1.1

It was Jewel’s hatching day.

The third day after the dawn of a new year.

She was now fourteen winters aged, and she would be married to her betrothed in two more years and some seasons.

As was the proper duty of a Lady, a daughter, a Baroness and an heir to her father’s liege.

Jewel shifted herself and pumped wyrmflame through her coils so that she could mostly hang over the tub while soaking the membrane and fingers of her left wing in soothing hot water.

At least her growth had finally begun to slow.

Not stall entirely, but she was considerably slower to gain notable differences in the length of her coils from snout to tail, or the extent of her wings, arms or legs between them.

Jewel slowly pulled her left wing from the water, flexing her wyrmflame through the air to push the clinging droplets from her scales and the furled expanses of skin. Rolling over to her right side to give her other wing a soothing soak in the hot water and lavender oils.

For the last few years her growth that had once been measured in feet per year had begun to slow, inch by inch.

According to her friend and attendant Wizard Tsulogothulan, her growth had likely been slowing since she hatched, but the initial rate was so vast as to have carried her to the present length of nearly thirty feet.

She gently pulled her right wing free, pushing the water off it as she had the left. Then twisting in mid air to present her belly before letting her flame drain from the hovering mass. Sinking luxuriantly into the still steaming water, letting it sooth her for the special day.

Her poor bath-tub no longer properly fit. Simply attempting to submerge all of herself at once would force the vessel to empty entirely, even without the risk of splitting its iron banding.

It had been over a year since Jewel had been able to do more than soak a portion of her length in the hot cleansing waters at any given moment.

She shifted slowly and luxuriantly down her coils from her wing shoulders. Sliding up in a hump with the aid of wyrmflame and the bracing of her fore and hind legs. Dragging the water in rivulets from her scales so she did not spill so much as a drop for her bathman (and Father’s batman) Jorge to have to clean up.

It was a chore to only be able to soak so little at a time but still Jewel refused to have a larger bathtub made of wood.

For one though her growth had slowed it was far from anything close to finished.

For two wood that did not buckle if she pressed overly hard on it did not come cheaply.

And furthermore the sheer cost in firewood to bring it to boil felt wasteful even with just the portion she did use.

Jewel had taken to only having a bath when it was assured there was use for the hot water that would also serve others instead of partaking every evening as she once did.

The existence of that demand was in fact quite common it turned out! Especially after Jewel had opened the opportunity up to the village. Mother and Father had been somewhat scandalized by the offer of hot baths or washing water to the commoners.

But today was Jewel’s hatching day. So she’d have indulged herself as a special treat even without the assurance that others could benefit.

She missed being able to totally submerge and rest until the water lost all vitality to breath (simply submerging her face and neck was not enough).

But sliding her coils through her tub of lavender oiled water and rinsing her mane with her favorite copper pail was still a very soothing exercise.

Jewel’s tail sang in relief as she finally got her hips free and dry, most of her free of the tub now as she coiled the third of her length that was tail in the steaming water.

It was a good day and a good winter so far.

No one but three of the eldest and two just born infants had perished in Rochford village.

No one had wanted for firewood or warmth this year.

There had not been any wars or calls to arms for Jewel from the Countess or the King since the unpleasantness of Jewel’s tenth year.

And her Brother was finally deemed ready to be among those presented to a Gryphon clutch come Harrow Season!

Jewel deftly swept her tail free of the bath before finally turning around on herself to start submerging her face, neck, forelegs and up to just before her wing shoulders in hot lavender water.

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Alexander, as had become tradition, chose the activity for the morning on Jewel’s hatching day, and since Mother was feeling a bit ill from her pregnancy they had foregone anything strenuous.

Well, less strenuous for their Mother.

Alexander had asked for a proper duel with his Sister and Jewel being the dotting younger sibling (if certainly not smaller, only father dared jest as such now) obliged him.

It had been a playful bout and not at all a challenge for Jewel, She could arrange her coils to put all of the Rochford courtyard in reach of at least a wing, claw, tail or jaws.

But for the sport of it Jewel kept to the old melee rules that kept her grounded and did not entirely overwhelm her brother.

She didn't coddle him of course.

Alexander was to be a martial lord and a Gryphon Rider. Just as Jewel was a martial lady and the so ranked Shining Wyrm of Viznove.

Jewel spat harmless flares of wyrmfire at range. She punished every over-extension, she did not let any of her all encompassing senses be lax in a duel with her brother.

But every death blow was done as a light tap which tumbled and bruised him rather than shattered his bones. And he made a good showing of it against her.

Landing four blows that properly hurt Jewel and stung even now at the end of the day.

Which was a better showing then most knights against her.

Even Father generally only landed a dozen of such. Even with live steel.

That had been another boon of the last year.

Father had finally conceded that Jewel could practice against opponents using more than training blades after she had shown that even an arrow directly to her eye did not successfully puncture when she was braced and reinforced.

It had stung horribly and left a blurry mark in her vision for months. But Jewel had recovered.

If Jewel was being honest, if the choice was to have a bout against a trained Knight with a sharpened sword or one wielding a warhammer, Jewel would take the sword every time.

Warhammers stung terribly and they bruised deeply into the muscle despite her so called ‘impervious’ scales.

After Alexander’s utter thrashing of a bout (which he took with good spirits and enthusiastic discussion on how he could improve from Jewel and Father) they had settled into a quiet afternoon meal where Jewel worked on her efforts to learn weaving. Mother had to mostly supervise as she was still feeling a bit poorly and easily tired, but Jewel appreciated the time to talk all the same.

Last of all was the quiet evening meal and a discussion on the Stewardship of Jewel’s Demesne and what plans she had for it.

The warmth of the water sang as it ran along inside her throat, up her neck and settled into her lungs full and hot nestled mostly over the lip of the tub and just past it on the floor.

The level of the water dropping enough it let a bit of a chill catch on her scales.

Only to rise again as she clenched her chest and expelled the water from her lungs and then flexed her neck to further squeeze it free of her throat.

Jewel’s official demesne was neighbors with Rochford and Father’s only other vassal Sir Kraok. Situated in the hamlet between Rochford proper and Kraok’s Dewgrove.

She would eventually be the proper liege of the knight when she came of age.

The little village of Valasect and its growing foundation of a manor house was set further along the mountain ridge that surrounded Rochford on the east. The village was settled in a place where the foothills of the mountains gentled enough that shepherds could march their flocks up into the high pastures for grazing each year.

The distance was hardly an inconvenience to fly for Jewel, even in winter. She was easily there and back in a quarter of a day even in a winter storm. Which let Jewel administer and practice her stewardship with Valasect while still being able to remain in her family home.

She drew her shoulders, neck and head free of the bath just as she had every other part of her. Making sure that the water was willed by the extension of her wyrmflame in the air and the rivulets of bathwater and scented lavender.

Making sure every drop was conserved so that others could benefit from it.

A last touch of the slightest, most delicate brush of wyrmflame through it before her head broke its surface.

Slowly running rivulets of raw wyrmflame over her tongue and past her lips.

Just a bit.

Not too little that it was smothered against her nose and barely heated anything.

Not too much that-

The entire tub burst over with a splashing bubble of deep purple flame.

Jewel withdrew her face from the tub, making sure to peel the water free to at least leave her dry.

All the care to avoid making a mess and now the floor was soaking wet!

Jewel would have to apologize to Jorge.