I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2) by Marc Secchia (famous ebook reader TXT) 📕

permanent staff of a mere two hundred and sixty servants – the Princess reflected out loud about her upbringing in comparison to what she had seen of life so far out in the rest of the kingdoms. So privileged. All the wealth, means and station she had always taken for granted; the effortless assumption that her every care and whim would be taken care of by servants.

“I do love wandering the world in disguise,” she murmured. “Plus, there’s this teensy-weensy matter of the chance to fly wherever we wish. That is a gift, Dragon. Truly, a gift.”

“Aye, one we Dragons don’t half take for granted,” he agreed.

“Looks like the servants are awake.”

The mansion resembled a freshly disturbed anthill.

“I can’t wait to go fishing,” he said. “I’ve a yen to toss something fresh and salty down my gullet. Have to be on the lookout for Sea Serpents, I suppose. Did Yarimda tell us that the beaches are right at the foot of the cliffs?”

“Aye, in these tiny inlets. Some are only accessible at low tide.”

Deep he breathed of the saltiness in the air. Wonderful! Was it pleasure at the fresh nip of that scent, or something deeper, perhaps a connection with the oceanic demesne? He could not imagine what it was like out there – underwater, or a thousand miles from land. The ocean was said to be a realm far, far vaster than all of Solixambria.

He also realised that this would be one of the hardest leave-takings of his life.

How fond he had grown of Yarimda.

Deliberately circling in a short ways over the stark white cliffs merely so that he could appreciate the glare of Taramis upon the spume-tossed waves, Dragon crooked his neck in surprise at Azania’s exclamation:

“Look, there’s a rider coming out of town. Fast.”

“My father,” Yardi called. “I’d know that blue cloak anywhere.”

Would he be as terrified the day he returned to the family lair, or the moment they faced the open ocean, knowing there could not be the slightest mistake? Would Aria be his and Azerim hers?

He said quietly, “Azania? When we face our fears, remind me to be gracious.”

“You always are, Dragon.” A tiny hand stroked his neck scales. “Far more so than me.”

She knew exactly where his thoughts dwelled.

Yarimda stirred in his paws. “Dragon? Do me a favour?”

“Aye?”

“Call her. Call my … Wavewhisperer.”

“I don’t know how.” She sighed. “I will try. Can you tell me –”

“Ocean always rises. It knows. Why is the wind?”

In the simplest words, she broke down his unbelief. Five hearts stirred within him; a strange tingling spread from the centre of his breast across his scales and out along his wings and tail. The tips sparked, as if he were charged with electricity once more. He could not have put a talon upon what he understood inside of him, only that her words must be true in some way that defied logic.

Why is the wind? Why are the waves?

Gazing out over the Lumis Ocean, he sent forth the searching of his soul.

A sound like a soft, fluting groan built within his chest. It was not the thrilling bugle of before, but something far more personal. A lament? Almost. Nay, an expression of yearning that seemed to form deep within his bones, and resonated out of him far, far beyond the limit of what he could have imagined a simple sound could convey.

≈Wavewhisperer,≈ he sang, and almost choked up in shock before he managed to continue, ≈Friend needs … come.≈

“What was that?” his Princess asked. “So powerful. Did you just … communicate?”

“That’s … my Dragon,” Yarimda whispered.

Ah! His grief song keened within him as Chalice led the way to their landing on an open area of green lawn that abutted the cliff’s edge. Only a perfect white fence separated a walker from disaster.

He touched down with the greatest care possible, soft-pawed so as not to jolt Yarimda, but still she groaned slightly.

In a broken whisper, she said, Dragon, I thank you for your selfless service. You have brought this soul home. Perhaps on the morrow, I will ask you to take me down to the shore, and we can call for her again. She will come, you will see. She will take me home to where my heart has always been.

To the ocean. Some part of her was already out there.

He bowed deeply. Yarimda, this Dragon soul has been honoured to travel with you.

Cradling her pallet most tenderly in his paw, he carried her up to the house, to where perfect ranks of servants clad in white awaited them. Hoofbeats thundered up the stone path that led to the house. That was the only sound in all the world, save the faraway, restless voice of the ocean at the bottom of the cliffs, and the haunting cry of a seabird.

When the servants recognised Yardi-mae, a ripple ran through them. A murmuring. Some bowed, others looked openly incensed.

When they saw whom he carried in his paw, numbers began to weep.

“Raise me up that I may see, Dragon.”

He tilted her bed so that she could gaze upon the faces of these she so clearly loved.

Yarimda whispered, “Oh, my dear ones, I should never have left you. I have been the cause of so much hurt. Will you ever forgive me?”

“Mother! Mother – and Yardi-mae!”

The rider leaped off his horse. An elegant, silver-haired man he was, perhaps in his seventies, but he was stained with sweat and breathless from his gallop up from the town.

“You came. Oh, you came!” he wept. “You swore you never would.”

“People make stupid oaths and foolish promises, Ivarn,” Yarimda said, holding out her arms. “Do I have a story for you –”

“I see that. You always loved to make an entrance, mother.”

“Oh, this Dragon?