The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

It did not come.

His gaze moved over her face. The wind-reddened cheeks. The wet lashes, the hair clinging to her forehead.

”Are you hurt?” he asked.

His voice was lower than she had ever heard it.

”No.”

”Truly?”

”Truly.” She spread her hands. ”A bruise or two. I think I’ve left my dignity somewhere back at the ditch. But no.”

He let out a breath. It was long and shaky, and it seemed to empty him.

Then he knelt.

He did it slowly, going down on one knee in the damp grass so that his face was level with hers. The gold of his eyes was very near. She could see the thin black ring around each iris, and the faint flicker deep within them, like firelight behind glass.

”Were you afraid?” he said.

She considered lying. She considered giving him the answer a ward would give, the soft and obedient one.

”At first,” she said.

”And then?”

”And then I wasn’t.” She looked past him, over his shoulder, at the green valley falling away. ”He knew where he was going. I didn’t, but he did, and after the ditch I stopped trying to stop him. And then it was....” She stopped. Her mouth curved helplessly. ”I have never gone so fast in my life. I think I’ll never forget it. I am sorry, truly. I did not mean to frighten anyone. I did not mean for it to happen, I only asked if I could ride him, and he just....”

”Morgana.”

She stopped.

His hand had come up. It hovered near her cheek, not quite touching, as though he were not certain he was permitted. His fingers were still shaking.

”I did not know where you were,” Draeven said.

The words were quiet. He didn’t look away from her.

”I stood in my study and I was told you were gone, and I did not know where. I reached for you, and I could not....” He stopped himself. His jaw flexed. ”I did not know where you were,” he said again, steadier, ”and I did not like it.”

It was such a plain thing to say.

It was nothing like the speeches she had heard him give in the throne room, or the crisp cold commands he gave the council. It had no polish, no armor. He said it the way a boy might admit that he had lost something, and she felt it all the way down, in a place she had not known was waiting.

”I’m here,” she said.

”I see that.”

”I’m all right.”

”I see that, too.” His mouth twitched, barely. ”It does not help as much as you might think.”

She laughed. She could not help it. The sound came out soft and a little shaky, and the thing that moved over his face was so fleeting that she might have imagined it. It might have been relief. It might have been something she had no name for.

His hand dropped.

He stayed where he was, on one knee in the grass, and they looked at one another.

It was a long look. Longer than was proper. Something in the air between them had drawn tight, like a string pulled across a lute, and neither of them moved to slacken it. She was aware of the wind in her hair, the heat coming off him, the smell of smoke and cedar and warm metal. She was aware that she had not looked away. In the throne room and during the banquette, she had always looked and then looked away. She had learned to do it the way you learn to step around a fire.

She didn’t look away now.

Neither did he.

”You looked at me,” Draeven said at last, his voice coming out very low.

”I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

”I noticed.” He paused. ”And when you see me look back, You always drop your eyes.”

”I was too frightened.”

”Of what?”

”Of everything.”

His mouth moved. It was not a smile, not quite. ”That is not what I saw.”

She did not know what to say to that.

The silence stretched. A cloud passed over the sun and left it. Shadowmere stamped, blew, and wandered a few paces away to crop the thyme.

”I should take you home,” Draeven said. His voice was rougher now. ”Garrick is likely running the length of the east road. Corin....” He stopped. ”There are a great many people who believe you are dead. Shadowmere can carry us both, if you would rather not walk.”

”Both of us?”

”He seems to have decided that he likes you.” Draeven glanced at the horse with a faint dry look. ”I would not presume to argue.”

She laughed again, and the sound seemed to pull something loose in his shoulders.

”Or,” he said.

She waited.

”Or you may stay.” He did not say it as an order. He said it quietly. ”For a while. If you wish to stay. No one will come for us.” His eyes held hers. ”I will take you home when you are ready. Not before.”

Not before.

She looked at him for a long moment.

”I’d like to stay,” she said.

Something moved in his face, quickly, like a flame turned low and then caught.

”Then we will stay,” said Draeven.

He did not rise. He shifted his weight, and she moved over a little, and then he sat down beside her in the long grass.

He did not look at her at first. He looked at her hand lying on his own, small and brown and still grass-stained, and his throat moved as he swallowed.

And deep in his chest, where there had been nothing for two hundred years but heat and hunger and the dull ache of a want with no name, something answered.

It was not a whisper this time.

It was a thread, drawn taut. It was a pulse. It was the first bright, trembling note of a chord that had waited a very long time to be played. INFERNUS lifted his great head in the dark and drew a breath that shook the foundations of him.

”There, it is”the dragon said.