The Dragon’s Daughter and the Winter Mage by Jeffe Kennedy

~ 10 ~

The hard work of pulling the sled helped distract Gen from worrying too much. She’d put on a good show for Isyn, but she was worried. Worried for herself, worried for Isyn, and seriously concerned about their chances for rescue. Fifty years he’d spent in this iced-over landscape. On the plus side, at least this alter-realm hadn’t killed him right away like the tentacle-beast forest would have, nor had he starved like would happen in the sterile flat-world alter-realm. But the downside was living a lifetime in a few months.

She could see glimpses of Wim’s youthful vitality in Isyn. He resembled his brother in some ways, but his lined and weathered face had aged well past even Nix’s and Cavan’s. What would happen if they did get him home? He’d be decades older than his own parents, and like a grandfather to his siblings.

And that was if they got home. In all this time, he’d never found another portal, nor had this island magically sifted back to rejoin their home reality, or whatever these isles did. She might be stuck here forever with him. The others would be looking for her, she knew that, but would they be able to find her? One portal could lead to any number of alter-realms, they knew that much. Lena theorized that the person passing through affected which place they ended up in. Stella had been working on controlling that outcome, but she’d hardly had time. Gen hated to think of them circling that stormy sea, putting themselves in peril searching for her. She should hope that they hadn’t lingered there searching for her, and instead had sailed onward in order to save themselves, but she didn’t have it in her to be that generous. She wanted them to save her.

Please come rescue us. Moranu, if you can hear me, please guide them to us.

Given the disparities in time between the alter-realms, it might still be only moments since she disappeared through the underwater rift. She’d been in this alter-realm for at least two days—she guessed, anyway, as whale brains didn’t track time all that well, it could’ve been longer—so what would that be in her home realm? A one-quarter to fifty proportion would be… she had no idea. Lena could do the math in her head, but that had never been Gen’s forte, even if she hadn’t had her brains recently scrambled by staying in orca form for far too long.

It was difficult to discern what long-term impacts it would have on her. Isyn didn’t know her as anything but what she’d been as a whale and now as a woman still mostly whale in her mind. She should be grateful that the way his magery had triggered her shapeshifting had also allowed her to return to human form healed and in the furry clothing she’d cached. She’d been able to direct that much of the shift; she just couldn’t do it on her own.

And that… that was something she simply couldn’t think about. The loss of shapeshifting twisted like a knife in her heart, and a lifetime loomed ahead of her, sterile and empty as this frozen sea. Had she really spent so much time and energy fretting about finding true love? Now she had no friends, no family, and no refuge in shapeshifting. Isyn would be company for a while, but… despite her teasing, she didn’t think he was being simply morose. He’d been, what, in his late twenties when he came though the portal? That put him nearly eighty now, and not a healthy eighty either. Perhaps it was the leg injury, but he seemed to be less than vigorous.

Too bad, because he was the first man in a long time—maybe ever—who’d made her think that maybe…

But no. No sense in dwelling on that either.

Despite the arctic temperatures, sweat dripped down her back with the effort of pulling the sled. She might’ve healed herself in the shift to human form, but that didn’t replace the food and rest she’d missed while in orca form. Fortunately land loomed ahead, promising both. She wouldn’t be able to go much longer.

The irony of it all settled over her like a cloud of depression. Her mother had been stuck in hummingbird form after the dragon nearly killed her. Well, Kiraka had killed Zynda, immolating her human form into a pile of ash, and the goddess Moranu had intervened, giving her a second chance at life, but it saved a lot of questions to simply say “nearly killed her.” Still, was Gen somehow doomed to follow in her mother’s footsteps? No, the similarities weren’t that exact. Especially given that Zynda had had Marskal to save her. Loyal, steadfast, heroic Marskal who’d taken Zynda in hummingbird form back down the volcano and nursed her back to life.

And she’d finally fallen in love with him in return. It was such a romantic story, one Gen had sighed over often as a girl, listening to her parents tell the tale. Marskal had been so afraid of losing Zynda that he’d hold her hand in telling the story, as if to assure himself of her continued presence.

In keeping with Gen’s decidedly unromantic life, her rescuer was a man older than Gen’s own grandfather, and not in good health. Nor was she recuperating in tropical Nahanau, listening to the sea and tempted to suckle flowers to ease her hunger, being fed honey by a man secretly in love with her for years. Oh no, she got to be in the land of eternal winter, craving a bellyful of raw fish, and towing a sled with her now-unconscious rescuer who might expire at any moment.

It all just figured.

Maybe, though… Just maybe she’d find her true love here in the Winter Isles. They were near enough to shore for her to see figures moving about. A double line of them appeared to be trotting swiftly in their direction, no doubt intent on recovering their absentee king. Something odd going on there, that he’d gone alone to rescue her, leaving his folk behind.

Perhaps among these people, Gen would find the one she’d been searching for. Her tale could have a romantic ending still. A big, burly warrior might be among those coming toward them even now. Taller than her, with muscles bulging from years of chopping ice and hauling nets, he’d be wearing leather boots and a long fur-lined cloak. He’d have rough hands and an artist’s soul, and he’d have been waiting too, all this time, finding no one to tempt his heart among the sparse people of the Winter Isles. Until Gen, a foreign woman from another world, appeared before him.

Enjoying the fantasy, she embroidered on it lavishly, embracing the distraction of the daydream. He’d take one look at her, her winter warrior, and be struck dumb by her beauty. (Shut up, it’s a fantasy.) And he’d fall immediately in love, sweeping her into his arms so he could carry her to a warm fire where he’d feed her raw fish—Ugh, no!—warm broth with his own hands before he swore his undying love.

Her eyes watering from the biting wind, she squinted at the people hurrying toward them. She could’ve sworn they should’ve been much closer by now, but they weren’t much bigger. By the time the understanding penetrated her starvation-fogged, sleep-deprived brain, Isyn’s subjects were upon them. The warrior at the lead—complete with blue eyes, long fur-lined cloak, and… furry face?—scowled at her and shouted something she didn’t understand in a high-pitched, chittering voice. He also stood no higher than her waist.

I specifically pictured taller than me,she thought fiercely at Moranu. But no, he and all of his compatriots were small, square-bodied, and were covered in gray fur. Now Gen fully understood the depths of Isyn’s loneliness. Not only had Isyn spent a lifetime here among a people not his own, he hadn’t even been among humans.

The lead warrior shouted at her again, waving a staff capped with a metal head that was an axe blade on one side, a thick knob on the other. Gen eyed it warily and held up her hands in a peaceable gesture. “I’m a friend,” she said, knowing they wouldn’t understand, but hoping the tone would convey intent. Dafne always swore by that. “I’ve brought your king back to you.” She gestured to the unconscious Isyn. “See? All is well.”

Except for the unconscious part, but hopefully they wouldn’t blame her for that. Several of the furry folk went to examine Isyn, chattering with what she hoped was concern. Gen wanted to look but kept a wary eye on her challenger and his threatening staff. He was still shouting at her.

“I don’t understand,” she replied, smiling gently, trying to radiate sincerity and lack of threat. It would be super convenient, however, to be able to take saber-cat form at the moment, and just be a threat. More of the furry folk had come to untie the sled ropes from her, taking them and the sled away from her and towing Isyn with it. She started to follow, but the furry warrior blocked her with his staff. “Look, buddy,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. She was way too tired and hungry to put up with this. In orca form, she’d eat him in one bite—and she was still orca enough to contemplate attempting it now. “Don’t mess with me. I’ve had a really bad couple of days.”

He snarled something in return and swung the staff at her head. She ducked—Jak would be proud!—swiping out with a hand that, shit, had no claws, so she ended up kind of slapping at him like a little kid might. And something hard slammed into the other side of her head.

As she hit the ice and blackness overtook her, she imagined Jak shaking his head in disgust. Fuck my life.

She wasn’t sure if that was him who’d said it or her.

She awoke ina soft, warm bed, in a small dark room, lit only by a blazing fire in a stone alcove—and for a moment she thought she was in Castle Marcellum in Erie. Or no, perhaps at Castle Elderhorst where she’d had her own room. No… Castle Ordnung? It was cold and damp, so definitely not home. She shook her head in confusion, the sharp pain making her head swim and nausea well up.

“Try not to move.”

A man with ivory hair and deep green eyes leaned over her, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, his face shadowed. “Wim?” she asked, her voice creaky.

He breathed a laugh. “I once looked much like my younger brother, but no longer. I’m only Isyn. How are you feeling, Briar Rose? I’d wake you with a kiss, but no faerie princess wants a kiss from the likes of me, and I suspect some soup would do more to restore you.” He gave her a crooked, self-deprecating smile. “I do have some warm soup here if you’re up to eating.”

Hungry as she was, the intensifying nausea made eating a bad idea. She shook her head, something she instantly regretted as the starry blackness tried to reclaim her.

“I’m very sorry about the head. The folk can be quite… enthusiastic in my defense.” He grimaced, the charming self-deprecation turning darker. “I apologize that I failed to protect you from them.”

She prodded her aching skull gingerly, finding it bandaged and recalling how her not-so-fantasy warrior had clubbed her with his staff. Probably she was lucky he hadn’t split her head open. Jak’s chiding that she needed to learn to fight without claws came back vividly. Where were her friends now? Were they out of their minds with worry, searching frantically for her, or had they already resigned themselves to her death? Or maybe it had been only minutes there since she’d disappeared, and no one had even noticed. The continuing saga of her life.

“The good news is your skull isn’t cracked,” Isyn continued. “It’s a head wound, and you bled a lot, and you’ll have a headache for a while, but you’ll recover soon.”

No magical healing. No shapeshifting to heal. Her head throbbed, and she’d have to just live with it. Better and better.

“Briar Rose?” Isyn frowned, studying her, the change in angle illuminating his face. He did resemble Wim, but a harder, more mature version, the bones of his face conveying a strength of character, his skin weathered, eyes a shadowed green full of concern for her. Briar Rose, he called her. A faerie princess. “Are you able to speak?”

“Yes,” she answered on a sigh. “But my name is Gendra. Gen, for short.”

He smiled wistfully. “Born of the dragon.”

“Very good. Not many people get that.”

“I used to read a lot. Now I pass the time by remembering stories I once read. Were you? Born of a dragon, I mean.”

“In a manner of speaking. My mother is a talented shapeshifter who is able to take dragon form. Around the same time she finally managed to do that, she became pregnant with me, so…”

“Ah, a good name, then.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I know that tale. She helped with the final battle against Deyrr.”

“Yes, and my father, too. Both heroes.”

“And their daughter following in their footsteps, performing heroic deeds.”

“Hardly. Getting knocked unconscious by a waist-high furry creature won’t go down in the history books well.”

He laughed, green eyes catching the firelight like sunshine through summer leaves, and she caught a glimpse of what he’d been like as a young man.

“It will be no comfort, but if my experience is any indication, it’s unlikely anyone will ever know our tales.” That sobered them both. “I should have warned you the folk aren’t human,” he added. “I’m sure that came as a shock to you.”

“I can only imagine how lonely it’s been for you here.”

“Yes. And it’s an incredible pleasure to have a conversation with another person again.” His gaze lingered on her face. “I only wish…”

When he didn’t finish, she took his hand in hers. His was rough from work and weather. “What, Isyn? Surely you’ve wished for many things over the years.”

“A hundred thousand of them,” he replied, cupping her hand in both of his. “And all of them futile, as wishes always are.”

“And this one?”

His smile turned rueful. “Selfishly, I wish you had fallen in my sea decades ago.”

Oh.Her heart turned over, settling into a seeping pool of regret. Had things been only a bit different, had they been sent on this quest only months ago, she might’ve arrived in the Winter Isles when Isyn was still a young man. When they might have…

“But,” he continued with forced cheer, “I would not have wished this life upon you, not for any reason, much less a selfish one. You look steadier now. Ready to try some soup? I think you’ll feel better for some nourishment.”

Recalling her fantasy of the warrior feeding her broth by the fire, she winced at her foolishness. Apparently she would never learn. “I think that would be lovely,” she answered, giving Isyn a smile.

He helped her to sit up, his arm strong around her, his scent a pleasant blend of fur, leather, and spicy smoke. Taking up a bowl, he ladled soup from a brazier with a low flame, passing it carefully to her. “Do you need help, or…”

Feeling the blush heat her cheeks—maybe she’d get lucky and it was a fever, not embarrassment over her torrid fantasies—she took the bowl from him. It was made of a heavy rough-fired clay, large enough she had to cup it in both hands. “I think I can do it myself.” The scent of the rich broth hit her, and she nearly groaned. “Fish stew.” At least it wasn’t raw fish? The still strongly orca side of her instincts didn’t care either way.

“I’m afraid we pretty much live off the sea here,” he replied, settling himself back to lean against the post at the foot of the bed, his bad leg outstretched. “That’s why the folk were so excited for whale meat, and blubber. It’s no excuse, of course, but—”

“I understand.” And she did. Since there was no spoon, she tipped the bowl to her lips and sipped. It was decidedly fishy, naturally, but flavorful, and it hit her stomach with satisfying warmth, her starved body singing praises for the nourishment.

“For the first twenty or so years here, I dreamed of having a steak,” Isyn remarked. “Then I longed for anything but fish. I even began to crave things I never liked before, like broccoli and salad greens.”

“You don’t have vegetables?”

“No growing season to speak of. Seaweed is our only green. The folk tell tales that it wasn’t always this way. There used to be open water in the summers, enough of a warm season to grow food, to hunt whales and seals, trade with people from other lands. Then it changed. Their world grew much smaller and froze over.”

“As if walls went up to isolate their realm,” she mused, considering the strangeness of the other alter-realms they knew of. Lena had commented at length about how none of them seemed to have sustainable ecologies, all them more like a small slice of a place, rather than a complete one.

“Or as if someone—or something—somehow cut them out of their world and set them apart,” Isyn said, watching her, the green glint of his eyes reminding her of something. “Over the years, I’ve considered how that could have come to be.”

“Have you ever encountered an… intelligence?” Her stomach growled, demanding more, and she quickly swallowed more soup.

“A what?”

“Something else. Something… strange.”

Isyn’s eyes lit with humor, and he leaned forward, intrigued. “Something… else. Something… strange,” he echoed, dropping his voice dramatically, like a storyteller might. Then he laughed. “I can’t think of anything strange. As often as I dreamed of steaks and broccoli dropping out of the sky, it sadly has never happened. Only a talking orca.”

She laughed with him, enjoying his wry and intelligent humor. “Sorry, I’m being unclear. My friends and I, we’ve encountered an intelligence in the alter-realms. And you mentioned the attacks, monsters coming through the rifts.”

His expression altered as he comprehended her point. “You think this intelligence sealed off the Winter Isles and made it into one of its alter-realms.”

“It makes sense, in a way,” she offered. “At least, it’s one possible explanation.”

“An intelligence.”

“I know it’s not a good term. Jak has been campaigning to change it, but we haven’t come up with anything better yet.”

“Ah, you mentioned Jak before.” Was it her imagination or did Isyn look displeased? “Is he your lover? Husband?”

“Jak?” she repeated incredulously and then laughed. “No. Even if he weren’t madly in love with Stella, Jak and I… well, we’re not a good fit.” As she said the words, the truth of them resonated. Her dreams of Jak noticing her—or of Astar or Rhy suddenly noticing her as a woman—they were all fantasies born of a deep longing for what she couldn’t have, not unlike Isyn dreaming of steaks and broccoli falling from the sky. She’d been craving love, looking for it in every man she met, trying to wedge them into that empty space in her life. That had been Zeph’s point all along. Stop evaluating every person you meet for true-love potential. Finally Gen understood how backward she’d been about it. Instead of meeting people and discovering whether love bloomed between them, she’d been running around trying to trim people to fit into her idea of love.

And it just figured she’d have this epiphany when she was stuck in an alter-realm with only one other human being—a man who, if he did want her, would only be interested because he hadn’t seen another person in fifty years—and a bunch of fur-covered, waist-high creatures with non-human brains. Moranu sure had a way of driving the point home. All right, then, Goddess, she thought. I’ll stop trying to force every man I meet into the mold of true love. Perhaps if she held up her end, the goddess would help her get home. Her favors are not guaranteed, Zynda’s warning echoed in Gen’s mind.

“Who is Stella?” Isyn queried with a frown, breaking into her thoughts. “Is she the sorceress you mentioned? Not Princess Stella of Avonlidgh, apprentice to Queen Andromeda of Annfwn, twin sister of Crown Prince Astar, heir to the high throne of the Thirteen Kingdoms?” As he built upon Stella’s resume, Isyn’s voice rose in pitch along with his patent astonishment.

“The one and the same,” Gen replied drily.

“You were traveling with Princess Stella,” he marveled. “You didn’t mention what exalted company you were keeping.”

Funny to look at it that way, though Gen was so accustomed to her friends that she forgot their larger-than-life reputations. “I didn’t mention a lot,” she replied, a bit more tartly than she meant to. Sometimes it got tiresome being interesting only for the company you kept. “Largely because my whale brain wasn’t terribly interested in retaining memories of human names.”

“I apologize,” Isyn said immediately, scrubbing a hand over his face. “My manners have clearly grown rusty over the years. I’m surprised to discover your friends and family are people I know of from legend and by reputation, but that’s no excuse. Forgive a mannerless old man?”

“Forgiven,” she replied with a warm smile. “But you are far from an old man. In the interests of avoiding further surprises, I should mention that my other companions included Crown Prince Astar; Princess Salena Nakoa KauPo of Nahanau; Rhyian, son of the king and queen of Annfwn; along with Zephyr, another shapeshifter; and Jak, who is half-Dasnarian and all human.”

“But he’s the one whose name you did remember,” Isyn noted so blandly that she really wondered if, absurd as it sounded, he might truly be jealous.