by Jade Lee
He pushed off of the door, but did not approach her. He had expected as much, and yet, still the thought irritated him. Did she think him so single-minded? "What if I told you I did not come here to make you my mistress?"
She did not retreat but stood her ground, arching a single eyebrow at him to emphasize her disdain. "I would tell you that there is a scent a belly-horned man exudes, a kind of perfume that proclaims to all with noses exactly what interests him."
He straightened, flushing slightly as she called his bluff. Yes, he was belly-horned, as she so crudely put it, but she could not truly know that beneath his heavy clothing. "You have a discerning sense of smell if you can detect a man's scent over that lot." He waved his hand toward the nearest dock where boat after boat was just beginning to off-load the morning catch.
He meant to challenge her, wondering if she would back down. She merely arched a single well-sculpted brow at him, managing to maintain her dignity while refusing to banter with him. And he found himself admiring her ability to remain immune to his usual tricks to get a woman to talk.
Clearly, he needed a new approach as his usual flirtation games were not working. So he decided on honesty.
"All right, then, I do not deny that my body hungers for you. That much was obvious last night." He still felt the burn of embarrassment at how easily his flesh had betrayed him. "I assure you that was highly unusual for me. And even despite my"—he swallowed—"my lust, I am not ruled by my appetites, and you have value beyond your dancing skills."
He watched her grow still at his words, like an animal freezing in fear, waiting and watching for the predator's next move. He took his time, knowing that his next words would strike terror in the heart of any sane man.
"You have knowledge that the Emperor wants."
She gasped, flinching backward, her hand automatically covering her belly. He frowned, his gaze focusing on the movement. She couldn't be pregnant, could she? He replayed the movements of her dance last night. No, her belly was as flat as the bread she had just devoured. Flatter and stronger. But couldn't a well-toned woman be pregnant for months before any man became aware of it?
He decided to keep a closer eye on her body, watch for further signs of a child. Meanwhile, she curled her hand into a fist and slowly drew it away from her abdomen.
"I have nothing the Emperor wants," she hissed.
Well, no love lost there, he thought to himself. The little dancer was clearly no fan of her ruler. But then, that was not a surprise.
"But you do," he countered sweetly. "Or more importantly, he thinks you do."
She shook her head, and he could feel the panic within her for all that she fought to contain it. "He cannot," she whispered. "I know nothing."
Kiril felt guilt cut a tiny fissure in his control. She was just a dancer, after all, a woman struggling to survive as best she could. She was not up to the usual court games. Besides, hadn't the girl already suffered enough?
Unfortunately, he couldn't allow himself to feel tenderness toward her. He had come to the province especially to find her. Had gone to Talned's specifically to hear word of her. That she had appeared before him, and as a dancer no less, had simply been dragon's luck.
So he continued to play her, allowing his expression to slide into one of rueful neglect. "I told him you know nothing. Those were my very words," he lied. Truthfully, Dag Racho knew nothing of the girl's relevance to his plans. "But you are Natiya Draeva, aren't you? The only surviving child of Samuel and Amaya Draeva..." He drew out his next words as the damning evidence it was. "The dragon scholars."
She didn't respond, but he could tell by the way she paled that she was indeed the woman he sought. So he stepped forward, dropping his tone and his demeanor into the threat it was.
"Dag Racho thinks you hide something from him."
Chapter 4
Why are you afraid? He has said nothing but the truth. We do hide from the Emperor. Everyone hides from him.
Natiya closed her eyes, shutting out the world, wishing she could shut out the egg's voice as easily. But it was always there, always questioning. It didn't understand that they hid a bit more than unreported taxes or a son who was unfit for soldiering. If anyone discovered she incubated a dragon egg, they both would be killed immediately and very probably by the man who stood in her room being so charming. Damn the man for having the Emperor's ear. Damn him, too, for being their new governor. And damn him most of all for being ruled by his belly-horn just like every other stupid man.
Because she had no doubt that was the real reason for his presence here. Dag Racho had no reason to fear her. If he had wanted her dead, he would have killed her years ago when his dragon unceremoniously ate the rest of her family before firing their home. That she did indeed possess secret dragon knowledge had been carefully hidden. That she even now plotted the Emperor's downfall: mere coincidence
The simple truth was that the governor wanted to bed her, so he had asked a few questions, somehow stumbled upon her true ancestry, and was now trying to use it to frighten her. Hell, a child could see through the ploy.
But that didn't make the situation any less dangerous. Any focused attention—and from the land's greatest dragon-hunter, no less—could expose her secret. But how to remove him?
She briefly toyed with the idea of giving him what he wanted. She could bed him, she supposed. Monik told her it was a simple matter of spreading one's legs and moaning a lot; no more, no worse. It couldn't be that bad. Indeed, she thought as she glared at her adversary, there could be worse men to initiate her into coupling. He was handsome, powerful, and—most important—clean. And lately she admitted to a curiosity, perhaps even an interest, in the things that Monik participated in so freely. Best of all, she doubted that the governor's attention would remain on her for long. Once she gave him what he wanted, that was.
But her stomach twisted at the thought. Any type of intimacy was too great a risk. She carried a dragon egg, possibly the greatest dragon egg found in the last century or more. There were ways, her father had warned her, ways to tell who incubated an egg and who did not. But he had died before she learned what they were. There was no way to tell if she could keep her secret during such intimacy. Which was the reason she refused every possible friendship, every possible intimacy since she'd begun dancing. The risk of discovery was too great.
So she shook her head, finding her strength with the movement. "Dag Racho doesn't want me. He doesn't even know about me," she stated flatly. "You are merely trying to frighten me so I will bed you." Then she lifted her head, allowing him to see the tears that shimmered in her eyes. That had been the first thing she learned from watching Monik: some men are more
easily manipulated by tears than curses. And from the way the governor shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, he was one of them.
"Can't you bed someone else?" she asked, the question an honest one. "Why focus on me?"
She watched him swallow, his movements shaky as he abruptly pulled out his sword. She tensed, prepared to jump for the window and from there into the street. But before she could do more than gasp, he held the sword before him, pommel first. "I swear by the only thing I hold dear, I swear to you that this is not a ploy to get you into bed. We think you know something—about dragons—and neither I nor Dag Racho can afford to leave you be."
She frowned at him, seeing earnestness in his expression and his rock-solid stance as he held his sword before him. He truly meant what he said, and that thought threw her into an even greater panic. What did they think she knew?
She had no answer, and so she stalled for time, reaching for the first question that came to mind. "What thing?"
He stared at her, clearly frustrated. "A dragon thing. That you hide."
She shook her head. "No. What thing do you swear by? What do you hold most dear?"
He frowned, pulling his weapon closer to his chest. "My sword, of course. What else would a warrior treasure?"
She could think of a thousan
d things. A belly-horn, for example, as rutting seemed to dominate most men's minds—certainly every soldier she'd ever met. But he appeared so genuinely confused that she couldn't stop her smile. "Of course. I didn't understand."
"It's a family heirloom. My great-grandfather had it made, and it has been passed down through generations to me."
"I see."
"It's got jewels in the hilt, loga filigree throughout, and it cuts through bones like butter. It's an exquisite blade."
"I believe you."
He abruptly sheathed his sword, clearly insulted. "Warriors always swear by their swords. What else would we swear by?" Then he paused, readjusting his clothing so that it hid his scabbard as much as possible. "What do you swear by? What do you hold most dear?"
Knowledge. Ask him to teach us something.
She mentally silenced the voice inside. Its thirst for information was insatiable. Meanwhile, she decided to answer the governor with a partial truth, and one that he could have guessed anyway. Let him think their sudden accord had relaxed her guard. "My legs," she said. "Without them, I can't dance."
"And without my sword—"
"You would still be the greatest dragon-hunter in the land, and still our new governor. And Ragona is filled with swords you could use."
He smiled. "True." Then he remained where he was, standing tall and proud in her tiny room, like a huge statue to Dag Racho's evil, oppressive government, for all that he smiled, trying to make himself appear harmless. "Natiya, I wasn't lying. We need to know what you know, what you have learned from your parents about the dragons."
"If Dag Racho had wanted information on dragons, he should not have killed all the dragon scholars." She turned her back on him, letting him see her anger in her rigid stance and clipped words. "I have nothing for you or my parents' murderer."
She hoped he would leave then, hearing the finality in her words and attitude. She hoped, but she did not expect. He hadn't become governor by taking no for an answer. Still, it was with considerable surprise that she felt his touch on her shoulder. She had not heard him approach, and with her dragon-enhanced senses, she should have.
But she hadn't, and so she was surprised when she felt his warmth on her shoulder and smelled his scent surround her. It was a clean scent, not polluted with perfumes or the spices of necromancers. Soap. Fish from the docks. And man. The very same scent that he had left on her skin yesterday when he held her, the one that had surrounded her as she slept last night, and the one that caused a pooling of liquid in her bones. She didn't understand it, and she didn't want it. Especially since she most certainly liked it. What was happening to her that she actually liked a man's touch? A man's scent?
"Natiya—"
"Don't!" she ground out as she shrugged him off her shoulder. "Don't hurt me like this."
"I'm trying to help you," he spat, and she could tell by his frustration that he meant it. "You have held off Dag Racho for now, but he will come for you. He has already begun questioning and torturing all those with ties to the old scholars. He will come for you eventually. He is desperate."
His words sent shivers down her spine, but that did not stop her words. "Then he should not have killed—"
"The scholars. Yes, he knows. But that doesn't help you now, does it?"
She shook her head, drawing her arms tight around her belly. "What do you want from me?"
"The hatching grounds, Natiya. Where are they? We know the dragons left their clutches in the caves all along the coastline, but we cannot find them."
"Maybe they don't exist."
He laughed, the sound bitter and hard. "He doesn't believe that. And what Dag Racho believes, he will find a way to prove." Though she had stepped away from the governor, she felt his hands return to her shoulders. Two hands this time, slowly sliding down her arms, drawing her backward against him. His touch was gentle and comforting, and it soothed her fears.
She wanted to push him away, needed to stay distant from his touch, his scent, even the sound of his voice, but she couldn't. Or rather, she didn't. She liked the man's touch. She enjoyed the feel of large, callused hands gently caressing her. And even if she didn't, the egg certainly did.
Of all the dangers inherent in her task, this was surely the worst: the egg's insatiable curiosity. Natiya had never felt a man's arms around her before, not with such care and tenderness. She had never experienced it before, and so the egg demanded that she succumb to it, sending wave after wave of desire coursing through her. Experience this, it whispered into her mind. Allow this.
So she did. And worse, the governor began speaking, his words like tiny pebbles dropped one by one into her heart, causing ripples to echo throughout her entire body.
"You are not the only one to lose your family. The Emperor killed mine as well. Dag Jaseen was my cousin."
Her body jolted in shock. He was related to Dag Jaseen, the last dragonborn to challenge their ruler? The battle was said to have lasted days, but in the end, Dag Jaseen had lost. "But Dag Racho ordered all Jaseen's kin executed."
She felt him nod, his chin moving lightly against her temple. "All save one. His youngest cousin, who would be raised in the Racho court to serve as a reminder of what happens to any who challenge the Emperor."
"You?" she asked.
"Me." She felt a shudder flow through him into her, and she wondered at its cause. Was he remembering his cousin's death? The loss of his great family? Or perhaps he recalled the bitter aftermath when all he knew and loved was gone, and he became the plaything of an evil court.
It will not happen to us. We will win.
Natiya closed her eyes, knowing that the egg merely repeated what she had said to it so many times. They would not lose. They would destroy Dag Racho and his evil forever. And yet, she knew Dag Jaseen had thought exactly the same thing.
Suddenly the memories and the fears became too much. Spinning around in his arms, she shoved at his chest with all her strength. Caught unawares, the governor stumbled backward. But true to his athleticism, he did not move far.
"Why do you serve him?" she demanded, hating the way her voice trembled with the question. "He is evil and cruel. He killed your family! And yet you serve him with all your strength. Why?"
"For the same reason you dance for drunken louts night after night. Because I have to. Because he is stronger, and I am weaker, and this is the only way I can survive."
"By doing his bidding like a lapdog? By killing the very people who could save us from him?"
The governor's eyes darkened to granite. His voice sounded clipped and hard. "Have a care, dancer," he warned. "You speak treason."
"He killed your family!"
"And he will kill you if I do not find those caves. My parents are dead. So are yours. Now, do you wish to live or not?"
She stared at him. Truly, she was tempted. She knew where the clutch caves were located. She'd walked to them at least a dozen times with her parents. And one more time alone, after their deaths. She knew as well that the most valuable egg—the queen egg—was gone from the caves, for she held it tight in her navel. What would it hurt if she gave this man what he wanted? He would search the caves and find nothing.
She shook her head. "I know nothing," she lied. In truth, she knew that once she gave the tiniest bit of information, Dag Racho would hound her until her death. He had done it to others—other scholars, friends of her parents, even students. Paranoia ruled the Emperor. Thus, paranoia was the only way to survive in Ragona. It was best if she kept silent.
As if guessing her thoughts, the governor sighed, reaching out with a single hand to stroke her cheek. "Do not lie to me, Natiya. I am trying to help."
"You are saving your position and your life."
He shrugged. "That, too. But I truly am trying to make things better. For all of us."
"I know nothing," she repeated. "I was a child interested in dolls, not silly stories about dragons."
His hand fell heavily to his side, and yet she still fel
t his strokes as a tingling across her cheeks. "He will come for you. Soon. I will not be able to stop him. Think beyond the present moment."
She felt her legs go out from under her, collapsing her backward against the washstand. "Should I run?" she wondered aloud.
"Where would you go?"
She bit her lip. Nowhere—she had nowhere to go. She could not even risk trusting Uncle Rened, for the wealthy merchant had great ties to the Racho court. And after the insult she had dealt him last night, he would quite likely turn her over to the Emperor simply to buy court favor. No, she had nowhere to go.
"Stay with me," the governor urged. "We can search your memories together. Maybe there is something you have forgotten. Something that would show the Emperor that you are trying to help. That you are no threat."
"I don't help murderers."
He sighed. "Do you know any other way to survive?" He reached forward, clasping her hands in his. "When the soldiers come—and they will come—what else can you do?"
She shook her head and reluctantly withdrew her hands from his. "Quite likely die, for I know nothing." She searched his face, looking for some hope, some answer different from the future he had already described.
Why do you look to him for hope? Aren't we the only hope?
She didn't know how to answer the egg, especially since it was right. She would get no help from this man. As governor and Dag Racho's dragon-hunter, he was the last person she would ever trust. So she walked away from him, dropping wearily onto her pallet.
"I must dance tonight, and I can't do that unless I get some more sleep. Thank you for the breakfast, Governor. I am sorry I cannot help you further."
He didn't say anything at first, merely watched her with an infinitely sad expression etched onto his face. Then, eventually, his shoulders dropped the tiniest fraction and she knew she had won.
"Contact me," he said softly. "If you think of anything or need any help, send me a message. I will help you any way I can."
To which she could only reply, "Thank you."
