Then she was hanging from Mercor’s jaws. She could feel his teeth through her clothes. He held her gingerly, but still they scratched her. Before she could react to being in a dragon’s mouth, he dropped her on the muddy riverbank. A circle of shouting people closed around her as she gagged up river water and sand. It ran in gritty streams from her nose. She wiped at her face and someone pushed a blanket into her hands. She dried her face on a corner of it and blinked her eyes. Her vision was blurry, but it slowly cleared.
“Are you all right? Are you all right?” It was Tats, kneeling next to her, soaking wet, and asking the same question over and over.
“It’s my fault! I didn’t want to let the fish go. Oh, Sa forgive me, it’s all my fault! Is she going to be all right? She’s bleeding! Oh, someone get some bandaging!” Alise was pale, her red hair hanging in wet streamers down her face.
Rapskal was fussing over her, trying to hold her down. Thymara pushed him aside and sat up, to belch and spit out more sandy water. “Please, give me some space,” she said. It was only when a shadow moved away that she became aware that a dragon had been standing over her also. She spat more grit out of her mouth. Her eyes were sore and tears could not come. She wiped at them lightly with her fingers, and silt came away.
“Tip your head back,” Tats ordered her gruffly, and when she did, he poured clean water over her face. “Doing your arm now,” he warned her, and the cool flow made her gasp as it eased the burning she’d been trying to ignore. She sneezed abruptly, and water and mucus flew everywhere. She wiped her face with the blanket, earning a cry of “Hey, that’s my blanket!” from Rapskal.
“You can use mine,” she said hoarsely. She suddenly realized she wasn’t dead or dying, only strangely humiliated by everyone’s attention. She struggled to get to her feet. When Tats helped her, she managed not to jerk her arm away from him, though she didn’t like to appear weak in front of everyone. An instant later, it was even worse when Alise enveloped her in a hug.
“Oh, Thymara, I’m so sorry! I nearly killed you and all for a fish!”
She managed to disentangle herself from Alise. “What sort of a fish was it?” she asked, trying to divert attention away from herself. Her abraded arm stung and her clothes were wet. She slung the blanket around her shoulders as Alise said, “Come and see. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Neither had Thymara. In shape, it was like an inverted dinner plate, but a plate twice the size of Thymara’s blanket. It had two bulbous eyes on top of its body, and a long, whiplike tail with a series of barbs on the end. The top of it was speckled light and dark, like the river bottom, but its underside was white. It bore the wounds of spears in a dozen places, and gashes where Sintara had dragged it ashore. “Is it a fish?” she asked incredulously.
“Looks a bit like a ray; yes, a fish,” Leftrin commented. “But I’ve never seen anything like this in the river, only in salt water. And I’ve never seen one this size.”
“And it’s mine to eat,” Sintara asserted. “But for me, it would have been lost.”
“Your greed nearly killed me,” Thymara said. She did not speak loudly but firmly. She was surprised she could say the words so calmly. “You knocked me into the river. I nearly drowned.” She looked at the dragon and Sintara looked back. She sensed nothing from her, no sense of remorse, or justification. They’d come so far together. The dragon had grown stronger and larger and definitely more beautiful. But unlike the other dragons, she had not grown closer to her keeper. A terrible regret welled up in Thymara. Sintara grew more beautiful daily; she was, without doubt, the most glorious creature that Thymara had ever seen. She had dreamed of being companion to such a wonderful being, dreamed of basking in her reflected glory. She’d fed the dragon to the best of her ability, groomed her daily, doctored her when she thought she could help her, and praised her and flattered her through every step of their day. She’d seen her grow in health and strength.
And today the dragon had nearly killed her. By carelessness, not temper. And did not express even a moment of regret. Her earlier question came back to her. Why had the dragons wanted keepers? The answer seemed clear to her now. To be their servants. Nothing more.
She had heard people speak of “heartbreak.” She had not known that it actually caused a pain in the chest, as if, indeed, her heart were torn. She looked at her dragon and struggled to find words. She could have said, “You are no longer my dragon, and I am not your keeper.” But she didn’t, because it suddenly seemed as if that had never been true at all. She shook her head slowly at the beautiful sapphire creature and then turned aside from her. She looked around at the circle of gathered keepers and dragons. Alise was looking at her, her gray eyes wide. She was soaking wet; Captain Leftrin had put his coat around her shoulders. The Bingtown woman stared at her wordlessly, and Thymara knew that she alone grasped what she was feeling. That was unbearable. She turned and walked away. A stone-faced Tats stepped aside and let her pass.
