The Dragon’s Daughter and the Winter Mage by Jeffe Kennedy
Prologue
Dragon form.
Dragonform.
Dragon form.
Dragon form.
Gen concentrated on images of the dragons she’d seen, including her own mother, turning them around in her mind with various kinds of emphasis, trying to get her skin to feel that shape. But how did being a dragon feel?
“Gen!” Lena shouted from down the beach. Her brown skin tanned to a shade as golden as her glorious hair, Lena jumped up and down, waving her arms as if Gen could somehow fail to see her. “You’ve practiced shapeshifting enough for one day!”
“Party at the falls!” Zeph, walking beside her and holding up a picnic basket, yelled also. Gen’s cousin tossed back her glossy black hair, which curled wildly in the sea breeze and still somehow looked perfect.
“Go have fun with your friends.” Gen’s mother, Zynda, in human form and not a magnificent sapphire dragon at the moment, nudged her shoulder in that direction.
“I need to practice more,” Gen insisted.
“Gendra,” her mother said with rare exasperation. “You’re only seventeen. You have plenty of time.”
“I’m not even close to getting dragon form,” Gen pointed out, feeling mulish as she watched Rhy drop from the sky in raven form and divebomb Lena, who shrieked with laughter. Gen loved her friends, sure—and she was truly happy Rhy and Lena were in love—but watching them make starry eyes at each other got old after a while.
Zynda rolled her gorgeous eyes, long black hair whipping like a banner, looking effortlessly beautiful, just like Zeph. Really, Zeph could be Zynda’s daughter instead of her niece, they looked so much alike. Even their names were similar. And Zeph had inherited all of the beauty, charisma, and sensual charm of the wild and magical Tala side of their heritage, while Gen took after her mossback father. She loved her father, but Marskal was the polar opposite of the romantic and exciting shapeshifter nature. Solid, serious, a man of the earth in personality and coloring, Marskal was dependable and stalwart in every way.
So was Gen. Alas.
She twisted her own boring brown hair into a rope, wishing she could be less dependable and more… well, exciting and romantic. Dragon form, now that would be something. And it would show everyone that Gen wasn’t all boring brown mossback.
“Dragon form, seriously?” Zynda demanded. “Have you even listened to the stories I’ve told you, what I went through to attain dragon form? Even your uncle Zyr can’t—”
“Can’t attain dragon form,” Gen said with her dutifully. “And he’s been trying all these years, I know. But you are the one who named me ‘dragon’s daughter.’”
Zynda gave her a sharp look. “Gendra is more accurately translated as ‘born of the dragon,’ and I named you that because I became pregnant with you—against huge odds, particularly with a mossback lover—at the same time I attained dragon form. I wanted to celebrate that miracle, but it doesn’t mean anything more than that.”
A miraculous name for a dull girl, Gen thought glumly to herself. Still, she clung to the likelihood that if her mother had the shapeshifting talent to acquire dragon form, Gen could, too. Then she’d be something more than dull. “You got there, though, by practicing your shapeshifting. All the time, you’ve said,” she replied stubbornly. “I can at least do that much.”
“You can and you have,” Zynda replied more gently. Prying her daughter’s hands from her twisted rope of hair, she combed her fingers through it, arranging it around Gen’s face, her expression fond now. “There. You look so pretty with your hair loose like this. My beautiful daughter.”
Gen wrinkled her nose but didn’t argue. After all, Zynda said the same about Marskal, confirming that love gave her questionable judgment.
“Dragon form,” Zynda continued, “takes more than practice. It requires a sacrifice.”
“I know that.”
“It’s one thing to know it and another to experience the agony of that choice. I don’t wish that on you.”
“But you don’t regret it,” Gen persisted.
Zynda looked thoughtful, and a little sad. “Me having dragon form has been good for the Tala, of course—which was the main reason I aspired to it, remember—and I don’t regret that aspect of it. But I was lucky. I was willing to give up any chance at happiness to save my people, and I got to be happy anyway. The goddess Moranu bestowed a great favor on me.”
“No surprise, as you were Her devout acolyte. You took on a holy quest for Her, so of course she bestowed a favor on you.”
Zynda gave her a considering look. “That’s an oversimplification, but suffice to say that Her favors are not guaranteed. Our lives and efforts aren’t coin we pay to obtain something in return. Besides,” she continued before Gen could argue, “if I got to pick my divine favors, if had to choose again between dragon form and your father, having you….” Her mouth twisted wryly. “I would choose differently.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do mean it,” Zynda insisted. “My life with Marskal and you—you are my real treasures.”
Huh. Gen kind of doubted that. It sounded good in retrospect, but she’d heard the stories all her life, and everyone agreed that Zynda had been single-minded in pursuit of dragon form. Besides, Gen had no Marskal pining for her. Beautiful Rhy was head over heels in love with Lena; Astar would be the next high king, and a marriage of state awaited him. And Jak—when he was around—had eyes only for Stella. No one looked twice at Gen.
“You’re young still,” Zynda said earnestly, as if reading Gen’s thoughts. “You have your whole life ahead of you, and you deserve to have fun, too. If dragon form is meant to be, you’ll get there. Enjoy life while you can.”
What’s to enjoy?she nearly grumbled, but she swallowed the words and attempted a smile. “I enjoy shapeshifting. Refining my skills is fun.”
“You’re so like your father,” Zynda said on a sigh. “Always thinking about work.”
“You fell in love my father,” Gen pointed out. “After you finally noticed he was alive.”
Zynda raised her brows. “That was my flaw, not his. Once I paid attention, his many fine qualities shone brighter than the sun.”
Gen nodded, fixing her smile in place. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on the fact that Marskal had been invisible to Zynda for ages, in love with her from afar, and dully reconciled to her never knowing it.
“Gen!” Zeph slipped an arm around Gen’s waist from behind, startling her and taking advantage of her surprise by pressing enthusiastic kisses to Gen’s cheek. “Didn’t you hear us calling you?”
Gen extracted herself. “Yes, but I’m busy practicing.”
“No, you’re not,” Zeph and Zynda said at the same time, then grinned at each other.
“I was just telling Gen that’s enough practice for the day,” Zynda said. “You all go have fun.”
“Thank you, Auntie Zynda!” Zeph sang out. “We’re taking a picnic to the diving cliffs. We even talked Willy and Nilly into coming.”
Sure enough, Astar and Stella, the twins dubbed Willy and Nilly from their troublesome toddler years, were strolling toward them from the cliff city. Astar waved, the sun highlighting him in affectionate gold, Stella a darker, slighter form beside him. Zeph sighed dreamily. “I swear, Astar gets more beautiful every day. How is that fair?”
Gen could’ve told her life wasn’t fair, but Rhy—back in human form—came galloping past just then, snorting like a horse, with Lena clinging to his back, laughing gaily. “I meant a real horse!” she protested, barely able to get the words out.
Rhy whinnied, quite realistically, and bucked as wildly as his human form allowed. Lena shrieked with laughter, falling to the sand, Rhy diving after to roll her over and over, tickling her into hysterics. “Stop!” she cried, batting his hands away, and he stole a kiss. She softened, then squealed. “Let me up, foul beast.”
“As my lady wishes,” Rhy declared, leaping up and leaving her in the sand. He bowed gallantly. Tall, rangy, and impossibly handsome, his black hair caught blue lights that matched his ocean-deep eyes. “Hello, Zynda, Gen. Beautiful day for a picnic.”
“You’re going to pay for that, Rhyian.” Lena was sitting up, shaking sand from her cascading caramel hair, a shade that perfectly complemented her brown skin. Though Lena wasn’t even a full year older than Gen, she’d developed an enviably lush figure ages ago, while Gen was only tall, skinny, and regrettably lanky.
“Will I?” Rhy spun on Lena, pretending to stalk her, then scooping her up in his arms, stealing another long, languorous kiss that had Lena winding her arms around his neck, her whole body sighing. “I’ll pay any price, lovely Salena,” he declared. “Anything you ask of me is yours.”
“Young love can be so nauseating,” Zeph commented, and Zynda snickered.
“You say that after you were just ogling Astar?” Gen demanded.
Zeph rolled her eyes. “I want into Astar’s adorably tight and princely pants,” she corrected. “Sex, not love.”
“I think that’s my cue to leave you all to it,” Zynda said with smile.
“Sorry, Mom,” Gen said, blushing hard, though Zeph only smiled wickedly.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” Zynda patted Zeph’s cheek. “Just be careful of flying too close to the sun, niece of mine.” Suddenly condensing into a jewel-bright hummingbird, Zynda’s First Form, she zipped off.
“What did she mean by that?” Zeph demanded.
“Mean by what?” Stella asked, her hand clasped in her twin’s, her solemn gray eyes wide with concern.
“Nothing,” Gen said hastily, hoping to avert an uncomfortable conversation. “My mom and I were just discussing what it takes to achieve dragon form.”
As Gen had hoped, that thoroughly distracted Zeph, who spun to eye her sharply. “Any clues?” she demanded, as eager as Gen to unlock the key to dragon form.
Gen shook her head. “Her usual inscrutable nonsense.”
Zeph huffed out an impatient breath, then returned her predatory attention to Astar. “Astar, darling,” she purred, winding her arm through his and gently prying him away from Stella, “tell me you’re going to dive off the cliff today. I’ll be your coach.”
“Not me, Zephyr,” he protested, smiling broadly. “I can’t be irresponsible like that.”
“Just a teensy bit irresponsible?” she wheedled. “Live a little. Have some fun!”
“It’s fun to watch you,” he replied sunnily. “And Gen and Nilly.”
Rhy galloped past again, this time in actual horse form, Lena perched atop the gleaming black stallion, her strong brown legs clasped to his side, her short skirt riding up as she lay low over his neck, whooping in joy. His black mane twined with her dark golden hair. They were stunning together.
Gen let out a wistful sigh, and Stella echoed it, giving her a rueful smile as they trailed after Astar and Zeph, who had their heads bent together in some intent conversation. “It makes you sad to see them together,” Stella noted gently, without censure.
Not bothering to deny it to her empath friend, and not asking which “them” Stella meant, Gen just smiled. “I’m in a mood today is all.”
“There’s someone out there for you, Gen,” Stella said, gaze fixed on the distance.
“Is that prophecy?” Gen asked, startled. Stella had never said anything like that to her before.
Casting her a chagrined glance, Stella shook her head. “I misspoke. I forget sometimes that someone might think I’m talking about the future when I’m making a simple observation. There’s someone out there for everyone, so obviously there’s someone for you. Take heart. You’re young still.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“And your mother would know,” Stella replied equably. “Look how long it took her to find and settle down with Marskal.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Gen grumbled, watching Rhy gallop into the surf, Lena shouting enthusiastically from his back, the water spray catching crystals of light.
“It’s easy to envy them,” Stella said in a quiet voice, “but don’t be too quick to wish to trade lives. Rhy and Lena have a long and difficult road ahead.”
“Now that sounded like prophecy.”
Stella only smiled sorrowfully and said nothing more.
