Redeeming the Dragon (Into the Enchanted)

Chapter 40

“ P eddler? Where are you? Peddler?”

I’d not known for certain who would come to fetch me, or who would call me. I heard at least two or three unfamiliar male voices shouting the title Atora had given me.

“Peddler? Where is she? Atora said she might be hereabouts.”

“Here, you take the east trail and I’ll take the west. M’lady says we must search till she’s found.”

“Wait. Are you seeking me?”

I stepped out from beside a scrubby tree on the road leading up to Moonswept, where I’d been snoozing, waiting for the next phase of our plan. There stood a trio of men wearing sturdy leathers and carrying swords. On their chests was an emblem—that of the moon rising over a cliff. They had to be Moonswept guards.

“Are you Atora’s peddler?” demanded the eldest. Streaks of grey muted his blonde beard. “She sent us to fetch you.”

“I am,” I said, straightening my shoulders and attempting to look unbothered. “Why do you seek me?” I asked as if I were ignorant .

“The Scraggen of Moonswept bids you come to her keep,” replied the same fellow.

I was not about to argue. This was exactly what Kidron and I had hoped for! I did put up a front, half protesting—even as I gathered my meager belongings—“Why would the mighty Scraggen wish to see a humble peddler?”

“That is not for us to say,” responded one of the other guards firmly. “Come along, then.”

With that, I was surrounded by the three guardsmen and hailed into Moonswept. For the first time, I went through the front entrance instead of the hidden, underground tunnel. I was unsure what to expect as we entered, but it wasn’t very different from the areas of Moonswept that I had already seen. Stone walls. Wrought iron candelabras. Colorful tapestries for decoration, and a few paintings.

As we trooped along, I could not help contrasting the castle with my humble cottage on the seashore. Prior to this adventure, I’d never beheld stone walls and turrets with window slits for archers, heavy brocade curtains, velvet couches, or golden candle holders. This world, this life, was so far removed from a simple cottage with wind chimes beneath the eaves, bamboo furniture, and open wooden shutters with the sound and smells of the sea drifting inside. It was beautiful in its own way. Still, in all honesty, it made me long for home.

Even the artwork was gravely different. Sanlyn enjoyed bright colors, woven baskets, fishhooks, scarves, bent wire jewelry, and things we made ourselves from the riches of our islands. Our paints were derived from seashells and plants, and we enjoyed painting pottery and sometimes murals on the walls of our homes, but to say we preferred grand portraits of ourselves…no.

I paused to stare in awe at a portrait of the Scraggen. It was life-sized and imposing, enclosed in a heavy gilt frame. No denying that this must be her. She had the same overlarge nose as her daughter and wore a regal red gown trimmed with ermine. Her golden hair was swept on top of her head and her green stare was piercing, even in the portrait. She looked like a woman who ruled, lacking any of the human softness or sympathy that Atora’s features possessed.

I shivered and hurried on, grateful when the guards escorted me out of the great hall and into a smaller corridor. From there, we passed into a different hall…much smaller, much less grand.

“Stay here,” one of them said. Naturally, I was given no choice, since the older fellow and the third guard remained.

We’d not waited long before I heard the clacking of feet on the stone floor and the swishing of skirts, alongside the metal clinking of armor from the guards. Around the bend appeared the Scraggen from the portrait, garbed in a simpler dress of emerald green, but still very fine and regal compared to the simplicity of Sanlyn clothing.

“Is this her?” the Scraggen snapped. She strode up to me, her gaze sharp and assessing. “Aye, she has the look of a peddler,” she practically snarled.

I felt my eyebrows raise. Did she dislike peddlers? Consider them beneath her?

I was in no position to ask questions. The witch-woman snapped her fingers and the guard who had escorted her into the hall stepped forward.

“Fetch my daughter and her betrothed,” she ordered, and the man hastened away.

“Peddler,” the Scraggen said, and I jerked my attention from the departing guard back to her. “My daughter is set to wed soon, but her betrothed has demanded to judge her quality. A little contest, if you will, is being set up. You have been summoned to participate. ”

My heart leapt to my throat. Our plan was working. Kidron had made his demands, and the Scraggen was acceding to them.

“Oh, a contest?” I attempted to keep my tone light. “I am happy to obey your commands, m’lady,” I said, using the term her guards had utilized.

“Silence!” She held up a hand in an imperious manner. “You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not ask questions. You will do as you’re told.”

Her manner rankled. I bit the lining of my lower lip to hold my peace. She was the authority in Moonswept. If given her way, she’d gain even greater prominence in Aerisia. I was here to combat that. But combating that would not work if I provoked an argument and got myself tossed into a dungeon.

Even as I reasoned with myself, we heard more approaching footsteps, more gentle clinking of weapons and swishing of skirts. Around the same corner came Atora, the guard, and Kidron, who the Scraggen must have temporarily released from his dragon form. This was the first time I’d seen him in the daylight as his true self. My heart, already in my throat, bounced down to my stomach, turned a flip, and bounced back up again.

Kidron, I thought, hungrily devouring every outline of his face and form, as well as his confident stride. He wore dark trousers and a sleeveless jerkin, loosely laced, which permitted a peek at his distinct tattoos. His golden eyes met mine, flashing a message of amusement, then dashed away again as if I were a perfect stranger who meant nothing to him, and not the woman on whom his liberty hinged.

I will break this curse. I will save you, Kidron, I pledged for the dozenth time.

“Is this the peddler you saw, Atora?” demanded the Scraggen of her daughter who’d halted beside her .

“Aye,” Atora sniffed, glancing at me lazily as though I meant nothing to her. “I saw her yesterday, outside the walls.”

She had certainly seen me more than that, but she would not give that information up and implicate herself. In this, while composing our plan, Kidron and I had supposed we would be safe. We could compel her to call on me for the trial because she could not risk betraying that she had seen me before, that she knew me, and certainly not that she’d allowed me inside Moonswept.

“I suppose she’ll do as well as any,” the Scraggen snorted, swiping me up and down with a disdainful look. “This whole matter is ridiculous.”

“To you,” Kidron said. His arms were folded across his chest in a defiant posture. “You are not the one being forced to marry a stranger. If I’m to do that, I have a right to know how hardworking and dedicated my bride is.”

“You’ve no rights,” the Scraggen snarled, whipping her head about and pinning him with a vicious stare. “Your father traded those away when he offered you in exchange for my help.”

“And, yet, here we are,” Kidron insisted calmly. “Let us be on with it. We have this worthless peddler. We have the daughter of Aerisia’s most powerful Scraggen. Let us see who is better equipped to care for me. Your daughter—or this mere peddler outside your gates.”

“This has nothing to do with care and concern,” the Scraggen muttered, but she protested no further. Kidron had told me he would swear to her that he’d cut out his tongue before he’d speak any wedding vows if she did not go through with his little contest. I suppose he must have been convincing, for here we were.

Excitement coursed through my veins. Our futures hinged on this—suppose it went wrong? Suppose Atora was actually able to complete the task? Suppose …

“Fetch a wash tub, washboard, and soap,” the Scraggen ordered, snapping her fingers. “You—fetch water.”

The guards sprang into action to fulfill her demands. Kidron and I exchanged glances, our eyes meeting and hastily skidding away. We could not betray that we knew one another. Couldn’t betray that our plan appeared to be going well.

As for Atora, she shifted restlessly, clasping her hands behind her back, then in front of her waist, shooting her mother uncomfortable looks. Her lips parted a couple of times as though she wished to speak. Then she would glance at her mother’s forbidding expression and close them. The Scraggen tapped her toe impatiently, clearly irritated by the entire affair.

I did my best to retain a puzzled expression, at one point saying, “Begging your pardon, m’lady, but why have you called me here?”

To which I was told, “Be silent.”

Shrugging, I bowed my head, hoping the Scraggen would continue to suspect nothing.