by Maria Grace
She stepped back to avoid dropping them. Rude, pushy fellow. “Other dragons are not yours. They live in your woods, and you are their Laird. That is not the same as owning them.”
“I have not given you permission to take them.” He tried to nose her again.
She pushed back, and he stopped, eyes wide, even surprised. “I do not need your permission.”
“Yes, you do.” He stomped but not very hard.
“Not according to Papa and the Blue Order. They say it is our responsibility to save dragon lives whenever and wherever possible. That is what I am doing.”
“Those are not dragons. They are eggs.” He snuffed, splattering her with a bit of slimy stuff. Ugh!
What was he playing at? If he were truly upset, all this icky goo would contain enough of his venom that it would burn every place it touched her skin.
“Dragon eggs.”
“Fairy dragons are worthless bits of fluff, hardly dragons at all.” He rolled his eyes, much like Papa did.
“But they are dragons, nonetheless. I am going to take care of them, no matter what you say. You cannot bully me.” She stood on tiptoes and glowered.
Longbourn’s lip curled back, and he made the strangest sound. Was he laughing at her?
“I do not like being laughed at.” She pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin.
“Go home, Junior Keeper, and bring your father back with you to make a proper introduction. You just might do.” Longbourn turned around, keeping his long tail carefully tucked in so as not to knock her off her feet, and wandered off back into the woods.
“You are very lucky he left so easily.” Rumblkins peeked out from under her petticoat and pressed against her ankle. “He is very grouchy and smells bad. I want my fish now.”
“Let us return to the house, and you shall have what I promised.” Her knees trembled, and her hands shook as they walked back much more slowly than they had come. Had she really just met the estate dragon and been laughed at by him? How was she supposed to feel about that? And should she tell Papa what had happened?
Rumblkins enjoyed his prize with relish. Truly, it was not a pleasant thing to watch a dragon eat —especially a dragon devouring his very favorite food. But a promise was a promise, and he deserved his reward.
According to Mama, Papa was not expected until close to dinnertime, and Jane was in the nursery with her sisters, so she hurried up to her room with her carefully wrapped treasures, none the wiser for her adventures. She locked the door behind her and cleared her writing desk, moving the books from Papa’s library and her writing supplies to the top of the press. Carefully, so very carefully, she placed her apron on the desk and unwrapped the nest.
It resembled a bird’s nest, woven from twigs and vines, filled with thistle down and feathers gleaned from local chickens and ducks. Within were three eggs—according to the books, fairy dragons usually laid eggs in threes—about half the size of a chicken’s egg, mottled and streaked, leathery rather than brittle.
With one finger, she stroked the eggs—they were just a mite soft, and she could feel small movements within. Little cheeps came from inside as she touched them.
She leaned down very close and whispered, “Are you there, little ones? Do you know I am here?”
The largest of the eggs wobbled just a little bit, as if in answer. Was that possible? Were the babies already able to hear and understand? That is not what she had been told about fairy dragons.
She retrieved her commonplace book from the shelf and found the notes she had made from Papa’s Dragon Bestiary. No, she remembered correctly. Other sorts of eggs responded to the human voice, especially very near hatching, but there was no record of fairy dragons doing so. Definitely something to make note of. Once she finished recording those details, she sketched the nest and the eggs themselves, including her hairbrush in the drawing to offer some scale. Far more interesting than the still life Mama suggested she try to sketch recently.
No, she was not the best at sketching yet, but even Mama would suggest this was good practice for her, if, a mite unusual. It certainly was not an opportunity to waste. When would she get another opportunity to see dragon eggs?
Hatchings did not happen every day, and to be entirely honest with herself, she was very low on the scale of who might be expected to have the opportunity to befriend a dragon, no matter how much she might wish for it. A little girl of a country gentleman’s house just did not rate that sort of favor, even for a mere fairy dragon. Not to mention, Papa adamantly opposed having a house dragon. So she needed to make the most of this opportunity.
A knock at the door made her jump. Had it already gotten so late? When had the sun sunk so low in the sky?
“Lizzy? Let me in.” Papa’s voice sounded just a touch irritated.
She hurried to unlock the door.
“What have you been about that you have been looking for me and yet left the door locked?” He stepped in, closing the door behind him.
She edged in front of the writing desk. “It has all been so very urgent this morning. Yet you were not home. I tried to find you, very diligently, really I did. But at last I had to do the best I could on my own.”
His brows knotted as he looked at her. His gaze drifted to the desk behind her. “What is that?”
She looked over her shoulder. “That is the urgent business I was talking about.”
“That is not urgent business; it is a fairy dragon nest. What is it doing here?” He rolled his eyes the way he did when he was exasperated with Mama.
“Rumblkins found me this morning and told me that the brood parents had abandoned it to sleep through the cold season and there was a stoat endangering the eggs.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her writing desk.
He dragged his hand over his face.
“Rumblkins took me to them and the nest fell out of the tree—in a gust of wind—” So that bit was not true, but he looked so very annoyed right now, trying to tell him that Longbourn had been involved seemed like a very bad idea. “And I caught it in my apron as it fell.”
“Of course it did.” His lips pulled tight in something not quite a grimace but definitely not a smile. “It just fell into your lap with no assistance from the tatzelwurm?”
“He did nothing to the nest, Papa. Absolutely nothing.” At least that part was entirely true. “And he was right, there were stoat tracks all around the tree. Had I waited, the eggs would no doubt have been eaten.”
He sank into the little white chair beside the desk, forehead in his hand.
She clutched her skirts, crushing them in her hands, the way Mama always told her not to. “We rescued the eggs, Papa. That is a good thing, is it not? That is what the Blue Order says we are to do—protect and preserve dragon life whenever we are able. And I did that today, did I not?”
“Oh, Lizzy.” He sighed and rubbed his tired blue eyes. “Yes, I suppose that is the case.”
“You do not seem pleased, Papa.” She swallowed hard and bit her lips.
“Perhaps not. It is complicated, my dear.” He raked his hair back.
“I do not understand.” Her heart thundered, threatening to lodge in her throat.
He ran his fingers over the edge of the nest. “Fairy dragons are, well, they are barely dragons in many ways. They are on the verge of being nuisances to man and dragon alike.”
“They are small and cute and sometimes not very smart—that makes them nuisances?” The same thing could be said of Lydia and Kitty, but no one called them nuisances, at least not in Elizabeth’s hearing.
“There is a reason they are considered well—useless little flutterbobs and flitterbits. They have no territory, no wisdom to impart. They are not particularly useful and not even very good company.”
“Does that mean they are not important? They are dragons after all.” She gripped her hands tightly together.
“Yes, they are dragons, but, how can I explain? They reproduce at a much faster rate than other dragons so th
ere are many, many nests.” He pinched his temples with thumb and forefinger.
“But they are also eaten by other creatures at a much higher rate. How many other dragons are preyed upon by stoats, cats, and birds of prey, not to mention nearly every other dragon type?”
He shook his head, not looking up. “That is what it means to be the least of the dragons. If their numbers were not kept in check, we would be overrun with them.”
“They do not breed that fast.” She huffed a little but caught herself before Papa could react.
“You do not know that. Trust me, it would be a problem.”
“So I was wrong to save the nest?” She sniffled a little, her eyes burning.
“Had I been here, I would have counseled you that we ought to allow nature to take its course and permit things to happen as they ordinarily would.”
How could she have possibly been expected to neglect these wee little things who were already cheeping and recognizing her presence? “What will you do with them now?” She held her breath and forced herself to stand very still.
Papa carefully examined the eggs, holding them up to his ears, eyes closed. He stroked them firmly, holding his thumb over them, twitching slightly as each egg responded. With a distinct harrumph, he returned them to the nest. “They are very close to hatching. It does not bode well that the brood parents would mate too late in the season for the eggs to hatch in summer, though. They are likely to be especially stupid creatures.”
She nodded, staring at the blurry floorboards.
“But it will not do to waste the opportunity, I suppose. There are always those among the Order who are desirous of companions for wives and daughters who hear. I will make inquiries and if there are potential Friends near, then I will make arrangements.” He pushed himself up from the chair, grunting.
And if not? The question danced on the tip of her tongue, but perhaps it was best not to ask. Contenting herself with this much good news was probably for the best right now.
Chapter 4
The eggs spent the night in her room. With no proper nesting box, it was as good a place as any, according to Papa. That it also gave her a little more time to spend with them was a happy coincidence.
He assured her that the eggs did not need to be kept any warmer than her room, else she might have tucked them into her bed with her. He probably knew that. Still, she wrapped the nest in her apron and moved her writing desk a little closer to the fireplace when a cold rain began falling outside. No sense in taking any chances. Her little guests should be as comfortable as she could make them.
She fell asleep staring at the wrapped nest and slept more soundly than she had in a very long time. Could the little egg-bound dragons have been singing her to sleep, thanking her for a warm, safe place to weather the evening’s storm? Papa would declare her fanciful and silly, but it was definitely possible.
At the very least, it would not hurt to record it in her commonplace book. It was the sort of thing one wished to remember. She carefully edged her commonplace book next to the nest and recorded her observations before making her way down to the morning room.
After breakfast, Papa called her to his office and asked that she bring her “bundle” with her. What would Mama think to know they had dragon eggs in the house? Probably best not to find out. Still, even if she told Mama directly, Mama would probably only laugh at her, pat her on the head, and scold Papa for encouraging too much imagination in her. That was what Mama usually said when the subject of dragons came up. Not that it did very often, but perhaps a little more often than it might in a non-dragon-keeping household.
She sighed as she trekked upstairs. What would it be like to live in a place where one could freely discuss dragons and all things related to them, one where dragons were welcome and walked the corridors as freely as the people? She had never been in such a place, but surely they must exist, mustn’t they?
A low fire glowed in the fireplace of Papa’s study, warming the room just a mite. Sometimes he did that because his joints hurt. But today, given that he had cleared a wider than usual path through the chaos, as well as space for a wooden box filled with hay near the hearth, it seemed it was more for the eggs.
Even though she was accustomed to it by now, it still struck her how, for being such a very particular man, Papa’s study was a picture of refined disorder. Somewhere in the piles, the ledgers for the household must be hiding, but they were probably near the bottom of a stack given the way Mama complained about his lack of attention to the estate accounts this morning.
The chess table near the window held several mahogany dragons carved in precise detail along with the chess pieces. A white dragon and a black dragon, one for each side of the board. One could almost imagine fierce dragons attacking and devouring a medieval army. Papa once said the wooden dragons were exact models of an amphithere and a lindwurm. They were among his most treasured possessions.
An heirloom dragon perch, resembling a dining room chair without a seat, stood between a pair of comfortable arm chairs. Uncle Gardiner’s Friend cockatrice, Rustle, perched there when he visited. How odd that Mama’s brother could hear dragons but she could not. Last time he had visited, he had asked Papa’s advice about becoming betrothed to a woman who could not hear dragons. Papa had little good to say about the practice—directly in front of Elizabeth. Apparently he had forgotten she was in the room writing letters for him when that conversation took place. How strenuously he had warned her not to say anything of the discussion to anyone, especially Mama.
The floor was strewn with towers of books nearly as high as her waist. He often muttered that he really needed to get them all back on the shelves, but it did not take a grown man to see that there was no possible way all his books would fit on the study shelves. He would need at least another room of shelves to accomplish that. She wove her way around them into the room.
He locked the door behind them, not that anyone was really likely to disturb them. No one liked to bother Papa when he was ensconced in his book room. For good reason.
“Take the eggs to the nesting box, there.” He pointed toward the hearth with his chin and shambled behind her.
The rough wooden box had been fashioned of weathered, gray boards that had clearly seen some past use outside. The box came halfway up her shins and had been sanded more or less smooth. The sides were a bit uneven—most likely something one of the grooms had cobbled together, not the work of a proper carpenter. But that was not something little dragons would notice or care about. Clean, sweet-smelling hay filled the interior about two thirds of the way to the top. Propped up against the hearth was what must be a lid for the box and a small coil of rope to tie it on with.
Was it wrong to be just a little sad, knowing that the little dragons were going away and she would not get to see them after they hatched? Probably, but those thoughts needed to be kept to herself. Especially since they were going to a place where Friends would keep them safe from the abundant dangers to fairy dragons.
“Put the whole nest in the center of the hay. Dig out a little well for it first and lay them gently inside.” Papa gestured with his hands.
She unwrapped her apron and nestled her burden into the box. If she closed her eyes, she could just barely hear soft, sweet cheeping. She yawned.
“That is how you know for certain these are fairy dragon eggs. Tatzelwurm eggs look very similar, but their eggs are laid in burrows, not in trees, and the eggs, well, they sort of purr—that is the best description of the sound—whilst these will set you to sleeping as quickly as full-grown fairy dragons.”
That was something she would need to write down in her commonplace book.
Papa hunkered down beside her and removed the largest egg from the nest. He held it up in the sunlight, turned it around in his hands, and tapped on the shell. “They are not far from hatching. A se’nnight, maybe ten days at the most. You can tell by the sound they make and the condition of the shell. Come, look.”
She pr
essed in close, her shoulder touching his. He smelt like herbal liniment and willow bark tea.
“You see how it feels like tough shoe leather, but just a bit malleable? As it gets closer to hatching, it becomes more like a supple boot rather than the hard sole. And you can feel the chick inside tapping back against your finger. When you can feel the sharp tip of the beak, then hatching is only a day or so day away.”
“You are not quite there yet, are you?” She whispered to the egg in her hands.
“Did you know, several tomes of dragon lore say that it is good to speak to eggs before they hatch, that it assists the chicks in imprinting since they already know the sound of human voices?” He smiled that rare approving smile that made her feel all warm and furry inside.
“Might that be my job then while we wait for them to hatch?”
He smiled as though he had intended for her to ask just that. “I have another job for you, first. Perhaps you might talk to them when you are finished.”
She clasped her hands tightly and tried not to fidget—he always warned her not to do that. “What may I do?”
“I know of several Blue Order families within a day’s journey from Longbourn who might be in want of a Dragon Friend for the ladies of the household.”
“No boys?”
“Few consider fairy dragons a manly companion, so usually they are relegated to the ladies.”
Elizabeth chewed her lip. Any more questions would probably make Papa cross.
“I will dictate the first letter to you. After that, you can copy it over several times, substituting in the proper names and details to each. I must get those out in today’s post. There is no time to waste in finding proper homes for these eggs.” He reached behind him to push against a chair to help him rise. His knees were probably bothering him again.
“What will happen if we cannot?” She held her breath.
Papa sighed. “We will take them out to the barn and let them hatch there with us in attendance, of course. It does not hurt to have them properly imprinted upon humans, but there is no need to have them living in the house with us. Your mother would hardly accept them.”
