Chapter 17
A s soon as I returned, crossing the threshold of my room, I knew something was amiss. No, not amiss. Different. Something was different.
I froze, scanning the interior, my senses heightened. Before I saw it, I smelled it. Heard it. The sea. Sand. Beachgrass. Seagulls. I felt it, too. The wind off the waves, tangling in my hair.
Home, I thought. The smells, the sounds…they all screamed of my former home on the Jeweled Isles. But…how?
The question had barely formed in my reeling brain when I spotted it. There, on the wall above the desk that I’d turned into my worktable, was propped a large, oval mirror, framed in a golden frame with intricate scrollwork. The mirror hadn’t been there yesterday or last night. Not even this morning. Either the dragon-man, or the magic of the cave, must have placed it there while I was eating breakfast and getting some exercise.
And yet, this was no ordinary mirror. Rather than reflecting my face with its freckles and unruly red-blonde hair, the mirror showed my home. Not my cottage itself, but a stretch of sand and surf just down the way from my actual home. I recognized it well—the sharp bend where the island curved, and a jumbled pile of black rocks jetted up from the surf, onto which I would sometimes climb to cast out a net and wait, hoping to catch fresh fish for dinner.
“Light preserve us,” I whispered aloud, my eyes filling with tears, my fingers creasing the sides of my skirt. “How did he manage this?”
My steps were slow as I approached the mirror. On its glossy surface, a seagull wheeled by, screeching its anger at having found no food on the shoreline for breakfast. Wind ruffled the beachgrass that sprouted on the far side of the bend, and I felt it. I felt the wind.
Was the scene a blessing or a curse? I gazed at it hungrily, my eyes swimming with unshed tears.
I shook my head, squeezing my eyelids shut as I turned my back on the mirror, suddenly overcome.
“I can’t do this,” I said aloud, striking my fist against my leg. “I cannot do this. I cannot stay here in this lonely cave. Would that the dragon had devoured me from the onset. At least I’d be dead. At least my suffering would be over, rather than dragged out for days, weeks, or months. Years.”
I was fully weeping now. I was speaking aloud, and I didn’t know to whom. To the cave and its magic? To my captor? To myself? It didn’t matter. I allowed myself the luxury of tears for a few torturous minutes, then slowly brought myself under control.
“Never mind, Lorna,” I muttered, wiping my eyes with the hem of my tunic. “Never mind. You have a plan. Continue to act on it. Let this mirror and its magic be a beacon of hope to keep you on your path.”
Encouraged, I turned to face the mirror once more. The sea called me. Home called me. Homesickness dampened my spirits. And yet, on the desk beneath the mirror, was the blue gown, my symbol of freedom. Taking a breath, steeling myself, I gathered up my emotions and tucked them away, back into a sore, wounded heart that must continue beating while I worked.
“You can do this, Lorna. You can do this.”
With the Light’s help, I would not be stuck here forever. I refused to remain a dragon’s captive for the rest of my life.
Even if he had been kind enough to provide me with a magical mirror that allowed me a glimpse of home.
That night, my captor came and lay down beside me. I woke at the movement of the bed, the dip of the mattress. Startled from sleep, I flung out a hand, patting the bed, trying to see what was happening, only to feel my fingers caught in a firm grip.
“Steady, lass,” he said. “It is me. Take your rest.”
When I attempted to draw my fingers back, he didn’t release them.
“Give me back my hand,” I ordered grumpily.
He took no offense. Rather, he chuckled softly. “You are my mate. Am I not allowed to hold your hand?”
“Not when you kidnap me from my home and force your way into my bed at night,” I snarled sleepily. “Give it back, Dragon.”
To my surprise, he complied, releasing my fingers slowly…begrudgingly, I thought.
“Sleep well, little Sanlyn,” he replied.
I felt the motion of the bed when he turned on his side, facing away from me. Awake, I turned my cheek against the pillow, gazing at the dim outline of his shoulder and hip. Had he noticed my sewing yet? Surely, he had. He’d placed the mirror right above my sewing spot. Or ordered the cave to provide it there.
I decided to test him, just a little.
“Thank you,” I said into the soft gloom.
A brief span of silence. Then, “For what?”
I swallowed. My pride was galled to thank my captor for anything. And yet…and yet…he hadn’t had to provide the mirror. Shoving my pride down deep into my bones, I said,
“For the mirror above my sewing table. It is refreshing to have a touch of home here in the bowels of the earth.” I waited a moment, then added, “Refreshing, yet sad too.”
Was that my honesty speaking? Or was it me attempting to prey on whatever sympathy he might possess?
He was silent for so long that I feared he’d fallen asleep. That he hadn’t heard me humble myself to thank him, which meant I might be forced to do it again. I wrinkled my nose at the idea. Just as I was trying to decide if I actually could, or would, thank him again, he said gruffly,
“You are welcome, lass.” In a rush of motion, he flipped onto his back, and tugged at the blankets, drawing them higher on his chest. “I, too, know what it is like to be drawn from home.”
“You do?” Curious, I propped myself up on an elbow, gazing into the darkness at the spot where he lay, wishing desperately I could pierce the thick gloom and actually see him.
“I do,” he asserted. I waited, hoping he would expound more. Instead, he said quietly, “I am sorry it has been compelled upon you.”
Of all the things he might have said, his apologizing for my captivity was not what I’d anticipated. I blinked several times, wrangling words, trying to determine what to say. Before I’d come close to forming a reply, he said, “I hoped it might cheer you while you work. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed. The gown will be beautiful on you.”
Why? Light curse him, why?
The compliment caused my eyes to fill with unexpected tears. Pressing my lips together, I quickly shifted my weight, lying next to him on my back, my face lifted to the ceiling.
Don’t cry, Lorna. Don’t you dare cry in front of him. Don’t.
I squeezed my eyelids shut and fought the sting in the back of my eyelids. Why did tears threaten? Because he’d noticed what I was doing, meaning my plan, in its initial stages, was working? Because he’d thoughtfully provided the mirror to keep me company as I worked? Because he’d complimented me?
I need no compliments from a dragon! I told myself fiercely, dashing a finger under the corner of my eyes to wipe away any traces of moisture. Neither do I need his sympathy. Nor his pity. Nor his gifts. Nor his pretty words. All I need from this beast is freedom.
Anger filled the cracks in my heart, sealing it, hardening it against further softening. Firming my resolve, I flipped over on my side, facing the wall opposite him, pretending he wasn’t there.
“Sleep well, lass.”
Grudgingly, I answered, “And you, Dragon. And you.”