“I thought you’d forgotten. Your Grace, my sister.”
Sunniva had managed a moment earlier in her rooms to look up the Kervilli. One of the first families to settle on Earth, a large and powerful clan. She’d assumed Giels had invited over yet another young unmated male to parade in front of her, but the guest who was currently studying her with disapproving intensity was neither young nor male. She was wearing a cascading outfit entirely made of overlapping layers of dragonmesh, and
her intricately severe braids wove around two polished silver horns with razor-sharp tips. The clan matriarch. Ingigor Kervilli.
How had Giels convinced her to come? Sunniva dropped into a low curtsey. From the corner of her eye she caught Marcus bowing, and was relieved she hadn’t had to order him.
She felt the opal pick up her gratitude and transmit it to Marcus, with a tinge of violet. No!
There was a faint hitch in his movements. Hopefully no one else had noticed it. Sunniva straightened up.
“Your Grace.”
Ingigor’s mouth turned down at one corner. “Bit of a runt, aren’t you?”
Sunniva’s smile froze on her face. She should be used to this, she told herself. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard it before. And she was short for a Dreki. It was only pointing out a fact.
You’re the perfect size. Her dragon was always her staunchest defender. You shouldn’t listen to them.
“My apologies.”
“No point apologizing, you’re hardly going to grow now.” Ingigor took a sip of the wine. “Mediocre. Turn around, girl.”
Did the comment refer to her or the wine? She could hardly refuse the order. Giels was smiling. Sunniva rotated around slowly, feeling ridiculous.
“Your hair’s a mess.” Ingigor jerked her chin towards the empty space opposite her. “Sit down.”
The table was carved from a single blue lace agate, and the chairs were gold. Marcus, unasked, pulled hers out. Sunniva sat down. The table before her was lined with an intimidating display of ornate cutlery.
“Your dragon hasn’t risen. She a runt as well?”
Attacking Sunniva herself was one thing, but her dragon — Sunniva bristled protectively. “She’s fine. She flies faster than most of the dragons on homeworld. She’s just — “ It was hard to say. Her dragon, when pressed, said that no one interested her, but Sunniva didn’t think it was anything to do with maturity.
I have high standards, her dragon put in.
“Selective,” Sunniva said.
The matriarch shot a focused glare at Marcus. “Decorative. But not Dreki. Perhaps your dragon shares your exotic tastes.”
Sunniva knew of a number of Dreki in relationships with non Dreki; it wasn’t common, but neither was it quite as bizarre as the matriarch was implying. Maybe standards were different out here — although Giels had described Marcus as a gift? She reached for her goblet, its cool weight reassuringly solid. “Giels provided me with Marcus as a bodyguard just this morning, so I can leave the aerie for a project I’ve been working on.”
Ingigor directed her glare at Giels. “One of your creations? Surely a lizardform would be more appropriate if you’re worried about security.”
Just this morning Sunniva would have agreed. Rather than speak she took a sip of the wine, which was lightly spiced, honeyed and delicious. Not the wine, then. She put the goblet back down.
Giels tapped his fingers together. “I’ve ensured his obedience. And we’re dependent on local power networks here. We simply don’t have the resources to provide high tech coverage for every excursion.”
“You also have more of a problem with rebel attacks.” Ingigor’s horns flashed in the light as she divided her disapproval between them.
“If we had more power — “
“Yes, I’ve noticed your heavy reliance on modifiers.” The matriarch drummed her fingers on the table in the ensuing silence. “I was under the impression you invited me for dinner.”
Giels’ lips were pressed shut tightly. After a moment he raised his hand in a gesture. “Of course.” It didn’t sound as smooth as usual.
Three servants glided up to the table to place frail porcelain soup bowls in front of everyone. Floating on top of the clear broth was a yellow tuuki flower, only grown on the homeworld and ridiculously expensive to import fresh.
“Some of the humans do have instincts beyond self-preservation and fouling their own nests. You need to appeal to those to rule here. A responsible clan leader would know that.” Ingigor fished out the tuuki flower with her spoon and let it fall to the table top. “Wasteful.”