“What need have I for wings?”
The Dragonwitch threw back her head and laughed out loud. Her children, standing in the shadows of the stairway, cringed back and hid themselves. The fountain of her fire rose to the sky, celebratory flames falling over the dead city in red and orange.
“I am the firstborn!” she cried. “Even wingless, I am powerful! Even wingless, my will cannot be thwarted! I am more dreadful than all my brothers and sisters. Those who trifle with me will know my wrath!”
So she laughed and danced and made merry. Until suddenly she stopped with a terrible sob and fell upon her knees. Oh, for the sweet relief of tears! She screamed, clutching her gut where the fire roiled.
It wasn’t enough!
She had been humiliated before the worlds. She had been made weak and pitiful. And though she was firstborn of all dragons, she had needed—it was poison even to think it!—she had needed a mortal woman to do her work for her.
Cursing, she spat out the venomous fumes of her inner furnace. Her children took flight, their tails tucked, hiding in the darkest recesses of the city. And they watched as Omeztli, the queen’s ancient tower, melted under Hri Sora’s flame and collapsed into a pile of molten rubble.
The Dragonwitch lay buried beneath the wreckage. The fire was consuming her mind, and she knew she would soon be lost to it once more. But before she went, she vowed:
“I will have vengeance on the mortal girl. On her and on all who have wronged me. When next I rise, they will burn!”
8
QUEEN BEBO STOOD before her long mirror, Lady Gleamdren at her elbow. “Take this, my dear,” said the queen and, removing the crown from her head, passed it to her cousin. Gleamdren obeyed and stepped back, her eyes round with surprise at what Bebo did next.
For the queen picked all the pins out of her knot of golden hair. With a shake of her head, she set it free, and gold cascaded in glorious bounty down her shoulders, down her back, flowing to the floor and behind her in a stream of light.
“There,” said the queen with a smile. “Let the secret of the Flowing Gold be secret no more.”
“Your Majesty!” cried Gleamdren, horrified. “What will Iubdan say? When the worlds know the secret of his great treasure, will you be safe?”
Bebo laughed, for she knew the true source of her cousin’s concern. Lady Gleamdren enjoyed the prestige of being one of three to know Iubdan’s secret. For long generations she had tended Bebo’s hair, tying it up in ribbons, securing it with pins, and hiding it beneath crown and veil so that none might guess at its radiance. With the secret out, full half of Gleamdren’s allure would fade. Bebo saw the pout forming on her cousin’s mouth, and though she well knew Gleamdren’s faults, she loved her dearly even so.
“I will be safe,” she said, patting the pretty maid’s cheek. “When the Faerie lords and ladies realize that the Flowing Gold is attached to the very head of Bebo, they will think twice before sending thieves with barber’s shears! And perhaps we shall have no more of dragons and witches endangering my people for the sake of a secret.”
So it was that Bebo swept down from her chambers to meet her husband beside Fionnghuala Lynn, and all the Merry People of Rudiobus gathered there beheld the shining river of her hair. Many sighs of wonder and, soon after, of understanding filled the air as they realized what Bebo revealed.
Iubdan’s thick brow shot up at the sight. “Well, I suppose I couldn’t keep it to myself forever,” he said, taking his wife’s hand and drawing it through the loop of his arm. “It was a grand game while it lasted! And if the Faerie folk set upon us and steal the Flowing Gold one strand at a time, you, my queen, even bald, will always be my greatest treasure.”
Bebo smiled and patted his hand. Then they turned to gaze across Gorm-Uisce, for they had felt the approach of one of their kind on the borders of their realm. All the court of Rudiobus lined up behind them, straining their eyes to see who sat upon órfhlaith’s back as she skimmed the surface of the lake.
But Bebo’s gaze was downcast, and a smile played upon her mouth, for she knew already who came. So did Gleamdren, standing at the queen’s right hand. Her face was demure, but those near enough could hear her teeth grinding.