First Draft Heroine

Lapis hated Isla’s favorite sweater.

The shapeless old thing bunched and pilled and sagged in shades of gray that did nothing for her complexion. Once upon a time, it had belonged to Hisoka Twineshaft. Lapis remembered the first time she’d worn the cast-off—several sizes too large and steeped in her mentor’s scent. He’d been shocked enough to corner her. At barely fourteen, she’d been much too young for the claim such a gift implied.

Blushing to the roots of dark blonde ringlets, Isla had confessed. Culled from his closet, consigned for destruction—she’d pilfered the sweater from a rag bag destined for Dimityblest demise, to be twisted into lamp wicks or pulped for paper, no doubt. But the way Isla treasured it, you’d have thought the thing was a courting gift, loomed from Twineshaft’s own fur. It was neither.

Lapis had advised getting rid of it. For the sake of Hisoka’s reputation.

She’d listened. Or so he’d thought. Years later, the sweater reappeared, and its further dilapidation showed just how often she’d wrapped herself up in wishful thinking. The most frustrating part was knowing that she wore the storm-cursed wreck of a garment in front of him because she trusted him with her secrets. Proof of a bond that had changed shape more than once, deepening from affection to alliance and collusion.

Even so, Lapis hated that sweater.

So when Isla strolled through the door to the Blue Parlor in bunched, pilled, and sagging gray, he went back to staring into the fire crackling upon the hearth. But he did wave in her general direction with the stack of papers he was meant to be reading.

“Is that our manuscript?” she asked sharply.

“Let’s call it a first draft. But yes, it has manuscript-worthy aspirations.”

Lowering a box of books onto an already-crowded table, Isla asked, “Should you be reading it here, where just anyone could walk in?”

He had to smile at that. “Really, my dear. You’ve laced these pages with so many sigils, I doubt anyone else would notice them in my hands, let alone catch a glimpse of what’s printed on them.”

“Yes, well. It’s important to be careful. There are a lot more people hanging about these days.”

Hanging about? Not the most generous choice of words. Not for a consummate diplomat like Isla. Lapis eyed her closely and casually asked, “What has you so fretful?”

“Oh, it’s nothing important.” Isla pushed a stray curl out of her face. “I took issue with a scene in one of the books we’re reviewing, and Kimi just … smiled.”

“What variety of smile?”

“The knowing sort.” Isla grumbled, “I may not be as experienced as she is, but I do know things.”

“May I read the scene in question?”

“I did just have it here.” She passed along her phone.

He read the passage twice before meeting her gaze.

“It’s impossible, isn’t it?” she demanded.

“With respect, my dear, I do think it could be accomplished. Especially since most Amaranthine can defy gravity.”

“You can’t.”

Always so blunt. He inclined his head. “I cannot.”

“Could you do it?”

“With cooperation? Yes, I think so.”

Isla’s frown turned into a pout. “Show me.”

Lapis missed a beat as the players in the scenario were recast in his imagination. Unwise. So unwise. Offering up her phone, he shook his head. “This isn’t a point that needs to be proved. Or disproved. It’s an enticing bit of fiction, nothing more.”

“We’ve done staging before!”

“From time to time. For our own books. Which we agreed would never dip into such hackneyed territory.”

“They say that the classics are classic for good reason.” Isla shot a guilty look over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “Do let’s try? I want to know why Kimi’s smile was so superior.”

“Bondmates and babies don’t equal superiority. And Kimiko is your friend, not a rival in matters of … connubial bliss.”

Isla wasn’t satisfied. Lapis could tell. They’d been connected for years now, and they did occasionally explore possibilities for scenes together. Usually during walks. Never in closets.

Lapis set aside papers and flung a hasty sigil at the door to improve their privacy. “We don’t write these sorts of scenes.”

She wavered for a moment. Facts were facts. But she countered, “Could we call it academic interest?”

The truth, then. “You’re curious.”

“Aren’t you?”

“That is entirely beside the point.” Lapis supposed he only had himself to blame for this muddle. “You’re trusting me, and that’s gratifying. But aren’t you forgetting something? I’m male.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m aware.”

Rather than quibble—because that assertion was dubious at best—he brought up another salient point. “Dalliance can lead to accidental bond-building. What if your little experiment left you with an unintended bondmate?”

“I’m warded.”

“Do you really think that would stop me?” Lapis was more than capable of dismantling every defense that veiled her soul. Except, perhaps, blindness.

She waved that aside. “Even if you could, you never would. It would be un-Amaranthine!”

“Such conviction is admirable where the nobility of my people is concerned, but we’re shockingly selfish, dragons. And you are terribly beautiful, my dear.”

Isla heard him, but she didn’t listen. Not really. “You don’t trust yourself? That’s absurd! Oh, do just give in like usual. I don’t have anyone else to go to with these sorts of questions.”

Questionshe could deal with. Dragons were good with words. He could weave them like sigils and shape them into barriers to hide behind.

But if he did this, if he allowed it … no, that was shading the truth. Phrasing things in a way that swept aside his part in such a scheme. He wouldn’t be allowing her advances. He’d be encouraging them. A willing participant in the breaking of his own heart. Because first love had taken Lapis entirely by surprise. Especially all the parts that pained him.

“I will give in,” he acknowledged. “But only if you oblige me as well.”

She shifted into a more neutral posture. “We couldn’t collaborate if you and I weren’t willing to compromise.”

He blandly countered, “There is compromise and then there are compromising positions.”

Isla relaxed into a smile. “What’s my part in the give-and-take?”

“About the manuscript. Let me rewrite the heroine.”

Wilting somewhat, Isla asked, “Again? You didn’t like her?”

“Unfair, my dear. How could I possibly dislike her? She is you.”

“But she’s nothing like the others.”

“A different name, a different face. New backstory, new goals. But her hopes are your hopes, and she approaches the world much as you do.”

Curiosity sparked in green eyes. “I’d like your perspective, please. How do you think I approach the world? That might help me, moving forward. Wait. Should I write this down?”

Lapis reached for her hand. “Our first-draft heroines are universally intelligent, aspirational, outspoken, and ambitious. But when it comes to love, they wait to be noticed.”

“Too passive?”

“I suspect you adhere to an underlying belief that patience will have its reward. And that perfection is achievable.” He posed it another way. “If you can just get it right, then you’ll get him, too.”

“Oh.” Isla looked away.

She’d set her heart on a confirmed bachelor, so she never noticed the entirely available, hopelessly smitten bachelor right in front of her. Lapis had to concede that it was a classic trope. Really, the only saving grace in his situation was that it would never develop into a love triangle. Tiresome things.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “Did you want an authentic armoire? Or will any old closet do?”

And just like that, her smile was back. “Authenticity is a must!”

“I believe there’s an armoire in the Rosewood Parlor. The children don’t venture much into this section, so it should be quiet enough.”

“Then let us repair to the parlor!”

Lapis banished sigils and pocketed stones, the better to ensure privacy for Isla’s fact-finding tour. They moved a few rooms along the hushed hallway, both contributing sigils to make sure they didn’t draw attention. All the while, Lapis paid close attention to Isla’s posture and scent.

Happy. She did like getting her way.

Curious. Probably in a general sense.

Relaxed. Because her interests lay elsewhere.

Once the room was secure, they faced the appointed armoire, and he offered a mild complaint. “I have no great fondness for cramped spaces.”

Isla said, “It’s such a popular trope.”

He swung open the double doors. “Behold, our first plausibility issue.”

“No such thing as an empty closet?”

“If we’re both going in, then most of that has to come out.”

“Right, then.” Isla pushed up over-long sweater sleeves and set to work. “I wonder why people think it’s romantic to be trapped together? I suppose it is a convenient catalyst, since it forces two people to face each other without distraction.”

“Closets are probably the kindest variation on the theme. No plane crashes. No cave-ins. No prison cells.” Lapis set aside the last of the boxes and surveyed the hanging garments. “It would simplify matters if these were gone, but the book mentioned clothes.”

Isla grimaced. “Out with the rain gear, keep the winter cloaks?”

“How very Narnia of us.”

She beamed. “At least it’ll be warm.”

“I was beginning to miss my fireside spot.”

“This promises to be snug.” She jauntily waved him forward. “After you, sir!”

Lapis lowered himself to the closet floor, swung his feet inside, and braced them against the opposite wall. Then Isla was pushing at cloaks and stepping between his legs and pulling shut the doors with a firm click. He gave a cautious push, and the latch held. Still, he murmured, “A barrier, I think. There may be some … jostling.”

“It would be a shame to damage such a lovely old piece.” Isla sank to her knees, shimmying her hips to push his legs further apart.

He traced an unnecessarily intricate sigil on the door’s interior. Mostly to distract himself.

Isla, being Isla, began unpacking the trope. “In some cultures, this is a children’s dare. Two people are sent into the closet where they’re meant to trade intimacies.”

“Mmm.”

“In the romance genre, two people are locked in together. Usually by accident. Often overnight. And in the books we review, one of those people is most certainly Amaranthine. Instincts come into play. Simmering passions surface. In some stories, common fears are addressed and allayed. Those books are usually the most helpful in correcting misinformation where the clans are concerned.” She paused to ask, “Ready to begin?”

“No. I’m sitting on my hair.”

“Here. Let me.”

“Isla,” he groaned, because he had to lift and lean forward, which thrust his face into the vicinity of her bosom.

“Put up with it,” she briskly countered. “Won’t take a moment.”

At least the sweater mashed against his nose was no longer redolent of Hisoka. The dreadful thing had become hers in every sense … and scent. He inhaled slowly, deeply, and somehow his hands found their way to her hips.

“You have so much hair,” she grumbled.

“I’m a dragon. It’s expected.”

“From what I’ve read, it’s more of a birthright. Beauty, I mean.”

If he’d been some silly romantic lead, he’d have asked Isla if she thought him beautiful. But Lapis wasn’t in the mood for drivel. He was a dragon. Beauty went without saying.

“That’s done it,” she muttered. “Can you move freely now?”

“That’s debatable.”

“And disprovable,” she said smugly. “Oh, drat. Should I be facing the other way?”

“I believe that maneuver is meant to occur mid-scene.”

After a pause, Isla asked, “Should we … skip ahead?”

“Feeling claustrophobic?”

“Not at all. In fact, this is interesting. Darkness means relying on other senses, which can make you aware of someone in new ways.”

She was speaking in generalities, unaware as ever. He blandly reminded, “While true for humans, I can see you just fine.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh! That’s unsettling in a way. Couldn’t we use that sometime?”

“Probably.”

“Though as a reaver, I’m not entirely blind. I can sense the remnant stones in your jewelry, and that makes it easy to orient myself. Which we could also use. Umm … Lapis, what’s that sigil for?”

“Which one?”

“The one on your midriff.”

“It anchors a shield array.” Isla may have been at the forefront of the diplomatic division, but she was an accomplished ward in her own right. “Fairly recent. Purportedly subtle.”

“Well, I’m practically sitting on it. Or I should be. Depending on where we start.” She frowned blindly in his direction. “Why haven’t we started?”

Lapis sighed. “How sturdy is that rod?”

Isla reached up and gave an experimental tug, then wrapped both hands around it and did a partial pull-up. Vintage cedar creaked ominously. “Not sturdy enough.”

“Then I’ll have to improvise. Give me as much space as you can. I need to ….” Deciding he wouldn’t mention the adjustments he needed to make to the drape of his clothing, Lapis simply braced his feet, flexed, and wriggled. Then offered a tentative, “Beg pardon.”

When his tail looped around her waist, Isla squeaked in obvious delight. “Partial shift? But that’s wonderful! How much control does this take?”

“I am exercising restraint.” And when she began stroking his scales, he grimly added, “That tickles, my dear.”

“Right. Sorry. So what did we need a tail for?”

He lifted her off her knees, and she squeaked again. “Prehensile? Oh, that’s an untapped trove of … oh, my! Well, yes, that’ll do.” She was nearly as tall as he, and it took a few moments to sort out their limbs. Barely containing her laughter, she asked, “Where should I put my hands?”

“Isn’t accidental fumbling a mainstay?”

She found his shoulders and braced herself. “Why do you wear such light fabrics, even in winter?”

“I’m a dragon,” he repeated. “It’s expected.”

“But you’re not in front of a camera here. You could wear something warmer.”

“Like you?” he inquired, plucking at the gray sweater. “This is hideous.”

“It’s cozy!”

“It itches you, and you know it.” Sliding his hands underneath, he let his fingers skate up the tight-fitting second shirt she wore as protection against rough fibers. “I’d offer to lend you something appropriately sumptuous, but that would be hypocritical.”

She muttered, “I know you don’t think I’m good enough for him.”

“I’ve never said that, Isla.”

“You’ve thought it.”

“You have no idea what I think.”

“Nonsense. We’ve been friends for ages. We’re confidantes.”

In point of fact, she was the one always spilling secrets. But he wasn’t planning to part with any of his, so he asked, “Ready?”

They maneuvered their way through the scene, puzzling out each transition with a seriousness that kept titillating thoughts at bay. Lapis proved that an Amaranthine partner was more than capable of feats that might otherwise have been impossible. Isla went limp and sulky in his grasp, and Lapis let their noses bump together. “You’re flushed. Get rid of the sweater.”

“Why are you so set against my wearing Sensei’s sweater?”

“It’s ugly, and at this range, it’s making me itch.”

To his surprise, she wrestled out of it, letting the thing drop.

He trilled a pleased note. “How shall I reward your sacrifice?”

Isla lifted her head, and their noses bumped again. He nuzzled toward her ear, and she angled toward him, as if encouraging secrets. But Lapis held his tongue and kissed her cheek, making sure the caress lingered long enough that it couldn’t be explained away. She stilled. He nudged along her jawline, and her heartbeat quickened.

Oh, this was unwise. So unwise.

“What are we doing?” she whispered.

“Skipping ahead …?”

Would she listen if he told her? Would she understand if he showed her?

Then came a light knock on the armoire door that banished their combined sigilcraft. “Isla? You’re in there, yes?”

They froze guiltily.

She cautiously answered, “Yes, Papka.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t dream of intruding but … well, the rock imps are resonating, and Rhomiko is quite certain that you’re somehow the source. It’s our first brush with success, and I didn’t realize you were … ahh … busy. I’m really very sorry to interrupt. You, too, Lord Mossberne.”

Isla tensed. “This isn’t …! You’re not interrupting.”

People didn’t get far in debates with Isla, but these weren’t Council chambers. Michael said, “I’ve interrupted something. The resonance fell away when I knocked.”

“We’re only …! This is for a book, Papka!”

Isla had been sixteen when their first book debuted, and Lapis had insisted that at least one of Isla’s parents be informed of the nature of their collaboration. He’d half-expected her to choose Ginkgo, since fostering gave her the loophole, but Isla had wanted Michael.

Sounding just a little too bland, Michael asked, “Shall I open the door, then?”

“No!”

Lapis’s ears were sharp enough to catch the man’s muttered, “We’ll be having a chat, Lapis.”

Which was fair. The fathers are strong, and all that.

“More importantly, Papka.” Isla’s curiosity now warred with her embarrassment. “The baby rock imps were responding? To which part? We’ve remnant stones, sigils … and there was a barrier. It’s rude to banish someone else’s barrier, Papka. But did you mean to say Rhomiko called me the source of the resonance? Or was it Lapis?”

“Ah. Both of you, actually.” Michael sounded genuinely puzzled. “I’m not sure how they know all the things they do. Probably a quirk of impish heritage that remains to be explored. But when the four chrysalises took up a new song, completely out of the blue, Rhomiko announced that the source was Chastity Landis.”