 
# Polo Shawcross: The Birthday Dragon

# Lee Abrey

A version of this book was published 2011 as part of the e-book  
The Birthday Dragon by Polo Shawcross

Published by Lee Abrey at Smashwords  
Copyright © Lee Abrey 2011-2018

### Cover Art and Design by Lee Abrey

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

### License Statement

This free ebook may not be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted, or shared without the author's permission. It is free to download from Smashwords, their distributors, and their affiliates only.

Please, let other people download their own copy or download one for them. Every download counts. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

#### ****

#### For Author Notes, Other Books, and Contact Details

#### See End.

###

### Dedicated with love to

### The Delta Reader

Whose life I stole

### Enjoy

#### ****

## Chapter 1 - Somewhere, Somewhen

I hoped to write this without reference to sex. However, as I suspected, sex is so tightly interwoven with my story, to try to tell it with my clothes on just doesn't work.

Besides, you need to know exactly how shallow I was.

#### ****

It was a while before I realised I wasn't like the commoners. They were human. Father was human.

Grandmama Daeva, Mother, and I were only descended from humans. I was also descended from Mother, something that even before I went to school was a worry. Mother was Grandmama's daughter, something Grandmama refused to take the blame for.

When the stranger they said was my father came out of the army, I was two. My world had barely coalesced around me. I was very suspicious of the pair of them. If they really were my parents, why didn't they seem to know each other?

As Father told the story many years later, he arrived at Grandmama Daeva's townhouse in Beech Wood, which he had visited on leaves and was the only place he thought of as home, to find we were moving. Mother had taken the lease on a farm even further from the capital than Beech Wood. Most of his possessions were already at our new place. He was twenty-three and just out of the snap and panic of the Northern Front.

The farmhouse kitchen was scattered with half-unpacked boxes. Father was completely horrified. Mother happily bounced me on her knee. She had dark hair and eyes. Father was blonde like me, though his eyes were blue and mine were green. He shut his eyes, opened them again and shook his head.

"Tess," he said finally, "you took a fourteen-year lease on this place without even telling me you were thinking about it?"

"But Evan," Mother said, trying to make him understand, "it was too good to pass up. We'll live in touch with the land, like your peasant ancestors. My trust fund will pay the rent and a bit more. Whatever we make we can spend." Father groaned. Mother smiled. She knew he'd be thrilled once he understood what a good deal it was.

"It's only fourteen years," she went on, "but terribly cheap. Good fertile land with permanent water. I was lucky enough to take over a lease through Cousin Perry." Crown Prince Perry was a distant cousin, heir to the throne of our Kingdom of Sendren and duke of our Duchy of Beechwood. "Polo can grow up in the country," said Mother in a dreamy tone, hugging me closer, looking happy, which made Father groan again.

"Galaia preserve us," he said, by now sounding exasperated, "fourteen years? Men get less for murder." He looked thoughtful. "Especially if there are extenuating circumstances or provocation. Like wives going insane, that kind of thing." Mother frowned. I wriggled to get away from her and over to Toby, the cat that came with the farm. She let me go and I slid to the floor. I loved to bury my head and hands in Toby's belly fur and push him across the tiles. Toby, a remarkable nursemaid, tolerated it.

"Evan?" said Mother, an eye on me in case the cat tired of the game.

"It's a bloody hour by horse to the nearest civilisation," said Father, trying to make her understand. "And that's only to your mother's in Beech Wood, a small market town, not even a decent city. It's another four hours to a main highway."

"Don't you want to be a farmer?" said Mother, sounding shocked.

"Tess," said Father, getting angry, "of course I bloody don't! I hate farming! Don't you remember why I joined the damn army? I could have stayed up in Blackrock herding sheep, not bothered with breaking my balls to get into the damned Military Guild and giving the army five years of my life!"

"But Evan," said Mother, unfazed, "it won't be horrible. I'll make cheese." Father breathed out. "We won't have as many sheep, for one," she added in a cheerful tone. Father shut his eyes and began banging his head on the table.

On a book, Mother always pointed out, he wasn't really trying to injure himself. I personally thought the book was just luck. My game with Toby interrupted, I sat up and watched, fascinated. The cat took advantage, hooked a claw into my romper suit and pulled me over, putting one foot on my head before beginning to clean my forehead thoroughly with its rough tongue. I began to cry.

"Shush, Polo," Mother said, "Toby's only licking you." I cried louder. She rolled her eyes but came to my rescue, wiping my forehead with a hankie. Toby purred at her.

"And while our son's being eaten alive," said Father, "by some filthy feral cat-"

"Toby's not feral," said Mother, trying to stay calm, "he's a housecat. And a good mouser. I'm keeping him." Father gave her a look.

"As I was saying, I think I'll go to the local inn. I saw it on the way through the village. All two bloody buildings. I'll have a drink and wonder when my wife went completely bloody mad."

Mother and I played with Toby until she judged Father had enough time to get most of a drink down him, then she drove the cart back through the village and shouted through the window for Father.

"Evan! We're going back to Beech Wood, are you coming?" It was a ruse. She was only going back to check she hadn't left anything at Grandmama Daeva's place, and to return the cart.

I wanted to stay at Grandmama's too, but Father and I had to go with Mother.

#### ****

Grandmama often minded me though, which I enjoyed.

"You must never think you are better than anyone, Polo," Grandmama told me, "just because you're Blood." I was playing with some toy at her feet. "All men, and women, are equal. Blood or peasant, we're all people. Blood might have some advantages but they can be as stupid as the next person. Dragon blood doesn't stop idiocy," she said, curling her lip a little, "just look at your mother."

"Shouldn't say things like that to the boy," said the day nanny, looking up from her book. I had nannies at Grandmama's, servants drafted in on Polo-duty during my visits, which were often weeks long.

"Polo's too young to remember all the silly things Grandmama says," Grandmama said firmly, "aren't you?" She softened her tone. "You're my precious boy." Toy forgotten, I beamed up at her, held up my arms, and made it to her lap. The servant shook her head.

"Your grandson's precocious and precious, ladyship, don't say I didn't warn you. He picked up swearing before he could walk properly."

"Mostly from his mother," said Grandmama, her tone sweet as she bounced me, "didn't you, pet?" I giggled and demanded more bouncing. The servant muffled a laugh and went back to her book.

Grandmama told good stories and never screamed, so of course I liked her more than Mother. Even at that age I knew better than to let on.

#### ****

Blue Hill Farm was on the edge of the tiny village of Lower Beech, the farm named for an outcropping of blue granite at one side of the back paddock. When I say the farmhouse was a cottage, I don't mean it was a pleasant twelve-bedroom mansion with panoramic views over a thousand-acre estate, I mean a three-room cottage comprising a kitchen and two bedrooms, with twenty acres of pasture behind and an acre kitchen garden round the house.

The former lessee left a note asking that Toby the cat be looked after and brought inside at night, at least to the barn if we were the kind of folk who didn't like cats indoors. Mother, happy to give Toby the best of everything, hid that note from Father. Toby was gentle with people but killed mice and rats with an insouciant efficiency, laying out their bodies for Mother to admire next to where she milked the cow.

Father refused to so much as close a gate when it came to farm work, which had the desired effect of Mother banning him from opening any. He said he had enough of sheep, crops, and everything to do with them before he joined the army, which he only left as the result of losing an argument with Mother.

As Grandmama Daeva put it to one of her friends some years later, not realising I was in earshot,

"Teseraia brought that poor man back by his balls. Told him she was tired of being alone with her mother and a baby, and that several would-be beaus would see to her if he wouldn't. Silly bugger gave up his career then gave in to her on that stupid farm. Now she thinks she owns him."

When Father discovered Mother tricked him into leaving one of his great loves, the army, to be a farmer, and Mother realised he didn't want to be one, the war between my parents began. She was sure he'd come round. Oneness with the soil was his birthright.

"Peasant," she said, hands on her hips, surveying the vegetable garden, "is not a derogatory word, it means 'of the soil'. We are the Blood, but the peasants are the lifeblood." It was a quote from the _Book of Thet_ , the "we are the Blood" bit. They both quoted it to me, despite neither of them being religious.

However, Father didn't come round to the idea of shepherding, even for a small flock of exotics. The chickens made him itch, and he and the cow hated each other on sight. So Mother worked the land and Father found a job as a clerk in a local law firm in Beech Wood. It gave him an hour commute by horse every morning and evening. Mother wanted him to buy a season ticket on the coach so she could get rid of the horse. Peasants didn't keep horses, she reasoned, ignoring our peasant farmer neighbours who did indeed keep them.

#### ****

## Chapter 2 – Growing Up in Lower Beech

To me, life seemed normal. My parents snarled at each other and Father drank too much. Like everyone else in the old Dragon kingdoms both my parents smoked mindweed, but Mother grew and cured her own, often soaked in her own apple brandy then dried. She tutted over the villagers' laziness, in going into debt to the village shop rather than growing a little garden.

When I was about five, Father stopped smoking much and started drinking in earnest. Mother began locking her fruit and vegetable wines away, which probably saved his life, her concoctions being much too strong to be drunk on any regular basis. Father went more often to the inn, or to the officer's mess at the small army garrison only a minute's walk from our front gate. The garrison-next-door gave Father an extra bolthole Mother hadn't counted on. They weren't expecting invasion, spending time hunting outlaws in the mountains.

Once I started school, it became obvious even to me that by local standards our household was a strange one. It wouldn't be so radical in a city, but in Lower Beech a peasant married to a Blood woman was considered extremely eccentric. The local children were all commoners, and asked me questions.

"Isn't your da afraid your ma will change shape?" I didn't know.

"Can you change shape? Were you born in an egg? How far away is your Dragon blood?" I didn't know anything.

"Your ma's got those cat's-eyes, even weirder than yours, is she Dragon?" With Mother, I was fairly sure anything was possible but told them no, she was Blood.

"My ma says your ma's cousin to the king, will you be king?" Nobody had mentioned it, and I assumed it wasn't the kind of thing one surprised a child with, so told them no, then went to the adults in my life and asked them.

My parents refused to answer most of it, saying it was silly. They were both convinced we should ignore all differences between species, especially since I was partly both. I knew I was a half-breed, but half-breed wasn't a kind word the way the children said it.

Before starting school I learned to read, something Mother thought would give me a head-start but instead made me more of a freak. Grandmama Daeva was having me to stay by then for weeks at a time. Grandmama answered my questions and taught me to use the town library to find out answers to anything she didn't know or thought it would do me good to research. Though I often missed school I learned a lot. She did confirm I wasn't born in an egg, though we read at the library that a long way back, Dragon tried eggs as a way of having children.

My weird eyes? They were Dragon eyes, which saw better in the dark and also shone in it. There were different markings, all with some crystalline or metallic colour. My eyes had a green iris, the outer ring a shining copper, called an orbital ring.

Grandmama Daeva's eyes were the colour of emeralds, with a flash of topaz fire in their depths called solid crystalline. Mother's were a kind of opalescent. Cat's-eyes were a throwback to our Dragon blood. Everyone was very vague about that, saying only that 'somewhere back' there was a pure Dragon ancestor. It wasn't class or wealth that made the Blood, it was their genetic inheritance.

"Only the cat's-eyed can be king," as Grandmama told me, "or even a duke or a lord. Only Dragon can rule." At the time, I didn't understand what that meant. After all, Dragon hadn't been seen in the old kingdoms for hundreds of years. I thought she meant down south in Redoubt where Dragon lived, they could only rule there. I went on with my questions.

"Am I in line to the throne?" I said.

"Only if about three hundred people die," Grandmama assured me.

"Can I change shape?" Grandmama said yes, it was quite possible when I was bigger, if I worked hard.

Father wouldn't discuss it.

Mother laughed and said it was a fairy story.

In the library, the books were as divided as the adults' opinions. Some said changing form was unlikely but may have happened in the past, which I thought was a shame. I would have quite liked to have turned into a dragon and chased off the village children who tormented me.

At first the nastiness wasn't physical, but before long I had my first black eye. The local boys might have overlooked me being half-Blood, but I also read for pleasure. Luckily Father was already teaching me games involving sparring, swords, and mounted combat, so I could fight, but unfortunately those skills meant I was attracting the attention of much older boys who could put me down with size alone.

On Father's advice, the next time a fight looked likely I hit the boy first. I broke his nose and was left alone for a while, then they came after me in a group.

Mother, while dressing my wounds with many dirty looks at Father, suggested that next time I tried running away. I took her advice, but to my disappointment, I discovered I wasn't fast even when running for my life.

Up until then I was a firm believer in the notion, instilled in me by Grandmama Daeva, that anyone could do whatever he or she wished hard enough for. My dream of turning into a winged Dragon wasn't looking likely if I couldn't even will myself into outdistancing a bunch of peasants.

The next time I was accosted, deciding that perhaps some melding of parental advice would work, I hit the ringleader very hard just before I ran. It worked, and with varying degrees of success became my usual way of dealing with trouble. Hit first then run away. I aimed to cause enough noise, blood, pain, or tears to distract the mob while I legged it for the safety of my mount, home, school, or the library.

Thus passed the years from about six to eleven.

#### ****

Puberty saved me. I shot up in height and put on muscle. By thirteen I was nearly six feet tall and could pass for much older. Suddenly, even in a mob, attacking Polo Shawcross wasn't worth it. Even if they got me on the ground I hurt too many of them badly. The peasant boys suddenly did no more than jeer. I kept busy sparring with the officers at the garrison. Everyone said I was very good, and there was pressure to choose a career in the army.

Even at that young age, caught up in the silly romantic notions boys have about being soldiers, I didn't fancy the idea. Despite my reluctance there wasn't much else to do in Lower Beech except train to fight. Father was talking about sending me to a military high school for intensive training but fortunately he and Mother were going through a very bad patch and forgot me, so I continued at the village school, which covered kindergarten right up to pre-guild with only four teachers.

We still had a horse in those days and I could go riding if I finished my chores. A few months after my thirteenth birthday, I was riding in the woods one lazy afternoon and surprised two girls having some fun of the naked kind. They were older women, all of seventeen and eighteen. I may have surprised them but the shock I went into was physical.

The horse took advantage of my distraction and shied hard sideways. I fell off, reappearing from the undergrowth blushing and apologising for crashing in on them. The girls laughed and laughed, holding clothes to their tantalising flesh.

I stood there, clutching the horse's reins, smiling, trying not to stare, not sure what to do or where to look, and praying to the gods I didn't believe in that the girls would let me stay. Emma, the eldest, said,

"Oh, isn't he cute when he blushes?" Of course, I blushed more. They giggled and offered me a glass of wine. We talked, they said they weren't locals. Not knowing their ages, I pretended to sixteen when asked, a man of the world. I'd never even kissed a girl. Well, only once and very quickly.

"What do you think, Polo," said Emma, "of letting the lady finish first?" I wasn't at all sure but could tell from her tone what the answer should be. I was definitely in favour. She gave me a saucy look.

"Would you like to learn how?"

"Yes please," I said honestly, having heard there was a way to make a woman go off, thinking it was some sort of secret place one touched once and there she went. I discovered that was wrong but the reality was quite simply amazing. The afternoon became a sensual adventure. I tried to follow their instructions and worked hard, though I also enjoyed it, more than I thought possible.

Once we had our fun that day, ladies first, they suggested we could have even more fun the next day if I brought another polite young man for them to play with. That was tricky. In the end I confided in one of the younger soldiers at the garrison, swearing him to secrecy about my age before dragging him off.

Emma said he'd do. The anticipation building, we all sat down on blankets. and smoked some mindweed liberated from Mother's stash. Emma handed us both condoms. The soldier smiled and put a handful more on the blanket. The lasses showed some of the style that had made me fall off my horse. Then they stopped.

"We girls will do each other," said Emma, her eyes bright with lust, "first though, you two boys have to do each other." The soldier and I looked at each other, raised our eyebrows, and then didn't hesitate. We did a show, were rewarded as promised, then we all had as much fun as four willing young people, with few inhibitions and a good supply of condoms, can manage.

Yes, I kissed him. At first we didn't, though there was some biting going on, but the girls asked us to. Kissing him was different from kissing Emma or Florence, the other lass. Men are harder and often less inhibited. The girls liked us boys kissing each other a lot and it got them very hot. Though happy to have sex with men, I still preferred kissing girls. After all, when one was in an orgy, flesh was flesh, you couldn't keep ignoring each other or apologising if you touched. Well, you could, but Emma and Florence both swore they'd put their clothes back on if any man did that.

Some people are terribly damaged by early sexual experiences. I wasn't one of them. Not saying I was a well-balanced lad, but I was used to being an adult. Someone in the family had to be and sex was just part of being grown up.

That I was only thirteen didn't bother me or my lovers, though I confess to lying about my age if I could, but most of the time I couldn't. Emma and Florence were tourists staying with their cousins, whereas everyone else for about ten miles around knew me, my family and my age. However, from then on matters sexual certainly filled my spare time. It's not only in the cities that young people have sex, there's not much else to do in the country.

Like any teenager, I ignored my parents as much as possible, though I did my chores and helped out on the farm. Otherwise I was training at the garrison, reading, and plotting sexual escapades. Those required plotting as Lower Beech was a small place. A limited number of single girls to tumble meant broadening my scope. Fortunately for my sexual appetites there were a number of frustrated married women more than happy to entertain me when husband and children were out or asleep. Offering to do chores around the place got one all kinds of payment, and I learned several things, especially that the maxim 'all women are different' is certainly true. In addition, it taught me to schedule time and be completely discreet.

Though not a believer I was a student of religion, and wondered about the morality of bedding my neighbours' wives. I decided it was their sin not mine. I wasn't cheating on someone I professed to love. Married people always said, "I still love my spouse," just before they took their clothes off.

There was a new use for pocket money, or the coin Grandmama usually gave with gifts, because I was scrupulous about using condoms, not wanting to be tied to a girl I didn't love, trapped in a village I already longed to escape.

#### ****

Aside from sexual explorations, my everyday life was very narrow in focus. It narrowed further at fourteen, after our horse broke a leg in a panic during an electrical storm and was put down. Mother held the purse strings and decided we had been spoilt having our own horse. From now on, she said, we would do as the peasants did. Walk, and hire or borrow a mount as required.

Thanks to Father's drinking he lost his job at the lawyers' office so was no longer commuting. His new post as a forest ranger included a horse that wasn't kept at our farm. The horses were kept at the Royal Forest Depot, a new building since our arrival in the village and an easy walk away.

For all the work our horse used to do Mother hired a carthorse from a farmer neighbour, which wasn't cost-effective and tended to leave us with heavy jobs piling up then all having to be done in one day before we took the horse back. Instead of being happy to pay for livery hire as she said, she expected me to walk everywhere, though if going to see Grandmama Daeva in Beech Wood, I was allowed a livery.

Later that year, quite suddenly, Grandmama moved away. With her gone and no horse, I was trapped in Lower Beech and hated Mother for it. Not that she noticed, too busy fighting with Father, who was drinking harder than ever.

To get away from them, and by happy coincidence to a decent library, I took over marketing the farm's extra produce, trusted to hire a livery then ride alone to the Beech Wood markets on Sundays. I could visit the library and dream of a world wider than our little farm. Maybe find a tumble while I was there. I did seem to find lovers easily.

I was apparently handsome, though not pretty, so an admirer told me. Enough masculinity coming out of my pores to make women feel susceptible and men get a case of hero worship or want to hit me, sometimes both. I laughed at those words but judging by everyone's reactions, the summation was exactly right.

Adults of both sexes would instantly disapprove of me, often while they tried to get my breeches down. I was mystified over what people saw in me. I looked in the mirror and could see I wasn't ugly, though with my blonde hair and bright green and copper eyes, it was easy to see I wasn't a dark-haired, dark-eyed peasant. My nose was still straight despite being broken a couple of times. My lips were full and chiselled, something women responded to and mentioned often. By the time I was fifteen I could pass for about twenty.

People treated me as I looked, and I was suddenly exploring a previously untapped source of sex, married couples wanting a threesome to bring some excitement. I was only a few years younger than many of them. Too often they were still children, acting at being grownups. It was educational, watching their tribulations after having married young. Mostly, you saw it in their eyes, the regret that they settled so soon. My own parents, by then in their mid-thirties, seemed to be suffering from the same kind of emotional immaturity.

I was a normal teenager, my world revolved around my whims. I was better at sex than most, which I couldn't take credit for, being well-taught. If a woman's pleasure came first, then a man's could follow, on and on. I had offers thanks to my looks. Couldn't take credit for those, either.

Along with that aura of masculinity, I had good shoulders, which Grandmama Daeva told me, marked a man.

"Stand up straight, Polo, people think more of you. And always be polite."

I had no real idea what I was doing, stood up straight, and always let the women finish first, because that was polite. The few local Blood women liked me as a bit of rough, me being half-peasant and thus a little dangerous. Women do like a bad boy. Then there were the peasant girls, to whom I was an exotic creature they felt they should try at least once. I had more offers than even a teenage boy could handle.

It was how it was, and I dealt with it. Mostly, I enjoyed myself.

#### ****

One Sunday in the Beech Wood library, I went around a corner in the warren of the Ancient History section, and bumped into someone coming the other way. Neither of us was paying attention and we both apologised. I looked into his eyes. He looked into mine. I was thinking, Blood, here? I never saw any Blood my own age. His hair was jet black, and even I knew his eyes, with crystalline markings of shining stars on a dark blue iris, were called Westwych blue. We whispered, standing very close.

"Hello," he said, looking friendly.

"Hello," I said and smiled.

"Fancy meeting another of the Blood in here," he said.

"I was just thinking that," I said. "You're a Westwych? I'm Polo Shawcross. My mother's a Casterton." It meant we were cousins, of some kind. He grinned.

"Aye," he said, "I'm A-Al, Al Westwych. Hello cousin." We shook hands. Having a little of Mother's mindweed, I offered him a smoke.

"There's a roof garden upstairs," I said, "it's sheltered, warmer than going outside."

Al had some excellent mindweed of his own, and we made each other laugh. All too soon, a big man with short-cropped black hair and grey eyes shot with gold came to collect my new friend. The big man didn't really speak, just appeared on the roof and nodded to Al, who sighed.

"I have to go, my uncle's here." Al smiled at me. "I really enjoyed meeting you, Polo."

"You too, Al." We shook hands again.

"I'll come back next week," he said, "we can go for coffee or something." He glanced at the uncle, who didn't nod but didn't shake his head, and I said that would be good. Al bounced off next to the uncle, who was rolling his eyes as Al told some story. As I went to collect the hired horse for the ride home, there was a bounce in my step too.

Every weekend for a month I haunted the library, even if Father was away or when I didn't have anything to sell at market.

It took a while, but eventually I gave up on Al.

#### ****

At the garrison-next-door I was like a mascot. The officers would forget my age, and even the ordinary soldiers treated me like one of the lads. I was allowed to exercise the horses too. Aside from Mother and me, the officers there were the only other Blood in the village locality.

It was only a few days before my sixteenth birthday. Exams just finished, at the end of the third term out of four a year, so only one term then one year left of high school. Three reasons to celebrate right there, and in Lower Beech that was something. I went drinking in the village inn, ending up with officers from the garrison. I already felt very grown up, as if my birthday itself was simply an outward sign of my already-evident inward maturity. Also, at last I was a legal tumble.

The officers were tossing back whiskeys so I had one, and another. Very pleasant. Then I lost count. Being Blood meant I could see better than most, but drink affected my eyes badly. Blood were also as stupid as anyone else when drunk. Or when sober for that matter. The genetic engineers hadn't managed to make higher intellect or the ability to reason a feature of Dragon that stayed constant in the species.

When one was high on mindweed, as I was in my few previous drinking experiments, the sensation of getting past slightly tipsy became an unpleasant one. I usually drank very moderately and stuck to lemonade or shandies. The latter was a mild mix of lemonade with ale. Though I saw alcohol's extreme effects on others often enough, Blood and commoner, I hadn't personally experienced drunkenness.

That day, I hadn't smoked anything at all. The officers competed to tell me funny tales of their wartime exploits, and I stayed out late, until midnight. I even had a polite drink with Father, which was a first. I went home, such a good boy, then sneaked back out to the inn.

I wasn't drinking by then but my night vision was already gone. The inn was closed and even Father had staggered home. I had no idea what came over me. I hadn't looked seriously at the barmaid before but, as alcohol does, it clouded my reason and I wanted her, badly.

Afterwards there were fractured images in my brain, of me falling into the barmaid's cleavage, fumbling with a condom, frantic sex against the bare wall with the extra frisson of risk of discovery.

That stopped being fun the very moment we heard her husband the innkeeper calling her name as he came down the stairs. I left the barmaid pretending to be having a late night smoke on the back stoop, and tried to be quiet, fleeing, squinting, into the night. I was thankful for the glow of the luminous highway surface and the solar lamps at the barracks. The soft light gave me something to aim for. Except for the quarter moon, which shed no useful light at all, the sky seemed to be pitch-dark.

Our driveway entrance loomed into view, lit with a solar lamp so Father could find his way home. I tried to trot lightly up the track to the house, in a frantic tip-toe gait so as not to wake my parents. Sure I was about to be attacked from behind by the innkeeper, I kept stopping to listen. I might be stronger than a peasant, but an angry husband with a pickaxe handle would still crack my skull.

Heart thumping and booze-blind, I sneaked into the farmhouse kitchen. Feeling my way around the furniture, wondering how Father coped seeing like this all the time, I nearly jumped out of my skin as Mother's voice rang out in the silence. I did cry out. She was sober and could see me well.

"What in the name of Galaia are you doing, Polo?" she said. "If you piss in the pantry like your father did that time, I'll kill you with my bare hands." I hiccupped, buying time. My hands were shaking and I was semi-incoherent.

"Drunk," I said, "a bit. Sorry." I hiccupped again. "Promise, won't be like him." I waved my hands around and nearly fell over. "Just a phase. Besides," I slurred, "this is stupid. I can't see. Why would anyone drink?" I resorted to flattery. "You're a good mother, have I told you lately?" I groped for the sink and a glass of water, managed to get one down me.

"Go to bed, you useless lump," said Mother, which was much nicer than I was expecting her to be, so I did.

#### ****

## Chapter 3 – Sheep and Consequences

When I first drifted into consciousness my brain was beating itself to death on the inside of my skull, the pain so bad I wouldn't have been surprised to find - due to some nasty and unremembered accident - my brain wasn't actually in my skull any more.

Was I hit last night? I sat up and almost threw up. What had happened? At first I didn't remember much past that drink with Father. Then I remembered crawling in drunk and Mother being nice to me. I was in too much pain to wonder why. I remembered the barmaid, and groaned. One inn in the village and I was potentially barred from it, two years before I was even legal to drink.

For some reason I was awake at the usual time, just before dawn and before Mother. Most of the booze had worn off and I could see again. Pulling on work clothes and socks, I tripped and nearly fell into the still-dark kitchen. In the pantry was some ground willow bark. I stirred a half a spoonful into water and managed to swallow, nearly dropping to my knees with the effort.

Mother insisted on harvesting her own willow bark, or rather sent me to the willow tree to harvest switches, which we peeled. She would then dry then grind the bark, instead of buying it ready-powdered from the apothecary. She considered buying any of the apothecary's powders, pills, and tinctures an occasionally necessary but overly-expensive evil.

I wouldn't have minded but she didn't bother to powder and sift the homemade version properly. Trying to sieve it with my teeth, I coughed a bit while my head tried to explode. I drank more water to wash away the dried bark coating my throat, put the light on, and read Mother's label. It said, _Steep in hot water then strain_. I sighed. It was that kind of day already.

The willow bark would work eventually. I put the coffee on, drank more water and nicked some of Mother's mindweed stash, which I smoked quickly while drinking my first coffee, standing outside the back door in my socks, hoping not to be caught but past caring. She knew I stole mindweed, but I was good about not taking more than a few smokes. Besides, 'for medicinal purposes' was excusable. As she always told me, she didn't smoke it just for pleasure, but for pain relief too.

Father didn't smoke mindweed much. Mother said it was because he was always too drunk to feel any pain. Father said Mother was in denial, and being high all the time was why she smoked. Some years before, worried for them both, I made the mistake of explaining carefully about Father's addiction to alcohol and Mother's role in helping him continue. Aside from my research at the libraries, the drink killed Grandpa Casterton, and there were books at Grandmama's on the subject.

As parents do, mine had used the information in their own ways, usually to score points.

"Face it, Tess," Father told her, "you like being out of it." He mimed half-closed eyes and a smile. Mother snorted her disgust.

"Married to you, it's a wonder that's all I ever take! You've caused me enough bloody pain to make me an addict to dreamdust!"

As they'd fought on, I wondered whether dreamdust, a dangerous narcotic, would kill them without any pain. If I didn't have sex for a month, could I afford enough for them both with only one month's allowance?

After some research I decided a poppy juice overdose would do the job. I fantasised about killing them or myself moderately often. More often, I dreamed about just running away.

The war between my parents would rage on, but my headache was easing. Exhaled smoke hung over the cobbles and the morning light was soft and grey. The little farmyard was quiet, everyone else still asleep. With a second pipe, I sucked down more coffee, feeling at least half-human. So much so that I laughed at the joke. I was indeed half-human.

The rooster began to crow, waking the rest of the farm as the first light of the rising sun hit the barn. I had been going to skip them, but began my katas or martial exercises, using one of several heavy practice-sabres Father kept in the barn. My blood was soon pumping though I wasn't awake properly, but then I was never awake properly before noon.

#### ****

By the time I had turned the pigs and chickens out of their sleeping quarters and fed them, the cow was waiting for her breakfast. Though I could supply that, Mother did the milking. Thankfully swordplay and farm work meant my hands and fingers had too many calluses for me to be a good milkmaid. That suited me because I didn't like crouching on the milking stool to milk. Mother was five-eleven, nearly my height, and didn't like crouching either, but she wore gloves for chores so her hands were soft.

My hangover was feeling worse again so I went to get another pipe, wondering how Father managed to drink every day. Mother was awake, about to do the milking, and thinking she'd be pleased if she knew I was suffering, I mumbled,

"Hangover, stealing your mindweed." She just nodded. I pretended that always happened, and grunted. Taking the smoke, I headed for the far paddock to check on the sheep.

#### ****

My Uncle Doug, who was really Father's uncle, gloomily told me once that like all their kind, and crossbreed sheep more so, they were angst-ridden. Like half-breed teenagers, Mother said, which I thought was unkind.

The sheep were definitely depressed. They seemed to enjoy life, and loved their feed, a good scratch, and being let out to grass, but it was just a front for their real purpose, death by any means. All our sheep tried to commit suicide at an alarming rate, and the crossbreeds added to the collective depressive tendencies of the flock.

Mother had bought a pretty black-faced ewe, one of the Northern Fines, tupped by a champion Torc Wavy ram. The ewe had crossbred triplets, a ram and two ewes, before killing herself, possibly over the shame of half-breed lambs, by escaping the barn and lying down in a spring snowstorm. We hand-raised the lambs, which added scope to Mother's breeding program and wool production, but being treasured additions to a cosseted small herd did nothing for their sense of self-worth.

It was barely spring, the thaw turning the world to mush, everything wet. Too cold to shear yet, so heavy wool and the weather gave the sheep scope for their meeting with the goddess of death. As I walked, I wondered if Haka took the souls of sheep. Grandmama Daeva said once that Haka took the souls of ponies. I had been worried about my old pony not meeting the goddess's exacting standards. He hadn't always been a good pony, but I hoped he was accepted anyway.

The sheep ran up to me. I told them I had no food. Since they always believed the worst of people, they followed me suspiciously for a while in case I was lying, then gave up. The crossbred ram was missing, and I said,

"Zol's balls!" which was my favourite curse of the moment.

Some people thought gods didn't like you using their names unless you were praying, but the local priest agreed there was nothing in the _B_ o _ok of Thet_ that said we couldn't. I might be an atheist, but I liked wondering about religion, and especially arguing about it.

Mother and I were surprised when the priest said my avowed atheism was no barrier to a career in the church. "Priests," Mother had said, rolling her eyes after he left, "such pragmatists." The priest was trying to get me to join the Temple Guild, probably because aside from him I was the only person in the village who'd read the _Book of Thet_. I only read it out of boredom, not devotion.

#### ****

As I slid down the damp slope towards the stream, I decided if one believed in souls and in animals having them, then the soul of a sheep must also go to Haka. She was the Collector of Souls so all belonged to her. That begged the question, did sheep have souls? They certainly had no brains at all. The crossbred ram was known as Bertram, which made Mother giggle. In the same spirit she named his sisters Eunice and Euphemia.

I could hear Bertram bleating, then saw him lying half on his back in a damp hollow, weighed down by wet wool. The beast had rolled over a small ledge onto the stream's bank and was stuck, legs at an angle against the slope and unable to roll against the great bulk of his winter fleece. The ewes had all moved away, leaving him to die.

No real solidarity amongst sheep, another of Uncle Doug's sayings. When Bertram heard me coming he began bleating louder, and I could see he was wriggling, happy to see me. Quite affectionately, I said he was a moron who didn't have the sense any ordinary animal was born with, then knotted my fingers in the thick wool and heaved him away from the ledge.

Bertram suddenly saw the possibility of death by drowning, weighed down by me, and pushed off hard. He shot free and I stumbled backwards, hands caught in his wool just long enough to yank him back off-balance. With perfect timing the bank gave way and we fell together into the stream. It was freezing, about to my knees with snowmelt, but lying down it was plenty deep enough to cover most of Bertram and all of me.

Winded from the impact, I lay on the bottom of the stream, twitching a bit. It was very uncomfortable. Not to mention the flailing sheep on top of me. I wasn't sure if it was the cold or the wet but Bertram decided to choose life and struggled valiantly to get to the bank. I couldn't quite breathe, but being underwater, that wasn't a bad thing.

As far as starts to the day went, this one kept getting better. It seemed to take minutes, but was probably only a few seconds. The ram hadn't managed to kick me in the head. Recovering movement, I tried to curl up, an arm up to protect my face and head, rolling onto my side. I got my head above water and Bertram moved for the bank, bleating loudly, probably telling the ewes that damn Polo foiled his suicide plans again. I floundered in the same direction then had to cover my head with my arms as Bertram lost his balance and fell one last time, mashing me flat before falling off me and onto his feet, before standing on me as he leapt for the bank.

On its way to gaining purchase on my thigh, one of Bertram's hooves caught me in the left testicle. He scrambled up the rise, safely this time, and paused at the top. I was in agony, half in the icy water, coughing up the stream and part of the bank, then throwing up the coffee and willow, hoping to lose all feeling below the waist soon. The thigh was going to bruise and though fortunately the groin hit wasn't hard, any man will know a light flick is sometimes enough to bring us to our knees and empty our stomachs. Bertram looked down from the bank as if interested to see if I could resist putting my head under the waters and finding peace in death.

#### ****

After some time - hours, days, who knows, even Bertram had wandered off - I crawled out of the stream and limped back to the cottage, shivering and squelching angrily. Father was in the bathhouse singing peasant rebel songs. I peeled off wet clothes and boots, dumped the clothes in the laundry, then hopped over the freezing cobbles to the bathhouse, where Father was still hogging the shower and the hot water, singing about the cavalry. I took a towel and, muddy or not, picked up my boots and went to wait in the kitchen, where at least it was warm. I stood on the threshold, shivering and dripping, hoping Mother wouldn't throw me out.

"B-boots," I said, my teeth chattering, "g-got w-wet." She rolled her eyes skywards.

"Galaia preserve me," she said, "well get in here. Don't put them in front of the fire, stuff them with straw and put them over there. Let them dry, then you can brush off the mud." I looked at her, trying for piteous. She sighed. "I'll fetch some straw in a minute," she said, "no sense in you catching your death. What in the name of Thet happened to you?"

"Bertram," I said, and explained. She found me another towel and an old blanket, tried not to laugh but gave up eventually, especially when I reached the bit in the story where the mongrel animal got me in the groin, but she let me wait next to the stove with a fresh coffee.

Father came in, laughed at me too, and I went to shower, praying the solar system was pumping out enough power this early to keep the water warm. Mother didn't want us being soft, so had shied away from installing a generous number of panels in the array.

One day I'd escape, from crazy parents, demented animals and never-ending mud, to somewhere with a decent hot water system. I promised myself enough solar panels to heat a big tank of water, perhaps a water turbine for all-night power too, even if I had to sell Mother or Father to get them. I idly wondered about selling at least one of my parents in Kavarlen, as some members of the Blood wishing to inherit had allegedly done. They allowed slavery there.

However, as I had nothing to inherit, much easier just to leave. As Mother always said, she might be related to rich people but she wasn't one of them. She and Father were expecting me to do something at a guild when I finished high school at the end of the next year. Father particularly wanted me to go to his alma mater, the Military Guild. I fantasised about faking my own death and disappearing, perhaps to join a circus.

During the most recent term at school, the teacher talked about skill-sets and career paths, mostly what skills went well with which guilds, but I hadn't paid attention. Anything would do as a career, providing it was away from my parents, paid my board, and gave me good books to read. Maybe I could be a librarian.

Though good at fighting and riding, I was no natural talent. To get to a high level I'd worked hard. I still didn't want to be a soldier. Getting hit in a spar hurt too damn much and without armour it hurt even more. Being actually attacked with an axe didn't bear thinking about.

What else was I good at? Animals liked me, the experience with Bertram notwithstanding, and I was handy round a farm. I didn't want to work on one. Like my father, the country life wasn't for me. Though I wouldn't mind a rural life mixed with an urban one.

Perhaps I should join a circus after all. I was strong and could swim. I could row. Perhaps a move north to the Great Star Lake or to one of the coasts, to be a fisherman. Although I liked sex, and there was only one career where that was pertinent. I couldn't think of a damn thing else. My view of the world was a trifle narrow, which I knew and found frustrating. My knowledge was limited by the collections of books in the local libraries or what the people around me knew.

#### ****

At the kitchen table, Father was on his final coffee. It was his rhythm in the mornings. Two coffees before he could leave, nothing to eat until he got to work, then they'd stand around eating hot bacon rolls fresh from the bakery, griping about the poachers and stray stock in the king's forest, which was most of the land to the north and west of us. Until then, Father read out bits from the newspaper, which though was bought yesterday, was in fact two days old.

"Young Harris ended up in the hospital at Beech Wood," he said, "idiot knelt on his own pocket-knife while working in his vegetable garden. Needed stitches." I winced. I knew Harris, he was a complete twat, but a knife in the knee must be nasty. "Galaia preserve us," said Father, "Miz Pinkerson at Upper Beech managed to get herself in the eye with a pair of scissors while doing close work. Doctors say she may not lose the eye, amazing."

I tried not to listen, and munched on my toast. The local news knew what people liked. Gossip and gore. I didn't mind the gossip, but gore at breakfast was more than my addled brain could cope with. "Keep expecting to read about Polo in the gossip columns," he said, giving me a look over the paper. "You were getting on well with the barmaid last night."

"I always do," I said, "but then I tip." He snorted.

"Our son's getting a reputation round the village," said Mother, laughing, tossing her dark hair back, talking about me as if I wasn't there, "any day now there's going to be a queue to his bedroom." Father curled his lip and looked over at me. I returned the look.

"Polo's as likely not to be there," Father said, "but while the wives wait in line, he'll be off doing their husbands."

"I don't do men," I said, slouching past on the way to the sink with my plate. "At least, not without women." I paused, smiled beatifically at them both and took a last mouthful of coffee. "You know," I went on, "in a melee it's impolite to squeal and pull away." They both scrunched their eyes and pulled faces.

"Polo!" said Mother. "I do not want to know." I shrugged.

"Faggot," said Father. I didn't look, but waved my free hand from the wrist, very camp, as Mother turned on him.

"Evan!" she snapped. "Do not call your son that!" Father shouted back at her,

"I'll call him anything I bloody want to, Tess! He does it with men!" I minced out, heading for my bedroom, laying on the queen just for them. I didn't usually pretend to be effeminate, just being known as a book-reader was enough trouble. Anyway, I liked women too much to be gay. I was omnisexual, but whenever I tried to tell my parents that they both shouted at me.

"If you hadn't introduced the boy to all those Blood soldiers," said Mother, "he'd never have developed a taste for depravity!" As I went round the corner and out of sight, I was pretending to be deaf and trying not to laugh.

Father was pretty strait-laced for someone who'd got through three years in the Military Guild and another two in the army, and shouted back that it was her blood made the boy who he was. The boy. Like I was something they made one summer, but lately felt embarrassed by.

Now I was old enough, I was working hard to make sure they had something to be embarrassed about. They both hated that part of my reputation was for doing men. I found it amusing that neither would have minded as much if it were just women. Why not do both? It was fun.

If I ever found one of those half-and-half's, I'd enjoy doing him or her, whichever he or she preferred. The soldiers at the barracks who'd been to the front, where there were whole brothels full of them, said most of them liked being her. I was bewildered by that, why would any man want to piss sitting down? Not just for an occasional change, but always? Even women admitted that was a very good aspect to being a man, the pissing standing up part. Besides, why would you want to be a woman? Women were often crazy. It wasn't just mothers.

Thinking to have more breakfast, I went back into the kitchen. They were shouting about sending me off to school somewhere so that their lives would be better. I felt bitter at that, although I knew it wouldn't work. When I was young, they sent me to Grandmama Daeva whenever - as Mother explained - they needed a break from just being parents. Like they worked so hard at that. Grandmama would take me off visiting her friends in other kingdoms, and I was gone sometimes for months, but it never stopped my parents fighting.

As I wandered round them, getting more toast and coffee, they settled a bit. I sat at the table with my food.

"Done your katas, lad?" said Father, which was his way of making peace. I nodded, taking another mouthful of toast. He drained his coffee. "Want to come for a spar?"

"Mmm," I said, in a non-committal tone, pointing to my mouth while I figured out how to get out of it. I'd come to hate sparring with Father, mainly because I could beat him easily and was having trouble hiding it. He'd taught me well, and I had his gift for war games. But the drink was slowing him while I was coming into my full speed and strength. I chewed slowly, trying to get my morning-hating brain to come up with some excuse.

"I need him," said Mother, before I could reply, "he's supposed to clean the solar panels on the barn roof." I was? I groaned. She ignored me. "And the barn."

The barn? Oh gods, it was the first day of the school holidays. Didn't I get any time off? This was her revenge for last night.

"Boy needs to spar, Tess," said Father, looking sorrowful, "he'll lose his edge." Mother went to the sink and Father got up too. I decided sparring beat cleaning the barn. I looked hopefully at Mother, willing her to forget it for now. Father was edging towards the door.

"One day won't hurt," said Mother, giving me a stern look, "he trains every morning. This morning he's in no state to fight. Besides, let's call it like it is, Evan." She turned to Father and put her hands on her hips. "You mean you'll lose money on him." Father and I looked at each other. I gave a slight shrug. I hadn't told her. It was probably one of the villagers. Many men adored or were scared of Mother, and the news of Father earning coin on my fights was a decent titbit to get on her good side. As Grandmama Daeva said, Mother was too beautiful for her own good.

"What am I supposed to do, Tess?" said Father. "They're all betting on him or each other. Be a fool not to put a coin down." Mother's eyeballs were starting to roll upwards in their sockets again.

"He can't get decent odds on me any more," I said helpfully, "not unless they're new in town. We haven't had a good win in ages." Father nodded.

"I suppose you drank it all," said Mother, looking down her nose at both of us. I wasn't taking the blame. I didn't know what Father did with his winnings but pissing it away seemed plausible. I was only fighting, nothing to do with the gambling.

"I didn't get any of it," I said smugly. Father gave me a dirty look.

"You had a hangover this morning," Mother said, sounding nasty.

"End of school," I said promptly, "and I used my pocket money, which I get because I work hard around the place. Unlike some people. And unlike some people, I'm not drinking every night." It didn't hurt to remind her that Father wouldn't do any work on her farm and spent a large part of his earnings on alcohol. He edged closer to the door.

"Evan!" said Mother, noticing him as she followed the track of what I was looking at, but it was too late, he was gone. I sighed.

#### ****

Unlike me, Father was a damn fast runner. With his blonde hair and light eyes, from a distance he might look like he had Dragon blood, but his genealogy was pure peasant. Unlike Mother or me, he was human. Not that Father or I thought it meant much, peasant or Blood, other than the latter than being stronger and having funny-coloured eyes. It was like the difference between men and women. Men often had better upper body strength, didn't mean they were superior.

Although a peasant, Father joined the Military Guild and graduated in the top ten, against the cream of his generation, every one of them stronger Blood. He served, was promoted as far as captain, and given an honourable discharge after two years in the north.

Mother didn't think peasant or Blood meant much either. After all, she said, human was what Dragon once were and intellectually we were all equal. The physical enhancements of Dragon didn't detract from us all being people. Of course, the locals considered Mother and Father to be radicals, each married to the other side.

As one of the villagers explained it to me, they didn't understand why Mother was slumming it, wedded to a peasant and pretending to be a farmer, or why Father persisted in trying to rise above his station in life. His family were wealthy commoners, wasn't that enough for him? Why had he gone to officer school and married into the Blood?

I didn't care about class or race. I did think they were both mad. Now, abandoned by my father, trapped in the kitchen with Mother, the lecture began. The subject was how I was a trial to her and an embarrassment to her good name, as if Father wasn't enough.

For a bleary moment, I thought that my school report had arrived already, then realised it was only the usual. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I tried not to yawn as she warmed to her theme. The shame of me was so great she could barely hold up her head in polite society. If she listened to all the gossip she'd have to leave the kingdom and go somewhere news of her son's shenanigans didn't precede her.

Mother never left the farm and none of her friends cared what I did, but I didn't correct her. She listed what I must do, which involved learning to keep my pants up at all times and ignoring the invitations of women, and men.

With escape impossible, I surrendered and went for more toast and coffee, saying mmm or grunting on occasion, just so she knew I was listening. I also made some more willow bark tea, this time in the proper manner, and eventually helped myself to her mindweed again because she hadn't stopped talking and it was making my head hurt.

She didn't say anything sarcastic as I took the mindweed, which should have been a sign, but I was too hungover to appreciate signs. I think a giant raven could have landed in the yard with "I'm an omen!" painted on its forehead, holding a sign in one huge claw, something like, "Look out, Polo! Dark events are afoot!" and I probably would have walked past it. My mind drifted, though I kept an ear on Mother's outpouring in case I need to grunt or show penitence. I was ready to say almost anything to shut her up.

#### ****

By the time she let me go, she was feeling better. I was feeling quite joyous to be away and even the freezing wind on the barn roof didn't bother me much. Mother didn't like heights so couldn't get up there to talk at me. I saw her heading round the house with a hammer and hoped it wasn't another job she needed me for.

After I replaced a faulty panel in the array and cleaned it up I climbed down out of the wind and into the barn. It was pretty bad, but I'd kept the stalls mucked out over winter, every day removing the manure and any wet straw with it, so with a hose I was able to wash out the rest, just using a stiff broom to sweep out the excess water before leaving the building open at each end to air.

#### ****

## Chapter 4 – Happy Families

When the cleaning lady arrived, I was heading into the bathhouse for the second time. Molly winked at me as she went into the house. I could hear Mother giving her orders. Aside from the faulty cell, I'd switched off the array while working on it, so the water was cold, but cold water ceased to matter so much when covered in manure and mud slurry.

Despite the chill, when I came out of the bathhouse and saw Mother heading into the village, I felt a definite urge to steal a few moments with Molly. She was sweet, with dark curls and creamy-skinned curves, a bit older than me, about to turn twenty-two, with two children and a husband, not that any of that bothered us.

We had a rule, no messing around while she was working, but there was no truth to cold water being helpful in stopping those urges, unless perhaps one dunked oneself in a pool of it and stayed there until the other person left the country. Even then it only stopped the act, not the thoughts about it.

"Your ma's gone to the village," said Molly, as I came in, towel round my hips, heading for my bedroom and clothes, "she's got a fitting at the dressmakers'. Reckoned she'd be a while." Molly gave me a saucy grin. "Put some pants on, help me get the cleaning done, we'll have time for some fun."

For Molly's kind of fun, I'd do more than my share of the chores. We hurried through making the beds and dusting then I swept the floor before Molly mopped. She shooed me firmly away until we finished.

"That's work done," she said finally, and grinned. "Now, laddie, shall we go make a mess of your bed? Just a quick one, mind, and I'll see you tonight. Rob's gone playing darts. It's their tournament."

"How about here," I said, and pointed to the kitchen table. "Want to be a good girl and bend over?"

"I didn't think we'd get to see each other before tonight," she said, flipping her skirts up to show me a plump and completely bare arse. Molly hated knickers. It was one of her many charms. I turned her round, kissed her, and admired her cleavage in front, before turning her round and admiring her cleavage from behind.

#### ****

All was going well, better than well, and my headache was completely gone. I closed my eyes, focusing on sensation. I don't know what I heard. Perhaps some exhalation of breath that wasn't part of the rhythm I was lost in.

I opened my eyes. Molly must have done the same, because we both made squawking noises and hastily separated, smoothing our clothes, pretending we'd bumped into each other.

Our act wouldn't have fooled a two-year-old and Mother had been watching long enough to light up a smoke and lean back against the doorframe. I hadn't heard the match at all. Gods, I thought, how long was she there? How long were my eyes shut? Minutes?

Mother had stepped into the room to get to the sideboard where the mindweed and her pipes lived, as she didn't carry them with her. How had I not noticed? My all-over blush intensified. Mother breathed out smoke and stood up straight.

"Molly," she said. "you're fired. Polo, go to your room, you're grounded. I'm going to talk to you in a moment. Right now I need to pay Molly out." Glad to get away, I began to move, thinking I might follow my father's example and run, but Molly grabbed my arm. Bewildered, I looked at her.

"No, Polo," she said, looking fierce and very dramatic.

Finally I understood an omen. This boded ill. Worse even than anything that had happened so far today, which I would have thought was impossible for a young man with a bad hangover, busted sneaking in from an illicit late night, grounded on the first day of the school holidays after having been kicked in the groin and nearly drowned by a suicidal sheep, and let's not forget, just caught doing the cleaning lady - the 'married and nearly seven years older than me' cleaning lady - by my own mother, who, to make things worse, was even now laughing at me. So much she was crying.

Right on cue, my headache came thumping back. After a little thought, I decided now was not the time to steal some more mindweed, probably the only sensible thing I'd done in a week.

"Um," I said aloud and mumbled, "I have to go to my room." Mother sniggered. I hated her with a passion. "Molly?" I feebly raised my arm and Molly held on. I looked at Mother, who was giggling and wiping her eyes with a handkerchief while she put the kettle on.

"You tell her," said Molly. I looked blank. I looked at Mother, who shrugged. I looked back at Molly and shrugged at her. It was still morning and I wasn't even awake properly.

"Polo and I love each other," said Molly, turning on Mother, pulling me closer. I stumbled in that direction, not yet prepared to resist and lose that much skin. "I'm going to divorce Rob," Molly said, waving her other hand, "we're going to marry, and you can't stop us!" My jaw dropped. Mother grinned and headed for the ashtray on the dresser.

"Actually," she said, obviously enjoying herself, "I can, Molly. He's only fifteen, had you forgotten?" Molly obviously had. I felt her fingers tighten on my arm enough that I tried to pry them off me. I wanted some distance from both Mother and Molly before I spoke. Molly was only five feet tall but I knew enough to know any woman spurned was dangerous. Size really didn't matter. I was going to do as Mother said so Molly was going to be angry. She was already sputtering. Mother was enjoying herself. Still. "You'll end up in gaol, Molly," she said, "and I'll be glad to testify against you.

"Polo," Mother repeated, "go to your room. Molly and I have business to discuss."

Mother was likely to use one of Father's military throws if I didn't shift it. I wasn't the only one he'd taught them to. And she was Blood like me, so strong, plus I couldn't hit her. She on the other hand, had no such compunction over clobbering me. Now she paused, gave us a bright smile. "Unless you'd both like me to call the polis in?" she said. "I prefer not, it will end up in the papers, you know what they're like." I shook my head vigorously and redoubled my efforts. It would have been easy with a man but, hamstrung by manners, I couldn't break a woman's fingers.

"Will you wait for me, Polo," said Molly, finding her voice, and the glimmering of a plan, "if they gaol me?" At first I was so engrossed in trying to get away politely that I didn't realise she was talking to me. "Polo?"

"What? Me?" I said and looked blank again. Mother rolled her eyes. Molly wouldn't let go. Mother wasn't going to leave. I was trapped. I was being forced to have to have The Conversation in front of Mother. It was going to be ghastly. Was a meteorite about to hit the house and save me answering? I looked hopefully upwards but it didn't seem likely.

"Praying won't save you," said Mother, grinning. "Imagine if I hadn't forgotten my purse." I hated her from the depths of my soul.

"I'm an atheist," I said automatically. "Mother's right, Molly, I'm under age." I took a breath. Having started, it wasn't so bad. Screw Mother, as Father would say. I remembered my trump card. I tried to be a man and look Molly in the eyes. "And I don't love you. Sorry." I wondered why I was saying sorry.

Molly had never mentioned love before. She hadn't mentioned something else before either, leaving Rob. I had the feeling she meant to saddle me with Rob's two children, which was a little more than I was hoping for out of the relationship, being as I was fifteen and only there for the sex. However, I didn't want the polis there.

#### ****

The local senior constable had mentioned if there was any more trouble from me doing married women, they'd let the husbands at me.

"Which means you'd have to leave town," he told me.

"That's not fair," I said, "you're sworn to protect all the people." He laughed.

"Tough, young Polo. We don't get paid enough to get into love triangles."

"But," I said, "I don't love her." It was a different her then. I always had at least one spare woman in case, as Father put it, one threw a shoe.

I was honest about my multiplicity of partners, thinking if the women knew there were others then they wouldn't fixate on me. It hadn't worked well so far. I was beginning to understand that life wasn't that simple and women were endlessly complicated.

"They obviously see you as a ticket to coin, lad," the senior constable had said, his tone kind, as if to an imbecile. He was a peasant, I was Blood. Didn't I understand how people saw me, how the world worked? "Women like that," he explained, "they like the idea of riches."

"But we're quite poor," I said. "I have dirt under my fingernails. You make more than the farm does in a year, and you get free meals." I knew that because I had considered a career in the polis but was put off by the idea that the local criminals would run a sweep on who would break my nose first, with a bonus to anyone managing it in the initial year, month, or even day. Nothing personal, they did it to all the constables, but me being Blood would definitely made it special.

#### ****

I focused on the present. Molly was looking at me with angry brown eyes. Not like Mother's or mine, hers were brown and long-lashed, normal human brown. Eyes that didn't shine or see well in the dark, but pretty eyes, combined with silky skin I had been lost in. She finally let go of me, throwing my arm away from her like a gnat swatting a horse. I took a hasty step back, one eye on Mother in case she tried to outflank me.

There were only two exits, three if one counted the kitchen window. I was edging towards the door that led deeper into the house. In a pinch, the lock on my bedroom door should hold them long enough for me to get the window open and escape that way. Molly took a step towards me.

"So I'm just a tumble to you, Polo?" she said. I paused in my edging away and shrugged.

"No, of course not. But you said it was for fun." I felt childish, saying 'you said', and it was excruciating talking to her in front of Mother, but the last thing I wanted was an angry husband on the doorstep. Again. I looked at Mother, who waved me away. I bolted. Coward? Of course.

In my room, I realised that strange feeling was the condom I was still wearing. Once cleaned up, I opted against bravery and hid there with an ear against the wooden wall, thinking it was fortunate we weren't rich like the peasants thought we were. In Grandmama Daeva's house I wouldn't have been able to hear the conversation.

"I'll make it eight golds," Mother was saying, her tone icy. "And you and Rob pack up the kids, leave Sendren. I want you well away from Polo."

There was a pause. I was open-mouthed. It was a huge amount of money, two year's wages for Molly if she worked six days a week, something that in Sendren in those days was the norm, though thanks to Rob working, Molly only did a few days for Mother. "You don't see the boy again," said Mother. The boy, I thought disgustedly, it's as if I was a parcel.

"Make it ten," said Molly, matching Mother's tone, "after all, we'll be leaving family. You pay more for everything as newcomers. Then there's Rob, he's going to take some talking into it, especially as I'll have a time finding a way to do it without letting on the real reason we're leaving or why I got the coin." Another pause.

I reflected how little I knew any of the women in my life. I did know our household budget to the copper, thanks to doing my part of the bookwork when I brought coin back from the market. Us holding ten golds was unheard of.

"Maybe I gave it to you," said Mother, "but as a gift. In the circumstances." I wasn't sure what those were and wondered what they'd been saying before I started eavesdropping. Did she mean instead of calling the law? But that didn't make sense.

"That could work," said Molly, who a few minutes ago said she loved me and was now negotiating her fee to leave me forever. "Come to think of it," she said, "make it fifteen." At least that was a decent amount of coin. Three years' wages for love seemed reasonable.

"Ten and I'll give you a glowing reference," said Mother, "that's all the savings I've got, Molly, except the rent money. You know I don't have much coin."

"Twelve," said Molly, "only because I know your ma won't mind fronting you two golds for the rest of the rent and your cousin won't mind waiting on it. Thanks, I'll take the reference. Can you do one for Rob?" Pause. I heard Mother say,

"Deal," and then Molly gave the reply,

"Deal it is," which meant it was like a contract. They must have shaken hands.

"Excellent," said Mother, sounding pleased. Then I couldn't hear what they were saying.

The back screen door closed. As she went across the yard Molly's footsteps sounded light, almost skipping. And that was that.

#### ****

I got out my diary, lay on my bed, and began to write about the fickleness of lovers' hearts bought with gold and how I was a worn shoe, to be discarded. I was trying to work it into a poem but the shoe metaphor wasn't working, as you could often mend a shoe. I sighed. Mother walked in without knocking, as she always did.

"Mother!" I said, affronted, as I always was. "Can't you knock? A man likes a bit of privacy." I held my diary to my chest so she couldn't see. She pushed her way onto the bed next to me and I realised she was staying, so closed the book and slid it under the pillow. We sat with our backs against the wall and I waited.

"A man," she said, and poked me in the arm, "doesn't do other men's wives. Or let his mother end his relationships for him." I tried to protest that I'd spoken up and said I didn't love Molly, but Mother wasn't listening.

"Honestly, Polo, can't you find any single women? She's a damn good cleaning lady and if we weren't leaving Lower Beech I'd be very angry with you. Pissing on your own doorstep. On the bloody kitchen table." Mother began to slump down the wall.

"We never did that before," I lied, Mother slouching beside me. I was waiting to see how angry she was, which would be shown by how much swearing was incorporated in her speech. I reckoned if I was sitting forward a little I could beat her to the door.

"I bet you damn well wouldn't have wiped it down afterwards," she said. I sat up on the bed. Then it registered. I shook my head.

"What? Mother? What was that?"

"It's really disgust-"

"Mother, what did you say?" I said. She stopped, making an angry gesture with one hand.

"We eat off that bloody table, you idiot child! Can't you keep it in your-"

"No," I said, not to be deflected, "that wasn't it. What was that about leaving? Leaving Blue Hill Farm? We're leaving?" What now, were we heading into the wilderness to live in a tent? As she shook herself and sat up, I braced for the next crazy idea.

"Oh yes, I was going to tell you," she said, "well I meant to tell you earlier but what with your exams, I didn't think it was a good time." I opened my mouth, closed it. Opened it again.

"Where are we going?" I said. She suddenly smiled. Her gracious smile, the one that said she knew I'd be pleased.

"You're going to Peterhaven!"

"What?" I said, flabbergasted but not horrified. "Father's finally agreed to live there?" She smiled again and now the smile was very bright.

"Don't be silly, Polo, your father would never agree to live at Court. Even if he did, I don't want to. I want to stay in the country. Your father," she said, and chewed at her lip, "well, he wants to be in a city, but not one where my relatives are the local bigwigs."

Why had they suddenly given into Grandmama Daeva's advice about my future, which for years she'd said would be better-served at Uncle Theo's? My life didn't make sense any more. Mother had never made sense so that was nothing new.

"I thought we had no money," I said, remembering something else, "but you just gave away twelve golds. Are we rich after all?" She shook her head.

"No," she said, "but I told your grandmother I was expecting to pay off the cleaning lady you were tumbling and she sent twenty golds." I blinked. Molly and I had fallen into a trap. Then I winced at the idea of Grandmama Daeva knowing I was having sex and who with, and also at how beholden I now was to her.

"Twenty golds?" I said aloud. Mother grinned.

"I haven't been bargaining at markets all these years for nothing, eh? Dealing with Molly came in under budget. I can buy myself a present." I laughed.

"So you made a profit," I said, "but you lost a cleaning lady." She sighed and patted my leg.

"And a son. After your grandmother wrote and tipped me off to your affair with Molly," she said, "your father and I decided-" I made an incoherent noise then managed to speak.

"Grandmama Daeva told you?" I was horrified.

"Someone wrote to her, darling," said Mother, as if I should have known this would happen. "She can't keep it a secret, not to her own daughter, not if the whole village knows." I thought she bloody could and was sure the village didn't know or Molly's husband would have been trying to kill me. I felt devastated. I'd trusted Grandmama.

"Must be nice," I said, miserable and angry, "all these people nothing better to do than interfere with-"

"Save the teen angst for your father, Polo," Mother said, sounding firm and taking the moment right away from me, "he appreciates angst. No idea why that man doesn't love sheep. As I was saying, you're going to Peterhaven. Your Uncle Theo has invited you, again." She pulled a sheaf of papers out of her apron pocket. "We decided it would be good for your last year of school." So I was going in a few months, which was alright. I wasn't going to be nice about it.

"He's not my uncle," I said, sounding sulky.

"Second cousin?" Mother said. "And your third, I think. On Grandmama's then Grandpa's side. Whatever it is, darling, you're invited. His grandson's your age and there are other boys, all at the Citadel School. It's the best school in Sendren, which will set you up nicely for whichever guild you want and it won't hurt that you get to meet some of your cousins and the other Blood children. Networking is very-"

"Wait," I said, suddenly paying attention, "where will you be?" She smiled that overly bright smile again.

"We're going to Torc, dear. You know, over on the west coast? Your father wants to make a new start-" Not again. I tuned out. "Polo?" I'd missed a cue, what had she said? I had no idea. "You could listen," she said, and smoothed a paper on the bed. "See?" She tapped the letter as I dutifully looked. "Uncle Theo hopes you and his grandson get on. He's mad for war games too, he says." I imagined some nutcase cousin who slept with a sword and wore armour at the breakfast table. He would enjoy self-flagellation and going running at dawn.

The letter was on thick cream paper, the best quality, the header done tastefully in black and gold, the green dragon embossed down the left margin picked out in exquisite detail, all of it in expensive metallic inks. As Father said, Uncle Theo was rich beyond most men's wildest dreams.

"There's plenty of space for you," said Mother, "it will be fun." I groaned. I would be trapped with a bunch of strangers who would report my every move to Mother. We heard Father coming through the back door, and both looked towards the back of the house.

"Fun?" I repeated and snorted. "Don't say that. Not when you're farming me out to some distant relations in order to perpetuate your co-dependent relationship with your alcoholic husband. Which I regret teaching you both about as you use it-"

"Sometimes," she said, rolling her eyes, as I tried to continue, "I regret teaching you to read. Or even to speak! Now shush, I need to tell you about tomor-" Father crashed in.

"What are you doing in here?" He was slurring his words and missed the switch the first time, fumbling it on. Mother and I blinked in the sudden light. "You'd live in the dark," he said, "wasn't for me." Mother and I saw rather well in low light and hadn't noticed the gloom.

"We're talking, Evan," said Mother, gesturing at us, "as you can see."

"You're drunk," I said, and stood up. "It's not even noon."

"Day off," said Father, enunciating his words and pretending to be sober. "Stopped for a quick one."

Father worked as a forest ranger, and that only because Mother had used her influence. It was the kind of job reserved for those who couldn't function in ordinary society, so made for Father. It started early enough that he could get through to knock-off time without a drink.

"All day off?" said Mother, sounding suspicious.

"Not sure," said Father, looking suddenly sly. "Mare threw two shoes in the mud yesterday. She's due re-shoeing all four and needs her feet trimmed but the smith is busy until at least lunchtime. He's doing new rails for the upstairs of the inn after those lads fell through the wooden ones last week."

"So you thought you'd get drunk while you waited?" said Mother, who was up off the bed too, hands on hips. I eyed the window. Could I get it open and get out before she noticed me? Father was blocking the door but was backing up fast, so I waited. If I played it right he might take the brunt of her explosion over my behaviour with Molly.

I sat back down on the bed and tried to be invisible. Mother had left Uncle Theo's letter behind. I picked it up and the paper crackled. A foolish move as Mother remembered I was there. "I'm telling the boy he's off to Peterhaven tomorrow," Mother said to Father, "so you and I can start over, and what do you do?" I gasped.

"Now Tess-" said Father.

"Tomorrow?" I said, sounding rather high-pitched. "Tomorrow? You didn't say tomorrow! You said for my final year. I've still got another term to go of this one!"

"Don't you talk to your mother in that tone!" shouted Father.

"I did say tomorrow!" shouted Mother. "Both of you, be quiet, I'm trying to explain what's happening tomorrow!"

"Talk to her like you do when you're drunk?" I shouted back at Father. I was furious and happy to take out on him whatever Mother had done to me. "I should be rude, sneer, call her names, and treat her like dirt?"

"Don't talk to your father like that!" said Mother. I threw my hands in the air.

"You're as bad as each other!" I said, losing my temper. "A pair of petulant children!" To call someone a child was one of my biggest insults. "Fine," I shouted, "get rid of me! See if it does you any good. It won't because he's an alcoholic and you're enabling him! And not only should you not have taught me to read, Grandmama should never have taught me to look up subjects in the library!"

Father was trying to argue, Mother was trying to shut him up whilst still telling me off, and he got past her, fists up, roaring at me to get off the bed and fight. So I did. I bounced up and gave Father a nice straight right to the jaw. We'd sparred since I was small. Of course, since I was about twelve we always sparred in places purpose-built for training with armour on, and we never hit above the shoulder.

The little cottage wasn't as resilient as the timberwork in the sparring pits. We both bounced off the walls there. To my surprise, and to Mother's, the impact of my fist in anger put Father Right through the wall of my room. He didn't seem surprised, only unconscious. I was mainly surprised at how thin the wall was. There was nothing more to it than a skin of plaster over some twigs and mud woven through some battened uprights.

Mother and I rushed to see. For several horrible moments, I thought Father was dead. Then he opened his eyes, told Mother he loved her, hadn't he taught the boy well, and passed out again. Then he woke up again.

Mother, her fingers probing for a pulse in his neck, turned to tell me off some more, and Father threw up all over the hall then passed out once more. It wasn't just the Blood men who were strong. Mother put Father over her shoulder, swearing so much that I was surprised she had any wind left. She marched off to the nearest doctor, in the infirmary at the garrison. I offered to carry him, but she said I could stay and clean up seeing I made him be sick.

#### ****

## Chapter 5 - Last Day at Blue Hill Farm

By the time I cleaned up and put up a temporary piece of wall, with the house airing and incense burning in the breezeway, I was filthy again. Another shower, this time thankfully with hot water, and the smell of vomit finally left the inside of my nostrils. It was almost lunchtime. The perils of early rising included momentous events before noon.

I contemplated going back to the safety of bed for a few years, then remembered Mother had said I was leaving tomorrow. I fed myself then went for a wander round the cottage. There were paintings missing from the walls. It looked like those and Mother's knickknacks were already packed. I found the boxes tucked away in my parents' room. There were spare boxes flat-packed next to them, so I picked up a couple, and went back to my room. Looking through my gear, I began wondering what to take and what to leave behind.

Mother arrived back. Father was alright, though his collarbone was broken. He'd be one of the walking wounded for a month. She flopped on my bed.

"You're never to spar with him again," she said.

"I told you I didn't want to ages ago," I said, from where I was sitting beside my wardrobe, going through my footwear, "besides, I'll be gone tomorrow. Am I allowed to know when?"

"Dawn," she said. "Nice to see you're packing, I forgot to remind you."

"You forgot to tell me at all, you mean," I said. "I haven't packed anything yet, I'm just getting it into piles, 'suitable for farm work only', and 'others'."

"I've been busy," she said, and shrugged as if I wasn't important.

"Busy doing what," I said, "spying on me?" She rolled her eyes. I didn't seem to be able to shut up. "Writing letters to other people to thank them for spying on me?" She snorted but otherwise ignored me. It was excruciating.

"Tomorrow," she said, "at dawn, you're on the coach to Peterhaven. I have your ticket and the letter from Uncle Theo will be in with your birth certificate. I don't think you need anything else. Oh, of course." She got up, I heard her in their room. She came back and handed over two golds and a handful of silvers and coppers. "The crowns are from your Grandmama Daeva for your birthday." I'd forgotten about turning sixteen in a couple of days. "The rest's some coin for bits and pieces." Two golds was a lot of money. I was rich. "You're to write and thank her, please," said Mother. I nodded. "Don't forget." I contemplated spending it on mindweed, bourbon and women, then writing to tell Grandmama Daeva what I'd done, to save her having to send her spies out.

"I won't forget," I said, "and you're leaving?"

"Aye," she said, "if your father's fit." I felt suddenly guilty.

"Sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to hurt him." It was my turn to shrug. "Well, not that badly."

"He asked for it," she said, "literally." Mother was strange, but fair in her own way.

#### ****

We went through my clothes and belongings. Most of the former weren't fit for my new home.

"It's all organised," said Mother, waving another letter. Grandmama Daeva was giving me free rein on her accounts in Peterhaven. I hoped one of the shops sold mindweed and bourbon. I would buy by the gross. "She's going to send you an allowance too," Mother went on, "ten silvers a month, so you can socialise with the young folk, she says."

"That's nice of Grandmama," I said politely. I was about to escape both my parents, something I wished for every day and again only hours ago, so could afford to be magnanimous. After all, Grandmama hadn't seen me for years so didn't know I was a man now, quite capable of running my own affairs. Still, ten silvers a month and shop accounts? I could be polite.

"It's more than nice, Polo," said Mother, "and you must remember to write to her."

"I will," I said, "it's the first thing I'll do once I get there." I assumed a sad face, not wanting Mother to know how pleased I was. The effort not to grin from ear to ear was quite a strain.

"You'll be alright," she said, "won't you, darling?"

"Of course I will," I said, smiling as if putting on a brave front, "don't you worry. I can look after myself." She took it the wrong way.

"You're not to fight with anyone. Promise me."

"I won't fight with anyone," I said, shaking my head, "it's not like the village. I'll still spar, there's a garrison there."

"Don't mention your father," she said, sounding prim. I sighed.

"He's an officer and a Military Guild graduate, Mother, why wouldn't I mention him? Besides, you and I both carry his sire name, and there's nothing wrong with his war record. He only left the army to look after us, remember?"

"You're the one always saying he's an alcoholic," she said, "and you can't figure out why you shouldn't mention him?" My turn to roll my eyes. "Don't roll your eyes at me, Polo." I had to blink to stop doing it again over her even saying that. "Besides," Mother went on, "he was never in a war, it was during a ceasefire." This was something she liked to bring up to put Father down.

"They still saw action," I said, "you know that."

"So he says," she said, "you know how he makes things up when he's drunk." I shook my head.

"So everyone says, Mother, so his record says." I'd read it. Father had his copy like every soldier, because when you left you were allowed to take a copy, find out what the brass thought of you.

"It wasn't a real war," said Mother, "my grandfather was there in the real war, like it is now." The real war was between my parents but I couldn't be bothered arguing any more. Besides, I didn't like my father's drunkenness and didn't want to defend him.

"Is it a real war now?" I said, more for something to say than I needed an answer. She nodded. I looked critically at a shirt, should I keep it?

"Aye," said Mother, "from what I hear. Damn Sriamans won't stop trying the border defences. People say they're getting ready for some big push."

"Father says the Sriamans are tribal," I said, mentioning his name without thinking, "it's unlikely they'll unite."

"All it takes is one man," she said, "or one woman."

"To do what?" I said, distracted by what I was throwing away.

"To unite a people, of course," said Mother, "it helps if the leader speaks well, people like to be stirred by speeches. Or one can be a war hero." She laughed. "That makes your father's entry into politics unlikely." I ignored her jibe and neither of us mentioned that Father was in fact unable to ever hold political office.

Evan Shawcross would never be king, or even a duke, no matter who he married. He couldn't. He might be my height, blonde, blue-eyed and from a distance, just like Blood, but he wasn't. He was a peasant, from the north, where there were more blondes than here in the middle of the old kingdoms. Even if his father had turned out to be Blood, Father couldn't rule without cat's-eyes. He didn't have the metallic shimmer that marked my eyes, or the opalescent glitter that marked Mother's. His eyes were ordinary human blue.

"I could go into politics," I said, and Mother nodded.

"If you marry well, darling, anything is possible. You're related to many royal families. Uncle Theo's grandson's mother is a Casterton, my second cousin once-removed, I think. So you have cousins on both sides of our Royal Family. And with being half-peasant the inbred lasses will be keen on you. They need to breed out or risk birth defects and retardation. I did warn you about not marrying your first cousins?" I nodded. "Probably best to avoid them to thrice-removed," she added thoughtfully.

Two brothers on Mother's matrilineal side married two sisters, adding to the genetic dangers of Mother's inbred family. As we threw out most of my clothes, I thought about the idea of marrying some wealthy Blood heiress. I looked in the mirror, noting my face and wondering if I had what it took to marry for position and coin. I had the feeling one needed to be prettier.

"What are you looking at?" said Mother.

"I'm wondering if I'm good-looking," I said. She burst out laughing but then she was beautiful, with long dark hair and wide eyes, the irises a bed of opal like a starfield, called opalescent.

In Mother's case, an emerald orbital ring surrounded the black opal iris. I had emerald green eyes with a bright copper orbital ring. My eyes and hair, so Grandmama Daeva told me, were the same colour as some long-dead great uncle. Father's eyes were blue and his hair was a darker corn-blonde. "Am I really Father's son?"

"Of course you are," Mother said, "you look like him."

"But he has blue eyes. And I have cat's-eyes." Mother nodded at me in the mirror.

"With our blood, dear, you never can tell. When they messed with our genes they didn't expect the results."

"I didn't realise how strong I am," I said. Throwing Father through the wall was a rather scary reminder that I was stronger than a commoner.

"Yes," she said, "do be careful in Peterhaven, darling. I don't want to be trying to get you off a hanging because you've killed some idiot peasant like your father. I have the feeling even Uncle Theo couldn't manage that."

"I promise I'll be good." I frowned at my reflection. "Am I good-looking?"

"You're a handsome young man." I smiled at her in the mirror.

"I do have good shoulders."

"Oh Polo," said Mother, and suddenly hugged me, "I'll miss you." There was nobody around so I didn't have to be embarrassed and could hug her back.

"It won't work," I said, spoiling the moment, "he's not going to stop drinking for you."

"I could have aborted you," she said, and gave me another quick squeeze then let go.

"But you didn't," I said, and grinned. It was an old and very black joke between us.

"It's not too late," she said, and I snorted. "Come on," she said, "let's get on. I have to take your father some food tonight." She sighed.

I bit my tongue. I wasn't going to say anything more about him. If she wanted to fall for his charm again, who was I to stand in her way?

Only her flesh and blood, I thought, stuffing more old shirts into a bag. Mother started prattling on, about the dances I'd go to, the fun I'd have, and we got talking about how things were in her day, which kept us both occupied as we finished off.

She went off to the village for more packing paper. Though I begged the opportunity to say goodbye to the few friends I had, she forbade me to leave the house.

"I'll pass on your goodbyes," said Mother, "I'm not having you slipping your leash before morning." I sulked as she left, then thought about it. I'd wait and sneak out later. I was leaving at dawn, what could she do?

I visited the animals and said my goodbyes to them at least, then filched some more of Mother's smoke and watched the sunset. It seemed strange to be thinking this was my last night here. Wondering if I'd forgotten anything, I wandered about until Mother came home. She gave me some mindweed to smoke, which was a surprise, and I helped with dinner. It was quiet without Father there, and I wondered how life might be if it was just Mother and I. How bored would she get with only me to shout at?

After dinner I went to lie down, dozed for a bit, and woke up as Mother went to her room. Then I rolled out of bed still dressed and picked up my boots. It was quieter if I waited to put them on when I was astride the windowsill. The window was jammed, and I put the boots down to try to get it free. I heaved and wiggled. Then I spotted the problem. I could just see the glint of a nail-head sticking out from the frame on each side.

Mother had nailed it shut from the outside while I was on the barn roof. Now I knew what she had been doing with that hammer. Thwarted, because I knew I couldn't get out through the house without her hearing, I stripped off and went back to bed, stunned that she knew I was going to be grounded and trying to get out my window before she even caught me with Molly bent over the kitchen table. It was logical, I always went out my window, but I hadn't realised she was that good at reading me.

Back in my still-warm bed, I stretched. I didn't like to admit it but I really was tired. Although Bertram only clipped my balls, he did stand on my thigh, and the bruising was getting painful.

Thus passed my last night in my childhood home.

#### ****

## Chapter 6 – I Make My Escape

In the morning I stumbled around in the dark, and managed to shower and eat without showing Mother how utterly suffused with joy I was. Soon I'd be free.

"Your father's going to wander down if he wakes up," Mother said, putting Theo and Grandmama's letters into my bag. I grunted. "Come on darling," she said, "I'm sure you'll have a lovely time."

"If you say it's going to be fun one more time," I said, pouting, "I'm going to be sick."

"Oh gods, not like your father," she said. "We don't need another one of those around." Why didn't we need even one? Why did she? I wanted to shout it. Instead, I looked serious. She smiled. "It will be fun, darling, you'll see." I mimed being sick.

"You always said Uncle Theo's was full of crazy people," I said, "after the last time you went to Peterhaven you said that it was full of mad people and whores who deserved flogging. You told Grandmama, I was there." She looked thoughtful.

"Ah," she said, "that's right. That was years ago. They're not mad-and-dangerous, darling, or they'd be in the asylum. And I remember, I was angry because Cousin Thea wouldn't leave your father alone and he was too drunk to fend her off. Did I tell you, Thea married one of the Keller's from Lakeleas?" I shook my head. I had no idea who Cousin Thea was and didn't remember the incident because I hadn't been there.

"Now Thea," said Mother, looking cheerful, "died in childbirth." I shuddered. "She was your Aunt Rosalind's girl. Rosalind wasn't really your aunt, she married-" Mother was still going, giving me details of Rosalind's family and life, along with many tangential relations, acquaintances, and family-by-marriage, until I was lost.

I never managed to get a straight answer out of her about the family tree. She always ended up distracted. The stories were interesting but bewildering. I didn't know where these people fitted into our family's rather tangled genealogy. As I listened I remembered there was bound to be some decent information in the libraries in Peterhaven, and Uncle Theo would have his parentage worked out, so with any luck at all I could trace back further than Grandmama Daeva.

It was pouring with rain and still completely dark when we arrived at the village coach station, which was just a sign in the portico of the inn. Mother kept giving me last-minute instructions on how to behave and anything else she could think of.

The coach pulled in, people suddenly appeared everywhere, and the coach was loaded up. Mother gave me my ticket and pushed me in that direction. As we reached the door, she told me she loved me, and as we hugged I said I loved her too, softly as I could, not wanting to be overheard.

Then I was in the coach, feeling the springs dip as I moved to the nearest seat, next to Miz Flora, a woman I knew from the village. She said as I was going further than she was, I could have the window, so we swapped. Outside the coachman shouted,

"All aboard!" The horses started pulling at the traces, we began to roll. I looked out the window and there was Father, one arm in a sling, raising the other in a wave. I waved back. Mother was smiling, waving too, an arm around him. I was feeling most tolerant, and hoped they were very happy together. Who knew, maybe this time Father would get a handle on his drinking. Then we were past them, on the road to Beech Wood, and I was free.

I contemplated not going to Peterhaven at all, instead getting off the coach with Grandmama Daeva's golds to start a new life somewhere. However, it was warm in the coach and more comfortable than the cold wet morning outside. In reality, if I still wanted to, it was easier to run once I got to Peterhaven, as coaches went from there to every possible destination. As the rest of the passengers slept, I dozed, not quite able to sleep, a knot of excitement in my belly.

The world hummed past at a smart trot, rain thrumming on the roof, wheels and hooves splashing in the water. Mother had said everything was sold and she was giving up farming for the time being. I couldn't believe it, after all her work. And mine. Who would rescue Bertram and his sisters when the weight of the world became too much for their narrow woolly shoulders?

The coach headed for Beech Wood and a change of horses, a number of the passengers got out, including Miz Flora, and more got on. I looked out the window at the gloomy morning. There was the library, where I spent so much time escaping the farm, even occasionally meeting a kindred spirit there. Despite the initial euphoria over my escape I became occupied by gloomy thoughts, of my home and family gone forever, and they must have shown on my face.

"Leaving home, eh, lad?" said the middle-aged man next to me.

"Not quite," I said, turning to him with a polite smile, "being sent to Peterhaven, to school. Staying at my uncle's."

"Don't want to go?" I explained about the farm, about parents, without too much detail, and he was sympathetic. Then he said, "My parents sent me to my grandma's when I was five, supposed to be for a few days. I never saw them again."

"Never?" I said, shocked. "Mine used to dump me on my grandmother regularly but they always came back." It was something I had wished for, to be abandoned. He shook his head.

"Quite recently I found out they divorced. He died, she remarried, and I have a bunch of half-brothers and sisters I don't know. She never told my grandmother, so of course when I was a young man and tried to find them, all I found was my da's gravestone, no trace of her. I didn't expect her to have forgotten me so completely, that she'd never try to find me." I offered sympathy, and reflected that things, as Grandmama Daeva always said, could be worse.

After some more conversation the man got off, and I was left to imagine my parents vanishing, never to be seen again, or perhaps only tracked when I was grey. It was true I didn't have a forwarding address, which made me frown a little. Mother said she would write once they had one. All I knew was they were going to Torc, a kingdom like Sendren, but over on the west coast. What would I do if they disappeared?

On the horizon, the sun suddenly shone through a gap in the clouds, illuminating the valley with a brilliant blaze of light, and my mood lifted. I nearly laughed aloud. Abandoned? I couldn't be so lucky. My parents delighted in haunting me. Even if they died I could be assured they'd pop back for visits, Mother in particular.

I stretched, trying to figure out how far it was to the city. The sky was still overcast and threatening but the rain had stopped. My watch said seven but I wasn't sure when we were supposed to arrive, other than before lunch. In the meantime, the coach would run express from Upper Beech, where we would change horses again.

We were invited to the ducal castle at Upper Beech quite often and to Peterhaven at least once a year, although I hadn't been to either place as Mother hated dressing up and, unless they were army officers, Father hated being around lots of Blood. I hadn't been this far on my own, though as a child - before Grandmama moved south - I often caught the coach from the Lower Beech inn to her house in Beech Wood.

When on expeditions, Grandmama and I caught the night coach from there, coming this way but turning north at the Peterhaven to Port Azrael highway, whereas this time I would be heading south. From looking at maps for years, plotting my escape from parental influence, I knew the lay of the land. If you're imagining running away to a big city to make your fortune, you might as well figure out the easiest route.

The road began to climb steadily, the sky continued to clear, and the road cut neat green farmland, dark with the black soil that grew vegetables so well. The trees were dusted with budding leaves, the impossibly bright light green of spring. Above us the peaks were still snowbound, all soft pink and apricot as the sun burnished them. I wondered if I'd ever see these signs of home again.

We crested a rise and across the valley was Sutherland Castle, the ducal seat of Beechwood. The castle had kept that name for nearly two thousand years, despite it being nearly that long since a Sutherland lived there. Things changed slowly in Sendren. Place names particularly so.

They said ours was a charmed kingdom because the monarchy was generally sensible and kept the people happy enough for long enough. Mostly. So there had been no revolutions. No bloody coups. At least, that was what the history books said. However, they couldn't help noting the preponderance of sudden deaths among the most wealthy and powerful, but put it down to what Mother called Unfortunate Accidents.

"That is," she said, "they're not accidents, and they're damn fortunate for someone."

Father said the Unfortunate Accident was the Blood's way of your children telling you they were tired of waiting for you to die, but Mother pointed out the most common kind was the death of the heir, not the incumbent.

"Killing Daddy seems a bit over the top," she added thoughtfully, "but killing your brother or sister is fine."

"Gods, Tess," said Father, "do occasionally add a codicil when you're talking to the boy. It's not fine to kill your siblings, Polo. It's only fine in their twisted minds."

"Money," said Mother, with the assuredness of someone who'd never wanted for it, "is the root of all evil."

"The saying is that the love of money is the root of all evil," said Father, "not money alone." Of course, then they began to argue in earnest.

Being away from them wasn't so bad. Already it was quieter than I was used to. The coach stopped in Upper Beech and the rest of the passengers exited. I looked out at the main street of the very picturesque village, larger than Lower Beech but smaller than Beech Wood, nestled in a pretty valley between two long flanks of the high hills, the castle above us. A groom stuck his head in the door.

"Passengers to collect at the castle, lordship," he said, "doing a detour." I nodded and smiled, gritting my teeth over the lordship part. Though much preferring a world without titles, it was the way things were, as everyone told me when I argued. Back in Lower Beech I was just Polo, for all they might call me other names. Outside I was Blood, and getting a peasant to call me by my name was like pulling teeth.

The coach headed up a steep hill, where the ascent was made easier for the horses with a series of sharp hairpin bends. Alone in the coach, I moved from one side to the other, watching the view and craning my neck trying to see the castle above me, but the walls hid all but two high towers. The gate was open, though we slowed, then the coachman was cracking the whip at the team as the horses tried to head for the stables, which they'd all obviously visited at some time.

Instead, we headed onto a road that snaked round a series of banked terraces, all set with spring flowers up to the castle's main entrance. There were golden primrose, bright yellow daffodils and cowslips, including red ones of the latter, and beds of pale pink anemones and tulips of every shade. I imagined gardeners carefully raising all the flowers to planting-out stage, and how many greenhouses they must have. The coach stopped, and the door opened. Someone said,

"Everyone out!" I didn't really look but stepped out, still sleepy, the sun in my eyes. Suddenly I was being rendered limp and very cooperative as someone grasped one of my wrists, the fingers of his other hand pressed in firmly on the pressure point under my arm, moving me in an arc until I fetched up face towards the coach, still completely quiescent. It was a move Father had taught me, though he'd never covered how to get out of it.

"Please don't struggle, lordship," said a voice, "going to search you." I couldn't have moved to save my life but grunted assent. It came out slightly like a squeak. The speaker didn't move but someone else searched me rather more intimately than I would have thought possible with my clothes on. I wondered who our castle passenger was. "He's clean, Fenric."

There was a pause and they let me go. I felt safe to breathe again. They smoothed my clothes, apologised, cited kingdom security, and I said I understood.

Above our heads, Sutherland Castle rose as if carved from the peaks, and I tried not to be too obviously impressed, having not been this way since I was about twelve on a trip with Grandmama Daeva. We saw the castle from the road below on our way to the north, at exactly this time of day.

The men around me were all in ordinary clothes, but had a certain military look to them. I realised they were all wearing some kind of armour under their clothes. The one called Fenric looked familiar, grey eyes flecked with gold and close-cropped black hair. I was wondering in a vague fashion if we had met at the local garrison. One of the other guards came out of the coach.

"Fenric," he said, "here's Master Shawcross's papers." He looked at me, saw my eyes and hair. "His lordship's papers."

I wasn't game to complain that they went through my bag without permission. The coachman and his grooms were like me, just-searched and papers being checked. There were riding horses being brought up, and a group of servants who'd been hanging round looking bored began putting some bags into and onto the coach.

"Matter of kingdom security, Master Shawcross," said Fenric, looking at me again, "I'll get Her Grace to look these over." He waved my various documents up at the castle. "Here Herself comes now." I looked up the staircase.

Herself was stunning. Rather like an angel ascending from the Underworld, but in reverse, she seemed to descend from the dark cloud above in a dazzle of morning sun. Her copper hair floated as she half-skipped. She saw us watching her and smiled in a friendly manner.

In a heartbeat, I shed every promise I'd made about not doing older women any more. How old was the duchess? I guessed late twenties, lushly mature, with copper hair curling past her shoulders and fanning out on a white fur cloak, which in turn caught the air and floated out behind her, exposing the clothes underneath, which to my delight, was a blue satin dress over a pair of riding boots, the latter not at all duchess-y. She saw me notice her boots and grinned.

"Is that the duchess, sir?" I said, with the little breath I had that wasn't taken away.

"Aye," said Fenric, "and you show her the respect due a poor widow."

"A widow?" I said. "I hadn't heard." Our duke was dead? Apparently so.

"Been living under a rock, lad?" said Fenric. I shrugged.

"In a way. At Lower Beech." He nodded.

"The duke was killed," he said in a low voice, "only two days ago. We're all moving to Peterhaven."

Then the duchess was there, and I was looking on politely as Fenric showed my paperwork. Her eyes were a dazzling bright blue with a sapphire orbital ring. The duchess nodded and smiled to me, and I melted. If she had ordered me killed on the spot I would have gone quietly, happy to be smiled at.

"That's Theo's signature," she said to Fenric, and then stepped over. I wasn't sure whether to grovel or smile, but chose to smile and grovel. "I'm Saraia Westwych," she said, "recently widowed former Crown Princess of Sendren, former Duchess of Beech Wood." She rolled her eyes. "So he says," she went on, "former! He's never liked me. Anyway-"

I was standing by, still smiling, trying not to look bewildered, or worse, as if I thought she was crazy. She was too beautiful to be crazy. She offered her hand. "My mother was a Casterton," she said. I nodded and smiled, shook her hand and before I could introduce myself, she added, "You have a grandmother Daeva?" I nodded again. "Ah, that would be it. I think we're third cousins. Or something." I gibbered about it being simply wonderful to meet Her Grace, then remembered she was recently widowed and apparently stripped of her titles.

"What should I call you, ah, Your Grace?" She shook her head.

"I'm a highness in my own right, but you can call me Saraia," she said, and took my hand again, fingers gently touching my pulse. I forgot my own name and barely heard what she said. I tried to slow my heart, as a good warrior should be able to do, but her scent teased my senses, something rich and sumptuous with rose and musk, mingled with the heady cedar, bay and sandalwood fragrance of the fur until my pulse thudded and I thought I might faint.

I did see the guard captain, Fenric, react to her flirting with me. He rolled his eyes, but he was looking at her, not at me. That's when I recognised Fenric, just as Saraia patted me on the arm and I forgot my own name again.

"Here he is," she said, "my son, Azrael." It was lucky she said it, because I looked up, saw him, and was about to say something that might imply his name was something else. I made a kind of strangling noise.

The boy sliding down the great marble banister rail was someone I'd met before. Now I understood why Fenric looked familiar. He was the uncle who collected Al Westwych from the Beech Wood library. Al, or Azrael, gave me a quick apologetic look that begged me not to tell, so of course I kept quiet aside from the required responses for the princess.

Inside I was thinking, Azrael, eh? Crown Prince of Sendren, eh? Above us, he reached a landing and leapt for the next banister.

"Walk like a normal person!" shouted his mother. "You're going to ruin those trousers!" She turned to me, her voice normal volume. "Fenric says you're coming to the capital with us?"

"For my last year at school," I said, "and the bit that's left of this year."

"Azrael too," she said, as that young man landed with a thump near us. "Polo's going to be at school with you, dear," she started, but the coachman stepped in.

"Pardon me, ah, ladyship Highness?" he said, hedging his bets on titles. "Coach is on a timetable," he said, and tapped his watch, "we need to get on."

"Oh," said Saraia, as if she had forgotten there might be time constraints, "sorry, Master Coachman. In the coach, come on, boys." We piled in, the bodyguards all mounted horses, and off we went.

Inside, we settled in. Azrael and I both pretended this was a first meeting. Saraia introduced us and I shook hands with Azrael Westwych, Crown Prince of Sendren, and Lord of Beech Wood. "He can't be duke or more than Heir Elect until he's eighteen, of course." Polo Shawcross, late of Lower Beech, lovely to meet you.

"Polo's mother is a Casterton," added Saraia, "we're all related somewhere."

"Second cousins," I said, "once-removed? Though that's Mother to Uncle Theo, I think. With the Casterton's I'm not sure."

"With poor Azrael's father having met such a nasty end," Saraia said, "it was decided we'd move to town." I was startled. I assumed the former Crown Prince had simply died.

"A nasty end?" I repeated.

"You didn't hear?" said Azrael. I shook my head.

"No," I said, "I hadn't, but then news takes a while to get to Lower Beech. He was killed?" I imagined some hunting accident. Father would have enjoyed reading that titbit out. "How dreadful."

"It's not that bad," said Azrael, looking as if he was trying not to grin.

"Don't look so pleased," said his mother, "pretend to be in mourning." He touched his arm, where a white ribbon was tied.

"I'm pretending," he said, sounding sour. Saraia rolled her eyes, which reminded me of my mother and I felt a pang of sadness.

Would Mother and Father be alright without me? How would they manage? Still, without the farm they wouldn't have as much to fight about, and with me gone they lost another source of arguments. Then I remembered what they were like, Father soused and bitter, Mother high on mindweed and moral outrage, and decided I didn't miss them at all.

"He was a drunk," said Saraia, and I thought she was talking about Father.

"Oh," I said, "I didn't realise you knew." She gave me a strange look.

"Of course I knew."

"Well, I suppose everyone in the village did," I said, surprised Father's infamy had spread as far as Sutherland Castle. Still, if news of my sex life had reached Grandmama Daeva down in Cragleas, anything was possible.

"I think everyone in the kingdom did," said Azrael, "they're all so pleased he won't be king." The copper dropped. They weren't talking about _my_ father. Azrael scowled. "And now I don't even have a younger brother to pass on the job to." Saraia sighed.

"If you were going to have a sibling, dear, it would have happened before now. The drink destroyed his abilities in that area."

"Oh," I said, "your husband, I mean your late husband, he was a drinker?" They both looked at me.

"Aye," said Saraia, looking puzzled.

"My father was too, is," I said, trying to explain, "I thought you were talking about him." Azrael grinned and Saraia threw back her head and laughed. I admired the lines of her throat.

"Sorry, Polo," she said, dimpling prettily, "I needed a laugh."

"Glad to be of service," I said, feeling like an idiot. "So, I had the wrong end of the stick there. Your husband died of drink?"

"In a way," said Azrael, sounding thoughtful, "if he wasn't drunk, he probably could have fought off the assassin."

"Aye," said Saraia, "the man wasn't big. And he only had a letter-opener."

"Stabbed him thirty-six times," said Azrael, sounding so satisfied that his mother told him off again. "I don't care," said the heir to the throne, with some heat, "I didn't like him when he was alive and I'm not going to lie now he's dead!"

"You are going to lie through your teeth!" shouted Saraia, and I leaned back, pretending not to be there. I was quite fascinated, as Royal Family gossip had never been acted out right in front of me before. For the first time in my life, I was at the source. Azrael shouted that she didn't treat him like a grown-up and then got sulky. I looked briefly at the ceiling while Saraia lectured him on the importance of pretence.

"-and it won't hurt you to listen to this, Polo, it's part of surviving at Court." From then on, I could openly pay attention and even ask questions instead of pretending to be deaf.

"One must never be shocked," Saraia began, looking serious, "being shocked is the sign of the ingenue, the cousin from the country. As far as Peterhaven is concerned you're both cousins from the country. You can of course be pleasantly surprised." Azrael and I mimed pleasant surprise, and she looked sternly at us. "You must always be polite, because the one time you are rude there will be twenty-five witnesses who will tell Peterhaven and the whole of the citadel. Before you have time to snap out of your state of petulance someone will have told me. In your case, Polo, they will have written to your mother."

It was rather like home, except I wasn't in trouble so didn't feel defensive. I noted the warning that my mother's reach would extend at least as far as my new residence. Saraia's tips for Court survival passed the time until the turn onto the Peterhaven-Port Azrael highway. I'd never seen the southern road and said so. That distracted us all as I asked questions about the city and the school, which Azrael was also attending for the first time. Azrael said he'd put his head down for the few hours until we got to Peterhaven.

"I'll need my strength," he said, "if I'm to mourn properly." He grinned at me, his mother rolled her eyes, and it was like watching Mother and me when we fought. For a moment I felt homesick again, then just the idea of a fight with Mother was enough to lose the feeling.

Azrael fell asleep, the journey continued as it had while he was awake. Saraia was answering my questions about the landscape out the window, and I was asking more. Then she told me to look out the other side, as the country house coming up was the home of some branch of the Casterton's.

"You're second cousins," said Saraia, sounding sure, then added, "I think. We'll have to work it out."

"I'm very interested," I said, "I don't really know how I'm related to everyone."

"If you're a Casterton," said Saraia, "or a half a one, you're related to everyone. I take it for granted with most Blood we're related. Look, over there, that's Russel House, named for a famous explorer and soldier. His wife was a Casterton." I got up to look through the windows on the other side. Visible through mature trees, which Saraia said had to be pruned so the building could still be seen from the road, it was a very nice house. Maybe twenty bedrooms, several staterooms, a multitude of sitting and dining rooms and a ballroom, along with attendant outbuildings, set in beautiful grounds. Our cottage would have fitted in a corner of their walled kitchen garden. "An artificial landscape," she added, "but naturally they want people to admire the house. Now, coming up on this side, it's one of Azrael's favourite bits. The Old Mill. It's still working and thought to date to First Settlement."

I was just back in my seat, so leaned past Saraia to see. The coach bumped and swayed a little, making me lean against her. I wasn't making a pass but I felt her breath on me, her warmth against me, and when I looked into her eyes, reading properly what I saw there, well, what is a man to do? I did what came naturally.

We surfaced, panting, from a long kiss, one of my hands down that blue dress cupping a breast, and I suggested we move as far from Azrael as possible.

"Or it might be embarrassing," I said, looking down at my hand. She began to giggle, so did I. We sat back and laughed for several minutes before we could catch our breath.

"The Old Mill was very nice," I said, when I could speak, "where do we go next?" Turned out she had her own ideas about that.

#### ****

## Chapter 7 – The Big City

The coach stopped every hour to change horses, so we stopped too and pretended to decorum. Saraia would carefully check that Azrael was still sleeping before retiring again to the nest we had made as far away from him as we could get. Half-hidden by several rows of seats and baggage, we could pretend we were talking while beneath our clothes we did interesting things to each other. We didn't have sex, if sex to you is simply penetration. I didn't mind at all.

After several hours of sensual explorations, involving the use of two of the three hankies Mother had packed and a shirt of Azrael's that Saraia assured me wouldn't be missed, we were sated.

The walls of Peterhaven hove into view as we moved back to our previous seats, straightened up, neatened hair, examined each other carefully, sitting and standing, fore and aft, then she handed me a mint from her purse.

"I've realised something," Saraia said, "if you're Azrael's age, you're only sixteen."

"Not quite." She winced.

"I think that's a record." I frowned.

"How old are you?" I said.

"Thirty-eight," she said. I raised my eyebrows. More than twice my age.

"Personal best," I said, grinning. She laughed.

"Oh shush. Now, you mustn't talk about this, understand?"

"Aye," I said, serious, "I don't kiss and tell." She popped a mint in her own mouth, licked her lips, and shook her copper curls.

"You do kiss well," she said. I smiled.

"You kiss like an angel." She laughed again.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Only the ones that kiss like angels," I said.

"Idiot," she said, smiling, "shut up and listen. It would hurt me deeply if you spoke about this to anyone."

"Obviously," I said, and shrugged. "I'm rather good at keeping secrets about my personal life. Even in a small village like ours, Mother didn't know most of what I got up to." At least, I reflected, not from me talking about it. Saraia nodded.

"I would normally assume, but-" I smiled.

"I know," I said, "I'm so young. I'm not quite sixteen-" She grimaced.

"Yes, that. So, Polo, do you often get mistaken for an older man?" I grinned, delighted.

"Aye," I said, "though never by someone so beautiful."

"Pfft," she said, waving a hand, "I'm heading south all over. And if I follow my mother's example, I'll have pure white hair by the time I'm fifty."

"It will match this coat," I said. "And if you're white down there you'll be easy to find in the dark." She giggled. Azrael woke up and I adjusted my behaviour carefully.

"What are you two laughing about?" Azrael said, sounding sleepy.

"Your snoring," said Saraia, "like a little goat. Look, Polo, we can see the Peterhaven Wall properly from here." Dutifully, I looked. It was huge. I leaned a bit, not too familiar.

"I wouldn't like to be trying to live in a house in the lee of that," I said, "it must cast an enormous shadow. Has anyone ever invaded Sendren?"

"Not yet," said Azrael, yawning and moving to sit with us. "It's only a matter of time," he said, stretching. The kingdom was nearly three thousand years old, but I supposed the monarchy must take the long view when it came to the kingdom defences. "I feel better for a sleep," said Azrael, "Mother, is there going to be a reception?" Saraia shook her head. "Good."

"There is your birthday party," she said. "On the weekend."

"It's my birthday tomorrow," I said, "if tomorrow's the third. When's yours, Azrael?"

"I'm the fifth," he said, "Saturday."

"Nearly twins," said Saraia, "and both of you young men already." That pleased both of us.

Saraia was a daughter of the King of Cragleas. She was blase about being a princess and said it meant nothing, but I wondered if that was because she was born to it. I rather fancied the idea of a title.

"I lived in Cragleas until I was nineteen," she said, "then I went to Sendren on a holiday and met the late Crown Prince. There's never been time for a trip home since."

"You're not to be queen?" I said, not really sure how the succession worked. She shook her head.

"I'd have to be queen by bloodline not by marriage. In Cragleas I'm youngest of six. The others have broods of cat's-eyed children so I'm well out of the running. To be honest it's a bit of a relief not to have to be queen here. I'll get my life back." She gave a happy sigh. "I can't wait to leave Sendren." I raised my eyebrows. "The king and I don't get on," she added.

"That's understating it," said Azrael, "when Father was killed the first thing the king did was send documents for Mother to sign, affirming she has no claim on the Sendrenese throne."

"Gods," I said politely, "how inhumane."

"He did that while the assassin was still loose in the castle," said Saraia, "and Perry's body still warm." I made a sympathetic noise. She smiled. "That's fine by me, I don't want power or titles. There are more important things in life." I smiled too, as if I couldn't imagine wanting a title either. "I remember," she said, "being very excited at first, over the idea of being queen one day. Nevertheless, being Crown Princess was enough for me to know I didn't want more. I have never been so bored."

"Wasn't it fun at all?" I said. She sighed.

"It could have been if Perry was interested in ruling well. His plan was to send me to events in his stead while he stayed drunk and went gambling with his friends, signing documents as necessary. All the income, none of the responsibility, while I had to defend his and his father's actions."

"What sort of events?" I said, thinking parties. She smiled.

"I have to give prizes, most days. Often to children competing in sporting or academic contests. I visit children's hospitals to distribute toys and gifts of coin from the Crown. It's traditional for the Crown Prince to hand out this kind of thing, especially to the children of the realm, and Perry won't, I mean, he wouldn't." She laughed. "I'd say Haka take him but the goddess already has." To suggest Haka take a person was an extreme curse, one considered possible bad luck as Haka might take the one saying it instead.

Saraia waved an elegant hand, and the sun from the window flashed through the gems in her rings. For the first time I noticed her jewellery, which gives you an idea of how beautiful she was, because even one of the pieces would have faded a lesser woman. Gold rings on every finger, some set with heart-shaped sapphires and diamonds, matching combs in her hair, and a matching, breathtaking, necklace. I tried not to stare at it, lying across her collarbones. The faceted centre stone, a dark blue heart, was the biggest jewel I'd ever seen.

I took my attention quickly back to her face as she went on, "I'm quite annoyed with Perry for dying while I'm still annoyed with him." She laughed. "Excuse my vehemence," she said, "I really am still annoyed." I laughed too.

"My mother would be completely furious if Father died," I said, "but then she thinks he'll change. Drunks don't change." I paused, suddenly aware of what I'd said, and about the late Crown Prince, no less. "Sorry."

"You're absolutely right," said Saraia, looking serious. "I should have divorced him. Drunks, any kind of addict, they don't get fixed by other people. And he was still in denial over it, didn't even think it was a problem."

"My parents have been together for twenty years," I said, and sighed. "Mother threatens divorce at least twice a year. So far, she hasn't managed it. They also tried sending me away before. Lots of times. It didn't fix their marriage either." We shook our heads. By mutual agreement, we changed the subject to a lighter one, the hunting around Peterhaven.

The coach was stopped at the city gate despite its occupants, then it and the escort platoon were thoroughly checked. With eighty soldiers, twenty or so non-com's, and sixteen officers, that took some time. We couldn't proceed without a full platoon, king's orders.

"Kingdom security alert," the men at the gate kept parroting, ignoring the fact that the alert was to protect the Crown Prince, not keep him waiting at the gate. Saraia rolled her eyes then sat on the step of the coach and had a pipe of mindweed.

"You're both too young to smoke," she said, smiling.

"She's cruel to me," said Azrael, "does your mother let you smoke?" I shook my head.

"Not often," I said, "and not in public. She gave me some after she told me I was coming to Peterhaven. To lessen the shock, I suppose."

"Spring it on you, did they?" said Azrael.

"Told me last night as I was going to bed," I said, exaggerating for effect. Saraia choked on her pipe, and Azrael laughed and laughed. I grinned. It was good to make people laugh. As Grandmama Daeva said, if you could manage it, making your travails into a funny story often shifted your own perceptions, and wasn't half as boring for your listener.

Eventually we piled back into the coach and moved on. I was feeling good. It was only mid-morning and I'd befriended a princess, had a good time with her, and discovered that I already knew the Crown Prince of Sendren. This beat Lower Beech by miles. I was sitting by the window by then, with Saraia next to me and Azrael next to her.

The lip of the valley hid Citadel Hill for now, but I was in Peterhaven, the Royal City. Saraia was lecturing Azrael on how to behave again. I listened with half an ear as she reminded him that neither of them wanted to be here but had to make the best of it. Azrael didn't seem to be missing his father much.

"You must at least pretend to be bereft," Saraia was saying. The dry humour reminded me of my own mother and I felt a sudden wave of poignant sorrow wash over me. I wondered if Mother and Father were fighting or happier without me then remembered Mother screaming and throwing things and immediately felt better. I found that mind picture invaluable as I settled into the city. Whenever I began to get nostalgic over my life with my parents, I would imagine Father drunk and Mother angry.

With the assistance of the soldiers, the coachman was doing his best to get his coach to the citadel in time for it to leave on a trip to Malion, which was in the neighbouring kingdom of Highcliff. Men were riding ahead, and I could hear the shouts,

"Make way! Make way! Make way for the Crown!" This was the life.

#### ****

The coach crested a rise and there in the distance, so high I had to crane my neck to see it, was the Citadel Hill. I'd seen pictures of course, but nothing prepared me for the reality. The complex was partly visible behind a high wall, a series of three large buildings on the terraced slope, each with three floors above the ground, and behind the citadel at the top was a large park with pastureland and whole forests of mature trees.

The Green Dragon Citadel was a fantastic conceit, the visible structure 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.

It took my breath away. For nearly two thousand years it was called the Greened Citadel but once Dragon came, like many other places, the name changed.

"It is rather silly," Saraia said next to me, "but spectacular." I laughed.

"That's an excellent description." On the roofscape, giant arrays of solar panels followed the sun, flashing ruby, emerald, gold and blue. I was glad I didn't have to clean that lot, the set-up on the barn at Blue Hill Farm looked like a toy in comparison. The city was spread over several hills around the Citadel Hill, and I lost sight of the citadel buildings again as the coach dipped into the next valley.

To my surprise, the architectural style in the capital was quite different from Beechwood. The stone was no longer the peach of my home duchy but a pale grey, though they used the same blue slate on the roofs. Instead of only the main roads having bioplas surfaces, the roads were all paved and surfaced. Set bioplas held the surface together and deadened the noise, so it was surprisingly quiet despite all the people and wheeled transport. You could hear people's voices over the hum of wheels and the soft thud of hooves. It was very busy, unsettling but exciting.

I'd never seen so much traffic but the main road we were on was wide enough that our military escort could force other travellers to the inside lane without causing chaos. Nobody was supposed to stop in the main streets, Saraia told me, and deliveries were in the alleyways or at specified times.

"Have to be rules," she said, "or the city would stop moving." There were hundreds of shops. I couldn't imagine how they all made money. They seemed to sell everything I could imagine and several things I couldn't. It took me a few moments to figure out what a foundation garment was, and likewise instrument fitting was something at first I couldn't imagine. I wanted to get out and walk along despite the crowds, but for now the coach continued at a spanking trot, the soldiers all around and the continual cry,

"Make way! Make way for the Crown!" Passers-by looked at me, and I could see them wondering who I was. I felt a little apologetic, as if I should shout,

"I'm nobody! Sorry!"

#### ****

## Chapter 8 – Welcome to the Citadel

There was a steep ascent to the citadel gate and the road did several switchbacks, the horses snorting and blowing, leaning into the traces.

I could see why they said the citadel couldn't be taken. In each direction any attacker would be stopped by high walls over hundred-foot cliffs, and you weren't going to make it up the exposed and winding direct road, where a defender could simply lob rocks at you until you gave up or were squashed beyond redemption. And this was the low side, it was even higher on the other. In event of invasion, everyone in the kingdom was supposed to withdraw to specified fortresses like this one.

The gate guards knew Fenric and despite the security emergency, waved us through on his cognisance. They called him colonel, although the guards we travelled with called him just captain or Fenric.

"Is Fenric a colonel?" I said. "He looks too young." He did look youngish for that rank, thirty at a guess, but I was fishing for information because I thought him most impressive. Despite my aversion to the army I wanted to be Fenric in some ways, big, bluff and fierce, with eyes that stared right through a person. I admired him immensely. It wasn't sexual at all.

"Aye," said Azrael, sounding proud, "only thirty-three, but he was a full colonel in the Army of the North. He won the Black Dragon, for exceptional bravery in a covert operation, twice. He's a captain now because he's captain of our personal security." I was impressed, struck with a case of hero worship of my own. Two Black Dragons? I resolved to see if he might talk about it, though from my experience with others I guessed it was probably too soon.

The coach moved through the gate and into a series of hairpin bends that were easier on the horses than a straight hill. Azrael pointed out the stables on the right. On the left and proceeding up the hill were a series of large buildings - the old fort, the new fort, and then the citadel - all connected by various walkways and paths, with high front facades dotted with wide balconies and terraces that supported even more plant life. I guessed the full-time gardener count was close to a thousand.

"They have a guidebook to help you find your way round," said Saraia, "but there are basic rules. Meals and the bathhouses are in the citadel unless your servants arrange otherwise. Do you know where you're staying?"

"No," I said, looking up at the biggest series of edifices I'd seen in my life, and feeling incredibly small. The Citadel Hill complex made Sutherland Castle look like a dowdy little place and the whole of Lower Beech a flyspeck. Saraia's voice broke into my thoughts,

"Come with us, we can find out. Administration has an office right near the front of the citadel, they should know."

"Where are you staying?" I said without thinking, and then felt my cheeks get hot. I hadn't meant to sound so personal. "I mean generally," I added.

"I believe the North Tower," she said, smiling, "which is up on the left hand side of the citadel from here. Azrael will be in the main citadel building, in the Queen's Mews, which is close to me. At least, that's what the king promised."

We alit from the coach under the watchful eye of a towering copper statue, all green with verdigris, and the king himself was there. We'd never met but people were Your Majesty'ing him, so it was obvious. A servant took my bag and disappeared up into the citadel. I waited politely with the rest.

The king embraced Azrael, then he and Saraia were icily polite to each other. Azrael and the king had the same colouring, black hair and blue eyes, though the king's hair was greying. I guessed the monarch was maybe five-feet-four and stocky, carrying fifty pounds more than he should, whereas Azrael was my height, about six feet, and lean. The king was wearing a scarf round his neck and half-whispering as if he had laryngitis. To top off the effect, the whites of his blue eyes were bright red. It made him seem quite bizarre, like a very camp and possibly mad uncle, of which I had a surfeit.

As usual at family events, I ignored strangeness and kept smiling. As Mother always said, inbreeding brings madness, both kinds. Mad-but-not-dangerous, and mad-and-dangerous. I wondered if the king was one of the latter. Meanwhile, His Majesty finished greeting Azrael and Saraia introduced me, Master Polo Shawcross, late of Lower Beech.

"Tess Casterton's boy, sire," she said. The king turned and to my surprise, gave me a hug. I wasn't so surprised that I didn't politely hug him back. He let go and stepped back.

"Galaia preserve me," he said with a big smile, "so you're Tess's son. I remember when she was less than your age, doesn't seem possible she's mother of such a strapping lad. How is she?"

"Mother's well, Your Majesty. She sends her best wishes, as does my father, and we're all very grateful for your hospitality." He gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Nonsense," said the king, "my home is your home, Polo, and you're to call me Uncle Theo. After all, we're family."

"Thank you, Uncle Theo," I said, "I'd also like to say how sorry I am about your son."

"Thank you, Polo," said the king, "it's a terrible business."

#### ****

The king ushered us up the stairs, and we began talking about a recent cavalry battle up in the north that was in the news, where our General Slade had won a great victory.

Swept along on a tide of servants and courtiers, before I knew it we were up the stairs and through the huge open doors. The architecture was impressive and the decor overwhelming.

Men were wearing silk and satin, not to mention beaded shoes. The women were likewise done up in finery. If Azrael and I weren't dressed much the same, in casual trousers and jackets matched with jumpers and shirts with plain shoes, I'd have felt horribly underdressed along with overwhelmed.

We were shown into the Peacock Dining Room, where morning tea was being served. Saraia excused herself, and the king had Azrael and I sit with him. First they brought round hot damp towels, and everyone sighed happily, wiping their hands and faces. The tea was at once a dizzying pleasure and a nightmare, the business of trying not to swear, to eat with my mouth closed, make polite chat, keep my elbows in, and not be a pig.

I don't think I managed the latter. An ordinary, fit young man, I could eat most of a horse at a sitting. Servants kept coming past with trolleys filled with irresistible delicacies. They seemed to take it personally if one didn't try the particular morsels they offered. There were tiny open sandwiches, bursting with tangy flavours, in delicate mouthful-sized bites. It was the first time I had tasted smoked salmon, presented on caraway-scented triangles of rye bread with soft cream cheese, little capers, tiny sprigs of dill, and a delicate saucing of lemon juice. One of my favourites was lean bacon dressed with maple syrup on buttered brown bread.

I ate fat golden pork pies, creamy stuffed vol-au-vents, and various unctuous pates with either toast or crackers. The chicken liver with port pate was rich and smooth, decorated with slivers of cucumber and sliced radish. There were even bite-size scotch eggs made, so the servant told me, from the boiled eggs of bantams, rolled in spiced pork and breadcrumbs then fried.

A delicate arrangement of pickles, vegetable flowers, and citrus-glazed pickled pork on a platter was pressed into my willing hands. I finished that then the corned beef sandwiches came past, the beef just warm enough to be melting the butter, said the servant trying to tempt me, topped with tomato sliced thin, and smeared with a nice dollop of mustard pickle. I had several.

As I relaxed, I realised not everyone was dressed up. Some were obviously in from a ride or a spar, sweaty and due a shower, though their riding clothes were so beautifully-made and of such high quality cloth it looked as if they were ready for a formal event. I commented on the tailoring of people's casual clothes, and Azrael mentioned that lunch and dinner meant dressing up, but breakfast and teas allowed a less formal dress.

The servants were very friendly and explained everything in voices low enough that other people didn't hear. I watched what people did, and copied. The other Blood were wearing a bizarre range of fashions, including an old man dressed as a woman, who gravely offered flowers from a carried bouquet.

A servant replenished the bouquet, and I was told the man was known as Old Galaia, after the Goddess of the World, but used to be a duke in the south of Sendren. His son was steward there until the old man died. Meantime, Old Galaia stayed at Court, along with several of his family.

I didn't know how the king stood it, all the visitors, and the mad-but-not-dangerous thronging around all the time, the women throwing themselves at him while men did the same, only with less cleavage. How did a man stand that? It was unsettling. I didn't mind being popular or even notorious because of who I was, but not because of a title.

Old Galaia skipped up and gave me a carnation. I thanked him, and smelled the flower, a pretty soft pink ruffled head.

"Blessings of the goddess upon you, my son," the old man said in a high-pitched voice. I was prepared to feel sorry for him, but his face was so suffused with joy I figured he might be misguided and mad, but was at least beyond any pain.

"And with you, goddess," I said, imitating what others said to him, and not wanting to be rude. The carnation had such a sweet scent.

"The Crown supplies them for Herself, lordship," said a servant in a low voice, "never let anyone tell you Himself has no heart."

"It's alright for," I said, and hesitated, "Old Galaia to be running around?"

"Herself is mad-but-not-dangerous, lordship," the man said. "A fair number of them here but they're safe, plenty of staff to keep an eye on them. Meals being a distance from the new fort, the visitors have to walk for their food, so it keeps them fit. Only the very infirm get housed nearer meals." Right then, one of the citadel cats attacked Galaia's fluttering dress, bringing her, or him, down as neatly as a leopard with a gazelle. Galaia squawked, and the cat hooked its claws around the goddess's leg then bit down hard on the back of her calf.

Servants rushed to lend a hand and unhooked the cat to eject it, over the protests of several of the Blood saying oh, let the poor beast stay. The servants were not swayed, there being rules. Cats weren't supposed to be let in the food rooms when there was food in there. "Place would be overrun with vermin without the cats, lordship," said the servant, "but you know how cats are, they aren't like dogs, you can't train the killer out of them."

"They're dangerous to people?" He laughed.

"No, lordship," he said, trying to stop smiling, "they just spike you with a claw every so often, as cats do. And they won't stay off the tables." I pretended I hadn't thought it was anything more. The place was fraught with ways to embarrass oneself. In Lower Beech I knew the rules. It was up to me to break them if I wished, but I knew them. Here I hadn't a clue. And I wasn't wearing an armband.

Everyone was wearing white armbands or ribbons. I wondered about twisting my handkerchief round my arm, but then there would be nothing to blow my nose on. Mother had provided me with spares but those did duty mopping up body fluids in the coach. I paused to clean off a platter with some glace fruit and cheeses. I was almost ready to stop eating before the food ran out, though there was no sign of that, which seemed very decadent. On the farm, I might have some fruitcake and a cup of coffee for morning tea.

The gossip was all about the Crown Prince being assassinated. People were pretending it was a tragedy then saying well, it was for the best, he was a drinker you know. Except the king, he seemed genuinely upset over his son. I didn't really care as I hadn't known my cousin once-removed or whatever he was, the late Crown Prince Perry, though I felt sorry for the king.

Despite the scope for embarrassment I could see I'd landed on my feet. Polo Shawcross was in a king's citadel, surrounded by the beautiful and wealthy. Mother said people were prettier in the capital and I had to agree. Everyone was wearing expensive fabrics that clung to their bodies in fetching ways. The king was quite heavy but didn't look so, clothes beautifully tailored to flatter him and fool the eye of the onlooker. Though I was careful not to stare, watching everyone was quite fascinating.

It occurred to me that this one time, my parents and Grandmama Daeva were right. Sending me here was a good idea. The Royal Court was exactly where I should be, among my own kind. If I had half the sense I was born with I should probably find a wealthy woman. Not yet, it could wait for a couple of years. For now, I should enjoy life. Wasn't that what people always said? Sow your wild oats while you're young, before you're tied down with responsibilities and a family. As I didn't want the latter I reminded myself to get in a stock of condoms.

Meantime, time to try some tarts, sweet custard in pastry, topped with various fruits set in jellied glazes. That was it for me, I hoped, and tried not to catch the eye of the man rolling a creaking trolley past, laden with a range of cream-filled cakes and buns. The king was called away and Azrael was busy with a horde of young women trying to chat him up. I wandered about, coffee in hand, pausing to speak to people as politely as I knew how. Most commonly I was asked,

"And whose child are you?" I would explain my mother was a Casterton and they'd nod wisely. Saraia caught my eye from across the room, and smiled gently. With a matching smile, I nodded respectfully back, as befitted a fifteen-year-old boy and not as a lover might. I looked over, saw Azrael, and he saw me. He raised his eyebrows, mimed a smoke and jerked his head. Then he started moving, leaving the girls pouting, and I put down my coffee and went after him.

#### ****

Once out the door, Azrael stopped and waited.

"Hey Polo," he said, and grinned. I didn't grin back. I wasn't angry, just curious.

"Hey Al," I said, "or should I call you Azrael now?" He gave me a penitent look.

"Sorry I lied back at the library," he said, "Azrael is my name. Please don't call me Az, I can't stand it." He gave me a cheeky grin. "You can call me Al when you're mad with me. Come on, we'll go for a pipe."

The citadel was designed to awe the visitor but I tried to keep breathing. The corridor we walked along was so ornate and wide that, although larger than life-size statuary and paintings decorated the sides, there was still room to drive a coach down the middle.

There were clusters of chairs for those too exhausted by the distances, tables with little stores of stationery, trays of water jugs with glasses, and so many flowers that the air was heady with their scents. Murals and plasterwork covered the high barrel-vaulted ceiling, the walls disappeared behind paintings and tapestries, and there was a surfeit of gold leaf everywhere. Every so often, a plain white door signalled an entry into the servant ways.

Most of the artworks featured dragons, especially the battle scenes, which meant they depicted events at least seven hundred years ago, before Dragon went to Redoubt.

From even longer ago, a white marble statue of Galaia about to merge with the World, larger than life-size, her decaying beauty covered with a veil, starflowers springing up from her tears, and I remembered the line from the _Book of Thet_. "And Galaia wept." The sculpture was in marble, which I found amazing, as the result was almost fluid. How could you make stone look like that?

The tearoom had been spectacular, all blue, gold, and white, the citadel servants bustling about dressed in their livery of various shades of grey edged with red piping, protected by white aprons. The citadel guards wore grey with black trim. It made it easy to spot the guards from Sutherland Castle as they were now wearing all black with green. We didn't get far before a squad of six caught up with us. Captain Fenric was with them.

"Told you," he said to Azrael, sounding snappy, "do not go anywhere without us."

"Oh sorry, Fenric," Azrael said, "I wanted to get out for a smoke. You met Polo?"

"Aye," he said, nodding to me, "in a way."

"Hello again," I said, wondering if I should offer my hand. He stood over me slightly, and I didn't.

"Just so you can't say you didn't know," said Fenric to me, "his father was killed and we don't know if there's anyone else involved-"

"That's nobody's fault except Grandpa's," said Azrael, and turned to me. "During the interrogation he got too close to the assassin, who was chained. The man got one of his chains round Grandpa's neck."

"No?" I said.

"Aye," said Fenric, "nearly strangled Himself, and I had to clout the man, so we don't know if his story about working alone was true, since he's dead now." I whistled.

"I was wondering what happened to the king's eyes," I said. They nodded.

"He's also got bruising round his throat," Azrael said, "that's why he's wearing a scarf."

"Anyway," said Fenric, "Azrael here needs protection, always. So you two don't sneak off." The heir to the throne looked innocent. "He's as slippery as an eel, Polo, so I'll appeal to you. Encourage him to get us before you go anywhere. Or believe me, anything happens to him, I'll hunt you down." I believed him. "We won't interfere with what you do," Fenric went on, "but we have to protect Sendren's only heir."

"I'm not a child, Fenric," said Azrael. Fenric rolled his eyes.

"Technically, Highness, you are. You can't even inherit for two years. And your father's not in the ground yet so I'll thank you to try to stay alive until your next birthday." Azrael laughed.

"That's not long," he said, but turned back to the big man, "we just wanted to go for a smoke. I'm completely straight and coping with the Hangers On is doing my head in. Sorry I didn't call you, I wasn't thinking. Come on, I want to get out into the garden."

The bodyguards insisted we sit somewhere secure, which meant not overlooked and where they could guard any entrances and exits. We ended up in a walled garden with several large trees and only two entrances, small enough for the men to clear. Then the bodyguards withdrew to where they could see but not hear us. We sat under a tree on a bench, Azrael packing up a pipe. He lit it up, handed it to me.

"Suppose you're wondering why I lied to you?" he said, and I nodded. "Normally, I'm allowed to wander alone inside castle grounds, but outside only with guards. I persuaded them to let me go as far as Beech Wood library. I love the old Yusaf and Dragon artefacts, so it was something I wanted to see." I nodded. I enjoyed the library's historical collections too. "Then there were some death threats," he said, "and I couldn't get permission to get back. I'm sorry. I hope you didn't wait long." I didn't mention I had or that hoping he'd turn up, I went back more than once.

"So," I said, "you lied because?" He smiled.

"I wanted to meet someone as me. Not as Prince Azrael Westwych, Lord of Beechwood, second-in-line to the throne." He sighed. "As I then was. On Saturday, I'll be declared Crown Prince Elect of Sendren, and affirmed as Lord of Beechwood, though I won't be duke until I'm eighteen. As for king, well, I'm praying that Grandpa Theo lasts a good ten years or more."

"Azrael," I said, "who you were with me, is that who you are?" He nodded.

"Aye, I only changed my name." He smiled. "I'm glad you're here, Polo, I was dreading the citadel." I was flattered and pleased.

"Well, truth be told," I said, "I'm glad you're here too. I don't know a soul." I handed the pipe back to him.

"I know some of them," he said, "I've spent a month or so here most summers. Father used to get leave, come to Peterhaven, and we had to come here to see him." I frowned.

"He didn't like the duchy?"

"He hated it." Azrael tapped the finished pipe out and packed another. "He was only out of the army a year and dead drunk for most of it. Mind you, until he left the army, Father was tanked every time I saw him." He paused. "I may ban booze when I'm king." I smiled but he was serious. I grimaced.

"I don't think prohibition works, especially when they can get it legally in the kingdom next door. It encourages smuggling. When anything popular is banned, people go underground. And criminals get involved." He passed me the pipe.

"Aye," he said, "I remember reading that the Yusaf had mindweed banned for years until they realised nearly everyone on the planet was smoking it and they'd made most of their citizens into criminals."

"Better to make the taxes on it come to you," I said. He laughed.

"True, according to Grandpa. The taxes on alcohol and mindweed bring in sizeable revenue." I smiled.

"I can't believe you're a prince," I said, and he smiled back.

"You thought I was just ordinary?"

"Something like that," I said and he laughed again. "You had very good mindweed, and with your eyes, you weren't quite ordinary." He nodded.

"I'm really sorry I lied." I shrugged.

"Guess I can see why," I said.

"It's alright?" he said. I smiled.

"Aye," I said, "it's alright."

#### ****

We finished two pipes, then I said I'd better find out where my quarters were. Azrael said he'd come too, so we collected the guards and headed for the citadel administrator's office. It was a twenty-minute walk. There was so much to see that I was feeling a bit dizzy.

The mindweed helped, took the edge off my feelings of panic, made me feel like I could get through whatever came at me. It did make me want to stop and just stare at the gorgeous decor. Especially I wanted to touch the magnificent carvings in wood and marble and the rich fabrics used to upholster everything, and to examine more closely the fabulous paintings, many of them portraits of past kings, queens, and heroes.

Finally we reached a very grand counter, where gold lettering announced Administration. It was indicative of the decor that the counter was right next to the long corridor that we'd walked down from the entrance, and I must have walked right past on the way to morning tea, but hadn't seen it. My attention was taken at the time by a statue of Thet that stood opposite the front desk, which I was literally knee-high to. The god had a small dragon in one hand, a life-size man in the other. Azrael nudged me to get my attention.

"Good morning, mistress," I said to the woman behind the counter, "I'm staying here and I don't know where exactly. My name's Polo Shawcross."

"Polo Shawcross," she said, looking in a large ledger, "yes lordship, I have your keys here. You're in this building. Has anyone given you a guidebook yet?" Lordship or ladyship was what the Blood were called. Master or mistress was the polite way to address a peasant.

"No, miz," I said, "that would be useful." The guidebook had a series of maps that folded out in the back, and she found _Citadel, First Floor_ then marked my room with an X.

"Up a level, that is," she said, "this is the ground floor you're on."

"I think you're near me," said Azrael.

"Aye, Highness," said the woman, "next door. Himself thought it would be nice for you to be near each other, seeing you're both new to Peterhaven."

#### ****

## Chapter 9 – I Land on My Feet

After a brisk fifteen-minute walk, Azrael left me at my room and said he'd be back in time for lunch. My room, or more properly, my suite, was amazing. There was a hallway big enough for couches either side, then the main reception room was simply massive. Sumptuous furnishings and my own belongings scattered around in a way that was at once thoughtful and heart-warming. There was even a stack of presents from Mother, Father, and Grandmama Daeva, ready for my birthday.

I had a servant, Bernard, a heavy-set man with a completely impassive expression. I admired the place and the beautiful appointments but was hitting overload. Even I could tell mine was a very desirable address, so close to the Royal Family. It was so much more than I expected. I thought mine would be an attic room, maybe a dormitory shared with some other boys, not this.

Bernard threw open double glass doors that led outside to a wide private balcony, with a grapevine and espaliered fruit trees on a trellis over it, everything budding. There was a very wide balustrade, fit for lying full-length on, though of course, Bernard told me solemnly, one should avoid falling off.

I peered over the edge, resolving to take that advice as the garden below was close to sixty feet down. Bernard listed the kinds of fruit I could pick come summer. Strawberries tucked into the flowerpots would be first, already brought along in cold frames, on the espaliers were peaches, pears, and other stone fruit. I listened while trying to take in the panorama. Below and around me were pretty gardens, emerald lawns, sunken seating areas, ponds, rivulets, and more buildings faced with the beautiful green marble shot with gold. Everything was nestled in foliage and alive with birds.

Part of the view was the very picturesque North Tower where Saraia was staying. Topped with a conical copper dome, it matched the towers studding the larger buildings. Below it and more gardens, the top two floors of the new fort were visible, the old fort further down the hill below that, each with its terraces and gardens cunningly fashioned so that in the heart of the biggest city in Sendren, the greenery was enveloping.

We went back inside and Bernard led me through another smaller sitting room into a bedroom big enough to play a game of football in, then a dressing room. I kicked my shoes off and managed to pick them up before Bernard moved in, though I did hand them to him politely when he put his hand out.

"I'll take those, lordship," Bernard said, "now, a young man needs a Court wardrobe so it's all arranged. The tailors will be here this afternoon, as will the cobblers, and the king says to tell you it's all on the Crown." I tried to focus on his words but the carpet was the most lush I'd ever felt. Soft. Some design with dragons dancing round the edge. My dressing room alone was as big as half our cottage back at Lower Beech. Bernard's words sank in.

"On the Crown?" I said.

"Himself pays," said Bernard, "no need for you to worry your head about it. A present. Now, you're looking a little overwhelmed, lordship, would you like to be alone?" That was an excellent description of how I felt. I was going to explode with the wonder of it all. I wondered if Mother had known the king would be so generous.

"Um, gods, Bernard, yes. I think I'd like to lie down. Just for a bit." He nodded sympathetically.

"Of course, lordship, come along. Quite common with first time visitors, the size of the place gets to a person. When I first came here, I nearly fainted from all the gasping I was doing at the sights. Shall I wake you up for lunch?" I managed a smile.

"Um, yes, thank you," I said, "that sounds good. If Azr- I mean His Highness comes back, will you tell him I'm having a nap? Oh, and could you find me a white armband?" I was proud for remembering. My parents would be proud too.

"Of course, lordship," said Bernard. He turned the bed down, I began stripping off, and he took my clothes before I could hang them over the chair next to the giant four-poster bed. I slid between ironed linens as he pulled the curtains. I could hear him bustling about, then I was asleep.

#### ****

I woke with a start. It was dark and I didn't know where or even who I was. Dreams of sex were still vivid before my mind's eye. After a few moments the surroundings made sense. It wasn't completely dark. I threw back the covers then pushed the bed-drapes back. I was naked and didn't remember getting that way, but memory came back. I slid out of bed, shaking my head at how spaced I'd been.

Judging by the light from outside it was still a gloomy day, and I walked across to see, kneeling on the window-seat. We were so high. The dark wisps of cloud weren't far above me, reaching for the towers of the citadel. I hadn't really taken in the immensity of the view before. The bedroom window looked out past the North Tower, the back of the new fort, the old fort mostly hidden below it, and then I could see the citadel wall. Beyond that the city spread out.

After coming through the city I was surprised that it looked thick with trees, some of them in large groves, which must be parks or the grounds of the houses of the rich. I could only glimpse the Peterhaven Wall in a few places, but there were miles of soft distant hills and behind them the peaks of my Beech Wood mountains rose.

Somewhere there was my home. Probably empty by now. There was nothing to go back to. This was my home for the moment, at least for a year and a few months until school finished, so I better make some kind of future. Someone cleared his throat behind me.

"Can I pass you a dressing gown, lordship?" said the manservant. I nearly laughed, but turned around and allowed myself to be corralled into a dressing gown that wasn't mine. It was green silk. The feel of it made me want to go back to bed, just me and the dressing gown. I stretched.

"Thank you," I said, hoping my brain would furnish the man's name.

"May I suggest you have a wash here, lordship," he said, and gestured through a door behind him, "then a proper bath later, before dinner? Your clothes for lunch are laid out."

"Oh?" I said. "Um, when is lunch?"

"You have about forty-five minutes."

"Can I get a coffee?" I said.

"Of course, lordship." His name had come to me. I smiled.

"Thank you, Bernard." He inclined his head.

"I'll be back with coffee in about ten minutes, lordship, less if there's already a pot on."

"Is it far to go?" My room was a good fifteen minutes from the main entrance and from memory the tea place was further away. The place was so big it distorted the senses.

"It would be to the kitchens, lordship, but there's a servant station right next door here. Would you like a stock of mindweed? It's supplied, like food and drink." I tried to hide my surprise. I couldn't believe my parents would think me being allowed to smoke was a good thing. I pretended my own mindweed was nothing special.

"Thank you," I said, "I would." I remembered something Grandmama Daeva told me, that the servants watch the Blood all the time and rather like helping someone to ape them. I decided to throw myself on his mercy. "Um, Bernard, will you tell me if I do it wrong? I mean, manners and everything? I'm not used to all this." I waved a hand to signify the whole citadel. "Servants, fancy clothes, it's all new. At home, Mother would tell me to peel potatoes. Or clean the barn. Yesterday I was shovelling cow muck and baking bread." I touched my leg through the gown. "That bruise is where a sheep kicked me." The servant tilted his head.

"You can cook, lordship?" he said.

"A little," I said, "and I can wash up too. We didn't have servants. Well, a cleaning lady, twice a week." I hoped Molly was alright. Although I didn't want a relationship, I didn't wish her ill. Then I remembered how much coin she took to leave me and decided she'd be fine. "My mother's Blood," I said, "my father's a peasant." Bernard smiled.

"You're almost one of us, lordship." I took it as a compliment.

#### ****

Lunch was in a large and lavishly decorated hall, where we were fed soup, a main course and a dessert, all of them the equal of the best food I'd ever tasted. Afterwards, Bernard was lurking, and whisked me back to my suite to be fitted for a bewildering variety of clothes.

How could one person wear so many? Surely I didn't need fourteen silk and fourteen linen shirts? And the underwear. Tailored to fit. I blushed, pretended not to, and tried to be patient as they measured, pinned, and bossed me around. Azrael came in, and we talked as the tailors held up bits of fabric against my face, and discussed whether autumnal colours were best, with the cobbler sitting by, asking me questions about my life.

After a little while, I realised Azrael was looking at my body. I didn't think anything of it. I'd look at his. It was something I always did. I looked at people. Especially if they were half-naked in front of me. The cobbler was asking if I liked to walk.

"Well, I suppose," I said, "yes, why?"

"It affects the shoes you need, lordship," said the cobbler. I had no idea there was so much to shoes.

"Oh? Oh of course, in which case, yes, I do like to walk. But do I need two more pairs of riding boots? I have a pair." Everyone laughed, though the staff tried not to make a meal of it, keeping their faces straight whilst smiling a lot.

Have you ever been the one who doesn't know the in slang, the latest gossip? The one who's not as up-to-the-minute as everyone else? The one who doesn't know what the local ways are? It gets to a person. I breathed out, figuring this was why I learned martial arts, for self-discipline. I had assumed it would be something to use with the boys in the village, but here I was, not killing a group of tailors and shoemakers for laughing at me.

"Heard you were half-peasant," said the cobbler, his eyes twinkling, "if you'll excuse me listening to gossip, lordship, but I didn't think it from the look of you." I nodded, carefully so as not to be stuck with pins.

"You can't be here," Bernard said in a practical tone, "and only have one pair of boots. What if I'm cleaning a pair and you get another pair soaked?" Azrael nodded.

"Bernard's right, Polo," he said. I gave in.

"Alright, two more pairs it is," I said. "How many pairs of shoes do I need?" Everyone discussed that, which involved evening, daywear, casual, smart, and formal, whilst my feet were carefully measured and shoes, not made for me, but to illustrate styles, were tried on to see how they looked. Was I the kind of man who could carry off a tasselled white loafer?

Everyone stood back and looked at me seriously. Then it was a pair of silk moccasins in a pale grey with what they said were seed pearls decorating the toe. I pulled a face, stuck out my tongue, and went cross-eyed. They rolled their eyes, but said yes, I was going to get a pair of beaded silk moccasins for the Spring Ball.

"Emerald, I'm thinking," said one of them. "Bring up his eyes."

"I do not want to look gay," I said, firmly. I was looking at the cobbler and two of the tailors, who I had pegged as major fairies.

"Of course not," they said. Their innocent expressions didn't fool me.

"Please," I said.

"Doesn't he beg well?" said one of the very camp tailors.

"Strictly hetero," said the cobbler, looking amused. "Couldn't make you look gay if we tried, precious." I closed my eyes. Gods knew what they were going to make me wear. I was never much interested in clothes, other than if they were comfortable, and this was a whole new world.

Finally, the tailors set me free. There were about two hours before dark and Azrael said we could fit a ride in. We stopped for coffee, killed twenty minutes while horses were brought up to the closest entrance, then mounted up. Riding was probably the one thing I liked even more than sex, but I hadn't a horse for some time now. I mentioned that to Azrael.

"Why not?" said Azrael.

"Mother thinks we should all be like peasants and not own horses. She thinks they don't ride out of choice instead of because they can't afford to buy one."

"Oh, how rotten for you," he said, "has it been long?" I shrugged.

"Couple of years."

"So no riding at all?" he said. I explained that Lower Beech hadn't totally trapped me, only partly, as I was able to hire a horse on occasion, and allowed to exercise horses for the garrison.

From the front left-hand corner of the citadel, if you were facing it, the north-eastern corner, which was where our rooms were, we rode along the north wall, ten minutes at a trot until we passed the building which gives you an idea of its size. Behind it a walled kitchen garden, interesting paths between raised beds and greenhouses, which I was going to come back to look at on foot. It was right next to a red cross on the wall, marking the doors to the citadel infirmary.

Past the garden was a lawn spreading out like a field for games, several acres, that currently had sheep grazing on it and some soldiers in fatigues kicking a ball around. Beyond that a forest began. Looking around with a shepherd's eye, I thought about all the places a sheep might commit suicide around here.

The most spectacular would be if the flock managed to get up the stairs to the citadel wall. They would launch themselves into the abyss with stoic expressions. Our sheep would have been up those stairs and over the edge, plummeting smugly into Haka's kingdom. I wasn't sure if I hated sheep or respected their tenacity.

There were signs that said things like _To the House Lake_ and various other destinations. A massive marble statue of a dragon stood on the other side of the citadel from the kitchen garden, greeting people coming that way to the lawn area. Next to it were servants on a break, smoking up a storm.

"This is a concession," Azrael said, gesturing at the horses, "letting us out. The security's relaxed since this morning. I'm allowed to ride without guards inside the grounds, since this is the most secure place in the kingdom."

"Well," I said, "they're worried about you, being the only heir." He nodded and ran a hand back through his straight black hair. As he let it go, the fringe flopped almost straight back down over one dark blue eye.

"I can understand it," he said, "I don't like it, can't promise I'll always be good about it no matter how much Fenric threatens me, but I understand it." He smiled. "I do like some things about Peterhaven. See there?" He pointed at the dragon statue. "It's supposed to be the Dragon queen, in dragon form, obviously."

"It's very big," I said, "was she really that large?"

"The statue was made to her exact measurements," said Azrael, "or at least, that's what Grandpa told me Aunt Clare Casterton told him. She's Mother's sister, and the Citadel Librarian. Dragon landed right here, over a thousand years ago, and took off three hundred years later. Can you imagine? One of the shuttles from the _Delta Queen_ herself. Turned out they headed here because back before the Great Silence, nearly three thousand years ago, this all used to be a spaceport where ships from Home landed their shuttles, and that's how old Dragon's star charts and maps were. For the Sigma Quadrant at least, they had more updated ones for other places." It was a sobering thought. All those years we'd been alone in the dark.

"We're the back of beyond," I said, "compared to the Alpha and Beta Quadrants." We reined in our horses and couldn't help looking up at the grey sky.

I imagined a ship coming down, making the clouds churn as the metallic skin showed through the skeins of grey, as it did in the books I'd read. The soldiers shouted, chasing the ball. One of them collided with a sheep that didn't get out of his way, and man and sheep went down in a tangle. We watched, but both man and sheep survived that one.

"Most of the other capitals had the fliers," said Azrael, "the atmospheric craft that could go from kingdom to kingdom, but the shuttles were the only way to get to the mother ship." I stood in my stirrups a moment, thinking.

"It must have been scary," I said, "as Dragon landed." Azrael gestured with his hand and we moved on, the horses' hooves making a soft thudding noise on the bioplas path.

"Most of them thought it was the end of the world," he said, sounding dreamy, "nearly two thousand years then since the start of the Great Silence, and everyone had pretty much forgotten that the Yusaf arrived in starships. There was a religious cult predicting the end of the world. An offshoot of the crazy Kavar religion. Not everyone believed them, but when Dragon appeared even non-believers wondered if maybe the gods had returned. I read the diary of the king here at the time, Oliver. There are some fantastic first-hand accounts in the library."

"We save the knowledge for the people," I said, quoting the Sendrenese motto.

"Don't you think that's a good thing?" he said. I laughed.

"You met me in a library, Azrael," I said, "in the ancient history section. Of course I think it's good." He smiled, and pointed at the sky.

"I think the ship is still up there." He wasn't sounding dreamy any more, now he was sounding eager.

"Dragon's ship?" I said. He nodded. The theory he was espousing was one I'd heard before and done some research on. Yes the ship was left up there, that much seemed for sure, but that wasn't the problem. "It might be," I said, with a wave at the sky, "but the shuttles don't work."

"All we have to do is build one," he said. I shook my head.

"It would take more than one kingdom," I said, "you need a few of them, share the cost. They're all too busy, every man for himself. The war in the north is limiting the rest of the country, even Sriama. Who knows what they might become if we weren't fighting them all the time?" I was parroting what the colonel at the barracks had told me when I brought up the subject with him. "Pangea is the most beautiful, fertile continent on this beautiful planet," I added, a bit lamely, "there's enough for everyone and we should be happy and prosperous, all of us."

"Aye," Azrael said, "my thoughts exactly." That rather took the wind out of my sails.

"Oh," I said, "good." He smiled. I realised there was something about Azrael, and the king had it too. Personal charm, a way of turning on the eye-twinkle so that you remembered them as having dimples even though neither of them did. Charisma, that was it. I dropped my readiness to argue my points and focused on what he was saying.

"I'm hoping for Highcliff, Threehills, Panswell, Acordia, and maybe Joban to join initially," he said, naming our immediate neighbouring kingdoms, "if Joban stops trying to take over Sendren. The king there is trying to foment rebellion in a number of our border towns." Not only was he agreeing with me, he knew more than I did. I raised my eyebrows, I hadn't known about Joban.

"Isn't the king's sister the queen there?" I said.

"No, that's my Aunt Kristen," said Azrael, "she's the king's only other child, my father's younger sister, but Grandpa's cut her out of the succession. She was younger than Father so I'm the heir by blood, but Grandpa said in case something happened to him and me, he'll have no Queen of Joban heir to Sendren. Now, the shuttles, I've been thinking. I want to persuade all the old dragon kingdoms into one kingdom, and out of the Sriaman war. Then we'll have enough resources for shuttles." I was impressed. He had aspirations I hadn't dreamed of.

"Sounds good," I said, "but how? You'd really take us out of the war? That would be bad news for the north. Without Sendren the north will fall, because the other central kingdoms are mostly not as strong or rich as us, and will follow our lead. If the north falls, the rest are vulnerable. Anyone who holds the north also holds the head of the Great Star Lake. All they have to do then is follow the shoreline to get to Sendren. You could end up with Sriama in our backyard."

"No," Azrael said, and his blue eyes twinkled, "because I won't take us out of the war, I'll win it. I'll bring back Dragon, win the war in the north, and unite the old dragon kingdoms into one." I laughed.

"Nice idea, but Dragon won't be our ally." I looked around. I couldn't believe the size of the park, the walls were invisible here in the woodland. Behind, I could only see a little of the citadel. "What was it the Dragon queen said when they left? Dragon will not fight in the wars of men."

"Best mercenaries in the quadrants?" he said, and laughed. "They'll do it. I just need to offer the right price." I laughed too.

"You have it all worked out," I said, and he smiled.

"Well, they are our cousins. However, first finish school, then the Military Guild for three years, then the army. Fight for two years." I looked over at him.

"Yes," he said, "I'm serious. I know they won't let me fight but I like pretending it's my plan." He shrugged. "What I can do once I'm king is unite the kingdoms. Approach Dragon, too. I'm working on that aspect already. I have several kingdom heirs who think it's a good idea. Joachim of Panswell, for one. And some duchy heirs. We can canter here." We were heading into a wide avenue that curved among big trees. He gestured ahead, to a side road.

"Shall we go into the woods?" he said. "It's quite sheltered down there, and the spring flowers should be out. We can stop for a smoke." I nodded and reined my horse that way.

#### ****

## Chapter 10 - Sex in the City

In hindsight, I knew what Azrael was up to. Had since we first met. Noticed it properly when he was looking at me in my bedroom while the tailors were measuring me. I was being seduced.

I wasn't gay. I knew exactly what I was. Omnisexual. That meant that I would consider almost anything. At that age Azrael was very pretty, with an androgynous appeal. Subconsciously, I must have been responding. I wasn't fazed at all by the thought that I had relations of a kind with his mother only a few hours before.

A distance off the path there was a fallen tree, dry under more trees. We sat on that, talking, the horses nosing at the ground for any grass then sighing at the leaf-litter. There were yellow and white crocus growing all around, their scent like honey. Banks of snowdrops bobbed white heads, bright in the softer light among the trees.

Azrael waited until we had a smoke. Me, I'd have gone for it earlier, but was quite happy to savour the anticipation. Finally, he said,

"Polo, have you ever done it with a boy?"

"Aye," I said, quite honestly, "well, with several." Technically, I was lying. He laughed.

"Good," he said, "then this won't come as a surprise." It was a surprise, as I always did men when in the company of women, in threesomes or moresomes, never just one by himself. I wasn't even sure I could do it.

Azrael kissed me, quite gently, and I returned the kiss, quite savagely. That felt better. I wasn't a girl, I didn't need gentle persuasion. I knotted a hand in his hair as I undid the fly of my trousers. I've always had a good instinct for what people want. Azrael didn't resist. Quite the opposite.

Fortunately our horses heard people coming, and I happened to notice them react, or we'd have been caught. We pulled our clothes together, glad we hadn't stripped, mounted up, and rode off quickly, ducking down the nearest side path, giggling at what might have happened.

"It was stupid though," I said, "you shouldn't risk your position like that. Nearly getting caught, I mean." We headed off through a meadow surrounded by big trees on a beaten dirt path, and all around us were bluebells and more snowdrops. The path led into an open glade, surrounded by glorious banks of daffodils edged with apparently random clumps of black-faced pansies.

This early in the season, some of the plants must be out of a greenhouse, but it all looked so natural. The entire landscape was artificial, part of a cut-down mountaintop. I mused that it had been like this for nearly three thousand years, a man-made natural landscape. Meanwhile, Azrael was in a funk.

"What if I'm gay?" he said, and I shrugged.

"Do you think you're gay?" I said, and he shrugged back at me.

"I don't know," he said, "I liked that. Correction, I loved it."

"Nothing wrong with liking men. Or even loving them. Do you like women?" I said. He bit at his lower lip.

"Not so far," he said, "well, I liked some but none that have wanted to, to let me get their knickers off. Being Crown Prince I get offers, but it's because they think I'll marry young. They want the position, not me. Puts me off." I nodded.

"And you're pretty," I said, smiling, "don't forget pretty." He grimaced, blushing.

"Aye," he said, "Fenric says the same, says that also makes it hard for them to see me inside." I touched his shoulder a moment and we rode without talking, knees touching. I was watching a multi-coloured parrot on a bird feeder near the path when Azrael broke the silence suddenly.

"Nanny Black heard a rumour I was gay." I frowned. "And I've never," he said, "I mean, well, you were my first." I nodded.

"It seemed that way. Though it was good," I said quickly. "Pity we didn't get to finish." He turned his head and looked at me, those dark blue eyes steady. I looked back.

"Was I as good as my mother?" he said, and I felt quite sick. After a few seconds, I managed to breathe again. I looked down for a moment.

"Oh," I said. I played with my horse's mane then looked back at Azrael.

"You went quite pale then," he said, "that was interesting." My turn to grimace.

"Sorry," I said.

"Are you?" he said. I shrugged. He looked at the sky. "We need to head back. Really, are you sorry you did her?" I looked at him while I thought about it.

"Am I sorry I had some fun with your mother? Honestly?" I said.

"Please," he said. I held his gaze, then decided on the absolute truth.

"I'm only sorry that you know. If it upsets you. For the record, I enjoyed both of you. Very much." He smiled.

"I had the biggest hard-on," he said, "listening, and thinking for Zol's sake, that's your mother he's doing. Pretty twisted." Gods above, me doing his mother had turned him on? Sexually, he was weirder than I was. And I was proudly perverted.

"Aye," I said, and shook my head, "you poor bastard. If only you'd twitched, we'd have stopped." He smiled.

"The part of me enjoying it wouldn't let me move. And I didn't want the embarrassment." He paused. "I caught Mother and Fenric together, right after Father was killed." That nearly slipped past me, he made it sound so long ago, but I remembered his father was barely cold.

"You did?" I said.

"Well, I overheard them. She was being spanked, shouting about how bad she'd been." I felt a quiver of desire at the very idea. "Nanny Black was with me," said Azrael, laughing, "she started gibbering about guilt being one of the stages of grief." He smiled. "Then she started making up the stages. Mother was making loud noises. Nanny was getting louder trying to cover it. Finally she shouted that some people should learn to shut their bloody doors, there was a squeal from upstairs and the door shut." I laughed. He grinned. "I nearly laughed, but Nanny looked so furious I didn't dare. Nanny says it's also one of the stages of mourning, blaming yourself for what happened." I blinked, unsure what he was talking about now, his father, or was it still the experience of catching his mother with one of the bodyguards?

"Aye," I said, "doesn't it go with guilt?" He looked thoughtful. "By the way," I said, "who's Nanny Black?"

"Oh," he said, "you'll meet her soon. Nanny was Mother's nursemaid, then mine, and she's still officially Royal Nanny, though now mostly she and Mother spend time together. No actual relation but like a mother to me and to my mother. She's taking a few days off at the moment." I wondered if he'd joined the dots.

"So," I said, still sounding casual, "your mother's having an affair with the commander of the bodyguards meant to guard your father?" He nodded.

"I was there when Fenric killed the assassin, and he honestly didn't mean to, he was just saving the king. If he hadn't clouted the man Grandpa would be dead. Before that the assassin confessed, and not under torture. He did it for love. Fenric and Mother didn't have anything to do with it. See, the assassin, Dunleavy, was my Aunt Kristen's lover. She's the one who's Queen of Joban, my father's sister. This Dunleavy fellow wanted to make her Queen of Sendren and marry her. She's married to Uncle Colin, King of Joban, so small problem there."

"You don't think she's responsible for your father's death?" I was fascinated. I was Sendrenese, gossip was a passion, and here I was getting it right from the horse's, or prince's, mouth.

"Well," said Azrael, "all the evidence says Aunt Kristen didn't know. Not that she'd knock back the throne. Kristen thinks they should have made her the heir instead of my father, who was a drunk, but he was eldest. Besides, Grandpa Theo doesn't think Kristen could organise a piss-up in a brewery." I raised my eyebrows.

"The king said that?" He laughed.

"Maybe, but that's what Nanny says she heard Theo tell Father once, so I can't say for sure the king said it. Nanny glamorises her stories sometimes. But what I actually saw, I know." I nodded, appreciating the distinction. "The assassin, Dunleavy, and Grandpa were arguing during the interrogation. Grandpa lost his temper and stormed up to the man, who took his opportunity." Azrael mimed looping chains around someone's neck, holding tight, then he was Theo, choking, the blood vessels in his eyes bursting. Finally Fenric moving in, cracking the man's head with a single blow from a club.

"And that was it," said Azrael, "Dunleavy knew he was going to hang and nearly took the king with him. He was so in love with Kristen. You should have heard him talking about how beautiful she was, what a lovely person he thought her. Everyone who knows her was thinking, Kristen? Our Kristen?" We both laughed, even though I didn't know her, then Azrael was suddenly serious again.

"Poor man," he said, "he was mad, I think. Or in love, it makes people mad." It was strange to be talking to someone whose family was royalty. My family had split from the titled side several generations back. We rode on in silence. "I'm a bit worried," he said suddenly, "the kingdom needs an heir." For a moment I paused, not sure what to say.

"Well," I said, before going for the gutter, "so you can father an heir, if you have to, pretend you're with me." He laughed. I grinned. "I'm being practical, you were hard enough then."

"You're so practical," he said. I shrugged. He looked earnest. "You're not worried I might be gay?" That set me laughing, loud enough to spook my horse.

"Steady," I said to the horse. To Azrael I said, "No, I'm not worried. I'm not worried I might be either. We both like women too. What does it matter? It's just sex. I know you haven't had one, but women are wonderful. I think you'll stop worrying once you try them. Men are good but there's no chance I'll give up women for men."

"I'm glad you're here," he said, and smiled, "I think the gods sent you." I laughed more. Despite my temple attendance back in Lower Beech, I was an avowed atheist.

"My mother sent me, and my father. With the help of my Grandmama Daeva, and then there's your grandpa who invited me. I'm lucky, because it suited my parents to blame me for their failing marriage and they finally took Grandmama's advice and sent me here, where I had an invite because I'm a distant relation to a king. Luck and blood. Nothing to do with the gods."

"Don't you believe in the gods?" he said, sounding surprised. I shrugged.

"What kinds of gods allow the suffering in the world?" I said, trotting out my standard atheist spiel. "What kinds of gods allow war, even demand we worship it, while pretending we should love one another?"

"Without Zol," said Azrael, sounding pious, "we would have been overrun by the Sriamans." I made a snorting noise.

"The Sriamans are some of the ones the gods say we're supposed to be nice to," I said, "and without Dragon we would have lost, you mean. Without the best soldiers ever seen in the Quadrants we wouldn't have driven the Sriamans out of the northern kingdoms. Without Blood soldiers, descendants of Dragon, we'd not still be holding the borders."

"Aye," he said, smiling, and not sounding as heated as I felt, "and who taught us about Zol? Dragon did."

"It's a myth," I said, "Thet didn't make Dragon, they're genetically engineered." There was a short pause. "And there is no god of war," I added. "Zol doesn't exist." He smiled again. Then looked serious.

"Can I still be a good king, if I'm gay?" he said, and I laughed so loudly my horse shied again.

"Aye, you can," I said, soothing the beast, chuckling, "but you do need to stop worrying so much."

We handed the horses to servants back at the citadel, though Azrael said usually we'd take them to the stables ourselves and walk back. At our rooms we said we'd see each other later. I was thinking by then that sex with Molly, Saraia, and now Azrael made it three people in less than about a day-and-a-half, which was excessive even by my standards. I resolved to be celibate for a while.

#### ****

Since I was much younger I'd bathed privately. Now I went for what Bernard called a proper wash, instead of a shower in my private bathroom. I'd heard of the bathhouses in the great houses but had never been in one. One proceeded through a series of rooms, first removing clothes while one was wrapped in a comfortable robe. The clothes I took off were tagged with my name and room number while I was ushered onwards. Putting my provincial persona to good use, I let the servants tell me how things worked. It wasn't really a persona. I couldn't believe how little I knew about how to act, or even what went on here. Aside from basic table manners the customs were completely different.

The citadel bathhouses were sexually segregated, but not private. Big, steam-filled rooms with vaulted ceilings, they echoed with the slight squeak of the servants' non-slip shoes, quiet conversations, and bare feet slapping on tiles. First I moved through a shower room, where all I had to do was get wet then stand to be soaped, which was an experience in itself. I was rinsed while standing on a wooden platform of slatted wood, then sat down for a shave, face only, though the barber offered to do my nether parts.

"At least let me trim you, lordship. People prefer trimmed, you know. Shows a level of self-care." I could see his point.

"Alright," I said, "but you're not to shave it. I tried that once, it itched." I was clipped then rinsed again, allowed a brief dip in a heated pool, which was stunning, one of several in a huge building with a frosted-glass roof, the light soft and the sounds muted, then moved on quickly to be dried and made ready.

I assumed I was going to dinner and never asked what I was being made ready for. I discovered later the bathhouse servants had summoned Bernard. He arrived with fresh clothes, including an armband, then whisked me off. We chatted about various things, mostly to do with what life there was like.

"Here we are, lordship," he said, after some fifteen minutes brisk walking, and ushered me into a doorway. "You have about an hour before dinner, I'll see you tomorrow."

#### ****

## Chapter 11 – Royal Appointments

Guards patted me down, with that disconcertingly intimate touch, and then a servant ushered me in. My Uncle Theo, King of Sendren, stood up and came round his desk to meet me. I wasn't expecting him at all. I was sure it was Saraia, Azrael's mother. Naturally I didn't show disappointment. I really was pleased to meet my uncle properly.

"Polo," said the king, "my dear boy, come in, sit down. Let's have a chat over here." He led me over to a pair of comfortable chairs in front of a fire. We drank a delicious aperitif, which he said was white port with lemonade, snacked on roasted nuts dusted with spices, and talked. He gave me a blow-by-blow account of how he was nearly strangled by the assassin, which was interesting, and to my surprise, tallied with what Azrael and Fenric had told me, pretty much, only being from his viewpoint. I would have expected the king to make out he was in the right but Theo wasn't that proud.

"Stupid of me," he said, rubbing his bruised neck, "but the doctors say no harm done and praise Thet, my eyes should go back to normal." We talked a bit, then the subject changed to Azrael. Theo was hoping we'd be friends.

"Young men who like women," he said, very pointedly, "that's what the boy needs." I thought for a moment he was warning me off then realised he meant the opposite, that he thought I was straight, even a bit of a ladies' man. Mother must have mentioned my habit of tumbling everything around the village that stood still long enough and the king assumed she meant women.

It showed the danger of assumptions, as Father, who fancied himself a philosopher, especially after a few ales, would say. I nodded politely and sipped my drink as the king went on,

"Rumour says Azrael's one of those -." The missing word was accompanied by a hand gesture, the limp wrist leaving me in no doubt over his meaning. I raised my eyebrows.

"You think Azrael might be -?" I said, and did the gesture. Theo nodded. I frowned and shook my head. "He didn't seem so to me, Uncle Theo, though he did say he was unlucky with girls. He even mentioned he fancied a few but it's always the women you don't fancy who want to bed you." It was the truth and must have shown through because Uncle Theo relaxed quite visibly.

"Well, that's good news, Polo, don't mind telling you. I heard a rumour he might be - you know." Again, the word wasn't said, though because I now understood, the gesture was left out. I nodded, trying to look solemn.

Poor Azrael, with everyone in his business like this. I wouldn't be him for all the gold in Sendren. I thought my family were bad. The king and I talked about all kinds of things after that, and I was pleased to see we really seemed to be getting on. My own enjoyment of his company wasn't forced. I liked my uncle very much. He had a keen mind and wasn't one of those kings bored by politics or administrative trivia.

On his part, he seemed to enjoy my company too. If one is going to have a cousin who is king, it's rather pleasant if they know and like you. Theo mentioned not being born to be monarch.

"You weren't?" I said. He shook his head.

"Up until I was twenty-two I never really imagined being king, too many people between me and the throne. I was ninth in line. I had the Westwych name but no title. No money either." He sighed. "I even married for money. Didn't have any of my own. There was a plague, a fever epidemic. People were saying it was a bad strain with a high mortality rate, worst for a hundred years. I remember hearing the news as each of the eight before me went, all of them without immediate heirs, and thinking this can't be happening. I had an inkling right at the beginning, when the fever started out in Peterhaven. I remember wondering, what if?" He grimaced.

"Then Rose and I got sick and nearly died too, which brought me down to earth." I was frowning by now as this was scarily like my plans for life, the idea of marrying for coin, although I never imagined being king. Well, I imagined it and decided it wasn't for me. I was fairly safe as there were probably a few hundred people between me and the throne, maybe more. I made a mental note that whoever I married better not be any closer in line. Theo smiled. "Though you'll not be thinking of marriage for a while?" he said, and I shook my head.

"Not me, though being poor I understand marrying for coin." He nodded.

"Aye," he said, "Rose was beautiful so it was easy. I may have been led by desire, but I wouldn't be the first man to fall for a woman and then discover he doesn't like her much." He shrugged and gestured with his glass. "Back then I seem to recall thinking I loved her." He shook his head. "I had no idea what love was. I advise you, Polo, not to marry young. At first it wasn't too bad. Rose was in control thanks to her having the coin in the family. Azrael's father, Perry, Haka rest his soul, was about two. Then the fever. In a few months I was king and Rose was queen." He shook his head at the memory.

"That must have been a shock," I said. He nodded.

"Shock for us both. I knew precisely nothing about being king. I never paid attention to anything, not since I married Rose. I was a kept man, so no need, you see?" I nodded. I could see how it could rob a man of ambition. "When they made me king suddenly I had to pay attention to something other than the woman who owned me. She's never forgiven me. Anyway, let me be a lesson to you, don't marry for money and don't marry young." I promised I wouldn't.

"I had a bad time being king at first," said Theo, "I won't let Azrael be so unprepared. Like his father, he'll have the best education that money can buy." I wondered if Azrael's dreams were included.

"Will he be able to serve in the army too?" I said. Theo shook his head. "But his father did."

"His father was never on the front lines, Polo. He worked in administration, safely away from the Sriamans. Sendren paid a lot of golds to ensure he was never at risk." I nodded. The king sighed. "Azrael won't be happy with that. He wants to be a real soldier." I sighed too.

"Aye," I said, "he does. He can't be allowed?"

"Afraid not," said Uncle Theo. "Don't like to destroy his dreams, but it's how it is. However, if it's at all possible he'll be going to the Military Guild over in Malion. It's a good grounding for a young man, though the bodyguards are already whining about logistical nightmares, and the family want him to breed before he goes."

#### ****

Azrael arrived, one of the king's servants said it was time to leave for dinner, and we three walked the ten minutes to the Golden Dragon Ballroom, where the evening meal was to be served.

As we entered, the herald blew a horn. The band paused and everyone stood up in a rustle of expensive fabrics. I saw Old Galaia being restrained gently but firmly by one of the servants. I was busy looking solemn and attentive. I took naturally to doing the things one must do when others are the centre of attention, which is nod, be polite, smile as others laugh at little jokes, and understand that nobody gives a flying toss about you.

The herald shouted,

"The king is in his hall!" The band resumed playing, but instead of gentle melodies they launched into the national anthem, one of those thumping orchestral things kingdoms are so fond of.

The ballroom was a massive timbered hall with a barrel-vaulted glass roof. On one side was a wall of windows and glass doors that led out onto a terrace, strung now with coloured lights, and scattered with comfortable places to sit. Above our heads chandeliers winked and glinted, delicate crystal and gold, strung with gold-tinted lights. It was like stepping into some kind of fairyland. I managed to keep my mouth closed.

The soft light reflected off the polished wood of the walls, making everyone look healthy and quite beautiful. The men were dressed in formal eveningwear or in dress uniform. Above our heads the moon was nearly full, visible through the glass. Emerging from the ceiling and walls were several shimmering golden dragons complete with wings, smaller chandeliers strung from their mouths.

The king glad-handed his way down the room, pausing here and there, trailed by us boys and a small retinue of favoured friends and guests. We were heading for the slightly-raised top table, where Saraia and others were waiting by their chairs.

"It's all very scripted," Azrael said in a whisper, "he knows exactly who he needs to be nice to in public." There had to be five hundred people about to eat dinner, all dressed in clothes that in Lower Beech would have been for absolute best. Just another Wednesday night on Citadel Hill.

Bernard had dressed me in more borrowed finery. I was almost weak with gratitude that I was clad appropriately. Wearing my own clothes would have been simply embarrassing as even the servants' uniforms were cut from better cloth. The king kept introducing me as his nephew-a-few-times-removed, hands were shaken, smiles exchanged, they would hear my name and look blank, although they were polite. After we passed someone would say softly,

"I think his mother's a Casterton, and his father's a commoner." Someone else would remember something.

"Ah yes," they'd say, "he's the one named for old Polo." Old Polo was my late great-uncle, or thereabouts, who was like a grandfather to my mother when she was a girl. I was philosophical about my name. It could have been worse. I was Polo, and Old Polo had been Polonius. Didn't bear thinking about. Someone else would nod, and say,

"Reminds me of his Uncle Beau Casterton, the same colouring."

"A throwback, eh?" the first one would say, and they'd all nod wisely. Those within earshot would be enlightened. A half-breed. However, it wasn't a bad thing. It made my bloodlines interesting, which was important if I was going to snag an heiress. As a vigorous mongrel not prone to the usual Blood problems, I was useful as breeding stock.

As I've mentioned, only those with cat's-eyes could inherit Blood titles and the wealth that went with them. The natural result of people having a choice between wealth and position or working for a living meant the Blood were inbred. Many needed to breed out but didn't want to be the generation that risked marrying a peasant. Diluting the Dragon blood might mean children without cat's-eyes. I still had cat's eyes so my line was safer to use as a sire. However, after Uncle Theo's story I wasn't sure about marrying a rich girl.

Though nervous I tried to keep my shoulders back and not to worry about anything. I did a reasonable job of walking, breathing, and making polite small talk. At the top table, they sat me between Saraia and Azrael, with Azrael next to the king and the queen, my Aunt Rose, on the king's other side. The queen was devoting her attention to a man on her left who Azrael said was a diplomat from Kavarlen.

I found it impossible to believe I was in such a rarefied atmosphere. It was also so ordinary. People were people, Blood or peasant, no matter how wealthy or powerful they were, and people were good at taking offence, ignoring and then sneering at each other, all the time being icily polite. As everyone else did, I tried to ignore the undercurrents of tension.

By coffee, when we were free to wander about, Azrael and Saraia were in the middle of an argument, and the king wasn't speaking to the queen. For all the wealth on display, it reminded me very much of Blue Hill Farm and I felt at home. Uncle Theo was drinking whiskey. He drained his glass and called loudly for more. Aunt Rose curled her lip and he saw her. A servant refilled His Majesty's glass then slipped back, out of the firing line.

"I'm mourning my only son," the king said, sounding angry.

"Whiskey makes it easy to remember how sad you are," said Aunt Rose, sounding icy. "Do I need to remind you he was my son too?"

"Bitter cow," said Uncle Theo, "whiskey is the only way I can cope with you." Aunt Rose stood up, spat in his glass, and walked away. My jaw did drop that time but I wasn't alone, then everyone shut their mouths and pretended not to notice, although a servant hurried up with a fresh drink. Azrael rolled his eyes at the scene and jerked his head toward the glass doors that led out to the terrace. I nodded.

"We're just popping out," he said, waving and smiling at nobody in particular, avoiding eye contact as we headed for the nearest door at speed. "You can see," he said, after politely divesting himself of yet another obsequious courtier, "why I lied to you when we first met back at the library." I nodded.

"I can see how people are," I said, "and the women, they're like burrs. You can see the jewellery they're going to get, lighting up their eyes." Azrael laughed. We walked to the edge of the stone terrace.

Below us, gardens were threaded with paths lit with powered lanterns. I'd never seen so much light at night. There was a water turbine system generating extra power along with the solar panels, enough for the multitude of lights in the miles of paths and corridors, the thousands of rooms, and the tons of machinery that ran the citadel complex. Azrael's bodyguards appeared and moved out around us, keeping a distance as we walked into the gardens.

"So many women want to be queen," Azrael said, smiling. "One of those girls offered me sex."

"Only one?" I said, laughing. "I think they're nuts, not for the sex, but to want to be queen. Even from here I can see it's a difficult life, being royalty." Somehow, you had to find a confidence in your own choices for friends. Trust was important for anyone, but for someone who was going to rule a kingdom? You needed friends who liked you for you.

Once again, despite Azrael's fibbing over his identity, I was glad we met with me not knowing. Not only did he trust me, it meant I wasn't worried about my own morality. I wasn't being his friend for what I could get. I really had liked him a lot before I knew who he was. "I wouldn't want to be king either," I said, shuddering at the thought. I wasn't lying. I could see how isolating being a prince was. Being a king was even worse. Azrael smiled.

"Here's news," he said, "about being king? It's not my first career choice either." I wasn't sure how it all worked.

"What would happen if you stopped being a prince?" I said, "If you walked away?" He tilted his head. "I used to want to run away," I explained, "but I never had anything to run away from except my parents. I was going to join a circus." He laughed again.

"You're an idiot, Polo. However, what would happen would be Aunt Kristen moving into the power vacuum. She's heir by blood, even though Grandpa disinherited her. There's no other bright-eyed heir until you get to Grandpa's younger brother, Nate, and nobody wants him to be king, he's a bit mad. Of course, Aunt Kristen, who's also a bit mad, would bring the Jobanese Army with her." He paused. "And Uncle Colin, the king. They're not nice people."

"Are you alright?" I said. "After this afternoon?" He did a kind of grimacing smile.

"Aye, I am. Well, I wasn't for a while, but now I am." He smiled properly. "Can we try again?"

"Not here," I said hastily, "but sure, I'd like to finish what we started. School holidays in a day or so and our birthdays too, it's all a bit busy at the moment." He looked down, then back up at me, biting his lip. I thought about kissing him and decided against it, not here.

"Not tonight?" said Azrael. "I want you so much I can hardly walk." I thought for a whole second.

"Well, now we're talking about it, I'd like to pin you to a mattress somewhere private." Azrael sucked in a breath. I smiled. "Let's go to my place."

#### ****

A few hours later, feeling sated and leaning back against the pillows, I was watching as Azrael dressed rather than stay over. He was trying to preserve appearances. I admired the lines of his body, thinking so much for celibacy. I hadn't even lasted twelve hours since my vow to stay pure.

"That was fantastic," he said, grinning, as he buttoned his shirt. "Maybe being gay isn't so bad after all." I laughed and laughed.

"Idiot," I said, and he bounced over to the bed. "We should find some women you want to do. I'll help you seduce them then let the word get out. Fight the gossip a bit." He rolled his eyes. Suddenly he looked like his mother, despite him being black-haired and blue-eyed, and I understood some of my attraction to him.

"Don't tell me," Azrael said, "Grandpa Theo has also heard the rumour that I'm gay." I began to laugh, and he kissed me with tongue. I knotted my hands in that long hair and made both of us weak at the knees.

"Gods," said Azrael, "no wonder women like doing you." I laughed more.

"I told the king you weren't gay," I said. "Told him you were just fussy." Azrael raised his eyebrows.

"He doesn't know you're into men?" he said.

"Apparently not." I waved a hand. "It's none of anyone's business who I do." Azrael smiled.

"I would like to do a girl with you," he said, sliding back off the bed and looking for his trousers. I smiled back.

"There you go," I said, "you aren't gay." His smile got wider.

"I'll see you tomorrow for that spar," he said, "it's an early start but we can nap later. I left my usual schedule with Bernard and, happy birthday." He had to give me something, seeing it was my birthday. I chose him, for thirty minutes. Then we teased each other, with tongues and teeth, for twenty-nine of those minutes.

You can see it in someone. When they want more than you can give. I wasn't going to have an affair with him because I couldn't have his mother. That would be unfair. No matter how desirable I thought he was when he was angst-ridden. Before he finally left, I said I thought it best if we didn't do each other for a while.

I could see the hurt in Azrael's eyes but figured a little hurt now was better than leading him on.

#### ****

## Chapter 12 - Gifts from the Birthday Dragon

In the morning, I woke early. The servants had put my presents out on the hearth in the bedroom. Bernard said,

"Look, young master, the Birthday Dragon was here in the night." He winked. "Happy birthday, Polo!" I laughed.

"Thank you, Bernard," I said, "I'm really looking forward to this year." I really was. It felt like the Birthday Dragon had accidentally given me someone else's life, along with some excellent presents, and it was a much better one than my previous.

With that in mind, that I might be blessed so better appreciate it, I decided to pull my affairs into order. I needed to find a rhythm, one that wasn't dependent on early morning chores and Mother's instructions to ground me. We checked Azrael's timetable and discovered I still had time for coffee and a smoke, so Bernard fetched those.

In the main lounge of my suite there was plenty of space so I did my katas, the exercises that mimicked combat moves, trying not to laugh as several servants stood by and made droll comments. Then I paused for sustenance while they discussed street fighting, offering me tips.

At the appointed time I went to meet Azrael and was fitted with a very good set of practice armour, made of the usual bioplas, incorporating old Yusaf knowledge of lamination and plastics. I was more laidback when we started our sparring, not being used to the citadel's level of competition nor Azrael's fierce desire to win. He caught me a good clout on the thigh that, once the pain subsided, numbed my leg despite the armour, then he wrong-footed me and hit a deathblow to my ribs. Despite the armour damping it, I was still knocked off my feet. I swore.

"Sorry," he said, looking anything but. "One isn't supposed to pull blows." I grimaced as I got up.

"Aye," I said, "it's just a while since I've been hit so hard." He grinned and nearly stabbed me in the groin. Then we fought for a while before either one of us gave an inch, but he was faster, mostly thanks to my leg still being numb. He skimmed me a few more times before the bell rang for the end of the five-minute round. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was dripping with sweat, but then armour was like that.

Another reason why being a soldier was a very bad idea. It was too damn hot. I had a list of reasons in my head in case anyone commented on my skills as a fighter. Being killed by some mad Sriaman was number one. I learned to fight to survive, not to risk my life.

#### ****

On the way back to breakfast, Azrael asked me what the Birthday Dragon had brought me. I rolled my eyes.

"The Birthday Dragon?" I repeated. He laughed. "Several books, some belts, a riding whip, and my father's copy of the Military Manual."

"Interesting," he said, sounding like he meant it.

"Good presents," I said, "aside from the double serving of guilt, over them thinking of me and me not thinking about any of them since I left Lower Beech. And I need to write my grandmother a thank-you letter." Azrael paused before he replied. Long enough that I looked at him to see if he was listening.

"Uh," he said, eyes downcast, "Polo, did you mean what you said, about not having sex for a while?" He looked up, and I nodded. "Unless I want you to be with me and a girl, right?"

"Aye," I said, "if you need my help." I paused. "Or if I need a second man, I'll call you." He smiled at that and looked cheerful for the whole of breakfast. I was cheerful too. Breakfast was in yet another room, and as spectacular a feast as the citadel had provided so far.

After breakfast I received a message from the king to come to the front steps of the citadel for a surprise. Azrael, looking smug, walked with me. I was guessing a small present, but instead the king was there holding a horse, only his bodyguards standing by. The animal was magnificent, a well-conformed piebald stallion, coloured black and white in large patches, the edges of each patch a tracery of interlacing patterns like surreal lace.

"Morning you two," said Theo, "what do you think of this fellow, Polo?"

"Oh," I said, "he's a beauty. Pesertine, right?" Theo nodded. I held out my fingers. The beast snorted a bit but settled, and let me touch him.

"Happy birthday, Polo," said the king, offering me the reins, "his name's Acordia Cloudwalker. I think a sixteenth deserves a good present." I looked so stunned he laughed. "Yes, he's really yours," he said. I managed not to cry, though I did choke up. The king slapped my shoulder and pushed the reins into my hands. "Azrael says happy birthday too."

"Gods," I said, finally able to speak, "thank you, Uncle Theo. He's beautiful." The king smiled, obviously moved by me being so.

"Well, boy needs a horse," he said in a gruff tone, "and this one's going to waste in the stables." I was running my hands over the horse's head, stroking him. He nickered happily, enjoying the attention.

"What's his name again?" I said.

"Acordia Cloudwalker," said Theo, "but you'll need to find something shorter." The Acordia Stud was a famous one. "Come on," said Theo, "get up, let's see if he kills you." He grinned. "Try not to let him. I don't know what I'd tell your mother."

Semi-stunned, I mounted and managed to trot up and down a bit. The horse had a fabulous floating stride and was very responsive to my hands and legs, moving like a dancer. "He's trained for mounted combat," said Theo.

To get the chance to ride I volunteered to ride for the grooms at the barracks, so had ridden Pesertines before. "Word of warning," added the king, "he's a stallion and spirited with it, don't ever ride him in a snaffle. He needs a curb bit, but with that you can be light-handed. You can keep him here of course, as a guest of the Crown, long as you need to."

"Thank you so, so much, Uncle Theo," I said, grinning like an idiot, "this is very kind of you. He's the best present I've ever had." The king looked pleased.

"Nonsense, least I can do for Tess's boy. Consider him a present from Azrael too, as he's the one who pointed out you needed a horse of your own."

"Then thanks are due to you too," I said to Azrael, "I can't thank either of you enough."

The dizzying day went on. I was attracting the attention of the Hangers On, as Azrael called the courtiers. We boys were both fresh meat. There was a toast to my birthday at the evening meal so everyone knew who I was. People wanted to be my friend, women wanted to tumble me, and both sexes whispered invitations to have a quiet drink with them later. I said polite no's. Some I said a polite no, not tonight.

#### ****

A day later, Azrael had his birthday, and I let him do me. He wanted to. It was his birthday and I hadn't bought him a present, something that slipped my mind in the excitement. True, I was a bit drunk. Every so often I liked to give up control. Like pissing sitting down, submission was an interesting exercise but not my natural state.

I woke up still in Azrael's bed. Someone was moving around outside and I looked out through the curtains. It was morning, and the noise was a maid. My servants were all sturdy middle-aged men. This was a pretty lass with curves that were apparent even in the rather strait-laced servant garb. I suspected Uncle Theo had replaced all the staff in the suite with attractive wenches designed to make a man weak. I felt very cynical as I decided she would do nicely.

"Morning," I said, peering through the gap in the bed-drapes. "You look good enough to eat." She looked at me, big brown eyes wide in surprise, then smiled.

"Sorry if I woke you, lordship."

"I don't think you did," I said, and lied glibly, "I think feeling like a tumble was what woke me. And here's me and the Crown Prince with the woman we went to bed with apparently gone." I looked pitiful. She laughed. "There's nobody to take out this on," I said. Letting the curtain fall open all the way, I watched her eyes travel south and waited.

She'd roll her eyes and tell me to put it away, squeal and run, laugh at me, or she'd be thinking about a closer inspection. Very occasionally, she might try to hit me or throw something. I'm lucky, it's not so big they often run screaming, but it's generous enough that, providing I don't induce the fight or flight instinct, most women think hmm, nice size.

"Hmm," she said, and smiled again, "nice size." I was careful not to look too smug.

"I'm Polo," I said, as polite as a man on display can be, "he's Azrael." There was a grunt from behind me. "Who are you?" I said.

"Eva," she said. I smiled.

"What a beautiful name." I rolled it on my tongue. "Eva." I held my hand out. "Want to come in, Eva?" She looked doubtful.

"Is he very ugly, the prince?" she said. I laughed.

"No," I said, "the girls like him." I turned, holding the curtain back, and Azrael for once didn't launch into some angst-ridden declamation about his gay tendencies. He lay there, smouldering, looking like the poster boy for desire, his black hair a bit too long, falling in a floppy barely-awake hank over one of his dark blue eyes. His body was completely masculine, something I found attractive. Eva melted.

She didn't know he was smouldering for me, but we soon changed that. He merely needed some encouragement to worship at the altar of the female form. Like one of my hands knotted in his hair and my other knotted in hers, as I kissed one then the other and they followed my lead into a three-way kiss so hot I was surprised we didn't just burn up. Then I leaned back a bit and let them kiss each other. Azrael caught my eye, and I could see his surprise. I raised my eyebrows, was he alright? He smiled, closed his eyes, and kissed Eva deeply. The three of us had some fun. It's amazing what you can do when you're young and have lube.

Sated again, I showered and dressed. Sitting at a small coffee table in the bedroom, I smoked a pipe of mindweed. From behind the bed-drapes came steady sounds of sex. Slick, sticky sounds. Squeals, giggles, grunts and lots of panting. It was soothing, like being next to water. I decided to take my new horse for a good outing. Then breakfast. After that, another shower. As I travelled I needed to tell as many people as possible that I left the Crown Prince doing a girl. There would probably be ringing of bells and much rejoicing. A national holiday might be declared.

"Mmm," said Eva behind the curtain, "do it, Azrael. Yes, like that! Uh!" I smiled, and decided to leave them to it. On the way out I ran into Fenric.

"Hello," I said, "should I call you Fenric or would you prefer Captain?"

"Fenric," he said, "glad I caught you, Polo. Is it true, Himself has a girl in there?" I nodded, feeling very smug. I jerked my head towards the bedroom.

"Listen," I said. Obligingly, the young lovers were getting rather explicit and loud. Fenric was a cynic.

"He's not paid her to say that?" I laughed.

"No, go look if you don't believe me." He did. I waited, and he came out looking stunned.

"Sixty-nine-ing," he said, "and with enthusiasm. That's hard to fake. They didn't even notice me."

"Aye," I said, "and he's done her in the usual way, too. I was a witness. Azrael isn't gay. He's a bit unsure of himself." Fenric sounded thoughtful.

"You're not gay?" he said. I shook my head.

"I prefer women," I said. "Not always, but enough that I'm not gay."

"Me too." He smiled. "I'm about to start a day off." It was Sunday. My coach journey was on the Wednesday and I was now officially on two weeks of school holidays.

"I've a new horse to exercise," I said, "that's where I'm headed. Want to come?" I smiled at the double-entendre. "I need to change. I'm just next door."

"Aye, I need to change too. I'm down at the new fort."

"I'll walk down to the stables," I said, "bring a horse across for you."

"Tell them I want to take Mr Nasty out." There was a pause while I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously," said Fenric, looking amused, "that's his name. Fenric's horse, they know him. I'll get changed, meet you at the stables, front entrance."

#### ****

To my surprise, the groom knew exactly which horse I meant. While I saddled my beautiful black-and-white boy, the groom fetched and saddled a leggy black, leaving me with both horses. Until Fenric arrived, changed into fatigues, I talked to the animals about how exciting living at the citadel was. Fenric tapped his chest.

"Good to be out of armour," he said.

"You have to wear it all the time?" He nodded.

"Can't risk us being taken out, leaving Himself alone." We rode through the city, me so impressed with my new horse. I loved everything about Acordia Cloudwalker. I hadn't decided what to call him. Cloud was no good as he wasn't a grey. Patches was too mundane, didn't do him justice. Call me shallow, I even loved how people noticed him, how much they admired him. He seemed to like it too. One of those horses that knew exactly how handsome he was.

We rode to the Norwest Gate, where there was easy access to the Sendren Preserve, managed woodland. Many of the trees were incredibly tall. It contained some of the oldest forest in Sendren and had only survived because the kings had declared it protected.

"If it were left up to the people," said Fenric, who had decided to give me a history lesson, which I didn't mind, being fond of that kind of thing, "it would have been stripped clean three thousand years ago. Folk don't look after the land, too lazy. Then they bitch that there's no firewood inside walking distance."

"All people?" I said, "Us Blood included?" He laughed.

"Aye, lad, we're people, and mostly-human, remember? We Blood have all the wonderful human traits. Like them, we can be lazy, quick to anger, stupid and most of all, short-sighted." I laughed.

It felt good to be out of the encircling walls of the city and citadel. It began to pour with rain. We stopped for a while, to have a smoke under cover of a giant tree, and he explained the basic layout of the forest rides so I could find my way round. I enjoyed the outing and felt Fenric had changed his mind about Polo Shawcross, after not thinking much of me when we first met. I was beginning to like Fenric too. As a man, and not just some heroic cipher.

#### ****

## Chapter 13 – Adventure, Stationery, and Sleep

Back at the citadel, Fenric was on his way to crash in his quarters, and I went to the bathhouse, feeling good. Floating in one of the hot pools, when someone swam up on my left side I was almost oblivious. Then he was too close, and I began to lift my head, in time to catch a glimpse of a person as he pushed me under with both hands on my throat. It wasn't just a ducking. He didn't let go. I went straight for his scrotum.

After all, it was a very dangerous situation and I had the right to fight back in any form. My attacker went rigid and let me go. I surfaced, spluttering, one fist in a death grip around the bastard's testicles. I didn't know who he was, some blonde about Fenric's size. If less annoyed, I would have gulped with fear in anticipation of the pain he was going to inflict on me if I didn't drop him first. I didn't have time to worry but flicked my hair back with a snarl and punched him in the jaw with my free hand, still gripping his scrotum hard with the other.

A couple of people about my age jumped me, but providing the sonofabitch was still conscious, I was holding on. For a while, until the ones trying to separate us figured out why their friend was so loud, there was much screaming. As the others told me, his name was Indigo.

"Quain's sake, let go!" said one holding me, his lips close by my ear. "You're going to geld Indigo!"

"Good!" I said, scowling, still trying to shake my captors off. There were two of them, both at least as strong as I was, one of them even bigger than Indigo, but they weren't trying to hurt me so eventually I let go.

"Get Indigo up, Rudy," said the one at my ear.

"Bailey," began Rudy, the very big one, "shouldn't we-" Bailey was firm.

"Rudy, you should let go of Polo Shawcross." Rudy dropped me so fast I nearly fell over, but the one called Bailey held me up. "You alright, Polo?" I nodded, coughing, finding my feet. Bailey was about my height but more solid. We both stood just above chest-high in the water.

Dark hair, blue eyes scattered with stars. Another Westwych? The place was infested. Bailey shifted his hold on me to one supporting rather than constrictive. I yanked away from him, shaking from the adrenalin, and ducked my head under, slicked my hair back, and surfaced still angry with idiots. Several servants appeared. Rudy was supporting Indigo over on the steps in the shallow end. Indigo was saying he felt sick. A servant ran for a bucket.

"Who are you," I said to the one next to me, "and who is Indigo?"

"Indigo Sutherland." The name meant nothing to me. "And we haven't met, I'm Bailey Westwych. Sorry, Indigo's feeling his oats." The servant made it back as Indigo brought up his oats, or whatever he had for breakfast.

"If he can't control himself," I said, trying to snap out of fight mode, "he shouldn't be allowed out in public." I breathed out and relaxed a bit. "Sonofabitch tried to drown me."

"We've been drinking all night," said Bailey, still sounding apologetic, "holiday stupidity. Don't pay any attention to Indigo." I nodded. Indigo seemed to have passed out. Were these the kind of boys I'd be at school with? It was the village school all over again. Only this lot were as strong as I was. Or stronger. I sighed and I guessed I could look forward to more broken noses.

Randy and a servant had Indigo out on the walkway beside the pool and were checking his pulse. He seemed alright but unconscious. I didn't think I hit him that hard, it must have been the testicular compression combined with the booze.

"Anyway," Bailey said and gave me a smile, as if to say let's remember our manners, even if everyone else is being stupid. He offered his hand above the water, "Bailey." I took it and managed a smile in return.

"Polo." Some men came with a stretcher and began loading Indigo onto it. As the threat of violence receded the other servants went back to work. I nodded to Bailey and headed off to dry.

#### ****

The servant who handed me towels had it figured out.

"Indigo's jealous," said the man, "before Azrael moved here, he was the king's favourite." I frowned. "And of course, the king likes you. Another rival. But you, you're nobody so he can try to fight you, where he daren't risk calling Azrael out." He paused. "Don't mean any offence, lordship, but you know what I mean? You're not one of the rich titled Blood so in his eyes, you're nobody and safe to take his feelings out on."

"It's fine," I said, nodding, "no offence taken. I am nobody, and my da's a peasant, so I can understand that part. I don't understand why would Indigo think he would be king? I mean Azrael is the king's grandson and heir." The man wagged a towel, looking wise.

"Aye," he said, "but the Crown Princess who was, Azrael's mother, she kept him away from Peterhaven over at Sutherland Castle. Good idea, I can see where Herself was doing the right thing not letting him grow up at Court, but Indigo was thinking he was more important in the king's affections than young Azrael. Maybe the king would make him the heir." Not for the first time I was amazed by my countrymen's grasp of the convoluted trails of information around the place.

"Him?" I said. "But Indigo's not the blood heir." The man nodded.

"Ah, but Indigo's father, Cobalt, is a first cousin to the king. The king and old Cobalt Sutherland have been friends since they were boys. Indigo's Cobalt's eldest son from the second marriage so not standing to inherit anything from his own father." The man shook his head. "Old Cobalt must have fifteen children by now."

"But Azrael is the direct heir to the throne," I said, "doesn't that count for something?" I still didn't get it.

"Aye," said the servant, "but replacing the heir isn't unheard of. They wanted the king to do it with the late Crown Prince, him having his drinking problem."

#### ****

As the adrenalin rush of hitting Indigo subsided, I was half-asleep on my feet, so headed back to the western part of the citadel, found my room, and fell into a bed that had been made with fresh linens while I was out. Yes, I decided, I could really get used to this.

It was lunchtime but I told Bernard I was exhausted, not to wake me for anything, thank you, please pass my apologies to anyone who asked about me, then passed out.

#### ****

When I woke, it was dawn, first Monday of the school holidays, though I only found that out when Bernard told me. I had slept for twenty-one hours. I needed the privy badly and couldn't remember my last proper workout.

After a ride I went to a corner of the gardens outside the citadel garrison, and went through the katas, turning it into a dance. It was meditation. One stepped through the exercises slowly, repeating each movement, then did the same at speed.

Once warmed up I went to the garrison sparring pits, fought several men I could beat then several I couldn't. It gave me my edge back and some new bruises. Once I did that, sore and sweating, I went to the bathhouse, though I looked around before shutting my eyes. The servants who helped me dry and dress also applied witch-hazel tonic to my bruises.

Purely by chance, I had breakfast with Saraia. She saw me walk in and waved me over. She smelled of horse, her cheeks pink. She was dressed simply, in breeches, boots, a plain shirt, with a riding jacket over the back of the chair. Her copper hair was tied back neatly. Breakfast was as informal as life at Court ever was, people in dressing gowns with hair wet from the baths, those just in from exercise or riding and those just awake. I was all four.

"Get yourself a tray," Saraia said, gesturing towards the laden tables of the buffet, "then come sit with me."

On a servant's advice, I decided on porridge to start, and headed back to Saraia. Another servant came past with a pot of coffee, there was cream, milk, butter, sugar, honey, and other condiments on the table, though the mustard man brought round some fifty varieties of pickles, mustards, and chilli pastes.

Saraia didn't ask me straightaway. We made small-talk as eating and people sitting nearby allowed, and she let me get through the porridge then partway through my next course, scrambled eggs, served with ham on toast. It was all quite delectable, and I was focused on first on thick oats with cream and honey, then on delicate scrambled eggs with ham, the butter rich on the toast, everything melding, all delicious.

"I hear you and Azrael had a lass together," she said finally. I nodded carefully, wiping my mouth to buy time while I figured out the right answer. I didn't know if she was pleased or not. "He really did her?" She was hopeful. I smiled.

"For hours," I said, "he loved it. Fenric's a witness. So am I. To them doing it, I mean." She smiled.

"That's a relief."

"Everyone's so pleased," I said, a bit sarcastically. She looked at me. "He's more than a sire, you know. More than the heir. He's a real person. You're making him feel like a freak, the way you put him under the microscope then misinterpret every twitch. People kept telling him he was gay until he believed them, despite his own feelings to the contrary. He's not gay."

"You're very protective of him," she said, "for someone who hasn't even known him a week." Her tone was haughty and I didn't blame her, I'd gone too far. I shrugged.

"Someone has to be," I said.

"I'm his mother," she said. I smiled. Mostly from relief, as I saw a way out of the conversational pit I'd dug.

"Aye, but Saraia, you understand me very well. We can talk about almost anything and you can give me good advice. I'll even listen to you because I think you're trying to help me make a good choice, not push your own agenda. Nevertheless, you don't understand your son. My mother could understand Azrael, give him good advice, but she doesn't understand me." I rolled my eyes. "At all." Saraia took a sip of coffee.

"He's taken to saying that," she said, "saying I don't understand him. Even rolls his eyes like you just did." I smiled.

"Don't you remember being young?" I said. "I've read books from a thousand years ago, young people whining about how the older generation don't understand them. And the older generation saying, young folk today, what are they like? Wouldn't be allowed, not in my day."

"You do whine," she said, looking amused. I smiled.

"My mother would agree with you." I could afford to be magnanimous. By now my mother was safely on her way to the west coast with my father. I stopped thinking about doing Saraia over a couch in my rooms, which was what her wearing tight breeches and boots made me want to do. This was the new, almost-pure Polo. I was going to resist temptation.

Once we finished our food, I thanked Saraia for her company, excused myself, bowed politely and went to my suite. There I began a letter to Grandmama Daeva. That way, when Mother next heard from her, Grandmama would be full of my gossip and able to one-up Mother, and her other friends with grandchildren, in the family wars.

I caught Grandmama up with the news about the late Crown Prince and the king nearly dying - which I could supply good detail on, having heard the story from several eye-witnesses - then covered moving to Peterhaven, and wondered what else to say. I told her about my new horse and how I had become a friend of the new Crown Prince.

Like me, Azrael's here at the citadel to finish school, though he's also here to keep him safe. We came in on the same coach. It's nice for us because we're both new boys. It's September holidays but school in two weeks.

Thank you very much for the riding whip and books and the help with getting here. I haven't yet set up my accounts, but it's all been such a rush. I will get to them soon. Again, thank you so much, I really do appreciate all your assistance. I will try to make you proud of me.

I paused and tried to think of anything else. I couldn't, unless I wanted to add something spiky about busybody grandmothers who told tales. I was still feeling generous towards everyone so signed it with love.

Bernard showed me where envelopes were in my desk. To my delight, I had an address stamp, and stamped the paper carefully.

Polo Shawcross  
103 Queen's Mews, Green Dragon Citadel,  
Peterhaven, Kingdom of Sendren

Having a secret pleasure in stationery, I was terrifically impressed by the stamp and couldn't wait to use it again. I stamped a page so it was ready in case I wanted to write to someone. At Bernard's suggestion I also stamped some cards to serve both as an aide-memoire to me and to hand out to anyone I wanted to pass my address on to. I looked through the rest of the stationery and discovered the kit included a leather-bound book that Bernard said was for my use.

"Young men are expected to keep a diary of their time at Court, lordship, a journal of their personal exploits, and then sell their memoirs when everyone involved is too old to care much. The younger generation will be suitably scandalised by the excesses of their elders but assume it was only a few of them who were so wild." I laughed. Bernard's eyes crinkled a little and I spotted the sign that he was pleased I'd laughed at his jokes.

"That is sensible, Bernard, keeping a diary. I shall think of it as my pension fund. I was keeping a journal already but this is very smart." I paused. "Do you keep one?" He nodded.

"I think the chapters devoted to you will be popular, lordship. Of course, if one is including people still alive one should blur their identities enough to set people guessing, but not enough to make them sure."

"Hmm," I said, and wrote _Monday, 9th September, 2977 A.E._ at the top of the first page.

Galaia's year was twelve months of twenty-eight days, the days slightly longer than Quadrant Standard, the year slightly shorter. A.E. was After Exodus, when settlers from Home officially settled the first Quadrant planet. We on Galaia were established before the rest of the planets and looked down on the Inner Quadrants always claiming to be first.

Then when the Great Silence came we kept the dating system. Perhaps, as we could no longer visit Home, it became a pleasant nostalgia. Besides, when we contacted the rest of the Quadrants again we'd be chronologically matched and catching up on three thousand years of unshared histories would easier.

I jotted down the basics of my adventures so far. Fortunately Bernard had noted major events in what he called the suite diary, which was a large one and lived on a desk in the study area, a large corner of the second sitting room. I used the suite diary to jog my memory of when things had happened, as the past five days or so were a trifle blurred in my mind. There was also a ledger where we began some entries with my coin, and a wall-safe where it could be kept. Seeing the money reminded me I didn't need to spend it, I was to open some store accounts.

The suite was an immense amount of space for one person. Cats visited, beautiful big black things with golden eyes, but they didn't stay, as the Palace Cats were loosed in sections of the citadel to catch any vermin, they lived in quarters beyond the Green. The toms were always neutered, or kept in the Palace Cattery, and the others spent afternoons sunning themselves on my windowsills or outside on the balconies.

There were servant quarters too, where Bernard and Bryce the night man lived. Other servants visited. I felt like I was rattling around but was happy to keep doing so. Bernard said along with a bedroom and sitting room, usually shared if you were there with family, most people had a toilet and basin, whereas I was blessed with a shower too. I was still expected to use the baths at least once a day.

It was part of the Peterhaven experience, walking the great distances up and down the hill and across the citadel for meals and ablutions. It was a social experience too, one that generally I enjoyed.

#### ****

## Chapter 14 – Finding a Friend

Some of my new clothes and shoes arrived, boots on their way, so I dressed and decided to take a bit of coin and go down into Peterhaven. I was about to set out when Azrael turned up, so I invited him along. He checked with Ross, the officer on duty, and then said he'd love to come if I didn't mind the pain of a squad of bodyguards.

"I met some of the locals," I said as we headed to his quarters, where he wanted to change clothes.

"I heard," he said, before I could elaborate, "Indigo Sutherland tried to drown you in the baths." I nodded.

"Aye," I said, "that's the one. He may have trouble siring children." Azrael laughed.

"Remind me not to cross you, Polo." I shrugged.

"One of his rescuers let me go when the other mentioned my name," I said, "as though I was famous or something. I can only assume they know I'm your friend." He smiled.

"Famous in Peterhaven?"

"Notorious," I said, laughing, "please. Famous is so pedestrian." Azrael had to put armour on, a sleeved mail tunic under his clothes. Like all our armour, it was light, made of bioplas. The bodyguards wanted me to wear armour too. By being next to the Crown Prince I was likely to be hit.

"Our first responsibility is to Himself," Fenric said, "something happens, we look after him first. Therefore you need protection because we don't want to be distracted by you bleeding or screaming. Mail will stop a crossbow bolt." He rubbed a hand through his cropped black hair. "Or at least slow it, depends how close they are."

We picked up mail for me at the new fort, from the biggest armoury I'd ever seen, which was only part of the citadel's collections. A coach was waiting at the stables. Most of the bodyguards piled inside with us, some on the outside of the coach, until we reached the city, when we were allowed out to walk along the pavement. The bodyguards cleared a way for us by the simple medium of occupying the footpath and looking fierce. We stopped for coffee and pastries at a place called the Green Dragon Cafe, chosen for the ease with which the bodyguards could defend Azrael. It was a lovely sunny morning but we had to put up with being inside. Still, in a mail tunic lined with padded cotton I didn't need the warmth of the sun.

"I wonder how many dragon-something cafes there are in Sendren?" I said. Azrael smiled. "Why can't we think of better names? Why does everything here have dragon somewhere in it?"

"Dragon's for variety," he said, deadpan, "otherwise everything would be Old Bridge or New Bridge." I laughed. "It's true," he said, "we're not very imaginative."

"You could rename everything," I said, "when you're king."

"If you let kings rename places," he said, "every generation the names would change, and at any one time half the population would be lost. Everything would be called Queen Rose's this, or King Theo's that. Actually, it would be names like King Theodore the Fifth's Royal Infirmary. Which of course, everyone would shorten, and the hospitals would all be King Theo's or to differentiate, the Royal." I shuddered.

"Alright, I take it back," I said, "boring names are better." I decided to eat the custard tart first, a pecan one second.

"I will be the First Azrael," he said, sounding thoughtful. "There's only been one major renaming lately and that was a thousand years ago, when Dragon came. Maybe it is time to rename things. Make it compulsory to have dragon in the name." He grinned at me and I ignored him, pretending not to smile. We sipped our coffees, enjoying our escape from the citadel.

"It must be strange to know you're to be king," I said, "providing you're sensible you'll be able to do almost anything once you're ruler. Do you envy your grandfather, growing up without that pressure?" Azrael blinked.

"He did?" he said, sounding surprised. I told him Theo's story about the plague.

"I always thought my bit of the family was a direct line," said Azrael, "but it seems we're a tributary rather than a main channel."

"When they looked for heirs," I said, "there were too many children without cat's-eyes. Plenty of progeny but not breeding true." He smiled.

"Let's call it what it is," he said, "it's not a prettiness gene or cat's eyes, it's Dragon blood." I looked around. He raised his eyebrows. "Hasn't Mother given you her standard 'let's not pretend' speech?" I shook my head. It didn't seem polite to remind him that his mother and I hadn't done that much talking.

"Call it Blood," I said, keeping my voice down, "not Dragon. Let's not alarm the natives. I grew up the only Blood in the village, and believe me, you don't want to remind them. I wasn't always big enough to win a fight, and the village boys liked to tell me I was born in an egg, that under my clothes I had scales, and so on. Then they'd try to strip me to find out."

"What did they find out?" I shrugged.

"Some of them," I said, "that they had gay tendencies. Others that they had glass jaws."

"So you had some bad experiences-"

"Some?" I snorted. "My whole life, Azrael. My friends were adults, like my grandmother or local soldiers. My father, married to a Blood woman, is busy blaming the Blood for his own failures. If he's convinced there's a Blood conspiracy and suspicious of the more full-blood Dragon people, I don't really think we should remind ordinary folk." To my surprise I'd eaten the custard tart already.

"I think that's wrong," Azrael said. I shrugged, took a mouthful of the pecan tart. Treacle, pecans, and pastry. So simple, so good.

"Well, we don't agree then," I said, and wiped my mouth. "You try living in a village where aside from men at the local barracks, you and your mother are the only Blood. At school I was always the only Blood kid. Once I turned about twelve, I wasn't allowed to excel on my own merits. It was always 'because I was Blood'. I could never just be good, even at things that Dragon blood makes no difference to, like schoolwork. I had to hang out with the soldiers at the barracks to have someone to talk to aside from Mother and Father."

"I have a peasant friend named Cida," said Azrael, "she says she's always told she's good, but only 'for a woman' or 'for a peasant'. You do know there's no difference between us mentally?" He wasn't hearing me. I left it for now.

"Aye, I know," I said, "Blood are as stupid as commoners. They go as crazy as each other." He laughed.

"You're such a cynic, Polo."

"Probably," I said, suddenly feeling cheerful. "Speaking of commoners, you looked like you were having a pleasant time with young Eva." He coloured.

"It was fun." I smiled.

"See," I said, "you're not gay." He grinned at me.

"Aye," he said, "looking that way. I had no idea women were so good." I laughed so hard I nearly spat coffee. "I was meaning to ask you," said Azrael suddenly, "had you ever heard of people changing shape?" I looked around, hoping nobody was listening.

"Aye, I've heard of Dragon changing shape," I said, stressing the word Dragon, "but not the Blood." He leaned forward.

"I think we can all change," he said, and I smiled, a little patronising. Next thing he'd say he still believed in the Birthday Dragon.

"Shape-changers are a peasant myth," I said. "I've heard some people are born dragon-shape, but I've never heard of being able to change happening to anyone who wasn't a full-blood Dragon."

Outside on the street, a magpie hunting crumbs bounced onto a table. The black and white tracery on its feathers reminded me of my beautiful horse. The waitress stepped outside, shooing the bird with a tea towel.

"Nanny says she heard that anyone with bright eyes can change shape, in theory," said Azrael. I decided to change the subject. It wasn't that I wasn't interested, but the waitress had stepped back in and was listening. Behind her, the magpie bounced haughtily back onto the table.

"I was thinking of Magpie as a name for my horse," I said, struck by the notion.

"I like it," said Azrael.

"Me too," I said, "now what shall I spend my birthday coin on?"

#### ****

We finished our coffee and went to look at the shops. Grandmama had sent a list of the places that would carry accounts for me, a selection of Peterhaven's best, including a general store, a bookshop-stationers and my absolute favourite, a large tailors and military outfitter that did saddlery and tack along with clothes, armour and weapons. It smelled of leather, oils and waxes.

I could have wandered the halls for hours. I didn't really need much, though I put an ounce of good mindweed and a fifth of excellent bourbon on account at the general store, and just in time remembered the box of condoms. A box of a hundred. I didn't really need any of it, as the best of everything was available back in the citadel, but I wanted to make a point.

We bundled back into the coach for the journey back up the hill. I stared out the window, lost in my thoughts. Thanks to the king's generosity I could live very well. It made sense to save my ten silvers allowance from Grandmama, put only things I needed on her accounts, and live otherwise on what the citadel provided. Already I dreaded one day leaving my grace-and-favour accommodation and trying to pay for Magpie's board.

The stallion would need hard feed, oats and the like, then rugs and stabling. Gods, there would be body-brushes, dandy brushes, combs, hoof-picks, buckets, sponges, rugs, and hay for bedding, along with lucerne hay for eating. Then there were vet and farrier fees, before I even came up against the cost of keeping myself. Somewhere to sleep, linens to sleep on, and food to eat. I was sure there was more. Aha, I thought triumphantly, solar panels and cells. Clothes!

I was suddenly aware of my acute poverty. Being away from parents and living on the Crown brought it home. I'd signed chits for clothes and seen the prices being charged for my wardrobe. The tailors told me the Crown was getting a discount on fabrics but a pair of tailored underpants still cost ten silvers or a month's allowance. A rich wife might be a handy thing but I didn't really want to marry for money.

The king and queen hated each other. Much more so than my own parents, but I supposed the royals wouldn't divorce unless forced to. Mother and Father left each other every six months or so. As far back as Azrael could remember, Uncle Theo and Aunt Rose had lived on opposite sides of the citadel, only meeting at public events. I wondered if more space might help my parents, then was struck by a moment of horror. Was it my father's idea to be a kept man when he married Mother? She had her trust fund and a rich, doting mother in Grandmama Daeva. I shuddered.

For me, the idea of a wealthy wife was shelved, but in order to survive once I left school I needed a job to go to. Ideally I could do with something one day a week now so I didn't have to spend Grandmama's coin. I might want to study at a guild and my allowance would make a very comfortable nest egg, those ten silvers adding up to four golds a year. What could I do?

I was experienced with animals, handy round either a garden or a kitchen. At sixteen, I was allowed to work a few hours a week, I must find out how many. A job would mean some independence and I could save towards my future. I resolved to talk to Uncle Theo on how to go about it, and if there was anything he knew of.

Across the coach, Azrael reached out a foot and poked me with the toe of his boot.

"You've drifted off," he said. I smiled.

"Aye," I said, "I was thinking I need a job. Do you know how long a sixteen-year-old is allowed to work per week?" He looked thoughtful.

"I think it's eight hours until you have your high school certificate. Unless you're in a paid apprenticeship. Grandpa was talking about it because he had to re-jig the law and put in a minimum hourly wage when he found some apprentices weren't paid enough to survive on. I gather you expect to be poor when you're an apprentice but not to actually starve. You're poor? I can help." I smiled.

"Thanks, but I'm alright." I explained about Grandmama Daeva, how between her and Theo's assistance I wasn't lacking anything, but wanted to be independent. He reached his hand out and touched mine for a moment. Very hetero. Not tender, more a quick pat. Guards were all around, studiously ignoring us.

"Well, if I can help," he said, "it's no hardship for me. You say, don't be proud."

"Thanks," I said, and smiled, "it's nice to know. If Uncle Theo ever throws me out I'll come begging for livery fees for my beautiful horse." I looked out the window. There was a group of boys walking on the other side of the road. "That's Bailey Westwych," I said, nodding out the window. "He's the one pulled me off Indigo, the big blonde, who's the one I was trying to castrate. Do you know them?" Azrael peered out and nodded.

"Aye," he said, "Bailey's alright, Indigo's a prick. Bailey is the next King of Gyr so he's nothing to prove. Indigo's untitled and I hear he fancies himself my replacement." I nodded.

"I heard that too, but afterwards. All I knew, he tried to hold me underwater. I didn't even see who it was. I wouldn't normally try to geld a man."

"He's limping," said Azrael, pushing his hair back, "trying to hide it."

"Ha, I think you're right." I sat back in my seat. "Are you growing your hair?"

"Aye," he said, "just to annoy Grandpa."

"Well, that's a good enough reason," I said, and laughed. He smiled and fiddled with a hank of his fringe.

"I know," he said, "it seems petty, but I'm good otherwise. I try not to lose my bodyguards any more." Fenric gave me a bland look when I glanced at him. Azrael saw me look and smiled at Fenric. "Before Father died, I used to lose them most times we went anywhere. Fenric reckoned I was trying to send him grey." He paused. "Grandpa hauled me in last night, said did I know you did men?" I winced. He grinned. The bodyguards all tried to look elsewhere.

"Oh bugger," I said. Azrael rolled his eyes at my joke.

"It's alright, I told him you didn't."

"Uncle Theo believed you?" I said, raising my eyebrows, and Azrael nodded.

"I pointed out you were attacked in the baths by someone who would like to discredit me. And that you hurt the boy's pride badly, so I imagined this was something to do with that." I blinked. "By discrediting you," Azrael went on in an earnest tone, "he was hoping to discredit me in the king's eyes." I held up a hand.

"Whoa, so someone reported me to the king, told him I was a nasty little trouser-bandit?" Azrael laughed and laughed, as did the other bodyguards. Even Fenric lost his composure and snorted with laughter.

"Trouser-bandit?" said Azrael, when he could speak.

"Stop your giggling," I said, trying to be dignified, "it was what the soldiers at the garrison always said. Well, one of the things."

"It must have been Indigo," said Azrael. "Anyway, I told Grandpa you weren't gay. I told him the truth. We did a girl together and you didn't try to touch me up."

"Gossip's a nasty weapon," I said.

"I could start my own rumours," said Azrael, "serve them right, but Nanny says that sort of thing always goes wrong."

"Aye," I said, "and it's against the tenets of Thet." He gave me a serious look.

"I thought you were an atheist," he said. I spread my hands.

"I am, but it's not hard to learn about the gods. Their moral codes often have admirable themes. Father always said you can decide which bits suit you. You should study religions, they're fascinating."

"But you don't believe in the gods," he said, "do you?" I shook my head and said in an assured tone,

"Inventing gods is something we do to make ourselves less afraid, and huddled here on this little planet we're so afraid, when once we roamed the stars." I waved a hand. "Sophisticated peoples don't need religions to run their lives."

"I might use that in a speech one day," he said, looking thoughtful, "especially about roaming the stars, if you don't mind?"

"Help yourself," I said. "So, what's next on the princely agenda?"

"Morning tea," he said with a grin, "at least, it's the next planned event. If we walk up from the stables we'll burn off what we ate at the cafe. Did you know it's Father's funeral on Sunday, day after my birthday?" He tried not to smile any more, putting on his serious face. I nodded. "My next major public ordeals are that I have to give speeches at my birthday and at the funeral."

"Glad I'm not a prince," I said. "Do you need a hand with the speeches?"

"Aye," he said, smiling, "thank you, Polo, I do." I'd never had a friend, well, not one my own age. It was a novel experience.

#### ****

We arrived back at the citadel on our way to my suite, as I wanted to show Azrael a book Grandmama Daeva had given me, _The Horse and Pony Breeds of the Old Kingdoms_. It was illustrated, and the foundation sire of the Pesertine breed was there, a piebald like Magpie. Before we made it, we were headed off.

"Azrael!" someone called. We looked around. Jogging up was a stocky man in Beechwood servant livery, green tunic over black trousers. Azrael waved and hailed him, we stopped, the servant stopped running, and there was that moment of waiting as he walked up.

"Come on Innes," said Ross, the officer in charge, swinging his arms, "shift it, some of us need a fire." The servant Innes looked at him and kept walking towards us, refusing to hurry more than he was.

"Is it cold?" I said, wondering if I was sickening for something, "it feels fine. Pleasant in the sun, a bit chilly in here." Azrael nodded.

"Aye, me too."

"I'm just down from the north," said Ross, who had very dark curly hair he kept cropped short. His cat's-eyes were warm brown, a ring of silver stars round the iris. "We were on the coast, so this feels freezing." Finally, Innes made it to us.

"Morning, Azrael," he said, "message from the king. Himself wants you in his day study."

"Thanks Innes," said Azrael, "I'll go now."

"And if you're Polo Shawcross," said Innes, nodding his head to me, "Himself wants you too."

"That's me," I said, "thanks." Azrael and I looked at each other. I was wondering what we'd done, so was he.

"Is Cida here, Innes?" said Azrael.

"Aye, lad," said Innes, sounding friendlier, "she's arrived. We've a nice set of rooms over on the east side of the new fort, third floor."

"Tell her I said hello," said Azrael. "Someone remind me, where are the king's offices from here?" Ross directed us to where the king's offices looked out over the main entrance. We jogged up and were ushered in.

#### ****

## Chapter 15 – Ghosts and Gainful Employment

To my relief, and Azrael's, we hadn't done anything wrong. The king just fancied a chat.

"If you don't have any appointments?" said Theo. We said of course not, and settled in for a visit. The mindweed, cake and coffee were on tap and, as always, I enjoyed the king's company. I hoped he and Azrael didn't fight. I needn't have worried. They were both in a good mood, possibly both for the same reason, Azrael getting laid. Eventually I broached the subject of finding some part-time work around the place.

"I don't mind getting my hands dirty," I said, "I've always done chores on the farm. I need a bit of extra coin so I can save Grandmama's allowance to fund a guild course. I'd be happy to work in the gardens or the stables?" Having done some stints kitchen-handing and helping at the bakery and inn in Lower Beech, I wasn't going to volunteer for the kitchens if I could help it. Kitchen work was very hot.

"Got a better idea," said the king, "I'll pay you an allowance-" I tried to interrupt, to say I couldn't accept that but he shushed me. "Call it a wage if it makes you feel better, but it will be dependent on you completing a series of challenges each week." I was thinking oh dear, I just wanted a part-time job, something that wasn't school. This sounded horribly like school.

"Challenges?" I said, trying to be polite but sounding doubtful. Theo waved a hand, as if they'd be nothing tricky.

"No more than one day a week," he said, "mostly working in one of the departments that run the city and the citadel. Visiting with the Royal Keepers, sometimes lectures and demonstrations of the departments so you understand how the place runs. I plan on Azrael doing it with you. This connected some dots in my mind. What do you say?"

"Well," I said, "sounds interesting." It did. I was thinking that no matter what job I ended up doing in the future, this idea of Theo's would be good experience. I might even find a vocation, and people expected you to have one. Adults kept looking at me funny when I said I didn't know what I wanted as a career. Moreover, Theo's plan sounded like being paid for having fun, not the school-in-disguise I was expecting. One day a week. I looked at Azrael. "Don't you think?" I said. Azrael looked sceptical.

"When would we do it, Grandpa?"

"Probably best to do it on Saturdays," said Theo, watching us. "Start early, finish by afternoon tea. I'm thinking you learn what's involved in each post. Be good experience for a king, and for you, Polo, be excellent for your education." I nodded. "Did you know there's a course in Estate Management at the Harvesters Guild?" I raised my eyebrows.

"I don't really know much about the guilds," I said, "but that sounds good." Estate management was well paid, especially at steward level, I knew that much. I didn't know there was a course in it, imagining people started for a duke or a king as a stablehand or something, and worked their way up over decades.

"They've got copies of the various guild prospectuses in the library," said Theo, "you should read them over." I nodded, I would.

"So give me a for instance," said Azrael, not sounding convinced.

"You spend the day with the Royal Keeper of the Bees," said Theo, "see what's involved in his post. You'll have an appreciation for the effort involved by all those people to get the honey on your toast in the morning." Theo was starting to sound impatient but Azrael took the wind out of him.

"Sounds good, Grandpa. You in, Polo?" I nodded.

"Aye," I said, "sounds good to me too." The king covered his surprise that we both agreed, said we'd have these holidays off then our new one-day-a-week job would start once school did.

"I've also arranged for Captain Fenric to tutor you both," he continued, "seeing you both know a little self-defence. Talk to him about that." I noticed Theo didn't say 'martial arts' but self-defence, which implied neither of us would be going into the army. I wasn't worried as I didn't want to go, but felt a bit sad for Azrael, to be so protected that he couldn't ever have his dream. "That new horse of yours going alright, Polo?" said Theo. I was smitten with the animal, happy to tell him how wonderful Magpie was and how great Theo was to give him to me. We chatted, and Theo said he'd have to go soon, an appointment with the Kavar ambassador before lunch.

"We're thinking of using their troops as mercenaries," he said, "the Kavar king's very interested but he's taking such a big cut of their fee we don't feel the soldiers are being paid properly. They'd be open to bribes. The Sriamans are known for trying to bribe soldiers with gold. I keep telling the Army of the North, you have to raise wages. Especially, they have to raise pensions. Man needs to know he'll be able to survive if the worst happens and he's maimed, or his family will get recompense if they're left without him. Sendren's the only kingdom that provides a decent pension to our soldiers and their kin." Azrael was paying rapt attention, loving this kind of political talk. It was his future so it was good that he took an interest.

#### ****

I tuned out, not because I wasn't interested, but because there was a man standing by the fireplace. From Azrael and Theo's reactions, they didn't see him at all. The man was sort-of transparent. I assumed it was a ghost. On the other hand, I might be hallucinating. Perhaps I'd gone mad. I didn't want to look away in case he vanished. The ghost, if that's what it was, seemed about my height, straight black hair down to the middle of his back. He was leaning on the mantelpiece, smiling gently, and was very good looking.

It seemed a strange thing to be noticing but it was what jumped out at me. The apparition was clean-shaven, had great cheekbones and a strong jaw, wearing a draping creamy-coloured shirt with soft pale trousers, and a pair of moccasins like the ones I was given for the Spring Ball, with beading on them. Not silk though, his looked to be soft leather with some bright beads, all of it slightly-not-there. I stopped examining his clothes and looked back at his face. Brown eyes, I couldn't tell if they were bright or not, but from his build he looked Blood not commoner.

That made sense, a Blood ghost in a Blood stronghold like this. I wondered who he was. The clothes looked vaguely northern. When had long hair last been fashionable? About a hundred years ago? I was sure I was seeing things. Why wasn't I panicking? A cat wandered in, sat and seemed to notice the ghost, then went past it, looking to cadge food from the king, who obliged with some cream from one of the cakes. I tried not to stare at the ghost too obviously.

_Hello_ , said the ghost, sounding friendly. I glanced at Theo and then at Azrael. _They can't hear me_ , the ghost went on, _and as you may have surmised not everyone can see me either. Even fewer can hear me clearly. We can talk later, but I wanted to say hello_.

I blinked and he was gone. There was a kind of swirling in the air where he'd been, as if a tiny whirlwind was losing power on the hearth. A curl of ash raised itself in an eddy of impossibility, twisted into two, then floated for a few moments in a perfect double helix, a twisted twin spiral above the stone. Then it dissolved and the ash floated back to the hearth. I blinked again and tried to breathe. The cat walked over again, looked at the ash, and sauntered out.

"Are you alright, Polo?" said Azrael. He and Theo were both looking at me as if I'd failed to answer some question.

"Oh," I said, sounding croaky, trying to smile, "sorry, million miles away." A servant said the Kavar ambassador had arrived, and we were ushered out another entrance.

#### ****

Azrael waited until we were out of earshot.

"Are you alright," he said, "really?"

"I'm fine," I said, "just a funny turn." He smiled.

"You sound like Nanny Black." I shrugged. Did she see ghosts too?

"I haven't met her yet," I said.

"She's due any time now," he said and sighed. "It's been quite nice without her, but don't ever say I told her that. She tends to get upset if I admit I can get by without her. Mother's trying to get her to retire, but she likes to keep an eye on me." Gods. I tried to be tactful.

"Isn't that a bit inhibiting?" I said. He shrugged.

"She goes to bed early. And she's staying in Mother's tower, so close but not in my suite."

I was expecting a little old lady, so when the roly-poly white-haired woman wearing a black skirt with a green pinafore appeared in the corridor ahead, I figured it might be her. Azrael waved. She waved back then sat down to wait for us.

Up close, Nanny Black looked pretty healthy and, despite the white hair, not that old. Maybe the king's age, though Azrael said later she was older by nearly a decade. However she was barely five feet tall. I didn't underestimate her on grounds of age, size or plumpness, because she looked as if there was a brain the size of Sendren behind the shrewd dark eyes.

"Hello Nanny," said Azrael as we reached her. He leaned down and gave her a hug. "It's good to see you." He turned to me. "Nanny, this is Polo Shawcross. Polo, this is Nanny Black. We were just talking about you, Nanny."

She offered her hand, I said I was pleased to meet her, and she nearly crushed my fingers. She smiled, looking smug, and said it was mutual. Azrael put his arm around her. I noticed she didn't need me explaining and guessed she knew me already through some report or other. I had begun to notice everything I did became fodder for citadel gossip. It was only a matter of time before Mother or Grandmama wrote to me about something that they heard about me doing. Bernard had admitted he was taking notes, and I wondered if the king saw those, or if others spied on me.

"Nanny's like my mother, really," Azrael said, "aren't you Nanny?"

"It does feel that way, precious," Nanny Black said, focused on Azrael, "now, tell me, is everything alright?" Nanny Black was petrifying. And strong. She was a peasant, though her accent was a southern one and not particularly common. She could walk too, I was flat out keeping up with her. She had legs like steel springs disguised in black stockings. On her collar was the same silver dragon Fenric wore, signifying ten years service in the north. I wondered when that was, or was the pin for some man she'd loved?

"I thought we could eat together in your suite, dearie," said Nanny. She was talking to me. "I ordered lunch in, or rather your man, Bernard was organising it. He's very efficient, isn't he?"

"Very," I said, "I've only just arrived, when Azrael did. I've never had a servant before. Bernard's very thoughtful." I knew enough to tell her, so she would tell Bernard and he would get kudos. The way the servants judged each other was complicated. It webbed the Blood into a system of politeness that suited the peasantry. Feedback and the respect of one's peers, both important.

"Saraia tells me your mother is a Casterton," said Nanny Black. While we waited for lunch I explained my family, at least what I knew. Once she finished exploring my genealogy she began interrogating me personally. What were my interests? Liking reading and outdoor sports meant approving nods. What did I want to be? Thanks to Theo, I had an answer.

"I need to explore the options," I said, "I barely know what the guilds teach, but I'm thinking Estate Management at the Harvesters." It sounded good, and I hoped it would stop adults recommending the Military Guild. She nodded.

"Not the Military Guild?" she said. I gave her a blank look.

"No, thank you." She ran a finger along the tablecloth.

"I hear you've potential as a soldier," she said, sounding thoughtful.

"Not in a blue fit," I said, as food arrived. "I like playing soldier. The sparring, mounted games, knowing I can defend myself. But me a soldier? No way."

"Why not?" she said.

"I don't want to die," I said, and began counting on my fingers. "I don't want to be scared at work every day. I don't take well to stupid orders. I don't like wearing a uniform. I hate marching. I don't really like being part of a team." I was trying to remember the other reasons. I must write a list, ready to whip it out at moments like this. "Sparring scares me," I said, "I'd run away in an actual battle situation." That was seven. It would do.

"Sparring scares you?" said Azrael.

"Especially the way you do it," I said, "what's with the constant groin shots?" He shrugged and blushed.

"Aye," he said, "the guards say it's like a signature blow of mine. Other men don't tend to strike there, professional courtesy."

"Alright, Polo," said Nanny Black, "so you don't want to be a soldier. You do understand your little feud with Indigo Sutherland is going to affect Azrael when he goes to the Military Guild?" I didn't know what she was talking about. "Shut your mouth, boy," she said, "it's rude to gape at someone."

"But," I said, beginning to splutter, "what feud? He attacked me in the baths, I don't even know him!" She narrowed her eyes.

"That's not what I heard," she said. I scowled.

"Azrael," I said, "have you heard I have a feud with Indigo?" He nodded.

"I heard it, yes, but didn't pay too much attention. I know it's him has a feud with me. You're collateral damage." Nanny gave him a suspicious look and said,

"With you?"

Azrael explained what we'd heard, that Indigo thought himself crown prince in all but name. And, Azrael went on blithely, Nanny could trust me because in case I was some spy sent from Sriama, or more likely from the Keller clan, the king had spies follow me since we arrived, with reports also going to Azrael. The king's spies were, Azrael said, completely sure I was above board.

I was shocked. It was also a blow to the ego. Like most people I fancied myself an aware person, but I was being followed, watched, and investigated and hadn't known. I knew I was being gossiped about, but not the rest. Moreover, it hadn't occurred to me. I assumed I was free from possible observation once out of the Queen's Mews, providing nobody recognised me. Especially out of the citadel grounds.

"I was followed?" I said.

"Come on, Polo," Azrael said, "I'd be stupid if I took anyone on face value with my father barely cold. We need to check backgrounds. You had the right papers, the king said you moved like your mother, and he was expecting you, but that was the only real proof that you are who you say you are. Your father has blue eyes and blonde hair, you have green eyes, and a different shade of blonde. People say you look a bit like him but not enough for anyone to say for sure, you must be Polo Shawcross." I was trying not to get angry. I could see his point, he really couldn't trust anyone, and I was a stranger.

"Grandmama Daeva Casterton says I look like my great-great uncle, Beau Casterton," I said, "he had the same colouring."

"Papers can be forged," said Azrael, looking apologetic. He mouthed, "Sorry," with a little shrug. I gave him a dirty look, but tempered it enough that he knew I was forgiving him. We were polite until we relaxed again. If you like each other, it's not that hard to do.

Nanny Black had lunch then left, saying she was off to visit Azrael's mother.

"Interesting woman," I said, once I was absolutely sure she was gone. "Grip like a wrestler."

"She's very strong," said Azrael. "She used to teach me self-defence before I was about ten. She's good. Especially seeing she's so tiny." I gestured to the couches nearby, and we moved there from the more formal dining area.

"She's a peasant?" I said. She looked it, didn't sound it, but then many of the Blood's servants spoke as well as their charges. He nodded.

"Aye," he said, "Nanny's all peasant. Her family were in service at the kingdom seat down in Cragleas. She spent some time working for the queen, my grandmother, as a personal assistant, then took over managing the babies when she didn't approve of the way the nursery staff were doing it. Likes to keep herself busy, she says. She does at least one class a year at one of the guilds. Last year it was Mosaics, and the year before Furniture Upholstery, at the Artists. She speaks Sriaman, too. And Kavar."

"Good for her," I said, "it's good to keep busy. One of the servants told me there are several lakes and pools here in the citadel park." I smiled, and stretched. "I fancy an afternoon at the beach." He looked out at the blue sky.

"It is the sunniest day we've had in ages," he said.

"Do we need your guards?" I said, pretending to be responsible.

"I'll tell them we're going," he said, "it should be alright." I bit my lip, then decided to be straight with him.

"Are you really having me followed?" I said.

"The king is," said Azrael, "he sends me reports. I asked him to after he told me he'd have you checked out. And of course, I'm bribing the spies to let me know if you're doing anything unusual."

"Have I?" I said. "I mean, have I done anything unusual?"

"No," he said, "you seem to be what you seem to be." I blinked. "Do you think I am what I am?" he said, and I blinked more.

"Is this the 'Oh no, I might be gay!' thing again?" I said. "Because we've proved you're not."

"I'm serious," he said, "do you think I have a kingly quality?" I laughed. "Serious, come on, Polo."

"Well," I said, "you have the same kind of charm as Theo, and like him you're very good at talking to people. You seem interested. People like that. Bernard likes you. He's a fussy bugger. You won him over quicker than I did, by remembering his name the first day we were here." I paused. "If you'd like to know, I really liked you when we met. I thought, at last, someone who's into history and cares about life. Who thinks there's more to it than Lower Beech." Azrael smiled.

"I'm glad you thought so. And that Bernard likes me. Nanny says the peasants are the best judge of the Blood." I smiled.

"I like you too," I said, "I'm half-peasant." He smiled back.

"Grandma Rose is half-peasant but my Grandma Casterton, the Queen of Cragleas, is half-Dragon." I raised my eyebrows.

"I don't even know who in my family brought in the most recent Dragon blood."

"A lot of families up here hide it," he said, "down in Redoubt people boast about it. It has to be within five generations or the cat's-eyes and other effects disappear." There was a knock at the door.

"Miss Cida Innes," said Bernard, after a consultation at the entrance, "says she's a friend of His Highness. Your guards have identified her, Highness." Azrael stood up.

"Oh, thank you, Bernard. Please, let her in." He smiled at me. "This is that friend I was telling you about." I'd met Cida's father, the stocky servant who worked for Saraia, now I was to meet the peasant prodigy, Azrael's friend.

When I first saw Cida there was the immediate thought that her was quite beautiful, which seeing her father you'd not expect. However I was struck by a sense of the unpleasant. I didn't know why.

At about five-nine with a lush figure, everything except her dress sense was pleasing to the eye. Her dress was gathered under the bust like a little girl's, which she patently wasn't. It was most unflattering. Of course I didn't say so, just smiled, laughed politely at their recollections of fun times past and tried to get on with Cida. It wasn't easy.

Apparently, some Blood boy had asked her to go for a walk in the gardens then tried to cop a feel. I didn't see why that was my fault but Cida was sure we were all the same.

"You Blood," she said, "parasites on the common people-" I was staring open-mouthed, feeling it was up to Azrael to say something.

"Now, Cida," said Azrael, "one bad apple-"

"-like to take advantage," Cida shouted over the top of him, "of the working classes!" I found my voice,

"Honestly," I said, "I've never been a parasite-"

"You're all the same anyway, men!" She had dark brown hair and eyes, the latter were flashing with passion. Then she tossed her hair and pouted at Azrael, and it clicked.

She wanted to be his lover. Everything was for effect. That's what had set my senses on edge. She was a fake. After that, I tried not to rise to her bait but sat back, smoked, and watched.

She talked disparagingly about the prettiness gene, which was a big insult to her audience, both of whom had it, and I could see Azrael getting increasingly uncomfortable. I tapped out my pipe, ready to smother Cida with a cushion if she didn't shut up about how much she hated the Blood.

"You're tall for a peasant," I said, deciding I couldn't stay quiet any longer. "About five-nine." She stopped railing for a moment. "Couldn't help noticing." I smiled. "You're a looker, too." It was as though she was seeing me for the first time. She laughed, a bit nervously. Tossed her hair again.

"And your point is?" she said, sounding haughty.

"Happened to read some books on it," I said, "me being a half-breed, and not looking a lot like my parents." I saw her eyes widen a bit. She hadn't known I was half-peasant. "Genetics are a bit of an interest." I kept my tone pleasant. "You're bound to be Blood," I said and smiled. Cida's bone structure looked like many of the Blood round the place. "No cat's eyes, but you're tall to be pure southern – south of the Great Star Lake - peasant. Your features are very fine. The Yusaf were a different genetic type, mostly short and heavy. More like your da." Her father, Innes, was short and dark.

"There were many different types," I continued, "but by the time Dragon got here, the southern Yusaf had pretty much bred themselves into one, short with olive skin and dark eyes. Occasional throwbacks." I paused. Azrael was getting where I was going, and was smiling.

"Your mother's tall and quite beautiful, am I right?" I said. "For all she's peasant." Cida nodded. "Maybe the cat's-eyes didn't take, but I bet there's Dragon in her side of the family. Was she the half-breed or was it one of her parents?" I was guessing but it hit home. She curled her lip as though I said I wanted to do her and her sister. If she had one. I'd have to ask Azrael. Once she stopped shouting.

"But that can't be true! We're pure peasant, ten generations back. Both sides! Da told me!" I hadn't expected her to argue so vehemently. Her possible Dragon blood was obvious to anyone who looked. My northern peasant father could pass for Blood with his colouring and height, but Cida looked more like Blood than he did. I shrugged.

"Well," I said, "that's what I read." She huffed and puffed over my audacity and gave me a look filled with loathing. I sighed. Another feud over which Nanny Black could be annoyed with me. Without even trying, my life had gone from rather blissful, thanks to being away from Mother and Father, to one strewn with opportunities to offend people.

Cida left, after some arch comments about wanting to see Azrael when he could spare some time, as if he had abandoned her to be with his new friend, me.

#### ****

## Chapter 16 – I Discover Profiteroles

As the door closed behind her, I breathed out.

"Whew," said Azrael, rolling his eyes.

"That went well," I said, lighting another pipe. "Did I mention to Nanny 'not getting on with people' as another reason I can't join the army?"

"You did mention not being good in groups, I think," said Azrael, "or was it with teams?" I laughed.

"I need to make a real list," I said.

"It's a shame Cida hates you." He sighed. "I didn't think to mention that she's fiercely proud of being a peasant. Innes is very into equality for commoners, though he's very vague on who will govern once you get rid of the kings. The loudest peasant, I think. Her mother's very religious and quite anti-men, which she's drummed into Cida, as Mister Innes has drummed in the part about being proud peasants. Miz Innes is beautiful, you're right, but she's bitter. So mean she doesn't look good. The kind who won't let you open presents until the evening of your birthday, because that way you learn to worship the gods better." I looked sceptical.

"How does that help?" I said and he laughed.

"I don't know," said Azrael, "I never listen to Miz Innes when she goes off. Master Innes tunes out too, I've seen him. Probably plotting revolution and divorce in his head." Bernard came in.

"It's afternoon tea time, lordships," he said, "I'm off for mine. I'll revolt after that, if it suits you."

"Don't put yourself out, Bernard," I said, smiling. His eyes twinkled though he pretended not to be amused as he left. "It's strange," I said, "I've done a lot today, but I feel like all I've done is eat and smoke."

"You went riding outside," said Azrael, sounding wistful, "without having to worry about armour and a platoon of guards. But getting to the stables, breakfast and the showers, then back here, means you've had about an hour of brisk walking."

"There must be a way you can come out without so many men," I said. "We need a way to disguise you." He grinned.

"And it probably needs to be dark. I could wear a bag over my head."

"That would work," I said. "Come on, let's go to afternoon tea. Then we'll go swimming. I bet you can see a woman you fancy. Or a man."

"Are we," he said, then hesitated. "Are we friends?" I felt the emotion in him. I'd never had The Conversation with a man.

"Let's be straight with each other, Azrael," I said, trying to sound kind. "I don't love you. I won't fall in love with you over time. If you want love, go to someone else. However, I am your friend. I'm loyal to you. You could conceivably be enough of a prick that we stop being friends, but I'll be sure to let you know." I put an arm around his shoulder and gave him a quick hetero squeeze. He nodded.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," he said. I grinned.

"I do, actually. That's a variation of the standard speech. Especially with needy little trout like that Cida. Don't want them getting the wrong idea. You could do her, if you want. The girl's completely nuts for you."

"Cida?" said Azrael. He laughed and shook his head. "She doesn't even like me half the time. We grew up together, she's like a big sister. She hates that I won't let her boss me any more." I was in an experimental mood.

"Maybe I'll do her," I said. "That's some body she was hiding under that sack of a dress." Azrael blinked.

"Cida has a body?" he said, "I never noticed. Mother says she's in training for the Temple Guild, way she goes on about purity and the gods."

"She's over sixteen," I said, "if she's older than you. So she's legal. Do you mind if I do her?" He laughed.

"I don't mind, but no way will she do you. No way at all."

"I want to wake her up to fun," I said, "where's the harm in that?" He laughed some more.

"I bet you can't," he said, "and you're not to hurt her feelings by pretending to be in love with her." I made a snorting sound.

"I never pretend for sex," I said, "that would be unethical. And unsporting." He laughed until he nearly cried.

"Oh stop it," he said, "let's go. I happened to go past the kitchens rather early this morning and one of the bakers said there are going to be profiteroles for this tea."

"Profiteroles?" I said.

"A puffed dough ball," said Azrael, "they're doing chocolate coated with custard inside."

"Oh?" I imagined it. "Galaia preserve me, that sounds good."

"They are," said Azrael, "and I don't want to miss out. The Hangers On will eat them all."

"When you say Hangers On, what do you mean? Is it the people at Court?" He spread his hands.

"It's one of Nanny's systems. She has systems for everything. Come on, let's walk while I'll tell you." We headed out, making sure to tell the guards where we were going. Some followed or preceded us at a discreet distance. "The Hangers On are the courtiers who are guests of the king," Azrael explained. "They don't contribute in any way to the citadel or its running, but enjoy themselves and wear out the servants. Some are here to find spouses, maybe backing for some business, others simply to party away the Season, which runs from late September through to the following March."

"So it's just started?" I said.

"Aye," he said, "but the most fashionable time to come to Peterhaven is summer, the High Season, December through February." Our part of the continent of Pangea was in the Southern Hemisphere, so midwinter came in June. "A small number of Hangers On stay all year round, then there are Royal Whatsits, people who work at the citadel by appointment to the Crown, with a reason to be here." He counted them off on his fingers. "Other classifications are Royal Family, Military Men, Visitors, all here either on duty or visiting, maybe for conferences. Servants, citadel administration, estate workers, they're all Crown Employees." I listened carefully, being weird like him, interested in things like that. Children who read, they learn to treasure knowledge for its own sake.

"Which am I?" I said. "A Hanger On?" He thought a moment.

"You could be a Visitor, here for study, but I think you're honorary Royal Family, being here at Grandpa Theo's invite and especially living in the citadel. Hangers On are down in the new fort."

"I might be a student," I said, "maybe there's a new classification needed." He laughed.

"You'd like it if I couldn't classify you."

"Aye," I said, smiling, "I don't do well with being fitted into boxes, another reason not to join the army."

Ahead of us, Nanny came steaming out of a side corridor, making Azrael and I jump a little and look at each other, startled. I couldn't help wondering what I'd done. Our guards saw her coming and backed off. Everyone was scared of Nanny Black.

"Your mother's out," she said to Azrael, then turned to me. "I heard you had a run-in with that Cida." I tried to defend myself. Mostly by edging away before she killed me.

"Now, Nanny Black," I said, "that girl-" Nanny waved her hands, shooing my explanations away.

"It's alright, I heard. She was being obnoxious, saying the peasants are the poor put-upon slaves of those evil parasites the Blood. Cida Innes should be ashamed. After all your mother's done for her parents, Azrael." Azrael shrugged.

"She's getting it from her parents, Nanny," he said. "Cida doesn't have an original idea in her head." Nanny looked cranky. I was so glad it wasn't directed at me. It was like the intense heat from a forge, great for working metal, not so good for humans.

"She's not getting this from Miz Innes," said Nanny, "that woman's many things but she's no revolutionary."

"Your mother's employing a revolutionary?" I said.

"Mother says Master Innes isn't really anti-monarchy, he's just unhappily married," said Azrael, "he doesn't mean anything by it." Nanny Black snorted.

"Your mother's soft," she said.

"What," said Azrael, "you'd have Great Uncle Nate peel him?" Nanny made the sign of Galaia, hand on her heart. I didn't know why.

"Who's Great Uncle Nate?" I said, before they could go on. I'd heard him mentioned before.

"The Royal Torturer," said Azrael, "he's the king's youngest brother. My great-uncle. He's the only cat's-eyed one aside from Grandpa. Technically, something happens to me and we skip Aunt Kristen, he's the heir. I heard Uncle Randolph, another of Grandpa's brothers, but not cat's-eyed, say he'll join Innes's revolution before he lets Nate take the throne."

"There's something wrong with Nate," said Nanny.

"Aye," said Azrael, "after seeing him at work on Father's assassin, which was all psychology, no blood, he scares me a bit."

"You got to see torture?" I said, trying not to sound eager. I was just sixteen, and like any teenage boy, interested in the lurid. Azrael shook his head.

"No," he said, "and I'm quite glad. Seeing all the implements was creepy enough. He didn't even get through his showcase of how they worked, getting us to pick which ones he should use, before the assassin started talking about why he killed Father and how much he loved Aunt Kristen. Everyone was very relieved there wasn't going to be torture, even Fenric. You could see it in their eyes. Except Grandpa, he was angry."

"You need a haircut," said Nanny. Azrael stuck out his tongue.

"No," he said, "I'm growing it." She snarled at him but didn't push it.

"Uncle Nate really has a human peeler?" I said. Azrael pulled a face and nodded. We all shuddered and said how vile. Nanny seemed to have forgiven me my feud with Indigo because she approved of my argument with Cida. I was pleased and resolved to avoid any more disagreements. Nanny veered off, heading for the Servants Hall, and we kept going to the Peacock Dining Room.

The day was cooling off by the time we remembered our idea to go swimming, but that was alright, we could go tomorrow. It was only the Monday of the first week. The whole holiday was before us, ready to be enjoyed.

#### ****

For the next two weeks life was busy. Aside from formal events like the late Crown Prince Perry's funeral, I was eating, working out, swimming, riding and spending time with Azrael, though I kept him at arm's length physically. No sense having sex with someone on the edge of falling in love with me. I made that mistake with Molly back in Lower Beech. In hindsight I could see I'd ignored the signs that Molly was getting too dependent on me.

I also had my own foibles, liking privacy and my own company too much to want a lover round all the time. Thanks to growing up in the country, with no friends my own age and the peasants standoffish, I was used to being alone. Now, though I had several lovers of various ages, it seemed I didn't need people. My affairs were as discreet as I could manage, not wanting either my family or the king to think I was promiscuous. Azrael could think what he liked. I didn't often have lovers in my rooms, wanting more privacy than was there.

Although I spotted my tails at least some of the time, and was even sure I lost the spies after me more than once, still everyone seemed to know who I was having sex with. My tumbles said they weren't talking, and I wasn't, but it was almost impossible to do anything inside the citadel without someone knowing. Outside, well, odds were, when you thought you were alone or unobserved you would give yourselves away, and the gossips would assume the truth.

Along with being spied on, everything one did was discussed by everyone, there being something in our shared blood that made us slaves to the notion of wanting news of what other people were doing.

I was fitted for a school uniform, my first ever. I underlined, 'Do not want to wear uniform', on my list of reasons not to join the army. I added, 'Don't like being told what to wear'. Schoolbooks arrived. I read them cover-to-cover, remembering too late that I really shouldn't do that, it made term boring.

The parkland was wonderful to explore. The wildlife fascinated me, especially the abundance of brightly coloured frogs and parrots. I was told the latter were originally a Sriaman import.

The lakes and waterways around the citadel were still a bit cold that time of year, but the swimming was good. In places one could swim down connecting streams between ponds and lakes. Some were marked 'No Swimming', thanks to dams and sluice gates, with lines of floats across and warning signs along the banks.

Barefoot, dressed only in a pair of shorts, I was wandering down the bank of one such stream when a man surfaced in the middle of it.

"Hey," I said loudly, "you're not supposed to be swimming there. Strong current." I gestured to a sign as he turned, saw me, nodded and smiled. He swam to my side and walked out towards me. His hair was quite long, to his shoulders, and as he twisted out the water, I began idly wondering what it would be like to have mine longer. It was rather eccentric. Maybe I could grow the top, like Azrael. The man was a little shorter than I was. Slim but not weedy, he looked fit. Brown hair and brown cat's-eyes, the brown shining with specks of copper glitter.

"Aye," he said, "you're right, it's not safe, but I'm doing some work here."

"Work?" I said. He didn't look like a servant and was like me only wearing shorts. "What kind of work?"

"This stream leads to a sluice-gate," he said, "I'm doing some inspections. If you didn't know it was there, or even if you did and were careless, you could be stuck against it. But thank you for telling me." I smiled. "I'm the Royal Keeper of the Plumbing," he said, and offered his hand. "Rory Keller."

"Polo Shawcross, I'm a guest of the king." I was such a snob. I wasn't a Hanger On, oh no. Rory wasn't either. Rory was a Royal Whatsit. We got talking about the citadel's sewage and water systems, which were connected.

"The citadel can last any length of siege," he said, "thanks to the water all being filtered and reused."

"You mean we're drinking recycled water?" I said. Rory looked smug.

"We are. The citadel area has for nearly three thousand years. We do flush it occasionally and of course, we collect rainwater fresh to add to the cisterns. Peterhaven does the same, but on a different system. The very early Yusaf settlers built this before the Great Silence began and the worlds fell apart. We're really just caretakers."

I felt very nostalgic, for a time when we built such places and could travel all the way to the Alpha Quadrant. When we came all the way from Home. What were those other planets like now, three thousand years later? Why hadn't they come for us? Were they trapped on the ground too?

"I can't help imagining what it was like," Rory said, as if he were reading my mind, "when the starships stopped coming. It must have been an awful time to live through." I nodded. He was saying what I felt.

"After the starships stopped coming," I said, "the settlers thought they'd be back, and kept hope for a few hundred years."

"A student of history," said Rory, smiling. "I think for men it wasn't too bad, especially if you lucked into a place like this." He gestured at the citadel, somewhere behind us, invisible from this dense patch of woodland. "If you had any kind of skill, could teach or fight, then you had something to sell. Women on the other hand were expected to breed. It didn't matter what other skills they had, their usefulness was judged by how well they whelped. And to as many different men as possible." I tried to imagine what that was like. Being young and mostly ignorant, I thought there were worse fates.

"They didn't like it?" I said.

"I think it was more that the law forced it," he said, "and it destroyed the women's bodies, aged them before their time. Women died young in those days. It wasn't until Dragon came that the laws were rescinded, only a thousand years ago. They had already stopped the multiple births and fast breeding by then. Dragon brought in many laws that places like Sendren were already thinking of. Equality for women, that's another thing Dragon reminded us of. Instead of using them as brood mares." Finally, with my own experience of being looked at simply as a sire, I understood, and shuddered at the idea of a law that forced you to breed.

Another item to write on my list of reasons not to join the army. I could be forced to do stupid things by stupid people who could make their word law, which was what an order was in the army. Rory mistook my shudder.

"We're all a little bit Dragon," he said in a kind tone, "you shouldn't find them reprehensible." I explained what I was shuddering at and that I knew I was part-Dragon. We talked about all kinds of things, and ended up going to his towel to collect a flask of coffee then to mine to get my smoke.

Rory was one of several Royal Whatsits I met around the place who became friends. People with a passion for their work are hard to resist.

#### ****

Like me, Azrael kept a list of every woman he bedded, not for boasting purposes but in case any claimed later that we impregnated them. However, his list was Crown property. Mine was to jog my memory, as I had no inheritance for any bastard of mine to claim. I was filling mine in when Azrael dropped in to my quarters.

"I have to note whether we used birth control," he said, "what kind, or if we just fooled around. There's a book for my lists to go into, kept in a locked room in the library." I laughed. Then I stopped.

"Weird," I said, "so there must be lists like this for every king and crown prince, ever?" I was thinking that noting the kind of birth control was a good idea. Some kinds failed more often than others.

"And every queen, every princess," he said. I whistled.

"Anyway, so how's your intelligence going? Who have I tumbled lately?" He listed the five women who'd kept me busy in the last week or so. And the two couples. I shook my head. I had no idea where his spies were hiding while I was out in the grounds with one of the married couples, but hoped they enjoyed the show. The married couple would be mortified. "Why do you want to know who I'm doing?" I said, and he smiled.

"In case they're someone I'm doing," he said, sounding glib. Liar, I thought, but I let it slide.

"If I made her a grandmother, Mother would be horrified," I said. He laughed.

"I don't think Mother's considered that," he said, "and the king will be a great-grandfather. Maybe I should remind them, see if they back off." I laughed too. We shook our heads at the silliness of adults.

"Have you got a list of potential brides?" I said.

"Aye," said Azrael, "those not too closely related but at the same time whose families have the reputation for good genes and cat's-eyes." I shook my head.

"Rather you than me, mate."

"You've been hanging out with Fenric," he said, "saying mate." I smiled. I was very proud that when it was just us, sometimes Azrael's bodyguards called me mate, though more often it was lad.

"Aye," I said, "I like your bodyguards, very interesting bunch."

"Speaking of hanging out," he said, "you're trying to keep me at arm's length over sex, right? Not over our friendship." I nodded.

"That's all. I don't want any kind of emotional dependence, Azrael. I don't want a relationship. Friendship, that's different. I'm happy to be your friend." He smiled and changed the subject.

"Are you looking forward to school?" he said. I laughed.

"Looking forward isn't the right word," I said, "I'll be alright. I'll endure it. I don't expect to enjoy it."

#### ****

## Chapter 17 – Family Matters

I'd never been to a good school, one where children were encouraged to learn, their gifts noticed and encouraged, where the teachers tried to make the lessons interesting. To my surprise, it was fun. I looked forward to each day. At the end of each week, Azrael and I spent Saturday with a Royal Whatsit, which we both enjoyed.

For that, a pleasure and a treat, not a chore, I had a weekly allowance of fifteen silvers or half a gold crown, which was as much many people back in the village earned in a month. What I'd thought of as my cushy allowance from Grandma was only ten silvers a month.

After much soul-searching I queried the amount with the king. Part of me wanted to hold onto the coin, more than I'd ever had that wasn't a gift. The first time I thought it might be a month in advance, but when we received the same the second week I had to ask.

"You need to be able to go where Azrael goes," Theo said, "you're expected to be able to socialise with your peers, otherwise being at Court would become a dreadful experience. You're on the same allowance, you see? Now, I know you know the worth of coin. You've proved it by coming to me, saying it's too much. I want him to learn that. You've seen what some of these young people are like, don't know the value of money, and think it's a question of finding someone to give them more. If Daddy won't do it then they ask Grandpa." I nodded, I did know what he meant. He'd also reminded me of something.

"Uncle Theo, I've been meaning to ask, has anyone has heard from my parents?" He frowned.

"No, lad, not me. Shall I send someone to Lower Beech?" I shook my head, surprised that Mother hadn't told the king about her plans. I explained about Torc and new starts.

"I can send a messenger to your grandmother," the king said, "see if she's heard from them. A man's faster than the mail." That seemed a lot of bother when they were probably fine. It would scare Grandmama Daeva if some messenger arrived and she didn't know where my parents were.

"It's only been a month since they left," I said, "perhaps leave it? When I first arrived I wrote to Grandmama but haven't had a reply yet. She may have heard from them. Mother and Father are probably at a hotel, thinking to write the moment they know where they're living." Theo and I promised to let each other know if we heard anything.

Secretly I was imagining some terrible accident. An Unfortunate Accident. Not an accident and rather fortunate for someone. Probably Mother killing Father and then herself. If there was any justice in the world, I was an orphan.

I was never so free. Nobody really cared what I did, providing I did what I was supposed to, and that last was made clear to me. It was liberating. I did party hard but was an amateur at revelry compared to most of the Hangers On. Thanks to having school, work, and training, I was in bed early most nights and rarely drank. I wasn't that pure. I was rarely in bed alone.

#### ****

A week later a letter arrived from Grandmama Daeva. It was mostly platitudes, except down at the end where she asked if I'd heard from my parents.

I dropped in at the king's offices. Theo's secretary told him I was there, and waved me in almost immediately, something that amazed me. There I was, Polo Shawcross, professional nobody, able to see the King of Sendren without even an appointment. I told Uncle Theo about Grandmama's letter.

"This was written about a week ago," I said, "Mother may have written in the meantime and I don't want to panic Grandmama." He nodded.

"How about I make a general enquiry in Torc?" I wasn't sure what to do and didn't want to annoy my parents.

"Maybe," I said, "but maybe I'm making a fuss for nothing?"

"My people will be under orders not to contact them," Theo said. "We'll just see they're alright." That seemed reasonable.

#### ****

Another week passed. Theo told me that Mother and Father were living at the Seahorse Hotel, in downtown Shell Harbour, Kingdom of Torc.

"They seem fine," he said, and handed me a report. I wasn't sure if I should open it and read now but Theo summarised it for me. "However, your father has been seen drinking down by the docks, late at night. He's a good looking man, I'm told." He paused, as if wondering how to put it. "I'm afraid he's visiting the local brothels."

"In a harbour town?" I said. All the soldiers told blue jokes about harbour town floozies.

"Prostitution is regulated in Torc," said Theo, waving a hand as if to calm me, "the dangers are exaggerated in the tales you hear, but granted, Shell Harbour's a bit wilder than Peterhaven." He looked wistful. "They have a wonderful climate and hardly ever get snowed in," he added. I smiled. I had no fondness for cold. Winter was something I endured.

"Torc sounds like Paradise," I said.

"Paradise is an actual planet, you know," said the king, "over in the Beta Quadrant."

"Oh?" I said. He nodded and got up, pulled down a big, impossibly ancient book, _The Atlas of the Quadrants_ , beautifully bound in blue leather, the title etched in gold. He opened it to a page he obviously knew well.

"This is a copy, the original is locked away in the library, but even this copy is very delicate. There are more copies in the library and out in the local libraries, so there are examples for people to see." It wasn't in the Beech Wood Library's collection or I'd have seen it. An exquisite painted map folded out. I looked it over, exclaiming at the detail.

"Aye," said Theo, "Paradise's landmasses are mostly made up of chains of islands, a few continents, enough land to make it self-sufficient and for the inhabitants to get a balanced diet. Apparently, you can get tired of fish, shellfish, and coconuts." We laughed at the idea. "Mostly it's all perfect white sand beaches and gentle oceans." His fingers traced the atolls. "Good place for a sailor. Or a swimmer. That sort of thing. Idea was it would be a tourist destination. See," he said, "here's the spaceport, then you might head out to your very own island."

"Like Galaia was going to be," I said, "a tourist planet." He nodded.

"Aye, we were going to be where people who'd never been to Home could come, see the kind of place it was once. Of course we've changed it by being here, with selective breeding for animals and plants, but we try to tread lightly. Here in Sendren, despite being Southern Hemisphere, we're Northern Temperate, with the odd tropical interloper like the parrots in the park." I confessed to liking the parrots and Theo agreed they were lovely birds.

"Before Dragon ever arrived," he said, "the Yusaf knew we must treat the land well. They didn't want to repeat the mistakes of Home. This was supposed to be the 'what if?' planet. What if, back on Home they hadn't wiped out this animal or that insect, tipping the ecosystems into chaos? What if they hadn't poisoned the rivers and the air, stripped the seas bare of nearly every living organism? They say that on Home you could see where the towns were on the coasts, because the oceans died around them."

We shook our heads at such horror. He turned to the page with Galaia's continents displayed. "The lands here aren't the same shape as Home landmasses were, but every Home ecosystem was reproduced. Then civilisation collapsed, we lost contact with Home, and here in the Quadrants nobody had time to worry about tourists, too busy trying to survive. We're lucky, being in one of the more bountiful areas of the planet."

"Maybe that's what the Sriamans want," I said, smiling, "to be tourists."

"And we've been misunderstanding them all these years," the king said, laughing, "they're just after some decent cheese and wine, then they'll go home."

#### ****

Theo's dossier contained my parents' new address in case I wanted to write. Back in my room, I decided to do just that.

Dear Mother,  
I hope you're well.

I put that piece of paper aside and started again,

Dear Mother and Father,  
I hope you're both well.

Then I was stuck. I hummed and hawed then wrote that I was fine, doing very well at school. I mentioned working one day a week, some people I'd met that they knew, and mentioned Grandmama was hoping to hear from Mother. I wasn't sure how to explain finding out where they were, so said a friend of the king saw them. I said I was writing first to let her to know I was fine and hoped she was too. Then I realised I already wrote that. I contemplated scrapping the letter, but in the end signed and arranged to send it off in the citadel post.

#### ****

After another two weeks, time enough for my letter to get there then Mother to reply, I began hoping to get mail, but nothing happened. After another week, I wrote to Grandmama, telling her where Mother was and that I hadn't yet heard from her. Pretending not to care, I told the king that I'd written and would let him know if they replied. He gave me a serious look.

"You have a home here, Polo, for however long you need one. Above the Law of Blood Sanctuary."

"The Law of Blood Sanctuary?" I said. He frowned.

"Don't you know about that?" he said and chuckled. "Why do you think I put up with the Royal Court? I have a whole building, the new fort, mostly filled with them. The Hangers On as Azrael calls them. It's the Law of Blood Sanctuary. Cat's-eyes, I have to give them sanctuary. Any of them. Every castle, every walled estate or great house in the old dragon kingdoms, it's the same. In case the peasants turn on the cat's-eyed ones. In a pinch, wouldn't just be the cat's-eyed, anyone might claim sanctuary if their life was in danger for their bloodlines. And in case of invasion, of course, everyone would pile in here."

"I didn't realise," I said.

"Well," he said, "now you know. The citizens can all claim sanctuary here from invaders, but when Dragon came they added their own laws. Anyway, I'm saying you're welcome here above that. You're good for the boy. Azrael needs people who treat him like an ordinary person." I thanked Theo for putting up with me and assured him I appreciated it.

#### ****

## Chapter 18 - Paradise Doesn't Last Forever

At exam time I did well, much better than I was expecting. Not having ever really worked hard before, I was surprised at how much easier it made the exams. Who knew it was so simple?

Then it was the holidays. I had time off from my weekly 'job', a fabulous horse, plenty of coin and a whole perfect summer opening in front of me like a pearl shell. Who knew what it might contain? Of course, it began to go wrong.

On the very first Saturday Bernard reported a rumour that my mother was down in the new fort. When I checked with citadel admin, to my horror the rumour turned out to be true. I went back to my suite, had four pipes one after another, then walked straight down to the New Fort, smoking more.

"Polo!" Mother said and hugged me. I was anaesthetised enough by then to be genuinely pleased to see her and she giggled as I picked her up in a big hug. "Come in, come in," she said, "I was going to come find you. Galaia preserve me, you've grown again!" I entered and it was as I was told. Father wasn't there.

"Hello Mother," I said, still smiling, "where's Father?"

"I left him," she said, and I winced.

"Again?" I said. She made a dismissive gesture.

"Don't be such a cynic, Polo. I've travelled for ten days to get here to be with you." The smile felt like a rictus but I kept going.

"Well," I said, "presumably Father will be here soon." She shook her head.

"I don't think so." I sighed.

"You say that every time, Mother."

"You and I," my apparently deaf mother was saying, "we can be a family again. The furniture's on its way back from Torc. I thought I'd rent a place in Peterhaven. You can stay at the school here of course." I felt sick.

"I don't think we can," I said, "be a family again. I'm doing very well at school, you know, and I rather like living here. And I've been doing very well at school."

"Yes," she said, "you said that. Your country mother's here to embarrass you, is that it? Too good for me now?" I gave her a dirty look.

"Do you want the truth, Mother? Even when chasing chickens you're rather elegant. However, I like being away from you, and from him. No drunken, fighting parents to distract me, or to blame me for their own immaturity." She was starting to look very angry but I didn't care. "As you both always told me, an education is very important. And I won't inherit anything from you, as you also both keep telling me, so I need a good education. I need to take advantage of this opportunity to network, too. Another thing you and Father tell me to do."

"Well," she said, "don't let me keep you!" I shook my head. She wasn't going to make me into the monster.

"You know Father will turn up," I said, "he'll beg you to come back and you'll let him win you over, you always do. Usually a couple of times a year since I was able to understand words. Unlike you, Mother, I can remember." I paused. She looked about ready to spit. I shrugged. "Don't blame the messenger. If you can't stand being reminded then don't keep doing it." Getting rather shouty, she called me several rude names then tried to slap me. I caught her hand.

"Theo's turned you against me!" she said, snarling. "I can't believe it!"

"Theo's not turned me against anyone," I said, keeping her from hitting me and trying not to shout back, "it's just that here I'm welcome. The rules are simple and don't change every second day. Unlike when you and Father threaten to break up every few months or so, or tell me I'm to go away somewhere so you can stop fighting." I lost the shouty battle. "Like it was my fault! Well, Mother, you and Father can't bully me any more by acting like a pair of children. It's been three months since you farmed me out to Uncle Theo, and you never even bothered to write to me, or Grandmama! We were both worried." Then I lost it completely. "And I don't need anyone turning me against you, you're a horrible parent and so's he! Even here I heard he was drinking and whoring it up in Shell Harbour!"

I stormed out, shaking. I had no idea that was all bottled up inside me. I hadn't meant to be so nasty. What was it about Mother? I was sure she brought out the worst in me. Both of them did.

Quite close to the stables, I started heading that way, thinking to go out and let Magpie cheer me up, when I heard someone shout my name. Azrael was coming down from the citadel, guards trailing. I waited, kicking at the gravel in the path.

"I gather your mother's here," said Azrael. I nodded and shrugged. "I've never seen you in such a bad mood."

"The two things go together," I said, and tried to smile as if I was joking.

"She's on holiday?" he said. I shook my head.

"She's left my father," I said, "wants me to move into a house in Peterhaven with her." He looked disappointed, then tried to cover it up.

"Oh?" he said, "Will you go?" I bit my lip.

"I don't want to. Can she make me? I suppose she can. I'm not eighteen." My mood was bad, now it plummeted. I honestly thought I might cry. I'd been so happy at the citadel. "Galaia's tits!" I added for emphasis. Azrael's face was worried.

"Let's go talk to Grandpa," he said, "he'll know what to do."

"Mother thinks Theo's turned me against her," I said. Azrael looked mystified.

"How?" he said, and I shrugged.

"The woman's demented. But it's because I said I wanted to stay here, that I was doing well in school."

"But how is that Grandpa's fault?" he said, frowning. I shrugged again.

"I don't know. And I've never done well at school before." I sighed. "I'll run away rather than live with her again. I'll lie about my age and my name, go a few kingdoms away and invoke Blood Sanctuary."

"Oh," said Azrael, frowning deeply, "don't do that." He smiled. "Call me selfish, but I'll miss you. Let's see Grandpa first." I scowled.

"He's done so much for me," I said, "I don't like to go running to him over every little thing." Azrael put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. He didn't hold the contact too long, and I knew he was trying not to look gay. I appreciated the gesture. If we were alone I'd have hugged him back hard. As it was, I restricted my response to a smile with a brief touch to his shoulder, to show him it cheered me.

"Your mother's trying to take you away," he said, "when she agreed you could stay here until you finish school. It's not a little thing, and I think Grandpa would like to know." As they were adults and might have some insight, we asked the bodyguards. They agreed with Azrael, so we went to talk to the king.

Theo said he'd talk to Mother. I wished him luck. I was trying not to act depressed.

"Perhaps Father will turn up," I said, "and she'll forget about me."

"Maybe we can find your father?" said the king. The idea of Mother and Father in Peterhaven, hating me for what Mother would already be telling the servants was my abandonment of her, filled me with an urge to open my veins.

"Maybe," I said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I felt. "Father's probably following her. He will, once his coin runs out. The household furniture is all hers, and she's the one with the trust fund." I sighed and couldn't repress one of those hiccupping sighs you get when you've been sobbing, or perhaps you should have been but were holding it all in.

"Don't you worry," said Theo, "I'll talk to her. You boys go have some fun, you're only young once."

#### ****

Azrael and I wandered off. We walked down to the stables and saddled our own horses, something Theo thought was important for Azrael to do. As I'd always done my own it didn't worry me. I ran through the familiar motions, the saddle blanket and saddle slightly forward, sliding them back to keep his coat smooth before I reached for the girth, cinched it up with a growl and a quick cuff to his belly as he poked his stomach out. He gave it up.

Magpie wasn't dangerous, just spirited. Any animal that size that really wanted to kill you, you wouldn't enter its stable alone. He tried to bite me, I growled again, caught his nose, told him he was bad bad bad, and then I was turning into his neck, sliding my right hand up his nose, the top of the bridle bunched in that hand, curb bit steadied with the other as he opened his mouth, let me guide it into place.

I moved my right hand up, left hand too, fitted the headstall over his ears without trapping them, because all horses hate that, then did up the throatlatch. Three fingers side-on under that, because the jaw must be able to flex. I hooked up the curb chain, two fingers side-on there. Magpie nickered, taking the opportunity to lip at my pockets for treats. I stroked his nose instead then slid my fingers under the girth, checking the fit and that the skin wasn't caught up, making sure his hide wouldn't gall. I ran a hand down each foreleg and he lifted each foot in turn, let me hold on at the fetlock, above the great hoof, making sure of the same thing.

It was mindless, automatic, something I was trained to do since I could stand. I was trying not to think about Mother. I remembered what I'd said to her, about how long I'd been in Peterhaven. Was it really three months?

The last term of my second-last year at school had gone so fast I could hardly believe it was over. I was out of Lower Beech, still a reason for celebration in itself, and had managed to avoid Indigo, the boy who attacked me in the baths, for most of the term. It was easy enough. He only sneered at me from a distance, which I suspected was more to do a healthy fear of Fenric and the other bodyguards than out of any respect for either Azrael or me.

As for my sex life, I was a very good boy and kept my philandering to a minimum, only a few people a week. I also cancelled any tentative plans to bed Cida, a project I'd forgotten during term but had been considering for the summer. I wasn't going near her because she was both a virgin and mad, something I explained to Azrael as we mounted up.

"What do you mean," said Azrael, "both a virgin and mad?"

"She told me that Thet wants her to save it," I said, "for the man she's going to marry." I shuddered and stood in the stirrups, checking I was set. "I'm allergic to virgins and the very idea of marriage. Told you she was a needy little trout. And she's mad if she thinks holding onto it will make a man treat her right, when she just lies down in front of any man she wants. All it makes me want is to wipe my feet on her and keep walking." Azrael laughed. He was completely blind to Cida's crush on him.

"So she's a trout and a doormat?" he said. "She's never laid down in front of me, she's quite feisty. More live trout, less doormat. Maybe it's you she has the crush on? She does seem to get very angry round you. And I could never marry a peasant, anyway. I have to marry into the Blood, thanks to Grandma Rose being half-peasant." He paused. "You really think Cida's hot for me? She acts like she doesn't care."

"Cida's all front," I said, "and mate, that girl is so hot for you, bet she'd do you without a ring on her finger, for all her pious crap." Azrael tutted at me.

"It's not crap to be pious," he said. I looked at him.

"To let some fat men in a temple tell you what to do and what's right?" I said. "With words from a book written thousands of years ago, when things weren't like they are now? Now don't get me wrong, I can take on board the 'be nice to each other' aspects, but otherwise? Stuff that." Azrael laughed.

Right then, the strange man appeared again. The one I'd seen some months previous when with Azrael and the king. The one I thought was a ghost. I'd completely forgotten about him.

_Morning Polo_ , he said _, what a lovely day!_ Magpie looked right at him and snorted. _Indeed_ , said the man, _I do think it will rain later_. I looked carefully at Azrael, who was adjusting his stirrups and looking right through where the man was, his gaze unfocused as he wriggled in the saddle, getting the stirrup leathers right. I frowned at the ghost. Who was it? What was it? _I'm not a ghost_ , he said, as if he heard me, _think of me as a being-not-in-body._

"Polo?" said Azrael, "You coming?" He reined his horse.

"Oh, sorry," I said, letting Magpie move forward, "yes." The being, whatever it was, disappeared. No puff of smoke, no clap of thunder.

_By the way_ , came his voice, apparently from nowhere, _my name is Cree_.

As I rode after Azrael I was feeling decidedly unsettled. Magpie was snorting and dancing sideways. I checked him with my legs, pushed him forward at a trot. We caught Azrael quickly and slowed back to a walk, Magpie reluctant and making the odd snatch at the bit, as if to say he was fine to go faster.

"What happened there?" Azrael said. I shrugged.

"Something weird." I paused. "Does the name Cree sound familiar to you?" He thought for a few moments.

"I've heard it somewhere," he said, "not as a person's name, though. We can look in the library when we get back, if you like."

#### ****

We found out Cree was the name of an ancient tribe, like the Yusaf or Dragon, but before either, and that was it, a tiny mention. One of the old tribes of Home who were subdued by the Yusaf. It didn't seem relevant to my ghost.

"There's nothing else?" I said. "I'm looking for a person called Cree, maybe a hundred years ago? I don't know if it's his sirename or first name."

"There might be something," the Royal Librarian said, "in one of the libraries in the other kingdoms." She was Azrael's Aunt Clare, another Princess of Cragleas, older sister of Saraia and rather like her, but in a stern way that I found both erotic and unnerving. She insisted I call her aunt.

If you were sort-of cousins, rather than quibble about what exact relation, the older one was aunt or uncle, and once you were nearly an adult they usually told you to call them by their first name. Theo had told me I could drop the uncle and call him Theo, but Aunt Clare didn't tell me to call her by her first name. I tried not to watch her too obviously.

"I want to unite the old dragon kingdoms," said Azrael, sounding dreamy, "we could bring together at least one copy of every book."

"Ah, you're a lad after my own heart," said Aunt Clare, eyes shining, "can I kill any of the local kings for you? Make it easier to take over? Some of them have mildew in their libraries!" I laughed.

"Thanks, Aunt Clare," Azrael said, grinning, "but I'll try talking to them first. Maybe we should try asking for a copy of every book, or even better, the original, and then promise them copies."

"Tell them," I said, "that the book stays their property, but Sendren will preserve and make copies." They focused on me.

"Good idea, Polo," said Aunt Clare. It was the first time she really noticed me, and I wondered if I should try to tumble her, or if possibly having to avoid the library was too high a price to pay for fun. I decided the latter, that I'd behave, but it was a near thing.

We wandered off again, and Azrael said he was thinking about a swim. I was thinking about being on my knees in front of Aunt Clare. I could think about it, that wasn't doing it. Perhaps I'd been a bad-

"You've got this very severe Oedipal complex going on," said Azrael, interrupting my thoughts, "I'm not sure it's healthy. Have you always wanted to kill your father and marry your mother?" I looked at him.

"Never. Have you been reading my psychology books again?" He nodded.

"Plus," he said, "I saw the way you looked at Aunt Clare."

"So what?" I said.

"So, you already did my mother. Does your mother look like mine, or is that coincidental?" I began to laugh. "I'm assuming this is some kind of breakdown you're having," he said, grinning. "I've been reading that book on children of alcoholics." It was my idea for him to read up, as it had been good for me to learn about my father's condition. "We're more likely to become alcoholics ourselves," Azrael went on, "and of course, we have issues." I was laughing uncontrollably and had to stop to catch my breath.

"Galaia preserve me, Azrael, we do have issues. I'm likely to be crazy, what with it running in the family, and you're weird." He punched me in the arm, not hard enough to hurt. We walked along in silence for a while, saving our breath for the several sets of stairs we had to climb as we went back to our quarters.

No longer lost in happy thoughts of Aunt Clare, too late it occurred to me that Mother would tell Uncle Theo that I was an evil promiscuous child with homosexual tendencies, probably not to be trusted alone with the Crown Prince, the queen or the citadel silver. I imagined the king's reply, which would probably involve much shouting, especially at me when he found me again.

"Polo?" said Azrael, "Are you alright?" I blinked, and smiled.

"Aye, I'm fine," I said, "just distracted."

"It's been a bit of a day," he said. "Want to go see if the king is back?" I grimaced.

"I'm thinking of saddling Magpie, loading him with my favourite clothes and a blanket. I'll be heading for the east coast, seeing Father is possibly somewhere on the west."

"It's very flat there," said Azrael. I laughed.

"Well, that's it then," I said, "I won't go." He smiled.

"Wouldn't you miss the mountains?"

"Possibly," I said, "but I have no family in the east. Well, there are bound to be cousins, but you know what I mean."

"No family around," he said, and shook his head, "I can't imagine that."

Theo wasn't back but it was time for morning tea. Azrael said again that we should go swimming and we walked back to our quarters to change and pick up towels. His bodyguards said they'd come swimming too. We were going to get food on the way.

#### ****

## Chapter 19 – A Sign

Before we could get out of there Cida turned up. She looked at me, in a shirt over shorts, sandals on my feet, and I queened it up for her. She curled her lip in distaste.

For a while during the last term she hated me so much that she went for my eyes between ripostes. She never managed to get through my guard, but it was so sudden I was nearly caught. The last time I told her that for her, I'd forget she was a girl and break her nose if she did it again. That seemed to do the trick and she stopped the physical attacks.

"Oh," she said, "you're here. Azrael, ask your lapdog to stay away from me."

"Morning Cida," I said, "speaking of lapdogs, how's my favourite frigid bitch today?"

"Screw you, Polo." It was affection, of sorts. Naturally, she switched on the charm for Azrael. She was dressing better, as was I. Had her tits grown? I wasn't sure, it might be that she was wearing a waisted dress and looked very shapely. I guessed the citadel's dressmakers were as ruthless about clothes as the tailors were.

While I assessed her dress sense she prated on about a free fair over on Peterhaven Common, where there was a circus in town. A circus? I couldn't believe my good fortune. On today of all days, with Mother in the citadel.

Life made sense again. Wasn't I going to run away to join a circus? Was this a sign from the gods? Did I really believe in the gods? Atheism was the natural refuge of the thinking man, as my father told me.

I remembered Cree, who was messing up my worldview and my beliefs. I could see ghosts. Were gods and ghosts mutually exclusive? I was proud to be a man of science, but the ghost was confusing.

While my brain stewed over it all, it was decided instead of morning tea and swimming we'd go to the fair and get food there. I decided the gods had sent me a sign. I was going to run away with a circus after all.

While Azrael's guards sighed and put their armour back on, we changed ourselves and on the way out went down to the new fort, where we collected a mail tunic for Cida. She grumbled about the heat, Azrael's security, and how it wasn't like the old days.

"Yes it is," said Azrael, "you're misremembering. Before Father was killed, my friends didn't have to wear armour but I did. And I always had six men to go into the village. Twelve minimum outside the Upper Beech walls. They were just always there. We were younger so it was normal for adults to be around if we were out." She looked surprised.

"Were there that many?" she said. He laughed.

"Aye," he said, "here I have twelve in the city. And a coach. Even if I'm walking, they have to be able to evac me quickly. So far they won't let me outside the city without a platoon but I'm hoping they will be soon."

"It's silly," said Cida, "as if anyone's going to kill you." I wondered what planet she was living on but bit my tongue. Azrael didn't seem to get angry at her stupidity. Maybe he did fancy her.

"That man did kill Father," Azrael said, "they're still twitchy, both over that and over only one heir." She curled her lip.

"I suppose they want you to get some poor girl pregnant," she said.

"I do believe that's the idea," said Azrael in a mild tone.

"It's a hereditary monarchy," I said, unable to keep my mouth shut. "He's supposed to breed."

"If he wants to be gay," she said, "that's his business. You, of all people, shouldn't be trying to turn him." I was completely stunned by that. So was Azrael.

"What?" he said. "Who wants to be gay? I'm not gay, Cida. Ah, and Polo's not either." I lost my temper with the girl. Not in a huge way but enough to loosen my tongue. Thanks to my run-in with Mother I didn't need much stoking.

"Stupid cow," I said, "we're not gay."

"Don't listen to him, Azrael," said Cida, ignoring me, "if you're gay, you're allowed to be."

"Ah," said Azrael, "Cida? I'm not gay. Really not." She looked at him and shook her head sadly. He frowned, "Would you like to meet some of the girls?" he said. "I have witnesses." By then he'd had a number of lovers.

"Poor Azrael," she said, "I sympathise, I really do, but there's no hiding it."

"Because neither of us wants to tumble her she thinks you're gay?" I said to Azrael, and laughed. She turned on me.

"Everyone knows what you are, Polo Shawcross! You're bad to the bone!"

"You're so inventive, Cida," I said. "What does 'bad' mean in that context? That you're afraid of me because I don't agree with you?"

#### ****

We headed onwards down the hill with Cida and I squabbling until Fenric told us both to shut up.

"Because I have a hangover," he said, "and if you really don't like each other, then for the love of Thet, ignore each other. Otherwise, get it out of your systems with a tumble, because we can't stand listening to you." Cida went crimson and gasped. I shut up. Cida began arguing with Fenric instead. Azrael and I looked at each other and shrugged.

"Don't you start with me, Cida Innes," said Fenric, when she accused him of taking my side, "you're as bad as your mother the way you preach at people. Come to think of it, your father doesn't shut up preaching either, about the bloody peasant revolution."

"You should discipline your servant," said Cida to Azrael, ignoring Fenric now, "he's being rude."

"Now Cida," said Azrael, smiling, "Fenric's not my servant. He's my bodyguard and part of a private military unit. Stop being so grumpy."

I was going to smirk at Cida, but suddenly the ghost, Cree, appeared again. I cast surreptitious looks around but nobody else was watching him. Cida had forgotten me and was glowering at Azrael and Fenric. We resumed our interrupted progress towards the gate. Cree began to keep pace with me, but mostly inside Fenric. Very disconcerting, and I tried not to look.

_So_ , said the ghost, _how's your day going?_ I managed not to laugh, but it was a near thing. If I was able to speak I'd have said, brilliant, I think I'm running off to join the circus.

_With any luck at all,_ said Cree, _that won't be necessary_. It could hear me. The day just got better. I wondered what kind of jobs there were in a circus. Knowing my luck, I'd end up shovelling manure again.

_It's good honest work_ , said Cree, _and if it's horse manure it's not too bad._ Ahead of us a messenger was coming at a gallop up the road from the gate.

"Something's up," said Fenric. He stepped out of the group to where the soldier could see him. "Report, soldier!" he shouted. As the man went past without slowing, he shouted back,

"Queen of Joban's here! Sir!"

"Military training is thorough," said Fenric, sounding thoughtful, "act like you have a right to know, the common soldier often tells you."

"Isn't that your Aunt Kristen?" I said to Azrael.

"Aye," said Azrael, "quick, let's get out of here."

"Whoa," said Fenric. "Queen of Joban here means we're at emergency security levels. It was her lover killed your father, remember? You don't get to go into town. Sorry." Azrael frowned.

"But Fenric," he said, "I'm safer out in the town if she's in here. Besides, Kristen didn't want me killed. You were there. You helped interrogate the assassin. He was acting without her knowing."

"Nonetheless," said Fenric. I sighed.

"I'm going to the fair," said Cida, "there's supposed to be an elephant."

"A real one?" I said.

"Don't be stupid, Polo," she said, "it's stuffed, part of an exhibit of Sriaman animals."

#### ****

For a real elephant, I'd brave the walk down with Cida, but stuffed wasn't worth it. She'd lecture me about religion and how I should let Thet into my life, whilst all the time smouldering with unhappiness and repressed sexuality.

The sect she belonged to worshipped Thet, claiming all other gods were only angels and not worth the prayers. I would get the "giving up the good things in life in order to be pure for your god" lecture. If I dared to query the tenets of her belief, she'd go for my eyes again.

_Don't go into town_ , said Cree the ghost. _Stay with Azrael._ The circus was there for a week. I could go down to the common any time.

"Well," I said, "I'll give it a miss today then." Cida looked at Azrael.

"I can't come," he said with a shrug. She stormed off back to the new fort to dump her mail shirt. We could hear her swearing at us as she went.

"I think," Azrael said, "she's worse than usual." We all laughed.

"I think she's turning into her mother," said Fenric, "that woman's as sour as they come."

"Aye," said Ross, one of the other bodyguards, "they say women turn into their mothers. However, men do too. Scary." I thought about my mother. Every man there was doing the same, resolving to stamp out every aspect of her in their behaviours.

_All mothers are crazy,_ said Cree, sounding philosophical, _they damage us too much, and most of us never recover. If we're lucky, we reach an age and a level of experience where we suddenly realise that how we express that damage is our choice. If we're even luckier, we manage to stop doing it._

Oh gods, I thought, rather pointedly, why am I being haunted by a lecturing ghost?

_It's true,_ said the ghost, sounding amused, _and I'm not a ghost. A ghost is lost. Show them the light, generally they're gone. Besides, ghosts are cold. Have I ever made you cold? I'm here by choice._

"Coming, Polo?" said Azrael. I blinked.

"Sorry," I said, and hurried after the others. Cree hurried with me, but he did it effortlessly, strolling up the incline as if he were on the flat.

I could float, if it makes you feel better.

Go away, I thought at him.

You're going to need me soon.

I doubted that.

You'll see. Soon. I'll be there for you.

We headed directly up through the gardens. On its way to the citadel the Queen of Joban's coach had to slow to negotiate the hairpin bends of the coach road. Still, it went past us not long after. There was a plump, dark-haired woman looking out. She looked a lot like Theo and I guessed that was her, Queen Kristen of Joban.

#### ****

We went to Azrael's rooms and stayed there for about half an hour, warned not to take off our armour until the emergency was over. Before that happened, a messenger came.

"Message from His Majesty, Highness, emergency security level confirmed." Fenric rolled his eyes. "You're to proceed to the North Tower," the messenger went on, "stay with the Princess Royal-" Azrael's mother Saraia was now known as the Princess Royal "-until you hear the all clear." Azrael groaned. I wasn't too pleased either. It was cool enough in the citadel to not notice the mail tunic, but if I moved around it was going to get hot.

_Here we go,_ said Cree, lighting a pipe as we walked, _it begins. Fate, beloved._

I didn't know what to say or do, and didn't even realise the urgency. All I was thinking was, if I was hallucinating I should stay with other people. I would, I resolved, begin to live clean. I would give up smoking, drinking, women, men, and anything else, if only the hallucinations would stop.

_Make up your mind,_ said Cree, _one minute I'm a ghost, next a vision. What next? A splintered aspect of your psyche that's come adrift in some personal crisis? When will you accept that I am real?_

I nearly gasped aloud. It was arguing with me!

"On the double," said Fenric, "North Tower, march!" I could have said I'd stay in my room but went along with Azrael, both of us still in armour under our clothes.

We were hustled along to the tower, where at first there was much confusion.

#### ****

## Chapter 20 - A Very Small Dragon

Outside were a group of guards from Joban sitting on some cushions because, the Sendrenese guard detail told us, the cobbles were cold and they hadn't wanted to be inhumane. The prisoners were unfazed, smoking and playing cards. Several of the big black cats were hanging around, enjoying the sun and any affection offered. The detail on guard were part of the Princess Royal's guard unit. When we reached the tower door, they wanted us to stop, be searched, and give up all our weapons.

Saraia being Princess Royal was something Azrael had insisted on, a Sendrenese title along with her Princess of Cragleas one, and her guard claimed to control the tower area over Azrael's men. Azrael's men refused to give up their weapons. They had the Crown Prince in their care. Only the king was more precious to Sendren.

Inside the tower, the Queen's Men, Aunt Rose's guards, were in possession of the lobby. They came out to see what the fuss was. Almost everyone seemed to be at the North Tower, and now we were too.

Fenric wanted to know what in the name of Zol were Jobanese men doing inside the city limits? Playing cards, mostly, was the answer. The Joban guards looked innocent, said their queen was there under a flag of parley and their weapons were down at the town gate, then they'd been searched twice since entering the citadel grounds, which the Sendrenese guards confirmed, having done one of the searches.

Aunt Kristen had tried to see the king, who was furious and told her to go away before she was arrested for being responsible for the death of her brother, Azrael's father. So Kristen went looking for her mother, who was in the North Tower with Saraia, Kristen's sister-in-law. There was the sound of shouting from upstairs.

"That's Queen Rose," said Fenric, "she sounds angry." There was another woman shouting. The Joban men said that was their Herself and Azrael said it reminded him of past summer holidays, except usually his father would be shouting drunkenly in the mix.

"Shall we go up?" he said, and Fenric thought for a moment. "Please," said Azrael, "after all, it's king's orders we're here." Fenric looked stern. Azrael intensified his pleading. "Even just up the stairs to eavesdrop would be good. Please Fenric?" I laughed.

"Aye," I said, "please Fenric?" He scowled.

"You'll do as I say, both of you?" he said.

We put our hands on our hearts and swore to Galaia that we would, which was a solemn oath. Then there was disagreement as to which weapons Azrael's guards could keep with them.

"Two queens and a princess aren't as important as one crown prince," said Fenric, and the other guards thought about that. In the end we were divested of bladed weapons, so I gave up my pocket-knife, then we were all patted down to make sure. Four bodyguards would be allowed to keep their short clubs with them and to escort Azrael upstairs.

"Three women, one of them over fifty," said Fenric, smiling, "if four of us can't protect you, we don't deserve our jobs."

The other guards settled down outside, to play cards with the Joban men or to sit and drink coffee in the shade. It was the last day of spring.

#### ****

Despite the arguments downstairs, then how we tramped upstairs with Fenric insisting we make noise to give them a chance to hear us and stop fighting, the women were oblivious.

"You had your brother killed!" That was the Queen of Sendren, Aunt Rose. I'd never heard her so angry, even when she was spitting in the king's drink. It was clear, no matter what the coroner's report said, the queen thought Kristen guilty of murder. She killed her brother Perry, Azrael's father, if only from filling the assassin's head with stories of how she should be Queen of Sendren.

"I did not! How can you say that?" Sobbing, that was Azrael's Aunt Kristen, Queen of Joban.

"Let's be fair, Rose," said Azrael's mother, Saraia, "the assassin did say Kristen didn't know. Just before that unfortunate accident."

"Unfortunate accident?" Kristen shrieked the words. "They killed the man I loved! State-sanctioned murder!"

"He killed your brother, you stupid girl!" the queen shouted back at her. "He admitted it, freely! Even then they only killed him without a trial because he was killing the king!" There was a pause. "You don't get your lack of brains from me," added Rose, "that's your bloody father."

#### ****

As we reached the first floor we could see straight through a vestibule into the room. The vestibule already contained two guards and two servants, all eavesdropping through the cracked-open door to the room itself, though they stepped back for us to pass. One of the guards was about to open the door wide and announce us but Azrael held up his hand.

"Give them a chance to finish this," he said softly. Words that nearly killed us. We peered in. Kristen was very red-faced, pacing up and down, crying, shouting and bewailing her fate generally, while the queen was rude to her. Saraia gave Kristen a fresh handkerchief.

"Your brother was older," said the queen, "that's all. Primogeniture! No bloody conspiracy. However, you told that poor unbalanced man that your brother had stopped you from becoming queen. Honestly, Kristen, if you ever end up the heir I'll assassinate you myself! Even better, I'll pay someone to do it." Kristen was hiccupping and hyperventilating, a handkerchief clutched to her face.

"I didn't know R-Robbie would kill P-Perry!" she said, indistinctly. "How can you think that, M-Mother?"

"Brandy?" said Saraia, travelling across my field of vision with a decanter under one arm, a brace of glasses in the other. "Brandy for shocks, champagne for fever, isn't it?" She handed one to the queen, who tossed it back. She nodded to her daughter-in-law.

"Th-thank you, Saraia," said Kristen, and took hers down in a fast mouthful too.

"This is so cathartic," said Saraia, "I hope you're all feeling love with all the anger. Or are we still in denial, eh, Kristen?" I tried not to laugh, which I guessed Saraia was doing too. She took a swig from the bottle before pouring Kristen more, then seemed to remember her own glass, sank that, and took another swig from the bottle before refilling the queen. Distracted, I was starting to get a little bored, thinking how erotic it was to be one of the silent voyeurs, all of us pressed together, and wishing there was something better to watch, amusing though Saraia's performance was.

Queen Rose tipped her second brandy back, and then in especially nasty terms proceeded to tell Kristen what a waste of space she was, as a daughter, sister and aunt. Kristen tried to protest but Rose stood up and slapped her across the face. As Kristen cried out in pain, losing her glass and her footing, I was suddenly paying complete attention. The glass hit the thick carpet and stopped. Kristen was on her knees on the rug. I was thinking it was lucky that the glass didn't break or bounce to a stone area. Then it happened.

Kristen turned into a dragon. As it started we all stopped breathing with a little gasp then,

"Told you," said Azrael, sounding triumphant, "it's possible!" Everyone breathed out. We were all gaping, and nobody stopped Azrael when he pulled the door open wider. Two cats who'd been visiting inside shot out the door, past me, and down the stairs.

Aunt Kristen, who was now most definitely dragon-shaped, was floundering in her dress and, it turned out, green silk underthings. Kristen was small, chunky, and black. Tiny, really, her body only a foot long. "Though I expected a dragon would be bigger," said Azrael, keeping his voice lower this time. I thought we'd need to shout before anyone noticed us.

Aunt Rose had dropped to her knees and was almost nose-to-nose with her transformed daughter. The dragon, all tubby and shiny, was cute like baby animal cute. It lashed its tail. We were all subconsciously smiling, at least I was, and when I glanced at the others, they were too. You wanted to pick her up. Kristen sat up on her hindquarters and everyone breathed out at how sweet she looked. Without the shouting, we all heard the susurrant out-breaths, people saying oh, and I realised how many were eavesdropping on the scene.

The frozen tableau, of two women in shock and one dragon, miniature, shattered suddenly as the dragon became exasperated with being trapped by clothes and slashed her way to freedom, shredding the wool dress and silk scanties and spreading her wings. The queen went backwards at speed and was on her feet in a very sprightly manner. Wings, I was thinking, it has wings!

"Galaia preserve us," said Nanny Black, who was peering into the room from the other side. Aunt Kristen turned her head to look at herself. She squeaked, loudly, then made an 'ow' sound like a dog howling, and flapped the wings. That was some wingspan.

"Cheers," said Saraia, and downed more brandy. She tucked her feet up off the floor. "Um, Kristen?" she said, and the little dragon looked around, "not sure if you still hear language, dear, but if you do, are you feeling alright? You don't quite look like yourself." I managed not to laugh aloud.

"That's it," Fenric said suddenly, "we're out of here. Downstairs, now!" He pulled Azrael back and went shoulder-to-shoulder to me, blocking Azrael from seeing, which he was miffed over, but Fenric jerked his head and started moving everyone backwards. I'd promised to do what Fenric said so I went too. The other guards closed in around Azrael and we beat a hasty retreat.

Halfway down, Azrael begged Fenric to stop and let him listen, but Fenric told him to shut up and keep moving. There was screaming from upstairs.

Aunt Kristen was learning to fly.

Queen Rose shouted for her guards, which was where things began to go badly wrong. We stopped and flattened against the wall as the guards ran up past us, some of them stopping to put us under arrest, so holding us on the stairs before being called upstairs by the men up there, when they let us go.

Though we couldn't see upstairs, thanks to hearing the story told and retold by those who were there, I see it unfolding in my memory.

Nanny Black and several other servants had armed themselves with brooms and came running in to the room. Aunt Kristen landed and ran into the crowd. Those watching lost sight of the dragon, too busy ducking as the servants attacked. Some of the more highly-strung soldiers thought the servants were bent on insurrection, attacking the royal women.

Fortunately nobody was seriously hurt in the ensuing melee, as the outraged servants, better armed and assisted by Saraia and the queen, drove the soldiers back. Order was restored. One of the soldiers ran to the stairs and called for the Queen of Joban's guards, thinking they might be able to talk their monarch down from the light fitting she was swinging from, some twenty feet above the ground.

"For Galaia's sake," said Nanny Black, "we can get her down like this!" and undid the rope holding the light up. As the light, some six feet across, came crashing down, everyone scattered. The dragon was seen briefly on the floor then leapt back into the air. Everyone ducked, somehow sure she was going to get tangled in their hair.

Meanwhile, there was confusion on the stairs. Azrael was a step below me. I was flattened against the wall again, as we all were, letting a couple of the Joban guards past. They went up the stairs cautiously after Fenric told them their mistress had turned into a dragon, and we began moving down again.

Aunt Kristen flew unnoticed out of the sitting room and was heading down. I did see and feel her as she swooped over my head, knocking me off-balance into Fenric, who managed to stay standing. The little dragon kept going, and grabbed Azrael by the hair with all four feet. Struggling with his weight, she managed to half-glide, half-fly down the stairs.

A suddenly-airborne Azrael knocked several of the guards over, cannoning into them from behind. After about twenty feet, Kristen let go and Azrael landed, stumbling, at the bottom of the stairs, dropping to his knees. I saw him jerk his head around to see where she was, then roll sideways as the dragon shot after him.

It was all so fast. Fenric was moving downstairs in leaps and I was sucked down in his wake, at least that's how it felt. At the bottom of the stairs a guard was screaming, clutching a badly-broken arm, another slumped unconscious near him, blood running from his nose. Another was looking slightly addled, having hit his head on the side wall, but was still on his feet trying to block the dragon from Azrael, who was on the ground twisting and rolling. He did his best to evade the little dragon, but she dodged the guard and cannoned into him.

Next thing I saw, she was sitting on Azrael's chest, holding him down somehow, teeth in his wrist, growling and biting down whenever anyone got close, which meant he was screaming to stay back. We all stopped as he tapped her across the nose with his free hand, like you would to a dog to get its attention. It worked, in a way.

Flapping her wings for balance, she let go with her teeth but lashed out with a forefoot. Thanks to all the wing-flapping, Kristen shot forward. Azrael got his good arm up-flung in front of his face in time, so she didn't quite take his cheek off, but she did catch him there and in the upper arm. He tried to roll away and she sat on him again, holding him down with her feet and tail before biting back into his wounded wrist.

For a moment we others danced from one foot to the other, not knowing what to do. I had a brainwave, grabbed a big vase of flowers from a niche and hurled the contents at the dragon. Azrael was hit in the face by several long-stemmed gladioli, but the water did the trick. Shaking herself and sneezing, Aunt Kristen let go and leapt away from him towards me.

I dropped the vase. It thudded on the carpet and didn't break. With a strange sensation of deja vu I remember thinking that was lucky. Time slowed. She was only small and there was that long-sleeved mail tunic under my clothes. I didn't understand how she bested Azrael, thinking he was a bit concussed from being dragged by his hair down the stairs. I pretended she was a chicken. I could deal with chickens.

Kristen realised I was trying to get her and dodged suddenly. As I grabbed, the little dragon turned in my hands, very unlike a chicken. More like a cat or maybe an otter. An armoured otter made of lead. With big claws. Steel-tipped ones.

It was also as though I was compressing a full-size woman between my hands. I fell forward with the weight. Before I even hit the ground Kristen laid my right arm open from elbow to wrist, peeling the fine bioplas mail apart like it was a cornhusk. I sensibly dropped her, grabbing my forearm and holding it together with my good hand. Still falling, I was by then on my knees on the ground.

I threw myself backwards, falling to my right as I tried to get away. She ran over me and leapt into the air, hinds lashing backward, laying open my left hip. I had no more hands to hold my flesh together. There seemed to be a lot of blood.

Lying quietly, I was very calm considering, though perhaps the sensation was stunned. I watched as Kristen snap-rolled sideways away from Fenric and headed for an open window. He reached into the back of his collar, pulled out a small knife and threw it. For a moment Kristen screamed, pinned by one wing to the window frame, then she reached over and pulled the knife out, diving again for the open air.

She disappeared and I looked at my arm. It was bleeding so much. I was still trying to hold the shredded mess together. The mail shirt was hanging off, the links cut through. I marvelled at the idea of having claws like Kristen was sporting. Imagine, I thought, being able to change into something like that.

I recognised another of Azrael's guards, Ross, smiling, telling me I'd be fine, tearing his shirt off, ripping it into pieces, winding twisted fabric tight round my right arm above the elbow, prising my fingers off, binding the arm up firmly and someone, Fenric, shouting orders. Someone else, one of Saraia's guards, held a wadded towel tightly against my hip. I could hear a man sobbing.

"Hey Polo, you're going to be alright," said Ross. "Fenric, Polo's bleeding's under control."

Several stretchers came, we and the injured guards were loaded on, and the bearers ran, guards everywhere, all of them glancing up, nervous of the sky. We were on the open ground in front of the tower then in the main building, which we crossed at speed. I could hear Azrael, sounding more excited than in pain.

"Fenric," he said, "Aunt Kristen turned into a dragon!" I laughed.

"Aye," Fenric said, running beside us, "I saw, lad, I saw. You lie steady there, don't get excited. Let's move!" I was sure I was going to die. There was so much blood. Everything was wet with it.

_Isn't this interesting?_ said my ghost.

"I'm dying," I said, "I'm only sixteen." I wasn't sure if I said it aloud. Nobody seemed to have heard me, only Cree the ghost.

_You're going to live,_ he said, _though I'll be honest with you, it won't be easy_.

#### ****

## Chapter 21- Out of Body

Lying as if crucified, I was on a hard table, arms out along extensions, held there by straps and pinned by cannulae and needles, men standing round me, sticking me with more needles and did I know my blood type? Did anyone? Fenric's voice,

"Lucky bastards, there's a surgeons' conference this week in Peterhaven. Going to have the best care in the kingdoms."

"Did she get my fingers?" That was Azrael. "Someone tell me!"

"No, she didn't get your bloody fingers," said Fenric, "she bit your wrist, and these fine doctors are going to put it back together for you. Can we get this lad something to calm him down?" I was starting to float out of my body, which for some reason didn't faze me at all. By thinking that way up, I rolled over in the air. It was much easier to see what was going on.

_Feeling better_? said a voice.

"Hello Cree," I said, looking at him carefully. "What are you?"

_A friend, lad. Now, look down_. I saw my body, ghostly pale, smeared with blood, the makeshift dressings, ruined mail shirt and clothes being cut off me. The former with bolt-cutters, and again I marvelled at the strength of dragon claws that had sliced through the mail so easily. The initial blood loss was stopped, the surgeons frowning as wounds were flushed, discussing the injuries as if they existed without any connection to me.

"Ulnar artery intact," said a surgeon, "could be worse. Dragon wounds? Is there a specific antibiotic? Someone shift it to the library, find us some information."

"I'll go," a man said, another surgeon I was guessing, "we need someone with medical knowledge. And can I have a man to help me carry any books back?" Fenric sent a soldier with him, and they left.

"They're both O positive," said a nurse, hurrying up, "that's O for Oliver. I've sent a messenger to the barracks for donors." A bag of blood was rigged above my body.

"Take one from me," said Fenric, "I'm O positive." A few other men said they were too. I floated over to Azrael.

"Is he going to live?" I said. Cree spread his hands.

That's up to him. As it is up to you.

Azrael and I were wheeled into separate rooms. I floated down and watched as they pieced my arm back together, suturing me in layers. The doctor who went to the library came back. I floated after him as he caught them up with what they needed to know.

"No specific antibiotic," the doctor said, "broad-spectrum recommended. Dragon wounds often get infected," he said, "think of a cat. Teeth and claws like razors, tend to cut clean, makes it easier to piece people back together."

"Aye," said a surgeon, apron bloody, bioplas gloves likewise smeared, "the reconstruction is easier than I expected. Let's be careful, this is the next king of Sendren."

"Who's the other one?" said someone.

"His friend," said the surgeon. I laughed and turned a somersault in the air.

"His friend," I said. "There's an epitaph, Cree."

_Could be worse_ , he said, looking amused _, at least you made a friend._

"One." I shook my head. "And let's face it, he has a crush on me. That's not healthy. Other people have many more friends than I do."

_Most people have acquaintances_ , Cree said, gesturing, _people they aren't honest with. They're lucky if they have one good friend._

"Fenric might be my friend too," I said, "and I get on with some others. Not sure if they're friends or not." How did a person tell?

"Seven hundred years since a man's been attacked by a dragon," said another surgeon, "and it has to happen while I'm on holidays."

"Stop your whinging, Brian," said another, "the king will pay us, I'm sure. Which reminds me, seeing it's the future king I'm assuming we're still trying to save the hand?" I floated around listening, and noticed that on top of a cupboard near me was a sign. I read it aloud.

"If you can read this, do tell the doctor, thanks." I frowned. "What does that mean?"

_They're trying to prove life as something extant from the body_ , said Cree. _People often claim they were floating out of their bodies, but so far nobody's read his sign. It proves there's a soul, or something. A consciousness that exists independently-_

"It's fine," I said, interrupting before he went on too long, "I get it. So, am I dead yet?" He laughed. I drifted through the wall to check on myself.

_No. Look, you're breathing. Your colour is starting to come back, they've stopped the bleeding, and you have plenty of blood going into you._ I did look better. _Lots of drugs too. Poppy juice, I can feel it._

"You can feel things I feel?"

_Aye, lad, amazing, isn't it_?

"I've gone mad" I said, and sighed. "Am I dangerous? Do I need to go to an asylum?"

Mad? Who's mad? You're no madder than I am.

"You're a ghost. Or something. Or I'm mad."

_Having watched yourself being sewn back together_ , he said in a calm tone, _will probably help you work with the way you're going to be disabled._

"Disabled?" So sure I'd die, living crippled hadn't occurred to me.

_Dragon claws bite deep_. I looked down. How deep? I remembered the doctors saying Kristen had touched bone in places. I had a moment of clarity.

_It's just the drugs_ , said Cree, as if he were making a joke. The moment disappeared. Then it came back. I was vain. I didn't want to live, all scarred up and twisted.

"I'm pathetic," I said. Nevertheless I couldn't find it in myself to want to live crippled. Scars I could try to cover, but misshapen limbs? Would I be able to ride? This was why I didn't want to join the army, the risk of being maimed! Another point for my list.

"Like freaking razors alright," said a surgeon, looking at the damage Kristen had done to my hip. I felt a bit dizzy and moved back through the wall to where I could see Azrael.

"Oh," I said, with one hand over my mouth in shock, "his wrist!" I shook my head. His left wrist was the one she bit, and there was another wound, a slashing one like the one on my forearm, only on the underneath of his upper right arm, where he had shielded his face. There was a single clawed line along his cheek. To the bone, I could see that much. A surgeon was fixing it together with tiny, delicate, twinned stitches, a suture needle held in forceps, knotting off each stitch. I was reminded suddenly of a fine seamstress, the same deftness and intense concentration. I looked into Azrael's dark blue eyes. He was awake.

I went back to look at myself. I was unconscious but my colour looked fine. A little pale, but compared with before, not bad.

_One of the amazing qualities of the Dragon tribe_ , said Cree _, is their ability to heal, which edges into the ability to regenerate. You both have this in the latent form, as a possibility. Through meditation, you can find the way to heal yourselves. It is up to you to make it apparent. Polo?_ I turned to look at him. _Time you went back_ , he said, in a kind tone.

Something was pushing me, back down to earth.

#### ****

With a lurching sensation, I fell back inside myself, my stomach flipped and I opened my eyes.

"I saw the note," I said aloud.

"Oh," said a voice, "he's awake. Good lad, you take it easy there. We're cobbling you back together. You'll not tangle with a dragon again in a hurry, eh?" The voice came from the man working on my arm. I was in no pain but was flying, high as a kite. I could feel the needle enter the skin, push out, and then the thread pull through. I tried to breathe normally.

"We've got bioplas stitches," the surgeon said. "Means they dissolve, you don't need them taken out. Latest thing."

"Aye," said someone from near my hip, "thanks to the conference we've plenty, the salespeople donated their samples."

"Oh," I said. "That's good." There was something. "Wait, before I forget, I saw the note, on top of the cupboard. It said to tell the doctor." I felt my eyes closing again.

"You owe me a gold crown," said a voice, "I freaking knew out-of-body experiences weren't all bullshit."

"You've just proved life after death," said another voice, sounding bad-tempered, "and you're talking about coin?"

"A gold crown, old man!" My eyes opened again and I laughed, but carefully. Someone was stitching my hip back together, saying I was bloody lucky she missed anything major. I was still drugged enough that although I could feel it, it didn't hurt. Well it did, but the pain was somewhere below me, and I was floating happily.

"He's a local," said the other voice, "and tall. He might have got in here and seen it. Or heard you put it there. And don't call me old!"

"Hmmph," said the one who'd claimed his gold crown, "does middle-aged weasel who doesn't pay his bets sound better?"

"Ignore the children," the man at my hip said, "usually you can't get bioplas thread because it all goes to the army hospitals."

"I'm grateful for the special consideration." I smiled. "Gods, the Queen of Joban turned into a freaking dragon."

"This one needs more drugs," said a voice, "he's talking too much."

#### ****

Once stitched and stabilised, we were wheeled into a recovery room and I saw Azrael. I was in and out of consciousness but remembered Uncle Theo, Saraia, Nanny Black, my mother, and Aunt Rose allowed in briefly, checking we were alive, which they seemed to be very pleased about. Most of them were hitting the brandy hard because of the shock, so had to be shooed out.

We patients sighed with relief and the nurse brought some beef and vegetable broth. With his left arm in a sling, and the right upper arm stitched then strapped into stiff bracing, Azrael couldn't feed himself, so the nurse sat there and fed him. I felt lucky to be able to use a spoon, even if left-handed.

Another nurse arrived, gave me some mindweed tincture, added more poppy juice and antibiotics to my drip, and I drifted off.

#### ****

I was walking with Azrael in a high meadow. It was warm, the sun felt good on my skin and there was a light breeze blowing. I sighed happily.

"This is beautiful," I said. There were mountains around us, higher than Sendren, seeming to hang in the clear air, and strange outcrops of glittering rock across the meadow. The outcrops began to move. Dragons, everywhere. I was delighted, looking around as we walked. Their big heads swung to watch our progress. The grass was soft under my bare feet, and the breeze kept tickling my skin. I looked down.

It was one of those dreams. I was naked. So was Azrael. At least I wasn't alone. We were walking along an avenue between the dragons. At the end of the avenue was a large red dragon. I guessed about thirty feet long, with wings maybe triple that. It reared up on its hinds, spread those immense wings, and the sun was obscured for a moment, then the dragon closed them with a snap and the big head swung in our direction. We were naked at some kind of Dragon Court. Was it a dream?

"Let me deal with this," said Azrael, "it's my dream." I stopped walking.

"How can it be your dream?" I said, gesturing at the scene. "I'm dreaming it."

"Who is dreaming it?" said the big red dragon, sounding female, her voice sibilant on the S-sounds and rolling on the R's. "I do believe," she added, "you'll find I'm dreaming you." I laughed. "What's so funny?" she said.

"That it's not his dream either," I said, and grinned. She made a snorting noise. We walked right up and she swung her head down to mine, fixing me with a look from one giant eye, a vivid dark green with an orbital ring of blue opal. Like an iridescent sky fallen into a lake, and I tried not to stare. She curled her lip. I was impressed. So many teeth. She idly scored the ground next to her with a fore-claw. I wasn't game to say another word. I had seen and felt what a small dragon could do. I wasn't going to antagonise a large one.

"You're the Dragon queen," said Azrael, "aren't you?" He paused. Bowed. "Your Majesty." I bowed too, to be polite. Looking at the size of her, I wanted to be polite. Her head was still next to me. The big green eye blinked. I blinked too. I suspected this was how a mouse felt when confronted by a snake. Despite our politeness she sounded bad-tempered.

"Children of men," she said, and now I was sure she was looking down her nose at us. "Nothing changes. You still always want to know everything now. So desperate to win your little wars."

"I want the dragon kingdoms to live again," said Azrael, "I've figured out what you're trying to hide."

I looked at him while she laughed, and the rest of the dragons in earshot tittered or said, "Young people today!" or, "Well, I never, isn't he sure of himself!" The ones not quite in earshot said, "What? What did they say?" and started moving closer. The queen swung her head down to Azrael. I was quite happy at that, her focusing on him. I was wondering if, once in dragon form, dragons ate people. As snacks, not just biting them in battle. The Dragon queen glanced back at me. After my experience with Cree reading my mind, I tried not to think.

"What are we hiding, prince of men?" said the queen. I blinked. Then I nearly collapsed on the grass with relief. I wasn't a prince, she wasn't talking to me.

"We're all Dragon," said Azrael, sure she was talking to him, "all us bright-eyed ones. We can all transform."

I was thinking he was going to offend her, and that she could bite me in half. Then I remembered this was a dream, possibly not mine and definitely imaginary in some way, as I was walking, something I couldn't currently do in real life. It stood to reason that we couldn't be hurt here.

Somehow I wasn't reassured. She looked as if she could hurt me a great deal. Without stretching she could flick me with a foot and send me over that cliff a hundred yards away. The queen sniffed at Azrael. Standing next to him, I could feel her warm breath on my bare skin.

"I'm right," said Azrael, sounding defiant. "I know I am." I edged a step away, in case she decided to swipe at him.

"And whose child are you?" she said to Azrael.

"My father was Peregrine Westwych, the late Crown Prince of Sendren. My mother is Saraia Casterton, Princess Royal of Sendren, and Princess of Cragleas. I am Azrael Theodore Westwych, Crown Prince of Sendren and Lord of Beechwood."

"Close," she said, and the red-scaled lips pulled back from her teeth a little. I wondered if she was going to ask me who I was, because I was dying to say I was Polo Shawcross, professional nobody, but she didn't. "So, Azrael," said the Dragon queen, "how will you unify the kingdoms? This land hasn't been unified since the Great Silence began. Long before Dragon came."

"We must unify," Azrael said, "to beat Sriama once and for all. We must reintegrate with Dragon, with who we are. Time to stop pretending that we're human. We're not." I'd heard this lecture before so looked around. "If the north falls," Azrael was saying, "then the centre will too, including Sendren. We will all fall, until Sriama overruns us, and knowing the Kavar, they'll be trying to take as much territory in the west as they can manage." Near me, a white dragon dotted with black speckles sneezed.

"Murray!" said a pretty silver-coloured dragon, sounding appalled. "Cover your mouth!" She scrunched her golden eyes in disgust.

"I'm in animal form, Virginia," said the white dragon, "I don't have to ascribe to human mores." The silver dragon snorted. I saw her eyes were flecked with bright colours on a bed of topaz, a tawny opal like my mother's black opalescent, but without Mother's emerald orbital ring. The effect was stunning and beautiful.

"You're not an animal, Murray," she said, "didn't you pay attention in school? Oh, I forgot, you only pay attention to your stomach." I slid a step in their direction and listened as they squabbled. The affection between them made me smile. On the other side of me Azrael was fencing verbally with the queen. I had nothing to do except stand there, naked. Would I remember any of it, this pretty poppy-dream?

The hides of the dragons sparkled in the sun. If I just had a towel to sit on, I'd drop to the green grass and fall asleep. I was starting to feel uncomfortably warm. My mouth was very dry. As I thought about it my knees gave way. I tried not to fall but still did. I lay there with my head on one arm. Scattered in the grass were tiny violet starflowers and I was breathing in the scents of a mountain meadow, grass, earth and somewhere off, the taste of snow, while wondering if I was still alive.

The starflower's tiny violet petals with the sunshine-yellow centre were so pretty. As it said in the _Book of Thet,_ the goddess Galaia died but was brought back only to find her body had decayed. She wept, and the starflowers sprang up where her tears fell. They were the ones that gave her hope, bringing joy in the midst of sorrow, and why she decided to merge with the World.

Were they a sign? Was I dying? Would I be reborn? I said the _Prayer for the Dead_. Only I said it as the dead.

"May Haka treat me kindly and Galaia bring me back here when she can."

"Polo," said Azrael, somewhere near me, "are you alright?" I tried to get up, but only succeeded in rolling over. I shut my eyes and saw the daylight, red through my eyelids. I couldn't seem to speak.

"They need to be healed," said the queen, "see to it."

#### ****

## Chapter 22 - Back From Haka's Kingdom

I woke up in a room by myself, not alone. Murray and Virginia, much smaller than in the meadow but definitely in dragon form, were standing by my bed. It was dark and the hospital was quiet. I was burning up.

"Polo," said Virginia, leaning over me, "Polo?" My mouth was so dry I couldn't speak but managed to mime drinking. They helped me sit up to sip some water. I was very weak. My body throbbed, especially where the dragon had scored me.

"Virginia, and Murray," I said, hoarsely. "I dreamed you."

"There, petal," she said, "easy does it. That's right, we were in the dream. Now, if you remember that, hopefully this will be easier." She scored her forearm with a claw and let blood well up. "I need you to taste this. Trust me, it will help you heal." Murray made a noise of distaste.

"You could have used a scalpel, Virginia," he said, "we're in a hospital, after all." Virginia made an angry noise and offered me her scaled arm. I tentatively licked at it.

"He's nearly dead, Murray," she said, "and burning a fever you could fry an egg on. A few more germs won't hurt him. Besides, I washed when we arrived. Here, Polo, little more please." She kept at me to have a little more. "It's the way we work, petal, we Dragon, we can regenerate and we refuel from our brothers and sisters. You need this so you can start regenerating and fight the fever. You're one of us, Polo, you can heal yourself. Be like us. With our help."

I think I drank a few tablespoons. Then Murray opened a vein for me, with a scalpel, and I drank from him too. They gave me more water. Virginia spoke about meditating on healing. Along with the drugs and surgery, the blood and meditation would help my body's natural defences to do their best.

My sleep was patchy. I could hear dragons shifting on the roof, their claws scratching the tiles. In reality, the roof was several stories above me, so even if the dragons had been up there, I couldn't have heard them. However my imaginary roof-roosting dragons were a comfort. I woke to nurses, to doctors, to Fenric, to the king, then to an empty room.

At night Virginia dropped in and talked me through more meditations. I didn't speak and wasn't completely conscious. I remembered the smell of rotting flesh, of bedpans and antiseptic washes. Being fed little mouthfuls, drifting off.

The pain of more stitches as the surgeons worked on me again. I came to during that, surprising them. Hurriedly, they upped my drug intake, muttering about tolerances.

Then I was gone.

#### ****

I drifted back to the world on a sunny afternoon, still in and out of consciousness then finally I stayed in for more than a moment. I couldn't keep my eyelids open. Someone thumbed an eyelid up, looked inside me with green cat's-eyes, then disappeared.

After a little while, a minute or an hour, I couldn't tell, I opened my eyes. Mother smiled and tucked her dark hair behind one ear.

"Polo," she said, "praise Galaia, you're awake. Want some water?" I managed to nod. She had to call in a nurse to get me sat up. When had I become so big my mother couldn't pick me up? I felt weak and small but was still adult-sized.

Somewhere in my fever dreams, I remembered an overheard discussion about amputation. To my intense relief, although I hurt a lot, my limbs were all there. I recognised the nurse's green eyes. Then as she and Mother helped me sit up, my world was overwhelmed with pain. I panted, feeling sweat run down me, unable to speak or move. The nurse went to tell a doctor I was awake.

"Thanks," I said, catching my breath, as Mother gave me water, "is Azrael alright?" She nodded.

"He's been very ill," she said, "you both have, but you're on the mend."

"Did he keep his hand?" I said. She smiled.

"Aye, doctors are saying it's a miracle. Both of you nearly died." She sank back into her chair. My right hand was caught up in the mass of bandages round my forearm. I reached out and held her hand with my left.

"Oh Polo," she said, blinking the tears away, "I thought you were going to die, and after that awful fight we had." I squeezed her hand, wondering what we had fought about. Oh, me going back to live with her. "I wrote to your father," she said, "but that was only last week, I haven't heard from him yet." I managed to smile.

"Sorry about the fight," I said. She blinked and smiled through her tears.

"They told me you tried to save the Crown Prince," she said. "Theo's talking about ennobling you."

"Me?" I said. I was flummoxed. "I was one of several people trying to help."

"But you got the dragon off him," she said, "and it attacked you instead of him." She looked at the mound of bedclothes where a cage supported the blankets away from my hip, and began to cry again. "And you nearly died." I looked at my arm. I'd thought I'd lose it for sure after overhearing the doctors umm-ing over amputation, but then someone said there was no point amputating when the infection was right through my body.

I remembered seeing the wound during a brief moment of consciousness, angry and red, suppurating, swollen with whatever it was dragons carried on their claws and teeth. I carefully flexed my fingers.

It wasn't as bad as I was expecting. It hurt down deep, but not so I had to scream. I let go of Mother and began using my good hand to undo the bandage. Mother shook her head and stopped crying.

"Don't take that off, dear." She wiped her eyes with a pretty handkerchief.

"It feels alright," I said, "this is a bandage to stop me moving it too much, not to hold it together. It's stitched. I want to see it." I didn't add that I was looking at my arm because I was afraid to lift the covers and look at my hip. That felt quite bad.

Mother made anxious noises as I unrolled the bandage. I'd promised myself I wouldn't interfere between my parents, but couldn't help trying. "So," I said, "if Father comes back, promising to stop drinking again, what will you do?" She blinked a lot then said,

"I can't choose between you." I sighed.

"I'm not asking you to choose me or him," I said. "I'm asking you to choose for yourself. He's not going to get better with you mothering him, he needs to want to do it for himself."

That was quite well put, I thought, for the recently unconscious. Since I first heard the word 'alcoholic' when I was about eight, I'd read up on addiction. Despite me explaining the whole concept of alcoholism and co-dependency over and over to Mother, she still didn't get it. "Father is still in denial," I added, not pointing out she was too, "so whatever you do, it's not going to help."

"I can't abandon him, Polo," she said, and added in a dramatic tone, "he's the man I love." My turn to shake my head. "I've been thinking," she said, "about the fight we had, how you told me that staying here was good for you. That you're doing well at school."

I set my mouth in a line. I knew what was coming. It was what I wanted, but not how I wanted it. She made a little nodding movement with her head. "And of course you'll need physiotherapy," she said, "that's going to take a while." The last of the bandage fell away from my forearm. I looked at it. It was nasty. I looked at Mother. She looked at my wrist and winced.

"That does sound like a good idea," I said, sounding strangely calm, considering how I felt and what my arm looked like. It looked like it would never be usable again. And I felt like my mother didn't really care about me at all. "Gives you a chance to try what you can with Father," I said, parroting what she usually told me, "without having to worry about it affecting other people." Like your son, I didn't say aloud. I paused but couldn't stop. Sod the moral high ground. "Forgive me for noticing," I added, smiling sweetly, "or for not pretending to have lost my memory, but wasn't that why you moved to Torc in the first place? Why you dumped me on Uncle Theo? So you could help Father?"

As I was expecting, she got angry and stormed around the room. We shouted at each other some more, and she said I was a heartless, cold boy. Simply. Filled. With. Vitriol. I told her she was enabling an addict, was a co-dependent on his drug, needed his disease, and was as bad as an alcoholic herself, addicted to the behaviours that locked them together in a spiral of destruction.

At first, I was enjoying the fight. It felt good to let out some of the anger I felt at what seemed to be my life destroyed, against someone who deserved it.

Unfortunately it escalated rapidly. Fortunately, the shrieking and shouting caught the attention of the staff, who rescued me. I hadn't counted on Mother's usual debating methods, involving throwing things or trying to hit me, or that I usually ran when she was violent. It's easy to laugh at a hostile woman when you're big and able-bodied, but provoking her whilst trapped in a bed with only one good arm proved a bad idea.

Although I fended off a chair cushion with my left arm, I instinctively blocked a book with my right, the recently unbandaged one. I screamed, and blacked out for a few moments. A nurse grabbed Mother before she could throw anything else, but I didn't really notice what was going on. I did know when Mother was gone because the room went quiet. I was busy, cross-eyed with agony that encompassed my being. It was all I could do to cradle my arm and lay there, tears streaming out the corners of my eyes.

An edge of the book had caught me right across the five neat rows of stitches that followed the jagged claw marks down my forearm. Once I could breathe again without sobbing, I turned my arm over. To my relief, the book hadn't burst the stitches. The wound was worse than it had felt all bandaged up. All five of the dragon's claws had ripped into me, and the wounds were all throbbing now. I was lucky Kristen was so small, but still the slashes were deep, her foot with outstretched claws about the size of a small woman's hand.

Remembering the Dragon queen, Murray and Virginia, I nearly laughed aloud. I remembered drinking their blood. Poppy-juice gave some weird dreams! The green-eyed nurse tsk-ed at me for taking my bandage off but said it was alright.

"That's your second lot of sutures," she said, "we had to reopen the wound to let it drain." She shook her head. "You're bloody lucky to be alive."

"Can I see my hip, please?" I said. She paused.

"It's worse than your arm." I nodded and managed a grimacing smile.

"That's how it feels," I said, "I need to see it." She sorted my arm out first, re-bandaged it, then rolled me gently onto my side and deftly peeled back the dressing on my hip.

"This is ready for changing too," she said, "smells alright now, good sign. Before, phew, it was putrid." My hip looked awful, and I tried to take her word for it that it was much better. "You had drains in, and pus was running out," she went on, with the casual explicitness of the medical professional, "I gagged a lot at dressing changing." She was pretty, the nurse, a redhead with green cat's-eyes, a touch of emerald sparkling in the iris. I was alive. I wanted her.

"I used to have to clean out the pigsty and the cow byre," I said, trying to find a common ground, "I do gag, don't often go all the way." Smooth, I thought. She grimaced.

"I didn't heave with yours," she said, smiling. "Pigs and cows do smell bad, or at least their manure does. However, I think boils, on human or animal, are worse than pig shit." My turn to pull a face.

"Now you've reminded me," I said, "we had a pig that was susceptible to boils, awful smell." I was so suave, talking about pus with a pretty nurse.

"Mind you," she said, wiping my hip and down the thigh with an antiseptic lotion while I tried not to wince too visibly, "this was worse. It wasn't like the normal infections. One of the doctors said it was more like a crocodile bit you. For a while we didn't think the antibiotics were going to work, and then overnight you were over the worst. We had you on a lot of poppy-juice. You probably don't remember."

"I remember bits." I said. "The stitches going in for the second time. And I had some very strange dreams."

"Not you too?" she said, laughing. "I was just talking to the Crown Prince, he's prattling about two dragons called Murray and Virginia, and how they helped him heal himself." She giggled and I managed not to splutter, blush, faint or any of the other things that might have alerted her. Instead I smiled and shook my head slightly at such silliness.

"Nothing so dramatic here," I said.

Kristen had slashed me to the bone in both arm and hip. On the bright side, they didn't think she meant to on the hip so it wasn't as bad as the arm, but on the dark and depressing side, the hip had been more infected and was less well healed. Because Kristen was launching herself into flight, she only caught me with two toes from each foot. Could have been worse. She might have turned and clawed me again, or played noughts and crosses on my hide. The wounds on my arm were about eight inches long, five parallel tracks from one set of claws. The ones on my hip were a bit longer, nine inches, made of two pairs of slightly angled tracks, the distance between narrowing as they ran from my upper thigh and over my hip. It looked worse than my arm, but, as the nurse said, the infection seemed to be under control.

"She jumped," said the nurse, "see? You were lying down by then, they said, and she used you as a springboard. You're healing well. This was a mess only a week ago. If you asked me I'd have said, poor bugger, if he lives he's going to lose that leg and maybe part of his torso too. And your arm of course. As for the prince, well, how he's hung onto his left hand I don't know."

"And his right?" I said, remembering Azrael was wounded on both.

"It wasn't as bad as the left. Slash across the inside of his arm down across the bone here." She ran a hand along the underneath of my upper arm to demonstrate. "And his cheek's fine now but for a while there he was up like a balloon." She puffed her cheeks to show me.

"Can I see him?" I said.

"The doctors are coming," she said, "now you're awake properly. They'll say if you're allowed up."

"I want to use a toilet," I said.

"Hold it until after the doctors come, or you can use a bedpan." I decided to hold it.

#### ****

## Chapter 23 – The Truth About Grandmama

With the doctors came Fenric, who stayed until they left. He helped the nurse get me into a wheelchair, out of the chair onto the toilet seat, then left me to do what I needed. I was white-faced and sweating by that time. The pain in my hip was severe. That leg needed to stay as straight as possible to avoid pulling at the wound which meant leaning to my right but hoping I didn't fall that way as I would hurt my bad arm trying to stop. Somehow I got done, then the nurse came and was about to wheel me down the corridor when a bell began ringing.

"I've got to go," she said, "back soon as I can."

"I'll be fine," I said, "I'll potter along here."

"Don't you use your right arm! The prince's room is that next one on the left!" She ran off.

It took me some time to get to Azrael's room. I'd lost a lot of weight and felt so weak. How long had I been in hospital? Judging by how much I needed a shave it was weeks, not days. Controlling a wheelchair one-handed was difficult, and it took several attempts to learn not to hit the wall. I had to stop to catch my breath. I dropped my good foot to the ground to help with both propulsion and steering, but my bad leg was sticking out and hitting the wall meant I hit it with the foot. That jarred the hip.

Pain was very warming. I was soon so hot I thought the fever had returned. It was fifteen feet to the doorway but felt like miles.

"Polo!" Azrael saw me as I was still trying to negotiate the doorway.

"Hang on," I said, "still trying to work this bloody thing." Finally, I managed to get in. Azrael was propped up on pillows, looking woozy, right cheek showing the marks of tiny stitches in a line of red and purple. I rolled up to the bed, where I managed to stop without jarring anything. I was going to offer my hand but he didn't appear to have a good one. I patted his leg gently instead.

"I thought you were going to die," he said. I smiled.

"Not me," I said, "Haka doesn't want me for a sunbeam." He laughed.

"You shouldn't joke about Haka."

"I think," I said, "if she's real, the goddess of death has a sense of humour." I paused. "By the way, something strange happened while I was ill." He raised his eyebrows, and winced. "You alright?" I said.

"Aye," he said, carefully using the fingers on his right hand to gently rub near his cheek. "A bit tender. I can just use this hand, thank the gods. For a while I was being hand-fed."

"We're alive," I said, "and on the mend. We both know why. I have two words for you. Murray and Virginia." I paused. "Yes, that's three words," I added, "but you know what I mean. Blood. And dragons." His mouth dropped open, and he hurt his cheek again. I tried not to laugh. It wasn't out of trying to save his feelings. It was more that if I laughed properly I'd hurt something.

Azrael agreed we shouldn't tell anyone else, at least not until we figured out what was going on, then Saraia arrived, and the redheaded nurse. The nurse said the doctors had insisted that my mother be banned from the hospital. That suited me. I always thought it was Father who was possibly mad-and-dangerous, but now realised I'd overlooked the most obvious candidate in the family.

After helloes I left Azrael and his mother to their visit. The nurse rolled me back to my room.

"You hungry?" she asked, as she helped me back into bed.

"Starving." I said.

"That's my boy," she said, "I'll get something sent in."

"Nurse?" I said.

"Aye?" she paused, about to hurry off.

"What's your name?"

"Anastasia," she said, "but Anna is what I'm called."

"Nurse Anna," I said and smiled. "Thanks for everything." She smiled, showing a set of dimples, then dashed out the door.

A solicitous male orderly brought the food and laid it out for me so I could manage one-handed. There was vegetable soup with bread and butter. It tasted so good. I ate every bit and asked for more. After that I slept until I was woken for the evening meal.

They were trying to wean me off the poppy-juice, so dosed me up on mindweed tincture. It was a very pleasant experience. Fenric dropped in again and shared a pipe with me, which was possibly overkill but was fun. He was the one who told me I had been unconscious for three weeks. I couldn't believe it, but the orderly said it was true. Besides, I had the beard to prove it. I didn't like that at all.

#### ****

The next day, after the orderly shaved me, I rolled my wheelchair erratically outside. The infirmary was on the ground floor of the citadel, near the Green and the kitchen garden. With the bioplas paths I could roll about, but it was tiring.

I had never been shut up indoors before, or in bed for three weeks. Suddenly, it was midsummer, and hot. Everyone was dressing more casually as the heat mounted. Girls bounced about in silk and cotton dresses, giving up bras and even knickers, judging by what showed through the sheer fabrics in full sun. Some were in shorts, though I didn't see how the very short ones were comfortable, as you stuck to anything you sat on. I didn't mind. It made for interesting people watching. Interesting woman-scenting, too. Girls in heat in the heat. I discovered being in a wheelchair put me at eye-level with bodies rather than faces. Thigh-level rather than eye-level.

A number of lasses came up to say hello and to wish me better then, giggling, trooped off to go swimming, something I was banned from. A woman was walking near me, lean as a whippet, wearing a simple pair of longish shorts and cotton top. There was something familiar about her. She was barefoot, wearing sunglasses, and had silver hair, but didn't look more than thirty. She walked up to me and with one finger eased her glasses down her nose, looking over them at me. Her eyes were unlike anything I'd ever seen in a person. In an instinctive reaction to a predator, my gut contracted.

The various cat's-eye markings were named. My coloration was orbital metallic, a circle of metallic colour on an iris of one colour. My mother's emerald orbital ring surrounding a black opal iris was orbital opalescence. Solid opalescence was similar to Azrael's solid crystalline, which in his case meant solid blue eyes with a scattering of diamond lights. In solid opalescence, each flake of crystal was a myriad of colours that flashed in the light, with each glittering opal flake set on a solid colour, possibly also set with a scattering of lights.

In this woman's case the solid colour was a tawny gold, as if her eyes were made of some fiery topaz opal. The pupils were vertical slits, real cat's eyes. I blinked, twice. I could see why she wore sunglasses. People must stare. I tried not to.

"Hello, Polo," she said, "good to see you up."

"Virginia?" I said, recognising her at last. She gave me a cheeky grin. She had such an infectious smile. I laughed. "This is my first proper day out of bed," I said, "thank you, for everything." She made a shooing gesture with one hand, as if it were nothing.

"My pleasure," she said.

"Thank Murray for me too," I said, and she smiled.

"Idiot," she said, "him, not you. Come on, I'll roll you to the edge of the Green." She took hold of the wheelchair back and began to push me along faster than I'd managed.

"You've been friends a long time?" I said. She laughed.

"We've been married a long time." That seemed shocking to me. "We squabble, we don't really fight," she said, "we agree about most things."

"You called him a gaybo dragon," I said. She chuckled.

"Yes, for using a scalpel. It's quite tricky using tools when you're dragon-shape, he might have stabbed himself. As I recall, during that argument he called me a girly-girl. I suppose if I thought he meant it I'd be upset."

She parked me on the grass next to a flowerbed, under a big tree, and sat next to the chair. I had a real dragon right in front of me. I wasn't going to waste the chance.

"Virginia," I said, "the shape-changing, please, how do you do it? Is Azrael right? Can we all do it?"

"I just think myself there," she said, looking serious, and pushed her glasses back on her nose. I carefully stood and she offered her hand. I lowered myself unsteadily to the grass. The effort caused a lot of pain which I tried to ignore. It felt so good to touch the earth. "In theory, yes," she explained, "Azrael's right. Whether individuals can, well, that's up to the individual. Before you get started properly, you should know that you might get stuck."

An orange-and-black bumblebee swooped erratically past us, all busyness. It nosed into a primrose and I admired the sight, the tiny polished yellow flower twitching as the fat bumblebee waved its velvet abdomen in the air, its leg baskets stuffed with bright yellow pollen. I had nearly died. Imagine not being able to see a bumblebee or a flower again. Then what Virginia had said sank in.

"Stuck?" I said. "As a dragon?" She nodded.

"Or part of one. Some people can't get back to human-shape. The eyes are tricky. The most common problem is being unable to get your eyes back again from vertical pupil to round. I can do it but leaving mine like this is easier. Worth the price of a good pair of sunglasses. On the other hand, you might not get your human skin back. Or you might get some of it. I've seen people with a patch of scales they can't remove. Some only manage one change to dragon then back and never do it again. It's all in the mind, of course, like most things." She waved a hand, dismissing the idea for now. "You need to heal first, and then you can mess with trying to learn another form. First we need to make sure you know your history and why Dragon is. I'll bring you some books, alright?"

"Aye," I said, "thanks. What about Azrael?"

"He's allowed to read them," she said, and I smiled.

"I mean, will he be taught?" She shrugged.

"He'll be taught," she said. I bit my lip.

"You don't think he can shape-change?" She shrugged again.

"Not really. His line, the Westwych line, it's rather weak. Her Majesty thinks you're purer than he is. You're lucky, your mother was a Casterton, and one of the old lines, as was his, but your father was a particularly fine specimen of peasant." I laughed so much I hurt myself, but had trouble stopping anyway.

"Aside from the alcoholism," I said when I could talk.

"Unfortunately," she said, smiling, "we are all imperfect. We still have weakness, madness, stupidity, foolishness, dishonesty and all the other human qualities. Some of them are taught, some are a genetic predisposition."

"Like love?" I said. She smiled.

"No, Polo, love is a reason to be. Real love, not the kind that's dependent on one's emotional baggage and how well you manipulate each other. A relationship between equals, that's something to aim for. Emotional manipulation is a sign of weakness, both doing it and allowing it. Except of course, to get one's way." She looked cheerful. "Murray shouts at me and says I'm a manipulative cow, but he makes coffee if I beg nicely." She fluttered her eyelashes and I laughed.

"I'm sure you can be very persuasive," I said. She looked smug.

"I made you come back. From the meadow." I thought that was Cree. "Tell Cree hello, when you see him again." I stared at her. "Did you think he was yours?" she said. "Your ghost? He's a promiscuous sonofabitch. He said I was closer, might have more impact. He was right, you came back." I was stunned.

"Can you read minds too?" She shook her head. "He talked to you," I said, "about me?"

"Aye." Her mouth twitched. "He says you're a promiscuous sonofabitch too." I laughed carefully, getting the knack of it without jogging my injuries. She looked over her glasses again.

"Seriously," she said, "young Azrael having a Dragon for a great-grandmother helps, and his grandmother on his father's side is half-peasant, but it's a wonder any of them are sane. That Westwych line is so corrupt and inbred. And none of them can fly." She sniffed. "This place hasn't changed in a thousand years."

"Azrael wants to change it," I said, "isn't that a reason to help him?" I was thinking she was going to show me how to change and if she didn't show Azrael too he'd be heartbroken. She shooed the idea away with an airy gesture.

"He's being helped by someone else. You're my pet project. I'm to take you through physical therapy and meditation techniques, and teach you how to change your shape." I nodded. Even through the drug haze I was excited by this development, more than I hoped for.

"I'm guessing," I said, "this is because I have Dragon closer in my genes than I know. Do you know who my closest Dragon ancestor is?" She was watching my bumblebee, which had moved on to another flower, still head down and bum up. Virginia looked at me.

"They've hidden that from you?" When I nodded, she sighed. "Closest is your mother's mother. Daeva Casterton."

"Grandmama Daeva?" I said it quite loud. I dropped my volume. "Grandmama Daeva is Dragon?" She shook her head. Not saying I was wrong, but at me not knowing.

"I can't believe nobody told you," she said. I couldn't either. I spent large periods of my childhood with Grandmama and even she never thought to tell me. I was a quarter Dragon! Plus whatever percentage Grandpa Casterton, Grandmama's late husband, had been. Then I remembered why I spent so long with Grandmama.

"Probably because of my father," I said, "he hates Dragon. They would hide it." Virginia made a snorting noise.

"Specieist," she said, sounding annoyed. "People are always afraid of what they don't understand, or even someone different. Like kids in a schoolyard, people are. I'm always surprised they don't just throw rocks at each other and grunt, instead of talking." I shrugged.

"I've always suspected there's Dragon blood on Father's side," I said, "the way he looks." She said something that shocked me.

"He's a throwback. To the Yusaf." I looked up from the bumblebee, my mouth open.

"Really?" I said, "I assumed he must be Dragon somewhere." I thought so to the point where I thought Father was an idiot for pretending otherwise. She shook her head.

"Herself, Lilith, had him checked out," she said, "you being so interesting, as Her Majesty puts it."

The Dragon queen had me checked out? I was moving up in the world, with two heads of state investigating me in the space of three months.

"It's possible to smell any Dragon blood in a person," Virginia was saying, "he hasn't a scrap. People who looked like him, though they were a minority, were found among the Yusaf. Let's not forget, the original Dragon were Yusaf tweaked a little. With two thousand years of inbreeding before Dragon turned up, certain colourings became rare here, like blonde or red hair and coloured eyes. Nevertheless they do turn up, or mutations occur." She gestured to her eyes. "Originally all humans were brown-eyed. Then along came one person with blue eyes, which is a lack of melanin in the iris. That one mutation led to all the variations, the light-eyes, the greens, blues, greys, and so on. Many hundreds of thousands of years later, when they made Dragon, they made the Dragon genes dominant."

"The prettiness gene," I said. She smiled.

"The first Dragon were very beautiful," she said, "fine physical specimens, chosen for their grace, strength and abilities, both mental and physical." I wondered if they all had ghosts. Cree materialised near me. Beings-not-in-body, I thought at him, before he could start arguing. "And let's not forget the ultra-senses."

"Like sensing danger before it comes?" I said to Virginia, and she nodded.

"That and other things." I paused.

"Don't you think it's wrong," I said, "to treat the peasants as if they're less than us? I mean, without that my father couldn't say he was being overlooked for promotion because he's a commoner."

"Who does that?" she said, frowning. Out on the Green a magpie landed, tilted its head to one side and then began to hunt, stabbing its beak into the ground. I was still quite floaty from the drugs. I looked at Virginia, aware she'd said something and with no idea what it was.

"Sorry," I said, "who does what?"

"Who treats peasants as less?" she said, "I don't, do you?"

"No, but-" She fixed me with a look.

"No but nothing," she said, and I shut up. "However," she went on, "give the peasants the chance, and what do you think will happen to us? They're pure human mostly, scared of anyone who even seems a bit different, always looking to blame that person for everything wrong instead of looking at themselves or their governments. Ever read any histories of Home? All those people killed because their skin colour was different? Or their religion wasn't the one of the ruling party?" I nodded. She scowled. "People killed, burned, torn apart by ignorant mobs, even having limbs amputated to be used as lucky charms. Their hearts torn out when still alive as a sacrifice to some weaselling god, because the people who live in the next valley, they're not like us. They're not really human so we can do what we like with them. What do you think would happen to Dragon if we let the humans rule?" She snorted. She was so passionate. I adored her. "There's a book in the library," she said, sounding calmer, "called _When Dragon Came_. I'll bring you a copy. It's about Dragon, and our arrival here. After our creation we spent two thousand years wandering the Quadrants, looking for a place we could call home. By the way, peasant simply means "of the soil" in an old Home tongue, it's not derogatory. It's a way of saying their seed is native to Galaia, or as native as any of it."

"Aye," I said, "that's something my parents always say." She gestured at the magpie.

"He's an interloper from Home, hunting feral worms in introduced grass. So are the peasants. We're all aliens."

"I didn't mean to upset you," I said. She shrugged and smiled.

"I'm not upset," she said, "I was just getting heated." She grinned. "I'll get you that book then I have to go. I'll be back tomorrow morning and we'll start your physio. Do you need to be wheeled back?"

"Um," I said, hesitating a moment before giving up my pride, "yes please." I could have done it without help, if over a long time and with much pain and sweating. I decided that while I needed to use my body, I didn't need to kill it. Virginia helped me up and back into the chair.

"There's nothing new under the sun, Polo," she said, as she wheeled me along. I leaned back to hear her clearly. "We have Yusaf books with devices in them we on Galaia can't even imagine making because not only do we not understand the science behind them, we don't understand the precursors, or the pre-precursors. You can't make a house from stone if you don't know how to work stone, how to cut it from the World. What use is a wheel if you can't make an axle and the cart to ride in, if you've forgotten everything you knew about taming horses? How can we make objects out of rare metals if we don't have the skills to work them when we find them?

"We have so many products, like wheelchairs, hypodermics, saddles, and of course, anything made of bioplas, where we learned from books how to build them, how to do them, best practice. We didn't discover how to do them, we just studied the excellent reference material. Everything was detailed, with measurements."

We rolled into the hospital and she pushed me into my room then helped me into the bed. She was incredibly strong, not just 'for a woman', but for anyone.

"Galaia doesn't have the science levels to make bioplas, you know," she said with a grunt, as she lifted me up the bed so I could sit up, "anyone coming across this civilisation would wonder what in the name of Thet was going on. The Galaians have some very advanced technologies yet they're still on horseback. If they have bioplastics, why don't they have flight? They have steam, where are the railways? They have electricity so how come half the planet is living without it, in semi-tribal groupings without even permanent buildings?"

"Do you know why?" I said. She smiled and smoothed the sheet.

"Well," she said, "there's more than one reason. That book I mentioned lists some. The early settlers had to settle on the essential technologies, and stick with those. They eventually forgot why things were done just so but kept doing them that way because it worked. Some books were preserved, but with limited paper stocks they only printed what was essential. How-to books mostly. By the time Dragon got here most of the Yusaf descendants thought they were created here on this planet." She looked at her watch. "I have to scoot, back with those books later."

After she left, I asked for pen and paper and made notes for my journal, particularly what we talked about on the Green.

#### ****

## Chapter 24 – When Dragon Came

An hour later Virginia was back. _When Dragon Came_ was bound in red leather, the name stamped in gold on the spine. The flyleaf said it was three hundred years old. I held it, feeling the weight of the centuries. There was another book called _A History of Galaia_ , written a thousand years ago when Dragon arrived, but the copy was a reprint and only a hundred years old. It was written by an S Westwych.

"Oh," I said, "what beautiful books." The skin around Virginia's topaz eyes crinkled as she smiled. I was thinking about her in a way that wasn't seemly for one's physical therapist. I quashed the thought, focusing on the embossed leatherwork.

"This one's a gift," said Virginia, pointing to _A History of Galaia_. "It's one of the few complete histories of this world up to when Dragon came, written by Dragon." I thanked her and she headed off.

#### ****

I'd barely opened _When Dragon Came_ when I was disturbed.

_Afternoon, Polo!_ It was my ghost.

"Hello Cree," I said aloud, "I hear you called me a promiscuous sonofabitch."

_You're jealous_ , he said, _how sweet. You know, I could hang around all the time, but I think I'd bore you._

"You scare me," I said.

_Scare you?_ He looked down at himself. Bits were transparent. _I suppose I'm not very solid._

"Oh, I can deal with seeing you," I said, "and even with seeing and not-seeing you at the same time, but when other people see you it means I'm not crazy and you're real. Alternatively we're all mad. Group delusion." He laughed.

_Thank you, beloved_ , he said, _you do amuse us_.

"Us?" I said. He shrugged.

_Figure of speech_ , he said.

"Do you want to talk? Or can I read?" He gestured that I should read and sat, or levitated, smoking a pipe, about five feet up the wall.

Most of the book's first page was taken up with a stylised line drawing of a starship shuttle dropping through clouds. Although I knew it was possible, the idea of flight seemed fanciful. I looked at Cree. As fanciful as some kind of spirit guide smoking a pipe in the corner of the room? I tried not to think about Cree. He made my brain hurt. I skipped through the first pages, a Glossary, after I knew the first few definitions.

A.E. - After Exodus. Though the date is taken from the approximate start year of the first colonies in the Alpha Quadrant, the name marks the massive exodus of humans from Home.

Computer - a kind of electric book, like a window into a million other books, (erroneously referred to in some histories as a 'magic' book). It could memorise and dictate printed books, transmit messages over huge distances, and thanks to being able to memorise knowledge and perform mathematical calculations, could give answers to questions.

Quadrants - Galaia is in the Sigma Quadrant, far away from the tightly grouped planets of Alpha and Beta Quadrants, and even further from Home.

I turned the pages carefully. The book was so old and I didn't want to damage it, especially seeing it was in very good condition. I'll reproduce it pretty much directly as it summed up many aspects of our history I was unsure of.

Nowadays of course it's a school history text, but in those days I was one of maybe a dozen people in the kingdom who'd read it. It began as the starships from Home stopped coming.

#### ****

There was no useful news from intercepted messages, only the words of the horrified peoples of the Quadrants watching their worlds crumble. They were abandoned. Eventually the messages stopped coming and everyone gave up hope of help from the skies.

For the peoples of Galaia, dependent on Home and the Alpha and Beta Quadrant planets for food, equipment, and people, they now had to farm, fish, hunt, and put away their own stores for winter. They had to breed. There was no industry. They couldn't stop to build new hearts for their machines.

A footnote explained they weren't real hearts but power sources made of rare metals. I remembered a teacher telling me that the metals the Yusaf used for their machine hearts and starships were rare alloys, stronger than steel by more than we could imagine.

There was no time to find and mine the rare metals or minerals then smelt them, nor did they have the equipment to do so, or even the materials to build the equipment they needed to start these ventures. Then they would need to build the hearts, machines, and ships. They simply did not have the people to spare.

The Yusaf had to let go of technology, of expectations, and start again. As their settlements grew, at first they focused on basic versions of the most useful technologies and on farming, so they could feed, clothe and shelter their people.

In most cases the military took over, so there was no private enterprise. Everything was communal and the focus was on survival. They had the technologies to breed and rear animals very fast but it was dangerous to use those methods on humans.

However, the multiple birth technology was considered safe, although it destroyed the bodies of those women who went through it. It was made law. All the women had to have as many children as they could and they were treated so they would have twins, triplets, or more. Refusal was not permitted.

At the same time, the Yusaf were desperate to preserve their knowledge so stopped using the computers except to print out the words inside, hoping to conserve their remaining machine hearts.

That is how Galaia's people survived until Dragon arrived. They weren't starting from scratch. In order to know how to farm animals, crops, birds and water life they only needed to read and follow a diagram. It was the same with how to build the abattoirs and mills. How to make a solar panel, a water turbine or a water heater. How to build a printing press, and basic powered tools and devices. How to tan leather then work it, how to shear a sheep, spin the wool, weave it, how to do the same with cotton, flax and silk.

Then there were the smiths who worked in glass or metals, and the farriers, because the new world ran on the hooves of horses. The Yusaf began to manage the forests to stop the population cutting down every tree, and began a program of replanting that somehow survived, admittedly in fits and starts, down the millennia.

As the settlements grew more things were made, the population surged, and they tapped rubber. A decision was made to devote crops to the production of biodegradable plastics or bioplas, which they grew in vats much as we do today.

The Yusaf tried to inculcate a respect for knowledge in their children, hoping to arrest the slide into the primitive, which had gone from being something they admired - thinking a simpler life was good - to something they feared, as the lights of civilisation went out across the Quadrants.

Even the word 'civilisation', long a euphemism for a negative experience imposed by brutal colonial powers or used by bigots to denigrate those with different skins and cultures, began to enjoy a resurgence in unprejudiced and non-ironic use.

As they struggled to survive and keep their standard of living above simple subsistence, the problems multiplied. Soon enough they were making weapons to use against each other.

Even as they went hungry, people argued over unimportant matters, one bloody war in particular being started between two brothers over a slice of birthday cake. Aside from stupid squabbling there were always some who would steal rather than work. Then there were those who simply could not agree and would not give an inch.

Eventually the Yusaf split into warring tribes and scattered around the world. They were lucky that enough of them survived to keep the planet inhabited, but it should be noted, once the Great Silence began, despite the wars and enmities, the one constant in the history was the trading of women as bloodstock.

Even between enemy states women moved with ease, providing they were slaves for breeding purposes. Kingdoms that prided themselves on maintaining the trappings of civilisation, like coin, taxes and laws, still allowed any woman to be sold.

Within a few hundred years the continent of Pangea was riven with political boundaries. There were the Leas Kingdoms in the south, Sriama in the north, (then several separate kingdoms), and descendants of the original settlers held the centre, the Old Kingdoms, as they had since the beginning.

Dragon came in 1918 A.E., around seventeen centuries after the Great Silence began, when the starship Delta Queen arrived at Galaia. The Dragon shuttles landed at Peterhaven in Sendren, on top of the Greened Citadel hill.

It was noted the ship was called that because Dragon was originally from the Delta Quadrant, also that there was a shuttle in the collection of the King of Highcliff.

From their maps Dragon recognised the Greened Citadel as an old landing site. Peterhaven was once a spaceport, the capital of the world. Although Malion and many other places had landing sites for skyships, Peterhaven was the only one where the shuttles took you up to the starships.

There was thunder and lightning and clouds suddenly appeared in a clear blue sky. Through it all came two silver shuttles, and the clouds boiled as a warm rain began to fall. The Twelfth Oliver went out to meet them. Some people thought he was crazy, that the newcomers meant them harm.

The Yusaf were very afraid when Dragon came from the stars. People had forgotten that starships existed. Over the years, unable to replace the worn-out, they'd lost much of their technology, until many thought the stories of their arrival from other planets were just that, stories.

Dragon were both beautiful and strange, and the Yusaf were awed. Were they gods come to walk upon the World? Their language was familiar but the centuries had changed the meanings of some words. Accents had melded, blended and created something quite different. Though many seemed obviously human, some of the new tribe appeared as winged mythical beasts.

To King Oliver's surprise he understood most of what they said, even the ones with wings, and they could understand him. Communication wasn't hard providing everyone talked slowly. To his good fortune, as thanks to the mines in the south of the kingdom Oliver was a man rich in gold, the newcomers were soldiers for hire. The Quadrants' best.

For nearly two thousand years, since not long after the Great Silence began, they had travelled in their little starship. It carried many thousands of the tribe but was small compared to the old Home starships. Those carried entire cities in their bellies.

#### ****

I became distracted by how I 'saw' Cree. It was like looking into a prism, I decided. Wherever he was wasn't quite where I was, but we could see each other through a glass-like plane.

"Cree, are you human or Dragon?" He smiled.

_Questions like that are hard to answer, maybe I was, once._ I frowned, wondering how to phrase questions he would answer clearly. Besides, I was pretty sure he was Dragon.

"Do you know how Dragon was made? And why?"

_Well, they were made from humans. There is more to them than you see. They have other parts._ He tapped his temple _. It's a very old part of humans, where there were bits of leftover animals, birds and reptiles that we used to be, tweaked a little. Instead of only having the option for human skin, a man might have thicker reptile skin, eyes that could see in the dark with stronger bones and muscles. And wings. A soldier with his, or her, own armour and weapons built in._

"We were dragons once?"

_We were reptiles,_ he said, _way back, hundreds of millions of years back. You wouldn't think it to look at us, but there's the memory deep in the code, and if you know which markers to tweak you can make any creature your heart desires. If you know the code._

"Aye," I said, understanding suddenly, "it's genetics. The Yusaf and the Dragon knew how to do it, more than trying to find a healthy partner who isn't related or mad to breed with, but we don't know how to do the deep-inside genetics. Not any more." He nodded.

_We forgot, like we forget that Dragon come in people-shape and dragon-shape. And some of them can move between. Everyone was very surprised when some Dragon began to move between one species and the other. Shape-changing was unexpected. It did not fit the theory._ He waved his pipe. _Of course, it fitted myth, as it's a common human fairytale that there are creatures not at all human, able to pass as human._

Until I met Cree I believed in science. Since then I saw a woman turn into a dragon, met other shape-changing dragons, and developed a ghost who was sure he wasn't one.

_They say that when Man created Dragon,_ said Cree, _he accidentally created real magic._

I remembered as a boy, Mother telling me magic wasn't real. How could she have said that to me? Her own mother was Dragon!

_Have I told you,_ said Cree, distracting me from my annoyance with Mother, _the Dragon Soldier's Prayer?_

"No," I said, sitting up a bit, "what is it?" He cleared his throat.

_Man seeks duality but Dragon is Shadow, chained to none, between the Light and the Darkness. Past good and past evil, Dragon dwells. We glory in the dance of war and the will of the gods. Will Haka take us back to the Underworld today or will she accept our offerings?_ Chills slid up and down my spine. Cree went on _, Where Zol and Haka dance, there are Dragon, the Children and the Chosen. Glory be to Thet._ He stopped. _There's more, but that's the best bit._

#### ****

## Chapter 25 - Mad-But-Not-Dangerous

I looked down at the page I was on.

The name Dragon should not be synonymous with evil. Since they left the kingdoms, Dragon's true nature has been excised from memories and language until they are in danger of becoming some kind of bogeyman, even to the Blood whose cousins they are.

Dragon are magic. Magic is neither good nor evil in nature. It just is. People, be they Homo draconicus or Homo sapiens, choose which aspect of magic shall be manifest.

I fell asleep, something I was doing often and without warning, partly due to the drugs, also a part of my healing. I woke up to find Azrael in my room, reading _When Dragon Came._

"Hey," I said, struggling to sit up.

"Hey. Look," he said, demonstrating, "I can use my right hand a bit." His fingers weren't responding that well but I nodded and looked impressed. "I've been reading this. I kept your place," he said, tapping the cover.

"Interesting book," I said.

"I thought so," he said, "listen." He began reading aloud. " _When Dragon inspected the planet, they discovered most of the peoples regressed to tribal societies. People were accused of witchcraft when crops failed, superstition was rife. Some areas had forgotten their vows to Galaia, to be gentle to her green skin, and needed some draconian reminders. These came in the form of Dragon moving in, closing down the industries, and even removing knowledge from the libraries."_ He looked up at me. "I didn't know they did that." I hadn't known either.

"Does it say what kind of industries?" I said. He shook his head. "Dragon are still in charge of me," I said, "Virginia was here this morning. In human form." He nodded. "She brought the books."

"I have one," he said, "his name's Stefan. Says he's a friend of Mother's and a Westwych. Certainly looks the part, black hair, blue eyes, though he's tall like me. Mother says yes, he's a friend and cousin, they know each other from holidays in Bronlea down south, when they were children. He's Dragon, I'm sure of it. He knows his stuff though. The doctors here know him. He's someone famous in medical circles. And the nurses! It's all giggling and yes doctor, no doctor. I thought I had a chance with that little redhead."

My Anna? Then I remembered more important things than sex. However, I was still miffed over Anna. Neither Azrael nor I could have done anything for her, but it didn't stop us fantasising.

"I found out something," I said. Azrael looked at me.

"Hmm?" he said.

"Virginia told me my grandmother on Mother's side is Dragon," I said, "my Grandmama Daeva."

"Gods," Azrael said, and sucked in a breath, "you're more Dragon than I am. Double!"

"Aye," I said, relieved to be talking about it, "I think I might have some of the extra-senses they're supposed to have. At least, I've been seeing things."

"Things?" he said, looking puzzled.

"Well, one thing in particular," I said, "I think I have some kind of spirit guide."

_I've never known anyone so embarrassed by my presence,_ Cree said, as he materialised suddenly near the ceiling. I refused to look.

"Oh?" said Azrael, and nodded as if it were normal. "Like a fortune-teller." He looked impressed. "Can you tell the future yet?" I winced.

"A fortune-teller?" I said, "Oh please no." I heard Cree laugh. I tried to explain. "It's a ghost. Um, I mean, he says he's a being-not-in-body." Azrael nodded.

"That makes sense," he said. I was flummoxed.

"It does?" He nodded.

"Nanny Black says other worlds and times are at angles to ours and we can see into them if we know how. Has this been since the accident?" I frowned.

"No," I said, "it started back when I first came here." He nodded again.

"Maybe the citadel is closer to the other worlds than Lower Beech," he said, "or maybe you were coming to the age where that ability kicked in. I'm sure I read somewhere it can happen at puberty."

"I hit puberty a little before I got to Peterhaven," I said, rather archly.

"Oh of course," he said, "or like you it happens during." He smiled. "I'll stop trying to reassure you shall I? While I'm ahead." I motioned a cuff at him but we were both too weak to risk even a playful swipe at each other.

#### ****

If I was surprised at Azrael's matter-of-factness, then the next person I confided in, Fenric, shocked me to the core. He dropped in to see how I was. We sat outside in the shade, smoking, and talking. Thinking to ask his opinion, I stumbled over how to explain my hallucinations. Despite the dragons I drank blood from being apparently real, able to transmogrify, them knowing Cree and Azrael knowing them too, I was convinced I was going mad.

Perhaps it was after-effects of the poppy juice. And the mindweed. Obviously. Because otherwise didn't bear thinking about. My reasoning was that these chats with Cree weren't really happening, I was viewing them through the kaleidoscope of my splintered mind. Just like Cree had said. I ignored that I was taking mental health advice from a hallucination. The same hallucination that told me Dragon were accidentally real magic.

Insanity was the only explanation that made sense. My parents' shenanigans had driven me out of my mind. No longer sure who I was and where the world began, I was possibly at the beginning of madness. As I hesitated over how to introduce the subject, with Cree bouncing around in some state of excitement that I couldn't interpret, Fenric looked right at Cree.

"Can you ask your ghost to shut up?" he said. "I can't focus on both of you." I hissed in my mind, shut up!

"He's not mine," I said aloud, sounding apologetic. "And he's a being-not-in-body, not a ghost." Fenric looked amused.

"He's not yours?" he said, laughing. "What, you're minding him for a friend?" I laughed too, a bit nervously.

"Um no, well, I mean yes he's sort-of mine," I said. "He's attached himself to me. I'm not sure why." Fenric shrugged.

_Don't sound so disappointed that I am real_ , said Cree, _did you want to be mad? The crazy boy who sees ghosts?_ Fenric shook his head.

"Maybe it's more common where I come from," he said, "beings-not-in-body."

_See_? Cree said _. Some people understand._

"I was taught," Fenric was saying, "that creatures beyond our usual perceptions are everywhere. My mother used to leave out milk, food or mindweed for the pixies. She swore they did jobs in the house for her, but messed things up if she forgot their treats." I'd heard of people who believed in ghosts and pixies, even fairies, but Mother claimed not to care about the gods and Father was an avowed atheist so I wasn't brought up to believe in the supernatural.

"Where do you come from?" I said. Fenric looked at me, grey eyes glowing with their shower of gold.

"The south," he said.

"Dragon is secretly running the old dragon kingdoms," I said, not sure why I was laying it out like this, "aren't they?" If it was true, and it looked that way, saying it might make me someone to be silenced. For all my dabbling in the martial arts I knew Fenric could snap me like a twig. He trained me and when we sparred was usually only moving at half-speed. He smiled.

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"Well," I said, and paused. Was it a bad thing? "Shouldn't people get to have a say?" He laughed.

"People? Human or Dragon or something in between, we're all people and all capable of idiocy. The less say most people have in their governance, the better. Besides, most aren't interested. Why do you think so many complete morons get to be officers? Only because the good people can't be bothered and actively avoid promotion." He shook his head. "I've been in the army," he said, "I've seen the results of real stupidity."

"But," I said, "not everyone's stupid."

"Aye," he said, "which is why Azrael's here." I frowned, not sure what he meant. "You don't think he's stupid?" said Fenric. I shook my head.

"No," I said, "I mean, he's a smart one, smarter than me, but you've lost me. Why is he here?"

"Well," Fenric said, "he's very important for all of us. Before Azrael, Theo's line was dying. New Dragon blood means it's now invigorated, fresh and ready to rule."

#### ****

## Chapter 26 – Some History

The weather was very hot but Virginia worked me hard. The physical therapy was painful, though necessary if I wanted to regain my former levels of speed, movement and flexibility. I might never reach them but it was worth trying.

I met Azrael's Stefan, who looked very like him but twenty years older. Stefan and Virginia knew each other and like Azrael, I assumed Stefan was Dragon. It seemed everyone else was. I even began wondering if some peasants might be Dragon masquerading.

After all, I reasoned, if you can change shape and your eyes then why not remove the sparkle? It was what marked you. Virginia had vertical pupils but she could change the shape if she wanted to. I had the feeling she liked the effect they had on people.

Life had become something different. Suddenly having a real Dragon in front of me was like suddenly having everything I knew laid bare as nonsense. I had no more excuses. Magic was real. In _When Dragon Came_ they explained why the planet of Lucas, where Dragon were created, needed people with thick skins, extra strength, super-fast reflexes, and claws.

True, Lucas was fertile and twinkled with easy-to-mine minerals and gems, but the planetary survey was botched. The local wildlife put new meaning into 'wild', being often armoured, usually venomous, carnivorous, and impervious to electric fences that would stop an elephant. Even the birds were vicious. They were also so smart that the Lucasians had to stop using air transport after the birds learned to attack and down skyships to get at the tasty people inside.

The settlers began selective breeding and genetic tweaking of their livestock, breeding tame big cats to protect the herd animals. Then they turned to themselves. Dragon was born, though first, they were made.

Dragon were created before the Great Silence began, at the same time as animal fast breeding was successfully extended to humans, in the last decade of the colonisation push. The Lucasians manipulated their genes and added _draconium_ to the scientific lexicon. Present in the blood of Dragon, draconium was required to transform and to heal, though at first the scientists didn't have a clue of the scope of their creation.

They simply tried to create a tougher kind of human using human genetic material as a base. The first Dragon was the geneticist who did the original gene manipulation and changed himself forever. As the induction for a living human being was rather harrowing, Dragon were then made from only the strongest and fittest of the settlers and soldiers.

I finally understood why Murray and Virginia had insisted I drink their blood. Providing the donor had the bright eyes that signalled high concentrations of draconium, a few tablespoons of blood from one of the tribe could refuel a badly injured Dragon without leaving the donor dangerously weak. The injured Dragon might be left vulnerable if they tried to heal themselves without the extra boost.

Dragon found the new traits bred into their children. Of course, they were different to humans, noticeably so.

The eyes, I discovered, were mostly for show. Yes they did see better, particularly at night, but the metallic and crystalline colouring was something the geneticists had done for fun. It was the mark of a predator said some, and it looked pretty, which was what they wanted, an exuberant sign of what they saw as the new race of super-humans.

They were officially declared a different species, _Homo draconicus_ , a direct descendant of _Homo sapiens_. Almost immediately the humans began to distrust the new race. Rumours began to spread that Dragon were freaks and shouldn't be around real people. However it wasn't the eyes that scared the locals. That they could cope with in worlds where bioplas lenses could change the colour of anyone's eyes.

It was the shape-changing that scared everyone, the new race included. Some members of the tribe would not attempt it for fear they might, as some had, get stuck and mark themselves more obviously not human.

The Dragon people worked their lands and hired themselves out to secure the peace, at first to farmers then to governments. They became very wealthy and bought a large property where the whole tribe could live if they wanted to be away from the human prejudices. As a black joke they called it their homeland, a word used as a term for isolated places of exile for those thought sub-human. The property had an official name, Draconis Station.

In the meantime they prepared for the future. Dragon seers predicted it and even ordinary members of that extraordinary tribe could see it was likely. Dragon began to build a starship, long before the first law was passed to enforce their status as second-class citizens. The starship was a small one, enough for the tribe. Dragon were careful. They hid the initial construction, along with supplies and weaponry, in the mountains of Draconis Station.

The purely human government quickly proposed and passed Laws to limit Dragon freedoms, as if Dragon were dangerous, aliens, and to blame for unemployment or almost anything. Didn't they drink blood? What was that all about?

There were humans who spoke out in their defence, but Dragon were convenient scapegoats, a tiny minority at the mercy of a majority. Members of the tribe living outside the station were forced to leave their homes, first by protestors then by law. They lost the right to vote, then to work outside Draconis Station except with government permission. In practice this meant they only left the station on paramilitary operations for the government.

Meanwhile, the secret building continued. The starship could not be fully created on the planet. The pieces were moved out of the Lucasian atmosphere and into space for assembly, a fraught and carefully-concealed exercise. Dragon were now racing time in a fight for their very existence. They had shuttles they used to move around the planet as they kept the peace on behalf of the government, and those worked round the clock. Everyone in the tribe donated funds to keep the shuttles in the air.

The book said some Dragon could pass completely for human, confirming my suspicions that Dragon might be right in front of me and looking like a peasant. They infiltrated human organisations on Lucas, taking the time to sabotage weapons that might bring their shuttles down.

Dragon made sure their illegal travels were likewise screened from the machines that would otherwise have shown their constant flights behind the Lucasian moon to where the _Delta Queen_ was taking shape. Instead of a shuttle heading into local space the instruments only registered the passing of aircraft, or of a government satellite, of which there were hundreds.

The Great Silence began. Starships no longer crossed the voids between the planets. A human who sided with the tribe tipped Dragon off about the imminent confiscation of their bank accounts or they'd have lost all their saved wealth. Dragon removing their money from the banks and using it to buy gold unsettled the fragile economy of the whole fledgling planet, proving to their detractors that there should be further limits on the tribe.

The government was furious, having been sure they were about to get their hands on billions of Quadrant Dollars, but instead were left empty-handed and looking foolish. Dragon knew that if the Lucasian government found the tribe's ship they'd take it for their own use.

Rumours flew. Dragon were vampires that drank the blood of humans and shouldn't be allowed to keep the Dragon homeland. The tribe held a meeting. More humans were saying Dragon should be treated the same as humans, that they were people too, but still a sizeable number thought _Homo draconicus_ should be exterminated, and they were loud in their bigotry.

Dragon sympathisers passed on the intelligence that the government was about to enact an emergency law to have Dragon officially declared 'animal', like the big cats and other results of genetic tampering, which would put Draconis Station, with everything and everyone in it, including the gold the Lucasian government expected to find, under government control.

Before this could happen, the tribe decided to leave, both Dragon and human, there being many mixed marriages and half-breed children. Everyone was allowed one box of a standard size, up to a standard weight. Conscious their ancestors had set out from Home in a similar desperate armada, with the same baggage limits, they filed onto the shuttles that went up to the hidden ship.

Somehow they made the journey over and over, ferrying people, boxes, animals, genetic material, and precious supplies of extracted draconium for the induction of new members of the tribe.

There was no record of what the Lucasians thought when they arrived to annex Draconis Station, only to find the gates unmanned and the station empty. Dragon were gone. The joke was that there was no gold left. Dragon had spent everything they had outfitting themselves and the _Delta Queen_.

The ship went from the Delta Quadrant out to the Gamma, where Dragon worked as mercenaries. They hid their wings, pretended to be from an isolated settlement, affected by radiation, not admitting they came from space or were made that way. They had to be quick, before anyone questioned their story. They earned currency, spent it on supplies and moved on.

On the one hand, Dragon supposed they could have donated their ship to the Quadrants, as it could be used to move settlers and trade goods, but on the other hand they weren't in the mood to be gracious to humans. Somewhere, Dragon were sure there was a planet that they could live on, somewhere that wasn't as prejudiced, but in nearly two thousand years they didn't find one.

They found some good people who left their planets to join Dragon, and some people who looked human left the ship, tired of living in space. It was safe for you to do so if you didn't have cat's-eyes, they wouldn't show up suddenly in your progeny.

Some of the Dragon females had children from dalliances with good physical specimens on the various planets. Dragon men were completely forbidden to have sex with local women unless the woman was prepared to join the ship, and she had to join the ship first. Nobody wanted a Dragon child left behind.

They did find some empty colony planets, where humans had died out, and those were noted in case Dragon decided to stop trying to be a part of people. As they plied their trade between worlds these empty planets were often used for breaks.

To Dragon's disappointment, everywhere was the same. Suspicion of strangers was the one human constant, especially if those strangers looked a bit funny. At first the people would be intensely grateful for Dragon's professional soldiering skills and weapons but, the moment the emergency was over, some human would find out Dragon weren't from those parts or would decide Dragon were less than human.

It was a short jump to the idea that the starship should be confiscated along with Dragon's earnings, which by then they'd learned to always take in gold. The astonishing fact for the tribe was that these planetary rulers and civic leaders wanted the ship and any valuables while still expecting Dragon to guard them. Dragon had better things to do.

By the time they reached Galaia out in the Sigma Quadrant, their minds were made up. Dragon had to assimilate until so many of the humans were part-Dragon that it didn't matter who had cat's-eyes.

King Oliver was the Sendrenese king who greeted them on Citadel Hill and made assimilation easier by falling in love with a Dragon woman. Once the tribe agreed to stay, he married her and made her his queen. For their part Dragon drove the Sriamans back and set the borders of the northern kingdoms. Their presence was enough to keep Kavarlen from even trying an invasion, something they did most summers previously.

The Galaians were easygoing for the most part and Dragon were feeling peeved after two thousand years of war and space. It was decided to stay on Galaia, at least for now.

_When Dragon Came_ was interesting, if a little out of date. Some of the background was new to me but it didn't go into detail about extra-senses or transformation, just that they existed. I was also curious about the special weapons Dragon had, which I'd never heard mentioned before. I noted that Azrael might be right. As far as the writer of was concerned, the starship was still up there.

Despite their Galaian assimilation, some three centuries after they arrived, and some seven before my time, Dragon declared they would no longer fight in the wars of men. They withdrew to Redoubt, a large kingdom of their own in the Southern Mountains.

A section of the same range overlooked Sendren's southern border, the Little Dragon River, a handy waterway either to the east coast or into the heart of the south.

The other book, _A History of Galaia_ , was at least as interesting. I always thought Home terraformed Galaia and the other 'manmade' planets like Paradise, but apparently not. They didn't have the technology. Much of what we thought of as Home science was that of an unknown race who left their knowledge behind, along with strings of uninhabited planets. That was so shocking I had to stop for breath.

Home was doing what the unknown race would have considered primitive space exploration when they found a planet they called Plenty. The original inhabitants left traces of themselves, including that they looked humanoid in their scientific texts, and though men were different, and split into two sexes, not one, the women were internally almost the same as people.

What the Home explorers found on Plenty opened the Quadrants to them, with new ways of driving ships, maps of habitable planets, and the technology to seed terraformed planets with plants and animals that would thrive and form new ecosystems, including how to induce accelerated multiple births.

Back then it was hushed up that the knowledge was alien, as much as it was hushed up now. The explorers did what explorers had done throughout human history, and pretended the knowledge and the land were theirs.

The Yusaf weren't a people, the book said, but a military force that gave its name to a tribe. There was some confusion over Galaia's original colonists. Early histories and Dragon's records said the first settlers, though part of an official shipload of colonists, were unauthorised, and rebels against Yusaf control of the settlements.

Nobody was even sure how they got to Galaia, which wasn't on the original starmaps. The Galaians said a seer persuaded them to leave the Yusaf starship and settle on Galaia but couldn't explain how they did so. A Yusaf enquiry had assumed they were under some group delusion but came to no conclusions other than positing a mystery starship somehow stolen without anyone noticing, used to transport people, animals, and supplies, then returned before it was missed.

Whatever the answer was, Peterhaven had an advantage as a colony, being founded a decade before the first settlers arrived on Plenty and founded New Rome, which was supposed to be the first permanent settlement in the Quadrants, though there were already scientific and military bases there, on the other planets in the Inner Quadrants.

The Galaians encouraged settlers from within the Quadrants, and they brought the name Yusaf with them. It was considered likely that Quadrant settlers arrived inside the first fifty years of Galaian settlement, but many failed to bond with the earlier arrivals. This was mostly because the Quadrant colonists tried to take over the lands of the original settlers, nearly causing the first war on a Quadrant planet. After a decade or more of independence, Galaia then had over a century as a dependent Yusaf colony before the Great Silence began.

The peoples I knew as the peasants of the old dragon kingdoms, the Anglic-speakers in the south and central areas of our continent, my father's people, were descendants of the first settlers, the supposed rebels. The book noted the Kavar, Sriamans and several others I'd never heard of were descendants of later groups of settlers sent from Plenty, which was the clearinghouse for all the emigration from Home.

Despite the peoples of Galaia ostensibly not mixing, everyone had traces of everyone else, at least up to a thousand years ago when Dragon arrived and did the last genetic testing. All those women passed around as breeding slaves had ensured genetic intermingling.

#### ****

## Chapter 27 - Usurper

Three weeks after Kristen attacked Azrael and I became collateral damage, the year 2977 A.E. ended. On 28th December, according to the Galaian calendar, the denizens of the citadel celebrated with a massive New Year's Eve Ball. I attended, limping.

Azrael and I stuck close together in the bright swirling crowds, both banned from alcohol. Still on antibiotics, we were also still drugged. I was on mindweed tincture. Azrael was still on that and poppy as well, as he was in worse pain. With almost everyone drunk, I felt dislocated from the partying.

It's a salutary lesson for anyone, even when high, to stay sober at a party where most are drinking heavily. I was subject to several slurred lectures on how they could hold their liquor. That's what alcohol does to a person. One becomes a delusional, possibly-violent buffoon, lacking the sense one was born with.

We were at the king's table trying not to rub at our healing wounds. People kept saying I was a hero, which mystified me. I was an idiot in my own eyes. Trying to pick up a dragon? What had I been thinking? We managed to stay awake until midnight then we gratefully left as everyone began to go mad.

Fenric and some others walked with us through the warm night, across the back of the citadel to the infirmary. Azrael had his guards now at all times, though he had become very fatalistic. Haka would take him or not, he said, no matter how many men were around him.

I had never recognised my mortality before, despite those lists of why I wouldn't join the army including not wanting to die young, but nearly dying woke me. Life never tasted quite so sweet.

Beside me, Azrael's left arm was in a sling. On his right cheek the dragon's claw-mark stood out, still livid. He looked so thin, but then so did I. I was hurting and pretending not to, with a walking stick to ease my leg, luckily able to use it with my good hand. There was the added problem that limping threw the rest of my body out. My wounds were throbbing all the way to the bone.

"We could get you some wheelchairs," said Fenric.

"No," said Azrael, "I'm tired of wheelchairs and bandages. Oh, sorry, Polo, do you want one? I forgot your leg."

"I'll be alright," I said, "the walk's doing me good. I was stiffening up, sitting in there." Fenric didn't believe my assurances.

"Get Polo a wheelchair," said Fenric to one of the men, who jogged off. "We'll stop here." I leaned against the nearest wall.

"Alright," I said, catching my breath, "so I'm not so good."

"Dragon wounds take a long time to heal," said Azrael, leaning near me. "Nanny was saying it was well-known in the old days. I'm glad Kristen didn't get my legs, I can still walk." I lit up a pipe and shared it round.

"I've been reading that _When Dragon Came_ ," I said, "it's really interesting." I was making conversation. "What I don't understand is what kind of weapons they had."

"Weapons," said Fenric, sounding solemn, "that could kill a man at a distance of miles. Then in a split second, kill the man next to him and keep going, so fast, all the while unseen."

"Unseen?" I said. He nodded.

"Dragon banned them," he said.

"Oh," I said, and waited to see if he would say more.

"I don't know much about them," he said, "before my time. They were called guns. They also had things that were like guns but bigger, called bombs. They killed hundreds with one shot. Knocked down houses too."

"I saw them mentioned," said Azrael, "in a book I was reading. When I asked Nanny, she said she heard Dragon tried to remove all references to bombs, especially how to make them. Too dangerous and much too much trouble." I laughed.

"And a sword isn't?" I said. Fenric shook his head.

"A sword can't kill at a distance," he said, "even a bow can't kill fast at a distance. Not without lots of bowmen. However, guns could hold many shots, like a multi-shot crossbow but we're talking hundreds. Even thousands. In one accurate weapon. And they could fire hundreds in seconds. Bombs were even more dangerous."

"Hundreds?" I frowned. "That doesn't seem possible." Fenric shrugged.

"What I heard," he said.

"So Dragon weren't that good at war," I said, "they had better weapons?"

"Everyone had better weapons," said Fenric, "when Dragon left Lucas, everyone was still using guns and bombs. Dragon are the best soldiers in the Quadrants. They proved that for nearly three thousand years."

"If we had guns," I said, savouring the unusual word, "maybe we wouldn't need Dragon." Fenric laughed.

"Nanny Black is right," he said, "Dragon made sure we don't have guns. Isn't that in your book?"

"I haven't finished it yet," I said, "But how?"

"Like I said, they destroyed them all. And edited the books. Well, I say edited, I think they probably destroyed anything that said much about those kinds of weapons." The man with the wheelchair came hurrying back and I sat down gratefully. "They had weapons that shot flame," Fenric went on, "that could blow up a building, and some that could blow up a city."

"A city?" said Azrael.

"They kept some books," said Fenric. "I read a few when I lived in Redoubt. They said that if you hit a planet with enough of the city-killers then the planet itself would explode."

The night was warm but I shivered. Over our heads, the stars ran in a river, twinkling in colours, and it was easy to imagine one small light flaring and then winking out. Was that what had happened to Home? Burned up by city-killers until the planet exploded? All those billions of people, all dying in one horror-soaked moment. We could hear music playing back in the ballroom, the party ongoing.

"Dragon seem very paternalistic," I said, "as if they don't trust people to make the right choices." The men all laughed. Azrael didn't, but sounded like he was smiling.

"Do you know anyone who makes the right choices?" he said. I thought about that.

"Aye," I said, "forget I said anything. But how does Dragon make them? Dragon blood is no guarantee of any sense at all, we all know that."

"Dragon have never sought to rule," said Fenric, "they're not secretly running anything, Polo, they're spreading their genes. We're too vulnerable, too obviously not human. We have to stay in charge or we'll lose it all. Like we did on Lucas." I looked up at him, his face half-hidden in the darkness. I didn't push it further. I had an inkling of something, and I didn't really want it proven.

What was it Virginia had said? Nothing had changed here in a thousand years. I took it simply as an expression, not that she had personal knowledge.

#### ****

Completely inactive sexually for longer than I could remember, at the beginning of the next week I knew I was on the mend. During a physio session I got hard when Virginia's arm brushed my belly.

"I can't be hurting you enough," she said, sounding amused.

"Sorry," I said, trying to will it away. "You are hurting me, a lot. I must be feeling my oats. Or I've become a masochist with all needles they've stuck me with." She laughed, I ignored it, and my refusal to pander had the desired effect.

"Time you left the hospital," she said, "Stefan was saying Azrael's nearly ready. You two keep each other company so we want to keep you together for now. It's sweet the way you help each other."

"We're not a couple," I said. She laughed.

"Well, there's that hard-on and the way you look at me sometimes, Polo, not to mention the way you look at everyone else, so I kinda figured that. Besides, even at your age you have a bit of a reputation for doing women." I relaxed.

"I'm omnisexual," I said. She smiled.

"I bet you are, kiddo, I bet you are."

I would have made a pass at her if I was feeling better, but didn't want to mess up our professional relationship. Then I remembered she was married and resolved never to go there. No matter how tight the muscles in her arse were. Married was messy, no other word for it. There was never just the two of you. Doing couples, that was fine, but never one person out of a marriage.

The moment I was alone with a door that locked, I was contemplating some healthy masturbation. Unsure if my right hand was up to the job, I figured I could manage with my left. Some boys said doing it left-handed was like someone else doing it. It might be fun.

Once Virginia finished with me that morning, I was covered in sweat and feeling limp as a dishrag. There were showers at the infirmary, more hygienic than the baths but not as pleasant and the doors didn't lock.

Clean, I limped down the corridor to see if Azrael was done, to find him out in the courtyard with Stefan, still hard at work. Azrael's left hand and wrist, chewed and clawed, weren't working properly at all, the fingers weak and his fist wouldn't close. Having been ambidextrous with weapons, he was furious over the infirmity. Still, as Stefan commented, rage was good fuel for his rehabilitation.

Stefan was throwing bioplas balls, letting Azrael try to catch them. Azrael was cursing and snarling but he didn't give up. I noticed again how alike they were. Stefan was a distant cousin but the Westwych stamp was on him as it was on Azrael, the black hair with a touch of blue in the sun. The blue eyes, the iris scattered with stars. Unlike the northern branch of the family, the southern one seemed to be slimmer, taller, and not tending to bandy legs like Theo and his daughter Kristen.

Though only a short time after dawn, the morning was already very hot. By noon it would be unbearable. I took a seat on a wall in the shade, eyes half-closed, feeling lazy now I was clean. Stefan called my name then slung me a rubber ball. I caught it.

"Therapy," he said, "keep that one. Squeeze it. It will help with your hand." I thanked him and did some squeezes.

Something tickled at my mind. I looked around. I hadn't seen Cree that day and was expecting it to be him. Azrael and Stefan were right in the corner of my eye as I turned my head. I blinked, turned back, and looked at them again.

Gods above, I thought, are they cousins or is something more going on? I'd noticed before that Azrael moved like his mother, but now I was seeing he moved like Stefan. Indeed they were so much alike it seemed impossible they weren't father and son.

_Stefan is risking a lot,_ said Cree, who materialised suddenly close to my left and in front.

A lot, I thought at Cree, he's risking Azrael's succession. It struck me like a blow. If Stefan was Azrael's father then Azrael was not the rightful heir to the Sendrenese throne.

_Aye,_ said Cree, _he's a usurper._ In my mind I was going over every conversation with Azrael about his father, Crown Prince Perry, killed before we all moved to Peterhaven. Azrael definitely thought the Late Perry was his father. Azrael had issues, he was always saying, his father being a drunk. By all accounts the late Crown Prince was even worse than my father, mainly because being rich meant he could afford to drink more and didn't have to hold down a day-job.

Gods, I thought, Azrael doesn't know the truth.

_Will you tell him?_ said Cree.

You can see inside my mind, I thought at him, you know the answer. Besides, there's no proof. Other cousins look like both of them.

_If you believe that,_ said Cree, _I have this bridge for sale._ Then Stefan looked right at Cree and frowned. He scrunched his eyes, and looked again. I pretended to be very absorbed in the wall I was sitting on. Stefan nodded to Azrael.

"We're done," he said, "go get showered."

"Wait, please," said Azrael to me, "I won't be long."

"Sure," I said, "I'll be here." Stefan dropped onto the wall next to me, stretching his long legs out.

"Did you see the ghost?" he said. I wasn't sure what to say. "It seemed to be talking to you," Stefan went on, "trying to sell you a bridge." I couldn't help smiling, then realised that I'd outed myself. I shrugged.

"Aye," I said, "his idea of a joke." Stefan's head tilted sideways, eyes shrewd.

"What else was he saying?" he said.

"He said I'm gullible," I said, and Stefan nodded, his face serious.

"Are you?" I shrugged again.

"I don't know," I said. "Probably." "I believe Azrael's the best heir the kingdom can have," I said. Stefan looked away, out at the little courtyard.

"Good, because he is." He pressed his lips together. I wondered if I was again risking being silenced. It didn't shut me up.

"Even if he's not the heir," I said. Stefan looked at me again, his blue eyes steady. It was like looking into Azrael's eyes.

"Your ghost tell you that?" he said, and I shook my head.

"I figured it out, watching the two of you. The ghost, who isn't a ghost, by the way, said it was true." He sighed.

"Azrael doesn't know," he said. I gestured with my left hand.

"I know and it's not fair," I said, "him thinking his father was that alcoholic pig when he wasn't." Stefan's face was set, expressionless.

"His father was his father, he's the one brought him up when he was around." I shook my head again. It didn't seem right.

"Will you ever tell him?" I said. His turn to shrug.

"When it's necessary. If he wants to marry his cousin, say. He'll be told before he becomes king. His mother promised. If he's going to break the law he deserves to do it knowingly." What a mess. I couldn't believe it.

"Who knows?" I said. "Me, you, Saraia, the not-ghost and?"

"Nanny Black has an inkling," he said, "and the Dragon queen knows. Though she was very annoyed. It was a freelance project of mine." I nearly laughed. I was up to my neck in something I didn't understand.

"You impregnated the Crown Princess of Sendren as a project?" I said, incredulous. "Like a hobby? An experiment?" Stefan looked proud.

"Pretty much. Don't you think he's a fine boy?" he said, and smiled at me. I felt the same easy charm radiating from him that Azrael showed. It was a Westwych trait, not only something in Theo's immediate line.

"I don't understand," I said.

"If he was his father's son," Stefan said, "he wouldn't have cat's-eyes. Perry had several bastards, you know." He spread his hands in the air, signifying helplessness. "Some are older than Azrael. Only one has cat's-eyes. The Westwych line is so corrupt, even with Saraia's Dragon grandmother, if a child were able to inherit you can bet the kingdom would have suffered. Like the Late Perry being a drunk, it would have been bad for Sendren." He smiled. "I've been a surgeon and my father was a scientist, a geneticist. I have a little knowledge of these things. None of Theo's brothers have cat's-eyed children, except the ones married to cat's-eyed Blood. The queen-" I gasped, understanding.

"Is half-peasant," I said, "so the Dragon line's weakened further."

"Aye," said Stefan, "so I felt the need to manipulate the gene pool a little, with the late Crown Prince being a waste of space, and seeing the Westwych line in the last generation didn't always throw cat's-eyes."

"In the last generation?" I said.

"Last but one," he said. "When they made Theo king, they had to go through many closer relatives to the old king before they came to him. None of them had cat's-eyes, they couldn't inherit." I remembered Theo saying something about that. Then I remembered my involvement in something so wrong I could hang for it. This was serious. I shook my head.

"I'm party to treason, Stefan. Thanks." He shrugged.

"Sometimes," he said lightly, "the ends justify the means." I didn't understand it at all.

"But the Dragon queen is angry with you?" I said. "Even though a Dragon cuckoo is ready to take possession of Sendren?"

"Aye," he said, "because we're all supposed to stay hidden in Redoubt so we don't scare the natives." So much for my theories about Dragon trying to take over. "Frankly," Stefan said with a smile, "I was bored. Lilith and I have fought for centuries, so I'm used to that." I just nodded, feeling shocked. After my suspicions over Dragon longevity, to have it blithely confirmed wasn't what I expected.

"You won't betray him," said Stefan, and I smiled. A bit tightly, but a smile.

"No," I said, "I won't. Azrael will be an excellent king for Sendren." What did it matter what his blood was? He thought his father was the royal line, and was raised and educated with one idea in mind, to be king. I think I would have been less blase if Azrael took the notion less seriously.

"Good lad," said Stefan, "This is the first chance I've had to see my son, Polo. I won't be here for long, and I don't know when I'll get to see him again."

"He's a fine person, Stefan. He's kind but strong enough to be a good king." He smiled, looking so much like Azrael my heart ached a little. Once, he was like his son. Centuries ago. How many, I was wondering. He looked about forty, maybe not that old.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "Anyway, I'm off. Good talking to you, Polo." I smiled and nodded, and watched him go. He walked with a light step, like a dancer, on the balls of his feet. Not like a man who was hundreds of years old. Hang on, I thought, he said his father was a geneticist. Did he mean the man who made Dragon? Then Stefan was nearly three thousand years old.

I sat on the wall, on a cushion to save my hip, thinking about life and an apparent lack of death. Unlike Stefan, I was getting older. The golden summer was passing, my sixteenth, and I was missing it. I couldn't ride, or even walk well. Aunt Kristen attacked us on the 28th November, first day of the holidays, and now it was January 2nd. On February 1st, school would start again. My final year and I still hadn't really thought about study after high school. I resolved to consider my options.

Azrael found me sitting there and smiled. It was deja vu after Stefan. Gods, how could anyone not know? They were the image of each other. He dropped next to me on the wall and I squeezed the ball in my right hand.

"How are you feeling?" he said. I made a 'could be worse' face.

"That Virginia is a hard taskmaster," I said, "sometimes I think she's trying to make me cry." He laughed.

"I know Stefan is trying to do it to me," he said, "are you still meditating?" I nodded.

"Aye," I said, "it's good for the healing. Plus it stops me getting so angry I can't think. I'd like to fillet that aunt of yours." He nodded.

"She's an aunt of yours too."

"Aye," I said, laughing, "I suppose she is." Azrael sighed and shook his head.

"Grandpa is very angry with her," he said, "says he'll see her hung." He rubbed the fingers of his left hand, working them one by one.

"He can get in line," I said, feeling sour.

"She's his own daughter," said Azrael. An elusive thought teased my brain. Something about parentage. I didn't even remember my conversation with Stefan. I said,

"That must be hard." Cree appeared.

_You've been hypnotised._ I thought about that. Then forgot it again.

"Aye," said Azrael, "he's made her outlaw." I raised my eyebrows. "There's a hundred golds reward."

"A hundred golds?" I said, and whistled.

"Highest bounty ever," he said, nodding, "she is Queen of Joban, so I suppose he had to make it high."

"Bitch," I said, my tone mild, "she's ruined my summer." He laughed.

"Aye, mine and all," he said, pretending to be a peasant. Then he dropped the accent. "I think it's breakfast time." That was always enough to cheer me. Good food always reminded me that things could be worse. One might not have even that. We were still eating in the infirmary, meals brought in for us, it being considered too much of a walk to get halfway across the back of the citadel to the dining rooms.

Just then a servant came out.

"Food's up, lordships!" Sitting on the wall, I'd stiffened up and it took me two goes to get up. I should have brought my stick. Limping across the courtyard, I was thinking that if I ever caught Kristen Westwych, if she were in human form I'd strangle her with my bare hands.

If she was in dragon form? Well, I'd be more cautious. I'd do better in dragon form too. If I could be as big as Virginia the first time I saw her then I'd bite Kristen in half without effort.

It still didn't occur to me to tell Azrael about his father. Stefan had put some kind of suggestion in my brain not to mention it, yet. 'Yet' was such open-ended timing.

Eventually I remembered talking to Stefan and outing him as Azrael's father, but still kept putting off telling Azrael.

I wouldn't tell him, yet.

#### ****

## Chapter 28 – Surprising Mother

Another week passed. Stefan was gone, family emergency he said. I suspected he realised that if a self-obsessed teenager like me could see the family resemblance, better to move out before the king noticed or someone pointed it out to him. Azrael was put in the charge of another physio.

Cree, my entity, or whatever he was, was there most days. Azrael had tried to see him until he had a headache, with no success, despite Cree trying to assist. Cree was not so much transparent as differently visible, as I tried to explain to Azrael as we sat in the little courtyard after breakfast on the Saturday.

"I can see him," I said, "but he's not in this world. Not really. It's like we're looking through a window."

"Maybe that's what ghosts are," said Azrael, "people in another world that we watch through a window." I shook my head.

"He's not a ghost," I said. "He chooses to be here, whereas ghosts are lost or caught in this plane through strong emotion. He says emotion is the enemy. In body or out of it. Letting it rule you is the way to destruction. Same thing Fenric drums into us."

"Aye," said Azrael, "it's better to think before you react in most circumstances, except in battle, when it's good to go with reflex."

"I don't think I'm very good at that," I said, "thinking, I mean. I tend to go with emotion." I rubbed at my hip. It was itching and painful but so much better. Virginia had said I could try sitting on a horse before long. Azrael smiled.

"I've always been told I have to be on my best behaviour, being the heir and having the Crown's image to consider, so I often think before I act."

"We've lived different lives." I sighed. "Any news on when we can leave the infirmary? I'm going mad here."

"Simon, the new physio, told me soon," said Azrael.

"Aye, Virginia said the same, but when's soon?" I said, and he shrugged. "They keep saying everything's soon. I'm bored." I wasn't only bored, I was horny. A servant came out through the infirmary.

"Polo Shawcross?" he said, and I nodded.

"Aye, that's me." The man handed me some letters and left. I looked over the envelopes.

"Anything interesting?" said Azrael.

"A letter from Mother," I said, "probably telling me what an ingrate I am, and one from Grandmama Daeva. Probably doing the same." I sighed and opened the one from Mother. "Let's get it over with." I laughed as I read the first lines and read it aloud to Azrael.

You ingrate child! How can you be so bloody heartless? After everything I've done for you, working my fingers bloody to raise you...

"It goes on in a similar vein," I said. I glanced at Grandmama's.

Dear Polo,

Your mother has written to me, very upset. She's claiming – among other things – that you're lying to the king about her. I'm sure this is some misunderstanding, and we both know she can be overly dramatic.

However, I'm sure you will understand that until you send an explanation I won't be paying any accounts for you or sending your allowance. I only do this because I'm sure you won't be distressed as you've not put much on account. Teseraia also told me you are disgracing the family by adopting the Kavar vice.

Teseraia was Mother's full name but only Grandmama called her that. To everyone else she was Tess.

Say it isn't true, darling, that you will give me grandchildren one day. I love you dearly, no matter what, but you can understand my concern.

Mother didn't seem to have mentioned why the king had banned her from seeing me.

"Gods," I said aloud, "Mother's lying to Grandmama. I'm cut off financially. I'll have to write and tell her about the dragon attack." I rolled my eyes. "She's accusing me of adopting the Kavar vice."

"Your mother told your grandmother you're gay?" said Azrael. I nodded. "Women," he said, shaking his head, "you don't want to cross them." I laughed.

"Shouldn't that be mothers, not women?" I said. He shook his head again, looking solemn, but his eyes were twinkling.

"I'm not sure I want to be hetero," he said, "seems women are dangerous."

"After all my good work," I said, pretending to be upset. He smiled. "Anyway," I said, "I'm tired of the infirmary. I'm going for a walk. I want to go back to my suite and write a letter to Grandmama."

"Get Grandpa to confirm what's happened," said Azrael. "Or I will, or my mother?"

"That might be better," I said, "coming from a woman. I'll ask her."

"I'll come with you," he said, "I could do with a walk too." His guards grumbled, but put down their cards and went with us.

#### ****

By the time we reached my quarters we were both exhausted, and again I was regretting not bringing my walking stick. We took a break, wrote out my letter then headed out to Saraia's quarters nearby.

It felt strange to be back at the North Tower. The last time a dragon attacked me. Azrael's guards didn't like it either. Saraia's guards stopped us and we were patted down. Everyone was twitchy.

"Is your mother under threat?" I said to Azrael as we followed a soldier up the stairs.

"Who knows?" he said. "This is mostly for appearances, I think, to show Mother's status."

"Sorry to interrupt, highness," said the soldier taking us up, "but Her Royal Highness has received death threats." Azrael stopped walking up the stairs.

"She has?" he said. "When?"

"Since shortly after your accident, Highness," he said, "some crazy person who thinks your mother is the dragon who attacked you. There have been several letters."

"Why would they think that?" said Azrael. The soldier shrugged.

"I gather it's that she's the southerner in the citadel, Highness. They can't believe a Westwych would shape-change." He grimaced. "I saw the Queen of Joban do it, I'm a believer."

Azrael's mother was pleased to see us, and insisted we stay for a coffee and a rest. My leg was killing me so I was quite happy to do so. Saraia was a regular visitor, we'd seen her the day before, but still there was news about our treatment and how we were feeling. I explained about Mother and showed her my letters.

"Ah," said Saraia, "I'm reminded of that time you told me I might give you good advice but your own mother didn't understand you." I nodded.

"I hope you'd never be so vindictive," said Azrael, watching her. She laughed.

"So do I," she said, "your father nearly drove me to it. Fortunately we're free of him."

"Aye," said Azrael, "when he retired his commission in the army, I was ready to kill him after only a year." They shivered at the memories of how bad Prince Perry had been.

"Have you heard anything about your father, Polo?" said Saraia. I shook my head.

"Mother claims to have left him," I said, "but she does that twice a year. I assumed they'd be back together by now. They may be. I have no idea even where she's living now. From this," I said, tapping Mother's letter, "she wasn't going to be taking 'the king's tainted coin' any longer." I paused. "If Father was here he'd distract her. I think that's why she's so focused on me, because he's not around."

"That makes sense," said Saraia. "Well, I'm happy to write to your grandmother, see if we can explain things. I think I mentioned I know Daeva from years ago."

"Aye," I said, "you did, so we're cousins. Third?" She nodded.

"Something like that. You two would be third cousins once removed. Or maybe twice? You'd be my third cousin once-removed. I think." She laughed. "But we need to look it up."

"So we're cousins on both sides?" said Azrael, "I mean I'm a cousin to you on my father's side, and on my mother's?" I nodded.

"Aye," I said, "both through my mother. No wonder she's an interesting case, she's rather inbred. I'm lucky Father was a peasant or I'd have flippers."

"Maybe I could talk to your mother?" said Azrael.

"I was going to try that," I said, and grimaced, "talking to Mother, I mean. I thought if I did she might calm down and stop trying to get the family on her side." Saraia looked sympathetic.

"We could come with you?" she said. I did consider it.

"No," I said, "thanks, Saraia, but perhaps better if I'm alone. She won't think she's being pressured. I'll find out where she is and go visiting." I sighed. "If she hadn't thrown things at me when I was in the infirmary, none of this would have happened."

"If she hadn't dumped you here while she went off with your father," said Saraia, "you never would have been in the infirmary."

"Aye," I said, "so many ifs."

"I'm glad she dumped you here," said Azrael. "Sorry if that's selfish. I'm sorry you were attacked, of course."

"My own fault," I said, smiling. "I know better now than to try to hold even a small dragon."

"If you hadn't distracted Kristen," said Saraia, shuddering, "I dread to think what might have happened to Azrael."

"I think she was trying to refuel," said Azrael, looking thoughtful, "so she could change back." Saraia made a spluttering noise.

"She tried to take your face off!" she said.

"Yes," said Azrael, "but that was an accident. You saw it, Polo, she was flapping her wings and shot forward."

"She did deliberately do my arm," I said, shrugging, "though it may have been reflex, like a wild animal. My hip is from her taking off."

"All the same," Saraia said, shaking her head, "I don't think I'd trust Kristen anywhere near either of you." I nodded.

"Aye," said Azrael, "you're probably right."

#### ****

After Mother was banned from the infirmary she moved out of the citadel in a huff, despite Theo himself trying to reason with her, but she left a forwarding address with citadel admin.

I arranged for a groom to bring Magpie up to the citadel. My leg was stiff but riding was easier than walking, providing Magpie didn't move too fast. He was surprisingly gentle with me, none of his usual bouncing.

Mother was living not far away, near the top of a hill in a good area. It looked a pleasant townhouse in a quiet, tree-lined street, and I guessed it must have wonderful views down across the city from the upper two stories. I rode round the side, found a laneway, and down that was access to a stable at the back. There was a black horse in one stable. It put its head over the door and whickered at us. Bracing myself to cope with Mother, I didn't really think about why she had a horse, and such a fine-looking one. Though an excellent rider, Mother wasn't a horse person, thinking having one separated her from the ordinary folk. There was another loosebox where I put Magpie. I took off his bridle, fetched some water, slackened the girth and left him to it.

A path led through a pretty garden, stuffed with flowers and all kinds of fruits and vegetables, showing signs of recent weeding. I followed it through, and knocked at the back door. No answer, so I knocked again, thinking just my luck, she was out, then I heard something and assumed it was her saying come in.

The door was unlocked. I tsk-ed at that. She would have to tighten security here in the city. It wasn't like Lower Beech, where everyone left their back doors unlocked, or like the citadel, where you didn't really need to lock your rooms. There was a small hall where I left my boots, leading into a pleasant kitchen. Something smelled good on the stove, and there was bread baking. I felt a little twinge of nostalgia. It reminded me of home.

"Mother?" I called, and heard a noise. Frowning, I stepped towards an open door that led into a hallway. "Mother?" I heard the noise again. Something whimpering. Gods, she was crying. I imagined some attempt at rapprochement with Father that had ended in him beating her, though Galaia knows why, as despite all her provocation, which included her hitting him, he'd never raised a hand to her.

The house was like a rabbit warren. I hurried towards the noise and found the front hall, which led to a staircase, me moving as fast along a passageway, up some more stairs, as my bad leg would let me up the stairs. By the top of those, in a cold sweat from the pain, blood roaring in my ears, I stopped to catch my breath. The whimpering noise again. Quite loud up here on the top floor.

"Mother!" I said, and stepped forward. Only one step but it was enough. I saw Mother through the open door of what turned out to be her bedroom. She wasn't alone. Or clothed. Neither was he. Ah, that was why she was whimpering. Why she hadn't heard me calling.

She was distracted. I assumed the man between her legs hadn't heard me because her thighs were over his ears. I didn't look for more than a horrified split-second, then turned and bolted. Well, I limped fast. Hopped in places.

Getting back into my boots was excruciating. I could hear Mother shouting but ignored the noise, lost in my own world of agony. Getting out, trying to move at speed, re-bridling Magpie then tightening the girth and mounting, nearly killed me, and there were tears in my eyes by the time I was back astride.

Magpie decided now to talk to the black, and trumpeted a loud neigh. Mother was hanging out an upstairs window in her dressing gown, shouting something. I only heard my name, not what she said, and ignored her as I rode off.

A gallop in the forest appealed, to see if it cleared my head of what I'd seen, but everything hurt and I simply wasn't up to it. Normally I'd leave Magpie at the stable and walk up to the citadel but I was in a bad way. The infirmary was at the back, on the same side as my quarters which were at the front. I dropped in at the stables, got a groom to double up with me and rode to the very door of the infirmary, leaving the groom to take Magpie back. I was nauseous by then, having overdone things by a fair bit.

#### ****

For once I was happy to lie in bed, it beat standing up and waiting for the sweats to pass. Azrael found me there.

"What happened?" he said, "you look dreadful. Was she awful?"

"I didn't really talk to her," I said, and explained what had happened.

"You're sure it wasn't your father?" he said. I shook my head.

"My father's blonde," I said, "the man had dark hair. I didn't see his face. He looked a big chap. Bigger than Father. I suppose if she's really left him then she's entitled to someone else but she could lock her bloody door." Azrael tried to be soothing.

"Why don't you write to her?" he said, "There's still the problem of her lying about you."

"I might," I said, and sighed. "I want to find out where Father is. This might be revenge for what he did to her in Torc. I gather he was seeing floozies. I better start with Theo, he may know already."

Once I was feeling better I took my stick and went for a walk to my quarters again. Bernard fetched me a coffee while I wrote to Grandmama Daeva. I said I wasn't gay and Mother knew that for a fact, but to not count on me for grandchildren, as I didn't like children much. I said firmly that my sexuality was none of anyone's business nor was who I had sex with, then added,

I haven't written to you lately because I've been in the infirmary since the beginning of December, (I am still there), recovering from being clawed by a dragon. It was only a small one or I wouldn't be writing this. Along with the bone-deep wound on my arm through which I nearly bled to death, I have another longer one down one hip. The Crown Prince and I were both close to death several times.

You of all people should understand how dangerous dragon wounds are. I went to see Mother today, (the first day I've been allowed out of the infirmary), thinking to reason with her and make her stop with the lies. However, she was in bed with some dark-haired man and didn't have time to talk to me.

There, I thought, explain that, Mother! I'd put in enough digs that I felt better. It was all true, too. My arm was killing me. So was my leg. I decided to write to Mother while I was still angry and in pain.

I'm not interested in your games. Go play them with Father. He seems to enjoy your amateur theatrics.

I rather liked that line.

I don't know who the poor chap you were in bed with was, but I do know it wasn't Father. Was it only two weeks ago you loved him so much that you weren't prepared to choose between us? Not that it really matters.

Telling Grandmama that I'm gay and then claiming that I - in some sort of pact with the king, who has been nothing but kind to both of us - drove you out of the citadel, well, that's so low I can't quite believe it. I could of course make up my own lies, or I could just tell the truth about life with you, but don't really want to stoop to your level.

It would help if you stopped spreading lies about me, the king, and anyone else I care about who's been unfortunate enough to earn your enmity. So leave me alone. I've had enough. I've written to Grandmama and hope she believes me, but if she doesn't? Well, I'll know you poisoned her very well.

What happens, Mother, when you've poisoned everyone against me? Is that when I come running back to you? It won't happen. I'd rather die than have to cope with your histrionics.

It occurred to me that was possibly overly dramatic but I figured as a teenager it was permissible. Besides, Mother was acting like a teenager and one should fight fire with fire. She didn't understand unless you were dramatic back at her. I added that I would rather be on good terms with her but she didn't seem to be offering that as an option, so staying away from me was the only other choice.

I had Bernard copy them both while I sipped coffee and let the throbbing in my arm die down to acceptable levels.

"You're becoming quite the courtier," said Bernard as he filed the copies, "remembering to keep a record of letters."

"It's all part of the plan, Bernard," I said, smiling. "Remember, I'm going to have a pension with my journal? Which reminds me, I better put in some entries. I have some from while I was in the infirmary, they need sticking in the book." In the end, Bernard took notes while I dictated then produced a wheelchair when I said I was going back to the infirmary.

"It's a long way to walk, lordship," he said, "thought this might be handy."

"Thank you, Bernard," I said, "and really most welcome. I've had a long day and done too much."

"You are looking pale, lordship. I'll roll you. It's nearly time for the post. I'll drop these off once I drop you off."

In the end, we went to see the king and Bernard did the post downstairs while I waited to see Theo. The king was only a few minutes, and came to the door.

"You've had a bad turn, Polo?" he said, seeing me in the chair. I shook my head, explained about all the walking, and that I only wanted to know if he had any news of my father.

"I can find out for you," he said, "leave it with me."

#### ****

## Chapter 29 – Family Trouble

I was happy to do just that, because just thinking about either of my parents was, as Anna the redheaded nurse said, bad for my blood pressure.

"Maybe that's you," I said.

"Me?" Anna said. She gave me one of those looks a woman gives when she is immune to you. I wasn't giving up.

"Maybe you're bad for my blood pressure," I said, trying to sound sensual. She laughed.

"You were muttering about your parents when I walked in," she said, "you can't blame me. Now you take it easy." She pushed me gently back on my pillows.

"I could lie down much more easily," I said, "with you on top of me," but she didn't do more with that suggestion than laugh again as she left. I sighed. I'd lost my touch. Fenric came in.

"Heard you were out riding," he said, so I explained it wasn't quite out, and what had happened with Mother, while he sat down on one of the chairs next to the bed. He nodded.

"I was coming to talk to you about that," he said, and grimaced. "In hindsight, of course, I think I've been had." I blinked. A big man with dark hair and a black horse.

"You were the one with Mother," I said. Fenric nodded.

"Aye and I'll not say she forced me. That would be a lie. But she did trick me. She told me her family abandoned her and she lived alone." He rubbed his forehead. I snorted.

"But you knew I was only in the infirmary!" I said.

"Aye," he said, "of course. But Tess didn't tell me who she was."

"What do you mean?" I was flabbergasted. "How did you not know?"

"How would I know?" He spread his hands. "She was Tess. I'd never seen her before. Some rich scabbard-humper I met in a bar last night. She out-drank nearly everyone in the bar." I winced. Mother a scabbard-humper? Was that how she ended up with Father?

"She's got an excellent capacity for alcohol," I said. "Don't tell me, then you tried to outsmoke her?"

"Aye," said Fenric, "I like a challenge. She's tall too, last few girlfriends I've had were so short they gave me a crick in my neck." He shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Then she told me she could outsmoke me. She had some excellent mindweed. I accepted the challenge."

"Dangerous," I said, "to try to outsmoke Mother. She never seems to get to the point of overload."

"Now you tell me," Fenric said, "I had no idea who she was until you turned up today. She doesn't look like you. Well, she does, but not when you see her by herself."

I remembered Fenric saying the previous night he was having his first night off in a month and planned to get drunk and laid. At least one of those aims had been accomplished. "I think she knew who I was," he said.

"Aye," I said, "she would have. I can't believe you didn't see her here. At the infirmary."

"I can't either," he said.

#### ****

Some investigation with Anna told us why.

"Your mother only turned up that day," said Anna.

"That day?" I said.

"The day she was thrown out," said Anna, "that was the first day she was here. Aside from the very first day you and Azrael were attacked. From memory, Fenric, you were here until they both made it into recovery. Polo's mother didn't arrive until after that."

"She was only down in the New Fort," I said.

"We were supposed to let her know when you woke up," Anna said, "which is why she was here to be thrown out. I noticed you were waking and sent for her."

"But I was dying for weeks!" I said, incredulous. She and Fenric looked at me, then at each other. "Why didn't she come before then?" I said.

None of us had an answer other than the obvious one, she had better things to do rather than hang around my deathbed. I guessed getting her revenge on Father had kept her occupied. Then I remembered how she'd told me I was about to be ennobled. Was that the only reason she bothered to visit? She heard Theo was going to give me a title?

"Well," said Fenric, eyeing Anna, "at least I feel better about not knowing who she was." I flopped back on the pillows.

"You calm down, Polo," said Anna, her fingers cool on my wrist, "your heart rate's up again. Told you, your parents are bad for your blood pressure."

If I were alone I'd have flirted with her, but then I noticed her eyeing Fenric and sighed. Everyone was in heat and getting laid, everyone except me.

#### ****

I slept for a while and dreamed of sex, but when I couldn't remember with who. Or whom. I woke up in a hazy warm state with a hard-on that didn't want to go away. I imagined doing Anna, which didn't help, then decided a shower and some quick masturbation was the only cure and limped off down the hall in my dressing gown, clean pyjamas under my arm.

With my experiences of the farm hot water running out suddenly, I washed before giving in to lust. To my intense disappointment I couldn't do it. Well, I could do it, but if I did it right-handed my arm hurt too much, distracting me from pleasure. If I did it left-handed it began to hurt down my side and I couldn't quite get the rhythm right. Every time I got close, I tensed and everything hurt. I turned off the water with a sigh, willing the bloody thing to go down.

After regaining control of my body, I was heading back to my room when Azrael called me into his. I wandered in to find Cida Innes, Azrael's commoner friend, and a sultry-looking blonde woman with a squat dark-haired boy who looked at me as if he hated me. I put on my Court face in half a heartbeat, a polite mask. The woman was blonde but her blue eyes weren't cat's-eyes, though the boy had the cat's-eyes of the Westwych line, dark blue with bright stars.

The woman wasn't looking at me as if she hated me, quite the opposite. If I was alone I think she would have eaten me alive. I resisted the urge to wink as she smiled at me, a curving wicked smile that promised-

"Polo," said Azrael, sounding ever so slightly relieved, "come meet some people. You know Cida, of course." I tilted my head in an appropriately sardonic manner to Cida. "And this is my Half Aunt Miz Suzy Jeroboam." The blonde smiled. "And my half-brother, Perry, ah, Westwych, named for his father, who happens to be mine, the late Crown Prince Perry."

I managed to keep my polite face on. "Suzy, Perry," Azrael continued, "this is Polo Shawcross, a good friend of mine. He's the one who saved me from the dragon." I tried to smile. Though not ascribing to that school of thought, I wasn't shocked over Azrael saying I saved him. As I'd already told him, I was an idiot, not a hero, but you can't stop a myth machine once it gets underway.

However, where in the World had Young Perry, the cat's-eyed half-brother sprung from? Hadn't Stefan said that the late Prince Perry's line didn't throw cat's-eyed children? I offered my hand to the half-aunt. She was a very pretty blonde in her early thirties, with a tight red silk dress cut down to show an alarming amount of cleavage for daytime. I imagined men walking into walls and furniture as she shimmied past them.

"Lovely to meet you," I said. She simpered, squeezed my hand, and squeezed her breasts together, which had a mesmerising effect on both Azrael and me, and even Cida couldn't help staring. Would Half Aunt Suzy pop out of her dress? Then I noticed her son, still looking at me with an expression of undisguised loathing. "And Perry," I said, smiling pleasantly, "lovely to meet you too." I offered my hand.

At first he left me hanging, then offered something that felt like a dead fish. I dropped it quickly and resisted the urge to wipe my hand on my dressing gown. I remembered Stefan said only one of the late Crown Prince's line was cat's-eyed. I assumed he meant Azrael but of course he hadn't, Azrael being Stefan's child and not the late Perry's line at all. Stefan had known about this creature.

I looked at Azrael. "I didn't know you had a half-brother," I said, keeping my tone light. He shrugged, and I caught a touch of eye-roll.

"Neither did I," he said, sounding hearty, "isn't it a wonderful surprise?" I agreed politely as Cida grinned and nudged Young Perry, which was horribly like nudging a tub of blancmange. I tried not to stare, wondering when he'd stop quivering. Why was Cida nudging him?

"I hear," said Suzy to me, in the tones of someone putting on what they think is a more gracious accent, "you were also terribly injured in the dragon attack?"

"Aye," I said, trying not to talk to her chest, leer, or get lost in the way she was licking her lips. "Never try to pick up a dragon," I said, smiling and feeling quite warm, "even a small one." Suzy giggled and ran her tongue over her lips again, taking a big breath. I resolved to stay away from the Half Aunt no matter what. Everything about her radiated a warning to my senses. She was, however, something to see.

"That's why we came," Suzy said, taking another breath, entailing another open-mouthed wait from us spectators as her dress was pulled tight over rather delicious, plump- "I was just explaining to Azrael, Polo," she said, "because of the attack."

I blinked, completely lost. She paused a moment, favoured Azrael with a special smile then went on. "It was our duty," said the Half Aunt, with what I would come to recognise as her Noble face, looking off into the middle distance in a dreamy fashion. "If something had happened to the heir, we had to tell the king it was alright, there were more heirs than he knew about."

"A good citizen," I said politely, "how marvellous for the king. Must have taken a load off his mind." She smiled. I turned to her son quickly, before his mother breathed in and hypnotised me again. "And how old are you, Perry?" There was a sullen silence. Suzy elbowed him, which set him wobbling again, but he didn't speak.

"He's sixteen," she said, compressing her full lips in annoyance, and I smiled as if to say I wasn't offended. "Now, Peregrine," she said, "you promised to behave." Poor kid, I thought, to be saddled with Peregrine. It was the late Crown Prince's name but it was awful. Even if you shortened it to Perry, it was worse than Polo by a million miles.

"I'm hungry," Young Perry said, looking at his feet. I wondered if he wasn't fed, would he begin chewing on his own toes? As if in reply, Perry began worrying at the corners of his nails. I pondered warning Cida to keep her fingers away from his mouth.

"Same day as you," Suzy said to Azrael, as if that was quite a lovely thought.

"Same day?" said Azrael, sounding casual, but I knew him well enough to see he was scared. I didn't think anyone else noticed. Cida should have been able to tell, but she was so focused on the half-brother she wasn't seeing anything else.

To my complete horror, I realised Young Perry now had his hand up under Cida's dress. They saw me watching and Cida pretended to primness, pushing the half-brother discreetly away so his mother and Azrael wouldn't notice.

"Oh yes," said Suzy, oblivious, "but he was about twelve hours after you. You were born at dawn, so your poor late father told me. Young Peregrine wasn't born until after dark." Port Azrael was almost directly north so on the same time as us. I saw Azrael relax a little. He was still firstborn.

Though pleased for Azrael, I was completely creeped out by Young Perry and wanted to go. I began edging towards the door but an orderly came in, Azrael sent him for an extra chair, and I was pressed into staying. Suzy told us a long story, completely unsuitable for her teenaged audience.

Azrael's parents had been on their honeymoon, visiting Port Azrael in the Duchy of Starshore, up on the Great Star Lake. The lake was a major source of Sendren's wealth, a salty inlet of the Western Ocean, giving us salt, fish and excellent positioning on several trade routes. Suzy lectured us on all this and pointed out that for a young woman with no other skills, prostitution was a way out of the gutter, in her case a way that proved permanent. She'd only been working in the business a year and was taking a week off in a place with room service.

"Some lasses do floozying because they like it, not denying that," she said, "but for all I was in a fine house not too near the Port Azrael docks, I can't say I did it for anything but the coin. Way I look, I was very successful, and well, it suited my needs then as I was saving to buy a long lease on the little house I rented in town. That's what I decided I wanted. Both my parents dead and me only seventeen, not much in the way of options to pay the rent.

"With floozying I kept the house, even went to school while I kept working. Once I had enough I was going to switch to something like teaching or nursing but this one week I did my knee in. You can't keep up floozying without good knees." Like me, Azrael was completely fascinated.

"Oh?" he said and nodded. "Knees, yes of course. So you were in bed in the evening?"

"Your mother knew when it was," Suzy said, "after dinner. They'd had a tumble, he went down to the bar for a drink, and never came back until morning."

Instead of drinking, the late Prince Perry was rogering a floozy in the room directly above Saraia. "I had no idea who he was," Suzy said, "wasn't until I realised I was pregnant and tried to find him. Normally, 'til it was born I wouldn't have had a clue but he was the only client I had." She blushed a little, the high colour accentuating every one of her assets. I wondered idly if her nipples were always up like that or was she chilled?

"Only he wasn't a client," Suzy was saying, "the hotel told me it was the Crown Prince himself and I nearly didn't write, but with having to stop work it had to be. Once I got my courage up to tell him, the late Peregrine was such a dear and sent me coin after the hotelier and my madam vouched for me not working, that I didn't know who he was. Then he saw Young Peregrine. Even as a newborn he was the image of his father. Made me glad I hadn't billed him for the tumble like I was going to." She gave a smug smile. "And of course, I made sure he signed the birth certificate. We have papers, letters, and the like. Your father was very generous to us. I never had to go back to work."

"Isn't that romantic?" said Cida, with a happy sigh. Suzy beamed at her while Azrael and I looked bewildered. A prostitute getting pregnant from an adulterous liaison then being a kept woman, in secret, by a married man, was romantic? I was very glad I decided not to do Cida. Young Perry was digging in the corners of his eyes and putting the resultant gunk in his mouth. I tried not to notice but wanted to hit his hand away. I focused on Suzy.

"So you spent a lot of time with the late prince?" I said. Suzy shook her head sadly.

"No, you see, I knew he was in love with Azrael's dear mother. She got him first, best woman won." She looked sad again. I wondered if she could cry on cue, and bet she could.

"Ah," I said politely.

"I haven't seen him since Peregrine was eight," Suzy said, "though he did tell me in a letter about a year ago there were no other heirs. Other children, but Young Peregrine's the only one with cat's-eyes. Apart from Azrael of course. I kept the letter. So all these women with supposed royal babies, if the brat's over a year they're talking sh-rubbish." I looked at Azrael.

"A dozen women have turned up here since Father died," he said, "claiming their cat's-eyed child is next in line. None of them match up to the records kept by my father's servants, except Perry." He smiled at Perry. "Perry's the image of Father," he said. Young Perry looked sullenly back. Azrael was trying not to grit his teeth but I could see it was hard work.

Finally, after another ten minutes or so, while I contemplated faking some kind of severe pain, maybe even a seizure or a brain aneurysm, as I'd been reading a medical encyclopaedia in the hospital, they left.

#### ****

## Chapter 30 - Haka With Testicles

We waited in silence until sure they were gone, then looked at each other.

"Gods," said Azrael weakly, "did you see them? Her half-undressed, and him looking like a bad-tempered slug." I laughed.

"I did," I said, grinning. "I was about to offer odds on which of your Half Aunt's puppies would break out of the kennels first." He giggled.

"I am definitely not gay. I was fighting off a hard-on looking at her." That was good to hear. He was on the mend too. His right arm wasn't as wounded as mine had been so he could probably let off some steam. "She has enormous nipples."

"And Cida has switched allegiances," I said, "to your rather revolting half-brother."

"You think so?" he said. I nodded.

"Aye, she made cow eyes at him the whole time. And he was groping her. Were you too busy looking at your half-aunt's udders?" He rolled his eyes. I whistled. "They are a fine pair of udders," I said, laughing.

"Mother told me," said Azrael, "there was some new arrival with another bastard of my father's, called her a floozy. I didn't realise she meant a real floozy. Or at least an ex-floozy."

"Is there something wrong with your half-brother?" I said, "I mean, he seems, ah, not all there?" Azrael frowned.

"I was wondering that. He looks inbred but she said she was a peasant. Maybe she's like your father, a blonde peasant." I grimaced.

"Please the gods," I said, "no relation to me. But he's the image of your father?" Azrael nodded.

"Father looked like a shorter, fatter version of Grandpa. Exactly like Perry. There's a painting of him at sixteen, you'd swear it was Young Perry. Only Young Perry's fatter. Though of course, one is not allowed to say fat. We have to say 'stocky' or 'big-boned' when talking about the Westwych line. We can't admit the king is fat."

"Young Perry looked terminally obese to me," I said. I liked the proper words for things and had picked up a lot of medical terminology with this time in hospital.

"I used to be fat," said Azrael. I stared at him. "Seriously, before I was fifteen I was plump." Right then, Nanny Black bustled in.

"Hello dears! Gods, he was, Polo, quite tubby." Azrael blushed to his roots while I laughed. "Baby fat, Polo," said Nanny, sounding a little grumpy, so I stopped laughing immediately, "it's quite common, you hit about fifteen, sixteen, and it all falls off, no effort at all."

"Hello Nanny Black," I said politely. I was always on my best behaviour with Nanny Black, sure she'd geld me if I stepped out of line. Since I'd supposedly saved Azrael, she was less antagonistic.

"He turned fifteen," she said, "shot up in height and suddenly wasn't fat at all. Thought he was sick at first, we did." Azrael sighed.

"Stop it, Nanny," he said.

"Oh, precious," she said, looking amused, "no need to be embarrassed. Polo's a man of the world. Aren't you, Polo?"

"Um," I said, buying time while I figured out a polite answer, then deciding agreeing with her had to be the one. "No need for him to be embarrassed."

"I saw that Suzy leaving with Cida Innes," said Nanny, "and that odious boy. Was she here?" We both nodded. "Well, don't just sit there like a pair of stunned mullets," she said, and snapped her fingers, "what did she say?"

"She giggled at everything we said, mostly," I said, "though we did get the dramatised re-enactment of Young Perry's conception. And if you'll excuse the expression, Nanny, she waved her tits around." Nanny guffawed and slapped me on the back, so hard I coughed and winced at the impact.

"You're a bad child, Polo Shawcross," she said, smiling. Azrael filled her in on details of the visit.

"And Polo thinks Cida has a crush on Young Perry," he concluded.

"Aye," said Nanny, "it would make sense, that social-climbing little strumpet." Azrael and I looked at her. Nanny gave us a blank look back. "What? She couldn't get either of you, so she's going after your half-brother. Anyone can see it."

"Told you so," I said to Azrael.

"Don't be such a smug bastard," said Nanny.

"Were you in the army, Nanny?" I said, hoping to distract her, and she raised her hand to cuff me.

"Whippersnapper," she said. I smiled as she smoothed her skirt instead. "I raised his mother, meant I learned to be strict."

"Mother must have been an interesting child," said Azrael. Nanny nearly choked laughing. I offered to thump her back but she waved me away.

"You're an angel next to her," said Nanny, "Saraia was worse than Polo." My turn to choke laughing whilst trying not to jar anything.

"You say it like I was a god of the Underworld," I said, grinning.

"Like the very goddess of death, you are, young Polo," said Nanny, looking amused, "Haka with testicles."

#### ****

I wasn't sure why my reputation was so awful. Before the dragon attack, I hadn't tumbled more than a few people in any given week. Many of those were repeats, as I'd never seen the point in one-night stands. Unless I was drunk.

Stupidity descended like darkness when I was drunk. Talking about my dalliances likewise wasn't my style. I might say I'd like to do a person, but if I did, didn't boast or even admit it to anyone. Azrael said I was the notorious Polo Shawcross because I was young but having sex and smoking mindweed, so people were sure I must be bad.

Nanny agreed. People didn't like it when young people had fun, she added, some people had a thing against fun altogether. In addition the servants loved to gossip and so did the soldiers. I tried not to worry. There was no use worrying, as Nanny was always telling Azrael. The stories that went round about him often had no basis in reality, and the stories that went round about his mother were the most made-up and nastiest of all.

#### ****

The Princess Royal was always kind to me, and not in a sexual way. She had never come on to me again. For my part I wasn't going to pursue her. That adventure in the coach had been wonderful. I thought myself lucky to have experienced it. Though proud for attracting her attention the once, I wasn't expecting a rematch. Saraia often brought me books to read and if she visited Azrael usually dropped in on me too. She was charming, funny and always left me feeling special.

Of course I was biased, but felt her reputation was based in a large part on her being a southerner. Azrael had needed her Dragon blood to be the boy he was, or the boy they thought he was, but both the peasants and the Sendrenese Blood looked down on her for it. What would they do if they discovered Azrael's real father was pure Dragon and centuries old?

Like Saraia, I was at least a quarter-Dragon, with Grandmama Daeva being full-blood, so wasn't about to judge the princess. In fact, I liked her. Rather a lot. It was a bit of a crush, but harmless. I was only one of a number of men who smiled a lot when she was around and sighed a little when she left.

#### ****

We were still having our meals in the infirmary. That night Saraia arrived as we were eating, sweeping in on a cloud of pleasant citrus scent. Her copper hair was up in a sleek twist and she was wearing a shift dress of lemon satin that moved and shimmered, a green silk wrap over her shoulders.

"Don't get up," she said, as I went to rise politely, "is there food to spare? I'm starving."

"Aye," said Azrael, "as usual we have enough for twelve. Which is lucky, because Polo eats enough for six." I ignored him and turned to the servants' trolley, which had extra place settings, crockery, and glassware.

"I don't want to go to dinner," she said, dropping the wrap over a chair, "I'm tired of pretending to like the bloody Hangers On." She rolled her eyes. "I've been at a cocktail party for Cobalt Sutherland."

"That's Indigo's father?" I said. Indigo was the boy who tried to drown me in the baths.

"Aye," said Saraia, "and what a bundle of repressed homosexuality he is. Indigo, I mean, not Cobalt. Though Cobalt may be over-compensating with the number of children the old goat's still fathering. Indigo was at the party, wearing orange silk head-to-toe, and I mean to toe! I barely managed to keep a straight face. Moccasins in matching silk with pretty pearl beading on them. And the absolute perfect accessory, an orange silk scarf, also with pearl beading."

"I have a pair of those moccasins," I said, laughing. She shrieked in mock-horror.

"I do hope you don't have matching silk trousers?" I grinned.

"My moccasins are sea green," I said, "there's a shirt that goes with them. The citadel tailors say I can carry it. The girls at the Spring Ball liked it." She laughed.

"Green's not so bad."

"Matching trousers is a step too far," said Azrael.

"Especially if you're pretending to be hetero," said Saraia, helping herself to soup. It was a very warm night and the food was cold, starting with a chilled soup. Ceiling fans spun above our heads, and despite the heat it was very pleasant. Azrael and I were already on the main course, cold beef with salads. "You could see people looking at Indigo," said Saraia, "and thinking well, that one's never going to sire children!" We all laughed. "Pass me a roll, Polo, there's a dear." I passed the breadbasket.

"Indigo claims to be straight," said Azrael. I was wondering if Indigo was into men. Maybe that was his problem with me? Perhaps I was his secret lust object. I considered including him in the masturbation attempt that I'd decided to have once I went to bed. Up until then I was going to use the idea of Saraia in that ravishing lemon satin. It would pool around her body as I-

"I heard," said Saraia, breaking into my fantasy, "that Fenric was with your mother." I blinked. "Sorry," she said, "you did know?"

"Aye," I said, "I did. It's common knowledge now?" She nodded. "Fenric told me about it," I added, "he didn't know who she was."

"You're not bothered?" she said, looking thoughtful. I shook my head.

"None of my business," I said, "like it's none of hers who I tumble. She's probably using Fenric to get back at me and my father in one neat package."

"Ouch," said Azrael. I remembered Fenric had been Saraia's lover. So Mother was getting back at the Princess Royal, too. And possibly at Azrael, seeing Fenric was captain of his bodyguards.

"Anyway," I said, "I really don't care what she does. Which makes us even. I've realised it won't do any good to try to reason with her."

"I wrote to your grandmother," said Saraia," I hope it does some good."

"Thanks," I said, and smiled, "I hope that Grandmama will realise I'm telling the truth, but if she doesn't? I have some savings and of course the king's been most generous. I'm well equipped and looked after. I'll finish school then see."

"Couldn't ask for more?" Saraia said, looking amused. I laughed.

"Well," I said, "if there are more of those pumpkin rolls I think I can ask for more." She passed me back the breadbasket, where I was delighted to find another pumpkin roll. Another four, which was probably enough.

"He has hollow legs," said Azrael. I gave him a pious look as I buttered my roll.

"I'm repairing my body after trauma," I said.

"The surgeons are quite amazed by both of you," said Saraia, licking butter from her fingers. "Especially how well you both came back from that infection. I don't mind telling you I thought you were both going to die." She shuddered. "Is there any wine?"

On the trolley was a decanter of red. Neither Azrael nor I had touched it. I pretended to be a waiter and poured her a glass. She tasted it, said it was rather good, and Azrael and I could surely have a little taste. We had small glasses, and I had to admit, after that first sip when wine always tasted strange to me, it did go well with the food.

Azrael curled his lip and said he'd rather stick to lemonade, so I said I'd have his. Saraia said I had more mature tastes and I felt proud. I didn't drink much but - as Saraia said - food made it less effective, one didn't get completely stupid so easily. It was a lovely evening. We all chatted for a while after dessert, which was poached apricots and cream, one of my favourites, and then I excused myself, thinking to let them have some time alone.

#### ****

## Chapter 31 – Reputations

In my room I lit up a pipe. We weren't supposed to smoke inside the infirmary, but it wouldn't bother anyone with the door shut and the window open. The ceiling fan kept the air moving so it would clear quickly. There I was, aching a bit after my busy day but stuffed with good food, a little wine, the mindweed kicking in, wondering if I was too tired to try masturbating, when there was a low knock and the door opened.

"May I come in?" she said. I smiled and my tiredness fell away.

"You may." She smiled back and closed the door firmly behind her.

"Some smoke for me?" I passed her the pipe. "I couldn't help thinking," Saraia said, settling next to me on the bed and taking a hit, "that day in the coach, we never actually did it."

"I think about that," I said. Her free hand trailed along my good thigh, on the outside of the sheet. It had an instant effect. I tried to keep breathing. "I think about it a lot," I said, breathing too much.

"With all the girls, and boys, you do," she said, smiling, her hand still running along my body, making me shiver, "I doubt that."

"My reputation is a bit like yours, I think," I said, "undeserved." She snorted, nearly coughing with laughter, and grinned, looking delighted.

"Mine's pretty deserved, sugarpie. Now, I do think I have some condoms in this purse. Oh, yes I do. How handy." I told her how glad I was she'd decided to visit because of the problems I'd run into trying to pleasure myself. As we finished the pipe between us, she tried not to laugh too loudly at the story.

"Poor pet," she said, as her hands slid under the sheet. I quivered as her cool hands touched my warm skin.

"I'm blessed," I said, sliding down the bed a little, "so blessed."

#### ****

Some hours later, Saraia was naked and so was I. The taste of her was in my throat, the taste of me was in hers, and she was on top now, sliding. Parts of me were a bit tender but we were being careful. We didn't do it with me on top, too much of a strain.

"Don't move," she said softly, "let me do the work." My fingers pressed into her hips, as if I could pull myself deeper than all the way, and she arched her back, crying out then muffling herself with one hand across her mouth. We were trying to be quiet, biting our hands, pillows, each other or the mattress, as appropriate and depending where our heads were. I kept closing my eyes at the pleasure, then opening them again, afraid to miss a vivid moment of her writhing on top of me, that beautiful body sticky with sweat and juices. I loved watching her.

There was moonlight coming through the open window, and with my night vision it was close to doing it in daylight. Her lips were soft and bruised-looking from my kisses, her sky-blue eyes glowed, and her copper hair had come down from its twist and was dark with sweat, swinging over her breasts. We'd both come a few times. It was a lazy, unhurried tumble, after we'd lost the head of steam and were happy to take it slow. As I closed my eyes then opened them again, the door cracked open.

"Polo?" whispered Azrael. Saraia and I froze for a split second, then she slid off me down the window side of the bed, clutching for her dress, which we'd left flung over the bed-head. I had no idea where her shoes were, other than she had been wearing them when she arrived.

I slid out the other way, limping at high speed to the door.

"Aye," I said softly, keeping the door nearly closed, "what's up?"

"Oh," Azrael said, with a laugh, "you're busy." I smiled.

"Um, yes. Are you alright?"

"Aye," he said, "I was going to suggest a smoke but I'll see you tomorrow." He walked back towards his room. I turned back to see Saraia going out the window, shoes and bag in one hand. I hurried over. She paused astride the sill, leaned back and kissed me.

"It's been lovely," she said, "but it's late, I better go. Can you see my wrap there?" I looked.

"It must be in the patient lounge," I said, "hang on, I'll get it for you." I pulled on my dressing gown and went to fetch it.

#### ****

In the morning I needed a shower before I could start work with Virginia.

"Bad night was it?" she said, as I appeared with my hair wet.

"Oh," I said, "not exactly." Azrael was sipping coffee, waiting for his physio to arrive.

"He got laid," he said. I could feel my cheeks get hot.

"That little redheaded nurse," said Virginia, grinning, "she's got the hots for you." I shook my head.

"Polo never tells," said Azrael, "do you Polo?" I shrugged.

"It wasn't Anna. Besides, what's to tell? It's nobody's business. It's just sex with a friend."

To my complete horror, by lunchtime everyone knew I was with Saraia during the night. Which meant Azrael would know. With a sigh, I waited for the storm to break. It broke from an unexpected direction. Nanny Black came into the infirmary, ordered me into my room then shut the door behind her.

"How could you do that to her?" she said. I looked blank. "Don't pretend to be stupid, Polo, I know what you and Saraia were up to last night. Don't lie to me."

"For your information, Nanny," I said, "what I do in private is nobody's business except mine." I was sounding quite angry because I was. I hadn't spread the word but someone had gone all out.

"Then why did you boast about it, you little prick?" said Nanny. I scowled at her and tried not to cower on the bed. I couldn't figure out why Nanny scared me so much but she did. A bit like my Grandmama Daeva, who never needed anything but words to keep me in line.

"I didn't tell anyone!" I said. The door opened and Azrael walked in.

"This is private, Azrael," said Nanny Black.

"No, Nanny," said Azrael, "it's my fault." We both turned to look at him. He shrugged. "If Mother's going to go after my friends I'm allowed to talk about it." He put on an innocent face. "I might have been traumatised," he added, then spoiled the innocent look by looking smug. I couldn't believe it.

"You told everyone?" I said. "What in Galaia's name for?" Nanny looked shocked.

"Revenge," Azrael said, and turned to walk out. I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back. It made him wince but I didn't care.

"Don't you walk away from me!"

"It wasn't revenge on you, Polo," he said, quietly, rubbing where my fingers had dug in, "you were collateral damage." I wanted to weep. Anger and sorrow were biting at me in equal parts.

"How did you even know?" I said.

"After I went to see you," he said, "you collected that silk wrap of Mother's from the lounge. No reason to do it if it wasn't her in your room."

"Gods," I said, feeling sick, "Azrael, aside from being exceptionally nasty to your mother, you do understand I might end up being thrown out? The king doesn't like Saraia."

"Aye," said Nanny, angry with Azrael now, "did you think of that while you were being mean to your mother? Not very princely of you." Azrael started shouting that if Saraia wanted special treatment she could act like the princess she was supposed to be.

"What do you think a princess is," said Nanny, sounding annoyed, "some doll who sits in a tower? Stupid boy! She's entitled to some fun."

"She gets plenty of fun," said Azrael, sounding equally annoyed, "she doesn't have to do my friends!" Nanny looked at me.

"Were you forced?" she said, and I sighed.

"Of course I wasn't forced," I said finally, "I'm not discussing this. Out of my room, both of you. You want to shout at Azrael, Nanny, go take him into his own room." Azrael was pouting at me. Nanny was glowering at Azrael. "I will not be drawn into this," I said, "I did nothing wrong." I gave Azrael a dirty look. "Unlike some people."

They wouldn't move, so I left. One of the doctors was walking down the corridor. I checked with him, was there any reason for me to stay there? He said providing I came back once a day for a blood pressure check, I could go back to my quarters. I grabbed an empty box and went back into my room, which Nanny and Azrael were just leaving, still shouting at each other.

I left a note on the bed, threw my books and other bits and pieces into the box, then used a wheelchair to carry it back across the citadel to my quarters. There I could lock the door. It wouldn't keep Bernard or the other servants out as they had master keys, but gave me privacy. Bernard said he was going for lunch, so I asked him to drop the wheelchair back on the way.

#### ****

From the main entrance, I limped with my stick down to the stables, downhill all the way and taking my time. I found Magpie and his tack, which wasn't hard as he started whinnying to tell me where he was, and his gear was in the main tack room on a neatly labelled saddle rack.

I didn't plan to walk more so left my stick hooked over his stable door. Saddling and bridling wasn't easy but Magpie was very polite, lowering his head for the bridle and not trying to nip me or evade anything. Again I was sure he knew I wasn't well and was favouring me.

We went exploring Peterhaven. I hadn't ridden round it, only gone to specific places. There was a lot to see. I remembered my charge accounts and began to regret leaving the stick behind. The temptation to get off and explore was huge, but I stayed in the saddle, figuring my leg would thank me for it, noting places to come back to. Magpie was enjoying himself, swaggering along. I noticed a pretty girl looking at me from the pavement. I smiled a little at her. She nudged her friend and I heard her say something like,

"Look, it's him, the one who saved the prince!" Someone near her heard it. They stopped to stare, told others why they were staring, and then there were people shouting my name and saying,

"It's the boy who saved the Crown Prince!"

"Well done, lad!"

"Thet save the king!"

"A hero," called someone, "can I buy you a drink?" Everyone started cheering and before I knew what was happening, they surged into the street, which Magpie took as a declaration of war. I barely controlled him as he plunged, trying to bite and kick. I desperately reined and heeled him out of there, shouting apologies, thanks, and more apologies. You weren't supposed to go above a trot in the city but I pushed him into a canter for half a block before slowing back to a trot. I looked back over my shoulder.

People were standing in the street waving and I waved back, glad Magpie hadn't killed anyone. It spooked the horse, and me. I decided it was probably better to go back to the citadel. For all Azrael and I joked about me being famous in Peterhaven, it had never occurred to me that I was known outside the tiny circle of the citadel.

That people on the street would be trying to buy me drinks and calling me a hero, well, I didn't know what to do. I would wear something that looked like a groom's clothes next time, with perhaps a hat, so people wouldn't notice me. Magpie snorted.

"Yes," I said aloud, "and we'll paint you all one colour."

#### ****

## Chapter 32 - Something Stupid

At the citadel gate, I knew one of the men on duty and was waved through. I was so relieved to be home. The mob scene in Peterhaven had been unsettling. I wondered when Citadel Hill began to be home. It was the end of the first week of January and I'd been there since early September.

Riding up the short steep path to the stables instead of the hairpins they had for the coaches, I decided that walking all the way back to the citadel uphill was asking for trouble, so I collected a groom to ride Magpie back, and remembered to get my walking stick too. The groom, a man I knew named Roger, was sitting side-saddle up behind and we were talking about Magpie's bloodlines, which he knew more about than I did, having worked at the Acordia stud the stallion came from, so I was rather interested.

About a hundred feet ahead of us someone was having trouble with a stocky bay cob, a very solid animal, large for a pony and small for a horse, up to taking an adult's weight despite its smaller size. As Roger and I stopped talking, the frankly circular rider was pitched off onto the roadway. Although a spongy bioplas, it was plenty hard enough when you fell on it. I told Roger to hold on, touched my heels to Magpie and he sped up, so we were right there when the boy did it.

Still holding onto his whip and the reins, he got up and began to thrash the cob, which tried to get out of the way. The boy kept a tight and cruel hold on the bit while he lashed the poor creature across the face and neck. The groom and I were of one mind.

Roger was off Magpie and running towards the lad, shouting at him to stop. The boy saw us, hit the cob one more time and then began to cry. I was a bit slower dismounting but hobbled up fast, leaning on my stick. I stared. It wasn't a child, it was Azrael's half-brother, Young Perry. He was very short, only about five feet tall, something I hadn't really noticed in the hospital, and incredibly wide.

"H-he bit me!" said Young Perry. "You saw it! The p-pony b-bit me! He's savage! H-he should be put down!" For a second the groom and I stared, astonished at the nerve of him. Then I snapped.

"Lying little toad!" I said. "He did not! Give me the reins, you're not getting anywhere near a horse again until you learn how to treat one!"

"I saw it," said Roger, "he didn't bite you, but even if he did, you do not hit a horse like that and you never hit a horse around the head!" I snatched the reins. A crafty look came over Young Perry's face and he lashed at me with the whip. I jerked back but the thong caught me across the cheek, narrowly missing my eye. Any normal person I'd have hit him with my walking stick, but he was a good foot shorter than I was, and second-in-line to the throne, so I resisted the urge. Turned out I could have hit him anyway as I was about to be accused of it.

"Help!" he screamed. "Help! Murder! Help! Help!" He kept screaming. The groom and I looked at each other.

"Sometimes," Roger said to me, looking thoughtful, "if you wish for it, it comes true." I smiled and asked him to hold my stick. Then I waded straight in, ignoring pain from my arm and hip and blocking Young Perry's attempts to whip me. I dropped him hard, facedown onto the bioplas. Then I thrashed him across the arse with his own whip as hard as he'd hit the cob and as many times. I hit him one last time.

"And that's for hitting me in the face, you nasty little pillock," I said, "Roger?" I offered the crop. The groom grinned.

"My turn? Reckon another five good strokes are what any boy who hit a defenceless animal deserves. Only you were a bit soft on him, lordship, reckon the little turd deserves it harder."

At which point Young Perry tried to get away. I think he was confused, because he came straight at me across the ground, bawling and squealing. Roger gave chase and got in a couple of hits then saw something behind me, shouted a warning, and I spun round. I'd completely forgotten about Magpie.

He was already twitchy, now some Giant Slug wriggling towards me was more than he could bear. Magpie snaked his big head, teeth bared, making squealing sounds, stamping his hooves then half-rearing, pawing at the air, trying to get past me to get at the boy. I leapt in front of Young Perry, shouting and waving my arms at my horse.

By the time Roger and I caught Magpie, who was determined to stamp on the Giant Slug and mystified as to why we wouldn't let him, there was a crowd gathering and Young Perry was still screaming about being murdered.

As Young Perry was now accusing me of trying to kill him and demanding Magpie and the vicious cob were put down, the king was notified. Both Perry's histrionics and the way he stuck to his story were remarkable. I was glad the king knew me and also lucky that Roger the groom was part of it all. Being a peasant he was considered a good witness and above any Blood feuds.

As more witnesses from every class came down from the citadel or across from the new fort, it became very apparent that Young Perry was lying. People in the crowd kept saying aye, they saw it, the groom and the blonde lad were telling the truth.

Even with more than fifty eyewitnesses saying he was lying, Young Perry still wouldn't shut up. It was a plot, probably started by Azrael, to kill him. I had to stand for some time while it was sorted out but then was allowed to resume my journey back to the citadel. I handed Magpie over to Roger, who already had the cob, and he gave me my stick.

"I'll put some arnica and witchhazel on this one's nose, poor bugger," he said, "keep the bruising down a bit. He'll not be fit to ride for a few days. Hope the poor thing doesn't end up head-shy." Roger winked at me. "And Magpie gets carrots for being such a good boy." I laughed.

I decided to walk back with Theo, who had sent Young Perry off to the infirmary to be checked out, with some guards to protect him.

"Nothing wrong with him, of course," said the king, "but had to do something to shut him up." He grimaced. "Nothing worse than a whiner. And cruel to animals? His mother's brought him up all wrong." I nodded politely though personally I thought there was more wrong with Young Perry than an over-indulgent mother could answer for. "He can't stop eating, you know," the king said, and shook his head. "The servants got tired of being sent to the kitchens in the middle of the night, and keep at least three meals in the suite ready to go for after midnight. If they don't have food for him all the time, he starts bawling, throws himself round in tantrums."

"At his age?" I said. "Maybe the boy does need a doctor, that doesn't sound healthy." Theo grimaced again.

"His mother says it's puppy fat." I managed not to laugh. Puppy fat was a normal chunkiness which mortified the person with it but disappeared with full adolescence, and of course people carried different amounts of fat, some were just plump, others thin, it was how our bodies were. However, then there was obesity, and Young Perry was several times the size he should have been, especially widthways.

"Well, living here," I said, "getting some exercise, all the walking, that's got to help." I didn't think he'd lost any weight since he arrived, quite the opposite. Theo shook his head.

"I caught him having a pony sent to outside his rooms," said the king, "so he could ride round the citadel to meals and the baths, after we banned him eating main meals in his rooms." I shook my head too. "There's something wrong with that boy," he went on, "Gods forbid he ever has to be even the heir, let alone king. He might be my grandson too, but Azrael needs to breed and soon."

I wondered if Theo knew I'd done Saraia, and as if reading my mind, he said, "Heard about you and that southern witch." I wondered if I'd misheard him. Had he said bitch? He made a shrugging motion. "You're a good influence on the boy." I smiled though I had no idea how tumbling Azrael's mother made me a good influence on her son.

"I try to be," I said. Theo laughed.

"People tried to tell me you were gay," he said. I decided to be honest.

"I'll do almost anything, sire, but I like women." He thought I was very funny and clapped me on the back.

Bewildered, I wandered on with him, chatting about this and that. Though it sounds as if we were alone, he had eight guards, a private secretary and various Hangers On with him, about twenty people altogether.

#### ****

## Chapter 33 – Gossip

Back in my suite, with Bernard's help I had a wash, changed, and almost immediately there was a knock on the door.

"Anyone you don't want to see?" said Bernard. I shrugged.

"A few," I said, "but don't worry, unless they're armed, let them in."

"Afternoon, Highness," I heard Bernard say and braced myself. Which of the various highnesses around the place was it? At least two of them were probably angry with me. I heard Azrael say hello. "Are you armed, Highness?"

"No, Bernard," said Azrael, sounding puzzled.

"Very well, Highness, you may enter." Azrael came in, followed by two of the big black cats, who walked past him and into the suite, disappearing towards my bedroom. Azrael followed more slowly, looking back over his shoulder at Bernard. Then he looked at me.

"Can we talk privately, Polo?" he said.

"I don't know," I said honestly, "I think my rooms are a sieve when it comes to privacy."

"I meant without Bernard here," he said.

"Oh, sure," I said, "Bernard, is it afternoon tea yet?"

"It is, lordship," he said, "shall I order you something?"

"No, we'll go down," I said. Azrael looked at me.

"I do need to talk to you, privately," he said, and I nodded.

"We'll go outside," I said, "but I missed lunch, I need some food." Bernard left. "It's alright, Azrael," I said, "I was angry earlier but after what I've just been through with your half-brother I'm thinking your behaviour, though silly, was mild in comparison."

"With my half-brother?" he said.

For once the gossip hadn't reached Azrael before I could tell him, so we caught up on my adventures on the walk to the tearoom, collected some trays, and loaded ourselves up with coffee and snacks. Theo was there and nodded and waved, we waved back and jerked our heads at the outside. He waved us out.

We took trays out into the park, finding a quiet spot in the shade where we were reasonably sure nobody could see us. If they couldn't see us, they couldn't lip-read. We had no guards. There was no current security alert, and Azrael was considered safe inside the citadel grounds. For a while we sat and ate.

"I'm sorry," he said, finally.

"You've got cake crumbs on your chin," I said. He sighed and wiped his chin on his sleeve. "It's alright," I said, "I think I know why you did it." I paused. "And it wasn't vengeance on your mother." He nodded. "You were feeling nasty though," I went on, "but it's because you love me."

He looked at his fingers. I didn't blame him. Being outed as 'in love' when the other person doesn't reciprocate is hard to look in the eye.

"I could cope with most things," he said, "anyone you might love. But not with that." He paused, his voice a whisper. "I'm sorry, Polo, I tried not to. To love you." I smiled, reached over, and patted his hand.

"Aye," I said, "I know." I sighed. I squeezed his hand then moved mine away. "I don't love you, Azrael, not like that. Not like a lover." His voice was still a whisper.

"Say the word," he said, "I'll run away with you. I will, Polo. I don't care about the kingdom. We could be just us and I wouldn't have to be a prince." I'd be happy to go but I didn't love him. I set my heart to be like stone.

"You'll get over me," I said. He looked mutinous. The scar down his cheek made him look harder and his thinness added to it. He was no longer the pretty boy I did in the woods. A lean young man had replaced him.

"I won't," he said. I grinned.

"Don't close your mind to it," I said. I knew enough about life to know that he and I knew nothing, not about love. Not much about most of life either, but love in particular.

"You're not over me," he said. I shook my head.

"Nothing to get over," I said, "I love you as a friend. Not as anything more."

"Don't close your mind to it," he said, and I laughed. A robin landed on the grass, looking hopeful, and I flicked some cake crumbs toward it. I sighed and turned to look at Azrael.

"What part of, 'you have to marry and your wife has to bear children', don't you understand?" I said. "Without your children, the kingdom has no heirs, or at least none it wants." He gave me a long look. "With your half-brother next in line," I said, remembering Theo's words, "you need to sire something, quickly."

"You're not going to marry," he said in a sulky tone, "you don't even like children." I detested them mostly. Even when I was a child I never liked them much.

"Aye," I said, "but I'm not the Crown Prince. You need heirs in wedlock, and a wife for a queen. Being nobody, I get let off that."

"It's not fair," he said, sounding like a real teenager. I shrugged.

"Probably not," I said, "but you get to be king, so it's not all bad."

"You always said you never wanted to be king," he said, starting to pout.

"I don't," I said, "but I can see that if you have to do it, you might as well enjoy yourself. Try to do good, be good, be someone your people admire, not someone they fear. Like the citadel administrator says-" we'd done a Saturday with her, "-learn to delegate and employ people you trust." Azrael suddenly looked me in the eyes.

"Will you stay here," he said, "with me? Even when I have to marry?" I wasn't the type to make promises, but I made a kind of vow.

"I will be here, a lot," I said, "I can't promise more. As your friend."

"You do love me," he said, looking steadily into my eyes. "You just won't admit it." I shook my head and smiled. I was his friend, and if it made him feel better I wasn't going to argue.

We lay in the shade, shoes off and feet bare, throwing crumbs to the sparrows, finches, blackbirds, robins and other opportunists. Some of the parrots came down, a new kind I hadn't seen except from a distance. They were smaller than the others, a vivid emerald with scarlet flashes under their wings, and a scattering of gold speckles across their breasts.

I had a terrible weakness for parrots. I pulled the pecans out of the pecan pie and fed them to the little birds, Azrael laughing at my softness. The parrots trilled and chirped with delight, holding the candied nuts with the claws of one foot, nibbling on the flesh. The Palace Cats weren't allowed loose outside, or they'd kill too many of the birds. Instead they were brought up to the palace by small carts, then collected every evening to return to their very luxurious cattery.

We were half-asleep in the warmth of the afternoon, smoking, drinking cold coffee, and catching up on gossip and plans for the future. Aunt Kristen was apparently in human form again, back in Joban and swearing her revenge on the entire Sendrenese Royal Family. Azrael was still besotted with the Military Guild, waxing lyrical about their courses, but his family said with the lack of an heir in the direct line and with Aunt Kristen's threats, he couldn't go.

The Military Guild half-interested me. I had my father's copy of their manual, which I'd read many times. The courses seemed excellent, the combat training sounded like fun, and it would be hardly any work for me as I did the training every day anyway. However it would cost money, more than most courses. One needed equipment and horses, not only one horse. And it was in the next kingdom. I'd have to see if my budget would stand it.

From what I understood, one signed up for five years, three at the guild then two in the services. In Azrael's case the king would pay an enormous fine to cover Azrael's lack of service, as he had in the past to keep Azrael's father off the front lines. There was nobody to buy me out of the army. Grandmama Daeva was as likely to say it was good for me and leave me to survive as best I could. I didn't want to risk that.

"I'd like to serve in the army for a year, for the life experience. I know I'm fantasising, but hey," Azrael said, and grinned, "that's what fantasising is for."

"They said you probably can't even go to the guild," I said, "how will you get into the army?" A robin landed on my bare toe, which made both the robin and I nervous. Azrael laughed and the robin jumped for the safety of the grass. "Funny little things, birds," I said, "don't know why they fascinate me." Azrael threw the robin some more cake.

"Because they can fly?" he said. I nodded.

"Possibly. I love watching them." A group of about twenty of the green-and-blue parrots landed, and began stuffing themselves with cake. The little emerald parrots swaggered across the lawn and showed that for all their tiny size, they were the fiercest. We were occupied by their antics until they all suddenly leapt into the air screeching, and flew for the safety of the woodlands.

I watched, admiring how they controlled their flight by bending their wings, spreading their feathers. It was true, part of my besotted fascination with birds was that I wanted to fly. I looked up, and saw a big crow in the branches of the tree we were under. No, not a crow, it had the shaggy feathers of a raven. I smiled at the creature, it tilted its head.

"See the raven?" I said. "That's what spooked them all."

"Aye," said Azrael, "he's a big boy. Or she's a big girl. I have no idea how to sex ravens." I laughed.

"Anyway," I said, "so how will you get to the guild?"

"There must be something they want from me," he said, "and when they do, I'll make them pay my price for it." His black hair fell forward over his eyes. He pushed it back.

Since we arrived at Court we'd both avoided more than a trim. Mine was nearly long enough to tie back in a ponytail. I did tie the top back to keep it out of my eyes when I was working. Before the dragon attack, I took to wearing it that way under my helmet when sparring. After one of our spars Fenric told me that in a real combat situation, if I lost my helmet, which happened quite often, with a handle like that for my enemy to grab hold of I was a dead man. I must have looked like I didn't believe him, because to reinforce the lesson he then used my topknot to drop me.

"If I get to go," Azrael said, "to the guild, would you come?" I shrugged. I didn't want to mention cost as he'd only offer to pay, then if I didn't want to keep going I'd be stuck there, a victim of his generosity.

"I might come to Malion," I said, "there's more than one guild, you know." He laughed.

"I know," he said, "but I don't want to go to the others." He paused. "I don't want to tie you down to me, if that's not what you want. You're free to do who you want, to be who you want. To study where you want. If you want to. Tumble who you want, too." I gave him a look.

"Aye, I know," I said, in a pointed tone, "even without your permission, I can do that much. Anyone except your mother." He looked a little shamefaced.

"Well, now we've had this talk," he said, "I don't think I mind so much about her." I smiled, but shook my head.

"Azrael, I'm not yours. Not that I'm anyone's. Understand? We're not a couple, you and I. I'm not going to have sex with you again or change my mind. I do not love you." He looked sulky. I sighed. "Don't look like that. I've told you I don't love you. Get it through your skull. I can go away if it would make it easier for you." He shook his head no, still pouting. I sighed again.

"As for your mother," I said, "I'm only amusement for her. Nothing more. That's alright by me. You'll forgive me if I find it hard to refuse a very attractive woman who I'd be an idiot not to enjoy, both her company and any other crumb she deigns to offer me. Especially I'd be an idiot if I have no other reason than sorry, much as I'd love to do you, Saraia, your son, who isn't gay, let's all remember, gets jealous. Not that I'm doing him or will again, ever." I was very high, and suddenly conscious I was raving. "By the way," I added, "Theo thinks me doing your mother makes me even more of a suitable friend for you. I have no idea why." He laughed.

"Grandpa is strange. Maybe he thinks you doing her demeans her." I nodded, it seemed likely. "He doesn't seem to like women much," he said, "doesn't like the queen, either. And the way he talks about Aunt Kristen, you'd think she was someone else's child, not his." I wondered whether to say it. For once, I was ahead of the gossip, though I'd not passed it on because up until then I'd completely forgotten.

"Rumour is," I said, "she is. Someone else's child. Though I don't think the king knows." He gasped.

"Where did you hear that?" I shrugged. I didn't tell him this was something my Grandmama Daeva had sworn was gospel, some years ago. She knew both Theo and Rose and had visited Peterhaven many summers for part of the Season.

"Around," I said, "she's supposed to be your Uncle Nate's child." When, within my earshot, Grandmama had told Mother, she'd only mentioned the king's younger brother, which meant it had to be Nate. "The queen," I explained, "your grandmother, was bored because when the late Perry was two, Theo became king and didn't have any time at all for Aunt Rose. It was about then that Kristen was conceived." At the time I hadn't known who the kings and queens that Grandmama gossiped about were.

"Oh gods," said Azrael, "Kristen changed shape, but if she's not my line it doesn't mean I can!" He looked distraught.

Call me selfish, and I certainly felt it, but I was pleased he was angst-ridden over that instead of being in love with me, because the latter was going to get rather wearying if he didn't buck up.

"You don't need to change shape, Azrael," I said, "because you can't go to war." He gave me a stubborn look. I sighed. "Once you're king," I said tactfully, "I suppose you can do what you want, but do me a favour, wait until you have an heir."

It didn't occur to me to say anything about Stefan being his father. I didn't even remember it.

#### ****

## Chapter 34 - Bereavement

Virginia was also teaching me meditation and soon I was able to sink deeply into trance-states. She knew hypnosis too, so taught me to both resist and to do it, either to others or myself. It was deeply relaxing.

While I was under we had some conversations about my family. I cried while still in trance, came out of it feeling like a weight had lifted from my heart. I didn't have to be my parents' keeper any more. Let them look after themselves.

My days were taken up with physical therapy and mental training, my nights with parties, balls, dinners and various events. Not enjoying being on show every night, I usually attended under duress, but Azrael had to go to many so I kept him company. I noted people who might be worth a tumble while watching how transparent the schmoozing was.

When high on mindweed it was so easy to see. The subtlest social climbing stood out, as Fenric said to me once, like a stallion's stones. I never really understood what schmoozing was until I went to the citadel. All those people trying to impress the wealthy or titled Blood or trying to impress the truly beautiful, all the variations in between, then all of them trying to impress Azrael or King Theo.

If the Hangers On couldn't get to the Royal Family they'd insincerely rub themselves all over anyone close to them. I wondered about getting some good blowjobs from the throng, as they certainly offered those a lot, but didn't want to kiss any of them. If I didn't want to kiss someone I didn't really want to put my genitals anywhere near their mouths.

It had occurred to me that doing my best friend's mother, even if only once, when I was in hospital - and one other time when we didn't actually tumble but fooled around - anyway, it was possibly not as acceptable as I'd claimed it was to Azrael. So for his sake I was determined to be noble and avoid or resist Saraia.

It turned out to be easy enough. There was a message via Nanny Black that the Princess Royal would regretfully be avoiding my company thanks to the gossip about us. I sent a message back saying I shared the regrets but agreed with her reasoning.

With only two weeks left of the school holidays, I was still walking with a limp. My scars ached, tingled or were numb, when they weren't itching or doing some combination of aching, itching, numbness and tingling, but Virginia said that might be something I had to get used to. I smelled of comfrey, pine, beeswax, lavender and peppermint from the stiff ointments Virginia massaged into the healing scars. For restoring strength in a gentle way she took me swimming every morning.

For my part, I did as I was told and also didn't grope her. I tried not to leer at her hard body even when it was outlined in detail under wet cotton top and shorts.

Azrael's new physio, Simon, was a nice enough fella but not pretty, so Azrael didn't have eye-candy to amuse him while being tortured.

"Don't look so glum, Polo," said Virginia, when I complained again the tingling was back, "you had two serious injuries, your hip and your arm were pretty much shredded. You nearly died. Be thankful you're alive. You can walk and your fingers are working again. You could have much more numbness, you've got off lightly." I scowled, rubbing my forearm. "Could have been worse," she said, smiling, running a hand through her spiky silver hair, "might have been me coming at you, full size." I laughed.

"I wouldn't have tried to pick you up," I said, and hesitated. "Do you think I'm anywhere near being able to change shape?" She shrugged.

"Hard to say," she said, "you're doing very well with the various exercises."

"We haven't talked about how to change, though," I said. She was silent. "Could we?" She sighed.

"Aye," she said, as if she'd suddenly made a decision, "no time like the present."

"Here?" I said, and looked around us, on the grassy shore of the lake we had been swimming in. She laughed.

"I was thinking back in your quarters. Come on."

#### ****

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."

#### ****

I was naked in the mountains again, out of my body or dreaming, I didn't know which. This time it was dark and raining. A howling storm lashed hard rain over my skin and the dragons all looked grumpy, backs to the wind. I staggered along, unable to see far. I nearly missed the queen, but one of the dragons waved a forepaw and sent me in the right direction. I heard her voice rumble out of the darkness.

"Polo Shawcross. Tell me! What happened?"

"Gods, I don't know," I said, my face streaked with rain and tears, "someone shot her with a crossbow bolt."

Suddenly the great head was next to me and I fell over backwards. The head followed me so I stayed down, though I did sit up. In the lee of her, I was protected from some of the wind and could tell the story in more detail. She listened, then howled at the sky.

"You are lucky you are important!" she said, snarling.

"Lucky?" I shouted above the wind. "Lucky? Lucky people aren't shot! They don't get attacked by bloody dragons!" Her voice was a roar.

"You are alive!"

"Only barely!" I bellowed back at her. "I'm bloody dying. Again!" She stopped and looked at me, her green eye as big as a football, right in front of me. She had an iris ring of blue opalescence, making the green even more vivid.

"Polo Shawcross, you have cost me a dear friend!" I burst into tears that burned my eyes.

"She was my friend too," I said, hugging my knees, blinking through the pain. "She was wonderful."

"They meant to kill you, laddie," she said, her voice suddenly soft, "remember that." I stared.

"Me?" I said. "Why would anyone want to kill me?" I hadn't even thought about that aspect. Why had someone shot a crossbow bolt at Virginia? Answer? They hadn't. She was collateral damage. I hiccupped. The Dragon queen's voice was a hiss in my ear.

"You find who it was, Polo," she said, "then you tear their freaking throat out. Or call one of us, we'll do it for you."

"She was about to teach me how to change shape," I said, "if I learn, I'll do it. Rip their throat out."

"Do it slowly," she said, voice hissing on the 's' sound.

#### ****

## Chapter 35 – Meet the Queen

Looking for myself, I floated through the infirmary. Many strange things were on top of the cupboards, including a selection of stuffed toy animals and cooking utensils. There was another note, saying Dr Henry Keller wanted to talk to anyone who read it. He was the doctor I'd tried to tell about my out-of-body experience when I was attacked by the Queen of Joban as a dragon.

As I fell back into my body I nearly laughed aloud. The room was in semi-darkness. A woman was standing over me. Tall with copper hair, and for a moment I thought it was the nurse, Anna, or maybe Saraia. She was wearing dark trousers and a dark shirt.

"You are hard to wake," she said, her voice husky. I blinked, sure I didn't know her. Did I need to be afraid? "You do know me, laddie. Nothing to fear." She leaned over the bed, and I looked into her big green eyes, dusted with a ring of opalescent blue. The pupils also gave her away, vertical like a cat's. Or a dragon's. Even in my weak state, I opened my eyes wide.

"Your Majesty?" I said.

"Hush," she said, "it's Lilith," and took a knife from her belt. I wasn't afraid, I knew why she'd come, but I asked her anyway.

"What are you doing here?" She rolled up her sleeve.

"I didn't trust anyone else," she said. With a swift movement she cut herself on the forearm then fed me the blood. "Drink, you young idiot. I can't let you die." She stepped me through some healing exercises I'd done with Virginia. Despite me being semi-delirious, she was endlessly patient, though she did call me names a lot.

Anna the nurse came in and the Dragon queen paused.

"I'm his physical therapist," said Lilith. Anna looked her up and down. "The replacement."

"You always get the strange women, Polo," said Anna, "you alright?"

"Aye," I said, my voice a croak, "I'm going to live."

"I never doubted you," she said. She looked back at Lilith. "You're the one I saw landing out on the Green." That was the lawn where Virginia was killed and I was shot.

"Aye," said the Dragon queen. "You do know, you tell anyone I'm here, I'll hunt you down and tear your throat out?" Anna wasn't easily cowed. She laughed.

"No need to threaten me," she said, hands on her hips, "I'm not likely to say I saw a bloody great dragon land behind the citadel. Then change into a naked woman." She looked the queen up and down. "You look pretty good for someone as old as you're supposed to be. Where did you steal the outfit?"

"My age is exaggerated and I don't need to steal," said Lilith, sounding haughty, "I have friends here."

"I bet you do," said Anna. "Well, he's on the mend again, looks like. I'll be back in an hour." She walked out.

"You were naked?" I said. Lilith turned to me. She was very old. She didn't look it. She looked maybe forty and that was only because of the eyes. Too old for the fabulous outer shell.

"Of course," she said, "one can't change shape and hold onto clothes." That hadn't occurred to me. "Sometimes I carry a pack if I know I'm going to change. This time, well, I was in a hurry and forgot."

I found it surprising, such a sign of humanity in someone with eyes that alien.

"Oh," she said, and blinked, "there, is that better?" Her eyes were big and green, but the pupil was suddenly round. I gasped. "Of course I can read minds," she said, "it's not that hard. You broadcast what you're thinking, Polo, I wouldn't need much in the way of skills." She tilted her head. "I learned it for something to do," she said. Another pause. "It passes the centuries."

Desperately I tried not to think. It didn't work.

"Gods no," she said, and laughed, "I don't tune in on everyone, most people's minds are scary places. Or sad ones." She sighed. "So many people are so unhappy, or horribly busy pretending they're not. It's a reason to stay in Redoubt, because people screen their thoughts there." Pause. "You can learn to screen," she said, "as you can learn to read." A giggle.

"You're not that sick, Polo Shawcross, if you can think of doing that to me." I tried again to muffle my thoughts. "That's good," she said, "I can hear you trying not to think but aside from that you're blocking me." She laughed. "You were," she said, and helped me sit up, gave me water. "Blood is a funny aftertaste, I agree."

#### ****

I woke up and Fenric was there. He helped me sit up and gave me water. I felt dizzy, with deja vu and hunger. Seemed I kept waking to thirst and someone helping me up. I also felt hungry.

"Can I have something to eat?" I said. "Can you ask Anna? Or whoever's on?"

"Sure, lad," he said, "be right back." He went off then returned. "Someone's fetching something. So if you can eat, you're feeling better."

"Aye," I said, "I'm starving."

"What do you remember?" he said, pulling out a notebook.

"About being shot?" I said. He nodded.

"I need the whole story." I described Virginia dying, how I ran then was shot. He wrote it all down, checked angles, drew a map and made sure he understood exactly where Virginia and I were, how we were hit and where I thought the shooter was. My left arm was in a cast and I was occupied poking a pencil down inside it to scratch myself.

"Have I missed her funeral?" I said. He nodded. "By a lot?" He gave me a sympathetic look.

"You were very sick again, lad," he said, "it's been three weeks."

"Three?" I was aghast. I rubbed my chin, only a week's worth of stubble, someone had shaved me while I was out. "But, but what about school?" He laughed. I could imagine my parents laughing too. I'd never minded being out of school before. "I can't miss school," I said, "it's my final year. I was doing so well." He patted my leg.

"They'll give you tutoring," he said, "don't panic. The king blames himself, thinks you were targeted because you're a friend of the family. Moreover you were shot inside his citadel, which means Crown security failed, badly. No crossbows or other weapons allowed inside the grounds, no exceptions. Except guards, and you." I was allowed a knife, something the king decreed after Kristen's attack. I sat up in bed properly, wincing as I jarred my arm.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" I said.

"Wrong?" said Fenric. "What do you mean?"

"They didn't catch whoever it was," I said, "something's wrong. There were maybe ten people around and more came running at the noise. I saw soldiers coming up. How come the shooter got away?" He breathed out.

"Someone," he said, "sent the soldiers in the wrong direction." I blinked.

"The wrong direction?" I said.

"Aye," he said, "someone insisted they saw the shooter back in the trees towards the House Lake." I gasped.

"But," I said, "why would they do that?"

"This is only a guess, mate," said Fenric, "but I'd say it's because you thrashed his arse in front of most of the citadel residents." I groaned.

"Young Perry?" I said. Fenric nodded.

"Aye," he said, "which begs the question, seeing Prince Porky isn't known as an early riser, what was he doing next to the Green close to dawn, right as you were shot?" I shuddered.

"Gods," I said, "he wanted to see me die."

"Seems so," said Fenric. "I suspected something like this. I'll go see the king's people." I laughed suddenly.

"Prince Porky?" I said. Fenric grinned and ran a hand through his cropped black hair.

"Oh, you've been out of things," he said, "he's a prince now."

"A prince? Gods." I grimaced. Things just got worse.

"Aye," said Fenric, "he has to, to be officially part of the succession. They've even made the Half Aunt a Lady of Peterhaven." He made a snorting noise. "Honorary title, can't be inherited or passed on, but she gets an allowance. Theo's busy assuring people it's for show so Kristen backs off, seeing she'd have to kill Theo, Azrael, and Young Perry to be queen." I snarled.

"If Perry makes it to king-" I began to say, and Fenric held his hands up.

"Aye," he said, "don't say it, we all feel the same. You'll have to get in line. And the current king would be first in the queue." He paused. "Where's your ghost?" I wasn't sure.

"I don't know. I haven't seen him since-" I paused, not sure when Cree had last been around. "Before the dragon attack, and during, Cree warned me, in his own way, about what was about to happen with Aunt Kristen. Why didn't he warned me about what happened on the Green?"

"It's an Unfortunate Accident," said Fenric, "because it wasn't an accident and you dying would be fortunate for someone." He smiled. "Southern humour." I laughed.

"I'd like to see the south. And Redoubt. Can you change, Fenric? Your body, I mean." He nodded.

"I did," he said, "twice. Under stress of an extreme kind each time. I've never managed it otherwise. I was very glad to get back into human shape. Haven't tried for a while come to think of it."

"What did you turn into?" He paused a moment before answering.

"Me," he said, and smiled. "I don't know, I had no mirror. And there were no survivors who stayed around long enough to tell me what they saw." He tapped the notebook on his knee and I thought he wasn't going to say any more then suddenly he went on, "I was a scout, ended up alone on the wrong side of the border a few times. Captured by Sriamans, or about to be. When I changed I did feel big. I tore some apart, the rest ran like dogs." His grey eyes lost their usual amiable light and suddenly seemed to look right through me.

"Did you feel human?" I said softly, expecting him to say I was prying too much. Instead he said,

"When I say big, I mean maybe thirty feet high on my hinds." I whistled. "My head was in the treetops," he said. "I felt more than human. It was good. One is the sum of all one's parts, not only those considered higher faculties." He grinned, showing his canines. "I could see their blood beating, life inside them, and I could have chased every one down and killed them. Done it all without feeling a damn about them, whether they were men with lives and loves, like me."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous?" I said, "Letting the animal out?" He nodded.

"Handy for a soldier," he said, "especially when he's about to die, but you've the scars to prove the danger, lad. You were damn lucky the Queen of Joban didn't kill you." There was no arguing with that. I remembered he had been to Redoubt, so we probably had an acquaintance in common.

"I saw the Dragon queen," I said, "Lilith. Though it may have been a dream. If it was her, in human form she's a redhead. She's hot."

"Smoking," said Fenric. He grinned and I did too. "Chew you up and spit you out."

"A bit like Saraia, mate," I said. He chuckled.

"Aye, pretty much," he said, and I laughed. It hurt my arm. I whimpered and tried not to move. I didn't mind the pain, it meant I was alive. Pain was something I knew how to bear, that I could ease with the right doses of drugs, exercise, and meditation.

I remembered sitting on the grass with Virginia while the fat bumblebee rummaged in the flowers in the grass and feeling glad to be alive, to see a bumblebee, to feel the grass underfoot. A wave of guilt rolled over me. I was alive, Virginia was dead and it was my fault. The shooter was aiming for me.

"It wasn't your fault," said Fenric. I looked up at him, feeling stricken. "I can see it in your face," he went on, "you're blaming yourself. You're not the one who hired someone to kill someone else. That's on Young Perry's head, not yours."

#### ****

## Chapter 36 – A Responsible Lad

A little while later, Fenric had gone, Nurse Anna came in with a tray of food and I asked her if Dr Keller was around. He came in, a tall man with silver hair. I recognised him from my previous stay, though I hadn't known his name then.

"I saw the note," I said.

"The note?" he said.

"The one on top of the cupboard," I said, "are the animals and the fry-pans up there for a reason?"

"Gods," he said, "you again, Shawcross."

"Me?" I said, then remembered his voice. Dr Keller was the one who'd argued about me seeing the note before because it would cost him a gold crown. The other doctor had called Dr Keller a weasel. Keller claimed I must have seen the note before I was injured.

"Dr bloody Olsen put you up to this," said Dr Keller, "didn't he?" I presumed that was the one who'd made the gold crown bet.

"No, but never mind," I said.

"I don't appreciate being toyed with!" he shouted. I rolled my eyes and let him storm out.

#### ****

School had started. Though I was soon out of hospital, I still wasn't fit to attend, so they gave me a tutor to keep me up with the others. I'd lost weight again and was so bloody weak.

Simon, Azrael's physiotherapist, was working with me instead of on my unconscious body. I vaguely remembered being pummelled but now was awake for the full glory of the pain. Simon was at least as merciless as Virginia had been but not as pretty to look at, though his eyes were at least as arresting. In his mid-forties, he was a slightly plump, greying man, with cat's-eyes in various shades of green and gold. Scintillating, the rare marking was called, with segments of the iris alternating colours in delicate petals.

"It's nice to have you back with us," Simon said. "The Crown Prince sends his best, the doctors won't let him visit in case you're still infectious." I nodded, having taken that much in.

"They said in a week or so," I said, "when I finish the next course of antibiotics, he can come. Going to make sure the damn infection is dead this time."

"We're lucky we have antibiotics," he said, "imagine if they weren't rediscovered?" I knew the story. By chance, a duke's librarian found an old medical textbook. Suddenly the recipe, simple yet elusive and lost for a thousand years, was ours again.

"Many more people would have died," I said. Simon nodded. He was twisting my healing arm into careful but painful poses. I kept breathing, trying not to focus on sensation, to stay in my self-imposed alpha state where I could float above any pain. Breathe, I told myself. Breathe. Breath was all.

"Cuts our battle losses down by thousands," Simon said, "every year." He wore a tiny silver dragon on his collar.

"You were in the army?" I said. "Ow!"

"Going to do that again, breathe, Polo. Aye, did ten years in the medical corps." We talked as he put me through a series of exercises, all apparently designed by sadists for masochists. Between my screams, it turned out that Simon knew my father. "Excellent soldier, that man," he said, "hard to believe someone so talented was pure peasant."

"He was a throwback," I said, "to the first settlers." The realisation fell on me, as if from a height. I had something in common with Father.

I thought I was a throwback too. In my case, it was based on Grandmama telling me so, and seeing a painting that showed some forgotten Blood great-uncle. Not forgotten by Grandmama Daeva, who told me his name was Beau Casterton, my late Grandpa Casterton's brother. He had the same colouring as me, the green eyes and blonde hair, the same shaped face. "Father was always sure the blood of the first Yusaf ran in his veins," I said aloud, "that he was secretly a wild man, a pioneer."

"He died?" said Simon.

"Oh, sorry," I said, suddenly aware of using the past tense, "no, I've lost touch with him. Not for very long, just a few months."

#### ****

Fenric visited with depressing news.

"Prince Porky got out of it," he said. I couldn't believe it.

"What?" I said. "How?"

"Cida Innes," said Fenric, and curled his lip.

"Cida?" I said. How did Azrael's peasant friend get involved? Then I remembered Young Perry was pawing Cida when I met him.

"Cida said it was her idea to go for a walk along the Green that morning," said Fenric, mimicking Cida's diction, "she wanted to introduce Perry to the delights of clean living and temple-going, including dawn walks." I snorted with disgust.

"What a crock."

"Aye," he said, and spread his fingers, "but what can you do? It was Sunday it happened, you know?" I hadn't remembered what day it was. "Cida and Prince Porky went to dawn temple, the priests and congregation confirmed it. People remembered them because they were necking and several people told them to show some respect."

"He was kissing her in temple?" I said, shocked.

"Aye, more than kissing, anyway, they eventually found the tree the man was in, where you said it would be, but we can't prove Perry was lying about direction. He said that's what he thought, he saw someone. It's one of the problems with witnesses, even the ones telling the truth will give you stories that differ majorly on important details." I had a sinking feeling.

"So now what?" I said.

"So," said Fenric, ticking the point off on his fingers, "Theo is at least pretending to be satisfied, Azrael is obviously furious, and Young Perry is terribly sorry if he misdirected anyone as it wasn't his intention." He sneered. "You could see the brat smirking, with Cida giving him cow-eyes. I did point out the lass wasn't a credible witness, her bedding the prince, and you should have seen her face, she was suddenly frightened. If the king wasn't there I'd have got the truth out of them."

"Gods," I said, "where does this leave me?" The big man shrugged. I saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

"You may find it hard to get people to stand next to you in the open."

#### ****

Instead I would find it hard to be alone. When I wasn't with Azrael, who always had guards, there was at least one of Azrael's guards with me, unofficially but always. They were casual about it, but firm.

At Fenric's request, I no longer rode alone. At least, unlike Azrael, I was permitted to risk my life with long rides outside the city walls. The bodyguards all lived and worked hard but liked to have fun. I could have had worse nursemaids.

#### ****

I remembered asking Theo about Father so wrote a note to the king asking if he'd managed to track him down. Theo himself came in reply. It seemed they were keeping Azrael extra-safe, but they couldn't stop the king doing as he liked.

Theo brought excellent mindweed and servants carrying trays of afternoon tea. I was lying down, having just said goodbye to Simon, and Theo said not to move. The servants laid out the tea then withdrew.

"I've received a report," the king said, and a secretary handed over a folder, which Theo put next to me on the bed then shooed everyone else out. I was most honoured. Theo was rarely alone for anyone. "Your father's up north in a place called Redditch," he said, "seems his uncle was dying, he went up to pay his respects. Surprisingly, your father is well and your great uncle has made a recovery." I savoured a smoked salmon parcel, wrapped around some cream cheese.

"Uncle Rob that must be," I said, "Grandpa Shawcross's brother. Well, that's good, him being alright. Was Father still womanising and drinking?" The king was snaffling one of the smoked salmon parcels too. Theo looked unwell, too red in the face and he'd put on some weight. He took a good slug of liquor in his coffee, which wasn't a good sign this early in the afternoon.

"By all accounts, your father was sober when he got on the coach," said the king, taking a sip of his doctored coffee with no apparent notion of the irony. "He had been since the letter about your uncle dying reached him. According to someone who was there, it was as if he'd had some kind of epiphany, said he was a changed man. Sounds like it might be good news if he pulls himself together." I couldn't help but agree, and nodded.

"I didn't know Uncle Rob was still alive," I said, "we haven't spoken to that side of the family for a long time. Since we visited when I was about five. Father got very drunk and argued with Uncle Rob. Then he stormed out in the middle of the night, dragging us with him."

"Families," said the king, "they're all the same. I got a letter from your grandmother Daeva Casterton, by the way. Asking for confirmation of the veracity of letters she'd received from you and the Princess Royal." That sounded like Grandmama Daeva, both the word veracity and going to the top to check her facts. Theo smiled. "I was happy to give it," he said, I sighed with relief.

"Thanks Theo, it's appreciated."

"I'm in debt to you, Polo, the kingdom is." He looked solemn. "I've decided to ennoble you," he said. I raised my eyebrows. I'd forgotten about that. "I happen to have a duchy with no heir," Theo went on, ignoring me gaping at him, "in the north. You've heard of Starshore? It's where Port Azrael is." I managed to close my mouth and nod.

"I kn-know of it," I stammered, sounding squeaky. When I was much younger I went through there a few times on the way north. Next to the Crown Estate, Starshore was one of the two largest duchies in the kingdom, and the richest. At least so the Half Aunt had told me, her being a tireless promoter of her home duchy.

I took a breath, sure the king would say suddenly he was joking or that I'd misheard. He wasn't really giving me a fortune and a title, making me into the most powerful person in the kingdom aside from himself.

"Theo, sire, I don't know what to say. Are you sure? A whole duchy?" He laughed.

"Aye, it's all arranged. The Crown has a steward in charge until you're eighteen but you'll have the title of Lord of Starshore until then, and the income." I had never heard such a wonderful title, and sat there grinning like an idiot, trying not to tear up, saying thank you over and over. He smiled.

"We'll do the investiture once you're of age, and you'll be duke properly, but we'll make you officially heir once you're up and about. I expect you to make me proud, mind," he said, and clapped me on my good shoulder, "but you're a responsible lad."

#### ****

Bernard told me the details when he dropped in with my new stationery, with Lord of Starshore embossed prettily on it. Mine was not a life peerage, like those given to a Royal Whatsit or the Half Aunt, who were lords and ladies of Peterhaven but whose titles didn't pass to their heirs. Mine was hereditary, so any descendants of mine would forever bear the title.

For the first time I considered having children. I still didn't like the idea and there was no hurry, but I was realistic. Like Azrael, I now needed an heir. For now, I'd focus on recovery, and my education. And possibly a certain amount of sexual adventure.

#### ****

## END

To Be Continued in _Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier_

# ###

## About the Author

In real life, I'm Australian and currently live on the Gold Coast in Queensland.

This book and the next one _Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier_ are free, the second pair ( _Polo Shawcross: Dragon Skin_ and _Polo Shawcross: Dragon Outlaw_ \- the last 2 in the quartet) are not. But they're 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

With love,

Lee

#### ****

### Also 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 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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