Title: Havesskadi
Series: Dragon Souls, Book One
Author: Ava Kelly
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: February 24, 2020
Heat Level: 1 - No Sex
Pairing: No Romance
Length: 52900
Genre: Paranormal Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, fantasy, paranormal, dragons, mythical creatures, magic, shifters, sentient castles, asexual, slow burn, #ownvoices
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Synopsis
The red dragon is hunting her own. Up in the icy peaks of the northern mountains, Orsie Havesskadi spends his days hiding from her, but eventually he is found and his dragon magic stolen. Cursed to wander the lands as a mortal unless he recovers his magic before twenty-four rising crescents have passed, Orsie embarks on an arduous journey. Spurred by the whispers in his mind, his quest takes him to a castle hidden deep in a forest.Arkeva Flitz, a skilled garrison archer, discovers an abandoned castle in the woods. Trapped there, he spends his days with his two companions, one cruel, the other soothing. One day, a young man arrives at his gates, and soon they are confined by heavy snowfalls and in danger from what slumbers in the shadows of the castle.
Excerpt
Havesskadi
Ava Kelly © 2020
All Rights Reserved
Full of rich autumn colors, the market
square bustles with life, hooves, and shouts and clatter. In the middle near
the fountain, an old man stands on a crate waving his cap at the gathering
crowd. Orsie hides his face further behind his long hair, with only half a mind
to listen to this unexpected storyteller. His voice is loud over the midmorning
racket, though, drawing Orsie’s attention.
“Hear me, hear me! In an age long ago,
far beyond the Quiet Lands, there lived a dragon. He wasn’t a mighty dragon—”
Laughter fills the square and covers the
voices of the merchants for a while. Orsie frowns, eying the derision that
sweeps over many of the onlookers. It’s unpleasant. Orsie remembers from past
visits that it’s a rare occurrence for the village to be this animated, but he
doesn’t recall its inhabitants being so malcontent. Haumir, sitting at the foot
of the Ahrissals’ highest peak, is isolated for most of the year. No trade
roads pass through, even though they used to back when the Seaborn were
friendlier. Perhaps that’s the reason. Their lives aren’t easy this far up
north, but it’s not something Orsie can change. Not really.
“—or a mean dragon—”
Someone hoots and Orsie stifles a
grimace. So much for storytelling. He turns his attention back to the row of
tables displaying his favorite autumn fruit. Apples, red and yellow and
sometimes green, brought north by the caravans that begin their journeys in the
hills of Uvalhort. They carry the excess of the plentiful orchards there, sure
to be sold quickly in this barren land. Overpriced, too, by the look of it.
Orsie only has a few amethyst shards with him, more than enough to pay for his
indulgence, but not too polished and not too pure. He wouldn’t want to raise
suspicion.
“—but he liked the frost and the cold
bite of the highest mountaintops!”
Orsie shrugs as he sniffs at an apple.
Some dragons do like the snow. He spares a glance at the storyteller. His hat
now sits on the ground before him collecting donations, ineffectively. Orsie
sighs. Dragons aren’t very loved in these ages.
“And his name was Havesskadi, the shadow
of the icy peaks. He has graced our village from his home above the clouds,”
the old man continues, arms raised to point at the mountain standing tall to
the north.
“There’s no dragon up there, you old
fool,” someone shouts, “or we’d be rich!”
The old man waves a hand, annoyed.
“Havesskadi lives, you’ll see. He’ll fly down from his castle and shower us
with gems.”
“Dragons don’t care about us,” the other
yells back.
“There’s a reason for that,” the old man
says. “We hunted them and they hid.”
“Don’t remember no hunting,” someone
else says, but Orsie stops listening.
Shaking his head, he slips out of the
square. He can shop for apples later, after the ruckus has died down. Instead,
he makes his way through the narrow streets, dropping some of the smaller
amethyst shards on doorsteps or windowsills. Not enough to make the dwellers
rich, but just what they’d need to push through winter. The cold season comes
early, here, the icy winds of October around the corner, and Orsie can’t help
himself. He’s been observing the villagers for the past few days, lodging at
the inn; now he knows just where to plant these lucky finds.
Of course, Orsie could do more. Bring
them better gems, shinier, brighter. He could, if he wanted, keep them clothed
and fed for lifetimes, but as the past showed, it’s never a good idea. If he
gives too much, avarice takes root in people’s hearts, settling deep enough to
darken even the kinder souls. Others, both younger and older than himself, have
made this mistake before with dire consequences, and Orsie doesn’t need crowds
gathering at his gates for undeserving charity.
He’s finishing his meandering and
rounding back to the square when he sees the old man from before. The
storyteller is sitting at the edge of a narrow street outside the hustle and
hurry, surrounded by children.
“A gem,” the old man says, gesturing
widely, “carved from the essence of magic, was given to the very first dragon
at the beginning of time for safekeeping.”
The children let out an “ah” in unison,
and the old man’s smile grows. He’s enjoying his story, it seems, and Orsie
leans against a wall, poised to listen.
“After the dragon passed away, the gem
divided among his sons and daughters, on and on, until each dragon held a small
one right underneath their ribs, tied to them by the force of their heartbeats.
Legends grew and spread, and the gems became known as anasketts. Do you know
what that means? It’s dragonsoul in the old language of the north.”
A collective blink follows the reveal,
the kids mesmerized.
“But the kings of other creatures hunted
them!” the old man adds, causing various degrees of frowning.
“Why?” a little girl asks.
“Because, you see, the anasketts have
such magic that they carry inside them the longevity of their dragon owners, their
big castles, and all their treasures— unending flows of precious stones
harvested through hundreds of centuries from the very core of time.”
“Davbak, what’s longevity?” A boy elbows
another while the old man chuckles.
“It means dragons have long, long
lives.”
“Like you?”
“Longer!”
One of the bickering boys speaks up
then, arms crossed. “King Ag never hunted a dragon.”
“No,” Davbak tells him, “but his
great-grandfather did. It’s why our lands are left barren. See, many many years
ago, King Ag the Fourth stole a dragonsoul. He lived for centuries before Red
Mist, the dragon warrior, came and took back what belonged to her kin.”
“The anaskett?”
“Yes, indeed. Red Mist,” Davbak
continues, lifting both hands in a semblance of claws, “came and laid waste to
the land, cursing it to be forever arid.”
“Would you cut it with that drivel,” a
woman scolds Davbak before she grabs two of the kids by their elbows.
She shoos the other children to their
homes and leaves with her own, but not without glaring as much as possible at
Davbak. Orsie finally moves toward the square, slipping a small piece of onyx
in the old man’s pocket as he goes. At least someone is trying to remember the
dragons.
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Meet the Author
Ava Kelly is an engineer with a deep passion for stories. Whether reading, watching, or writing them, Ava has always been surrounded by tales of all genres. Their goal is to bring more stories to life, especially those of friendship and compassion, those dedicated to trope subversion, those that give the void a voice, and those that spawn worlds of their own.Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Tumblr
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