Page 8 of Dance with the Dragon Duke

She didn’t look at the dagger handle, holding him as best she could around his waist, taking pressure off his injured limb. Tomorrow knew better now than to glance down, but as he shifted his weight, she heard the wound squelch, and her stomach turned.

“I’m being rudely squeamish,” she said, her voice pitching higher with every word. “I know I am, but you’ll just have to forgive me. You have athingsticking out of your leg, and stuff that should remain inside your body keeps trying to seep out of it.”

Darko chuckled.

The sound caught her completely off-guard. How could he laugh? He was mad. That was the only explanation. Mad enough to take her up on her offer and pretend to be her lover, though, so she shouldn’t complain.

One lumbering step at a time, they made it over to the closet. She opened it for him, hurling the door wide. It clattered against the wall.

“This is your hoard?” She frowned at the empty closet. The most impressive thing about it was the intricate cobweb woven in the corner by a fuzzy brown spider. Below it there was nothing but dusty shelves and a few spare bed linens. But what did she know about such things? Not wanting to offend him, she added quickly, “I mean, it’s a lovely hoard, of course. A hoard I’m sure any dragon would be proud of.”

He snorted at her. “Shut the closet. It only works when I do it.”

Tomorrow grabbed the knob and pulled it closed. As he reached for the door, more of his weight pressed against her. Her knees shook, battling to remain steady. A blast of hot air blewout through the crevice at the bottom of the frame. It warmed the toes of her boots and smelled like ash.

Darko twisted the knob until it clicked like the workings of a clock, twice, then thrice. He shoved it open, and there was a whole new world on the other side.

“Divine Day’s blazing beard!” Tomorrow’s jaw went slack. There was a paradise in his closet. Bright green pastures rolled before her, filled with colorful flowers as tall as she was. A waterfall roared in the distance. Sparkling blue waters jetted from mossy rocks under a purple sky, like it couldn’t decide if it was night or day inside—outside?

“Almost there,” he panted.

As they entered—or exited?—Tomorrow felt the air change around her. It was thick with magic. Darko closed the door behind them. Instead of the entrance to a closet, a lonely astronomy tower made of sandstone loomed behind them.

With a whoosh of breath, he turned on his bad leg and wriggled the knob again. It clicked three times. When he opened it, the bedroom was gone, revealing the inside of the tower. She helped him limp over the threshold.

Tomorrow was stunned silent, an unusual state for her. Stone steps curled up the wall to a landing out of sight. She shuffled Darko into the nearest chair, a luxurious piece made of thick maroon velvet next to a small, rounded window that showcased the waterfall outside. The walls were decorated with star charts and drake art, urns and linen hangings made to look like dragon scales in various shades of green and blue. The trident emblem was emblazoned on an ornate rug beneath their feet.

“The bureau over there . . . Fetch me the vial from the drawer,” Darko said, indicating the opposite wall with a weak wave of his hand. Color was high in his cheeks, and his next inhale was sharp.

The bureau sat under a star chart of the constellation Thorvald, a star grouping shaped like a hammer. Thorvald was a Lunar name. The Seelie called those same stars Ord.

Tomorrow crossed to the bureau and opened the top drawer. A handful of wyvern coins rolled about beside a corked vial. The glass was clear, revealing the gilded liquid inside: fairy wine. She was familiar with the powerful substance that enabled even non-mages to cast spells and work glamours. Her grandmother had purchased it in generous quantities to help put her on her feet again.

Remembering high fevers and begging for death, she wiped clammy hands off on her skirts. Shoving the worst of the memories down deep and far away, she brought him the vial. When he opened it, the smell of dead leaves and overly ripe fruit overwhelmed her senses. He drank it, scowling. She remembered that tart taste, sympathetically recalling a hint of it on her own tongue from when her grandmother had tried desperately to strengthen her waning body.

“Now for the hard part,” he said, dropping the empty vial on the rug.

He took the hilt of the dagger in his hand. His big fist trembled. He gave it a tug, and the wound squelched. Tomorrow shut her eyes. He sucked in a shaky breath through his teeth, and she sensed his hesitation.

“I’ve got you,” she said. She reached for him, accidentally bumping his horns with blind grasping fingers. Horns were an intimate part of a fae and could be very sensitive. She jerked her hands back with a mumbled apology before trying again, reaching lower this time. She found his shoulder and followed his arm down. The coiled muscles there were as solid as sculpted marble under the broadcloth of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice ragged with pain.

“Helping,” she said, finally finding his free hand with hers. Eyes shut tight and nose scrunched, she laced her fingers with his bulky ones and gave them an affectionate pump. “You can do this, Darko. I’m with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

The duke exhaled slowly. He squeezed her hand hard, and she heard him jerk on the blade. He moaned softly, and her gut churned with sympathy for him. Another grunt of effort and a wet squelch followed. Tomorrow gritted her teeth, holding his tremoring hand between both of hers. His skin was tough and warm.

“You’re going to have to pull it out the rest of the way for me,” he whispered.

“I hope you’re teasing.” Tomorrow worked her throat. “If it’s left to me, you’re just going to have to grow accustomed to having a blade in your leg for the rest of your immortality. I’m certain someone can alter your clothing to accommodate it.”

“I am teasing,” he said as the dagger thudded onto the rug. Dragon blood magic burned hot in her nostrils, and then the duke heaved a great sigh.

“Is it done?” she asked, peeking at him through one slitted eye.

Darko nodded. “It’s over. The pain is receding.”

Tomorrow relaxed her shoulders and opened her eyes fully. His wound was already scarring over. Nothing but a black-soaked hole in the wool of his trousers remained to tell of the damage done.

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