Page 45 of The Dragon Queen

All the fire seemed to go out of him. He walked over to the head of the table then slouched down into a seat, gesturing for us to join him. Everyone moved to do just that.

“No, she didn’t. After the treaty was forged between her and the dragons of Dragon Home, the few people that knew wild dragons existed were wary. Dragons are a bit like seabirds in a way, returning to the same beaches to hatch their eggs. Wild queens would come south to mate and nest. People had questions. No amount of negotiation would get the dragons to nest elsewhere. Inara, some of theother queens, and my own ancestors, took decisive action. The south belonged to us. We would do what it took to hold it. My many great grandfather, he…”

Those long, sensitive fingers stroked the butter knife before him, tracing the shape of the filigree carved into the handle.

“He took a leaf out of Inara’s book and destroyed more cave complexes that were used for hatching.” His smile was utterly mirthless, the light leaving his eyes by the second. “People kept spreading out further and further as our population grew. This took them closer to dragon territory. My ancestors…”

Draven stared out at the balcony, but I was willing to bet he wasn’t seeing the moonlight pooling there.

“They didn’t keep accurate records of the caves used for nesting. Each king was preoccupied with his people, his reign, his legacy.” Draven shook his head and finally met my gaze. “Too much so to think about the impact of his actions. Fewer and fewer nesting caves were left. This kept the wild dragon numbers down, something they thought was an admirable goal, thinking little of the future.”

His lips pursed, his eyes narrowing, as if he could block out this reality.

“Hatching sands would disappear sometimes due to natural causes like earthquakes or lava bursting through the surface, something my grandfather didn’t factor in. There was one lot of hatching sands left in Dragon Home which was more than enough to sustain the wild dragon population we needed, he reasoned.” Draven’s eyes met mine. “Until it wasn’t. Darkspire was born into the last clutch, by the last wild queen besides Cynane. His mother died some years ago, when the cave collapsed on top of her, crushing the queen and all of her eggs.”

His hand wrapped around his knife.

“The cave system of Nevermere is notoriously unstable, something we should have considered before moving against the wild dragons. My father experienced a moment of clarity before my mother learned to control him utterly, realising that we would need to strike a new bargain with the wild dragons. Cynane was to be invited to use the hatching sands in Wyrmpeak. When I deliveredthat offer, the queen dragon made clear that no wild dragon would step foot in the capital while the threat of my mother remained, maybe not even after that.”

“They’d die out,” I said, feeling that tight feeling in my chest again. “And so would the dragon corp.”

“It would take years, but…” Draven let out a sigh. “Yes. After however many thousands of years of flying the skies, dragons would cease to exist in Nevermere.”

“That can’t happen,” I said, jerking myself to my feet. I was the one pacing now, as if I could outrun what I was feeling. “It can’t. Glimmer isn’t enough. The queen egg… They’re too close genetically. Your father didn’t let Zafira mate with several males, always confining her to his dragon.”

“Cynane must birth a queen.” Draven regarded us all steadily. “The two of them?—”

“One of them.” Brom shook his head. “This is Cynane’s last clutch, I’ll put money on it. At this point, I think her males have to be on high alert, ready to step in and sit with the eggs if the queen dies before they are hatched.”

“And not given to the sons of nobles.” I paused, my hand going to my belt knife, something Draven noted with a cocked eyebrow. “I promised her that, Draven.”

“Queens shouldn’t go around making promises,” he replied in a deadly tone. “We are then forced to fulfil them, even if it goes against the common good.”

“Then don’t make me queen then.”

I heard a faint humming, a far off version of the dragon song that was performed at the mass grave. “Leave me to be Brom’s wife.” I gestured to the table. “Theirs as well, because if the price of sitting my arse on the throne is sacrificing those baby dragons?—”

“Dragons who will be imprinted, just as Glimmer was,” Draven replied. “‘Spire, Glacier, Obsidian, Wraith, and Cloud Raker.”

“Dragons who weren’t given any kind of choice.” My voice cracked on that, emotion surging from somewhere. It was a subterranean beast, threatening to swallow me whole, dragging me downinto its dark gullet. “I don’t doubt that Obsidian would’ve chosen Brom if he had a choice, Glacier, Flynn…”

My hand moved restively through the air.

“But a choice made when you are only minutes old is no real choice. A child cannot weigh up its options, consider the implications of its decisions. Dragons are sentient, capable of independent thought, reason, just like we are. You don’t take babes from the arms of women and thrust them into training at the keep. Dragons should be given the same courtesy, or…”

I cast around, trying to think of a bargaining chip to use in this argument.

“Or Glimmer will bear no more dragonlings for the crown.”

He pursed his lips and then nodded.

“The first human queen was a woman with the requisite empathy to bond with a queen dragon. It seems fitting that our current queen demonstrates that same empathy. The dukes won’t like it.”

“Seeing as they’ll all be new to their roles,” Flynn added wryly, “seems a good time to make them aware of the new world order.”

“Indeed. Let’s eat.” Draven got up and pulled the bell rope in the corner of the room to summon a phalanx of servants to take the cold food away and replace it with hot dishes. “We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I will need to confirm the new dukes in their positions. Flynn, you’ll be glad to know your uncle has accepted my offer to take his brother’s position.”

“As long as it’s not me,” he replied with a sigh, then looked up. “Uncle Rupert, yes? Not Uncle Bern.”

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