Free Flesh and Fire by Laura Anne Gilman Page B

boy’s voice was quiet, not rising in fear or astonishment. The Guardian approved.
    “That’s the master’s servant. You’ll get used to it.”
    “It’s. . .made of stone.”
    “You’ll get used to that, too,” Detta said. “Master likes to work in stone, that’s why all the buildings are made of it. His parents were stonemasons, he told me once. Gives him some memory of before, I suppose.”
    “Before?”
    “Before he was a slave, I suppose.”
    The student looked at Detta, the astonishment the dragon hadn’t caused appearing now in his eyes. “Master. . .was a slave?”
    The woman paused in her fussing with items in the dresser. “All you wine-crafters were slaves once, boy. Where did you think you all came from? Sin Washer made sure of that, so you’d have no other ties to bind you.”
    The Guardian hissed. Vinecraft was for the Master, and only the Master. The woman was speaking of things she had no right to speak of, too soon. Detta took the hint, and turned away to close the window. “No matter now. You’re here, as is he, and this dratted beast no doubt has a reason to be here, so I’m assuming the Master sent him, yes? So he’s to be your problem, not mine.”
    She gathered up the old tunic and pants, and made a face. “And these are going into the fire. Try not to ruin what you’ve got on now until we have a chance to sew up something a bit closer to your size.” She paused at the door, looking back over her rounded shoulder. “Anywhere within the House is your home now, too, boy. Explore, learn where everything is. The beast will doubtless warn you if you’re somewhere you ought not be. If you’ve any questions as to how things are run, you come to me. When the chime sounds for dinner, be there or go hungry. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to start with everything else, I suppose.”
    And with those words, she left.
    The student looked at the dragon, who had settled on the back of the single wooden chair in the room, the frame creaking slightly under its weight. Wings furled at its back, claws dug into the frame, and the long tail curled around the chair to keep it balanced.
    “What do I call you? ‘Beast’ doesn’t seem quite right.”
    The Guardian could speak to the Master, but this slender, dark-eyed student would not hear his voice any more than the kitchen children could, not yet. So it merely hissed again, air forcing through the narrow opening of its mouth, whistling sharply between stone fangs, and launched itself off the chair, heavy wings filling the small room as they spread to catch unnecessary air.
    Jerzy flinched, but the dragon landed with surprising gentleness on his shoulder, those stone claws not digging in at all, the hard weight remaining above his delicate human bones, not resting on it. Its wings stayed spread, over Jerzy’s head.
    The Guardian rose slightly, even though the wings did not move, and the boy’s entire body was tugged along with it. He resisted, and the Guardian tugged harder.
    “I’m supposed to go with you?” The boy shrugged, clearly well used to being ordered around without explanation.
    “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 4
    The next morning Malech walked through the harvest shed of the northern enclosure, listening to that yard’s overseer update him on their progress. This yard was planted with firevines, which ripened more slowly than healvine, but the longer growing season resulted in a powerful vintage that earned his House a nice sum. The Mariners’ Guild bought out most of his stock every year, firespells being far safer to use shipboard than any open flame, and the remainder he shared with the local chandler to craft smokeless candles that princelings gave solid coin for.
    Once all the grapes were picked and crushed into mustus, their potential had to be judged, and Malech alone could make the determination if they would become spellwines, vin magica, or be shunted off into vin ordinaire .
    Inspecting and