Tancred blinked, forcing himself to pay more attention to the petition before him. Only after he’d given instructions to the weaver to allow his youngest apprentice’s return to her family’s home on the far side of Silvermere Lake so she could help her ailing grandmother, did he allow himself to examine those thoughts more closely. Damaris was an appealing woman, of course . . . Her strength of spirit and steady fire were part of what had caused him to choose her as a companion.
Allowing her to become anything else, however, was out of the question. He’d learned his lesson once, and he was not so thick skulled that he required another dose of it. Tancred struggled to put Damaris from his mind as he heard two more petitions. Why anyone would need an earl to rule on whether they could eat the chickens they’d raised with their brother was a puzzle he did not quite understand. Humans were very odd creatures when it came to their concepts of property and sharing between kin.
When the last petition had been heard and judged, Tancred immediately rose from his chair. Crossing the expanse of the dais in five strides, he beckoned to one of the pages. The young boy scampered over to him like an eager pup, bright eyes wide. “Yes, m’lord?”
“Have Cook prepare a meal fit for three and sent to the library. I’ve yet to break my fast today.”
The lad bobbled forward in a rolling version of a bow. “Aye, m’lord! Right away!”
The pup nearly tripped over his own feet twice as he spun about and sprinted for the far end of the great hall as though someone had lit a fire beneath his tail.
A low chuckle escaped Tancred at the thought before he too left the great hall. It seemed no time at all had passed before he was entering his bookroom. Damaris was sitting on the floor, separating books and scrolls from one of the shelves into four separate piles. At least, he thought that was what she was doing since she seemed more interested in reading one of the books than assigning it a pile.
He crept closer then dropped into a crouch and leaned in close as he whispered, “The history of dragons is a rather fascinating book.”
“You say that as though it were written about you,” she muttered. She hadn’t even flinched this time or attempted to cave his skull in with the book. A vast improvement to be certain. It had only taken the better part of a month to achieve.
When Damaris slanted him a look, he realized he was grinning again. He lightly tapped her arm as he replied, “How are you to know I wasn’t among the dragons interviewed for it?”
“There are no interviews in this book. And besides,” she continued drily as she raised an eyebrow at him, “this book was written before the dragon wars. Something you claim happened well before your time.”
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t describe it in those exact words,” he muttered. He caught her smile as her gaze returned to the book. “Damaris, I’ve another bargain for you.”
“No.”
Tancred blinked at her. “No? You haven’t even heard it.”
She raised both eyebrows at him and then gestured to the room around them. “I am still bound to the first bargain with a dragon. I’ve no wish to add a second. Shaddai alone knows what you might want me to do. Learn to fly, perhaps.”
He grinned, then chuckled. “I’d have more success persuading a selkie not to summon storms with her songs.” He tapped the back of her hand and ran his thumb across her fingers as he mulled over the best way to phrase his bargain. “You enjoy reading. I will give you permission to read any of the books here or in the library, if you agree to call me by my name.”
She closed the book and abruptly stood, holding it against her chest as though it were a shield of some sort. “It isn’t proper for me to address you so informally. You’re an earl.”
“And you are my companion,” he pointed out as he also stood from his crouch. “It is the dragon who determines what he or she is called. Each individual dragon must determine if the companion has earned the trust and right to address him or her by their true name. I know you are, which is why I ask.”
Dark eyes studied his face closely, searching for something although he wasn’t certain what. He stepped closer to her, instinctively reaching out to touch her hand where it gripped the corner of the book. “Damaris,” he murmured, “I trust you to use my name and I . . . I wish to hear it again. It has been too long since I’ve heard my proper name save on the rare visit from Carabas and her mate. Eight years since the old earl died. Please.”
She hesitated a moment longer before she finally dipped her head in acquiescence. “As you wish . . . Tancred.”
He smiled. “Good. And, that was not so painful, was it? No welts or boils bursting to life at the scandal of saying my name, hmm?”
Her lips twitched, curving ever so slightly, even as she shook her head. “Do not be insufferable when I’ve a book at the ready.”
He made a show over covering his nose and taking a large step back. A flame of delight burst to life when Damaris responded by rolling her eyes and then turning her back on him as she set the book on one of the other shelves. She picked up another book and thumbed through it before she glanced at him. “Why are you staring?”
“I was merely lost in thought, treasure,” he replied without thinking.
Damaris shook her head. “Tancred, do not call me that. It sounds like flirting.”
“Hmmm, if you insist.” He moved to his desk only to stop short at the sight of scrolls and books neatly stacked in his chair. He turned to look at the woman who was feigning innocence and chuckled. “A move well played, indeed.”
“How did you become earl?”
He blinked at the sudden change in topic and then cleared his throat. “I came here because Silvermere was the closest working estate where I felt there was a chance I could establish myself without drawing too much suspicion.”
“Why not Carabas?”
“There was a rogue, and my king commanded me to leave him be.” Tancred paused a moment before adding, “The old earl had established himself as loyal to King Stephen during the war of succession. However, the price was paid in the blood of his three sons and their sons with them. He had no other blood heirs. When I joined his guard, I decided to ask him questions about the kingdom and its status. He never seemed to mind, and then one day he appointed me his steward. I functioned in that role for three months before he surprised the entire keep by announcing I was his chosen heir. I had been here for five months when that happened. I spent the rest of that year and the next learning everything I could about running the estate.”
Damaris studied him closely before she nodded. “He must have liked what he saw in you.”
“Do you?” he asked without thinking.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe I should answer that, my lord.”
“Tancred,” he corrected.
Before he could tease her further, however, there was a solid rap on the door. Tancred stepped aside to allow Damaris to answer it. Captain Huon nodded to her before he turned his attention to him. “My lord, a tray has been delivered to the library.”
Tancred raised an eyebrow. “And you were tasked with informing me, Captain? I fear your skills are being vastly underutilized.”
The older man smirked for the briefest instant before he rumbled, “It is a common enough complaint among the guard. However, I came to request an audience. I’ve news you should hear.”
Something in his tone promised trouble and that Tancred wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. One of the more unpleasant duties of being earl. He offered a nod. “Very well. Captain, Damaris, please join me for the meal, and we shall have this discussion.”
Damaris narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t vocalize her protest, allowing him to feign ignorance. Captain Huon merely offered a short bow before he retreated. Crossing the room, Tancred paused beside Damaris only long enough to whisper in her ear, “If you do not follow, I will come back and escort you on my arm as if you were my countess.”
She glared at him, lips pinching into a firm
line, but she finally dipped her head. “As you wish.”
Still he didn’t quite believe her until he heard the closing of the door followed by the light sound of her skirts brushing against the floor and her steady steps. Only then did he allow himself to grin as he led the way down to the library. The smell of cooked meat and baked bread greeted him as soon as he entered the room. He nodded in approval at the sight of enough food to feed three grown men and there were three plates. He waved to the table. “Sit and eat, both of you. I do not wish to break my fast alone, and I suspect I will need the fortitude for whatever news you bring me, Huon.”
“Perhaps so, my lord,” the man rumbled. He did not hesitate to take a seat or to fill his plate.
Tancred was eating his second roast quail when he waved a hand to the older man. “Your news, Captain.”
“Aye, my lord.” The man took a swig of ale before he continued, “We’ve received missives from the south of our lands. The king has sent out inquisitors.”
His brow furrowed as he swallowed the last of his quail. “Inquisitors? They haven’t been used since before the war of succession.”
Huon bowed his head. “The old king abused their power to hunt down his enemies in the court, searching out small offenses to abuse and transform into treason.” He paused a long moment before murmuring, “King Stephen has resurrected their office and set them to hunt for hidden dragons. My contact says they will make their way further north as soon as the passes clear of snow.”
Tancred leaned back in his chair. “When will they reach Silvermere?”
“By the first days of summer, my lord. Sooner, if there aren’t any late snow storms this year.”
He nodded slowly. Damaris cast him a glance, but she kept silent. No doubt, she feared giving them both away if she voiced whatever thoughts were running through her head at the moment. A wise decision. Realizing the captain was still waiting for his response, Tancred shifted his weight in his chair. What he wanted to do with the news was set it and possibly a few inquisitor cloaks ablaze. However, that was not an available option at this time.
“I trust, Captain Huon, that you will continue to maintain a close watch for the inquisitors. I would much prefer not to be caught off guard by their arrival.”
“Of course, my lord. It shall be done.”
He nodded. “Good, good.” Feeling the urge to change the topic and put Damaris at ease, Tancred abruptly addressed her. “There is something that has puzzled me since you first arrived in Silvermere, Damaris.”
She lowered her eating knife. “What might that be, my lord?”
“How could your father’s wife, your stepmother, be so willing to send you into indenture?”
The apples of her cheek darkened slightly, and he realized she was blushing. However, she didn’t refuse to answer although her gaze remained fixed on her food. “My stepmother was never the warmest of women. However, everything worsened when my father caught ill and then died. She abandoned our family name, in favor of resuming the title of Lady Tremblay left to her by her first husband, on the same day my father breathed his last. Things grew . . . tense between us when I learned Philippa had been spreading tales in the village that my father had been a mercenary.”
Tancred shook his head. None of it made sense to him. Dragons didn’t often take new mates if there were surviving children from the first union. When it happened, however, the expectation was for the new mate to treat those offspring as if they were of their own blood. He’d certainly never heard any stories about dragons behaving in the manner she was now describing. At least, not among the dragon kings court. Life among rogues and the separatists’ clans could look very different for all he knew.
He almost told her his thoughts before he caught himself. Captain Huon most certainly wouldn’t understand the sudden change in conversation to dragons. Instead, Tancred cleared his throat forcefully before he asked, “How could she wed your father if she lacked any respect for him?”
Damaris’ lips curved in a pitying smile. “Philippa married my father out of necessity, not affection. My father told me that he’d taken pity on her and her daughter’s plight after they’d been left penniless and on the verge of living in the streets. He thought too that I would benefit from having a proper mother figure. I was newly turned nine years of age when he married her.” Her smile faded as she sighed. “Instead, his kindness was repaid by the slander of his good name.”
“Could there be any truth to the tale,” Captain Huon abruptly asked. “Your father would not have been the first Kushite to make his living by the sword.”
“No, he would not,” she agreed. “However, Dumi Desrosiers did not use a sword. He and my mother were merchants in Belfarad. They illustrated books and sold tools as well as supplies to scribes and bookbinders. They chose to remain in Belfarad after years of trading between Belfarad and Kush. It was where I was born. Then when the war of succession grew fiercer, my parents fled to Cian Gwenith. My father attempted to establish a new trade in Eryri, but there were too many illustrators already established so my father apprenticed himself to the silver rose trade.”
“You are from the southern cities?” Tancred questioned.
She shook her head. “No. After my mother died of fever, my father chose to leave Eryri in favor of coming north to the valleys where the silver roses could be found. He said there was some wariness from the villagers at first. There are not many Kushites in the north beyond the cities unless they’re former mercenaries or in service to the nobles, like Captain Huon.” She nodded to the captain then added, “My father, Dumi Desrosiers, was neither. He loved the silver roses and growing them himself.”
There was a hint of longing in her voice when she spoke of the silver roses. Tancred opened his mouth to question her more closely about the roses when Huon cleared his throat. The captain waited only for him to make eye contact before he broke his silence. “I thank you for the meal, my lord. However, there is another private matter I wish to discuss with you if you would grant me the favor of an audience.”
Damaris rose from the table before he could refuse. “I shall return the tray to the kitchens.”
She gathered the dishes and loaded them onto the tray with a haste that would have had him teasing her at any other time. Instead, he waited for the door to close behind her before he raised an eyebrow at his captain. “Well?”
Huon braced his elbows against the table and leaned forward as he clasped his hands together. “There is gossip in your keep.”
“The inevitable product of most gatherings, I fear. What of it?”
Huon studied him with his good eye. “They are linking your name and the girl’s. That you have made her countess, in all but name and title.”
Tancred huffed. “That again. Damaris is my companion, my personal maid and scribe. There is nothing untoward or worthy of gossip in such an arrangement.”
“The servants disagree.”
“They were not asked,” he grumbled. “She is far too intelligent to let her waste away over cinder ashes. Besides, she is being courted after by one of the guards. He should protect her reputation. The rumors have no foundation.”
“As you say, my lord.” Huon rose to his feet and then offered a curt bow. “I merely felt it would be best that you knew what rumors were being bandied about in your keep.”
“Indeed, Captain.”
He said nothing more, and the older man knew how to recognize a dismissal. Tancred sprawled back in his chair, tilting his head to peer up at the ceiling. Humans. Why was there such a fascination for gossip? And, why did they always sprint toward the worst possible conclusion?
Dragons could gossip, of course. They did gossip and sometimes even got into trouble because they spread an untrue rumor. Yet, they could often taste a lie so there was more truthfulness in their rumors. At least, that was how he remembered it . . . although his father had once commented that vicious rumors and half-truths were partially responsible for the court splitting in two after t
hey’d been driven into the Burnt Lands. And, the General had vanished into the wilderness, leaving his brother the dragon king behind with the remnants of his court.
This situation now, however, was different. Every fiber in his being vibrated with the need to protect Damaris, to shelter her, and to ensure that she was kept safe from the darts of careless words. But, no. She wasn’t his to protect to such an extent. He had to leave that to the guard courting her. Otherwise . . . Well, otherwise, he would only be further confirming the rumors in the minds of the servants.
And, he risked growing too close to her. He could not allow himself to do that. Not when the pain of losing the bond of companionship with Tara had nearly been enough to drive him mad. No, he dared not open himself to such a risk again. Not with the human king preparing hunts by another name. And, certainly, not with so many eyes watching how he interacted with Damaris. He had to be careful. No matter how intriguing she was, he couldn’t allow himself to grow any closer to her. He needed to keep his distance for both their sakes.
* * *
Chapter Seven
She scowled at the tattered remnants of fabric strewn across the floor in front of the oversized bed that dominated half the chamber. It had barely been a day since she finally tackled the cluttered chaos of the dragon’s private chambers. And, there had been no destroyed clothing then. That dragon.
Damaris bit back any grumbling or even a heavy sigh, knowing he was most likely eavesdropping from the bookroom and more than likely chuckling to himself. Why it amused him so much to poke at her, she still didn’t understand. However, she wasn’t about to let him win this time.
Picking up the tattered strips of fabric as quietly as she could, Damaris then crept back to the door leading to the bookroom. She could see Tancred’s horns bent toward the desk and hear the scratch of his quill against parchment. No doubt, another letter to the dragon king. Those were the missives he still didn’t allow her to write on his behalf; although, she was already transcribing his letters to the nobles of Cian Gwenith.
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