Page 13 of A Matter of Dragons

Sure, I’d wanted to punch him a few minutes ago, but that was before the man from the antiquities shop had said the word dragon. My whole body had hummed in response, and it had taken all my training to keep from throwing myself at the poor man and demanding he tell me everything he knew.

Yes, this was exactly why we’d come to Cairncliff! I’d thought the town’s healers would be the most likely to know about the dragon’s movements, especially if they’d treated the survivors of any attacks, while Eadberh had been ready to crawl the pubs and buy ale for anyone who wanted to boast or spin yarns about the monster. But this - a man who’d made stories about dragons his hobby? A man who’d then offered to buy me a drink and share those stories?

This was perfect. And it had nothing at all to do with Doshir’s full lips and dark hair or the way his eyes made my temperature rise whenever he glanced at me. That was just a minor irritation, the effects of going too long without scratching that particular itch.

Although it could also be useful. I saw the way his eyes had drifted downward, following the plunge of my neckline. The more I flirted with him, the more he’d probably be willing to share.

I relinquished Doshir’s arm as we entered the rounded doorway. The room inside was surprisingly clean and orderly; I’d always thought elves were dirty. But no, Doshir’s earlier description had been apt. There were open windows, candles, and small, sturdy wooden tables. It all seemed rather... human.

But what had I expected? That the elves would choke us with their magic on the doorstep? I bit my lower lip as Doshir spoke to the tall, elegant, and clearly human woman standing beside the door. He seemed comfortable here. Perhaps the elves in Cairncliff weren’t like the elves that had threatened Valgros, the ones King Donovan had defeated before I was born.

Doshir turned to me with a smile, and any thoughts of elves evaporated instantly. By the Kingdom, that man had no right to look that gorgeous. I tugged the left sleeve of my dress down, hiding my scarred hand. Flirting with Doshir would be no sacrifice at all. Flirting, and maybe more. It had certainly been a long time since I’d been with anyone other than His Highness.

The tall woman led us through a series of honeycombed rooms lit with candles to a small, round table. The table was framed by windows that seemed to have grown with the walls, some small and circular, others opening like oval eyes into the night. Trees rustled in the breeze that drifted through the windows, creating an odd sort of harmony with the strange elven music.

I settled into a carved wooden chair that felt like it had been made to hold my body as the woman reappeared. She showed us a tall, green bottle with a curved neck, like a swan, then opened the bottle and poured the liquid inside into two delicate glasses. The drink, whatever it was, looked viscous and golden. Tiny bubbles swam like trapped stars along the crystal curves of the glasses.

“Frost wine,” Doshir said, lifting his glass. “It’s an elven specialty. You haven’t had it, I assume?”

I cleared my throat to avoid confessing my ignorance. Everyone expected Valgrosians to be a bunch of backwoods savages; that was why Eadberh and I were here, after all, to dispel those rumors by proving once and for all that Valgros is a noble ally, one capable of vanquishing a dragon.

Doshir lifted his glass to his lips. I mirrored his actions to avoid having to answer his question. The thick liquid in the crystal glass smelled floral without being overly sweet, like an apple orchard in the fall. I took a tiny, delicate sip. The frost wine spread across my tongue, sparkling and complex, flavored with spices whose sweet burn did things to my mouth and lips that I’d never even imagined. The wine vanished with a low growl in the back of my mouth, a warning that the rest of the bottle would go down quickly and might just leave me stumbling.

“Wow,” I whispered.

Doshir grinned as though my stupid monosyllabic praise was just the reaction he’d wanted.

“It’s, uh, very different,” I said, trying hard not to sound like a backwoods savage. “It’s complex.”

“The elves won’t share how it’s made,” he said. “It’s one of their many secrets.”

“The elves make this, huh?”

I swirled the liquid in my glass and watched as it cut golden tracks down the rounded sides. I’d been taught that elves didn’t make things; they only stole from others. They were dirty and dangerous, and the few accomplishments they’d managed were the results of their evil magic. But this? This was just a drink and a damn good drink at that. If there was evil magic in this glass, I certainly couldn’t see it.

“So,” Doshir said, placing his glass down and leaning across the table toward me. “What do you want to know about dragons?”

By the Kingdom, what didn’t I want to know? I took another sip of my frost wine as I tried to remember everything I’d read from the few books the king’s Royal Advisor Ensyvir had allowed me to read. What had been the strangest, most implausible thing I’d found?

“Shapeshifting,” I said. “Is it true that dragons can take other shapes?”

“Oh, of course,” Doshir replied as if this were common knowledge.

“Any shape?” I pressed. Ensyvir’s books had been maddeningly vague on this point.

Doshir shook his head as he refilled my glass. “No, not any shape. Dragons can take a human form, and it’s always the same human form. They can’t change their human shape any more than they can change the color of their scales.”

“So, how can you tell?” I asked.

“How can you tell what?”

Doshir set the green bottle back on the table between us. The reflected light of the candles danced along its curving neck.

“Well, who’s a dragon?” I asked.

Doshir laughed. I frowned.

“It’s a serious question,” I insisted. “I mean, you wouldn’t want to stay at an inn if the barkeep was a freaking dragon, right?”