Song of Smoke: A Dragon Shifter Romance (The King's Series Book 1) Page 8

  “It’s no rush, I can wait or come back…” I tell her and she shoots a smile over her shoulder as she digs a simple pair of tan slippers from a trunk.

  “I’m glad you knocked. I was reading and I always lose track of time. Warin usually takes pity on me and will bring something up if I haven’t appeared by the end of the meal,” she says and closes the door behind her. She links her arm in mine, and I try and ignore the feeling that I’m marching off to battle.

  “Ah. So…Warin,” I say, trying to get my mind off our destination. “Are you promised to him?” Eira laughs.

  “Something like that. Warin has been a good friend for a very long time. I’m sure you noticed he’s quite a bit older than I am. I viewed him like an older brother or family for most of my life. Only within the last few years has it turned into something…more.” The dreamy look on her face is pure love and happiness, and I’m glad for her.

  “How old are you?” I ask delicately, hoping she takes no offense to the question.

  “I’m young, for a Dragon. We don’t mark time in quite the same way that humans do since our lives are considerably longer. I’m an adult member of the pride ̶ I live independently, I make my own decisions, I work and contribute to our city. But I’m unmated.”

  I look at her and shake my head a bit in confusion.

  “A mate is like a husband?” I ask.

  “More or less. A mating bond is permanent, it allows us to bear children and actually produces magic that stabilizes and strengthens our pride. It knits us together and acts as a source of energy and a well of power for our families,” she says.

  I chew this information over silently in my head and wonder what it means for Ruarden that there are only six females in residence ̶ and at least one of them is unmated. It seems that Alderon was right, and the human’s systematic capture and killing of Dragon females over the past few centuries may have been more effective than anyone realized.

  “And who arranges mates for the females?” I ask, and her head jerks back in surprised confusion.

  “No one arranges anything. A mate is someone you are tied to for life and it’s not a decision anyone else can make for you. It’s something each partner needs to feel and acknowledge,” she says.

  “But Warin is not your mate?”

  We are approaching the entrance of the great hall and the delicious smells and happy sounds of people talking and eating are drifting through the air. Eira stops and faces me before answering.

  “Not yet, no,” she says, quietly considering. “I hope he is. Males can usually sense these things sooner than we can - who they are compatible with, who will be a strong partner. But it’s only a feeling. Instinct. I love him though and I would be grateful if the Mother saw fit to bless us in that way.”

  She smiles and we walk together into the hall. Groups of men sitting and eating together throw curious stares my way, and I attempt to appear confident and relaxed under their scrutiny. We sit at a table where Warin chats comfortably with a few other men, he smiles and Eira plants a kiss on his cheek before sitting down. I sit across from her and am vaguely surprised when Odin parks himself next to me.

  “I’m shocked that you haven’t elected to sit five feet behind me,” I mutter, and he meets my gaze with a carefree shrug, leaning forward to heap his plate with meat and bread and gravy. He quirks a questioning brow at me and points to the food.

  May I serve you? His face asks.

  “Thank you,” I say and hand him my plate. “I would have ventured down here much sooner if I knew you’d be waiting on me hand and foot.”

  He rolls his eyes and hands me back my plate full of warm, deliciously spiced food.

  Eira introduces me and, much to my surprise, no one seems overly upset about sharing a table with me - the outsider. In fact, they seem perfectly at ease, offering warm smiles and carrying on as though I was not a centuries-old enemy who had been brought here under duress.

  I lean back in my chair and do my best to follow their conversations about farming, job rotation, who is getting on who’s nerves. There’s no mention of war or attacks or revenge.

  I continue to sip a lovely floral wine and welcome the relaxed, floaty feeling that melts away the sour edge of unease.

  My attention shifts and my gaze sweeps slowly through the room, taking in the decor, the smells, the people and the sounds of their conversation. I am comfortable, my thoughts light and unfocused until I meet a pair of green eyes across the room.

  Dederic is seated with his elbows propped up on the table, his chin resting on his clasped hands and watching me steadily. I tense as I brace for anger or suspicion after our interaction in the hallway this afternoon. But he merely looks curious as his eyes move over my hair, my face, my dress.

  Perhaps he didn’t feel the surge of magic where I touched him? Perhaps he assumed it was only a reaction on his end – or that it was his own mind playing tricks?

  His dark brown hair is pulled up into a knot on top of his head and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, giving me a view of his sinewy forearms decorated with intricate banded markings. I wonder what those markings feel like. Are they raised? Smooth or textured?

  When I meet his eyes again, amusement flickers there and I feel my face heat at being caught staring ̶ again.

  “Seda?” Eira’s voice cuts through my mental fog and I snap myself back to attention.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I say and shake my head to clear it.

  “Are you alright?” Her voice is gentle and concerned, and I realize that everyone at the table is looking at me.

  “Of course,” I reply and paste a small smile on my face. “The wine is going to my head, I think.”

  I shrug apologetically and a handsome man with large brown eyes a few seats down offers me a curious look and a wide, warm smile that catches me off balance.

  “We were just asking if you were finding things to your liking here.” His voice is smooth and charming and surprisingly kind.

  “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” I reply instantly.

  He chuckles and I go on earnestly.

  “Truly. The water, the sky, how open and airy everything is. It’s wonderful.”

  “Not what you expected?” he asks.

  “Not really. No,” I say. The wine has me loose-lipped. “Honestly, I expected something that looked a bit more dungeon-y. And more fire. I expected a lot more fire.”

  The others at the table listen in amusement, trading small looks back and forth.

  “Well, we’re sorry to have disappointed you. I’ll make it my own personal mission to find more ways to impress you with fire,” he says.

  One of the other men smacks his shoulder. The warm smile on his face doesn’t falter though and I read the teasing in his voice.

  Eira is cradled contentedly in Warin’s arms and he strokes her hair gently. The other men at the table are finished eating as well and sprawled comfortably in their chairs drinking ale and wine. Even Odin looks relaxed. I try and brush off the curious intensity of the handsome stranger down the table and strive for casual.

  “There’s no need. The one thing I cannot forgive, however, is the truly dismal selection of books available. The only two I could find in my room were a biography and a dull account of a battle that I’ve never heard of.”

  “That does sound terrible.” He smiles.

  “It is. Thank you for your sympathy,” I say with a tilt of my head.

  He laughs and his eyes flick up over my shoulder, where I feel an arm slide around the top of my chair. I glance back up into Dederic’s handsome face and feel my smile melt away. He exchanges greetings with the others at the table and remains standing next to me.

  “We have an extensive library, if you’re interested,” Brown Eyes says, drawing my attention back down the table. “Novels, family histories, biology, botany, astrology, medicine ̶ nearly anything you can think of.”

  I try and absorb the information over the wine-induced haze a
nd the distracting male towering over me.

  “Oh, um… yes, that sounds wonderful. I’ll have to seek it out; lest I die of boredom up there.” I try to smile, but the heat rolling off Dederic and the wind-swept smell of him causes my breath to stick. I fan my face lightly with my hand, trying to cool the flush on my cheeks.

  “Are you sure you feel well?” Brown Eyes asks and cocks his head in mild concern.

  “Absolutely. I think I’m a bit overheated.” I twist my long hair around my hand and pull it off my shoulder, trying to find a cooling breeze.

  Dederic shifts the arm that is resting behind me so that his hand brushes gently across my skin. I arch away as a shiver races down my spine at the contact.

  “I’d be happy to take you outside; get some fresh air.”

  My attention moves back across the table, and I can see the curiosity and hope and spark of something more in Brown Eye’s gaze when he voices the offer.

  My stomach drops.

  The urge to flee is knocking at my chest.

  “I’m actually quite tired,” I say, dropping my hair over my shoulder and pushing my chair back. “I think I’ll head up. It was wonderful to meet you all. Thank you for letting me share your meal.”

  Dederic drops a large, open hand in front of where I’m still seated, and I tilt my face back to meet his eyes.

  “I’ll walk with you,” he says in that low, rough voice.

  “No, thank you. I don’t want to be a bother. Besides, I know the way.” I offer a small, cool smile and wait for him to politely back up and give me space to take my leave.

  Of course, he doesn’t.

  “It’s not a bother. Let’s go.” A dimple appears in his cheek, and I purse my lips in irritation before taking his hand.

  The wine has left my brain foggy and my limbs heavy, causing me to pitch forward slightly into his chest. Those green eyes are locked on mine as he wraps his other arm behind my back and leads me away from the table and out of the great hall.

  I try and focus on putting one foot in front of the other and not on the way his fingers feel stretched across my lower back. I don’t think about how gently he holds my other hand and winds his fingers through mine. I don’t think about the way the muscles of his chest and shoulders move and stretch under his fitted shirt as he leads me down the hall. And I absolutely don’t think about the way his green eyes dance with heat as he watches me move past him to climb the stairs.

  “Thank you for the escort. Will Odin be up later or are you relieving him of his babysitting duties tonight?”

  We reach my bedroom door and I stumble back slightly and press my back to it, narrowing my eyes on his face. He stands in front of me and we stare each other down for a moment before he reaches past me and opens the door so that I have to grip his shirt quickly to keep from falling backwards.

  A low chuckle rumbles through his chest.

  “I’m not overly concerned about you causing trouble tonight. But yes, there will be someone in the hall if you need anything.”

  “You are horrid,” I say and quickly release his shirt. My feet get tangled and I end up knocking into the side of the door with a thud.

  “Can you make it inside, or do you need me to carry you?” he asks and rests a hand on my elbow.

  I jerk away and storm inside the room, kicking off my shoes and yanking open the window. He follows me inside the room and closes the door behind him.

  “I didn’t invite you in here,” I fire over my shoulder.

  He only smiles.

  “You’re not a very pleasant drunk.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I huff and rifle through the dresser until I find my nightgown.

  When I look back, Dederic is crouched down next to the fireplace, setting more logs inside and arranging them neatly to set a fire.

  “I don’t want a fire,” I say peevishly. “Unless you are hoping I die from fever tonight?”

  He ignores me and continues his work, reaching for the matches and making sure the fire is burning healthy and bright before he rises to stand.

  “You’re warm from the drink. But you sleep with your window open and you’ll be suffering in the next hour,” he murmurs.

  I toss a hand on my hip, knowing he’s right but not wanting to admit it.

  “How do you know? Do you spend much time climbing around under my window?” I bite out.

  “Am I wrong?” His smirk is infuriating.

  “No. But-”

  “Why do you always leave it open? You have to be cold, but every night you’re practically glued to the ledge,” he asks and his eyes flick to the open window and the clear night sky behind us.

  I stay quiet for a moment and debate answering with the truth or a lie. Before I can respond, he speaks again.

  “Not thinking about jumping, I hope.”

  It’s a statement but I read the question and actual concern in his voice.

  “No, you busybody. Nothing like that,” I mutter.

  His eyes widen and then narrow at my idiotic insult.

  “What, then?”

  “We weren’t allowed outside at night. Back there.” I close my eyes and shake my head as if to dispel that cold, stale, ever-present darkness. “I don’t know that I had ever really seen stars like this before. We’d be on lockdown sometimes for weeks at a time, no access to fresh air or sun. This-” I wave my hand at the window, “it’s incredible. I think I’d be happy sleeping out on the roof if I could. But waking up with the fresh air and the moon and stars or sun in front of me ̶ it’s freedom. Even as your human hostage.”

  Dederic studies my face, perhaps trying to read whether I’m lying. Eventually he nods, letting my words sink in. His face is solemn and serious, and he doesn’t say or ask anything else before moving towards the door. I turn to head towards the bathroom with my nightgown when I hear him speak quietly from the doorway.

  “Good night,” he says and closes the door behind him.

  I stand and stare after him at the doorway for a few moments, though I’m not sure what exactly I’m waiting for. Eventually I am able to move again, and I walk into the bathroom to finish changing into my night dress before falling into bed.

  Sleep claims me quickly.

  Truth

  “What do you think you’re doing?” a low, old voice creaks from behind me. I whirl around and stare up into a hard, withered face.

  “Excuse me?” I ask, placing my hand at my throat in surprise.

  “What. Do you think. You’re doing?” he repeats sharply and yanks the book from my hands.

  After my night of over-indulgence, I spent most of the morning and afternoon laid up in bed with a headache that felt like it had grown arms and legs and teeth inside of me. I attempted to visit the armory again, but the sunlight and the loud sound of metal clanging together made me ill and I elected to spend the rest of the evening in my room. Eira brought me food and I could tell she was being kind in holding back her laughter at my worn state from a few too many glasses of wine.

  This morning I opened the door to find an amused Odin leaning back against the wall. His yellow eyes twinkling with mocking laughter. I smoothed my hands over my hair and held my head high as I breezed past him.

  “Please keep your thoughts to yourself today, Odin. I cannot handle your incessant chattering,” I called over my shoulder. He didn’t respond but his boots tread along heavily behind me as I set off to find the library.

  Which is where I had been quietly surveying the shelves when this ancient-looking man startled me and rudely snatched the book from my hands.

  I press back into the library shelves and stare at him incredulously, mouth gaping. The man before me has long silver hair and a beard to match. His skin is a deep olive color with age lines creasing his forehead and around his dark blue eyes.

  “I was just-” I begin, but he uses his bony shoulder to jostle me out of the way, reaching around and filing the book back on the shelf.

  “Stealing?” he says and li
fts a heavy gray brow.

  “What? Of course not! I was told I was welcome to use the library, and so I’m here ̶ looking for a book.”

  “Oh? A bit of light reading?” He tilts his head and scans the title. “Yvardian Warfare: Ancient Artists of Death. Lovely. What manner of lady has her nose in books about war and death?”

  “I suppose the kind of lady who finds herself taken prisoner by Dragons,” I snap and reach to pull the book back off the shelf, but he positions his body in front of me.

  “Prisoner my ass,” he growls. Rail-thin and ancient, I can see the fire in his eyes that whispers of a warrior’s spirit still inside this frail body. “That a prison cell you’ve been sleeping in? And it looks like we’ve really improved on our prisoner’s garb - silks and lace and all.”

  “If I’m not free to leave, then I’m not exactly free. Am I?” I grit out, and he snorts rudely.

  “An involuntary guest, then.”

  “Yes, that’s how your king put it as well,” I mutter and make to move away from him, abandoning my hope of finding something interesting to read. He reaches out and grasps my wrist before I take two steps away.

  “Release me,” I snarl, earning a small smile from him.

  “Hold it,” he says.

  I sigh heavily and flex my jaw in irritation, yanking at my arm. He holds fast.

  “You’ve got courage. And you’ve got some bite - and I admire both,” he croaks out, and I meet his pale eyes. “But even more important is your heart that led you to help someone less fortunate than you. And the fire I can see coursing through your blood.”

  I jerk back out of his reach, my eyes going wide and some of the color leaving my face. What does he mean he can see my fire? Can he sense my magic? Had I loosened my grip on it and done something telling? Did Dederic say something? A smile creeps over his face as if he can read my thoughts.

  “I’m Ademar,” he says. I pause for a moment before answering, I’m too focused on checking each and every hold on my magic and burying it well inside.

  “Seda,” I reply much more quietly than I intended.

  “I know. And I’ll tell you what, Seda, that book there is a fascinating bit of history but not a single accurate piece of information on how to kill Dragon warriors,” he says and scans the shelves.