“Okay. So you can read. And write. I didn’t know.” Maybe he’s lived with humans for years, but it’s not like I’ve been living with dragons or anything. “But if you’ve been speaking English your whole life, why do you have an accent?”
He sighs and flips through a couple of books on my shelf, though none of them seem to interest him. “I don’t. You’re the one with the accent. Everyone outside of the Valley, humans and dragons alike, talk like their mouths are full of marbles.”
That’s so not what I sound like. At least, I don’t think.
There’s suddenly a loud knock on the door, and Torrin shouts, “Vee?”
Me and Amelrik both freeze. I share a look with him. Then I come to my senses and motion for him to hide.
He mouths the word Where?
“Vee?” Torrin says again. “Are you there? I’m coming in!”
“No! Wait, I’m . . . I’m naked! I mean, I’m changing!”
“Well, that’ll scare him off,” Amelrik whispers.
I shove him toward the bed, accidentally nudging him in the ribs. Or maybe more like punching him, if I’m being honest. He gasps. His face goes pale, and his eyes water.
So, maybe not that healed, then.
“I really need to talk to you!” Torrin shouts. “It’s urgent!”
“Just a second!” I’d meant for Amelrik to hide under the bed, but since he’s standing in the middle of my room, looking like it’s all he can do just to breathe, that’s not exactly going to happen. “Get down,” I hiss, pressing on his shoulder.
He seems worried, but he doesn’t have a lot of options—none, really—so he sinks down to the floor. I grab my bedspread and throw it over him.
“I won’t look,” Torrin says, opening the door. “I promise.” He comes in with a hand over his eyes. “I swear, Vee, I can’t see anything.”
I glance over at Amelrik, who looks like a wadded-up blanket and blends in really well with the pile of dirty laundry next to him. If you weren’t looking too close, you might not even notice that the wadded-up blanket is breathing. “I’d still feel better if you were facing the door.” Though he must really not be able to see anything, or else he’d know I’m fully clothed.
Torrin turns around, letting his hand fall away from his face. “You’re not going to like this, but you need to know. So I’m just going to say it.”
I rustle some clothes on the floor, trying to make it sound like I’m actually getting dressed. “So say it already.”
“The dragon’s loose. Me and Mina went to haul him up to his execution, and he was just gone. I don’t know how it happened. Mina swears she locked him in after the last interrogation session.”
“You mean torture. Call it what it is.”
“We don’t know when he escaped. She swears she locked the door, and Justinian’s trying to figure out who might have seen Amelrik in his cell since then. But that doesn’t change the fact that a dangerous prisoner—a dragon—is loose in the barracks. I’m sorry, Vee. I know this must really be freaking you out, and today is, well . . . It’s hard enough for you as it is. If you want me to stay—”
“No.”
He’s quiet a second. “Are you mad at me for something?”
“Am I still mad, you mean?”
“I already apologized for what I said.”
As if that makes up for it. “It’s not that.”
“Okay. Is this about the wedding? Because, Vee, you know I—Are you dressed yet?”
I’ve stopped making getting-dressed sounds. “I’m completely naked. You really shouldn’t be here, alone with me, on my wedding day.”
He knows I’m lying. At least, I’m pretty sure he does, because he sighs, exasperated, and turns around to face me. “Don’t be mad.”
“You don’t even know what I’m mad about.” I take a step to the right, hoping to block his view of Amelrik. Or at least the blanket he’s hiding under. Listening to all this.
“You wanted me to marry you.” Torrin moves closer and looks me right in the eyes.
I glance away. “‘Want’ is a strong word.”
“I hate that this is happening to you. And I do love you . . . just not like that. Plus, I’m in training.”
“Right. I know. You don’t have to say it. You don’t have to come here, today especially, and rub it in.”
“I’m not trying to. But don’t resent me for it. You’re practically family. I don’t want to lose you.”
And I’m supposed to . . . what? Reassure him that everything’s okay, no hard feelings, and even though he’s going to be busy finishing his paladin training, and I’m going to be busy making sons for my new husband, we’ll still see each other all the time? He probably will have girls throwing themselves at him, like Mina said. Does he seriously want me to hang around and watch that happen, while I’ve got a baby on each hip or something?
Not that that’s going to happen, because I’m getting out of here. But he doesn’t need to know that part.
“Vee?” he says, when I don’t answer him.
“I have to get ready for my wedding. Unless Father wants to call it off on account of a dangerous dragon being on the loose?”
“I haven’t heard anything about postponing it. Are you sure you’ll be okay here, by yourself? I know how you feel about dragons.”
I wish he’d stop saying that. “You can’t protect me all the time, Torrin.”
“Yeah, but it’s like you didn’t hear me. Maybe it hasn’t sunk in yet. The dragon could be anywhere. He could be in the barracks, in your home. Where you live.”
“Or maybe he left. Maybe he was smart and got as far away from this place as possible.”
“He’d need a St. George to remove that dragon ring. And it’s not like he knows you don’t—”
I speak quickly, interrupting him before he can give away my secret. “He doesn’t know where my room is. And sticking around here in the hopes of getting that dragon ring off is a big risk. Don’t you think he’d rather be alive?”
Torrin stares at me. “No, I don’t. The rings drive them mad. It’s horrible. He’ll go crazy if he has to stay like that.”
I almost glance over at Amelrik. Almost, but I catch myself in time.
“He’s got to be pretty desperate, and you’ve been talking to him. I can’t understand why. But Mina thought . . .”
I snort. “I don’t care what Mina Blackarrow thinks. And even though we never sent out invitations to this wedding, you can tell her she’s not invited.”
He scratches his ear, not meeting my gaze. “She thinks you might have had something to do with the prisoner escaping. I told her that wasn’t possible.”
“It’s not.” Guilt tightens my chest.
“Did he seem crazy to you? The last time you spoke?”
“He’s a dragon. How should I know?”
“Did he ask you to do anything for him?”
“You mean, did he ask me to let him out?”
“No. I know you wouldn’t. But maybe he asked you to do something seemingly innocent that was somehow part of his plan.”
I shake my head. “He didn’t ask me for anything. And even if he did, I don’t know how you can think I’d be that stupid.”
His shoulders relax a little, and he lets out a deep breath. “I know you wouldn’t be. You’d never do anything like that.”
“Right.”
“I mean, I never thought you’d willingly talk to him, either.”
“I was curious about something, that’s all. It’s not like we were friends.”
He makes a face at even the idea of that. “If he mentioned anything that might be helpful—”
“What? Like his hopes and dreams about escaping and not getting tortured anymore?”
Torrin scowls. “We did what we had to. We needed information. It’s not like he didn’t deserve every moment of it, and since when do you sympathize with dragons?”
“I don’t. I’m just saying it’s obvious that he’d want to get o
ut of here.” The whole barracks has decided his fate, just like they’ve decided mine, whether either of us likes it or not. So maybe I do sympathize, at least a little, but that’s not why I’m helping him escape. “If you’re done insulting me, I have a wedding to prepare for.”
“Vee, I didn’t mean to . . . You’re sure you’re okay alone?”
Does it matter? He would let me be alone for the rest of my life, unloved and stuck with a man four times my age who I hardly know, who only wants me so I can bear his children—probably more girls he won’t be happy with. And I get that Torrin doesn’t like me like that. I can’t expect him to ruin his life to save mine.
I just wish he seemed more broken up about it.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.
Torrin looks skeptical about that, and I almost think he’s going to argue some more. But then he gives in and says, “Don’t leave this room. Not until someone comes to get you for the wedding. And put something in front of the door.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I mean it, Vee.” He sounds so serious, like he really is worried about me, even if he’s worried about the wrong thing. “Amelrik might come looking for you. The last thing I want is for you to be alone here with him, unable to protect yourself.”
12
THE BEST KIND OF TRICKERY
I pull the blanket off of Amelrik. He pushes himself to his feet, wincing a little but obviously recovered from me sort of punching him in his not-fully-healed ribs. He stares at me. I stare back, wishing he hadn’t heard that conversation.
“I didn’t want to marry him.” The words taste like a lie, no matter how much I want to pretend they’re true. “It’s not like I—I don’t like him that way. But he’s my best friend, and I didn’t have a lot of prospects.”
Amelrik snorts.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. You don’t get to judge me like that and not say anything.”
“Some friend.” He shrugs. “No wonder you jumped at Lothar like you did.”
“I didn’t—” I clench my fists, swallowing the denial. “Lothar was the only suitor even close to my age.” Or with any decent hygiene. If “suitor” is even the right word. I’m still not sure what he was doing there—what either of them was doing there—but trying to marry me probably wasn’t it. “And Torrin is my friend.”
“Did I say he wasn’t?”
“You implied it. But it’s none of your business.”
“You made it my business when you decided to run away with me on your wedding day.”
“Don’t say it like that. That’s not what’s happening here. You don’t know anything about it.”
“I might not know the details, but you can’t say I don’t know anything about it. I’ve had to listen to two conversations about it today alone. Well, about you and him. And there really doesn’t seem to be a ‘you and him,’ if you know what I mean.”
“Don’t. It’s bad enough that Torrin came in here and said that.” As if I didn’t already know. As if he hadn’t made that perfectly clear before. “I don’t need you to—” I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you mean, today alone?”
“You think this was the only time some paladins have come into the dungeon, gossiping?” He sits down on my bed—a dragon, on my bed—and gingerly presses his fingers to his ribs.
I hadn’t thought about it. “You mean Mina and Torrin?”
“Lots of people.”
“And they were talking about me?” I can believe that they were—of course they were—but I can’t believe I’m finding out like this. “Whatever they said, it doesn’t mean you know me or what’s going on in my life.”
“I know what I’ve—” He stops in midsentence, suddenly catching sight of the mirror on my nightstand. It’s a hand mirror, the kind that looks sort of like a hairbrush, except with glass instead of bristles. He snatches it up and stares at himself.
“Hey!” I yank it away from him and hold it close to my chest. “That was my mother’s!” My stomach twists. A dragon killed my mother, and now I let one touch something of hers. I let one into my room.
I sink down next to him on the bed. I hate how petty and selfish I’m being, but I also hate feeling like I’m dishonoring her.
Amelrik’s expression is so pained, I could swear he looks worse off than when I punched him in the ribs. He presses his hands to his face.
Okay. Now I’m pretty sure there’s a dragon crying in my room. The most dangerous criminal in the five kingdoms. “Sorry. It’s just . . . I think the only other person who’s touched it besides me is Celeste.”
Amelrik nods.
“Are you crying because I was so grabby? Or because of how you look?”
“I’m not crying.” He lets his hands drop long enough to prove his point, then puts them back, taking in a deep breath.
And all right, I guess he’s not technically crying. But he’s obviously not okay, either. “You don’t look that bad. I mean, the bruises on your face are at that rotten-fruit stage, where they’re all yellow and brown. Which doesn’t look great, but you’ll heal. And . . .” I almost mention the scratches on his face and how they’re not even that visible, but since I’m the one who gave them to him, I decide not to. “That red bit of your hair is growing out, and I can see the roots, but it looks fine like that. I think you could even let it grow out all the way, and—”
“No.”
“Okay. Fine.” I want to ask him why it matters, because obviously it does, but I don’t want him to think I care. Plus, it’s probably some dragon custom that everybody knows about except me, and then he’ll look at me like I’m the stupidest person alive again. “I didn’t say you had to. Just that if you did, it still wouldn’t look bad.”
“This isn’t about how I look. Not my face, I mean.”
And then I know what he must have seen in the mirror that bothered him so much, even before he gestures to his neck. To the dragon ring.
It looks really bad. I knew that already, but seeing it up close is even worse. Swollen, blotchy, red patches creep up and down his neck, reaching under his skin with twisting fingers. There are still marks where he must have scratched, though they’re open and oozing now, instead of healing like the rest of him.
I have no idea what to say. I’m sure if I open my mouth, it’ll be the wrong thing. Not that it matters, though, right? He’s a dragon, and he deserves this. Except those thoughts don’t sit right with me. I don’t know if he deserves it or not, and it’s hard to sit next to someone who’s so obviously upset and do nothing.
He’s also a liar. A con artist.
You can’t trust a single thing he says.
Celeste’s words come back to me, and I can’t help wondering how true they are. Amelrik never asked me for anything, just like I told Torrin. He didn’t ask me to free him, and I believed the fear in his eyes when he thought he was about to be executed. But now here we are. He’s free, just like he said he would be.
And wouldn’t that be the best kind of trickery? If the person being tricked never even knew it had happened? If they thought the whole thing was their idea?
A chill runs down my spine. Everything he’s ever said to me could have been a carefully orchestrated lie. One that everyone warned me about, and I didn’t listen.
And yet, if he’s telling the truth, then this is my only chance to get Celeste back. There’s also no way I’m staying here and getting married to Lord Varrens. I’m running away today, with or without Amelrik.
I glance over at him. He’s staring at his hands now, inspecting the blood that’s stained the lines of his palms. “Don’t worry, Virgin,” he says, not looking up. “I haven’t gone mad.”
Not yet, he means. “So it’s true. What Torrin said.”
“You really don’t know anything. No wonder they’re marrying you off.”
“I know that a dragon killed my mother. Right in front of me, in the marketplace. We knew him. We thought he was human. That’s what y
ou do, right? That’s your specialty—pretending to be human and getting people to trust you. But one day he transformed and ripped her to shreds. So maybe all dragons are mad to begin with, even without the rings.”
Amelrik studies my face. His eyes are still bloodshot, and the red makes the green of his irises that much more vivid. “I never asked you to trust me. I never asked anyone to.”
“But everyone that has . . . they ended up dead, didn’t they?”
He looks away, which is as good an answer as any. “I did what I had to. Just like I’m doing now. Just like we both are.”
“I’ll take the ring off as soon as we find Celeste.”
“And then there’ll be another St. George free in the world.” He makes a disgusted sound. “She’s the one who put this ring on me. She’s the one who did this.” He gestures to his chest, to whatever’s wrong with his ribs. “And your best friend did this.” He points to the bruises on his face, then to his right leg, the one he was limping on. “Some company you keep. And now, in order to get this ring off, you’d make me help her.”
“She’s my sister. She’s all I have. Whatever she did to you . . .” I swallow. “It was her job. It’s what she had to do.” Even if it was awful.
He scoffs. “They wanted to know how to find Lothar. I wanted them to kill him. I was counting on it.” He mutters that last part, then shakes his head. “I would have told them without the beating.”
“But you’re a liar. You’ve built up a reputation for conning paladins and getting them killed.”
“Good thing you’re not one of them, then, eh?”
“The truth comes from pain.” It’s a paladin saying.
Amelrik’s eyes blaze. The reddish light of the dragon ring glows brighter. He scoots away from me, then jumps up from the bed, like he can’t stand to be next to me for even one more second. “And how much truth did my mother have left when you St. Georges were done with her? How much?! Your mother might be dead, but at least you knew who she was. You knew that she—” He swallows down the words, not finishing whatever he was about to say. “There are worse ways to die than being ripped apart. There’s the slow, lingering kind of death, the kind that eats away at you, bit by bit, until not even a shadow remains of who you used to be. Only lies come from pain—not the truth.”
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