Saving the Dragon

By Sara R. Cleveland

Princess Penelope wants nothing more than to study at the Academy of Mages. Despite her natural talent, her father refuses to even entertain the idea. So when the opportunity arises to visit her mysterious wizard godfather, Penelope leaps at the chance. She never expects to find a different kind of magic in the arms of her godfather’s reclusive nephew, Stefan.

When an unexpected enemy uses Stefan’s secrets against them, Penelope’s magic and courage are put to the test. Can she rescue the man she loves? Or will she fall Saving the Dragon?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara R. Cleveland
• Release date: Jan 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005866600

Sara R. Cleveland

Sara R. Cleveland is an indie novelist and software engineer. She self-published her first novel, Saving the Dragon in 2015. When not writing or working, Sara is an avid reader and dabbler in fiber arts. She lives in Northeast Ohio with her husband and their spoiled cats.

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Also by

Sara R. Cleveland

Penelope’s Dragon

Saving the Dragon

Courting the Dragon

Finding the Dragon

(Forthcoming)

SARA R. CLEVELAND

© Copyright 2015, 2021 Sara Cleveland

All rights reserved.

This work may not be reproduced or transmitted, in part or whole, by any means without the expressed consent of the publisher. Exceptions are quotes for the purpose of critical review or other purposes allowed by copyright law.

For further information or to request permission, contact [e-mail]

This work is a work of fiction. All place, characters, and events are purely fictional creations of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Visit Sara online at www.sara-cleveland.com

Cover design by getcovers.com

For Mom. No more laundry baskets.

Acknowledgments

THERE IS A great number of people I need to thank. Without all of the support I received, this book would never have become a reality.

A big thank you is due to the folks at the Office of Lights and Letters. Without the National Novel Writing Month program, I likely never would have written this particular story. If not for the great encouragement and camaraderie of my fellow Wrimos, I might have given up before the finish line. Thank you all.

I cannot forget my editor, Kit. I stumbled upon her quite by accident, but I’m very thankful that I did. She made the editing process not only painless but downright enjoyable.

Thank you, Dove and Kiera, my good friends. You were my cheerleaders all through this process. You listened to my concerns, my gripes, and my triumphs with equal patience.

To English teachers who did so much to foster my love of the written word: I hope this gets an A. If it doesn’t, please don’t tell me.

Prologue

BUTTERFLIES OF LIGHT danced around the small girl’s head. Peals of childish laughter rang off the colored-glass dome that formed the temple’s ceiling. Behind the cantrip, a woman’s smiling face hovered, somehow blurred and distorted.

Say thank you to Uncle Stellan, Penelope, the woman’s voice said. She sounded strangely muffled, as though Penelope were listening from underwater. The little girl caught the vaguest impression of piercing silver eyes, but they were soon lost in the crowd as the ceremony began. Through it all, she was aware of her father’s scowling face looking down on them from a raised dais at the front of the temple.

Penelope woke from the dream slowly as the nursery seeped quietly back into her awareness. When she was fully awake, the princess blinked rapidly, bringing the lace canopy above her little bed into focus. No glittering butterflies danced around her head, and the sounds of the temple celebration were gone, replaced with an empty silence. Sitting up, Penelope scanned the room. The woman from her dream was gone, too. A nursemaid slept on a pallet by the hearth, her face cast in shadow by the fire’s dying embers.

Michael, Penelope called softly into the darkness. Her brother, who was six and knew so much more about the world than four-year-old Penelope, slept in a bed across the room. His still form didn’t so much as twitch. With a long-suffering sigh, Penelope slipped from under the goose down stuffed covers and padded across the room.

Michael, she said again, tugging on the sleeve of his silk pajamas. Michael, wake up.

Whaddya want, Penny? her brother slurred. He rolled towards her, blinking owlishly to force his sleepy eyes to focus. What’s wrong?

I had the dream again.

The one with the butterflies?

Uh-huh.

I told you, Penny, you’re just remembering your temple dedication.

And the woman with the butterflies was Mother?

Yes. But she didn’t make them. That was Wizard Stellan. Our godfather.

Will Wizard Stellan come and make more butterflies again?

I don’t know, Penny. Ask Father in the morning. Now go back to sleep. He rolled away from her, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape.

Michael?

What?

Can I sleep with you?

The boy sighed but scooted over to make room on the narrow bed. Penelope scurried under the covers. Michael rolled so that his back was to his sister. For several long moments all was quiet, and the prince’s eyelids began to droop.

Michael?

What?

Someday, I’m going to learn how to make magic butterflies. Then I’ll be able to see them whenever I want.

That’s nice, Penny, he said around a yawn. Go to sleep.

Do you think Wizard Stellan will teach me?

I don’t know, Penny. Michael’s voice had taken on an edge of aggravation. You’ll have to ask him.

I bet you he will.

Maybe. If he ever visits again.

Why wouldn’t he?

Heaving a sigh, Michael rolled over to face his little sister.

Penelope, we need to go to sleep.

Why wouldn’t he? Her voice rose sharply.

Shhh, the prince hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the nursemaid. The woman snorted and rolled over, presenting her back to them.

He hasn’t visited since then. That’s all. Now go to sleep before you wake Nurse.

Michael rolled back over. A few moments later, his breathing grew deep and even. Penelope lay on her back and stared up at the decorative plaster on the ceiling above their heads. Michael’s bed didn’t have a canopy like hers, and she could just barely make out the shapes of faeries and butterflies dancing around the edges of the room. Although the darkness muted the colors, she knew they were painted in all the gay shades of spring.

I will learn how to make pretty butterflies, the little princess promised the faeries. Even if Wizard Stellan never comes.

Chapter One

PENELOPE PULLED HER scarf up before peeking around the corner. The scarf served two purposes: it hid her very well-known face, and it kept her nose from freezing off. Thick, woolen scarves are an absolute must for royal persons attempting to do something outrageous in the dead of winter. It was only a pity that such things were not as practical in the summer months.

The coast was clear. With a final tug to make sure her hood hid her hair, Penelope stepped around the corner into the busy street. With her well-made but nondescript cloak and scarf, the princess quickly blended into the crowd of nobles and wealthy merchant class people that thronged Old Saleria’s Market District. Less affluent shoppers hustled through the snow while the wealthier shoppers’ drivers jockeyed to keep the distance from carriage door to shop entrance as short as possible. Even in the dead of winter, the Market District was a busy, bustling place.

Penelope passed all of the shops without sparing them a glance. She’d been to several of them on many occasions, always with great fuss and fanfare. For Saleria’s princess, there was no such thing as a quiet shopping trip, which was one of the reasons for today’s little excursion. No dressmakers, jewelry makers, hat makers, or the like today. Penelope walked right past them all, making not-quite a beeline for the eastern of the two gates that separated the older, upper portion of Saleria from the newer, poorer districts. What she was after could be found in the Market District, of course, with less risk to her person, but news of her purchases would get back to her father, and that was absolutely the last thing Penelope wanted.

The gates were monstrous creations of iron set in the thick stone wall between the halves of the city. Once, this wall represented the end of Saleria, with the gate being the only thing that separated the city from the wild. Now the gates mostly stood open during the day, closing only at night to keep the riffraff out of the wealthy neighborhoods. In the event of Saleria’s lower walls being breached, they could close the gates and protect the core of the city. It was a good, sound military strategy not to remove the gates, according to her father’s military advisors. And perhaps that was true, but to Penelope, they represented a deep and disturbing divide in her beloved city.

Once she passed under the gate, the change in the atmosphere was immediate and incredibly jarring. Walking into Lower Saleria from Upper was almost like walking into a completely different city. Unlike the gleaming, orderly shops of the Market District, the buildings in the Lower Market were a jumble. Many of them appeared to be cobbled together from whatever the owners had on hand. Others were heavy, two-story brick affairs that sat along a vague grid. These had been built during her grandfather’s reign in an attempt to bring some order and prosperity to the district. Further south, many of these were actually tenements her grandfather had designed to get the poor out of the terrible hovels they used to build against Upper Saleria’s walls. Most of those buildings had been taken over by landlords of ill repute. The poor were once again building hovels, this time outside Lower Saleria’s walls. While noble, her grandfather’s attempts to help the poor had backfired miserably.

Penelope shook the thoughts from her head, forcing herself to concentrate on where she was going. She carefully navigated her way down a set of stairs roughly chopped into the hillside. While most of the city’s incline was gentle enough to not warrant stairs in the streets, it was unavoidable in a few places. The area Saleria was built on sloped up to the spot where the palace was built before dropping away in a breathtaking cliff. Another sound military choice, apparently.

The shop Penelope was looking for was small, its sign worn to the point of being nearly illegible. While most signs in this district were merely pictures for the uneducated, this one had words carved into a board. Dingy, dirty windows faced the street but gave no view to the interior. Unperturbed, Penelope pushed the door open, causing a little bell above to tinkle.

If the outside of the shop was uninviting, the inside was the most hospitable place imaginable. A fire crackled merrily in the old potbellied iron stove, warming the entire small space. Immediately Penelope felt all the cold and damp melt away, leaving her warm and slightly flushed. Even her toes, frozen in her boots mere moments before, were toasty.

Magic and cinnamon spice filled the very air of the shop. Things filled everything else. Shelves and tables were crammed into the shop, leaving only very narrow aisles between them. Interspersed with these were comfy chairs for curling up and reading or sipping steaming mugs of tea. These chairs were faded, frayed, and patched, but that only seemed to add to their charm. Then there were the things on the shelves! Books of every kind, jars of powders, amulets, rings, scrolls, feathers, and all sorts of wonderful, interesting things. Being in the shop made Penelope giddy, her eyes bright and wide and curious as a small child in a toy shop.

To the right of the door, in the very front of the chaos, was a neat little counter. Behind it sat a very old, wizened man with wispy white hair. When the door opened, the old man looked up from a book he had lying open on the counter. Pulling his reading glasses down his nose a bit, he peered over them at Penelope.

Good to see you, Your Highness. It’s been a while.

And with that, he closed the book and stood, making his way around the counter. Pushing back her hood and pulling down her scarf, Penelope moved to meet him. She hugged him carefully, mindful of his frail body.

It’s good to see you, too. It’s been harder and harder to sneak away these days. I swear Father must have them watching me in my sleep.

The old shopkeeper frowned.

You shouldn’t be sneaking around, Your Highness. It’s not safe for a pretty young girl to be wandering around the Lower Markets by herself.

I’m fine, Master Goodleaf, I promise. Father doesn’t understand my desire to learn; he never has. He would be put out if he knew I was still studying magic. Dabbling, as he calls it.

Master Goodleaf sighed, running one bony hand through the faint wisps of white that still clung faithfully to his mottled old scalp.

I suppose there’s nothing for it, then. Would you like a cup of tea?

I’m afraid I can’t stay long. They’re bound to notice I’m gone. I just need a few things, and then I’ll sneak right back the way I came. She gave the old wizard what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Hopefully, if I reappear quick enough, there won’t be too many questions.

The old man nodded his understanding and waved vaguely at the shelves and tables, indicating that she was free to help herself. That was one of her favorite things about Master Goodleaf; he let her do things for herself. There was no bowing and scraping with him. Respect, yes. And affection. He was like a wonderful eccentric grandfather, and Penelope had grown to love him dearly. She could only pray her father never found out. While he was generally a good and fair man, Penelope harbored a secret fear that he would retaliate against Master Goodleaf if he found out the old man had been tutoring her in the arcane during her brief visits.

Moving as quickly as she could among the shelves, Penelope found what she needed among the chaos with surprising ease. It was almost as if as soon as she thought about an item, it drew her to itself. It was more magic of the shop, she suspected. She found herself standing before a chipped old vase filled with eagle feathers. Selecting two perfect feathers, Penelope smiled. Exactly right, as always.

Setting her intended purchase on the counter, Penelope fished around in her pocket for the few coins she had brought with her. Carrying a purse would have made her a target, especially in the Lower Markets, so she had settled for carrying just a few coins in a hidden pocket that she’d sewn discretely into her dress.

Ah, trying some air magic, Master Goodleaf said, picking up one of the feathers. He ran one crooked finger across the edge of it. A fine choice of a feather, I must say. He then took the other feather up as well, wrapping both together in a package of brown paper held together with just a bit of string. He slid the package across the counter to her as she slid a heavy gold coin his way.

Oh, Princess, I don’t have change for that. He always said this.

No change needed. She always said that, too, with a big smile on her face.

Master Goodleaf would shake his head, but he always kept the coin. Once Penelope could have sworn she saw moisture in his eyes. Not this time. This time he was studying her intently.

It’s you who keeps this shop going, you know.

What?

I would have closed up ages ago if it weren’t for you, Highness. You’re the only thing that keeps this place going.

But what about all your wonderful things? Your cures? What would people do without the shop?

"Most don’t even know I’m here. Traveling wizards never find me; most of what they need is available in the Market District. Most of my loyal local customers are dead and gone or stopped coming since I had to move down here.