Dragon Song (Dawn of the Dragon Queen Book 1)

by Tara West

  Gabriel stared at her intently. “Why were you hidden away all that time?”

  “Because of my father.” Her statement sounded too much like a question, even to her own ears.

  Gabriel clasped her hand in his own. She did not pull away, for the contact gave her comfort.

  “What did he do?”

  “He was a dragonslayer.” Her words came out on a rush of air, like the hiss of an arrow in the night. She hated admitting what he was, for she still had difficulty accepting it.

  Gabriel squeezed her hand. “I couldn’t think of a more unlikely pair. What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know.” Safina sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Wherever he is, I hope he’s miserable.”

  Safina had never wished such ill will on anyone, not even the village brats who’d taunted her and called her a witch. But her father had been the reason for her confinement, for her mother’s tears. Safina could never forgive him.

  “That was five hundred years ago. Wouldn’t he be dead by now?”

  She shook her head. If only it were so. “A dragon’s mate is tied to her immortality.”

  “I’m so sorry, Safi.”

  Gabriel settled her hand against his heart. It beat steady and strong, the vibration pulling her toward him like an invisible tether. Even in the darkness his eyes shown, so full of wonder… and something else. Dare she think she saw admiration and longing?

  As she lost herself in his eyes, the moment seemed to stretch out for an eternity, though this was nothing like the eerie silence she’d experienced in her shell. For the void was filled with the sound of their thrumming hearts, both beating in rhythm with one another.

  The faint sound of chirping broke their reverie. The cry of one hatchling was multiplied by another and then another, until her dragon-touched ears distinguished four heartfelt cries. Spell broken, Gabriel released her hand and wheeled toward his desk. He set the glob of mud and twigs on his lap and wheeled back to her.

  Safina peered into what she realized was a nest. Four eager beaks chirped up at her. “Oh, how adorable. What birds are these?”

  “Swallows,” Gabriel answered, reaching into his pocket and dropping little black beetles into their mouths.

  “Where is their mother?”

  Gabriel frowned. “They were abandoned by their parents.”

  Safina’s heart clenched at the thought. For though she resented her mother for having trapped her beneath the ocean, she would still be lost without her. “That’s a shame. Why would they abandon them?”

  He heaved a sigh, and the flame in his eyes seemed to dull. “It’s a long story.”

  Safina watched how he tenderly fed the chicks, dropping bugs into each mouth and not complaining when a bird would peck his finger. That’s when she knew, despite Mother’s warning, Gabriel was not like other men. “How kind you are to nurse them.”

  “This one will not live long, I’m afraid.” He pointed to the smallest of the chicks, who leaned into another. “His wing appears to be broken.”

  When Safina focused on the bird, the pain that shot through her arm nearly took her breath away. Instinctively, she reached into the nest, cupping the chick in her hand. “Let me see.”

  She held it for only a moment before her hand began to warm, almost as if her fingers were made of burning embers. Strangely, though, the heat did not hurt her. She watched with amazement as the bird sat upright, shaking both wings and chirping in delight.

  Gabriel gaped at her. “How did you do that?”

  “I don’t know.” She slowly set the chick back in its nest. “I’ve never healed anything before.”

  “You have your mother’s gift,” he said in awe.

  Safina had come to believe she hadn’t inherited the dragon queen’s healing power. Though it had been long ago, Safina remembered trying to no avail to mend the leg of her pet toad when she was a child. After several hours of pressing down on the toad with her mortal hands, Safina had taken him deep within the forest. She’d transformed into a dragon and breathed on him, but her fire had incinerated the poor little creature. Safina had mourned a fortnight for the loss of her pet and vowed never again to try to heal another living thing. And now here she’d mended the chick by accident.

  “Aye, it would seem so.” Her chest swelled with pride at the realization she was turning into a powerful dragon healer. “Perhaps I can get good enough to heal you,” she blurted, pointing at his legs.

  A shadow fell across his features. He wheeled back, as if her nearness offended him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He set the nest on the desk, his mouth turning in a heavy frown.

  Safina’s face flushed with humiliation and something else—anger. She slowly rose off the bed, bearing down on him with a scowl. “I did not make you a promise, but when I do, I will keep it. A dragon’s word is her honor.”

  His face fell, and he held up his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  But the hairs on Safina’s nape were still bristling from the insult. He’d just witnessed her healing power and yet was so quick to doubt her. Perhaps Mother was right about men.

  “Safina!” Abby’s loud screech sounded from outside.

  “Abby is here. I must go.” She turned up her chin, brushing past him.

  He spun around, latching onto her hand. She prepared to pull away, but one look into his beseeching eyes, and she had second thoughts.

  “Will I see you this evening?” It was not a question, but a plea.

  “Aye,” she answered reluctantly. “If my mother allows it.”

  He squeezed her hand tight before letting go. “I pray that she does.”

  Me, too, she almost answered, but thought better of voicing it aloud.

  “Good day, Gabriel.” She curtsied before turning on her heel and ducking under the flap and out of the room.

  “Good-day, Safi,” he called, but she didn’t dare turn around lest she become entranced by his luminous eyes once again.

  Señor Cortez was waiting for her in the kitchen, holding a cloth sack. “Here is your breakfast. I have packed three extra burritos. Thought you’d share them with your mother. Or not,” he said with a wink.

  She blushed as she took the bag, realizing he’d been close enough to hear every word between Gabriel and her.

  “Oh, thank you so much.”

  The bag was heavy, pleasing her immensely. Embarrassment forgotten, her stomach rumbled at the prospect of a Mexican breakfast. Though she knew it was selfish, she secretly hoped her mother wouldn’t be at Mrs. Jenkens’s house when she returned. Not just because she didn’t want to share her meal, but because she was afraid the dragon queen would ask her questions about where she’d been. And her visit with Gabriel was one memory she wanted to keep all to herself.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fiona should not have been surprised when she returned home from Josef’s to find three pairs of eyes looking anxiously at her. The women were sitting on the sofa, opposite a very red-faced Mrs. Jenkens. The first woman was thin and pale and had a dry, painful cough. The second had a moon face with splotchy cheeks, dark circles under her eyes, two chins, and thinning hair. The final woman was a pretty young brunette in perfect health, other than her heart, which twisted and ached with worry. She held a small blond boy against her bosom. He looked up at her with vacant blue eyes, a trail of drool hanging from his chin.

  Mrs. Jenkens stood, her gaze darting anxiously about the room. “Oh, Fiona, how nice of you to join us.” She kept her gaze centered on something beyond Fiona’s shoulder, no doubt too ashamed to look her in the eye. “May I introduce Mrs. Oliver, Mrs. Moody, and the young widow McClendon?”

  Fiona didn’t bother acknowledging the women, keeping her gaze focused on Mrs. Jenkens’s flushed face. “What is this?” she growled.

  Mrs. Jenkens wrung her hands together. “I’m so sorry. I trusted Agnes. She has only told these three and she swears not to tell anyone else.”


  ’Twas a lie. Fiona could feel it in the marrow of her bones. Mrs. Jenkens, not Agnes Alderman, had divulged her secret.

  “And what of these three?” Fiona waved a dismissive hand at the women. “Who will they tell?”

  The young widow McClendon abruptly stood, clutching her boy to her chest as she wedged between Fiona and Mrs. Jenkens. “Miss Fiona, forgive my intrusion. This is my little lad, Ian.” Her bottom lip trembled as she nodded at the child. His arms were bent at awkward angles, his wrists twisted as they pressed against his chest, and his spine bowed inward, as if all his tendons were tied up by invisible bonds.

  Fiona couldn’t help but take pity on the boy, who looked no more than three years old, for she sensed great chaos within his mind, a vortex of confusion and pain that had robbed him of all reason and ability.

  “It has been two months since fever took hold of him,” she continued, though her voice cracked and splintered like broken glass. “The same fever killed my husband and our infant daughter. I earn my living ironing clothes, and when I’m not ironing, I must feed Ian through a bottle. Dr. Straw said I should let him die.” A tear slipped down her cheek as she kissed the boy’s brow. “Ian is all the family I have left. I canna pay you, but I would iron your clothes for a lifetime if you’d be so kind as to give me back my son.” She ended on a choked sob.

  The young woman’s heartache was so keen, Fiona’s chest tightened and her breaths came in shallow gasps. No good can come from helping mortals, a familiar voice echoed in her mind. ’Twas her mother’s voice, and though she suspected the late dragon queen had been right, Fiona couldn’t deny the mother and child now that she had shared in their suffering.

  Fiona heaved a sigh of defeat. “I will heal him.” She nodded to the expectant women sitting at the edge of their seats. “I will heal all your ailments, but you must promise me you will tell no one of this. If word gets out, they will mark me as a witch, and I am not.” She gave them each hard stares before bearing down on Mrs. Jenkens with a fierce scowl. “Do you all understand?”

  They eagerly nodded like trained animals, Mrs. Jenkens hardest of them all.

  Though Fiona spoke to the group, her gaze was still on Mrs. Jenkens. “Do I have your word you will not tell another soul?”

  “Cross our hearts.” Mrs. Jenkens made a sign of the cross on her chest and the others followed.

  Fiona believed everyone but Mrs. Jenkens, who still averted her gaze when pressed with Fiona’s hard stare. She knew Mrs. Jenkens could not be trusted, but she had no choice other than to move forward. She only prayed the foolish old woman would not bring a mob to her door.

  * * *

  After Safina and Abby returned home, Mrs. Jenkens shooed them out of the parlor and told them to wait in the kitchen. Safina had no idea what Mother and Mrs. Jenkens were doing, but judging by the laughter and crying she could hear beyond the walls, she knew her mother was healing more mortals.

  Abby seemed unconcerned by whatever was going on. She mumbled something about getting out of church as she set a basket of eggs on the table. She quickly slipped out the back door without so much as a goodbye, leaving Safina alone with Moses.

  Safina reluctantly gave Moses a burrito, then devoured the other three before finishing two tall glasses of milk. More noise could be heard from the parlor, and yet Mother made no effort to come get her. She looked out the kitchen window. A child giggled as he raced across the beach holding a kite string. Several women in fancy hats and frilly tops strolled by, some arm-in-arm with men in pressed suits and tall, black hats. A church bell rang in the distance, and the pedestrians quickened their pace.

  Safina was curious, for there were so many Galveston sights she’d yet to explore. As soon as Moses turned his back on her, she, too, slipped quietly out the back door. She had no idea where she was going, but anywhere was better than being trapped in a stuffy room.

  * * *

  Dr. Charles Straw stared at his reflection in the full length mirror of Mrs. Alderman’s front parlor. He adjusted his beaver hat to no avail. The confounded thing tilted askew at the slightest provocation. Dr. Straw cringed and gripped the head of his cane the moment he heard the old bat’s shrill voice echo somewhere upstairs as she scolded one of her many housekeepers.

  What Charles wouldn’t give for a French maid of his own. He could certainly think of a few ways to put her to good use. If only he had a fraction of Mrs. Alderman’s wealth. Like all the residents on Broadway Street, Mrs. Alderman had money—loads of it. So much in fact, she was willing to part with ten dollars each week for Dr. Straw’s futile medical care.

  Truthfully speaking, the elixir he gave her to soothe her aching bones was nothing more than water, sugar and hair tonic. But Mrs. Alderman need not know that. No mere drug could cure the rheumatism in the old cow’s bones. What she needed was to lose fifty pounds, but there was no possibility of Dr. Straw telling her that. Women were so sensitive about their weight. And as long as she was willing to pay him every week to dispense two tablespoons of his wonder drug, she could continue eating her apple tarts and sponge cake.

  He winced again as he heard her heavy steps coming down the staircase. He stole one last glance at his reflection in the mirror, smiling at his dashing appearance. Though his hat was crooked again, his necktie and cuffs were impeccably pressed, and his thin black moustache had been trimmed and well oiled.

  Despite his advancing age, which was much older than he’d ever admit, Dr. Charles Straw thought he was one of the most handsome bachelors in all of Galveston. His matronly patients thought so as well, which was probably why he was able to charge them double the going rate for his medical care. If only he could so easily charm his debtors.

  “Dr. Straw! How kind of you to call.”

  The old hag’s booming voice nearly threw him off balance, but he quickly regained his composure and tilted his chin in a regal manner as he pasted on his practiced smile.

  “Of course, Madame. I could not bear to stay away from my favorite patient too long.”

  Mrs. Alderman waved a delicate fan made of a silk—too fine a quality for the likes of her—in front of her beet red face. “Oh, doctor, you make this old woman blush,” she cooed, playfully swatting his arm.

  He resisted the urge to jerk back and forced himself to kiss her pudgy hand. That damn beaver hat nearly fell off his head. The foolish French maid should have taken his hat and cane when she’d first admitted him into Mrs. Alderman’s parlor.

  He slowly rose and looked into the old woman’s droopy brown eyes. “I admit I find pleasure in seeing a little color in your cheeks. Your fair complexion is made all the more stunning.”

  Lies upon lies. Mrs. Alderman was a sallow, bloated sausage. When her fat cheeks colored, it only drew more attention to her ugly face. But Dr. Straw was a masterful liar, so much so, he considered his skill somewhat of an art form.

  “Oh, doctor, you have been so wonderfully kind to me these past years.” Her blush deepened, spreading like wildfire to her billowing breasts. “How I have so enjoyed our visits.” She cleared her throat before averting her gaze to the finely woven carpet beneath her feet. “But I’m afraid I will no longer need your services.”

  Dr. Straw blinked, his jaw nearly dropping, but he was quick enough not to lose face—something he’d learned many years ago in the gaming room. “I’m begging your pardon.”

  The woman’s dull eyes lit up like Fourth of July fireworks. “My legs no longer pain me. Look at me, doctor. I could dance a jig if I wanted to. Isn’t it a miracle?”

  She lifted the hem of her skirts, and much to Dr. Straw’s chagrin, tapped out an awkward rhythm.

  “Indeed.” He held out a staying hand, hoping the woman would lower her skirts and shield his eyes from those swollen ankles. “My elixir must finally be working. All the more reason to continue my treatment.”

  The woman dropped her hands to her sides and let out a burst of laughter that sounded too much like the squeal of a frightened hog. �
�Oh, dear Dr. Straw. Your elixir was, well, I hate to hurt your feelings, but I don’t know if it ever did any good at all. You have always been such a kind doctor, and such nice company, but—”

  “Who is he?” he spat, unable to withstand another moment of the woman’s nonsensical babbling.

  Her eyes widened, and she looked at him with a gaping maw, as if she’d just discovered someone had eaten the last strawberry scone. “Who is what?”

  He cleared his throat, and maintaining an even tone, spoke through a clenched jaw. “Your new doctor. Who is he?”

  Mrs. Alderman stepped back and shook her head, the flesh on her flabby face rippling with the movement. “I’m sorry but I promised to keep her name a secret.”

  “Her?” He arched a brow and took a step forward. “So you trust your care to a woman and not a man of science?”

  Mrs. Alderman had the nerve to pinch her lips together. “Perhaps you have not heard me, Dr. Straw. My legs are healed.” She stomped a heavy foot as if for emphasis.

  Dr. Straw was not to be deterred. “What kind of snake oil did she give you?”

  “She used no medicine.” Mrs. Alderman crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “She healed me with her touch.”

  Dr. Straw knew he was gawking, but as far as he was concerned, all bets were off. The woman was playing him for a fool. “Impossible.”

  Mrs. Alderman harrumphed before turning up her nose. “Impossible you say, yet here I stand without a smidgen of pain in my bones, something you could not do in two years of treatment. And to be honest, Dr. Straw, I hated the taste of your medicine. It smelled like my husband’s hair tonic.”

  Dr. Straw turned on his heel and marched out of Mrs. Alderman’s parlor without a backward glance. Healed me with her touch, she’d said. I promised to keep her name a secret, she’d babbled. But that stupid cow hadn’t counted on his cunning or impeccable memory, for he already had an image of Mrs. Alderman’s magical healer in his mind. How could he forget the soft curve of her body beneath the muslin dress that clung to her like a second skin? Or those lush full lips and that thick mass of flame-colored hair?