“They called me ugly.” New tears collected in her stinging, swollen eyes. She gripped her knees tighter to her chest.
“Who, child?”
Her face twisted into a miserable scowl. Their faces flashed before her. They were girls her age. She had been ever so carefully trying to include herself in their game at the town square. She had gathered up all her courage to say hi, to ask them if she could join them.
“Ew! I would never let you play with us!” The girl spat on Stephania.
“My parents say she’s a demon. I believe it!”
“Get away, dog! You’re so ugly! I bet your mother left you here because she couldn’t stand the sight of you!”
“Your mother must have been married to a devil for you to look so wretched!”
“Ugly dog”
“Demon!”
Tears spilled down Stephania’s cheeks, and she shut her eyes tightly, trying to block out their insults, their laughing faces, and to hide from her sight: her bright, red hair.
“The other girls.” She whispered so quietly anyone else would’ve missed it.
“Fools!” Dalton spat on the ground, his hands balled into fists.
She jumped with surprise at his sudden anger.
He ground his teeth. Fools. He thought to himself. They don’t know a dragon scale’s worth about beauty. If they did, they would see Stephania is the daughter of a goddess, nay, a goddess herself!
“Stephania, they are fools. They know nothing about beauty. They are jealous. You have something they will never have.”
She frowned, wondering to herself. What do I have that they don’t? They have mothers, I do not. They have friends, I do not. They are normal, I am not.
“I don’t understand.”
“A good heart, Stephania. You have a caring, loving heart and true beauty on the inside.”
She frowned. “I do?”
“Yes, child. And, while outside beauty is only fleeting in life, you are also truly a beautiful young lady. And I’m not saying that just because I’m your Uncle, child. I mean every word.”
Her tears slowed. She cocked her head, thinking hard on his words. “Really?”
“Of course! Stephania, would I—” He abruptly stopped, the words unable to come out of his mouth. He thought of what he had been trying to say. Would I ever lie to you? Nausea arose in him. Bile filled his throat. It was a lie in and of itself. He had never outright lied to Stephania, but all the same, her whole life was a lie, and he was at the center of it.
“Uncle Dalton?” Her eyes were filled with worry.
He snapped back into the present. “Huh? Sorry, child. Do you think I would lie to you, my little lady?” He smiled broadly to dispel any questions about his abruptly odd mood.
A smile spread across her lips, and she almost giggled. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“Good.” He motioned for her to come to him. “Come on, enough sitting in the dark.”
Gods of all, I hate myself. He pushed his loathing deep within him, telling himself it was all for her. Everything was always for Stephania.
“Ow.” She snagged her shoulder on a thorny vine, biting her lip against the pain. And yet, as she looked at the prick of blood on her pale skin, she almost thought that perhaps she deserved the pain. At least it was better than the humiliation of rejection, insults, and being hated.
She grasped Dalton’s hand, feeling his warm, strong grip pull her out into the sunlit forest. She squinted against the light. A thought moved through her mind. I have red hair. She remembered reading something about uncommon hair colors. That is one way to describe my hair, she thought. Uncommon. And then she remembered.
“Uncle Dalton?” She peered up into the silhouette of his face against the sunrays.
“Yes, child?”
“Am I a Dragon Rider?”
Everything in Dalton’s mind shut down. Panic grasped hold of him in its cold iron grip. Dragon Rider? Gods of all …
“W-why, uh, w-what makes you, made you, uh, think of that?”
She frowned at his odd question. “Because I have red hair. Don’t the legends you read me say the riders have uncommon hair colors? And my eyes. They look different than the other people’s eyes. And my ears,” her hands strayed to her small ears. “They’re kind of pointy.”
No, no, no. Not now, oh gods, please not now. A million thoughts raced through his mind. She is too young! What should I tell her? He wet his lips. If he told her the truth now, they would be in serious danger. Her magic trace would grow, and any creature with any amount of training would know exactly where she was. She couldn’t defend herself well enough yet, let alone cover her magic trace. Thaddeus would be here and gone within the week, Stephania forever lost in his grasp. Unless …
“Stephania, child.” He knelt down to her level, holding her hands in his, looking up into her face. “Dragon Riders are legends. They are myths and stories we tell. Some don’t believe that they existed, and some do, but no human has ever seen a dragon in all his lifetime, or even lifetimes before that.
“And, Stephania, you don’t have all the characteristics of a Duvarharian. They have magic, you know. And their ears are much longer and pointier than yours. They also have slit pupils, like a reptile, much more so than you, and strong skin like a dragon’s. And other things too.”
She bowed her head and sighed. “I know, Uncle Dalton. I just thought—” Tears welled up in her eyes again. “Maybe if I was, then—” She sniffed and shrugged, giving up what she had been trying to say. Maybe if I was, then I would belong somewhere, she finished to herself.
His heart broke for her. “Oh, child.” He gathered her into his embrace, smoothing her hair.
She clung to him, her warm tears quietly spilling onto his shirt.
“Stephania, you are beautiful, and unique, and smart, and kind, and caring, and so talented. There is nothing for you to dislike about yourself, no matter what other people say. Nothing. Do you understand that?”
She nodded against his shoulder, holding him tighter.
“And there is nothing wrong with you. Absolutely nothing. You are perfect. Okay?”
She nodded again and cried once more until the tears slowed. She hiccupped and took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart.
Dalton gently pulled her away and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, wiping away the tears from her cheeks.
“But, Stephania—” He hesitated. Should he say it? What consequences would it have? He pushed those thoughts aside and looked her straight in the eyes. “If you want to think you are a Dragon Rider, then there is no reason why you shouldn’t. If it will help you combat the cruel hearts of others, then you tell yourself that you are strong, you are mighty, and that you are a Dragon Rider.”
She blushed. “Really?” A smile threatened her face, but she tried to conceal it in vain.
“Yes, really.”
“Thank you, Uncle Dalton.” She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
He smiled. “Of course, child. I love you.”
“I love you.”
“Now, shall we go home? I will carry you if you want.”
A bright smile leapt across her face, and her eyes sparkled. Lithely, she jumped onto his back and wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around her neck. She rested her cheek on his broad shoulder.
Easily, though she was nearly twelve years old, Dalton carried her out of the woods and onto the dusty road, taking them home.
Stephania hummed a light tune, a smile on her face. Her eyes were still red and swollen, and tears still traced paths down her cheeks, but she was happier now. Thoughts of what it would be like to fly high above the clouds tickled her imagination.
I wonder … Dalton closed his eyes and carefully reached out to the young girl with magic. Nothing. He let out a heavy breath he had been holding. Nothing had yet awoken inside of her. They were still safe.
“Stephania?”
“Hmm?”
“You know, even if you weren’t beautiful, and talented, and caring, I would still love you?”
He could almost feel her blush. She smiled sweetly. “I know, Uncle Dalton.”
He chuckled and leaned his head against hers. He had told her that many times. “Good, because I would.”
A breeze flittered through his hair, bringing with it the smell of lavender.
Lavender. That’s what she always smelled like—lavender and cedarwood. A memory of Andromeda laughing at something Dalton had said flashed before him. Tears collected in his eyes, but he forced himself to smile.
She’s beautiful, An. He thought to himself. I wish you could see her. She’s an amazing young girl, your daughter is. He chuckled. You would be so proud of her. His smile turned sad. I’m sure she misses you. He bit his lip. We both do …
Chapter 17
Present Day
Stephania groaned and banged her head against the table top.
“So … many … questions.” She resisted the urge to spit on the open book in front of her before throwing it at Dalton.
He, thankfully, neither saw her slacking in her studies nor heard her complaints; he was too busy poring over with a strange, old map that he had become obsessed with since they had arrived home.
Lifting her head back up, she groaned quietly and popped her neck and fingers. Her hand hovered over her writing quill, hesitating. Her eyes scanned the paper. It was full of questions. The top read Abilities of the Duvarharians. Of all the assignments he could give her now, why this one? She could have sworn she had done it over a hundred times.
So far, she had been able to fill out the ability to speak to their dragons through mental telepathy, the ability to hypnotize or control the non-magical creatures of the land, basic spells of magic like lighting fires, levitating, the ability to speed grow some small plants, and creating basic spells like a spell to keep you warm or dry, one to purify water, and even one to recall all your memories and relive them.
By the gods. Whoever wrote up all these ridiculous details for the legends had way too much time on their hands.
She pondered on all the minute details. One of the most famous magical powers which were only present in the really old legends, was the ability to take over someone else’s mind by breaking down their mental barriers and fighting them only with your consciousness.
Wouldn’t that be nice. She pictured herself forcing Dalton to do this ridiculous homework or making Jackson dance like a drunken fool. An evil smirk had spread across her face, and she quickly wiped it off before Dalton saw it.
All the powers, of course, were determined by how much the Dragon Rider had been taught and how much skill and energy he had.
This all seemed so pointless to her, though. Why couldn’t she just have gone to the school the people had set up in the town? Maybe she would have been able to make some friends or possibly learn something she could actually use in her life, not fairy tales. Of course, she knew as well as Dalton did that it would have never worked. She had gone to the school in New-Fars a long time ago, and only for a month. She pushed back the unwanted slew of memories and emotions. It had been excruciating. Dalton was right to school her himself. Even if she was all the more ostracized for it, it had saved her from most of the bullying.
Even so, Dalton was now training her on things she wouldn’t and couldn’t even begin to use in her life. She rolled her eyes. I can’t believe I actually want to learn mathematics right now.
Just as she got to the bottom of the page, and before she could sneak off, Dalton expertly slid another to her from across the table, not once looking up from whatever he was reading.
Gods of all, he’s good.
She couldn’t help but stare at the paper in front of her with disgust and exasperation.
Another? She rubbed her hands on her face and read the title. How to characterize a Duvarharian.
She hit her fist hard against the table. Instantly regretting her childish display of temper, she cringed, waiting for the lecture. There was only silence. She opened her eyes. Dalton sighed but did nothing more. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but he didn’t scold her or even look up. He seemed far too engrossed in his literature. She leaned over to sneak a peek, catching an elaborate sketch of a compass in the top right corner. So, it was a map.
Even more questions rattled around in her brain. He hadn’t touched his precious hand drawn map collection for a long time. What was the reason for the sudden interest?
She grunted, shaking her head. Maybe he really was going crazy.
Silent anger still simmering inside of her, she started filling out the questions once more, her quill pen splintering on the paper, her knuckles white from pressing so hard on the pen.
Cat-like pupils; slightly pointed ears for better hearing; unusual hair colors such as white and auburn along with colored hair streaks; higher cheek bones than humans; strange connection with animals, especially reptiles; colored swirls or other strange markings on the palm of one hand and sometimes on the forearm; high rate of healing, extreme tolerance to pain; and incredible strength, endurance, and stamina.
As Stephania read over her answers, she couldn’t help but think, sounds like a bunch of creepy lunatics to me.
She took a quick look at Dalton. Too bad. A sneer crawled onto her face. If it weren’t for the fact that Dalton doesn’t have little tattoos on his hands and that he has brown hair, I’d say he could be crazy enough to be a Dragon Man.
Hiding her laughter as she comically fantasized Dalton being a dragon man, she turned her attention back to the crinkled page in front of her. A frown replaced her smirk. Well, maybe me too, even. She remembered playing pretend that she was a Dragon Rider after Dalton had said she could, but she hadn’t for a long time. Perhaps it was because she didn’t need an escape anymore. Her mask of cold indifference provided that now. Or, perhaps I’ve learned it’s more painful to chase after things of impossibility. With her heart bound by a new depressive weight, she quickly finished filling out the other answers and pushed the pages back over to her uncle.
“Done.” She leaned her chair back on two feet, her arms stretched in front of her, her fingers drumming on the wood.
He slid the parchment off the table, a deep sigh escaping his mumbling lips. “Do you understand everything on the test?” His eyes never left the page, not even bothering to look up at her.
She rolled her eyes disrespectfully. She had done this “test” more times than she could count. Of course she understood everything. “Yes, Uncle Dalton.” Her arms crossed her chest, and she grunted with annoyance. The chair nearly slipped out from under her. She yipped and slapped her hands on the table to steady herself, a blush raging across her cheeks.
A chuckle parted his lips, and he shook his head. Brushing a small bit of hair out of his eyes, he nodded his head. “Good. You may leave and pack your things. I will have an early dinner made, if you want it, and you can go to bed early, seeing as you’ll most likely be leaving long before suns’ rise.”
The beautiful young woman shoved her chair away from the table and stood up glaring at him. Guilt crept up behind her annoyance.
She knew he was just trying to be helpful, but she couldn’t help but feel rebellious against it. He didn’t have to treat her like she was two years old, always micromanaging her life down to the exact second she would do everything.
Scowling against her confusing emotions, she flicked her hair off her shoulders, not bothering to answer him, before storming to the old staircase. Her heavy footsteps echoed painfully as she pounded up the stairs.
Slamming the door of her room behind her with unnecessary force, she threw herself onto her bed and groaned. Her eyes stared intently at the ceiling.
The bland, white ceiling which offered no answers, consolation, or surprises, chose instead to stare back silently, just the same way, she thought, that Dalton always did. She cursed and rolled over onto her side. Tomorrow morning couldn’t come fast enough.
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Crawling off her chaotically mussed bed, she began to pack a few things she thought she would need. It took her a while. Dalton had never taken her out into the woods any longer than three days. He always said the forest would do strange things to her mind. She had never thought him to be superstitious, but he always seemed adamant that she never spend too long in the supposedly haunted forest. With a short temper, she realized she wasn’t well prepared for this at all. Though she knew Dalton would be more than happy to assist her in packing, she stubbornly plowed on, more willing to struggle alone than ask for help.
At last, she was packed, making sure not to forget her lyre strings. Though making a lyre was just a cover-up for needing some alone time, she was actually looking forward to making her own instrument.
When she was younger, Dalton had toiled for hours trying to teach her to play the piano. Even though she had excelled at it, she had never liked sitting in one place for long, and getting her to finish even one song was harder than freezing fire. She had preferred the mobility the small harps had offered and often played outside, singing with the birds.
A heavy sigh left her lips, and she rubbed her arms, not feeling chilly but somehow cold anyway. Her eyes strayed to the small piano in the corner of her room. It wasn’t kept up. Cobwebs decorated its legs and danced across the keys more than fingers ever had. She couldn’t bear to look at it. Not because it wasn’t cared for and looked forlorn, abandoned in her fairly clean room, but because it gave her bad … memories.
She couldn’t pull her eyes away from it. It dragged her in. Darkness crept over her vision, but she didn’t want to look away. Someone was sitting on the bench. The cobwebs vanished from the instrument, the color faded from its keys. The dust drifted off it like fog on a cold morning. The man’s hands moved across the keys. A beautiful sound came out faintly, like she was hearing it through a veil. A voice whispered to her through the fog, singing to her. She could almost see the music in the air, almost feel the love emotion with which he played, but it was too far for her to reach. She felt herself walking toward it. It was familiar to her, the music, that piano, the strange, dark room it was in, and mostly the man who sat at its bench and played its keys so perfectly. She cried out to it, to the man. She wanted to reach out, to pass through the veil.
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