Dragon Rose(65)

It seemed so clear to me then. I had finished my painting. What else did I have to hold me to this place? I could go, and there would be a new grave for the snow to drift upon, and then in five or seven years the Dragon would summon another Bride. My heart ached for her, but I knew I could not warn her. Whatever doom came upon her, it must be hers alone.

The latch was stiff, the wood swollen with damp and neglect. I felt a fingernail break upon it, and yet I still struggled with the stubborn piece, somehow telling myself that it must be here. It must be this window, for from here I would drop quickly, with nothing to break my fall. It must be here, for the tower was quite desolate, and no one would mark what I had planned to do until it was too late.

Finally the latch lifted out of its housing, and I tossed it away into a corner before pushing the window open. A rush of freezing night air blew in, lifting my hair away from my face, penetrating my dressing gown as if it were not there. Well, it did not matter. In a few minutes, I would feel nothing at all.

I grasped the casement with both hands, steeling myself for what would come next. As she had said, it would be only a moment of pain. Only a moment.

“Rhianne!”

His voice cut like a whip crack through the empty rooms.

No. I would not allow him to stop me.

Fingers tightening against the rough stone, I pushed myself outward, letting the night wind embrace me.

“No!”

His voice fell behind me, dropped away as I let myself drift into the cold air. White swirls of snowflakes followed me down, wrapping around me. Their touch was gentle, as if in welcome. Why, this would not hurt at all…

But then a rush of movement, the glint of gleaming scales beneath the harsh moon. Clawed hands reached out to grasp me, to pluck me from the wind’s embrace and gather me into his own. I struggled, but those inhuman arms were too strong. He held me close to him, and I felt the heat of him go through me, heard the thudding of his heart as it echoed the beating of his mighty wings.

We came to rest in the snow-covered courtyard, and he set me down before the castle’s front entrance. A shiver of those enormous wings, and then he was himself again, black robes forever hiding the evidence of his curse.

At another time, in another life, I might have still marveled at what it had felt like to be held in a dragon’s embrace. At the moment, though, I only ached with thwarted fury. I should have been free. I had not asked for him to save me.

“Let me alone!” I cried, and ran up the steps into the keep.

What I was thinking precisely, I could not say, except that the one tortured Bride’s tower was not the only one in the castle. My own rooms were quite high enough. They would serve.

I heard Theran’s heavy boots behind me and knew he had not given up the pursuit. Very well. He was taller and stronger, but I was lighter of foot. And I guessed he did not have room in the narrow tower stairwell to safely change into his dragon form.

So I fled up the steps, taking some of them two at a time, nothing in me but the pounding fear that he might catch me and stop me again before the deed was done. Why he should care whether I ended it, I did not know, but I could not let such concerns slow me down. Not now.

I burst into the corridor only a pace or two ahead of him. It was enough. It would have to be enough. I grasped my door and flung it open, but that small pause proved disastrous, for then he was there, pulling me into his arms, holding me close even though I set my hands against his chest and pushed, attempting with all my strength to free myself from his grasp.

“No, Rhianne,” he exclaimed, and his arms tightened around me. “Fight it. You must fight it, my darling.”

Once I would have thrilled with joy to hear him address me thus. Now I could only whimper and push against him, writhing like a cornered cat. “You don’t need me!” I cried. “You don’t want me. Let me go. Let me be free of you!”

Whether he relaxed his hold slightly in shock at my words, or whether I had found just the right angle to slip out of his arms, I did not know, but somehow I found myself sliding away, running once more to my bedchamber, where the windows were set lower and I thought I might have a better chance at flinging myself from them before he could stop me.

But I had not counted on his speed, or perhaps his desperation. I had only gone a few paces before I felt his hands on me again. This time we both crashed to the floor, his weight almost fully on me. Still I pushed forward, crawling on my hands and knees. Not the most dignified way to go to one’s doom, perhaps, but in my maddened state I was hardly thinking clearly. I dragged myself a few inches, and kicked backward, catching him in the midsection. He let out a muffled grunt of pain, and I took advantage of his momentary disability to push myself up to a standing position and stagger forward. Only a few more yards…

Behind me I heard him climb to his own feet, his breathing ragged and hoarse. I fully expected him to continue his pursuit, and so I continued to totter toward the window.

He did not, however. He stood rooted in place, staring at the portrait, which I in my unthinking haste had left exposed on its easel.

“Gods,” he breathed.

Something in his tone penetrated the fog of madness in my brain. I stopped and turned toward him, watched as one gloved hand reached to his throat. The hood shook slightly, as if he could not believe the evidence of his own eyes.

He said, the words seeming to reverberate throughout the room, “She will see you as you truly are.”