Chosen: Book 1 in the Dragon Queen series

I’m a town girl. I know nothing of farming and nature. Any eggs I buy are from the market, and all they contain is … well, egg. I expected the dragon inside to burst out. Crack, done; like breaking it into cake batter. Instead, the first crack was joined by a second, the length of a finger. It intersected the first, creating a dark ‘Y’ on the dimpled surface. Then nothing.

When five minutes passed and no dragon appeared, I moved from the cupboard to the chair by the bed, still cradling the egg on my lap. I didn’t like to leave it with Pa in case the creature burst out and ... ate him; or breathed fire and burned him to a crisp. I’m not sure what I thought I could do if either situation arose, but I couldn’t shake off my responsibility.

I cast a look at my father in his bed. No change. His breathing was as deep as before. I turned so the egg in my arms faced him. Dragons bore magic, everyone knew that. When this dragon appeared, could it cure Pa? The egg had grown warm. When I listened, I could hear the chip-chip sound from within. I settled the egg in my lap. The crack was still there, but it hadn’t been joined by any others. I prodded at the ‘Y’ but I didn’t quite have the courage to force a hole into it. I curled my fingers into my palm. These were magical creatures – did I really think I could tear it out of its egg and make it do my bidding?

I sighed and slumped against the chair back. What I should really be deciding was, what in the name of the Maker did I think I was going to do when the dragon did emerge from its egg? I could have taken an egg to Muirland City and bartered with the mages relatively easily, but how was I supposed to take a dragon on a week’s journey? All dragons in Muirland belonged, by law, to the mages. It was the mages who could control a dragon’s magic. I bit my lip. Pa’s egg should have been handed over to the authorities the moment it came into his possession.

We were breaking the law by keeping it secret. Until now that hadn’t mattered. Why had it chosen now to hatch, when there was only me to deal with it? I closed my eyes against the image of carnage that arose. Dragons devastated herds of sheep and cattle, but there weren’t many of those in Besserton: it would probably snatch children from the street when it grew hungry. I swallowed. I wished Pa was there to guide me, although I suspected that for once he might be as lost as I was.

When he showed me what he’d bought on his trip I’d suggested, very gently, that he should hand it over to the authorities. He’d laughed at the idea, declared that it belonged to him and that any Mage who wanted could come and offer a fair price. That was Pa all over. And now mages would probably arrest me for hiding a dangerous creature.

But if I took it to a mage... Surely there would be some kind of a reward? I wished I knew how Pa had come by it. He’d told me to mind my own business and hide it the way he bid me.

Next day he’d been taken ill. Some trip that was, to return with a dragon’s egg and a mortal illness.

A part of me had supposed it must be a fake, crafted by one of Pa’s cronies in a workshop, intended to deceive its next owner – but not a mage, since you only deceived them if you had a desire for death. My eyes settled on Pa’s slumbering form again. No. Pa was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.

A noise came from the egg. I bent closer. There was a tiny hole where the cracks intersected, but I could see nothing but darkness inside. I rubbed the surface of the egg and the tapping stopped. “Hey, little thing, come on out, then.”

I looked up after I’d spoken, a foolish blush warming my face. Pa hadn’t stirred and there was no one else to hear me.

For all their magic, dragons couldn’t talk. But they could fly. Maybe once it hatched it would fly away and take its problems with it. The idea was both pleasing and distressing. I hugged the egg close again and whispered, “If you could see your way clear to healing Pa, I’d take it as a kindness. If you wanted to fly away after that I wouldn’t stop you.”

I hoped Pa would think that a fair exchange. I wasn’t too sure on the matter. Having gone to so much trouble to get the egg he doubtless had plans for it. What a shame he hadn’t shared those plans with me before he’d fallen unconscious. Pa had all manner of dubious contacts, who’d made themselves scarce when he’d fallen ill. I might be throwing away a fortune. But a fortune was no use to me without Pa to share it.

I smoothed the covers over Pa’s chest. “Having you back is worth any price.”

His breath hitched and mine stopped in sympathy, my heart lurching. When he took his next breath I relaxed. “I’m sorry, Pa. But that’s the way I see things. You’re worth more than a stupid dragon.”

The chip-chip sounded again. I looked down at the egg in my lap, once more expecting the scaly creature to burst forth. Nothing. I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Dragons were a big disappointment.

~

“Ow!” Pain jolted me awake with a sudden, stinging blow to the nose. I cried out, straightening from my doze and cradling my abused face. Memory returned as I looked down at the weight in my lap.

The egg lay in pieces, the fragment that had struck my nose now on the floor by my foot. The dragon it had housed curled in my lap, its tail still inside a piece of shell. A pair of bright eyes regarded me closely in the dim dawn light. I sucked in a breath. I’d never seen a dragon before, only pictures in books.

It opened its mouth and gave a small cry, like a bird. Surrounding the small, pink tongue was a serrated row of sharp teeth.

“Hello there,” I breathed. I’ve no idea why I spoke; they were dumb creatures so I couldn’t expect a reply. But the greeting felt right. The eyes watching me were bright amber flecked with gold, and they glistened with intelligence. They were the most colourful part of the animal. Stories depicted dragons as beautiful creatures, with scaly plumage to rival exotic parrots and peacocks, but this one was a dull, pale brown. About the colour of sand. Maybe babies were always like this and the colours came later.

It opened its mouth again. I reached a hand, overtaken by the desire to touch the creature and know what the rows of neat scales felt like. It let me touch its neck, leaning into the pressure of my finger. I grinned and stroked the length of its neck – it had a lot of neck for the size of it. There was a faint line on its hide, where the scales grew darker. The dragon pushed against my fingers and I stopped gawping at its scales to stroke the creature.

Its eyes half-closed and a crooning sound escaped its mouth. I couldn’t help a smile; this was like petting our cat, Pop, on those rare occasions when he deigned to allow it.

Then it turned its head and bit my finger. It wasn’t painful – more curious. I yanked my finger away. “No!”

Another cry that I would have sworn depicted sadness. It looked away from me and nosed disconsolately into the empty shell, the insides of which were a pure, pearlescent white – and completely empty but for the dragon himself.

Understanding dawned. “Are you hungry?”

He couldn’t possibly understand my words, but that small, sharp mouth opened again to give another sad cry.

“Let’s see what we can find for you.” I tugged the pieces of shell out from around him. As well as the two halves, there were four smaller pieces that had snapped off during the hatching process. I set them all carefully on Pa’s bed. We’d get good money for them from a jewellery-maker. If I could find one who wouldn’t ask inconvenient questions.

I curled a hand around the dragon, cradling him into the soft gap beneath my ribs. He was about the size of Ma Henderby’s terrier dog, although much less smelly. As we climbed down the steps to the kitchen I continued to talk to him. It seemed like the right thing to do. They might be dumb creatures, but I saw intelligence in his eyes. Actually, he seemed to possess more intelligence than some of the people who frequented the shop.

“What sort of things do you eat?” I murmured. Even without the tales of them stealing away farm animals, I would have known from those tiny, serrated teeth that the dragon wasn’t likely to be satisfied with the vegetables and lentils that formed the staple of my and Pa’s diet. Meat was expensive.

I dug in the cupboards. We should have a strip or two of dried meat somewhere. The most likely jar was at the back of the cupboard. I couldn’t quite reach.

“You stay here.” I set the dragon down on a chair close to the stove. It had gone out overnight, but still held some residual warmth.

I returned to the cupboard and stretched on tiptoes, setting the contents aside so I could reach what I needed. A scrabbling sound from the window to my left signalled the arrival of Pop, our ginger tom, come home after spending the night hunting. I tugged the window open and he stood on the sill, perched on the narrow wood with a poise that belied his fluffy bulk, staring into the kitchen.

“Come on, then,” I chided him. “In or out, your choice.”

Then I realised why he had perched on the ledge instead of jumping to the ground and declaring himself ruler of the house the way he usually did. The dragon was crouching on the seat by the stove, his attention riveted on Pop while his tail sliced the air.

“No!” I held a hand above the dragon’s face, blocking his view of Pop. “That’s our cat, not food,” I told him. I lowered my hand to see that the dragon was watching me now, head on one side. “Wait and I’ll find you something.”

A crooning cry. He looked back to Pop.

“No,” I repeated.

Pop decided he didn’t want to take the chance of becoming a dragon’s breakfast and wriggled back out of the gap in the window. And at that exact moment a squeak in the corner of the room told me why Pop had picked now to return. I sighed, pulling a face at the dragon. “That’s why we need him; he’s a good mouser.”

Dragon sat back on his haunches, but his tail remained high. Those bright eyes switched from the now-empty window to the corner the mouse noises had come from. I turned back to the cupboard and lifted down the jar I needed.

I stepped back as the dragon dove into the corner of the room, flattening his body to fit underneath the dresser. Two flicks of his tail and he backed out, jolting the furniture. The rear end of a mouse dangled from his jaws. He met my eye with, I swear, a self-satisfied expression and threw his head back, snapping the remainder of the mouse’s body into his jaws and slurping up the end of its tail. Two bites and a swallow and I could trace the path of his meal down his slender neck.

Setting the tin down I folded my arms. “Self-service breakfast, hmm? Well, any mice you find you’re welcome to eat.” Pop wouldn’t be happy, but he could find plenty elsewhere; it wasn’t as though Besserton was short of vermin.

A noise at the back door behind me made me spin round. The key sounded in the lock. Any other time I’d be pleased to see Brunna, but right now... Nearly tripping over a chair in my haste I stood in front of the dresser, blocking her view of the dragon. “Stay there,” I muttered. Then, I tried to look innocent.

The door swung open and my best friend peered in, a grin splitting her narrow face. “Hey, Alliss!” A booted foot pushed the door open further. Brunna was carrying Pop – or trying to. He was attempting to slither out of her arms, becoming boneless in aim of escape. “Pop ran into our house like he’d been chased out of yours by a demon. I thought I’d check everything was okay.”

“Thanks.” I glanced at her face, taking in the shadows beneath her eyes. My friend nearly lived here lately.

That newly-familiar crooning noise rang out. I spoke quickly, louder than normal to hide the sound. “All fine. I, er, stood on Pop’s tail. That’s what sent him haring off. You didn’t need to call round.” The dragon butted against my calves, wanting out from underneath the dresser. I suspected he’d smelled Pop and was imagining a feast. I straightened my legs, pushing him back.

My gaze settled on Pop, who was looking straight through me and wriggling to get out of Brunna’s arms. Stupid creature had clearly considered the matter of the interloper, decided not to run, and now looked like he wanted to assert his ownership of the house. I did not want to have to umpire a cat-dragon fight. I needed to get Pop out of the house, and get rid of Brunna before she saw something she didn’t ought to.

I took a step and the dragon was exposed if Brunna looked in the right direction. Fortunately, she was occupied with the restive cat in her arms. “I’m a bit busy right now—” I began, treading carefully. Another step. Pop was wriggling harder. Brunna leaned forward to set him on the floor.

“No!”

Brunna froze – but the animals didn’t. Pop leapt from Brunna’s arms to land in the middle of the kitchen floor, a rotund ball of hissing fur.

Dragon decided he liked this game and scampered forward, neck stretched and small wings flapping out to the sides.

Brunna regarded the spectacle, jaw sagging. “What is that?”

I swooped to pick up the dragon. “No!” I admonished, not sure whether I was telling the dragon not to attack Pop, or Pop not to attack the dragon. With the creature cradled in my arms I faced Brunna. Nothing for it but to bold the matter out now. I looked straight into her clear brown eyes. “I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure this is a dragon.”