Coming Fall 2025!

Late afternoon sun filters through the open roof of the dragon keep, casting shadows on the stone walls. I’ve been grooming this Green Zalia since noon. By the irritated swish of the dragon’s tail, I believe we are both eager to be finished. 

“Almost done,” I say, my head inside his mouth as I work on his rows of razor-sharp teeth. Dragon breath can be horrendous. The minty poultice I use to clean teeth covers the smell of whatever he ate last.

He chuffs in response. I pound the chisel into the calcified plaque on his back left molar and scrape until it comes loose. My elbow holds his long, forked tongue out of the way while I clean. This poor dragon has an unreasonably neglected mouth. His rider should have called me in sooner. 

Luckily, we are coming to the end of our time together. I’ve already polished the crest from his snout to his tail. I’ve checked his variegated scales, which are softer and more flexible than those of other dragons. The dragon has been patient with me, which isn’t always the case. Green Zalia dragons can be temperamental, letting you slip into a false sense of security and then striking out of nowhere. His career patrolling the northern territory’s borders had been a long one. He and his rider have earned their retirement in Eshan.

Dragons in service to the Continent stay with their riders from academy to retirement. During their years of active duty, they patrol the borders and fly at the pleasure of the royal families. The academy and territorial courts all have groomers on staff, so riders focus on flying maneuvers rather than grooming. After military service, the riders take their dragons home, often hiring groomers to care for them.

My client shifts his tail, and I brace myself, waiting for him to settle. I finish scrubbing the molars and double-check my efforts. I move my elbow back again to make sure he is breathing through his nose while I am in his mouth, lest I become a crispy snack. Plenty of groomers who aren’t careful are wounded or killed by the dragons they serve. Teeth cleaning is the second most hazardous grooming procedure. The first is expressing the anal glands. They really don’t like that. A singed hem on my cloak serves as proof.

I did not plan on becoming a dragon groomer. All I ever wanted to do was feel the wind in my hair and the thrill of soaring over the forest canopy as a dragon rider. That is why I braved the journey from Tevyne to Eshan. With every blister and scrape of rough rock against my hands as I trudged through the mountains, my determination to earn a dragon and fulfill my lifelong dream grew. 

Two weeks after my arrival, my dream had been shattered. I’d been sitting across from my best friend, Marinn, a half-elf. She’d told me that humans were not allowed to ride dragons without a Fae escort.

After seeing my dismay, she’d schooled her face into a smile and continued, “It’s a silly rule. Humans could never be foolish enough to wage war against magical creatures. The king’s advisors will convince him of that. Don’t despair.” She had grasped my hands and squeezed.

Now, at twenty-six summers, I am no closer to bonding with a dragon. The Royal Council has been unable to change the King’s mind about humans riding dragons alone, and the decree stands. At least I get to work with the marvelous creatures. The dragons who call the valley home are not plentiful enough to earn me a significant wage.

I tuck a damp strand of hair behind my ear. Even when dragons breathe through their nose, their mouths are steamy. I reach into my leather tool belt and pull out my shiny plaque hook to chip off the last stubborn spot on the molar. A low growl rumbles through his throat.

I agree. We’ve both had enough for today. I back out of his mouth, pushing against his teeth until I stand upright atop my ladder. He turns his head and stares at me with a narrowed eye. 

I pat the side of his jaw. “Thank you. We are finished. You have been most tolerant.” Then I slip my hand into a satchel strapped to my ladder and pull out a smoked fish. He sniffs and opens his mouth so I can toss it in.

I ensure my tools are secure in my belt and retreat down the ladder. The bells in the town center begin to ring, and I realize I am late. I fold my ladder and drag it out to my wagon, then wrap myself in my cloak before heading home. Orthello, a fellow member of the Merchants’ Guild and the caretaker of the estate where I’m working, is taking a bundle of tree trunks up to the main house. However, his secret wish is to become a wedding singer. He has been taking singing lessons and has been invited to sing at one wedding so far, a cousin of Ezag, an ogre who also belongs to the Guild. There is only one problem: Orthello is a terrible singer. But no one has the heart to tell him. While his vocal talent is lacking, he has been blessed (or cursed) with confidence.

“Well met, Orthello. That’s quite a haul,” I say, reaching my hand out to brush it against the bark. 

Although I’m tall for a human woman, Orthello towers over me. He must be at least eight feet tall. Resting the trunks on his shoulder, he runs a hand down his bushy, waist-length beard and smiles. 

“Well, met Livvy. Will you be at the revel tonight?”

I brush my hair out of my face. “Perhaps. You?”

He chuckles, his belly shaking with mirth. “Lenora wouldn’t let me miss it even if the forest was on fire.

She’ll be deep in her cups by the time I get there. I must hurry and get this wood chopped before I leave.” He looks up towards the keep. “Best get to it.”

His wife, Lenora, is known to overindulge on occasion. At Summer Solstice, she ended up on the tavern’s roof, naked and declaring she could fly. In my home village, it would have been a scandal of epic proportions. But in Eshan, it was a tale told for a fortnight over the ale-splattered bar and then forgotten. The winter chill should keep her clothes on tonight, but there’s no guarantee.

I use a leather strap to secure my ladder to the pushcart and glance over to the slope where my cottage sits, even if I can’t see it through the evergreens. My heart still catches when I survey the valley I call home. I didn’t know it was possible to adore a place this much. Something in the air fills my lungs with clarity and sets my soul ablaze. Eshan has a wild, untamed spirit that has loosened the knots of social convention my Ma had used to try to tie me down. 

My feet are light even though my body is weary as I trek down through the valley and up the ridge. How convenient it must be to have the magical ability to port from place to place. Alas, that isn’t an option in the valley, even if one did have the magical ability. 

Since the Great War, the border between the Fae and mortal kingdoms has been warded to dampen ambient magic. The goal was to dissuade creatures of measurable magic from crossing into the mortal lands and causing harm to defenseless humans. If a magical creature travels too close to the border, it will feel physical discomfort and disorientation. Dragons, being of ancient primordial magic, are exempt from the wards. Other creatures, like Caracals and Field Sprites, have such low levels of magic that they can slip through undetected. Eshan became an ideal location for mortal settlers from Straume and low- or non-magical creatures, such as Caracals, from the five Fae kingdoms: Antrais, Ezera, Jura, Lauks, and Ledas, to live in harmony. 

Still, only a brave soul would attempt the dangerous trek over the Skadaris mountains along the divide between the human kingdom of Straume and the closest Fae Kingdom, Antrais. My home village of Tevyne is five days’ travel from the edge of the mountain range, an arduous journey even before you begin to climb. Every year, people perish while attempting the crossing. When I told my parents of my plans three years ago, Ma burst into tears and claimed that, because of me, her nerves would finally end her. 

Da had asked me to take a walk in the woods with him. He said he was proud of me for following my dreams. His support was solidified after a lengthy discussion with his trader friend, Craige, who regularly traveled to Eshan, and agreed to serve as a guide and chaperon. He assured Da that I would arrive safely and that he would serve as a carrier for correspondence. 

When my courage faltered, it was Da who challenged me to be brave. He said he wanted to live vicariously through me as I wrote home about my adventures. He had always been a dreamer and would have loved to explore the world. Now it was up to me.

Ma spent the weeks before my departure alternating between chastising me for my wild irresponsibility, tugging at my guilt for leaving when Da was ill, and tearfully pleading for me to stay close to her. Despite the guilt and tears, I could no longer be contained within Ma’s conventions. 

Now I have joined what started as a community of primarily thieves, outlaws, and adulterers from across Saule, who made the valley their home for generations. Eshan has evolved into a thriving village with established families and a range of amenities. And some, like myself, aren’t running from anything. I’m just looking for something—a place where I can choose my destiny, instead of meekly succumbing to my mother’s expectations.