A Heart Full of Dragons

Note: this is the conclusion of the story begun in A Roomful of Dragons and continued in A Castle Full of Dragons.

And now...

The next day, the king visits the courtyard.

He enters quietly, but Asha notices and gives him a deep curtsy. He acknowledges her with a nod, but says nothing as he watches the interspecies discussion.

“You should know,” he says finally to her, “that since this began, each of the people in this room has approached me privately to thank me for the opportunity to be a part of it. You should also know that word spread quickly when you brought four tame dragons--”

“They’re not tame, your majesty,” she corrects him. “Any more than you or I are tame. They are intelligent and respectful.”

“Be that as it may,” he continues, “I have been approached by mages who wish to also learn from the dragons, linguists who want to learn their language, and scientists who wish to engage in mutual study. And this is all in four days. You’ve laid an interesting dilemma on my doorstep.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“No, I don’t think you fully understand. You see, how do we know which dragons are intelligent? And how can I order the capture or death of dragons, when they may be intelligent beings? And yet, I have a duty to my people to keep them, and their families, and their livestock and belongings safe. Do you see?”

Firestorm has edged closer while they are talking. The king now turns to him. “Does your kind have a king, a ruler, who could establish a diplomatic relationship?”

Firestorm seems to understand and hisses his crackling reply. Bail approaches and, understanding court protocol from his long discussions with Asha, dips his head in a bow to the king.

“No, your majesty,” he replies for his firedrake compatriot. “We have no use for kings, as we are each responsible for our own selves.”

“And how do you account for those who steal livestock, or burn villages?”

Firestorm crackles harshly.

“With all due respect, your majesty,” Bail answers, and with that respectful address Asha knows he is not translating directly, “are you the king of wolves? Or the king of mice? There is a great variety among those you name ‘dragon,’ and yet I am as different from a--” he hesitates, considers words “--a wingling, as you are from a wolf, or a cow. Even we two,” he gestures to Firestorm, “were we of opposite genders, would be unable to mate or produce offspring. We are not the same species. And yet, you expect us to speak for all draconis.”

He should have expected this, thinks Asha, yet the king is nonplussed. “You speak for yourselves, then. And possibly for those among your family, your kin, your clan if such things exist. Would you two be willing to open a dialogue, to allow interspecies communication and mutual learning?”

Firestorm is silent. After a pause, Bail nods. “I would, your majesty. And I cannot speak for the mages, but I believe they would as well.”

“Good.” He gestures into the courtyard, taking in the entire scene. “Let us solve the problem before us, then, before we consider others. But when this is over, I would like to speak further. You--both of you, all of you--have given me much to consider.”

And with that, the ruler of humans takes his leave.

~~~~~

Asha can tell from the look on Bail’s face that the news is not good.

He goes to confer with Firestorm in low, crackling tones, while one of Jon’s colleagues comes to talk to her.

“Lady Asha,” the sorcerer says, “I have good news and bad news. The good news is, we have traced the flow of incantation, and we believe there is a way to reverse the spell.”

“That is good,” she replies cautiously. “And?”

“This is where it gets more complicated.”

“I am a scholar who is learned in dozens of subjects. Do you think my husband and I never discussed the theory of his work? I may be unable to work magic, but trust I can understand your discussion of it.”

He swallows. “Yes, my lady. You will be familiar with anima, the lifeforce, the energy that powers many of your husband’s spells?”

“Yes.”

“Spells powered by anima normally take a great deal of energy to work. Jon’s spells were deviously clever, especially the stasis spell. It conserved anima, taking only a small amount of energy so that the user was not harmed, even after repeated casting. When Inferno cast her own spell to twist his, using draconic means, it disrupted the energy flow and bound their lifeforces together, split between the both of them.”

“Yes. We had all assumed something like that had happened.”

"Yes. Well. The twisting of the spell destroyed the conservation of anima that normally occurs. When you awakened Inferno the first time, a good deal of anima was expended; and since Jon was the original spellcaster, it drained their combined lifeforce. The energy that remains is still in stasis, combined between both of their static forms.”

She can work out the problem; she knows what he is trying to avoid saying. “Both of their lifeforces are low.”

“That is one way to put it, my lady. We can undo the spell, but there is only enough anima to awaken one of them.”

“So one awakens, one remains stone?”

“No, my lady.” He swallows and will not meet her eyes. “One awakens. One dies.”

She had known the news would not be good, but hearing it still renders her light-headed. She looks over at Firestorm, expecting to see the understanding they had shared earlier.

She does not expect the undisguised terror in his eyes as he looks at her.

She understands, then, what she didn’t before. She has a choice to make. And Firestorm has no reason to believe she will choose his mate over her own. Why would she? With a word, she can be rid of Inferno, whose spell has caused such anguish. And with her next word, she can render Firestorm into stone.

And in doing so, she would regain her mate. Why would she not?

True, there are two dragon mages who would undoubtedly object. But they are in the king’s castle, with guards and sorcerers surrounding them. The dragon mages could be dealt with.

But…

“There must be a way to gain anima,” she says. “Take some from me, enough to bring them both back. I may fall ill or be injured, but it will be worth it.”

“No, my lady. I wish we could. Any of us here would gladly offer as well. But the spell is already a complicated interspecies knot of human and draconic energies. To add another lifeforce to the equation is not possible.”

There it is. One lives, one dies.

She has only to say the words, and she will have Jon again. In her arms. Laughing amidst the blossoms, singing in the heather, loving in the furs.

The choice should be a simple one. Why should she trade the life of the kingdom’s greatest sorcerer for one dragon?

And yet, when she looks at Inferno, she sees not only a dragon. She sees a creature, like her, who has lost its mate. She sees the air of excitement and discovery present in this courtyard, as a seed is planted, as understandings begin, as peace grows.

She cannot destroy that.

She wants so desperately to hold him again. She can feel his arms, taste his kisses. And she feels the tears that run down her cheek.

She does not need to ask what choice he would make.

I really don't want her to die.

She tries to keep her voice steady. “You have a counterspell?”

“Yes, my lady, but it will take some time to prepare.”

“How long?”

“We can have it ready by tomorrow.”

“And will the spell be prepared differently depending on who is awakened?”

His brow furrows. He clearly did not expect this to even be in doubt. “No, my lady. Different words will be spoken, that is all. And...you are the one who was vested with the power to operate Jon’s stasis spell. You must speak the words.”

She walks over to where her husband lies, eternally unchanging on his bier, and lays one hand against his cheek for a long moment. Then she glances over at Firestorm, who watches her intently, barely contained, as Bail speaks softly to him.

She suddenly cannot stand the sight of him, of any of them.

“Very well,” she says, turning to leave. “Prepare what you must. I will pass the night in my chamber, and I do not wish to be disturbed.”

~~~~~

The king comes to her later, to gauge her decision, and she allows that disturbance.

He tells her, in no uncertain terms, that he expects to have his high sorcerer returned to him on the morrow. He reiterates her thought from earlier, that trading Jon’s life for that of a dragon would make no sense. She listens politely, makes no promises, and curtseys with respect before he leaves.

And then she bolts the door and cries.

Two words. With one word, life will be what it was. She will have Jon, and they will live in glorious love, and humans will hunt dragons. This is the way she was raised; this is how she has lived for decades now; this is what she knows. Nothing will change, with one word.

With the other, everything will change. Intelligent species will stumble into a new understanding, a new peace, and the world they knew will be upended.

Two words. And she alone must choose.

Finally, exhausted, she falls asleep with the tears drying on her cheek.

~~~~~

The messenger fetches her the next morning when the sorcerers are ready for her.

She enters a courtyard of somber faces, yet a hidden excitement permeates the atmosphere. The humans and dragons here, together, solved a problem and, together, they will bring this spell to its fruition.

She looks at all of them before stepping up to Firestorm and speaking with him quietly, privately.

“I want you to promise me,” she says, slowly so he can understand, “that whatever happens today, you will never attack any of the humans here.”

The smoke pours from his nostrils and she can feel his simmering rage. He thinks he knows what these words portend.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” she continues quickly. “We agreed on that, and I stand by it. But these humans are innocent.”

“Not innocent,” he grumbles darkly. “Magic. Stone.”

“But Jon is the only one who could work that spell. And I promise in turn that I will never call on that spell again, that I will never put another dragon into stasis.”

The flames lick around his muzzle.

“I feel that, against the odds, we two have come to understand each other somewhat," she continues. "We both know what it is to lose a mate. And because of those mates, our fates are tied together. Humans scare easily, even these humans, in spite of the progress made here. Come what may, I would not see you harmed.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Please, promise me.”

He turns his head but holds his jet, as he trembles with the emotions she understands. Finally, he meets her eyes. She reaches out, touches the hot skin on his neck. His skin twitches, but he does not flinch away.

“I promise.”

She nods, then steps between the stone platforms with their inert inhabitants.

She cradles her husband's face in her hands and lowers her head, pressing her forehead against his. She wants so badly to kiss him, but she will not. These cold lips are not his; they are not the warm, living, loving lips she remembers.

At last she rises and takes her place, one hand on each of them, the conduit through which the spell will flow. The mages and sorcerers take their places, and she feels the magic begin to hum around her. Green light rises between them, crackling as the air becomes bright.

She feels the rising tension. Green lightning flows between the three of them and she knows it is time.

The sound of bees. The smell of blossoms. The softness of furs.

The taste of his lips.

Good-bye.

She speaks the words to free Inferno.

~~~~~

She does not look up as the shadow passes over her. She knows this shape, and the rustle of wings as he touches down behind her, well.

“I know what you’re going to ask,” she says, without turning around, “and the answer is still no.”

Bail steps up behind her and snakes his long neck down to rest his head on her shoulder. “But I do so despise hunting,” he protests. “Life in stone would be so much easier.”

It is a long running banter between them. “I swore an oath twenty years ago not to use that spell ever again,” she says, more seriously. “Besides, when was the last time you actually had to hunt, Councilor?”

“The king does keep a good herd,” he admits.

She smiles and rests her head against his cheek. She does not need to look in a mirror to know how the years have touched her. She can feel it in the stiffness of her joints in the morning, the increasing difficulty of climbing this hill. Yet time has left no mark on the dragon beside her. She has nearly asked, several times, how long his species lives, but has never completed the question. She’s not sure she really wants to know.

He is the one dragon she may have broken her oath for, once. But now, as the years pass, she is terrified of what would happen if she speaks the stasis spell and waits too long to reverse it. There may be no one to awaken him, should her age claim her.

But she does not want to think on that now. Instead they are both silent, lost in their respective thoughts as they contemplate the stone in front of them.

The king insisted on burying his high sorcerer in the royal cemetery, in a place of honor on this hill. She has come here to her spouse’s grave nearly every evening for the past twenty years. Bail joins her when he can, but his duties are many and varied, and they do not see each other as often as either would wish.

She eventually breaks the comfortable silence. “Did you ever think, when we first met, that one day dragons would sit on the King’s Council?”

“Never, even in my wildest dreams.” His head still rests on her shoulder, and his breath tickles her hair.

“Ironic, in a way, that this began with his hunting dragons. And the changes started with his death. I think he would be pleased with this legacy.”

“It may be his legacy, but it was your sacrifice. And even if it has made the kingdom stronger, I do not discount your pain.”

He reaches forward and hands her a marigold.

She stoops onto one knee to place it on the headstone and rests there for a moment, fingers lingering on the granite.

Firestorm had understood her words, at last, when his mate burst into life. He took her quickly away before she was even fully conscious, before anyone could be harmed.

Asha has never seen either of them again. She understands this, and is partly disappointed, but mostly relieved. She does not know what she would say to them. Some things are too big, some connections too complex for words.

When she struggles to rise, Bail helps her surreptitiously in the guise of a friendly nudge. She appreciates this, as well as the fact that he would never comment on her aging, weakening body.

“Come,” she says, “join me for a drink and you can catch me up on the latest goings-on in the court.”

“As well as Mercy’s latest clutch,” he agrees. “Three of them, and they are beautiful, the image of their mother.”

Her memories of Jon have coalesced, all these years later, into pearls that she keeps close to her heart, where she can admire their beauty and poignancy.

And she is able to smile now as they turn to go, descending the hill as the sun sinks to the horizon.