Page 1 of A Matter of Dragons

CHAPTER ONE

Doshir

“I see you haven’t done much with the place,” my mother sniffed.

She stepped gingerly over the threshold while lifting her dress as if she were afraid the hem might dirty itself if it came into contact with my floor.

“Mother,” I replied as pleasantly as I could manage. “It’s an antiquities shop.”

She glanced around the piles of old books, delicate, dust-covered instruments, and haphazardly stacked maps, and raised one perfect eyebrow. “Isn’t ‘decluttering’ the latest human fashion?” she asked.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t know,” I replied, “keeping your snout out of the human world, as you do.”

My mother gave me her first authentic smile of the evening. I took her hand, led her through the maze of tiny little end tables and piles of books, and let her choose which overstuffed armchair she wished to settle into while I busied myself arranging cookies on a platter and pouring the tea.

“Still no servant?” she asked from her perch in the rose-patterned chair.

“Just me, I’m afraid,” I replied.

I handed her a solid gold teacup with a little frill on the handle and felt immensely rewarded when she lifted it for closer inspection.

“Made by the dwarves,” I explained. “A limited run. I believe it was intended for the elves of the Kingdom of the Fall.”

She snorted. “You’re going to turn out just like your father.”

“Why thank you,” I replied, turning away before she could see me smile.

I set the platter of cookies on the carved ebony table between us, picked up my own teacup, a delicate piece of white ceramic, and sat down across from her. She watched me with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean that as a compliment,” she said.

“Of course you didn’t.”

She raised the cup to her lips, sipped, and then pursed her lips contemplatively. “It’s not... terrible,” she finally said.

I grinned. “I knew you’d like it. It’s a hibiscus blend from the place down the street.”

She took another sip and frowned. “I don’t know. Flavors are so odd in this form.”

“Better, you mean.”

I picked up the tray of cookies and held it out to her. They were lemon shortbread, a perfect combination of the sweet and tart flavors we can’t taste in our dragon forms. And they were also her favorite. Not that she’d admit it.

“There’s nothing better—” she began.

“About the human form,” I said, finishing her sentence for her. “I know. Just have a cookie and stop moralizing.”

“Fine.”

She took a cookie. We chewed in contemplative silence as dusk brushed against the windows of my shop. A scattering of voices rose and fell outside, carried through the open windows by a soft breeze off the ocean.

“What is your father up to these days?” she asked as if the thought had just occurred to her and wasn’t always the very first thing she asked when she came to visit.

“He’s... sailing,” I answered.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, by the Mothers. Tell me he’s not wearing a red scarf around his head and calling himself a pirate.”

“Of course not.” I allowed myself another sip of the hibiscus tea. “He’s wearing a black scarf. It’s much more dignified.”