Dragon Flight

by Jessica Day George

  “I know you’re all laughing at me,” Feniul said in a huff. “And I don’t care! We’ll see who’s laughing when you twist your ankles walking on these pebbles, missy!” He lashed his tail, sending the pebbles in question clattering across the beach.

  “Velika is trying to sleep,” I said, shushing him.

  “Oh, forgive me. ” Feniul stilled his tail, his head lowered in contrition. “I brought some supplies,” he told Shardas in a low voice. “A sheep and some peaches. ” He gestured back the way he had come, where I could vaguely see a large bundle, tied up in what looked like a fishing net.

  “Thank you, Feniul,” Shardas said.

  A single sheep and a bushel of peaches would feed them for only a day, if that. But still, I was also grateful to Feniul. This lake was isolated: there were no large farms where a few fruits would be missed, there were no forests with boar or deer. Mostly they ate fish, which Shardas caught by dragging a net through the water, and occasionally berries from the bushes in the surrounding countryside. Dragons couldn’t pick berries, so I harvested as many as I could during my visits and put them in the cool, dark cave. I had also brought all the cured ham and sausages that Feniul could carry, along with enough food for myself, so that I wouldn’t burden Shardas with caring for me as well as for Velika.

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  “I must get back to my dogs,” Feniul said anxiously. “Asta is about to have her puppies. ”

  “Well,” Shardas said, amused. “Do give the new mother my best. ”

  “I will,” Feniul said without a trace of irony.

  “I’ll just get my things, and pay my respects to Velika,” I said.

  Ducking back into the cave, I found my bundle of clothes and made sure the straps were tight. Then I walked quietly to the back of the cave. There, curled up on a pile of dried bracken and grasses, lay the queen of the dragons.

  Velika Azure-Wing was blue, or she had been. The rich blue of her scales had dimmed in the years she had been confined to a cave beneath the New Palace by a dead king whose heirs lived obliviously in the stately halls above. Now those dull blue scales were discoloured and deformed by her burns. Shardas was doing his best to feed her and to help her shed the ruined scales, but she had been exposed to the Boiling Sea longer than him, and she would not go out in the sun to spread her damaged wings and feel its soothing rays.

  Thinking she was still asleep, I started to back away again, but her voice stopped me.

  “Are you leaving us again, human maid?” Rough and low, even for a dragon, her voice scraped at my ears.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, my knees trembling. She had never spoken directly to me before. “I have to go back to the King’s Seat. ” I made a little curtsy. It was not half as awkward as it would have been a year ago: I was used to waiting on royalty now, and could curtsy and bob with the best of them. “But I hope to return soon with supplies. ”

  “That would be good. I worry about my mate, trying to find food when he is also unwell. ” A sigh rasped out of her muzzle.

  “I worry about him, too. ” Feeling brave, I took a step closer to her. Even injured and curled up like a sleeping cat, the queen of the dragons was an awesome sight. “If Your Majesty would do a small favour, for me and for Shardas?”

  She raised her head a few inches. “Yes?”

  “Go outside from time to time? Into the sun? Perhaps in the evening, or at dawn, when it is not too bright. I think it would do Your Majesty good to see the sun and feel its rays. My mother always said that sunlight was the best tonic in the world. ” I clutched at the divided skirts of my riding dress, wondering how she would take this advice from a young uppity human.

  “I shall think on it,” the queen dragon said after a moment’s pause.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said. I curtsied again. “Please excuse me. I shall return as soon as I may. ”

  “Farewell. ” Her large eyes closed and I tiptoed out, shouldering my bundle as I passed it.

  “Oh, and Creelisel?”

  Velika’s voice stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t known that she knew my full name.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?” I had to squint to see her humped shape in the shadows.

  “You may call me Velika. ”

  The Countess’s Trousseau

  “I think something purply down the front,” Lady Isla said, waving her hand vaguely at the front of her skirt. She was standing in front of the full-length mirror in her room at the New Palace, trying on a gown for her bridal tour.

  I looked over at Marta, who was crouched in front of the young countess, pinning the hem of the gown in question. Marta looked at me, eyebrows raised. The gown was pale yellow and would have green ribbons on the bodice and sleeves.

  Putting down the wax tablet I had been sketching on, I walked over to the countess. Assuming a thoughtful expression, I circled her, tapping my cheek. “Hmmm. ”

  “Don’t you think that would be lovely?”

  Lady Isla was a beautiful young woman of eighteen, with soft brown hair and large brown eyes. Moreover, she was one of those fortunate people who can wear almost any colour. Marta and I were in the process of designing and sewing the gowns for her forthcoming marriage to Crown Prince Milun, which was a great honour for us, although somewhat stressful. If the future crown princess looked bad on her wedding day, the whole country would find out who had supplied her gown, and we would be ruined.

  Lady Isla was from Dranvel, a county in the east of Feravel; she had been the ruling countess since her father’s death just weeks after her twelfth birthday. She had never been to the King’s Seat, preferring to stay on her estates, which she managed with an expert hand. Then when the city had been all but destroyed in the Dragon War the year before, Isla had come to the rescue, bringing men and supplies to aid in the rebuilding.

  Dranvelan masons were known throughout the land for their fine work, and Dranvelan sheep were famous for their fine wool. Isla had brought skilled workers, fleece for new clothing, and the crop surplus from her lands, besides paying her taxes in advance to help restore the treasury. The result was that the New Palace was well on its way to being rebuilt, and Prince Miles had fallen madly in love with her.

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  And the normally sensible Isla, who had dressed all her life in sturdy, serviceable local wool with little colour or ornamentation, had developed a sudden mania for high fashion and bright colours. She wanted her gowns for the wedding festivities to be the talk of the nation.

  Adding to our mingled elation and anxiety was the process of dealing with the countess herself. While Isla was willing to listen to our advice, and more than willing to try on any daring creations we might suggest, she also had some suggestions of her own to make. And those weren’t always the best.

  Marta was much better at flattering our patrons than me, but since I had the reputation of being not only the Heroine of the Dragon War (which still made me wince), but also the genius behind the latest fashion for pictorial embroidery, I could get away with being blunt.

  “You want to put purple embroidery on the front of a yellow gown with green ribbons?” I asked it calmly, as though merely clarifying the request.

  “Yes. ” Isla’s dark eyes flicked from the tall mirror before her to me. “Don’t you think that would be simply stunning, Creel?”

  “Well, you are correct, my lady, it would be stunning,” I agreed. “But would it be stunning in a good way? You should wear the gown, not the other way around. ”

  This had become a recent catchphrase of mine, faced as I was with the daily prospect of mousy women who wanted to wear cloth-of-gold, or older women who favoured frilly pink gowns more suited to a young maiden. I had said it just a week before to a banker’s young wife who asked us to sew real peacock plumes to the sleeves of a red gown, and her brow had puckered in confusion.

  But Isla was not a light-minded banker�
�s wife. She pursed her lips, then gave a sigh. “You’re right, that would be too much,” she agreed.

  “Perhaps a lighter shade of green, with emerald accents,” Marta suggested, as though we hadn’t already discussed this the day before. We had even brought the exact threads and ribbons with us today.

  I snapped my fingers. “Perfect. My lady?” I cocked an eyebrow at Isla.

  She looked at us, and then at her reflection, and a wry smile twisted her lips. She knew she had been manipulated into making the best choice.

  “I’m sorry I even suggested it,” Isla said as Marta helped her take off the half-finished gown. “I don’t know what keeps coming over me: I have this constant urge to wear the brightest colours I can find. And to have gowns made from the most luscious silks and satins. ”

  “No Dranvelan wool?” I gave her a sly look.

  “None at all,” she said firmly, and then she laughed. “I suppose I’ve just looked so drab all my life, and so has everyone around me, that when I came here …” She gestured from me to Marta. I was wearing a pale blue gown with dark blue and green ocean waves embroidered around the hem, and Marta was in cream with scarlet poppies winding around the skirt and up the sleeves.

  I smiled at her, understanding. After years of hoeing potatoes and turnips, wearing threadbare gowns cut down from my mother’s old clothes, I more than sympathised. Even the divided skirts I wore to ride horses – or dragons – were of wool so fine it was like silk and embroidered with birds and clouds.

  “We’ll keep you in check,” I said with a grin. “And make sure that you look elegant and not …” I waved my hand.

  “Gaudy?” Isla suggested. “Make sure I don’t frighten horses and small children?”

  We all laughed.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Marta helped Lady Isla into a quilted dressing gown while I draped a length of linen over the yellow gown, in case it was her betrothed at the door. It was unlucky for the groom to see any of the trousseau, and poor Miles had had enough bad luck in his young life.

  “Enter,” Lady Isla called when she had the dressing gown fastened.

  “Countess. ” The footman at the door bowed smartly. “Mistress Carlbrun. Mistress Hargady. ” A nod for each of us. “I have messages – for you, Lady Isla, and for Mistress Carlbrun. ” He held out two folded squares of vellum. One was unsealed, and had probably been written here in the palace, and the other was sealed and looked rather bent and grimy.

  That was the one with my name on it.

  “A note from Luka?” Marta’s eyes twinkled as I took the sealed letter. The footman’s eyes widened at the familiar way she referred to the younger prince.

  “It looks like his handwriting,” I replied, sliding a stitch-ripping knife under the seal and unfolding the worn vellum. In truth I had recognised the dear, untidy scrawl at once, and my heart was fluttering.

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  I scanned the few lines of the letter quickly and then read them again. Dimly I heard Lady Isla dismiss the footman and ask Marta to help her dress. Dimly I heard Marta ask the countess what was the matter and dimly I heard the countess tell me that I was to accompany her to the council chamber to meet the king.

  Over and over again I read the letter, the words straggling slantwise across the page and blotted with ink. Luka had been in a hurry.

  I could understand why.

  “Creel, what’s the matter?” Marta tried to take the letter from my hand, but I couldn’t make my fingers let it go.

  “Where is Citatie, Lady Isla?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “This country, Citatie, no one seems to know where it is. ”

  “It’s far to the south,” Isla told me. “Across the Strait of Mellelie from Roulain. ”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “What are you talking about? Creel? What’s wrong?” Marta took my shoulders, peering anxiously into my face.

  “Citatie has declared war on Feravel,” I told her through numb lips. “Luka says they’re going to trample Roulain on their way, and then destroy us. ”

  Marta gasped, and I couldn’t understand why. That wasn’t even the bad part.

  Lady Isla had gasped as well. “Prince Luka wrote that to you? But why? My note only said that there was trouble to the south, and to come to the council chamber with you right now. ”

  I loosened my fingers and put the vellum into Marta’s hands at last. “Their entire army is mounted on dragons,” I said.

  Counselling the King

  “Ah, Mistress Carlbrun, our resident expert,” King Caxel drawled as I entered the council chamber behind Lady Isla. I wondered what I had done to offend him this time. The last time we had spoken, I had refused his offer for me to marry Miles. Since then I had offended him from afar by spending too much time with his younger son – or so I had gathered from the blank-faced servants sent to fetch Luka whenever he dared to visit me at the shop.

  The king waved Isla and me to two chairs, one on each side of Miles. The crown prince gave me a smile and a nod, which I returned, and his betrothed pecked him on the cheek.

  “Hello, Creel,” the man on my other side whispered. The portly Duke of Mordrel and I were old friends. “Your gown is a wonder, as always. ” I smiled in reply, aware of the king’s furious eyes on me.

  “Well, I assume that Luka told you,” King Caxel said.

  I nodded. The others assembled at the council table murmured at this, looking speculatively at me, but I ignored them. It was none of their business if Prince Luka chose to tell me such things.

  “My younger son has demanded that you be made privy to this council,” Caxel said, which explained the fury on his face. People did not demand things of the king.

  I said nothing, since I didn’t know what to say. The king looked almost as if he was waiting for an apology, and I didn’t feel I needed to apologise.

  The Duke of Mordrel swept to my rescue. “Well, it makes sense, sire. Of anyone in Feravel, Creel has the most experience in dealing with dragons. ”

  “Indeed. ” The king gave me a calculating look. “And did you know anything about this?” He held up a long scroll. I presumed it contained information about the plans of the Citatian army.

  “Only what Lu – Prince Luka told me in a letter I received moments ago,” I said.

  “What did that letter say?”

  “It said that he was in Citatie, and had learned that the Citatians planned to conquer Feravel and any nation in between. And that their army was mounted on dragons. ”

  The king grunted. I gathered that his information was the same. Steepling his fingers, King Caxel looked at me. “I believe that during and after the Dragon War, Mistress Carlbrun, you were adamant that the dragons did not want to attack us. ”

  “That’s true, sire. ”

  “And that they did not help humans fight other humans, unless compelled by alchemy such as that of Milun the First’s slippers. ”

  “Yes, sire. ”

  “Then why is the entire Citatian army mounted on dragons?” He slapped his hand down on the table with a crack. “According to my son, there are hundreds – hundreds – of dragons, each with a mounted soldier, flying practice formations over Citatie’s capital city of Pelletie. ”

  I sank back into my chair in shock. Hundreds of dragons? I doubted there were fifty in Feravel … thirty, perhaps. Where had Citatie found hundreds? And why were they helping the army?

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  “I – I don’t know, sire. Perhaps their alchemists have done something …” I let the sentence hang. Just because I talked with dragons a great deal didn’t mean I knew everything about them. It made me uncomfortable to see a roomful of important men – a king, dukes, chancellors – all waiting for me to tell them what was happening.

  “But you don’t know that for sure,” the king said. “They could be helping f
reely. ”

  I shrugged, although the thought horrified me. “I … suppose. But it’s very, very unlikely. ”

  Earl Sarryck, the commander of the Feravelan army, spoke up. “I’ve told you time and again, sire, these creatures are dangerous. ”

  I glared down the table at him. While Luka, the Duke of Mordrel and I had been working during the war to protect the dragons from the power of Milun the First’s slippers by putting alchemical collars on them, Earl Sarryck had decided it would be easier to “exterminate” them. It seemed that, even though the war was over and the dragons had faded into near-legend once more, he was still pushing to eliminate them.

  “Earl Sarryck,” I said, not bothering to keep the snap out of my voice, “have you ever killed a man?”

  “I am the commander of the King’s Army of Feravel, young woman,” he snapped back. “I have done my duty. ”

  “Then it might also be argued that you are dangerous, and should be exterminated. The dragons –”

  “Creel,” the Duke of Mordrel said in a soft voice, squeezing my hand. “Allow me to handle this. ” He looked at Sarryck, whose face had gone from red to purple at my words. “The dragons of Feravel are the greatest allies we have right now,” he said. “Approaching them with violence will not help. We must persuade them to work with us, to help protect our borders from this threat. ”

  “If these beasts can be persuaded to help. ” Sarryck snorted.

  “These beasts?!” I started to rise to my feet, but the Duke of Mordrel’s hand on my wrist stopped me.

  “We need to find out what our dragons know,” he said as I sank back down. “And see if they won’t help us. ”

  “Help us how?” King Caxel looked incredulous. “Citatie has hundreds of dragons, we have a couple of dozen, which Mistress Carlbrun claims will not fight without alchemical coercion. ”

  “No alchemy!” I burst out, and once again the duke squeezed my wrist.

  “Perhaps not fight,” he said. “But who better to spy on a dragon than another dragon?”

  I opened my mouth in an “O”. I hadn’t thought of that. I had only been thinking of how best to defend my friends’ honour, and how quickly I could get out of the council chamber. But spying … I instantly began to think of the dragons of my acquaintance and who would be best suited to the task, fiddling with the lacing of my cuffs as I thought. Feniul? Too nervous. Shardas was still wounded, and not opposed to being thought dead. Niva, a large female who had been of great help during the war, would make an excellent spy, but she did not care for humans or their politics.