In The Kingdom Of Dragons: Rose And Thorne

In The Kingdom

——— of ———

Dragons

Rose and Thorne Book One

D. L. Burnett

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Chapter One

When the winged shadow passed over Rose, she fought the urge to look. Da said curiosity too often distracted her. The rye, purchased with the last of Da’s gold, must get planted before the storm roiling over Malwood Forest hit. Her sister, Lily, fourteen, had fallen behind. Rose shouted for her three younger siblings to hurry. She grabbed a handful from the planting bag slung across her chest and tossed seeds into a furrow.

Rose gazed skyward only after Lily screamed.

As though the eye of heaven had given birth, the sun’s shimmering aura encircled a Dragon the orange color of ripe bittersweet berries. Light streamed through its extended wings, as if sunbeams suspended it in the sky. Its golden belly seemed carved from the sun’s corona.

In Rose’s seventeen years, she’d never seen one so close, only tantalizing glimpses among the clouds.

Millet, six, raced over plowed earth to clutch Rose’s slim waist. His tears wet her trousers, and she placed a comforting hand atop his head. Don’t cry. It won’t land. Dragons shun Human territory, as we avoid their mountains.

But the Dragon spiraled downward, gliding ever lower, ever closer, neck arching toward them, tail waving a spade-shaped tip. Rose’s leg muscles tightened as instinct urged her to run. She should be afraid, but instead her heart hammered with excitement. Dragons flew places Rose could only dream about.

Da’s shout in the north field brought her attention earthward. Evidently frightened by the Dragon, the family workhorse, who hadn’t run in years, snapped the plow harness and fled over the hill. Yelling commands seasoned with curses, Da lumbered after.

On the ground! twelve-year-old Barlow shouted behind her. Lily sniffled and dropped beside him. Still clinging to her tunic, Millet sobbed. Barlow yanked him down.

Rose didn’t want to miss this. How can something so large move so gracefully?

By the time common sense told her to drop, she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, couldn’t break the hypnotic enchantment of the Dragon’s whorl. Rose murmured the words Grandfather had written in his book. Inside every paradise lives a serpent, some with no legs, some with two, and some with wings.

Back-flapping with the sound of a thousand wole-hawks, the Dragon hovered roof high. Wing gusts whipped brown hair across Rose’s face. The Dragon landed hind feet first and folded its leathery wings. Four sets of claws gouged earth as it lumbered toward her, its massive orange sides expanding like giant bellows.

Up close the Dragon was larger than ten horses, its triangular head taller than a man. Atop its skull, bony protrusions formed a grotesque crown.

One glistening amber eye fixed on Rose. An arm’s length away, flaring nostrils snorted hot moisture that drenched her face and clothes. Rose’s throat closed, sealing off her scream, making her swallow her deadly mistake.

Foot-long fangs poised to pierce her chest. Or would it devour her alive? The long throat would squeeze and squeeze, forcing her down into its churning stomach. The stench of digesting meat would fill her last, choking breath.

Rose mewled like a week-old kitten. The Dragon’s forked tongue slid up and down her torso, as if tasting her. Her knees buckled, and the tongue tightened around her mid-section, lifting her.

Her sister reached for her. Rose!

Stay down, Lily Rose muttered hoarsely.

In the tongue’s slimy grip, she kicked and twisted until her head slammed against a giant cuspid. She smelled blood and the world lost focus. The tongue squeezed until she couldn’t breathe. A sound resembling laughter rumbled deep in the Dragon‘s throat.

Black dots swam through Rose’s vision, as she fought to stay conscious. Put me down, she wheezed.

As the toe of her right foot grazed the ground, the Dragon released her. She tottered but stayed upright. An enormous amber eye leveled with hers. A tongue tip flicked blood from her chin making the wound burn and Rose whimper. The forked muscle clamped her head. When the tips vibrated inside her ears, she heard muffled, low-pitched words.

Rustofona, Rose repeated, the Magnificent.

The blast of wing-wind thrust Rose backward, launching Rustofona into the heavens. A cyclone of seeds and dirt pelted Rose. She held up her arms, shielding her face.

Every breath stabbed her chest. Hugging her aching sides, she staggered before crumpling to the ground.

The Dragon killed Rose! her sister yelled.

Lily’s cry roused Rose. She wanted to comfort her sobbing sister, but couldn’t form words or open her heavy eyelids. Her arms and legs each seemed a hundredweight. Deep inside, she had a sick, cold feeling that the Dragon’s embrace had changed everything. Now her life was divided into before the Dragon and after.

Though even shallow breathing hurt, she inhaled as if no amount of air would ever satisfy. She opened one eye part way. Millet hovered over her, tears cutting channels in his dirty cheeks. Barlow scowled, as if disappointed she’d survived. Her thoughts must be muddled; her brother couldn’t want her dead.

Lily helped Rose up. Are you hurt?

My chest pains a bit. Actually her chest felt as if a cow had walloped her with both hind hooves.

Barlow kicked the ground, splattering Rose with earth. You’re not so brave.

The enormity of a Dragon’s dangling her made Rose’s legs wobble. She would’ve fallen if Lily hadn’t held her upright. Only a fool confronts a Dragon.

What did it want? her sister asked in a hushed tone, blue eyes wide.

It said a name. Talking hurt Rose’s chest.

It grunted. Barlow scratched an armpit. Why would a Dragon tell a girl its name?

You saw what happened. Lily crossed her arms. Unless you hid your face too deep in mud.

Barlow scowled, kicked another dirt clod, then gasped. The seeds. Wing-wind swept them away.

Da will beat us. Millet wailed.

Where is Da? Lily asked.

Over the hill after Old Dobb. Barlow shoved past Rose to speed over the rise.

Hands linked, the three followed.

On the other side of the hill, Old Dobb was down. The black workhorse lay on his side, chest heaving as if he still pulled a plow. The desolation twisting Da’s wind-burned face said everything; without Old Dobb, they’d starve.

Rose’s stomach cramped, as if anticipating a hungry winter. If she could get Old Dobb on his feet, he might recover. Holding her sore sides, Rose raced to the workhorse.

Millet dashed ahead. Da. Da. A Dragon almost killed Rose.

You all right, girl? Da snagged Rose’s arm as she sped past.

She rubbed below her breasts. The Dragon squeezed—

No talk of Dragons to anyone, especially your mother. You’ll only give her more foolish thoughts. Evidently, he hadn’t seen the Dragon. He released Rose to glower at his other children. I mean all of you.

They nodded. No one ever disobeyed Da.

Rose tugged on the bridle. Get up, Dobb. A horsefly landed on his dark eye. She batted it away. The workhorse’s foamy nostrils flared as he exhaled for the last time. Rose yanked harder.

Let go, Rose. Da removed his straw hat and wiped his straight brow with a forearm, leaving behind a dirty smear. Dobb’s heart musta gave out. Don’t know what made him run.

The Dragon, Millet said.

With his rolled hat, Da whacked Millet’s backside. The boy cried out, then scurried behind Lily, where he sniffled into her skirt.

No more talk of that. Da unbuckled the bridle. Get the harness off him.

Rose bit her lip. Somehow removing the harness seemed more final than seeing Old Dobb’s chest collapse.

Millet tugged Rose’s tunic. Is Old Dobb really dead?

Yes. Rose squeezed his small hand. Old Dobb had done more than ensure they’d food to eat and crops to sell, he’d also been part of the family. We must get his tack off before he stiffens.

I’ll help. Barlow elbowed Rose’s head as he passed.

She rubbed the sore spot. Of late, Barlow seemed jealous when Da treated her like a son. Other than wearing trousers, equal treatment meant only more work.

Lily twisted her skirt. I don’t think I can touch him. Not for the first time, Rose thought Lily overly sensitive for a farm girl.

None too gently, Barlow removed Old Dobb’s bridle. After the horse was field-dressed and hanging from a tree, they were sweating.

Rose stay. The rest of you get back to planting. Da braced fists on hips. No good comes of Dragons noticing you.

Grandfather said some people attract Dragons.

Your Grandfather chased foolish notions, claiming he knew things no man could. Before I paid your mother’s bride price, he never had two coppers jingling inside his purse. Enough talk. I must replace Old Dobb. Get back to planting, so you finish before rain comes. You’re in charge. He strode toward Seahaven, the Isle of Elysia’s western-most city.

Da’s trust flattered her, but she’d feel his hand if they didn’t recover the seeds. At the hilltop, she caught up to her siblings. She scanned the sky for Dragons and was relieved for the first time that none flew overhead. Three lived on Elysia, and she hoped the other two had no interest in tasting her.

Lily shaded her eyes with delicate fingers like Mother’s. Where’s Da off to?

Town for a new workhorse. Without gold, how he’d do that mystified Rose.

The four children gathered what seeds they could, recovering less than half. By the time they finished re-planting five hours later, rain soaked them. The thinly sown rows would produce a sparse crop; a hungry winter lay ahead. Worse, Da would get sadder as Mother and Lily got even thinner.

Anticipating Da’s disappointment pinched Rose’s chest. Even though losing the seeds wasn’t her fault, Da would punish her. At the very least, he’d make her clean the barn or worse, the pig sty. She wrinkled her nose and pictured Barlow grinning.

Now wet and shivering, they trudged home, following the rock fence. After the rain shower passed, Rose’s brothers sped ahead, punching and pushing, establishing their pecking order.

Lily linked a slim arm through Rose’s. Grandfather said you were destined for more than a farmer’s wife. Even a Dragon doesn’t scare you.

Rose massaged her sore ribs. A lifetime slaving for a husband frightened Rose more. I should’ve fallen to the ground like Barlow said.

Did Grandfather write anything about girls bewitching Dragons? Lily knew how to read, but unlike Rose, didn’t enjoy it.

He advised avoiding Dragons altogether. After meeting Rustofona, Rose needed time to think. Da said not to talk about it.

Her sister pushed a wet lock of golden hair behind her ear. I’m glad no Dragon licked me. I’m not brave like you. I’ll disappoint a husband.

Not even a Dragon could distract her sister from babbling about marriage. Lily—who’d turn fifteen, a marrying age at Autumn Festival—had obsessed all winter about her betrothal. Trapped in the two room cottage, Rose bit her tongue more than once, stopping herself from snapping at her sister.

Hoping to end it, Rose said, If you don’t please a man, then so be it. A different sister might be jealous of Lily’s patrician good looks.

What if no one offers for me?

You’re too pretty to be that lucky. Too late Rose stilled her tongue.

Lily clutched Rose’s arm. What do you mean?

Rose wanted to say, Marriage means having babies, which will kill you or the child or both! But she needed to reassure Lily not frighten her. What about Seth? You two traded cow eyes at Spring Festival. Gentle lads attracted Lily, those who’d rather compose ballads than guide a plow. Rose hoped Da pledged her to a town boy. Her delicate sister couldn’t survive working a farm and giving birth every year. The thought of losing Lily tightened Rose’s chest.

Lily flushed. Seth’s the third son of a bondsman. He’ll never pay Da’s bride price.

He’s got time to earn it. You needn’t hurry into marriage.

Don’t you want to?

Da says I’d give a man more trouble than a bee up a bull’s nose.

Lily laughed. Don’t you want a husband?

Rose was grateful no young man pursued her and doubly grateful none interested her. I’d rather travel the world with Grandfather. Rose had plans no husband would tolerate. Once when Da took them to Seahaven, she sneaked away to see the masted ships. She pictured herself on a prow as distant sea winds filled the sails.

I hardly remember Grandfather, Lily said. He must be old by now. Maybe dead.

A taste of bitter cloves stung Rose’s tongue. That would prove a small obstacle, she said lightly, quelling a suspicion Grandfather would’ve returned by now if he intended to. He’d promised to come back when she turned fifteen, two years past.

The breeze carried the familiar scent of pig manure as they approached the barn. Da’s voice thundered inside the cottage, making the wattle half-walls shudder and rain dust. A white goat stopped munching sprouts on the thatched roof to leap groundward and flee.

Rose hesitated, scratching behind the tethered cow’s ear, knowing her father would accept no excuses for the thinly planted field. Wouldn’t hear her if she told him Dragon wing-wind had scattered the seeds. The pinching inside her chest worsened. Her brothers stopped at the edge of the dirt yard, with Rose and Lily behind. No one wanted to attract Da’s attention. When angry, he tended to notice his children’s flaws and correct them with his hand.

Ducking to avoid the top of the doorframe, Da stomped outside. Black and red chickens scattered, clucking their objections.

Rose’s siblings stood with heads bent. She tucked her chin but watched Da.

A frown dug deep into the corners of his mouth as he motioned with an arm. Rose, get in here!

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Chapter Two

Hoping to relieve the agony radiating from his inner thigh, Gaspotine the Dark shifted his enormous, lizard-like bulk, shooting armor, ax heads, and kettles across his lair in the Cavern of Diamonds.

An invisible enemy, as relentless as ravenous rats, gnawed the ancient black Dragon’s bowels. His nine-inch talons scratched his itching, flaking skin until oozing wounds gaped.

Two decades before, a Dwarf mother had thrown a yew spear that pierced the vulnerable flesh where his powerful hind leg joined his body. His clumsy efforts to extract the spear only drove it deeper. As the years passed, the rotting lance poisoned him, causing his entrails to fester, compelling him toward death.

When he rose, a rattling cough erupted from deep in his chest, and he collapsed on his side. His dull, black hide hung loose on his massive skeleton. He rubbed his back against the wall, seeking relief from the dragon-mites burrowing into his flesh.

Where was his Fairy-Dragon, Peck? The talon-sized predator should be hunting Gaspotine’s length, spearing dragon-mites on his protruding fangs. Was the disloyal slother tending another Dragon? Gaspotine would pinch Peck’s wings between his claws, then—do nothing. If Peck left him, no other Fairy-Dragon would tend his deteriorating skin.

Where were his Hedge Fairies—his link to events on Elysia? Dragonish nature compelled him into solitude, but Fairy gossip entertained him though their truth wasn’t his.

Groaning, he rose on shaky limbs. While he thirsted, his mind couldn’t escape into the Dragon Continuum for companionship or to probe his future in time’s Silver River.

Too weak to fly, Gaspotine struggled down the mountainside, scraping his inflamed abdomen on boulders. The indignity of crawling like a ground lizard inflicted the greater pain, and he bellowed his frustration.

He crashed through the Fairies’ hawthorn fence, destroying decades of growth. Fairies swarmed about his head, scolding him. Outraging the disloyal botflies pleased him.

At the river, he drank his fill. He sniffed then followed an appetizing scent to a half-eaten giant deer carcass, which he devoured in one gulp. Without the pleasure of tearing out its throat so warm blood bathed his tongue or at least fighting a wole-wolf pack for their kill, the meal didn’t satisfy. He especially enjoyed waking ravenous from his winter torpor, then tracking wole-wolf packs when their winter coats blended with snow. Larger than common wolves, wole-wolves were hungrier then, so they fought harder to keep their prey. Their winter-starved bodies always tasted sweeter.

Gaspotine limped up the mountainside, dragging his infected leg. Inside his cavern, he collapsed onto a pile of metal and gems recovered over the centuries from igtimus—a nasty name for Humans, Dwarfs, Giants, and anyone not Dragon. Taking these minerals to his mountain lair satisfied a dragonish compulsion to restore them to their source.

Soon after his return, a bright orange-colored Peck flew into the cavern chirping happily. Peck’s owlish, protruding black eyes glistened in his small head. Gaspotine snorted. The flying leech had mated; the nearest female was half the island away.

The Fairy-Dragon’s color reminded Gaspotine that he’d never again make the trip to the mainland for a mating melee. Half-heartedly, he swiped a claw at Peck. The Fairy-Dragon bobbed and landed on one of Gaspotine’s talon sheaths. The Dragon snorted moist air, coating both pairs of Peck’s iridescent wings. The Fairy-Dragon’s pointed snout, long neck, and thin body turned black matching Gaspotine’s hide. At least Peck hadn’t left him for another Dragon, yet.

Now that Peck hunted the dragon-mites infesting his skin, and his hunger and thirst were satisfied, Gaspotine cleared his mind and sent his spirit into the Dragon Continuum. In time’s Silver River, he swam against the current to his future, seeing for the first time the female who’d battle him to the death.

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Chapter Three

Eye twitching, Rose crossed the muddy yard and entered the cottage, certain Da had discovered they’d lost most of the seeds. Cabbage soup simmered in a cauldron hanging inside the fireplace, flavored with the starlings Barlow had trapped yesterday. Normally her empty belly would embrace the appealing smell. Today it twisted and bobbed like the birds in the soup.

Mother retreated to a rocker by the stone hearth dividing the cottage’s two rooms. Her gray-streaked blonde hair fell limply over her bowed head. At her feet, two-year-old Emmer pounded a hand-sized wooden horse on the floorboards. Rose jumped. Though she couldn’t have stopped Rustofona from scattering the seeds, she prepared for a scolding and worse.

I’ve pledged you to Farmer Rutmon.

Rose’s closed throat made her voice squeak. What? She moved toward the door, but Da was faster, blocking the way.

You’ll wed in a fortnight. He yanked her hair.

She yelped and sidled behind the scarred wood table filling most of the room. Da had never spoke of betrothing her, letting her think she’d escaped marriage. I can’t. I won’t.

Clouds thundered the night you were born, and hail knocked rye heads from their stalks. You wouldn’t wait for the midwife. But you’ll not get your way this time.

Rose massaged her stinging scalp. Sitting by the hearth, Mother wouldn’t look at her. Surely if Da understood her aversion, he wouldn’t pledge her. She should’ve told him before. In a voice higher than normal, she said, I want more than a man who’s buried two wives. She swallowed, but her voice rose even higher. And fathered seven children little better than wild animals.

Rutmon owns a prosperous farm. He’ll support you well.

Punishment over lost seeds was trivial, and she’d welcome a hungry winter to avoid a lifetime with Rutmon. I’d rather starve.

Then you’ve not known hunger. My father was a bondsman on the mainland. Many days we went without so much as a turnip. I’ve a duty to this family. Farmer Rutmon gave me a workhorse and a gold coin for you.

You sold me for a horse! A sudden stabbing inside her stomach made Rose brace her arms on the table. I’m a person, not an animal to trade or sell.

We need a workhorse.

After forcing herself upright, she crossed arms over her abdomen. I don’t want a husband or children. Rutmon will kill me when he fills my belly with another of his dreadful brats. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and she wanted to scream. But angered, Da became even more obstinate.

You’re unnatural. It’s a woman’s duty to birth children. Da’s Adam’s apple bobbed past dirt rings on his thick neck. From need I treated you like a son, but now Barlow’s big enough.

Her brother peeked around the doorway with a glad-I’m-not-you grin.

He hated her because she was smarter. Why did that matter? I want to travel with Grandfather. He said he’d return for me.

Da snorted. You can’t depend on that star-gazer. Ask your mother. He pointed at his wife who still huddled on the rocker. You filled her head with twaddle, teaching her to read and scratch with a feather.

Haggard shadows ringed Mother’s faded blue eyes. Please husband, don’t make my child a scullion for that lout. She’s too clever for him.

Hope sprouted in Rose. Mother never disagreed with Da, at least not in front of their children.

Child? She’s two years past marrying age. His face puckered, and he inhaled as if trying to draw in his temper.

Mother raised her delicate arms in supplication. Husband, I ask for little. Let Rose stay. I need her help.

Da’s face turned red as madder root. I’ve suffered your weaknesses long enough. You dawdle all day with that book.

He stomped to the hearth and snatched up the leather-bound volume from the stone mantel. Mother sprang from her chair grasping for it, but Da held it high.

Her parents’ scuffling hit Rose with the force of a maul; she stumbled backward. Da had once been proud his wife owned a book, proud his wife and children could read though he could not.

Wailing, Emmer toddled behind Mother. When she reached again for the book, Da shoved her shoulder. She tripped backward over the child, who howled under Mother’s rumpled brown skirt.

Da hurled the book into the fire. The top log dislodged, sending sparks flying like a swarm of angry firebees. Mother’s screams curdled Rose’s ears.

Flames curled around the pages, scenting the air with burning parchment. Mother scrambled to the hearth, seized the book, and smothered the flames with her skirt. She hunched over the scorched volume. Emmer clutched her neck and sniffled.

Enough! A workhorse will keep this family eating. Da stared at Rose with narrowed eyes. You’ll do as I say. He stomped across the plank floor, sending dust flying.

Please, don’t sell me.

In the doorway, Da paused. Girl, I’ve done my duty and arranged you a good match. Face sagging with weariness, he looked at Mother clutching her book. Lily can help you. The lads and I can manage the crops. Back bowed as if supporting a heavy burden, Da departed.

Rose collapsed on a pine bench worn smooth by children’s bottoms. Only this morning, this cottage had been a haven. But in a fortnight, it would no longer be her home.

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Chapter Four

To avoid witnessing his catastrophic future, Gaspotine the Dark swam toward his past in the Continuum’s Silver River. He stopped at the time when his dam, Delvinia the Radiant, clutched a snarling wole-lion in her rear talons, as she flew down the neck of the extinct volcano she’d claimed for her lair.

Delvinia, a monstrous red Dragon, was fiercely territorial even for her kind, often savaging any bull brave enough to attempt mating. Only motherly devotion to Gaspotine surpassed her territorial instincts.

As a whelp Gaspotine had feasted on regurgitated meat. As a youth, he devoured the most succulent venison, well-fed cattle, and rotund, bleating sheep.

In his fifteenth year, Delvinia brought him a predator. The wole-lion, twice the size of common lions, clawed her legs but couldn’t penetrate her dense hide. She released it before the half-grown Gaspotine who measured seven paces from his wide snout to the tip of his spade-shaped tail. Pale orange, the color of autumn leaves, traversed his spine. Elsewhere his hide was golden.

The growling wole-lion paced inside the volcanic cavity, seeking escape, but the single exit was a vertical ascent through the mountain’s throat. The lean beast still retained most of its white winter coat, though brown patches spotted its belly. Its rank odor teased Gaspotine’s taste buds.

While he awaited Delvinia’s signal, she rasped her front claws over the rock floor, gouging thin crevices into volcanic slag, sharpening her talons. She reclined a dragon-length away, stretching and resting her triangular head on her forelegs.

Watching Gaspotine with elongated pupils, Delvinia said, Amuse yourself. Her voice sounded like water running over sharp rocks, gurgling and comforting in its way.

The frustrated cat shook its mangy head and roared.

Gaspotine savored the smell of the wole-lion’s fear. Saliva flooded his mouth, and his empty stomach grumbled. He looked to his mother. Shall I kill it?

Delvinia’s gruesome smile exposed foot-long fangs. Laughter rumbled deep in her gullet. Whatever you wish, whelp.

His tail slapped the floor. I’m no whelp! How dare she speak as though he still curled inside an egg? Blood pounded behind his eyes. He snorted, sending sulfurous gas into the air, picturing his breath igniting. He hadn’t seen fire yet, but Delvinia spoke of it with awe.

He flapped his wings, rising a foot. Having only recently acquired adequate wing strength to lift his pot-bellied frame, he wobbled as he moved toward the wole-lion. It didn’t occur to him that the giant cat might kill him, for after all, he was a Dragon.

Snarling, the wole-lion retreated.

Gaspotine advanced, touching the rock floor with his hind foot to steady his shaky flight. He swiped a fore-claw, snagging the wole-lion behind its thick mane, but instead of flesh, hooked matted white fur.

Claws bared, the wole-lion leapt, raking Gaspotine’s adolescent belly. Thin red lines striped his golden flesh, as he crashed, screeching. He’d never felt such acute pain.

The wole-lion pounced, slicing Gaspotine’s snout between his protruding nostrils. Tasting his own silvery blood made him howl. The burning in his nose made him blink.

The triumphant cat retreated, roaring its superiority and inviting another attack.

Delvinia’s rumbling laughter awoke a rampageous fury inside Gaspotine. He scraped his talons across the cave floor, sharpening the tips. His wings lifted him ten feet. Heedless of further injury, he dove toward the crouching wole-lion.

The old cat reared, preparing to leap, but Gaspotine rammed into its soft underbelly. Teeth and claws ripped open the wole-lion’s stomach. Blood spattered the walls and floor. When the giant feline slashed at his eyes, he ducked, but its claws snagged behind his brow bone. Blood streamed down his neck.

He roared and shook his head, sending the wole-lion flying across the cave. It hit the wall with a loud crack, breaking its spine. Gore splattered the walls, floor, and Delvinia’s mound of metal and gems.

Boldly done. Leisurely, she rose and pushed the wole-lion with her snout.

Gaspotine pounced on the bloody carcass, ripping out its throat. With his tongue, he cupped the warm, pulsing heart, yanked it out, and swallowed it in a single gulp. Nothing, not the smallest fawn, not the tenderest lamb, would ever taste as sweet as this gamy old wole-lion.

His mother licked the lacerations on his head and belly. Her rough tongue soothed the burning. Killing a predator earned him entree to the Dragon Continuum; his dam would show him the way.

I’m ready.

Delvinia the Radiant laughed. Close your eyes and clear your thoughts.

She joined his mind and took his spirit into the Continuum.

Around Gaspotine, the cavern and Delvinia melted into red, gold, and purple. The colors swirled faster and faster, making him dizzy and nauseated. Dragon-mite armies crawling his skin made his flesh writhe. Roars, screeches, and whines tore at his hearing slits until his head throbbed. Odors—putrid and floral, burnt and fruity, Dragon musk and Human sweat—stung his nose. His need to sneeze soared until his snout threatened to explode. Sweet and bitter, salty and sour, meaty and savory—the onslaught of flavors swelled his long neck, suffocating him. His instinctive fear of choking pushed his terror close to madness.

Gaspotine screamed.

***

Chapter Five

Rose moved toward the door and freedom. Somehow, she’d find Grandfather. She couldn’t endure birthing a child and having it die in her arms.

She was nine when Mother delivered Daisy. Afterward Mother contracted childbed fever and couldn’t nurse. Rose fed Daisy cow milk, then goat milk. She spit up both. Daisy watched Rose with trusting eyes and seldom cried. A week later, her arms and legs were thin as flower stems. After a fortnight, Rose washed and wrapped Daisy in fleece.

Da dug a tiny hole then planted a yellow rose bush to mark Daisy’s grave. Thereafter, Rose couldn’t abide roses or their smell. She vowed to neither marry nor have children. Nothing in the next eight years changed her mind. Nothing ever would.

However Da expected an obedient daughter who’d sacrifice herself. Rose would’ve sympathized, if her own plight hadn’t been so dire. Da labored unceasingly for his family. She supposed he’d made a good bargain. A workhorse and a gold coin might be an acceptable bride price for a girl who wanted to marry, but not for her.

She paused in the doorway, looking for Da outside. He’d probably gone to fetch Old Dobb’s carcass. In the coop, Lily and Millet were gathering eggs. Rose was a fast runner; not even Barlow could catch her.

As she stepped over the threshold, Mother whimpered. Rose paused. The pinching in her chest made her work for each breath. Without a horse, Da couldn’t plow the fields. Without crops, they couldn’t feed themselves or their animals, trade for goods or pay taxes. The Constable would take their farm. Could she leave her family destitute?

Her heart thumped, a cold and heavy sound, doleful and hollow. She wouldn’t let that happen, even though the thought of marrying Rutmon made her stomach roil. If there was another way to save her family, she’d find it.

Rose pulled Mother upright. Alma wiped the book’s leather cover with her apron, removing soot and ash from the title, A Practical Guide to Uncommon Creatures and Strange Events. What little Rose knew of the world came from Grandfather’s book. Married to Rutmon she’d never learn more. She couldn’t endure every day being the same, season after season, decade after decade.

Emmer whined. Mother plucked a spoon from the table and gave it to the toddler. He grinned and drooled, beating the wooden floor in a rhythm that only another small child could appreciate.

With Emmer mollified, Mother turned to Rose. How did you cut your chin?

Barlow blocked the door light, his smirk daring Rose to disobey Da and mention the Dragon. She threw a candlestick at him. He caught it and grinned.

Calm yourself, Rose, Mother said. Barlow, wash, then come inside and eat. She wet a cloth and cleaned Rose’s wound. The cut has the shape of a rose thorn.

It doesn’t hurt. Rose pushed Alma’s hands away. I’ll go mad if I marry Rutmon.

Better to accept your fate than dwell on what you’ve lost or dream of what you’ll never have.

Is that what you do, Mother?

Alma stumbled to the willow rocker. Bowing her head, she shrank into herself, childlike. I learned long ago that no man would help me and no woman could.

She’d blamed Mother’s malaise on fragile health after eleven pregnancies, but clearly disappointment had wounded her spirit. If Rose avoided marrying, she’d find a way to help Mother. Right now, she’d only a moment before Barlow returned. Did Grandfather ever say anything about Dragons telling someone their name?

Mother pushed hair away from her eyes. He said the black Dragon told a Dwarf child its name.

But why? What does it mean?

Nothing good. The monster ate the child’s mother.

Rose bit her lip. If she told Mother about the Dragon, Mother might fear it foreshadowed her death. Barlow’s heavy footfall approached, and Rose put a finger to her mouth. Mother nodded.

Smirking, he shambled inside. You thinking about Farmer Rutmon’s money?

Rose almost hugged him for the idea. I needn’t marry if I get gold for Da.

Ha. How would you get gold? After filling a bowl with cabbage and starling soup, he flopped on the bench and propped his elbows on the table.

I’ll catch a Fairy.

We’ve tried for years. Mother put the wailing Emmer to her breast.

And caught only moths. Barlow slurped soup. If you haven’t caught one by now, you never will.

Because he might be right, Rose wanted to slap him. Maybe I can find work. Would Mama Belle hire me to keep her ledgers?

Why would she? Barlow emptied the