Biondine, Shannah Read online

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  Moreya stood at the mouth of the cave and peered over the rocky ledge. A useless exercise, to be sure, since solid ground was just as far below her now as the thrice other times she'd checked.

  Her clothes were torn and dirty. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and she'd lost one of her shoes. She had no rope and no mount, no real sense of direction, beyond the vague sense the cave faced northward. She'd never been to Dredonia before, thus had no idea where the nearest settlement lay, even were she magically able to slide down the cliff and set out on foot to find one.

  A sound reached her from the broad expanse below. It seemed to come from somewhere off to her left. A dark blot of indeterminate shape moved amid the rocks.

  Hope surged in her heart.

  Whatever the creature might be, it was the first sign of life she'd detected for hours. The mother firedrake had flown off shortly after sunrise, but was bound to return soon. Moreya had to escape before the dragon came back with another regurgitated offering of food.

  It was both humbling and horrifying to be treated like a reptilian hatchling.

  The moving shape continued its approach. Moreya knelt down, squinting, then leaped to her feet. She smoothed her skirts. Preece was atop his giant battletahr, riding to her rescue.

  Half an hour later, a loop of rope snagged a jagged outcropping of rock, and Moreya watched Preece begin scaling the cliff. "There's no need to come up, sir. I can try to come down to where you are."

  His reply was a rude oath and a clatter of loose stones. She leaned farther out from the ledge, afraid he hadn't heard her. "I'll come down, Preece!"

  He didn't respond, but as Moreya straightened, she caught a tiny dot on the far horizon and panicked. The firedrake mustn't return to find Preece scaling the crag to get into her nest! Moreya gave no thought to further warnings, or how the rope would burn her hands. She threw her legs over the ledge and grabbed the line with both hands.

  "Damn you, woman, I said to stay put!"

  "The dragon's on her way home!"

  Moreya slid down the rope too quickly, fumbled, and landed in a heap atop her gallant rescuer. He glanced up in time to see the dark shadow looming overhead and cut the line with his dagger. He tried to boost Moreya onto the tahr's saddle.

  "Nay!" Moreya hissed, glancing overhead quickly to make sure the dragon wasn't about to swoop down upon them. "She'll see me. We must wait until she goes back inside. The cavern is deep; her clutch of eggs far to the rear. We can get away while she checks them."

  Preece glowered at her and urged his mount back, sheltering them beneath the overhanging rocks. "Glaryd swore you'd be perfectly fine. The others have gone ahead to Tivershem's and - "

  "They're all right, then?" Moreya interrupted. She really had no interest in his peevish complaints, anyway. All night she'd worried that he and his men had perished at the hands of the Raviners. Or that poor Glaryd had been raped or murdered. "Everyone made it safely away?"

  "We lost the coach driver and Sieffre took a blow to the shoulder. Lockram and Dugan will have stitched him back together by now. I've heard Glaryd's version of the tale. Now I wish to hear it directly from you. Why did you not obey my orders and stay inside the coach?"

  "You were badly outnumbered. When I saw griffon riders, I knew you couldn't hope to prevail. I had to try summoning whatever dragons might be nearby. I didn't know how else to help you."

  His hand clenched the saddle pommel until his fist went white. "You knowingly summoned dragons? Why did you never think to mention this unusual talent ere we set out on this trek?"

  "You said I'd be in a closed coach. Why do you think I stayed in it all the time? Certainly not for the pleasant air! I can't go out in the open, I have to hide my - "

  "Hiding your hair only dims it. It does not eliminate the problem."

  Moreya blinked. Was he saying he knew what the problem was, what attracted the monsters? "Dims it," she repeated, uncertain as to his meaning.

  "Your light."

  "What light?" She glanced down at herself, seeing only a dirty gown and a bare set of toes. Her hair hung in snarled, purplish-brown ropes. She imagined she must look an utter mess. She wore no jewelry, nothing that could reflect the sun. She mostly wore grime. What was he about, some new jest at her expense?

  "That glow around you. The purplish halo. It's mostly your hair, but even in the throne room with your tresses covered, I could see it."

  The firedrake's massive shadow flitted by and Moreya took the opportunity to distract Preece. "We can be on our way now. The dragon left again."

  Preece swung up into the saddle behind Moreya. They rode in silence for a time, but her curiosity nettled until she could no longer hold her tongue. "I'm not aware of any glow or luster, Sir Preece. No one else has ever - "

  "Mayhap it takes a Waniand or firedrake to notice," he replied. Then he abruptly pulled back on the reins. Moreya glanced back over her shoulder. He looked angrier than she'd ever seen him.

  "Why are you wroth with me for saving all our lives?"

  "Why didn't you tell me? You proclaimed yourself my friend and ally. You claimed to trust me. We've hundreds of leagues of open countryside yet to cross, and we might be swarmed by winged reptiles at any moment? Satan's breath! I worried about Raviners. Now I find I'm carting around a woman who pulls firedrakes down from the skies!"

  Moreya's last thread of patience snapped. "Why didn't I tell you? Just when should I have mentioned it - and how? Had I casually boasted that I attract dragons, the way a spring flower draws honeybees, what would you have said? That I was mad? Did you not misbelieve Glaryd when she vowed I was alive and well?"

  He flushed and she saw she had him there. She'd strike with another thrust before he recovered. "Why do you conceal yourself beneath that damnable cowl? Mayhap I do not announce my attraction for dragons for the very same reason you do not let strangers see that you're a Waniand. I, too, know shame. I can't help but be mortified, and wish with all my heart I could change. But I am helpless against churning events once the firedrakes discover my presence. Witnesses to these events never regard me the same again. Some have even mistakenly talked of a 'glow' and seek explanations for that which has none."

  Preece nudged his mount forward until they found a bower of sheltering trees and a small brook. Without a word, the humans parted to heed their respective calls of nature while the tahr drank deeply of the fresh water. Preece walked slowly back to where Moreya sat brooding on a tree stump.

  "Lady Moreya."

  So formal. So distant.

  She hadn't forgotten that a few nights before she'd been in his chambers with him; in his arms, kissing him. Now it was as though the whole interlude had been a dream. She raised her chin, but did not speak.

  He gazed down at her, his face softer than usual. "Forgive my anger. It was misplaced."

  Unwanted moisture sprang to her eyes. She glanced away quickly. "I am accustomed to it. My father forbade me to leave the house after my mother's death. We'd gone to the meadow together to pick flowers. I was taken aloft. My mother was killed by a falling terrestar. One of our retainers lost his leg. I neither killed my mother nor maimed our servant, but my father never forgave me."

  "Moreya." Her name came on a whisper very near her left ear. Preece's arms wrapped around her, pulled her off the stump onto her feet, and Moreya gave in to the tears. Not for her mother. Those had all been shed years ago. For her father, for the shame of this strange knight learning her awful secret? Maybe. She didn't know.

  Preece held her as she wept. "I swear on Dugan's besotted soul," Preece said with a long exhalation, "there is a glow about you. It grows more evident with your distress. I think it's visible to the firedrakes and that's why they swarm around you."

  "I think one of us suffers addled wits," Moreya sniffed, wiping her eyes with a torn bit of sleeve.

  "I'm not the one who soars with dragons," Preece reminded her, and Moreya smiled. His blue eyes were
not icy now, but intense as they studied her face. "You are the most incredible female I've yet to encounter, Moreya Fa Yune. I shall always think upon you as most remarkable, do I live to be as old as Bourke."

  She frowned. "Who is that?"

  "A wizard of my acquaintance. He offered me an enchanted bat's rump to wear about my neck to ward off the charms of a certain Yune maiden. Mayhap he should fashion them for dragon necks, as well."

  Moreya stared at the open neckline of Preece's tunic, noting for the first time since he'd come to the cave that he was bareheaded. His hair was tousled. "You're not wearing anything around your neck. Nor do you wear your cowl."

  He shrugged. "It fell onto my shoulders during the fight and would only have made searching for you more difficult." His voice sounded oddly hoarse. He continued to stare at her, and she realized his arms were still loosely wrapped around her shoulders. "Meseems it's too late for either my cowl or a bat's ass to protect me. I'm already under your spell."

  How long they kissed, Moreya couldn't say, only that it wasn't nearly long enough. She craved his touch and taste, his strength, his ability to remain calm in the face of danger, even his humor at her expense. She knew he jested to raise her gloomy spirits. It was his form of apology, and she accepted it along with everything else about him. How could people detest Preece for being Waniand? She still thought him nothing but handsome and harsh in all the ways a man should be. Yet there was kindness lurking behind those blue eyes. She felt it.

  And rode with it for long hours that day.

  It was nearly sundown when they arrived at a ramshackle village of sorts. At least Moreya guessed that's what it was, by Dredonian standards. In Glacia, such an itinerant encampment would have been called a blight upon the landscape. Traveling minstrels lived better. Preece rode up to a stable where his tahr would be put in a stall and groomed. He led Moreya to a door beneath a swinging plank, which proclaimed the establishment a tavern and inn.

  Preece paused and reached back for the fallen hood of his tunic. Moreya placed her hands on his arms to still him. "There is nothing wrong with you. I detest that you hide your face. Can we not have honesty between us, after all that has happened?"

  "You'll not appreciate the honesty beyond that door," he warned. But he left his head bare and strode inside, keeping Moreya close beside him. "Tivershem, are you here?"

  A man as round as a keg of ale came from a rear doorway into the taproom. He wiped meaty hands with a soiled towel and grinned. "Preece, you bounder! Why - eh, you're not under a hood."

  He gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes to indicate a table where several strangers hulked over a cup of dice. None of the men had paid any attention to the new arrivals. Moreya saw at least one appeared to be a Raviner, dark and squat. His companions were badly dressed, slovenly fellows who looked to be of mixed heritage.

  "My compatriots arrived already?" Preece inquired.

  Tivershem nodded. "Put the woman in the room at the top right, menfolk across the hall. Dugan's gone swilling elsewhere; said he'd be back afore nightfall. Think the others are up in their rooms." He glanced at Moreya. "Hope yours is satisfactory, milady. We don't get much royalty here."

  Moreya blushed. She wasn't royalty yet, and if she had her way, would never be. This was likely Glaryd's boasting. At the innkeeper's remark, one of the seated strangers twisted around on his bench. "A Yunish royal. Will you look at that."

  Moreya felt Preece's grip tighten and detected a slight tug. A hint she should move out of sight of the men. She returned her gaze to Master Tivershem. "I'm sure the chamber's fine. Is there any food prepared? I confess, I've not eaten since yestereve."

  "I've a nice sausage casing for you here, Your Highness," announced one of the crude strangers. He rose and began unfastening his leggings.

  Chortles of rude laughter rang out and died almost at once. The noisome tavern patron found Preece's dagger pressed into his throat. The tip drew a bead of blood. "She is under my protection, you pig bladder."

  The man hastened to straighten his garments and grumbled an apology. Preece led Moreya to the stairs. She'd just passed the landing when she caught what one of the men said behind her.

  "Accursed Waniand. Might be lethal with a sword of steel, but his flesh dagger's likely shriveled from disuse. Heard tell his kind copulates but once a year, at festival time. E'en then, 'tis sheep they're after tupping. Foul miscreants! Look human, but they mate only with other beasts."

  Moreya whirled around so fast, Preece lost his grip on her elbow. "What did you just say?" she demanded of the strangers.

  "Moreya." Preece couldn't tell which fool had uttered the slander under his breath. Didn't matter. They were none of them any more important than dung beetles.

  But his growl of warning was wasted. Moreya glared at the strangers and pressed her point. "Did I hear you make false statements against my bodyguard and others of his blood?"

  Tivershem fumbled behind his plank bar, withdrew a stout piece of wood, and held it clutched against his chest. The men at the table smiled in feigned innocence back at Moreya. "False statements, milady?" one inquired. He belched and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "You must've heard wrong. We're no liars, as anyone can vouch. 'Tis common knowledge Waniands aren't verily men."

  "Forsooth?" Moreya squeezed Preece's forearm and looked him up and down. "He's tall, strong, and most assuredly solid. Verily a man, indeed. You misspeak."

  "He's not like other fellows in the way that counts," the stranger argued, letting his gaze rake Preece's lower extremities.

  "Nay?" Moreya's voice took on a silky edge Preece did not like one whit. She gazed up at him with something akin to open curiosity. "Sir Preece, have you ever mounted a sheep or cow?"

  She was leading them all right into another fray. Her features might betray nothing of it, but Preece sensed righteous anger - hot and palpable - coming off her like waves of summer heat. Righteous anger in defense of him. The air around her crackled with purple arcs of light.

  "Nay, I've never mounted a sheep. Nor a cow."

  He'd already guessed her next words, and she didn't disappoint him.

  "Have you ever mated with a lightskirt? By that I mean a human woman of no morality?"

  After everything else thus far, what was a tavern brawl? A mere minor inconvenience afore supper. Preece glanced at Moreya, inhaled, and pinned the table of brash wayfarers with his iciest gaze.

  "Aye, several such females. One or two I distinctly remember from the last time I passed through Dredonia. That fellow's sister and the other one's mother. Lusty bitches they were, too. Brayed like donkeys whilst I swived them."

  Moreya dashed up the stairway as the furniture started flying.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  He'd told Lockram he needed to check the stabled animals, but Moreya suspected Preece was waiting for the other inn patrons to go to bed. Tivershem warned he'd abide no more fighting when violence nearly erupted again at supper. The strangers remained hostile as ever, but glowered in silence as they nursed split lips and broken noses. Preece sported not a single bruise on his comely face. The Waniand had bested four brawlers and still looked pious and unsullied as a saint.

  Moreya found her saint sitting alone in a corner of the dark stable.

  "I'm sorry I caused so much havoc," she sighed. Preece looked up in surprise. Moreya ran her hand down his tahr's shaggy nose. "I should have ignored their ugly words, but I couldn't. I wanted them to see that whether they like you or not, someone does. A woman does."

  She really didn't know why she'd phrased things quite that way. She'd muddled her apology because of the look on his face. That angelic, handsome face. He'd fought Raviners and common sots, ridden after a dragon, faced racial slurs. Without hesitation or indecision. Now he looked peculiarly confused. Wary. Uncertain. Why? she wondered.

  "It's late," he said as he rose.

  "I know." She turned her attention to the tahr. He truly was a marvelous beast. He snuffled when
her hand stroked his nose, and she found the fuzzy mane rather appealing. She never turned her gaze from the beast, but her question was soft and meant for Preece's ears.

  "Do women share the same view of Waniands? I mean women of other races. Do they speak ill of your bloodline, as those men did?"

  "The answer depends on where and when I encounter them." He paused, then sort of rushed his words. She could hear the shame in his admission. "At court, aye. They hurry past or hide behind fans. They whisper amongst themselves, as though my cowl somehow interferes with my hearing."

  He patted his tahr's shaggy shoulder. "But in taverns like this or local faires, I can usually find a willing wench, do I have the need."

  "Does that come often?" She was horrified to realize she'd spoken that question aloud, but it was too late to pretend she hadn't.

  "About thrice yearly. But why do you ask this now?" he hissed. "You know about my seasons. We spoke of them the first night back at the castle."

  Moreya ducked when it appeared he was moving to stand beside her, putting an empty pail between them. She'd forgotten how she'd repeated idle gossip from King Cronel's high tables. Nay, not forgotten, exactly. Misunderstood. She hadn't truly kenned at the time exactly what they'd discussed in relation to cycles of the various moons.

  Did she admit to ignorance before, how foolish would she look now? And did he believe she'd understood before, that first evening...Graces absent head to toe, what must the man think of her? That she was obtrusive and rude as the strangers back inside?

  "I'd forgotten," she replied in partial truth. "Not that I had - er - have reason to be concerned."

  She felt his fingers under her chin. Against her will, she lifted her gaze to his as he spoke. "You have good reason. You are in my care, under my protection. And you wonder if what they say is true."

  Her eyes widened. "Nay, I don't. I'm sure it's all horrible lies."

  "It is not altogether a lie to say I copulate like a beast. Waniand males go into rut, unlike males of other human bloodlines. I do not seek female companionship when out of season."