Page 29 of Bride of the Black Dragon
“I could have killed a lot of innocent people,” he points out.
“If you mean the Nobles, they’re all stuck-up snobs,” I say frankly. “I’m not saying they ought to get burned to death for their snobbery, but I don’t think the world would be a poorer place without them.”
“Well—you’re full of opinions.” He laughs again and flexes his shoulders. “Hey—my back isn’t nearly as painful as it was. What did you do to it?”
“Do to it?” I repeat stupidly. “Nothing, I just…” Then I pause and look down at his broad back. After blotting him dry, I’ve been trying not to look because the raw, wounded flesh makes my stomach clench. But now I make myself look and I’m shocked to see that most of the whip wounds have started to heal up. They’re mostly pink lines now rather than raw, open slashes. The only other thing I see on his back are water droplets.
No, wait—I blotted his back dry. Those aren’t water droplets…they’re tears. My tears.
“Well?” Xaren frowns as he stands up. He swings his arms back and forth, making his shoulders and back flex. “What did you do?” he asks me.
“I, er…I cried on you,” I say, hoping he won’t be mad. “Not on purpose, I just…”
“You what?” He turns to face me, a startled look on his face. Then he goes to the mirror on the far wall of the bathing chamber and turns to look over his shoulder. “You healed me!” He sounds like he can barely believe it. “Your tears…they healed me.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I object. “I mean, I’ve never healed anyone with my tears before.”
“You’ve never been married before either,” he points out.
I have no idea what that has to do with anything.
“I’m glad you’re better, but I really don’t think?—”
“I’m not sure either,” he interrupts. He gives me a piercing look. “I guess we’ll see.”
Again, I have no idea what he’s talking about, but at least we seem to be getting along. I spread my hands.
“Well…what now?” What I mean is, what are we going to do about the ultimatum the Queen gave us? But that’s clearly not what’s on Xaren’s mind.
“Now we go out riding,” he says. “Or we can sit in one of the more public parlors and play chess. Anywhere the Nobles can see us so they’ll know we aren’t cowed.”
“What—really?” I say. “Do you think that’s wise?”
“I want my family to know we aren’t beaten,” he growls. “We’re going to dinner tonight, too. This isn’t over, little dove.”
16
ELAINA
Xaren puts on a loose shirt and we go riding together, side by side, though he has to hold his huge black stallion, Death, back considerably so my placid Mirabella can keep up with him. The Dark Prince doesn’t seem to mind, though. He stays by my side, meeting the eye of every Noble who looks our way.
And there are plenty of looks and lots of whispering behind hands. No one can believe that the Dark Prince is out riding barely an hour after being beaten bloody. How can he bear the pain? And where is the blood? Xaren is wearing a white shirt but there are no stains on it at all.
Of course, no one else at Court knows I healed him. But did I heal him, though? Just by crying on him? How is that even possible?
Then again, what other explanation is there? I know that Xaren can heal me using his Drake’s magic because he’s my husband. Maybe it works both ways. It still seems strange to me, though. I’m the least magical person I know—well, except for my hair and my eyes, but those are just my outward appearance. I don’t feel like I have any kind of power inside me, waiting to get out. Do I?
I mull over these questions as we finish our ride and then go sit together in the Royal Gardens to read. I have no books with me so Xaren lends me one of his. It’s a book of Dragon Lore and I’m interested to see that he was right about there being female dragons in the past. Or at least, women with Drakes indwelling them.
According to the book, though, there are differences between a male with a Drake and a female with one. The male will always have two separate personalities—his own and that of his Drake’s. They are two separate beings, just as Xaren described to me. But a woman with a Drake, has only one personality—her own consciousness which is in control in either form she takes—either human or Drake. Also, her Drake may take years longer than a male’s to emerge.
There are pictures of female Drakes too—they are elegant creatures, long and lithe with feathered wings unlike the wings of a male Drake, which are leathery like a bat’s. They are smaller than a male Drake too and more agile. The book informs me that despite the size difference, the female Drake is actually more dangerous because of her agility and the fact that a female Drake’s fire burns twice as hot as a male’s.
I’m so interested in the book that I can barely drag my eyes away when Xaren reaches across the table we’ve been sitting at to tap my arm.
“Hmm?” I look up at him, my mind still on the female Drakes.
“Look at you—maybe I ought to call you my little bookworm instead of little dove.” He has an amused look on his dark face. “I didn’t know you were a scholar.”
