by Resa Nelson
Lumara smiled at that thought. She found her life in the mortal realm to be far more interesting than her years as a young dragon.
At the same time, she appreciated the delicacy of the situation. How would a dragonslayer respond to being seduced by a dragon? Would Skallagrim kill Lumara once he learned her secret? Or could he come to care enough for her to accept it?
Lumara didn’t know, and that uncertainty made her life in mortal form even more exciting.
The blacksmith entered the smithery and shouted, “Good morning.” He brought a handful of griddle bread and gave it to Lumara.
She squealed with happiness and devoured the bread.
The blacksmith grinned. “I’ll tell my wife you like her cooking.”
“Always,” Lumara said. “You know I like everything she makes.” Without thinking, she added, “The food you mortals eat is delicious.”
The blacksmith gave her a sharp look. “That isn’t the first time you’ve talked about mortals as if you’re not one of us.”
Chewing the griddle bread, Lumara caught his gaze but didn’t dare speak.
The blacksmith’s voice took a lighter tone. “Someone would talk that way if she was new to this world. A goddess, maybe.” He put on his smithing apron and gloves as if going about a normal day. “It’s impossible, of course. Or, at best, unlikely.” He laughed and pored over his neat display of tools before selecting a hammer. “What kind of goddess would want to spend the winter here?”
Lumara swallowed.
I’m not a goddess. I’m a dragon. I happen to have a sister who’s a goddess, that’s all.
Instead of answering the blacksmith, she put the last bite of griddle bread in her mouth. She studied the blacksmith as if he were a lively and tasty cricket.
The blacksmith gripped the hammer but then placed the fist that held it against his hip. “I come from one of those Northlander families that still worships the gods. I know about them all. And I’m fairly certain I’d recognize a Northlander goddess if I met one.” He paused and stood tall under Lumara’s intense gaze. “But I don’t know much about the gods from other countries. Can’t say that I’d be able to recognize one, even if a foreign goddess came into my smithery.”
Disturbed by her failure to make the blacksmith crumble beneath her stare, Lumara stuttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t think you’re a goddess.” The blacksmith’s eyes gleamed. “You see, most folk don’t like working in the smithery. Even in the winter, the heat’s too much for them. I’ve never seen anyone take to this work like you. All day long, you’re happy to be here.” He paused as if taking his next words into careful consideration before speaking them. “You’re like a lizard seeking a hot rock to lie on in the sun.”
His words startled Lumara, especially because one of her favorite pastimes in her own realm was stretching out on a warmed stone and drinking up sunshine.
The blacksmith winked at her. “Anyone willing to work as hard as you is always welcome in my smithery, especially when you don’t mind my ramblings.” Once again, he took a considered pause. “Mind you, the only place I ramble is inside this smithery. No need for anyone outside it to hear what I think. Of course, if you were to be a goddess, I’d be mighty grateful for you to watch over my family while you’re here. You never know what kind of fate is coming around the corner, and all I care about is keeping them safe.”
Lumara felt her face vivify like a fire regaining its strength and rising from its ashes. Now she understood why Fiera had such a soft spot for mortals. “I’m not a goddess,” she said. “But if I had any other kind of special power, I’d be happy to watch over you and your family.” She grinned. “After all, who would make griddle bread for me if anything unfortunate happened to your wife?”
The blacksmith laughed. “I’m glad to hear that. There’s a busy day ahead of us.”
CHAPTER 18
Months later, Frandulane grew weary of searching for Skallagrim. Weeks had passed since his lavender-eyed Scalding cousins had given up on the task. They’d stayed in the Southlands with the goal of finding a tavern in which they could pass the rest of the winter. Passage across the sea separating the Midlands from the Northlands wouldn’t be safe until spring.
Skallagrim has to be somewhere here in the Midlands. That tavern maid swore on it.
Over the years, the stories of Skallagrim’s success as a dragonslayer increased with every merchant’s visit to Tower Island. Frandulane avoided them, but sooner or later he overheard his folks discussing the merchants’ stories. As Skallagrim’s success grew, so did Frandulane’s envy of him.
It should have been me. I should have been the one to become a dragonslayer.
Walking by himself through a pasture of lush grass, Frandulane decided the time had come to rest. He sank into the cool, soft grass as if it were a bed. Cows lowed nearby.
The one saving grace had to be the temperate climate of the Midlands, especially this close to the even warmer Southlands. Frandulane hated winter, and this type of weather suited him better.
Maybe I should stay here.
As much as that thought surprised Frandulane, he didn’t dismiss it. He covered this territory several weeks ago and used the local dairy farm as his home base. He’d dallied with an orphan girl his age who worked for room and board as a milkmaid. Up until recently, Frandulane had been busy traveling a new circuit throughout the Midlands when he heard a rumor about Skallagrim’s whereabouts. Failing to find his brother, Frandulane returned to the dairy farm, ready to dally some more with the milkmaid. But she’d refused, claiming he’d made her pregnant and that she needed to find a husband before her condition became obvious. The milkmaid dismissed Frandulane, leaving his feelings hurt.
I could marry the girl. I could be a father. The dairy farm could hire me. How difficult can it be to learn to milk cows?
But the thought of Skallagrim coming upon the dairy farm in his dragonslayer travels and finding Frandulane milking cows turned his stomach sour.
Until a new thought dawned on Frandulane.
If I live here in the Midlands, Skallagrim is bound to come to these parts sooner or later. And once he does, it’ll be easier to kill him. Skallagrim will never see it coming.
Of course, Frandulane would have to carry out the deed in such a manner that no one would ever find out, much less suspect him of killing his own brother.
It could be done.
The more Frandulane thought about the idea, the more he liked it. With renewed energy, he picked himself up and headed toward the dairy farm. Once there, he walked into the barn, where he followed the rhythmic splash of milk against bucket and soon found his maid at work.
She glanced up, recognized Frandulane, and returned her full attention to her work.
Frandulane spoke up to make himself heard above the noise of the splashing milk. “I’ve come to ask you to marry me.”
The milkmaid shook her head. “I’m going to marry the miller.”
“Miller?” Frandulane frowned, perplexed. “You said nothing about a miller the other day when you told me you’re with child. Has he asked you to marry him?”
The milkmaid hesitated to answer, but she kept a steady rhythm with her hands. “Not exactly.”
Frandulane sauntered toward the cow and placed a steady hand on its back. “Then how can you marry him?”
The milkmaid kept her gaze on the bucket, refusing to look at Frandulane again. “Once he gets to know me, I’m sure he’ll want me as his wife. I’ll make a good wife. Everyone says so.”
Frandulane noticed the strain on her face. “I already know you. What does the miller have that I don’t?”
“Steady work. A good home. Food on the table.”
“I can give you a fine roof over your head and a bounty of food.”
The milkmaid deigned to glare at him. “How? By wandering the country without aim or purpose?”
“I told you I’m looking for my
brother.” The darkness that Frandulane heard in his own voice startled him. He softened his tone, not wanting to give the milkmaid any reason to fear him. “But I don’t have to wander any more. I can settle down here and find work.”
The milkmaid groaned in disbelief. “Who will hire you? No one knows you. No one has reason to trust you.” She sniffed. “People in these parts hire their own. Not strangers like you.”
A new thought crept into Frandulane’s head.
Skallagrim is bound to visit our folks sooner or later. Can’t I just as easily wait for him there instead of here?
“What if I took you to my home? What if we lived on Tower Island?”
The milkmaid guffawed, and the cow mooed and shuffled its feet in alarm. Releasing the cow, she sat up straight on her wooden stool and met Frandulane’s gaze. “Tower Island? You expect me to believe that fairy tale?”
Frandulane kept his hand on the back of the uneasy cow and gave it a reassuring pat. “It’s no fairy tale. I grew up there.”
“On Tower Island.” The milkmaid looked at him as if he’d gone mad.
Frandulane stroked the cow’s back until it settled down. “My father saw it come up out of the sea with his own eyes before I was born. It has a tower covered in gold. And the farmers and butchers who work for my family provide all the food we need. I lived on the island my whole life. Didn’t I tell you I’m a Scalding?”
“You did.” The milkmaid pulled the bucket of milk out from under the cow and put it aside. “But lots of men claim to be of the Scalding clan.”
“What? When?”
“All the time.” The milkmaid stood to face him and crossed her arms. “If you think it impresses me, think again.”
Flummoxed, Frandulane pulled up the wooden milking stool and sat down on it. “I know when my kin leave the island, and it doesn’t happen that often. Do you mean strangers who have nothing to do with the Scaldings claim to belong to our clan? To impress women?”
“That’s right. And I’ve got no reason to believe you’re a true Scalding.”
“What about my sword?” Frandulane pointed at the scabbard hanging from his belt. “How many men do you know who can afford a sword? I’ll bet the miller doesn’t own a sword.”
“I imagine you stole it.”
“I did not! I inherited it.” He gestured wide with his hands to make his point and smacked the cow without meaning to do so.
The cow mooed and kicked, connecting with a leg on the stool. The force knocked the stool out from under Frandulane, and he fell to the ground.
The milkmaid laughed.
Frandulane climbed to his feet and glared at the cow. He said to the animal, “I ought to use my sword on you.”
“Keep your sword put away.” The milkmaid took her time looking Frandulane over. She offered a smug smile. “Legend says the Scaldings have lavender eyes. You don’t.”
Her directness made Frandulane nervous. She’d stepped into sensitive territory. If anyone else had brought up the matter, Frandulane would end the conversation before it could begin. But he liked the milkmaid. He liked the idea of winning her over as his wife.
And he liked the idea of having a woman who wasn’t a Scalding to talk to about family matters. Maybe she would see things that he couldn’t.
“There’s a reason my eyes are still blue. It’s because neither of my parents has killed anyone.”
The milkmaid’s smug smile vanished. The look in her eyes became alert and cautious. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“When I was very young, an alchemist came to Tower Island and put some kind of concoction in our food. The Scaldings always eat together in the main hall, and the alchemist knew that. She put her potion into the main meal that everyone ate. The next morning, most Scalding men and children woke up with lavender eyes. It affected some women, too, but not all of them. My family thinks the potion perceived violence. I once heard someone say that killing another person taints the blood or soul or some such thing, and that’s what the alchemist’s brew detected and then left its mark in the eyes.”
The milkmaid wrung her hands but otherwise stood on steady feet. “Your clan has murdered people. But your own family has not.”
Her willingness to hear the story lifted Frandulane’s hopes. “Exactly. Scaldings born into families whose eyes turned lavender are born with lavender eyes. I’ve also seen a Scalding with blue eyes leave the island and return with lavender eyes after killing a man.”
The milkmaid stared at him. “Your eyes are blue.” She spoke as if trying to reassure herself. “You have blue eyes.”
“I do.” Frandulane stepped forward and took her nervous hands in his. “But if anyone ever tries to harm you or our baby, I could wake up with lavender eyes the next day.”
“You would be willing to kill to protect us.” She said it as a statement, not a question.
“Of course,” Frandulane said. “I will do anything to protect my own family.”
When her eyes welled with tears, Frandulane remembered she was an orphan.
She’s never had a family, not a real one. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have someone willing to put their life on the line to keep you safe.
“Come with me,” Frandulane said, now filled with confidence. “We can get married here in the Midlands or on Tower Island. Wherever you like.” Frandulane let go of her hands and grasped her shoulders. “You’ll need to bring warmer clothing. It’s colder up north.”
“It’ll be a grand adventure,” the milkmaid said. “I’ve always wanted to have an adventure.”
Frandulane kissed her, remembering all the good times dallying with the milkmaid many weeks ago. When he backed away, she smiled.
“We could leave for the Midlands now,” Frandulane said. “The sea’s too rough to sail now, and most ships won’t sail until spring. But I’ve heard of one ship that sometimes leaves earlier than the rest.”
The milkmaid’s eyes shone bright with hope. “I’ve never been on a ship before.”
“First we go to the north coast and book passage. Then we sail to the biggest port city in the Northlands.” Frandulane returned her smile. “With any luck, we’ll arrive in Gott before any of the dragonslayers.”
CHAPTER 19
Several weeks later, Lumara had just finished cleaning up the smithery at the end of the day when Brigga rushed in.
“The blacksmith has gone home,” Lumara said. “If you have anything to be repaired, you can leave it with me and I’ll tell him about it tomorrow.”
“I’m not here to see the blacksmith.” Brigga’s eyes darkened with concern. “I’m here to see you. The Scalding who tried to kill Skallagrim is here. I saw him just now in the tavern, but he didn’t see me.”
Nothing frightened Lumara. She’d never felt endangered. But for the first time in her life, she worried about the safety of someone else. “Do you think the Scalding will try to kill Skallagrim again?”
“Not if we can help it,” Brigga said. “He’s out at the caves looking for that dragon again. I’ve got a horse waiting for you.” Brigga pointed at Lumara’s clothing. “But it’s still cold outside. You need to bundle up first.”
Lumara scurried to gather up all the clothing that she had and wore it all in layers. She already wore what she’d earned when she’d first begun to work in the smithery. Her first payment had been linen pants and a shirt, like the Northlander men wore, along with a good pair of leather shoes. Lumara opened a bench by the wall and dug out the dress she’d been wearing on the day she met Skallagrim. She shrugged into it, wearing it over her shirt and pants. From the same bench she removed a hooded cloak and put it on.
“Follow me,” Brigga said. “We’ve no time to waste.”
Lumara closed up the smithery and hurried to catch up with Brigga in the street outside.
Brigga’s arms shook while she untied the reins of a horse from a post. “Brownie’s a good horse. But you have to let him know who’s boss.”
Brown
ie sniffed the air and gave a nervous neigh. He jerked his head and backed away from Lumara.
Brigga stared at the horse as if it had turned into a butterfly. “What’s wrong with you?”
Lumara understood the horse’s concern.
It knows I’m not mortal. The horse can sense it.
“There now,” Lumara said to Brownie. She showed her open palms to the horse. “Nothing to be afraid of.” She hoped her voice sounded soothing and that the animal would find it calming.
Instead, Brownie gave a series of troubled neighs and strained away from the reins Brigga held in her hands.
“There’s no time for this,” Brigga said. She reached into the pouch hanging from her belt and gave a carrot to Lumara. “Try this.”
Lumara held out the carrot so Brownie could get a good look at it. She kept still and patient.
Brownie stomped a few times but then ventured near the carrot and sniffed at it. Despite a few nervous glances at Lumara, Brownie conceded and ate the carrot.
“Like I said,” Lumara said to the horse. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
Brigga handed the reins to Lumara. “Ride north of town. Follow that road until it splits in two. The right path follows the ocean, while the left path leads toward the foot of the mountains where the caves are. Take the left path. When you get to the foothills, keep your eyes open for another horse. I’ve been letting Skallagrim take Spot.”
Lumara couldn’t help but smile. “Spot?”
Brigga shook her head in misery. “Never let an eight-year-old boy name your horses.”
With a laugh, Lumara climbed on top of the horse. Remembering the serious nature of her task, she said, “What should I do when I find Skallagrim?”
“Convince him to start his dragonslayer route now. That will take him north to the Boglands. Don’t let him come back to Gott.”
“Should I tell him about the Scalding you saw?”
“No! If they come face to face, someone will die. Tell him I got word of a dragon up north. I’ll keep an eye on the Scalding and send word if I see any trouble in the making.” Brigga untied the pouch from her belt and handed it to Lumara. “Here. It’s not much food, but it’s something.” Brigga paused. “Of course, there’s one less carrot now.”