The moment she finished speaking, the man stood, allowing his cloak to fall free. Brienne dropped her eyes again, her cheeks heating. She had seen her fair share of naked men and women in the Morrigan’s employ, but there was something different about this situation. Perhaps it was the way this particular man didn’t seem to be bothered by his nudity, or the fact he displayed a rather impressive body.
When he spoke again in that same, strange accented voice, she was forced to look up. She made a point to find his eyes once more and swallowed back her fear. Gods and goddesses, he was so tall. He had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling beams above. She wasn’t a small woman, taller than some Faelorehn men. But he made her look tiny in comparison.
Brienne continued to fumble her words awkwardly, attempting to better explain how he had come to be in a run-down cabin with her, until she could think of nothing else to say. She tried smiling at the man, but all he did was stare at her, those penetrating, citrine eyes forged of fire seeing too much.
No, they can’t see into your soul, she told herself. He is probably just trying to figure you out. No doubt wondering what a Faelorehn woman could gain from helping him.
Several heavy moments passed before the man moved. His eyes remained locked on her face, but he lifted a large hand and pressed it to his side where one of the larger lacerations had been. Now a line of neat stitches holding the skin together.
“Daen syra dae tothe?”
Brie still couldn’t understand his words, but clearly he was asking another question. Perhaps inquiring how he had been injured, if she was to go on his indication.
“You had several wounds when you transformed into your current form. I cleaned them and stitched them up for you,” she managed.
The man’s dark eyebrows twitched ever so slightly, and his face took on a softer expression. Then, he stepped forward with swift, smooth abruptness.
Brienne hissed in a breath and fell back out of her bedroll. She kicked her feet and scuttled backward half a body length before realizing the man was not lunging forward.
The cloak remained pooled upon the floor, and he seemed even bigger now, his fine figure still on full display. Brienne lifted her eyes to meet his. He had laid his right palm flat against his chest, just over his heart. When he saw that he had her full attention, he gave a regal bow, one that might have been practiced in a king’s court, and murmured another collection of indiscernible words.
When he rose from his bent position, his eyes were more golden and not as hard as they had been before. He must have understood some aspect of Brienne’s explanation because the hostility she felt earlier had dissipated.
Brie’s cheeks burned at his attention, even if it was merely the courtesy one stranger from a different realm pays toward another. Suddenly, she felt over exposed, as if she were the one standing nude before him and not the other way around. Out of old habit, she reached up with her hand and scraped some hair over the marks on her face to hide them.
Wanting to fill the awkward silence and ready to shift the Firiehn man’s attention away from her, Brienne gestured toward the fire and moved to stand up.
“Perhaps we should start a fire in case Mynne comes back with breakfast.”
She stepped forward, skirting the edge of the cabin to keep clear of the stranger. Dair had remained uncharacteristically still during the whole exchange, his deep brown, equine eyes more curious than fearful. Perhaps now that he saw the strange draghan shifter behaving like the Faelorehn men and women he was used to, he wasn’t afraid anymore.
Once Brienne reached the fireplace, she grabbed a few logs and added them to the cold ashes. She threw in some kindling, then looked for the bag housing her knife and flint.
Hands shaking from the cold, and her own frazzled nerves, Brienne managed a few sparks but none caught.
Curse all the fire spirits of Eile! she hissed to herself. Are the fates determined to see me fail?
A shadow to her side suggested the stranger had stepped toward her. Brienne tensed but held her ground. There was no reason to fear him. He seemed grateful for the help she had given him, and he hadn’t tried to kill her yet. If that was his purpose, he’d most likely shift back into draghan form and burn her to a crisp.
With silent gestures, he urged her to move aside. She did so without complaint, stepping back to watch him as he dropped into a crouch before the cold fireplace. Still naked, she realized.
He stretched one arm out before him and performed a delicate dance with his fingers. Brilliant light formed at the crook of his elbow and gathered into a pool, dripping down his arm along the lines of his tattoos like glowing candle wax just beneath the skin.
Fascinated, Brienne moved closer, the warm light taking on a more crimson hue as it gathered in his fingertips. The Faelorehn were capable of making their glamour visible as it exited the skin, but it took conscious effort and it served no purpose other than to broadcast what they were doing. Brienne wondered if the Firiehn didn’t have that choice. This magic they wielded was so potent it probably couldn’t be hidden.
The glowing ruby heat filled the shape of his hand, then flared out the ends of his fingers. Brienne gasped, mesmerized by the beauty of it. The color paled to yellow, then almost white, and curled like tendrils over the wood in the hearth. Almost immediately, the material caught fire. Once the pool of magic had drained entirely from the draghan man’s hand, he stood up and took a step back. With arms crossed over his massive chest, he watched the fire the way one might regard a field freshly plowed by their labor alone. It was a look of mild satisfaction; the look someone gave a simple, mundane task once it was completed.
Done examining the now crackling fire, Brienne glanced up at the stranger to catch him watching her again. And again, she felt like the one completely exposed before him. Which only drew her attention to his lack of attire once more.
Clenching her teeth together, she swiveled her head around, seeking something he might be able to use as clothing. She didn’t have to search long. What might have been the old door was propped in the corner, hiding a large trunk she hadn’t noticed earlier. The shifter said nothing when Brienne walked over, shoved aside the deteriorated wood and opened the old chest. She rifled through more blankets and cloaks, thanking the spirits for their good luck, before finding several pairs of trousers and tunics toward the bottom.
I only hope these are big enough, she mused as she pulled out the largest pair of trousers.
She turned and offered him the garment. The man, unsurprisingly, continued to stare at her.
“You must be cold,” she said, trying not to squirm under his scrutiny. “Would you like to see if these fit you?”
And you are distracting me, she added to herself.
Now that he seemed healthy and whole, she doubted he was cold. That and the fact he’d felt like a lit stove beside her earlier, radiating enough heat to warm half the cabin. Did the draghan folk run a constant blaze within? Was that what she had seen when he lit the fire with his glamour the night before? Liquid heat they exhaled when in draghan form and incendiary magic when in their more Faelorehn form?
The man cocked his head to the side, his amber eyes assessing the clothing. After several moments, he stepped forward, but this time Brie kept her gaze on his face instead of looking away. Or worse; give in to temptation and look down. As astute as this stranger was, he might get the wrong idea if she appeared to be admiring his more appealing attributes.
With a gentle tug, he took the trousers from her and proceeded to pull them onto his long, thick legs. Brienne allowed herself to admire the flex of his muscles, but nothing else. The trousers, it turned out, fit him well enough. A little short at the hem, but loose at the waist and snug on the thighs.
“As long as you don’t fall instantly into a crouch, the seam should hold,” she mused with a smile. “Now for the tunic.”
They followed the same process with the linen shirt, the fabric pulling taught across his chest but loo
se enough everywhere else. The sleeves, like the legs of the trousers, fell short of his wrists but all in all, neither one of them could complain.
Brienne helped him tie loose bits of fabric back, and he held still at her touch. She could feel his eyes on her, and imagined their intensity burning marks into her flesh and holes into her shirt.
Finally, when she thought he was as well-dressed as he could be, she returned to the chest and pulled out a few pairs of boots.
“These look like they’ll fit, too,” she remarked, holding up the larger set. The man who had lived in this cabin must have been a giant. She tried not to think about what might have happened to him, to have left so many belongings behind, but was grateful they were here for her and her recently acquired companion to use.
The shapeshifter pulled on the boots, holding out one leg, then the other, examining them with a quirked eyebrow. He nodded once, then glanced back at Brienne.
She gave him a small smile and offered him one of the cloaks.
“I know we do not speak the same language, but I hope you understand at least some of what I’m saying,” she said. “I am on my way to the Weald in the west, but there is a dolmarehn, a portal, a couple weeks worth of travel from here. It will take you back to Firiehn and away from the clutches of the Morrigan.”
The man crossed his arms over his chest, the fabric of his new shirt pulling tight. He angled his head to the side and narrowed his spessartine eyes.
“Firiehn?” he asked softly, his accent giving the word a musical touch.
Relief washed through Brienne. “Yes, Firiehn! I can take you to a gateway that will return you to Firiehn.”
She tried to express this using hand gestures, but feared she failed miserably. She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth while laughter flickered in his eyes. Brienne was tempted to scowl. Oh sure, laugh at me when I’m trying to help you!
The draghan man took a deep breath then stood up straight, his face taking on that smooth serenity just before he bowed before her earlier. Brienne tensed, not sure what his intentions might be.
“Quaelle tath syrna anem?”
He held his hand out to her, a gesture of friendship perhaps?
“I’m sorry ...”
The man withdrew his hand and placed the palm flat against his heart, patting his chest once.
“Dorran,” he said, his accent gently rolling the R’s.
It took Brienne less than a second to realize what he was doing. He was asking her name and giving her his.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. She mimicked his gestures, placing her own hand to her heart. “Brienne.”
He smiled. “Brienne.”
She fought another blush. He spoke her name, held it on his tongue the way one might savor a sip of fine mead. And again, that slight inflection on the R in her name made it sound far more beautiful than it was.
Her mouth curved in one corner as she tried out his name, making an effort to pronounce it the same way he had, “Dorran.”
Those bright eyes of his lit up again, but before any more words could be exchanged, Mynne poked her head in through the door.
Is everyone up? I brought another rabbit.
Chapter Five
Mynne was still wary of their newest companion, even when he took over the chore of skinning the hare and preparing it for roasting over the fire. And while he cooked, Brienne and the white wolf exchanged a silent conversation.
He is well now. Let us part ways. I have a bad feeling he will invite trouble.
I am not going to abandon him on the edge of the Morrigan’s territory. He can’t even speak our language!
Mynne bared her teeth in a silent show of aggravation. Already, we have not moved far enough away from the base camp, and you want to detour to the north for a stranger? Someone who may still prove to be our enemy?
Enough! Brie snapped back, whirling around from her task of packing the extra blankets onto Dair. Do you not remember what it is like to live a life of servitude? We are taking him to the dolmarehn, Mynne, and that is the end of it.
This, at least, caused the blind wolf to drop her head in what might have been a show of chagrin. Brienne didn’t care, so long as her spirit guide understood the shapeshifter, Dorran, would receive what aid they could supply.
As their internal conversation came to a close, Brienne shot her eyes toward the man they discussed. Unsurprisingly, he was watching her again, undoubtedly picking up on the tension stretched tight throughout the room like an animal hide pulled for tanning.
Silence descended, the small company eating quickly before heading back onto the road. Before leaving, Brienne dug out a large pack beneath the old clothes in the chest and stuffed it full of as many spare sets of tunics and trousers she could fit. Dorran was now carrying the bag, something he insisted on doing as she rode Dair. Mynne, still in a bit of a tiff over their earlier argument, stayed mainly to the forest hugging either side of the lane, sniffing out anything that might prove a threat.
The day passed slowly in this manner, a quiet trek into the mountains with each traveler lost in their own thoughts. That evening, they camped among a natural ring of stones some ways off the main road. Dorran, using that unique magic of his, got a fire going and Brienne managed to bring down a large game bird with her bow. Exhaustion still pulled at her from the past few days, and when she cast furtive glances in Dorran’s direction, she knew he felt the same way. Not a single word passed between them that evening, and even Mynne kept her opinions herself.
The next few days followed a similar pattern with little conversation between Brienne and the stoic Dorran. Brie did her best to communicate by gesturing with her hands and arms and her companion seemed to understand what she was asking or saying most of the time. On the third night, the group discovered a small clearing to take their rest.
Dorran busied himself gathering firewood, and Brienne even offered her small hatchet to make the job easier.
Is that wise? Giving him a weapon? Mynne couldn’t help but comment.
She was sitting off to the side near a small fir tree, Dair the horse snuffling along the ground for any blades of grass that hadn’t died off with autumn’s encroaching chill.
If he was going to kill us, Mynne, he could just take his draghan form and scorch us in our sleep.
The wolf growled low at that, her hackles raised.
The object of their discussion paused in his chore of splitting a nearby fallen tree and glanced at the animal, one eyebrow quirked. He had taken off his shirt, for the weather was fine that day, and the sheen of sweat covered his bronzed skin. Brienne had to look away so as not to get caught ogling. He may not speak her language but Dorran was observant, quick to note things. She had been caught staring before and had received a slight smirk in return. Spending most of the day in a state of embarrassment was not her idea of energy well spent, so she’d tried to control her curiosity of late. Now, she couldn’t help but notice his masculine beauty, not when he so openly flaunted it.
“At least you are pleasant to look upon,” she muttered, under her breath.
“Quaelle?” the dragon man asked.
Brienne smiled, the right side of her lips not quite curving to match the left, and shook her head dismissively.
“Don’t mind her,” she said to fill the quiet, throwing a thumb over her shoulder at Mynne. “She is suspicious by nature, and she’s never had good reason to trust people.”
Brienne’s slight smile faded, her pale blue eyes shifting to a darker gray. No, Mynne should hate all Faelorehn kind for what the Morrigan’s soldiers did to her.
Dorran set aside the axe and gave her his full attention. He didn’t just settle his eyes on her face, but something about his aura, his entire being, turned and fell upon her. It was like being draped in dark, heavy velvet, warm and soft to the touch. Brienne resisted the urge to sigh in pleasure at the mere thought of it.
The Firiehn man lifted a muscled arm and touched
the corner of one eye, then the other. He jerked his head in Mynne’s direction and asked, “Vello daen seya suilen seyna?”
Brienne knew what he was asking. She didn’t have to know his words; have them register in her brain and make sense. It was apparent in his gesture, the way his voice had deepened, how his garnet-colored eyes had melted to topaz. A sincere question she would answer and be met with unadulterated sympathy.
This was a subject Brie never talked about. With anyone. Not even Mynne. Of course, her pathetic role in the Morrigan’s army guaranteed she had no friends to confide in. Not that she would, if she had. But something about this stranger enticed her to open herself a little, to unfurl like the tight bud of a flower.
Without even realizing she did it, Brie drew a breath and said, “The Morrigan’s soldiers blinded her. I was being punished for disobeying a command.”
She didn’t tell him that Mynne had been a gift from the Tuatha De guardian of the Weald, Cernunnos, for disobeying that same command. When she refused to use her glamour to crack the magical barrier protecting that ancient forest from the darker magic of the world, she had been gifted a white wolf pup, a spirit guide to offer her company and comfort, for the antlered god knew what sort of torment Brienne would face in the coming years. But she had not know the depth of the Morrigan’s fury until the goddess handed her over to the man she feared the most as punishment. Even knowing that had been a possible consequence, Brie had still defied her. The very memory of it crawled up her belly like poison. Brienne curled her fingers into fists, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms. The things Raghnall had done to her those two years before she finally escaped ...
A shadow fell over her, and her eyes flashed open. Dorran was standing in front of her. He was close, too close. Her nostrils flared, taking in his scent of smoke, sweat and something ancient and fierce. His eyes had darkened back to deep ruby, and the heat radiating off him made her flush.
A Plague of Dragons (A Dragon Anthology) Page 17