Page 16 of Deven and the Dragon
And who in Ridley, besides his aunt and uncle and little Peter Holling, ever spent more than five minutes with him without either walking away or taking off their clothes?
No one. Even here in the castle, where no one knew him or his reputation, only Mrs. Pittel had shown any interest in his company. And even she mostly cooked while Deven flirted with her staff — who’d spent more time hinting that Deven could take off their clothes than really talking to him.
So. Seduction. He’d play to his one strength, and hopefully save Peter’s life. Maybe it was dishonest, but he swore to himself he’d at least do his best to make it fun for Lord Fiora. Devenwasgood in bed, after all. He’d flirt and charm his way into Lord Fiora’s billowing cloak, give the man the best orgasms of his life, ask nicely for a scale, and be on his way. No harm done to anything or anyone except Deven’s pride.
And that sounded…well, not great, but at least workable, if only Deven could find Lord Fiora to charm.
Deven left the terrace and ventured out into the garden where he could have a better view of the castle as a whole. Where did Lord Fiora spend his time? It was a large place. There could be any number of suites of private rooms where the dragon could hide himself away, avoiding crossing Deven’s path completely. Deven could hardly wander every tower and corridor of the place, trying doorknobs and poking his nose everywhere and raising suspicion.
He had to narrow it down. Deven tipped his head back and studied the towers, with a sudden burst of inspiration. Deven had walked all the way around the outside of the castle quite a few times over the last week, and he hadn’t seen any signs that a large, scaly dragon with heavy claws had been there on the regular. That would have left distinct marks on the ground, marks that were absent. Lord Fiora flew often in his dragon form. So where did he take off and land, if not in the castle grounds?
A tower made the most sense. It was high enough that the dragon wouldn’t smack into any other part of the castle or knock bits off with his tail, and private enough to be attractive to a dragon of Lord Fiora’s temperament.
The castle had six turrets. Damn it. Deven could hardly climb each one looking for Lord Fiora, and he couldn’t follow Andrei or the servants around hoping to catch one of them in the act of taking their master his meals.
Which left finding a vantage point and waiting for a large dragon to either fly away from or fly into one of the towers.
Deven trudged all the way through the rose garden, at the end of which a high stone wall divided it from a section with a maze and a lot of very ugly statues. Climbing it wasn’t a challenge, with all of its poky hand- and footholds, and after a few moments Deven was seated cross-legged on the top, with a perfect view of Marlow Castle lit by the waxing moon.
He wished he’d brought a picnic, or at least a bottle of wine. Or someone to get drunk with, come to that.
A soft breeze brushed over him, rustling the roses. Otherwise, silence reigned. Deven was too far from the castle to hear any of the servants in the kitchen, and not close enough to the woods beyond the grounds to hear any wildlife.
Hours passed, slowly, as the moon passed overhead and began to sink down behind the castle, bisected by the spire on one of the turrets.
Bed began to sound like the best thing in the world. Deven shifted for the hundredth time, relieving the pressure on his tailbone by cramming one of his ankles painfully against the stone beneath him.
And then his breath caught. There, silhouetted against a silvery swath of cloud — a long spiky tail, and bat-like wings, and an elegant curved body. A dragon. Lord Fiora, winging his way home, turning in swooping circles and growing nearer with every pass. God, but he was beautiful. How were all Lord Fiora’s servants not outside every night, trying to catch a glimpse of him? For a moment Deven forgot why he was there. Nothing mattered but the dragon sliding through the air like a piece of the dark night sky brought to magnificent life.
But then Lord Fiora banked sharply for his landing, and Deven froze, not moving so much as a finger. He had no idea if dragons had unusually keen eyesight, but it would make sense if they did. Any movement below might draw Lord Fiora’s attention. As Deven watched, hardly daring to breathe, Lord Fiora circled the turret at the front of the castle on the left, and then disappeared onto its top.
As soon as he was out of sight, Deven scrambled down and ran back to the castle. If anyone came looking for him, he’d be ensconced in his favorite chair in the library, nose buried in a book, and not spying on the lord of the castle at all, no, not one bit.
He’d barely tuggedhis trousers up before footsteps warned him of Andrei’s approach. Fiora did the last button as Andrei rounded the corner at the top of the stairs.
“My lord, we have a problem,” Andrei said abruptly. “Someone in the castle has been spying on you. And I don’t mean Deven. Someone has given him information that no one ought to have.”
“Not possible,” Fiora said, without even thinking about it. He didn’t need to. Every one of his staff had come with him from home, following him with the utmost loyalty. Not to mention, he paid them extravagantly. No bribe could compete.
And there was the small matter of all of their families being still at home, under the generally benevolent reign of Fiora’s parents. No one in Fiora’s household would risk earning the ire of the elder dragons, not when that benevolence could turn fiery so quickly.
Besides, they were loyal. Fiora would stake his life on it.
“It may not be possible, but I believe it all the same,” Andrei said grimly. “Deven told me over dinner about his utter fascination with old, odd, and even damaged books. How much he likes them, more, in fact, than he likes new ones.” Andrei paused a moment to let that sink in. “Books are, dare I say, an unusual interest for a man of Deven’s age and station in life, not to mention the type of books he claims to prefer. So unusual that I can’t imagine it’s a coincidence. My lord, he knows. And God only knows what else he knows, if he knows that.”
Fiora leaned back against the parapet, his whirling head making the unraveling of Andrei’s syntax a bit of a challenge. He was never at his quickest after a long flight. Flying brought peace to his mind, but left it in a state of such quiet that his thoughts were sluggish. Even the panic the thought of his hoard being disturbed usually brought on was muted.
Andrei thought that Deven knew about Fiora’s secret hoard, his true and personal treasure. How could he know? Only if someone had told him. Fiora hadn’t. Andrei obviously hadn’t — Andrei was less likely to betray Fiora’s secrets than Fiora was.
But hang on a moment. If Deven knew it was a secret, why would he be blabbing about it to Andrei over dinner? And he still trusted his servants, damn it all.
“If he’s incompetent enough as a spy to go talking about his secret knowledge, and revealing that he had a source, then are you really so worried about him? Andrei, I don’t think this is malicious. He might be trying to butter me up by establishing a common interest, but how could it be more than that? Besides,” Fiora added, “he spent all that time in the library on his first day here. That didn’t look fake.”
Andrei frowned and shook his head. “That could have been intentional as well. Even if he does like reading, his stated interests are so very specific. It makes me think he must know something aboutyourparticular interests. And that he is planning to use that information to manipulate you.”
“One of the servants could have mentioned my library quite innocently,” Fiora said. And he believed it, too. He simply couldn’t wrap his mind around anything else. “I collect books, that’s hardly a secret. Old books, rare books, any kind of books. You and I are the only ones who know about my hoard. The magic on the door wards hasn’t faded, has it?”
“My lord, that doesn’t mean anything for cert—”
