Yet belonging to Belinus in Feyland would be best for her. She would live in the god’s palace. Nobody would ever whip her again; she’d be far from the clutches of the people of her village. In Feyland, she would not grow old but remain forever beautiful Einin.
As a cursed dragon, Draknart could offer her precious little: a dank cave, and human company for only a few hours each night. No, she would never choose that over Feyland. She didn’t think of him as an entirely vile beast, but a beast nevertheless.
“Are you going to ask Belisama to dissolve the curse?” she asked. “When we go through the fairy circle?”
“She swore that she would not,” he grumbled. “She’s that mad at me.”
Einin shot him a questioning look.
“I will ask the god Belinus,” he told her.
Draknart stayed still as she gently wrapped his wound in moss, holding it in place with a plaster of wet leaves.
When she was finished, she stepped back and inspected her handiwork with satisfaction.
“Now you rest,” she said, then walked away from him, toward the water. Halfway there, she turned back. “Would Belinus go against his own wife the goddess?”
“They argued some decades ago. He is no longer welcome in her glens and her palaces.” Then Draknart added, “He must be lonely.”
Einin stilled, her gaze examining him with intent, very, very carefully. “Why would he help you?”
Instead of responding, he looked toward the lake. The knight was now far enough so even Draknart’s superior hearing could not pick up the sounds the man made.
Draknart rose. “Let us go to the fairy circle. Twilight nears.”
Einin went with him, even stood in the middle of the circle with him, but as the sun dipped below the tree line, then dipped below the horizon and left the sky dark, nothing happened.
Draknart’s spiked tail beat the ground, setting an impatient rhythm.
“The sun stone must not be exactly lined up to the east,” he said then, and went to correct the stone’s placement. Then he adjusted another and another, the task easier now that he was dragon than it had been before. It still seemed to take forever. Mayhap because he kept on adjusting, turning the stones this way and that.
When he was finished, thinking he might have gotten it just right, Einin asked, “What else can we do? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could help me gather some branches,” he told her after a moment of consideration. He’d seen the humans crown the stones with green. Mayhap the gods liked that.
She hurried to the edge of the clearing and broke off thin branches from the evergreen bushes, brought them to him by the armload, then went back for more while he twisted what he had into large wreaths.
The night wore on as they decorated the stone circle. When it was all done to Draknart’s satisfaction, they drew back to inspect their handiwork. He thought it might just work. Of course, now they would have to wait another day.
“How will you convince Belinus to lift the curse? What will you give him in exchange?” Einin asked.
Draknart hated the answer. The plan he’d thought perfect just days before now seemed ill-conceived. Yet it was the only plan he had, his first real chance at restoration in a century.
“He is fond of beautiful maidens.”
“But—” Einin paled for a moment. Then all the blood rushed back into her face, and her cheeks turned an angry red. She flung her arms wide as she shouted, “You brought me for him!”
He ducked his head. “Aye.”
“You—” Her voice broke, not on fear, but on fury.
Draknart felt her stark expression of disappointment as sharply as if he’d been stabbed in the chest. Was that a sheen of tears in her eyes? She was rapidly blinking. Then she squared her shoulders, and he knew she was about to shout at him again.
“You will live in a palace,” he cut her off, then fell silent at the strange tone of his voice that sounded very much like begging, which could not be as dragons never begged. He cleared his throat. “You will lack for nothing. You will know neither hunger nor disease. Death will not touch you in Feyland.”
She swore like a goatherd, sparks flashing in her eyes, her hands gripping her sword as she backed away from him.
By the gods, Draknart loved her fire. Her fire was the truest and most beautiful thing he’d seen in centuries. If she stabbed him in the heart right now, it’d be almost worth it just to have met her.
