Where Grag Tenira found his courage, Reyn could not say. He strode boldly between the Rain Wilder and the dragon. He lifted his sword high, and Tintaglia bridled in affront. Then the Bingtown Trader bowed low and set the blade at her feet.

“I will serve you,” he offered Tintaglia. “Only free our harbor of these vermin, and I will set myself to any task you propose.” He glanced about; his look plainly invited others to join him. Some few crept closer, but most kept their distance. Selden alone advanced confidently to stand beside Grag. The shining eyes the boy turned up to the dragon made Reyn feel ill. Selden was so young, and so deceived by the creature. He wondered if that was how his mother and brother had seen him when he was advocating so strongly on the dragon’s behalf. He winced at the memory. He had turned this creature loose on the world, and his price for that folly had been Malta.

Tintaglia’s eyes flashed as she considered Grag. “Do you think I am a servant to be bought with wages? Dragons have not been gone that long from this world, surely? The will of a dragon takes precedent over any feeble goals of humans. You will cease this conflict, and turn your attention to my wishes.”

Selden spoke before Grag could reply. “Having seen the marvel of your wrath, mighty one, how could we wish to do otherwise? It is those others, the invaders, who dispute your will. See how they sought to attack you, before they even knew your bidding. Smite them and drive them from our shores, wide-winged queen of the skies. Free our minds from considering them, that we may turn willingly to your loftier goals.”

Reyn stared at the lad. Where did he find such language? And did he think a dragon could be so easily maneuvered? With amazement, he watched Tintaglia’s great head dip down until her nostrils were on a level with Selden’s belt. She gave the boy a tiny nudge that sent him staggering.

“Honey-tongue, do you think you can deceive me? Do you think pretty words will convince me to labor like a beast for your ends?” There was both affection and sarcasm in her voice.

Selden’s boyish voice rang out clear and true. “No, mistress of the wind, I do not hope to deceive you. Nor do I try to bargain with you. I beg this boon of you, mighty one, that we might more fully concentrate on your task for us.” He took a breath. “We are but small creatures, of short lives. We must grovel before you, for that is how we are made. And our small minds are made likewise, filled with our own brief concerns. Help us, gleaming queen, to put our fears to rest. Drive the invaders from our shore, that we may heed you with uncluttered minds.”

Tintaglia threw back her head and roared her delight. “I see you are mine. I suppose it had to be, as young as you were, and so close to my wings’ first unfurling. May the memories of a hundred Elderling minstrels be yours, small one, that you may serve me well. And now I go, not to do your bidding, but to demonstrate my might.”

She reared, taller than a building, and pivoted on her hind legs like a war stallion. Reyn saw her mighty haunches bunch, and threw himself to the ground. An instant later, a blast of air and driven dust lashed him. He remained down as the beating of her silver-blue wings lifted her skyward. He rose and gaped at the suddenly tiny figure overhead. His ears felt stuffed with cotton. As he stared, Grag suddenly gripped his arm. “What were you thinking, to defy her like that?” the Trader demanded. He lifted his gaze in awe. “She’s magnificent. And she’s our only chance.” He grinned at Selden. “You were right, lad. Dragons change everything.”

“So I believed once, also,” Reyn said sourly. “Push aside her glamour. She is as deceptive as she is magnificent, and her heart has room only for her own interests. If we bow to her will, she will enslave us as surely as the Chalcedeans would.”

“You are wrong.” Small and slight as Selden was, he seemed to tower with satisfaction. “The dragons did not enslave the Elderlings, and they will not enslave us. There are many ways for different folk to live alongside each other, Reyn Khuprus.”

Reyn looked down on the boy and shook his head. “Where do you get such ideas, boy? And such words as could charm a dragon into letting us live?”

“I dream them,” the boy said ingenuously. “When I dream that I fly with her, I know how she speaks to herself. Queen of the sky, rider of the morning, magnificent one. I speak to her as she speaks to herself. It is the only way to converse with a dragon.” He crossed his thin arms on his narrow chest. “It is my courtship of her. Is it so different from how you spoke to my sister?”

The sudden reminder of Malta and how he had used to flatter and cajole her was like a knife in his heart. He started to turn aside from the boy who smiled so unbearably. But Selden reached out and gripped his arm. “Tintaglia does not lie,” he said in a low voice. His eyes met Reyn’s and commanded his loyalty. “She considers us too trivial to deceive. Trust me in this. If she says Malta is alive, then she lives. My sister will return to us. But to get this, you must let me guide you, as I let my dreams guide me.”