Seeing Over the Mountains: Chapter Two

     The dragon's front paws curled over the roof's edge, claws snicking into the well-worn niches in the stone. She scrabbled for a hold below the window with her hind feet, tail swishing and claws rasping softly against the rock.
     As soon as I felt her knees lock beneath me, I slid down her flank onto the window ledge, pushed the curtain out of the way, and stepped into the smokily warm tower. As I began stripping off my outer flying gear by the central fire, I heard Syraine thump through the window behind me. 'There's no one else here,' she observed, stretching gold-tipped wings.
     "Probably because of this," I replied, running a gloved finger along her shoulder. I held my hand out to her, where she could see the white flakes before they melted.  
     'Then we had best hurry before the bridges get snowed over.' Mountain weather was capricious; these flurries had as much chance of building into a blizzard as they did of fading away, gentle as stars at sunrise.
    We scurried out the doors of the landing tower, nodding to the guards. The palace was one of the few buildings built ON the mountain rather than into it, so stone paths and wooden bridges wove between the various buildings. The tunnels were cramped and damp. No one but servants ever saw them from the inside unless weather permitted no other route. Claustrophobia ran deeply amongst those used to flight.
     A blue dragon guard dipped into a bow as we reached the bridge to the throne room. "My lady and her wings."
     We nodded to him and hurried to the gilded doors ahead. They opened into a long hallway, lined with intricate stone carvings. Some were abstract shapes and patterns, but others told tales of the realm's history. It seemed that just about every major event since the first ascent of the twin suns had found its place in stone somewhere in the palace complex. Instead of using paint that would only fade in time, our walls were carved to last.
     At the end of the hall, the guards opened the doors before we reached them. Inside, my mother and father conversed with a messenger, my mother's dragon watching idly. .
      The empress waved away the messenger when she saw us come in. "You're back, Kiara, Syraine. Is there a threat in the area?" she asked. Direct as always.
     "No mother, just nomads. They appear to be of the Wandering Tribes, perhaps coming to the city of Aetheria for trade." I replied.
     "And how do you know?" A new voice interjected, gentle yet strong enough to be heard across the room. My mother's dragon, Ellia.
     Syraine stepped in, speaking to everyone instead of just me. "Their clothing is distinctive, and we saw the poison-breathing dragons hunting birds."
     Ellia nodded her head and lay back down beside the empress, eyes intent.
     My mother smiled at us. "You'll make good rulers someday."
     I waited a few moments, but no one said anything more. "Permission to leave?" I asked.
     "Permission granted," she replied.
     I bowed my head slightly in acknowledgement and exited the room, Syraine alongside me, tail tip on my shoulder.
     The doors thudded shut and I gradually let out a breath. The rigidity of the throne room surged up, threatening to choke me every time I set foot inside.
     Syraine nuzzled my shoulder. I reached one hand up and stroked the frill on her neck, knowing exactly where it was without looking. A slow rumble surfaced from deep in her chest: a dragon's purr.