TWO

––––––––

24 December 1902

This journal came to my attention this afternoon. I thought I’d lost it, but I found it when sorting through some belongings. I have, again, been remiss in documenting all there is to being a modern wyvern.

There was a sárkány last week. It went as well as could be expected.

Afterward, Kostya emerged from wherever he’s been in hiding, proposing that he should go to the weyr and demand they reaccept the black sept. I pointed out that to date, he’s found only two black dragons, and since then, one has died in a minor skirmish in Latvia. He has agreed to wait until such time as he has enough members to convince the other wyverns to recognize the sept.

And speaking of him, he mentioned that he discovered he had two children by two mortals, but all four recently died to the bloody flux. He was distraught because he had no idea the women—sisters, as it turns out—bore him children, and he only found out after the landlord of one of them found a note with his information and contacted him to settle their bills and pay for the burials. He said—

Drake looked up when Kostya tapped on his door before opening it. “I’m leaving for Constantinople and thought I would say good-bye while you weren’t trying to plow the field of every woman in Buda.”

One of the two women who lay asleep next to him, their limbs tangled together, woke at the noise and murmured something sleepily. Drake grabbed at the inkwell on his knee as it started to slip, carefully capping it and placing it on the stand next to him.

Kostya noticed the movement of the quilt, and gave Drake a jaded look.

“Too late,” Drake said, more than a little tired of everyone nagging him about the fact that he was simply not meant for one woman, and one woman alone. The sun would never rise on a day when he felt otherwise.

7 August 1914

I found this journal when taking over the London house belonging to my mother. I am greatly remiss with regard to documenting the happenings to the green dragons, but I am determined to rectify that.

My grandam Piroska, her mate—Jakab—and my cousin Dmitri arrived in London last week. Dmitri was his usual surly self, while Jakab has barely removed his nose from the cases of books he’s managed to acquire during a short time.

The visit has been pleasant, but I am troubled.

Drake set down the pen, unwilling to put down too much. He considered his options, then, making a quick decision, strode out of his study and down a flight of stairs, and entered the large room his mother had called her library.

“There you are,” Piroska said, glancing up as he entered. “You do not approve?”

Jakab sat in a corner surrounded by crates, a large tome on his lap as he read. Drake knew from experience that he would be lost in his own world and was blissfully oblivious to the others who were in the room.

“Approve of your mate, or the fact that he is apparently determined to purchase every book within a five-hundred-mile radius?” he asked, moving to her when she gestured to a spot on the sofa next to her.

“You are wyvern,” she said in the same airy, slightly breathless voice that Drake remembered from his youth. “Of course you would approve of all green dragons, even ones who are not related to you by blood, as Jakab is. Although that is not strictly true, since he is a mere ten generations from the First Dragon, and that means your connection to him is separated only by four generations. Come. Have some of the wine I brought you.”

She patted the sofa again, and he sat, accepting a glass of dragon’s blood, sipping appreciably. “You have outdone yourself, Grand-mère. This is exceptional. What vintage is it?”

“It is the wine my Cziriak laid down when you were born,” she answered, taking a small sip of it before setting down the glass and eyeing him, a glint of humor in her eyes. Drake knew those eyes well; he saw them each morning in his shaving mirror. “Your father tried to take it in order to woo Catalina, but fortunately, your grandfather hid it well, and Toldi only found your brother’s birth-year vintage, and that, as you know, is undrinkable.”

“Vinegar,” Drake said, nodding, having a vague memory of Kostya ranting about the fact that there was some sort of a blight affecting the grapes that were produced the year he was born. “The fact that my father was still trying to woo Mother even after I was born is odd. She has not mentioned it.”

Grand-mère waved away the question. “It is not important, given Toldi’s end. Both of them. How is Catalina?”

“Well, I believe. At least, I have heard nothing to the contrary. The last time we spoke, she was living in South Africa.”

“Ah. Diamonds,” Grand-mère said, nodding.

“She always did like shiny things,” he agreed.

“Just like a pet magpie that I had when you were a youngling. Do you remember Patois? He was not a very pretty bird, but he was so clever at finding objects to satisfy his need for shiny things.” She smiled and patted Drake on the knee. “You were very much like him at the time.”

He stiffened, wondering if she was insulting him. The idea was ridiculous, and yet, here she was making a comparison between him, the wyvern of the sept, and a motley, one-winged, flea-infested bird who regularly stole anything that caught his eye. “I did not make a habit of stealing from kin,” he informed her with much hauteur.

“Ah, kincsem, you are so quick to take offense.” She smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes creasing as she patted him on one cheek. “I’d tell you that you are just like your father, but I fear you would take offense of that, as well.”

“Mother claims I get my temper from her,” he answered, relaxing against the back of the sofa. Of course Grand-mère wasn’t insulting him; no one loved him more than she did, and even her criticisms were gently delivered. “Naturally, I do not allow such unwelcome emotions to take hold of me.”

“It is said that a wise man can control his emotions, but I’ve never found that to be at all practical,” she observed, moving to adjust a pillow behind her. Drake rose to fetch a larger one, and assisted making her comfortable before retaking his seat. “Now, you will tell me what is bothering you so that I might return to Paris with an easy heart.”

He was silent for a few minutes, considering her question. It was one he’d dealt with many times before, but evidently, she had once again returned to the subject of his love life, or lack thereof.

Part of him wanted to answer, to seek advice on a problem he couldn’t speak of to anyone else, but he was well aware of the mantle of wyvernhood that clamped down upon him. He was a wyvern, and wyverns did not show weakness. “I must be a poor host if you believe I am troubled when I’ve been nothing but delighted to see you again.”

“Drake,” she said, shaking her head, but her eyes danced with amusement. “Do you think I am so unlearned that I cannot tell a dragon beset by worries, and one whose heart is carefree?”

“It’s not a question of being unlearned,” he said quickly, the emotional war within causing him to speak with more emphasis than was strictly called for. “I am a wyvern. Obviously, the cares of the sept fall upon my shoulders. If I seem less joyful than I was in the previous century, it is because I have heavier responsibilities settled on me.”

“Now, that is an untruth. No, do not flare up at me,” she said, lifting a hand to stop him even though he had done nothing more than give her a long look. “I am not insulting you, the most beloved of all my grandchildren.”

“Kostya told me you say the same thing of him,” he said, wiggling his shoulders to loosen them.

She laughed aloud, and surprised him by winking. “Your brother was always one to carry tales to you. It amazes me that he is the older, since he acts ... but no. We are not here to discuss Kostya. Stop looking at me like I have piddled on your favorite cushion, kincsem. It is right and proper for you to wrap the dignity of your position around you, but haughtiness is unbecoming in a wyvern.”

“The kin look to me for protection—” Drake started to protest, feeling momentarily adrift.

“They look to you for guidance. Respect. Love,” she said, her gaze still a brilliant emerald, but the humor in it was replaced by a warning expression. “You were born to be wyvern, Drake. Yes, as was Kostya so born to be wyvern of the black sept, but you—you are special. You might not be a reeve as I am, but your bloodline is indisputable. You would not have been accepted by the green sept if it were otherwise.”

Drake stood and moved to the window, twitching back a curtain to glance outside at the busy London street. “The sept is the only thing I’m concerned with, not the perceived value of my ancestry.”

“It will have an impact when you find a mate,” she continued, surprising him.

He turned back to face her, his sense of wariness fading. This was a familiar discussion. “You do not approve of my woman?”

“Which one?” she asked, a gentle smile curving her lips. “The mortal who graced your bed last night? The one whom you took to the opera the day before? Or the three who were disporting with you in the pool two nights past?”

He took an involuntary step back.

“Oh, yes,” she said, taking another sip of wine, her eyes downright sparkling with merriment. “I know of your escapades. Your brother stopped by to visit me, and later went to find you. He says he left immediately, but not before he saw you were engaged in what was an extremely spirited aquatic session of sexual congress. Ah, I see by your expression that you remember the time many years ago when we had a talk about a mate. You were troubled then, and you are more so now. This concerns me.”

Drake sent another quick glance at Jakab, but the latter was now seated on the floor, bent over a book the size of a bulldog. Drake cherished all members of his sept, but he had a fondness for the scholar who had kept his grandmother from becoming lonely. “I’ve made myself clear on the subject of females, mortal and dragonkin. As for troubles, I have none other than keeping Chuan Ren from destroying as many green dragons as she can.”

He stopped, badly wanting reassurance, but unwilling for her to know the truth.

And yet ... there was literally no one else he trusted more. His mother would be sympathetic, but she’d been born mortal, and despite her belief she was a source of dragon lore, her grasp on that subject was less than complete. He’d get no answers from her.

Kostya would not do at all. Likewise any of his sept, or even those dragons whom he considered friends.

There was no one but Grand-mère to ask. His choice was to bare his soul to her or keep silent about it for the balance of his life.

“Yes?” Grand-mère asked, sipping at her wine, just as if she’d read his mind.

He shot a suspicious glance at her, but her face was placid and filled with mild curiosity.

“I ... there is something I would ask you,” he said slowly, fighting the need to keep his secret shame hidden, tired of the doubt.

Wyverns never doubted. Not about themselves, anyway.

Grand-mère gave him an encouraging smile.

“It is ... over the past two hundred years, I’ve found it ... there is difficulty ...” He stopped, unwilling to put into words the true depths of his fear.

She said nothing, just raised her eyebrows in question, and waited for him to continue.

He drained his wineglass and, with a muttered oath, said quickly, “I have difficulty shifting form.”

“Ah?” She thought for a moment, then nodded. “That is what is troubling you? My Drake, my kincsem, that is a normal situation.”

“It is?” He frowned, relieved but at the same time hesitant. “Kostya can shift at the merest wish. My guards can do the same. I do not know of any other dragon who has problems shifting to dragon form when it is so desired.”

“I cannot,” she answered, surprising him. “Like you, I was born of a black dragon father, but he placed me with my mother’s family because I was a reeve. Those of us who were born to one sept but accepted by another have found that our ability to show our primal selves is hindered.”

“I used to be able to shift,” he admitted softly, not wishing for Jakab to hear, even though Drake doubted he was listening. “But I have not done so recently.”

“When was the last time?” she asked.

“About 1680.”

“You were a youngling then, under a hundred.” She gave a shrug. “As you grew into your green dragon self and embraced what it was to be a dragon—and a wyvern’s heir—your ability to shift subsided to allow the growth of more important facets of your being. It is the way of things with those kin who are special.”

“I don’t like it,” he said, forcing his fingers to relax when he wanted nothing more than to shout at the unfairness of it all.

Wyverns did not shout about unfairness.

“That is understandable, but if it is that which has kept you from thinking you will find a mate, then I can assure you that the opposite is true. As we have proof,” she said, nodding toward Jakab.

Drake considered this new information. “He must be an extraordinary dragon, indeed, if he is willing to overlook our shared ... trait.”

She smiled at her mate. “He is. As you are, and as will be your mate when you find her.”

“I don’t think that will happen,” he countered, shaking his head.

“Then I will greatly enjoy saying ‘I told you so’ later, when you find her. Do not look so crestfallen, my Drake. Our trait, as you called it, is simply the price we pay to be ourselves, and I would not have you change to be what you believe others want,” Grand-mère answered, then took his face in her hands, studying him for a minute before adding, “There is much of Cziriak’s compassion in you, but you have more intelligence.”

She must have noted his startled expression, because she laughed when he sputtered a protest.

“You need not defend your grandsire’s honor, Drake. He was many things, but I knew full well he was not the brightest of dragons. Your father was the opposite—he had all the cunning his father lacked, and none of his compassion. You, on the other hand, have been graced with little of your father’s nature, for which we are all thankful. Instead, you are filled with compassion tempered with intuition, and I have no doubt at all that you will be an extremely capable wyvern if you let go of doubt, and trust yourself.”

“It is not myself I doubt, but the sanity of others,” he grumbled, but a tension inside him eased somewhat.

“With that, I cannot help,” she said, patting him on the leg before getting to her feet. He’d noticed she was starting to show signs of age, something that eluded most dragons until they could count their lifetime in four digits. She straightened up, adding, “And now I must return home so that I may attend the ladies’ group I joined to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” he asked, rising and following after her. “The situation with Belgium? I doubt it will come to much. The mortals may not be wise, but they are not going to throw away their lives on pride and egotism.”

Grand-mère tapped Jakab on his shoulder, making him start before immediately getting to his feet. “You think not? You’ve seen many wars over the last four hundred years. Do you not see the signs now of more fighting?”

Drake was mildly annoyed with himself. He’d been so preoccupied with ensuring the safety of the green dragons, he hadn’t paid much attention to the death of an archduke. “What do you and the mortals do at this group?”

“Dreary things, no doubt,” she said, taking his arm as they strolled toward the front door, Jakab instructing one of the servants on how to properly pack up the boxes of his newly acquired books. “There will be the knitting of socks and balaclavas, gathering stores and medical supplies—that reminds me, you might warn any of the sept who have medical experience to be available should they be needed—fundraising and all the so-very-tedious things that women do.”

“If it is unpleasant to you, then simply do not involve yourself. The mortals will do as they do without our aid,” he pointed out.

“Ah, but could I do what I do?” She smiled when they stopped on the pavement next to a gleaming motorcar. Drake had given it to his grand-mère on her last birthday, an act that resulted in him obtaining three of the vehicles for himself. “That is to say, could I live with myself? The answer is no. I must help mortals, just as I’ve always done in times of their need. Have no fear for us, kincsem—Jakab and I will be tucked away quite safely in Paris, far away from all the goings-on in Austria and Hungary. It eases my mind to know that you and Kostya are in England, as well.”

Drake didn’t like the idea that his beloved grand-mère was working so hard for mortals who brought their own doom upon themselves, but accepted that now was not the time to reason with her.

He kissed her good-bye, watching as the car—now laden with crates of books—drove off, telling himself she would be fine, and he did not need to shut her away in a safehold to keep the ills of the world from her.