Read Online Dragonskin Slippers by Jessica Day George - Free Book Online
Authors: Jessica Day George
Tags: Ages 10 and up
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from nervousness and the after-effects of keeping my seat on Shardas’s back.
“I had better go; the guards might see me,” Shardas said, but his reluctance was clear in his voice. “Please be careful.”
“I will.” I hefted my bundle into my arms, scuffing the road awkwardly with one blue slipper. “And you be careful with the migration and everything,” I said.
“We’ll be fine, despite Feniul’s annual histrionics,” Shardas assured me, and we both chuckled. Feniul had bespoken Shardas through the enchanted pool nearly every day that I had been in the gold dragon’s lair. Between his frustration with his dogs (I managed to count roughly twenty, but Azarte seemed to be the most trouble) and his fears that this year something would go horribly wrong with the migration, he was grating on Shardas’s nerves and mine.
“You may call on me if you need help,” Shardas said. “Please promise me that you will.”
“Thank you, I shall certainly do so,” I said with polite puzzlement. “But how?” I wondered if he would give me some sort of enchanted water pot or something, and worried that it might attract too much attention.
“Simply call out my name, and I will hear you and come,” Shardas said. His large muzzle opened as though he were about to say something else, but then closed again with a snap of his jaws. “I will hear you.”
And with that he leaped into the air and glided away, leaving me blinking dust from my eyes and waving sadly. I shouldered my burden and trudged up the road to the gate, then sat on the neatly tended grass beside the road to wait for dawn and the opening of the gates.
Just before dawn a cart carrying wicker cages of geese came along the highway. I slipped into the city in its wake, letting the honking and flapping and flying feathers distract the guards. Anyone might enter the King’s Seat, but the guards took down the number of people in the party, their business, and ultimate destination. Notwanting to admit that I had no idea where I was going, I stood near an exhausted young gooseherd and let them put me down as one of that group. The driver of the cart looked at me curiously, but I just shrugged. It wasn’t my fault if the guards were lax.
It was then that things got complicated. I didn’t know how to find work as a seamstress or fancyworker. The tired gooseherd only knew where the poultry market was, and the cart driver shrugged and spat when I asked if he could give me a ride to the cloth-workers’ district.
“Never seen it, never cared to,” he grunted, and slapped the reins for his mule team to walk on.
The broad central street of the King’s Seat stretched away before me. If I kept walking along it, I would eventually come to the Jyllite Square, where the two palaces were, or so I had been taught in school. But the walk from the gates to the Jyllite Square would take several hours, as I had also been taught. I started up the street anyway, hoping that the cloth-workers’ district branched off the main thoroughfare.
The King’s Seat sloped gently uphill towards the palaces, but after an hour of walking it felt more like a mountain. I had passed a number of inns, but didn’t have any money to buy food or drink or a bed. I passed cattle markets and horse auctions and the glassblowers’ district. But no seamstresses. No weavers or dyers or cloth workers of any kind.
At the next inn I passed, the innkeeper’s wife wasindustriously sweeping the front steps, and I stopped to ask the way to the cloth markets.
“Just in from the country, are you?” She paused and leaned her beefy forearms on the broom.
“Yes, good mistress, I’m looking for a place as a fancy-worker.” I held out my sleeves to show off the decorations I had sewn there.
“Well, then, be off with you and your country fancy-work,” she sneered, and swept a cloud of dust straight at me.
I ran, trying to keep away from the worst of it, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and my
“I had better go; the guards might see me,” Shardas said, but his reluctance was clear in his voice. “Please be careful.”
“I will.” I hefted my bundle into my arms, scuffing the road awkwardly with one blue slipper. “And you be careful with the migration and everything,” I said.
“We’ll be fine, despite Feniul’s annual histrionics,” Shardas assured me, and we both chuckled. Feniul had bespoken Shardas through the enchanted pool nearly every day that I had been in the gold dragon’s lair. Between his frustration with his dogs (I managed to count roughly twenty, but Azarte seemed to be the most trouble) and his fears that this year something would go horribly wrong with the migration, he was grating on Shardas’s nerves and mine.
“You may call on me if you need help,” Shardas said. “Please promise me that you will.”
“Thank you, I shall certainly do so,” I said with polite puzzlement. “But how?” I wondered if he would give me some sort of enchanted water pot or something, and worried that it might attract too much attention.
“Simply call out my name, and I will hear you and come,” Shardas said. His large muzzle opened as though he were about to say something else, but then closed again with a snap of his jaws. “I will hear you.”
And with that he leaped into the air and glided away, leaving me blinking dust from my eyes and waving sadly. I shouldered my burden and trudged up the road to the gate, then sat on the neatly tended grass beside the road to wait for dawn and the opening of the gates.
Just before dawn a cart carrying wicker cages of geese came along the highway. I slipped into the city in its wake, letting the honking and flapping and flying feathers distract the guards. Anyone might enter the King’s Seat, but the guards took down the number of people in the party, their business, and ultimate destination. Notwanting to admit that I had no idea where I was going, I stood near an exhausted young gooseherd and let them put me down as one of that group. The driver of the cart looked at me curiously, but I just shrugged. It wasn’t my fault if the guards were lax.
It was then that things got complicated. I didn’t know how to find work as a seamstress or fancyworker. The tired gooseherd only knew where the poultry market was, and the cart driver shrugged and spat when I asked if he could give me a ride to the cloth-workers’ district.
“Never seen it, never cared to,” he grunted, and slapped the reins for his mule team to walk on.
The broad central street of the King’s Seat stretched away before me. If I kept walking along it, I would eventually come to the Jyllite Square, where the two palaces were, or so I had been taught in school. But the walk from the gates to the Jyllite Square would take several hours, as I had also been taught. I started up the street anyway, hoping that the cloth-workers’ district branched off the main thoroughfare.
The King’s Seat sloped gently uphill towards the palaces, but after an hour of walking it felt more like a mountain. I had passed a number of inns, but didn’t have any money to buy food or drink or a bed. I passed cattle markets and horse auctions and the glassblowers’ district. But no seamstresses. No weavers or dyers or cloth workers of any kind.
At the next inn I passed, the innkeeper’s wife wasindustriously sweeping the front steps, and I stopped to ask the way to the cloth markets.
“Just in from the country, are you?” She paused and leaned her beefy forearms on the broom.
“Yes, good mistress, I’m looking for a place as a fancy-worker.” I held out my sleeves to show off the decorations I had sewn there.
“Well, then, be off with you and your country fancy-work,” she sneered, and swept a cloud of dust straight at me.
I ran, trying to keep away from the worst of it, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and my
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