Gwennore had counted at least five voices. They weren’t speaking Norveshki, but something akin to the language of Woodwyn. Who are you? she asked mentally in Elfish.
She is Elf.
Why is she in the land of barbarians?
My name is Gwennore. May I ask—
“Are you communicating with someone?” General Dravenko asked, as he approached the railing where she was standing.
She gave him a curious look. “You’re not hearing them, Lord General?”
“Call me Silas,” he whispered. “What do you mean—them? How many are there?”
“I’ve counted more than five. Some are male, and others female.”
“I’m hearing only half of the conversation—your half. You were using Elfish. Have some elves invaded my country?”
“I don’t think so.” Gwennore turned her attention back to the forest. May I ask who you are?
We are many.
We are the Kings.
Kings of the Forest.
You mean you’re … trees? Gwennore asked.
“Trees?” The general gave her an incredulous look. “Are you seriously—”
She lifted a hand to stop him when the voices continued.
Do not confuse us with the twigs. They are not sentient.
We are the Kings.
We tower over the twigs.
Then I will find you in the forest? Gwennore asked mentally. Where?
You cannot miss us.
We stretch from the Southern Sea of Woodwyn to the far reaches of the frozen north.
We are taller than the castles built by barbarians.
We are older than the Ancient Ones.
Who are the Ancient Ones? Gwennore asked.
The first dragons who flourished a thousand years ago.
They were destroyed five hundred years ago.
Replaced by the new dragons.
“Is this a game you’re playing on me?” the general interrupted with a worried look. “Are you getting revenge? Or did you have so much wine, you’re imagining—”
“I’m not drunk,” Gwennore muttered. “And I’m not making it up. They call themselves the Kings of the Forest. They say they are taller than castles and older than the Ancient Ones. Do you know of any extremely tall trees?”
His eyes narrowed. “The giant redwoods?”
“Are they tall?”
He nodded. “And rumored to be ancient. But they’re trees, for Light’s sake. I never thought they could speak. Are you sure you’re communicating with them?”
She turned back to the forest. How is it possible for me to hear you?
Are you Elf?
You must be Elf.
Only a few Elves can hear us.
I am Elf, Gwennore admitted.
You are far from home.
Are you the giant redwoods? she asked.
That is what the barbarians call us.
They are young and ignorant. They know not what they do.
“They are the redwoods,” Gwennore told the general.
He took a deep breath. “Then you’re really talking to trees. I would have never believed it possible.”
“They said only a few elves can communicate with them.”
“But you can hear dragons, too,” he muttered.
“I’ll ask about that.” Kings of the Forest, do you know of any Elves who can talk to the dragons?
No. Elves talk only to us.
Some of the barbarians can talk to the dragons.
Only the cursed barbarians.
The general leaned close. “What did they say?”
“According to the redwoods, the only ones who can communicate with the dragons are the cursed barbarians.”
His brows lifted. “Barbarians?”
She smiled sweetly. “That’s what they call you, my lord.”
He snorted. “When are you going to call me Silas?”
“You’re missing the point here, my lord. You can stop worrying that the elves are able to communicate with your precious dragons.”
“That is a relief.” He gave her a wry look. “Although I’m still dealing with one very stubborn elf, who refuses to say my name, but can communicate with both dragons and trees.”
“I could hear you, too, if you dropped your shield.”
He tilted his head, watching her carefully. “You said we wouldn’t be even unless you could hear my thoughts. Is that what it’ll take to ease your anger? Shall I let you hear me?”
Her breath caught. Was he serious?
“I’m very serious. But I should warn you. I’m not a tree.”
What does that mean? she wondered. That he has the thoughts of a man?
He nodded. “Are you willing to hear exactly how much I want you?”
With a gasp, she stepped back. “Don’t say that.”
“Then learn how to build a shield. Because the more I listen to your thoughts, the more I’m tempted to do every damned thing I’ve been imagining. And believe me, I’m barbarian enough to do it.”
Her cheeks blazed with heat as she turned away. Don’t think about him.
What is bothering you, Elf?
The redwoods were still hearing her, Gwennore thought. And the general and his friends. And the dragons. If she didn’t construct a shield, she would never have privacy again. “All right, my lord. I’ll do it.”
“Silas,” he growled.
She felt as if she were sinking. Drowning. “Silas.”
* * *
Gwennore was exhausted, both physically and mentally, by the time they arrived at Draven Castle. Her rear end ached from another long ride on a horse, and her mind was tired from constantly building a wall. The act, itself, was easy enough to do. She only had to imagine herself constructing a wall, brick by brick, around her thoughts. The problem was she was never quite sure if she was doing a proper job, so she kept building it over and over.
Silas had assured her he could no longer hear her thoughts, but the scoundrel hadn’t exactly proven himself trustworthy. She’d found herself calling him a bastard every five minutes just to see if he reacted.
They’d spent the rest of the trip coming up with plans, and they hoped to get started soon. When they dismounted in the courtyard of Draven Castle, Dimitri met them there and told Silas that His Majesty wanted to speak to him.
“I’ll take care of your guest,” a woman’s voice called out as she hurried across the courtyard.
Gwennore turned toward her. She looked perhaps fifty years of age, with gray streaks in her red hair and a few wrinkles on her brow and around her eyes. But she was still slender and moved quickly. She flashed a smile at Gwennore, then stopped next to the general.
“Margosha.” Silas greeted her with kiss on the cheek. “We’ll talk later.”
“Yes, don’t leave the king waiting.” She waved him off, then turned to Gwennore. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
“Pleased to meet you, my lady.” Gwennore curtsied.
“No need for formalities. Please call me Margosha.” She linked an arm through Gwennore’s and led her toward the entrance to the southern wing. “So did you return the little princess?”
“Yes, Eviana is back with her parents.”
“Excellent.” Margosha lowered her voice. “Thank you for coming back. We need all the help we can get.”
“I’m concerned about you tasting Her Majesty’s food and drink. It could be dangerous.”
Margosha’s eyes softened. “You’re a sweet girl. But I believe you’re the brave one. Silas told me how you hitched a ride with a dragon.”
Gwennore snorted. “Not that brave. I was clinging to Puff for dear life.”
“Puff?”
“The dragon who saved me and brought me here.”
“You named him Puff?” Margosha’s mouth twitched. “I can’t imagine him liking that.”
“You know him?”
“Of course. Come. Let me show you to your room.” Margosha led her toward the double doors.
Gwennore glanced back at the western wing. “I was over there before. In the nursery.”
“Yes, but you’re not playing the role of a nanny this time.” Margosha opened the doors. “I had all your clothing moved over here.”
“I see.” Gwennore followed her up a flight of stairs. This wing was much more decorated than the western one. Portraits lined the walls, and every now and then a small table was topped with a vase full of flowers.
“The royal apartments and those of all the ladies-in-waiting are here in the southern wing,” Margosha explained as she led her down a corridor. “It’s warmer and Her Majesty enjoys having a view of the garden.”
Gwennore nodded. She would need to investigate the garden. Whoever was poisoning the queen could be using some of the plants that were growing there.
“You must be tired from the journey. A nice hot bath is what you need.” Margosha opened a carved wooden door on the left. “I’m afraid it’s not one of the best rooms. You’ll only have a view of the courtyard.”
“That’s quite all right.” Gwennore stepped inside and her mouth dropped open. The bedchamber was huge and richly furnished. The bed, with four massive posts of carved oak, was set up on a dais and surrounded by curtains of shimmering red silk. A coverlet of red velvet spread across the wide expanse of the bed.
Across from the bed, a fire burned in a hearth of polished pink marble. Two chairs, upholstered in red velvet, sat in front of the hearth. Between the two chairs, a delicately carved wooden table rested, topped with a vase of pink glass that held a dozen red roses.
“Will it do?” Margosha asked.
“It’s beautiful,” Gwen murmured as her slippers sank into a thick red carpet.
Margosha smiled. “I’m so glad you like it.” She motioned to the red velvet curtains across the room. “The windows overlooking the courtyard are there. Now, let me show you the dressing room.” She strode toward a door to the left of the hearth.
Inside, Gwennore gawked at the size of the marble tub. Across from it, shelves lined a wall.
“I put all your gowns and clothing there.” Margosha motioned to the shelves, then to a dressing table. “And I made sure you would have everything you need.”
“Thank you.” Gwennore ran her fingers over a silver hairbrush and toothbrush.
“I heated up some water for you.” Margosha lifted a kettle off a small stove, then poured it into the tub. Steam rose into the air. “Your maid will keep this stove hot, so you can have hot water whenever you want.”
“My maid?”
Margosha nodded. “Nissa asked to be your maid. Is that all right?”
“Yes.” Gwennore turned on a faucet and marveled at the water that gushed into the tub. “This is so amazing.”
“You don’t have that in Eberon?”
Gwennore shook her head.
“It’s nice, but unfortunately, the water is always cold.” Margosha filled the kettle again and placed it on the stove. “Shall I call Nissa for you?”
“I can manage, if you’ll help with the laces.”
“Of course.” Margosha motioned for her to turn around. “Did you know I was there when Sorcha was born? She was such a beautiful baby.”
Gwennore sighed. “She’s still beautiful.” And I miss her already.
“Did Silas get to see her?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.” Margosha tsked. “You poor thing. Your back is bruised.”
“It happened when Puff caught me.”
“You need a nice long soak. There, finished.”
“Thank you.” Gwennore slipped out of her gown and draped it on the back of the chair by her dressing table.
“I’ll leave you alone then.” Margosha headed for the bedchamber door. “And I’ll send Nissa to you in about an hour.”
“Thank you.” Gwennore noticed another door on the far side of the shelves. “Where does that door lead to?”
Margosha paused halfway into Gwennore’s bedchamber. “Another dressing room. It belongs to Silas, of course.”
“What?” Gwennore stiffened.
“His bedchamber is next door to yours,” Margosha explained with an amused look on her face. “It’s the best way to convince everyone that you’re lovers.”
“But—but we’re not.” Gwennore ran over to the door. There was no lock! She turned back to Margosha, but the woman had left.
Good goddesses. Gwennore cracked open the door. It was dark inside. She closed it, then wedged a chair under the knob. Then she shoved the dressing table up against the door.
With a wary glance at the blocked door, she slipped out of her shift. Her skin pebbled with gooseflesh, and she glanced down at herself. Her breasts felt full and heavy, the nipples tightened into hard buds. Because she was cold, she thought. Not because she was wondering what Silas would think of her.
Are you willing to hear exactly how much I want you? His words echoed in her mind.
She unbraided her hair and let the long, white-blond tresses hang loose to her narrow waist. Lovers.
Don’t think about him.
She climbed into the tub and sighed as the heated water caressed her skin.
I’m tempted to do every damned thing I’ve been imagining.
She shuddered. No doubt Silas had a very healthy imagination. She glanced at the blocked door.
What would happen if she left the door open? Did she dare?
Chapter Eleven
Silas and Dimitri headed across the courtyard for the king’s offices in the northern wing.
“I can’t hear Lady Gwennore’s thoughts anymore,” Dimitri whispered. “You must have taught her how to build a shield.”
Silas nodded.
“Then you must have told her we could hear her thoughts.” Dimitri jumped in front of him and looked him over. “No black eyes? She didn’t clobber you?”
Silas gave his friend an annoyed look. “Did you see anything today?”
“Changing the subject, huh? So how pissed was she?”
Enough to torment Silas with images of her sitting in his lap and caressing his face. She’d nearly killed him. “She took it well.”
Dimitri snorted. “Right. So how much did you have to grovel?” He snickered when Silas punched him on the shoulder.
“Did you see anything?” Silas asked again.
Dimitri nodded. “Someone sneaked away from the Eberoni camp and crossed the border, making his way north. He looked like a priest.”
Silas narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think Leofric sent him. Not when he was able to pass a message to King Petras directly through me.” And if Leofric didn’t send him, then who did?
“I’ll keep watch to see whom the priest contacts.” Dimitri opened the door to the northern wing and glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Why did Aleksi go to the army camp? Are you expecting a problem with the elves?”
Silas stepped inside. “He’s bringing Annika here.”
Dimitri froze for a moment, then slammed the door shut with more force than necessary. “Why?”
“She’s trustworthy and has a good supply of medicinal herbs.” Silas gave his friend a sympathetic look. “It can’t be helped. I made a deal with the king and I have to deliver.”
Dimitri sighed. “Fine.”
Silas strode toward his brother’s offices with Dimitri trudging along beside him. “If Lord Romak is there, keep him busy. I don’t want him eavesdropping.”
Dimitri nodded.
When they stepped into the outer office, Lord Romak looked up from his desk and pasted a fake smile on his weasel-like face.
“His Majesty wants to see me,” Silas said.
Lord Romak stood and bowed. “I am aware of that, Lord General.” His beady eyes narrowed. “I heard you brought the elfin woman back with you.”
“Of course.” Silas smiled. “Lady Gwennore and I are inseparable.”
Lord Romak slanted a sly look at Dimitri. “I wonder if your dear friend Colonel Tolenko approves. A
fter all, his uncle was probably murdered by those vicious elves.”
Dimitri stiffened. “If my uncle is indeed dead, then he died in service to his country, and his memory should be honored.”
“Of course.” Lord Romak folded his hands over his stomach, his numerous rings sparkling in the dim candlelight as he bowed low.
Silas knocked on the door to his brother’s office, then entered.
Petras looked up from his desk. “You’re back.” He set down his quill and rose to his feet while Silas made a quick bow. “So you returned the princess?”
“Yes.” Silas removed two letters he’d secreted inside his leather vest. “These are from the kings, Leofric and Ulfrid. They were both very grateful for the child’s safe return.”
Petras circled his desk and reached for the letters. “Then they don’t know that I’m the one responsible for the kidnapping.”
“No. I told them it was a rogue dragon.”
Petras unfolded the first letter and read it, then the second one. “They want peace and prosperity for all the people of our countries.”
Silas nodded. “Today’s act went a long way toward ensuring them that we want the same thing.”
With a sigh, Petras dropped the letters on his desk. “But it’s not what Fafnir wants.”
Not this again. Silas gritted his teeth. It had taken him an hour last night to convince his brother that following the dictates of a dragon were not in his best interests. “You’re the king here. You know what’s best for your people, and it certainly isn’t war. We can’t afford to lose any more of our population.”
Petras rubbed his brow. “But the curse—”
“I told you.” Silas stepped closer to him. “I will get rid of it. Give me one month. That’s all I ask.”
“You’ll make Freya healthy again?”
“Yes.” Silas nodded. “I’m bringing together a team of the best healers I can find. Trust me, brother.”
Petras regarded him sadly. “I do trust you. But Fafnir doesn’t. He thinks you want the throne for yourself.”
“I was raised to be a soldier, not a king. I won’t let you down, Petras.”
The king sighed. “One month, then. That was our agreement. Get rid of the curse. Make Freya well again. But if you fail—”
“I know.” Silas clenched his fists. “We’ll do as Fafnir wants.”
Eight Simple Rules for Dating a Dragon Page 14