Handbook for Dragon Slayers (27 page)

But my mother found this to be too high-handed of me, and reminded me that copying work was something that should not take any precedence over my other duties.

I still felt too guilty about abandoning Alder Brook to speak up, to explain that it was no longer mere
copying
work that I was doing. As the days passed, I found myself using my mask of ice with my mother more and more.

One morning about two weeks after my mother's return, Sir Hermannus and Father Ripertus took me aside after breakfast.

“Do you want us to come with you?” Father Ripertus asked kindly.

“Come with me where?”

“For when you explain to Princess Isobel about your dragon handbook,” Sir Hermannus said.

“What's to explain?” I asked. “I used to think if I escaped to a cloister, I'd have more time to spend on books, but that's untrue. I used also to imagine I would like to be imprisoned, but . . .” My laugh was brittle. “Well, it's actually no fun at all. But I accept this. I'm a princess. This is how it's going to be.”

“Your Boethius led a political life and still found the time to write his books,” Father Ripertus said. “He was a senator of Rome. I think that's about as difficult as being the Princess of Alder Brook. Perhaps a little more so on some days—perhaps a little less on others. It is all about the balance.”

“In no way were you shirking your duties before your mother's return,” Sir Hermannus said. “I know you wrote in your history less than you wanted to, but it was still more than now. Father Ripertus is right: it's about the balance. Let's talk to Princess Isobel.”

“She'll say no.”

Sir Hermannus raised his eyebrows. “I wasn't suggesting you ask her permission, Most Illustrious. I was suggesting you tell her what you need.”

“Need, or want?” I asked.

Father Ripertus smiled. “Need.”

I hunched my shoulders, trying to imagine that conversation. “Maybe tomorrow.”

I
WAS RESTLESS THAT
night, and rather than kick my bedmates awake with my thrashing, I wandered the castle. I wove haltingly among the sleeping figures in the great hall, taking care not to tread on an outstretched hand or an errant foot.

It made me remember the night I had restlessly wandered Boar House, before Ivo kidnapped me. I had so envied all the people sleeping in the hall that night. I almost laughed, thinking of the younger self I'd been not so long ago, when I had thought freedom meant choosing where you slept.

Of course, I hadn't been wrong. Freedom
was
choosing where you slept. But it was also choosing who you dined with, who you called friend, and what you did with your day.

It occurred to me that I was being cowardly. I was only thirteen, and had years yet before reaching my majority. I was reliant on my mother for her lessons and guidance in becoming the ruling Princess of Alder Brook. But Sir Hermannus and Father Ripertus were right. It was about the balance.

It was kind of them to offer to come with me.

I went out into the courtyard and walked awhile in the bracing night air. A cloud dimmed the moon briefly, and I was struck by a thought.

It wasn't
kind
of them to offer to come with me. They were offering to come because they considered themselves
my
counselors. They were willing to stand against my mother with me.

I paced the courtyard, considering this. My mind strayed to Judith, and her boredom with learning to be a lady with no manor. There was no reason she could not eventually take on a few of my duties; there was no reason that when I came of age, I could not carve out some small section of Alder Brook and give her a proper benefice to rule, plus a title to go with the duties and the land. Princes did this with knights all the time—turned them into counts and gave them jobs like organizing the household. Why couldn't Judith be my steward as capably as Sir Hermannus, once he retired?

The whir of enormous wings warned me, and I held very still against a wall while Curschin landed in the courtyard.

“Greetings, small sister,” the dragon said. “I have come many nights, but this is the first I have seen you. I have come for my lesson.”

“Greetings, Curschin.” She came! She'd been coming, and I'd been too distracted to go look for her. Ever since I'd given up writing the
Handbook for Dragon Slayers
and started over with the
Historia Draconum
, I'd kicked myself for all the questions I'd never asked her when I'd had the chance.

And now she was here, and she wanted to learn from me. Almost as much as I wanted to learn from her.

Questions crowded my mouth, but first things first. I had to honor my promise to her.

“Let us begin our lessons right now. We'll start with your name,” I said. “
C
for Curschin.”

She bowed her head. “Very well,
wyrmgloss
.”

Lit only by the moon and the stars, I drew a
C
in the dirt of the courtyard with my crutch.

“
C
is for Curschin,” the dragon repeated, and traced a
C
with her claw.

“Very good,” I said, and smiled, hugging myself a little.

Tomorrow I would go to my mother with my retinue. With Sir Hermannus, Father Ripertus, and Judith at my side, I would lay out the future for her. I was going to be the Princess of Alder Brook, yes, but I was also going to write a great book.

T
he dragon is the biggest of all serpents, and of all living animals on Earth. The Greeks call it δρακον, the Latins
draco
, and in our local dialect, we call it
Drache
or
Wurm
.

There are many stories about dragons that live in caves, where they guard vast treasuries from lost kingdoms with fire and poison. Perhaps it is because of its association with serpents, fire, and poison that a dragon is thought of as nothing but a devil, a servant of the king of all evil.

But there is no instance I have seen when a dragon operates from pure evil; yet I have seen men and women who deceive with every breath, who use beauty to delude people into false hope and joy, and then rob them of that joy and hope before abandoning them to despair and death.

The truth is that, mostly, dragons are animals—smart animals, capable of speech, with their own territories and desires. Like bears, they are protective of their young. They are predators to be respected; they are not horses nor cows, meant to bend to our service. Like humans, they can read and write and tell stories.

Of course, sometimes dragons are not dragons at all—but human girls (or boys), trapped within scales and claws. If you can overcome your fear and show these trapped creatures kindness and love, you may just discover the truth inside them.

—from Mathilda of Alder Brook's

Historia Draconum

I must thank my editor, Anne Hoppe, and my agent, Caitlin Blasdell, for their diligent eyes on this one, and for spurring me through a really bad case of second-book-itis. Thank you. I really needed you on this one.

The HarperCollins Team of Awesome, in particular Joel Tippie for the great cover design, Laurel Symonds for kindness and efficiency and all the stuff I don't even know she does, and Renée Cafiero for her eagle eye. You do amazing work, folks!

Jason Chan, thanks for that last cover; Kevin Keele, thanks for the current cover; Kathryn Hinds, thanks for the constant bacon saving.

Megan Eaton, thank you for being my official German consultant. Errors and bad choices in this arena are mine, never hers! Same errors disclaimer applies to the horse stuff, for which I must thank Lisa Cameron-Norfleet and Quincy, plus Kayla Fuller.

Thank you to my reader-critiquers: Julie Winningham, always first; Jason Larke, always convinced not enough people die in any draft; Julie DeJong, who cried for Felix and cheered for everything else; Catherine Shaffer, for being resolutely reassuring even when I had to irrationally rebuff any reassurance; Elizabeth Shack, for liking what I write; Kate Riley, for the chaos and the encouragement.

Last but never least: thanks to my family.

MERRIE HASKELL
was born in Michigan and grew up in North Carolina. She wrote her first story at the age of seven, and she walked dogs after school in order to buy her first typewriter.

Merrie returned north to attend the Residential College of the University of Michigan, where she earned a BA in biological anthropology. Her fiction has appeared in
Nature, Asimov's, Strange Horizons
, and
Unplugged: The Web's Best Sci-Fi & Fantasy: 2008 Download
. She now lives in Saline, Michigan, with her husband and stepdaughter. Merrie works in a library with more than 7 million books, and she finds this to be just about the right number. She is the author of
The Princess Curse
.

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Also by Merrie Haskell

The Princess Curse

Cover art © 2013 by Kevin Keele

Cover design by Joel Tippie

H
ANDBOOK FOR DRAGON SLAYERS
. Copyright © 2013 by Merrie Fuller. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Haskell, Merrie.

Handbook for dragon slayers / Merrie Haskell. — 1st ed.