Dragon's Maid

by Kimberly A Rogers

  He shrugged a shoulder. “The caravans returning here and to Carabas carry letters. Though, I am not much for writing them.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he caught a glimpse of the cinder lass rolling her eyes when she turned around from serving the marquise a goblet of wine. “Why? What rumbles come from the south beyond rumors of nervous men?”

  “Rumors of nervous men can soon turn into the drums of war,” Reed responded with surprising sobriety. He accepted his own goblet and then raised it. “May Shaddai preserve all in this room.”

  “Are things so bleak out of the south?”

  “I spoke to the caravan master at length upon his return to Carabas,” Helena stated with quiet firmness. “He said things are beginning to come to fruit and none of us shall care for this particular crop when it’s harvested. King Stephen’s paranoia is growing worse by the day. He sees dragons everywhere and hunts for them among his own nobles.”

  Glass shattered. Reed stepped in front of Helena’s chair, a dagger appearing in his hand before his gaze fell on something and he relaxed. Tancred rose from his seat and spun to see the girl had dropped a half filled goblet, shattering it against the library’s stone floor. She looked up just then, her dark brown eyes widening, and he tensed. If ever there was a moment for her to denounce him, it was now.

  * * *

  Damaris could hardly breathe as she met the earl, no, the dragon’s dark gaze. There was no hint of fire in them tonight. There was the sound of a soft laugh, and she nearly jumped as she recalled the presence of the others in the room. The Marquise of Carabas and her husband . . . or were they dragons too?

  She didn’t know. She couldn’t tell. Until their encounter the night before, she hadn’t even suspected the earl was not who he appeared. The marquise was speaking to her husband in low tones as he slipped a dagger back inside his tunic sleeve.

  She met the dragon’s eyes once more and slowly rose to her feet. His gaze seemed to weigh on her like a cat considering whether it would pounce. Not daring to take her eyes off him, she managed to dip a shaky curtsey and then she backed away. Only when the earl resumed his own seat did she feel able to turn away from him. She quickly fetched the spare glass from the mantle and filled it with the dark wine that gleamed almost blood red in the firelight.

  The nobles had resumed speaking. The marquise’s commoner accent grew stronger, softening her vowels, as she stated, “King Stephen has refused again to treat with the queen of Aneirin. He tells the entire court at Eryri in the presence of her ambassador that he believes her to be a dragoness who has schemed, murdered, and deceived her way to the throne. And, this despite repeated assurances and reports from Sir George to the contrary.” She shook her head. “This is far worse than what it was even a year ago.”

  Damaris carried the glass of wine to the earl. The way he had turned his chair meant she could not simply place it on the table at his elbow. Instead, she had to walk around in front of him as the marquise added, “And he has issued orders that any courier or ambassador from Taliesin in the north are to be turned away at the borders.”

  “For what reason,” the dragon rumbled.

  “He fears they are all dragons masquerading as men in order to trick him.”

  She stared at the dragon that looked so human at the moment. His skin felt warm and like that of a human’s when their fingers brushed as he accepted the glass from her. King Stephen wasn’t quite so mad as many thought, it seemed. She hurried back to the relative safety of her second tray. There were still refreshments to serve, but she tried to be slow in fixing the plates as the conversation continued.

  The dragon’s baritone was too easy to hear as he replied simply, “Surely they are not all dragons.”

  A thread of dissatisfaction wove its way into the marquise’s voice. “Laugh if you like, Tancred, but it changes nothing as to the seriousness of the matter. The caravan driver saw my sister, Trista, and she sent a letter warning that the merchants are hearing rumors that the king intends to close all of Cian Gwenith’s borders, including the river road to Belfarad. And not solely to the couriers and ambassadors sent by his fellow rulers but to everyone else who travels through the other kingdoms. If he does this and he prevents the merchants and traders from reaching Cian Gwenith or from reaching the Great Western Road, it will be the height of foolishness. To do such a thing, even the mere whisper of this plan is threatening to turn the commoners firmly against the crown.”

  “I understand your concern, Helena, and I know you are more attuned to the common folk’s reaction to such changes. However, the matter remains in the realm of rumor and hearsay. We cannot approach the king on such tenuous grounds. It would likely only turn him against his own people if his mind is as overwrought as we are to believe.”

  “Some might say he has already begun to do so,” Sir Reed interjected. “He’s been harassing those who opposed his claim to the crown during the war of succession for over two years. Now we hear rumors that he’s begun turning those same suspicions on his allies. Those closest to Eryri or dwell within the capital’s walls are particular targets.”

  “For now,” the marquise resumed the conversation. “However, I fear it will not take long before King Stephen’s eyes turn to those of us in the north. We will not want to be the ones his gaze lands on when it happens.”

  Damaris finally picked up two of the plates holding the meat pies the earl was said to be so fond of and carried them back to where the nobles sat. She skirted around the broken glass and spilled wine as the dragon raised a placating hand. “My friends, I understand your concerns and you are right to be wary. However, for the time being, until we know better what is truth and what is exaggeration, we must proceed with caution. Let us keep watch over the south, yes. Nevertheless, let us also remain skeptical without proof. Would you accept these rumors of dragons disguised as men without witnessing such a fabled transformation yourself?”

  The marquise and her husband exchanged an unreadable look before the marquise nodded to the deceptive dragon before her. “Very well. We will continue to watch and to listen. We shall also contact Sir George. He will have a better grasp of the truths among the rumors.”

  “An excellent idea,” the dragon hummed before he glanced at Damaris and nodded to the plates she held. “Meat pie?”

  The marquise shook her head as she gained her feet. “I thank you but no. The food this evening was more than enough. I wish to retire now.”

  Her husband eyed the plates for a long moment before he took her by the arm. “I shall come with you. Make sure none of those blasted wooly brained bleaters have snuck in to trample us in our sleep.”

  A faint smile curved the marquise’s lips. “You think far more highly of the sheep’s capabilities than anyone else I know.”

  “I was nearly trampled by the creatures twice.”

  “Weren’t you smaller when that happened?” she responded drily as they rounded the bookshelves.

  The only answer Damaris heard was his laughter followed by “Cruel woman. You’ve not an ounce of sympathy for my plight.”

  She turned back to the earl only to freeze when she realized he was standing a scant hand’s breadth away. He took one of the plates from her and set it on the table. “Help yourself to the meat pies. I must attend my guests.”

  He strode away, disappearing around the shelves, without another word. She stared after his trail for a long moment. Then, her stomach gurgled at the smell of the still steaming meat pies. She hadn’t had a chance to eat since that morning. Even then, she had been so nervous about the dragon that she hadn’t been able to eat more than a bit of meat and cheese that had nearly stuck in her throat before she washed it down with a cup of water.

  She looked down at the plate she still held and almost gave in to her hunger. Her hand stopped just short of the pie as a new thought occurred to her. What if he had drugged it or spelled it somehow? An easy means of ridding himself of her before she could reveal the truth to others. She
set the plate down on the table and backed away.

  Now, she felt more than a little foolish. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to go back. She couldn’t take the risk. A headache threatened, throbbing slightly in her temples, as she turned to fetch a cloth to mop up the spilled wine. Clotho would have a fit if she found out what had happened tonight. Dropping and breaking the glassware was never acceptable and even less so in front of the earl, not to mention his guests.

  Never mind that the earl was really a dragon. One who could not be trusted. Dropping into a crouch, Damaris tucked the hem of her robe closer to her ankles to keep from staining it. She didn’t have a third to change into, and her other robe still hadn’t been laundered from yesterday. After rolling back her sleeves as well, she began plucking the larger glass shards from the floor.

  “Why didn’t you give me away?”

  She jumped, her hand tightening reflexively, only to hiss as pain blossomed from her hand. She glanced down to see blood mingled with the remnants of wine on the glass shards. Then, she looked up to see the earl standing to her right looking rather . . . irritated.

  Her heart sank. He’d decided to get rid of her then.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  The coppery scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the aroma of the spilled wine and the savory scent of the meat pies cooling on the table. Tancred yanked a spare cloth from the table and extended it to the cinder maid. “Take this to staunch the bleeding. Or do you need me to wrap it for you?”

  Dark brown eyes flashed with a mix of pain and temper as she retorted, “Why should you pretend to help me? When you are more likely to simply be angling for a better bite at my neck.”

  He grinned in spite of himself. “Oh, now you offer insult. Although, perhaps, it is merely confusion for you seem to be confusing dragons with the vampires that plague the far eastern countries beyond the Burnt Lands.” He tucked the cloth into his belt and dropped into a crouch in front of the woman. Picking up the wine soaked cloth, he spread it beneath her hands and then lightly cupped her injured hand.

  An odd sense of awareness traveled through his skin making his chest grow warm with his inner flame. Pushing the oddity aside, he guided her hand to tilt so the shards of glass fell onto the cloth as he murmured, “Besides, you’ll find most dragons see absolutely no point in devouring humans. There’s not enough meat on your bones to make it worth the hassle of being harassed by angry villagers. Or worse, the village decides to send its maidens as sacrifices and then you must figure out what to do with them. It’s quite the ordeal.”

  After gently brushing any remaining splinters of glass from her hand, he took the clean cloth from his belt and began wrapping it over her cuts. “There. Better.” He glanced at her, but she wouldn’t look at him. “Why didn’t you denounce me to the marquise? She’s the only other noble who outranks me. Why not reveal that I was what King Stephen fears is true across his kingdom?”

  “I didn’t know if they were . . . like you,” came the soft response. She still wouldn’t look at him but her tone turned dry as she added, “And getting killed by creatures that are not supposed to exist would be undignified.”

  Tancred chuckled as he finished wrapping her hand, and then tied a knot to secure it. “There. You should go see Bettrys and have her clean it.” He hesitated before reaching out to touch her chin, pressing until she was facing him once more. Ducking his head, he leaned in close as he tested her scent for any other pain while murmuring, “You’ve no need to fear the others. I am the only one hidden among the humans. I can smell a dragon. Our scent is unique, hints of smoke from the fire we always carry mixed with the rich bite of dragon magic. Your scent lacks it . . . a true pity. I should have liked another dragon in the keep.”

  He leaned in closer, intrigued by the scent of dried flowers and her skin. His fingers trailed up of their own accord to touch her dark hair. Thick like wool, soft, but too much texture to be smooth like silk. It was different. He liked it.

  The strike stung his hand, and then his cheek. He pulled back abruptly. What had just happened?

  The cinder maid’s dark eyes sparked like heated coals as she hissed, “I am not your property, dragon. I am not yours to be touched.”

  She leapt to her feet, and Tancred did the same. The apology stopped on the tip of his tongue as his mind latched onto a different idea. She might not be dragon, true. Nevertheless, there was an unmistakable draw to her . . . Perhaps, she could be his companion after all.

  There was only way to find out. He stepped toward her, catching her by the wrist before she could run off. He kept his voice low as he questioned, “I thought the indentured were bound to the will of the master for so long as the indenture holds? You should be compliant at all times, yes? Isn’t that how humans understand and treat indentured servants?”

  She glared at him but her voice was low and steady as she retorted, “Some do and others do not. You would be a far better man if you remained with those who do not abuse the papers of indenture. However, if you try this, then I promise you that I do not care if you are supposed to be my master. I will gladly risk the punishment of fleeing my indenture before I will ever condescend to be your . . . companion.”

  “That seems an overreaction,” he muttered as he released her wrist. Then, realization struck and he scoffed. “You think I mean to force you into being my mate? I assure you that I do not become so involved with my companions, and my offer is of a different nature.”

  Her stomach growled, and he chuckled. “Though, I think I shall not tell you it tonight. Eat the meat pies before you decide to bite me, then seek Bettrys for your hand.”

  The cinder maid stared at him for a long moment. “You plan to just leave?”

  “For tonight. I have more business to attend to and,” he paused to pat his flat stomach, “I already devoured a butcher and a half today.”

  She blinked and then laughed before covering her mouth, eyes going wide.

  Tancred grinned. “There is something about you that . . . Well, never mind that. Come to my bookroom tomorrow evening if you wish to hear the whole of it.” He paused deliberately then added, “That is if you are not too timid to hear what sort of bargain a dragon might offer you.”

  * * *

  The earl, or dragon rather, had not been gone from the library long. He had taken the soiled cloth filled with glass shards with him. And, he had ordered her to eat the meat pies before she left.

  Despite her earlier misgivings, the smell of the food proved too tantalizing to resist. She was almost finished with one pie when the dragon abruptly rounded the bookshelves. The flaky crust and savory meat in her mouth turned to sand as she took in his scowl.

  Before she could think of a way to ask if he’d changed his mind about killing her, he spoke. “What is your true name? I can hardly call you the cinder lass for the rest of time.”

  She blinked at him. “You do not remember? You read it on the papers of indenture.”

  “Over three years have passed since I last looked at those papers, and I have read many other names in that time,” he grumbled. “Your true name.”

  “Damaris Desrosiers.”

  An odd almost glazed expression entered his eyes, which seemed to hint at fire within as he spoke in a more resonate baritone, like how he had sounded in his other form. “Damaris Desrosiers.”

  The sound of her name sank into her very bones although she didn’t quite understand why.

  The earl nodded as he murmured in his regular voice, “Yes, it will do.”

  A frown leapt to her lips as she stared at him. “You could hardly change my name to suit your preferences. It is my name, my true name.”

  He grinned, his eyes sparking with amusement. He looked far too handsome . . . , no, too human as he chuckled. “Ah, but, some companions do change their names. Let us see. I could change your name to Cindy. Hmm, or perhaps Cinder would suit you better.”

  It took every ounce of control for her not to throw so
mething at his insufferable grin. “If you dared attempt such names on me, I am afraid you would be the next to be called mad for no one would ever answer such calls. And, I shall gladly share your delusions of maids called Cinder or Cindy.”

  His grin turned a little fiercer, and his eyes seemed to flicker with orange heat. But a strong thread of satisfaction wound its way through his voice as he replied, “You are not a little mouse after all. Finish proving it tomorrow night, Damaris Desrosiers. You will want to hear this offer.”

  * * *

  “There has been no sign of any unwanted guests, my lord.”

  Tancred nodded as he strolled along the top of the wall. “Good. Maintain your vigilance, Captain Huon. I do not want to find spies have crept among us. There is too much risk to innocents if we were to suffer their presence.”

  The captain nodded, his shaved scalp a dark contrast to the grey sky and white cloak draped over his broad shoulders. He touched a finger to the jagged scar across his eye, leaving a milky film in its wake. “A wise decision, my lord, especially given the change to the king’s temper.”

  “Yes, I want you to . . .” he trailed off as a flash of pale blue caught his eye. Damaris was by the well, filling water buckets.

  “My lord?”

  Tancred blinked and then cleared his throat. “The indentured servant . . . She has been in the keep more than three years. Have there ever been problems with her?”

  He could feel the captain’s gaze on him. No doubt, the man was questioning his sanity. Shaddai above, he was questioning his sanity. Yet, he couldn’t look away from the splash of pale blue. After a pregnant pause, Captain Huon’s deep voice filled the air with a low rumble. “Not of any substance, my lord.”

  “There have been problems without substance?”