Dragons, humans, and a smattering of elves and dwarfs and even a blighter or two with hair neatly bound and ribboned dined in two long lines flanking the road. The dragons lay on their bellies to eat and many of the humans and elves did likewise, reaching for tidbits from bearers carrying plates in endless procession.

AuRon and Natasatch, with Istach trailing behind, were both last and first. They were the last dragons to be introduced—as “distinguished visitors from the north and relatives of our great Tyr,” ahead of various humans and elves and dwarfs representing their kind.

In the interval between the feast and the ceremonies Wistala talked with a dozen rather wizened, bent-over humans, whom she introduced as “librarians”—keepers of knowledge and secrets.

“Oh, would you look at that little bit of tail?” Natasatch said, spying the mate of one of Hypat’s ‘Protectors.’ “Dyed all in red. She looks like she’s trying to pass as male.”

AuRon glanced over at the dragon who’d chosen a bright shade of red favored by the Red Queen, who’d ruled Ghioz until she settled on war against the Dragons of the Lavadome. He’d had more than a claw in the killing of the strange creature who claimed to be too busy to ever die. He half-hoped one of her supply of bodies still lurked at the edges of his brother’s realm, ready to wake him out of his dangerous dreams of an ever-expanding rule.

“Oh, and look at that painted advertiser,” Natasatch said, referring to a graceful young dragonelle, some sprig of dragon nobility with fledging scars still dripping and wing skin hardly dry, who’d painted the fanlike griff that protect a dragon’s neck-hearts with gold and added jeweled designs to her claws. “Practically simpering in hopes of a mating flight,” she thought to him. “Some young dragon will get a mate and a hoard in one quick flight. Weighed down like that, she could get caught and breeched by an eager eagle.”

His mate displayed a rather perverse sense of humor at times. She explained it as the product of long years sequestered on an dismal egg shelf with nothing to do but dream erotic dreams.

“Mother!” Istach said, scandalized.

“Isn’t that Varatheela with her?” AuRon asked aloud.

“No, surely she would have greeted us,” Natasatch said.

“It is Varatheela,” Istach said. “She’s with some firemaids, if I read the designs on their wings correctly, that is.”

Well, dragonelles had to grow up sooner or later, AuRon decided. Still, it felt odd to be at a feast without even a word from your own offspring.

The hominid guests, AuRon noted, ate on their stomachs in the fashion of dragons, perched on cushioned benches. The oddly proportioned human frame looked only a little more dignified in that manner, though some of them stuck their hindquarters rather high in the air like a cat seeking a mate.

A silver-with-black-tipped dragon settled everyone down and introduced Wistala as the new Queen Consort to roars of approval. The dragon went on for quite some time, lauding her ability with languages, her rank in the Hypatian hierarchy—AuRon wondered how she managed that—and her prowess in battle. The stuffed dragons, with ample coin in their gold-gizzards and juicy joints in their bellies, roared their approval in a manner that sent pigeons in flight all over the city like little feathery fireworks.

“I cannot replace Nilrasha,” Wistala said. “But I can try to follow her example of diligence and devotion to the dragons in her care. I will also do my best for the hominid half of the Alliance. Let our Hypatian allies know that they now have a voice even atop Imperial Rock in the Lavadome.”

The humans sprang to their feet and cheered and waved their arms at that.

The Copper’s good eye narrowed upon hearing those words. AuRon suspected that he hadn’t been told of that part of the speech beforehand. But words once spoken were as lost as yesterday, as NooMoahk the Black used to say.

He felt proud for his sister, even if he thought her a bit too trusting of their copper sibling.

They heard a song about the battle with the Pirate Lords in Swayport, and a scarred dragon named HeBellereth introduced the newest member of the Aerial Host: AuSurath the Red. His rider would be Gundar son of Gunfer. They both proceeded between the lines of dragons, AuSurath walking slowly so his rider could keep up.

They ascended to the stairs of the Directory, where the Copper now sat with Wistala and the Hypatian directors.

“All mark and hail AuSurath, newest member of the Aerial Host. All mark and hail Gundar, his rider and attendant.”

Gundar drank a ceremonial drop of blood placed in wine from a golden chalice. Then AuSurath bit off the end of one of the his rider’s fingers of his off hand. AuRon wondered how that tradition ever was started.

A tremendous volume of wind from one very fat Protector from the cattle-rich south spoiled the solemnity somewhat, but everyone pretended not to notice.

“I’m so proud of our offspring,” Natasatch said.

AuRon watched the new dragon and rider pair look at their off-kilter Tyr with naked adoration and felt his summer go sour.

* * *

AuMoahk visited them late that night, dropping exhausted from the sky. He was serving the Grand Alliance as a messenger, and while he was given leave to attend the ceremony involving his aunt and brother, winds had delayed wings not long used to flying.

Even Varatheela snuck into the circus arena to pay a call on her parents, coming in the dead of night and smelling of wine and fragrant oils. She made her apologies, and talked nonstop of social matters with the Firemaids, who had been assigned to which part of the Alliance, what entrances to the Lower World were being explored, which members of the Aerial Host were to take mates this year.

Her nonstop chatter of matters he didn’t care about, with his mate hanging on every detail, bothered AuRon more than he could put into words. It seemed he was losing his family to the glories of his brother’s empire.

He decided to take the night air outside the circus. He heard wings above and glanced up, but whatever had been there vanished behind one of the canvas shades. Curious-sounding wings. Small but almost dragonlike—no feathered creature would have made such a leathery flap. He wondered if the Copper had dispatched one of those griffaran of his—no, they were feathered, too.

What was it?

He opened his wings to go investigate when Wistala tipped her head over the circus wall.

“AuRon,” Wistala said. “May we talk? I have a duty for you to perform, if you’re willing.”

“With all these polished dragons coming and going?” AuRon asked. “They’re much more impressive. I’m sure one of them will serve.”

He hopped over the wall and joined her, landing as silently as a cat—were there a cat that weighed as much as a strong pair of horses, that is. Let’s see a scaled dragon do that! Why he decided on an athletic display he couldn’t say, just his general feeling of dissatisfaction with events of late made his muscles twitch.

She ignored him. “It’s rather a delicate situation. Your friend, King Naf of the Dairuss. He’s proving a problem for the Grand Alliance. He’s kicked out his Protector.”

“Good old Naf,” AuRon said. “I’m glad he hasn’t changed.”

His sister dug her sii claws into the dirt of the arena and tore some up. “Dairuss is in an odd predicament, as far as the Empire and these Hypatians are concerned. It was a province of Ghioz, and before that a part of the Hypatian Empire. The Tyr put SoRolotan there—do you know him? Well, never mind. The Tyr put a dragon he didn’t care for much as Protector there, as it was an unimportant province, more to get him out of the way, I suppose. Something about the Tyr preventing him from taking a mate he wanted. In any case, it ended badly. I understand SoRolotan barely escaped with his life. Are the people of Dairuss unusually contentious?”

“I’m no expert on human history,” AuRon said. His stomach was growling. He hadn’t eaten much at the celebratory feast and the smell of all the draft animals brought fierce hunger pangs.

“The old Ghioz empire has been broken up. Each province has a dragon to help the humans there, save for Dairuss. We’re afraid they’ll declare independence from the Grand Alliance. The Hypatians would never allow that.”

“You mean a war.”

“Not if I have my way,” Wistala said. “I’m sure you don’t want to see your friend killed or humbled.”

“Of course not. I have few enough friends left.”

“Would you like to hear my solution?”

AuRon sighed. “Probably not. I’m sure I can guess what it is.”

“You’d have a title. ‘Protector’ is one of the most respected of positions, second only to the Tyr himself in responsibility.”

“Title? I don’t care much for titles.”

“Dairuss must be a more congenial climate than your island.”

“You haven’t spoken about this to Natasatch, have you?”

“I dropped a hint. She swore not to mention it unless you brought it up.”

“You do know how to sink your claws into your prey, don’t you, sister.”