Page 281 of Dragon Slayer

Val was awake long before the guard brought his breakfast. It was only fruit, bagels and lox, and his stomach fizzed with anticipation, but he forced down every bite, drained the accompanying milk and pig’s blood, too.

Mia was here.

He was jiggling both knees by the time he scented his brother at the outer door, and was on his feet to greet him.

Vlad carried a canvas tote bag, an image so incongruous it startled a laugh out of Val.

“What have you got there?” He looked like a mother at Disneyland with that bag. A murderous mother with bulging biceps.

Vlad passed it over with an unimpressed look. “Suitable clothes.”

Val set the bag on the cot and drew out a plain black t-shirt…and a pair of modern riding breeches, the kind with suede patches sewn inside the knees. At the bottom of the bag he found a folded leather jacket and…yes, a doubled-over pair of worn knee boots.

His pulse jumping, he looked up at his brother again. “Clothes suitable for what, Vlad?”

“Do you want to go riding or not?”

“Yes.”

“Here.” Vlad snapped an elastic off his wrist, and pulled a hairbrush from his back pocket. “Do you want your hair braided?” He sounded grudging, but his own hair was braided down his back, and Val knew his warrior’s fingers had always knitted the tidiest plaits.

Val sat down sideways on the cot in wordless answer, presenting his waterfall of unmanageable golden hair. He could have done it himself, though his arms would be shaking by the end, but the offer was…unimaginably important to him.

He dragged the boots into his lap and petted their butter soft uppers, eyes closed tight against the sting of sudden tears, as Vlad carefully brushed all the tangles from his hair and then separated it into bunches.

He’d always found it soothing to have his hair played with, the steady tug, the drag of warm fingertips across his scalp. He remembered Mama’s slender fingers winding through his little-boy curls, her hummed bits of song that belonged to colder shores, and a culture she’d left behind long before giving herself over to the Roman traditions of his own youth.

“I invited your mortal along,” Vlad said.

Val gasped. He opened his eyes and tried to twist around, only to have Vlad put a hand on his temple and shove him back. Oh, right, braiding.

“What did she say?”

A snort. “What do you think she said? Yes, she’s coming. She was readying when I came down.”

“God,” he breathed. Then: “Wait, how do you have horses?”

His half-finished braid lifted, and he imagined Vlad shrugging. “There’s a stable. I asked for horses, and now there are horses.”

“Asked? You mean you demanded, and some poor intern went scrambling off with a trailer to get you some.”

“It isn’t my fault they’re all afraid of their own shadows.”

“Beg pardon, brother, but it’s exactly your fault.”

“You’re one to talk. You’re the one they think is a magical liar and traitor.”

“Ah. Yes.” Val sighed, and some of his excitement dimmed. “I suppose their fear of you is the only thing stronger than their fear of me, after all.”

Vlad was quiet a moment, and when he spoke, there was almost something of an apology in his voice. “They are soft, these humans. They’ve never known a real traitor in their lives.”

“Hopefully they won’t ever have to.”

Vlad made a noncommittal sound, and finished off the braid with a snap of the elastic. When he dropped it, the braid landed like a rope against Val’s back, heavy and secure. An anchoring sort of feeling. “Get dressed.” He then stepped to the corner of the cell and looked down at his boots. It was a silly bit of privacy, given he’d lowered Val into and out of a bath yesterday, but throughout his captivity, Val hadn’t even been afforded this small gesture, so he took it to heart.

Drinking Vlad’s blood yesterday had gone a long way toward strengthening him, but he still wobbled a little when he stood to tug the breeches up over his hips. They were meant to fit snug – he thought of Mia in hers, the thick fabric hugging every line and curve – but his legs were still too thin, and there were wrinkles where there should have only been taut material stretched over tauter thighs. Oh well. Perhaps Mia wouldn’t find him too hideous.

The boots were a dream, already broken in by someone else. He tucked the shirt in behind his belt buckle and then, while Vlad’s gaze was still diverted, slipped his hand mirror from beneath his pillow and checked his reflection. A little gaunt, too pale, but clean and presentable. More like himself than he’d looked in centuries, with his hair braided neatly and color blooming along his high cheekbones. It would do.

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