Dragon Spear

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  The Islands of the North

  It’s a bucket of sand,” I said.

  “Yes, yes, it is!” Luka was still grinning at me with delight. “Black sand. And we got six bucketfuls!”

  “How nice,” I told him. I looked over at Tobin. “Did he hit his head while you were out exploring?”

  The mute warrior grinned and flicked his fingers at me slowly. I had never been as adept at interpreting Tobin’s hand signs as Luka or Tobin’s wife, Marta, but I caught this message easily enough.

  “It’s a present for Shardas? Why on earth would a dragon want buckets of black sand?”

  I stepped back from the incoming tide and rolled down the legs of my trousers, then picked up my bucket of crabs. We had been catching crabs to cook for supper when Luka had disappeared with Tobin, to return an hour later with the buckets of coarse, dark sand.

  “Creel,” Luka said, the pleased expression on his face telling me my prince was about to unspool a grand plan, “do you know how glass is made?”

  “Of course,” I said, somewhat stung even though I knew that he wasn’t trying to make me look foolish. I was very sensitive about my poor schooling: I had grown up on a drought- stricken farm far to the north, and lately large gaps in my education had been brought to my attention by Luka’s father, King Caxel. The king was not pleased that his son was marrying a commoner.

  A commoner—that is to say, me.

  “You, er, make glass by . . . ” I trailed off, blushing. “All right: where does glass come from?”

  Luka put the bucket down beside the others and gave my sandy hand a squeeze. His was equally dirty. “I’d be surprised if you knew; I doubt most people do,” he said gently. “Glass-makers are notoriously secretive. Glass is made from sand that has been melted. ” Now his grin was even wider.

  I blinked at him. “How hot does sand have to get before it melts?”

  “Very hot. Dragonfire hot, you might say. Shardas has been talking about making his own glass, and the best way to get different colors and textures is to use different types of sand. Black sand is very rare, but it’s the only way to make a true red glass. ”

  The buckets of sand now seemed precious rather than strange. I knelt beside one and ran my fingers through the coarse grains. “How wonderful!”

  The dragons had been exiled from all but a few civilized lands, forced from their caves and hoards. They had found a new home in the south, on the Far Isles, many days’ flight from my home in Feravel, but the last year had not been easy for them.

  They had had to excavate new caves, learn to forage for foods, and set up their own gardens and herds of animals. A large number of the dragons had been born into slavery to the army of the desert nation of Citatie, and consequently lacked even the most basic survival skills.

  Shardas, the king of the dragons, was a dear friend of mine. He loved stained glass, and had once had a magnificent hoard of stained glass windows. His mate, Velika, also loved glass, though she preferred finely blown glassware. Both of their hoards had been destroyed some time ago, and the Far Isles were not a place where they could come by either type of glass easily. Which brought us back to Luka’s buckets.

  I shook the sand off my fingers. “So,” I said casually, trying not to reveal further ignorance, “when they say blown glass . . . ”

  “When the sand gets hot enough, it melts together until it’s like taffy,” Luka explained. “They make vases and goblets by blowing through a pipe with a blob of melted sand on the end, shaping it into whatever you want. ”

  My brow furrowed. “It sounds difficult. ”

  “I’m sure it is,” he said, undaunted. “But I think that Shardas is up to the challenge. ”

  “Of course he is,” I agreed, feeling a thrill of excitement. In a few weeks we would be going to visit Shardas and Velika and the rest of the dragons on the Far Isles, and I couldn’t wait.

  “All right, I think I have enough crabs,” I said, straightening. “We’d better get them back to Marta before she runs out of firewood. ”

  Marta, my business partner, was waiting farther down the beach. We were in Moralien, Tobin’s birthplace, for Marta and Tobin’s One Year Celebration. According to Tobin’s brother Skarpin, Moralienin men were so impossible to live with that if their brides didn’t kill them by the end of a year there was a month of dancing and feasting. The newlyweds give gifts to their relations as thanks for putting up with them for an entire year. Last year at their wedding Luka had proposed to me, and now at their One Year Celebration he was trying to convince me to get married in Moralien—right then—rather than being married in Feravel later in the spring. Page 2

 

  As we cooked the crabs over the driftwood fire that Marta had prepared, Luka tried again. “My father isn’t here to glare at you,” he wheedled. “It’ll be much more enjoyable this way. ”

  This actually gave me pause. Not being glared at by my future father-in-law during my wedding was tempting.

  “I don’t have my dress with me,” I said, firming my resolve. I was a dressmaker, and for a dressmaker to get married in anything less than splendor was probably both a sin and against the law.

  He appealed to Marta. “Talk to her, Marta. We’ve waited a year already, and now we’re going to be in the Far Isles for months. ”

  “Oh, no!” I rounded on her, shaking my finger. “I helped you sew two wedding gowns, don’t you dare try to convince me that one of my traveling gowns will be fine. ”

  Marta sighed. “She has a point. ” She sat down on a log bench beside Tobin and pulled a fur rug up over her legs. “And Shardas would be crushed if he wasn’t there to stand for her family. ”

  “Aha! See!” I poked Luka’s nose. “You can wait until the spring. ” Secretly, I wasn’t too keen on the long betrothal either, but if I was going to be married in front of every titled wealthy in Feravel, plus ambassadors from Roulain, Citatie, Moralien, and who knew where else, not to mention the glaring King Caxel, I wanted to make certain that everything was perfect. Getting my dragon friends there was another complication that I still hadn’t worked out, and I wished that Marta hadn’t said anything about Shardas being there. King Caxel had banned all dragons from Feravel, no exceptions, and I would rather have Shardas at my side than most of my blood relatives.

  “I might be dead by then. ” Luka groaned. He pulled a fur rug over us both as we waited for the crabs to be ready. Even with a roaring fire, Moralien in early autumn was cold.

  “You’ll be fine,” I told him, leaning against his shoulder and tucking my side of the rug around my legs.

  “How do you know?” He made his voice sound faint and long-suffering. “It’s months away. Anything could happen. Anything!”

  The Invasion of the Palace

  There really was no way around it: my aunt was dumber than two turnips in a rain barrel.

  I’d told Luka and Marta this when I related the story of how three years ago she had decided to leave me for the Carlieff dragon to eat. Which is how I ended up walking to the King’s Seat to get work as a dressmaker, befriending several dragons, and wearing a pair of dragonskin slippers that started a war.

  But I don’t think either of them really believed me.

  That is, they didn’t believe me until we returned to the King’s Seat, fattened on Moralienin crab and spiced honey bread, to find my aunt ensconced in the New Palace, with my uncle and all of my cousins in tow, of course.

  Luka was just helping me off my horse when the double doors to the palace swung open and my brother, Hagen, came hurrying out, followed by two of my cousins. I shouted with delight and ran to embrace my little brother, who was now more than a head taller than I.
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  Hugging my cousins next, whom I now had only benevolent feelings toward since we no longer shared a bed, I exclaimed over how well they looked. Then it hit me that if my cousins had come all the way to the King’s Seat, my aunt couldn’t be far behind.

  “Oh, no!” I let go of my cousin Leesel with dismay. “Hagen, please tell me—”

  “Dear, dear Creelisel!”

  My stomach dropped to my shoes as my dear, dear aunt Reena appeared at the top of the broad steps. She was wearing a long, purple gown that even from this distance I could tell was the work of Mistress Lelane, my mother’s former dressmaking rival in Carlieff Town. Aunt Reena came fluttering down the steps, her arms spread wide, but stopped with a little shriek just a few paces away.

  “What are you wearing?” Her ruddy cheeks went even redder and she yanked the shawl off my cousin Pella’s shoulders and tried to wrap it around my waist. Then she looked anxiously around the courtyard to see who else might have seen me wearing trousers.

  “Aunt Reena, Aunt Reena!” I fended her off as best I could. “My trousers are fine; I’ve been riding, after all. ” I straightened my tunic. I had enjoyed wearing trousers in Citatie the year before, and continued to wear them when I went riding, although I’d gotten some shocked looks at first. Marta and our apprentice, Alle, had started wearing them as well, though, and the trend was beginning to spread.

  “Well, I can see it’s a good thing I’ve come. ” She began to drag me toward the palace. “Not just because of your appalling costume, but the steward is being very curt with us. You will need to speak to him firmly. As the only family of a princess, we deserve much finer rooms. Don’t worry: I will coach you in what to say. You will be his mistress someday, and he must learn to respect you. Now, about our chambers—”

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  I dug my heels into the stones of the courtyard. “I am not a princess, and I will not be mistress of the palace one day,” I told her as calmly as I could, shaking off her arm. “I am a dressmaker, and I am marrying the king’s second son. Crown Princess Isla is your official hostess, and how did you know I was marrying a prince anyway?”

  This last, desperate question was aimed more at my brother, Hagen, the only member of my family I had told of my impending wedding. My parents had died four years ago, and knowing my aunt’s aspirations to wealth all too well, I had instructed Hagen not to tell her anything until it was absolutely necessary. After the wedding, perhaps.

  Hagen was standing back by Luka, looking sheepish. Luka was wide- eyed, as though he couldn’t believe my aunt was real.

  I knew exactly how he felt.

  “I know it’s not until spring, but I ordered some new clothes for the wedding already,” Hagen mumbled. “And Master Raslton, the tailor, told Mistress Lelane. . . . ”

  Groaning, I put a hand over my eyes. Of course my aunt knew. If Mistress Lelane knew, the entire town knew. The only thing left was to pray that every neighbor and former schoolmate wouldn’t show up at the wedding to help me celebrate.

  “This is not the place to discuss your deceitfulness and lack of gratitude, Creelisel,” my aunt said, reasserting her grip on my elbow. “Let me help you deal with that steward, and then you will present me to your betrothed and his father. I hope that five months will be enough time to make all the arrangements for the wedding. ”

  I bit back the question of what exactly I was supposed to be grateful for and ignored the comment about making arrangements, since they were, fortunately, already made. “Well, I would present you to my betrothed, Aunt Reena, but you’re walking away from him. ”

  My aunt froze in her tracks and spun around, her face turning as purple as her gown. “Oh, my goodness, I had no idea, Your Highness . . . ” She trailed off, faced with a real dilemma. Standing beside Luka, who needed a haircut and was dressed in old riding leathers, was Tobin with his shaved and tattooed head. There were also a couple of grooms nearby whose livery was cleaner than Luka’s. Which one was the prince?

  I didn’t let my aunt suffer long, not wanting to be cruel despite my horror at seeing her here. I took her arm, more gently than she had taken mine, and led her over to Luka. He bowed and kissed her hand and declared himself thrilled to meet my dear aunt at last, covering his astonishment with years of diplomacy lessons. Then I introduced him to my brother and cousins, and Marta and Tobin came forward to greet everyone.

  In addition to Pella and Leesel, there were six younger cousins and my long- suffering uncle, who appeared next on the steps of the palace. There was a great deal of hugging, and remarks on how tall everyone had gotten, and then I introduced Luka and my friends again. My uncle pulled me aside during the flutter to whisper in my ear.

  “Sorry, Creel, but once she heard the news there was no stopping her. ”

  “It’s all right,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Really, it’s my fault: I should have sent you proper invitations to the wedding. ” I wrinkled my nose. “I, er, just wasn’t prepared for you all to arrive so . . . early. ”

  He hesitated. “No, it’s not that. . . . I’m sure I’ll be able to talk her out of it by the wedding. ”

  My feeling of alarm reached a crescendo. “Talk her out of what?”

  The youngest of my cousins, who had been a babe in arms when last I saw her, raced over and grabbed the ends of my sash. “We gonna live in palace, we gonna live in palace,” she sang. “And mawwy pwinces!”

  “That,” my uncle said with a grimace, “Reena is determined to, er . . . ”

  He was unable to finish his sentence, but I didn’t need him to. My aunt’s ultimate dream when she had left me at the dragon’s cave had been for the Lord of Carlieff’s son to rescue me and carry me off to live in their manor—along with my doting family.

  I thought I might faint.

  Equally dumbstruck, Luka took my arm and led the parade into the palace. As we walked through the doors I whispered to him my aunt’s plan to take up permanent residence, and he gave a small nod.

  “Judging from what you’ve said about her, I suspected as much,” he said. “But don’t worry, we can work it out. ”

  “How?”

  The answer would have to wait, though, because the steward was waiting for us. Then a footman came forward to tell us that King Caxel was waiting for Luka in the council chamber, and a maid asked if I would like to have a bath and rest before returning to my shop. Aunt Reena was pushing me from behind, hissing at me to take all the servants “in hand. ”

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  Much to my embarrassment, I simply froze in place. I had only come to the palace in the first place because I had a gift for Princess Isla from the wife of Tobin’s clan chief. But now the thought of introducing my family to my disapproving future father-in-law pushed the gift to the back of my mind. I just wanted to run straight to my shop and hide.

  I was saved by Isla herself, who came floating down the grand staircase at the far end of the hall in a pale blue gown trimmed with lace—one of my creations, of course. Her smile never faltered as she kissed Luka and me, hugged Marta and Tobin, and welcomed my aunt and uncle and their children as though it were a great honor.

  “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here to greet you when you arrived,” she said. “But now please let me help you get settled. I understand that the steward has assigned you rooms and it looks like you have changed out of your traveling things. . . . Are the rooms to your liking?” She cocked her head to one side and looked at my aunt.

  My jaw dropped as Aunt Reena—the woman who had no qualms about brazenly moving herself into the royal palace—blushed, h’mmmed, and was at a loss for words! My uncle put his arm around his wife, smiled at Isla, and told her that their rooms were perfect, thank you.

  “In fact,” he continued easily, as his wife continued to gape and stutter in the face of a real royal, “we’re still quite tired. I think we’ll go have a nice, long rest. Keep the children out from
underfoot. ”

  Isla smiled back. “Lovely. The dinner gong will sound in three hours’ time, and we can all get to know one another over dinner. Creel, you can use that little room next to my dressing room to bathe and change, because of course you’ll want to stay for dinner. ” She waved cheerfully to the young ones as my uncle led the entire brood away.

  I collapsed against Luka with a small moan.

  “Steady,” he said, putting his arm at my waist to hold me up.

  “Creel,” Marta said in a faint voice, “I shall never again accuse you of exaggeration. ”

  Tobin signed something to me, and I managed to smile. “You have no idea,” I told him.

  Before First Light

  So a dragon will really come to meet the boat?” Hagen gave my packs a wistful look. “And you’ll fly all the way to the Far Isles?”

  “That’s right,” I said, distracted. I had an odd number of stockings in front of me, and could not figure out where the mate for the blue one I was holding had gone. “It’s still a long flight, days actually, but it would take months by ship. ” I crawled under my bed and located the other stocking.

  Hagen had been sleeping on the sofa in the workroom behind the shop for the past two weeks. He had no desire to watch our aunt swanning around the palace, her confidence restored after King Caxel’s surprisingly gracious welcome. I had asked my cousins if they wanted to stay in the shop as well, but unfortunately they had inherited my aunt’s aspirations and were eager to sleep in a palace.

  It had been a rough two weeks since our return from Moralien.

  I had had to convince my aunt (more than once) that I would not be a princess until I married Luka, and having the servants address me as such was inappropriate, inaccurate, and possibly illegal. Miles had kindly stepped in for me and explained that my becoming a princess through marriage did not bestow any titles or estates on my aunt or her children. He had had to prove his argument by using the law books, royal pedigree charts, and, I believe, several maps, and emerged from the palace library on Aunt Reena’s heels looking stunned.

  I had invited Pella and Leesel to stand with Marta and Alle as my attendants, and measured them for their gowns. I put my foot down, however, over changing the design of the gowns to one created by my aunt, featuring far too much lace, gold bullion embroidery, and feathers for my taste. I had also put my foot down over adding crowns or gold underskirts to my cousins’ ensembles to help them attract noble suitors.