Dragonstorm

by Mirren Hogan

  He leafed through a few more pages and added them to a box.

  Reason only knew where Daven was. Kaida hadn't convinced him that she didn't know, but she wasn't going to speak to him, much less tell him anything. All she'd said was that he'd been taken from the train by people with horses, and that she hadn't seen him leave. With that reason-forsaken dragon of hers, she could have arranged haze-only-knew what to help their son out.

  He sighed. If she had, she was right not to tell him about it. He wouldn't go to the officials again, no matter what she'd done, but she wouldn't trust him not to. In all likelihood, she felt like he'd betrayed her as well.

  She was probably right.

  Normally he had a hard time comprehending what was going on in his former wife's mind, but he grasped that. As usual, thinking about her gave him a tight feeling in his chest. He'd messed up with her, and badly. He'd been too blinded by pride to see what he had, and how lucky he'd been. It was far too late for regrets, but he felt them anyway. He was forty-five years old, and all he'd accomplished was ruining the lives of the two people he cared about.

  His mind wandered back to the moment he'd met Kaida.

  She had been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Her dark red hair hung past her shoulders in a wave which shone in the lights of the dining hall. She'd had her back to him. Every few moments he'd glance up, hoping she'd look around. When she finally did, he was struck by her eyes, which were filled with sadness and tears. For a moment he wondered why, but then he noticed the sash of green around her hips. Voluptuous hips he wanted to touch, but he just sat in his chair and stared. Who was she in mourning for? Not a husband or wife, she was wearing too little green for that. A parent, perhaps?

  At the time, he looked down at his shoes and grimaced. As an apprentice train engineer, he earned few braids, and those he had went on material for his inventions. He told no one about these, partly because he had been scared they'd fail, and partly nervous he'd be ridiculed. He was close to inventing a tube which threw projectiles, but it left no braids for things like nice footwear.

  It had taken him almost an hour, but he made himself stand and walk up to the young woman. Closer, he noticed a weaver pin on her chest. That was a good honest profession. He had seen dye on her fingertips, in a variety of colours. While some may have found it messy, he found it endearing. She had nice long hands, too, elegant and smooth. He had pictured her hands on him and blushed.

  "Did you want something?" she had asked.

  The words he'd prepared in his mind had fled at the sound of her husky voice.

  "I…I…" he had stammered. "I'm Delorum Issel. Everyone calls me Del. Um, can I buy you a drink?" For a moment he had panicked, worried she'd have a full one in her hand. He hadn't even thought to look.

  She held up her glass. It was empty. "I'm Kaida," she said, "Kaida Laithorn. I could fit in another. It might help to get through this." She had sighed deeply, sadly.

  "Get through what?" he asked without thinking. He winced at his own lack of diplomacy, but she had given him a sad smile.

  "My mother died. We're celebrating her life. Or—trying to. It's … difficult." She sniffed.

  "I'm sorry." Del had reached into his pocket, pulled out a clean handkerchief and handed it to her. He remembered berating himself for thinking inappropriate thoughts when she was clearly grieving, but haze, she was gorgeous. "I'll get you a glass of—"

  "Just juice," she said, "I'm not old enough for wine."

  "I won't tell if you don't." He gave her a wink, which looked more like an awkward blink.

  She smiled and glanced around. "Well—"

  "The tavern at the end of the street serves something which tastes good with juice. No one need ever know, as long as you don't drink too fast." He didn't want to get her drunk, but he swore to himself he'd look after her if she did.

  "All right."

  His heart flipped, he remember that clearly. Not only was she lovely, but she was willing to try new things. So many girls he knew preferred to stick to what they knew and never take risks. The look of curiosity in her eyes made her sexy as haze.

  On impulse, he had taken her hand and led her toward the door. He caught looks from a few other young men as they passed, most lingering on Kaida's chest. Let them be envious; he wasn't sharing her for the rest of the night. Reason, if he had his way, he wouldn't ever share her with anyone. This was love, he knew it already. He was head over heels for the young weaver.

  Del sighed at the memory. If he'd known then what he'd do to her, he might have left her alone that night. From then, they'd been virtually inseparable, spending every moment they weren't working together. He met her father, Olivel, and in spite of knowing he was a draakin, he'd never considered that Kaida would bond Risper. The day she'd come to him and said she thought she was pregnant, he'd been ecstatic. They'd married within the week and Daven had arrived eight months later.

  Like his mother, Del had fallen in love at the first sight of his son. He'd had his mother's hair and his father's nose. Within days, they knew he had his mother's stubborn but gentle nature. Daven was the most placid of babies, as long as he got his way. Could he do magic, even then? Looking back, it seemed that he had. Kaida's recovery from a long labour and birth had been remarkable, or so the healers said. If they'd suspected anything, they hadn't mentioned it. Of course, if they had, Daven would have been handed to the reasoners without a word to his parents. No, Del was sure his ability remained a secret until he'd discovered it.

  The surge of guilt hit him again, harder this time. He'd had everything a man could want, and he'd thrown it into the incinerator and burnt it to ashes. Kaida was right, he was a mist-headed fool.

  He looked down at the table, and the piece of paper in front of him. This was the reason he'd cleaned up not just the table but the entire office. He'd been putting off having to think about this.

  He read the letter again:

  Engineer Delorum Issel,

  On behalf of Ronica Samel, twelfth governor of Eritsa, chief governor of Dargyn, I am pleased to offer you an opportunity to further your work in Paryos. This position, which has been created expressly for you includes: a significant increase in braids, a promotion to third-level and voting rights in all governorial elections, designated space for a manufactory and funds to furnish said space to your needs, and a residence close to the manufactory.

  Governor Samel expects you to be pleased with this generous offer. Sign your acceptance below and return this letter to your government office in Tsaisa. You will commence your position on the first day of the next month.

  Regards,

  Bhorhan Glunt, official, second-level.

  Evidently it didn't matter if Del wanted to take the job or not. Fortunately for all concerned, this letter had arrived at the right time. There was nothing left for him here in Tsaisa. He might as well pack up and go to Paryos. Not that he was lacking funds here, but the space was small enough to limit what he could do to improve his firearms. And of course he wouldn't have to bother Kaida anymore. She would appreciate that.

  He hesitated for a few moments longer before picking up a writing tool and signing his name on the line at the bottom of the page. He was nervous, but with a tinge of building excitement. It had been a long time since he'd taken a risk and he was looking forward to it. A city where no one knew him, and he knew no one. It was a fresh start for everyone. He'd miss Tsaisa, but he doubted the town would miss him. He certainly wouldn't miss seeing dragons daily.

  He put down the writing tool and blew on the paper to dry the ink before folding it neatly. He'd take it to the office, then he'd start to pack and book a train, there was no point waiting until the first. He'd go quietly, before too many people knew, but there was one person he wanted to say goodbye to before he left.

  Chapter Eleven

  After so many years of practice, Kaida's hands moved across the loom automatically, back and forth, back and forth. What might have been a tedious action to some, she
found relaxing, when not in discomfort. Today was a good day; her hands didn't hurt. They kept rhythm with the pedal under her foot like a dance.

  The fabric she wove was a deep red, soft as baby's skin, commissioned for a ball dress. Such events were rare in Tsaisa. So much so, most people made a big fuss over them when they took place. Like many things in life, there were exceptions, and Kaida was one of them. In part because she couldn't afford a dress as fancy as this one would be. She was also draakin, and they weren't always welcome at big events. Mostly though, she just didn't want to. A long time ago she enjoyed them, but now she just felt out of place.

  That didn't stop her from running a finger over the fabric she'd woven and daydreaming about the kind of dress she'd make for herself. It'd have a high neckline, as was the fashion right now, but the skirt would fall to below her knees, rather than just above. The back would be low, falling to the small of her back. That would get her noticed, but not in a way that people would think her inappropriate. Or perhaps it was, she smiled to herself.

  The sound of footsteps in the corridor broke her out of her daydream. She dropped the fabric and leaned forward to work, her expression one of concentration.

  When the steps entered the room, she looked up and her heart gave a flutter. Sarev Raeb was a couple of years younger than she was. He was tall, his dark hair curled just above his collar. His angular face was clean-shaven. His warm brown eyes always seemed to be smiling or interested in things around him. Others might not find him attractive, but Kaida thought him handsome. Some of that might be attributed to the confidence he exuded. He might be the only draakin who didn't walk about looking apologetic for having a dragon. He and Fashfi had been bonded for a year or two less than she and Risper. In his case, he'd inherited the bond from his mother after her death in an accident.

  She gave an awkward smile. "Good day, Sarev," she said, not knowing if it was morning or afternoon. Losing track of time while working was a daily occurrence unless she was disturbed or had an appointment of some kind.

  "Afternoon, Kaida," he replied in his pleasant tenor. "Am I interrupting?"

  "Yes. No! I mean—" she blushed. "It's fine, I could use a break anyway." She sat back. "What can I do for you?"

  He grabbed a stool from its place beside the wall, pulled it over, and sat. "I was wondering if I could commission some fabric from you? I need some new trousers and shirts."

  She cast a critical eye at what he was wearing. Now she was looking, she saw fraying around the cuffs, lapels and the hem of his trousers.

  "All right, what did you have in mind?"

  "Just the same sort of thing." He shrugged. "It's comfortable and hard wearing. You do good work."

  Her face turned pink again. "Thank you. Uh, I know you like black, but would you like to have some colour this time?"

  He smiled, showing even teeth but for a crooked canine. "I like black, it hides the stains."

  "The—uh, all right then." Perhaps she was best not to ask.

  He chuckled. "I'm talking about when I work. Steel smithing is dirty; as is your mind, apparently." He grinned while her face turned bright red.

  "I wasn't even … I didn't …" She stammered. "All right, I did. Is there anything wrong with that?"

  "Not at all," he replied, "it makes life more interesting."

  "I suppose it does." Reason, now her mind was all over the place. She swallowed. "So . . . back to fabric." She reached over to grab up a notebook and flicked to the price list for certain types of thread. "Depending on what you need, it'll be at least a silver braid per shirt and two per pair of trousers."

  "That sounds fair." He took the list she gave and looked it over. "I think the black cotton, same as last time. Double thick for trousers." He handed the list back.

  "Fine. I'll make up an invoice and show you before I start work."

  He nodded. "One more thing."

  "Yes?"

  "Would you care to have dinner with me tonight?"

  Her heart leapt.

  "I—"

  "If you prefer, we could just jump ahead to some alone time." He grinned.

  "Um, I don't think so. I mean, I have plans tonight with Dashka. We were going to swim with the dragons. You could come, too?" She wanted to bite her tongue. Dashka would have understood if they'd rescheduled. The words were out there now; she couldn't take them back.

  He took a few moments to respond.

  "I wouldn't want to impose," he said at last, "but I was hoping to have you to myself. Don't look so surprised, it's taken me a year to work up to this." His smile was infectious.

  "That's a long time," she said, her mouth suddenly dry.

  "Yes it is, but here I am." He spread his hands out to either side. "I'll understand if you don't want to; just because I'm a coward doesn't mean you're obliged."

  His use of the word 'coward' reminded her of Daven. He'd referred to himself the same way. Her heart fell, and her expression with it.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he said softly. He took a step back toward the door.

  She put out a hand to stop him. "You didn't, it's been a rough few months, that's all."

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "May I?"

  She nodded mutely before he lightly kissed her palm.

  "I wish that was your mouth," he admitted, "but I think I'm going to need to take this slowly. I'd be happy to swim with you and see what happens after that."

  "I'd like that," she replied. Once, she'd asked Del what drew him to her. He'd told her he loved that she took risks. She hadn't done that in a long time, but she did it now. She leaned forward and pressed her lips lightly to Sarev's. The sensation of being set on fire was immediate, but she pulled back.

  "One step at a time," she said softly.

  "I like that plan," he agreed, smiling.

  Del had long wondered when the weavers set up their workroom in the Dragonhall. Several other professions had their workrooms here as well. Before the Dragonwar, the building had been too small to contain all the dragons, draakin and those who hoped to someday bond a dragon. Now there was so much empty space, they might as well put it to use.

  He trudged up the stairs toward the weaver's rooms, his mind conceiving an idea for a contraption which would move people from one floor to the next without the need for such effort. He dismissed the idea as pointless. Most of the structures in Dargyn weren't this tall and retrofitting it here would cost a governor's wages in braids.

  The first landing contained a tailor's work room, milliner and a cobbler, all busy by the sound of talking and laughing coming from inside. One of the cobblers was even singing, and not too badly. Del stopped to listen for a few minutes before heading toward the second flight of stairs.

  The weavers' rooms were on the second landing, but the rest of the level was accomodation or unused space. The pipe for the heated water run up the north face of the building, so the rooms on the south were often empty. The original builder hadn't thought that through very well.

  The level above was draakin accomodation, and another set of stairs led from there to the roof.

  He heard low voices coming from the weaver rooms and recognised one as Kaida. Aware that he might be interrupting and earning her ire, he stepped up silently and peered in the doorway.

  He knew Sarev; they'd grown up together. Although never really friends, they'd shared drinks and some mischief in their younger days.

  He certainly didn't expect to see the man with his mouth on Kaida's, looking as though they knew each other intimately. The stab of jealousy in his chest hurt, even though he acknowledged it as irrational. Kaida could do whatever—or whoever—she pleased.

  Sarev's hand moved to Kaida's hip and Del had the sudden feeling that if he kept watching, he'd be witnessing a lot more than kissing. He almost cleared his throat, stepped into the room, and chastised her for impropriety. At least they could close the door.

  He forced himself to step away and compose himself. He decided agains
t saying goodbye. Clearly, his leaving wouldn't have much impact on her. He should be happy for her, but he'd just wanted to see her one last time. He shook his head at his own sentimentality and walked toward the stairs.

  The empty, lonely feeling that settled on him was all his own doing, but it was still heavy and unwieldy. He wasn't sure if there was ever anything he could do to begin to absolve himself of the guilt for everything he'd done. Maybe, he mused, he should stop trying. Neither Kaida nor Daven were innocent parties in any of this. Kaida had bonded a dragon, even though he'd begged her not to. She'd thrown away what they had, without looking back. And now she was behaving like little more than a copper-braid whore, with another mist-headed dragger, parasite rider.

  He couldn't see them, but he pictured Sarev mounting her, using her. He'd probably laugh about her later, when he was with his friends. He wouldn't care about her as Del had.

  And Daven—he'd kept a secret from him for two and a half decades. He couldn't even come to his own father and explain. Del had had to find out when he'd seen him use magic. Even then, Daven hadn't said a word, hadn't come to make him understand. He could have admitted to being ashamed, and sworn never to use magic again, Del would have understood. He wouldn't have been forced to tell the officials about him. He would have stayed quiet.

  If Daven had lied about that, what else had he lied about? What about Kaida? Maybe Daven wasn't even his. He didn't look much like him. He looked more like Sarev, now that he thought about it. How long had that been going on anyway? The entire time he and Kaida had been together? Longer? They must have had a good laugh at his expense.

  Whore.

  He quickened his pace, his steps audible as he walked away. He wanted them to know he'd seen them. He didn't care. He'd go to Paryos within the week and never look back.