Page 87 of Upon Buried Embers
“Eat, you’re too skinny.” Rohan pours some of his broth into my bowl.
I want to retort that I didn’t choose this.
I didn’t choose to be starved, barely surviving on anything given to me. But I keep quiet, sipping the broth. I’m confused this morning.
I woke with Rohan half lying on top of me, his braid in my hand and warmth that I’ve never felt before, one that has stayed in my bones since.
“You’ll continue with my dragons this morning.”
I dare to groan.
His lips twitch. “Something to say?” He rips off a little meat, chewing loudly.
Everything about him is harsh, rugged.
I shake my head.
“Hmm. You will learn to speak freely.”
I’m not so sure.
“You can collect heat stones after you’ve finished talking to them. I think Drogonah went hunting last night, so he may be hard to wake this morning.”
Great.
“Hunting? I thought Calian feeds them?”
He huffs. “Just because they can be hand-fed doesn’t mean they prefer it.” He stares at me, something swirling in his eyes that makes them flicker purple. “Sometimes they like to hunt their prey, it’s a thrill.”
I clear my throat. “What do I do after that?”
“I’ll meet you here for dinner and you can practice your braiding.”
I lift a hand and try to tame some hair that has fallen out of the braids Rohan did.
He watches me, his eyes tracking my movements to my ears, raising his own hand and touching the tip.
I don’t flinch this time, but I do shiver.
He smirks.
How did I end up sitting in a Dragonbond’s home, with him touching my ears while I eat until I’m full?
Everything I heard about the Dragorie doesn’t make sense. I haven’t seen anything barbaric at all. Darcia is horrid to me, but that’s normal treatment for me. I expected to be strewn up for the taking and to be beaten daily.
It’s strange that I’m not.
My body is healing, resting even, despite my chores. Even though every sudden noise makes me jump and I look over my shoulder most times for Darcia, being here is… nice.
“Will you really take me back to Mas—” He growls. “Emerish,” I quickly correct myself. “Will you really take me back to Emerish if I can’t talk to your dragons?” I rip some bread, dunking it in the broth.
I could eat this for the rest of my life.
He watches me eat for a moment, then finally responds. “I won’t take you back to him.” Relief flows through me, before it’s instantly taken away. “Because you will be able to speak to them.”
“You seem so sure,” I mumble.
“Because you have to.” His tone deepens, the words much sharper. Even though I don’t really understand, I nod, accepting that no matter what he says, I won’t be able to do it.
