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THE DUSTED AND THE DUSTLESS

I didn’t bind my breasts as firmly as usual, but Demius must not have noticed since he allowed me out the door. I wore my whitest, best quality robes, but that was as fancy as I could manage, ignoring the fact that the hem would be covered with red dust by the time we hiked to the keep.

A pity I didn’t have a dragon to pluck me off the ground and deliver me to the ledge unmarked.

The Semel family only used their imposing canyon home a few times a year when they grew weary of the cold somewhere else. Sometimes they came and went in a matter of days. Sometimes we didn’t notice until a dragon arrived to take them away again. The family preferred to keep themselves above the dusty layer of the canyon—or at least away from those who groveled in it.

They knew Demius was one of the Everfolk—the Everkind were those who had, at one time, been mortal. When the Great Plague hit, all of Hestia was made immortal in order to survive that scourge. But still, the Everfolk were revered, and even the Semels showed my master that deference.

His advice was sought by both the dusted and dustless. Stuck in a remote arm of the canyon as we were, his snippets of wisdom (along with our healthy and hidden crops of dragonspice) were our primary sources of trade. Without both, our fresh food would be limited to whatever plants we could grow in a small oasis to the west.

Thankfully, dragonspice required little water to thrive, and the plants themselves blended in with the landscape, so even dragon riders couldn’t find them.

Inevitably, before our meager vegetable garden ripened, some other life form would harvest the bulk of it—sometimes the two-legged type who wandered from the path and laid waste to our labors. Or rather, my labors. I couldn’t remember the last time Demius got down on hands and knees to tend a tender stalk.

Besides the Semel’s keep, the nearest dwelling was high up the canyon, three hours’ walk from the gully. In all the times we’d traveled beyond that point, on our journeys to harvest our dragonspice, the same face never answered the door twice. So, if the Semels wanted to add revelers to their celebration, Demius and I were their only familiar options unless someone else arrived by dragonback.

A shiver ran up my spine at the prospect of seeing one of those black beasts up close. I’d read all about them, of course, but other than the smaller browns who delivered and collected the Semels from their keep, I’d only caught a silhouette in the sky. And then, only on a rare occasion.

We and the Semels rarely interacted, but from our northside porch, their place was the only point of interest on the visible landscape. Unfortunately, when looking out their expansive clear windows, our glorified shack was the prominent feature—a rough rectangle of wood and logs that impeded their view of the dramatically beautiful walls of the gully.

More than strangers, then—we were unintentional, reciprocal voyeurs.

When Demius and I reached the entrance, I shook what dust I could from my hem, then held my head high as we were escorted through the door and into the cool cave of their great hall. Mother Semel stood beside a circular table that held a tower of cakes. She fussed with the small leaves and berries that decorated it. The tantalizingly sweet smell conjured a phantom weight in my stomach that I couldn’t wait to relieve.

Dressed in a gown of intense green that shimmered when she moved, she greeted us with a genuine smile. Before she could speak, however, all heads turned to the great black shadow descending on the west ledge.

“Viggo is here!” Mother Semel hurried toward the doors, hindered by delicate shoes. The rest of the family peeled themselves away from the cool walls for a closer look at the dragon.

Father Semel opened the glass door to the ledge and a breathless Viggo swept inside. His expression matched the severity of his black uniform—a rather large, tall uniform that fit him surprisingly well. “A blue dragon,” he announced. “Sighted. Pursued by two guardians.” He gulped for air. “Verified!”

The house fell silent. A sheet of chills covered my back like an icy blanket. I immediately looked for Demius’ reaction.

No disappointment. No alarm. He didn’t even seem surprised.

“A blue dragon. Verified,” was repeated around the room.

Every few years, sightings were reported, usually by people seeking attention for one reason or another, or by one of the Ard Draoi in an attempt to frighten people into supporting their order. Much like a religious sect, these people believed in and eagerly awaited the return of the blue dragon and the fulfillment of Moire’s prophecy. Ard Draoi translated to High Druids , though few of their members could boast real powers.

Although dragons of all colors had been used as threats for disobedient children, they’d never been more than folklore to me. But throughout Hestian history, I’d never known of any sighting being verified…

Prophecy, folklore, it didn’t matter now. The truth had been instilled in us from Hestia’s beginnings. A blue dragon would mean death…for all of us.

“My dragon is large,” Viggo shouted. “I’m allowed to take you all to Ristat. Take only what’s important. And hurry!”

Ristat! The capital city! I never imagined?—

Demius took my hand and urged me back. We stood against the windows and watched the Semels set aside their panic to start packing. Viggo’s mother rushed about, snatching things off their shelves, then putting them back, as if she couldn’t decide what was important enough to take. Finally, she pulled a drawing from the wall—a drawing I’d made of the entire family years ago. She took it off its frame and stuffed it inside the folds of a large satchel. Her husband came out of a back room carrying two large sacks bulging with what had to be jewels—the universally acceptable currency of the past few centuries.

Viggo rushed toward us, grabbed my arm, and frowned at Demius. “You’re coming with us. There is room.”

I turned to the old man, sure that this time, he would have no choice but to agree. But he shook his head and pointed to Viggo’s hand. A small shock buzzed my skin, and Viggo let go. Anger flashed briefly across the younger man’s face, then he turned a wistful smile on me. “I’ll come back for you, Asper. I won’t forget you’re here. If you flee, let me know the direction, at least.”

Demius snorted. Viggo smirked, then slipped his fingers into my hair and pulled me close to place a kiss on my lips and another on my forehead. Then I was forgotten again.

I glanced around to make sure his family hadn’t noticed. Against my will, my feet carried me toward the door. Demius had a hold of my sleeve, tugging me along. Mother Semel stopped us. “Anything we leave behind is yours.”

My master inclined his head. “Be whole, Mother.”

“Be whole, sir. And you, Asper.” She drew close and lowered her voice. “Mind your disguise. Someone is always watching. Always.”

Numbly, I followed Demius out the door. We were well on our way down the incline when my shock wore off. “She knows? ”

Demius said nothing as he marched on, picking his way through the rocks with his sturdy staff instead of taking the cleared road down the mountain that would require twice the time. I had no choice but to set my fears aside and concentrate on my footing. In the waning afternoon light, small shadows couldn’t be trusted.

* * *

For seven days, we watched a steady stream of Hestians flood down the canyon, fleeing past our home to the safety of the city. Few of them were of a mind to barter, but a handful knew of Demius’ reputation and stopped for his advice.

“How shall we die?”

“I cannot say.”

“Where should we go?”

“It will not matter.”

And for seven more days, Demius and I stayed put.

“The city walls,” he said, “are no protection.”