“Baron Stewardt still haunts us,” Captain Wildt said, loose and relaxed in the officer’s club in the heart of Ransewellen which was, really, little more than a small library with a nice view of the harbor below. He, like Rodgardae, was on his third glass of wine and they had long passed the stage of stuffy formality. Mani was tucked into Rodgardae’s quarters back at the fort, claiming no desire to socialize, and Rodgardae missed him even if he enjoyed the way Wildt tended to relax more when Mani was not around. The two men got along well enough, Rodgardae could tell, but Wildt was very concerned about impropriety with a foreign-born duke’s guardian-slash-consort, and Mani found Wildt confusing in that way he found most of Kaaltendt dragons confusing.

“He made many allies during his time, and they still lurk in secret in court,” Wildt continued. “His execution hardly dampened their spirits. Emperor Rhezv will have a great advantage, given Stewardt’s position with the Royal Military Cabinet.”

Rodgardae waved a hand around. “Eh, the king is wise to that, and his advisers were so mortified by the treason that they have worked hard to reverse the damage.” He paused, swirling the dregs of his drink. “The ones who survived being interrogated by the queen, that is.”

Wildt studied his own glass, letting the terrifying implications of that settle between them without comment. He finally finished it off and set the glass down. “They say Stewardt’s wife was privy to much of his work, which she provided to the queen’s Investigators.”

Rodgardae grimaced, familiar with the scandal that had rocked the court despite his own distance from it. He had only seen Baroness Stewardt from a distance when she had been brought before the queen to reveal her part in betraying her own husband in order to bring him to justice, but Rodgardae had been impressed by her stature and bravery, and also the many members of court who stood up to speak in her defense. He was sorry to know that while she had been cleared of all accusations, she had retreated to her father’s estates in some distant rural land of Kaaltendt. She was still considered guilty by association, and there was no way the dragon queen of Kaaltendt would simply let the poor woman retire in privacy. There had been talk of stripping her of all titles, or pressing her into service for the king’s Army, or remarrying her to a backwater lord far from court. She kept her head, he supposed, which was more than many others.   

“Yes or no, she’s off the board,” Rodgardae said.

Wildt nodded. “True.” He sighed. “Rhezv is biding his time, I fear. Any word from your people?”

“Yes and no,” Rodgardae paraphrased himself with a chuckle. “My brother the prince writes me that everyone is bracing for invasion. The coasts have become armor-plated, for all the fortifications being raised. We might be forced to change the name of our fair land to the Isle of Turtle.”

Wildt laughed softly. “Ah, Your Grace.” He shook his head and refilled their glasses from the decanted whiskey that had been waiting for them when they arrived earlier that evening. Rodgardae did appreciate the perks of his rank sometimes. He picked up his glass and gave Wildt a salute.

“But that said, there is no movement, for which we are grateful.”

“Mm.” Wildt waved a hand around lazily, mimicking a wing in motion, as if he forgot he did not have them at the moment. “Most analyses I’ve read put Rhezv’s potential actions years out. Five? Or so.”

“I’ve read the same.” Rodgardae sighed heavily. “But something is in the air. My brother the prince and his advisers feel the same, and are pushing to be ready, as you know. All of us — the dragons of Watt, I mean — are training and flying hard, but we know from experience that such precautions stop no one.”

“Without a queen you are all quite crippled,” Wildt said, then blanched. “Forgive me, I meant no offense, I—”

“Shhh, shhh. You aren’t saying anything my own people haven’t been complaining about for centuries. For all the eggs laid and kits born, and we have many, there is a distinct lack of what we really need.”

“Nonetheless, I am sorry, Your Grace.”

Rodgardae studied his glass. “The line died out. We know it, if no one admits it.”

If possible, Wildt looked even more horrified. “No!”

“Tis true. Our last queen, Her Royal Highness Esthae, gave no eggs.”

Wildt worried his bottom lip. “So we know, but what of the histories that say she had a sister?”

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“Ahhh, she who keeps the myth alive.” Rodgardae raised his glass. “We are all raised on the story of Princess Beatra, who was stolen out of the palace during the battle that killed Queen Esthae, and how Beatra went into hiding and kept the line alive, and whose progeny we simply wait to awaken.”

Wildt nodded at the familiar story that had a romantic allure, even in Kaaltendt, whose ancient people had never known a single year without a queen, despite their current dearth of dragons overall.

“But, and here perhaps I break confidence so take my words as you will, we have no proof of this. None. Not a record, or an eyewitness, or even a reliable rumor. It is more accurate to say the palace burned as Esthae died, and Beatra simply disappeared in the fire.” Rodgardae tipped his head to suggest the obvious.

“Dear Gods. I pray that you are wrong, Your Grace. While the Treaty with Watt serves Kaaltendt well, and I have no desire to speak treason by suggesting otherwise, I prefer the notion that your queens have simply been latent, rather than unborn.”

Rodgardae smirked at him. “You, sir, are nothing but a hopeless romantic.”

Wildt nodded. “I am, and I take no shame in that. I await the hand of a fair lady who will appreciate the bad poetry I shall shower upon her.” A wistful, slightly sad expression crossed his face.

“Godesses help the future Lady Wildt, then,” Rodgardae said, raising his glass.

“Now you sound like my mother,” Wildt said with a grin.

“Mani says I sound like his mother. Perhaps I am just naturally matronly,” Rodgardae said with as much solemnity as he could muster.

Wildt broke out into boyish giggles, then covered his mouth, trying to control himself. “Your Grace,” he chastised when he got his breath back.

Rodgardae flapped a lazy hand at him.

“Oh, speaking of matronly, I meant to ask: have you a thought to the latest round of apprentice maids Mistress Seraphinite has brought up the mountain?”

Rodgardae snorted. “The headmistress is not one I’d call ‘matronly’ by any stretch.”

Wildt smiled softly — too softly, perhaps, for an objective observer, and Rodgardae tucked that observation away to discuss with Mani later. Wildt begrudgingly nodded. “Yes, she’s far more militaristic than that. However, she’s always done well with the training; she’s been at it for well over a decade at this point.”

“And continues to do so, from what I can tell.” He sighed. “Even after all these years, I still find the practice of the Dragon Maids Corps an odd Kaaltendt tradition. I therefore have no commentary on the adequacy of their training.”

Wildt nodded slowly. “It’s an old and archaic practice, to be sure. Yet the queen dragons of Kaaltendt have supported it since it was first instated, so who are we to argue?”

“How old is the corps, then?” Rodgardae asked, wondering about it for the first time. He had assumed it was timeless, like most dragon traditions tended to be.

“Hmmm, I’m not entirely sure. About seven or eight hundred years, I believe. Under the reign of Queen Viridis, in any case, but she ruled for over two hundred years, so it’s hard to say. I assure you that Mistress Seraphinite would know the exact date.”

Rodgardae snorted. “I’m sure she does.” He paused. “I might need to put a crimp in her plans.”

Wildt, predictably, frown. “How so?”

“My brother, the princely one, has sent word that he is directing one of our doctors to come to Endestern, to be stationed here as the on-site dragon physician.”

Wildt’s eyes went wide and he whistled. “An actual draconic physician?” The implications were not lost on either of them: that the crown prince of Watt was expecting war, and a war so fierce it might reach Kaaltendt’s shores.

“It is part of some new sub-treaty, I think. Your queen”—he raised his glass in respect, and Wildt did the same—“is not blind to the effect that several generations of a drastically reduced dragon population has had on the education of qualified draconic physicians in Kaaltendt. We do not have many to spare ourselves, but my brother is sending over a venerated doctor from our clan.”

Wildt narrowed his eyes. “A good way to send a valuable elder out of the way of a war front, if it comes to that.”

Rodgardae nodded. “My thought as well. Make no mistake, though. Doctor Worthan whelped me and my siblings right out of our eggs and has a mind like a steel trap. He does not stand on ceremony and takes his work seriously.”

Wildt paled. “Oh no,” he whispered.

“That’s right. Expect to get your dragon hide poked and prodded beyond all reason.”

Wildt groaned.

“He has a fetish for making sure our teeth are strong, something about how ‘show me one bad tooth and I will show you a rotted wing’.”

Wildt groaned again, and put his head in his hands. “No one will like this.”

“When was the last time a draconic physician attended Endestern?”

Wildt paused in thought for a moment. “We had one cycle through about five years ago. Caused quite a stir. He had very, ah, intrusive hands.” He glared out the window.

Rodgardae laughed. “That seems to be true of all doctors, I think.”

Wildt shook his head as if trying to get rid of a bad stench. “Back to the point, what does this have to do with asking a favor of the headmistress?”

“Oh, that. Yes. Apparently staff cannot be spared, so Dr. Worthan is coming alone, with no assistants. I’d like to have one of the more educated maids assigned to work with him.”

“It’s an unusual request but not unheard of. Do you have a particular maid in mind?”

Rodgardae thought back to the clever, beautiful maid whom he had startled in his lair the day before. “No, no one in mind. Any maid will do.”