Page 59 of Wings of Frost and Fury
“Give me an estimate.”
“Might be another ten or twelve hours,” I tell him. “Things are still settling. Take short flights, stay low when you can, and if you feel a strange buzzing sensation, land immediately.”
“I’ll be back in six hours, Princess. Be ready for me.” Kyreagan paces toward the cave entrance. “Ashvelon, you’re with me.”
Until now, Ashvelon has not moved from the place where Kyreagan pinned him. It’s a small way of showing the Prince respect, despite their conflict. When he’s given permission, he rights himself, shakes out his wings, and bows his head briefly to me before leaving with the Prince.
I hate to see him go. He and I have barely been apart since we met, and I’ve come to enjoy his presence.
“He really likes you.” Serylla says, nudging my elbow.
I chuckle. “He’s a good boy. Does what he’s told, for the most part. Though I rather like it when he decides to assert himself.”
“Is that what he was doing when we arrived?”
No, I want to say.He acted that way because I hurt him.
Ashvelon had every right to be angry when he found out I gave him the face of my former lover. I didn’t get the chance to fully repair the damage to his heart before we were interrupted, and yet he still defended me, lied for me, and swore to be bound to me for life.
The last thing I want to do is untangle my emotions in front of the Elekstan princess. It’s been a long time since I spoke with her or heard any specific news of her. I know she’s generallyadmired by the people of Elekstan. She has the reputation of being sweet and kind. And yet, I wonder if she’s careless, too.
Serylla was much nearer to the throne than I ever was. Surely she had influence at Court, and yet I never heard any mention of her objecting to her mother’s war or decrying the callous expenditure of lives and resources. For all I know, she has grown up to be a selfish brat.
Rather than answering Serylla’s question, I suggest that we explore the contents of the bags I brought with me. “As the Crown Princess, it’s only right that you should have first pick,” I tell her. “You can take all the best things.”
I’m curious to see how she reacts to the offer. A spoiled, selfish royal would gleefully claim what she thinks she deserves. But I’m pleased to see that Serylla chooses only a handful of essentials and a few pieces of clothing for her and Kyreagan, leaving plenty of good things for others. Afterward she helps me organize everything from the bundles so the supplies can be more easily distributed to the other women.
Slowly I begin to relax with her. I tell her about the dragons’ arrival at my cottage and how I imprisoned them in the stable for a while—though I don’t confess my first dalliance with Ashvelon.
“Why did you let them take you?” Serylla asks.
“Days before my father’s last act, he sent me a letter describing what he planned to do. I didn’t believe he’d go through with it, so I did nothing. I told no one.”
There’s empathy in her blue eyes, a depth of understanding I didn’t expect. “You came here because you felt guilty?”
“Not guilty, exactly. I don’t believe in guilt. But I suppose I felt some responsibility. The dragons didn’t specify what spell they needed, but I figured I should go along and see what I could do to mitigate the situation.”
“And you weren’t afraid you might make it worse?” Serylla grimaces. “Forgive me, but I heard that your spells don’t always go as planned.”
“You heard I’m a terrible enchantress. Powerful, but unpredictable and careless.”
“Well… yes.”
How much does she know about me? My father assured me that the exact circumstances of the incident with Katlee would be kept quiet. I’m sure that was more for his sake than mine. Still, I wonder what Serylla has heard about the cause of my banishment.
“That’s the beauty of gossip, darling,” I say lightly. “I have never performed a spell that didn’t turn out exactly as I intended. But I did perform several that produced very strange results, whereupon I pretended to be shocked and embarrassed. You see, if you’re powerful and skilled, people never stop bothering you to do magic for them. But all you have to do is deliberately mess up a few times, and they leave you alone.”
She doesn’t react, except to laugh, proclaim my strategy brilliant, and sip her wine.
My lie revealed the truth: she doesn’t know about Katlee. Nor do I feel inclined to confess my present deceit or my past failure. Not until I know her better.
I take I sip of my wine as well. “Best mistake I ever made on purpose was when a man came to me, asking for a larger dick. And I made an extra dick sprout out of his head.”
Serylla nearly chokes on her drink, and we share a good, hearty laugh at the expense of Arnett. The tale opens the way for more gossip about harmless, silly things—no wars, no death, no genocidal spells. Just wine, laughter, and the easy work of organizing the supplies.
I’ve missed this. The fellowship of other women. And not just other women in general: women who don’t want anything from me except my company and conversation. Women whoaren’t always eyeing me, angling toward a request for a spell, gauging whether or not I might be able to get them closer to their heart’s desire.
It’s as if the thought of using me for my magic never enters Serylla’s mind. Sure, the girl wants soap and decent clothes—who wouldn’t, in this situation? But she’s here because she genuinely likes me. Wants to chat. Wants to share a drink. Wants to talk and laugh together.
