Free Ivory Lyre by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

games?”
    Teb laughed. “I’m afraid our two palaces are
mostly rough and undecorated, King Sardira. And as for pastimes, I
suppose our folk have little time to pass in recreation. They farm
and fish, and even those of the palace find common work to do when
they are not working with the colts. I’m afraid you would find us a
dull lot in Thedria, quite unable to offer such luxuries as this
grand banquet, or such entertainment as your stadium games.”
    It seemed forever to Teb before he was alone
in his chambers. He pulled off his fancy clothes and changed to his
leather trousers and tunic, folding the stolen clothes over a
silver clothes stand. The red wool was soft, very like a red dress
his mother had worn. Red was her favorite color. A picture of her
filled his mind; she was dressed in red, her silhouette sharp
against a red tapestry as she turned to look out her chamber
window, the sun full on her face.
    She seemed to him, now, so much more than
his mother. He knew only that she traveled in worlds beyond Tirror,
searching for her own dragon mate. As a child he had not known, nor
would have understood, her need, though he had felt that she
yearned for something, something secret and wild that she would not
share with him and Camery. It left him puzzled and excited.
    He and his mother and Camery were all flung
apart now, so they might never see each other again. He hoped it
had been Camery whom Nightraider sensed there on that small island.
He could see her in memory, a skinny little girl riding pell-mell
down the meadows on her fat bay pony, her knees tucked in and her
pale hair flying; he could hear her laughter when she beat him in a
race, and see her green-eyed scowl when she didn’t.
    He paced his chamber, avoiding the heavy
furniture, watching the palace wings through his velvet-draped
windows. How long it took for all the windows to darken and the
palace to sleep. The wind was rising. He could feel Seastrider’s
impatience on the dark hills as the white mare snorted and
pawed.
    He guessed he didn’t take much to court
life. He’d lived too long in his simple cave among the otters of
Nightpool, and then in the dragon lair. He guessed animals were
more open in their dealings than humans, not so impressed with
ritual. The animals had ritual, too, but of a simpler kind. The
foxes of the caves of Nison-Serth had their family rituals, but
they were gentle, loving ones, like bathing together in the
household pool.
    The otters’ rituals had been more
complicated. But they were directly connected with council
meetings, not used for vanity, nor as background for mating, which
the otter families handled more directly. Teb was not without
desire for women, but he didn’t much like complicated flirting,
particularly when it concerned Accacia’s meaningful glances.
    She had come to his door last night very
late because, she said, she heard noises on the stair. He had
pointed out to her that if the noises were on the stair, she would
have been safer behind her own bolted door. She had flashed him a
look of cold anger and left quickly, her blue robe swirling around
her ankles.
    He wondered if her flirting was a cover, if
she might be a contact with the underground, wanting to learn his
true mission. She had given no hint of that. She could be just what
she seemed, a little tart. He would hold his judgment and see where
the flirting led. Seastrider thought her a common trollop.
Seastrider had decided opinions. Well, that was the nature of
dragons.
    Seastrider’s comments about the soldiers who
rode her weren’t flattering, either. All four dragons were hard put
not to buck off their heavy-handed riders. It was difficult enough,
they said, to hold the shape shifting for such long times without
having to put up with the Dacian soldiers jerking their halters and
kicking them. Teb did not point out to them that it was their idea to come here. He had a hard time convincing the
Dacian soldiers, too, that these horses did not