The Last Dragonfly: Dragonfly Destiny Series, #1

By E.G. Moore

A magical dragonfly. A science-focused society. Only one can bring the land and her people from the brink of death.

 

Sixteen-year-old Governor's daughter Etoiny longs to throw off her upper-class responsibilities and become the first female scientist of Taachat. When she accidentally wounds a thought-extinct dragonfly, she must race to find a bygone cure in order to present it to the Science Society for admission.

 

While she researches remedies for the dragonfly, she and the creature form a bond that can't be explained by science. The dragonfly also revives dying blooms all Taachat's citizens need to stay alive for the next three-year cycle. Her dead mother's missing journal could offer insight if only Etoiny could find it.

 

She soon realizes two powerful people are on the hunt for the dragonfly and its healing ability. Just as Etoiny finds a way to save her dragonfly, she discovers horrors her father has allowed in the underbelly of Taachat and it makes her question who she wants to be.

 

Etoiny must decide whether to claim her place as a renowned scientist by offering the creature for experimentation or sacrifice her dream, team up with her animal friend, and fulfill their magical destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.G. Moore
• Release date: Apr 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215848784

E.G. Moore

E.G. Moore is an award-winning poet and children's book author, as well as a freelance writer and editor. Her debut novel Rowdy Days of Dom Sanders was released in 2018. Several of her fiction and poetry pieces have been featured in anthologies.When she's not telling "mommy made stories" she can be found off-roading on her ATV, baking something scrumptious, or on a long, plot-refreshing hike. She lives with her husband, two daughters, a son, three dogs, two cats, and a coop of chickens in North Idaho. E.G. Moore tweets and follows hashtags on Twitter, hangs out in writer groups on Facebook and Goodreads, makes funny author videos on Tiktok, creates puzzle grids on Instagram, and blogs at her website www.egmooreauthor.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

After being cooped up with her nurse and tutor, Ms. LaMazzea, for two days, Etoiny refused to waste another one. Especially when a new spider species awaited procurement, and duties surrounding the Melasi Bloom Festival would overtake them soon.

She laid out a brick-red breakfast dress with black trimmings and an extra-long hem. It would hide her linen pants well. Her father said the fine garment suited her dark hair and eyes, but she wondered if it simply reminded him of her mother. She retrieved her mother’s handkerchief from a side table and swallowed away the lump in her throat. The lace garment displayed silver dragonflies, a strange combination of nature and finery. Like two parts of Etoiny’s life. Especially since dragonflies graced the Science Society’s extinct creature list.

She decided long ago to keep her mother’s handkerchief close as a reminder that she didn’t have to be like anyone else. Everyone, her father included, spoke of her mother as a woman with her own mind. The volumes of her diaries Etoiny possessed reflected that, too. Etoiny’s example, even long gone from her life. Sadness weighed on Etoiny’s chest, thinking of it now.

She tucked the fabric memento into her contraband pocket. She must remember to remove it before she swam in the little lake, if she chose to do so.

While she waited for her maid to come and help her dress, she stuffed her oldest pair of leather boots and some field items into her well-worn satchel. They included a notebook and simple quill, a thumb-sized bottle of ink, and her finest treasure, a brass set of oculars which telescoped for better focus. At age nine, she’d convinced her friend Morem’s father, scientist Mr. Hachwick, to trade them for a fine collection of moths she’d gathered and pinned herself. Even now, seven years later, her chest swelled with pride for that work. The oculars went into a felt case and then gently on top of everything else. A secret bundle of undyed linen secured them and would be used later. She tucked the closed bag beside her favorite wing-backed chair.

Good morning, miss, Mary said as she bustled into the room.

She loosened the back lacings and smoothed wrinkles from the red dress with deft palm strokes. Etoiny moved beside the maid, who helped her into it. Etoiny winced at the jerks tightening lacing around her ribs and breasts. Mary clucked in sympathy.

Can you please see that a carriage is ready in the drive... Etoiny sucked in, stood straighter, and breathed out the rest of her statement. ...within a quarter hour?

Mary lifted an eyebrow with a quirk of her mouth, no doubt aware of a scheme afoot, and nodded. Etoiny smiled in what she hoped portrayed innocence and turned stiffly to scoop up her stuffed satchel.

Morem waited just outside her door and shouldered her burden. Running away for the day, are we? He started with a chuckle, readjusting her satchel dramatically as though it weighed more than it did.

He’d recently taken her guard post upon earning his star, a military honor for an eighteen-year-old. Being competent in scouting and climbing due to science expeditions as a boy with his father made him useful to Taachat. His borrowed uniform hung oversized on his lean frame, bunching at the elbow, she noted.

He also had to offer something to make her laugh each day. They’d agreed upon this as children. Back when Morem’s father tutored her, and he came along. Morem’s designation as her guardian allowed the upkeep of the long-held promise.

Please, Morem, don’t assume too much. She took on a serious face for as long as she could hold it, and finally let a mischievous grin come through. Can we go to Lake Troon today? I’ve heard of a new species of spider that is webbing along its north shore. Justone spoke about its discovery when we luncheoned with his family.

Morem opened his mouth, forehead scrunched, probably preparing to deny her. She forged ahead. Ms. LaMazzea has agreed as long as you do. This will be the perfect thing for my public presentation to the Science Society.

He cocked an eyebrow and snapped his mouth shut. If Justone already discovered it, why would it be impressive if you caught one?

They are elusive, she insisted. "Really, someone only said they saw unusual webs. But if I can capture one, I’ll be a sensation."

Very well. There have been two more Mystique arrests this week, so we must be cautious outside of the city. I still don’t understand why you—

Etoiny bounced down the grand staircase and to the door, refusing to hear his repeated worry. The movement made the dress lacing tighten even more around her lungs, and she gasped, stumbling on the last step. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she tried to catch her own fall. A firm hand grabbed her forearm. Morem steadied her, accustomed to her clumsiness.

I’m fine, she said, pulling her arm free and nodding thanks. The heat of her embarrassment traveled to her neck and chest.

Morem cleared his throat, casting his gaze to the polished floor. Awkward silence surrounded them.

Oh, here. Morem pulled something from his coat pocket and held out a crisp copy of this week’s Taachat Science Reviewer.

She snatched it, relief relaxing her shoulders, and muttered thanks before moving out the grand doors and onto the veranda. They always handed off the pamphlet as quickly and quietly as possible to keep them both from trouble, but she treasured these gifts from him each week. More so today, as it released the unease in the foyer.

Stamped article titles shouted in blue ink. A strange sketch of a grandly billed bird graced it above a proclamation of a new avian species hidden in the shadow of the West end of the Wall. She examined the line sketch, angling the cover a bit to see the fine detail. Another title on crop rotation and supplementation took up the white space along one side. Each meal reminded her of the food shortage, as even Governor Hill received sparse offerings. This topic had filled the Reviewer pages for more than six years, but Morem’s father had taught her about famine long before that.

A smaller heading on the publication’s face made her heartbeat boom in her ears. She quickly flipped pages until she landed on the information. Another mineral recovered from the Sharpstone Mountains. They called it Cesium. Slides in the last decade had revealed deep vein deposits, and they had reported experiments on several new types of rock for several months.

Her head filled with daydreams of experimenting on the stones herself. Would they react to striking or organic compounds? Perhaps with salt water from the sea delta? Her fingers itched to write a letter to inquire for a sample. It was unlikely she’d get an answer, seeing as she was not a member of the Science Society, and a woman. Even her clout as the governor’s daughter hadn’t worked last time. Passion for natural phenomenon was not the only element considered for entry. But she planned to change that when she gained admittance this year. She just needed to find something spectacular to present. The thought of her father sitting among the most brilliant minds of all of Baatzel and denying her entrance flooded her mind. She swallowed away her fear and focused on navigating the veranda’s smooth stairs.

Their simple, open carriage pulled up in the drive, just as Etoiny had planned. A quick glance at Morem required her to hold back a giggle. His frown deepened and eyes sharpened at the realization she’d been so certain of her success, she’d already ordered the transport. Etoiny yanked her satchel open and stuffed the Reviewer deep inside, avoiding his gaze.

Ms. LaMazzea’s heavy steps sounded as she rounded the house, a wide-brimmed sun hat shading her lined face. Her slump and gray skin indicated she’d missed doses of Melasi tea in her lifetime. She carried a closed, delicate sun umbrella and a burgundy carpet bag which clashed with her traditional chartreuse dress. No doubt the bag bulged with sewing materials, accompanied by a sun-resistant skin concoction she’d insist Etoiny use.

Etoiny reached out a hand to Morem to help her up into the carriage, but her nurse snatched it instead and followed. Ms. LaMazzea never wanted Morem and Etoiny to touch, for good reason. Etoiny was above his station, even if she hated it. They had to play society with the nurse nearby. She appreciated those quiet moments each morning when they could just be comfortably in each other’s presence. Well, except for this morning.

Morem clamored into the carriage behind them. Ms. LaMazzea patted Etoiny’s knee in greeting and settled onto her cushion. Etoiny glanced at Morem, who avoided her eyes and gave quick directions to the driver. Still unhappy with her then. The carriage jolted forward.

Soon, the thin wheels rolled off the flat pavers. The landscape outside quivered and sashayed as they traveled. They left behind Governor Hill and its haughty mansions and scooted between the tight-fitted wood townhouses that lined the Market District.

The lower level of nearly every house had hoisted canvas on poles, setting up booths to sell wares. Yeasty smells from bread hugged Etoiny, and further down the lane, displayed gems dazzled in the morning sunlight. The carriage slowed time and again to allow sluggish pedestrians to cross the lane. Their tired expressions showed the need for the Melasi tea.

As she’d thought in the past, if the orchard would bloom more often than three years, the health of everyone would improve. Even the swarm of children playing games with rocks and figurines carved from kindling scrapes seemed sluggish. With the increasing famine and water issues, the arborists and scientists assigned to the orchard warned that the blooms would be even less this cycle. If they ever went three cycles, or nine years, without them, then they’d all expire. History books pointed to proof from people who refused the life-giving liquid in the past and died. Etoiny shuddered at the thought and wondered if she could somehow help.

She closed her eyes and took cleansing breaths. With each carriage movement, Etoiny felt her fear about the tea shortage slip temporarily away.

They turned north on Province Drive, heading toward Amity Square. This time of year, Etoiny expected the Sprin and Bloss people to be filling up their Melasi Festival homes on the outskirts of Taachat Proper. However, very few people wandered the streets here.

Up ahead, Etoiny picked out the yellow bricks of the Science Society and Archives building clung to the bottom of Governor Hill. She sat forward and strained to see if she recognized any of the men heading between the two-story columns to its grand metal doors. No luck. How she longed to enter it and take her place there. To be a part of the experiments and discussions and feel respected throughout Taachat.

They’d designed the Society building to look like the governor’s house, a testament to their greatest supporters. It once had a wooden roof, she’d read, but a chemistry experiment gone wrong decades before proved the necessity of clay. The dark brown, smooth walls of the Sablite office and prison next door contrasted with it and the scientist’s mistake hadn’t damaged it at all. Why the smartest men of the time hadn’t thought of clay in the first place, she couldn’t be sure.

Etoiny had never been inside the Sablite office, either, and planned to never do so. She shivered. No need to face the vicious team in charge of rounding up dangerous magic wielders. In her great-great-grandfather’s time, or so her father told her, the Mystiques rebelled and used their magic to destroy all of Taachat except Governor Hill. They used fire and plants that vined into structures, and unnatural wind and rain as vengeance on Taachatians for killing their kind out of fear. That very event poisoned the land and the great lake, cursing them all. Supposedly this started the famine and the toxic conditions of Delp Lake.

Some of the buildings in North Taachat had been salvaged and built upon, but the majority of the city stood on newer mortar and timber. And thankfully, the Melasi orchards had not been destroyed. For this reason, Etoiny often wondered if the life-preserving blooms had been the reason for the violence in the first place. Regardless, Mystiques since then continued to lash out periodically at the people or leadership, but the Sablites had gotten better and better at predicting and stopping them before they did any real damage. Still, Etoiny wouldn’t want to be caught alone in their presence.

Ms. LaMazzea cleared her throat. The coach picked up pace and Etoiny sat back, hands in lap, as the older woman wished. She couldn’t wait to get out in the trees and see the little lake where she felt most herself.

This spider she planned to find might not only be at Lake Troon. Perhaps it kept a home closer to her own. But where? She scrunched her face in concentration. The only place available to her with that much water was the Peace Fountain. And Delp Lake, where its plumbing originated. Perhaps if the spider loved water, it would still seek it out, no matter the fountain’s ghastly conditions.

Etoiny turned her head and called to the driver. Can we stop at the Peace Fountain? It will only take a moment.

Ms. LaMazzea frowned but nodded. Morem gestured agreement to the driver, who angled the horses East.

Soon they passed the squatty stone and thatch huts of the Sprin’s Dry District and lurched to a stop, a rock-throw from the watery landmark. The low wooden barricade erected decades ago still circled it. Etoiny gazed at the spotty glass and greening bronze Koette fish scales. The three giant fish statues stood frozen mid-dance around a stone replica of the sacred tree of the Sprin people. Little lifeless dragonflies, creatures still alive during the fountain’s golden age, hovered near one of the tree’s branches with stone Melasi blossoms, and two rock-hewn shep stood in the pool below gazing at her with solemn eyes.

Grimy, scum water dribbled over the figures, the same water of Delp Lake, the grand lake that would soon be walled off from the rest of the world due to its toxins. All the men with knowledge of plumbing couldn’t figure out how to stop this disgusting water without someone getting life-threateningly sick each time it touched them. Its foul smell caused Etoiny to gag. Thankfully, it didn’t feed the Melasi bloom orchard, so they still had enough tea to give all the citizens of Baatzel this cycle of the tri-annual ceremony.

The province’s efforts to stop the deadly water from flooding the region’s crop fields were equally as trying, but they’d managed to dam it in her grandfather’s time. Perhaps she should listen more and see if she could come up with a solution for their people here in the center of Taachat. Her father would say that wasn’t the work of a governor’s daughter.

One of her history books stated that at its creation, the Peace Fountain shot fresh water high in the air and people claimed figures sparkled from magic within. She disesteemed such texts. Perhaps from the daylight’s reflection. That spoke more sense than magic. The Mystiques might have destroyed it in the recent past, too, if they were connected to it. As it was, the change in Delp Lake had done the damage for them.

Etoiny stood up in her carriage and strained to view the rough bit that remained from a broken-off piece. A thin, long limb jutted there. No one spoke aloud about what used to dance with the Koette here. Once, she’d overheard a whispered conversation of a monster, and another time an unfinished sentence about the Lyrbach, the lake ghosts. She learned not to ask after trying once and being chastised for speaking of such things.

Each ancient tribe revered a symbol. The sacred tree of Sprin offered bark for paper and strong ropes. The Koette swam in freshwater pools and fountains throughout Taachat, beautiful beasts that would eventually be food for their owners. Herds of sheep spotted the River Hills with llamas and cattle, providing wool and milk for the land. All seven of the dragonfly species, the luck of the Lakes District, had already disappeared from the Provence. Whatever symbol had once also been on the Peace Fountain no longer offered the Province anything. Now older, she’d put aside the silly stories and curiosity, and accepted that it must not matter that much to not be remembered.

No webs strung or waving among the muck. The spider must not be making a home here. Probably not along Delp Lake beyond the Wall, either then. She had no idea how she might get there to check.

A movement to the right of their position made Etoiny peer to the far end of Amity Square. A girl with wide eyes and a lengthy sun-bleached braid over one very tan shoulder frowned at the fountain from the spotty shade blanketing the Bloss’s ceremony season building. For a long moment, they caught each other’s stare. Then the girl whirled into a side door beside the main entrance and slammed it shut.

Well! How unkind, Etoiny thought.

It looks like the Bloss have finally started their migration to us for the Melasi festival, Morem observed.

Etoiny plopped in a very unladylike way into her seat. With a sigh, she gestured to the carriage man to move on.

The road continued through Upper Taachat, moving through Triple Junction. The fine roan geldings pulling them trotted past the rounded roofs and wide windows of the Bloss buildings to the East and slipped quickly by the Inn Fringe, a row of houses for travelers with funny names like Sacred Oak and The Merry Shep. Hearty smells of stew disappeared as they climbed the River Hills towards Bretz. She glanced at the alleys snaking four or five buildings deep into shadows. She’d asked her father once what lay back there, and he’d quickly changed the subject. It must either be unimportant or unsavory. The buildings swished by. That part of Taachat always intrigued her, but she never had the freedom or solitary time to explore it further. They sped past and Etoiny sighed. The air heated the further along they traveled, and she took Morem’s offer of cool water and a shriveled citrus fruit.

Herds of livestock dotted the surrounding land. Little huts appeared here and there as if popped out of the knolls. Etoiny enjoyed the River Hills more than anywhere else in the Province her father allowed her to go. The distance from Governor Hill offered freedom and the green landscape put her mind at ease. Still, she couldn’t wait to study the spider species she’d heard about. A lime green body with black legs. With a light-colored body, it probably posed no danger of a poisonous bite. She sat up in anticipation. If she could only find some rare specimen to bring to the Science Society’s public presentation day, she’d be the first female to do so and become a professional scientist like Morem’s father. Specifically, a naturalist. A job out-of-doors, away from a desk, appealed to her. Something entirely opposite of a governess. Even if her father did not approve.

The huts became more and more frequent, and they passed laden oxen or carts pulled by llamas headed for Lower Taachat’s market, she presumed. Piled with grain, hay, burlap filled with unprocessed wool, and wide barrels, probably full of sweet mead. Of all the things she looked forward to when she came of age, drinking sweet mead was not one of them. The Dry District was named so because the Sprin people chose not to drink it or other fermented drinks, and she heartily agreed nothing that might dull the senses would ever cross her lips.

The carriage slowed as they passed the lake crossroads and entered the village of Bretz, the driver carefully passing pedestrians. Within minutes, they were beyond it and moving steadily North toward Troon Lake. When the waters shimmered ahead of them, their driver eased the horses left and continued along its West shore. The dust stopped clouding the horses and loamy comfort filled Etoiny’s nose. She took deep breaths and released them, settling back in her seat. After a time, the driver rounded a well-aged willow tree and pulled the carriage to a stop near a patch of reeds filled with singing bullfrogs. The sun sat high above them, indicating the ride’s waste of the morning. She had limited time before she’d be whisked back to Governor Hill. Best to start searching right away.

Morem handed her and Ms. LaMazzea out of the carriage, then disbanded with her satchel. After a nonsensical argument with the governess, their entire party turned away from Etoiny at her request. Ms. LaMazzea held up a lap blanket she had tucked under a carriage seat as a sort of dressing screen, a stream of unpleasant urgings muttering through it. Etoiny replaced her red dress with a tight-fitted linen shirt which matched her pants, swimming attire she acquired earlier in the season from a reluctant seamstress. Floundering in a tent of a swimming gown restricted research, and she couldn’t have that. She was thankful she’d thought to bring it, as hot as the day had already become.

Would you mind helping me look? she asked Morem as her nurse rubbed sun lotion on all her exposed skin. It would be an entire branch of sticky, thick web. If the spider is out here, we shall find it. Ms. LaMazzea?

Morem groaned but agreed. Ms. LaMazzea reluctantly nodded and eased into a folding chair the coachman had settled in the shade for her. But you must be careful and stay a respectable distance from one another. No wading in the shallows. The toxins first built up in the shallows of Delp Lake and we don’t know if whatever caused its poisons will make their way here.

Morem interjected. You can swim in the clearer water out past the dock when we return. If I can’t talk you out of it.

And you won’t. Etoiny took her satchel from him and removed her oculars. She placed the strap around her neck. Then she pulled out the extra pants and slung them on the carriage door for later. She slung the satchel over a shoulder and headed toward a cluster of young kapok bushes and long vined megnut trees further up the shore.

She ducked around boughs and palms, scanning tree trunks, clusters of leaves and spiked cones. Careful to never sink her feet into the water that saturated the long grass. Trickles of sweat in her corset and undergarments ticked away each free minute she had to find something to present to the Science Society and launch her career in a science field rather than politics. She hurried, hoping to cover more ground.

Morem faked assistance whenever she glanced at him or nudged him out of her way. He’d look high into this tree and that, impossibly far to notice anything of import. Probably scanning for danger, as he often did.

In the shade of an overgrown spikesop bush, Etoiny pushed a particularly large, spiky branch out of her path. The tension in the branch built as she swept it away from herself. Her grip slipped. The branch whipped back toward her. Her other hand blocked the projectile, and she hissed at the searing pain. Her palm had a long thorn stuck in it, and a deep scratch where it’d dug into her flesh. She plucked it free and rubbed the wound with her other thumb, staying as quiet as possible so as not to apprise Morem. It smarted, and a smidge of blood colored the lines of her hand, but she’d live. When she went swimming, she’d clean it out.

The sun arched its way toward the far western hills, bearing light into her eyes as she walked back toward the carriage. She’d decided Justone must have been lying about the spider. Which explained why he didn’t know the scientific name or any other details besides the arachnid’s colors. She edged to the water, careful not to step in it after Ms. LaMazzea cleared her throat purposefully. She picked up a few rocks and threw them as hard as she could letting her anger fly high and splash far out in the water. How dimwitted of her to believe him. She sighed and walked the final distance to the carriage, a grimace plastered to her face.

She wondered if another Lord’s son or daughter had put him up to it. The Dredges, as she snarkily nicknamed Taachat’s few younger nobility, the little leftover bits from some icky tea. The lot of them, arrogant and haughty and annoying. As a whole, another reason she’d rather be a scientist than governess, for they’d still be present during the entirety of her reign. And now she had them to thank for the cut on her hand.

Carefully replacing her oculars in the satchel and her satchel in the carriage, she fed a root vegetable to the horses at the carriage man’s encouragement. Then she grinned at Morem and swept her unwounded hand at the lake.

I’ll be swimming now.

"But I can’t guarantee