Page 28 of Deven and the Dragon
“Are you angry with me?” he asked abruptly. “If you are, I’d rather you said so outright. I know I overstepped, putting you to bed. But I could hardly just leave you there on top of a miniature temple to sleep it off. And I didn’t want to leave you long enough to fetch Andrei, either. You might have fallen off, or been eaten by the mermaid.”
Lies, lies, despite the sad attempt at humor, and they made Deven’s throat tight. This all sounded perfectly rational in the light of day, but the night before, under a full moon, surrounded by the scent of roses? Any option but carrying Fiora’s warm, pliant body in his own arms hadn’t even occurred to him.
“I’m grateful you didn’t leave me alone with her,” Fiora said with a forced little smile. “I’m sorry you had to — to be burdened with —”
“You weren’t a burden,” Deven cut in hotly, memories of the way Fiora’s head had felt drooping against Deven’s shoulder returning far too vividly. “Or if you were, I didn’t mind. At all. I shouldn’t have gotten you so drunk.”
His voice had lowered to an intimate pitch that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. Fiora sucked in a breath, his eyes wide.
“I think I enjoyed it,” he said. “Did I seem like I was enjoying it?”
Deven couldn’t help laughing. God, but Fiora had been different, once he let loose a little bit. Going on about that too-erect statue…
“Yes, you did. And so did I.” He forced himself to step back, because if he didn’t, he was going to close the small distance between them and see if Fiora felt as lovely in his arms in the daytime. He had to lighten things up. This was not the moment. “Did you, um,” he flailed a bit, and changed tacks, a plan for the rest of the day popping fully-formed into his head, if only he could persuade Fiora to take part. “You did seem like you were having fun, pretending to be a commoner for a few hours. Want to see what the common folk do the next day, when we’re hung over and need to take it easy?”
Fiora’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Deven.”
Damn it, he shouldn’t sound so demoralized. It made Deven’s chest hurt. “It’s the best idea! Come on, I promise you’ll enjoy yourself. You’ll need to loan me a horse from your stables, so that I can ride down to Ripley instead of taking half the afternoon walking, and you’ll need to meet me down by the river. There’s a stream that feeds into it about a mile upriver from town. There’s that big oak tree there, with the boulder at the foot of it, do you know where I mean?”
Fiora opened his mouth, shut it again, and waved his hands helplessly. “I do, but I — I don’t really ride. I don’t — horses are afraid of having me on their backs. It’s cruel to make one bear me.”
A dragon too concerned with horses’ feelings to ride one. Good God. Near-choking tenderness rushed up, like a physical sensation in Deven’s chest. Fiora wouldn’t frighten any of the horses he owned by mounting one; he meant to quietly endure awful meals to assuage his cook’s feelings; he had forgiven Deven for his behavior, even though he probably ought to have booted him down the hill. It wasn’t Fiora’s odd coloring that set him apart: it was his decency and kindness, like that of no one Deven had ever known.
And this was the man whose trust he was plotting to win with half-truths and subterfuge.
No, he promised himself again, with fierce desperation.No, he won’t be hurt. I’ll make sure of it.
“Fly, then,” he said with a shrug, forcing all those feelings down, out of sight where they belonged. “It’ll take you all of five minutes to get there as the dragon flies. And there’s a bit of a clearing where you can land.”
For a moment, Deven was sure Fiora would refuse. He was hesitating…Come on, Deven silently urged him.Please.
“When will you be there?” Fiora asked tentatively. Deven blew out a sigh of profound relief.
“In an hour,” Deven said. “No, make it an hour and a half.” He was going home first, and he needed enough time to extract himself from Phina’s clutches, after all.
Chapter Thirteen
One hour andtwenty minutes and one truncated argument with an angry aunt later, Deven hopped down from his borrowed mare, tethered the reins loosely to a tree, and unloaded the saddlebags. He carried their contents to the bank of the stream, where it burbled over rocks and swept down between lush, grassy banks, making its way to the river a hundred yards or so down the hill.
There was no sign of Fiora yet; Deven couldn’t see the castle from where he was, since it was hidden by tall trees, but he’d certainly notice when a dragon appeared from behind them and dropped down into the small clearing, which left barely enough room for a dragon to land.
Since he had a little time, Deven unsaddled the mare and gave her a quick rub-down, leaving her to snatch up mouthfuls of the soft grass and peacefully contemplate her existence. She’d already had a drink as they forded the stream, so she was set.
And now to feed and water the humans and dragons. The picnic Deven had wheedled out of his aunt didn’t take much setup. A blanket shaken out in a shady spot that wasn’t too damp, several bottles of (much weaker) ale set in an eddy of the stream to chill, and a paper full of sandwiches set out to be unwrapped.
Now that he looked at it, it really didn’t look like much. Well. He’d promised Fiora another true commoner’s experience, hadn’t he? At least he was delivering on that.
A gust of wind passed through the clearing, and Deven looked up. Fiora had soared over the treetops and was descending, beating his wings slowly.
Deven’s heart skipped a beat. In the sunshine, he was extraordinary. Deven had only seen him in full daylight the once, when he arrived at the castle, and he’d thought perhaps he’d exaggeratedhowextraordinary Fiora was.
He hadn’t. Those blue-black scales gleamed with a faint iridescence, casting little glints the same lavender shade as Fiora’s blushes, and Fiora’s wings were like swaths of the velvety night brought out in daylight.
Mindful of Fiora’s warning about horses, Deven held the mare’s bridle while Fiora came in for his landing, petting her neck and whispering soothingly. He had a way with horses, after all his time managing a stable; she quieted quickly, and Deven let her go as Fiora settled on the ground with a surprisingly delicate thump, folding his wings along his sides.
He approached slowly, not because he was afraid — he doubted he could be afraid of Fiora whatever form he took, now that he knew something of Fiora’s sweet nature — but because…it was a dragon. Magical, legendary, fierce and unknowable. Adragon. As Deven came closer, he could feel the heat radiating from Fiora’s massive body. Fiora had to be twelve feet long, not even counting his tail, and even crouched down as he was, his horns reached taller than Deven’s head. His claws were at least as thick as two of Deven’s fingers, and Deven had large hands.
It put them more or less at eye level. Deven smiled helplessly as he drew almost near enough to touch.
