“But you didn’t. Nor with the count’s daughter, nor even with that heiress in Milden. Face it, sire. The widow is your last hope.”
Gervais did not answer but remained slouched, gazing into the fire.
Una heard all this in silence as she sank farther back into the shadows. How quickly you’ve forgotten me, Prince Gervais.
Something deep inside smoldered.
No!
She closed her eyes, trying to stop it, but the heat built, increasing every moment in pain and intensity. She slid away along the wall, determined to find the door before anything burst inside her.
“Oi! I thought I told yer ta git?”
The innkeeper appeared before her. She tried to duck around him but fell over a stool. He reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arm, dragging her to her feet. “Little dog!” he cried, his fingers pinching into her arm. “Little beggar! I’ll tech yer to – ” He struck her across the face, hard.
Una screamed, clutched her cheek with her hand, then, snarling like an animal, wrenched her arm free. The fire pounded in her temples, burned in her chest. She hesitated a moment, turned, and flung herself at Gervais’s feet. Her wet hair spattered about her face, and her white skin shone luminous in the firelight. He gave a yelp, but she cried, “Prince Gervais, do you know me?”
“Know you? Get away from me, girl! Who are – ” He started to his feet.
Hearing the scraping of swords being drawn, she lunged forward and grabbed his hand.
“Gervais, I am Una, Princess of Parumvir. Remember? Remember me, prince? Remember how you sang to me? I need help. I need mercy. I – ”
Gervais shook himself free and stepped back, shouting, “Unhand me, girl! I don’t know you!”
“Please!” Una cried even as the innkeeper caught her roughly under the arms and dragged her back. “I’m lost! I – ”
“Forgive me, sire,” the innkeeper said, hauling her back toward the door. “Don’t know ’ow she git in ’ere.”
Una struggled in his grip, broke free, and staggered toward the prince. “Please help me!” she cried, but several of his men stepped between her and him.
One of them struck her again across the cheek that still smarted from the innkeeper’s blow. “Out, rat,” the man growled as she hit the floor. “How dare you speak to a prince in that way? Out with you!”
The fire roared to life. It burned through her veins, pulsing like blood as the innkeeper grabbed her again. Her eyes caught the scornful face of Gervais. “You forgot me!” she cried, and flame burst from her tongue. The men fell away in surprise and terror, and the innkeeper screamed and fell back as though he’d been burned. Fire flooded from her mouth and poured down to the floor.
“She’s a dragon!” Gervais cried, snatching up his sword. He ducked around her flame, leapt over the prostrate innkeeper, and grabbed her by the hair. He yanked her head back, exposing her throat, still white and smooth. At the sight of his upraised sword, she clawed behind her, trying to catch hold of him.
He struck, but the blade could not pierce her hide.
She twisted in his grasp, felt her hair tearing from her scalp, and slashed at him with cruel talons. Gervais let go and jumped back only just in time to avoid her attack. “Catch her!” he cried. “Don’t let her escape!”
Five or six of his men leapt upon her, and Una did not try to swallow her flame as she struggled through their grasping hands. She felt her body expanding, felt her fire building. She shook the men off and ran for the door, bursting into the rainy street just as her wings spread wide.
“My bounty!” Gervais rushed after her, his sword gripped in his hand. “Come back, dragon, and face me!” he shouted.
She turned. Their gazes locked. His eyes widened.
“You forgot me,” she snarled, and her mouth opened.
A run of silver notes pierced her mind as though from a great distance.
Una, where are you?
Rain poured from heaven, steamed off her great body, and rolled from her muzzle. The fire in her eyes dulled to embers.
“Please,” she whispered, gazing up into the sky. “Please don’t forget . . .”
The next moment, her shadow passed over The Rampant Dragon and disappeared into the dark clouds.
Gervais breathed again, then coughed on the fumes that surrounded him. He sat down in the mud of that empty street, dropped his sword into the muck at his side, and cradled his head in his hands. “It’s the widow for me,” he muttered, so miserable he almost wished that dragon girl had succeeded in cooking him.
“Who was she, anyway?” he wondered.
25
In the darkness of his chamber, King Fidel heard as though from a great distance cries in the training yard, the sounds of officers barking commands, but he could not understand their words. He was lost, numb. He knew he would have to gather himself and venture out again soon. But the dragon poison was thick in his veins, and he could not move. If the duke was coming, let him come.
“Your Majesty.”
Someone spoke behind him, though he had heard no one enter the room. He recognized the voice, however.