Curse of the Stars Book 1

Chapter 11

Chapter XI

The fire was sinking into the hearth as Fyran practiced her engraving methods. She used a delicate, thin, sharp knife which she used carefully to scrape away at the outer layer of leather that she was working on. It was just a small piece, a scrap really, that her Grandfather had given her to practice on. It was rubbish anyway.

"Fyran." Her mother was in the chair next to her, knitting away her next quilt. "Did you not hear the knock on the door? Are you that engrossed in that flimsy piece of hide? I bet it's you know who."

Fyran sighed in annoyance and put down the tool on the floor. She wished they had a table; she was always worried she was going to step on the knife by accident. So she stashed it under her wooden, chipped chair, just in case. She didn't think anyone in her family would appreciate it if they ended up with a knife in their foot.

She swished her way towards the door, her brown gown collecting the dust that was flittering through their tiny abode. She hoped it wasn't him again but the chances of it being anyone else were highly unlikely.

"I knew you'd answer the door." The boy on the other side of the thick slab of wood was smiling broadly, like a boy who could hardly contain a secret.

"You again?" Fyran eyed him up and down. He was a boy that, for whatever reason, took a fancy to her. Or at least that's what her mother always said. But this boy, with dusty blonde hair and sea gray eyes, came from a class much higher up than she, and never hesitated to rub it in her face. She was sure that was the real reason he hung out with her; to make him feel better about himself. After all, he always liked to complain about how incessantly bossy his parents were, and that they were never satisfied in anything he did. "I have to be a proper gentleman." He would say. "And escort ladies as if they were ceramic dolls. Well, they act so prudish about it too, and I really am so sick of them. You poor people are so much more entertaining."

"Yes, it's me, Vaekan!" He was not undaunted by her tone, but received it as a welcome instead, much to her annoyance.

"Sorry, but I can't come dragon hunting with you today." Fyran was quick to the point. "I'm busy."

"Busy doing what?" Vaekan held the door open when she tried to shut it on him. "Shutting the door on my face without even a goodbye? So unladylike! So rude!" Yet he wasn't offended, but was smiling with teasing laughter.

"None of your business. I have important stuff to do, unlike you rich people." Fyran huffed. "I don't have time to run around pretending to slay dragons!"

"Then let's go find real dragons. If you slay a real dragon you'll be as rich as I am, maybe even richer!"

Fyran rolled her eyes. "I have more productive things to do than slaying dragons." She hissed between her teeth. "I have scrolls to copy, leather to engrave, stories to salvage!"

"That is not how you use that word." Vaekan corrected her as he folded his arms like such a know-it-all. "If you could afford school, you'd know better. Salvage applies to shipwrecks, not scrolls."

"I can read actually! Grandfather taught me! And speaking of school, aren't you supposed to be there?"

Vaekan shrugged, unconcerned.
"Are you skipping?!"
"Like you, I have more important things to do." He grinned. "Come on, I know you haven't taken over business yet. You're still just a whelpling, so let's go find some dragons!"

What was it with this boy and his obsession with dragons? Fyran snuck a glance over her shoulder at her mother, who had listened to the entire conversation, yet gave no notice. It's not like there was any privacy in her house. It was composed of two rooms, the bathroom and the "everything else room," which included a hearth where they cooked their food, two unmatching wooden chairs (one had a broken leg), and some blankets in the corner that they used as bedding or when they were cold. There was straw in the corner that they slept on too, but Fyran hated sleeping on it. It was so full of dust and made her skin itch.