Three

Kit Alnwick had never seen a dragon. 

Asher Jasken from two towns over claimed that he’d seen three. “They’re big,” he’d told her, shoving his face toward hers. “Bigger than mountains. And their eyes– Alnwick, if you could see their eyes, you’d start screaming.” At the time, she’d scoffed and told him that he was full of shit. But then Emerson had come home from the fields. 

“Torched the whole season’s crop.” Emerson had her hands on the edge of the table, pressed firmly against the wood. “Couldn’t even salvage an ear.” 

Kit shook her head. “Dragons don’t just raze fields for no reason. They’re animals, they keep to themselves–”

“Animals who are bred and trained by people. This wasn’t a wild dragon, Kit. It was a weapon.” 

“Then why burn our fields?” Kit glanced out the window, watching as the pillars of smoke wound their way toward the sky. “It’s just corn.”

Emerson sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. It had come undone from its braid, and now hung in tangled strands over her shoulders. “You know I have to ask.”

“Emme, hang on–”

“What did you say to Foxen Mathis?” 

The ringing of the windchimes fluttered through the room. Emerson turned her head away, eyes on the empty chair beside her. She closed her eyes and waited. 

Kit stood. “Emme, you know I wouldn’t.”

Emerson sighed. “I don’t know what I know anymore. That was our food for the winter, Kit. Whoever burned it wants us starved out. And we both know that Foxen’s family would dance over our graves if someone gave them the chance.” 

“I wouldn’t tell Fox anything.” Kit crossed the room, grabbing Emerson’s shoulder. “And even if I did, he wouldn’t tell his uncle. This is Fox we’re talking about. He’s human sunshine– and he wants to shed the family name.” 

The windchimes rang again, and Emerson shrugged Kit’s hand off. “No Mathis would give up the name. It’s worth too much power. Too much protection. You understand that all it takes is one ill-hearted comment to get back to Leighton, right? Hell, you could say that you think his coat looks worn, and he’d have his dragon claw our eyes out. That’s how they guarantee that they’re untouchable. Nothing slides, not even thoughtless insults.” 

Kit balled her fingers into fists. “I didn’t, Emme. I didn’t say anything. I’m smarter than that, you know I am–”

“I thought I did.” Emerson shoved past Kit, roughly knocking their shoulders against each other. “I’m going to the neighbor’s to see if I can bargain for mercy rations. You are going to pull your head out of your ass and fight back.” 

Kit felt her chest stiffen. “Emme. You can’t be serious–”

“Oh, I’m more than just serious.” Emerson whirled around, her eyes wide with fury. “I was so careful. But you– you fooled around with that Mathis boy like he couldn’t take everything from us with the snap of his fingers. I knew this would happen, I saw what Leighton did to our father. Lucky you, that you were too young to remember. Nineteen years, and I let you stay ignorant. Now you need to step up.”

Kit grit her teeth. “I won’t do it.”

Emerson glared at her, eyes cold. “If you don’t do it, we die.”

Before Kit could retort, Emerson stormed out the door and slammed it with a crack. 

The smell of smoke hung heavy in the house, even though the fields were a few miles out. Kit grabbed a piece of glassware from the cabinet– one of Emerson’s good mugs– and smashed it onto the floor. The pieces went everywhere, scattering across the hardwood. For a second, it felt good. For a moment, Kit stood there in the kitchen, her shoulders shaking. And then she stumbled back against the wall, slid to the floor, and let out a sob. 

She wasn’t sure how long she cried for. She wanted to go to Fox– to tell him how scared she was. She would starve this winter if she didn’t do what Emerson told her to. And if she didn’t starve, Emerson would surely kill her in other ways– cold shoulders, seething glares, nights spent sleeping alone in the attic. Fox would say he understood, as he always did. My uncle is like your sister in a lot of ways, he’d say. They’re both fierce and stubborn. But the difference is that your sister truly loves you. He was right, of course, even if some days Kit doubted it. Emerson was made of steel and nails. Most people needed a hammer to break through to her heart. 

But Kit couldn’t go to Fox. She knew he hadn’t told his uncle anything about her, she was as sure of it as she was of the blood in her veins– but she had no choice anymore. She was her family’s dragon slayer. 

Most children trained from age five to slay dragons. Each family had one. They had no practical purpose anymore– the training was mostly tradition. Before the dragons had migrated to the mountains, the ancestors had trained one child to be the “protector.” It was a great honor to face off with a dragon, but dragons weren’t common near the towns anymore. The only dragon that her town knew was the Mathis’ pet, and few had actually seen the beast. 

Kit stood on shaky legs and pulled her hands through her hair, tying it back behind her head. Emerson didn’t believe in her– fine. She’d prove herself as their father’s daughter. She’d do this one thing, and Emerson would forgive her. Fox didn’t have to know. When he found the family dragon dead the next morning, Kit would tell him that it must have been an assassin. And the Mathis family would never hurt her family again. They’d know what she could do. 

Emerson didn’t return, even when dusk graced the fields. Kit packed a simple bag: water, a rope, and her father’s scythe. He’d been the dragon slayer of his family, and had crafted the blade himself. It was curved at just the right angle to pierce the skin below dragon scales, and the metal was a stronger ore from the mountains that promised not to break. 

Kit slipped out the door just as the darkness fell. She left Emerson a simple note– I’m going to make this right– and set off. Approaching the borders of Fox’s house felt like an intrusion, but Kit shook off her nerves and scaled the wall, fumbling her hands on the bricks and flopping onto the grass on the other side. So maybe she’d slacked off with her training. She would still be fine. 

The grounds were lengthy, running for miles in either direction. Kit kept low and ducked her head behind bushes, but there seemed to be no one awake or wandering at this hour. Lucky, because she wasn’t exactly skilled in stealth. 

Fox had shown her the dragon’s barn once, though she hadn’t been allowed inside. It was a larger building on the left of the house, lined with bricks and stone. Fireproof, Fox had said, in case something spooked the dragon. Leighton hadn’t named the creature, but Fox referred to it as Three. Kit had never asked why. 

The barn doors were locked, so she needed to get to the smoke hatch. The climb was a humbling one. She was out of breath and only a third of the way up the building, and when she reached the smoke hatch, she shoved herself through in one clumsy push. 

Her hair came undone from its bun, falling in front of her face as she toppled down onto the floor. She sat up, smarting, and curled her fingers around fresh hay. She’d fallen onto a loft of hay bales, a rake leaning against the far wall, the faint scent of blood mingling in the air. She fumbled around, hands meeting something soft and wet. 

Kit felt her heart stutter and she jerked away, clasping a hand over her mouth to stifle a yelp. Beside her, a sheep’s corpse lay on the loft, the wool painted with crimson. The dragon’s unfinished meal. 

That meant it wasn’t hungry, which was good, because Kit did not want to get her face bitten off anytime soon. But that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t roast her alive, or claw out her heart, or– No matter dreaming up ways in which she could die. She had a job to do, and she had to be out of the barn by daybreak. 

She sat there for a moment, silent. She calmed her breaths until they were barely audible. And she waited. One moment, then two, and then. . . There. A dragon snore echoed through the barn, shaking the legs of the loft. It was louder than thunder, and it echoed, as if it was coming from different sides of the walls. 

Kit bit back the nausea rising in her throat. She’d never killed a dragon. She’d never been close to a dragon. She’d never laid eyes on a dragon. What was she doing here? Did she think that her fancy scythe would solve the problem for her? It was still her hand that had to administer the killing blow. 

No use worrying now. She crept across the loft to find a way down. As she descended the ladder, she could see it. The scales were as large as her head, and shone silver in the moonlight that streamed through the open smoke hatch. A long, winding tail was curled around one of the legs of the loft, the diamond end flicking in sleep. It was smaller than the dragons in Asher Jasken’s story, but that somehow made it worse. It had enough space to move quickly and snap her bones in two. 

Kit placed one foot on the ground and held her breath. Each step was a risk of waking the thing. She rounded the dragon, watching as its body rose and fell with every breath. Its claws were sharper than most swords. Did Leighton carve them himself? She couldn’t imagine the man kneeling beside this creature, delicately slicing the claws into points. Leighton was cold and ruthless, the kind of man who ran business well. Dragons were tools to him and nothing more. 

Kit finally reached the head, staring up at the dragon’s closed eyes. The snoring was loud enough to drown out her heartbeat, which was fluttering panickedly against her ribs. She leaned forward, inspecting the neck for shifted scales, and froze. 

There was another neck behind the one she was staring at. And another behind that one. 

Three. She’d never asked, but she should’ve. No wonder the dragon had such a peculiar name. It had three separate heads.

“Kit?” 

Goosebumps crawled over Kit’s skin, and she turned slowly, eyes as wide as a spooked animal’s. Fox stood in the corner of the barn, wearing an apron splattered with blood. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Kit blurted, immediately throwing her hands up. “I’m just– I was just curious, you know, because I’ve never seen a dragon before, and this one was right here, and– I mean, it has three heads! That’s incredible! I’ll– I’ll leave now, I promise–”

Fox’s eyes fell to her sack. The blade of the scythe was sticking out– it must have slipped half way out when she’d fallen onto the loft. “You’re going to kill him.”

“No,” Kit said. “No, you know me, I wouldn’t–” She saw his face fall, and wilted. “Fox– damnit, Fox, you know how Emerson is. I don’t have any other choice.” 

He squared his shoulders. His eyes were glued to the scythe. “Kit, you’re not going to do it. You can’t.”

She stared at him. “I have to. Are you going to stop me?”

He slowly pried his eyes away to meet hers. “No. I won’t have to.” 

She took an unsteady breath. “I’m sorry, Fox. I’ll make it quick. It wouldn’t have to happen if your uncle hadn’t–”

“My uncle didn’t burn your crop.” Fox inched toward her, wiping a hand off on his apron. The blood was fresh and mushed with wool. “Three did that himself. He got loose. My uncle said it was better that I not tell you– that you would find us weak if we lost control of our dragon. But you need to know. It was nothing but a freak accident.” 

Kit stilled. “That’s what I told Emerson. She didn’t believe me, but I knew. I knew you wouldn’t say something to your uncle.” 

“So you understand that you can’t kill Three. This wasn’t a statement. My uncle won’t hurt you again.” 

Silence fell. Kit bit her lip. “Emerson won’t believe that. If I don’t act, she will.”

“Kit, Three’s just a dragon– he can’t help what he does–”

“I’m sorry, Fox. This is the only way I know how to fix this.” 

Fox lurched forward, but he didn’t grab Kit’s scythe. He intertwined their hands, slicking her fingers with sheep blood. “Remember when you turned ten?”

Kit blinked at him, the blood hot against her skin. “What?”

“When you turned ten,” he repeated, “and you caught your first fish.” 

Tentatively, Kit nodded. “Emerson told me to skin it.”

Fox mirrored her nod. “But you didn’t. You let it go, back into the water. Emerson slapped you over the cheek for it, but that– that was the reason I knew I could trust you. My uncle and his men, they never showed mercy. But you. . . you had no reason to let that fish go, and you let it go anyway.”

Kit stared at him, tightening her grip. 

He smiled, slow and bright. “You taught me how to be good.” 

She felt the threat of tears pushing against the back of her throat. “I’m not good anymore, Fox.”

He shook his head. “You are. Show me that you are.”

Fox twisted his hand around and pulled out her scythe, but he didn’t throw it aside. Instead, he folded it into her palm, eyes flashing in the moonlight. He was tall, like his uncle, but he had softer eyes. The kind that a deer had. 

Kit took the blade, her fingers shaking. She turned toward Three, watching as the dragon slumbered on, his breath filling the air with the scent of smoke. 

It would be so quick to kill him. Three identical cuts under the scales, deep enough to hit the windpipe. If she was fast enough, he wouldn’t even know. It would be painless. Peaceful. Emerson would be proud. 

She stepped toward the dragon. He was bound by strong ropes, braided by weavers in the north. Kit sighed and closed her eyes, positioning her blade at just the right angle. 

And she sliced through the threads. 

Three jerked awake, suddenly aware of the weight lifting from his feet. He shook out a claw, eyelids flying open to reveal veiny blue eyes, the pupils black slits of absolute night. 

Asher Jasken was wrong. Kit didn’t scream. 

She nudged him on the leg, trying to stifle the voices in her head that were screaming at her to stop. “You’re free. Fly far away from here, and never come back.”

He peered at her, head cocking slightly. He was going to eat her. This was what she got for kindness– devoured by a dragon in front of her closest friend. But Three slowly rose to his feet instead, stretching out his tail. He spread his wings, so wide they touched the walls of the barn, and turned his head toward the door. 

“Right,” Fox said, racing forward to unlock it. “You need an exit.”

Once the doors were opened, Three snorted happily and strode out into the night air. He looked back at them for a moment, and Kit could’ve sworn he lowered his head as if to say Thank you. And then, as if taking a breath, he took off into the sky. 

They watched him until he was a pale dot against the horizon. Kit fiddled with her scythe. “How do I know he’s not going to torch another field?”

“Because you were kind to him. You freed him. He understands that.” Fox glanced back at the barn. “His keepers– my uncle, mostly– whip him and scorn him. When he escaped the last time, it was with a vengeance. But he’s not angry, not after you set him wild again.” 

Kit grinned. “He’s that smart?”

Fox shrugged. “He’s a dragon. There’s a reason they’re so hard to kill. And it’s not just the fire breath.” 

“Maybe for you. I trained for this.” Kit let her words run dry, staring up at the stars above. “Emerson will never forgive me.”

Fox grabbed Kit’s hand. “She doesn’t have to know he survived. You can tell her you killed him. I’ll tell my uncle I woke up and he’d escaped– chewed his way through the ropes. The secret is safe as long as we keep our mouths shut.”

She turned to him. “You’d lie to Emerson and your uncle for me?”

He grinned. “In all fairness, I’d probably do anything for you when you’re holding a scythe like that.” 

Kit laughed and grabbed Fox by the straps of his apron, pushing him into the grass outside the barn. They fell together, giggling, and she brandished the knife over his face. “Aha, I’ve caught a Mathis! What shall I do with him?”

“Please, have pity!” Fox whined dramatically, throwing a hand over his forehead. “My uncle will disown me if you scar my pretty face!” 

“Don’t worry, nothing could ruin your pretty face.” Kit flopped down next to him, pointing up at the stars. “Where do you think Three went?”

He tsked. “The mountains, probably. Or a cave, somewhere. Any place far.”

Kit sighed. “Do you think we’ll get to go someplace far someday?”

“Yeah,” Fox said through a smile, eyes glittering under the stars. “Yeah, I do.”