Aranya (Shapeshifter Dragons) Read Online Free Page B

… by the Sign of Sylakia, this is hard to say. I spoke harshly to Beran in public so that all Sylakians would know that I treated even an old Prince-Apprentice friend no differently than any other of my foes.”
    Aranya narrowed her eyes. So , her father and Ignathion had once been Apprenticed to a foreign Court together? So many strands interwoven; so many lives. What game was Ignathion playing? What was he telling her, the threads half-hidden beneath their conversation? Was he implying that even though he had made such a spectacle of Beran, he felt differently in his heart?
    “Some Sylakians mistrust foreign Princesses, Aranya, and would see them sink into oblivion. Sylakians are a superstitious people. They mistrust foreigners, particularly those with unusual eyes.”
    Eyes? That tiny stress meant abilities , didn’t it? If this was meant as an offer of truce, or even a secret friendship for her parents’ sake, she dared not refuse–did she? Because he had articulated the alternative with perfect clarity. Exposure. A denouncement. A few well-placed words would cause one suspected enchantress’ head to permanently part ways with her shoulders.
    After wetting her parched throat, Aranya offered, “Trust is always a thorny issue, Ignathion. But I do approve of the flowers you chose for the table.”
    Ignathion raised his goblet. “Indeed. Your likeness to your mother is truly amazing, Aranya. Let us salute Izariela of Fra’anior’s memory … together.”
    Thus she took a perilous step into her future, Aranya reflected. She sipped her juice. The First War-Hammer would want something of her. He was not a frivolous man. Ignathion was a master of long-term strategy, her father had warned her. Did he truly hold her parents in high regard? Why did he hint at the difference between friendship and duty? A thought struck her: he already had the traditional two consorts. Sylakian custom allowed no more, so he should not be seeking her person. Might it be for one of his sons that he prepared this subtle snare about an exiled Princess? Her pulse leaped fitfully in her throat as Aranya considered the hegemony of this man over her life. But his sense of duty must surely direct him to deliver her safe to Sylakia. Therefore, why the veiled warnings? Were there other, subtler dangers skulking in Sylakia? Dangers particular to one with unusual eyes?
    She had much to ponder.
    Aranya smiled at him over the rim of her goblet, trying to ignore how masterfully he had played his courtly game. “Ignathion, when the First War-Hammer of Sylakia has conquered the whole world above the Cloudlands, where next does he cast his noble eye? Past the Rift?”
    “North of the Rift is but one quarter of the known world,” he said.
    “New territories; new conquests?”
    “Sometimes I wish for an end to all war. A bite more of the fowl?” A glimpse within the man, ever so swiftly cut off again. And a non-answer to Sylakia’s plans. Shrewd. “Permit me to share with you my memories of that Cloudlands pirate who presumes to call himself a king.”
    Aranya quirked an eyebrow at him. “Surprise me.”
    * * * *
    Overnight, the eighty remaining Dragonships of the Sylakian flotilla rode out a menacing storm, anchored by sturdy hawsers as close to the ground as was safe. Lightning was always a danger to dirigibles. But with very few metal parts exposed to the atmosphere, the main peril was usually wind. Wind-shear could tumble a hapless vessel deep into the Cloudlands, killing all on board within a few breaths. Rabid windrocs, too, were a nuisance, tearing holes in a Dragonship’s sack to release precious hydrogen. If a Dragonship was caught too far from safe harbour, or ran low on meriatite, a quick death was assured.
    Aranya slept poorly, chained to her bed beneath the unsleeping gaze of two warriors. Evidently, Ignathion’s trust did not extend far when they bobbed fifteen feet or so above Gemalka’s sturdy massif. She dreamed of finding her