Dragon Wife (8 page)

The horse whickered, pushing against his hand. He slowly stroked its velvety nose, continuing to sing, the deep notes vibrating pleasantly in his throat. Orwenna stood close, holding the horse’s reigns, and he couldn’t help noticing the spellbound look which entered her eyes. It appeared the chant was working on her as well.

“That’s a handy trick,” she said softly, when he’d finished singing. Her face was flushed, and he could feel heat pouring off her body. An enticing feminine scent surrounded her, making him acutely aware of how long it was since he’d been with a mate.

Huroth took a step toward her, wanting to draw her close, to taste her lips and skin. Then he saw how her hands trembled and her breath came shallow and fast. He hesitated, unsure if he read the signs correctly.

This wasn’t a she-dragon standing before him, but a human woman. Their ways were unfamiliar, making misunderstandings likely. Only a short while ago, she’d smelled of fear, and some metallic edge of that still remained, threaded through her sweeter fragrance.

He pulled back, not wanting to threaten the tentative rapport they were building. This wasn’t the time to be hasty, possibly frightening her further. He needed to earn her trust first.

“We should find a sheltered area for the night,” he said, forcing himself to think about something else, anything but Orwenna, warm and inviting, not two paces away.

“I’ve been looking for a good place to camp,” she told him. “But I haven’t seen much.”

“I know a spot that will serve. It’s only another mile or two. Can you manage?”

“Of course. Lead on.”

He stepped up, offering his hand to help her onto the horse, and she laughed, her eyes sparkling.

“I really would be foolish,” she said, “if I came to the mountains and couldn’t even get on a horse by myself.”

She swung up into the saddle, as if she’d done it a thousand times.

“I may not be able to cook or sew,” she told him merrily. “But I can certainly ride.”

Chapter Five

Orwenna rode behind Huroth, content to watch him as he strode across the high meadow. The cloak he had been wearing, when he first shifted out of drake form, was now rolled and slung over his right shoulder. He wore supple leather armor, close fitting and dark grey in color. It did little to hide his powerful build or the lithe, panther-like quality of his movements.

How many times had Orwenna imagined him over the years? Yet reality was infinitely more thrilling. He was a force of nature, as potent, magnetic, and jaw-droppingly handsome as the first time she’d met him. The only visible changes were a few streaks of silver, running through his thick black hair.

It might be selfish, but she couldn’t restrain the happiness bubbling up inside her. She was truly sorry for what happened to Vardis and his guards. The impact of that event still lurked somewhere in the back of her mind, but it couldn’t compete with the exhilaration of seeing Huroth again.

And she wasn’t just seeing him. He was going to escort her safely out of the mountains. Despite her initial protests, having Huroth’s protection was a tremendous relief. She didn’t think there were any wolves hungry enough to pick a fight with him.

The bonus was spending several days in his company. Who knew what might happen in that time. He was already less aloof than he had been in Whiterock, perhaps because they were alone with each other and not on display before the entire court. There had even been a moment earlier, when he seemed like he meant to kiss her.

The thought sent a swift wave of warmth tingling through her body, top to toe. Was it just wishful thinking? She was almost sure of the desire in his eyes. But why did he stop? Was it the thought of Ayelet and their future marriage?

Orwenna tried to push the notion aside, but it lodged in her mind. What if Huroth was only helping her out of a sense of responsibility, or worse, pity? Perhaps he was annoyed at the inconvenience. The thought was a bitter one. Damn! Why couldn’t she just enjoy herself, without asking all these blasted questions?

“It’s just over this next rise,” Huroth called back to her.

“Sounds good.”

She shoved her worries aside, determined not to throw a pall over their time together. Whatever Huroth’s reasons, she had him for a few days, and she was going to savor every minute of it. The harsh realities of life would claim her soon enough. No need to rush them.

The sun sank near the horizon, stretching their shadows out to the east. The rich light of evening burnished the grass and sparse trees, shining brilliant on the snowy summits. The world transformed, caught as if in a great bead of amber, before fading gradually to rose and then violet.

Orwenna shivered as the air cooled. She turned and fished her tunic out of a saddlebag. The horse was following Huroth like a loyal hound, so she let the reigns go slack, and shrugged the tunic over her head. She hoped the deep blue of the wool would bring out the color of her eyes, as they were her best feature. Feeling the disheveled state of her hair, she briskly rebraided it, patting the loose strands into place.

Huroth led the way around a shoulder of the mountain. There was a rocky overhang on the far side, deep enough to shelter from most wind. A fine view spread below them, and a dead snag leaned across one corner of the ledge, providing ample firewood. It was perfect.

Huroth tossed his cloak aside and immediately began snapping limbs off the dead tree. Orwenna unsaddled the horse and took it a short distance to graze. She hobbled it, out of habit, though it seemed disinclined to wander.

Returning to the campsite, she gathered smaller pieces of wood and scooped out a shallow fire pit, placing a ring of rocks around the edge. She hadn’t bothered purchasing a tinderbox in Whiterock, as she was competent with fire spells. It was a convenient skill, but how would Huroth react, if he saw her using it?

Orwenna waited until his back was turned, then she cupped her hands around the kindling. She reached into her center, searching for the primal life spark. With three quick sharp breaths, she built it up, sending it down her hands into the dry tinder. At the same time she whispered the true name for fire, calling up the latent heat waiting within the wood itself. Delicate flames appeared, licking over the smallest twigs.

“Now that is a handy trick,” Huroth said, echoing her words from earlier.

She jumped, not having realized he was watching.

“It’s simpler than having you start it with your drake’s breath,” she joked, trying to cover her nervousness. The habit of hiding her magic was deeply ingrained. Even though Huroth seemed comfortable with it, she felt exposed.

“You’re probably right,” he said, lightly. “If I shifted on this ledge, I’d risk knocking us both off the side.”

That raised an interesting point.

“What happens if you do shift in a space that’s too small?” she asked. “Like a room in a house?”

“It’s best not to. Drake bones can be crushed, just like any others. We also can’t shift to eldrin form in the middle of flight, or we’d fall from the sky.”

“So you have to be careful?”

“To a degree. There are some situations that suit drake form and some that suit eldrin. It’s not complicated, but we need to be fully functional in both forms, or we can find ourselves in trouble.”

“What about your clothes and such?” she asked, having pondered this question many times.

“What about them?” Huroth looked amused.

“Well, where do they go when you shift to a drake, and then where do they come from when you shift back? Are you always wearing the same thing?”

“It’s difficult to explain. We don’t consciously move through a process, like you do with a spell. It’s more of an instinct, passed down to us by our ancestors.” He paused and considered.

“Think of it like this,” he said. “Whatever a dragon has on their body in eldrin form, clothes, weapons, whatever, that becomes part of the energy and matter which makes up the drake. When they shift back from drake form, all that is still with them.”

Orwenna shook her head. Transformation magic had never made sense to her.

“This morning, before I went on drake patrol, I was wearing this,” he explained, indicating his armor and the sword slung at his waist. “I was also wearing my cloak.”

“So when you shifted back, this afternoon, you still had it all on.” She grasped the general concept, if not the mechanics of it.

“Conversely,” he said, a flicker of mischief crossing his face. “If I were to strip down completely, right now, and then shift to drake form…when I shifted back I’d be…”

“Freezing.” She quickly finished the sentence for him, embarrassed by how appealing she found the thought of him naked. Could he be intentionally teasing her?

Orwenna gave Huroth a hard look, trying to figure out what was going on behind those ice chip eyes of his.

“You get the idea,” he said.

“I do.”

She busied herself with adding more wood to the fire and fetching her horse from the meadow. Men never affected her like this. She might find one attractive, now and again, but they didn’t make her this flustered.

Once the horse was taken care of, she put on her cloak and went to sit across the fire from Huroth. He was leaning against a boulder, hands resting on his bent knees. His own cloak was thrown about his shoulders, the heavy fur lining cushioning his back as well as insulating him from the cold.

It was almost full dark, the first stars twinkling in a crisp indigo sky. The valley below them had grown indistinct in the twilight, but the snow-capped peaks glowed with faint silver light.

“You’re welcome to some supper,” she said, handing Huroth her small bundle of provisions.

“Is this all you have?” he asked, picking through the offered food.

“What? It isn’t good enough for a dragon chieftain?”

“You misunderstand me, Orwenna. I’m not questioning the quality of your hospitality, only the quantity of your stores. It doesn’t look like much.”

“I didn’t know how long this would take, or how much food I might need. And I still don’t know how far Dragonvale is.”

“We won’t be going to Dragonvale,” he told her. “Earlier, while you were tending your horse, I linked with my second, Greylor. I let him know of King Elric’s request, and we agreed to meet at Whiterock the day after tomorrow. There should be five or six dragons waiting, by the time you and I arrive.”

“Oh. I see.” She didn’t mention that it had taken her four days to come this far. If Huroth thought traveling with her would slow him down, he might decide to leave her behind.

“Don’t worry about food,” he said, handing her back the meager bundle. “I can always hunt, and the season is far enough along for foraging greens…if you want them.” His tone indicated a clear distaste.

“You don’t like greens?” she asked.

“I’m a meat eater.”

“Right.” He was a dragon, after all. “Are you sure you don’t want some of this dried beef or pork?”

Huroth waved away her offer.

“That’s quite all right. I ate a mountain goat this morning.”

“A mountain goat? You mean the whole thing?” She stared across the fire at him, struggling to absorb the strangeness of his statement.

“I was in drake form. But it will last me a while.”

Orwenna frowned, trying to ignore the images forming in her mind. She could picture Ayelet, on her arrival in the mountains, being presented with a bloody mountain goat carcass. How was the princess going to manage this monumental change in lifestyle? It seemed criminal to expect it of her.

Feeling her mood darken, Orwenna forced herself to take a bite of travel bread. She needed to eat, whether or not Huroth chose to. The bread was as tough as old shoe leather. It did little to improve her spirits.

“Have I offended you in some way?” Huroth asked, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a pipe. It was narrow, with a long handle, and looked to be carved of bone. He took some dried herbs from a pouch and tamped them into the bowl.

Orwenna didn’t answer right away but gazed into the fire, eating. She didn’t know if she dared broach this subject, though someone ought to.

“I’m worried about my cousin,” she said at last. “Princess Ayelet is not prepared for the kind of life you lead. She’s never even had to dress herself, let alone skin and cook a mountain goat.”

Huroth’s brows rose at this turn in the conversation.

“That shouldn’t be a problem for her,” he said. “We generally don’t bother with skinning or cooking.” The corner of his lips twitched slightly.

“How can you joke about this? Ayelet is terrified about her future. She has nightmares of dragons flying down out of the mountains and carrying her off, screaming.”

Huroth’s face grew serious.

“I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make light of your concern. It’s unfortunate that Ayelet has such fears, but surely you know they’re unfounded. We aren’t savages.”

“You must admit, your ways are very different. It will be a challenge for her.”

“She’s young,” he said, “and youth is when adjustments are easiest. Dragonvale is a comfortable home. Her quarters will be suitable, even for a princess, and we’ll allow her to bring a maid. We don’t have servants ourselves, but I can understand how she might need one, at least to begin with.”

“That should help,” Orwenna conceded, though the way he spoke of Ayelet was callously distant. It was impossible to imagine them married.

“My son, Harith, is not ill-favored,” Huroth said. “He’s a kind lad and will make every effort to be a good husband to her. I hope they will…”

“Wait.” Orwenna raised her hand to stop him. “You said, your son? He’s the one she’s to marry?”

“Of course. What did you think?”

“I…I thought it was you. I thought you came to Whiterock to find a wife.”

“No.” Huroth’s brows drew together. “I had my time with Harith’s mother. Though she’s gone now, I must consider the next generation. I need to ensure Harith has the chance for offspring. It would be selfish to think only of myself, when there are so few mates available.”

A low growl reverberated in his throat.

“I don’t understand this confusion,” he rumbled. “I made my intentions perfectly clear to King Elric.”