Page 18 of Deven and the Dragon
Deven cautiously turned away and tiptoed up the next flight of stairs. Another closed door stood at the top of it. He hesitated. Should he knock? This could very well be Lord Fiora’s bedchamber, and somehow, despite going to such lengths to corner the man alone, intruding into the place where he slept felt like a bridge too far.
But he didn’t think he’d find Lord Fiora in there anyway. Deven went on, and when he reached the top of the next flight of stairs, he saw it was the final one. The stairwell door stood open, leading onto a round roof surrounded by battlements.
And standing in one of the crenellations and surveying the hills and the river stood a short, slim figure, his long blue-black hair fluttering around his shoulders in the breeze. As Deven stopped in the doorway, transfixed, Lord Fiora startled and turned.
He didn’t have boils. He was, however, blue. Pale blue, but blue all the same.
Deven blinked at him. Lord Fiora’s mouth fell open in shock.
“What — howdareyou?” Lord Fiora demanded. A new color flushed along his high, slanted cheekbones: his blood must be red, Deven realized, because that was the most delicate tint of lavender spreading across his face, as the blush met the azure of his skin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here? Did you — did you hurt Andrei — no, you were waiting for him to leave,” Fiora gasped. “You were — that commotion downstairs. That wasyou.What did you do?” he snarled, taking a step forward, his eyes flashing to a deeper shade of gold. “I’ve never lit anyone on fire in my life, but I swear to you, you’ll be the first if you so much as harmed a hair on Mrs. Pittel’s —”
“No!” Deven cried, horrified. He stepped forward, holding out his hands as if to prove he hadn’t used them to hurt anyone. “No, of course not. I set rabbits loose in her garden,” Deven blurted out desperately. “Really. That’s all. Rabbits.”
Lord Fiora froze, his jaw dropping open. “Rabbits,” he repeated. “Bloody, buggering — rabbits?”
“I certainly hope they’re not buggering anyone bloody,” Deven said with an attempt at a grin. “But they did seem to be in a foul mood when I took them out of the sack they were in. So I suppose it’s not out of the question.”
Lord Fiora stared at him for a long moment, his face now flushed pale lavender from forehead to chin. His lips, Deven noted despite everything, were very red, and as plush and velvety as the crimson roses growing along the terrace balustrade.
“Oh, fuck,” Lord Fiora said, and turned away abruptly, covering his face with his hands and slumping against the battlement. He began to tremble, his shoulders shaking, and soft little sounds came from behind his hands.
“Lord Fiora? Lord Fiora!” Deven knew he was unwelcome; why else would he have had to go to such lengths to get Lord Fiora alone? But was Lord Fioraweeping? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Deven drew near enough to touch, to lay a hand on one of those slim shoulders, but he restrained himself. “Are you — God, I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please. Don’t — oh, please don’t.”
Lord Fiora lowered his hands, just enough to peek over the tips of his fingers. His golden eyes were bright, and the slits of his pupils were wide and dark.
“God damn you for making me laugh,” Lord Fiora whispered. “You bastard. It’s not — it’s not funny! Buggering — rabbits — fucking each other over a cabbage, and I —”
Lord Fiora dissolved into what Deven now realized were helpless giggles.
Deven’s chest heaved, and then he snickered, and then he too collapsed into laughter, his belly shaking with it. Lord Fiora slid down the wall to sit on the floor, his hands still over his face. Tentatively, Deven turned and joined him, leaning back against the wall and stretching out his legs. He’d left a few inches between them, but he could feel the heat and presence of Lord Fiora’s body, like a beacon to his right. The left side of his body felt chilled by comparison, even though the evening air was as soft and warm as a finely woven blanket.
At last they were both quiet, their laughter faded away. Lord Fiora sighed, but he didn’t speak. The silence between them was — well, not comfortable, but not hostile, either. It was peaceful there, for a few moments, with the stars starting to pinprick the twilight above them. One by one, as if they were waiting their turns. Deven hated to disturb that fragile peace, but Lord Fiora could come to his senses and run away at any moment.
“I’m sorry,” Deven said. And he was, although he didn’t regret barging in on Lord Fiora and he’d do it again if necessary. It didn’t mean he didn’t feel like an ass. “You seemed determined to avoid me. This was all I could think of.”
“You have quite the imagination, then — or no imagination at all, I’m not sure which. You didn’t think of simply telling Andrei you wanted an audience?”
Deven shrugged, even though Lord Fiora wasn’t looking at him. At least, he thought not. Deven was carefully keeping his own eyes fixed on the sky. Lord Fiora didn’t want to be looked at, which was odd, considering what an unusual and charming sight he was — but Deven wanted to put him at his ease, not spook him. Even though Deven was itching to examine Lord Fiora at his leisure.
“I asked Andrei if you were going to join us for dessert,” he offered. “That was my way of getting around to the subject. He grunted at me.”
A soft little noise suggested that Lord Fiora had laughed again, but it didn’t sound merry this time. “Andrei’s protective of me. Of my privacy, I mean, of course. He doesn’t need to protect me. I’m a dragon, and I’m universally feared. Obviously.” Lord Fiora cleared his throat. “Anyway. He would have arranged something if you needed to see me. You are a guest here, after all.”
Deven hesitated, weighing his options, feeling as if he stood with his toes hanging over a precipice. If he stepped off, and chose to use everything in his arsenal to gain his ends, he lost his integrity. If he stepped back, well — Peter would die. He wouldn’t hurt Lord Fiora. He swore it to himself, by everything he held dear. He would lie, and present a false façade of straightforward and trustworthy cheer, and other than that one betrayal, he’d treat Lord Fiora well. Hesworeit.
Deven stepped off the cliff. “Lord Fiora, come on,” he said, his voice pitched to a wry, intimate tone that he knew from long experience made him sound like anyone’s best friend. Damn Mrs. Drucker to hell for being right about him. “You know I’m not a guest. We both know the stupid town council foisted me on you, and you wish I’d go jump in the river and leave you to eat in your own dining room in peace.”
“Oh,” said Lord Fiora, sounding choked.
Deven dared to turn his head a fraction and take a glance at Lord Fiora’s face. He was still flushed, though it was harder to see in the fading light. He also had his teeth buried in his lower lip. Fuck, who had lips like that? It was like a cushion. A soft, lush, delicate cushion that Deven’s own teeth could worry at much more effectively than Lord Fiora’s were doing. Lips like those deserved to be bitten withintent.
That was a thought for later, though.
“I’m sorry to intrude on you. Really. It wasn’t my idea,” Deven continued. “But since I am here — look, I know I offended you the other night. I didn’t mean to. You obviously don’t have — um, I know I promised not to use that word ever again, but seriously. I don’t understand why you were hiding under a hood.”
Lord Fiora’s head whipped around, and he leveled Deven with a glare that was really in the top ten he’d ever received, which was saying something. “You don’t? Seriously?” he demanded incredulously. “Look at me! Damn you, since you’re already here, and you’ve already seen me, look your sodding fill and tell me you don’t understand!”
Well, since he’d been invited, even if it was clearly sarcastic…Deven finally allowed himself to stare as much as he wanted, to catalogue Lord Fiora’s features thoroughly. A smooth forehead under glossy black waves, the hair also tinted a little bit blue. Sharply defined brows, tilted up a trifle at the ends as if in imitation of the wings Lord Fiora had in his other form. Glorious eyes, like pools of molten gold. A thin, sharp nose, equally sharp cheekbones, and a pointy chin.
