"I knew securing hostages would solve the problem. How are the prisoners faring?"
Rhespen smiled. "They've adjusted well. Indeed, they've become so enamored of life in Dawnfire that, when the time comes to send them home, we might have to prod them forth at spearpoint."
Orchtrien laughed, suffusing the air with warmth. "Even the lovely Winterflower?"
Yes, Rhespen thought, to say the least. Over the course of the past two months, Winterflower had immersed herself in the life of the city and the amusements of the court with a relish that astonished him. It was as if she, a creature of passionate extremes, must either hate or love her captivity, and upon recognizing the bleak futility of the former course had committed herself heart and soul to the latter.
Or perhaps it was her affection for him and desire to share in his life that accounted for the change. For though both had tried in vain to stifle the burgeoning feeling-it was reckless for a jailer to grow overly fond of his prisoner, and her kin, still rebels at heart, would scarcely have approved-a tenderness had flowered between them. Indeed, for his part, it was a love deeper than he'd ever felt for any other woman.
But he saw no reason to discuss such intimate matters with Orchtrien, so he simply said, "Even her."
"I intend to host a revel to celebrate our conquests," said the gold. "She must attend, and sing again." His yellow eyes shined brighter. "Something less suggestive this time. I prefer to avoid the inconvenience of any more shattered floors."
As Rhespen and Winterflower approached the arched doorway with its frame of gems and precious metals, her face turned pale, and the blue, gold-flecked eyes rolled up in her head. Her knees gave way.
Rhespen caught her before she could fall. Heedless of the curious stares and questions of other nobles en route to the ball, he carried her into a velvet-curtained alcove provided to serve the requirements of overstimulated revelers desirous of a moment's quiet, or lovers in need of a trysting place.
He set her on a divan, then murmured a petty charm of enhanced vitality. It proved sufficient to rouse her, and her eyelids fluttered open.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Are you ill?"
"Afraid," she replied.
He took her hand. Her fingers were cold. "Of what?"
"Need you ask? I haven't seen Orchtrien since the night I insulted him."
"But I have, and I promise, he has no wish to punish you."
"How can you be certain? Perhaps this is a cruel game. He invites me to a dance, I enter the hall anticipating only merriment, and the torturers seize me."
Rhespen shook his head. "I've told you before, youVe listened to too many gruesome stories. I've heard them too, tales of whimsical atrocities perpetrated by dragon tyrants, and I daresay some of them are true. But true about reds, or blacks, or greens. The golds possess a nobler temperament."
"Orchtrien marches company after company off to perish in his wars. He was willing to risk your death for a moment's diversion, with never a thought that such an attitude was callous or unjust. We're lesser creatures in his eyes, to exploit as he sees fit."
He sighed. "I thought I'd weaned you away from such notions. I hope that in fact, I have, and it's just anxiety stirring up their ghosts."
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, perhaps. I want to believe you. I know you wouldn't bring me to him if you thought he meant me harm."
"Of course not. So compose yourself, and we'll make our entrance. The sooner we do, the sooner you'll see that everything truly is all right."
As they descended the wide marble stairs, the rich but lively harmonies of the orchestra rose to greet them, while dancers spun and leaped on the floor below. Most wore some garment of cloth-of-gold, golden jewelry, or both in honor of the king, and in the aggregate, moving as one in time to the music, they resembled gleaming statuary sprung to joyous life.
It was a splendid sight, but Rhespen could tell Winterflower was still too frightened to appreciate it. She clenched his forearm as if to keep herself from plummeting into an abyss.
On such an occasion, etiquette didn't require newcomers to pay their respects to the king immediately, but Rhespen still thought they needed to get it over with. As soon as the music stopped, he led Winterflower to the center of the floor, where Orchtrien had stepped and whirled at the heart of the dance, and where he still stood chatting with his erstwhile partner, a youthful, auburn-haired human beauty newly arrived at court.
To participate in an amusement like the dance, the dragon had to change form, and tonight he'd chosen the semblance of a handsome elf with blond hair, golden eyes, and skin the color of bronze. When he noticed Rhespen and Winterflower approaching, he pivoted in their direction. In so doing, he turned his back on the human lass, who made a sour face at the sudden loss of his attention.
"My friends!" the dragon said.
Winterflower curtsied, and Rhespen bowed. "Good evening, Majesty," the wizard said.
"It is now that this lady has seen fit to grace us with her presence," Orchtrien said. "What will you sing for us, my dear?"
"A new ballad," said Winterflower, stammering almost imperceptibly, "to commemorate your victory over the green wyrms. I composed the tune myself-well, tweaked an old one, really-and one of the court poets helped me with the lyrics."
"It sounds splendid." He studied her features. "Yet you don't seem particularly eager to perform it, or to be here at all."
"I… I'm told that many singers feel faint before they take the stage. Your Majesty's court is an illustrious and demanding audience, and I'm not even a bard, just a girl with a habit of warbling for her own amusement."
"You're too modest," Orchtrien said. "I also worry you're less than completely forthcoming. I hope you're not afraid of me, Milady."
Winterflower hesitated. "Only to the extent that any subject fears the displeasure of the king."
"Well, stop it," said the drake. "I summoned you to Dawnfire to forge a bond of friendship between us, and so you could teach me to be a better sovereign to your people."
"Surely Lord Rhespen is well qualified to explain our needs."
"Oh, he does his best, but you possess qualities he lacks." To Rhespen's surprise, Orchtrien shot him a wink. "I'd love to hear your song now, assuming you feel up to it."
"Of course, Majesty." Though she masked it well, Rhespen could tell she was eager to embrace any excuse to distance herself from the gold.
Winterflower climbed onto the orchestra's platform to sing, and they, master musicians all, began to accompany her with the second verse. As before, the performance was fine enough to engage every listener, but this time, the sentiments expressed were so unobjectionable that not even Maldur could take them amiss.
"Delightful," murmured Orchtrien, amber eyes subtly aglow to reveal the drake within, "and the scent of treason clinging to her makes her all the more so."
Rhespen felt a twinge of uneasiness. "Majesty, I swear to you, Lady Winterflower's no traitor."
"Nonsense. All the hostages are rebels at heart, or at least they started out that way. That's why we caged them here, to subdue them. By gentler means than we usually employ, but still. You've managed the first stage admirably, and now that the wars are done until spring, I'll undertake the next."
When the song concluded, Orchtrien applauded loudest of anyone, and gave Winterflower a gold bracelet cast in the form of a coiled wyrm. He then led her to the center of the floor for several dances in succession, while various other ladies struggled to swallow their jealousy.
The dragon drew his captive close and whispered in her ear. Winterflower looked to Rhespen with trapped, frantic eyes. From across the hall, Maldur gave him a smirk.
Rhespen climbed the stairs to the archway, balked, then forced himself onward. A hundred years, he thought, I've served him faithfully for a hundred years. That surely counts for something.