Page 112 of Pippa of Lauramore
The beast tilts his head back and sends a burst of flames into the air above him. “Do you think I am a fool?”
“No, Great One,” Father says.
Knights and archers are slowly circling the area. On my father’s command, the dragon would be dead. He’s only one dragon.
But if we kill this dragon, we will surely be at war once again.
“The weak-hearted she-dragon, Zenalin, gave a piece of treasure to a man. Where is this man?”
Galinor swallows, and I can see in his eyes he’s searching for an answer.
No one comes forward, and once again a stream of fire jets toward the clouds. “The shield!” he says. “I was with her. I remember the man, and I do not see him here.”
The crowd jumps back when the dragon’s fiery breath is directed at them. Sparks fly to a nearby cottage, and the thatch roof catches. The courtyard rings with shocked, terrified cries. A woman’s mournful scream punctuates the rest, and with it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. At Father’s command, men scramble to put out the burning cottage.
“I am here.” Out of the wide-eyed crowd, Archer steps forward. He looks out of breath, as if he’s just run across the courtyard.
The dragon swings his great head toward Archer and narrows his serpent eyes. “Hello again, Master Archer.”
Archer bows his head.
“Did the treasure win you your love?” The dragon cackles. He watches the men extinguish the burning roof with disinterest.
Archer glances at me, and our eyes lock. “It did not. I never said it would.”
The dragon turns away from the steaming, soggy cottage, looking bored. “It was not you who murdered my mate. I have no use for you.”
Father looks taken aback by the announcement. He shakes his head, and looks from Archer to me, and then to Galinor. “Galinor, did you retrieve your treasure?”
Galinor lowers his head, ashamed. “I did not, Your Majesty. It was Archer?—”
“Enough!” the dragon bellows, and the heat of his breath travels past us. For the first time, his depthless eyes settle on the ill-looking Prince Lionel. “You murdered my mate.”
His words have lost their fury and are now cold. Deadly.
Lionel shakes his head, and his curls swing around his face. “I might have wounded her,” he says, stepping backward. “But I did not kill her.”
“She is dead.”
Rigel and Galinor step away from Lionel, leaving him the sole target of the dragon’s wrath. The prince tries to draw his sword, but he can’t seem to grab hold of it. His sweaty hand repeatedly slips off the hilt. Lionel’s terrified eyes dart around the crowd, looking for help. When he finds none, he stammers, “I…I didn’t mean to, I swear.”
The dragon roars, lunges forward, and pins Lionel to the ground with a stout, clawed foot. The prince blubbers, begging for mercy, while the rest of us look on in horrified, helpless silence.
“Won’t you fight me, oath-breaking prince?” Thedragon tilts his head like a cat taking pleasure in the slow torture of a field mouse.
There are tears streaming down Lionel’s cheeks. “Please, forgive me. Forgive me.”
I have a lungful of air I can’t seem to release, and I hold it, waiting. I want to cry out and beg the dragon for mercy. No one deserves to die this way.
Not even Lionel.
“Wait!” I take a step forward, my legs and mouth moving on their own accord. What am I doing? “Please.”
“No—” Archer yells.
“Pippa, stop!” Alexander grabs me, holding me back, but it is too late.
The dragon slowly turns his head, and I quiver as he studies me. Curls of smoke leave his nostrils, rising in a lazy manner. “Who are you?”
