Season’s Dragons: Winter, page 1
Season’s Dragons: Winter
By Toby Yu
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2020 Toby Yu
ISBN 9781646566228
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Acknowledgements, because nobody writes a novel on their own:
Quinn J.A, for editing my half-dashed manuscript. Xeirla, for working on the initial cover concept. Xavier Sythe, for being with me all these years and for being my silver bullet. Simon Crowell, my faithful friend in the madness manuscript mediocrity.
And finally, I’d like to say thank you the following people for putting up with my shenanigans: CandyChateau, James, Neo Nexus, Zetacross, Moira K. You guys are all good company. I owe each of you a cup of coffee sometime in the future.
* * * *
Dedicated to Xeirla. We’ll make a place where we belong. One day, little bird.
* * * *
Season’s Dragons: Winter
By Toby Yu
Prologue: We Who Write History
Chapter 1: Those Silver Eyes
Chapter 2: Adventure!
Chapter 3: First Snow
Chapter 4: Three Against Many
Chapter 5: The Gods Are Watching
Chapter 6: A Mage’s Duty
Chapter 7: Aria
Chapter 8: House of the Trinity
Chapter 9: Through Jeweled Eyes
Chapter 10: Young Love
Chapter 11: Dragonheart
Chapter 12: Family Bonds
Chapter 13: A Home Worth Protecting
Chapter 14: Royal Dragons
Chapter 15: Into the Depths.
Chapter 16: Cestra’s Legacy.
Chapter 17: Hollow Duty
Chapter 18: The Pre-eminence Council
Chapter 20: A Dragon’s Parting Gift
Chapter 21: Last Breach
Epilogue
* * * *
Prologue: We Who Write History
Mere weeks ago, I believed that history had ended, that the only purpose left for my skill with a pen was to entertain myths of dragons, heroes, and villains. I was expected to do this in a world where the dragons had disappeared, the heroes had earned their long rest, and villainy was a lost concept, shattered underneath the royal dragons’ ivory talons.
Then Aria appeared in my life.
It was rare that I prescribed such importance to a singular individual, but in her case I believed it was warranted. She changed things, both at a fundamental and on a personal level.
For the first time in my life, I felt like there was something worth writing for. It was a purpose my pen would serve rather than being the outlet for the dreams of adults born into the wrong era.
Or perhaps that’s too melodramatic.
Unlike other high chroniclers, I decided against writing this book like an obtuse religious text. I do not believe that is the best way to say what needs to be said, and that is not where the strength of the character lies. Instead, this is my gift to you: a tale of dragons and heroes, just like the stories I used to write.
Except this one is real.
Like a good story, I won’t spoil things here, for we all know the conclusion to the story. It will be displayed for generations in front of the great palace, the first skeleton of a dragon amidst the ruined city blocks.
Should the right dragon win, then this will be a historical document, granting me the greatest honor a writer could muster. A place among the history books. A piece of writing that outlives its creator. Should the dragon we’ve placed bets on fail, then this book will be burned as heresy. I will be forced to write a tragedy and for the first time in a long time, I don’t wish it to be so.
This night ought to be one of storms and rain, and if I had control of the weather like I do with my novels, that’s how I’d write it. However, in the real world, weather doesn’t comply with dramatic tension. I ordered a solemn dusk, a somber calm before the storm. Instead I am met with warm, welcoming hues. A much less dramatic time period punctuated by snoring and the shrieking of birds that don’t fear being shot at for target practice. Cool thick fog surrounded the neighborhood, hugging the walls tightly and teasing the roof shingles, the kind that would freeze your lips and steal the moisture from your throats should you dare venture outside without a scarf.
So a foggy, sleepy morning right before the final confrontation. Good tension ruined by Mother Nature.
Hands wrapped around mine. My husband beckoned us to leave, to follow the urchins who command the sewers. From there we shall be granted relatively safe seats to the coming conflict, at the cost of being useless to the battle at large. My husband chose to not leave my side—the fool.
For years he had complained about the lack of purpose for his blade, and yet at the growing conflict, he decided that now was the time to be a gentleman and woo me by being my protector.
Just kidding. I gave him a peck on the cheek as I wrapped up my work. Each page must be wrapped and tubed in order to survive the damp journey underground, to preserve their quality. By the time we’re ready to leave, the city will be waking up, and our plan will spring to action.
“Aunt Mar-Mar! You aren’t going to write me talking like this, are you?”
“G-Gah no. Continue packing.” I spoke with a soft smile as my half-sister grinned, watching me write her sudden but welcome entrance into my own moment of reflection.
“Just checking! Because if you write me with so much thinking and droning, people might get the wrong idea that I am all serious and stuff. Like the heroes you write!” Her chipper expression drew the room to her, even as I put down my pen. I would write the rest later.
“All right then. For the record, why are you doing this?” I asked the question doubtless readers may have, but all she could give me was a nervous but easygoing laugh.
“Because it’s the right thing to do. Because I get to see her again.”
Sometimes I forget that my sister-in-law is a hero. Sometimes I forget that excited feeling of butterflies in my stomach is a happy one. With that single line, I remembered both.
Of course, that’s not quite how she said it, but you’ll have to grant me some artistic liberties, dear reader. My sister-in-law is not the kind of hero that sounds the part.
“Spoken like a true hero.” I gave her a thumbs up, all the while rewriting her introductory speech. She gave a stupid grin.
“Really? I thought I was supposed to say something really long and dumb, sis!”
Getting made fun of in my own introduction was really the only way this could have ended. If it wasn’t her, it was going to be my husband.
I’d normally say the Trinity blessed us, but when it’s dragons fighting each other, then it really is up to us to change the tide. So, I wish us luck. Most of all, I wish you luck, Charlotte.
I’m cheering for you, goofball. I hope your future readers are cheering for you too.
Myrtle “Mari” Innings
Grand Chronicler as appointed by the Pre-eminence Council
Chapter 1: Those Silver Eyes
“One room, please! With two beds…”
The voice in front of me was chirpy as I looked up.
“…if you have them!” Standing in front of me was an excited girl. She was dressed in the usual brown and dark green traveler’s garb, yet there was something more to her. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, hands behind her traveling skirt with her body leaning curiously towards me. Maybe it was her smile, soft and genuine. Maybe it was her white hair, flowing strands of silver that effortlessly brushed past her shoulders.
Even though her face was partially obscured behind the hood, I could tell she had a sheltered birth. Tailored leather gloves that looked brand new and no backpack—that was for the person behind her to carry.
I wanted to let out my usual dismissive sigh and milk her very full coin pouch, but her smile had a way of drawing you in. It didn’t help that she looked a few years too young to be traveling. It made me want to pinch her cheeks instead of taking her coin.
Maybe she was one of those nice nobles that I keep hearing about but never meet. I returned the smile before leaning over to see who was keeping her alive and fed. I tilted my head slightly to see a gruff man standing behind her, just far enough to feign ignorance. He carried himself like a predator, scanning the area for threats. He wore a red hunting cap to block the sun, and a drab winter jacket that looked like it had seen better days. He was also armed to the teeth. I spotted a
“Of course we have rooms with two beds. How many nights?” I asked, but it was a formality.
She probably could afford any number of nights. As she looked up at me, I gasped. I could see her eyes now, and they were beyond words. Her eyes were a dazzling silver, otherworldly and ethereal.
I almost felt my jaw drop, taken aback by how beautiful they were. They were jeweled diamonds compared to regular eyes and surrounded by tiny motes of light. Each eye was a container for a single shimmering star, and they were looking right up at me.
Her soothing voice returned me to reality. “Hello? Are you all right?”
I quickly tore myself from her gaze. Oh, that would be the absolute worst conversation starter. Hi, I think your eyes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Please let me stare into your eyeballs because I have no reference point for pretty things.
I felt my voice stuttering as I tried to get a grip. “Y-Yeah. It’ll be six gold a night unless you need something else.” She didn’t even seem to notice the accidental stutter, nor my flushed cheeks. It was better that way.
“Would we be able to get night service?”
“Nine gold a night.”
She reached into her coin pouch and placed nine gold coins in my hand. I could see the man behind her shaking his head in disappointment. I only gave a knowing smile, trying to placate him before returning to business. Three gold was murder for room service.
I reached behind me and grabbed key number seven and a copper bell, and placed them on the counter. We did overcharge for room service, but the only people who wanted room service were the fancy nobles. Just one of my mother’s many schemes.
“Rooms are up the stairs; yours is further down the hall to the left. Have a nice stay!” My smile came easy, but for her it was effortless.
She returned it with the tactical precision of a trained strategist, if one existed for happiness.
“Thank you!” Her joyous announcement brought my heart to a flutter as I did my best to ignore it. I’d have to try really hard to forget them. With that the two of them were off to their rooms.
I sighed as I slammed my head against the counter. She was going to be the most interesting thing to happen this entire month. Fun story too, though in three months they wouldn’t believe me. Some noble with silver eyes came over. Stayed at our place and made me blush by staring at me. They were just so pretty!
It was a bittersweet reminder that while being an innkeeper was exciting at times, most of it was dull and boring. My family owned the local inn; a mainstay of our little village. We had a restaurant downstairs for the fall season and rooms for the summer. Nobody went nor stayed in winter. Even we locked the place up and left.
Everything was worn down; we always had at least one cursed chair that never stopped creaking, and one floorboard that was booby-trapped. Luckily Dad was good at knowing what needed repairs and Mom was an impressive cook. That way it didn’t matter what was about to fall apart. Things always got fixed before they broke, and good food was always on the house.
At the moment, Mom and Dad were out grabbing groceries for later. Locals liked the restaurant, so we kept it open throughout the fall (even if it didn’t profit us much). Winter was coming fast, and soon the travelers would dry up. Hell, the travelers were already drying up. Rumor was that an early winter was coming, which would mean another year where we scraped by.
I stared into a small hand mirror and wondered. How should I introduce myself? With a simple ‘Hi, my name is Charlotte’ or with something more elegant? Does my fluffy dark-yellow ball of hair compare to hers? Should I wear a dress or my usual heavy fall wear? More importantly, why did I care so much?
I leaned against the table to glance deeper into the mirror, admiring my own bronzed physique. Definitely not a dress body, but maybe she’s got a thing for amber eyes?
Then I frowned. Nope, still looked like a monster. Stupid mirror was being stupid, but it wasn’t like there was anything else to do! I had at least three hours of bored waiting left.
There was a soft ringing of a bell from upstairs as I shot up in excitement. Yes! Stuff to do! I quickly placed a “Will be back” sign on the front counter and raced upstairs. To my surprise, I found the door to room number seven open. Guess they were still settling down?
I carefully tiptoed around the squeaky floorboards, hoping to not disturb anyone. The furniture consisted of a large wooden table we got for free from one of the carpenter’s kids, a smaller wooden table that we bought, a wardrobe that got stuck whenever it felt like it, and two beds. Apart from the furniture, there was still plenty of room. Oh, and a pair of decent chairs. “Decent” is the best kind of chair in this inn.
The girl was sitting on one of our decent chairs, overlooking a map while the man stood beside her, his arms crossed. He had his eyes closed; soft breaths as he waited for her to finish. Then the girl raised her head—gosh, her eyes looked even prettier without the hood—and a smile crept over her face. It made me feel like money, seeing her beam at my arrival.
“Question.” Her chirpy voice made everything she said sound like they were coming out of an excitable child.
“Do you know where we could find a local guide?”
I thought about what the rest of the day would look like. Waiting for my parents to get back. Being bored out of my mind. Staring all day into a mirror while polishing the wine glasses for the fifth time. Another half-assed conversation about how the winter chill was creeping in early this year. Being bored out of my mind.
“I can guide you two if you want. Inn’s pretty quiet right now,” I offered as the burly man opened his eyes.
The two of them exchanged looks for several tense seconds. When he finally agreed, she answered back with a delighted nod.
“Sure!”
* * * *
I locked up the inn and proceeded to give the two of them a tour of the town. The young noble introduced herself as Aria, and her bodyguard as Caen. Luckily, giving a guided tour meant that there were lots of opportunities to not stare longingly into Aria’s eyes and weird her out.
We held a number of festivals throughout the year, and we happened to stumble into one. Even though the Harvest Festival was the day before, most of the banners and colored hay were still lying there. While the scene was normal for me, I could see Aria’s white eyes shining with delight as she soaked in the sights. Her childlike wonder cheered me right up.
I took care to introduce each location and give it a little bit of context; everything from our haunted, abandoned apothecary to our grand town hall. Aria soaked up every little detail while Caen looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
“Sorry to interrupt, but what festival occurred yesterday?” she wondered out loud as I paused in my introduction of our local church. I don’t think she noticed, but she had attracted a small following of village boys.
They clamored to see this exotic stranger with her white hair and sparkling eyes. Also, she was short and pretty. Any short and pretty girl got doted on here, especially if they were from out of town.
“Well, we had the Harvest Festival yesterday, though this year we had to have it a bit earlier. Normally it would be a week or two later.”
For the first time that day, I saw Aria frown. Her eyes were focused on the church, almost analyzing it’s architecture and design. It didn’t last long, though, as her expression brightened again when she noticed the church was empty. I’ve never seen someone smiling at our abandoned church before.
“It’s a shame that we missed the festival. Next time I’ll be sure to stop by earlier!” She seemed excited at the prospect, right before she spotted the growing crowd of admirers.
She whispered something before turning away with a slight blush. Her guard was fast on the job, moving between her and the small crowd of boys. Each of them took a cautious step back, then another as Caen stared them down. The old man with four guns really did a number on their confidence.
“That over there looks like the blacksmith’s place. I’ve got to head there for a bit. You watch over Aria. Stay here.” Caen pointed at her as I nodded.
