Dragonstar (Dragonfriend Book 4)

by Marc Secchia

  A huge Dragonwing of Affurion’s command approached now from the southern Islands, visible from the Palace roof, together with the Dragon Riders under the command of Yukari the Aquamarine Dragoness, a titan in her own right. Hualiama’s spirit gladdened to see her aloft. The battle had treated her cruelly, almost killing her Rider Akemi, but they had survived. Akemi had lost her right leg below the hip, and her left at the knee – devastating injuries, rendering her unable to join in the celebrations.

  The dragonets danced and sang, playing amidst the drifting pink flowers, while the Land Dragons completed a final seven cannonade salute to Fra’anior’s new King.

  Hualiama glanced to the skies again. All that would make her day complete, was Grandion. He was the bravest and most beautiful among the Dragons, the –

  A male Dragon, beautiful? You tread dangerous Isles, o Empress, his voice broke in.

  Dragonsoul interjected, She’s drooling all over the coronation ceremony. Hopeless. Told her not to.

  I’ll thank you not to ambush me, cheeky Dragoness! Lia snorted, only to nearly jump out of her skin as Queen Shyana prodded her ribs sharply. “Mom?”

  “You’re glowing again.”

  “Sorry. It’s just –”

  “Difficult not to shine when he comes? I know, my precious petal. That’s how I felt about Chalcion, once. Long before all this. But that Dragon, he’s diamond through and through.”

  Her precious mother! All the reply she could fashion was, “Tourmaline.”

  Queen Shyana smiled with her eyes. “Better than diamond, then. Hualiama, who could have imagined such a day when you first entered our courts? I’m so proud, I could – well, I meant to ask you, but I’m supposed to dance the Flame Cycle for Kalli later. Will you join me? Aye? Who would have thought when you graced our halls with your laughter, that one day, the laughter of starlight would twice over restore our nation from the hands of despots? I count this one of the greatest privileges of my life. But, daughter –”

  Fyria hissed slightly at their whispering.

  Hualiama said, “My Dragoness says she loves you, too. As do I.”

  Shyana’s eyes widened, moistening with tears. She whispered, “I love you too, daughter, but if you dare to burn that priceless dress to a crisp, I’m taking it straight out of your inheritance. Do we understand each other?”

  Both Hualiamas folded up with merriment.

  Chapter 26: Firebird

  From A distance of seven miles, Grandion’s Dragon sight could easily pinpoint Hualiama amongst the magnificent assemblage upon the Palace roof. From five, he separated out the variegated strands of her hair and knew she wore it long and unbound, its tumbling glory reaching a foot below her waist, now. Four, and he knew the glinting of gemstones in her hair, and the breath-stealing intensity of the eyes that turned to regard his approach. She stood among her peers, but she was the most powerful Dragoness in the Island-World.

  Still, he had whipped an Ancient Dragoness’ rump black and blue for her! Grandion’s chest swelled as he swaggered in the air. Her eyes were for him alone. He was not so egotistical as to fail to grasp how very, very fortunate a Dragon he was.

  Two miles, and his hearts lurched into a double-tempo rhythm. She shone! Her glow ignited his every fire. She spoke earnestly to her mother, but the starlight streaming from her limbs and face did not abate. A mile, and he could not have torn his gaze off that slim, shining beauty had Numistar Winterborn cuffed him across the ear canals with all of her prodigious might. Her smile sparked crazy, forbidden torrents of desire in his Dragon hearts. For a second he champed his jaw in fury. How could this be? Then, the truth washed over him like a fresh dousing in an icy Immadian terrace lake. Liberation. He could be a man. He could hold his Blue-Star, and love her, and never have to let her go.

  Wing brother, you’re shining, Affurion said privately.

  Well, I did take a long lava bath, followed by the full hot oil treatment, and then I spent two hours in the buffing room, Grandion returned absentmindedly. You should see Mizuki’s gloss if you think I’m –

  Not that, you narcissistic, chirruping parakeet, the Brown Overmind broke in. I mean, you’re shining. Literally.

  I’m … oh, flaming talons! What’s this?

  He stared at himself. Gleaming! His tourmaline scales were clearly, unbelievably, lit from within by their own light source. Speaking of borrowing each other’s powers through the oath connection, this took the proverbial purple parakeet! Well, a fine gemstone blue, he decided, wobbling in the air. He corrected, hearing annoyed growls about him but the response of his Dragonwing washed off his scales like so much rainwater. That girl, she was … just …

  As the Dragons swept in for their formal landing, Grandion’s trailing hind knee clipped the edge of the Receiving Balcony. Stones exploded around him as he stumbled to a landing, but Hualiama – she stood with her right hand gracefully outstretched, as if frozen mid-dance. The debris dropped safely at the future King of Fra’anior’s feet, not even disturbing the perfect sheen of his highly polished, formal purple boots. Lia swept the rubble aside with another gesture, burying what had been a tasteful flowerbed filled with crimson fireflowers.

  Blue-Star smiled at him. Thou, my matchless Dragonheart – I do apologise. That was my doing.

  Whatever Grandion had been prepared to say, it evaporated straight out of his overheated brain. She was exquisite! He had never imagined the effect of shimmering makeup around her eyes, a hint more colour in the cheeks; the slight undulation of her hair went straight to his knees, making his belly pitch as if he floated upon a terrace lake.

  “A firebird!” someone cried. The stupefied Dragon’s muzzle twitched.

  “That’s good luck, that is,” said one of the soldiers who had charged in with braced shield, only to find there was no danger to Prince Ka’allion.

  Hualiama whistled delicately. Ho, firebird. Want to come out and play?

  Most sane birds would have refused the invitation, but in a second, the famously rare and reclusive firebird, owner of the most insanely gorgeous plumage in a Cluster famed for its unique variety of bird life, peeked out of the pitiful scraps of foliage left of the flowerbed Hualiama had just redesigned.

  Sorry about the … uh … she spluttered.

  Still unspeaking, Grandion’s head twizzled again. The bird must be dazzled by her shining face, most certainly, because it cocked its head first to one side and then to the other, possibly wondering why one of the twin suns stood on the Palace roof. He knew that feeling! The bird gave a sweet, fluting trill, appeared to bob its head toward Hualiama’s brother, and flashed off into the gardens so fast, it was hard to believe it was a feathered bird and not a dragonet in disguise.

  What was Hualiama thinking? Her glow vanished. She seemed … pensive.

  She participated in the festivities, but he could not help but think that her heart dwelled elsewhere, mislaid or ambushed by a fate neither of them understood.

  * * * *

  A week later, Hualiama had found neither hide nor hair of the enigmatic firebird. With Grandion having departed on a mysterious quest of which he refused to reveal the slightest detail, the Lost Islands being heavily involved in effecting repairs all across the Cluster and modifications to their own Islands in anticipation of joining together with the Dragonkind, the Empress of the Lost Islands felt … well, lost. At a loose end.

  She was not the sort of Dragoness who enjoyed idleness.

  Instead, she gathered together her girls – Mizuki, Saori, Imaytha, Makani, Isiki, Zanya, Nyzura and Inniora, and added Fumiko, Raiden’s Rider after further consideration – and plotted mischief. Major mischief. They huddled together with the Dragon Riders, especially Naoko, Saori’s mother. She had to be brought on board.

  At length, they clasped hands amidst a pool of happy giggling. Lia said, “Alright, who’s going to drop the hint to my brother?”

  “Me,” said Saori.

  “I can, if you’d prefer –”

  �
�Break another of your fingers?” offered the Eastern warrior, reminding Lia of their first meeting.

  Lia reached up to ruffle her inch-long hair. Her sharp-as-razors friend had just decided to start breaking tradition. “Style this new growth with a few fireballs?”

  Saori grinned fiercely around their tight-knit group. “I fight my own battles.”

  “Just don’t kill Elki, or incapacitate him,” Lia worried. “He’s not like you, born to the warrior life.”

  “Especially if you have to patch him up rather than do with him what you’re supposed to be doing,” Inniora clarified, making Saori blush to the roots of her hair. “The chains are traditional, not a declaration of slavery, alright? Still, I’ll bet a brave warrior can … accomplish much. Even while locked in chains.”

  “Oh?” Imaytha deadpanned. “I’ve heard Qilong is also overly fond of sacks and chains. Do I need to be worried?”

  Poor Saori. She turned all colours of the rainbow as the advice and teasing progressed from that nadir to humour that threatened to discover new life forms beneath the bottom of the barrel.

  Later that evening, the girls found Prince Elka’anor taking his ease upon his private royal balcony with Grandion, in Human form, and Prince Qilong, Darrul, Brazo, together with the new King upon the Onyx Throne, namely Lia’s big brother Kalli. The men were merry, a little deeper into their cups than Lia thought advisable for Shapeshifter Dragons, royalty and Commanders. Imagine a drunken Dragon wandering about the Palace torching a few paintings of the ancestors? She glared at Grandion. No hint that he had returned? No, ‘Islands’ greetings, sweet Dragoness?’ What was he brewing in that devious cauldron of bubbling fires atop his shoulders?

  Her Dragonsoul took in his innocent mien with a waspish purr-growl that promised diced Dragon for dinner. Grandion just beamed, playing the insouciant male Dragon to the hilt.

  Saori, however, marched smartly up to Prince Elki and announced, “Elki, I stopped by to tell you that I’m relocating to Ya’arriol Island. The Palace life really isn’t for a simple girl like me.”

  “Uh …” His eyes swivelled blearily, before settling on Hualiama. “You’re all going?”

  “We’ll help settle her into her new life far away from here,” Lia goaded.

  Elki growled, “Now, wait just a stinking minute here –”

  “I’ve heard bridenapping is a real plague around these Islands,” Naoko broke in. “I must see my daughter to safety before the very worst of fates befalls her.”

  The Prince looked thoroughly flummoxed, evidently not catching a hint as weighty as the drop of a Sylakian war-hammer.

  “Terrible tradition, bridenapping,” Hualiama continued, “wouldn’t you say, Inniora?”

  Inniora shuddered theatrically. “My experience was awful. Just awful. This big beast broke down my door early one morning and carried me off … oh, I can’t even talk about it …”

  Aye. That man would be her husband, and they adored each other around all five moons and back. Love definitely smoothed the process.

  Around the moons! That would be a Dragonflight, her inner Dragoness murmured.

  A flight indeed, thou my shining soul, Lia agreed. Aren’t we just like a soppy romantic couple?

  I egg-napped you.

  Oh, did we now? She mentally tapped a foot at a dangerous tempo.

  Dragonsoul’s ethereal grin warmed the chambers of her heart. Hurry up. They’re waiting for your speech.

  Snarky Dragoness.

  Shamelessly plagiarising lines from a few sleazy Fra’aniorian operas, and turning her timbre toward the utterly tragic, Lia lamented, “Aye, this so-called cultural heritage of ours is the bane of Fra’anior Cluster. Can you imagine a girl being dragged off in chains by some piratical, pointy-eared popinjay? Oh no, Naoko, we shall not let such a crime be perpetrated against your precious daughter. Not in this Cluster. I promise, we shall surround her with Dragons and their Riders. Her new home shall be patrolled night and day. No ant would walk by unnoticed. Why, I’d wager not even a Prince of Fra’anior, backed up by an army, could fight his way in there!”

  Elki’s bearded jaw just about plunked into his goblet of very expensive berry-wine. “Well, I wasn’t … yet … but, I thought –”

  “Farewell, o noble Prince Elka’anor,” Saori cried, managing to squeeze out a wholly fake tear. “Would that our fates could have been different, my beloved!”

  As Lia glanced backward, it was to see Grandion regarding her with a shrewd, proprietorial glint in his eye. Ha, she thought. Traditional Dragon; modern girl. Just let him try his worst …

  * * * *

  As they flew southwest over the caldera, angling first for Ha’athior Island and Ya’arriol beyond that, Mizuki and Queen Imaytha questioned Hualiama and Inniora about this peculiarly Fra’aniorian tradition. Of course, there were a few unwanted and undesirable bridenappings, but most were prearranged affairs – or, negotiations began in earnest once the prospective groom had snatched the girl, chained her up in a suitable location, and assigned a bevy of zealous relatives to guard her with their lives. Should negotiations fail, an agreeable, desperate rescue usually ensued. This custom bemused the Dragonkind. The egalitarian Immadians thought it downright humiliating.

  About halfway across the caldera, Inniora pointed just ahead of her right knee and said, “Isiki, what’s in your saddlebag?”

  The girl startled. “I don’t – nothing, Lady Inniora …”

  “Dreaming about being bridenapped by a stalwart Brown Shapeshifter?” Zanya suggested slyly, turning the girl’s tan complexion a much deeper shade.

  Isiki spluttered, “I’d be too easy. He’s a warrior-Dragon.”

  “Easy? Just look at what Hualiama did to Grandion,” Inniora grinned. “Nary a word spoken, and she knocked him out of the sky.”

  “Imagine Jin trying to kidnap Makani?” Imaytha mused innocently. She was obsessed with matchmaking, Lia decided, and on another positive note, it had been amusing to observe her sister Fyria’s reaction to being outshone in the beauty department by the matchless Queen.

  Visibly riled, Makani spat a gobbet of boiling grey glue over the caldera. “I think not!”

  “Don’t you want him to?” Zanya pressed, drawing a throbbing growl from the Grey Dragoness.

  “I saw Burliki, that huge Red from Franxx, giving our fledgling Zanya the fiery eyeball yesterday evening,” Mizuki observed, joining in the fun. “He definitely fancied the cut of her wings.”

  Zanya protested, but her reflexive shiver and the high colour that leaped into her pale cheeks was a dead giveaway. Burliki and an Immadian fledgling, eh? Hualiama would give that crusty old skirt-sniffer a piece of her mind!

  Just to be able to entertain such thoughts – it practically Shapeshifted her mind, didn’t it?

  She gazed out over her beloved Fra’anior. How many times had she not soared upon these warm, fragrant winds in her solo Dragonship? Now, she flew solo-Dragoness. Easy. They could cut straight across the fickle thermals without a care in the world, for a Dragon’s flight was a supple flexion of a body designed from the ground up for flight. Constant thrust was key. Well, any thrust, variable or constant, was better than being at the mercy of the winds.

  Once again, her thoughts flipped about like excitable dragonets as she considered the fundamental problem of Human passage between the Isles. Dragonships were dangerous. There was insufficient lift and thrust. Both could be provided by stoves burning hot air, or partially by Human effort, but that was limited. Some efforts had been made to use hydrogen gas, with its superior lift, so she was familiar with the designs that encased explosive gas in secondary inner balloons to mitigate against the inevitable accidents. She patted the small pouch of crushed meriatite she had politely commandeered from the royal laboratory two evenings before, following Crackle’s deliberate allusion to the substance.

  She said, “Makani, do me a favour?”

  The Grey Dragoness purred, “Aye? Peel you a moon, Star Dragoness? Track d
own Numistar and terminate her miserable life? Kick and burn your nation into shape and surgically remove their love of Dragon blood with a flick of my talons?”

  Hualiama chuckled, “One better, I hope. I’ll throw a stone for you. Will you do me a favour and flame it?”

  “A game? Certainly.” Makani’s eye-fires whirled with lively curiosity.

  Selecting a palm-sized chunk from her pouch, Hualiama unstrapped herself from the rough Dragon Rider saddle – another piece of equipment that required her attention – and walked across the Dragoness’ nape to her sleek ruff of diminutive skull spikes. “Ready?”

  I’m a Dragoness! snarled the Grey.

  Indeed. She hurled the rock overarm into the void ahead of the Grey Dragoness.

  Ssss-KABOOOM!!

  A violent explosion shook them all. Makani shielded partially, but a firestorm engulfed her head and forequarters, forcing Hualiama to leap for her life – at least, until she managed to get her terrified magic under control. Everyone shouted or roared at her. Fine. Singed eyebrows, most likely, and a soot-blackened face – thankfully, after the coronation and not before. She skimmed back toward Makani with her arms outstretched like wings, only to be snaffled into the annoyed Dragoness’ forepaw.

  That was no game! The Tourmaline would skin me alive if any harm came to you under my watch!

  No-one is skinning any more Dragons around these Isles! Hualiama snapped, far more annoyed with herself than with Makani. She checked her face. Slightly scalded; nothing serious. Freaking windrocs, I just don’t understand this problem I’m working on and it’s driving me over the terrace lake wall … can you help?