dragons were generally ignored, and it would ruin everything if we were to reveal that we knew Krashath was more than a status symbol for the king.
So, keeping my eyes firmly on the king and away from Krashath, I checked the fit of Nason’s new coat. All the while, I tried to draw the attention of the grandvizier, to see if we couldn’t catch him alone or arrange to speak to him privately.
When I finally caught his eye, he came over to admire Nason’s new suit. I sidled over to Lord Arjas and waited until other courtiers joined us to praise our work. While Marta entertained them, I tapped the vizier’s elbow and murmured my request for a private audience.
“Why?” He looked frankly startled and his voice was a good deal louder than I would have liked.
“Um, well, I need to talk to you about … gaining citizenship. Of Citatie. Marta and I both,” I hedged. I had thought from the vizier’s worried looks the other day that he knew something was amiss, and perhaps he did, but it seemed that he was not expecting help from uppity female Feravelan tailors.
“Do you not have the proper permit to work here?” He looked scandalised.
I summoned my most winning smile. “Of course we do!” I made a mental note to see if Luka or one of the soldiers couldn’t forge one for us. “But it’s so hard to find a permanent place to live and work when one is a foreigner. We thought it might be easier if we were citizens.”
“I see.” But his brow was wrinkled in consternation. “Come to my study tomorrow, both of you, just after third bell, and we can speak about it.”
“Thank you.” My smile became even more genuine.
“You haven’t patted my dragon,” King Nasonannounced, pushing through the crowd of courtiers admiring his new coat. He grabbed my arm with one hand and Marta’s elbow with the other. She shot me a panicked look as the king marched us up the length of the throne room towards the coiled white form of Krashath. “Isn’t he magnificent?! The only white dragon ever hatched!” Nason let go of my arm to slap Krashath’s flank in a proprietary way.
A sharp flick of the dragon’s tail was the only sign that the white beast even felt Nason’s hand on him. I had expected something to show in his eyes at this cavalier treatment: a glimpse of disgust, of anger, but there was nothing, only two dead black pools that seemed to …
“Creel?” Marta’s hand on my arm drew me back to the present.
“Very nice, Your Majesty,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
“Pat him,” Nason ordered.
I felt my gorge rise as I reached out a tentative hand. Krashath shifted a little, obligingly moving closer to me. It struck me that he wasn’t disgusted at this condescending behaviour: he was forcing the king to ask this of me. Krashath
wanted
me to touch him, and his reasons could not be good.
May the Triunity for ever bless her; Marta came to my rescue and made another scene.
Just as my hand, flesh crawling, was about to touch Krashath’s flank, Marta announced to the room in generalthat she was feeling far too warm, and rather dizzy besides. I withdrew my hand and turned to look at her with feigned concern. She reeled towards me, one hand to her brow.
“Oh, help, Creel,” she cried out, and then fainted into my arms.
If I hadn’t seen her do this over a dozen times, I would have been quite worried for her. Her performance was very convincing, and the rest of the room was clearly taken in, rushing to offer cool drinks and a couch for her to rest on. But since she was justly proud of her skill and had tried to teach “theatrical fainting” to me and our friend Alle on a number of occasions, I was mostly grateful for the interruption.
Trying to look anxious, I carried her to the proffered couch and laid her on it. While I fanned her and someone applied a dampened handkerchief to her forehead, I explained to Nason and Arjas that Marta was very sensitive to the heat.
“They are
So, keeping my eyes firmly on the king and away from Krashath, I checked the fit of Nason’s new coat. All the while, I tried to draw the attention of the grandvizier, to see if we couldn’t catch him alone or arrange to speak to him privately.
When I finally caught his eye, he came over to admire Nason’s new suit. I sidled over to Lord Arjas and waited until other courtiers joined us to praise our work. While Marta entertained them, I tapped the vizier’s elbow and murmured my request for a private audience.
“Why?” He looked frankly startled and his voice was a good deal louder than I would have liked.
“Um, well, I need to talk to you about … gaining citizenship. Of Citatie. Marta and I both,” I hedged. I had thought from the vizier’s worried looks the other day that he knew something was amiss, and perhaps he did, but it seemed that he was not expecting help from uppity female Feravelan tailors.
“Do you not have the proper permit to work here?” He looked scandalised.
I summoned my most winning smile. “Of course we do!” I made a mental note to see if Luka or one of the soldiers couldn’t forge one for us. “But it’s so hard to find a permanent place to live and work when one is a foreigner. We thought it might be easier if we were citizens.”
“I see.” But his brow was wrinkled in consternation. “Come to my study tomorrow, both of you, just after third bell, and we can speak about it.”
“Thank you.” My smile became even more genuine.
“You haven’t patted my dragon,” King Nasonannounced, pushing through the crowd of courtiers admiring his new coat. He grabbed my arm with one hand and Marta’s elbow with the other. She shot me a panicked look as the king marched us up the length of the throne room towards the coiled white form of Krashath. “Isn’t he magnificent?! The only white dragon ever hatched!” Nason let go of my arm to slap Krashath’s flank in a proprietary way.
A sharp flick of the dragon’s tail was the only sign that the white beast even felt Nason’s hand on him. I had expected something to show in his eyes at this cavalier treatment: a glimpse of disgust, of anger, but there was nothing, only two dead black pools that seemed to …
“Creel?” Marta’s hand on my arm drew me back to the present.
“Very nice, Your Majesty,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
“Pat him,” Nason ordered.
I felt my gorge rise as I reached out a tentative hand. Krashath shifted a little, obligingly moving closer to me. It struck me that he wasn’t disgusted at this condescending behaviour: he was forcing the king to ask this of me. Krashath
wanted
me to touch him, and his reasons could not be good.
May the Triunity for ever bless her; Marta came to my rescue and made another scene.
Just as my hand, flesh crawling, was about to touch Krashath’s flank, Marta announced to the room in generalthat she was feeling far too warm, and rather dizzy besides. I withdrew my hand and turned to look at her with feigned concern. She reeled towards me, one hand to her brow.
“Oh, help, Creel,” she cried out, and then fainted into my arms.
If I hadn’t seen her do this over a dozen times, I would have been quite worried for her. Her performance was very convincing, and the rest of the room was clearly taken in, rushing to offer cool drinks and a couch for her to rest on. But since she was justly proud of her skill and had tried to teach “theatrical fainting” to me and our friend Alle on a number of occasions, I was mostly grateful for the interruption.
Trying to look anxious, I carried her to the proffered couch and laid her on it. While I fanned her and someone applied a dampened handkerchief to her forehead, I explained to Nason and Arjas that Marta was very sensitive to the heat.
“They are
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