Page 56 of A Matter of Dragons

“I had family in Valgros.” His rough voice was almost a whisper, but I felt like it traveled to every room of every home in Cairncliff.

The elf pulled his arms back. He seemed to grow even larger, to fill the space with his whispered wrath.

“That’s enough, Dakath,” the ruddy-faced man said. He waved his hand impatiently.

The elf stood for a heartbeat, long enough for me to feel fear ripple across my skin like cold water. Then raised his eyes and shot me a look of such vehemence I almost staggered backward.

He hated me. Dakath, whoever he was, hated me. Why? As a shiver traced the skin on the back of my neck, Dakath turned away from me and bowed his head at the older man.

“Of course,” the elf said.

Dakath slowly took his seat, ignoring me now. My mind spun. He’d said he had family in Valgros, but that was impossible. Valgros was a human country; there were no magical beings, no deadly elves or deceptive dwarves or murderous dragons. We were a safe, orderly society. Dakath and his family, whoever they were, had to know elves wouldn’t be welcome in Valgros. Another slow murmur rose from the crowd, and I was suddenly very aware that I had my back to the door.

The ruddy-faced man cleared his throat loudly, pulling my attention back to the Council. He looked down the table, from right to left, making eye contact with all the men and women seated before him. Then, finally, he turned to me.

“This,” he said with an odd sort of forcefulness, “is not Valgros.”

The men and women seated beside him nodded. The elf, who was now staring at the rafters as though something up there happened to have caught his interest, ignored him.

“And this sort of thing,” the man continued, “this murder, this is not a matter for the Town Council.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it. What in the King’s name did I know about the Cairncliff Town Council? Before this week I hadn’t even known they existed.

“This is a criminal matter,” he declared. “Thus, it needs to be handled by the judiciary. Guards!”

Panic blossomed in my chest. I reached for my sword as the ruddy-faced man raised his hand to wave at something behind me, then spun around and saw two armed guards pushing their way through a crowd of scowls.

“No,” I whispered.

“What were you expecting?” the elf said. “You, serving Valgros?”

I turned from the elf’s hatred to the varied expressions of shock and disgust on the faces of the Town Council. There was a window behind their long, polished table. If I were fast enough, if I jumped from the table—

“Wait!” a man called from the crowd.

Heat surged through my body. Kings, I knew that voice.

“Dakath, Reginald, members of the Council,” Doshir said, somewhat breathlessly, as he shoved his way through the crowd and past the two guards. He came to stand beside me, then offered the Council a deep bow.

“Doshir,” the ruddy-faced man said, raising an eyebrow.

“Reginald,” Doshir answered, with a wide smile. “You are absolutely right, of course. This would indeed be a matter for the judiciary.”

My chest clenched. What in the blessed kings’ names was he doing? Did he just push his way through the crowd to make sure I got thrown in some wretched Cairncliff jail? Or did he want to see me hang on the waterfront instead?

“Thank you, Doshir,” Reginald replied. The man looked utterly unimpressed.

“Under normal circumstances, I mean,” Doshir continued, still smiling. “However, as things stand—” He turned to face the elf. “Dakath, what is this woman?”

A murmur rose from the crowd. The woman with the braids looked from Dakath to me with a level of interest I found disconcerting. Some part of my mind whispered that this was probably the single most interesting Town Council meeting in Cairncliff’s history.

“She’s a dragon,” Dakath said, his voice dripping with vitriol. “A dragon serving Valgros.”

All the Council members began speaking at once. I suddenly felt like I was watching the entire scene from somewhere far, far away. My arms and legs were numb, heavy with shock. It’s what Doshir did to me, I thought. Whatever he did to me to make me immune to dragonfire.

But how could he fool an elf? Elves were the masters of magic. I’d never even heard of any magic potent enough to fool them. I stared down at my own hands; one bare, one covered in a black leather glove to hide my scars. The scars that Doshir had called a curse.

What if it was a curse? What if the elf was right? What if I really was a—