“Dragon!”

  Axtara let out a sigh as the cry echoed faintly from outside her door, looking up from her desk and fighting the urge to drag one claw down the side of the lovingly polished wood. Not again.

  “Come out and …” The words trailed off, not nearly loud enough to be heard through the thick wooden door or the multiple panes of glass in her front windows. But the last one rang out loud and clear. “—beast!”

  Axtara closed her eyes for a moment, pushing down the urge to growl and instead letting her frustration out with a quick lash of her tail “What is with these peasants?” There they were, through the glass, standing in the middle of the clearing in front of her home, wielding a—well, she wasn’t really sure what it was—in one hand. A soldier who was extremely down on his luck—or that had perhaps missed every day of his training—would have been hard-pressed to call it a sword. Or an ax, though it somewhat resembled both.

  It might have begun life as a frying pan at some point, Axtara thought, narrowing her eyes as the figure standing in the clearing swung it once more. There was definitely an edge to it. A rough one, to be sure, but an edge all the same.

  Other than that, and what looked a bit like a knife at their waist, the figure appeared unarmed. They were barely even armored. There was a heavy leather vest thrown over their chest, yes, and what looked like leather scraps bound along their arms and legs, but nothing tough.

  “Come out, beast!”

  Axtara’s eyes narrowed. I am not a “beast.” Normally, the barb would have stung slightly, but failed to slip between her scales. However, as this was the third peasant to arrive spouting insults in the last two days, and the second that morning …

  Maybe mother was—No! She cut the thought off with a shake of her head. No. No. It’s just … a misunderstanding. Elnacier wasn’t a large kingdom by any means, but that didn’t mean that it was effectively without a population. Or statistical outliers. There had been the day she’d arrived, the day after, which she’d spent most of unpacking, and then there was today. Technically her third day.

  But the first “challenger” hadn’t arrived until mid-day through the second day. Not that he’d been much of a challenger. In fact, she still wasn’t sure if he’d intended to be a client or not. He’d wandered up, stinking strongly of cheap spirits, and shouted … something. She’d barely heard it, and certainly not understood it, as slurred as it was. But since he’d been standing in the clearing she’d poked her head out her door to inquire as to what he needed—for all she’d guessed, her home had been built in his private drinking spot—and then watched as the man had turned tail and run, throwing his clay bottle at her but failing to even reach her porch.

  So much the better, as she suspected the foul odor leaking from the clay container when she’d disposed of it indicated the liquid would have left quite a stain on any of the wood it had come into contact with. She’d disposed of the offending item carefully, and with one paw shielding her nostrils from the burn.

  At the time, she’d simply written it off as a random happenstance, or perhaps a drunk come to see the newest resident of Elnacier. But then the second challenger had owevHowecalled for her to come out before hurling a stone at her with a sling. It had flown true enough, bouncing off of her chest scales with a thwap the moment she’d opened the door, not penetrating but definitely stinging and … Well, her roar had seen the man fleeing down the road as fast as his hairy legs could carry him.

  And now this. A peasant dressed in padded leather that a city guard would have been embarrassed to be seen in, swinging a weapon of questionable identity, standing in front of her home hurling insults. Not something that she wished to bring up with the king during their first meeting.

  Though she hadn’t yet received a reply to her missive requesting an audience. She’d written the letter first thing on her second day—well, as soon as she’d found the proper paper befitting a message to royalty among her things, that is—and put it in the courier box beside her door. To her delight, sometime during the day it had vanished, likely when she was in her home proper unpacking her things and settling in. So her message had gone out. However, as of yet there had been no reply, and no sign of the courier.

  Unless this one is the local courier, Axtara thought, running her eyes once more over the figure still shouting at her door, though their voice appeared to be giving out slightly. But I doubt it. For starters, they certainly didn’t look like a courier. A pouch to carry messages in was at the very least expected, and she couldn’t see any sign of such a thing.

  Nor much else, really. The figure’s clothes were simple and straightforward, an old-fashioned tunic bound by a belt rather than the more modern fashion found in the core of civilization.

  And his … ax? She watched as the figure swung it again, mouth opening wide as he shouted up at the sky. Yes, I’ll call it an ax. If only to avoid giving offense to swords everywhere.

  “Come out and face me, beast!”

  Axtara let out a small huff of air and shook her head in annoyance. The peasant’s repeated insults were … annoying. But I’ve been called worse. There had been one rich noble at her uncle’s bank that had continually referred to her as “the lizard.” Yet refused to do her business with anyone else, as none of the other clerks had, to the noble’s own words, “shown the same skill with money.”

  And to be fair, the woman had called her uncle “the owner” rather than by his proper name, and even her own servants by their titles or job rather than their names. So she hadn’t been singling Axtara out. It had merely been rude. And rankling.

  But at the same time, the noblewoman had possessed a very large amount of money for her uncle’s bank to deal in, and that responsibility had been on her. And it did pay for this house, Axtara thought with a quick glance at her front room, pride welling in her chest.

  That, and it didn’t appear that her visitor had seen her yet. They were merely shouting insults at the front of her home. Not exactly thrilling … but it could be far worse. She was turning her head away, bringing her focus back to the ledgers on her desk when a flash of movement caught her eye. They’d bent over, picking up something from … the ground? And now he was tossing it up and—

  Axtara let out a startled shriek as the rock the man had tossed pinged off of his ax—which had definitely been a misshapen frying pan at one point—only to bounce off of her beautiful front door with an abrupt click.

  The only thing that kept her from bolting toward the front door as quickly as possible was the fact that she knew doing so could cause her new, expensive wooden floors damage. As it was, the sight of the man bending down to pick up another stone was almost enough for her to forget it or the harm she’d bring on the sheepskin rugs.

  Almost. By the time she reached the door, one paw up to shove it open, there had already been a sharp clunk as whatever missile the peasant had found struck home. Biting back a snarl, she flung the door open, head twisting around the side to take in the two marks left in its once-smooth surface.

  “Aha! Fell beast, I have—”

  Fire rolled through her veins, a raw fury she’d not experienced in some time. The man’s voice cut off as she locked her gaze with his.

  “What do you think you’re doing!?” It wasn’t so much a shout as it was a bellow, but the figure took a step back, eyes going wide as she spread her wings and reared up. “That is my door you’re chucking stones at! My door!” She bared her teeth as she landed on all fours once more, her eyes narrowed. “Insults are one thing, but when you—”

  She snapped her head back as the man hurled his axe at her, the lopsided weapon not so much spinning through the air as sauntering with a slight limp. She batted it away with one limb, the weapon failing to penetrate her scales but still hitting hard enough she could feel the impact run up her foreleg. And worse, it left a long scratch across her carefully polished scales.

  The peasant, meanwhile, was already running as fast as he could down the road, arms pumping like hammers. Rage seemed to coalesce in the back of her throat, flame burning to be released in a gout of magic fury alongside her snarl …

  And then she swallowed it back, releasing instead a soft shout of wordless anger that echoed down the path after her assailant as he vanished around the first bend. She took her frustration out on his weapon instead, scooping it from the ground and hurling it with all her might in the direction of the nearby stream. It passed it by easily, flying much further from her grasp than it had from her attacker.

  She didn’t bother to watch it land, instead turning back to the door, chest hot with anger that had no outlet. Even from where she was standing she could see the two marks left in her door, one small, one decently large. Discolored splotches bright against the wood-stain. The larger impact had even been enough to dent the wood.

  The hot feeling in her chest was cooling now, cooling to a hard, aching lump. She ran a set of claws down the door, feeling the slight depression.

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  “Three days,” she said, her voice sounding slightly forced to her own ears. “Just three days.” She’d been prepared for a certain amount of depreciation, and factored that into her costs. Nothing stayed perfect forever, after all. Especially where the public was concerned.

  But that was incidental damage. Wear and tear. A peasant tracking mud across her floor and rugs. Not deliberate damages.

  Axtara took a long, slow breath, and pulled her claws away. There’s no avoiding it. While the damage is light, fixing it would be costly, especially here, and I was attacked with … well, a weapon. Had I been human that could have been extremely dangerous!

  She would have to bring the matter up with the king, now. She had broken no laws, nor incited any violence. And yet stones had been thrown at her home, and an axe raked along her foreleg.

  The worst of it was, she didn’t have to guess at why, either. The man’s shouts of “Fell beast!” had made it quite clear what he thought of her.

  The ache in her chest was mixing with a sinking feeling now, the kind of sensation one got when they were halfway through a long flight and saw a titan of a storm about to sweep down on them with no warning. True, three visitors was hardly any indicative of the population of Elnacier as a whole, but …

  She turned her eyes up toward the sign, proudly hanging to the side and above her door. Carefully carved on it was her name, and then below that, a declaration of her business: Banking and Finance.

  Do they not see the sign? To be fair, she’d only put it up a few hours earlier that morning, when she was sure that her front room was ready for any and all prospective clients. But it had been plainly visible. Maybe her visitor hadn’t cared? Perhaps he simply hated dragons?

  Or he can’t read. The thought was out of spite, but she had to admit that there was likely a bit of truth to it. Elnacier didn’t even have a printing press within its borders; she’d had to ship all her stationery from the nearest province. For all I know, the only books in the kingdom not in my shelves are on the shelves of a rich merchant or in the king’s personal library, if he even has one.

  She let out another sigh, the fury in her chest slowly deflating with it. The ache, however, stayed, fresh and painful. At the scratch on her scales which she could already see simply wouldn’t buff out, and at the marks in her otherwise perfect, brand new door.

  Maybe … it was time to go down to the town square proper. Check with the courier to see if there had been a reply from the king to her request for an audience yet, maybe see if there was a small market of some kind where she could purchase a few herbs or even greens, since her larder hadn’t been stocked with many of those. And she had coin. Elnacier, like many small nations, simply used the coinage of their neighbors without an official currency of its own. Though perhaps one day …

  She shook her head again and gave the door a sad glance before moving back inside, shutting it behind her with a faint click. Yes, a trip down to the town. Check with the courier, and give folks a chance to interact with me in a way that doesn’t involve throwing a misshapen ax at my head.

  That should help clear things up for everyone.

  * * *

  When Axtara had been a mere hatchling, she’d once snuck into a meeting between her father and an important foreign diplomat who wanted to secure his services for a lucrative messenger contract. The meeting had been very formal, very posh, with the diplomat and their attaches dining at her parent’s home while discussing the exact nature of the job and the requirements associated with it. At the time she hadn’t understood, only seeing an important dinner that none were invited to attend but her father.

  However, she very acutely recalled the absolute silence that had prevailed upon the room, along with the stares, when she had crept inside and accidentally toppled an entire stack of fine porcelain plates. It was a sensation that had gone unmatched for the rest of her life.

  Until now, at least.

  It was like a spell had fallen over the town, drowning out all voices. She hadn’t even flown in, choosing instead to walk along the road from her home to the main road and then up into the town itself.

  And as she’d neared Elnacier, the rumble of conversation from the main square had risen in volume, swelled … and then gone silent seconds before she’d come into view of the square. Almost dead silent.

  The people were still there. Most of them, anyway. But they weren’t bothering to hide the fear on their faces. Those that were looking at her, anyway. Many appeared to be pretending to ignore her entirely, though they were still as silent as everyone else. They weren’t even whispering.

  They smelled though. And not in a pleasant way. Most of them had bathed recently, at least, since she could smell the soap. But beneath it … sweat and fear.

  They were afraid of her. Terrified, even, if the nervous tremors she could see a few experiencing weren’t the result of some malady or another.

  At least they haven’t come to a complete stop, Axtara thought as she made her way up the street. As she drew closer she could see some hurry their business, making their exchanges and then rushing away as though they had somewhere to be.

  Mother was right. It’s like the Bad Days. Or as close to it as she’d ever been.

  No! She caught herself just before she shook her head. It can’t be that bad. After all, they hadn’t run yet, and mother, father, uncle, and her older brother all had told her about the Bad Days, even the dying end of them. People then hadn’t gone silent or walked away swiftly when a dragon had entered a village. They’d run screaming. Or gathered up weapons and prepared for battle.

  Here they’re just … staring. Impolite and unnerving, sure. But not outwardly or dangerously hostile.

  Still, the attention combined with the silence made her feel like a hatchling once more, and she had to fight to keep her wings still at her sides. Her tail she could let move freely—none of them were likely well-versed in draconic body-language anyway—but her expression and her wings needed to be kept still. Her smile needed to be with lips only, no glimpse of her sharp teeth to make anyone more nervous than they already were.

  Just look normal, relaxed and composed at the same time. Like an afternoon off from the bank. Though there she’d not been the only dragon in the city, and the citizens had seen her as one of them, if a little larger and scaled. Here, however …

  Head up, Axtara, she reminded herself as she walked down the street, trying to make her movements as casual as possible. She could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on her, even from those that were trying not to look. Just act normal.

  Thankfully, her inquiries about the town had given her a good idea of where everything was. The home of the courier service was right on the main road, according to what she’d been told, and was beneath—There! A sign hung out from the front of a large building, bearing the HereHereimage of a quill and crate. A stable of decent size was attached to the side, likely for horses and a carriage or two. According to what her agents had told her, the service had been one of the first things the king had ordered built once he’d established the kingdom, forging links to neighboring states. Even before he’d begun work on the roads.

  First stop. She slowed as she neared the office, eyeing the door and quickly gauging its size relative to her own. It would be a tight squeeze, entirely undignified at best. The stable likely had its own way inside, but if the townsfolk were already alarmed by her presence, the horses would most likely be much worse.

  Instead she came to a stop outside the door. It was a simple thing, made of solid wood. Small panes of badly warped glass made up a single large window next to it, enough to let light in but not enough to make out more than the vaguest of shapes on the other side. Beneath it was a courier’s drop box. Empty, at the moment.

  Still, the door was sturdy enough when she knocked on it, the impact of her knuckles echoing through the interior of the building. There was a moment’s wait, and then a slurred voice called out from inside. “It’s open.”

  Sunspots. With luck, their voice was slurred because they were otherwise occupied, ill, or holding a strong accent.

  Still, though she wouldn’t fit through the door, she could at least speak through it. The carved handle was small to her talons, but she grasped it easily enough and swung the door inward—noting as she did the large number of eyes locked on her from nearby.

  “I’m afraid I’m unable to enter,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “If I could trouble you to meet me at the door?”

  “A’right.” The slur was still evident in the man’s words. “Just give me a moment miss.” She took advantage of the wait to take a quick look inside the shop. It wasn’t much, mostly bare wood. A small bench sat beneath the window by the collection box, probably for customers to use while they waited. A wall that would have been waist-high on a human—up to the bottom part of her chest—divided the front of the room from the courier’s space. Beyond it were rows of shelves, workbenches, and boards of all sizes and shapes. For crating up large shipments, like the ones she’d had delivered to her home. Light was provided by a large number of oil lamps—not magic, she could smell the oil in the air and see the stains in the wood above each one from what little smoke they did create.

  “Just minute, miss,” the voice came again, still a little slurred. From the far back, she saw a wisp of grey hair poke above one of workbenches, followed by a wrinkled, bony frame. “You must be new to our city, since I know all the voices around here but I can’t place …” His voice trailed off as he turned toward the door, eyes going wide.

  “Yes,” she said, watching as the man’s face grew pale. “I am new. Just arrived a few days ago, in fact.”

  The man wasn’t moving toward her. Instead, his face had gone grey. There was a fluttery sensation in her gut, like she’d lost altitude and was on the verge of spinning out of control.

  “I just wanted to see if there were any messages for me,” she continued when the man didn’t speak any further. In fact, he was barely moving, eyes locked on her with a sort of slack-jawed astonishment. “I had a missive picked up yesterday for the king. From the new home on the edge of Elnacier?”

  At that the old man seemed to find his voice. “In the woods? East of town? That new one?”

  “Yes!” She nodded quickly, only for the man to take a step back. “I just wanted to know if there had been a reply yet.”

  “Um …” The old man’s slur had vanished, replaced by a weak stammer. “No-no. Not yet. We only took the message up to the king’s manor this morning. A reply might come tomorrow, or the day after.”

  “Oh.” A little disappointing, but then … Uncle had warned her that life outside of the empires often moved at a slower pace. “Very well then. I will check back tomorrow.”

  “No need!” That answer had come quickly enough. “We’ll be sure to deliver it. Tell your master we’ll bring it along as soon as we get it.” He was moving toward the front of the shop now, surprisingly quickly given how slowly he’d been moving moments earlier.

  “My what?”

  “Got to close up now for lunch. Good day!”

  Axtara snatched her head back as the door slammed in her face, just barely missing the tip of her muzzle. A brush-off then. Far from the rudest she’d ever experienced, but not exactly friendly either.

  Very well. She turned away from the courier’s business, looking back up the street. At least I can buy—

  The street was empty, doors shut, shutters latched. What street-side shops had been open just minutes before were closed, wares withdrawn and doors tight. In the brief moments her head had been inside the store, everyone had gone.

  “Or … not,” she said to no one in particular. She took a quick look up and down the street, then with a sigh spread her wings and took to the sky with a quick push from her hindquarters. There was, after all, no point in walking back.

  The sooner I meet with the king, the better, she thought as she flew back to her new home, the fluttery feeling in her stomach growing stronger with each wingbeat.

  If I even can.