“How did you like it?”
“My mind was most on how sore my back and legs were. I wondered if I’d done something wrong.”
“Oh, I asked some questions all right,” he said. “It was a mix-up in the flight cave. You weren’t supposed to go until Santeel returned. You disappeared, our wingman running the cave had to deal with a broken girth, the courier who was supposed to fly Vithleen—it was Duskirk from the kitchens, by the way, his first commission—was ill and a replacement was found but he wasn’t ready yet, and you showed up in an unfamiliar getup. All Vithleen knew was that she was to have a new rider. Not that she needs one, but it’s safer for dragons to have a dragoneer with them in case of the unexpected. So off you went on Vithleen with no one the wiser until Santeel returned covered in her breakfast and asked where you were.”
“Covered in—in . . . ?”
“She got airsick. It happens. That rig of hers will need some cleaning to get it out of the fur. She’ll go up again in a couple days. It’s natural, the dragons sometimes do a few fancy moves if they think a new rider is getting a little too full of themselves.”
“Santeel can give that impression,” Ileth said. “Am I to get a new training flight?”
“I think you’ve proved you can be taken up without falling off. Oh, did it make your teeth hurt at all?”
“No, sir.” She didn’t add that everything but her teeth hurt at the moment and she risked toppling over asleep standing in front of him.
“Then I can safely promise you that barring accidents you will fly again. Perhaps if I don’t see you in these quarters again until spring, hmmm? That is, if you haven’t decided to leave flying for the birds.”
“I came here to travel and see more of the Republic. I just didn’t think it would happen all in one day.”
“Don’t go adding a dragon rampant to your family seal just yet. It seems we must be careful with you. If this is what you do your first time up, I’m a bit afraid on your second you’ll fly off and start a war. But knowing your luck, you’d come back with three captured banners and a signed surrender. We’re done here. Go get some rest.”
“Yes, sir.” Ileth saluted.
“Novices don’t have to salute the Masters, Ileth. This isn’t the Guards.”
She nodded and left. She’d never heard anyone call her “lucky” before. “Lucky” Ileth. Ileth “the Lucky.” No, it was awful no matter how you arranged it.
She hurried back to the Dancers’ Quarter as quickly as her sore legs could manage the trip. She was eager to see if her celebratory drink was still there. Not that she needed the help being eased into sleep, but it might loosen up her stiffening leg muscles.
12
With the story of her courier run told and retold back in the Dancers’ Quarter (once to Ottavia in the common room, again to the dancers settling down around Preen’s tea), she was able to thank Vii in proper form. She handed her a bundle with a tenweight of swirl from Sammerdam itself. Vii looked at it like she might a paper bag of fairy dust and gold nuggets.
Vii sniffed it and sighed. “Ground and seasoned and everything. Did your man say where he bought it?” Ileth shrugged.
That aroused the troupe’s curiosity, so she made some after a search for some milk they could steam and honey they could add. “You can do it with water and add a little butter, but milk is the best,” Vii explained. They passed it around.
“At home we’d stir it with a sprig of sweetmint,” Vii said. Ileth had no idea what sweetmint was but nodded along with the rest until her turn to try it came. It was warm and rich and satisfying and she felt almost immediately restored.
“It’s like witchcraft!” she squeaked.
“I know,” Vii said. “I feel like I should brew it in a cauldron. Some of the Names show off by offering it to guests instead of tea.”
“Take it slow,” Santeel said. “It grows on you like ardent spirits.” She was fuming at Vii being in her element, explaining the combination of flavors and ingredients and the spices you could add. Some people liked it peppery, others added mint or cinnamon, and there was even a delicate, hard-to-obtain sort of brown bean pod . . .
“Speaking of which, what happened to Ileth’s lifewater?” Preen asked.
“Ottavia put it up after I drank mine,” Santeel said. “When no one could find you we thought—we thought the worst. The flight cave men figured it out eventually.”
Ileth yawned. “If I have it, I will be out like a plunged torch. I feel like I’ve been gone a week.”
“If only,” Santeel muttered. “I’ll get you your drink.”
Ileth looked longingly at her bed, four curtains down. “I should eat, but I’m too tired.”
“Sorry, some dirt must have fallen into it while it was on the shelf,” Santeel said, handing her the drink.
“‘Though the Serpentine crumble, our dragons won’t fail,’” Vii quoted, to general acclaim, casting a look at Santeel.
Ileth tossed it back in the manner of the sailors she’d seen at the end of a hard day on the water. It burned on the way down, and it burned on the way back up when she started discreetly burping it. Perhaps it wasn’t settling down in a friendly fashion with the swirl.
She decided to let the swirl and lifewater fight it out without her. She staggered away from the swirl party, collapsed on her bed, and fell instantly to sleep.
There was little to do over the next few days but drill and rest. The weather closed in around them and they ate salted and dried food. The Serpentine slowed to a near stop like a hibernating bear while the snow flew.
Ileth was in the main room working on her flying rig, calling in Vii for advice when she was in difficulty, but mostly just listening to Zusya’s chatter about the coming Fast of Ashes. Over at the other end of the room, where Zusya was somewhat muffled by the cushions and carpets, Ottavia and Dax were talking music for choreography involving all eight dancers currently present. Shatha was working on a wig, using Dax as her model head, when Santeel crashed into the room like an escaping thief looking for a hiding spot.
“My father comes! Ileth, thank the gods you’re here.”
“What do I have to do with it?” Ileth said. How had Santeel found out about the letters? She’d worked on them in great secrecy and had snuck them out through Galia. Galia would be the last person to go to Santeel.
“Advise me! You are a runaway or something, right? Once you’re oathed into the Serpentine, can they pull you out?” Santeel asked.
“Where is he?” Ottavia said. “He can’t just storm in here; I don’t care if the whole Dun Troot household is marching across the Long Bridge.”
“He’s in the Visitor’s House. He’s found out I’m a dancer! He means to take me back home. Ileth, what should I do?”
Santeel, in her panic, didn’t seem to be wondering just how her father found out. Maybe she was so used to him discovering her secrets and stratagems she no longer asked why.
“Ask Master Caseen. I don’t know any-anything about legalities. Said the oath and that’s it. Same as you.”
“I shall speak to him,” Ottavia said. “I’ve had to explain dragon dancing to worried fathers before.”
“He doesn’t listen to women,” Santeel said.
“Perhaps if I spoke to him,” Dax said, adjusting the voluptuously curled wig Shatha was touching up. “Man to man.”
“If you don’t have a title to your name and ten thousand in property it won’t do any good,” Santeel said. “If a brass god came alive and climbed down off a temple monument and told him to sacrifice a chicken, he wouldn’t listen to it, either, just point out that gold is more valuable. Suppose he has Falth beat me? He traveled in winter, Ileth. Through the snow. On a road. My father doesn’t visit a decorative garden unless he can do it from his traveling barge.”