Free Aranya (Shapeshifter Dragons) by Marc Secchia Page A

Neither of them could walk properly for a week.
    The punishment Nelthion determined was for the two Princesses to serve their compatriots dinner every evening for a month, and to wash dishes in the kitchen for the same period of time. The servants loved it. Aranya was convinced the dirty dishes multiplied by themselves overnight. Their fellow-exiles missed no opportunity to take advantage of them; the torment was merciless. Dinners were suddenly well attended and lasted twice as long as before. Aranya could cheerfully have throttled any of them–and Beri, too. She, even more than Nelthion, made it clear what she thought of the Princess’ behaviour.
    Aranya and Zip formed a grudging partnership–not quite a friendship, though.
    When the period of punishment had run its course, Aranya disappeared into a frenzy of windroc-painting. Nelthion’s brother had placed ten orders from prospective clients.
    “Your teardrop sold for five hundred gold drals,” he said.
    Aranya’s mouth hung open.
    “Shut the gaping rabbit-hole, petal,” said Beri.
    Nelthion inquired, “What shall I do with the money?”
    “Put it to my supplies?”
    Beri patted her arm in a way that made Aranya growl. “Let old Beri take care of it, alright? Before we all fall off an Island laughing at your ignorance of the real world.”
    She was painting up a storm late that evening when Zuziana stopped by. One moment she was delicately finishing a cruel beak, the next, a face po pped out from behind her easel. “Surprise!”
    Aranya clucked crossly. “ Look what you made me do.”
    Zip cocked her head cheekily to one side. “Maybe he’s holding a leaf in his beak.”
    “My friend, if you’d ever met one of these–and I have–you’d know that beak isn’t meant for anything but tearing strips off–”
    “Your favourite War-Hammer of the Sylakian hordes?”
    Aranya waved her paintbrush at Zip. “Shall I paint a beard on you? Ignathion is not my favourite … anything!”
    “Oh, but you’re on first-name terms with him. I’m not.” Zip added archly, “There’s a rumour circulating in Sylakia Town that you saved him from a windroc. Smooth, Immadia. Very smooth.”
    “If you’re just here to cause trouble …”
    “Trouble? Me?” Zuziana plucked a message scroll out of her sleeve with a flourish. “I brought you a letter from King Your-Daddy–you know, leads an Island somewhere north of, well, anywhere? You’ve been ignoring your post, never mind everyone else. People will talk.”
    Aranya sighed. “Alright, what’re they saying?”
    “I received ten scrolls to your one. Just look at this mountain. Advantages of having a large family. Jealous?”
    “No … yes.” She cracked the Sylakian wax seal on her scroll, which would have been placed by the censor, and unfurled it. “What was it, sixteen brothers and–”
    “Seventeen, as of two weeks ago. There’s a new girl in the family, unnamed as yet. Look, they sent a little drawing of her. Isn’t she just too cute?”
    “Even the boys in your family are cute, Zip.”
    “If you say so,” she simpered. “To me they’re just irritating brothers. Say, did I tell you that Ignathion’s son is visiting tomorrow? His name is Yolathion. Eighteen summers old.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at Aranya. “Apparently, he’s over seven feet tall.”
    Aranya snorted, “What are you hint ing at, ever so subtly?”
    Zip’s eyes danced in a way that made her feel decidedly hot under the collar. “Maybe you should wear heels?” She parodied looking up at the ceiling. “Oh, Yolathion, at last I’ve met a man who it would hurt my neck to kiss.”
    “Zuziana of Remoy!”
    “I’d have him, but I’d have to drag up a ladder every time I wanted to kiss–”
    “You’re preposterous.”
    But Zuziana’s face grew sterner. “He’s bringing the Supreme Commander’s son on an official visit–Garthion. Have you met him?”
    “No.”
    “Slime. I’ve met him twice.” Zip looked