Dragon Rose(28)

“Yes. Happy. It sounds strange, I know, and a month ago I would not have believed it myself. But, as I said, I have as much time as I would like, and the Dragon has been kind to me. Very kind…” I added, trailing off as I considered the odd lord of this castle, the man haunted by an evil curse, someone who should have had every reason to view the world with hatred and suspicion, and yet who somehow, inexplicably, had made me feel welcome here.

My father was silent for a long moment, watching me. Perhaps he saw the truth in my features, or perhaps he’d only come to his senses enough to realize that, strange as it might seem, my existence was not the horror he had imagined. He cleared his throat. “I brought your presents.”

“You needn’t have—”

He cut me off. “I wished it. Your mother wished it.” And he turned from me and busied himself with one of the saddlebags, as Sar looked on with raised eyebrows and I prayed to whichever gods might be listening that the lord of the castle was occupied elsewhere.

The gifts were very close to what I had imagined, although my mother’s gift was a fine ebony-backed hairbrush instead of a comb, and the bauble Therella had sent was a needle case for my chatelaine. Never mind that I avoided needlework like the plague. But my father had brought me some fine-tipped squirrel brushes, and Maeganne had made me a handkerchief with my initial clumsily embroidered in the corner, while Darlynne’s gift was a little bottle of water smelling of lavender.

“They are lovely,” I said, as I fought against the choking sensation in my throat. “Tell Mother and Therella and Maeganne and Darlynne that they are just what I wished for.”

My father nodded. “We think of you every day, Rhianne. Do not think you are forgotten.”

“I hadn’t.” Then, after a quick glance at Sar, whose mouth tightened slightly, even as she nodded, “And how is Lilianth? Her wedding is three days hence, is it not?”

“Yes. Some thought it ill-mannered of her, to go ahead with the wedding after she had been chosen and not gone—”

“—Because I stepped in for her! What foolishness it would have been for her to have not gotten married after all that!”

He said nothing at first. Then he nodded slowly. “You gave much for your friend.”

I did not bother to say that she would have done the same for me, for in truth I did not think she would have, had our positions been reversed. I did not love her any less for that, but she and I were very different people. “And I have received much as well. Tell Lilianth that—and Mother, too.”

Perhaps he caught the warning glance Sar shot him then, because he only replied, “I will,” before pulling me into a rough embrace, during which he wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. Still with his gaze averted, he climbed back up into the saddle with the over-caution of someone not accustomed to the task.

“You will take care,” he said.

I almost said I had no real need to, but then I recalled the dark shape of Theran’s dragon form, circling above the castle that was his prison. All had been calm enough since then, though I knew better than to trust things would go on in such a fashion. “I promise…if you promise as well. I hope you have not tried to haul your own clay lately!”

“As for that,” he said frankly, “what with business the way it’s been…” He caught himself, but the damage was done.

So the good people of Lirinsholme had not relented, even though the wayward daughter had sacrificed herself on the altar of Black’s Keep. Ah, well. Prejudices died hard, newly formed ones possibly even harder than old beliefs that had had a lifetime to mature. At least the Dragon’s bride price would ensure they did not want, although it was a difficult thing to have one’s life work discarded all because of a single ill-considered decision.

“The ground will be too hard soon anyway,” I pointed out, and he even smiled a little. “But look, Father—the sun is beginning to set. You must be down the mountain before dark arrives.”

He looked unhappy at those words, although he did not try to argue. There would have been no point—we both knew his skills on horseback were negligible at best.

“Farewell, Rhianne,” he said simply.

“Farewell, Father.” It must have been the newfound maturity of my twenty years that allowed me to keep my voice so calm, so level.

He turned the horse around. I noticed he did not look back as he crossed the courtyard and went on through the castle gates. And then he was gone.

Sar approached, and I held my breath, wondering what words of recrimination she would have for me. But she only gazed at me for a moment and said,

“Come inside, my lady. It is almost time for dinner.”





Chapter Seven





“You should have told me it was your birthday,” Theran Blackmoor said.

With my fork I pushed aside a fatty-looking piece of venison and instead tackled the compote of spiced apples that had accompanied it. “I didn’t think it mattered. You’ve already done so much for me—”

He raised a hand. “All I’ve done is try to make you comfortable here. But a birthday…a birthday is special.”

“Sar has prepared a wonderful meal.”

A rueful shake of the hood, and he reached for his wine glass. At least, it seemed that small movement of his head was rather aggravated. I fancied that over the days and weeks I’d come to know his moods and gestures a little better, even if I could not see his face.