Taf, on the other hand, regarded Ileth and Galia as cousins if not sisters. The Master in Charge had been right about Galantine manners and tradition of hospitality, but he didn’t know that the Galantines hadn’t much experience with female prisoners of war, and often they had to invent custom on the spot. Before they set out, Galia had told Ileth some hair-raising stories of female dragoneers who were captured by ordinary soldiers without any of their better-bred officers about. Ileth suspected most of the details had to be made up because the unfortunate women were always executed at the end of the ordeal. Did one of the brutes write it all down and toss the story into a Vale encampment?
The Galantines had traditions for women in wartime, but the dragoneers fit none of them. Had she and Galia been wives or children taken in a conquered fortress they would be fed, sheltered, and swiftly repatriated under honor guard, but the Galantines had to acknowledge that they and their dragons were legally combatants.
Perhaps the Baron had told Taf to make the young ladies feel a little less cut off from home; he seemed to think women would run mad if they didn’t have news of parties, babies, weddings, betrothals, and illnesses to discuss all day long, so he tended to redirect conversation to such matters in their presence. Taf invited them to spend time with her in the Chapalaine Gallery sewing or enjoying music, or, best of all, dancing.
Back in their house that first night, as soon as they had said good night to Young Azal of Chapalaine and the servants with torches who had lit their path home, Von Huss had them all pull their dining chairs close together.
“You think Heem Zwollen was murdered?” Preece asked.
“I asked Fespanarax what he knew. He told me that it was sudden. He was recovering from his illness—which in itself is strange, I never saw him seriously ill, but this is a more southerly land and they say they suffer more from plagues—and seemed to be in perfect health. The rest is mostly according to what the Baron and that son of his who brings the eggs and milk told me, so believe it or not as you will. They told me one night he complained of a terrible cramp. He took a salt flush, and though it purged him, it did not help at all. He was dead by morning. Our host had two doctors in to look at him, I am told, and both pronounced him dead of a plague that he’d seemed to have recovered from but that suddenly returned stronger than ever. They both wrote letters to that effect, that they’d seen similar deaths. Personally, I think he was poisoned.”
Ileth felt her belly harden. Little pains shot across her stomach. She hoped she imagined them in sympathy. Galia and Preece both looked thoughtful.
“Sadly, I know little of poisons,” Dun Huss continued. “By the time I arrived here, he’d long since been burned as a plague victim. That is what they have to do, you understand, because even the bodies are dangerous for most plagues. Fespanarax burned him himself and told me he saw blue spots on his neck and face, and even more oddly, his gums had gone blue as well.”
“Spots mean blood plague, do they not?” Preece asked.
“Yes. But Fespanarax told me one more thing, quietly and in secret. The spots on his face wiped off if you rubbed them with a little saliva. Which he did right before he burned him, under the pretense of covering his face so he would not have to look at his rider when he spat his flame.”
“Poor Fespanarax,” Galia said.
“Poor indeed. He’s been unlucky with his riders. He was worried they were going to kill him as well, so he pretended to be so grief-stricken he didn’t eat save a few nibbles and the odd rat until I arrived. I believe he overdid his act and that is what put him in a decline.”
“From what I know of the Galantines, they will release someone they think is likely to die as an act of mercy. Could we petition or whatever they do here to get Fespanarax released?”
“The Galantines don’t really think of dragons as fully reasoning beings. To them, even though they know they can talk—as you know, they even employ a few—mentally they put them in the category of circus ponies that can do astonishing tricks. An animal talking—they think of dragons as animals, or worse—no matter how sensible, is just a kind of stunt to their way of thinking.”
Judging that he had warned them sufficiently, Dun Huss, as senior, changed the subject of the conversation to the Baron, his family, and what they should offer and expect in the way of hospitality. He was convinced no harm would come to them. His judgment of the Baron’s character was such that he might just be capable of murder on direct orders of his king, but he’d swallow his own poison before intentionally doing harm to Galia or Ileth.
Ileth spent more than her usual time in front of the palm-sized face-mirror Santeel had given her as a voyage-gift, looking at the color of her gums.
Ileth made it a point to rise early the morning after their introductory dinner—she sometimes thought the dancers were the most disciplined of the Serpentine’s groups, except perhaps for the watchmen—and, taking her music box just in case, visited the dragons. Someone had risen earlier than she, for there was fresh water in portable troughs, and a big platter held aloft contained the head of a cow. She supposed they put the meat up off the ground to keep rats off. Didn’t they know dragons preferred their food cooked?
“We have to scorch it ourselves,” Cunescious said. His Montangyan was as good as, or better than, Ileth’s. “I am resolved not to complain about the Serpentine kitchens ever again.”
“I’m sorry,” Ileth said. “They gave us dinner last night. Everything cooked.”
“If this is what they give Fespanarax, no wonder he’s dull.”
“Have you . . . talked to him?”
“To is the word for it. Not much talk comes back. I don’t think he’s quite as bad as he lets on. He did say something to me about suggesting that they give him some coin. They gave him some silver when he first arrived, I understand, to get on his good side, but they’ve been short with it of late. Perhaps he’s faking a serious decline in the hope of starting the flow of coin again. Well, he’s not the first devious dragon and he won’t be the last. Still, shouldn’t play with your health.”
Cunescious took the cow head and began to chew it. Ileth heard the bones snap in his powerful jaws. “My mother always told me cow brains are good for you. I wanted more liver, but she insisted I eat the brains first.”
Ileth left him to chew and stepped into the big barn.
She wondered if barn was even the right word for it. It was more of an indoor arena, a vast thing, solidly built, and the strong dragon smell hadn’t quite eliminated all the horse. There were mortared walls on either side of the arena entrances at the ends, and someone had installed three rows of seats built on stands such as she’d heard about in theaters and stadiums but never seen, unless you counted the amphitheater in the Serpentine.