Page 80 of Wings of Frost and Fury
I’m frowning at the sketch of a swordfish, trying to be interested in its physiology, when a loud flapping sound draws my attention. I sit upright as Ashvelon bursts into the cave. His blue eyes are glowing even more brightly than usual.
“The Middenwold Isles are beautiful,” he exclaims. “I must take you to see them very soon. And there is so much prey, whole flocks and herds of strong, healthy animals! We brought back plenty of meat. I’ve come to fetch you. We’re building three great bonfires from driftwood so the women can roast some of the meat, and there will be songs and rejoicing!”
“A party!” I leap off the nest. “Just what I need! By Fate, it’s been far too long since I got dressed up for something. I amgoing to do my hair with magic, Ashvelon, and you can just keep quiet about it. It’s the easiest of spells and takes barely any energy, so I don’t want to hear you fussing.”
His eyes narrow, and his spikes bristle a bit, but he refrains from commenting as I perform the spell to cleanse, detangle, and smooth my hair. He watches me with heated interest as I strip off the simple dress I’m wearing and put on a lovely two-piece ensemble of purple silk, with gold trim. I add gold earrings and clasp a gold bangle around my ankle.
“Are you going to attend in dragon form or as a human?” I ask him.
“I have time available in both forms,” he says. “Which would you prefer?”
“Fly me down as a dragon, but then change when we reach the ground,” I suggest. “I’ll bring along some clothes for you. There’s a fine black suit that I think would fit you well.”
“I suppose I’ll be eating the meat roasted instead of raw, then.”
“Definitely. Did you not eat anything while you were exploring the Middenwold Isles?”
“I killed two fat does, but I did not partake of them. I carried them back here, cut them open, and hung them up to bleed, the way humans do. Many of the other dragons have already tasted the meat of the Middenwold, though. They say it is sweet and fresh.”
When I’m ready, I climb onto Ashvelon’s back, and we soar out of the cave into the twilight. The sky is deep purple in the east, peach-colored in the west, and the air is soft. I inhale deeply, feeling the subtle magic of nature refreshing my body and soul.
Below, a little way down the valley, I spot a clear space where three large fires are burning, with the figures of dragons and humans moving around them. Music unfurls through thewhispering gloom—fiddles, flutes, and the beat of a drum or two.
The melody is a merry one, and it gives me hope that maybe the worst is past. Maybe Kyreagan will find Serylla quickly and bring her back safely. Maybe Varex will find a way to curb the Mordvorren or dispel it for good. Maybe we can move out of these dark times into brighter ones.
We land in a clearing some distance from the bonfires, and Ashvelon transforms into his human shape. He struggles a little with the clothing, and though I tease him mercilessly for it, I’m secretly thrilled that I feel strong enough to help him. Once he’s dressed, we walk toward the fires, arm in arm.
Something clenches in the pit of my stomach as we approach the edge of the gathering. I’m used to visiting the market in Devil’s Kiss and facing the people there. It was a mild ordeal every time, but it was bearable, and it became easier once the people became used to my occasional presence in their town.
This gathering is a dramatically different scene, and my excitement is suddenly shredded by anxiety so fierce that it raises a hot flush over my skin. For a moment I feel as if I have a fever again.
I’ve only encountered a few of these dragons, and I haven’t met any of the women. What if the dragons want to kill me and the women despise me? What if these captives resent me for not using my magic to help them escape?
Ashvelon senses the lag in my step and the inadvertent tug on his arm as I hesitate. He glances over, searching my face.
“You are safe,” he says quietly. “No dragon will harm you.”
I’m not sure how to explain to him the kind of fear I’m suffering, how deeply I dread this encounter. I’m afraid that the dragons will look at me and see only my father. They will view me as the offspring of the man who ripped out the souls of their mothers, daughters, mates, friends, and sisters.
And what if the captives see me as a villain as well? These women might view me as the enchantress who ruins everything, the careless daughter of the powerful man who stood by the Queen’s side while she dragged Elekstan through a debilitating war. They might despise me for trying to save the dragons at all, especially after the dragons joined with Vohrain and killed so many of Elekstan’s people. They might believe that I should have done more to facilitate their escape and less to encourage lovemaking.
But another part of me is convinced that the women should fall to their knees and thank me. They should bless my name for not turning them into dragons and for giving them a plethora of handsome men instead. They should be glad for the supplies that I brought with me. Those provisions may have saved their lives. The food I paid for held off starvation, and without the clothes I donated, some of these people would have died of exposure during the storm.
But maybe, in spite of all that, they will hate me.
Not long ago I was eager to leave the cave for any reason, especially a party with food and firelight… and now I can barely move.
I’ve grown used to facing fears alone—not just facing them, but dancing with them, mocking them, teasing them with all the bravado I can muster. When I don’t feel bold, I fake it.
It’s easier and harder to do that with Ashvelon here. He offers security and safety, which bolster my confidence, and yet he also knows me better than anyone else, which means he’ll perceive the truth beneath any act I put on.
“Be yourself,” he says quietly, almost as if he hears my thoughts. “I fell in love with you the moment you trapped me in the stable. Be that woman, and they will love you too. And if they don’t, fuck them.”
Despite my nerves, I laugh, and he grins. Taking a deep breath, I hold back my shoulders, lift my head high, and renewmy grip on Ashvelon’s arm. Hips swaying, I saunter forward with a self-assured smile, ready to face whatever reception they might give me.
As we enter the circle of light around the first fire, the other women notice me gradually, in groups of two or three. They whisper together without approaching me, though they seem to be awed and respectful rather than bitter.
The dragons survey Ashvelon’s human form with interest, their nostrils flexing as they identify his familiar scent, perceptible even through the veil of my spell. Reassured, they bow their heads respectfully. Only two of the dragons glare at me with pent-up fury, and they stay at the edge of the firelight, in the shadows.
