A Searing, Smoldering Memory
Sunlight sparkled in the mana flowers blanketing the old orchard; in Callie’s white and red hair; in the scarf abandoned by the wicker picnic basket. Callie grabbed a shimmerfruit swirl from the air, and condensed mana coated her fingertips like dew before sinking into her skin.
“Do you think dragons have books or stone tablets?” Her ivory and deep red eyes rose to the swaying branches of the closest manapomme tree, her brows crinkled in thought. “I mean, it would be hard to turn pages with claws, right?”
“Both, probably?” Attel replied, flipping through their favorite book about the continent of dragons.
This was actually the only book on the continent of dragons that the library in the Outskirts held, so it was lucky it was also a good one. She and Callie had checked it out enough times that all of the dog-ears were their own.
It took only a second for Attel to find the section titled “Ruminations on Draconic Knowledge,” which was paired with a picture of a very scholarly dragon contemplating a monumental wall of books.
She tapped the dragon’s floppy hat. “It says they have books. I doubt they burnt them all since this was published, uh, however many centuries ago. But I guess you never know.”
Callie’s fingertip caressed her puckered chin. “But there are giant dragons and tiny dragons, right? Their libraries would have to be so huge to fit the big ones! But then the little ones would get lost.”
“Why would they get lost?”
“I don’t know. Are we even sure they have wings? What if they can’t fly? Or if a big dragon smacks a little dragon on accident. It would hurt. The big ones must be massive!”
Attel snickered, her grin growing.
Callie’s wide eyes widened more. “What?”
“‘The big ones must be massive!’” Attel mimicked in Callie’s high voice. “Is that what you think about when you think about dragons? How massive they are? Didn’t know you were like that, Cal.”
“Eww, gross!” Callie cried, hitting Attel’s arm and giggling. “If anyone’s gonna fall in love with a dragon, it’s you, not me!”
“If he’s a nice dragon.”
Callie laughed. “Weirdo!”
“Has to be better than other faenriin,” Attel grumbled.
“Speaking of!” Callie was using her singsong tone: a sure sign that Attel wasn’t going to like what she was going to say. “We need to head back. His Royalest Majesty, King Caexiael of the Blood Red Sky, should be gracing us with his magnificent presence any time, now.”
“Great.” Attel rolled back against the silky manaweave blanket and closed her eyes, letting the sunlight play across her face and the warm breeze stir her hair. It was a nice day. A really nice day. “Tell me when he’s gone.”
Callie gasped. “You’re not really going to skip out on the King’s visit?”
“It’s just a stupid ceremony. He literally won’t even notice I’m not there. He’d give the same boring speech even if he was talking to himself.”
“But we helped set up the runestones he’s dedicating!”
“They only had us do it because no one else wanted to. Why do menial things yourself when you can make the Abeyants do it, right?”
Callie wrinkled her nose but didn’t disagree.
“Why do you care so much, anyway? You expect him to shake your hand or bow to you really fancily?”
“No, but I’ve heard he’s very handsome,” Callie purred.
“I’ll stick with the dragons.”
Callie rolled her eyes, but a smile crept across her lips as she stood and brushed some petals from her skirt. “Well, I’m going.”
“Have a great time.”
Callie nudged the book with her ballet flat. “You too.” She placed a hand on her hip as she eyed Attel. “You are coming back home, right? Not going to run away to the Land of Dragons without me?”
“Yeah, yeah. See you tonight, Callie.”
“See you tonight, Attie.”
Callie watched Attel with a soft smile for a moment longer before shaking her head, flipping the red half of her hair over her shoulder, and heading back towards the Outskirts.
Attel sat up as Callie moved towards the churning black and red sky. Miasma filaments streaked through it. Some jolted, quick and violent as lightning, while some lingered, undulating in the deeper miasma thick as storm clouds.
A crystal vial, Callie described the wards as. A thin, translucent layer holding back an entire ocean. It looked as ominous as an abyss, but it was all show. The wards would hold. They’d just reinforced them to make sure.
Still, Attel didn’t like to look at the miasma any more than she had to. Once Callie’s form disappeared into the manapommes, Attel turned back to the honeybelles that danced at the roots of the closest tree.
Yet her eye caught not on the real honeybelles but shimmery gold imitations, woven into bright red manasilk.
Callie’s scarf. It was the one she wore every day, “because even Abeyants deserve to look cute.”
She’d been so caught up in the stupid handsome king that she’d forgotten it. That, or she’d left it on purpose so Attel would change her mind about going and bring it back to her.
Attel stretched out against the blanket and drew the fraying spine of their book against her stomach. Wrapping the scarf around her wrist, she flipped through pages of text and images of dragons, their wings stretched wide against a brilliant blue sky.
It was fine. She’d bring it back tonight. For now, the dragons called.
