A Shade of Dragon 3(50)

But I grimaced. It was always hard to remind people of who they were when gentility would no longer suffice.

“Michelle,” I said, “I seem to remember attending a ‘going away’ party for Penelope nearby to here.”

“Ugh,” Nell muttered from where she remained cradled in my arms. “No, that was her beach house, but she has a lake house, too. You might be able to see it from here. That was where her Christmas Eve party was.”

“Of course!” Michelle gushed, her eyes ticking between myself, and Altair, and Lethe… and then roaming warily toward the three harpies who remained on the shore. “Of course. You’re all w-welcome to use the l-lake house and just… just wash up, or whatever you need. Spare clothes. Bite to eat. Whatever you need.”

The harpies watched her with particular closeness, as if watching wounded prey.

“Proud queen,” Parnassia hissed to her, fluttering closer, “the bird-women of Thundercliff were willing to ally with the fire dragons for nothing at all, a most unheard-of pairing, because the ice dragons were dishonest in their dealings with us, and because their queen was disrespectful.” The three faces twisted with judgment as they glowered down on her. “Our place in your downfall, though ultimately small, satisfies us… for now. Knowing that you have no kingdom is knowledge enough.” Ispa and Keke hopped closer still, leering over Michelle in such a way that I almost intervened. After all, was she not just a girl?

“But know this,” Ispa the black-hearted sneered, “we were created to lurk, and to judge, and a lifetime is awfully long. You are still so very young. Be careful where you step. Be careful what you say.”

“We were christened ‘the snatchers’ by our gods,” Keke added. “And I… am devourer of the wicked. Thief of their children.” Her eyes flicked over Michelle as if surveying a bin of overflowing garbage. “So… be good.”

The three harpies took to the skies again, with the exception of Parnassia, who lingered just above me and stretched out one withered claw to brush my cheek. Her face, for a moment, was almost soft. Almost. “Theon Aena—king of The Hearthlands,” she cooed. “Your valor and constitution were most impressive to us. Please do not hesitate to patronize Thundercliff again.” Her eyes gleamed wickedly, and all vestiges of softness disintegrated. “For a price.”

With that, she launched into the dark sky after her sisters.

“Theon.” Michelle cast me a stern gaze, as if she thought that the proper expression was all that I required to pay respect to someone. She touched my arm, and Nell’s nose curled, her eyes flashing. But she remained ever my queen, strong, steadfast, and did nothing but glower at the intrusive hand of her enemy. “You know that the ice dragons are wicked and treacherous,” Michelle continued, “but I’m just a human.”

I glanced at Lethe, who had said nothing so far. The man said nothing still. His eyes were full of sadness as they beheld his traitorous wife, the product of an ill-advised union    . “Perhaps,” I answered, “I would have believed what you say about ice dragons some weeks ago, when the only ice dragons I knew were those of stories told by my history tutor in childhood. But… I have seen that Lethe Eraeus would intervene on behalf of my innocent wife when his own father sought to end her. Flawed, certainly, the ice dragons are—but they do not possess uniform flaws… just as the fire dragons do not.”

Altair nodded with grim sincerity. “I must agree with you, brother, and I’m relieved to hear you say it first,” he said. “That will make telling Mother that much easier.”

“Telling Mother what?”

Altair grinned sheepishly and waved the matter away with a hand. “Oh,” he said, “nothing… nothing.”

Nell grinned back at him, and my brow furrowed. “Okay.”

“I feel like we’re getting off the topic here,” Michelle interrupted nervously. Her eyes brightened as a toothy smile spread over her face. “Give me another chance,” she said. “I can impress you again. I impressed you once, didn’t I?” Her eyes moved from my face to Nell’s, which was less than half as forgiving. “Nell,” she gushed, her hands moving to my wife’s arm, “give me the same opportunity I gave you. I let you stay in the palace. I took care of you.”

“You made me your servant,” Nell snapped, “for the joy of humiliating me. You weren’t trying to do me any favors. You were just… amusing yourself, Michelle, because deep down, you’re sad. Deep down, you can’t enjoy yourself without tearing someone else down. That’s how sad you are. And I’m sad for you. I am. But.” In spite of her words—and I believed that Penelope did, yes, feel a degree of sympathy for her old friend—her face remained unforgiving. “I don’t have the same problems you have. I love my life.” She squeezed my arm at these words. “And I don’t need to use anyone else’s embarrassment or pain to feel that way. The only service you could have provided was trustworthy, enjoyable companionship. Since you can’t provide that, you’re useless.”