Chapter Two

I slept late into the morning, waking to a bath gone cold and my maidservant, Hen, napping by the fire with the mending on her lap. My head no longer hurt, but I possessed an impressive array of bruises from where I had landed, falling from the gauntlet, and bathing was a painful affair. Hen woke just as I was struggling to dress myself and tsked over the bruises as she finished lacing me.

“It’s not right for a princess,” she told me in disapproval. “Jumping and fighting and running around. It’s one thing for a hero like Princess Tarragon, but surely there is no need to put you through this my lady. The prophecy is not about you, after all.”

“To end the slaughter,

Not dragon son, but daughter,

In the right hand,

Rivyn’s sword will save the land,

If the lamb chosen is wrong,

Love’s sacrifice will not be strong,” I quoted. “It’s the second to last line that’s responsible for me being here,” I grimaced as she braided my hair. “Just in case it’s not Tarragon all of her sisters get to suffer. Next year, it will be Shara’s turn and I am equal parts sorry for her, and pleased that, at long last, I won’t be the bane of Ecaeris’ day.”

“Poor Shara,” Hen giggled.

“Poor Ecaeris,” I grinned back. My next younger sister, Shara, had inherited every grain of dragon from my father. If she did not wish to do something or speak to someone, she would simply turn her head and ignore it’s existence. Unlike myself, she could not be bullied into participating. She had been the torment of all our nursemaids and governesses, causing more than one to resign their position in the household. The only person who could pull Shara into line was our father, and even that was a battle of dragon stubbornness of epic proportions.

“You should eat something,” Hen finished my hair, winding the metal thread around the base of the braid to hold it in place.

“Not enough time,” I rose and grabbed my grimoire and cloak from the table by the door. “I am late.” It was only magic class, thankfully, and Daerton had a soft spot for me, being as I was named after him. Whilst I was magically ungifted, thanks to his patience and more gentle teaching methods, I was technically adept at least, and I usually enjoyed his classes – or, at least, didn’t leave them injured and with “runt of the litter” ringing in my ears.

I ran through the hallways, narrowly dodging the dark elves that patrolled them, Akyran’s court, and the servants that attended us all, and arrived at the doorway to Daerton’s classroom breathless and disheveled despite Hen’s careful hairdressing.

“Ah, Daethie,” Daerton gestured for me to enter. “Perfect timing. We were just about to see Aien’s talent.”

Aien stood within the center of the ring of desks, two patches of color hectic on his cheeks, and looked just as unhappy to be the focus of attention as I normally was. I slid into the open desk, between Rue and one of the knights, Liam, the tall blonde-haired man looking disapprovingly down his nose at me.

Liam had made it perfectly clear that he did not believe that I belonged at the Monster Hunting academy. With the exception of Tarragon, who was destined to be a hero, Liam believed that princesses belonged in castles, embroidering favors whilst waiting for knights like himself to rescue them.

I didn’t disagree, other than with the embroidery. I had no liking for that occupation either.

“Aien’s father is an expert in metamorphosis,” Daerton announced to the room. “Something I actually studied with him at one stage. Metamorphosis involves the transformation of one thing to another. Now, that can involve, for example, turning water into wine, or human into pig, but Derien Verstarjen has refined his ability to transforming people into statues. Marble, granite, iron…”

“Sounds great,” Liam said under his breath. “Sounds like someone waiting for the right knight to come and put an arrow through their throat.”

Aien’s eyes flickered our way, and I felt my cheeks heat. I didn’t want him to think that I shared Liam’s opinion.

“Their throat?” I repeated. “With your sight, you might want to aim for something bigger.”

Liam sent me a surprised glare and his mouth opened to retort; however, Rue caught his eye, my big brother raising his eyebrows. “How is your head today, Princess?” He asked through his teeth instead. “That was a heavy fall yesterday.”

“Daethie’s head is rock solid,” Rue snickered. “We should ask the ground how it is after being hit by her skull yesterday, rather than the reverse.”

“Ahem,” Daerton cleared his throat, ending the conversation. “Aien, we are very intrigued.”

“I’m afraid it’s not impressive,” Aien replied evasively. “I am not my father.”

“Few of us are,” Daerton said dryly.

Aien drew in a deep breath and reached into the pouches that hung off his belt, plucking a few small items from each, and holding them on the palm on his hand. I felt the hair on my arms stand on end as his eyes focused on his palm, his expression intense, and a breeze seeming to stir its fingers through the overgrown shag of his hair.

The small items on his hand shook, and then small white furls curled out, extending, and growing green, spreading into stems and vines, unravelling leaf, and tightly pursed bud suddenly breaking open into flower until in his hand he held a posy of bright blooms.

“Oh, how pretty,” Tarragon exclaimed in admiration. “May I?”

“I…” The points of color on Aien’s cheeks deepened, flushing over his face. He shrugged and rounded the desk to deposit the bunch into Tarragon’s waiting hands.

“Thank you, Aien,” she lifted them to her nose and inhaled. “They’re beautiful.”

His shoulders hunched and he flicked the hood of his cloak up around his head as he returned to the desk within the circle of desks.

“Thank you, Aien, that was very… interesting,” Daerton said, and I could tell that he was amused. “It is always interesting how magic evolves over the generations.”

“What got into to you today little Gecko?” Rue asked me under his breath as Daerton continued the lesson. “Did that fall yesterday knock some sense out of you? It is not wise to provoke knights like Liam.”

“He’s a bully,” I replied under my breath.

“Yes,” Rue replied. “But we all are. That’s what a knight is, Dae.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be. Our father isn’t a bully.”

“Our father isn’t a knight.”

“I wish we lived in a cave and not a castle,” I hissed at him. “Because then we wouldn’t have to do any of this stupid - ”

“Daethie?” Daerton arched an eyebrow breaking off his lecture. “Have you something to add?”

“No,” I flushed painfully. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm,” Daerton’s brows pulled together, but he continued the class.

I spent the rest of the lesson glaring at the knots on the tabletop, only looking up as the class broke and a seed was placed on the knot I had been glaring at. I looked up in surprise, and flushed as I met Aien’s eyes, dropping my gaze bashfully to the seed which was sprouting into a bloom-heavy stem of dragon flowers in a soft lilac-blue.

“Oh,” I whispered, enchanted by the pretty bloom.

“Red might be more appropriate,” Aien said softly. “But these are the precise color of your eyes.”

I lifted my eyes to his and his lips curled, his eyes warming in response. My heart began to race within my chest. Before I could think of something clever to say in response, he adjusted the hood around his face and strode away, leaving me speechless and clutching a snapdragon the precise color of my eyes.