He’d cut it short for his first term, and although dragons’ hair grows at a fast rate, he’d kept it like that, saying he’ll grow it out when he stops teaching again. I love his long hair, but I can’t deny that the short cut suits him too with the quiff that always looks like it’s about to collapse. It highlights his strange golden eyes and sharp features.
We turn and make our way down the cobbled street. The shops are closed for the holiday. I think I was the last to shut. He takes my hand and pulls me close, nuzzling into my temple. “I missed you today,elskling. I am very much looking forward to our time together over the festive season.”
“Me too,” I say with feeling.
I like people, but out of everyone, Sigurd is my favourite. We never run out of things to say, and even our silences are comfortable.
“My cousin rang. He is coming over.”
“Really?” Eirik had been his mentor, and I’ve heard a lot about him but never met him, as he’s been travelling for a few years. I’ve met other members of his family in Norway,and they’re lovely—loud, warm, and slightly chaotic. Sigurd is definitely the quieter of the bunch. He’d been subject to much gentle teasing about his lovesickness, and I’d found that dragons are very big on family. I’d been inundated with offers of service and vows of allegiance. It had been like a friendly version ofGame of Thrones.
“I thought he was in Svalbard.”
He nods. “He wants to come over and see us when—” He falls abruptly silent.
“When what?”
“Ah, here we are,” he says quickly. Am I imagining his relief?
We’re standing by Porthmeor Beach. It’s the only place big enough for him to change. I look idly around at the houses nearby. Most of them are shuttered and dark, but it doesn’t matter. If Sig doesn’t want to be seen, his magic ensures we won’t be.
I stand back and watch as the familiar heat haze shimmers, the sparks neon bright against the winter night sky. It’s cold, the sea wind biting and nudging at my exposed skin, and I shiver, hugging my coat around me, knowing I’ll be warm soon.
Within seconds, Sig appears, and I smile at the sight. Walking towards him, I pat his long snout as he lowers his head. He nudges against me, making a soft chuffing sound of affection. I throw my arms around his big head and plant a kiss on his snout. His golden eyes are twinkling in happiness.
Shall I take the long way, my Cary?
“Definitely.” I clamber onto him, and we launch into the air. The wind is so cold up here that it blurs my eyes with tears, but the stars are bright and so big that it feels like I could reach out and touch them.
Sigurd flies over the big old church in St Ives and hovers, his wings beating strongly as we listen to the carol being sung. “We Three Kings” drifts up, sounding almost mystical on this night.Sigurd gives a gusty sigh, and I exclaim in delight as the sweet notes of the song are instantly transformed into golden notes. They dance around us, sparkling in the air.
“That’sbeautiful,” I breathe. “Thank you, sweetie.”
He tosses his head, blowing out a shower of pink and gold sparks, and I smell gingerbread before the notes vanish, and we move on.
He flies steadily over the coastline and villages where Christmas lights glow bright in the darkness and where cottages and houses are golden lozenges of light.
I exhale and watch my breath crystallise in the air. “Will it snow?”
Maybe on the moors, but not here, is his reply.
“That’s a shame. I like snow.”
Next year I will take you to Iceland. You shall meet more of my kin. I will strip you naked and take you on a large bed with a view of the Northern Lights.
“I hope that you’re not thinking of combining all those things. I’m not sure I want to meet your family when we’re doing that.” He makes an amused huffing noise, and I pet his great head. “It’s a date.”
We fly over a village, and I peer down. “Is that Tintagel?”
Yes.
“Are we going to the castle?”
His big head nods.Aye. We have not been back there in an age.
“Since the first time.”
That was memorable enough, elskling.
