Barbarian Dragonslayer (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 5)

by Aaron Crash

  Once she felt her wings would work, Ziziva shrank into her Winkle Self and flew off, over the Sea Stair Market, to her shop, where they had a little apartment—her and Zorynda Gold. Ziziva cleaned herself, put on a tight sparkling dress, and then went out to the front of The Paradise Tree.

  She and Zorynda chatted about nothing, and her friend was wise enough not to ask about her comings and goings. Ziziva said she was researching ways to get more xoca beans—a lie she could prove now that they had bags and bags of beans on StormLight Island.

  Was that a bit of suspicion in the other fairy’s eyes? Undoubtedly, but Zorynda knew her place. She was below Ziziva, and so she wouldn’t question things too much. She couldn’t.

  That evening, Lillee Nehenna pushed through the door, and the bell tingled.

  Zorynda was in the back room, and Ziziva was grateful.

  The fairy girl wasn’t sure how she should approach the elf maiden. Had the two ever spoken? Ziziva wasn’t sure they had.

  Lillee was quiet, shy, and yet, she had the ink of the “S” on her temple. She wasn’t innocent, not with that mark. And she wasn’t wearing her essess. Did that mean she was horny all the time now?

  Ziziva could understand how that felt, especially recently. Actually, ever since she first met Ymir, sex had been on her mind often. Before Ymir? It had been something that the fairy girl enjoyed, but it hadn’t been her obsession.

  Lillee went to the xoca sculptures, then crossed the room to prepare herself a xoca kaif, as popular a drink as the beer from the Unicorn’s Uht. The elf girl brought her drink up to the counter. At the same time, Lillee reached into her satchel to take out a little purse, heavy with shecks.

  Ziziva fluttered off her perch—a little round shelf on a golden bar with a desk, a chair, a lamp. She fluttered above the cash register.

  “Another customer, Ziziva!” their old lady automaton called out. “I love giving those hard-working scholars a treat!”

  “I know, Nan, I know,” Ziziva said with too much Verum Tongue. She had to play the part with Zorynda around. Ziziva giggled and switched to Winkle Tongue, hoping Lillee knew the truth and wouldn’t hate her too much. “Lillee, Lillee, don’t be silly, you don’t have to pay. Ymir gives us the beans, we stay on the scene, and you can pay another day.”

  Lillee smiled, and it was kind, understanding, and her green eyes were soft. “You are very kind, Ziziva. I was wondering if you and I could talk. I think we have something we need to discuss. Perhaps you can take a break, and we can talk on the hidden docks? The sky is still clear, and though it’s chilly, the sunset should be pretty.”

  Lillee’s eyes went to the back room, where the silhouette of Nan Honeysweet rocked. It was clear that Lillee wanted privacy, and Ziziva was grateful for it. If the elf girl had come in talking of dragons, asking about fairy babies, Zorynda might’ve gone straight to Lolazny Lyla and tattled on Ziziva, and then Zorynda would take her place above Ziziva in the hierarchy.

  Yes, Zorynda was Ziziva’s friend, but there was always that danger. Zorynda was ambitious. As a Fayee should be.

  Ziziva had to think. Gatha had mentioned that Ymir and his harem had talked with the Princept that day. The fairy didn’t know exactly what the conversation had been about. She had to assume it was about her and this wretched dragon that she’d have to face.

  The fairy girl glanced into the back room. “Going to chat with Ymirry’s pretty elf girl, yes. Maybe I’ll get a peek under her dress! Back in a minute!”

  It wasn’t long before Ziziva and Lillee walked down the Sea Stair, then turned right to get to the hidden docks.

  Ziziva had her nice cloak on, and she fluttered around the elf girl, also in a cloak, sipping her xoca kaif. The days were getting so short—it would be the Winter Solstice Festival before they knew it.

  Lillee and the fairy found a nice place to talk at the end of the docks. The sea was calm. Lillee sat on a bench. Ziziva fluttered down onto her knee.

  Lillee reached out a hand and took Ziziva’s tiny hand between her finger and thumb. “Ziziva, Ymir told us some of the Fayee secrets. We won’t betray you. We want to trust you. Also, we know about the baby.”

  Ziziva wanted to pull her hand away, but she didn’t. Ziziva always felt so small and vulnerable in her Winkle Self, and she was, but she dared not grow larger, not in public. The fairy girl felt the frown on her face. “I want you to trust me. I’ve shared more with Ymir than any fairy has shared with anyone for generations. There are so many stories of Fayee being killed in the past, those who broke the rules...like I’m breaking the rules.”

  “By having a baby?” Lillee asked.

  Ziziva used her other hand to gently push the elf girl’s finger and thumb apart. She kept herself balanced on the elf’s legs by fluttering her wings. “By having a baby, yes, and by sharing our secrets.”

  Ziziva then told Lillee everything, or most everything. Fairy pregnancies could become very strange, very fast. She hoped she would get lucky, and so there was no need to frighten Ymir and his harem.

  The fairy girl found herself rhyming a bit too much—the Winkle Tongue could become such a habit!

  “I’m sorry for using the Winkle Tongue,” Ziziva said shyly.

  Lillee smiled. “You can rhyme around me. I don’t mind. I like to play with language.”

  “I will a little, Lillee, Lillee, but I won’t get too silly.” Ziziva sat down on the elf’s leg. She was staring up at the big, pretty face, yet her eyes kept going back to her breasts. Again, Ziziva wondered if the elf girl was horny right then. “I wanted Ymir’s baby, and I hope you don’t mind, but you seem sweet, and you seem kind.”

  Lillee shifted her leg, and Ziziva nearly fell off, but Lillee caught her before she did. “I have to admit that it was a surprise. We haven’t talked about babies, and we’re wondering if the baby will be small. Or will it be big?”

  “She will be tiny for a time,” Ziziva replied. “And it will be a she, for all of the Fayee are female-y. She will learn to grow and change, to Verum and Winkle, but, Lillee, I want her to twinkle in my home. I won’t give her to the magistrate, or to the district. I’ll raise her myself, and I won’t be too strict. I’m changing things, and I won’t be Fayee anymore. I’ll be something different—what, I’m not sure. I’m excited, in a daze, but I’m also very, very afraid.”

  “You’ll be like me.” Tears filled Lillee’s eyes. “I’m an outcast. And now my father is gone. I should be relieved, but I feel the loss still. I probably always will.”

  “Even with Ymir and your family?” Ziziva asked gently.

  “Silly, I know.” Lillee blushed even as the tears leaked down her cheeks. “I mourn for a past I’ll never have. And my mothers want nothing to do with me. Will it be the same thing for you?”

  Ziziva felt her heart fill, and she flew off the elf girl’s leg, fluttered up, and landed on her shoulder. She loved how Lillee smelled. And she loved the curve of the girl’s ear. Ziziva took the top of the ear in hand and leaned in close. “I will be the same, though a father I never had, or never knew at least. And though I was raised by a certain Long River Magistrate, I think I’m the daughter of Queen Deedee. It was why she took such an interest in me. If Deedee is the fairy queen, then I am a princess like you, and like you, I’ll have to make my own family. With you, Lillee, Lillee, who is not at all silly.”

  Lillee giggled. “Your breath in my ear tickles. And you’re so small!”

  From her perch on the elf girl’s shoulder, Ziziva could see down her dress, to the full cleavage of the girl’s breasts. Suddenly, all sorts of very horny ideas filled Ziziva’s head. Was it just normal horniness? Or was it the fact she was pregnant?

  There were many stories about pregnant fairies doing all sorts of sexual things they normally wouldn’t do, driven mad by the changes in their bodies.

  The elven princess gently put her hand under Ziziva and lifted her off her shoulder.

  The fairy found herself looking into those green eyes. She smel
led Lillee’s sweet breath and her sweet body.

  “I hope that you do find a family with us,” Lillee said. “And we will welcome your baby. You really aren’t trying to trick us, are you? You are not playing a game with our lives?”

  “I’m not,” Ziziva said in Verum Tongue.

  “I am convinced, and Tori will be as well, and as for Gatha, she said today that you weren’t a complete fucking waste of a dusza.” Lillee laughed and blushed. “Her words. I normally don’t curse.”

  Ziziva smiled. “Yes, Gatha saw my blood today. She is very relieved that it’s red.” The fairy giggled, then got serious. “But how will you heal your heart, sweet Lillee, when you mourn for a past that never was, never could be, not with the mark on your temple?” Ziziva touched the side of her own face.

  “How would you heal me, sweet little fairy girl?” Lillee asked.

  Ziziva was taken aback by the question. She paused, searched her heart, and was surprised to find an answer. “Not by spells, and not by tricks. Perhaps by sweetness, and perhaps by licks. Kisses, I mean, sweet elven queen, for you are a queen now. Your father is dead, and you are the queen of your life, and you can choose love, you can escape strife. The rhyme is bad, and that makes me sad, but to see you smile makes my heart glad.”

  Lillee did smile, with tears in her eyes, and she rhymed herself. “Could I find a fairy friend? Could we find a friendship that would never end? Could we match the poetry of our hearts with actual words? Could we make a nest for your baby as if we were birds?” The elf laughed. “Now my rhyming is bad. I’m used to writing down my poetry, and editing as I go.”

  “Which is why I rhymed ‘life’ and ‘strife.’ When pressed, you go with the cliché to finish the line, all the time, every time.” Ziziva flew off the elf’s hand and decided to see what it would be like to find a safe place on Lillee’s chest.

  She slid her legs down Lillee’s cleavage, found it warm, and rested her head on Lillee’s skin.

  The elf’s heart beat slow and steady.

  Yes, this was the most comfortable place Ziziva could think of.

  She would find a home and family with Ymir and his wives. Life would be kind to her, as sweet as their xocalati, and as rich.

  Ziziva wanted to hear more about this dragon she would face, but right then, she knew she would win. Ziziva Honeygood had always won, and even with Ymir, when she thought she’d been defeated, her defeat had turned into the sweetest victory ever.

  Lillee knew to be quiet, and the pair sat there for a long time, cuddling. It wasn’t sexy, though Ziziva could understand how that could change quickly, and most passionately.

  It was then that Lillee spoke. “When we talked with the Princept about the dragon, Della mentioned someone. Does the name Unger mean anything to you?”

  All of Ziziva’s cozy feelings were gone in seconds. Her heart turned to ice.

  Unger was a name she hadn’t heard in a long time, not since her childhood in Four Roads. Unger was a name no one spoke out loud, it was only whispered.

  For Unger was the master of the Silent Scream.

  In a real sense, Unger was death.

  The last light of the day vanished from the world in a bloody sunrise.

  A cold night followed.

  Chapter Thirty

  YMIR SAT IN THE BACK of Professor Albatross’s classroom, where she was lecturing on Theran religions.

  His conversation with the dragon, then with the Princept, had been weeks ago. Not much had changed, which felt odd. They’d talked about the dragon, the schemes of the fairy queen, the seventh ring, and the royal family, who were rarely seen outside the Librarium Citadel or their apartment in the Imperial Palace. The Applefords, and their guards, took their meals in the Reception Room.

  Now, it was the afternoon before his Second Exam. They would take the exam, and then take a couple weeks off for the Winter Solstice Festival.

  Ymir was having trouble concentrating. It wasn’t just the fact that there was a good chance that Ziziva might be pregnant—it had been several weeks since they had sex, though now whenever he visited Ribby, the fairy was with them. The other women in Ymir’s sharreb were warming up to the fairy, but Tori hadn’t had her Inconvenience for a while now, and the dwab was staying away from the Amora Xoca. Lillee was as preoccupied with sex as ever, but she was being satisfied by Ymir and four other women.

  Besides, Lillee said that she and Ziziva were slowly becoming friends, bonding over poetry and rhymes, as well as all the other things they had in common.

  As for Gatha, she was just starting not to loathe Ziziva. Sex seemed very far away for those two.

  Ymir wasn’t a man to worry over his women. He loved them, cared for them, would protect them, but there was always some issue. Grandfather Bear said women always walk under a sky about to rain in that women were always planning, scheming, wondering about the rain, preparing tents, and making sure their babies were dry. Grandmother Rabbit said men wouldn’t know it was raining until it rained hard enough to water down their tundra-wheat beer.

  Ymir could argue both sides, though of course, it was an oversimplification. Tori was carefree and had walked under clear skies all of her life. And Ymir wasn’t afraid of planning. He wouldn’t let the rain fall into his beer for long.

  Two issues perplexed the clansman. For one, the three coins from Gulnash and the three seeds from the almanac. They were meant to grow the Ventita Fructus, the uncanny fruit, but so far, he, Gatha, and Della could not find much information on how you used them. How did you grow a magic ring from a coin and a seed?

  He’d asked Linnylynn, and she said she’d put the White Rose Society resources on the problem. It was the next step in crafting the ring.

  Professor Albatross had been very open about her family’s new farming business. A rich family, they saw opportunity in every misfortune. And so, they started growing kaif and xoca, which seemed innocent enough.

  It did make Ymir wonder if she had any ties to King Shapta, the demon conqueror.

  The other issue facing Ymir was the true nature of the dragon. At this stage, the dragon had hinted at what it wanted—the next Akkiric Ring. Would the beast return before the ring was crafted? Ymir didn’t think so. Would Ymir give the creature the Flesh Steal Ring? Never.

  The issue of the dragon was further complicated by Della discussing Unger with them. When Ymir had described how the scales around the red-orange eyes was scorched, she talked of a man she knew in Four Roads—not just a man, her contact in the Silent Scream.

  And so it was Della admitted to being a master assassin. Ymir wasn’t surprised. It seemed like he’d always known that Della had a dark past. She was too good, too lethal, too smart in the ways of the world to have merely been an academic.

  Jennybelle had heard of an Unger, but it was the stuff of legends.

  If Ymir was special for having a dusza, then Unger was unique for having one that defied explanation.

  Piecing things together, it was clear that Della had a troubling relationship with Unger when she worked for the Silent Scream. Then, Unger got involved with the Midnight Guild. The Ironcoats, both the dwarf and the dwab, had known Unger.

  Tori remembered a vision she’d had—Unger was the name of Ibeliah’s Inconvenience Partner in Four Roads, but he was dead if he was a human. That was fifty years ago.

  Could Unger have grown into this dragon? It was a good bet. He was ageless, strange, powerful, and both he and the dragon had ties to the Midnight Guild. Had Unger started the Midnight Guild? Or was the dragon lying? Had Unger murdered the Grand Vempor Arcadius? If so, for what purpose?

  It was telling that even Della had so few answers.

  More troubling, if Unger could change Della’s elven ears and make them round, if he could turn himself into a dragon, he might be able to change his own face, even hide his eyes. It could be that Unger was at Old Ironbound, hiding until Ymir finished the ring. They’d tried to use various divination magic to figure out who Unger might be, but all
of their attempts failed. And yes, Ymir found stories of dragons casting any number of spells, including something called FleshForge. That could fix Ribby.

  How likely was it that the dragon would help them unless he found some kind of power or leverage against it?

  It wasn’t.

  Every aspect of their situation was disturbing, but the most disturbing thing of all? Ymir had never seen Della so scared. She was clearly terrified by the prospect of facing the old master assassin again.

  “Ymir!” Linnylynn Albatross called to him. “Is there a story of the Seedmaster in your religion?”

  The clansman was caught off guard. He’d been so deep in his musings he’d lost track of the class. He had to think for a minute.

  Darisbeau Cujan, also in the back, laughed. “Let me help you, Ymir. The Seedmaster was a god who didn’t just start this world but started any number of realms. The Seedmaster walks the sky, casting his seeds, which are as numerous as the stars. Every seed becomes a world, and so there are countless worlds. The only way to walk to them all is using the Stair, though finding the Stair is very difficult, very difficult indeed. The Seedmaster threw his seed down here, and out of it grew Raxid, and upon Raxid, the Tree of Life sprouted. While there are many worlds, there is only one Tree of Life, and it is here, for us. The Tree blossomed and bore fruit, and we are the fruit.”

  “Not all of you, depending on who you ask,” Ymir countered. He didn’t mention that the fairies considered all other races as Poisoned Fruit people. In that, the Fayee were like the northern clans.

  Ymir turned in his seat to address the boy directly. “The story we tell on the Ax Tundra is that the Tree of Life was always here, there are no old gods, and the Axman thought to chop it down for his fire. He struck it once with his ax. Some believe humans came from the sap, and all the other strange races fell like fruit. It’s like what you said, boy, that we are all fruit.”

  Buck Minefinder, a dwarf who was more sexual than any Morbuskor that Ymir had ever met, laughed loudly. He was sitting close to his women, two dirty-talking Gruul that Ymir rather liked. He’d worked with Kacky and Gluck when he’d first started at Old Ironbound. “Whoa, there. It’s clear that all the races on Raxid are different. The Seedmaster planted the tree, granted, but it was the old gods that watered the Tree of Life. Elves come from the top, they’re like leaves, the merfolk came from rain, the pollen became fairies, the humans are fruit, and the dwarves are born from the roots. The orcs came from green worms in the dirt.”