Dragon’s Heir: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  I put a serious lid on what I wanted to say because it was such a cliché. She was eating for two, and I had a feeling the dragon baby required a lot of nourishment. I carried our mugs back to the table; she trailed after me, plate in hand. “Do you want anything to eat?” she asked.

  I shook my head. The tea would be plenty for now. Once she was settled again, I reached across the table and placed a hand over hers. Questing about for a neutral topic to give both of us a break, I said, “That necklace and ring are lovely. I noticed them before, but where’d they come from? I can sense their power from here.”

  She tapped the onyx amulet. “This and the ring and the circlet”—she touched her forehead with its delicate golden coronet—“were originally gifts from Mother. I never understood why she gave them to me, but one morning out of the blue she handed me a lovely Hawthorne wood box with the jewelry inside. I guess she knew I’d be gone soon.” Rowan shrugged. “Maybe she felt guilty. Who knows?”

  “Did you tuck them away or something?” I took a few sips from my mug. The herbal mixture, heavy on mint and anise, was soothing.

  “More like threw them away.” She grimaced. “When I was leaving the caves under Ben Nevis after one of my last visits, they called to me. And when I put them on, they felt different.”

  “They would.” I thought about it. “Ceridwen’s locked away in Fire Mountain, so anything crafted with her magic would either fade or change.”

  Rowan polished off the remaining scraps of food on her plate. “The ornaments come in handy. They concentrate my magic, and they finally feel like they belong to me.” She looked right at me, and a corner of her mouth curved into a rueful smile. “Thanks for being sensitive, but you don’t really care one way or another about my jewelry.”

  “Not sure I’d put it quite that bluntly,” I replied. “I was curious about the gems. How are you doing?”

  Her direct gaze skittered away. “Not sure. It’s a lot to take in, and, frankly, rotten timing.”

  “It is a lot to take in.” I agreed. “Not sure the full impact has actually hit me quite yet. We haven’t had a quiet moment to ourselves until now.”

  She laughed and scraped her gaze up from her lap. “Oh, sweetie. I don’t think the ‘full impact’ of a baby hits any new parents until after it arrives.” She turned her hands palms up. “We have to design a bombproof nursery. Something he can’t teleport out of…”

  “What?” I prodded after her words trailed away.

  Her nostrils flared. “Do you suppose the de facto, erm, grandparents, are going to give us grief? I mean it’s not as if they were actually parents to you, and—”

  I held up a hand. “I’m not happy about the way any of that shook out, either, but Hel did do me a good turn by making certain I had loving foster parents. She could have been selfish and tried to raise me in Hel and Niflheim.”

  I sat straighter; my vertebrae cracked in protest. “Somehow, I believe I’d have become a very different man under those circumstances.”

  Rowan dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her eyes before looking at me again. “No shit. You might have come out harsh and bitter. Like me.”

  “According to the dragons, Ceridwen tried to abandon you many times,” I reminded her and placed a hand over one of hers. “Who knows where she let you loose.”

  “Not in the midst of a nice, loving family, that’s for sure. Probably at the bottom of some horrible pit,” Rowan muttered, followed by, “Yeah. I guess I’d forgotten about that. The dragons found me every time and brought me back to Inverlochy Castle. And then, they must have wiped my memories because I have zero recall of any of that.”

  She tugged her hand from beneath mine and made a fist. “No matter what it costs me, I will see that our son is surrounded by love.”

  “We’re an us,” I reminded her.

  Color splotched across her high cheekbones. “So we are. Sorry. Do you have any idea how long this pregnancy will last?”

  The question caught me by surprise. “Do you have reason to suspect it won’t be nine months?”

  “You betcha.” She drained what was left in her mug. “Thanks. That was good. So about the time thing, how long do dragon eggs incubate?”

  I wasn’t sure, so I sent magic zipping over to my shelves of lore materials and hovered next to a couple of candidates. They floated to where we sat.

  “You must be exhausted,” Rowan commented. “Those books were only about two meters from us.”

  “I am tired,” I agreed, “and using it as an excuse for being lazy.”

  In the interest of expediency, I employed more magic to hunt for dragon hatchling information and skimmed until I came up with an answer for Rowan. “Twenty-six months.”

  “Alrighty. So why wouldn’t my pregnancy be an average of nine months and twenty-six months.” She smiled, but it didn’t exactly reach her eyes when she said, “I like seventeen months a whole lot better than nine.”

  “Only because you’ve never been pregnant,” I countered.

  A snort riffled past her lips. “I suppose you have?”

  “Of course not, but I’ve helped many a woman give birth. No matter how tough or simple the birth is, the mothers all have one thing in common.”

  “Wait. Don’t tell me,” Rowan cut in. “They’re relieved it’s over.”

  “Exactly.” I reached for her hand again. “However long it lasts, you have to take good care of yourself.”

  “Uh-uh. You do not get to dictate how I live. No one does. Not even my—er, our—son.”

  “Good save.”

  She supported her head on an upraised hand again. “I’m sorry. Everything is hard right now, and this doesn’t make it any simpler. I don’t want to have to be on my guard every time Dewi shows up. I can see her hovering over the cradle and planting seeds about visiting Fire Mountain with Auntie Dewi.”

  I hesitated before giving voice to my thoughts. I might have remained silent, if Rowan hadn’t crooked a finger my way and said, “Out with it.”

  “If our son has as much dragon in him as everyone seems to think he does, he’ll probably fall in love with Fire Mountain—”

  “Oh no, he won’t.”

  I didn’t contradict her. She was thinking with her heart, not her head. “Before I left Valhalla, I told the dragons to butt out.”

  Rowan’s brows crawled up her forehead. “How’d that go?”

  “Predictably.”

  “Not well, eh? I wouldn’t expect it to.” She shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she said, “The thing I don’t get is why they’re so fucking immersed in this baby. It’s like it’s the first dragon hatchling, ever.”

  “Well, it will be the first one to blend Norse, Celtic, and dragon bloodlines. The way I figure things, our son will be half dragon, a quarter Norse, and a quarter Celtic, so more dragon than anything else.”

  “Do you have any idea what that will mean?” she asked.

  “As in, will he have wings?”

  Rowan nodded and closed her teeth over her lower lip. “You and me, both of us are half dragon. Neither of us has wings. Not yet, anyway. When Nidhogg dropped the whole Dragon Heir thing on my head, he seemed to believe flight might be a possibility.”

  “I have no idea about wings. I’m assuming he’ll have a human form—and maybe a dragon one.”

  “So he might be a shapeshifter?”

  I splayed my hands on the table. “I don’t know.”

  “But don’t you see the problems?” she persisted. “I don’t fly. You don’t fly. How are we going to control him if we can’t catch him?”

  “You’ve forgotten Zelli and Quade.”

  “Oh no, I haven’t,” she shot back. “Or Dewi or Nidhogg, either. Fuck! All I want is normal, but do I ever even come close? Oh hell, no.”

  “What is normal?” I gentled my voice.

  “That’s just it,” she shrilled, “I have no bloody idea. Aw crap. How am I ever going to be a mother? No blueprint. No role mode
ls. Nada. Pushy grandparents won’t help, either.”

  I got up and walked around to where she sat. Drawing her to her feet, I folded her into my arms and just held her. After a few moments, she threaded her arms around me. I took it as a good sign. We were both so tired, we fell into a half sleep where we stood.

  Consciousness winked in and out, flirting like a shy, uncertain maiden. When I thought I heard a knock on my door, I chalked it up to being not quite sentient. The second—or perhaps it was the third—time it sounded, I cast a bleary-eyed look at my door.

  “Is someone here?” Rowan sounded frail and weary. “Make them go away.”

  Before I could untangle myself from her and investigate, my door popped open. Gwydion, Bran, Andraste, and Arianrhod strode inside.

  “Kinswoman! We have come to congratulate you,” Andraste cried, loud enough to wake the shades in Niflheim.

  Rowan let go of me and turned to face the Celts. “Oh, please.” Breath rattled from her. “You can’t just waltz back into my life as if you weren’t total bastards my entire childhood.”

  “We feel verra badly about that,” Arianrhod said.

  I cringed. They were almost the same words Hel had used about me. Before I could get my brain working sufficiently to string a sentence together—one suggesting they leave—Gwydion said, “We’ve come to escort you to Inverlochy Castle. Arawn sends his regards. By the time we arrive, he should be done repairing the Ninth Gate, and he shall meet us at our stronghold.”

  “Aye, we’ve prepared a chamber for the two of you. And your bairn.” Andraste sounded so proud, it might have been her child.

  “Ye’ll want for naught,” Bran added.

  “Stop!” Rowan screeched. “Just shut up.”

  “Child.” Gwydion laced a soothing compulsion spell in with his words. “Ye’re not thinking straight. Ye’re overwrought. Allow us to help you through your—”

  Rowan broke into his spell and his words. “First, the dragons want to bury me in Fire Mountain. Now you want to sequester us in Inverlochy. Goddammit it all to fuck. Why does no one understand this is my child. Mine and Bjorn’s.”

  “Thanks for the add-on,” I mumbled.

  She elbowed me. “Don’t mention it.”

  Something about the exchange seemed to calm her. “I’m certain you mean well,” she told the Celts, “but I’m still finding my way. Will Bjorn and I spend time in Inverlochy? We will, to be sure. For one thing, the witches are there, and they need me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Will we spend all our time there? No. For one thing, there’s the other group of witches beneath Ben Nevis.”

  “We would assist with that project,” Andraste said. “Frankly, I was certain I wouldna care for the witches, that I’d find them lacking, inferior. Such hasna happened. I actually like them. They are enterprising and courageous. Two qualities I value.”

  I expected a snarky comment from Rowan. Instead, she shook her head. “Thanks, Andraste. The witches need all the help they can get.”

  “How’d you find out about the baby?” I asked.

  “How else?” Rowan shot a sidelong glance my way. “Dewi told them.”

  “Of course she did,” I muttered. “She went looking for allies for her Fire Mountain nursery plan.”

  “Aye, we shot it down,” Gwydion said.

  My eyes may have widened. Were the Celts about to turn into unlikely allies?

  “The child will be a Celtic deity,” Arianrhod said somberly. “As such, ’tisn’t seemly for him to spend too much time around dragonkind. Doona tell Dewi I said that, though.”

  It appeared the four Celts were settling in for a long chat. I was so beat, remaining upright required an infusion of magic. “How about this?” I suggested. “We will rest a while, and then we’ll teleport to Inverlochy.”

  Magic flickered from Celt to Celt as they conversed in shielded telepathy. I didn’t even bother to try to listen in, mostly because I didn’t care what passed among them.

  “I shall remain without,” Gwydion said. “The others will return to Inverlochy.”

  A blast of anger scorched me. “What? You don’t believe me? When I give my word on something—”

  “Stand down, Master Sorcerer—and now quite a bit more than that,” Gwydion said. “I shall ensure no one disturbs your sleep. Nothing more nor less.”

  “Fine,” Rowan said. “We agree since it’s the only way to get the rest of you out of here.” She made shooing motions with both hands.

  “When ye get to know us better, ye’ll like us.” Andraste smiled.

  Ro made a sour face.

  It was hard not to warm to Andraste. She didn’t have a shred of artifice. What you saw was what you got. All the Celts walked back out my still-open door, pulling it shut behind them. When I turned around, Rowan lay facedown on my bed. I unlaced her boots and took them off. After removing my own, I joined her.

  As exhausted as I was, I figured I’d pass out, but sleep took its sweet time coming. Between Odin, the Celts, the dragons, and the baby, I had a lot on my mind.

  Chapter Three, Rowan

  Daylight was spilling through Bjorn’s window when I dragged my gritty eyes open and rubbed sleep from them, At least I wasn’t so groggy I had to flounder about figuring out where I was. Bjorn slept next to me, his breathing even. A quick scan with as subtle a thread of magic as I could command told me Gwydion remained without.

  I didn’t know the warrior magician slash master enchanter well. He’d always struck me as being immersed in his own importance. Perhaps I’d been wrong about that since he’d volunteered to act as our protector while we slept. It wasn’t something I would ever have imagined him doing.

  Gwydion obviously believed we required a guardian in Vanaheim, and it worried me. I felt certain he wasn’t in the habit of going out of his way to do things he didn’t believe were necessary. Or maybe it wasn’t us he was concerned about but the child within me.

  I hated to disturb Bjorn, but the bed was so narrow me moving might wake him. Even if I managed to get up, the creaky pump handle and water splashing into the sink would be impossible to sleep through.

  No help for it. I kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and his lips. He stirred beneath my touch and wrapped me in his arms. It felt good in the circle of his arms with his hands straying up and down my back.

  Too good.

  I nuzzled his neck and wriggled out of his embrace. “Nope. We are not going to get frisky. Not with Gwydion sitting on the far side of that wall.” I jerked my chin at the front door.

  “Frisky, is it?” Bjorn grinned, slow and lazy, making it much harder for me to get off the bed.

  I did, anyway, with a regretful backward glance. No one should be as gorgeous as Bjorn with his ice-blond hair and ocean eyes. This morning, silvery flecks glimmered around his irises. His strong, square chin was covered with pale stubble. A high forehead and eyes widely spaced over sharp cheekbones reminded me of Hollywood actors I’d lusted after before the Breaking. His nose was generous with a bit of a hawk’s beak to it. Harsh and masculine, it was the only break from his unrelenting beauty.

  Neither of us had undressed. Probably a wise move, since it would have been far harder to leave the bed if he’d been naked.

  The cabin door swooshed open. Gwydion glided inside and actually smiled. “Morning. Any chance of breakfast?”

  I leveled my gaze at him. “What? You were waiting until the first hint we were awake to pounce?”

  His grin broadened, and he laughed. “Not exactly, but I smelled the beginnings of sex. No time for such pursuits. They’re not on today’s menu, so I decided to intervene afore things became awkward.”

  Bjorn was on his feet. “I don’t know whether to toss you out or laugh. No one has told me what I can—or can’t—do within my home for hundreds of years. You’re not going to be the first.”

  What happened next more than shocked me. Gwydion bowed, a low, sweeping affair, and said, “Apologies, Master Sorcerer. Many tasks la
y ahead of us, and—”

  “Enough,” Bjorn muttered. “I’ll make tea.” That pronouncement was followed by, “Aw shit. More customers. This isn’t good.”

  “I’ll take care of them.” Gwydion spun to face the open door and bellowed, “Off. Begone with you.”

  “You can’t just shoo them away. Hold on.” Bjorn stalked around him and stood in the doorway, facing outward. “It’s all right,” he yelled.

  How could there possibly be more supplicants or customers or patrons or whatever the fuck Bjorn called those who showed up for aid? We’d treated what felt like the entire population of Vanaheim last night. I made my way to his side and had hell’s own time keeping my mouth from falling open. The clearing in front of Bjorn’s cottage was filling rapidly.

  Double the number of people we’d treated last night stood in rough lines waiting for Bjorn’s services. Elves, dwarves, and giants were mixed in with the crowd. Bjorn walked outside and started sorting the people into groups.

  Gwydion moved next to me and spoke low next to my ear. “What is all this?”

  I turned to him. “We fear rot from Earth is spreading. Magic isn’t behaving as it should. Bjorn’s aid is available without cost to any inhabitant of the Nine Worlds. He’s usually busy, but nothing like this, according to him.”

  “I shall see if I can help. Get something together for us to eat, so we can be gone from here once we’re done.”

  Normally, I’d have told Gwydion to go to hell. He didn’t get to order me about, but there’d been no malice in his request. He was going for efficiency, and he was used to issuing instructions.

  I bit back an argument and hustled into my boots. My memory from the previous night was Bjorn’s larder was running low, but I’d do the best I could. While magic bounced from one side of the courtyard to the other as Gwydion and Bjorn combined their power to fix broken spells, broken bodies, and malfunctioning magical accoutrements, I brewed a large pot of tea.

  That done, I hunted until I found eggs tucked in a basket. I was just done scrambling them and slicing what remained of the bread when the men came inside.