‘Reflected in me?’

Dragons did not smile, but Thymara felt Sintara’s amusement. ‘Do you fish for compliments?’

‘I don’t understand,’ Thymara replied both honestly and resentfully. The dragon’s response had somehow implied she was vain. About what? About having the most beautiful of the queen dragons? One that alternated ignoring her with mocking or insulting her?

‘The most beautiful of all the dragons,’ Sintara amended her thought for her. ‘And the most brilliant and creative, as is clearly reflected in my having created the most dazzling Elderling.’

Thymara stared at her wordlessly. The brush hung forgotten in her hand.

Sintara gave a small snort of amusement. ‘From the beginning, I saw you had the most potential for development. It was why I chose you.’

‘I thought I chose you,’ Thymara faltered. Her heart was thundering. Her dragon thought she was beautiful! This soaring she felt, was it merely Sintara’s beguilement of her? She tried to ground herself but was certain this was not the dragon’s effortless glamorizing of her. This was what Sintara actually thought of her. Extraordinary!

‘Oh, doubtless you thought you chose me,’ Sintara went on with casual arrogance. ‘But I drew you to me. And as you see, I have employed a keen eye and a sure skill to make you the loveliest and most unusual of the Elderlings that now live. Just as I am the most glorious of the dragons.’

Thymara was silent, wishing she could deny the dragon’s self-aggrandizing, but knowing only a fool would claim to have lied in her thoughts. ‘Mercor gleams like liquid gold,’ she began, but Sintara snorted contemptuously.

‘Drakes! They have their colours and their muscles, but when it comes to beauty they have no patience for detail. Look at Sylve’s scaling some time and then compare it to your own. Plain as grass she is. Even in colouring their own scales, the other dragons lag far behind me.’ She shook herself and then came suddenly to her feet, erupting out of the hot sand and opening her wings in a single motion. ‘Look at these!’ she commanded proudly, flourishing her wings so that the wind from them sent particles of sand flying into Thymara’s face. ‘Where have you seen such intricacy, such brilliance of colour, such design?’

Thymara stared. Then wordlessly, she dragged her tunic up and over her head, to unfold her own wings. A glance over her shoulder told her that she had not imagined it. The differences were of scale only. She mirrored Sintara’s glory. Dragons did not laugh as humans did, but the sound Sintara made was definitely one of amusement.

The dragon settled herself onto the sand, leaving her wings open over the heated beds. ‘There. Next time you are moaning and snivelling that your dragon has no time for you, look over your shoulder and realize you already wear my colours. What more could any creature ask?’

Thymara had looked back at her basking dragon, torn between emotions. Did she dare trust any display of kindliness from her? ‘You seem different,’ she ventured hesitantly and wondered what the dragon would read more strongly, her suspicion or her hope. She braced herself for mockery. It did not come.

‘I am different. I am not hungry. I am not cold. I am not a crippled, pitiable thing. I am a dragon. I don’t need you, Thymara.’ Sintara shook herself and excess sand that had been trapped beneath her scales went runnelling down her sides in streams. Without being asked, Thymara found a long-handled brush. The handle was of a strangely light metal, as were the bristles. She studied them for a long moment; they gleamed like metal but flexed at her touch. More Elderling magic, she supposed. She began to apply it to Sintara, working from the back of her head down, dislodging particles of sand that had wedged at the edges of her scaling. Sintara closed her eyes in pleasure. By the time she reached the end of her tail, Thymara had formed her question. ‘Needing me made you dislike me?’

‘No dragon likes to be dependent. Even the Elderlings came to realize that.’

‘Dragons were dependent on Elderlings?’ She sensed that she trod in dangerous territory, but she formed the question anyway. ‘For what?’

The dragon looked at her for a long moment and she wished she had not dared to ask, sensing how resentful Sintara was of her question. ‘For Silver.’ She spoke the word and stared at Thymara, eyes whirling as if the girl would deny what she said. Thymara waited. ‘For a time Silver ran in the river here and was easy to find. Then, there was an earthquake, and things changed. The Silver ran thinly for a time. Some dragons could find it by diving into the shallows and digging for it. Sometimes it welled up abruptly, and showed as a silver streak in the river. But mostly, it did not. Then, we could only get it from the Elderlings.’