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  “Surely time has mollified your feelings over our disagreement. I know I’m no longer cross with you.”

  “I’m not anybody’s molly and don’t you forget it, boy!”

  “Mollified,” he sighed. “It means… You know what? Never mind.” His voice turned hard. “Forget what I said. I’m still brassed off. I don’t know what you have to be in a tiff about.”

  “You stole my dragon!” Senta’s voice filled the room. A few people got up and headed for the exit. Other’s hunkered down like lizzies expecting a whipping.

  “She doesn’t belong to you! She’s a grown wo… dragon, and she has the right to live her own life.”

  Aalwijn Finkler was suddenly standing between the two of them.

  “My lord,” he said, “Perhaps it would be best if you returned to your seat.”

  “I can’t return to my seat,” the young man replied, his eyes not leaving Senta. “I haven’t sat yet.”

  “Well, would you like to sit with your young lady?”

  “She’s not a lady,” Senta growled. “She’s a dragon.”

  Aalwijn sighed and then placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders, guiding him away and back to his companion. The young man let himself be led. A moment later, the restaurateur was back at Senta’s table.

  “Don’t make me ask you to leave.”

  “He came over to me!” hissed the sorceress.

  “I can package your food to take home.”

  “No. I won’t do anything.”

  The sorceress sat and fumed as she chomped her way through the pasties, sandwiches, and finally through the plate of chips. She tried not to look at the young couple, but her mind couldn’t turn away as easily as her eyes.

  The young man was Viscount Augustus Marek Virgil Dechantagne, Earl of Cordwell, Baron of Halvhazl, and perhaps most importantly, at least in his present circumstances, March Lord of Birmisia. He was the scion of a family once in disgrace, but now probably the richest in the kingdom. If all that wasn’t enough, he was now brother-in-law to the King’s second son. Senta had known him since he was born, and his family since she had arrived with them to found Birmisia Colony. It was young Lord Dechantagne, in fact, who had made her Grande Sorceress of Birmisia.

  The young lady, as Senta had indicated, was no lady at all. She was Zoantheria Hexacorallia, the coral dragon, raised by Senta from an egg. It was also Senta who had taught her the ways of magic, which now allowed her to take human form and to take up with that boy. Senta’s anger had less to do with the fact that Zoey had become Lord Dechantagne’s paramour than it had to do with her moving out of Senta’s home and into a mansion that he had provided for her.

  Once upon a time, Senta had a peculiar little family running around in her very large three-story home. Now it was only she, all alone.

  She looked down at her plate. She had gone from angry to sad, and now the little mushrooms speared with bamboo mocked her.

  “It’s hard not to be depressed when you’re always sober,” she grumbled to herself.

  Suddenly she felt herself enveloped in a great hug from behind.

  “Can’t we stop being cross?” asked Zoey over her shoulder.

  “I’m not cross at you, Pet.”

  “The result is the same. I love you. And I love Augie. Why can’t you both just get along?”

  “I’m not very good at getting along. I never really learned how.”

  Zoey stepped around the table and sat across from her. Senta thought it was like looking at a younger version of herself, only with nicer hair.

  “Don’t start being serious,” said Zoey. “I’ll think you are dying or some such.”

  “I am dying. I’m in the middle of my fourth decade. I’m a spinster—granted, a gorgeous one, but still...”

  “You are gorgeous. Now, just be nice.”

  “I am nice,” said Senta, sternly. “He’s alive, isn’t he? He has all his limbs, doesn’t he? He’s not been transformed into a salamander, has he?”

  “He wants to get along with you,” said Zoey. “He likes you. He admires you. You know he does. Why, he wants to pay for your meal.”

  “I don’t need…” Senta paused and looked up in thought. “You know, now that I think about it, I don’t remember ever paying a bill here. I’m sure Aalwijn charges.”

  “He does. Your solicitor Mr. Frost pays the tab, just like all your other bills.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He talks to me about it, when he can’t find you.”

  “What do you mean, ‘can’t find me’?”

  “I mean when he’s too afraid.”

  “Oh.”

  “Please make up with Augie,” said Zoey, squeezing her face into its most pathetic expression.

  “Oh, all right,” said Senta. “Not today though. I’ll invite you both to dinner later in the week. That will give me time to brace myself, and maybe time for you to put some protective wards on him.”

  “Lovely!” cried Zoey.

  She jumped up and skipped back to her table.

  “It’s all settled!” she exclaimed giddily to Lord Dechantagne.

  Senta growled, and then raised her hand and snapped her fingers. Suddenly her table in Café Idella was empty and she was back home in her bedroom.

  Chapter Two: Maria

  The dockyards sat at the northern tip of Port Dechantagne. To the southeast, along First Avenue were the homes of the rich and important of the city, including the colony’s two largest homes. Both the mansion of the Dechantagnes and the home created for Zoantheria Hexacorallia next to it, were less than two years old. The eastern face of Zoantheria’s home was very much the same style as the Dechantagne home it faced—three stories, columned, and classically inspired. It’s western half however, looked like nothing so much as the massive constructs used to house dirigibles. It was a home designed with the dichotomy of its mistress’s life in mind. In other words, it was built for a dragon, one who lived much of her life in the form of a human being.

  On this morning, Zoey was entertaining another woman in her beautifully appointed breakfast nook. One wall of the small room was completely taken up with a large window that looked out over a garden filled with yellow roses. The walls to either side were covered with portraits, many of them paintings, but some photographs. On the remaining wall, on either side of the open doorway, were cabinets filled with fine porcelain dinnerware. On the small table, between the two women, were a set of teacups and teapot matching the dishes in the cabinet, and a large platter containing three different kinds of biscuits.

  Zoey daintily procured a chocolate biscuit from the platter and brought it to her thick lips. Her eyes lit up as she tasted the buttery treat. She shifted in her seat. Her yellow day dress, which was one of the new styles, having no bustle, was trimmed with white bows. She ran a hand over her breast to brush away nonexistent crumbs.

  “I could never have imagined,” said the other woman, the former Maria Bertha Jerome Workville. “If you had told me three years ago that I would be living in Birmisia and that my very best friend in the world would be a dragon, well, I would have thought you were insane. I would have called for a constable. That’s what I would have done.”

  Maria too wore the latest style of day dress, hers white with pink ribbons. She was shorter than the dragon in human form, with reddish blond hair and only a few freckles across her otherwise alabaster face. As she formed her relatively thin lips into a smile, her large green eyes sparkled. Picking up the teacup, she carefully sipped.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Zoey, but it’s still too hot for me.”

  “Perhaps if you had some cream?” suggested the hostess, reaching for the creamer.

  “No. I shall wait until it cools. I don’t mind. The water must have been extraordinarily hot when it arrived. I wonder that the teapot didn’t melt.”

  “I’m sorry, Maria. The servants are used to making it that way for me. I should have thought to have them adjust things. In point of fact however, water can’t get hot enough to melt porcelain. It has a finite upper temperature.”

  “You would know better than I do, I’m sure. Don’t worry though. The tea will be cool soon enough.” She smiled again and arched one carefully sculpted brow. “Does it seem cool already to you?”

  “I do prefer mine scaldingly hot.” Zoey tossed the remainder of the biscuit into her mouth. “So how is life in the big house?”

  “Oh, it’s interesting. I can safely say that. It took me a while, but I finally feel like I know my way around. I get along with the aunt fairly well now. She doesn’t say much to me, but that’s just as well. The mother is nice enough, I suppose. It’s that Gladys that I find the most difficult. You’d think she was the lady of the house, the way she goes on, instead of a perpetual houseguest, which is what she really is.”

  “Don’t let her push you around.”

  “I try not to, and I’m standing up for myself now. Unfortunately, it took me a while to get to this point and they’ve all gotten used to running right over me.”

  “I could come and put the fear of goddess in them, if you want me too,” said Zoey. “They’re already afraid I’m going to eat one of them.”

  “No, no,” Maria waved her hand. “I’ll manage. Mind you, I really do enjoy seeing your dragon form. She is just so beautiful.”

  “Not she. Me. It’s still me. I’m the dragon.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s rather hard to remember. Looking at you now, no one would imagine you weren’t a natural born human being.”

  “Thank you. I work very hard at it. I’ve spent more time perfecting that spell than all the other magic put together.”

  “Well, it shows. I’m sure Augustus appreciates it.”

  “I hope so,” said Zoey.
br />   “He loves you so very much. Anyone can see it, the way he looks at you. You two make such a cute couple. Will you be seeing him this evening?”

  “Probably. Anyway,” said Zoey, changing the subject. “You said you wanted a favor, and if it isn’t eating some person or other, then what is it?”

  “Well, it is a delicate subject, but I feel sure that you can help me.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ve been married for more than a year and a half now,” said Maria.

  “Yes?”

  “Two years next Restuary.”

  “Yes?”

  “Almost two years and I’m not with child.”

  “I have to say,” said Zoey, “I’m not particularly versed in this area of human biology, but I do understand that sometimes it takes a bit of time.”

  “I understand that,” said Maria. “I also understand that it may take considerably longer if the husband does not visit his wife in her bedchamber.”

  “He’s not…”

  “No. Not in weeks and weeks.”

  “Oh, I… um,” the dragon in human form paused to sip her tea.

  Maria picked up her cup, blew on it, and deciding that it was still too hot, set it back down.

  “Have you talked with him about it?” asked Zoey.

  “It’s hardly something I can talk about with him, but you can.”

  “You want me to talk with him… to convince him to…”

  “Join me in amorous congress for the purposes of procreation. I mean honestly, Zoey, don’t I deserve to be a mother?”

  “I’m sure you do…”

  “So, it is imperative, at least for a while, that you share Augustus with me. I know that you are his true love, but I am his wife. I need him to make a child with me.”

  Zoey took another silent sip of tea.

  “Talk to Augustus please,” Maria continued. “Think how lovely it will be for us to have his wee baby. I will be his mommy and you will be his favorite auntie.”

  “All right,” said Zoey, with a determined frown. “Will you be ready for him tonight?”

  “Oh my. I can be, I suppose.”

  “I’m sending him to you tonight then and every successive night until the job is done.”

  “Oh, thank you, Zoey. I know how hard this must be for you.”

  “I admit. I’m feeling a bit put out, but I shall bear it, as you Brechs so often do, with a stiff upper lip. But you, Maria, must be prepared. Tonight at least, he will be primed and ready when he arrives.”

  “I shall lie back and think of Brechalon,” she said.

  * * * * *

  Lady Maria Dechantagne passed through the front door, as the lizzie majordomo opened it for her. She snuggled down into her fall coat as the cool air touched her cheeks. At the bottom of the marble steps, Maxwell jumped up from his spot beneath the azalea bush and fell into step beside her. She reached down and rubbed his head as he cooed at her.

  Maxwell was a troodon, a type of reptile-like bird originally found some hundred miles south of Birmisia Colony, but which had become common pets after having been imported to the region. He, like the rest of his kind, was just over three feet tall, though he was about eight feet from his many-toothed snout to the end of his feathery tail. Like deinonychus, similar creatures native to the region that had proved pests, troodons had large toe claws to disembowel their prey, but unlike those other beasts, troodons had relatively large brains and proved easily trainable. They were also more esthetically pleasing to humans, with emerald green feathers and bright yellow crests.

  As she always did, the young woman admired the carefully manicured gardens that separated the two houses, filled with rose bushes still in bloom, fishponds, fountains, and hedges sculpted into various geometric shapes. At about the midway point in the short journey, there was a large gazebo with a dozen pieces of outdoor furniture arranged within it. She stopped and sat at one end of a rattan loveseat, motioning Maxwell to take his place beside her, which he did, curling up and then pressing his head against her. Idly petting him, she thought back to the events that had brought her to this strange world.

  Maria Bertha Jerome Workville had been born in Regencia, Brechalon. Her mother had been the daughter of a baron, and her father had been a businessman, firmly in the middle class, who had made a great deal of money in railroads, and then just as quickly, lost it. The family were comfortable enough, but the lack of titles, notable wealth, or great beauty had limited the choices of husbands for four sisters, of whom Maria was the third. Mr. Workman and his wife had managed to find respectable matches for their two eldest, and then the youngest ran off in the middle of the night with a hedge wizard. This had all but killed Mrs. Workville, who having grown up in what was essentially a castle, now saw her youngest daughter disgraced. She shut herself up in her room and rarely came out. It was for fear of upsetting her mother, that Maria had promised her father to wait for a good match, but at twenty-three, with no acceptable suitors, she seemed destined to live the life of an old maid.

  Then one day, her father had introduced her to a man named Pilner, who was an agent sent to procure a wife for an aristocrat. It seemed like such an odd thing, that a man of wealth and status should need to search for a wife in such a way, but it was explained to her that there were certain minimal requirements for the position. The young woman must have an acceptable and well-documented lineage, she must be between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, and she must meet certain physical requirements, which were never adequately explained, but which Maria apparently met. Likewise, there were certain obligations that had apparently proven intolerable for some young women. The potential husband lived twelve thousand miles away, in the primitive land of Birmisia in Mallon. This would make it all but impossible for a young woman to maintain close contact with her family. Worse, this man had a paramour with whom it must be understood he would not part. Such arrangements were common in Brech society, but seldom was it spoken about so openly, and never was it a prerequisite for entering into a marriage. Most onerous of all, this male person was a Zaeri, and the young woman who accepted this bizarre second-hand proposal would have to convert, give up the church, renounce Kafira, and face the possibility of eternal damnation.

  Mrs. Workville was horrified, but there were factors that swayed Mr. Workville toward acceptance. First was the fact that this young man was a viscount and held several other titles as well. Secondly, he was soon to become brother-in-law to Prince Clitus, the youngest son of the King of Greater Brechalon. Finally, he was rich, very rich. Very, very rich. Not only could a bride expect to be provided for, and provided for well, but her family could expect a substantial yearly maintenance. Maria needed none of these facts to convince her that this was her destiny. As soon as she looked at the photograph of Augustus Marek Virgil Dechantagne, the sepia print carefully painted over to display his chestnut hair and blue eyes, she was smitten.

  “It won’t be long until this is all dull and grey,” she mused, absentmindedly running the tip of her right hand over the huge diamond on her ring finger. “The rose bushes will all be bare, the ponds will freeze over, and the snow will come.”

  Maxwell cooed as if to comfort her.

  “You won’t be jealous if I have a wee thing, will you?” she asked him. “I will count on you to keep him safe… or her, I suppose. Perhaps a girl would be best. It might encourage Augie to want another one quick on, so as to have a son.”

  The troodon let out a rare squawk.

  “You’re right of course. I should be preparing for tonight instead of mooning about the future.”

  She rose to her feet and stepped quickly down from the gazebo and up the path to the west wing entrance of the Dechantagne mansion. At the top of the steps, Hsturrn opened the door for her, while Maxwell curled up in the corner of the porch.

  “Would you send Hesta to my room, please?” she told lizzie. “And have my car brought around.”

  High heels clacking on the marble floor, she crossed the vast expanse of the foyer and stepped into the elevator. Another lizzie was waiting to operate the vehicle. Not needing to be told, the reptile threw the switch to the third floor, where Maria’s suite was located, as were the separate rooms belonging to her husband.