Dragon Scales Read online

  The dragon dropped his arm as though he'd been burned, a frown curving his lips. He captured Amantea's hand before he could pull it back, lifting it to stare at the shadows of bruises on Amantea's wrist. He exhaled, a long, steady breath. "Fucking Depths, I forget how fragile you flits are."

  "I'm not a flit," Amantea snarled, yanking his hand out of the dragon's. "And I'm not fragile."

  "You're not a dragon," the dragon retorted. "A dragon wouldn't have bruised. Ergo, you're fragile."

  "Fuck you," Amantea said. He needed to come up with a better retort. He curled his bruised wrist close to his chest. How much more could go wrong today? Heavens help him, he wanted to be home, safe, with no threat of his home being destroyed hanging over his head. Not in the company of a dragon who was... what, going to eat him? Amantea didn't know.

  "Too young for me," the dragon said, giving Amantea an appraising look. Amantea scowled, both at the insinuation and the idea that he was young. He wasn't that young. The dragon threw up his hands, acting as though Amantea was being the unreasonable one. "I have a house. It's over there." He pointed toward the mountain they'd been heading for. "You will come with me, answer questions, and then leave and do whatever you want that's not trapping dragons."

  "You're going to let me go," Amantea said, not even trying to hide his disbelief.

  "Yes," the dragon hissed, the 's' stretching out several seconds. "I don't eat your kind, and I don't believe in senseless killing."

  Amantea hesitated. Would killing him be senseless, given he'd trapped the dragon in a pocket world and had planned to kill him?

  "Just go," the dragon said, gesturing impatiently. "I have something to fix your fragile skin, too."

  "I'm not fragile," Amantea retorted before he could stop himself. He lingered still, but he doubted the dragon would just let him go if he said no. They'd probably be back to the dragging method, and Amantea's wrist was already very sore.

  "Thin-skinned," the dragon muttered, watching him suspiciously as he walked toward the mountain. Amantea kept his mouth shut, not wanting to give the dragon any more reason to call him young.

  The walk was long, made worse by the thick, long grass they had to fight through. Amantea occasionally thought he could see the tracks of the dragon in his larger form, but mostly he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The walk took more effort than Amantea thought it should, but then, he was used to flying most everywhere.

  The dragon occasionally growled or muttered behind Amantea, but Amantea pointedly ignored him. It wasn't difficult, as he kept going back to thoughts of what he could do to raise the money next. He certainly wasn't going dragon hunting again; that had turned out abysmally, and Amantea doubted a second attempt would go any better. It might, in fact, turn out worse, if the next dragon proved to be more murderous.

  Not that he was all that assured that this dragon wasn't murderous and he wasn't walking himself right into a trap. Still, it was his best option for the moment. Trying to run would get him squashed. If they got to the dragon's home and the dragon tried anything, Amantea would throw himself into an unanchored portal and hope for the best.

  The terrain grew steeper as they drew closer to the mountain, but the dragon never slowed. He occasionally muttered or snarled half-audible words that made no sense. Amantea ignored him, figuring if the dragon had something to say to him, he'd say it, not mutter it.

  Amantea was starting to wonder where the dragon's home actually was when they neared a thick copse of trees and the dragon snagged his arm again. Gently, this time, like Amantea was fragile and his arm might snap at the slightest provocation.

  "Hold still," the dragon said, a rough grumble in his voice that sent shivers down Amantea's spine. Amantea opened his mouth, but the dragon touched a claw to the center of his forehead and started muttering. It took Amantea a few seconds to realize the dragon wasn't speaking in any language that he recognized. A warm, soft sensation washed over Amantea, and he shivered again, resisting the urge to back away from the dragon.

  "Come," the dragon said, shoving him gently toward the copse of trees—which were no longer trees. A stout building of gray stone stood where the trees had been. Behind it, a sheer cliff stretched up, pockmarked with small holes were a few birds were roosting. The house itself was dwarfed by the cliff, but it dwarfed Amantea, stretching upwards to seven or eight times his height.

  The tall grass reached almost up to the side of the house, but there were no flowers, no trees, nothing to make it a home instead of a building in the middle of nowhere. There were windows, but they were dressed plainly, with no dangling violets or fuchsia in window boxes in the sills. It looked lonely and sad, and Amantea itched to add color and life—except that wasn't why he was there.

  The dragon stepped around him when they neared the front of the house, opening the door and preceding Amantea inside. Amantea briefly debated making a break for it, but he went in, curious to see what the inside of a dragon's house looked like.

  It was boring. The entire house was one open room—probably so there was room for the dragon in his larger form. There was smaller furniture set up by the walls, but the center of the room was open. The walls were as gray and boring inside as they were outside, and the furniture was all plain, wooden bits, with no color and nothing to make the house feel alive.

  "Sit." The dragon pointed at a bench by the front door, set up in front of a table that held several books and papers.

  Amantea did as he was told, looking curiously at the books. The titles were written in strange characters he couldn't interpret, and the papers he picked up were written in the same. Dragon language, probably, though Amantea had never seen it before so he wasn't sure.

  "Put that down," the dragon snarled, stomping back across the room rapidly. He'd dressed, sort of, by wrapping a length of fabric around his waist and knotting it at the hip. The fabric was black, embroidered with silver swirls and loops, which contrasted vividly with his bright red scales.

  "What is it?" Amantea asked, setting the pages down slowly.

  "Nothing," the dragon said, staring at him suspiciously. "What's your name?"

  "What's your name?" Amantea countered. He crossed his arms, feeling defensive again. What did the dragon want from him? Would he really let Amantea go after he asked his questions?

  "Isaia." He glared at Amantea, as though that had been a painful admission. "What's your name?"

  "Amantea."

  "Amantea," Isaia repeated, and Amantea didn't like the way he said it, soft and with a bit of growl to his voice, like he anticipated making a snack of Amantea in the very near future. "Why did you try to trap me in a pocket world?"

  Amantea shrugged. What was he supposed to say? He doubted Isaia would care that Amantea's entire clan was in danger and catching a dragon was the only way Amantea could afford to save them.

  "Why me, then?" Isaia asked, crossing his arms over his masterfully bare chest. "There are dozens of dragons in the area—"

  "There are?" Amantea asked, then shut his mouth, his teeth clicking together. Maybe Isaia wasn't the red dragon he was supposed to have caught. Maybe he could still make this work, though he had no idea how, given Isaia had been easily able to break out of the pocket world Amantea had created.

  "And you're not leaving until I'm convinced you won't go after them," Isaia said. He flicked a hand toward the door, muttering another incomprehensible word. It slammed shut, and Amantea jumped.

  Amantea glanced around, looking for any other way out—but the windows were all shut tight, and the house didn't even have a fireplace, so no chimney for him to fly up. Not that he would. Chimneys were too dangerous with all the soot and smog, and there was always the chance of a fire being lit.

  Isaia muttered something that sounded completely uncomplimentary, threw up his hands, and stalked back across the room. Amantea watched him go, wondering what it was that Isaia actually wanted. Isaia dug through a trunk set against the far wall. He slammed the lid shut after p
ulling out a fat glass jar.

  To Amantea's surprise, he sat down immediately to Amantea's right on the bench. He unscrewed the jar, releasing a pungent, musky smell that Amantea didn't recognize. "Give me your arm."

  "What?" Amantea asked, startled. Isaia didn't wait for him, grabbing his arm—gently, again, like he might break Amantea—and slathered a fingerful of the goop in the jar over the finger-shaped bruises he'd left on Amantea's skin.

  "They'll be gone by morning," Isaia said. Amantea tugged his arm free, lifting it to stare at the goop. It was opaque, faintly shimmery, and it tingled where it touched his skin.

  "What is it?" Amantea asked, turning his arm to make the goop shimmer in the light from the window above them.

  "A mix of tuskweed and dragon's blood," Isaia said matter-of-factly. Amantea dropped his arm, shooting Isaia a horrified stare. Isaia rolled his eyes, screwing the lid back onto the jar. "Who sent you after me?"

  "I-I didn't want to do it," Amantea said, staring down at his arm. Where had Isaia gotten the dragon's blood? Did he cut himself for it? Or did he bleed other dragons?

  "Why did you?" Isaia asked. He leaned closer, smelling of hot grass, and Amantea didn't know how to say it. His tongue twisted into knots. Isaia sighed, sitting back. His voice was harsher when he spoke next, and Amantea hunched his shoulders. "Let me guess. You're being blackmailed, and the only way out of it is an obscene amount of money, say nearly the same amount you'd earn capturing a dragon and selling him for parts to the nearest witch?"

  "How did you know that?" Amantea demanded, his heart pounding rapidly. Was Isaia in on it? Amantea couldn't see how, but he hadn't known dragons could do magic, either, so it wasn't as though he was good at seeing the big picture.

  "Because you're not the first he's sent after me," Isaia said, scowling. He touched Amantea's chin, nudging his head up. Amantea reluctantly met his eyes and was surprised to see Isaia didn't look like he was about to eat him.

  "The witch?" Amantea asked, startled.

  "What was his name?" Isaia asked, dropping his hand.

  "Naldo," Amantea said, his head spinning. So he wasn't the first one to go after Isaia at the witch's behest? Why hadn't Naldo mentioned that? Isaia's lips compressed together, and he looked even less pleased at Amantea's answer.

  "As I thought. And what is he holding over your head?" Isaia asked. He sounded like he was one step from going to find Naldo to tear his head from his shoulders.

  "Nothing," Amantea said, shifting nervously. He didn't want to put his nest in more danger than it already was. He was relatively sure a dragon wouldn't care about a faerie nest, but keeping mum about the nest was ingrained in all faeries once they were old enough to understand words.

  "Oh? You just... decided to pick up dragon hunting?" Isaia asked, leaning in, a dangerous note to his voice. Amantea reached for his magic, ready to make the jump into an unanchored portal if he needed to.

  "No, I just... I-I needed the money," Amantea stammered, shifting away from Isaia on the bench. "It wasn't—I don't—"

  "What do you need the money for?" Isaia asked. He didn't stop Amantea from moving away, and Amantea hastily stood up, putting more distance between him and Isaia.

  Amantea shook his head. How did he explain the local human lordling was trying to demolish the forest where his nest had been established for years? They'd been hidden there for years, and their magic afforded them some protection, but faerie magic was built on portals and pocket worlds and misdirection. It wasn't offensive, and there was nothing they could do if the lordling tore down the forest around them.

  Isaia sighed and stood, approaching Amantea where he stood several steps away. He reached out and set his hands on Amantea's shoulders, a warm, heavy weight. "What do you need the money for?"

  "A ransom," Amantea said quietly, looking down. "I'm sorry."

  "Good," Isaia said, and Amantea's head shot up so quickly something twanged in his neck. Ignoring the sore muscle, he glared at Isaia, jerking away from his grip.

  "It is not good! My entire clan will be destroyed if we don't get him the money, and you think that's good." Amantea whirled on his heel, intent on leaving. Anger, hot and bright, flashed through him. How dare Isaia—

  Amantea yelped, nearly falling when Isaia grabbed him by the arm again. He whirled back toward Isaia, thumping his too-fine chest with a fist. "Let me go!"

  "Good that you're sorry," Isaia said, not letting Amantea go. He didn't seem to register that Amantea had thumped him, either, which was probably good for Amantea's health. "Not good that your nest is in danger. Calm down."

  "Fuck you," Amantea said, but he sagged, the anger leaving as quick as it had come. What was he going to do now? He couldn't catch a dragon to begin with, and he doubted catching a different dragon would work. It sounded like Naldo had picked Isaia on purpose, which meant he wouldn't accept a substitute.

  Maybe he could go throw the lordling into a pocket world. That might keep the rest of his nest—or kingdom or whatever humans called their territories—from destroying the forest. That was probably his best bet, since he had no way of raising the money. He could go home, see if they'd come up with anything... But they were probably still squabbling about what to do, and likely hadn't even realized he'd left.

  Isaia heaved a sigh, like Amantea was the most aggravating faerie he'd ever had to deal with. He shoved Amantea toward the bench again. "Sit."

  "No," Amantea said, crossing his arms. "Are you done with your questions? Can I go now?"

  "No, I'm not. Go sit," Isaia said, rolling his eyes. Amantea didn't move, but Isaia seemed to take it as a given that he would, turning and heading back over to the trunk he'd pulled the medicine from. Amantea watched him; what in the world was Isaia after now?

  His question was answered a moment later when Isaia removed a thin, stiff tube from the trunk. He slammed the lid shut again and started back across the room toward Amantea. It wasn't medicine, and it didn't look like it was magical, either, but anything could be in that tube.

  Isaia walked past Amantea, over to the table, and began stacking up his papers and books in an untidy heap. Amantea hesitated, but then slowly moved to join him, curious despite his conviction that he should be leaving. Once Isaia had a suitable space clear, he popped open the end of the tube and drew out a large, rolled up paper that turned out to be a large map.

  Amantea stared at it. The map was gorgeous. It was incredibly detailed, with delicate brushwork and thin lines. He'd only ever seen crude, pencil-drawn maps before. This was leagues above that, and no doubt far more expensive. Isaia laid books on each corner of the map, holding it in place.

  "We're here," Isaia said, pointing to the base of a mountain near the center of the map. The tiny lake was right nearby, though it was labeled in more of the dragon language, so Amantea had no idea what it was called. "Where is your nest?"

  Amantea shook his head. He wasn't going to share that, not ever. It was bad enough the humans had figured out where they were; he wasn't going to compound that by telling a dragon where the nest was.

  "I can't help you if I don't know which of the humans are threatening you," Isaia said, baring his teeth at Amantea. "Where?"

  "You want to help," Amantea said flatly, disbelieving that Isaia wanted to do anything of the sort. Maybe he was after revenge?

  Isaia heaved a sigh, sitting down on the bench. "You're not the first Naldo has dragged into our feud. I will help, to try to end the matter once and for all."

  Amantea shivered because Isaia sounded positively murderous. He probably was. "But he's not the lordling."

  "No, he's manipulating the lordling. And you." Isaia raised his eyebrows when Amantea bristled. "Or did you come up with the idea of catching a dragon by yourself?"

  Amantea shrugged. He hadn't, but he still resented the implication that he'd been manipulated. He wasn't that naive, was he? But then, he had immediately gone exactly where Naldo had said, to catch exactly the dragon Naldo wanted, and Naldo had been th
e first person to find him after he'd left his nest...

  "Where are you supposed to meet Naldo?" Isaia asked. "Do you know which lordling he's manipulating?"

  Amantea bit his lip, staring at the map. He'd come east, through the woods, but he'd come from the human settlement that was north of his nest, and the lordling's territory was to the west of that... Amantea hesitantly touched a small castle-shaped drawing on the map. "There, I think."

  Isaia frowned, staring at the map. "Farthingworth? You're sure?"

  Amantea nodded. That had been the name the bulbous little mongrel who'd delivered the ultimatum had said. "Yes, Farthingworthy," Amantea said. "That was the name. What does that mean?"

  "Not much," Isaia said. He stood again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Farthingworth is small potatoes. It would be easy for Naldo to manipulate him into threatening your nest. How did they find it?"

  "I don't know," Amantea said quietly. He refused to get his hopes up. Isaia would probably decide it was too much trouble to help him, or decide that Amantea deserved no help for doing just what Naldo had wanted him to.

  "And what were you supposed to do once you caught me?" Isaia asked. "Where are you meeting Naldo?"

  Amantea opened his mouth, then shut it. Could he bargain? Naldo for Isaia's help? Or would Isaia refuse? "Why do you want to help?"

  "Faerie nests are like hoards: they should be left alone," Isaia said. Amantea blinked, glanced around; there wasn't anything he'd consider hoard-worthy in the house, but he didn't know what Isaia considered worthy. "It's not here. This—" he gestured to the house, "—is temporary."

  "Oh," Amantea said softly. He had the distinct feeling he was missing a great deal about the situation he was immersed in. "Because of Naldo?"

  "Exactly," Isaia said. He smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant expression. "I can't go home until he's dealt with, and I'm going to help you because no one deserves to have their home threatened."