Read Online Aranya (Shapeshifter Dragons) by Marc Secchia - Free Book Online
Authors: Marc Secchia
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soon.”
The exiles were in the habit of gathering for their evening meal in the great dining hall on the servants’ level, even though they occupied but a fraction of the space. Coming from Nelthion’s office, Aranya found herself entering through a side entrance rather than the grand main doorway, three times her height and wide enough to accommodate ten of her side by side.
The group was smaller than usual. Another drunken party among the wealthy set, she assumed. Even amidst royalty and rulers, snobbery existed. She felt no vindication that none of these had been invited either.
Her approach was obscured by the towering marble columns lining either side of the vaulted hall, so Aranya had time to appreciate that Zuziana was holding court amongst the girls, while a group of Princes and two sons of Western Island War-Chiefs, who she was learning to know by name, occupied a table nearby. Not one of them was taller than her.
“–only three dresses,” she heard.
“Wait ,” cried Zuziana. “Listen to this: which colour shall I wear today–the purple, the purple, or the purple? Oh, the one that flatters my eyes.”
The girls’ laughter echoed around the hall.
“I heard she’s an artist.”
“Oh, come now, how artistic do you think someone with her taste in dresses can be? She only knows one colour–purple. How many of us can afford our own maidservant?”
Aranya flushed to the roots of her hair. So this was why the others avoided her! Drawing herself up, she marched out from between the columns, making straight for the group.
Every lamp and candle in the room flared.
Affecting a silly, long-legged walk, the Princess of Remoy marched toward Aranya. She looked up, and stopped as though she had slammed into a wall. “Aranya!”
“Zuziana. Trying on a pair of shoes you’ll never fill?”
The Remoyan developed high spots of colour on her cheeks. Nevertheless, she s aid with saccharine spite, “I’m doing the stork-walk. We’ve named it after you.”
“We? You’re the one making a fool of herself.”
“Says the graceless yokel from Immadia?” Aranya had to pause to swallow down the fire, but Zuziana could not have known that. She took advantage of Aranya’s silence to add, “It must be unbearable for you that with two new brothers, you’ve lost the throne. Did you bring one dagger for each of them?”
Now the flames roared into life. Murder her brothers? “Says the little grey sparrow from a kingdom renowned only for the size of its families and the number of royal bastards?”
Ouch! Aranya had not meant to let that insult slip out, but weeks of sniggers and whispering had turned into a deep rot within her. She recognised that now, too late.
The colour drained out of Zuziana’s face. She spluttered, “Y-You take that back!”
“I don’t think so. You’ve been after me since I arrived. It’s time everyone in this room recognised what a poisonous little viper you are.”
Zuziana’s knuckles clenched white on the hilt of her sword. She said, dangerously, “Says she who paints Dragons?”
She had sneaked into her chambers! Aranya did not know how Zip had managed that, but that was an Island too far, as the saying went. “Dragon ships ,” she corrected, icily. “What do they teach you in Remoy? And, if you draw that sword, I’ll put one of these forked daggers in your forked tongue faster than I slew that windroc on the journey here.”
“There’s another nasty little lie from the Princess of liars.”
But Zip, who had begun to draw her weapon, stopped the motion with an effort. Aranya saw the guards around the room taking an interest in their altercation.
“I don’t lie.”
“Only with the First War-Hammer, I hear,” spat the Remoyan. “Fifteen days aboard his Dragonship. Now you’re painting him little love-pictures.”
“It’s the truth. Find out for yourself.” Fight the fire, keep it down. Only words, Aranya. Only words. She said, “ What do you know about
The exiles were in the habit of gathering for their evening meal in the great dining hall on the servants’ level, even though they occupied but a fraction of the space. Coming from Nelthion’s office, Aranya found herself entering through a side entrance rather than the grand main doorway, three times her height and wide enough to accommodate ten of her side by side.
The group was smaller than usual. Another drunken party among the wealthy set, she assumed. Even amidst royalty and rulers, snobbery existed. She felt no vindication that none of these had been invited either.
Her approach was obscured by the towering marble columns lining either side of the vaulted hall, so Aranya had time to appreciate that Zuziana was holding court amongst the girls, while a group of Princes and two sons of Western Island War-Chiefs, who she was learning to know by name, occupied a table nearby. Not one of them was taller than her.
“–only three dresses,” she heard.
“Wait ,” cried Zuziana. “Listen to this: which colour shall I wear today–the purple, the purple, or the purple? Oh, the one that flatters my eyes.”
The girls’ laughter echoed around the hall.
“I heard she’s an artist.”
“Oh, come now, how artistic do you think someone with her taste in dresses can be? She only knows one colour–purple. How many of us can afford our own maidservant?”
Aranya flushed to the roots of her hair. So this was why the others avoided her! Drawing herself up, she marched out from between the columns, making straight for the group.
Every lamp and candle in the room flared.
Affecting a silly, long-legged walk, the Princess of Remoy marched toward Aranya. She looked up, and stopped as though she had slammed into a wall. “Aranya!”
“Zuziana. Trying on a pair of shoes you’ll never fill?”
The Remoyan developed high spots of colour on her cheeks. Nevertheless, she s aid with saccharine spite, “I’m doing the stork-walk. We’ve named it after you.”
“We? You’re the one making a fool of herself.”
“Says the graceless yokel from Immadia?” Aranya had to pause to swallow down the fire, but Zuziana could not have known that. She took advantage of Aranya’s silence to add, “It must be unbearable for you that with two new brothers, you’ve lost the throne. Did you bring one dagger for each of them?”
Now the flames roared into life. Murder her brothers? “Says the little grey sparrow from a kingdom renowned only for the size of its families and the number of royal bastards?”
Ouch! Aranya had not meant to let that insult slip out, but weeks of sniggers and whispering had turned into a deep rot within her. She recognised that now, too late.
The colour drained out of Zuziana’s face. She spluttered, “Y-You take that back!”
“I don’t think so. You’ve been after me since I arrived. It’s time everyone in this room recognised what a poisonous little viper you are.”
Zuziana’s knuckles clenched white on the hilt of her sword. She said, dangerously, “Says she who paints Dragons?”
She had sneaked into her chambers! Aranya did not know how Zip had managed that, but that was an Island too far, as the saying went. “Dragon ships ,” she corrected, icily. “What do they teach you in Remoy? And, if you draw that sword, I’ll put one of these forked daggers in your forked tongue faster than I slew that windroc on the journey here.”
“There’s another nasty little lie from the Princess of liars.”
But Zip, who had begun to draw her weapon, stopped the motion with an effort. Aranya saw the guards around the room taking an interest in their altercation.
“I don’t lie.”
“Only with the First War-Hammer, I hear,” spat the Remoyan. “Fifteen days aboard his Dragonship. Now you’re painting him little love-pictures.”
“It’s the truth. Find out for yourself.” Fight the fire, keep it down. Only words, Aranya. Only words. She said, “ What do you know about
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