Page 2

~*~

“I’m sorry, lamb,” Revna had said a few days prior. “Everything’s been upside down since you arrived. I promise it isn’t always like this around here.”

It was true that every member of the household had been busy in the aftermath of the battle, but, if she was honest, now that the most imminent threat was past, Tessa rather liked being busy. Back home – and, truly, it felt wrong to think of Drakewell as home anymore, now that her wedding was days away and she’d grown to love her new family here – she would have been helping her mother coordinate various winter balls and luncheons; paying visits to the lords and ladies of neighboring duchies. Perhaps a musical evening at Hope Hall; a trip to the Drakewell yuletide market to shop for trinkets and sip hot cider. She had many fond memories of winters spent thusly…but what she did here felt more necessary.

She’d spent all morning helping to entertain the children still staying at the palace. Reconstruction was well underway in the city, but the palace remained overcrowded until repairs were complete. When lunch was announced, she snagged a flask of tea and a ham roll off one of the platters in the great hall and stole away outside.

It was becoming something of a habit.

The drakes didn’t seem to feel the cold the way other animals – or people – did. Anything that breathed ice wasn’t too bothered by the ever-present layer of snow on the ground, she figured. There hadn’t been time or resources enough to build them any sort of shelter, but they’d settled in comfortably against a stretch of outer wall that saw a fair bit of sunlight in the afternoons, well away from the stables and mews – some of the horses were still skittish around them. She made her way there, now, and a low purring started up in the back of her mind before she rounded the corner: Percy’s mate had caught her scent.

When she cleared the broad curve of the turret, and stepped into view, she found the drakes sunbathing, wings spread wide and flat along the ground to soak up the meager warmth of the afternoon. Valgrind, she noted, was not with them; she didn’t know anything about the maturation process of drakes, but suspected he was nearing an age of independence, and had plastered himself to Náli, besides. Percy lifted his head a fraction, huffing a quiet greeting, then stretched out again.

His mate, though, sat up on her haunches with a friendly trill and a sense of welcome pushed through their bond.

“Hello, beautiful.” Tessa stepped up to stroke the sleek muzzle that lowered toward her. Cool breath stirred her hair, and touched her face. “I’ve brought you something.” She slipped her free hand into her cloak pocket and produced the bit of dried venison she’d stowed there earlier. The female licked it up carefully, gentle as any child’s pony.

Gratitude traveled through the bond. Thanks and simple enjoyment.

She’d tried to explain the sensation to Rune, and he’d smiled, and nodded, and asked lots of questions – but she wasn’t sure she’d put it into words properly. Didn’t think anyone save Oliver could truly understand what it was like having an animal communicate with you telepathically.

“What am I going to call you?” she mused aloud, stroking the drake’s jaw. “Kat is too awful to contemplate, really.”

The female’s forceful exhale was colored with agreement.

“Can you imagine? ‘Hello, mum, I let Ollie name a dragon after you.’ Now there’s the opposite of a compliment if I’ve ever heard one.” She chuckled when she imagined the face her mother would make, eyes wide and lips tightly pressed; Amelia would laugh until she cried. All told, it was a poor choice of name.

But what to call her? She’d had a gray pony as a little girl named Flossy – that hardly seemed appropriate. The drakes were so majestic. Náli had come up with Valgrind – suitably impressive and a little bit frightening, considering the meaning. Percy was…well, Oliver had named him for one of their distant relatives, a fellow bastard and dragon rider. That she understood. It fit, in a way. She wanted something equally fitting for Percy’s mate – whom she’d begun to think of as her own dragon. Maybe that was too forward, but she felt like hers.

The drake lifted her head, and alerted Tessa to someone’s approach well before the crunch of footfalls in snow reached her ears. Neither drake projected alarm, but they didn’t give off the warm welcome they would have offered Oliver or even Náli.

Tessa rested a hand on her neck, and turned to face the newcomer.

Though they didn’t like to show it, proud Northerners with war in their blood, she could tell that most everyone on the palace grounds was hesitant to approach the drakes. Estrid, of course, did not fall into that category.

She walked straight up to both of them, hand already outstretched for the female to sniff. She was dressed for riding, with a heavy cloak, dirty boots, and her hair in tight, elaborate braids. The simple black eye patch she’d worn immediately after the battle had been replaced with one of rich purple velvet, its edges picked out in silver thread; a bold statement rather than a shrinking-away from her injury. She’d been wounded in battle, and in the way of all Northerners, wore her scars with honor and pride.

“Are you ever going to ride this thing?” she asked, tactless as ever.

Somewhere between the dark training yard and a hallway full of the crashing of steel-on-steel, Tessa had come to find her bluntness refreshing. Amusing, even; she smiled, now, as the drake inspected Estrid’s glove looking for snacks.

“One day. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully, she says.” Estrid rolled her eyes and propped her hands on her hips. “What’s hope got to do with it? Climb up and go.”

“I’ll have to commission a saddle, first, and everyone’s so busy with repairs I wouldn’t want to take up time and resources.”

“So? Borrow Oliver’s saddle. You can tighten the straps up, right?”

“I suppose, but–”

“But,” Estrid mocked. “You’ll pick up a sword and go charging into battle, despite needing about ten years of experience before that’s a good idea, but now you’re afraid to go riding?”

“It’s hardly just ‘riding.’”

“You are scared, then.” A smile, quick flash of teeth, victorious.

“I don’t see you flying about on one.”