L

ET

me tell you a story about the most powerful, most

fearsome dragon I’ve ever tamed.

He wasn’t a dragon at all, but rather a young man with

a dragon’s spirit.

My name is Drake, and I’m a dragon master from the

tamer clan. My clan is comprised of men and women who
convene with animals in order to gain a deep kinship with
the earth. We protect our animals, and in turn they protect
us. And by God, we need the protection, for we’re constantly
under attack from rival clans.

The forger clan is a militaristic group, constantly at

work creating more durable armor and more murderous
weaponry.

The scholars are deceptively treacherous. They use cold,

calculating tactics to bring destruction to their enemies.

But perhaps the most dangerous are the mages. After

all, how can one compete with magic? Magic has the
unassailable ability to break down any barrier it crosses.

Aedan was a member of the mage clan. And my barriers

stood no chance against him. He invaded with the strength
of a thousand men, decimating every wall that once
surrounded the fortress of my heart.

A

EDAN

.

I’d first met him when he was barely fourteen. I was on

the cusp of adulthood, moments away from my eighteenth
birthday, an orphan raised by the whole of my tightly knit
village. We were at the height of our summer season when a
wild-haired man in his twenties made his way into tamer
territory, bringing a thrashing, feverish youth to my hut.

“I can’t be seen here,” he whispered. “But this boy needs

help. He’s burning up; his fever has lasted a week, and it’s
not coming down no matter what I do. I fear that it’s killing
him.”

I recognized the man right away as a mage. I wanted to

ask him why he came to me, a rival, when he could pick and
choose a healer in his own clan. But when I took a closer
look at the boy, I knew at once the vibrant yellow eyes in his
flushed, sweaty face. “He has dragon blood running through
his veins,” I said.

The man—who introduced himself as Pax—confirmed

my suspicions. Aedan’s father had been a dragon tamer. The
old practice of the dragon tamer was to imbue oneself with
dragon blood in order to better bond with the temperamental
creatures. But the young boy was a budding fire mage, and
he had his father’s fire dragon blood in him. This
combination was not only dangerous, but it was potentially
fatal. It created within him such a tempestuous and volatile
personality that the boy was literally burning himself from
the inside.

The best I could do was to tame the part of him that was

fueled by dragon blood. I kept him in my hut with a cold

compress on his forehead, and I gently massaged his
temples, whispering the ancient language of dragons in his
ear. Slowly, his fever died down.

As soon as he was well enough, I sent the pair away

under cover of night. But I knew that Aedan would always
maintain that fiery, uncontrollable spirit, and those impulses
that could lead him to self-destruction. I knew that all I had
given the boy was at best a few years of peace. As he came of
age, the fire within him would ignite once again.

“A

ND

thus we say goodbye. Goodbye to the man who gave us

his protection. Goodbye to the man who raised our clan up
to the level of the gods; the man who made us an
unstoppable force. Astraeus, I don’t know how we will ever
replace you.”

These were the final words spoken by Pax, peacemaker

of the mage clan, as their former clan master was lowered
into the ground. Astraeus was a legend, the most powerful
clan leader in history. Not only was he strong, he worked
hand-in-hand with his peacemaker, never starting a battle
that didn’t have just cause and never harming a soul in
excess. But strong as he was, a potion had not yet been
created that could hold back the jaws of time, and Astraeus
had now seen the last of his many years.

It was expected that Destan, his second in command,

would take his place as master of the mage clan. But this
was not how it worked. The master was chosen not by
seniority, but by trial. Only the most powerful mage could
take his place. And Destan had a young, aspiring apprentice

who would not let the position go without a fight. Aedan.
Four years had passed, and he’d matured over those years,
growing into his confidence if not his wisdom.

On the night that Astraeus was interred, these two were

the only mages absent.

“H

URRY

, Aedan, bring me the sunstone petals. We have to

add them to the pot before it reaches a boil.”

Aedan stood at the opposite end of the potions

workshop, nearly invisible amongst the tubes and flasks and
bottles shelved around him. A warm yellow-orange glow
washed over the oak counters and chests from a row of
torches set in the wall. The flames cast flickering shadows
that wavered across the room as if they were dancing.
Destan craned his neck, unable to spot the young man who
was now kneeling as he explored the bottom drawers and
cabinets. “Aedan! I said hurry!”

“The bottle’s not where I left it,” Aedan barked back.

“You must have moved it.” His fingers finally stumbled upon
the thin-necked flask, and he rushed back to Destan’s side,
uncorking the bottle and shaking the petals into the pot.

“Gently!” Destan scolded.

“They’re supposed to be shaken forcefully into the mix,

not poured gently,” Aedan said. “And don’t speak to me like
I’m a child. I’m grown now; you know that very well.”

Destan examined Aedan for a moment, eyes slightly

narrowed. The slender young man stood stubbornly before

him, clad in his usual long black coat, raven hair nearly
concealing his defiant amber eyes. “I’ll take your word for it,”
Destan said at last. “You’re the prodigy.”

Truly, Destan had no choice but to take Aedan at his

word. Although they’d worked on the potion together for
months, it was Aedan’s expertise that brought out the
rainbow sheen atop the surface of the brew, proof that the
potion was properly mixed. And it had been Aedan’s idea in
the first place to create a potion that would give a mage the
ability to cast a spell without the need for chanting or
conjuring.

One sip of this potion, and the drinker would be

powerful enough to rightly claim the position of mage clan
master. Astraeus had died just the day before, and now it
was a race to complete the potion before anyone else could
claim his seat.

“I’ll leave this to simmer overnight,” Destan said. “Of

course, I’ll lock the door to the workshop so no one can
access it while it’s setting.” He turned to Aedan, a wry smile
on his face. “I suppose I should thank you for helping me
with this potion. You know how badly I’ve wanted to be clan
master. And to show my thanks, I’ll let you have a taste of it
after I drink my share. I may even name you my second in
command.”

“All right,” Aedan said.

“You know,” Destan whispered, “this potion could very

well kill us.”

“It’s a volatile mix.”

Despite his mild tone of voice, Destan could see the fire

in Aedan’s eyes. He’d always been drawn to that fire. That
heat. He himself was a water mage, seven years Aedan’s
senior, and he’d watched with bated breath as the boy came
into manhood. Over the past year his wait was over at last,
and he’d finally been able to form the union with Aedan that
he’d always wanted. He’d seen Aedan in the throes of
passion, in his most helpless state, begging Destan for
release. Now, seeing that fire bright in his eyes, Destan
couldn’t help but sweep him forward, pressing his mouth
against his apprentice’s, fingers laced through his silky black
hair.

When their lips parted, Aedan let out a shaky sigh. His

cheeks were flushed as he looked up at the tanned, husky
man, brushing golden strands out of his eyes. “When I’m
second in command,” he began, “what would you have me
do?”

“What do you think?” Destan replied slyly, his fingers

sliding into Aedan’s belt and yanking it open.

Shoving his hand away, Aedan said, “I’m serious! I want

to know what responsibilities you’ll give me. Astraeus had
you handling all kinds of fascinating tasks.”

“Come now, doll,” Destan breathed in his ear, “you don’t

need to worry about any of that. With this potion, I’ll be
strong enough for the both of us.”

“You have no want for my own strength?”

When Destan didn’t reply, Aedan pulled roughly away

from him, his breath coming out in a furious huff. Then,

quietly, he said, “It’s never going to change with you, is it?”

“Aedan,

Aedan,”

Destan

coaxed,

rubbing

his

apprentice’s shoulders. “Don’t get all fired up. We’re
partners, all right? You and I, partners.” He wrapped Aedan
in a warm embrace, and finally the young mage turned
around, allowing their lips to meet again.

In a daring move, Aedan suddenly pushed forward,

delivering a soft bite to the nape of Destan’s neck. As the
water mage gasped, Aedan let his tongue dance lightly over
his skin, trailing from the nape up to the ear.

“Ohh, Aedan,” Destan moaned. He ran his hands down the

young man’s back in a manner wholly unlike that of a teacher
to his apprentice. “Now you’re bringing me up to a simmer.”

“Fire and water,” Aedan chuckled into the man’s neck.

“And partners forever.”

He closed his eyes, reveling in the exquisite sensation of

Aedan’s tongue against his skin.

He did not notice as Aedan lifted a vial off the table

behind him, dipping it into the cauldron, corking it, and
shoving it into the pocket of his coat.

A

EDAN

knew the risk even as he raised the vial to his lips.

He knew that the potion had not yet set and that it needed
eight more hours of brewing to be complete. But Destan had
locked the doors to the workshop as promised. Aedan
couldn’t wait; eight hours from now it would be Destan
drinking the brew, Destan gaining the powers from the

potion that Aedan had toiled over day and night.

He felt a moment’s remorse. He’d shared with Destan a

part of him that no one else had ever seen. There had been a
time when Aedan worshiped the man, a time when he
depended on him and trusted his every decision. But at the
same time, while Destan had given him his desire and his
body, Aedan never held his respect. The man looked down
upon his dragon’s blood. He had no interest in Aedan’s
mind, agile as it was. Aedan had been told by every mage he
met that his potential was limitless and his power
formidable, but all Destan wanted was the touch of his flesh.
He wanted to keep the fire mage safely at his side—an
obedient, devoted trophy.

Aedan grew livid just thinking about that. His wrath was

overwhelming. He would not let Destan take away what was
rightfully his.

Bracing himself, he tilted his head back, downing the

potion in one grimacing gulp.

The pain was immediate. The potion pulsed within him,

scalding his veins like liquid fire. He cried out, falling back
helplessly against the wall of his bedroom. Before his senses
escaped him, he grabbed a wooden stake, biting down on it
so no one in the neighboring huts could hear his screams.

The pain was all-consuming. He couldn’t see, couldn’t

think, couldn’t feel anything but burning, burning fire. It
surged up inside him, concentrating in his chest before
shooting down his left arm. And he screamed like a tortured
animal as flames erupted. The fabric of his coat and glove
melted, sinking into him and blackening the skin of his hand

and arm.

For nearly an hour he writhed in agony, until the fire

dwindled and the pain disappeared, leaving behind just a
deep, dull ache. Aedan groaned, weak and shaken. He gazed
upon his blackened hand with horror. It felt numb, dead. He
lifted it carefully, flexed his fingers. To his shock, it moved as
he willed it.

Heat surged through his chest once again, but this time

it was adrenaline. He rose to his feet—wobbling slightly—and
pointed across the room. And he thought, in the simplest
terms, a hole in the wall.

There was a flash of light, then chunks of ash crumbled

to the ground. And there it was as he had commanded, a
hole in the wall.

“A

EDAN

, come and look!” Destan cried as his apprentice

stepped into the workshop the next morning. Across the
room was an empty font. Destan approached it and raised
his unblemished right hand toward the font, and it slowly
filled with water. “It worked!” he laughed with unabashed
joy. “The potion worked!”

Aedan stood unmoving across the room, an odd

expression on his face.

“Hey…” Destan narrowed his eyes, catching sight of

Aedan’s blackened limb. “What happened to your arm?”

A cunning half smile cracked across the fire mage’s lips.

Raising his own maimed hand, he pointed to the underside

of the font. White-hot flames erupted, engulfing its curved
base.

The water above evaporated in a swirl of steam.

W

HEN

Destan and Aedan came before Pax, the peacekeeper

was charged with the unenviable task of naming one of them
the new master of the mage clan. He requested that the two
of them direct their powers at each other in order to
determine who was the stronger. Destan raised his right
hand, channeling all the fury he held at Aedan’s betrayal
and all the desire he held at wanting to be master. Aedan in
turn raised his left hand, letting his blazing temper overcome
him as he thought about the years he’d spent in Destan’s
shadow and the persecution he’d faced at being the only
mage in the clan “tainted” with dragon blood.

They both let loose their magic, aiming for the kill.

Nothing happened.

Their abilities, having come from the same source,

neutralized each other. Both mages were equally powerful,
and thus power alone would not qualify one over the other as
master. The tiebreaker would depend on Pax’s judgment
alone.

Pax’s blue eyes shone bright in his pale, discerning face

as he assessed the two mages before him. “This is difficult
for me,” he admitted. “Destan, you served Astraeus faithfully
for five years. You were his second in command. You know
what it takes to run a tribe. And the potion was created in
your workshop.”

Across the room, Aedan’s fists clenched. He bared his

teeth, about to argue when Pax lifted a hand to silence him.
“But… the fact is that Aedan took the potion first and was
thus the first to qualify for the position. So I have no choice
but to name Aedan the new master of the mage clan.” He
gazed doubtfully upon the raven-haired youth. “Everyone in
the clan recognizes your strength, Aedan. But you’re young.
Your judgment and your patience are severely lacking. I hope
that you will consult with me, that you will hold your
temper, and that you will seek inner wisdom when making
decisions that impact the clan.”

Aedan raised his chin defiantly. But in that room on

that night, it was Destan who was left seething. Aedan was
worn out, the fire subsiding within him and giving way to
reason and remorse.

As soon as they left Pax’s hut, Destan grabbed Aedan by

the arm, shoving him back against the wall. “You sorry little
backstabbing bastard,” he hissed. “I will not call you my
master.”

“Destan, please,” Aedan whispered, a slight tremor in

his voice. “I don’t know why I did it. I couldn’t stop myself. I
was just… I was so angry. I…” He bit his lip. “I don’t
know….”

“You don’t know?” Destan scoffed. “Not only did you go

behind my back and steal my potion, you took the case all
the way up to Pax. Don’t act like this was just a momentary
lapse of judgment.”

“I’m sorry!” Aedan said. “I want you to still stay with me.

I want you to be by my side while I’m master. I don’t want to

lose you like this; we’re partners forever!”

“You’re a fool, Aedan. And you’re not going to last in

your position. You’re too immature and too selfish. One way
or another, I will tear you down. You will not be master of my
clan.” He swallowed. “Not after what you did to me.”

Aedan could think of no response to those cutting

words. All he could think of were the nights they’d spent
together, the creaking of the woven mattress. He’d allowed
Destan to see him in a way he’d never wanted to be seen—
defenseless, vulnerable, moaning and writhing with
abandon. Destan had caressed and fondled his body and
called it love. And Aedan had believed him.

Destan left him alone that night—alone in body and in

soul. And it was gut-wrenching for Aedan, because even after
driving the man away, he still yearned for Destan’s promise
of forever.

D

ESTAN

’

S

prediction proved to be correct. The fire that

burned in Aedan’s soul was too powerful for him to resist. It
clouded his judgment no matter how hard he tried at
temperance. Only a month into his rule, the rival forgers
attempted to assert their dominance over the mages’ new
regime. They attacked in the dead of night, destroying three
workshops and a school. To Aedan, it was a personal affront.
He knew that the forgers were challenging his abilities as a
leader, and he would not let them get away with it.

The very next day, he declared war on the forgers. Pax

came to him, begging him to reconsider. They were only

monetary losses, Pax insisted. No casualties had resulted
from the battle, and any form of retaliation was likely to
spark an even greater conflict. But Aedan wouldn’t hear it.
His inner fire had consumed him. He had been shamed in
front of the entire clan, and the forgers would have to pay.

Recklessly he led the mages across the border and into

the forger clan’s village, his valor fueled by fury. He went into
battle with shrieking, blood-curdling rage, raining
destruction upon the village with no mercy. But little did he
know that the forgers had allied with the scholars, and as
powerful as the mage clan was, they could not compete with
two rival clans at once.

The defeat was brutal. Nearly a third of the mages were

lost, and Pax was mortally wounded by way of a poisoned
spear. As the peacekeeper lay on the verge of death, Aedan
faced an ultimatum from his clan. Save Pax’s life, or be put
to death.

Healing magic had never been one of Aedan’s strengths.

He knew only how to tear apart, not to build or mend or
defend. But he was nothing if not persistent, and he
retreated to his workshop to devise a potion that could heal
Pax’s wound.

He worked through the night, mopping his brow as the

heat from the boiling brew permeated the room. It was
stifling, almost intolerable, but he continued to labor. He
knew that the rest of the clan wouldn’t believe it, but it
wasn’t just his own life that he was determined to save. Pax
had always been a gentle soul and was one of the few in his
clan who had ever treated him with kindness. Even though

he was only in his twenties, he had a fatherly air, always
willing to hear Aedan’s problems, always trying to soothe
him after he’d had a difficult day.

At last, the rainbow sheen appeared on the surface of

the brew, sparkling like cut crystal within the cauldron.
Fearlessly he tested it, drawing his knife and dipping it in
poison before slitting his right wrist from palm to elbow.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he dipped the ladle into
the cauldron and took a sip. Immediately the wound on his
arm began to mend, sealing shut and leaving behind
seamlessly smooth skin.

Success.

But before he could pour the potion into a vial and take

it to the neighboring hut, a hand closed on his left wrist,
pulling roughly at his blackened arm and twisting it behind
his back. Another arm circled his throat, and he was yanked
across the room. His attacker slammed him against the wall,
hitting his head hard enough to darken his vision. When his
awareness returned to him, he was being forced into a heavy
wooden chair. His arms were bound tightly behind him,
ankles secured to the chair’s legs.

His forehead was sticky with blood. He blinked as it

trickled into his eye. A familiar blond figure appeared before
him, and he drew back. “Destan…” he gasped. “What are you
doing?”

“It’s called retribution,” Destan said.

Aedan tried to steady his voice, but it came out shaky

with fear and anger. “You’re going to kill me?”

Shaking his head, Destan said, “You know there’s a rule

against killing a master in order to claim his position. And
besides, I have no need to kill you. The clan will take care of
that for me tomorrow.”

“Destan,” Aedan pleaded. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t do

this to Pax!”

“Don’t you worry about Pax,” Destan replied. With that

said, he lifted a fist, striking hard and obliterating Aedan’s
consciousness.

A

EDAN

awoke half an hour later, abruptly aware of his

predicament. He yanked feverishly at his bonds, flexing his
left hand and sending out feeble sparks in vain. Hours of
struggling finally brought him his freedom, but he knew that
it had come too late.

When he stumbled into Pax’s hut, he found it nearly

filled with clansmen. Beyond the circle of mages with their
backs to him was Pax, seated feebly in a makeshift bed with
pillows behind him to prop him up. Destan knelt by his side,
speaking in a low, confidential tone. There was color in Pax’s
face, and his eyes, though bleary, had regained some of their
prior focus.

Raising his head, Destan caught sight of Aedan, who

had just crossed the threshold despite the dread that rose in
his chest. They stared at each other for a moment, Aedan
pleading with his eyes. The gaze Destan returned was as cold
as ice.

“So the coward returns,” Destan said, at last calling

attention to Aedan’s presence. “Like I told the rest of you, he
ran from the challenge you gave him. I couldn’t let Pax die,
so I had to take it upon myself to save his life.”

“That’s a lie!” Aedan cried. “He stole the potion I made!”

“Oh, don’t try that again,” Destan said. He turned to the

rest of the clan. “We have no need for this coward anymore.
It’s time we finished him.”

“Please,” Pax intervened. “I’m sure there’s another way

to deal with this. If we could just discuss….”

No one paid him heed. All at once, the rest of the mages

stood up, ready with the spells that they had prepared as
they waited for Aedan to appear. Aedan stumbled back, and
Destan raised a hand, slamming the door behind him with
magic and preventing his escape.

An air mage let loose a gust of wind that sent Aedan

crashing against the wall. He groaned, blinding pain
exploding from his ribs before he fell to the ground. He was
then hit with a torrent of water that closed in on him,
surrounding him like a bubble and permeating his lungs. He
gasped and choked, nearly falling unconscious before the
spell wore off and the water washed away. Destan stood with
arms folded, directing his fellow mages. When another burst
of water cascaded across the room, Aedan looked around
him in a panic. There was no way out. He’d be killed in the
most painful way for a fire mage.

He had to fight back. Fear and adrenaline spiked within

him, and he held out his left arm, channeling all his
remaining energy into his burnt appendage.

Flame exploded from his hand, the eruption so powerful

that he fell back from the recoil. He watched as his former
allies were enveloped in the fire. Before the flames could even
dissipate, he let out a wild cry, leveling another attack. He
sent forth a wall of fire that surrounded the first, building it
up to a blazing inferno.

He could just barely see Pax through a gap in the

flames. The peacemaker was thrashing and screaming as his
skin was scalded, falling to ash before his eyes. Aedan stood
helpless against his own strength, sickened as he witnessed
the consequences of his attack yet unable to stop himself. He
saw the man who had once nurtured him, an innocent,
murdered in the most brutal way by his own hand.

The rest of the mages succumbed to the same fate,

leaving only Destan who was impervious to Aedan’s magic.
Destan watched in horror as his allies fell. Desperately, he
tried to quench the flames with water, but Aedan’s fire had
acted so quickly that the damage had already been done.
After Destan put out the fire, nothing was left of his men but
a dusting of ash.

Pain suddenly shot through Aedan’s arm, and he knew

immediately that something had changed. The spell he’d cast
had been so damaging that it had backlashed against him,
and somewhere a wall shattered between Destan and
himself.

He met eyes with the water mage, and they were both

struck with realization at the same time. The connection
between them had been broken, and they’d lost their
immunity to each other’s attacks.

Aedan’s will was weakened; he was worn and drained

after his spell. But fury was born within Destan, and he
raised his right hand to his defenseless opponent. “I’ll
destroy you,” he hissed. “I’ll obliterate you, the same as you
did to the others.”

Aedan’s heart rushed; he knew that in his current state

he’d stand no chance against Destan. He pressed his left
hand against the door behind him, willing it to fall away. As
soon as it dissolved to ash, he turned and fled for his life.

A

EDAN

could not return to his homeland. The murder of

eight fellow clan members was an unforgivable crime. He ran
day and night, sending walls of flame behind him at every
turn to prevent anyone from following him. But Destan was
hot on his trail, quenching the flames as he and his
remaining allies pursued the fire mage.

The dusky, smoky air of the mages’ village slowly gave

way to a light, invigorating wind as Aedan crossed over the
border. He trudged through a forest of lush trees so green
that they stung his eyes. Lilacs and mums were in bloom,
casting their sweet scent amidst the trees. A falcon flew
overhead, wings outstretched in a majestic display. From a
distance, the low rumble of a dragon’s roar brushed by
Aedan’s ear.

But the fire mage was in no condition to appreciate the

beauty that surrounded him. He could barely walk, let alone
observe. As he cleared the last of the trees, he came upon an
overgrown garden rife with berries and peach trees and a
rainbow of vegetables. He hadn’t eaten in days, but he didn’t

have the strength to even pull a peach down from the tree or
raise it to his mouth. He was exhausted from the constant
strain of spell casting, and as the last of his strength waned,
he collapsed at the foot of a mulberry bush.

He was in tamer clan territory, lying in plain view, open

and vulnerable to any rival clan member who happened
upon him….

“G

OOD

evening, Drake!”

I had just stepped out of my hut when I heard one of my

fellow dragon tamers call my name from across the path. I
raised a hand to her in greeting. “Evening, Adelind. How are
the babies?”

“They’re growing well. I think their fangs will be in by

the end of the week.”

“That’s wonderful! No one raises dragon hatchlings

better than you.”

Adelind brushed off my compliment as usual and then

surveyed the sky. “Looks like rain tonight. You’d better hurry
back inside before it starts.”

I thanked her for the warning and waved goodbye as she

continued down the walkway. She was right; storm clouds
were on the horizon, and if I wanted to pick vegetables for
dinner, I had to be quick. But as I headed around the back
of my hut, I tripped over a fallen body and toppled to the
ground.

At first I didn’t recognize the young man who lay strewn

across my garden. He was face down, black hair covering his
eyes and nose. His lips were parted and he was gasping,
steam emanating from his mouth. The sight of his blackened
arm was a shock; the skin was brittle and broken, and
something like hot lava rushed within the cracks. When I
reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, I found that he
was hot to the touch—nearly scalding. It triggered my
memory; I had a recollection of a young boy brought to my
hut by a peacemaker, burning from the inside with fiery
wrath. And then the rumors ran through my mind—rumors
of a brutal new mage clan master who was willing to sacrifice
his own men for the glory of the fight.

But what I saw before me was not the monster the

stories had painted.

Running back into my hut, I grabbed a blanket,

bringing it back out and wrapping the young man in it so I
could carry him inside without being burnt. I set him on my
bed, and he moaned in pain. His eyes cracked open, and
immediately I recognized his golden irises. Today they were
shimmering with pent-up tears.

“Kill me,” he groaned. “I deserve it….” He reached out,

grabbing my arm, and I bit back a cry as my skin was
singed. “I can’t ever go back.”

I didn’t know what had caused him to flee from the

mages, but I knew that being cast out of one’s clan was akin
to a death sentence. No clan was accepting of outsiders;
there had been too many cases of spies and traitors for
anyone to find reason to trust.

But I understood this broken creature who lay before

me. I felt his spirit the same way I could feel the heart and
soul of my dragons. It wasn’t his fault; he was born with the
curse of fire dragon’s blood in a fire mage’s body.

His bony, angular face was covered with a shimmer of

sweat, brows furrowed and teeth bared. Even as he lay
paralyzed with pain, I couldn’t help but be stricken by his
beauty. He had all the lithe, subtly powerful grace of my
most beloved dragons, and I saw within him the capacity for
gentleness, buried underneath layers of hatred and mistrust.

I carefully stripped him of his clothing. Heading to my

basin, I soaked a large washcloth in cool water and returned
to Aedan’s side, running the cloth over his skin and willing
the heat to mellow. As I set the cloth on his forehead, I gently
stroked his hair, which was soft and glossy like a raven’s
feathers. I wanted the pain to leave his beautiful face. I
wanted to end his hurt.

No amount of willpower could stop me as I leaned

forward, taking him into my arms. I cringed as his heat
scalded my clothing, but I did not let him go. I closed in, my
lips brushing his ear as I whispered to him soothing words
in the language of dragons.

Be calm; be at peace. Cool your anger and fear, and feel

my love enveloping you. I’m here with you, and I will protect
you forever.

I stayed by his side for hours, as daylight dwindled into

darkness and darkness faded back to light. Slowly, steadily,
his temperature came down and his face relaxed. As the sun
rose to full height, streaming through the windows and
gilding his silhouette, he reached out, lacing his fingers

between mine, and my heart nearly stopped as elation
rushed through me.

I

T TOOK

days to nurse him back to full health, and during

that time I didn’t dare let any of my allies enter my hut. I
was harboring the enemy—and the most treacherous of
enemies in their eyes. For the first two days he remained
silent, his eyes shifting down whenever they met mine as if
he were ashamed of his very essence. It wasn’t until late the
third night that he whispered to me as I lay on the floor in
the bedroom, “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

The bedroom was cramped, and although I lay at the

opposite end of the room, I was still close enough to see the
sorrow in his eyes. His voice shook with genuine remorse.
Now that his internal fire had been quenched, anguish had
risen to the surface.

“It’s not your fault,” I told him. “You’re cursed with

volatile blood. Only a dragon tamer can keep you calmed.”

“They’ve always hated me,” Aedan whispered in a

quavering voice. “But they were my family, my home. Now I
have nothing left.”

“You have me,” I said before I could stop myself. “I will

protect you forever.”

“The last time someone told me ‘forever,’ it lasted only a

day.”

My voice shifted, and again I spoke in the language of

dragons. Trust me.

I don’t know if he understood my words or if he just

found the language soothing, but across the room I heard
him sniffle.

B

Y THE

next morning, a tiny flame had kindled inside him. It

was a healthy, vital flame, a flame he needed. But his spirit
was still damaged, beaten down, and bruised. He didn’t trust
me, despite my unreasonable assumption that he’d warm up
to my presence as soon as he had returned to good health.
Instead, what I felt within him was anger, resentment.

He came to me unexpectedly as I was bathing, yanking

the curtain open and staring down at me as I sat stunned in
the soapy water.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You saved my life for a reason. Tell me what it is you

want, so I don’t have to tread in fear.”

“I want you to be well,” I told him, and it was the truth.

“I want only what you willingly choose to share with me, at
no cost to your soul.”

He slowly lifted his shirt, and I asked, bewildered, “What

are you doing?”

Before my eyes, he shed all of his clothing. “I could have

given him anything,” he said, “but this was all he wanted.
This is all anyone’s ever wanted from me.”

“Dress yourself, mage,” I said uneasily.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he hissed. “Tell me.”

I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t lie. “You’re beautiful,”

I admitted. “It would be an honor for anyone to have you.
But I’ll say it again—I only want what you can share at no
cost to your soul. That’s all I’ll ever ask of you.”

He stood before me, and I saw that he was naked in

more ways than one. “At night, you whisper in my ear, and
all I can think is how much I want…” he swallowed, “… a
connection.”

“We’re already connected, you and I.” I stood up, my

body dripping, soapsuds still bubbling on my shoulders and
chest. “Letting someone have your body does not make a
connection like what we have. We’re connected at the soul.
We have been ever since you were first brought to me four
years ago.”

“No one should want my soul,” he said, pain coloring his

voice. “My soul burns with all the fires of Hell. I bring
destruction wherever I go.”

I couldn’t imagine the constant persecution he must

have faced, to end up despising himself as he did. It hurt to
think what his life must have been like with the mage clan.
No wonder he wanted the position of master; it would have
been the only way to avoid the abuse and instead gain the
respect of the rest of his clan.

“Those days are behind you now,” I told him.

“But the fire inside me… my anger, my hate… I can’t rid

myself of it.”

“I can.” I reached out, gently taking his blackened arm.

He flinched, ashamed of his scalded skin, but I wouldn’t let
him withdraw. I raised his hand to my lips. It was hard and
cold, ugly to the eye of a stranger but beautiful to me.

As I kissed his hand, I felt him tremble for a moment.

Then his fist unclenched, and he let his fingers trace over my
cheek. I leaned into his touch and smiled.

T

HE

tamer clan is the gentlest of clans, but I still wasn’t sure

my influence would be enough to convince my allies to
accept Aedan. However, I couldn’t keep him stifled in my hut
forever. Like a dragon, he needed the air and sun and
freedom. I approached my fellow dragon tamers first,
knowing they were most likely to understand Aedan’s
predicament. With all my persuasive powers, I managed to
convince them to keep Aedan safe within the walls of our
territory. As always, I was touched by the generosity and
kindness of my friends, and I was ashamed for having
expected anything less of them.

It took Aedan a week to build up the courage to leave

the hut. As he emerged, bystanders eyed him with curiosity
and a bit of fear. Aedan kept his head down in a show of
humility. As I’d promised, I stood by his side, taking him
around to meet my clansmen.

For six blessed months, we shared a home. I took him to

meet Lily, my gentlest dragon. I taught him how to cook; he’d
only ever conjured food with magic before. I sat with him by
the spring, our feet bared and dangling in the cool rushing
waters as we enjoyed each other’s silent company.

He bonded with Lily, and the three of us would ride

together high in the sky. It was the first time I ever heard
him laugh. It was a joyous, uninhibited peal; he held his
arms out, tilting his head back, eyes closed, letting himself
be caressed by the wind. After we landed, Lily nuzzled him,
and he held her head and gave her a kiss.

His gentle nature surprised me. Underneath all the fire

was an empathetic soul that yearned for peace. The animals
bonded to him instantly; there was a time when he
disappeared from my hut, and I found him sitting in my
garden with a pack of young wolves surrounding him,
basking in the warmth that emanated from his body. The
ferocious creatures were nestled at his side, and he balked
when I told him this was unusual for them.

He watched me one afternoon as I brought in an

untamed dragon that had been attacked and left for dead
outside the village. It was healthy now, but too feisty to be
handled by anyone but the most experienced tamer. Aedan
eyed me with fear as I dodged bites from the dragon, sighing
with relief as I finally got close enough to whisper in its ear
and settle it down.

“I think you understand me better than anyone else,” I

told him that night as we sat at the edge of Lily’s cavern,
gazing down into the inky darkness. He simply leaned
against me, knowing all I needed at the moment was his
closeness.

The next day we shared a bath. I remember how my

hand shook as I explored his body, my touch slick with soap
as it glided over his smooth curves and lean muscle. He set

his hands on my chest, feeling my heartbeat. As we met
eyes, I thought I saw tears mingling with the streams of
water that trickled down his face.

And every night I whispered to him in the language of

dragons, feeling his fire calming and turning to gentle
warmth.

I

T WAS

the new moon. By this time I had built a spare bed in

my hut several feet away from Aedan’s so I would no longer
have to sleep on the floor. After these six months, I no longer
knew what I’d do without his presence at the other end of
the room. Not only did I soothe him with my whispers, in
turn the warmth of his flame put me to rest every night.
Tonight I could see the moon shimmering through the
window above Aedan’s bed. It cast him in silver as he stared
up at the ceiling.

My whispers complete, I rolled onto my side, closing my

eyes and surrendering to the pull of sleep. Just as I began to
descend into its comforting darkness, I felt my woven straw
mattress creak and dip behind me. Rolling back over, I found
myself gazing into a pair of piercing yellow eyes.

Aedan settled in next to me, and I lay speechless as he

drew close and nuzzled against my chest. I could smell his
hair; it was familiar and smoky, like a campfire. My voice
caught in my throat as I managed to squeak out, “Is
something wrong?”

“Mmh.” He shook his head, pressing deeper into my

chest. “I like hearing your heartbeat.”

My hand shook like it never had before. It was difficult

to believe, to accept, that what I wanted most in the world
was happening right now. I drew him into a gentle embrace. I
kissed his forehead through his smoky hair.

When he cast his amber eyes upon me, I felt like I was

stripped naked before them; they were so discerning and
perceptive. He gazed into my eyes, and I couldn’t turn away.
Finally, a rare smile spread across his face. He touched my
cheek, my lips. “We’re connected, you and I,” he whispered.

My hand circled around to the back of his head. I leaned

down over him and he tilted his head up, eyelids lowering. I
brushed my mouth against his, testing the waters, and he
opened up to me without pause.

I glanced at him for a moment as we kissed, seeing the

moonlight as it shone off his quivering lashes. I kissed his
nose, then his eyelids, then returned to his mouth. He let
out a soft moan as we parted, cheeks flushed even in the
darkness. He smiled at me again; I rolled onto my back and
he rested his head on my chest, letting me stroke his hair.

Again he listened to my heartbeat, soothed by its

rhythm. But what he couldn’t hear was how my heart was
aching. It ached whenever I found myself near him. I had
promised I’d protect him forever, and I don’t break promises.
But the ache in my heart gave way to fear. Fear for the time
when “forever” would come to an end.

He seemed to read my mind. “I wish I could promise you

forever too,” he whispered into my chest. “But I’m scared.”

Fear is a constant in our lives. Every time we see a flash

of magic in the sky, or see the smoke of the forger clan’s
kilns or the scholars’ laboratories, we’re reminded of our
mortality and of the persistent danger that surrounds us. I
wanted to promise him again that I could keep him safe. But
when I heard the distant crackle of magic overhead, my voice
faltered. I couldn’t make a promise against the unknown. All
I could do was hold him in the moment, breathe in his scent,
feel his warmth. All I could promise him was now.

As my heartbeat lulled him into sleep, I whispered in his

ear, “Now will always belong to us.”

I

AWOKE

to find water flooding into my hut. A torrent

knocked the door off its hinges, rushing inside and sweeping
my shelves and furniture off the ground. Aedan sat bolt
upright at my side, sharply grasping my arm. “No…” he
whispered. He knew that magic; he could feel its resonance
in his bones. “It’s Destan. It’s the mages.”

I sprang from the bed, heart racing. “Stay here,” I

commanded him. “Use your fire to keep the flood at bay.”

“You’re mad!” he cried. “I’m going with you!”

“Aedan.” I grabbed his shoulders, giving him a jarring

shake I hoped would bring him to his senses. “They’re here
for you. They want to kill you. You can’t expect me to let you
go out there.”

“I won’t have you fight my battle for me.”

“It’s not your battle.” He shrank back at the force behind

my words, but I grabbed his blackened hand and pulled him

forward. “It’s our battle. All of ours.”

As I turned toward the door, I heard him yell again for

me to stop. But I had promised to protect him, and I would
not let him down. I trudged through the icy waters, half
swimming. The waves subsided after another moment, but I
was left soaking and chilled and trembling. As I emerged
from the hut, my heart pounded in dreadful anticipation of
the damage that had already been done to my village.

Huts were leveled. Some had been swept up by wind,

some swallowed by cracks that formed in the ground after
rapid-fire quakes. Devastation surrounded me in every
direction. Some of the huts were ablaze, and I saw my
friends and allies rushing out of their homes, leaving
themselves vulnerable to attack.

And the attacks came. I dodged icicles shooting from

across our border. A griffin tamer was staked through the
heart, and I let out an involuntary groan at the sight. I
watched as my allies fell, unable to move quickly enough to
help any of them. The mages were more brutal than I’d ever
experienced, landing strike after strike of bone-jarring blasts.

The bombardments intensified, and I could see no

means of escape. As I braced myself for another incoming
attack, a soft gust of wind rose up behind me. A shadow fell
over me, and then the ground shook. Lily stood before me,
heaving with anger, smoke rising in curls from her nose as
she turned to face the mages. She bared her teeth, crouching
down in a battle stance, her tail circling me protectively.

Twelve mages closed in on us. I heard Lily howling in

pain as a barrage of icicles struck her, chilling her fiery

veins. But she continued to guard me like a lioness to her
young. She caught icicles in her mouth and used her wings
to bat away crushing winds. The mages tried to come closer,
and she cast her flaming breath at them, driving them back.

My heart leapt as more shadows fell upon me from

above. Six more dragons approached, followed by a pack of
griffins. They each landed at the side of their tamer, their
bonds of loyalty as strong as ever.

And then I saw a flash—the glint of sunlight reflecting

off an icicle. It was flying toward me, fast. I cried out, raising
an arm before my head as if it would spare me from the
sharpened icy spear. But there was nothing more I could do.
My heart plummeted, and I braced myself for the end.

Lily made the only move she had time for. She whipped

her head down before mine.

I saw her flinch, and at first I thought she was just

stunned. But then I caught sight of the tip of the icicle,
pierced through her temple straight from the other side.

“Lily,” I groaned. I felt a hollow pang in my chest, a pain

deeper than I’d ever known.

My dragon fell before me. I stood rooted to the spot, too

shocked to even try at defense. A mage then emerged from
the group, and I knew him to be Destan; I’d seen him before
in battle. With all my willpower, I forced myself to turn away
from Lily’s fallen body and face my rival.

“You’re harboring the traitor,” Destan yelled to me.

“You can’t have him,” I said. “He’s not one of yours

anymore.”

“He must face his punishment; he’s a murderer.”

“And what are you? An abuser, driving him to the edge.

You’re as responsible for your losses as he is!”

Destan looked at me with narrowed eyes. Suddenly, he

raised his head in recognition. “You’re the dragon master,”
he began. “You’re the one, aren’t you? The one who Pax
brought him to when he was young.” Raising his right hand,
he said in a low, threatening voice, “You know where he is.”

Several of my remaining allies emerged from the

wreckage of our village, stepping forward to my assistance
with animals of all sizes following in their wake. “He’s one of
ours now,” a falconer called from behind me. “You want him,
you’ll have to take us all down.”

“I will,” Destan said. “But not before I flush him out.”

His hand was still pointed at me. I couldn’t move fast

enough. A rush of water encircled me, sweeping me off my
feet and carrying me back toward the mages. A griffin
swooped down and tried to grab me from the water, but it
was struck back by a horrible gust of wind. I saw an
airborne dragon falling from the sky; it had also tried to
come to my aid. I washed up at Destan’s feet and he grabbed
me, turning me around and pinning my arms behind my
back.

I yanked against him, but he was larger than I, and I

was still panting from the struggle of fighting his icy waters.
“Are you there, Aedan?” Destan called out into the distance.
“I have your man here, your protector.”

“Aedan, stay back!” I shrieked, before Destan wrenched

my arm up. I felt something popping in my shoulder,
followed by sharp, piercing pain.

A lion rushed forward to my defense, but one of the

mages cast a barrier before us, blocking the creature.

Destan grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. His

rough cheek brushed against mine. “I’m going to give you the
slowest of deaths,” he whispered. I could feel his breath
across my lips; I could hear the malice in his voice. He
released my hair, his hand sliding down over my neck.
“Aedan!” he called again. “Your dragon tamer will only be the
first of my casualties! Will you let him die the same agonizing
death as you did Pax and the others?”

“Stay back!” I repeated. To Destan, I growled, “We won’t

give in to your bully tactics. The tamer clan has more pride
than that.”

“You can have your pride,” Destan said, “but I’ll have

your life.”

I felt his right hand sliding up to my face, pressing down

over my nose and mouth. Water gushed forth, penetrating
my air passages. I let out a choked groan, thrashing against
his grip. He mashed his hand down against me, letting the
water pulse from his palm and down into my lungs.

“Do you feel that?” Destan whispered in my ear. “The

burning in your lungs? The fear? The panic?” He brought
forth a heavy jet that left me reeling.

A barrage of animals crashed against the barrier before

us. Even as I felt my air passages blocked and my lungs

constricting in agony, I also felt gratitude for those who were
trying so hard to save me.

My eyes closed. I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t fight the

weakening pulse of my heart or the wrenching agony of my
lungs. I couldn’t fight anymore.

With the last of my strength, I opened my eyes a crack,

gazing out upon my people. I only hoped that they would
continue to stand united in protection of our village, of our
ideals, and of Aedan. Relieved, I could see that—even as they
watched me succumb to my fate—their spirits were still alight.

And then the crowd parted. Steam rose up from the

nearby flooded houses, which dried before my eyes. Aedan
stepped forward, barefoot, clad only in the light smock and
shorts in which he’d slept the night before. He appeared
defenseless, standing before the armored mages in nothing
but a scant layer of cloth. I felt that terrified ache in my
chest again, and it had nothing to do with the water that
pulsed within me.

Spotting Aedan, Destan released me. I crumpled to the

ground, heaving, my body racked with coughs. For half a
minute, Destan and Aedan simply stared at each other.

It was Aedan who broke the silence. “I won’t let you take

down this village. Not on my account, not for anything.”

“Where was this loyalty when you were among the

mages?” Destan challenged. “You can’t be trusted to stay
true to this clan any more than you could to ours.”

Several mages stepped forward, ready to cut Aedan

down. Aedan held up that stubborn chin of his, resolute as

ever. “If you think I’m surrendering, you’re wrong. I won’t
undo the sacrifices that this village has made for my sake.”

“I never expected you to surrender,” Destan said. “I

planned to end you by force. And I will take down this
village, as punishment for having kept you concealed from
us for six months.”

In unison, the mages raised their hands.

I was shaking, chilled. But I managed to lift my head,

meeting Aedan’s gaze. I think he saw the desperation in my
eyes. My people couldn’t hold out much longer, and I knew
that Aedan couldn’t hold his ground against an entire clan of
mages. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t watch him be killed.

He gazed back into my eyes, and I saw the shimmer of

pent-up tears. He opened his mouth, and I was startled to
hear him speak in the language of dragons. You protected me
all this time. And now I’ll protect you.

My gut twisted inside me. I didn’t know what he had

planned, but I could see the torment across his pallid face.
Aedan… Don’t…

Drake.

As he stared deep into my eyes, he raised his left hand

up to the sky.

I promise you forever.

Then he looked away. Blinking, he turned back to the

mages. “I’m not the person I once was,” he said to Destan. “I
fight for something you’ll never understand. And I will
protect this village from you. Forever.

A single spark rose from his hand, which was still

extended up in the air. I could feel his heat. What rose from
within him wasn’t the fire and fury that had scalded him all
his years; it was something else—the very fire of his
humanity.

“This village will have my eternal flame,” Aedan said, his

voice soft and steady. “No magic shall ever pass through, no
matter how powerful. I give this gift to you, my true family.”

The flames grew, filling his hand and then washing

down over his body. They spread out in a line across the
field, and I watched as the wildfire shot down our border and
out of view. In the distance I could see smoke rising; the
flame had circled the entire village, yet it burned nothing in
its path.

Aedan’s head was tilted back, eyes closed. He looked

peaceful, radiant within the flames. And then I saw ashes
swirling up into the air—the ashes of his arm.

“No,” I gasped. I wanted to rush him, to stop him, to

knock him out of the flame’s reach, but at the same time I
knew that it would do no good. The flame was coming from
within him.

The ashes grew to his shoulder and across his chest. I

opened my mouth, tried to speak his name. No sound
emerged.

I felt his heat rising within me as it left him. I watched

as the ashes overtook him, watched as he was swept into the
air, leaving nothing more than a hazy cloud drifting above
the village.

The ache in my chest was so great I couldn’t breathe.

My body heaved as the ashes were blown toward me in the
wind. I reached out, tried to catch some. I thought for some
reason that I’d still be able to feel him, to feel the ashes
through my fingers the way he’d once laced his fingers in
between mine.

My heart might as well have been swept away in the

wind alongside him.

A

MONTH

later, my town was still rebuilding after the

devastating flood from the mages. The flame circling the
village was long gone, but smoke continued to rise around
the perimeter in never-ending wisps.

Aedan was right; no magic could pass through the

smoke. Spells fizzled upon contact, and the mages had been
forced to retreat.

We’d had a funeral pyre for the villagers and animals

lost in the battle, but as I said goodbye to my friends, I was
anguished over the one who was not there. I’d never hold
him again. Never stroke his hair again. Never see that rare,
treasured smile of his. He’d taken my heart; I deserved the
chance to say goodbye.

I walked through my village like a ghost. Lily’s cavern

was empty. The bed by the window in my hut was empty. I
was empty. Even as I helped my friends rebuild, my spirit
had been lost. They saw the change in me, but try as they
might—and as much as I appreciated their gestures—their
efforts were for naught.

I

T WAS

the new moon.

I pulled my blanket close to my chest as I lay atop my

woven mattress. A faint smoky scent still lingered on the
cloth, reminding me of that last night when Aedan had
shared my bed. I buried my face in its softness, inhaled his
scent, and realized that my tears had soaked the fabric.

I could no longer bear to sleep alone; my nights had

become long, restless hours of torture. I stood, heading for
the door of my hut and stepping out into the night air. The
chill permeated my skin, sinking down to my aching bones.
Once upon a time I had heat within me too. It seemed like
ages ago.

The smoke still rose along the edge of the village, and I

felt like it was taunting me. For the first time, I approached
it. I wanted to blame the smoke for taking away my other
half. I had the unreasonable urge to throttle it, to shake it, to
make it stop dancing in front of me like it didn’t have a care
in the world.

I swatted at it, and a tiny stream of heat shot up to my

chest. Breathless, I fell back. Wind whispered faintly across
my ear.

With an unsteady hand, I reached out again,

penetrating the smoke with my fingers. I felt the heat again,
and that shadowy whisper again passed over my ear.

A surge in my chest, I realized that the whisper was not

that of the wind. It was the language of dragons. A tremor
ran through me, and I closed my eyes, stepping forward as

the smoke’s warmth enveloped me like an embrace.

The whispers were an overlapping rush of indiscernible

words. I let myself listen and be soothed by the sound. I don’t
know how long I remained in the smoke, but after a time the
words began to grow clearer. When I finally recognized them,
they shot through my heart like a flaming arrow.

I promise you forever.

I felt Aedan’s never-ending flame within me, his heat,

his passion. His flame filled the once empty shell of my soul,
and for a moment I could feel his head resting on my chest,
listening to my heartbeat.

I raised my hand to my heart and closed my eyes.

A

NA

B

OSCH

is a freelance illustrator in Illinois who can’t go

more than five minutes without working on something
creative. Despite pursuing a career in visual art, she never
could kick the habit of writing fiction, an interest that dates
back to the third grade.

Ana is an avid animal lover and can't imagine life without
her feathered and furry housemates. In her spare time, she
runs a weekly webcomic and drinks lots of tea.

Website:

http://ana-bosch.blogspot.com

Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Ana-

Bosch/134060073368339

Twitter:

http://twitter.com/anaboschwriting

The Dragon Tamer ©Copyright Ana Bosch, 2012

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
382 NE 191st Street #88329
Miami, FL 33179-3899 USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Shobana Appavu [e-mail]

Cover Design by Mara McKennen

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 382 NE 191st Street
#88329 Miami, FL 33179-3899 USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America

February 2012

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-315-9