by Jack Heckel
He walked off through the corn to the house. She looked after him, then raised her eyes and watched the dragon come closer and closer, his silver-gray tail fluttering out behind him like a pennon. The bells of Prosper began ringing in the distance. And then he was above her. He fanned out his great wings and, like a gentle breeze, Volthraxus landed on the opposite side of the hill. Despite her desire to see him, her throat caught at his size and power.
“Lady Gwendolyn,” he said with a flourish of his wings and a bow of his head, “it is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lord Volthraxus, Great Dragon of the North.” Gwen curtsied elegantly in her simple dress. “I would offer you the hospitality of my home, but I fear we have no swine.”
He laughed, a gentle rumbling sound. “I fear few do in this land. I was most greedy during my last visit, and I understand it will take several years for the pig population to recover.” Volthraxus settled himself on the hill and lowered his head to the ground so that he did not loom above her. “I thank you for agreeing to speak to me, Lady Gwendolyn. I know that you have glad tidings today and that I have interrupted your celebration.”
With a blush, Gwen wondered how long the dragon had been watching her “celebration” with Monty. She cleared her throat. “Please, Lord Volthraxus think nothing of it. The great joy of today is that I will have all the time in the world to be with him. Besides”—she glanced at the ring on her hand and smiled—“I understand that you are to thank for some part of my happiness.”
“It was nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Your betrothed explained to me his desire to make you a gift on the occasion of your engagement, and I agreed to help him reforge an amulet of gold he had in his possession. I offered to bring him one of the jeweled rings from my horde as a token of my esteem, but he assured me that this would hold a deeper meaning.”
Gwen gazed at the band with greater appreciation. This was the fairy gold from his amulet recast by dragon fire. For her, it might be a symbol of future happiness, but she knew for Monty it meant that he was finally free from his past. Her eyes grew misty, and she said, “It is perfect, Lord Volthraxus. You cannot know what this means to him . . . to us. Is there something I can do to repay your kindness?”
Volthraxus sighed deeply. “I would not ask, only request, if it would not cause you pain, to talk to me of her, of Magdela. I never got the chance to know her, and it is the void of her life I feel most keenly.”
“It would cause me no pain, Lord Volthraxus,” she said with a sad smile. She lowered herself onto the grass in front of him and tucked her legs beneath her. The first thing that Gwen said was, “She spoke of you often, and I think of all your features, she admired your flowing tail the best.”
Villagers from Prosper who had been alarmed at the Dragon’s approach and come to see if there was trouble, stared in amazement at the great gray dragon and the young lady in the pale white dress, sitting on the flowering hill beneath the spring sky, heads bent close together in conversation. They talked for hours of Magdela as the sun passed overhead and began to bend toward the horizon. At last, Volthraxus had asked all the questions he had, and Gwen had told him all she knew and could remember.
“Thank you, Gwendolyn,” he said with a sigh that bent the flowers between them. “It has eased my heart to speak of her.”
“It has eased mine also,” Gwen said, and knew that it was true. For as much as the memories of that chapter of her life could still bring her pain, talking about Magdela with Volthraxus had been like talking about an old friend. For so many years, Magdela had been her world, and she had never had a chance to mourn her.
Volthraxus stared across at the farmhouse. “Your Montague has been very patient, but I have denied him your company long enough, I think. You know that he has been watching from the window this entire time. He is very devoted, Gwendolyn.”
Gwen looked over her shoulder at the light burning in the cottage window. “I know, Volthraxus. I am very fortunate. I only hope that I will be worthy of his love. I am not a particularly practical woman to take as a wife.”
“I do not think Montague cares,” the dragon said with a laugh.
“I do,” she said firmly. “I . . .” she stared at the ring on her finger, but couldn’t find the words to voice her fear.
Volthraxus gazed at her gently. In the growing darkness, his eyes glowed slightly. “I think I understand,” Volthraxus said. “You worry that you are not worthy of him, that you will be a burden.” She nodded. “You think because people have always admired you for your beauty and grace that this is all you have to give.” She nodded again. “From what you have told me of her, I begin to see that Magdela feared something much the same, and it kept us apart when we might have been together.”
He rose from the ground and stretched. “Do you see the flowers growing on this hillside, Gwendolyn? Have you ever seen their kind before?”
Gwen plucked one and examined it. It was a simple flower with four teardrop petals in pale blue and white surrounding a yellow gold center. She realized she had no name for them. “No,” she said puzzled.
“I doubt it not,” he said, staring at the stars that were beginning to appear in the sky above. “They are called dragon’s tears, and they bloom only where a dragon has died. You could try and plant them in your garden, but they would not thrive. On this hillside, though, they will never falter. Neither frost nor disease nor drought nor pestilence will touch them. They may appear delicate, Lady Gwendolyn, but they endure. I think the same could be said of you.”
Gwendolyn smiled at the flower in her hands and, rising, embraced the dragon around the neck. “Thank you,” she said, and gave him a kiss.
Volthraxus rumbled with pleasure. “Go home, Princess,” he said. “And let my blessings go with you.”
He watched as she skipped down the hill toward the cottage. The door opened, spilling light into the night, and she ran into Monty’s waiting arms. When the door had closed, Volthraxus bent to the ground and kissed the earth at his feet. “Sleep in peace, Fair One, My Magdela.”
He lifted his nose to the wind, smelling the possibilities on the night air. Unfurling his great wings, Volthraxus leapt into the sky and was gone.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A fair listing of acknowledgments is never possible, because the page count of such a list would begin to rival the novel itself. Having said that, we would like to try and thank everyone who has helped us on our quest to write this, the most challenging of any author’s career, the second book. As always, someone will be forgotten in this list, but this won’t be the last. We will get it right next time.
To Taba and Heather, there is no Jack Heckel without the two of you.
To all of our beta readers: Taba, Heather, Kayla, Kim, Dorothy and Carleigh. We cannot thank you enough for everything you do to help us become better writers.
To our families, we love you all and appreciate all you have done over the years to make us who we are.
To our fellow Harper Voyager authors, thanks for the continued friendship, community and support.
To W.R. Gingell, for inspiring us with a dedication.
To everyone at Unboxed Technology, especially the QA team and all honorary members for the encouragement and support.
From John to Mom, thank you for taking all the winding roads on every journey, and letting me explore all those mysterious caves we inevitably found at their ends.
From Harry to Dad, thanks for the support every step of the way.
Finally, again a big thanks to Rebecca and Kelly and Jessie and everyone else at Harper Voyager.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACK HECKEL’s life is an open book. Actually, it’s the book you are in all hope holding right now (and if you are not holding it, he would like to tell you it can be purchased from any of your finest purveyors of the written word). Beyond that, Jack aspires t
o be either a witty, urbane world traveler who lives on his vintage yacht, The Clever Double Entendre, or a geographically illiterate professor of literature who spends his nonwriting time restoring an eighteenth-century lighthouse off a remote part of the Vermont coastline. Whatever you want to believe of him, he is without doubt the author of A Fairy-Tale Ending. More than anything, Jack lives for his readers.
www.jackheckel.com
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ALSO BY JACK HECKEL
The Charming Tales
The Pitchfork of Destiny
A Fairy-tale Ending (Comprised of Happily Never After and Once Upon a Rhyme)
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Map by Maxime PLASSE (www.maxsmaps.com)
THE PITCHFORK OF DESTINY. Copyright © 2016 by John Peck and Harry Heckel. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
EPub Edition APRIL 2016 ISBN: 9780062359315
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062359322
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