Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
LARELLIN
When I come out of the bathing chamber, Vander is gone.
My knees go weak with relief. I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to face him again.
I dart to the closet and pull out one of the plain shifts I’ve been wearing.
They’re comfortable and warm, far warmer than they should be given their lightweight.
I’m just glad to be covered. When I think of Vander between my legs, his eyes on me as his tongue … I have to take a deep breath.
Face hot, I run my fingers through my hair, then whip it around to the side and do a loose braid, tying off the bottom with a scrap of leather.
How can I explain what happened last night?
I don’t think I can. What Vander and I did—it’s not something I even knew was an option.
I press my hands to my hot cheeks. Mother never spoke of such things other than telling me that letting any man between my thighs was a sure way to get banished.
She didn’t even have to say that much. I saw how Kanelden treated the maidens he was able to lure to the castle, the ones who weren’t wary enough.
Or perhaps they thought they’d be different, that they’d become the mistress, the next Lady Rayid.
I shake my head and straighten my back. This can never happen again.
I won’t be seduced, especially not by a DragonKin.
With fresh resolve, I leave my crutch beside the door and carefully make my way down the stairs.
Following my nose, the smell of something delicious in the air, I find two of Vander’s brothers sitting down to breakfast.
“Come in.” Rivon, the one with orange scales, motions for me to take the seat Vander made for me.
Sprite comes in, a cup in one hand and a plate in the other. “Heard you coming down the stairs.” He slides the plate in front of me as I sit. “We made it special for you.”
“Thanks.” I put my napkin in my lap, my mouth watering as I survey the eggs, some sort of crispy meat, and what I assume is a piece of fruit.
Rivon leans across the table and points his fork at the dark orange fruit. “Carvelia fruit, this is boar, and these are Shinjan eggs.”
I repeat it silently to myself, trying to remember what everything is. “We didn’t have anything like this in Raingreen.”
“Right. You had the vegetables.” Fyan tries to sound nonchalant and almost makes it.
“They aren’t that bad.” I poke at the carvelia fruit.
“The black rind is bitter. You just want the meat inside.” Rivon takes a drink from his cup. “It’s one of my favorite fruits. The Firefolk tend a grove not far into the woods.”
“Oh?” I scoop out a piece of the juicy orange meat and taste it. Sweet with an underlying tang. “Wow.” I’ve never tasted anything quite like it. “This is delicious.”
“She has good taste.” Rivon smiles and stabs the last piece of meat from his plate and plops it in his mouth. “I’ve got to do a run to the coast.”
“The coast?” I’ve heard of places where water covers the land, nothing but blue as far as you can see. I’ve never seen it, can barely imagine it.
Rivon stands, then looks at me questioningly. “The Silver Sea lies along the southern borders of Oblivion. It’s beyond our borders, but we have contacts there.”
“What are your borders?” I chew slowly, savoring the new taste. “Is there a part of Oblivion that belongs just to the DragonKin?”
Fyan and Rivon exchange a look, one I can’t read, but the air changes. Gets heavier somehow.
“What?” I stop chewing and swallow. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” Fyan glances at Rivon again. “There’s just a lot to explain if you want to know about Oblivion.”
“I do.” I sit forward, my food momentarily forgotten.
“How big is it? How many people—erm, creatures—live here? What kinds are there? What’s the most dangerous of them?
Are there any other mortals? Is there like, a big city?
Raingreen was just a village, but travelers would always talk about Xinjia, the biggest city in the entire realm.
Is there a place like that here?” I snap my mouth closed before a dozen more questions spill out.
“You’re curious for a mortal.” Brin walks in, a book in his palm, and sits beside me at the table. “Lucky for you, the keep has two libraries, each of them with all the information you could ever want about Oblivion.”
“Oh.” I look down at my plate, my mouth going dry.
“We don’t mind if you use the libraries,” Fyan says. “The keep is your home now. You’re welcome in all its rooms.”
I nod, too ashamed to tell them the truth. It’s actually nice of them to assume I can read. To think I’m someone who was important enough to be taught.
“Or maybe you don’t like to read?” Fyan scoffs. “Gods knows I hate reading. It’s so boring. Why read about it in some dusty book when you can go out and live it, right?”
I don’t have an answer for that. Now I wish I hadn’t asked anything at all.
Brin clears his throat, and when I meet his gaze, his yellow eyes are crinkled at the edges in kindness. “It’s all right.” That’s all he says. “We’ll work on it.”
“Work on what?” Fyan asks.
“Eat your breakfast.” Brin takes a plate from a waiting Sprite. “Thanks.”
“Very welcome.” Sprite refills Fyan’s cup and disappears into the kitchen.
“I’ll return tomorrow.” Rivon gives me a small bow, then leaves.
I sit stunned as I stare after him. No one has ever bowed to me before. The nobles—and especially Kanelden—demanded everyone bow to them all the time. They even required it in the Priory before and after each service that was supposed to honor the gods.
Neither Fyan nor Brin seem to notice it, or if they do, they think nothing of it.
“Are you all right?” Fyan asks, his bright eyes narrowed with concern.
“No. I mean yes. I’m fine. It’s just …” I trail off, not sure how to explain the enormous feelings that one small bow gave me.
“I’m glad there aren’t any weird roots on your plate today.” Fyan points at my food with his fork. “Now you won’t be threatening me with them.”
“I wasn’t threatening you.” The room seems to lighten, the boyish smile on Fyan’s face genuinely warm. “I was just trying to expand your tastes.”
“Expanding Fyan’s mind is about as likely as slaying the garthook.” Brin cuts up a portion of his meat and presses it into his mouth.
“I could take down the garthook.” Fyan grins. “The last time I flew over her burrow, I could swear one of her eyes was watching me closely. She fancies me, as do all females with good taste.”
“She’d certainly like a taste of you. Legend has it she took down one of the DaySilver Clan during the Third Turning.”
“What’s the DaySilver Clan?” I’m enjoying my breakfast, the food savory while the fruit is sweet. A mortal could get used to these meals if she isn’t careful.
“Pricks,” Fyan answers.
Brin shakes his head, his shaggy brown hair falling around his shoulders. “They’re DragonKin.”
“So there are more of you?” I’m already learning more than I could’ve imagined.
“There were four houses of DragonKin that flew over Oblivion and the Redwater Isles for as long as anyone can remember. Now there are only three.”
“What happened to the fourth?”
Fyan puts his cup down, his eyes downcast. “I can’t do this today, Brin. I’m off to check the wards in the forest.” He stands and, once again, gives me a bow.
I’m still taken aback, but at least this time I manage not to gawk at him.
Once he’s gone, Brin says, “There was a rebellion among the DragonKin two centuries ago. The DaySilver Clan convinced the Emerald Clan to fight under their banner and take the DragonLands for themselves. The Golden Horde—he raises his cup to the golden dragon emblem above the dining room hearth—allied with the Black Wings to hold the lands and defeat the intruders. The Golden Horde won, but the Emerald Clan was completely wiped out.”
I look at the golden dragon over the hearth, its eyes watching me in hues of bright green. “So the DragonKin here are all the Golden kind?”
“The Golden Horde. Yes.” He seems to reconsider. “Let me put a finer point on it for clarity’s sake: the bloodlines lost their meanings in ancient times, the DragonKin interbreeding and forming alliances throughout the years. But the DragonKin here are loyal to the Golden Horde, yes.”
“And these are the DragonLands?”
He leans back in his chair, his meal seemingly forgotten. “No. This mountain is Crone’s Crag, and the lands around are in the southeastern part of Oblivion. The DragonLands are farther north.”
I chew the carvelia fruit slowly, digesting everything Brin just told me. “I’m confused. If the Golden Horde beat the other dragons who tried to take over, why aren’t they in the DragonLands? Isn’t that their home?”
“It is. It is actually home to all DragonKin, the font of their power and legacy. This keep is an outpost of sorts, one established by the dragons to keep an eye on the mortal lands.”
I glance around at the stone walls, the fine tapestries, the inlay in the carved dragons at the corners of the room and above the hearth. “This is only an outpost?”
“Yes. The Palace of the Sky is the most wondrous edifice in all of Oblivion. Its halls were—I mean are legendary.” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“The history is probably better told to you by Vander. Sometimes I can run away at the mouth, especially when it involves history.” He pauses.
“Or science.” Another pause. “Or literature.” He smiles.
“Perhaps I should’ve just left it at ‘I run away at the mouth.’”
I nibble at my bottom lip for a moment, then ask the one question I’m most curious about. “Why don’t Vander and his brothers live in the DragonLands?”
He clears his throat, his eyes looking everywhere but at me. “Well, that’s … That’s another topic. I don’t think I—”
Lenka bursts in from the kitchen, her eyes rolling. “Because they’re cursed, that’s why. Just tell the girl, Brin. Gods, at the way you avoid the point.” She sits beside me, her flames glowing an iridescent green.
“Cursed?”