And now even the Dragonwitch was enthralled by the little insect. Her dragon. Her captor, who was supposed to be torturing her, striving to wring secrets from her unwilling mouth! Instead, Hri Sora spared not a glance for the iron birdcage and its inhabitant. Her attention was fixed upon whatever events were unfolding in the streets of Etalpalli.
Perhaps, Gleamdren thought, she should bring up the subject of Amarok again. That would get a reaction from the Flame at Night! Setting her jaw, Gleamdren scrambled to her feet and approached the bars of her cage. “Oi!” she began.
Howls split the air, drowning her voice.
The Black Dogs raced each other up the stair spiraling up the outside of their mistress’s tower. Midnight followed swiftly on their heels, giving Gleamdren’s eyes their first relief from the glaring red of Etalpalli’s sky since she’d come to this place. Not that it felt like relief. Used as she was to the bright ways of the Merry People, it was oppressive. She stepped back from the cage bars to avoid attracting attention from the two monstrous Dogs barrelling across the rooftop and bellowing like an entire pack of wolves.
The Dragonwitch silenced them with a look.
Cringing like whipped puppies, the Dogs crawled on their bellies to her feet. Their heads were bigger than hers, their jaws capable of breaking her in half without a thought. But they were in terror of her, the shabby queen of this city, standing above them in a tattered green nightdress, her hair wild about her face.
“My children,” Hri Sora said.
They whined; they groveled. One dared the barest wag of a tail. This one she struck across the face. Not with any force that could have hurt the creature, but with a cruelty that wounded its spirit. It rolled onto its back, exposing its belly, the picture of subservience. Gleamdren felt sick at the sight but could not tear her gaze away.
“I was right,” said the Dragonwitch. Her eyes barely saw the beasts abasing themselves before her. They gleamed with a light that was full of memory and hatred. “I was right. How such a girl came to my demesne, I do not know. Perhaps, for once, the fates work in my favor? She is come, and it is a sign. I know it is a sign!”
She knelt and took one of the Dogs by the scruff of its neck, lifting its jowly head so she could snarl in its face. “Bring her to me. Alive.”
The Black Dogs rose and fled the tower, tails tucked, ears flattened. They would obey. They were too full of fear and love to consider otherwise.
The Midnight lingered long after they had gone. Gleamdren, her sulk momentarily forgotten, huddled down on the far side of her cage, warily watching the Dragonwitch pace along the roof’s edge.
Imraldera sat with an orange cat pressed up against one side of her and a badger on the other. Both were fast asleep. How odd these Faerie creatures were. They flaunted their immortality with such casual ease! In the midst of this evil city, enchantments surrounding them and the Black Dogs on the loose somewhere close by, these two slept as peacefully as a pair of kits.
Imraldera, however, could not. When the last echoes of Eanrin’s lullaby faded from her mind, she had awakened to find her two companions snoring soundly. Careful not to wake them, she idly stroked the ears of one furry bundle, then the other. How long it felt since she had sat thus in her father’s house, her gray lurcher sleeping with its head on her lap, her baby sister leaning against her shoulder. Those were beautiful days, she realized. Days she had always known must come to an end.
But what a strange, terrible end!
When she looked about, she still saw the Place of the Teeth, the central stone slab, the five jutting stones like fangs rising from each corner and the center. But she knew, now that her heart had calmed its mad racing, that what she saw could not be the truth. The winds were always harsh in the Place of the Teeth. Here, there was no wind. The illusion affected only her vision.
It was fading. Slowly, the stones, the mountain, the vista of green below her melted away, and she saw the burned streets and towers, red and shadowless once more. How had she come to this? She could make no sense of it, find no underlying reason. She had fled, and her flight had brought her here, to a world she could scarcely begin to comprehend, to companions who wore their fur coats as naturally as their cloaks and doublets. Imraldera did not want any of it to be real. If only reality consisted of nothing more than a dimming hearth, a small child, and a faithful dog! How sweet life might be then.
The Midnight descended.
She saw it creeping softly across the red stones like a bloodstain spreading as it soaked into the ground. It crawled up and over her own limbs, shrouding her and her sleeping companions. And ahead of her, Imraldera saw the flaming eyes of the Black Dogs and heard their deep breathing.
Eanrin and Glomar slept on.
The creatures approached, their heads low. Imraldera looked from one to the other. They were as like as twins can be, their grotesque faces more monster than Dog. But she saw the difference in their gazes.