A Courtship of Dragons – Page 5

February Update

February 28, 2017February 28, 2017 Becca Lusher

I’m currently hard at work on the last round of Rift Riders edits, prepping it for its ebook release in a couple of weeks, but since it’s the last day of the month I thought it was time for an update.

So far this year, my productivity hasn’t been too high. In fact, writing has been a bit of a struggle, which is why I’ve been fairly quiet around here. I’m hoping to change that after Rift is out and I can turn my attention back to Burning Sky.

My current tentative plans are to hopefully write Dragonlands 4 and 5 while giving Wingborn another going over and tweaking Blazing Dawn. I’ve already rewritten a few chunks of BD, but there are a few more things I’d like to tackle before I can release the updated version and hopefully work on a print edition. As such, my plans for Storm Rising (Dragonlands 2) have been pushed back to May/June. Hopefully by then I’ll have a much firmer idea of where the series is going and can feel confident in releasing them.

Luckily, Dragongift, the third Wingborn book, is already written and short of a few brief edits is ready and raring to go from March 17th. I have a lot of love for this book, so I hope everyone else enjoys it just as much. It’s different again from both WB and RR, with a more exploratory feel, but it’s the same characters and the same world, so I hope you’ll be back to continue the adventure.

And lastly, fans of A Courtship of Dragons should be pleased to know that I have a vague idea where it’s all headed now. However, I haven’t had a chance to write any more lately so, sorry, but there won’t be an update this week. Hopefully by next week I’ll have more to offer and I might even be inspired enough to finish it.

That ought to cover everything. I’ll be adding a few deleted Wingborn scenes over the next few weeks, and even a glimpse or two of the original book from my teenage years. I’m also considering what to do with my Regency romances and having a few rumbling thoughts about the next Aekh book. So even though I may be a bit quiet (beyond serial updates) there’s always something going on.

As always, thanks for reading, you lovely people, and I hope to have more goodies to share with you soon.

Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 15

February 22, 2017 Becca Lusher

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) 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 || Last Part ||

In which Estenarven doesn’t see Mastekh for a few hours – and panics.

(I really don’t envy Khennik having to live with these two through all of this XD)

15
The Second Gift

4^th Storm

IT WAS LUNCHTIME and Estenarven hadn’t seen Mastekh since he’d put the Rainstorm to bed the afternoon before. He knew Mastekh was shy and likely more than a little embarrassed about what had happened the day before, but this long absence was beginning to worry him. Estenarven had been so excited at breakfast, sitting in the suite, waiting for Mastekh to return from the kitchens so he could ask about the gift. Did Mastekh like it? Had it made him smile when he saw it?

Was he willing to accept it?

He’d paced the main room of the suite for ages, fighting the urge to knock on Mastekh’s door – or simply barge inside – just to see if the jade pot was still there. Just to see if it had been accepted. If his courtship had been accepted. To see if Mastekh liked it.

But just as his patience finally broke, someone knocked on the outer door and three dracos entered carrying breakfast. Confused, Estenarven had waved the servants towards the appropriate table to lay the food on and knocked on Mastekh’s door.

No answer.

When he looked inside he found it empty, as expected, but the presence of the dracos implied that Mastekh wasn’t coming back. He always joined Estenarven for breakfast. It was a chance to catch up and sort out what chores they would each do for Elder Blazeborn through the day – well, when Estenarven didn’t have a hangover, anyway.

Except, by the time the dracos had finished putting everything in its place, there was still no sign of Mastekh. When the tallest servant poured out a pungent cup of ginger tea, drawing Elder Blazeborn out of his lair, Estenarven had to accept that his fellow aide wasn’t coming. Clearly, Mastekh had already been down to the kitchens that morning and ordered breakfast, but he had no intention of returning to share it with Estenarven.

Which hurt more than he’d expected it to. Rubbing at the ache in his chest, he’d tried to ask the dracos where Mastekh was, but they’d ducked their heads shyly and giggled behind their hands instead of answering. Sipping his cup of tea, Elder Blazeborn had rolled his eyes, thanked the servants and dismissed them.

“Trouble?” the elder had asked, folding elegantly to his knees before the low table and filling a platter with breakfast fruits.

Baffled and hurt, Estenarven had shaken his head. Elder Blazeborn had ordered him to eat, so Estenarven had joined him at the table, yet his usually robust appetite had fled and he’d only been able to pick at some eggs.

Now it was lunchtime and Elder Blazeborn had dismissed him to take his meal in the grand dining hall, telling him to stop sulking and sighing around the suite and find someone else to mope at. Normally Estenarven would have jumped at the chance to spend time with others, but since a single glance on entering the dining room was enough to assure him that Mastekh wasn’t there, Estenarven didn’t feel much like company.

Before he could think of somewhere else to slope off to, since he’d been banned from the suite and he didn’t know where else to look for Mastekh, Estenarven felt a slap on the shoulder and a friendly arm hook through his.

“Hey, Pebble, why the sad face? Tired of all the storms already?” Vish grinned up at him, while Anhardyne tugged him towards a long table filled with familiar Rider faces.

“Come sit, join us,” Anhardyne urged, pushing him into a seat beside Nera.

“Oh, I, er, was just leaving,” he protested weakly.

“Nonsense,” Vish chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder again. “You’ve only just arrived. A dragon like you needs to keep up his strength. Go on, tuck in.”

Wedged in between the female lieutenants on an already crowded table, Estenarven realised he didn’t have much choice but to stay and sighed. Nera shot him a commiserating smile, and he knew he couldn’t be rude enough to get up and walk away now. Anhardyne and Vish might be a pushy pair, but Nera was a friend. So he gave in and slumped in his seat.

“Try the soup,” Nera said, surprising him with a wink.

Estenarven frowned: Nera was not the winking sort. Rubbing a hand over his head, feeling more than a little out of his depth, he accepted a soup bowl from a passing draco and stared down at it in confusion.

There was something in the bowl – but it wasn’t soup.

“Ooh, what do you have there?” Anhardyne asked, leaning against his arm.

“I…” Estenarven put the bowl in front of him and dipped a finger inside, stirring the contents. “I have no idea.”

“Look like beans to me,” Lieutenant Gharrik remarked from across the table.

Estenarven frowned even harder. Beans? Why would a draco give him a bowl of beans? He stirred the small, dark shapes with a claw and drew in a sharp breath.

Pebbles. Mixed in amongst the dark beans were small, oval pebbles. But not just any pebbles, each one was a different stone, a different colour, but all almost the same size and shape, polished to perfection. A collection, painstakingly made and carefully gathered. And hidden in a bowl of beans.

“Blimey, you could crack a tooth on one of those,” Anhardyne chuckled, reaching for a pebble.

Estenarven smacked her hand away without thought. No one was touching anything within this bowl. No one but him.

“Ow. You could have just told me not to touch,” the blonde lieutenant grumbled.

“Don’t touch,” Estenarven growled.

“All right then.” Hands raised, she shifted as far away from him as possible on the crowded bench, while on his other side Nera snickered.

“Boundaries, Hardy,” Vish murmured. “We’ve talked about them. Apparently other people have them, even if we don’t.”

“That’s because other people are boring.”

Ignoring them, Estenarven stirred his precious bowl again, studying the beans more intently this time. Why beans? Raw, untouched ones at that.

“Looks like quite a crop you have there,” Gharrik said, leaning across the table for a better look. “I didn’t know you dragons cared that much for farming.”

Most dragons didn’t, but a rare few, mostly Rainstorms, occasionally showed an interest. “Ah…” It was starting to make sense now.

Pebbles for him: small, sturdy, permanent. Beans for the future, full of potential and possible nourishment. Mastekh hadn’t just given him a meaningful gift in return, he’d given him hope.

Smiling, Estenarven lowered his hand into the bowl and let beans and pebbles run between his fingers, smooth and rough and small and perfect. A wonderful second gift.

Only five more to go.

Feeling his appetite return with a rush of good cheer, Estenarven placed the bowl carefully on his lap, shuffled forwards and started reaching for the nearest bits of food, his mind already racing.

“So what happens next?” Nera asked, passing him a plate piled high with seed rolls. “I take it you accepted his gift, yes?”

Of course the Riders had been in on Mastekh’s plan – well, one of them, at least. That explained Nera’s uncharacteristic wink. Reaching for the mulberry jam, Estenarven slathered it all over his roll and took a big bite, shrugging.

“Are there more gifts?” Vish wanted to know.

“I hope so, because beans? What kind of a gift is a bowl of beans?” Anhardyne shook her head, making Estenarven smile. If anyone had asked him such a thing just that morning, he would have agreed with her. Now, though, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather receive.

Swallowing his mouthful, he realised he was the centre of a lot of Rider attention and raised his eyebrows. “Dragon courtships are sacred things.”

“Does that mean you don’t want any help?” Anhardyne asked, nudging him with her shoulder. “’Cause we have a few ideas, if you’re interested.”

He turned an enquiring glance her way.

“We’ve already helped Mastekh,” Nera pointed out, drawing his attention in the opposite direction. “It’s only fair to help you too.”

“If you want us to,” Gharrik added, ever fair.

Estenarven reached for the jam and slowly spread more on a fresh roll, considering the offer. It was true Mastekh had enlisted the Riders’ help in making sure Estenarven sat down to lunch and received the special bowl at the right moment. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he did something similar.

Licking a bit of jam from his thumb, he considered the next gift on the list and smiled. “There might be something you can do for me. But not a word to Mastekh,” he warned.

Anhardyne and Vish both mimed locking their lips with a key, while Gharrik and Nera smiled. “Not a word,” they promised.

“All right,” he agreed, motioning the four lieutenants closer and gaining a few extras Riders who were also in earshot. “The next gift needs to be something meaningful for Mastekh. I already have something in mind, but getting it and giving it to him might be a bit tricky, so here’s what you can do for me…”

More next week.
After I’ve hopefully written it…

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 14

February 15, 2017 Becca Lusher

|| First Part || Last Part ||

In which Mastekh receives a gift – and panics.

14
Sleeper Awakes

SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT. Mastekh lay in bed, staring muzzily at the murky light coming through his narrow window and tried to work it out. He didn’t remember going to bed. In fact, the last thing he remembered was…

His eyes shot open and he sat upright, clutching the cover to his chest.

Estenarven. He had fallen asleep in Estenarven’s arms. On Estenarven’s chest. True, one of them had been in vast dragon form while the other had been a puny, watery human, but still – he had slept with Estenarven.

Groaning, Mastekh slumped flat on his back and stared at the ceiling. He’d slept with Estenarven and he couldn’t even remember it. Although, he supposed, at least this way he was saved the embarrassment of waking up and having nothing to say.

He snorted derisively at himself. As if he ever had anything to say. Grimacing, he lowered his eyes to the window again, beyond which a storm was once more raging, and smiled at the daisy.

The first courting gift, something pretty and insubstantial, designed to show interest.

Or, perhaps, just a sweet little daisy that Estenarven had found and thought Mastekh might like. It might not have been a courtship gift at all, for all that Mastekh had intended his return gift of rock cakes to be one.

How could one tell? Mastekh could hardly march up to Estenarven and ask. He hadn’t even been able to thank him properly. He’d just made rock cakes.

One gift, however sweet and thoughtful did not a courtship make.

Feeling deflated, Mastekh sat up and wriggled down the bed towards the windowsill. And frowned.

Something was different. He had sensed it when he woke, now he was certain of it. Something had changed inside the room – but what?

He reached out to stroke the delicate petals of his daisy and flinched as a flash of lightning lit the room. A shimmer of green caught his attention and he finally realised what had changed.

The stone bowl that had previously held his daisy was gone.

His hands shook ever so slightly as he reached for what had replaced it. Cool to the touch, smooth and pale green – as revealed by another timely flash of lightning – a small jade pot now took care of his daisy. It was simple, plain, polished but uncarved, and utterly perfect.

The second gift, something solid and permanent, to show long lasting intent.

Mastekh cradled the pretty jade piece and its straggly daisy against his chest, closing his eyes and bowing his head over them. Two gifts. Two courting gifts. Estenarven was serious. He was courting him.

A deep breath shuddered out him, full of relief and gratitude. Estenarven wanted him, he truly did. He thought he was worthy enough to court. By the Family, Mastekh had never expected such a thing, but from Estenarven of all dragons…

“Oh n-n-no.”

Mastekh’s eyes flew open and he clenched his hands around his prize. His second gift.

Now it was his turn.

He jerked his head around the tiny room he’d been given, looking over his meagre belongings, trying to think of something, anything that he could give in return. Something solid, something permanent. Sibling Water, what in the Overworld did a Rainstorm have to give to a Boulderforce?

Panic built up inside Mastekh’s chest, his breath growing shallow and fast. He needed a second gift, he needed it fast. He had a day to respond or Estenarven would think he wasn’t interested.

But he was. By the Family, he truly was.

Yet what to give him? What did anyone give a Stoneheart that was permanent and solid? They already were the epitome of such things – what could Mastekh possibly give him that he didn’t already have?

Think, think, he ordered, putting his precious jade present back on the windowsill in order to ball his hands into fists and thump himself on the head. There had to be something he could come up with, something that would show his own intent, while also being unexpected and a bit of a surprise.

He could always take the easy way out and find a pebble or something boring like that. It would be symbolic, if nothing else, but it wasn’t what Mastekh wanted. Estenarven’s jade pot showed thought and caring. It was green, like Mastekh, slightly translucent like water, and practical enough to support his first gift. It wasn’t an obvious, easy gift. It had meaning above and beyond the usual symbolism. Mastekh could offer up nothing less in return, not if he wanted this courtship to be equal.

So he needed to think.

His first gift had been rock cakes, because Estenarven was always hungry and he had a sweet tooth that most Stonehearts didn’t. It had shown that Mastekh knew him and cared about him and what he liked.

Now he had to find a small, permanent symbol of that.

As he sat there, alternately tapping his fingers against his mouth and thumping himself on the forehead, thinking about rock cakes and more permanent alternatives, Mastekh’s belly let out a loud, ferocious growl. Even though he was completely alone, heat flooded his face as he pressed a hand against the sound. He considered when the last time he’d eaten had been and recalled fetching breakfast for Elder Blazeborn before falling asleep with Estenarven.

Which must have been ages ago, he realised, jumping out of bed with a squeak. Here he was, dreaming, thinking and sleeping the day away when he had duties to perform and an elder to take care of.

Oh, oh, he was making such a mess of everything.

Hurriedly securing the tie of his robe around his waist, he ran his fingers through the fluff of hair on his head and scurried from his room.

The main space of the suite was empty, but a fire roared in the grate and a few crumbs dotted a low table, showing that someone at least had eaten here recently. Mastekh walked cautiously towards the mess, wringing his hands together, searching for scraps.

Nothing. Every last plate – and there were enough of them for a feast – was bare of anything but the tiniest of crumbs and an occasional smear of jam.

His stomach snarled in protest. Mastekh pressed a hand against it and sighed, then he began gathering up the empty plates. Since he had to pay a visit to the kitchens for himself, he might as well save the dracos a journey. And perhaps, while he was down there, he might spot a suitable gift.

Biting his lip, he piled his arms full of metal crockery, careful not to make too much noise as he edged towards the exterior door. A mumble of voices sounded inside Elder Blazeborn’s room, but Mastekh didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Willing his belly to remain quiet a little longer, he allowed his tail to slide free and hold the plates while he turned the handle and slipped out into the corridor beyond.

First food, then a gift, then back to work. Nodding determinedly to himself, Mastekh hurried through the tower’s hallways, his way lit by lightning and glow globes and the occasional smile from storm-addled Tempestfurys fresh in from the storm outside. It was a strange and somewhat crazy place, but Mastekh found himself growing fonder of it day by day.

Come back next week to find out just what Mastekh’s second gift will be…

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 13

February 8, 2017 Becca Lusher

|| First Part || Last Part ||

Smooth, Esten, real smooth.

13
Smooth Awakening

ESTENARVEN WOKE SLOWLY, a feeling of great peace washing over him as he steadily rose back up towards consciousness. The pain and hammering of his overindulgence had faded and even the sour taste was gone from his mouth. He felt like a dragon again.

Yawning, he stretched, long and languid, revelling in the ability to spread out all his legs, though when he tried to flexed his tail it seemed to be stuck. And now that he thought about it, only one of his wings was moving.

He frowned at the discomfort and rolled onto his belly. His second wing was instantly free but hit a wall and his tail still wasn’t moving. Grumbling and muttering, he opened his eyes.

And blinked.

“Awake at last, are we?”

Elder Blazeborn sat in an armchair directly in front of Estenarven’s nose. If he’d stretched just a little further in his half-awake state he would have knocked him clean over. Hunching back in on himself, Estenarven drew in his neck, wings and tail.

At least he tried to move his tail.

Scowling, he looked over his shoulder and found the stupid appendage had somehow become coiled and wedged inside the little room he’d been given to stay in.

The room that was part of Elder Blazeborn’s larger suite.

The same suite he should have been taking care of today.

Belonging to the dragon he was supposed to work for, not snore in front of.

Wincing, Estenarven abandoned all attempts to free his crumpled tail and cringed before his elder. “Umm…”

Khennik wasn’t paying him the least bit of attention. An enormous book of maps lay open across his lap, the thick pages of which he turned with a delicate pinch of his golden claws before he spread a hand to flatten out the next picture in order to study it more closely.

Somehow that made everything worse. Here was Estenarven, sleeping the day away, while his elder was forced to entertain himself by studying maps. Not that there was anything wrong with maps, Estenarven had a deep fondness for them himself but…

Oh, what did it matter? He’d messed up, that was the important thing.

He flattened himself to the floor apologetically – and realised that there was something under his chin.

“As enjoyable as abject grovelling is,” Elder Blazeborn drawled, not looking up as he turned another page, “it’s probably best not to do it when Mastekh is under your chin. It rather spoils the look of the thing.”

“Mastekh!” Estenarven raised his head so high and fast that he cracked his horns against the ceiling.

Ow, ow, ow, ow. He might have slept off his pounding hangover, but by the Family, the lightning bolt that shot through his brain now was worse.

“Ow.”

The wheeze that echoed his thoughts had him looking down. Mastekh lay sprawled on the stone floor, flat on his back, a hand pressed against his diaphragm. He looked like he’d been crushed beneath a boulder.

Which, Estenarven conceded as he cautiously lowered his throbbing head, he had.

“I was going to ask if you’d both enjoyed your rest, but I can see the answer well enough for myself.” Elder Blazeborn slapped the heavy book closed and eyed the pair of them. One eyebrow arched as Estenarven curled a claw and hauled Mastekh into a sitting position. The Rainstorm wheezed and bent over, still struggling to get some air into his recently flattened lungs.

This was not how Estenarven imagined he would feel the first time he woke up with Mastekh beneath him.

“At least now that you’ve cleared the door I can finally go out and feed myself.”

Estenarven flinched at this further proof of his neglected duties, and really wished he hadn’t as it sent an answering jolt through his brain and his sore horns.

“I’ll bring you something back, shall I?” Elder Blazeborn smiled ever so slightly as he left his book of maps on the chair and sidled around Estenarven’s bulk to slip out of the door. “Play nicely while I’m gone.”

Estenarven huffed at the wall as the handle clicked shut. There wasn’t even an ounce of play left him right now and a quick glance downwards assured him that Mastekh was even less inclined towards such things.

The Rainstorm was on all fours, attempting to get to his feet, but either his legs were still asleep or Estenarven’s carelessness had knocked more out of him than he’d thought, because Mastekh didn’t get very far.

A quick lift of a foot prevented his fellow aide from landing flat on his face, and Estenarven decided to save Mastekh a lot of bother by picking him up and dumping him on Khennik’s vacated chair. The Rainstorm plopped down on top of the book of maps like a sack of vegetables, looking dazed and unaware of quite what was going on.

Worried about him, Estenarven finally hauled his tail free of his bedroom and shrank to a more manageable size. Crouching in front of Mastekh, he cupped his hands around his face and looked into his eyes.

Watery green-blue stared back, along with a rather soppy smile.

Sibling Stone, it was worse than he’d thought. He hadn’t just knocked the breath out of Mastekh, he’d clearly crushed his wits as well. “Can you stand?”

“Mm.” Mastekh moved forward, but seemed to forget to engage any part of his body in supporting himself. Luckily Estenarven was there to catch him. Mastekh sagged into his arms like a scarecrow missing his stick.

Which wasn’t the worst place he could land. In fact, Estenarven rather liked having his arms full of relaxed Rainstorm. Especially when he nuzzled into his neck like that.

“Mm dreaming,” Mastekh murmured, and Estenarven realised his fellow aide hadn’t really woken up yet. Despite being dropped on the floor, crushed by a Boulderforce and having all the air squashed out of him.

Apparently his Puddle was a heavy sleeper. Just one more thing he’d learnt about him that he hadn’t known before.

And the last thing he would ever take advantage of. Which was why he hauled himself to his feet and hefted Mastekh more securely into his arms. The Rainstorm mumbled something against his neck and snuggled closer, making Estenarven smile. One day he might have fun with this, but not today. Instead he carried his limp burden through the door on the far side of the suit and laid him very carefully down on the stone bed within. The covers had all been kicked off when Mastekh had risen that morning, so Estenarven gathered them up and tucked them all around his sleepy Puddle.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he ran a hand through Mastekh’s fluff of green hair. Turning into the caress, Mastekh wriggled until he was curled up around Estenarven, then heaved out a contented sigh. Estenarven knew just how he felt.

It was right to be here. Right to be next to this dragon. He didn’t want to leave.

He peered around Mastekh’s tiny, private quarters, unsurprised to find it as sparse and cheerless as his own cell on the other side of the suite. Except for the stone bowl on the narrow windowsill, positioned just right so that when Mastekh woke up it would be one of the first things he would see. A stone bowl full of water and containing a single straggly daisy.

The first courting gift. One that had been answered with rock cakes.

It was Estenarven’s move now. He thought back to the box he kept tucked beneath his bed. One that had followed him throughout his life, from his last few years as a dragonling, through his wingling century and onto the wandering ways of his change time. He ran mental fingers through its contents, assessing and discarding each item, until… He smiled.

Yes, that would do nicely.

But not yet. Estenarven looked down at the dragon curled on his side against him, his green hair soft as it slid between Estenarven’s blocky fingers.

No, not yet. He wanted to sit a while longer, enjoying this moment to the fullest. Elder Blazeborn would be back soon and Estenarven would pick up all his dropped and neglected duties, but not yet. Not just yet. He wanted to enjoy this peace for a little while longer, make the most of this gift he’d been given. He’d never seen Mastekh so relaxed and wondered when he’d have the chance to relish such a chance again. If he’d have the chance again. So he sat there, stroking Mastekh’s head, making plans and counting breaths.

Until Elder Blazeborn returned and Estenarven had to leave. But before he joined the elder at the low table, where he was spreading out the food a couple of draco servants had carried up for them all, Estenarven slipped into his own small room and pulled out the box from beneath the bed.

Promising the elder he would join him soon, he returned to Mastekh’s bedside, placed his latest gift on the windowsill beside the daisy, allowed himself one last stroke of his dear Puddle’s hair, then left and closed the door behind him. Mastekh had earned his rest, but Estenarven had apologies to issue and some making up to do.

With the dracos dismissed, Elder Blazeborn watched Estenarven cross the room and raised a golden eyebrow. “Well?”

Unsure quite what he was being asked, Estenarven lowered himself to sit cross-legged at the low table on the opposite to his elder and bowed his head. “All is well.”

The corner of Khennik’s mouth twitched. “Good. Now eat, before I devour the whole lot myself. You and Mastekh have been blocking the door since breakfast. I can’t remember the last time I felt so famished.”

The last tension in Estenarven’s shoulders relaxed and he grinned at his elder in relief. “Shouldn’t we save something for Mastekh?” he asked, even as he picked up a whole chicken for himself. Now that his hangover was gone and his head and horns were no longer hurting so badly, Estenarven realised he was starving too – and with so much food in front of him, it would be rude to feel otherwise.

“No,” Khennik replied, piling his own plate high with pastries and pies and the occasional piece of fruit. “If he wants some, he’ll have to claim it for himself.”

And even though he was courting the dragon’s heart, Estenarven shrugged in agreement. After all, love and romance were all very well in their own way, but he hadn’t eaten anything since the night before. At times like this, it was every dragon’s stomach for itself.

Especially at a time like this, when the pastries were divine and Elder Blazeborn had almost eaten the lot. Resisting the urge to growl at the other dragon – barely – Estenarven snatched two of the last three for himself and hunched over his plate to protect it from the long arm of the elder.

Rolling his eyes, Khennik moved on to the last of the tarts and Estenarven forgot all thoughts of Mastekh in a bid to claim his fair share of the feast. He had to keep up his strength, after all, and there was a lot of him to feed. Slapping Khennik’s grabby hands away from the bread basket, Estenarven seized his share of the rolls and swept the jam and butter dish into his temporary protection.

Elder Blazeborn glared at him over the table before picking up the platter of doelyn slices and slowly placing it on the floor beside himself.

Estenarven narrowed his eyes. So it was to be like that, was it? He reached for the quail eggs and let battle commence.

Who knew Khennik had a playful side?

Anyway, more next Wednesday.
And you may be pleased to know that I’ve finally worked out something of a plot for this thing. Which means I might finally get an idea of how long it’ll be. I would say this is about halfway, but until I write the next few chapters I won’t know.

Regardless, this is finally getting somewhere. Hurrah!

Take care, my lovelies.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 12

February 1, 2017February 8, 2017 Becca Lusher

|| First Part || Last Part ||

In which Khennik proves yet again that actions speak louder than grumpy reputations.

12
Sigh

IT WAS TOO QUIET. Khennik had worked hard deep into the afternoon, forcing himself to finish his hated report, determined not to let anything distract him. Nothing had.

Which was most unusual.

Standing up from his desk, he stretched out the aches and kinks from his body and glanced down in surprise as his stomach rumbled. He was hungry. He’d almost forgotten what that felt like. Whatever else Mastekh’s faults may be – and they were legion – his aide always made sure Khennik had food, whether he wanted it or not.

Yet here he stood inside his own suite with a belly growling from hunger. Most unusual indeed.

Frowning, Khennik rolled his shoulders as he crossed his bedroom, ready to unravel this latest mystery.

A dragon lay snoring in the main room. No, not just any dragon: Estenarven.

Big and bulky and grey, the Boulderforce lay stretched out across the entire front half of the room, completely blocking the door, his bulk extending from one wall all the way to the other. Resting halfway between his right side and his back, one wing trailed limply across his shoulder and the other was probably crumpled between him – explaining his in-between position.

With his head completely upside down, the end of his nose poking into Mastekh’s bedroom, the Boulderforce huffed and wheezed and sounded rather less than comfortable.

Khennik clenched his jaw. Well, this surely explained why he hadn’t been interrupted or fed all day. With Estenarven blocking the door, there was no possible way for anyone to leave or enter the suite. Poor Mastekh was probably cowering in his room, wondering how best to evict this invading monster who was holding him back from all his duties. Blasted Boulderforce! If he hadn’t drunk so much the night before he wouldn’t still be sleeping it off now, well into the next afternoon.

If his behaviour had unsettled Mastekh in any way, Khennik would –

He blinked.

At some point during his internal tirade, he’d begun marching across the suite, dodging around seating clusters and travel chests, aiming for Estenarven’s head and the ears into which he intended to roar.

Until he rounded the edge of Estenarven’s wing and saw the Boulderforce’s front paws for the first time. And what they cradled gently inside them.

Mastekh. Estenarven had fallen asleep with Mastekh. The Boulderforce was cuddling the Rainstorm like a toy. And the Rainstorm lay limp and smiling as if he was entirely at peace with the situation.

Well.

Khennik rubbed a hand over his bald head, uncertain quite how to feel about this change of events. After all, he could hardly be angry with Estenarven for unsettling Mastekh when Mastekh seemed more than happy with everything. He certainly couldn’t scold the Boulderforce for invading the Rainstorm’s room when the pair of them were sleeping together.

Nor could he get angry over having the entranceway blocked, since the only people Khennik was willing to see on a daily basis were already inside.

Nor could he be annoyed about feeling hungry, since he was constantly trying to get Mastekh to stop fussing over him, assuring his aide that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself if necessary.

Hm.

Khennik eyed his slumbering aides, unable to deny how contented the pair of them seemed. It made warmth kindle inside his own chest and Khennik rubbed suspiciously at it.

Estenarven heaved a huge sigh and rolled onto his side, curling around until his head rested alongside Mastekh. The Rainstorm stirred just enough to tuck his head under the Boulderforce’s neck, and the pair slept on oblivious.

Khennik ran a hand over his head and rubbed at his chest again. Then he snorted, shook his head and turned around.

Let them sleep. Peace was hard to come by these days, ever since he’d left his desert homelands and especially since he’d been assigned to the human delegation.

Yes, let his noisy, disruptive, ridiculous aides sleep, just so long as they kept blocking the door and keeping the outside world at bay. Khennik could survive being hungry for a little while yet.

In fact, now that his report was finished and no one had succeeded in breaking down his door, Khennik decided to follow his aides’ example. Shutting the door to his bedroom, he shoved his desk and papers safely out of the way, then gave into the urge to release his own true form. He might not have had enough room to sprawl inelegantly from one wall to the other, as Estenarven had done, but there was space to spare to stretch his wings, just so long as he curled himself up first.

Doing just that, Khennik flexed his wings, yawned and settled down for a deliciously unplanned afternoon nap.

More next Wednesday. Hopefully. I need to write it first.
While I’m at it, I guess I should look for an actual plot, but where would be the fun in that?

Take care, my lovelies!

Overworld, Updates

Courtship News

January 25, 2017 Becca Lusher

Sorry to those looking for a cute dragon fix. No A Courtship of Dragons this week, because I double booked my Wednesday update, and since Rift ended on a mean cliffhanger I think I should post that one today instead.

Hope that’s okay and I’ll see you next Wednesday for more Esten/Mastekh cuteness.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 11

January 18, 2017 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

Some of you may wish to save this for tomorrow, just in case you are in need of something excessively cute and cuddly (literally) to cheer you up.

11
Making a Meal of Things

MASTEKH WAS MERRILY humming an old Flowflight nursery rhyme, singing the odd line where he could remember the words, as he returned to Elder Blazeborn’s suite. The halls of Spire Heights were still rather quiet as a ferocious storm raged beyond the walls.

According to the dracos in the kitchen, most of the kin court were out in it, indulging their Tempestfury natures and revelling in the wild weather. Mastekh had always known Skystorms were loose in the scales, but here was extra proof.

Still, he didn’t much care what his hosts were getting up to, just so long as it meant he – and his elder – were left alone. Those who weren’t out in the storm were likely still recovering from the banquet the night before anyway. Like Estenarven.

A frisson of excitement rippled through Mastekh as he picked up his pace. His arms were starting to ache from the sheer amount of food he’d piled onto the tray in a bid to satisfy the appetites of a Blazeborn and a Boulderforce. Sunhigh would be long passed at this rate, if he didn’t hurry up and get back to them both.

With a light skip in his step and an adventurous warble to his tune, Mastekh finally reached the door of his elder’s suite. Since his hands were fully, he cast a quick glance up and down the corridor before allowing his tail to uncurl beneath his robe. Elder Blazeborn would frown at him for such a move, mixing his human and dragon forms in such a way. He’d accuse Mastekh of losing control or focus, but Mastekh was perfectly in control of himself, he just needed a little extra help.

If he’d been one of the more aquatic Flowflights – a Seadrake or a Riverstone perhaps – he could have used his tail like a tentacle and open the door with it. Alas, he was just a simple Rainstorm, so he propped up one side of the tray with his sturdy tail and used his free hand like anyone else might.

The lock clicked softly and Mastekh hurriedly wriggled his tail back beneath his robe, tightening his grip on the food tray as he twitched his shoulders and forced his extra limb to vanish back wherever the rest of his dragon form went when he was in this shape. The recall sent a shudder right up his spine, and he staggered sideways into the doorframe as he adjusted to the shift in balance.

Straightening up, he twisted his hips to ensure that his robe was lying straight once more, and nudged the door open the rest of the way. Satisfied that there was no sign – beyond a slightly damp line on the hall floor that was drying swiftly – of what he’d done, Mastekh stepped into the suite, humming triumphantly.

He turned to bump the door shut with his hip and yelped as he collided with the massive snout of Estenarven’s native form. Foot slipping on the puddle of drool beneath his slack lips, Mastekh overbalanced. The rounded ridge above one nostril caught him right in the gut, both knocking the wind out of him and toppling him forwards.

The door slammed and the heavy tray smacked down right in the middle of Estenarven’s slumbering face.

“Whuh!”

Up went the Boulderforce, taking Mastekh with him, food tumbling everywhere.

“Oh no!” Mastekh wailed, feet kicking as he was lifted up towards the high ceiling, toes catching on the soft insides of Estenarven’s bottom lip.

The Boulderforce drew in a deep breath, his right nostril sucking Mastekh’s belly in tight. Which was good because as Estenarven’s dark eyes crossed in an effort to focus on what was clinging to his face, his mouth gaped open in surprise and Mastekh began to slip.

Estenarven snorted with shock and Mastekh yipped, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the cold, smooth stone of the dragon’s muzzle. Sharp teeth loomed as he fell passed his mouth and Mastekh pulled his hands sharply back.

And grunted as he landed firmly in the middle of Estenarven’s paw.

Rumbling in confusion, the big Boulderforce placed Mastekh gently on the floor and lowered his head to squint at him. “What happened?” he asked, sounding more than a little sleepy.

Regaining his feet, Mastekh looked down at the food he’d so carefully selected, prepared and carried all the way back now lying ruined and scattered all around the pair of them. His vision blurred and his lip began to wobble, defeat and sadness welling up inside him.

Until a big, cool nose nudged him in the belly.

“Mmm,” Estenarven rumbled, sending delicious tingles racing all through Mastekh’s body and driving away any wobbles with ticklish giggles. “You brought breakfast.”

Pushing Mastekh gently out of the way with another affectionate nudge, Estenarven them proceeded to clear every last crumb, splash and splatter from the floor with barely a pause for breath. Nor did he complain over the unorthodox method of presentation.

Instead he devoured the lot with a litany of contented noises that swiftly overcame Mastekh’s disappointment and even raised a smile.

“Perfect,” Estenarven announced, once the floor was clean and he’d raised his head, licking his lips to savour every last speck. Then he lifted his great head up towards the ceiling and gave an enormous yawn. “Just what I needed.”

A rush of satisfaction that he’d done the right thing filled Mastekh and he stepped aside as Estenarven squirmed forwards, freeing his tail which had somehow been left behind in his room.

“Are you well?” he asked as the Boulderforce rolled slightly to one side and stretched out all four legs like a tired dragonling.

“Mm,” Estenarven murmured, reaching out to snag Mastekh around the waist. Then he curled inwards, tail wrapping around his body, Mastekh clutched against his chest, head turned inwards to cuddle him in closer. “Am now.” He gave a sleepy huff and closed his eyes.

Entirely surrounded by the dozing Boulderforce, Mastekh raised his hands and looked down. Though Estenarven’s hold was gentle enough not to hurt or squeeze him, it was still secure enough to ensure he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d been caught up like a treasured toy. Mastekh was vaguely aware that he should feel annoyed. How would he possibly be able to get any chores done this way? And just think of all the things Estenarven was leaving undone while he lazily slept the day away.

And yet, as Mastekh slowly relaxed into the sure grip that held onto him so tightly, surprised at how soft the inner pads of a Boulderforce’s front paw could be, he placed a hand on the cool scales of Estenarven’s cheek and felt all gooey inside. The dragon holding him was sleeping now, sleeping peacefully and deep, but when Mastekh made a token effort to extract himself, Estenarven muttered a sleepy protest and curled up even tighter, imprisoning his prize between his heart and his cheek.

Mastekh melted, his legs turning to jelly as he sank into the soft support of Estenarven’s grip. A strong heart beat against his back, while ahead of him a charcoal lid flickered over Estenarven’s closed eyes. He reached out, smoothing his hand along the tiny, delicate scales beneath that eye, marvelling that some were even smaller than his human fingertips.

The charcoal lid lifted ever so slightly, revealing a shimmering blackness beneath. “Stay,” Estenarven rumbled, his deep voice making Mastekh’s whole body hum.

As if Mastekh could do anything else. Pressing both hands against Estenarven’s face, he rested his cheek against Estenarven’s and sighed. “Yes.”

Unfolding a wing to cover them both, Estenarven huffed out a great sigh of his own and, curled up in the front corner of the suite, the pair of them drifted into sleep regardless of duty or the storms that raged beyond the walls.

Whoever you are, wheresoever in the world you may be, if you’re reading this I hope you enjoyed it and know you are not alone.

Dragon hugs!

Take care, my lovelies.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 10

January 11, 2017January 11, 2017 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 ||

Very short update today, but on the brighter side, this is the first part I’ve written since November. Yay, the story continues!

Although, I think Esten is slightly less enthused by this…

10
The Morning After

MASTEKH WAS ABSOLUTELY RIGHT; Estenarven did not feel better in the morning. In fact, he felt so awful when he opened his eyes to the pallid light sneaking through the narrow window, that he went straight back to sleep again. Mornings were vastly overrated anyway.

With a head banging to the painful beat of its own internal drum, a mouth in which a bear must have hibernated for the winter and skin that felt dry enough to crack, Estenarven was in no mood to move, even after he woke for the second time. Scales rubbed against the inside of his skin, making his bones ache and his head pound worse than ever. He needed to shift, badly, but this room wasn’t even large enough to contain his tail, let alone the rest of him.

Groaning and cursing his own foolishness, he slithered from the bed. Cold air instantly nipped at his naked body, but there was so many other discomforts assaulting him that Estenarven didn’t much mind it. The hard floor called to him, the old stone calling to the stone within him.

Not yet, not yet, he reminded himself, dragging his aching body over the roughly woven carpet. He considered pausing to stand up, to try and put his legs to use, but the mere thought of raising his head so high from the ground made his stomach churn. With his hold already so tenuous upon his human form, Estenarven opted for speed over elegance.

He had to get out of this room. Now. Before he ended up squashed and stuck or smashing through the walls.

Stone hummed beneath him as Estenarven reached up a desperate hand and scrabbled the door open. He tumbled out into the wider room beyond – and not a moment too soon.

The pounding in his head rose to a crescendo, his dry skin cracked and his stomach revolted as his draconic form burst through his control. Pain, pain, pain. He hadn’t experienced such an agonising shift since his first changeling days.

Uncle Stone! That hurt.

Raising himself up on trembling legs, Estenarven had just enough awareness to realise that his tail did just about fit inside his room, before he staggered forward a couple of steps and collapsed.

Stone called to stone, and he dropped into blessed unconsciousness.

More next Wednesday.
I’d best get writing again.

Take care, my lovelies!

Overworld, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 9

January 2, 2017 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 ||

Oh, Mastekh…

9
Elder Blazeborn

MASTEKH CLEANED UP the spillage, feeling like a fool. All his happy feelings from the morning had fled in the face of an innocuous question and a dropped teapot. He patted the last pool of water and stared at his hot hand with a sigh.

Wonderful, he was now full of tea. It would take days for the ruddy-ginger stain to fade.

Served him right for being a jumpy, clumsy, overreacting fool. How Elder Blazeborn must rue the day their paths had not just crossed but unfortunately interwoven.

Picking up the pot and swilling the liquid inside, he realised there was just enough for another cup, so he poured it out and placed it on the hearth to keep warm while he got on his knees and made sure he hadn’t ruined another carpet. His very first meeting with Elder Blazeborn was engraved on his memory, never to be forgotten.

His trip to Teirenlai had been Mastekh’s first solo expedition outside of his Rainstorm kinlands. Well, sort of solo, since he’d flown alongside Rishen, his kin elder, but all of Mastekh’s previous trips had been with dragons his own age with older caretakers to watch over them. For all that Rishen was his elder, the dragon hadn’t spared Mastekh much attention during the flight. Which was how Mastekh had preferred it. Rishen made him nervous. Most dragons made him nervous. Most everything, actually.

Carpet checked, Mastekh sat back on heels and paused for a moment, trying to come up with something that didn’t make him anxious or nervous. He would have said Estenarven, except the recent shift in their relationship had caused a few of those old, familiar emotions to bubble up, so not even he counted anymore. Baking and making tea also felt good, but handing them over to their intended recipients usually caused anxious moments – or foolish ones, he reminded himself, climbing to his feet and sighing at the empty desk and the now-seemingly innocent crockery lined up on the tray.

Arriving at Teirenlai Palace had been overwhelming for Mastekh. Too many new faces, a whole new layout to learn, new servants to try not to annoy. He would have hidden in his room and never come out, except he’d quickly found out that he was expected to share it with two other young dragons. Strangers. Ones who already knew each other and were noisy and constantly laughing. Not necessarily at him, though it had felt like it at the time.

Panicked, Mastekh had fled into the labyrinthine corridors until he ended up quite, quite lost. In the end he’d wandered into a sunlit garden where a great bronze dragon was curled up. Not wanting to disturb the sleeping creature, he’d backed as quietly as possible away only to trip over an uneven flagstone. Tumbling down with a splash and a cry, he’d felt a hot, weary sigh pass over him and looked up into glowing golden eyes.

At which point Elder Goryal Starshine had materialised between them, beaming a joyful smile. “Oh good,” they had chuckled. “You’ve met. Khennik, this is your new aide, Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. Congratulations, Mastekh, you’ve been assigned as the aide to Elder Blazeborn as part of the delegation overseeing the visit of the new human ambassador.”

The huge bronze Blazeborn had turned his head to the small human-shaped Starshine elder and huffed out a warm breath. “A Rainstorm, Goryal, really?”

Mastekh had cringed, though he hadn’t disagreed. The Flowflight and Sunlord Clans were not known for their compatibility.

Goryal had laughed and patted Elder Blazeborn’s cheek. “Patience, Khennik. Something you once had in droves. It would do you good to remembered such skills.”

Grumbling, the dragon had curled up again, wrapping his tail tightly around himself and using it to cover his eyes. “Aren’t the humans punishment enough?”

Goryal had laughed their silver bell laugh and rested a hand on Mastekh’s arm. “Ignore him, he’s always grumpy after a long flight. He’ll feel better once he’s soaked up some sun. Come along with me, young Rainstorm, and I’ll show you your new accommodations and introduce you to someone who can show you your new duties.”

And that had been that. Neither one of them had been given any choice, they’d simply been shoved together through the whims of a meddling old dragon. No one knew precisely how old Goryal was, but all the Starshine Clan were over a millennia, though they rarely acted it. They felt it though, with a prickle of power that could grow painful if the dragons forgot to rein it in. Goryal rarely forgot such things, they were too fond of company to risk driving it all away, even if they did frequently meddle more than was good for those around them.

Even so, Mastekh couldn’t be sorry that his path had crossed Goryal’s, nor that of Elder Blazeborn either. Because both had brought him, in a roundabout way, to Estenarven and the night before. Mastekh wouldn’t give that up for all the world, even if he had spent most of the evening hurt and confused. The end had been worth everything that had gone before.

It was still a shame about the tea, though.

Sighing, he picked up the cup from the hearth and crossed to Elder Blazeborn’s door. Where he dithered, not wanting to disturb the elder any more than he already had that morning. Yet he knew of no one else who liked ginger tea and didn’t want it to go to waste.

So he took a deep breath, tried to summon up a little of his morning happiness, and knocked.

“Enter.”

Clenching his free hand into a fist and warning himself to stay in control of himself, Mastekh slipped into the room. It was as spacious as the outer chamber, but with a lot less furniture. A wide bed stood off to one side, while a small desk had been placed beside the fire. Beyond that there was nothing except for three tall, narrow windows much like the ones in the other room. The rest of the space had been left empty as a courtesy to allow the elder to transform into his dragon shape if he so wished.

Thankfully for Mastekh’s nerves, he was still in human form, sitting at the desk, one hand propping up his head while he toyed with his quill and flicked ink over an otherwise empty piece of parchment.

Golden eyes glanced up and the elder froze. He said nothing, didn’t even blink as Mastekh crossed the room in a shuffling hurry, placing the stone cup down with exquisite care on one side of the desk. He then picked up the empty cup Elder Blazeborn had carried in earlier before retreating as swiftly as he’d entered. His silken robe flapped against his legs in his haste to reach the door.

Even so, as he pulled it opened and slipped through, he heard a softly murmured “Thank you,” over the rush of his own escape.

Mastekh paused and looked through the gap of the half-closed door. Elder Blazeborn held the cup cradled between his hands, golden claws glinting at the end of dark bronze fingers. The elder raised his tea in silent acknowledgement.

Ducking his head shyly, Mastekh muttered, “You’re w-w-welcome,” before shutting the door between them.

Taking several wobbly steps into the empty outer room, he collapsed onto the nearest chaise. He felt exhausted and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

Still, he smiled, content that he might have managed to fix any fresh damage he’d done to his working relationship with his elder after another foolish mishap. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

Feeling refreshed, he popped to his feet and gathered the empty pot and unused cups onto the stone tray. Noon was approaching and neither the elder nor Estenarven had eaten anything today.

Mastekh could and would do something about that.

Happy to feel useful once more, he hurried out of the suite towards the kitchens for the second time that morning, a fresh hum rising in his throat. Perhaps the day would be salvageable, after all.

I’ve now come to the end of what I had written.
Hopefully I’ll have a chance to write some more in the next week or so, before I update next Wednesday. This story needs more Esten.
See you then.

Happy New Year, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 8

December 26, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 ||

In which Khennik says something innocuous and the expected happens.

8
Tea

SOMEONE WAS HUMMING. Elder Khennik kin Blazeborn Clan Sunlord frowned down at his desk and the report he was supposed to be writing to his Clan elder. The suite was too quiet, magnifying the clatter of hailstones against the windows and the shudder of the window as it whistled around the tower. Lightning flickered and thunder snarled. Khennik attempted to ignore it all as he hunched over his desk beside the fire on the opposite side of the room. Usually the crackle, pop and hiss of the flames would be enough to settle him, but it was early and he was tired after a late night.

And now someone was humming.

Sighing, he dropped his quill and rubbed his eyes as the main door to the suite opened, admitting the hummer with his tray of tea.

Mastekh.

Khennik’s eyebrows rose in surprise and he rested his chin on his hand, watching his usually anxious aide back into the room before turning and closing the door with his heel. Humming.

Mastekh didn’t hum. In fact, his Rainstorm aide rarely made any sound at all, except for squeaks and the occasional stuttered sentence. Not that he was a quiet or restful presence. Mastekh might not have used his voice all that often, but his emotions were often loud. Trembling, shuffling, jittering, wringing his hands, lurking in the background, trying to be unobtrusive and always failing. It had driven Khennik distracted when they’d first been assigned to each other. However, he’d grown used to it over time and occasionally missed Mastekh when he wasn’t in the room.

Khennik wouldn’t have said he was fond of humming, especially wordless tunes that bubbled and rambled without any form or reason, but it was an interesting change. He was almost certain he knew what had put that small smile on his younger aide’s face too.

“Oh. Elder B-Blazeborn. You’re aw-w-wake.”

The happy hum faded, but Khennik was surprised to see the smile remained. Mastekh didn’t smile at him, he was usually too worried or anxious to please, holding himself tense as if always ready for a reprimand or a blow. Khennik tried not to ever give the former and he would never use the latter. The mere prospect of being mistaken for such a thuggish bully had made him often moody and equally tense at first, until he realised that the only way Mastekh would relax was if he relaxed first. So mostly Khennik attempted to ignore his aide, and Mastekh seemed happiest that way.

Not this morning. This morning he seemed prepared for conversation, so Khennik cleared a space on his desk for the tea tray and nodded congenially. “Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

Mastekh bobbed his head in agreement, placing the tray on the table with a lot less clatter and rattling than usual. There weren’t any stray water drops either. Progress.

“Estenarven is still in bed, I take it?” Khennik asked as Mastekh began pouring the tea.

“B-beg p-p-pardon?” Mastekh jumped, sending hot water all over the stone tray and across the desk. “Oh, no!” he wailed, dropping the tea pot with a clatter and flapping over the spilled liquid.

Sighing, Khennik rescued his most important papers and stood before the tea reached the edge of the table and dripped into his lap. “It’s all right, Mastekh. No harm done.” After all, this wouldn’t be the first time Mastekh had almost dumped a pot of tea all over him – nor the second. A part of Khennik had leant to be perpetually wary whenever it came to his aide holding anything in his vicinity, though he had hoped the humming and smiles would herald a new era in their working relationship.

No such luck. One offhand question and his aide had collapsed back into a bubbling, anxious, apologetic mess and Khennik could feel all his old irritations rising. He tried not to get angry, because he knew Mastekh couldn’t help being the way he was, but it was frustrating.

One tiny tiptoe forward, a massive leap back. That was how things seemed destined to always be between them.

“I’ll finish this in my room,” he said, unable to hold back a sigh as he gathered the rest of things into his arms and shook tea from the end of his quill pen.

“I’m s-s-so s-s-s-sorry, eld-d-der,” Mastekh whimpered, patting the desk with his palm and leaving dry stone behind. His hand had darkened to the shade of ginger tea.

The sight reminded Khennik of how thirsty he was, so he piled his things on his dry chair and quickly poured himself a cup with what little liquid was left. Mm, spicy. “It’s all right, Mastekh,” he murmured again, retrieving his things and sipping from his cup. “These things happen, and there was no harm done.”

Mastekh hung his head pitifully. Khennik considered reaching out and patting the young Rainstorm’s shoulder, but he wasn’t a particularly tactile dragon and the last thing he wanted was to make Mastekh recoil. There relationship was shaky enough as it was.

So he contented himself with another sigh – mostly filled with bafflement over what his young aide needed from him – then retreated back into his room. It would probably be safer for all involved if he just stayed there until the Storm Season passed and the Skylark sailed onwards again.

“I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me,” he said over his shoulder, then shoved the door shut with his heel.

What a day, and it wasn’t even midmorning yet.

More next Monday.

Take care, my lovelies!