Page 4 of The Good Daughter

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Well,” I shrugged. “Two goat stews then please.”

“Excellent choice. And to drink?”

I looked at the row of tankards along the bar and the row of faces wavering above them in varying shades of red.

“What’s not lethal?”

“Milk,” advised the barman. “Steer clear of the dreck, young lady—it’ll have you off your feet and then one of these reprobates will have you on your back. And you sir, stay away from the water. There’s not a well worth shit in these parts. Someone offers you water then he’s a liar. Either that or it’s liable to get up an’ get outta the glass by itself.”

“Two milks.”

We found a table, and we ate and drank. At first, we attracted more attention than I was comfortable with as an anomaly, but pretty soon the novelty wore off and the drinkers returned to killing their brain cells with dreck.

All bar one.

There was one man on the far side of the bar who kept looking our way. He seemed to be with a group of rowdies who stood out themselves, but our observer was different. While his friends made merry, he sat quiet, watching us.

He noticed me looking back and gave me a roguish smile that made me blush and return my attention to the goat stew (which was actually pretty good—kudos to the goat).

After a while, I chanced another look and found the man still watching. There was something about him that…

He was quite handsome in a rough sort of way (again, ‘rogue’ was the word that came to mind), but that wasn’t it. There was something in his eyes that made me think back to…

It was an odd connection, but I found myself remembering a day five years ago.

The day my life changed.

Chapter Two

Five Years Earlier

It was spring, but the wind fluttered the banners around the hunting camp, even though the camp had been set up in a relatively sheltered spot.

A casual glance might suggest that this was any relatively wealthy family out for a day’s hunting (except for the fact that dragon hunting was outlawed in Wincham). But any more than a casual glance and you would spot the guards positioned around the camp, their steely gazes scanning the mountain slopes for any who might be approaching. Then you might look more closely at the banners and recognize the crest of King Uther, the King of Wincham, and the most powerful ruler in the lowlands, a position for which he’d fought hard in his youth.

It was hard to know what he was thinking at that moment, even for his daughter (his favorite daughter at that), seated near him as he stared into middle distance, perhaps listening for the sounds of the hunting party.

“Are you alright, father?” I asked.

My father seemed to come back to me from another world and forced a smile. “Quite alright, thank you, Selena.”

“You looked miles away.”

“It’s an important day.”

It would have to be an important day for my father to lead a hunting party. He himself had outlawed dragon hunting when he was a younger man, and I’d grown up being taught that hunting was a cruel and barbaric sport. But today we were entertaining important men from the lands that flanked Wincham, Gaunt, and Latran, nations with which Wincham had warred for many generations. Father was determined to put an end to that bloodshed, and if the price was a dead dragon, then he would pay it.

That said, though he led the hunt, he couldn’t bring himself to actually do any hunting, using his advanced age as an excuse. I’d offered to keep him company, which gave me my excuse. By contrast, and though they’d been raised in the same beliefs as me, both my sisters, Rhea and Sylvia, leapt at the chance to hunt with the handsome princes we were entertaining. In Latran and Gaunt, dragon hunting was a popular pastime for the nobility and it was certainly the best way to keep the princes and their royal fathers happy during their visit.

My father had a plan, I knew that much, though I didn’t know what it was. I did know that he’d grown tired of war.

A roar echoed down to us from further up the slopes and I saw my father’s body tense as we both heard cries and the sounds of excited activity.

Though I didn’t want to do it, I found myself looking up to see, emerging from over the ridge, the shape of a dragon, its wings beating loudly, fighting against the high winds with all its strength. Those winds would limit its maneuverability but it still managed to avoid a stout crossbow bolt that burst from the ground towards it. The dragon hissed and spat, and I heard the commotion on the ground as the hunting party rushed to avoid the incoming lance of flame.

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