Vixen (9 page)

About a hundred thoughts bombard my poor, neurotoxified brain, and none of them are good.

The first is that Eudora said we have ten days, and then she’s coming for us. Ion promised he’d bring me back, but if he doesn’t, well, I heard what happened to my brothers and Nia when Eudora sent her yagi after them. They could barely get away, the three of them, flying and fighting halfway around the world. And I’m injured. I can’t even turn into a dragon yet. I can barely lift my head.

So that’s bad.

But even more than that, I’m struck by Ion’s words. He’s a liar? Am I supposed to believe that? If he’s a liar, what can I ever believe from him? Is he lying to me when he says he’s not going to turn me over to Eudora, or was he only lying to her?

What’s real and what’s not? My arm still hurts, and I’m scared, and the only person on the planet who knows where I am has just confessed he’s a liar who cannot be trusted.

But more than the liar bit, which turns my thoughts in on themselves and makes me doubt everything that’s happened up to this moment, there’s the overwhelming sadness and regret in Ion’s voice. He doesn’t want to be a liar, but he keeps lying.

And the weird thing is, on top of everything, and in spite of all these doubts and questions that are overwhelming me, I trust him.

Seriously, that neurotoxin must have deranged me.

I’ve been told all my life that Ion is deceitful and cunning and evil, and all that.

And now he’s told me to my face he’s a liar who cannot be trusted.

But I trust him. Or I want to trust him. I think I can trust him.

Did he put a spell on me?

But if he put a spell on me to trust him, why would he then turn around and confess he can’t be trusted?

Deranged, indeed.

“I should hunt us up something to eat.” Ion turns away like he’s going to leave.

“No, please.” I can’t let him go now. He can’t just drop a bomb like that and then flee. “I’m thirsty.”

“Here.” He hands me a cup of water.

I drink, then examine the cup, which is carved from wood, the inside smooth, the outside engraved with intricate patterns of swirls and curled leafy things. “Where did you get this?”

“I made it. You needed to drink and I didn’t have a cup.” He shrugs. “I haven’t had much else to do, besides changing the compress on your arm.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Did you need more water, or shall I go hunt?”

“More water, please.” I hand over the cup, then watch him as he goes to fill it. He’s barefoot, but he must have grabbed his clothes before we left his castle, because he’s still wearing a rumpled version of his outfit from four days ago.

There’s a stream just past us, and he returns with the cup full of cool water.

I sip slowly. The cup holds ten, maybe twelve ounces. I want Ion to stay and talk with me. Can I use the water as an excuse to keep him here? And what can I say, after what he told me?

Eying him over the rim of the cup, I can only speak the words that have been screaming inside my head. “I trust you.”

Ion looks truly startled. “Didn’t your parents warn you about me?”

“Yes.”

He was standing, poised to leave, but now he sits back down on the ground beside me. He closes his eyes and makes a pained face, but then he looks at me and shakes his head. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I know you better than anyone else alive right now.” It sounds like a crazy claim, especially when you consider I’ve only spent one evening with him, but then again, Jala and Xalil said no one ever comes or goes from that castle. And anyway, if I’m wrong, he’d have to tell me who knows him better, so even then, I’ll learn something.

Ion opens his mouth to protest, but only sputters, “You don’t—”

His words get choked off before they’re even half spoken.

Something like hope rises deliriously inside me. “I’m right, aren’t I? No one alive knows you as well as I do, and I trust you.”

“You can’t possibly.” Ion’s words come out strangled. He clears his throat and speaks more assuredly. “You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.”

I sip again, telling my excited heart to just stay calm. This isn’t like the piano duet, where if I get caught up in doing well, I can mess up and Ion will help me get back on track again. I can’t afford a misstep. “Tell me why not.”

“Why what?”

“Why shouldn’t I trust you?”

“It’s absurd. Ask your parents. I nearly killed your father.”

“You didn’t mean to.” I paraphrase whatever he told me earlier. Was that a lie? I watch his face carefully. Even the best liars have to give some sign they’re fibbing, don’t they?

Ion’s nose twitches. “Don’t.” He gives me a look that’s…pleading? “Don’t trust me more than your parents. They love you and want what’s best for you.”

“So do you.” Somehow I maintain eye contact and keep my voice from faltering.

For a second, Ion’s eyes do this thing where his pupils dilate, like a whisper of happiness has fluttered past and he could almost catch it. But then he blinks and looks away. “I will fail you. You’re hurt because of me. You almost died. The yagi—”

“You saved my life.”

He turns back to me, one palm moving toward my face.

For an instant, I’m sure he’s going to cup my cheek or trace my chin with his finger, or some other tender gesture, but his hand freezes inches from me, and he pulls back.

“We’re not having this conversation. I need to hunt us something to eat.”

He stalks away.

I let him go. To be honest, I can barely lift the cup to my lips with my good arm. I doubt I could stand on my own, let alone go after him.

Besides, I need to process what I just learned. Everything Ion said, his claim to be a liar, and all that, is in conflict with what I sense to be true. He doesn’t want me to care about him, but at the same time, I’m sure he cares about me.

I mean, the dude flew me all the way here and has stayed by my side, barely sleeping, to try to save my life. He doesn’t owe me that. I already told him my parents didn’t know where I went or what I was doing. He could have let me die and no one would have come after him (granted, he would probably have to shut Jala up, but if he was really evil, that wouldn’t be difficult).

He’s doing everything he can to save me. And it makes me think (yes, I know this sounds crazy, but I feel it so strongly) that he’s trying to protect me from something awful.

That’s why he shut me out on the balcony, and then made me leave his castle in a big hurry. He’s trying to protect me from something terrible, something even more deadly than the yagi, maybe even more deadly than Eudora.

But what?

I puzzle it over a long time, testing my limbs, easing out the kinks in my neck, wondering. Ion is gone a long time, so long that I start to worry. What’s he hunting, anyway? The only animals I can see are lemurs, and I can’t imagine eating one of those. They’re too cute, for one thing. And aren’t they a protected species? Besides, they’re too small to make a decent meal for me and Ion.

I’ve finished off the water and I’m starting to get thirsty again when finally, I hear Ion return.

As he steps into sight, a big dead fish slung over his shoulder, I finally make the connection.

Yes, Ion is trying to protect me from some deadly threat, from something he fears could hurt me terribly.

But it isn’t the yagi or Eudora.

It’s him.

“I couldn’t bring myself to kill a lemur, so I had to go out to sea.” Ion drops the fish on the leaves next to me. He looks utterly exhausted.

“You’re a good man.”

“No, I’m not.” He sinks to his knees next to the fish, sprouts dragon claws on his right hand, and guts the fish before slicing off a good slab of meat and holding it out to me. “It’s not gourmet. I don’t even think we dare cook it, for fear someone will see our fire. This island is surprisingly densely populated. We’re in a remote area, but it’s not far—”

“Raw is fine.” I cut off his apology. His voice sounds weak, even defeated.

For a while, we eat in mostly silence. Ion speaks only to offer me water and more fish. He eats as though he’s famished, which I suppose he is if he flew me here, then stayed by my side to change the wrap on my arm every two hours.

While I’m still eating, he shuffles closer to me with more flowers. “I should refresh your compress again. Your condition has improved tremendously, but I still think we need to keep up the treatment regimen.”

There’s little I can do but hold still while he changes the compress, watching him as he tenderly wraps swaths of yellow silk around the crushed flowers. His touch is gentle.

“You’re not evil,” I whisper when he glances at my face.

He looks away immediately. “It seems there are several points I need to clarify between us.” He’s talking to me, but not looking at me. Instead, he busily cleans the rest of the fish, sharing the last of the meat while he disposes of the bones and skin. “You said you came to me because there are no other eligible male dragons, but that is not entirely true. Your father’s and grandfather’s kingdoms have always been secluded, isolated, cut off from both the human and dragon worlds. I did not realize until you said that there were no other dragons, that you might be unaware of the other dragons in the world.”

I’ve stopped eating and I’m staring at Ion. What is he saying? Is he saying there are more dragons we don’t know about? Dragons none of the other dragons we know, know about?

Or is he lying? He told me he’s a liar. Can I believe him? I’m not sure what to think. My neurons have been toxified. I don’t even know if I can trust my own thoughts.

“Other dragons?” I echo when he falls silent.

“Yes.” He glances at me for the first time, but it’s a quick look, and then his eyes are on the fish carcass again. “Other dragons. So you see, when you said you need me, when you claimed you and I—” He coughs a strained cough, then continues hastily. “We don’t need each other. You don’t need me.”

“What other dragons. Where?”

Ion has the fish mostly cleaned up now, the bones wrapped in the skin, which he chucks some distance away through the jungle. Now he’s just picking little bits of fish guts off the leaves as though I could possibly care about fish guts at a time like this.

Just as I’m starting to think he’s lied to me and has nothing to back up his claim, he offers, “It’s difficult to explain.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Start with the other dragons. Pick a dragon. How do you know—when was the last time you saw them? Where do they live?”

Ion eases into a sitting position a few feet from me. He’s still picking at the leaves, though if there are still any fish guts there, they’re microscopic. I think he just doesn’t feel comfortable making eye-contact right now.

“I was ten years old when World War One began. Even before the war, the nations of the world were taking sides. Not just the human nations—the dragon nations, too. At the time, my parents believed I was too young.” Ion shrugs. “They told me only what they thought I needed to know.”

“How many dragons were there?” I ask when his words slow to a long stop.

“I don’t know. If I’d have realized how quickly our world would change, I would have demanded more information. But no one foresaw the scope of what was happening. I don’t think even my parents recognized what was coming until it was too late.”

Ion lifts his face and blinks at the treetops, swallowing several times before continuing. “There were spies, counter-spies, double agents, double-cloaked spies.”

“Double-cloaked?”

“Known only by aliases upon aliases, cover stories to cover their cover stories. Espionage, smoke and mirrors, facts married in unholy union with illusion. Who was dragon and who was human? Unless you saw their eyes, you could not know for sure. And they had ways of disguising their eyes. Goggles and glasses and masks and hoods. Even contacts lenses only slightly more rudimentary than the kind you wear.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t know who the dragons were? Then how do you know—?”

“You saw the scars on my back?” Ion interrupts me. His voice is no longer so sad, but slightly defensive.

“Yes.”

“I was in dragon form when I received those. Where did they come from? Sword? Steel?” His Russian accent has grown thicker.

“Only dragon claws and dragon horns can pierce dragon scales.”

“Precisely.”

“Who gave you those?”

Ion leans back on his hands, face to the treetops, eyes closed.

I watch him, breath bated, waiting for his answer. He is telling the truth, isn’t he? I saw his injuries up close, felt them under my fingers as I massaged his back. They were deep cuts originally, not just surface scratches. If he’d been in human form, the injuries would have surely killed him. So he must be telling the truth.

“I have read accounts of what happened in those fatal minutes.” Ion’s words sound weary. “Forensic scientists have pieced together the story based on analysis of the site, remains of the royal family, and accounts of witnesses who were there. They make it sound so simple. Shots were fired. Nicholas was the first to die. The girls were wearing diamonds sewn into the bodices of their dresses—they suffered for that. Instead of dying from a few clean shots, they had to be speared with bayonets.”