Chapter 12: Feathering the Nest

Iden rode along the white path, his horse’s hooves crunching the gravel underfoot, a mob of baying hounds following behind him. The tall, carefully-tended cypress trees that lined either side of the road cast their shadows as the rays of the setting sun bathed them, the sky painted in beautiful shades of pink and orange. There was a crossbow slung across his back, and he carried a trio of fat, fluffy rabbits over his shoulder.

The terrain here was relatively flat, the rolling fields broken up by hedgerows and patches of dense forest that made for excellent hunting. That had become Iden’s passion in recent months, chasing down deer and rabbits on the estate. There was so much land that he could ride for hours before reaching the limits of the property. It was about fifteen hundred acres if memory served. There was also a sizable lake that made for great fishing on warmer days when it was too hot to go gallivanting around in the woods.

At the far end of the long road lay the manor, its walls rising high into the air, creeping ivy clinging to the weather-beaten stonework. It was a blocky building, with wide windows on the upper floor, the roof lined with crenellations that were more for decorative purposes than for actual defense. There was a large main hall with two smaller wings, the gardens that surrounded it full of flowers and shrubs. Isabelle liked to take walks through the grounds, admiring the blossoming trees and plants. It was a far cry from the windswept peaks and the dank caverns of her previous abodes.

Purchasing a manor had been a surprisingly simple affair. Finding a Lord who was in financial trouble had been trivial, the man had been all too happy to abandon his obligations in exchange for a large sum of gold that would see his debts repaid.

Living in a manor had turned out to be a little more complicated than Iden had initially assumed, however. The building and its lands were only one part of the equation. About a hundred people lived and worked on the estate, described as serfs or villein, farming the fields and maintaining the property. They were not exactly servants, but rather they paid rent to their Lord, and they had obligations relating to labor and upkeep. They had their own quaint houses, their own fields that they were responsible for, their own livestock and crops. There was even a blacksmith, a mill, and a chapel. Iden had inherited a small town as much as his own private property, and as their Lord, he had obligations towards his dependents.

Having no need of the pittance that they would accrue from renting out the land, Iden and Isabelle had decided to declare the inhabitants free peasants. They would no longer pay rent, but they would continue their duties as usual, domestic work included. After all, two people could not maintain the house and the extensive demesne on their own, even if they had the necessary knowledge and experience. Iden was a career soldier, he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to raise cattle, or how to till a field. Isabelle was a dragon, she was no more versed in maintaining a home than he was in pruning a rose bush, and so the peasants were of great help to them.

The presence of the tenants did complicate things somewhat. Flying in the crates of treasure had to be done in the dead of night, lest the inhabitants catch a glimpse of a dragon, but the massive manor afforded them enough privacy that they didn’t have to worry too much about keeping up appearances once inside its walls. The housekeepers respected their wishes when they asked for certain areas of the estate to be off-limits, namely the extensive basement and the underground treasury where Isabelle had taken up residence. She had filled the woefully barren vaults with her hoard, while her more conventional treasures had been spread throughout the manor’s many rooms. There was a real library where she could store her books, while her suits of decorative armor and her ornate weapons were displayed within the previously empty halls. It was like the whole manor was her lair, and she seemed to revel in the opportunity to show off her collection.

Even if the peasants happened to stumble across something that they shouldn’t, Iden doubted whether anything would come of it. He and Isabelle were very well liked, and their wards were unlikely to find another landowner who would afford them the same freedoms and respect. Iden had no desire to lord over them, so to speak. Until very recently, his life had been spent in a similar social class, he had lived through many of the same struggles that they had.

He rode into the manor’s courtyard, returning his horse to its stable, and the dogs to their kennels. As he made his way up to the main door, his haul of rabbits clutched in his hand, Isabelle opened it. She was clad in a fine gown, looking the part of a Lady, an excited expression on her face.

“Iden!” she exclaimed, “you’re just in time! Come, come!”

Before he could ask her what was happening, she took him by the hand, dragging him into the hallway. She hurried him through the main hall, the ceiling high above them adorned with chandeliers, the walls decorated with murals and paintings that were left over from the previous owner. There was a large dining table that occupied the center of the room, the chairs ornately carved, some of Isabelle’s suits of gilded armor lining the walls. Their feet echoed on the checkerboard floor as she dragged him along, entering the West wing and turning towards the stone steps that led down into the cellars.

She paused to unbolt a heavy wooden door, leading Iden into a dimly lit room with an arched stone ceiling, empty wine racks stacked against the walls. At the far end of the room was a fireplace, the hearth brimming with what looked like a pyre made from dry wood and plant matter, flickering flames licking at the dusty stonework.

“It’s time!” Isabelle whispered, practically bouncing on the spot. Iden crept closer, shielding himself from the heat, glancing into the fire to see the clutch of nine eggs. They were more elongated than he had initially assumed, not really the same shape as a chicken egg, their shells leathery and flexible rather than rigid. They had been incubating in the fire ever since Isabelle had laid them a few weeks prior. She had kept them warm with her breath, tending the fire diligently while they waited for the eggs to hatch. Apparently, the time had come.

Iden saw movement coming from one of the eggs, the shell shifting, like someone moving beneath a blanket. It didn’t crack. Instead, it tented upwards. A tiny claw poked through the hole, which was followed by a hand, Iden’s heart starting to race as he saw blue scales reflecting the glow of the flames. As excited as he was, he was also a little apprehensive. What were their children going to look like?

“Should we help them?” Iden asked.

“No. They must be strong enough to escape the shell on their own if they are to survive,” Isabelle replied, crouching beside him to watch the baby as it struggled against its bonds. A second tiny, clawed hand emerged to tear the shell like paper, and then a head broke free. Iden’s heart swelled as he saw the features of an infant, its tuft of dark hair damp with fluid from the egg, a pair of almost imperceptibly small horns sprouting from its forehead. It had no snout, and its skin was clear, just like his own. Its eyes were still closed, and so he couldn’t be sure of their color, or the shape of the pupils. Much like one of Isabelle’s semi-transformed states, the blue scales were limited to its extremities, the same iridescent blues and greens that were present on its mother.

Iden fought the impulse to pull the infant from the hearth. He had to remind himself that it was only partially human, the flames were of no more danger to it than water was dangerous to a duck. The baby rolled out of its egg, lying on its back and jerking its limbs like a newborn that had just left the womb, a stubby tail waving back and forth. It opened its mouth and sucked in a breath, starting to cry, its little brow furrowing as its cheeks began to redden.