Page 138 of To Touch A Silent Fury
It seemed getting ready meant just rebraiding her hair and tying her dragon like a sack of flour against her front. She didn’t fasten beads around her face, and whether that was in some secret protest to her future husband or just not caring anymore, I didn’t ask. I instead questioned her on whether it was wise to bring the dragon, but she told me she refused to let him out of her sight, and since I was determined to keep her in mine to whatever end, I let the matter drop.
We had until noon before I expected my brother and father to return from the Vidarium, which gave us a few precious hours in relative peace.
I led her down to the floor above the kitchen and out a service exit manned by a guard I mostly trusted, and I felt the collective sigh we both released as the walls faded behind us. I told her of the city’s history, and she nodded as if she already knew it. She asked after the names of bridges, the source of the masonry, and how often the place flooded. I answered as best I could, and she seemed content with the answers.
Our words were nothing but small talk as I paid a surprised citizen for the use of his rowboat for an hour. We stuck to safe topics even then: the low tide of the season, the architecture of the Vidarium, and even the number of livestock in the Sightlands compared to the Scentlands, as I rowed us through the tight and busy canals and finally out towards the wider channels at the city’s eastern edge.
I’d discarded my Tanmer coat already, and yet the sweat had not abated. I was right about the day’s scorching heat. Now, only an hour or so until noon, the sun bore down on the back of my neck with relentless precision.
Once we were in the middle of a canal as thick as any river, and far away from any eyes or ears, I peeled off my green tunic and laid it over the top of my coat. I unbuttoned my white shirt halfway and sighed in relief at the slight breeze.
I leaned back against the back of the boat and let us float as I looked at Tanidwen once more. She was staring at me already; her eyes caught on my chest with a lidded gaze. My breath caught, and she looked away.
“Will you tell me what happened, now?” I asked.
“Your aunt tried to poison me,” she said simply, staring at the sunlight dappling the water. “Well, she tried to poison him.”
It wasn’t surprising, and yet it rekindled my anger anew. “You are certain it was her.”
She blinked, as if caught in some half-truth. “I have reasons to believe it likely.”
“Reasons you will not tell me.”
She flicked her eyes to me. “Is it not customary for a woman to have secrets?”
“I think your secret is bigger than most.”
“You don’t know everything, Lang,” she said with a scowl.
I only smiled. “Try me.”
Tanidwen huffed out a sigh, and leaned back herself. She unbuttoned the top of her blouse, and my eyes warred between the need to reappraise the fine curve of her neck or stare at the patch of calf revealed beneath her skirts.
In the end, neither of those won, for her movement appeared to have woken her dragon. I saw the wing flex within the bundle, and his head poked out from the top of the fabric.
Tanidwen’s eyes widened with fear as she stroked his head, trying, not so subtly, to push him under the fabric. “I’m sure he’s just hungry.”
I smiled as he playfully nipped at her hand and pushed upwards more, sniffing the salty air and making a broken yawningnoise. Tanidwen shifted, but the boat rocked, and she reached her hands out to steady herself on the side. Her dragon moved, too, his claw grabbing over the side of the fabric as he stared straight at me.
With her white eyes. Those eyes I had thought of for years, now blinking back at me with total innocent curiosity.
My grin spread as I stared back at him.
Tanidwen didn't even look at me, her hand quickly covering her dragon’s eyes as he made a sneezing noise in protest. She spoke to me through her panic. “Don’t be alarmed. I’ve read about this, and sapphire dragons often—”
“Stop,” I said.
“—have unsettled eyes for the first year or so.”
I reached towards her, holding my hand out for her to quiet. “Tanidwen.”
The word fell, and the only noise to be heard was the water slapping against the wood.
The woman’s shaking hands dropped to her sides, and she looked at me with a haunted expression. There was more than fear there: it was terror. I saw her glance quickly to either side of her and realise there was no easy escape.
Guilt wracked me; I had brought us here so we could speak freely, and then had acknowledged my awareness of her deceit. It was abominable timing from me to trap her like this, and I let my hand drop.
“You know?” she choked out.
