“I’m not the sort to fall in love,” Gleamdren continued in a most practical voice. “So it’s not in my nature to fall for glamours either. Not even a spell is going to make me love someone so unconditionally! No, when I saw you, I felt neither love nor pity for you, no more than that silly Eanrin did, I’m sure. But unlike Eanrin, I stop and think about things now and then. So when you were brought inside and even Bebo was taken in by your ‘great beauty’—though, I must say, I don’t see what’s so great about it. Even with enchantments, you’re far too scrawny to be beautiful—I thought to myself, ‘Who could possibly deceive even my queenly cousin?’ Not another Faerie, surely. Bebo is older than all of them. No enchantment of the Far World would get past her eye.
“Then I thought, well, what about a witch? Not a mortal witch, of course; those poor hags and silly sorceresses couldn’t begin to deceive even Eanrin, much less my cousin! Perhaps a Faerie witch, then. But even Vartera, the Witch Queen of Arpiar, couldn’t get past Queen Bebo’s protections. And she tried! Lumé love you, how she tried, so desperate to find the Flowing Gold was she! Everyone wants the Flowing Gold. And every gold-hungry witch and monster of the Far World has tried to take it at least once. But you . . .”
Gleamdren’s stream of prattle died away as she smiled knowingly upon the colorless woman. “You did what even Queen Vartera could not—you deceived Bebo. You wheedled your way into Rudiobus, extracted promises of safe haven from the king and queen. You are more than a mere goblin witch, aren’t you?”
“What, then,” the woman whispered, “am I?”
“A dragon.”
The candles all about the room flared, then sank on their wicks. The warm glow vanished, exchanged for a dull redness. Gleamdren and the stranger gazed at each other. And slowly the glamour unraveled.
Hri Sora sat on the edge of Lady Gleamdren’s bed, clad in her soft green nightgown. Her skin was stretched too thin over her frame, and in places it broke, revealing cruel scales beneath. These were black with a red-hot iridescence that was painfully beautiful to behold.
“I thought as much,” said Gleamdren with a satisfied smirk. “You smelled burnt like a dragon, not dead like mortals do. So tell me, dragon, are you looking for the Flowing Gold too?”
“I am,” said Hri Sora. Her voice rasped between her sharp teeth.
“Of course you are. I know where it is; did you know that?”
“I did. And you will tell me.”
Gleamdren laughed outright. Her laugh was artificial, as though she’d forgotten long ago what a real laugh was supposed to sound like. She wiped one eye with her thumb and turned a smile upon the dragon. “Oh, honestly! Do you really think that’s how it’s going to work? I’m not about to just tell you a secret like that, older than the foundations of the world! You’re going to have to kidnap me.”
Hri Sora hissed and fire gleamed in her mouth. “Tell me what I want to know, and there will be no need for kidnapping.”
“What? And spoil all the fun? I think not! No, no, it’s much better that you steal me away to . . . wherever you live. I do hope there’s a good high tower there. It’s proper if you lock me in a high tower. That’s how these things are done.”
The dragon rose from the bed. Fire burned through her skin, and the green nightgown caught and smoldered at the neck and sleeves. “Tell me what I want to know.” The heat of her words melted the gilding on the bedposts, on the walls, on the mirror’s frame.
“No. Sorry. Kidnapping it must be.”
“Are you not afraid?”
“Why should I be afraid? I have scores of suitors, and they’ll all come to rescue me. Can you imagine how romantic that will be? Much more so than epic poetry. I’ve never been kidnapped before, but I’ve always rather liked the sound of it! So yes, why don’t you just spread your wings like a good dragon and carry me off?”
Hri Sora gnashed her teeth. Fire fell from her lips, setting the counterpane ablaze. Even Gleamdren had the sense to take a step back, blinking rapidly. But Hri Sora reached out and took hold of the front of her dress, dragging her so close that Gleamdren thought her nose might melt away. For the first time that evening, a flutter that might be akin to fear stirred in Gleamdren’s breast.
“I’ll carry you off, little maid,” snarled the dragon. “I’ll lock you away fast and far. And believe me, you will tell me what I wish to know, or you will die.”
“Don’t . . . don’t make a fool of yourself,” Gleamdren gasped, still trying to keep her voice light. “The people of Rudiobus don’t die.”
“Perhaps not.” Fire surrounded the dragon’s tongue as she spoke. “But you can be killed.”