by Ava Kelly
“It’s normal?”
“We have to have one flaw,” Orsie replies with a smile.
Ark doesn’t laugh, however, and Orsie brings Ark’s palm to his own chest, pressing it there.
“Every day,” Orsie continues, “I wake with this desire to hide you, thinking you must be kept secret, hidden from danger because you’re mine, and what is mine doesn’t belong in the world. But you are not a thing, you’re Ark. A beautiful Thjudinn heart who accepted a dragonsoul even after it caused you so much anguish.”
As Orsie talks, Ark’s frown turns into interest.
“How do you stop it?”
“You don’t,” Orsie says. “But you can trick it.”
“That works?”
“Yes,” Orsie confirms with a nod and another smile. “You, my Ark, I think of as my soul. You’re in here”—he pets Ark’s stretched fingers over his chest—“and letting me share instead of giving. The anaskett already belongs to itself. So, tricked.”
“But what if I must have,” Ark grits with a grimace.
“Take something abundant. Mother used to gather pieces of glass; we had rooms upon rooms filled with it.”
“And you?”
Orsie grins. “Snow and ice. Snowflakes, especially—they’re plentiful. So are grains of sand.”
Finally, Ark’s lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile.
“Later,” Orsie adds, leaning closer, “after we are accustomed to each other, we’ll also hoard this affection between us. I’ll take yours, you’ll take mine, we’ll give each other as much as we need.”
Ark’s other arm uncoils from its clasp, and he brings it around Orsie’s shoulders. “And you’ll stop me if—” He tilts his head with meaning.
“Of course,” Orsie says.
A breath leaves Ark with a tremble, like he’s been holding on to it for a long while. When he pulls, Orsie goes easily, settling in his tight embrace.
“Then I guess there’s nothing for it,” Ark whispers.
*
All the snow in the inner courtyard is covered in red dust, and Ark tuts at himself. He will tame his damn nose one of these days.
“Keep still,” Orsie says as he separates another bundle of Ark’s hair.
Ark waits, watching their reflections in the window of the kitchen from the corner of his eye. His hair’s been too long since he woke up as a new dragon, and now Orsie’s cutting it back to what Ark likes. It’s slow going, and this is their second blade, the other lying dull on the ground.
“Well, at least you won’t have to worry about it for another decade,” Orsie comments, dropping the last bit on the bench next to them.
Ark shakes his head, feeling his loose hair on his back, while Orsie packs the cut parts in paper. Dragon hair is an expensive commodity in the right magic circles, Orsie tells him. They might need it later.
Later seems a long way away, but Ark has a newfound patience. He suspects it’s Orsie’s own composure that makes him refrain from trying too many new things too fast. He’s still learning to transform, has only managed it twice so far. Yet, he can’t help wonder what the future holds.
He extends a hand toward Orsie when he returns from the kitchen, and Orsie joins him on the bench. The sun is about to set.
Sometimes their closeness is quiet, but it holds a sort of liveliness to it that wasn’t here before. Ark rumbles his contentment, and it earns him a kiss to the back of his hand.
“We should go see the sand dunes one time,” Orsie says. “It’s really hot there, but I think you might like it.”
Ark smiles. “I want to see your mountains first.”
“We’ll go.” Orsie nods, smiling back. “And we’ll visit the Thjudinn.”
“Actually, there is something I must do before all else. I want to take my mothers—their ashes—to the Sal. They should be laid to rest among their people.”
“Of course. Once you’re strong enough to fold the castle, we’ll go. Even if you can’t fly yet, I can, and I’ll take you wherever you want.”
Ark exhales, satisfied. There is, however, one more thing he’s been curious about. “What about the shards? Do you really think they can be revived?”
Orsie looks down, then up at the sky, uncertain. “We should ask an elder about that.” He frowns for a moment before he snaps the fingers of his free hand with an idea. “We should go to the city. Perhaps someone still lives there.”
“The city?”
“Of dragons,” Orsie says. “I’ve never been, but I know how to get there. We’ll need a witch, a ship, and twelve quarterweights of coal.”
Ark is already excited by the prospect. “And if we don’t find answers?”
“Then we give them their final resting place, where they belong.”
The words nudge something within Ark, something so far elusive, but now he understands. We. Ark finally belongs.
Another journey stretches ahead, one toward unknowns, but Ark is not alone, and an idea forms in his mind.
“Orsie?”
A hum answers as the sun lowers behind the treetops.
“I think I found my trick,” Ark whispers. “If you are my home, then you’re still mine. But not—you’d allow me there, in your presence. I’d have permission to share myself with you.”
Orsie’s eyebrows raise, and Ark can’t tell if he’s appalled or surprised.
“Is that bad?”
“No,” Orsie says. His free hand covers their already entwined ones, a smile back on his face. “I like it, my soul.”
*
Ark stands on the highest terrace of the black castle, running his fingers over the ice covering the stone parapet. Dark clouds swirl with heavy snow above the peaks of the Ahrissals, and Ark is looking forward to another layer falling over the already white cliff tops. It always fills Orsie with joy.
“Good morning, Dragonslayer,” comes in Orsie’s gravelly voice before cold fingertips run down his spine.
Ark shifts to let Orsie slide between him and the parapet. Leaning back, Orsie rests his head on Ark’s shoulder while Ark wraps an arm around him.
“Morning, Havesskadi,” he says, breath floating in puffs in the frosted air.
It’s been six years since Ark has become a dragon, and it’s taken him this long to adjust to his new self. But now, as he watches the gray horizon, ice beneath his fingers and his dear one in his embrace, he knows it is time. He closes his eyes, his words flowing frozen in echoing whispers.
“I’m ready for our souls to touch.”
Glossary
AHRISSALS: The mountains between the Sal and Hriss, the Ahrissals are the highest mountains in the region. Their peaks are covered in snow for most of the year, starting in late September and lasting until early June. The Ahrissals are the home of Havesskadi.
AITI: Thjudinn endearment for Mother, Mom.
ANASKETT: The gem that holds the essence of a dragon’s magic. Also known as a dragonsoul.
CRINIDAVA: A village situated in the center of Danv, Crinidava sits at the intersection of several roads. It’s a military settlement, full of stables and inns.
DANV: The kingdom at the heart of the region, Danv is a military nation by circumstance rather than choice.
DRAGONSOUL: A precious gem imbued with dragon magic. The gem sits behind the ribs of its dragon, contains their castle, and is the source of their immortality. Once the gem is stolen, the dragon is cursed with humanity.
EMPIRES OF OM: The territories west of the region.
FIRE LAKES: The lands of the Fire Lakes sit at the south of the region. They are mostly mountains of hot ash and molten rock, interspersed with cascades of glass.
GREATSHIP: A Thjudinn ship hosting an entire community and capable of breaking ice-covered waters.
GULF OF EN: A long, narrow passage that divides the Empires of Om from Vaiknela. Ships avoid entering its dark waters.
HAUMIR: The village at the bottom of the Ahrissals closest to Havesskadi’s castle.
HRISS
: Also known as the Cascades, the Kingdom of Hriss stretches south of the Ahrissals. Its name originates in the landscape of rocky hills and quick waters that, despite its gray beauty, is rather barren in vegetation. The ruling family of Hriss is comprised of the bloodline of Ag.
KINGDOM OF GRAVES: A foul place. The Kingdom of Graves is an abandoned and untraveled part of the region which hosts the graves of many lost in battle over the centuries.
MANA: Thjudinn endearment for Mother, Mom.
MARRA: The sea in the western part of the region.
NOK: A village at the borders of Danv, Sesgrond, Uvalhort, and Hriss. Many roads intersect here.
RED PEAKS: A mountain chain to the east of the Sal.
RISING CRESCENT: The waxing crescent of the moon’s phase. It’s the dragon’s elementary unit of time. A year has twelve to thirteen rising crescents.
SAIWAL BAURIN: Another name for the Thjudinn.
SAL: The sea in the northern part of the region.
THE PLAINS OF SESGROND: The Plains are a kingdom of kingdoms. Its landscape is comprised of extensive plains and is peppered with sparse forests.
THE RED FOREST: A cursed forest to the east of the Sal, situated at the bottom of the Red Peaks.
THJUDINN: Literally “the people,” it’s the name of the Saiwal Baurin, used within their culture to refer to themselves. They are also known as the Seaborn, a semimigratory nation that dwells on the Sal. The Baurin consider the sea to be the origin of their souls (hence their name that could be translated either as Seaborn or Soulborn). Their greatships are the largest vessels in the region and can easily break through the ice when the Sal freezes over.
UVALHORT: The country of orchards, Uvalhort is a land of hills. Its ruling class is always trying to find alternative leadership structures, much to the dismay of the inhabitants, who mainly wish to tend to their orchards in peace.
UZANI: Also known as the Sand Dunes, Uzani covers the territories east of the region.
VAIKNELA: The Quiet Lands, or the Frozen North, is a place most people avoid. It sits beyond the Baurin shores, where the Baurin are rumored to have secret settlements, although nobody dares confirm these suspicions.
WOLF LANDS: A territory situated between the Marra and Danv, the Wolf Lands are home to forest dwellers.
Acknowledgements
The journey has been long. My thanks to Hrafn, Tessa, Kat, Anja, and Lily, who pushed me onto this path and accompanied me on it; to Minerva and Ether, fellow traveling bards; to Cora and Elizabetta, for helping me shape this story into what it is now; and to those who offered shards of encouragement, too many to name but all to remember (Katie, Allison, Carmen, Christine only a few among them). You know who you are: my inspiration, my muses, my drive.
About the Author
Ava Kelly is an engineer with a deep passion for stories. Whether reading, watching, or writing them, Ava has always been surrounded by tales of all genres. Their goal is to bring more stories to life, especially those of friendship and compassion, those dedicated to trope subversion, those that give the void a voice, and those that spawn worlds of their own.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/ava.kelly.9887
Twitter: @ThunderEternal
Website: www.avakellyfiction.com
Instagram: www.instagram.com/thunder.eternal
Patreon: www.patreon.com/avakelly
Other books by this author
Snow Globes Series
Home in a Snowstorm
Family in a Snowstorm
Snowdrop in a Storm
“It Started Before Noon” (Into the Mystic, Vol. Three)
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