Dragonstar (Dragonfriend Book 4)

by Marc Secchia

  Her brilliant smile imperilled his most draconic fires, judging by the heat radiating off his skin. She giggled, “Beast.”

  “Liar.”

  “Tyrant.”

  “I’m a Dragon. Relentless in life, wholehearted in love.”

  What could she say to such a passionate declaration? Hualiama subsided. “I see. So, what would you do with this time, o abductor most pernicious? Because I’m all about peril.” She wriggled enticingly just to see what it might accomplish, and saw his pulse leap in his neck.

  Grandion gulped audibly. “Much more of that, woman, and I’ll combust.”

  “It’s deathly dangerous to romance a Dragoness.”

  Valued in her vulnerability. This moment, this tiny glimpse into the future of their love was not a place of terrors, but the flowering of a soul’s joy so unspeakable it was almost sacred, moving Hualiama as if her soul rode upon the billows of volcanic winds, with a sensation where rising and falling existed synonymously, and the most conflicting of emotions made perfect sense.

  Love was the profoundest magic of all.

  At length, he rumbled, “I would embark upon the ascending fire-promises with thee, o Blue-Star of promise, o pride and joy of Fra’anior himself. Wilt thou be mine, the song of my wings and the fires of my third heart, from this day forth until eternity meets the final flight of our souls?”

  The draconic equivalent of marriage! What a roaring filled her ears, as if all seven of Fra’anior’s throats thundered in triumphant celebration!

  Her voice hardly seemed her own as she breathed, “You’re … inviting me?”

  “Aye. We’ve already started, as you know. Backward as it may be, I still wanted to ask you formally, even if it must be after the fact. It seemed proper, and honouring to you.”

  “A Dragon must do things properly,” she chuckled, in mock-pompous tones.

  “And?”

  Melted by the igneous gaze of her cherished Dragon, there could be but one reply. Hualiama stammered, “Grandion of Gi’ishior – you are my forever-Prince. I gladly will, with all of my heart – hearts, and … both souls, Human and Dragon.”

  His tears splashed heatedly upon her cheek. Thou, the guiding star of my heart.

  She breathed back, Thou, the verimost song of my soul.

  All became the fires of promise.

  * * * *

  The Red Dragon soared half a mile above the Dragonship fleet, his flight traced in circular rainbows that kept bursting from his back to shower the wedding convoy in prismatic light. The suns rose over the volcano, ruddy and glorious, the breath of life to his world.

  Flicker sighed. Everything was right – well, bar Numistar. She would return, as she must. The First Egg might reside once more in the Natal cave, but it could not safely remain there.

  Then, he heard the Dragonsong of promise.

  Velvety and exhilarating, it washed over the fleet, causing every Dragon present to look up and every Human to bend ear. Many of the old-timers were merrily ensconced in their flagons of a most excellent vintage berry-wine, but they gazed upward as a song akin to the very voice of creation shivered their souls.

  In the blink of a dragonet’s secondary membranes, the clouds ripped apart, burning upon everyone’s memory the indelible image of a badly behaved Prince abed with his beloved five miles above a blazing caldera, and above them, like a crown of intertwined diamonds and tourmaline gemstones, a coruscating blaze of light that rapidly expanded, obscuring even the dawning suns in their brilliance.

  Flicker trilled ecstatically.

  * * * *

  That night, in a private ceremony attended by the Dragon Riders, Dragons, the warriors of Naoko’s people of the East, and a few select royals, the Prince of Fra’anior exchanged the time-honoured handfasting vows with Saori. This Eastern ceremony was a ritual over one thousand years old. They danced the sword dances as man and wife; Saori performed an exquisite tea ceremony for the Prince, and Elki sang two poignant love arias picked from the Fra’aniorian repertoire, one solo and one with the help of his brothers and sisters. Lia and Shyana danced the Flame Cycle for the couple – exactly as she had feared, Lia ignited at the emotional climax of the piece. She managed to damage only her own costume and contained her blushes inside a glittering opacity shield extended about her body. Then, she twirled into a spontaneous mid-air solo piece.

  Sometimes she danced; other times, the dance swept her away.

  The following morning, the Fra’aniorian dramaturgy swung into its most histrionic mode, with the bride’s family, fictional and actual, arriving en masse to demand redress from the King of Fra’anior. In reams of the most epic verse. With floods of tears, maledictions expressed in poetic couplets, the waving of weapons and many threats of reprisals. Dragons roaring. Spontaneous bouts of fisticuffs. The traditional reeking, geriatric uncle almost absconding with the bride to the fervent applause of his septuagenarian peers. The bride-tossing. The tearful vows emerging from within a pile of chains under which Saori could barely stagger, let alone actually walk.

  Eventually, to absolutely no-one’s surprise except Flicker and his dumbfounded squeaks of astonishment, everyone made friends with everyone else and three days of riotous feasting kicked off in sumptuous style. During this time the dragonet discovered the joys of the Palace’s special celebration berry wine, embarrassed everyone by starting a burping contest with a cohort of tipsy Royal Guards in a corner of the magnificent banqueting hall, and almost drowned whilst carousing in a laver of fifty year-old royal brandy with Gracewing and three other dragonets.

  Hualiama dragged the protesting ruffian off by his tail and cured his inebriation by the diligent application of a lightning bolt to his scaly rump.

  Aye, the greybeards agreed, it was a wedding that would go down in legend.

  Chapter 28: Tourmaline Trickery

  “ALRIGHT, YOU TOURMALINE trickster. I believe you’ve covered all of the issues, major and minor.”

  “And miniscule. Good. Can we finally fly?”

  Grandion fixed his most menacing fiery eyeball upon the Dragonfriend, convinced that further protests were at hand. Sure enough, she whirled upon her heel to add, “Affurion, can you please ask Jin and Isiki to be ready with the revisions to the Protocols upon my return? And could you paw through the Lost Islands’ finances one more time, to see if we’ve missed so much as a brass dral? Could you look in at Ya’arriol and see that the Dragon Riders are settled, and contributing to Isles life?”

  “All shall be as you wish, Empress,” Affurion said firmly. “Now –”

  “And, Grand – urk.” From within his paw, her muffled voice emerged, “Excuse me, I wasn’t finished. I demand respect.”

  “Demand all you like. I’ll respectfully drag you off in chains,” growled the Dragon. “Again.”

  She tittered, “I’ll just dazzle your disbelieving eyes and slip away. Again.”

  “I will tenderly encase your allegedly dazzling starlight in a tourmaline fist the size of Fra’anior Cluster, and whisk you away to anywhere I so please in the Island-World. Again.”

  “I will dance rings around your valiant, incredibly sexy and ultimately futile flailings. Again.”

  “And I will –”

  “SILENCE!” roared Affurion, rolling his eye-fires drolly. “If I don’t see two very small specks heading over the southern horizon within a pawful of minutes, I will insist that the white menace accompanies you. Romance? Poof. Companionable silences? Poof. Vexation levels? Gnnnarrr!”

  “Hmm,” mused Grandion’s paw. “He’s eloquent when he’s angry.”

  “Indeed,” agreed the owner of said paw, spreading his wings. With a snap of his thigh muscles, he dove away from the peak of Yiisuriel-ap-Yuron’s mountain. He had no need to see her expression to know his girl was sulking very unconvincingly in her entrapment.

  Suns-set fired the skies beyond the lowering Yellow Moon, casting the Island-realms south of Fra’anior Cluster into a gloomy partial eclipse, while the v
olcano itself stood lit in austere grandeur. His wings pounded the air in a joyous sprint to the South, shooting them away so fast that the Lost Islands seemed to depart rapidly in the opposite direction. Hualiama emerged between his knuckles through a gap perhaps left on purpose, gladly laughing as she hung head down four miles above the Cloudlands, gulping in the cool evening air.

  “If we see a trader Dragonship, can I give them a small list of details I’ve –”

  “NO!”

  “Just tugging your wings, Grandion. Hmm. Imagine being Empress of a walking realm? I can just set up my dominion wherever I feel like it. I suppose there’s a few thousand Dragons to consider, mind, and – do you think the Haters will stage a revolt while I’m gone?”

  “Yiisuriel promised to keep a fiery eyeball on matters.”

  “Good. One teensy correction, however. She doesn’t have eyes. Doesn’t need them. Nor did you, mind.”

  “You prattle worse than a dragonet,” he teased.

  Softly, she replied, “Do you realise how long it’s been since you and I were off adventuring on our own, Grandion? Just the two of us?”

  “Aye, I do.” Grandion gulped as a note of thick emotion entered his voice. “That’s why I planned this surprise. And no, I didn’t pack any chains, blindfolds or even a random geriatric uncle.”

  Hualiama laughed brightly, scrambling up to his elbow. “Drat. Fancy forgetting to pack a lecherous uncle? Silly you.”

  Plucking up the girl in his free paw, Grandion flicked her upward and ahead of him. The ferocious speed of their passage brought her neatly down toward his spine spikes, but being Hualiama, she did not land where he expected. Wrapping herself in an aerodynamic shield, she landed nimbly upon his left shoulder, before turning to face the horizon with him, letting her long hair whip about in the breeze as her bare feet balanced upon the rippling, armoured mound of his major flight muscles.

  Just when he thought she was about to start dancing, she said, Oh, mercy, there’s an idea. What if we modified your aerodynamic constructs like this?

  Grandion’s wings stiffened into planks. What?

  No, more like … this?

  Magic tingled around his wingtips. The Dragon crooked his neck to stare at his beloved in bemusement. I’m cruising! How did you – you little mischief! His bugle of disbelief triggered the tumbling-waterfall merriment of her laughter. I’m cruising at over thirty leagues per hour! How did you do that?

  Well, the magical output is prohibitive, but it’s sustainable for a few hours, I’d say.

  Quit making me one of your engineering projects.

  But Grandion … she pouted charmingly.

  How did she flip his hearts about every time like that juggler he’d seen performing at her brother’s wedding? Every wing-shivering time! He growled, Aaargh, you’re such a – such a –

  Girl? Oops. Forgot to pack the demure, submissive me. Please, please forgive my impertinence, o dreadful, noble and might I add, devastatingly handsome Tourmaline Dragon. Polish your scales with my hair? Drop tasty titbits onto your grateful tongue? Sing you interminable ballads to make the leagues pass more agreeably?

  His smoky laughter carried them for many a mile. Hualiama did not enquire again about their destination, even though he knew the question must soon scald her tongue. Instead, they spoke about the battles that had been, and about her losses. Such a terrace lake of pain suppressed behind her unrelenting work ethic. So many burdens. Was a Dragon not born to carry his wingéd beloved’s burdens as if they were his own? Then, he told her much about his own shell-parents, including many things she had not, in her youngest years, necessarily understood or appreciated.

  The Cloudlands slipped away endlessly beneath his wings.

  She fell silent, and curled up beside the saddlebags. Soon, the Dragon heard her breathing change. Did she dream once more?

  * * * *

  Hualiama awoke, stretching luxuriously and yawning to pop her ears as Grandion descended toward the tail end of a crescent of Islands she belatedly recognised, from her cartographical knowledge, as Yaya Loop.

  “Good evening, Princess,” rumbled the Dragon.

  “I slept – what? How long?”

  “Almost a full twenty-seven hours,” he said. “Didn’t want to disturb.”

  “You hypnotised me!”

  The Dragon said, “I shall say this: what do you get if you combine a Dragon’s Highway, special aerodynamic, temperature-optimised and sound-dampening shielding, design courtesy of a fetchingly cheeky Princess I once met inside a mountain, and a stubborn lump of granite who has overworked herself with such exceeding unreason that she falls into a stupor, mid-sentence?”

  “Ah …”

  “Exactly. Say, ‘Thank you for helping me rest, Grandion.’ ”

  “Mnnrrr-umm thanks,” she mumbled, colouring. When last had she slept an entire day away? Lia felt no better; on the contrary, she felt muzzy and disoriented.

  The Tourmaline, to her annoyance, was chirpy and talkative. Once she summoned her Dragoness, however, she discovered an advantage of Shapeshifting. Dragonsoul was well rested, even perkier than the Dragon and ready to join him for a little hunting practice at Yaya Loop.

  Fra’anior to Yaya in a day was a decent run, even for a Dragon. He must have averaged well over twenty leagues per hour, a cracking flying pace – but her gemstone-scaled suitor had not often been one to shirk a challenge, especially not if there might be a cute Dragoness to impress. Accordingly, Hualiama drew herself up and decided to impress him with her hunting prowess.

  Low. Soft paws. You sound like a crackling bonfire, said Grandion, still ribbing her after an hour spent stalking fruitlessly through the tangled jungles of Yaya Loop. Men here were savages and cannibals, but even they were not foolish enough to disturb hunting Dragons, despite that Hualiama had already set off two of their cunningly concealed traps.

  Fine for a fat old slug-guts, she snarled.

  What?

  That wild pig you just turned up your snooty muzzle at.

  Pork. Far too fatty, sniffed the Dragon, as Lia congratulated herself on escaping a thrashing. That was close. He said, There. How’s about that reticulated python? Tasty meat, nice and lean, and already packed in a shape the slides down the gullet. Snake meat is delicious. Fetch, hatchling.

  Fetch? Was she a trained hound?

  Lia wagged her tail at Grandion. Woof.

  He pretended to leer very stupidly at her. Woof yourself, scaly beauty! Hualiama purred happily. Would you like to hear a joke? How do you make a Dragon say, ‘woof?’

  Umm …

  Pour oil over him and light him with a fireball. WOOF!

  Islands’ sakes, you just scared off dinner. And, that’s a terrible joke.

  Grandion aimed a talon peremptorily at the thick thorn bushes. Fetch … please.

  Great. Turning it into a request really changed the perception that she was an animal. Hualiama stalked stiff-legged into the prickly burgundy shrubbery, following a retreating tail. Now, how did a Dragoness deal with one of these? That snake was no stripling. It was a twenty-five foot, fully grown reticulated python that could have supped on three of her Human for dinner.

  As if, snorted Humansoul. Remember, there’s a Nuyallith form called ‘dicing python steaks’.

  Liar. Ouch!

  Stumbling over another of their infernal traps, Lia found her left wingtip clamped between a nasty set of hinged teeth. Coils exploded out of the leaves at her feet. The python!

  For a few seconds, all was chaos. She tried to leap free, wrenched her wing very effectively, and found the python had already clamped one coil around her middle. She bit down. Oh no. Her muzzle was too small to gain purchase. Grandion, Grandion – shake a wing! I’m trapped!

  Oh come on, he said lazily. Dragoness versus snake? No contest. Dragoness wins every time.

  The Star Dragoness could not see her big, brave protector through the trees. Biting, spinning and clawing as best she could at the band of iron-like mus
cle busy trying to squeeze her innards out of her ears, she succeeded heroically in winding herself further up in the snake’s coils. Head! Bite! No, that was the tail. Now, the python shifted and the muscles rippled with a powerful peristaltic movement around her torso. Heavens, it hurt!

  Change, I’m smaller, Humansoul ordered.

  I’m winning this battle!

  Grandion’s snout pushed through the foliage. Having a touch of trouble dealing with our prey?

  Freaking thing’s – twice – my size! gasped Lia. Thanks for not helping.

  Bite the head. Quickly.

  I’ll bite your – she was seeing black spots before her eyes as the python bore down relentlessly. Hualiama felt as if she were trapped in a nightmare of greased hawsers trying to strangle her to death. She just could not get a grip on the beast. Her tiny hatchling talons scrabbled uselessly against its scaly back, while the python seemed to be everywhere at once.

  Grandion assisted by chortling at her increasingly desperate efforts and offering sage advice. You’re eating it alive, Blue-Star. Keep on going. Almost there.

  Gnarrr-ARRRGGGH!!

  With a fierce roar, Hualiama shut her eyes and instinctively called to her starlight. Whomp! The snake fell limp.

  Grandion promptly stopped laughing.

  Glare! Challengingly, she said, Chargrilled python steaks served with extra sizzle, o Dragon most gallant and noble?

  The Tourmaline Dragon stared at her fiercely lifted brow, and her undoubtedly blazing eyes. He nodded slightly. Bottom of the class for technique, Star Dragoness. But, top marks for presentation. This is just how I love python meat – crispy on the outside and succulent on the inside.