13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Strong walls. That's the only answer. Strong walls and strength of arms. I alone see the failures of the others. Brenna has been losing herself one walk at a time. Casimir is nothing but cruelty, and Gethin… That one needs to be told he is not an actual dragon. There is a reason that our fathers gave themselves to Calyr…

~King Roderic, personal journals

The village of Aerwyn is nothing like what I'd expected. For once, Cole hasn't been annoyed when I asked him questions while we walked. This little village in the middle of nowhere is one of the few things that breaks that grumpy exterior other than fighting. Hidden many miles off the nearest road, there's nothing you could see from the sky that would suggest people lived here.

Massive oak trees grow all around, and the houses are built under them, hidden under their thick branches. Unlike Blackgrove, none of the houses are much more than cottages, but they're well hidden. No paint or bright colors. No paths or roads. There aren't even any fences to keep livestock or farms to grow crops. It's as primitive as I could imagine a village being.

Who would want to live like this? So secluded and with no niceties? Without livestock, there'd be no milk or consistent meat. Without farms, the winters would be brutal.

Plus, why would anyone care about this specific village, anyway? There are plenty of villages between here and Draenyth.

For being so secluded, it's in a good location. I can smell the water in the air that must come from a nearby lake. The massive oak trees provide plenty of shade, and I'm reminded of the forests around Blackgrove with how thick the tree coverage is. Nowhere else along the way has the coverage been this thick, and I suspect that at least some part of that comes from Fae magic.

And the breeze that comes off the nearby hills is a welcome respite from the summer heat. The scents of the forest are everywhere instead of the dirty smells of most villages. Instead of smelling like humans and livestock, the only scents are pine and oak trees. It smells like life and safety and peace to me.

Those are all thoughts I have before I've met anyone from Aerwyn. The first "person" I meet is a gnome. I've never met a gnome, but they're hard to mistake. He has a thick beard, short stature, and a rather unfriendly expression on his face as he walks out of the little under-the-oak-tree cottage. His eyes are focused on his feet as if he needs to be sure where he's placing them. He has a thick brown beard that hangs nearly to the ground, and he's wearing a brown and green stocking cap. Little tufts of matching brown hair stick out the side.

Cole steps toward him, silent as always, but this time, he's got a wide smile on his face. He says, "Morning, Duncan," without alerting the gnome to his presence, and the reaction is more than a little surprising.

The gnome jumps, leaping almost three feet in the air like a cat. His stocking cap falls off on his way back to the ground, but he catches himself rather than falling over. It's comical and so unexpected, but Cole doesn't seem surprised at all. "Master Cole," he says, in surprise and respect, and then he bends down to pick up the stocking cap, only to ball it in his hands. "Didn't see you there. Haven't seen you around in quite some time. Had thought you might have forgotten about us."

Cole's lip turns up. "That is the point of Aerwyn, isn't it? For everyone to forget you?"

Duncan giggles nervously, but he smiles, and it's an honest smile. I remind myself that the High Fae rule the other Fae. Regardless of who Cole really is, he's still a High Fae, and that means that people like Duncan will always show him respect. The smile, though, isn't a requirement.

"Are Darian and Lee still here?" Cole asks.

Duncan nods emphatically, most of his body moving along with his head. "They were up late last night. Darian caught a drakeling, and… it has been exciting."

I blink. A drakeling ? What in Lysara's name is a drakeling? I try not to act like I have no idea what that is, but it doesn't seem to matter because Duncan's eyes never leave Cole's. It's like when I've seen the young merchants talking to Uncle Trevor. He's far richer than anyone else in Blackgrove, so when he's there, he's the only one that matters.

Except that with Duncan, I don't think it has anything to do with money.

Cole sighs, and his shoulders slump. "A drakeling? Really? Is everyone still breathing?"

Duncan nods again. "Darian made sure we stayed far enough away. He was very responsible."

"Responsible and catching a drakeling are not two things that should be in the same sentence," Cole mutters. Then he gives Duncan a wide smile. "Thank you. It's good to see you again, but I'd better go find Darian and Lee, even if I think I'd prefer just going straight back to Draenyth now."

Another giggle slips from Duncan's lips. He pulls the stocking cap back on his head and goes back to what he was doing, namely walking down the path with his eyes focused on the ground.

"You're friends with gnomes?" I ask.

"Everyone in Aerwyn knows me, Wyrdling. I built this place for them. Well, Darian, Lee, and I did." He starts to say something else, but then he shrugs. "You'll see what I mean."

Cole built a village? For gnomes? That doesn't exactly seem like the grumpy Cole I've gotten to know.

He leads the way further into the village, and as we pass the secret houses, more people take notice that we're here, and one by one, they leave their homes, falling behind us as we walk. A little trail of Fae of countless types. Some I know. Others I don't. Centaurs, goblins, pixies, brownies, and even a dryad. Each one of them smiles as Cole glances at them, and he smiles back. Not at all like the broody High Fae that I've gotten so used to.

In fact, it almost seems like he's happy here, like he enjoys the people of Aerwyn. They all follow us, a parade of beings I've ever only heard of in storybooks. Cole doesn't introduce me to anyone or even talk to anyone other than Duncan. They don't approach him, but they all want to see him, to be near him.

Cole stops at the edge of a large clearing. It's just outside of the village and looks just as untouched as the rest of the village is. It's covered in yellowed grass, scorched from the summer sun, with wildflowers standing tall and enjoying that same heat. They sway in the soft breeze that carries the scent of the forest on it, a mesmerizing rhythm of hundreds of tiny flowers moving in sync. On the far side of it, there's one more hidden cottage.

In the center of the clearing lies the drakeling. I've never seen a drakeling, nor has anyone ever explained what they are, but I would bet every bit of money I've ever had that the miniature dragon huffing and puffing is what Duncan was talking about. Not much bigger than a large hound, it looks furious. Crystals lay on the ground in a circle around the dragon, and two High Fae stand just outside the circle looking… surprised by its anger.

They have a dragon. Not a very large lizard. Not any other number of things that a back country merchant would try to sell as a dragon. It flaps its wings and flames explode out of the scaled snout, but the flames stop abruptly at the edge of the circle of crystals. When the dragon gets only about eight feet in the air, it looks like it hits a brick wall. Its wings hit the magical barrier, and it tumbles to the ground.

"What have you done?" Cole mutters to no one as he shakes his head. "Don't go near that circle," he says to me.

"I may be a stupid Wyrdling, but I'm not that stupid," I respond. At that, Cole gives me a grin, but then he crosses the clearing and moves toward the two High Fae.

These two must be Darian and Lee. Twins who happen to be Cole's only friends. The only two people in the world that Cole has mentioned since I started traveling with him. Darian stands taller than Cole, though he's thinner, and his shoulders aren't as broad. There's no doubt that, of the two of them, Cole is the warrior. He's handsome, with a smile that I don't think Cole could ever muster, but there's a stark difference between handsome… and Cole.

In fact, he looks a little… unkempt? His russet brown hair isn't exactly maintained, with several tufts poking out at odd angles. He sees Cole and the smile on his face only gets wider, not seeming to worry about maintaining his control over himself like Cole has been so focused on.

His clothes are even less cared for. While his light green wool tunic looks expensive, it's heavily wrinkled. The sleeves are rolled up, and it's bunched up in places under his belt. Sloppy compared to Cole's almost innate ability to look presentable. Even after weeks on the road, he barely looks any different from the night I met him.

"A drakeling decided to eat some wards," he says as we approach him. "Thought you might want to keep it."

"Why would I want to keep a drakeling?" Cole replies, just as stiffly as he does with me. "How old is it?"

"Two years old," Darian responds, seriousness wiping away all the giddiness he'd had a moment ago. "No sign of the rest of its brood, and drakelings should still nest together at two. It's… odd."

Cole sighs again. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"

"Who can tell?" the female next to Darian says that I assume is Lee. She's actually a touch taller than Darian, with long chestnut hair that she's wearing in a tight braid. Seeing a female that's taller than Cole is bizarre. Her movements are erratic, as though she has so much energy she can't control herself.

She's wearing nearly identical clothing as her brother, yet hers is immaculate. I think her chaos lies outside her clothing because when she starts talking, her bright green eyes flit from me to Cole to Darian, like the energy inside her is just bubbling over with nowhere to go.

They're so different, yet the shape of their jaws and the look in their eyes are so similar. There's no doubt that they're siblings. Them being twins is hard to believe though.

"We followed the drakeling for two days, Cole. It slept by itself the entire time. No brood. No mother. I don't know how long drakelings have been this affected, but that's bad news."

Cole nods, a very concerned look on his face. "What could have killed its brood and mother? Especially the mother? They're basically impervious to everything that even a High Fae can do." He frowns in thought, and while everyone stares at each other, I glance over at the drakeling and see it staring back at me.

It had been furious when we'd walked into the clearing. Roaring and spitting fire and trying to escape, but now it's settled down. It's hard to look away from the creature. I've spent enough time with animals to know that the drakeling is different. There's intelligence in those beautiful shimmering eyes, and I can't help but take a step away from the group.

The drakeling's scales are a dull gray, but something inside me says that they should be a different color. Its small leathery wings are a mottled light gray that reminds me of birch bark, and when they move, I'd swear that I can hear them crinkling. In fact, the closer I get to the drakeling, the more I'd swear that it's covered in birch bark rather than scales. Soft whites and grays with streaks of brown. Tiny pieces of what can only be horn protrude from its face and brows, yet they look like tiny branches.

I take another step toward the creature. And another. And another. I stop listening to Cole and his friends, far more interested in what can only be described as a baby dragon. I'd been afraid of it when I'd first seen it, but now that I'm looking it in its eye, there's no fear.

This is not something I should be afraid of, but it also shouldn't be caged.

This is a dragon . Maybe it's smaller than the ones that are written into history books. Maybe it's never going to be any bigger, and it won't be able to ravage villages, but it's still a dragon. It's still a creature made of magic.

"Stop!" Cole yells, and I barely hear him. My feet are moving, and there's no stopping them. I need to see the drakeling. I need to be near it.

When I'm only a few feet away from her, I stop. I drop to my knees, and the drakeling and I stare at each other, our gazes locked. She's gorgeous, but she's so young. All alone in a world that is actively trying to keep her from being alive.

The world around us seems to disappear as I stare into her eye. I don't hear the wind blowing down from the top of the hills or smell the pine boughs. I can't feel the grass under my knees or the wildflowers brushing against my arms.

Instead, I'm watching a mother drakeling stare at a nest full of eggs. Seven shimmering scaled eggs that ripple with all the colors of the rainbow not much larger than a goose's egg. Colored just like the drakeling's eyes. She's as large as a wolf, but she feels old. So much older than I can even imagine. Hundreds of years have passed in her lifetime, and this is the first clutch of eggs she's ever laid.

She can feel every one of them dying. Her scales are dusty, barely glowing like they should. There's no power in the world for her to feed on anymore. And those eggs… unlike the she-drake, they won't survive starving as she has.

Every one of them will die. Hours from now, they'll be gone. Their spirits will return to the void between realms. The she-drake is stubborn, though. She nuzzles each of them, taking in their scents through the hard shells. Getting to know each of them, even if they'll be gone in a few hours.

She looks around at the hill she's roosted on for so many hundreds of years. The same views over the river below. This has been her home for as long as she can remember. Tonight will be the last night she'll see it.

The she-drake isn't strong enough to give all her clutch the chance to experience the world like she has. She's too weak and hungry. But she can save one of them.

She's lived for a very long time. She's not afraid to go into the void or to see the world that comes after this. All she hopes is that her hatchling will remember her enough—that her memories will flow with her power. She can't imagine how hard it will be for her to survive without a brood or mother to depend on.

I can't turn away from the scene. The knowledge of what the mother drakeling is feeling and thinking flows into me as if I'd known it forever. She's not sad. There's no anger or even annoyance. She just knows she has to make a choice. She can save one of her babies, but she won't survive it.

The choice of which baby to save is terrible. The choice of surviving or giving one of them a chance at life is worse.

She's not angry at all. Stubborn, maybe, but not angry. I'd be furious, but that's when I feel the emotions that are welling up in her. Love. Love in a way that I can't even imagine.

I watch as she lays her body over those eggs, not because they need her warmth, but because she wants to touch them. She wants to be near them. She doesn't have long if she wants to save the one.

A few more minutes. She closes her eyes and begins humming a soft sound that doesn't seem natural coming from a miniature dragon. It's a mix between a growl and a purr. No one would ever confuse it for anything other than a hum, though.

Through that vibration, she feels her power flow to the one egg she's chosen. The strongest one. The female that will live on when she is gone.

I watch the mother drake spend her last breath to hum this quiet song to the drakeling. As her song flows, her scales dull even more, every bit of the shimmer fading. And then… and then the song ends.