Page 2 of The Teacup Dragon Sanctuary

‘To buy clothes for me?’

Milo grinned at her, a wicked glint in his eye. ‘The dean is most determined that you come along today and make a good impression. Teacup dragons, Portia. He wants to dangle you in front of the association. More donations if they’re happy, you know how that works. And we need to get the Asher award if we’re going to continue our work. Which means keeping on the dean’s good side.’

‘Dangled like some kind of cat toy, you mean,’ she muttered. ‘It’s my great-aunt who’s obsessed with dragons, Milo, not me.’

‘She’s the pre-eminent expert in the field. They all hold her in awe.’

‘Not all of them. She’s had her share of run-ins with all of the breeders, you know. Her sanctuary is meant to rescue them from exactly the type of person we’re about to meet.’

Because they were going to meet them. Portia knew that. There was no getting out of this if the senior faculty had already decided. They had sent Milo only so they didn’t have to drag her in there kicking and screaming themselves. He was her best friend. She wouldn’t do that to him.

Unfortunately, everyone knew that.

And Milo was so eager to please them all. Not just for the bursary he so desperately needed, although that was a large part of it. He wanted people to like him too much, she decided. And he was very good at it.

‘Fine,’ she muttered, unable to disappoint him. ‘Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible. But I’m only staying an hour. No more than that.’

* * *

She didn’t even last the hour. Of course she didn’t. Not with Lady Virginia Moorland swanning around as if she owned the place; lady-in-waiting to the queen, president of the Teacup Dragon Fanciers’ Association and all-round monster in human form. She had three of the tiny jewel-coloured creatures with her, all of them wan and underfed. Portia could see that straight away. The fashion now was for the little dragons, no bigger than hummingbirds, to have pale pastel shades and the way that was achieved was through diet. They flapped around pathetically. Lady Virginia had shown them each off to her admiring lackies and then returned two of them to the dark and cramped carrier, as if they were no more than accessories. The third one, a green, shivered where it clung to the woman’s ungentle hand.

Portia hung back at the edge of the crowd but that didn’t save her. Other people had the little dragons with them as well. Some looked better kept, but not many. Lady Virginia Moorland led all the trends in the capital city, and in the circles of nobility in particular, the only people who could afford to keep such dragons.

‘Portia! Darling!’ Virginia boomed, making straight for her. It was only the presence of Milo directly behind her that stopped Portia reversing course and escaping back out of the room. ‘Portia, I was talking to his excellency the ambassador of Elanholm just the other day and it turns out he’s a huge admirer of your great-aunt. He will be on the jury for the annual show this year, can you imagine? Oh and have you met Percival Harvey? He’s such a talented breeder! Dying to meet you.’ A surly looking man in an ill-fitting suit was being towed in her wake. Portia didn’t like the look of him one bit. Much less Virginia Moorland who she knew of old. ‘Portia is Iris’s great-niece, Percival darling. Iris Starling. Portia and I were at school together when we were just slips of things, weren’t we, darling?’

She was carrying a porcelain teacup on a saucer, to which she transferred the solitary green dragon. The little reptile curled itself tightly around the cup, fragile wings hanging limply down over the saucer, and closed its eyes. That was the way most of these society women chose to parade their pets around, and it had given them the name. The poor thing shivered and the cup rattled, accidentally drawing the attention of the dragon’s owner.

‘Buck up, Jade,’ Virginia said curtly as she noticed Portia’s attention on the dragon. ‘Portia, you used to be quite the expert too, I believe? But the newest batches have gone to the dogs, don’t you think? Honestly!’

‘She doesn’t look well,’ Portia commented. Too many years with Iris meant she had an eye for illness in teacup dragons. It wasn’t difficult. They became lethargic and lost colour all too easily. Curing them, Great-Aunt Iris would tell whoever would listen, was the more difficult thing. Especially if it was more than a poor diet, but that was usually the best place to start. ‘What have you been feeding her?’

Female teacup dragons were smaller and slighter than their male counterparts, which made them preferred among the society ladies who used them as decorations and sometime teacup warmers. Iris had opinions about that as well. Looking at the sad little thing with its lacelike wings and eyes like smudged jewels, huddled around Virginia’s cup, Portia found she heartily agreed.

Leaning in closer, Portia ran a fingertip along the ridges of Jade’s back. At home the rescue dragons would purr and stretch to invite more attention. This tiny dragon shivered harder at her touch, but didn’t move, frozen around the cup. That was not a good sign. She was terrified.

‘Don’t mind the little diva, Portia. She’s just acting up. Sulking. You know how they are. Such drama queens.’

They really weren’t though. They were gentle little souls if you treated them right. ‘Actually, Virginia, I think she needs⁠—’

But Virginia just turned her back on Portia, ignoring her, and addressed Percival Harvey instead. ‘I was just telling my good friend, the Duchess of Penrose, that if you spoil the little wretches they’ll walk all over you. She has a lovely little blue, but she’s already doting far too much on it. Feeds it whatever it wants and you should see the hue. Bread and water, that’s the ticket. Discipline is the key.’ She plucked Jade up by the nape of her neck and thrust the cup at a startled Milo without comment. He grabbed it before it could fall.

‘Barkley,’ Lady Virginia snapped, and a blank-faced servant in her own livery appeared beside her. He opened one of the compartments in the carry case. From inside the other two sections, Portia could hear the other little dragons shuffling back, making nervous sounds. Portia recognised those cries. Dragons often made them when Iris first took them in, terrified of this strange new world into which they had been dropped, scarred by the treatment they had received in the past.

Virginia pushed Jade roughly towards the dark, cramped opening and the teacup dragon let out a piercing shriek of alarm.

‘Oh, stop it, you stupid thing!’ said Virginia and moved again to shove her inside without any care at all to the flailing wings and tail. ‘It’s your home! You like it in there. You hardly ever want to come out.’

Surely she didn’t keep them in there all the time, Portia thought but there wasn’t time to protest. The dragon lashed out, tail like a little whip, leaving a red welt on the other woman’s hand. Virginia gave an angry shout and hurled Jade away. Before she hit the ground, Jade unfurled her lacelike wings, twisted in the air, and took off, high above the assembly. Once up there, however, high in the great hall with a host of people now openly staring and pointing, voices rising in shock, the dragon baulked. Panicking, she twisted around, before diving directly towards them. All the dignitaries of Shinael and the scholars of the Academy scattered beneath her. Screams of surprise and shock echoed around the room and the dragon took off again, wings beating furiously as she tried to gain height over the group. She was labouring hard, her little chest straining and her tail thrashing from side to side, a sure sign of distress. The keening cry of fear went up a key, grating against the senses, and set off the other dragons. A high-pitched chorus of panic made the air feel like nails on a blackboard.

Portia’s own sense of magic tingled in sympathy, the sensation tightening until it was like a knife in her chest. She wouldn’t be the only one. Any second now someone would have the bright idea of firing some kind of containing spell at the dragon and that sort of thing never ended well for anyone. Her wings would tangle. She would fall like a stone, and the spell would shatter and…

Portia dashed towards the cake table, where a vast array of creamy confections had been laid out for the guests.

‘What are you doing? Portia?’ Milo followed her, bewildered. Virginia was screaming orders now, and the odious Barkley had appeared again with some kind of weighted net. Portia knew the type. Iris was desperately campaigning to have them banned. They could cause irreparable damage as they entangled the dragon’s wings to bring them down. Not to mention what would happen if Jade fell from that height. Dear lord, these people knew nothing. They were going to kill her. If she was lucky.

Portia grabbed a plateful of the richest, creamiest gateau she could spot, walked to the centre of the room, and held it aloft. Then she let out the piercing whistle which Great-Aunt Iris had taught her when she first went to live on the island, all those years ago, the maternal call of a teacup dragon, summoning her young to feed.

Everything went silent, all eyes turned on her in bewildered horror, and the teacup dragon plummeted down, landing in a scramble of limbs, wing, and tail, right in the cake, where she started gulping down great mouthfuls of it, gorging herself as if there was no tomorrow. Her claws scraped on the china, her tail lashing back and forth as her wings spread out to mantle the feast before her, as if protecting it from predators.