Which wouldn't do. There was no space in the world for pity, not for her, not for anyone. She'd learned that long ago. Even the idea of it, here of all places, made her furious. She jumped up and stepped away from them. Myst almost whimpered. ‘Mistress? Have we said something wrong?’ They looked at her like whipped dogs.
No, and anger wouldn't do either. That wasn't what she needed, not with what was about to happen. The dragon. She needed the dragon. She sat down beside them again and pulled them close. ‘No. You haven't.’ Sitting on the back of Diamond Eye. The feeling of him. The warmth, the speed, the hunger, the desire, the freedom and the joy. She took herself back and lived it again. ‘Tell me something else. Something precious. The memory you hold on to on dark days. Something that brings you joy.’
Onyx looked sad, but Myst's eyes were suddenly bright. ‘I remember a night in the desert,’ she said. ‘The air was cool, the sky clear like every other desert night. I am hidden, stolen away from my family and my people, not far, but out of sight and out of sound. We are on a journey across the sands. The shaman has decided it's the way we should go. There are whispers of black ooze rising from the dunes and harvesting the ooze for the city lords brings us riches and fat bellies. But we are still on our way. We have reached the old place the city men call Uban. Much is buried under the sand but some pieces still rise above it. I have never seen a city before, even an old and ruined one that is almost buried. It seems a magical place outside the world I know. I am waiting behind a stone that rises out of the sand, tall as the sky, for the boy that I want. And he comes to me and I see him, and his eyes are like stars.’
She looked so far away. Zafir, riding on the back of her dragon, understood. She'd never found that anywhere but in the sky. No man or woman had given her that happiness, not even Jehal on the best of his days. ‘I am the dragon,’ she murmured, and she might have said more but that was when the footsteps came at last from the passage outside. She hugged her two broken birds close. ‘I am sorry for this. Truly I am.’ And she meant it, and for a just a moment the fear began to escape from its cage inside her and almost overwhelmed her. Almost, but not quite, as she turned it to cold fury.
The soldiers didn't bother to knock, just smashed in the makeshift door. The kwen and a half-dozen of his black-cloaks. They grabbed her arms, pulled her away from Myst and Onyx and almost hurled her to the ground. The kwen just stared. Zafir waited, silent and with the dragon wrapped tight around her. It had always been a dangerous game to play with this one.
‘Bow, slave!’ One of the black-cloaks slapped her. She tasted blood.
‘Kwen.’ She ignored the black-cloak, cocked her head and ran her tongue across her teeth. ‘Do you have something for me?’ Bow? I'll die first, and then who's going to fly your precious dragon?
Shrin Chrias Kwen faced her, his six men around him. ‘I do, slave. I hear Tsen sends you men and you turn them away. So I have some real men for you.’ He spat his words at her and turned to his soldiers. ‘Hurt her if it amuses you but don't break her. Do what you like with her slaves.’
Zafir threw back her head and laughed at him. ‘These? These are your real men? You disappoint me, Kwen. I thought you'd be one to fight your own battles. Sword not sharp enough?’ She stood straight and tall. ‘Well I am here, little man. You can do nothing to me.’
‘She's all yours, boys.’ Chrias turned and walked away. Zafir lunged after him. Oh no. No you don't. You don't get away from me, you limp-dicked shit, not this time. As the first black-cloak snatched for her she danced aside, pulled his dagger out of his belt and rammed it under his chin. She let go as a river of blood ran down his throat and his shirt and flicked the few drops from her fingertips onto the ground. The rest of the soldiers paused, suddenly uncertain. Hands fell to hilts and to wands. Zafir bared her teeth. ‘Yes, cut me down, Shrin Chrias Kwen. Murder me if you can. Touch me if you dare, but if you do not dare then take your flock of sheep away with you and go and baa at some grass. My soldiers were Adamantine, untouchable, unbreakable, their captain a titan to wrestle with dragons, yet he still was my toy to tinker with as I chose and so are you.’ He'd stopped. Hadn't turned, but he'd stopped and that was enough. She bent down and tore the dagger out of the dead soldier's neck, then held it to her own throat as she walked towards him. The black-cloaks moved apart, backing away from her as she came on with the knife still at her throat. Rage and confusion simmered in their faces. ‘I have killed the first man who tried to touch me. Do you not remember the ship, Kwen? You were not there but you've heard every last part, I'm sure.’ The kwen turned at last and she wasn't sure whether it was hate or lust or perhaps even fear that she saw in his face. Perhaps all three. She stood before him.
‘Kill yourself then,’ he spat.
‘Why would I do that?’ She let the knife move a fraction away. Not far, but far enough so that when he lunged at her, quick as a striking snake, he had her hand gripped in his own before she could cut herself. She didn't move, didn't struggle, didn't even try to resist as he twisted her arm and the knife fell to the ground. He was holding her tight. She'd have bruises in the morning but the bruises so far were only the start of what she'd have from this. A small price. She'd known that the moment she'd left Bellepheros.
I am the dragon. She could feel the heat rising through her. They were inches apart. ‘Tsen sends me slaves? You send me soldiers? I am a dragon-queen, Chrias Kwen, and I deserve better.’ She snatched at the knife on the kwen's own belt but he was quicker, jerking it out of its sheath and tossing it to the ground behind him. Not quick enough to stop her sinking her fingers into his throat though.
‘Now what, Kwen?’ She felt the dragon inside her watching them both from up on the eyrie wall. The two of them pressed together. The hunger, the desire, the need for something, the clenching urge to take, take, take! When he didn't move, she hit him square in the face with an open palm, hard enough to make him stagger. ‘Better,’ she hissed, ‘I want better!’
As he blinked from the punch, she slashed him with her nails and finally he broke. He twisted her arm behind her back and hurled her into the room. ‘Out!’ he roared. ‘All of you! Out!’ The black-cloaks scurried away as he pushed through them and grabbed Zafir by the throat. She made no effort to stop him. Maybe, if he'd still had it, she could have taken his knife this time and stabbed him after all, but that wasn't why she'd drawn him here. She had a much nastier death in mind for this one.
I am the dragon. I am the dragon.
He pushed her down to the ground and ripped her tunic. Her fingers curled into claws. She tore at his face. He pinned her down, all his weight on top of her.
I am the dragon.
He wrenched her over onto her belly and pulled her legs apart. She bucked underneath him as he took her there with her slaves watching, and for a short time she couldn't have said whether she meant to throw him off and murder him or whether she meant to pull him deeper and deeper until every part of him was inside her skin.