The Empress clapped her hands and Linsha found herself surrounded by Callista, Afec, and the two female slaves. The women bustled her to the bathhouse where they scrubbed the blue paint from her body, massaged her aching limbs, and treated her bruises with cool water. Fortunately she remembered the brass dragon scale in time and slipped it out of her leather battle harness before anyone noticed. As soon as they were finished, Afec gave her a cold compress for her swollen eye, washed her superficial wounds with the stinging liquid and rubbed the thick unguent into the cut on her palm and the long laceration on her stomach. Callista brought her more juice and a bowl of soup. Linsha thanked them all, gave Callista an encouraging smile, and returned to the comparative peace of her tiny room. Although she wanted to talk to Callista and Afec, she gave in to the demands of her body and lay down on her pallet. Sleep found her before the blanket settled over her.

“Would you be able to get your hands on some dark green clothes or fabric in the next day or two? Dark gray would also work.” Linsha lay flat on her pallet, trying to stretch her muscles back into some semblance of working order. She cocked her good eye at the courtesan to see if she caught the significance.

Callista didn’t. The only subterfuge she knew involved the arts of her profession. Her fair face looked down at Linsha in confusion. “I suppose so. Why do you need such a thing?”

“An assassin I once knew told me dark green is a better color to wear when you are sneaking around in the dark. It is much harder to see than black, which tends to stand out in shadows.”

The two women were alone in the sleeping quarters that morning, for the Empress had excused Linsha from the dawn run. It was a good thing she had, Linsha decided, because she wasn’t entirely sure she could stay on her feet. Running was out of the question.

“Are you planning to sneak somewhere?” Callista asked with a slight smile.

Although they probably were alone in the sleeping rooms, Linsha lowered her voice to a murmur and told Callista about the dragon in the cavern beneath the palace. “I want to talk to her without a pack of Tarmaks gathering around-and without the High Priest. He and Lanther have a power over her that will be hard to break.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No. But Afec may be able to help me.”

Callista drew in a breath. “Could this Sirenfal fly us home?”

Linsha did not reply immediately. The same notion had occurred to her already and sparked a tiny seed of hope in the gloom of her mind. But she remembered the dragon’s obvious weakness and the pallor of her scales. She didn’t know if Sirenfal was in any condition to fly across the bay, let alone all the way to Ansalon. She did not know either how to get the dragon out of the cave, how to slip past the Tarmak guards, how to get out of the Akeelawasee with Callista, or the answers to a host of other questions. She needed first to talk to the brass dragon. “Maybe,” she said at last. “If many things go right.”

“What about your marriage?” said Callista. “Will you go through with that?”

A chill shivered down Linsha’s shoulders. “I will do what I must,” she said.

Unbidden and unexpected came an image of a tall man with broad shoulders, hair the color of dark gold, and eyes that burned with the wisdom of a dragon over a hundred years old. She had seen him fiery with the intensity of passion to save his city, strong with command in an emergency, and silly with the joy of life while playing in a fishpond. He had saved her life several times, and when the need arose, he left his city behind to help her. If only he could help her now. Please, she silently begged the empty firmament. Please let him still be alive.

With Callista’s help, Linsha eased some of the kinks out of her sore limbs and made her slow way to breakfast. To Callista’s surprise, Linsha ate her gruel, the juice, and everything in sight without grumbling, and after breakfast she went to the small lake to swim in the warm water.

Although the swim helped, Linsha knew from past experience it would be several days before her body returned to a semblance of normal after the abuse it had taken the night before. Ten years ago a night’s sleep, a good meal, and a swim would have had her back to her practice exercises and feeling fit as a young colt. But her body was experiencing its age and the years of fighting that had taken their toll. She didn’t recover as quickly as she used to, which meant she was going to have to work hard the next few days and be extremely careful if she was going to do any good.

When her swim was over, Afec came to fetch her and took her to his infirmary for an examination of her injuries. Linsha allowed him to walk in first, then she closed the door firmly behind her. He glanced up curiously just as she tossed the brass dragon scale on the table. It flew in a gleaming arch that caught his eye and landed with a metallic ting on the wood table. Afec’s eyes widened; his gnarled fingers reached for the shining disk.

Linsha took two rapid steps to the table and slammed her hand over the scale. “What do you know about this dragon?” she demanded.

Shutters fell over the old Damjatt’s face, and he withdrew to a respectful distance from Linsha and made a slight bow. “Only what I’ve heard, Lady,” he said.

Linsha did not move. “And what did you hear?”

He peered behind her and out the window where the shutters were partially open to the morning breeze. “I heard once or twice,” he replied softly, “that there was a dragon in the old sea caves beneath the palace.”

“You’ve never seen it.”

He shook his head, his eyes on the floor at her feet. “It is forbidden. 0nly the priests and warriors and those chosen by the Emperor or the Akkad may go down there.”

Linsha thought for a moment then picked up the dragon scale and laid it in the old slave’s hand. His seamed face crinkled into a large smile. He held the scale to the light, admiring the sheen and color.

Linsha had deliberately polished the scale until it gleamed, and she was gratified to see her small ploy had worked. Assuming a casual air, she sat on the worktable in front of him and held out her cut palm. Never had she been able to figure out why some people thought it necessary to cut the hand for a blood oath. Why not the forearm? Or the buttock? Or the little toe? Something that would not interfere with one’s grip on a sword. Fortunately the Tarmak paint once again had performed its magic. The cut on her hand and the slash on her stomach were already healing well, and her eye did not seem as swollen.

“Her name is Sirenfal,” she said as if adding an afterthought. “She’s a young brass dragon.”

Still holding the scale, Afec bustled around his worktable and shelves, collecting his medicines, cloths, and water. “A female you say? And she’s young?”

“She has only laid her first clutch of eggs.”

The old Damjatt dumped his things on the table beside her and took her hand distractedly. “She has eggs?”

As Linsha hoped, he sounded fascinated. She caught his arm and asked, “Why would the warriors and the Emperor smash an egg to make a soup of some sort?” She described the breaking of the egg and the mix of ingredients that went into the drink.

His hand fell to the knotted belt at his waist and clutched the knots in his fingers. “They did that? I have only heard rumors. Are there any more eggs left?”

“Not of hers. Those are gone. This egg was from the Missing City. It was part of a clutch I swore to protect.”

“What a waste,” he murmured.

“Yes. So what are these rumors you’ve heard?”

Afec shrugged. “You know how talk passes among servants. I have heard that the drink you described is an old potion handed down among the Keena priests.”