Chapter Nineteen #2
“Yes, she is a beauty,” Surot said proudly.
“Her name is Keva. She’s one of our queens.
” A queen dragon. Marin wondered what that meant and whether this was going to be a problem, or more of a problem than it already was.
“Come, you’re shivering. Let’s get you bathed and fed and then we’ll discuss your boat situation. ”
Marin snorted at the phrase “boat situation.” It was accurate, she supposed. “That would be fantastic. Thank you so much.”
“No matter what you may have heard, we are a hospitable people,” Surot said. “There hasn’t been a visitor eaten by a dragon in at least three months.”
Ree let out a little “Eep!”
“Wow, that’s … um … great?” Dax said.
Marin saw the side of Surot’s mouth turn up and decided she was joking. Probably. She allowed herself a glimmer of hope.
After the best bath in the world (it wasn’t seawater!
and it was hot!), Marin climbed out of the tub, dried, and dressed in the velvety clothes that the Ilrekans had left for her: a soft tunic and pants, both cobalt blue.
They’d taken her original clothes and boots to be cleaned—after she’d transferred the contents of her pockets, of course, palming the heartsinger ruby so they wouldn’t notice it.
Yes, they’d been friendly, but why tempt people unnecessarily?
She found a silver comb on the dresser beside the tub, and she brushed through her hair while looking out the window.
She was on the second story of the Silver Dragon Inn in the loveliest room she’d ever been in, even nicer than the Kraken’s Nest. Warm and welcoming, it boasted a feather bed piled high with pillows, thick rugs that hugged her bare feet, and a crackling fire in the fireplace.
It was cooler here on Ilreka than it had been on the marmoose island, closer to the weather it was supposed to be for this time of year, which was hopefully a sign that they were closer to home than she thought they were.
She was less hopeful about the state of her sailboat, but these people knew their island and their dragons, plus they seemed inclined to be helpful.
It was impossible to despair while her hair felt so soft and clean.
It even smelled nice. Like cloves and pine.
She was fairly certain she usually smelled like seaweed, so this was at least a change.
Marin emerged from her room at the same time Dax came out of his. He halted and stared at her for a moment. “What?” she said. She was certain she’d put the tunic on correctly. The seams had been obvious.
He shook his head. “You look beautiful.”
“I’m clean.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Can I kiss you?”
“What? No.” She was so startled that she took a step backward.
She bumped into the door behind her. She saw the hurt in his eyes, and she felt her heart twist. Given that she’d been thinking about that kiss nonstop while they were waiting for Perri to return, she hadn’t meant to react like that.
Of course she wanted to kiss him. But if she did, then she’d want to kiss him again.
And again. And then he’d leave and return to the conservatory, and …
I can’t. It would be the height of stupid to begin a relationship with someone who was bound to leave.
Even if she’d already fallen for him.
She couldn’t afford to fall harder.
He held up his hands. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I misinterpreted, and it won’t happen again. Please, forget I asked. It was a high-emotion moment.”
“It has to be just a moment,” Marin said.
“It … does? Does it?”
“Because you’re you, and I’m me.” He was Daxicend, the composer who was expected to present his grand opus at the winter solstice and become a grandmaster and be the future of music, and she was, as Iovar had so succinctly pointed out, not worth it.
She was just a supply runner who’d sailed into his life when he was vulnerable.
“That’s exactly why I want…” He ran his hand through his hair as if the words had escaped him. “You, Marin. I want you. With me. Ever since I stepped onto your sailboat, I have felt more alive, more full of music…”
Why was he saying such things? “I don’t want a relationship,” she blurted out.
“You make yourself vulnerable, and then suddenly someone has power over you.” He had to know they had no future.
Was he trying to break her heart? It was barely taped back together.
She didn’t think she could handle it shattering a second time.
She knew herself well enough to know that.
If she stopped this now, stayed just friends, stayed captain and crew, stayed only a little bit in love, then she could keep herself whole.
She’d only just begun to feel whole again—she didn’t want to lose that.
“That’s not what a relationship is,” Dax said.
“Oh? Have you ever been in one?” She regretted asking that as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She wasn’t trying to hurt him. It wasn’t his fault that she didn’t want to shatter. “Never mind. It’s not my business.”
“I haven’t,” he said quietly.
He’d mentioned kissing someone and that then they’d disappeared from his life.
He’d opened up to her about that, and she hadn’t thought through the implications.
He hadn’t been allowed to be close to anyone.
Ever. “It went badly. For me. Before. When I tried.” She winced.
She wasn’t being at all articulate. “You can kiss me so long as you don’t want a relationship. ”
There. That was what she’d meant to say.
It wasn’t kissing him that was the problem; it was all the expectations that came along with it and all the risk that she didn’t want to take. He’s not going to stay. I can’t begin a doomed relationship. It was better to be clear about it now, before they were too far in.
He stared at her for a moment, and she couldn’t read his expression. At last, he said, “Then I had better not kiss you.”
He turned and walked down the stairs.
And she felt an ache so sharp that for a minute she couldn’t move.
Outside, the sun had set. Within the Silver Dragon Inn’s tavern, all the candles were blazing from sconces on the walls, as well as from the wrought iron chandelier over the wide table in the center of the room.
Huge platters of food had been piled up on the table: breads and meats and vegetables.
Ree was in the middle of it all, not unlike a centerpiece.
His branches looked neater, as if he’d been combed or pruned or whatever, and his roots were deep in a pot that was overflowing with chocolate-dark soil.
He was chattering happily with a clump of people seated at the closest bench.
Slowing at the bottom of the stairs, Marin listened to him.
“… I’m like an apprentice sailor. Marin—she’s my captain, Captain Mariner—she tells me what to do, and I do it, and then we go-go-go into the bluuuuue!
She can read the wind like it’s talking to her.
She’s amazing. There was this storm coming—a magic storm!
Lightning all around! The seas as high as a house!
” He stretched his branches up to demonstrate.
“And she wasn’t scared at all. Me, I was so terrified I nearly dropped all my leaves, but she shouts, ‘Do your worst, storm! I am Captain Mariner of the Crescent Islands, and you won’t take my crew! Haha! I laugh at danger!’”
She was one hundred percent positive she hadn’t said any of that.
One of the listeners said, “Your loyalty to your captain is admirable, little shrub.”
“I love her and I want to be her when I grow up,” Ree said. “Except I don’t want legs. Legs are weird—you have two trunks that stick out under you. How do you not fall over all the time? You’d be a lot better off with roots and branches.” He added, “No offense meant.”
The man guffawed. “None taken. Would you want more water in your soil?”
“Yes, please.”
He signaled a boy with a pitcher, who came over and poured water into Ree’s pot. Ree sighed in satisfaction.
Surot appeared by Marin’s elbow. “Your crew is eating. Won’t you come eat too?”
“Sure, yes, thank you.” She scanned the tavern and noticed that Dax was by the fireplace, next to a young woman who had just handed him a guitar.
She was lovely: bronze skin, magenta hair, curves on display in her formfitting outfit with a dragon pendant perched between her breasts.
And Dax was completely ignoring her, his lips pursed in concentration as he studied the frets and the neck of the guitar, completely oblivious to whatever the young woman was saying to him, which wasn’t like him.
He was usually polite and friendly with everyone.
Oh crap, this is my fault.
She should’ve found better words—kinder ones, clearer ones, smarter ones. She hadn’t meant to hurt him while she was protecting herself.
Watching Dax, Marin followed the headwoman to an empty seat at the end of the bench.
There was a clean plate and utensils waiting for her, and Surot began to heap slabs of meat and spoonfuls of tubers onto Marin’s plate.
“I should make sure he isn’t so distracted by the guitar that he forgets to eat. ”
Surot placed a hand on her shoulder. “You have to care for yourself before you can effectively care for others. Eat, rest, and then tend to your crew.”
Mechanically, Marin picked up her fork and began to eat.
To her surprise, the meat was sweetened with cranberries and had been cooked so long that it scarcely required any chewing.
It was butter soft and even more delicious than it looked.
Still, she kept watching Dax as he tuned the guitar.
Surot sat beside her and helped herself to dinner as well, filling her plate with a heap of meat and tubers.
“I had to learn that lesson when I became headwoman two hundred years ago.”
Tearing her eyes away from Dax and the guitar, Marin looked at her. “Two hundred?” She knew some sorcerers could be long-lived, but she hadn’t thought—