Chapter 8
The book was heavy and awkward, bound in old leather over wooden boards, with a huge metal catch to hold it closed.
Portia carried it up the hill under her arm while Jade flitted around her as if she had suddenly been filled with enough sugar for a whole flight of dragons.
Portia had been careful and had only given her a little of the delicious crumbly biscuits Seb had produced for them.
Dragons needed fat and sugar, sure, but even that could be overdone if not careful. And Jade definitely had a sweet tooth.
Perhaps it was simply the magical nature of the emporium that had the dragon in such good spirits. Noah had said their relationship with magic wasn’t fully understood yet, but there was no doubting that they thrived in the presence of the magical.
Seb had been particularly interested in Noah Turner and what Portia thought of him. She didn’t linger on the incident where they met at the inn, but clearly someone had filled him in on it. August, probably, thanks to David. And they had the nerve to accuse her and Ophelia of gossiping.
‘You should come up and meet him for yourself,’ she replied, trying to keep the defensiveness from her tone.
She still wasn’t sure what she thought of Noah Turner.
He was good at his job. She admired that.
He was good looking – she couldn’t fail to notice – and highly competent, which was something she always found attractive in another.
He was also bossy and overbearing. But then, there were those who would say that about her as well.
A group had gathered in the gardens outside the castle, a kind of public park where the people of Starling Island often came together on sunny days.
As they approached, Jade took wing again and joined a swirling dance of teacup dragons above the crowd, six of them.
Thinking they’d escaped, Portia picked up her pace but slowed when she saw what was going on.
In the middle of the gardens, Esme’s little school was gathered around Noah Turner.
He crouched in the middle of the group, his voice low and careful to the children who took turns holding aloft a treat in a hand shaking with excitement.
The dragons were also taking turns, one by one diving down to snatch the prize.
Each time the children collectively let out a gasp of delight.
All around them, islanders were watching, smiling, enjoying every moment. Esme beamed at Noah as if he was some kind of hero from an old story.
Portia slowed, hugging the book to her chest, staring. She hadn’t expected this. And she wasn’t sure she liked what she saw. Especially not Esme’s expression.
‘There you are, Portia!’ Esme exclaimed, and it was far too late to duck out of the way. Her old friend looped her arm through Portia’s and pulled her over to watch. ‘Isn’t he a marvel? I think they’ll all want to be dragon vets for the rest of the week at least.’
Noah looked so at ease there with the children, his broad smile both reassuring and encouraging as the next one took the treat and gazed up at the whirl of wings and colour above them with wondering eyes.
When the child flinched, he spoke softly but firmly, and she went perfectly still, waiting. Trusting him implicitly.
‘What’s going on?’ Portia asked.
‘Noah is teaching my class about the teacup dragons,’ said Esme. ‘It was his idea. Get people used to them, and in turn encourage them to get used to people. Isn’t it wonderful? The children are all smitten.’
They weren’t the only ones, judging by the way half the islanders here were looking at Noah.
He couldn’t have noticed, kneeling down there with the kids, his sleeves rolled up above his elbows to expose those perfectly sculpted forearms again, the way his soft hair moved in the breeze stirred up by the fluttering of iridescent wings. And that smile…
He really ought to come with a warning.
Especially as he’d made it clear he had no interest in staying here. And his interest in the teacup dragons was all a means to an end.
He looked up, his gaze snagging on her, and to her amazement the smile broadened. A slight colour rose in his cheeks and then he gave an awkward nod of greeting, before speaking to the next student in that deep, calming voice, all intent focus again.
Esme chuckled softly, drawing Portia’s attention back to her. ‘Well, someone’s smitten anyway,’ she said, her expression a little too knowing. ‘Where have you been all day?’
‘With Seb.’
‘Oh good, he’s been tucked away in that shop for far too long. He needs to get out. Where did you go?’
Portia felt a twinge of guilt. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask Seb out to lunch or anything like that. They’d had too much to talk about. ‘We were just in the shop. I had… I had an order to put in. And…’ She lifted the book half-heartedly as if it was an explanation. Esme stared.
‘Art’s book? You’re honoured.’
‘It’s only a loan,’ she said. ‘He said I can have it for a week and then he’s going to come up to the castle to take it back if I don’t return it.’ She smiled at the thought of the serious cast his face had taken on with those words. He possibly thought he was scary. ‘He’s worse than Fi.’
‘At least it would get him out of the building,’ Esme mused.
Esme had known Seb since he was small. She didn’t see him as an adult any more than Portia did, and Esme was well used to wrangling children. It was an idea, a way to get him out of the shop. And she was right, it might be good for him.
‘He might send the bloody bird instead.’ Portia had never been comfortable with the raven, not even when her uncle had been there. Lore was trouble and always had been. Today had not changed her mind about that.
‘Surely you can deal with a bird, Portia. But you should make Seb go out sometimes. It would do him good. And he’s not the only one. When was the last time you had some fun?’
Fun? Portia hadn’t the slightest idea. Work was fun. Or it used to be.
The last of the treats given out, Noah called the dragons back and they flocked to him so he could bring them inside. All but one anyway.
Jade alighted on Portia’s shoulder again and Esme smiled at the little dragon.
‘Isn’t she a beauty? Iris has been on at me to foster.
Perhaps I should consider it. I knew they were beautiful, but…
’ She glanced at Noah again, several of the little dragons now perched on his head and shoulders while the children ran around him laughing.
‘I had no idea they were so friendly. What do you think?’
The dragons, or the man? Portia wasn’t sure what Esme was getting at. Her friend had never shown much interest in men.
‘They’re a responsibility,’ said Portia cautiously. ‘Not something to be taken on lightly. You should make that clear to your students.’
‘Same thing is true of any pet. Or any person. I think we could all do with reaching out to others a bit more, don’t you?
You included. You’re too like Seb sometimes.
The Academy let you lock yourself away and live like a hermit but you’re home now.
Saffron and I are going out to dinner tomorrow.
Maybe you and Ophelia would come along? It’ll be fun.
Like old times. A girls’ night out. Or if you want you could ask your brothers and…
Oh look,’ she sighed in sudden despair and then raised her voice to a firm and carrying note.
The school teacher took over instantly. ‘Tobias Finch, if you need the toilet, go now, before it’s too late.
’ She released Portia and stalked towards a small boy hopping up and down in place, too transfixed by teacup dragons to realise that his own body was about to betray him.
‘We’ll be in the Unicorn from seven,’ Esme called out over her shoulder and rapidly ushered Tobias towards the castle.
* * *
For the next few days, apart from one slightly riotous girls’ night out in the Unicorn café, Portia threw herself into making the dragon-scale balm according to the recipe in Uncle Art’s book.
It wasn’t a complicated process but she had to wait for the equipment to arrive and then set everything up in the study overlooking the woodlands and out to sea.
She had gathered the appropriate herbs and flowers from the cottage garden, and a few more from the forest behind the castle, which spilled down to the southern shore.
The process itself would take a few days once she had everything underway, so she didn’t have much to do.
She was still helping Noah with the dragons of course.
Despite Iris’s insistence, he didn’t seem convinced that their homemade remedy was going to be any better than the commercially produced balm which was barely slowing the dry scale’s progress.
His doubts made Portia bristle. Didn’t he think she was capable of following the simplest instructions?
‘Sometimes it just takes longer,’ he told her, as he massaged the creamy substance into the belly of the gold and onyx dragon called Glitter.
He applied it morning, noon and night, all the same, much to the delight of each of the ailing dragons who loved nothing better than a good tummy rub.
The creature purred and wriggled, enjoying every second.
‘Their connection with magic can cause fluctuations we don’t expect in their care.
It’s a common problem which rarely gets attention. I don’t want to do anything hasty.’