Page 110 of Nine-Tenths

I goggle at the thought of Dav being the one who set the match to the former American capitol building to solidify the Canadian victory. Or, probably, being the actual match himself.

Who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t been there, and the Americans had won the war, or even if there'd been a stalemate. Maybe big chunks of the country would be American, now. Though I can't imagine New England or, like Pennsylvania,or any of the bits of Regina and Alberta that border the Mexican Empire as beingAmerican. To me, Americawill always be rippling wisteria, mint juleps and sweet tea, peach orchards, and that thick drawl.

"I could have declined…" He stops, stares out wistfully towards the Falls.

"Why didn't you?"

"It was offered in such a way that I was put in a rather difficult position, and could not say no. I thought I could manage the territoryin absentia, but… no dragon may hold more than a single territory, per Elizabeth Regina's law."

"And you chose Canada over an ancestral estate back home?" I guess.

Dav wriggles, uncomfortable. "My word means something to me, even if Simcoe's did not to him. I signed that treaty on the battlefield. I promised to protect the interests of our allies—" he breaks off with a frustrated draconic hiss. "I just didn’t realize that I would need to do so after the war’s end, and against my own side. I accepted protection of a March, but it was notthis onethat needed safeguarding. Onatah's territory would have been stolen if I was not here to act as a stopper."

"You don't know that."

"Believe me, Mine Own, I do." He squeezes me tight against his ribs. "I think worst of everything, what I despise most is that they forced me to become some sort of archetypal white savior. It's distasteful. Although, there is one benefit."

"Which is?"

"If I had gone home to St. Ffagan's, I would never have met you." He sends me a sloe-eyed look.

"You romantic goober."

"I gave back as much as I could before Francis protested. Everything from the Escarpment to the riverbank remains mine, regrettably."

"The Falls themselves?"

"No. It would be abhorrent to control her grandfather’s Nest. Onatah's territory starts at the river. But it's less than half of what it was." He snorts. "The government, they say she should not have it, because she doesn't know how to use it. That because she declines tourbanize, and factory farm, she iswastingthe land." He spits out 'wasting' like it's acid. "They do not see her natural agriculture, or the sustainability of their lifestyle. The deep community they have. All they see is what Ilost."

"Sounds frustrating."

"They speak about it as if I'm weak. As if it's a matter of will, or physical strength, or wealth. Just because I'm strong enough to take it doesn't mean Ishould. I barely have any contact with the general public supposedly under my care as it is. What would I do withmore? A dragon oughtn't have everything simply because theycan." He juts out his chin, stubborn, jaw clenched. "This is what rots empires. Rome fell to ruin because there's simply a limit to how far from the home nest a dragon's influence—both good and bad—can reach."

I think back to our book. "Is that why the Dutch couldn't get a foothold in Aotearoa?"

"Part of it," Dav says airily. He's doing that thing where he tells the truth, but not all of it.

"Your, uh, your opinion on this stuff… is that the thing?" I ask softly, resting my cheek on his shoulder. "The thing that they're mad about? The 'I did it again', thing?"

Dav kisses the tip of my nose. "No. I promise, I will tell you when I'm ready. But no. This is just somethingelsethat has not made me popular."

"Then why'd you do it?"

"We Welsh dragons have long memories, and we recall what it means to be conquered and stripped of one’s language and culture. England colonized Wales long before they built their ships and left the island to steal an Empire."

"But your last name isTudor," I point out, a deliberate dig at his earlier jibe.

"Ah, well, one can't choose one's patronym."

And then Diego comes and kicks the bottoms of our shoes and tells us to quit being such lazy Draconic Overlord stereotypes, and get to work.

Chapter Thirty

"So, theoretically, if one was to want to get from, say, this house to, I don't know, Beanevolence, how would one go about doing that?" I ask as we’re finishing up lunch.

Dav cuts me a funny look. "I do have a car."

"Oh? You didn't strip naked and fly to the café every morning? Clothes clutched in a talon, dressing furtively in an alleyway?"