Chapter Sixteen

By the following morning, there were more dragons of both sexes gathering on the lake. Whenever Duckers spotted a male flying overhead, he took great delight in shouting, "Look, Dr. V., hemipenile bulges!" To his credit, Quill smiled indulgently every time.

Frank was less enthusiastic about the growing dragon population. "It's only a matter of time before someone spots one flying around in a neighboring sector—someone who's not us," he murmured to Twyla as they watched Mary Georgina dip her head into the water to pull up a bite of swampy grass. A truce had formed between them, and slowly, carefully, they were finding their way back to their pre-wedding, pre-bombs, pre-kiss friendship.

"And you're worried about what that means for Mary Georgina," Twyla surmised.

"Eventually, the wrong sort of person is going to find out she can spit the world's most expensive mineral."

"No, she spits a resin."

"That turns into money."

"It sounds like there's a lengthy geological process involved before it becomes iuvenicite, though."

"I don't know, Twy. I've got a bad feeling in my guts about this. If someone can figure out how to make a portal into an impenetrable mist created by gods, I'm pretty sure people can figure out how to use these dragons to make iuvenicite. Or, Salt Sea, they'll just steal them and breed them and turn them into pets, same as graps."

Five days ago, Twyla would have wrapped her arm around his waist to comfort him. She wouldn't have thought twice about it. Now she thought it through three times before deciding to keep her hands to herself.

"I'm here for you. I've got your back. And Mary Georgina's," she told him, words that sounded limp and helpless the second they passed her lips.

"I know."

Five days ago, he would have slung his arm over her shoulders or at least have given her a rueful grin. Today, he kept his eyes on his adopted baby, who had already grown so much that she stood at his hip now.

"I have a theory," Quill announced as he and Duckers joined them beside the lake. He stood so close to Twyla that he squished the side of her thigh.

She subtly eased away from him. "Let's hear it."

"Mind you, it is only a theory and would need to hold up to rigorous scientific testing—"

Frank interrupted him. "We understand. What's the theory?"

Twyla resisted the urge to give him a scolding look. Their friendship was on the mend, and she didn't want to do anything to upset their delicate truce.

Unaware of Frank's terseness, Quill held forth. "Given the anatomy that we have observed in Draconis tanrias, I think it safe to say that the males of the species fertilize the eggs, and the females lay them, exactly as you would expect in most reptiles. What is interesting, based on our observations here at the lake and at the nesting site, is that it appears that while mothers lay the eggs, the fathers sit on them. The females bring food to the males as they incubate the eggs. But when the babies hatch, the mothers are the ones who care for the young, while continuing to feed the males of the species. We do, on occasion, see male dragons in and around the lake, and they do feed themselves whilst they are here, but they do not participate in the raising of the young, and the females continue to bring them food at the nesting site. It's fascinating."

Twyla stared at him. Fascinating was not the word she would have chosen to describe this behavior. Infuriating seemed more apt.

"So what's up with those two?" asked Duckers, waving his hat at a pair of dragons who regularly sunned themselves in the same spot each day. "They're both females, right? But they don't have kids. They're always over there chilling. Are they too young to lay eggs or something?"

"Ah, yes, I have observed them. They appear to be a mated pair who are both female."

"Really?"

"Indeed. Sexual diversity is common throughout the animal kingdom."

Duckers cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted "The Bride of Fortune favor you!" at them.

Shortly before Twyla crawled into her tent that evening, Quill intercepted her on her way back from her designated toilet—toilet being her euphemism for the spot where I take care of business and bitterly reflect on how much harder this is for people with my parts as opposed to the people with the other parts. She was literally thinking, Hemipenile bulges, my ass, when Quill popped out of the darkness.

"Ope!" she shrilled.

"Sorry, darl—Twyla, did I startle you?"

"You scared me half to death."

"Ah. Apologies."

"Twy? You all right?" Frank called from the campsite.

"Yep," she yelled before looking to Quill with a mixture of amusement, expectation, and exasperation.

"This is not off to an auspicious beginning." He shuffled his feet, and Twyla was once again struck by how boyish he looked from time to time. Maybe it was the shorts and knee socks. "I wonder if you might accompany me?"

"Where?"

"That would spoil the surprise."

As a general rule, Twyla was not fond of surprises. But she was fond of Quill, so she let him take her hand and lead her along the lakeshore, heading south, away from where the dragons tended to spend their days. Eventually, a romantic scene came into view in the light of their lanterns, a blanket spread on the ground beneath a willow tree. Atop the blanket were a bouquet of wildflowers, a bottle of sparkling wine, and two folksy tin cups.

"I'm afraid wineglasses are in short supply here, but I did manage to smuggle a bottle of Veuf Didier through the portal," he explained as he set down his lantern near the blanket, letting it cast a warm glow over the venue. "I know you do not wish to be amorous while we are inside the Mist, and that is perfectly understandable. But I thought—I hoped—that a small date apart from the others might not be objectionable?"

"It's not objectionable. It's thoughtful. Thank you." She sat on the blanket, even though she knew that her knees were going to be killing her by the time she got up again. Amazing how sitting on the ground was now a difficult thing to do.

As Quill popped the cork and poured the Veuf Didier into the undeserving tin cups, Twyla had to ask herself what she was doing, sitting here with this lovely man, when she had been hot and heavy with Frank—Frank!—only a few days earlier. Even now, all she could think about was the fact that kissing Frank—Oh my gods, Frank!—had felt so much better and more right than kissing Quill ever could.

She'd have to unpack that later. For now, she needed to break things off with Quill. It was only fair to him.

"I think we should talk," she began.

He raised his eyebrows at her, and then his shoulders stooped as he set the bottle down on the picnic blanket. "Ah."

"That was a heavy ah."

"I suspect that you are about to tell me, gently yet firmly, that you no longer wish to be romantically involved. With me."

The last two words had been tacked on, as if he thought that she wanted to be romantically involved with someone else. And they both knew who the implied someone else was. Twyla didn't want to think about that particular someone, so she focused her attention on the man who sat beside her. She placed her hand over his.

"I'm sorry, Quill. You're a wonderful man."

"But not the right wonderful man for you."

"I'm afraid not." She squeezed his hand before removing hers. "I owe you thanks, you know."

"For what?"

Twyla took a contemplative sip of champagne. "I've spent most of my life being useful, and when a person has been useful for as long as I have, they come to believe that useful is all they are. But then you came along and wanted to spend time with me, for my own sake. I know this won't make a bit of sense to you, but thank you for helping me see that I don't have to be a chair for all eternity."

His eyes crinkled in amusement. "I think I get the gist. And you are most welcome. Thank you for making my time on the island of Bushong infinitely more enjoyable than it would have been without you."

"You're not a fan of Tanria, are you?"

"I wouldn't say that. Where else could you go that affords you the opportunity of near death by glittery saliva?"

Twyla laughed and raised her cup. He clinked his to hers, and they sat together for a long while, drinking sparkling wine and chatting about dragons and marshaling and university life. Eventually, they drifted into a comfortable silence and let the bittersweetness of the moment wash over them.

After some time had passed, Quill gently asked her, "Do you think Marshal Ellis might be the right wonderful man for you?"

"No!" she yelped. The single syllable rang through the mountainous landscape, and the Dragon's Teeth seemed to echo with her guilt and confusion. When next she spoke, she forced herself to sound calm and rational. "I told you, we're friends. Good friends. That's all."

"I don't doubt it. But it seems to me that at least one of those friends is pining away for the other in rather tragic silence."

"I'm not pining for Frank," she insisted. She wondered if she was trying to convince Quill or herself.

"Perhaps."

"I'm not!"

"I believe you," he capitulated, but the urge to wriggle out from underneath his probing gaze spiked inside her. She suddenly felt like a bug under a magnifying glass on a sunny day. She polished off the dregs of Veuf Didier in her cup and rose.

"I should go."

Quill got to his feet as well. "It was not my intention to pry or to make you uncomfortable."

"Don't worry about it."

"If I may…" He reached out as if he meant to touch her, but appeared to think better of it. "I don't quite understand what you meant about not having to be a chair, but I do hope that you will take your happiness where you find it, Twyla. You've earned it."

It saddened her that he thought he couldn't touch her, at least in friendship, so she squeezed his arm with heartfelt affection. "Good night, Quill."

He patted her hand. "Good night, Twyla."

Throughout the following day, Twyla managed to avoid Quill, for obvious reasons, and Frank, too, for reasons that were less obvious to her. She busied herself with gathering firewood while everyone else was eating breakfast. She tidied up the campsite once everyone was out and about—Quill with the dragons, Frank taking care of Mary Georgina, and Duckers out patrolling the sector. Once Duckers returned, she took a tour around W-14 on her own and didn't return until after dinner.

It hadn't occurred to her to avoid Duckers, but it should have, because he had the unfortunate habit of seeing right through her. Case in point, he squinted at her over the evening campfire and declared, "You're being weird today."

"No, I'm not."

"Something is up with you."

She glanced at Quill. She didn't glance at Frank.

"I'm fine."

"Liiiiiiiiies," he hissed.

"Hello-o-o? Mail delivery?"

Grateful for the distraction, Twyla leaped up to welcome the nimkilim into the circle of the campfire's warmth. She sensed Frank's chagrin as she invited Hermia to have a seat with them by the campfire for a few minutes. The hedgehog's short legs dangled from the log bench, and she wound up sliding off with an "Oopsie-doozles!"

Letters went flying through the air, and a few tumbled into the flickering flames of the campfire. Twyla, Frank, Duckers, and Quill lunged, doing their best to retrieve whatever was retrievable, but only Duckers had any success. He handed the smoking remains of four letters to the hedgehog.

"Oh dear," she sighed as she stared at the scorched paper in her sweet little hedgehog hands.

Twyla noticed that one of the burnt envelopes had her name on it. Well, most of her name. It was addressed to Twyla Bannek. The rest of the name had been browned beyond recognition, but Twyla had to assume the last two letters were er.

"Is that one for me, Hermia?"

The nimkilim held one of the other envelopes in front of her glasses. "No?"

"Not that one."

She stuffed the first letter into her satchel and held up another. "No?"

"I'll help myself," said Twyla, sliding the correct letter out of Hermia's hand.

Quill got to his feet and said to the nimkilim, "One moment, if you please."

"Oh dear, I'm not supposed to…" began the hedgehog, but Quill was already crawling inside his tent. The nimkilim produced a bottle of grape soda from her satchel and took a morose pull on it. As they waited for Quill to return, Twyla opened her letter and read it in astonishment.

It was from, of all people, Wade. She could barely wrap her brain around the concept that her son had actually taken the time to write to her, and yet she held the singed evidence in her fingers. Since a not insignificant portion of the page was burned, some words were illegible, but she got the gist, and the gist was extremely gratifying. He had gone to the insurance office first thing Sorrowsday morning. Since he wasn't the policy holder, he couldn't file the claim, but he'd gotten the agent to start the paperwork at least. And then he'd lined up a contractor to start working on the house as soon as the claim was filed. And he'd picked up Hope and had her installed at his house, and Twyla could share the room with her as long as she liked.

His handwriting had changed very little since grammar school, and some of the words were misspelled, and he apparently had no idea what constituted a complete sentence. And yet, a fierce pride swelled in Twyla's chest. For all Wade's foibles, when push came to shove, he was there to do what needed doing without an air of martyrdom. She must have done something right as a mother, and it gave her hope for the future of the world.

As she refolded Wade's letter, Quill returned with a thick envelope in hand.

Hermia clutched the soda bottle to her heart. "I'm ever so sorry, sir, but you'll have to put it in a nimkilim box. I'm not supposed to pick up the mail. I'm only allowed to deliver. Those are the rules."

"There are extenuating circumstances here," said Quill, extending an enormous tip toward the hedgehog.

Hermia gasped and splayed one wee pink hand over her bitty heart. "Oh, dear me, I can't take a bribe!"

"It's not a bribe; it's a gratuity. This is a report for Chief Maguire. She instructed me to send it with you."

"Oooooh. Okay, I can carry messages within the agency."

The three marshals had all deduced what the report contained, and they watched warily as Quill handed it to the nimkilim. Hermia spilled a splash of grape soda on it with an "Uh-oh" before she stuffed both the bottle and the report into her satchel and tottered off into the Tanrian night.

Quill shuffled awkwardly under the expectant gaze of his companions. A pair of matching dirt stains coated his bare knees from his having scrambled on the ground for loose mail.

"Was that your recommendation to Maguire about what to do with the dragons?" asked Frank.

"Yes."

"Well?"

"I think it best for Chief Maguire to read over it first," Quill hedged.

"Come on," Duckers protested. "What does it say?"

The dracologist looked to Twyla for help, but she wanted to know what the report said, too. "I have to follow protocol on this," he said at last. "Forgive me."

With that, he returned to his tent and stayed there for the remainder of the evening, leaving Frank and Twyla and Duckers to worry over the unknown contents of the manila envelope.

The contents of Quill's report became apparent two days later, when Maguire arrived with three scientists from the Center for Tanrian Biological Research—a zoologist, a botanist, and Dr. Sellet.

"What's going on?" asked Frank, eyeing the new scientists with grave concern as Quill greeted them with chummy collegiality. Maguire pulled Frank to the side while Quill gestured for the scientists to follow him north, presumably so that they could observe the dragons firsthand. Twyla and Duckers glanced at each other and made the unspoken decision to follow Maguire and Frank.

"Good. You two should hear this as well," Maguire said to them when they came to stand with Frank. "Dr. Vanderlinden has recommended setting up a dragon preserve, possibly on one of the uninhabited outer islands, far from human populations. Short of that, he suggests that the dragons be rounded up and placed in zoos that are capable of handling large animals."

"That's ridiculous," Frank objected vehemently.

"I'm inclined to agree with him. Dr. Sellet and his colleagues are here to add their expertise to the matter. This issue is no longer under the jurisdiction of the Tanrian Marshals alone. The Feds are involved now."

"You can't be serious." Frank sounded calm, but Twyla sensed his outrage boiling under the surface.

"I am serious."

"These dragons are harmless."

"They didn't strike me as harmless when I nearly choked to death on dragon spit."

"They were created to live in Tanria. Who's to say they'll survive if they're taken outside the Mist?"

"There's a flourishing pet trade in graps and Tanrian birds outside the Mist. The dragons will live."

"Probably or definitely?" asked Duckers, standing at Frank's shoulder.

"Don't start with me, Duckers." Addressing Frank, she softened. "I know you're attached to Mary Georgina, Ellis, but you need to start thinking about what's best for her."

"What's best for her is to stay in her home!" he shouted before turning away and striding for the lake.

Twyla stared after him in mutual sympathy with Maguire and Duckers. "I'll go after him," she said.

"Hold up. I was saving the good news for last to soften the blow. Guess I should have opened with it. Our lead about Marshal Herd and the illegal mining operation here in Sector W-14 blew open the iuvenicite case. Marshal Fox was able to track Herd's movements in Zeandale days before his death. Turns out he was working with a fence with ties to the Galatian mob. Arrests have been made, and you three are safe to return home at the end of your tour tomorrow. Gods know you deserve the break."

"Great," said Duckers, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

"Thanks, Chief," said Twyla, also trying and failing to muster enthusiasm.

"What's wrong with you sad sacks? I thought you'd be glad to go home without someone trying to kill you."

"My home kind of has a hole in the roof. I'll be staying with my son until it's fixed."

"Stay with Frank. He's got the room, hasn't he?"

"I guess he does," Twyla agreed vaguely. "Let me go talk to him. I'll let him know the good news."

Twyla found Frank exactly where she expected to find him, standing at the lake's edge, watching Mary Georgina swimming near the other dragons. She stood beside him but said nothing, letting her presence speak for itself.

After a time, he spoke. "I'm not going to say it's like losing Lu and Annie all over again, because it isn't. But…" He faltered, struggling for words. "Why can't I seem to take care of my own? I swear I do my best by those who count on me, but I always wind up failing miserably."

Twyla wanted to hug him, to comfort him, but something as simple as a touch had become complicated between them. All she had were words, and words didn't seem like enough. "I can't begin to tell you how wrong you are about that. I count on you, and you've never failed me. Not once."

"You've never failed me either." One corner of his mouth hinted at a smile, and when he spoke again, there was a lightness in his voice, as if Twyla had managed to lift some of his burden for him. "I'm sure your fella is right about what needs doing, but Salt Sea, it does not feel right in my bones, leaving that baby to the care of someone else, not when she's put all her trust in me."

An idea occurred to Twyla, probably a useless one, but it was better than doing nothing. "Frank, what if you were to write up your own recommendation?"

"To who?"

"The Joint Chiefs of the Tanrian Marshals? These scientists? The Assembly of the Federated Islands of Cadmus? Even Quill. He might be the expert on the war dragons of the Old Gods, but if anyone on this earth is an expert on Tanrian dragons, it's you."

He nodded slowly, mulling over her suggestion.

"What would you recommend?" she asked him.

"That they stay in Tanria. They were made for this place; we're the ones who don't belong here. Past that…" He shrugged.

They watched the dragons on the lake. One of the young ones approached Mary Georgina, and the two babies sniffed each other. It was the closest Twyla had seen Mary Georgina get to any of the others. She held her breath, hopeful, as the two little ones swam together, darting in a game of chase on the water.

"Would you look at that," murmured Frank.

"Your girl's growing up."

It was nice to share in his joy, to feel like his friend again. Her heart had been all knotted up these past few days, and this moment was what it had taken to loosen it.

"He's not my fella, by the way. We broke up."

Frank did a double take before schooling his expression into one of sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"It was amicable." She nudged him, her shoulder against his, a blissful sense of normalcy settling over them. "We're good, aren't we?"

"Yeah. We're good." He put his arm around her shoulders, and it wasn't weird or awkward. It was them. It was Frank and Twyla, Twyla and Frank.

"Twy, there's something I need to tell you."

The portentous hint in his voice set her nerves jangling. She looked up into his hound dog eyes. "What is it?"

He opened his mouth and clamped it shut again. Then he said, "I want you to know that I will dismember anyone who tries to make you a chair again."

Twyla gurgled with laughter. "True friend," she said, and as she leaned her head against the reassuring bulk of his shoulder, she told him the good news.