If Grel hated Spice Rack City, and he did, he hated Chilltopia even more. Hate wasn't even a strong enough word for what he was feeling. Leave it to a human to bring him to a winter wasteland. His human disguise did not have a human circulatory system, and he was freezing to actual death. When he had left Diamantaire he knew that the rest of Salt was not going to be as warm. The Kingdom was a tropical paradise hidden away under the protective mantle of the Smoulderbone.
On top of it all he was tired, hungry, and angry. Angry to have been disrespected so many times, on the train and again here by a trio of buffoons. Furious that Maple couldn't see it his way, and that he couldn't explain why it was so important. Honor clearly meant nothing to her.
He still burned with righteous fury when they entered the swanky ski lodge. He had practically run to the blazing fireplace. Night was beginning to settle over the land, a purpley dusk twinkling outside the great windows of the lodge. A mountain loomed up through the window, reaching out to the rising yellow moons in the dark sky.
Maple sat on the bricks that made up the fireplace, her head in her hands and her face disgustingly sad. Why did humans have to be so expressive? Couldn't they just keep it to themselves, like a dignified being? At least Chilltopia was not full of just humans, even if there were still too many around. He could see creatures of many bloodlines and heritages.
A young, giggling couple came in from the cold to sit by the fire as well. Grel watched them from the corner of his eye, already nauseated. They were all tangled together, hanging on each other and exchanging murmured words. It made him uncomfortable. Such public displays of affection were not common in Diamantaire. Between Maple, these two, and the rest of the day he felt about just ready to burst, or puke.
"Alright, I'm going to get us a room, then we'll get dinner," he said to Maple when he felt warm enough to move around again. She looked up at him, over her round glasses. Her dark pink eyes were almost pretty, but the forlorn expression was not becoming. She did not say anything, but put her head back into her hands, elbows resting atop her knees.
Whatever, at least she was being quiet for once.
In no time at all he had arranged a suite for them, one of the best they had to offer. He had slapped a bag of gold and jewels on the counter, and been taken care of in record time. He would have been disappointed in anything less and was glad that last he was receiving treatment befitting of his station. Maple still wouldn't speak with him as she gave the bellboy her luggage, though she kept LOVELOCK with her. That was fine by him.
The lodge had a built-in restaurant, Koby Teith's 'I Really Enjoy This Tavern&Inn!', and Grel was certain that she would be back up to incessant talking like before with a little food in her gut. At the very least he was sure he would be lectured, but all she did was mope. Moping was the worst outcome, he discovered.
She looked truly pathetic at their dinner table. He also knew, to an incredibly small and minor, so infinitesimally small that he should just ignore it, degree that he was to blame.
"Hey, uh, get whatever you want, ok? My treat." He tried to sound casual, like he didn't really care. Royal Indifference, as Dad would say.
She flicked her glance up to him. "Thanks."
"You know, just because we have to, like, stop a curse or whatever doesn't mean we can't have fun."
"I'm not having fun, Grel. I'm stuck here when we should be halfway across Salt by now."
"Oh come on, Archivist! take a look at the menu, there's got to be something you want. Something you can't get in your dumb city. Did you know they have hot tubs here? Comes with the room."
"You think I really want to gallivant around in a bikini while my family is getting ever closer to never turning back to normal?"
"That's not- ugh!" He drug his hands down his face, feeling the squish of his human cheeks, and tried not to picture her in a bikini. "Why do you make everything so impossible? I thought we were trying to work together."
"You threw out the last of my goodwill for you when you chose your pride over doing what's right." She huffed, crossing her leg over the other, and turning her attention away from him spitefully. "I'm just stuck with you until you win the ruddy ski contest."
"By the way-"
"I will not teach you how to ski, Grel, for the millionth time. How many times do I have to tell you I don't know how ski either?"
"Ok, not what I was going to say. Rude."
Maple sighed, heavily. "Sorry. What were you going to say?"
"I was going to ask if those two over there look familiar to you too?"
She twisted around in her seat to see Ivy and Lettuce entering the restaurant. Maple whipped back around, pulling the menu up to hide her face. She saw who he was pointing at: Ivy and Lettuce.
"Oh no, not them again. Let's just try to keep a low profile and-"
But Grel was already standing up and waving them over. If she wasn't going to play by their new nice rules, neither was he.
"What are you doing?!" She hissed.
"You said that stoner guy was famous? Which, by the way is nuts to me and I don't believe you, but if he is then maybe he could tell us the best way to get where we're going quick."
"Why in the world would you think he would know that?"
"He's used to traveling long distances in short times? I don't know, look here they come. Lets see how pissed off I can make Ivy this time." So that was the real reason.
"No, Grel, don't-" but before she could finish, Lettuce and an already pissed off looking Ivy were standing beside their table.
"I knew it, you're following us," accused Ivy, her voice low and dangerous. "See, Lettuce I told you not to trust them. Bad vibes."
"How do I know you're not following me first?" Asked Grel with a little smirk. "I think we were here first. Anyway, listen, my associate here and I have to get to the ocean to pick up some supplies for the Statue Contest. We are in need of advice from experienced travelers."
Ivy stared daggers it him. "Then send a letter to a travel agency. Afterwards give me the address, because I'd like to figure out how to stay far, far away from you two deviants."
"Ive, come on," said Lettuce, making an effort to pull her back. The satyr seemed chill, but that was probably whatever he was smoking. "I'm starving. This place serves breakfast all day, and I'd would kill for some pancakes."
"I'd kill for a lot less." Ivy made pointed eye contact with Grel, then swept away with a huff and a snap of her cloak.
"You know, Maple," mused Grel. "I'm starting to think about ditching the human suit. I would get the respect I deserve if I did."
"I think it doesn't matter what you look like if you act the same way." She sighed into her comically large mug of hot chocolate. Humans were so revolting they had even found a way to drink the stuff. "At least I'll get to say I've been to a Lettuce concert after tomorrow. Clarry would kill me if she knew. Lettuce is her favorite musician."
"Tomorrow? Don't tell me little miss cloak-and-dagger is going to be there too."
"Probably. She's his bodyguard. Haven't you seen the signs up all over the place for his show? He is playing for the contest tomorrow. Turns out you are not just competing with the… the uh…"
"Idiot trio?"
Air puffed from her nose in a laugh, that made her splash drops of hot cocoa onto her sweater. She groaned when the napkin did little to help. "Idiot trio is a fitting name. If you called it the idiot square you could throw yourself in there. I'm sure they have room for one more hot head."
He had to stop himself from saying, "you think I'm hot headed? You haven't met the royal family." Humans being unaware of modern dragon society was a blessing and a curse. Maple seemed to think the kingdom was still stuck a few centuries back, before the drought. He didn't need to drop too much sensitive information on her, especially when he was still planning on ditching her once they were out of the frozen hellscape.
Until then, at least she wasn't giving him the silent treatment anymore.
"So, uh, just out of curiosity… how many people do you think will be in this contest? Not that I'm worried. I've won lots of contests." That was not technically true. In reality his father had usually arranged behind the scenes for him to be declared the winner. The King would drop dead before his only offspring was a loser. Maple, however, didn't need to know that either.
"How should I know? I would imagine a majority of those that are staying here are competing."
"Cool, cool, cool. Sick. I love that. Hey listen, why don't you finish your dinner unbothered by me. I think that I'm going to… work out. You know, get ready for tomorrow?"
Maple raised one of her pink eyebrows and looked at him incredulously over her mug. She didn't speak for a few moments, just regarding him, and he wondered if she could see through the lie. Finally she shrugged.
"You will need all the help you can get, I suppose."
Grel made his escape, leaving Maple alone to stew in the dining hall, probably about how much she hated him despite his rugged good looks. He was, of course, not going to work out. That was a chump's bet, he had something much more powerful in mind. He just needed to get the plan in motion.
The following day had some of the most dazzling daylight Grel had ever seen, yet somehow it was even colder than the day before. Still, last night had been successful and he was feeling confident about the contest. He had swiped his own colorful jumpsuit, which proved to be wonderfully warm, from a drunk skier who hadn't paid enough attention. In fact he had swiped all of his gear down to the skis, making sure to collect from multiple people, and leaving payment behind.
It was a hodgepodge mix of gear, and he was only half sure he had everything he needed. The goggles squeezed his head, the gloves were itchy against his human hands, and the ski boots crushed his legs. Maple had sighed that deep, exhausted sigh he was growing to detest when she saw him, throwing down LOVELOCK to adjust and fix things he had put on wrong.
Part of his preparation included what some, but not he, would call spying. He had listened to a group of children being instructed and had learned enough. He had also tried to listen in on as many conversations as he could while pilfering. This activity had revealed mostly gossip, some of which he had shared with Maple. Even little miss goody two shoes couldn't resist hot goss it turned out.
The contest was much bigger than he expected, and he was delighted to learn that there were prizes to earn. First place was an all expenses paid trip for one to the tropical port city of Portỹa Colada. It just so happened to be the city nearest to the Smoulderbone, about a day's travel on foot.
All he had to do was win, easy peasy lemon squeazy.
Well, that and snatch the book away from Maple and ditch her in this winter wastehole.
He deeply resented her for being able to clock that he was a wimp. He knew he couldn't bring himself to kill her, or even hurt her. He didn't think he could actually do that to anyone. Father deeply resented that too, he was sure. Even more so now that she was a witness and a liability. He had been flustered, caught off guard, back in the dusty old library. There had been no way to know what ramifications he would have to deal with.
He would just take the book when she wasn't looking, maybe when she was asleep. If she told anyone, who would believe her? Who could she tell anyway? The frozen folks of Spice Rack City would make a nice audience.
He definitely didn't feel any guilt about all that either. Nope, not even a little bit. A real dragon wouldn't have any guilt about condemning a whole town to staying little more than a statue garden. So, for sure, neither did he.
It didn't take long for all of the other skiers to join him in the starting area. He searched for the Idiot Trio, but among the quickly growing crowd, he couldn't identify anyone. Whatever, he'd just rub his win in their faces later.
The contraption called a ski lift confounded him. It was like an alchemist's wet dream, all rolling beams and powered by a team of jacked centaurs. Grel fell flat on his rear end on his first attempt, which garnered an infuriating round of laughter at his expense from some of the other competitors. He watched with burning envy as they easily flopped onto the swaying nightmare. Whether it was luck or furious indignation, his second attempt landed him onto the seat.
The ground grew further and further away from his feet, the skis stuck to them dangling awkwardly. It wasn't long before he was as high as the towering pines and climbing higher up the side of the mountain. He could see the lodge from his vantage, and the stage with a massive audience. Maple was probably somewhere in that crowd, bopping along to whatever music Lettuce was cranking out. If there was time after he won the contest, he would need to see just what kind of music that guy made.
Moonstone was right about one thing: any race that wasn't a dragon were idiots.
The Royal Advisor nor King Carnelian would be in this position, and if the King knew his son was then he would certainly be unimpressed. Although, he was usually unimpressed with Grel. He had been since Grel was born, small and without wings. He wasn't the only dragon born that way, but he was the first in the royal line to have been born with the condition.
There were lots of names for what he had, and most of them were insults, but the dragon citizenry had come to call it Short Scales. It was an affliction in the Lapidary Kingdom, and it seemed to be affecting more and more hatchlings. The old heads of the Kingdom, the real dragons with their enormous bodies, fire breath, ability to fly, and higher capacity for magic were at a loss for the problem. Short Scales didn't exist in dragon antiquity, but now they threatened the future of the dragon race.
Sometimes Grel wondered if his father blamed him for the Short Scales epidemic. Like he was a bad omen, even from birth.
He just needed to get Ruby stupid book back, and that would show everyone. No dragon, not even the baddest, biggest one had been able to retrieve this book. None of them even believed it existed. He hadn't been able to read it, but he knew it held the key to the magic crisis in the Kingdom.
There was a drought in Salt, but not for the dragons. They had an abundance of magic, it was just near impossible to use it. LOVELOCK held long forgotten secrets about controlling magic, written by a powerful dragon mage.
If the magic could be controlled again, then Short Scales could be reversed. Then he wouldn't have to get married.
It probably would have been a good idea to read some of the letters in LOVELOCK before attempting his plan today, but desperate times called for desperate measures and it wasn't like Maple was going to help him.
His dismount at the top of the mountain was less than graceful. He fell flat in the snow, the skis on his feet hooking into the white powder and making it difficult to dislodge. When he finally managed to wriggle out from the snow, he pushed himself unsteadily to where the other skiers waited to descend the slope. There was no chatter now, only silent preparation. In no time at all the ranks were full.
When the gunshot rang out, signaling the beginning of the race, Grel was so startled that he almost fell again. He regained his balance and took off sliding, unsteady but thrillingly fast, down the hill.
Though the ski lift was a mechanical monstrosity, the actual act of skiing was almost enjoyable. He kept his skies firmly in the fried potato position, with the meat and cheese triangle position ready for when it was time to slow down. To his surprise and delight, he was flying down the mountain. Maybe his extra dragon weight gave him an edge. Still, he was far from being in the lead.
That would change shortly.
He found a cropse of trees and managed to guide his skies in that direction. Stopping was a matter of slamming into said trees at full speed, the tasty triangle had down very little to slow him down. Heavy snow dislodged from the impact, falling onto him and knocking him down.
He stood and cleared the snow off, practicing some of his favorite swears as he did so. In truth, he needed a fat pile of snow like this, it just didn't have to go down his boots and jacket. His scales ached from the cold.
His bag was tucked safely away on his bed in the inn, but a few items had been stored in the many pockets of his snowsuit. He removed a small round glass from one of them and admired the swirling gray with occasional flickers of color sparking within. It was a sort of magic bomb, containing pure magical essence frozen by alchemists. It was unstable, but powerful.
"Please work," he said and kissed the sphere for good luck before hucking it into the snow and backing up as best he could.
In a matter of moments the snow began to bubble up and boil, almost like magma. The pile began to double in size rapidly, then again, and again until it towered over him and the trees. A crude face started to form in the mass, features made from rocks and sticks, and it frowned open mouthed down at Grel.
"Yes!" Cried Grel. "Yes it's working!" The snow golem made a rumbling noise, not unlike an avalanche, and made to reach for Grel. He moved out of the way and called up it. "Ah, ah, ah. Let's be gentle, buddy."
The monster snowman, however, did not follow this order. An obvious glare was building on its face, branches forming angry eyebrows. A massive snow hand landed down hard beside Grel, sending up a cloud of snow that made him loose his balance. The creature let out another rumble.
"Hey! Stop that!" Again the creature ignored him, and slammed both hands down in closed fists and nearly hit him. Grel only barely managed to avoid the strike. "I might have made a slight miscalculation."
This endeavor had quickly changed from easy peasy lemon squeazy, to difficult difficult lemon difficult.