by Jade Lee
It was many hours before he finished. He worked sluggishly, like a tired old man. He buried the boy. He could do nothing about the dragon, but he made signs warning passersby that the water had been fouled by dragon. And then, after it was all over, he left. There was still one last task for him to achieve.
One more. One more dragonborn to kill. One more child to murder. One more naive hope to dash. And then it would all be over.
If he'd had the strength, he would have smiled. As it was, he could only groan.
Chapter 2
"Natiya! Side room."
Natiya turned, a look of dumbfounded amazement on her face at her employer's demand, but she didn't get a chance to respond as the grime-caked customer at her side took exception to waiting another second for his drink.
"Natiya," he said in a gritty voice. "My ale. Now."
She turned and slammed the tankard of ale down in front of the burly dockworker so hard that it sloshed in his lap. Personally, she thought it could only help wash away the caked fish smell on his clothing, but he took exception. He grabbed her wrist with a half bellow, half roar, and she shoved him away with a glare.
"I know, no tip. Somehow I'll survive," she drawled. The comment infuriated the brute even more, and Natiya was almost pleased to see him stand, fists at the ready. She was feeling just cranky enough to enjoy a bar fight. But then his friends grabbed him, pulled him down, and shoved their ales into each of his fists.
Natiya sighed in relief.
Much as she hated to admit it, she was never irritable enough to enjoy a bar fight. She was tired, hungry, and achy in places she couldn't even name. Still, That Part of
her truly wanted a release, an outlet for its anger and frustration.
"Natiya! Side room now!"
That Part had her swivel to find its target: her boss, innkeeper Talned.
"No dancing today! You agreed!" she called out.
Apparently, Talned had his own set of annoyances to release. Slamming down a couple of tankards on a tray, he glared at her from beneath bushy eyebrows. "Don't flatter yourself. The customer don't want your skinny ass pirouetting before him. Now get in there or get out!"
Natiya was unimpressed. Talned threatened to toss her out at least twice a day. But as this was threat number three, she knew he was reaching his limits. She might be his best dancer and a favorite among his customers, but four threats and she would be out on the street.
Sighing, she wove her way through the crowded inn, swerving past grasping dockworkers while forcing a smile for the soldiers, because they were the truly dangerous ones. Even she was nice to Dag Racho's men. Those who weren't ended up as dragon food. Fortunately, the fort had scheduled evening drills, so the military was blessedly thin tonight. Which meant she got the night off from dancing to rest her overworked muscles. Unfortunately, she still had to slop ale for the crowd. That, and serve whomever had booked the side room.
She frowned as she slipped into the hallway, her curiosity piqued. The side room was used for many purposes, only a few of which required a dancer. It offered privacy and, since the entrance was hidden in the rear, anonymity.
But if she wasn't requested as a dancer, then why was she needed? Monik was the prettier of the inn's two barmaids, and so she usually functioned as waitress for the private-room customers. Monik was also the most accommodating of Talned's employees. She would be the one in demand if the customer requested sexual favors. In fact, Monik was sweeter, kinder and less violent than Natiya, so all the usual possibilities were removed. What was going on?
Opening her mouth, Natiya inhaled deeply, tasting the air for anything unusual. Nothing.
She tried to force herself to relax. "D'greth," she cursed. "It's nothing. Relax." But she couldn't shake the feeling of doom. Knowing full well that she was growing more paranoid by the day, Natiya straightened her shoulders and faced the door. "You can handle anything," she told herself. "Anything."
And with that she shoved open the door.
The room was medium-sized, cozy enough for a clandestine rendezvous but large enough to accommodate a meeting of military and civilian enforcers. Her gaze quickly swept the room, cataloguing the cheery fire, the tray of sweetmeats, and dual goblets of fine wine. Clearly a seduction.
Natiya sighed, wondering how many times she would have to go through this scene. Despite her reputation as a hellcat with no sexual interests whatsoever, man after stupid man thought they could change her mind. She was on the verge of walking out when a familiar head popped up from behind the couch.
"Come in, come in! And shut the door. You're letting in a draft."
Natiya's mouth went slack. "Uncle?"
"You were expecting someone else, mooska?"
She shook her head, still caught up in shock. "No. Yes. I mean, I thought you were in the Sarent Mountains."
He grinned, motioning with one hand for her to shut the door while beckoning her further inside with the other. "I was, I was! Beautiful place, that. Awe-inspiring if you forget the armies—ours and theirs." He shook his head and sighed. As they both knew, Dag Racho's wars
made business difficult for a trader. "But the view, Natiya—it leads a man to think."
Natiya almost smiled. When Uncle Rened thought, life quickly became more complicated. But complicated wasn't necessarily dangerous, and Natiya had always loved the way his mind worked. She shut the door with a firm push and grabbed a handful of sweetmeats as she advanced.
"You look tired," he said as she approached the fire. "And skinny." His smile widened. "A little less work, a little more pampering, and you could be a beauty to rival the greatest jewels in the land."
"You sound like you're buttering up a customer." She narrowed her eyes, inspecting Rened as openly as he had been watching her. As sturdy as ever, her uncle was thick-boned, thick-set, and jovial as always. Though his hair was thinning, his eyes remained sharp, his hands firm and his mind quick.
"I brought you new books," he said as he pulled out a stack of three well-worn picture books. "Children's books. In Sarcenti. So you can learn the language."
Inside her, her secret bubbled up with delight. "I haven't read anything in that language," she breathed as she held the books with reverence. "Thank you!"
"You and your books," he laughed as she curled against the cushions and began to read. "You are like your parents in that."
She smiled and forced herself to close the book. Reading was for alone time in the quiet of her rooms.
"Where is your pipe?" she asked. One of her secret pleasures had been sneaking downstairs at night to hide in the shadows, listening to his grand plans and smelling the tangy odor of his pipe.
He grinned, pulling it out of his pack. "I kept it away so as not to offend your delicate sensibilities."
She laughed. "I have no delicate sensibilities, as you well know."
"Tamara did try," he said, and lit the pipe.
Natiya nodded, inhaling deeply of the smoke, remembering her aunt with a rosy kind of fondness. "I came to you too late for that." She had moved in with Rened and Tamara after her family died when she was eleven. She'd remained with them until her dancing apprenticeship began at thirteen. It was the only respectable job available to a girl orphaned by her parents' treason.
A sudden burst of angry voices from outside intruded on the pleasant atmosphere of the room. More soldiers released from night duty. Out of habit Natiya looked toward the sound, knowing thatTalned would not let her remain in the side room for long no matter how important a trader Rened was or how much her uncle had paid for the privilege. "I do not have much time, Uncle. Tell me quick. What is it that you have been thinking?"
He shook his head, his eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Always impatient."
"Always working."
"Ah, but that can change." Rened leaned forward, and Natiya matched his posture, actually tingling with anticipation to learn what her uncle's latest scheme was. He was a genius at turning a profit despite Dag Racho's iron grip
on all business ventures. She was even holding her breath.
"Marry my son."
Natiya still held her breath. She couldn't exhale. In fact, she couldn't do anything but stare. Of all the devious plots, of all the convoluted manipulations he had described to her over the course of his years as a trader, this one was the most mind-boggling. Finally, her body demanded she draw breath. It came as a gasp, then rushed out again with a word. "What?"
"Marry Pentold."
She laughed; she actually laughed. She could see the hurt on her uncle's face, but could not restrain herself. "He is my cousin! You are my uncle!"
He leaned back, deftly choosing a few sweetmeats and pushing them on her. "Not by blood. Surely you know that."
Natiya looked away. Her parents and Uncle Rened had been neighbors, not true relatives. At his urging, she had always called him and Tamara uncle and aunt. When her family had died in dragon fire, it was the most natural thing in the world for her to move in with them; they were family, the only ones she had left.
Except that they weren't; they were merely neighbors. Even if somewhere deep down inside she had always hoped, had always wished that they were related by blood. It hurt to hear him say so bluntly that they were not kin.
Then she felt him touch her. His thick, callused hands covered her own, surrounding her in his warmth as they had when she was a small child. "But we can be related. I can be your father in truth. Marry Pentold."
Much as she didn't want to, she withdrew her hands from his tender hold. "Uncle..." Her voice faltered. What could she say that would not insult him or his son?
"Wait. Listen a moment before you decide. Surely you can give your old uncle that courtesy?"
She sat and wrapped her arms around her knees, looked into the fire and felt a heaviness settle upon her. Still, she spoke the words he expected, each heavy upon her tongue. "Speak, Uncle, and I will listen, but it will not change my decision."
He hesitated a moment, no doubt surprised by the flatness of her tone. Only she knew how impossible the suggestion was. Even though he had known her all her life, some secrets remained untold. Even to him.
"Pentold is devoted to you," he began. Then he reached out, pulling her chin sideways so that she looked directly into his eyes. "If you want flowers and poems and protestations of love, then I will send him."
She shook her head, barely preventing a shudder. The last thing she wanted was for Pentold to suddenly act the lovesick swain.
"I thought not. Pentold is my poet, and I adore him for it. Every family should have one such as he. But you, Natiya, you are of a more serious mind. Flowery language means little to you unless it is followed by substance. Advantage." He drew himself up proudly. "In this, you are like me."
He paused, waiting for her acknowledgment. She gave it to him—a curt nod, because everything he said was true.
"Very well," he continued. "I will give you advantage. First, Natiya, he wishes to marry you. Honorably. Honestly. And none could gainsay or mock it. That shall be my gift to you, for no one will go against my will. You will be his wife in all honor and truth."
Natiya stiffened in wariness, knowing what was coming as much as she knew he must say it.
"What better offer could you hope for, Natiya? You are a dockside dancer."
"The best dancer in the province!" she blurted before she could stop herself.
He nodded. "Yes, you are. But eventually your youth will fail. An injury perhaps. Or maybe just the passage of time. There will be younger dancers, sweeter to the customers than you. Prettier dancers..." He sighed, then went on, pushing forward in the name of brutal honesty. "Then what will you become? Concubine? Mistress? Whore?"
Unable to sit any longer, Natiya stood, pacing to the fire then back again. "Grandmother was a dancer, and she married honorably."
"And hated every moment of it because her husband was cruel and vicious."
Again, Natiya had no response. Everything he said was true.
"Think, girl. Pentold adores you. He will spend his inheritance pleasing you, and his aged years writing sonnets praising you. He is not violent, and his worst vice is a love of cats. What better mate could you hope for?"
Natiya looked down and noticed the sweetmeats still in her hand. She ate them out of habit, knowing it would be a long while before she found the leisure to fill her belly. But even as she chewed, she tasted nothing but bitterness. Marry Pentold? The very thought made her sad to the point of illness. He was no match for her now. What would happen to him after the Hatching?
And yet, for all that, she still considered. As Pentold's wife, she would not have to work at this wretched inn. She could lie in a soft bed and eat sweetmeats to her heart's content. She would have perfumed baths and a husband who brought her flowers in the morning, poetry in the afternoon, and would be grateful for the slightest attention in the evening.
"Why?" she asked. Why was she considering this? What was Uncle's advantage, for he never did anything without that.
He shrugged. "If you were someone else, I would spend many days convincing you. I would flatter you and tease you and make you work for your answers. But because you are not, because I raised you as one of my own, I will tell you the truth."
Natiya straightened but was not fooled. Despite his words to the contrary, she knew his honesty was as much a stratagem as the sweetmeats and proffered wine. He knew that brutal honesty had a better chance of success with her.
"You are the finest dancer in Dabu'ut. Perhaps the finest in all of the Emperor's realm."
Natiya nodded, knowing his words were truth and not flattery, but feeling flattered nevertheless.
"I am a businessman saddled with a poet for a son whom I must support for the rest of his days. What value does he present except in the woman he attracts for a mate?"
"You underestimate Pentold." She said the words reflexively, without thought, because they were polite, not because she believed them.
"Perhaps. But you, you I do not underestimate. You are smart, capable, and you dance like the dragon fire, mesmerizing enough to rob a man of his reason."
Natiya shook her head, finally understanding what he wanted, but not why. "Uncle," she said with asperity, "you are the richest merchant in Ragona. Even with the Emperor's taxes, you find a way to survive. What need have you of a distraction to your customers? You are a fearsome negotiator without a dancer to fog their minds. And even if you were not, why would you embark upon such a path now?" She took a deep breath. "Uncle, you are growing old. How much more gold must you amass before you take a well-deserved rest?"
He stared at her, then burst into laughter. The booming sound filled the room, warming Natiya even as it confused her. "Child, I am not that ancient! And resting is for those who dislike what they do." Once again, he reached out and took her hands, clasping them as warm and firm as his bearlike embrace. "I amass gold because I enjoy it. I negotiate because that is exciting. But more than that, I trade because it is my life's blood."
Natiya sighed. "Very well, but it is not mine."
He grinned. "Perhaps not. But then, perhaps it will be, if you were to try it."
"Uncle..." she began, her voice low.
He waved away her protest. "Dabu'ut is changing. Have you heard news of the new governor?"
Natiya nodded. He was the Emperor's dragon-hunter. Young and handsome, but with a dark scar in a hidden place, and an even darker heart.
Her uncle grinned, as if reading her thoughts. "Do not believe everything you hear. He is a smart man, intent on changing this land, changing how life is lived within all of Ragona." He leaned forward, his voice low. "They say he wants to end martial law, take away the curfew, pull back on the military's power."
"Will he cut taxes?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Well," her uncle hedged. "As long as Racho has someone to fight—"
"There will always be taxes to support the military." She shook her head. "The governor is doomed to fail. Nothing will ch
ange as long as Dag Racho's Copper dragon flies."
"Perhaps and perhaps not. Either way, I intend to master this newer, freer lifestyle. But to do so, I must accomplish two things." He leaned forward, and his eyes appeared to dance in the firelight. "I must bring to my side every advantage I have." He pulled her hand to his lips, kissing it with courtly formality. "And that means you."
She nodded, accepting the compliment for what it was. "And the second?" she prompted.
He sighed, letting her hand drop to his lap. "I must find a way to occupy Pentold. He pesters me to distraction with one nonsensical idea after another." He looked at the fire and sighed in frustration. "Do you know that he wants me to finance a playhouse? With him as playwright!"
Natiya cringed. A playhouse was something that romantic men would finance, that poets dreamed of and actors worked at. Her uncle was none of those things. Worse, the government would never allow anything so uncontrollable. The last playhouse had been burned by troops more than a quarter century before.
"A new wife will occupy him nicely," Rened said.
"And you believe I will steer him from his wilder thoughts and into more productive channels."
Her uncle grinned. "That is my fondest hope."
Natiya couldn't help but return the smile. "Uncle, I have no wish to be Pentold's nursemaid."
Rened pushed the wine into her hand. "Come now, Natiya. It is not such a bad bargain. A lifetime of security. A husband who adores you. A father-in-law who recognizes your value. Some would say it is an excellent bargain."
"Some would say it is better than I deserve," she returned quickly. "But I am not some people."
"But you are considering it, yes? I see that light in your eyes, and I know you see the wisdom of this." He leaned back, his face alight.
Once again, Natiya had no ready response. She could not tell him that her secret made his suggestion impossible. And also, she wanted it: the security, the peace, the settled life. How she longed for such simple things.
You are worth more than he offers.
The voice came unbidden, as it always did, but Natiya appreciated it nonetheless. It always spoke with reason. "I am worth more than this," she repeated out loud, not realizing how her uncle would interpret it.