Chapter 10
Although he hadn’t returned to his cabin until very late, Balar dragged himself up with the sun at dawn as usual. His movements were slow, his eyes bleary, a situation not even a few splashes of cold water could cure.
He’d barely slept that night, his mind too busy turning over all his revelations.
He’d considered staying by the firepit all night, if only to reassure her that he would be there for her, but decided against it.
Just like the porcupines that burrowed in the savannahs, his Imogen was prickly for her own defense.
His abbat had taught him to respect those sharp quills and give them space when a creature felt threatened.
Shaking out his mane and wings, Balar stepped from his cabin into a cold, misty morning.
Weak sunlight filtered through the haze and trees, just touching the packed-earth square around which many of their cabins were clustered.
In the center stood a great firepit, ringed with large stones, and a deep cauldron hung above it for communal cooking.
Someone had already gotten a fire going, and he scented cider warming in the cauldron. Stomach rumbling, he found it too tempting to resist.
A few had already gathered around the fire, chatting. When he approached, the half-dragon Briseis was quick to push a warm mug into his hand.
Had he not been told she was half-human, Balar never would have suspected Briseis wasn’t a full-blooded dragon.
Her body was clad in small ruby-red scales except for what would be considered her underbelly—her abdomen, chest, neck, and face—where she had pinkish skin not unlike a human.
She had four short conical horns hiding amongst her thick black hair, golden eyes with slitted pupils, and a wicked set of fangs, all like her half-brother, the dragon Theron.
Her halfling nature, however, meant that although she had wings and a tail, she had no second form to shift to. No turuk. In the cutthroat islands where the dragons were lords of sea and sky, such a reality wasn’t just a burden, it was a danger.
Knowing now how soft Briseis was—not just her human half but her heart and temperament, too—Balar commended Theron on spiriting his sister away to somewhere that would be safer for her.
Although she was strikingly inhuman looking, Briseis was popular amongst the surrounding villages, especially with the children.
Kiri himself attended her school, along with a handful of otherlies and two-dozen human cubs.
“And good morning to our mysterious mayor,” Briseis teased, grinning over the rim of her own mug.
Balar smoothed a paw over his whiskers. “Indeed, I know I’ve been absent of late.”
“There’s a bet going as to why,” said Ema, a half-orcess.
“Hasn’t anyone got anything better to do,” Balar sighed.
“Of course not!” cried Ema. “The whereabouts of our mayor are important indeed.”
“The leading bets are that it all has to do with a woman,” said Ulmo, Ema’s brother.
“There’s wild speculation over whether it’s a tryst or if you’ve found your mate,” Briseis explained.
“I say tryst,” Ulmo declared. “We all know how long you’ve been wanting a mate, and I figure—”
“Not this again,” Ema grumbled.
“—that if you’d found a mate, we would’ve heard about it. You’d be insufferable.” Ulmo elbowed Balar in the ribs as he laughed.
Rolling her eyes, Ema said, “Ignore him.”
“And what did you bet on, Ema?” asked Balar as he sipped his cider.
Grinning evilly around her short tusks, she said, “Catastrophic indigestion.”
The cider came back out Balar’s nose as he sputtered and laughed. Slapping his thigh, his humor echoed across the square.
Followed by a squawking screech. Balar was just wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes when he turned to behold Ysera, one of the younger harpies, marching toward them, a formidable frown on her face.
“I thought that sounded like you,” Ysera said. She poked the center of Balar’s chest with a taloned finger. “Where have you been?”
“In the forest,” he said, not quite wanting to ruin the bets yet.
And…it felt too soon to tell anyone other than his brothers about Imogen.
The village would want to meet her, and some might be so curious, they’d go seeking her out.
If his kigara was hardly comfortable with him around, he couldn’t imagine her being pleased to find a whole village on her doorstep.
Ysera harrumphed. “You need to be a proper mayor—or choose someone else to be vice-mayor.”
“Oh?”
Ysera’s long tail twitched agitatedly. All in the village had quickly learned that the key to deciphering harpy feelings—if they weren’t being yelled straight at you—was in the tail.
When unfurled, the inky blue-black feathers created a fan of plumage at least five feet long.
Unfurled usually meant happiness, flirtation, or at least good humor.
Bundled tight as Ysera’s tail was, Balar knew she meant every bit of that scowl she pinned him with.
Thankfully, harpies lacked beaks like birds, so he avoided any angry pecks, although their row of sharp teeth was nevertheless formidable.
She lifted her wing-arms to plant her taloned fists on her hips, brooking no nonsense.
Harpies had such wing-arms, not just a wing and not just an arm; they resembled wings most, with long feathers, but included a four-fingered hand.
Her overlarge violet eyes narrowed on him. “She’s driving me mad.”
“Who is?”
“Maritza. What were you thinking, making her vice-mayor! She’s going mad with power!”
Balar tried not to laugh, but then Ulmo, Ema, and Briseis all made sounds of agreement.
“If you don’t do something soon, this village is going to be called Feathertown,” Briseis said gravely.
“Absolutely not!” cried Ulmo. “She’s been told no one approves—”
“Those without wings don’t approve,” Ema corrected.
“You see? Half the village is nearly up in arms against the other!” Ysera shrieked, her gray-blue cheeks darkening to a dusky blue. “And then there’s the argument over the new cesspits—and what to do with the north field in spring.”
Rubbing his eyes, Balar conceded, “Yes, I can see that there are some things to take care of.”
Ysera nodded. “There are. And you’d better take care of them soon.” Leaning in close, she said, “Or else I might just murder my sister.”
“Ysera, you can’t just say things like that to the mayor,” Briseis muttered.
“Why not? It’s true.” Pinning him with another glare, Ysera said, “Fix it, Balar.”
Reluctantly, Balar agreed. Seemingly mollified, Ysera accepted a cup of cider, and Balar allowed Briseis to refill his own. Still, the sweet liquid sat sour on his tongue.
He needed to see to his people today—which likely meant no visiting Imogen. He had meant to try flying to her cottage to see how much time that would save him, but under Ysera’s watchful eye, he didn’t think any escape was possible today.
Balar sighed into his cup. Ibás, why had he even decided to become mayor?
It was a good question, one that he’d need to revisit now that he had a mate to woo. He couldn’t be giving her half his time, and the village deserved more than half, too.
For now, though, he was still vested with his mayoral powers, and it was time to use them for some good. He hoped they wouldn’t keep him away from Imogen for long.