Chapter 42
O nce upon a time, in my life before dragons, witch-women, curses, and spells, washing the laundry had been a simple job. Now, on this task hinged the fate of the man I loved, his dragon’s fate, my fate, and perhaps the fate of Aerisia itself.
Fixing my mind on the goal—freedom for us all—I set to scrubbing. As soon as I fell into the repetitive rhythm, anxiety dissipated. This was nothing I’d not done before. Up and down. Up and down. Back and forth. Back and forth. Scrub. Press in harder. Scrub more. The difference was this time I whispered under my breath,
“Clean. Come clean. Loosen your hold. Come clean.”
Your gift is one of persuasion, but it is not necessarily in the words you speak. It is in the actions you undertake.
Funnily enough, if I’d known I had persuasive magic before, I surely would have used it on my sisters to get them to do my chores. Such as dishes, laundry, mending, and sewing. Well, perhaps not the last two. I enjoyed those. What was the difference? Meeting Kidron? Had that been what brought my magic to the fore? I could only surmise as I continued to rub, continued to coax.
“Mother!” Atora hissed, breaking my concentration.
My gaze fell into focus. The blackened stain on Kidron’s shirt was lightening to a dull grey.
“How is she doing that?” the Scraggen demanded, stalking closer.
Part of me wanted to shrink back. The other part said, No. No, you will hold your ground.
Hold my ground I did, continuing to scrub. The light-grey stain went paler and paler. The breadth of the spot narrowed.
“What witchery is this?” the Scraggen snapped. “How does she do it?”
“Perhaps she has tricks we lack, m’lady?” one of the servants dared to suggest.
“Impossible!” snapped the Scraggen. “How could she possess laundry tricks none of you know or told my daughter? How could she possess tricks of magic that I don’t know?”
There it was. By her own admission, the Scraggen had cheated, attempting to use magic on the stains. Not that it mattered. According to Kidron’s theory—which was coming true—the shirt could never have been cleaned by the Scraggen’s magic. It was tied up in the breaking and shattering of the curse, in my love for him, and in the mate bond that sealed us together.
“Stop, Peddler!” the Scraggen demanded. “You have done enough. I order you to cease.”
I did not cease. Little enough of the stain remained. True, I’d proved I could clean it, but I feared if I were to stop that she would try to claim the job hadn’t been properly finished and Kidron wasn’t free.
“Did you not hear me? I ordered you to stop! ”
She hovered over me. Her wrath rolled off her in waves. I felt it smash against me like an angry tide—hot, angry, potent. And yet…
I reached deep within, for the same feeling that had coursed through my veins when the sparks of green magic had appeared.
“Go away,” I demanded through gritted teeth. My fingertips began to itch. Beneath them, the shirt on the washboard turned a soft green. “I’ve a job to complete.”
To my astonishment…she retreated a step.
“I order you to stop, Peddler,” she demanded, even as she backed away. “Cease your scrubbing.”
The soft green glow in the water spread. As it did, the stain on the shirt receded. It was back to the original, accidental drops. That feeling inside me flourished. I scrubbed and scrubbed. The soft green intensified. I could not stop. I would not. Here was the crux. If the curse was to be reversed, here was my chance to do it.
“I will not stop,” I said, louder this time. “Please back away. Let me work.”
“What is she doing, Mother?”
Atora cried the words even as murmurs raced around the room, spread by the crowd of servants and guards.
“Magic!” hissed the Scraggen. She bolted towards me. “Stop that!”
“Why? You used magic. Do you think us fools?” Kidron slammed in front of her before I had the chance to order her back. “If you can use it, so can she.”
“Move, dragon prince,” snarled the Scraggen. “Or this day will be the last your eyes shall ever see.”
That did it. I’d had my fill of this woman. My fill of her threats and curses, taunts and hunger for power. I jumped to my feet, snapping out the shirt to show it off .
“See there? It is clean! I have won the wager. I have defeated your daughter in the contest. I have redeemed the dragon. I demand you give him to me. I’ll have my prize, please.”
The murmurings from the onlookers grew even louder as I held up the shirt, spinning in a slow circle to show it off. When I faced the Scraggen, I stepped around Kidron and threw it right at her chest. She caught it, tossed it to the floor, and stomped on it.
“No!” she screeched. “I will not have it end so.”