by AC Ellas
Scorth was waiting for them at the edge of the landing field. The black dragon’s head swung about and he snorted softly at Ave, causing her hair to blow about. She laughed as she placed a hand on his nose in greeting. “Good evening, Scorth.”
Rak watched her greet his dragon with a small smile. She’d met and ridden Scorth before now, of course, but Rak had something special planned. Ah, Scorth…I think I am in love.
I approve of her. You may keep her.
Rak nearly laughed aloud at that. Keep her? First I must win her. And that will not be easy for one such as I.
Scorth rumbled, but he didn’t argue. Let’s go. He lifted a foreleg for Ave, who climbed his side quickly. She was settling down between the massive shoulder blades as Rak made his own ascent. He sat behind her as Scorth spread his wings and then leapt into the air. Moments later, the temple complex was small beneath them. Scorth banked, turning south, away from Okyro, but following the plateau’s edge.
Rak busied himself with Scorth’s harness, attaching one end of a coiled cord to one of the steel rings. “Want to fly?” he shouted to be heard over the wind whistling overhead. Kiting was a favorite trick of dragon-bonded Loftoni. For while they couldn’t fly, they could glide. With a dragon providing the forward momentum, a Loftoni could stay aloft at the end of a rope for as long as his strength held out.
The excitement that shone on Ave’s face was all the answer he needed. She even grabbed the rope as if trying to prevent him from changing his mind. Rak helped her into the simple leather harness which was designed to reduce the stress of the rope’s pull on the body, then tied the far end of the cord to the harness ring. Rak showed her the end of the rope and how a simple tug would release the knot, then made sure she had a sharp dagger just in case the knot had over-tightened and wouldn’t release. Rak checked everything a second time. Finally, he nodded all was ready.
Ave stood and spread her wings. The wind slammed into her, throwing her up, off the dragon’s back, the cord unplaying as she gained altitude, fighting to master the gusts that wanted to tumble her in every direction. She jerked at the end of the line, a hundred feet out, and her flight stabilized. Scorth towed her now, like a child playing with a kite, and she grew bold as she discovered the freedom of flight. She dipped a wing and darted down to one side, then back up, only to do the same thing in the other direction. Every twitch of her wings altered her flight, the only constant being the forward motion of the dragon. The beating of his enormous wings created all sorts of gusts and eddies for her to play in.
Rak finished with his own harness, tied off the second cord, and joined her in the air. Her iolite wing briefly overlapped his ruby one, and the tactile sensation of that was almost too much. They split apart, glancing at one another and laughing, only to draw near once more, like moths to a flame. Silk slid against silk, wing against wing, their hands seeking, finding one another. They spun, locked together in a kiss, the wind trying to tear them apart as they clung ever tighter. Rak could feel them dropping so he held her close and spread his wings to catch the wind once more.
They soared up, and Ave turned in his arms, pressing her back against his chest, her wings spread as well. Now they flew as one, the action of their wings synchronized. It was even better than flying alone had been. Rak could see her wings were trembling now and knew if she flew much longer she’d be in agony from her wing muscles. Rak angled his wings, using his larger size and superior position, to force them down onto Scorth’s back. He held her in his lap and massaged her back until her spasming muscles finally relented and allowed her wings to furl.
Scorth flew directly to their den, folding his wings as he dropped down into the entrance to the cave with the precision of much practice. This was their home even though Rak did keep a cell up at the temple itself. Scorth ambled through the short, curving tunnel designed to shield the interior from wind and into the sand pit that formed the dragon’s bed.
Rak gathered Ave into his arms and leaped down before she could protest. As soon as he landed, he set her down and said, “I did not want your wings to cramp further, m’lady. You need to rest the muscles after overexerting them like that.”
“Thank you,” she told him with patently sincere gratitude. “That was the most incredible experience of my life. Thank you for that. Thank you both.”
“You are welcome, of course,” said Rak as he helped her over to the stone walkway that bordered the sandy nest. Scorth curled up in his sand with a gusty, meat-scented sigh and wished his rider luck. Rak led Ave to the smaller chamber that served as his quarters. He had scavenged the furniture from the piles of used, discarded furniture sent for recycling. It had taken a bit of glue here, a hammer and some nails there, but he was pleased with the results. His one indulgence was the large, double-width bed. He had trouble sleeping and often tossed and turned.
Rak sat Ave on the dark grey leather couch, as such was the piece least likely to collapse. “White or red?”
“Red, please,” she said.
Rak opened a bottle and poured two glasses full of the standard Okyran red wine. He wished he had better to offer, but hadn’t been in Okyro long enough to start acquiring things beyond the necessities. Getting new uniforms and new boots had been the highlight of the last few weeks. He handed hers over before he sat down beside her. “This isn’t much,” he said quietly, “but it is very private. No one will overhear us here.”
Ave sipped, her lovely iolite eyes never leaving his face. “I like you a lot,” she said frankly.
Rak regarded her expressionlessly, offering her the blank slave’s face that was both mask and shield in one. “But?” he prompted, his tone as gentle as he could make it.
“My mother is worried about our friendship.” Ave sighed. “She thinks I’ll hurt you. After years of urging me to find a man, now she’s trying to warn me off one. You.”
“Your mother thinks that you will hurt me? Why ever for?” Rak throttled down his astonishment. He hadn’t expected Ravi to take that route.
Ave caught and held his gaze. “Because of what you once were…a Royal Dancer of Zoth.”
“Oh,” Rak whispered, his stomach knotting itself. “That.” Ravi had taken the predictable route after all and left him to explain his past, if he could. He hung his head and, in reaction to his anguish, his wings drew up into a tight-fisted furl. He thought of and discarded a dozen ways to explain it, those long years in Zoth, those unthinking, shameful, regrettable years on the leash of a monster in human form. He let the silence lengthen, the glass of untouched wine dangling loosely from his fingers.
“I had no idea,” Ave said hurriedly. “My mother caught me unprepared and unaware. I hadn’t even known you’d been a slave, much less a Royal Dancer, much less the king’s champion”
The wineglass fell from Rak’s hands and shattered on the stone floor. Wine and glass flew through the air to form an impact pattern that Rak studied. He ignored the shards of glass that had cut him, ignored the blood. The wounds were nothing. “Yes, I was a Royal Dancer, a sword dancer,” Rak said, finally. “And I was the king’s champion, too. Does that bother you? The songs the minstrels sung…yes, I have heard them. Yes, I did those things. I did not want to, but I did do them.”
“Why?” Ave asked. “Why flay your victims? What possible pleasure could there have been in that?”
“Victims? Is that how you see them?” Rak looked up at that, stung. He’d faced this same line of questioning when he’d first arrived in Okyro. Ave deserved an answer, but he was mortally tired of answering for what he’d been forced to do while a collared slave. “Each man I faced across those bloodied sands was a murderer at the very least, beasts in human form. Each one was tried by the Justicers, their guilt proven from their own minds and memories, and condemned to die.”
“The songs never mentioned that,” Ave said, her voice shaky and her expression one of surprise. “But still, Rak, flaying them?”
“At the king’s order
s,” stated Rak flatly. “Only ever because that is what he commanded of me. Not because he thought to punish them, he knew as well as I that mad dogs, such as these men were, would learn nothing from what I did to them. But because he wanted the kin of their own victims to feel that justice had been done, that the brutal beast that had tortured, raped, and murdered their loved ones had been made to suffer even a fraction of what their victims had.” Unable to sit still any longer, Rak peeled off the couch, swiftly moving to the far side of the chamber. He grabbed some scraps of cloth left over from a cushion he’d tried to repair. He returned to the couch and dropped the rags on the spill of mingled crystalline daggers and blood-red wine.
“I’m sorry,” Ave offered as she knelt down to help Rak clean up the mess. “I had no idea…but I said that already, didn’t I. I guess that was the worst part, that I didn’t know. You hadn’t told me. I felt a little betrayed that my mother knew and I didn’t. If we’re going to have a relationship, it needs to be based on trust.”
Rak set the fouled rags into a metal pail, then spread sand over the area to soak up any remaining fluid. He’d sweep the stone floor later to be sure the glass was removed. He remembered how badly infected his feet had become that time he’d danced on broken glass. That was when he’d made his choice, attacking the prince who owned him to save the man he loved. Ave touched his hand, bringing him out of his reverie. He looked up, meeting her eyes briefly before glancing away. “That was a time in my life that I have tried very hard to forget. I did not tell you because I was hoping that you would like me for myself and not because you pitied me. I got enough of that when I first arrived here. Even now, I wonder if my brethren are nice to me because they feel sorry for me.”
Ave wrapped her arms around him and said, “Rak, I liked you before I found out. And I don’t think my feelings have changed in that regard.”
Rak returned the hug, pulling her against him. She was soft, warm, and curvy and made him ache in a pleasant way. Night, help me, I do want her, he mourned. This is more than duty now. More than I expected. This is not fair to her, not fair at all. He stroked her copper hair as she snuggled against him, and for a time, Rak let himself go, and just lived in the moment.
They cuddled, speaking quietly of their hopes and dreams, until abruptly, guilt and a rising sense of urgent need caused Rak to change the subject. It is time to set her free.
Free from what? asked Scorth
Free from me. I will tell her the truth and that will be the end of it, I am sure. Rak took a deep breath, then said, “There is something else I must tell you. Something you will need to know about me, and I pray this will not destroy our relationship.”
“Tell me, Rak. Whatever it is, I am sure we can overcome it together.” Ave smiled at him, and Rak could see the love in her expression and voice. It broke his heart. How could he have been so cruel? So stupid?
“M’lady, I was a Royal Dancer.” Rak waited, prolonging the inevitable a little longer.
“You told me that,” she said. “That isn’t an issue between us.”
“But it is, m’lady. Dancers are, uhm, pleasure slaves, as well.”
“I know that. Everyone knows that,” Ave said, almost testily.
Rak arched his eyebrows, but she only shrugged. He sighed. She didn’t get it. He had no choice but to spell it out now. “Ave, I am…altered. I was given the potions, all of them. I cannot function with a woman without feeling pain. And a woman, no matter how skilled, or how much I care for her, a woman cannot relieve my fires.”
“Oh,” she said, utterly surprised. “Oh! But then…why are we even seeing each other? You need a man, not me.”
“Yes, but I want you. I think I love you, m’lady Ave.”
“But if we can’t be together…the purpose of marriage is children, Rak.” Ave drew away, trying to mask her confusion and hurt.
Rak caught her hands before she could escape. “It is not an insurmountable obstacle, m’lady. We can still be together. But you would have to…tie me down…and take charge.”
“That sounds…intriguing,” said Ave with a shaky laugh. “But if I can’t relieve your slave fires, that means there will be someone else…”
“There is, his name is S’Tyll, of the Kephi sect. He is a good man, Ave. I think you will like him.”
“I don’t know, Rak. That’s a lot to take in and accept.” Ave succeeded in pulling away and stood up. “Can you take me back to the temple now?”
“Of course,” said Rak. I told you so.
She’ll be back, predicted the dragon.
Rak polished the delicate green agate plates. They were each an individual, exquisite work of art, and it seemed almost a crime to eat off them, but Tyll assured him that’s what they were for, and Ave was coming for dinner. To accompany the plates were matching green agate bowls and cups. They would only need three place settings, plus the serving vessels, so Rak carefully set the rest of the green agate crockery back into the cupboard.
The translucent agate glowed in the dim lighting, and Rak nodded in satisfaction. He turned next to the utensils. Knives, forks, spoons, of the finest blued steel, with carved ivory hilts.
Grips. They aren’t weapons, they’re eating utensils.
I was not asking you, Rak told his dragon tartly. He laid out the settings, then frowned down at it. Did he have it right? The fork and spoon went together on the right and the knife went on the left, didn’t it? Or was it the knife on the right and the fork and spoon on the left?
Tyll came in, carrying the basket of fragrant, freshly baked bread. “The spoon and knife go to the right and the fork to the left.” The Kephi set the basket, green and amber raffia woven in an intricate pattern, down on the table.
Rak fixed the settings.
“Come help with the greens.”
Rak followed Tyll back into the kitchen. He stole a kiss from his bard before he turned his attention to the greens—thinly sliced vegetables, some roasted, some raw. Rak wondered why the Okyrans persisted in calling the vegetable dishes greens, since mostly they weren’t green at all. Wishful thinking?
It’s because they’re the product of plants that grow in the earth and drink in the sun and water and turn that into life. Green life.
That makes sense, but these greens are every color but green.
Scorth’s answering chuckle both cheered Rak and calmed his nerves. He tossed the vegetables in the correct dressings, honey and citrus for some, spiced wine for others, sweetened cream for a select few. He laid them out accordingly, taking care that they looked nice on the platters. Tyll was industriously mashing the roots—potatoes, parsnips, carrots, and turnips. Rak didn’t ask why the roots weren’t called greens, too, since they also came from plants. The roots were at least roots and not, say, fruits.
Scorth’s mental snort made Rak grin. Tyll glanced up, eyes sparkling. “Scorth?”
“Aye that, my love.” Rak snuck a taste of the roots. “Butter?”
“Yes, I traded for it. Special occasion and all that,” said Tyll.
“The so-called greens are done.”
“Then take them to the table. She’ll be here any minute.” Tyll shooed him towards the door.
“But the roast—” Rak cast a glance at the brick oven.
“It is almost ready,” Tyll said patiently. “Stop fretting. It’s only a woman.”
“Ave is not only a woman!”
Tyll’s laugh pealed through the kitchen.
She is here, Scorth announced.
Rak leapt out of his skin in five directions at once.
Tyll grabbed him. “Steady, my love. One thing at a time. Take the greens to the table, then get the door. I will bring the rest of the meal once it is ready. And relax.”
Rak met Ave at the door and bowed. “Thank you for coming, siflion Avetina.”
“Oh, Rak, the pleasure is mine.” Ave hugged him, then to his immense surprise, kissed him square on the lips. When he licked
his lips he could taste her. He ignored the tickle of lust she’d evoked. Rak led her inside and shut the door. She glanced around. “This is yours?”
“No, this is S’Tyll’s. He is a senior Kephine. I have a one-room cell, suitable to my rank and years of experience,” said Rak wryly. Formally, he added, “Please, be welcome in our home and at our hearth.”
“I thank you for your welcome and your shelter.” Ave’s grin manifested. “Bread, oil, and salt?”
“Well, there is bread, fresh from the temple kitchens…and both oil and salt were used in the cooking. Will that suffice, m’lady?”
“I was teasing, Rak, but yes, it will do very well.” Ave kissed him again. Rak blinked, then impishly added some tongue. She didn’t seem to mind.
“If you two are done swapping spit,” said Tyll lightly, “we are ready to start.”
Ave broke off the kiss and asked, “And if I said we weren’t done?”
“The mashed roots would doubtless get cold,” Tyll replied in mournful tones. “And the roast would be in grave danger of being overcooked. And then we’d just have to send Scorth out hunting again to bring in another gazelle, and the hours I spent working on the marinade would be wasted.”
“Roast gazelle?” Ave’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s my favorite!”
Rak grinned and led Ave to the table for what proved to be a very enjoyable evening after all.
Rak found Ave in one of the Arrai workrooms, scowling at a heap of fabric, of all things. He gently rested a hand on her shoulder, murmuring, “M’lady, did you forget that we were to meet this evening?”
Ave leaned back against him, sighing. “I’m sorry, Rak. I did forget, thanks to this dragon-blasted, night-cursed tent that won’t take a simple spell!”
