And I’m supposed to . . . what? Reassure him that everything’s okay, no hard feelings, and even though he’s going to be busy finishing his paladin training, and I’m going to be busy making sons for my new husband, we’ll still see each other all the time? He probably will have girls throwing themselves at him, like Mina said. Does he seriously want me to hang around and watch that happen, while I’ve got a baby on each hip or something?
Not that that’s going to happen, because I’m getting out of here. But he doesn’t need to know that part.
“Vee?” he says, when I don’t answer him.
“I have to get ready for my wedding. Unless Father wants to call it off on account of a dangerous dragon being on the loose?”
“I haven’t heard anything about postponing it. Are you sure you’ll be okay here, by yourself? I know how you feel about dragons.”
I wish he’d stop saying that. “You can’t protect me all the time, Torrin.”
“Yeah, but it’s like you didn’t hear me. Maybe it hasn’t sunk in yet. The dragon could be anywhere. He could be in the barracks, in your home. Where you live.”
“Or maybe he left. Maybe he was smart and got as far away from this place as possible.”
“He’d need a St. George to remove that dragon ring. And it’s not like he knows you don’t—”
I speak quickly, interrupting him before he can give away my secret. “He doesn’t know where my room is. And sticking around here in the hopes of getting that dragon ring off is a big risk. Don’t you think he’d rather be alive?”
Torrin stares at me. “No, I don’t. The rings drive them mad. It’s horrible. He’ll go crazy if he has to stay like that.”
I almost glance over at Amelrik. Almost, but I catch myself in time.
“He’s got to be pretty desperate, and you’ve been talking to him. I can’t understand why. But Mina thought . . .”
I snort. “I don’t care what Mina Blackarrow thinks. And even though we never sent out invitations to this wedding, you can tell her she’s not invited.”
He scratches his ear, not meeting my gaze. “She thinks you might have had something to do with the prisoner escaping. I told her that wasn’t possible.”
“It’s not.” Guilt tightens my chest.
“Did he seem crazy to you? The last time you spoke?”
“He’s a dragon. How should I know?”
“Did he ask you to do anything for him?”
“You mean, did he ask me to let him out?”
“No. I know you wouldn’t. But maybe he asked you to do something seemingly innocent that was somehow part of his plan.”
I shake my head. “He didn’t ask me for anything. And even if he did, I don’t know how you can think I’d be that stupid.”
His shoulders relax a little, and he lets out a deep breath. “I know you wouldn’t be. You’d never do anything like that.”
“Right.”“I mean, I never thought you’d willingly talk to him, either.”
“I was curious about something, that’s all. It’s not like we were friends.”
He makes a face at even the idea of that. “If he mentioned anything that might be helpful—”
“What? Like his hopes and dreams about escaping and not getting tortured anymore?”
Torrin scowls. “We did what we had to. We needed information. It’s not like he didn’t deserve every moment of it, and since when do you sympathize with dragons?”
“I don’t. I’m just saying it’s obvious that he’d want to get out of here.” The whole barracks has decided his fate, just like they’ve decided mine, whether either of us likes it or not. So maybe I do sympathize, at least a little, but that’s not why I’m helping him escape. “If you’re done insulting me, I have a wedding to prepare for.”
“Vee, I didn’t mean to . . . You’re sure you’re okay alone?”
Does it matter? He would let me be alone for the rest of my life, unloved and stuck with a man four times my age who I hardly know, who only wants me so I can bear his children—probably more girls he won’t be happy with. And I get that Torrin doesn’t like me like that. I can’t expect him to ruin his life to save mine.
I just wish he seemed more broken up about it.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.
Torrin looks skeptical about that, and I almost think he’s going to argue some more. But then he gives in and says, “Don’t leave this room. Not until someone comes to get you for the wedding. And put something in front of the door.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I mean it, Vee.” He sounds so serious, like he really is worried about me, even if he’s worried about the wrong thing. “Amelrik might come looking for you. The last thing I want is for you to be alone here with him, unable to protect yourself.”
12
THE BEST KIND OF TRICKERY
I pull the blanket off of Amelrik. He pushes himself to his feet, wincing a little but obviously recovered from me sort of punching him in his not-fully-healed ribs. He stares at me. I stare back, wishing he hadn’t heard that conversation.
“I didn’t want to marry him.” The words taste like a lie, no matter how much I want to pretend they’re true. “It’s not like I—I don’t like him that way. But he’s my best friend, and I didn’t have a lot of prospects.”
Amelrik snorts.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. You don’t get to judge me like that and not say anything.”
“Some friend.” He shrugs. “No wonder you jumped at Lothar like you did.”
“I didn’t—” I clench my fists, swallowing the denial. “Lothar was the only suitor even close to my age.” Or with any decent hygiene. If “suitor” is even the right word. I’m still not sure what he was doing there—what either of them was doing there—but trying to marry me probably wasn’t it. “And Torrin is my friend.”
“Did I say he wasn’t?”
“You implied it. But it’s none of your business.”
“You made it my business when you decided to run away with me on your wedding day.”
“Don’t say it like that. That’s not what’s happening here. You don’t know anything about it.”
“I might not know the details, but you can’t say I don’t know anything about it. I’ve had to listen to two conversations about it today alone. Well, about you and him. And there really doesn’t seem to be a ‘you and him,’ if you know what I mean.”
“Don’t. It’s bad enough that Torrin came in here and said that.” As if I didn’t already know. As if he hadn’t made that perfectly clear before. “I don’t need you to—” I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you mean, today alone?”
“You think this was the only time some paladins have come into the dungeon, gossiping?” He sits down on my bed—a dragon, on my bed—and gingerly presses his fingers to his ribs.
I hadn’t thought about it. “You mean Mina and Torrin?”
“Lots of people.”
“And they were talking about me?” I can believe that they were—of course they were—but I can’t believe I’m finding out like this. “Whatever they said, it doesn’t mean you know me or what’s going on in my life.”
“I know what I’ve—” He stops in midsentence, suddenly catching sight of the mirror on my nightstand. It’s a hand mirror, the kind that looks sort of like a hairbrush, except with glass instead of bristles. He snatches it up and stares at himself.
“Hey!” I yank it away from him and hold it close to my chest. “That was my mother’s!” My stomach twists. A dragon killed my mother, and now I let one touch something of hers. I let one into my room.
I sink down next to him on the bed. I hate how petty and selfish I’m being, but I also hate feeling like I’m dishonoring her.
Amelrik’s expression is so pained, I could swear he looks worse off than when I punched him in the ribs. He presses his hands to his face.
Okay. Now I’m pretty sure there’s a dragon crying in my room. The most dangerous criminal in the five kingdoms. “Sorry. It’s just . . . I think the only other person who’s touched it besides me is Celeste.”
Amelrik nods.
“Are you crying because I was so grabby? Or because of how you look?”
“I’m not crying.” He lets his hands drop long enough to prove his point, then puts them back, taking in a deep breath.
And all right, I guess he’s not technically crying. But he’s obviously not okay, either. “You don’t look that bad. I mean, the bruises on your face are at that rotten-fruit stage, where they’re all yellow and brown. Which doesn’t look great, but you’ll heal. And . . .” I almost mention the scratches on his face and how they’re not even that visible, but since I’m the one who gave them to him, I decide not to. “That red bit of your hair is growing out, and I can see the roots, but it looks fine like that. I think you could even let it grow out all the way, and—”“No.”
“Okay. Fine.” I want to ask him why it matters, because obviously it does, but I don’t want him to think I care. Plus, it’s probably some dragon custom that everybody knows about except me, and then he’ll look at me like I’m the stupidest person alive again. “I didn’t say you had to. Just that if you did, it still wouldn’t look bad.”