Dragon (20 page)

In spite of mostly sleeping all day, I’m still tired. I’m completely unused to being in dragon form at all, let alone for so long, even if I was only eating and sleeping, my ponderous weight mostly supported by the saline sea.

It’s not completely dark yet and I can see the shore ahead of us, twinkling with the lights of towns and cities, and judging from the fact that the sun is setting behind us, it must be the eastern shore.

I studied this section of Ion’s road atlas. Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan are squeezed between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea, from west to east, in that order. So the shore I see is the country of Georgia, and we’ll have to pass through, near, or over Armenia to get to Azerbaijan.

Home.

The place I’ve wanted to return to for so long.

I flap my wings just enough to catch the updraft of warm air as it rises from the surface of the sea into the cooling night sky. We glide lazily, neither of us bothering to flap our wings more than enough to keep us aloft and soaring east. The night is long and I may have dozed off several times during the trip, but Ram didn’t let me wander or drift away, and soon the lights grow bigger, marking signs and streetlights and illumined windows.

I beat my wings a little harder. We’re almost there.

But of course, the closer we get, the more I realize everything is inhabited here. There are cites stretching into cities. Town, villages, and resorts hug the coast. There’s nowhere for a dragon to land.

Looming above the city lights I see the dark heads of the mountains—the Caucasus. Ram steers toward one of these dark shadows and I stick close to his side.

Cool air flows down from the mountains. It sweeps under our wings and we catch it, rising up, up, into the dense trees that cling to the outer fringes of the range.

Ram swoops around, low, hardly above the treetops. Then he finds a spot that meets with his approval, hovers there and meets my eyes, and sinks between the trees.

I follow, landing gracelessly, exhausted, as Ram turns into a man once again.

I sink to my knees, ready to cry with exhaustion, as I realize, too late, I have no idea how to turn back into a human.

I would cry if I had the strength. Instead I curl into something like an exhausted semi-fetal position, and close my eyes and wish I knew how to be a person again, without this big heavy body that is seriously tough to haul around when it’s not being supported by updrafts or all the water in the Black Sea.

Something soft touches my skin. I’m only vaguely aware of it, but it brushes my fingers so I pull it closer around me, then I realize what it is.

One of Ram’s flannel shirts. His voice is gentle. “Exhale slowly, like you’re deflating. Let all the dragoness out of your body along with the air. Breath out until you can’t breathe out anymore, and then squeeze and breathe out more.”

I think he’s trying to tell me how to become a human again, and I try. I really do. I breathe out all my air and keep exhaling, almost like a straining sob, like when you want to cry but your sorrow is too deep. I strain after that smaller form of myself until everything goes dark.

Chapter Twenty

The sun is up when I awaken. It feels early out, but it might only be cool and shady because we’re in the mountains. Ram’s roasted up a bunch of something delicious, and when he offers me some I take it and eat ravenously, still half asleep, realizing only once I’ve chewed it down to the bone that I’m still lying on my side, in the dirt, mostly naked except for Ram’s big shirt draped across me like a blanket.

Also, I am human again.

It’s a good thing Ram is big and therefore wears big shirts.

“I miss coffee.”

“You’ll be home tomorrow morning. You can have some then.”

I didn’t even realize I’d spoken out loud (I’m still partly asleep) until Ram answered me.

Now I’m aware of time again, and plans and things to do. “Do we need to leave soon?”

“No. Rest. We won’t go anywhere until tonight. Then we’ll fly home.”

“What about Ion? And the yagi? They could catch up to us.”

Ram shrugs. “I don’t know what happened to Ion.”

“I don’t think we killed him.”

“True, but he probably had to go off and bleed awhile, and gather his strength. Turning into a dragon is exhausting for him, too. Not just for us.”

The thought is slightly reassuring, but at the same time, I hear a tone in Ram’s brontide voice, an unfamiliar twinge of—could it be guilt? I remember the look he gave me in that fraction of a second before Ion and the yagi pounced on us yesterday. He looked almost guilty then, too. But why would he?

The act of talking and eating has worn me out, and I take Ram’s advice and rest, but the question still bothers me, of why Ram looked guilty, and what he feels guilty about. If anything I should be the one who feels guilty, because I let Ion into our camp and gave the yagi an opportunity to pounce. I almost got Ram killed.

I sleep on and off throughout the day, awakening now and then to the scent of roasted meat, eating only to sleep again, knowing I need my rest if I’m going to fly home tonight, because it wore me out so much the last time and I didn’t even fly very far—just floated, mostly.

When I awaken to sunset I slip my arms through the sleeves of the big flannel shirt. Once I close the buttons down the front it’s like I’m wearing a loose shirt dress. I have to roll the sleeves, but otherwise it’s not a bad look, especially if I’m only going to change into a dragon again.

Once I’m decently covered, I stand up on my feet, which is a strange experience after being a sort-of four-legged winged creature for most of the day yesterday, and sleeping the day away. I feel a little wonky, like when I was a kid and I spent too long swinging on the swing in my backyard, like I’m no longer used to the solid earth, or it’s not used to me.

I take a few steps closer to Ram and study his face. I’m finally rested enough to address the question that’s been bugging me through my sleep.

“Hungry?” he asks me.

“I’m just trying to decide,” I explain as I look into his eyes, which have this sort of haunted look not so far back. At first it’s almost like he doesn’t want to make eye contact, but then finally he looks squarely back at me, and I’m sure of it.

Guilty.

Of what, though? It’s troubling, because the last conversation we had before this look showed up, was when he offered that I could run away with him if I don’t like my betrothed.

“What?” Ram asks.

Since I need to get to the bottom of this, and since I have a hunch what might be bothering him, I take a guess. “Do you feel guilty about offering to run away with me, because you’d be breaking your deal with my father?” I watch his face closely as I pose the question, but I see no confirmation. Maybe a little at first, but then it fades. Weird.

“I feel guilty,” Ram confirms slowly, but then his voice breaks off and he shakes his head, sincere remorse saturating his expression. “I gave you an option…that’s not really an option.”

As I’m watching him, listening to him, dread and sorrow well up inside me. What’s he saying? Is he saying we can’t run away together after all? I have to marry the dragon king?

Ram pulls out a dagger. Its razor-sharp blade reflects the sun as he raises the edge toward his throat.

At first I’m just watching him, upset yet curious, not really sure what he’s doing, but then he tips his head back and places the blade against the skin just below his beard.

“Ram, no! What are you doing?” I’m about to grab his arm and try to pull it away (not that I can reasonably expect to out-muscle him, but just because I have to do something) when dark hairs fall away.

There’s no blood. I watch, transfixed, as he glides the edge of the dagger up his neck and over his chin.

Long black beard hair drops in thick clumps. His skin underneath is brown like mine, but not quite as brown as the rest of his skin, on his arms and the parts of his face exposed to the sun.

It takes a little while for him to get his beard all shaved off. I watch him, particularly nervous when he shears the hair from his upper lip. As he works, his face is revealed to me one swath at a time. I’ve been curious, ever since he was a talking beard with goggles, to see what his face looks like exposed, without the beard.

Part of me kind of figured maybe he was ugly. Like he wore the beard to cover his face. Maybe he was scarred or had a scrawny chicken-neck he didn’t want people to see.

None of those guesses are correct.

Ram is gorgeous. Think of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, and double it. No, triple it. All I can think is, maybe that’s why he wore the beard—so he wouldn’t have women falling at his feet all the time, or modeling agencies trying to sign him.

But he still looks like Ram.

And he still looks guilty.

I remember, then, what he’d said just before he took out the dagger—that the option he gave me wasn’t really an option.

As soon as he’s finished shaving and puts his dagger back away in its sheath, he explains, “I didn’t expect you to be so happy when I told you we could run away together. I just wanted you to feel like you had an option. I didn’t think you’d actually take it.”

I want to demand he clarify. I want to scream. But my throat feels tight and I figure no amount of screaming or demanding will hasten his explanation.

Ram continues, “When you looked so happy, I realized what I’d done wasn’t fair. It hadn’t occurred to me that you’d actually want me, when you could have a king. And then Ion showed up, twisting words and saying the two of you had made plans—”

“Those were Ion’s plans, Ram. I never agreed to them.”

“I believe you. Ion does that with words sometimes—makes the honest, ugly and the truth, untrue. He can be deceptive. I’ve always resented that about him. But at the same time, I realized—that’s exactly what I’d done, in giving you an option, in saying you could choose between me and the dragon king.”

Ram hangs his head, almost shamefully.

My heart is bludgeoning my insides with its painful pounding. What is Ram trying to say? I’d hung my only hope of happiness on his offer to free me from the marriage agreement I never agreed to. He can’t un-offer it.

But it sounds like that’s precisely what he’s doing.

“Ilsa, I’m sorry. My words have deceived you. And I apologize in advance, because I’m going to break the promise I made to your father. I told him I’d keep this truth a secret above all else, but I see now, secrets are a close cousin to lies, and I won’t have either come between you and me.”

Ram takes my hands and looks at me earnestly. “The truth is, you can’t choose between me and the dragon king. I am the dragon king.”

For a minute or two, I just stare at him. Partly because, did I mention he’s stunning? I’m still getting used to this. I might have to get used to it for a while.

And partly because I’m digesting what he’s said. There’s a distinct disconnect between his tone of apology and my sense of excitement, so I’m trying to rectify those two. “So, you’re apologizing because you’ve misrepresented yourself?”

“Yes.” He looks at me warily, with maybe a twinge of hope behind his blue eyes.

“But the truth is, I’m engaged to marry you?”

“Yes.” The twinge of hope grows.

“So, how do you feel about that?” I’m still trying to get to the root of his apologetic tone. So far I’ve only found good news.

Something wistful crosses his face, almost like a happy memory has just gone dancing through his thoughts, and I can see it if I look deep enough in his eyes.

“I want to marry you,” he acknowledges. “I’m just not sure how you feel, marrying a crusty cave-dwelling dragon-lizard.”

For a second I don’t know what to say. Those were my words, weren’t they? Pretty much spot on. “You,” I start, gesturing broadly with one arm and drinking in the sight of him, “I want to marry.”

That wistful happy look grows.

I continue, “But, I mean, you’re the dragon king, valiant fighter, treasure trove hoarder, and all that. Surely you have females lining up—”

“None of my exact species.”

His words are a reminder of why we’re marrying. There’s just me for him. It’s me or nothing. Which makes me feel slightly sad on his behalf. He has to marry me, the least of all the princesses at Saint Evangeline’s. “Are you disappointed?”

“Why would I be?” Now he looks sincerely confused.

“You thought you were getting a dragon princess, but it’s just me.”

The confusion is replaced by something like offense, like somebody’s insulted his favorite cut of beef. “Just you?”

“I’m not very princess-like,” I hasten to explain. “And I’m not much of a dragon, either. I wave my arms when I fly. And I can’t breathe fire.” I could elaborate about my defects, about my weird-colored eyes, and my solid build which always made the scale-reading school nurse shake her head in dismay, and the fact that Ram is so much better than I am at so many things, but he’s shaking his head emphatically and holding my hands.

“I didn’t want you to be like those fragile princesses in the brochure about Saint Evangeline’s. And you fly amazingly well for your first time out—you flew across the whole Black Sea on your first try.”

“I floated most of the way. That’s rather cheating, I suppose.”

He ignores my correction, “You’re more than I dared to dream of, Ilsa. How many princesses would butcher in a refrigerator for twelve hours a day, all summer long? I love the way you try, even when you can’t see how something’s going to work. And how you fight for the things you believe in, like your right to go home. And the way you eat a steak.” Ram gets this sort of hungry look on his face. “I love the way you look when you eat a steak.”

“I love eating steak.”

“I love that you love it.” Ram looks like he might say more, but I’ve heard enough. I’m ready to go.

Now.

“Right.” I can’t quite smile or jump up and down gleefully on account of that disconnect, and also because I did that yesterday when he offered that I could run away with him, and then Ion jumped out and tried to kill Ram and kidnap me, so I’m keeping my reaction subdued this time, and also I’m still maybe a tiny twinge in denial. “We need to get going.”