Roland was terribly clever, so for myself, I was pleased that the lord’s comments didn’t make sense to him either. I hated to think that there was something that made me stand out as “other” that I didn’t even know about. I was fine being different from everyone else, but I wanted to know the things that marked me as different.
“Not at all,” the lord answered smoothly, as though Roland weren’t looking more and more angry as the seconds passed. “People are all quite different from each other. But I’m afraid we have no previous exposure to them, and all dragons”—he shrugged, as though it were nothing—“simply look alike to me.”
Roland started to open his mouth, and on the other side of him, Tristram looked as though he wanted to cry.
Oddly enough, it was Bet who stepped in. “Perhaps the sensible thing to do, then, Lord Forov, would be to respond whenever someone addresses you personally. Whether you think they might be a dragon or not.”
The man’s eyes narrowed at Bet, and his gaze darted up to Bet’s pointed ears poking out of his dark curls. Forov’s face contorted as though he were in great pain, or perhaps he was about to sneeze, and somehow Bet looked even more amused.
It was strange, because I’d known Bet since I was a child, for more than ten years, and never before had I seen his ears sticking out like that. He always kept them covered up with his hair, so why were they poking out now?
Lady Forov started making a weird sound, and it took me a moment to realize she was choking.
I half lifted out of my seat, ready to go hit her on the back to try to help, but... was that acceptable at a state dinner?
It didn’t seem right to let a person choke to death simply because of propriety, but I also didn’t want to make a spectacle of myself and humiliate Roland.
Fortunately, she managed a deep breath a moment later, and it seemed perhaps she’d just swallowed a sip of wine wrong.
Bet, laughter in his voice, asked, “Is everything quite all right, Lady Forov? I know Llangard’s ideas about equality are new and strange, but I think you’ll find that when you get used to them, they work quite well. There isn’t another country in the world where you can get such fine wool or metal craft.”
“Human ingenuity,” Forov said, his tone sharp, eyes narrowed at Bet.
“I believe you’ll find our finest crafters are dragons, actually,” Roland said. Ground out, really.
“But a human built this lovely palace,” Forov said, waving his hand expansively at the room around us. “With magic, I understand. Very impressive. Magic that runs in your family, King Roland.”
And something about that... well, it made my belly go queasy and my head swim in a strange way. Something about the avaricious light in Forov’s eyes when he looked at Roland. Something about his very presence at the table, sitting next to Rhys when he refused to so much as look at him.
“Excuse me,” I whispered to Roland. “I think... I’ve had enough.”
Then I slipped away before anyone had a chance to so much as look at me, let alone try to stop me from leaving.
I slunk through the back passages of the palace until I found my way to the aviary. Well, no. To my feathers.
The birds were beautiful, but right then, living creatures were too much to deal with. The peacocks were gorgeous and amazing, but also loud and a little... a lot.
The hoard room? It was quiet and beautiful and perfect. Just feathers everywhere, of every type and description. Flight feathers and down feathers and contour feathers, in every color, and some colors that defied description.
I sat and took one of the enormous peacock tail feathers in my hand, with its strange pattern that looked so much like eyes. Was it a defense mechanism? Convince the predator that there were many threats, and not just one small bird?
The velvety barbs of the feather were soft beneath my fingers. Soothing.
Feathers were always soothing.
Some part of it was... Roland. Every time I held a feather in my hand, part of my mind replayed that moment when he’d given me my very first feather. The first thing I had ever owned in my life. And in the moment, looking at a new feather, I always felt that utter elation of owning my very first thing. Of having my very first friend.
Of looking into Roland’s so-blue eyes and not being alone anymore.
And then he was beside me, as though thinking of him had called him to me. He sat down on the couch, still in his dinner finery and crown, looking downright sad. “I’m sorry about him. About them. Everyone keeps saying we’re supposed to make a treaty with them, and it’ll be good for Llangard, but... He’s insufferable.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”
“Me?” He demanded, leaning in and gently setting my feather aside to take my hands in his. “I’m fine. I’m worried about you. And Rhys and Tris and Hafgan and Bowen and... even Bet, though he seems to think it’s some sort of joke, offending the man by being particularly elven.”
Was that what he’d been doing?
That did sound like Bet. It amused him to poke holes in puffed up lords. My whole childhood in the palace, he’d enjoyed his position at Tristram’s side solely for the reason that it seemed to make some lords uncomfortable to see the son of a cook be so important to Llangard.
