanied by a large group of grooms and soldiers, along with various members of Azrael's entourage also in mufti, we went riding down to a quiet beach below the town.

Along the wide sandy shoreline was a good place for races. We galloped along, whooping, the horses dancing in the shallows of the cold bright water. Fire loved it, pawing at the sand and chasing waves. After a bit we stripped off the horses' tack, aside from rope halters, and rode into the surf. It was fun, the horses enjoying themselves too. Riding any of my stallions in a halter was a bit like tying a piece of string to a lion's whiskers and expecting to control it. Doing it on sand or in water was semi-sensible, made it harder for them to hurt me if I fell off, which I did twice after Fire bucked hard. He was in a good mood and, once he had bucked his way a bit further down the beach, came back for me each time. We let them roll in the drier sand away from the water, something I could watch for hours, sharing the joy as the big creatures grunted with pleasure.

I know the delight showed on my face because Hiram sketched me standing watching Fire, a big chestnut stallion, one of my warhorses, the one who enjoyed chasing Sriamans up trees. Being a single-sex party and a fair way past the town beaches, I was buck-naked. The dragon claw-marks down my left hip and right forearm stood out in sharp relief, as did the crossbow bolt marks – it had gone right through my arm - and an assortment of scars collected in the north. Nothing as dramatic as the dragon ones.

At the end of a lead-rope beyond me, Fire was on his haunches, one forefoot out straight and the other bent as he prepared to roll. My muscles were well-developed and defined from neck down to ankle. Someone not to be crossed. A bit scary, as Azrael said. Nevertheless, the smile on my face said I took pleasure in the simplest things. It was called _After the War is Over_. I was glad I'd hired Hiram for the next year to be the duchy's Artist in Residence. He was even better than I remembered.

"Polo," he said, as I looked over the sketch, with Fire pretending interest but really just searching us for treats, "can I get permission to go see your other horse, the one you won your medals on?"

"Aye," I said, "that's Acordia Cloudwalker, Magpie to his friends. This one's his full brother, Acordia Firewalker." Fire tried to taste Hiram's charcoal pencil and I shooed him off. "He's at stud, not far from here, maybe an hour's ride. If you want to go before I do, I'll give you a note to take to the stud manager. Remind me if I forget, I'm supposed to head off to Redoubt soon."

The trip to Redoubt to see Lilith promised to be an adventure to look forward to that didn't require a war footing. I thought smugly that I could get some tips from the Dragon tribe over both my weird visions and on how to turn into a dragon.

I was damned if I was going to stay human-shaped forever. I wanted to fly. So I had to change shape again, this time to one with wings. I'd done it once, under extreme pressure, changed shape, though I hadn't had wings – I thought the woman I was with was about to kill me – but despite many hours of meditation I'd never managed it again.

#### ****

## Chapter 3 – Madness and Marriage

That night Azrael and I had a private dinner. We discussed all kinds of subjects, but there was something he wasn't telling me. I was thinking it was something political, which, in a way, it was. Finally, over a really good summer fruit brulee, a Sendrenese dessert speciality, Azrael managed to broach his news.

"By the way," he said, and hesitated. I waited until I couldn't stand it.

"What?" I said.

"I'm engaged." I laughed.

"Engaged?" I said, and made a snorting sound. "To a woman? Are you sure?" He laughed.

"Aye," he said, "I'm the betrothed of Crown Princess Isabella of Highcliff. And she's not much interested in ruling. The contract is that by marrying her I make myself the old king's heir. You remember King Lewis." I nodded. We'd been to guild schools in Malion, capital of the kingdom-next-door, Highcliff, and I knew Lewis, and his daughter. Gods, I thought, Isabella the mad Crown Princess? I smiled.

"Congratulations," I said, understanding his motivation, "a start in your united kingdoms." He nodded, smiling too.

"I decided on the name for it," he said, "Theus. Like Thet's land." He said it Thee-us, the th soft and the emphasis on the last syllable. Thet was father of the gods.

"Theus," I repeated. He nodded. "You told me a long time ago you were thinking of that. I still like it. So we'd be Theusians? Or Theusianese? Theusish? Theuswegian?" He laughed.

"Theusians seems best. I'm thinking we'll call it Theus, the Dragon Kingdom, make it clear Dragon or Kingdom, all are welcome here, that really, we're all Dragon." I smiled.

"No, we're not," I said, "but anyway. So you'll be the First Azrael, Dragon King?"

"That's it." He posed a moment and I laughed.

"I'm sure Lilith will appreciate the star billing." I signalled a servant, thinking of more brulee. It was seriously good. There was a layer of cream under the toffee, over the berries. I wanted to bathe in it, ideally with a friend. "Seriously, you're going to marry Isabella?"

"I know you did her," said Azrael, breaking into my happy thoughts of cream, nipples, and- I winced.

"Oh," I said, "good. Did you want another of these? I'm going to have one if there are some." Azrael told the servant he'd have another too.

"This really is excellent," he said, "your chefs are to be commended." I was rather hoping the dessert distracted him enough that we could move on, but Azrael looked at me. "I don't know why you dumped her," he said, "her version, that she dumped you, doesn't ring true. Only woman I ever remember dumping you was Miri. And it's hardly dumping if it's just a night." I thought about it.

"From memory," I said, "it was just a night with Isabella too. I bolted first thing in the morning. Then I stayed away from the palace until I heard she was seeing someone else."

"Look it up in your diary for me," he said, "please, I'd appreciate it." I sighed. I never should have told him I was keeping notes. More brulee arrived. Another two each. I refused to let Azrael depress me.

"Alright," I said, "I'll do it once I'm finished these. I think I shall eat them for every meal. Though it would be a shame to get sick of them."

"They are bloody good," he said.

#### ****

In the index volume, I found the reference to _Highcliff, Crown Princess of_. While I was at war my papers had been neatly indexed and cross-indexed. Galaia's years dated from the exodus from Home. Her year was less than Standard, only twelve months of twenty-eight days each.

"20th September, 2979 A.E.," I said, "so you and I were barely eighteen. I was doing those units at the Harvesters Guild. I was already on a bit of a bender after I was expelled from the Military Guild." He tsk-ed.

"You weren't expelled," he said.

"It felt like it." They'd asked me to leave, after a mob of cadets attacked me and I killed several of them. I read over the entry. "Yes," I said, "Isabella scared me off. Didn't admit to liking sex. Claimed I somehow tricked her into it. I was drunk, I remember that much. To be honest, I don't really remember the event well. Only that the next morning she was acting a little crazy." He nodded.

"Anything else?"

"She was beautiful," I said, and handed him the volume, "this is what I wrote right after I got back to the Spotted Horse, see?" That was the inn I was staying in. "It's timed, six in the morning." Azrael read the entry over. I wondered what he thought of the lines,

I don't remember much but I do remember her nearly tearing my breeches down when we did it in the garden. You can't tell me that girl wasn't enjoying herself.

Or the one that said,

Suspect she's genuinely nuts.

"You really thought she was crazy?" he said. I'd already said so, and it was written in my hand right there. I looked at him. "Aye," said Azrael, "I do too."

"And you're still going to marry her?" I said. He shrugged.

"It gives me two kingdoms." I looked thoughtful at that.

"You get full control?"

"Aye," he said, "when King Lewis dies I become the most powerful man in the old kingdoms." I nodded. Highcliff was a rich, strategically-important kingdom right next to Sendren, easier to defend and with a complete command of several vital inland trade routes. Many guilds had their headquarters in Malion, the Royal City, which was known as a centre for learning.

"He's a nice chap, Lewis," I said, "I liked him."

"Aye," Azrael said, "could do worse for a father-in-law."

"I really thought Isabella was nuts," I said, shaking my head as I slid the book back into the shelf. Azrael made a gesture of it not mattering.

The Blood were often inbred and sometimes it resulted in madness. There were several kinds. Around the citadel, the mad-but-not-dangerous were common, which coupled with the many merely-very-eccentric, had always made life there interesting.

Among the mad was old Galaia, a duke from the south of Sendren who thought he was Galaia, and wore dresses while handing out flowers to everyone, with the blessings of the goddess. By order of the Crown, the servants were allowed to restock Old Galaia's bouquets from the palace hothouses during winter, and from the Royal Florist's stocks the rest of the year.

There was Lord-Not-Again, an army veteran who'd been involved on the sharp end of a Sriaman massacre. He'd been the sole survivor of a squad that were attacked while playing football. Lord-Not-Again ended up with a medical discharge and returned home to Sendren, but his quirks were too much for his family and they had moved him to the Crown's care. If the servants who watched over him were distracted the lord would launch himself into ball games. He'd grab the ball, yelling "Not again!" and disappear into the woodland around the citadel.

Then there was the Duchess Who Thinks She's A Pony. Also known as Duchess Snowball. Providing she was regularly groomed, and you held your hand flat when feeding her apples, she was very little trouble, despite insisting on straw bedding. Mad, but not dangerous.

Then there were those who weren't safe to let roam, even with servants to make sure they ate properly and bathed enough. We called it mad-and-dangerous. That type had to be confined, for their safety, and the safety of society. I tried to reason with Azrael, thinking I had to make him see Isabella wasn't one of the easy-to-deal-with types. "Mad-and-maybe-dangerous, Azrael. Not just a bit crazy like Miri Westwych." He did blink then.

"Madder than Miri? But she cut you-"

"For fun," I said, "as a psychological experiment," Miri was the one I'd changed shape with, when she scared me nearly to death, "not to kill me. Isabella makes Miri look like who she is, a rich man's daughter playing at things that will annoy her father. Or other people." Azrael shrugged again.

"Aye, but Isabella only has to stay out of the asylum until Lewis dies. He's elderly and she's like me, his late grandson's only child."

"From memory," I said, "her mother's in the Malion Asylum. Has been for most of her daughter's life." That took him aback. That he was surprised took me aback too.

"Mad-and-dangerous?" he said. I nodded.

"Very. She tried to kill her husband by setting fire to his bed," I said, "but fortunately a servant smelled smoke. The late Crown Prince was dead-drunk, didn't know what was happening until someone threw a bucket of water over him." I frowned. Hadn't he had Isabella checked out? Obviously not, as the story was no secret in Malion. "King Lewis told me," I went on, "it wasn't the first time she tried to kill her husband. Isabella's father died a few years before we went to the guild, fall from a horse." Azrael shrugged again. I wanted to slap him.

"I'll warn the men," he said. "I'm not marrying her for love, Polo." I bit my tongue. "Have you changed your mind, about sharing my bed?" I blinked at the sudden change of subject.

"No," I said. Again. Second time in the conversation that I'd wanted to hit him, but at least he moved on.

"Have you had any luck with changing shape since that one time with Miri?" he said. I shook my head. "I used to imagine-" he was sounding plaintive, "-you changing, with me. The way you did with Miri." I sighed, because I changed shape with Miri during sex.

That made it the third time Azrael had been sexually suggestive that day. I hoped he would stop because it didn't sound like he was over me at all. For the first time I was considering what a king in love with me might mean for my life, especially if he was my king.

"Miri," I said aloud, ignoring the come-on, "I haven't thought about her in a while." My last night with Miri, which was not the night I changed shape, was when I was eighteen, when at Miri's request I shared her with Azrael. It had been two years after the last time he and I had sex. And that was only three times when we were sixteen. During the night with Miri I was careful not to touch him but woke to find Miri gone and the sensation waking me was Azrael's tongue.

After he woke me up and I pushed him away, I then said come on, let's do it one last time. I was still drunk from the night before and frankly, out of control in many ways. Azrael went angst-ridden, told me no, the kingdom didn't need a gay heir. We had a fight. I was so nasty I shocked myself. That was the morning I left Malion and my studies for a trip on my ducal yacht that ended up in the horrors of the Northern Front.

Now I was twenty-one. Three years of my life. I tried not to think about that. I might hit Azrael the way I wanted to when I first signed up.

"She went to Kavarlen," said Azrael, breaking into my not-thoughts.

"That sounds like Miri," I said, smiling, "still looking for someone she wasn't related to?"

"No," he said, "I think maybe she's gone madder than the last time we saw her. She ran off with a cousin on her mother's side. Last I heard she was pregnant. Everyone was taking bets that the child would be damaged." I sighed.

"That's dreadful," I said, "she always knew she had to marry outside the clan." Once, despite my usual antipathy to the idea of marriage, I would have married her. She was a delightful pervert in bed, if a little unpredictable. Thanks to Mother's tangled blood, Miri and I were cousins on about six lines so Miri hadn't been prepared to consider me as a partner. Azrael shrugged.

"Her father did the same thing," he said, "fell in love with his second cousin." He paused, frowning. "Or maybe his first once-removed. And so did his father. That family's so inbred it's dangerous."

#### ****

The next morning I went riding on a nondescript bay gelding borrowed from the castle's stables. I wore a grubby hat, dressed down, and took a towel, planning on a swim. I was alone, but we were in Sendren, not in a war zone any more.

It was good to be out and alone, especially without lurking Sriamans trying to kill me. Not far down from the castle a man was sitting on the wall beside the road. He barely glanced at me, busy watching the view down over the town to the harbour. I assumed he was taking a rest from the steep climb up, people often did.

Port Azrael was very pretty, and on the landward side was surrounded by orchards, farmland, and extensive managed forests, the latter a large contributor to my wealth. I rode through the town, hat brim tilted down over my eyes. My eyes would out me, as I had the eyes of someone with Dragon blood, a vivid green with a bright copper ring around the iris. Dragon blood showed in metallic or crystalline colourations. Without Dragon sign, you couldn't hold a duchy or a kingdom.

Everything in Port Azrael looked neat and clean, and my people looked happy and prosperous. I listened to their conversations. The gossip was all about me returning from the war, Crown Prince Azrael being in his namesake town, and King Theo's illness.

I rode out the town gate and down to the beach. The bay and I had a good canter along the beach, then a swim. The day was promising to be warm and I was enjoying the heat. I lay on the sand and watched the lake for a while. Water dried in droplets on my skin, leaving a light caking of salt. The sand felt cool and squeaked as I dug my toes into it.

After a good roll, the bay settled next to me and snoozed. Providing I scratched his ears every so often, he let me lean up against him as I watched the waves. It was glorious. I talked to the horse, wondering what my life might be like if I hadn't gone to Peterhaven a few days before I turned sixteen, when I was plain Polo Shawcross, with nothing to inherit and only one pair of boots to my name. Not even a horse of my own, and now I owned possibly thousands through my ducal holdings, at least hundreds.

As a boy I thought about running away to Port Azrael and maybe signing on a fishing boat. Would I have ever come here? Made a success of myself? Or would someone like Molly – who I'd just seen again in Castle Harbour - my married lover back in Lower Beech, have trapped me? I got over Molly rather quickly when she told my mother we were in love and getting married.

Both notions were news to me. There I was, having a bit of fun and only fifteen at the time. Another man's wife and his two children, Molly's total at the time, were more than I was looking for. Gods, that would have been a different life. Mother did the right thing getting me away from Molly. The bay snorted and I resumed my scratching, working my way under his jaw. He quivered his top lip and grunted happily, tilting his head to give me easier access.

"Ah," I said, "that feels good, eh? Maybe I should think about siring a child, give the duchy an heir. Though it doesn't seem right to use a woman that way, not with this planet's history." Wasn't so long ago women were forced breeding vessels, slaves to men. The bay sighed. I nodded. "I'll wait, see if I find someone I love."

I was once in love with Miri, well, heavily infatuated. She was the most sexually-liberated woman my own age I'd ever met. Once I got over her properly, I was busy having a kind of breakdown before joining the army. Wild I might have been, but depressed and trying to forget my own name was probably more to the point.

Since then, just the effort of staying alive had meant there wasn't time to think of a girlfriend. The bay didn't seem to think it was important. I decided he was right.

#### ****

## Chapter 4 – Plotting and Planning

After a while I reluctantly rode back to the castle. We had to go back as I'd ridden out without any coin and the bay and I wanted our breakfasts. Though my word was good anywhere in town, it would mean outing myself and having to be charming. I really wasn't ready to schmooze shopkeepers for the sake of a bag of pastries and a coffee, nor was I ready to cope with a crowd gathering.

Up on the cliffs, the man was still there on the wall, now watching the castle. I looked right at him and he turned away, suddenly absorbed in the lake views again. Unusual, most people would nod and say hello. I caught a glimpse of his face, very angular, light eyes, and a faint touch of his scent. He was Blood though not cat's-eyed. I asked the guards about him when I rode in, but he was gone when they went out to see what his business was. I didn't think anything of it. With Azrael in the castle we needed to be careful but the man might just have been enjoying the panorama.

Ross, head of my bodyguards, didn't think so, and gave me a telling-off for going out alone. I felt he was overreacting, as I was still in some kind of charmed, safe, fairyland place where nothing could happen to me. Didn't anyone understand? Nobody was shooting at me, it was perfectly safe. No Sriamans in those trees.

Hiram reminded me about him visiting the stud farm, and I wanted to go too. I took him, Ross, and a team to visit my other stallions, happily at stud on my new stud farm. Magpie was nearly beside himself when we arrived, calling to me the moment we rode in the front gate. I went to see him first, before he jumped the fence and came after me.

At Hiram's request, I saddled Magpie and we did some of the military equitation moves that had earned me that Red Dragon medal. Hiram did some quick sketches of me on Magpie, and then the stud manager showed me the latest crop of foals born last spring, some of them the image of their sire. That was a wonderful visit, seeing the mares with foals, and my horses all so pleased to see me.

#### ****

We decided to leave the next morning, me to go south and west, Azrael's party south to Peterhaven. Several people with experience suggested the quickest way to Redoubt was ride to Malion then take a riverboat. It was a good time of year to go upriver as the river was at its slowest before the autumn rains hit the southern highlands, though coming with the current on the journey back would still be twice as fast.

While Azrael's group would continue south to Peterhaven, I would go west on the Highland Road that led to Highcliff and the Little Dragon River, to Malion's west gate, where the Little Dragon was diverted into two. There were passenger services going up or downriver. The other stream was sent into the city's moats, where Bailey Westwych and I nearly drowned after Indigo Sutherland and his friends attacked me at Young Perry's behest.

Young Perry was next in line after Azrael. He and Indigo were both cousins of mine. I was back in places where my family, on Mother's side at least, were again a danger. Rather foolishly, despite the past history of attempts on my life - both in my home kingdom and in Highcliff - I felt safe, and wanted to go alone to visit the Dragon queen. I was a soldier and didn't need looking after.

Azrael was horrified and sent Fenric to attempt to reason with me. The big man looked tired now we we'd been back a few days, his grey eyes with the gold sparks had more lines around them. Looking after Azrael didn't look to be all beer and skittles. Still only a touch of grey at the temples in his black hair, leaving him looking distinguished.

"Take Ross with you, at least," Fenric said.

"I don't need nursemaiding," I said. I wasn't in the mood to be reasonable but Fenric stayed calm, which the big man usually did.

"Polo," he said, "in the regular army, you never went anywhere alone unless you were lost. Except when you were scouting, and even then you had people expecting you to meet them at the rendezvous. You always had someone watching your back, right?" I sighed.

"I suppose. Alright, I'll take bodyguards."

"Good lad," said Fenric. He smiled. "You're not as much of an idiot as you used to be, by the way." I laughed.

"Thanks," I said, "that makes me feel good. Was I that much of an idiot?" He smiled.

"Do you remember when you were in love with Miri?" he said, and I winced. He laughed. "Or when your parents arrived in Malion and you started drinking?" I shuddered. He was about to go on, and I held up my hand.

"Point taken," I said, "complete idiot."

#### ****

Ross put together a squad of six including him. I decided it wasn't that bad to have bodyguards, mine were good company, and it gave me people to talk to and spar with on the way. I still didn't see the need. Who would want to kill me? I hadn't even been around for three years. I was safe unless my parents finally snapped and became mad-and-dangerous, though as usual I hoped if that happened they'd just kill each other.

That reminded me I hadn't been to see them. I sent notes to them both, apologising and explaining I was off doing Azrael a political favour but would be in touch soon.

It didn't occur to me to be on my guard, or that someone had thought I would die conveniently in the war and now my survival meant Something Would Have to be Done. A contract had been taken out to provide me with a rather creative Unfortunate Accident. Amongst the Blood, when someone died and people said it was an Unfortunate Accident, it meant it wasn't an accident and was very fortunate for someone. It happened moderately often in the wealthy families, someone would kill their kin in order to inherit.

However this was more personal than coin or a title. Young Perry, bastard son of the Late Crown Prince Perry, hated me with a passion. Back when I was about sixteen I thrashed Young Perry's arse, literally, when I caught him whipping a pony round the head. My horse Magpie then tried to kill Perry so I fended off the stallion. Along with thrashing Young Perry I saved his life. The whole incident happened in full view of most of the Green Dragon Citadel. A conservative estimate was hundreds of witnesses.

Young Perry accused me of trying to kill him, of making my horse attack him, and took his accusations all the way to the king. When the king didn't charge me with anything, thanks to all those witnesses, Perry decided to get revenge himself. He nearly killed me twice, once with an assassin he bought, who killed the woman next to me and broke my arm, then again at the hands of a mob attack he orchestrated, which should have proven to me that Azrael's half-brother was the kind to bear a grudge.

Azrael's plans to visit the front and enlist me as a diplomat were exactly that, plans, known at the citadel for months in advance. There was security, travel and a regent to be arranged. Forward planning was very convenient, giving the plotters time to organise a most Unfortunate Accident for me.

On the bright side, I wasn't to be killed. Young Perry wanted me to suffer.

#### ****

## Chapter 5 - Kidnapped

The riverboat _Little Queen_ trundled upstream, passing through locks in places. It was much faster than the other options, either a hard route overland through the mountains, or making for the west then down the coast before overland to Redoubt. We would do the 350 miles from Malion to Redoubt in a week. That is, the _Little Queen_ would. By then I wasn't on her.

While I was still on-board, she hit a floating snag and needed to put in for repairs. There was no reason to think it was sabotage or to expect any kind of attack. The next suitable place was Deerhaven in Mountleas. The town was a pretty place in a mountain valley, all the buildings up on stilts to keep above the spring floods. The work would take half the day, time to stretch our legs, so we went wandering. People were friendly and we did some window shopping before going into one of three inns for a late lunch.

The bodyguards checked it out, everything seemed normal. They didn't go upstairs, where the real innkeeper and his wife were lying on a bed in the first bedroom, securely tied and gagged. As the bodyguards were on duty, and drinking in the middle of the day was something I'd given up, we were drinking lemonade.

There was a particularly good-looking brunette who served us, all the while flirting with me. After we ate, the barmaid headed off then stopped in the doorway and made it quite clear she would like me to follow her. Again the bodyguards went to check. I waited, they talked to the barmaid, she took them along a corridor, and they came back, said all clear. They settled down with a round of lemonades that the innkeep, or the man we thought was him, gave them on the house.

The innkeep took a glass himself, raised it to them, and so they all took at least a sip. Except Sam, one of the bodyguards. He was stationed out the back, thanks to me being in a room on a passageway that led to the back door. He was the only one who'd die.

"Call me," I said to my guards, my eyes on the girl, "ten minutes before we have to go." I thought she might request coin, which was alright, there was some in my pocket. I walked past one doorway and the girl paused up ahead.

"This is my room," she said, backing away, smiling, showing dimples and already undoing the buttons on her shirt, "this next one."

Behind me, the bodyguards were feeling the hit of the second round of lemonade and realising it was drugged. If any of them had sunk his drink in a hurry he'd probably have died. Each glass was loaded with enough poppy juice to put down a horse. One man only had few mouthfuls and was out cold. By the time the others realised what was wrong with him it was too late, they were all feeling the effects. I heard something thump out in the bar but things thump in bars all the time. Someone made a noise out there. Ross was trying to call out.

The barmaid had backed into her room, I could see a decent-sized bed behind her, and she opened her shirt all the way. The bed wasn't the only decent-sized thing in the room. She smiled again, and those dimples looked so kissable. So did the rest of her. Did I know her name? Did I care? There was still time to find out. Gods, she had magnificent-

One moment I was in a corridor in an inn, looking at the barmaid's breasts. I didn't see who hit me.

Sam was at the back door, the only bodyguard still conscious, which was unfortunate. He was sorting a smoke and hadn't touched his drink. They needed to get me past him at the back door. Whether they meant to or not, they crushed his skull.

#### ****

I woke up with my head throbbing. It took me a while to figure out where I was, or at least that I was in a cart under a canvas. Rain was falling on the canvas. At first I thought we'd started drinking at the inn and got out of control. But we wouldn't have. And even if we had, we wouldn't have missed the riverboat. I wasn't in a riverboat. I could hear the horses, the creak and jingle of harness, people talking, cartwheels hissing and hooves thudding on a wet bioplas roadway. I was tied up, gagged and blindfolded, sadly rather tightly and firmly.

If I was anywhere near Mountleas, where was I? We seemed to be moving at speed. There weren't many good roads in the mountains, at least so I'd been told, usually only the highways were bioplas. The best roads ran to or from the coast.

"He's awake," said someone. Something pricked my arm. I fell away from wakefulness.

There were blurred memories, someone who acted as my nurse, spoon-feeding me and leading me to somewhere I could piss or shit. But it was never in inns, always camping somewhere.

Every time I started to get to a level of consciousness where I could have struggled, or even formed the notion, the nurse injected me with more poppy juice. Quite often, I was sick afterwards. I hated poppy juice.

I woke up again, feeling sick. Thinking was like wading through treacle. Bloody poppy juice. I hated the stuff. It reminded me of being in hospital. There were the sounds and smells of the ocean. I could also smell myself, an acrid mix of vomit and sweat. I needed a shower badly.

"Give him another hit," said the same someone, "want him quiet while we get him on the ship." Another needle. I went away again.

#### ****

The next time consciousness dropped in, I was loose on a tiny bunk. It took a minute or two to figure out the rocking sensation was a boat I was on, not my brain. I felt quite ill and weak and wanted air. Getting up was tricky. At first I subsided quietly to the floor.

Bloody poppy, all I needed. It occurred to me to wonder why I was on poppy, but first I tried to open the door, struggling with it before I realised it slid open. I staggered out into a corridor. There were stairs leading up.

My brain finally caught my attention. Why would someone, someone with a ship, give me poppy?

My knees gave way and I slid down the wall.

#### ****

I woke up on a tiny bunk feeling deja vu, my head rocking. Wait, it was the boat. Was that the deja vu?

I was on a boat.

How many times had I woken up? I tried to sit up, managed on the third try, and saw my boots were with my clothes next to the bed. I checked through everything. All the knives were gone. So was my coin. Staggering in the tiny space, I dressed, though buttoning my shirt was beyond me and I left my feet bare for now, then tried to get the door open. It stuck. I was about to try breaking it down when someone slid it open from the outside.

"Want to come topside?" a man said in accented Anglic. Not one of my original captors from the cart, at least he didn't sound like them. He sounded – and looked - Kavar and he stank. The worst body odour I'd ever experienced. Holding onto the doorjamb, eyes watering, I nodded.

"Yes," I said, my voice a croak. The smelly hairy creature outside the door looked stern.

"I'm the captain of this ship. You give me your word, you'll behave?" I nodded again. I was only semi-conscious and the stench of him was making my head spin. "You're wondering where you are," he said, "what's happened?" I nodded more carefully, clutching the doorjamb tight and worried my head would fall off. "You've been sold," said the captain.

"Salt?" I said. What did that mean? I couldn't breathe and casually put my hand over my mouth and nose.

"S-o-l-d. As a slave," he said. Mystified, I looked at him over my hand.

"Sold?" I said. "But I'm a free man."

"What?" he said. I took my hand away and repeated the words. Coughed and put my hand back.

"Besides," I added, not sure if it was me or the boat swaying, "we don't have slaves." I had to repeat it again.

"Aye," said the captain, "the kingdoms don't have slaves, but you're on your way to Kavarlen." I blinked. Mother had sold me to the Kavar? Who had let her read my diaries? Wait, she couldn't have taken umbrage and decided to sell me. If she'd read them, she'd know my death was pointless because she wasn't my heir. Was that enough to stop Mother? After all, I had come back from the war and only sent a note. I shook my head.

"I can't believe she'd do it."

"She?" the captain said, and shrugged. "Seems you offended a prince."

"Um," I said, "this may seem a strange question, but which one?" The captain gave me a funny look.

"The Crown Prince of Sendren," he said. That made no sense at all. Azrael would do this to me for not bedding him? The smell was getting worse. I blinked and swayed. Coughed a bit. Put my hand back over my nose and mouth. It wasn't enough. I hiked the top of my shirt up so to breathe through it and ran a hand along the back of the collar. The blade usually there was gone too.

"The Crown Prince? Azrael?" I said. The captain shook his head.

"No, the other one. Crown Prince Perry."

"He's not the Crown Prince," I said. Unless Theo were about to abdicate, when it was likely Young Perry would make his move and try to kill Azrael. Getting me out of the way was only some extra housekeeping. The captain sniffed.

"Prince Perry will be king soon. He said to tell you that." For the first time since I was about sixteen I didn't have a blade on me. Fit, I could take the captain, but I could barely stand.

"Bucket?" I said, and managed not to throw up before one was fetched.

#### ****

## Chapter 6 - Captivity

My captors were all whiffy, though none as bad as the captain. As we were at sea and they were needed to run the ship, I decided there was no point in trying to hurt any of the crew just yet. I was sick from being dosed with what seemed to be a very heavy few days of poppy juice. They let me have water to wash with, and someone gave me some spare clothes, as mine were much too heavy for the warmth we'd sailed into.

I demanded and got a supply of mindweed, which I needed badly because for a few days the poppy gave me nasty withdrawals. I didn't remember it being so severe in hospital, but back then there was mindweed tincture to soften the impact and I was busy recovering from serious injury. At the citadel there were also people to distract me, especially women doing that thing that happens every summer, shimmying about in light clothing, which every man – at least the ones into women – looks forward to. Dangerous weather, Fenric used to call it, when men could be distracted so easily. I'd been distracted by that damn barmaid. And her breasts. On the ship, the only breasts were the captain's, thanks to him being quite overweight, and though they were distracting, it wasn't a pleasant distraction.

Once I could stand, most of my time was spent on deck, away from the foetid depths of the crew cabins. I did my katas using a broom handle for a blade even though it made the sailors uneasy, and I worked out using rails and rigging as gymnasium bars. Once over the poppy juice, I was still military-fit and - thanks to being acclimatised to the northern heat - could work out three times a day. When I said I was keeping physically busy because there were no books to occupy my mind, the sailors began to look at me nervously. None of the crew would spar with me. I even offered to teach several of the more approachable ones, anything for something to do.

Politely I didn't try to kill even one of the crew, but noted for later any clue to find them or any proof to pin my kidnap on Young Perry. Kavar natives, they all spoke my native language, Kingdom Anglic, a trade tongue in most ports, but they preferred Kavar. With not speaking the language I was isolated and their chatter could be unguarded. Some days the only Anglic I heard was,

"Hey Kingdom man, food's ready." The food was basic but good. Hard to go wrong with fish caught fresh each day with maybe potatoes or rice, or sometimes fresh-baked bread, and the occasional meal with bacon or eggs. I was told we would reach our destination port in two weeks.

Ready as I was for a holiday after the army, two weeks lying on the deck of a sailing ship with nothing to read and nobody to talk to wasn't my idea of fun. I didn't tell them I was picking up their language. At first I only understood words here and there. Kavar derived from Old Anglic, the same root as both my native tongue, Kingdom Anglic, and Sriaman, the language of our enemy in the north, which I was fluent in. Quite quickly I understood a great deal of what the Kavar crew said, though I tried not to let them know.

By one-and-a-half weeks the Kavar coast was in sight and I was going stir-crazy. The ship headed slowly north to the capital, Ashvarlen. Off in the hinterland were green hills with blue mountains rising behind. Very occasionally we'd see a village, smoke rising from chimneys, and a small harbour for the local boats. I hoped we might put in, maybe get some fresh food – and maybe give me the chance to escape - but we always stayed at least a few miles offshore, the sailors said it was to avoid reefs. I spent a lot of time staring at the dark green shore.

"Thinking of swimming?" one of the sailors said in Anglic. I shook my head.

"I wish," I said, "not me, I can't swim. I was born on an inland farm." He only nodded, said he couldn't swim either. I had met sailors before who couldn't, and it always seemed crazy to me. But it showed they weren't at all familiar with my reputation, because everyone who met me seemed to know about the time I was hurled into the moat at Malion and not only swam out, but saved the Crown Prince of Gyr too. It was in one of the books about my life.

#### ****

The third night on the Kavarlen coast I made my move. I wasn't going to, figuring it would be easier to escape once we landed. Waiting until we reached Ashvarlen made sense. Miri Westwych was just one of several expatriate contacts in that city. In a pinch I'd find Ross's second cousin who, like many from the kingdoms, had run there to avoid the noose.

That afternoon I went below, moving quietly - as I'd learned to do when I joined the army scouts \- putting the outside of the balls of my feet down first, careful with where I put my weight. No particular reason, except for practice and the challenge on the wooden boards of the ship. I wasn't brilliant at it, but that time didn't make a sound, which it turned out was just as well. I was about to go into my cabin to get a pipe, when I heard voices from the galley.

One of the sailors was talking to the captain about how long they'd be in Ashvarlen. I'd picked up enough by then to follow, though I missed some words, but the overall meaning was very clear. I froze.

"- _reach the Pool we'll hand him in_ ," said the captain, " _let them geld him ready for sale. Get a receipt and a souvenir for our employer. That's how we get the rest of our coin when we get back to Keller Mount_." At first, I couldn't figure out what _souvenir_ was, but I understood _geld_ right from the start. The word was the same in every language I knew.

So they were sailing out of one of the southern kingdoms, Lakeleas, or had sailed from there. I noted that while screaming inside. _Geld?_ They were going to _geld_ me?

" _Once we've sorted that_ ," said the captain, " _I think we'll head straight back home for some shore leave. I want this job over_."

" _I didn't know they - ah - gelded them, captain_ ," said the sailor. I guessed from his tone that, like me, he was trying not to cross his legs. I was also trying not to curl into a foetal position. Either might make a noise and I needed to be quiet.

" _Oh aye_ ," said the captain, as if separating a man and his testicles was no more than gelding a horse, " _if they cause trouble they neuter them but this one's more in the nature of a special request. Part of our deal, castrated before sale_." I clutched involuntarily at my groin.

" _Someone doesn't like him_ ," said the sailor. They both laughed.

" _Aye, I have to take his balls back or we don't get the rest of our coin_." I fled into my cabin and shut the door.

It made it an easy choice, whether to jump overboard or wait, because although not particularly wanting children, I was very attached to my balls.

#### ****

After dinner, as had become my habit, I went up for a smoke. On the bright side, it was warmer there than home so I wasn't constantly cold as I'd been since back from the war. There was cloud building up. I looked out at it, wondering if it might give me my chance. Maybe the captain would pull into a bay or one of the little towns, looking for shelter.

"Storm later," one of the sailors said in Anglic, gesturing to the clouds.

"Aye," I said, "hope I don't get seasick." The wind began to pick up and I heard the damn captain giving orders to take us further out. Cree – my not-ghost or whatever he was - appeared, smiling, semi-transparent and floating a few inches above the deck.

_Now or never?_ he said. I nearly laughed aloud but didn't ask him if I would live.

Smoking casually, trying to act normal, I walked down the ship, and he drifted with me.

Over the land, where the storm was building, the sunset was a glow of red in the sky. A quarter moon was rising. If the cloud didn't cover the moon, the way to shore might be navigable. I put out my smoke and made sure nobody was watching. Cree had vanished.

#### ****

## Chapter 7 - Escape

A quick dive over the side, and the water was a cool shock after the humid night above. I plummeted down like a seal, praying no watching sharks noticed the similarity, swimming along before I tried going up, moving away from the pull of the ship.

I didn't want to begin an escape by sea with blood running all over my body from the barnacles on the hull, but when I decided I was far enough away, stopping my descent took precious seconds. Way too soon, I had no air left and began to panic. Much too far above me, the surface was shining and unreachable, maybe twenty feet up. Dark flashes sparked before my eyes, lungs burning. I kicked desperately upwards.

After all I'd been through, after living through the war and attempts on my life, I realised I was going to breathe water and die. For a long moment, I might have drowned, but for the sudden thought that Young Perry would be free of me if I did. I was going to kill the little bastard! I pulled harder for the surface.

Just starting to breathe in, I surfaced, spent time gasping and choking, then managed a full breath of blessed, beautiful air before looking around. There she was, the ship, running lights showing, moving away from me, and so far no sign of anyone looking over the side and pointing, or shouting man overboard.

With the wind against me, it wasn't going to be an easy or short swim. I took a sighting on the shore then lay on my back, frog-kicking and sculling with my hands just to keep my balance, turning occasionally to see if I was still on track. I read somewhere that it was the least wearying way to swim long distances. It was definitely a good way to swim in the surf, the back of my head was breaking the salt water but my eyes and face weren't full of it. The water temperature wasn't too bad, cool but not freezing. I wouldn't think about what might be swimming with me.

There were two miles or so to shore and a storm coming, but I refused to think about that either, other than refusing to panic. I kept swimming steady and slow instead of fast, trying to save my strength. The water surged, lifting me up and dropping me down as if it breathed around me. I discovered my faith yet again, and hoped the gods didn't notice I only believed in them under stress. I prayed to Krolen, goddess of salt water. She'd already let me live when I dived overboard, would it be too much of an imposition to make sure I didn't drown?

Were other gods involved? Wasn't Quain to do with journeys? Thet and Galaia might be worth a prayer, as respectively Father of the gods and Mother of the World. Should I hedge my bets and pray to Jent, goddess of fresh water, in case a river exited the land near me, or might that annoy her and Krolen both? I decided Jent surely wouldn't mind. Worship was worship. As a god, to be invoked is to stay alive. Kick, kick. Who was the god of sharks? I flung a prayer to Maia, who I was sure was at least goddess of all the creatures on land, just in case.

Don't think about the sharks. Don't even think about the seaweed. Do not freak out and start screaming about the things you can see, all those dark shapes! Do not look! Do not scream, you must not scream! Start screaming and you stop swimming. Keep kicking! Don't panic! Stop thinking, keep breathing!

Hypnosis, I knew hypnosis! I managed to get momentary control of my breathing and put myself into a trance, where I could function but might no longer be at the mercy of the terror building in me. Prayer was useful, simply as distraction. I was involved in a fight for my life, so Haka, goddess of death, might have a stake in my fate. And where a fight was involved, lest we forget, Zol, god of war. Zol, help me, help me, please. Someone, please. Hadn't I been good? Couldn't Haka put her bloody glasses on and see it was me, her champion? Didn't they want me alive for now? Wouldn't they help me?

Kick, kick, kick. I worked my way through every god I could remember, even the less popular ones like Thelaia, goddess of floozies, and Jalen, god of thieves. I was a generous patron to floozies and my duchy didn't execute thieves. I lifted my head, paused in my swimming, kicked upwards to lift myself right out of the water, and looked around. Where was the shore again?

"There he is!" shouted a sailor. I cursed. One of the ship's dinghies was making for me through a channel in the swell. If I hadn't stopped and looked around at that moment they might have missed me. Beyond the dinghy were even more sailors in a longboat, rowing hard, then both disappeared from sight as the water rose between us. Along with the sailors, I had other problems. I couldn't figure out where land was.

Swimming breaststroke to the top of a swell, I tried again to find the shore. I was a surprising distance from the now heaved-to ship. There was a line of white ahead where the waves were breaking but I couldn't judge the distance. The clouds were covering the moon, making it hard to see even with my good night-vision. Off in the distance was lightning. Was that over the mountains on land? Then I caught a glimpse of the shore, and to my disappointment, it was a long way. I guessed about another five minutes if I swam fast. And all the way the sailors would be chasing me, and they could row faster than I could swim.

In the other direction - and about thirty seconds away - was the dinghy, one man rowing, four others in it. I could make the shore easily in a dinghy. The longboat was angling in, aiming to cut me off. I thought for only a moment before swimming towards the dinghy, over-arm this time, because now the decision was made I couldn't get out of the water fast enough. I swam up begging for help and they looked surprised but relieved as I put out a hand to be hauled aboard. They waved at the longboat, which stopped heading for shore and started heading for the ship. One of them heaved me onboard.

Before anyone could do or say anything, I threw the man who pulled me in straight overboard, going in with my fists and feet on the others. I was Blood and a veteran soldier. They were sailors without a trace of Dragon blood in them. They might like a brawl in port but they didn't like me hitting them and throwing them in the water. The boat was rocking enough to nearly swamp it but one of the men jumped overboard rather than face me, which made it easier.

"Sons of whores!" I shouted. One couldn't swim but the others were holding him up. I looked around, the longboat was less than fifty feet away. They were turning back again, heading for my current position. I best be gone before they made it, so I grabbed for the oars, catching one about to slip through the rowlock, and began making my way as quickly as I could to shore.

At first, being out of the water felt wonderfully warm, then it began to rain. The rain was shockingly cold. The swell began to heave some and the wind picked up, though it wasn't blowing directly out to sea any more. I was drenched and chilled. I thought sourly that the crew had been wearing rain gear. Before throwing the last one overboard I should have taken a raincoat. Or some boots.

I did remember to thank Haka and Krolen, and added thanks to Zol for letting me win a fight. The rest of the gods got a blanket thanks, amid new prayers that I could beat the sailors to shore, and then escape. I was pretty cheerful by then, as it might be cold, but being in a boat beat being in the surf. The storm lashed at the ocean, the water surged and sank, and I pulled as best I could. It was hard not to miss the stroke as the little boat went up the sides of waves then fell with a stomach-churning drop, ending in a jarring slap into the trough the other side. My hands being soft from the water, this was going to tear them up. The knuckles on my right hand were bleeding already, probably from hitting sailors. The rain washed the dark blood away. I really mustn't go back in the water.

The current was going the way I wanted to and the wind was more along the coast instead of away from it. Taking the wind into account, I angled my attack a little and made good progress. I rowed until my arms felt like lead and my hands were burning, then kept going. There was no choice. Like training or the army, I just had to keep rowing. Every so often I looked round, checking my heading. It was always still so far to go.

Finally I looked round at the top of a swell and was closer to shore than I expected, actually coming in to the beach. Please Galaia and all her siblings, I was nearly there. Thet, I thought, maybe I should pray to Thet? I was injured and he dealt with medicine. There was a shout, I looked the other way and saw the now-overcrowded longboat coming. Gods, the bastards were still after me!

Right then my inattention caught up with me. I overshot the top of the swell, dug an oar in and broadsided the wave, which caught the tipping dinghy and flung it through the sky. I went overboard and underwater, thankfully not under the dinghy, and surfaced spluttering. The water was in turmoil, full of bubbles and suspended sand, and hard to swim in. I wasn't sure where the dinghy was, but right then another wave threw it at me. I went under just in time, arms protectively over my head. The dinghy clouted me on the elbow as it went over. I think I did shriek then, caught on my funny bone. As always, I didn't find it funny. I swallowed water, coughing.

Floundering, focused only on getting a breath, then hurled towards the beach, I slid down the face of a breaking wave. I knew what it would do to me, tried to twist and dive back through, even if it was away from where I wanted to go, but as I got my body back into the wave, an avalanche of water fell behind me, grabbed my feet, sucking me inexorably backwards towards the beach, slowly at first, then hurling me into the bottom so hard I was stunned. As if that wasn't enough, the falling water pinned me down for long seconds until I thought I'd drown.

Helpless in the swirling surf, the sand grinding at me, I was rolled over and over like a jewel in a tumbling drum of grit, though sure to be bleeding in several places instead of shining. Out of air and frantic, I kicked out, trying to swim to where I thought up was. To my surprise, one foot broke the surface. I was completely upside down. I somersaulted, surfacing in a heartbeat, suddenly able to suck down air, such beautiful air.

Another wave broke and surged in, taking me with it. My knees abruptly hit the bottom and scraped painfully along as I floundered, then finally staggered to my feet. As the undertow tried to drag me back, I tried to keep moving, before the waves knocked me over again. The cold rain lashing my face made the sea round my knees feel warm. I looked back to see the longboat coming in, still maybe a hundred yards out. The sailors were more adept than I was at dealing with waves.

As if to underline that, I tripped trying to get out of the surge and went face-down. I made my feet and dashed the water out of my eyes as the storm reached a new state of frenzy. Lightning exploded, freezing us all in the stark white light, the wind breaking the silver waves into flying pewter foam. I turned to run. More lightning hit a tree almost on the beach. It was so close that the impact of the noise was like being suddenly punched inside my chest, and I was lifted off my feet, landing again on my knees.

There are dreams where you can't move properly, where action seems mired in treacle. I began to feel as if I was trapped in one of those as the wave broke, surged over and past me, rolled me over briefly in sand-choked surf, then the strong undertow started sucking me back out to sea. Digging hands and toes into the sand, I crawled along, coughing. I looked over my shoulder to see another wave crashing in, and scrambled to my feet again just in time not to be swamped.

Another look back, the longboat was broadsided in the surf, wallowing. I stared. Behind them hung a great black wave, the biggest so far, loitering in the sky as if deciding whether to break or not, and all the time growing up and up.

The rowers were still trying to recover, but in the breakers the weight of the rescued men was slowing them down. Suddenly the water beneath the boat disappeared, sucked back into the immensity of the giant black wave. Oars and keel scraped on the bottom, stopping the rowers dead. Some of the sailors were pointing and shouting at me, others were looking at the wave, hypnotised. One man was shouting, pointing at the wall of blackness towering over them.

I couldn't look away. Lightning struck again, turning everything white, lighting up the boiling clouds and the lace-wracked surf. Then the wave fell on the sailors and broke the spell. I turned and ran.

#### ****

## Chapter 8 - Dragonskin

The sailors might be on the sand in seconds. Against a few of them I could defend myself well enough hand-to-hand, but there must be twenty-five men in the longboat and I was exhausted and chilled to the bone, my body alternately aching and begging to lie down.

I stumbled up the beach, heading for the trees. It was easier to see as I tried to run up the dune, over succulents that broke as I stepped on them, sending me sliding until I was scrambling up a slow-sliding sand avalanche on hands and knees. I was leaving a clear trail, though I didn't know if they could follow it at night, but there was nothing to be done about that for now. At least I didn't have to be quiet. With the constant thunder and driving rain it was hard to hear myself think. I counted the seconds between each flash and the concussive crack and rumble of thunder, but only reached two. Or less.

Glancing back, the longboat was foundering. Though in some disarray, most of the sailors were in the shallows. I hurried down below the sandhill's crest, ran through low dunes and past a smoking, lightning-struck tree, through low scrub that led into bigger trees. Lightning cracked to the ground somewhere along the beach, making the night suddenly day. I saw what looked like a game trail, winding back inland through thick forest. It wasn't ideal, but I was safer in there than on the beach.

The lightning showed the way ahead but also lit my flight for anyone watching. It flashed again. As the rain had been coming down here for some time I was leaving deep footprints, but if the rain kept falling they would wash away soon enough. The sand in my clothes was ripping at my already-abraded skin and they weren't keeping me warm. I ducked behind the first big tree to strip off and tie them round my waist. Better to be nude. I needed a weapon but there were no likely bits of wood lying around. I jogged away from the beach as fast as I dared.

The rain began coming down so hard I didn't have to worry about being seen. Even when the lightning lit up the forest, the visibility was barely ten feet. It meant I couldn't move faster than a hurried walk, but my pursuers couldn't either. I stepped off the path, ducking under the branches of a tree that grew like a willow down to the ground.

The rain was lessened but I felt too close to the path, so left the tree's shelter and headed deeper into the forest. I found a stick at last, not rotten or rough on my hands and about six feet long, enough to use as a staff. Cold and hurting, I was losing sense and strength, needing to hole up somewhere until morning, but the trees were either too big or too small to climb and I couldn't think what else to do. Just stopping on the ground next to one wasn't a real option.

I came to a stream and looked over my shoulder a lot while getting sand out of all the places I had it and rinsing out my clothes. Those hadn't been much to start with, cropped trousers and a shirt, both very worn, given by my captors to replace my heavier 'autumn in the highlands' attire. The lightning seemed to be lessening, but rinsing the sand off brought to my notice all the places where I was cut, scraped, abraded, and grazed. I stung.

Walking across the stream, I remembered something Jansen the dead scout had taught me and waded upstream a while then left the water on a stony patch of bank. My tracks would be nearly invisible even if the storm didn't wash them away. Heading further upstream, thinking to cross over again just to be interesting, I saw a dark shadow on the bank ahead, a cave, or at least a reasonable overhang. I headed for it before it occurred to me that next to the stream might not be a safe refuge.

Aside from it being a dead-end, with the amount of rain falling it seemed even more foolhardy. I walked right up to it though, leaving deep tracks in the mud then jumped away, trying not to leave a clear track. I kept moving and crossed the watercourse again several times. Other than upstream, I had no idea which direction I was travelling in. I was starting to stumble a lot but eventually had the sensible idea to head away from the stream, which was starting to rise. I had moved about twenty feet away from the bank when I heard a strange rumbling, or maybe I felt it in my feet.

It took me precious moments to realise what it was, then adrenaline pumped into my blood and I at last showed some of the sense I was born with. I began to run uphill away from the creek. All the while the rumbling grew, until it was a roaring that shook the earth and I was crawling up an incline on my hands and knees, terrified, grabbing at tussocks of grass and slipping in the mud. I fell over the top of the bank, curled round to see what was behind me. It was too dark down in the creek bed to see, then lightning flashed. The darkness was a bank of earth that seemed to be blocking the creek. Then I realised it was moving and wasn't earth, more a mire of soil, water, branches, and the gods knew what else. It was maybe ten feet above the current creek level and moving fast. I was a smug twenty feet higher. Anyone following me up the creek was a dead man.

Right on cue, lightning lit the opposite bank where a trio of sailors stood shouting and pointing at me. I turned and ran. I don't know how long for. Until I couldn't run any more.

Semi-delirious with effort, I went on at a slower pace for about five minutes, heading higher all the time, before finding a fallen tree. I used my stick to poke under it, dug out a hollow for myself, lined it with branches to keep me off the ground, then wrung my clothes out and put them on, figuring they were warmer than nothing and would at least protect my arse from insects.

Shivering, I tried to erase my footprints then wriggled into the hollow and used another trick of Jansen's, tossed twigs out all around my hiding place. Anyone coming close was likely to tread on one so, providing the storm's noise died down, I'd hear them. I pulled an armful of leaves back against the opening, leaving my stick right there, ready if needed. I lay for a while, listening.

All I could hear was rain thrumming on the log above me, but I was snug and warm, if a bit steamy with my wet clothes. Sometime during the night the rain stopped and my clothes mostly dried out.

Exhausted, I was oblivious.

#### ****

A twig snapped, my eyes opened. It was daylight and I could hear the sailors talking in low voices. They'd spotted my hiding place. During the night my leaves had blown away and I was exposed. It made sense not to wait until they came at me, and I rolled out of there with the staff. As I gained my feet I could see five sailors, cudgels and knives drawn, the captain standing behind them.

"Come on now," the captain said in Anglic, "don't cause trouble. We don't want to hurt you."

"Yes you do," I said, "you're being paid to take my balls back." The captain's eyes narrowed. I wasn't supposed to know about the castration and could see some of the others hadn't known either. I tapped the stick into one hand. "So here's the thing," I said, "I want to hurt you." I smiled and looked at them as if I didn't care if they died. I really didn't. There was muttering. I looked at the men. "Any of you want to take my side in this? I can afford to pay you well. You too captain, more than Young Perry would. I'm a Sendrenese duke, a friend of the Kings of Sendren and Gyr, who will also pay a ransom for me if I'm returned unharmed." I twirled my stick. "Or I'll hurt you. Take your choice. I'm Blood, I'm stronger than any one of you and I've faced hundreds of Sriamans alone. You don't scare me." Despite my brave words I wasn't making any impression. It seemed they were loyal to their captain. Nobody was thinking about my offer. They were trying to figure out how to knock me down without hurting themselves.

I went first for the one who seemed most likely to hurt me. I've mentioned before that fighting is a matter of skill and luck. It's also a simple truism that you must be prepared to get hurt. I was past that and prepared to die. They weren't. I feinted at the man's head with my staff and kicked his knee. Tendons and ligaments snapped. While he was busy screaming, I went after the others. The second one gave me his spare knife, not deliberately. I took it off his belt as I broke several of his fingers throwing him.

Always be aware of what's behind you. I wasn't. I saw the five and the captain but forgot there should be more. Many more. It was my undoing. I killed a man with the knife just as two of the crew climbed over the log and launched themselves, hitting me in the back, then it was like a swarm, men rushing in from all over and more leaping onto the pile from the top of the log. I went down, someone stamped on my wrist and I lost the knife. They had my arms and legs pinned, more bodies across my torso. I struggled, strong enough to throw off one or even two at a time, but not enough to get all of them off me.

" _Hold him down_!" shouted the captain. " _Where's the bloody rope_?"

"Get off me, you bastards!" I yelled. I loosed an arm, used it to punch a sailor in the nose but then three of them jumped on that arm. They held me while others tied my hands and feet, hogtieing me on my belly with a loop around my throat, so my struggles strangled me. They all jumped back. I could only twitch angrily in the damp leaves. Say what you like about sailors, they know their knots.

" _He's crippled Petar and killed poor Gil_ ," said one of them, " _how about we geld the sonofabitch ourselves?_ " There was a muttering. To my horror, as I lay there panting, unable to move, I realised they were seriously thinking of doing it.

" _Hold him!_ " said the captain, and they all lay across my body and rolled me onto my side. I felt cold steel next to my skin as they cut the waist of my trousers down to the thigh. " _Madonna!_ " said the captain. " _What does that to a man?_ " I would realise later he'd seen the dragon-claw scars on my hip.

Someone was grabbing my balls, pulling them away from my body. My balls were trying their best to retract but the man had the neck of the scrotum firmly gripped and their route was blocked. For the second time in less than a day, I was in one of those nightmares where you feel trapped in treacle. You can't get away, can't move. I think I was screaming and choking.

" _Get me a cord_ ," the captain said, " _for a tourniquet! He has to live through this. I want to be able to sell him afterwards!"_ I hadn't seen Cree appear, but he suddenly spoke,

_I would have thought you'd turn into a dragon by now._ Miri had said exactly the same thing to me, the night she forced me into shape-changing at knifepoint.

The panic stopped and white-hot rage filled me. I was going to kill them then I was going to kill Perry. I was the sum of all my parts. I focused everything I had. Everything I was. Blackness was flashing before my eyes as the rope tightened round my throat.

" _Here_ ," said the one who'd suggested they castrate me themselves, " _use my shoelace to tie his balls off. I'd like to wrap it round his neck for what he's done to Petar._ "

" _Captain!_ " said someone else. " _He's strangling himself!_ "

Then everything exploded, but it turned out that was just me.

#### ****

As I learned at sixteen, you don't try to hold onto a dragon. Even a small one. As the sailors discovered, holding onto one around seven feet tall? Mauling is inevitable. Dragon did not need weapons nor armour, not when claws, teeth, size, and tough skin could do the work. Turned out a tail was useful too, especially for lashing out at enemies sneaking up behind.

When I looked around afterwards there were maybe fifteen dead and about ten either seriously wounded or not getting up to fight me. The captain was one of the dead, throat torn out and his own knife buried so deep in his bloody crotch that I could hardly see the hilt. That made me smile. Several of the bodies were missing limbs. One had a head and an arm gone. The animal in me slowly lost ascendance. I tried to take a deep breath. My mouth tasted so vile that I spat, then realised there was flesh caught in my teeth. Claws proved good toothpicks. There was the usual battle aftermath, smells of shit, bile, and copper rising up from ground slippery with viscera and blood, the sounds of men sobbing for their mothers, crying and screaming over the pain.

I looked around, thinking about what to do. None of the crew was any threat, all lying on the ground. Not all wounded, some were doing the sensible thing. Eating dust to live. I spat out something I suspected was human bone.

The man whose knee I broke, Petar, was looking at me. His face was so white with pain that the cheeks seemed stripped of flesh. I saw so many of those faces in the war. I looked back. He made the Kavar sign, touching his belly with forked fingers, to ward the evil that was me away from him.

"I'm not evil," I said in Anglic, my voice not quite the same. I coughed.

"You're not human!" Petar said, his voice a rasping croak less intelligible than mine.

"I am more than human," I said, then coughed and spat again. I spread my wings. "I am Dragon!" I meant it as a triumphant gesture. After all, I was the victor.

Someone laughed. There was jeering, more laughter, even heckling, over it not being a fair fight, with me being stronger than them when I was just Blood, so obviously now as an actual dragon, much more than their match. In fact, they concluded, I was a bully. "So," I said, trying to figure out their ethical stance, with no idea how I ended up in such a discussion, "after you tried to castrate me, I should have walked away while you attacked me from behind, thirty or whatever to one? Until you ran out of energy, at which point I would have the moral high ground?"

"I wouldn't know," said a smirking sailor, "I don't read books." That was a terrifically popular riposte. Those capable laughed and jeered while I tried to hold my temper. The sailors weren't finished.

"Couldn't beat us with his fancy-pants dance fighting," said another man, "so he had to use magic to win." More jeering.

"Lizard boy!" They were being very annoying. I sighed and considered simply killing them all, but even in dragon-shape, premeditated murder for mocking me seemed both unethical and an over-reaction. I wanted to flap my wings but decided not to embarrass myself further in front of a hostile audience and turned to walk away. One of them threw a knife at my back. It bounced off. A knife could penetrate dragonhide but you needed a good lucky shot. I turned around and saw the man who did it. His life force or aura, whatever it was, glowed brighter from the effort. He didn't seem injured but was sensibly staying down.

"That's for the captain," he said, looking angry and scared. I was angry too.

"You should choose your loyalties with more care," I said, and gestured at the captain's body with one clawed hand. "Slavers get what they deserve."

"Slavers?" he said, and spat on the ground. "You're an animal!" I decided not to prove that by tearing him to pieces with my teeth, and walked away. When would I learn there was no use arguing with some people? My current situation seemed exactly like growing up in Lower Beech, where the peasant boys had beaten me up, singly while they could, then in groups, until I could cause a decent amount of damage even to a mob, then blamed me for injuring them.

Meanwhile, I was in scrubby coastal forest. My clothes were gone, a shred of cloth around one wrist the only trace of my shirt. I was a naked dragon who didn't know how to fly. Dragon-shape was quite handy if you were naked, because your bits neatly tucked away into your groin, only coming out if required. If I changed back into human-shape I would be a wingless, hungry, naked man with no handy genital pouch, and stuck on the Kavarlen coast. How hard could flying be? I headed for higher ground, well away from the sailors' jibes.

It was with a sense of excitement that I ran down the slope the other side, flapping my wings. I did glide a way, then at the bottom I crashed, glad for dragonskin protecting my knees. Back up the hill again, and this time I flew. Only a little, followed by another crash, but I flew. Back on my feet I tried a standing take-off.

That was a strain. I dropped back onto clawed toes after rising an inch or so. I took another walk up the hill, flexing my wings, flapping them to see how the lift changed depending on how I curved them. It was like growing a new body part. I corrected the thought, not 'like'. I had actually grown new body parts. Several if you counted my tail. The tail was interesting. I could manoeuvre it quite deftly but it had a mind of its own, and often mimicked the movement of my hands and arms.

I did a running takeoff with a jump and suddenly rose fast through the air, trying not to panic. It was quite scary. I was terrified of stopping flapping my wings. I was also close to petrified of how high it was. Was I afraid of heights? The ground was getting smaller. The actual flying became easier, I could feel the air and it seemed instinctively I knew how to move through it and with it. I also realised I was holding my breath, and suddenly had to gasp for air, a beat of my wings every few seconds enough to keep me up, as if I was swimming in the air. I was hovering maybe two hundred feet up, and it had happened so quickly. It was wonderful. I could see for miles.

The sea was close by, the ship close in behind the breakers, sitting at anchor. There were the smaller vessels pulled up on the beach. There was a man guarding them. I went higher.

#### ****

As I came in hard from the ocean, the guard on the beach was watching the trees. I didn't attack the sailor, only knocked him over and tried to land, but I crashed, rolling over the top of him. When I fell, and rolled as I would in a fight, my wings fortunately followed my body's automatic instinct, folding neatly. I staggered to my feet, shaking off sand.

" _Please_ ," the man on the ground said, tears in his eyes, " _don't kill me_." I remembered the taste of the captain's throat and resisted the urge to spit again.

"I'm not going to kill you," I replied in Anglic. "How many left on the ship?" I flapped my wings to get the sand off them. He looked blankly at me. I bared my teeth a little. "How many on the ship?" I repeated. He looked up the beach. "They're not coming back," I said, "most are dead. The ones alive are going to be busy looking after each other. Busy fashioning tourniquets and splints." I cleaned one of my incisors with a claw. "You can imagine. So, how many on the ship?"

"Six," he said, looking scared.

"Is that enough to sail it?" He nodded. "Tie the boats together," I said, "we're going back." He looked up the hill again as if still expecting rescue from that quarter. I told him again that I'd killed the captain and most of the others.

"Killed them?" he said, as if he too considered my violence an over-reaction. I hissed, exasperated.

"They were about to castrate me," I said, "getting ready to sell me as a slave. It made me nervous." His eyes grew wide. Now he connected their passenger with the strange creature in front of him. I thought it was obvious, but apparently not.

"My brother-" He stopped. I sighed.

"Which one was your brother?" I said, and he described him. "He's fine," I said, "I don't think he's wounded. He was well enough to throw a knife at my back as I left. Which I walked away from, I'm not the uncivilised one here." Obviously, I thought, aside from literally ripping several people apart. "Are we a long way from a town?" He shook his head.

"Lots of towns around."

"Then they'll be fine," I said, "me, I have to get back." I wanted to say, there's a prince's life at stake! But even for a dragon that sounded melodramatic. Besides, these Kavar didn't appreciate the grand gesture. Bit like Sriamans.

"Back to your country?" he said. I nodded. It was easy to see what he was thinking, that it was a long voyage and even monsters had to sleep sometimes. It wasn't mind-reading, just the evasive shift in his eyes. I'd been a non-com and knew what a pretence of acquiescence looked like. I wasn't sure what to do.

The crew would stab me in the back as soon as look at me, and it would take weeks to get back to Lakeleas, the winds not being to our advantage this time of year. I'd heard of people trapped in dragon-shape, and I really didn't want to stay this way too long without trying to change back. Some people got stuck in dragon shape. I didn't want to be a salutary tale told to youngsters, about that Polo Shawcross who's been in dragon shape for forty years.

Maybe I should get the Kavar to take me further up the coast to Ashvarlen, only a few days away, and take ship myself from there. Then I remembered I was in a foreign country with no funds or identification, and ship's captains expected payment in advance.

The sailor was looking at something over my shoulder. I looked round to see the ship heading away from us. They must have been watching the beach. Exasperated, I gestured with both hands in the air, which snapped my wings and tail. Behind me the sailor started running up the beach. I ignored him.

"Why?" I shouted at the ocean. "Why did I leave the bloody army? I was safer there! At least I had clothes! Shoes! A horse to ride!" I felt better for shouting, and reflected that the Northern Front – for all its advantages over Kavarlen - was infested with axe-wielding Sriamans who wanted to torture me and roast me alive. Of course, Kavarlen was full of filthy Kavar who wanted to castrate and sell me as a slave. Which was worse? My current predicament was worse, I decided, as it wasn't my own doing. The army at least was my own fault.

By that logic, this was also my own fault, though it also wasn't, it was Young Perry's. However, if I hadn't been lame and decided to collect Roger the groom at the stables all those years ago, so my horse could go straight back for his feed, Roger and I wouldn't have thrashed Perry after we caught him hitting the poor cob. A cob was a heavy pony, smaller than a horse, but up to carrying an adult. Perry needed something up to that kind of weight. If I hadn't thrashed Perry, I wouldn't have saved him when Magpie attacked, nor outed him as a liar in front of the whole citadel including the king.

There was a thought. If I survived, I must find out if Perry had tried to get revenge on Roger. Or the cob.

Making a sudden decision, I ran a couple of steps, launching myself into the air. It was easier than it had been, part of the trick was definitely the jump on take-off.

#### ****

## Chapter 9 – Contractual Obligations

I flew after the ship, climbing high then diving down to the deck. There I discovered landing on a moving deck was tricky and left some claw marks amidships. The men ran below, but the first mate stood his ground in the wheelhouse, holding the helm with one hand and a short sword with the other.

"Krolen save us," he said in Anglic as I fiddled with the door. "Monster," he shouted, waving the sword, "back to the Underworld. This is Krolen's realm!" I got the door open. Damn claws.

"I thought you were Kavar," I said, standing in the doorway with my arms folded. "Will Krolen help you?"

" _Madonna save us_?" he said. I sighed. He cleared his throat, said it with more vigour, making the sign against evil, fingers against his belly. Calling on gods of two religions? The man was even more of a cynic than I was.

"That's a good performance," I said, "but I'm not a monster or dead. You were happy to have me on board when I was a prisoner." He stood there, sword aloft, and raised his eyebrows, then lowered the weapon cautiously and looked me up and down.

"You looked different with your clothes on," he said. "Are you here to kill us?" I shook my head.

"I'm going below," I said, "to the captain's cabin. I'll leave the ship at Ashvarlen. You'll be free to come back here and collect the survivors."

"Is the captain dead?" I nodded. He looked thoughtful, then smiled. "That's handy. He's got no family. According to our law, as first mate I'm his heir. Stupid idea this voyage, no matter how much it was paying. How many of the crew are left?"

"The man who was on the beach," I said, "and I think ten. Though some of those are badly injured."

"I'll need to take on some more men when we reach port," he said, "to be honest we're a bit short as we stand." He sheathed the short sword, keeping the ship steady by leaning against the wheel. "Can you sail?"

"I've only been sailing a few times, captain," I said, "but I'll do as I'm told." He beamed.

"Being called captain feels fine. Ah, are you going to stay like that?" I shook my head. "Good," he said, nodding. "Bit hard for a dragon to disembark at Craginest Pool." I looked blank. He explained, "That's the harbour at Ashvarlen."

"Ah," I said, "yes. First I'm going to get some breakfast then sleep." He grinned.

"My own ship," he said, "I'll have to think of a name."

"She's not named?" I said, surprised.

"Well, at the moment she's _Blessed Goddess_ ," said the new captain, "but it's traditional I rename her." I nodded.

"What's your name?" I said.

"Rollo. Captain Rollo now." His grin was infectious. "What's yours?"

"You didn't even know my name?" I said, and he shrugged.

"Don't ask no questions," he said, and tapped his nose, "don't get told no lies."

"I'm Polo." He laughed and laughed.

"Polo? And I'm Rollo. Don't you get it, we rhyme!" he said, grinning, and I couldn't help laughing. "Hang on," he said, suddenly frowning, "did you say Polo? You're not Polo Shawcross?" Had he read _Rags to Riches_ too?

"Aye," I said, waiting for some joke about cucumbers.

"Duke of Starshore," he said, and whistled, "holder of the Red Dragon and the Black Dragon." He stared at me. " _Madonna_ ," he said, "the captain, the late captain, that is, kidnapped the most famous soldier in the old kingdoms?" I shrugged. I didn't know I was famous as a soldier. It was a change from being notorious for my sexual exploits. "No wonder the captain came off worst," said Rollo, "though I imagine that trick helped some. Is that how you won your medals?" I realised he meant dragon-shape.

"No," I said, "I only just found out how to do this." Rollo looked impressed.

"Handy." I could only agree.

"Aye," I said, "the crew had me tied up, and the late captain was about to cut my balls off."

"They say hanging concentrates the mind," he said, pulling a face, "I'm thinking imminent castration might have a similar effect." I smiled.

"It did for me," I said. "By the way, why were you praying to Krolen? She's one of the Kingdom pantheon." He shrugged.

"I live in a religious country," he said, "when there I pray to the Madonna, but she was afraid of water. I first crewed on a Kingdom ship so got into the habit of praying to Krolen the Kingdom goddess. The captain, the late captain, hedged his bets, called this ship _Blessed Goddess_ after Krolen. Besides the Madonna's not officially a goddess but a prophet." Pragmatic didn't cover it.

"Do you know why the Disembowelled Madonna didn't like bathing?" I said. I'd asked the same question of Captain Ernst back in Sendren, he didn't know.

"No idea," Rollo said, "I suspect madness. We all have to pay for a crazy woman's psychosis."

"I think being afraid of water is a phobia," I said, "though I'll not argue she was psychotic. You read?" His teeth showed in a smile again through his beard. I really couldn't have stood being Kavar. All that hair. I itched just looking at Rollo.

"Aye," he said, "but not on board, and don't tell the others. I pretend I only read porn, means I fit in. Now, I don't know much about madness, but I know the Madonna was crazy. I read up when I was interested in my own family, turned out it applied to her too." I smiled.

"I read up enough to realise my mother was crazy."

"All mothers are crazy," said Rollo, sounding gloomy. "Letting one start a religion, especially a frustrated mother, that's asking for trouble. Like the saying goes, letting a short man go into government always means a war." He shook his head. I didn't have time to think about that one. "Take the wheel and stay here for a few minutes," he said, "I need to explain what's going on to the crew."

"Aye captain," I said. I had to be careful of my claws on the wooden wheel. Captain Rollo stood watching for a minute or so, checked I really could steer to beginner level. The wind was steady so he went below and explained the new mode of operations to the others.

Once he came back I headed below to the captain's cabin. It was pretty rank in there but there was a bolt for the door. I slid it into place then settled in to try to change back. Thankfully the change was fine, though shape-changing still hurt more than stitches without anaesthetic.

As had happened the one other time I changed shape, my various scrapes, bruises, and cuts healed without conscious intention. The late captain and I being about the same size, there were clothes that would fit but they'd need washing out first, so I borrowed a pair of shorts and a shirt from another cabin that didn't reek so badly, leaving the captain's open to air.

After food and a smoke I felt better, so took a deep breath and braced myself for a long search of the captain's quarters.

#### ****

To my surprise it didn't take long at all. At the most I was hoping for a note that might implicate Perry or one of his staff, maybe something cryptic in the diary but - in a pigeonhole in a little fold-up writing desk - was the captain's copy of the contract, an actual paper contract signed by the late captain and one Peregrine Theodore Westwych, Prince of Sendren. Perry always had considered himself above the law, and I supposed he never thought anyone from Sendren would see the paperwork.

Under the desk was a small strongbox containing bags of coin, the largest by far being a hundred golds, which the contract said was the amount of the deposit. That was about twenty year's wages. There was even a receipt, it and the contract were signed by both parties and witnessed. Dumbfounded, I sat on the bed reading over it all, trying not to breathe too deeply. I couldn't believe my luck.

As the captain had told the crew member, the balance of their contract, four hundred more golds, was payable on receipt of ' _the testicles of the aforesaid Polo Shawcross_ ' as the contract put it. They mentioned me by name, over and over. My balls were to be accompanied by something that attested to the authenticity of the ' _souvenirs_ ' and by a chit for my sale from a registered Kavar slaver. I looked at the date and shook my head. The contract was arranged while Azrael was in the north persuading me to come home. There was more correspondence planning exactly when I would be ready for collection.

Wait, those witnesses to the contract. Had I killed them when I wiped out most of the crew? Waving the contract, I hurried to the bridge, causing several of the crew to openly make the Kavar sign to drive away evil. I ignored them and asked Rollo if he knew the signatories. He said they were staff at the captain's lawyers in Keller Mount.

"I know them from other times in port," he said, "and I saw him." He was pointing at Perry's signature. "At least I think it's this Peregrine Theodore Westwych, younger than you? Bossy little bastard. Short and really fat." Rollo held his hands wide, "with black hair, big blue cat's eyes?" I nodded. Cat's eyes were what the eyes that showed Dragon sign were called. They usually saw well in the dark, but most didn't have the vertical pupil of a cat, unless in dragon-shape.

"That sounds like Perry," I said. Rollo looked thoughtful.

"I know the captain said he'd never seen any of them before they turned up on the dock," he said, "offered a fortune. It was so much he didn't even quibble. Captain cursed later about it, wishing he'd bargained more, because he reckoned he could have got it. Five hundred gold pieces, you must have the most expensive balls on the planet. To a man like the captain, you were gold on the hoof. At least your testicles were," he said, frowning at the mixed metaphor. I was frowning too. I couldn't help noticing that some of the other sailors were looking at me as if they thought I was still a man with golden balls.

"The men with Perry," I said, "anything you remember about them?"

"There was a man, light eyes, but not cat's-eyes. Mean face. Seemed to be the main lieutenant," Rollo said and frowned. "Fred? Frank? Something like that." I remembered the light-eyed man outside the castle that morning in Port Azrael. I described his face as angular, but mean also fitted. Rollo looked past me, not evasively, just checking rigging, sails, sea and sky, feeling the currents of air and water with his hands and feet.

"The captain already had lawyers in Lakeleas?" I said, and Rollo nodded.

"Merchant ships always need lawyers," he said. "We often did the Lakeleas-Kavarlen run, so lawyers there made sense." He gave me a shrewd look and said, "We won't be putting in there again." A sailor smirked at me, saw me notice, and pretended to be busy with a rope. He could smirk all he liked. I was holding the evidence of Young Perry's plot to have me castrated and enslaved.

For Perry this might mean either hanging, exile, gaol for few decades, or at the least – if he pleaded insanity - to be locked up in an asylum. I wrapped the contract in some bioplas I found in the galley then put it a sealed bioplas bag, which I tucked cheerfully into my shirt pocket.

After some thought I handed the coin to Rollo for the crew, less what Rollo said was enough for me to stay in Kavarlen for up to a month plus passage back to Sendren and travel at the other end, extra for some decent clothes and a bit spare in case of emergencies. That barely dented the pile. I wondered whose coin Perry used. Probably his allowance from Theo, or was he taking more than his share from somewhere else? Perhaps someone was funding him, there were bound to be some duchies in Sendren who thought they might do well out of Young Perry as king.

#### ****

Though I tried to wash the captain out of his clothes they reeked even after a third bucket of soapy water. I also gave up any hope of using his cabin. Despite being open for a day it didn't smell any better. Rollo gave me some trousers and a shirt, the former too short in the leg but the rest fine. They smelled suspiciously clean, and I mentioned it when nobody else was around.

"The late captain was devout," Rollo said, "he didn't even wash himself on sea voyages like most of us do. Now to my mind a man's not supposed to live encrusted with salt. It chafes. Besides, we put into foreign ports, and foreign brothels often have signs up saying _No Kavar_. However, they go by their noses. If we're clean they'll let us in." He shrugged. "So we wash on the outward voyage then let it build up on the way home. Not every Kavar is a believer, but it's not worth your time to fight the priests. Not worth your neck, either. The captain though, he was proud of never having washed in his life."

"Never, really?" I said. "He did smell bad." Rollo tapped his nose.

"Of course, he didn't count falling overboard, wading into beaches or being on deck in storms." I laughed. Everywhere I went people were doing stupid or cruel things for the sake of rules, whether religious ones or army regulations.

"Anyway, captain," I said, "I'll leave it to you to share out the coin. I'm guessing the families of the dead men might appreciate some of it. And the injured ones. If you're prepared to sign one, I want a receipt. You won't be asked for the coin back. I only need proof that the contract was part-paid in the Sendrenese golds which were on this ship. You could sign as an uninvolved member of the crew?" He nodded.

"I think that's fine." I was kidding myself if I hoped the crew might think more of me for giving them the coin.

They all kept making that forked finger sign against their bellies while calling me _devil_ and _lizard_ in Kavar.

#### ****

## Chapter 10 – Welcome to Kavarlen

Although concerned that something had happened to either King Theo or Azrael, or was about to happen, there was nothing I could do, so I tried to relax. I considered flying home, then decided that was a nice idea, but crossing the ocean on a non-stop flight was impossible. There were islands to land on, but I needed charts and a compass plus camping equipment. Trying to navigate and fly over water seemed a recipe for getting lost.

Besides, what if I crashed? Landing on water was as bad as hard ground if you fell from the skies, and I didn't think I could take off from water. Also, sharks could eat dragons. If I instead took ship directly to the west coast of the Old Kingdoms, and flew once I made land, I still couldn't fly all day and night.

By horse from the west coast to Sendren was at least a ten-day journey that would be quicker as a dragon, though I'd still need food and rest no matter what shape I was. I really was tired of roughing it. Changing shape twice a day every day to stay at inns would likewise take it out of me physically and mentally.

When I wasn't on duty to help sail the ship, I hid below and practised shape-changing. I began to find a kind of ease in the actual change. It still hurt, so much that if someone was right next to me, I might kill them just to take my mind off it. Changing also drained my energy, though I found eating helped both restore my strength and keep it up.

My thoughts turned to the dead crew. Did I regret killing them? Did I feel bad? Had I ever felt bad, really? I was beginning to think I wasn't normal. Then I remembered I could shape-change, so obviously, I wasn't within hailing distance of normal.

Dragon, on the other hand, as part of their makeup, were supposed to be able to kill without feeling anything. I thought about the brawl where I killed three boys at the guild, and then about my war career. I could feel sorry that they were dead, yes. However, it had been self-defence. It was a shock, but more upsetting was that they tried to kill me. Then I found Young Perry put them up to it. Their blood was on his hands, not mine. Same with the sailors. I even offered them an out. A paid one.

As for all the Sriamans? I was a soldier. Kill or be killed went with the job. If I'd ended up filled with hate like some of my fellow soldiers, having to be pulled ravening off the corpses of the enemy or worse, off their tortured but still live bodies, then I'd have something to feel bad about. The Sriaman I let go? I felt fine about him by then. As Zol taught us, a sense of mercy marks the good soldier.

It was an unpleasant voyage, with only Rollo speaking to me and the other sailors sneering. The crew knew I killed their friends, some of them their family, and ideally wanted to kill me then get back to rescue the survivors. They resented carrying _that murdering Kingdom bastard_ as I heard myself described. That I was an unwilling participant in their plot to make their fortunes didn't seem to make a difference.

Rollo and I said goodbye at Craginest Pool. Although I'd grown fond of him, I was never so glad to get off a ship. At least, up until that time in my life, it was the worst voyage I'd experienced.

#### ****

It was the rainy season in the north of the kingdoms, up in Blackrock, but in north-eastern Kavarlen it was dry, so hot the air burned my nose as I breathed it in. Ashvarlen was hot. Baking, burn-your-skin-to-blisters hot. I remembered Captain Ernst on the _Lady of Starshore_ saying although it was warm enough to swim all year round, the priests banned swimming. To add to my discomfort, I was bearded.

Rollo had told me clean-shaven men might run into trouble, like mobs throwing stones at them. There was a saying in Sendren, 'cantankerous as a Kavar.' In that heat, not allowed to bathe or swim and with a beard, I was past cantankerous myself.

"And don't laugh in public," Rollo warned me. I was bewildered at that.

"Laugh?"

"Laughing is forbidden," he said, "except inside your own home. Punishable by stoning."

"Really? Stoning?" I said. He mimed throwing a rock. "Gods."

"Aye," he said, "but it's how it is. Try not to smile. Take cabs. You don't want to be on foot through Ashvarlen. Not with those eyes." Aside from anything else, I didn't want to be on foot through Ashvarlen because my boots had gone mouldy during the voyage and I had no shoes. The sailors all went barefoot on the ship, easier to climb the rigging they told me, back when they spoke to me.

Kidnapped while wearing clothing suitable for the southern highland kingdoms in late summer, I was now in what felt like a desert. If I tried to walk around in my clothes I'd faint, so had on tatty sailor gear with bare feet. My only luggage was some Sendrenese golds, my old clothes minus the boots, and some paperwork, all in a canvas bag that belonged to a dead sailor.

The wharf looked normal, if a bit untidy in places, which in my experience of wharves was normal, but as I headed into the large worn stone port building a smell rose which made my eyes water. I automatically looked for its source, before realising I knew the smell, the same stench that had come off the late captain. It was the people of the port. There were no port controls for incoming people, so after changing some money I walked through onto an unkempt forecourt with a semi-circle drive.

The heat hit like a hammer on an anvil. I stopped before completely leaving the shade. The borders where I'd spent time fighting the Sriamans had been hot, but it was the kind of heat that although uncomfortable, you could live through, given cold drinks and showers. This heat was different. And the smell.

Although I was in the open, the smell of Ashvarlen made me want to find a window. I had never seen a place so filthy. Rubbish was blowing around, the buildings looked dusty, and I wasn't interested in any of the Kavar women. I imagined courting while trying to stay upwind of one's sexual partner. 'The scent of a woman' took on a completely new connotation, especially in the heat. One walked close to me and I nearly retched. The men were likewise unappealing. The reek of the men was even worse, as their body odour was stronger. Many people's skin was grey with white flakes and red spots. Despite my beard, I stood out like a white horse in a group of black ponies.

I decided Sriamans were cleaner, and many of the ones I'd met were living in nomadic bands, warriors who travelled through a war zone then returned to their wives and families for six months a year. The other six months they took advantage of not having women around and drank, raided Kingdom farms and villages, and killed Kingdom men.

True, they often wore beards or long hair, but they washed themselves and braided or tied up hair and beards. I knew they also washed their own clothes, having walked into enough Sriaman washing lines in the dark. I supposed a Sriaman burial pit smelled worse than Ashvarlen in the sun, but they didn't tend to dig those anywhere near their camps.

As far as I could see, their dead were the only thing Kavar didn't throw into the streets. In the open were a number of very feral-looking pigs, cats, and dogs, rooting through the rubbish and adding their own stench to the delightful soup that passed for air. I blinked, my eyes watering as a gust of hot wind blew from the city to me. A young boy hurried up, looking solemn. Was the boy a slave? He looked filthy and downtrodden, but so did everyone.

"Hello sir," he said in Anglic, surprising me, "you like nice handkerchief with a little peppermint oil? Hold it to your face, sir. Settles the stomach, sir, good for those just ashore."

A deal was rapidly struck. I took two. I could breathe, if only through folded layers of cheap cotton. Blessed, scented, cheap cotton. I remembered this was how, Captain Ernst had travelled through the very pungent Painted Dragon Bay when we'd travelled to the north, a mint-scented handkerchief over his mouth and nose. I could only think he'd gone soft since he'd left Kavarlen, as the Painted Dragon Bay's mudflats seemed nothing compared to the oozing suppuration that was Craginest Pool. My young friend gave me a pitying look, used to stunned tourists. "You need cab, sir?" he said. "My father has cab. Will take you to Enclave." The Kavar were funny about strangers and Rollo had advised me that under no circumstances should I sightsee in Ashvarlen first. "Come, sir, my father will take you to a hotel."

"Aye," I said, distracted from the scenery. Rollo had explained getting through the city to the foreigners' hotels in Enclave, where foreigners could live or stay. "I do need a cab, where's your father?" The boy pointed. A very hairy man was waving from next to a low-sided carriage with a three-sided canvas awning, open at the front, and the sides of which were rolled up. The carriage was pulled by a dusty-looking strawberry roan horse wearing a floppy straw hat. The man was about five-foot-three, stocky, and wearing a hat like his horse's. I wished for a hat too. I would buy one the moment I bought some clothes. I tried breathing through my nose and discovered that though the nausea was easing, the air was still searing. For a moment it felt as if my nostril hairs were being burned off. I went back to breathing shallowly through my mouth and the handkerchief. I wasn't alone. A number of people who looked and smelled like locals had their own handkerchiefs to their faces.

"Kingdom man," called Straw Hat Man, in passable Anglic with a nasal accent, "aye sir? Cab?"

"Aye," I said, thanking the boy, heading quickly for his father. The ground was a little warm. "Enclave hotel?" I called back, starting to hurry. "Take me to register?"

"Enclave, yes sir, get you registered. I know good hotel there for you, sir."

"Good," I said, "how much to take me?"

"Only two dollar, sir." That seemed reasonable, the handkerchiefs cost that much, so I assented on the run and he had the door open as I reached him. I leapt in, feet burning.

The family had a nice little earner going. Everyone would buy a handkerchief so make a good profit on those. You might not always make them take your cab, so make that very cheap and appealing. I settled myself as the driver shook the reins and clucked to the horse. As the reins fell across its back they cleaned off an area of hide. It wasn't a strawberry roan - a white coat speckled with brown - after all, but was a bright dark brown under the layer of dust. Straw Hat Man called to the boy in Kavar as we began to move forward. By then my understanding of the Kavar language was reasonable. The boy was told to go home once the latest arrivals were through, and tell his mother that Father was gone to Enclave. I thought it best to pretend I didn't understand.

As we left the port authority area the horse's brisk trot created a pleasant breeze. The awning shaded my head and, while not exactly cool, I was much more comfortable. The driver turned sideways, talking over his shoulder to me.

"Welcome to Ashvarlen, sir."

"Thank you, that's nice of you. I'm surprised you and your son speak Anglic, is that common?" The man shook his head. He was very shaggy, with a full beard and long hair. I wanted to scratch and fan myself just looking at him.

"Not at all, sir. My grandfather was a Kingdom man, from Silversea on the west coast. Perhaps you know it?"

"Know of it," I said, "never been there. I'm from the centre, place called Sendren."

"I have heard of it, sir. My grandfather taught my father and his siblings about the kingdoms. Sendren is on the Great Star Lake, no?" I nodded.

"It is. Have you been to the Kingdoms?" He shook his head again, setting all the hair moving, and me itching again, though I tried not to scratch.

"Not I, sir, my father and his siblings all grew up in Enclave speaking Anglic. My father left Enclave but we children all learned the Kingdom language. He thought it was good for us to know. The best jobs in the city are in the tourist trade or in Enclave itself. It means I have a chance to get a permanent job in Enclave, which would be good for the children."

"Oh?" I said. "Well, it is a pleasant surprise. I was worried I wouldn't understand anyone."

"First time here, sir?" he said.

"Aye," I said, "I don't know much about Kavarlen." That was the opening the cab driver was hoping for. He had a thousand bits of information to impart. Occasionally I asked questions but I mostly listened and looked around.

"Rather than an ash wood, sir," was one of his nuggets, "as many assume, Ashvarlen was named for a king."

"Oh?" I said politely. "Tell me, why are you called the Kavar? Does that mean something?"

"No idea, sir, it was another king's name. Very long ago, Emperor Ka Varlen, and we all became the Kavar of Kavarlen."

"Ka?" I said, "Interesting name."

"Strange," said the driver, "what his mother was thinking, the Madonna only knows." He turned a bit so I could see him tap his nose. "I suspect it's made-up, sir. Now we have good names, always from the Scriptures. I am Cassimski after the Madonna's first husband, the Blessed Cassimski. He was a foreigner, but my mother was devout. She ran out of holy people to name us after, me being the fourteenth child and it being unlucky to name your children after yourselves or your siblings. Between Da's seven brothers and her eight there weren't many options. Us being foreigners on my father's side, the priests said Cassimski was appropriate and might even be lucky." As trained to be during my time at Court, I was polite no matter how strange the story might seem.

"Cassimski is a good name. I'm Polo," I said, "nice to meet you, Cassimski."

"A pleasure it is, sir." Cassimski prattled on, telling me about his family, a seething multitude thanks to those thirteen siblings, his cousins, and his own six children, who were all grown up now except the youngest, who helped his father a few hours a day.

The cab went past what I guessed were some slaves roped together, followed by two men carrying short whips. I checked with Cassimski who said yes, the slave market was not far away, just inland from the port, and the string were on their way there to be sold. I was very thankful for my own narrow escape.

"Do you keep slaves, Cassimski?" I said, feeling curious.

"Only two, sir," he said, "both born-slaves. We're a poor family, though not so poor we're starving, just so poor that we do jobs like cab-driving."

"You can inherit slaves?" I said.

"Of course, sir. From my father." I hadn't considered the ramifications of being owned. One was property.

Cassimski confided that he was hoping his mother-in-law followed her late husband and died, so his wife, an only child, would inherit a house, house slaves and a dozen breeding slaves, none of them over twenty-five. I made interested noises, trying not to sound shocked. "Mother-in-law usually sells the children on the moment they turn sixteen," Cassimski explained, "says it's how to make the most profit. Buy 'em young, get the fun out of them, then sell trained and broken, ready for a life of service. Some people won't let them read or write but she says they make better staff if they can do sums and read."

"Oh?" I said. I felt slightly ill.

"It all adds value. When my father-in-law was alive, if they weren't virgins he'd sell the females pregnant. Shows they're fertile and buyer gets a premium of two for the price of one. People like the gamble on whether it will be boy or girl." That reminded me.

"Are the males slaves gelded?"

"Not young," said Cassimski, "stops them growing well. None of mine are, but mine are both born-slaves. Usually gelding is only if they keep causing trouble after about eighteen. Worst are the older ones not born to slavery, they won't stop trying to escape." Gods.

"What happens then?" I said. Cassimski was philosophical

"Depends on the owner. Sometimes they're gelded, sometimes lamed, sometimes both, maybe just sold to the plantations. Gelding doesn't work on the older ones, they just get angrier. They can be hung of course, slaves aren't allowed to escape, but usually the owner just asks for them back. Doesn't usually happen with born-slaves, they're the most sought-after."

"What's a born-slave?" I said, and Cassimski laughed, as if it was obvious.

"Children born to a slave," he said. I nearly retched and tried to breathe through the handkerchief. I was pretty sure throwing up in the street would be as frowned upon as laughing.

"Babies become slaves?" I asked, still thinking I must be mistaken.

"Oh aye," said Cassimski, turning to look at me, "a slave is property. Children are property of the father. If the father's a slave, so cannot have property, or the child's father is owner of the mother, any children are property of the master. Though parents sell children too. If your wife's found by the priests to be a heretic, you can sell her - if her parents don't want her back to try to re-educate her - and you can sell any child up to twelve. Or if you sell yourself, everything you own goes with you, so children under sixteen who aren't already working go too." He gave a small twitch to his mouth, and I realised he was suppressing a smile. He brought his hand up quickly to cover this sin. Meanwhile I was stunned and sickened. Yes, I'd known Kavarlen allowed slavery, but the reality was horrifying. Trafficking in people, it didn't seem possible. Not in the modern world.

"So how do adults become slaves?" I said. "Unless they sell themselves or if it's a woman or child, their husband or father does?"

"Depends, sir," Cassimski said, "foreigners in Kavarlen travelling directly to or from Enclave and the port, they're fine, but any others might be made slaves. You have to be registered or about to be, like you, sir." I frowned.

"What if foreigners are kidnapped in their own countries?"

"Well, far as I know, sir, any foreigner who's unregistered is liable to be caught and sold, no matter how he got here. If you headed away from the Pool on foot, maybe decided to go for a walk before registering, someone could make you a slave." Rollo's emphasis on going straight to Enclave to register made sudden sense.

"That's a strange law," I said. He nodded.

"Supposed to keep our culture pure, sir." I repressed my natural inclination to tell him how disgusting I thought his culture was.

"I imagine it would." I was also imagining what might have happened if I hadn't dived overboard and managed to change shape. On landing at Craginest Pool I was going to run from the ship. The local law meant I'd be liable to capture and enslavement.

"Some people go into slavery willingly, to pay off debt," said Cassimski, "but it's dangerous. Easy enough to charge an indentured slave enough for board that they never earn their way out. And your children born before or while you're owned stay with the slave owner. Mother-in-law likes babies, often whelps a girl before she sells her on, gets to keep the child." The conversation seemed surreal, as if I was imagining it all.

"So," I said, in a normal tone, as if discussing farming with one of my ducal tenants, "your mother-in-law buys young children, then sells them on grown?"

"Aye, that's it, sir. Takes them at about six. Easier to have them away from the mother then. Mother-in-law likes children, you see, teaches them reading and writing along with house and yard work, how to please one's owner. My wife's trained ours, they're both about thirty. My father only trained them to garden. They've done an excellent roof garden and look after the horses well, though I can't risk them driving."

"No?" He shook his head.

"My Kavar customers wouldn't like it, sir, and that kind of freedom? Even a born-slave might think about running for the west." I could well imagine.

"What's in the west?"

"Wild country in the far west," he said.

"Oh? Is it worth it, I mean, owning a man?" He raised the hand not holding the reins, and held it flat, as if to indicate the balances of it being worth it or not were about even.

"Well, the garden crops my slaves raise help the budget, and they're good at house- and yard-work, but if the mother-in-law doesn't drop off soon I'm going to have to sell them, no matter everyone in our street thinks we're rich with two."

"Cost too much to keep?" I said. He shook his head and turned to look at me again.

"It's the wife, sir. I'm nearly fifty, working twelve-hour days. Our slaves are big strong boys, twins. Wife's family have trained pleasure slaves for generations. Wife's been training these lads. They've become very good at pleasuring their owners. Or at least one of their owners." He sighed and looked front. He sounded broken-hearted. "I caught her washing herself the other day when it wasn't her turn." I made a sympathetic noise. "Women, sir, they are the sane man's burden." I blinked.

"Are they?" He turned back to me.

"It's a saying of the Madonna's, sir," he said, "though I think she meant we should welcome the burden of women. Personally I'd prefer another horse. It would earn more money and eat less." He chuckled to himself, hand over his mouth to hide his laughter. Keeping my handkerchief in place, I made an amused sound that was really a horrified choking noise made to sound like an amused sound. I had learned to hide my reactions while coming of age at various Royal Courts, and hide them I did.

The road kept close to the harbour on our right. The horse trotted along the narrow street, Cassimski steering us around the biggest piles of rubbish. It was surprisingly easy. There wasn't much wheeled or mounted traffic. Most of the people were on foot. The men wore long shirts with trousers, but the women's clothes were outlandish.

It was usually insulting if one said, "That dress looks like a sack on her," but some of the Kavar women were wearing real hessian, possibly even real sacks, with rough conical bonnets of similar material. Yes, I decided, actual sacks. I stared, caught myself and looked away. Others wore heavy black 'dresses' with long sleeves, both the length of their skirts and their sleeves overdone so both dragged on the ground, making them look like walking inkblots.

"Nuns," said Cassimski, noting me trying not to stare.

"Nuns?" I said, not understanding.

"Slaves of the Church," he said.

"Actual slaves?"

"No, but in practice, yes. They enslave themselves to the Patriarch and the other priests, do all the work, and provide sexual favours."

"Sex too?" He nodded.

"Only if they don't enjoy it. Anyone who shows enjoyment isn't suited for the order." He covered a smile. "My wife would never qualify. It's for the most devout, those for who the sacking isn't enough punishment."

"Punishment? What have they done?"

"They're women." Women wanting to punish themselves for being women? Gods. The city was less crowded as we moved away from the port but still, everyone was on foot, none of the multitude of horses and wheeled traffic there'd be in a Kingdom city.

After a little while I fancied I could tell the people who were slaves, there was something dead in their eyes, but all the people looked bedraggled. During the war I saw men who were captured by Sriamans, tortured, then freed before they could be killed. Until they realised they were safe, there was the same look in their eyes. It was made at least in part of despair, from being at the mercy of someone who wasn't likely to show any. Cassimski was talking about sights to see in Ashvarlen. The cathedral was the main one.

"On the very place where the Disembowelled Madonna had her intestines spilled on the cobblestones, sir. It's quite safe for tourists. I can take you. I'm a registered tourist guide." He showed me an ornate licence covered in bioplas and gave me a brochure in Kingdom Anglic. Permits, identification, and licences were the only use of bioplas I saw in Kavarlen. The Tourist Guide licence entitled the bearer to conduct guided tours of local places of interest without the tourists needing any special permits. The brochure explained the registered guide scheme and what one was allowed to do.

Cassimski pointed ahead. "Enclave District, sir. It's a peninsula of land north of Craginest Harbour, gifted to foreigners who wanted to live in the land of the Kavar." A wall across the road came into view, then a guarded gate. At the gate Cassimski showed his licence, not the official tourist guide one but another, and announced he was taking a foreigner to registration. The guards looked at me, saw my eyes and waved us through. I saw Cassimski's shoulders relax and even his horse seemed more cheerful, ears pricked, paying attention to its surroundings. The cab entered a different world.

After Ashvarlen City and Craginest Pool, Enclave was bright, festive, and incredibly clean. It was suddenly cooler, the air fresher. We immediately entered shade, thrown from massive trees along the side of the road. Down the centre of a double boulevard was an avenue of more great trees. There were planters of geraniums edging the wide roadways, the verges were grass with neat pavements, and the road surface itself had no potholes. I marvelled at the scene, wondering how many of Ashvarlen's residents knew that the Paradise promised by the Madonna was on the other side of the high wall round Enclave?

We passed a cafe with canvas chairs and simple round tables, doing a roaring trade in coffee, cake, and iced fruit drinks. To shield customers from the relentless sun there were coloured canvas awnings strung between the big trees. The people looked so shiny. Some squealing toddlers chased each other, so clean they almost sparkled, with mothers or nannies looking on indulgently and chatting. The women wore bright-coloured dresses in silks and cottons, and I even saw men without beards. We trotted through a flash of sunlight, then back into shade. It was still hot, but suddenly it was just hot, not unbearable. In the heat it was nice to have women to watch. I tried to think of a time of year when it wasn't nice to have women to watch. Some were sitting around on benches under the trees, baskets of shopping at their feet, talking and laughing. Cassimski made the sign to ward off evil, quite surreptitiously. I leaned forward and said softly,

"If it's not rude to ask, why are those people evil?" Cassimski touched his nose.

"Laughing in the street, sir." It struck me that, as Captain Rollo and I had discussed, the Madonna had imposed her own neuroses on her cult's followers. Phobic over water and sure everyone was laughing at her, she outlawed washing and laughter. We passed a group of young women. They saw me and whispered, giggling. I gave the young women a smile. Cassimski was making the forked finger sign against his belly again.

"Don't mind me, sir," he said, sounding brave, "I'm superstitious." I was close to laughing at Cassimski, but bit my cheek, not wanting to offend him.

The cab pulled into an impressive gated entrance that announced in neat gilt lettering _The Hotel Imperial - Rooms, Meals, Foreigner Registration_. The gates were open, and the wheels of the cab crunched smartly down a gravelled drive that swung through lush tropical gardens crisscrossed with tinkling watercourses. The road went over little bridges and under large trees. I would have happily slept in the well-kept grounds but after a short and pleasant journey we arrived under the port-cochere of a substantial three-storey building, wide shaded verandas all the way round on every level. Staff in smart livery moved quietly, bringing drinks and food to anyone who needed them.

"Here we are, sir," said Cassimski, "best hotel in Kavarlen, the Imperial." A doorman hurried down the steps to greet us. I wanted to sob and throw myself on his tasselled epaulettes, like someone lost in the wilderness for months who suddenly reaches civilisation. Even the army was better than my recent experiences. Instead I tipped Cassimski and thanked him for the tourist information.

"My pleasure, sir," he said, "want me to come back, take you to the cathedral?" Why not, I decided. I thought of myself as a student of religions, I should prove it by investigating this one.

"I need to get a ship berth first," I said, "and shop. I have no clothes or shoes. I would not wish to disrespect the cathedral by being-" I hesitated, having nearly said unclean, but that was holy here, "-by being badly dressed." He laughed.

"The Madonna does not mind, sir, you could come as you are."

"I could?"

"Yes, sir. However I can take you shopping, too. There are good places here in Enclave. You want to check in, then come back, we go shopping?" In the end he waited, watering his horse while I checked in. Reception looked at me funny at first, then saw my eyes, and suddenly were all smiles. The concierge gave me a card inscribed with a number and, _Polo Shawcross, Temporary Resident Alien, c/o the Hotel Imperial, Enclave._

The room was better than expected and I didn't care what the Madonna thought. I was hot, sweaty and desperate to be clean, so had a quick but blissful shower before we went shopping.

#### ****

## Chapter 11 – Tourist

With Cassimski advising me on suitable garb for a pilgrimage to the cathedral, I selected a hat, plain sandals, and a very drab long shirt - more a tunic - worn over loose trousers. The outfit was a sober brown but I cheated a little, it was very good quality cotton. I added some underwear, a change of clothes to be sent back to the hotel for me, some more handkerchiefs and my own bottle of peppermint oil.

That last turned out to be essential. Though getting used to the smell of Cassimski, the combined aroma of hundreds of pilgrims in the cathedral was almost enough to bring me to my knees. I muffled a cough and casually sniffed the uncapped peppermint oil bottle, hidden in a handkerchief, until I could breathe without retching. My guide said the beggars allowed to sit in the foyer contributed to the fug.

"Beggars?" I'd read books with beggars but never seen one. I tried not to stare. Cassimski nodded.

"People without jobs. It's a problem here." I tried not to gasp at the notion of people who were unable to find work and who would starve if they did not ask others to fund them. No pensions in Kavarlen, no veterans' hospitals, and no assistance for the poor. Suddenly I understood those who sold themselves into slavery. In the Kingdoms, the temple would always feed, clothe, and even house the poor, if a duchy didn't have any suitable accommodation. And jobs? Everyone could usually do something, and if they couldn't then they needed help. The notion of just cutting people adrift was so alien to me I had to concentrate so as not to shout my horror.

"Is there much unemployment?" I said. Cassimski nodded.

"Of course. If you can have a slave do the work, why pay a man?" He shrugged. "Only the stubborn beg rather than become slaves. At least slaves get fed. However it's considered a good deed to give to the poor at the churches, so begging here gives us all an opportunity to be holy." Holy, my arse, I thought, but put dollars in every begging cup. Enough, Cassimski assured me, to feed a man for few days. The beggars tried not to smile or be too happy, but there was much coughing and sudden onset pain among them as they thanked me politely, Cassimski translating their words, mainly the blessings of the Madonna on me. I nodded, trying not to smile, handkerchief firmly over my nose.

Thankfully, it was understood that some people just couldn't stand the air in the place so it was socially acceptable to use some kind of nosegay or stagger about with eyes watering, sneezing, and fumbling for one's supply of scent. It did show less devotion than those in rough-woven clothes who made the walk round with their faces bare. I really didn't see how one's clothing or personal grooming could possibly affect a god. I made soft conversation, having checked it was alright to speak.

"Are horses bound by the personal cleanliness strictures, Cassimski?" He made a definite gesture with one hand.

"No sir! No sense in a horse getting galls or bad hooves. The horse I'm driving today, Chocolate, she's groomed every morning and again in the evening. She's dusty now because we've been working a few hours."

"No sense," I said, "I wasn't how far the religious strictures were enforced."

"Part of my cab driver licence fee is an exemption for the horses," he said. I managed not to laugh hysterically, reminding myself that laughing must always be disguised as something else, possibly a cry of anguish. I nodded instead.

"Very expensive?" I said.

"A few dollars per horse," he said, "per week." I nodded again.

"They all add up, eh, when you're trying to run a business." It was something a businessman said to me during my ducal investiture party. Cassimski appreciated the sentiment.

"Indeed sir, then there are the extra exemptions for me and the family. I have three cabs, my sons drive the others. As tourist trade we can bathe. My wife can bathe in order for me to stand being with her, even though she doesn't drive a cab. All that bathing costs me. The slaves bathe whenever they like, of course."

"They do?" I said, surprised. He nodded.

"One can't force slaves to be religious," he said, "as the Madonna always said, when you own a person mind and body you cannot own their soul, that's theirs to do with as they wish. Naturally, for owning slaves the church charges another licence fee for keeping pagans. Slaves can't be properly religious because they can't promise to obey God first, being expected to obey their owner always, so it's an exemption fee for each one."

"Ah, naturally," I said, "and before you know it all those exemptions mean you're working to pay your licence fees." Cassimski nodded.

"It's the same where you come from, sir?" he said. Not that I was aware of.

"I think it's something that can happen," I said, trying not to sound critical and failing, though I at least had the sense to keep my voice low, "when perhaps a place needs to get religion out of the law. In Sendren, the king wouldn't let it happen in case the people got annoyed. One of the king's cousins might stage a coup and the peasants wouldn't care, being tired of high licence fees." Cassimski giggled as if I had said something incredibly saucy, but disguised the giggle rather well as sudden cramp and a cry of muffled pain. He lowered his voice further, pretending to clutch at his thigh, and whispered,

"Any time one of king's cousins want to stage a coup, this is one peasant who won't care." The cathedral was a very plain building, all on one level, held up by crumbling mud-brick columns, the Madonna not liking frippery like stone walls or marble facades, claiming that God would support her church.

One end of the building had fallen partly away during her lifetime, killing a number of parishioners, or the Blessed Holy Martyrs of the South Wall. The congregation decided to shore it up then, no matter that the Madonna didn't believe in structural integrity. This was the rebuilt version and Cassimski assured me it only looked like it was falling down. The crumbling columns had stone cores reinforced with steel bars imported from the Kingdoms in the middle. The roof was rebuilt with more good Kingdom steel supporting the spans. Having been most of an old market square, the cathedral was quite large. It was however very claustrophobic, the ceiling only about ten feet high, built to the Madonna's taste.

She was from the south of Kavarlen, born in a village in a deep gorge where everyone lived in caves gouged out of the cliffs. I supposed if one was used to a small cave, the cathedral must be luxury.

#### ****

When the Great Silence first began and the starships all returned Home, never to return, my planet Galaia was left on her own in the darkness for two thousand years. There was plenty of time for Galaia's scattered peoples to lose even simple arts like the wheel, writing, government, and jam-making. In the Kingdoms, what we in Sendren called the old or Dragon kingdoms and what Azrael wanted to make into a new Dragon Kingdom, our ancestors had stood against those without laws, pencils, or decent marmalade. They carved up the land into kingdoms and defended it. They united to fund and man the Army of the North and also guarded the knowledge, the millennia of hard-won discoveries in agriculture, medicine, engineering, and every kind of craft or science you could imagine.

Preserving and disseminating knowledge became as much a priority as feeding the people. Books were printed and put in libraries but many skills were lost. Even with the how-to books we could no longer do all of it. However, compared to the rest of the World - despite social upheaval and lapses into primitivism - the old kingdoms were a haven of peace and stability. The rest of the planet did less well.

For centuries, much of Sriama lost even the art of agriculture, becoming hunter-gatherers at the mercy of Nature's seasonal bounty, but even they retained rule of law within their tribes, and understanding that one needed to let the land recover from the depredations of people. In the northernmost parts they eventually resettled trade towns and ports, and went back to good agricultural practice. Sadly, thanks to the war in the north – their south – Sriama and the Kingdoms had spent too much time fighting, so the southern part of Sriama and the northern part of the Kingdoms was wasted land, farms destroyed, towns gone, mines abandoned, and no industry to speak of.

Kavarlen slid much further along the path to anarchy than Sriama. The Kavar fled the chaos of the formerly-settled areas, finding sanctuary where they could, while wandering outlaws preyed upon the undefended. Preachers who had forgotten love and only had hatred left in their hearts indoctrinated the populace. In some places, they encouraged sacrificing your own children, or other people's, to the gods. It was usual for the strongest or most cunning man to bully everyone he could, until someone killed him in turn.

Brutal warlords ruled Kavarlen for a hundred years or so, until explorers from the old kingdoms visited. Perhaps foolishly, the explorers decided to follow the old colonial patterns from Home, encouraging the natives to civilise themselves back to the level their great-great-grandparents had enjoyed. Law, the explorers explained earnestly, was important for the civilised man. It brought wealth, and real wealth - that provided for more than just the richest in the society - was only possible with just law and good government.

It was a wonderful spiel but they were lying about how civilised they were. For the kingdoms it made sense for everyone to be doing well and at peace, not starving and struggling, so the women to trade would be better stock.

After only four generations of the Silence, the Law in the kingdoms had made all women into slaves. Once a girl was of age, having achieved physical maturity - which merely meant having started her monthly bleeding, something some poor lasses did at only ten - she was compulsorily acquired, numbered with a permanent scarring on her skin, and traded for breeding, noted only for bloodlines and ability to bear young. She would have to do so to as many men as possible to spread the genes of the planet.

The Kavar absorbed that message whilst realising being civilised wasn't so bad. Law could make even the worst atrocity, like slavery, acceptable. The warlords became kings and Law came back to Kavarlen.

What else does a world without enough people do when they have the technology to populate, and the alternative is to perish? Even when the population had reached and passed the point where they were no longer at risk of extinction, when marriage was reintroduced along with monogamy, still the women of the world were officially slaves. For most of the planet, it would take nearly two thousand years for the final repeal of the breeding laws, just over a thousand years before my time.

However, in Kavarlen the spirit of the Law was twisted, as often happened in history. They didn't stop keeping women as slaves, but they made it fair. Men could be slaves too. At Dragon's arrival, about a thousand years before my birth, although slavery had never been legal for men in the kingdoms, women had regained basic rights.

In Kavarlen, for most of the last three millennia, rights were only for the religious hierarchies and the rich. It was depressing.

I tried not to think about it.

#### ****

We were in front of one of the shrines. Cassimski and I solemnly regarded the badly-painted plaster soldier statues, many of them missing limbs and facial features. They were disembowelling a gaudy blob of plaster on the ground, once a statue of the Madonna herself.

"I confess, sir," said Cassimski, interrupting my gloomy thoughts, "when I first began carrying tourists I thought your kind were to be feared."

"You mean the Blood?" I said, and he nodded. "Enough feel that way in my homeland. You know how people are. Even the Blood. All suspicious of anyone different. We're different, so humans are wary of what we might be."

"Really, sir?" he said, "I didn't realise Kingdom people were like that." I told him about growing up in Lower Beech surrounded by peasants, learning to fight because I had to.

"Then about thirteen I got bigger and faster," I said, "suddenly the commoners didn't do more than call me names. Funny thing, I went back just after I turned eighteen, they were all shaking my hand, saying they were proud to have grown up with me." I didn't say why, that because I had become a hero and a duke, suddenly I was Mr Popular.

"What about the full blood Dragon?" he said in a low voice. "Are you wary of them?"

"Not me, but even among the Blood many are suspicious of anyone with more Dragon blood than they have. It makes no sense. We're all family."

"People, sir," said Cassimski, "they are not to be explained." I smiled behind my handkerchief.

"Is that something the Madonna said?"

"That's my wife's saying, sir." He muffled a laugh and turned it into a cough. The Kavar did laugh in public, though they tried bravely not to and then pretended they hadn't. I noted that Kavarlen might have modernised and adopted some of the trappings of civilisation, like agriculture and cities, but slavery and their backward religion seemed to be strangling the country. I also decided the Madonna would have hated Sendren, with the spectacular storied architecture like the Green Dragon Citadel. In the old kingdoms we enjoyed decoration, though not everything had to be elaborate. Variety was to be embraced.

Temples tended to be plain but beautiful with it. A temple was supposed to make the spirit soar in its airy spaces, both in contemplation of the Divine and of the perfect proportions of the building with the tasteful but sparing decoration. Stained glass in the windows was always a winner because contemplation of pretty colours and marvelling at sunlight changed to pools of rainbows was good for people, along with the visual joy of architecture.

In Kavarlen that was considered terribly hedonistic and distracting. Not to mention much too comfortable. Cassimski asked if it was true that they had cushions in Kingdom temples. I had to confess they did.

"Very nice ones," I said, unable to resist adding, "with soft fabric covers, stuffed well." Cassimski gasped.

"Madonna says, sir, hedonism in all its forms is a road to Hell."

"Hell is the place of the damned?" He nodded and made the sign to fend off evil.

"Comfort is the Devil's own reward," he said, shuddering.

"Did the Madonna like food?" Cassimski nearly laughed.

"I don't think she liked anything. Food however was a particular sin."

"Food?" I was liking the Madonna less and less with every moment.

"Strictly speaking," Cassimski said, "the love of food. The love of food is the root of all evil." I managed not to shriek with laughter. And this claptrap appealed to people so much they followed this demented, hate-filled woman and called her holy? I knew the saying she'd mangled too, it was an old one. 'The love of money is the root of all evil.' Food, though, food was a joy, a comfort, a freaking necessity! Good food more so. I also had trouble understanding how hedonism could be a bad thing. And comfort, what was wrong with comfort? I'd rather be a god with happy people praying to me than an object of worship for miserable, itchy people with sore arses.

Mind you, as Kingdom religions weren't allowed to own land, temples were simply places of worship, not owned by any religious hierarchy. In Kavarlen, they let the religion own most of the city and their church charged enormous rents it couldn't be taxed on, supposedly because it needed every bit of income to do good. I hadn't seen much evidence of that, unless you counted allowing beggars in the foyer. One had to wonder where the money went.

They weren't spending it in the cathedral, far from it. There were no windows and it was torch-lit. Not even solar-powered torches, these were actual pitch, guttering and smoking, the interior of the building all blackened. Everyone had red eyes, then added to the smoky atmosphere by placing candles at the various shrines. After I was in there a while I noticed small air-holes here and there in the roof that also let in a little light, but it was horribly under-ventilated. Adding to breathing through a handkerchief, I needed to squint to see through the smoke.

Cassimski led me to the central shrine, where I could see the very cobbles where the Madonna was first eviscerated and fell. Then we followed the path of her forced march holding her intestines in her arms as the soldiers laughed and pricked her with the points of their swords if she collapsed or stopped. Each place she did so was marked by another shrine of some kind, with plaster figures of the various events. I managed not to giggle at the First Pricking of the Holy Buttocks Shrine, which seemed designed to try to make the unwary laugh.

The statues were very old and worn, repainted a lot and all the detail was lost. The Madonna's face was a crumbling mess with a number of blobs of colour to show lips, eyes and nose. I couldn't help thinking it would scare a child. The Madonna lived through evisceration, several falls, and much Pricking of the Holy Buttocks, before a lucky tumble into a laundress's tub of lavender water washed her clean just as she passed out, head fortunately on the edge of the tub. The soldiers thought her dead and walked away to their suppers.

The Madonna came to and found her sewing kit still in her apron pocket. A resourceful lass, she piled her guts back and sewed herself up, then began to pray that she might live. The man who became the Blessed Cassimski pulled her out of the lavender water and took her to his home. Still alive a week later, the Madonna proclaimed herself a prophet. God, she said, had spoken to her. I found the whole story quite fascinating.

"Why did the soldiers attack her in the first place?" I said, keeping my handkerchief hand up across my nose, a reflex now.

"She was saying she had a premonition," Cassimski said, "that God was going to bless her with the gift of prophecy." I blinked. "She told the soldiers," Cassimski went on, "God said they couldn't kill her, so they decided to show her they could." I was so surprised I dropped my handkerchief but fortunately didn't smile at all.

"Really?" I said, retrieving my handkerchief and shaking the dirt off it. Cassimski nodded hard, setting a little shower of dust falling from his hair and beard.

"Oh yes sir, in her previous work, as a fortune-teller, the Amazing Emmeline, she was known to be very accurate. Everyone including the king's mother went to her. The king's mother wasn't even a princess then and the Madonna said she'd be the mother of the next king. The Amazing Emmeline was very devout, but her priest said she was worshipping the Devil by telling fortunes, so she never spoke to him again." At first the Madonna's was only a small cult, more into scrying the future than preaching religion, until the Madonna announced that she would bear the Messiah. Like all good cult leaders, she imposed strange rules. These made her sect attractive to those who wanted or needed regulated lives. People first had to give up frippery like showers and cutting their hair.

There was a plaster scene of her first disciples growing their hair and beards, with the Madonna heavily pregnant. Unfortunately, her head had fallen off. Not in real life, just in the plaster frieze. The Madonna became pregnant, swelling her followers with her belly. The priests imprisoned the heretic for blasphemy, her more powerful followers had her released, but the stay in prison weakened Emmeline so much she lost the baby. Cue awful statue of the Madonna miscarrying in the arms of her adoring disciples. She became pregnant several times after that but never carried a babe to term. After each miscarriage or stillbirth, the priests were blamed for poisoning the mother-to-be, and the girl formerly known as Emmeline Malloy gained more followers. I observed, perhaps cynically, that it never hurt a religious icon to be marked by personal tragedy and a struggle against the established church.

Despite the non-appearance of either the Messiah or the promised New Age of Glory, the Disembowelled Madonna founded an enduring offshoot religion, which as far as I could see did nothing for the people except keep them down. How far down? Along with the other strictures, reading was banned for holy women.

"Really?" I whispered to Cassimski. "Why?"

"Some women didn't believe the Madonna was truly a prophet," he whispered back, "so she said they must be taught a lesson."

"So all women who wish to be truly religious can't read?" He nodded.

"For the sins of their sisters. So the nuns wear the black robes and other women wear the sackcloth, for their shame, sir, in disbelieving. Not all do. My wife says she's not cut out to be that holy and it's very uncomfortable in the heat. Besides, how can she help run the household if she's illiterate? Only the very devout can achieve the strength of faith to manage that kind of illiteracy." I was trying not to criticise, or worse, laugh, so I said "Ah," a lot, or "Mmm, how interesting," instead of "Galaia wept, that's insane!" which was more my instinct. It was a bit like being at Court, except I couldn't laugh or smile openly.

I tried to be invisible. It didn't work. I was taller than most of them by nearly a foot, suspiciously clean, and my eyes glowed in the torchlight. They stared but nobody harassed me, and those whose fingers went to their bellies to ward off my evil nature were nice enough to do it when they thought I wasn't watching. Galaia knows how I made it out of there without offending anyone. Cassimski said my respectful behaviour and interest showed that not all foreigners were ignorant devils like the priests said. "Though being a foreigner myself," he added, "I knew that to be true." I tried not to be shocked. A foreigner himself? He was second generation Kavar, only on one line, as only one of his four grandparents was a foreigner! He must have sensed my confusion. "Here, sir, they never let you forget. I was very lucky my wife's family weren't prejudiced, but our children had problems finding spouses. If not for the good jobs they have I don't think my eldest two would be married yet."

"That must be hard for the family," I said, managing to sound quite normal.

"It's to discourage people marrying outside the tribe, sir." He paused. "No idea why the priests think that idea is a good one. A lot of inbreeding doesn't work for animals. It doesn't work for people either."

"How long ago did the Madonna live, Cassimski?"

"It was the three hundredth anniversary of her birth two years ago. She lived to seventy-nine." Kavarlen's religion that became the Cult of the Madonna, or just the Church if one was Kavar, was in turn a bastardised version of an old religion brought from Home.

Cassimski and I stepped out into a gloomy cloister, dazzling compared to the cathedral's interior.

"Is there still a king here?" I said, as we stood waiting for our eyes to adjust a little.

"Our king is called the Patriarch," Cassimski said, "and for a hundred years, since the Blessed Reformation, he's a prince of the church first. Church and state together as they belong. Can you see yet, sir?" I could, then as we walked out into the sunshine was blinded again. The heat was savage, sharp-edged, and even through my new sandals I could feel the sun-baked cobbles waiting to burn me if I stopped too long. I was very glad for my floppy wide-brimmed hat. It would have looked outlandish in Sendren. In Ashvarlen I was one of thousands dressed the same. As Cassimski took me back to the port to look for a ship home, I pondered differences in culture.

In less than three hundred years, the priests - who during the Disembowelled Madonna's lifetime had wanted to silence the ravings of a crazy clairvoyant - used a bastardisation of her words to take over most of Kavarlen and reap a lot of coin, while ensuring the people were so busy with religious strictures they didn't have time to think about the church keeping them poor.

Back in the kingdoms, as Dragon drove the Sriamans out and the Kavar away, and became the heroes of the people, a new religion was also introduced, the one I'd been brought up in, though neither of my parents were at all religious during my childhood. Dragon were still around to manipulate their own publicity, so one would have thought they had the advantage, but instead over a thousand years they became thought of as dangerous, worthy of suspicion, and were even invoked to scare children.

On the other hand, Dragon's introduced religion was flourishing among the human adherents in the Kingdoms and other places, though it too was showing troubling offshoot cults.

At the harbour we asked around, discovering a ship leaving on the morning tide for Blackrock. I hadn't expected anything so soon. Blackrock was further north than I wanted to go, nearly back to the Northern Front, about two weeks to get back south to Sendren and home, but a shorter journey across the ocean from Craginest Pool. From Blackrock I could find a new ship, one of the many fast passenger services straight down the coast, through the Star Cut and into the Great Star Lake, so be home in three weeks or so. Maybe less, as closer to Sendren I could try taking to the skies.

_Krolen's Gift_ was luxuriously appointed with full board and service, and a small two-berth cabin was available. I checked the staff were clean, that there was no slave labour used on the ship, then booked passage. Though not game to eat anything I'd smelled outside Enclave, I was getting very hungry by then, so Cassimski dropped me back at my hotel, saying he would pick me up in the morning.

#### ****

## Chapter 12 – Negotiations

I went for an excellent late lunch in a cafe, savouring every mouthful, then wandered back to the hotel before realising I had no mindweed. The desk clerk said my clothes had arrived from the tailors, and when I asked where I could get something to smoke, offered to send someone to the nearest mindweed shop.

"We usually keep some for guests," she said, "but we're just out."

"Is the shop far away?" I said.

"A block or so, sir, it's no trouble." I said I felt like a walk so she gave me directions, including a shortcut through the hotel grounds. The grounds were beautiful. Along with the little streams everywhere they even contained a pond with ducks. Ducks cheer a man. Or a woman. I noted their wing movements, trying to learn from them. Then I was through the grounds and on the streets of a real foreign country.

Trying to walk along Ashvarlen's streets, I might have melted, but wide awnings sheltered the pavements between the massive trees. The place was cooled further by gardens and plant life everywhere, all of it taking some of the heat out of the day. There was no rubbish, everything looked freshly swept. As I reached the corner, there was a fountain set in a grove of shady trees, several seats around. The gentle noise was also cooling and I trailed my fingers in the water as I walked along, noting the fountain's edge had a plaque which said _Dedicated to the Founder of Enclave_ , but time and rubbing fingers had obliterated his or her name. Like those before me, I touched the place where the name had been.

As promised, next to that was _The Smoking Ruin,_ a very distinctive shop that sold _Authentic Kingdom Mindweed_. The walls and roof were covered in mindweed plants, a tiny plantation in the midst of a city.

Thanks to the irrigation for the plants and a heat exchange system that - so I was told - gave the shop owner hot water without the need for solar panels, the inside was cool, blissfully so. The owner and I discussed the options for the man who enjoyed hot water and powered lights and equipment, something I had a passion for, having grown up with insufficient hot water thanks to a solar system that wasn't big enough for the three people who lived on our farm.

As often happens when one is travelling, the owner turned out to be Sendrenese. He said the shop was modelled on the Green Dragon Citadel but in miniature, the building disguised as a mindweed crop, not a forest. The owner also confessed to killing his father during a particularly drunken wedding, so couldn't ever return home, unless he was tired of living and fancied a quick hanging.

"Guilty in absentia," he said in a gloomy tone, "didn't even mean to hit him, was trying to hit my brother and Da stepped in to stop us." I nearly killed my father once, quite accidentally, so tried to look appropriately sympathetic, though I suspected there was possibly more to it. The shopkeeper's story sounded even more like an Unfortunate Accident – an event that wasn't an accident, and was damn fortunate for someone - than even my recent adventures. As we chatted, both of us homesick, I stocked up on mindweed, bought a pipe and a supply of matches, then said goodbye.

"If you come back," he called, "from home, I mean, if you can bring any seeds I'll pay well." I promised I would if I did, and went for a walk to the ocean. It struck me that calling where you came from 'home' was something everyone did, using 'home' over its real name. For the first time I wondered if where humans came from, the planet they all called Home, was really called that. I'd already found out that the early settlers, the Yusaf, were not a tribe, as I'd been taught at school. Yusaf was the name of a military force. I enjoyed history, and my planet had a lot, thanks to three thousand years of habitation and then millennia back on Home. Only fragments of our Home history survived, which made it all the more interesting.

Right on the beach was a cafe surrounded by canvas sunshades and grassy lawns, shaded by big trees. I followed the example of everyone else and took off my sandals, then sat drinking iced coffee, eating first a pork pie then honey pastries, enjoying the vista framed by well-tended gardens that ran almost to the ocean's edge. On my right the wall I'd passed through continued down the beach and about sixty feet out into the water, with a guard post on the very end, right out in the sea. I could see two Kavar soldiers fishing from a small balcony area, out of sight of the Kavar side of the boundary wall.

The sun was setting behind me, colouring the water silver and the sky in oranges, greens and pinks. It was so glorious I wondered if my heart might just burst with the beauty of it all. A pod of dolphins came in, playing in the waves, setting off excited cries from those of us watching, and as always I felt blessed for having seen them. I said a thank you to the goddess of their realm, Krolen, for not making my recent experiences in her embrace the terminal kind.

The Disembowelled Madonna should have got high and sat on beaches watching sunsets. There was more worship of the gods in appreciation of a single sunset than in a lifetime of making your body miserable. Add some dolphins and a man \- or a woman - could be sure of his or her soul and have it affirmed that overall, life was sweet.

If I was ever started a religion, getting high while watching sunsets and dolphins was going to be part of worship.

Me, I wasn't really a believer. I was just happy to be alive.

#### ****

Back in the Imperial, after a long wash, I changed into my newest clothes. The fug of the cathedral was still lurking in my other ones so I sent them for washing. Down on the ground-floor veranda I enjoyed an excellent dinner of fresh seafood, curried pork and rice, and an icecream gateau with a variety of tropical fruit, all with wines I noticed were imported from the Kingdoms. I felt I was in Paradise's own dining room, where nobody stank and the warm night smelled simply of good food, flowers, and fruit. And women.

One in particular brought me wine then coffee. With the latter she struck up a conversation, and I was happy to chat. Rowena was a cat's-eyed blue-eyed blonde who smelled of Dragon along with pretty scents, and reminded me of Azrael's betrothed, Isabella, Princess of Highcliff. Not quite as beautiful, but I imagined Rowena garnered a lot of attention with her blue eyes that flashed topaz in their depths.

For all her beauty there was an underlying hardness in her face, and I wasn't surprised when she offered company for a price. I was happy to pay. I wanted a woman to hold and a floozy was less complicated. Turned out she was born in the Kingdoms, from Bronlea in the south, her mother a distant cousin of my mother. She mentioned her parents had fled the kingdoms after her mother's younger brother framed her mother for killing their father. I had no way of knowing if it were true, but it smacked of the kind of story one told one's children to justify bad behaviour.

For my part, I brushed off my recent travails as simply travelling on a Kavar ship. I mentioned having visited the cathedral.

"I don't know how you can stand being next to those filthy people," she said, and shuddered delicately, "I never stop in Ashvarlen when off to the country." I found her attitude fascinating. Those filthy people owned the country she was a guest in. The one that offered her possibly-criminal family a haven. "It's cooler in the hills this time of year," she said, "so most of Enclave is trying to get invites to one of the estates."

"Oh," I said, "I hadn't realised foreigners left Enclave at all."

"We'd go mad stuck here all year," said Rowena. "All the rich people have estates in the hills. My father is steward of one so I get to go without being rich. Being Blood helps, I get lots of invites. People think I'm very exotic."

"I can imagine," I said. "Why don't you go back to the kingdoms?" She shrugged.

"I might, but I'm earning good money." She grinned suddenly. "I get excellent tips." I felt we were getting along and smiled as I said,

"I do hope mine doesn't disappoint." I planned on being generous, totting up funds in my head, thinking there was the coin for a time with a pretty girl. She smiled back, the avarice suddenly laid bare in those rather beautiful blue-and-topaz eyes.

"I charge a thousand dollars for the whole night, if you like." That much in Kavar dollars was the equivalent to ten Sendrenese golds. More than two year's wages. The best girls in Malion's House of Silks charged less than that when they brought along a friend. I had only spent a hundred dollars outfitting myself earlier in the day, despite buying the best quality. It was less than a hundred a night in the hotel. I blinked. No wonder she was pleased with her earnings. Floozying was good money in the kingdoms, but in Enclave it seemed to be astonishing.

"Seems steep," I said, trying to hide my surprise. Was that the usual price, or had she known who I was and expected me to be able to pay? She gave me a calculating look.

"Five hundred for an hour." Even that was quite a lot more than a year's wage to a peasant in Sendren. Or a corporal in the Army of the North. One had to wonder what she could do to justify that kind of money. I couldn't help myself and laughed.

"Sorry," I said, politely, "normally I'd be more than happy to add to your savings, but I'm short this week." Rowena smiled but her eyes were no longer friendly. She left immediately, heading for the next table that looked likely.

I was left to coffee and some rather delicious coffee, chocolate and vanilla icecream cake. Then I had some fresh pineapple. And a banana. I didn't tip Rowena at all.

As she said, she was making a lot and frankly, she hadn't been that good a waitress.

#### ****

Cassimski arrived on time in the early morning, thankfully fresh from a wash and hardly acrid at all. As he'd promised, the horse Chocolate was gleaming. We'd just set off, still inside Enclave, when someone shouted from the other side of the street.

"Polo! Polo Shawcross!" I looked over, and saw it was Miri Westwych, all five-feet-one of her.

"Miri?" I said, hardly able to believe my eyes. "Cassimski, pull over please. I won't be a moment." Azrael had mentioned Miri was in Kavarlen, pregnant and living with a cousin, but she didn't look pregnant, dressed in a dark ankle-length shift and standing next to a large suitcase. No cousin in evidence either. She wasn't looking happy, though her looks were still enough to stop a man in his tracks, especially the big blue cat's eyes with the striking orbital in black opal.

When Cassimski saw her he automatically made the sign against his belly to avert evil. For once it was fairly apt but I didn't want to scare him. Instead I leapt out, gave Miri a hug, and we said hello. Her glossy blue-black hair was also the same, though longer, and she still had a slim figure. However it was easy to see that she was quite annoyed.

"Polo! What have you done?" she said, a frown creasing her forehead. "Did you try to kill Young Perry?" I was nonplussed for a moment. "Gods," she said, sounding horrified, "not Azrael?" I realised she thought I was in exile for murder. I laughed.

"No, not Azrael, we're still friends, and no, sadly I didn't kill Perry. Funny you should mention him. I'm here because he had me kidnapped." Miri didn't seem to be really listening.

"Look," she said, "I really need a favour. Shall we have a coffee?" I shook my head.

"Sorry, Miri, I don't have much time. I only got here last night but I'm on the way to the port, back to Sendren today. Well, Sendren via Blackrock."

"Now there's a coincidence," she said. "I was just walking down to the gate, it's the nearest cab rank from here, when I saw a cab coming. I was about to prevail on whoever was in it for a lift." She bit her lip. I was reminded of Azrael, about to ask me to have sex with him. "Polo," said Miri, looking genuinely scared for the first time since I'd known her, "I need you to do me a favour. Quickly, before the Enclave gate."

#### ****

Cassimski dropped me off at the port. We wished each other well and I hoped the large amount of Kavar currency Miri had given him was enough to buy his silence.

It had looked as if it was. He only had to pretend he hadn't seen her. When we asked him, before we reached the Enclave gate, after Miri said he could have all her Kavar dollars if he would, then opened her suitcase and showed him a bag full of their currency, I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head.

"Madonna's tits!" he said, then coughed and pulled himself together. "Now you mention it, I didn't see anything." He shook his head. "I don't need to wait for the old bitch to die!" And suddenly he was grinning in public.

Only for a moment, then he composed his expression into a grimace, grinding a fist into his chest in an excellent imitation of someone with wind or in the grips of a severe bilious attack.

"Are you alright, Cassimski?" I said. Miri and I both looked anxiously at him.

"Aye, sir," he said, "and in case anyone saw the Kingdom lady in the cab, I will swear we dropped her off to walk to her lodgings not a block from where we picked her up, right?" I nodded. "You and I went alone into Ashvarlen then straight to the port. Easy." Our story straight, Cassimski dropped the canvas sides of the cab, which gave us a little privacy. We made it safely through the Enclave gate then the last ride through Ashvarlen to the port. Cassimski said goodbye to me, shaking my hand with feeling.

#### ****

## Chapter 13 - The Horror of First Love Revisited

Once again, as I walked into the port authority, I was trying not to breathe among Kavar. I offloaded my small bag and one rather heavy suitcase to a porter who wheeled it on a trolley to the ship, where it was onboard before I made it up the passenger gangway. My passage was booked under my real name though not my title, but someone amongst the staff had twigged who I was.

"Your Grace," the steward said as I reached the top of the gangplank, "welcome to _Krolen's Gift_. The captain sends his compliments and looks forward to meeting you. We hope you enjoy your voyage with us. We're terribly pleased to have you on board." Sprung, I could only be gracious. The steward clapped his hands and a crewman pushing a trolley with my gear stepped up smartly. I walked with the steward along the deck to the passenger entrances. A Theusian ship, it didn't smell at all.

My cabin contained a tiny two-tier bunk, fold-down table, and a miniscule bathroom comprising toilet with a pull-out basin over the top and a pocket-size shower. Everything was beautifully made but looked very simple. There were portholes. This was luxury class. Many of the passengers were in rooms with no portholes or wash facilities at all, needing to trot down the hall to shared ablution areas of a similar size to the one I had to myself. While a sailor hefted the suitcase onto the bottom bunk, I stood by chatting casually with the steward.

I thanked the men nicely and assured the steward I would be right along for cocktails outside the passenger lounge. Aye, happy to be on board, so looking forward to enjoying their hospitality, blah blah, then finally I was alone again and could let poor Miri out of the suitcase.

"Oh gods, Polo," she said, in tears, "I didn't think I'd ever get out!" I shushed her. Whether she was talking about the suitcase or Kavarlen I wasn't sure but I held her while she sobbed against me. I confess, holding a warm woman felt so good I didn't really care what she meant and just enjoyed the moment. The blonde from the night before could have offered me a hug for a hundred dollars and I'd have taken it.

Miri's story took a while to get out quietly between her tears. I did have time to move the suitcase to the top bunk and try the bottom one for size. I could lie full-length, just. I sat up and resumed my sympathetic Polo role. I patted the bed next to me and Miri flopped down.

Her heart was broken. I said there there, how terrible. She had been living in Enclave, in love, and he let her down. I tried not to feel superior. It wasn't warranted, the smugness. She broke my heart when we were teenagers but now I was over her, so my mind's logic seemed to be I'd won. I almost shook my head at myself.

"Which of the cousins was it?" I said. She gave me a blank look.

"A cousin, is that what the gossips say?" I nodded, not prepared to say it was Azrael who told me, or that he'd said she was pregnant. Azrael's grandfather and Miri's were brothers, or maybe it was her father was brother to Theo.

I couldn't remember and, to be honest, I barely knew my own family's lines let alone Miri's. All I knew was she'd told me we could never have a child because I was related to her on several lines, all through Mother, to both her mother and father. Galaia knew why, but Miri wanted a child. She'd been looking for someone to breed with safely since we were both sixteen, and now we were twenty-one. "Jerry was no relation," Miri said, "perfect for breeding. Unfortunately he was a prick." I couldn't help myself.

"Isn't that what you need for breeding?" I said. Predictably, she thumped me.

"A prick with a gambling addiction," she said, the edge of tears in her voice. I was actually smirking, and stopped myself. Miri hiccupped.

"Gambling addiction, eh?" I said, patting her back and prompting her for a little more of the story. She nodded, face sad. I got up, leaned into the bathroom and wet a facecloth, then handed it to her. I could almost do it without getting up.

"Thanks Polo." She wiped her face and eyes. "I gave Jerry an ultimatum after the last time. He promised to change, then Daddy's last allowance came in. Jerry took the lot out of my dresser. We had no food! I hadn't even paid the rent!" She paused to sob into the washcloth a little. I had several spare hankies and handed her one, she swapped it, and I rinsed the washcloth before using it to wipe my own face. "He gambled it all in one night!" she said, as I sat back down, and blew her nose angrily. "He didn't just spend what we had, he went into debt!" I shushed her, not wanting to be busted for a stowaway before we left port. "Sorry," she said, lowering her voice, "so I decided to send myself in a suitcase back to somewhere in the Kingdoms. I'm so glad I found you, I was going to bribe a cab driver to post me." I whistled.

"Be a long time in a suitcase," I said. She shrugged. "Why a suitcase, why not just take passage?"

"I was going to get out of the case," she said, "once I was out at sea, and give myself up. I'm a Westwych. Even here they know us." I marvelled at the inborn arrogance of being able to say, anywhere in the World, "I'm a Westwych," and expecting to get favourable treatment. I wondered if me saying "I'm Polo Shawcross," would have the same effect. I reflected that most times I'd said that, everyone had refused to believe me. Or had thought it meant nothing.

"What if the other luggage trapped you inside?" I said, voicing the first major flaw in her plan that occurred to me. She gave me a look.

"I would have screamed until someone came." I didn't ask what would happen if someone dropped something heavy on her, as Miri was usually armed and had already cut me once when we were younger, purely as an experiment. Nor did I repeat my question about why not just book a ticket. I wasn't stupid, and had guessed Miri was on the run. Just my luck, a crazy fugitive cousin as cabinmate for the voyage home.

"As I was saying," Miri went on, "even here they know the Westwych name." I ignored her ignoring my questions, said I had a party to go to, and left her to figure out how we would share the tiny space.

#### ****

Under an awning on the aft deck, the staff spoiled me with cocktails and canapes. I met some of the other passengers and chatted with a merchant named Foster from Torc who was looking at importing Kavar spirits to the kingdoms. It was very pleasant, everyone suddenly so civilised, but after my time with the Kavar crew somehow hard to deal with. Though I managed, it was only in my head that it seemed unreal.

"But the bourbon and whiskies they were offering are rougher than we drink," the merchant Foster said, "and the vodka might have been useful as fire-lighter or paint-stripper, but not to use even with a mixer, so this trip was a waste of time financially, but interesting. If I could get them to produce Kingdom quality for their prices, we'd be set, even with the tariffs to pay at home. Mind you, my company already imports and exports between the two countries, it was just this idea for the spirits didn't work out." I nodded, thinking to head back to my cabin, perhaps smuggle Miri a drink, when there was shouting from the quayside. We all moved to the rail and looked over. Some men at the bottom of the gangplank were arguing with the crew.

You might not need permission to land at Kavarlen, but if a native you needed permission to leave, and the crew wouldn't let the men onto the ship. There was shouting in Kavar, something about thieves and boarding. I had one of those moments when you know, somehow, you're involved in something bad. They were talking very fast and I didn't get it all.

"What's going on?" I said to Foster.

"They're saying they're looking for a criminal," said Foster.

"Ah," I said, "that's what that word means." Foster nodded.

" _Criminal_ in Kavar means criminal in Anglic. They think she's on the ship."

"A woman?" I said, trying to sound casual.

"Aye," said Foster, "they say they're looking for a very short Kingdom woman, long black hair and blue cat's eyes. Oh, she killed some people and robbed these men. Another man is in hospital." I nodded, unsurprised. Foster smiled and picked something off my shirt. A long black something. I felt Haka's cold toes on my spine. Foster just winked and dropped Miri's hair over the side.

"Torc and Sendren have a long history of alliances, Polo," Foster said softly, "be good for me to be friends with a Sendrenese duke, if you get my drift." I did indeed. I smiled, my tone genial.

"I'm sure we can find something in Starshore you can make a good profit on, perhaps a sample gift of mindweed?" The steward would be upset that his duke was making the duchy lose money, but the other option was Miri arrested and me possibly dragged into the mess she'd made.

"Mindweed," said Foster, sounding thoughtful. "Sendrenese mindweed has an excellent reputation."

"Have you tried Sendren Gold?" I said. "They cure it with orange brandy, leaves it with a smooth and delicate flavour. It's usually hard to find outside the kingdom."

"Sendren Gold would be perfect," said Foster, sipping his drink. I smiled.

"A hundred pounds?" I said, prepared to go higher. "As a promotional gift."

"Sounds more than adequate," he said, and smiled too.

"Deal?" I said.

"Deal it is," he said, and we shook hands.

"Lovely," I said. "Handy that you know the language. Did you learn Kavar for trading?"

"I was on a ship that foundered," he said, "spent a winter here once. Polished my grasp of the language."

"You were shipwrecked?" I said. He nodded.

"Not very badly as these things go. The ship went down right here in the harbour and we were able to get off onto the quay, but I couldn't get another ship until the winter storms ended." Below us on the pier, the captain had gone down to talk to the men, with the head steward at his back. Foster gestured. "The captain's saying there's no such woman on board. The steward is confirming, we have cat's-eyed men on board and that's it." He paused. "The men are saying they'll be back with the polis." I watched the interplay, Foster's translation in my ear. I understood most of it but it suited me to play dumb. "The captain says if they're not back with the polis before he's ready to go they're going to miss the ship."

One of the men ran off, the other stayed arguing at the gangplank. We sipped our drinks. "Oh dear," said Foster, and pointed, "looks like they found the polis." The polis arrived with the other man, everyone out of breath in that party, the arguments broke out again on the dock, and the captain lost it. Foster's translation was brisk.

"You have no legal reason to keep me here," the captain said, very snappily, "and none to search my ship. My paperwork is in order, nobody has been admitted to the ship who fits your description. Your own staff say nobody saw the alleged criminal enter the wharf area, that she was last seen in Enclave. Why do you think the criminal you're looking for is here? Did she fly onto my ship?" The polis shrugged and agreed with the captain.

"There are Kavar guards on the quayside at all times," Foster said, translating the polis, "how could anyone get onto the ship without being seen? Ah," he said, and grinned, "we're allowed to go." Without being too obvious, I tried to let go of the breath I was holding.

The two men complained loudly but the polis and the captain ignored them. He headed back up the gangplank.

"Cast off!" he shouted.

While everyone was distracted, I pocketed some fruit.

#### ****

Back in my cabin I gave Miri a champagne cocktail and the fruit. She had washed and changed into a clean shift, her jet-black hair twisted up in a chignon.

"Oh thanks, Polo," she said, taking a sip of the drink, "this is lovely."

"Glad you're enjoying it," I said, "want to tell me what you stole?"

"Me?" she said, and looked innocent. She had excellent eyes for doing so, that dark Westwych blue with the diamond lights, an orbital of black opal round the iris. Long lashes, high cheekbones, pink full lips. I was reminded, I'd once adored her. Every deadly curve, every square of silky skin, every oh-so-dangerous inch of her. Not any more, I was immune to her wiles, and ignored the innocent look.

"A different question then," I said, "who did you kill?" More projected innocence, along with a nice line in surprise.

"Me? No idea what you're talking about." I shook my head at her.

"Stop saying 'me?' like that, Miri," I said, "we were nearly boarded by some men looking for you." She scowled.

"Nearly boarded?" I looked pointedly at the suitcase.

"The captain wouldn't let them, said everyone here was legally on board. The polis agreed with him. Your suitcase seems very heavy even with you and all your Kavar dollars out of it."

"Oh, alright," she said, "so I decided to take back some of what Jerry lost! I was terrified, Polo. Men looking for Jerry woke me, gangsters! They decided to kidnap me until they found him." She looked haughty. "Stupid bastards were used to meek little Kavar women. I think I taught them a lesson." She sniffed contemptuously. "They didn't even check me for knives." That reminded me, I hadn't checked her either. Not only that, but I was unarmed, something that seemed inadvisable in the confinement of the cabin. She was getting quite heated. I shushed her. We sat on the bottom bunk, hissing at each other like children fighting after bedtime. "It's not like they didn't deserve it," she said. Deserve what? She seemed to cut something out of the story. Possibly the same way she'd cut something out of the Kavar gangsters thinking to hold her prisoner.

"Everyone knows you're wanted," I said, "keep your voice down. I'm already a hundred pounds of Sendren Gold out of pocket to a Torcan merchant who didn't turn us both in when he saw one of your hairs on me. Sixteen hundred bloody ounces, Miri." She sniffed.

"Not like you can't afford it," she said, and I gave her a look.

"My duchy is wealthy because we sell at a profit over the fair wages and prices paid to my people, not because I give goods away. Besides, I was kidnapped, remember? Only reason I have any coin on me is because I took some of what Young Perry had already paid my kidnappers." She sighed, suddenly contrite.

"Honestly, Polo, I appreciate it. You know the family will make it up to you."

"They don't need to," I said, and pulled a face. "I did it for you. As a favour to a friend. Therefore as a friend, it's you who owes me a favour, not one of your relatives. That's how we do it in the real world."

"You grew up in palaces too," she said, "don't you give me that real world rubbish." Gods, she made me so angry. It reminded me of talking to Mother.

"Me?" I said. "I was brought up on a farm until I was nearly sixteen! We lived in a three-room house! My parents both worked for a bloody living! I spent less than two years in palaces, and I've been in the bloody army since I was eighteen!" She snorted. We sat with our arms folded, both fuming.

"You're the Duke of bloody Starshore," she whispered, "besides, I've let you do me twice now so I think that's probably all the favours you're getting from me." I was suddenly very glad we had never been more than occasional lovers. She unfolded her arms, found her cocktail, and took a sip.

"Zol's balls, Miri," I said, softly as I could, "don't act like you were doing me a good turn by bedding me."

"Actually," she said with a sweet smile, "the first time I was doing Stefan a favour. Remember?" I did, and tried not to grind my teeth. "The second time," she added, "Azrael begged me." I didn't know that. She saw my surprise and gave me another sweet smile. "He said if I'd do you one last time, he had a chance with you." That bastard! Miri tilted her head to one side and sipped her cocktail. I was trying to think of something cutting to say that didn't require me to shout at her. "Did that work, by the way?" she said, her tone pleasant.

"Work?" I hissed. "No, it didn't bloody work! I knocked him back, and it destroyed our friendship." I left out me offering to do him one last time and him then knocking me back, that being the cherry on top of the argument. "When I realised he was still in love with me," I said, "I left Malion, gave up my studies, and was so depressed I got drunk and joined the army for three bloody years!"

"Is that what happened?" Miri said, and shook her head as if she'd just found the solution to a mystery. "Well I never." She bit into a peach. "This peach is excellent." I closed my eyes a moment and tried to keep breathing. I didn't know if Dragon felt things like humans did but I was beginning to lack basic civilised sensibilities as far as Miri Westwych was concerned. I wanted to hit her. Hitting women was a reprehensible act. Even my father had never hit my mother, and Mother was enough to try the patience of a priest. Perhaps I could cow Miri a little if I changed into a dragon?

I remembered when I changed the last time, how she was completely at ease. Not scared at all. Even though I changed while we were having sex and then offered to kill her. In my defence, she was holding a knife on me at the time. "Anyway," she said, "You were very good, Polo, don't think I'm not appreciative of your sexual gifts." Silently, I vowed not to do her again if she were the Last Woman in the World. Not if you paid me.

It occurred to me that getting this annoyed with her might mean something. Please Galaia, I didn't still love Miri. I didn't think so, but who knew how stupid I might be? "Do you remember the first time," she said, "when you changed shape?" I decided I didn't love her but was just miffed over finding out that she hadn't even liked me, but did me as a favour to someone else. Twice.

"I do," I said, still huffy. She grinned.

"I've always wondered what it would be like if you stayed like that and we had sex." That grounded me and I smiled, very sweetly.

"You and Azrael both," I said, "he's been fantasising about that for years."

"I'm sorry you two aren't talking," she said. I shrugged.

"We're talking now, we just didn't for a while. Anyway, that was a long time ago. I lived through the army. I'm working for Azrael as a diplomat. Then Perry had me kidnapped."

"Oh," she said, "here am I telling you about my adventures. Come on, tell me about yours." I didn't point out she'd told me a much-edited version of her adventures and gave her a much-edited version of mine, leaving out how I escaped the sailors. Call me petty, but Miri had expressed an interest in having sex with a dragon. I didn't want her coming onto me because I could be one, not when I had just vowed never to do her again. I knew exactly how weak I was. What did Dragon call people who wanted to do them just because they were in form?

The women who wanted soldiers were scabbard-humpers. Maybe those who wanted Dragon were scale-biters? Tail-chasers? Then it came to me, Azrael and Miri must be hide-humpers. The ship began to buck as we reached open ocean. Once at sea I thought us safe, so left Miri in the cabin while I went topside. Miri could turn herself in as soon as we were a few more miles away from the coast.

#### ****

The cocktail party that started the voyage was ongoing, so I rejoined the throng and met the captain, who was from one of the eastern kingdoms.

"A pleasure to meet you, captain," I said politely.

"Ah," he said, "likewise, Your Grace. Did you hear about the cat's-eyed murderess they were looking for?" I nodded.

"I heard something. That's what the people wanted as we were casting off?" I saw Foster smiling at me from across the deck and smiled back before returning my attention to the captain. "Someone was killed?"

"Aye," he said, "some Kingdom woman went mad, killed her lover and some of his friends." He winked. "Aside from it being a woman, we knew it wasn't you, she's less than five feet tall." Miri would be furious. She claimed to be five-feet-one and three-quarters of an inch. I raised my eyebrows.

"Galaia preserve us," I said. The captain looked sombre.

"Dangerous woman, so the Kavar told me, and I don't doubt it." I didn't either, and I knew Miri much better than he did. "If we suddenly turn back," he said, "it's because one of the crew's found her in the hold. I've got them searching."

"Oh?" I said, trying to sound casual. "We'd turn back for a stowaway?" He nodded.

"Aye, the Kavar are easygoing about foreigners coming in, but not about wanted criminals leaving. Any ship that carried someone like that away, if the Kavar got to know about it we'd be charged with aiding and abetting the next time we pulled into Craginest Pool." I tutted and asked him some intelligent questions about his ship, which thankfully changed the subject completely. They were designed to, and to appeal to every captain's vanity. _Krolen's Gift_ had electricity, but only for the cabins and the pumps, no back-up motor at all.

"So if you are becalmed?" I said. He smiled.

"We row. Well, we tow her from the various small boats we have on board."

"That must be fun."

"Let's just say it's good to be captain," he said, "the first mate does all the shouting and the crew sweat." I laughed. He grinned. I told him a little about the _Lady of Starshore_ and her solar-thread sails, something he was envious of. "With those," he said, "you can see the point of a motor." I was proudest of her beautiful woodwork but could see the solar sails were an object of desire.

It also completely changed the subject from murderous and very short Kingdom women. Feeling Foster's eyes on me, I went down to my cabin. Please Galaia he didn't turn us in anyway.

#### ****

Miri was asleep in the top bunk, looking innocent. She woke up as I came in. The innocence fell away.

"Hey," she said, stretching. I was tall enough to take one of her hands. I inspected the fingernails then held them up to her. She blinked. "What?" she said. I kept my voice to a soft murmur,

"Blood still under your nails, Miri. How many did you kill? They're searching the ship, saying you killed what's-his-name, Jerry? And some of his friends."

"They weren't his friends," she said in a pointed tone, "they were people who he owed money to. Criminals." She frowned. "And I didn't kill Jerry." She sat up. "It was self-defence." I shushed her.

"Which means you need to be very quiet, please. The captain just warned me that if we turn around it's because they've found the murderess." Her mouth made a perfect pink O for a moment.

"You'd think," she said, recovering her poise, "with the number of murderers this ship must have carried to Kavarlen from the old kingdoms, the captain would be more relaxed about that kind of thing." I explained how the captain could be charged, something that didn't happen in the kingdoms. Then something else occurred to me.

"Um, Miri, what are we going to do when the crew come to clean in here?" She bit her lip, thinking.

"I'll hide." I muffled a laugh and gestured at the tiny space. "Alright," she said, frowning, "I'll have to get back in the suitcase. You could tell them not to bother at least a couple of times without it being weird. You'll need to put me in that drawer under the bunks." She sighed. "I'm claustrophobic, I think." She grimaced. "Or getting that way."

"I don't think I could do it," I said honestly. I was about to say how our phobias don't manifest unless we expose them, like my fear of heights, and stopped just in time. Before I would have been honest with Miri, but now I had the sense to realise she wasn't really my friend. Your friends don't have sex with you to curry favour with the rich and influential, which if I was honest with myself, Stefan and Azrael certainly were.

It was an interesting voyage. Thankfully only five nights. I slept a lot, catching up after the stress of being kidnapped and drugged. With me only leaving for meals it gave us an excuse to keep the cabin shut and the cleaners out most of the time.

We arrived in Blackrock at the end of February. Assuming I had lived, then left the army in a normal manner, it was two weeks after I was expected to have arrived home.

So bizarre, as if I'd come in a tight circle back to the north.

#### ****

## Chapter 14 - The Way Home

It was dawn, before breakfast. I stuffed Miri in the suitcase one last time. She wasn't talking to me, not since the previous night, after I became sure the crew were suspicious and didn't bring back any food. A Sendrenese without at least three meals a day was liable to sulk.

As for the merchant Foster, he was already the proud holder of a promissory note offering him a hundred pounds of mindweed at a once-only introductory rate that was going to horrify the steward. It sold in half-ounces retail, of which there were thirty-two in a pound, so a hundred pounds of one of the best varieties for free was enough for a man to make a not-so-small fortune. I was hoping it was enough to buy his silence for life.

I booked and paid for a night in a hotel for myself, as didn't want some Kavar spy to connect Miri Westwych to either _Krolen's Gift'_ s arrival or to me. Once upstairs, I hauled Miri out while she swore fluently in Kavar. She then swore in Anglic, trying to straighten her back, before I helped get her and her suitcase down the backstairs to ground level and to a different hotel.

Back in my own room, I locked the door, did those things a man needs to do, then shaved and had a long hot shower. I tried turning into a dragon, worried I'd lost the knack already, and left claw marks on the tiles. Shape-changing still hurt like buggery. Well, not like buggery. If that hurt you weren't doing it right. Transforming in the shower probably wasn't a good idea, though being wet felt good on dragonskin. I changed back carefully, not wanting to slip again. Properly clean for the first time in what felt like months, I wanted decent clothes, and warmer ones. I also wanted the first ship heading down the Star Cut to points south, as I had a man to put in gaol.

My old kingdom clothes looked very funny with my sandals, but until I found somewhere with something in my size they were all I had. First I needed food. Outside it was freezing, and I saw Miri again as I crossed a square on the way to a recommended cafe for breakfast. She was on her way into the same cafe and didn't see me. I changed my mind about having breakfast in there, kept walking, but dived into a clothing store and found a thick coat, then a jacket, shirt and trousers off the peg. I wasn't going to be further delayed from my breakfast for anything, but found a pair of boots on the way out, so got those and some socks too.

Warm again, suddenly anything seemed possible. The shop owner sold me a bag to carry my old clothes in, and recommended a different cafe. Once fed, I walked down to the port and booked a ticket home.

#### ****

After one night in the hotel I was back on the water. As the passenger ship headed down the eastern shore of the Great Star Lake, I spent part of each morning and evening in meditation, learning how to switch from human to dragon-shape and back without requiring some threat to my testicles.

Soon I could morph at will into a variety of sizes, with or without wings, though it was still painful and exhausting. I didn't change shape to much smaller or larger than what I'd come to think of as my 'normal' dragon size, which was a bit bigger than my human one, mainly because I discovered changing size hurt more than just shape-changing.

I certainly worked up an appetite and also slept well, both of which I could blame on the lake air. Everyone else on board was also eating like starving ponies and sleeping like the dead. A hundred miles north of Port Azrael, I was at last close enough to fly the rest of the way. I left the ship at the last port before Sendrenese waters and found an inn that had a room opening onto a private roof terrace. I had a light supper in their dining room, then told the front desk I was leaving very early in the morning and so arranged to pay my bill in full. Remembering the Dragon queen's advice about travelling in dragon-shape, I packed my bag, napped until midnight when the town was mostly asleep, then left my room unlocked, the key on the bed with a tip.

Creeping out in form, claws clicking on the polished wood of the terrace, I was acutely aware of every noise. I stood there for a moment, clutching the bag to my scaled chest, wondering if jumping off a three-storey building was altogether sensible. It was autumn, a week into March, and I could smell the leaves dying. Not for the first time, I wondered if the short summers and frozen winters of the central and southern kingdoms were respectively too short and too cold. Perhaps I should move somewhere warmer. Or at least lease a winter home further north. My wings quivered. I snapped them a little and stretched, then backed up as far as I could, before taking a couple of running steps forward and leaping into space. I didn't have to think about it as I had at first. I could just fly, wings working without constant and panicked supervision.

A quarter moon was rising as I soared into a sky bright with stars. To my delight, along with my increased proficiency, night flying, at least in fair weather, wasn't as scary. Even with my night vision I didn't feel so high. I could taste the cold but was warm enough. Flying kept the blood pumping. Wheeling away from the town, I headed south, keeping the shore in view on my left wingtip. Below me, the waters of the Great Star Lake were smooth and filled with light. I was reminded of the story of when the god Cleaden first heard music, how he saw and heard colours. There was life moving in the lake's depths and shallows, bright fish then the softer light of the aquatic plants.

On the shoreline birds nested and nocturnal creatures hunted. Dots, blobs, and large bodies of light gave away the location of creatures of all kinds. It was spectacular, the whole lake and up its banks a seething bright mass of life and the soft glow of vegetation, the occasional dull space where Galaia's green skin was broken by rocks or sand. I nearly dropped my bag with the joy of it all, but resisted the urge to try some aerobatics or dive into the water. Instead I flew on.

Saying 'Galaia preserve me, look at me, I'm flying!' became stale after about fifteen minutes, so I sang bawdy army songs to amuse myself. I worked my way through a number of ballads and a rousing version of _"And the Cavalry Brings Up The Rear (Oh)",_ an amusing ditty the army lads would sing to we cavalry types. It implied we were homosexual, cowardly, and ran away from the enemy where possible. It was very insulting but a good song to fly to. Sooner than I was expecting, the lights of Port Azrael's harbour beacons were racing to meet me, too much to the west and too small, which meant I needed to change course and lose altitude, both of which I did.

I found my castle, then carefully landed on the terrace. It was about fifty feet up and outside my suite in the castle. I managed not to fall over and tried the doors. They were thankfully unlocked so I went in out of the chill to turn back into human-shape and dress.

#### ****

## Chapter 15 – Law and Order

Although woken in the early hours, Master Thomas the steward took in my arrival without even blinking. A very slim man in his forties, Thomas was a graduate of the guild system, specialising in Estate Management, the same degree I'd planned to do. He was pleased to see I was alive. There was a reward out for any information on my whereabouts as the bodyguards had been unable to find any trace of me in Mountleas and had returned to Starshore, bringing news of my disappearance. I caught Master Thomas up on my adventures, leaving out details like dragons and who had me kidnapped, that being something I needed to tell the king first. Whoever that was. I needed to know the current situation. Was Azrael king?

"Not quite, Your Grace," said the steward, as a servant served us coffee and rolls fresh from the kitchens. "His Royal Highness is back from his wedding in Malion, he's been made Crown Prince there. They're getting ready for the Sendrenese coronation but it's not for a few days yet." So Azrael had married Isabella. I felt bad about it, but with a kingdom as her dowry I could see the advantages. I also saw the ham, and began buttering a roll, as ham and some relish sounded wonderful.

"Oh dear," I said, "so old Theo is dead." I slathered on some tomato relish and took a mouthful. Master Thomas shook his head.

"No, Your Grace, he's abdicated because his illness is severe. Prince Azrael is popular and old enough to take on the job. Heard it from the Lady of Peterhaven herself." I frowned, chewing, trying to think who that might be, and swallowed.

"The Lady of Peterhaven?" I said.

"Mother to the Half Heir, Your Grace." I laughed. That was a good way of describing Young Perry. We called his mother the Half Aunt, so the Half Heir was perfect.

"Oh, the Half Aunt," I said, "you met her?" I kept on with my roll, and Master Thomas smiled.

"Aye, Your Grace. They wrote it up in the local paper. It was a very hot day and most of the town turned out to see her. She was wearing a pink silk dress my wife swore she was sewn into. Seeing she's a local girl made good, the town got very over-excited." I shook my head. I wasn't sure Suzy could ever make good, though she had stopped floozying before Young Perry was born. The idea of the Half Aunt come to visit me dressed in pink silk was a fetching one. Suzy wore her dresses tight and low-cut enough that when she breathed, everyone waited for her to spill out.

I'd never tumbled her but that was more from a healthy fear than from a lack of appreciation of her generous physical charms. The fear stemmed from my conviction that Suzy was the kind of woman who enjoyed dramatic emotional entanglements. Besides, her son hated me enough. I'd learned young men were very touchy about me doing their mothers. No matter how willing the mothers were. "Should have seen the soldiers flocking after her," said the steward, interrupting my lascivious thoughts, "like cats after cream. I'd never seen cleavage so low in the daytime." I smiled and began buttering another roll. I had the idea that mustard and ham and tomato would do for the next one.

"Aye, Master Thomas, that does sound like the Half Aunt, she draws attention. Shame about the old king, I like Theo. Oh, just a minute." I wiped my hands and dug in my bag for a moment, then handed over my notes. "By the way, I had to buy a favour. There's a Torcan merchant named Foster who'll be showing you a promissory note." Master Thomas looked at the paperwork.

"Was it a good favour, Your Grace?" I nodded.

"Life and death, literally," I said, carefully laying some ham on my roll. Master Thomas inclined his head.

"Then the quite awful loss you'll be making won't matter," he said. I nodded, resisting the urge to laugh, and happily added tomato, a sparing dab of wholegrain mustard, a twist of black pepper and a tiny sprinkle of salt. I was so glad to be home, sarcastic staff and all.

"That was my sentiment at the time," I said, "a lady's life and my own were at stake. Not to mention a number of innocent people's." Master Thomas smiled.

"Cheap at the price then, Your Grace." Master Thomas went off to set into motion the sending of the news that His Grace was back in Starshore. I stayed, eating, sighing happily, drinking coffee, and generally just enjoying myself. I ate several more rolls and drank most of a pot of coffee, had a pipe, then took time for a shower and a shave.

While I was doing that the bodyguards arrived. They were very pleased I'd returned, feeling responsible for having lost me in Deerhaven. I found out about Sam dying at the back door of the inn when I'd been kidnapped, and Ross caught me up on more gossip, including the titbit that Crown Prince-to-be Perry had already applied to the king-to-be for my duchy.

"Young Perry's from Port Azrael," said Ross, "says Starshore should be his."

"Really?" I said. "The little prick. I was only missing a month, not even." Now I knew why the Half Aunt had dropped in. She was seeing what needed redecorating.

"Nobody said Prince Porky had any tact," said Ross. I nodded.

"We're going to Peterhaven." It was four in the morning.

"Now?" said Ross.

"Aye," I said, "I have business with Prince Porky."

"Will it be bad news for him?" said Ross. I laughed.

"Aye," I said, "it will. The Half Heir should end up in gaol at the least."

"Then I won't even complain about you taking me out of my bed," he said, looking pleased. I hoped he didn't look displeased at my next bit of news.

"By the way," I said, a bit hesitant, "because you're guarding me you need to know." I took a breath. "I've learned to transform into dragon-shape. With wings. Or without."

"You can do it at will?" said Ross. They all looked at me, expectantly.

"Aye." I wasn't sure what they might say. "If that's a problem for any of you, I understand." They all looked at each other and shrugged.

"No problem," said Ross, "and harder for people to kill you. Makes our job easier." Everyone nodded, and that was that.

#### ****

We took a coach into Peterhaven. That way I could nap, even have a picnic, permitted to change teams at the various Crown depots, so we always had fresh horses moving at full speed, another advantage to being a duke of the realm.

It was dawn when we reached the city, and I looked out the window as our coach passed through the Peterhaven Wall, remembering the first time I'd arrived at the city, on my way to the citadel. The city streets looked clean, and I was struck by how different Ashvarlen had been, so filthy. Not Peterhaven, there was a fine for dropping rubbish in the street instead of one of the many bins. People were paid to clear even the horse manure dropped in the streets, and made a healthy income selling it on to various city gardens.

We came over a hill and there it was in the first light of the day, the Green Dragon citadel. Ahead and covering a hilltop, partly visible behind a high stone wall, a series of three large buildings ranged up the terraced slope, each with three floors above the ground, and at the top was a large park with pastureland and whole forests of mature trees. The palaces – for that's what they were – were partly camouflaged, the visible structures appearing to float, tethered by long vines.

The mass of the walls disappeared behind a forest of mature trees in giant camouflaged pots. They were set around and up the face of the building, further disguised by terrace and balcony gardens of plants and vines. The illusion of being a growing plant, not a fixed architecture, continued with elegant facades of a dark green marble, threaded with gold that winked with every spark of light, as if one was looking into a forest dappled with sunlight. At dawn, with the yellow and pink light and streaks of silver across the lightening sky, it looked like the most beautiful place in the World. Silly place though it was - filled with rich idiots all trying to impress the king and each other, or trying to get laid - for me it was home, more than anywhere, and it was good to see it.

Once up at the top building, the actual citadel, we went straight to Azrael's rooms. The polis were sent for. When they arrived I showed my paperwork. Azrael asked that his half-brother be taken to the nearest outside polis station for questioning so nobody could say Azrael had swayed the investigators, then we all walked down to Young Perry's suite in the new fort. Azrael's family had never let Perry sleep in the citadel, where Azrael, the king, and at some distance, the queen, slept. Nor had they ever given him his own tower, like Azrael's mother. Instead Young Perry and his mother stayed down in the new fort, where visitors and servants were domiciled.

#### ****

The polis went into the suite, entered the bedroom, calling on Young Perry to surrender to them. Perry refused to get up.

"Bugger off," we heard him shout, "don't you know who I am?" The polis said they knew exactly who he was and dragged him out of bed, something I found eminently satisfying. Perry's girlfriend, Cida Innes - formerly a friend of Azrael's - was sharing Perry's bed. When the polis read the charges and told Perry he was under arrest, Cida started screeching like a fishwife and attacked the polis, so Ross kept her out of the way and she tried to claw his face. Azrael and I were watching from the doorway. Azrael said to me,

"Cida's going to defend him to the death. People in love are stupid." I managed not to laugh but did wonder if he defended me like Cida did Perry. Fenric was there, watching Cida wriggling, screaming, and biting. He stepped in as she kicked Ross in the balls and grabbed her before she could attack the polis again. Fenric was sensible, put her in a nerve-hold, one hand firmly gripping her wrist, the fingers of his other hand pinching up under her arm, so if she struggled she only hurt herself, and she soon stopped.

I wondered why bother? Let her attack the polis, and do time too. She was as guilty as he was. I still remembered Cida coming to watch me die, out on the Green when Perry had hired an assassin and Virginia had been killed in my stead. Azrael and I withdrew back to the main living room. Young Perry was shouting,

"You can't do this to me!" as he was frog-marched out in his pyjamas, then he saw me and went pale. He actually snarled, lips back over his teeth. I was shocked at his appearance.

Young Perry was like Azrael in colouring, with black hair and Westwych blue eyes, but he took after the stocky side of the Westwych line. The last time I saw him was years ago and he was big then. Now he was heavier than ever, but the hatred in his eyes hadn't changed. I remembered the first time I met him in the citadel's infirmary, and how he looked at me the same way.

"I think we _can_ do this to you," I said, feeling beyond cheerful. I waved the contract at him, enough so he could see what it was. "I'm betting that when they search here they'll find your copy. Paying others to perform capital crimes is a hanging offence. Conspiracy to kidnap, commit bodily harm, to sell another into slavery? Is it worse when they're trying to get your duchy for themselves? Or when they ask for your balls to be brought back as a souvenir?" Perry lost all composure and the polis nearly lost their hold on him. He screamed at me, spittle all over his lips, his face nearly purple with rage.

"You're the conspirator! This usurper is stealing the throne, and you're all guilty! I am the true heir!" I looked blankly at him as if he was crazy, which I was pretty sure he was, then at Azrael, and we shrugged. "He's not my father's son!" screamed Perry. Everyone rolled their eyes and the almost-Crown Prince was led away, still shouting.

As the suite was about to be searched, a sullen Cida was escorted to her parents' rooms. Azrael and I, accompanied by our various bodyguards, began heading up the citadel hill, back to the main citadel and the Queen's Mews. It was very early and I was hungry.

We headed along a sumptuous corridor I knew well, lined with statuary and big enough to drive a coach down, part of the route to the infirmary, where I'd spent too much of my teens. The ceiling was covered in elaborate murals, the walls in tapestries and paintings, and every so often great columns stood, carved from exotic marble and stone, details picked out with in gold. Beautiful marble statuary, much of it larger than life-size, told stories of myths, gods, and heroes. There were mirrors and then furniture of stunning craftsmanship, with inlays in rare woods, bone and gems adding to the decoration. Even compared to my little domicile in Starshore, the citadel was impressive. Much more gilt, too.

Azrael waved everyone away from him. The bodyguards fell back but didn't leave us. He was the Crown Prince, about to be king, and never completely alone, protectors always within reach.

"Not you, Polo," he said. In a mirror on the wall I saw us reflected, me blonde, him black-haired, and for a moment didn't recognise us, we were looking so serious.

"Good idea," I said, "about not questioning Perry here. Though I would like to let Uncle Nate at him." Uncle Nate Westwych, younger brother to King Theo, was the Royal Torturer. "After what Perry's done to me," I went on, "I can see torture being a good thing."

"Oh don't," said Azrael, "and especially not after you told me torture doesn't work. Don't you remember when the Army did it to you?" I scowled.

"Aye, I do, and that was different. I'd been falsely accused. Perry's been getting away with literally murder since we were sixteen. I quite like the idea of him being tortured, before they hang him."

"You're sounding like one of my crusty old dukes, demanding I bring back hanging for scrumping apples." He put on the kind of accent I'd heard around the citadel, admittedly from some crusty old dukes, "And have you considered amputation of limbs depending on the crime?" He switched back to his own accent. "Besides, I'm trying to persuade Uncle Nate to retire without hurting his feelings." I laughed.

"The Royal Torturer has feelings?"

"Strange ones, I think," said Azrael, smiling, "but he can afford to retire. Several of his people-peeling machines have been sold to foreign governments." I shuddered and could tell the bodyguards could still hear us, they shuddered too. Like me, Fenric and Ross had been tortured by the Military Polis, and we all served against Sriama, so knew friends and fellow-soldiers tortured to death. I might want Perry punished in a fit of righteous anger, but torture as a matter of course?

"Gods, Azrael," I said, curling my lip, "that's disgusting. How can Sendren allow that? And information from torture isn't to be relied on." He waved a hand to soothe me.

"Plus it's inhumane," he said, "I agree. But I'm not the emperor yet."

"Emperor?" I said. He frowned. I tried not to laugh.

"Too much?" he said. "I need something that's more than king." I tried not to laugh more.

"Why?" He could tell I was trying not to laugh. He gave me a look.

"I'll be king of all the land," he said, "not only of Sendren. I thought maybe emperor." I shook my head, biting my lips to stop smiling. Azrael smiled. "Perhaps something else. Oh, and have I asked you? Do you like Sendren-Highcliff? That or Highcliff-Sendren?" Before he ended up too many questions ahead of me, I tried to answer.

"First one. If you're king of all, just call yourself the Dragon King of Theus. After all, the other kings will all be dukes, right?" I paused. "What will I be, by the way?" He shook his head at me as if I'd missed something. We were close to the Queens Mews, the ancient name for the area of the citadel Azrael and I lived in.

"You're the Duke of Starshore," he said, "I'm not taking that away from you. Every king has his own estates, like the dukes, they get to keep those. I'll still keep the Duchy of Beechwood, and I'll have the current Crown Estate round Peterhaven. All the land will be Crown land, of course-" I nodded. I was just slightly confused, but not about the whole system, just about my title. I knew the rest of it and that it was best to cut him off quick. Azrael was prone to bouts of speechifying.

"Ah yes, you told me," I said quickly, "brilliant solution. I'm in agreement. And I like Sendren-Highcliff." I changed the subject. Did Perry know something about Stefan, Azrael's real father? "Shame about Young Perry being crazy, all that stuff about usurpers. Looks like he's for the asylum. At the risk of sounding crusty, I was hoping the little prick would hang." Azrael suddenly looked very happy, and smiled. He gave me a rather hetero one-armed squeeze of affection. I was relieved over the hetero aspect and it was likewise good to see him. "Little bastard," I said, "I'll not risk hanging for him but if I get a chance to claim self-defence, you're going to need a new heir." Azrael laughed.

"I seem to be saying this a lot," he said, "but it's good to see you. People were saying you must be dead, with no ransom demand and you missing this long."

"I very nearly was," I said. "Several times. I must write it all down."

"You and your journals," he said. I grinned.

"Best bit?" I said, and lowered my voice. "I can fly!"

"No! Show me?" He was so excited he was dancing round me. "Oh Polo, come on, show me." I shushed him.

"Not here in the corridor."

#### ****

In Azrael's quarters, we cleared the servants out, then - so they didn't panic - told his bodyguards about my new capability. All that took a while, which gave me time to have a quick snack of cake and coffee. The bodyguards wanted to see too so I stripped off and demonstrated the change. Some of the bodyguards looked stunned. Fenric and Ross looked as if it was no more than they expected.

"What do you think?" I said, and spread my wings. "It does hurt but the pain doesn't last. I can be other sizes but that hurts beyond just nasty. I think within reason I could be as big or as small as I like." I was thinking mostly about breakfast. Shape-changing needed fuel. Azrael began to sob and dropped into a chair, his face in his hands. "Azrael? Azrael?" I said, and carefully patted his shoulder without embedding a claw in him, my tail trying to pat him too. "Hey, Azrael? What is it? I'm alright." He shook himself and blinked away the tears.

"You get everything I want, Polo," he said, trying to smile, "why is that?" I spread my hands, or claws. I assumed he meant both flying and getting into the army.

"I don't know," I said, "you know I didn't want the army career."

"You have to try to teach me," Azrael said, hiccupping, "now you know how."

"I'll do my best," I said. I wasn't sure how would I teach someone what I'd learned. Which reminded me, where was Stefan? As Azrael's real father and a shape-changer, he should be the one teaching.

By now he should also have told Azrael that he really was a usurper but not to worry, everyone who knew was sure he'd do very well, having been bred especially for the job, then educated and trained as well as they knew how. They were lucky too that Azrael had a strong sense of duty.

Poor Azrael. Some of us have choices over our lives, but the path of his was set out from birth.

#### ****

## Chapter 16 - A Brief Appearance at Court

Soon installed in my old quarters, I asked for and got my old servants. I hugged Bernard, who took it in good grace. He was looking well, a solid, greying man very good at fading into the wallpaper. It was, as he put it, an art.

"Hello Your Grace," he said, and patted my shoulder. I smiled and stepped back.

"It's good to see you, Bernard."

"Likewise, Your Grace. Bryce the night man will be in later, he's still asleep." I needed to explain myself to Bernard, especially the new shape-changing part. He was sanguine.

"You want that kept secret, Your Grace?" I nodded.

"For now at least," I said, "if Dragon joins Azrael's army, that may change." We looked thoughtful for a moment. He smoothed his sleeves.

"I feared your chapter in my memoirs would end with ' _and then he went to war'_ , which would have been a shame."

"A tragic hero not good enough for you?" I said, and made a melodramatic gesture, hand to my forehead. He pretended not to be amused.

"The people like a happy ending, Your Grace. Oh, I took the liberty of ordering breakfast in, it should be here any moment." I smiled.

"You're a genius. Bernard. By the way, now I'm back, and alive, obviously I want to poach you for my own staff." He smiled too.

"I will be terribly expensive, Your Grace. I'm thinking a nice job title. Maybe something like Ducal Aide." I nodded. We pretended to solemnity.

"Sounds good," I said, "is that well-paid?" His lips twitched.

"It is." I nodded.

"Then let's call it that."

"I will work out a month's notice to the Crown, Your Grace, just as soon as your people send me a contract."

"Will you tell them to send the contract?" I said, still deadpan.

"Of course, Your Grace." We beamed at each other. "Oh," he said, "did you get your army service badge?" A badge had arrived to show I served three years in the north. The little bronze dragon clipped onto my collar. If one served ten years, the dragon would be silver, for fifteen, gold. Thanks to the medals I'd earned, the Black Dragon and the Red Dragon, my little service dragon had a band of black enamel on the tail, and a band of red on the throat.

I thought to just throw it in a drawer, instead I let Bernard pin it on.

#### ****

The polis interviewed me right after breakfast and took my paper evidence. I heard via the servant grapevine they found Perry's copy of the contract along with notes, receipts, and correspondence. It didn't implicate Cida but that didn't matter, without Perry she wasn't going to be my problem.

After my interview, Bernard told me Azrael had asked to see me in the King's Offices. I walked through the citadel to the main entrance. The King's Offices were above the great doorway at the front of the citadel, so he could see who was approaching. As I walked to see Azrael I remembered the first time I went there, to see Uncle Theo on my first night in Peterhaven.

As it had then, it felt strange to have marble and carpet underfoot and rich decoration everywhere. I hadn't been around wealth for a while. Huge corridors, massive rooms, elaborate decoration, it wasn't the usual notion of a home, but the citadel was as close to that as I had.

The office was all dark wood panelling, polished until it glowed, simply furnished, expensively done. The view was stunning, down from the first floor of the citadel, where the Royal Family stayed – and honorary Royal, Polo Shawcross - over the new fort, where the Hangers On were accommodated when they arrived to party over the summers, down the hill to the old fort, where the soldiers were billeted, over the wall and across Peterhaven, then over the Peterhaven Wall itself, out to the hills and mountains beyond. For a moment it felt like we were boys in the grown-up's rooms. However we weren't children any more. I could see it on Azrael's face and anyone could see it on mine. Servants brought coffee then withdrew.

"Half Aunt Suzy's already pushing for Young Perry to be declared insane," Azrael said, once the servants were gone. "She says he's obviously mad, it's the Sutherland-Westwych cross, and begs me to send him to a nearby asylum." I snorted.

"She didn't publicise that before," I said, "always Perry the Peasants' Favourite in all the crap they fed the newspapers." I mentioned Suzy's recent visit to Port Azrael. Azrael sighed and ran a hand back through his black hair.

"Aye, he asked for Starshore. I told him you had to be missing a year before the duchy could return to Crown holdings and that I'd take your will into account first." He shook his head. "That was new this morning, him saying I'm a Dragon cuckoo." I wasn't sure what to say. Before Azrael took the throne, someone was supposed to tell him that he was indeed a Dragon cuckoo. I focused on the coffee in my cup and said casually,

"How long until your Sendrenese coronation?"

"Galaia's tits, too soon," he said, pulling a face, "I don't want to think about it. It's only two days away." I wasn't sure what day it was. Possibly Monday.

"Is that Wednesday?" I said. He nodded.

"Aye, kingdom holiday," he said, "everyone's looking forward to the party." I wondered if he knew about his real parentage.

"You haven't seen Stefan Westwych around?" I said. He raised his dark eyebrows.

"Stefan? No, haven't seen him since," he said, and paused, thinking. "Must be a couple of years. In Malion." I bit my tongue. I would wait, maybe. Azrael had to be told. He wouldn't want to be a usurper.

I wanted him to be one. The alternatives were Young Perry, Queen Kristen of Joban, or Uncle Nate, the strange one, which was saying something in that company, as the other two were likely mad-and-dangerous. Even Azrael's Nanny Black, who wasn't scared of anything or anyone, shivered when she mentioned Uncle Nate.

"Oh well," I said. "I hear you were married while I was away." He looked guilty. I tried to think of something appropriate to say. "Congratulations?" He laughed.

"Said with just the right tone of uncertainty, Polo. Isabella's madder than I thought." He shook his head. "Wants me to make love to her as a husband should, then lies there like a board, because you're not supposed to enjoy it, pleasure being against the ethics of her religious sect. Same one as that nutcase Cida and her crazy mother belong to. They worship Thet and don't believe Galaia joined with the World to live forever." He shivered, and we both put our hands on our hearts for Galaia.

"I didn't know Isabella was religious," I said. He groaned.

"I said 'Galaia preserve me' in front of her the other day, she started shrieking that I was a heretic. And the sex, well, it's a disaster." I raised my eyebrows. "Not the actual act," he said with a sigh, "the aftermath. She only does it out of duty, though when she's drunk she enjoys it, but when she sobers up the crying starts because I violated her. I didn't even realise she was tipsy, just thought we were just finally getting on. For all I'd rather she was a man, I'm not a brute. I've learned a lot thanks to you, and all the women Nanny Black and Mother set me up with." At one point Azrael had a paid harem with a lifetime's rewards available to the one who managed to get pregnant. None of them had. I sighed.

"Isabella did the same performance with me, Azrael. It's why I ran." He sighed.

"I used your trick," he said, "waited until she was begging me to do it then kept her hot for another hour before I did. She hit me with her shoe, but she was enjoying herself." The bodyguards sniggered and I laughed.

"My trick?" I said. "I don't think I invented that. And I told you before, make sure there isn't anything around she can hit you with." He smiled.

"I know, I know. Nothing harder than a pillow or her fist, and watch those." I smiled. He offered a pipe. "Help yourself," he said, "this is some of the crop from the year you went to war."

"That was a very good year," I said, joking.

"It was for mindweed," he said, smiling. "Anyway, she acts like I've taken her virginity then run off with her sister. Just because we had a good time in bed." He shrugged. "If you don't enjoy it at all, why keep doing it? And I know she's had more lovers than I have. It seems I can't even be friends with her." I resisted the urge to say I told you so. I also didn't say that not only did I tell you so but I let you read my diary, which also told you so. Instead I said,

"I hope you're using condoms." He waved a hand in an airy gesture.

"She's on the herbs," he said. I grimaced.

"You trust a madwoman to take her medicine?" I said.

"Aye," he said looking thoughtful, "I see your point. On the bright side, once I'm crowned here, the Court moves to Malion and I'll be crowned King of Highcliff!" I made a suitably impressed face.

"King of both?" He smiled, looking shy but pleased.

"Grandpa Theo abdicating inspired old King Lewis. He says he's going fishing while he's still able to enjoy it. I'll be King of Sendren-Highcliff. Until I get the old kingdoms united, then we'll be Theus and all the old kingdoms will be duchies. Well, their home estates will be. There's going to be a certain amount of adjustment."

He put his cup down, came across to the couch I was sitting on, and dropped to his knees at my feet. Please, I was thinking, please, don't make a pass at me again. "I thought someone had killed you, Polo." I shook my head.

"Someone?" I said. "Did you suspect Perry?" Azrael nodded, looking solemn.

"Little bastard looked too happy," he said. I was angry.

"He told the people who held me to tell me that he was going to be king soon, so you might like to warn your guards."

"I will, are you alright though?" I nodded.

"Haka used me to harvest souls again. I don't like being used. I want Young Perry put away this time."

"This time the Sendrenese polis are already involved," he said. He didn't make a pass, just sat on the rug while I lay on the couch. We talked, like old times. The bodyguards relaxed and talked too. Everyone wanted to know more about the shape-changing. I didn't tell Azrael who his father really was. I would tell him later. At the last minute. After all, it was Stefan's responsibility to tell him, not mine. Azrael had an appointment, so I said I'd see him later and we headed out.

Thanks to the citadel being so crowded with visitors, I had a squad of four bodyguards. Azrael was up to a squad of eight inside the citadel. I'd only gone a few hundred feet when I slapped my forehead.

"Easy Polo," said Ross, "you'll make it rattle round in there."

"I need to see the Princess Royal," I said, "anyone know if Saraia's still in the North Tower?"

#### ****

It was late morning by then and Saraia, Azrael's mother, the Princess Royal, was thankfully in. Guards let me enter, said Herself was in the second floor private lounge. The tower was secure, once inside there was no other access, so my guards stopped to play cards.

When I called a hello, Saraia met me at the door, feet bare, looking good enough to eat and pleased to see me. Her copper hair was down and she was wearing soft black satin trousers with a simple matching top, the satin pooling and shimmering on her body as she moved. She gave me a warm hug. I returned it with genuine pleasure, coming away from that rather delicious experience sure she wasn't wearing anything underneath and willing myself not to get hard.

She walked away from me, chatting. I watched the satin slide over her rump. I looked up just in time as she turned back and gestured to take a seat. I'd never been in the room before. It was much softer than the public rooms, with pale carpets and comfortable furniture piled thick with cushions.

Two large black cats with yellow eyes regarded me from one of the couches. The Palace Cats were one of the features of life at the citadel, large felines who were supposed to keep the vermin down, and seemed to, but spent most of their time cadging food and sleeping where they found cushions and warmth. I was used to cats, but many people ended up clawed or bitten, as the creatures didn't suffer fools. I wasn't going to turf them off their couch, so wouldn't draw their wrath.

"Saraia," I said, "it's lovely to see you. I need to talk to you about something." She nodded.

"Of course," she said, "I have an hour. You're looking well, Polo." I smiled. She was looking ravishing as always, copper hair straight today.

"Thank you, Saraia, you're looking simply wonderful. Look, you're going to have to excuse my bluntness, but there's something I need to ask-"

"Wait," she said, holding up a hand. "You've caught me just as I got back in. I've been smiling until my cheeks ache, handing out prizes at the Musicians' Guild. I have my comfy clothes on but I need a smoke and coffee desperately."

"I'm sorry," I said, "there's time for that at least. This is urgent but not life-threatening." As I said it, I wondered if that was entirely true. It might very well cost lives, with usurping a throne being treasonous, a capital crime in any kingdom.

Saraia called a servant and sent for coffee, but her pipe was on the table. To occupy myself I began shredding the mindweed for her. She took the chair closest to mine and passed a pair of scissors.

"Here," she said. I smiled and thanked her. "Galaia preserve me, Polo, it's good to see you smiling. I only just heard you were alive. We all thought you were dead. Botched kidnap, everyone was saying."

"It was," I said. I gave the same story I gave most people, which meant I lied through my teeth, though I did tell her about Young Perry's involvement. Finally a servant came with coffee then left again.

"Come on," Saraia said, pouring coffee, "tell me. You're obviously bursting with something." I kept my voice low as I knew her servants, like all of them, considered it their right to eavesdrop.

"I know Azrael isn't quite whose son he thinks he is. Stefan and I had a talk, back after Aunt Kristen mauled us and he was helping Azrael with the physical therapy." I breathed out. Saraia was watching me carefully. I went on, "He told me, Stefan did, that Azrael would be told before his coronation." She nodded. I waited.

"And?" she said.

"Well," I said, "one, I don't think Azrael knows and two, I think Young Perry may know something."

"Wasn't that awful child arrested?" she said, and frowned. "I thought he was. For having you kidnapped etcetera?"

"Aye," I said, "and he said that Azrael was a usurper, a Dragon plant." She shook her head and looked sad. Then she cheered up. She leaned close to me.

"He's insane," she said, "obviously." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. She was behaving more like my mother and less like the woman I had always looked to as a sensible adult.

"Aye," I said, "but someone needs to tell Azrael. Tell him the truth." She smiled at me.

"You'd be good," she said, "he looks up to you." I stared at her.

"What? Oh no, Saraia. Don't you dare! I'm not doing your dirty work."

"Dirty work?" she said. Her voice was full of sorrow. Her beautiful bright blue eyes, the iris frosted with a ring of sapphire, were sad too. "I suppose it is dirty. My drunken husband abandoned me," she meant the late Perry, supposedly Azrael's father, "and fell into some whore's bed," that was the Half-Aunt, "and you're surprised that Stefan Westwych," Azrael's actual father, "impressed me when I went down to the bar to get said husband?" I tried not to let the sad look get to me. Gods, had she always been that transparently manipulative? I frowned. Perhaps I didn't mind before? I did have a crush on her when I was younger. Now I was happy to admit a certain fondness and a very strong case of lust.

"I'm not judging you, Saraia, or saying your late husband was admirable in any way, but didn't he also do you before he left to go down to the bar?" I knew the story from the whore's side, as the Half Aunt had told me how she met the late Perry when he went to the wrong room, found a floozy with a bad knee, and Half Aunt Suzie became pregnant with Young Perry. Saraia shook her head.

"He thought he had," she said, sounding practical, "the Late Perry I mean, he thought he'd tumbled me because I told him he did." She smiled and took a sip of coffee. "He was too drunk to remember." She curled her lip. "If the staff hadn't remembered him being in the floozy's bed, he wouldn't have known he'd sired a child there either."

"See," I said, "that kind of detail, Azrael needs to know."

"Good point, Polo, I'll tell you all about it-" I shook my head and interrupted.

"No," I said, "no bloody way." She pouted and put her coffee down.

"But Polo-"

"No, Saraia, that's simply not fair." She stood up for a moment, then sat across my lap. The satin slipped across her breasts like water. I groaned, now completely sure she wasn't wearing a stitch underneath. How weak was I? I kissed her for a long time. In my defence, it had been a while. I wasn't even sure how long. However I could offer no real excuse other than I wanted to. I groaned again, my hands on her satin-clad buttocks, pulling her against me.

"Do it," she said, each breath making the satin slip and shimmer, "for me? When have I ever asked you for a favour?" I had no idea. My head was empty of everything except the scent of her and I breathed deep, burying my head between her breasts. "Gods," she said, "Polo, you're so hard." She ground her hips against me. I was sliding one hand against her bare skin up under the top, the other hand cupping one of her buttocks. I lifted the shirt to get better access to her breasts.

"When you tell Azrael about his father," she said, as I licked around one nipple, "are you going to tell him we did this?" She paused. So did I. I lifted my head. "Hang on," she said, looking into my eyes, "will he be upset? He was last time." Now she had a conscience? It reminded me I had one.

"I am not telling him about his father. And," I said and sighed. "I think we better stop now, because he would be upset." I gave her bottom a regretful squeeze, let go, and smoothed her top into place.

"We shouldn't have thought about the silly morality," she said. I kissed her hard.

"Aye, next time let's just tear our clothes off and not think." She sighed. I slid her off my lap onto the seat beside me, one arm still around her. I was thinking there had better not be a next time. I didn't want to upset Azrael. Right then, Cree the not-ghost appeared.

_Morning Polo_ , he said in a cheery tone, _this one's a looker._ I thought at him to go away. He walked around to get a good view of Saraia, curled into my body. _That's the welcome I get?_ I tried to ignore him. _You need to leave today for Redoubt. You were supposed to be there by now._ I remembered Cree had known when I was going to be dragon-bait, and that I wasn't going to be toasted over a Sriaman fire.

"I have to leave today?" I said aloud. Saraia pulled a face.

"What? You're leaving again today?" I tried to focus on the living.

_I'm alive,_ said Cree, stepping between us, knee-deep in the couch, making me dizzy. _Don't you ever listen to me? I'm not a ghost. I'm just not in-body right now._

"I have to visit Dragon," I said, looking through Cree at Saraia's breasts, which were rising and falling with each breath, under that one tantalising layer of fabric, "diplomatic mission."

"You've missed Azrael's wedding," she said, "now you're going to miss his coronation?" I shrugged and patted her leg regretfully.

"Aye," I said, "at his request. And I'm about to miss out on you. I really don't have time. You deserve more than an hour of any man's time."

"What about Azrael?" she said, and I sighed.

"Gods, Saraia, it shouldn't be up to me." She made a dramatic gesture,

"His father's dead-" I gasped.

"Stefan's dead?" I said. She nearly laughed as she shook her head, copper hair swinging and nipples showing through the satin in a tormenting fashion. Tormenting for me, I mean. I was pretty sure she wasn't experiencing any real agonies.

"No, no," she said, "my Perry, the man Azrael knew as his father, is dead. I don't know how Azrael will take it when I tell him that the Late Perry wasn't his father." She pulled a face. "Really Polo, does he have to know?"

"Of course he bloody does," I said, getting annoyed. "I can't do it, Saraia. It's not right. If Stefan doesn't turn up you have to." She shrugged and walked over to her previous chair and her pipe. "You should do it," I added, "as soon as possible. Today. And comfort him. You're his bloody mother." She took a hit on the pipe and turned to look at me, smoke wreathing her face.

"You sound like his father." I laughed.

"Which one?" I said. She sniffed, but was smiling.

"Both of them."

_You have to fly_ , said Cree.

"Excuse me, Saraia," I said, "I need to get ready." I gave my best wishes for the coronation, and left.

#### ****

On the way back to the old citadel, I dismissed my bodyguards, though I told them why, that I was going to Redoubt. Cree skimmed the ground next to me as I walked into my old quarters.

"Walk, damn it," I said aloud, "that floating is unsettling."

_You need to have a meal and pack a bag_ , he said, ignoring me. I sighed.

"You seem to know everything," I said, "will I succeed with enlisting Lilith in this scheme of Azrael's?" He smiled.

You're a smooth talker, Polo, but Lilith is a little older and wiser than you.

"Meaning?"

_Meaning her price will be high._ Cree changed the subject, said I should fly at night, sleep in the day, and that it would take about two days to get to Redoubt. It seemed a hard timetable. _A dragon can fly straight as the crow does._

"Not this dragon," I said, "I need a compass. And a map."

_Take some food, a blanket, and something warm for when you get to Redoubt._ I forgot to ask him why Jules had appeared to me, or what she'd meant, asking about a crown in a dream, and why did she seem to be real, but Cree was so much smoke?

He probably wouldn't have answered, as Cree often avoided answering actual questions. So much so, I often didn't ask any, instead accepting my insanity, and discussing philosophy with the external manifestation of my madness, or Cree, as it called itself.

#### ****

I went to see Azrael, who was in his suite next door. Nanny Black was visiting. She looked just the same, a tiny little thing with white hair, but her bright dark eyes gave away the impressive mind behind. She was Azrael's ex-nanny, and his mother's, having worked for his mother's family in Cragleas, where they were the Royal Family. I leaned down and kissed her cheek. I was scared of Nanny, but then everyone was.

"If it isn't the biggest scallywag of them all," she said, giving me a bone-crushing hug. I tried not to cough. She was the same with handshakes, one needed to be careful or she'd do damage.

"Hello Nanny," I said. "Look, I'm alive." She smiled.

"It's good to see you, Polo."

"It's good to see everyone," I said, "though I'm about to head off again for a while, just a week or so." I turned to Azrael. "I was going to get on with that matter you asked about." I didn't want to mention exactly what in front of Nanny Black, but Azrael didn't seem to mind, or possibly didn't notice.

"The mission to Redoubt?" he said. "Now?"

"Don't you want me to get Lilith onside?" Nanny raised her eyebrows at me just a touch. I knew what she meant. Seeing I was on first name terms with Lilith, had I done the Dragon queen? I rolled my eyes slightly to signify my disbelief that such an event would ever happen. Nanny coughed discreetly. I managed not to laugh.

In Kavarlen, the people tried not to laugh in public in case they were killed over not obeying religious strictures. Here in the Kingdoms they tried not to laugh openly at the Blood in case we stopped amusing them. I knew which was more humane.

"I do need to know about Dragon's intentions, you know that," said Azrael, reminding me what we were talking about, "but are you sure you're alright? I'm sure there must be someone else who could go." Nevertheless, I thought, I want to go. I had a brainwave.

"My ghost said I had to go today," I said. Nanny gave me another look. Was I lying? I gave her an unconcerned and innocent look.

"Oh," said Azrael, suddenly persuaded, "well if Cree said, you better do it. Who knows, maybe Bran of Lakeleas is making his move." Lakeleas was one of the southern kingdoms, and Bran, its King, was a major opponent of Azrael's Theus.

"A move?" I said. Azrael rolled his eyes.

"He's threatened to unite the Leas Kingdoms, become king of the whole south and stand against me."

"You mean Bran wants to be you," I said. Azrael smiled.

"Aye, I don't think he means to stop at the Leas. He wants his own Dragon Throne."

"Nice," I said, "all the dragon accoutrement around the kingship. You'll need more gilt." He laughed and laughed. Nanny Black smiled and shook her head at me.

"Still Haka with testicles I see, young Polo," she said. I grinned at her. Azrael shook his head at me too, but he was still smiling.

"You are an idiot, Polo, I'm so glad you're alive. Come back to me this time, eh?"

"Aye," I said, "but I'm not promising anything with Lilith, other than I'll do my best."

"Aye," he said, "I know you will. You always do. And you'll talk to me about flying when you return from Redoubt. Oh, can you please visit Theo, before you go?"

I could. I said goodbye to them both, and headed for the king's rooms.

#### ****

When I first met the king, the assassin who killed his son had just attacked him. The Late Perry was barely cold when Theo – an angry and grieving father - foolishly got too close to the prisoner and the man wrapped his chains round the king's throat. A day later, even with a bruised neck and eyes bright red from the attack, Theo was full of life.

Now, about five years later, he looked so small and withered. All his fat was gone but the disease had bloated his body. He was pleased to see me and we had a good visit.

"You'll look after Azrael, won't you, Polo?" he said. I smiled.

"Aye," I said, "but he's doing well with his Dragon Kingdom. Don't think he needs my help." Theo nodded.

"I think what I mean is," he said, smiling, "don't take Azrael's throne." I wasn't sure I heard him correctly. Had he meant me?

"Sorry, Theo, what did you say?" He gave me a look.

"You heard me," he said, "don't take his throne. You're always going to be more popular than he is. Promise me you'll not plot against him, that you won't take his throne." I looked into his eyes, that Westwych dark blue with the diamond lights.

"Gods, Theo, yes of course. I swear I'll never plot against Azrael." He took my hand, holding it tight.

"Do you swear that as my vassal lord?"

"I swear it as his friend. And yours. That's more binding. As family. But I'll swear now as your vassal lord, sire, and his. I will never plot against Azrael." I smiled. "Or you." That seemed to calm him down. I knew I might not see Theo again so made sure he knew he was like a father to me, though without the failings of most fathers, and that I appreciated it.

In turn he said I was a favourite of his, as was my mother before me, and he was glad I'd made it back to be Azrael's friend again.

I was pretty sure he knew his grandson was still carrying a torch for me.

#### ****

## Chapter 17 - Redoubt

As I flew southwest, the full impact of the old king's words had time to percolate through my brain. I couldn't quite believe what Uncle Theo had said. The family were worried I'd try to take over? Me, a threat to Azrael?

I was probably the only person in the country who didn't want to be king. Duke was quite enough responsibility, thank you. I knew what Azrael's life was like. I didn't want it. There were men, and women, that did. What about that idiot half-brother Perry? Indigo Sutherland? Aunt Kristen? Or any of the other possible contenders with the right sirename and an abiding hatred of Azrael? I realised Azrael had done the same thing, quizzed me on my allegiances, as he released me from my military service a few weeks early.

There must be something going on in Sendren. In Sendren-Highcliff, I corrected myself. The new name was going to take some getting used to. I'd just manage it and we'd be Theus. You see, I knew Azrael. He was going to unite the old kingdoms. As Azrael's dreams became fodder for public gossip, discussed as reality or at least closer to it, one could feel the excitement building in the citadel. Most seemed to be in agreement. I was also in favour. It was time to stop the war in the north, by whatever means.

The trip south was uneventful. I spent it in dragon-shape, easier to sleep rough. To my surprise, I felt no urge to hunt rabbits and eat them raw. In my bag were a couple of pies, some cake, bread, cheese, that kind of thing. I ate it all cold. I didn't want a fire and the attention that would bring. Trying to chat politely with peasants or Blood while I was in form didn't appeal. I had a flask of plain black coffee but that was tepid by the morning of the second day.

By the time I reached Redoubt, my craving for hot coffee was almost overwhelming. Camping was much over-rated and next time, despite the inconvenience of changing shape twice a day, I might try staying in inns.

#### ****

When I first saw the mountain meadow in Redoubt, I was sixteen, it was summer and the meadow was full of dragons. I dreamed it, out of my body, which lay dying in the infirmary at the Peterhaven citadel. Now twenty-one, and on a crisp autumn dawn, I circled the mountain meadow I dreamed all those years ago. There were no dragons in it this time. Except me.

The air was cold and fresh, the frame of snow-topped mountains the same as my memories, but the meadow was much bigger than it had seemed. I transformed and dressed, instantly feeling cold, tired, and in need of a shower and shave. Autumn was further along here in the highlands, but scattered in the grass were little purple starflowers, exactly as I remembered.

When the goddess Galaia died birthing the World, Quain, her distraught husband, was inconsolable. So her grieving father Thet brought her back to life, but then they found her body had decayed. Galaia wept as she realised her body was destroyed and her tears soaked into the World. Wherever they fell, pretty starflowers grew. Galaia was inspired, and realised if she joined with the World, her spirit would always be with us all.

I wasn't sure if that could be true in any sense at all, other than burying a body under a flower bed was bound to be good fertiliser, but leaned down and looked closely at the starflowers anyway. I was on a memory trip back to that sixteenth summer. My stomach gurgled, breaking the spell, reminding me it was breakfast time.

Right then, the woman I'd seen, the friend of Cree's appeared. I stopped looking at the starflowers. I hadn't seen Jules since I was in the army. A few months now? She looked good. A pretty blonde with green eyes, her long hair was lifting a little in the morning breeze. It was cut shorter over her eyes, and I was put in mind of a pony.

"Morning Polo," she said in a cheerful tone. "You doing alright?"

"Fine," I said, a little hesitantly. "You're Jules?" She smiled, showing straight white teeth.

"I am." I looked around.

"Where's Cree?"

"Oh, he's busy," she said casually, "I just thought I'd drop in." I frowned.

"You look, and sound, more solid than he does."

"Ah," she said, "that's because I'm not just an apparition." She held out her hand. As if in a dream I put my hand out. She shook it. Her hand was warm. Her skin was soft, and something, her skin or hair, smelled of lemons. She smelled human. No Dragon in Jules.

"You're r-real?" I stuttered. I couldn't think of anything else to say, not even some kind of comment on her ability to appear out of thin air.

"Yes," she said, "anyway, nice to meet you properly, Polo. We'll see each other again." She vanished. Into absolutely thin air. I could still smell the lemons. Damn, I thought, forgot to ask her what she meant about the crown in the dream. She'd asked me once, did I remember the crown in the dream? I still didn't, and had meant to ask what she meant. I stood there blinking for some time, trying to rationalise her appearance.

Then it came to me. Simple. She was a hallucination because I needed breakfast and especially coffee.

On the south side of the meadow was a north-facing castle cut into the rock, something I didn't notice in the dreams. Trying to orient myself, I realised on my previous 'visit' my back was to the castle, dragons around me further blocking the view. The castle itself was almost invisible if you wandered past, looking like a series of natural rock formations.

That morning, various duchy and kingdom pennants and flags, snapping and cracking in the cold breeze, gave away the building with their noise and bright colours. They showed the Blood in residence. At the top flew a flag with the red dragon of Redoubt. Good, the queen was in. It hadn't occurred to me we might miss each other, so I thought myself lucky. A ramp led up to a gateway where two sentries waited. The sentries looked me up and down.

"Welcome to Cliff House," said one, "advance and identify, lordship."

"Polo Shawcross," I said, heading up at an easy pace, "to see the queen. We're acquainted, but I'm here as an ambassador from the Kingdom of Sendren-Highcliff." In my tiredness I nearly called myself corporal, and completely forgot I was a duke. I stopped on reaching the guards, who waved me in. I was quite surprised at the lack of security.

"You arrived by air," said one, correctly interpreting my look, "and if you come by air, odds are you're friend, not foe."

"Did you see the woman?" I said.

"Aye," said one. The other was suddenly interested in the mechanism of his crossbow.

"It doesn't worry you?" I said. The man who said he'd seen Jules smiled.

"Does she worry you?" he said. I shrugged.

"I'm not sure what to think. Perhaps I'm hallucinating?" The other one looked up from his crossbow and smiled too,

"It's alright lordship," he said, "you don't smell of conspiracy. Or madness."

"They have a smell?" I said, and he nodded.

"Aye, they do. You'll find Her Majesty in the dining room this time of day." He gestured. "Head that way to the first stairwell, down one floor then to the right. Dining room's end of the corridor."

#### ****

It was warmer inside the building, which immediately made me feel better. Out of sight of the sentries, I paused to light a smoke then wandered onwards. The stairwell was about two hundred feet away.

The dining room was a fair distance further, down a long corridor built on a grandiose scale, with a spectacular series of murals along it showing dragons and men battling each other. There were doors leading off. This place dwarfed even the citadels and castles I was used to.

I felt tiny, then as I stopped at an ashtray to empty my pipe, a large pale pink dragon came out of a side passageway and I felt even tinier. She was walking upright, and passed me with a polite good morning, which I managed a polite reply to. She was huge. Two of those passing each other, I reasoned, would take up a fair amount of the space in the corridor. The doors didn't look so massive any more. I still felt minuscule.

A servant stopped me at the door of the breakfast hall. He wasn't Dragon at all. I could smell it, pure peasant. I'd known Jules was human too. If I could smell that, maybe the sentry was right, madness or conspiracy would have its own scent.

"Your bag, lordship?" the servant said. "If you're going to be staying I'll have a room organised for you." Unused to being a diplomat, I decided politeness was my best weapon, along with throwing myself on the mercy of servants and those who knew more than I did about local customs. It had worked for me when I first went to Court and ever since.

"Thanks," I said, handing over my bag. "I'll be here at least long enough for a sleep. I need to approach the queen, is that allowed?"

"Aye, usual royal protocol, lordship. Call her Your Majesty first, then ma'am, and wait until you're spoken to unless she makes it clear the meeting is informal. One of her guards will stop you before you get to Herself, then announce you."

"Is she a good queen?" I said. He blinked.

"Never really thought about it, lordship. She's always been queen, you see?" I nodded.

"But she doesn't bite people's heads off in any literal sense?" I said. His eyes twinkled.

"Not lately, lordship, and she's in human-shape so probably doesn't have the teeth for it." He looked amused at his joke. "You go right in, look like you could use some breakfast." I noted that if a servant felt safe in joking about the monarch, the monarch was probably no despot.

The hall seemed to have no ceiling, going up two storeys inside the cliff, but then I saw great domed skylights set into what must be the ground far above our heads. I tried to stop gawking at the architecture, and looked around. There were hundreds of people sitting at refectory tables. Make that maybe a thousand. That was a lot at one time for breakfast. In most of the palaces, castles, and manor houses about the country, there was a window of a couple of hours when breakfast was served, and maybe a few hundred people at a time unless it was the Season. I noted that the multitude was human-shaped. I found out later that Dragon in form had trouble with cutlery and table manners so tended to eat privately. I'd already discovered that. Where deft with my hands, I was clumsy with claws.

I spotted the queen. We had met in person before, though I was barely conscious at the time. She turned her head slightly, saw me, and smiled. Lilith's hair was shining copper-red, and those bright green eyes with the opalescent blue orbital seemed to fix on me. As I got closer, I could see the vertical pupils that made looking into her face an unsettling experience. She beckoned me over and I was suddenly past her guards without effort.

"Polo, what a lovely surprise. Get yourself some breakfast, and join me."

"Nice to see you, Your Majesty, thank you, I will." I fetched myself a first course, and could hear the whispering as I rejoined the queen. It was like arriving at Peterhaven and walking into the citadel dining hall with King Theo and Prince Azrael.

"Who's he?" said the whispering. Only they didn't just say, "His mother's a Casterton and his father's a peasant," as they had when I arrived in Peterhaven from the country, all those years ago. From what I could lip-read and overhear, I was being described as 'Polo Shawcross, the Duke of Starshore in Sendren, the famous soldier'. I was trying to figure out why I was famous as a soldier. Surely a couple of medals didn't mean that much?

"You're a duke and an enlisted man," said the queen, reading my mind, quite literally. "And half-peasant, half-Blood. People like that. No one class or species can claim you. You're everyman." I had forgotten that skill of hers. "Then there's your career," she said, "despite being expelled from the Military Guild, you shot up the ranks and won the Red and the Black Dragons. Everyone's terribly impressed."

"Silly of them," I said, "I just did my job." Lilith picked up her coffee cup, took a sip, jogging the cup as she put it back. She spilled some coffee onto her fingers and licked it off. I focused on my breakfast, trying to keep my thoughts above the waist, or even the neck. No, not the neck, and nowhere near her tongue. She muffled a laugh.

"Anyway," she said, looking amused, "that's why you're famous. Or at least why everyone's talking about you at the moment. Haven't you read the latest book?"

"There's another book?" I said. "About me, you mean?"

"Yes, and you redeem your rather drunken youth, darling." I laughed. She smiled. "There's also a chapter on you in _Contemporary Heroes of the Army of the North._ Much more scholarly, with lots of details about who makes your weapons, your horses' breeding, and all those technical bits the boys like." She looked thoughtful. "I don't think it's that catchy a title, but it's selling well. Anything army's popular right now, with the rumours of a new approach to the war, but you can never tell with publishing. It's a gambler's game. Bit like racing horses."

"Do you remember," I said, "when you dropped in on my yacht, up in Redhampton?" She smiled.

"I do," she said, "have your staff recovered?" I laughed. She'd been nude in the galley, which had definitely caught their attention.

"They did eventually," I said, "but I was wondering why you came?"

"I was coming back from reconnoitring in the north when I realised there was someone I knew. So I stopped off. Sorry I missed you. I didn't leave until nearly dawn. One doesn't like to fly from places, or into them, in daylight." She smiled. "The natives get restless. And some of them have crossbows."

"Did you ever hear of a woman named Jules?" I said, not sure why I suddenly blurted it out. "Blonde, green eyes. Not Blood though."

"Jules? You don't mean the one who founded the planet?" I wasn't sure. "Didn't you learn about her in school?" I shrugged. Lilith looked thoughtful. "She was before my time here. But people do say she was a seer, a very gifted woman. She was particularly unusual. She seemed to have figured out staying young without Dragon blood. And how to move between planets without starships. She's seen quite often, even nowadays."

"Oh," was all I could think of to say. Where this Jules who seemed to be real fitted in with my not-ghost, I wasn't at all sure.

By then I was very good at simply not thinking about Cree and how he made no sense, so I put him, and Jules, right out of my conscious mind.

#### ****

Lilith and I didn't talk business, but I assumed she'd sifted the reason for my visit out of my mind. Her neck was as I remembered, the lines something that invited tactile exploration. I squelched the thought. And all the others. I was pretty sure she was putting notions in my head, especially the naked pictures, but will confess to having my own ideas too.

Once I finished eating, intending to see the sights of Cliff House - as the edifice was named - I went for a brief walk with Lilith. As we walked we shared a smoke and she propositioned me. What? I said yes, gods, I'd been fantasising about her since I was sixteen. I didn't get to see much of the castle, just a couple of corridors before we made it to the Royal Suite. I gasped against Lilith's beautiful neck, licking and biting as she balanced on one foot, the other heel against my tailbone, pulling me against her. We were only just inside the door, which I kicked closed. Already enough of our clothes were undone so we could achieve hands on bare skin. I tugged at her trousers, slid them down over the curve of her hips, let them fall, and she stepped out of them.

"I need a shower," I said, panting, "I've been flying for two days."

"I'll take you as you are," she said.

"Sure?" I said. She laughed. "Even with this beard?"

"You don't smell too bad so far. Honestly, Polo, if it's really rank? I'll throw you in the shower and do you there. And the beard's past the spiky stage." I was thinking she was my kind of woman. We kissed as I picked her up, never losing her tongue in my mouth. We kept kissing, drinking each other down. She wrapped both legs around me and demanded I do her now. She would have had me inside her, but I made her let me go and give me time to put a condom on.

"No," I said, "where are they?" Mentally I made a note, to remind Bernard to put some condoms in my luggage.

"Bathroom," she said, sounding sulky. I dropped her gently on the bed while I went on a brief hunt.

Back next to the bed, I started taking my shirt off. "No," she said, "like this, some clothes still on, there's an edge to it." I didn't like to ignore her express command again so left my shirt on but undone, likewise undoing my trousers.

"Oh c'mon, Polo," she said, sounding very cranky, "gods, come _on_! Isn't this the main reason you're here? Mmm, hurry up! You've been driving me crazy right through breakfast! Let's just do it!" I got a condom on as fast as I could. Safe, barring some kind of mishap, I was finally able to relax and enjoy myself. Lying between her legs, I licked the skin of her neck.

"This was a reason, true," I said, "but it was secondary." I pulled her knickers aside and busied myself with penetration. "Officially secondary."

"Not," she said in her husky voice, wriggling to accommodate me, "according to your mind." She threw back her head and laughed. "I love your mind, Polo, it's simply filthy. Ooh, yes, there we are." She cooed as I sank home, and I began that male solution, thrusting harder in an attempt to shut her up.

"I figure," I said, focusing on sensation, "if I think smut at you, I might, hide some of - mmm - of my more sensible thoughts." Her shirt was finally undone all the way, and I was busy trying to get both her nipples in my mouth at once - without losing that fine rhythm our bodies had going at the pelvis - my only conscious notion was that if I'd known being a diplomat came with sex, I would have taken it up straight out of high school.

"There is only one price for what he asks," she said. I let go of her breasts. There was a delicious bounce as they fell back and she gasped. We both quivered from head to toe.

"Hang on," I said, breathing hard, suddenly conscious I'd lost track of the conversation. "A price? What? He? Who's asking?" So much for sensible Polo.

"Focus," said Lilith, arching her back, "tell Azrael, King of Sendren-Highcliff, I have one price. I will be Queen of Theus. Of his new Dragon Kingdom. Simple enough?" She could multitask better than I could.

"Mmm," I said, nuzzling her velvet skin. Then the words penetrated. "Queen?" I squeaked. She took my face between her hands and looked into my eyes. They may have been crossed, I was pretty far gone. "You are a queen," I said, and kissed her nose, "you're completely gorgeous." She tapped my nose as if I was a puppy.

"Queen." Tap. "Of Theus." Tap. "The new Dragon Kingdom. When it is created, I will be queen."

"Uh?" I was losing my rhythm. I had to keep pausing to stop her knickers getting in the way. They were pretty red lace, would she be angry if I tore them off? "Queen?" The word penetrated again. "But you'd have to - to - marry Azrael. Wouldn't you? Mmm," I said, finding my rhythm again, "he's already married. Isabella of Highcliff. Now Queen of, uh, Highcliff-Sendren. I think. It might be Sendren-Highcliff." I didn't care what it was called. For a moment there were only the beautiful sounds of our bodies and mouths sliding together, nobody talking, just involuntary cries of pleasure.

"Divorce," Lilith said suddenly, holding me close before biting my ear, "it's common in the kingdoms. Isabella is mad. Tell him I said that's a good enough reason." She laughed and did some amazing thing with her hips that intensified the pleasure for both of us. I seemed to be feeling her pleasure and she seemed to be feeling mine. I thought Azrael might enjoy his next bride more than the last one. "And yes," she said, answering my thought, "I'll make it good for him. I know he's mostly gay." That thought I hadn't managed to hide.

I muffled my next idea but she caught it. It was the way her hips were moving, making me forget that thinking was the most dangerous thing I could do right now. "The people will accept me," she said, "eventually." I groaned against her. I'd lost my bloody rhythm completely. Having sex with most of one's clothes on is not comfortable in the long term. One needs to be carried away with passion for it to work. I rolled off her body.

"Please," I said aloud, "can we get naked, do this, then get on with negotiations? Alternatively, let's negotiate, get that done then come back to this. I'm easy."

"There's nothing to negotiate, Polo," she said, "and yes, you're incredibly easy. Sensual people are." She pinched one of my nipples. I winced. She smiled. "Let's negotiate." She pushed me back on the bed, peeled off her knickers – finally - and got on top. I pretended it was normal diplomatic procedure. For all I knew, it was. "I will be queen," Lilith said, as she repositioned me inside her, "or Dragon will not take part in the wars of men." She opened her mouth in a little gasp as she sank down. I was trying to focus on the words instead of getting lost in that delicious expression as I slid gently deeper. Lilith, queen? It was impossible. Professional to the last, I persisted in diplomacy.

"Azrael will never-" I said, but her hips undulated and I didn't know what he'd never.

"I said, _I will be queen_ ," Lilith said, picking up the diplomatic baton, "I did not say I will accept something else as my price."

"That's not negotiating," I said bravely, "that's an ultimatum. Besides-"

"Semantics," she said, laughing, "you know my terms." She leaned forward and kissed me. I lost myself in the kiss. "Alright," she said, laughing again, "I'll shut up now." It was most disconcerting, having someone listen to the silliness inside me. I tried not to think. We slid together and I re-entered Paradise. From several angles. "Mmm," said Lilith, after a short time, "change for me, Polo."

"Change?" I said. What hadn't we done? "What, doggy-style?" She fell off the bed laughing, literally. "Lilith?" Are you alright?" She rolled to her feet, still giggling, and tossed her red hair. I was about to dive for her, tear the rest of her clothes off, bury my tongue-

"Dragon-shape," she said, and snapped her fingers. "I want to see you." I took off the condom and the rest of my clothes as she undressed too. We were both breathing heavily. "Change," she said, "and so will I."

"How big do you want me?" I said, and we both started to laugh. I gave her a look. "You know what I mean."

"You can read minds too, Polo," she said, still laughing, then gestured above her head. "About this big," she said, and shimmered, changing into a winged red dragon some seven feet tall. I matched her size.

"I'm black every time," I said, "are you red every time?"

"Aye," said the red dragon, "though I could conceivably change shape to a dragon of a different colour but it might be very uncomfortable. Like you trying to change your human shape. You can but it will hurt more. This is my natural shade. There's an automatic option, I think, set in our genes. Like a default setting. We are who we are." She smiled, showing sharp teeth. "Welcome to the tribe, Polo."

"Thank you," I said, "it really is a pleasure to be here."

"Idiot," she said, but with affection. "Come," said the Dragon queen, "let's go flying." She led me through some doors to a large balcony and we took off from there.

#### ****

I had no idea dragons could copulate while they were flying. It was an experience, just not one I was sure I liked, being very afraid of flying into a mountain or the ground. I have no idea how I maintained an erection, except for the rather interesting discovery that sex in dragon form was so animal it was hard to resist. However I kept freaking out and losing my rhythm. Eventually Lilith either got bored or took pity on me and said we could go back.

In her suite, we changed into human form, and did it in her bed. After that we had a lovely shower complete with more orgasms. I was exhausted. Back in her bed I fell into a deep sleep, woke up sometime after lunch as servants brought some food in. I ate, Lilith jumped me, and we spent a very oral few hours before I passed out again. As Lilith said - when I eventually woke up – I'd been overdoing it, along with coming up in altitude.

"Though you're doing well to keep up with me," she said, which she meant as a compliment. We got down to business, which proved to be a very short session. I showed Lilith the documents Azrael sent about terms and conditions. She flicked over them, said they were equitable, and in exchange for Dragon once again fighting in the wars of men, she was to be queen. She wrote that down, signed and sealed it and gave it to me. I wanted to do her again and didn't want her to marry Azrael. I wanted to sink my teeth into-

"Right," Lilith said, "off you go, sugarpie." She wasn't just going to dump me, surely? She gave me a look. "Of course it wasn't more than a tumble, Polo. You're lovely, but this was only for fun." She gave me a kiss.

"Silly," she said, answering my thoughts, "though I must admit, you're the first man in about four hundred years who hasn't been able to think of anything but me most of the time." Wasn't that a reason to do it again?

"No," she said, "though it's terribly flattering. You are a darling." I was put even more firmly in my place as she headed for the door. "I had your bag sent here," she called back, "it's in the dressing room. Feel free to use the shower before you go. I'll tell a servant to bring fresh towels." The towels arrived within minutes, and so I went to wash.

Mulling over ideas, I stood under the hot water. Azrael would never marry her. It wasn't going to happen. What else I could try to get Dragon on our side? Some appeal to reason? Better sex? I had no idea how. The woman's body was like a pleasure sponge, soaking up orgasm after orgasm, mine as well as hers. In the end I decided there wasn't anything I could say or could have said. Nothing I could do, either.

Lilith had known for years this day would come, and decided her terms long before Azrael thought to send me south. She was waiting for a man like him, but Azrael was too concerned with public opinion to marry someone with her reputation. It would scare the peasants too much.

Considering my mission was a fiasco, an extra day or so before I delivered her crazy ultimatum wouldn't make much difference. There was no point flying back and exhausting myself without a decent meal. I'd take a fast riverboat downriver to Highcliff, see if Azrael was still in Malion, the capital. It was where we'd both lived during my year at the guilds, so I was looking forward to a return visit, though not to breaking the news to Azrael.

As I finished showering I noticed a row of lovebites across my ribs. I smiled at the mirror. Getting those had been fun. I remembered being warned by Cree, that Lilith was out of my league, thanks to her special gifts. I could almost hear him laughing at me, but aside from the diplomatic failure, being used as a sock puppet hadn't been that bad.

#### ****

## Chapter 18 - Usurper

The Little Dragon River wound through kingdoms I knew only by name. From Redoubt through Cragleas, where Grandmama Daeva lived and where Azrael's mother Saraia was from. Saraia was a daughter of the king there. The river swept on to Gyr, where Bailey Westwych was Crown Prince and his father Philip was king, then to Highcliff, where Azrael was about to be king. After that the riverboat would reach Sendren, though before that I alighted at the Malion stop.

It was about two days after the coronation, Azrael was still in residence in his newly acquired kingdom, and the Royal City of Malion was in the controlled chaos that surrounds any major royal event. People like to say 'I was there.' It will be a story to tell ever after. I'm pretty sure it's the same impulse that triggers gawking when there's an accident or natural disaster. Add that everyone likes an excuse to visit the capital and have a party at the king's expense.

While waiting for the courtesy coach to take me three miles downstream from the passenger port to the palace, I heard all kinds of accents. For the amalgamation of two kingdoms, people had travelled long distances. Everyone was remarkably cheerful. I gathered the coronation party had been spectacular. The Coronation Fair was still on and the traffic was astonishing. The whole way into town, hotels and inns were overflowing, people were camping in every park and by the sides of the roads, and signs on private houses offered rooms to rent or said they had no more. Autumn was starting to bite, the leaves fully on the turn, the only green left was the evergreens. It was warmer than Redoubt had been, and I took off my jacket, glad I was finally acclimatising.

A mile away from the palace, the coach stuck fast in the crowds and I decided to walk. It was good to be tall. I could see ahead, so providing I stepped smartly could get through. Flying would have been easier but I couldn't arrive in daylight, because - as Lilith said - it might upset the peasants. And if I was honest, most of the Blood, at least it used to when I was a boy. Dragon actually flying or Blood transforming had been taboo subjects in my family, to the point they even hid that my Grandmama Daeva was pureblood Dragon.

At the palace gate I queued with other Blood returning from excursions. Finally at the front of the line, I had problems talking my way into the palace. I had my military ID but I admitted not being in the army any more, so the guard on duty said it wasn't valid.

"And you're the fourth Polo Shawcross I've had today, Your Grace," said the man on duty, "you'll forgive me not taking your word for it." I contemplated showing him my dragon scars, but for all I knew the cynic would say it as some kind of cat-scratch.

Fortunately I saw Bailey Westwych, Crown Prince of Gyr, walking past, just inside the grounds, and told the soldier he knew me. Bailey was fetched to vouch for my identity. I resolved to get some kind of papers to say who I was and that I worked for the Crown.

"Yes, I know Polo," Bailey said, "it's fine. Two of my guards know you personally too." I nodded and smiled but couldn't remember the men at all. In my defence, I'd met them briefly just over three years previous, during a less-than-sober phase before I went to war. One of my less-than-sober phases.

"I came through Gyr," I said to Bailey, once I was inside the gate, "didn't get a chance to stop."

"Father's not there," said Bailey, "like most of Gyr, he's here." Bailey was the one I fished out of the Malion palace moat and sewer system when we went for an involuntary swim in it.

In looks, he was partway between the taller, slimmer type of Westwych's and the stockier ones, being my height but built like a man-mountain. He'd filled out even more since I last saw him. Not fat yet, but he might end up that way. His guards broke a way through the throng, Bailey in the midst of them. I trailed in his wake.

"This is crazy," I said, "I thought Peterhaven was crowded."

"Aye," Bailey said back over his shoulder, "the grounds are almost standing room only. I think Lewis invited everyone in the old kingdoms. It's symbolic too, part of making Malion the capital of Azrael's new kingdom."

"Makes sense," I said. Bailey laughed.

"I heard Lewis was miffed that Azrael's calling it Sendren-Highcliff instead of Highcliff-Sendren." I laughed too.

"The first one sounds better to me."

#### ****

We made it inside the palace, the crowds lessened, and Bailey and I could walk beside each other.

"It's good to see you, Polo," he said, "I was hoping you might make it here. Azrael said you had some success with meditation." He said it as if it meant something more, so I would know he was talking code. "I'd appreciate some instruction." I was quietly furious. I didn't mind Bailey knowing I could shape-change but didn't like Azrael telling him. I wondered who else Azrael had told. I tried not to show my anger. I wasn't angry with Bailey, after all.

"Of course," I said, "I'll try to help. After this, I'm hoping to spend some time in Starshore. You're very welcome. I plan to sit on the terrace for about a year and catch my breath while watching the shipping on the Great Star Lake."

"Sounds like a nice way to spend some time." He gave me a shrewd look. "This is a very cunning alliance of Azrael's."

"Aye, I suppose it is," I said, pretending complete ignorance of the political implications of marrying a semi-frigid, hot blonde princess who was overly religious and madder than a cut snake. So mad that her own father, rather than risk her being in charge a single day, would cede the very wealthy and well-situated kingdom to her new husband.

Usually the one who married into the family couldn't inherit, like my Aunt Rose, Queen of Sendren, or Saraia, the Princess Royal, who had been married to the late Crown Prince, or even the Queen of Joban, Aunt Kristen. Their titles gave them no real power. Aunt Rose wouldn't even have the title of queen much longer. "Do you know what Aunt Rose's title is going to be?" I asked.

"Dowager Queen," said Bailey, "she's not happy." I winced. "Says she'd rather be exiled. My mother says if I try to make her Dowager Queen she'll kill me with her bare hands. How are your parents?" Mine had lived in Malion while Bailey, Azrael and I went to school there, so he knew them both. I shrugged.

"I've been avoiding them since I got out of the army. I did send a note to each of them when I first got back."

"Well done," he said, "what's that, you've been kidnapped once, nearly killed several times? But that's better than catching up with your parents?"

"By miles," I said, laughing, "by miles." He thought that was very funny.

"See, I like your parents. Especially your father. And gods, your mother can drink or smoke me under the table!" He laughed while I sighed. Mother was incorrigible. Bailey smiled, shaking his head. "Mine are a pain though."

"Ha," I said, "mine are insane, but I liked your father."

"He's completely crazy. And gods, my mother?" I hadn't met the Queen of Gyr but I could imagine.

"All mothers are crazy," I said. "I think it's one of those facts of life."

#### ****

It took hours to track Azrael down and when I did he was busy politicking. I waited another hour or so, being entertained with very good mindweed, coffee, cake, and watching him give The Speech to several kings.

When I say cake, I mean about ten kinds of excellent cakes, accompanied by savoury and sweet pies, biscuits and tarts, and then there were the sandwiches. Salmon with cream cheese? Don't mind if I do. Chicken-liver-and-brandy pate on toast? Mmm, the duck with cherry sauce on brown bread with strips of crunchy vegetables also sounded good. Sliced boiled egg with capers, spring onion, and mayonnaise? Perhaps a round of beef, tomato and mustard topped with shreds of pickled greens?

Nobody had to twist my arm. I rolled my sleeves up and tried them all. There was coffee or tea, juices, booze, and any reasonable request could be fulfilled. Outside on the private terrace there were at least ten kinds of mindweed. I remembered when I was a boy, wondering if the servants would bring me a unicorn on toast if I asked. I grazed happily, nipped out for smokes, and kept half an ear on Azrael as he talked.

Some people can do it naturally, mesmerise the listener without effort, and Azrael was one of them. He turned on the Westwych charm and those stars in his blue eyes seemed to glitter. He also used hypnotic techniques. I knew because I learned them too. With hypnosis, you can't make people do what they don't want to do. You can make them listen. Getting people to listen meant most saw their chance to lose responsibility without losing their wealth. He stressed that part. They would still be rich, and a new united kingdom eventually at peace would be immensely richer than many tiny ones at war.

Azrael pitched it perfectly. The Speech was the one where he talked the kings and heirs into letting him have overall control of their kingdoms and stopped the war, while they stayed in nominal control and of course, remained very well-off. The war in the north had gone on too long and everyone wanted it over. Azrael was offering a way to end it. They loved someone else taking responsibility for a too-hard problem. It was astonishing how many of them agreed, without much argument, that it was a simply brilliant idea.

Once the various VIP's were gone, His Majesty came over to me. He was being nicely hetero and I was being a good courtier. I congratulated him on his coronation and we embraced as old friends could.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Azrael said, then led the way into an anteroom, less formal, where we could be alone. "It's not good news," he said, as I handed him Lilith's reply, "I can tell by your face." I shook my head.

"It's not," I said, refusing to be drawn further, "read it." We sat down, in two chairs close together, and he cracked the seal and read.

"That's it?" he said, sounding surprised. He turned the page over, then back. I wasn't sure what else he was expecting. He laughed. "Seriously, Polo. Is that it?"

"Aye," I said, puzzled, "as she says - aside from the conditions you suggested - her only additional conditions are the little matters of marriage to you, and of the Dragon queen becoming Queen of the new Theus." I shook my head. "I said it was impossible, you being already married, but Her Majesty was-"

"It's fine," he said, "I'll do it." I blinked. He began to smile. "Don't look at me like that, Polo. I'm not you. I'm not the most moral of men." I laughed but he was serious. I gasped. Nobody had ever said such a thing to me.

"Moral? Me?" I said. "I'm completely amoral. Everyone says so." He laughed. I was suspicious. "Why are you laughing?"

"Never leave me," he said, softly, "even if we don't, you know?" He made a crude gesture and smiled. "I need your insights." I shrugged. I wasn't sure what was so funny.

"You're demented," I said. He grinned. I leaned towards him, keeping my voice low. This was not something I wanted overheard. "Still," I said, "I suppose coming to terms with being a usurper must have rattled your cage a bit." I shook my head. "I thought you'd be more-" I stopped talking. I hadn't imagined it. Azrael's face had gone white under his tan. It was one of those horrible, never-ending moments when you realise you've said something you shouldn't. Time stretched, became elastic. I looked desperately for a way that the worst hadn't just happened. For something to say that might get me out of the conversational pit.

"Who's a usurper?" said Azrael, very quietly, very slowly. Maybe in the next few seconds I could figure out how to turn back time. I willed it to be so, but unless I turned into a dragon and flew away, I was stuck there. Azrael wasn't going to leave it be. His hand gripped my forearm. My sleeve was rolled back, the dragon scars showing on us both, much paler than they had been but still standing out. "Polo?" said the king.

"Your mother," I said through a tight jaw, cursing Saraia in my head, "was supposed- um, she promised-" I stopped, and waved my free hand in the air, as if that would enlighten him. Quite rightly, Azrael looked confused.

"Promised what?" he whispered. "Are you two having an affair again? Who's a usurper?" Unfortunately Azrael knew about my one night with his mother. He also knew about the one morning before that when we fooled around, while he was sleeping in the coach near us. Mainly because he was only pretending to be asleep at the time. I sighed.

"I never had an affair with your mother," I said firmly, "it was one one-night-stand, not even the whole night. And I'm not having one again. I wasn't and I'm not." I knew what I meant but it sounded like gibberish. Azrael was looking serious and quite angry. His fingers were digging hard into my arm, it was hurting my scars, our heads close together. We were trying to keep our voices as low as possible so nobody could overhear, free hands shielding our mouths in case someone was watching who could lip-read. This must never be gossip.

"You're sounding crazy, Polo. Shut up about Mother. How am I a usurper?" I groaned.

"Azrael, please tell me that Saraia talked to you about your father?" He shook his head, biting at his lower lip. "Didn't she? Or Stefan talked to you? Before you were crowned king?" I said, but he shook his head again. "Saraia promised," I said, "gods, Azrael, I didn't want to be the one to tell you. But here's the thing." I took a breath. "Stefan is your father. Your real father. He and your mother met that night in Port Azrael when your father, as you thought him, the late Perry, was schtupping the Half Aunt." Azrael let go of me and was very quiet for some minutes. I rubbed my arm for a while, then lit a pipe and pretended everything was fine. I'd smoked half the pipe before he spoke.

"You've known this for how long?" he said. I exhaled with a sigh.

"I guessed," I said softly, "when I saw you and Stefan together. You might want to watch that, by the way. The resemblance is striking and obvious. I'm sorry I didn't tell you but Stefan begged me to keep it quiet. He and your mother wanted to break it to you." I looked down, feeling guilty. Why hadn't I told Azrael? I couldn't remember. "I'm sorry," I said, and looked at him. "I suppose I should have told you." He gave me a filthy look.

"You suppose?" he said. "Gods. How long ago was this?" I frowned, trying to remember.

"Um," I said, thinking, "when we were convalescing after your Aunt Kristen-" Azrael gasped.

"Zol's balls, Polo," he said. "When we were sixteen?" I gave him an apologetic look. He shook his head. "That was over five years ago!" In my defence, well, I had no defence. I relit the pipe and finished it. He took the pipe off me, refilled it and smoked it to ash. I had no answers either.

"To be honest, I forgot," I said, "I was drugged out of my brain. From memory it was my first day walking." He scowled and refilled the pipe. I groaned again. "Look at my father," I said, "anyone can see he's my real one but I prefer to avoid him. Same with my real mother. Away with the fairies in their own crazed emotional war-games. I'm glad I don't see them much-"

"Aye," said Azrael, smoking my pipe, "but at least you had the choice." I sighed, got up to get a spare pipe from the sideboard and sat back down before I said anything. I whispered carefully, imagining the servants and bodyguards wondering what it was we were being so secretive about.

"You're right," I said, "I'm making excuses." I lit the new pipe. "I really don't know why I didn't tell you. Other than Stefan asked me not to, I've been away, and he and your mother promised to tell you before you were crowned. Your mother said she'd do it when I checked with her last week! It never did seem my place to do it."

"Excuses," said Azrael. I leaned to whisper right in his ear, warm and intimate. It made my words cut deeper.

"Aye," I said, rather sarcastically, "I do remember thinking, with you being so moral I might trigger some kind of constitutional crisis. Maybe you wouldn't be able to stand the weight of the hypocrisy of the situation and would walk away from the throne. I didn't want that, you being so moral." He caught the sarcasm. I was also referring to an old argument, when he offered to throw the kingdom away if only I'd be his lover.

We began to fight in earnest. Only with words, careful what we snarled aloud at each other, but bodyguards and servants appeared at speed. Azrael waved them away and they withdrew to a polite distance. I was betting the other side of a cracked-open door. My pipe was done. In an angry manner I tapped it out and stuffed it with mindweed then lit up again.

"After all the times you've broken hearts," Azrael said at a normal volume, "and left without a backward glance? You think you can judge my morals?"

"You're the king," I said, feeling snappy, "we all get to judge your morals." I hadn't broken many hearts at all, being careful about who I bedded and honest about why I wanted to bed them, but I had broken his. That was what this was about. The insight hit as if he'd struck me, especially with his next words.

"You're the famous war hero," said Azrael, "and thanks to that idiot biographer of yours-"

"He's not mine! I don't think I've even met him! Or her. And you're one of the people who advised me to ignore the first book when it came out!" There was a jug of orange juice on the sideboard. I stomped over there and poured myself a glass. I decided to get the whole thing, whatever it was, out in the open. I didn't want his bloody throne. "Please, Azrael," I said, "I don't know why anyone would want to, but you know I really don't want to be king. Moreover, if you're not my friend, I don't want to continue being yours. So if you hate me that much-"

"Hate you?" he said, sounding bewildered, "I don't hate you. We're just arguing. Of course you don't want to be king. I know that. I'm sorry, I was angry with you when it's not your fault." He lit up his own pipe. "Don't pay any attention to gossip, Polo, you know better than that. You've believed in this from the beginning, you're as much an architect of the Dragon Kingdom as I am." I swung round to face him, surprised. "Don't you see?" Azrael said, smiling, one hand moving in a slow arc to indicate everything.

"See?" My turn to be bewildered.

"It's exactly as we always dreamed. This is all for the people. I can see how to make it better for everyone with the effort and focus of just one generation. If we can maintain the focus for two generations, I think we can get off the planet. Think about it. You've already learned to fly. When we met you didn't even realise magic was possible." He came over to where I was standing, dumbstruck, and gave me a quick hug, careful not to interfere with my smoking and drinking. He wasn't finished his speech.

I let him speak, wondering if there was a point, and weren't we just fighting about me keeping a secret from him, a big one, for most of the time we'd known each other? "And we're only twenty-one," said Azrael, "we're going to create a new kingdom. In thirty years we could be in space." He grinned, and I found myself sucked into that Westwych charm as surely as any of his vassals-to-be. "Come on, sit for a bit." I allowed myself to be persuaded. "Along the way we'll drive the Sriamans so far back into Sriama they'll be afraid to come back. I'm going to be Alexander after all, a bit older than he did it. Frankly, if I had a Bucephalus, I'd get you to break him for me." I laughed, then remembered something about Alexander.

There were rumours about Alexander. More than rumours. And more about Alexander and his best friend. Alexander also married some foreign princess, made her his queen. Distracted from the argument and seeing I still had friends in high places, I decided to speak up.

"If we get the chance," I said, "I want to invade Kavarlen and free the slaves." I shook my head. What was I thinking? "I take that back. I'm not fighting in a war for anyone. I mean I'd like you to do it. By the way, Azrael? You know, don't you, marrying Lilith is going to make life very difficult for you?" He made an urbane gesture.

"You mean," he said, "that the peasants might be nervous if I divorce my pretty young queen for the Dragon queen, a woman of indeterminate age and lineage?" I took another puff of my pipe. Was he crazy?

"Oh," I said, breathing out a plume of smoke, "I think everyone's got an idea of both her age and her lineage. That's what makes them nervous." He made a dismissive gesture.

"Time they got over it," he said. "Tell Lilith, deal it is. She can come to Peterhaven, say in a month. We'll be married soon afterwards, she'll be crowned. We'll draw up the contracts before the ceremonies." He was grinning ear-to-ear. "Another kingdom, Polo. And you know Philip of Gyr and Sebastian of Cragleas are on our side? It's a clear run into the heart of the Southern Kingdoms." Meanwhile, I was horrified. I'd never dreamt Azrael would accept Lilith's terms. I couldn't see Cree, but I could hear him.

Sock puppet.

"Seriously, Azrael," I said, feeling desperate, "I'm not sure-"

"Polo," he said, smiling, "please don't worry. I won't let Lilith upset people. Trust me. Now," he said, and stood, brushing himself off, "much as I would love to stay here, I have to go, and so do you. Take her my message and I'll see you in Peterhaven, in say, eight days?" He smiled. "You still owe me a meditation lesson, remember?"

#### ****

## Chapter 19 - Sex and Politics

I flapped about the countryside, muttering to myself. I delivered Azrael's message to Lilith whilst trying not to think, singing cavalry songs loudly in my head the whole time, then got out before she could pick out any smouldering lust in my mind and fan the embers into an inferno.

She tried, which surprised me, especially as the notion of doing her right there on the table appeared in my head during the chorus of " _The Last Whore on the Shelf_ ". I thought she was done with me, now she had a new sock puppet to turn inside out.

Lilith as Azrael's queen was something I hadn't envisaged, even when she suggested it. Doing her again seemed more than a little rude. Rude to Azrael seeing I'd now done both of his wives before he had the chance. And his mother. Though I wasn't sure if he wanted to do his own mother. He always said I had Oedipal longings because I often liked older women, but I'd never wanted to do my own mother, and he was the one who'd been hot over me doing his mother.

In hindsight, I wondered if that was because he wanted to be her. To be the woman I wanted. From my terribly adult perspective of twenty-one, I thought it possible. I headed for Sendren.

#### ****

Back in Peterhaven a day early, I headed for Azrael's offices to tell him the news. I wasn't sure if it was good or bad. The polished wood and the thick carpets of the office hadn't changed since Theo's time. Again I remembered my first night at the citadel, the old king quizzing me about Azrael's sexuality.

To add to my sense of deja vu, Azrael and I sat at the same low table. I'd first seen Cree in that room, when he appeared then disappeared next to the fireplace.

"Deal?" Azrael said, looking nervous. I nodded.

"Deal it is," I said and he grinned happily. "Lilith's checking the contract," I added, "but says on an initial read she can't see any problems. She'll be here in one month. She'll send a messenger with her arrival details. She'll expect a suite of her own in the citadel. Marriage within the first month or scheduled soon after." He gave a happy sigh.

"Right," he said, "easily done. She can have one of the towers. Make coming and going easier. Next." I raised my eyebrows. He smiled. "Easiest way to get a divorce?"

"Insanity," I said, and shrugged. "That was Lilith's suggestion." He nodded.

"Having Isabella declared insane was my first idea."

"Was?" I said. "It shouldn't be hard. Get someone to talk to her about sex, that brings out the crazy in her."

"So far it's proved impossible." He shook his head. "She's very cunning in front of doctors, manages to twist everything so it's me who sounds mad. Lucky the doctors are all ones who've known me for years or I might be in the asylum." I raised my eyebrows again.

"I did warn you," I said, but Azrael just smiled. I tried again to make him think about what he was doing. "Lilith will be worse," I said, "worse than Isabella. I can guarantee it." I didn't think to mention the mind-reading. Azrael had met Lilith, hadn't he? He knew what she could do, didn't he?

"It's worth it," he said, "I'll have Redoubt to add to the current list of kingdoms." I laughed.

"More like she'll have Sendren-Highcliff," I said, but he ignored me.

"So I'm back with adultery," he said and spread his hands.

"What?" I said.

"Adultery," he said again, "I need someone to seduce Isabella, get caught doing it, then admit to it in court. That she was willing." I groaned.

"When you say someone," I said, "you mean me, don't you?" He shrugged.

"Well, yes." I shook my head.

"Galaia's tits, Azrael, that's too much to ask!"

"You might not have to appear in court," he said, "I'll only use the adultery if she fights it." He made a shooing gesture as if it wasn't an important consideration. "She might not." I shook my head again, more slowly.

"No. Gods, Azrael-"

"You learned the hypnotic techniques like I did," he said, "Stefan and Virginia taught us both." He looked surprised, realising perhaps for the first time that it was his real father who nursed him back to health, forced him through physical rehabilitation and gave him a number of useful skills. "You should be able to talk Isabella into it, Polo, you did it once before." I shook my head more.

"No. And I didn't bloody hypnotise her. Bedding a woman isn't like invading a country or engaging allies. Or selling someone a bridge! If anything, those big blue eyes hypnotised me. She's beautiful, I was plastered." I shook my head. "And if she decides to bring up our relationship in court? Yours and mine?" He shrugged and looked innocent.

"What relationship?" he said. "We've been friends since childhood, as our families were before us." I rolled my eyes. He smiled. "She doesn't know anything."

He didn't let up. I owed him, he said, because of the little matter of taking five years to mention that his father wasn't his father. I brought up saving his life, which surely bought me the right to be forgetful, to which he replied,

"I can never repay that, Polo, but you have to admit, five years is a long time. I could have had a father the last five years. Instead of memories of a man I hated." It was true. I'd heard him go on about how bad his father was, or at least what the Late Perry, the man he thought was his father, was like. Azrael was right, it was a dreadful thing to do to a friend. I felt awful. The guilt trip continued unabated until, about thirty minutes later, I found myself saying,

"Alright, alright! For the love of Thet, I'll do it." Azrael's methodology was a bit like my mother's.

He kept on until I was prepared to do or say anything, if only he would just shut up.

#### ****

King Theo was still holding on to life, and I went to see him later that day. He was sitting up at a table with _The Atlas of the Quadrants_ open. When I was younger, I spent many happy hours looking over the maps with him.

That day we looked at maps of the other planets and marvelled at the idea that there might still be people out there. Only a thousand years ago, there were. We had the book open at the Alpha Quadrant planet of Plenty, which claimed to be the first settled planet.

"Though our Galaia was actually the first, an unofficial settlement," Theo said, "unsanctioned by the Yusaf." And it was founded by a woman called Jules, who might be the one who appeared to me. I was mad. I smiled for Theo's benefit, not wanting to trouble him with news of my insanity. I said instead,

"Azrael wants to be the one who ends the Great Silence, Theo. Imagine, Sendren arriving in the inner quadrants, pulling into an orbit around Plenty, and New Rome is right there. Under his feet."

"Aye," said Theo, looking proud, "lad's on his way."

#### ****

## Chapter 20 – Seduction and More Politics

The next day I went to see Isabella. She was as beautiful as ever, long blonde hair and blue eyes, a lush, shapely figure, dressed in something pretty and floral but looking miserable. That was probably normal when - without so much as a honeymoon - one's shiny new husband began plotting with your own father, to commit you to the asylum where your mother was living out her life.

Ostensibly I popped in to congratulate Isabella on her marriage and coronation. I offered a visit, if she had time? She was polite, inviting me in for coffee, insisting I didn't have to call her ma'am. We talked a little about Malion and people we knew. Eventually she broached the time we ended up in bed.

"I never understood you, Polo," she said, and I shrugged. "You ran from me."

"Oh that," I said, and smiled. "I run from most people. Ask Azrael." She smiled a little.

"Nothing personal, eh?" she said.

"I was a fool." I looked down as if I couldn't meet her eyes. "I couldn't offer you a kingdom. My father's a peasant." I really couldn't meet her eyes. I felt dreadful. Lying for sex. This wasn't like me. I would beg, even omit a truth, but lie?

"I never cared about that," Isabella said, "who your father was." I smiled, as if I knew she was an enlightened person but there were further stains on my reputation.

"It wasn't only the circumstances of my birth." I tried not to wince visibly at the phrase. "I don't know if you remember, but I killed those boys at the guild and was expelled. When you and I met I felt like my life was over. They were talking about charging me with murder. I was facing hanging. I was also drinking a lot."

"Oh yes," she said, "I do remember. But you didn't kill them, Polo, at least not unprovoked. They attacked you, everyone knows. And it was because Azrael's half-brother put them up to it. They nearly killed you, after all." I hadn't realised the gossip had it right for once.

"Aye," I said, "but I felt responsible for their deaths. I was depressed and acting stupidly." I gave a sad smile. I was so noble, so nauseating.

Poor Isabella fell right in.

After the war, I didn't think I had feelings. Especially once I became a shape-changer. Though I felt happy to be out of the army.

To my complete horror, I not only did still have feelings, but currently I revolted myself. Using my breakdown to trick a person? I would have to pretend Isabella was a Sriaman I had to have sex with to save my life. That was illogical, as Sriamans never wanted sex, but I hoped it would enable me to switch off my emotions.

Women like a man who listens to them, so I smiled and changed the subject, asked her about her wedding and the coronation. She was funny, detailing the endless series of disasters that always plague big days like that. We began to laugh and I relaxed. In turn, I told her about my adventures, not in detail, more about the bizarre habits of the Kavar and the completely hysterical scenes in the Madonna's cathedral, that kind of thing. I forgot she was a Sriaman to be destroyed.

Providing I also forgot what a completely immoral person I was, I even genuinely enjoyed myself. Isabella said she hadn't laughed so much in months. Finally I left, bowing politely and saying that I'd enjoyed our chat. She must send for me when she felt like some company. "I was an idiot, when we were younger," I told her, implying I was pining for her, "perhaps you can forgive me."

"Oh Polo," she said, a warm smile on her face, "you're forgiven, idiot." I smiled, and leaned to kiss her cheek.

After all, we had been lovers. Now she might be Azrael's wife, but a man could kiss an old girlfriend's cheek, surely? She giggled and called me a bad boy.

Excellent, I thought, and headed for my own quarters with a bounce in my step.

#### ****

Isabella sent for me the next day. I took a gift bottle of orange liqueur from Starshore, one of several kinds of duchy gifts kept in my suite, and proceeded carefully. Nothing more than gentle kissing to start. I knew her, knew her type, though usually I avoided them. She was one of those women who want romancing into bed, to be swept away by passion and a generous slug of alcohol, but then remembers their parents or some priest told them sex for pleasure was wrong.

Before I touched anything below the neck, I waited until she began loosening her own dress and begged me. I only gave her a few moments of my tongue running over her breasts before stopping and apologising. I was carried away, I said, forgive me but I couldn't help myself. As if overcome, by my betrayal of my friend, I apologised again and left.

Isabella was angry and frustrated. Good. If I had her judged right, she'd find some reason for me to visit her again soon. I was exciting, forbidden fruit. I was enjoying the pursuit and tried to focus on that.

There was silence for two days. I thought maybe I'd lost her, but late in the evening she sent for me again, said she'd like me to come for morning tea the next day.

Azrael was very busy with affairs of state and I hadn't seen him much. I did drop in, to catch him up with progress. I walked past others in the waiting room and smiled to the secretary, who I'd known since I was fifteen. I was the honoured Duke of Starshore, decorated military hero and notorious shape-changer, of course I could see the king on a moment's notice. Azrael was pleased to see me. Everyone was. Even wreathed in scandal as I was, people liked Polo Shawcross.

Except those who hated me. Even they were nice to me as a rule, because being against me tended to signify a dislike for the king. That was unwise in a monarchic state where, if Azrael lost all his morals, one could indeed be peeled. I remembered he didn't have morals any more, which was why I was seducing his current wife. I was the idiot with morals.

I wished Cree was around. I needed someone inside my head who wasn't me to talk to. Before I could think about the implications of that thought, Azrael shooed everyone out of his inner office and I caught him up on my progress with Isabella.

"Will you be alright?" he said. One of the black Palace Cats appeared on his desk after a leap from the floor, pretended to have always been there, and began washing its face. Her face probably, most of the loose ones were females, the toms were kept at the Palace Cattery. Azrael scooped her up and relocated her to a chair near him. The cat, huffy, tried again for the desk, he held up a hand. She turned her back. "Will you be?" he said again to me.

"Alright?" I said, and smiled. "Define alright."

"I know you don't want to do this." He laughed. "Pretend it's me, eh, Polo, and you're taking out all that anger at me on her body. In a good way, of course. Don't hurt her." I laughed at that. It was a paraphrase of something I'd told him to do when faced with doing a woman.

"Did you ever have to pretend it was me?" I said. He smiled.

"Not with the women, funnily enough. I did pretend the young men I bought at the House of Silks were you. Once you joined the army, I pretended the soldiers I went hunting were you." I winced. He shrugged. "Sorry," he said, "you asked." He smiled. "I know you never had to pretend it was me." I gave a wry smile.

"You really do have to get over me, sire." He laughed.

"You can't tell me what to do, Your Grace," he said. I laughed too and gave him a hug.

"Idiot," I said fondly in his ear. "I may think of you after all. You're certainly annoying me enough." He hugged me back fiercely then let go.

"Thank you, Polo. For being my friend." I left, feeling better about our relationship than I had in years.

It would be alright, him being in love with me. We'd manage, we always did, and he'd been in love with me since we first met.

#### ****

When I arrived for morning tea, Isabella had her own courage, already poured from a bottle of chocolate liqueur. I was so high I could hardly see, and kept smoking. We ate a wonderful morning tea of delicate cakes and pastries, me drinking coffee, Isabella drinking that and sipping the liqueur.

As we leaned close, sharing pipes of mindweed, we began a gentle seduction with accidental touches and shuddering breaths, with longing in my eyes that was genuine, because I was out of my mind on very strong mindweed and just fanging to get her knickers off. A man might as well enjoy himself.

Finally, sipping my own tiny fluted and painted glass of the liqueur, I unwrapped Isabella like a present from the Birthday Dragon, all silk, lace, and pretty ribbons, until I reached her scented skin. Then I shared a mouthful of the drink with her, kissing it into her mouth. She moaned and shuddered against my tongue as I worked my way down her body, spilling drops of the liqueur and licking it up as I went. Not right between her legs, I knew from experience that might sting unpleasantly.

Gods, she was so gorgeous. The first time, all those years ago, I was too drunk to appreciate every delicate plane of beauty. To be honest, I was too drunk to remember. Now I was worshipping every curve and crevice, every swell of flesh. I licked the liqueur off her toes while she squealed and giggled. I kissed and licked up her legs to her hips until she gave up all pretence of not enjoying herself, and writhed openly like seaweed in a storm. I teased round the heart of her for a long time, lost in a dreamy state, until she begged me to lick her there.

"Please, Polo, gods, please, please!" What kind of man would I be to refuse?

#### ****

With her luscious thighs over my ears, I didn't hear the door open. I also had my eyes shut, absolutely lost in the moment, my tongue instigating then feeling the result of every jolt of pleasure. She suddenly went rigid. At first, I thought she was coming again, but even through her thighs I heard Azrael's outraged shout,

"Isabella!" Isabella's thighs were suddenly gone and I sat up. She grabbed for the sheet, leaving me buck-naked at the end of the bed, somehow still clutching most of a glass of chocolate liqueur. I finished it in a gulp and ran a hand back over my hair. Wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. Gods, he'd brought a freaking audience. Several were eyeing my nakedness in an interested manner.

"Polo?" Azrael sounded suitably distraught. "How could you do this to me?" He was a fine actor. I felt guilt-ridden. Not for him. For her. I used the emotion in my performance.

"Um," I said, as if trying to think of a lie to tell. "Azrael- Your Majesty, I'm sorry. Please, don't blame the queen. It's my fault. We were drunk-" Everyone watching us gasped at the horror of it.

"Drunk?" said Azrael, sounding suitably scandalised, "at this hour of the day? You're both bloody disgusting!" The king stormed out, bodyguards and courtiers following in a wide-eyed and judgemental cloud, composed mostly of silk, satin, lace, leather and confected outrage.

I found my trousers.

Isabella was weeping hysterically. I comforted her for some time, until she calmed a little. I held her close then fed her a pipe and said there there, it's going to be alright. It wasn't, of course, nothing would ever be alright for her again. I dressed, about to do something even worse than seducing her.

"What will we do?" she said. I buttoned my shirt, silent for the moment. Yet again, I felt sick. Married people, never get between them. It's where you get hurt. Or where you hurt others.

I hardened my heart and tried to imagine this was somehow excusable. Azrael's voice echoed in my head, "We need Dragon to win the war." A Sriaman, that was it, I had to imagine she was a Sriaman.

She wasn't. She was a poor, broken girl. I didn't break her, but I did help pull her pieces apart. I called one of her maids to stay with her.

"Polo?" said Isabella, stopping crying, her face wet. "Where are you going? I asked you, what will we do?" Pretend she was Azrael, I decided, that was the way to deal with it.

"I should make it clear," I said, keeping my tone kind, "there is no we." The servant shook her head at me. I ignored her. I could allow Isabella no hope. Just as I'd done with Azrael. "I'm sorry, Isabella." For once, I wasn't just saying that. It's not you, it's me? Aye, it really is me. I walked away, leaving her crying in the tangle of bedclothes, the servant saying there, there, it's going to be alright.

Within the hour, a note arrived from Azrael, asking that in the circumstances I go to Starshore for a while. I was glad to.

Although I rode quickly, accompanied by a squad of bodyguards, the rumours beat me to Port Azrael. Suddenly I was Polo Shawcross the notorious shape-changer, the man who cuckolded the king, instead of the wonderful war hero. There was much head-shaking.

When I was only sixteen, after the sex-with-cucumbers story came out, in the first book about my life, I learned to hold my head high no matter what people said. There wasn't much else one could do.

It was good practice for my current situation.

#### ****

## Chapter 21 - Propaganda

While I was at war, my Blood bodyguards were under-employed. Worried that if they didn't look busy they'd be assigned to watch my parents, they expanded my intelligence gathering.

Ross, Archie, and I had a meeting the morning after I arrived back in Starshore. It was good to see them, I'd only been back from the war a short time, and I'd missed everyone. Ross, I'd known him since I'd first come to the capital, he was tall, about my height, slightly slimmer in build, and when it came to sparring, like Fenric, he could still beat me most of the time. He had curly black hair, which he kept cropped short, and warm bright brown eyes, his Blood heritage showing in a ring of silver stars. We were close enough to have shared women at times. Archie, second in command, was a similar build, though his hair was red. One of the women I'd shared with Ross, Belinda, who we'd met in the north, had become Archie's partner.

We three settled in one of the many spare rooms around my castle, one they'd been using as a meeting room, with a polished wooden table big enough to seat twenty. Servants brought in coffee and cork mats to protect the table, then retired as Archie laid out papers for all of us to read while Ross began the lecture.

He announced that, despite the gossips' best efforts, nobody believed the stories about me being the king's lover as well as the queen's. Me being the queen's, well, I was Polo Shawcross. Who was the idiot who left me alone with the queen?

As for the king, it wasn't that people didn't suspect Azrael might be gay, though that rumour had lost ground after he married, but they didn't think I was. They didn't think I was bisexual either. In my duchy and across Sendren, people reckoned those rumours about the Duke of Starshore liking cock just weren't true. There was sniggering.

Shape-changing though, Ross explained, that was new and hard to scoff at. Notoriety was one thing but as a whole, the populations of both the duchy and the kingdom were concerned that, by turning into a dragon, His Grace had gone too far this time.

"However, the people are prepared to give you a chance, as everyone agreed you had been a good duke until now and your undisputed bravery in the army reflected well on Starshore, Sendren, and the king."

"Ross," I said, as I looked at the paperwork, "why is my sexuality important to my people? I'm the duke, not their lover." He smiled.

"It's important in their perceptions, Polo. Archie's been studying it, and the rest of us have been reading up."

"I've done a few courses," said Archie. Belinda's orders, he was now involved in my security only on a desk-job level, allowed to be around me providing he wasn't acting as a bodyguard. "You know, stuff like image-making and marketing. Even if you were obviously gay, a large number of people won't believe it if they simply read about all the women you tumble."

"Really?" I said.

"Aye, those books are a real advantage for your image," he said.

"Those books?" I said, groaning. "Galaia preserve me."

"Trust me," said Archie, "it's part of public relations. You being a fictional character really makes my job easier on some levels." I frowned, though part of me wanted to laugh.

"Oh?" I said. "Public relations, eh?" Archie was like a religious convert, or anyone studying psychology, a zealot over the rightness of his arcane knowledge.

"Image is everything," he said. I did laugh then. They looked serious. I stopped laughing and tried to be polite.

"Do you think you're all going too far?" I said.

"No," said Ross, "you set up the ducal intelligence gathering, we've just expanded the terms of reference." The old king had advised me on setting up the original.

"Ah," I said, prepared to take their word for it, "and why are we gathering information about Azrael? You know, in case he asks me?" Archie smiled.

"His fortunes are tied to yours. If he's making you look bad we need to know. You can talk to him. Make him see sense." I laughed.

"We're talking about Azrael," I said, "he's crazy." To my surprise, once again, they didn't laugh.

"More so with every year," said Ross.

"Oh?" I said. "I was thinking that might be just my perception." Archie shook his head.

"He doesn't seem stable," he said, looking at his notes. "People are concerned that it's too big a job for him to be king this young. And that new wife of his is completely insane. Fenric was saying they were all on high alert waiting for her to try to poison him." I sighed.

"Well," I said, "I solved that problem for them. He can divorce her now."

"Aye, idiot," said Ross. I shook my head.

"What can I say?" I pulled a face. "I feel awful about it."

"Doing that to him-" Ross started saying. I held up a hand.

"Doing what?" I said. "Wait, no, I thought you lot knew? It was all arranged, Azrael set it up. He wants to divorce her." Ross shut up completely. Archie was looking at me in a way that meant he hadn't known either. I sighed. "So that means even Fenric didn't know," I said.

Fenric, head of Azrael's bodyguards, knew everything, at least everything that went on with Azrael. Who he was doing, not doing, what really happened as opposed to what he said happened and so on. He would share most things with Ross, providing it didn't compromise Azrael's security. Ross had been part of his squad and they were friends as well. Ross and Archie looked worried.

"Azrael set it up?" said Ross. I nodded.

"I didn't cuckold my best friend, Ross. Well, technically I did, but he asked me to. He specifically begged me to seduce his wife, be caught doing so and give him grounds for divorce. He took ages persuading me. It's so he can marry Lilith." I shook my head. "And I'd appreciate it if you made sure Fenric knows my side of things, just on the quiet." I sighed again. "It's all politics. I didn't want to do it but it's the only way to get Dragon on our side. Azrael has to marry Lilith. And that part's freaking classified, so if it gets out past you two and Fenric, I'll know you all not only misjudged me, but now you've betrayed me." Ross winced.

"Sorry, Polo." He and Archie looked guilty. I felt miserable.

"It seemed logical," Archie said, "you being you. But you're right, betraying a friend isn't you at all." I felt even more depressed.

"Everyone really thought I did Isabella behind his back?" I said. "Wonderful. Really bloody wonderful."

"You might as well have," said Ross, stretching. "Think about it, Polo. Who told Fenric you did that to Azrael?" He obviously expected me to know. I didn't, and tried to attack the problem with logic.

"I don't think Young Perry speaks to Fenric," I said, "besides, I thought Perry's in gaol?" Ross rolled his eyes. "What?" I said, feeling irritable. "I don't know. Who's out to get me this time?" Ross sighed.

"Idiot child," he said. I began to pout.

"I'm twenty-one," I said, petulantly. Archie laughed.

"Aye," said Ross, folding his arms, "and you're being used."

"By whom?" I said, still mystified. Ross shook his head at me.

"Who has the most to gain," he said, "both by tagging along on your popularity and by making you out to be untrustworthy?" Archie nodded. I was flummoxed.

"You're serious," I said, frowning. "Young Perry's feeding information to Fenric?" Ross began to laugh. Archie coughed. Ross caught control of himself and gave me a pitying look.

"Oh Polo, can't you see?" he said. "It's Azrael and his mother. They have you by the balls. Him because you're loyal to a fault and her because, well, she's got you by the balls." They laughed and laughed. I started to say they didn't, nobody did, then just sputtered a bit.

After that, I just looked thoughtful for a long time. Ross and Archie, give them credit, stopped laughing and calling me a nine-sided idiot, and began making serious suggestions as to how I might protect myself.

#### ****

I went for a lightning tour round the duchy, including something I'd been dreading since I left the army, a visit to my parents. Mother had a new boyfriend, slightly older than me at twenty-five. She was still weak for pretty boys with mother issues.

Speaking of which, Father was living on a fishing boat in Port Azrael harbour. He was drinking again, which was better than his god-bothering phase but only marginally. Both my private spy system and the one that reported to my steward had warned me that many drinking establishments in Port Azrael had banned him. He was talking about sailing along the coast to a more hospitable place.

Through both visits I stayed smiling until my face ached, and my tongue did too. The latter was because I bit my tongue and let them talk, though I warned Father that I couldn't stop him being gaoled and not to call on me if he was arrested. By starting early, and biting my tongue a lot, we covered both parents in the same day.

I was ready at last to take some time to relax and think about my lack of morals. I wasn't sure how much time that would need but it turned out I wasn't given the chance for much. Barely a day.

#### ****

The next morning, after a virtuous early start involving riding, exercise and sparring, I was going to dine with the staff, but Bailey Westwych, Crown Prince of Gyr, arrived.

Princes never arrive just by themselves. There was an entourage of twenty, which was almost alone, just staff and bodyguards. Our cooks always over-catered, making our pigs, chickens, and compost heaps well fed, so at least food wasn't a problem. My bodyguards would have to move out of the Royal Suite – where they'd been living, as it had three bedrooms, staff quarters, and was next to my suite - or protocol, Bernard told me, would be broken.

"Crown Prince has to have a Royal Suite, Your Grace," said Bernard, "it's the way it's done. Even if all he does is wash his hands in the bathroom."

I sent a message to that effect and hurried down to greet Bailey at our front entrance.

"Bailey," I called, "welcome!"

"You said I should visit," he said. I laughed and went to meet him. We hugged. Hetero style.

"I'm glad you came," I said, "come in, come in. We're about to have lunch, perfect timing."

"I'd like to talk to you alone," he said softly, "if you don't mind." It was fine by me, so he and I sat on the terrace drinking a good Sendren red, while the rest of his party went off to be looked after.

In Port Azrael it was warmer than the south and Redoubt had been. The end of March, autumn in the southern hemisphere by the calendar, and to everyone else's senses the sunny days felt like a welcome and unseasonable Indian summer. To me it felt a little cool, but my visit further south seemed to have helped me acclimatise a bit.

If I wasn't in the sun it felt chilly, but the sun was shining and we were out of the wind, screened by various bits of greenery, architecture, and a portable canvas windbreak the staff found in the attic after Bernard watched me shivering. Three years in the north had skewed my senses.

Bailey and I ate lunch and discussed Azrael's kingdom acquisitions. The announcement had been made that the new united kingdom was to become a reality, having the agreement in principle of an astonishing majority of the kingdom rulers.

"That will pressure the undecided," I said, "he'll get a number joining because everyone else is."

"Except in the south," said Bailey. "I've been sadly ineffectual in persuading our Leas Kingdoms neighbours that Theus is the way of the future. Bran of Lakeleas is rattling sabres but frankly they're all as bad." He smiled. "Bloody gorgeous view, Polo. Naturally, if Dragon joins us, people may change their minds." I was pretty sure he was fishing. I took a calm mouthful of roast potato and chewed it.

"Hmm," I said, swallowing, "still no news on that?"

"I thought you might know," he said. I shook my head.

"I haven't heard. I meant to ask about Indigo," I said, changing the subject, turning the conversation back into gossip about our cousins instead of what I thought it might be, intelligence gathering on behalf of the Kingdom of Gyr, though perhaps Bailey was just being curious on his own behalf. "Last I heard Indigo married a ladyship in Panswell?" Bailey shrugged. He paid some attention to his beef and potatoes, less interested in this new branch of the conversation. I busied myself with my wine.

"Aye," he said finally, "Indigo married, and he's still blaming everyone else for his problems. Though I think the marriage is in trouble." I wasn't surprised, though I was surprised he'd married, I'd never heard of him every being interested in women. Bailey shook his head. "Some people are never happy." He paused. "I'm going to ask straight out. How do you do it, Polo? How do you change?" I frowned.

"I don't know."

"Please," he said, "I know we haven't always-" I held up my cutlery, forestalling him. There was a time he and I had been on opposite sides of a feud, though not because of any personal enmity.

"No, seriously, Bailey, I don't know. I can try to explain, and can turn into a dragon for you. I just don't know exactly how." He settled, nodding. "Someone once told me, about how to do it, 'I just think myself there.' That sums it up."

"Can you take me up?" he said, looking eager. Then he stopped. "Sorry, I mean, if that's not demeaning? I don't want to be rude." I had thought it both but the sting was gone now he'd said sorry.

"It's fine," I said, "I don't mind you asking. But I couldn't carry someone else and fly. Unless I picked you up in my claws and dragged you along the ground, and to be honest, it would be damn hard. Like a robin trying to lift an apple. Maybe after I've been doing it for a while? And riding me, aye, that would be demeaning. Because I couldn't get into the air."

"Oh?" said Bailey. I shrugged.

"I don't think I could take off with someone else's weight. I could swoop down, pick someone up, then maybe even fly just above the ground a short way. But not for long. I'd be exhausted and crash. Flying's hard enough just lifting myself."

"Oh," he said, "that's a shame. I always wanted to ride a dragon. If I couldn't be one, I mean."

"Aye," I said, "I read a book once where a boy rode a dragon. It's like they say in _When Dragon Came_ , there are many myths about Dragon." Bailey looked interested.

"That's a book?" he said. I nodded.

"Aye," I said, "I thought you would have read it. Uncle Theo's library has a copy. I paid for a number to be made, for me and the libraries in Starshore. I can have one done, send it to Gyr? Or wherever you like."

"Thank you, Polo, to me care of Peterhaven would be wonderful. I was hoping to have seen you round the place. Father considers Azrael's Courts safe ones, and they are warmer than Gyr this time of year."

"Ah," I said, "I had to leave Peterhaven in a hurry."

"Oh dear," Bailey said and laughed. "Heard about you and the queen." He chuckled. "Tsk, tsk, Polo, what made you do that?" I shrugged. I felt rather defensive over my bad behaviour. And the rumours that I betrayed my best friend. However I didn't want to include Bailey in the need-to-know loop. He didn't need to know.

Azrael would marry Lilith. It would be a thing done, not something proposed, and nobody would have time to stop it. As Bailey said, once Dragon was on our side then the south would probably change its collective mind about supporting Azrael.

"I felt sorry for Isabella," I said. That sounded defensive too. "She's a poor damaged girl." That sounded worse. He nodded. I tried to think of extenuating circumstances. "We do have a history," I said finally. He raised his glass to me. The sun caught the rich red of the wine and a rainbow exploded from the faceted crystal. I smiled and raised my glass in turn.

It was good to be home. Despite the morality, it was much better than a cavalry charge. Better than night patrols in the borders, hunting Sriamans. I stopped drinking wine. It seemed a good idea if I was shape-changing later. I rang a bell, and when a servant appeared, I called for coffee.

"And here was me," Bailey said as I turned back to him, "thinking you did Isabella for another notch on your belt." I frowned.

"I'm not really like that," I said, "it's never been about numbers." Inside me a voice said I was much worse, seducing Isabella for political reasons.

"Oh," said Bailey, "speaking of rumours about you, I have the latest book." I laughed.

"I haven't read it yet," I said, "do tell."

"You seem to have spent the last three years being noble and defending the north almost single-handed," he said, looking amused. "Whilst getting laid a lot."

"Bollocks. I hardly got laid at all, and I was a complete coward with brave but crazy horses that ran toward the enemy, instead of in a more sensible direction." I shook my head. "Really? The writer said I'm noble?" I snorted with laughter. Bailey smiled.

"Aye," he said, "after you left Malion to give your friend the Crown Prince of Sendren the chance to shine. Without you there to always be the more popular one." That chilled me all the way to the bone and I stopped smiling.

I sat there open-mouthed for a moment while Bailey looked very amused. "You don't often look shocked, Polo." I managed to close my mouth, and rubbed at my scarred forearm. "And so," Bailey went on, obviously enjoying himself, "you began your way to redemption." The dragon scars seemed to be icicles, spearing all the way to the bone. I shivered. Coffee arrived, and we paused the conversation until the servant left.

"That's not what happened," I said. "I know I say that about every book they write, but this is starting to scare me, Bailey. Who's trying to make me out to be more popular than Azrael? I never was. Enough people knew what an idiot I am. But Uncle Theo was saying the same thing. I mean saying that I was a possible rival to Azrael and what were my intentions? I told him I was loyal." I was sounding panicked and tried to breathe. "You know me, Bailey, I'm too bloody lazy to plot. And I've never wanted to be king." He nodded.

"Too lazy to plot unless it's about getting a tumble?" he said. I wasn't sure when Bailey became so good at baiting me but I did wish he'd give it up. He gave me a shrewd look, the blue eyes no longer smiling. "You're still that boy? You don't look it." I scowled at him.

"I don't want the bloody throne," I said, "and I want to know who's trying to make out I do!" I pulled myself together. "And which idiot thinks I should be king instead of Azrael? I mean, that's nonsense."

"I don't know who's doing it," he said, "if it's not you, then whoever your biographer is."

"It's not me and I don't know who they are," I said, sighing. "I wish they'd stop. Everywhere I go people have read those bloody books." I paused. "What's the latest one called?" I'd have to order a copy. I needed to know what the servants were laughing about.

"Brace yourself," said Bailey, "it's the worst title yet, _Wild Redemption: The Duke of Starshore Takes the North_."

I actually gasped. As Saraia had told me once, at Court one should never show shock. One was allowed to be surprised. I might be at home, on my own veranda as it were, but mustn't kid myself. Back here in Sendren I needed to control my emotions to survive. Even in Starshore I was on display as surely as if I were a few hours down the road, faffing about in Peterhaven with the rest of the Royal Court.

"Oh?" I said. "Anonymous does like a long title." I shook my head. "Though that's really awful. You'd think he'd go for something snappier."

"Could it be a woman?" said Bailey. I turned a hand palm up, agreeing.

"It could be anyone. I've even wondered if I'm writing them, but don't remember because of brain damage from falling off horses or being hit." Bailey laughed and shook his head.

"Anonymous isn't you," he said, "can't you tell? I can. They don't sound like you. It is someone who knows us all, though I'm not in this one." Bailey had appeared in the previous two books, with several telling details that made me wonder at the time if he was the author. Only of his parts though, the rest contained facts he couldn't have known. Some of them I didn't know either, having been too drunk to remember. In a couple of instances I was actually unconscious.

"You're not?" I said.

"No, this one's just your military career, and you and I had no contact during that."

"I did write."

"Aye," he said, "but the book's just what I imagine must be a load of twaddle about your brave and noble military career, during which you save kittens and young ladies in distress as much as you fight the enemy." I groaned. "I understand how Azrael must feel," Bailey said, "I'd be concerned if you were my competition for the throne of Gyr." I felt my balls retract.

"Competition?" My voice was so squeaky that I coughed. "Me?" I said, several octaves lower but still sputtering. "I'm not Azrael's competition! I'm not in line for the throne and I don't want it! I'm loyal to him. Completely!" Paranoia rose up inside me. Was Bailey trying to set me up? Was someone listening to this? Was Azrael testing my bloody loyalty? Was I about to pay a visit to dear Uncle Nate the Royal Torturer, to be his pre-retirement project? I didn't want to be peeled!

"You know the saying," said Bailey, "loyal to a fault? Don't let the Westwych's use you."

Gods. He wasn't trying to make me say bad things about Azrael. He was trying to warn me. Loyal to a fault? That's what Ross had called me. I couldn't stop shaking my head at the awfulness of it. "They're my family too," he went on, "but you've been a good friend to me. And we're cousins as well." He gave a small shy smile. "I owe you, Polo, I couldn't stay silent."

I didn't know what to do. Once again the army looked like a safe, comfortable place. I said thanks and rubbed my fingers through my hair. It was longer than it had been for three years and I was seriously thinking of growing it to my shoulders. If nobody hung me before it grew past my ears.

"I've always been loyal," I said. "I never wanted to be king. I can barely manage being duke." Bailey laughed. "I'm not being funny, Bailey. It's a big debt I owe Theo. He gave me sanctuary from my parents. If not for him I'd not have my duchy. That's two big debts." Bailey shrugged.

"If not for you they'd no longer have Azrael," he said, sounding practical. "Don't forget, the Sendrenese succession is Azrael then Young Perry, then Queen Kristin of Joban, and the only person I like less than Young Perry is Aunt Kristen. Or Uncle Nate, I forgot about him. There's something not right with Uncle Nate." I shivered. "So, you saving Azrael? That's a bigger debt than anything they could do for you. In addition, you being around Sendren's new king does wonders for his popularity. He's really only accepted because they figure if Polo's his friend, he can't be bad. Even if he's-" He didn't say the word but he made the hand movement, signifying Azrael's sexuality. I rubbed at the dragon scars on my forearm again.

"Galaia preserve me," was all that came to mind. Bailey looked sympathetic. I wanted to change immediately into dragon form and fly away, far far away. Then keep flying for a few weeks. Repeat that for a while. Just on Galaia there were plenty of places I could ply my trade. What trade did I have again? Aside from soldiering?

"People say a strong man like you would be better," Bailey said. I knew what he meant. 'People' would prefer someone who wasn't gay. Azrael did not love women. He could tumble one. Or more. But he was going through the motions. Probably bisexual, because he wasn't so gay he couldn't touch women, but he loved men. The reverse of me. Though I did like having sex with men, I preferred women, my crushes were all women and I'd never fallen for a man. I was open to anything, and would say I was omnisexual, but it seemed 'mostly hetero' was how I was. It was obvious His Majesty was mostly not.

Also obvious, he still thought he loved me, but I was pretty sure he still didn't know what love was. Not that I knew, but it wasn't dependency. Not like my parents, all madness and manipulation. Not like his parents, also not the perfect couple.

So, what to do? Maybe I could try interstellar flight. How long could I hold my breath? I was pretty sure if I went out of the atmosphere my body cells would break down, unless it was only for a few seconds. I lit a pipe and brought myself back to my present. Bailey was watching me and wasn't finished. "People say the kingdoms need someone like you to keep Prince Porky off the throne." I was horrified.

"People better not say anything of the bloody sort!" I said. The wine was souring in my stomach. "I do not want to be king. Azrael's going to be an excellent king. Much better than I'd be. He's got focus. He's much more hard-edged than people think." More than I ever imagined. Using me as his weapon he'd already done something to the rather vulnerable and defenceless Isabella that I wouldn't think he could live with. I wasn't finding living with my actions easy, but Azrael wasn't bothered in the slightest. It was necessary for his Dragon Kingdom and that was that. Bailey smiled.

"I know Azrael's tougher than he looks," he said, gesturing with his glass, "and you know that. You only have to spar with him, he's no limp-wristed queen. Nevertheless, it's not coming across. If it were we'd be having better luck with the Leas royalty. Bran's an arse but people prefer the idea of him to the idea of an effeminate northerner." Technically, Sendren was a middle kingdom, not a northern one, but I didn't argue. The southerners saw things differently. Anyone from south of the Little Dragon River, the one through Malion, was a southerner, anyone north of that, a northerner. Bailey also didn't mean Azrael specifically, just that southerners saw us all as effeminate, so an actually gay northern king was never going to be their choice.

Despite playing dumb when questioned, I understood Azrael's strategic artistry in taking Highcliff without a war. He stood astride the old kingdoms without a drop of blood shed. Aside from the superb cliff defences on most of three sides, the Kingdom of Highcliff was on the southern highlands straddling the Little Dragon and the main western shipping canal, so part of both south, north, and west. Sendren bordered the eastern kingdoms like Acordia and Joban. Highcliff was on our southwest, Panswell north of that, but before Panswell was Sendren's northern shore on the Great Star Lake.

And right there was the Duchy of Starshore. Where I was sitting. My duchy was likewise strategically important and very wealthy.

"I don't want Bran to take the new Dragon throne," Bailey was saying. "And I don't want it." I was starting to breathe faster again.

"I don't want it either, Bailey."

"It's alright, Polo," he said in a soothing tone, perhaps realising how panicked I was, "nobody who knows you thinks you do, seriously." The unspoken part of that sentence was that if they thought I did, I'd be a dead man.

"Good," I said, desperate to change the subject, "anyway, shall we talk about dragon-shape?" I tried to explain what happened when I changed, how I thought myself there, and to my surprise Bailey was very studious and took notes. He wanted to watch me change and then fly.

At sunset, we dressed very casually, gave our various guards the slip, then headed away from the castle on horseback. Where commoners would be blind we could see in the dark. Our horses saw moderately well, especially with the half-moon, plus any main roadways had solar-powered lamps lighting the way.

On the beach, we tethered the horses, then I changed shape. Bailey stood watching as I circled round him, then I flew low along the waterline, close enough to the sand that my wingtip nearly brushed his cheek. He stood firm, blue eyes bright, looking happy.

I transformed back, dressed, and while I caught my breath we sat on the sand, talking over aspects of the metamorphosis, before riding back to the castle. I was feeling tired but better than for a while. Changing could be healing, and though I felt no physical change, I'd left some negativity behind.

We planned to shower, change, then collect our bodyguards, as we were off for a night on the town, the one I missed when I left the army. Bailey was a good man to go eating and drinking with.

#### ****

## Chapter 22 – The Jealousy of Princes

To my annoyance, while we were gone another royal party had turned up unannounced. Azrael, his mother and a large entourage of Hangers On were in residence.

Everyone was panicking because Bailey and I were apparently missing. The gates were closed, a search was underway in the castle grounds, the building itself was likewise sealed off and being searched. Though relieved we were safe, everyone was vexed with us for being, as Ross put it,

"A pair of flibbertigibbet young men with nothing better to do than scare everyone half to death and waste valuable time!" Ross was being polite, seeing the Princess Royal was standing there laughing at us. Bailey was in trouble with his guards too, him being not only a prince but also a Crown Prince Abroad. It seemed half the Peterhaven Hangers On were in my castle, happily watching this latest example of my notorious behaviour laid bare.

To top off the debacle, Azrael had completely the wrong idea, something I didn't discover until we were finally just the four of us, Bailey, Azrael, Saraia, and I, in one of the castle's smaller private dining rooms, only room for a table for ten. The Royal Court and Bailey's staff were sent to a banqueting hall where my staff would feed and coddle them. They could get drunk and molest each other without bothering us. I was thinking that although disappointed to miss a night out with Bailey, it would be nice to have a good meal with friends. We could have a laugh over old times. I had no idea.

"Poor Polo," said Azrael, "spoiled your plans did we?" I smiled.

"Aye, as it happens you did, but we can go out drinking another night."

"Drinking," he said, "that what you're calling it now?" I stopped smiling. I didn't know what he meant but understood he was angry with me over something. What had I done? Was he faking being angry with me over Isabella? Bailey got it too, and also what Azrael was insinuating.

"What in the name of Thet are you talking about, Azrael?" he said.

"Aye," I said, suddenly getting an inkling, "tell me and all, I'd like to know."

"Galaia preserve us," said Azrael, "you two are touchy." He was smiling as if nothing was wrong but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't mean anything by it," he said, "it was a joke. Obviously not a good one." That should have been it, and I would have forgotten, but then he said it was so unexpected finding Bailey in Port Azrael.

"Bailey's only just arrived," I said, "unannounced like you. Privilege of royalty isn't?" Bailey laughed. His reply was in gracious tones, but there was steel behind the words.

"I wasn't aware I was to report to you, Azrael, but I'm sure we can arrange for my Sendrenese and Highcliff itineraries to be given to you. As a sign of goodwill. Of course," he said, suddenly sounding quite angry, "if you don't pull your head out of your arse and start acting like my friend again, all Sendrenese nationals will be subject to border controls in Gyr and I'll be rethinking my personal support."

"I do beg your pardon, Highness," said Azrael, meeting Bailey's eyes, "my words were misconstrued. Gyr and her people are always welcome in Sendren-Highcliff." Which was gobbledegook, but Azrael wasn't being rational.

"Don't mind me," said Saraia, looking amused. "You hens let me know when you've got your pecking order sorted."

"Sorry, Auntie Saraia," said Bailey, and rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in being ruler of the farmyard, or," he added pointedly, "the schoolyard." He looked at Azrael. "So I think I'll be off. Please excuse me, Azrael, Auntie Saraia, Polo." Saraia and I told him not to go but he was being stubborn.

I walked him down, his staff scurrying about, my staff facilitating, so almost by the time we reached the front steps his coach had been brought round. Bailey said thanks for what I'd told him about flight, he'd come back for another lesson but would give me some notice.

#### ****

Back in the small dining room, His Majesty wasn't finished.

"Did we spoil your plans?" Azrael said again. He looked very smug. If Saraia wasn't there I would have asked him for a spar, and beaten that look off his face. I made a very rude gesture and picked up the wine. I gestured to Saraia, not a rude one, just did she want some wine, and she nodded.

"After destroying my marriage," Azrael said, "I would have thought you'd slow down a little." He and Saraia smirked at each other. I didn't shout but I was fuming.

"We're having wine, Azrael," I said. "Would you prefer vinegar or are you sour enough tonight? Especially since I destroyed your marriage at your behest. Please don't make me out to be a backstabbing bastard in front of your own mother. Not when you took about an hour to persuade me to do it, so you'd be free of the crazy woman I told you not to marry." To my delight, Saraia hadn't known. There was a split second of reaction before it was gone, then she was pretending not to be shocked, which I recognised because she taught me to do it.

I raised my glass to the king. "Your health, sire," I said cheerfully, and took a mouthful. Azrael gave me a dirty look. "And," I said, very pointedly, "there's nothing going on between Bailey and me. I don't fall for men. I've told you that a million bloody times." He shrugged.

"You and Bailey are both so touchy," he said, "why is that?" I lit a pipe and looked at him through the smoke.

"Probably because you're acting like a jealous prick," I said. He shot a look at his mother. She rolled her eyes.

"If you think I don't know about your crush on Polo, darling," said Saraia, "you're being terribly naive." I laughed and she smiled at me. "Lovely wine, Polo."

"It is," I said. "If you'll excuse me, Saraia, and at the risk of sounding like some long-suffering husband, I'll explain what was going on today. Bailey asked me to give him some meditation lessons. We went to the beach so I could show him transformation and flight. We sneaked off because we're idiots. And we were going to get drunk and pick up women tonight. More idiocy, but we came back to shower and collect bodyguards, so not as stupid as we used to be. By the way, Azrael, I'm tired of you acting as if you have some kind of claim on me." I was tired in a general sense too, and asked for food to be sent in.

Once the servants withdrew again I checked they were gone as I'd asked. There was going to be shouting, and I didn't want us overheard. I came back in and turned to Azrael. "I'm also tired of you acting like crazy people," I said, and made an annoyed gesture in his direction.

"You and me both," said Saraia, who was dishing up dinner. I stepped over and took my soup bowl.

"Speaking of crazy people," I said, "how is Isabella?"

"She's calmed down," Azrael said, sulky but not as bad as he'd been, "gone back to stay with her father in the palace at Malion. We're waiting to see if he wants to take steps to put her in the asylum, or if she's going to contest the divorce. Or the succession. But she knows her father will fight her on that." Poor Isabella. Her life must be in ruins. I felt awful all over again at my part in it. "Anyway," Azrael was moving right along, "we're here because you should know Young Perry's escaped. And we felt like an outing." He looked at his mother, as if she'd invited herself along on his adventure. I lost interest in the previous topics of conversation, and the soup.

"He what?" I said. "How?"

"He bribed a guard with a grudge against Theo," said Saraia. "Azrael insisted he had to tell you personally and I thought I'd come along." She smiled. Now I understood, she was here to stop the new king trying to seduce me. I could imagine the family discussion on His Majesty's constant reversion to his teenage crush on the Duke of Starshore, and how it was bad for the Crown's image.

"You think Perry might be coming here?" I said, but Saraia shook her head.

"He's gone to Joban," she said, "or at least was heading that way. There are roadblocks all over but he hadn't turned up as of about three hours ago. Though they'll send a messenger if he does." Joban was to the east.

"The border's closed," said Azrael. "If he slips through somehow we'll ask Joban to extradite him, though they'll be uncooperative."

"By the way," I said, "thanks for telling me you were going to out me as a shape-changer." Saraia made a tsk-ing noise.

"That's not how I raised him, Polo." She sighed. "Eat up, boys, the soup will get cold."

"Sorry," said Azrael, looking innocent, "didn't I tell you?"

"No, you bloody didn't," I said, and smiled. It seemed to be a time for secrets. I knew another one. "While I remember, have you told Saraia about Lilith's visit?" Saraia looked at him.

"I was going to," said her son, looking sulky again.

"Going to?" I said, laughing. "You're about to marry-"

"Marry?" said Saraia. She wasn't hiding her shock now. "Azrael! You're doing what?" I was enjoying myself. Azrael wasn't. I took a bread roll and broke off a piece.

It was pumpkin. A lovely bright orange. The one night I'd spent with Saraia, many years ago now, there was pumpkin bread with dinner. Azrael had been jealous, of me not the bread, and the next morning spread the story of me doing his mother all over bloody Sendren. He wasn't answering her now. So I did.

"He's marrying Lilith," I said, and took a spoonful of soup. Saraia couldn't actually speak. Azrael rolled his eyes and cursed me. "Didn't he tell you, Saraia?" I said, feeling cheery. "He's going to make Lilith the Dragon Queen of his new Theus."

That bit of news generated some shouting. Saraia shouted at Azrael for a while then he shouted back. I finished my soup and the really lovely bread, and double-checked the servants were out of earshot. The main course was on a heated trolley so doing fine. I wondered if it was poor manners to eat the rest of one's dinner when others were arguing. I looked at them. Azrael was shredding a bread roll and not eating. Saraia's soup was likewise going cold. I decided to stand back from the table and have a pipe, let them catch up with me.

"How else could I get Dragon on our side, Mother?" Azrael was saying. "It was the only way. Lilith wouldn't accept any other terms. Ask Polo." He glowered at me.

"Honestly," I said, "I do wish you two would deal with each other instead of trying to do it through me. Yes, Saraia, it was the only way he could get Dragon to fight on the side of man." I blithely waved the hand with the pipe in it. "And yes, Azrael, your mother should have told you who your father was. I'm sure in hindsight Saraia feels the same way-" I noticed something was wrong as they both froze. Saraia had worked up a healthy colour shouting at Azrael, now she paled and Azrael smiled. I stopped enjoying myself so fast it was breathtaking. Azrael, however, was mightily cheered.

"You have complete foot-in-mouth disease, Polo," he said, laughing and shaking his head. Saraia gasped.

"You told him about his father? Oh Polo! You said you wouldn't!" I sighed.

"Yes, Saraia," I said, through clenched teeth, "I did break the news to him, quite accidentally, because I thought you already had! You were going to, remember? Before his bloody coronation!" She turned on Azrael then.

"And you've been pretending you didn't know!" she said, sounding shocked. Azrael laughed from the belly. I began to too. He turned to Saraia.

"Get off your high horse, Mother," he said, and lowered his voice to a hiss, "pretending to any kind of ethical limits after your manipulation of the throne of Sendren, making me a usurper, is a bit bloody hypocritical!"

"Don't mind me," I said, feeling amused again as they squabbled. I wondered if it was worth looking for Young Perry from the air, and said so aloud. "Maybe he's been hiding today," I added, "and he'll set out in the dark? I have to eat and sleep first, but I could go have a look."

They stopped fighting and said yes, it was worth looking. They also said they'd stay over and return to Peterhaven in the morning. "Wait," I said, remembering the trouble I'd had proving my identity in Malion, "I need identification, Azrael. Something that says I'm a Crown agent. Also something that states Perry is wanted. You know what he's like. He'll say I'm the criminal." With the assistance of his secretary and some of my scribes, Azrael did up some papers. The scribes neatly sealed the documents in bioplas. I was reminded of Cassimski over in Kavarlen, with his certificates. Was his wife still cuckolding him with the garden slaves? I wondered if I'd ever find out. Azrael and Saraia were fighting again.

I ignored them, ate the rest of my dinner, and then excused myself to sleep. I warned the servants that, unless it was some kind of genuine emergency - which didn't include either of them wanting to use my body - neither the Princess Royal nor the king was allowed into my suite.

About two in the morning I woke and ate again. Once changed into a dragon, I would fly south and east towards Joban, carrying a bag with paperwork, clothes, and food, and keeping straight by reading a compass Ross strapped to my wrist for me.

"Watch your back," Ross said, "the little bugger might have friends who will help him." I clapped his shoulder, carefully, not wanting to stick him with my claws.

"I will," I said, "though like this I'm pretty safe."

#### ****

## Chapter 23 – Hunting

Joining the search for Crown Prince Perry was mostly an excuse to get out of my castle and away from Azrael and his mother, but just before the Jobanese border I saw a cart moving fast on a narrow road. To my eyes, the galloping team shone like small stars. They were not carthorses. The very overheated creatures looked like Joban Trotters - expensive, fast coach-horses - and were blowing so hard that one or both of them were going to drop dead.

As I flew over for a look, I saw an old peasant woman driving the almost-empty cart at speed, the tray bouncing. There were only some sacks over the boards in the back. Was she returning from a market, at this hour? Why the speed? Curious, I went lower.

The woman thrashed the poor creatures on and on, the veins in their nostrils distended with blood, shining to my dragon-sight. Their fear and exhaustion was an acrid scent in the pre-dawn, the lather of their sweat foaming from mouths and flanks. I wanted to give the woman a flogging to match what she was doing to the horses. Then I got the scent of him. I shouted from above,

"Perry Westwych!" Young Perry looked up then tried to whip the team faster, but they were spent. One horse was slowing, the other trying to drag it. The cart started to sway as the team's gait became uneven. "You piece of slime!" I called, shadowing the cart. "What have I told you about being cruel to animals? You're going to kill those horses!"

He whipped them again.

Emotion flooded me, rage overwhelming my senses. I was almost lost in the red, about to take such pleasure in tearing him to pieces, when suddenly deja vu hit. I remembered what happened when we were sixteen, how I earned myself an enemy the last time I caught Perry being cruel to animals.

As Fenric said, emotion was the real enemy. As he advised, I took a moment to think about the situation. Once feelings were stripped away, what did my mind say was the right action? I honestly thought about killing Perry, maybe first doing a big satisfying scene where I told him what kind of a scum-sucking excuse for a man he was - especially over the way he was whipping those horses - but decided to let the law deal with him. It sounds longwinded but it was only a few seconds. I was the sum of all my parts, and I beat my wings.

Diving down, I belted him into the back of the cart with one clenched fist, then dropped onto the cart and slowed the team. Despite my clawed hands having trouble with the reins it wasn't hard to stop the horses. The poor creatures began to slow the moment the whip let them be. Perry was dressed in women's clothes, a scarf over his hair, lying unconscious on top of the layer of sacks. For a moment I was worried I'd killed the nasty little bastard after all, then realised I could see he was alive. It was time for me to change shape.

Once back in human form and dressed, I trussed Perry up in the back of the cart then, leading the horses to lighten their load, walked next to them about two miles to the nearest town. Perry woke up once and began shouting for help. I jumped into the cart tray, dug a finger into the pressure point under his arm. He stopped shouting. He was making a helpless, whimpering noise back in his throat.

"I learned some things on the Northern Front, Perry," I said, my tone silky, "shall I show you what happens when you carefully butterfly a man's ribs open with an axe, then pull his lungs out while his heart's still beating?" I never did any such thing, nor saw it. I read it at the Military Guild in a book on ancient tortures. However, the notion shut Perry up.

At the town polis station I handed him over, with the horses and cart. Those belonged to someone and must be traced. I did note their brands. I'd pass that on to Azrael, in case the animals weren't traced by the constables. Let him find out who hid Perry for a day then gave him transport. The polis were solemn as I showed my papers. Perry started shouting again, told everyone I was a shape-changer, keeping up his accusations that Azrael wasn't his father's son.

He had no proof of the latter or wasn't sharing it. I had my documentation so nobody paid him much attention. Of course, rumours would spread, but me being Polo Shawcross the war hero went down well with the polis, even though shape-changer Polo Shawcross was making them a little wary. They could forgive Polo Shawcross the womanising idiot. Everyone knew the ex-queen was crazy so the king was better off. People can rationalise almost anything. I wasn't sure how they'd take Lilith as queen, but out in the countryside they were showing a level of open-mindedness I thought was more the preserve of the cosmopolitan cities.

When I left, Perry was in a cell, awaiting return to the custody of the Peterhaven authorities. I walked out of town before changing shape again and flying for Starshore to give Azrael the news.

#### ****

My return at least gave his mother a reason to chivvy the lovesick king back to Peterhaven instead of him spending another night trying to get past my servants and bodyguards.

Fairly soon after the Royal Party arrived back in the capital, a message arrived at Starshore from Azrael, asking me to come back to Court for a while. He wanted the same 'class' I gave Bailey. I decided to go, and show the world that - despite cuckolding His Majesty, being a shape-changer, or whatever else I might have done wrong this week - I was still in royal favour. Besides, as Ross said, the king's invitation was really more a summons. I needed to be ill or recently bereaved to get out of it, and both my parents were showing no signs of ill health, writing to me most days, usually to complain about the other. I was ignoring the letters but they were bound to show up in person soon.

Going to Peterhaven would also show I was loyal to Azrael. I didn't want to be at Court with the crazy people, Azrael included, but figured if I taught someone else to change shape then they could take over teaching and I could take some time off. Especially, I could go find new friends, ones who didn't care about politics. I wanted a woman. Maybe even one woman. One who didn't mind having fun with others. I wasn't completely ascetic.

Meanwhile Bailey had thought perhaps Azrael was jealous of his shape-changing class, so sent a copy of his notes.

"It was very interesting," said Azrael, when I saw him again in Peterhaven, "and naturally Bailey said in his letter he has more questions for you. He's very annoyed with me. I apologised for being an idiot." I knew how that felt. Azrael sighed. "I need to apologise to you too." I shrugged.

"Alright."

"Cheer up, Polo," said Azrael, smiling suddenly, "I think Perry is going to hang this time."

#### ****

To my intense disappointment, Young Perry didn't hang. After Bernard told me the news, that having someone kidnapped in a foreign country wasn't an offence in Sendren, I shouted about the unfairness of the law. In public, I pretended not to care and in public Young Perry was pretending my documentation was a Kavar forgery to cover up their attempts to enslave the poor Duke of Starshore.

In private, according to Bernard, Perry said it was something I'd made up to discredit him. The polis, disappointed too, visited, apologised and handed back my paperwork.

"We had lawyers go over the law books, Your Grace," said the sergeant, "we can't find a damn thing to charge the little bastard with. Excuse my language." I nodded. "You saw a man in Starshore who might or might not be an accomplice in an alleged crime committed in a foreign country, much of which you witnessed whilst drugged and blindfolded. You didn't see Young Perry or his co-conspirators, sailors on a long-gone Kavar vessel did, and you have no proof the crime was even planned in Sendren. Unsupported, you see, Your Grace?" said the sergeant. "What a Kavar witnesses, even if he was here, won't stand up against a Sendrenese." I could only nod again. My documents were no use in Sendren. No crime was committed in Sendren. Young Perry's lawyer therefore had him released on bail while the Sendrenese polis decided what they could charge him with.

To charge Perry and various accomplices for their alleged crimes, I would have to do it in Mountleas where the kidnap had happened, or in Lakeleas where the contract was signed and I was taken onto the ship. Then I could apply to have Young Perry extradited from Sendren. The people who helped him escape were let off after the king himself gave a plea for mercy on their behalf, being as they were dupes of the Crown Prince. Azrael did not want to offend the various Blood families involved by executing them.

"They won't fart without my spies knowing about it," he said to me, "how dare they try to put Perry on the throne?" I shrugged. I had no idea how people got the energy for these kinds of shenanigans, unless maybe they didn't get enough good sex? I didn't raise that as an option. I was avoiding anything that might give His Majesty the conversational opening to proposition me again.

Eventually Perry's charges were reduced to bribing an officer of the Crown, gaolbreak, and fleeing custody. The judge was told Perry was very contrite, he had panicked when framed by the Kavar over the kidnapping of king's favourite, but was happy to face any charges in Sendren's jurisdiction. Or even, his lawyer sniffed, in Sendren-Highcliff's jurisdiction. The judge did find Young Perry guilty but said, in view of his contrition, a suspended twelve-month sentence was appropriate.

However, thanks to the conviction, the king could and did strip Perry of his title and place in the succession. It was a serious thing to do.

"I left Perry an allowance. Enough so he can bugger off."

"Why don't you exile him?" I said.

"I'd like to," said Azrael, who was also disappointed, "but so far the only plot we've discovered is against you, not against me. Need one against me to exile him. I could stand down for six months, take a break, you can be king. Let him strike against you, then he can hang." I shrieked, horrified, and Azrael hugged me, laughing, while I gibbered about crazy kings.

#### ****

## Chapter 24 - My Fame Spreads

Back in the Green Dragon Citadel, everything and everyone seemed false. I knew that wasn't a good sign. I was furious too. Outed as a Dragon shape-changer, and for what?

Despite my misgivings, I was settling back into citadel life. Now Theo wasn't king, he was having what proved to be a short recovery. The doctors said he wasn't going to last long, but he was feeling a lot better. Azrael was too busy for a few days to take any lessons and Bailey was away in Gyr so I wasn't doing much aside from keeping fit. I spent time with Theo, talking about nothing and everything, and also caught up with people I knew.

I even tracked down Roger the groom, pleased to find him still working at the citadel stables though more senior now. I was glad Young Perry hadn't done something to him. The cob was likewise safe.

Young Perry just carried a grudge against me.

#### ****

Early morning, just over a week later, after workouts, riding and breakfast, about to wander to the bathhouse, I was nearly at the door of my suite when there was a knock, so I opened the door almost immediately.

"Hello Polo," said Indigo Sutherland. I was stunned to find him on my doorstep. Though nearly dumbfounded, I said hello back. He looked the same. Big, blonde, and eyes of Westwych blue, the dark blue iris with the scattering of diamond lights. A very good-looking man. Looks are only skin-deep, as Grandmama would say.

Last time I was this close to Indigo, I was breaking his nose. I was quite close to breaking his nose now.

"I heard you learned to fly," he said. He looked like he expected an answer, or possibly for me to break his nose. I felt like killing Azrael for telling everyone about me achieving dragon-shape. I tried to breathe.

"Um, aye," I said. He looked like he was trying to breathe too.

"Azrael said you're teaching him. And Bailey." He took a breath. "I want to learn, please."

"You want me to teach you?" I said. Indigo nodded. "Why? You hate me."

"I don't hate you," he said, and grimaced. "I hated you." His handsome face wasn't marred by the slight bump of the broken nose I gave him. I wondered about hitting him again, taking out on him everything I'd experienced since he led a mob against me all those years ago. Instead I spoke to him. I imagined this was what being an adult was like.

"And you stopped hating me when?" I said. "And why? Or was it just convenient?" I might be an adult, I didn't have to be nice. He sighed.

"I thought I won," he said, "when those three boys died. You were out of the guild. I nearly got you charged with murder. I know it was horrible of me. My wife, she's ah, taught me a few things." I laughed in his face. Not only was it horrible of him, I knew that he did it at Young Perry's behest.

"What kind of things, I wonder?" I said, feeling very sarcastic. "Manners, a conscience, a sense of morals?" He looked penitent. I was unmoved and still very close to hitting him.

"Polo," he said, "I know I owe you more than one apology. I have no excuses. I was an idiot." At that point, I suspected a conspiracy preying on my good nature. "When Azrael arrived at Court," Indigo went on, "I thought I was being kept from the throne. Uncle Theo always said I was his favourite but suddenly Azrael was. My own father, well, I'm the first child of the second marriage. Father never really needed me, enough heirs from the first." I shook my head. I knew all this, he didn't need to explain why he hated me.

"My heart bleeds, really Indigo, but it's a bit late. As for learning to fly, couldn't Azrael or Bailey give you notes?" He looked down then back at me.

"Neither of them are good teachers," he said, "they both say you are." I snorted. Despite his contrite and sincere tone I wasn't at all convinced this remorse was genuine. He'd been married what, three months? Maybe five? I must find out what the current day and date were. Since leaving the army I was completely lost. No structure in my life.

"So what did your wife teach you?" I said.

"She said she'd had enough of my whining," Indigo said, "about how badly off I was. She decided I was to stay away from her and had me exiled from Panswell by the king there." Exiled eh? Would Azrael exile Indigo for me? I was guessing not without cocksucking on my part. Indigo looked me in the eyes, not finished his speech. "I realised when I couldn't be with her, I loved her so much I thought I might die without her. I begged her to take me back. She's good, something I want to be." My face must have shown my surprise. He laughed. "You think I'm lying," he said, "to persuade you to teach me. She reminds me of you. You were always good."

And you were always gay, I thought, but I didn't say it aloud. He'd also been happy to take the promise of a dukedom from Young Perry - along with Perry's coin -to kill me, but I was polite and didn't mention that either. However, just thinking about it brought me to a simmering rage. He and his friends had ambushed me and tried to beat me to death. I tried to focus on something else. For instance, it was the second time someone had accused me of being moral or good recently.

If I didn't do something scandalous quickly, I might lose my notoriety and be sainted. I sighed. I'd seduced the queen and precipitated her losing her throne and getting a divorce, how much more scandalous could I be? There was something very awry in this Indigo situation, but I didn't know what it was. He wasn't in love with this lady of Panswell, he didn't love women. Take it from someone who did. He didn't even like them. Something else was going on.

"I'm wondering why Azrael sent you here," I said. Indigo's turn to look surprised.

"How did you know he sent me?" he said. "Did he tell you? He said he wasn't even going to try." I shook my head. We were still standing in the doorway of my suite.

"No," I said, "I just assumed he had. It seemed logical. Azrael's always sure talking solves everything." I gave in, but needed sustenance. "My servants are off at breakfast," I said, "walk with me, I'll fetch coffee." We headed out.

"She said," Indigo went on, "my wife said - her name's Marinda, by the way - when she heard about you changing shape, she said I should talk to you. It wasn't just Azrael. I've always been completely obsessed with the idea of flight. Marinda said learning might make a man of me." If 'making a man of him' meant making him heterosexual, I could have told Marinda it wasn't going to work. Indigo was gay, maybe bisexual at the most. To be honest, I'd never heard of him having any kind of affair with a woman until he married.

Like Azrael or I would, Indigo began rabbiting on about inspirational books he had read. Turned out several of the books that influenced him were ones that had led me along the path I was on. Like me, he grew up reading the Military Guild Manual over and over. Everything to do with flight fascinated him. One of his favourite ever books was _When Dragon Came_. I found myself quite liking this Indigo Sutherland, though very suspicious. I didn't trust him, sure he was lying about some or most of it, but I listened, commenting occasionally while the water boiled, then - armed with cake and coffee - we went back to my rooms.

On the wide stone balcony, under the grapevine, we chatted about meditation techniques while we watched the citadel's people moving about below. We were almost finished the first coffee before I satisfied my curiosity.

"Why didn't you go into the army?" I said. Indigo sighed.

"My father said he'd disinherit me," he said, his father being Cobalt Sunderland, best friend and - I was pretty sure - first cousin to former King Theo. "Father didn't tell me until graduation, right before I signed the forms that declared my availability for posting. He didn't even tell me himself. A letter arrived from his secretary. I always knew I wasn't getting a title, but I was supposed to have an allowance. Bailey had always said he wouldn't be serving at all, Azrael announced he wouldn't take a posting with Theo sick, so I was about to be the only one of us who made it as an officer. Then the letter said, there's a Lady Marinda in Panswell, your father talked to her father. They've decided you two would make a good match."

"I can't imagine my parents trying to matchmake me," I said, "and their own marriage is such a disaster they're not likely to impress me with their choices. They wouldn't let you stay in the army? Plenty of married officers." There was a faraway look in Indigo's eyes, then he turned and stared intensely at me.

"Father put his foot down and showed me who owned me. All my life, Polo, I was aimed at that point. Graduation from the guild. A career in the army. I made it. And it was for nothing." He laughed, a bitter sound. "Then he sold me for his own purposes." He looked down at the New Fort. "There you were, already making a name for yourself." I started to protest but he held up a hand and looked back at me. "I read everything they published about you," he said. "I know most of it wasn't true. Azrael put me right on the first book. Polo, I have a kind of confession." I sighed. Life never did what you expected it to. This was a strange conversation.

"Tell you what," I said, "hold that thought, please. It's not that I'm not interested in the story." I smiled. "I am. However, I'm desperate for a shower. Don't get downwind of me, I've been working out."

"Aye," he said, "I saw you. You're faster than you used to be."

"Am I?" I grinned. "Then I'll spar you some time. You were bloody fast." He shrugged.

"The men who go to war have the edge. I could do with a shower too. I promise not to duck you. I don't drink at all any more, too much of an idiot." I'd almost forgotten that. The first time we met was when he tried to drown me in the baths. His friends said he was drunk. It was a good reminder. This man hated me before he even met me, and had tried to kill me twice. Idiot, eh?

"Weren't we all?" I said, and smiled. I didn't trust Indigo, but talking to him was easier than keeping up a feud I didn't start and never wanted.

#### ****

The baths were at the back of the citadel, a good walk away. On the way there I saw the painting by Hiram Westwych, of me bringing back Jansen's body. I stopped and stared. It was just-hung, the workmen still there, hanging another next to it.

"Gods," said Indigo, "that's you." I nodded. The painting was about forty feet high, life-size. Framed by the great gates of the fort, the sun setting, streaked with dirt and blood, there was I was on Fire, Jansen dead behind, Blaze limping in our wake, all caught in a poignant moment. My face. Gods, I looked like death.

" _None Left Behind_ ," I said, reading the painting's title, "that's what I always said, we don't leave anyone behind." I sighed. "I saw some men, what the Sriamans did to them. Over a fire." I shivered. The workmen stood back critically, and I realised the next painting showed a blonde man on a piebald horse, using a lance to keep a band of Sriamans from a fallen comrade. The lancer was defiant, daring the enemy to try him. I stared.

"That's you too," said Indigo.

"Aye," I said, looking up at it, "I didn't know about this one. Hiram's been a busy lad."

"He does the main work, but has assistants to fill in the whole thing," said Indigo. He caught my look of surprise and explained, "He did a painting of me when I passed the Guild. I was astonished at how fast he did it, and he told me how. He does all the basics, decides colours, oversees it all, and paints the main figures, usually." I gestured to me in the painting. I didn't look so bad in that one.

"Ah, that's how it's done. He's taking some artistic liberty here, I had my helmet on in real life. And I left my lance in a Sriaman long before I was that close to the sarge." I smiled. "I suppose nobody would know who it was if he left the helmet on."

" _Corporal Shawcross, Duke of Starshore,_ " Indigo read, " _on stallion "Magpie", Acordia Cloudwalker, during the action that won His Grace the Red Dragon for extreme bravery_. I like the title." I did too. It was called _I'm Here_.

"I hope the sarge gets to see it," I said, "he'll like it, Hiram's slimmed him down a bit." I made a mental note to write to the sarge. If Hiram had some sketches, I could send those, in case the sarge never made it to the citadel.

"Was it frightening?" said Indigo. I nodded.

"Very. I was completely convinced I was going to die, every time. It's why I left the lancers. I didn't want to die in a charge or a melee. One on one, I could bear that. Most of scouting, it's one on one, unless you get lucky. Or unlucky."

"Marinda said that if I can turn into a dragon," he said, "it makes sense for me to go to war. I can help, a lot. Otherwise, I'm another Blood officer trying to avoid his wife."

"Gods," I said, "your Marinda's on the ball. I was wondering if that was what I did. Joined to avoid real life." I smiled at him. "Or because I wasn't brave enough to kill myself. Suicide by Sriaman."

"By the way," he said, "my confession? I always rather liked you." He shrugged. "But I didn't know how to stop what I'd started." I smiled politely. It wasn't possible for us to be friends but I didn't mention that.

Back when we were boys? All he needed to do was apologise. That was the way to stop what he'd started. However, after a couple of years of the feud, and once he tried to kill me at Perry's request - for the sake of coin and favour when Perry was made king, when he and a mob attacked me and made me kill and cripple others just to survive - Indigo moved beyond any chance of friendship with me. Did he really think I'd help him?

Help him get killed on the Northern Front? Why not? We headed into the baths, still talking, and stripped off. The baths were spectacular, with barbers, servants who lathered and rinsed a man, and then pools to soak in once clean. It had been in one of those that Indigo had tried to kill me the first time. We walked that way after washing and shaving. He sucked in a breath when he saw my scars. I tended to forget about them.

"Well, that on my arm," I said, "and here on the hip, that's the Queen of Joban when she turned into a dragon, nearly killed Azrael and me. And there's where Young Perry tried to kill me the first time." I politely left that subject alone. "And that was a Sriaman bolt. So was that, and that. Sriaman arrows too. Never got touched with an axe on my skin, but my armour got opened a few times. I was lucky. These," I said, spreading my fingers, showing a multitude on my hands, "were mostly me cutting myself, on sabres or blades, while I learned not to cut myself." He laughed and showed me a set of scars from catching his hand between scabbard and sabre-hilt while practising for graduation.

"There I was," said Indigo, "hand stitched up, had to split my dress gloves to get them on over the bandages."

Once washed, we walked back to my suite, collecting more coffee on the way. We sat and smoked on the wide balcony that looked down the citadel hill.

#### ****

## Chapter 25 - Betrayal

Bernard came out to tell us that Azrael and courtiers had arrived. The crowd came in, helloes were said, the gossip began, and I tuned out.

It would be good for me to get laid. Maybe I should organise an orgy? Many warm bodies. It would be good therapy for me. After being in the army everyone said I was sure to have issues. Added to the neuroses I nursed thanks to my alcoholic father and emotionally-manipulative mother, it was a wonder I was still walking around. I looked at my pipe. Well, maybe I had some signs of damage. I caught Azrael exchanging a smug look with Indigo, as if to say see, I told you Polo would be reasonable.

Outwardly, I pasted on a smile. A messenger arrived. Cobalt Sutherland had arrived down at the New Fort and asked to see Indigo, who excused himself. I was wondering if I could fake some kind of appointment myself, perhaps an illness, anything to get away from the empty-headed prattle of the Hangers On, when Innes arrived - one of Azrael's mother's servants \- asking him to go see Saraia. I was being pleasant Polo, and said sure when Azrael asked me to come.

"Herself just asked for _you_ , sire," said Innes, in a pointed tone. It wasn't like Innes to call Azrael 'sire'. Having known Azrael all his life and being fiercely anti-monarchist – despite working for a princess - Innes was more likely to say his name or call him lad. I glanced at Innes who gave me a cold look back. I sighed. It must be because of Cida, his daughter, the one who'd been Young Perry's girlfriend for years. Her father had never forgiven me my disagreements with Cida. Was she still seeing Young Perry, despite his disgrace and loss of title? Were they blaming me for Perry's bad behaviour? I was out of the information loop. Perhaps I should ask my staff what the latest gossip on that front was, they seemed to know everything else that was happening in the kingdom.

"Yes, Innes," said Azrael, giving him a funny look, "Mother wants to see me, I must go up to the terrace where she is, I get it. However, she's not going to mind if Polo's there. Mother's very fond of Polo." There was some sniggering from the Hangers On because everyone knew that gossip. I pretended not to hear. Innes just looked miffed, and stomped out.

"Honestly," I said, "that man's got to stop carrying a grudge. I've never done a thing to his precious daughter." Everyone looked at me.

"You didn't?" said Azrael, voicing what everyone was thinking. I frowned.

"You of all people should remember, Azrael. No I didn't. I was going to and decided she was mad?" Everyone nodded. "Then she went after Young Perry. Galaia spare me from religious fundamentalists." They all thought that was hysterical, and fell about laughing, even the bodyguards.

Azrael shooed the Hangers On away, until it was just the king and I – and our bodyguards - on our way out. I was feeling very strange. I put it down to the stress of dealing with Indigo while not believing much of what he said, but as we walked I felt as if something metal was trying to seep into my body. The taste was on my tongue. I could feel it in my bones. Something was wrong, something was going on.

Something, something, something. But what? Pretending everything was fine, I kept walking, chatting with Azrael as I smoked another pipe.

#### ****

It wasn't far to the North Tower, maybe twenty minutes of walking, but I did have time to smoke several pipes in the interim.

"Are you alright, Polo?" said Azrael.

"Me?" I said. "Fine." I breathed out smoke. "Just been a weird day already."

"Well," said the king, "I'm glad you and Indigo are talking." I shrugged.

"I never had a quarrel with him. We'll see how it goes." He nodded, smiling.

"I have some good news. The former King Lewis of Highcliff is in favour of me staying King of Highcliff." I looked impressed. "I did offer to stand down for his choice of successor but he says no. Moreover, my divorce is going through. Isabella isn't contesting. She'll be stripped of her titles other than Princess Royal of Highcliff, given a life income and her own small estate. First she's going for a stay in the Malion Preserve with her mother." That was slang for being committed to the Malion Asylum.

"You're kidding?" I said. He shook his head.

"I don't like to sound smug," he said, "but it's going well." I nodded.

"That's amazing," I said, "what other gossip have I missed? Which reminds me, is Cida still seeing Young Perry?" Azrael sighed.

"She's still his girl on a string, aye," he said, "while Perry does everything else with a pulse that stands still long enough." I whistled.

"Men and women?" I said. He laughed.

"Ha, no, not everything. Only women."

"Over-compensating," I said, smiling. Azrael laughed and laughed.

"Aye," he said. "Speaking of sex, have you done my mother recently?" I shook my head.

"Gossip says I have?" He nodded. "Not since that night in the hospital when you caught us, Azrael. What, five years ago? We decided for your sake not to. We like each other but it's just for fun. Why should we hurt you?"

"Really?" he said, and I nodded. "See?" he added, grinning. "You are moral." I laughed and punched him in the shoulder.

#### ****

We left our guards at the bottom of the tower. The metallic taste on my tongue was still there. I had one of those flashbacks, to when we were boys, climbing these stairs, never realising Aunt Kristen was about to change both our lives. I started to breathe harder. The metallic taste on my tongue intensified. Cree appeared. I nearly shrieked with the shock.

"What?" said Azrael.

_You need to be ready_ , Cree said, _for this moment._ I stopped walking.

"Something bad's about to happen," I said aloud. "Azrael, can you hear anything?" Azrael held up his hand, palm up, nothing.

_Something is about to happen,_ said Cree. I turned, looking around.

"Azrael?" I said. "I'm seeing things."

"You have to stop smoking so much mindweed," Azrael said in a kind tone. I shook my head.

"The not-ghost," I said, "he's back. Something's about to happen. Do you have your armour on?" Azrael rapped his chest and the familiar thud of armour sounded. Not just a mail shirt, the king wore his own bespoke armour, designed to be as unobtrusive as possible under his beautifully-tailored clothes.

"Aye," he said, "I do, do you?" I shook my head. He grinned. "Get ready to duck then." I laughed then looked up. It was like blood in my mouth. Metal. I could taste it. I looked around. What was going on?

_Something_? Cree said.

"Help me out," I said aloud, "what?" Cree pointed upwards. "Azrael?"

"Aye?" said the king. The taste of blood in my mouth wouldn't let me focus. I dug for a handkerchief and licked it, but there was no blood. Azrael looked at me.

"It's alright," I said, "thought I was bleeding. Why are we meeting your mother on the terrace?"

"She asked," he said, shrugging, "don't worry, it's safe. I've never seen you like this, Polo. Do you want to wait here?" I shook my head. His tone was soothing, "I know we were attacked here before, but it's a secure area. Only one entrance, always guarded and not overlooked. The terrace is screened so nobody can see up there. It's probably safer than my own terrace." He paused. Then he rubbed at his wrist where Aunt Kristen nearly took his hand off. "King's squad!" he called. "Need you to double-check the terrace for me!"

We waited, Azrael being more normal friend, less jealous lover, telling me what the King of Blackrock had said to him about marine fortifications. With my father being from Blackrock and having been there several times, I was interested in the area.

The guards clattered past us, then a few minutes later pronounced the terrace clear.

#### ****

At the top of the tower stairs was a large, completely flat area, ringed with a sturdy stone balustrade, high enough that I would have to jump a little if I wanted to sit on it. The thought made me shudder, it was about six floors down to a paved courtyard. Too easy to jump, lose one's balance, and go over. I looked around. It was somewhere I'd seen from a distance, the whole tower, but I'd never been to the terrace.

The floor was a decorative black-and-white tile, dotted with pots of large growing plants. Above was a vaulted ceiling, the whole tower was roofed. There were pot plants, trellises with vines growing up them, and several seating areas.

Only one seating area was set up, over near the railing, a table with two chairs. There were others with small couches draped with canvas covers, and extra chairs upside down on spare tables. There was nowhere for anyone to hide on the terrace itself and it was indeed very private. I looked around, feeling uneasy.

"Where's your mother?" I said, but before he could answer we heard Saraia on the stairs. A servant arrived with her, carrying a tray of coffee things.

"Azrael," said Saraia, pausing to give him a hug, "good morning, darling, and hello Polo." I smiled and said hello as Azrael began telling her his latest political news.

The servant went straight to the table to put the coffee things down and began to walk back to the stairs. She slipped, wiped her feet in place, looked at the floor, muttered something about wet tiles being a death trap, and disappeared downstairs. We others were moving more slowly, them to the chairs and me to grab an extra chair from a tabletop. In my memory, the scene moves in slow motion. The others were still in my peripheral vision.

"Anyway," said Azrael, "sorry to monopolise the conversation, Mother. There was something you wanted to talk to me about? Oh, it's alright for Polo to be here? I told Innes it was, and he got very snippy." Saraia stopped as she was about to reach the table.

"Innes did?" she said. "But he told me you wanted to see me."

"That man's got his b-brains in a knot," I said.

"Say balls," said Azrael, grinning, "it's what I pay you for, to speak straight." I laughed, swinging the chair I'd picked up.

"I was trying to be polite," I said. "Besides, you don't pay me,"

"An oversight, I assure you," he said. Saraia was smiling, and as she sat I was moving towards them, chair in one hand.

On one side of Saraia's chair both the legs collapsed, she fell towards the balustrade, grabbing at the stone, her feet slipping. Her weight hit the balustrade, a section of which shot out into space, which was bad enough, then to my horror I saw her chair was tied to the balustrade on one side, and the table on the other. The table was also tied to the other chair. They went in a slithering train over the edge with Saraia tangled up in it. As there was a cut-off shriek from Saraia, Azrael, still standing, had been about to say something else to me, and swung round to see what had happened.

"Galaia's tits!" said Saraia. Her voice was coming from just below the bottom edge of the terrace, not as if she was falling. Not realising it was anything more than an accident, I raced for the edge. My feet shot out from under me and I slid for about ten feet along the tiles as if on ice, fortunately past the gap in the balustrade. Azrael grabbed me from outside the slippery area.

"Look out," he said, realising what the rest of us hadn't, "there's bloody oil everywhere!" He dragged me back and we called to Saraia to hold on. I yanked my oil-covered boots off. Azrael was approaching the broken balustrade edge again from past the oil. I stepped that way too.

It sounds slow when I write it out but it was frantic, fast as we could move, the whole thing taking literally seconds from Saraia sitting, disappearing, and me shooting across the floor, then the both of us peering over the edge to see Saraia hanging on to the guttering that ran around the terrace. She seemed fine but she couldn't cling there forever. "Hold on, Mother," Azrael said, taking off his belt as I passed him mine. "Gods, I don't believe this," he was saying, "sabotage, in here! Polo's become quite fey. He was having premonitions all up the stairs. Just a second." Standing next to Azrael, I had seen something he hadn't. We had visitors. Where in the name of Galaia had they come from? Would they kill me if I spoke?

In hindsight, maybe I could have turned into a dragon the moment I saw the armed men and things might have been different, but shape-changing wasn't yet an instinct for me. Besides, dragonskin wouldn't stop a crossbow bolt, only slow it down. Even if I survived a hit, it was unlikely I could have stopped Azrael dying. He was wearing body armour, but a hit in the head would kill him and at that range, even armour would have trouble stopping a bolt in the chest.

And that was the thing. Azrael was a breath away from Haka taking him for a sunbeam. So was I. There were five men covering me with crossbows. Another half-dozen covered Azrael. I was, obscurely, miffed. Didn't they know I was much more dangerous than he was? Then it occurred to me that the king was the one they really wanted to kill. I was merely a happy bit of collateral damage. The intruders were dressed in ill-fitting citadel guard uniforms. Young Perry, not in uniform, was in the middle of them. I felt my lips pull back from my teeth. I should have killed the little worm when I found him on the road. "Hold on," said Azrael was saying, dangling the belts, "we'll get you. Polo, you-"

"Azrael?" I said, interrupting him, my eyes on the newcomers. They didn't shoot. "Azrael! Company!" I put my hands up. Very slowly.

"What?" said Azrael, turning his head. Young Perry smiled. Suddenly Azrael became as tense as I was.

"That," I said. There was a thumping from below us.

"The door's locked," said Perry, smirking, "two floors down. They can't save you." I could hear shouting.

Everything slowed down.

"Jump," I said softly. Azrael glanced back over the balustrade. Something, Cree had said. Not specifically something bad. I didn't see how this was going to turn out any other way than very bad. I coiled my entire consciousness and prepared. I remembered saying to Bailey, a dragon simply couldn't carry a man.

One breath.

"That's right, Azrael," said Perry, still smiling, "jump." I hoped Azrael did as he said, because my feet had already left the ground. I heard my clothes rip as I changed shape while airborne. Thankfully my boots and belt were already off. As I tore my clothes out of the way, ignoring the pain of transformation wasn't completely possible, but I managed to flap my wings and grab Azrael as he fell past me. I had him by an ankle.

Meanwhile, someone in one of the guard posts sounded the alarm when they saw Saraia hanging from the guttering of the North Tower and men with crossbows apparently forcing people to jump. The noise of the alarm horns was probably what saved us from further fire from above, as at that point Young Perry and his friends all ran.

We continued to fall, my frantically-flapping wings finally slowing our descent. We stopped just before the cobbles of the courtyard would have crushed Azrael's face, his fingers reaching for the ground as if he might fend it off. Shaking, wings working overtime to keep hovering with Azrael's weight, I lowered him safely to the stone. Guards alerted by the noise of the balustrade and furniture falling, unable to get back up through the door, had leaned out windows to see what was going on and could only watch in horror as we plummeted.

Fenric and some of the men raced into the courtyard with a blanket, thinking to break our fall. They were too late. I was still hovering off the ground as Saraia landed partly on me, which knocked me out of the air from about seven feet off the ground.

Saraia shot off my back, landing at an unfortunate angle and with some force on the cobbles, the impact breaking both her legs above the knee. She screamed then thankfully passed out, I landed with a thump on Azrael, and we all lay on the stone. I didn't know there was a crossbow bolt through one of my legs. Winded, I couldn't catch my breath and couldn't move. I felt more than strange, then the bolt through my leg began to hurt.

I gasped a breath, tried to disentangle myself from Azrael, saw the bolt and - in a fury over being ambushed, by Perry of all people - tried to tear the bolt out.

My turn to faint.

#### ****

## Chapter 26 - Proof of Life

Still in dragon-shape, I woke up in the infirmary. Fenric held some water to my lips then let me take the glass once I showed I could hold it. I was exhausted, the change and flight while wounded had taken it out of me. Fenric told me Perry got into the tower via one of the secret ways. There was another problem. There was a frame holding the bedclothes away from my leg.

"Stefan came in," the big man said, "he said to tell you that you changed with that bolt in you, and now you need to figure out how to get it out." I looked under the bedclothes. The crossbow bolt was still there, cut down so they could lie me down. The wound around it looked very clean.

"I do?" I said. He nodded.

"Stefan says so."

"Is that possible?" I said. He shrugged.

"I had a look when he was examining you. It's embedded in your body. Really embedded. Stefan said you better figure it out because he's not sure surgery's even possible. It's part of you. He said I might need to give you blood."

"Galaia preserve me," I said, "aye, if you don't mind, it might be necessary." While Fenric went to find a scalpel, I thought about the bolt. Logically, if I transformed back to Polo Shawcross, man, then the me I thought of as me would separate from the bolt. If it worked, I would be the luckiest man alive. Once I'd had a mouthful of his blood, I told Fenric that.

"Better flush round it," I said, "something antiseptic."

"Aye," he said, "I will. Do you want me to hold the bolt, maybe take it upwards away from your body as you change?"

"Worth a try," I said, "thanks."

The shape-changing began as always, with a breath. It was excruciating, putting my bits back. I lay there – human-shaped - panting, thinking changing was bad enough, but changing and healing was more painful.

"Your leg looks alright," Fenric said, reminding me he was there. We looked at the bolt in his hand. "Hardly any of you left on this," he said, "by the way, did I tell you that Young Perry got away?" I groaned at the news. "We thought at least we had the little bastard at last. But when we opened the tower he was gone."

"What?" I said, feeling weak, "Not again. How?"

"Same way he got in," Fenric said, sounding gloomy, "via a tunnel nobody knew about. It exited on the top floor of the tower, under the terrace. It was in the library's records. King Theo knew about it. He left it open in case Saraia went mad and they had to rescue Azrael from her." I laughed and shook my head. Mother's side of the family were interesting people. Both Saraia and Theo were Mother's side of the family.

"Galaia preserve us," I said. Fenric shook his head too.

"Aye, Clare," that was my Aunt Clare, the Palace Librarian, "tried to argue with Theo, but nobody told the personal protection units. Penth's bloody foreskin, how am I supposed to protect anyone?" Fenric looked gloomy. "Saraia's guards weren't told either. So when workmen appeared inside the tower, nobody thought it was a problem. Nobody could get in except by the door. Master Innes vouched for the workmen to various guards and bodyguards. Perry though, he hid, they didn't see him until he appeared up there with you this morning."

"Bastard," I said.

"Aye," said Fenric. "Saraia was told there was maintenance up on the terrace, which was them setting the trap, and then the work moved down a floor." As far as the story could be pieced together, Young Perry was hidden in the secret ways, until it was time for Innes - a trusted manservant in the Princess Royal's household despite his known revolutionary leanings – to summon Azrael and Saraia to the terrace. "Everyone knew Master Innes talked revolution, but he's never even attended a meeting of anti-monarchist types."

"They have meetings?"

"You should read the briefings your men do for you, I'm sure that kind of thing is mentioned."

"I promise I'll pay more attention, if only people will stop trying to kill or kidnap me for a few days!" He looked at me. "Alright, I will, I'll read everything."

Fenric continued the explanation of what they thought had happened. Once the players were conveniently assembled, the sabotaged chair and balustrade was supposed to take out both Azrael and his mother in an Unfortunate Accident, but if that failed, Perry and his co-conspirators had come ready to take more direct action.

The man who sounded the alarm probably saved us, as the conspirators went back the way they'd come, down a tunnel that led via several branches to the stables. Aunt Clare – the Royal Librarian - said Cida Innes had been in the Cartography and Architectural Plans Section of the library a lot, supposedly researching the land to the west of Kavarlen for an idea of Young Perry's to promote trade.

Cida, Innes's daughter, was trusted, a friend of the king's since they were children together, and the official girlfriend of Young Perry, who was pretty much disgraced but still a former Crown Prince and allowed to live at Court. The fugitives escaped down underground passages to the stables where, as ordered the day before, horses had been readied. Perry and the others were on time. Cida and her father were waiting, and all rode out about a minute before the citadel gates closed. The alarm sounding didn't mean the gates were closed automatically, and in the excitement of people falling off towers and getting them to the infirmary, the order wasn't given immediately.

"It's what happens when you've got too many bloody separate guard units in a place," said Fenric, sounding moody, "I assumed Saraia's guards would be on that, and they assumed the Citadel Guard was. They thought if the King's Guard or Princess Royal's Guard wanted the gate closed it would be ordered, and the Gate Guard weren't told to either shut the gate or who they were to stop until it was too late."

Cida and Young Perry were missing, as was Master Innes. Miz Innes was still in the citadel, in shock. Her daughter and her husband were wanted for treason and attempted regicide. Only Azrael's influence had stopped her being tortured. Despite her religious views, Miz Innes was an ardent royalist, and told the king everything she could think of that might be useful.

I helped Fenric bandage his wrist, then grabbed some food, changed shape back to dragon, and went hunting.

#### ****

Despite knowing the scents I was looking for, I couldn't find any trace of Perry or his friends. I returned to Peterhaven snarling and upset.

Typically, now I didn't have to hide when in dragon-shape, and while half the citadel was watching, I fluffed my entrance. Skidding on landing, I gouged claw marks in the stone then caught my wings in the grapevine trellis, shaking it hard and covering myself in dead leaves. Even Bernard, who was good about not being amused by me directly at me, was bent over laughing, his eyes filled with what looked suspiciously like tears.

Trying to act suave, I shook the leaves off and went inside. Bernard was very decent about stopping laughing. He sent a message to Azrael that I couldn't find the fugitives, and organised more food while I changed shape back to human and showered. A message came back while I was on my second large platter of beef and horseradish sandwiches, which I particularly remember because the horseradish was very fresh and was doing wonderful things for my sinuses. The message said Azrael was in the infirmary with his mother. I had a last round of sandwiches and coffee then went to the hospital.

Saraia was dosed up on poppy and only semi-conscious. Aunt Clare was there, sitting with her, and Azrael came outside for a smoke. We lit up, sat on the stone wall in the little courtyard where we sat so often while one or both of us was recovering from various injuries. I was hit with deja vu and wasn't at all surprised to see Stefan coming.

"Oh," I said, "look." Azrael turned round. Stefan slowed slightly.

"I can see," he said, as he reached us, "that there's some ill will here."

"I hear you're my father," said Azrael, looking disapproving.

"Aye," said Stefan, looking nervous. "Get the bolt out alright, Polo?" Explaining that took enough time for Azrael to cool down a bit and for everyone to take refuge in manners. Stefan excused himself and went back in to see Saraia, offering to talk to Azrael in a moment.

"I'm glad he's my father," said Azrael, looking reflective. "Much better than the old one. The Late Perry was literally drunk every time I saw him. Although I am going to give Stefan a hard time over not telling me. I mean before I was crowned."

"Don't forget your mother should have told you too," I said and smiled. "I think he's a good man." Azrael nodded.

"Oh, by the way," he said, "I had already asked Mountleas and Lakeleas to charge Young Perry with your kidnap and transport over kingdom borders, invited them to issue warrants which Sendren would be happy to execute on their behalf. However, now the Crown has a warrant for Perry no ruler will ignore. Wanted on charges of attempted regicide, treason, attempted murder, and conspiracy to commit same." I nodded. He pushed a hand back through his black hair. "I'll make it clear," he said, "anyone who harbours him is our enemy."

"Packs a wallop," I said, "except in Joban, they'll probably ally themselves with him." He tried to smile, then sighed. Ran his hand through his hair again.

"Polo," he said, looking at me from under his eyelashes, biting his bottom lip a bit. I braced myself. The big blue eyes were soft with need. "I need sex, please, right now." I shook my head. If it was someone else, I might have considered the offer. 'Sex to prove you were still alive' was my line, though originally I'd borrowed it from one of the bodyguards.

"No," I said, firmly. I'd been saying no to sex with His Majesty for years, since he was just the Crown Prince. I was used to it and he should be too.

"I want to prove I'm still alive," he said, "like you told me you did after a battle." He shook himself and took a hard hit of his pipe. "Gods, Polo, I'll be seeing that cobblestone coming at my face for the rest of my life."

"Aye," I said, "I completely understand. Nevertheless, no. Go find yourself someone willing." He sighed.

"I'm so close," he said, "to my dream. To my Kingdom of Theus. And that sonofawhore nearly took it away from me." He held out his hand. It was shaking. I touched it, just a quick pat.

"Your Dragon Kingdom," I said, then remembered something I'd meant to say, "I know I've said it before, but she's a handful, Lilith." A sparrow landed on the cobbles and pecked at the ground.

"I know," Azrael said, "I've met her, remember?" I nodded, distracted by watching the sparrow. My interest in birds was even more intense now I knew how to fly. I wanted to learn from their expertise. That neat side-slip the little bird did as he landed, stalling the air itself over his wings, that was professional flying. "Soon," Azrael said, "soon I'll be the Dragon King. However, I can't fly. I want to go into battle." I re-lit my pipe and breathed deep before answering.

"Azrael, you saw how much trouble I had stopping you falling. Besides, I'm not a bloody pony. No rides. Aside from it being physically impossible for a dragon to carry you, I don't think a king should ride into battle, on anything. The men have enough to do without protecting a king." I didn't mention again that the idea of going back into the army, even if it was Azrael's army, wasn't an option for me.

"Reconnaissance only?" he said, sounding hopeful. I shook my head.

"If anyone can do it, your new wife can," I said. It didn't occur to me to ask Azrael if he'd met Lilith in real life. Who would marry someone he only knew from a fever-dream? I decided to reiterate the army thing. "I'm not going back in the army." He laughed.

"You're going to get a whole new class of scabbard-humpers," he said, "now that people know you can shape-change."

"Yours are Wood Bees," I said, repeating our old joke, "because they would be queen. Mine are Wood Ducks, because they would be duchess." We giggled for a bit. Mindweed was good for helping distract me from Azrael's attempts to bed me. I was more good-humoured than I would be otherwise.

"I'm calling a meeting of every ruler," said Azrael. "The one I planned for next summer? It's now. I'm calling it a Blood Council. Every ducal ruler or kingdom ruler in the old kingdoms must attend or be represented by a proxy. We're expecting most kingdom rulers to carry proxies for their ducal rulers, or we'll be over-run. If they don't turn up, I'll assume they're completely in accord with my decisions. If they say so I'll wipe out Sriama and then, assuming the south is still refusing to join, I'll take the south. Once the Dragon Army has blooded itself they won't stand against me." I shook my head. More war? I wasn't going.

"Azrael," I said, "you're crazy, have I mentioned that?" He smiled.

"Frequently," he said. I laughed.

"Not that crazy is altogether a bad thing," I said. He touched my thigh gently.

"Are you sure you don't want to have sex with me?" he said. I smiled.

"I'm sure," I said, "go find yourself a pretty boy. Or a girl." Stefan came out of the infirmary. I stood up. "For now," I said, "I'll leave you two to talk." With a smile and a wave to Stefan, I walked off, and began heading across the citadel to my quarters.

#### ****

## Chapter 27 - Lust and Consequences

I was almost at the Queen's Mews when a girl stepped out of one of the white servant doors, a brunette in the livery of the citadel servants, with a delightful swing to her hips. She was just ahead of me.

"Hello," I called. "Are you busy?" She looked back over her shoulder, and seemed nervous as she saw me, but I smiled and she smiled back. She looked about my age, and certainly my type. That is, she was female and pretty to my eye. I've noticed, men don't agree on what's pretty. They're often weak for curves, cleavage, legs, or a particularly nice arse, but they don't always look above the neck at first. I do, though I'm as bad – or as good - as any man when it comes to noticing the rest. So, to me, she looked pretty. She then looked rueful. Still pretty. Though I confess, the first part of her I'd seen, and what I'd noticed, had been her delightfully swinging arse.

"I knew I shouldn't come out into the main corridors," she said, "but I was lost. Main corridors mean the Blood." She smiled to soften the words. "They always find work for me to do." I laughed.

"I don't want to put you to work," I said. I was thinking of something that wasn't work at all. Something that meant my fingers would get to imprint on that very nice arse. "You know where you are now?"

"I think I'm in the Queens Mews?" I nodded.

"Aye, you are." I smiled. "Fancy spending some time with me? It's just that I had this rather narrow escape earlier." I gave her my best sexy look. "I need to prove I'm still alive. Want to help?" She gave me a thoughtful look back. "Please?" I said. It never hurts to ask. Well, it can, women being women, but her brown eyes began to twinkle. It turned out she knew who I was.

"I've heard about you, Polo Shawcross," she said, dimpling at me, and I confess, despite the smiles, I'd not noticed her dimples at all up to that point. "I bet you say that to all the girls," she went on, sounding wise, "and most of the boys. I also heard you saved the king and his mother just now. Though I'm told you're a very bad man. With a simply dreadful reputation." Turned out she didn't mind me being bad. And being notorious was occasionally helpful.

Back through the servant door was a broom cupboard. She dragged me into it. Her name was Margaret, but everyone called her Maggie.

"That's pretty," I said, kissing her, "like you." I was planning to lure her back to my rooms later, but for now a quickie would do. Then I realised I didn't have a condom. I had her nipple in my mouth and dropped it to curse.

"What's the matter?" she said.

"No condom," I said. "Trying to think of the nearest place to grab one from." I was about to suggest we pulled ourselves together and bolted for my quarters.

"Pfft," she said, "I'm on the herbs, don't worry." Lust is a funny thing. It makes you completely forget your own good advice. Mine was to always wear a condom. I'd never done it bare. It seemed an exciting notion. She dropped to her knees, took me in her mouth, and before I really focused my eyes again, I was deep inside Maggie, her legs wrapped around me, both of us groaning, pushing and sliding, so hot, so wet, and to my surprise, she said she was coming.

"Really?" I said, matching my rhythm to hers. Occasionally I ran into women who came just from sex, but they weren't common. Most required much more than a fast one up against a wall. Not that a fast one couldn't be fun for everyone.

"Gods!" Maggie said, panting. "I was – uh - already a bit warm! Oh!" I didn't fight it, passion carried me away too. Then I offered a handkerchief, we smoothed our clothes and exited the broom cupboard, as demurely as two people obviously up to something can. Maggie promised to come to my rooms later. I walked along with a jaunty step.

I was indeed alive.

#### ****

The entrance hall of my suite had a couple of couches and hardly any artwork compared to the corridor outside. Only some paintings, a ceiling mural, and a small marble statue of Thet in one corner, not much taller than me, of him holding the World in one hand.

The hall opened to a massive sitting room, one of two in my suite, this one with fireplaces at each end. There was enough furniture to fill the cottage I'd grown up in and the leftovers would have filled the kitchen garden. The artwork alone could have bought the lease on an average village. Most of it wasn't mine, but came with the suite, or had been brought up from Starshore. Technically, I didn't own anything, except my own horses. Starshore was mine in trust for the future, a gift from the Crown that could, if I was a particularly bad duke, be stripped from me along with my title.

However, I tried to be a good duke, and I did get massive amounts of coin to do with as I wished, it was just that I didn't buy much, except more horses. Bernard laid out monies on my behalf for clothes, something he kept organised so I always had something to wear to dances, balls, parties, or hunting. I wondered if I should perhaps start collecting something, use some of my coin for it. The only thing that appealed after my most recent experience was more women, and women were funny about being collected with coin. Thought it less than ideal. Worse, like floozies, they considered the coin a mere rental of their bodies, so they'd go out looking for someone who didn't need to buy them. Not for the first time, I wondered if men and women were separate species. Most men I knew would be happy to be part of a collection. Give them a reason to work out in the morning, too.

The big windows opened onto the balcony terrace with the grapevines and other plants. I was thinking of some food, wondering what time it was, and if maybe lunch was still on. A quick shower, fresh clothes, then if lunch was over, I'd go begging at the kitchens, get a picnic, they were always nice about picnics. Cree appeared as I walked in.

_Congratulations_ , he said. He was standing in front of the windows, I could see the Princess Royal's tower through him.

"What?" I said aloud.

_You're going to be a father._ I nearly fell over.

"What?" I said again.

_Two women in less than a month,_ said Cree, _you're doing well._ I could hear Bernard coming. _Jules sends her best, says have you remembered the dream yet?_

"What, in the name of Zol," I said, not caring who saw me talking to myself, "are you on about? No, I haven't remembered, and what women?"

_The Dragon queen,_ said Cree, _and that pretty servant lass. Maggie, was it? They're both expecting._ I made a strangling noise.

"That's impossible!"

It's happening.

"But Lilith?" I said. "She's about to marry Azrael!" I couldn't even start to think about Maggie.

_Azrael's close to sterile, Polo,_ said Cree, _hadn't you realised? Lilith did. Why do you think she did you? You're related to him but not to her. Lilith has skills in that department and can make a pregnancy last as long as she needs to. Fascinating really, she can put the babe into a kind of suspended animation._ I sank down onto the carpet, remembering _When Dragon Came_ and the part about Dragon learning how not only to have multiple births like the Yusaf but also to control the lengths of their pregnancies, even put a babe inside their body into a kind of suspended animation, to have when circumstances allowed.

"Oh gods," I said, trying to keep breathing, "she can't do this to me."

_Don't panic,_ said Cree _, all's as it should be. In a week and a half, Lilith will arrive, the marriage will be consummated, and Azrael will assume he's the father of the child she bears. Didn't she tell you, you're important? Why do you think she kept saving you?_ There was me, in all my conceit, thinking it was simply that I was Azrael's friend or, more honestly, that she fancied me. That my sense of humour was something she wanted to keep around. Instead she wanted me as a sire. My pride was more than wounded. I suspected a terminal puncture. I groaned.

"She can't be pregnant, Cree. Or it's not mine. I did her with a condom on. I mean, they do fail sometimes, but-"

_You're forgetting._ I groaned again and shut my eyes. I opened them.

"When we were in dragon form," I said. He nodded, and lit a pipe. "I took the damn condom off. You planned this? You and Lilith?" He shook his head.

_Lilith does what she does. I just didn't interfere. Interfering with what will be is ill-advised._ I'd been had. Completely, utterly, and irrevocably. Now I was going to have to keep quiet while my best friend raised my child as his own.

"Gods, no!" I pulled off my shoes and turned into a dragon, tearing a second set of clothes to pieces for the day, then ran for the balcony, nearly knocking Bernard over. He jumped out of the way and, as I leapt into the sky, I shouted an apology back over my shoulder.

#### ****

Some time later I returned. To my relief not only didn't I crash on landing, but Cree wasn't around. I needed to sleep but there wasn't time. I knew what needed to be done. I also needed food, clothes, and a wash, not necessarily in that order. Physical needs first. Bernard had anticipated me needing food. There was soup and bread on hand.

On the basis that the enemy of your enemy is your friend, I was going to talk to Stefan. He wasn't allied with Lilith and that made him someone to confide in. Once washed and dressed, and buoyed with the idea of a plan instead of helplessness, I headed back to the infirmary. Cree appeared before I was halfway.

"If you're here to read my mind," I said, feeling snappy, "I'm going to think smut at you until you go away." He laughed.

I already read it. From some distance away. I am not allied with Lilith.

"Then who are you with?"

I'm with you. And if I can read your mind from a distance, we have some work to do. Lilith's abilities there outstrip mine and your senses seem to be heightened. I'm not surprised she used you like a sock puppet. Didn't I warn you about that?

I stopped walking. To anyone watching I was apparently talking to a statue of Zol. The god was portrayed clad in armour, one hand resting on his sword, his helmet visor down. The Faceless One.

In front of the statue, Cree was standing, long black hair back in a ponytail, but wearing soft trousers, shirt, and moccasins. Cree wasn't like most people. I could see parts of the statue through him.

"You did warn me," I said, "but I don't understand, I thought you were with Lilith?"

_Our needs simply coincided,_ said Cree. _Well yes,_ he said, obviously listening to my thoughts, _I could be lying, but I don't usually. Jules reminded me I misled you once._

"Misled me?" He shrugged.

_When we first met, I think I said might have been Dragon once. I just wanted you to listen to me, and you were more inclined to listen if you thought I was Dragon. I'm simply human_. I remembered and had to admit, he was probably right. At fifteen I was obsessed with all things Dragon, and getting my attention was easier with a fib.

"Lilith said Jules was unusual. You're unusual too."

_Sometimes, one is not able to be specific, but have I ever appeared to you and given bad advice, or wrong information?_ I had to admit he hadn't. _Between us, Stefan and I can help you, Polo. Let's face it, you need our help. We have experience, whereas you're a boy and she's three thousand years old._ I gasped. He laughed, sounding delighted.

Come, don't tell me you didn't suspect it? You're an amateur compared to Herself.

Amateur, was I? Well, we'd see about that. I was going to make sure the Dragon queen didn't get it all her own way.

_That's the ticket,_ said Cree, floating beside me.

"By the way, is Jules the one who founded Galaia?" Cree laughed.

She did. You've been studying?

"Some. Why is she visiting me?"

She's interested, like me.

#### ****

## Chapter 28 - Running Away

When I arrived at the infirmary Stefan was gone.

_Use your nose_ , said Cree. I wasn't sure when I began to smell individuals so clearly but it was certainly useful in the distances of the citadel. I cast about as I left the infirmary, and followed Stefan's trail to the North Tower. I didn't know why he was there, though I supposed he might be staying with Saraia. The guard on duty knew me and waved me in.

"You're on my list, Your Grace. You know Herself is still in the infirmary?" I nodded.

"Aye," I said. "I was just there. Seen Stefan Westwych? He's supposed to be here."

"Not me," said the guard, "but I've only been on half an hour."

"It's alright," I said, "I'll find him." I crossed the foyer, where Azrael and I had been attacked by Kristen, and jogged up the stairs. People were usually on the first or second floor.

_This will be interesting,_ said Cree. I dreaded to think what he might mean especially since I still didn't have any armour on. _You won't be wounded, beloved._ I hoped he was right.

Stefan's scent was stronger as I reached the entry to the reception room where Queen Kristen of Joban once transformed into a dragon whilst arguing with her mother, then Queen Rose of Sendren.

Unlike that time, when the two queens were arguing loudly just before one changed shape, everything was quiet. I banged on the door with the flat of my hand but nobody answered. No servants, which usually meant no Blood in residence. I banged again, then opened the door and called out loudly.

"Stefan?" I said. "You around?" From the other side of the suite the door was opening.

"Oh," said Nanny Black, "it's you, Polo." She smiled. "I was on my way to the infirmary." She was such a little woman, dressed all in black with her white hair making her look older than I suspected she was.

"Hello Nanny, is Stefan here?" She gave me an innocent look.

"Not that I know of, dearie," said Nanny, "how are you? I'll walk with you." Knowing she was long-sighted with age and couldn't see the steps clearly, I offered her my arm as we went down. I could still smell Stefan and wondered how long ago he was here.

"Wait a moment, Nanny." I stepped back up a few steps and Stefan's scent was a little weaker, so I went back to the old woman. We were nearly at the bottom, the area that always spooked me. My scars itched and in my mind's eye I saw Azrael tumbling across the floor with the dragon in pursuit.

Suddenly it struck me. It wasn't that I could smell Stefan, it was that Nanny Black smelled like Stefan. A normal person wouldn't pick it but she had his signature scent. I had been talking to him earlier and knew exactly what he smelled like. If not for the evidence of my own senses I wouldn't have even imagined it. But it was there. Shape-changing meant you really could be whoever you wanted to be. You could hide cat's-eyes. I missed a step.

"Watch yourself there, Polo," said Nanny.

"You lying bastard, Stefan," I said. I kept my voice down, nobody else must hear me.

"What's that, dear?" said Nanny Black.

"Don't play deaf with me," I whispered, "you can read my mind, you unmitigated bastard! What am I thinking? Gods, you made me feel sorry for you for not ever having seen your son!" I shook her, or his, arm off me. Nanny jumped lightly down the last couple of steps and turned to face me. She looked up into my eyes with a shrewd expression on her face.

"Well, someone had to twig," she said softly, "sooner or later." She gave me a little bow.

"All this time," I said, feeling amazed. I sat down on the steps, which brought me down to Nanny's level. Next to me, Cree sat on the stairs too. I kept my voice low. "You've been having your way with Saraia under the noses of everyone! Even when her husband was alive!" I couldn't help myself. I began to laugh.

"Damn ghosts," said Nanny Black, who was really Stefan.

"He's not a ghost," I said, smiling, "he's a being not-in-body."

_Finally_ , said Cree.

"I'll go change," said Nanny, and disappeared back past me up the stairs. I sat with Cree until Stefan came down.

#### ****

Stefan and I headed out, into the courtyard I'd dived into that morning. To my surprise, Mother was coming across the cobbles. I glanced around. Perhaps she was really there, as I didn't appear to be hallucinating anything else.

"Mother?" I said, and she smiled, shaking her dark hair back. She was looking well, eyes bright, the opalescent orbital giving her a fey air. She was tall, nearly six feet, and considered very beautiful. I wondered where her young lover was, or if she was bored with him already.

"Polo darling," said Mother, and swept up for a hug, "there you are! I've been looking for you." I hugged her back and introduced her to Stefan. They started flirting with each other. Bloody incorrigible. I rolled my eyes and tried to hurry her along.

"And why were you looking for me, Mother?"

"It's your Grandmama Daeva," she started to say, and of course Stefan knew Grandmama and they had to talk about family. I was thinking Galaia preserve us, poor Grandmama is dead. Cree became visible next to me.

_Haka treat you kindly and Galaia send you back to us when she can,_ he said, quoting the Prayer for the Dead in a solemn tone.

"What are you looking like that for, Polo?" said Mother. I blinked.

"What?" I said. She smiled.

"You look as if someone's just died," she said. I frowned and blinked. Hadn't they? Was I was hallucinating? I was smoking a lot. Maybe Cree was a figment of my imagination after all.

_I told you this would be interesting_ , said Cree, _and look, you've found a new reason to believe you're going mad. Have you forgotten Stefan and Fenric can see me? Among others._ I tried to think it at him.

Didn't Mother say Grandmama had died?

"Hmm," I said aloud, trying not to give myself away and hoping I was shielding my thoughts from Stefan, "what was that about Grandmama?"

"Oh yes," said Mother, focusing on me at last, "someone wrote to her, said you went to Redoubt twice and didn't drop in at Cragleas, which is after all on the way. Poor Grandmama is distraught, thinks you're upset with her. I've written, told her you were on a mission for the king. But do contact her, dear." I nearly burst into tears and laughter at the same time, but managed to smile and say,

"Oh? Well, I will." I was struck by a thought. I hadn't seen Grandmama since I was fourteen, when she'd left for the south, and it was time I did. "I could go now. Down to Cragleas. It would be educational." That usually meant Mother would stop hassling me over what I wanted to do. I hadn't lived with my parents since I was fifteen, so at twenty-one probably didn't need to use that line. "I could go today."

"Yes," said Stefan, quite suddenly, "I think that's a good idea. In fact," he said, "I'm going there myself, today, so can be your chaperone." I nearly said I could manage quite well without one, thank you, but caught his look and shut up. Maybe I wasn't as stupid as I used to be after all. "I think you should come with me, Polo," Stefan went on, "please excuse us, Tess, lovely to meet you, but we have to fly." He bowed to my mother, I hugged her goodbye and Stefan hustled me back into the tower, where he grabbed a bag of clothes.

"What's the hurry?" I said. He tapped his forehead.

"You're broadcasting what you're thinking," he said. So much for hiding my thoughts. "Lilith isn't the only one who can read minds, though I'm not as adept as she is. So I know you have a problem. Mainly, you've been unwittingly used in a series of coups where first Azrael, a cuckold child and coincidentally my son, was put on the throne, and now another cuckold child, sired by you on Lilith, the boy he's going to think of as his own son, will inherit. Gods. And you have another lass pregnant? Condoms, lad, _con-doms_."

"Aye," I said, feeling rather depressed by his summary, "I usually use them, always have. Except twice. And aye, those are the basics of my problems."

"We're heading to Cragleas," he said, "At least until you learn to screen your thoughts. You really can't be around Lilith like this."

"Aye," I said, "do you think she's going to kill me for figuring it out?"

"Well," said Stefan, smiling as if trying to cheer me, "if you learn to screen your thoughts, who's to say you know anything?" Leaping into the air and leaving seemed sensible, fast as I could change into dragon-shape and my wings could carry me.

However, for now Stefan and I stayed in human form, walking briskly across the small series of courtyards and gardens that led to the citadel entrance closest to my quarters, then along an internal corridor. I was going to grab a bag. It wasn't completely irrational to go back for luggage. While I was in my suite we could grab something to eat. Despite my snacking and Fenric giving me blood, I was running out of energy, which changing shape needed in buckets. So far it had proved to be a very busy and bizarre day and I'd changed shape several times.

I also confess to moving fast because I'd just said goodbye to my mother. She wasn't far behind and had let me escape too easily, almost as if it were a dream. The surreal sensation was compounded when we ran into Azrael just as we reached my rooms. He was coming out of my suite. A younger version of Stefan in looks, the king was paler than usual, which wasn't surprising, we'd had an interesting morning. The King's Guard stood back, giving us privacy. I'd given my own bodyguards the slip earlier, they'd probably be annoyed.

"Polo!" Azrael said. "There you are." Azrael smiled politely at Stefan. Considering how angry he was at finding out Stefan was his real father, the stiff smile was progress. Stefan and I looked at each other and stopped, smiling back at the king.

I was thinking that if all your life you'd believed you were king by birth, it would be a shock to discover - after you'd been crowned - that you were in fact a Dragon cuckoo. Not how Azrael imagined beginning his reign. I dreaded to think what would happen when Azrael found out Stefan was also Nanny Black. I might pretend I didn't know.

"You're going somewhere, Stefan?" said Azrael, gesturing to his bag.

"Aye sire," said Stefan, being polite and using the honorific. He'd seen the king earlier, so didn't need to repeat the "Your Majesty" one was supposed to use on the first meeting of each day. "I need to visit Cragleas. Excuse me leaving your mother, but the three chaps overseeing her are the best in Sendren and our people are the best in the World."

"That's fine," said Azrael. "Would you mind, Stefan, I want a private word with Polo." Stefan nodded and excused himself, heading into my suite.

"My mother just collared me," I said to Azrael. "Grandmama Daeva thinks I'm angry with her and I need to sort it out. I'm going to pop down to Cragleas." The king smiled and nodded.

"You'll be back for the wedding?"

"Of course," I said in my best blithe tones. "Lilith's due here in a week, I thought. Is the wedding scheduled yet?"

"About five days until she arrives," he said, "and the wedding's not scheduled though I'm expecting it to be in about four weeks, the weekend of the fourteenth. Makes more of a spectacle if it's on the full moon." He smiled. "To me it seems like tempting the mad-and-dangerous, but apparently Lilith is in contact with the Head of Housekeeping and they're in agreement."

"I'll be back well before then," I said, with a confidence I didn't feel. "We're flying, so can get back in a couple of days. Oh, I was meaning to ask, is Isabella alright? I mean, is she getting over what we did to her or has she lost her mind?" I winced, that sounded dreadful. What I'd done to Isabella, what Azrael did through me, that was also dreadful. Azrael shook his head.

"You really mustn't blame yourself, Polo. You told me she was mad before I married her." He laughed. "You gave it to me in writing, as I recall. And Isabella is fine. She's just having a holiday with her mother in the Malion Preserve." Isabella's mother was mad-and-dangerous, in permanent residence in the asylum there. Azrael smiled and patted my shoulder once, being very hetero. "Doing a friend a favour isn't a bad thing, Polo," he said, "and it's one that's appreciated by this friend." I smiled and put my hand on his shoulder too, then leaned and whispered in his ear.

"Don't marry Lilith." He laughed and gave me a quick hetero hug.

"You idiot, Polo. You keep saying that. Don't worry, I'll be careful."

"More careful with Lilith than when you married the crazy princess against my advice?" I said. He laughed. Stefan was waiting and I knew I should go. "She'll know what you're thinking, Azrael, remember that. Hard to fight it." I remembered Cree's words to me. "Hard to stop her using you like a sock puppet."

"I'll be fine," Azrael said. I thought he'd met her in real life. I thought he knew how she just peeled a person. Without ever breaking the skin. Except in consensual sex games. I shook my head.

"I won't bed this one to save you, sire. I mean it. I don't want to ever bed her again." I shivered. Azrael laughed.

"Galaia preserve us, Polo. I do believe you've met your match." I laughed too.

"Idiot," I said, "she's had more than several lifetimes to get that good. As your friend, and as your duke, don't marry her. Find something else she wants. She's dangerous."

"You really believe that?" I didn't know what to say. He knew it was true.

"Gods, Azrael," I said, "don't go crazy on me." He laughed until he nearly cried. Stefan came back, stuck his head through the door, and made meaningful hurry-up faces at me.

"Is the king alright?" he said. Azrael was looking pink-cheeked and rather wild-eyed. I shrugged at Stefan, a wary eye on the king.

"I told him not to go crazy," I said.

"Good advice," said Stefan, beginning to go into doctor mode, "perhaps the pressures of kingship-"

"Whew," said Azrael, regaining control, "I'm alright, Stefan, thank you." He smiled at me. "Polo, do hurry back, we've barely had time to chat since you got out of the army. Soon the wedding will be over." He spoke with the air of a man who'd lived through one wedding already and now could not be scared by the notion. "There's going to be a little time before our war starts."

"Your war," I said, repeating myself, as I seemed to be doing a lot. "I'm not going back into the army." He smiled. And answered evasively, which at the time, distracted by Lilith possibly breaking my skin in a non-consensual fit of anger if I tried to stop her putting my child on the throne, I didn't really notice.

"I promise we'll talk when you get back," said Azrael, "but for now I have to go." He hurried off in the direction we'd just come and I went into my suite.

"Evasive little bastard," said Stefan, who'd been listening from just behind the not-quite-shut door.

"Aye," I said, noticing the evasiveness and feeling thoughtful. "Wonder where he gets that from?"

"Oh come on," said Stefan, "both sides of the family, surely." He grinned. "I mean, you've bedded him and his mother, you'd know." I wanted to make some dignified reply but couldn't find one, so ignored him instead. Then I remembered something.

"I was young and an idiot," I said. Stefan laughed. It was a good excuse but I tried not to use it too often, as I was still young and probably still an idiot, despite feeling so much older and wiser.

#### ****

In my suite my bodyguards were hanging out, it being a comfortable place and - compared to most places in the citadel complex - conveniently situated, only a smart twenty-minute walk to baths, main dining rooms, and the kitchens, and with a servant station stocked with snacks, coffee and mindweed right next door. The new fort, where they were technically billeted, was another twenty to thirty minutes walk away uphill to meals, depending where in the building you slept, and how close you were to one of the exits. I'd always thought it was a plot to keep the Hangers On well-exercised and busy, having meals on the far side of the citadel building.

To my surprise the Ducal Guard weren't angry with me for gadding about unescorted, as the person most likely to kill me had already tried that morning, then fled the citadel and was on the run. While Bernard packed a bag for me, I explained that I was going with Stefan to Cragleas by air and they agreed I could leave them behind. I gave them the option to take paid leave or stay on duty until I returned. On duty was higher coin. I was a great boss, if one could cope with a boss who changed shape. Not everyone could.

"Lots of women in town," said Ross, "might take some time out. We'll check in every so often, see if you're back." Everyone nodded. I said to Stefan,

"I have to see Theo before I go."

"You remind me of one of my ex-wives," said Stefan, "trying to get her out of a party took hours."

"I remind me of my mother," I said, "it's scary. Should have seen me on military bases, I was forever having to stop for chats. Took me hours to get anywhere."

#### ****

Theo, the former king, was so frail. His once-solid body was wasting away. The disease was closing in.

"Good to see you, Polo," said Theo, "still enjoying being a duke?" I gave him a gentle hug.

"Aye," I said in a flippant tone, "it's much easier than being a king." Theo laughed carefully, one hand on his side. "You forget," I said, taking a seat, "I've seen how much work you had to do, and now Azrael does. All I do is open some fairs, supply celebrations in my honour with free food, smoke, and liquor, give out a few prizes, endow some riding schools, hospitals and libraries, and my Starshore people are happy as clams. To be honest, I think I could just give them free smoke and liquor, they'd be satisfied." Theo smiled at me.

"You've learned well," he said.

"You taught me," I said, smiling too. "With Azrael's new kingdom uniting the old ones, I'm hoping the Duke of Starshore will be known as the Lazy but Kind Duke."

"You always loved being Duke of Starshore." I laughed.

"I still do. Best title in all of Sendren." He grinned. It was like a skull grinning at me. Only a trace of white fire in the dark blue eyes showed the old Theo was still in residence. I said I was flying to Cragleas and he frowned.

"When this thing first started," he said, meaning the cancer, "someone turned up from the Dragon tribe, tried to teach me to heal myself. Turns out my line doesn't have an iota of ability in that regard. Doctors tell me that Southern bitch doesn't either. A shame for us both."

'That Southern bitch' was Azrael's mother, who'd broken both legs earlier that day in the attack that nearly killed Azrael and me. My line, on the other hand, was very able, and I'd healed myself of a few nasty injuries over the years. Azrael also had healing abilities, and right then, it didn't occur to me that Theo was fishing. "Saraia was conscious briefly," Theo went on, "I had time to drop in and tell her I'd be able to visit every day." I raised my eyebrows. Despite his words, he wasn't as down on Saraia, Azrael's mother, as he used to be. I could hear it in his tone.

"You and Saraia are getting on?" I said, unable to hide my surprise. He looked sheepish. A frail hand, the skin almost translucent, plucked at the sheet then smoothed it flat.

"Don't tell anyone," he said, looking up, "but until today she was visiting me every day. We'd fight for an hour, then she'd storm out, tossing her hair. Always came back the next day. She was bringing me brandy against the doctor's orders, after I asked her to. What's the point of not drinking? I'm dying, they're in no doubt." He grinned. "Quite enjoy baiting Saraia and making her angry. So easy to do to redheads. It's invigorating. And one man to another, she's a looker, as I believe you might agree." I put on my best non-committal face and agreed the Princess Royal was a fine looking woman.

"She's always been kind to me," I said. Theo shrugged. He knew Saraia and I had been slightly more than friends.

"Well, Saraia does have a weakness for a good pair of shoulders," he said, "but she's been a good mother to Azrael, can't fault her on that. Now she's just down the hall, poor lass, wouldn't wish her injuries on anyone. Galaia be praised you managed to save the boy." He gave one of my hands a pat. "The boy is who he is, Polo, I've come to terms with it. That's never a parent's fault. Or a grandparent's. I've known enough completely queer men and women and their families to know that." He smiled at my expression. "You didn't think you fooled me over Azrael, did you? All your silly fibs about how you were sure he wasn't into men?" I laughed.

"Gods, Theo, I think I did. Though I didn't make a habit of lying to you. To be honest, I may have been in denial over Azrael. That is, I knew he was mostly gay but wasn't admitting it, even to myself. Kept thinking he was more my kind. Just liked an adventure." My turn to shrug. "I really have done women with him." Theo nodded.

"I know you've been honest otherwise, Polo." He knew that because in the name of protecting Azrael, I'd been watched and followed ever since I arrived in the capital. The Crown Espionage Service could probably name more of my ex-lovers than I could. "I can understand it," Theo said, "lying to me over that. Azrael's always been your friend and you wanted to protect him. You take care, young Polo."

"I will, Theo, you too. I'll keep an eye on Azrael. He knows to act as if he isn't." Theo sighed, shifting against his pillows.

"Aye, which helps, because people don't want a queen for a king. Word is, overall he's doing a good job." We hugged, me trying to be gentle so I didn't crush him.

"Well, I'd better fly."

"I want to watch you go," he said suddenly, and called one of his bodyguards to get a wheelchair. I checked with a nurse, but Saraia was unconscious, so I left a note wishing her a speedy recovery, hopefully before I returned to Peterhaven in a few weeks for the wedding. I wanted my absence to be known to be temporary, so nobody felt the need to come looking for me. My note to Saraia would be seen by others, so it was a bland and polite one.

I changed shape in Theo's presence, into what I thought of as my 'normal' size. As a human I was blonde, just over six feet, and had green eyes with an orbital ring of bright copper round the iris. My eyes stayed the same colour, though the pupil became vertical not round, but the rest of me was close to unrecognisable. About seven feet tall, covered in black scales, and winged. I also had a tail. I took a breath, breathing away the pain of the change.

"You alright, Polo?" I nodded.

"Aye, I'm fine. Impressive, eh?" I flapped my wings a little. The old king touched my scaled skin. "It's good for when I crash-land," I said, "I'm still getting the hang of flying."

"There's an old Dragon saying I read somewhere," said Theo, "any landing you walk away from is a good one."

We collected Stefan and went out into the kitchen gardens, off the Green and just outside the infirmary. There were so many memories of my adventures in the area, including those rather risque ones involving vegetables and the wife of the Kavar ambassador. Stefan looked sideways at me.

The old king made a brief speech, about how wonderful it was that the war in the north would soon be over, as all we kingdom citizens were coming into our birthright, especially due to his beloved grandson Azrael and the actions of the lad Theo had been proud to mentor, me, his nephew Polo Shawcross, the Duke of Starshore. Stefan stayed busy, chatting up a nurse. It seemed most of the hospital staff wanted to examine my wings and ask questions about shape-changing. I thanked Theo and we spoke briefly before hugging a last time and I got ready to fly. They all cheered as we flew off.

I'd been depressed over the possible effect on the populace of Lilith marrying Azrael, so was pleasantly surprised to find that in only a few years - since I'd been away at school and then at war - people in Sendren had lost much of their suspicion of Dragon.

They might be suspicious of Lilith, but the Kingdom of Redoubt and its Dragon troops joining Sendren-Highcliff would be good for our own defence, and for our imperial ambitions. It was essential to winning the war in the north and cementing our alliances. The Crown was conducting a concerted propaganda campaign to make sure everyone knew this and, at the citadel at least, Dragon seemed popular.

Of all the people I needed to tell I was going away, I don't know why I forgot about Maggie. I was supposed to see her that night. One would think I'd remember. I didn't. I was possibly still in shock over Young Perry's assassination attempt that morning, and was definitely in a panic over my telepathic abilities.

#### ****

## Chapter 29 - Flight and Philosophy

Beneath us the citadel buildings and great park grew smaller. The city of Peterhaven around it appeared then began to shrink. We ascended among the hills of Peterhaven and I tried not to look. One of the small drawbacks I'd discovered about learning to fly, nervousness over heights. I could climb the citadel towers with no problems but flying above ten feet or so was scary.

We wheeled off to the southwest and began our journey. I sang army songs in my head, the only way I knew to stop a telepath like Stefan reading my uppermost thoughts. I sang _The Last Whore on the Shelf_ then _The Cavalry Brings Up the Rear (Oh)_ , and anything else I could remember, then replayed in my head every sexual adventure I'd ever had, at least up to the age of about eighteen, with words and pictures.

The day was spent heading southwest, crossing the border into Highcliff across a small corner of that kingdom, then into the Kingdom of Gyr before nightfall. We climbed higher as the southern spine of the kingdoms rose beneath us and the sun began to set. I was relieved when Stefan called out,

"Town there, let's land down the road a bit." He pointed and I followed him down to what looked like an easy landing in a clear meadow, not far off a winding road that led to the town.

Stefan picked up on my nerves and showed me how to fly away from the town and landing point, taking the wind into account, and come in low over the trees into the wind. Dragon could land in a very small area, but it was always good to give your wings more space than was needed in case of sudden gusts of wind. Thankfully, I didn't crash.

"Avoiding crosswinds or tailwinds makes it easier," Stefan said, "a headwind slows you down." I nodded.

"Makes sense now I think about it," I said, deciding to reread some of the books on flying I'd read as a child. I might glean more from them now. I'd gazed longingly at the pictures but all that gibbering about co-efficient ratios, lift versus drag or the effects of wind-shear and the like went over my head at the time.

We transformed back into men and put on clothes. Just a pair of Blood on a holiday, on our way to Cragleas to see my grandmother which, as I said to Stefan, was actually true. That I needed her to teach me how to screen my thoughts wasn't mentioned. Though Stefan mentioned being able to read my mind, just to me.

"Damn glad I can screen your thoughts," he said, "it all became rather lurid once you ran out of songs to sing."

"That was my teens," I said. "Sorry, but I like to think in private."

"Aye, I understand your reasoning. Did I understand that right, your first time was in a forest with two women?" I shrugged and nodded. "That was interesting," he said, laughing, "but I screened the rest of it out. Anyway, we need to get you to your grandmother's, she's much better at this kind of thing than I am." I wanted to stop the stupid telepathic broadcasting, but didn't like the idea of being at my grandmother's and not being able to stop her reading my mind. I frowned. Perhaps she was always able to? Or were grandmothers, and mothers to a lesser extent, just good at reading children?

"Don't you remember how you learned to screen, Stefan?" I said.

"Your shirt is cross-buttoned." I looked down, it was. I set about re-buttoning. "I don't remember at all," he said, sounding thoughtful. "Perhaps I was a natural, or got it so quickly that how it was done never stuck. You know, never had to think about it. But Daeva used to teach mind control at the Craft Guild in Malion." It took a moment for that to sink in.

"Grandmama taught people to screen their minds?" I said. "At the Craft Guild? But that's in Highcliff, not down in Redoubt."

"Oh, this was a while back. I may be speaking out of turn," he said and shooed the subject away with an elegant gesture. "We'll be there tomorrow, Polo, leave it until then."

"Wait," I said, but he was shaking his head. I sighed. Talking to Dragon was like talking to smoke. "Forget Grandmama then, Stefan, but I thought the Craft Guild was a medical practitioners' guild."

"Of course, that's what everyone thinks." He smiled and stretched, already back in clothes and warm jacket. I was doing up my walking boots.

"Gods," I said, "you're about as cryptic as Cree."

"Your ghost who isn't?" I nodded.

"Aye," I said, "if he's not in the mood for questions, he just gets evasive."

"But he tells you things." It wasn't a question. I'd talked to Stefan before about Cree.

"Sometimes. I think he's a hallucination," I said, spoiling the effect by looking around nervously. "But he tends to argue that point with me. And often wins. He says he's a being not-in-body. I've got a new one, by the way. Called Jules."

"I call them Visitors," said Stefan. I was buttoning my jacket and stopped to stare at him.

"Visitors?" Stefan flicked at his coat. He looked spotless and neat. I felt rumpled. He rubbed his hands.

"Come on," he said, "it's getting cold. I want a drink, food, a smoke, and a pretty woman to look at." I slid into my coat and sighed.

"I mentioned cryptic, did I mention evasive?" He smiled.

"I don't know what the Visitors are, Polo, but I've had experience with them. Entities? Beings? Ghosts? Yours seem good people. There are bad ones too. There seem to be several kinds."

"How can you tell which kind you have?" I said. He thought before he answered me.

"The good ones have a sense of humour." I couldn't help smiling.

"Cree laughs at me a lot."

"I can relate," said Stefan, blue eyes twinkling, "I find you rather amusing." I decided to amuse him properly and told him the story of how I signed up for the army, a lesson against drunken idiocy. Not that I was immune from that any more.

"Cree laughed so much he cried," I said finally, finishing neatly as we walked through the town gate just as they were shutting it for the night. We nodded and smiled to the gatekeeper. Stefan managed to strike up a conversation that led to us being recommended to a small hotel.

"Not the biggest, mind," said the gatekeeper, "but if you're looking to get a night's sleep, they close the bar there at nine-thirty. Other one stays open until after midnight."

#### ****

We took rooms at the quiet hotel, ordered dinner for later in the evening, then went for a drink at the big place. The locals were a little suspicious but Stefan bought the bar a round of drinks and suddenly we were on our way to being accepted as decent types, for Blood. If someone had cat's eyes you could tell Dragon blood, but not the proportions just by looking at them. I could tell by smell but it seemed to be a trait I was particularly gifted with, not something everyone Blood or Dragon had.

It was very pleasant to drink the ale and ogle the barmaids. At the bar, there were boiled eggs, peppered cheeses with caper-berries, pickled onions and excellent savoury biscuits flavoured with spice and poppy-seed. The locals were fond of current affairs, what with the exciting news of the new kingdom alliances, and being from Sendren we had the latest gossip about that.

When we were ready for dinner, we headed back to the smaller hotel for food. There were rice-stuffed baby peppers topped with toasted breadcrumbs and cheese, then an excellent mutton-and-vegetable stew with fresh bread. Afterwards, while I sat by a fire, sipping apricot brandy and eating a rich fruit pudding with custard, Stefan struck up a friendship with the waitress. He was doing very well with her, so I left him in the dining room, put on my jacket and coat and went for a smoke.

Outside on the veranda, I smoked a pipe, watching the stars that ran in a winking river of multicoloured gems across the sky.

"Guess which one's the ship," said Stefan behind me. I turned to see him.

"What?" To my surprise, he was a little drunk. I'd never known Stefan drunk, but guessed that, after more than twenty years of pretending to be Nanny Black, the relief of at least one person aside from Saraia knowing who he really was might have gone to his head. I offered my pipe.

"Thanks," he said and took a quick hit. "Seriously, Polo," he said, breathing out, smoking wreathing round his face, "don't tell me you and Azrael hadn't figured it out? The ship being still up there?" He handed the pipe back to me, and I took a pull.

"Well, we had," I said, "but I didn't know we could see it from here. Which one?" He showed me. What I'd dismissed as a twinkling and faraway group of stars was in fact the _Delta Queen_ , the ship Dragon arrived in a thousand years ago. "See? Some astronomers call it the Anomaly System because they can't figure out the behaviour. That's because they think it's a star a long way away. Our telescopes are not really very good. The moment they stop spending on war and start spending on things like decent lenses, they'll see her. She's mostly hidden behind the moon. Because the moon moves, we never see her completely."

"Aye," I said, "I see it. You're sure?" He nodded. While I had one of the Dragon tribe drunk and handing out information, I was going to keep on.

"Do you know where the shuttles are?" He laughed.

"You didn't ask Lilith?" he said. I looked at my fingernails.

"No, I meant to when I was in Redoubt." I grimaced. "But I wasn't thinking straight." He laughed.

"You mean," he said, and nudged me, "she had her claws in you." I shrugged and smiled at the stars.

"Well, I can't say I was unwilling," I said, "fancied her for years." He nodded, as if a fling with Lilith was something all of us had to go through.

"I'd imagine being used as a sperm donor might have cooled you off."

"Aye," I said, "that kind of forethought, suddenly she scares me more than I lust for her." He grinned.

"That's the ticket." He'd blanked my shuttle question. I tried a new one while I packed a new pipe.

"Being Nanny Black, changing shape to more than one shape, is there some special trick to it?" He ignored the real question but gave me some information anyway. I took a hit on the pipe as he spoke.

"When you change out of what you might call your core shapes," he said, waving his hands to indicate a body, "it's worse than the normal pain of changing form. Much, much worse." He took the pipe.

"Why did you keep going?" I said.

"Saraia needed me, so did Azrael. With my lifespan you'd think I'd be fine with only fifteen years imprisonment in Beech Wood as Azrael grew up, and another six in Peterhaven and Malion. But I wasn't fine with it. I nearly went mad. That and the pain of changing out of then back into Nanny every week." He shuddered. "To be honest, I'm not sure I ever want to be Nanny again. I'm so glad it's over."

"I can imagine," I said. Like most people who'd spent time ill and in pain as a child or teenager, I had high pain tolerances. Though it wasn't desirable, I could take stitches without anaesthetic, but I still thought changing form was agony. "The normal shape-changing pain's quite bad. Or when I change when I need healing." Stefan waved the pipe.

"Aye," he said, "I always want to kill something. Moving out of your core forms is more painful and much more tiring. Maintaining it is fine, you don't have to remember who you are, the body pretty much reminds you." I made an encouraging mmm noise, hoping to keep him talking, and he handed back the pipe. I began repacking it. "Changing out of non-core shape," he went on, "takes a lot of effort. I try to change back to me at least once a week and spend a day that way. Gives me time to get over it and keeps me reminded of who I really am." I grimaced.

"The pain's that bad?" I said. He looked thoughtful.

"Think about it, lad, losing your self hurts. Finding your way back is reversing that process. Hurts just as much. If you leave it for too long you can get stuck."

"This whole shape-changing business is full of ways for it all to go horribly wrong." He nodded.

"Winifred said she saw you at Redoubt. Did you meet her? Enormous dragon." I lit the pipe and handed it to him, then described the dragon I saw in a corridor, turned out that was Winifred. "She was the most beautiful lass," he said, "started having an affair with a married man. She changed when the wife turned up on her doorstep with a cleaver. Winnie killed the wife quite accidentally. There were witnesses. Winnie's shape-change was her first time ever, the size of her knocked the other woman over. The cleaver the wife was wielding went straight into her own body." I whistled. "She was still holding it when the polis arrived. Winnie changed inside her own hallway, and knocked herself out. Demolished most of the front of the house." He handed the pipe back.

"Really?" He nodded his head sadly.

"Aye, Winnie was distraught when she came to, then the husband pretended he didn't know her. She ended up charged but the truth came out, she got a suspended sentence for manslaughter and has been a model citizen ever since. However, she's never changed back. For years we all coached her, and every so often we try again, but there's a block in her mind that won't shift." I shook my head. It was hard to imagine, but I'd seen Winnie. I lit the pipe.

"What happened to the married man?" I said.

"He met someone else just before the wife found out about Winifred. Ran off with her during the trial. Quite sad, really. Winnie finds it hard to fit in." I passed him the pipe again.

"What's the block in her mind?"

"Well," said Stefan, "she was brought up to believe that being a victim is good for a person. Working hard at your own misery is a way to get what you want, by using it to get pity. Whether she chooses to believe the bullshit a married man spins, or if she wants to blame herself for the World's ills."

"Oh, I read about that in a psychology book, the professional emotional victim." Stefan nodded. "The writer was really funny, said whenever her mother went into full-on victim mode she would sniff the air and say, what's that I smell? Is it the scent of burning martyr?" Stefan laughed.

"Aye, I quite like offering to give them a hand with the last nail."

"The last nail?" I said, frowning. He grinned.

"Self-crucifixion's a bitch," he said, "last nail's the hardest." I laughed and laughed.

"Gods," I said, "must use that one on Mother the next time she takes Father back." He smiled.

"Don't tell her you got it from me. Anyway, Winnie thinks that woman dying was her fault, no matter what the witnesses say. Refuses to believe her beloved married man might be at least partly responsible for the mess or that the woman who was about to attack her with a cleaver might also be to blame. Winnie wanted to kill the bitch, as she tells anyone who'll listen, so a genuine accident becomes all her fault. Winnie is literally bigger than she was and gets more attention." I sighed.

"The first time I changed, I wanted to kill Miri." He laughed. I winced at the memory. "Miri said you basically told her to do me." That stopped him laughing. He breathed out smoke and handed me back the pipe.

"I told her to have sex with you?" he said. I nodded. He sucked in a breath. "Not at all. It would be unethical. And against my personal morality. She pretended I pimped her out? And not only that, she was happy to do it despite being what? Sixteen?" I nodded again. "Galaia preserve us," said Stefan, shaking his head, "that girl's mad. There's one you should stay away from. I'm pretty sure she's killed more than one man." I laughed.

"Aye," I said, "I'm pretty sure too." In fact, I knew Miri had probably killed several. "If Miri ever transforms we're all in trouble. She said quite recently that she only bedded me because Uncle Stefan wanted her to. Like I was some sexual charity case." He laughed too.

"Little, ah, minx," he said, shaking his head, "lying little minx. I do remember talking to her. She said she was going to seduce you and I said I thought you were ready to change shape so she might want to watch herself, seeing she was always saying she liked causing people pain. She asked me a lot of questions about triggers for transformation. I thought she was just interested. Then you came to see me the next day and she'd already tortured you into changing." He shook his head again. "That Miri, I've known her since she was a baby. I should have known she was up to something." I blew out smoke.

"Well," I said, "I don't think I'd have changed without the terror she caused. And because I did it that once, the idea that I could shape-change was what kept me going in the army. You know, in the last second before that Sriaman tried to barbecue me, I'd change."

"But you didn't?" he said. I shook my head.

"Despite being captured once. I don't think I was desperate enough. Not until Perry had me kidnapped. Even then I don't know if I would have, but Cree appeared and reminded me of the possibilities." I reflected that Miri did the same thing, reminded me of the possibilities.

"Good for him," said Stefan. Behind him, a woman's voice said,

"Are you coming, lordship?" Stefan smiled and said he was. I resisted the joke, "Coming? I thought you were just breathing heavy."

"Really just came out to say goodnight," Stefan said to me, "I'm turning in." He lowered his voice. "The other thing about returning to one's own body, or bodies, you feel the need to touch another." He smiled. "See you in the morning." It was a bit like having sex to prove you were still alive. I could relate. I went back to watching the stars.

One more pipe, with a cocoa I fetched myself from the kitchen, to the surprise of the lad washing dishes, then I was on my way to bed. I didn't remember the last time I'd slept and was higher on tiredness than anything else. That day, I'd transformed so many times I'd lost count, more than three? I'd been shot with a crossbow, which required even more energy to heal. Then I'd flown across several kingdoms.

Finally sitting in a pleasant bed with a full belly, I wrote my journal by lamplight, noting that a member of the Dragon tribe had confirmed the _Delta Queen_ was still above us and visible from the planet's surface. _Delta Queen_ was the starship that had carried Dragon round the Quadrants for two thousand years before Dragon came to Galaia. Somewhere on the World, hidden away at Dragon's instigation, were shuttles that could take a man up to the starship. Although even if I found them, there was no guarantee any shuttles would work.

I didn't understand why Dragon might want to cut us off from the rest of humanity. It was like ignoring your family. On the other hand, I tried to do just that, so understood the impulse. However, being curious, I wanted to see the rest of the Quadrants. It would be fine to pull into orbit above New Rome on Plenty, over in the Alpha Quadrant, as King Theo and I had imagined. They would ask who we were.

"This is the _Delta Queen_ ," someone would say, "out of Galaia, Sigma Quadrant. Requesting permission to dock." From the old books I'd read, that was how one addressed the space station above Plenty. Once docked, you could get to the ground, though I was never sure how. Maybe more shuttles, or perhaps you used your own after clearing Customs in orbit.

There were so many questions to ask.

Had the Great Silence ended?

Had they ever heard from Home, the planet humans came from?

Had any of the Quadrant settlements, other than Galaia and the close-in ones of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, survived?

The inner quadrants were so close together that shuttles could be used for travel without worrying about how long the journey would take, but shuttles didn't have the range to reach the outer quadrants. Even if they had, the speed they moved meant the journeys would take years. The _Delta Queen_ wasn't just a shuttle. She had a stardrive and could move around in weeks and days rather than years.

Had the Quadrants ever built any new starships once Home's ships disappeared? If they had, there was a new question.

In nearly three thousand years, why didn't they come visiting, at least once?

#### ****

## Chapter 30 - Cragleas

Just after lunch, we arrived in Cragleas and headed for the capital and Royal City, Dragonbridge, an hour or so further on by air. The city was named for an elegant stone bridge that carried the road across the valley, high above the Little Dragon River as it reached the Silver Lake.

We could have been there earlier, but Stefan insisted we detour to the northwest and to the shared border with Highcliff, to see the place where the Great Northern Canal met the Little Dragon River. The canal ran all the way north to the Star Cut, linking the kingdoms of the western hinterland, with the sea at the western end of the Cut or the Great Star Lake to the east, and of course along the Little Dragon they could reach into the heart of the south and then to the east coast.

As far as scenic journeys went, it was a fine one. The engineering of the Great Northern Canal was even more mind-boggling than most Yusaf relics. The locks were even more spectacular than the ones that took boats up to the massif from Sendren into Highcliff. I wanted to examine them more closely but we needed to keep going.

We flew southeast, following the tumbling line of the Little Dragon all the way to its source, the Silver Lake, where several major rivers including the Little Dragon had their headwaters.

The Little Dragon ran north-west then north, before swinging northeast in a lazy loop to where the Great Northern Canal locks lifted ships and barges between the two waterways. The river continued northeast through Highcliff and the Royal City of Malion, before running east and forming the southern border to my own kingdom, then wriggling all the way to the eastern coast. We overflew more stunning scenery to Dragonbridge, again landing in cover some distance away, taking human-shape and dressing before walking in.

I knew Grandmama's address by heart and found it by simply asking a passer-by where New Cross Street was. Outside, the stone wall was broken by a metal gate, which rang a bell as we stepped through. An elderly servant met us at the front door, not one I knew, but once I said my name, he knew me. He was wearing Grandmama's livery, or perhaps Grandpapa's, a dark navy blue trimmed with white.

"Oh!" he said, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Welcome, welcome, Master Polo, I've heard all about you. Though I hear you're a duke now. Herself is going to be so pleased you've come for a visit." He paused as he ushered us in. "You are staying?"

"Aye," I said, "if Grandmama Daeva doesn't mind. I'd quite like to surprise her."

"Want to surprise Herself?" he said. I smiled.

"Always." He tapped his nose.

"I'll pretend it's someone about the new range for the kitchen. You two just wait in here. I'll fetch her ladyship." He left, closing the door behind him.

"Not afraid you might give her too much of a surprise?" said Stefan. I was involved in looking at the ornaments, admiring old friends among Grandmama's possessions. He wandered over, poked me, and asked the question again.

"Sorry?" I said. "Oh, Grandmama can take it, I think. If not, you're a doctor." He looked at me.

"Do I detect a grudge?" he said, looking amused. I smiled.

"Several, including one over her moving down here and leaving me at Mother's mercy. Suddenly there was no escape." Stefan laughed. At me.

"You mean aside from tumbling everything in the Duchy of Beech Wood?" I snorted.

"I didn't even do everything in the village of Lower Beech," I said in a dignified tone. "Some of us are choosy but lucky. Like you with that barmaid." I'd have to find something other than smut to think at Stefan.

"And to think at your grandmother," he said, skimming that thought out of my mind. I tried to shut down my mind to almost non-sentience. "Very good," said Stefan.

"Really?" I said. "I hope I get the hang of it, I don't like this particular Dragon gift." I paused. "No wonder Grandmama always had my measure. I always thought she had eyes in the back of her head, even more than Mother did."

"Grandmothers and mothers are often naturally like that, but Daeva does have an advantage. Though of course your own abilities are enhanced with age, unless you were under stress, you didn't broadcast much until recently."

"I'd forgotten something," I said, "just as I was going to Peterhaven when I was fifteen, someone Grandmama knew up in Beech Wood bothered to write to her down here, told her I was doing Mother's cleaning lady. So she told Mother. It was mortifying. Mother outed us. In the act." Stefan guffawed, just as the door opened and Grandmama Daeva swept in. Servants scurried in after her, bringing trays.

Grandmama hadn't changed. Her back was straight, her hair, which she swore was natural and Mother swore was dyed, was dark and back in a small bun that made her look more grandmotherly than she probably was. Like Mother, Grandmama Daeva was nearly six feet tall and - as the immediate genetic source of Mother's rather stunning beauty - was an arresting woman in her own right. Like Mother's, Grandmama's eyes were nearly black but she didn't share the orbital emerald ring shot with opal. Hers was rich black threaded with warm amber. Tiger-eye, the mineral was called, whereas in the Blood we called the marking tiger-stripe, despite it rarely forming separate stripes, more banded ripples of colour. Grandmama smiled when she saw me.

"Bastard child," she said, shaking a finger at me, "you and Pimmington deserve smacking. I saw you walk up the path and didn't know who the young man was, then you looked up at the house and I saw your face." Pimmington, the one who'd let us in, looked guilty. I covered the remaining few steps to Grandmama and swept her up in a big hug. Affection as deflection, something other men will understand.

"Bastard child indeed," I said, "I'll have you know I was born in wedlock and I'm over twenty-one." She hugged me back. "Good to see you too, Grandmama." I twirled her about. She squealed and demanded I put her down. I'd never been bigger than her before. It was novel, though she had me trained and I set her back on her feet. She smelled of citrus and something floral, jasmine I thought, which had been her scent when I last saw her, and the nostalgia hit me so hard I was suddenly a child again.

"Well," she said, smiling, "I'm glad you're here, and Stefan, it's been years. Are you here on business?" Stefan kissed her cheek and gave her a hug.

"In a way, Daeva. I'm taking a break from Peterhaven and Polo needed a keeper." Grandmama put on her best scandalised-yet-amused face. It was the one used to impart Court gossip when I was a child. I realised she didn't look much over forty.

"So I hear," she said, "and read. Gods, Polo, those books!" I winced.

"I didn't write them," I said, "and no, I don't know who did. I've spent a small fortune trying to find out." She shook her head and most of the servants did too. It was the same everywhere. I was the one people shook their heads at. One would think I'd be used to it by now, having been notorious since I was fifteen. "They're fiction," I said, lying with some aplomb, "complete fiction." I smiled at the servants I remembered and mouthed greetings as Stefan and Daeva talked about someone I didn't know. Servants began circulating with sparkling wine and glasses and we had a drink. Everyone, servants too, Grandmama's orders.

"I propose a toast to my grandson, His Grace, Polo Shawcross, Duke of Starshore, holder of both the Red and the Black Dragon medals for bravery." We all took a drink, me after everyone else, in a kind of raised glass to everyone, then quaffing a mouthful. I was pretending not to mind being made such a fuss of. Grandmama hadn't had me around for years and wasn't finished. "Who would have thought it?" she said, smiling. "When he was a boy, we thought he was going to be some rich woman's trophy husband. Instead, because his grandmother pressured his mother to send him to Court, the old king made Polo Duke of Starshore." She raised her glass. "To listening to grandmothers," she said in a triumphant tone, "and to my very lucky grandson. Because he's possibly not suited to marriage." Everyone burst out laughing, because of course everyone had read the books, but they did cheer and drink a toast.

I felt about fifteen, and just smiled and behaved. Again I raised my glass to them, then we were all free to drink and say helloes briefly until Grandmama's next announcement. "Tonight there will be a party so you all have work to do. Skedaddle. Unless you need some time to get over the wine. Don't want drunk cooks. You all know we can serve ourselves. Polo grew up in a stable, didn't you, dear?"

Everyone laughed again as they left, because most of them knew me from birth until I was fourteen, when Grandmama moved away, but the books had made much of my poor origins, making up all kinds of idiotic tales of the poverty I came from. As I always told people, we weren't poor, Mother had her trust fund. We were never hungry or even close to it. Any privation was due to Mother wanting self-sufficiency and not believing in frippery, not from being poor. She had good china and linen and there were paintings hanging on the walls.

Suddenly only Grandmama Daeva, Stefan and I were left in the room. As I'd confessed we hadn't had lunch and the wine was going to my head, a servant came back with coffee and sandwiches then left us again. There would be staff listening. Someone had to listen or the others would never know what went on. My manservant Bernard told me it was a perk, to treat the Blood he worked for as the best kind of entertainment. "I wonder who told the writer all that rubbish about the farm at Upper Beech," said Grandmama.

"That first book," I said, shaking my head, " _Rags to Riches_. Possibly the worst one. They said I slept on hessian as a nostalgic nod to the roughness of my old life. I mean, we had a small house but were very comfortable compared to most people around us." I selected some sandwiches and began to eat.

"The people around you were peasants," said Grandmama, "but I take your point, your mother never skimped on linen. However, the most recent book is the one I'd be wishing hadn't been published."

"Is that _Jealous Love_?" Stefan said, sounding very amused. Grandmama gave him a stern look.

" _Wild Redemption_ ," she said. I sighed and shrugged.

"I haven't read that one yet," I said, and she grimaced. "I've heard it's bad. I mean that they're trying to make out I'm some sainted hero."

"Aye," Grandmama said, " _Wild Redemption: The Duke of Starshore Takes the North_. So tell me who is it wants to depose Azrael and make you king? Gods, Lilith would never stand for it. We're talking schism."

"Schism?" I said, through a mouthful of sandwich.

"A sundering, darling, the splitting of the Dragon Kingdoms and the Tribe. Here, Stefan, be mother. So, Polo? The culprit. Any ideas?" Stefan did as he was told and poured the coffee. I shrugged again.

"I don't know who's trying to set me up, Grandmama."

"You sound like a little boy when you say Grandmama." She was smiling. "Eat, come on, you look half-starved."

"I'm always hungry," I said, not needing urging, and went back for more sandwiches.

"We flew," said Stefan.

"Oh," said Grandmama, clapping her hands, "now that was wonderful, hearing that bit of news. My grandson a shape-changer like me. I'm so proud of you, Polo, so, so proud. Defying your mother's anti-Dragon indoctrination to fly." She beamed, then got teary for a few minutes. I stopped eating and found a handkerchief, but she had her own. Stefan had also found a hankie, and at the sight of us both holding hankies, Grandmama laughed and laughed, which broke the mood. "I'm fine," she said, "I'm happy."

With Grandmama smiling again, we settled with more coffee and food, and the conversation moved on to politics - mostly about people and places I didn't know - until I was dizzy with the pace of it all. It occurred to me that I didn't know if Grandmama Daeva was the long-lived kind of Dragon like Stefan. I gave her a critical looking over, thinking she probably was.

"Polo," said Stefan, trying to stop me thinking aloud, "we're here for a week at least, I think?" It was too late.

"A lady doesn't like to be asked her age," said Grandmama. "Were you going to tell me about that new talent?"

"It's the main reason we're here," said Stefan.

"Aye," I said, trying not to think, "I need to learn how to control it."

"Well," Grandmama said, "how did it come about?"

"I'm not sure," I said. She gave me a stern look.

"Don't be evasive, Polo." Grandmama looked hard at both of us. Stefan sipped coffee as if he wasn't afraid at all. I filled my mouth with food, trying to focus on a warm chicken, lettuce, and sage mayonnaise sandwich, thinking to buy some time and ensure I didn't say or think anything stupid. I knew I wasn't brave under torture but Stefan caved first.

"We're pretty sure learning to shape-change did the trick," he said.

"Oh?" she said.

"That," said Stefan, "and I suspect learning to heal by taking blood from a few of the Tribe when he was a boy." I nodded, chewing carefully with my mouth closed. "He was showing signs when he was sixteen and I first met him."

"Of course, his own bloodlines help," said Grandmama, who wasn't giving up credit for my accomplishments that easily. "Though I'd also imagine Lilith messing about with his head might have had some effect." I tried not to choke. "That mind picture thing she does to people is so bloody old," Grandmama added, and I could feel myself blushing. Still, I reflected, being with Grandmama was better than being with Mother.

After we'd eaten and then chatted for a while, Stefan was excused to go on a formal visit to the King and Queen of Cragleas, to tell them about their daughter Saraia's accident. After Stefan left, Grandmama said I should have a nap. "I heard about your affair with Saraia Casterton, as she was, by the way," said Grandmama as I headed for the door. Saraia was a Westwych by marriage. I stopped.

"Hardly an affair, Grandmama, it was a one-night stand."

"Really?" I shook my head.

"Yes, really," I said. "Where was that story from, Mother or the gossip?" Grandmama tilted her head.

"Both, I think." I sighed.

"Seriously, one night, and it was six years ago. Not even the whole night." I hoped Saraia didn't mind me describing her so. In truth, it was all it was.

"Well," said Grandmama, "I can hardly blame either of you for that." I wasn't going to have her set a precedent.

"My sex life is not up for discussion, Grandmama. Despite the gossip."

"You're discussing it with me. But I take your point, you're right." She smiled and kissed my cheek. "Go sleep, we'll talk tonight. By the way, to stop you wondering, I won't teach you to shield your mind from Lilith. I can't. It's too intimate. However I do know someone I trust to do the job." She gave me a hug. "So stop worrying, it's going to be alright."

I did as I was told.

#### ****

That night I met the Second Sebastian, King of Cragleas, my great grand uncle, so Grandmama told me. His daughter Saraia, Azrael's mother, was apparently my first cousin twice-removed. So on one line at least, Azrael was my first cousin, three-times-removed. The removed bit meant removed by a generation. Seb looked over sixty, with grey hair, still spry, and bright blue eyes like his daughter Saraia, the iris frosted with a ring of sapphire.

I wasn't sure how or when the king and I ended up out on the town in Dragonbridge, but there was a vague memory of it seeming like a good idea at the time. The Queen of Cragleas was away visiting one of their giant brood of children, all of whom were old enough to have families of their own. The queen was also to be the Cragleas representative at the upcoming coronation, wedding, and Blood Council being held in Sendren.

"Be something to see, she thinks," said the king, who told me to call him Seb, "me, I'd rather be out on the farm. Or fishing. Seen one wedding, one coronation, seen them all. And I know which way we're voting, so I could just send Azrael the proxy for the kingdom."

"Gods," I said, with feeling, hardly slurring at all, "so true. I'm not much of a Court person. I could do with some sleep too. I'd be quite happy to stay at home and raise chickens."

"And ducks," he said, raising his glass, and I raised mine, "to ducks, under-rated birds that bring much joy." He was definitely slurring, and said "mush joy."

"To the duck," I said. "Fond of duck. Mother used to do a roast duck. Stuffed with hazelnuts, orange rind and juice, and apples. Breadcrumbs."

"Your mother can cook?" Seb sounded shocked. "Gods, she really did rebel, eh?" I laughed, it was true.

"She did. She shovelled manure and dug gardens too. Wore gloves for that, because she milked the cow with her own hands. Even as a boy I had too many sword-calluses for milking." Seb's bodyguards had us under observation, so I was safer than I might have been. When you're any kind of small or large hero, no matter that you don't think you're anything out of the ordinary, every sneering little drunk with a chip on his shoulder thinks you owe him something. Many friendly jovial ones do too. And there's a fine line between each kind of drunk. The bodyguards stayed busy keeping both away from us. We'd hear them.

"Bu'iss tha' bloody Polo Shawcross! Wanna buy 'imma bloody drink!" They'd be told gently no and get angry. "Tha' great Polo Shawcross? Too grea' t'av'a drink w'me?" It would go on in much less flattering terms. Often they wanted to spar, or more properly, fight, despite them being drunk and peasant and me being Blood and a trained killer, though there were also Blood who tried to shape up to me. All this before I'd even said a word to them.

Seb was amazed. He was used to the attention a king gets, but the numbers of idiots making a beeline for me were astonishing.

"Is it always like this for you?" said the king.

"A lot of the time," I said, "being recognised is a pain." He grinned.

"Lucky I don't bop him one," he said and swung as if to demonstrate. He would have fallen but I held him up carefully then leaned him against the bar.

"It wasn't that bad in the north," I said, remembering, "but those books have made it much worse at home. I've never been south much so I can't judge."

"Last time my daughter wrote, she said you don't know who writes those books." I wasn't sure if he meant Clare or Saraia, both of whom lived in Peterhaven, but I was drunk enough to listen intently with no understanding, trusting in eventual comprehension. "She says for a while she suspected her own son was doing it," said Seb and sighed. "But it wasn't." That narrowed it down. He meant Saraia, as Clare had no children. I wondered what his wife looked like, because they certainly made beautiful daughters.

"Aye," I said, "I did too. But no idea." I shook my head carefully. "Seb, do you know where we are?" I looked around. So did he.

"Bloody hell," he said, "I think we're in the Old Town. Come on, probably scaring the pants off my personal guard, us drinking in here." We left a generous tip and slid out, as surreptitiously as two drunken men with an entourage of twenty soldiers could manage.

#### ****

The party at Grandmama's was still going. Seb and I helped each other inside. Almost immediately, an overexcited young girl – mid teens, I guessed - saw the king and threw herself at him shouting,

"Uncle Seb!" Unfortunately, she was standing six steps up a staircase, and did it literally. I was guessing the last time she did that she was a little girl, now she wasn't. The king and I both went down. I could have dodged but tried to stop the cousin possibly crushing the king. Me getting involved broke her fall and stopped anyone being hurt. We all lay giggling on the floor in the hallway. The king had the hiccups.

Servants arrived and laughed openly. Before we could all get up or be helped up, the girl's mother appeared, saw me, and dragged the poor lass off, giving her a lecture about public behaviour and the dangers of rolling on the floor with men, this said with a backwards glance at me.

At my request, the servants assisted us to the kitchen, where the king's hiccups abated. We drank coffee and cadged food from the cooks, before sitting just outside the back kitchen door, trying to chat up the maids, smoking and discussing breeding possibilities for the Kingdom geese population. Seb had a soft spot for the avian in general, ducks and geese in particular.

That was where Grandmama and the king's bodyguards found us at dawn. Seb was sent to a spare bedroom and I was shooed off to bed. It was disconcertingly like being six again.

#### ****

## Chapter 31 – Family Secrets

The next day, rather late in the morning, I surfaced into a hangover that thankfully wasn't too bad, though I felt stiff and sore. When had I last worked out? I had no idea. I thought it might have been the day I left Peterhaven but didn't know when that was any more. After a dose of willow bark for my head, I asked the servants where everyone was. They sent me out into the gardens, where Stefan was sitting with Grandmama.

"There you are," said Grandmama as I mumbled a greeting. "Murray's coming this morning." About to sit down, I stopped dead.

"Murray?" I said.

"He said you know him." I nodded, and slid into my seat.

"Well yes, I do. Though I haven't seen him since before his wife was killed because she was standing next to me." A servant came up with a tray of fresh coffee. I asked the servant for some food.

"Poor Virginia," said Stefan, who was looking urbane and smoking a pipe. "That was in the second book, Daeva, did you read it?"

"I'd forgotten about that," said Grandmama, "she died because of you." Stefan frowned and pushed his black hair back with his hand, reminding me of Azrael.

"Can hardly blame Polo," he said.

"It wasn't because of me," I said, prepared to defend myself despite my survivor guilt. "Virginia was killed because someone tried to kill me and she stepped into the firing line. The man who pulled the trigger and the man who paid him, they're the guilty ones."

"I'm sure Murray doesn't bear a grudge, dear," said Grandmama, "I'd have heard something." I wasn't so sure. I barely remembered Murray. I only knew him in dragon form, white with speckles. And allergies. He was around when I was very ill, whereas his wife was also there during my convalescence. I sighed. He might not blame me, but there was a part of me that still did.

If I hadn't fallen out with Young Perry, Virginia would be alive. That I hadn't fallen out with him, that Perry hated me with a passion from the moment we met, well, that was hard to remember when I was busy blaming myself for Virginia's death. "Be nice to see Murray," I said, trying to be polite and not as if all I could see in my mind's eye was Virginia's face exploding in front of me again, as the crossbow bolt hit her head from behind. I shivered.

"Ah," said Grandmama, wincing, and I realised I'd broadcast that particular memory.

"Gods," I said, "sorry."

"You might want to try to hold that one back," said Stefan.

"Aye," said Grandmama. I was hungover and bewildered.

"How am I supposed to do that?" I said, sounding petulant. "I mean, you're supposed to find me someone to teach me, Stefan, so Lilith doesn't decide to kill me, and my own grandmother won't help-"

"Polo," said Grandmama, in a very calm but rather commanding tone, "Murray's the one who will teach you. He's one of the few people I trust with my grandson."

"Oh," I said, subsiding so rapidly that Stefan raised his eyebrows and muffled a laugh.

"Why would Lilith decide to kill-" Grandmama started to say then shut up. I was trying to look innocent but was never able to fool Grandmama for long.

"She tricked him, Daeva," said Stefan, rather bravely in view of Grandmama's expression, "bloody woman." Grandmama shook her head at me.

"If a man's stupid enough to have unprotected sex," she said, "he can't then blame the woman for getting pregnant. Though naturally she's an idiot too. Or deliberately trying to trap him. Which I suppose makes her an idiot anyway." I sighed. I didn't think either was trying to trap me but Grandmama Daeva was right.

"What?" Grandmama actually shrieked. "Two of them?" I wasn't proud. I ran away, intercepting the servant coming with my tray of food, which I took off into another part of the gardens where I could get some peace and quiet. I did ask him to bring me some coffee and mindweed, for the love of Thet. I wasn't awake, the drugs weren't working, and I had no words. Women wanted words early in the morning. With men I could just grunt and explain my affliction, not being a morning person, but women expected interaction. They demanded it. Grandmothers were much worse. They expected honesty.

Stefan could explain it, I couldn't. Nearly being killed wasn't an excuse for getting Maggie pregnant, and as for Lilith? I had no excuses other than she filled my head with pictures and feelings. It seemed inexcusable in the cold light of morning, especially with my head throbbing. After a while, the drugs kicked in, the food grounded me, and I even remembered I hadn't exercised that day. The actual day? Not a clue. If necessary I would find out later when I checked with a servant before writing in my journal. Perhaps the next book of my biography could be _The Idle Duke of Starshore_. I must look at a copy of the latest. I might even try reading them all from the start, see if I could spot the author. I was sure I must know Anonymous, but wondering hadn't furnished his or her name, despite six years and several investigations by my own staff, friends, and even private detectives.

Uncle Seb had offered me use of his garrison pits so I decided to head there for a spar. It was a nice walk, across the Little Dragon Bridge at the centre of Dragonbridge, enough to let my food go down. I looked down into the chasm, thinking that if one didn't drown or break a leg after a jump into the river, you could float all the way back to Sendren. Despite not carrying any identification, when I said who I was and what I wanted to do, they said I was expected, let me in, and a soldier was deputised to show His Majesty's guest around.

I was helped into sparring armour by the armourers, who would clean it once I was done. Even so, armour always had a smell of stale sweat, familiar and unpleasant all at once. I hefted a couple of practice swords until one suited me, and then went to a spare pit to warm up while waiting for a spar. I was done with my katas and as ready as I'd ever be when I heard the shout.

"Shawcross! Peterson! Pit four!" Peterson and I shook hands. He was a captain in the Cragleas Royal Guard and had heard of me.

"As a favour, try not to kill me, eh?" he said. "I'm up for promotion." I laughed.

"I was about to ask you to please be gentle, I'm very hungover." That made him laugh too, which was always a good way to start a bout with a stranger. Turned out he didn't need any quarter, which I'd suspected, because they wouldn't put just anyone up against the notorious Polo Shawcross. However I really was hungover, and he made me work hard for every point while scoring high against me. "You didn't get that fast guarding the king," I said, trying not to pant too hard, "been out of the army long?"

"Twelve months," said the captain, "good to know I'm not losing my edge. Though you are hungover."

"Aye," I said, "but you can say I'd taken something for the pain well before we started. Lucky for me." He laughed and we shook hands to end our spar. I had to do it left-handed because the bastard had clouted me so hard in the final seconds of the last bout that my right hand wasn't working properly.

Where the dragon clawed me was susceptible to injury, being mostly scar tissue. Changing shape didn't seem to correct the nerve damage down my left side and right forearm. I wondered if I dare consciously try to repair it when next I changed from dragon-shape to human-shape? Just the thought of the dragon's claws ripping in made the scars tingle and smart all the way to the bone and I rubbed at my forearm. Thankfully I had never dreamed it, the awful moment - just as she turned in my hands and tore me to pieces - when I realised picking up even a small dragon was a very bad idea.

Azrael said he'd dreamed the attack more than once. Sometimes she actually ate parts of him. 'She' was of course his Aunt Kristen, Queen of neighbouring Joban. Removed from the Sendrenese succession by her own father. Or possibly by her uncle, depending on which version of her parentage you believed. Grandmama had once mentioned the possibility that Great Uncle Nate, old King Theo's brother, sired Kristen. I liked to think they were Azrael's crazy family, but the truth was they were mine too and like most people's, complicated.

I headed back across the bridge, wondering if I felt better. I was in more pain below the neck than when I set out. I decided to jog for a bit, see if I could loosen up. I wasn't sure, but thought it was the first run I'd had since I left the army. So the last time I went running, it was because a Sriaman was chasing me through a forest, taking pot-shots at me. I reflected it was more fun doing it without being stuck with arrows.

By the time I was back at Grandmama's, I was sweaty but my right hand was working again. I went for a shower and changed into dragon form, just for practice. Thinking to save space in the shower I did it without wings. It was an interesting exercise. Wingless was the shape I took the first time I changed, probably a very practical form if I had to fight on the ground. It also hurt less than shape-changing with wings, which I hadn't realised. I'd changed before into slightly different sizes, but not usually much different to my own. Then I remembered something.

On the principle that dragon-shape was bigger than human-shape, the Sriamans bound us with wire to prevent shape-changing. However, I'd seen a woman transform into a small dragon, a tiny one in fact, right before she clawed her way across me to freedom. Wire wouldn't have held Kristen. Could I do that?

Shape-changing hurt. As Stefan had said, the pain from changing to a form not the usual ones was worse. Being Nanny Black hurt him a lot. Lying on the floor of the shower, whimpering, I had to agree. I'd thought I had an inkling, knowing how one's every nerve ending was flayed during the usual change, but changing into a small dragon hurt more than I could have imagined. However, I was officially knee-high to a human. I carefully stood up, wobbling from the remembered pain. No wonder Kristen had attacked me. I felt like I'd tear apart anything that touched me. I was bad-tempered and wanted to howl.

After a while, I wasn't sure how long, I managed the change back and lay sobbing some time longer on the floor of the shower. Gods, that was one I didn't want to try again. It made sense, the way it hurt. I was compressing then stretching the essence of me.

#### ****

Grandmama was in the front parlour, with servants setting out food and drink. It was a beautiful room, light and airy. Grandmama's taste hadn't changed. It reminded me of the dining room in her house in Beech Wood. When I thought about it, the furniture was the same, though the chairs had all been re-covered. Grandmama was fond of blue, a rich mid-blue, with accents, different depending on the room. In this room the rugs were blue, the walls were cream, and the re-covered chairs were a pleasant burgundy and gold stripe with a slim floral band with some white in it alongside. On shelves were a number of glass and china items in both shades of plum and in a lighter blue. I remembered a pretty burgundy decanter with matching glasses, a pastoral scene in white on the glass. The servants moved on and Grandmama said Murray would be along sometime soon. I shook my head.

"But Grandmama," I said, "I don't want to show him what I showed you!"

"Don't be petulant, Polo," said Grandmama, "it really doesn't suit you." For a moment, she was very like Mother - which wasn't that surprising - then she was Grandmama all the way through. "You can do this for me, darling." I could, she was right.

"Will you at least warn him?" I said. She smiled, victory won.

"Grandmothers know best, Polo dear. Now you need to eat. I felt you screaming at that shape-change, though I'd imagine every telepath between here and Redoubt did." I felt myself blushing.

"Gods, really? I was trying to be small, it hurt. I hate being telepathic." She laughed.

"It's not so bad," she said, "like most things, raw talent's hard to control. And you've made it this far. Did I mention how proud I am of you?" Alone with my grandmother, I preened a little. We talked about how things were. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay in Beech Wood," she said, "but you can see that trying to age normally could be rather uncomfortable."

"I can." She shrugged.

"My servants know, of course, that's why most of them are people you know. They're people I trust who understand what I am, or they've worked for Dragon before."

"Why didn't you tell me? About being Dragon?" Grandmama sighed.

"Your mother swore she'd never let me see you again if I told you." I had figured something like that. "Silly thing's done her best to deny her own blood and pretends to be a peasant," Grandmama added, "though she did grow good mindweed, I'll give her that." I laughed.

"Be fair, she was a good farmer and cook. We had wonderful food. She still grows her own mindweed."

"Is she with your father at the moment?" I shrugged.

"Last time I heard, they were apart."

"I can't keep up with them," said Grandmama, rolling her eyes. "Your mother's too beautiful for her own good." she added, as she always did. I smiled, settling happily into my chair. I nodded, it was true. Mother might not be any different no matter what her degree of physical attractiveness, but her beauty meant she was given more and could get away with more.

"Mother looks well," I said, remembering the current facts about my parents, "she was in Peterhaven two days ago, I saw her briefly. Father's very drunk again."

"Shame," said Grandmama.

"Aye, he's living on someone's boat in the harbour at Port Azrael, busy offending every innkeeper in town."

"I suppose he could just go from port to port around the Great Star Lake," she said in a thoughtful tone, "and so never be barred from a drink. By the time he reached each town again they'd have forgotten about the last time." I laughed.

"He'd be dead. Being barred is the only thing that slows him down."

"I thought he stopped drinking?" she said. I sighed.

"He did. Took up religion. He was intensely irritating but healthy. Then he and Mother separated again and I think it broke him."

"Shame," she said, "I like your father." I raised my eyebrows.

"You do?" She nodded.

"Just because your mother liked playing mind-games with Evan, didn't mean everyone in the family saw him her way." I sighed.

"It was awful after you left Beech Wood," I said, "until I went to Peterhaven. It was so nice to be away from the two of them. Then Mother followed me there, then I moved to Malion, and both of them followed me there." Grandmama sipped her coffee.

"For years I was telling your parents, Court was where you should be. Very selfish of your mother to punish the whole family for her beliefs in the superiority of the peasantry. We're all equal, all related. Your father despaired over making any impact on her closed mind, drove him to drink." I thought it was just one of many things that drove him to drink, but as all of them involved Mother, I let it slide. "Me," said Grandmama, "I knew how stubborn my daughter could be, but I should have tried harder."

"I know you tried to tell them," I said. "I remember. I appreciate it, and I know you took me away from them a lot. Oh, do you remember that time in Panswell when you taught me to swim?" She nodded. "Castle Harbour, that's where I signed up for the army."

"I know, dear, it was in one of the books. Being overcome with the idea of redeeming yourself over the deaths of those boys at the Military Guild, I can understand that too." Was that what the book said and people thought? I smiled.

"Well, I wondered if I was, but to be honest I was just drunk."

"Really?" I shook my head at the memory and laughed.

"Pie-eyed," I said, "I signed, threw up on the desk, then pretty much passed out. Though I'll admit the drunken binge was possibly because of those boys I killed. Having classmates turn on me like that in a mob." I shrugged. "Some of them did it for coin, others for friendship or family. Indigo Sunderland was promised a duchy by Young Perry Westwych, but all of them did it."

"People are idiots, dear," Grandmama said, "they don't need good reasons to do anything. Still, for all you didn't mean to be a soldier, you did the family proud. Is your father very jealous? With his career being cut short, as it were." I shrugged.

"I don't know. I hadn't really thought he might be." Was he jealous? I'd have to talk to him. I took a sip of coffee. "How old are you, Grandmama?" It wasn't what I had been thinking and I didn't know where the question had come from.

"Old enough," she said, looking slightly annoyed.

"Come on," I said, "I'm your grandson, not an outsider." That mollified her a little.

"Well, let's just say I remember other planets and leave it at that." I nodded, recognising the tone that meant the conversation was over. Besides, it would do for now. If she remembered other planets, my beloved Grandmama Daeva was over a thousand years old.

I was going to let that settle in my mind for a while before I asked her how much over.

#### ****

## Chapter 32 - Flashback

Murray was much more masculine in human form. Though I had seen him briefly as a man, it was dark and I was delirious with fever. I remembered him as a speckled white dragon with allergies. Unfortunately I thought that right at him as he arrived. Grandmama winced and Stefan looked at the ceiling. Stefan had announced he was there for moral support, but whether mine, Grandmama's, or possibly even Murray's, I wasn't sure.

"We have a problem child, Murray," said Grandmama, "he needs your assistance." I couldn't think of anything to say and when I did think of something, it was silly. However, I thought it loudly. There was a moment's awful silence, then Murray laughed.

"Yes," he said, "she did call me her gaybo dragon, I'd forgotten that." I nearly fainted with relief. After some pleasantries, Murray and I were left alone.

"Um," I said, "you're probably going to see it, so be warned, I keep rerunning her death in my head." I was trying not to think. "And I had a crush on her. Not that I did anything, but it flavours my memories."

"I knew that," he said, "so did she. It was fun for her, having a young man with a crush on her. Flattering and no harm done. She said you never tried anything."

"Aye," I said, "but I thought about it. A lot. So it's all tangled up with my memories of her."

"It happens," he said. "Have you ever been hypnotised?"

"Aye." Virginia had hypnotised me, and taught me self-hypnosis. Cue surfacing of embarrassing fantasy about his late wife. Of course, Virginia's death was what he wanted to see. As I thought he might, he cried. I would have. I did.

It happened like this. I was sixteen. Just back on my feet after being mauled by a dragon. Virginia was my physical therapist, and worked me hard. We'd been swimming, and she'd just said I was ready to start to learn how to change shape. I was excited.

#### ****

We were walking across the Green behind the citadel. I was on Virginia's right, laughing at her impersonation of King Theo arguing with Queen Rose, and Virginia danced a few steps, clowning.

She made some quip I simply don't remember. I laughed so much I stopped walking, torso bent forward, hands on thighs. She danced past me, light-footed, giggling. I think I called her a child, but it wasn't derogatory, we were being silly. It takes a time to tell but was maybe a few seconds in reality.

Suddenly most of her face exploded, things I didn't dare think about spattered me, something flew past my nose. I cried out, or screamed. Virginia's legs kept moving, dancing another step before her body realised she was dead, while I stared, unable to believe my eyes. It took me long seconds to understand the scene was real, and more to look around, among the detritus on the lawn that had been Virginia, to see the crossbow bolt.

Finally I decided that I should just run - and before the bastard reloaded - away from smack in the middle of the Green, a bad position for someone exposed to a sniper. Dropping my towel, I began to sprint towards the citadel. My life was dependent on something I wasn't good at, running. Typical. As I ran, my mind was frantically calculating where the shooter was, which I thought was somewhere to my left, near the just-risen sun, on the other side of the dragon statue on the east side of the Green.

I angled my run slightly away, towards the kitchen garden, the nearest cover that wasn't towards the sniper. I didn't shout for help, no breath to spare. Pain was spiking up my injured leg and arm. Inside my mind, Virginia's head kept exploding. I was never so afraid. People at the edge of the lawn were looking in my direction, probably reacting to my scream, though they may have seen what happened. I heard someone shouting,

"Sniper! 'Ware sniper! Guards! Sniper!" My bare feet were thudding on the dry earth and I figured there was no use zigzagging. He wasn't behind or in front, he was to the side. All I could do was try to reach cover before he reloaded, and hope that if he was in the big trees before the wall on that side, he was pushing his range. I didn't make it.

My left arm, what I thought of as my good arm, was forward as I ran, and the bolt went straight through the biceps. The distance lessened the impact but it was still enough to spin me round, sending me tumbling over the hard ground. I stumbled to my feet, running again like an animal hit by a cart and in shock. I was slower, arm flapping. I grabbed at my bicep, trying to hold my arm to my chest, before falling into one of the kitchen garden entrances.

Some of the gardeners were peering out. They dragged me to safety then carried me to the infirmary, which was close by. I was crying. Not for me, but for Virginia. And for Murray. I tried to tell them where the bowman was but nobody could hear me or I wasn't talking aloud.

The dragon infection I'd been so ill with wasn't gone, just dormant in my system. It woke up. I only knew because in my fever dreams I heard the doctors say so. All I knew was I burned.

Nanny Black came to see me and said Azrael couldn't visit, the king was worried that he might also come down with the infection again.

"But he sends his love, precious." I grabbed her hand. She was the first person I remembered seeing since the accident.

"Someone," I said, "needs to tell Murray. About Virginia."

"Someone will," she said, "you concentrate on getting well."

#### ****

Learning to shield my mind was an emotionally painful experience. I hadn't expected it to bring up the past so much, but it seemed every bad memory was vivid and raw, just waiting for me to flick my consciousness in its direction then spring up and horrify me all over again. Not only that, but I would broadcast what I saw in my mind's eye. Virginia's head exploding was just one of a thousand horrible experiences. After all, I'd been in the army.

In books, people are always thrilled with extra-senses, but I was extremely unhappy with being telepathic. I was especially wary of getting thoughts from others. The idea of the incessant chatter of other people's minds was enough, I told Murray, to make me want to perform a self-lobotomy with a pair of tweezers.

"You do learn to block it," said Murray, trying not to laugh. "Like screening your thoughts from others, you can completely block out anything others are thinking." He smiled. "Of course, the unconscious telepathic broadcaster of any strength is rare. I'm guessing you were latent and it's been slowly building since you learned to change the first time."

"Lilith said something about people in Redoubt all knowing to screen their thoughts." Murray nodded.

"Aye, it's taught in schools. Telepathy's not common even among the cat's-eyed, at least not those born on Galaia, so teaching it around the kingdoms died out. Telepathic children get scholarships to come to Redoubt." At the village school where I began my education we barely covered the basics. I raised my eyebrows.

"Really? Mind-shielding used to be taught in Sendrenese schools?"

"Aye," he said, "all schools. Many of the first-cross children had broadcasting abilities like yours. So they needed to learn control right away. Then Dragon stopped sharing knowledge with the Blood and withdrew to Redoubt in the most part. Bit petty, really. And the teachers outside Redoubt died off."

"Astonishing how much it all changes," I said, "in just a few hundred years." He sighed.

"Less than that. Once we withdrew to Redoubt it took about fifty years to disappear from the curricula of schools outside. Now, Polo, where were we? Ah yes. In terms of the stillness within," Murray said, putting on what I called his lecturing voice, "one can use visualisation as a form of protection for the mind, and the use of mantras can help when under some kind of telepathic attack." It reminded me, in a comforting way, of how Virginia used to talk to me. He went on. My mind wandered. I still wanted a bloody holiday. "Polo, pay attention."

"Sorry." I tried. But my mind was a sieve. I was back in the village school and not doing well.

"This isn't school," said Murray, being stern, "this is life or death. Can you understand it in those terms?"

"I think I could if I had a good night's sleep." It seemed I couldn't help being sullen and fifteen again. Murray ignored my performance, which was nice of him because I was even embarrassing myself. I just didn't want to face what had to be done. Something in my mind was stopping my progress, something I couldn't see, just like poor Winifred, that big dragon who'd squashed part of her love triangle. Lost in my thoughts again, I jumped as Murray snapped his fingers at me.

"Polo!" said Murray. "Come on, focus. Your grandmother says you've been drunk every night since you arrived. Lay off the sauce and go to bed early." I sighed.

"Were you a non-com, Murray?"

"Aye, now pay attention. Even children can do it, and you're going to learn. Or you're going to have to run from Lilith for the rest of your life." The notion of that inspired me to stop drinking most of the time, keep up my physical training, and slog through interminable lessons with Murray. I did enjoy talking to him, and to Grandmama and Stefan, who I ran into at mealtimes and breaks. They were all better companions than most of the Peterhaven Hangers On.

Murray tried to explain my telepathic predicament as being like a rider who'd learned to stay on his horse by a fluke of good balance and an amiable mount, but couldn't ride another horse and only knew how to canter, not even how to walk or dismount. I simply had to learn a few other basics and I'd be able to at least stop, go, and stay on in between.

"I knew troopers like that in the cavalry," I said, "they could stay on at a gallop, but that was about it. No real control."

"Exactly," Murray said, "a lot of race jockeys are the same. With your mind communication there's no finesse or fine-tuning, though I can tell how agitated you are by how intense and loud it is. Frankly, it's frightening for another telepath." I raised my eyebrows.

"Really?" He nodded.

"Just like those out-of-control troopers." That I understood. "Let me demonstrate something," he said, "I think this will work. I'll try to keep it mild." He showed me a memory.

There was no sense of anything happening. One moment I just was sitting talking to Murray, then I was walking with Virginia in a place I'd never been, which I knew especially because there were two suns in the sky. Virginia was smiling. Her beautiful tawny opal eyes with the striking vertical pupil were exactly as I remembered. She laughed and ran a hand through her spiky silver hair.

"Gaybo dragon," she said, kissing me once, "I love you." Murray's bittersweet memory ended, and I fell back into my self.

"You're right," I said, my voice hoarse, trying not to tear up, "that's scary."

"Aye," he said, "that's what it's like if you catch one of us unawares when you're stressed or remembering vividly. We completely lose our selves. From what Stefan tells me, your extreme ability came on rather suddenly, over days. He could read you if you were upset or very focused, then your ability's evolved." I didn't care about how my ability was evolving.

"I really want to stop broadcasting, let's get on."

"Good," Murray said, smiling. "Like horseriding, you'll get better, discover control. You can begin to use your gift. Eventually you should be able to send a mind message almost any distance and pretty much head-to-head, at least that's the theory." He sighed. "Virginia and I could do it. It's how I know she didn't suffer. I'd have heard it." He looked at me, eyes filling with loss. "I only knew because suddenly, after all those years, her presence in my mind was gone."

#### ****

## Chapter 33 – Mind Games

First I learned the theory of how to protect my thoughts, then to implement the notion. Once I'd figured out what I thought of as a locking mechanism, or perhaps a woven bioplas shield, Murray spent some time trying to open up my mind. For the first week or so, I'm not sure how long it was, I couldn't keep him out. It was one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life. Having my mind forcibly opened was as bad as turning into a shape not my own or being tortured by the military police. They were all unbearably painful in their own ways. Rape is the only act I can liken having your mind opened to, a horrible invasion of self.

Once I could hold off Murray, despite being exhausted and begging for a rest, then he called in Stefan to assist. I just wanted to sleep, but managed to maintain the barrier and no longer broadcast everything, or anything, that went through my mind.

Good, they said. I could only nod, then went to bed. It was only late afternoon, but I didn't wake until breakfast the next day.

To my relief, the mental barrier was still there when I woke, as Murray had promised. It hadn't fallen down overnight. I was just in time.

#### ****

A letter arrived from Azrael, via a Dragon messenger who'd flown from Peterhaven. The letter was chatty. Azrael seemed happy with Lilith there. That was a surprise. I wouldn't be happy, facing marriage for the second time in a year. Marriage wasn't something I wanted, at least not yet. Maybe when I was older I might change my mind and stop hating the idea.

The wedding was scheduled, Azrael wrote. As I was to be the best man, I had to attend beforehand as we needed to rehearse. A wedding? Gods. Having hidden away in the army I'd avoided the marriages of the sudden rash of foolish friends rushing into wedlock before they were even twenty-one.

Azrael's letter contained more than just my orders to return to the citadel.

Some bad news, though you may have heard. Poor Grandpa Theo has died. His funeral was today. Oh, and Mother's breaks have been set, the doctors are very pleased. Mother isn't. They're saying she may not be able to walk without a stick, let alone ride.

Also your grandmother should have received an invitation to the wedding. Say hello to her and ask her to say hello to me if she gets a chance, I'd very much like to meet Polo's famous Grandmama Daeva.

I don't have a forwarding address for Dr Stefan Westwych of Bronlea, but last I knew he was travelling with you. If you see or can contact him, please invite him in my name, to stand in for my parents at the wedding. He'll need to be here for the rehearsal too.

That's for the press, of course, "as my mentor and the man who helped me regain use of my hand, Stefan's become like an adopted father" is what we'll tell them and the Hangers On. See, I'm being nice.

The messenger accepted a meal in the kitchens while I wrote a reply. Azrael's reminder to return to Peterhaven finally reminded me that I hadn't spoken to Maggie or met her as agreed so - along with my reply to Azrael - I wrote to her at the citadel. In case she was already aware of her condition, I wanted her to know that I was penitent, friendly, and at least approachable. It was mostly an apology. I said family business had called me away shortly after we met.

'After we met' was of course a polite way of expressing 'After we went crazy in that broom cupboard'. I said I'd be back in Peterhaven soon, and hoped we could get to know each other, being as a child was on its way, but didn't hint at that last in the letter. The note was sealed in an envelope and given to the messenger, along with the one for Azrael. I thought it would be read by the king's spies despite my seal, so kept it simple and sweet. Nothing for anyone to take offence to. What I had begun to hope was that Maggie might do me the favour of having a healthy bastard I could name as my heir, and in turn I'd leave her rich enough to attract any man she wanted.

If I could help it I wasn't going to marry, so wasn't going to marry someone whose only connection to me was a quick one in a broom cupboard. It was supposed to be the modern age. If a woman had her own money then any children she might have were her own business, and the coin would mean suitors. It wasn't only humans who were weak for wealth, Dragon and the Blood inherited that failing.

Marriage was of course expected of me, and I did get offers. Being rich, titled, and famous was enough to get strangers writing, offering themselves, relatives and friends as suitable spouses. They were usually addressed simply to the Duke of Starshore, Duchy of Starshore, Sendren. Being a known friend of the new King Azrael, already the most powerful person in the Kingdoms – with the possible exception of his fiancee – and me a decorated war hero, had turned the steady stream of marriage proposals that arrived at Port Azrael into a torrent. The Steward kept me up with duchy business, and among the items were the letters received, just a tally. Letters of praise, abuse, or proposing marriage. There were also the times people made offers in person in which case I was charming but firm. No. Not ever.

It wasn't that I thought marriage was a bad idea. Well, actually I did think it was a bad idea. I didn't like the way it always seemed to devolve down to a war between the participants. I had read history and psychology, was aware of how the urge for union could be twisted until people were opponents instead of partners.

That night, Stefan, King Seb, Murray, Grandmama and I went out drinking in memory of Theo. It was nearly time to go back for the wedding but Murray said I needed further testing. So the next day, when I woke into a crushing hangover, he and Stefan kept me awake for several days. They even deprived me of mindweed and coffee, in case that made me fractious enough to lose my mental shielding. I was a snarling, miserable mess, and even spontaneously changed shape once, nearly taking Stefan's head off, but I didn't crack.

The experience reminded me rather vividly of my time under torture in the military stockade, but without the beatings. There were extra attempts to trick me into opening my mind, and from others trying to open it. Murray finally said I was ready.

There wasn't time to catch up on sleep. I grabbed five hours but it just made me feel worse. I had a coffee which helped a little. A smoke would have made me feel better but when I was tired and had to fly all day it would make me either dangerously high or sleepy enough to go back to bed. Probably both, so I left Dragonbridge still tired and cranky.

We would get back a week before the wedding, in time to rehearse. I could check I had something to wear, even pop up to Starshore to see my horses, and all without Lilith opening my head. The last thing I needed was her discovering I knew about making her pregnant, or my suspicions she was planning to pass the baby off as Azrael's. Azrael wasn't good at fathering children. He'd done his best, though he wasn't really into women except in the way I liked men, as part of a threesome. His low fertility was no secret, though the family had tried to keep it out of the papers.

Lilith making sure she had a babe in storage seemed a sensible idea. There was also the firm notion that my use as a sire was deliberate. Me knowing about it, well, it seemed best not to mention it. You just didn't want to let someone know you had that kind of information.

Aside from Lilith, who was definitely on Lilith's side, I barely knew any Dragon. Did I mind if Lilith and my descendants took over? I remembered I knew more Dragon than just Lilith. My grandmother, Stefan, Murray and Virginia. A few people I wasn't sure of.

Maybe Dragon taking over wasn't such a bad idea?

#### ****

## Chapter 34 - Truth

Stefan and I landed to eat lunch, a picnic from Grandmama's. I ate as much as I dared, torn between the need to refuel and the parallel need to fly afterwards. I also tried to prepare myself mentally for a return to Court. I confessed to Stefan I was nervous.

"If I can't crack your head open, Lilith won't be able to," Stefan said.

"Oh?" I said. "Do you want that last crumbed egg?" It was pork mince round a boiled egg, the whole rolled in breadcrumbs and fried. One of my favourite dishes. Stefan waved it away.

"Go ahead." I was happy to grab the crumbed egg.

"Do you know much about Lilith's way of governing?" I said, still wondering about Dragon and if they'd make good rulers. Though, it occurred to me, we'd been ruled by Dragon since they arrived and married into the various royal families, which gave them the power to pass the laws that meant only the bright-eyed could rule. Stefan shrugged.

"I haven't been paying attention to Redoubt politics for a very long time. But it's generally a happy place. Though I can tell you Lilith's not actually queen." I'd just bitten into the crumbed egg and it took me ages to chew the damn mouthful, swallow and ask, in a surprised tone,

"Lilith?" He nodded. I was confused. "She's not Queen of Redoubt?"

"She's the Dragon queen," he said, "lower case q. There's a difference. Not many people know, but Redoubt's not really a kingdom. It's a kind of democracy."

"Has it always been one?" He smiled.

"It's a Dragon joke. Lilith's called queen because she's eldest. It's like calling her Ancient One." I laughed.

"Knowing Lilith, I can't see her standing for being called Ancient One." He laughed too.

"Aye, and she's only eldest by a few seconds. Eldest surviving, anyway. Back on Lucas, before we left to wander through the Great Silence, they made Dragon by various methods, including eggs and in artificial wombs. The eggs hatched shortly before the first made Dragons had children of their own. Lilith's one of the eggborn." I raised my eyebrows.

"I thought that was a myth." He shook his head.

"No, and I know it's true because I hatched about ten seconds after her. Though not the same parents. The eggs were all different bloodlines, carefully chosen."

"Galaia's tits," was all I could think of to say. Then it occurred to me he'd completely fobbed me off over my political question. I wasn't falling for that. "Stefan, who are Lilith's allies, at least? You must know."

"I told you, I don't know. I've been busy." It was exhausting, I decided, just being round him.

"Busy involving yourself in my country's politics instead? Busy tumbling Saraia under her late husband's nose, and brain-washing Azrael into taking over the old kingdoms?" I was in a mood and trying to fight with him. He laughed.

"Come now," he said, "the Late Perry was hardly ever there, so we didn't do it under his nose. When they went to Peterhaven to see him, I usually went on holiday to Bronlea. And Perry's been dead for nearly six years, Polo. Poor woman deserves some fun." I couldn't think of an answer to that. Stefan smiled. "As for me brain-washing Azrael," he said, "brain-washing's such a harsh concept. Makes it sound as if he had no free will." As Nanny Black, Stefan held enormous sway over Azrael, and Stefan knew it. He was also excellent at hypnosis, and had shown no compunction on using it on me for his own ends.

"You made sure Azrael is what he is!" I said heatedly. Stefan made a snorting sound.

"It's not my fault he's gay, Polo." I made an exasperated noise in return.

"You know I didn't mean gay! He's a megalomaniac! Stop evading the issue."

#### ****

By the time we reached our overnight stop, a different one from the place we stayed at on the way there, Stefan and I were somehow not talking to one another.

Once showered, settled in a very comfortable hotel room with a pipe of mindweed and a plate of sweet biscuits and coffee, I felt much better. Nobody was demanding I stay awake while they tried to peel me from the inside, and at least for tonight, there was no Royal Court to deal with. The whole argument with Stefan seemed silly, borne out of over-tiredness on my part, so I went to say so but he wasn't answering his door. Or he was gone. I decided he was out. He wasn't as emotionally impulsive as his son.

The man on the desk downstairs said Dr Westwych had gone for a walk and said to tell me that he'd be back soon, but if I wanted dinner to go ahead without him. I felt like food and maybe a good book before bed, so decided to take the good book to dinner with me. I was carrying several back from Dragonbridge. One was a gift from Uncle Seb, entitled _Diving Ducks of the South,_ filled with the loveliest hand-painted pictures of ducks, both on land and diving for food.

Grandmama also gave a book as a present, _The Voices Inside_ , one that promised possible insights. On the flyleaf it said it was a psychological exploration of the toxic effects of dysfunctional families.

"I am sorry," said Grandmama as she gave it to me, "but I do think your mother's unbalanced." I shrugged.

"Aye, and Father too. They're both mad."

"I've read the book," she said, "your mother's bought into a pattern that brings her results but not happiness."

"That seems plausible," I said.

"I blame myself," said Grandmama, "I should never have tried to keep your grandfather around once I realised he was an alcoholic." She shook her head. "I thought of relegating him to the stables but the grooms said he was a liability because he would smoke in bed. He wouldn't stop drinking either. That always struck me as an attention-seeking form of suicide, with the ones who love you forced to watch."

"That's what Father is like," I said. "I get angry, wish he'd just get it over with instead of doing it slowly." Grandmama gave me a hug.

"Sadly your mother's been trying to save every man in her life ever since your father died. She blames herself, which is silly. Don't you fall into that trap. Anyway, enjoy the book, dear." Instead of reading that or the duck one, I decided to start on a novel bought in the hotel lobby, a thriller about a navy captain fighting Blackship pirates in the eastern seas.

Stefan arrived back before I made it through the excellent tomato soup with herb-buttered fresh bread or the second chapter. I put the book aside, offered a piece of my bread and found Stefan also much improved in mood.

"Sorry about being so bad tempered," I said, "I was tired. I'm also a bit nervous about dealing with Lilith."

"We should have stopped earlier," he said, getting stuck into the bread and signalling the waiter. "With the amount of energy we use, changing and flying, we need to eat regularly. Three meals a day isn't enough." He ordered his dinner, and I sipped at my wine. Venison was ordered for my main, and was going to be delicious if it was half as well-considered as the soup. I was thinking to go to bed right after dessert, but wasn't going to miss the food. "Don't fret about coping with Lilith," said Stefan, "I think you'll do well. We'll get you back to Peterhaven, see what's what." I was fatalistic.

"See if she opens me up like an oyster."

"Murray thinks you're fine, so do I. Oh, thank you," he said to the waiter, "here's my soup."

#### ****

There was a roof terrace overlooking the town. We had a pipe there after dinner, listening to music filtering up from the nicely-distant late-night bar. I could hear the sounds of people having fun but was too tired to consider going down to join them. Above us the stars were undimmed, dancing across the sky in a twinkling multicoloured river. The cold was bitter but we'd been lucky with the weather, clear skies and no rain or snow. We talked softly.

"So," I said, remembering something, "once the wedding's over I'm coming down to Redoubt, going to look for the shuttles. I want to see if there are working ones." He nodded.

"I hope Lilith decides to tell you the truth." I breathed out smoke.

"Why? I mean, aye, I get she wants them hidden, but why?" He shrugged.

"If the tribe think there is an escape," he said, spreading his hands in a gesture very like Azrael, "they won't try hard enough to assimilate. Two thousand years wandering, earning our living by shedding blood." He wrinkled his nose. "It was enough. So the shuttles were hidden. Though used in emergencies."

"Lilith thought people wouldn't try if they had an escape?" I said. He laughed.

"Aye. We were to finally settle somewhere. Securing the kingdom borders was to be our last war. The war to end all wars, what a crock. Same old lie." I sighed. I knew about that one.

"Aye, one last push, boys, and we'll all be home by New Year." We both shook our heads. "But," I said, "Dragon stayed involved in the kingdoms. They're even fighting in the north, but they're keeping a low profile."

"Aye, Lilith's immortal speech about not taking part in the wars of men is a bit misleading." He seemed about to say something, then change his mind. Instead he said, "You know how it is, Polo, history's not the truth. They're rewriting history with those books about you. In a hundred years, people will think that's the truth. As for Dragon, well, plenty of Dragon and Blood are good at war, and think being a soldier is a fine life. So although there's that speech about Dragon leaving, they're still around, still fighting." I nodded.

"Plenty of humans think the army is a fine life," I said, "I can only think they haven't lived. I don't think it's very fine at all." He laughed. However, something else was bothering me. "So what was Lilith talking about in her speech, when she said Dragon would no longer take part in the wars of men?" The line had been quoted for centuries.

"She was politicking, lad," said Stefan, waving his pipe, "appealing to the idiots who don't bother to think about the rousing words and if they're actually true. The ones who react emotionally."

"She tapped into the mob mentality," I said.

"Aye," said Stefan, "that's it. Dragon has that as much as any human does. And let's face it, Lilith's good at evoking an emotional response." He laughed. "And a physical one." I tapped out my pipe. Lust was an emotion.

"Aye," I said, "emotion is the enemy. Especially when I'm tired. So I'm going to bed, because I really don't want to be emotional when we get to Peterhaven. Good night, Stefan."

"Night lad, see you in the morning."

#### ****

Before I slept I wrote my journal, and had just closed it when Cree appeared.

"Evening," I said aloud. "I'm about to sleep." I slid the journal onto the bedside table.

_You're cured_ , he said. _Lilith won't be a problem_.

"Aye," I said, "I learned to shield my mind." I pulled the covers up. "Was there anything else? I'm beat."

_Sleep well._ I dozed, heard something and opened my eyes suddenly. The curtains were closed, the room thick with darkness.

"Who's that?" I said, yawning, thinking damn, it was morning already and a maid was in the room.

"Jules," said a woman's voice, so close to my ear I could feel her warm breath. One of my ghosts, I thought.

"Anything wrong?" I said, so tired I could hardly be bothered speaking.

"Nothing's wrong," she said softly, close to my ear, "go back to sleep."

So I did.

#### ****

## END

To Be Continued in _Polo Shawcross: Dragon Outlaw_

# ###

## About the Author

In real life, I'm Australian and currently live on the Gold Coast in Queensland.

_Polo Shawcross: The Birthday Dragon_ and _Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier_ are free, this one, _Polo Shawcross: Dragon Skin,_ (part of the second pair with _Polo Shawcross: Dragon Outlaw_ ) is not. But it's still cheap. I'm raising money towards a printed version and working on some other books that have been waiting their turn while I finished this quartet.

Thanks for reading, it means a lot to me 

What would also mean a lot would be you leaving a review. At Smashwords or wherever you downloaded this. It makes a huge difference to my books' visibility when they have reviews. Just 'I liked it' and a rating is all you need to do.

If you'd like to help out more, while finding out more about Polo and where he's going next, you can join my Patreon, www.patreon.com/Lee_Abrey

Lee

#### ****

### By Lee Abrey

Polo Shawcross: The Birthday Dragon

Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier

Polo Shawcross: Dragon Skin

Polo Shawcross: Dragon Outlaw

#### ****

## You can read more or contact me at:

\- Patreon <https://www.patreon.com/Lee_Abrey>

\- Twitter @stinginthetail twitter.com/stinginthetail

\- email at lee_abrey@bigpond.com

\- I also blog at https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com/

My author page at Smashwords is at <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/shawcross>

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