Dragon's Maid

by Kimberly A Rogers

  She kept her steps light as she approached and then she impulsively tossed the entire lot of fabric on the dragon. Who snorted and jerked his triangular head up as strips of fabric fluttered to land on his horns and across his refined jaws. “What are you doing, woman?”

  “What am I doing? Truly? That is your question?” She couldn’t help but scoff as she approached his desk. “The better question, my lord, is why you would be so frivolous as to shred your clothing. You told me your transformations are controlled.”

  He peered at her through a tattered strip of grey fabric, and she barely kept from laughing at the incredulous sight. He grinned, baring his fangs. “I might have been . . . impatient last night.”

  She plucked the fabric strip from across his tapered snout and then grabbed one dangling in front of his right eye. “Tancred. If you wish to retain my service, there will be no more . . . impatience. I refuse to deal with this again, and intentionally destroying your wardrobe is a waste of resources.”

  As soon as he chuckled, she snatched a book up and lightly smacked the back of his scaly hand with it. “Behave yourself, dragon. The others will notice when you ruin your entire wardrobe.”

  “Who said you could smack a dragon?’

  This time she couldn’t resist a little smirk as she raised her eyebrows. “No one. Yet, I have succeeded in doing so from the first time you revealed yourself. Therefore, you should have far greater respect for what I can do with a book in my hand.”

  His wings rustled as they unfurled slightly, almost brushing against her with the movement. A contemplative tone entered his resonate voice as he touched the tip of a claw to the side of his snout, murmuring, “Oh believe me when I say I have the utmost respect and fear for you when you have a book in hand. It is an agony to my soul to have you in my bookroom. I never know when the wild unpredictable human might choose to beat a poor dragon about the head with a heavy tome, after all.”

  A laugh escaped her as she tossed the strips of fabric on his desk and then shook the book in front of his nose. “Good! You deserve it, and you will clean up the remnants of your attire yourself. That particular chore does not fall in the realm of my duties.” She opened the book and thumbed through the pages as she walked to the appropriate bookcase. She’d already read that particular book on the intricacies of noble etiquette in the court of Cian Gwenith. “I thought you were shifting back this morning.”

  “Yes, I was merely answering an inquiry before doing so.” The dragon rose from his seat and then pointed to the shelf on her right. “Try the Compendium on Sonera. It has information about more of the forgotten races. I think you will enjoy it.”

  Damaris quickly found the compendium, but couldn’t bring herself to start reading just yet. All the books filling the shelves were out of order. At least, she was certain she’d yet to organize them, fortunately for the dragon. She had only cleared off half the shelves before Tancred returned. He hadn’t pulled his hair back, and he was still tugging on his tunic. Those were the only signs, however, that he had just shifted forms.

  “Why aren’t you reading?”

  “All your titles were out of order,” she stated simply. “It bothered me.”

  “Mmm.” However, he said nothing else as he finished straightening his tunic.

  As the silence continued, Damaris glanced over her shoulder to find Tancred was leaning against the front edge of his desk. A frown tugged at his lips, partially hidden by the raised fist he tapped against his chin, and his dark eyes were fixed on her. “Is something the matter?” She waved toward the bookcase. “You do not like the order I’m using here?”

  “Hmm? Oh no, of course not. Your organizational order makes sense, as usual. It is only . . .” he trailed off as his brow furrowed. “Damaris, how bad are the rumors about you and . . . us?”

  “You don’t care about the rumors,” she pointed out.

  “No.” He hesitated and then lowered his fist in favor of folding his arms over his chest before he continued, “However, Huon came to me a few weeks past about the rumors. I dismissed them as I did your concerns. Now, it seems I should have been more willing to listen to your words of caution in the beginning. I did not realize how much gossip the servants would indulge in, and I was wrong.”

  Damaris set another book on the shelf, considering her answer. She picked up two more books and examined their titles. “If there is one thing, you have been very honest about, Tancred, it is in your disregard for gossip and rumors.”

  “How bad are the rumors, Damaris?” came the low question.

  She placed one of the books on the shelf and then set the other on a lower shelf. “They are rumors, Tancred. They will fade eventually and in the interim . . .” She set aside a couple of scrolls before she continued, “In the interim, it is better to sacrifice what little remained of my reputation than to remain the indentured servant.”

  “No, that is not right. Had I realized how vicious the lies would treat you, I would have . . . found another way.”

  Damaris turned around to face him, leaning back against the shelves, as she met his troubled gaze. “From the moment you decided to claim my indenture from Howell, you changed my life. Make no mistake; I am grateful you did, since I have no doubt my fate would have been far worse if I had been left in Howell’s hands. However, there was no place for an indentured servant here in Silvermere. Your servants were insulted and angered by my presence. This is something that I have lived with for over three years.”

  “You did not go to Clotho about this?” The words had no sooner left his mouth than he closed his eyes as though pained before he grumbled, “She led this persecution, didn’t she?”

  “Clotho has no love for indentured servants,” she murmured, “and she has even less love for the woman her daughter blames for all her troubles. Then, to find the indentured servant has not only been freed but elevated to the role of personal maid and companion to the Earl of Silvermere? It was too much for her to believe I came to such a place by honorable means, especially when one of the maids confirmed you’d called me your companion.” She shrugged a shoulder and added, “I pride myself on being practical, Tancred. My life has taught me that I cannot control what others say nor force them to think differently. I can only conduct myself as honorably as I can and hope that people see past their prejudices and suspicions to the truth.”

  “How often has she been the cause behind your need for healing salves?”

  “She only beat my hand once, and she believed it to be a mercifully light punishment given the accusation was of drawing sigils for sorcery. And, that was encouraged by her daughter’s hysterics.” Damaris crossed the room as the dragon shoved away from his desk. “Don’t.”

  “I do not tolerate the abuse of my people even by Clotho.”

  She stepped in front of him and placed both hands against his chest. “Tancred, do not do whatever you are thinking. If you remove Clotho from the position of housekeeper now, when the rumors are at their height, the others will assume you did it because I asked you to do so. I promise that in the three years I have been here, I have never witnessed her abuse her authority over the other servants. She can be harsh and she will dole out punishments or ration meals, but it is never without cause . . . with proper servants. Agatha provoked the situation between her mother and me or it would not have been so bad. And, if my term of indenture had ended properly, they would not be so hardhearted toward me now.”

  She pushed against his chest only for him to wrap both hands around her upper arms. She stared into his eyes as she continued, “Think of what is best for your people, Tancred. The king is sending inquisitors out, and I know the stories about what happened before the war of succession. Inquisitors are just like gossips. If you want to uncover the secrets of the master of the house, you look for embittered servants. Please let Clotho be, let Agatha be. I am removed from their control and the worst they can do is shun me. The rumors will die away in time. That is their nature.” She hesitated and then
added in a low murmur, “As your companion, I am telling you that you need to listen to me about this. Clotho does not abuse your people. There is no reason to confront her, and you cannot upset the balance of the household. Not if you wish to avoid drawing too much scrutiny because a resentful servant made false claims against you.”

  His grip on her arms tightened for the span of a breath as his dark eyes flashed to fiery orange before he closed them. “As you wish.” Opening his eyes again, she was relieved to see they had regained their dark color as he stated, “However, if even one more incident happens with Clotho or her daughter, you will not hide it from me and I will step in to address the matter, even if it means removing them from my keep. I protect my own, Damaris, and you are first among them.”

  It was only then that she realized how close they were standing with barely a hand’s width between their bodies. The heat from his hands seeped through her sleeves with almost the same intensity she remembered feeling when he was in dragon form and when they established the bond of companionship. Streaks of fire entered Tancred’s eyes before she jerked her hands away and moved out of his loosened grip.

  She hurried back to the bookcases, telling herself it was her mind playing tricks. Still she couldn’t keep from worrying about him when he didn’t speak. After several long painful moments, she paused in the act of sorting the books and glanced over her shoulder. Tancred was still standing by his desk, arms hanging by his sides, and watching her with an expression she couldn’t even begin to name. She blew out a steadying breath before she managed to ask, “When do you think the marquise will demand a delivery of woven goods for her tailors again?”

  “The marquise is a careful woman. She never demands. She only ensures it is in your best interest not to disappoint her.” He smiled yet it felt forced rather than natural this time. He cleared his throat as he strode back around his desk and resumed his seat. “After you finish fixing the order of those books, I would like you to take down a letter for me. To the marquise.”

  Grateful for the return of some semblance of her new normal, Damaris murmured her agreement. There was nothing to the rumors. And so long as she kept the dragon calm, she hoped to protect them both from the danger she feared was to come from the south. She could handle the harsh words of other women. Avoiding the eye of the mad king was more important . . . and so was keeping Tancred safe from any schemes.

  * * *

  “Where are we going?”

  “You will see and we will get there faster if you cease your prying, woman.”

  Damaris rolled her eyes even though she dutifully complied instead of digging in her heels and demanding answers. Tancred’s grip on her wrist wasn’t ungentle. Nevertheless, she had the distinct feeling that any attempt to halt the dragon’s progress would only result in her being dragged along behind him or, worse, picked up and carried.

  Almost three months of serving as his companion, and he still wasn’t always predictable. Or rather he was never predictable. However, even he had never dragged her from her work before. The only mercy was that none of the servants were around to witness his odd behavior.

  She kept quiet as he led her out of the keep and through the gardens toward the glass hothouses. The spring thaw hadn’t quite begun, though the air was warmer and the sunlit hours were growing longer once more. The moist heat of the hothouse washed over her as Tancred led her inside. She glanced at the various plants and then shook her head. “Why are we here?”

  “Do humans truly know nothing of patience?” was his only response. That is until he led her to the far left corner of the hothouse and gestured proudly toward five wrapped plantings. “I have brought silver roses to Silvermere.”

  “Silver roses,” she repeated blankly and then moved closer to inspect the plantings. They were most certainly roses. There was no way to know whether they would bloom into silver roses when they were cut back for dormancy, of course. “Why would you bring them here? They don’t grow naturally in this valley.”

  He winked when she looked back at him and said, “I thought the color was the most appropriate for roses in my estate.” He took a step toward her, grin widening and an eager tone coloring his baritone, as he added, “They are yours.”

  “Mine?” She touched two fingers to her chest before she shook her head. “You cannot be in earnest.”

  “Of course I am,” he countered, still grinning. “They are yours. I know nothing of growing flowers, much less roses. These, therefore, are for you. Grow them, then keep them or sell them. Whatever you wish to do with them, you may.”

  She opened her mouth to speak only for the words to choke on her tongue. She looked from Tancred to the roses. “Tancred, these are . . . They are too fine a gift.” Turning back to him, she added, “You are the earl. You cannot give silver roses to a mere maid. It is too rich a gift for me to accept them.”

  The grin faded and he ran a hand through his unruly locks, blowing out a breath. “Human customs and rules are far too contradictory. Why am I always in the wrong?”

  “Because you are a dragon,” she murmured, “and this is why you avoid going to King Stephen’s court.”

  He chuckled. His amusement faded almost as soon as it had begun, however. He scratched at his stubbled cheek and then asked, “Do you wish to leave Silvermere?”

  “I . . . I am your companion.”

  “The bond is not so permanent yet that you would have a full dragon’s lifespan if I revoked it today,” he replied quietly. “A few extra decades instead of centuries.” He moved closer to her and lightly touched her arm, dark eyes searching hers, as he added, “If you truly desire to leave, you are free to do so without penalty and I will help you.”

  Damaris stared into his eyes for a long moment. It was so tempting. She could leave all the complications of being in Silvermere and being his companion behind, leave the gossip and rumors behind, and yet . . . No, she couldn’t turn her back on him. Not when she knew his secrets and was part of them. Not when she knew the inquisitors would eventually come to Silvermere. The thought of her not being there for him when that happened, of not helping him protect not only himself but also the other innocents in Silvermere, sent a sickening chill through her.

  She shook her head. “I have nowhere else I could go. My father’s kin remained in Kush when my parents came to the Five Kingdoms, and I do not know them or how I would even begin to find them. The manor at Roseshire . . . Philippa made no secret that she intended to sell it and the land.”

  “I can buy it back for you.”

  An unbidden smile parted her lips as she covered his hand with her own. “That is kind of you to offer. Nevertheless, I must refuse. Silvermere is where I am needed, and I like being needed. I like being here . . . with you.”

  His brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, almost as though he didn’t believe her. Then, he nodded. “Very well. If you should ever change your mind, Damaris, you need only ask and I will see to it that you are able to leave.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Tancred.” Realizing she was still holding his hand against her arm, she quickly pulled her own hand away. Clearing her throat, she stepped away from him and toward the rose plantings as she forced light teasing into her voice, “However, I do not think I shall ever accept the offer as it would be a true shame to leave something as precious as silver roses in inexperienced hands.”

  “I know you’ll make them prosper, treasure.”

  The little name he sometimes used caused heat to prickle in her cheeks. She kept her gaze focused on the plantings, carefully inspecting them for any sign of wilting or overwatering. He didn’t mean anything by the name. He’d said that dragons considered their companions treasure. It meant nothing more to him, just as the touches to her hands and arms were nothing of significance. He merely lacked any sense of distance, something else that seemed especially prevalent to dragons according to the books she had been reading. Dragons liked touch, it reassured them and anchored them when in human form.

/>   ‘I’d rather be gifted a rose.’

  ‘What about a rose garden?’

  ‘I should be bound to him forever since he knows the truest way to my heart.’

  The conversation with Ella seemed so long ago and belonged to another world. Yet, now it haunted her as she continued inspecting the roses while Tancred paced the path through the hothouse. She needed to ignore it. As handsome as he appeared in human form, he was still a dragon. Allowing herself to have any type of feelings for him would only lead to heartbreak. She needed to remember that. Besides, even if he wasn’t a dragon, maids were not allowed to have feelings for earls. Not if they were wise.

  A gift of roses, of silver roses. It was too much, and yet she loved it. A foolish thing. No, if she wanted to survive her bargain with the dragon, she needed to keep her heart firmly out of his hands.

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  The wind off the mountains brought a cold bite with it, causing Damaris to pull her dark grey cloak more tightly around herself as she hurried across the inner bailey. She’d almost reached the path leading to the gardens when her foot slipped on a patch of slick stones. A large hand caught her elbow, holding her steady, as an equally large presence came up on her left to partially protect her from the force of the wind. She looked up to meet Captain Huon’s gaze. “Thank you, Huon.”

  The captain merely offered a curt nod, keeping his hand at her elbow. “Allow me to escort you the rest of the way.”

  She considered refusing before changing her mind. “I would be glad of the company.”

  They had barely resumed walking when the large man rumbled, “How are you faring with the servants?”