Page 73 of Redeeming the Dragon

“I will take my turn,” I said quietly, stepping forward. “If that is why I’m here, I am ready to do my part.”

The Scraggen swung towards me. Anger flashed in her green eyes. I wanted to shrivel up like a squished spider as she snarled, “Keep silent, Peddler.”

“No,” I replied, fighting my natural inclination to shrink beneath her wrath. “No, I will not. I was summoned to take part in this contest and clean the shirt, was I not? That is what I will do.” Looking her straight in the eye, recalling Braisley’s information about my persuasive magic, I said gently, “You will, please, allow me to have my turn.”

The witch-woman’s scowl did not lessen. Her glare did not vanish. She pressed her lips together, inhaled a great huff of air, and released it in a hiss.

“Very well,” she acceded. “You may try.” She gestured for me to step over to the tub. At the same time, she rounded on Kidron, saying, “No more of this folly. If the peddler cannot clean your wretched shirt, you will quiet down and do as you are told. You will marry Atora, and you will take your rightful place at Moonswept, uniting your people and mine.”

“Agreed,” Kidron said quietly.

His gaze jumped to mine. His features remained firm and unyielding, but I saw the slightest flicker of emotion, translated only to me.

“You are my one hope,” he seemed to silently impart.

I gulped as I knelt before the washboard. My hands were trembling. This was it. The culmination of my long and strange journey. Either I succeeded here, or Kidron was lost forever. And who could tell what the Scraggen might do to me?

Chapter 42

Once upon a time, in my life before dragons, witch-women, curses, and spells, washing the laundry had been a simple job. Now, on this task hinged the fate of the man I loved, his dragon’s fate, my fate, and perhaps the fate of Aerisia itself.

Fixing my mind on the goal—freedom for us all—I set to scrubbing. As soon as I fell into the repetitive rhythm, anxiety dissipated. This was nothing I’d not done before. Up and down. Up and down. Back and forth. Back and forth. Scrub. Press in harder. Scrub more. The difference was this time I whispered under my breath,

“Clean. Come clean. Loosen your hold. Come clean.”

Your gift is one of persuasion, but it is not necessarily in the words you speak. It is in the actions you undertake.

Funnily enough, if I’d known I had persuasive magic before, I surely would have used it on my sisters to get them to do my chores. Such as dishes, laundry, mending, and sewing. Well, perhaps not the last two. I enjoyed those. What was the difference? Meeting Kidron? Had thatbeen what brought my magic to the fore? I could only surmise as I continued to rub, continued to coax.

“Mother!” Atora hissed, breaking my concentration.

My gaze fell into focus. The blackened stain on Kidron’s shirt was lightening to a dull grey.

“How is she doing that?” the Scraggen demanded, stalking closer.

Part of me wanted to shrink back. The other part said,No. No, you will hold your ground.

Hold my ground I did, continuing to scrub. The light-grey stain went paler and paler. The breadth of the spot narrowed.

“What witchery is this?” the Scraggen snapped. “How does she do it?”

“Perhaps she has tricks we lack, m’lady?” one of the servants dared to suggest.

“Impossible!” snapped the Scraggen. “How could she possess laundry tricks none of you know or told my daughter? How could she possess tricks of magic that I don’t know?”

There it was. By her own admission, the Scraggen had cheated, attempting to use magic on the stains. Not that it mattered. According to Kidron’s theory—which was coming true—the shirt could never have been cleaned by the Scraggen’s magic. It was tied up in the breaking and shattering of the curse, in my love for him, and in the mate bond that sealed us together.

“Stop, Peddler!” the Scraggen demanded. “You have done enough. I order you to cease.”

I did not cease. Little enough of the stain remained. True, I’d proved I could clean it, but I feared if I were to stop that she would try to claim the job hadn’t been properly finished and Kidron wasn’t free.

“Did you not hear me? I ordered you to stop!”

She hovered over me. Her wrath rolled off her in waves. I felt it smash against me like an angry tide—hot, angry, potent. And yet…

I reached deep within, for the same feeling that had coursed through my veins when the sparks of green magic had appeared.

“Go away,” I demanded through gritted teeth. My fingertips began to itch. Beneath them, the shirt on the washboard turned a soft green. “I’ve a job to complete.”

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