“It is unlikely,” Dillon said candidly. “But I am Belmair’s king, and I am not mortal. I am both Shadow and faerie. With my sorcerer’s skills, with my allies, I believe I can bring the Yafir to an agreement, and thereby avoid a war. It will not be easy, but I believe it can be done. The faerie races prefer revenge to war, and the Yafir have certainly had their revenge upon Belmair over the years. They have almost brought us to the extinction that once threatened them. It will require serious negotiation, but in the meantime the young women must be protected, for the Yafir will delight in snatching them while we parlay simply to show us that they will not stop until it pleases them.”

Dillon then went on to explain to Duke Alban how his uncle, the faerie prince Cirillo, had returned to his own world in order to create a spell strong enough to keep Belmair’s women safe. When the spell was ready Cirillo would return to Belmair, and they would weave the spell about the women so the Yafir could not take them. “It is then,” Dillon told the duke, “that the Yafir will be ready to come to terms with us. In the meantime, though, the women must be protected.”

“Belia is the least populous of the three dutchies,” Alban said.

“Our landscape is not particularly hospitable. While we have a few villages in the high hills, most of my people reside along our coastline. But I will send riders out tomorrow to every village to tell them the women must never be left alone. Hopefully we can protect them from harm until your uncle fashions a strong spell that will repel the Yafir.” He turned to Nidhug, who was savoring a large goblet of wine, and smiled. “You honor my house, my lady dragon. Have you visited your cave of late?”

“Some months back, my good duke,” Nidhug said. “My egg thrives, and was given a faerie blessing by the king’s uncle. But it is not yet time for me to hatch it.”

“I would have you know that we keep a watch on your den,” Alban said.

“And I thank you for your courtesy,” Nidhug replied. “The cave is well protected by certain enchantments so that the egg remains safe. But to know that you and your people watch over it for me, as well, pleases me.”

The lady Ragnild came to invite them to the high board. Dillon viewed Nidhug with amusement as she watched the servers coming into the hall. As they reached midhall the line split into two. One serving the king, and his hosts; the other devoting themselves to the dragon’s needs. There were several varieties of roasted meats. Two dozen chickens, six sheep, a whole boar, a side of beef. A huge, round loaf of bread was carried to the table by six serving men. A great tub of sweet butter, and two wheels of cheese, one soft and runny, the other hard and golden in color were offered, and the dragon’s goblet was never allowed to empty.

Dillon could see that Nidhug was pleased. She ate with great relish, and she ate everything that they brought her. And when after the remnants of her meal were cleared away and six cakes were placed before her, the dragon almost wept with her delight. Four of the cakes were sponge that had been soaked in sweet wine, filled with jam and covered with whipped cream. Another was covered in an orange-flavored icing, and the last was a large, plain cake filled with apples and cinnamon with a topping of sugared crumbs. Nidhug sighed, and proceeded to devour them all.

When she had washed the last crumb down with her wine, the dragon turned to the lady Ragnild. “Lady, you keep a fine kitchen, and I thank you for an excellent supper. Now show me to my bed, for I must rest. My day has been long. Tomorrow will be as long, I fear, and I cannot be certain of a good meal again until I reach home.”

Standing, Lady Ragnild looked relieved and curtseyed to the dragon. “I am so glad I could provide you with a tasty supper,” she said. Then she led the dragon to the bedchamber that had been set aside for her in the north tower.

“Let me show you my house,” Alban said to Dillon.

“I will admit to being curious as to what connects your towers,” the king said.

“Come,” the duke invited Dillon with a smile. He led him from his Great Hall to show him the structure connecting the halves of his home. It was a wide corridor, stone on one side, great windows that went from floor to ceiling on the other side. Upon the wall hung portraits that the duke explained were his ancestors. “There is the source of our troubles, my revered ancestor, Napier IX. The dragon preceding this Nidhug chose him to be king. There have been few kings of Belmair from Belia. He was unwed, and he was, according to family legend, obdurate, short-sighted and difficult. The king preceding him had no unwed daughter, and my ancestor never married. That is how I knew who he was, and his history. The stories that I had heard say that the Yafir lived in peace with us for the most part, and always repaid a kindness with a kindness. Now that you tell me the whole story I ask myself why we could not have given the Yafir one hundred marriageable women each year until their population had been rebuilt.”

“Your thoughts take a different direction than Dreng’s. He agreed with your ancestor,” Dillon said.

“Dreng’s mind is small and narrow,” Alban replied. “I do not say that in meanness, Majesty. It is simply the way he and his people are fashioned. While it is rare that there is any change in Belmair, it is rarer still that change of any kind comes to Beltran. I, while as cautious as any Belmairan, am always ready to look at something new, to try something different. I may not change my ways, but I do try. When word came that Fflergant was breathing his last I hurried like the others to the royal castle, wondering if Dreng’s young grandson would be the dragon’s choice for I could see no other. Imagine my surprise to find you, our new king. A Hetarian! But the dragon had chosen you, and I would never deny Nidhug’s decision in the matter of who will rule over Belmair. You will bring change to us, Majesty,” Alban said. “But I suspect that you will bring it slowly and carefully so that we are not too discommoded.” He smiled. “My oath to you was true, Majesty.”

“I know that,” Dillon told him. “And while the world I came from is known as Hetar, Alban of Belia, remember I am not Hetarian. I am faerie and I am Shadow. With these two strengths I can hopefully prevail over the Yafir, and keep Belmair safe.”

“Aye,” Alban answered him. “I believe that you can, Majesty.”

They returned to the hall to speak on other matters, and then the lady Ragnild led the king to a guest chamber high in the north tower. Alone, Dillon looked out over the sea below. The skies above him were filled with stars, and searching carefully he found Hetar twinkling silvery-blue. He had been here on Belmair for several months now, and he realized that while he had good memories of his previous years, he felt more at home here than anywhere else. How odd, he thought, that he should have been born to this destiny. He had always thought he would move between Shunnar and Terah, continuing to learn from Kaliq and from his mother. He had assumed that while his little brother, Taj, was Magnus Hauk’s heir, that he would be his mother’s right hand.

It had been months since he had seen Lara. Hopefully he would see her soon and introduce her to his bride. He had always been close to his mother, but oddly he found that he didn’t miss her. Was it the great distance separating them that made him feel that way? Or was it that he had found purpose as king of Belmair, and a love of his own in Cinnia? Whatever it was Dillon knew that he was truly happy. And he also knew that such happiness was a rare commodity. Leaving the window, he climbed into bed and slept soundly until he was awakened early the following morning by a man servant sent by the lady Ragnild.

After a hearty breakfast he and Nidhug thanked their host and hostess, bidding them farewell. Out on the green lawn before the two towers the dragon regained her full size. She lifted Dillon up to the safety of the pouch, where he settled in. Her lacy golden wings unfolded slowly, catching the rays of the rising sun. Then the Great Dragon of Belmair soared into the blue morning skies and out over the sea, turning toward Beldane.

They flew for the next several hours, and Dillon told the dragon of his talk with Duke Alban. “I quite liked the man. He is so different from Dreng.”

“I knew you would make a friend of him,” Nidhug said. “His mind is more open than most Belmairans. Now you will deal last with Tullio of Beldane. Be patient with him. His eagerness to look at every side of an issue can be irritating.”

They reached Beldane, and Dillon was charmed by the lovely meadows and glens of the land below him. The duke’s gracious manor house was set upon a small hill. Below, his vineyards stretched out, and from above, the workers harvesting the grapes could be easily seen as they went about the business of clipping the bunches of grapes, and setting them gently in willow baskets. Seeing the dragon as she descended, they cried out, pointing skyward. One ran from the vineyards toward the manor house.

Nidhug landed on a gravel path before the house, disembarking the king. Folding her wings, she shrank herself down. She was taking no chances with being fed slops this day. Duke Tullio hurried from the house, a lady by his side. He was a very tall, slender man with thoughtful gray eyes. He bowed low.

“Your Majesty! This is most unexpected, but you and Belmair’s dragon are more than welcome to Beldane and to my home. This is my sister, the lady Margisia, who serves as my hostess as I am widowed.” He drew the lady forward, and she curtseyed.

Dillon greeted them both, and then he said, “We must speak on matters most serious affecting Belmair, my lord duke. Take me to your privy chamber, and I will begin my discourse. Nidhug will join us.”