Dragon Rose(30)

“Some water, perhaps?” A ceramic pitcher sat on one of the side tables, and he went to it and poured a measure into one of the pitcher’s matching goblets. I took it gratefully and drank, thus cooling my abused throat somewhat.

“Thank you.”

I couldn’t see his smile, but I guessed there might be one hidden under that hood. He retrieved his own glass and took another sip. “Practice, my dear Rhianne.”

The last thing I wanted was to swallow any more of that searing stuff, but I also didn’t want him to think me a coward. So I went and picked up the glass I had abandoned on the table, and forced myself to take the merest of sips, barely more than an exhalation of fumes over my palate. That seemed a little more manageable; this time the liquid going down my throat had the warmth of a welcome fire, and not the searing heat of a dragon’s breath.

“Better?”

“Much.”

A silence descended, but this time it somehow felt companionable rather than awkward. Theran stepped away from me, going to stand only a few feet from the hearth. His robes looked very black in contrast with the golds and reds and ochres of the flames. He drank from his glass again, draining it. I wondered at him being able to stand that much, although perhaps his body was more suited to such heat than mine.

He spoke then. “Your father loves you very much.”

His words took me aback. There had been a questioning note to the remark, as if he were not entirely sure of the answer.

“Well…of course. I am sorry he came here, though. I know that it isn’t done.”

Theran turned toward me, empty glass dangling from between his black-clad fingers. “It isn’t done, Rhianne, because no one has done it in the past five hundred years. Until now.”

His tone was so neutral I could not tell whether he was angry or not. “He only wanted to make sure I was well…”

“There is no need to make excuses for him.” The Dragon Lord paused, as if checking himself. “That is, it is understandable why he came. You should not worry on his account.”

“You won’t—you won’t retaliate?”

“Of course not!”

There was no mistaking the vehemence of those words. Again I had misjudged him, this odd husband of mine. “But there must be some reason why family members are forbidden to visit the Brides…”

“‘And go forth, taking that which is his, and leaving behind the things of your childhood,’” Theran said. “Do you know what that is from?”

It sounded familiar, but although I had been taught to read and write, books were a luxury in my household. I could not place the phrase.

He seemed to take my silence as tacit admission that I did not, in fact, recognize the passage. “It is from the Book of Inyanna, where it discusses how a young woman must leave her family and make a new one with her husband. A tenet which is perhaps adhered to more strictly here than elsewhere, I am sure. And it is not always wise to come here, because the family may find—” And then he paused, possibly recalling at the last instant that some things were better left unsaid.

May find what? I wanted to ask. But if he had stopped himself, I guessed he would not confide in me.

“So it has become something of a tradition,” I ventured, and he nodded, as if relieved that I had not pressed the issue.

“Precisely.” He moved back to the table and poured himself another glass of the methlyn.

I might have sucked in my breath slightly at the thought of two such glasses drunk so closely in succession. Whatever the cause, Theran turned back toward me.

“No fears, Rhianne. It does not affect me in quite the same way it does you.”

Unfortunate that I had been so transparent. I managed a smile and replied, “I imagine not, or you would be doubled over coughing right now.”

A chuckle. “Quite right…although it seems you’ve acclimated yourself to it somewhat.”

“Perhaps.” To be sure, I had essayed one or two more careful swallows, but I thought it was safe to say that the methlyn would never replace wine as my drink of choice.

His air seemed to change then; somehow he appeared taller, as if he had straightened within the enveloping robes, and the hood was tilted down toward me. “And it never occurred to you to leave?”

“Leave?” I repeated, unsure of what he was asking me.

“With your father. I was not there—it is possible you would not have been stopped.”

“I would never—” I burst out. Then, in somewhat calmer tones, “That is, such a thing would never have occurred to me.”

“And why not?”

“It would not be the honorable thing to do,” I replied calmly. That sounded very noble, but I knew there was far more to it than that. “I mean…that is to say…”

He said nothing, as if content to watch my verbal floundering.

Damn it. Perhaps it would have been better to say nothing, but I did not want him to think that he had bested me. “Why should I leave?” I asked. “I have everything I need here.”

At that he went very still. The dark robes could have been carved from basalt, so unmoving were they. Finally, “You do?”

My cheeks flushed with sudden heat, although whether my blush was from the methlyn or something else entirely, I could not say. I thought I was being careful with the heady liquor, but perhaps it had loosened my tongue more than I had guessed, although more than three-quarters of what I had first poured still remained in the glass I held.