“I saw her again, sitting atop an outcrop, her legs dangling over the edge. She looked so young sitting there, so mortal, that it might’ve been possible to mistake her for one us. A little hard, however, with the golden crown of thorns and red flowers atop her head or the look in her gaze, the intensity in it. I followed that gaze of hers…and found it watching Alfor as he soared overhead. I wonder if he has ever noticed that the Spirit of the Mountain watches him.”
- Excerpt from Litania’s diary
Chapter 35
The party seemed in full swing with no sign of slowing when Wren excused herself from the chaos, telling Lorca she needed some air. He came with her, though she suspected that had more to do with not being willing to leave her alone. In fact, he remained by her side, almost too much but at least with him there her mind wasn’t completely focused on Claudius. He held open the door for her, out to the small garden where lanterns were lit and hung from trees. Mercifully, there was no one about, so she was free to sit down on one of the benches and tilt her face to the sky.
“You seemed to like dancing,” remarked Lorca.
She kept looking at the stars but found herself smiling. “That sounds like jealousy.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Her gaze fell, found him watching her with that dark gaze of his. Neither of them spoke, a game playing out before them, which one would break first. Wren dug her heels in.
“What if I wanted to be the one dancing with you?”
Wren tilted her head to the side. “Do you want to dance with me, really? The last time we were that close you almost kissed me and ran off. I don’t want to dance with you if you’re just going to run off after.”
The mention of their kiss darkened his gaze to near black. He had wanted to kiss her but with their deal hanging over them he’d been reluctant. What had changed? She’d danced with a stranger, albeit a handsome one whom spun magic with her and seemed dizzyingly familiar.
He closed the distance until he stood before her, forcing her to look up to meet his gaze. There was fire in his eyes, blazing and bright.
“I shouldn’t be drawn to you,” he quietly admitted. “When all this is over you would be expected to bond with another Avalon dragon, not a Dragonair.”
Defiance fanned a flame inside of Wren. Her whole life had been spent proving others wrong. There were some whom said a girl could not be the fastest on the cliffs, couldn’t lead a group, couldn’t be a teacher. There had been expectations she would marry at eighteen. Vaughn had been an option, encouraged by some, refused by others. Part of her had almost married him to spite people but she knew that wasn’t the right way to go about it.
“Shouldn’t I get to decide that?” She replied heatedly. “Who said you get to choose for me or that someone else does?”
He closed his eyes, as though some invisible weight was bearing down on his shoulders and when he sat. “You were right. I was jealous – no, am jealous. I wanted to ask you to a dance, your first dance.”
It wasn’t surprising to hear his words; really, she knew he had feelings for her…but the depth of them, that surprised her. Before, around the kiss, it had been a matter of attraction. Now, he was protective of her, jealously so. She glanced at him, saw him staring down at his hands now. Back on the mountain he’d been sure of himself, guarding ruins, then she’d come along and ripped him away from all that.
She got up and stepped in front of him, holding out her hand. Slowly, his gaze lifted, lingering a little on her hand before rising the rest of the way, confusion furrowing his brow.
“Why don’t we dance now, whilst we have time?”
In truth she was doing it mainly to stop herself from running off into the city to free her sister. That’s what she told herself, anyway. Then his hand slid into hers as he stood up and his other hand curled around her waist. A shiver trembled down her spine as they stepped back into the garden. There was no magic this time to guide her feet, only the distant chime of music that spilt out onto the garden, swirling around them.
Yet for the quietness that encircled them it felt infinitely more intimate than when the magic had spun between Claudius and her. There might not have been that feeling of familiarity, as though she knew his every step before he made it. As they swayed softly to the music she felt herself ease a little and she drew close, resting her cheek against his chest as they danced. She followed his lead as they swayed on the grass and took several slow spins. It was safe within his embrace, calming.
“I can’t leave my sister in that place,” said Wren softly. “I wish I was bolder here but I find myself hesitating at every step. I don’t like the feeling.”
“We are both far from that which is familiar to us,” he murmured. “I wish nothing more than to go to your sister and remove her at once, though from what Helena tells me, that might cause larger issues for us to obtain information about your people.”
Wren was silent for a moment. She barely trusted Helena but she was in a position where she had to, regardless of any sentiment. It was unnerving to say the least.
“Do you trust her?” Wren asked, pulling back so she could look into his eyes.
He peered down, his eyes dark, piercing. “No but I do not trust easily.”
“You trust me,” she replied.
The corner of his mouth twitched, a mouth she found herself repeatedly looking at, wondering.
“Should I not trust you?”
She snorted and half-heartedly pulled away, only to be yanked back to his chest. The air rushed from her lungs, her heart thumping nervously against her ribs. Her gaze met his, unable to look away. It made her think of that kiss they almost had, how they shouldn’t cross that line. If anything soured between them, they were still bound to each other, intertwined by an oath that would keep their lives locked for some time. By all rights kissing him was a truly terrible idea. They both knew it but neither of them pulled away; though, for that moment, they didn’t draw closer either. It seemed as though a silent battle was playing out between them; whom would break first, either pulling away or closing the distance, remained to be seen. A battle of wills.
“Wren! Lorca!”
Helena’s voice cut like a blade through the moment, severing it completely. They jumped apart, turning to Helena as crossed the garden to them, resplendent and striking in her golden gown. She looked like a queen, her bearing nothing less than royalty.
“The party is to end shortly. Please, come with me. It is time,” she said, gesturing for them to follow.
There was no one else in the drawing room that Helena brought them to; within the finely furnished room Wren took a seat on one of the plush chairs, seated by a low burning fire. Lorca chose to stand but he lingered by the side of her chair, half turned himself to the fire. Helena said she would be back shortly and she left them alone again. The fire crackled softly, filling the silence.
Wren grew restless again and she stood, pacing before the fire. She liked the heat washing over her, soaking into her bones. It calmed her, though just barely.
“Wren-“ Lorca began but Wren cut him off.
“Don’t shut me out.” Her voice was soft, scarcely above a whisper, more pleading than she wanted – or liked.
He blinked. “What?”
“You almost kissed me before and you shut me out.” She glanced to the fire, folding her arms over her chest. “I need you.”
It seemed like an eternity in silence as Lorca remained silent. Her gaze lifted from the fire, found him studying her, his gaze frustratingly hard to read. It seemed the only time she knew what he wanted was when he had that naked desire for her; beyond that, it was tricky.
“I swore an oath,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She stiffened at the mentioned of his oath. That promise stretched between them like a great divide, seemingly impossible to cross. “The Dragonairs…of course.”
As she went to look at the fire again, feeling cold inside, his hand slipped under her chin and gently drew her focus back to him. There was fire in his eyes, quietly burning.
“I asked that because I wanted you to see my world, to see me as more than just a damaged man – now I know what you are I want to bring the dragons back to the mountains,” he said with fire in his words, a promise bound in them.
Her heart stuttered in her chest. Oh. As she swallowed his words, she caught on one and frowned. She drew back a little, his hand falling away.
“I don’t see you as damaged. I never have,” she replied. “Did you think I did?”
“I didn’t know,” he replied honestly. “I didn’t see how you couldn’t. I can’t even hold this form without magic to help me and I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of that curse. I struggle to be around all these people, to act charmingly like that pretty lord, to be that. I have spent so much time as a beast I don’t know how to be whom I was before – if I even can.”
Finally, as he looked at her, she saw that raw vulnerability. He was just as lost and floundering as she was; they both had little confidence in their own identity. Shame flooded Wren. She should’ve seen, should’ve known. Hell, he’d been in dragon form for three hundred years…of course there would be side effects other than just being unable to hold his human form for long periods.
Gods, how blind had she been?
She opened her mouth to say something – anything, really – but the door opened behind them; with it, Helena returned, leading in two finely dressed men – one being Claudius himself – and woman, just as ornately dressed. Claudius registered her presence first, that piercing gaze taking immediate note of how close Lorca stood to her, the look in Lorca’s eyes. His shuttered gaze betrayed only a mild interest as he sat down with the woman, whom took note of Wren and Lorca with equal curiosity. She was demure looking, a quiet presence about her, with calm brown eyes and black hair elaborately braided atop her head.
Finally, Wren studied the new man, whom was looking at Lorca with keen interest in his dark eyes. Where Lorca was hard with his features and dark hair this man was the opposite; white-blonde hair tied at the nape of his neck for a long pony tail that ran down his back. He had a soft face, youthful…and Wren realised that his ears were faintly pointed. Elf blood ran through his veins.
“Introductions are in order,” began Helena. “Lorca, Wren, please meet the charming Lady Amelia Claremont and her fiancé, Lord Othello Parthenon.” Helena glanced at Claudius. “Wren, you’ve already met Claudius I hear.”
Wren dipped her chin. “Briefly. We danced.”
“A dance and agreeing to attend this little discussion? My, how honoured we are,” drawled Amelia.
Claudius flashed a roguish grin, the very same one that made something in her chest tighten painfully. She shrank back closer to Lorca until her back touched his chest. An act that wasn’t missed at all by Claudius, whose smile she swore tightened.
“I felt tonight was the auspicious night to appear – it seems I was right. A dragon and a Dragonair in my presence. I feel a little dull,” he replied seamlessly.
Othello snorted. “No one could accuse you of being dull.”
Claudius smiled, flashing his teeth, looking downright predatory. “Jealous, Othello?”
Helena stepped between them, holding her hands up for peace. Her face pinched with exasperation as she glanced between everyone, a look of warning that seemed to silence both Othello and Claudius. The latter was still grinning, his eyes gleaming, as if to say, make me.
“We all came here tonight because we’re here for the same thing – to free this city and light the flame of rebellion,” declared Helena, her gaze blazing fiercely. “I now have eight of the thirteen district lords in allegiance, with one more agreeing pending Kathrine’s heir appears.”
Oh hells, thought Wren. They’d walked right into a gods damned revolution…
Claudius laughed softly. “That is what we truly are resting on now, isn’t it? You never could find anyone to unite us, so you’d have us place our bets on a girl that’s probably dead in a ditch.”
Helena nodded and her hand slipped into the folds of her dress, lifting out a small velvet pouch. She gently tugged the string securing it loose and tipped the pouch so that a tiny amulet slipped out. Amelia suddenly leaned forward, her eyes widening and Othello let out a soft curse. Helena held up the amulet by its leather string and the feint blue glow lit the room.
“This lit up days ago and has grown stronger – she’s getting closer. Kathrine’s heir is almost here.” Helena looked to all the faces in the room, settling on Wren. “The time has come.”
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