Light Dragons 02 - The Unbearable Lightness of Dragons

engraved silver love token that Baltic had made me some five hundred years earlier, when I realized that once again he had adroitly distracted me from asking him a question I suspected he didn’t want me to ask.
    “You’d think he’d learn by now,” I said to myself as I trotted down the back stairs to check on a lime-garlic marinade I’d whipped up, making sure the chicken was soaking in it before I went out to rout Baltic from wherever he had disappeared.
    “There you are. Listen, I know you don’t want to tell me. . . .” I stopped speaking, blinking in astonishment as the love of my life marched down the stairs. He wore a calf-length black topcoat, black pants, and a long black tunic top that shimmered with light as he moved. “By the rood, Baltic! You look absolutely wonderful. Is the shirt beaded?” I peered closely at the tunic.
    “Do I look like the sort of a man who wears beaded garments?” he asked, the scorn in his voice counterbalanced by his pleased expression as I marveled over his outfit. “It’s dragonweave. I had some made for you, but it’s in Riga. I’ll have it brought out here, if you like.”
    “It’s gorgeous material,” I said, touching the tunic. “It’s like it’s covered in thousands of crystals but there’s nothing there but the fabric, is there?”
    “You will make a dress from it to wear in front of other dragons. I hadn’t thought we would have need of it, but I see I was wrong.”
    “Wow. It’s just . . . and you look . . . I could pounce on you,” I said, circling him.
    “I am happy to spend the time making love to you instead of meeting with the wyverns,” he offered politely.
    I laughed, gave him a quick kiss, then took his hand and tugged him toward the door. “Nice try. That outfit almost did it, too, but it’s more important that we take care of this. Oh, Pavel. I didn’t know you were coming with us. I’m glad, though. You can help keep Baltic from losing his temper with everyone.”
    Pavel emerged from his room next to the kitchen, clad in black pants and a slightly different black tunic. It, too, was made of dragonweave, but it didn’t appear to have quite such a glittery effect to it. I gathered that only the wyvern got to wear the really flashy version of the cloth, and I spent the next ten minutes in pleasant contemplation of just what sort of a dress I would fashion from the material that Baltic had had made for me.
    My second attempt to find out what Thala was doing in Italy was met with a look that I decided I wouldn’t pursue in front of Pavel. Although he might be Baltic’s closest friend, I hesitated to involve him in the discussion when Baltic obviously preferred otherwise. I was content to simply give him a look that let him know the subject wasn’t closed, and then I focused on driving us to the house he had built for me several hundred years before.
    “We have to talk to Kostya about giving Dragonwood back to us,” I said as I stopped just shy of the willow and lime crescent that blocked the view of the house from the long drive.
    Baltic considered the redbrick Tudor mansion front, nodding at the house with approval. “Next to Dauva, it is the best of our homes.”
    I sighed as I gazed at it. It was utterly perfect, everything about it meant to please, from the location on the top of a gentle hill, to the center square tower, to the beautiful mullioned windows and stone quoins, all the way up to the parapets that were etched into the sky. The grounds were just as lovely, with a garden that I had designed myself, a crystal clear pond, and velvety green expanses of lawn that sang a sweet siren song to me.
    “Baltic—” I stopped, my throat too tight to continue.
    He took my hand and kissed my fingers. “It will be yours again, my love. I swear to you that it will.”
    “It wants us back,” I said, my eyes swimming with tears of longing as the essence of the house seemed to wrap itself around me, an essence that was heavily imbued with happy memories of our time spent there. “It needs us.”
    Baltic was silent for a moment, then brushed away a tear that escaped my eye, saying softly, “We will get it back.”
    I pulled myself together, squelching the pain, reminding myself that there was a long way to go before we could negotiate with Kostya for the return of the house. “Let’s tackle one thing at a time. It’s more important that we end this stupid war.”
    “I don’t see why,” Pavel said as we got out of