The book was a tome, there was no doubt. Wordy and detailed, she had to admit it gave her a far better grasp on how magic worked than any of her tutors had ever taught her. The myriad of notes scrawled in the margins had helped. It wasn’t until she’d spotted Dostoy dipping a claw in ink and making notes in the margins of the tome he was currently reading that she realized who had penned them. Or in this case, clawed them.
I should go prepare something to eat. Dostoy’s larder was well stocked, her kitchen well equipped, and she’d been making her own meals since she arrived. She rose and moved across the room. Something simple but— “Oh, Dostoy,” she said as she spotted the dragon coming down the hall. “I was not aware you’d returned. What was going on?”
“Animal attack,” Dostoy replied, coming to a stop. His paws were damp—recently washed. “Something, likely a bear, attacked and ate several sheep. If it happens again, I’ll need to go looking for it.”
“Is that common around here?”
“Common enough,” he said with a nod. “It’s why this land wasn’t settled and my ancestors were able to possess it. Local legends say the place is cursed. Personally, if it was, magic fades, but every now and again something strange occurs, so there may have been some truth to it. In any case, I must eat. By your leave, Lady Victoria.”
“Actually,” she said, her voice halting his turn as an idea occurred to her. “I’ve been eating alone for days now. Would you care to share lunch?”
Dostoy thought for a moment and then nodded. “Your company would not be unwelcome. I would honored if you would join me. You may want to bring your own food, however.”
“I will.” Several minutes later, she joined him in his dining room, setting her sandwiches down across from a large, cold roast of mutton, if her guess was right.
“I must admit this is a first,” Dostoy said, tearing a bite out of his meat with his teeth and swallowing. “But your company thus far has been nothing if not pleasant. Which does make my mind wander a bit. If my inquiry is not too forward, tell me: Why did you feel you needed my services in acquiring a companion? I have been under the impression that most human societies value the traits you’ve demonstrated thus far.”
“Truthfully? Because of my father.” It was no secret, so there was no shame in telling him. “Don’t misunderstand: I love my Papa dearly, and he’s never been anything but the best father he can be, which given his responsibilities is no small feat, but . . . He is the Wolf of Artares. Men that have expressed interest in me have found themselves at the end of his glare, and by extension that of his entire company.”
“Such as your guard.”
She nodded. “Exactly. I love my Papa, but he is . . . overwhelming. And while yes, I suppose many would say my ‘traits’,” she smiled, “are of value, it becomes something else when choosing a partner. Sometimes our values, despite our claims, are not as highly prized as some would say. Though it doesn’t help that my upbringing in some ways goes against the standards and expectations of polite society.”
“Such as carrying a sword through someone’s home?” Dostoy suggested with a toothy smile, and she nodded.
“Like that. In many places a woman carrying a sword is a rare sight of its own, in others, a shame. And there are the requirements of the company.”
“Could you not marry someone from the company? Surely there are plenty of skilled tacticians to choose from.”
She let out a little laugh. “No, because that’s missing the point entirely.”
“Enlighten me?”
“If I were to marry,” she said, setting her sandwich down. “I would want to marry someone who was capable at strategy and command, but not defined by it. My father, for example, paints and runs the estate, as well as a school of learning. To many, he is the Wolf, but to me, the Wolf is only part of who he is.”
“I see. You desire someone more than just a military figurehead.”
She nodded. “Yes. Which is why I came up with the tests I did. Besting you at Stakes speaks to one aspect of their character, but how they behave afterward and for the third test, another.”
“Very wise. What does your mother make of all this? I noticed you haven’t spoken of her, only your father.”
“I hope she approves,” Victoria said, taking another bite. “She passed some ten winters ago. In childbirth. My younger brother didn’t survive either.”
“I’m sorry.” His words sounded both heartfelt and genuine. “That is a great loss.”
“It was,” she said, pausing for a moment, her meal forgotten. “I still miss her. She used to take me stargazing on clear nights, point out all the constellations. She’s gone, but she’s not gone. Not entirely. I do regret that she did not get to see me find someone who cared and loved me as much as Papa loved her, but, all things in their proper time.”
“Was she a soldier?”
“Of a sort. She could be, when the time called for it, but preferred to be a mother. And she was wonderful at it.” Memories spilled through her mind like warm embers. “She was a very capable woman.”
“And it would seem you’ve followed in her footsteps.” Dostoy swallowed the last of his roast, then licked the platter clean.
“Maybe,” she offered, and changed the subject. “Your notes have been most helpful, by the way. In learning about magic.”
“Thank you for your gratitude,” Dostoy said, seeming somewhat surprised. “I hadn’t considered their effect when giving you access to my books. They were written from my own mind and with my observations. I am glad to hear that they were helpful.”
“They are, especially along some of the drier passages.”
Dostoy smiled. “Adricarle is indeed quite dry. Sometimes I wonder if his intent was to make the study of magic rarer still by putting those who would wish to follow in his footsteps to sleep. Nevertheless, his observations are most detailed and useful . . . if one can stay awake.”
“Your notes help with that.”
“Have you attempted any magic of your own yet?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m still immersed in theory.”
“Well, if you do, please let me know. It would be a delight to see someone other than myself master a basic spell.” She nodded, and he rose, picking up his platter in one paw. “Thank you, Lady Victoria, for the pleasure of your company during this meal. It was enjoyable. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m fairly certain I saw another suitor coming up the road on my way back.”
There was, and Dostoy beat him at Stakes just as soundly as he’d beaten the others.
Day Eight
One week, Victoria thought, looking out the window of what she’d come to think of as “her” drawing room. One week, and not a single successful suitor yet.
There had been several more that had tried since the day she’d shared lunch with Dostoy. One had even beaten the dragon, employing a very aggressive charge that had routed the his pieces and forced him back, capturing his command post, only to lose when she herself had come out to meet the final challenge. His skill with a blade had been respectful, but not enough.
Especially not after she’d seen him backhand one of his servants for offering the wrong blade. Prince or not, she had no desire to wed or even court someone so dishonorable. She’d met his smirking stance with a devastating rush that she’d only restrained out of the expectation that it would have been too much a blow to his ego to find himself thrown to the ground. As it was, she had disarmed him in moments, and he’d slunk away in disgrace.
Since then there had been fewer suitors, but Dostoy assured her that this was normal. “The challenge thins those out who doubt themselves as time goes on,” he had said. “In the beginning, when the challenge is fresh, many can convince themselves that they can overcome it because few understand it. With each fallen suitor, however, the difficulty of a challenge is better understood, and fewer that are honest with themselves attempt it, as they know they have no chance.”
Not that she would have minded
those who had no chance trying. There was something to be said for perseverance after all. If they displayed an aptitude for humility and a willingness to learn . . .
She frowned. Unfortunately, humility seems to be trait few of my potential suitors possess. Her mind slid to the night before, when a prince from a fairly wealthy province had shown up in a grand announcement, and had actually declared to Dostoy that he should be able to skip portions of the challenge because he was ‘no peasant.’ Dostoy had thankfully seen no reason to do so, and the prince had been beaten by him in a quick, ruthless game of Stakes. He’d demanded the “right” to the third challenge. It had been denied. His comments as he had slunk away had given her cause to suspect that to him, she’d been nothing more than access to her father’s company and his own military designs anyway.
I could never love a fool such as that, she thought, staring down at the empty gravel clearing. Dostoy was nowhere to be seen, likely in his study once more, leaving her with a clear view of the mountainside stretched before the manor and the tall pines flanking it. The sky was a crisp, clear blue, devoid of any clouds. As she watched, the tops of the pines waved slowly from side to side in some faint breeze. Would there be another suitor today? There was no way to tell, but there hadn’t been one so far.
What to do with my time . . . ? She hadn’t fully considered just how much waiting there could be in such a situation. Even with Dostoy’s kindness in allowing her to study his precious tomes of magic, there was only so long she could read through Adricarle’s lengthy, flowered prose before she felt like her brain was overburdened. I should have asked my guard to leave a horse. At least then I could go for a ride, or—
Movement at the front door caught her eye, and she leaned forward to see Dostoy walking out, a small pack of some kind strapped across his back. What is he up to?
There was one way to find out. She opened the window, ignoring the harsh bite of the mountain’s spring air across her cheeks, and leaned out. “Dostoy!”
“Lady Victoria,” he said, his head turning on his flexible neck to look up at her. “Is all well?”
“Fine, thank you. What are you doing?”
“Going hunting,” he replied as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “One of the farmers informed me of a small herd of elk nearing my lair, and I spotted them during my early morning flight. A few of them will restock my larder nicely, and it will only take a short time. I will return –“
“Wait!” she called as he began to spread his wings. She chose to ignore the suddenness of her outburst. “Would it be all right with you if I were to accompany you? I have hunted many times before, and it would be nice to see more of the mountain.”
For a moment Dostoy simply stared at her, his expression unreadable, caught in surprise or consideration, she couldn’t tell. But after a few moments, he spoke again. “It would be some distance,” he replied. “You would need to walk, as you do not have a horse.”
“I’m no stranger to long hikes,” she replied. The thought that she could ride atop his back occurred to her, but she dismissed it almost immediately. He had not offered, and he was a sapient being. It would be rude of her to ask as if he were some beast of burden. “That is, if you’re open to the company.”
This time his reaction came with more swiftness. “Of course, Lady Victoria. As I stated the other day, I have found your company quite pleasant so far. You are more than welcome to join me in my hunt.”
“Then if you please, could you wait several moments while I prepare? I won’t be long.” She ducked back from the window at his nod, almost forgetting to close it in her hurry. A hunt! That was something she enjoyed, and was no stranger to. Often her father’s forces hunted while on the campaign, seeking out extra supplies of food for the camp followers. She herself had learned at a young age, and her father had coached her personally, along with several of his best trackers. She was no master, but it was something she could enjoy with any of them, and did from time to time.
And it was the perfect way to stave off a little boredom. Several minutes later, she met Dostoy at the front door, a little harried from her quick change into attire more suited for hunting.
“There,” she said, giving the dragon a grin. “I hope you weren’t kept waiting long.”
“Not at all,” Dostoy said, looking at her with evident surprise. “You brought a bow?”
“Of course,” she said, holding the recurved item in question in her hand. Her quiver was already across her back. “I wouldn’t travel without one.”
“Lady Victoria, you continue to prove to be a pleasant surprise among all my clients,” he said, letting out a soft chuckle. “Now then, we’d best get walking if we’re going to catch up to the herd. This way,” he said, turning and pointing with his head toward a break in the trees. “I’ll keep my pace slow as to not—”
“Don’t,” she replied briskly, already striding at his side. There was a reason she’d chosen to change into thick trousers and a good pair of boots. Years moving with her father’s forces had left her more than capable of handling a stiff hike. And if the winter had seen her lose some of her capacity, then that was simply something she’d need to deal with. “Not unless I need it,” she added quickly. “But I should be able to keep up, provided you don’t intend to run to the hunt.”
“Very well,” Dostoy replied. “And no, I did not.” They entered the forest, trees looming even over Dostoy’s large form, rich scents flooding her senses, from the smell of fresh pine stinging at her nose, to the earthy moss underfoot. She took a deep breath, a smile on her face as she let Dostoy lead the way, and followed.
Several hours later they returned to the clear space in front of his manor, leaving the comfort of the woods behind but returning with several dead carcasses, already cleaned. Between her bow and Dostoy’s incredible speed and bulk they’d been able to down five elk from the herd, gutting them in place before loading them aboard a small, collapsible sledge Dostoy had brought in his pack. It hit the gravel with a raspy thud, and Dostoy dropped to his belly, letting out a faint whoosh of breath.
“That was quite a haul,” he said, looking at her as she stood panting, her legs burning. True to her request, he’d kept his speed up on the way back, though it appeared he’d perhaps overestimated his own pace slightly. “My thanks for your assistance, Lady Victoria.” He set his head down atop his forepaws for a moment, a satisfied rumble emanating from his chest. “My larder will be well-stocked with elk for the next few weeks.”
“It was my pleasure,” she replied, shrugging and dropping to the gravel with her legs crossed. “I enjoyed it. Though if you feel inclined to share, I do know of a few ways to prepare elk. Including flame-roasted.”
“I may be able to help there, Lady Victoria,” Dostoy said, lifting his head with a smile. A small lick of flame left his lips.
“Call me Victoria, please,” she said, leaning back on her hands, base of her quiver prodding the ground. “A good hunt shared between friends is reason enough for you—for us—to forgo formalities in one another’s company, wouldn’t you think?”
“Very well, Victoria,” Dostoy said, nodding. Then he paused, staring at something down the road. “Oh. It would appear that we have company.”
“What?” It took a moment for his words to register, her mind caught on the sight of five gutted elk atop Dostoy’s sledge. They would need to be fully butchered— “Company?”
“Yes,” Dostoy said, rising and untangling himself from the sledge. “A coach.” She could see it too, now that he’d drawn her attention to the road. “A suitor, I would guess.”
“Oh dear.” And here she was with her hair tightly bound back, dirt and sweat covering her body, and bloodstains on her hands. There was definitely no time to change or freshen up, but maybe she could rush inside and stay out of sight—no, the coach was moving swiftly, hoofbeats thundering up before it. She glanced at Dostoy, staying silent as the ornate carriage drew closer and closer.
And it
was ornate, festooned with gold filigree and carved, painted wood. The crest upon the door identified it as that of the Rietillian Royal Family, and its occupant thereby one of the inheritors of one of the wealthiest of the kingdoms of man. At least two dozen knights, each clad in armor that gleamed under the sun, followed in the coach’s wake, arraying themselves out to the sides with banners and lances held high. The coach came to a swift stop, kicking up gravel and rock as its driver pulled the reins back, stopping it perfectly in the center of the yard. A herald rose from the seat next to the driver, his voice booming across the clearing.
“Announcing his royal highness, Prince Teravin Rietillian of the Royal Kingdom of Rietillian, long may it stand!” The door of the coach swung open, the prince stepping out with a dramatic flourish of his cape.
Victoria felt her breath catch in her throat. If nothing else, the prince was handsome, his chin sculpted like it was the work of a master artist. His eyes were bright and welcoming, and his smile was stunning. Then he spoke, and his voice was surprisingly light, with only a bare hint of resonate deepness.
“Dragon,” he said, smiling at Dostoy. “If you would be so kind to inform the Lady Victoria Artares that I, Prince Teravin Rietillian, have come to fight for her hand, that she may see our contest!”
“Prince Rietillian,” Dostoy said, bowing. “There is no need. She is already present.”
“Your highness,” Victoria said, opting for a bow. She caught a gasp of surprise from someone atop the coach, driver or herald she couldn’t say, then rose to see a curious sort of shock on the prince’s face.
“I . . . see,” he stammered at last, perfect jaw closing. “On second thought . . . Dragon? Lady Victoria? I . . . um . . .” He gave them both a quick nod, then turned and ducked back into his coach, almost shutting the door on his cape.
A Dragon and Her Girl Page 3
