The Dragon's Son (19 page)

“I brought some food,” she said, folding back a corner of the cloth from the
top of a basket she carried, revealing some bits of broken meat, bread, and a
jug of wine. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Ven had not eaten all day—he’d been too enraptured to think of anything so
mundane. He frowned at the sight of the jug.

“You need not fear the wine,” Evelina added hastily. “It was not the ale you
drank last night that made you sick. My father put some sort of drug in it. The
wine is safe, unless you think”—her cheeks flushed in shame—”unless you do not
trust me—”

“I would never, ever think that,” Ven returned gently.

“Good.” Evelina rewarded him with a smile. “We will both drink the wine and
then you will know it is safe.”

Night had fallen in earnest by the time the two left the city and struck out
on the road. The moon was near full and made the darkness almost as bright as
day. Ven suddenly remembered, as they walked, that Bellona would be expecting
him to return to their tent at his usual time. He had never before absented
himself like this, and he was troubled that he was doing so now. She would be
extremely angry.

He looked at Evelina, her hair silver-gold in the moonlight, and he caught
her stealing a glance at him. The welcome thought came to Ven that when he
returned with the money, Bellona would have nothing to complain about. Besides,
as she was always telling him, he was a man now, not a little boy.

Evelina’s hand accidentally brushed against his hand. He felt a thrill
tingle through his blood and, disturbed by his unseemly feelings, he moved
apart from her, so that he would not sully her with his rough touch.

To his surprise, Evelina sidled nearer him. “It’s
frightening, being on the road alone at night. I’m glad you’re with me.” Her
fingers, so slender and fragile, twined with his.

Bellona spent the day nursing her anger and worrying over what they would do
if Ven did not recover the stolen money. They needed salt to preserve the meat
so that it would keep through the deep winter, when game grew scarce. They
needed flour and potatoes to stretch out their meager meals, and onions to ward
off scurvy. They needed to purchase essential tools, such as axes and knives,
to replace those that were worn past mending.

“If there is a harsh, long winter, we will likely either starve to death or
die of disease,” Bellona said to herself.

She rehearsed in her mind what she would say to Ven on his return, how she
would impress upon him the folly—the fatal folly—of his actions, whether he
recovered the money or no. She was so intent upon his return that she never
thought of what she would do if he failed to come back this night, as he had
the last.

Bellona had not missed him the previous night. The faire was always a strain
on her. Accustomed to a solitary life in the forest, she found it difficult to
merge back into society, where she had to mingle with people, talk to them, be
polite to them. After a long day spent dickering and haggling with her
customers, she was worn out. She had thrown herself on her blanket last night
and gone to sleep immediately. The next thing she knew, she was wakened in the
early morning to find Ven, bruised and battered and weaving like a drunkard, in
company with the sheriff’s man.

When darkness fell this night and the cook fires sprang up around the tent
city and the smell of roasted meat wafted through the air, the feeling of
foreboding that Bellona had experienced that morning returned to her in double
measure. Whether it was a mother’s instinct or a soldier’s, she knew that
something had happened to Ven.

“What
•was
I thinking? Letting him go off like that alone. My rage
overcame my judgment. Just as it did with his mother.” Bel-lona sighed bleakly.
“Melisande, I am sorry. Be with your son and watch over him until I can find
him.”

She buckled her sword around her waist, slid a
knife into the top of her boot, and left the tent, heading for the city and a
tavern called the Rat and Parrot.

Ven and Evelina had the road to themselves. The shrine where they were to
meet Ramone was not frequented by travelers, unlike those of more popular
saints, Located a good distance from the road, the shrine was lost to sight and
memory amid a tangle of undergrowth. Ven and Evelina had to slog their way
through weeds and brush, following the dim traces of an overgrown path. The
shrine was old, by the looks of it. The pious friar Rhun might well have made
offerings here.

As they drew near it, Evelina’s long skirt caught on a thorn-bush. Ven bent
down to release the cloth and was rewarded for his pains with a glimpse of bare
leg. His chest tightened and his throat burned. Rising, he looked into her
eyes. She looked into his and her breath came fast.

Evelina lowered her head in maidenly confusion.

“There is a clearing behind the shrine,” she said, pointing. “No more of these
thorns. We can sit down and eat our meal and wait for Father.”

“How did you ever come to find this place?” Ven asked curiously.

Evelina wondered that herself.

The thornbush provided the answer.

“Blackberries,” she said. “I heard from an old woman in the city that they
grew around here and I came picking them this summer.”

Ven had picked blackberries and would have readily believed her story, but
that he wasn’t really listening to her answer. He heard nothing but the music
of her voice, played to the cadence of his heartbeat. Ven tramped about,
flattening the long green grass of the clearing, which was half in moonlight,
half in the shadow of the trees that surrounded it.

Evelina settled herself on the crushed grass, carefully arranging her skirts
around her. Ven remained standing, as he thought he should.

The dragon’s son had no knowledge of courtly manners. He had never been
around a young woman before. He could not read or write, for they had no books,
and Bellona had never been much inclined toward study anyway. She told tales to
while away the long, dark winter nights; tales that came from long ago. Tales
of a city destroyed for the love of a beautiful woman, tales of a king blown
off his course home by the breath of vengeful gods and the faithful wife who
waited for him, tales of love and loss, honor and betrayal. This night was a
tale come to life for Ven, born of moonlight and a silken veil covering
gold-spun curls.

“Will he be long, do you think? Your father?” Ven asked abruptly.

“Why?” Evelina said, teasing. “Are you eager to be rid of me?”

Ven reddened. He was not accustomed to jests; Bellona was not a jocular
person. He thought Evelina was serious and didn’t know how to answer. Her
father could stay away all night, as far as he personally was concerned, but
there was another matter.

Having impaled him on this dilemma, Evelina was kind enough to remove her
horns.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was cruel. Of course, you are concerned about
your money. I do not blame you.”

Removing the veil from her head, she shook out her hair, causing it to
glisten in the moonlight.

“Father may be some time, I fear.” Evelina looked up at Ven. “You had best
come sit down.”

As Ven took his seat beside her, lowering himself to the grass with an
animal’s ease, Evelina heard a rustle in the brush behind her, the snap of
branch, and a muffled “shush.”

She froze, certain Ven must have heard. She waited for him to react.

Ven could not hear very well, however, for the throbbing of the blood in his
ears and other parts of his body. He did not react, but sat with his head
bowed, absently pulling out the grass by the roots. The noises were not
repeated, and Evelina breathed again.

The two shared the food and the wine, drinking out of the same jug, handing
it back and forth. Ven liked wine better than ale. Wine was sweeter to the
taste and warmed the blood and it gave a radiant luster to Evelina’s dark eyes.
The wine made it seem entirely natural that she should lift her face to his,
press her soft body against him, and kiss him on the lips. He tasted the wine
on her mouth and its sweetness was trebled.

Evelina did not forget the business part of this deal, but she felt she
deserved some pleasure for herself out of this, and so she did not rush
matters. She was aroused by Ven and also by the knowledge that her father and
Glimmershanks were lurking in the bushes, watching. Seeing that Ven was too far
consumed by his wine and passion to be thinking clearly, she dropped the role
of the virginal maid and gave herself to him with sensual abandon.

He was an exciting lover, unpracticed, instinctual, rough as an animal, yet
with an underlying tenderness that made her respond in kind, arching her body
to meet his, yielding to his touch, sighing with his sighs. She was so caught
up in her own pleasure, she almost forgot about the money.

Almost.

Evelina could tell by the feel of him that the moment of truth was soon to
be upon them. She hiked up her skirts, revealing her naked legs, and spread
them wide.

“Take me!” she whispered urgently into his ear and pulled him down on top of
her.

She could feel him fumbling at the flap on his breeches, undoing the buttons
that held it shut. Damn him to hell and back! He was going to leave his pants
on!

“Oh, my love,” Evelina purred, running her hands over his bare back. “Let me
feel your flesh against my flesh.”

Ven pretended not to hear her. He’d been wondering how he would manage this.
He’d seen the men at the tavern walls taking their pleasure without dropping
their drawers and he knew it could be done. Kissing her hard, he pressed her
into the ground with his body. He was going to have her and nothing could stop
him.

Evelina realized she’d lost control. Pushing at his chest with all her
strength, she gave a desperate heave, rolled him partially off her, giving her
room enough to wriggle out from under him. Taking hold of his breeches, she
grasped them with both hands and jerked them down past his butt cheeks, clear
to his thighs.

Blue dragon scales gleamed in the moonlight.

Evelina shrieked in horror. Torchlight flared. Two men came crashing through
the undergrowth.

“What did I tell you?” Ramone gabbled with excitement. “What did I tell you?
A monster. A beautiful monster. Wait until you see his feet! Three toes, all
with claws.”

Ven knew the moment Evelina screamed that it had been a trap, that she had
used him. The wine and his passion fuddled his mind. Rage robbed him of his
faculties. He scrambled to his feet, his breeches tangled around his ankles,
and lunged bodily at Ramone, his hands grappling for his throat.

Ramone screeched. Evelina cried out and leapt at Ven, to try to drag him off
her father. Her nails raked his back, left bloody trails in his flesh. He paid
scant attention to her. He concentrated on choking the life out of Ramone.

Glimrnershanks entered the fray. Catching hold of Evelina, he pulled her off
Ven and flung her aside. He was armed with a club and he struck Ven a blow on
his head.

Ven collapsed on top of the pitifully groaning Ramone.

Glimmershanks grabbed hold of Ven’s inert body and hauled him off his
friend. Cursing her father for a fool one minute and soothing him the next,
Evelina assisted the half-strangled Ramone to his feet.

Ven lay on his belly in the dirt. Pain blurred his vision, but could not
blunt his rage. He tried to rise, only to be clubbed again. As he sank beneath
the second blow, he heard Ramone croaking, “Don’t kill him! He’s worth more
alive than dead!”

But it was Evelina’s chill voice that followed Ven into pain-glazed
darkness.

“Hit him again, Glimmershanks. Don’t let him up.
Hit the beast again. . . .”

Bellona disliked cities intensely and avoided them when she could. The
citizens of Rhun and its many visitors were taking advantage of the full moon’s
light to loiter about the streets, chatting with neighbors, frequenting the
taverns and alehouses. Musicians played on street corners, accompanying
impromptu dancing. The jostling crowds made her feel as if she could not find
air; it was being sucked into so many noses, exhaled with all its poisons by so
many jabbering mouths.

Not knowing her way around, Bellona had no idea where to go to find the Rat
and Parrot, but she was not afraid to ask. The city guard was out in force.
Bellona stopped one, followed his instructions until she knew she was lost,
then stopped another. In this way, she eventually came to the Rat and Parrot,
though she lost half the night doing so.

She could tell at once, on entering, that the tavern was a repository for
the dregs of humanity, who settled to the bottom of such containers until
something happened to shake the container and dump them out into the streets.

Bellona did not enter the tavern, but remained standing at the door. She had
no intention of turning her back upon any of these people. She cast a swift
glance about, but did not see Ven.

Everyone was staring at her. She met their eyes boldly, stared them down.
The patrons took her for a man, thin but muscular, who was undoubtedly capable
of using the sword that rested so easily on his hip.

“I am seeking information,” Bellona announced loudly from the door stoop.

She waited for silence to fall, which it did eventually, everyone now
curious to hear what she had to say. “I am looking for a young man of about
eighteen years, well built, dressed in clothes such as I am wearing. He was
with a man called Ramone. Has either of them been in this place tonight?”

Glances flashed among the patrons. Some took a swig from their mugs. Others
smiled knowingly and turned away. One woman—the red-haired whore who had been
repulsed by Ramone the night before—spoke up.

“No, they haven’t been here this night, but they were here last night.”