Now that the fire had taken the chill from his stiff claws, it was time to take care of the rest of his body. He dug into the pocket of his cloak and found a small ceramic flask that was stopped with a cork. He popped the cork to unleash the powerful, musk-sharp stench of goom, a powerful alcohol distilled from wild swamp cabbage and seasoned with cayenne. He tilted his head back and gulped down the eye-watering brew. The vapors gave his whole head a hot, buzzy feel.
Then, there was a whistling sound, and his right arm went numb. The flask tumbled from his suddenly useless claws, toppling to his chest. The goom spilled all over his torso. The burning sensation wasn’t unpleasant. He looked down, his eyes struggling to understand what he saw in the dim flicker of the fire. He found a stick jutting from his arm: a long, straight stick, decorated at the top with red feathers.
Dekron sniffed. Beneath the goom and the rising smoke, he detected a hint of fresh blood. He noticed the flask resting against his thigh. He reached for it, wondering if there was any goom left.
Another whistle.
Now there was a stick in his chest. He touched it with his left claw, stroking the red feathers, wondering if this was some sort of goom fantasy that made him imagine that he had sticks growing from him. Where the stick met his chest, air leaked with a bubbling hiss. It reminded him of the noise of Barnstack’s kettle.
He realized he was suddenly very tired. He fell onto his back. Spots danced before his eyes. It would be good to sleep. High in a nearby tree, the silhouette of a cloaked man crept among the branches.
CHAPTER NINE: PET
Murals covered the high ceilings of the grand dining hall. The scene displayed the true history of the world, according to dragons, as huge reptiles from a vanished age crawled from the swamps, took flight, and carved the world from untamed forests. In the shadows of the trees tiny humans looked on in awe of the ancestral dragons. There were other creation myths, of course, including legends of the world being born in the aftermath of a war between angels and dragons, but the biologians had persuaded most dragons to accept the non-mystical version of their origins.
No one had ever seen an ancestral dragon, of course. They’d lived long ago. But their bones were abundant in the rocks of the earth. Their black, polished skeletons decorated the halls of biologians, with the choicest relics finding their homes in the castles of sun-dragons. A stone skull as long as Jandra was tall hung on the wall at the head of the dining hall, its empty eyes glaring out over the room.
Beneath this stone skull, at the head of the dinner table heaped high with roasts and breads and fruits, sat the sun-dragon Chakthalla. Jandra thought that Chakthalla could pass as Tanthia’s double; the same poise and dignity possessed by the queen was reflected in Chakthalla’s noble features. Each scale of her face seemed crafted from rubies, carved in precise symmetry by a master jeweler. Her scales glimmered as they reflected the candlelight of the chandeliers. Chakthalla was the product of fine breeding, a dragon whom, long before her birth, had been sculpted by her bloodlines to possess a regal bearing.
Jandra wondered whether, perhaps, one reason why Chakthalla and Tanthia looked so similar to each other in her mind was because of the simple fact that she rarely was in the presence of female dragons. Dragon society was heavily patriarchal. Unlike most birds or reptiles, the winged dragons gave birth to live infants, and mortality during birth was high. It wasn’t unusual to encounter male dragons over a century old. Encountering a female over thirty was a rarity. This imbalance in the longevity of sexes allowed males to control nearly all the wealth of the kingdom. Only the occasional widowed female sun-dragon might hold a position of authority as Chakthalla did. And, at least sun-dragons formed families, where males and females lived together. With sky-dragons like Vendevorex, the segregation of sexes was total, with the males and females living in completely different towns, and mating being a carefully choreographed affair based completely on compatable genetics. For sky-dragons, mating was a purely biological activity, and concepts such as romance, love, or even family were pointless constructs invented by more muddled thinkers.
Seated next to Chakthalla was a human male, perhaps five years older than Jandra. Like his owner, the man was the product of excellent breeding. He was handsome to a fault with long blond hair and chiseled features. His bronzed skin glowed; his broad smile revealed teeth white as porcelain. He was dressed in silk, his clothing cut to show off his tight, well-muscled physique. Jandra hadn’t been properly introduced to him yet-she’d only heard Chakthalla refer to him as “Pet.”
“Pet,” Chakthalla said. “Show Vendevorex your little trick. The one with the apple.”
“Yes, Mother,” Pet answered, smiling as he stood in his seat and stepped onto the table.
Pet somersaulted gracefully across the dishes, darting his hand out as he passed over the fruit dish. He landed on his feet, now holding an apple and a napkin in one hand and a silver knife in the other. He threw the knife and apple straight into the air and in rapid motion tied the napkin around his face. He knotted the impromptu blindfold in time to snatch the falling knife and apple.
The items didn’t remain in his grasp for even a second. The apple left his hand, then the knife, and soon both floated in a constant arc above his head, his hands merely tapping them as they reached the bottom of the circle.
Jandra watched the performance, impressed by Pet’s skill, yet vaguely disturbed by the scene. She had been relieved to learn that Chakthalla would allow her to eat at the dinner table with Vendevorex. Some dragons allowed humans at dinner tables only on platters as the main course. Chakthalla’s liberal attitude toward human companions was obviously shaped by her love of Pet. That bothered Jandra as she watched Pet perform like a tamed bear. She wondered how many hours of practice he’d put into the act solely to please Chakthalla.
Pet sliced the apple in half midair and then sent the pieces up in the air to be quartered. With a flick of his wrists, two of the quarters went flying, one landing in the center of Chakthalla’s plate, the other landing slightly to the side of Vendevorex’s. Pet caught the third quarter in his mouth as he pulled his blindfold free with a flourish and bowed. Jandra lost track of where the final quarter of the apple landed.
“Very good, Pet,” said Chakthalla.
Pet bit a chunk from his apple, swallowed, then said, “Oh, but Mother, I have been remiss. It seems not everyone was served.”
Pet back-flipped from the table landing next to Jandra. He stood with such grace that Jandra suddenly felt clumsy merely sitting still. Now that he stood close to her she noted the breathtaking jade color of his eyes.
“It wouldn’t do to have this lovely lady go without her share,” Pet said, taking Jandra’s hand. His long slender fingers were softer than her own; his nails were trimmed in perfect arcs. Pet turned her palm upward, revealing the last quarter of the apple in the center of it. He closed her fingers around it, then leaned and kissed the back of her hand with his warm pink lips.
“How sweet,” Chakthalla said. “I think Pet likes your little Jandy.”
“Jandra,” Vendevorex corrected.
Pet returned to his seat next to Chakthalla. The regal dragon reached out her bejeweled talon to stroke his long blond hair. He rolled his eyes with pleasure. Jandra felt slightly ill.
She was bothered that Pet called Chakthalla “Mother.” Though she never addressed him as such, she sometimes thought of Vendevorex as a father. He had raised her for as long as she could remember. Since her true parents had died when she was only an infant, Vendevorex was the closest thing to a parent she would ever have.