In the Court of Dragons (Fallowtide Sequence 5)

LOOSE ENDS DON'T TIE THEMSELVES

Sweeping cultural changes sound very good on paper. But in the lives of normal people, even the ones who stand to benefit, those changes can be a challenge... one they might not have even asked for. In the Court of Dragons collects eight stories of the period after the events of the Chatcaavan War, focusing on changes both personal and widespread: old favorites return and new characters make their debut as we follow the effects of the war on everything from the imperial harem to the nascent Eldritch newsroom. What are the Faulfenza up to in the capital? What was the fate of the palace castrates? And who taught an Eldritch to... bungee jump?

This reader-commissioned collection includes stories written by the author at reader request. Come home to the Alliance with these tales of hope, renewal, comedy, and romance.

Genre (setting): space opera (Pelted)
Tags: romance, comedy, shenanigans, heart-warming, children, young adults, changes, evolutions
Rating: PG for references to war, violence, and adult situations

Excerpt from In the Court of Dragons

“Pray telegraph that a little less dramatically, Tera,” his tormentor said. “Last I checked, you do not need your entire shoulder to beat a blade aside. Move your wrist, not your arm, or you will leave your entire side open.”

“I am moving my wrist,” Tolden protested, retreating before Lisinthir could make good on the implied threat. “Just… with enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm is for sportsmen,” Lisinthir said, the words clipped and black. “This is not a game.” His lunge carried him easily into Tolden’s space—farther, smashing a shoulder against Tolden’s chest in a move that would have been illegal in a formal duel. Tolden wormed away, opening the distance between them, for whatever good that did; he’d never seen lunges take anyone as far as Lord Lauvet’s did.

Leaning against the wall, Orin began to say something, but Tolden cut him off. “Stay yourself, Orin. I asked for this.”

“But—”

Rubbing his chest, Tolden repeated, “I asked for it.”

“Don’t do that,” Lisinthir interrupted, his baritone sharp. “You’re suggesting you’ve been damaged there. That is dangerous information to reveal to an opponent, Tera. Fighting sapients is not like fighting beasts. They will use their minds against you.”

“Very good,” Tolden said, focusing. He’d never had a teacher more demanding than Lisinthir, and beneath his tutelage, Tolden had finally begun improving. Plus, the fact that his cousin and Darineth had agreed to attend these sessions meant that he had people to spar against who knew what he was about. But God and Lady, he was sore. Sore and—he was willing to admit—a little afraid. Exhilarated but afraid.

Lisinthir was now prowling the perimeter of the ship’s salle, and a movement that would ordinarily have suffused Tolden with confidence did nothing of the kind now. An Eldritch moving at the edge of a dueling circle would have been trying to put distance between them, to recover his wind and evaluate his opponent. Tolden’s tutor, on the other hand, was almost certainly doing it to intimidate.

It worked, and Tolden could laugh about it, and did.

“He has achieved hysteria,” Darineth muttered to Orin.

“He was always touched,” Orin said. “He simply has a broader stage for his talents now.”

“Quiet,” Tolden growled. “Or I’ll insist he herd you into the middle of this circle too.”

“If you’d like,” Lisinthir said, the silvers and neutrals so polite they suggested mockery. “It would not furnish much by way of a challenge, but it may motivate you to work more on your form.”

“Two against one!” Darineth exclaimed. “That’s hardly—”

“Don’t say ‘sporting’,” Tolden said.

“Three against one wouldn’t be any better,” Lisinthir said, his amusement patent. “You would get in one another’s way quite spectacularly.”

“He’s right about that,” Orin said.

“Come, Tera,” his tutor said. “Put your point up and let us practice the beat again. Remember, wrist only. Wasted motion is wasted energy, and energy is more precious than treasure.”

Obediently, Tolden raised his sword and returned to what felt like interminable drills, and he relished every moment of them. To finally feel that he was learning something useful was such a balm after decades of waste. He would have followed the head of Imthereli to the ends of the universe, if only to have some purpose in his life. He wondered if his friends felt the same; they’d decided to accompany him to the dragon world, but Tolden couldn’t tell if they’d wanted to, or if they’d made such a habit of embarking on every endeavor together that they didn’t know how to quit the group. The only person he was sure of was his cousin, Sorinir; Orin had chosen for the journey because the two of them had been attached at the hip since boyhood.

Strange that he should know his friends so long, and yet have so carefully never asked about their deepest hungers. But that was how their world worked: everyone talked around the holes in their hearts, because otherwise they would be forced to see how little could be done to address them.

They drilled long past the point Tolden would have quit, until sweat pasted the back of his collar to his neck and all his limbs felt they were trembling. His teacher stopped then, and walked a circle around Tolden with a briskly impersonal, but far too perspicacious eye. “Very good. Now, when you’re most exhausted, is when your flaws are most obvious. But you see, you progress. This is far better than before.” He paused, adjusted Tolden’s arm manually. “Thus. You let your fatigue permit you to drop your point.”

Being touched was still new enough that Tolden couldn’t suppress his flinch, even though he never received so much as a hint of emotion through Lisinthir’s hands. His tutor ignored the solecism, for which he was profoundly grateful. “Thank you. Does it get easier, the weight of the ship?”

“This is barely weight,” Lisinthir said absently, still studying Tolden’s form. “The Chatcaava keep their ships a few degrees above Alliance norms. I regret, in fact, that we have not the time to condition you properly on one of the Pelted starbases; even half a year operating in their gravity after undergoing their acclimatization regimen would give you an incredible advantage against opponents bred to more shallow gravity wells.”

“Surely there is no reason we cannot at some point visit these other places, undergo this regimen.”

“An eventuality to be discussed at another time. There. Good enough for today.”

“Are you certain?” Tolden forced himself to stand straighter, hold the sword more firmly. “I could go on.”

“You could, but I have another appointment and…” Lisinthir glanced toward the hatch, switched from their tongue to Universal. “Here he is.”

The dragon that stepped into the space was familiar to Tolden in the way a courtier at Ontine might have been, recognized but not an intimate. A dark brown male with reddish-purple eyes, more solidly built than most of the other dragons, he had been the dragon queen’s most frequent attendant at court in Ontine and was frequently seen in the corridors of the ship. That mattered far less than the fact that they’d fought together in the battle against the chimera and basilisks. This dragon had led his contingent in that fight, and they had blooded blade and claw together. Had the language barrier not posed an obstacle, they might have furthered their acquaintance. But Tolden and his friends had been practicing their Universal, not their Chatcaavan, and the necessity of learning both languages had only impressed itself on them a few days after their decision to join Lord Lauvet on his trip home.

“You spar against dragons?” Darineth exclaimed, forgetting in his surprise both to use the alien tongue and to shade the words.

Lord Lauvet’s look was coolly amused, and Tolden was grateful that comprised the man’s sole response, because God and Lady, what had Darineth expected? That Lauvet had invited the dragon for tea?

The newcomer advanced toward Lisinthir, saying something in the staccato curtness of his tongue that sounded inquisitive. Tolden considered him; he remembered the chimera fight and this male’s part in it, and the dragon was fast—fast like a serpent, and with weapons on the ends of every finger. Sparring against him seemed a very bad idea. Which is why he couldn’t fathom why he said, “I’d like to try it.”