Chapter 8
NOBODY WANTS A NOSEY BUSYBODY FOR A ROOMMATE AND EVERYBODY APPRECIATES SOMETHING TO NIBBLE ON
Millie snooped about the kitchen as quietly as she could. The cupboard hinges were in desperate need of lubrication and made the most wretched squeaking noises, which seemed, to her at least, to echo most dreadfully throughout every inch of the tower.
The sunrise of the Ashburnum desert was different to the dawns that stretched over the Amberly forests and pastures.
It was shockingly silent—no birdsong, no hum of insects warming their wings, no rustle of leaves in the wind.
There might be an infrequent whisper of shifting sand, but the vast majority of sound originated inside the tower.
It had been ages since Millie had seen a sunrise, since it was fashionable for princesses and highborn ladies to sleep until at least nine o’clock (the better to partake in evening balls), but excitement had roused her with the same efficiency of an overly enthusiastic rooster crowing directly into her ear canal.
A dragon had kidnapped her yesterday! Who wouldn’t want to be awake through every moment of this new adventure?
And that meant she needed a goodly supply of caffeine.
Last night’s tea had been abysmal, despite the addition of sugar, and she was determined to take exact stock of what was available and create her own blends if necessary.
Millie had no idea how long she should expect to be a dragon’s hostage, and like the suitcase and toiletries she’d wanted to pack, there really was no excuse to be without good tea while she waited to be rescued.
If she even wanted that.
It was inevitable, though. She was a kidnapped princess. Her parents had probably drafted the reward flyers within an hour of her abduction. Despite her dreams of piracy, she was still their daughter and certain customs of the kingdom had to be upheld.
Well, her rescue was their problem, and a good cuppa was hers.
Millie had seen quite a few dried herbs, flowers, and roots in the shelves of that sorcerer workroom last night, but she wouldn’t venture there unless her tastebuds and standards demanded it.
Olabeus had been adamant that no one but a sorcerer or an apprentice should ever enter such a workroom, as sorcerers were covetous by nature and often boobytrapped their private spaces while away on holiday or continuing education conferences.
The Amberly court sorcerer was a rarity amongst sorcerers—endearing and compassionate rather than aloof and snotty—so she trusted his warnings.
And no doubt her intrusion would send that Brad fellow into hysterics, just like her presence in his bedroom.
She’d known full well that the suite she had commandeered was his, and it’d been a risky move to annex it.
He could’ve been an utter rake and taken advantage of her, but after watching him interact with the baby luck dragon, she knew that wasn’t his personality.
Rude and brutish and arrogant, perhaps, but not evil.
Besides, this stunt with the bed served as her first test to determine if she really had the gumption to become a pirate.
What were pirates anyway than those who boldly acquired that which wasn’t theirs to begin with?
And what kind of pirate would she be if she’d apologized and beat a hasty retreat?
The luck dragon had told her to choose whatever room she’d found most acceptable.
Millie gave herself an Exemplary grade for sticking to her proverbial guns.
Her second test had come when the sorcerer apprentice had joined her in bed.
A dark shadow, for the candle had burned out, he tugged the bedsheets back, and a strange thrill zinged through her.
She should be scandalized, not thrumming with anticipation.
A handsome man she barely even knew, and not even her husband, was entering her bed.
His bed that she had stolen from him, technically, but hers presently and that’s all that mattered.
She should’ve walloped him with a pillow or jabbed at him with her hairpin, but she’d been frozen.
Transfixed. Millie could see nary a thing, but she could certainly sense the heat from a freshly scrubbed male body rolling off the large shadow like mist down forested hills.
She was suddenly very aware of the pebbling effect the nighttime air was having on her skin, and elsewhere.
The moment the mattress dipped under the apprentice’s weight, she shot from the center of bed for the far edge as that zinging she’d felt at his appearance turned into a foreign throb.
Thus her grade slipped from Exemplary to Satisfactory, for a true pirate would have fought for what she had rightfully stolen.
She hadn’t retreated fully from the bed, though, hence the passing grade.
She blamed the retreat on the propriety that had been drilled into her since she was four by her governesses and all those etiquette tutors. Saboteurs, the lot of them.
Millie consoled herself with the fact that she was still very much a pirate in training and not a full scallywag, and thus cycles of failure and improvement were to be expected.
And she couldn’t very well pirate when she was dehydrated, so snooping about the kitchen in search of tea that didn’t taste like burnt moss water was a must. She found a tin of Earl Grey that smelled acceptable, but there was no lemon in the fruit basket with which to enjoy it.
There was that rancid Darjeeling from yesterday—whoever had spoiled that tea should be strung up by their toes.
A third tin yielded a fragrant oolong, and Millie went positively weak at the knees. She immediately put the kettle on.
The desert heat demanded something more light and floral, such as any tea variety of white or green, but apparently whoever had stocked this kitchen insisted black teas were the only way to live. Well, whenever she became a pirate in full, she would stock her cupboards with whatever she liked.
“Millie?” came a young voice, drowsy with sleep. “Duchess and I heard all this— Is that oolong?”
She yanked her head out of the icebox, closed it with a solid whump. “Good morning, Master Dirk. Thank you once again for supper last night. It was quite unconventional but most satisfying. And yes, that is oolong. Good nose on you.”
His feathered mane fluttered at the compliment. The cat in his arms swatted a luminous plume out of her eye.
“Here, Duchess. Mummy found you some nice milk.”
Dirk undulated into the kitchen and set the cat down on the floor beside a full saucer. Behind him, the tray with Millie’s dishes from last night bobbed into the kitchen on an air current.
“These are a bit of a tripping hazard,” he told her, almost apologetically. “So, um, don’t leave them on the stairs. We don’t have servants here to retrieve them. But this sink makes up for it.”
The moment he deposited the dirty dishes into the sink, the faucet released a torrent of hot water and the soap and sponge sprang into action. The mug was cleaned first and was deposited into the drainer to drip dry by an unseen hand. The spoon and fork followed next.
“That’s amazing,” she whispered, brown eyes wide as chocolate drops. “That’s animation magic, isn’t it? Isn’t that supposed to be incredibly rare? A lost magic?”
“Good eyes on you,” the baby dragon said, impressed. “Master Excelsior enchanted it centuries ago. How did you know that?”
She winked. “Olabeus is a quiet man until you bring up the subject of magic. Then he’ll run his mouth until the stars come out. Maybe even longer.” She shrugged. “He liked to talk, and I liked to learn.”
The dishes were all in the drainer now, and Dirk’s magic dried them off in a jiffy. He swirled about the kitchen, returning them to their appropriate cupboards and drawers.
There was something uncomfortable about watching someone do someone else’s task, namely hers.
She was a guest here in someone else’s home, but that did not absolve her from work as it would have anywhere else.
How would she appreciate someone boarding her (future) pirate galleon and running amok?
Why, she’d make them walk the plank, that’s what.
Dirk was being far more gracious than that, which would’ve made any proud princess uncomfortable with the introspection it would’ve caused, but Mutineer Millie was perceptive, flexible, and had no time for guilt or regrets.
She would take this course-correction and sally forth.
Still, she was unable to look him in the eye as she said, “Thank you for the tip about the servants and the sink.” That done, she shook her shoulders and resumed her hunt. “Now, on to more important things: the tea.”
Dirk clapped excitedly. “Oh, yes.”
Millie smiled, growing more at ease. “It’s a dark blend, so we’ll need something savory to nibble on. Or spicy, but I don’t enjoy too much spice this early in the morning. Do you have any salted-egg mooncakes?”
The baby dragon released a wistful sigh, the wind ruffling her hair. “I haven’t had mooncakes since the hatchery in Tianzi.” He joined her search. “Looks like we have some sesame crackers, though.”
“A fine substitute.” She arranged the crackers artfully on a chipped earthenware dish and brewed the tea.
While the cupboards were stocked with tins of loose-leaf tea, somebody had forgotten the importance of a tea diffuser. Or a sieve. Millie made do with the coffee maker and a fresh filter, after rinsing the bitter residue from its workings, of course.
As the coffee maker gurgled and the tea leaves steeped, the princess and the dragon sat at the little table by the window and watched the sunrise over the scalloped edges of the dunes.
“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of a dragon’s tower being in the middle of a desert,” she mused. “Aren’t they usually in the middle of forests or on the tops of mountains?”
“Um, all those towers were taken. And one must respect another dragon’s territory, so, um, here we are. I-is that okay?”
Millie poured the tea first into the teacup with the Tianzi maple leaves, then into the thick earthenware vessel that was more tankard than mug.
“Different is good,” she assured the dragon, though she didn’t appreciate what different was currently doing to her hair.
The frizz was real and not a servant in residence to help her tame it. “Different makes for the best stories.”
“Oh, good.” The dragon sounded relieved.
“So,” she began after a sip of delicious oolong, “Brad. Do explain that, if you would be so kind, Master Dirk. Aren’t princesses and their dragon kidnappers usually alone in their towers?”
Dirk released a sheepish chuckle and clicked his front claws together a tap or two before he noticed the nervous tic and hooked his thumbs into the strap of his satchel.
The pouch was quite flat today, its contents quite at home with all the other treasures in his claw-foot tub.
Oh, how those jewels had sparkled! They were nothing like the poor-quality gems he usually extorted.
The only thing that remained in the satchel were the crumpled rice paper spells, many (if not all) chipped and in need of replacing by the sorcerer apprentice.
His friend. Who Millie wanted him to, as the younger generation was fond of saying, spill the tea about.
And thank goodness it was just an idiom, for Dirk would never literally spill any tea if it could be avoided.
He mulled over her request while sipping the oolong (glorious) and nibbling on a sesame seed cracker (a delightful, nutty accompaniment).
Hers wasn’t a strange request, since they were all roommates now, but how much to divulge?
Dirk supposed the amount and details had everything to do with the intent behind her request. With a flick of golden eyes, he examined her overtop the rim of his teacup.
She was nothing but patience and sincerity and resolve.
She would know about the sorcerer apprentice, one way or another, and was offering up the opportunity to do so with the least amount of headache.
Otherwise she would need to resort to being a nosey busybody, and nobody enjoyed that quality in a roommate.
After another sip of that lovely oolong and another bite of cracker, Dirk told her everything.
Everything, that is, that had transpired in the last four months—Bradley’s track record at the Prestigious College of Sorcerers, Franklin Gladstone’s curse, the new Master’s exam deadline, all those dreadful potions trials.
His former life as a fisherman on a Cut and all that entailed was up for him to divulge.
When Dirk was done, Duchess had finished her milk and the two of them were working on the last of the tea.
Millie’s hands were wrapped around her mug, thumbs sweeping back and forth across its lip. Halfway through Dirk’s story, her mouth had parted with a little gasp and had never shut. Now, she licked her dry lips and took a swallow of tea. “Oh my.”
Dirk nodded in full agreement.
“I understand completely. He can go about apprenticing while I go about learning to be a pirate, and never should our paths meet unless at meal times.”
“He’d probably like that. Which isn’t to say you aren’t a delight, truly what every dragon wishes for when he kidnaps a princess, but he does cherish his quiet time.”
“And I’d much rather not be bothered as I learn to become a pirate, so what lovely coincidence. But I can’t concentrate with a growling stomach, and since I have no experience with anything cookery . . .” She gave Dirk a hopeful look.
He winced. “Not much of a cook myself—Bradley does all of it.” The little luck dragon peered out the window to gauge the measure of the sun. “Where is that man? He’s always done with his morning exercises by now.” He rose from his chair. “I should go see if he slept—”
The baby dragon screamed at the sight of the sorcerer apprentice standing in the kitchen doorway. Every scale shuddered, every feather stood on end, every sphincter tightened, and Dirk dove beneath Millie’s rose-pink skirt. His head emerged from under the hem a second later.
Bradley’s blue eyes were ringed with red. Dark hollows stained his cheeks under his eyes, and his hair looked like two ferrets had recently used it as a battleground. Puffy-cheeked and lips upturned into a snarl, he thrust a finger at Millie. “You.”