Firedrake

by Bianca D'Arc

  “A lute, if you have one. Though I will play anything you wish me to, if you have a preference.”

  Drake would come to regret those impulsive words later in the evening as one instrument after another was thrust into his hands, but he took it all in good humor. He started with the lute, checking the tune automatically and marveling at the sweet, mellow tone of the lower string and the sparkling clarity of the upper. This was far and away one of the finest instruments he had ever had the pleasure of holding.

  “My compliments to the luthier,” Drake remarked as he began a few warm-up fingerings and runs. The hall quieted as everyone listened. Drake knew he was the center of attention. He’d been in the same position many times before, but this was special somehow. The air vibrated with waiting. He took his time, limbering up fingers that hadn’t played in days.

  When he was sure of himself, he began the introduction to one of his livelier compositions. It was a dance of sorts, though the lyrics told the story of an amorous young man and the fickle maiden who teased him. It sat well in his vocal range and was a particularly good warm-up. He knew he could sing it well, and if they wanted a second song after this, he would be in a good position to try something more challenging.

  Drake launched into the lyrics, watching the faces of those around him. Smiles met his gaze, and toes were already tapping. So far, he was getting a good response. It wasn’t just polite humoring, it was genuine enjoyment he read in their unconscious movements, the swaying of the crowd to the beat and the light in their eyes.

  He was doing it. He was hitting his stride as the verses went on. At the humorous points in the song, the crowd laughed with him, caught up in the tale as so many had been before. When it came down to it, this audience was much like those he’d known before, just much prettier.

  Drake relaxed as the tune ended with a flourish and was met with cheers from the fair folk. Zarat clapped him on the back, encouraging him to play another and Drake complied. This wasn’t so bad, really. He’d been concerned, but it looked like the fair folk did appreciate a rough human voice. For certain, they appreciated his songs. They laughed at all the right places and tapped their toes. Several couples started dancing when he played a lively reel and the other musicians joined in, adding drums, bass, Margan’s pennywhistle for trills and a score of other instruments all blending into a marvelous harmony of sound as the crowd danced.

  They took a short break after about twenty minutes, and Zarat introduced all the members of their impromptu band. Drake shook hands with each and every one, amazed by the welcome he read in their eyes. He’d never played with finer musicians. Each was an artist.

  Zarat saved his wife for last, and she gave Drake an unexpected hug. When she pulled back, there were tears in her lovely, pale eyes.

  “You’re even more blessed than when I first heard you sing as a lad. Zarat didn’t believe me when I spoke to him of the human bard who had impressed me so. He thought it must be a Jinn mage, but I knew better. There was no magic in your song, only pure, raw talent. I’m glad to see it’s been nurtured and grown to such a level.”

  Drake was humbled by her words, especially since he knew her own talent was incredible. She’d sung lilting descant harmonies with him just moments ago that threatened to mesmerize him so much he’d almost forgotten his own part of the song. She was a master not only of the pennywhistle, but of her amazingly delicate voice. That such a talented woman would compliment him meant more than he could say.

  He told her as much, pleased when she blushed. “Oh, I’ve had more time than you’ll ever know to perfect my craft. That you humans do so over such short lifespans never ceases to amaze me. But then, you’re a knight now, and your dragon will grant you longer than normal life, but it is still short compared to our own.”

  The thought startled him. His gaze shot to Jenet. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  “We’re good, Drake. Mace is his usual silent self, but your lady is befriending the warrior woman in between listening to your songs. I don’t think they were prepared for how good you really are.” The dragon preened a little over the heads of the crowd and Drake felt her pride in him.

  “Would you play ‘The Golden Beauty’, Sir Drake?” Margan regained his attention. “It’s one of my favorites that you’ve written.”

  “It would be my honor,” he replied, as the minstrels sat once more. Everyone in the hall seemed to take that as a sign, and they settled down as well. Drake stood forth, in front of the group, addressing the crowd.

  “I’ve been asked to sing one of my favorite songs for you.” He began to play the opening bars, instantly recognizable to those who’d heard it before. A hush fell over the crowd and eager faces turned to him. “But I think it safe to tell you, though only one other in all the lands knows this fact. ‘The Golden Beauty’ of whom I sing isn’t a human woman, as all seem to believe. Rather, she sits there, by the fire, with her mate. She is my sister, my fighting partner, my dearest Jenet, the dragoness.”

  The crowd looked over as the stunning, peach-gold dragon blinked in surprise as she was singled out. She was so beautiful, even among the fair folk she stirred hearts to tears. She winked at Drake and the crowd sighed. It was clear the beauty was enjoying every moment of their attention, as was her knight. They were well matched indeed. Drake blew her a kiss as he settled into the song. His voice rang pure and true as he sang of the beauty who’d claimed his love, though it broke his heart to leave her.

  Drake was pressed to play almost every song he’d ever written and he switched instruments a few times as well. The minstrels seemed to want to test his limits, pushing to see how good he was with their instrument each time he switched to something new. A friendly competition Drake had experienced many times among the Jinn minstrels he’d learned from soon evolved and he felt more and more at home among these fair-haired beings.

  “He has the voice of an angel,” Lilith remarked, still seated at the head table while the band took a quick break. “Didn’t I tell you, beloved?” Mace noted the way she squeezed Gerrow’s hand as a teasing light entered her eyes.

  “You did indeed, my dear. Tell me, where comes a human bard by such talent? He’s better even than our best. Do you see the way they all look at him?”

  “He learned from the Jinn, mostly, though they say he was already quite skilled when he was taken in by the Black Dragon Clan as a teen.” Krysta turned questioning eyes to Mace. “Did he play much when he was growing up?”

  Mace cleared his throat, thinking back to those early years. “He was always musical. His mother gave him his first lute and taught him to play it. Sir Ren helped too, though Sir Declan, his blood-father, never had much patience for music.” Mace remembered the way Declan would scold his son for wasting time playing tunes. The older knight had been proved wrong and seemed to handle it well, but the fact remained, if not for the undue pressure he’d placed on his son, Drake would probably never have left home at such a young age.

  “Who is his mother?” Gerrow’s eyes narrowed.

  “The lady Elena.”

  “And is she beautiful, by human standards?”

  “Quite.” Mace cocked his head, wondering where the fair warrior was leading him. “She is fair of face and form and has a lovely singing voice.”

  “I wonder…” Gerrow looked at Gryffid and as Mace turned, he realized the wizard was deep in thought. “He is descended of wizards, but what of our race? There is much about him that seems familiar.”

  “Alas, my friend, you stumble upon something I had only begun to suspect.” Gryffid nodded. “I followed the bloodline of Draco to Darius, then Declan, and thence to Drake, but I wonder exactly where the fair Elena comes from? It could be she has fey blood in her somewhere along the line. That would explain much.”

  Mace felt his stomach sink. Would they never stop finding things to make Drake remarkable? How could a mere mortal ever hope to stand beside a being who proved more magical with every passing moment?

  H
iding his worry behind his usual stony façade, Mace pretended to enjoy the evening. In truth, he did like Drake’s music very much. You’d have to be a stone statue not to enjoy Drake’s skill with an audience and seemingly any instrument he was handed. It was pleasant to watch, and when Krysta grabbed Mace’s hand and dragged him into the dancing, he let go of his worries altogether, marveling at her vivacious zest for life and sunny laughter. He could learn a thing or two from her about how to live in the moment.

  What had started as dinner turned into a party, and though Drake was kept busy with the minstrels, Mace and Krysta enjoyed themselves as well. They danced a few times and listened with the others when Drake sang some of his more poignant ballads. Mace learned a great deal about his new fighting partner in those hours and he learned a lot about himself as well.

  Try as he might to be angry or jealous of the boy he’d grown up competing with, those days of competition were long gone. Drake was an entity unto himself, as was Mace. They’d each followed their own paths in life and somehow wound up walking beside each other, with Krysta between them. Mace thanked the Mother of All for that miracle as Krysta teased him and made him laugh. She was a joy. She was his world—as much as Nellin, and now Jenet and Drake. Together they would find a way to deal with the puzzle Drake’s background represented.

  In those hours of fey celebration, Mace came to terms with his new family and the future that might await them. He accepted what he was—a damn fine knight of Draconia—and didn’t begrudge Drake the new discoveries that set him apart from all other knights and even his Jinn brethren. Drake was unique. But then, Mace could have told them that when he was just a lad. Drake had always had something special about him. It was why Mace had tried so hard to emulate him, in his way, but Mace accepted now, he would never be able to do so.

  “Why so quiet, Sir Mace?” Gryffid had come to stand next to him while he watched Gerrow dance with Krysta. “I know it is your usual way, but tonight you are very silent, even for you.”

  Mace regarded the wizard, still unsure how the man knew so much about everyone and everything. Finally he shrugged, just accepting…for now.

  “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Ah.” The wizard nodded. “I thought as much. But you seem to be handling all this rather well. Many other men would be raging or green with envy. I begin to see why you are here after all. It is clear a being of such light needs an anchor to the here and now. You and Krysta serve that purpose—but you most of all, Sir Mace. You will be his brother-in-arms, his fighting partner. It is for you to show him the way knights fight together. You will show him how to be part of a team, and part of a family.”

  “I honestly don’t know if I’m up to that task, sir.”

  “Nonsense!” The wizard laughed at him. “You are or the Mother of All would not have seen fit to put you in this equation. You must believe that. Without a strong tie to the land and the human race, I fear Drake will be lost. You are that tie to Draconia and humanity. Krysta is the binding to love and Jenet and Nellin will ground him in his fire. It is a perfect, delicate balance. A thing of beauty, indeed. Do not belittle it and do not fear it.”

  “I fear little in this world, sir.”

  “That’s the best thing about you, Mace. You don’t show fear, but I know you are aware of true danger. You will not lead any of your new family into more than you can handle. That is your skill and your point of pride. Common sense that the others sometimes lack. Do not discount it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Drake sang and played for several hours, but eventually he was able to break away from the minstrels as the fair folk began to retire for the evening. He found Krysta and Mace in a corner near the fire, surrounded by Nellin and Jenet. They looked comfortable, Krysta snuggled back in Mace’s arms while they sat, watching the hall and the people within. The minstrels still played a mellow tune. He liked the way they looked together and didn’t find any jealousy within his heart for their closeness.

  Wil sat nearby, talking with Mace, telling him of his life over the past five years. Drake realized the boy he’d chased all the way across country was no more. William had grown into a man, and Drake didn’t know how the royal family would receive him when they returned.

  “Sir Drake,” William greeted him with a wide smile as Drake took a seat next to Mace and Krysta. The formal address jarred him a bit. He’d have to get used to this being a knight business. He could still hardly believe it, but Wil seemed to take it in stride. “Jenet talked about you quite often, but I had no idea you were so talented. I’ve heard your songs performed by others in my brother’s court.”

  “Speaking of which…” Drake eyed the prince seriously. “You do realize that for us, you’ve only been missing a few days. When we get back—if Gryffid is to be believed—only days will have passed for us and your family, while for you, it’s been years. I don’t know how the king will react.”

  William shifted in his seat. “I’ve thought about this quite a bit. Roland will be royally angry at first, but he’ll get over it. I think Nico will take it harder, as will the twins, now that I’m almost their age. Actually, I might even be a little older. Damn, I’ve missed them.” Wil shook his head. “I mean, I understand why it had to be this way, and I’m glad for all I’ve learned here, but I really miss my family. It’ll be good to be back with them, though they’ll probably be suspicious of me at first.”

  “I’m glad you realize that, my prince.” Drake liked the thoughtfulness of the young man’s words. It demonstrated he had indeed grown from the impetuous boy who’d flown into the midst of battle with Queen Lana and Tor after Roland fell on the field. He’d shown bravery that day, but not a whole lot of intelligence. “I’d like to get going at first light. We’ve got a long way to go to get you back home safely.”

  “But you can’t leave tomorrow,” Gryffid interrupted.

  “I thought we were free to go.”

  “You are, but not tomorrow. Wil’s training is complete, but yours is not, Sir Drake. I’ll expect you in the courtyard as the sun rises tomorrow morning, and I think Mace and Krysta would like to spar a bit with the warriors, if I’m not much mistaken. It would be good for you all to train just one day with Wil to learn what he is capable of. Your road back home will not be an easy one and you must prepare to face whatever comes, together. You can leave the next day, though I wish I could keep you longer.”

  “We cannot delay returning Wil to his family more than we already have.”

  “I understand. I would slow time yet again, but it is not such an easy thing to do. Even for me. Time will flow normally on this island until the coming crisis is past. You can tell Roland that, with my compliments.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll be sad to leave you,” Wil said quietly, watching the wizard. “I’m grateful for what you and your people have taught me.”

  Gryffid smiled in a fatherly way. “I know, my boy. I’m only sorry I had to take you from your family to do it. I regret that, you know, but I don’t regret your presence here these last years. You’ve brought new life to us all and we’ll miss you.”

  One of the more friendly servants showed them to a guest room that had been prepared for their use. The dragons were welcome to stay indoors in the great hall if they wished. There was nothing like the suites of a Lair on the island, for gryphons nested in rocky caves on the sides of the jagged peaks that covered the southern half of the land mass. Jenet and Nellin made do with their place by the fire in the great hall, while Krysta, Mace and Drake were shown to a sumptuously furnished room with a very large bed. It was hung with burgundy velvet curtains the likes of which Krysta had never seen before in her life.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Krysta observed as they entered. She tossed her cloak on a richly embroidered chair and plopped down on the side of the bed to tug off her boots. She was tired, but it was a good kind of tired. They’d found the prince and made new friends. A good meal had gone a long way toward settling h
er questions about these strange folk and now all she wanted was to be with her new husbands—though the idea still took some getting used to.

  Being married was strange enough, but to two men? It boggled her mind and her senses. Especially when they both made love to her at once.

  The dragons would not be flying tonight, so the human side of the family was on its own. If they chose to make love, it would be without the influence of the dragons to drive them mindless. Krysta rather liked the idea of taking her time making love to them, and the men taking their time making love to her in turn.

  “These velvets are from the other side of the world, if what I’ve heard is true,” Drake said, fingering the furry fabric. “But they’re hung Jinn style. I wonder if the Jinn copied the fair folk or if it was the other way around?”

  “Does it matter?” Krysta stood, barefoot now, and tugged Drake into her arms. She pulled him downward for a lingering kiss.

  Drake didn’t answer, too busy seducing her mouth with his talented tongue. She felt Mace come up behind her, bracketing her between the men’s heated warmth. She loved the feel of them, even fully clothed as they were, but she knew it would feel even better naked. She pulled back and smiled over her shoulder at Mace.

  “We have too many clothes on.”

  Mace grinned. “Easily remedied, milady.”

  Drake tipped her chin around with one finger and set about kissing her again, while Mace divested her of her clothing and his own. When he pressed against her again, they were both bare. She pulled back from Drake’s drugging kisses.

  “Your turn, Master Bard,” she teased.

  Mace tugged her onto the bed with him as she watched Drake undress. He really had the most amazing body. Tan and golden, he was more muscular than any bard had a right to be, but Krysta knew he was a fighter as well as a lover. He hid great talents under the bardic flair of his clothing.