Page 49 of Dance with the Dragon Duke

Tomorrow

Tomorrow sensed it when Dark left his hoard. She tried to fall asleep again in the bed after that and couldn’t. Outside the tower window, he’d kept the clouds at a dusky shade of purple, just enough light for her to see clearly but not enough to hurt her eyes. She padded over to the window to watch the inhabitants of the hoard wake.

The fairies played by the waterfall. They took turns riding on the back of a great tortoise. Amused by their energetic splashing, she tried to decipher their game. There was chasing involved, but a splash of water appeared to transform the individual from runner to seeker instead of tagging.

Wetness pooled under Tomorrow’s nose. She swiped at it. It was bleeding again. It tended to do that when the air was dry and she was stressed. Plugging her nostrils, she searched for something to clean herself with.

Thankfully, the bleeding stopped quickly. She could find nothing in the tower that didn’t seem far too precious to be used to wipe away the mess.

In the back of her mind, she thought about the witch’s constellation. A sharp prick of pain stabbed between her ribs, and then it was gone. When she pulled her hand away, the blood in her palm had formed into a lumpy bit of rock the color of rust.A piece of her partially immortal soul, crafted by her will and longing to escape death.

Her fragmented soul hadn’t been worth much to the fairies and demons in the villages up north. She thumbed the piece of stone, and although it looked brittle, it felt hard.

“You’re fierce,” she told the piece of soul. “We’re worth something, even if they couldn’t see it.”

She didn’t know what her new friends would say, but what harm could it possibly do to ask for help? With a drop of hope in her heart, she left the tower and made for the waterfall on legs that felt like sticks of butter gone much too soft.

The fairies didn’t stop their game until she reached the edge of the lagoon.

“Rower,” Ruby called brightly, and the girls began to chant her name.

“That’s right. It’s Rower,” she said sheepishly, squeezing the ruddy stone in her palm. “I . . .” Her mouth had gone completely dry, and her toes dug into the moist mud. “I have something for one of you—that is, if you would consider bargaining with me. I am in need of a familiar willing to help preserve my life with their blood magic by soul-bonding with me. I’m quite ill.”

Tomorrow sat at the edge of the pool, crossing her legs beneath her. Her shift was thin, but the air was as warm as dragon breath.

She licked her parched lips. “I’ll just leave this here for you to consider.” Hands shaking, she set the stone beside her in a patch of dry earth. “This and my friendship, my loyalty, are what I have to offer you in return.”

As the fairies gathered around to examine it, Tomorrow lay on the grass, her body tired. More and more fairies came out from around the waterfall.

One by one, they studied the rusty piece of stone, passing it around.

And one by one, they went back to playing, letting it fall to the earth. The fairies babbled at her apologetically.

“I understand, of course,” Tomorrow said softly. “It’s all right. I’ll be . . .”

Not fine.Her eyes welled until her vision blurred. She blinked up at the sky.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered, voice breaking. “That I’m too weak to be tethered to, but I’m not unworthy. I’mnot. Strength is more than muscles, and power is more than magic. Grace is more than an ability to dance well. Grace is kindness and gentleness, and I have those in abundance. If someone would just give me a chance, I could show you.”

But she was so tired her eyelids grew heavy.

* * *

Dark

Before Dark left his hoard, he turned the knob until it clicked twice. It opened into a vast corridor dotted with decorative doorways. Glistening hardwood floors stretched before him endlessly: the hoards of his blood relatives.

Above each doorway hung a lantern, the lights of which either burned brightly or had been snuffed out—a sign of their passing.

Dark’s heavy footsteps echoed as he cut a path to the entrance he wanted. It was a door made of dark wood, the frame covered in carvings of massive wildflowers, the leaves a barbaric swirl around the lintel. He knocked hard enough to rattle the wood, and then he waited briefly for a response. When none came, he pounded on it more forcefully.

“Sora!” he called. “I need to speak with you.”

He heard shuffling inside, the click of claws against wood, but the movement was too small to be that of his sister’s.

Finally, the door cracked open, and a small runt of a dragon stuck out her diamond-shaped head. Her liquid black eyes looked him over before she waddled aside. The door opened into a cozy living space dominated by a large hearth. It resembled the inside of a modest hut with shuttered windows and mahogany fixtures. The dragon, a familiar with black scales, hissed up at him. She stood no higher than a house cat, her head coming to his knees.

“I need to see her, Masha,” he told the dragon as he carefully entered the hoard of Sora Yaga. The simple hut didn’t feel like the magical sacred space of an Unseelie queen, but it was a dangerously deceptive hoard, more trap than treasure trove. The magic was so thick around him that the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rose.

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