Dragon Spear by Jessica Day George Read Free Book Online Page B

distinctly uncomfortable when I caught up to her, and paused in the shade of the jungle for a moment.
    “The eggs will come soon,” she assured me when I asked how she felt. “And then I shall feel much better. Afterward, Shardas and I must only take turns keeping them warm.” Sighing, she led the way to their cave, which was right inside the central mountain.
    It was different from Shardas’s old cave, which had been formed from pale gray stone. The mountains of the Far Isles were long-dead volcanoes, and the rock was mostly rough and black and porous. To soften the floors, deep sand had been laid in the string of chambers, and I stopped to admire the pattern that claws and tails had made in the soft white sand. It would look good on a gown, I thought, and made a note to sketch it when I got the time.
    Once again Shardas had used mirrors to reflect the light from small ventilation shafts, so the caves were well lit and full of fresh air. On a shelf carved out of the living rock was a row of strange, lumpy shapes.
    Shardas’s glassworks.
    They were beautiful, and strange, I thought. If you had told me this one was a goblet, this other a plate, I would have laughed—they were too oddly shaped to be of actual use. But from a purely aesthetic stance . . .
    “They truly are gorgeous,” I breathed. With a reverent finger I traced the curve of one piece, stained faintly blue.
    “I think so,” Velika said, her voice soft. “I tease my mate because he will insist that they have a practical use, or that they will one day, at least. But I do enjoy looking upon them.”
    “Yes,” I agreed. Studying the lines of a larger creation, this one translucent green and shaped vaguely like a tree, I saw how it might be meditative to gaze on them.
    I lifted another green piece, this one no larger than a plum. It appeared to have started out as a flower, but then folded and collapsed in on itself. I held it up to the light, admiring the clarity of the glass and the complexity of its shape.
    Laughing, Velika settled into the deep, sandy hollow at the side of the main cave.
    “What is it?” I turned to look at her, still holding the lump of glass.
    “You have picked your own gift out of the lot,” she told me. “Shardas was making that for you. It was to be a flower. He almost threw it back in the furnace, but I told him to keep it anyway.”
    “Really?” The glass had a pleasing feel in my hand. “May I keep it then?”
    “I think it is safe to say that you may.”
    Her eyelids drooped and I settled down by her side to sew while she napped, spreading my white gown out on a piece of coarse linen. I had all the pieces sewn together now: sleeves, bodice, collar, skirts, and was carefully stretching individual sections on my embroidery hoop and embroidering designs of dragons and trees and waves all over the gown. The designs were white on white, according to the tradition of the Triune Gods, but later I would sew on little crystals here and there—to highlight the dragons’ eyes, the fruit on the trees—that would give it subtle flashes and sparkles of color.
    We had used this technique on Marta’s gown the year before. The idea had come from some silk we found in Citatie, which had tiny pieces of crystal or even metal sewn to it, creating a mirrored effect. We had used several lengths of the mirrored silk to create wing covers for Shardas, whose wings were still damaged from his dive into the Boiling Sea. The wing covers had enabled him to defeat his brother, the evil Krashath.
    As magnificent as the wing covers had been, however, I was glad that we were only using mirrored silk and little crystals to make fine gowns now. I could live a long, full life, perfectly content, without ever having to see two dragons dueling again.
    I kept the green glass flower where I could see it, and occasionally touch it, while I worked. It was very warm in the cave, and the silk of my gown was very soft. Before I knew it, I was asleep in a