And, true, he didn’t exactly need to check every single piece of treasure amassed in his chamber. But he wanted to. By gods, he wanted to.
“She did it again!”
Rhey growled again; what was it with his cousin barging in his office without so much as announcing his presence?
“Demelza has left. Again.”
Rhey cocked an eyebrow, inviting his cousin to talk.
“At least twice a week, for the last month, she’s flown away after seeing to her duties. She doesn’t come back until dawn.”
He’d been worried when the shields had fallen, but she’d returned in one piece.
“Demelza is a grown ass woman trained by the best, Vincent. Let her be, or marry her if you must.”
His cousin grimaced, his disgust obvious.
“I couldn’t marry that little runt! I just want to make sure she’s safe.”
Rhey sighed; he had strong protective instincts towards their mutual friend. He’d rip out a throat if anyone ever hurt her - and he’d enjoy it, too. But unlike Vincent, he had accepted that she was an adult sometime over the last ninety years.
“She’s safe, cousin. She’s probably just found some lover. Leave her be.”
“And,” his cousin added, ignoring him, “She also leaves the Kingdom - through the gates of Norda.”
Ah.
That changed things.
Xandrie never knew when her friend was going to turn up; each day, she hoped for the best when she got out of Malec, and once a week, there she was, in the clearing Claws had claimed as his own.
Demelza’s smile matched hers when she turned to find her there. She threw something Xandrie caught mid-flight. Opening the package, she found some blessed delight that made her stomach growl so hard one might have mistaken her for a dragon, too.
“From the Royal Kitchens of Vasili, I bring you Melting Tatin, caramelized paradise that will disintegrate in your mouth.”
Xandrie groaned. She’d thought she known good eats before Demelza starting bringing delicacies from King Vasili’s bakers. She hadn’t. She popped the Tatin into her mouth, and then closed her eyes as the sugar and butter and apples rioted across her taste buds.
How lucky she was; she wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told her she’d be eating pastries from a royal kitchen a season ago. Better yet, she was about to dive into weapons training with a real freaking dragon-princess.
Xandrie had laughed when Demelza had revealed that particular piece of information, a lot. Come on, a princess? Her friend was a warrior, not some helpless damsel. But Demelza had told her that apparently, the title meant a very different thing to dragons. Nobles and royals, be they male or female, were the guardians and protectors of their lands. She’d been expected to learn to fly, fight and throw the strongest of fires; dancing lessons were entirely optional.
“Shall we?” Demelza swung her sword over her head and readied herself.
Xandrie smiled eagerly. She hadn’t had this much fun since she’s sparred with her brother.
Demelza was obviously taking it easy on her – barely moving an inch to evade or block her each time she lunged – but even though every controlled movement from the ethereal she-dragon told her just how weak she really was, it beat practicing by herself. Besides, observing the woman’s graceful, elegant movements was a lesson in its own right. She made it look so effortless.
The two women danced around the clearing, the sound of their weapons ringing out through the forest, until Xandrie was out of breath and drenched in sweat.
“I hate you a little, you know,” she joked, glaring at her friend. Demelza didn’t have the decency to look remotely winded. Had she even broken a sweat? Nope, she looked just as calm and collected as if they’d been sipping plum wine and trading tales.
Demelza dropped to the blanket under the beech tree and dug a couple of sandwiches from the picnic basket. “Hey, you’re not bad and I needed that. I don’t exercise anywhere near enough and, Eartia knows, I need to stay in shape if I have a hope in hell of holding my own during The Claiming.”
“That’s the whacko tournament for the King’s hand, right?”
Her friend had mentioned it once, a few days back.
“Yup. I’ll be pitched against some of the most skilled swordswomen in the Kingdom. These chicks do not mess around.”
“And if you win? Will you be whisked away by His Highness, never to be seen again?”
“Ew! I call foul upon such a vile utterance,” Demelza swatted at Xandrie. “No, seriously. I don’t want to win. Rhey’s like a brother to me.”
“So, why enter?”
Demelza shrugged. “I’m the only unattached female in my line. I have no choice but to enter. If I didn’t, some might see it as proof of weakness, which is all but an invitation to attack in our principality.”
Xandrie nodded. She couldn’t quite read Demelza’s almost unchanging expressions, so she wasn’t entirely sure what her new friend really thought of The Claiming. For all she knew, it was “business as usual” for dragons and Demelza was on board with the tradition. She didn’t want to offend one of the only people who seemed to enjoy her company by saying she thought a thousand women fighting for a King’s hand was revolting. Who’d want to find a Queen that way? It seemed so primitive.
“I need to make it through to at least the quarter finals,” said Demelza through a mouthful, “so those court bitches don’t get ideas about pushing me around.”
“Sounds like my life, except you need to substitute ‘family’ for ‘courtiers.’ Yet, they’d be wickedly jealous if they knew I’d seen a dragon.”
“You haven’t said anything, have you? I’m not exactly supposed to meet humans.”
“That would be a no. I’d be in as much trouble as you. Being outside the village walls without the required permits, missing curfew, blah-blah-blah. People get whipped for less.”
The two women talked and laughed and ate and played “stay away” with Claws as though they’d been friends since birth, rather than strangers who’d met five times since Xandrie toppled off a cliff not a month ago. As the sun set, they packed up, said their farewells, and went their separate ways.
Claws followed Xandrie as far as the tree line outside the village. She kissed her tiger cub on his magnificent head. “Dream valiant tiger dreams and such things, sweet.” Claws took his cue and ambled back into the thicket.
Scaling the wall around the village wasn’t a problem, the trick was doing it when there were no guards around. Xandrie had it down to a science. It wasn’t that the guards were lazy, per se, they just preferred wine and dice to patrolling in the dark; their village was so dreadfully dull, she could hardly blame them. She was certain they’d have finished their rounds on the quarter hour, but she scanned the alley to be sure it was clear before launching herself over the wall.
Hands were on her as soon as she landed. She knew, based on his height and strength, but mostly his god-awful cologne, that it was Darsen. How had she missed that smell? He must have positioned himself downwind, which meant it was premeditated. What a slime bucket.