Page 100 of Kingdom of Dance

She shook her head. “He didn’t do anything, not really. He threatened to harm the younger girls, and I couldn’t…” She shook her head again, a lump rising in her throat. “I’m so sorry, Obsidian, and I can’t tell you how guilty I felt for selling you out. But I just couldn’t let him hurt them.”

“Hey.” He stepped forward, lifting a hand abruptly to touch her cheek. “Don’t apologize. I would never expect you to let your sisters be harmed just to protect me. I wouldn’t expect you even to consider it for a moment.”

She nodded, not entirely satisfied, but knowing there were more important matters at hand.

“Anyway,” she said thickly, “Idric seemed to think you were exactly what he needed.”

“I don’t understand.” Obsidian dropped his hand and stepped back slightly, looking utterly confused.

“You see,” Zinnia explained, “Idric works through human enchanters, since he doesn’t want the other dragons to know what he’s up to. As far as I can tell, his purpose seems to simply be causing maximum damage to the human kingdoms. So he finds enchanters who have sinister intentions, particularly against royalty, and sort of superpowers their curses. He thought you might be a good candidate for such a role. Because of your…” she shrugged uncomfortably, “history. And, well, bitterness, I guess.”

Obsidian looked surprised and a little confronted. “That’s why you made me swear my loyalty to your brother,” he said slowly.

Zinnia nodded. “I believed you,” she assured him. “And I more or less put the matter from my mind after that. I was too focused on trying to locate the fugitive enchanter—Lorne—before he reached the end of the trail he was following and found Idric, only too ready to enlist him to wreak havoc on the kingdom of his choice.”

Briefly, she explained about the night she’d met Idric, how she’d seen the unfortunate enchanter turned to ash, and how she’d been trying ever since to discover how the man had heard about Idric, and whether she could use his source as a source for Basil to access the information she couldn’t directly give him. She also explained why she was so anxious that Lorne not succeed in making contact with Idric, as he was exactly the kind of malicious enchanter the dragon would love to gift with fabulous power, enabling him to create widespread chaos.

Obsidian listened silently, his face giving little away. When she was finished, he said, “The risk of Idric enlisting Lorne, I can understand. But he can’t be planning to use me for such a role. I would never take part in the kind of attack you’re describing. I’d die first.”

Zinnia shivered at the simple, emotionless statement. “I believe you,” she whispered. “But I hope it won’t come to that.” She took a step closer to him, looking up into his eyes. “I don’t know what he’s planning. Although I’m increasingly confident that he’s chosen Amell and Aurelia’s wedding as the stage.”

She forced herself to keep eye contact. “And whatever it is, he definitely told me tonight that you and I are at the heart of his plan, and that,” she swallowed, “he expects you to soon be in his grasp.”

Obsidian frowned, his eyes searching her face. “I have no idea why he’d think that. But I swear to you, Zinnia, I would never turn on my kingdom like that. Or on any kingdom.”

“Wouldn’t you?” she whispered, hating herself a little for doubting him at all. “What if it was Mistra?”

Obsidian’s face softened. “I fought Mistra in the war, but the war is over now. I’m a soldier under orders, and we’re at peace with all our neighbors. Even if we weren’t, fighting armed men in a battle is a very different matter from the kind of twisted curses that have been thrown at some of Solstice’s royals. I never used my magic on the battlefield, never. You’d best believe I wouldn’t use it to attack someone off it.”

Zinnia eyed him, a little surprised by his words. “Never?” she echoed. She reached out and ran a thumb down his scar, letting her palm come to rest on his chin for a moment. “Not even when you got this?”

Obsidian shook his head, his breathing hitching as his eyes stayed fixed on her as if mesmerized. “Not even then.”

Abruptly, his hand flew up and covered hers, trapping it in place against his face. Zinnia’s breath caught, but she kept her gaze steadily on him.

“I suppose,” Obsidian added, his voice a little lower even than usual, “I decided I’d rather die than fight dirty. A soldier’s honor, and all that.”

Zinnia frowned at that, tugging her hand free. “Your magic isn’t dirty, Obsidian,” she said. “And I don’t like this talk of dying.”

He smiled, although the expression wasn’t quite natural. “Well, I didn’t die, did I? All I got was this scar, which apparently increases my appeal.”

But Zinnia couldn’t laugh her way out of the unease that had crept over her. “Don’t speak too soon,” she said grimly. “There might yet be opportunity to die before your time. Idric definitely has something planned for you. He said…” She trailed off, trying to gather her courage. Perhaps she could just leave it there. But no, Obsidian deserved to know everything he could about the risk he was facing because of her.

“What?” Obsidian prompted. Seeing her struggle, he raised a hand and gripped her shoulder in a bracing manner. “You can tell me anything, Zinnia. I’m not easily rattled.”

She gave a weak smile. “I was, though. I was rattled by what he said.” She looked down at the worn boots that were starting to fall apart after multiple trips into the dragons’ realm. “He called you my…my weakness. And he wanted to discover whether the weakness can be exploited both ways.”

The silence was suddenly thick—unbearably so. After a prolonged moment, Zinnia raised her eyes, desperate to know what Obsidian was thinking. He was watching her with twice his usual intensity, and the warmth she’d seen earlier had erupted into flame. Her heart picked up speed, and she found herself leaning toward him without deciding to.

“It can,” he said simply, his voice low and rumbling. “You do know that, don’t you?” He took a decisive step toward her, a smile twisting up one side of his lips. “Although I don’t appreciate having my hand forced by a dragon. I wonder if I’m the first man ever to face that problem.”

“Actually,” said Zinnia, still locked in the beam of those dark eyes and barely aware of her words, “Rekavidur once told me that his father basically proposed on behalf of a human once. Apparently the man didn’t especially appreciate it.”

Obsidian’s eyes never left hers as he closed the final distance between them. “The man has my sympathy. I would have preferred to keep Idric out of it when telling you exactly how I feel about you, Princess.”

“And how is that?” Zinnia’s voice didn’t come out quite as steady as she would have liked, but the expression in those dark eyes made it nearly impossible to think straight.

By way of answer, Obsidian lifted his hand from her shoulder and instead slipped it behind her head, his fingers tangling unhesitatingly in her unrestrained hair. His eyes searched hers for the briefest of moments, then—apparently satisfied with what he read there—he pulled her against him in a move so sudden she actually let out a small gasp. It was immediately stifled as his lips closed over hers, firm and insistent.

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