Dragon (16 page)

Or maybe I’m projecting that because of the weird confused pain I feel just thinking about what Ion said. “He said that he and I—” I shake my head. “I don’t know, maybe I didn’t hear him correctly, because he also said they could make me human, but I thought he was talking about dragons when he said…what he said.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘you and I could be the start of a new generation.’”

Cold blue flashes in Ram’s eyes and he looks up, into the sky. For an instant I’m sure he’s going to change into a dragon that moment and fly off in a streak, chase down Ion and destroy him. And maybe I think that because his instinct is to do that very thing.

Chapter Sixteen

Ram doesn’t move.

I’m a little scared to ask, but since we’re on the subject, I do. “What do you think he meant by that?”

“I told you, you’re the only female I know of who’s of age to lay eggs.”

“But he said they could make me human.”

“He’ll say whatever he thinks you want to hear. That doesn’t make it true.”

“So, you think he—”

“I think he had every intention of carrying you off and keeping you prisoner, raising a new generation of dragons with you.”

“But you said Eudora wants to eliminate dragons from the earth, and Ion works for Eudora.”

“They want power, more than anything. Domination. Eudora always claimed the best weapon against dragons is another dragon. They could raise your children to be mercenaries, like the yagi, only stronger, more invincible.”

Ram’s words peel back a curtain, and I stare down a dark hallway of ugly possibilities built on half-truths and lies. Maybe Ion wants to raise dragon-killing dragons with me. Maybe Ion’s intentions are slightly more upright, but Eudora has been lying to him, luring him along with promises of children, when she really intends to work her mad scientist dark magic on his babies, and raise them to destroy their own kind.

“My children,” I pull my hands from Ram’s and take a step back, hugging myself. I’ve never put much thought into my own children, other than promising myself that I wouldn’t ship them off to Saint Evangeline’s, not without very good reason. (Not that I blame my father, so much. I know he was only protecting me, but it was awful, just the same.)

Ram lets me step away, but he is still close, within arm’s reach. “Because of who you are, your children are vitally important. The identity of their father will be equally important.”

I blow out a long, slow breath, and shake my head. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

He stands there patiently awhile before he speaks. “You’re not ready to change into a dragon yet, are you?”

I look at him. The words on the tip of my tongue are, ‘are you crazy?’ but I don’t speak them, because I was the one begging him to let me try to change. Instead I say, “You know this isn’t helping.”

“I’m only telling you the truth of the situation.” Ram raises his hands in an innocent gesture. “I’m not going to lie to you in order to get my way, or to make things easier for myself. I’m not Ion.”

Even though he’s being dead serious, I can’t help smiling. I try to pinch the smile back, but that only makes my lips more determined to bend. “I’m glad you’re not Ion.”

Ram looks surprised and pleased. “I’m glad you’re glad.”

Bubbles of affection rise inside me. Ram is so patient. Sweet, even, if dragons can be sweet.

“Why don’t I change and you climb on my back?” Ram asks. “We’ll get out of here and get breakfast.”

Yes, dragons can be sweet.

“Okay,” I agree, and he does.

It’s a very short flight. Up, over the walls, and down again into the wooded foothills not far from the castle. We don’t dare go much further. Ram doesn’t want to be seen—not by Ion or yagi or anyone else. I wrap my arms around his neck, not in a choke-hold, but more of a hug, and I press my face against his scales, which are surprisingly warm. Not sharp. Hard, but slightly pliant. Like dense leather, but of course shiny and slightly glowing.

And then we’re standing in the woods, and Ram is a man again, digging through his backpack for pants and a shirt. From there it’s the same old story, achingly familiar now. Ram hunts. We eat. We hike.

I mull my thoughts until they’re too much for me, and then they spill over in hushed confession and a string of questions I don’t expect Ram will even know how to answer. But I ask them, just the same.

“How do you know we deserve to survive?”

Ram doesn’t seem surprised or offended. He just keeps walking beside me. We’re climbing up the mountains now, the rocky streambed far wider than the actual stream. We’re walking where the spring snowmelt travels, but it’s fall now, so the path is clear and dry. “I guess I don’t, not really.” His words are tentative. He’s sorting his thoughts as he talks. “What kind of egotist would presume to say they can choose who deserves to live and who should die? Eudora thinks she knows, and that’s what makes her evil.”

His judgment pinches something near my heart. I had been leaning toward the same side as Eudora—the idea that dragons don’t belong in this world. But Ram makes a good point, one I need to think about more. Still, I have a backlog of questions to spill.

“We’re dinosaurs, right? Shouldn’t we have gone down with the T-rex?”

“Maybe. But we didn’t, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why?”

“Why?” I echo.

“We’re still here. We contribute something—something some folks think is important. Your villagers love you.”

“What?” I can’t think of anyone who’s ever loved me besides my father. It’s not a word I’m used to hearing. “They don’t know me.”

“You grew up there. You may not remember them, but they remember you and they long for your return. You’re their princess, their protector, the keeper of the fire.”

“Wait-wait-wait-wait.” I don’t know about this keeper of the fire bit or any of the other stuff, but the princess part strikes me as being particularly at odds with who I perceive myself to be. I mean, the girls at school were always making a big deal of their titles, and I always assumed I didn’t have one. “Princess? You mean that figuratively, right?”

“You’re the princess, the daughter of the Dragon King, Elmir.”

“Is my dad a recognized government official?”

“He’s recognized by his people. No one outside our region knows or cares what the people call your father. His is a position based not on power or politics, but on love.”

And we’re back to love again. I sigh.

Ram continues. He’s really into this dragon heritage stuff. It seems like it’s the one thing he feels comfortable talking about. “They love you, as they love your father, as they love fire and warmth and protection. They love you as they love their culture and heritage and ancestors, as they love the earth that feeds them and the clouds that shade them by day. Did you know a dragon’s wings are fireproof?”

“Are they?” It makes sense, I guess, them breathing fire and all. His words remind me of the tiny introduction to Azerbaijan I read in Ion’s road atlas. My land is a land of fire, shrouded in mystery. In the remote places, people live more like their ancestors did a thousand years ago than their peers elsewhere in the world today. Complete with dragon kings and everything, I guess.

“Legend says, when balls of fire fell from the sky and destroyed all other great lizards and all other life, the dragons wrapped their wings around their people and their children, but in doing so, they stretched them as far as they could go, and they could not cover themselves. They died in the rain of fire, but humanity was saved, along with the next generation of dragons—their dragon protectors. Those who pass through death together are knit together, their lives intertwined.”

A tiny ache like homesickness wells up inside me, but I shake my head. “The dinosaurs died before there were any humans.”

“Did they?”

Ram’s question isn’t a confident, challenging one, but two words spoken thoughtfully. They wriggle in between my doubts and take root there, like the tree that grew in the abandoned moat, stretching its leaves to the sun.

We hike longer in silence, topping a ridge among the mountains, catching a view of the majestic Romanian countryside, stopping again to eat and get off our feet.

“What do you think?” Ram asks as we feast on roast pork from a wild boar he beheaded with a single stroke of his saber. “Shall we rest up and try flying again tonight? We’ll cover more distance that way.”

I had been happily devouring short ribs, but Ram’s words act as a reminder I’m not ready to hear. Flying is a great idea—except for the part where I need to turn into a dragon. Ram may not mind carrying me, but I know it’s hard on him, and I don’t feel right about being a burden. Nonetheless, I can’t think of a good reason not to accept his plan.

“That seems prudent,” I acknowledge, picking through the ribs, my appetite suddenly stunted.

We finish off the boar—mostly Ram finishes it off—and find a shady spot to rest out of the sun. I’m not as tired as I have been the last few nights, partly because it’s still the middle of the day and the sun is still up, and partly because I rested so well last night.

But mostly, I suppose, it’s because my thoughts are still churning. I’m thinking about Ram and Ion, and how they’re the same and yet different, and whether Eudora isn’t maybe right after all, that dragons don’t belong. And weirdest of all, I’m thinking about my children and whether having children at all wouldn’t just saddle another generation with the same doubts and questions I currently can’t answer.

Somewhere in there, I fall into a fitful sleep. At least, I think I’m sleeping. I’m reclining against a ledge of rock that props me up a bit like a beach lounge chair, so I can see straight ahead of me if I open my eyes.

The trouble is, I’m not sure if I dreamed I opened my eyes, or if I really did open them.

Ion is standing across from me, leaning against a tree, watching me.

And I get up and walk over toward him.

This has to be a dream, right? Because I know better than to do that in real life, never mind that I’m wearing swords at my hips and daggers on my thighs (I don’t have the ones at my back, because that’s not at all comfortable when you’re trying to fall asleep leaning against a rock). But I have questions I want to ask him, and it’s almost as though my subconscious dredged him up so I could quiz him.

Anyway, it’s still daylight—broad, bright daylight. A butterfly flutters past me on the breeze, alighting on Ion’s shoulder for a moment before fluttering on.

Ion speaks first. “You’re too trusting, Ilsa.”

My hands fly to the hilts of my swords.

“Not of me,” Ion’s smiling. Laughing at me? I’m not sure. “Of Ram.”

“I’m too trusting of Ram? You’re the one who tried to kill me.”

“Correction: you tried to kill me. I was only trying to help you. I was injured trying to help you.”

“Help me, how? By taking me to Eudora?”

“You don’t have to go to her. It was merely a suggestion. You want free of who you are? She can help you, but only if you want her help.”

I’m watching him closely, trying to decide. I don’t trust Ion. He killed Ozzie.

“I’m sorry about your dog. If it’s any consolation, I tried to move my sword out of her way, but she leapt too quickly.”

“You were trying to hurt me. She did it to save me.”

“I wouldn’t ever hurt you, Ilsa. Don’t you know that? You started it. You drew your knife on me.”

My heart is thumping heavy in my chest. Ion is lying. Surely he is lying. He has to be, because if he’s not, then I owe him a big apology. I turn the conversation to the questions I want to ask. “Do you want me to be human, or a dragon?”

“I want you to be happy.”

“As a human, or a dragon?”

“Whichever you want to be.” He pulls away from the tree he’s been leaning against, and takes a step closer to me. He’s a sword’s-length away now. “Unlike Ram, I don’t have a preference. Or an agenda. I want you to choose for yourself.”

My hands tense around my sword hilts. Ion hasn’t come any closer, but his words stab me, cutting deep. “Ram doesn’t—” I start to protest, but I choke on words that sound untrue.

“Ram wants you to be a dragon. He needs you to be a dragon. And why?”

“Why?”

“Has he told you why?”

“To protect my village?”

“Oh, Ilsa,” Ion shakes his head, pitying me. “He hasn’t told you?”

Has Ram been hiding something from me? I hate to think he would, but then again, he already has—he’s hidden so many things, kept so many secrets. What’s one more?

“What is it?” I ask, my voice no more than a whisper.

“You’ve been betrothed since birth to a dragon king.”

“What?” I’m sure I heard him clearly, but his words can’t be true. They can’t.

“You’re a female, Ilsa. That’s all he wants you for.”

“Who?”

“Your betrothed. Sorry, but I’ve never learned his identity. Some old crusty dragon who dwells deep in the mountains. He’s rich, though, if that’s any comfort.”

I shake my head. “No. That’s—that’s craziness. It’s medieval.” Even as I say the words, I recall what I read in the road atlas. In the remote parts of the mountains, the people live much as they did in medieval times. But still, it can’t be right. “My father would have told me. Ram would have told me.”

“Just like they told you who you really are?” Ion blows out a sardonic huff of air, along with a tiny puff of fire. A tendril of smoke rises from his mouth, its scent more burning incense than wood smoke. “It’s true, Ilsa. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Ask Ram.”

I glance behind me. Ram is still sleeping several feet away. He looks exhausted.

“Later.” Ion’s words pull my attention back to him. He took another step closer to me while my back was turned. Now he reaches for my hand.

I start to move my hands out of his reach, but he catches them. Both of them. Holds my gaze with his eyes.

“You don’t have to go through with what they have planned for you. I care about you, Ilsa. I know you don’t trust me, but I do care about you, and I would take care of you.”

My mouth drops open. I want to protest, but I don’t know what to say.