The Secrets of the Dragon Archives, Jane Austen’s Dragons #13 will be coming soon! Here’s a sneak peek to whet your appetite.

September 30, 1815

“There is no doubt? You were indeed swallowed by a dragon?” Elizabeth asked. The dark blue leather wing chair in her new Blue Order office was comfortable by any standard, but the urge to jump from and shake quicker answers from Sir Frederick Wentworth was nearly too much to contain. Had he any idea of the significance of his adventures?

No one in the Order’s history had claimed such an experience as he had in Lyme. Being swallowed, then disgorged by the largest dragon ever recorded, and living to tell the tale sounded like a fairy story.

Fairy dragon April, her turquoise blue feather scales pouffed, chittered on her shoulder. “The midwife said you were to avoid too much excitement.”

The midwife had never spoken to someone who claimed to survive a sojourn in a dragon’s digestive tract. Elizabeth sighed out a deep breath and settled back into her chair, laying a hand over the restless bump in her belly.

When she first arrived in London, she had tried to conduct business from her parlor in the quarters on the third floor of the Order offices. Not only were the corridors too constricted to accommodate larger dragons, but all the other warm-blooded officers working out of the Order’s headquarters had their own formal, designated space. That she did not was an insult, not only to her, but to the dragons who appointed her to her office. And that could not be born.

So, what had been an odd workroom once used by the housekeeping staff, both warm- and cold-blooded, had been reworked into an official space for her work as Dragon Sage. Despite its humble beginnings, in every aspect of size, furniture, and decoration, it befitted an officer of her rank and status. Dominance had to be maintained, after all. 

Thick, dark carpeting with some nondescript pattern lined the stone floor and old tapestries that portrayed the story of Uther and Dewi penning the original Pendragon Accords, which had been retrieved from a little used room in the library, covered the walls. Both helped warm and soften the space, preventing sound from echoing off the stone, though they still smelled musty from storage. Not even the strategically placed dishes of dried lavender masked the stale odors. Mirrors and candle holders, fixed on the walls throughout, maximized the light for reading and writing. If there was one thing Blue Order designers could do well, it was maximize light in underground spaces. 

The desk was really too large for her comfort, but, since it was a dominance display, the dragons insisted it had to match what the other officers of her rank used. Not a battle she was willing to fight, so she accepted the desk. Still, though, she usually worked at a smaller table across the room, between the fireplace and the entrance to the dragon tunnels. Chisholm’s standing desk stood near that smaller table. As long as those who entered her territory could see the hulking desk, the dragons who insisted on it were satisfied.

Three comfortable leather wing chairs, in various subdued shades of blue, formed a conversation cluster near the fireplace and bookcases. Those bookcases, which lined the two remaining walls, groaned under the weight of tomes borrowed from the Library and Archives, and there were yet more she needed to add. The office still had a way to go before it felt like it was hers, but in only a short time, she and Chisholm had made great headway.

Sir Frederick Wentworth, former naval captain, now magistrate of Lyme and Keeper to Kellynch, sat in a wing chair across from her, and rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head, as though he hardly believed his own story. On the floor beside him, his Friend, black tatzelwurm Laconia, sat back on his serpentine tail, bright eyes attentive to everything in the room. “No doubt about it at all. Anne, her Friend Balen, and Laconia witnessed the sea drake Chesil casting me up on the beach.” 

“It was quite the sight,” Laconia rubbed his thumbed paw across his face. “We were uncertain at first if he was alive or not. He was covered in slime and bits of half-digested fish.”

“It is possible Chesil only held you in his mouth and simply carried you?”

“No, Kellynch tells me he thinks it impossible. He says that it is common among sea dragons to have several stomachs in which they carry food, or, in his case, treasure. Something none of us will ever forget.” He brushed an errant shock of dark hair back from his broad forehead.

“I have to agree. Kellynch bringing up the gold he carried in his belly to taunt Cornwall in court that day made for a memorable proceeding.” She shuddered, and the baby gave a firm kick to her ribs. How close Cornwall had come to losing control and violating the tenets of the Pendragon Treaty and Accords that day.

“It was indeed. But, all things considered, I am quite certain Chesil swallowed me during the battle in Lyme Bay.”

“I hardly know what to make of that.” 

“What do you mean?” Wentworth leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a posture emphasizing his lanky frame. “I am grateful for his intervention. Without it, I would not have survived. I do not understand, though, why is whether I was actually swallowed so significant?”

“While I am quite pleased with that outcome—pray do not mistake me—treating you as prey, swallowing you like food, is technically an act of aggression, or at least a bold assertion of dominance. But to have carried you to safety as he did is a mark of respect, a statement of openness to a connection. Conflicting messages, would you not say?” Enough to leave one with a sizable headache. She rubbed her temples hard.

“Considering the long discussions after the event, I rather think it was the former.” Sir Frederick shrugged with a dark chuckle.

“Discussions in which Chesil asked for Wentworth, not that Wynn fellow who is representing the Order in Lyme at the moment.” Laconia rose and placed his paws on Sir Frederick’s knee. “Chesil claimed it was because of our connection to Kellynch, whom he considers his vassal, but I am quite certain it was a mark of favor toward Wentworth as well.”

“All of that is both confusing and problematic.” Was that really so difficult to see? She squeezed her eyes shut.

Darcy’s voice in her head scolded: Not everyone views the world through the lens of the Dragon Sage. He was right. She needed to keep that in mind.

“The Council dragons appear to agree.” Sir Fredrick scratched behind Laconia’s furry, tufted ears. “As a military man, I can see how divided Kellynch’s loyalties might appear.” 

“Especially considering his rather rocky history with the Blue Order,” Elizabeth said.

“So, they have reminded me. I have no idea of how to convince Matlock, Dunbrook, and Chudleigh of his loyalty to the Order. If you have any suggestions, Kellynch and I would be most appreciative.”

“It would have been helpful if he could have appeared here himself to answer questions.” April twittered from Elizabeth’s shoulder. 

That could have been addressed in a more diplomatic, less draconic manner, but April was right.

“Sir Edward, the Lord Physician to Dragons himself, insisted that was not possible.” Sir Frederick frowned.

“Absolutely.” Laconia bared his teeth as he spoke, the tip of his tail slapping the side of Wentworth’s chair. “Anyone who saw him would agree.”

“Forgive my impertinence, Lady Sage, but have you ever seen the results of a dragon battle?” Sir Fredrick asked.

“Only one. When Pemberley and her Keep fought Bolsover for her territory. After Bolsover incapacitated Darcy, she, and the minor dragons with her, took on Bolsover and exerted her dominance.”

“I suppose that was indeed a battle, but I thought of it more as a duel. What happened in Lyme Bay was a battle by military standards, with many combatants, and, I dare say, fatalities. Not unlike what I experienced at sea during Napoleon’s time.” He spoke the name in a low growl that Laconia echoed. “It also reminds one of the days before the Accords, when dragon battles were commonplace.”

Elizabeth shuddered. “We cannot risk returning to those days.”

“If Chesil had not stepped in when he did, Kellynch and I would have been among the dead.” The finality of his tone left no room for further comment.

“Had that happened, the Order would have been drawn into the matter because of the attack on their own.” Her stomach flipped, and she swallowed back bile. “Could that be why Chesil intervened?”

“In part. But as I understand matters, involving me—or perhaps any of the warm-bloods—was a step too far. The serpent-whales exceeded the authority Chesil had granted them as vassals in his territory. Hence his actions to remove them from his territory. One can hardly fault him for doing so, no?”

“Of course, he was right to do so. I did not mean to imply otherwise. It is what any landed dragon would have done.” If Blue Order minor dragons had behaved that way, there would have been no way to avoid bloodshed. And where such a thing might stop was beyond Elizabeth’s ken. “So many implications in this encounter, though. It is going to be difficult to sort out.”

“The Council seems perturbed. Or at least they did when they spoke with me. But I suppose that could have been their annoyance at having to deal with a lesser warm-blood.” He shrugged, not with annoyance, but a refreshing self-effacement never found among the cold-blooded.

“You have a talent for understatement, sir.”

“They are not unlike large, agitated naval officers, though with scales, fangs, and claws.” He glanced at Laconia with raised brows. “They have the same desire to hold many meetings and issue orders.” 

“But they are far more likely to threaten to eat you than any of the officers in our acquaintance.” Laconia licked his thumbed paw, flashing his long claws.

“They are especially fond of issuing orders.” Elizabeth chuckled. “Do you think you might have time, amid all the many meetings, to write the details of your encounters with Chesil?”

“I am no writer, Lady Elizabeth.”

“Consider it a military report, then. Material I can draw from in writing a paper on the experience of dragon aggression.” 

“You are writing such a paper? Forgive me for asking, but it seems strange that you, the Dragon Sage, would have had such an experience.”

“Unfortunately, I have.” Elizabeth dodged his gaze. “Not so much with minor dragons, to be sure. But certain situations rendered Longbourn cranky, and … well, enough said. Much as I dislike it, it seems the sort of thing that needs to be added to the Order’s records.”

“I would like to hear about your experiences, if, of course, you are willing to speak of them.”

“I can hardly refuse, but I will have to beg off for now as the Council has summoned me. We will come back to the matter soon, though. Perhaps after you have begun your own memoir of your experience.”

“Do I hear a bribe, Lady Sage?”

“If it is motivational, yes.”

*** 

Elizabeth closed the newly decorated office door on the first underground level of the London Order office building and stared at it. Barwines Chudleigh herself had designed the door, taking great pride in unveiling it to Elizabeth only two days ago.

A pair of carved and painted wyverns, wings extended, held a silver shield, engraved with the image of a Grecian style owl, perched on a pile of books. Utterly unique and fitting, for so many reasons, it might have been Elizabeth’s favorite part of the room.

No, it definitely was.

The long, familiar walk to the conclave floor, several levels below her office, had once been fraught with anxiety and anticipation. Dimly lit, dragon musky stone halls and stairs, lined with painted images of cranky predecessors, both human and dragon, neither welcoming nor inviting to traverse. Now, they felt as familiar as the path to the formal dining rooms at Pemberley. If she were absolutely honest, at first, that path at Pemberley had been every bit as anxiety provoking as the ones in the Order office.

How many lifetimes ago had that been? How much had changed since she helped Darcy recover Pemberley’s egg? Which led to her betrothal, and marriage, and motherhood. To her being named Dame Commander in the Pendragon Order. To becoming the Dragon Sage. How many lives had she lived in that short time?

How many dragons had she met since then? How many Keepers and Friends? How much had she learned since being junior Keeper to Longbourn? Hopefully, it would be enough for today.

The final stairway ended in a short corridor that opened into the great courtroom. Brutus, the massive jet-black guard drake, stood in the doorway, little black tatzelwurmling May dangling from his mouth by the scruff of her neck.

Heavens, what now?

“I expect there is some reason for you meeting me here like this? Which one of you would like to explain?” Elizabeth placed her hands on her hips and flared her elbows, reminding both of them she was ‘big.’

“The little one has been out of safe territory.” Brutus grumbled, settling Little Anne’s Friend on the stone floor.

“No one forbade me from using those tunnels.” May craned her neck to lick her rumpled scruff fur, offended as any warm-blooded cat might have been at such ignoble treatment.

“Which tunnels?” Elizabeth said.

“The one near the Council Chambers.” Brutus stared at May and growled softly—not a threatening growl, but more like the voice Mrs. Sharp used when Little Anne willfully disobeyed.

“You know better than that, May. Why were you there?”

“There is no rule against it. I have violated no territory claims, nor disobeyed any direction from you.”

“Why were you there?”

“Perhaps an issue of dominance?” Brutus prodded May with his elbow. 

“Everyone here believes that the minor dragon who knows the most is the most powerful.” May’s fur stood on end, and she puffed out her chest. One had to admire her pluck, trying to be big in such company. “Who does not want to be dominant?”

Fairy dragon feathers! As though she needed another complication. “Listen to me carefully, May. If there is one place you do not want to be caught up in dominance games, it is here. There are far older, cannier dragons playing them here and you stand no chance of winning, and stand a very good chance of getting hurt.”

“You do not trust me.” May slumped into a pout.

“No, I do not trust them. That is an important distinction you need to remember. Now, listen to Brutus, and do as he says.” Elizabeth crouched to scratch under May’s chin. “Do not cross paths with the Council dragons. But whatever you hear elsewhere, in the places where it is wise for you to walk, bring it to me immediately, yes? It is my job to understand what is going on between warm- and cold bloods and I rely on your help to do so.”

“So, even though we are small, we are important to you?” May looked up, her golden eyes wide.

“Yes, all of you are. Size is not the only thing that makes one important. Now I must get on to meet with the Council. Keep away from trouble. Understood?” Elizabeth heaved herself back to her feet. Gracious, that was getting hard to do.

“Yes, Lady Sage.” May stretched her front feet out and touched her chin to the floor, purring. Silly little thing was still very much a wyrmling despite her almost adult size.

“I will keep watch over her.” Brutus nudged May with his long, toothy snout.

Theirs was a unique relationship, part friend, part guardian, with issues of dominance tied up somewhere in there as well. One more unexplored, unexpected aspect about dragons Elizabeth needed to better understand. But that was for later.

Only a few torches had been lit within the courtroom, providing just enough light to walk across the wide floor, the width of four substantial ballrooms, to the largest of the dragon tunnel entrances. How her footsteps echoed against the walls, getting lost in the darkness and vast height above. How empty, alone, and insignificant she felt surrounded by the cold, stone-scented emptiness. That had probably been intentional in its design. A reminder to all, warm- and cold-blooded, that they were but an insignificant piece in the totality of the Order.

A blue minor drake, with a dainty head frill and long tail that ended in a bony knob, wearing an Order badge, standing on back legs, met her there. “Good day, Lady Sage.” She dropped to all fours, front feet extended, chin on the ground.

Elizabeth tapped the back of the drake’s head. “The Council is ready for me?”

The drake rose to her hind feet with a dancer’s grace. “They are, Lady. If you will come with me, I will announce you to them.”

“Lead on.” Elizabeth walked several steps behind the drake to stay out of the path of her lithe, swaying tail.

Few warm-bloods had ever traversed this tunnel to the private chamber where the Dragon Council met. It was the one that the more important dragons used to enter the courtroom, the only one large enough to accommodate the great firedrakes like Matlock, Cornwall, and Buckingham. Not a space where warm-bloods were welcome.

Had Lord Matlock ever been invited here? Hard to say, but not something she would ask, or even mention. Lord Matlock tended to be prickly where Elizabeth and the Council dragons were concerned.

Only just enough torches lit the way. Just enough that Elizabeth could make out the floor in front of her. Just enough that the darkness did not close in around her. Just enough that she could not be certain whether that shadow at the corner of her eye was something to be feared or not.

Just enough to be interrupted with painful brightness pouring from an open door.

The drake stopped in the brightness and peeked in. “The Lady Sage, Cownt Matlock.”

“Enter.” The rock beneath her feet rumbled with Matlock’s bellow.

The drake shut the door as she scurried away, leaving Elizabeth alone to her fate.

Any room large enough to hold three major dragons would have been considered huge. This one would have comfortably accommodated six. It held no furniture; dragons needed no such accommodations. Likewise, the rough-hewn walls were devoid of any decoration or softness. The far side of the oval-shaped space ended in a tunnel opening. A second exit was a necessary feature—major dragons always needed a ready escape, especially when dealing with sensitive matters.

Extra torches had been added, probably for her benefit. Most dragons saw as well in the dark as she did during the day. It was kind of them to consider the limitations of her puny warm-blooded form. Dragon musk, rock dust, and tension hung in the air like the evening fog, cool and foreboding.

Cownt—more properly, Grand Dug, but, for political reasons, he and Lord Matlock downplayed that as much as possible—Matlock stood in the center of the room, nearest the second exit, wings folded over his back. His shining blue-green hide shone in the flickering torchlight. The tips of his fangs and the whites of his eyes were barely visible in the shadows of his face. Not a good sign.

To Matlock’s right, major drake Barwin Dunbrook hunkered down like a cat watching a mouse. His stony gray hide had a dusty finish, while everything about him seemed squared-off and severe. With a face carved in a permanent scowl and a voice to match, he radiated displeasure even when pleased.

Barwines Chudleigh, on Matlock’s left, seemed entirely out of place. A graceful, brilliant blue amphithere with a lithe snake-like body, powerful feathered wings and a stunning feathered headdress, she was the lone dragon who furnished her lair, and did so with down-filled pillows chosen for their comfort and beauty. Nothing about her felt like it belonged in roughhewn caverns, not even her sweet floral musk.

Elizabeth strode in several steps and dropped nearly to the floor, arms overhead, fingertips touching the ground. A bow appropriate to the three most powerful dragons of England. And one she would not be able to repeat until Baby Darcy made his or her appearance near the end of the year. They released her from her obeisance and beckoned her into the room.

“Have you considered the issues I brought to you when we last met?” Nothing about that meeting had been successful, which was to be expected when dealing with cranky, preoccupied dragons.

News of Sir Frederick’s experiences in Lyme had distracted Matlock and Dunbrook with the implications of the battle and Chesil’s actions. Chudleigh, though, considered traveling there herself to offer her venom for Kellynch’s wounds. A magnanimous offer that correspondence from Sir Edward, carried by Balen, Lady Wentworth’s new friend, had since assured her would be unnecessary, as Kellynch’s wounds were not of the type likely to benefit from the administration of amphithere venom. All of which was a great relief to Chudleigh, who neither liked the seaside nor giving up her precious venom.

“We continue to debate the issuesss.” Chudleigh ended the statement with a hiss.

Which was to say they had given minor dragon’s rights no further discussion and would be happy for her to leave the matter lie—permanently.

“Do not inquire again. We will inform you when we are ready for that discussion,” Dunbrook muttered through gritted teeth.

Elizabeth curbed her urge to argue. Today, she would abide by those wishes. But only today. He was well aware she would not drop the topic so easily, but no harm in preserving his dignity for now.

Matlock growled a throat clearing sound and raised his head a little higher. “There are other serious matters which we require you to address.”

What now? Was the kingdom falling apart at the seams? “What are your concerns, Cownt?”

The three dragons looked at each other in a silent conference of facial twitches, tail flicks and chest puffing she could barely follow.

“Have you met with the Historian sssince your return?” Chudleigh asked.

Unexpected. Strange. “I have dined with him once and had tea with him on another occasion.”

“But have you met with him?” Dunbrook scratched at the rock floor, leaving gouges under his front foot.

The baby kicked and turned, not appreciating the dragons’ tone. “If you mean, have I discussed anything more than the weather and his health? No, I have not. As I understand, he is busy with a new project.”

“That is what we are concerned about,” Dunbrook said.

“The translations he is working on? I do not understand why they might bring you concern.”

“His new assistant. The one you sssent.” Oh, that was a dangerous tone of voice from Chudleigh.

“Bede? He has not mentioned that she had been a problem. I realize she is difficult, and she does not comprehend dominance well—”

“That is not the problem.” Chudleigh slapped the floor with her tail.

“You want me to intervene with her?” Not that it would be helpful, considering Elizabeth had been unable to accomplish any change in Bede during her time at Pemberley, no more effective, and possibly less so, than Mrs. Fielding’s school had been.

“Her ssstubbornness and determination are problematic.”

“What has she done? She was supposed to be helping father with some manuscripts from the oldest part of the archives.”

“She has been digging in the oldest parts of those archives.” Matlock’s thundering voice echoed from the walls, like knitting needles shoved in her ears.

Was it possible for the baby to be turning somersaults in her belly? She wrapped both hands around her middle and pressed. Perhaps that would soothe the baby. “Digging? Do you mean combing through the old documents?”

Dunbrook rose from his crouch. “No, we mean literally digging—”

“We have heard she had created new tunnelsss in the oldest part of the library.”

“Are Bede’s actions threatening the stability of the office structure?” Elizabeth glanced at the ceiling. There were moments like this when the panic of being so deep underground surged forward like a pack of angry dogs, threatening to overwhelm.

“No. Even she can sssense the ssstate of the earth and rock. That is not the problem.”

“Why is she digging? Some drakes have an unfortunate nervous habit of digging where they should not. If that is the case—”

“That is not the problem,” Dunbrook said.

“Then why is she digging?”

Matlock lifted his wings, enough to remind them all he was bigger. “She believes that there might be additional rooms, unknown rooms, in the archive complex.”

New rooms in the archives? That was the sort of thing Papa both dreamt about and dreaded. New information had a nasty way of being a double-edged sword. Cold chills slithered down her back. “Has she found anything?”

“We do not know.” An angry thump of Matlock’s tail punctuated the statement.

“You do not know?” Elizabeth slipped back a step as she pulled her shoulders back and stood up very straight.

“The Hissstorian has made no reports to us.”

“He does not report to the Council directly, though, so that is not unusual. If you are concerned, why not ask him? He would not dare ignore a summons from you.”

Dunbrook snarled. “He values dragon histories over everything.”

“You mean to say that you do not expect he will be honest with you? That he might hide something from you? That he has so little respect for your dominance that—”

Matlock sat back on his haunches and roared. Elizabeth fought not to cover her ears.

“Find out what Bede has discovered. Tell us what he is researching,” Matlock said.

“What could he be working on that would be so alarming? There is no greater supporter of the Order than he.”

“Do as we have asked. Find out what he is working on. Leave us to understand our business.” Matlock dropped low and leaned into her face. “Go now and be about our business quickly.”

That was an order, not a suggestion. Elizabeth bowed and retreated through the door she had entered from.

What could they be concerned about? What might Bede have found? Perhaps it was their uneasiness with Chesil. That made sense. Such a huge, dominant dragon on the outskirts of Blue Order territory would be enough to set any major dragon on edge.

Perhaps Papa was researching something about the sea dragons and was not willing to talk with them about it until he fully understood the matter. He often did that, much to Elizabeth’s frustration in her youth. 

Then again, it may be yet another problem caused by Bede just being Bede. With no instinctive sense of dominance, propriety, nor any control over her tongue, the little black and white drake was forever causing strife and offense wherever she went. Perhaps it was too much to hope that working with Papa, the Order’s Historian, would be the one place Bede could fit in.

In any case, the matter was a timely reminder that she had many questions about sea dragons. An excellent reason to pay a call on Papa.

Ready for an exciting ride? Tell me what you think in the comments.