Page 75 of Dragon’s Ending

Ben watched me from the bed, where he’d just finished buttoning his shirt.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I said honestly.

He stood and crossed the room to me, his eyes worried. “You don’t have to go down if you don’t want to.”

I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself. “Oh, that’d help.”

His hand settled briefly against the back of my neck, thumb brushing warm against my skin. “Dominic—”

“If I hide in my room, I’m fairly sure Rhodri’ll actually kill me.”

He stayed close on our way downstairs, and as we walked into the dining room, my pulse was hammering. Conversations faltered and died. A few of the politer dragons looked away when I glanced towards them. Others were openly curious.

So news had already spread of the confrontation in the hall. Not a surprise. I wondered how much they knew.

Ben slowed very slightly beside me, as if checking whether I wanted to turn around and leave. I couldn’t. My pride wouldn’t allow me to run away. So I raised my chin and crossed towards my usual place. If Rhodri wanted to do this publicly, so be it.

Dafydd was already seated halfway down the table. His eyes flicked immediately towards me, sharp with question and something that looked like concern. And then, very deliberately, his gaze dropped towards my pocket.

Phone. Right. Shit. He’d sent me a text earlier. I’d checked to see if it was from Rhodri, then forgotten it entirely.

I gave the smallest possible shake of my head as I sat down. Not now. His expression tightened before he looked away.

The empty chair at the head of the table sat there like an executioner’s block. Every sound in the room seemed too loud, and underneath all of it, waiting.

Then the dining room door opened. Silence fell instantly as Rhodri entered. His gaze swept once around the room before settling briefly on me.

There was no anger apparent in his expression. His usual composure was unbroken, which somehow terrified me more. I felt suddenly, violently cold. Even my dragon, usually so close to the surface, was curled up tight deep inside, fearful of being removed from other dragons.

But Rhodri only took his seat and unfolded his napkin with precise calm.

“Good evening,” he said.

Conversation restarted cautiously around the table. And I sat waiting.

Waiting through soup. Then the main course. Through every agonising minute that passed without Rhodri acknowledging me directly at all.

At the end of the meal, he pushed his chair back and stood, and I was convinced this was it. The moment when he’d declare me draco non grata to this family, meaning that I had to leave their territory forever. That, as far as they were concerned, I no longer existed. My head was pounding with it as I waited.

But without a word, he walked out.

Relief slammed into me. But then it was gone as if it had never been, and the dread wound even tighter. Because now I had no idea when the axe was going to fall.

BEN

I wasn’t sure Dominic had eaten enough to keep a sparrow alive. I went to him the instant Rhodri had left and manoeuvred him out of the dining room, throwing a swift apology in Dafydd’s direction as I got us out of there. Dafydd obviously wanted to talk to Dominic, but Dominic was too pale. Still not quite Dominic.

Unsure what to do for the best, I steered us to the records room. It was the right decision, because once there, it became easy to fall back into our usual routines. The rhythm of work took over and became oddly comforting. And each time I spared a glance at Dominic, he looked less pale and more like himself.

Which meant that it didn’t take long before he abandoned all pretence of work.

I was halfway through photographing a Post Mortem Inquisition when he appeared beside me and leaned one hip against the table.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’m still not over your sudden descent into anti-history radicalism.”

I shook my head without looking up from my phone. “I’m not anti-history.”