At least I could use the information they provided to care better for the new arrivals. Qurrat was not nearly so warm as the Jefi would be by now, so we used braziers to warm the egg sands, trying to approximate the temperatures that would prevail farther south. While I waited for those to hatch, I tried to devise an exercise regimen for our adult drakes, on the theory that aggravating them into movement would improve their health and therefore their behaviour. I also kept watch on the ongoing honeyseeker project, as well as observing the juvenile drakes in their growth (and trying a few ill-fated experiments involving proximity between them and the adults)—in short, I tried to do the work of two people, and got very little sleep as a result.
A bare week into this, I said peevishly to Andrew, “Give me one good reason I should not simply sleep here.”
My brother gaped at me. “Here? You mean—in your office?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no room for a pallet; I’d have to roll it up every morning or be stepping on it all day. But there are empty rooms. Surely I could use one.”
“Why would you do that, when you have a perfectly good room in the city?”
I rose from my chair and paced restlessly. Even though I was tired, the whirl of thoughts in my head made it difficult to sit still. “Because it is in the city. I waste too much time coming and going from there. Not to mention the concerns about sabotage. What if the Yelangese take it into their heads to attack me there? Should I endanger Shimon and Aviva, just because they were willing to have me in their house?”
That sobered Andrew. “Even so—Isabella, this is a military post. Well, sort of. My point is, you’d be sleeping down the hall from military men.”
“The same military men to whom I am already entrusting my safety. I fail to see why closer residence should be a problem.” My tone dared him to argue.
Andrew dragged at the front of his uniform, making an exaggerated face. “You realize what will happen if you do this, don’t you? I’ll have to start sleeping here.”
I stopped in my tracks, startled. “You mean—you haven’t been?”
“No. At least, not all nights.” He reddened. “I, ah—made alternate arrangements.”
One part of me very much wanted to ask what those were; the other part very much did not. There are things I feel it is best not to know about the private life of one’s brother. “I am sure I can manage very well on my own.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can. The question is whether anybody else can cope with you managing.” Andrew sighed dramatically. “I’ll talk to Pensyth.”
Unlike my brother, Pensyth was in favour of the arrangement, as it saved him the trouble of sending an armed guard to collect me from the Segulist Quarter every morning. A bedroom was made up for me, with a local girl visiting daily to help out; I took this as a positive sign, since anything that made my circumstances here seem more permanent argued in favour of the programme continuing. In order to encourage this thinking, I slept there the very next night—and that is how I came to be present when the House of Dragons was lit on fire.
We had men keeping watch, of course, but we had not fortified the place as well as we might. In the small hours of the night someone lofted an incendiary device through one of the broken shutters, and another was set at the shed where we kept feed for the livestock. A third I think was meant for the egg sands, but it caught in one of the spindly trees that remained from the estate’s long-dead gardens, leaving the branches burning like a torch.
By the time I stumbled out of bed, the soldiers were rallying to fight the various blazes. I stared at the dancing flames, a sheet clutched around me as a nod to modesty. Indecision paralyzed me: what should I rush to save? The eggs? Our records? The adult drakes could survive well enough; they were out in the open, away from anything that could easily burn, and were resilient against fire besides, on account of their extraordinary breath. But the juveniles… their enclosures were much closer to the flames, and smoke inhalation could be a very real danger, especially for those whose health was not good.
I hurried toward that building, hiking up the sheet so I would not trip over its edge. The air was hazed enough to sting my lungs, though I had not begun coughing yet. I reached the building where we kept the juveniles and wrenched the door open, heart full of fear at what I might find.
The air inside was surprisingly clear, on account of being closed off. It would have been better to keep it that way, but I had no lantern, and did not want to fumble around looking for one. Instead I opened one of the windows, admitting enough moonlight for me to see my charges.
Most of them were awake, roused by the noise outside. They came to the bars of their cages as I approached, poking their muzzles through the gaps, snapping at me as if to ask why I had not brought any food. I knew better than to reach out, the way I might have with dogs or horses; they did not want their heads scratched for reassurance. Trying would only lose me a finger. But I peered closely at them, looking for signs of impending asphyxia, and found none. Even the ones that had not gotten up were only sleeping, occasionally cracking an eye to glare at those who disturbed their rest.
So far, then, they were safe enough. But if the fire spread, that might change very rapidly.
What would I do if it did? Set the juveniles loose? Some of them were relatively harmless—like Lumpy, who could not move fast enough to catch anybody who saw him coming. But the eldest, feisty Ascelin, was a different matter. It was even possible he could fly away, though his wings had not seen much exercise in his life.
Would I risk that in order to avoid suffocating him with smoke? I barely even had to ask myself that question before I had my answer:
Yes, I would.
All of that, however, was putting the cart before the horse. Such measures might not even be necessary. If I opened another set of shutters, I would be able to see the fire and make a more educated decision. Before I could move, though, someone else came through the door.
The angle of the moonlight left his face in shadow. All I had to go on was his silhouette, which showed me the hunched posture of a man who does not want to be seen. He froze when he spotted me, and in one hand he clutched something I could not make out. Then he lifted it, and the blade caught the light.
It was a sword.
And not an Akhian scimitar, either. The blade was straight, its style unfamiliar to me. I did not need to know its type, though, to make the appropriate calculations. The cages were large enough that he would not be able to kill the juveniles if they hung well back… but some of them would not, especially if they smelled blood. Oh yes: I had no doubt that this man had come here to kill our immature drakes. He seemed too surprised to find me there for me to think I was his target.
I stood motionless, my back to the cages. I had no weapon with me; I had even dropped my bedsheet during the inspection. Armed with nothing more than my nightgown, I had no chance against that long blade.
He snapped something in a language I did not understand. The sound of it, though, told me what the shadows had hidden.