How to Court a Dragon Prince, Chapter One

Dad was also on edge because Toothless and I refused to take the straight route. Flight liberated us, especially since poisoned arrows had grounded Toothless. We punched holes through cloud cover and scattered migrating flocks. Miles of open sky meant no nets, crossbows or catapults unless we sighted land, and my dragon took advantage of that opportunity.

"Hiccup, knock it off!" Dad roared as we split a fluttering flock on two. "We want the other chiefs to take us seriously, and we can't do that if you're playing with birds!"

I nudged, and Toothless slowed to a steady hover. The sky had begun to clear up anyway.

Despite the cloudy weather and sky antics, we made good progress. A day passed before we reached Frigga's Promise- a day filled with ice crystals and migrating birds. As we approached, trees grew like grubby fingernails on the frail shores. Sand melted into wood boards at the dock, blurring the line between a soft and rough landing. Toothless, still giddy from our spinning, managed a slippery thus onto the rocks. I slid off him and helped Dad with his overnight sack.

"First ones here," he said with satisfaction. "That means our complaints will be heard first."

"Assuming people want to listen," I muttered. Dad pretended not to hear. He led us to a damp path. Thornado's wide claws dug up spongy dirt as he walked. Toothless, worn out from the flying, dragged his wings on the ground. I patted him.

"We have to clean up first," Dad explained. "It's amazing how one Viking's order can make all the difference. There is a bathing spring up ahead, unused since the last thing. Jason may even have some soap for us."

I made an effort to not roll my eyes. "Gobber said not to get the bandages on my arm wet. How will we manage? And who's Jason?"

The shrubbery nipped at our boots. "Jason is the Sanctuary Slave on Frigga's Promise; he cares for it during the off-season and tends to all the Vikings during Things. If he didn't have that mark, people would pay gold to have him keeping their houses."

"A slave?" My tone came out harsher than intended. "There are slaves at Things?"

"Slave," Dad corrected me. "He works alone. It's an honored position, much better than serving the Hysterics or Lava Louts."

Emotions clenched my jaw. My history involved Lava Louts. Dad realized his mistake.

"I didn't mean that," he said. "Jason's a Greek or Roman old-timer, a relic of a formerly glorious kingdom; no one dares mistreat him. Besides being under Frigga's protection, Jason knows how to mediate and find solutions. He's prevented dozens of wars and skirmishes from happening while cleaning others' armor. If he were born a Viking-"

"Why is he a slave?"

"Captured in an ancient war, sought sanctuary on Frigga's Promise after ten years of abuse. Proved his worth when settling a treaty between the Scots and Berk's Vikings. Shame it didn't last, but it was the thought that counted."

"A treaty with the Scots?" I was shocked. "The Scots hate us! Who could travel to them and come back to tell the tale?"

"Our ancestor, Hamish the Second. Jason knew him, and they were good friends."

Hamish the Second! I was stunned into silence. My ancestor was not only a hiccup but a brilliant inventor with a love for death traps; I had gotten to know him through a treasure hunt. He had attempted peace with the SCOTS?

"But if Jason and Hamish II were the same age, then Jason is . . ."

"A few centuries old and still kicking." Dad watched my bewildered face with amusement, the first smile that had graced his face in days. "When a god looks out for you, they look out for you."