Dragon Rose(18)

“You will begin to find your way around, after a time,” he told me. “But I thought it better to guide you here now, until you are more familiar with your new home.”

“Thank you,” I said, a little relieved at this statement. It seemed his motives for accompanying me here had been pure enough.

He lifted a hand. “And do not forget to give Sar that list. It will take some time to get the things you need, but I have riders who can make haste if need be.”

“They do not need to do such things for me—”

“Yes, they do. You are the mistress of Black’s Keep. Never forget that.”

There was such urgency in his words that I could only nod. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” He reached out then and took one of my hands in his gloved ones. I wondered if he would lift my fingers to his lips, and if I would feel that odd roughness—of scales?—once again. He did not, however, but only squeezed my hand gently before turning and going back the way he had come. A swirl of his dark cloak as he turned the corner, and then he was gone.

I stood there for a long moment, halfway wishing I had asked him to stay. His company at dinner had been pleasant, far more so than I had ever dreamed might be possible. But that was absurd. He was the Dragon, no normal man. I should be glad my first night in the castle had been so uneventful, and that I had successfully survived my first encounter with him.

With that thought to bolster me, I squared my shoulders and went inside.

My chambers were empty. I had halfway expected to see Sar waiting for me there, since she had been so attentive that afternoon. But perhaps with me now married to the Dragon, I was no longer deserving of such attention. However, it seemed someone had taken the time to prepare my bedroom. The heavy coverlet was turned back, and a vase of roses, crimson and pink and wine-tipped cream, sat on the table next to the bed. A nightgown of fine linen lay draped across the turned-back covers.

It was very quiet. In town one could always hear some sound from the streets, whether of a cart passing by or one neighbor calling to another, or even the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the night watchman’s stick as he made his rounds. Here, though, there was only silence. Even the wind had died down to nothing. If it had been colder, perhaps a fire in the hearth would have made at least a gentle hiss, but it seemed Sar had let the fire grow cold, its service in curling my hair done for the day. Truly, it had been something of an extravagance. Even at these heights, the fire had not been needed. I knew back home my mother would not dream of lighting any fire other than that in the kitchen hearth until at least mid-Sevendre.

But that thought only saddened me, as I wondered how they had fared this evening, sitting down to a table with an empty seat where I should have been. Had they wondered if I’d gone mad, or had they merely tried to see my precipitous decision as some sort of sideways retribution from the gods, a judgment brought down on their headstrong eldest child?

I truly couldn’t say. I knew my parents would mourn, and Darlynne and Maeganne as well. Of Therella’s reaction I was less certain. We had squabbled more often of late, possibly because she was impatient for me to be wed and out of the house so she could have her own turn as eldest, as the one who could bring honor to us through some advantageous marriage or other.

Well, I was wed now, albeit not in a manner even my sister had probably imagined. I wondered then where the Dragon had gone, whether he had returned to his own rooms, wherever they might be, or whether he roamed the castle’s corridors in darkness. Did he even need to sleep?

Then I yawned, the exertions of the day finally catching up with me. Perhaps the lord of Black’s Keep had no need of slumber, but his Bride did. I was safe for now at least, and I would worry about the morrow when it came. I washed my face and scrubbed my teeth, and clambered into the tall bed. It felt strange and far too large, but apparently even its strangeness was not enough to keep me from slumber. I closed my eyes, and let myself fall into the dark.





I dreamed again that night.

No nightmare visions of shadows swooping down from the heights, or even the commonplaces I might have hoped to see—my family, or Lilianth safe with her beloved Adain. In fact, I could hardly call it a dream at all, but instead just a snippet, a brief glimpse.

I had never seen the man before, or at least I did not think I had. And what I did see was little more than the outline of a fine jaw, a glint from eyes the color of the sea…or at least the sea as Lindell once described it to me, as I had never seen it with my own eyes. The stranger turned and walked away from me, dark hair blowing in an unseen wind, the ragged locks catching in the fine embroidery of his high collar.

And then he was gone.

I sat up in bed, blinking, and realized morning had come. Golden sunlight, tinted with the rosy hues of dawn, slanted in through the narrow windows on the wall opposite my bed. And with that light the image in my dream seemed to fade and disappear, just as the morning mists were burning away in the valley below.

A compulsion came on me then, a driving need to get down what I had seen before it left me completely. I pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, rushing across the room to the small table under the windows. But its drawers were empty—no paper, no ink or pens.

I turned from the table and went into the main chamber, thinking furiously. No doubt the table out there would be as bereft of supplies as the one in my bedroom, but there were the remains of the fire from the day before. Surely there must be a lump of charcoal I could use for my purposes…