by Marc Secchia
“Now listen here, Dragon,” Juzzakarr blustered, gripping the huge ruby at his chest as if he could draw strength from it. “That’s my daughter you have there, and –”
“What’s she worth to you, old man?”
Tytiana shivered. What was it about that gem that always made her feel cold, not in a physical sense, but in other, deeper ways? She hated it!
“Well, gold … plenty of it.”
“Good.” The Dragon’s muzzle rose to scent the night air. His massive inhalation roared like a gale rushing though the boughs of a fenturi tree. “The mercenaries are coming, High Master. A little late for negotiations, wouldn’t you say? I’ll be back with my demands once I’ve out-flown those fools.”
With that, the Brown crouched, and then his massive thews twanged as he hurled himself into the air. Two giant flaps of his fully extended wings smashed guests to the ground left and right, and suddenly he was fully airborne and the burning mansion was receding faster than Tytiana could credit. What power! Each massive wing stroke pressed her backward against Jakani, whose arms were wrapped around her waist in a protective posture. Now, the Dragon tilted toward the horizontal and powered forward, gathering speed until the wind wuthered in her ears and Jakani was left coughing on a mouthful of her hair.
“Not an ally, then?” he whispered into her ear.
Despite her trepidation, Tytiana shivered at the close contact. “Nnn-huh.”
“Next time you’re planning to do the ‘damsel in a burning tower routine,’ would you mind giving me some forewarning?” His soft laughter made her shiver again, but his voice was the one quivering with aftershocks of fright, relief and worry. “Glad you’re alive, o Choice. Let’s try to keep it that way, shall we?”
“Nurgh-hoo.”
“Uh … that’s, ‘thank you?’ Not sure I deserve that. Listen, I was scared enough back there I practically soiled my trousers. My intrepid rescue lasted all of about five seconds. Where do you think we’re headed?” She shook her head. “No, sorry. Can’t move my hands. Hope you don’t mind – uh, you know. Me handling your person in such a familiar way. Can’t move an inch.”
* * * *
Despite his apology, Jakani realised he was feeling rather smug about this situation. Put aside the minor issue that the Dragon was planning to dump them somewhere, or failing a ransom negotiation, shred the flesh from their bones in two seconds flat, and that if they weren’t about to die right now there was an excellent chance that death might catch up with them in the next minute or two – for the shadows of at least six pursuing Dragons were closing in from all directions, occluding the stars – set all of that aside, he had his arms snugged around the loveliest flame in all of creation, and there was not a jot either of them could do about this conundrum. Savour the moment, Jakani! For if they survived, Tytiana would undoubtedly do some roasting and flaying of her own.
Her hair smelled amazing. It even tasted good.
He wriggled his fingers to see if there might be some movement available. “Nno-goo,” Tytiana giggled into the gag.
“Ticklish?” Very ticklish. And no, this snuggle was going nowhere, which was absolutely perfect in his impartial, ever-so-honourable opinion. Trapped. Trapped between the twin bonfires of terror and desire.
Her trussed fingers pinched the flesh of his lower stomach. “Nnn!”
Ouch. This could turn out badly. “Alright, no more tickling. Hold on! I think we’re about to –”
The Brown Dragon did not so much bank as scream into a violent turn, making his stomach turn nasty somersaults. A fireball thundered past not far from his muzzle; Jakani felt the heat against his face. Now the Brown clutched them in a proprietorial fashion against his stalwart chest as the beasts began to thunder at each other in their own tongue – Dragons had their own language? He had never realised that. But after a second, something of its meaning seemed to find place in his mind.
He translated for Tytiana, “If I’m hearing right, Excorion the Brown – that’s his name – is claiming he’ll kill his prize if they dare to pursue us.” Squash them like bugs, he supposed. Wow, was that her perfume tantalising his nostrils? Dizzying but delightful. “The other Dragons aren’t best pleased. Adazara is saying something about flaying his hide for Dragonship leather, I believe.” The blasts of the arguing Dragons continued to deafen them. Apparently fangs, talons, bone-shaking growling and fireballs were all part of the local thunderstorm that passed for a spirited draconic discussion, and there were multiple layers of insults going on as well. “Excorion has the upper paw. Adazara wants him to promise he’ll release you at least – apparently I am ‘the lamko flea’ and have no intrinsic value. Hmm. The Brown disagrees. Nice of him.”
Jakani tried to duck when what looked like a ball of white lightning unleashed by Adazara came perilously close to rearranging his hairstyle yet again, and he ended up clashing heads with Tytiana. “Ouch! Flying ralti sheep, woman, you’ve a tough nut on your shoulders.”
“Hrr-hurr-hurr,” she shook with laughter.
The argument continued for several blistering minutes. Excorion kept his paw close to his chest, and the blasts of his thunder were giving Jakani a fierce headache. Without warning, the Dragonflight of mercenaries wheeled away. Was the promise of negotiations agreed? The six Dragons rapidly winged toward the shores of Helyon Island. Unholy caroli! They were flying above the Cloudlands! He had never been offshore of an Island before. Helyon was just a low, lumpy sort of rock in the distance now, quite underwhelming in appearance if he were perfectly honest, lurching up out of a sea of softly shimmering white clouds which were as toxic as they were picturesque. Above, a second layer of clouds thinly veiled the Moons, moving fast so that the quality of the ambient light changed from moment to moment. It was quiet out here. Lonely. More than a little frightening. What if the Dragon dropped them? What if he ran out of strength? Where was he taking them?
His heart camped in his throat. Incredible.
Who could have imagined it would be so serene? So breathtaking. Immense emptiness in every direction, save that receding mound which was home, where he had lived all of his life. How would his parents hear about this? Would Zihaeri give them a message? What about Juzzakarr? At least he had acted somewhat concerned about his daughter’s abduction, but he could not help wonder if he tasted a rank falsity about this whole affair. How would the Brown Dragon have known Tytiana was up there in that tower, unless he had somehow been forewarned, or the timing and situation engineered to appear so? Why had her abductors deposited her inside a burning tower in the first instance? There were quicker ways to be rid of people. As a Nikuko, some of his training had majored upon exactly those types of lethal techniques.
He called up, “Noble Dragon? Where are you taking us?”
Twisting his thick, scarred neck until one eye blazed upon his captives, the Dragon said heavily, “Be silent, worm. I’ve no desire for conversation with the likes of you.”
Well, that was direct. Jakani equally had no desire to argue with a forty-tonne flying cinderblock. There was only ever going to be one winner, wasn’t there? But he noticed after a few minutes that the Dragon’s fist unclenched somewhat, so that he and Tytiana could move and breathe a little easier, and he realised that with the immediate danger having passed, Excorion felt able to relax. He had so many questions, but the huge creature winging them away into the night was clearly not the talkative type.
The Dragon kept his right paw cupped beneath his lower chest, keeping a close hold on his prizes, in what appeared to be a fairly natural flying position. His hind paws too were tucked back toward his long tail for streamlining, and he noticed that the Dragon had trimmed his flexible wings back into a less widespread configuration. The broad surfaces and bony structures seemed flexible, riding every nuance of the wind’s breath with supple ease. Maybe that was due to the thinner-looking struts that spread out from the major wing bones? As Jakani shifted about in his enforced prone position to take in all of these details, the
touch of his hand to those surprisingly warm and iron-hard scales revealed an incredibly complex heartbeat, far different to the Human one.
“Murr-huh!” Tytiana thumped his shoulder with her head.
Oops. “Ah, sort of forgot to untie you.” She gave him an extra-special Tytiana glare over her shoulder. “It’s very different around here with you being so quiet, o Choice. Positively peaceful.”
The glare developed fangs. “Grrr!”
He worked diligently at the cord tied behind her head. “Cursed rats sure tied you good. I’ll kill them for this. There we go … and … out it comes. Better?”
She worked her jaw gingerly. “Thanks, Dirt Picker. Not my favourite recent experience. Can you reach down to untie the rest?”
“I’ll try. Hard to see down there. Please turn over, o Choice Tytiana.”
“Make sure you’re clear about the difference between the ropes and my backside,” she chuckled. “This is already more intimate than I’ve ever been with a boy in my entire life.”
Jakani gritted his teeth. He did not need to be thinking about such tantalising details right now. The Dragon’s paw was growing uncomfortably warm inside, but the way Excorion chose to hold his hostages really did not leave much wriggle room. Every point of contact with her body was afire. His thoughts were several thousand leagues removed from anything that resembled gentlemanly, and the last thing beneath the stars he wanted was for her to know how he felt. It was shameful yet uncontrollable, as it always had been since the fire first sparked between them.
She said, “What about you? Shared a Dragon’s paw with any other young ladies recently?”
Her joke sounded nervy. “Not really.”
“That’s my hip.”
“Sorry, honoured Choice. There’s a knot here.”
They lapsed into silence. Finally he was able to pick one knot loose, and a second followed more easily, and then she could unwind the ropes from her torso and he helped with the wrists and elbows. Heavens weeping fireballs, that was a lot of rope. Someone had wanted her very, very dead indeed. What an awful realisation that must be for her.
Tytiana eased her shoulders with a groan. “Thank you for the rescue, by the way, Dirt – uh, Jakani. I – I didn’t expect – how did you know? How did you run through fire to find me?”
So he told her what he knew.
* * * *
At some point during his tale, Tytiana realised that the Brown Dragon was paying close attention to the details of how he had raced to her aid, and found his way up that blazing stairwell. She did not understand. He saw value in Jakani’s abilities? Value that translated into expanding his Dragon hoard? Intriguing.
More intriguing than that was the sense of freedom she was enjoying just now. Oh, she was stuck next to a not un-handsome boy in a Dragon’s paw being taken to places known only by the Dragonkind, there to be ransomed for gold, and this was far from the kind of elopement she had dared to imagine, but … no father. No rules. No damnable caste system constraining what she could think. And all that consumed her awareness was the way the depths of his eyes were like gazing into the heavens on a moonless night, and seeing there a frosting of golden stars.
Poor boy, he was trying so hard to be gallant. Apologising for touching her hip. Wriggling about like a restive dragonet in the narrow gap between the Dragon’s palm and the base of the Dragon’s mighty chest. He was worse than her, until Tytiana reached down to try to untie her knees, and found her face jammed up against his bare chest.
Oh dear.
He smelled strongly of smoke, with a hint of masculine sweat and something else she could not place, perhaps an unfamiliar brand of soap. Did lamko even use soap? This mixed scent made her feel so lightheaded, she stopped, turned over to face away from him, and squirmed her hands down again, only to discover that this position was even less appropriate than before.
Jakani picked this moment of supreme embarrassment to inquire, “So, Choice Tytiana, I presume this was not your chosen ball gown for the evening? What happened to your actual dress?”
“I took it off to use the bathroom,” she said, somewhat testily.
“Oh. That’s a bit … huh?”
“Have you ever tried to use a chamber pot in a hooped dress?”
“You … uh, in a pot?”
“Call it a rich person thing. We are weird. No trees or tickly grasses for us.” He chuckled uneasily, and then said ‘oof’ as she gave up and folded herself up properly so that she could work at her ankles. “The pots are capped and servants dispose of the nastiness. Our dresses are also ridiculously impractical, but I suppose you have no experience with those either?”
“I am experienced in seeing dresses on other people.”
“Because you looked more like a poleaxed ralti sheep and rather less the dashing rescuer when you came into that room, which I did not appreciate one bit.”
Although the shirtless ‘dashed through flames to your rescue’ effect was meritorious in ways she frankly did not wish to admit to herself just now. He was no less muscly than before, and in this moment of rather less peril than before, she realised there was a new danger – that of severe eye strain on her part. Honestly. She was not sure what she made of this new, liberal Tytiana.
Thankfully, he could not see the high spots of colour in her cheeks in this light.
Jakani made another squeak as she wriggled against him. “Eeee … can we finish this quickly? Please?” His breathing seemed shallow and rapid. Now he had his hands tangled in her bedraggled hairstyle. “Oh. Sorry, Choice Tytiana. Trying to … oops. Sorry again. Yeow! What do you have in here, daggers?”
She heard herself snarl, “For your information, you colossal ignoramus, we rich people do wear actual underclothes beneath our formal attire. We do not make a habit of prancing about in our frillies and scanties, and we do not often tie ourselves up at the top of burning towers!”
“Indeed,” he chuckled.
“Indeed what?”
“Well, we poor lamko do not often make a habit of running into burning buildings in pursuit of scantily clad rich girls, and if we do find girls wearing such scantily frilly … stuff as this, we most certainly do not take advantage of –”
“I am not scantily anything, you crude simpleton!”
“You said it first.”
“SILENCE!” thundered the Dragon. “You two prattle worse than a roost full of squabbling hatchlings, and I have a gruesome headache. One more squeak and I’ll pound you both into oblivion!”
Tytiana worked on her ankle ropes in mutinous silence. Her feet were wreathed in her own flame, perhaps a bodily reaction to how her right foot had been burned and the wood of the left, scorched. Stupid granite-headed flying lizard! She was so going to have those mercenaries hunt this Excorion to the ends of the Island-World and excoriate his fungus-ridden lizard hide, whereupon she’d hang it off her House roof as a dire warning to all and sundry! Still she – freaking Dirt Picker, now he was touching her lower back, and worming a hand down her leg … oh, actually, he was pulling something out of his waistband. A shirt, it seemed. He offered the fragrant dove-grey garment to her, waving it in front of her nose so that she could truly appreciate its unwashed, ragged beauty.
He expected her to wear a garment he had kept stuffed down his trousers? As if!
When she shook her head, he pulled the shirt on and worked it down his body, finding a few of her ticklish spots along the way. Tytiana wanted to screech something that would pop his eardrums. Now he patted the curve of her behind? She found his hand and tried to twist his fingers off.
Nothing like a few romantic broken bones on a starry night.
Nor could she actually hurt him. Deeply unsatisfying.
Once she had untied her ankles, however, there was not much either of them could do save lie alongside each other in this blushingly intimate position. Turn over? Her under-corset and silken sliplet were decidedly low-cut and Jakani, Fra’anior roast his lecherous eyeballs, had most unequivocal
ly been man enough to notice. Tytiana sighed. Now she was annoyed at herself because she was pleased he had noticed? Maybe she should have accepted the shirt, even though she was not cold at all.
It was going to be a long, long night.
What a terrible complainer she was. She must have been unbearable to so many people, most especially those she loved. How many times had she vented her spleen upon longsuffering Zihaeri, or caused tears to well up in Quiraeli’s eyes? Rotten behaviour. Blame it on the fire. Oh aye. That excuse was getting older than Jakani’s timeworn shirt.
An hour or more drifted by as the Dragon winged indefatigably on, heading in what she judged to be roughly a north-easterly direction. Pla’arna, or Gemalka on a more northerly course? She was not certain. Reading direction from the suns and stars was not a skill that was generally regarded as useful for a Choice of the House. The temperature was growing bitter as full night had drawn in. Neither of them were prepared for a night-time flight to the North; thankfully it was not yet full winter, or they would be a pair of permanently bonded icicles just about now. Would Jakani become cold? Or would her fires be enough to keep them from freezing to death?
Tytiana shifted her head on the Dragon’s paw, trying to find a comfortable spot. She gave up and turned over. Jakani was awake, his dark eyes unreadable in the gloom beneath the Dragon’s body. This was crazy, and she was plain scared. Dragons were not reputed to be fair or reasonable negotiators. It could all still go very, very wrong, and when she thought about how her sisters would be feeling this very minute, and when little Sariaki found out … to her mortification, a tear brimmed from her eye and ran down to the bridge of her nose.
A moment later, Jakani’s hand moved up between them. He touched the droplet gently. It’ll be alright, he mouthed. Be strong.