Kitabı oku: «The Sorceress of Belmair», sayfa 2
“I will not wed a Hetarian,” Cinnia said. “They are a cursed race, Nidhug, and you are mad to even suggest it. He will bring discord to Belmair. Is that not why we sent his ancestors from our world? If you try to force me to this I will find a way to kill him.”
“The Sorceress of Belmair should be wed only to a great sorcerer,” Nidhug told the girl in a quiet voice. “It was your ancestors who exiled the dissenters from this world, sending them to the place you called Hetar, and now you scornfully refer to them as Hetarians. But that world already had a people upon it. People much like the Belmairans. They are Terahns, and they called their world Terah. They prefer peace to war. They are artisans and simple folk content to be with themselves. And until recently the two peoples knew little of each other. In Hetar, except for those who call themselves Coastal kings, none of the Hetarians knew of the Terahns. Dillon’s mother changed all that for it is she who is meant to eventually unite the world upon which she lives into one world of peace, unity and prosperity. It is not an easy task, and even she is not aware of her full destiny yet. This union between you and her son is meant to be, Cinnia. You cannot refuse it. If you do then you must be exiled from Belmair.”
Cinnia flushed with an anger that threatened to overwhelm her, but then as Nidhug’s words sunk in she grew even paler than she normally was. “I would be sent from here?” she whispered, frightened. But then her courage returned, and she stamped her foot. “You give me a choice between marriage to a Hetarian, or exile? Is it not your duty to protect Belmair? Protect its people? Its ruler? Me?”
“Aye,” the dragon said, small puffs of smoke coming forth from her carved nostrils. Cinnia’s selfish childishness was beginning to annoy her, and she had to struggle with herself not to become angry. “You have been given a choice, sorceress. Marriage or exile. But either way, Dillon of the Shadows will rule next in Belmair.”
Cinnia glared defiantly at the Great Dragon. She wanted to tell Nidhug to go to Limbo. She wanted to scream with her frustration, and her outrage. Belmair needed no foreign king. It was she who should be her world’s next ruler. Cinnia, the sorceress of Belmair, had been born to be its queen! But then she felt the cold, weak touch of her father’s hand on her hand.
“Tradition, Daughter. Tradition,” the old king murmured weakly.
Their eyes met. Hers were angry. His were pleading, and for a moment her resistance dissolved. She had no way to defeat her mentor, and accepting exile would serve no purpose, for if Nidhug had chosen him then this Dillon would be king of Belmair. If she left some other girl would be his queen, and that knowledge was not pleasing to Cinnia. “I will do my duty and marry this man,” she finally said.
“You have chosen wisely as I knew you would,” the dragon replied. “The dukes have been sent for, and will be here on the morrow to learn of my decision.”
“They will be no more pleased with it than I am,” Cinnia said sourly.
“Certainly that is true,” the dragon agreed, “but they surely know there is no other choice. There are no suitable males to follow Fflergant.”
Ping.
The dragon turned at the sound. A single grain of purple sand had fallen from the top to the bottom of the life glass. Eleven grains remained. “You must be wed before the day is out, my child,” Nidhug said. “Even my magic cannot hold back what must be, and the new king must be in Belmair when the old king breathes his last.” She closed her eyes and silently called out to Kaliq, the great Shadow Prince, to come to her.
“I am here, Nidhug,” the prince said as he materialized from the umbrages of the dim room. He went immediately to Fflergant. “Ah, yes, I see your problem. He is close. Greetings, King Fflergant of Belmair. I am Kaliq of the Shadows. I am going to stop time just briefly so I may go and fetch your successor.” With a gentle wave of his hand Kaliq did exactly that. Even the dragon was caught in his spell. He paused a moment to look closely at Cinnia. She was lovely, and his son deserved no less. Turning, he slipped back into the shadows of the chamber, emerging in his own palace.
“Dillon,” he called out. “Come to me now.”
“I am here, my lord prince,” Dillon said as he appeared in a puff of pale green smoke. “How may I serve you this day?”
“Sit down,” the prince said. “We must talk, and there is not much time.” When the young man had settled himself, Kaliq said without preamble, “You are not the son of Vartan of the Fiacre. You are my son, although you mother is unaware of this.” To the prince’s surprise Dillon smiled.
“Thank you,” Dillon said. “I have suspected as much for several years now, but I dared not speak until you did. As much as I love my mother and my grandmother, it was unlikely that the powers I possess came just from the faerie side of my heritage. They are far too strong, and grow stronger. But why do you tell me this now, my lord? Something has changed. What is it?”
“The great star we call Belmair is another world, Dillon. And you are to be king of that world. Even now its old king lies dying. It is your fate to take his place and to wed his daughter. Belmair is protected by a Great Dragon. Her name is Nidhug, and she has trained the sorceress of Belmair in some of the same arts as I have tutored you. We will speak more on this later this evening, but for now you must come with me to catch the last breath of the old king, and then marry his daughter immediately. There is not much time left.”
Dillon swallowed hard. “Does my mother know of this?” he asked.
“No,” Kaliq said. “I lost track of time, my son, and did not realize Fflergant’s death was so close. Come!” The prince flung open his great white cape, and Dillon obediently stepped inside of it.
As the cloak swirled around the two men, Dillon said, “You might have given me a bit more warning, my lord father. What if I don’t like the girl?”
“She already hates you—” the prince chuckled “—for she would be queen of Belmair in her own right. Beware of her until you have won her over.” He tossed the garment open once again.
Dillon found himself in a square chamber that was softly lit. On one wall was a throne in which a frail old man half sat, half reclined. A young girl, frozen in position, stood near him. On the other side of the throne was a very small dragon, equally still.
“I have frozen time briefly,” the prince explained. “The girl is called Cinnia. The dragon Nidhug uses her magic to keep her size small while she is in the company of people. When you become friends she will allow you to see her in all her glory. She is quite magnificent, Dillon, and very wise. It was her decision that you be Belmair’s next king, for it is her duty to make the choice. Trust her. She will be your ally.” He waved his hand gently once again, and the chamber came to life.
Ping.
Cinnia gasped.
Ping. Ping.
“Cinnia, sorceress of Belmair, I bring you my son, Dillon, sorcerer of the Shadows. Will you have him as your husband?” Prince Kaliq asked.
Cinnia nodded, glancing quickly at the handsome stranger.
“Speak the words,” Nidhug said softly.
“I, Cinnia, sorceress of Belmair, accept Dillon of the Shadows for my husband, and for my king,” the girl said aloud.
“Fflergant, King of Belmair, will you accept Dillon of the Shadows as your successor and as the new king of Belmair?” Nidhug asked the old man.
“I do!” he cried loudly with the last of his strength.
Ping! Ping!
Six grains of purple sand remained in the glass.
“Dillon of the Shadows,” Nidhug said, “do you accept the crown of Belmair, and all it entails?”
“I do,” Dillon answered.
“Will you have Cinnia, the sorceress of Belmair, as your wife?”
“I will,” Dillon replied. He had hardly even looked at the girl.
Ping. Ping. Ping!
“Then take the last breath of Fflergant as he breathes it,” the dragon replied. “As he, and all the kings of Belmair have taken the last breath of those who preceded them.”
Dillon stepped up on the dais containing the throne. The old man’s eyes were closed now. Dillon bent down, and opening his mouth took the old king’s last breaths into his body as Fflergant breathed them.
Ping! Ping! PING!
As the sound echoed throughout the room the old king suddenly faded away, leaving the chair empty. The sand in the glass next to the throne turned silver, and then it, too, disappeared. And then suddenly the top of the life glass was filled so full with a new supply of purple sand that no grains were able to begin dropping right away.
Cinnia began to cry. Dillon went to her and attempted to comfort her, but she pushed him away angrily. “Leave me be. My father is dead, and I am wed to a stranger.”
“You are a stranger to me, too,” Dillon reminded her.
“But your father is not dead!” Cinnia sobbed.
“Nay, but until today I thought he was,” Dillon said.
Startled Cinnia stopped weeping, and looked at him. “What do you mean?” she asked him.
Dillon smiled. “It is a tale for another day, lady. Now we must mourn the good man who was your father. Tell me of your traditions so we may follow them.”
“We have none where death is concerned for at death our bodies simply evaporate here on Belmair. Even the life glass of the king has refilled itself with the death of my father. If we go into the Hall of the Kings now we will find a marble bust of Fflergant in the place designated for it. There will be a new empty alcove waiting for you when your reign comes to an end,” Cinnia explained. She wiped her eyes. “We do not celebrate death here in Belmair. We celebrate life. My father was a good king. He will be remembered as such, but he is gone. No further mention will be made of him.”
Dillon nodded. “Thank you for explaining that to me,” he said quietly.
“Nidhug and I will leave you two to become acquainted,” Kaliq said. “I will rejoin you for the meal later.” Then, taking the arm of the dragon, the Shadow Prince walked from the small throne room.
“I am twenty-two,” Dillon said when they were alone.
“I am seventeen,” Cinnia responded.
With a wave of his hand he conjured a perfect white rose, and offered it to her.
Cinnia glared at the rose, and it withered and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
“Surely you do not mean to make a puerile attempt to woo me?” she said scornfully.
“Considering that we do not know one another yet are wed, aye, I was attempting to make a small effort on your behalf,” Dillon responded. And he held out his hand to her. From his fingers hung a beautiful necklace of green stones that matched her eyes.
Cinnia sniffed, pointed a finger and the necklace shattered into dust.
A kitten appeared in his outstretched palm.
She hissed, and it turned into a writhing viper.
Dillon flung the viper into the air, and they were showered with a burst of pink snowflakes.
Cinnia laughed aloud and he grinned back at her. Then she grew solemn. “It isn’t you, my lord. I am simply angry at this turn of events.”
“You wished to be queen of Belmair in your own right,” Dillon said quietly.
“Yes!”
“But tradition dictates Belmair be ruled only by a king,” he continued.
Cinnia nodded. “It isn’t fair! I am the sorceress of Belmair, and I would be a good queen to my people. There was no males available from the ducal families, and then Nidhug said I must marry a Hetarian and he would be the new king. Hetarians are an anathema on Belmair.”
“Why?” Dillon asked her, and he drew her down onto the dais’s steps where they might sit comfortably while they spoke.
“Aeons ago, those we now call Hetarians were citizens of Belmair,” Cinnia began.
“But certain of them grew overly proud. They began to question our traditions and the authority of the king. They wanted to make changes that went against our ways. The king then, his name was Flann, gathered up the troublemakers one spring night. They were placed in an enormous bubble and sent to your world, which is the star we call Hetar. This history is taught to every child born here. Bad children are threatened by their mothers who tell them that they will end up on Hetar if they do not behave.”
Dillon laughed. “You cannot know how terrible a threat that is,” he told her.
“You are not of Hetarian blood?” Cinnia asked.
“I have some of their blood through my mother’s father, but then he also had faerie blood,” Dillon answered her. “I was raised in the Outlands and in Terah until I was twelve. Then I was sent to Kaliq for my training. I did not know until a little while ago that he was my father. I was raised to believe that Vartan, lord of the Fiacre, was my father. Even my own mother does not know the truth. I barely remember Vartan, but I have had a good stepfather in the Dominus of Terah, Magnus Hauk. And my mother is an incredible woman. She has great powers.”
“What will she think when your father tells her where you are, what you are to be and that you have a wife who is a sorceress?” Cinnia wanted to know.
“At first she will be angry that Kaliq planned this without consulting her. But she will be far angrier when she learns the truth of my paternity,” Dillon said with a smile. “My mother has been cursed, or blessed if you will, with a destiny that is not yet fulfilled. It has taken her many places. She has had great adventures, and done marvelous things. But she does not like being at the mercy of a greater power. Did you?”
“No, I did not,” Cinnia admitted.
“I find your tale of how Hetarians came to be rather interesting, for that is not at all the story told on Hetar,” Dillon said.
“We know they have forgotten this world. It was meant that they forget. We did not want them returning to cause havoc once again,” Cinnia said. “But tell me what they say of their beginnings.” She shifted against him, stretching herself briefly.
“It is said Hetar was once a world of clouds and fog. That the Shadow Princes came from those mists, and for generations mated with the faerie races they found there. When the day came that the clouds evaporated and Hetar was visible to all, it was discovered there were other races living there created by the tree, earth and sea spirits. The Shadow Princes took the desert for their own, and so Hetar was born. The City was built, and civilization ensued. It is a bit more complicated than that but that is the basis of the history of Hetar as it is told,” Dillon finished.
“Some of it is probably true,” Cinnia remarked, “but if you ask him your father will tell you the truth of Hetar. We were told our people were deliberately settled on one side of that world in order to keep them from those on the rest of Hetar. I believe you call them Terahns. And then there were smaller regions called the Outlands and the Dark Lands. But Prince Kaliq knows more of it than I do. We but sought to rid ourselves of those who caused trouble in our lands.”
“Tell me of Belmair,” Dillon said. “I am very much at a disadvantage as you can appreciate, Cinnia.”
“I did not give you permission to speak my name,” she said sharply.
“You are my wife, and therefore your name is mine to speak,” Dillon said.
“I will not be some meek creature who sits by her loom in the hall, my lord Dillon,” Cinnia told him. “I am a great sorceress!”
“And what do you do with your sorcery, Cinnia? Other than play with mine?” he asked her wickedly. “Do you use it for good?” He turned so he might see her face.
“Play? I do not play!” the girl said outraged.
He laughed softly. “Aye, you do. Your dragon has taught you all manner of magic, but you don’t really know what to do with it. But I will teach you.”
“You? Teach me? A Hetarian?” Cinnia said scornfully. “I think not!”
He took her hand in his, and running a finger up her bare arm and back down again, said, “I am not Hetarian, Cinnia. I am of the Shadows and I am faerie.” Then, raising her hand to his lips, he kissed each of her fingers before turning the hand over and placing a kiss upon her palm. “There is a great deal I can teach you, Cinnia.” Dillon’s blue eyes met her green ones, and he smiled slowly into those startled eyes.
She heard her heart thumping in her ears. Her lips parted softly in surprise at her reaction to him. “Are you attempting to seduce me?” she asked him.
“You can only be seduced if you want to be seduced, Cinnia,” Dillon told her. “Do you want to be seduced?”
“No!” She snatched her hand back.
“I think you do, however we will not argue the point,” Dillon told her. “But I believe I asked you to tell me of Belmair as I am to rule it.”
“Does our world seem very blue to you on Hetar?” she asked him.
“It does,” he said.
“That is because most of our world is water,” she told him. “Belmair consists of four islands, each a different size, floating within a single great sea. Our island is the largest and is called Belmair. The others are Beldane, Belia and Beltran. Each of the other three islands is a duchy ruled by a ducal family. Those families answer to the king on Belmair. Our kings do not necessarily follow a direct line of descent. It is the dragon who decides who will rule us. In this manner no one family has ever gotten too much power to wield over the others. My father’s family came from Beltran. My mother was the youngest daughter of the previous king, who came from Beldane originally. She was very beautiful and very frail. That is why there were no more children after my birth. She died shortly after I was born. I had my father, and I had Nidhug,” Cinnia told him.
“Tell me who now rules the three duchies?” he asked.
“Let Nidhug tell you,” Cinnia said. “We must feast to celebrate our union, and then you must mate with me before the morrow when the dukes arrive to learn who their new king is. Unless we are well and truly mated, your legitimacy can be questioned, and that will not please either Nidhug or your father, will it? I go now to prepare.” In a small flash of light Cinnia was gone from the throne room.
Dillon arose from the step where he had been sitting. “My lord father, I know you are there. Please come to me.”
The Shadow Prince stepped from a dusky corner of the room. “Nidhug and I are going to take you to see your kingdom now,” he told Dillon. “She awaits us on the battlements of the castle. Do not be frightened by her size when you see her true self.”
“When are you going to tell mother?” Dillon asked Prince Kaliq.
“When I return to Hetar,” came the answer.
“And when will that be?” Dillon inquired, his tone amused.
“In a few days. Tonight we feast, and then you mate with Cinnia. On the morrow the others will arrive. They will be astounded that an outsider had been chosen to rule over them, my son, but they will accept the dragon’s judgment. And, too, my presence will give even greater legitimacy to Nidhug’s decision. That you come from Hetar will disturb them, aye. But the fact that you are my son will calm any fears they may have. When that has been accomplished I will return to Hetar to seek out your mother and tell her of what has transpired.”
“There are some things back at the palace that I will want,” Dillon said. “My staff, Verica, for one.”
“You will find everything in your chamber here now,” Kaliq told him. “The royal quarters are unique. Both you and Cinnia have a set of rooms, and in the middle of them is the Mating Chamber. But come! Nidhug awaits us, and she wants to show you all before the sun sets this day.”
Together, Kaliq and Dillon left the throne room, and climbed to the roof of the castle where the Great Dragon, Nidhug, was even now awaiting them.
2
WHEN THEY REACHED THE ROOF Dillon caught his breath in amazement when he saw the size of the dragon in her full glory. The afternoon sun set her iridescent blue and green scales to sparkling. Seeing the two men had arrived, she reached out her hand, and they stepped into her palm so she might raise them up to sit upon her back.
“Look carefully,” she told them, “and you will find two small pockets upon my back into which you may safely seat yourselves.” When they had, she opened her great wings and rose from the castle’s battlements to fly.
“Cinnia said Belmair consists of four islands in a vast sea,” Dillon remarked. “She is correct, of course,” the dragon answered as she flew.
“Your island of Belmair is the largest, and the most perfect of the four. As you can see there is a small range of mountains to the west. Fertile farmlands, woodlands and valleys cover the rest of the island. The coastline is both sandy and rocky with beaches and hills.”
Dillon gazed down. Everything was very green, and it reminded him of Terah except there were not great cliffs and fjords. The woodlands below them now were just coming into full leaf, and the few planted fields were hazy with new growth. The meadows housed cattle and sheep, but curiously he saw no sign of life other than around the two castles. “Where are the villages and the people?” he asked Nidhug.
“There are few and they are widely scattered,” the dragon answered.
“Is it like this on all the islands?” Dillon wanted to know.
“Aye, it is,” was the answer.
“Why?” Dillon asked the dragon.
“I don’t know,” Nidhug admitted. “For the last few hundred years the young women on all the islands have been disappearing. The men have had no wives to wed, and fewer and fewer children are being born. Some women are returned to us when they are old, and can no longer have children or be of use. They are not able to tell us where they have been, and are horrified to find themselves old. If it continues, Belmair’s civilization will die. That is why I trained Cinnia to become a sorceress, but as powerful as she is, she needed a husband who was even more powerful. Your father knew it, and that is why he brought you here to me to be Belmair’s new king. Together you and Cinnia can work to solve the mystery of where our young women have gone, and correct the situation so our population can once again thrive.” She turned north now over the great sea, and they were soon flying over a mountainous island, the highest peaks of which were still covered with snow. “That is Belia. It is the smallest of the duchies.”
“Have you no idea of who is stealing your women?” Dillon inquired. “You have great magic yourself, I am told.”
“My magic is fairly limited to protecting and serving Belmair, and its kings,” Nidhug replied. “The magic of the Shadow Princes is the greatest of all magicks.”
“Did you know all of this?” Dillon asked Kaliq.
The Shadow Prince smiled enigmatically. “Solve this conundrum, and you will be the greatest sorcerer of your time, Dillon, my son.”
Dillon laughed softly. “That I might be a bit of dust in a corner when you tell my mother about all of this.” He chuckled.
“She will soon have her own problems to solve,” the prince replied with a small smile. “And she knows I would never see you harmed.”
“You won’t be here,” Dillon reminded his father.
“My powers extend to Belmair. You have but to call me,” Kaliq answered him.
“That is a great comfort to me,” Dillon said drily, “but as I recall you have taught me to puzzle out my own problems.” Turning away from the Shadow Prince, the younger man looked down to study the sea as they flew.
Prince Kaliq of the Shadows nodded, satisfied. Between them, he and Lara had raised their son well. Dillon would be a great king for Belmair, and the mystery would be solved because Dillon was not a man to give up. Belmair could not be allowed to die, and Kaliq was himself concerned as to who was doing this, and more important, why?
“There is Beldane,” Nidhug called to them. “It is an island of mostly fields and glens. The hunting is excellent on Beldane, and the duke has many lodges scattered about his duchy for guests. Autumn, of course, is the best time for it.”
Turning east they flew over the next largest island to Belmair, Beltran, a vast hilly and wooded landscape. Below them a small group of sailing boats was setting out from a harbor below a castle.
“Dreng comes early,” Kaliq noted.
“I believe he thinks one of his little grandsons will be chosen to be king for he is the only one of the dukes with male progeny. He will be to Belmair by sunset, for when summoned by me the dukes’ boats come by magic in just a short time. We cannot have that,” Nidhug said. “Storm brew!”
Suddenly below them, the thunderclouds began to roll swiftly in. The sea grew frothy as the waves rose, crashing wildly on the shore, and the lightning crashed about the boats. One vessel was struck, and its mast caught fire. The little fleet struggled back to the harbor, and anchored to ride out the weather.
“It won’t clear until dawn,” Nidhug said in a well-satisfied voice and she chuckled. “Dreng is bold to think he can make my decision for me.”
“How will he feel when he learns I am king?” Dillon asked.
“Surprised. Possibly resentful, but he will accept my will for there is no other choice, Your Majesty,” the dragon answered. “When your father came to see me last night, I was amazed afterward that I hadn’t realized that someone not born of Belmair must be chosen to follow Fflergant if we are to solve our difficulties. And that someone must have even greater powers than Cinnia. Whoever, whatever, is taking Belmair’s young females must be stopped.”
“Agreed,” Dillon responded, “but I am more curious as to why they are being taken. There is something wicked here on Belmair.”
Having completed their tour of the islands, the dragon returned them to the royal castle where she once again condensed herself into a smaller size. “Let us now feast,” the dragon said. “And afterward your father and I will preside over your mating with Cinnia. How are you getting along? She is a charming girl, isn’t she?”
“She is spirited, much like my younger sister Zagiri,” Dillon noted. Then he told Nidhug and the prince of his attempts to charm Cinnia, and of how she had rebuffed him.
“A kitten into a viper.” Nidhug chuckled. “The naughty girl, but I am quite enchanted that you turned the viper into pink snowflakes, Your Majesty. It is obvious that Prince Kaliq has taught you about women, as well as magic.”
“Do not women possess a magic of their own that is to be courted?” Dillon asked her with a smile.
The dragon rolled her beautiful eyes, and her eyelashes fluttered coquettishly. “I am, for the first time, envious of a human female,” she said.
Her two companions chuckled. They entered the Great Hall of the castle. It had a high ceiling with beams carved and gilded with both gold and silver, as well as painted in red and blue. The arched windows lining the hall on both sides were recessed into the stone walls. The glass in them was clear with designs showing pastoral scenes in stained glass. Beautifully woven silk and wool tapestries hung on the gray stone walls between the windows. There were three great fireplaces in the hall, one on either side of the chamber, and the third behind the high board. The floors were slabs of gray stone.
The hall was empty but for Cinnia, who waited for them before the high board. She was garbed in a simple loose purple silk gown with a boat neckline and flowing sleeves. A thin chain of gold links decorated with pale amethyst crystals sat upon her hips. Her long black hair was pulled back into a single strand. She looked both fragile and strong at the same time. Kneeling before Dillon, she said, “I bid you welcome home, Your Majesty. The meal is ready at your command.”
Dillon raised her up. “Do not kneel to me again, Cinnia. If it is Belmairan tradition that a wife kneel before her husband, it is a tradition that I will not continue. You are a great sorceress, and you are my wife. I mean to make you queen.”
Her green eyes lit up with joy, but then the happiness faded away, and she shook her head at him. “I would be nothing but a consort if Your Majesty desired it, but I would have no authority even over our household. In Belmair, all is the king’s.”
Dillon turned to the dragon. “Is this a tradition that is written in stone?” he asked.
“Nay, it is not. But it has always been done this way,” the dragon answered him.
Dillon considered, then said, “As I am not Belmairan born, but am now nonetheless the undisputed king of Belmair, could I not make this change, and allow others to understand this is my way of honoring Cinnia, the great sorceress of Belmair, who is now my wife? Whose help I will need if I am to govern wisely and well?”
“There will at first be a certain amount of grumbling,” the dragon replied, “but I believe that to honor Cinnia as your first official act as Belmair’s king would quickly be seen as respecting Belmair and its traditions.”
“Then I shall do it,” Dillon said. He turned to Cinnia again. “You understand that the final word in all things but the household will be mine?”
“I do, Your Majesty! Thank you!” Her green eyes were shining now.
“And you will call me by my name when we are in private, or in an informal setting?” he asked smiling at her.
She nodded. “I will, Your…Dillon.”
“Then it is settled, and now please see that the meal is served. Our guests and I are hungry,” Dillon told her with a grin.
Taking her arm, he escorted her up onto the dais and seated her to his left at the high board. The prince sat on his right, and the dragon to Kaliq’s right. Cinnia signaled the servants to begin serving the meal, and Dillon watched, amazed at the separate menu of foods brought to the dragon. When the meal had concluded, and Nidhug had consumed the final of her eight sherry-soaked whipped-cream cakes, a minstrel came into the hall and sang for them. A serving woman appeared and whispered something into Cinnia’s ear. She nodded.
