A Shade of Dragon 3(15)

“She is revered by my sisters and me,” Parnassia confessed. “She needs barter nothing for our aid.”

Perfect. “When I saw her, before I began my quest to retake my home country, she gave me three gifts to help along the way. The first, a bottle which, when filled, would evolve into a poisonous and unstable concoction, destroyed itself some days ago. But the second, a key which was forged by fate itself—according to Pythia—resides in my satchel still.” I stooped at the large leather satchel. Many items remained from the duration of my quest—blue suede moccasins and light wool and linen clothing from my venture to Beggar’s Hole, where I met Nell and first became entranced—and the love letter and skeleton key given to me by Pythia. “Here,” I said, pulling out the skeleton key for the harpy to inspect.

She cocked her head and glared into the bag. “You said three.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said Pythia gave you three gifts,” she said. “Where is the third?”

“Ah.” I gazed down into the satchel at the papyrus. “That one, good lady, must be mine to keep. I need it still. It is a letter to open communication with a loved one across any distance, small or great… and if you took my wife and left her in Everwinter, I will surely need it soon, to inform her that I am on my way.”

A rustling within one tent reminded me that I didn’t have much time. Soon, this transaction would be witnessed by the entire remainder of fighting fire dragons, and I didn’t know if I truly desired for everyone, from my mother to the court priest, to be aware of my dealings with a harpy. Many fire dragons would be too proud to carry out such an exchange: perhaps the greatest weakness of my people. Perhaps our purity had made us a touch too righteous from time to time.

But true love had a funny way of humbling a big man.

“Parnassia…” I looked from her to the tents and back, and the shift of my eyes did not escape her. Parnassia certainly did not want to be caught here either. As much as the fire dragons would judge me for this dealing, they would also likely wish to apprehend her. A roasted harpy would be considered, during times of glory, a peasant’s banquet… but right now, we were all peasants. “Time is of the essence. Do we have a deal, or not?”

Her eyes flitted from the key—which would likely be elevated to the position of a fetish amongst her sisters—to my own eyes, and she sighed, annoyed. “Deal,” she snapped, fluttering her wings and lifting off of the sand in an attempt to snatch the key with her clawed foot. I held it away from her and shook my head, clicking my tongue.

“After I have been taken to the castle safely,” I replied.

She glared, but didn’t protest. She’d be a fool to argue that harpies had a track record of integrity. “And how am I going to sneak you into the castle, then?” she asked sourly. “I’m large, but so are you.”

I grimaced. “I’ll need to curl up into a ball,” I said. “And you’ll need to carry the satchel on your back.”

As the sun came over the ocean and made it sparkle, I wrapped myself in clothing, climbed into the satchel and closed it over my head, everything going dark. Next, I felt the leather confines lift off of the ground and heard the steady beat of massive wings, jostling me back and forth, bearing onward to Everwinter.





Nell





It was difficult to decide which was worse: dangling from manacles with raw wrists and sore shoulders, needing desperately to pee and sleep, or trudging through the palace corridors behind Queen Michelle in all her bejeweled glory. They were both torturous; they were just completely different brands of torture.

After my own bath—which had been cold, brief, and under the supervision of guards and Michelle herself, unlike the luxurious basin in which I had soaked as Lethe’s future queen—I had to manicure Michelle’s razor-sharp fingernails. She demanded that I accompany her to the indoor garden and pluck a wreath of roses for her hair. Ugh. I had to thread them into her braids after braiding her hair myself. She rambled on and on about the pleasures of palace life as my eyes drifted tiredly over the walls and ceilings. I wished to be put out of my misery. She had always been the most boring of hostesses—though I supposed she was no longer my hostess. She had become my mistress. My worst nightmare realized. I conducted myself in an honorable manner in the past, not only because it was decent… but to avoid becoming beholden to toxic individuals like Michelle. And here I was. Her favorite slave.

After the manicure, and the roses, and her hair, she was as content as a housecat, and I was bone-tired. I still hadn’t slept at all from the night before, compounded upon night after night of poor sleep after Theon and I had been separated. After he had abandoned me on that beach.