“Honey?”
He did not know how the dragon heard him—he spoke Honey’s name in barely a whisper, so certain was he that his fleeting, impossible theory was utterly ridiculous.
But the dragon stopped in its tracks—and from the tightness and crackling energy of the air, Ainsworth suspected he would have been on the receiving end of powerful magic indeed if he had not spoken.
Instead, Ainsworth stood, his mouth slightly open, with the dragon staring back at him wearing a dumbfounded expression to match his own. It was then Ainsworth noticed that the color of its scales and the white, curling horns were so likeher.More important,the eyes were the same eyes he had glimpsed when Enach had paid his visit, when Honey erupted at him for wanting to leave for Mount Vengeance.
The dragon seemed to puff up its chest.What nonsense do you spout? That is not my name.
“Yes, it is!” Ainsworth shouted, clutching his chest. The dragon was somehow, impossibly, Honey. He knew he was speaking to her—throughthe dragon. Or was she—
But that was impossible. Honey could notbea dragon.
The dragon rose to the sky, and suddenly Ainsworth slammed into his own body again. He was awake, in his room, in his bed. Sweat plastered his hair to his head, and he lay there, stunned, as the dragon’s enchantment receded.
Chapter 31
Perhaps he was stillin the clutches of the dragon, but Ainsworth suddenly knew, lying there in the dark, that if he went to the tavern room, Honey would be waiting for him.
He was not compelled to go in the same way he had—almost—been compelled by the dream to abandon his plans. But still, he knew he would meet her. So he wasted little time in throwing on a shirt and trousers and rushing out into the hall. It only occurred to him as he entered the tavern room that he forgot to put shoes or sockson.
Honey was sitting in front of the hearth, the fire down to its last embers. She had her back to him, still wearing her dress from earlier that evening, her hair unbound and spilling down past her shoulders.
“Honey. Whatwasthat?”
She pulled her knees to her chest, and her tail curled neatly around her.
Ainsworth walked closer, gripping the edge of passing chairs as he did so to steady himself. “Honey. Answer me, please.”
Honey did not answer him. He reached her, knelt down, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Y-you’re a Dragon Pèidse, aren’t you? That’s how the dragon’s curse manifested in your family.”
Ainsworth remained still and dared not to breathe as he awaitedher answer. Finally, he felt trembling beneath his hand. His gut twisted. Was she crying?
Oh, how could he have been so blunt about it! “Honey, I’m sorry, trulyI—”
Ainsworth removed his hand from her shoulder as she placed her face in her hands and let out an almighty sob.
“Oh, Honey, I— I’m terribly sorry, I did not mean to upset you!” He sank to his knees in front of her. “Please, what can I do—?”
Honey peered up at him, her eyes twinkling with tears and a wry grin on her face.
She was laughing, not sobbing.
“You really are stupid for a scholar, Ainsworth!” she burst out, wiping a tear from her eye.
Ainsworth was so stunned that he almost fell back into the smoldering embers of the hearth. “How can you laugh at a time like this?”
She continued wiping her eyes. “I know; I’m sorry. This is actually all very serious, but—aDragon Pèidse.Really? With what just happened, you come tothatconclusion?”
She finally rose and stretched her neck. “It’s exhausting work, manipulating everyone while they sleep. Get us something from behind the bar, will you? Then meet me up in the attic. I’ve a feeling I have a lot of explaining to do, and it’ll be best done away from prying ears.”
Before he could reply, she shuffled off through the hall, yawning as she began to climb up the stairs.
“A-all right, then…” Ainsworth said, grabbing them a bottle of wine from behind the bar and making a mental note to pay Bren first thing the next day. He was not entirely sure why he was doing what she asked, but he also knew he’d very much like a drink before finding out just what was goingon.
He crept upstairs to the guest room within which lay the steps to the attic, the wood flooring oddly comforting and warm beneath his feet. He hoped they would not be too dirty by the end of the night, then marveled at himself for fussing over such things during a timelike this. Plus, Ainsworth had to creep past a room of snoring guests to get to the attic stairs, and he hoped Honey had indeed pulled everyone, somehow, into a deep sleep.
Thankfully, none of them stirred.
