“But—”
“I insist!”
“I wouldn’t fight her on this,” Fenn said in a low voice. “She loves dressing people. Letting her get on with it is the kindest thing you can do.”
The endeavor did seem to make Selivia happy. They paraded through a succession of shops, where the princess insisted Tamri try on dozens of outfits, sometimes foisting the same item on her in six different colors. Most of the garments were thicker than anything Tamri had worn even in the depths of a Pendarkan winter, and the fabrics were finer too. They made her think of the darning jobs she’d scrounged up for Gramma Teall over the years.
Gyra, the bald Waterworker, must have collected Gramma Teall from the stilt hut by now. Khrillin had said he’d keep her in comfort as long as Tamri’s reports proved useful. She hoped he’d give her a room with a view of the sea.
“I really do feel bad about sending you on alone,” Selivia said, perhaps noticing Tamri’s mood had sobered. She was examining an emerald-green gown with bronze stars embroidered on the bodice. “I’ll tell Heath to put an extra safety harness on your dragon.”
Tamri blinked. “My dragon?”
“You’ll take the little sea-green one Fenn has been riding, and she’ll come with me to Soole on Mav. The dragon’s name is Laini, and she’s lovely. You’ll be fine.”
Tamri doubted that. It hadn’t gone so well the last time she rode a dragon all by herself. But the princess’s words reminded her they’d be parting ways soon. She needed to learn something Khrillin could use before she lost her chance.
“What will you do when you get to Soole?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” Selivia paused her inspection of the emerald dress to touch something in her pocket. “My betrothed’s research keeps him quite busy. I’m not sure how I’ll fit in.”
Tamri tried to sound only mildly interested. “Research?”
“Latch is a Waterworker, like you,” Selivia said. “He also loves to read old books, and he believes a lot of magic-wielding knowledge has been lost. He wants to find it again.”
“What kind of knowledge? Like how to make weapons?”
Selivia chuckled. “That’s a very Pendarkan thing to say.” She held the emerald gown up to her and gasped. “This color looks gorgeous with your skin tone!”
Tamri waited patiently for the princess to say more as she adjusted the velvet skirt and studied the effect from different angles. When you spent most of your life fighting for survival, weapons mattered—especially in the hands of more powerful Wielders. And information about Soolen weapons was exactly the sort of thing Khrillin would value.
As the princess chattered on about her betrothed and his research, Tamri realized Selivia didn’t see her as a threat at all. Maybe Heath was right about her being too trusting.
“I’ve seen Latch Wield, you know,” Selivia said. “He’s quite talented. Clever too. But I don’t want to end up stuffed into a musty archive forever.” She wrinkled her nose and examined a loose stitch of embroidery on the gown. “The Brach family works with Cindral dragons, too, but we’ll be living in the capital city, not at Fort Brach.”
“Fort Brach?”
“It’s Latch’s family fortress at the base of the Linden Mountains.” Selivia waved a vague hand to the east. “It’s the one Khrillin captured when he tried to invade Soole.”
Tamri coughed. “What?”
“Don’t you know about that? I suppose it might have been embarrassing for him. Yes, Khrillin managed to take the fort during the war. My brother convinced him to give it up without a fight by making him think it was about to be attacked by an army of powerful Fireworkers.” Selivia made Tamri hold the green velvet dress up while she adjusted her hair, freeing it from where it was tucked behind her ears. “Oh, that’s lovely. Such volume!”
“So your brother convinced King Khrillin to give up a fort he’d won and pull out of Soole?” Tamri asked. This had to be the deceit Khrillin had mentioned. She was beginning to understand why he still held a grudge.
“Siv was trying to avoid more bloodshed,” Selivia said. “Khrillin left in peace, but it didn’t exactly improve relations between Pendark and Soole.”
“What did Khrillin do when—”
The door of the shop burst open. Tamri dove behind a table piled with colorful silks, ready to defend herself with her sack full of heavy winter clothes. Fenn stepped in front of the princess and drew her short sword. But it was only Errol, who dashed toward them, long limbs wheeling.
“Princess, come quickly!” He skidded to a halt, grabbing a wooden mannequin for balance. “There’s trouble!”
“What kind of trouble?”
“One of the dragons is in the Fork. I don’t know how it got there. A crowd is gathering. You have to hurry!”
Selivia tossed a few coins to the shopkeeper and pushed the emerald dress at Tamri.
“I don’t—”
“It’ll look brilliant on you. Trust me.”
Then she darted out into the street with Fenn and Errol. Tamri stuffed the velvet dress into her overflowing sack and followed them toward the Fork.
The shouts reached them first. Then the squawks and squeals of a distressed animal. Tamri forced her way through the gathering crowds to find the sea-green Cindral dragon thrashing about in the middle of the busy intersection, looking confused and agitated. Horses shied away from it, their carriages swerving wide. Two slammed into each other with a deafening crash. Wood splintered. Dust billowed like smoke. Townsfolk gathered to point and stare, delighted by the chaos.
“Oh dear,” Selivia said. “This is why they’re supposed to stay in the stables. They hate it when people gawk.”
Tamri quickly stopped gawking and followed the princess as she tried to force through the onlookers, Fenn at her side. Other people’s sweat smeared Tamri’s arms as she squeezed through the throng after the princess.
Up ahead, a group of thugs was trying to surround the dragon. There were at least a dozen, dressed in rough clothes and carrying clubs and ropes. One had familiar sandy hair. Another’s mouth twisted into a grotesque smile thanks to his scar. They were trying to toss ropes around the dragon’s neck and shouting worse than brawling bargemen. Something told Tamri they weren’t just going to move the dragon out of the Fork. They wanted it for themselves.
As the thugs closed in, the dragon squealed and retreated onto the brick platform. Her tail whipped back and forth, her feathers fluffing up like a startled chicken.
“Leave her alone!” Selivia cried. “You’re upsetting her! Laini!”
Her voice was lost in the cacophony. The thugs circled the platform, still trying to capture the frightened dragon. A thick rope tangled around the creature’s wing, making it impossible for her to take off in her frantic state. She squawked in distress, and a flood of Watermight burst from her mouth. This only made the thugs more aggressive in their efforts to subdue her. Another cascade of power spurted from her mouth and sank into the dusty street.
Tamri felt bad for the dragon. She knew what it was like to be surrounded by strangers trying to rip away your freedom. She clenched her fists. Someone had to stop this.