A Coffee Dragon Christmas [Bonus Short Story for Legacy of Magic Readers]

Who wants a bonus story?

This is for those of you reading my Legacy of Magic series (I’ve just released Book 3: Trolled), set in my Death Before Dragons world. We’ve got characters from both going on an adventure together, however grudgingly…

The elven assassin Varlesh Sarrlevi and the dragon lord Zavryd’nokquetal aren’t exactly best friends, but… there is a quest that must be undertaken!

Note: Since Christmas hasn’t occurred yet in the books (and Matti and Sarrlevi don’t have time right now for holidays, anyway!), this takes place in the future, possibly after the completion of the series. Since I’ve only released three books (and only written four of the planned six), I’ve kept it spoiler-free with few allusions to the previous (and upcoming) adventures.

Second note: As an excellent procrastinator, I started writing this on the 22nd. It hasn’t visited my editor yet. I’ll include a tidier version at the end of one of the upcoming books.

 

A Coffee Dragon Christmas

Elven assassin Varlesh Sarrlevi stood in the rain outside the Coffee Dragon, his magical armor and camouflage wrapped around himself, his ears and senses attuned to threats, and reconsidered the wisdom of seeking advice here. Ogres, trolls, shifters, and humans with mixed blood infested the establishment, arguing and laughing and swilling beverages, while overly caffeinated goblins ran amok. Even more customers jabbered outside, standing in line around a food-distribution vehicle parked at the curb, the words Crying Tiger painted on the side.

The cacophony of noise in the area battered at his pointed ears while the auras of so many magical beings in one place threatened to overwhelm his senses.

Longing for the quiet and solitude of a forest filled him, but Varlesh set his jaw and reminded himself that he was on a mission. A mission he would not fail.

Thorvald’s words from earlier in the week echoed in his mind: You get Matti a Christmas present yet?

Having heard mention of the Earth holiday, Varlesh hadn’t been caught completely unaware, but Thorvald had pursed her lips with disapproval when he’d said, I have acquired exotic cheeses from eight different worlds.

You always get her cheese.

She enjoys cheese. Immensely.

Though he’d kept his feelings masked in front of Thorvald, he’d smiled inside, thinking of the pure delight in Mataalii’s eyes when she bit into the selections he regularly brought. Despite the limitations of her human blood, she was, like many dwarves, a strong warrior and a burgeoning enchanter with great potential. But, unique to her, she was also vivacious, funny, quirky, and—best of all—trustworthy and loyal, even to an elven assassin who everyone told her was a bad idea.

Unfortunately, Thorvald’s pitying sighs had interrupted his reverie. It’s Christmas. A special once-a-year-occasion here. It involves giving special gifts, not the same old thing.

My cheese is properly aged, not old. And I acquire different varieties to delight her palate. Do you not get your carnivorous dragon mate similar gifts of meat regularly? Varlesh believed he employed more creativity and traveled to more places than she to acquire his gifts.

I do, but he’ll be getting something else for Christmas. Something special. She’d winked, then smirked.

He hadn’t know if the facial expression implied a sexual innuendo—he had no wish to imagine anyone mating with the pompous Lord Zavryd’nokquetal—or she’d been amused because she was tricking him. Her mind was more difficult to read than that of most half-bloods, so he hadn’t been able to peek inside to be sure. Thus, he’d sojourned to this dubious establishment.

Many of the customers were from other worlds, the same as he, but most of the mixed bloods were native to Earth. They would know about this holiday and the types of gifts appropriate for women.

On the way here, he’d passed a few human males, expressions daunted as they looked through the windows of mercantile shops. Believing they might also be gift-shopping, Varlesh had read their minds—simple to do on mundane humans who had no inherent magical power—for clues. He’d caught snippets of thoughts such as: anything but a kitchen appliance… she cried last year when I gave her a gym membership… a vacuum is not a gift… why can’t I just give the kids cash?

All the jumbled musings had served to do was make him believe humans were clueless about the desires of their mates and offspring. He knew what Mataalii liked.

And yet…

After using his magic to flick rain off his shoulders and dry himself, Varlesh strode with determination to the front door.

Inside, the noise was louder, and the number of people almost made him turn back around. But no. He would not fail Mataalii, not after she’d stood at his side so many times, both in battle and against those who doubted his word. As if he had not been an honorable assassin all his life.

Since his last visit to the Coffee Dragon, a large evergreen tree had been cut down and erected in an area that once held tables. Goblins on chairs and ladders giggled as they draped wooden and glass baubles on branches that shimmered with long strands of silver plastic, the material so ubiquitous on this planet that Varlesh was surprised humans didn’t build their homes with it.

A hand-sized catapult attached to one of the branches launched a die across the room to bounce off a wall and plop into a startled half-troll’s mug. The goblins who’d been responsible cackled with triumph.

“I said no Christmas-tree ornaments that can be launched.” The speaker scowled as she came down the stairs, balancing numerous empty cups on a tray. She—Nin, Varlesh recalled—was the quarter-gnome female he knew to be one of the owners of the shop.

“The ornaments don’t launch,” one of the goblins said. “The dice do.”

“We’re testing the improvements we made to the tree,” another goblin said—that was Gondo, the one who worked for the human army leader who occasionally employed Mataalii. “We put it on a hydraulic lift so it goes up and down. Look!” Gondo waved to a goblin who pressed his foot on a pedal behind the tree. It hitched upward several inches, the baubles rattling alarmingly.

“Why does the tree need to go up and down?” Nin asked.

“To make more room for presents, of course. Will there not be many people here at the party, giving gifts to each other?”

Nin shook her head. “I cannot believe I let Val talk me into having her family-and-friends gathering here.”

As Nin headed toward a dish-cleaning area, Varlesh placed himself in her route. Her mind was not difficult to read; he would inquire about appropriate gifts from her.

She halted abruptly, the empty coffee cups on her tray tinkling together when it wobbled. He politely reached out a hand to steady it, but exasperation stamped her face when she looked up at him. Doubtless due to the goblins.

Nin glanced at his swords, the hilts poking over his shoulder, and smoothed her face. “How many I help you, Lord Elf?”

“Lord Varlesh Sarrlevi,” he said, “traveler, mage, warrior, and accomplished assassin on more than twelve worlds.”

She blinked. “Matti’s Sarrlevi?”

Varlesh considered whether he should insist she use lord and retain formality with him, but he decided he did not mind being known as Matti’s. “Yes. Will you instruct me on this forthcoming Earth holiday and what gifts are proper to give female acquaintances?”

Mataalii was more than an acquaintance, but he did not speak of such things with near strangers.

“I do not have time to tell you about the holiday and all that it entails, but it is customary to give gifts that show that you care for the recipient. Each person likes different things, so you must tailor your gift to their tastes.”

Varlesh knew Mataalii’s tastes, but he did not know if cheese would be sufficient for this occasion. After all, he had begun giving it to her as a bribe. Was it possible that, despite her enjoyment of the edible gifts, they reminded her that they had started out more as adversaries than allies? At the least, he had been using her—and she’d known it. Once, he had given her pickled root vegetables, and they had not been a bribe, but they had been… an apology. That might also make such a gift inappropriate for the holiday.

“Pardon me, my lord,” Nin said, “but the dishes call.”

“Are you not an owner of this establishment with minions to wash dishes for you? Or magical dish-washing tools?”

“I am an owner who likes to run a profitable business, so I do not engage employees during hours when I am capable of doing the work myself.” Her dark eyes grew wistful when she added, “I would love a magical dish-washing tool.”

“Perhaps your mate will acquire one for you.”

“My, ah, boyfriend—” she smiled shyly, “—has not completely grasped that I enjoy practical gifts to nugatory knickknacks that exist only to look pretty.” She tilted her head. “You know this term? Nugatory? It was in one of my word-of-the-day apps recently.”

“I am familiar with the contents of your English dictionary. It is only when Mataalii uses the local vernacular that my knowledge is sometimes inadequate.”

Another die launched across the room, soaring over the heads of two ogres, bouncing off the ceiling, and clanging against the machine that hissed and burbled as it distributed coffee.

Nin set down her tray and marched toward the goblins. They, after giggling and congratulating themselves on adding more height to their projectiles, saw her coming and ran off into the crowd.

Speaking of nugatory…

“Lord Sarrlevi?” Gondo asked, squeezing past two chairs to step in front of him. A pencil perched behind his pointed green ear, and he waved a pad of paper with a list written on it. “You are an elf.”

“Goblins are astute.”

He brightened at this accolade. “Yes! As an elf, you know about plants, right? And did I hear correctly that you need to get a gift for Matti?”

“I have some knowledge of elven plants.” Varlesh debated if he should answer the second question. What if Gondo offered to sell him a horrendous goblin gewgaw made from recycled junk?

“What about human plants from this world?”

“I am less of an expert on them.” An understatement. Varlesh did not even know the species of tree that the goblins were desecrating.

“But you can find things on many worlds, can you not? I have heard that you collected ingredients for an alchemical formula when it was required.”

“Yes. I can find anything.”

“Perfect!”

Varlesh squinted suspiciously at Gondo. The goblin clearly wanted something.

“A lady would be certain to value a gift that one had to put effort into finding.” Gondo nodded sagely. As if he had any experience with ladies. From what Varlesh had seen in the months he’d been visiting this world, Gondo had been unsuccessful in his attempts to woo Mataalii’s goblin roommate. “Something that one went on a quest to acquire,” Gondo added. “And something that, should it be absent at the festivities tonight, would be woefully missed. In fact, its lack could ruin the entire party.”

“What is it?”

Varlesh believed the goblin was trying to manipulate him into assisting with the tasks that someone had assigned to him, but if there truly was a plant he could acquire, he would consider doing so. Especially if Mataalii might approve. Far more altruistic than he, she liked it when he helped her friends. Whether she considered Gondo a friend, Varlesh didn’t know. Still, she’d been spending more time at the Coffee Dragon of late and didn’t seem to mind the legions of goblins ricocheting dice off the walls for their overly exuberant games.

“Mistletoe!” Gondo thrust his list forward, the word circled with three question marks beside it. “I’m told it’s an extremely important part of Christmas, but I am not a botanist. I do not know where one acquires plants.”

Varlesh had never heard of it. “What role does it play in the festivities?”

“Humans hang it above a doorway, and it’s their custom that when two people find themselves standing under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.” Gondo puckered his lips, twirled, then winked. “It’s a lovely custom, is it not?”

Varlesh, who’d been propositioned by far more women than he could remember, envisioned female ogres and trolls trying to push him into the doorway and similarly puckering their lips. With his fighting prowess, he could deter unwanted advances from even the most musclebound female, but… he always tried to be the elf his father hadn’t been and be chivalrous with the opposite sex. Even overly handsy members of the opposite sex.

“It does not sound lovely, no,” he said.

“No?” Gondo blinked in surprise. “Would you not wish to share a kiss with Matti? I have seen you fondle her head. Are you two not intimate?”

Varlesh narrowed his eyes. As a rule, he wasn’t sexually demonstrative in public, but he also wasn’t one to worry about what others thought, especially those from insignificant lesser species. Perhaps, however, he should restrain himself around Gondo, a known informant for the human military leader. And a gossip to all.

“I would love for Tinja to walk under the mistletoe-adorned doorway at just the right moment…” Gondo clasped his hands to his chest and puckered his lips again.

“So you can pounce on her when she least expects it?”

“Pounce upon her with my lips, as permitted per the human holiday custom.” Gondo grinned. “Will you not help ensure a wondrous Christmas party and find mistletoe for the Coffee Dragon? As an elf with sublime tracking skills, who better to locate a plant?”

Varlesh sighed.

“And Matti will be delighted if you help. She loves goblins, doesn’t she? It would be a worthy present to signify that you care for her.”

“You think she’ll be touched by you lip-pouncing her roommate?”

“Obviously. She wants goblins to be happy.”

Before Varlesh decided if he wanted to help with this dubious endeavor, he sensed a dragon approaching. His lip curled. Lord Zavryd’nokquetal.

The dragon had not done anything more odious than insult him and duel with him—Varlesh did not mind being challenged to such—but he was related to the scaled tyrants who had destroyed Varlesh’s home and believed he should endure the dragon version of punishment and rehabilitation. Also, he was pompous. Varlesh did not enjoy spending time around him.

Gondo, who must also have sensed Zavryd’s approach, whirled toward his kin and gave orders in their language. The horde of goblins making noisy improvements to the tree quieted, though they appeared incapable of refraining from reaching out and tweaking the junk dangling from the branches.

As Zavryd flew closer, Varlesh considered leaving the establishment, as he had no wish to trade barbs with the dragon today. Then he sensed Mataalii and Thorvald accompanying him.

Varlesh’s mood improved immediately. It was worth enduring the dragon’s company if he came with Mataalii. Since Varlesh had been off collecting rare and exotic cheeses from numerous worlds, he hadn’t seen her for several days.

Zavryd, in his human form and wearing a silver-trimmed black elven robe, strode into the Coffee Dragon first. He looked haughtily around, as if he, rather than his mate, was a partial owner in the business, and soon focused on Varlesh.

What is the dastardly and vile assassin who once attempted to slay my mate doing here among her comrades?

These days, Varlesh was more prone to sigh than grow affronted at the slights, and a gleam in Zavryd’s eyes made him suspect the dragon liked sparring—verbally and physically—with him. What a strange being.

I was invited to the holiday gathering, Varlesh replied, by your mate’s comrades. Specifically, by Mataalii. Varlesh would not visit this wild world and walk among goblins and humans and other nettlesome beings if not for the opportunity to spend time with her, someone who believed him a hero rather than a villain. Someone for whom he wanted to be a hero.

Impossible! Though Zavryd spoke telepathically, he projected the words to everyone in the room, and all eyes tracked back and forth between him and Varlesh. Even the goblins have better taste than to invite an assassin.

Varlesh eyed the plastic yellow footwear that Zavryd wore—some dreadful human invention—with the otherwise distinguished elven robe. The shoes had holes in them. Intentional holes. I am certain you know nothing of taste, dragon.

Zavryd look down. You dare insult my lucky footwear?

I insult you.

Disrespectful heathen! Zavryd conjured a fiery magical longsword from the air and pointed it at Varlesh. Do you wish to duel against me?

In the establishment owned by your mate and her comrades? Varlesh wouldn’t mind some exercise, but he couldn’t imagine Thorvald or any of the other owners wanted their business damaged. Indeed, Nin was gaping in horror at them.

“No,” came Thorvald’s voice as she slipped in behind Zavryd and rested a hand on his shoulder. “There will be no dueling. Duels aren’t even allowed on Christmas Eve.”

“No duels on a holiday?” Zavryd’s blade drooped. In disappointment? “Are you certain? They are very customary when dragons gather for festivities.”

“I have no doubt, but this building is flammable. Can you put out your sword?”

That was definitely disappointment in Zavryd’s eyes as he extinguished the magical blade.

Gondo hopped onto a table, almost stepping on a troll’s pastry, and cleared his throat. “Lord Dragon, if you are looking for a way to stimulate yourself on this fine occasion…” He held up his list.

Varlesh snorted. Would Gondo also try to convince a dragon to fetch a plant for him?

Mataalii, who’d been blocked from entering by Thorvald and her mate, slipped in and smiled warmly as she waved her big magical hammer at Varlesh.

His chest swelled with pleasure, for she didn’t pay attention to anyone else as she weaved past the tables toward him. And, as he well knew by now, it was not his looks that drew her to him. Or at least not only his looks, he amended with a smirk when she glanced at his chest—and briefly lower—as she approached.

Her cheeks grew pink, as if she was embarrassed to have been caught admiring him. Varlesh did not mind in the least.

“Haven’t you yet learned that it’s not smart to goad dragons?” Mataalii stopped at his side and rested a hand on his chest. Like all those with dwarven blood, her mind was not easy to read, but her face always was, and she rarely tried to hide what she was thinking. She beamed warmth and amusement at him.

“That dragon is not a threat.” Varlesh rested his hand atop hers to keep it on his chest. “Except perhaps to fashion.”

“I heard that, elf!” Zavryd called across the room.

“Let’s get you some tea to calm your nerves,” Thorvald said, leading her mate to the espresso counter where the barista watched him warily.

Though Varlesh rarely had high opinions of lesser species, he decided the souls who dared work here, with a pompous and tyrannical dragon wandering through regularly, were braver than most.

“Wait,” Gondo blurted, hopping onto another table. “Are you not interested in the stimulation I promised?”

“A dragon has no desire to be stimulated by a goblin,” Zavryd said.

“It’s a quest that I have in mind for stimulation, one that could impress your mate. You could find a great gift to give her.”

Thorvald raised her eyebrows. Gondo smiled and beckoned with his pad of paper for Zavryd to come over for a private discussion.

Varlesh expected the dragon to scoff and turn his back, but his brow had furrowed at the word gift. Though Varlesh had never had success at reading dragons’ well-protected minds, he suspected the mighty Lord Zavryd’nokquetal, who was no more a native of this world than Varlesh, might also be flummoxed when it came to finding appropriate gifts for those one cared about. That was the only reason Varlesh could imagine that he held a finger up to Thorvald and walked toward Gondo.

“Thank you for coming for our holiday,” Mataalii said quietly, patting Varlesh’s chest. An image of a wrapped gift under the tree popped into her mind. One she’d gotten for him?

He shouldn’t have read her thoughts and spoiled the surprise, but he couldn’t stop himself. She’d carved for him a beautiful wooden box and enchanted it to protect the contents and keep them clean. She envisioned him storing inside the magical kerchief he used to wipe his swords—and that he’d also used to dust her truck.

Ah, a lovely gift. He usually only kept that kerchief in his pocket or pack. And her talents at enchanting were growing nicely. He approved.

“Christmas is one of my favorite times of year,” Mataalii added, “even though I got grounded a lot as a kid.”

“What is grounded?” Varlesh asked, focusing on her and ignoring the dragon and the rest of the customers, aside from maintaining the magical awareness and protections he always conjured and carried about himself in public. By habit, he extended them to protect Mataalii.

Her nose wrinkled. “Being punished for being naughty. My sister Penina used to get more presents than I did because she got great grades and was a good girl throughout the year. Oh, not from our grandparents. They were very fair and gave us the same number, but her teachers and the neighbor lady who babysat us and the soccer instructor… They all adored Penina. The neighbor once gave me a lump of coal—that’s what naughty girls get for Christmas. I might have thrown a few tantrums, but I was not naughty.”

Varlesh, who knew she still threw tantrums—though about more substantial things now, such as having assassins and evil relatives hunting her down—wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “How old were you?”

“Oh, really young. Five, six.” She hesitated. “Seven, eight, nine. By ten, I’d stopped.” Another hesitation. “Well, maybe not stopped exactly. I got more subtler by then. I feel bad about it now, but, a couple of times, I sabotaged her gifts. One I dropped in the bathtub, and another I threw up on the roof so nobody could find it. It’s possible I deserved the lumps of coal.”

“Hm.” Varlesh thought Mataalii’s naughtiness was understandable and perhaps no worse than what many children with siblings engaged in. It was certainly negligible compared to the evils her odious dwarven aunt had perpetrated. Learning that Mataalii had received fewer gifts as a child made him glad he’d brought so many new types of cheese for her to try, but… what if the goblin was correct? What if the cheese would not be considered sufficient for such an important human holiday?

Aware of Mataalii watching his face—for judgment?—Varlesh smiled and simply teased her gently. “Given this troubled past, it is surprising that your sister asks you to come to her Sunday brunches.”

Varlesh had not yet been invited to one of those family events, but he had heard about them. More than once, Mataalii’s sister had used the time to attempt to set Mataalii up with males who were, in Penina’s estimation, a good idea. Perhaps, if it was a traditional gift for bad behavior, Varlesh would have a lump of coal delivered to Penina’s home.

“Well,” Mataalii said, “her kids Josh and Jessie like me and pester her if she doesn’t invite me. I don’t have to discipline them, so I’m way more fun than their parents.”

“You would be more fun even if you did discipline them.”

“Yes.” Her wariness turned to a self-deprecating smirk. “I’m a delight.”

“You are.” Varlesh started to brush his fingers through her hair—he always enjoyed its softness and the way she leaned into his touch—but he remembered that witnesses, gossipy goblin witnesses, lurked nearby.

Indeed, Gondo was pointing at him as he explained his quest to Zavryd.

“You could go on it together,” Gondo was saying. “If you, Lord Dragon, carried Lord Elf on your back, you could find the plant more quickly.”

“Carry?” Zavryd’s eyebrows flew up. “That odious assassin?”

“What’s going on?” Thorvald asked warily, walking up to them with two cups. She addressed the question to Mataalii, as if she were the most reliable source present.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Something about a plant.”

“This goblin wishes—”

Gondo dared put a finger to Zavryd’s lips. Brazen. “No, no, Lord Dragon. A good Christmas present should be a surprise. And you must leave now if you intend to acquire it.” He pointed toward a large clock made from rusty junk. “There are only a couple of hours until the party. If you two work together, you might find the item in time.”

Zavryd squinted at Varlesh, as if to assess him of his plant-locating abilities. Varlesh hadn’t liked the idea of the quest before, and he liked it even less now, knowing the dragon might be involved. But if that plant did not grow in the city, it could be useful to have the assistance of someone who could fly.

“Do you know what Gondo is talking about?” Mataalii asked him.

“Yes. He is scheming.” Scheming a plan to assist him in lip-pouncing, Varlesh thought but didn’t add, reluctant to explain fully. If this was a gift that she would enjoy, perhaps it would be best delivered as a surprise.

“I know that,” Mataalii said. “He’s a goblin.”

Zavryd, who might have been engaged in some telepathic clarification with Gondo, abruptly announced, “The assassin and I must adjourn for a time.”

Thorvald eyed him. “You’re not going to duel, are you?”

“That is unlikely,” Zavryd said, “unless the assassin insults me.”

“You insulted me first, dragon. As you always do.” May I borrow your device of Earth research and communications for a moment? Varlesh added silently to Mataalii. I must acquire knowledge on something.

“You mean my phone?” She looked up at him. “Are you being drawn into a goblin scheme?”

“Yes.”

“Is that wise?”

“No.”

• • • • •

If you drive your sword between my scales, I will roast you with flames like a drayvzar on a spit.

I would be foolish to impale the dragon I’m riding upon, Varlesh replied from Zavryd’s broad back. Even if I were that foolish, your flames would not touch me, for I am well armored and defended by magic.

Magic inferior to what a dragon possesses.

We’ve sparred before, and you’ve not wounded me. Varlesh gazed past the flapping wings to the ground below, where the human dwellings were growing sparser as intermittent stands of trees transitioned into forests. As I recall, you were the one wounded in our last confrontation.

Because you tricked me into facing you in a much diminished form.

Were you tricked, or were you being honorable and facing me on equal footing?

I was tricked, and you know it! A human is not equal to an elf.

I do not disagree with that, but you choose what you shift into when you take another form. Varlesh smirked. Would the dreadful plastic shoes not fit on elf feet?

You are a most loathsome assassin.

As you are a loathsome dragon.

We must finish this mission and return as quickly as possible so that we spend no more time than necessary in each other’s company. With you fantasizing about sticking a blade between my scales.

That was not Varlesh’s fantasy. He had been envisioning Mataalii casting aside a piece of cheese to eagerly wrap her arms around him for a kiss under the soon-to-be-located mistletoe. Well, perhaps she would finish consuming the cheese first. A favored food was not lightly cast aside, even for ardor.

All he told Zavryd was, On that we can agree.

What did you learn from the human research device? Will it be difficult to spot this mistletoe from the air? I am eager to acquire it, as the goblin promised me that my mate would wish to kiss me thoroughly underneath its leaves.

Though Gondo had promised Varlesh something similar, he said, You are married to Thorvald. Do you not already engage in such practices regularly?

In the nest, often and vigorously, yes.

Varlesh couldn’t keep from curling a lip. Why had he asked?

But rarely in front of others. It pleases me to have others know that Val has claimed me as I have claimed her. According to the goblin, the mistletoe will be dangled from the doorway in the main room of the beverage dispensary so all will see us kiss beneath it.

Did it occur to you that the goblin was manipulating you? Varlesh asked.

Yes, as he also manipulated you. I assume, since he is short and weak, he is incapable of acquiring the mistletoe himself. He knew that he had to ask the mightiest warrior in the establishment to take on this task. It is possible the plant is guarded by fae or other powerful foes.

It’s also possible he was simply being lazy and would rather play with the dice catapults on the Christmas tree than personally collect all the items on his task list.

That also occurred to me, Zavryd said.

Did it occur to you at this moment after I enlightened you?

Many moments before, you arrogant elf.

Varlesh scratched his jaw, suspecting the most arduous part of this quest would be enduring the dragon’s company.

To answer your question, he said, if your eyes are keen enough, you may be able to see it. According to the research I did before returning Mataalii’s device to her, there are many species of plant classified as mistletoe, with the various regions of Earth having their own. In all cases, they are obligate hemiparasitic plants that attach to a tree or shrub by a haustorium which allows them to extract nutrients and water from the host.

Not certain how well versed dragons were in botany, Varlesh waited to see if Zavryd would ask for clarification on any of the terms. The dragon did fly quietly for a moment while he digested the words.

The human holiday custom for kissing involves standing under a parasitic plant? Zavryd finally asked, parsing everything correctly.

Indeed.

Are you certain? I have observed that my mate and other females from this planet enjoy cultivating pleasant-smelling flowers, not parasitic plants that feed on other plants. That sounds as dreadful as the odious vampire living in the basement. More dreadful. The vampire occasionally has uses.

Yes, I’ve found that to be true. Varlesh didn’t comment on the various formulas that Zoltan had made that had assisted him and Mataalii. He did not like to admit to anyone, certainly not a haughty dragon, that he’d ever needed assistance from another being. According to what I read, mistletoe has a storied past with humanity. Some cultures believed the berries represented semen and regarded them as symbols of male fertility. In others, the plant was used for medicinal purposes. A people called the Romans hung mistletoe in their doorways to protect their household. The religious group known as Christians started using it as a decoration under which lovers are expected to kiss. They also believed it protected against witches and demons.

An unmagical weed protecting against demons? Zavryd asked. Humans are a most silly species.

Agreed.

I do not understand how they have proliferated so on this planet.

They are capable of and do breed frequently. Varlesh had been astonished when he’d learned that human women could have upwards of eight or ten babies in their short lifetimes. Elves rarely had more than two or three children over much longer lifetimes.

That is true. Perhaps it is due to the fertility instilled by their decorative plants.

Undoubtedly. I will share an image of eastern mistletoe with you, the variety we are most likely to find in this part of the world.

Will that variety be sufficient for the ritual? Zavryd asked.

I believe so. I have observed few botanists among the clientele that visit the Coffee Dragon. It is unlikely they will know the difference.

A pompous elf would know.

I have observed few elves frequenting the Coffee Dragon, pompous or otherwise.

Hm. Let us look. Now that dense forests dominated the landscape below, Zavryd flew left and right in a search pattern. It is unfortunate that the parasitic weed is not magical. It would be much easier to locate.

And perhaps more effective at keeping away demons.

Quite.

Fly along that river. Varlesh pointed to the north. There are numerous deciduous trees, and their branches are bare for the winter. If the mistletoe is present, it will be easier to see it.

I will fly where I wish, elf. Your kind may not give dragons orders.

The longer this takes, the longer my swords and I must ride on your back.

I will fly to the river.

Miles passed as they soared above the waterway, dragon and elf peering into the branches below, with no sign of the plant they sought. Varlesh sensed magical beings ahead.

Goblins, he pointed out, though he was sure Zavryd had already detected them.

There are pockets of rural goblins on this world. Not all seek to invade coffee shops and recycle human trash to invent useless contraptions.

If they live in the forest, they may know where mistletoe can be found.

It is unlikely such a lowly species would know anything a dragon doesn’t know.

Let’s ask them anyway. Varlesh couldn’t believe Mataalii had ever considered him haughty. It was only because she hadn’t ventured often into the Cosmic Realms and met many dragons. Elves were humble in comparison.

Probably wishing to show he wasn’t letting an elf give him orders, Zavryd circled the area numerous times before heading toward the goblins. They had a camp along the riverside, their huts made from tree boughs and rusty metal. Where they’d found human detritus to recycle out here, Varlesh didn’t know, but he sat straighter when he spotted a tall aspen tree in the center of the camp. With its branches bare of leaves, it was easy to pick out clumps of a parasitic plant growing among them.

Mistletoe.

If he wasn’t mistaken, there were numerous species of mistletoe growing on the single tree, as if the goblins had imported them from different continents and cultivated them here. Maybe they had. Numerous goblins were dancing and drinking around a bonfire built near the base of the tree, perhaps also having a religious festival on this day.

Fascinating. Zavryd must have also spotted the mistletoe. That is precisely what we seek, yes? But the plants are growing only in that tree.

Cultivated by the goblins, apparently.

Below, the dancing halted, and numerous green faces turned upward. By habit, Varlesh used his magic to camouflage himself when traveling on this world, but dragons, in their arrogance, didn’t always bother. The goblins shrieked, dropped their drinks, and ran into their huts.

Silly creatures. Little magic protected the village, and it wasn’t as if the rusty metal could have saved them from the wrath of a dragon.

Zavryd pointed his scaled snout downward and dove toward the fire. When he landed at Thorvald’s house, he often smashed mailboxes and lawn ornaments, so Varlesh thought about sending a telepathic warning to the goblins, but they’d already taken cover.

Surprisingly, Zavryd managed to land nimbly, his tail coming down between two huts without disturbing them. Maybe, when he destroyed the mailboxes, it was an optional choice. An indicator of his feelings toward human knickknacks? Who knew? He was an odd dragon.

Goblins, Zavryd called telepathically. I am the great Lord Zavryd’nokquetal of the Stormforge Clan. I have come from afar to give your clan the opportunity to serve me.

Varlesh arched his eyebrows at this arrogance. A few wide-eyed goblins peered through the doorways of their huts, but none came out or responded. Having a dragon land in the middle of their camp had probably traumatized them.

When it became clear that Zavryd wouldn’t bother introducing him, Varlesh said, I am Varlesh Sarrlevi, traveler, mage, warrior, and accomplished assassin on more than twelve worlds.

The goblins’ eyes grew no less wide. Having an elven assassin land among them was likely not much less alarming than a dragon in their midst.

Zavryd turned his violet eyes on Varlesh. It is unlikely they noticed you next to me. Be a good assistant, and scurry up that tree to carve off an appropriate piece of mistletoe.

I do not take orders from dragons.

As a member of a lesser species, it should be your honor to serve me.

It is not. And elves are not lesser.

Zavryd’s eyes glowed with inner light, and his aura swelled with power. Several goblins squawked in alarm and scurried deeper into their huts.

Do you truly wish to squabble in front of these simple rural goblins?

I am indifferent to goblins, rural and otherwise, Zavryd said.

They probably have a way of communicating with the urban goblins at your mate’s coffee shop. Word of inappropriate behavior might get back to her.

Zavryd’s tail went rigid. A dragon’s behavior is never inappropriate.

You don’t think it’s wrong to take someone’s plants without asking?

Someone’s parasitic weeds!

The goblins seem to value them. They’ve cultivated a whole collection in that tree.

After issuing the dragon equivalent of a harrumph, Zavryd shifted into his human form.

Perhaps we should offer to barter with them in exchange for a few samples, Varlesh suggested.

We are mighty magical beings, far superior to goblins, and we could take these mistletoes without effort. Zavryd lifted his chin.

I have observed your mate telling you not to bully people. Such an action would qualify.

Varlesh expected the dragon to argue further, but Zavryd lowered his chin.

That is true, he admitted. Also, as a law enforcer for the Dragon Justice Court, it would be inappropriate for me to steal, even from a lesser species. Should my mother find out about such actions, she would berate me.

As would Thorvald.

Yes. Rightfully so.

I am not a law enforcer. Varlesh, however, also did not make a habit of thieving. It was not honorable.

So you will steal from the goblins? Do you not believe that your mate would disapprove?

Varlesh almost pointed out that he and Mataalii had not made mating or wedding vows to each other, but her good opinion did matter a great deal to him. She had become one of the few people he cared deeply about.

She would not approve, he agreed.

Then we must barter.

A female goblin with twigs woven in her long white hair walked out of one of the huts. Bracelets made from chains and cogs clanked on her wrists, and she gripped a claw hammer in one hand and a set of pliers in the other. Goblins rarely carried weapons, but Varlesh raised an eyebrow at this choice of tools for confronting a dragon. Maybe she intended to crack Zavryd on the head, then twist off his nose. Or twist off a body part positioned at a more reachable height for a three-and-a-half-foot-tall goblin. Varlesh smirked at the thought.

The female goblin, however, was looking Zavryd up and down with an interest that suggested battle wasn’t what she had in mind. An appreciative smile quirked her lips. When Zavryd shifted into human form, it was an attractive form, no doubt because he sought to inspire lust in his mate.

“I am Work Leader Zylurka,” the female introduced herself. “What brings a mighty dragon and a handsome elf to our simple community?” She turned her appreciative smile on Varlesh.

He sighed. He hadn’t been propositioned by goblins often, but it did happen from time to time.

“We are in need of mistletoe for the human ceremony of Christmas,” Zavryd said. “Even though dragons are superior beings, and a goblin should be honored to serve one such as myself, we will not take it by force.”

Varlesh rubbed his face, finding tactful Zavryd no more diplomatic than pompous Zavryd.

“That is good, Lord Dragon, for we value the mistletoe and also use it in our ceremonies.”

“Is there something you desire,” Varlesh said, deciding to take over the negotiations, “that we could trade for a few samples? We will leave plenty in your tree.”

“What do you offer?” Zylurka looked them up and down again, her gaze snagging on Zavryd’s holey yellow shoes.

He scowled and shifted his robe to cover them.

Too bad. His mate might be delighted if Zavryd had to trade them away in exchange for something. Or for any reason at all.

“Dragons carry no money and few baubles or trinkets that lesser species value.” Zavryd looked at Varlesh.

To indicate he was the one who would have to open his purse? Well, bargaining had been his idea. Had the Christmas party at the Coffee Dragon not been starting soon, Varlesh might have waited until dark and sneaked in to snip off a few pieces of the mistletoe. It wouldn’t truly be stealing; the plant would grow back. But they did not have that long.

“I have gold,” Varlesh offered and drew out two coins.

Zylurka waved dismissively. “While gold is not without its uses, we employ it only in crafting and don’t value it as highly as humans and other species do. Goblins prefer barter to exchanging currency.”

“Then what do you wish? My weapons are not for sale. Lord Zavryd, are your shoes available for trade?”

“No, they are not. They are lucky and have meaning to me. Also, my mate adores them.”

Varlesh highly doubted that was true.

“She appreciates dragon whimsy,” he added.

Varlesh shook his head, wondering if as much vigorous kissing and sex took place in their nest as Zavyrd claimed.

“That is a very fine robe.” Zylurka crept closer to Zavryd and lifted a hand, though she glanced warily up at him and didn’t touch it.

He scowled.

She drew her hand back, but she didn’t step away. “And, Lord Elf, what finely tailored garments you wear, as well. The fabric is elven and slightly magical, yes? Does it resist stains?”

“Yes.”

“And that is true of the robe too?” Zylurka looked curiously at Zavryd’s torso and made a stroking motion in the air. It might have been to indicate touching the fabric, but it might also have implied she was fantasizing about touching him. Shirtless—or robeless. “If your garments were cut and sewn into new shapes, many goblins could be clothed with them.”

Varlesh felt his jaw sag open. “You want our clothes?”

Zavryd, his jaw also dangling, plucked dubiously at his robe.

“In exchange for a cutting from of each species of mistletoe that you wish. This will be a grand deal, will it not?” Zylurka thrust hammer and pliers into the air and turned to look at her people, most of them still ensconced in their huts but all watching. Especially the females.

Varlesh had other clothes in his pack that he could wear to the Christmas party, but the thought of goblins snipping up his garments to make who knew what seemed demeaning.

Zavryd, perhaps feeling similarly, said, “Is there not a warrior among you who would like to challenge one of us to a duel? With the winner taking the mistletoe?”

Leave it to him to want to fight.

Zylurka tilted her head. “But we already have the mistletoe. What would we gain by dueling?”

“The honor and prestige of having battled a powerful foe,” Zavryd stated.

“We want the robe,” a female goblin called from one of the huts.

“And the elf’s trousers and tunic!”

“Yes.” Zylurka gave Varlesh another smile. It was equal parts lascivious and sly. She definitely wanted to see them naked.

Goblins are strange creatures, Zavryd told him telepathically.

Yes, Varlesh replied. Do you have other clothing?

When I return to my dragon form, a lack of clothing will not matter.

True, but you have to turn back into a human to fit into the Coffee Dragon.

A fair point. I have another robe at my lair. Zavryd shared an image of the house he shared with Thorvald. We could stop there on the way back. Do you have other clothing?

I do.

Then this trade is fair? I admit to knowing little of the value of elven clothing. Or mistletoe for that matter. Perhaps it is rare.

Parasitic weeds usually aren’t, but we are pressed for time.

Indeed. Zavryd nodded to the goblin work leader. “We agree to your proposal. My elf assistant will climb the tree and cut the samples.”

Varlesh was about to object to being called an assistant when Zylurka clapped her hands together and said, “Yes, after he removes his garments for us.” Her hands went from clapping to rubbing together with glee.

Several more goblins—most female but some male—came out to watch.

My mate has observed that goblins are little perverts, Zavryd said. This may be true.

Maybe, or maybe you shouldn’t have chosen such an appealing form. Would Thorvald not have fallen in love with you if you had been an ogre?

I have not noticed her ogle ogres as she ogles me.

Strange.

Indeed.

With the goblins waiting in anticipation, Varlesh untucked his shirt. Best to get this over with quickly. At least they weren’t requesting sex, as some females who bartered with him did.

After removing his weapons, pack, boots, trousers, and shirt, he tossed the last two items to the goblins before heading up the tree with a knife. A great deal of ogling took place.

Ignoring the onlookers, Varlesh collected samples of several species of mistletoe. When he jumped lightly down, he found Zavryd completely naked except for the fluorescent yellow shoes.

“You… do not wear undergarments in human form?” Varlesh couldn’t keep from curling his lip. Had he known he would be subjected to dragon nudity on this quest, he would not have agreed to come.

“Certainly not. They are tight and restrictive.” Zavryd swayed his hips to demonstrate the freedom he preferred.

Varlesh looked away. The female goblins did not.

“That undergarment cannot be comfortable.” Zavryd pointed to Varlesh’s elven loincloth, which he’d not removed. The goblins hadn’t required it, and Varlesh found it unwise to climb trees naked regardless.

“Is, in fact, comfortable.”

“It’s green. Is it made from moss?”

“No. It’s made from elven plant fibers that are durable and soft. Your shoes are yellow. Are they made from lemon peels?”

“They are not.”

The rest of the goblins flowed out of their huts and started dancing and chanting, now including Varlesh and Zavryd in their ceremony.

“We should go.” Varlesh held up the plants he’d collected.

“Yes.” Zavryd eyed the goblins. “And tell no one of this adventure.”

Suspecting the goblins—all the goblins today—had gotten the best of them, Varlesh nodded. It was not honorable to lie, but perhaps making an exception was wise in this case.

“If the others ask how we acquired the mistletoe,” Zavryd said, “we will imply there was a battle.”

“A great battle against dangerous and deadly foes?”

“Yes.” Zavryd nodded firmly.

“Fae? Chimeras? Wyverns?”

“Even other dragons. Four or five, at least.”

“It would have been impressive of us to vanquish so many powerful enemies.”

Zavryd lifted his chin. Yes.”

As they left the area, Varlesh decided goblins might not be as much of a lesser species as elves and dragons believed. Further, he wondered if these rural goblins would, as he’d feared earlier, communicate with the city goblins and share this story. He hoped not.

• • • • •

After a quick stop at the Thorvald house, Varlesh returned with Zavryd to the Coffee Dragon. Night had fallen, but music blared from inside, and the occupants were even louder and chattier than before.

Relieved that he sensed Mataalii within, Varlesh braced himself and headed for the front door while Zavryd shifted into human form. Now clad in black trousers and a sapphire blue shirt that he’d changed into, Varlesh stepped inside.

The occupants had changed from ogres, trolls, and shifters—the typical coffee-house clientele—to what Varlesh assumed were Thorvald’s friends and family. A barefoot woman with a long braid of gray hair had to be Thorvald’s mother, but he had no idea who the werewolf in plaid standing next to her was. The female military leader and Thorvald’s offspring were present, along with Nin and the quarter-dwarf enchanter who owned a stake in the Coffee Dragon. Numerous others, including Mataalii’s business associates, were there, all chatting happily as a canine with golden fur wandered about unchecked, demanding ear rubs and sniffing at plates that held sweets and slices of salami and cheese.

Inferior cheese, Varlesh assumed. Mataalii had to be eagerly longing for superior offerings.

Arms laden with his mistletoe samples, and with Zavryd coming in behind him, Varlesh headed first for the Christmas tree and the numerous goblins around it. Apparently, Thorvald considered at least some of them friends, for their numbers remained relatively unchanged.

The tree had been raised more than four feet off the floor, leaving room for copious wrapped boxes underneath, as well as a couple of slumbering goblins. Despite the uproarious laughter from many of the guests, most of the goblins were atypically groggy. Or perhaps… intoxicated?

Usually, the air inside smelled of coffee, but a pot burbling on the counter emitted scents of alcohol, apple cider, cinnamon, and other Earth spices Varlesh couldn’t name. Nin alternated between stirring the concoction and ladling it into people’s mugs.

Mataalii stood by her with a finger in the air, but she’d paused in the middle of ordering a drink to stare at Varlesh. Or perhaps the copious amounts of mistletoe in his arms.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Gondo said, trotting up to Varlesh. “I’m so pleased that you found it in time.”

He looked toward Zavryd, who also had an armload of mistletoe. Originally, he’d wanted Varlesh to tote it all, it being an honor to serve a dragon, of course, but Varlesh had reminded him that they both intended to claim the plants as gifts so they both ought to carry them.

“Did you two work well together?” Gondo asked. “Did you have a bonding experience?”

The stricken look Zavryd gave Varlesh suggested he was doing his best not to remember seeing him nearly naked and climbing a tree. The feeling was mutual, especially since Zavryd hadn’t even been wearing an elven loincloth—or any other kind of loincloth.

“Did my mate ask you to coerce us into bonding?” Zavryd squinted at Gondo.

“Certainly not. I only knew you would wish to find a meaningful gift for your ladies.” Gondo smiled and reached for the mistletoe. “Allow me to get a ladder and hang the plants.”

Zavryd drew back. “We must give these gifts to our mates.”

Once again, Varlesh thought about correcting the word and saying that he and Mataalii were not formally mated—only, at this point, enjoying each other’s company—but he didn’t. She must have heard Gondo, however, for her eyebrows rose.

Varlesh met her gaze, wondering if she minded. She smiled and shifted from holding one finger up to two. Nin poured beverages for her, and Mataalii accepted them and headed toward Varlesh.

“Nice plants,” she said. “Elven custom?”

He tilted his head. “I was told it is a human custom to hang mistletoe.”

“Oh, is that what that is? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it.”

“Gondo said it is an important part of your Christmas tradition.”

“Gondo is probably hoping to waylay a female under it for a kiss.”

“I assumed. Is your roommate here?”

“She is.” Mataalii’s eyes crinkled as she looked from his stash to Zavryd’s. “There’s so much of it. Are you going to dangle it over every doorway, including the one for the bathroom?”

“There were multiple species to choose from, and, since we had to trade something valuable to get it, I wanted to make sure to acquire a sufficient quantity.”

“What did you have to trade?”

Varlesh looked at Zavryd. “Dignity,” they said together.

Despite the admission of a trade, when Thorvald walked up, Zavryd began to speak of great battles against wyverns and other dragons to acquire the mistletoe. Varlesh couldn’t bring himself to engage in the falsehood, and he wondered if Zavryd, as a noble dragon law enforcer, would later feel compelled to tell the truth. As it was, Thorvald didn’t look like she believed the tale.

“Regardless of how it was acquired,” Zavryd said, “these are our Christmas gifts to you.”

Thorvald blinked. “Snippets of plants?”

“The goblin informed me that my original gift was not as appropriate as I believed and suggested this quest.”

“Did he?” Thorvald squinted at Gondo, who held up his hands innocently. “What was your original gift, Zav?”

Zavryd smirked and must have replied telepathically, the words for her alone.

Thorvald’s eyebrows went up. “Would you be wearing the beef jerky undergarment or would I?”

Zavryd’s smirk widened.

“I see.” Thorvald gathered the mistletoe from his arms. “This is an appropriate gift. Thank you.”

Gondo patted her arm. “There’s Tinja. We need to hurry. You’re tall, Ruin Bringer. Will you help hang it?”

“Of course.”

Gondo started after her, but then ran back and took the mistletoe from Varlesh’s arms. Maybe he did intend to hang the plant everywhere, even over the lavatory door.

Varlesh might have objected to releasing his hard-won gift, but Mataalii had already seen it and didn’t seem that impressed. She looked longingly at the wrapped boxes under the tree, and Varlesh decided it was good he still had the cheese he’d collected for her. Thorvald and Gondo had led him astray. Cheese was the gift that would please Mataalii. Maybe he would find lumps of coal for Thorvald and Gondo as well as Penina.

Mataalii held one of the mugs in offering. “Do you want some wassail? It’s alcoholic, but there are some carbonated waters in the fridge too.”

Usually, Varlesh did not drink alcohol, as it wasn’t wise for an assassin with enemies to be inebriated, but…

“I might consume that tonight. For fortification.” He smiled when he accepted the mug from her. She was one of very few people in the Cosmic Realms from whom he would accept a drink, knowing without a doubt that it wasn’t poisoned.

“Was going off on a mission with a dragon that bad?” Mataalii asked.

“You have no idea.”

“For future reference, I’m pretty sure they sell that stuff at the nursery two blocks over.” Humor replaced the longing in her eyes. “Maybe even at Walmart.”

“Are you saying I did not need to go on an onerous quest with an uptight, haughty dragon and being ogled by—” Varlesh paused, remembering the tale Zavryd had told.

“Wyverns?” Mataalii asked.

“Yes.”

“Just the clerks at the nursery. They might have ogled you.” She smirked as she sipped from her mug. “Especially if you were wandering around in nothing but a loincloth.”

He squinted at her—and then over at Gondo. He’d known those rural goblins had lines of communication with their urban kin.

“I’m glad you’re a good sport,” Mataalii said.

Varlesh didn’t know that term, but he nodded, certain he got the gist, and brushed his fingers through her hair. “I am. I also am the owner of eight gifts for you to open.” He waved to his backpack. “Unlike the dragon, I did not get anything inappropriate.”

“Eight? I’ve never gotten eight gifts from anyone before.”

“They are all cheeses,” he admitted.

There was no disappointment in her eyes. They beamed with great pleasure. “Wondrous, exotic, and delicious cheeses from other worlds?”

“Of course. Some you’ve tried and enjoyed and some—” Varlesh lowered his lashes to give her a sultry look, “—that are new to you.”

Mataalii grinned, set down her mug, then took his and placed it aside as well so she could wrap her arms around him. Even though they were far from the now-dangling mistletoe, she kissed him with great enthusiasm. Immensely pleased, Varlesh returned the kiss and sent warm tingles of magic through her that he knew she enjoyed as much as cheese.

Varlesh? Mataalii whispered telepathically into his mind.

Yes?

Nobody ever gave my sister eight gifts.

You sound smug.

I’m working on being a better and more mature person, but… maybe I am. A little. She smiled against his mouth before deepening the kiss.

Good.

 

THE END