The oncoming storm that blackened the western skies smelled of lightning and cut grass and fresh warm water, a lake’s worth of it. The rainy season in the lowlands had proved to be more uncomfortable than the hot, drier spring had been. Lamprophyre had thought rain would keep the temperature low, but all it had done was saturate the air the sun heated to an unbearable level so it clung to her scales and wings like a caul. On the worst days, the ones where clouds didn’t dim the sun and any movement felt like swimming in soup, she napped fitfully in her hall and dreamed of crisp, cold mountain air, of sleeping on chilled stone in a cave warmed by her body heat, and woke to the unpleasant reality of Gonjiri in summer.
Rokshan never seemed disturbed by the weather, but humans were acclimated to the lowlands in a way no dragon could ever be. He wore long-sleeved linen shirts regardless of how hot it was, which made Lamprophyre’s heart ache for him because she knew his clothing choice had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with the burn scars she still had never seen. It wasn’t something she could task him with, not even on days like today when there was no one else around and he was perched comfortably in the notch behind her shoulders. Once again, she promised herself she’d find a time to discuss the forbidden subject, and once again she knew she was lying to herself.
Lamprophyre eyed the clouds and calculated how long it would take for the storm to arrive. More than a thousand beats, which was more than long enough for her purposes. The wind blowing those clouds in her direction buffeted her, prompting her to put her back to the wind so she didn’t have to close the nictitating membranes over her eyes. She wanted to see this through to the end, even though it had been Rokshan’s idea and she wasn’t totally sure it was a good one.
“I’m not sure this was a good idea,” Rokshan shouted. “The soldiers are all distracted.” He shifted his weight so he was leaning over her left shoulder, putting more of her body between himself and the wind. Below them, the great granite wall of Tanajital loomed dully, its usual sparkle dimmed by the overcast. Soldiers thronged its wooden wall-walk, all of them intent not on potential enemies approaching from the north, but on the colorful specks speeding along the southern wall, on the far side of the city. Lamprophyre decided not to say she’d told him this might happen.
“Too late now,” she said instead. The specks were moving fast enough around the curve of the wall that already they were visible as colored blotches, red and midnight blue and tarnished silver and, ugh, grass-green. In another beat or so, they were recognizable as dragons.
Despite herself, Lamprophyre’s heart raced with excitement. Rokshan had been right about one thing for sure: there was nothing in the world to beat the sight of a magnificent, powerful creature in motion. She wasn’t racing because she feared her rider losing his seat, and also because the dragon ambassador losing might look bad, but watching was almost as good. Now, if only Porphyry would pull ahead…
The dragons were headed directly for her. Lamprophyre resisted the urge to fly backward, out of their path. Dragons never collided with each other intentionally, and moving would just make her look stupid. Rokshan clutched her ruff more securely, but gave no other sign that he felt nervous in the face of four dragons barreling down upon them. Closer, closer…Porphyry was right on Coquina’s flank—
—and the dragons swept past, four streaks of color that separated to fly in all directions as they shed momentum. Lamprophyre ground her back teeth together. She’d promised not to compare herself to Coquina anymore, not after the illuminating conversation she’d had with her mother Hyaloclast about Coquina’s true merits or lack thereof, but old reactions died hard, and seeing Coquina fly past head and neck in front of Porphyry irritated her. She put on a pleasant smile and flew to where her clutchmates had gathered in the lee of the city wall, their eyes dilated and their breathing heavy from their exertions.
“Coquina wins again,” she said. “That’s three out of five.”
“I’m just lucky,” Coquina said with a laugh and a flutter of her wings that pretended to humility. Lamprophyre resisted the urge to grind her teeth again. Coquina was pretty and fast, both of which qualities Coquina had Mother Stone to thank for rather than her own perseverance in developing them, though Coquina persisted in acting as if possessing them made her superior.
“I don’t know why we bother,” Orthoclase said, flapping his wings in a leisurely fashion at odds with his breathless voice. “Only Chrysoprase can beat her every time, and she thinks it’s beneath her dignity to race younglings.”
“As if Chrysoprase weren’t only twenty-seven years older than us,” Flint said. He stretched, showing off his shapely, muscular torso, a move that on anyone else would have indicated vanity. “She thinks being a mother means she has to protect her dignity.”
“What does a dragon mother do to raise her child?” Rokshan asked. “I thought dragons didn’t care as much about parentage as they do about their clutch or their respect for Hyaloclast.”
“That’s when we’re adults,” Porphyry said. His scales, red as ripening cherries, were darker in the light from the oncoming storm and became even darker as he did a slow loop in midair. “Dragons can’t fly until they’re fifteen, so they need to be watched before that so they don’t venture into places they can’t get out of, or might fall off of.”
“And they need feeding,” Flint added, “particularly the males, who can’t cook their own food. So mothers and fathers take care of their physical needs, and they also tell stories so the dragonets learn their history.”
“Chrysoprase is overprotective,” Coquina said. “Pyrope is eighteen, but her mother still keeps her close to the nest. It’s ridiculous.”
“There’s nothing ridiculous about caring about your child’s safety,” Lamprophyre said. “And Pyrope is accident-prone. Remember when she climbed up to that ledge looking for garnet and got stuck? It was almost two thousand beats before anyone figured out where she’d gone.”
“That was when she was ten, Lamprophyre,” Coquina said. “And Chrysoprase has been overprotective ever since. I know if I had a child, I wouldn’t want it to grow up frightened and stunted.” She cast a quick glance at Flint, who was looking back at the city wall and missed her coquettish look. Lamprophyre, who hadn’t missed it at all, wondered once more if Flint knew Coquina was pursuing him. He was too smart to be ignorant of her flirtation, but he’d never once acknowledged it, and Lamprophyre couldn’t tell if maybe he really was ignorant, after all.
“We should go,” Rokshan said. He pointed up. “The soldiers are still staring. They’re supposed to be alert to threats, not watching dragons. Sorry. I didn’t realize, when I suggested racing, that it would draw their attention so thoroughly.”
“But it proves you were right, Rokshan,” Orthoclase said, “about humans being interested in dragon races. I didn’t hear a single frightened thought the whole time we were up there. Though I wasn’t really listening. Too busy eating Coquina’s dust.”
Coquina laughed again. This time, it was a more brittle sound, and to her surprise Lamprophyre felt sorry for her clutchmate. She was almost certain Coquina had only set her sights on Flint because he was gorgeous, but if she felt genuine affection for him, how terrible if he really didn’t care for her. Lamprophyre almost listened to Coquina’s thoughts, but eavesdropping was bad manners, and she didn’t want to fall into old habits of being obsessed with Coquina.
They flew lazily back to the warehouse district, not needing to race the storm, though Lamprophyre suspected she and Rokshan would get a little wet returning to the embassy after seeing the others to guest quarters. Humans thronged the streets below, heading for shelter. None of them looked up or pointed in amazement; none of them gave the dragons more than a passing thought. That was another thing Rokshan had been right about. Nine twelvedays before, when they’d arranged to rent these warehouses as temporary homes for dragons visiting Tanajital, he’d said, “Humans don’t stay amazed at the extraordinary long. Soon enough, extraordinary becomes normal, and then normal becomes taken for granted. You’ll see.” Based on the thoughts she overheard from below, dragons—at least these dragons—were definitely taken for granted.
The streets surrounding the warehouses were wide enough for dragons to land on, and once humans had become accustomed to their draconic neighbors, they’d stopped using those streets entirely. Lamprophyre never feared stepping on humans here. Even so, today she hovered rather than landing, saying, “Are any of you going home this evening?”
“I have business with a stone supplier,” Orthoclase said. “He has some stone I’ve never tasted. You’ll all love it once I’ve worked out what else to pair it with.”
His clutchmates laughed. “We eat better than anyone in the flight thanks to you,” Porphyry said. “I’m staying the night. Don’t feel like flying as late as that storm will require.” Flint nodded agreement. Coquina just shrugged and walked into her warehouse.
“All right, then I’ll see you in the morning,” Lamprophyre said, flapping hard to propel herself skyward. She felt Rokshan wave at her clutchmates, and then the two of them were high over Tanajital and headed for the embassy.
Fat drops of rain had begun to fall when she descended to the courtyard in front of the embassy and hurried inside before crouching to let Rokshan climb down. She turned so she could watch the rain fall and settled herself comfortably on her stomach. “It’s still pretty,” she said, “even though I’m ready for the rainy season to be over.”
“We have another couple of months before that happens,” Rokshan said. He settled himself in the cross-legged position that always made Lamprophyre’s hips ache just looking at it. “That’s five twelvedays.”
“I’m getting used to human time measurements, too,” Lamprophyre said. “Though I still have to count it out in my head. Maybe someday it will be more natural.”
Rokshan nodded. “Odd,” he said. “I smell cooking. Isn’t it a little early for Depik to make supper?”
“It’s not supper, it’s soup,” Lamprophyre said. “It’s for the beggars.”
Rokshan’s eyebrows rose in an expression of disbelief. “Soup for beggars? Why is Depik making soup for beggars?”
“He wanted to help our neighborhood,” Lamprophyre explained. “Because he needed help for so long, and now he’s in a position to help others. I don’t always use all the meat from a cow or a pig, and he asked if I minded him using the scraps and the bones to feed the hungry. Though it’s not always just the hungry. Anamika and Varnak sometimes get permission from their parents to eat here. But mostly it’s beggars.”
“Lamprophyre,” Rokshan began, then fell silent. She recognized the expression he got when she came up with a question that had a complicated, human answer. “Lamprophyre,” he went on, “you’re an ambassador. I’m not sure you should be feeding beggars out of the embassy. No human ambassador would do such a thing.”
“I’m not human,” she pointed out, “and I don’t see why not. Maybe Tanajital is welcoming of dragons now, but it can’t hurt to build goodwill, just in case. And Depik was so excited about his idea, I didn’t want to turn him down. He’s had fewer bad days in the last month, and while I don’t think his illness is cured, this certainly seems to have made a difference.”
Rokshan shook his head slowly. “I can’t argue with your logic. It’s just an unusual idea most humans wouldn’t have—but you’re not human, yes, I’m aware.” He chuckled. “I don’t know why I’m objecting. This plan of Depik’s will probably end up having unexpected and positive side effects, just like everything you do.”
“I’m glad you can see sense.” She settled herself more comfortably on the floor and closed her eyes. The rain rattled the roof tiles and occasionally blew through the window holes near the ceiling, spattering her hindquarters in a not-unpleasant way. Beside her, Rokshan leaned against her side, tucking himself into the crease of her shoulder. It was so restful, sitting and napping with a friend.
She’d almost drifted off to sleep when she heard Rokshan say, “There’s someone I want you to meet. A friend of mine. A, um, female friend.”
She blinked and shifted a little, not enough to dislodge Rokshan. “A female friend? Or do you mean more than a friend?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Rokshan laughed, a little self-consciously. “Nevrita’s attractive, she’s intelligent and funny, so I’m not sure what she sees in me—”
“Don’t be derogatory of yourself. That makes you look weak and stupid, and you’re neither of those things.”
This time, his laugh was amused and unforced. “Sorry. I meant that as a joke, but—anyway. I met her at a concert hosted by Lady Tanura, where it turned out we both like the same composers, and then she was a guest at the reception for the new Rezmish ambassador, so we talked some more, and I’ve seen her several times since then. She’s interesting, and I like her, and I think it might be more than just liking.”
“I was at that reception, and I don’t remember meeting anyone named Nevrita.”
“You didn’t. Remember, you left early? She arrived after that.”
An unexpected pang of jealousy stabbed through Lamprophyre. “And you’re just now telling me about her?”
“Why are you upset? I wasn’t sure this was anything more than casual acquaintance, and I didn’t see the point of doing something so dramatic as introducing her to my best friend until I knew she was someone I wanted you to meet.”
“Best friend” comforted Lamprophyre and made her feel stupid about her reaction. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’d like to meet her, if she’s as interesting as you make her sound.”
“She is. She’s never met a dragon before, and she seemed excited when I suggested I introduce you. Maybe in a few days?”
“I look forward to it.” She closed her eyes again and felt Rokshan relax into her side. So. Rokshan hadn’t had any romantic relationships since she’d met him last spring, and after he’d been burned badly by a Fanishkorite spy wielding a fire-blasting artifact, she’d wondered if he felt uncomfortable getting close to a female human. He’d said something along those lines that day, but they hadn’t discussed it since. If he liked this Nevrita, and Nevrita liked him, Lamprophyre was happy for him. And she wasn’t going to let a stupid irrational jealousy affect how she treated the female. It wasn’t as if Rokshan would stop being her friend just because he started a new and different relationship.
She let the pounding of the rain lull her to sleep, and woke to find the noise had ceased and the air was cool and fresh. It was the only thing about lowland weather she enjoyed, the pause after the storm before the sun could once again heat the air hotter than dragon’s breath. They didn’t have anything like it in the mountains.
Beside her, Rokshan stretched and got to his feet. “That soup smells amazing,” he said. “I’m almost tempted to become a beggar.”
“You can have some without being a beggar,” Lamprophyre said. “Though aren’t you supposed to attend a banquet at the palace tonight?”
Rokshan groaned. “It’s Khadar’s birthday. I wish I could gracefully break my leg or something to get out of it. He’s always so insufferable, as if birthdays were invented solely to benefit him.”
“I’m too big to fit into the banquet hall,” Lamprophyre said, not concealing her relief.
“I wish I could ask Nevrita to accompany me, but singling her out like that would have my parents all over me, wanting to know when we’re getting married. So I’ll have to suffer alone.” Rokshan stretched, making his joints pop in a way Lamprophyre hated. Humans were so fragile, she always expected him to snap his bones or pop his arms from their sockets. “Have a nice meal, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lamprophyre followed him out into the courtyard and watched until he disappeared up the street. The earth of the courtyard, hard-packed from generations of human feet, always had its top layer stirred up by heavy rains, and the mud clung unpleasantly to Lamprophyre’s feet and tail when she incautiously let it sweep the ground. She tried wiping off the dirt, but it just clung to her hand instead. Irritated, she scooped water from the brim-full rain barrel and washed her hand, then entered the dining pavilion and settled herself in her accustomed place near the kitchen.
Depik came around the corner and bowed. “If you’re ready, supper’s near done,” he said. “And the soup is ready.”
“It really is a lot of work, making the soup and then washing all those bowls,” Lamprophyre said, remembering Rokshan’s dubiousness. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“My lady,” Depik said with a frown, “you’ve never been hungry, truly hungry. I have. I remember how it feels. I’d wash a thousand bowls if it meant sending these people away full.”
“I understand, a little,” Lamprophyre said, feeling abashed. “And I agree that it’s satisfying to help.” She stood until she towered over the kitchen wall, which was taller than Depik but still only half as tall as she was at full height. “Let me handle the soup cauldron, and you can carry the bowls and spoons.”
The cauldron wasn’t very big, not nearly the size of the one Depik used to cook soup for her, and she lifted it easily and set it down near the entrance to the pavilion, opposite the rain barrel. Depik set down a stack of wooden bowls as the first of the evening’s beggars approached. She and Depik had been providing soup for almost a twelveday, but those who came for a meal were still timid, even the ones Lamprophyre recognized as repeat visitors. She watched as they filled their bowls and retreated into the courtyard to eat. Some of them brought their own bowls, but even they stayed to eat, watching Lamprophyre as if they expected her to do something interesting.
Depik rolled out the trolley containing the evening’s half a cow, expertly butchered and cooked to perfection, and Lamprophyre tore happily into the meat and idly listened to the thoughts of her “guests.” The ones she saw regularly interested her, like the woman with two children in tow—all right, that was less interesting and more heartbreaking. The woman’s thoughts were always focused on her children, but Lamprophyre wished she knew her story, why she had no mate—or maybe she did, and he wasn’t capable of helping to provide for his family. It wasn’t something Lamprophyre felt comfortable asking.
There was the young man with only one leg; Lamprophyre tried not to stare, but that wasn’t something that ever happened to dragons and she almost couldn’t help herself. There was the old man whose wispy white hair flew in all directions like one of those flowers that broke apart into a thousand fluffy seeds. His thoughts were chaotic, unintelligible except for the occasional snatch of coherent language, can’t find my way or it speaks like thunder, and his constant smile and vacant eyes reminded her of the dragon Gabbro, who’d needed help to find his way to Mother Stone when his madness took him completely.
And there was the odd woman who didn’t look like a beggar at all. Her clothes were finely stitched and dyed a rich purple and blue, and she wore a faceted garnet the width of Lamprophyre’s thumb in a setting of gold wire wrapped around her upper left arm. That alone told Lamprophyre she was wealthy, or had wealthy friends. Her thoughts were always amused, as if she were laughing at the people around her, and Lamprophyre couldn’t decide if she disliked the woman or not.
Depik came to supervise serving the soup, and Lamprophyre ate and watched the humans. Dragons took care of each other, and this was a way in which humans did the same, but she knew it wasn’t a universal trait. For every human they fed that night, a dozen or more elsewhere in Tanajital or in the other cities of Gonjiri would go hungry. She understood why Rokshan was so skeptical of Depik’s efforts; when she thought about how many humans were in need, she knew it was impossible to help them all. And yet not helping when she was capable felt wrong. She could only do her best, and hope it made a difference to some.
She finished her meal before the last of the soup was served, so she sat and watched the beggars in silence until they’d all departed, the wealthy woman with a nod and a smile for Lamprophyre as if she knew what Lamprophyre thought of her. Then Lamprophyre lifted the cauldron into the kitchen to be washed, waved good night to Depik, and entered the embassy. Rokshan was probably still at supper, listening to Khadar talk about how wonderful he was. Much as she enjoyed being with Rokshan, she didn’t envy him his supper companion tonight. Khadar, the Fifth Ecclesiast and a powerful religious figure, didn’t like her any more than she liked him, and since he always found a way to steer conversations around to how she was a heretic for not believing in his religion, she was just as happy to have been excluded from the birthday celebration.
She settled in to sleep, watching the lazy evening sunlight slant across the courtyard and illuminate the end of the street that terminated there. Maybe she should make an effort to get to know the people they fed, now that they had regulars. She fell asleep imagining a conversation with the old man, whose thoughts floated as madly as his hair, and who told her a secret she couldn’t remember come the morning.