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A Courtship of Dragons
A Courtship of Dragons
A Courtship of Dragons
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A Courtship of Dragons

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Friends and lovers have always come easily to Estenarven kin Boulderforce, until Mastekh. For the first time in over three hundred years, Estenarven has found a dragon that matters. Now all he has to do is convince him.

Mastekh kin Rainstorm doesn’t expect much from life; he mostly wants to be left alone. Until Estenarven leaves a gift on his pillow. For the first time someone is paying attention to Mastekh, but can this shy, downtrodden dragon ever learn to trust another – and himself – enough to give in to life, joy... and maybe even love?

Warning! This M/M romantic side-adventure contains a watery dragon with no confidence and a stone-stubborn Boulderforce with confidence enough for two. May also contain an interfering Starshine, a slightly perplexed Blazeborn and kissing. Enjoy!

LanguageEnglish
PublisherBecca Lusher
Release dateAug 4, 2017
ISBN9781370928408
A Courtship of Dragons
Author

Becca Lusher

Having an overactive imagination hasn’t always been a good thing: I spent much of my childhood scared of the dark and terrified by the stories my older sister told me (mostly to stop her being the only one afraid of the dark). These days I find it useful. I love stories, I love fantasy, I love things with wings, stars and the world around me, and I have great fun combining them all into my stories.Born in the UK, I live in the wild south-west where I run around with my dogs and get bossed about by cats, while taking photos of gorgeous landscapes, reading lots of books and climbing rocks.I’ve also been known to write stories.

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    A Courtship of Dragons - Becca Lusher

    Introduction

    WELCOME TO THE Overworld, or more precisely, the Dragonlands. For those who aren’t familiar with it, the Overworld has been cursed by Gods to be covered in clouds, drowning the lowlands and oceans and leaving mountaintops as isolated islands. The reasons for this have been lost over the centuries, but tension still remains between humans and dragons over who was at fault. (The dragons blame the humans, the humans can’t remember, the Gods aren’t talking.)

    Not that any of that is particularly relevant to this book, it’s just a bit of background as to why my travellers are holed up in the mountains during the Storm Season.

    If you are familiar with the Overworld, and the DRAGONLANDS series in particular, then this story is set a few weeks after the events of Blazing Dawn. You don’t have to have read that book to enjoy this, although it will have introduced you to all the necessary characters.

    Chief amongst them being Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight, my two young dragons, whose courtship this book is about.

    If you’re familiar with the Overworld because of the WINGBORN series, then this is set about two hundred years before Mhysra and co, back when dragons still interacted with humans and women were still part of the Rift Riders. Although the focus in this book is primarily on my young dragons, a few Rift Riders do make appearances, along with a few other characters from Blazing Dawn.

    So whether you’re a frequent visitor to these lands or new to the whole place... Welcome! I hope you enjoy this sweet little romance between a watery, anxious dragon and the stone stubborn Boulderforce who loves him. And hopefully I’ll see you around this world again soon.

    1

    The Daisy

    Highstrike, Tempestfury Kinlands

    2nd Storm Month, 579 Cloud Era

    THERE WAS A flower on his pillow.

    Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight paused just inside the narrow chamber he’d been assigned for this unplanned but necessary stay with kin Tempestfury. Beyond the narrow window slit, the Storm Season raged in all its fury, filling the sky with force and making it impossible for most dragons and skyships to fly. Safely inside and protected from the weather, Mastekh clutched his recipe book to his chest and cautiously approached the bed.

    It was narrow and carved from stone, in the traditional draconic style, but the blankets were thickly woven wool and the pillows were plush and soft and smelled like goosedown. Not that he spared much attention for the furnishings as he reached out a cautious hand towards the flower.

    Small and straggly, it was a weed. A plain, common weed with bright white petals overlapping and crowding around a sunshine-yellow centre. The whole thing was barely the size of his thumbnail, with a dark green stalk trailing forlornly below in search of roots it could no longer feel.

    A daisy.

    Mastekh pinched the stalk between thumb and finger and raised it slowly towards his nose. He breathed in deep: meadows, sunshine and Estenarven.

    Sighing, he smiled and held the flower up before his eyes, twirling it first one way, then the other, thinking about the big, broad-shouldered Boulderforce dragon and the way his bright smile softened whenever Mastekh came near.

    And who had once kissed him as though Mastekh was the very air he needed to breathe.

    A kiss and a rescue. Wonderment and joy. Strength from weakness.

    That had been ten days ago and there hadn’t been any sign of anything more since.

    Estenarven hadn’t been ignoring Mastekh exactly, but he hadn’t sought him out either, and Mastekh had never been the sort to make the first move. Or any move really. They had both been busy and Mastekh had begun to think it was a one off, a mistake, a case of excited emotions overwhelmed by the moment.

    He twirled the daisy again, this common little weed that flourished everywhere, including strange, out of the way places and brought a splash of sunshine inside on this gloomiest of days. A little ray of hope.

    Something bubbled up inside him and he tucked the daisy behind his ear, flopping onto the bed to crack open the recipe book and flip through the pages. So many delicious treats and delicacies awaited him inside, but he already knew what he wanted to prepare next.

    Rock cakes.

    Grinning, Mastekh brushed his thumb over the soft petals beside his ear and studied how best to begin wooing a Boulderforce.

    2

    Rock Cakes

    ESTENARVEN KIN BOULDERFORCE Clan Stoneheart was hungry. It wasn’t quite time for dinner yet, but he’d missed lunch – and breakfast, now that he thought about it. His day had been all go since before dawn, when a particularly nasty storm had struck the Skylark, threatening to throw the human ship from the sky and into the cursed Cloud Sea below.

    Obeying the orders of Elder Blazeborn, Estenarven had done his best to bolster the ship and keep it airborne while Mastekh and Jesral kin Lightstorm Clan Skystorm had gone ahead with Elder Goryal in search of sanctuary and shelter.

    Which was how they’d ended up here: Highstrike, home of kin Tempestfury. A rocky, spiky, exposed and unforgiving tower that dug deep into the crag it had been built upon, while the steep ravine below provided shelter for both dragons and skyships alike. It wasn’t a place Estenarven would have personally chosen to visit or stay in, but so far the Tempestfury dragons had been welcoming and it was an easy enough place to learn his way around.

    Getting the Skylark to Highstrike had been only the start of his busy day. The rest had been spent moving Elder Blazeborn’s things to his suite, unpacking the blankets, quilts and oddities that would make the elder feel at home without Khennik even noticing they were there. Then Estenarven had met up with the other aides to ensure that they all knew exactly how best to serve their elders in this new environment.

    Estenarven was exhausted, quite frankly, and his stomach was threatening to take his legs hostage if he didn’t do something about its emptiness soon. Honestly, anyone would think he was still a dragonling, needing five big meals a day. He was old enough that one meal should suffice, but he was a big Boulderforce – even in human shape – and he had been rather busy. No one would begrudge him a mid-afternoon snack to tide him over.

    The trouble was, in order to have said snack, Estenarven would have to trudge down fifteen floors to reach the kitchen and, even though it was all downhill, he couldn’t quite face the exertion. Which was why he opted to find his room instead.

    Situated off the main area of Elder Blazeborn’s suite, Estenarven’s temporary quarters weren’t much to write home about. He had a bed, a tall, narrow window, a tiny alcove that some might optimistically described as a dressing area and a wash basin with its own hot and cold water taps. It wasn’t exactly spacious, and too small by far for him to assume his native form inside it, but it would do. He’d had worse and at least he didn’t have to share it with anyone.

    Although, he wouldn’t necessarily mind sharing with Mastekh – if only the bed was bigger. Estenarven eyed the item in question, doubtful he could fit into it on his own, let alone share it with anyone else. True, he was on the larger size of the kin and Clan scale, but Tempestfury’s were hardly small. There was no excuse for such puny furniture.

    Oh well, he would make the best of it. He usually did.

    Filling his basin with warm water, Estenarven washed his face and ran some cold water into his hands for a drink. His stomach gurgled in anticipation before rumbling its disappointed opinion of such a weak offering.

    It was no use, he’d have to visit the kitchens. If not he might start eyeing the furniture and none of it was really big enough for him to pick off a piece here and there. Besides, as a Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart, some might deem a little pebble nibbling to be cannibalism.

    Chuckling, Estenarven straightened his dark grey robe and left his room, wanting to check Elder Blazeborn’s things one last time before visiting the kitchens.

    Warm, sweet, sugary goodness stopped him in his tracks.

    Estenarven paused in the doorway, head raised like a hunting hound. He sniffed the air, wondered if he was imagining things and sniffed again.

    Food. There was food in the room. Fresh and warm and delicious.

    Following his nose, he walked cautiously forward. Knowing his luck this would be a welcome gift intended for the elder – which he wouldn’t be allowed to touch. Except there wasn’t a hint of spice to the scent, nothing fiery or remotely tempting for a Sunlord.

    No, this treat was sweet. Not the usual fare one might use to coax a Stoneheart from his lair either, but the perfect fodder for this particular Boulderforce.

    As he crossed the room, he was drawn to the seating area, where a series of chairs and settees had been arranged to promote conversation. Estenarven didn’t care about any of that, all that mattered was the table he could now see over the back of the nearest settee.

    There was a platter. A stone platter piled high with chunky, round, fist-sized cakes. Flecks of dried fruit showed in one, melted spots of chocolate in another, another was dusted with sugar and icing. They were golden and bulging, and by the Family, he couldn’t resist any longer.

    Jumping over the back of the seat, Estenarven landed in a crouch before the table. He reached for the platter, hesitated and glanced over his shoulder.

    Nothing stirred. No one moved. He was alone.

    He touched the edge of the platter and paused again, sniffing cautiously. Cakes, sweet, tempting and delicious, underlain with the faintest hint of dampness and pond lilies.

    Mastekh.

    Chuckling with delight, Estenarven snatched the topmost cake and took an enormous bite. He groaned, shoving the rest of the morsel into his bulging cheeks. There was nothing dainty or delicate about these cakes. They were thick and heavy and doughy.

    Rock cakes. Proper rock cakes. The way they should be baked. The way a Stoneheart would make them. And packed with additional sweetness.

    Snatching up the platter, Estenarven clutched them protectively to his chest and stood up, looking around the room again. Empty. Still.

    Estenarven chewed his delicious mouthful and glanced at the door on the opposite side of the suite from his own. It was closed. If it had been open even the smallest crack he might have approached, but it wasn’t. Probably for the best. He still had fifteen cakes to scoff and right now his manners weren’t at their best.

    Hording his prize like an ancient drake of old, Estenarven hurried back to his room where he could enjoy himself in peace.

    Halfway there, the main door of the suite clicked open. Estenarven paused, the second cake already on the way to his open mouth.

    Elder Blazeborn swept inside in a swirl of bronze silk, heat and fiery power. Golden eyes fixed upon Estenarven and slowly dropped to the platter held protectively close to his chest. His gaze narrowed as Estenarven unconsciously hunched his shoulders inwards, turning slightly away to better conceal his prize.

    The elder’s lips twitched. Hungry, Estenarven?

    Feeling half-foolish, half-defiant, Estenarven cleared his throat. A little, he replied, voice thick with the first cake he’d devoured.

    Elder Blazeborn snorted. Carry on then. He waved him away and Estenarven didn’t hesitate to obey. Any longer beneath those knowing golden eyes and his manners would have prompted him to offer the other dragon a cake, which would be awful.

    These rock cakes were his. Mastekh had made them for him.

    Scuttling into his room like a dragonling after a kitchen raid, Estenarven shut the door by leaning back against it and shoved a cake into his mouth.

    Sibling Stone, that tasted good. Chocolate and sugar and doughy goodness. Nothing could compare to this. He slid down the door, propped the plate on his knees and methodically worked his way through the stack.

    After his sixth cake, he paused. Now that the sharpest edge had been taken off his hunger, he studied the seventh offering. He could still smell water lilies, a little more strongly now that the cakes had cooled and were no longer overwhelming his olfactory senses with temptation.

    Mastekh had made these for him.

    Mastekh had been thinking of him.

    While it was true his fellow aide did enjoy cooking, especially for Elder Blazeborn – using his newfound skills to try and win the fiery dragon’s favour – he’d never baked rock cakes before. He’d never made anything without the sole intent of pleasing their elder.

    He’d never made anything for Estenarven.

    Until now.

    Nibbling on his seventh cake, Estenarven rested his head back against the door and smiled.

    The daisy must have worked.

    Placing the remains of the cake on the platter, Estenarven licked his fingers and put the rest of his treats aside. He crawled across the floor and pulled a small travelling chest out from beneath the bed.

    For ten whole days the kiss he’d shared with Mastekh had been all he could think about, but storm winds, troublesome dragons and aide duties had left him little time for action. Until he saw the daisy.

    It had been a feeble effort at best, a spur of the moment decision when they’d paused overnight inside a small ravine surrounded by empty meadows. He wasn’t even sure that Mastekh cared about him. They’d grown close while working together to look after Elder Blazeborn, but although the kiss had been an enjoyable joint effort, Mastekh had shown no signs of following up on it. He’d barely been able to look Estenarven in the face since.

    Then again, Mastekh was so shy and nervy that this wasn’t necessarily a new development and might have had nothing whatsoever to do with the kiss.

    But perhaps it had. Perhaps the kiss had overwhelmed him as much as it had Estenarven and now his dear little Puddle was at a loss for how to act next. Estenarven certainly was. Which was why he’d picked the daisy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, especially as duties had kept Estenarven too busy to worry about it ever since he’d stolen a brief moment to lay it on Mastekh’s pillow.

    Now rock cakes.

    Estenarven took another bite and opened his chest, digging through his meagre collection of belongings in search of the small box he’d been certain had been left on the top.

    No matter, he soon found it, nestled inside a screwed-up blanket. He cracked open the lid and smiled at the contents.

    If the last ten days had taught Estenarven anything it was that Mastekh was not his usual type of lover, not someone as bold and brash as himself, unafraid to take what they both wanted without always needing to ask.

    No, Mastekh was quiet, he was sweet, he was shy. He wasn’t a taker, nor was he one to be flattered by sudden demands.

    He needed to be coaxed, wooed, won.

    He needed to be courted.

    Smiling, Estenarven shut the box and ran his fingers thoughtfully over the top.

    Let the gifting games begin.

    3

    The Dinner Bell

    MASTEKH HAD WOUND himself into a fine state by the time the bell rang for dinner. Anxiety pinched high and tight inside his chest as he paced the narrow confines of his room. He knew such restless movement wasn’t helping, but sitting still was worse.

    What had he done? Oh, what had he done?

    Courting a Boulderforce, him? What had come over him? How did one even go about courting a Boulderforce anyway?

    Mastekh paced and wrung his hands, wondering if he’d done the right thing or made a terrible mistake. Had Estenarven liked the cakes? What if he’d hated them? It could be the sand bread all over again, when he’d tried so hard to impress Elder Blazeborn and got it terribly wrong.

    Maybe Estenarven hated him now. After all, rock cakes weren’t normally made with chocolate or so much sugar. But Estenarven loved sweet things. Yet rock cakes were supposed to be savoury. What right had he to change an ancient Stoneheart recipe?

    And what business did a puny little Rainstorm have in courting a Boulderforce anyway?

    Did Estenarven even know they were a courting gift?

    Sibling Water, he couldn’t cope with this. His heart was beating triple time and he was only pacing his room.

    Breathe, he counselled himself. Breathe.

    It was unlikely that Estenarven thought it was a courting gift anyway. He probably thought it was just something Mastekh had made while bored.

    Whoever heard of a Flowflight and a Stoneheart anyway? While other Clans might mix romantically with different dragons without a second thought, ever since the Curse had covered the lowlands of the world in a thick layer of clouds, Flowflights had kept to themselves. With so many of their kin lost in the water beneath the Curse, they had pulled inwards, determined not to dilute their diminished bloodlines any further. Romances were frowned upon, mate-alliances refused. Flowflights had learnt to keep to their own.

    Oh, but…

    Mastekh shook his head and wrung his hands, feeling them starting to drip. He was loosing control. He couldn’t lose control, not in here. His hold on his human form was improving every day, but stress made it worse and he’d always had trouble focusing. If he wasn’t careful his thoughts tended to spiral and when they went down, they went all the way down into the depths of anxiety and worry and oh, oh, oh —

    S-stop it! he hissed at himself, standing still and closing his eyes.

    He couldn’t lose control in here. The room wasn’t big enough. If he gave into his fears his human skin would slide off like oil over water and he’d be left cramped and cursing and embarrassed in a room too small to hold him.

    Deep breath. In… and out.

    He had to remind himself that the pinch in his chest was just anxiety, not a heart attack. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if he did worry himself into a heart attack one of these days. It was so hard to breathe at times.

    Oh, no. Oh, no! He couldn’t breathe!

    Stop.

    He clenched his damp fists and forced his heavy tail to vanish again, settling down his rippling skin and pulling in all of the water that kept trying to escape.

    He was stronger than this. Better than this.

    Elder Blazeborn expected better. Mastekh would be better.

    Allowing a shaking breath to escape his tight lips, he opened his eyes and sighed. Much better.

    Mastekh? Elder Blazeborn called from the room beyond. Are you coming to dinner?

    Oh no, oh no, he was making the elder wait.

    Panic swept over him again as a knock sounded on his door.

    Oh, oh, he hated being a bother. He hated being late. It was so rude, so terribly rude.

    He wrenched open the door and barrelled out, bubbling apologies – and slammed straight into a wall.

    A wall which shifted so that two strong hands could grip Mastekh by the elbows, holding him steady when he would otherwise have reeled backwards.

    Oh! He looked up into a dark face and beautiful, laughing black eyes.

    A slow smile spread across Estenarven’s mouth. Hello, Puddle.

    Mastekh gulped and the anxiety melted inside his chest, warmth seeping in where there had only previously been cold. Hello, P-Pebble, he whispered.

    I’ll go on ahead, shall I? Elder Blazeborn muttered, seemingly aware that no one was paying him the least bit of attention.

    The sound of the door thumping shut made Mastekh jump. Estenarven tightened his grip on his elbows – and that was when Mastekh noticed where his own hands were.

    On Estenarven’s chest.

    Not just on the dark

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