Page 41 of Dragons' Mate
“Indeed,” Autumn replies smoothly. Standing behind her, Fionna presses her lips together.
“My congratulations to you for successfully passing the first trial,” Autumn continues. “Not that I expected any other outcome. Would you do me the honor of introducing your lady?”
“Of course.” Tavias executes a courtly bow. “Lady Autumn, may I present Lady Kitterny, my pack’s bride apparent. Lady Kitterny, allow me to introduce her highness, the Lady Autumn of the Slate Court. She is here on a diplomatic voyage, and I understand has a scholarly interest in tracing the dragons origins.”
“Leave it to a dragon to make that sound so boring,” Autumn says. “But His Highness isn’t wrong. I am especially intrigued by the trials. In fact, I was hoping you might indulge me with your account of the first one? What it was like from the competitor’s perspective?”
I see both Tavias and Cyril tense protectively.
“I don’t imagine the lady wishes to relive that particular experience just now,” Tavias says, his body already starting to blade between Autumn and me.
“I don’t mind at all,” I say quickly as I step around him. “But only if the princess might tell me about Queen Leralynn in turn. She is a legend.”
That appeases the males long enough for Autumn to draw me away from them before more objections can sprout. They still watch me closely though. All except Quinton, who looks bored. Him and Hauck, who is splitting his attention between me and the wine being brought in.
There is little privacy to be found in the celestial hall, but Autumn leads me toward the food. We bypass the main course and stop directly at the dessert table, where she snatches up a plate of chocolate cake for the both of us.
“Don’t drink the wine,” she warns. “It’s moonberry. Makes humans lose their wits along with their inhibitions.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” It’s hard not to throw my arms around her, especially as she takes a mouthful of chocolate cake and moans in pleasure. I only spent a day with Autumn, but she already feels like a trusted friend. My attention snags on Fionna, standing a few paces away. Running interference for us. So she found a place for herself after all—one at Autumn’s side.
I expect Autumn to ask something about the trials, but that’s not the question that comes out, her voice low and quick. “The brand on your wrist. How did you get it exactly? No, don't touch it. Don’t even look at your forearm. Just answer.”
Not the question I was expecting. My brows crease. “It’s been on me as long as I can remember, really.”
Autumn purses her lips. “Surely you would recall getting something as painful as a brand.”
I blink. Yes, of course. “I remember it hurting a great deal,” I say, the memory of the pain flashing through me just then. “I was… My mother gave me up to an elderly couple. And then they sold me to the Agam estate. And I was branded somewhere during that time.”
“But you don’t recall the actual instance?”
“Of course I do. No one could forget that.” My thoughts keep circling on me. Of course I remember. How could I not. Wait. “I think my mother paid extra for a sleeping potion.”
“But wasn’t it the elderly couple who sold you?” Autumn counters as the musicians at the other end of the hall start playing and the center of the room fills with dancing couples. “And if you were asleep, how do you remember it hurting?”
Good points. All of them. I think back to the branding and my thoughts circle again. “I think I blocked out the details. Why do you ask?”
A richly dressed male holds his hand out to Fionna, drawing her to the dance floor.
“Are all the slave brands the same?” Autumn asks. “Exactly the same?”
“The two overlapping circles are the universal symbol, yes. I guess there would be slight variations based on the smith who makes the brand. And then the scar tissue changes it a bit. Again, why?”
Autumn speaks even quicker than she usually does. “Two circles, when overlapped in a particular way, form a binding rune.” She gestures with her fork. “In simple terms, there are two schools of magic. Nearly everyone uses elemental power—magic that’s inside them, usually tied to an element. Quinn’s blood magic, and Cyril’s rawer magic, the tiny puffs of air magic the women here are expected to have. The second school uses runes to channel magic from one source to another—that is how wards and the occasional magical amulets are set up.” She winces. “Don’t get me started on amulets and how those go wrong. Anyway, rune magic is extremely complex and precise. Tattoos from the pledge ball—rune magic.”
“So the priests use rune magic,” I say, thinking of Cyril’s tale. “Given that they are tied to one place for their whole lives, I imagine it leaves them with plenty of time to study arcane arts. Still not seeing what that has to do with me though. All slaves are branded the same where I live. If the design originates from a rune, so what?”
Autumn’s attention focuses on something behind me and she drops into a deep curtsy. “Your majesty.”
Shit.
“Princess Autumn.” Ettienne inclines his head with smooth politeness. “I hope you are enjoying the… Cake?”
I realize that sometime during our conversation Autumn had snagged two more pieces and is unabashedly enjoying every bite. “Indeed,” she confirms. “I find eating chocolate more relaxing than watching innocent women be slaughtered at any rate.” She holds up her plate. “Happy to share.”
Ettienne seems to fight a smile, but demurs, turning to me instead. “May I have this dance?”
I think I’d rather repeat the first trial than dance with Ettienne, but that seems like an undiplomatic thing to point out. I take his hand, reminding myself that he can’t make good on his death promise here and now—which should make me feel better, and doesn’t really. Ettienne’s hand on my waste seems to burn through my gown’s fabric. “I’m afraid my dancing may not be up to your standards, your majesty,” I murmur.
