Julian scrambled to his feet, his hand reaching for hers. “Kinna, I—I understand, but...”
Kinna saw something there in his brown eyes, recognized it. In a panic, she tried to pull her hand back, but he gripped it tighter.
He forced the words out in one breath. “I've been trying to get the courage to tell you, but I haven't been able. Stop pulling away, Kinna, just let me talk.”
Kinna stared miserably down at her hand, captured gently in Julian's large, tan ones.
“You have to know that I—love you. I wanted to talk to your father, go through the whole process of settling the dowry and everything. I know you don't care about all that, but I wanted to do it right. I know your parents like me, that they would count on me for your happiness, and I believe I could—” His hand tightened on hers. “I know I could make you happy, Kinna. Please.”
A refusal sat on Kinna's lips, but the look in Julian's eyes stayed the words. How could she hurt her best friend? How could she say the words that would drive a double-edged blade through his heart?
She hesitated, tracing her thumb along his high cheekbone. “Julian, you know I love you, like my own family. I always have, but...”
“I'm not asking for a family's love, Kinna.”
She opened her lips, not sure how to say it. It's all I have to give.
“Just give me a chance.” He took a step closer, his free hand smoothing the wisps of escaped hair at her neck. “Please.”
His gaze lowered to her lips. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them.
Kinna's fingers on his mouth stopped him. She took a step back. “I'm sorry, Julian. I—I need to figure myself out first. Can you understand that?”
His eyes flamed. “So there's hope.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You said you needed to figure yourself out first. You will, Kinna, and I will hold you to that. I will be ready, I promise. Just—think about what I've said. Will you promise?”
Kinna looked into Julian's familiar, comforting eyes and allowed the possibility to nestle deep into her mind. She raised her other hand and gently touched his cheek. “I promise to consider it, Julian.” She took another step backward, brushing her fingers across his hand. “Take care of my parents.”
His arm dropped back to his side. “Kinna—”
“I'll be back. I don't know when, but I'll come to see you again.”
She walked to Render grazing on the lush green grass and swung his reins up over his head, pulling herself up into the saddle. Instead of returning to the road, she took a shortcut, following the river that would lead to the Great Fork and from the Great Fork to the main waterway that cut across West Ashwynd.
She kept Render to a steady trot. She glanced back at Julian, who grew smaller and smaller in the distance before he disappeared behind the crown of a hill.
Only then did she tug on Render's reins, pulling the animal to a halt. She buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly. She had hurt Julian, and she hated herself for it. She had run away from home, hurting her parents, too, and she hated herself more for that.
The drama and events of the night before finally caught up with her as well—the foray into the Dragon Clan, sneaking into the arena, the boy she'd nearly gotten killed in her foolish idea to help Chennuh escape. That boy could never go back to the Clan now. They knew he had released a Mirage, the King's own prized Dragon. He'd be strung from the tallest tree if he showed up again.
Kinna shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes, turning to watch the water gurgling around the rocks for a minute. They hadn't had an easy escape either.
* * *
They had crawled the rooftops, from one building to another. Twice, she’d nearly plunged to her death on the stones far below as the loose shingles gave way beneath her weight. Ayden had grabbed her wrist at the last second both times, pulling her back to safety, abruptly releasing her and straightening his glove as soon as she had regained her balance.
“Take more heed,” he hissed the second time. “We're cheating death as it is.”
“It's not like I'm trying to lose my balance.” Kinna twitched her hair over her shoulder, irritated for letting the boy chafe at her.
Horses clobbered the stones on the street far below, and Ayden and Kinna both huddled against the shingles, waiting for the noise to pass by.
“What will you do after this?” Kinna asked.
“You mean because I'll hang if I go back, since you blackmailed me into releasing the King's biggest hope for the Tournament this year?”
“I'm sorry about that.” The apology sounded insufficient as soon as it left Kinna's lips. Heat flooded her cheeks. She glanced back at the imposing Dragon keep rising above the rest of the dark buildings. “Truly, I am. But I'd do it again.” She thought of the Dragon as it arched its mirrored wings in the night sky, starlight glinting in its scales.
“I don't doubt it.” Ayden lifted his head to glance down into the street below and then motioned for her to follow him.
Slowly they made their way to the edge of the town, and when they at last dropped from the roof onto a set of steps that wound downward, Kinna’s knees shook from terror and exertion.
They reached the bottom, and Kinna followed Ayden as he slipped through silent shadows to the outlying fields around the town and into a wooded copse.
At last, they stopped, and Ayden looked back. “It's time for you to go home.”
Kinna nodded. “I can find my horse from here. I recognize the surroundings.” She paused. His silver eyes stared silently at her in the starlight. “Where will you go?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I'll steal a horse, go find my own way in the world. It's about time anyway.”
“Without a creature?”
“Who says you have to have a creature?”
Kinna stared at him. “Everyone but me, it seems.”
Ayden's silver eyes contemplated her for a moment. “Perhaps you're not as alone in your view as you think.” One corner of his mouth twisted into an amused turn, and a dimple flashed. Kinna stared at it, half tempted to touch it. She twisted her hands behind her back, stamping out the foolish notion.
“I don't imagine we'll meet again, but may the Great Star guide you wherever you go,” he said.
“You as well,” Kinna whispered.
And that had been it. He’d slipped out of Kinna's life, a silent bystander who had touched her for a moment before vanishing.
As she had walked away, searching for the grove where she'd left Render, she had smothered a wish that she might see the boy again someday.
* * *
Having left both Julian and her memories of Ayden behind, Kinna straightened on her horse and touched the animal's flanks, but yanked him to a stop again as an amused laugh crowed at her from one of the nearby trees.
“'Tis a pity, tis a shame,
That you have no one else to blame
But yourself. 'Tis all your fault.
You slice a wound, then pour in salt.”
Kinna jerked her glance to the tree on her right. Render sidestepped as an orange-haired Pixie jumped from a branch and landed in the soft moss that covered the roots. The lad was tall for a Pixie, taller even than Kinna, and slim and agile. His freckled face grinned cheekily at her. “But don't cry about it, lady. The world's awash in pain. You can't think too much of it.”
“Who are you?”
The Pixie bowed smartly. “Lincoln, m'lady.”
“Don't call me that. I'm not your mistress,” Kinna responded out of habit. She hadn't heard of this Pixie before. “And where is your Dimn?”
“Carrying on her own affairs, m'lady, but let's not bother about that. Let's walk on for a bit now before hunger knocks on our empty stomach chambers.”
“I'm not planning to walk, Lincoln.” Kinna glanced over her shoulder at the hills behind her. “Go home to your Dimn. I don't intend to come this way again for a while.”
“Neither do I.” Hi
s merry blue eyes twinkled up at her. “I'm off to seek my fortune.”
Kinna stared at him. “But you're a—a Pixie.”
“I see m'lady is a perceptive one.” He grinned.
“But Pixie's don't just—wander off by themselves.”
“And neither do daughters of a Council member ... or, pardon me, ex-Council member.” He made a low, sweeping bow.
Kinna glanced at the sky. The sun had sailed farther overhead, and she knew Tristan would come looking for her soon. She'd intended to be farther away at this point. She shot a look at Lincoln and shook her head. “Go home to your Dimn.”
“Indeed, lady, I will do no such thing. I'll be a model rebel Pixie, and you seem a likely companion, since you're a bit of a rebel yourself, eh?”
The Pixie stuck like a burr to Render's bridle. Finally Kinna blew out her breath in exasperation. “Fine. Journey with me for a bit. But then make yourself scarce as soon as we're out the Pixie Glade.”
Lincoln bowed once again and then danced a little jig. “Many thanks, m'lady. I shall try to be entertaining.”
“Don't bother,” Kinna muttered, wishing for quiet.
“No trouble a'tall, madam.” He released Render's bridle, and Kinna kicked the horse's withers, half-hoping to leave the Pixie in the dust. But the creature remained even with the horse's pace as the animal galloped through the countryside. Pixie's were known to have speed and stamina, but this was ridiculous.
Kinna finally slowed the horse, and Lincoln slowed, too. He began a steady stream of chatter, that, while not necessarily entertaining Kinna, enveloped her in a sense of rhythm and safety. She could feel the magic of the Pixie's words stealing over her, and by mid-afternoon, she wondered why she had ever hesitated to bring him.
“On what destination have you decided, m'lady?” Lincoln asked as they stopped for a break and Kinna swung out of the saddle.
“You'll laugh,” she said as she smoothed her gown.
“Indeed, 'tis my favorite thing.” He winked.
“I have decided to find and train a Dragon.”
Lincoln pasted his hand to his heart in mock horror. “Be still, my palpitating organ. A Pixiedimn, changing Clans? Unheard of.” He chuckled quietly. “'Tis certain, Lady Kinna. You are a rebel of the first degree.”
Kinna brushed her fingers through Render's sweaty mane, trying to ignore Lincoln's words. A rebel?
Perhaps she was. She felt a strong draw toward the south. If she followed the pull, perhaps she would find her Dragon at the end of it.
A Pixiedimn had no business seeking out a Dragon.
And so, of course, that was exactly what she planned to do.
Chapter Ten
Ayden
Ayden slid off the horse, smoothing the animal's heaving flanks, and dropped the reins so it could drink freely from the water that bubbled over its hooves.
He had been two weeks on horseback, and every muscle in his body screamed as he stretched his arms over his head. It had been years since he'd spent any time on the back of a horse. Most of his experience had come in the four years after Sebastian's coup. He'd stowed away on a ship to cross the Channel of Lise and roamed the West Ashwynd countryside on a broken-down nag he'd found neglected and starving in a moldy stall. He'd rescued the animal and ridden it across the country before he'd ended up as one of the street rats in the newly formed Dragon Clan. The ease of motion had come back quickly, but his saddle sores reminded him that other areas would take longer to acclimate.
He sank to the ground and tugged off his boots, lowering his feet into the cool, swirling liquid, sighing with relief.
The river ran through grassy marshland surrounded by high craggy cliffs. Scrawny trees clung to the rocks as though they feared plunging to the valley far below. Carrion birds circled overhead in the darkening sky, searching for sustenance amidst the tall grasses of the marsh.
A wooded area lined one of the cliffs, and the earth beneath the trees was littered with dead branches. Ayden slid his boots back on and stalked toward it. He'd find enough firewood there to dry his clothes and hopefully cook some supper, provided he could catch any. Fish seemed the most likely option, though he'd seen squirrels and rabbits creasing the terrain, fleeing to their dens at the thud of his horse's hoofbeats.
He grasped the handle of the dagger in his belt with familiar ease. It would make quick work of skinning small game, but he did wish for a bow and arrows. He had the eye of an eagle, but his former practice weapons from his days of street fighting were long gone.
As Ayden gathered his sticks, he glanced back at the horse, who had stepped from the water onto the muddy earth and was now munching green grass to his heart's content. The gelding was a good beast, a little skittish, perhaps, but strong and fast. The stable from which he had taken him housed several other horses of similar build and quality, so Ayden felt less guilt than he otherwise might have at the acquisition of this horse.
Ayden caught two fat trout, which he spitted and placed on a hot rock that rested over the fire he'd built. The fish sizzled, and Ayden's stomach complained as he stripped off his boots and socks again and laid them next to the fire, turning them so they gained the best heat.
As the fish cooked, he meticulously washed his gloves in the river, massaging out the dirt and oil. The gloves had gotten wet when he'd caught the fish, but he couldn't have taken them off, or his dinner would have turned to a pile of ash. Now that the fish were dead, he had no trouble keeping them in their meaty form.
He twisted the rough hide of the gloves, his lips tightening as he studied them. They weren't as well sewn as his first set of gloves. He'd stolen this pair from a hut on the outskirts of a village he'd passed. He'd gotten lucky; the family hadn't been home when he'd squeezed inside the narrow doorway. He'd borrowed a large-eyed needle, thinking to sew some hide together, when he'd spied the leather work-gloves resting on the mantle and some leather strapping stretched on the wall.
He'd taken both and tied the leather strapping around the ends of the glove to keep them secure on his arms. His single other glove he'd tossed into his saddle bag. After a quick search he’d also found some blankets and wraps. He'd whispered a quiet apology to the silent house as he'd stowed these beneath his horse's saddle, hoping the owner could easily obtain more.
The new gloves were rough and dusty, used most likely to grip a plow's handles in the heat of day. They were misshapen, an ugly covering for an ugly imperfection. If he had once allowed his fingers to tangle in the mane, to brush the neck of his animal as he rode that first night, he would have been sitting on a pile of ashes.
He'd ridden with his bare hand slung across his chest, buried beneath the shoulder of his leather vest, his gloved fingers gripping the reins, careful, oh so careful not to allow any exposed skin to touch the horse.
The curse had said something about the breath of life, he thought, anger flashing through him again at the vision of Sebastian who had cursed him many years ago. Sebastian's taibe clouded his life, shut him off from others, from getting too close to anyone for fear of what he would do to them.
Ayden tossed the gloves back into the grass and gazed at his bare hands. Water dripped in moist beads from his fingers, running in tiny rivulets across his palms, streaking in miniature streams across his arms and into his shirtsleeves. They looked like normal hands, well-formed and strong, nimble, even. No one would guess that instant death was the result of contact with them.
He sighed and picked up the gloves, taking them to the fire and spreading them next to the roasting fish.
The horse grazed in the grass beneath the copse. From time to time Ayden checked the skyline. Though the light faded, he could still see wisps of smoke from beyond the southern summit of the mountain.
He'd been following Chennuh for two weeks. At first, it had been hard to find the Mirage, and he thought he'd lost the Dragon for good. Riding the high ridge that overlooked the river valley through which flowed the main water
way of West Ashwynd, he'd spotted the tell-tale ball of fire the Dragon blew whenever he’d bed down.
As he'd descended into the alluvial plains that bordered the Ashen River, he'd found the creature housed under a rock overhang, his reflective body difficult to see, though Ayden could make out his tail curled around his body and his head resting on the ground in front of him. Whiffs of flame had flickered around his mouth's opening, refracting off the mirrored scales. Smoke had spiraled from his nostrils, white in the starlight.
Ayden had bedded downwind from the Dragon, curling uncomfortably in the river sediment a quarter of a fieldspan from the waterway while he waited for the Dragon to make his next move.
In the early pre-dawn light, the Dragon had raised his head, lurching to his feet. The low groan he'd made as he slurped the river water woke Ayden immediately, and he'd hurried to his horse, watching the Dragon as he'd taken off, his great wings beating the air in heavy undulation.
It had taken a bit of work to get the horse to attempt the river, and finally, he'd had to dismount and swim in front of the animal, pulling him by the reins across the wide path of water.
He'd nearly lost the Dragon for good then. When they'd emerged, bedraggled, in the silt on the far side of the river, he'd had no idea where the winged beast had gone.
As his eyes had searched the horizon, a flash of light glimmered in the far distance, and then disappeared. The Mirage.
He and the gelding had chased the Dragon for two weeks, sometimes nearly losing him, sometimes staying right in his shadow. Ayden had noted the areas the Dragon preferred: craggy, barren places, and the cliffs around them. He never bedded too close to the Dragon for fear of waking to discover that he was to be the beast's breakfast, but he remained close enough that he could follow him.
That was how he found himself in the midst of the Ridges of Rue that cut through the southern portion of West Ashwynd. To the west lay the Troll Havens, and to the east, the Griffon Pass, and if he wasn't careful, he'd end up as Troll meat before he contained the Mirage. The Trolls were known for their viciousness, but the Griffons weren't mother's wet kisses either. Both had killed many travelers who had strayed through their lands.
Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) Page 11
