“I love her still.” Alaric’s dark gaze neverwavered.
The strangest sense of anticipation settled within her, a gladness she neither recognized nor could explain. Elsbeth reached out to skate her fingertips across smooth scales. “I’m so sorry, Alaric.” She sighed. “For what little it’s worth, I understand yoursadness.”
His eyes remained black, obscuring the elliptical pupils, and the telltale shiver rippled his scales. He suddenly rose, towering over her. She scooted back, clutching her fiddle to herchest.
“Come,” he said. “And bring your fiddle. There is a place within the heart of Maldoza open to the sky. You can play there and remind me of betterdays.”
They traveled swiftlythrough the labyrinth of tunnels that cut deep into the cliffs. Elsbeth carried a small torch by which to see as she followed Alaric into the blackness. For one so massive, he moved incredibly fast, and she had to maintain a steady jog just to keep up. Passageways that seemed too small for him to fit offered no obstacle. The warping feel of magic passed over her each time they moved through one as Alaric either altered the corridor or himself to get through the narrowestspaces.
The ability to wield such spells left all of Maldoza’s interior open to him. Elsbeth understood more than ever why no knight had yet been successful in confronting and killing the wyvern. Five turns and a double-back later, and she was completelylost.
Alaric looked at her over one wing. “It’s not much farther, Elsbeth. Do you wish toride?”
“No,” she panted. She was no delicate flower or some aristo woman used to being carried everywhere. And for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Elsbeth didn’t want Alaric to think herweak.
The tunnel in which they passed grew lighter, and she heard the sounds of bird calls and rushing water. Elsbeth no longer needed the torch as they drew near an archway. She drew next to Alaric andgasped.
The corridor opened onto a massive, roofless cave. Sunlight streamed down in wavering stripes of gold and pale yellow, illuminating thousands of birds nests crowded in the layered rock. A spring bubbled up from the floor, spilling water in meandering rivers. Unlike the lair she shared with Alaric, this one was cooler, misty with the flow of water and a gentle breeze that swirled inside and ruffled herhair.
“This is part of Maldoza?” She stared around her in wonder. “No one would guess from the outside this placeexists.”
“It is well-hidden and only visible from above. I chose Maldoza as my temporary home specifically for this cave. It is safe from intruders and easilyguarded.”
Alaric’s rumbling voice sent nesting birds into flight. They flew skyward in a protesting din of screeches and chirps. Only their echoes remained along with the underground spring’s quietmusic.
“Follow me,” Alaric said, and led her down an easy path to the cavefloor.
Elsbeth leapt nimbly from rock to rock, holding her fiddle case tightly in one hand and the torch in the other. They halted at the opposite side of the cave’s perimeter, and the wyvern indicated a flat rock for her toperch.
“Here is a good spot.” He didn’t settle next to her but rested on his haunches and watched as she doused her torch and opened her fiddlecase.
Elsbeth quickly finished tuning the fiddle and ran the bow across the strings in a few experimental passes. The cries of the strings filled the cavern, but they were muted, softer. She frowned at Alaric. “This is a beautiful place, but my music won’t sound as good. Are you sure you want me to playhere?”
At his nod, she stood and began to play—a lively wedding reel that had always been Angus’s favorite. Muffled by the cave’s mist, the tune filled the chamber with a softer cadence, as if she played it in adream.
Alaric had not moved during the song, neither to stretch out beside her nor tap a claw in rhythm to the music. Elsbeth was dismayed to see his eyes were still black, and he watched her,unblinking.
She cleared her throat. “Forgive me,” she said. “Does my playing displease you now?” A slow dread rose within her when his scales bristled. What if he no longer enjoyed her fiddle? She still had a week remaining. Would he abandon their bargain and start terrorizing the countryside once more? “Is there another tune you’d like tohear?”
“Do you have ahusband?”
Elsbeth almost dropped the fiddle. “What?”
“When I found you at Maldoza, you played your fiddle as if you mourned a friend and serenaded a lover. You’ve not played that way since.” The scarlet scales expanded more, stretching from behind Alaric’s head to the tip of his tail. “What lover inspired you to weave your soul into your music? That’s what I want to hear, not some melody you’ve performed at every harvestdance.”
She stared at the wyvern, shocked by his words. What was she supposed to say? His admonishment had nothing to do with her skill and everything to do with the heart of her playing. Those spiking scales were a sure sign he was displeased withher.
Elsbeth gave everything to her performances, no matter how mundane the celebration or how removed she was from the people celebrating. She played for strangers with the same enthusiasm she played for friends. “I don’t understand what you’re asking,” shesaid.
“Play as if your lover stands before you and waits to hear the songs you created forhim.”
His command was making her uncomfortable, as was the intensity of his gaze. “I have no husband, and only the memory of alover.”
Alaric’s scales subsided slightly. “Alaric the man, beloved and notforgotten?”
Elsbeth gave a tentative laugh at his reminder of their earlier conversation. “Yes.”
His scales smoothed back into place. Alaric lowered his head until he was almost nose to nose with Elsbeth. “You played for him that first night on the cliffs. I could hear it on the wind, feel it in my blood. All the passion you carried for a man now lost to you.” His long tail curled around her feet. “That is what I want to hear again, Mistress Weaver—your soul in thebow.”
