Page 39 of Dragons' Bride
"You know, I'm with Healer Corvus on the whole you going away part," I tell Quinton. “So why don’t you limp off to wherever you belong. Hell for example."
The magic crackling over Quinton's scales intensifies. Why couldn’t Cyril’s menacing growling have taken root now instead?
"For stars’ sake, Princes! Someone stop him before he hurts himself further," Corvus demands, his voice filling the cabin. "Can't you see he intends tohealthe human."
Wait, what?
"Well, she is in pain," Hauck points out.
"And what of it?" Corvus throws up his hands. "Using magic will set back Prince Quinton's recovery." He spins toward Quinton and conjures a reasonable tone as he speaks into the prince’s back. "Your Highness, please. I assure you that the human's wounds will in no way affect her ability to bear healthy offspring. Surely you can see that it's her back not her womb that bleeds? In fact, much researchencouragesjudiciously lashing humans least they –"
Quinton turns faster than I thought possible given his state.
Hauck, who’s already pulled a knife from his boot, holds it hilt first toward Quinton.
Without so much as slowing his arc, Quinton takes the offered weapon and slashes the blade over Corvus's throat.
The healer's eyes go wide before his body crumples to the floor.
I choke on air.
With unnerving calm, Hauck retrieves his knife and cleans it on Corvus's coat before tucking it back into his boot.
Tavias turns to the waiting sailors. "Clean this mess up," he orders. "And inform Captain Dane that he will need to appoint a new healer."
Cyril nods his agreement. "Also, spread the word amidst the crew. Anyone treating or even speaking of Lady Kitterny with anything but utter respect will find himself at the grating, with me at the whip. And there will be not one, but nine knotted strands, when I use it to uncover the color of their backbone."
Bloody stars.
The sailors pale and touch their foreheads before dragging Corvus's corpse from the cabin. With no further ceremony – or asking permission – Quinton lays his hand on my abused back. "I really dislike you," he tells me, before his hand heats and pain explodes through my quickly healing flesh.
By the time Quinton is done, I no longer hurt and he... he is no longer conscious.
* * *
Two weeksafter we leave the Faewave Rift behind us, the lookout’s shout of “Land Ahoy!” brings everyone out on deck. The crew races to the rail to examine the shore now cutting the horizon line, their voices ringing with so much enthusiasm that I wonder if they aren’t surprised to have found it. Maybe they are. Though no one has dared to mention anything about my being a bad omen since Cyril had issued his threat, I don’t doubt the seamen's worry is still with them. Quinton, who’s been back to his usual caustic self for days now, ignores the excitement with the same derision he ignores me.
I still have no idea why he healed my back that day. My best guess is that he wanted to balance the scales, ensuring he didn’t have to feel indebted to me for helping him in his dragon form. Not that I think of it that way. As far as I’m concerned, Quinton and his dragon are entirely different creatures.
After the initial excitement over the land sighting, the ship descends into a swarm of activity. Decks are scrubbed, clothes are laundered, the sails are furled and unfurled and furled again until they meet Captain Dane’s exacting standard. Now that we are close to land, a flag with Tavias’s purple colors is hoisted up the mast to signal that the incoming ship carries the heir apparent aboard. Dragon princes and their new bride apparently making landfall in Massa’eve is an affair of state.
Nora outdoes her usual efficiency in packing up my belongings before I even have a chance to try and help, and then pulls out a dress I’ve not seen before.
“I’ve been saving it for this moment,” she confesses, her eyes glittering with excitement. “And you are not going to believe the jewels the princes bought to go with it.”
“Nora? Were you deprived of dolls as a child?” I ask.
She raises her chin. “Are you implying I treat you as a doll?”
“Never.”
“Good. Because I’ll have you know that I never put makeup on dolls. It ruins them. You on the other hand, it only makes more interesting. So we’ll be doing make up. A lot of makeup.”
“Glad we clarified that.” Suppressing a smile, I switch my attention to the gown Nora holds up for my inspection. It is a deep purple satin that hugs my breasts and cascades down over my hips. The cloth is smooth under my fingers and the hem brushes perfectly against the tops of high heeled shoes that fasten with a ribbon lacing around my calf. “Stars. This is…”
“No less than you deserve,” says Nora. “Now, sit. Me and your hair have plans.”
Nora spends two hours brushing, curling, and braiding my hair, her hands tugging slightly in a rhythmic way that lets my mind wander along the waves. In just a few hours, I’ll be stepping off the familiar deck of the Phoenix and onto the battle ground that is Massa’eve. A fake stand-in for Lady Cordelia, a fake bride apparent for the dragon prices, a secret bait and switch for the fertility elixir. None of that is new, but it is newly real.
