Dragon’s Stone

by Lena Austin

  Jack laughed and shrugged, completely unrepentant. “Sorry, Aneurin. I don’t mean to embarrass you. All right, where do we buy dragon saddles?”

  Sighing, Aneurin shifted the basket containing their purchases and pointed to a sign that read Fyne Leather and Saddlery. “There, the big barn-like structure with the red shutters. Just try to keep in mind you’re the son of a duchess. A little dignity, please?”

  With a grimace, Jack nodded his agreement. “Bad enough my birth name was Mikalus. You’re beginning to sound like Mother. That long tedious explanation over dinner about her sister’s status was enough to put me off that excellent food, even if I did freak to see a whole pig presented on the table. That was a little meal? I don’t want to know what a feast is like, then.” He opened the door to the shop and pushed Aneurin in first. “I’ll be a good little student wizard, I promise.”

  That whispered comment didn’t reassure Aneurin much. Jack had no concept of rank or class distinctions. To him, the whole world was his equal, even other races. To Aneurin, this was a point in Jack’s favor, but the rigid social structure of Honalee would likely be less tolerant.

  His lover happily crossed the street and marched up to a man sitting on a stool outside the huge red doors of the barn, his feet propped up on a barrel. Grizzled gray hair straggled out from what Aneurin would have called the oddest hat he’d ever seen to form a ponytail down the wizard’s back. Only wizards had long hair in Honalee. The old man curiously studied Jack from the tips of his sneakers to the top of his head.

  Jack grinned and nodded. “Hey, nice Stetson! Are you the owner of this place? I need a saddle, please.”

  The old wizard frowned at Jack’s pronunciations of Honalean words. His thumb flicked his hat a trifle higher. “Nice set of Nikes. Why don’t you try speaking English, Jack?”

  Aneurin dropped the basket and his jaw simultaneously. The old wizard spoke perfect American English.

  Breathing a gusty sigh of relief, Jack stuck out his hand. “Oh, man, someone who speaks my language! Wonderful. How’d you know my name? What’s yours, by the way?”

  Grinning, the wizard clasped Jack’s hand and they moved their arms up and down in unison. “My name’s DeAngelo, and I’ll be your dragon riding instructor at the school. That’s how I know about you. Come on in and meet my dragon, Watash. We’ll have a beer.” He kicked his feet off the barrel and stood, a short stocky man in a simple tunic and trews. Only his hat was oddly out of place in the world of Honalee.

  Aneurin sheepishly picked up his basket and spent a moment gathering up the spilled contents from the hard packed soil. Relief flooded him. He knew Watash, and hoped he might have a few minutes with the old dragon for news of dragonkind his mother hadn’t provided.

  Jack moaned and licked his lips. “Beer? American or British? I’d kill for a beer, or better yet, coffee.”

  DeAngelo chuckled. “I was born in Michigan to a rebel wizard and his non-mage wife. Good cold American Michelob. Sorry, I polished off the last of my coffee this morning. I have to brew it in a camp stove percolator, so I don’t keep much around. Watash and I will go back to Seattle and pick up a pound or two before school starts. Want me to grab you some, too?” He shoved open the barn door wide enough to admit them. “I’ll pick up another percolator while I’m at it. You’ll be able to brew a pot for yourself at the fire in your room at school. Better than that watered down piss they call tea here for a wake up in the morning.”

  Jack dug into his pouch. “You just became a very dear friend, DeAngelo. How much will I owe you for keeping me supplied with the elixir of life?” He caught the beer tossed his way and both humans plopped themselves in front of a circular raised fire pit for a chat.

  Aneurin followed them inside. He spied Watash immediately. The huge silver and dark blue dragon was awake and reading a large tome in his nest stall. Aneurin put the basket by the door and quietly wandered over to Watash.

  The old dragon winked and put down his book. “Good day to you, Aneurin! I’ve not seen you since you were fledged. How have you been? Flying well?”

  “Not as much flying as I’d like, Watash.” Aneurin kept to his human form and sat in a comfortable chair wedged in the stall area. There wasn’t enough room for two dragons, unless Aneurin used the empty stall next to Watash. Besides, it was easier to have a private conversation this way. “So, what’s the latest gossip from the mountains?”

  The silver tip of Watash’s tail lashed the ground for a moment, betraying his agitation. “Not good, I’m afraid. Being bonded has its disadvantages, and this is one of those times. We’re not well trusted by the independent dragons. Even so, word filters down eventually.” The dragon raised his head and stole a glance at the two laughing humans. “Don’t tell our dear friends. This is none of their business yet. The Dragon’s Stone is missing.”

  Aneurin bit his lower lip. He hated to admit his ignorance, so he pretended to be concerned. He’d ask Draig later what was the significance of the Stone. “That is bad news indeed. What’s being done?”

  Watash lowered his head and closed his eyes for a moment. “Nothing at present. A delegation of humans from the royal capital visited our queen at the time. Diplomatic relations are deteriorating rapidly between the non-humans and humans. The whole situation is like tinder in a dry forest. One small spark could set the whole thing ablaze, harming even the innocent. None of us wants that, no matter how much we hate King Cadell. We’re putting a lot of hope into your…”

  A crash of shattering glass cracked the air. “King Cadell?”

  Aneurin started at the pure horror in Jack’s voice. He jumped to his feet, guilt squirming in his stomach.

  Jack stood at the entrance to the stall, his face white. In his hands were two beer bottles, one unopened and clearly for Aneurin. The remains of a third lay scattered at his feet, with beer soaking his white sneakers.

  DeAngelo lit a cigarette, his eyes avoiding Jack’s. “Yep. The bas… well, I don’t think much of him, I’ll say that, even though I work for him every winter, teaching.”

  Aneurin glanced at Watash, who gave him a warning glare. He got the message. Say nothing. Aneurin took the beer from Jack’s hand. Under no circumstances should Jack be allowed to blurt out that Cadell was his father. “Thanks for the beer, Jack. Sorry you dropped one. Would you like a beer, Watash? I’ll fetch another if you like.”

  The blue dragon picked up his tome. “No thank you, Aneurin. If you’ll forgive me, I’d like to return to my reading, and DeAngelo needs to measure you for a saddle, I believe.”

  Dismissed, Aneurin took hold of Jack’s arm and pulled his stunned friend back out to where DeAngelo waited, dragging on his smoke. Aneurin muttered under his breath, “Get hold of yourself, Jack. We’ll talk later, privately.”

  Jack swallowed, and the shocked look left his eyes. “Your friend is right, Aneurin. It’s getting late. Let’s get this order for a saddle done.” He took a long pull from the bottle. “I’ve still many questions to ask Aunt Lucynda tonight.”

  Aneurin winced. How Jack managed to keep it all straight that he must pretend Lucynda the Red Sorceress was supposed to be his aunt, not his mother, awed Aneurin. Even upset and angry, Jack maintained the lie. Dragons were too honest for fabrications, especially when it came to the complicated tales humans wove with ease.

  DeAngelo stood and picked up a long cord. “You won’t have much time, lad. You’ll want to pack. We’re leaving in a few days for the school. If you like, you can follow Watash and I so you don’t get lost in the Troll Mountains. No fun, that. Colder than a witch’s tit in an iron bra up there. The school has hot springs to keep it warm for our dragons, but outside of that limited area, Aneurin would die unless you know the way.” He gestured to Aneurin. “Change form, would you?”

  Aneurin meekly returned to dragon form and allowed DeAngelo to clamber up on one of his forelegs. He could feel the anger simmering just below Jack’s cheerful mask. Jack was in for a shock when he realized the whole situa
tion in Honalee, and Aneurin fervently wished he could be anywhere else that night when Jack found out the truth at dinner.

  Chapter Four

  Jack waited until they were all seated at the table in the hall and the menservants had dished out the first course. He barely glanced at it. “Mother, we need to talk.”

  The smile faded from Lucynda’s face at his growling tone. Her blue eyes studied him for a full minute, at least. Then she sighed and put down her spoon next to her soup. “I was afraid of this. Go ahead. Ask your questions.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Aneurin share a telling and uncomfortable look with Draig. Too fucking bad if he made the dragons nervous tonight.

  Jack ground his teeth and put a rein on his temper. The soup smelled savory, and his hungry stomach gurgled, but he’d be damned if he’d deal with this on a full stomach. He’d surely pay for it with a case of acid reflux if he took one bite given his level of frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me Cadell was the king? Is that the reason for the lies about my being your sister’s son?”

  Lucynda looked down. “Yes, that’s a large part of it. Forgive me. I’ll have to use simple terms because you don’t speak Honalean well. Draig and Aneurin will have to translate some of this.” She turned and gabbled something to Draig he couldn’t follow.

  Draig cleared her throat. She dabbed her lips with the cloth napkin. “Keep in mind this is complicated and involves politics beyond your understanding, Jack.”

  Jack kept the irony out of his voice with difficulty. He could taste bile on the back of his tongue and wished for an antacid. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

  Aneurin ladled soup into his mouth with studied care and didn’t meet his eyes. How much of this did the dragon already know? Why hadn’t he said anything?

  Jack’s dear, conniving mother wrung and twisted her napkin in her hands until a rip developed along the edge. “My relationship with Cadell was only business. He’d provide me with a child in exchange for certain magic items I had in my possession at the time. He was just another wizard then. Once you were conceived, our business deal terminated. I sent his payment.” She shrugged. “I had what I wanted. He had what he wanted.”

  Draig waded in. “Shortly after your conception, the queen requested the same service from Cadell. He was handsome, of a noble line, and respectful of her crown. Or so we thought. Lady help us, we all thought well of him then. To our shame, we even suggested him when the queen asked what male Lucynda had used.”

  A servant came in with the second course. Silence reigned while he served what smelled like a fish casserole.

  Jack’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. The stench of fish was never his favorite scent, but that odor was particularly foul. “What is this dish, if you please?”

  Lucynda sniffed with apparent relish. “Ah, eel. My favorite.” She permitted the servant to give her a large portion.

  Draig grinned at Aneurin. “We keep them in the pond. Makes for a fun hunt when we want something fresh.”

  Visions of swimming with snake-like fish things didn’t thrill him. Jack shuddered. He leaned over to Aneurin and muttered under his breath, “Remind me never to go swimming in the pond, will you?” Jack waved away the servant when he offered him some of the eel casserole.

  Lucynda waited until the room was clear of servants before continuing. “Cadell played his game well. He used the months spent negotiating his contract with the queen very well. By the time the ink was dry, the entire court was enthralled with him and gave him all he asked in the contract.” She took a bite of her casserole and chewed thoughtfully.

  Draig cleared her mouth and picked up where Lucynda left off. “Most telling was the clause where he was permitted to stay at court to help raise his offspring.” She coughed uncomfortably. “Male wizards are so rare, they are not socially obligated to remain and rear the offspring. They are expected to service as many sorceresses as ask for them, if possible.”

  Jack grimaced, recognizing the implied warning. He felt like he’d been dipped in ice-cold water. While Jack wasn’t one of his more fanatical gay brethren who insulted females and considered them repugnant, he didn’t consider himself a good candidate for putting out to stud, either. He fumbled for a diplomatic answer. “Not my idea of a good time, thanks.”

  Lucynda shrugged and gave him an understanding smile. “We’re simply warning you. You’re even more handsome than Cadell was in his youth, well built, and likely to be powerful once trained. Every sorceress within a hundred leagues will offer you the moon and stars for the opportunity of a night in your arms.” She opened her eyes wide until she resembled a calf, and mimed romantic infatuation with razor accuracy.

  Aneurin snickered.

  His lips twitched, and Jack swallowed a chuckle until he choked. The humor of the situation finally struck him. “They’re doomed to disappointment. The latest stud on the farm likes other studs.” He reached out and grasped Aneurin’s free hand. “Particularly one.”

  Draig snorted and shook her fork at him. “You say that now, but the first time Aneurin gets a whiff of a dragoness in musk… well, we’ll see how strong your resolve is then, won’t we? You’ll be involved, like it or not, and you’d better have a willing body handy to --” She flushed.

  Aneurin’s fork clattered to his plate. His mouth fell open in shock. “I will? And Jack will feel it, too?”

  Lucynda laughed at his white face. “You’re bonded, aren’t you? Dragons can’t help themselves when it’s time to mate. Even if Aneurin succeeds in fighting the urge to sky-fight for the right to mate, he’ll still broadcast all the sexual urges, and he’ll be locked in dragon form until it’s over. Unless you have a willing partner, you’d better lock yourself in your rooms with all breakables elsewhere.”

  Jack grimaced, imagining himself groaning and spanking the monkey while every loose object whirled around the room in a mad dance. “Enough. I get the picture.”

  Draig winked at his discomfort. “Well, back to the subject of Cadell’s treachery. You need to know why we’re hiding you.” She patted Lucynda’s hand. “Let me explain in his language. It would be faster.”

  His mother nodded. “Perhaps so, but I think it would be best to cast a language spell on him before the night is out.” She smiled at him. “We’ll do it after dinner so you have time to recover before leaving.”

  Jack sighed and shoved the now cold soup aside. Oh, fun. He’d read enough books to assume he’d have a screaming headache. However, he recognized the need to have the full Honalean language impressed in his brain. School would be hard enough without a communication barrier. “Thank you, Mother.”

  Aneurin squeezed his hand and let go in silent support. Through their shared bond, Jack shared his disquiet with the revelations of the evening. Somehow, Jack knew the worst was yet to come.

  Draig took a sip of the excellent wine served with dinner. “I’ll make this quick and to the point. By the time the royal princess Miranda was born, Cadell had set himself up as the perfect royal consort and father. The court adored him, and the queen hung on his every word. The queen didn’t have an easy pregnancy, and a worse birthing. She weakened and continued to bleed for days, dying less than a fortnight after Miranda’s birth.”

  Jack frowned and didn’t remind her of his world’s royal families, who were so inbred that hemophilia was a common genetic flaw for generations. If Cadell was noble, there were probably quite a few gene crosses, more than enough to cause problems. Magic couldn’t cure a genetic disease like that one. Even he could figure that out. He could almost see the next part coming, and Draig didn’t disappoint him.

  “That’s when we learned of another term in the contract between the queen and Cadell. If the queen died before the child was old enough to take the throne, then he would be Regent for the child.” Her lip curled. “He took the throne with unseemly haste, even before the queen was buried. Then Princess Miranda and her wet nurse went to the north tower. He trotted her out on state occasions for a few
years, and then one day announced she was sick and asked the whole nation to pray. For weeks, healers and holy women filed in and out of the palace, to no avail. Princess Miranda was buried beside her mother in her sixth year. The wet nurse was never heard from again.”

  Jack huffed out a small, exasperated breath. Typical politics, just like Washington. It was five times as hard to unseat an incumbent who’d been in power just long enough for people to get used to him. As long as the politician caused no overt harm, his constituents would sit on their hands. “Cadell was by then the only ruler in town, and so firmly entrenched you couldn’t remove him with dynamite, right?”

  Lucynda, who’d frowned and listened intently, nodded. “I don’t know what dyna -- what was it? -- is, but he’s the closest legal thing we have to a ruler. Other than the fact that he’s male, of course.”

  Aneurin and Draig both winced.

  Jack’s brow creased. “Okay, there’s more to that statement than what’s on the surface, isn’t there?” He waited while the servants brought in the next course, mulling things over. This time, it looked and smelled like beef. He could live with that. Then it dawned on him. All the servants were male. All the shopkeepers he’d visited were female. Queen. He turned to Draig and spoke in English. “This is a matriarchal society and males are second class citizens?”

  Draig shifted in her chair, and her chin jerked downward once.

  Jack shuddered and cut up his dinner while he pondered the ramifications. He was the son of a hated usurper to the throne. However, no one knew that. No one but the people in this room, that was. Jack thoughtfully shoved in a forkful of meat. Whatever it was, it was tasty. Sort of like beef. He switched back to Honalean. “Okay, I’m not happy with being a second class citizen, but I’ll live.” He wasn’t obligated to stay in Honalee. He could go back to Washington any time. No need to hurt Lucynda. At least he wasn’t in line for the throne or some stupid patriarchal lineage shit.