“You really want to die?” The disapproval in Gabriel’s voice raked Alexander’s skin.
“It’s more complicated than a yes or no answer.” Alexander opened his eyes to find Gabriel untying his wrists. He tugged them free and rubbed the circulation back into his limbs.
“Can I ask you one thing?” His brother frowned at him from above.
“Why not?” In for a penny, in for a pound, right? The sooner he answered Gabriel’s questions, the sooner he’d get back to his solitude.
“How did you find a hawk that looks exactly like Maiara’s?”
Alexander glanced at Nyx and then back at his brother. “I didn’t. This is the same hawk.”
Chapter Three
December 1699
Port of Philadelphia
The Owl’s Roost Public House was a seedy establishment, even by human standards, and Alexander had learned more than he wanted to know about human standards. He’d spent the past year traveling up the coast of Europe from a place called Crete, to the port of Genoa, to Barcelona, Marseille, London, sometimes by sea on vessels whose accommodations were suitable only for the rats who inhabited them, and sometimes by land, riding on beasts of burden and bedding down anywhere they could find.
They’d wound up in a place called the Isle of Wight, where a man named William Penn convinced Gabriel to board a merchant vessel for the New World. After seeing port after vermin-infested port in the area they called Europe, all of them had longed for a new world, and so they’d boarded a ship called the Canterbury weeks ago and ended up here.
“I don’t think Penn was a reputable source.” Alexander scowled. “This New World is even filthier and wilder than the old one.” He took pencil to paper and continued his sketch of the place. At the front of the Owl’s Roost was a bar that housed kegs of beer and whiskey shipped in from Europe, manned by a gray-haired chap with a tangled beard who also served as the innkeeper. The light in the place was courtesy of candles. Their table was circular with a half dozen simple wood chairs around it.
“Don’t tell me you miss the palace.” Rowan smoothed the heavy wool of her dress. He wondered how she could stand the fashion here for females. The sheer weight and cumbersome nature of what she wore would have driven him mad. He sketched her straight back and mischievous grin, taking great care to capture the impish sparkle in her eyes.
“Don’t you? Maybe not the palace, per se, but the conveniences. I haven’t been able to paint in months, and my skin is itching to shift.” He’d purchased paper and charcoal pencils in Italy, and in his sketchbook, kept a record of the people and places they’d seen, but it wasn’t the same as paint and canvas, two things that didn’t lend to constant travel.
There was a pause in conversation as a barmaid with a head of red curls and a bulbous nose arrived, slinging pewter mugs of dark ale to each of them. Alexander gulped a healthy dose of the brew. It was no Tribiscal wine, but its charm was undeniable. Gabriel ordered a course of venison stew from the woman.
After the barmaid had waddled back toward the bar, Rowan answered him. “No, I don’t miss it at all. Yes, these humans are strange and sometimes violent. We must be careful where and when we shift as not to attract undue attention from them or from Brynhoff if he’s tracing our magic as Mother warned. But at least we are free to do as we wish. The palace was a prison.” She shuddered.
For Rowan, Alexander realized, their ancestral home had indeed been a prison, maybe more so than for the rest of them. As the one and only princess of Paragon, their parents had kept her safe inside a gilded cage, only let out to fan her feathers for the social elite. Could he blame her for enjoying her newfound freedom?
Gabriel’s mug landed with a thud on the roughhewn table, which rocked on its uneven legs. “This new world will make things easier. Penn told of vast land, miles upon miles of wild forest, fresh water, and unpopulated territory. There will be plenty of room for us to establish our own kingdoms, fill our treasure rooms, and avoid humans so we can shift at will.”
Alexander was looking forward to settling anywhere. All this travel had left him feeling unmoored and slightly discombobulated. He longed for structure and normalcy again, and although he didn’t miss the palace in many regards, he did miss the routine of palace life. He sampled the ale again and daydreamed of his own palace and his own kingdom.
“I borrowed this from the captain of our vessel,” Tobias interjected, removing a roll of parchment from inside his coat and unrolling it on the table. Invisibility had served them well here, where humans were unaware of their nature as dragons and feared anything that could not be seen. They’d found it relatively easy to avoid detection when it suited them. What Tobias called borrowing was more likely slipping into the captain’s chambers and removing the item from his desk.
Alexander leaned over the table to get a better look. A map. Tobias was always the practical one. He wouldn’t entrust their fate into the care of outsiders. With this, they would know where they wanted to go and what to ask for.
“These”—Tobias pointed to a series of odd-shaped blocks of land along the eastern coast—“are what they call the colonies. The humans have only recently settled there in any number, are predominantly agrarian and have little available cash. I am told most barter for goods. Our pounds sterling will go far here, but the jewels may be useless if we can find no one to buy them.”
Gabriel pressed his lips together and grunted his agreement.
Tobias pointed to a mass of land to the west with few markings. “This is New France. I am told the colonies are few and far between. Wild, unsettled land just waiting to be claimed by our magic. All we need is someone who has been to this area, who can tell us where there is game to eat and materials for a proper domain.”
A laugh came from behind them, and the barmaid slid bowls of stew onto the table. “That ain’t nothing but soldiers and fur trappers,” she said, nodding at the place Tobias’s finger pressed into the section of the map. “Everything else is filled with savages. No place for civilized folk.”
“Savages?”
She wiped her hands on her smock in an act of exasperation. “The filthy Indians! They’ll scalp you as soon as look at you. Skin your hide if you step where you don’t belong.” She pointed at the expanse to the west. “You go there, you better arm yourself. It’s no place for a lady if you don’t mind me saying so, especially not now with the cold and the snow coming.” She looked pointedly at Rowan.
“Where is a good place for a lady?” Rowan asked quickly.
“Aye, if it were me, I’d go to New York. I’ve heard things are nice there. Plenty of meat and ale. Young strapping lads with good solid homes who would be interested in a wee thing like you. If I were younger, that be where I’d go.”
Rowan leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s where I want to go, the place with the food and warm strapping lads.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Rowan!” Gabriel boomed.
Alexander flared his eyes at his sister, who laughed and drank her ale around a smirk.
“She’s a feisty one, she is.” The woman nodded and retreated toward the kitchen.
“You can’t control me here, Gabriel,” Rowan said, suddenly earnest. “I’ll go on my own if I have to. I have no desire to wade through forests and valleys of unsettled territory.”
This unleashed a painfully intense lecture from Gabriel about the need to stay together despite their plan to settle apart. As their oldest living sibling, Gabriel had named himself their leader and took pleasure in bossing them around. King Gabriel of the nonexistent dragon land of exiled Paragonians.
Alexander rolled his eyes and sketched his brother standing on his chair, dressed in a robe and powdered wig and banging his fist upon the table. He bent the page so Gabriel would not see and chuckled as he added a bit of sprayed spit to his drawing. By the Mountain, his brother could be an overbearing cockalorum.
“If it’s so great, go on your own, Gabriel! I’ll be in New York
,” Rowan said, her unyielding stare matching their older brother’s.
Alexander smiled at his sister’s pluck. In Paragon, Rowan had been silenced by the expectations of the crown. She’d suffered her entire life, bearing the burden of other people’s wants and needs, especially their mother’s. Only through art had Alex succeeded in bringing his sister out of her shell, coaxing her personality forth in the form of oils on canvas.
But the next hour, she’d be at some royal function once again performing her duties like a trained dog, all the fire drained from her spirit. He saw that fire now. It had awakened more every day they were away from Paragon, and he, for one, was happy to see it.
Gabriel, however, seemed much less enthused about the change in their sister. “Living among the humans is risky. They will expect you to conform to their ways.”
“I’ll get by,” she replied, chin raised. “Anyway, I think we should all split the remainder of the jewels and choose one of these colonies to settle down in. They cover a considerable area, plenty far apart. If each of us chooses a different one, Brynhoff will never find us.”
Gabriel’s response was undermined when the front door opened and an icy wind blew through the establishment, ruffling Alexander’s hair. He looked up to find a slight, hooded figure had stepped inside, layered in furs and skins with a bow and quiver slung over one shoulder and tall moccasins fitted below the knee with strips of leather.
The person—he could not tell if they were male or female—reminded him of the elves of the kingdom of Rogos in his home world, built small with long, lean limbs. But the most unusual part of the stranger’s ensemble was a red-tailed hawk perched on the thick animal hide covering the person’s shoulders. The bird of prey had eyes of amber, an impressive wingspan, and talons that Alexander thought the man or woman must still be able to feel through the pelt.
The background din in the public house suddenly quieted, and all the patrons turned to face the door.
“Filthy savage,” a man muttered.
Alexander shot the man a nasty glare and gripped his ale tighter. The stranger wasn’t filthy or savage. In fact, he found the visitor rather enticing and mysterious. A strong urge to sketch the newcomer overcame him, and he flipped his paper over to start a new drawing. He wished he could see the stranger’s face. Would they have the pointed ears of an elf as well as the stature?
Two hands emerged from the fur cape and brushed back the hood, and Alexander’s pencil stopped.
The stranger was a woman with long, dark hair that fell glossy and sleek to her shoulders and beyond, disappearing inside her cape. High cheekbones marked a face notable for its strong, proud edges, with luminescent amber skin that seemed to radiate sunlight.
Her eyes were deepest ebony and shaped more like the elves of his world than the humans they’d met in Europe, although her ears were not elvish. Her hollowed cheeks suggested she was hungry and had been for some time.
Instantly, deep within his torso, Alexander’s dragon stirred, creating a visceral tug in her direction. He sniffed the air to appease its curiosity. That was strange. Since they’d arrived here, his inner dragon hadn’t taken an interest in the human population. This one, though, was different.
His nostrils flared. Fallen leaves, oak bark, pine, and fresh crisp air. She smelled of freedom and the wild. He blinked slowly, taking it in.
She strode toward an empty table, the hawk shifting with her movement, followed by the judgmental gazes of the other patrons. Alexander didn’t understand. How could they all not be as taken with her beauty as he was? Why did their mouths twist in distaste? She was a breath of fresh air in the otherwise stale room.
The barmaid who’d served them rushed forward and blocked the empty table with her body. “That one’s reserved.” She stood with an irritable expression, arms spread wide.
The stranger turned and headed for another table, this one both empty and in a shadowy corner of the hall. Alexander scowled. She was giving in, trying to place herself out of sight to avoid the obvious scorn of the other patrons. But she had no reason to hide. It was these people who should be hiding.
“That one’s reserved as well,” the barmaid said without a hint of a smile. No sugar to ease her poisonous words.
The barkeep piped up. “We don’t serve your kind here.” As if to pound in his point, he retrieved a musket from behind the bar and dropped it on the counter.
The woman and her hawk pivoted to face the gray-haired man and considered him, her gaze as cold and hard as ice. Alexander thought the man might turn to stone under the power of that gaze. This woman might have been small in stature, but she was strong of will. He immediately respected that.
The barkeep raised his chin defiantly and placed his hand on his weapon.
Hot ire flushed Alexander’s skin. He thrust to his feet, his chair scraping the floor as his knees drove it back from the table. Every eye in the room turned on him. He didn’t shy away from the stares but stood straighter, using his above-average size to maximum advantage. “This woman is with me,” he stated decisively.
“Alexander, what are you doing?” Tobias said under his breath.
Gabriel hissed a note of warning.
Ignoring his brothers, Alexander extended his hand toward the stranger. “Please.”
Chapter Four
Despite the pained expressions of his family and the hateful outrage of the patrons in the Owl’s Roost, Alexander gestured for the native woman to join him.
“Are you listening? She ain’t allowed in here!” the barkeep bellowed.
He turned the heat of his stare on the plump, bearded man. “Are you suggesting that my brothers and I must find another establishment to spend our coin?”
They’d rented all the rooms in the small inn and, Alexander suspected, had paid for them overmuch. Considering his and his brothers’ size relative to that of the human population, Alexander was counting on the barkeep’s reluctance to start trouble. He was relieved when the portly man moved the musket under the counter.
“Fine. But the bird waits outside,” the barkeep insisted, pointing his thumb toward the door.
Alexander focused on the Indian woman, his fingers still extended toward her beseechingly. For a moment she seemed frozen, her gaze tracing the line from the tips of his fingers to his face before locking onto his eyes. The hall became so quiet Alexander could hear the ragged inhale of his own breath. Did she understand English? Did she understand he was inviting her to dine with them?
Finally, as if she’d made a momentous decision, her shoulders drooped and she marched to the front door. With more force than necessary, she threw it open, allowing in a gust of cold that drew hateful snipes from the other patrons. The hawk flew off toward the darkening sky with a shrill cry that pierced the late afternoon chill. The native woman released the door, cutting off the rush of cold, and returned to his table.
Dragons had a way with languages. Their magic allowed them to understand and be understood with little effort. Not knowing what language she spoke though, he gestured for her to join them and shoved Tobias out of the chair beside him. Due to his inherent good nature, his brother chuckled and switched to one of the open chairs at their table. Gabriel wasn’t as accommodating. He glowered at Alexander in warning.
The woman took a deep breath before sitting. Alexander waited as she removed her bow and quiver, a leather satchel, and her outer fur cloak. She piled them beside her chair. Underneath it all, she wore deerskin breeches and a belted tunic. By this world’s standards, her manner of dress might be uncivilized compared to the dress Rowan wore, but she was as pleasant to his eye as any woman he’d ever seen here. He cared nothing for this world’s traditions anyway.
“I need food and drink,” she said in perfect English. Her chin was high, but he did not miss the way her jaw clenched under her hollow cheeks. She was proud, this lone woman. For her, it wouldn’t be easy to ask for help. “I have come a long way, and I am afraid they will not serve me.” Her voice wav
ered marginally on the last words. Without a doubt she’d felt the edge of hunger.
He intended to see her belly full before the end of this night. Without a word, Alexander slid his own bowl of venison stew in front of her. Gabriel, after a flash of momentary surprise, raised his hand to get the barmaid’s attention and ordered more stew and another round of ale.
“You speak English,” Alexander said.
“Yes. Very well. My father was a fur trapper.”
“My name is Alexander,” he said, extending his hand toward her. She eyed it skeptically.
“I am Maiara.” She did not shake his hand but began eating the stew before her.
“The people here, why do they call you savage when you speak their language and your father is English?” Alexander pushed aside politeness to ask. His curiosity drove him to find out more about this mysterious woman. Her nearness exaggerated the pull he’d felt toward her earlier, and he flattened his hand on the table to keep from touching her.
She looked at him from beneath her lashes and smiled without showing any teeth. “My mother’s people are not well understood by white men. I look like my mother.”
Rowan nudged him, widened her eyes, and tapped her fingers against her cheek. This was an aspect of this world Alexander was still trying to understand. People here divided themselves by the color of their skin. He found the tradition odd, inconvenient, and unjust.
Dragons had the ability to transform themselves into any color they desired, but their natural complexion varied widely in hue. Their magic had chosen their current pale appearance; magic designed to help them blend in to their new surroundings.
“It is wrong for them to treat you as they have,” he said.
The Dragon of Sedona (The Treasure of Paragon Book 4) Page 3
