Page 66 of Redeeming the Dragon

“It is all my mother’s idea,” she replied. “Do you know, Peddler, I’ve never been allowed to leave Moonswept? Moonswept is a beautiful place, to be sure. However, much more awaits in Aerisia. Other folk can travel this world. Why not I? My mother says no. I must marry the Warkin prince, and I must spend my life catering to her plans.”

She did not have to say it. I surmised this was why she’d been so enchanted by my artifacts. If her desire was to travel Aerisia, to see new places and meet different peoples, my interesting little trades were the closest she would ever get to that goal.

“Come along,” she said, beckoning me onward. “My mother’s will is not mine, yet I must submit. She is my mother. And she is very powerful. I am betraying her enough as it is. We dare not risk lingering.”

I scurried after her, thinking the conversation was closed. However, as we walked, she pressed me once more, saying, “Why do you share my betrothed’s bed, Lorna?”

Her tone was more of curiosity than disgust or jealousy.

My brain raced, attempting to compose an explanation that would satisfy her without endangering Kidron or my quest.

“I wanted to see a dragon,” I replied. “You were the one who told me he was a man at night. When you locked me in his room, I thought he might awaken and shift into his beast form.”

“He does not shift into a dragon while asleep.”

“I found that out last night,” I lied. In truth, I was well aware of that fact. “When I realized he would not awaken, and there was no chance of seeing a dragon, I had to sleep somewhere.”

Even though I followed her down gloomy passages, I watched her posture to see if I could read anything from it. Her shoulders and back did not stiffen with displeasure. All she said was, “I see.”

And that was that. No further conversation. No asking why I was going back to Kidron’s room tonight. She truly did not seem to care that I had passed the night sleeping beside her betrothed. I could not imagine caring so little about the man I was to marry. The notion of Kidron marrying Atora filled my stomach with sickening dread. He was mine. He was meant for me. No one else could claim him.

If I did not save him from this forced marriage, that would be his destiny.

No.

Deep in my bones, the protest settled.

No.

Kidron was mine. I would no more surrender him to be Atora’s husband than I would surrender him to serve a Scraggen or as a living sacrifice to his father’s ambitions.

I will free you, Kidron. I vow it,I pledged as we stopped outside his door.

“Come dawn, I will fetch you,” Atora reminded me. “Make no sound lest the servants hear you.”

I nodded. “As you say.”

With that, she let me inside. I slipped into the room for another night with the dragon prince, fully aware that I had only one other magical artifact. One other chance at a night with him. One other chance to break this curse. Time was slipping away from me faster than grains of sand spilling through fingers.

This has to work.

Alas for me, that night went much the same as the night before. Kidron was lost in a slumber so deep that it had to be unnatural. Nothing I could say or do—shaking him, jiggling his arms, gently slapping his cheeks—nothing roused him. I talked to him. I begged. I pleaded. I even wept. The seriousness of the situation was not lost on me. My time at Moonswept was coming to an end. Once the artifacts were given out, I could not storm the castle. I did not know the magical incantations Atora had used to open the door, nor the hand motions. Even if I did, I lacked her mother’s bloodline, which might be a key component to using her mother’s magic.

By the time the Scraggen’s daughter came for me the next morning, my eyes were swollen and red from crying. I should not have dissolved into tears. However, the helplessness of the situation distressed me. The first night, I had curled up with Kidron and slept semi-peacefully. Last night, I could not sleep. I alternatively paced the floor in agony or wept, trying again and again to break the dragon prince’s slumber.

When she opened the door, Atora’s face was grim. “Time to go, Peddler,” she said. “Make haste.”

I threw a final longing look over my shoulder at the man I loved, then followed her out of his chamber. Hopelessness filled me. Part of me did not even wish to offer her my gift from the Jearim. Once it was gone, I’d have nothing left with which to bargain. But if I didn’t…

I waited until we were facing the iron door shielding Moonswept from the tunnel before I made up my mind.

“Atora,” I said, “I have a final artifact.” Reaching into my pack, I handed over the knife from the Simathe First. Then I withdrew the shiny leaf with the rainbow shimmer. Atora’s eyes widened a little. I was confident that she’d not seen one before.

“One more night,” I said. “A final night with the dragon prince, and I will give you this.”

Almost reverently, she reached out to touch the strange plant. “Where does this originate?” she asked.

I told her and she replied, “I have never heard of these folk.”

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