A Courtship of Dragons – Page 3

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 33

July 6, 2017 Becca Lusher

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

June 29, 2017 Becca Lusher

|| 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

June 21, 2017 Becca Lusher

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

Esten gets to work.

31
Cooking

9^th 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

June 14, 2017 Becca Lusher

|| 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

June 7, 2017 Becca Lusher

|| 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!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 28

May 31, 2017 Becca Lusher

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

Fourth gift feelings.

28
Well…

MASTEKH STARED AT the little wooden figure on his palm. It was obviously old and had clearly been handled often. It was battered and scarred and featureless and strange, yet his fingers curled instantly around it, feeling a powerful need to protect.

He wondered where Estenarven had found it, how long he’d carried it for, how many memories it held. The fourth gift was traditionally something of meaning from the giver, though since there were no hard and fast rules as the order of the gifts it might also be something precious or handmade, like the fifth and sixth gifts.

Yet the strange little figure was clearly too old to have been made by Estenarven, and though Mastekh instinctively wanted to protect it, he didn’t think many would find it precious. Which meant it must be meaningful to Estenarven.

And the wretch had run off before Mastekh could ask any pertinent questions.

Or try and give the thing back, which was far more likely the reason why Estenarven had run away, infuriatingly wonderful dragon that he was.

Mastekh held the little figure up to the nearest glow globe and studied the flecks of long ago paint still clinging in tiny patches. The fourth gift. If he was truly serious about letting Estenarven go, believing he was better off without a soggy Rainstorm dragging him down, then Mastekh would have to give this back. Along with the jade pot and the daisy. He couldn’t do much about the memory of flying through the Rainstorm together, which he was selfishly glad about. Everything else, though, had to go back. The longer he kept them, the longer the courtship went on.

He stared at the figure again, but the thought of returning it, of never finding out what it meant to Estenarven, had his fingers closing into a fist, locking the figurine tight inside his grip.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t give it back; he couldn’t halt their courtship. Just as he couldn’t lie to Estenarven and tell him that he didn’t want him, that he had to leave. There was nothing in the world he wanted less.

“You’re h-h-hopeless,” he whispered to himself, thumping his closed fist against his forehead.

Yet he was smiling as he did it. Because Estenarven had come for him – again. He’d heard the same gossip, realised they had become a laughingstock amongst the dragons, but he’d come looking for Mastekh anyway. Because Estenarven didn’t care.

He. Did. Not. Care. Not about gossip or gossipy dragons. He only claimed to care what Mastekh thought.

Which was too heady and wonderful a thing to give up.

He mattered. Mastekh mattered to Estenarven.

His heart felt so full it hurt.

Mastekh stared down at the figure in his hand again and felt his eyes fill with tears.

By the Family, what was he going to do with his stubborn, wonderful, foolish, glorious Boulderforce?

“Love h-him,” he vowed to the strange little figurine before tucking it into his pocket. “That’s all I can d-d-do.”

Which since he already did and had no idea how to stop doing so, should prove simple enough.

Patting the pocket where the figure lay between his naming shells, Mastekh headed back towards the kitchens. Who knew that saving lives and mending hearts would prove such hungry work?

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 27

May 24, 2017 Becca Lusher

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

Time to talk…

27
Talk

ESTENARVEN WAS WARM and dry, snuggled down on something soft. The ground rose and fell ever so gently beneath him, making him think he was back on the Skylark. Back in Elder Blazeborn’s cabin with Mastekh sleeping tantalisingly close, yet still out of reach. Estenarven could smell him, even in sleep, the mossy, damp, water lily scent of him somehow stronger than ever.

Not wanting to get up yet, even though he knew he probably should, Estenarven refused to open his eyes and instead snuggled deeper into his bedding. Something cool was pressed against his cheek, a slightly abrasive hardness that didn’t seem to fit with everything else. Frowning in his doze, Estenarven flexed his fingers and pressed against the object he was clinging to.

Hard, sharp, then smooth and cool. He stroked his palm over the smoothness and grunted as his world turned over and he was unceremoniously dumped onto a bed of soggy moss.

“Neurgh?” he said, as eloquent as ever, raising his head from the moss and spitting out his inadvertent mouthful. It might be soft to land on, but Sibling Stone, he definitely did not want to eat the stuff.

Making more incoherent noises, he shoved up on his hands and knees and spat uselessly for a few moments, trying to remove the unwanted taste of pondweed and wet feet from his mouth. Realising it was a fruitless endeavour, he sat back on his heels and scrubbed his arm across his mouth, looking up and up at the Rainstorm sitting demurely beside him, wings half mantled, head curiously tilted to one side, absently rubbing the smooth, sensitive webbing of one front foot with the other.

And it all came rushing back. There was no Skylark, no soft, gentle sleep in a cabin with Mastekh close, but not quite close enough. Not here, not now.

Instead there had been gossip and hurt feelings and a chase through the tower. Then water and… Estenarven didn’t remember much after that.

A quick glance around told him that they were still in the cavern beside the gushing waterfall, but not only was Estenarven no longer in the water, he wasn’t even wet, except where he’d recently landed in a pile of soggy moss.

“Mastekh?” he said tentatively, uncertain where they stood now that he’d almost drowned himself and had apparently needed to be rescued. He wished his fellow aide would shed his scales and shrink down to human size. Mastekh might not have been very big for a dragon, but he currently topped Estenarven’s kneeling height many times over and Estenarven wasn’t used to feeling small. He didn’t like it.

Great, shimmering green eyes blinked down at him as the crest on top of Mastekh’s head rose, the side fins where his ears would be fanning out. Neck flexing to full height, the Rainstorm tilted his chin and looked down his long, narrow snout.

Unsure what to expect, Estenarven swallowed hard and dredged up his most charming smile. It was a bit wobbly, but he knew it was an expression Mastekh could rarely resist. Estenarven counted it amongst his greatest assets – and his most effective weapons.

Mastekh growled – he actually growled, like a feral, uncivilised wyvern – and dropped his head until his soggy, grey-blue snout was pressed right against Estenarven’s chest.

Startled, Estenarven leant backwards, knees protesting the strain, eyes wide, charming smile gone. “Mastekh?” he squeaked.

“Why?” The angry Rainstorm beast snarled, giving him a hard nudge in the chest that sent him toppling onto his back. “Why d-did you d-d-do it?” The question bubbled up as if from the depths, words popping like angry bubbles.

Holding up his hands in a defenceless plea, Estenarven shook his head. “I had to find you.”

Growling, Mastekh withdrew his head and stomped angrily away. Whether by accident or design, his long tail flicked around and smacked Estenarven across the face. Cursing in surprise, he curled away from the soggy limb and rolled over on the moss.

When he sat up he found a distinctly human-shaped Mastekh glaring down at him, hands on hips, scowl firmly on his face. Probably not an accident then. Estenarven winced, rubbing his tingling cheek and hunching his shoulders. He might be more than a head taller in this form, but sitting at Mastekh’s feet, he felt small and meek and exceedingly sorry.

“You f-fool,” Mastekh snarled, dropping to his knees in the moss the better to thump Estenarven on the chest with his fists.

He emitted a feeble “Ow,” and rubbed the spot, even though it didn’t really hurt. Mastekh wouldn’t hurt him, not even when he was so angry his face had turned entirely grey.

Mastekh thumped him again for good measure. “What were you th-th-thinking? You’re a B-Boulderforce. You can’t s-s-swim!”

Hearing the real distress in his Rainstorm’s voice and seeing the way he was shaking, Estenarven gave into his instincts and wrapped his arms around Mastekh. Though the Rainstorm wriggled and continued to swat at him, he wasn’t really trying to escape.

He was angry. He’d been frightened. But he was here and he was Estenarven’s to comfort and contain. Even if Estenarven was to blame for all of it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, burying his face against Mastekh’s neck and breathing in the cool, clean scent of him. “I’m so sorry, Puddle.”

“Never d-d-do that a-g-gain,” Mastekh growled, pummelling him on the back for good measure. Then he sagged limply in Estenarven’s grip and let out a sob. “I thought I’d l-l-lost you. Stupid St-Stoneheart.”

“Never,” Estenarven vowed, squeezing Mastekh until finally, thankfully, his arms gripped him back as equally hard in return. “You could never lose me. Don’t you understand yet, Puddle? I’m yours. Eternally and entirely yours.”

Shaking, Mastekh buried his head against Estenarven’s chest and didn’t answer. So Estenarven held him, rocking slowly from side to side, waiting for the storm to pass.

He knew it would be worth it. It would always be worth it, especially if the chance to hold Mastekh was his prize.

After a seemingly endless moment, Mastekh regained control of himself and pushed free of Estenarven’s grip. Swiping at the moisture on his face, the Rainstorm folded his arms across his chest and shuffled out of arm’s reach on his knees. Then he glared.

“What were you th-thinking?” he demanded again, the feral growl from earlier back in his voice.

A light chill chased up Estenarven’s spine and he tried not to reveal just how attractive he found that sound. It probably wasn’t appropriate to be attracted to such a tone at such a moment, and he doubted Mastekh would appreciate the knowledge when he was trying to be serious. Still, Estenarven filed the thought away for later exploration and summoned up another smile. This one was a little bit sad and rather wistful.

“You were upset. I wanted to find you.”

“You couldn’t h-have waited until d-dinner?” Mastekh sniffed.

Estenarven snorted. “Would you have shown up for it? The way you fled, I feared I might never see you again.”

Mastekh looked away, not denying anything. Instead he shifted his hands back to his hips and brought back the glare. “So you t-tried to d-d-drown yourself?”

“Got your attention, didn’t it?” Estenarven replied teasingly, unable to help flirting even at a moment like that.

Mastekh’s arms dropped by his sides as his mouth formed a hard, narrow line His jaw worked noiselessly for a long moment, then his fists clenched and he growled.

Estenarven didn’t even try and hide his reaction this time. His smile turned lazy, his eyes half closed and he allowed his shiver to show.

“St-stop it!” Mastekh snapped. “This is s-s-serious!”

“So is this.” Estenarven waved a hand up and down himself and shivered again. “I like you as you always are, Puddle, but I can’t deny this angry, growly Mastekh is a delicious surprise. Who knew you could be so… forceful?”

Snarling, Mastekh shoved Estenarven into the moss again.

Except this time Estenarven was prepared for the move and, since Mastekh had helpfully shrunk to a smaller, more manageable size, it took very little effort to grab his upper arms and drag him along for the fall. Landing on his back, Mastekh flopped gracelessly over his chest, Estenarven smiled smugly.

“L-l-let me go,” Mastekh growled, putting them nose to nose after a few moments of useless tugging failed to free him from Estenarven’s grip.

Having no intention of doing anything so foolish, Estenarven curled a leg around one of Mastekh’s and easily flipped them over. Grinning with triumph, he settled his heavier weight on top of the Rainstorm and lowered his nose to brush teasingly against Mastekh’s.

“Make me,” he challenged softly.

Mastekh snapped his teeth, clearly in no mood to kiss and make up. Claws pricked warningly against Estenarven’s sides and Mastekh arched his back, trying to throw the other dragon off him.

Trying not to take too much pleasure in his escape attempts, Estenarven held very still, knowing his greater Stoneheart mass would do most of the work for him. Besides, Mastekh clearly had a lot of anger and frustration to work out, so he let him snap and snarl and wriggle fruitlessly for as long as he wished. If Mastekh truly wanted to get away, he could use those claws and teeth and really fight – Estenarven wouldn’t fight back. Or he could shift.

The fact that he did neither gave Estenarven hope.

As did the way Mastekh kept arching against him. The move was useless in the general escape scheme of things, but when it came to the private fight between the two of them… Estenarven couldn’t deny that each full body caress was very effective.

His Rainstorm might not be quite ready to kiss and make up just yet, but he also wasn’t above a little teasing.

“You’re b-b-better off without m-me,” Mastekh finally grumbled, once he’d run out of energy and stopped fighting. Now he lay still and quiescent beneath Estenarven, head turned stubbornly away.

“If you truly think that,” Estenarven murmured, resting his forearms alongside Mastekh’s head and encouraging him to face him once more, “you should have let me drown.”

Green eyes clashed with his, wide and horrified. “I could n-n-never let you d-drown!”

Stroking the back of his fingers against Mastekh’s cool, grey-tinged cheek, he smiled sadly. “Not in water, but without you, Puddle, I’ll drown anyway.”

His Rainstorm frowned at him. “N-nonsense.”

Estenarven shook his head. “Now that I’ve had a taste of you, beloved, I don’t want to live without you.”

Rolling his eyes, Mastekh began to struggle again, bringing his surprisingly sharp elbows into play. Cursing, Estenarven took evasive action and moved off him, but remained within easy tackling distance in case his Rainstorm decided to flee again.

“You’d th-thrive without me. I’m no g-g-good for you,” Mastekh insisted, getting to his feet.

“I might survive,” Estenarven corrected, standing up and ducking his head to try and catch Mastekh’s eye again as he looked aside once more. “But it wouldn’t be living, it would just be existing. I love you, Mastekh.”

Watery green eyes stared into his, faintly pleading. “You c-c-can’t.”

Estenarven’s mouth twisted in a wry half-smile. “Haven’t you learnt better than to tell a Boulderforce what to do? We’re stone stubborn -”

“And twice as f-f-foolish,” Mastekh agreed, with a soggy little chuckle. “You could h-have anyone. Jesral s-said -”

“Forget Jessie. Forget everyone. I don’t want anyone, Mastekh, I want you. You’re all that matters. Who cares what anyone else thinks?”

“I c-care.” Mastekh folded his arms across his chest again. It seemed Estenarven wasn’t the only stone stubborn one around here.

“Why?” he asked.

For such a small word, Mastekh gave it a lot of thought, until he finally offered up a sad smile of his own. “I won’t b-b-bring you d-down.”

“You won’t,” Estenarven agreed.

“They’re l-laughing at us,” Mastekh’s voice dropped to an ashamed whisper. “At you. I’m u-used to it. You sh-shouldn’t be.”

Now Estenarven was the one getting angry. “Neither should you. No one should be laughing at you, Puddle. I dare them to do it in my presence.”

Mastekh smiled that sad, defeated smile again. “See. I b-b-bring you down.”

Estenarven frowned at him. “Even if I wasn’t in love with you, I’d still set people straight. No one should be laughed at for being who they are. It’s a horrible way to be.”

A soft snort answered that, making Estenarven’s frown deepen. He hated it when his Puddle was sceptical. Mastekh should never be that way. It made Estenarven wonder about what it was like growing up in the Flowflight Clan, though he had a feeling he wouldn’t like to find out.

Moving slowly, he caught one of Mastekh’s hands and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not afraid of gossip.”

“You sh-should be,” came the stubborn reply. “It’s b-better if no one kn-knows about us.”

“The Riders know,” Estenarven pointed out. “You’re the one that told them. And the dracos – they’ve been helping you all along.”

Mastekh gave a sharp shake of his head. “That’s d-different. They’re d-different. Humans and s-s-servants are not d-dragons. They don’t m-matter.”

Surprised to hear such a sentiment from Mastekh, Estenarven dropped his hand. “They matter to me,” he said sharply. “I thought they mattered to you too. They’re our friends. The dracos love you.”

“You’re just p-proving my p-point.” Mastekh hugged himself and sighed. “A f-friend to humans and d-dracos isn’t m-much of a d-dragon. You deserve b-b-better.”

As he turned to leave, Estenarven jumped forward and seized him by the shoulders. He gave him a firm shake. “Now who’s talking nonsense,” he growled. “If you don’t want me, Puddle, just say it. Stop making up stupid excuses. If any opinions don’t matter, it’s those of the dragons who will gossip and laugh at us for not meeting their ridiculous standards. I like our friends, and yes, I care what those friends think of us, but no one else. I love you. Don’t tell me what I do and don’t deserve when all I want is you.”

He took a deep breath before continuing: “But if you’ve changed your mind, if this courtship isn’t what you want anymore, tell me. Send me away. I’ll go. I won’t fuss or fight. But only if I hear the words. Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me to leave.”

Wide green eyes stared at him in the globe light, out of a face that had gone deathly pale. Mastekh’s hands shifted until he gripped both of Estenarven’s wrists where he held his shoulders. The Rainstorm’s grip tightened, as if he needed the support of something sturdy. He licked his lips.

Eyes skittering away from Estenarven’s, Mastekh huffed out a hard breath. “I…” he began, swallowed and closed his eyes. “I d-d-d-” He coughed and tried again. “I d-d-don… I w-w-w-want you to l-l-l-l-…”

Estenarven allowed him to go on like this for a little while longer, each stutter becoming more pronounced, each lie becoming more difficult to tell. The bubbles in Mastekh’s voice popped all the words, until, finally, Estenarven moved his hands from the Rainstorm’s shoulders to his cheeks. Turning his face towards him, he bent his head until their forehead pressed gently together.

“Puddle,” he murmured, cutting through the stuttering words. “Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not l-l-lying!” Mastekh was indignant. “I d-d-d-”

“No, you’re not lying,” Estenarven agreed. “You’re a terrible liar. You can’t even get the words out.”

“I c-can,” he protested. “And I w-w-want you to l-l-l-”

Estenarven kissed him, fierce and strong, hauling Mastekh in close until all the lies and hurt were squeezed out between them, leaving nothing but passion and the feelings that neither could deny.

Only when Mastekh’s hands were clutching him hard enough around the neck to near-choke him, and one of the Rainstorm’s legs had somehow wrapped itself around his waist, did Estenarven relent and soften their kiss.

Face flaming green, Mastekh untangled himself and stumbled away a few paces, hands pressed against his mouth. “This changes n-n-nothing,” he mumbled through his fingers.

Estenarven grinned. “Of course not, love.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the little wooden figure, turned Mastekh’s hand over and placed it firmly in his palm. “We’re exactly where we were this morning. Happy fourth gift, Puddle. Thank you for saving my life for mine.”

Stealing another kiss from the spluttering Rainstorm’s mouth, he bid a hasty retreat before Mastekh gave into his incoherent frustration and decided a drowned Boulderforce wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Whistling cheerfully, Estenarven sauntered back through the tunnel – as well as one could saunter when bent in half and squeezing through gaps not designed for one’s impressive stature anyway – winked at the nearest dracos as he left the kitchens and jogged towards the dining hall.

Now would probably be an excellent time to leave Mastekh alone for a bit. In the meantime, there was a certain gossiping young Lightstorm he needed to have a word with, and if there were a few Rift Riders around to help him prove a few points, all the better.

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 26

May 17, 2017 Becca Lusher

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

And this would be why I don’t recommend taking swimming lessons from a Stoneheart…

26
Breathe

SOMETHING WAS IN the water with him. Drifting in his lonely sea of self-pity, Mastekh noticed the instant his sanctuary was invaded. A pulse of magic brushed against him, cold and frantic, tapping along his side as if searching for something.

He frowned and uncurled a little from his ball of misery, just in time to feel something brush against his wing as it plummeted towards the dark depths.

Another pulse, a wave of magic so strong, so familiar that it almost stopped Mastekh’s heart.

Estenarven!

Arching his back, he dove, senses outstretched for the one thing that would never belong in the water.

A Stoneheart. Attempting to swim. Sibling Water, what had possessed him?

His nose bumped against a small, plummeting shape and he darted forward with a swish of his tail. Webbed paws outstretched, he gathered Estenarven against his chest and twisted around in the darkness.

By the Family, he was heavy!

Mastekh paddled his back legs and swished his tail, but only succeeded in slowing their descent. Estenarven thrashed once in his grip before falling worryingly still.

Panic tried to take hold, but Mastekh was a Rainstorm Clan Flowflight, he would not let water defeat him.

He opened his wings and, preparing himself for effort and a bit of pain, flapped down as hard as he possibly could. It felt slow and heavy and tugged hard on tendons unused to so much resistance, but it worked.

Bubbles swirled around him as they shot upwards, aiming for the tiny speck of shimmering surface and the safety that lay beyond.

Legs kicking, tail swirling, he beat his wings again and again until, with a great lurch, he hefted them both out of the water and onto the mossy cavern floor.

They landed with a thump and Mastekh instantly stood up, water streaming away from him as he curled his neck and pressed his head against Estenarven’s chest.

Nothing. Cold and hard and silent as stone.

Keening, he folded his wings and draped himself across his would-be lover’s chest, careful to keep most of his weight off the silent dragon. Magic sparked across his scales, sending tingles and shivers running through him as he called the water away from Estenarven.

Steam filled the cavern, but still Estenarven remained stubbornly silent.

“P-please, please, p-p-please,” Mastekh begged, once Estenarven’s robes were dry and his magic was of no more use. He rubbed his head against the Boulderforce’s chest, nuzzled at his throat and nudged his neck.

“B-b-breathe…”

Still nothing.

Worming his snout beneath Estenarven, he rolled the Boulderforce onto his side and, whispering prayers to the Divine Family – and an apology or two – pulled back his tail and slapped Estenarven’s solid back.

A gasp, startled, unexpected and wonderfully welcome.

Mastekh slapped him again – harder – and Estenarven started to cough.

Crooning apologies and encouragement, he patted Estenarven’s cheek with a webbed foot that was the size of the Boulderforce’s human head. Magic sparkled again and this time, when Mastekh called to it, the water inside Estenarven’s lungs answered.

More coughs, a few moans, followed by heavy gasps as Estenarven rolled onto his back, eyes closed, but alive, so wonderfully alive.

“Th… thank you… P…Puddle,” he panted after a long moment.

Mastekh hung his head, every part of him trembling, and collapsed beside Estenarven in the moss.

Groaning with effort, Estenarven rolled onto his side and gripped Mastekh’s nearest leg. Clutching the sodden limb to his heaving chest, he curled around it and let out a deep sigh. Eyes still closed, he seemed to drop into an instant sleep.

Leaving Mastekh staring down at him, exhausted, wrung out and utterly bemused.

“Ah, I see he found you then.” Goryal appeared out of the waterfall mist, smiling benignly.

Mastekh glanced between the dragon he had almost lost and the Starshine he was never quite certain he could trust, and narrowed his eyes. “You s-s-sent him after m-m-me?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

Goryal raised their eyebrows. “He would have found you eventually. You seemed determined to sulk down there for an awfully long time and Estenarven was bound to jump in sooner or later. I merely speeded things up a little.”

Unable to deny that Estenarven’s loyalties did indeed know no depths, Mastekh ground his teeth together and glared at Goryal, still angry that the Starshine had stood by and watched while the Boulderforce tumbled into danger.

They were gone.

Of course.

Growling beneath his breath and calling silent curses down upon the interfering old wyvern’s head, Mastekh shifted until he could curl up around Estenarven, wriggling his tail between the Boulderforce and the moss. He tugged on the foot Estenarven still wouldn’t release, until the Boulderforce was half-sprawled across Mastekh’s narrow chest. Then he draped a wing across Estenarven, to hold off the worst of the waterfall’s spray, and tucked his head alongside his sleeping companion.

Mastekh heaved a heavy sigh and prepared himself to wait for however long it took for Estenarven to wake. There were questions that needed answering and a conversation that had to happen, but they’d both been through an ordeal and Mastekh could be patient.

He owed Estenarven that after almost allowing him to drown.

He could wait. And while he did, he would watch over his would-be lover and make sure he came to no more harm. Pulsing his magic, he gathered the fresh dampness that had settled over Estenarven and dashed it away with a flick of his wing.

He would keep him safe and dry until Estenarven woke and told him to stop.

The gentle rhythm of Estenarven’s heart beat reassuringly against his own and Mastekh closed his eyes, the better to savour their closeness while it still lasted.

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 25

May 10, 2017 Becca Lusher

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

I think it’s time for a little magic.

25
The Cavern

THE ROCK WELCOMED Estenarven instantly, absorbing his power and presence and wrapping around him. It had been a long time since a Stoneheart last walked these halls and the mountain had missed the power that had shaped it. Before he could get too lost in the welcome, allowing him mind to drift apart and wander the strata for days, Estenarven clung to the reason why he was there.

Mastekh. He had to find Mastekh.

The walls and floors of Highstrike were eager to help him, showing flashes of contact where the Rainstorm had passed. It was hard to miss him, in fact, since his trail was marked by water and upset.

Estenarven’s heart clenched and he drew himself back from the rocks. He had to find him. He had to apologise.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the walls, allowed himself one final stroke with his palm and power, then set off down the stairs as fast as his feet would carry him.

Because although part of him had wondered if Mastekh would go up, break out onto the roof of the tower and take to the skies in his dragon shape, merging instantly with the thunderous rainstorm crashing above, deep inside Estenarven had known Mastekh would go down. Down to the kitchens, down where he felt safest, where the draco servants welcomed him without mockery or judgement. Down to the one place where Estenarven would always be a stranger and Mastekh was at home.

So Estenarven went down to the kitchens – but Mastekh wasn’t there. And the dracos weren’t talking to him. They scurried out of his way, keeping their heads down and eyes averted. Which was normal behaviour for dracos in many ways – millennia of subservience to dragons having taken their toll – but Estenarven had always treated dracos well and, while they might still struggle to meet his eye, they usually spared him a smile and were eager to provide assistance.

Not today. Today they avoided him. Which more than anything proved that Mastekh had been here, even if he wasn’t here any longer.

Frowning, Estenarven made his way through the vast complex of kitchens and larders, just in case his Puddle was hiding somewhere and Estenarven had simply missed him. No, the Rainstorm was nowhere in sight and the dracos were getting restless as he prowled amongst them. Not wanting to risk his standing any further with the people responsible for feeding him during his stay, Estenarven paused inside one of the deserted pantries and took a moment to reconnect with the stone.

Once again, the faintest brush of his power was welcomed with the same thirst as rain on desert soil, and Estenarven felt his magic expanding with relief at the contact with his own kind. It was a seductive feeling, one that urged him to release his unnecessary hold on the flimsy anchors of the physical world, to surrender wholly to his magic and step into the bones of the mountain. To become the mountain.

A crash in the kitchens and the slap of burning liquid on the floor snapped Estenarven back from his trance. Water on stone. It was a timely reminder and he brushed his fingers against the wall again, ignoring the temptations calling out to him and searching only for Mastekh, for the only water on stone that mattered to him.

A trail, faint and fading, but still present as it led through the kitchens to a narrow, shadowy passageway beyond. Unexpected, but not far. Estenarven had mistakenly allowed his hopes to get ahead of himself earlier, assuming when Mastekh had run to the kitchens they would be his final destination. He’d been wrong, and it reminded him that he didn’t actually know what Mastekh did with all the time he spent away from Elder Blazeborn’s suite. Estenarven had always assumed Mastekh spent it all in the kitchens, but clearly he’d been wrong. Perhaps he didn’t know Mastekh as well as he thought.

The depressing thought pulled Estenarven even further away from the mountain’s lure and his hand slid away from the wall with only a rasp of skin over stone.

Heart heavier than it had been in years, Estenarven crept out of the pantry and edged his way through the kitchens, searching for the shadowy passage. Thankfully, most of the dracos were too busy cleaning up the mess of a dropped broth pot to pay attention to him. No one stopped him when he slipped into the shadows and crouched down to make his way through the narrow passage.

The darkness held an unexpected chill and Estenarven grimaced as the walls closed in tight around his shoulders. He was a Boulderforce so it wasn’t the rocks that bothered him, but he was big and he liked room to be able to move or stand up without risking cracking his head open. Still, at least his magic warned him when invisible threats loomed too close, so he could duck or crouch or hunch over to avoid injury. Not all dragons would be so lucky.

As he walked through the cramped space, Estenarven’s hands brushed against the rough rock walls, gifting him glimpses of Mastekh’s presence. His Puddle had definitely passed this way, dripping and at speed, yet the further Estenarven walked, the wetter the ground became.

Until everything ahead of him turned damp and Mastekh’s trail was lost.

Raising his head, Estenarven had been concentrating so hard on following the trail through the stone that he hadn’t realised several important things. Firstly, light had sprung up around him from glow globes embedded in the walls. Second, those same walls had opened out into a vast cavern that, thirdly, contained an enormous, gushing waterfall that looked powerful enough to blast the scales off a Stoneskin’s hide. And, fourthly, the ground before him was no longer bare stone – it was covered in a carpet of plush, sodden moss.

If Mastekh had passed this way, Estenarven no longer had any way of knowing.

Cursing, he looked up and noticed the fifth and most important fact that he had missed.

Elder Goryal Starshine was standing alongside the waterfall, studying him with their inscrutable, rainbow eyes.

“It’s about time you got here,” Goryal said, the chiming sound of their voice somehow cutting through the roar of the falls and managing to sound disapproving.

Estenarven stepped onto the carpet of moss, feet flexing at the softness. “Have you seen Mastekh?” he asked, knowing he sounded desperate and not caring. There was no hiding anything from Goryal anyway – the Starshine was too old and wise and powerful not to know everything. “Did he pass this way?”

“He did.” Goryal tilted their head, studying Estenarven slowly from head to toe. “He was upset.”

Estenarven’s fists clenched, angry at himself as much as anyone for the way things had unfolded. He knew how sensitive Mastekh was. If he’d been paying more attention to what Jesral was saying, Estenarven could have corrected her and sent her away sooner, or stopped her before she even started. Then Mastekh would never had had a chance to feel doubt or get upset over some foolish gossipy nonsense. But he’d been distracted. More worried about what Mastekh would think of his fourth gift to realise he might lose the chance to give it at all.

“I know. I need to find him. I… I need to…” Estenarven didn’t even know what he needed to do. Apologise, yes, even though he couldn’t be entirely blamed for what other dragons were thinking. But he’d apologise anyway, especially if it brought Mastekh back to him. Sibling Stone, he’d stand under that brutal waterfall and let it scour off his scales if it would ease Mastekh’s pain. If only he could find his Rainstorm and hold him again and tell him everything was all right. Estenarven didn’t care what the gossips said about him. Didn’t care what anyone else thought. Just as long as Mastekh wanted him.

“Please,” he said, swallowing around the tightness building in his throat and constricting his chest. “Elder, please, tell me where he went.”

Goryal tilted their head the other way and sighed. “Mastekh is a Flowflight, Estenarven. Where do you think he went?”

Frowning, Estenarven looked around the cavern, searching for another exit. He found none. Until he looked at Goryal again and realised the Starshine wasn’t just standing beside the waterfall, they were on the edge of a deep, dark pool.

“Oh.”

Water. The heart of a Flowflight. The heart of Mastekh. And the one thing that could truly destroy Estenarven, if given enough time.

Swallowing hard, he stepped across the springy moss until he stood by the edge of the pool. Bubbles and ripples ran across the surface, hiding anything and everything that lay beneath. Wriggling his toes, Estenarven managed to make contact with a tiny patch of stone and pulsed his power. Nothing. Wherever Mastekh was at this moment, no part of him was touching any stone within this mountain or the tower built above it.

He was down there, in the dark and the cold. In the water.

“Well.” Estenarven swallowed again and, not taking his eyes from the bubbling surface, gave a slow nod. “My thanks, elder.”

“Your heart is strong and true, Estenarven,” Goryal replied softly.

He snorted, wishing the same could be said about his swimming skills.

Since it couldn’t, and before he could lose his nerve, Estenarven took a deep breath, stepped into the cold, dark pool —

And dropped like a Stoneheart.

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 24

May 3, 2017May 2, 2017 Becca Lusher

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

Hugs for Mastekh! (This is becoming a theme… poor Puddle.)

24
Run

MASTEKH DIDN’T NEED to bargain for privacy this time. As he ran through the kitchens, his gasping sobs and the misery on his face was enough to have the dracos leaping out of his way. One or two called out as he passed, but he didn’t spare them so much as a glance as he fled down the tunnel to the cavern for the second time that day.

How different he felt.

Such a fool. Such a stupid, brainless fool.

Of course there had been gossip about them. Of course any right thinking dragon thought them ridiculous. It wasn’t just that he was a Rainstorm and Estenarven was a Boulderforce. It was that he was Mastekh and Estenarven was Estenarven. Two more different and ill-matched dragons the Overworld could not hope to create.

Estenarven was everything wonderful and friendly and beloved by so many, and Mastekh was… not. He was none of those things. He was nothing.

Chest tight with mortification and pain and disappointment and heartbreak, he didn’t even pause to take off his robe. He didn’t pause for anything. He just burst into the cavern and ran across the moss. He didn’t even bother to jump or dive, he simply ran over the edge and crashed into the pool below.

Inelegant and clumsy, but that was who he was.

At least down here he was safe. Down here, beneath the water, no one would ever know where he was. No one would ever find him.

He was safe.

He was alone.

He was lonely.

A burst of bubbles escaped on a silent sob as he released his inner dragon and curled up in a miserable ball, hanging in the darkness and the depths, determined never to surface again.

The water would hold him. The water would care for him. No one else ever would.

Estenarven might have thought he could, might have even wanted to try, but everyone would laugh at him. Mastekh couldn’t bear that. He refused to let Estenarven become an object of ridicule. He deserved better than that.

So down here was where Mastekh would stay. Down here all he could hear was the thunder and rush of the waterfall. Down here he could not hear their laughter. Down here they couldn’t reach him.

No one could.

Another burst of bubbles escaped as Mastekh twisted the end of his tail between his front paws and closed his eyes. This was where he belonged now. Better for him, better for Estenarven, better for everyone.

The water would keep him safe until everything else went away – and he would be alone once more.

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies.