Hard fists rapping against the door and windows in the middle of the night is never a good sign. A light sleeper, I'm at the door clutching a cloak around my shivering shoulders, even before my husband Ricardo can stumble sleepily out of the bedsheets.

"Isobel, uh, Mrs Oak." It's Commander Sturgeon, Chief of the Palace Guards. I used to babysit him.

"Well?"

"It's your son, Nicholas. He's in the king's dungeon and has asked for you."

Hair sleep-tousled, Ricardo is by my side now. "What's that waster done this time?"

"Joy-riding a dragon, Mr Oak."

I stay firm and calm between the two men. There will be no stag-rutting on my doorstep. "You know Nicholas sleepwalks, don't you?"

"He was definitely awake and airborne, ma'am. Please come with me."

In our kingdom, crime is very quickly followed by punishment. It breaks my heart to see the red welts across Nick's bare back. I try to hug hm through the bars. Deep within, the old power is rising, reanimated by strong emotions.

To his credit, the Commander stands back a way. Ricardo is spouting, "Why? Why? Why?" like a rote-learning alphabet tutor.

Sturgeon takes up the theme after a while. "You know how important dragons are to the safety of our realm. Why would you endanger them? Endanger all of us?"

"I… love dragons," Nicholas whispers. "I would never harm one.

"Commander," says Ricardo, "we are a law-abiding family." He holds up his three-fingered left hand. "I have suffered in the king's service and most gladly."

"It's just the foolishness of youth," I add. "We were all young once, as I'm sure you'll remember."

"We think your son had an accomplice," says the soldier. "That simpering, curly-haired wench Esme. We have brought her in for questioning."

"I was alone," Nick says. "It's my crime, not Esme's. I will not take her down with me."

My mind is flying like a loosed branch in a storm. And as for Sturgeon – I wiped your bottom and fed you with a spoon and tidied up your wooden toys, you armour-plated buffoon. After a breath, I say, "Let the child go, Commander. Nick was perhaps trying to impress her and the only thing she is guilty of is wanting to watch. What sort of kingdom punishes its innocent maidens so?" Then, feeling a further touch of my grandmother's spirit stirring the old knowledge inside me, I say to both Commander and husband, "Be gone. Leave a loving mother to converse with her wayward child."

When we're alone, I say to Nick, "The dragon will recover from its unplanned flight. They shouldn't be punishing you, they should be harvesting your talents. Not all riders need to come from the nobility."

His demeanour is calm and he bears the lash marks like a badge of honour. "Mother," he says, "the wind of our flight was cold but thrilling. The scaled wings have the heavy resistance of a boat's sail or a plough. When I pulled on the harness, we soared or descended at my will. I never once felt in danger."

"That's good to hear, son. But be aware at all times that these are wild beasts at heart, not tame pets. I know that well."

He doesn't respond to my cue. Still over-excited and a little shocked by the past hours, I expect. "The beast did breathe out some snorts of fire and the backdraft burnt the hairs on my arm," Nicholas says. He shows me. I can smell the singeing. "Mother, I can't be a farmhand or a tailor's skivvy. This was what I was born to do."

"Dreams, son, ambitions, the optimism of youth. Don't lose it or suffocate it like… Listen, Nicholas, take your punishment and we'll see how matters move on when I plead to the king."

"Really? You would –"

"Of course. And know that underneath his bluster your father loves you well and will respect the way you are conducting yourself, with fortitude and honour."

Eventually, I let go of his hand. He settles on the loose straw, on his right side so as not to irritate the wounds. I slip off my shawl and fold it through the bars. He smiles then gently settles into a surprisingly deep sleep. I tarry a while.

I suppose this moment was always going to arrive. There's something about the process of growing up that makes everyone push at the boundaries, often in a foolhardy or reckless way. Thus, Nicholas gets himself into trouble even though, deep down, he knows better. And has been raised to be sensible and obedient.

I was no different, although Ricardo, whom I met at a traders' market when I was twenty, knows little of this. Bucking the trend, my rebelliousness was encouraged by my grandmother, who had sole care of me after both my parents died young. We would try out spells and incantations in the depths of Regal Wood. At night, of course. Matters got a little out of hand when we challenged ourselves to light greater flames than the fiery output of an untamed dragon. And somehow brought along one of the beasts into our nocturnal playground…

I regret the damage we caused, of course I do. Mother Nature births and embraces us and I hurt her.

Timber yields were down that year. I smelt of ash for a week afterwards and yet nobody ever questioned me. Things were a little easier back in the days of the old king. Even if my fisherman turned shopkeeper husband ensures our bellies are fuller and our clothes finer than my grandmother could ever provide.

Oh Nicholas, my wayward son, you have broken only one rule, dearest boy. Which is: don't get caught.

Tomorrow, I will bring my boy food and water, along with a couple of coins and a bewitching smile to ensure the guard lets me descend to his cell.

For now, the night is moonless as I reach the top of the stone stairs, full of memory and purpose, ready to tell Ricardo my plans and reveal a little more of my heritage, the magic that dwells within me.

He isn't there.

I surmise that he would have returned home to fetch the horse and cart. We would travel back in style… although, as I well recall, dragon-riding was faster and more thrilling. I can sense the scaly, flying lizards stirring in their walled underground enclosure on the west side of the citadel. It is good to be back in touch with my talents.

Beneath a security lantern, I spy Esme, half-leaning against a wall, looking like a shivery sunflower in this light. Relief at her release, but… they have simply abandoned her here. Something else our thoughtful, pliable king may wish to be informed about when I visit his dreams. My astral self will be pricking his conscience, for sure.

"Come, child," I call to Esme, extending my arms. "You are one of our family now."

As I gently stroke her hair, I feel a couple of dragon scale fragments fall to the floor. The pale skin of her arms has a faint tang of exposure to flame.

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