B00CGOH3US EBOK (48 page)

Jill held tight to the sword as the great beast's weight slumped over her. She braced the hilt against the ground at her side, afraid if she let go or moved the beast would impale itself completely and come crashing down on top of her.

Her arms shook from the dragon's massive weight above her. She watched, transfixed, as a trickle of blood seeped from between the speared scales to slide down the blade, a crimson streak against shining silver inching its deadly way toward her.

The instant it touched her hand, searing pain shot up her arm and she screamed.

"Jill!" Baelin shouted from somewhere nearby.

He slammed into the dragon's side, shoving it over to crash on the ground. Then she found herself yanked up and pulled away from the creature's grasping claws.

His panicked eyes swept her from head to toe. "The dragon's blood, did it touch you?"

"Yes." She cradled her hand to her chest. "Oh God, it's burning."

Baelin dragged her over to where their satchels lay discarded in the grass. He tore through them, retrieving one of the calfskin flasks. Biting off the stopper, he poured the cool wine over her hand, washing the burning blood away.

He held her hand between his own as he examined the injury. A vivid red streak ran in an angry trail from the juncture of her thumb and forefinger across the back of her hand.

"Is it still burning?" he asked.

"A little. I think I'll survive." She winced as her hand began to throb. "I'm not sure what is worse, a red hot poker or acidic dragon's blood. I tell you what, the Middle Ages is wreaking havoc on my hands."

He crushed her in his embrace. She closed her eyes, amazed she was still alive to feel his arms around her.

Over Baelin's half-hearted scoldings mingled with whispered murmurs of endearment, she heard a gurgling noise. She pressed her face deeper into Baelin's chest, trying to shut out the sound of the death rasp of the creature as it thrashed nearby. But try as she might, she couldn't ignore it as the desperate guttural noise began to take on the muffled sound of pleading words. It was as if the dragon struggled to call to her with its last breath.

She looked at the beast that had tried to kill her, had tried to kill them all. She wanted to hate it, to rejoice in their victory over the dragon. But all she saw now was a magnificent, magical creature lying there, suffering in its final moments of life. It was almost too much to bear.

The dragon raised its head and pinned her with those damning golden eyes.

Then, as she watched, its form wavered. Scales blended to become flesh, horns softened into hair. What had once been a horrifying beast was now a naked man lying in the crushed grass with a sword sticking out of his chest.

A sword she'd put there.

Jill broke away from Baelin and knelt by the dying man. He opened his eyes and looked at her, the golden glow within fading, shifting to the clear blue of the sky over their heads. He spoke, his voice too soft to be heard.

She leaned closer, startled when he clutched at her hand. He strained up, gasping out two painfully uttered words before he closed those beautiful blue eyes and died in her arms.

His satchel lay on the ground beside him, the tapestry tucked safely inside.

He didn't want to look at it. He didn't need to. Baelin knew in his heart this had been the second challenge. Surely no more could be asked of her than what she endured this day.

But he loosened the straps anyway, lifted the flap and reached inside. He pulled out the tapestry. Already it felt thicker, heavier in his hand. He unrolled it and there, depicted in vibrant threads, in an area that had not been there yesterday, was the image of the maid slaying a dragon.

He should be elated. Overjoyed. The second test had been passed.

But at what price? What cost, to the woman he loved?

"It changed, didn't it?"

He heard her words spoken softly from across the campfire.

"Aye."

Jill nodded and turned her attention back to the fire, tucking her knees up under her chin.

"What has changed?" Kendale asked without looking up as he plucked at the bandage wrapped tightly around his bruised ribs.

He eyed the dragonslayer. His friend, turned enemy, turned friend once more.

Earlier, as they buried the man in a shallow grave, Baelin had explained to him how he'd come to be a dragon. As each stone was placed on the fresh mound of earth, Kendale had gone from disbelief, to horror, to calm understanding.

"There is a tapestry attached to my curse. It tells the tale of a maid who must pass three tests of knightly valor to free the dragon-knight from the witch's spell."

Kendale looked up, his eyes alight with interest as his gaze darted between Baelin and Jill. "And Lady Jill is this maid?"

"She is. On our quest, we have discovered as she passes each test, the tapestry weaves a new part of itself, showing the feat she has accomplished. The first challenge occurred right before we met you. She proved her honor by enduring a trial by iron."

"Saints! The burns on her hands…" Kendale's gaze settled on Jill where she sat. "And after the ordeal?"

"A new part of the tapestry appeared showing what she endured for my sake."

Kendale's gaze flicked to the tapestry in Baelin's hands and he answered the unspoken question that crossed the knight's face.

"And now, with the slaying of the dragon, the tapestry has changed once again."

"May I see it?"

Baelin handed the knight the tapestry, then shifted his attention to Jill as she sat captivated by the fire. What visions did she see dancing within the flames? What thoughts troubled her so? He asked the questions, though he already knew the answers.

"Incredible," Owen's voice broke through the silence of the night as he too examined the tapestry from over Roderick's shoulder. "It does show a lady slaying a man who is part dragon."

"Forsooth, I would not believe it had I not seen her accomplish the deed myself." He held up the tapestry to examine it closely in the firelight and pointed to a particular section. "Is that supposed to be me?"

Baelin did not reply, for the truth was in the weaving. In addition to the knight, the maid and the dragon-man, two more figures had magically appeared that had not been there before—a second knight with a young boy standing by his side.

"And this is connected to your curse? The same one that poor wretch was likely under?"

Jill flinched at Kendale's carelessly spoken words. She held out her hand, palm up, her jaw clenched tight. "Let me see it."

Baelin watched Kendale give it to her, not certain how she would react when faced with her image driving a sword through the dragon's breast and into a man's heart.

Her breathing quickened and her hands shook as she clutched at the tapestry.

"I can't do this, Baelin. I can't go through with this." She looked over at him. "What if the next time it's you?"

She stood abruptly and walked away from the fire.

"My lady." Baelin surged to his feet and followed her. "Jill."

The whisper of her name stopped her where the last vestiges of firelight fought back the darkness. She held herself erect, her back stiff, and stared out into the shadows beyond, to one shadow darker than all the others—that of a freshly dug grave.

"Who was he?" she asked softly, but with her back to him he was not certain if she spoke to him or to the ghosts on the wind. "Was he a man, cursed like you, existing year to year in the hope of breaking the witch's spell?"

She appeared so brittle in that moment, staring out into the night-cloaked field, the tapestry clutched to her breast. He stood not an arm's length behind her, but was afraid to reach for her for fear she might fracture and crumble at the lightest touch.

"Perhaps. I do not know."

"Well, I do." She whirled on him, turning her back on the grave. The sorrow wracking her slight frame hardened before his eyes, her expression turning cold, angry. "Every time I think about the dragon I killed and the man who died in my arms, I see your face instead. I can still hear the last words he spoke echoing over and over in my head, but they're whispered in your voice, not his."

She looked at him with eyes swimming in pain and remorse. "Do you know what he said to me just before he died? Do you?"

Baelin shook his head. Even with his keen dragon hearing, he had not been able to perceive the words.

"He said 'Thank you.' That man I stabbed through the heart with a sword thanked me for setting him free. So tell me, is that how the curse is broken? Do you have to die to be released from the Dark Witch's spell?"

"We cannot be certain what the final challenge will be."

"No, we can't. But you know as well as I do each challenge has gotten harder. The first required my blood and suffering. The second, the life of that poor man now lying cold and dead in the field. What if the next challenge demands an even higher price? What if it demands your blood? Your death?" She brushed a trembling hand down his surcoat, stopping to press it over the dragon heart beating deep within his chest. "I can't bear to lose you like that."

He placed his hand over hers, willing her to feel that he was still very much alive. "You will not."

She jerked her hand away and stiffened her shoulders, resolute. "You're right, because I'm not going through with the last test. I can't do it. I won't." She shoved the crumpled tapestry into his hands. "I'm sorry, Baelin, but I'd rather have you one month out of each year for the rest of my life than to not have you at all."

His dragon heart skipped a beat at her words. Did she truly mean them? He had to be certain. "But if the curse is not broken, what will become of you? You will never be able to return to your time."

Just as quickly as it came, her anger left, leaving her weary and forlorn before him. "Maybe that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, because if my going home means you have to die, then the price is too high."

She turned and walked into the field, leaving him to stand alone and watch as the shadows of the night swallowed her up.

In all his life, as both knight and dragon, he'd killed many a man in battle. He knew without asking that she had never spilled another's blood. Until tonight. And it was taking a toll on her conscience, perhaps on her very soul, and he was powerless to help her through it.

He'd only taken one step to go after her when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Leave her be. She needs time."

Baelin turned to find Kendale standing behind him.

"Owen," the knight summoned the boy. "Go. Watch after Lady Jill and make certain she stays safe."

"Aye, my lord." The boy grabbed a burning branch from the fire and darted off into the dark meadow.

He silently thanked Kendale for sending Owen after her. He knew she would not venture far, but after all that had happened, he did not like her out of his sight, even for one moment. Knowing the boy would cry alarm if there was any sign of danger eased his anxiety somewhat.

The knights watched in shared silence as Jill began gathering wildflowers from the tall grass while Owen held the torch aloft to light her way.

"What is it she is about?" Kendale asked.

"Honoring the life that has been lost, in her way."

They stood side by side, their gaze following her as she went about her somber task, the silver light of the moon gilding the edges of her form with an ethereal glow.

"She is a remarkable woman," Kendale finally commented.

"That she is." He stood silent for a time, then he put voice to the thoughts plaguing his conscience. "Never, in all the years I have been under the dragon's spell, did I imagine how hard it would be on the one chosen to break the curse. I always thought it would be my burden to bear. My pain and blood and sweat that would be required." He turned his back on the sight of Jill kneeling by the grave, placing the flowers she'd gathered one by one on the stone-covered mound. "Not hers."

By God, he loved her too much to put her through this. It wasn't worth it.

If he could spare her…

"Damn this curse! Damn this piece of cloth that holds our fate in the secrets of its threads."

He flung the tapestry at the fire, not caring if it condemned him to live as a fire-breathing beast for all eternity if it would spare her one more moment of pain.

But the flames were denied their sacrifice.

Kendale snatched it from the air before it could land in the fire.

He held the crumpled mass up to Baelin's face. "Have you gone mad?"

"I cannot do this to her. I cannot ask her to suffer any more for me." Baelin waved his hand in the direction of the grave, for he couldn't bring himself to look at Jill and watch her in her torment. "Did you see her? Did you see the look in her eyes? Lady Jill, who has always been so full of life and fire. 'Tis gone now, extinguished, washed away with the blood of that man. Each test grows harder. What if she is right? What if the next time she has to—"

"What if she is wrong?" Kendale interrupted. "What if you both are? You cannot know the morrow until it becomes the day." The knight began rolling up the tapestry. "If what you say is true, and she is from another time, another place, by not breaking the curse, you condemn her to stay here. What of
her
family? What of
her
home? If you do not break the curse for yourself, you must break it for her."