Free The Story of Owen by E. K. Johnston Page A

and white at the knuckles. “I do this a lot, you know.”
    â€œDo they usually make you go in the shelter, or is that just because I’m here?” I asked. I wanted her to talk more than I’ve ever wanted anyone to talk in my whole life.
    â€œIt depends,” she said. “If it’s just Lottie and me here, then I stay with her. She’s not as fast as she used to be, but she refuses to hide if a dragon comes. If Owen or his father is here, then I’m down here by myself. Frankly, it’s nice to have company.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” I said, and wished I had my backpack so I could scribble dissonant and nonsensical notes onto the staff paper I always carried in the front pocket of it. It might stop them from skittering on my skin.
    There were a few moments of silence, until the tension got the better of me again.
    â€œHow did you and Lottie meet?” I asked. “For real, I mean. Did she really just walk into your dad’s smithy?”
    It wasn’t unheard-of for a dragon slayer to have his or her own smith, though most of them had company connections that took care of their swords and armor. Dragon slaying wasn’t as expensive as it had once been, but having a legacy helped. I knew from magazines that Lottie and Hannah had been together since before their time in the Oil Watch, but they had kept the bulk of their relationship deservedly private. I felt awkward asking and was about to rescind the question when Hannah answered.
    â€œI was sixteen when Lottie and Aodhan came to my father’s smithy in Ohio for the first time,” Hannah said. “They were fourteen and twelve. Their mother had come to commission a sword from my father, who was quite famous in his own right, and we hit it off immediately. I knew I was going to be a smith, and I wanted to serve my country, but they didn’t want me. When I met Lottie, I saw another way.”
    â€œI didn’t know you were American,” I said. That was quite a piece of gossip for the magazines to have omitted, and I wondered how that secret had been kept.
    â€œIt was big news before your time,” she said. “And I’m not. Not anymore, anyway. I defected when I was eighteen. The Canadian Forces sponsored my entrance based on my merit and reputation as a smith.”
    I thought about it for a second. There was no law that said a Canadian dragon slayer couldn’t have an American smith. In fact, our armies usually cooperated in that regard anyway, since Canada had a smaller talent pool. And defecting was a very serious decision.
    â€œOh,” I said softly as realization dawned. Hannah had chosen not to join the American army because of the policies that led to Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. The Americans had lost a perfectly capable smith, and we had gained another piece of Lottie’s legend.
    â€œTimes change, thank goodness,” Hannah said, a not entirely happy smile on her face, “but yes. I joined your army because I couldn’t be in mine and still be myself. Two years later, Lottie went on her tour in the Oil Watch, and I was good enough to get myself assigned to the Middle East with her. The rest you know.”
    â€œI’m glad you’re here,” I told her. “Even though it must have been hard.”
    â€œMost worthwhile things are hard,” Hannah said. “But thank you.”
    I sat beside her on the chesterfield, calm enough to stop pacing, and she reached out to squeeze my hand. Her fingers were calloused and burned from decades at the fire, and I was pleased to see that my own hands were starting to pick up callouses of their own, rough spots that showed where work had been done and muscles had been earned. I squeezed back.
    â€œYou want to know the real reason I can be so calm when they’re out slaying dragons?” Hannah asked.
    â€œYes,” I said. I really, really did. Anything that would help to silence the