Love in the Time of Dragons (7 page)

“Pictures? What pictures?” I roused from my stupor in order to look at him.

“The ones in Ruth’s room.”

I dug through what remained of my memory. “I don’t remember seeing any pictures in her room.”

“In a box in the locked drawer in her bureau,” he said, looking around the room with casual curiosity.

“How do you know what’s in a locked drawer?” I asked, then realized just how stupid a question that was. “I don’t care if your father gave you a lock-picking kit for Christmas—you are not going to be a cat burglar when you grow up, and you are not to hone your skills on your aunt’s locked bureau.”

“She has pictures of you, too,” he said with blithe disregard to my chastisement.

“I highly doubt that. Ruth and I aren’t the very best of friends.”

“Yeah, I know, but she has pictures of you and Gareth and her, and you’re all wearing clothes like out of that movie you made me watch.”

I racked my brain, or what was left of it. “What movie?”

“The one you like to watch so much. You know, the one with the girls in long dresses and they walk around and talk a lot.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you were wearing stuff like that.”

“They didn’t have cameras during the Regency period,” I told him, distracted by the thought of pictures. Brom wouldn’t lie, but he might have misinterpreted what he had seen.

“Whatever. I think I’ll go move my stuff down to the room in the basement Gabriel said I could have.”

I eyed him, his round face as dear to me as life itself. Thank god whatever was happening to me hadn’t stripped me of memory of him altogether. “You will go to bed. It’s well past your bedtime.”

“I’m nine, Sullivan, not a baby,” he said with exaggerated forbearance.

“Go to bed,” I repeated.

He sighed and got to his feet, pausing at the door to send me a martyred look before saying, “Gabriel says he won’t kick us out because we’re not silver dragons anymore. He said you were born into the silver sept, and that they’d honor that, even though you were married to a black dragon. Did you know Gareth when you were married to the dragon?”

I closed my eyes and bowed my head, wanting to cry, wanting to scream, wanting to tell Brom that I had only been married once in my life, to his father. “Time for bed,” was all I said, however, before escorting him to his room. I made sure that he was settled before disgusting him with not one, but three hugs, and two smooches to the head, which he tolerated, but only just barely. Clearly Brom was moving into that stage of life where motherly affection was a thing to be borne with much martyrdom.

“Sleep well. If you need anything, come and get me,” I told him as I left the room.

“I’m glad you’re OK,” he said before the door closed. “Penny said you would be, but I was kind of worried. I didn’t know you had May and Gabriel to look after you. You know what I think? I think you’re lucky they found you.”

My heart swelled at the fact that he had been concerned. “Lucky?”

“Yeah. What if it had been one of the other dragons who found you? Someone not from your own group? What would have happened then?”

What indeed. “Go to sleep,” I said, blowing him a kiss.

Silence filled my little room when I returned to it, but all it did was heighten the desperate confusion of my mind.

“I
don’t want to go.”

The lid of my traveling basket closed with solid finality, punctuated by the muted sounds of weeping.

“I don’t like him. He’s arrogant,” I added, watching as my mother’s tirewoman tightened the straps on the basket so it wouldn’t come open during travel. “Although he’s a much better kisser than Mark, the brewer’s son.”

“He kissed you?” My mother moved into view, her face pinched and white as she glanced around my bedchamber. Margaret sat on the bed, weeping into her sleeve.

Sorrow at leaving her filled me, but anger at the sudden upheaval in my life was the emotion that rode me. “Yes. I don’t see why I have to go with him.”

“Mama, can’t she stay?” Margaret begged, looking up with red-rimmed eyes.

I sat next to her on the bed and hugged her. Margaret and I had sometimes had a turbulent relationship, but she was the only sister I had, and I would miss her. Especially since I was being taken from my home against my will.

“I promised your mother—” Mama choked on the word before continuing. “I promised the one who was your mother that I would raise you as my own to ensure your safety. I have done so, but I know she would not have wanted me to keep you from your true family. I would not let you go, but indeed, I have no choice in the matter. And Lord Baltic said that no ill would come to you, not that I told him anything about your past. Still, he swore that you would not be harmed, and that is what we must hold to.”

“I don’t care what that Baltic says,” I murmured, holding tight to Margaret. “I’m not an animal.”

“I’ve explained to you, dear—dragons do not take their bestial form very often. They prefer to be in human form, and live amongst us as a mortal would.” She gestured to the maids to carry down my traveling baskets. “Come, Ysolde. It is time. Lord Baltic is waiting, and I do not wish for his anger at a delay to fall upon your father.”

“Lord Baltic can go stick his head in the pig’s wallow for all I care,” I said, stalking out the door after the maids.

Mama made noises of distress, but followed after me, speaking to herself as she ran over the things I was taking with me. “I asked him if he wanted the bed, but he said no, he wanted to travel fast. I have done my best by her, I hope he knows that.”

Margaret hurried after me, wiping her face. “Ysolde will be able to visit us, won’t she, Mama?”

“Of course I will,” I said as our little procession marched down the stairs to the great hall below. “No one can stop me from seeing you whenever I want.”

“Is that so?” a deep male voice asked.

I turned my head as I stepped off the last step, meeting Baltic’s ebony gaze with a level look. “Yes, that’s so.”

He watched me for a moment, then gave a jerky nod of his head. “We will do our best to make you happy,
chérie
.”

“Stop calling me that,” I hissed through my teeth as I passed him.

His laughter rolled out across the hall in response.

The leave-taking that followed was not something I ever wish to live through again. I clung first to my mother, then my father, unable to keep tears from spreading tracks down my cheeks, their wetness blending with that of Margaret’s when she hugged me, her face pressed to mine as she whispered her desire that I not be long in returning.

By the time the imperious Baltic lifted me onto my horse, I wasn’t in much better shape than Margaret, although I had enough presence of mind to glare at him when he gripped my leg as he adjusted the stirrups.

“I am not a strumpet to be handled such,” I snapped, my emotions frayed and irritated, placing my boot in the middle of his chest and pushing him backwards.

One of his guards, the one he called Kostya, a black-eyed devil if ever there was one, laughed and said something in a language I did not know.

Baltic shot me a look filled with ire, but said nothing. Before I knew it, we were riding across the bridge over the moat, the only home I’d ever known slowly slipping away behind me.

I didn’t speak to any of the dragon men for three days.

On the fourth, I was sick of my own thoughts, tired of grieving for my lost family, and bored almost to the point of insensibility.

“Where are we going?” I asked that evening, when we passed through the gates of a small town.

Baltic, who was riding next to me, shot me an amused glance. “You’re speaking to us?”

“Since I have no other alternative,” I said in my most haughty manner. “I would like to know where these other parents of mine are.”

We stopped in front of a small inn. The three guards dismounted; one of the men, a short, stocky man named Pavel, disappeared into the low opening of the inn. Baltic tossed the reins of his horse to a stableboy before helping me off my mount. “I am not taking you to your parents.”

I stared at him in surprise. “Why not?”

He put his hand on my back and gave me a little shove toward the inn. Since it looked like it was about to rain, I went inside, ducking at the low beam at the doorway. The inn was of modest size, smoky and dark inside, but there were no foul odors as you will sometimes find in such places. To the right was a rough staircase leading to a floor above, while to the left was a common room filled with benches and rough-hewn plank tables.

“We do not yet know who your parents are. The mortal woman would not tell us the name of the dragons who left you with her, and although it would have been possible to get that information from her, such methods can take time, and I wished to be on my way. We will go to my home in Riga, and from there begin the search for your true parents.”

I felt like a dog hackling up at his arrogant tone. “I suppose you expect me to be grateful you decided not to torture my mother!”

“No.” He looked nonplussed. “She was not your mother. She was merely a mortal who had sworn her fealty to a dragon.”

“Did you even talk to her?” I demanded, grabbing his arm when he was about to walk away from me. “Did you even ask her why I was left with her? You didn’t, did you? You couldn’t be bothered to find out what really happened!”

His eyes glittered dangerously, but I was never one to take heed when I should, and I saw no reason to start now. He leaned close, his fingers biting hard into my arm, his breath fanning my face as he growled, “You will not address me in such an insolent tone. I am a wyvern. You will show me respect at all times.”

“I will respect you when you prove worthy of such an honor!” I snapped back.

His jaw worked as if he wanted to shout at me, but all he did was release me with a muttered oath. He started off toward the innkeeper, but I wasn’t through with him.“Finding out the truth may have been beneath your concern, but it wasn’t beneath mine! My mother told about the woman she knew from her youth, a woman who was gravely injured, and whom she healed. She told me about how they had remained friends until one day, the woman arrived covered in blood, bearing a baby—me—and begged her to hide the child away lest it be discovered by her enemies. She told my mother the name of that enemy.”

Baltic froze and turned slowly around to face me, his expression blank.

I squared my shoulders and met his gaze without flinching. “Baltic. The woman said the one who would destroy her and the child was named Baltic.”

With a snarl, he lunged at me, moving so fast I could barely follow him. I didn’t even have time to scream before he spun me around, ripping off my cloak and shredding my surcoat. I ran forward, sobbing, intent on escaping the suddenly mad warrior, but he caught me, pressing me into the wall as he tore the cotte until only my chemise hid my skin from his view.

Even that wasn’t enough. As I clutched the wall, terrified that in his animal frenzy he would tear the flesh from my bones, he jerked down my chemise until my back was exposed.

“Silver!” he snarled, releasing me suddenly. I half collapsed on the stairs, clutching my clothing to my chest, trying to understand what brought on this brainstorm.

“What is silver?” I asked, flinching when he kicked tables and chairs out of his way as he stormed across the room.

“The mark you bear.”

“On my back?” I snatched up the cloak that lay on the ground, wrapping it around myself.

At the sound of wood being smashed, Kostya burst into the room, his sword in hand. “What is it?”

Pavel stood at the top of the stairs, silently watching as his master literally destroyed the meager furnishings in the common room.

Kostya frowned, looking from Pavel, to me, and finally to Baltic. “What’s wrong?”

Baltic swore, profanely and with a fluency that I couldn’t help but admire. He slammed a chair into the wall. It exploded in a thousand little splinters. “Ask her!” he snarled, kicking debris out of the way. The innkeeper had run into the back room the second Baltic had become enraged. He peeked out of the door, quickly hiding when Baltic pulled out his sword and started hacking away at a barrel of ale.

“What have you done?” Kostya asked me, sheathing his sword.

“Nothing. Baltic is upset over a birthmark on my back.”

“That is no birthmark!” Baltic yelled, his face red with fury as he started toward me, his sword still in hand. I backed up, stumbling over a broken chair, wanting nothing more than to get out of the way of the madman. He stalked forward, menace rolling off him, his eyes narrowed and focused on me.

I thought briefly of running, but knew I wouldn’t make it more than two steps before he would be on me.

“I’ve done nothing to anger you,” I said, putting on a brave front.

His lips curled. “You bear the mark of a silver dragon.”

Behind him, Kostya looked shocked.

“Silver, not black! You are the spawn of a traitor, one who has betrayed us! I should kill you where you stand!” He raised the sword until the tip of it was pressed into my throat.

I stood still, confused why he should be so angry with me, but aware that if I showed the least sign of weakness, he would kill me.

“Baltic—” Kostya approached, stopping just short of us. His expression was wary, but I did not see in him the unwholesome fury that was in his master. “She is innocent of wrongdoing.”

“No silver dragon is innocent,” Baltic said in a low growl. Pain pricked my neck as the sword tip pierced my skin. I lifted my chin, keeping my gaze steady on his. “They will either rejoin us, or they will die.”

“But this one knows nothing of our ways. She has not even accepted that she is a dragon,” Kostya argued, gesturing toward me. “What purpose is there in killing her?”