Category: Free Fiction

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Updates, Writing

Courtship is Out!

Becca Lusher

Okay, so strictly speaking it’s been out for over a week, but regardless of all that, or if you hadn’t noticed yet…

Courtship 7Dragonlands #1.5

Friends and lovers have always come easily to Estenarven kin Boulderforce, until Mastekh. For the first time in over three hundred years, Estenarven has found a dragon that matters. Now all he has to do is convince him.

Mastekh kin Rainstorm doesn’t expect much from life; he mostly wants to be left alone. Until Estenarven leaves a gift on his pillow. For the first time someone is paying attention to Mastekh, but can this shy, downtrodden dragon ever learn to trust another – and himself – enough to give in to life, joy… and maybe even love?

Warning! This M/M romantic side-adventure contains a watery dragon with no confidence and a stone-stubborn Boulderforce with confidence enough for two. May also contain an interfering Starshine, a slightly perplexed Blazeborn and kissing. Enjoy!

Free to download now!

|| Smashwords || B&N || iBooks || Kobo ||

Currently I have no plans to release it on Amazon, since I cannot make the book free there. If people really want a kindle/mobi version, Smashwords has it or you can leave me a comment or send me an email and I’ll send you a nicer mobi version.

iBooks/iTunes link to come when it actually bothers to appear. This was one of the reasons I left this a while before posting, but even still, Apple is lagging behind. I guess because it’s free. Ah well.

Anyway, you can still read the weekly updates if you prefer and I’ll be making a proper landing page so it will continue to be available free right here – and soon on Wattpad too. However, if you’re fed up of waiting for the ending or prefer to read in places other than online, now you can!

Plus, look, a real cover with a little Esten and Mastekh! Both of which were designed by and can be found on the brilliant Freepik.

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 37

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

At last, everything is going so well…

37
Delay

DESPITE CARRYING A substantial rock, large enough to fill both hands, Estenarven felt light and merry as he entered Elder Blazeborn’s suite later that afternoon, while yet another storm raged around the tower.

“Ah, there you are.” Khennik looked up from the desk in the main room just as lightning flashed through the narrow windows, glinting off the gold veins in the quartz Estenarven was holding. The elder eyed the object admiringly. “Sixth gift?”

Not liking the way the Blazeborn was staring at the quartz, well aware of the reputation Sunlord dragons had when it came to shiny precious things – along with delicious foods, sumptuous furnishings, grand artwork, swathes of territory and, well, everything, since Sunlords were the most acquisitive of Clans – Estenarven tucked the rock against his chest and wrapped his arms around it, hiding most of it from sight.

“Something precious,” he explained, entirely unnecessarily.

The corner of Elder Blazeborn’s mouth curled ever so slightly upwards. “Fret not, Estenarven. I won’t steal your gift. There are some Sunlords who cannot control their possessive urges. Luckily for you, I am not one of them.”

Even so, Estenarven had prepared for a moment such as this and reached into his pocket. While he’d been searching for the perfect piece of quartz, one with a vein of gold that looked like a river, he’d happened upon a several smaller chunks that might not have been what he’d sought for Mastekh but had still caught his eye. One of which was almost entirely gold with only a few glints of quartz.

He placed it carefully on the table before Khennik. “Thank you, elder.”

The Blazeborn eyed the palm-sized stone warily. “For what?”

His obvious suspicion made Estenarven smile, since he’d intended the rock as a bribe to convince the elder to let him give the bigger piece to Mastekh uncontested. Apparently he needn’t have bothered, which made him perversely all the more eager to give Khennik something.

“For allowing my courtship of Mastekh to continue. For not interfering. For being reasonable. For not trying to take this,” he nodded at the stone now tucked into the crook of his arm, “from me. For keeping Mastekh safe at Teirenlai. For not refusing Goryal when he insisted I should be assigned to you as punishment. For not getting angry when Mastekh drops things, for not getting annoyed when we bicker, for not complaining when one – or both – of us wander off for most of the day.”

Khennik blinked in astonishment at the words that kept on coming, but now that Estenarven had started, he realised he had so much thank this dragon for. More than he’d ever realised.

“Thank you for saving Mastekh’s life at Boltspike, for keeping us with you. For being you.” Taking a deep breath and stopping before he got too carried away, Estenarven picked up the gold rock and leant across the table to place it directly in front of his elder. “Thank you.”

Khennik stared at the rock as if it was about to explode and blinked. Then cautiously, carefully, he picked it up. A flicker of lightning lit up the windows, making the flecks of quartz embedded in the gold glow. Elder Blazeborn turned the rock around in his hand, stroking his fingers over the uneven, ragged edges before his fist closed possessively about it.

When he looked up at Estenarven, his golden eyes glowed with power. “Thank you,” the elder said, and Estenarven sighed with relief that his gift had been accepted. That his thanks hadn’t been rejected. A sense of achievement and approval washed over him and he grinned, hugging Mastekh’s gift against his chest.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” he couldn’t help asking.

Busy admiring his gold stone again, Elder Blazeborn looked up and tipped his head. “I see no reason why he wouldn’t. It looks like a river captured within the stone. You give very thoughtful gifts, Estenarven.”

Unused to praise from his gruff elder, Estenarven had the unfamiliar sensation of flushing with pleasure. Thank the Family his skin was dark and wouldn’t betray him like Mastekh’s paler complexion.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I was hoping to give it to him tonight, if you have no need of us.”

“Ah.” Khennik finally put down his rock and laid his hands flat against the table. “Tonight. Has Mastekh given you your sixth gift yet?”

Any happy, light feelings began to fade at the question. “No,” Estenarven said slowly. “Not yet.”

Khennik’s frown turned into a grimace. “Then I regret to inform you that you cannot give this to him tonight. I sadly do have need of you both.”

Disappointment threatened to pull Estenarven’s shoulders down, but his elder had asked so little of them lately – rarely asked much of them even when he had every right to – that he forced himself not to show it. “Whatever you need, elder. We are both here to serve.”

At that moment the door handle rattled and Mastekh entered the suite as if summoned by their elder’s request. Estenarven’s eyes widened as he looked down at the gift he was still holding. Elder Blazeborn stood up swiftly and walked around the desk, taking Mastekh’s attention with him and away from Estenarven.

“Ah, Mastekh, I was just explaining to Estenarven that I shall be dining with Elder Gwyllen tonight and require both of you to attend. It would appear that our host has finally decided to take advantage of our presence and do business with the humans. As a delegate to the embassy, I am told my place is to sit there and ensure all are dealt with fairly.”

“Oh.” Mastekh murmured, sounding as if he too was struggling to hide his disappointment.

Having looked around the room and found nothing big enough to hide the quartz in or behind, Estenarven grimaced and stuffed the rock inside his robe. Though he tucked it between his arm and his body, there was no way he could disguise the fact he was holding something.

“Yes,” Elder Blazeborn continued, keeping Mastekh’s attention away from Estenarven as he began shuffling towards his bedroom door. “Tiresome, I know. The other elders will have their aides attending on them, but if you and Estenarven have other plans, I will likely be able to cope alone. Perhaps Reglian will assist me.”

Estenarven and Mastekh both bristled. As disappointing as it was not to be able to share his sixth gift just yet, there was no way on this Overworld that either he or Mastekh would allow their elder to dine with the other dragons and their aides alone, leaving him as the only one not being properly cared for. Nor would they permit another dragon to take their place.

The care of Elder Blazeborn was their task – no one else’s.

“We’ll be there,” Estenarven announced, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be sneaking away before Mastekh noticed the ill-concealed gift inside his robe.

Thankfully he was in a shadowy portion of the room, so even though Mastekh glanced at him, nodding firmly in agreement, he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

The corner of Elder Blazeborn’s mouth curled up ever-so-slightly. “So be it. The bell will sound soon – I trust neither of you need too long to prepare.” He cast Estenarven a brief but knowing glance, which Mastekh again failed to notice.

“Not too l-long at all, eld-d-der,” the Rainstorm bubbled, pressing a hand against his robe pocket and rushing into his room.

“Glad to hear it,” Khennik murmured, raising an eyebrow at where Estenarven still stood in the shadows. “I trust that all my hard work providing you with a distraction won’t go to waste now while you stand around daydreaming until Mastekh returns and catches you once again in the open with a badly hidden gift.”

“Ah. Yes, right.” Having been distracted by the sway of Mastekh’s robe as he hurried away, Estenarven cleared his throat and started moving again. “I’ll be back in a tail swish.”

Over the sound of Khennik’s amused snort, Estenarven raced into his room and bundled Mastekh’s gift beneath his pillow. Sighing with relief at finally having the precious thing out of sight, he emptied his pockets of his smaller treasures and turned to his wash his face in the basin. Straightening his robe, he peered into his mirror and smoothed a hand over his bald head.

A little more harried than usual, but otherwise he looked well enough.

“One more night won’t make any difference,” he told his reflection. After all, there was no set time limit between each gift. There could be days, moons, even years between one courting gift and the next if the dragons involved so required. The only time limit applied when it came to reciprocating one gift to another in order to complete the set. Which was why Elder Blazeborn had asked if Estenarven had received his sixth gift yet. If he had, he would only have a day to respond, else the courtship would be ended. However, since neither of them had yet given their sixth gift, there was no real harm in deferring their courtship for another day.

Much though he might wish otherwise.

“Pull yourself together,” he ordered, poking a finger at his reflected nose. “You’re a Boulderforce. You won’t crumble in the meantime.”

Even so, he would miss the long, leisurely evening chats that always started with them sitting side-by-side – Mastekh usually keeping a decorous hand’s span of space between them – and ended with a Rainstorm draped across his chest, sleepily listening to whatever nonsense Estenarven could come up with to keep them together a little while longer. He had hoped that tonight, after their sixth gifts had been exchanged, he might be able to coax Mastekh into staying with him all night. Sleeping, only sleeping, but sadly it seemed as though the elders had other plans.

A heavy bell tolled somewhere overhead and Estenarven relinquished his hopes with a sigh. He had work to do. He wasn’t here for his health, but because Elder Blazeborn needed him.

With that in mind, he rejoined the others and they set off through the halls of Highstrike for another tedious evening of trade talks and diplomatic dancing.

More next Wednesday!

Courtship 7

Courtship 7
Fed up of waiting?
You can download the complete book for FREE now!

Proper release post and links to come when I’m not being (happily) invaded by family :)

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 36

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

Mastekh works with his hands.

And in other news, I should hopefully have the complete ebook up and ready for free download by this weekend – whoo! So if you’re fed up of these measly weekly updates, soon you’ll be able to read the whole thing. It’s not like I finished it months ago or anything…

Uh. Anyway, back to the story.

36
Wooden Heart

IT WAS ALL thanks to Lieutenant Nera that Mastekh finally figured out what he would do for Estenarven’s handmade gift. After running, literally, into him in the hallway, she’d asked him how everything was going while they helped each other up and dusted themselves down.

That had been two days ago and, after quickly ascertaining that he had neither the skills nor the time to learn to knit, quilt or crochet, Nera had led him through the winding passages of Highstrike to where the rest of the Riders were staying. There, she’d left him in the capable hands of her sergeant, Zantho, and that was where Mastekh still was, staring down at his carving knife and lump of wood, trying to decide if he’d made the right decision.

“Coming along well,” the quiet sergeant said, looking up from his own exquisitely whittled doelyn and calf, small enough to sit on his hand yet detailed down to every feather.

“Mm,” Mastekh replied doubtfully, running his fingertips over his lump. He had made progress, of a sort, since he’d started with a rectangular block of wood the length of his index finger. Now he had an elongated sand timer shape, which he had spent most of yesterday whittling and smoothing down. Which was something, but not nearly what he wanted.

Zantho sighed and put aside his own work, shifting forward to take Mastekh’s lump from his hands. “Show me again,” he invited, holding out his other hand.

Reaching into his pocket, Mastekh reluctantly brought out his fourth gift from Estenarven.

“Curious little thing,” Zantho murmured, his voice almost as deep as a Thunderwing’s, but lacking the rumble of distant thunder. “So old. I wonder who made it, who it was supposed to be, if it was an ancestor or a deity, and what it was meant for.”

Mastekh had wondered the same things himself at first. However, after listening to Estenarven’s tales of how he’d found it and all the ways it had been with him throughout his life, Mastekh no longer cared what its first life had been. All that mattered to him was that it was precious to Estenarven. So even though this one wouldn’t be as old or as precious as the other ones he’d lost, Mastekh hoped that by making a new figure for his Boulderforce, he could lessen the loss of having give the last one away.

“Well, it’s simple enough,” Zantho said briskly, jolting Mastekh from his thoughts. The sergeant handed the old figure back and held the lump up between them. “You’ve smoothed this down well, now you need to carve the final shape.”

“C-c-carve?” Mastekh looked at the knife he was holding and swallowed hard. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the blade, but after spending two days working on his lump, he really didn’t want to ruin it. Who knew how long it would take him to reach this point again?

“Like this.” Zantho fetched a fresh piece of wood from the satchel where he kept all his carving tools. It would have been so simple to let the sergeant do all the work, but they had both agreed from the beginning that the only person to work on this piece would be Mastekh. So the sergeant had created his own lump while showing Mastekh how to whittle and smooth, and now he would show him how to carve.

“Hold it firm.” He passed Mastekh’s lump back to him, picked up his own piece of wood and readied his knife. “Just like peeling an apple. Soft, light strokes. Gently does it. Now dip in a fraction, just a touch. Don’t force it.”

For a man who didn’t seem to talk much, Zantho had a wonderfully soothing voice – and he never expected Mastekh to talk back. With that pressure removed, Mastekh was free to concentrate on Zantho’s words, watching his hands and trying to mimic the movements as best he could. Press and carve, press and carve, turn a little, press and carve. The process was repetitive and easy, almost meditative, allowing Mastekh’s mind to drift away to a quiet place of nothing.

No worries, no anxieties, just the knife and the wood and the soft, gentle movements.

“There now. Take a look. How’s it seem to you?”

Mastekh blinked out of his trance and looked down at the lump, surprised to see that his elongated shape had become more defined, with a longer, more slender blob atop a sturdier, rounder base. “Oh. I d-d-did it.”

“So you did,” Zantho agreed, putting his neater version aside and handing Mastekh a piece of leather covered with fine sand. “Now you have to smooth it. After that, it’ll be time for details.”

Sighing, Mastekh accepted the leather and settled back into the monotonous task of rubbing the wood smooth again. “Details,” he grumbled gloomily. “Another ch-chance to r-r-ruin it.”

Zantho clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he picked up his doelyns again. “You haven’t ruined it yet, have you?”

“N-no.”

“And you won’t. I’ll see to that.”

Buoyed up by the quiet confidence in the man’s tone, Mastekh put his doubts aside and got to work. The sooner he smoothed this down, the sooner he could carve and the sooner he could finish. Then he could give it to Estenarven and be one step closer to the end of their courtship.

Bending over his double-blob, Mastekh bit his tongue to help him concentrate and rubbed all the rough edges of his carving away.

More next week!
(Or the whole thing in a few days. Hopefully.)

Take care, my lovelies.

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 35

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

So what now?

35
My Precious

12th Storm Month

“I DON’T SEE what all the fuss is about,” Lieutenant Vish remarked from the back of his miryhl the next morning. “You’re a stone dragon. Don’t you carry lots of shiny gems around with you all the time? They’re precious, aren’t they? Can’t you just use one of them?”

Taking advantage of a lull in the weather, Estenarven and three of the Rift Rider lieutenants had escaped from Highstrike to fly in the mountains. With the storms lying thick and heavy around the Tempestfury kinlands, all of them – humans, miryhls and dragon – were starting to go a little crazy from being inside all the time.

Although some of Estenarven’s restlessness was down to the fact that two whole days had passed since his dinner with Mastekh and he was still no closer to knowing what his sixth gift should be.

“Maybe he wants to be a little less obvious,” Anhardyne said, her miryhl flying directly over Estenarven’s head. “A diamond or an emerald from a stone dragon? How predictable is that?”

The other Riders and miryhls murmured in agreement, but Estenarven kept his thoughts to himself. He knew they were just trying to be helpful, but contrary to human beliefs, not all stone dragons (as they crudely insisted on labelling him) collected shiny gems. That was the province of kin Jewelwing, as their name suggested.

Yes, all right, Boulderforces did like shiny things every now and then, but they were just as likely to collect a piece of quartz or hematite as gather up diamonds and sapphires.

“But if we rule out precious gems as too obvious,” Nera called from her position on Estenarven’s left, “what else is there?”

And therein lay Estenarven’s problem. He had limited time and extremely finite resources, yet somehow he had to uncover something precious enough to give to his Puddle. Not because the courtship demanded it, but because he wanted to. The rock rose that now sat pride of place on his narrow windowsill was the most perfect and unlikely gift anyone had ever given him. He loved it. The feelings that had bubbled up within him when he’d first laid eyes on it – tenderness and love and a sense of being thought special enough to care for such a thing – were wondrous. He wanted Mastekh to feel every last one. So he needed a good gift, a precious gift, a thoughtful, well considered gift.

“Urgh, rain,” Anhardyne muttered as big fat droplets began splattering down. “I’d hoped we’d escape it.”

“Try down there,” Nera shouted, her miryhl already diving for a gap between the spurs of two mountains.

Estenarven allowed the miryhls to go ahead of him, his scales rippling a protest at the worsening weather. The rain was drumming on his wings now. It wouldn’t hurt him, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. As he dove after the miryhls, his magic tingled through his bones and he grinned as he realised what Nera had spotted.

A cave, low and narrow but with space enough for three miryhls, three humans and one human-sized dragon to fit in reasonable comfort.

“Good eyes, Ni,” he remarked, back-winging and shifting midair to land on bare feet. As he crouched to absorb the drop, his hand brushed the ground.

With his magical senses still open, exploring the parameters of the cave, something bright and cool flashed across his mind and he looked up.

“Very good eyes indeed,” he murmured, smiling at the veins that rippled through the stone like ancient, fossilised rivers, glinting in the pallid light of the overcast day.

When he slowly stood, head canted backwards, the three Riders and their miryhls looked up too.

“Is that…?” Nera asked softly.

“Gold,” the others agreed in a reverent whisper.

“In quartz,” Estenarven said, pressing his palms against the nearest wall and grinning with excitement. “Rivers of quartz and gold flow right through the heart of this mountain.”

Anhardyne chuckled. “Well, there’s a gift to please any Flowflight.”

Estenarven grinned. “We may need a little more light,” he suggested, keeping one hand pressed against the wall as he moved deeper into the cave, following the shining river in search of the perfect piece to take home.

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies.

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 34

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

I want one of these.


34
The Rose

THEY BOTH STARED at the rose that was just visible through the fog on the glass. Mastekh bit his lip, hoping against hope that he’d done the right thing.

“May I?” Estenarven asked softly, raising his hands either side of the dome.

Mastekh nodded, making a low sound of agreement. Unlike some of the roses and flowers in Elder Gwyllen’s collection this one wasn’t delicate, but the shock of going from the humid glasshouse to the cold hallways had prompted the gardener to provide the dome. Hopefully by now the air inside would have cooled enough to be less of a shock.

Estenarven lifted, revealing the rose beneath in all its understated glory. When the Boulderforce said nothing, simply stared at the grey bloom that was the size of Mastekh’s fist and appeared to be growing out of a bed of pebbles and moss, nerves struck.

“It’s a r-r-rock r-rose,” he rushed to explain. “Hardy, I’m t-told. They g-g-grow all over the n-north. But this one is sp-special. They’re mostly wh-white, sometimes p-p-pink, but this one is g-g-grey. Like you.”

The Boulderforce kept looking at the rose and Mastekh felt the first tendril of panic. Even though he’d jokingly thought that he would gladly keep the rose if Estenarven didn’t want it, the simple act of refusing a gift would bring their whole courtship crashing down.

Estenarven couldn’t refuse. He couldn’t.

Mastekh wrung his hands, unable to help the fact that they were dripping. He’d thought he was being so clever. Estenarven’s first gift to him had been a flower. The fact that Estenarven had chosen food as his fifth gift seemed a beautifully positive sign, since Mastekh’s first gift to him had been food. They had mirrored each other without even knowing.

Except Estenarven was a Boulderforce. Who would be stupid enough to give such a hard, solid, sturdy dragon flowers?

Fine tremors shivered up Mastekh’s spine, turning his knees to water. After everything they’d been through, after the wonder of the last few evenings, he’d gone and ruined it with a stupid gift. A rose from Elder Gwyllen’s private collection was special, yes, but only if you cared for such fragile, frippery things.

“A rock rose,” Estenarven said at last, his voice sounding like he was gargling gravel.

“Yes,” Mastekh breathed softly.

“It’s beautiful.”

The relief was so strong that Mastekh had to hold onto the table to stop himself from melting all over the floor.

Estenarven didn’t notice, he was too busy touching the pebbles and moss that made up the rose’s bed. Despite his big, broad hands, he was exquisitely gentle as he brushed the winding stem and stroked a grey petal.

“No one has ever given me flowers before,” he said wistfully. “People don’t think Boulderforces need them. They don’t think we value pretty, fragile things.” He looked up, dark eyes shining straight into Mastekh’s heart. “But I do. Because they’re not frail, they’re survivors. They’re strong.”

That did it. Mastekh’s knees collapsed and he would have fallen, except Estenarven was there to catch him, pulling him onto his lap and cradling him tight.

“Thank you, Puddle. Thank you.”

Tucking himself beneath Estenarven’s chin, head resting on his broad chest, Mastekh closed his eyes and sighed with relief. He’d chosen right, the courtship would continue. He thought about protesting that he wasn’t strong, that Estenarven had got it wrong, but he wouldn’t allow anything to spoil this moment. No negative thoughts. Just relief – and acceptance.

Only two gifts left to go. Something handmade, something hard to get.

Listening to the steady beat of Estenarven’s heart, Mastekh smiled as his Boulderforce cooed at his rock rose and knew he would never find a more precious, hard to find gift than the love and trust of this dragon.

But he’d try his best anyway, because that was what courtship was for. He would live up to his Estenarven’s expectations and be strong. Then he would hold onto this amazing gift he’d found with all the strength in his heart.

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies.

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 33

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

Sorry again! Wednesday’s are just crazy busy right now – well, every day is. I promise to have next week on time.

In the meantime, anyone for dinner?


33
Dinner

MASTEKH’S WIDE EYES shone as he drank Estenarven in before turning to stare at the table in the centre of the suite. There had been a moment or two when Estenarven had worried that it was all too much. Not the meal, because that was his handmade gift, but the dripping candles – a most impractical human invention, far too fiddly for his bulky Boulderforce hands, but thankfully Elder Blazeborn had still been around to help set them up – the table cloth, the fine china and his own courtly outfit.

One look at Mastekh’s face as he took it all in, however, was enough to reassure him. No, not too much. It was perfect. All of it, perfect.

Well, apart from the food.

Trying not to grimace and give the wrong impression, he strode across the suite to offer his elbow and escort Mastekh to the table, where he seated him and poured a large glass of wine. His Rainstorm would need it to choke down the food.

“Would my lord care to serve himself or be served?”

Mastekh opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, overwhelmed by the occasion, so Estenarven took pity on him and served him himself. Which was what he’d hoped to do anyway. This way he could pick out the best of the vegetables and the better cooked pieces of venison.

Which he swiftly did and placed it before his Rainstorm with a theatrical flourish.

“Enjoy.”

“You d-did this?” Mastekh murmured, staring down at his plate as if he’d never seen food before. “All of th-th-this?” He looked around the room, eyes slightly glazed as he returned to scan Estenarven’s face once more.

Unable to resist preening just a little under the attention, Estenarven turned side on and bent a little lower than necessary to fill his own plate, aware of how the breeches tightened in all the right places.

Mastekh whimpered.

Smiling, Estenarven carried his plate to his own seat, flicked out the tails of his coat and sat down. “I made the meal, at least, with my own two hands.”

“Esten,” his Puddle whispered, clearly overcome that someone had gone to so much effort for him.

“Don’t thank me yet, not until you’ve tried some of it.” So saying, he picked up his cutlery and sawed at his venison. Hmm, not as terrible as he’d feared. A little chewy, perhaps, and rather overdone, but manageable.

“I…”

Putting down his knife, Estenarven reached across the narrow table and squeezed Mastekh’s hand gently. “It’s only food, Puddle. You bake for Elder Blazeborn and me all the time. I thought it was time to return the flavour, but it turns out that I’m no good at sweet and fiddly things. So I cooked you a roast. The dracos helped.”

Mastekh turned his hand beneath Estenarven’s and raised it to his mouth for a kiss. “You’re w-w-wonderful.”

“Say that again after you’ve chewed your way through this mess. If neither of us ends up poisoned, I’ll gladly claim the victory.”

Mastekh’s smile was tender as he ducked his head and cut into a carrot. Then he proceeded to clear not just his plate but a second and third helping too, despite never having had a particularly large appetite.

Which in Estenarven’s eyes was a greater show of love than anything he’d prepared that evening. And left him almost as starry-eyed as his Rainstorm as they finished off the wine, gazing happily at each other in the candlelight.

He could almost hear Jesral gagging at the pair of them and their soppy ways, but Estenarven smiled and didn’t care a bit. Because his fifth gift had been received.

Only two more to go and Mastekh would be his.

“Happy fifth gift,” he said again, weaving his fingers between Mastekh’s and stroking the pads.

“Oh!” Mastekh leapt up and dashed away before Estenarven could register he was even moving. But before he could grow too alarmed, Mastekh was back, a glass dome cradled in his arms.

“Happy fifth g-g-gift, P-pebble,” he murmured, placing the dome in front of Estenarven and backing slowly away.

Then it was Estenarven’s turn to be overwhelmed and speechless as he gazed down at what Mastekh had found for him.

More next week. On Wednesday.
I mean it!
(I’m scheduling it right now to make sure.)

Take care, my lovelies.

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 32

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

Sorry this is late! I was crazy busy yesterday and just plain forgot. Sorry! Especially since this is my favourite gift too. Ah well, it’s here now. Hope you enjoy.

32
Fifth Gift

“AND CAH…CAH…come back any… anytishoo! Anytime, anytime at all. Always wuh…wuh…wel-tishoo! Welcome.”

Mastekh smiled and waved and tried not to look too obvious as he all but ran out of the glasshouse, relieved to leave the dank, humid air behind, along with the sniffling Tempestfury who was allergic to storms and crackled with static every time she sneezed. Which was often. Mastekh’s right arm had gone completely numb after he’d been zapped repeatedly during his short time in the glasshouse.

However, when he looked down at the glass dome clasped between his hands – and the specimen within – the whole debacle was worth it.

“What a precious thing you are,” he cooed to his prize and, hugging the dome to his chest, hurried through the storm-chilled hallways towards Elder Blazeborn’s suite. Hopefully he’d return before Estenarven and have time to hide his latest treasure.

The last two evenings had been a wonderful gift in their own right, filled with the luxury of spending so much time with Estenarven, touching, kissing and talking, so much talking. Mastekh had fallen asleep with his head on Estenarven’s chest last night, drifting away to the sound of his deep voice. Contentment wasn’t anything Mastekh had ever known he was missing, but now that he had it, he deemed it the most precious gift he’d ever received.

Not that Estenarven would agree to list that as one of his seven. No, the silly Boulderforce insisted on doing everything properly, but Mastekh would always count Estenarven’s faith and belief in him as well as his trust and the contentment he evoked among some of the most wonderful gifts anyone had ever given him.

Then again, Mastekh refused to count saving Estenarven’s life as his precious gift either – on the reasoning that saving a life wasn’t something Mastekh would ever choose not to do or to somehow take back, so it wasn’t a gift. Which was why he had spent much of the afternoon in the greenhouse with a sneezing, staticky Tempestfury.

He just hoped Estenarven would deem it worthy.

Biting his lip, Mastekh peered down at the dome cradled firmly in the circle of his arms and smiled. Even if Estenarven didn’t want it, Mastekh would keep it for himself – and count it as one of Estenarven’s seven gifts. Just let the stubborn Boulderforce argue against that.

Laughter echoed down the corridor as Mastekh paused before the door of Elder Blazeborn’s suite. Taking a quick glance in either direction, he fetched the key from his pocket and slipped quietly inside.

The room was dark, save for the flickering of the fireplace and two lone candles. Mastekh studied them curiously – they were such a human thing; glow globes were much more efficient – but since Estenarven wasn’t in sight, he hurried into his own room and shut the door.

“That you, Puddle?” a call came from across the suite.

Panicking, he threw a blanket over the dome and hurried back out again. “Yes, I’m b-back,” he said, smiling as Estenarven stepped out of his room.

Eyes widening, Mastekh dropped his gaze to the Boulderforce’s feet and slowly ran it all the way to the top, mouth gaping in astonishment. Estenarven, as tall and broad and beautiful as ever, dressed in the finest human evening attire. Highly polished shoes gave way to snowy white stockings, which were tucked into the pale-grey knee breeches that elegantly clung in all the right places. The top of him was resplendent in a matching waistcoat beneath a pewter velvet swallowtail jacket. The whole ensemble was completed by a frothing waterfall of white lace at his throat.

His face was set in a solemn expression that was much belied by the teasing glint in his eyes.

He looked magnificent.

Fearing he might drool, Mastekh quickly closed his mouth and cleared his throat. “What is this?”

“Happy fifth gift, beloved,” Estenarven purred, executing a courtly bow in the finest human style. “Dinner is now served.”

More next week!

Take care, my lovelies.

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 31

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

Esten gets to work.

31
Cooking

 9th Storm Month

TWO DAYS LATER, Estenarven stood in the middle of Highstrike’s biggest kitchen, trying to follow the dracos’ instructions without much success. It was time for Mastekh’s fifth gift and, because he hadn’t thought of something suitably precious yet to give his Puddle, Estenarven had skipped forward to the handmade one.

Being a Boulderforce, he wasn’t particularly gifted when it came to working with his hands. He would never be favoured for delicate tasks and wood tended to snap beneath his fingers with very little effort. So he’d come to the kitchen, because it was a place Mastekh valued so highly, and with a little help from the dracos, he’d managed to sneak a few secret cooking lessons without his Puddle noticing.

Not that he was doing much cooking, since his attempts so far had been woeful and often inedible. But at least he’d ruled out pastries, pies, bread and tarts as options for his gift. The less said about his attempts to filet a fish, the better. However, he was proving pretty effective when it came to venison, so he’d scaled up his plans from a delicate dainty to tempt Mastekh’s appetite, into a full roast meal. The vegetables might not win any prizes for the neatness of their cut, but he hadn’t destroyed them utterly in the skinning and preparation and they were either bubbling nicely in the water or roasting in an oven. It would do. All he needed was a sauce.

While the dracos fussed and teased him over his clumsy efforts, Estenarven smiled and tried not to get too lost in his thoughts. That was what had happened to the bread, when he’d allowed himself to dwell too long on the last two evenings with Mastekh and kneaded the dough all to pieces.

He didn’t beat himself up too much for his distraction, though. Because the last two evenings had been everything to Estenarven. To some they might have seemed tame and perhaps a little dull, and even the dragon Estenarven used to be probably would have laughed if someone else had near-swooned over the memory of just talking, but this was Mastekh and… Estenarven chuckled at himself, knowing he was a hopeless case.

He’d never been one to deny himself pleasure, had in fact indulged in every sybaritic experience that had crossed his path, yet somehow, simply sitting and talking to Mastekh was better and more satisfying than anything else. Not that he’d object to sex, because he really liked sex and knew how best to enjoy himself and his partner, but he wanted to take things slowly with Mastekh, to make sure they were both comfortable. For the first time in his life, Estenarven was nervous about sleeping with someone. Because it mattered. Mastekh mattered, and Estenarven would never forgive himself if he messed it up now.

When Estenarven had discovered his fourth gift was the matching half of Mastekh’s naming shell, he had nearly broken down in tears with sheer relief. Not just at the meaning of such a gift, but because Mastekh still wanted him. Naming shells were too important to be shared lightly and if Estenarven hadn’t already been serious about Mastekh, his feelings would have deepened right then.

It was more than just the shells, though. Mastekh had asked about the figure Estenarven had given him and grown quite possessive when Estenarven had apologised and tried to take it back, vowing to find something more appropriate, more akin to the naming shell. That had led to another appearance of growly Mastekh, which had all but crumbled Estenarven to pieces.

Thinking back on the delicious way Mastekh had ordered him never to talk so disparagingly about the figure again brought a fresh wave of shivers to dance down Estenarven’s spine.

“Stir, stir, stir!” the frantic cry broke through his thoughts and Estenarven dutifully did so, bowing his head and mumbling apologies to Vilree the head chef for almost ruining her foolproof sauce.

Pushing all thoughts of Mastekh and the long, lazy conversations they’d recently had, learning all about each other’s lives, from hatchling through to their change times, and the way Mastekh so easily draped himself across Estenarven’s chest now, perfectly at ease with the contact, Estenarven focused on what his draco teachers were telling him. There would be plenty of time later to daydream, or even better yet, to talk more with Mastekh. But only if he pulled himself together and finished preparing this meal.

Then there would only be two more gifts to go. Something precious and something hard to get. No idea he’d come up with yet came remotely close to what he wanted for Mastekh, so Estenarven knew he’d have to ask for more help. Although who from he wasn’t yet certain.

“Too hot, too hot,” Vilree barked at him, and Estenarven shifted his pot away from the oven top. “Pay attention.”

“Yes, Vilree. Sorry, Vilree,” Estenarven murmured automatically, lifting the spoon to take a sip. Perfect. Well, edible, anyway, which was perfect by his standards. “I think we’re done.”

“Hm.” Vilree sniffed and fetch her own spoon to test the sauce. Wrinkling her scaled nose, she flattened her head crest and sighed. “To anyone else I would say – make it again – but you will not stay for that.”

“Nope,” Estenarven agreed cheerfully, already pouring the sauce into a jug and asking a different draco to drain his vegetables so that he could take everything up to Elder Blazeborn’s suite, ready to be eaten. He had to hurry if he was to get everything ready and still catch Mastekh before he headed for the dining hall. “It’s now or never, Vilree. Thanks for all your help.”

He blew the head chef a kiss and Vilree flapped her dishcloth in his direction. “Pah. No patience. No artistry. Go, get out of my kitchen.”

“Gladly.” Lifting the laden tray that contained all the important parts of the evening, Estenarven bowed grandly to the busy room. “My thanks to you all for your superior patience and artistry. I promise never to bother you again.”

“Ha! We can but hope,” Vilree scoffed, sending snickers through the working dracos. “I feel almost bad that we are letting you serve our good friend Mastekh such things, but tell him we tried our best and good luck to you, Estenarven.”

With more good wishes and teasing comments flowing in his wake, Estenarven left the kitchen and headed for the suite. He just hoped Elder Blazeborn had remembered his promise to make himself scarce for another night, and that Mastekh hadn’t already gone searching for his supper elsewhere.

“Fifth gift,” he murmured as he began climbing the stairs, “here I come.”

More next week!

Take care, my lovelies.

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 30

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

Another gift is given…

30
Two Sides…

MASTEKH HELD HIS breath and pressed his back against the wall of his tiny bedroom as Estenarven chuckled in the main room and moved away, hopefully towards his private quarters.

An echo of Jesral’s teasing song looped inside Mastekh’s head, bringing a warm flush to his face. Mastekh and Esten, nesting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

Mastekh could only hope. Even if a tree did make a most impractical nesting site for a dragon. Far too flimsy and exposed.

Shaking his head, Mastekh took in a deep breath and moved towards his door. Estenarven should be safely inside his room by now, hopefully looking at the gift Mastekh had left on his pillow.

He hoped he liked it.

Then again, would he even understand it? Naming shells weren’t spoken of outside the Flowflight Clan. Just because Goryal had recognised them at a glance, didn’t mean Estenarven would have the faintest idea what Mastekh had given him.

Just a flimsy shell.

Sibling Water, what if he didn’t even notice it and lay straight down, shattering it into pieces?

By the Family! Cursing himself for an idiot, Mastekh burst through the door. “Esten!”

Estenarven was already coming towards him, marching across the suite, an intense look on his face.

Mastekh froze, eyes skimming over the Boulderforce. His hands were clenched into fists, his face looked angry.

“You!” Estenarven growled, reaching for him.

Mastekh flinched, but Estenarven grabbed his face between his hands – and kissed him.

While all their other kisses had been passionate but ultimately playful, this one was intense. Estenarven’s hands softened around Mastekh’s jaw, cradling him gently, while his mouth took and took, as if he could devour Mastekh whole and make them one.

Too stunned to do much other than let him, Mastekh’s knees turned all watery and he sagged against the Boulderforce. If he had melted into a slushy puddle at Estenarven’s feet, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised.

But he wasn’t devoured and he didn’t melt. Instead Mastekh ran his hands from Estenarven’s wrists, up his arms until he could hold onto those broad shoulders and kiss him back.

Grabbing a quick breath, Estenarven growled his approval and returned for more, sliding a hand down from Mastekh’s jaw until his broad palm rested over Mastekh’s heart. Then his lips moved, nibbling little kisses up towards Mastekh’s ear and under his jaw and down his neck.

Mastekh’s knees gave way.

Chuckling, Estenarven buried his face at Mastekh’s throat and squeezed him around the waist, lifting his feet off the floor.

Unable to do much other than hold on, Mastekh pressed his cheek to Estenarven’s head and sighed. “You f-found the sh-shell then?”

Lowering him gently, Estenarven pulled back and cupped Mastekh’s face in one broad hand. The other he raised between them, the blank naming shell looking plain and unexceptional on his palm.

“Do you really mean it, Puddle?” he asked softly. “My name with yours, two sides of the same shell?”

Mastekh swallowed hard, thankful that Clan Flowflight’s secrets apparently weren’t so very secret after all. “Yes, I m-mean it. Two s-sides, one sh-shell.”

Estenarven stared at him for a long, unfathomable moment before closing his eyes and pressing their foreheads together. “I never dreamed…”

Mastekh closed his own eyes and cupped Estenarven’s face. “You st-started it.”

Estenarven chuckled, a deeply contented sound. “So I did,” he agreed, kissing Mastekh lightly and pulling away, taking his hand to tug him across the suite to the nearest settee. Once they were sitting alongside each other, he opened his palm to reveal the shell again and shot Mastekh an uncharacteristically shy look. “May I see yours?”

Trembling a little at willingly choosing to show someone his naming shell for the first time, Mastekh reached into his pocket and lined his hand up beside Estenarven’s. The two shells were almost identical, except one was ever so slightly darker and had Mastekh’s name etched inside it.

“Two sides,” Estenarven whispered, running a reverent finger over the marks.

“One sh-shell,” Mastekh completed, turning his hand over to place his shell atop the unmarked one, joining them together as they would once have fit when the sea creature had been alive. He gently wove his fingers with Estenarven’s, the shell caught between their hands, linking them together in much the same way.

“Puddle,” Estenarven gasped in a choked voice, kissing the back of Mastekh’s hand and pressing it against his chest. His dark eyes shone with emotion and Mastekh felt his throat grow tight. The Boulderforce bowed his head to rest it on Mastekh’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Wrapping his free arm around Estenarven’s waist, Mastekh pulled him in tight and vowed to never let him go. Estenarven had nothing to thank him for; it was Mastekh who was grateful. He’d found his stopping place, his stone to stick to, and not even the strongest tides of the Overworld would make him leave. Not now. Estenarven was stuck with him.

More next Wednesday.

Take care, my lovelies!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 29

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

Time to chat with Jesral about that gossip.

29
Party

AFTER FAILING TO find anyone he knew particularly well in the dining hall, Estenarven traipsed back up into the guest tower. Creeping past Elder Blazeborn’s suite, in case Mastekh was inside and heard him passing, he climbed the next set of stairs until he reached Elder Cloudflight’s rooms.

“Come to join the party?” Lieutenant Anhardyne asked, standing outside the door with Lieutenant Nera by her side.

Estenarven arched his eyebrows, surprised to find them together. Not that it was unusual, since the women were friends, but the room beyond the door sounded raucous and a little bit wild, which didn’t seem like Nera’s kind of place.

“Where’s Vish?” he asked instead of answering.

Anhardyne heaved a big sigh. “With Gharrik somewhere in the depths of this place, tracking down another party and evicting our rambunctious Riders.”

“Why isn’t he here with you?” he couldn’t help asking, since Nera and Gharrik were a far more sensible pair. He was a little surprised that Anhardyne and Vish weren’t the ones being tracked down themselves. Which rather answered his own question, he realised, seeing Nera’s wry smile.

“Apparently we can’t be trusted together on a task like this,” Anhardyne grumbled, arms folded across her chest. “Captain Wellswen split us up.”

“To save her the trouble of tracking you down later?” Estenarven asked, making Nera chuckle.

“Very funny.” Anhardyne rolled her eyes and knocked on the door. “Enough about us. What are you doing here? Where’s Mastekh?”

It was Estenarven’s turn to fold his arms defensively across his chest. “I think we just had our first fight,” he admitted, torn between sadness and a bit of pride. If they cared enough to fight, it must mean their relationship was progressing – or so he hoped.

Nera gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm. “Nothing too serious, I hope.”

“I hope the opposite,” Anhardyne teased, waggling her eyebrows. “The bigger the row, the better the making up. Are you here to make him jealous?”

“No!” Estenarven protested, while Nera smacked her friend on the arm with a reproving, “Hardy, behave.”

Grinning, Anhardyne opened the door to the suite – since no one was coming to answer it – and threw a wink over her shoulder. “Have fun making up, Boulderboy. Mastekh is in for a real treat.” Wiggling her fingers in a wave, she sauntered into the crowd of entwined Riders and dragons.

Nera stepped across the threshold and stopped, eyes wide as she looked around.

Estenarven took in the scene for himself, chuckling at the lack of inhibitions currently on display. Squeezing the small human’s shoulder reassuringly, he shoved her forwards. “Best of luck separating this lot. I’m off to talk with Jesral.”

Giving him a distracted nod, Nera rolled up her sleeves and waded after Anhardyne, leaving Estenarven to track down his quarry alone. He found Jesral on the far side of the suite, talking quietly with a Tempestfury, their heads bent close together.

“All right, everyone, fun’s over. Time to clear out. Riders, duty calls. Let’s go!” Anhardyne had climbed onto a table and was clapping her hands sharply for attention.

When it didn’t seem to have much effect, Nera jumped up beside her. “Captain’s orders, everyone.”

There was a loud, collective groan of defeat and, amidst much grumbling and complaining, the room began to empty. Estenarven fought against the tide until he loomed over where Jesral and her companion sat. Though both dragons were fully clothed and not even touching, there was something undeniably intimate about the way they looked at each other, oblivious to the world around them.

Relishing a chance for a bit of payback, Estenarven cleared his throat loudly. When that didn’t work, he snapped his fingers. “A word, Jesral.”

The Tempestfury blinked first, drew back and glanced up at Estenarven. With his face set in its most blank and looming Boulderforce expression, the pale-skinned dragon seemed to pale even further.

“Oh,” she squeaked, looking around at the suddenly empty room and deciding to follow the crowd. “Excuse me.”

Within moments, he and Jesral were alone.

Frowning at the ruins of her party, the Lightstorm slumped back on the couch and glared up at him. “You certainly know how to clear a room.”

“I learnt all my best tricks from you, Jess.” Under normal circumstances he might have delivered the words with a smile or a tease before dropping down to sit beside her. But he wasn’t feeling particularly friendly right then, so he remained on his feet, arms folded over his chest.

“Must you loom so?” she protested, rubbing her neck where she was craning back in order to see his face. “Urgh, males.”

When this elicited absolutely no response, she sighed and climbed onto the settee in order to sit on the back. “I take it you tracked down your watery Rainstorm and both survived the experience.”

Estenarven arched an eyebrow.

Jesral fidgeted. “This strong silent treatment doesn’t work on me, you know.” She squirmed again, tapping her claws against each other. “You’re no good at it.” Nevertheless, he said nothing. Eventually she dropped her head back and sighed loudly. “All right! I apologise. There, happy now?”

“Not in the least,” he replied. “Stop behaving like a wingling, Jesral, and look at me.”

Rolling her eyes, she did as ordered, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in her hands. “Oh, do stop pouting, Esten. No harm was done. I am sorry he overheard us, but truly, you can’t blame me. All I did was repeat what I heard. It is a ridiculous rumour, even more so if it’s true. Mastekh is far too sensitive. Whatever are you thinking?”

Estenarven ground his teeth together, struggling to control his temper. He never lost his temper; he rarely got angry. He’d thought he wasn’t the type. Turned out he just needed something to care about enough in order to get riled up.

“Harm was done, Jessie. That gossip was pure spite. There’s nothing so unusual about the pair of us. Not that it’s anyone else’s business, but why shouldn’t I court him? We’re both dragons and of age. Stonehearts and Flowflights have mixed before. Yes, he is sensitive, but can you blame him after the way most folk treat him?”

“But he’s so watery!” Jesral whined. “If he didn’t make such a fuss over things, he wouldn’t be half as interesting. Even then it’s only a mild interest at best. He’s so dull, Esten, duller even than dishwater. What in the Overworld can you possibly find in him to attract you?”

He narrowed his eyes and studied her from head to toe. “Plenty. Such as goodness and kindness and friendship, good company and compassion.”

She pulled a face. “By the Family, you’ve changed.”

“As have you,” he agreed. “And not for the better.”

“Nor you.” She wrinkled her nose. “You used to be fun.”

“You used to be decent,” he retorted. “Now you’re just spiteful.”

Her laugh was hard and entirely without humour. “Decent? That feels more like an insult than a compliment. Is any dragon truly decent? Any that hope to survive, that is. You understood that once, Esten. You were like me.”

“I was never like you,” he protested, thinking back on his time at Teirenlai before he met Mastekh, before he was assigned to Elder Blazeborn. He had been friends with Jesral and plenty of others then, had run with a fast crowd. They’d enjoyed late nights and gossip and games of teasing and seduction. Yet there had been some goodness in all of them. Jesral had known how to be kind. She would never have laughed at Mastekh then.

Smirking, she stood on the couch, her face level with Estenarven’s as she leant forward and rested her hands on his shoulders. “You’re a dragon,” she told him softly. “You will always be like me. Deep down, underneath it all, you’re a survivor, same as me. We’ll do whatever it takes when times get tough to ensure we make it. Every dragon for themselves, isn’t that how the saying goes? Only the strong survive. Where will your precious little Rainstorm be then?”

“Right beside me,” Estenarven replied, holding her gaze firmly with his own. “Where he belongs. It takes more than one dragon to truly survive. You won’t get far alone.”

The tension between them snapped as Jesral released a peel of laughter, lightning flashing beyond the narrow windows. “How the mighty have fallen,” she chortled, patting him none too gently on the cheek. “It’s to be like that from now on, is it? You have become two. I don’t know whether to admire Mastekh’s ingenuity in snagging you, or pity you for getting caught.”

“Envy us both for the gift we’ve uncovered,” Estenarven said, pulling her hands away from his face and shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable at having her claws so close to his throat. That was a trust he was no longer certain she deserved. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find it yourself one day, Jess.”

Her smile was almost a sneer. “Save me from the smug contentment of newly mated pairs.”

“I’ll do so and gladly, if you’ll return the favour of keeping spiteful gossip to yourself.”

She wrinkled her nose and sat on the back of the settee again with a put-upon sigh. “Very well. Rumours are no fun when they’re true anyway. It takes all the entertainment out of things.”

Suppressing a relieved sigh, Estenarven stepped back. “Thanks, Jessie.”

She tilted her head and stared at him, her expression one of confusion. “Are you truly serious about him, Esten?”

“I gave him his fourth gift today.”

“Oh.” She blinked and stared down at where her bare feet pressed against the cushions. “I never thought you’d… That you were more like… Hm. Well, I wish you luck with the other three. They say they’re the hardest to find.”

“As they should be.” Turning, he sauntered back across the suite. “Maybe one day you’ll find that out for yourself.”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “You said you’d spare me!”

“And I will.” Reaching the door, he turned towards her again. “But think about it, Jessie. I’d hate to lose every last part of that fun, playful dragon I used to know.”

She snorted and leapt off the settee. “I’m not sure you ever truly knew her, Esten. I’m not sure she even truly existed. Now, if you don’t mind, would you stop hogging the doorway? Since someone wrecked my party and drove away my newest friend, I find myself in need of company again. Move aside, do, and let me go in search of it.”

“Try not to corrupt too many Tempestfurys while you’re at it,” Estenarven chuckled, stepping into the empty hallway.

“Ha! They’re the ones corrupting me. You know yourself how sweet and innocent I am.”

“I do indeed. That’s why I’m worried about them.”

Chuckling, she pulled the door shut with a firm click and turned the key in the lock. She touched him on the arm when he turned to leave. “Don’t let him change you too much, eh, Esten?”

“He makes me a better dragon, Jess. I can’t fight against that. I don’t even want to,” he said placidly, no longer angry since she seemed to have accepted that he truly was serious about Mastekh.

She bit her lip, expression pensive. “I didn’t really hurt him, did I?”

“A little,” he replied, looking down at her with a sigh. “But only a little. And you’re right. He is too sensitive.”

“Then maybe this courtship will make him a better dragon too.” She smiled with a hint of that old sweetness she used to have. “You can change each other as you go along.”

“I think we all change each other in life, all the people we meet and know,” he mused, tucking her arm through his and escorting her towards the stairs. “Lovers, friends, enemies and acquaintances. Life is experience and we’re always learning.”

Jesral wrinkled her nose and pulled free. “A philosopher, Esten, you? Family help us, I’m beginning to feel sorry for Mastekh. Much more of this and you’ll be duller than dirt.”

“I’m a Boulderforce, Jessie. I’m made of dirt.”

“Which explains so very much about you and this strange new turn. And on that note, old friend, I’m off.” Waving a dismissive hand, she strode ahead of him. “Go paddle with your Puddle and make silly faces at each other where sensible folk won’t be nauseated by it. I have a party to find and new friends to make. If I hear any good gossip, rest assured I shan’t bother you with it.”

“Good!” he called, as she moved out of sight down the stairs.

Her merry laughter floated up in answer and he sighed, following her down, but only one flight. He had no interest in parties and new friends, not right now, not anymore. He had a far more interesting evening planned. It might have been interrupted for a time, but what was life without a few hiccups?

Smiling, he reached Elder Blazeborn’s suite and opened the door.

“Estenarven and Mastekh, nesting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” A giggle drifted along the hallway.

“Good night, Jessie!” he shouted, stepping inside and slamming the door firmly behind him.

More next Wednesday.

Take care, my lovelies!