Page 57 of A Matter of Dragons

“Yes,” Doshir said, his voice cutting through the clamor in the room and the churn of my thoughts. “Exactly. This woman appears human, but she’s not a human. She is a dragon. And, as such, this is a judiciary matter for the Iron Mountains. She must face judgment at the Throne of Claws, not here in Cairncliff.”

The ruddy-faced man, Reginald, made a sort of harrumphing sound in the back of his throat. “The gods know I don’t want to argue jurisdictions with you, Doshir,” he said, and the statement had a grudging sense of relief to it. “Can you see that she’s escorted out of here?”

“Of course, my good sir,” Doshir replied. He bowed again, once to Reginald, once to the Council members on his right, and then a third time to the Council members on his left. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. Gentlewomen. Dakath.”

Doshir stood, then placed his hand on my shoulder. I hated the way my body reacted to that touch, the way I could feel the heat of his skin even through my clothes.

“Come with me,” Doshir muttered under his breath, still smiling at the Council.

Reginald cleared his throat again as I turned, Doshir’s hand still firmly wrapped around my shoulder.

“Now, if we could return to the agenda,” Reginald said from behind me.

“Don’t touch the sword,” Doshir growled so low only I could hear it.

I hadn’t realized my fingers had drifted to the silver-inlaid hilt of the blade he’d given me. I dropped them, then laced my hands together in front of me. Doshir was still smiling at the scowling, angry faces around us; I looked down at my own feet, my cheeks burning. Angry shoulders and elbows jostled me as we pushed through the crowd. I caught more than one voice whispering murderer as Doshir’s iron grip on my shoulder pushed me out of Cairncliff’s neat little Town Hall.

“Keep going,” Doshir whispered as we crossed the lintel and walked into the open street. “Don’t look back.”

I blinked as brilliant midday sunlight stung my eyes. What in the King’s name had just gone wrong? And what was going to happen to me now? Facing judgment at the Throne of Claws sounded even worse than standing trial here in Cairncliff.

Had Doshir pulled me from the pan only to throw me into the fire?

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Doshir

Damn it all. Rayne had been back in town for exactly one day and just look at the mess she’d created. It would almost be impressive if it weren’t so damned aggravating. Mothers above, I’d had a hard enough time convincing this town to accept me over the years without broadcasting to the entire Town Council that the woman who’d just proudly tried to take credit for Mad Scarlett’s death was another dragon. And a dragon associated with Valgros, of all the horrible places under the moon and stars.

My grip tightened on Rayne's shoulder as we stepped through the door and into the street. Damn it all, and damn me too. I’d been wrong about her. I’d been wrong about everything. Mad Scarlett had revealed Rayne’s true nature, proven incontrovertible that Rayne was a fellow dragon, and then Mad Scarlett had called her daughter. Rayne had fallen at Mad Scarlett’s claws and sobbed. I’d thought those words had meant something. I’d thought those tears had meant something.

But what had happened as soon as Rayne got back to Cairncliff? She’d marched into the middle of a Town Council meeting and tried to take credit for her own mother’s death. Something hot and bitter rose in the back of my throat; I tried to choke it down. What did I expect? Rayne was a murderer from Valgros, that realm of genocide and intolerance. Duplicitous, deceitful—

“Where are you taking me?” Rayne whispered.

I stumbled as though her voice had thrown me off balance. Her head was down, and her voice was barely audible. She didn’t sound particularly murderous.

Shit. I let my hand drop and then rubbed my palm on my pants, as though touching her had left some sort of scum on my skin.

“Master and Mistress,” I muttered, eager to just get this over with.

Rayne stopped and stared at me. Her sky-colored eyes looked very wide, and her face looked very pale. I turned away and took a few steps forward before I realized she was still standing, frozen, in the middle of the road.

“What?” I snapped.

Rayne blinked rapidly, and I wondered with a vague wash of discomfort if she was about to cry. She looked down at her own hands, then back up to me.

“Then to the Iron Mountains?” Her voice didn’t waver. She wasn’t about to cry after all.

Ugh. I shook my head. I couldn’t talk about this here, in the middle of the damned road.

“Come on,” I growled. “Let’s go.”

She nodded, then fell into step beside me. She was wearing the sword I’d brought her last night and, for some reason, the sparkle of its delicate silver hilt in the midday sun reminded me of another gift, another woman. Wendolyn had loved jewelry and, fool that I was, I’d showered her with the stuff.

And here I was, giving another beautiful, deceitful woman yet another pretty and expensive gift. I tugged my hand through my hair, turned, and spat on the cobblestones. Rayne kept her gaze fixed on the street beneath her feet. I glanced around; the crowd had thinned, and this narrow little street was mercifully empty.

“You’re not going to the Iron Mountains,” I said, under my breath.