The Birthday Dragon

by Lee Abrey

“I did,” I said, grinning. “I was about to offer odds on which of your Half Aunt’s puppies would break out of the kennels first.” He giggled.

  “I am definitely not gay. I was fighting off a hard-on looking at her.” That was good to hear. He was on the mend too. His right arm wasn’t as wounded as mine had been so he could probably let off some steam. “She has enormous nipples.”

  “And Cida has switched allegiances,” I said, “to your rather revolting half-brother.”

  “You think so?” he said. I nodded.

  “Aye, she made cow eyes at him the whole time. And he was groping her. Were you too busy looking at your half-aunt’s udders?” He rolled his eyes. I whistled. “They are a fine pair of udders,” I said, laughing.

  “Mother told me,” said Azrael, “there was some new arrival with another bastard of my father’s, called her a floozy. I didn’t realise she meant a real floozy. Or at least an ex-floozy.”

  “Is there something wrong with your half-brother?” I said, “I mean, he seems, ah, not all there?” Azrael frowned.

  “I was wondering that. He looks inbred but she said she was a peasant. Maybe she’s like your father, a blonde peasant.” I grimaced.

  “Please the gods,” I said, “no relation to me. But he’s the image of your father?” Azrael nodded.

  “Father looked like a shorter, fatter version of Grandpa. Exactly like Perry. There’s a painting of him at sixteen, you’d swear it was Young Perry. Only Young Perry’s fatter. Though of course, one is not allowed to say fat. We have to say ‘stocky’ or ‘big-boned’ when talking about the Westwych line. We can’t admit the king is fat.”

  “Young Perry looked terminally obese to me,” I said. I liked the proper words for things and had picked up a lot of medical terminology with this time in hospital.

  “I used to be fat,” said Azrael. I stared at him. “Seriously, before I was fifteen I was plump.” Right then, Nanny Black bustled in.

  “Hello dears! Gods, he was, Polo, quite tubby.” Azrael blushed to his roots while I laughed. “Baby fat, Polo,” said Nanny, sounding a little grumpy, so I stopped laughing immediately, “it’s quite common, you hit about fifteen, sixteen, and it all falls off, no effort at all.”

  “Hello Nanny Black,” I said politely. I was always on my best behaviour with Nanny Black, sure she’d geld me if I stepped out of line. Since I’d supposedly saved Azrael, she was less antagonistic.

  “He turned fifteen,” she said, “shot up in height and suddenly wasn’t fat at all. Thought he was sick at first, we did.” Azrael sighed.

  “Stop it, Nanny,” he said.

  “Oh, precious,” she said, looking amused, “no need to be embarrassed. Polo’s a man of the world. Aren’t you, Polo?”

  “Um,” I said, buying time while I figured out a polite answer, then deciding agreeing with her had to be the one. “No need for him to be embarrassed.”

  “I saw that Suzy leaving with Cida Innes,” said Nanny, “and that odious boy. Was she here?” We both nodded. “Well, don’t just sit there like a pair of stunned mullets,” she said, and snapped her fingers, “what did she say?”

  “She giggled at everything we said, mostly,” I said, “though we did get the dramatised re-enactment of Young Perry’s conception. And if you’ll excuse the expression, Nanny, she waved her tits around.” Nanny guffawed and slapped me on the back, so hard I coughed and winced at the impact.

  “You’re a bad child, Polo Shawcross,” she said, smiling. Azrael filled her in on details of the visit.

  “And Polo thinks Cida has a crush on Young Perry,” he concluded.

  “Aye,” said Nanny, “it would make sense, that social-climbing little strumpet.” Azrael and I looked at her. Nanny gave us a blank look back. “What? She couldn’t get either of you, so she’s going after your half-brother. Anyone can see it.”

  “Told you so,” I said to Azrael.

  “Don’t be such a smug bastard,” said Nanny.

  “Were you in the army, Nanny?” I said, hoping to distract her, and she raised her hand to cuff me.

  “Whippersnapper,” she said. I smiled as she smoothed her skirt instead. “I raised his mother, meant I learned to be strict.”

  “Mother must have been an interesting child,” said Azrael. Nanny nearly choked laughing. I offered to thump her back but she waved me away.

  “You’re an angel next to her,” said Nanny, “Saraia was worse than Polo.” My turn to choke laughing whilst trying not to jar anything.

  “You say it like I was a god of the Underworld,” I said, grinning.

  “Like the very goddess of death, you are, young Polo,” said Nanny, looking amused, “Haka with testicles.”

  ****

  I wasn’t sure why my reputation was so awful. Before the dragon attack, I hadn’t tumbled more than a few people in any given week. Many of those were repeats, as I’d never seen the point in one-night stands. Unless I was drunk.

  Stupidity descended like darkness when I was drunk. Talking about my dalliances likewise wasn’t my style. I might say I’d like to do a person, but if I did, didn’t boast or even admit it to anyone. Azrael said I was the notorious Polo Shawcross because I was young but having sex and smoking mindweed, so people were sure I must be bad.

  Nanny agreed. People didn’t like it when young people had fun, she added, some people had a thing against fun altogether. In addition the servants loved to gossip and so did the soldiers. I tried not to worry. There was no use worrying, as Nanny was always telling Azrael. The stories that went round about him often had no basis in reality, and the stories that went round about his mother were the most made-up and nastiest of all.

  ****

  The Princess Royal was always kind to me, and not in a sexual way. She had never come on to me again. For my part I wasn’t going to pursue her. That adventure in the coach had been wonderful. I thought myself lucky to have experienced it. Though proud for attracting her attention the once, I wasn’t expecting a rematch. Saraia often brought me books to read and if she visited Azrael usually dropped in on me too. She was charming, funny and always left me feeling special.

  Of course I was biased, but felt her reputation was based in a large part on her being a southerner. Azrael had needed her Dragon blood to be the boy he was, or the boy they thought he was, but both the peasants and the Sendrenese Blood looked down on her for it. What would they do if they discovered Azrael’s real father was pure Dragon and centuries old?

  Like Saraia, I was at least a quarter-Dragon, with Grandmama Daeva being full-blood, so wasn’t about to judge the princess. In fact, I liked her. Rather a lot. It was a bit of a crush, but harmless. I was only one of a number of men who smiled a lot when she was around and sighed a little when she left.

  ****

  We were still having our meals in the infirmary. That night Saraia arrived as we were eating, sweeping in on a cloud of pleasant citrus scent. Her copper hair was up in a sleek twist and she was wearing a shift dress of lemon satin that moved and shimmered, a green silk wrap over her shoulders.

  “Don’t get up,” she said, as I went to rise politely, “is there food to spare? I’m starving.”

  “Aye,” said Azrael, “as usual we have enough for twelve. Which is lucky, because Polo eats enough for six.” I ignored him and turned to the servants’ trolley, which had extra place settings, crockery, and glassware.

  “I don’t want to go to dinner,” she said, dropping the wrap over a chair, “I’m tired of pretending to like the bloody Hangers On.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been at a cocktail party for Cobalt Sutherland.”

  “That’s Indigo’s father?” I said. Indigo was the boy who tried to drown me in the baths.

  “Aye,” said Saraia, “and what a bundle of repressed homosexuality he is. Indigo, I mean, not Cobalt. Though Cobalt may be over-compensating with the number of children the old goat’s still fathering. Indigo was at the party, wearing orange silk head-to-toe, and I mean to toe! I barely managed to kee
p a straight face. Moccasins in matching silk with pretty pearl beading on them. And the absolute perfect accessory, an orange silk scarf, also with pearl beading.”

  “I have a pair of those moccasins,” I said, laughing. She shrieked in mock-horror.

  “I do hope you don’t have matching silk trousers?” I grinned.

  “My moccasins are sea green,” I said, “there’s a shirt that goes with them. The citadel tailors say I can carry it. The girls at the Spring Ball liked it.” She laughed.

  “Green’s not so bad.”

  “Matching trousers is a step too far,” said Azrael.

  “Especially if you’re pretending to be hetero,” said Saraia, helping herself to soup. It was a very warm night and the food was cold, starting with a chilled soup. Ceiling fans spun above our heads, and despite the heat it was very pleasant. Azrael and I were already on the main course, cold beef with salads. “You could see people looking at Indigo,” said Saraia, “and thinking well, that one’s never going to sire children!” We all laughed. “Pass me a roll, Polo, there’s a dear.” I passed the breadbasket.

  “Indigo claims to be straight,” said Azrael. I was wondering if Indigo was into men. Maybe that was his problem with me? Perhaps I was his secret lust object. I considered including him in the masturbation attempt that I’d decided to have once I went to bed. Up until then I was going to use the idea of Saraia in that ravishing lemon satin. It would pool around her body as I-

  “I heard,” said Saraia, breaking into my fantasy, “that Fenric was with your mother.” I blinked. “Sorry,” she said, “you did know?”

  “Aye,” I said, “I did. It’s common knowledge now?” She nodded. “Fenric told me about it,” I added, “he didn’t know who she was.”

  “You’re not bothered?” she said, looking thoughtful. I shook my head.

  “None of my business,” I said, “like it’s none of hers who I tumble. She’s probably using Fenric to get back at me and my father in one neat package.”

  “Ouch,” said Azrael. I remembered Fenric had been Saraia’s lover. So Mother was getting back at the Princess Royal, too. And possibly at Azrael, seeing Fenric was captain of his bodyguards.

  “Anyway,” I said, “I really don’t care what she does. Which makes us even. I’ve realised it won’t do any good to try to reason with her.”

  “I wrote to your grandmother,” said Saraia,” I hope it does some good.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and smiled, “I hope that Grandmama will realise I’m telling the truth, but if she doesn’t? I have some savings and of course the king’s been most generous. I’m well equipped and looked after. I’ll finish school then see.”

  “Couldn’t ask for more?” Saraia said, looking amused. I laughed.

  “Well,” I said, “if there are more of those pumpkin rolls I think I can ask for more.” She passed me back the breadbasket, where I was delighted to find another pumpkin roll. Another four, which was probably enough.

  “He has hollow legs,” said Azrael. I gave him a pious look as I buttered my roll.

  “I’m repairing my body after trauma,” I said.

  “The surgeons are quite amazed by both of you,” said Saraia, licking butter from her fingers. “Especially how well you both came back from that infection. I don’t mind telling you I thought you were both going to die.” She shuddered. “Is there any wine?”

  On the trolley was a decanter of red. Neither Azrael nor I had touched it. I pretended to be a waiter and poured her a glass. She tasted it, said it was rather good, and Azrael and I could surely have a little taste. We had small glasses, and I had to admit, after that first sip when wine always tasted strange to me, it did go well with the food.

  Azrael curled his lip and said he’d rather stick to lemonade, so I said I’d have his. Saraia said I had more mature tastes and I felt proud. I didn’t drink much but - as Saraia said - food made it less effective, one didn’t get completely stupid so easily. It was a lovely evening. We all chatted for a while after dessert, which was poached apricots and cream, one of my favourites, and then I excused myself, thinking to let them have some time alone.

  ****

  Chapter 31 – Reputations

  In my room I lit up a pipe. We weren’t supposed to smoke inside the infirmary, but it wouldn’t bother anyone with the door shut and the window open. The ceiling fan kept the air moving so it would clear quickly. There I was, aching a bit after my busy day but stuffed with good food, a little wine, the mindweed kicking in, wondering if I was too tired to try masturbating, when there was a low knock and the door opened.

  “May I come in?” she said. I smiled and my tiredness fell away.

  “You may.” She smiled back and closed the door firmly behind her.

  “Some smoke for me?” I passed her the pipe. “I couldn’t help thinking,” Saraia said, settling next to me on the bed and taking a hit, “that day in the coach, we never actually did it.”

  “I think about that,” I said. Her free hand trailed along my good thigh, on the outside of the sheet. It had an instant effect. I tried to keep breathing. “I think about it a lot,” I said, breathing too much.

  “With all the girls, and boys, you do,” she said, smiling, her hand still running along my body, making me shiver, “I doubt that.”

  “My reputation is a bit like yours, I think,” I said, “undeserved.” She snorted, nearly coughing with laughter, and grinned, looking delighted.

  “Mine’s pretty deserved, sugarpie. Now, I do think I have some condoms in this purse. Oh, yes I do. How handy.” I told her how glad I was she’d decided to visit because of the problems I’d run into trying to pleasure myself. As we finished the pipe between us, she tried not to laugh too loudly at the story.

  “Poor pet,” she said, as her hands slid under the sheet. I quivered as her cool hands touched my warm skin.

  “I’m blessed,” I said, sliding down the bed a little, “so blessed.”

  ****

  Some hours later, Saraia was naked and so was I. The taste of her was in my throat, the taste of me was in hers, and she was on top now, sliding. Parts of me were a bit tender but we were being careful. We didn’t do it with me on top, too much of a strain.

  “Don’t move,” she said softly, “let me do the work.” My fingers pressed into her hips, as if I could pull myself deeper than all the way, and she arched her back, crying out then muffling herself with one hand across her mouth. We were trying to be quiet, biting our hands, pillows, each other or the mattress, as appropriate and depending where our heads were. I kept closing my eyes at the pleasure, then opening them again, afraid to miss a vivid moment of her writhing on top of me, that beautiful body sticky with sweat and juices. I loved watching her.

  There was moonlight coming through the open window, and with my night vision it was close to doing it in daylight. Her lips were soft and bruised-looking from my kisses, her sky-blue eyes glowed, and her copper hair had come down from its twist and was dark with sweat, swinging over her breasts. We’d both come a few times. It was a lazy, unhurried tumble, after we’d lost the head of steam and were happy to take it slow. As I closed my eyes then opened them again, the door cracked open.

  “Polo?” whispered Azrael. Saraia and I froze for a split second, then she slid off me down the window side of the bed, clutching for her dress, which we’d left flung over the bed-head. I had no idea where her shoes were, other than she had been wearing them when she arrived.

  I slid out the other way, limping at high speed to the door.

  “Aye,” I said softly, keeping the door nearly closed, “what’s up?”

  “Oh,” Azrael said, with a laugh, “you’re busy.” I smiled.

  “Um, yes. Are you alright?”

  “Aye,” he said, “I was going to suggest a smoke but I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walked back towards his room. I turned back to see Saraia going out the window, shoes and bag in one hand. I hurried over. She paused astride the sill, leaned back and kissed me.<
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  “It’s been lovely,” she said, “but it’s late, I better go. Can you see my wrap there?” I looked.

  “It must be in the patient lounge,” I said, “hang on, I’ll get it for you.” I pulled on my dressing gown and went to fetch it.

  ****

  In the morning I needed a shower before I could start work with Virginia.

  “Bad night was it?” she said, as I appeared with my hair wet.

  “Oh,” I said, “not exactly.” Azrael was sipping coffee, waiting for his physio to arrive.

  “He got laid,” he said. I could feel my cheeks get hot.

  “That little redheaded nurse,” said Virginia, grinning, “she’s got the hots for you.” I shook my head.

  “Polo never tells,” said Azrael, “do you Polo?” I shrugged.

  “It wasn’t Anna. Besides, what’s to tell? It’s nobody’s business. It’s just sex with a friend.”

  To my complete horror, by lunchtime everyone knew I was with Saraia during the night. Which meant Azrael would know. With a sigh, I waited for the storm to break. It broke from an unexpected direction. Nanny Black came into the infirmary, ordered me into my room then shut the door behind her.

  “How could you do that to her?” she said. I looked blank. “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Polo, I know what you and Saraia were up to last night. Don’t lie to me.”

  “For your information, Nanny,” I said, “what I do in private is nobody’s business except mine.” I was sounding quite angry because I was. I hadn’t spread the word but someone had gone all out.

  “Then why did you boast about it, you little prick?” said Nanny. I scowled at her and tried not to cower on the bed. I couldn’t figure out why Nanny scared me so much but she did. A bit like my Grandmama Daeva, who never needed anything but words to keep me in line.

  “I didn’t tell anyone!” I said. The door opened and Azrael walked in.