Ariella Windor
I left the village and turned onto a narrow path that led to the swamps where my house was nestled.
“Ariella Windor?” The words cut through my thoughts so sharply that I startled and dropped everything I was carrying.
“Yes, that’s me,” I said, surveying the damage. The eggs hadn’t survived the fall, but the rest looked more or less okay.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the stranger quickly helped me gather up the undamaged groceries.
“No worries,” I replied, eyeing the man with curiosity.
Standing before me was a tall, imposing figure. A mage. His dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he wore an elegant, expensive coat—something you’d never see in our village. People dressed like that usually came from... I snapped my head up to meet the stranger’s gaze and froze. A dragon. It was definitely a dragon, and he was waiting for my reaction. Something stirred deep inside me, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint the feeling. Well, this was interesting. What could a dragon possibly want from me?
“Ariella, my name is Mikel der Quiro Cuesto. I’m the rector of the Dragon Academy. I’ve been looking for you for a long time, and I have a proposition for you,” the dragon said, handing me my bag of groceries and papers.
I hoped this wasn’t a marriage proposal. I’d already had enough suitors for one day. But what was I even thinking? A dragon as a fiancé was the last thing I needed!
“I know your family specializes in herbology and potion-making, and that you’ve compiled all your knowledge into the Brewer’s Book*, a tome rarely seen by outsiders,” the dragon paused, waiting for my confirmation.
I nodded in agreement. Indeed, my family did have such a book, one that each generation added to with new insights.
“Perhaps we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. You lend me the Brewer’s Book for a while, and I’ll pay you. Good money.”
“Money doesn’t interest me,” I said honestly. My family had never been poor. We weren’t rich, but we didn’t lack for anything either. I had enough to get by, and with the time I had left, I wouldn’t even spend a fraction of my inheritance. Why would I need more?
“Is there something else you might want? Perhaps access to a certain place or help with something?” the dragon pressed.
I paused to think. Did I need anything from a dragon? My head was still foggy from the revival spell. And that two-month deadline was driving me up the wall—I had to not only get married but also brew a potion and open a portal, which meant getting my hands on some goldroot**, curse the stuff. It wasn’t easy to come by, especially in my current state.
“Yes, I need a combat mage!” I blurted out, not entirely sure why I said it.
If the rector was surprised, he didn’t show it.
“Very well,” he continued in the same even tone. “I’ll come by tomorrow with a contract, and we can discuss all the terms. Are you agreeable to that?”
“Yes, I’ll expect you at noon.”
“Until tomorrow, Ariella.”
“Until tomorrow.”
With a wave of his hand, a shimmer of a portal appeared, and just like that, I was standing alone in the forest on the path to my cabin. Had there really been a dragon, or was this all a figment of my messed-up imagination? No, I hadn’t lost my mind enough to dream up something like that. So, the dragon was real! And I’d invited him to my home! My actual home! What had I done? As if I didn’t have enough problems, now a dragon had dropped into my life!
I sprinted the rest of the way home.
“Uros!” I burst into the house.
I tossed the marriage contracts from my so-called “suitors” onto the table and quickly shoved the groceries into the fridge to deal with later.
“I’m here. Why are you yelling? Arishka, were you chased by swamp ghouls*** or something?” the spirit asked, inspecting me from head to toe. Today, he’d taken the form of a large, gray, short-haired cat—his favorite.
“Worse,” I told Uros, then recounted my encounter with the dragon.
“Don’t sweat it, Arishka. We’ll get through this. Let them use the Brewer’s Book—it’s protected by family magic, so that’s not an issue. And we’ll hang some amulets on you to make you seem normal,” the spirit said, tilting his head to appraise me.
“Who are you calling not normal?” I snapped, offended by Uros’s comment.
“Come on, I mean so your magic looks normal and your aura doesn’t show all those holes. Flash your power at them once, and they’ll back off. They won’t test you after that.”
“You’re right. Why did I get so worked up? I guess the revival spell is messing with my head.”
I headed to my study and, after an hour of rummaging, finally found the amulet I needed. This one held an imprint of my aura—my old aura, back when it was whole and without holes. Now the dragon wouldn’t have anything to dig into.
With that sorted, there was still one more thing to deal with. I brewed myself another cup of coffee and started going through the marriage contracts from my “suitors.”
“Aria, why are you just sitting here?” Uros tried to distract me for the umpteenth time.
“Ur, listen to this. Nevis’s main condition is the transfer of my necromantic gift. The guy’s completely lost it. Transferring any gift comes with huge risks. That’s why he’s latched onto me like a leech. His relatives must’ve hounded him into this, or maybe they put the idea in his head themselves. And no one cares what happens to me afterward.”
“You’re a witch. They’ve never cared about witches.”
“True enough, but after a gift-transfer ritual, I might not even survive.”
“That would only play into their hands,” Uros said, his tone deadly serious. “What about the other ‘suitor’? What does he want?”
“That one’s simpler. He wants an heir.”
“So, the old man wants a normal grandchild. You don’t think you’ll live peacefully after that, do you?”
“At best, he’ll ship me off somewhere far away with his dim-witted son. And anything could happen on the way. That’s not an option either.”
“So, who are you going to choose?”
“I need to think about it.”
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*Brewer’s Book (Book of Brews) – The Windor family book, in which generations of witches have collected potion recipes, as well as information on herbs and ingredients used in them.
**Goldroot Crimson – A fictional magical plant created by the author, the root of which is used in the preparation of certain potions.
***Swamp Ghouls – Swamp undead.