Page 50 of A Matter of Dragons

“You’re a dragon,” Doshir said.

Understanding slammed into me like a punch to the gut. It was Doshir. He had done something to me, cursed me, or enchanted me, or something. That had to be why I’d fallen for him so quickly, why I’d let him lead me into that thrice-damned garden. He’d fire-proofed me, done something, and why? So that he could pretend I was a dragon?

“Get the fuck away from me!” I yelled.

Doshir’s expression fell, his half-shy smile vanishing beneath his furrowed brow. My heart twisted, and I strangled my sudden, bizarre impulse to comfort him. Him, the man who’d lied about being a dragon. And being married. And whatever else he’d done to me to make me fireproof.

I staggered away, toward the edge of the cliff. My eyes burned with smoke and tears and my entire body felt vast and ringing, as though I’d pushed beyond exhaustion into a strange emptiness.

“But, I— You—” Doshir stammered, waving his hands vaguely at the carnage all around us. “We—”

By the blessed kings of Valgros, I hated that he was naked. I hated the way the distant fires in the forest below us painted his body in scarlet and gold; I hated how my eyes devoured that body, lean and muscular; I hated the memory of his taste, his scent, the surprising softness of his touch.

“Fuck off!” I screamed.

I spun toward the edge, grabbed the little brush oak as though I wanted to strangle it, and dropped off the ledge. My shins scraped the mountainside, and my toes sang with pain. I hissed through gritted teeth. Kings, I’d forgotten I was naked.

No matter. I lowered myself down the mountain, banging knees and elbows on the loose granite, trying to concentrate on my pain and not on the roiling cataract of my thoughts. I was almost to the smoldering remains of the forest where Captain Niglan Olovan — not of His Majesty’s Royal Army, I couldn’t think of him that way, not now — had attacked us when I heard the beat of heavy wings against the night sky.

I looked up and saw a dragon. My heart twisted again with a sad pinch of loss and longing, not at all an appropriate reaction to seeing a monster flee before me. I clenched my jaw so hard it ached and set my gaze stubbornly on the forest before me.

My mission was over. Dragons no longer concerned me.

And my next steps were clear. I had to find the horses, I had to find something I could wear, and then I had to return to Cairncliff. I’d come here to kill the dragon threatening the town and spread the glory of Valgros. Now the dragon was dead. Even if I wasn’t the one who’d killed the thing, I could still spread the glory of Valgros. I could proclaim King Donovan’s excellence in this barbarian land.

I curled my hands into fists and tried to think of Valgros. But the image that came to mind wasn’t Donovan’s excellence or even the white towers of his Royal Fortress. No, it was the day I’d been given this mission, the day I’d entered the throne room with my tunic unbuttoned to find a half-drunk king, his eyes heavy and his expression sullen, and his advisor Ensyvir standing in the shadows, ready to whisper my mission to me.

Whose glory was I spreading, I thought suddenly. Donovan’s or Ensyvir’s? The question itself was dangerous, almost treasonous; I tried to shove it down. And I heard that sound again, the heavy, thick beat of leathery wings. I froze. My view was blocked by pines, so I couldn’t tell where exactly Doshir was. But he also couldn’t see me. The wingbeats stopped. I held my breath. Was he looking for me?

Stupid question. What else could he possibly be doing here?

But why? He’d already done something to me, cursed me or bewitched me or worked some other kind of terrible magic. And he’d taken Eadberh, another part of my mind whispered. Eadberh was dying, and Doshir had taken him to Cairncliff.

Maybe. Maybe Doshir had taken Eadberh to Cairncliff. Maybe he’d, I don’t know, eaten him. The thought made my gut clench. Did dragons really eat people? The few books I’d studied from Ensyvir’s collection had strongly implied as much without actually saying it. But what in the kingdom did I know about dragons, or about any magic for that matter? There was no magic in Valgros; we were a safe and orderly society. I hadn’t even noticed when Doshir had done whatever he’d done to me last night, however he’d changed me to be immune to dragonfire.

To save my life, that part of my mind added. To keep me safe.

I hissed through my teeth. As if in response, the wingbeats started up again, heavy and thick, pushing against the night air. I stood and stared at the sky between the interlaced pine branches as the wingbeats grew louder, then slowly began to fade away. Whatever he’d been doing here, Doshir was leaving now. Again. I sighed, then spat on the ground.

“Good riddance,” I muttered, but it came out as more of a moan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Rayne

I found the horses just as the sky began to lighten in the east. They were both standing along the edge of the little aspen grove, bent over fresh piles of oats, grazing happily. Along with a dozen other horses, all hobbled, some still wearing their Royal Army bridles.

I bit the inside of my cheek and shifted Eadberh’s bag on my shoulder. It was absurdly heavy with all the gold we’d stupidly lugged up the mountain in our brilliant plan to bribe a dragon. The dying dragon’s wide, bright eyes flashed in my memory. Would she have accepted a bribe? Would the mindless monster have reasoned with us?

Something raw and painful tugged at my chest. The ancient kings only knew how the dragon might have reacted to our offer, but she hadn’t been a monster. She hadn’t been mindless.

I let Eadberh’s bag fall to the dew-wet grass at my feet and huffed a sigh. Three of the closer horses raised their heads and flicked their ears in my direction. Captain Niglan Olovan’s horses, of course. My hands formed fists before I even realized what I was doing. I hadn’t expected to find our horses mixed in with them, my little black mare Peya and Eadberh’s massive gelding Whiskey grazing on piles of oats alongside the Royal Army mounts as though they were all back in the royal stables together.

But of course, Olovan hadn’t hurt our horses. Horses were valuable. Unlike Eadberh and me.

“Damn it,” I sighed.

Peya raised her head and took a step toward me. Whiskey took that as an invitation to move in on Peya’s pile of oats. Peya spun back, flattened her ears, and flashed her teeth at Whiskey. The big palomino gelding lowered his head and stepped back, chastened.