Page 23 of Deven and the Dragon
“I’d rather be —”
“Not tonight,” Deven cut him off briskly. “Tonight you’re seeing how the other half lives. And I’m not taking no for an answer. If you think the rabbits were bad, just imagine what I’ll do if I need to come up here and find you again. Also, if I do, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you down the stairs, so don’t push me.”
Fiora let out a weird, choked noise, and looked up at last. Deven hadn’t ever wanted to kiss someone’s cheekbones before, but — could that flush taste as sweet as it looked? Oh, he needed to get his head on straight.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Fiora said. It sounded like he hoped he was wrong.
“I absolutely would dare,” Deven said, very low, leaning down and looking right into Fiora’s eyes, unflinching. “You don’t scare me, dragon or no.”
“Fine,” Fiora said breathlessly. “Am I — am I dressed properly for this excursion, whatever it is? Ought I to bring a —”
Deven winced. “Don’t you even dare say the word ‘cloak,’ Fiora. Wear what you’re wearing.”Or nothing at all. No, dammit — down, boy.“Fifteen minutes. Where that big wall separates the rose garden from the statuary. You promise me? Your word as a lord and a dragon, and all that?”
Fiora hesitated, and Deven’s heart pounded wildly. If Fiora said no, Deven would have to respect it. A promise broken, now that could lead to carrying Fiora down the stairs…but no promise at all was something different. Deven had never once failed to heed a clear refusal, and he wouldn’t start now, no matter what was at stake.
“All right. Fifteen minutes. I promise,” Fiora said at last.
“Then I’ll see you there.” Deven turned and left before he could do anything stupid.
Anything else stupid, anyway.
Fiora felt nakedwalking down the garden to meet Deven without his cloak. Which was odd, since he’d spent an hour already with Deven with his face on display — but this was different. Very different. A planned rendezvous in a fragrant garden, under a full moon, was dangerous territory.
Maybe Fiora ought to make a map of it, withThere be Devensscrawled in the margin as a warning to any foolish dragons too reckless to stay inside.
One foot in front of the other, that was the only way to do it. He’dpromised. That sounded like the pathetic excuse of a man sticking his fingers in his ears and shoutingLa la la, even in the privacy of his own head.
A turn, and then Fiora was in the main walkway of the rose garden, passing by a bank of yellow roses with loose, blowsy petals. At the end of the walkway stood the wall, its arched opening leading into that nightmarish statuary garden that Fiora avoided as much as possible. That bug-eyed mermaid was a horror. If Fiora could find the creator of it, he thought he might make an exception to his life-long aversion to eating humans.
Deven leaned insouciantly against the side of the arch, something dangling from his hand. As Fiora drew nearer, he saw it was a burlap sack. It clinked a little as Deven pushed off the wall.
“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” Deven said. “This way.” He gestured toward the statuary garden.
“I’m not going in there,” Fiora said firmly. “It’s horrifying.”
“I’ll protect you from the mermaid,” Deven said with a laugh. “If you promise to cover my eyes when we pass the one with the — I mean, can you imagine being that statue? Stuck with a hard-on that size and never able to do anything about it? D’you think birds perch on it?”
Fiora swallowed a chuckle that bubbled up out of nowhere. He wasnotgoing to laugh about something so incredibly juvenile. It was far, far beneath his dignity. Instead, he lifted his chin and followed Deven through the arch, resolving to retain his sense of decorum no matter what.
“It’s big enough for a soddingeagle,” Fiora gasped through helpless, hysterical spasms of giggles an hour later. “It’s — it’s —twoeagles, with a picnic basket between them,” and he was off again, collapsing into a heap with his arms and head on his bent knees, his belly aching from how long he’d been laughing like an idiot. He turned his head a little so he could peek at Deven, who was leaning back on one arm beside him, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his feet nearly dangling off the edge of the marble roof. They’d climbed up onto a replica of some famous pillared building or other, Deven vaulting to the top with a grace Fiora couldn’t help gawking at, and then hauling Fiora up after him as if he weighed nothing at all.
“Or a whole orgy of buggering rabbits,” Deven suggested, and took another pull from his ale, his eyes bright above the bottle.
“Oh, oh God,” Fiora moaned, and squeezed his eyes shut as he shook with laughter all over again.
“Here, have another,” Deven said, and pressed a fresh bottle into his hand. Fiora didn’t know what had happened to the last two. Had he tossed one of them over the side? That seemed unlike him. Ale was marvelous stuff, bitter and sweet and simplywonderful. How had he never had ale before?
He fumbled with the bottle, his fingers slipping around the neck of it seeking the top, until he realized Deven had already opened it.
That felt like a revelation. It was already open! He sat up far enough to tip it into his mouth, and some of it dripped down his chin as bubbles flew up his nose. He flailed, trying to somehow knock them out again, and nearly dropped his ale. A big, warm hand wrapped around his wrist, stilling him and the bottle both.
“Steady on,” Deven said, voice deep and amused, and right in his ear. “Don’t want to waste it. There’s a couple more, but I could only sneak so much out of the pantry without getting caught by Mrs. Pittel and her steely-eyed minions. I should’ve taken you with me, come to think of it. We could’ve carried more, and you might’ve enjoyed it.”
“Stealing ale from my own house?” Fiora demanded, blinking. Should he try to pull his arm away? Deven’s hand was on his sleeve, mostly. But Deven’s thumb pressed against the back of Fiora’s hand, skin to skin — and that little point of contact burned, as if it were drawing Fiora’s banked fires to the surface. “Thass — that’s a bit silly, isn’t it? And, and, undif—dignified.”
“But fun.” Deven grinned, and his face filled Fiora’s whole range of vision. “Lots of fun. You don’t have enough of it. Come on, drink up.”
He let go of Fiora’s arm, leaving him free to lift the bottle again. Deven, or more ale? Fuzzily, Fiora would’ve preferred Deven. But he drank, anyway, since Deven had leaned back again, out of Fiora’s reach. The ale slid down his throat and fizzed in his veins. Why hadn’t he ever drunk ale, again?
