Page 7 of Deven and the Dragon
No. No, there was no hope for him, and certainly no joy to be found in spinning fantasies that could never be.
Instead, he called upon the magic within him and felt his body begin to waver and morph, transforming from the inside out.
At last he shook himself, stretching and flapping his wings and startling a small flock of birds out of their nests along the peaked roof of the stairwell. Their angry squawks followed him as he launched himself into the air with one push of his powerful hind legs. Up, up he shot, straight up, aiming for a puffy cloud that drifted along above the river.
He leveled out, spreading his wings to the fullest and savoring the heat of the sun, the cool of battering gusts of wind, the freshness of the scent of the river and forest below him drifting up. In this form his eyesight was much keener, and when he turned he could see the group before his castle as clearly as he had from the turret. Andrei stood with them now, with all the councilors ranged before him. The presumed sacrifice stood off to the side a little.
As Fiora circled and watched, the man looked up.
For a long, suspended moment, Fiora was certain their eyes had met. That impossibly warm energy of a sudden and intimate connection with another being zinged down his spine and made his tail tingle. What color were his eyes? Even with his dragon’s senses he couldn’t tell, but he imagined them to be a warm brown like that of his hair, filled with mischief and lust and a keen intelligence that would ferret out every one of Fiora’s secrets.
Fiora would protest, of course, but he would yield gracefully, in every possible way…his belly clenched, and he tossed his head to banish the vision.
But he did bank into a sharp descent, whipping his tail dramatically and letting out a well-formed puff of smoke.
He wasn’t showing off, of course. That would be absurd. If he happened to make a striking, even mesmerizing sight — well, that was just one of the side benefits of being a dragon. He could hardly help it.
As he approached the ground, one of the councilors looked up and gasped, eagerly pointing him out to the others. The councilors wavered, some looking as if they might break and run, while others held onto their stupid official hats to keep the flapping of his wings from blowing them off their heads. Andrei, for his part, turned to face the smooth section of lawn where he knew Fiora would choose to land, and awaited him in a posture of perfect calm and respect.
The sacrifice turned with him, but he never looked away from Fiora. Now that he was closer, Fiora could see the sacrifice’s expression, and it wasn’t what he’d expected. The man looked curious, interested, but hardly impressed and certainly not afraid.
How dare he be so composed! Fiora was bloody well terrifying, wasn’t he? Sour, self-defeating rage rose up in him, and he welcomed it. If he was forced to hide away in lonely misery from the human world, to stifle all his longings, then he’d be adragon, and that meant fear, people cowering and running and begging for mercy when he chose to appear before them.
Fiora landed with a great thump on the grass to the side of the carriage drive, tossing his horned head in the air and allowing two delicate streamers of smoke to escape his muzzle. With an elegantly executed fold of his wings and a curl of his spiked tail, he settled on his haunches and regarded the group with what he hoped was a suitably baleful eye.
The councilors stumbled back a step almost as one, muttering in shocked voices, the whites of their eyes showing all around. Andrei bowed. The sacrifice lost his grip on his coat for a moment and had to jerk his arm to catch it, but otherwise — well, otherwise, he simply stood there.
His eyeswerebrown, damn him. With little flecks of gold. Fiora gazed into them, caught and held. It wasn’t wise to look into the eyes of a dragon, the legends said, for you’d fall under their spell.
Fiora thought miserably that the stupid legends seemed to have gotten it the wrong way around.
Thank God for Andrei, who cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment and drawing the sacrifice’s attention away from Fiora. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present you to His Excellency, the master of this castle and lands and your neighbor — and patron. I believe we placed an order for ten bolts of silk and twelve of wool from your warehouse only last week, did we not, Councilor Barclay?”
In his human form Fiora might have had to stifle a laugh at Andrei’s pointedness. As it was, he simply puffed a little more smoke, drawing awed murmurs. That was more the reaction he expected and deserved.
He glanced sidelong at the sacrifice — who was glancing sidelong at him. And still not terrified.
Was Fiora really so pathetic, even as a fire-breathing scaled near-invulnerable beast with claws and enormous pointy teeth? God forbid this man see him as a thin little human with oddly-tinted skin. He would dismiss Fiora completely.
Councilor Barclay, whose stomach fought his bushy gray mustache for least attractive feature, had turned an equally unattractive shade of brick-red. “I have many large orders,” the man brayed. “Certainly, it’s a fine amount of fabric, but —”
“Present your gift to His Excellency,” Andrei interrupted, raising his voice. “Ifyou please.”
The elderly lady Fiora had seen from the turret stepped forward, and to her credit — though it only made Fiora’s self-respect take another plummet — stepped closer to Fiora in the process, offering him a stiff but well-executed curtsey. Her hat miraculously stayed in place. Was she a witch? Not impossible. Fiora fought the urge to shift uneasily.
“Your Excellency,” she said, her voice strong and clear despite her age. “May I present Deven Clifton. He is truly a son of Ridley, and a valued citizen. We couldn’t part with him to anyone less worthy than yourself, if I may say so, sir. And we will all miss him terribly.”
Lost as he was in contemplation — Deven, what a charmingly suitable name for such a broad-shouldered and long-legged vision, and Fiora was a foolish idiot who needed to slap himself silly once he had his hands back — he almost missed the slight smile that curled the corner of Andrei’s mouth.
“Oh, no need to mourn his absence,” Andrei said, in a soothingly unctuous tone that spelled mischief. “He won’t be a prisoner here. He’ll be more than welcome to visit the town at any time he likes.”
Shocked dismay crossed the spokeswoman’s face almost too quickly to see. But Fiora did see it, and so did Andrei, judging by the tiny widening of that malicious smile of his.
“No, no, we wouldn’t want to interfere with the arrangements of His Excellency’s household,” she stammered, glancing back and forth at her fellows as if to say,Help me out here, you useless fuckers. “He can stay here. As much as he’s, er, needed. We’ll all be fine,” she concluded somewhat desperately.
Fiora leaned forward, amused despite himself. Clearly the council wanted their sacrifice to stay just where they put him, for whatever purpose still remaining to be discovered. Andrei, the clever bastard, really enjoyed wrong-footing those he didn’t like — and had he caught some undercurrent that Fiora had missed? Fiora risked another look at Deven, still silently standing off to the side. His mocking smile matched Andrei’s, and his eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter. Interesting. Did he find his own town council as irritating as Andrei did? Or was Fiora the only one missing something?
“No doubt,” Andrei said, with the brisk tone of one who’d gotten what he wanted and now desired only to have a stiff drink with someone other than his current company. “I’m sure he’ll visit when his duties permit.”
