“Wrap your arms around my neck if you need to,” he said, rising. “I won’t let you fall.” His wings unfurled, gave a mighty downward push—and suddenly the earth was falling away beneath them, her stomach falling into her gut as they rose into the dark night. She let out a faint gasp of surprise, her arms and legs tightening by reflex.
“Ouch,” Dostoy said with a faint chuckle. “Not so tight.” The night air whipped against her clothes, and suddenly she was grateful for his warning to dress warm. She loosened her grip as the air became damp, and she realized they were in the clouds.
“It won’t take long,” he said as they climbed through the darkness. Her ears popped. “Not long at all.”
Then with a rush they broke through the clouds, and she let out a gasp as she saw the night sky sprawled out before them, hundreds of thousands of pinpricks of light shining in all directions, backed by a misty stellar cloud that filled the horizon and ran from east to west.
“There,” Dostoy said, his massive wing-beats slowing, and she tore her eyes away from the sky around her to see the peak of the mountain ahead of them. He set himself down atop it so lightly she didn’t even realize they had landed until he folded his wings and knelt, and she slid off, eyes already drawn back to the stars around her.
“Levindias’ Daughters,” she said, her eyes alighting on a distant constellation. Then another. “The Sword of the Creator.”
“I remember that you said you enjoyed stargazing when you were younger,” Dostoy said from behind her. “And I’ve been up here myself on a few cloudy nights when the conditions are right. I wanted to do something to repay you for saving my life and helping my people, so—”
She spun around and wrapped her arms around his neck, her face pressed against his warm chest even as she blinked away tears. “It’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you.”
They sat in silence for some time, watching the stars shine.
Day Thirty
He’s good, Victoria thought as she watched her latest—and likely last, the way she was feeling lately—suitor maneuver against Dostoy. Very, very good. She’d already seen Dostoy try several of the tricks she’d taught him, only for his opponent to read and counter every one. She’d even glanced at the knight’s team of squires and apprentices, watching them to make sure they weren’t aiding him in any way. But they weren’t. He was simply that good.
And yet . . . while she could feel a glimmer of excitement, the way she had been the first few times a suitor had come, something just felt . . . off. She watched as the knight, Sir Artur Kines, made another brilliant move at the game, cutting off two of Dostoy’s attempt to counter it simultaneously. The move was brilliant. It should have had her gasping. Instead she just felt . . . intrigued, certainly. Impressed. But all the same . . .
What’s wrong with me? she wondered as she watched Dostoy play a furious defense that nevertheless fell steadily to his opponent’s careful strikes. He’s not bad looking. Sure, there’s that scar, but it makes him look dignified. And he’s only six years my senior. Educated, and he treats his squires well. His was even a name she’d heard of before. His reputation is of a man who values honor and right, she thought as she watched Dostoy’s last pieces fall. Why am I so . . . unaffected?
Down below, the defense she’d taught Dostoy failed at last, and he surrendered, tipping over his command post before Kines could do it for him. “You have won,” he said, his voice echoing across the clearing. “And I don’t think I’ve seen a more splendid game.”
“You deserve commendations yourself, Dostoy,” Kines said, rising from his seat and offering his hand with a smile. “That was an impressive defense. I’ve not had to play that carefully in years! You’re truly remarkable!” They shook, and Dostoy began to gather up the board, the knight helping him, and even discussing their game.
I should be ecstatic right now, Victoria thought as she turned and walked to her sword, making sure that the leather guard was in place. Papa would love him. His reputation is astounding. He’s kind, certainly good–looking, and brilliant at strategy.
Why do I feel like he’s just an ordinary suitor?
No answer came to her as she walked through the manor, down the long steps and wide halls she’d spent the last month in. All she felt was apprehension. She put on a smile as she walked out the front door, accepting Kines bow of respect and responding in kind. She settled into a combat stance, ready to duel, when Kines held up a gauntleted hand.
“Wait,” he said. “What’s wrong with your arm?”
“I injured it a week ago,” she said. “It’s still a little stiff.”
“Well that’s not fair.” Kines shook his head, gesturing to one of his squires. “Penua, grab some of the stiff training leathers. I’ll bind my arm so that we’re not unfairly matched. Please, a moment,” he said in her direction.
Honorable, she thought as he began binding his arm with the stiff leathers, limiting his movement. Certainly a trait worthy of admiration. And yet she felt nothing but respect. Respect . . . and that was it.
“There!” Kines said, his arm bound tightly. “Now that we’re evenly matched, Lady Victoria, we can have a proper, fair duel.”
I . . .
“Are you ready?”
I . . .
Kines held his blade up.
She couldn’t do it. She had her honor. To duel him now, when she felt so . . . strangely . . . about it, would be a slight against him, as well as a mark against her. “I yield,” she said, lowering her blade. “I cannot.”
“Pardon?” Kines seemed mystified—as did Dostoy—by the sudden drop of her blade.
“I’m sorry, Sir Knight Kines. You are a brilliant tactician, and I have no doubt you would best me with a blade, but even if you were, I could not—”
Kines held up a hand, forestalling what she was about to say, though she didn’t even know what it was to be. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I see the look in your eyes. You and I . . .” He shook his head, a soft smile on his face. “We are not meant for one another. You know this already.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, but he shook his head again.
“Say no more,” he said, lowering his blade and bowing. “I am not so without honor I would be unable to admit that I have lost this challenge, but the truth of it is in your eyes. May the Creator be with and bless you, Lady Victoria, and may our paths cross again.” He saluted, albeit with a stiff arm, smiled, then turned on his heel and strode back to his squires. Many of them were giving him looks of confusion, but he held out a hand, and they were silent.
“Victoria?” Dostoy was looking at her in confusion. “What . . .?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I . . . he . . .” Then, unable to think of what to say, she turned and walked back into the manor, leaving his confused expression behind her.
It was almost evening when she ventured down to his study, still feeling as confused as she had been earlier. Kines was everything I should have wanted. Everything Papa would have wanted.
And she’d turned him away. For some reason, some cause, she’d said no. Her insides felt twisted.
“Dostoy,” she said as she entered the study. He was lying at his desk, several books in front of him, though his eyes were fixed on none of them. “I . . . apologize for my behavior earlier. It was rude. After all you’ve gone through, and that amazing game of Stakes, to simply turn Knight Kines down so abruptly, and without explanation . . .”
“It was a good game,” Dostoy said quietly. He reached out and closed his books. “Never fear, Victoria. As I believe I have said before, you are far from being my worst client. In fact, I would readily say that you have been the best, and I find your company truly delightful. If it takes another month, two, or even three, I’ll gladly continue to test suitors for you. At a discount, even.”
“Thank you, but . . . I’m not sure I should.”
“Really?” he asked, moving to the Stakes table. She’d miss it when she was gone. It was such
a beautiful board.
“Really,” she answered, taking a seat opposite him and helping set up the pieces. It was an old, familiar practice now. “When I came to the idea, I thought for certain it would be a way to help me find a partner, not just in the company, but in love. But after this afternoon . . .” She let out a sigh. “I worry I may have been looking for the wrong thing.” Pieces set, they flipped, and she made her move.
“You could change the test,” Dostoy said as the pieces began to move back and forth between them. He’d gotten better under her tutelage. He was good. Very good. “Try something else. It’s been done before.”
She shook her head as she exposed an ambush and reacted. “Maybe, but I think . . . I think that while it was a worthy test, and I will treasure my time here, I don’t know if changing the test will be enough. Somehow . . . Sometimes . . .” Her words trailed off. Why is this so hard to explain?
“Sometimes we know what we think we want, but not what we need?” Dostoy offered. She nodded. “My mother used to tell me that,” he said, letting out a light chuckle even as his forces moved forward. He was trying to bait her with a surprise assault again, cut through her forces with cavalry or cannon fire. “So you would . . . leave, then?”
“I would,” she said, her chest letting out an aching pang. She would miss the manor, with its sweeping halls and tall windows. And the mountain scenery. And the warm, cinnamon scent that seemed to pervade it. “Back to Papa and the campaigns.” She moved her forces forward building a defense around the lee of a cliff.
“I will miss you, you know,” Dostoy said. “As I said, I have enjoyed your company immensely. You’ve brightened my home with your curiosity and . . .” He moved a few pieces, engaging her forces. “You’ve taught me much about Stakes, among other things.”
His words brought a smile to her face. “I’ve enjoyed your company a great deal,” she said, gathering her forces to punch through his. It would be a slugging match, but she held the upper hand. Her chest let out another pang. “I’ll miss you as—”
Her words stopped as Dostoy reached out and picked up one of his few remaining hidden pieces, revealing it to be the dragon. It moved across the board, soaring over the battle . . . and came down to rest on her command tent. She froze, her jaw hanging open as he looked at her with a sad smile—happy because he’d won at last, but sad to see her go—and suddenly everything in her mind, everything her heart, clicked.
“Victoria,” Dostoy said, looking down at her with that same expression, with his wide, bright eyes she’d battled against every night, fought beside, and spoken with. “I think I just—”
She almost burst from her seat, clasping his cheeks with her hands as she pulled his lips into hers. For a moment, Dostoy seemed frozen, stiff with surprise. A flash of panic darted through her like a bolt of lightning. And then his lips melted into hers with a fiery passion.
The world seemed to sing around her, an electric thrill cascading all the way down to her toes, everything alight in a single, perfect moment that stretched on like it would never end.
At last she pulled away, short of breath, looking him right in the eyes, and found her voice. “I was wrong,” she said. She knew now why she had been so hesitant, so listless, during Kines’ challenge. “Someone did pass: You.” She bent down, his stunned eyes following her every move, and tipped her command post over. “You. Will you accept?”
“I . . .” Dostoy seemed at a loss for words, his wings almost fully extended. “But I . . . Dragon . . . human . . . I mean, yes—”
The world rippled, something in her chest burning and leaping with joy.
“—but how—?”
She kissed him again, this time more slowly, then pulled back and smiled. She already had an answer. “The people can say what they want,” she said. “I know what I want. I’ve heard wizards speak of the magic of shifting shape before. Father even once hired one who could make himself a crow and scout a battle. Think you can make a dragon a man . . . or a woman a dragoness?”
It seemed to take Dostoy a moment to find his voice. That wonderful, lightly deep voice. “For you?” he asked. “I’d give you the stars.”
“You already did. But I’ll settle for a second viewing. You?”
“Whenever you want.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close against her, even as his wings wrapped around her. She felt warm and safe, and his scales smelled of cinnamon.
The listless feeling in her chest had been burned away by something grand.
One Week Later
“Papa!”
Victoria leaped from her coach into his arms, an exuberant smile on her face as she rocked Federico Artares, the Black Wolf, back on his feet.
“Victoria!” It was all he could get out before her arms clasped against him so tightly he could hardly breathe. But finally she let go, stepping back with a bright, beaming smile that said as much as he had suspected when he’d received her short letter. Her search had been successful, and she had found a prospective husband.
He felt his suspicions rise slightly at the thought. Whoever his daughter wed had better be a great man indeed, to stand beside such a daughter. Not in front, or behind, but beside. He knew his Victoria.
“You return bearing good news,” he said, smiling. She looks so happy, he thought. Ah, my angel. If only you could be here to see this.
Victoria’s smile only grew, and she nodded.
“Well,” he said, extending a hand to the coach. “Let him come out!”
“Oh, he didn’t ride in the coach, father,” she said, and he frowned in confusion. “Nor did I, save the last mile or so.”
“What? But—?”
“Father,” she said, turning as a large whooshing sound began to fill the air. “I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Dostoy the Mighty.”
Federico’s jaw dropped as the tan dragon landed beside his daughter, tucking his wings in and bowing. “Count Artares,” he said, his words holding a trace of a northern accent. “My name is Dostoy, and I love your daughter Victoria. It would be my greatest pleasure to stand beside her as a husband, and as your son-in-law.”
Federico continued to stare, words failing him as Victoria leaned over and kissed the dragon on the lips, right in full view of everyone around. A hundred different thoughts boiled to his head, teasing at the edge of his tongue . . . and then he laughed.
His daughter had returned with a dragon. One she intended to wed, no less. And as far as grandchildren were concerned, well . . . he could see the look in their eyes. Wizards were expensive . . . but he had money. And of course, that would be why Victoria mentioned learning magic in her final letter. It came together in his mind like a battle plan, every piece revealed, and he spread his arms.
“Welcome, Dostoy, soon-to-be-husband of my Victoria, and my future son-in-law!”
“Huzzah!” the cry went up from all his guard, filling the air.
“You two!” he cried, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around both of them. Or as close to it as he could with his left trying to wrap around the large body of a dragon. “You must be tired from your journey. Go inside. Freshen up. We have much to talk about! I’ll see to the guards. Go! Go!” He stepped back and shooed the pair away, watching as they walked up the steps to his home, Victoria’s arm wrapped around one of the dragon’s—Dostoy’s—forelegs.
He smiled and clapped his hands together. He could see the joy radiating between the couple. Dostoy would make a fine son-in-law, species notwithstanding. He was already sure of that. Victoria was wise beyond her years.
And when the time comes, he thought as he began ordering the guard back to their posts. The Black Wolf of Artares will step down.
And the Dragoness of Artares will take my place.
He had to admit, it was not at all what he had expected. But Victoria was happy.
And that was all he could ask.
Dragon Soap
M. K. Hutchins
Gran never did l
ike it when I used the Winchester to deal with dragons—so I went and did a damn fool thing and set out to hunt them in the dead of night. It wasn’t hard to sneak by Gran. She snored twice as loud as she barked, which was saying something.
I clambered down the hill from our farm and into the swamp. A half-moon glowed above the trees, casting strange shadows over the curtains of moss and standing pools of water. It almost made the mud look like opals, but that didn’t change the smell.
I kept the rifle at a ready carry. The smooth, well-worn wood felt solid in my grip, despite the apothecary’s anti-mange lotion I’d slathered on my hands—and every other inch of exposed skin on my body. I wasn’t keen on coming home riddled with bug bites.
Something splashed behind me. I whirled. But it wasn’t no dragon—just my ten-year-old little brother Ted, tripping into a pool and soaked half-way up his britches.
“Tarnation, Ted! You shouldn’t be here!” I slung the gun over my back. Not my favorite way to carry it, or the quickest draw, but at least with it pointed straight up I could guarantee Ted wouldn’t run in front of my muzzle. Probably.
“You shouldn’t be here, either.”
Ten-year-olds are all smart-mouths. “Get on home.”
“Send me home, and I’ll wake up Gran. I’m the man of the house, Maisy. I belong out here,” he said.
He tried so hard to be grown-up, but if he were a man, he’d know how to swallow his pride and do what was important. If Gran woke, she’d froth herself into a right fit with us both gone. If Ted had stayed, she’d at least have a body to complain to. “Your pants are wet.”
He did his best to walk forward in a dignified-like manner. “You’re not sending me away. We’ve got to cull the dragons back. I know one of them tore up a row of radishes and made off with a chicken last night. You and Gran ain’t good at hiding nothing from me.”
Maybe even more pressing, we needed the money. The apothecary in town didn’t pay much for a swamp-dragon—but she paid something. I’d been planning on selling that chicken to get Gran more of her tonic. Now we only had one, and we needed her bad for eggs and eating up grubs in the garden.
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