“Aravisia is at its core built on dragon pain,” Scalla said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “They do this to ‘make sure the strongest females mate’, but this isn’t how dragons act in the wild. Females are kept far apart from each other when they come into season, large groups of ma
les keeping them secluded until she’s ready to choose.” Her eyes slid away from the glass. “An adult dragon is too much of an investment in terms of time, food and resources to waste on such a decadent display. In the wild, if a dragon dies, the others mourn—”
“For days,” Miazydar said, popping into being in his cat-sized form. He dropped onto my shoulder, wrapping his tail around me and shuddering. “This is an aberration. Like many others, we’ve fought wars of our own making, but even then there were rules of engagement.”
“So how are you enjoying the mating battles?”
I turned to see Her Majesty had approached. Her violet eyes widened when she saw my dragon, her insanely long lashes fluttering so fast I wasn’t sure if they were about to take flight or something. “What is that?” she said, pointing with a trembling, perfectly manicured finger.
“This is Miazydar...”
Be careful.
“...he’s my dragon.”
“That’s not a dragon, that’s a lizard! Grenadine! Cancel the red dragon mating plans. He’s so small Sephador’s as likely to sit on him.”
A man in a neatly pressed uniform hurried over, then peered at Miazydar. “That can’t be the same beast we moved this morning, Your Majesty. He was of an excellent size, cruiser class at the least.”
“What devilry is this?” Her Majesty said.
I’ve got to explain this before she goes all Queen of Hearts on my arse.
I heard the hiss of his sigh. Of course. I shouldn’t’ve come.
“So your assertion is that your dragon can change shapes and appear and disappear at will?” Those finely plucked brows arched higher and higher. “This is unheard of, isn’t it, Grenadine?”
“Quite, Your Majesty. So much so one can’t help but wonder about the veracity of the source. There’s no record of any dragon possessing such attributes. I would suggest we cancel the planned breeding. We don’t know if this is even a dragon. Perhaps this is some kind of trickster shifter from one of our envious neighbours.”
“Hmm, perhaps, though spike tails were nothing more than oversized manticores when we first began breeding for them. It may be that a selective breeding program in whatever backwater this beast has come from has brought forward some recessive genes. Those pre-Succession reports on dragons always seemed like overinflated hyperbole, but it is conceivable that some of the old capabilities have been revived. No, put him to Sephador, though I want Doctor Olongth to look him over first.” The man nodded and scurried away to do her bidding. Those eyes switched to me, Miazydar specifically. “So, over what distance can he teleport himself?”
“About 500 metres,” I said.
“Good, well, return to your allocated cage, beast. You do not insert yourself into a court event without my express permission.”
Go, I said.
Fine.
“Ah, look, milord Duchenay, it appears your Galathia has been overcome. You’ll need to have your men remove her or Sephador will eat her right up!” the Queen said with a chuckle. The man in question’s face went white as he saw his dragon cower in the corner of the battleground, blood streaming from cuts to her head, limbs and body. She couldn’t roar anymore, now reduced to making these high-pitched screams. The other queens seemed to sense that blood was in the water, leaving off scratching at each other to converge on her. Galathia’s back pressed up against the cage walls, her spine becoming a bow. She tried to hiss at the incomers, but her jaw seemed to be injured so much she could barely open it. Sephador, the big blueish dragon, led the charge, her neck rising in an impudent arch as she prepared to strike.
Finally, the main gates to the queen’s cages opened and riders streamed in, helmets on, plasma spears at the ready. They didn’t even have to do anything; the dragons flinching back as soon as they saw the weapons. Now that they weren’t scrabbling so hard I could see the networks of silvery scars across their beautiful bodies. They’d obviously been well socialised. Galathia was half helped, half dragged from the cage into her own pen, a vet of some sort entering not long afterwards to see to her injuries. The minute the riders left to the complex, the dragons surged back, hissing and screaming at Galathia but prevented from getting to her by the thick metal bars on the gate. Lord Duchenay was ribbed mercilessly for his dragon being the first to succumb. Betting slips were dashed to the floor but his lordship just sunk into a sulk, gesturing the drink waiters over with swift regularity.
“He’ll lose social standing,” Scalla said. “The aristocracy are the only ones with females in their families and they use the eggs that come from each breeding to build alliances and garner favour. The queens that don’t mate face condemnation and ostracism from their rider.”
I looked back where the savagery had begun again, “Back in my world, the daughters of aristocrats would be married off for the sake of alliances but at least they didn’t have to fight for the privilege.” I nodded to the closest drink waiter who brought me over a glass of wine and drank deeply from it.
“Be careful with that, cadet.” I looked over to see Keya had arrived by my side. She observed the dragon queens scrabble without a change in expression. “You’re expected at the amphitheatre at oh-six hundred for the last dress rehearsal. I know Keel’s been blowing smoke up your arse, but you’ll be with me tomorrow. I need to make sure everyone has their part down. The war games will be watched by the entire population of the capital and casualties from 1000 feet from the ground affect morale. Have one of the riders show you the way before you retire for the night. Not being able to find the grounds is no excuse.”
By the end of the function, most people were drunk and most dragons were heavily injured and I was feeling bloody nauseous. I think Scalla was regretting coming. Her eyes wouldn’t leave what was taking place behind the glass. Ulle, the queen of Gaillard family and Lirrulith, the Jervis queen circled a now limping Sephador. Ulle was dragging her back foot and blood seeped sluggishly from a wide gash in Lirrulth’s neck, so they were all in a bad way but I think it was the coordination of the two that had Her Majesty’s beautiful golden skin paling. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” one of the Gaillard’s said. The man’s face was flushed red with drink and anticipated victory. He swayed on his feet when he sketched the queen an exaggerated bow. “Your Sephador is bound to rally.”
“If the Queen’s dragon loses her position of dominance, she can lose her throne,” Scalla whispered, her eyes flicking around the room.
“And let me guess, these guys are the jackals that think they can knock her off her perch?”
She nodded. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Gaillard and Jervis have been colluding, training their animals to move past their natural antipathy of each other during the mating frenzy and work together to take Sephador out. I’m hardly in a position to know, but Greynell says this isn’t normal behaviour, though I’m not sure if any of this is.”
“You’re in contact with her?”