Page 29 of A Matter of Destiny

“Of course,” I say. “Let’s get you inside. Stars above, shifting forms is exhausting. You must be starving.”

Her lips twist once more, a paltry shadow of the smile she just gave me, and then she’s pushing herself off the grass. My cloak slides down as she sits up; through some monumental act of willpower, I manage not to gape at the glorious naked breasts before me. I turn away as she adjusts the cloak, then back once she makes a sort of growl.

She’s clutching my cloak to her chest with one arm out in front of her, and she’s trembling again. Tears glint in her eyes.

“M-My arm,” she stammers.

I follow her gaze, searching for injury. Familiar scar tissue twists around her wrist and up her forearm, tracing paths that look almost like frozen tongues of flame. I don’t see any new cuts or bruises, and it takes me a moment to realize what’s upsetting her.

The scars. That lingering physical evidence of her curse, the excuse she used to have me visit her as a “healer” in Valgros. Rayne flew here as a dragon, so she must have found a way to break the curse. But did she think breaking the curse would mean her scars would vanish?

I reach forward, moving before my rational mind can stop me, and take her scarred hand into mine. I raise her fingers to my lips and kiss their rippled skin. Her scent surrounds me, flowers and honey and lips that burn like frost wine, and suddenly I’m remembering how she gasped when I rubbed soft lotion into her scars, and how desperately I wanted to follow that touch with my mouth, to taste her skin, to feel her pulse beat beneath my lips.

I swallow hard and pull back, releasing her fingers. Stars, it had better be dark enough to hide the sudden bulge in my pants.

“Your arm,” I say, trying to ignore the hungry growl echoing through my voice, “is just as beautiful as the rest of you.”

Our eyes meet, and for a moment the rest of the world goes still. Her lips part, half open as if she’s about to say something, and she frowns at me like she’s not completely convinced I’m real. Then she shakes her head, almost as if she’s trying to wake herself up.

“Ensyvir,” she says, the name coming out in a gasp. “King Donovan’s Royal Advisor. He’s a dragon.”

My lips twist, although that’s not something that should make me smile.

“I know,” I reply, offering her my hand. “Come inside. I’ll make something to eat, and you can tell me everything.”

Chapter15

Rayne

“His name is actually Rensivar?” I ask.

Doshir nods. Steam rises from his mug to wreath his face as he leans back in his chair. Embers flicker lazily on the hearth in this cozy little kitchen. I’d assumed Doshir would have servants in this elegant little house, but Doshir said it wouldn’t be worth waking anyone up. And then he brought me a simple cotton dress that he said was meant for his mother, when she woke up, and he made me buttered toast and scrambled eggs thick with cheese and herbs, which I’d devoured in a very un-ladylike way. He took the dishes when I finished and reappeared with two steaming mugs of tea, and now we’re sitting together in his kitchen in a way that feels disconcertingly comfortable. Like this space had been made for the two of us to share, and it had spent all of these years just waiting for us to find our way into it.

“Rensivar the Wicked,” Doshir replies, interrupting the ramble of my thoughts. “Or Rensivar the Mad. Take your pick.”

I bring my hand up to rub the back of my neck. My chest and arms still ache, even in this form. Doshir said I’ll probably feel stiff for a few days after flying that far, and something in his tone suggested he was impressed, although I’m not sure why. My flying was clumsy and awkward, nothing like Doshir’s graceful wingbeats as he flew his mother away from Valgros.

Besides, I don’t have a few days for my muscles to recover, in this or in my draconic form. The kings above only know when Ensyvir - Rensivar - will be finished attending to those mysterious items he mentioned as we sat together looking down on the human armies poised to attack the Iron Mountains. He might already be finished, a cold voice whispers in the back of my mind. He might be back in Valgros right now, looking for me. For the weapon he thinks he’s forged.

“Rensivar,” I mutter, talking to myself. “Why is that name so familiar?”

Doshir makes a noise in the back of his throat that’s almost a laugh.

“Because he’s a legend,” Doshir replies.

He’s teasing me. I glare at him, but Doshir puts his tea down on the table and raises both hands in front of his chest.

“I’m serious,” Doshir says. “Rensivar the Wicked trapped the elven of the Fall in the Lands Below. He ended the war of the seasons by completely annihilating one side, and that’s when the dragons banded together to create the Alliance of the Iron Mountains. In order to defeat Rensivar and contain his magic.”

“Wait,” I say. “That’s all real?”

I’m staring at him, but I can’t help myself. Something cold circles around the back of my neck. I’d thought stories of dragons and elven s trapped beneath the earth were fairy tales meant to frighten children into good behavior.

“Well, it’s as real as any history, I suppose,” Doshir replies. “Multiple sources agree that Rensivar stood above the chasm as the of the Fall was forced underground, and the of the Summer does control the land that once belonged to the Fall. As for the details,” he shrugs. “Who knows? I wasn’t there myself. I wasn’t even born when the war ended.”

“But, Ensyvir.” I catch myself. “I mean, Rensivar. The Royal Advisor who’s a dragon. He was defeated by the Iron Mountains way back then?”

Doshir nods. “Quite soundly defeated. As in, we all assumed he was dead. And the Alliance of the Iron Mountains has stood since that time, negotiating treaties all across the continent. That’s why dragons don’t attack settlements or devour livestock, and elven heroes don’t hunt dragons anymore.”

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