Dragonskin Slippers

by Jessica Day George

  “Can you get me up there?” I said, pointing to the outcrop, but the roar of the waterfall and clash of swords swallowed my words. “Can you get me up there?” I shouted this time, and Feniul nodded. He extended a foreclaw, and I climbed up. Sensing that I wanted to surprise the princess, he backed up a few steps to get a running start and then propelled himself out of the tunnel, soaring straight for Amalia.

  The Roulaini princess clapped her hands to her cheeks in dismay when she saw us coming. She began to slink down the smaller tunnel behind her, but she didn’t get far. Feniul swerved when we reached the ledge, barely checking his speed, and I took the hint. I leaped from his shoulders and rolled on to the rough stone.

  I was so tired it was all I could do to scramble to my feet and set off after Amalia. Fortunately, the princess was not a very fast runner. I caught her easily, flinging my arms around her and bearing her to the ground with my weight. I pinned her arms to the stone above her head.

  “Give me the slippers,” I grated.

  “No!” She spat at me, but I turned my face aside. “Help me!”

  “I don’t see your bodyguards, Your Highness,” I said. “It seems that they’ve abandoned you.” I kept my voice level. “Now. Give me the slippers, and I’ll let you choose whether you are punished by human justice, or by dragon.” I curled my lips in a snarl. “After what you did to Shardas’s cave, I’d choose human.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” she protested. “Shardas did it all himself. He’s nothing more than a dumb animal.” A sly look flitted across her face. “Of course, I may have made a suggestion …”

  With a wordless scream of rage I released one of her hands and punched her in the nose. She shrieked and I drew back for another punch, but stopped when I saw something in the shadows.

  “Help me,” Amalia sobbed, her nose bleeding freely.

  She wasn’t calling to her bodyguards. Waiting in the darkness to carry out its mistress’s commands loomed a large grey dragon.

  Beneath the King’s Seat

  Shocked, I released the princess as the dragon snatched me up. One wing was folded awkwardly by its side and seemed to have been broken, but it looked like an old wound. The dragon was certainly fit enough to hold me several paces above the stone floor, in a grip so tight that I could hardly breathe.

  Its voice rumbled from deep in its throat, boiling out like breaking rocks. “Shall I kill it, mistress?” There was no expression in the rough tone.

  “Yes, at once!” Amalia got clumsily to her feet, brushing dust off her gown.

  The dragon was holding me level with its breast. What I saw on its chest made me stop wriggling and stare. There were strange marks, long slashing marks. The scales there were smaller, as if they had formed a kind of scar tissue. And although the light in the tunnel was dim, I could see now that the dragon was not grey, as I had initially thought, but blue.

  The same blue as the slippers.

  “Velika?” I gasped the name, and the claw holding me gave a convulsive jerk, slicing through the sleeve of my gown and cutting into my upper arm. “Queen Velika? Is that you?”

  It was a rather stupid thing to say to a dragon, I thought as soon as the words left me. “Is that you?” It seemed such a common way to say it, like I was greeting an old friend who had a bizarre new hairstyle. But as I stared in shock at the scars on the dragon’s breast, I knew it to be true.

  It seemed that Milun the First had lied about more than just how he came by the slippers. The queen of the dragons was still alive. And under the thrall of the slippers that had been made from the very scales of her breast. Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes. It had been a horrible day, and this, for me at least, was the last straw.

  “Oh, Shardas will be so happy,” I blubbered. “I know he will! All the dragons will! Niva spoke of you with such awe; I know that they would all be thrilled to know that you are still alive. Especially Shardas!”

  By now the claw holding me had lowered so that my feet in their plain slippers touched the uneven floor of the tunnel. The dragon’s neck was bowed, her head nearly resting on the ground before my feet, and she was not looking at me or anything else. Her blue eyes were cloudy but she twitched whenever I said Shardas’s name.

  “What are you saying?” Amalia flapped her hands at us. “Eat her, dragon. Or burn her to cinders, I don’t care. Just do it now!”

  “Velika, I know it’s you,” I said in a lower voice, getting a grip on myself. “Please don’t do this! You must fight the power of the slippers. King Milun was evil to do this to you, and all your kind. You have to fight the betrayal! Please? For Shardas?”

  “Kill her,” Amalia ordered again.

  The ravaged queen dragon raised her head, but again she hesitated. And in that moment of hesitation I heard another sound: the rasp of claws on stone. And it wasn’t coming from Velika.

  A long golden snout entered the tunnel, followed by the rest of Shardas. We all froze – Amalia, Shardas and myself – and looked at Velika. Her head still drooped near the ground, and her grip on me had not slackened.

  “Creel?” Shardas’s whisper blew a hair across my nose and I sneezed. “Is it truly her?” The anguish in his voice broke my heart. “Is it … my Velika?”

  I couldn’t speak, and Velika gave no reply either. Instead, her claw loosened and I fell to the ground. Her whole body was trembling, and now she threw back her head and keened in what sounded like pain or grief or both.

  “Dragon!” Amalia’s voice was near hysteria. “Kill them all! Burn them! Do it now! I command you!”

  Shardas moved closer, pushing me out of harm’s way with a gentle claw. I stroked one folded wing, and then stepped aside as he advanced towards his mate.

  Velika was swaying back and forth, her eyes half-closed. Shardas was whispering something, a throaty rasping purr that was in a language no human could voice. After a moment I recognised the tongue of the dragons. He was pleading with her, from the sound of it, pleading with his mate to – what? Fight off Amalia? Attack the Roulaini princess? Or was he simply begging her to remember him, to look at him, to speak to him?

  The scarred queen dragon backed down the tunnel, moaning. I went after her, walking beside Shardas. We went slowly, while behind us Amalia screeched and stomped her feet. Shardas continued to whisper and croon in the dragon language, and I found myself adding more pleas for Velika to stop, please, to let us help her; I would be her friend, too …

  The tunnel widened and we were in a large cavern. Patches of luminous moss growing up the walls cast a faint green illumination. There was a musty-smelling hollow padded with dried moss and leaves, and claw marks scarred the floor.

  “This must be her home,” I whispered to Shardas, and tears pricked my eyes. I thought of the airy, clean lair where Shardas lived, with its many rooms and the beautifully displayed windows. And all this time, his mate had been hiding away here. Or not hiding, I realised, but trapped by Milun’s cruel alchemy, locked away to keep his horrible secret safe. There was no sign of a hoard, unless she had hidden it somewhere else or the moss was what she cultivated. But I doubted it.

  She turned now, moving faster, and went through an opening at the far end. We followed, and I had to drop back to walk alongside Shardas’s spiked tail, since the opening was so small.

  The tunnel was not long. It turned sharply to one side, and then we were blinking in the light of dawn, standing on a wide natural terrace that jutted out from the cliff on which the King’s Seat stood. The ground sloped steeply down into the Boiling Sea.

  The waters of the Boiling Sea bubbled and steamed, giving off bursts of noxious fumes that made my eyes water. By the time my vision had cleared, Velika had taken flight. Shardas leaped into the air after her, no longer whispering, but shouting in the dragon tongue. I called out encouragement to him, wishing I could fly, too. Then a flapping of wings made my heart leap: if Feniul or Niva found me, I could ride in pursuit.

  But it wasn’t one of the collared drag
ons. It was Theoradus. He could barely keep himself aloft; sizzling blood from a dozen wounds spattered on to the ground, killing whatever plant life it touched. He folded his tattered wings and skidded to the earth a few paces away from me.

  “Oh, you poor thing!” I cried, stretching my hands out to him. I didn’t care if he was still under the thrall of the slippers, seeing him so badly injured made me reckless. I realised that, with the coming of dawn, Earl Sarryck had begun his attack. A broken spear jutted from Theoradus’s side and an arrow was lodged painfully in the soft flesh under his foreleg.

  Theoradus’s head sank to the dusty ground, and he heaved a mighty sigh. He was so exhausted and so weak that only a little steam emerged from his mouth, no fire.

  “Kill her!”

  It would have been too much to ask that Amalia had not followed us, I saw as I whirled around. She was standing in the mouth of the tunnel, hands on hips, glaring at Theoradus.

  “He’s dying, you evil creature,” I said to her. “He’s dying because of you!”

  “He exists to serve me,” she snarled back. “And if he is too weak to serve me, then good riddance!”

  I couldn’t help myself, I lunged for her. I would get the slippers back and put an end to this madness or die trying. And if I had to kill Amalia in the process, well, I didn’t think anyone would shed many tears over the loss.

  I struck her in the face, knocking her to the ground. She yanked at my skirts, pulling me down after her, and we rolled on the ground, clawing and tearing at each other. A lucky punch from Amalia made my nose bleed, and I bit her shoulder in retaliation. While she was clutching at my face, I twisted around and grabbed one of her ankles, reaching for the slipper with my free hand.

  “Kill her, kill her,” she continued to shout.

  Theoradus groaned and scrabbled at the ground, but could do nothing else. Then, arrowing out of the sky, Velika returned with Shardas close behind. Other dragons were flying in her wake, and I saw with a sinking heart that they were dragons still controlled by the slippers. Amalia kicked me in the face and I lost my grip on her leg.

  “Niva, Feniul, Amacarin!” I yelled for the collared dragons, desperate as I struggled with Amalia and tried to keep one eye on Velika and the others at the same time.

  Hearing my cry, or perhaps merely arriving at the most opportune moment, Niva came flashing down from the sky with Amacarin and Feniul on either side and began to battle with the other dragons.

  “Give up,” I raged at Amalia. “You’ve lost. Velika and Shardas won’t obey you, three other dragons are safe from the slippers, King Caxel still lives. You’ve lost.”

  “Not yet,” she retorted. “Kill her, Velika, I command you!”

  The scarred queen of the dragons soared down to land beside Theoradus. I let go of Amalia and scrambled backwards on the slick rocks, uncertain if the slippers had regained their hold on Velika. The queen dragon reached forward and scooped me up with her left foreclaw. With her right she snatched Amalia. Velika rose high above the Boiling Sea and hovered there, holding us apart like a harried mother separating two squalling siblings.

  I clutched at Velika’s claw, fearful that I would slip out of her grasp and fall to my death. Silently I prayed to the Triunity that the power of the slippers would break, that Velika would come fully to her senses at last. I saw a flash of gold and my heart gave a little leap: Shardas had fought off the slippers’ power. I added Shardas to my prayers, lumping him in with the gods and pleading aloud for him to save me.

  Holding me upside down by a handful of my ruined skirts, Velika lifted me to eye level and studied me with eyes that looked sharper now than they had in the tunnel. Tears streaming from my eyes, I looked back at her, saying her name in a trembling voice.

  Then she extended her foreclaw … and flipped me into the air.

  Screaming in terror, I spun through nothingness. I might have survived a fall on to the rocks of the shore from this height, but I was falling into the Boiling Sea. My stomach and my heart rose in my throat, and as I rushed towards the steaming water I thought that at least I would be with my parents again. I closed my eyes and prayed that death would come quickly. But instead of feeling the searing pain of boiling water, I hit something hard and scaly with a smack, and felt myself borne upward.

  Claws closed around me, gently holding me safe as Shardas plucked me from the air only seconds before I struck the surface, saving me from being boiled to death by the beautiful blue sea. I wrapped my arms around one golden claw and sobbed. A reassuring snort of breath stirred my hair, and I kissed the claw. I was drenched with cold sweat and my legs shook so badly I didn’t know if I would ever be able to walk again. I had set out for the palace with Luka knowing that I might die, but I hadn’t come near to imagining the true horror of it.

  Shardas carried me back up the hill and deposited me beside Theoradus, who barely stirred. Then the golden king of the dragons rose into the air just as Velika, still holding Amalia in her other claw, dived into the Boiling Sea. It was as if the whole sea turned into noxious steam, obscuring the sky thousands of feet up and as far as I could see to either side.

  “Velika!” Shardas’s roar made my head ring and several rocks tumbled down the hill and into the water.

  I found the strength to stand. I stretched out my hands to Shardas, even though he was far above me. Sizzling drops of water from the Boiling Sea spattered me, but I didn’t flinch.

  Shardas spread his golden wings to their full width. His long neck snaked around and he looked to me. Our gazes locked for the length of a heartbeat. He turned back to the swirling water where Velika had disappeared. Then with a clap he folded his wings tight to his gleaming sides, and dived after his mate, sending up a great plume of water as he entered the blue depths of the Boiling Sea.

  The dragons battling above froze in the air. Roars burst from their throats, and they slowly descended to hover near the fringes of the great cloud of steam. The uncollared dragons appeared bemused and weakened, but the thrall of the slippers was gone. All of them were silent, their tails whipping the air and bursts of fire coming from their mouths as though they couldn’t control themselves.

  I called out to Niva, who was nearest to me. “Are they …?” I couldn’t finish.

  She circled down slowly and landed beside me. “So it would seem,” she said, her head drooping. “The poisons in the waters of the Boiling Sea are lethal even to dragons.”

  “Oh, Shardas,” I sobbed, sinking to the ground. I put out a shaking hand and laid it on Niva’s near foreclaw. She gently nuzzled my head with her nose. Then I stretched out my other hand, and laid it on Theoradus’s muzzle. It was cold.

  Picking Up the Pieces

  Later I learned that while I had been in the caverns beneath the palace, the three collared dragons had been fighting their friends above. Niva had tried to plead with the others to go to the Mordrel estates and be collared, too, but the slippers’ hold had been too strong. The ensuing battle had destroyed the east wing of the New Palace. As Feniul and I flew over the rubble, still stunned by the deaths of Shardas and Velika, we heard shouting.

  Feniul swooped in for a closer look, and we saw a hand reaching out of a pile of roof tiles. I dismounted, and helped Feniul dig the unfortunate person free. It was Crown Prince Milun, with Pippin, Amalia’s little white lapdog, stuffed into his shirt.

  He had spent most of his imprisonment in the attics where unused furniture and unwanted princes were stored, lying in an old bed with only Pippin as company. When the roof collapsed, the heavy canopy and tree-trunk-thick bedposts had formed a protective cage around him. His leg was broken, but he was otherwise unharmed.

  Pippin circled Feniul, barking ferociously for a dog the size of a muff. But the dragon lowered his head and made a trilling noise, and she stopped barking and pranced right over to him. She gave his proffered muzzle a lick, then ran up his tail like it was a ramp and settled herself amid the horns crowning his head.

  Back at the Mordrel
estates, Luka and I assured Feniul that he could keep the dog. We doubted anyone would care, but he wanted to make a fair trade. So he gave Azarte to Prince Miles. Miles was delighted, and Azarte leaned against the prince’s legs and lowed like a cow. I shook my head and warned Miles to keep all sweets well out of the dog’s reach, but I don’t think he was listening to me.

  King Prilian was killed in the battle beneath the palace. The Feravelan soldiers, fighting for home and hearth, had rallied and defeated the Roulaini in the cavern beside the waterfall. The soldier I had found hiding in the kitchens had slain Prilian with his own hand, and was now captain of a regiment.

  The new Roulaini king, Prilian’s nephew Rolian, had been quick to send messages declaring his goodwill. The Roulaini army was recalled, and King Rolian was making noises about tithes of appeasement and demonstrations of brotherhood, whatever that meant.

  Larkin had been found by the King’s Guards as they swept through the palace hunting for Roulaini. She claimed that the Roulaini had tried to torture her for information, but the kitchen maid who was asked to bring her some hot tea recognised her as Princess Amalia’s uppity maid. Luka and I both testified against her, and she was sentenced to life in prison for treason. To give her something to do – idle hands crochet the devil’s stockings, as my silly aunt would say – she was put to work hemming sheets and rolling bandages for the Royal Hospital. I thought the monotonous work a fitting punishment.

  So now there was just the little matter of rebuilding the New Palace, the Winter Palace and the King’s Seat. Not to mention that the dragons, absent from the lives of humans for centuries, were now still very much among us. Niva was leading a vigil along the shores of the Boiling Sea, where more than two dozen dragons had gathered to sing a mourning song for King Shardas and Queen Velika, Theoradus the Brown and the handful of others who had died in the battle. They would remain there, fasting and singing, for a full cycle of the moons. Whenever I had time, I went down and stood between Niva and Feniul, putting a hand on the foreclaw of each and listening to their song.