4. The Training Camp
Trust no one...
The Queen’s Aerie is a MMF fantasy romance (romantic fantasy?) story that I serialized throughout 2023/2024! You can read it in full here, or if you want to binge the whole thing you can buy a copy! If you enjoyed this story, consider signing up to read more of my fiction at KimBoo's Bibliotheca!
The Dragon Fort of Endestern was one of the oldest dragon forts of Kaaltendt, built and rebuilt over the thousands of years it had existed under one name or another. Imposing and intimidating, it rose up into the sky, following the black-rock cliffs it was carved out of. Agadart had seen engravings of the fort before, but none captured the feeling of being in its shadow, overwhelmed and made small.
It called to her in an odd way, a tug at her navel, as if there was something exciting about it that she needed to discover. It was disconcerting, but then, most people said that Endestern was full of dragon energy that made humans feel off-kilter. She tucked the feeling deep into herself, keeping her face neutral around the strangers next to her.
The most important lesson she had learned as one of the queen’s handmaidens was to trust no one.
The training camp for dragon maids was nowhere near the fort itself, which was no surprise since putting it closer would likely upset the dragons who lived there. Instead it was situated halfway down the rise, a good hour’s walk or more from the fort proper. Agadart and her erstwhile companions sat on boxes of supplies in the old, rickety wagon as it made its way up the road to the camp. The glistening black masonry of the fort loomed ever larger over them the closer they got, immense in a way only something sitting majestically in the middle of nowhere could be. The girls were unsettled, but Agadart had already forgotten their names — she berated herself to try harder, but she had always been bad with names, a fault that had not served her well at court and, she suspected, would go over no better in her current position.
The youngest girl was a factory girl from a manufacturing city along the Wywaar River hoping to escape black lung or unwanted motherhood. The other was a very young widow, which was not uncommon as many poor, young widows joined the Dragon Corps as a maid. Unable to work in the trade industries and with no inheritance to feed their children, the choice often came down between a slightly tarnished reputation as a dragon maid or the social ostracism of becoming a whore. The factory girl was presumably trading one questionable career for another, and Agadart could not blame her for that. It wasn’t much different than what Agadart herself was doing in some ways, although in Agadart’s case it was not voluntary. The young widow, though, was risking everything to keep herself and (presumably) her family out of the gutters. The differences between the two was clear, as the factory girl talked openly of herself and her hopes with the Corps, while the widow kept her own company, looking out at the passing if dull scenery and clutching her personal bag.
Agadart did not know how to fit between them, and wondered how well she would fare with her new colleagues. Noblewomen were hardly ever dragon maids, and her presence was not voluntary. Anyone who heard her married title would know who she was, if they did not already know by the simple matter of deduction. Dragon maids were supposed to be twenty-five years or younger, so between her age and her natural bearing, she would stand out. Her sentence had been kept out of the newspapers, but gossip made its way everywhere. She did not expect anonymity — did not deserve it — but was hoping the tradition of the dragon maids to take new names would at least give her a reprieve from the curiosity of strangers.
Traditionally, no maid was allowed to have a history outside of the Corps, as they were all supposedly equal in the eyes of dragons. Agadart knew better than to believe that she would be allowed to disappear that way. Not entirely.
Halfway there, the wagon lumbered to one side of the road so a well-dressed coach could speed by. It was clearly the duke on his way to the fort, and Agadart envied the fact that he would end his weary travels with a warm hearth nearby and a handsome, warm consort in his bed.
Sighing, she looked over to the camp where she would be staying for most of the following year. From far away it looked much as any farming homestead might, with a lodge and several smaller outbuildings around it. As they got closer, she saw that the lodge was not so large and that everything wore the mark of age and use despite the bright plaster. It all looked in good repair, even the fence keeping a small herd of goats in place, but it could hardly be called well-loved. It was utilitarian and Agadart supposed that was what she had expected to begin with.
The woman in charge of their training, the headmistress of the Dragon Maids Corps, met the wagon personally, standing by until the women and their bags were gathered in front of her. The tall, severe, middle-aged woman looked like she was carved from rock herself, her expression both stern and blank. Agadart’s heart nearly stopped beating when she realized who this woman was, and she tumbled out of the wagon, eyes wide. She had been too young to meet her before she left for the Corps, but even with the effect of twenty-five years past, she still looked like the young woman in the family portraits Agadart had grown up seeing on a daily basis.
As the other girls sorted themselves out, grabbing their meager luggage to stand at attention where Maid Pyrite pointed, the headmistress grabbed Agadart’s upper arm, hauling her up from her stumble.
“Hello, cousin,” she said with a low hiss, just above a whisper.
“Bertrag.” Agadart tried to yank her arm away, but as skinny as her cousin was, she was strong, and held on.
“I did not want you here, but our queen sent the order herself. Behave yourself and don’t put on airs, and we’ll get along.” She let go with a soft shove, just enough to make Agadart almost trip. The girls noticed, and glanced at each other in wide-eyed confusion.
Bertrag inspected the three of them, then clasped her hands together and gave them a long look. “Welcome. I am Mistress Seraphinite. As headmistress here, I am the ultimate authority, answering only to the fort master himself. I expect my rules to be obeyed and my orders respected. If you have questions, you may ask them, but I will not waste my time repeating what you have already been told or humoring your insecurities. I have been the mistress of this camp for a good many years so there is nothing you can tell me that I have not seen or heard before, I warn you.” Her eyes flicked over to Agadart for an instant. “The other apprentices have already been settled, and we begin your yearlong training tomorrow. You will be given your bunk and a chance to clean up and rest, which I suggest you take. Starting at dawn, your life will change irrevocably. If you work smart and work hard, at the end of the year I will sign your papers as a dragon maid and you will be given your first official assignments. Not all of the women here will make it that far, but if you do, I believe you will find purpose and meaning in this calling.” She paused, glancing over at the wagon driver to see that she had his attention, then nodded. “Mostieg will see to you. Good luck.”
She turned and walked off, heading towards a small cabin set away from the other camp buildings that was pristine and pretty, obviously cared for in a way that nothing else was.
Mostieg said nothing, just motioned for them to pick up their meager bags and follow him to one of the larger outbuildings that turned out to be their barracks. Agadart was given a hammock and a small trunk to put her things in. The lodge was long and wide, with hammocks strung between columns, but there were at least twenty-five woman also getting ready for bed, making the place feel small and crowded to Agadart. They were all quiet as the newcomers settled in. Everyone was clearly apprehensive about starting their apprenticeships, holding themselves back from being too loud or drawing attention to themselves. There were only low murmurs around Agadart as she unpacked and went to the washroom. It was as spartan as the rest of the camp, the water from the shower spout hard and cold and the soap abrasive, but Agadart was too grateful to be clean to be offended. She took to bed early, as did most of the other women, and tried to ready herself for the trials to come.
She knew what to expect in general: lessons in dragon biology, lore, and etiquette, followed by time working as stable hands for the Army’s horses as a way to inure them to the worst of dragons’ flying forms. Eventually there would be specialized training for the most promising students in areas such as medicine or husbandry. Agadart had already set herself the goal of working with the dragon doctors, figuring she could do more good there than helping out with the rare dragon egg or mating dance. She worried that she did not have the stomach for blood, but it was something she would find out one or way or the other eventually.
She slept, but kept dreaming of jumping into the sky as if running off the edge of a cliff. She would startle herself awake then lay there, staring at the ceiling until she drifted off to sleep again. She could not decide if the dream was innocent or ominous.
