She
sighed, looking around at the drinking villagers. If
anyone here knew my true nature, they wouldn't just fight me with
fists. They'd try to kill me.
A
snippet of conversation tore through her thoughts. She tensed,
narrowed her eyes, and cocked her head.
".
. . a real weredragon!" somebody was saying—a villager with red
cheeks and a bulbous nose. "Shapeshifter. Cursed with the
reptilian disease."
Maev
growled and made ready to leap to her feet. At her side, she saw
Tanin grimace and reach toward his boot where he kept a hidden
dagger.
They
know, Maev
thought, heart pounding. They heard us talk. She rose to her feet, expecting the poisoned arrows to fly, and
sucked in her magic.
"Ah,
Old Wag, you're drunk!" said another villager, an elderly man
with bristly white muttonchops.
"I
ain't!" replied the bulbous-nosed man. "I heard the tales,
all the way from Eteer across the sea. They say the prince of Eteer
himself, a lad named Sena, is a weredragon. His father, the king,
locked him up in a tower, he did." Old Wag roared out laughter,
spraying crumbs. "Like a princess from a story."
Maev
slowly sat down again, loosening her fists. At her side, she saw
Tanin ease too. He slipped his dagger back into his boot.
"The
Prince of Eteer?" Maev said, letting her voice carry across the
table. "Eteer's just a myth." She snorted. "A land of
stone towers, of men bedecked all in bronze, of thousands of souls
living in a town the size of a forest?" She spat. "Ain't no
such place in the world."
The
villagers looked at her, scratching chins and stroking beards.
"Eteer's
real enough," said the old man with the muttonchops. "My
cousin, in the next town over, he's been there himself. Trades there,
he does. He ships in furs and brings back jewels and spices and metal
tools. Aye, a land of stone towers it is, of walls taller than
trees." He gestured around at the village; a few scraggly huts
rose around the muddy square. "There's more to the world than
the north. We here, we're a mole on the arse of the world. But Eteer
now—that there's a golden crown."
Old
Wag leaped onto the tabletop, spraying mud from his boots across
plates and knocking over a mug of ale. "And there's a weredragon
there! It's true, it is. Traders talking all about it. My old nan
swears she heard it from one who saw the beast. A blue dragon flying
over the sea. Locked in the tower now, he is, chained in his human
form. Can't hurt no decent souls like that. His own father put him
there." Wag nodded emphatically. "If my son were a
weredragon, I'd lock him up too."
Men
roared with laughter. "Your son can't even work a grinding
stone, let alone become a dragon!" one woman called out. "Head
of mush, that one has."
Maev
looked at her brother. He stared back at her, eyes somber.
"Maev,"
Tanin whispered. "Tell me you're not thinking of . . ."
She
grabbed his hand and tugged him up. She pulled him away from the
table. Ignoring calls from the villagers, she walked around the well,
between two huts, and into open fields.
The
stars shone above, crickets chirped, and an owl hooted. Fireflies
danced above the tall grass. After the heat and noise and smells of
the village, it felt good to walk here in darkness. They moved
through the grasslands, heading deeper into shadows, for they were
Vir Requis, creatures of the night.
"There
is another," Maev whispered, eyes watering.
In
the darkness, she heard Tanin groan.
"The
drunken talk of fools," he said. He shoved aside the tall, wild
grass, moving through the darkness. "People also say dragons eat
babies, drink the blood of virgins, and piss molten gold. So they say
a prince in a far-off land is a dragon." He barked a laugh.
"What are you going to do, fly all the way across the sea, find
this mythical land of Eteer, and look for a tower?"
Maev
sighed and looked up at the stars. The Draco constellation shone
there, comforting her, easing the pain of her wounds.
"Fifty
years ago, these stars began to shine," Maev said
sighed, looking around at the drinking villagers. If
anyone here knew my true nature, they wouldn't just fight me with
fists. They'd try to kill me.
A
snippet of conversation tore through her thoughts. She tensed,
narrowed her eyes, and cocked her head.
".
. . a real weredragon!" somebody was saying—a villager with red
cheeks and a bulbous nose. "Shapeshifter. Cursed with the
reptilian disease."
Maev
growled and made ready to leap to her feet. At her side, she saw
Tanin grimace and reach toward his boot where he kept a hidden
dagger.
They
know, Maev
thought, heart pounding. They heard us talk. She rose to her feet, expecting the poisoned arrows to fly, and
sucked in her magic.
"Ah,
Old Wag, you're drunk!" said another villager, an elderly man
with bristly white muttonchops.
"I
ain't!" replied the bulbous-nosed man. "I heard the tales,
all the way from Eteer across the sea. They say the prince of Eteer
himself, a lad named Sena, is a weredragon. His father, the king,
locked him up in a tower, he did." Old Wag roared out laughter,
spraying crumbs. "Like a princess from a story."
Maev
slowly sat down again, loosening her fists. At her side, she saw
Tanin ease too. He slipped his dagger back into his boot.
"The
Prince of Eteer?" Maev said, letting her voice carry across the
table. "Eteer's just a myth." She snorted. "A land of
stone towers, of men bedecked all in bronze, of thousands of souls
living in a town the size of a forest?" She spat. "Ain't no
such place in the world."
The
villagers looked at her, scratching chins and stroking beards.
"Eteer's
real enough," said the old man with the muttonchops. "My
cousin, in the next town over, he's been there himself. Trades there,
he does. He ships in furs and brings back jewels and spices and metal
tools. Aye, a land of stone towers it is, of walls taller than
trees." He gestured around at the village; a few scraggly huts
rose around the muddy square. "There's more to the world than
the north. We here, we're a mole on the arse of the world. But Eteer
now—that there's a golden crown."
Old
Wag leaped onto the tabletop, spraying mud from his boots across
plates and knocking over a mug of ale. "And there's a weredragon
there! It's true, it is. Traders talking all about it. My old nan
swears she heard it from one who saw the beast. A blue dragon flying
over the sea. Locked in the tower now, he is, chained in his human
form. Can't hurt no decent souls like that. His own father put him
there." Wag nodded emphatically. "If my son were a
weredragon, I'd lock him up too."
Men
roared with laughter. "Your son can't even work a grinding
stone, let alone become a dragon!" one woman called out. "Head
of mush, that one has."
Maev
looked at her brother. He stared back at her, eyes somber.
"Maev,"
Tanin whispered. "Tell me you're not thinking of . . ."
She
grabbed his hand and tugged him up. She pulled him away from the
table. Ignoring calls from the villagers, she walked around the well,
between two huts, and into open fields.
The
stars shone above, crickets chirped, and an owl hooted. Fireflies
danced above the tall grass. After the heat and noise and smells of
the village, it felt good to walk here in darkness. They moved
through the grasslands, heading deeper into shadows, for they were
Vir Requis, creatures of the night.
"There
is another," Maev whispered, eyes watering.
In
the darkness, she heard Tanin groan.
"The
drunken talk of fools," he said. He shoved aside the tall, wild
grass, moving through the darkness. "People also say dragons eat
babies, drink the blood of virgins, and piss molten gold. So they say
a prince in a far-off land is a dragon." He barked a laugh.
"What are you going to do, fly all the way across the sea, find
this mythical land of Eteer, and look for a tower?"
Maev
sighed and looked up at the stars. The Draco constellation shone
there, comforting her, easing the pain of her wounds.
"Fifty
years ago, these stars began to shine," Maev said
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