Rare Form: Descended of Dragons, Book 1 by Jen Crane

tell?”
    “A sad story. And a true one. A long time ago, a ruthless sorcerer desired more power, more land…he wanted to rule Thayer and to harness the power of its people. ’Twas widely known then, as it is now, that the gnomes and fairies hold the keys to nature, to crops and harvests, and even to the seasons. The sorcerer believed if he controlled Thayer’s flora and climate he could starve out our people, our rulers, and overtake our lands. He viciously attacked the gnomes and fairies. He ferreted out all he could find using dragons to set fire to the forests and fields they called home. He killed so many…so many.”
    Knox paused as if it was a struggle to continue the story. He still looked in my direction, but he no longer saw me. His eyes had become shiny, distant. I began to fidget, and nervously cleared my throat. He blinked, looked at me as if he’d forgotten I was there, and smiled once more. The sad little moment was over.
    “The sorcerer’s plan failed in the end,” he went on, “despite slaughtering the majority of the Gnome and Fae people, he never obtained the power to influence nature.”
    “No?” I asked dreamily.
    I was engrossed in his story. He had a particularly brilliant ability to make a connection, one I felt keenly. He was probably a very popular bartender.
    “No,” he said. “You see, in his arrogance, what the wizard didn’t understand is that the wee people never controlled the seasons or our plant life. They’re merely stewards. They possessed the magic to tend the lands, and were honored to do so. But when their numbers fell so tragically the magic fell to Thayer itself, whose citizens took up the task.”
    As he told the story, he’d made his way to stand across the bar from me, and leaned across the wood to rub his thumb up and down my arm. He circled the underside of my wrist with each down stroke light as a feather. I’d become so absorbed in the story and was so intently studying the etchings in the wood that I hadn’t even realized he was doing it. I pulled my hand away, scowling, not sure if I was upset at myself for becoming so easily bespelled or at him for touching me so intimately when we were so not intimate.
    My rebuff didn’t seem to faze him, because he only backed away and picked up a dishtowel to dry a pint glass, continuing his story without a hitch.
    “Over time, the Gnome and Fae who survived repopulated and eventually the magic of harvest, and of nature itself, returned to its rightful stewards.”
    “What a tragic story,” I breathed. “But such a beautiful ending.”
    I thought of the small man Gresham had brought to the coffee shop as proof of Thayer’s existence and supernatural nature. I wanted to know the gnome better. And I wanted to meet a fairy. I had so much to learn.
    “I’m sorry,” I said as an afterthought. “What’s a Fae?”
    He looked at me as if I’d sprouted ears of my own and turned his head from side to side as he tried to figure me out.
    “You are new here, aren’tcha Ginger?”
    “Ha. Yes, quite,” I evaded. “Tell me, what happened to the dragons?”
    “All gone. The people of Thayer went to war in retribution for the stewards’ massacre. Not a dragon’s been seen since then. We got them all.”
    “And the sorcerer?”
    “He lives. None know where. Many suspect he waits in hiding, in anticipation of the day he once again tries to overtake Thayer. But dinna fash, Ginger, we’ll be ready for him this time. And he’s got no dragons.”
    “My name is Stella,” I said with force. “And you can’t tell me that a sorcerer who lived centuries ago is still alive somewhere. People don’t live that long.”
    “Aye, they do. Just ask your bodyguard here. Why, he’s been a—”
    “Thank you, Knox, for that fascinating account of our tragic history,” growled Gresham, who until then had been markedly absent from our conversation. I hadn’t noticed his absence, but at that point he crossed the room to