-Humaning for Beginners: A Dragon’s Tale of Human Management
Icouldn’t concentrate. Not with a countdown clock ticking in the back of my mind like some world-altering bomb soon to detonate. Five days. Twelve hours. Forty-seven minutes and eleven… ten… nine seconds until I saw Taron Locke again.
Desperate? Possibly.
Spiraling? Absolutely.
Was this what my father had felt? This dizzy, helpless loss of control? I longed to ask him but didn’t dare cop to the truth of what I endured. Not to friends, and especially not to a foe. Plus, I wasn’t foolish enough to believe anything he said.
But the worst part? I’d started seeing Taron as if he were a ghost here to haunt me for the rest of eternity. I caught only glimpses of him here and there, usually out of thecorner of my eye. There and gone the moment I focused, never lasting longer than a few racing heartbeats.
The first time, I chased him. And the second and third. Now, he just flickered throughout every part of my day, like static on a screen. I knew he wasn’t really there, but that didn’t stop me from constantly questioning my grip on an already fraying reality.
Disconcerting. Annoying. Unwelcome. And yet, highly addictive. Every time his image faded, I eagerly awaited the next, and there was no off switch.
“Yo. Lyss.” Adelaide snapped her fingers in my face, and I blinked into the present.
Oops. We occupied the throne room, where columns of lava-born obsidian propped up a vaulted ceiling painted to resemble the sky from sunrise to sunset. Etched into the stone walls were scenes of dragon fights and conquests. Banners the size of sails hung between the insets, depicting every fire a dragon could breathe, from molten fury to smoldering embers.
My sister stood beside me as I sat on my throne of fire-forged skyglass, its surface reflecting light in shifting shades of pink, purple and silver, as if capturing a setting sun.
One by one, the ambassadors from other berserker factions approached to offer messages from their kings until only one remained. The griffin. He wore a tailored suit, with a tie the color of spilled wine. A tie pin in the shape of an eagle’s talon anchored the fabric in place.
How would Taron look in a tie? So far I’d only seen him in–
“Lyss,” Adelaide hissed.
I shook my head. See! Zero concentration. “You mayspeak,” I told the ambassador, as if nothing untoward had occurred.
His lips stretched thin. “For the third time, King Malachi wishes to know why he should stay his hand and preserve the peace treaty with Ashmorra.”
I stifled a snort. “King Malachi isn’t that polite. Tell me what he really said.”
The ambassador cringed before admitting, “He wants to figure out why he shouldn’t invade Ashmorra and use you as an example. Queens who take liberties they shouldn’t will always lose their crowns.”
I let my shoulders relax a fraction. This was Malachi’s way of forcing me to spend my prized boon while digging an invisible knife deep into my pride. I must back down.
“There are many reasons he shouldn’t attempt such an impossible feat,” I said simply, “though I’ll share only one. Tell him we’re even now. If he doubts it, remind him of the boon I spared him from paying in blood. That’s all. The matter is closed. You may go.”
The ambassador opened his mouth to say more, but I waved him out. With no other choice, he snapped into a turn and left, leaving me alone with my sister.
“I’m guessing you ventured into Malachi’s lands without his permission, just to see your newest Locke,” she piped up. Her fitted leather corset of varying shades of pink—the queendom’s color—embroidered with a fierce dragon that stretched across a raised-collared, long-sleeved top. A split skirt gave both elegance and the freedom of swift movement if the need arose. A ceremonial sword, its hilt wrapped in pink-gilded silk, hung at her hip, while chains of gold and pink pearls threaded through her chestnut hair held in a high braid.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such foolishness isn’t like you.”
“I know.” I heaved a sigh. While she was dressed to awe, I wore leather pants and another novelty T-shirt. This one read “Certified Smoke Show.” I’d chosen it, not because Taron had remarked on the first but because…of some other reason. “Any other business?”
“Ja. One.” She motioned to the exit the griffin had just taken, and I noticed another sister peeking through a crack in the two doors.
Bronwyn the Graceborn, aka the Pirouette Princess, aka the Swan of Ashmorra, aka the Mistress of Motion, middle child, entered, wringing her fingers, the soft layers of her petal pink gown flowing behind her. Her flaxen hair swept to one side, delicate flowers woven through the waves.
She was a famed ballerina, known for her incomparable elegance and ability to dance both on stage and in the air. Offstage, she was infamous for her blushes. They came constantly. In fact, one of those blushes seared her cheeks even now.
“H-hello, Olyssa. Sister. Your Majesty. My Queen,” Bronwyn stuttered, giving an awkward curtsy. She darted her gaze to Adelaide, who heaved a sigh more exasperated than mine.
“Bron,” I said. “I love you. Formality isn’t required. Tell me what you want, and I’ll take care of it.”
Eyes of ice blue brightened. “Well, the dragon ambassador stationed in Krakenströnd has reached the end of his service contract, and he doesn’t wish to renew. He requested a return to Ashmorra. If you agree, you’ll require a new ambassador there. I…I would like to sign on.”
