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21
Adara
The following week passed on the island with excruciating slowness. While the other dragons—eager to hear news of their homeland and fascinated by the presence of both a half-dragon and a seer—had warmed up to us, Ylena had kept her distance. She’d suggested that I make myself useful, so I’d been spending my time on chores around the village, winning over the dragons by helping them with various tasks and projects.
“There has got to be an easier way to do this,” Quye complained as we sat beneath the awning of Isador’s hut, shelling peas. We had two baskets in front of us, one for the discarded pods, and the other for the fresh peas. “Isn’t there a device or machine? Or some magical way we could do this?”
“Why, because you have something better to do?” I said, meaning only to tease. But there was a sharp edge to my voice, because in truth, I was only half-joking. “If Mavlyn was here, she could probably get these peas to wiggle out of their pods all on their own. But since she’s not, we’re on our own.”
Quye huffed. “Of course I have something better to do,” she said. “I could be performing readings right now, or telling stories to the children by the fire. You know, the things a seer is expected to do.”
I rolled my eyes. Quye had been eating up her seer status since we’d arrived on the island. The dragons had mistrusted her at first since she was full fae, but she’d won them over by doing a few dream readings and fortune tellings, and had become a favorite of the children, who had not grown up with an inherent dislike of fae as their parents had. There were fifty or so dragons on the island—most of the original thirty who had been exiled here were still alive, and they’d had many children over the last twenty years, nearly doubling their numbers. At the moment, the island was large enough to sustain them, but they would outgrow the place in another decade.
“I could also,” she added as she sprinkled a handful of peas into the basket, “be deciphering that fire fae journal.”
“Aha,” I said. “The real reason you’ve been trying to palm off chores on me.” I shook my head, not sure whether to be amused or irritated. “Have you found anything of interest in that journal?”
The sound of the door opening interrupted us before Quye could answer. “Have you two finished shucking the peas yet?” Orga asked, stepping onto the porch to join us. She was one of the dragon elders, her face lined with age and her jet-black braid liberally streaked with silver. The beads embroidered on her skirts tinkled a little as she joined us, and the wind shifted, bringing her patchouli scent with it.
“Not yet,” Quye said, glancing down into the bowl. “We’re about halfway through, though. I think we can finish it in another thirty minutes.”
Orga nodded approvingly, resting a wizened hand on Quye’s shoulder. “I’m glad you two stopped by to help,” she said. “My hands can still do the work, but they’re not as nimble as they used to be. Would take me twice the time.”
“Elder Orga, do you mind if I ask you a question?” I said, pausing my work for a moment so I could meet her eyes. They were golden, like most dragon’s, but with a jet black rim on the outside of her irises that made it feel like her attention was focused solely on you.
“Of course,” she said, nodding her head. “So long as you keep shucking those peas.”
Chagrined, I snatched up a fresh pod from the basket. “Forgive me if the question is offensive, but were you alive when the dragons first arrived in Ediria?” I didn’t know enough about dragons to understand how they aged, but since only ancient fae showed signs of aging, I took a guess that the dragons might be the same.
Orga laughed. “Radiants, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I am old, it’s true, but I was born five hundred years after.”
I nearly choked on my spit. That meant Orga was twenty-five hundred years old… longer lived than any of the fae. “How are you… I mean…”
“How am I still alive?” she finished for me, and I nodded. A knowing twinkle sparked in her eye as she answered, “Being an elder has its perks. Back when I was a child, female dragons didn’t fight in the wars, only the males. We were expected to stay behind and protect and rear our children. By the time that changed, I was considered ‘too old’ to join, so I was never drafted. I have always served my people in an advisory capacity.”
“I’m sure you’ve still seen and done a lot, even if you never fought in the war,” I said. “Did your parents ever tell you any stories about the early days, when dragons first arrived?”
Orga’s gaze grew distant, her nose wrinkled as she dredged up long-buried memories. “It is difficult to remember,” she finally said, “but I don’t believe my parents ever spoke of our arrival.”
“So you don’t know how you got to Ediria?” I asked, a little incredulous. “Or what happened to the fire fae?”
Orga shook her head. “No. None of us do. And, if I’m honest,” she said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “I’ve always suspected that the reason my parents never spoke of that fateful day is because they don’t remember it.”
“How is that possible?” I shucked another pea, my movements jerky with frustration, then cursed as the tiny green vegetables scattered all over the floor. Quye saved me from having to pick them up with a wave of her hand, conjuring a gentle breeze to lift the peas from the floor and deposit them into the basket.
“I’ve been spending the last week translating a journal I found in the ruins,” Quye said. “The writer was a fire fae named Pyros, and he was obsessed with a summoning spell he’d stolen from the witchlings and tried to modify.”
“Pyrios?” Orga said, frowning. “What an interesting name. Very similar to my father’s name, Pyrgos.”
“Really?” Quye raised her eyebrows. “Do you think there’s some connection?”
“I don’t see how, since they didn’t live at the same time. Besides, my father was a dragon of honor—he would never dabble in stolen magics. What was this fire fae hoping to accomplish with this spell, anyway?”
“I haven’t gotten to that part of the journal,” Quye admitted, “but I suspect he was trying to summon—"
“Adara?” a young dragon—Linos, I think his name was—approached the front porch, carrying a basket in his right hand and balancing an enormous fishing rod on his left shoulder. “Miss Ylena told me to come find you. She says you’re to help me with the fishing today.”
“Fishing?” Quye wrinkled her nose. “Sounds horrid.” She took the mostly empty basket of pea pods from me and placed it in her lap. “I think I’ll stay here with Orga and discuss the journal a bit more.”
