Ice and Smoke

By Elizabeth Belyeu

Ariana never expected to care about the dragon that kidnapped her, but after five years together, they've grown to be close friends. He's truly as much a prisoner as she is, commanded by the mysterious "master" who orchestrated her abduction.

But when her dragon is abruptly torn away from her, Ariana is faced with a new guardian, the irksome and ill-tempered Braith. Is this new dragon a captor or a friend ... or something else? How far should she go to protect him from her own would-be rescuers? And when his master is finally revealed, will it mean freedom at last, or only greater danger?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781980782605

Elizabeth Belyeu

Elizabeth Belyeu lives in Texas, where she supports herself, her dog, and her steadily growing TBR pile by working in a library. Secondhand Shadow is her first novel. Her second, Ice & Smoke, is available through Amazon. She has been writing since she could hold a pencil, and plans to continue until she is too senile to type. Check out her blog at elizabethbelyeu.wordpress.com.

Book preview

ICE AND SMOKE

By Elizabeth Belyeu

****

Copyright © 2018 Elizabeth Belyeu

Covert art © 2018 by Christopher Belyeu

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781980782605

****

This book is dedicated to:

my parents and siblings,

whose love for this story kept me moving forward; my friends Deni and Joanna,

whose support and critique were absolutely

crucial in whipping this story into shape; and especially my brother,

whose sculpture of baby Braith often stared at me accusingly,

and whose incredible art graces this cover.

****

PART ONE

Prologue

My court finery was stifling in the autumn sun, but I kept my back straight and my chin level. This was the most important day of my life thus far, and if I couldn’t look much like a princess—tall and square and knock-kneed as I was, rather than dainty and graceful—I could at least act like one.

Prince Tristan glanced over his shoulder at me, teeth flashing in a grin, and I smiled back. It was never hard to smile at Tristan, so sweet and brave and open-hearted, not to mention handsome with his dark curls and golden armor. We’d grown up knowing we were betrothed, but only today, on my twelfth birthday, was a formal contract signed.

My betrothal official, my household separated from my mother’s, and myself received by the Court as part of the government of Caibryn; as I said, an important day. Possibly not all of the sweat gathering in the small of my back was due to the sun.

I should be smiling at the people, I remembered; they gathered on all sides to wave and cheer, throwing flowers in our path as we made our ceremonial way around the village and back to the castle. The people love you, Ariana, my nurse Tegwen had said, they always have, and as for the Court, they’re the same duchesses we gossiped with last week, the same counts who taught you chess and took you hawking. You have nothing to be nervous about.

I turned my head to look for Tegwen in the retinue behind me. She walked beside my mother’s horse, a picture of cheerful, rounded, pug-nosed sturdiness next to my mother’s pale delicacy. Mama was seldom well enough to attend court, but had insisted only death itself could keep her away today. Had Mama been strong enough to bear more children, this birthday would be a much less important event; as it was, however, I was not merely a princess, but a princess who would one day be queen.

Mama was holding up well, I saw with relief, her eyes clear and cheeks flushed with excitement. Papa rode beside her, dressed with unusual elegance even for a king—crown, ornamental armor, and his best cloak, royal blue embroidered with the white hound of our House. He winked when he saw me looking.

We started on the incline back toward the castle, our circuit of the village nearly completed, and my horse tossed her head—in displeasure, perhaps, at the steep road. I clucked at her and patted her neck. She’d been a betrothal gift from Tristan only an hour before, and I’d made quite a fool of myself cooing over her. I couldn’t help it; she was gorgeous, a dainty palfrey as white as starlight, with dark, soulful eyes, roses and ribbons in her mane and tail. She was as close as a mortal creature could come to being a unicorn. How could any girl resist?

I comforted myself that no one would mind my being silly over the horse; after all, it was considered a good omen for the marriage, that the betrothal gift be well-received.

Once we’d returned to the castle, it would be time for me to walk formally into the Court for the first time. I’d been in and out of the throne room since I was a baby, but this was different. This time my presence would count. I swallowed and began rehearsing in my head, for the hundredth time, all the things I ought to say and do, the way to stand, the way to speak. I had to be perfect.

I reached for the silver chain around my neck, and touched the ring that hung from it. Like the horse, it was a gift from that morning, silver with a stone of deep violet.

It was my mother’s favorite ring, Papa had told me, given to her by her father on her own twelfth birthday. Yes, I know it’s too big for your fingers now—it didn’t fit my mother either, when it was first given. It is sized for the hand of a queen, you see, not a princess. You will know when it’s time to wear it.

I hoped I would. I hoped one day I would look down at my own hands and know they were ready to be the hands of a queen, someone who could rule with wisdom and strength.

The shouts of the crowd, pointing behind me, did not seem out of the ordinary to me at first. I supposed they were exclaiming over the king and queen. But the cries rose in volume, drowning out the drums and pipes that accompanied our progress. Tristan, frowning, looked over his shoulder—and blanched.

I turned my head. A dark shape moved in the sky, rising from the hills beyond the village. Its wide, leathery wings gleamed blood- red where the sunlight shone through them.

Dragon! Tristan cried, the word already spreading like fire through the crowd.

Dragon! Dragon!

Villagers and courtiers ran in every direction, shouting, some praying or weeping in fear, others grabbing swords, pikes, and farming implements. I stared at the approaching shape, willing it to be something else, anything else—

Tristan, get Ariana back to the castle! Papa drew his sword, casting his rich, confining cloak aside. He would stay and defend the village, or at least evacuate it—the village must be the dragon’s target, for the castle was stone and would be immune to flame.

But Mama— I cried, the horse prancing uneasily as I wheeled around. There was my mother, dead white and collapsing from her horse into Tegwen’s arms.

She and Tegwen will follow after. Go! Papa slapped my palfrey’s flank and she leaped into motion, Tristan running ahead with her lead. I clung to her mane with numb fingers.

The dragon grew swiftly larger in the sky. I choked back my tears—the people didn’t need to see their princess in hysterics. In my head I heard everything Tegwen had told me about dragons. She had seen with her own eyes what a dragon could do—her entire village burned; every cow, pony, and sheep devoured in a single night; and when the dragon was still hungry come morning, and the people not fled far enough…

I watched the dragon over my shoulder, trusting Tristan to lead the horse. Any moment now, flames would pour from the dragon’s mouth, devouring the town, the people—

But they didn’t. In fact, even when a volley of arrows came up from the streets, the dragon only veered slightly to one side without even glancing down. Like a bird skimming the water, he passed over the village, and continued straight down the road to the castle.

Toward us.

He’s too fast, Tristan said, and I knew he was right. The dragon would catch up to us long before we reached the castle—if we continued at a pace Tristan could run.

Get on the horse, Tristan, I cried, but he shook his head, looking from me, to the dragon, to the flimsy ornamental sword at his hip—useless.

She’ll go faster with one, he said, and dropped the lead, slapping the horse into a gallop, shouting to urge her on.

Tristan! I screamed, but he was already dropping far behind.

For a few moments, it seemed the extra speed might be enough to get me to the gates—but the dragon caught up, and suddenly he was dropping like a mountain into the street ahead of me.

Talons ripped into cobblestone, wings crushed the rooftops on either side, and hot, smoky, metallic air like the inside of a smithy blasted my hair back from my face.

My poor horse screamed, twisting and skidding, and I fell from her back to the cobbles, lying stunned as she galloped away. I saw flame-yellow eyes above me, and claws descending, each talon as long as I was tall. Gasping, I scrambled across the cobbles, feeling my dress and the skin of my knees tear. The claws missed their first grab, but caught me on the second, too tangled in my own skirts to get to my feet. I kicked and thrashed, pulled a shattered cobblestone from the street and struck at the dragon’s fingers—scaly, red-brown things as big as tree limbs. If it hurt him, he gave no sign. He only shifted his grip on me, trapping my arms against my body, and lifted me.

Air roared around his flapping wings, and then we were rising.

The village spun dizzily below me. I could see Tristan on his knees in the street, clutching his side—wounded?—while my father and a dozen others rode toward us, much too late. They grew smaller, and smaller…and then were out of sight completely.

I kept my eyes closed at first, terrified of seeing either the ground so far below, or the teeth that would surely be tearing me any moment. But minutes passed; surely, if eating me had been the goal, the dragon would have done it already. I eased my eyes open, and saw only clouds below us, a dizzying sight. I began trying to wriggle into a more comfortable position—cautiously, because the last thing I wanted, at this height, was to provoke the dragon into dropping me.

I think there was no dishonor in screaming like a child when the clawed paw loosened its grip and juggled me about—shifting me neatly into a new position. I was now fully inside the cage of his fingers, which was large enough for me to lie but not stand. It was much more comfortable, and the heat of his scaly skin was surprisingly welcome in the chilly wind that roared between his fingers, buffeting my hair and skirts. I was more unsettled than grateful.

All right then, you are not his dinner, I said to myself, pulling my knees up to my chest, torn skirts and all. What could he want with you?

In addition to destroying towns, dragons were also known for hoarding. In the tales it was usually gold and jewels, but occasionally maidens. Was I to be part of a collection? Or perhaps he did want gold; both Caibryn and Tristan’s country of Dewgent would pay hefty amounts for my return. I hoped that was it. I hoped he only wanted gold, and this time tomorrow I would be safe at home again.

We stayed in the clouds, the air growing colder as the daylight faded; eventually, boredom overcame terror, and I slept.

I woke when we landed with a scraping thump, and I was released from the dragon’s claws, tumbling across a rough stone surface.

Stiff and sore after so many hours in the dragon’s grip, I slowly got to my feet and took a look at my surroundings. Cool stone underfoot, nothing but stars overhead, and a ring of torches fluttering in a harsh breeze, along parapets that seemed to drop away to nothing. The top of a tower?

And there was the dragon, gazing down at me from three times the height of a man, his eyes burning gold in the darkness.

Are you going to kill me? I asked, my voice croaking a little; my throat was dry after the long, windy flight.

No, the dragon said. He had a growling voice, almost too deep to hear, and between that and my surprise at hearing him actually speak, I could not understand any of his next words.

I beg your pardon, sir, I said hesitantly, b-but I cannot understand you. Could you talk more slowly?

The dragon fell silent, and for a moment we just looked at each other, giant scaly monster and tiny bedraggled princess. Then he sighed, smoke streaming from his mouth with sparks flickering in it. The smoke didn’t dissipate, but grew, winding around the dragon faster and faster, a swirl of sparks and darkness—and then it cleared, faster than the wind could have carried it, and the dragon was gone.

No, not gone, I realized—only changed. Where the dragon had been stood a man. He was tall still, but only a man-sized tallness, and his skin was leathery as a sailor’s, but not scaled; he looked perhaps a little older than my father. He wore scarred leather armor the same red-brown color as his scales had been, and hair of about the same shade was tied back from his face. Only his eyes betrayed his true nature, slit-pupiled and glowing yellow.

I will not harm you, he said, his voice still deep and gravelly, but comprehensible now. He walked closer to me, boots ringing on the stones, but didn’t touch me.

Why have you brought me here?

He paused before answering. You will live here with me until a knight wins your freedom by defeating me in battle.

If all you wanted was a fight, my father and my betrothed would have been happy to—

I don’t want to fight. But knights will come, and I will defend myself.

Or you could release me, and save yourself the trouble. I cannot.

Why not?

He rubbed his head wearily. While you are here, you may do as you like. Don’t bother trying to leave—there is an enchanted circle around this tower, one mile from end to end. I am the only one who can cross it.

What would happen if I tried?

"Nothing more than if you tried to walk through a stone wall.

You cannot pass, that is all. Now come, I will show you to your room."

He took a torch from the edge of the parapet, led the way to a trapdoor, and down the stairway beneath it. The room below contained only cobwebs and grime, and I felt my throat close—this was to be my chamber? But no, the dragon walked on, down another twist in the spiral stair.

Here, he said. There is bread, cheese and ale by the window.

A bed with red velvet hangings, a fur rug, a water basin, a chair and small table by the window, and a fireplace, unlit. Not much, certainly, compared to my chamber at home, but it satisfied the necessities.

The dragon stepped past me and bent to light the fireplace with his torch, which he then blew out. I hadn’t known it was possible to blow out a torch with one breath.

Goodnight, Princess.

There was no point, I supposed, in being rude. Goodnight, Sir Dragon.

Rindargeth. What?

He said the word again, slowly and carefully. Rindargeth. That is my call-name.

"Rin-dar-geth, I repeated. Goodnight, Rindargeth."

He closed the door behind him, leaving me alone in the dim, sparse chamber that would be my home for now.

Just for now, I told myself. Not forever. Not for very long at all.

****

I delayed opening my eyes when I woke, hoping it had all been a dream—but on opening them at last, admitted that the circular chamber with its sparse and battered furnishings could not be mistaken for my home. I rose, firmly reminding myself that tears would serve no purpose.

I found clothing in a chest—plain and ill-fitting, but clean—and more bread and cheese left for my breakfast. And then, opening what I had taken for a tall shuttered window, I found a balcony.

And below it, the sea.

I had seen lakes, rivers, and millponds aplenty, and despite all the sailors’ songs had not thought the sea could be much more impressive than they. I was wrong. The sea was to a millpond what a dragon was to a house-lizard. It stretched away to the edge of the sky, a great plain of glittering blue, and below my balcony it did not meet the shore so much as attack it, great fists of water pummeling the sand and rocks at the foot of the cliff where the tower stood. I realized I had been hearing the rhythmic sound of the waves for some time without noticing, waves and a constant salt-scented rush of wind that pushed white birds in circles above the water, and rippled patterns across the tall grasses that edged the sand.

I was a very long way from home.

I descended the stairs, finding more dirty and abandoned chambers, but the bottom floor was intact. Mismatched chairs and tables sat before a grand but unlit fireplace. Still no sign of the dragon.

I ventured out of doors.

With salt wind tangling my hair and the pounding of waves louder than ever, I found grassy hills, a few hunched and twisted trees, two half-fallen outbuildings—one I figured for a kitchen, and the other a stable. This place had surely been abandoned for many, many years. Beyond that, the grass flowed unimpeded to a dark ridge of forest at the crest of the furthest hill.

Rindargeth had spoken of a circle that would keep me in. How far did it extend? Could I escape it while he was away? I began walking toward the forest, keeping an eye on the sky for any dark- winged shape, but other than the occasional bird or rustling rodent, I was quite alone.

In fact, I realized as I walked, the sun hot on my back, I had seldom been so alone in my life. A princess always had attendants—Tegwen, servants, tutors, playmates, the castle guards. Now I had no one.

I tried to keep my breath calm, and moved faster toward the line of trees.

I made it just into the shade of the trees—winded and sweating, my delicate royal slippers torn by the rough ground—before I walked headlong into a wall.

I couldn’t see it at all. The air was perfectly clear. But my aching forehead was proof that it was there, and when I reached out my hands I could feel it clearly, smooth and hard as glass. I couldn’t break it, not by kicking it, or ramming it with my shoulder. Trying to move softly and gently through it, as if hoping it wouldn’t notice me, did not work either.

Along the ground where the invisible wall began, I realized, was a line of red-and-orange flowers, tiny but brilliantly colored. I couldn’t touch them through the wall, and neither could the wind, since they didn’t move no matter how hard it blew—yet in all other ways air seemed to move through the wall without difficulty, grass and leaves on the other side moving as naturally as ever.

The flowers, I had to assume, were the circle.

I followed the wall, my right hand gliding along its invisible surface, hoping for a gap, a crack, anything.

And what would I do if I found one? It had taken the dragon the better part of a day and night to fly here. Would I walk back to Caibryn, all alone and barefoot (these slippers wouldn’t last the day), with no food or water, no weapons, no idea even which way to go?

Yes. I lifted my chin. If that is the only way to get home, then yes. I will not simply sit in a tower and wait for someone to rescue me. Especially since it could be months or…or years before…I swallowed tears—they wouldn’t help me—and kept walking.

Eventually, the circle led me to the beach, the red flowers continuing across sand and down into the water. I sat down to rest, letting the breeze cool me and the very edge of the water lick my feet.

The sea was astonishingly loud, and violent, all bluster and crash. It was all too easy to imagine my own drowned body tumbling in the heavy waves. I told myself to watch the little brown sand-birds, so much smaller and more fragile than I, and how fearlessly they approached the water. After several minutes passed and none of them died from their stupidity, I tried to believe that the sea was not so very dangerous after all. I walked along the shore, the tower’s cliff rising behind me, and waded out until the water washed against my ankles, pulling at the sand beneath my feet.

Surely my best hope was that the circle ended somewhere out in the water, either unable to sustain itself there, or judged unnecessary. And the dragon could return at any time. I couldn’t afford to wait.

Trying not to let my knees shake, I put my hand on the invisible wall, and followed it into the water. Waves pushed and pulled at me like large, ill-behaved children, tangling my water-logged skirts, slipping between my feet and the sandy bottom, splashing my face with salt that burned my eyes and nose and throat. Blinded and choking, I lost my grip on the smooth wall of the circle and was tumbled like a stone through the water.

It was even worse than being taken by the dragon. After all, I had been able to figure fairly quickly that he didn’t intend to eat me. The sea—the sea was trying its very best to eat me.

I don’t know how long I thrashed and foundered in panic, straining toward the sunlight; it couldn’t have been as long as it felt, or I would certainly have drowned. Instead I fetched up against a rock at the foot of the cliff, and clung there with all my strength, despite the waves that continually shouldered past me as if determined to jar me loose.

A shadow fell over me, and I looked up to see the dragon’s wide wings beating the air above my head.

Gently, he gathered me in one massive claw and carried me back to shore. Once I was safely on the ground, he stepped back from me and exhaled the cloud of smoke and sparks I had seen before, which enveloped him and then cleared, leaving him in his human shape.

Without a word, he carried me inside, settled me in a lounge-chair, and lit the fireplace.

Are you satisfied, then, he said, tucking a blanket gently around me, that the circle is as I described?

I suppose I must be, I said, through a throat still choked with saltwater, but it was a lie. I had not been able to establish one way or the other whether the circle ended in the water, and though the idea terrified me, I knew I would be trying again.

Rindargeth handed me bread and a cup of ale, grumbling under his breath. Tomorrow I must teach you to swim. Next time, I might not be able to fish you out soon enough.

I glanced at him sideways. Such concern for your captive.

He said nothing. If his lined, leathery face held an expression, I could not decipher it.

Have you been following me all day? I asked. I never saw you.

I spent the day on the top of the tower. He sat down on the hearth, poking the fire higher. I can see farther than a man, even when shaped like one, so I watched you. I saw no reason to interfere with you unless you were hurt. Or tried to drown yourself.

You didn’t answer my question last night, I said. Why have you brought me here?

This place is far from people, abandoned for years. It will be easy to hide you here.

That wasn’t my question.

Have you never heard that dragons are secretive?

No, I have never heard that. Large and strong, yes. Dangerous, extremely. Possessive, violent, bad-tempered. But secretive? No.

Did an expression flicker then? One rather like Tegwen’s when I was pestering her?

This dragon, he said at last, is secretive.

And this dragon, I said, will keep me here despite the danger to his own life and the utter lack of advantage to himself. He seeks no battle with knights. He possesses no treasure for me to curate. He appears to have no collection of other maidens. Or am I merely the first?

He snorted. God forbid. I expect you will be plenty. Do you intend to ransom me to my father?

I do not.

Then what reason have you for doing this? My reasons are my own.

Or perhaps they are someone else’s.

A startled glance from him, and silence, with only the fire crackling.

By Jove, I said, wondering. That is the truth. You have a master.

Who would presume to be master of a dragon?

"I do not know, but you must have some reason for abducting me—and yet you have no reason at all. It must be someone else’s reason, someone who may command you to do his will."

He was silent.

Someone, I ventured, you are, perhaps, forbidden to speak of?

If an expression lurked in his features now, it might have been amusement, or relief. If such a man existed, I might advise him that, in taking you, he had bitten off more than he could chew.

Speaking of chewing, I poked a finger at the rough, dark bread, this food will not do.

He blinked. What ails the food?

It’s well enough for peasants, I suppose. And I can’t expect royal feasting here. But even peasants don’t eat the very same thing each day—do we have anything here but bread and cheese? Fruits and vegetables exist in the world, along with better breads and better cheeses. With the sea so close to hand, we can surely get fish, and do not tell me you can’t hunt a deer.

And if I hunt, will you clean it? he said dryly.

I swallowed. "I…am not accustomed to such work, I admit.

You would have to teach me."

Dragons are more accustomed to cooking our prey with a breath and eating it whole. But I am sure we can arrange something satisfactory to us both. As for plant-eating, I know very little of that, but there is enough land within the circle for you to have a garden. I can bring you seeds.

A garden. I would like that. Though my chest tightened to think of being in this place long enough to pull in a crop. It would also be nice if the tower walls could be repaired, and all the rooms made usable.

He shook his head, chuckling. More than he can chew, indeed, he muttered, and tucked me deeper into the blankets.

****

Rindargeth would have had me swim in my shift, or even without clothing at all, but this I would not abide. Instead I took a green tunic—men’s clothing that I had no use for; Rindargeth had only brought it by mistake—and sewed the bottom into trouser-legs of a sort, and used that for my swimming lessons.

Your shift would be lighter, Rindargeth frowned.

Yes, and it would cling to my body once wet, doing as little to preserve my modesty as a glass window! That will not do when I am in the company of a man.

Man? Rindargeth snorted. "I am no man, Ariana, but a dragon. I am no more capable of having improper thoughts for a human—a human child, at that—than for a horse or hound. I may wear the shape of a man as needed, but believe me, my heart belongs to my own kind."

Nevertheless, I insisted upon the swimming garb, and lessons commenced. Rindargeth taught me to handle myself in the sea, moving with it since I would never be strong enough to stand against it. Steam rose wherever water touched him, because of the dragon’s-fire within him, but he assured me it did him no harm. Within a few days we were swimming together easily, splashing each other to provoke outrage and laughter.

We made the tower habitable, rebuilt the kitchen, and began a garden, hoping for some small crop before winter. Rindargeth procured more or less whatever I asked for, though he would not tell me how or where he got them. I always took the opportunity of his absence to search for any flaw in the circle that would let me escape. I did not find one.

I am sorry, lass, Rindargeth said, the day he returned and caught me slogging out of the water, after finding out for myself that the invisible wall persisted all the way back around to the beach. You will find no escape. None who come inside the circle can leave it again, except myself, and the circle will remain as long as I live, unless my— His voice cut off, and he looked startled, as if expecting to hear himself continue.

Your master, I realized. Unless your master releases you. His voice resumed. If there were such a man.

I tried to keep myself too busy for homesickness and too tired for dreams. Once my requirements for new items were mostly satisfied, Rindargeth spent less time away from the tower, and we fell into a habit of working together in the garden in the mornings, and in the afternoons turning to the sea for relief from the heat of an unseasonably sunny autumn. Slowly, clumsily, I began teaching myself to cook, and Rindargeth to read, sitting together by the fire after dark.

We were swimming on the afternoon, six weeks after my arrival, that the first knight came.

We really do need some livestock, Rindargeth, I was insisting, as we bounced casually over a wave. A milk-cow, some chickens, perhaps a cat…Are you listening to me?

He had his head cocked in a very odd fashion, as if he’d heard something I hadn’t, and his yellow eyes were unfocused.

Rindargeth?

Abruptly his focus returned, and he spoke, his voice rough. "Get to the tower, child, and stay there. And remember…please remember that