Dragon Rose(21)

“No odder than the lord of Black’s Keep being a dragon, I suppose.”

It was the first time he had ever said anything about his…condition. The words sounded almost amused, if in a rueful way, and they emboldened me enough to say, “They call you that, my lord, and yet I must confess that you seem very much like a man to me.”

The gloved fingers clenched on the paper, crumpling it. “Do I?”

Immediately I knew that I had misspoken, and the food I had just eaten seemed to turn over in my stomach. Why couldn’t I have just held my tongue? It seemed to forever get me in trouble.“My apologies—I did not mean—”

At once he pushed his chair back and stood. Wood scraped against stone, and I tried not to wince. “Count yourself fortunate that you have not seen the Dragon in his true guise…and pray that you never will.”

Then he turned and strode from the room, leaving me to stare at the half-eaten food on my plate. His palpable anger had quite killed my own appetite, so after a moment I set aside my napkin and stood as well. By then I knew the way back to my rooms well enough, but still I hesitated. Perhaps some part of me thought he might return. As the minutes passed, however, it became clear that he was done with me for the evening.

Fighting a queasiness that had very little to do with the excellent meal I had just consumed, I found my way to the door and then out into the more brightly lit corridor. I saw no one, but that was to be expected. Most days I could climb from my own tower room to the ground floor and not encounter a soul. I expected that the servants, probably used to their lord’s vagaries of mood, knew how to make themselves scarce when necessary.

Oh, why had I let those foolish words escape my lips? Yes, it was a thought that had been with me for some time, but I should have known better than to ask for details. And if my cursed curiosity must be sated, then I should have broached the subject with Sar, and not asked the question of the man himself.

Man. He stood on two legs like a man, had two arms and the height and breadth of a man in his prime, but I still had no idea of what lay concealed beneath his cloak. Wings and horns? I could guess, but I did not know. I only knew that he appeared a man to me, far more than a dragon.

I reached my rooms and let myself in, closing the door softly behind me. It was far too dark for painting, but I found I had little taste for that. I could only hope Theran wasn’t so angry with me that he would not sit down to dinner with me the next day, that perhaps his ire would burn itself out in the dark hours of the night.

Even though I had no intention of picking up my paintbrush, I sat down in the chair in my little alcove. The windows were still open to the night air, and I welcomed the feel of the small breeze that whispered its way past the mullioned glass and played with the loose hair about my shoulders. If I closed my eyes and concentrated on the scents of dry grass and the faint lingering traces of linseed oil, perhaps I could forget that ugly little scene in the dining room, forget the anger in Theran’s voice.

From somewhere above me came a high, piercing cry, one that seemed to chill the very blood in my veins, even though the night air was quite mild. I had heard that cry before, once, in my nightmares.

Although some part of me wanted to fling the windows shut, to run back to my bed and draw the bed hangings around me, I made myself stand and go to the casement. Fingers gripping the cool, rough stone, I leaned out just enough to get a clearer view of what had made that sound.

Black circled against black, blotting out the stars. There were no moons, and so I could not see anything clearly, but I thought I could make out the shape of enormous wings as something—someone—moved through the air above Black’s Keep. And perhaps it was just a fancy, but I thought I saw the glitter of eyes, green as emeralds. Those eyes seemed to pierce the darkness and find me where I stood.

For one long moment I remained frozen in place, my own gaze meeting that of the monster. A shudder went through me, and I gasped. I had heard hunters describe the way rabbits might go still in such a manner, when caught by a predator’s stare, and indeed, it seemed to me that I was unable to move, that I could not force myself away from the open window. The shadow moved closer, and the breath strangled in my throat. It would dive now, drop through the black night and tear the life from me, just another Bride to bleed out her last in one of the castle’s high towers.

But then the shape moved off, and that hard green gaze turned elsewhere. I gasped and pushed myself backward, then grasped the windows and flung them shut, heedless of the glass.

They held, and I rushed to fasten the latches. A silly precaution; that enormous shape could have broken the mullioned windows with hardly a second thought. Better to have something there than nothing, though, and I stumbled out of the alcove and on into my bedchamber, where I closed the windows as well, and shut the door, though it had no latch.

Then I sat on the bed, arms clutched about myself, as if that would do anything to stop the trembling which had overtaken my body. At last the tremors subsided somewhat, and I forced myself to look at the nearest window, now safely hidden behind a fall of crimson damask.

It seemed clear to me now that the Dragon of Black’s Keep was more than simply a title.





Sleep ran from me that night, ran like a quarry chased by a persistent hunter. Sometime in the dark hours of the morning I finally fell into an exhausted slumber, and the dream came upon me once again.

This time I saw him only in profile, catching a glimpse of a fine, long nose and that same sculpted jaw. Once again, though, he turned away, seemingly swallowed in a blaze of blinding white light. Even in my dream I blinked. And then he was gone.