by Grace Draven
She nodded, quick to obey him, and soon they were soaring above the trees, skimming wisps of low-hanging clouds. Leida rode astride his neck, legs curled against his spine as she clutched the harness to maintain her seat.
Her slight weight didn’t slow him, and he wondered if she remembered earlier flights, when he swooped and spun in breathtaking aerial acrobatics, and she’d thrown back her head, laughing and shouting in sheer delight, gripping the harness to hang on. For now she was quiet, wrapped in a warm cloak he’d given her to shield her from the cold of night flight. Magnus felt a shift in her weight as she leaned forward, the faintest warmth of skin as she pressed her face against his scales. She’d fallen asleep, lulled by the rhythmic tempo of his wings as they beat the air.
They flew for hours, until a steady ache grew in his shoulders, and his wings tired of their constant motion. It was still dark when Magnus passed over a grassy hummock with a sheltering stand of willows and small lake at its base. He circled it twice before finally descending. Once he hovered a few feet above the ground, he curved his head toward his back, his long, serpentine neck giving him a large range of motion. As he suspected, Leida was still asleep on him.
“Leida,” he said as softly as dragon speech allowed, and she jerked upright, blinking at him with owl-eyed confusion. Strands of dark hair escaped from her braid, fluttering around her in the swift current caused by his rapidly beating wings.
He didn’t have to say anything else. They’d flown on long trips together before, and Leida was familiar with the precautions he took not to alert others of a dragon in the near vicinity. She slipped her feet out of the harness’s boot sleeves, sliding down Magnus’s stretched leg until she hung from one curving, silver claw. She released her hands, dropping to the ground with a soft grunt. The flap of his wings threatened to knock her over as she worked swiftly to unbuckle the harness and packs.
Once free of his burdens, Magnus emitted the same high whistle, changing once more into a man, clothed and shod as any human. He landed on his feet, agile as a cat, and grabbed the packs and harness with one smooth motion. No one would be the wiser that a dragon had landed here. Even the most experienced tracker would note only a set of footprints, that of a man and a woman.
He held out a hand, motioning to her. “Come, we’ll camp in the shelter of the trees and rest until midday. You can bathe if you wish, and I’ll bring a fresh kill.” Leida might have been happy enough with the bread and cheese packed by Gersel’s servants for their journey, but Magnus, even in human form, craved meat. His sharp dragon vision had noted fluttering movement in the stand of willows as he’d circled above them. Owls on the hunt meant there was game close by.
The graceful willows offered a haven of privacy beneath their drape of green leaves and slender, arching branches. Magnus placed a possessive hand against the small of Leida’s back, guiding her to one of the largest trees as she stumbled sleepily alongside him. By the time he’d made a bed of their blankets and situated their packs against the tree’s trunk, she was asleep once more, clutching one of the blankets under her chin.
Magnus gazed at her for long moments, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of her skin. He suspected the past week had drained her to the point of exhaustion. Her capture, her reunion with him, their flight to her village, the intense interlude by the stream bed, and all the emotional upheaval that came with it had finally worn her down. He pinched the bridge of his nose, almost as weary as she, but resolved to settle things between them.
For now, though, he would take advantage of the remaining darkness and find some decent food. He cast a protective ward on their camp site, one that gave a passerby a strong sense of avoidance. Armed with the small crossbow he’d unpacked, he trekked through the stand of trees, his senses far more acute than a true human’s. It didn’t take long for him to capture and kill two large hares. By the time he returned with the brace of rabbits, dressed and ready for roasting, Leida had awakened again. She sat up when she heard him approach.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of the hares, and she moved quickly to take them from him so he could start a small fire. “This is a fine catch,” she said. “Thank you. I’ve had only bread and a bit of fish for the past few days. This is a welcome change.”
Magnus sat down on the blankets she’d vacated, content to watch her prepare their meal. He reached for his pack, taking out the wine flask and broken pipe. As with her laces, he held the pieces of the pipe stem together, singing a wordless chant to meld the broken bits, making it whole once more.
“Will you sing for me later? When the meal is finished?” she asked.
He glanced at her over his shoulder as he pulled the pouch of tobacco from the pack. “Do you still enjoy dragon song, Leida?”
Her smile was both wistful and eager. “Yes, I do. I have always loved your singing. It is the music of the stars.”
Had she told him he was the most beautiful dragon in the world, such words would have paled against these. Dragons held song and those with the talent to produce it in high regard. His chest swelled with pride, and he gave her an indulgent smile as he packed the pipe bowl. “It will be my pleasure. I’m glad to hear you still have an affection for it.”
Her smile faded a little. “It’s only been four years, Magnus. It would take lifetimes for me to forget your voice.”
Magnus lit the pipe, drew deeply on it, and released a lazy swirl of
smoke from his mouth and nose before answering. “Would it? Did you remember my songs as you labored to bring your daughter into the world?” He could hear the sneer creeping into his words, but was helpless to stop it, the bitterness once more awake and alive in him.
Leida’s face paled, but she refused to glance away. “I did,” she said softly. “Their memory brought me comfort and eased the pain.”
He flushed, uncomfortable with a small, niggling guilt for his spite. “I am sorry you suffered.”
She sighed, the smile once more in place. “’Tis every woman’s burden and her joy.” Firelight reflected in her eyes as she searched his face, for what he couldn’t tell. “But thank you for your words.”
He nodded once, pleased to make her smile again. A comfortable silence fell between them as he continued to smoke, and she cooked their meal. They ate in silence as well, only making small talk when they cleaned up the remnants of supper and walked together to the lake to rinse their hands.
When they returned, Leida sat again on the blankets and Magnus stirred the coals of the dying fire. The sky had lightened to a pewter gray, the stars fading as the moon descended and dawn approached. “What song would you like to hear?” he asked her.
She bent her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs and tilting her head. “It doesn’t matter. I like all the songs.”
The embers continued to fade as Magnus took a breath and began to sing, a rich, low melody spun of dragon magic and ancient memories. He watched Leida’s face as he sang, watched its subtle changes as she fell beneath his voice’s bewitching allure. Her expression sent the blood racing through his veins, as it was one of rapture, as of a woman who had just found her greatest pleasure in her lover’s arms. He knew it was much like his own expression when he’d first heard her sing so many years earlier.
His song came to an end, falling away to a breathless quiet. Leida sat as if hypnotized, finally blinking and shaking her head to shrug off the effects of his voice. Her gray eyes darkened, a yearning drifting through their depths as she met his gaze.
“It’s as I remembered. A gift of the gods. You have a wondrous voice, Magnus.”
Magnus inclined his head in acknowledgment of her praise. He watched her as she rested her cheek on her knees, her own voice growing drowsy. “I know Vala would love to hear you sing.”
He went rigid at hearing the child’s name. The knowledge of her existence twisted his insides. He could push it to the back of his mind, save for those times, like now, when Leida insisted on reminding him of her. He brooded, remem
bering their earlier conversation, including the odd remark regarding her voice. He straightened, gazing at Leida with narrowed eyes, a realization growing within him.
“Leida,” he said. She lifted her head, eyebrows raised in question. “It’s your turn. Sing for me.”
Her panic-stricken expression confirmed his suspicions. His favorite, once blessed with the same quality of voice as the fair Sivatte, could no longer sing.
Chapter Five
Bile rose in her throat, accompanied by a terror that froze her body in place. Magnus watched her, his severe features impassive. But there was a knowing look in the vibrant green eyes, an awareness of the reason for her fright. Leida had already told him her voice was ruined; however, his initial lack of reaction to the news led her to hope he had missed the comment, too intent on her remarks regarding Sivatte. She should have known better. Magnus missed very little.
“I can’t sing, Magnus,” she said, shaking her head. “At least not in the way I once could.” His silence made her squirm. “Have you nothing to say?”
He unfolded his long frame from its sitting position, rising gracefully to pace in front of her. “You say you damaged your voice. How? Were you injured? You never spoke to me of it, and I saw no wounds on you.” He stopped, pinning her with a hard stare.
Leida licked her lips, feeling much like a child caught in an infraction. How many times, she wondered, could she incite his wrath before he finally lost every last bit of that phenomenal control and strangled her? She rubbed her damp palms over her knees.
“Leida?”
One deep breath, and she plunged into her tale, talking fast in the hopes she wouldn’t become completely incoherent before she was finished. “I wanted to improve my singing, make it even better than it was. I practiced every free moment.” She smiled a bit sadly, thinking of Magnus’s elderly wood sprite. “Dagden threatened to gag me with her apron if I didn’t give her some rest from ‘all that incessant howling.’”
Magnus chuckled. “Dagden has never had an appreciation for the finer points of a well-sung melody.” He sobered almost instantly. “Continue. I can sense you hesitating in the telling.”
Leida cleared her throat, annoyed at how easily he could discern her emotions. “I hit notes I’d never hit before, and you noticed. I saw your surprise when I sang for you on the eve of your trip to Meck’s Laketown.”
A sob caught in her throat. It was her last happy night with him, when he praised her voice with great enthusiasm and loved her into the dawn. When he left for the lakeside town, she had felt secure in his affection, sated and warmed by his loving. He didn’t tell her why he traveled to Laketown, only that she and two other human servants were to meet him there later that evening. The scene she came upon that night still sickened her with its memory.
Magnus came to crouch in front of her, lifting her chin with one finger, forcing to look at him when she tried to lower her head and hide within the sheltering folds of her skirts. “It was then, wasn’t it?” His voice turned brittle. “It was then that you changed, became someone I no longer knew.” He held her jaw in a firmer grip. “What was it, Leida, that made you turn on me? Withdraw so far that I soon rested my head in the lap of a stranger with a familiar face? A woman who no longer sang when I asked and stared at me with such revulsion?”
Leida jerked her head, wrenching away from his hold. She stood up, skirting out of reach as he rose with her. The festering anger once again bubbled to the surface, and she was relieved that her voice sounded firm and even when she answered him. “I saw you with Sivatte,” she said. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Magnus. “And you’re a fine one to speak of lying in a stranger’s lap. You had your head in hers, your eyes closed as she stroked your hair and cast her spell with her voice. You looked like a man who had just found his pleasure between a woman’s thighs. I imagine you did that too, before I came across the two of you on the edge of that farmer’s field.”
There was a cautious note to his question. “Why didn’t you call out?”
Leida gasped, stunned by what she considered pure idiocy. “Surely, you jest.” She flung out her arms in exasperation. “What exactly might I have said, Magnus? ‘Hello, would you mind not seducing my master? He already has a favorite. Me.’” She fisted her hands, hiding them in her skirt so he couldn’t see the true measure of her rage, her hurt. “What would you have done had the situation been reversed?”
His black brows slammed together in a dangerous scowl. “I would have torn the bastard’s arms from his body and left his entrails for the farmer to use as fertilizer for his fields.”
Leida’s eyes widened. Magnus’s voice was heavy with jealousy, and she might have found some small joy in it were it not for the gruesome image he described. She shuddered, knowing he would have carried out such a deed without a second thought.
“This is about you, Leida, not Sivatte.”
Her knuckles went white. If she sported longer fingernails, she would have bloodied her palms. “Oh, this is definitely about Sivatte, Magnus,” she snarled. “In fact, all roads lead back to your pretty elf.”
The tears couldn’t be held back, and they cascaded over her cheeks, and it was now she who paced in front of him, hugging herself in lonely comfort. “I didn’t want to believe,” she murmured. “I didn’t want to believe you were courting another favorite. But how could I not? I saw her, heard her.” Magnus’s face blurred before her eyes. “I’d never heard singing like that. Neither human nor dragon could match a voice such as hers.” Leida sniffled, wiping at her tears with shaking hands. “And she was far more than I could ever be. Long-lived, ageless. She would be young and beautiful long after my bones had turned to dust.”
Leida hiccupped once, no longer willing to look at Magnus. She sensed his stillness, a tense waiting as if he would spring on her once she finished her tale. “You went to Lakeltown several times that month, and I knew why. I held some hope that maybe I wouldn’t lose you altogether if I just continued to improve my voice. After all, you seemed to still enjoy it when I sang or recited poetry to you.”
“I have always found great pleasure in your voice, among other things.”
She dredged up a small smile. “I counted on that. But practice wasn’t enough. I could drive Dagden to sheer madness and it wouldn’t be enough.” She did glance up at him then, seeing a new sympathy in his eyes. “So I used dragon magic, an arcane spell in one of your books. It was supposed to sweeten a dragon’s voice, so I tried it on myself.”
Magnus’s face bled of all color, his pupils expanding so that his green eyes turned black. Leida rubbed at her arms, her stomach roiling as he stared at her in horror. She swallowed a scream as he lunged for her, lifting her from under her arms and slamming her against the sheltering willow’s trunk. He crushed her against the tree with his body, and she could feel the violent tremors coursing through him.
“Had you gone mad?” he said, forcing the words out between clenched teeth. His thin face was so drawn it looked skull-like. “Do you realize you might have killed yourself with your own stupidity?”
Leida squirmed in his hold, accomplishing nothing more beyond tiring herself out. “I didn’t think it would be so dangerous.” Her voice broke on a sob, and she abruptly sagged in his arms. “It didn’t work, Magnus. I thought someone had ripped out my throat, it hurt so badly. I was afraid to tell you what I’d done.”
His grip lightened, changing to a comforting embrace as he stepped back, taking her with him. “I remember. You were hoarse. Dagden thought it was a cold, but neither of us understood why her draught didn’t work to heal you.”
Leida felt his chest expand on a long drawn breath, and he spoke again.
“Ah, Leida, why would you do something like this? Your singing was a thing of beauty, but not worth dying for.”
She used his shirt to swipe at her dripping nose and dry her tears. His eyes still looked black, his face still pale, but the shock was gone, replaced with a pained regret and some other e
motion that made her breath hitch in her chest. She shrugged. “It was a pointless endeavor anyway. As you’ve admitted, Sivatte became your favorite three days after I left.” He shook his head when she repeated the same insult she’d used in the judgment chamber. “Dragons are indeed capricious.”
Her eyes closed as he tilted her head back, stroking her neck and the underside of her jaw with his fingertips. His breath fanned across her cheekbones as he spoke. “They can be. Capricious and greedy, prideful and short-tempered.” Leida sighed when he touched her forehead with a light kiss. “Look at me, Leida.”
She opened her eyes again, drained and docile in his embrace. Magnus’s gaze was intense, willing her to look at him, to listen. “It is true Sivatte is a favorite, but she isn’t my favorite. I courted her for Ariadoc. She belongs to my son.”
Leida was certain her heart stopped beating for a moment, before starting again and pounding in her ears like a war drum. “What are you saying?” she whispered.
His mouth twisted, caught somewhere between a frown and a smile. “You are a suspicious, foolish favorite, with a poor opinion of your master. Because of Ariadoc’s twisted wing, he will never fly fast enough to mate with a dragoness. He asked me to help him find a favorite. Sivatte was perfect for him, and the last I heard, she is as beguiled with him as he is with her.”
It was stunning news, and she felt the urge to both laugh and scream. A ruined voice and four years of misery, lightened only by the joy of her daughter’s presence—it could have been avoided had she just possessed the courage to ask him what he was about.
“I would have told you, had you asked. There were no secrets. But you expressed little interest in my trips to Meck’s Laketown, so I didn’t mention it.”
She thought of Vala, three years old and blessed with the magic passed on by the father she had yet to meet. Her arms came to wrap around Magnus’s waist. “Gods, Magnus, what have I done?”