Page 3 of A Matter of Dragons

“Fine,” she replied, giving me the kind of expression that reminded me she could shift form right here and burn every part of this shop to the ground. Hell, she could burn this whole town to the ground. “Mock me. Hide in the human world like a rat. Let me carry on alone, searching the skies for threats to both our worlds.”

She came to her feet in a flurry of hissing silk. I jumped up.

“Mom,” I said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She arched her perfectly shaped eyebrow at me. Flames burned in her irises.

“And you’re not alone,” I said, pressing on. “You have the Council of the Iron Mountains behind you.”

She huffed. I took her hand.

“You have me behind you, too. I promise. Just tell me what you want and why.”

Her shoulders relaxed. She let go of my fingers, sighed dramatically, and sank back down into the armchair. With one hand fluttering in the air, she grabbed another shortbread cookie and snapped into it as if she were biting the head off an enemy.

“I just want information,” she announced, following her cookie with another sip of tea.

I stood, refilled our teacups, and sat back down. “Information on Donovan?”

“Exactly. I want someone in Valgros. Someone in his court.”

“Oh,” I said, interested now in spite of myself. Inside information on the most secretive fiefdom on the continent? How could I resist that offer? There had to be someone I knew who could connect to the court, give the right bribes to the right people.

“Someone the Council wouldn’t know about,” Mother said, pointedly.

“Of course,” I replied.

The Dragons’ Council of the Iron Mountains was a fractious, inefficient bunch of hotheads at the best of times. And now was hardly the best of times.

“Forgive me, but,” I took a sip of tea, considering my wording carefully. “Did you mention this to the Council? About Rensivar?”

Mother stared at me as though I’d just announced rocks could fly. “Did I remind the Council of a story they all believe is a myth? Did I give them cause to doubt my sanity by talking openly about the mad dragon their foremothers banned together to defeat?”

“Right,” I said. “Well. Just checking.”

She took the last cookie. I blew on my tea, sending tiny pink ripples lapping against the white porcelain.

“But,” I said, watching her over the rim of my teacup, “you do believe it.”

She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

“Yes,” she finally replied. “I do believe it. I believe Rensivar wanted the world to forget him. And I believe those who doubt the story are delusional fools.”

I grinned. She was never one to mince words, my mother.

“If I am wrong,” she continued, “we’ll still have a check on the powers of a dangerous, violent human kingdom. And, if I am right, we’ll prevent the utter destruction of dragonkind.”

“Well, that sounds lovely.” I set down my teacup and stood, offering my mother my hand. “I’ll reach out to my connections and see what I can do.”

“Yes, please. Tug on the strands of all those webs you sit here and weave,” she said, with a laugh. It was a beautiful sound, high and light, like the ringing of tiny, silver bells.

I smiled and tried to ignore the fact that my mother had now compared me to a clam, a rat, and a spider in the span of time it had taken to drink two cups of tea and share a plate of lemon cookies.

“Who’s sitting on the Throne of Claws these days anyway?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from any further unflattering similes. The Council of the Iron Mountains handed off the crown every dozen years or so, but it had been ages since I’d paid any attention to which dragon was currently holding the most coveted title in the realm: Queen.

My mother gave me a strange, tight little smile as she ignored my outstretched hand. “Come to the Iron Mountains,” she answered, “and find out.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I replied. “I’m sure I can find plenty of people here in Cairncliff who would be delighted to call me a coward and a failed dragon without the hassle of traveling all the way to the Iron Mountains.”