by Tara Grayce
I concentrate on keeping a straight posture and proper table manners. Besides handling the various eating utensils properly, I have to make sure I don’t clack my teeth too loudly, which could offend the unicorns as mocking their propensity to accidentally chomp due to their overly large teeth, and I can’t slurp because the dragons might think it an insult to the slurping noises they make as they eat due to their pointed teeth and thin tongue.
Of the two, I’d rather annoy the unicorns. They have a much better sense of humor than dragons.
If only Tryggvey could be here. He’s my best friend in Averell and the nephew of the Stallion. Trygg’s father’s here, sitting next to Mom and telling her something that has her eyes crinkling up in the closest thing to laughter she’ll do while at an official banquet.
Probably just as well Trygg isn’t here. He probably would’ve snorted water across the table at the dragons or done something equally disgusting and offensive. He’s skilled like that.
“King Finian, what is your stand on the naiad-gnome dispute?” The Flame purrs the words as she stabs the hunk of steak she’d just sliced off. Her voice is throaty with a sibilant note.
“It’s a big ruckus over nothing, that’s what I say.” The Stallion shakes his head, flinging his long, shaggy hair around his head.
The Flame cocks her head. “I don’t remember asking you, horse-face. But if I had, I would remind you that poisoning the water supply is a concern we all share. I might dine on red meat and you scrounge on grass, but we both need water.”
She smiles, showing rows of gleaming teeth, sharp and pointed even in this form. She delicately bites the hunk of meat off her knife and slurps, her throat working as she swallows most of it whole.
The Stallion grimaces, though if it is from the Flame’s table manners or the topic of conversation, I don’t know.
“I think both sides will have to be weighed carefully.” Dad cuts into the conversation before the Stallion can say something that is sure to be some sort of insult. “Yes, we need to be careful with our water supply, and the naiads have a right to be concerned. Yet we must not place so many restrictions that we hinder industry either. Averell already lags behind the other continents when it comes to magical and technological advances.”
The Flame waves her slim hand. Her nails gleam a deep red in the light of the glowstones, the same color her claws are in her dragon form. “Technological advances hardly do us any good when our water is undrinkable.”
The Stallion snorts, a few pieces of grass sticking out of the side of his mouth. “I doubt it will come to that. The naiads don’t have a problem cleansing the water now. It’ll take a lot for the waters to get so polluted their spells can’t cleanse it.”
“Perhaps.” The Flame swallows another whole hunk of meat. “But we have seen the results of messing with the natural order of magic before.”
The room silences. A tense silence.
I ease my fork onto the table, sneaking a glance at Dad and Mom. Dad’s back is straight as a sword. Mom’s mouth is pressed flat enough to show white at the corners. Out of the corner of my eye, Ryan is also glancing around the table, a knife in his hand.
This isn’t a topic my family discusses often. They’ve told us some about the war that happened twenty years ago, and I’ve learned more from Trygg and my tutors. A rogue magician rallied some of the dragons to her side, lots of people died, and the current Flame took over after that. My parents met just before the war started, and Dad’s parents—our grandparents—were killed. Dad always chokes up any time he mentions their deaths.
The Stallion stabs at the pile of greens on his plate. “I heard a naiad say Melltra Larrona was spotted near the wasteland.”
I sit straighter. Melltra Larrona is the daughter of the magician and one of the rebelling dragons from that war twenty years ago. She disappeared after the war, with people only catching sight of her occasionally.
“My people routinely scout the wastelands, and we have seen no sign of her.” The Flame pushes away from her seat. “I believe this evening is at an end.”
Dad quickly stands, followed by Ryan and Mom.
The Stallion just snorts and keeps eating his plate of hand-picked, fully organic, non-magically grown falala greens and sweet grass. Only the best, for this banquet.
I slide to my feet as well and join my parents and brother off to one side of the table.
The Flame sashays into the large open space in the center of the hall, her movements part a walk and part a slither. She pauses in front of Mom and Dad. “Thank you for once again hosting us so graciously. I look forward to continuing the negotiations tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? They didn’t finish the discussion today? I have to work to keep my expression a pleasant neutral. What am I going to do if neither Mom nor Dad can get away for a few minutes while I have Erin and Brett at the house over in Michigan? It would be a little hard to explain to my high school science group that my parents wouldn’t be home because they were too busy negotiating a treaty between dragons and unicorns.
“Of course. You are welcome here any time.” Dad gives her a half bow. “I look forward to continuing the progress we made today.”
The Flame arches one of her eyebrows again, as if “progress” isn’t what she’d call the results of today’s meetings. In a blink, she transforms into her dragon form, a huge red body with iridescent red wings. The transformation is instantaneous, lacking any of the sparkles, bright light, or burst of noise you might expect.
She bobs her great head in Dad’s direction, turns, and saunters toward the exit. Her long, ropy body moves in waves back and forth with the movements of her legs.
The other five dragons in her diplomatic team also transform and sidle after the Flame, disappearing out the large doors built big enough to accommodate dragons in their dragon form.
A few minutes later, the beat of wings reverberates as the six dragons soar into the sky past the upper windows of the hall.
The Stallion finally pushes back from his chair, picking a sprig of grass from between his two front teeth. “Entertaining as usual. Can’t wait to see what other manure they bring to the table tomorrow.”
Behind the Stallion, the other five unicorns snort and shake their heads back and forth in the unicorn version of laughter. Trygg’s father, of course, snorts the loudest of all.
I work to keep a straight face. Is it any wonder unicorns and dragons don’t get along with attitudes like that? At least unicorns can joke about it.
Admittedly, I am a little biased in the unicorns’ favor, what with Trygg being my best friend.
Dad gives his half-bow again, but this time he’s smiling broader than he had for the Flame. He might be a little biased toward the unicorns as well. “Ah, yes. I’m sure they flew away saying the same thing about you.”
“Probably. Though they’d be much more delicate about it.” The Stallion snorts again, the sound deepening as he transforms into his horse form mid-snort. His horse body is built more like a draft horse, chunky and barrel-chested. His brown fur is shaggy rather than sleek while his dark mane and tail are thick and wild instead of flowing. The horn rising from the middle of his forehead is dark brown and glossy, the same color as his hooves.
With a shake of his head, he canters toward the doors. The rest of the unicorns transform and canter after him.
Ryan pulls his crown from his head and scratches at his forehead. “I take it things didn’t go well today.”
Dad sighs and also tugs his crown from his head. “About as well as could be expected. At one point in the afternoon, the Flame threatened to eat the Stallion, and the Stallion started in on dragon dropping references, and if not for your mother, we never would’ve gotten them back on track.”
Mom shakes her head so slightly it doesn’t dislodge her tiara. “Apparently that tone of voice works just as well on unicorns and dragons as it does on children. Now I need to change out of this dress so I can breathe again.”
“And I
need to get out of this suit.” Ryan bolts for the stairway, headed for the family wing of the castle.
I breathe out a sigh of relief and trail after them. At least at this banquet, I managed to keep my head still enough to keep my tiara in place. A few years ago at a feast with the President of the gnomes, I accidentally nodded my head too vigorously and dumped my crown in my soup. The gnomes, at least, thought the event absolutely hilarious and to this day the President reminds me of it when he visits.
In my room, I change back into the black and white striped shirt and black slacks. My favorite. Nothing on Earth compares with the fabrics we have in Averell. My slacks are as comfortable as yoga pants, soft as the finest silk, but as sturdy as the toughest denim. And they fit just right, not too tight, yet not too baggy either, though that probably has more to do with the fact that I’m a princess here and my clothes are custom made for me, rather than bought off the rack at a department store or picked up at a thrift store.
My family gathers in my parents’ sitting room, which we have turned into the one room in the castle where we can hang out as a family without worrying about keeping up appearances. Of course, when we really want to let our guard down, we hang out on Earth for a few hours, but those times are few and far between. It’s much harder for the entire royal family to disappear without a trace from Averell than it is for your average middle class family to simply not exist over in the United States for a day or two.
Mom sinks into her favorite seat, a puffy chair that also rocks back and forth. She rubs at her temples. “I think I have to spend tonight in Michigan. I’ve been in Averell too long.”
Her headaches and nausea are normal, even if I don’t like seeing her feeling ill. It’s the side effect of someone from Earth being in Averell for longer than their body can handle. Dad has the same thing if he stays on Earth too long.
As near as we can figure, Averell and Earth are related. They are compatible enough that we can move between them, and their histories and cultures influence each other to some extent. But the underlying power that controls all things shows in different ways. Earth runs by science. Averell by magic. A slight difference, but enough that someone from Earth can’t stay in Averell too long. In science fiction language, you might say they are phased differently.
The only thing we’ve found that helps is unicorn horn powder. Mom sprinkles it on her food so she can eat Averellian food without being violently ill. Dad takes a packet of unicorn horn powder with him when he plans to eat at our farmhouse in Michigan. After all, he can’t miss out on the wonders of pizza, even if he is from a fairy tale realm.
Gary, Ryan, and I don’t have any of these problems. Maybe because we are some strange mix of both. It boggles my mind, when I stop to think about it, that we are some union of science and magic. Something that can exist with and in both.
Dad nods and slips into his chair next to hers. “I can get away for a few hours before I have to come back here.”
Ryan stretches out on the sofa. It’s puffier than the sofas on Earth. Instead of having a back a back, it is wider with lots of large pillows that we can prop up whatever way we wish to be more comfortable.
I flop onto the other side of the sofa and reach for a pillow. Ryan snatches it away from me before I can get my fingers on it. When I scowl at him, he grins and tosses it back, hitting me in the face.
Brothers. So immature, even when they are princes.
I fluff the pillow and prop it behind my head and shoulders so that I’m half-sitting up. “Do you think you could also go back tomorrow night? I got roped into inviting a couple of kids from school over to the house to plan our group project for the science fair.”
“I should be able to, as long as the negotiations don’t get too heated tomorrow.” Mom sits up straighter. “Who is coming?”
“Erin and Brett Haverink. He got assigned to our group last minute.” I do my best to keep my tone and shrug casual.
Mom’s gaze gets a glint to it anyway. Do moms gain crush-seeking radar when their daughters are born? Mom always seems to know exactly which boy I might have a crush on.
“Assigned. Sure. Of course.” Ryan swats me with another pillow.
I yank the pillow free from his hands and hit him with it. “Yes. He was the only one left without a group, and we were the only group needing another person.”
Ryan grins. “So either he’s really good at planning this all out—and if he is, I need to get tips on how he managed it—or he’s thinking himself lucky to be assigned to a group of all girls.”
Sports, food, and girls. That’s all high school boys think about. Or, at least, that’s all my brothers tell me a high school boy thinks about. I’d add that they think a lot about status, hence the discussions that revolve solely around sports, food, and girls to appear macho to other boys who are trying just as hard to be macho.
And they say the life of a high school girl is complicated.
Dad’s gaze sharpens. “Maybe both of us will see if we can get away for a few hours to be there. Wouldn’t want to let this Brett get the impression that you don’t have a dad around.”
Looking after me and intimidating boys. Too bad the things that make him the most formidable—his crown and his hobby of learning how to use Averellian medieval weaponry—aren’t things that can be shared over there. Though Brett might mistake a clonmoran for a broadsword.
Then again, Brett is into history and medieval weapons. He and my dad will probably get along just fine.
“It’s just a science project. And Erin’s going to be there too.” Time to tweak the subject before my brother and parents get too fixated on their teasing Ami spree. “It would be nice if you were there, Dad. We’re planning to build a trebuchet.”
That distracts everyone. We spend the next while discussing how big we should build this trebuchet and then discussing ideas for Ryan’s science fair project since his group has yet to decide before Mom has to head for the farmhouse.
Just as well. My internal clock tells me we should go to bed if we want a decent amount of sleep before school tomorrow.
Tomorrow. As in, the day my crush comes over to my house to work on a science project. That tomorrow.
It will probably be the most embarrassing day of my life.
Chapter 3
My Crush Causes Realm-Shattering Trouble
“Ryan will drive us over to my house.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder as we leave school. I walk quickly, not looking at Brett strolling a few paces behind me.
Erin shrugs into the second strap of her backpack. “Must be nice to live so close. Though, if your dad is anything like my dad, he probably tells you lots of stories about walking uphill in the snow both ways.”
My dad never walked to school. He had tutors come to him in the castle, back when my grandparents were still alive. No walking through the snow. No traditional school.
We find Ryan already putting his backpack in the truck box. Normally we toss our backpacks in the narrow, rear seat, but today we have to fit four.
I fold the passenger seat forward and hold the seatbelt out of the way for Erin while she climbs inside. I scramble in after her and drop onto the bench seat. When Brett pushes the passenger seat into place, I have to sit sideways since the space is so narrow.
Thankfully the ride home only takes a few minutes, then we all pile out of the truck and walk to the house. When Ryan unlocks the door and pushes it open, I can tell by the dark kitchen and lack of dinner cooking that Mom and Dad haven’t been able to pull themselves away from Averell yet.
I try not to frown. It’s an understood rule that we aren’t to have anyone over when they aren’t home, especially a mixed company of boys and girls. Still, this is right after school, and Ryan is here. Mom and Dad will be here soon. Hopefully. They don’t have my internal clock telling them what time it is on Earth.
“I guess my parents aren’t home yet. I’ll grab us a snack, then we can get to work.” I dump my backpack on the floor in the m
udroom. “You guys can make yourselves at home at the table if you’d like.”
Erin shakes her head. “We usually work down in the basement on stuff like this. It’s way more comfortable.”
Yes, but that was just the two of us, my parents were home, my family warned about visitors, and, most importantly, the door to the secret portal was locked. Now Brett is also here, looking around the kitchen as if fascinated by the woodwork, and I can’t lock the door because my parents may come through the portal at any time, and, when they do, it’ll be a little hard to explain how my parents are arriving home by way of the basement instead of the front door.
But if I act odd, Erin will only question me more. “Right, of course. We can work down in the basement. There’s a table and comfy chairs down there. Erin, why don’t you show Brett the way?”
It will be fine. We’ll be so busy working Brett and Erin won’t question how my parents end up in the basement. The portal doesn’t make any Tardis noises or anything like that when it’s used, so that isn’t an issue.
As Erin leads Brett down the basement stairs, I turn to the pantry, waiting to open it until they are out of sight. It’s a little hard to explain the lack of food we keep in the house on a regular basis, especially for a family of five. But many of the meals we eat as a family are over in Averell, and much of what is left here are Mom’s favorite foods since she needs to eat more food from Earth than the rest of us.
I locate what is left of a pack of Oreos, three glasses, and half a gallon of thankfully not expired milk. When I pass the family room, Ryan is already sprawled on the sofa with a few Oreos of his own, watching something on TV.
In the basement, I find Erin making herself comfortable on the couch, spreading out sheets of sketch paper on the large coffee table where Erin and I have planned many group projects over the years. Brett has pulled the armchair close to the table and is digging through his backpack.
I set the milk, glasses, and Oreos off to the one, uncluttered side of the table and take the seat next to Erin. “Did you guys have any idea where to start?”