Page 11 of A Matter of Dragons

CHAPTER FIVE

Doshir

“Excuse me,” I stammered, staring into the brilliant blue eyes of the woman I’d just met on the steps of my shop. My heart thudded against my ribcage and I felt flushed, as though she’d just accused me of something.

But of course that was ridiculous. I hadn’t tried to follow her.

The woman cleared her throat, bowed slightly, and stepped backward. All at once, several things fell into place: her odd accent. The strangely formal dress she wore. Her unfamiliarity with Cairncliff.

“Are you from Valgros?” I asked.

It was a crazy question. The xenophobic magic-hating subjects of King Donovan’s Valgros absolutely did not travel. But her mannerisms didn’t match anything else, and it was at least conceivable that a wealthy woman could go traveling in search of a cure to a disfiguring curse. Or, a scar.

The red-haired woman frowned, then bowed again, her features composing themselves into a tentative smile. “I am. Doshir, was it?”

She extended her right hand. I took it, then bowed to kiss her fingers, following what I knew of Valgros’ customs. Her skin was warm, and a subtle floral scent danced in the air around her.

“My lady,” I replied, releasing her hand.

“Rayne,” she replied. She was staring at her fingers as though I’d just placed an indecipherable riddle on them. “Are you... from Valgros?”

I shook my head. “I’m from right here. More or less.”

“I haven’t been greeted like that since we left the kingdom,” she said, her gaze still lingering on her fingertips.

“Well,” I said, “it’s my business to know a little about the customs of other places.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I thought your business was an antiquities shop?”

I waved my hand dismissively. “That’s a part of it. What I’m really interested in is history. The stories of cities and kingdoms, you know?”

By the Mothers, that sounded horribly boring.

“Or any stories, really,” I continued, in a desperate attempt to make myself sound at least halfway interesting. “Not just people. Elves, dwarves, dragons. I study them all.”

Her eyes widened, and my heart rose in my throat. Of course. If she actually was from Valgros, what would she know about elves, dwarves, and dragons? She was young; the business with the elves would have happened before she was born, or when she’d been a child. Elves would be a fairy tale for her, let alone dwarves and dragons.

And yet here she was, in the land of fairy tales. I felt strangely warm and unsteady on my feet, as though I’d had too much to drink. My heart was beating too fast and some strange, rebellious part of my mind whispered that the beautiful woman in front of me might be interested in fairy tales. The vision of her body spread across my table with her hair tumbling over the books rose once again in my mind; I shoved it down and cleared my throat.

“Where are you heading tonight?” I asked.

“I’m going—” She hesitated, then sighed. Her shoulders dropped. “I don’t know. My idiot brother is in our room with a— a friend.”

She drew out the word friend, leaving it heavy with unspoken connotations that did nothing to stifle my vision of her amber hair spread across my books.

“I guess I’m just looking for somewhere to kill a few hours,” she finished with a shrug that seemed at odds with her elegant dress.

“I have a few hours,” I said, my lips and tongue forming the words before my brain could rein them in.

She gave me a level, measured gaze. Once more I felt like her expression did not exactly match the elegant dress she was wearing, and I had the strange thought that she would be better suited by a sword and chest plate than a dress with a flirtatiously low bodice.

“If you’d like,” I added. “I know a nice, quiet place. We could get a few drinks. I could tell you some stories you probably haven’t heard in Valgros.”

That look flashed across her features again, the wide eyes and parted lips. Then she gave me a tight, sly grin that reminded me of a cat.

“Stories about elves, dwarves, and dragons?” she asked.

“Unless you’d rather hear about history?” I offered.