Page 7 of Whisper Woods

“It will be alright, precious one. It will pass.” The sound of the quake, and its loud cracking rumbles, smother my attempts at soothing the beast. Even so, I try anyway, attempting to keep my breath and heart rate steady where she can no doubt feel it against the crush of her tail. Her large body moves restlessly over her nest, readjusting her wings to protect her babies more thoroughly. I can only wait and pray to the Gods that the other dragons are safe. Since the quakes began I’ve worried about the mothers perched on the cliff nests. Especially when I, or the other dragonkin, have been unable to attend them.

After far too long, the shaking subsides, and the tail around my waist loosens its grip. I give her one last affectionate pat as it recedes, promising to come and visit again soon. Thankfully, the climb to the crest is not too far up the sheer cliff face.

Grunting loudly as I claw at the clifftop for purchase, I’m too focused on not falling to the churning sea below, and I fail to notice the being waiting for me until a strong, green hand clasps at my forearm. The unexpected aid startles me, and I almost lose my grip. Thankfully, between my cursing and the being’s laughter I make it safely onto land.

My saviour, to put it one way, and I tumble to the ground together with more grunting and curses, a tangle of vivid green skin, shocking blue hair and dark blue scales. I am the first of the pair of us to recover, pushing myself off him with a growl.

“Brydon,” the exasperation in my voice is palpable, even with the rougher, more gravelly tone this form takes. “What in the name of the Gods are you doing?”

Brydon, my assistant—and usually an extraordinarily helpful one—manages to right himself. Standing, he brushes dust from his behind and inspects a rather nasty looking graze on his elbow.

Brydon has only been officially working with me for five years once he completed his schooling and further education with the Orun. Unofficially, he’s been with me for ten years, ever since he was a lonely fifteen-year-old skulking around my home, right next door to his own. At first I thought he’d been up to mischief. Then I thought that perhaps he’d had a schoolboy crush on one of my staff, or worse yet—considering our ten year age gap—me.

But no, it hadn’t been anything of the sort, thank the Gods. He had simply been lonely and intrigued by my work and my dragon blood.

Brydon Allasayan, “son” of Heylor Allasayan, one of the Grand Masters of Tathys, was born different. A rare being born out of a broken mateship seal.

His mother, Briony, mated Heylor for his position and status in Tathissian society. He chose her for similar reasons—though I’m sure the fact she was a renowned ethereal beauty was rather pivotal in his decision making.

Unfortunately, as the rumours went at the time, she regretted the choice when she found love with Aen, a dragonkin of no particular wealth, status, or power. Briony committed what most considered the greatest offence and conceived a child outside of her mateship. Whilst Heylor and Briony had not been bonded mates—a fated union, blessed by the Gods themselves—they had still magically bound their lives together in mateship. Brydon was the result of Briony’s supposed betrayal.

She did not survive his birth, and Aen soon followed, not able to survive the loss of his true mate. Heylor, for all his many, many faults stepped in and claimedthe child, raising him if not as his own, then with the very basic necessities his immense power and wealth could provide.

Everything except love and compassion.

The people of Tathys followed suit and thus began Brydon’s life. Tolerated, but never accepted, forced to carry the legacy of crimes he did not commit.

That he looks so incredibly different to all other dragonkin doesn’t help. Brydon is unable to shape shift. He was born a strange amalgamation of his fathers dragon form and his mothers more human body, unlike any other being in Tathys. His green skin, his thin, scaled tail, round black eyes, distinctive wide nasal bridge, and long webbed ears are all vivid reminders of his origin.

Who knows? Perhaps in the Mundane he would be mistaken for a fae or an orc or some other being. But here, in Tathys, no one forgets.

But their loss had been my gain. He soon proved himself to be quick witted, and adept at nearly all things useful to a Tavisher’s assistant.

“Well, first I came to tell you that I finished the translation of those papers you brought back from the mages. They were mistaken, it has nothing to do with the fauns. There’s three different languages and a code and—” the thundering of hooves in the distance cuts him off, ears twitching as his black eyes dart in the direction of the sound. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, a dark bruise-like blush colouring his green cheeks. “And the High Eminence Elianora is on her way with a couple of the High Council members. They don’t look happy.”

I join his wince, the frilled spikes framing my jaw twitching. “I assume your father has joined her?”

Brydon rolls his eyes, scoffing loudly. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his tailored Mundane cargo shorts, altered to accommodate his tail, and scrapes his booted foot across the pebbles on the ground, kicking up a plume of dust.

“Of course he is, I swear he thinks he’s the ruler of Tathys the way he tries to order her about.” Thankfully, the High Eminence—or Lia, as she prefers to be called by her friends—has little tolerance or liking for Heylor. Unfortunately for all of us, the position of Grand Master is inherited, so he remains our burden to bear.

Everything about my dragon form seems designed for fearsome strength andprotection. From the menacing teeth filling my maw, to the aggressive flare of my nostrils on the scaled, stubby snout and the dual rows of spikes running from above the exaggerated ridges of my eyebrows back over my skull and down my neck. Smaller spikes line my jaw. The spikes lie flat and harmless when I’m calm, though they can flare quite dangerously for protection when necessary and have a tendency to twitch with my emotions.

As such, it is considered poor manners to stand before the High Eminence in such a threatening form, even if we are in the dragon's home—the grasslands at the borders of Tathys and the sea. So I change back, the change tingling my skin as the scales retreat into flesh—but only partially so, leaving my lower half covered in the shimmering midnight scales.

Because the only thing worse than greeting your queen as a ferocious beast, is greeting her naked with your dick hanging in the wind.

Brydon moves to stand closer beside me as the five riders approach on their tall Tathissian horses. Taller and more muscular than any of the horses I have seen in the Mundane, their shining coats almost glow in the sunlight as they carry their riders towards us.

They come to a halt in a cloud of dust. I see that, as Brydon reported, Heylor has joined Lia and her two guards, Gurt & Edley—two hulking beings, half orc, half berserker with deadly sharp horns and greyish green skin.

While their strength is one of their, well, strengths, their wicked speed, hidden by their bulky size, is their true value. It’s a good thing the High Eminence has the pair on a tight leash—though I’m not sure that anyone else in Tathys is aware that their relationship extends well beyond that of guard and protectee. The pair have been Lia’s lovers since they were all teens, one of the many reasons she has not taken on a mate to rule by her side.

Joining Heylor, whose steed is arrogantly in line with Lia’s, is his lackey and fellow Grand Master Edris—a man so far up Heylor’s backside I wonder if he can lick his tonsils.

The final rider is yet another Grand Master, no doubt here to stop Heylor and Edris from stirring up too much trouble. Grand Master Yorin is a portly fae with the unique ability to take the shape of any bird. Yorin, older than myselfby more years than he would like me to admit, always had a fondness for me as a child. His affinity, perhaps, was based in his fervent defence of the difference between us as shapeshifters and other shifters whenever he got too far into his cups.

The horses paw the ground as the riders settle themselves. They’ve obviously ridden hard to get here, no doubt having to fight the spooked horses during the earthquake. The creatures have a wild look in their eye, either from the quake or from the stupidity of having been ridden into the dragon's land, where any and all unwelcome beings and creatures alike are at risk of becoming dinner.

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