Wren still didn’t know all the specifics of Alec’s passing, but it had been swift. One evening he’d been fine, the next day he’d sickened, and by the third day, the life drained from his eyes. Wren knew her mother did not like to talk about Alec’s death. Alec and Anneke shared fond memories, but his last few dark days were left in the past.
“I wish he was here,” Wren said finally.
“Me, too,” Anneke replied, her eyes gleaming with sadness. She had loved Alec deeply, but she had grown to love Wren’s papa, too.
Wren loved her adopted father with his broad smiles and booming laugh, but it still hurt that Alec was gone and couldn’t see her wed.
The breeze picked up, and she peeked at her mother. The scarf around Anneke’s neck shifted, revealing the wraparound scars curling around her neck. Wren’s thoughts darkened, and she focused her attention back on the keep.
Hate was a poisonous thing, but she couldn’t help but hate the people who had done such a thing to her mother. The Verlantians had made Anneke so terrified for her life that she’d fled the kingdom. The northern dark elven kingdom needed to be dealt with. The people were cruel and untrustworthy and as sharp as their pointed ears. Their greed infected everything. It was only a matter of time before they waged war again for the isles.
Her jaw clenched.
They are not getting my dragons.
The Isles of Lorne were not huge, but they were wealthy and prosperous, thanks in part to the water dragons that bred there—and only there—and in even greater part to the black diamonds that were created from the underwater volcanoes which birthed Lorne itself. As a result, though small, the Dragon Isles were rich in fertile, verdant meadows and dark, volcanic soil. The black-as-night sand beaches were a sight to behold for any trader coming upon their shores, no matter if it was their first time visiting or their hundredth.
What the elves really coveted were the trade routes.
The oceans around the isles were too dangerous to traverse, so any vessel that wished to trade had to sail through the isles which the Lord of Lorne controlled.
Wren’s papa.
He was a just man for all, but both the northerners and southerners hated his power of the trade routes. Which made the Dragon Isles a constant target of their enemies.
It was dangerous being related to the Lord of Lorne. More times than Wren could count, there had been an attempt on their lives or an attack on the islands.
That’s when her papa had started paying the tithe, and it all stopped. At least, the very public attacks had. If she ever got her hands on one of those rock lickers, she’d…
“What is it, Wren?” her mother asked. “I can practically hear your thoughts from here.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Out with it. You haven’t been known to keep anything to yourself before.”
She glanced at the wraparound scars that circled Anneke’s neck once more. While Wren assumed that the scars were punishment for some perceived wrongdoing, her mother had never outright admitted what had truly happened. Pulling her hand from her mum’s, she rubbed both her hands together and licked her lips, nervous at the mere thought of asking the question. Her mother was right; she never shied away from saying what she thought or wanted to know.
“Your scars,” she ventured. “What…what happened to you? It must have happened before you reached Lorne. So wh—”
“Not all men are honorable.” Anneke sighed. “The Verlantians enjoy owning slaves. Collars are quite the fashion statement.”
Wren’s hands curled into fists, and she wanted to hit something. Slavery was disgusting. No one had the right to own another human being. “They chained you like an animal?” she spat.
“Some things are best forgotten, Daughter. They cannot hurt me any longer.” Her mum lifted her head high and jerked her chin toward the village, the keep, and the teeming mass of bustling people. “We should not talk about such grim things on a girl’s wedding day. Our people will soon greet you. Let me give you one last hug before we are mobbed.”
Anneke pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.
“M-mum!” She laughed against Anneke’s neck. “I can't breathe!”
“I’m so proud of you, you know?” was her mother’s response. Her voice was thick with tears. Wren’s eyes heated. “You've grown into such a lovely lady. Fiery, like your hair, but so gentle and loving to your sister. I really could not ask for a better daughter.”
The sentimentality was too much, and Wren pushed Anneke away in an exaggerated fashion, wiping at her watering eyes. “Who are you?” she mock-accused. “The mother I know would say I am the reason she has gray hair.”
“You’re not wrong,” her mother quipped.
Wren snickered. “There you are. I was worried, for a moment, I would have to go hunting for my mum.”
“Never. I wouldn’t miss this day for anything.” She held her hand out. “Let’s make a pact not to cry anymore today, shall we?”
“Deal,” Wren agreed, shaking her hand.
Anneke’s eyes narrowed, and she scanned the edge of the moor. “How about collecting some flowers for the ceremony before we head back? All of your favorites are in season. The sun this morning has really helped them bloom.”
Wren nodded eagerly; she was not quite ready to head back. “I can definitely agree to that.” A shadow swooped over them. She held a hand over her eyes and turned her face up to the sky just as a telltale silhouette crossed the sun, becoming larger and larger above them as the dragon descended, stirring up grass, leaves, and flowers.
“And…it seems Aurora can, too,” her mum commented.
Aurora was small and slight by dragon standards, though that did not mean she was not still giant. When she landed amid the flowers, the ground bumped heavily beneath Wren’s feet, and she and her mother held on to each other to keep their balance until the earth was settled once more. Wren’s dragon was resplendent, surrounded by the early summer flowers, her shimmering scales pale like the pearls that grew in the water she had been born in. They glowed in the sunshine. It was those very scales which made Aurora almost impossible to spot, both in the sea and the sky, which was deadly in tandem with the dragon’s speed. No dragon who lived in and around the isles had so far been able to match her.
“You took your time,” Wren chastised her dragon, closing the distance between them. She ran her hands over Aurora’s muzzle and pressed her cheek to the slick scales. The dragon huffed out a breath in return, which ruffled Wren’s hair. “Have you come to help us collect flowers?”
Aurora let out a series of whistles and clicks, which sounded odd outside of the water but were melodic and haunting beneath the waves. Wren had learned the language when she was young; almost everyone within the Dragon Isles learned it then. For what was a kingdom that coexisted with dragons if they could not speak to them?
The dragon stretched out and closed her reptilian eyes.
So that was how it was going to be.
“Fine, you big lizard. Just lie there in the sun.”
Wren patted her dragon and joined her mother in collecting as many lilac, white, and blue flowers as possible. Together, they gathered: common chickweed, for they were delicate flowers with numerous leaves to bulk out the bouquets; giant knotweed, to add height; lousewort, white waterlilies, and heath-spotted orchids for their beautiful flowers; burnet roses to go around the edges; and lastly, violet pansies, some of them containing random yellow petals which acted as a startling and eye-catching counterbalance against the purple and white all around them.
Wren and Anneke sat beside Aurora to string them together to create garlands and flower crowns before Wren looped the leather rope around the assemblies and secured them to her dragon.
Anneke placed a delicate flower crown on Wren’s head. “Daughter, the flowers look lovely in your hair. I can’t wait for your husband-to-be to see you once you’re all dressed up! But your papa will cry when he sees you.”
“No more crying!” Wren exclaimed.
“I promised I wouldn’t cry, but I said nothing of your father.” A pause. “Are you ready?”