"That crazy old man? What do you want with him?"
"Things happened so fast the last time I saw him," she said. As she spoke, the look of vulnerability faded from her features. Pet noticed that when there was something she wanted to do, she always summoned the strength to do it. "One second, I was trying to help Bitterwood find his lost family. The next, he was shouting at me to go away. I never got the chance to tell him something that he needs to know."
"Which is?"
"Bitterwood thought his family had been killed by dragons. But I think his son, Adam, might be alive. He wasn't listed in Albekizan's slave records. I knew Bitterwood's daughters, and they told me that their grandmother had taken their baby brother when the dragons raided their village. She jumped into the well to hide. They didn't know if Adam survived the raid, but they knew he wasn't taken captive."
"Don't you remember how callously Bitterwood treated us?" Pet asked. "He left us to die. Why do you owe that monster anything?"
"Bitterwood wasn't entirely a monster. There was a little girl with us when we were captured. Her name was Zeeky. He treated her in a kind and fatherly way. And while you take credit for the victory in the Free City-a victory I believe you actually owe to Vendevorex-Bitterwood is the one who really won the war. He's the one who killed Albekizan."
"And no one has seen him since," said Pet. "Just because they didn't find his body when they searched the river doesn't mean he's still alive."
"He's alive," she said. "I've asked around. Some of the people in Richmond saw an old man and a little girl riding an ox-dog west along the river. I'm positive it's them."
"Assuming it was, if Bitterwood's lived this long without knowing his son might be alive, he can wait a bit longer. Don't go off chasing some man who doesn't want to see you again. I need you here by my side, Jandra."
"Pet, I'm not going to sleep with you. Just give up."
"No," he knelt in front of her, so she could better see his face. All his life he was acting, but now he wanted the masks he wore to slip away. He tried to project sincerity as he spoke. "I mean, yes, I'll give up trying to seduce you. I want you here because you're smart and you're brave and you're tough. Maybe you don't feel like a human, but you're a better human than me. I need you beside me at the summit."
"Aren't you up to the job?"
Pet took a long, deep breath, then shook his head. "No," he said. "We both know I'm a fraud. You're right-I did nothing to win the battle of the Free City. Two prophets, Ragnar and Kamon, rallied their followers to fight for me; they did all the work. And, you're right about Vendevorex. We would have been slaughtered if he hadn't shown up. My sole contribution to the battle was to stand before the crowd and look heroic."
"Yeah," she said. "You do look the part."
Pet grinned. He couldn't believe she'd finally given him a compliment! He returned to his attempt at sincere confession. "We both know I'm the worst person imaginable to have at that table. I've spent my life trying to please sun-dragons. I'm worse than a slave. I've lived as a sun-dragon's pet."
Jandra shook her head. "I'm no better," she said. "I grew up feeling like the daughter of a dragon. I've never known any human family. I'm told my parents are dead, but does that mean I'm all alone? What if I have sisters, or a brother, or even grandparents still alive? The horrible thing is, I wouldn't know what to say to them if they found me. Look at my wardrobe. I dress in gowns with fabrics that resemble the scales of dragons. I braid feathers into my hair to look like the neck fringes of sky-dragons."
"A very fetching look, may I say," Pet said. "You grew up in a palace. You can't be expected to dress in burlap sacks."
"I know. But it's my dreams that frighten me. In my dreams, I'm a dragon. I dream constantly of flying."
"Ah," said Pet. He was bonding with Jandra at last, and he did know something about her particular condition. He reached out and took her hand, cupping it gently with his. "Dreams of flying are usually dreamt by women who are still virgins. They're a symptom of sexual frustration. Perhaps-"
"Perhaps if you leave right now I won't slap you," she said, jerking her hand away.
From the look in her eyes, he could tell she meant it. He stood up, stretching his back. "You can't blame me for trying."
"Just leave," she said, looking down once more at the skull cap. "I was actually starting to feel a little sympathy for you. I should have known it was only another seduction ploy."
Pet turned and walked across the vast and empty room. Flattery hadn't worked on Jandra, lies hadn't gotten him anywhere, and now the truth had failed. For a brief instant, a new and strange thought flickered across his mind: perhaps, if he wished to have her by his side, he should be prepared to accept her as a friend. Instead of constant attempts at seduction, he should simply value her for her fine qualities and welcome her into his life as an equal, or even a superior, rather than as just another conquest. He truly did want her to stand beside him at the upcoming summit. He honestly admired her courage and her convictions. He glanced back across the lonely room. She was standing now, studying herself in a full-length mirror. She was beautiful, slender and virginal, and once more had that vulnerable lost look upon her face. He wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. When he saw her again, he would work on winning her as a friend. Perhaps then she'd be easier to seduce.
As the door to the star-shaped chamber closed, Jandra looked back over her shoulder. She almost felt like chasing after Pet. He wasn't the best of company, but being alone in this room was painful.
For as long as she could remember, this tower had been her home. Once, its walls had been lined with thick, leather-bound tomes and countless parchment scrolls. The interior had been a forest of tables covered with vials and beakers and magnifying lenses of the finest quality.
"The world thinks of what we do as magic," Vendeovorex had told her. "Their ignorance is an important source of our power. We do not manipulate supernatural forces. We move matter and light according to inalterable rules, using tools that must remain invisible to others."
In this room, she'd learned to understand the building blocks of the material world, and the countless ways these blocks could be pulled apart and placed back together. Using her "magic" was an art, a kind of sculpting on the finest scale imaginable.
Of course, all of the tools of teaching were gone now. The king's wicked brother Blasphet had taken command of this tower after he'd been released from the dungeon. He'd turned the room into a torture chamber. Earth-dragons had since cleaned, mopped all the dried blood and gore, and returned Jandra's possessions to their former positions. Now her every step echoed in the vacant chamber. Moonlight seeped through the high windows, painting the marble floors with ghostly shapes. Not that Jandra believed in ghosts. Vendevorex had raised her as a strict materialist, and had always been dismissive of the spiritual world.
"There are indeed realities in this world that cannot be seen," he had said. "We move through a world of fields and forces. We control machines too small for the eyes to discern. We are masters of an unseen world-but the invisible is not the same as the supernatural."
Jandra studied her face in the mirror. In her old life, when she'd looked into this same glass, she'd been staring at the face of a naive and innocent girl. She'd been through so much since then. She'd nearly died. She'd felt her life slipping between her fingers in warm gushes. What's more, she'd learned to kill. She'd heard the gurgling, wet gasping breaths of a dragon dying by her hands. She closed her eyes, and all the violence of the recent months washed through her mind. She'd learned to fight when she had no strength to fight. She'd learned to live for days in clothes caked and clotted with blood.