Dragon Kin: Jae & Fendellen

by Audrey Faye

The pull stopped.

  Jae spun around, nearly stopping in midair. The star still shone, and if she listened very carefully, she could still hear it calling.

  But it wasn’t making her go.

  She felt her stomach trying to heave up her dinner. Demons didn’t give choices.

  Not a demon. Only a star.

  Jae had no idea what to do. She was just a simple mountain healer.

  The winds stopped, utterly silent—and a single thought whispered into the silence.

  She is lonely too.

  Jae’s eyes squeezed closed, her mind listing off all the reasons why she couldn’t go, starting with talking stars and ending with the practicalities of freezing to death before she got past the first mountain pass.

  But it wasn’t any of those thoughts that decided her. It was what she saw when the silence tugged her eyes back open.

  A tiny figure on the ground, standing in the patch of snow behind her cozy hut, her cloak swirling in the night wind.

  Gran.

  Waving goodbye.

  Chapter 2

  She could hear the dragonets. Feel them. Queen bonds weren’t supposed to happen until you were actually queen, but Fendellen had felt Lotus hatch, and she could feel these three working their way out of their shells too.

  Which had worried her until Afran sent word. Elhen was fine.

  Fendellen winged faster. The little ones called, and while there would be many to greet their arrival, the chance to watch three new dragons enter the world had kept her flying all the day and most of the night, too.

  Irin would be cranky. Eggs somehow never managed to hatch on a bright summer afternoon. They picked midwinter nights and impending storms.

  At least these three weren’t up in the crook of some tree.

  Three. It wasn’t the number she’d been expecting. They had three already chosen of the Dragon Star, and two more would have fulfilled the prophecy nicely. But apparently the sensibilities of mere queens-to-be were not the ones that mattered.

  Fendellen snorted into the dark and bitter cold. On this night, even the Dragon Star ruled very little. Hatchlings took orders from no one.

  She could feel it now, off in the distance. She couldn’t yet spy the shape of the rocks and hills that marked the village for those who knew where to look—the snow swirled and obscured anything she might have seen, even if it weren’t so blasted dark. But the village called her home all the same. Or perhaps a man and his dragon did.

  Irin and Kis would be busy keeping the nursery rondo warm and ready for the three new arrivals and scorching anyone foolish enough to disturb the eggs, but they always managed to find a scratch under the chin and a bowl of milk curds when she arrived. Those were probably things a grown dragon and future queen shouldn’t still covet, but she’d never been one to follow the rules overmuch.

  She dropped her nose, flying under a particularly tangled swirl of air currents and snow. On this longest night, an arrow-straight line was definitely not the fastest path. The winds had been wreaking havoc with her wings for hours, and if truth must be known, she was tired.

  She snorted, a mix of smoky happiness and relief, as the familiar rounded shape of one of the village’s rondos emerged from the stormy dark. It wasn’t the one she sought, but a quick turn, a dance of wings and snow, and she was on the ground right outside the nursery door. Not a landing normally permitted in the village, but on this night, there was no one outside to see her misbehavior.

  Or so she thought until a well-wrapped figure dashed toward her in the snow. “Fendellen!” A mouth and two dark eyes emerged from the layers of wool. “Kis said you were nearly here. I’ve got meat pies inside for you. And milk curds.”

  Fendellen’s chest squeezed. She offered up a wish, future queen to Dragon Star, that Kellan would get her heart’s desire this night. There would be three hatchlings, and dragonets sometimes bonded as soon as they emerged. Not often, but if there was an elf who deserved the unusual, it was this one. “Thank you. No one makes better meat pies. I’ve been tasting them half the night.”

  Kellan giggled and pushed open the large door to the rondo, the one big enough to admit a somewhat bedraggled dragon and the snow she was bringing in with her.

  Irin turned from the three eggs nestled in fresh straw right in front of Kis’s nose. “Still tracking muddy footprints through my house, are you, missy?”

  Fendellen knew most saw the weapons master and keeper of the nursery as abrasive and abrupt, but she’d learned to hear the caring under his words long ago. “There’s not a speck of mud on me. Some snow, perhaps. Blame the new littles for that. It’s not my fault they chose to hatch on such a miserable night.”

  His cheek twitched in that way it did when he was amused. “You’ve come to teach them to be good and proper hatchlings, have you?”

  The rondo was crowded with villagers, most of them seated respectfully, but several laughed at Irin’s words. She snorted, careful to keep the smoke to a minimum. It was good to know her reputation in the village hadn’t dimmed in her absence.

  “It’s good you’re here,” said a quiet voice at her side. “Kis has been sending to Elhen so that the rest of the dragons might see, but he tires.”

  Fendellen shot Karis a look. “These eggs would normally hatch in the forest where all could watch.” A rondo couldn’t begin to hold all the dragons who called the village home.

  Karis nodded quietly. “Irin didn’t want any babies lost in the forest.”

  More likely, he didn’t want their old and proud queen standing in a winter storm for hours awaiting their arrival.

  ::You’ll be clearing that thought from your mind before you speak with Elhen, missy.:: Kis sounded crankier than usual. Karis was right. He was tired. There was more than one dragon who shouldn’t be out in the storms this night.

  Fendellen dropped her nose, honoring the old dragon with heart and scales of gold. ::Let me send to the rest, old man. I could use the practice.::

  He snorted, which caused one of the eggs to rock.

  They all stared.

  Fendellen let her gaze travel the room and reached for the connection with her queen that would let her send this waking vision to all.

  ::You’re there. Good.:: Elhen sounded warm and comfortable.

  Fendellen smelled a meat pie under her nose and swiped at it with her tongue, never taking her eyes off the eggs. She would never hear the end of it if the dragons in their caves on the cliffs missed the hatching because she was eating her dinner. She licked the hand under her tongue for good measure. Kellan, by taste and giggle.

  Good. They awaited news of more than one kind this night, and a queen-to-be would do what she could to distract all of those who waited most impatiently. It wouldn’t be long now. The egg that had rocked first had also set one of its neighbors into motion. Less wildly, but she could already see a crack making its way up that shell. Some dragonets were all legs and motion. That one was smart.

  ::Indeed.:: Afran sounded as proud as if he was inside the shell offering directions to the tiny, wet dragon form struggling to find his or her way out.

  Fendellen shook her head, amused, and kept her eyes on the third egg too. It hadn’t so much as wiggled, but that didn’t mean nothing was happening. She had emerged in a whirlwind of rocking and kicking and screeching cries, but lore had it that Afran had simply stuck his head out of a perfectly still shell.

  ::I believe it was his tail,:: Elhen said primly.

  Fendellen tried hard not to laugh, but it had been a very long day and night, and her queen was making jokes.

  The entire rondo shushed her—and then silence fell, pin-drop quiet, as one clawed foot thrust out into the light, dark purple and gleaming, claws scrabbling on air. A moment later, a great yellow head descended. Kis hovered, entirely still, as razor-sharp dragonet claws dug in and used the most sensitive skin of his nose as leverage. Fendellen could see the other powerful back leg now, pushing out beside the first.

  One dragonet, c
oming out feet and tail first.

  The second one wasn’t, though. The entirely still egg had a nose poking up through the very top. Black, dark as Afran, and apparently just as wise. One claw delicately slid up beside the tiny, wet nose and expanded the opening. A second claw pushed through and a fine crack ran down the side of the egg, splitting and then splitting again like a stream running off the mountains.

  Fendellen could feel the awe of the watching dragons. New life never got old, no matter how many times you bore witness.

  ::Indeed.:: Elhen’s voice was hushed and a little wistful. ::You’ll see these ones grow into fine young dragons.::

  A shiver touched Fendellen’s heart. ::I’ll be off gallivanting. You’re their queen.::

  ::For a while yet.:: A pause. ::Come talk to me in the next days. We will speak of your travels.::

  That sounded vaguely ominous, but Fendellen couldn’t concern herself with the words of queens. Not when the first egg had just exploded, sending shards of shell as far away as Irin’s leather vest. The dark-purple dragonet worked her head out last, shaking the gooey snot that had kept her safe for months everywhere.

  A tongue reached out to help with that, one nearly big enough to drown her head and that of the tiny black dragon as well. Kis, cleaning his new charges.

  Fendellen kept her eyes on the last egg, the one in the middle that had done no more than rock gently. It tugged on her. It wasn’t uncommon for one to take longer to hatch, but this one was somehow more than that.

  ::It is.:: Elhen’s words were gentle. Almost reverent. ::Watch.::

  As if they had heard their queen’s voice, a purple head and a black one turned and faced the egg in between them. A black claw reached out and tapped, sending a fine crack racing through the intact egg. The tiny dark-purple hatchling leaned over to see, which only succeeded in knocking them both down.

  The gathered crowd laughed softly at their antics, but Fendellen stayed quiet. They weren’t playing. She could sense their purpose.

  Two tiny, still-wet hatchlings got back onto their feet—and then, with teamwork much larger dragons could learn from, they attacked the egg. There was no other word for it. They worked fast and furiously, punching holes and tearing away shell.

  ::Is something wrong?:: Fendellen sent a very narrow message to Kis. He would know.

  ::No.:: The old dragon sounded like Elhen. Awed.

  Moments later, the third dragonet’s head was freed.

  Fendellen felt her insides melt. The little one exactly matched the old dragon licking off her head. Scales of shiny gold.

  The other two dragonets, minutes older and wiser, pulled off bits of shell and contributed slurping tongues to the job of cleaning off their younger nestling.

  Which was when Fendellen finally saw. And understood.

  The small golden baby had only stumps where her front legs should have been, and eye crests so uneven, she almost looked squashed.

  The villagers stirred, disturbed. Concerned.

  Their murmurs barely registered. Fendellen felt the sweeping joy from the gathered dragons, inside and out, the awareness that they had been gifted this midwinter night with something far beyond a simple hatching.

  ::A special one.:: Elhen put words to what they could all feel and see.

  Fendellen’s heart swelled as two darker heads leaned in to the misshapen yellow one. ::And her guardians.::

  ::Yes. I had wondered.::

  Three eggs. Now they knew why. The special ones came only rarely—and they never arrived alone.

  Irin tilted his head as he sometimes did when he was listening to his dragon, and then he crouched down in front of the three. “Bonding to each other, are you? That’s bound to be trouble.”

  The villagers relaxed. If the weapons master had no concerns, this was nothing to fear.

  Fendellen was not worried. Special ones were revered by the dragons, and all in the village would learn soon enough how their scaled friends felt about the tiny yellow hatchling. She would live a good life, safe and honored and cherished, with two friends at her side.

  Two bonded friends. Irin wasn’t wrong about that. The three would be kin to each other. There would be no elves finding their dragons tonight. Fendellen turned her head, seeking one particular elf. She spied Kellan over on the side of the rondo, tucked out of the way of the villagers jostling for a better view. The small elf wore every emotion on her face. Joy. Commitment. Diligence. Yearning.

  And sad understanding.

  Surrounded by love and a deep part of it—and still apart.

  Fendellen knew all too well how that felt.

  Chapter 3

  Jae slid along the long wall of the inn’s main room, creeping a tiny bit closer to the fire. A few had noticed her in the shadows, but a young face wrapped in a worn blanket wasn’t worthy of much notice.

  She shivered. Even for one who rarely felt the cold, three nights of flying through midwinter storms and huddling in whatever shelter she could find during the day had left even the marrow of her bones frozen. The blanket, one she had found in the corner of an abandoned hut, did little to warm her, but it did cover her wings.

  Leaving without at least her cloak and binding cloths had been foolishness beyond measure, but she had been caught up in promises whispered on the harsh winter wind.

  The man with the gittern sitting on a stool by the fire sang of another just as foolish. An elf, leaving the warmth of home and clan to go find a fierce creature in the mountains. One with scales and wings and breath of fire, and big enough to block all the light of the sun from the world.

  Jae let the pretty notes of the gittern wash over her and ease her homesickness a little. Gran told tales on the nights when winter had not yet begun to turn into spring, and Jae had always liked stories of the dragons, even if she had no scales or breath of fire.

  “Cold, miss?” A voice at her shoulder startled her out of her listening. Another young woman like herself, with wild curls escaping her tidy bun and a calm, easy voice. “Ma said to bring you a cup of tea.”

  Jae winced. She shouldn’t have come in, but she’d heard the music as she flew over the tiny inn, and even the call of the star hadn’t been able to keep her in the sky. “I’m sorry. I have no money to pay. I’ll go now.”

  “Ach.” The young woman shrugged and gave a friendly grin. “Half of what’s in here has no money, and the tea’s mostly hot water anyhow. Minstrel’s more likely to come back if we fill the room, so you might as well stay.”

  There was kindness in the words, more than Jae had heard in three days. She reached for the chipped and well-used mug, keeping her wings carefully tucked behind her. “Thank you.” She wanted, very much, to see if an offer to sweep or bake bread in the morning might earn her a place to sleep by the fire, but even a blanket wouldn’t hide her wings in the light of day. Instead, she turned away from curious, friendly eyes. Questions would only lead to danger, and she’d already risked enough of that leaving the safety of the skies.

  The young woman walked off, her attention already shifting to a noisy group in the corner waving their cups in the air. Ones with money, perhaps—or familiarity.

  Jae’s heart squeezed again. She’d never gone three days without a familiar face. The very few people she’d seen on this precipitous, ill-planned trip had regarded her with grave suspicion, although that was perhaps not a surprise. Very few traveled in mid-winter, and even fewer did so alone with little more than a wool blanket to call their own.

  Her stomach grumbled, and she took a sip of the tea. It was mostly water, as promised, but there were hints of a few herbs. The warmth soothed her belly, although it wouldn’t fool it for very long. She’d foraged some, but the abandoned kitchen garden of two days back was a distant memory, and even a healer used to finding edibles in the wild found slim pickings in snow up to her knees. In the mountains, there were small streams, banks steep enough not to freeze, that would feed a hungry belly even in winter, but the lands she flew over were flatter
now, and she knew far less about how to feed herself.

  She wrapped a hand around her stomach as it grumbled more loudly. She didn’t want attention. She only wanted to listen to the music for another song or two and then she’d make her way back to the door and the cold, crisp night sky. The storm had finally blown over, and it would be clear flying tonight.

  Straight toward a star.

  She felt the tears gathering in her eyes, but she blinked them away fiercely. She was on a fool’s errand, but she could still feel the pull inside her ribs. The one that said she must do this crazy thing even if it led it straight into death, and not the kind that minstrels would sit by the fire and sing about one day.

  She would simply be another body found in the spring melts. If she was fortunate, someone would cover her with rocks to mark her passing. She helped make such cairns after every winter. The high mountains were not kind to the puny humans who walked their craggy passes and fished in their streams and built huts and birthed babies in their shadows.

  The minstrel finished his song and reached for the mug of ale set on a nearby stool. The chatter in the room swelled, filling the space his music had once claimed. Jae shrank deeper into the walls. Eyes not turned to the fire were more likely to see her in the shadows.

  “Hungry?” The voice was male this time. A man, seated, with the permanently sun-stained skin and deep wrinkles of the high mountains. He held up a bowl with a half-chunk of bread and some stew soppings still in the bottom. “All y’orn if you clear the bowl after.”

  She would have to step out of the shadows to take it—and there were other hungry eyes that had turned toward his offer. She shook her head and shrank back. “No, thank you.” She held up her mug, hoping he would think it contained rich broth or thick tea. Something that justified turning down the first warm food she’d laid eyes on in days.

  He eyed her a moment longer and then swiped the bread around the bowl himself.

  She turned toward the minstrel, sending a silent, fervent wish that he might start playing again. He didn’t seem so inclined—he laughed with those sitting close to the fire, tipping back his ale to drink deeply.