All for a Rose (5 page)

“Who’ss there?” Daman twisted to fully face the fireplace, the scales coating the coils of his lower body silently sliding against the thick rug underneath him. He flexed the muscles of his tail, drawing himself up higher and leaning until he formed a large ‘S’ as he peered at the fireplace from his new vantage point.

A tiny rounded head poked up from behind the logs. The meager light provided by Daman’s candle was more than enough for his sharp eyesight to make out that the creature was reptilian—a snake? The beast blinked beady black eyes, pink tongue flicking out like a sliver of pale pink ribbon.

“I wasss trying to light a fire. It’sss freezing in here.”

“It’s warm enough.” Daman tilted his head, eyeing the small creature peering unfazed at him from the hearth. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

The creature slithered out from its nest of logs, its thin body sliding over the glowing embers as if the searing heat meant nothing. The scent of burning oak rose from its path as it loosened bits of the logs, sending tiny showers of sparks into the air behind it. It paused on the stone hearth then twisted its head around, sending another blast of flame at the logs. Finally, they caught, the small but steady glow of embers catching into cheery flames that formed a nest for the smoking logs. The snake nodded its satisfaction and continued to glide over the floor toward Daman. Something glittered on either side of its body, a faint iridescence.

Wings
.

“You’re a
cuelebre
.” Daman didn’t bother to keep the surprise out of his voice, though his annoyance kept his tone sharp. “What are you doing in Sanguenay? Shouldn’t you be in Meropis?”

“Yesss. At leassst in Meropisss, they know that firesss are not jussst for winter. Ssspring isss not ssso far along that the night’sss chill doesssn’t lassst far into the day.”

“I’m not cold.” Daman’s tail lashed behind him, striking something metallic. The sound of metal hitting the wall clanged against Daman’s nerves. Another sound that suspiciously resembled hard wax being crushed ratcheted his frustration up even more.
So much for the meditation candle.
“It’s my home, so I don’t heat it unless I feel there is a need. I certainly don’t keep it going for the comfort of guests I don’t have—or want.”

The
cuelebre
slithered around Daman, the tip of its tail flicking back and forth behind it as he inspected Daman’s form. Daman bristled as the shining black eyes took in his mostly human torso and followed it down to his waist where thick scales cascaded down the muscled coil that constituted the lower half of his body. The
cuelebre
tilted its head.

“You are a dragon,” it observed. “A
wyvern,
to be precise, yes?”

“Descended from
wyverns
,” Daman corrected stiffly. “I’m a
naga
.”

“
Nagasss
have human formsss asss well asss ssserpent and half-ssserpent. Do you alwaysss ssspend your time in half human-half ssserpent form?”

Daman clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the sharp points of pain as his claws dug into his palms. He sucked in deep breaths of blood-scented air through his nose, trying to remember the meditations he’d been performing in an attempt to hold on to his rapidly fraying temper. This was his first interaction with another flesh and blood being in nearly a year, perhaps the gods were offering him a test.

Remember your humanity. More man than beast. Humanity cannot be taken away, it can only be given up.

“Did she send you here to torment me?” he bit out. “Have you come to remind me of what she did, perhaps offer to lift the curse if I meet her demands?” Daman lashed against the floor with his tail, twining his body in a sharp circle that brought him around the
cuelebre
faster than the creature could follow. He snatched its tiny body from the floor and clutched it in his fist, closing his fingers until he could feel bones beneath scales and muscle.

“Ssshe?” the
cuelebre
gasped. “Who isss ssshe?” A strangled sound escaped its throat and its tail thrashed wildly as it struggled in Daman’s grip. “Let go!”

“Unlessss you want me to crussh you, you will tell me what you are doing here.” The sibilance coming from his own lips further reminded Daman of how far she’d pushed him.
She sent me a cuelebre—a serpent to remind me of all she’s taken from me. Cold-hearted witch.

“I’m here to help you with your guessst.” The
cuelebre
writhed in his fist, tiny face stabbing up into the air as it tried to slip from his grasp.

“I have no guesst. I haven’t had a guesst ssincce sshe curssed me.” The sibilance of his voice grew thicker, his forked tongue flicking out of his mouth to taste the air. The
cuelebre
wasn’t afraid, the sickly sweet flavor of fear was absent. Daman closed his eyes for a moment, trying to rein himself in, but it was like clutching a boulder in the center of a raging river.

“Open your eyesss. Look outssside. You have a guessst.”

Without releasing the
cuelebre
, Daman threw the heavy coils of his lower body over the ground, powerful muscles propelling him to the window. His silver scales grated on the stone floor. The sound echoed in the air around him, adding to the
cuelebre
’s presence and fueling memories of the woman who’d cursed him to remain in this form. The reason he had to meditate every day, the reason he’d had to send away everyone he’d ever cared about.

The
cuelebre
gagged and Daman relaxed his grip as he realized he’d nearly crushed the delicate creature. The
cuelebre
took advantage of his moment of distraction, shooting out of his grip and zipping across the room like a horizontal bolt of lightning.

A noise outside caught Daman’s attention and he gaped, disbelieving, down at the path leading up to his front door. A figure stumbled toward the manor, body hunched against the frigid early morning spring air. The kiss of winter was still fresh in nature’s memory, the wind still smelling of ice and melting snow despite the green grass and blossoming trees. The ragged garments the man wore would give him next to no protection against the bite of such a morning. It was barely past first light, too early for the man to have come from any inns nearby. Leaves and small twigs clung to the creases in his clothing and the wisps of graying brown hair sticking out from underneath his hat. Dirt coated half of his body like some sort of mangled pelt.

He must have slept in the woods.

“Who is that?” Daman demanded, keeping his eyes on the approaching figure even as he spoke to the
cuelebre
.

“I don’t know.”

Daman slammed a hand down on the windowsill, rattling the glass in its pane. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the one who told me I had a visitor, you said you’re here to help me with him.”

A visitor. Human by all appearances. A delicate human. Here.

The air around Daman grew thicker, harder to breathe. His lungs ached and his vision tunneled. He examined his hands, the white claws curving out from his fingertips like bleached sickles. An image of the old man helpless and terrified in his grip flew into Daman’s head. He winced, closing his hands into fists.

“He can’t be here. It isn’t safe.”

“I am here to help,” the
cuelebre
reminded him.

“What good are you?” Daman pressed the tight knuckles of one fist to the window frame. “What good will you be to him if—”

The knock at the front door should have been muffled from this distance, but the sound thudded in Daman’s ears like a manic heartbeat. A visitor. He didn’t have visitors, couldn’t have visitors. He couldn’t even have servants.

“Anssswer the door.”

“No.” Daman backed away from the window. He gritted his teeth. “No, he can’t stay here.”

“Isss your control ssso poor? Isss that why you sssent everyone away?”

Daman’s fingers tingled with the urge to catch the
cuelebre
again and puncture its skinny body with his claws. “Who are you?”

“If you ever want them to come back, then you mussst ssstart sssomewhere. Let the old man in, let your human ssside have a sssay.”

Daman shot forward, his face burning as his blood boiled and he grabbed for the
cuelebre
. This time, though, the serpent was ready for him and with a flick of its wings, it zipped along the ceiling, careful to stay beyond Daman’s grasp.

“Who ssent you here?” Daman choked out, blinking past the red haze growing in front of his eyes.

“He isss cold and hungry,” the serpent pressed. “Will you truly turn him away?”

“You would rather I go down and frighten him to death?” Daman rose up to his full height, stretching the muscles of his serpentine lower body until his human half rose to the next best thing to eight feet tall. His wide, plated scales glowed dully in the firelight, pale blues and greens, like a glittering stream flowing from a snow-covered mountain peak.

The human flesh of his upper body was too pale to be fully human, the same blue-green hue of his scales tinting his skin until he nearly glowed in the dim light. Thick scaled ridges crept down his forehead on each side, falling from his hairline, coiling along his brow ridge and curling to the side of either eye. The sides of his neck were pinched into scaled ridges as well, tracing down over his shoulders. The scales bled out from the ridges, fading so they barely marked the flesh of his throat. His upper body was human enough, but his draconic heritage left no doubt that he was anything but. And if the dragon ancestry made apparent by the scales didn’t scare the beggar to death, Daman suspected his curved serpentine canines and slitted reptilian eyes would finish the job.

“You are not ssscary during the timesss your temper isss not controlling you.” The
cuelebre
settled on a wall sconce, settling in as though his life weren’t in jeopardy. “You can be a graciousss hossst. Many of your friendsss would have ssstayed if you’d let them.”

Daman pushed away the images the intruder’s words threatened to drag to the forefront of his mind. He didn’t want to think about the friends that had once surrounded him, didn’t have to remember how he’d sent them away. There’d been no choice, not after what had been done to him. Better they left than remained behind with him and his pathetic control.

Groping for anything to distract him from his own miserable past, Daman allowed an image of the beggar sitting down to a decent meal to fill his head. His heart warmed, chasing away some of the fear, making it a little easier to breathe. It had been a long time since he’d had the satisfaction of helping someone in need, feeling that warm sensation that came from aiding another. Perhaps this was a sign from the gods, a way for him to reconnect with his humanity—to remember who he’d once been.

This could be a gift
.

Slowly, he smoothed a hand over his scales, claws dancing over the shimmering surface. “Very well. I will help him.” He fixed the
cuelebre
with a hard stare. “But I will remain unseen. Go open the door for him. Lead him around the manor to give me time to set out a meal.”

He rushed from the room without giving the tiny serpent an opportunity to offer its opinion, having no doubt that the
cuelebre
had an opinion about everything. It took no time at all to arrive at the kitchen, and since there were no servants in the manor, Daman was free to fix a meal as he usually did for himself. Though he would have liked to offer the man a hot meal, it would take too long to cook anything, and his skills with food were limited. If only Moira were still here. Moira with her warm smile and her gods-given gift of making the most sumptuous meals any mortal being could ever hope to enjoy.

Bittersweet memories threatened to pour over him and he shoved them away, concentrating on the meal he was preparing for his guest. The brownies that cleaned his home often left him food, but mostly they provided ingredients and left the actual preparations for Daman to do himself. A loaf of hard-crusted bread and a generous helping of fresh butter, a small bowl of ripe strawberries, and a plate of cold beef. The meat was somewhat undercooked, and haphazardly seasoned, but it would fill an empty belly well enough.

He put a pot of black tea to boil and set out a cup along with a bowl of sugar and a small dish of lemons. It was perhaps not the grand feast of roast duck and glazed potatoes Moira might have managed, but surely for a man half-frozen and fresh from a night on the forest floor, it would be a blessing?

“You’re thinking of Moira, aren’t you, master?”

Daman didn’t bother looking at the speaker. The talking teapot had stopped seeming strange long ago.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Your mouth is watering,” the faded crockery pointed out. It swung a bit on the hook where it hung over the dark embers of the last kitchen fire, the flames casting a glow over its cloudy white surface with chipped blue flowers. “A bit early for lunch, isn’t it?”

“This isn’t for me.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Daman regretted them. The teapot stilled immediately, and if it’d had a face, Daman was sure its mouth and eyes would both be wide open.

“Master, this is… This is
wonderful
.”

“Silence yourself.” Daman spoke through clenched teeth, trying to hold on to the warm feeling he’d had while preparing the food. “It is nothing.”

“How can you say that?” The teapot swung gently as if in deep contemplation. “Is it Jacque? I hope it’s Jacque. He was so hurt when you sent him away.”

Daman gripped the tabletop, claws digging into the wood. “Be. Silent.”

“I know he tried to hide it, and goodness knows the man had a face like stone at the best of times. Apropos for a captain of the guard, I suppose.”

“Do not speak of Jacque.” Wood creaked and groaned as Daman’s grip on the table tightened.

“He cared for you like a brother. And I agreed with him, you know, you could easily have continued your noble duties even after what the witch did. I know you don’t think so, but you’re really not that scary.”