Sigurd guides me around the crowd, and I watch as people do a double take and fall still. Even the dancers stop and stare, and the music slowly dies away until there’s only the lone sound of the fiddle. For a second, the tune rises into the night sky, and I gasp as I see golden notes whirling up until they’re lost to sight.
The fiddle player hands his instrument to one of the pipers and steps off the stage. “Dragon,” he calls. His voice is deep and raspy. He pushes his cap back, and I see his eyes are a bright green. “You honour us with your presence.”
To my astonishment, Sigurd bows low. “Your Majesty.”
The fiddle player chuckles and gestures to the pipers. “Play music, fellows,” he calls. The music starts up again, and the dancers whirl once more.
Sigurd turns to me. “Cary, this is King Allan. He rules the stone people. Your Majesty, this is my friend, Cary.”
“Friend, eh?”
I obediently shake the hand he offers me and repress a gasp. His hand is cold—so cold that it feels like it burns my skin. He releases me, and I try not to show my relief. He turns and walks towards a huge stone throne situated near the dancers. He throws himself into it and gestures to a woman nearby who hastens away and then returns with two chairs. They’re made of wood and look very spindly.
“So, what brings you here?” the king asks.
Sigurd looks rather doubtfully at the delicate furniture and then, with a resigned sigh, lowers his big body onto a chair. Itcreaks ominously, and I hold my breath, releasing it when it shows no sign of collapsing. When I look up, the king is watching Sigurd. There’s affection in his green eyes, but also a malicious amusement, and I have a sudden notion that this man is crueller and more capricious than the Mer, if that’s possible.
He catches me looking, and I offer him a strained smile before hastening to sit next to Sigurd. He immediately reaches out and clasps my hand, and it’s a shocking relief to feel his warm skin against mine. I twine my fingers with his, and when I look up, the king is watching us.
“Ah, did I not tell you so, Sigurd?” he chides. “You should always listen to me.”
Sigurd grins at the man, no fear at all, but why would there be? He’s a bloody dragon. “If I listened to you, I’d be wearing out my feet dancing every night.”
“Nay,” the king says in mock horror. “We do not wish to be wounded during our revels, and dragon, you are theworstdancer I have ever seen.”
The courtiers around us immediately break into laughter, but Sigurd’s is the loudest.
“Speaking of invitations, may I invite you to eat, Cary?” the king says slyly, pointing to the tables behind us, decorated with holly and mistletoe and laden with every delicacy imaginable.
Before I can make a polite refusal, a loud growl sounds from Sigurd. It’s a chilling sound, and the courtiers all mutter and move away.
The king’s eyes flare, and I quickly break into the standoff. “I am fine, Your Majesty.” The king slowly turns to me. “We ate earlier but thank you for your kind offer. May I say that your fiddle playing is extraordinary? I have never heard sweeter music.”
His eyes lose their heat, and he says, “Thank you, Cary.” He looks at Sigurd. “You have found someone with manners, dragon. It is a welcome change.”
Sigurd merely inclines his head, his eyes never leaving the king, and his grip on my hand firm.
The king lounges in his great throne. The music is wild now, tugging at my bones and sinews with the urge to dip and whirl on this green floor. The thought of dancing endlessly doesn’t seem so bad. Sigurd’s grip tightens, and I realise I was swaying in my seat. Stopping takes an effort, and I feel sweat breaking out on my brow.
“So, you come requesting a boon, dragon?”
Sigurd inclines his head. “Aye, sire. A mermaid has gone missing.”
The king rolls his eyes. “Aren’t they always going missing? Always nipping away to enchant some poor sailor. What is so special about this one?”
“She is from a prominent family at court.”
The king suddenly looks interested. “Word is that this family’s influence is growing.”
“You already knew,” I say without thinking and gulp as they both turn to me.
Sigurd’s eyes are full of reassurance, and the king chuckles.
“I know everything,” he says idly. “Past, present, and future—they all lie in me. I slumber in a field in the middle of nowhere, butstillI know all.”
“Do you know where she is?”
His smirk is sly. “Ah, but where is the fun in that? I require reciprocation. Tell me something, Cary. What do you know of the Merry Maidens?”
