Three hundred years, he should live. And I would have what, sixty? Seventy? He would be still in his prime, when I was an old woman. Would he still care for me then? It was hard to say how much he cared for me now. We had neither one spoken of marriage, or even love, really—or any future beyond tomorrow.
Well, tomorrow was trouble enough. I would refrain from borrowing more.
"Ari, I do not think you are listening at all," he said, looking more amused than angry.
"I suppose I care more for your telling the story than for the story itself," I admitted.
"Ah." He seated himself on the balustrade and pulled me close—almost absently—to wind his fingers through my hair. "Perhaps there is another story that would interest you more. This also concerns a dragon, one who, seeking his father, lived among humans for years—but took care to see only the worst in them. Selfishness, cruelty, dishonesty, greed... Then he found himself trapped in constant company with a human girl who was stubborn and commanding and very generally unpleasant and... and brave and loyal to a fault, hardworking and intelligent, most intensely honorable in her human way, and quite set on taking prodigious good care of all in her charge, even the dragon whom she hated."
"The dragon had abundant personality flaws of his own, as I heard the story. Still, he had virtues, as well, and I think she could not have hated him for long." I turned my head to kiss his fingers, which immediately took to stroking my face instead of my hair. "But continue the story, do," I said. "How does it end?"
He tilted his head, considering, then said, "I will tell you tomorrow." He wrapped his arms around me, and I thought he would kiss me, but he only buried his face in the curve of my neck.
When it became clear he did not intend to move again, perhaps ever, I took to tinkering with his hair, combing out his disastrous attempted braid with my fingers and re-plaiting it as well as I could from such an unusual angle.
"Mmmm," he said into my shoulder, with such evident satisfaction that I had to laugh.
"Yes, I have noticed you seem to enjoy this," I said. "Although I have not made formal inquiries, I don't think that is a usual masculine trait."
"They do not know what they're missing, if so. Having hair is still something of a novelty to me, you understand, and... mmm... that is most relaxing."
"It is." I watched my hands move through the familiar repetitive process, almost independent of thought. "You have very pleasant hair. Soft. Silky."
"Also not, perhaps, a masculine trait."
"Call it a draconic trait, then."
"I shall do that, if asked." He fell silent, then, and by the time I tied off the braid, I rather thought he was asleep. I kissed the nearest part of his head, then gazed over his shoulder across the moonlit water, resting my mind on the rush of the waves below and Braith's warm, comforting weight... and waited for dawn.
When I woke, the sky was streaked with the first traces of sunrise. Though I last remembered myself standing, Braith and I both now lay on the hard floor of the balcony, my head pillowed on his arm.
"Braith. Braith, wake up."
His response was to murmur something unintelligible and sleepily nip me on the neck.
I yelped—more in surprise than pain—and he came alert instantly.
"What? Ari—did I—oh." With the help of the balustrade, he dragged himself upright, glaring at the sky with mingled fear and contempt. He rubbed a hand awkwardly along the backs of his shoulders, as if feeling a weight there. "Here it is, then. I have minutes only to challenge Owain or pay the price."
I felt as though my nerves were sure to burst out of my skin and flee down the coastline. "Remember that you are earthbound for this confrontation, you must adjust your tactics accordingly. And remember that he knows full well you cannot see from one side."
"And you remember," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders, "that I am to lose this battle."
"And you remember that Owain will not likely be pulling his punches," I snapped. "He wishes to put on a show, and hardly cares if you suffer for it. Well, remember that I care if you suffer, and remember how much of our plan depends upon your carrying me into the forest, and that if it's at all possible for you to make Owain pay in blood for his 'victory' I would—"
He stopped me with a kiss that left my knees trembling. No good development when I was supposed to be the one with two good legs.
"I am glad I came here, Ari," he said, touching his forehead to mine. "Whatever happens now. I am not glad for your captivity, and not, heaven knows, for my father's death... yet all the same, I am glad I came here."
"Good." I kissed him briefly, fiercely, then pushed him away before I could fatally delay him. "Go."
He turned and vaulted over the side of the balcony, already wrapped in swirling sparks, and landed as a dragon, gleaming white as an angel in the rising sun. He shook the tower from top to bottom with a shrieking roar.
"Too long have I left my duty unfulfilled." Braith's voice was a roll of thunder, audible throughout the tower. In my chamber, my companions jerked awake. I did not stop to speak to them, only snatched up with one hand the bag of supplies we had gathered the night before, and with the other hand, Elaysius. "Any who would claim the princess must first defeat the dragon, and not one more day will I suffer that trial go unmet. Therefore, Prince Owain of Dewgent and Gwynhafod, I challenge you to fight. Face me or be a coward!"
This fictional speech was mostly for Tristan's benefit. One of the things we had debated so endlessly was whether to tell Tristan the truth. I felt he would be invaluable at our sides and most dangerous to have working against us, but in the end had to agree that his reaction was difficult to predict; even if he believed us, he might feel bound to protect his brother despite all. It was better not to test Tristan until we could provide incontrovertible proof, and were in a position to prevent his interference should he take it badly. And, of course, preserving the facade was also an important part of not letting on to Owain that his secret was largely out.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Tristan and Owain were still rising unsteadily to their feet at the hearth, shaking off the last traces of Elaysius's sleeping spell. Owain's expression of triumphant anticipation was unmistakable; disregarding his brother's exclamations of surprise and protest, he brushed past him to the door, pausing only to buckle his sword to his waist.
"Owain, you have no lance—"
"I could best this creature with a knitting needle," Owain said. "Dragon! I do accept your challenge, and will engage you immediately I have readied my horse and armor."
He strode past Braith to the horse paddock, showing him his back with all the carelessness of a man who knows he cannot lose. Perhaps Braith was right; it might have taken little effort to beat Owain at this game. I kept my eyes nervously on Braith's, willing him to remember our plan, and not sacrifice himself unnecessarily. Braith did not look at me, however; his gaze was all for his enemy as he paced the dooryard, claws ripping at the ground and tail lashing, like a caged cat.
Tristan limped out the door on his crutch. "What madness is this, Ariana? Last night all was well and now he challenges?"
"He alone can answer that question."
"Did you quarrel? Tell me true, Ariana—you quarreled with him. How badly did you reject him, that he would rather die than remain here?"
I regarded Tristan in honest amazement. "Good heavens, was I the very last to know of Braith's attachment to me?"
"Yes, rather."
Owain was now shouting commands to Gareth and Genevieve, as they helped him arm himself and his horse. Firefoot was, apparently, his new choice of mount; trust Owain to choose the showiest, most elegant animal, rather than the most sensible.
"My own lance was broken when I fought Braith days hence, and Owain managed to break his before we ever arrived," Tristan said, both frantic and exasperated.
Broke his lance, indeed, I thought. In Rindargeth's throat, curse him thrice and forevermore.
"He is not even c
harmed against fire," Tristan continued, and I felt Elaysius work his way deep into the rucksack I held, to avoid being asked to perform this service. "Ariana, can we do nothing to stop this madness? One of them is sure to be killed."
"Well, comfort yourself, that in Braith's condition it is not at all certain to be Owain."
"I am in no hurry to see Braith die, either! My word, you are very calm about this."
"Whom will hysterics benefit?" All the same, I might endeavor to preserve the fiction. Fortunately, it was no effort at all to let tears prickle in my eyes, and my hand to tremble as I pushed my hair behind my ear. "The challenge has been made and accepted. I do not think either of them can be dissuaded now."
"Why does he challenge Owain? I am the one he reviles as a dragonslayer!"
"That is easily answered. You have a broken leg; to challenge you would be unsportsmanlike."
Tristan muttered, "Heaven save us from the honor of dragons."
I was privately tempted to agree.
Owain was battle-ready now, and came galloping up from the paddock, the sun glinting off armor and drawn sword. He shouted, Braith roared, and the clash began.
Braith made him fight for it. He could not take to the air, and he could not deliberately put his master to flame—but he could come close. He could make Owain dodge and curse and circle and retreat, struggling for control of his skittish horse. He could snap and spring and roar and flame, lash him with the hard tip of his tail, rake at him with claws as long as children. Owain consistently came at him from his blind side, but Braith anticipated that, and the flexibility of his long neck gave his good eye more range than Owain expected.
Yet Braith had to lose. Moreover, he had to lose while he still had strength to carry me. We had already discussed how he would do this; still, I gasped and flinched when he delayed himself a fraction of a second, and let Owain's sword land a blow on his shoulder. He exaggerated the injury—I assumed he was exaggerating, as planned—taking the excuse to fight more cautiously, move more slowly, limping and snarling and trailing blood. His ruse worked too well; within moments he took another wound, a sword slice across his already-wounded face, that I did not think he intended. He recoiled, shrieking and pawing at his face. Owain pressed the advantage and was soon harrying Braith in apparent earnest.
A hesitant hand enfolded mine; Tristan, both offering comfort and seeking it. Though our fears were mutually opposite, and likely both groundless, I gripped his hand so tight that my arm shook.
A blast of fire from Braith sent Firefoot into a panic; he reared, and Owain hit the ground. Braith pounced on him, only to draw back with another bleeding line across his snout. He struck again, snake-like, but this time Owain was ready. In one of the few truly impressive moves I had ever seen the man make, he threw his body onto the head of the attacking dragon, and managed to turn himself and pull his sword tight against the tenderest part of Braith's throat.
"Surrender, dragon!" Owain shouted. "You are defeated. Surrender and drop the circle, and I will spare your life."
Braith was silent, every line of his body tense and shaking with the desire to rip Owain apart. The grass around his captured head curled and blackened. I could not breathe.
"I am defeated," he said at last. "Release me, that I may drop the circle."
Grinning, Owain released him, and began swaggering toward me and Tristan.
"Well, well, princess, it seems I have won the honor—"
Braith's roar nearly knocked him to the ground. Owain spun, sword flashing, and struck at the dragon leaping toward him—but Braith dodged with contemptuous ease, knocked him flat with the edge of one wing, and came toward me without pause.
I dropped Tristan's hand, swung the rucksack onto my shoulders, and leaped forward into Braith's reaching claws.
"Harsik!" Owain shouted. "Come back here at once! How dare you—"
The rest of his words were stolen by the wind as we climbed, and clearly Braith had not heard him in any case. Elaysius's deafness spell was proving its worth.
Not that I had much presence of mind to appreciate it. We were twenty feet into the air before I could draw breath—then breathe I did, the better to scream with. Braith was flying only as well as a drowning man swims, a frantic, painful struggle through the air, and in his grasp I swung crazily in all directions, convinced at each moment that we were crashing to the earth.
Fire roared above me, and I caught a spinning glimpse of a most curious thing—Braith's flame spreading along an invisible wall before us, as if the air itself were being burned away. The circle—this was how he dispelled the circle.
I had no further chance to observe the phenomenon, for we were through the invisible wall now, and straining to stay above the trees. High branches raked at Braith's belly, slapped my face and legs. Each beat of his wings—rather, his tattered and bloody right wing—drew a sound of pain from his throat, and his flight was growing no steadier.
The branches grew closer and then entangled us on all sides, the air filled with sounds of snapping and crackling, and there was the ground—
Ouf!
I lay still a moment, my head spinning. Then I fought free of Braith's grasp and revisited last night's dinner upon the underbrush.
"Princess, art thou well?" Elaysius crawled tentatively free of the rucksack. He looked a bit dazed and squashed, but unharmed.
"I am well enough," I croaked, wiping my face. "Braith?"
The only reply was a sound very like a whimper. With the earth still shifting around me, I stumbled around to Braith's head and half-fell against his neck.
"Braith, how do you fare? Are you much hurt?"
He said nothing, which alarmed me until I recalled that he was deaf. A word rumbled through the scales under my hands—Wythil-wain. The charm word Elaysius had taught us, to interrupt the deafness spell and restore Braith's hearing.
"Braith, are you much hurt?" I repeated.
"I don't think so. My wing is rather worse, I'm sure, but otherwise, I am only bumped and bruised."
Steadier now, I stood and examined the wing in question. Where the other one was folded neatly against his side, the bad wing was splayed and twisted, like a crashed kite, if kites could bleed.
"Elaysius, aid me," I said. "We must fold it up as gently as possible—or would it be better for you to change shape?"
He shook his head. "I think I must rest some bit before I can attempt that."
In the end, we had to strap the broken wing to his side with a rope from the rucksack. Though the sight of it made me wince, he seemed to feel considerably better when the damaged limb was finally still and secure, and declared himself able to walk.
"I passed through this area hunting," he said. "There is a cave only a few miles away that we can use for shelter."
As we walked, I took a skin of water and small loaf of bread from the rucksack. "Here, Elaysius, you must be at least as hungry as I. Braith, do you want anything? Water, at least?"
He snorted. "As well to offer me a thimbleful, in my current form. I will drink later, when I am smaller."
I took a long swallow of the water while Elaysius drank from the cap. "How far have we come?"
"We have been walking only moments."
I smacked him on the shoulder. "Pray do not be any more an idiot than nature disposes you."
He chuckled and bumped my hand with his head, cat-like. "I am not certain how far I flew, if we may call that flying. Elaysius, good sir, oblige us with a peek over the trees?"
"Will they not see him? He is small, but terribly bright."
"It can hardly be a secret where we fell to earth; we flew in plain sight and left a trail of broken trees behind."
Elaysius obligingly fluttered upward, and dropped back again to say that we had covered no more than a mile. The princes had yet to set out after us, however; his keen fairy eyes could still see them both in the dooryard, preparing horses and supplies. They seemed to be arguing, both between themselves and with Genevieve.
"Although how that lovely maid endeavoreth to argue, I cannot say," Elaysius said. "Still, the more she delayeth them, the better off we shall be."
We moved as quickly as we could through the forest, each of us taking what care we could to keep branches and brush away from Braith's wounds. The wing I could not tend in any proper way until it was made a leg or arm, but I took the effort, as we walked, to at least clean the cuts on his face.
"Well, Braith, how did thy deafness perform?" Elaysius said.
"Admirably, and disengaged as well as promised."
"It hath saved thee once already; Owain attempted to call thee back, forgetting caution and shouting thy name before all."
"That will not matter overmuch," Braith said with a smoky sigh. "Others will not be able to truly understand or remember the name; in the confusion, it will be easily forgotten. I did not hear it, there is our victory."
I murmured "Wythil-wir" beneath my breath, and was rewarded with the sight of Braith shaking his head irritably at the sudden lack of sound. When I spoke the opposite word, "Wythil-wain," he turned to me and growled.
"You might warn me, next time, before depriving me of one of my senses."
"If there is time, I will do my best. But if I catch sight of Owain, I will worry for your displeasure later, and your safety now." My work on his wounds was long over, but I could not seem to entirely stop touching him. I continued absently stroking and scratching the bumps and ridges of his face. It was a bit peculiar to see him in this form. I supposed it natural enough that when I thought of Braith, I saw his human face, but it would be unwise of me to forget that it was not his only face, nor indeed his true one.
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