by Maria Grace
“I know that she chose you, Lizzy, and there is little to be done for it.” He glared at April. “What is done is done now. But you must understand—you must both understand—that dragons are not safe creatures. They are not by their nature friendly, and some are not even trustworthy. One must tread very carefully amongst them if one is to live in their world.”
“I understand, truly I do.” But Longbourn and Pembroke had been so amenable; surely he was exaggerating.
“I hardly think that is possible. But, I do believe you want to understand.”
“I will study very hard. I will make you proud of me.”
April peeked out from the shawl. “What will happen if she does not?”
Could she not see that was not a question to be asked right now?
“We shall not think of that right now. I have confidence in you, and we shall do everything in our power to make sure that does not happen.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.
April drew a breath to speak, but Elizabeth covered her with her palm. “He wants to rest now. Do not disturb him.”
“But—”
“You must trust me. There are times when it is best to hold one’s tongue. Now is one of those.”
April huffed and puffed her feather-scales, but did not speak.
Papa was worried, but he need not be. She had already met major dragons without incident. Rumblkins liked her and sought her out readily enough, and now April was her Friend. There was nothing to fear. It would be well. She would prove that to him.
Chapter 7
As Papa had predicted, Mama was none too happy to have Elizabeth bring home a pet. In the first place, she had no great love for birds—a dog would be far more appropriate to life in the country—and in the second, as the eldest, Jane should have been offered the privilege first. Jane, as anyone who knew her would expect, was genuinely happy for Elizabeth’s good fortune, and was not in the least bit jealous. Her younger sisters seemed indifferent, especially once they saw how much effort went into April’s care.
Happily, though, Mama proved quite susceptible to April’s persuasion. In short order, she had conceded that April’s song was indeed very pleasant and seemed to calm Lydia’s temper when nothing else would. On the strength of that recommendation alone, Mama decided April could stay—for the time being at least.
In the ensuing weeks, April settled into the rhythms of the household until the non-hearing members of the family barely noticed her presence. Would that Papa could be equally content with the results. But no, it seemed he had become even grumpier than ever.
At least his moods provided a good excuse to remain above stairs, ensconced in her room with April, helping her to learn to fly, recording observations in her commonplace book, and trying her hand at some needlework she would normally have avoided.
∞∞∞
November 1802
A cold breeze whistled past and rattled the windows of her room as Elizabeth fastened the deep green wool cloak over her shoulders for the first time. Grey clouds passed over the sun, obscuring the light, but just for a moment. The light resumed, and she turned this way and that in front of the long mirror, admiring the way the heavy fabric draped along her back and swung to and fro as she walked. Yes, it would do very well.
She folded the hood across her shoulders and laid the wide collar over it, smoothing it carefully. “Are you ready to render your opinion?”
April twittered from her perch atop the mirror. “How is this so very different from your old one?” She flitted to Elizabeth’s shoulder.
Her flight was still a bit wobbly and clearly effortful, but a great improvement from even just a se’nnight ago. Soon she would be able to soar about without even thinking about it. Was this how a mother felt when her infant first learned to walk?
“Well, they are both handed down from Jane, so I understand how they would look very similar. But see how I have altered the hood and collar just for your comfort.” Elizabeth pointed to the deep pleats just behind her neck.
April rooted around in the folds of the hood and under the collar, tickling Elizabeth as she went. “You have added more fabric so the gathers are very generous, and the hood is so very soft.” She snuggled into it.
“That is because I made a new hood from the scraps of green velvet from Mama’s new pelisse. I used the hood fabric to make another panel to add fullness to the cloak.”
The entire affair was of her own design, of which Mama would certainly not have approved had she known Elizabeth’s intent. But thanks to April’s intervention, she never asked. Instead, Mama was surprised and pleased that Elizabeth had finally shown a proper interest in sewing.
“I like it. It is very cozy. I can go out with you, and none shall notice I am here—particularly your nosy mother.” April wormed her way under the collar, pulling it to cover herself with her sharp beak.
“Do not talk about Mama that way.” Elizabeth turned her side to the mirror. April was nearly invisible in her hiding place, just as she intended.
April poked her head out and chirruped in Elizabeth’s ear. “But it is true! She inserts herself into the matters of dragons where she has absolutely no business. That is nosy. What is more, she is opinionated. Who is she to declare you did not need a new cloak to accommodate me?”
Elizabeth turned her face away from the mirror to hide the way she rolled her eyes. April did not appreciate that expression. “That matter was adequately resolved, was it not?”
“I did not like convincing her that your elder sister required a new cloak when, in fact, it was you who did.”
“It was better that way. How else might I have acquired a garment of my own design?”
“I still do not like it.” April harrumphed with her entire body. The expression was far too adorable to take seriously—a point which irritated April to no end.
Elizabeth picked up her bonnet from the top of the press. “We should go for a walk and try it out.”
“But it is cold.” April shivered within the hood.
Heavens, she could be as dramatic as Lydia!
“Of course, one does not wear a cloak when it is warm! The purpose of a cloak is to keep one warm—in this case, both of us. It is important to ensure it accomplishes that.”
“I do not like the cold.”
“It is a fact of life. When you are older, you can hibernate through the cold season if you wish.” Elizabeth tied her bonnet ribbons.
“And miss everything that is going on? Thank you, no.” April pulled a fold over her head and snorted.
Elizabeth giggled and headed for the stairs. April was like Lydia that way, too, ever afraid that she might miss something interesting or important. Neither of them liked to be kept to their chambers or even above stairs, and sleep was often an anathema!
While Papa found that trait quite trying, it was the way that April always spoke her mind that bothered him the most and left him muttering things like “rude” and “disrespectful” under his breath.
But why?
Was it not refreshing to have someone in one’s life who always spoke the truth? Elizabeth might not always like what April had to say, but she never worried that April would suddenly change her story or deny she had ever said something. If anything, it made the little fairy dragon seem quite safe and reliable—at least, it did to her.
Papa, though, disliked that—intensity, he called it—and said it made April insolent and difficult to manage. Perhaps, he was right, a little, after a fashion. But it seemed more a matter of taste than anything else.
April suited her tastes very well, indeed.
Elizabeth pushed the kitchen door open and caught a crisp breeze full in the face. Oh, how it stung her nose and ears. She was not supposed to use that door—daughters of the house had no business in the kitchen, according to Mama. But Hill and Cook ignored her transgression, a touch of sympathy evident in the way they looked aside as she passed.
Elizabeth shrugged off a touch of guilt. It was not good t
o disobey Mama, but sometimes it really was necessary. How else could she avoid Mama and the requisite inspection of her needlework? Best make sure the cloak suited her needs before bothering Mama with it.
“Where are we going?” The cloak muffled April’s voice.
“I do not know.”
“You are lying.” April pecked at her ear. “You are going to see Longbourn.”
Ouch! Her beak seemed to have grown sharper over the last week. Elizabeth covered her ear with her hand. “What if I am? He does not object to my company.”
“You father does not know you visit him.”
“No, he does not.” Elizabeth flipped the edge of her collar back over April’s head.
“I heard your mother saying you were not “out” in society, and that you could not talk to young males, or much of anyone at all.”
“What has that to do with taking a walk?”
“I do not think you are “out” to major dragons, either.”
“There is no such thing as being “out” to dragons.”
April fluttered her wings and threw the collar off her head. “You father is likely to disagree. He might not call it by that name, but I am certain he feels so.”
“Since when are you an advocate for his opinions? I thought it your sworn mission to constantly disagree with him. Besides, he is too late. I have already met Longbourn, and Pembroke, too—who was far more agreeable than his Keeper intimated he was. You met him for yourself.”
“I do not think that is the material point—”
“It would be abominably rude to ignore the acquaintance now it has been made.” Elizabeth crossed her arms and pulled the edges of the cloak closed over her chest.
April grumbled and burrowed deeper into the hood. Apparently that would be her newest way of ending a conversation. At least it was more agreeable than biting ears.
In truth, April had a point. Without a formal introduction to Longbourn, she should not be conversing with him. That was common courtesy—human courtesy, but courtesy nonetheless. On the other hand, Longbourn was the estate dragon, essentially family to the dragon-hearing Bennets. One did not need introductions to speak to family—unless they were very old and cranky persons of rank, which he was not—at least not exactly. Besides, it was hardly her fault that he introduced himself to her and continued finding excuses to catch her in regular conversation whilst she was out walking. One avoided denying a major dragon his desires whenever possible. Surely Papa would agree—he had been the one to teach her that principle, after all.
Bare skeletal branches reached over her head, forming a sort of arch above her. It looked rather like the frame for the barn Netherfield Park was building. Jane thought these woods spooky, even frightening, especially on days like today when the clouds made them even gloomier, and refused to walk through them with her. But that was probably just as well. Dragons never came out when Jane was along.
The trees thinned, like a crowd making way for a peer, as she approached the clearing where Longbourn usually met her. He almost always joined her when she came, but sometimes he did not, and she could not predict when that might be. So really, it was more of a chance meeting than anything else. How could Papa object to that?
She walked the perimeter of the clearing. A few tracks, which she recently learned were made by wyrms, crisscrossed the sandy soil. Were those the wyrms that Rumblkins had recently introduced her to? The long shaggy creatures, not much larger than Rumblkins, had lion-like faces and manes, with long fangs and bright eyes. They traveled in mated pairs, sometimes several pairs together—what did one call a large group of dragons? A flock? A herd? A school?—and were ever-so-silly. Their prattle sounded so much like Lydia when she was still in the nursery. Still though, they were jolly company, talking over one another to tell her about their adventures, especially when she carried treats with her or scratched their itchy ears.
Longbourn had been here recently, too. Those were his footprints and tail marks along the far side. Perhaps he would see her today.
She felt his steps through the soles of her shoes before she heard them. He was not thundering intentionally, at least not this time. He was just a big solid creature whose footfalls really were that heavy. But when he was stomping about in an irritated manner, one could not mistake what it was.
His scaly green head burst through the trees, and he peered at her as though trying to figure out what to do with her. Did he not recall that he knew her? Silly creature. She grabbed the bottom edges of her cloak and pulled it up, like wings, curtsied deeply and covered her head and face with the cloak. “Good day, Laird Longbourn.”
He plodded closer, leaning down to sniff her. “Whatever are you doing?”
“Do you like my new cloak?” She dropped the edges, and it fell back into place as she twirled.
“What were you doing with it?”
“Those are my wings.”
He snorted, ruffling the edges of her cloak. “You do not have wings. Girls do not have wings.”
“I know that, silly. But dragons do, and they use them when they are greeting one another.”
“Oh.” He sat on his haunches and cocked his head, studying her. “Girls do not have wings. Why do you want wings?”
“Not just wings, but a hood, and a way to make myself big, you see. I want to be able to talk to dragons the right way.”
He scratched behind his ear with his foot, a little like a very large dog scratching fleas. “I have never heard a warm-blood say such a thing.”
April freed herself from the heavy cloak folds to hover in front of Longbourn’s face. “That is probably because one never has. I told her I thought it very peculiar.”
Longbourn’s eyes crossed a little as he tried to focus on April as she flew so close to his nose. “It is that.”
“You do not approve?” Elizabeth swallowed hard, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.
But she never had been very good at that. Mama often scolded her for it. It was unbecoming for a young woman to be so demonstrative.
“I did not say that.” Longbourn blinked hard as April landed on his snout. Her scratchy toes tickled his thick hide. “I have simply never seen such a thing. I do not know what to make of it. Show me what you mean by talking to dragons right.”
“Well, one principle of greeting, according to the book Papa gave me to study, is that the lesser dragon should appear as small as possible and, insofar as they are able, cover their fangs and talons and spikes and the like from the greater dragon. I thought by doing the same with my cloak, I might communicate the same deference of rank.”
“Show me again.” He wrinkled his lips in a thoughtful sort of pout.
She gathered up her cloak and curtsied again.
“I see the problem.”
“Did I do it wrong?”
“A lesser dragon would not remain upright before a greater dragon. One must bring his head down very low.”
Elizabeth peered up at him. “But I am already shorter than you are, and I will always be so.”
“It is not a matter of absolute height, but of lowering oneself in the presence of the more powerful dragon. It is a demonstration that one will not attempt an attack, futile though it might be.” The tip of his tail flicked as it did when he was thinking hard.
Her forehead furrowed, and she chewed her lip. The book had said nothing of the sort, but it made a great deal of sense. This was something to remember to add to her commonplace book. “So, I should do it more like this.” She dropped her knees to the ground and pulled the cloak over her head.
“Yes, that is much better. That I recognize as a greeting from a lesser dragon, a clumsy, immature one, to be sure, but it makes the point rather clearly.” He chuckled, a grumbly-growly sort of sound that was not an obvious sort of laugh. It had taken her some time to realize that was a sociable sound, not a dangerous one.
She dropped her head to her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“What is wrong
now?”
“I do not like to be laughed at.”
He nudged her with his nose. “I do not mean to make you sad. I laugh because it is endearing.”
“You mean silly.” Considering Papa called Lydia, Kitty, and Mary—and Mama on occasion—silly, it was hardly a compliment.
“No, if I meant silly, I would have said it. It is charming that you are trying so hard to speak ‘dragon.’ It is not something warm-bloods are apt to try, much less succeed with.”
“You think I succeeded?”
“Not quite yet, but I think you will, with some practice and instruction.” He nudged her with his snout. “We will start now.”
She clambered to her feet, holding her breath and biting her lip lest she say something to dissuade him.
“You will meet many more smaller dragons than you will larger ones, so you must be prepared to greet them, and show them you are the dominant dragon.”
“Dominant? But I am just a girl.”
“True enough, but to a little fluttertuft like her,” Longbourn snorted and furrowed his nose, making April hop to keep her balance. “You are the dominant creature. Never doubt that—it will show in your greeting. Make it clear that you are the superior dragon immediately and garner their respect. Once you have it, then the precedent will be established, and you can expect a cordial acquaintance.”
“I had no idea.” Something else for her commonplace book, especially considering Papa’s book of dragon greetings had so little to say about small minor dragons.
“We will begin with wyrms—”
“No!” April pecked his snout. “With fairy dragons. We are the smallest of the dragons, and the most plentiful. You should begin with us.”
He crossed his eyes and bobbed his head. “Very well, with fairy dragons.”
∞∞∞
Once Longbourn became bored with teaching her how to greet—and establish dominance with—minor dragons, he dismissed her with a grouchy harrumph. When a large dragon harrumphed at one, it was difficult to ignore, but Longbourn's eyes crinkled up at the sides and there was something gentle and even pleased in his voice. Sometimes it seemed that his grouchy-dragon persona was more for show than it was a true reflection of him. It was annoying sometimes, but if people were concerned with keeping up appearances—Mama certainly was—then how much more so might a major dragon be?