A Shade of Dragon 2(6)

“Not good enough.” The tallest guard darted forward with his spear and jammed it into the ribbon which bound my dress together down its center. I was mortified as the corset loosened and opened to reveal a sheer white slip underneath. Thalissa had dressed me; no one else had seen me this way.

The spear moved against my side, and I threw back my head and howled. The reaction was so intense that I wrenched against the metallic shackles until they bit my wrists and smeared themselves in a lacquer of my blood.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know!” I howled. “Anyone could tell you that torture is one of the least effective methods for gaining information!”

At this, the tallest guard leaned close and pulled his mask down. He was fabulously ugly, with cratered cheeks and beady eyes. “It is an effective method of intimidation.”

I went still with horror as the realization dawned on me. This was all for the benefit of the other prisoners—the fire dragon men. They were torturing me to set an example.

“No,” I murmured, letting my damp eyelashes close. I’d been crying.

“This is your last chance, my lady,” the tall guard leered, his glowing spear tracing the lace of my dress. Sweat prickled over the neckline and soaked the slip beneath. “Confess who allowed you entry to this castle.”

“It was Lethe!”

The spear came down like a whip and burned the top of my right breast. I shrieked.

“What the hell is going on here?” A familiar male voice intruded into our horrific little bubble of heat, and sweat, and pain. “Just what do you think you’re doing? Let me through! I said let me through!”

Lethe shouldered his way through the hedge of guards, and his eyes opened wide at the sight of me. We gazed at one another in a moment of sudden stillness, and then he turned from me.

“Unchain her,” he commanded coldly. “On whose authority have you tortured this woman?”

There was another moment of quiet as the guards refused to step forward and receive credit.

“Was there no command given? Has our guard become a rogue faction unto itself? Confess, you animals!”

“It was I.” The blue-masked guard stepped forward, his head high but his eyes averted. “I thought her a threat to the castle security, my lord.”

“Am I truly your lord?” Lethe hissed. “Or are you your own lord? I said unchain her, you barbarians!”

Three guards rushed forward to unclasp the bloodied manacles from my wrists. As the irons fell away, I collapsed forward. A pair of arms suspended me mid-air. I gazed up into Lethe’s face, but he was not looking back at me. He still glared at his guards.

Lethe gestured to the blue-masked guard. “Manacle him.”

I heard screams of protest, a scuffle, and the clank of chains fastened as Lethe pulled me from the dungeon. He did not speak to me as we ascended the winding stairwell. I peered up at him. Hadn’t they tortured me exactly as he would have done? And yet…

But he did not return my stare. He kept his eyes straight ahead and his jaw firm, as if I was not there at all.



When we reached the top of the stairs, stepping into a sweeping marble foyer, Lethe covered my eyes with a silken handkerchief from his pocket, securing it behind my head as a blindfold. I didn’t struggle. He took my arm—his hand so very cold—and dragged me along winding corridors, up two more flights of stairs, down another long hall, and then finally through a door into a warm room. The blindfold came away, and I recognized it immediately. The windows dominating the northern wall. The roaring fireplace. The bookshelf. The feather-down mattress. I had been returned to my new quarters—“home.”

I turned to face Lethe. There was something different about him now, and he seemed aware of his own vulnerability, as he returned my gaze with eyes more distant and harsh than I had seen yet.

“Thank you.” I didn’t need him to acknowledge my consideration. I just needed to express my gratitude.

“Do not thank me,” Lethe commanded, turning from my eyes and retreating to the exit. “You would never have been discovered if you had not disobeyed my commands. You deserve your marks.” He hesitated and glanced over his shoulder at me. The dress was still undone, my slip singed on one side and the burn still red raw on my chest. “Perhaps, with this next opportunity, you will trust me.” He laid his hand on the door’s brass knob and turned. “Are you hungry?” he demanded, as if it was not a question but an insult.

“Y-yes,” I murmured, uncertain of the proper response. I hadn’t eaten since last night; it had to be close to noon now, or midday, or however time worked in this place. I cleared my throat. “Yes, sir, I am.”