Consorting with Dragons

by Sera Trevor

  The four large structures that made up the palace were known as the wings. The consorts were housed in the East Wing. His father would spend the night in the West, which was set aside for stately visitors. He would only be there for the night, however. The next day, he would make his way back out of the city to stay with a cousin for a few nights before returning to Grumhul.

  Once the carriage had stopped, Jasen made to get out, but his father put a hand on his arm. “Wait. I’d like to have a word with you, before we say good-bye.”

  Jasen resumed his seat and crossed his arms. “Well?”

  His father sucked in a breath and let it out in a long puff. He looked at his feet, then at the ceiling, and then, quite forlornly, at the empty wine bottle. Jasen rolled his eyes and made to get up again, but at last, his father spoke. “I know I haven’t been the best of fathers, especially after your mother passed, but—well, I did the best I could. Maybe it wasn’t good enough, but there you have it. You’re my son, and I want you to be happy.”

  At that, Jasen let out an incredulous scoff. “Oh, of course. And if I could be happy as well as netting you a fortune, so much the better. Am I right?”

  “And what’s wrong with wanting that? We need the money.”

  “You need the money. I bet the day you found me sucking Hans’s cock was the best day of your life, because that meant you could sell me to fill your coffers. You pissed away Mother’s fortune, and now you’re using the next generation to do it again.”

  He expected his father to start in with excuses, but he said nothing, merely looking down at his hands folded in his lap. “You’re so much like your mother,” he murmured. “She was always right about me, too.”

  “Oh, masterfully done—self-deprecating, with a mention of Mother to boot.” Jasen fastened his cloak. He’d cleaned the mud off of his face and hands as best he could, but his clothing was still a mess. He just hoped that his cloak would hide the worst of it. “Just so we understand each other—if I do manage to marry some rich old goat, you are not getting a single copper beyond the marriage price, no matter how much you blubber.”

  “Of course, son,” he said, his shoulders still slumped. Just when Jasen began to feel a twinge of regret, his father continued. “I won’t impinge on your generosity. Find a husband, and be happy. Don’t spend even a single moment thinking of your poor old father, all alone in an old rotting castle, perhaps going hungry—starving, even…”

  Jasen bundled up the ends of his cloak, shoved it against his face, and screamed. “You know, you almost had me there for a moment.”

  His father peeped upwards. “A little too much?”

  “Just promise me you won’t gamble away the marriage price before I even find someone.”

  “I swear on your mother’s grave.”

  “Swear on that wine bottle. I’d believe you then.”

  Jasen swung open the door to make a dramatic exit—only to have it slam into Rodrad, who had been struggling to get Jasen’s trunk from the top of the carriage. The trunk went sailing after him.

  “Rodrad!” Jasen scrambled from the carriage. The man was laid out on the ground, moaning, with Garyild beside him. The trunk had burst open, its contents scattered everywhere. “Are you all right?” He turned to Garyild. “Did the trunk hit him?”

  “No, m’lord. At least, I don’t think so.”

  Rodrad struggled to sit up. “No, m’lord, it didn’t hit me. Just had the breath knocked out of me. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, m’lord. Just need a little help getting up—”

  Jasen went to his side, and together, he and Garyild helped him to his feet.

  “Everything all right out there?” his father shouted out of the window.

  “Why don’t you get your fat ass out here and see for yourself!” Jasen shouted back.

  And then he noticed that the doors of the hall had opened. A handsome young man in uniform stood staring at them. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Jasen tried to respond, but he felt as if he were choking on something. It was probably humiliation, if he had to take a guess.

  While he tried to compose himself, his father burst forth from the carriage. “I am Draul, Earl of Hogas of the kingdom of Grumhul,” he said. He sounded not the least bit embarrassed. “And this is my son, Lord Jasen. He’s here for Court.”

  Remarkably, the man did not laugh or sneer at them. “Of course, my lord,” he said with a bow. “We have been expecting Lord Jasen.” He paused. “Although we didn’t quite expect him at this time of night.”

  “We had carriage trouble, didn’t we?” his father bellowed.

  “Yes,” said the man, looking over at the carriage and their filthy clothing. “I can see that.”

  “Then why are you so surprised we’re late?” His father thrust his chest out and leveled his best haughty stare at the guard. “Well? Aren’t you going to have someone see my son to his room?”

  “Yes, my lord. I’ll see Lord Jasen to his room myself. I imagine you and your servants will want to retire, now that you’ve seen Lord Jasen here. Don’t worry about the trunk,” he said to Garyild and Rodrad when he saw them trying and failing to clean up the mess. “We can take care of it. In fact, why don’t I send someone up to show you the way to the West Wing? I know the grounds can be confusing.”

  “Grand, grand,” his father said. He turned to Jasen. “Well, good night. I can come by in the morning to say good-bye.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Jasen kept his tone as neutral as he could.

  His father’s face fell. “No, I suppose it won’t. Good-bye, son.”

  Jasen made his way up the steps, where the man waited for him. He bowed again and gestured to the door. “After you.”

  When they entered the hall, they walked up a small staircase covered in pristine red carpet, which became considerably less pristine as Jasen tramped across it. At the top of those stairs was a room with two enormous pillars supporting a high ceiling, and even more stairs. A lot more stairs. There were two enormous staircases on either side that curved around in a grand arch. It seemed to Jasen that two staircases were excessive, given that they led to the same place.

  “Welcome to the East Wing,” the man said. “I am Larely, by the way. I am the junior officer in charge of security.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Jasen mumbled, keeping his gaze on his dirty boots.

  “Are you injured?” Larely asked.

  Jasen furrowed his brow. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “You were obviously thrown from your carriage.”

  “Oh—no, I wasn’t. I had to get out to help when we got stuck in the mud.”

  The guard seemed surprised. “You helped?”

  “Of course I did. We weren’t about to get out of there otherwise, were we?”

  “I suppose not. But most of the nobles I’ve met would rather sit in a carriage all night than get dirty.”

  “I suppose that’s easier to do here in the Draelands, but in Grumhul, we don’t have magic. Things don’t get done with a snap of the finger! We have to rely on each other to—” Jasen stopped abruptly when he realized that he sounded exactly like his father. “Besides,” he continued in a cooler tone, “maybe I like getting dirty.”

  Larely burst out laughing. “I hadn’t considered that a possibility.” He gestured to one of the chairs that was situated off to the side. “Please, have a seat. If you will excuse me, I need to see that your father and your things are taken care of. Won’t take me but a moment.”

  Jasen was going to protest, given the state of his clothing, but the guard obviously knew and had offered him a seat anyway. Jasen did as he asked. Larely disappeared behind one of the doors.

  Jasen fidgeted in the chair. Not that it was uncomfortable. Actually, it was a bit too comfortable. The furniture in his own home tended towards the hard and wooden side. The creak of the opening door startled Jasen out of his thoughts. Larely had meant it when h
e said he’d be quick, it seemed. “All settled,” he said. “I’ll show you to your room now.”

  “You’re a guard, aren’t you?” Jasen asked, eying his uniform.

  “Of a sort.”

  “The sort who shows people to their rooms and arranges for carriages? It isn’t generally what guards in our country do.”

  “Nor in ours, but it seems to be a quiet night, and I like to keep busy. Otherwise, I might end up like Captain Ingo.”

  “The senior officer of security?”

  “Yes. He’s a hopeless drunk. Not that I blame him—it can get a bit boring here.” He gave him a sly look. “Although there is the occasional moment of excitement. I am called upon to rescue consorts sometimes.”

  Jasen eyed him skeptically. “From what?”

  “From themselves.” He winked. “Let’s get you to your room.”

  They walked back to the staircases, ascending the one on the right. They walked down a long hallway, passing many doors along the way, before ascending yet another flight of stairs.

  Jasen considered himself fit, but even he was a little winded by the time they reached the top. At long last, Larely stopped in front of a door. A small placard with his name hung on it. “Here we are,” he said, opening the door. “I’ve arranged a bath for you, and your things should be sent up shortly. If you should need anything else, ring the bell.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Orientation is at three,” Larely continued. “A valet will be up in the morning to help you dress. And if you ever need anything the servants can’t provide, just ask for me.”

  “That’s too kind.”

  “Not at all. Good night, my lord,” he said with a bow.

  Once he was gone, Jasen set about exploring his new lodgings. The room was lavishly decorated in reds and golds. There was a bed on his left, and a dressing screen and full-length mirror on his right. A small table with two chairs were placed by the window.

  Behind the dressing screen, there was a copper tub with bottles of soaps and oils laid out on a table beside it, and a rack with a dressing gown and a few fresh towels. As he approached it, steaming hot water began to fill the tub. He jumped back, startled, but regained his composure. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen magic before—it just had never been quite this casual. Magic was a rarity in Grumhul. Only people who were blessed by dragons gained magical abilities, and dragons didn’t come to Grumhul. Ever since Grumhul became a member of the Allied Realms, Grummish parents were welcome to take their children to neighboring countries to seek a blessing. But the Grummish were historically suspicious of dragons and magic in general, and thus it was rare that anyone took advantage of the offer.

  Jasen removed his clothing as the tub filled. Once it was finished, he eased into the water. It was heavenly—a hot bath was a rare treat. He reached for one of the bottles and dumped some of its contents into the water. A sweet floral smell filled the air. He washed himself, including his hair, and then lay back and enjoyed the warmth. When he was finished, he dried himself and put on the dressing gown. The water from the tub vanished.

  There was a knock on the door. It was a servant; Jasen’s trunk floated behind him. Jasen tried not to stare as the servant directed his trunk into the room. He wondered if the servant was dragon-blessed, or if the trunk itself had been put under enchantment. The servant collected his muddy clothes and left.

  When the servant was gone, he retrieved a night shirt from his trunk. After he slipped it on, he climbed into bed. He should have been tired enough to fall asleep right away, but his thoughts kept him awake for some time. He had been so sure he was ready to leave everything about Grumhul behind, but now that he was here at the palace, he missed it. Already he felt out of place. That was probably only going to get worse. He shut his eyes and tried not to think about it. Instead, he thought about the dragons, remembering their smooth, intricate dance in the sky. Gradually he relaxed, and soon he was asleep.

  Chapter 2

  Jasen woke up just before sunup. He’d always been an early riser, and being in an unfamiliar environment made his sleep uneasy. Since there was no point in lying in bed, he pulled on his dressing gown and got up. He discovered a few sweet biscuits in a jar on his bedside table, so he grabbed a couple and sat down at the small table by the window. It might have been tiresome climbing all those stairs, but the view was spectacular. He was facing east, so he got to watch the sun slowly illuminate the palace grounds. His attention was drawn to the famous Bedrose Gardens, known throughout the realm for their fantastic array of exotic flowers, breathtaking fountains, and gallery of topiary wonders. He wanted to see it, so he decided to get dressed and go for a walk. The gardens were not far from the East Wing. Larely had mentioned a valet would be sent to help him prepare for the orientation, but he couldn’t imagine him arriving for at least another two hours. Surely he’d be able to slip out and slip back in again without anyone noticing.

  It didn’t make much sense to get dressed up in finery just for a walk, especially if he wanted to go exploring. He selected a loose shirt and long trousers from his trunk—the sort he wore when he went for hikes in the swamps of Grumhul. His cloak hadn’t been returned to him, but it was summer. The morning air would surely be cool, but he’d warm up once he got moving. He tied his hair back, pulled on some boots, and then he was off.

  He walked down the stairs as quietly as he could. He figured there had to be some way for the servants to get around, and after some searching, he discovered a partially hidden staircase that led down to the kitchen. The kitchen was already bustling—no doubt it took a lot of work to get the whole hall fed. A few servants looked at him in surprise, but he quickly escaped through a door which led outside.

  Jasen headed toward the gardens, but on his way, he felt a strange pull. That warm feeling he’d had in his chest when he’d first seen the dragons bloomed inside him again, and almost before he knew it, he found himself heading towards the palace instead, and when he reached the palace, he kept going—up a trail and straight into the draemir.

  It did not occur to him to question this decision, or even consider it strange, but neither was he in a trance. He made his way past the palace, up a path which led towards the base of Ashfell Mountain. It was a bit of a hike—a good three-quarters of an hour passed before he finally stopped walking as he reached a clearing. Just beyond him was a forest, and beyond that, the mountain. He bent down to drink from a brook that trickled across the land. As the cold, sweet water hit his stomach, he suddenly realized how strange it was for him to be here. Why had he climbed all this way?

  He was starting to get a little disturbed about the whole situation when he saw something come towards him from the forest. There was a vibration in the ground that matched a rumble in his heart. He gasped as the fire in his chest bloomed again, much stronger than before. As the feeling washed over him, the enormous figure stepped out of the trees: a dragon, its scales shining as red and bright as rubies in the morning sun.

  Jasen had known that dragons were large creatures, but now that he was standing near one, he realized that he had not truly appreciated what that meant. Never in his life had he felt so small, but at the same time, he felt as if his world had expanded a hundredfold. Every doubt and every petty fear of his life grew as small to him as he must seem to this dragon.

  The dragon approached him slowly. He lowered his massive head until Jasen found himself looking into an enormous eye that was the same amber color as his own. At once, they knew each other’s names.

  Tasenred. That’s what the dragon was called.

  Jasen touched the dragon’s snout. A jolt went through him, and every nerve in his body sang. The dragon folded his legs underneath him and lay down on with an earth-shaking thud. Jasen let out a startled laugh. “Are you tired?”

  The dragon blinked. Jasen sank down as well, putting his arms around the dragon’s neck, his face flush with the smooth, warm scales. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to do. “Me too,
” he said. “It’s taken me so long to get here…”

  Jasen turned over and leaned against Tasenred’s neck, closing his eyes and soaking in the sunlight that grew stronger with each moment. Some time passed, but Jasen couldn’t be sure how much. He was disturbed from his rest when the dragon lifted his head, turning his attention to something. Jasen sat up and looked as well.

  There was a tall man at the edge of the clearing. His black hair hung loose to his shoulders, and his face was covered with a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a red tunic and breeches, over which he wore a Drae’s cloak, which was a ceremonial garment. It had dragon’s teeth on the shoulders and was clasped with a bright red jewel known as a dragon’s tear, and lined with dragon scales. The elements of the cloak were gifts from dragons, as dragons shed their teeth and scales often. He was a draed, then. Draeds and draedesses lived in monasteries among the people, but they also ventured into the draemirs for meditation and communion with the dragons.

  Jasen had no idea what to say. Fortunately, the man spoke first. “I’ve never seen him take to someone so quickly.” He had a slight accent—something eastern, but Jasen was too ill-traveled to place it exactly.

  Jasen continued to sit there stupidly for a moment, realizing that he should probably say something. “Am I in trouble?” was what he came up with.

  “If Tasenred wants to meet you, who am I to tell him no?” He sat beside Jasen. Tasenred let out a rumble that sounded pleased and lay his head down again. Jasen examined the man more closely now that he was near. He had an aquiline nose and sharp cheek bones, giving his face a certain harshness, but his eyes were the same friendly blue of the sky on a clear summer day. Jasen couldn’t quite guess his age. He seemed not too old, but there were a few streaks of gray in his hair.