Page 58 of Veiled Flames
“We—” he gestures to the men on either side of him “—are your Dragon Masters. Each of us will train you in our particular speciality and prepare you for your first attempt to mount a dragon.”
Murmurs drift through the group.
“I am Master Treacher.” A man a few fingers taller and somewhat broader than Saxon steps forward. His face is scarred, his eyes mean. “I am commander of the qualified riders. For the few of you who live long enough to try, I will guide your attempt to mount a dragon.”
The third dragon master steps forward. “I am Master Roule.” This man is rounder than the other two and has lost much of the hair on the top of his head, but he still strikes a formidable presence. “I will provide most of your classroom training: theory, history, and battle strategies.”
He gestures toward Saxon, who steps forward. “And I will be your combat and weapons instructor.” His stance widens. “All three of us are fully qualified to teach all of these subjects.”
The woman steps onto the platform. “Welcome. I am Asa, your House Mistress. As the newest candidates, your rooms will be on this level, and they are already labelled with your names. Every grouping of four rooms has an assigned house maid. She will introduce herself and provide for all your needs. For now, you’ll be sharing sleeping quarters. As your numbers dwindle, single quarters will become available.”
Beside me, Samyull visibly trembles. I’m nervous too. But not about facing dragons. I’m nervous about sharing my sleeping quarters. It could be with anyone, even that bully Egon.
I’ve become more adept at maintaining my masculine disguise, but it will be more challenging in a shared bed chamber. Especially if there is nowhere private to use the chamber pot. And I’ve already been fretting about my courses, due in less than ten days if my memory is accurate.
“Tonight, you shall dine.” Saxon gestures to a large wooden door in the shadows behind him. “But first you must wash off the dust from the road. Go now and find your sleeping quarters.”
Cheers ring out, and the group scatters, everyone searching under the portico for a door labeled with their name. I hang back, and then head for the far corner, choosing to escape the frenzy and methodically search under the portico to find my room.
To my shock, I find my name, mymalename, on the very first door. And it’s my name alone. My heart floods with relief. Saxon must have done this for me. My heart warms and heats with hope. Perhaps he’s reconsidered what he said early this morn in his tent. Perhaps he plans to visit my room, visit my bed.
That hope increases, because my room is in the corner farthest away from the dining hall. It’s isolated and quite a distance from the next closest room. Opening the door, I step inside, and my heart floods with joy. While not as large as my bed chamber at home, it’s beyond comfortable and a thousand times better than what I expected. I can’t understand why they refer to this place as a camp. I assumed we’d be spending our nights under the stars, or at best, in tents.
In the center of one wall sits a good-sized bed, and I jump onto it to test the mattress. Flopping back, I sink so far into its luxury that I’m not certain I’ll be able to get up for dinner. Above me, the ceiling planks are painted an inky purple, dotted with tiny pink stars.
My eyes flutter shut as my body melts into the mattress. But I shake the sleep from my body and reluctantly roll off the bed. My stomach grumbles. I don’t want to fall asleep before dinner.
A large wooden wardrobe sits at the side of the room, its doors carved with images of wyllow trees, each long leaf meticulously shaped. Inside, I discover several sets of leather breeches and jackets, as well as linen chemises. All of them look to be my size.
Saxon must have sent word, or flown ahead on Surath, giving the camp all of our names and sizes. The stone floor is covered by a knotted wool rug with an intricate pattern, and I bend to run my hand over it to confirm its softness. I should have removed my boots before stepping upon it.
In addition to the bed and wardrobe, my room contains a small table, a few cupboards as well as two chairs in front of a fireplace.
To the side of the room sits a screen, and behind it, I discover the best surprise yet—a copper tub full of warm water, still steaming. Quickly, I shed my dirty garments and climb into the tub, leaving my chest binding on. If I wear my jerkin to dinner, or one of the leather jackets, it will hide the ring of wetness on my chemise.
After so many days of use, my binding cloth is filthy with sweat and dust, even though it’s been under my clothes. A bar of lye soap sits on a stool next to the tub. Discovering it scented with lemon oil, I scrub my skin, trying not to remember how Saxon bathed me last night. The way he so carefully stroked my body—every part of it.
Was that really last night? It feels a lifetime ago, even though my lips and cleft are still tender and bruised from the kissing and drilling.
Lying back, I want to stay in this water for hours, but I’m startled by a knock on the door.
I sink all but my face under the murky water, grateful for the screen hiding the tub. “Yes?”
The door opens. “Excuse me for interrupting, sir. I’m Elly, your room maid. I’m here to assist, as you bathe and dress for dinner.”
“Please stay outside the room,” I tell her, and then hear her gasp.
I spoke too sharply. “I don’t require your assistance at the moment, Elly.” Lowering my voice, I strive to sound kinder. “I prefer to dress myself—tomorrow morning and going forward, as well.”
“As you wish, sir.” Her tone reveals her surprise. “In about thirty minutes, a bell will sound to signal dinner.”
I rejoin my fellow candidates in the courtyard, and we mill about in front of the still-closed doors at the end. With no handle or obvious way to open the large double doors, we wait.
Samyull steps up beside me. “Can youbelievethis place?”
“It holds more comforts than I expected.”
“I can’t believe they call this a camp.” Grinning, he shakes his head.
